Smooth Criminal

Steve woke up to someone pounding on their door. He rolled over to find Tony still dead asleep, snoring lightly into his arm. He glanced at the alarm clock, grit his teeth, and stood.

"Yes?"

Natasha almost fell over when he opened the door, stumbling forward. Steve caught her with a tired sigh, setting her upright. "Thanks."

"What's up?"

"Clint won't sleep," the redhead said quickly, frowning. "He's curled up in bed, but he won't close his eyes. I think he might be crying a little bit."

"Clint...crying…" Steve looked back inside of his room. "Tony, wake up!"

"Not now, Broomhilde.." Tony snuffled, rolling over. He was still asleep. "I must save the pretty princess…"

"Tony!"

"GOBLINS!" Tony sat up, wide awake. He looked at Natasha and Steve standing in the doorway. "Is this a dream? Because I think I like where this is going…"

"Clint's crying," Steve told him, a worried look on his face. "There's something wrong."

"Is it the lunchbox again?" Tony grumbled, getting out of the bed. He ran a hand through his hair, which didn't help the bedhead at all. "I told him to hide it someplace better."

"That's what this is about?" Steve asked, glancing at Natasha. She nodded. "You're kidding. Didn't he bet it to Tony that time Wayne came over?"

"I never got it," Tony said, irritation in his tone. He grabbed a robe and threw it on. "It was gone by the time I got there, and I was definitely first."

Natasha led them to Clint's room without a word, opening the door for them. Steve entered tentatively, getting a firm shove from Tony. Barton was curled up in six different blankets, face turned to the wall.

"Clint?"

Barton didn't move, barely acknowledging their presence. "Hnph."

"Hey, Clint, buddy." Tony sat down on the bed, trying to stumble his way through a pep talk half-conscious. "Some things just aren't meant to be. I'm sure there are...other lunchboxes in the lunchbox sea, right?"

"Not one with...Superman.. On it." Clint sniffled, rolling tighter into a ball. "It had my money in it."

"I'll give you a superman lunchbox with, like, three million dollars in it." Tony said, slapping him on the shoulder. "How does that sound?"

"It's...not the same." Clint said, sounding suspiciously wet-eyed. "I just don't understand why it's gone. Who could've taken it?"

Steve touched Tony's arm. "Is there someone we could, uh, hire, to look for it?"

"You mean a hit man?"

"What? No!" Steve looked at his boyfriend, questioning his sanity for a brief moment. "I meant a private detective, or someone."

"The best detective." Clint added, extracting a hand from his Clint-burrito to point at Tony. "The world's best fucking detective!"

Tony broke out into chuckles, leaning against Steve. He couldn't stop laughing for some reason. Steve shook him. "Tony. Tony. Hey!"

"S-sorry," Tony giggled, slapping himself twice in the face. "There. Uh, Clint, I know exactly who you should go visit."

"Really?"

Bruce Wayne hung up the phone, glaring at the receiver. The urge to use the Batman voice and terrorize trumped-up board members rose within him suddenly. Sure, Brucie Wayne was caught in a scandalous position with two supermodels last night in an airplane bathroom, but Bruce Wayne had been subtly removing the bombs someone had attached to their jewelry without alerting the plane. Where was the appreciation?

"Mr. Wayne, you have a visitor."

He caught himself glaring at the intercom before sighing, closing his eyes. Don't be mad at your nice secretary, she's literally just doing her job. "Tell them I'm at lunch."

"Sir, it's 10:30."

Bruce clenched his hand so hard, the pen he'd been twirling in it snapped. "Send them in, then."

Clint Barton barged into his office, strangely naked in civilian clothing without his bow and quiver. He wore an expression of pure panic, stalking straight up to his desk and slamming his hands down. "You have to help me!"

Bruce sighed internally and leaned backward, glaring at Clint's hands. The archer took the hint and moved them off his desk. He contorted his face until it looked sort of like a smile, going for that trademark Brucie look. "How can I help you, uh, Mr….?"

"Clint! It's Clint Barton, Bruce!" The archer waved his hands. "You don't remember me?"

"Sorry, nope."

"We met with the Avengers, like, twice?" Clint paused, frowning. "You're Bat-"

Bruce moved quicker than the eye could see, slamming a fist into Barton's throat before the other man could finish that sentence. The archer slumped to the floor with a cough.

"You know better than to unmask me at my own company," Bruce growled, feeling his voice deepen and not caring in the least. He stood, rolling down the shades to his office. His secretary was staring, so he gave her a quick thumbs up. "Why the hell are you even here?"

"L-lunchbox," Barton coughed out, rolling to his feet. He touched a hand to his throat. "Save…..Superman...lunchbox…."

Bruce frowned at the mention of his teammate. "Why did you say that name?"

"It's...on my...lunchbox."

Lunchbox, Bruce recalled suddenly. The archer's petty cash fund. He'd given it to Superman, what, a few weeks ago? God only knew what Clark had done with it by now. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're the world's greatest detective," Clint said, standing to full height. He looked painfully anxious. "You have to help me. All my money is in there. Plus, that's my favorite lunchbox."

"You have more than one?"

Barton shrugged. "Lunch is the most important meal of the day, man."

"...Right…"

Bruce crossed his arms, settling back into his seat. Barton sat down in a chair, looking a little pale still. His throat was already swelling, though hopefully not too much, or he'd be explaining a lot of things to Tony. And Tony's jealous boyfriend. "You just want me to...look for it?"

"Yeah!" Clint exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. Bruce got the distinct image of Dick for a second, with the same grin on his face. "That would be awesome!"

"And why would I help you?"

The archer paused, expression darkening. "You can...have my money?"

"Twenty-" Bruce coughed, realizing he wasn't supposed to know what had been in the lunchbox in the first place. "You know what. Just get Tony off my ass for ten hours, and we'll call it a deal."

"Tony's bothering you?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "He wants to do a double date."

"With Steve?"

"Oh, that's his name?" Bruce batted his eyelashes. "I'd forgotten."

"O-kay…" Clint stood, holding out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Bruce stood, thinking about all of the terrible ways this could go wrong. He shook Barton's hand. "You'll get your lunchbox back." Eventually.

"Dude, you are the best." Clint said, holding out a fist to bump. Bruce just stared at it. "Oh yeah, Dark Knight, Silent Protector, you're, like, moody and stuff…"

"Shh!"

"Okay!" Clint walked to the door, pantomiming locking his mouth and throwing away the key. "Bye Bruce!"

The second the door shut, Bruce let his face hit his desk with a thump. He hit the button for his secret comm.

"Wayne to Kent. We need to meet up. ASAP."

They met in the Watchtower a half hour later. Kent was still wearing his journalist outfit, complete with a dumpy suit and oversized glasses. In comparison, Bruce Wayne in sleek Armani looked worlds above him. Bruce snorted to himself. If only they knew…

"What's so funny?"

"Absolutely nothing," Bruce said, crossing his arms. He stared Superman down. "Remember that lunchbox I gave you a few weeks ago?"

"Oh yeah," Kent snapped his fingers, frowning. He looked around. "I have it here somewhere. Lemme look…"

A Clark-sized blur sped around the Watchtower faster than the eye could see. Bruce waited patiently, disappointed when Clark came up empty-handed. "Couldn't find it?"

"It was on my dresser!" Clark exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. "I have no idea where it could have gone!"

"Shit." Bruce said, pushing Clark out of the way. "Move."

"Why?" Kent asked, stepping aside. Bruce grabbed the wall and slammed his head into it, hard. "Bruce, what the hell?"

"So I can do this." Bruce said calmly, stepping back. He pushed a stray hair back. "Alright. Family meeting."

"With who?"

"The Justice League, dumbass." Bruce grit out. "Someone took this lunchbox, and I'm finding out."

"Okay. Kent to JL: Emergency meeting in twenty." Clark said into his comm, then clicked it off. "If I might ask…"

"You shouldn't."

"...Why do you need the lunchbox back all of a sudden?"

Bruce Wayne couldn't feel emotion. His face was a mask. "I stole it from Clint Barton."

"That dude from the Avengers?" Clark looked horrified. "Bruce, if they find out-"

"I know, I know!" Bruce held up a hand. "I'm on top of it. They don't know I took it."

"What are you going to tell them?"

"Something." Bruce replied, moving for the door. "Not a word of this to anyone else."

"Don't you think you should just come clean?" Clark looked horrifyingly innocent, glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Maybe they'll accept your apology."

Bruce pointed at him. "Don't forget. You took the lunchbox. You're a part of this crime just as much as I am."

"No, I'm not."

"I will take you down, Kent." Bruce hissed over his shoulder. "And the cheap firewalls around your Wonder Woman porn collection."

"How-I-" Clark turned a fantastic shade of red, blushing down to his roots. His mouth moved soundlessly. "Bruce, I-"

"Am going to help me? That's what I thought." Bruce sent him a classic Brucie smile over his shoulder. "Thanks, Clark!"

"Thanks to everyone who showed up, I guess."

Superman looked around the Justice League table, noticing a few missing faces. "Where's Aquaman?"

"Sleeping with the fishes," Robin said in a bad Italian accent, drawing a snort from Jason. Superman glared at both of them, and they subsided after a moment.

Clark felt a moment of pride, only to notice Batman glaring at them over his shoulder. Sigh. "What about Green Lantern?"

"Intergalactic fuck ups." Jason added dryly, lips twitching. "He also may have pissed off his wife, but you didn't hear that from me."

Superman shared a look with Batman, who made a hurry up motion. "Well, we gathered you all here today-"

"To announce your relationship?"

Clark felt his eyes grow red. "Shut up, Jason."

"Oooh, Superman just told me to shut up!" Jason looked at Bruce. "Dad, he said a bad word!"

Bruce looked like he was about to strangle them. "You are not my children."

"The adoption papers say differently!"

"The adoption papers also said you were a smart child," Wayne said, deadpan. "Obviously, they were mistaken."

"Enough," Clark said, glaring at both of them. "We have a problem. Batman, take over please."

Bruce stepped forward, clicking something on his wrist. The room darkened, a projector and screen dropping from ceiling. He pointed at an image of the lunchbox. "Anyone recognize this picture?"

"Nope.

Dick frowned. "Uh….no?"

"Not really." Diana said, frowning.

"No, but it looks cool!"

"Nah."

"Sorry, no."

Bruce smiled, which made a majority of the team, save Superman, grow pale.

"Don't recognize it? You will."

"WHERE IS IT?"

Dick leaned back in his chair, trying to avoid the scream in vain. "Bruce, what the fuck?"

"I know you took it! Where is it?"

"I didn't take the fucking lunchbox!" Dick yelled back, then cowered a little as Bruce glared at him. "Jeez! I have no idea what you're even talking about!" He looked at Clark. "Help me out here!"

"Sorry." Clark adjusted the interrogation light so it shone into his eyes.

"Is that Diana's lasso?" Dick looked at Clark, eyes desperate. "Clark, please, buddy, you gotta help me out here. He can't know about-"

"I already know it was you who crashed the batmobile," Wayne said dryly, winding the lasso around Dick's shoulders. "Now. About that time with Barbara…"

"Oh jesus!"

"WHERE IS IT?"

Jason Todd merely arched an eyebrow, looking wholly unimpressed as he was bound in the golden lasso. "I'm calling CPS, Bruce."

Wonder Woman didn't look pleased to be wrapped in her own lasso, but she acquiesced. "I didn't take the lunch box, if that's what you're going to ask me."

Clark turned the light up a little as Bruce growled. "I need that box, Diana."

"I saw Flash playing with something last week that looked like it," Wonder Woman said, looking up at Bruce. "Now, can you untie me?"

Clark moved forward, only to get glared at by Diana. "Bruce can do it."

"O..kay…" He glanced at Bruce, who looked similarly confused. Diana made a shoo motion over Bruce's shoulder as he untied her, looking way too pleased with herself. "I'm gonna go...find Flash...yeah…"

"Thanks, Clark!"

"The lunchbox? Yeah, I took it." the Flash could barely sit still, vibrating between the coils of the lasso. "There was like, ten bucks in it. Lame. I thought Clark was keeping porn in it or something."

Kent suddenly had to cough, turning a bright red. Bruce sighed to himself. "Please tell me you didn't throw it out."

"Of course not!" Wally actually looked offended. "That was a quality lunchbox! I gave it to Alfred. Duh."

"To..Alfred." Bruce repeated. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Tim needed a new lunchbox." Wally said, not noticing Bruce's anger, or, at best, not caring. "He's like, seven, Bruce. I always wanted a superman lunchbox at that age!"

Bruce was already on his way to the transporters, patting Superman on the back on the way out. Wally watched this exchange, noticing Clark was still tomato-red. "Everything okay, Clark?"

The other man put his head in his hands.

"I need a girlfriend."

"JARVIS, bring up cameras in Clint's rooms on the day of the incident."

Steve frowned. "You have cameras in our rooms?"

Tony shushed him, glancing across the display. "Zoom into west corner, magnification 20x."

The screen showed the clear outline of Clint's bed. It seemed to be about noon, judging by the shadows in the room. Tony leaned in, narrowing his eyes. "Slow it down, JARVIS."

A blur crossed the scene, barely taking up three frames. The bed shifted slightly, then the blur was gone. "Slower. Again."

This time, Steve could see the black blur a little more clearly. In its hands, something glinted briefly, almost faster than even he could see. "Tony?"

"No way." His boyfriend breathed, glued to the screen. "No way."

"What? What is it, Tony?"

Tony hit a button. "JARVIS, get me a location on Bruce Wayne."

"He is currently off-planet, sir."

Steve grabbed Tony's shoulder. "You think Batman took Clint's lunchbox?"

"I don't know." the other man said, glancing at the screen. "But he had opportunity. Not so much with the motive, but who the hell knows with Bruce?"

"I told you he was bad news."

"Don't start with that again. Bruce is a friend."

Steve frowned. "He hurt Clint!"

"And I'm sure he's trying to find the damn lunchbox right this minute." Tony said, standing. He grabbed his coat from a nearby chair. "I'm gonna go talk with him. I'll be back soon."

"Fine." Steve said, crossing his arms. He looked up at the screen once Tony left, staring at the replay. Bruce?

"Master Wayne. You just missed Timothy."

Bruce shook his umbrella off in the foyer, glancing out the window. "Did he just leave for school?"

"Yes. He took the bus today instead of the limo." Alfred looked oddly pleased. "So different from Jason and Richard, it seems."

Bruce waved a hand. "They can do as they please."

"Oh, I'm aware." Alfred took his umbrella from him. "How are the Justice League?"

"Dealing with a bit of a crisis," Bruce said, walking towards the kitchen. Alfred followed. "We need to locate an item. Word is, Wally gave it to you."

He heard Alfred stop and turned, frowning. "What is it?"

"The lunchbox," Alfred surmised quickly. "That's the item you're looking for?"

"It's of grave importance, yes."

The butler raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Well, then it will have to wait until Master Timothy returns from school. I used it for his lunch today."

Bruce turned, already going for his phone to track the bus' location, when Alfred's hand grabbed his wrist in an iron grip.

"Batman will not be swooping into Bayview Elementary to steal a lunchbox out of the backpack of a seven year-old child!"

"I wasn't going to swoop." Bruce said, chided. "He won't even see me."

"Ah. but then he won't have a lunch for the day! And in a lunchbox he wanted to show his friends, nonetheless! " Alfred stared him dead in the eye. "If you make that boy cry, Master Wayne, I'll break every vertebra in your back."

Been there, done that. Bruce felt a fission of actual fear at the threat, however, and took a step back. "Shit."

"It can wait for three in the afternoon, can't it?"

Bruce opened his mouth to answer when his phone rang. He grabbed it from his pocket, making a one second gesture at Alfred, who snorted and walked away. "Wayne."

"You better have that lunchbox on its way to Stark Tower by now, or I'm going to break your legs."

"What is it with everyone wanting to break my bones? Does it appeal to you?" He asked an angry-sounding Tony Stark, flustered. "Like, does the fact that I could beat all of you in hand-to-hand combat make you want to hurt me more? Because I think it does."

"Quit the fancy talk. I need that fucking lunchbox, Wayne. Do you have it?"

Bruce sighed. "Yes. Maybe. Well-"

"Bring it to Avengers' Tower in an hour. We'll decide your punishment then."

"Wait," he said, momentarily panicked. "We?"

"The Avengers, dumbass." Tony said. "If you want, you can bring your pesky Justice League, but I'm sure they're lame as hell, so…"

"See you in an hour, Stark." With that, Bruce hung up, slumping against the wall. He put a hand to his comm. "I am so fucked, Clark."

"We knew that already, Bruce."