Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When it first happens, Clark keeps himself from thinking about it.

Honestly, he doesn’t have the time to think much of it. He’s just learned that his parents- his biological parents- were actually imperialists who expected him to conquer Earth and… well, he doesn’t really want to think about what else they expected him to do. Honestly, it kind of creeps him out.

The problem with that, though, is that along with the deluge of anger (much of it, he now knows, stoked by literal angry monkeys on keyboards), there’s a deluge of, well… thirst posts. 

It’s not new, technically. There’s been people professing their attraction to him online since the day he caught that plane. 

Somehow, though, it feels way weirder than people on social media telling him they think he’s hot or whatever. People volunteering to be part of a (very much nonexistent) harem that’s specifically aimed at taking over the Earth, it’s… 

Yeah. He doesn’t like thinking about it. 

So he doesn’t. For the next eight months, he doesn’t think about it at all. He goes to work, both the regular job at the Daily Planet and as Superman, he hangs out with Jimmy, he visits his parents regularly.

He and Lois become official, and Clark thinks he’s never been happier.

For the first three months, it’s great. They go on dates, Clark meets Lucy (and tries not to wonder why neither of them mention their parents at all), they go to family dinners in Kansas a few times. 

It’s great.

Until it’s not.

He’s not sure when it really began. Maybe it was Lois spending an entire month camped out at the docks chasing a gun-smuggling story. Maybe it was when that other Green Lantern came to Earth and requested Superman’s help with a problem off-planet, and Clark ended up missing Lois’ birthday. Maybe they both just didn’t manage to make time for the other in a hundred little ways, and kept telling each other and themselves it was fine.

Whatever it was, though, it was enough. They call things off six months in. 

And yeah, it stinks. Clark spends a lot of the following month moping on both his couch and in the Fortress of Solitude. He can’t even really heal from it at the start, because she’s right there at work, and he knows Lois feels the same way.

When she immediately takes Perry’s offer to cover Pokolistan’s first democratic election cycle following the death of their aspiring warmonger of a princess and the subsequent dissolution of their monarchy, he can’t even blame her. He’d probably take a few months away to get his head on straight too if he could.

But he can’t. He has to go to work every day and see her empty desk, and then remind himself that even if texting her wasn’t a bad idea, she probably doesn’t have great service in Pokolistan considering that they’re only just now setting up major broadband networks across the nation.

It’s been a month of that, every single day. Two months since the breakup. Clark thinks he’s… mostly okay. Not fully over it, but over it enough. 

Now, of course, he has a new problem, mostly thanks to one Cat Grant.

Okay, that’s not entirely fair. Cat didn’t mean to catch the flu right before a major charity gala. 

Of course, that means that since she can’t go to events, her duties are split up between various reporters. Steve gets to jet off to a music festival tomorrow, and Ron and Jimmy are interviewing some influencer with a ridiculous name that Clark’s never heard of.

Clark’s unlucky enough to get assigned her piece on the Wayne Foundation’s fundraiser for Gotham’s children’s hospital. 

It’s not that he has anything against charity! Heck, he doesn’t technically have anything against galas, either, so long as he’s not forced to participate.

Which is one third of the problem. Clark’s whole disguise is wrapped up in being unnoticeable, in bad suits and dorky glasses and generally being a bit of a bumbling weirdo. In the bull pen, that’s fine: no one really notices him outside of Lois, Jimmy, or Steve when he wants to be a jerk. 

At a gala, though? His whole act sticks out like a sore thumb. So he has to wear a suit that actually fits, make his hair less frizzy, and not pretend like he didn’t grow out of his clumsiness in college. 

And that’s… well, it’s a little too close to Superman for his liking. It feels like playing with fire when he’s under the influence of kryptonite, and he doesn’t want to get burned. 

Not to mention, there’s a certain someone over in Gotham who’s notoriously stringent about metas (aliens apparently included) in his city. Clark’s only met the Gotham Bat once, and that was just him glaring at Clark and growling at him that he works alone and to “stay out of Gotham” before jumping off the building they were on. 

The fact that his brightly colored protege made his first appearance just a few weeks after that did not go unnoticed by Clark.

Still, according to Guy, Batman’s position on outside help hasn’t changed in the past few years. If anything, he’s gotten more stringent.

And yeah, Clark’s not really afraid of Batman. He doesn’t believe the rumor that he’s some kind of demon that escaped from a hellmouth under Gotham. In all likelihood, Batman’s just some guy with really, really strong boundaries and a whole lot of cutting edge tech. 

Mostly he just kind of feels awkward about heading into another hero’s territory without permission, even if that hero probably won’t ever even know he was there.

So, Clark’s going to have to make sure that he doesn’t get into any trouble. Yeah, he could get out of it just fine, but the less attention he brings to himself, the better.

But that’s only two thirds of the problem.

The last third lies in who’s throwing the gala.

Now, Clark actually respects the Wayne Foundation quite a bit. From what he’s investigated of their financials and operations, they’re about as squeaky clean as one can get in Gotham. They do good work, too, helping the people in the poorest and most crime-affected parts of Gotham get by or find their way to a better life. Compared to other charities in Gotham, which regularly get exposed as, at best, ineffective tax write-offs, they’re wonderful. 

The problem, however, comes with its CEO. 

Clark… doesn’t really know what to make of Bruce Wayne. Six years ago, at just twenty-five years of age, he returned almost from the dead, taking over Wayne Enterprises and expelling the board that had controlled it since the deaths of his parents, save for former CEO and now COO Lucius Fox. From there, the company transformed so drastically that it hardly felt like the same blight on Gotham it was before: heavy investment in green technology, high salaries and full healthcare coverage for every single employee and even for contractors, Wayne even shuttered WE’s mining and oil operations and paid for employment services for everyone affected by the closures. And despite all of that, it’s still one of the most profitable corporations in the country. 

Bruce Wayne is thought of as one of the shrewdest businessmen in the world.

He’s also flighty, loud, and was at one point frequently drunk in public, though he seems to have curbed that particular habit somewhat after adopting one Richard Grayson four years ago.

One thing he hasn’t stopped being, though?

A huge flirt. To the point that it’s one of the main aspects of his public persona.

Which leads Clark to his current problem. Because now he’s going to be at a gala Bruce Wayne is throwing, one that he’s almost certainly attending, and now he can’t stop thinking about that darn clip. 

A single, thirty-six second clip from some late night show where Bruce Wayne was asked for his thoughts on the whole “secret harem” thing, and he responded by looking right into the camera, flashing a brilliant smile, and asking “is he taking applications?”

And then he winked.

He winked, and Clark-

Gosh, Clark was glad that he’d seen that one while he was home alone, because if Lois had seen the way he blushed, she would definitely have had questions.

(Or maybe she already knew. They never talked about it, but she’s smart, she figured out he was Superman within a month of knowing him.)

(Maybe she was waiting for him to come to her. Maybe she wanted him to feel comfortable telling her.)

(Maybe he was too afraid. Maybe he’s not as unaffected by growing up in a small town in Kansas as he’d like to think.)

(Maybe that’s why they didn’t work out)

Anyway. 

Now Clark’s here, standing in a rented tux that the Planet will probably take a week to reimburse him for, trying not to look too noticeable while interviewing rich people across a spectrum of drunkenness.

“Alright, well, thank you for your time, Mr. Drake.”

“Sure, sure. Janet? Now where did that woman get off to…”

Clark bites back a sigh as Mr. Drake walks off, glancing at his watch, then forlornly at the door once he realizes he has to be here at least another hour. 

“Okay,” he tells himself. “Just gotta keep moving. Get a few more quotes, and this’ll be over before I know it.”

Clark exhales, then turns to go find someone else to interview.

Which is when he runs straight into someone and nearly knocks them over.

“Oh!” Clark quickly moves to help the man up, despite the fact that his glasses have been knocked askew. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry-!”

The man laughs, and Clark freezes.

He’s heard that laugh before, on late night shows and random tabloid clips.

And when the man looks up at him, with those striking blue-gray eyes that he’s spent way too much time thinking about this past week, Clark briefly wonders if he’s somehow having a nightmare.

Or, possibly, a dream that ends with him tangled up in his sheets and needing to do extra laundry.

“Oh, I’m fine. You’re not even the first person to run into me tonight.” Wayne looks him up and down, then smiles suggestively. “Though I have to say, I don’t mind running into you as much as I minded running into Senator Cray.”

Clark’s heart stutters in his chest. 

“I… uh.” Clark swallows as he adjusts his glasses. “I… I still should have been watching where I was going.”

“Well, so should I. Really, now, can’t we just call it even?” 

“I…” Gosh, Bruce Wayne has a really nice smile. “I guess so.”

“I appreciate that, Mister…?”

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” Clark answers automatically. He then tries not to wince.

“Ah, so you’re a reporter.” Wayne frowns. “What happened to Miss Grant?”

“Oh, she, uh, she caught the flu, so I’m covering for her.”

“I see.” Wayne smiles again, and Clark’s stomach does a front flip. “Well, seems like Miss Grant’s misfortune has led to my lucky day, then.”

And yep, now Clark’s definitely blushing. 

“I, um, uh-!”

“Brucie!” 

Clark hopes his relief isn’t too obvious as he turns to look at his savior, who turns out to be an actress he’s seen in… something, he doesn’t quite remember.

“Yvonne,” Wayne greets. “I had no idea you were coming to this.”

“Well, I happened to be in town, and a friend of mine had a ticket they weren’t using. It’s so wonderful to see you!”

“You too. Have you wrapped filming on that project you were telling me about?”

“Yes, though I’m not sure when it’s coming out…”

Clark glances away as Wayne and Yvonne begin conversing, biting his lip. Perry would probably be deeply unimpressed at best if he found out Clark ran into Wayne and didn’t grab a quote from him, but… well, he can probably source a good quote from someone else, right?

Besides, Wayne’s obviously busy now. It would be rude to interrupt him. 

And so, Clark slips away, heading back into the crowd to talk to a rich person who doesn’t make him feel like he’s going to spontaneously combust. 

The next hour goes… okay. 

Well. It’s not a disaster, at least. This really isn’t Clark’s beat, and while Cat gave him a few pointers, he can’t say he doesn’t feel weird lobbing softballs at people he’d usually be questioning about unfair labor practices. 

But he does it, and he thinks he gets enough to form some kind of cohesive narrative of the night. It won’t be his best work, he can already tell that much, but it’ll be passable.

“Thank you so much for your time, ma’am,” he says as cheerfully as possible before putting his phone back in his pocket. Once he’s alone, he lets out a long sigh, checking his watch. 

Ten twenty-eight PM. Late enough that he could call it quits without missing anything important. His shoulders sag in relief as he turns toward the exit.

“Leaving already?”

Clark jolts, eyes going wide as he turns to look at Wayne.

“Mr. Wayne! I, well, I figured that I had enough quotes for the article, so…” Clark resists the urge to tug at his collar, hoping his face isn’t too red. “I was just about to head back to my hotel, actually.”

“Mm. Well, you know, whenever Miss Grant comes to one of these things, she always makes sure to get a quote from me. I’d daresay your editor-in-chief is expecting it by now.”

Clark swallows, glancing away.

“Well, um, I… I suppose I wouldn’t want to, to disappoint Perry…”

“Wonderful. Come on, then.”

Clark blinks as Wayne starts walking back into the ballroom. He quickly starts following him, nearly tripping over his own two feet- not on purpose, for once.

“Where, ah, where exactly are we going?”

“The balcony.” Wayne looks over his shoulder, a mirthful twinkle in his eye. “You look like you could use some air.”

Clark’s face goes hot, and he glances away, both to avoid eye contact and to avoid the temptation to look down at certain… assets.

He has to admit, the cool night air does help a little. Clark’s never been especially affected by the weather, given that he’s not biologically human, but the quiet and the breeze are nice.

“So,” Wayne starts as he leans against the marble railing, “let’s get started, shall we?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Clark says, fumbling for his phone for a minute before he finally gets it out of his pocket. He clears his throat, then turns it on. “Mr. Wayne, this is the tenth annual fundraiser the Wayne Foundation has put on. After a decade of work, would you say that you’ve reached the goals you set for yourself?”

Wayne thinks on this for a minute.

“I think we have,” he answers, “but I also know never to get complacent, especially in Gotham. The Wayne Foundation is constantly looking for ways to better the lives of Gothamites in any way possible. These fundraisers are an important part of that, but we’re committed to doing good year-round.”

Clark nods along. It’s a perfectly good, if slightly generic, answer, one typical of Bruce Wayne- or rather, whatever publicist gives him these answers. Maybe that’s something he’d hold Wayne’s feet to the fire on another night, but after spending hours chasing down drunk rich people he doesn’t have the energy. 

Instead he asks a few more follow-up questions, mostly about potential future projects, then exits out of his recording app.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne.”

“Of course.” Wayne smiles at him. “So… does this mean you’re off the clock?”

Clark nearly drops his phone, face flushing as he looks away.

“I, uh, um-!” Clark swallows, shifting from foot to foot. “Mr. Wayne, I-!”

“Bruce.”

Clark blinks, looking up at him.

“Pardon?”

“Call me Bruce,” Wayne says as he steps closer. Clark’s heart skips a beat, his cheeks heating even more.

“I… I don’t know if that’s appropriate…”

Wayne chuckles.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says. “But even then, is it so wrong to get to know each other a little better?”

Clark clears his throat.

“I- why, why would you want to get to know me?”

Wayne raises an eyebrow.

“Why would I want to get to know a very handsome man? I know my reputation mostly skews towards women, but I’ve been out for the better part of a decade by this point, Mr. Kent. I think you’re fully capable of guessing why I’m interested in you.”

Clark is definitely bright red by now. He bites his lip, glancing away.

He should say no. This is Ethics 101 stuff: don’t get into bed with anyone you report on. 

Besides, Bruce Wayne is a man, and Clark’s not- well, he is, but he’s not-

He’s never-

A thought occurs to him, one that he’s… not quite proud of.

It’s not like anyone I know would find out.

And yeah, that’s… probably not the kind of thoughts a journalist, let alone Superman, should be having. He’s probably going to have to sit with himself later and unpack the whole thing.

But right now…

Well. Right now Bruce Wayne is looking at him like he wants to eat him alive, and Clark’s been single for two months, and…

And Bruce Wayne is really, really good-looking.

Clark is Superman, sure, but he’s not a saint.

“I… I guess that would be-!”

The Gray Ghost theme starts blaring. Clark blinks, furrowing his brow before Wayne takes his phone out of his pocket. He glances at the screen, then lets out a small sigh.

“I’m sorry, I need to take this.” Wayne puts his phone up to his ear. “Alfred? Is everything alright?”

Wayne listens for a moment, then frowns.

“Is he alright?” Another pause, followed by a sigh. “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Wayne hangs up, then gives Clark an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, I need to get going. Family emergency, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, uh, that’s… that’s alright,” Clark says, feeling much more disappointed than relieved, followed by feeling guilty for that.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Kent.” Wayne smiles at him again. “Hope we can do it again sometime.”

Clark’s heart skips a beat, but before he can say anything Wayne walks back into the ballroom, the doors closing behind him.

For a second, Clark just stares after him.

Then… well.

Then everything sort of hits him all at once.

“What the heck,” he spits. “What the actual heck is wrong with you, Clark Joseph Kent?”

What was he thinking? Is he really that hard up that he’d actually… he has integrity! Journalistic integrity!

Clark pauses, then grimaces a little.

Well, mostly. Publishing interviews with himself is a little bit ethically dubious. 

But still! He’s never- he doesn’t sleep with people he covers!

Even if they’re really handsome. And have broad shoulders… a strong jawline… really beautiful eyes…

Clark groans, tipping his head back and covering his face. 

Goodness. He hasn’t felt this flustered around someone since…

Well. Since he first met Lois. 

He’ll admit, he normally plays up the whole “bumbling, stumbling, wide-eyed midwestern hayseed” thing in public. He’s not actually that clumsy (anymore), or that easily flustered.

Except when he’s faced with someone who’s attractive, who he doesn’t know well yet.

Then he tends to make a fool out of himself without it being on purpose.

And this time, it just happened to be in front of an enigmatic, occasionally ditzy billionaire. 

Who also happens to be a man.

Clark sighs, running his hand down his face. He leans back on the balcony railing, taking a few deep breaths.

This is a really bad place to have a mild crisis over his professionalism and sexual orientation, he thinks. 

He’s not really sure how long he stays out there. He can see the party going on inside, can hear the raucous laughter of the crowd grow louder and drunker. 

Lois would say it’s a good time to grab a few quotes from tipsy industrialists who won’t realize they’ve spilled the beans until it’s too late. 

Clark… doesn’t really want to do that. Honestly, he should just go back to the hotel, put together an outline for the column and then go to bed. He sighs, then gets back to a standing position intending to do just that.

Which is when he hears it.

An explosion, about fifteen miles east from here. Clark turns, eyes widening when he sees a plume of smoke rising into the air. He strains his hearing, concentrating on that general area.

“- the vault! And they took half the foundation with it, this building could come down any minute!”

“Shoot,” Clark mutters under his breath. He glances back at the party, then, assured that no one is looking out onto the balcony, jumps over the railing. He lands in the bushes, strips down to his suit, then quickly hides his clothes somewhere they hopefully won’t get too dirty before speeding off toward the bank.

A smattering of police cars, as well as one sleek black vehicle that Clark would have to know absolutely nothing about Gotham not to recognize, are strewn in front of the bank. Just as Clark arrives, one of the windows shatters open, a number of henchmen barrelling straight through it. A masked teen in red, green, yellow, and black jumps out, dusting his hands together. 

“B, I got the last one out. It’s just you and the ringleader now.”

“Roger that-!”

There’s a horrible groaning noise from the building. Clark x-rays it to see that there are only two people left inside, and that the walls are starting to crumble. Without hesitating, he speeds into the building, coming upon Batman and a masked bank robber in the vault just as the former knocks the latter out. 

He doesn’t hesitate to grab them both.

“Wh-!”

Clark rushes them both out of the building just as it starts to cave in, letting the robber fall down in a heap and gently placing Batman down on the ground before landing next to him.

“Well, it sure was lucky I was in town, wouldn’t you agree-?”

Batman immediately lurches over and vomits all over Clark’s boots.

“Ah,” Clark says.

Batman groans, wiping at his mouth before looking up at Clark. His eyes are hidden by white lenses, but he gets the distinct impression that he’s glaring at him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Clark frowns.

“Saving your life.”

“I had that situation well in hand.”

“Wh- the building was about to collapse!”

“And I could have gotten out of it in time.”

“There was barely ten seconds between when I went in and when the building collapsed, you couldn’t have gotten yourself out, let alone with,” Clark gestures to the still unconscious man next to him, “this guy on your shoulder!”

Batman scoffs.

“I’ve been doing this for years longer than you have, do you honestly think this is the first collapsing building I’ve had to face? It’s not even the first time this particular bank has gone down in the last five years. Your interference was unnecessary.”

Clark opens his mouth to argue, but finds himself interrupted when a young voice calls out to them.

“B! B, are you alright-? Whoa.”

Clark turns to see the masked teen from before- Robin, he remembers.

“Superman!” Robin looks down, frowning. “Why is there vomit on your boots?”

“Well…”

“Nevermind that,” Batman says gruffly as he walks toward Robin. “We’re leaving.”

“Aw, but B-!”

“No buts. We’re going.”

Robin huffs, shooting Clark an apologetic look as he follows Batman over toward the Batmobile.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Clark calls, flying over and landing in front of Batman.

“Get out of my way.”

“I will, I just… look, I know Guy already asked you and you turned him down, but-!”

“No.”

Even though he was expecting that answer, Clark tries not to wince at the sheer ice in Batman’s voice.

“You could at least-!”

“Not. Interested. Move.”

Clark sighs.

“Alright, I understand.” He smiles. “It was still nice to properly meet you, though.”

Batman stares at him for a long minute. 

“... get out of my city,” he mutters before walking around Clark and getting into his vehicle. 

“Sorry about him,” Robin says with a sheepish little shrug. Clark gives him his most reassuring Superman smile, and he beams before getting in on the passenger side door. Seconds later, the Batmobile peels out, and Clark grimaces.

“... that could have gone a lot better,” he mutters to himself.

Then, he turns around and walks over to where the fire department’s just arrived.

After all, Gotham might not be his city, but that’s not going to stop him from helping out while he’s here.

Even if it goes unappreciated by a certain someone.

The following Monday, Clark heads into his regular job as he normally does. Steve gives him a hard time like usual, Ron vaguely acknowledges his existence, and Jimmy greets him like a real friend.

Lois’ desk is still empty. Clark tries to keep his attention away from it, keep his mind on trying to craft some kind of article around the quotes he’d gotten. The idea he’d had last night wasn’t coming out as well as he’d hoped on the page, but if he reworks a few paragraphs he might be able to salvage it.

Either way, Perry will probably never put him on this beat again. Which is something he can live with.

Clark sighs, propping up his head with his elbow.

He can live with it, except…

Well. Maybe it would have been nice to have an excuse to see Bruce Wayne again.

Clark grimaces.

No, no, it’s- it’s better that he doesn’t have a way to see him. Clearly, he can’t trust himself not to make bad, potentially career-ruining and otherwise life-changing decisions around that man. 

Even if those decisions sounded really appealing when he was lying alone in his bed last night.

Clark sighs again, running a hand through his hair.

There’s no use in moping about it. It’s not like he’ll ever see him again. Bruce Wayne hasn’t had a single solo interview with a real journalist since his triumphant return to Gotham a decade ago, so unless Clark starts owing Cat too many favors the likelihood that they’ll ever be in the same place again is nil.

And anyway, it’s better that he doesn’t.

It’s best if he just never thinks about Bruce Wayne again-!

“Clark Kent?”

Clark looks up, blinking when he sees a delivery person with-

With a bouquet of roses in their arms.

“Uh… here?” Clark says, raising his arm.

The delivery person walks over to him, holding out the bouquet.

“Here, this is for you.”

They all but shove it at him, and Clark has no choice but to take it if he doesn’t want a face full of rose petals and thorns.

Not that the latter would hurt him, but that’s a problem all its own considering he’s at his day job.

“Uh, I didn’t-!”

“Sign here, please,” they say, holding out an electronic pad and a stylus.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t order any flowers,” Clark says.

“Already been paid for, sir. I just need a signature.”

Clark frowns, but quickly puts his signature down.

“Have a nice day, sir,” they say in a bored tone before walking away, leaving Clark sitting dumbfounded with a bunch of mysterious roses in his arms. He looks down at them, wondering what he should do- ideally, he’d get them in some water, but he’s at work, and anyway he doesn’t actually have a vase back at his apartment-!

“Hey, Clark, did you see the-? Whoa, where’d you get those?”

Clark shrugs at Jimmy. 

“A delivery person practically forced them on me. Said they were already paid for.”

“Really? Who are they from?”

“Not sure.” Clark shifts the bouquet around, at which point he catches sight of a card buried amongst the petals. He plucks it out, turning it over.

Clark- 

Sorry again that we had to cut our conversation short. I’d love it if you gave me a call sometime.

B.W.

Below that is a phone number. 

Clark’s heart skips a beat, but before he can really even comprehend the fact that he has Bruce Wayne’s phone number, the card is snatched out of his hand.

“Wh-! Hey!”

“‘Clark, sorry again we had to cut our conversation short,’” Steve reads out as he walks away from Clark’s desk. “‘I’d love it if you gave me a call sometime?’ Aw, Kent, did your girlfriend send you these?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Steve, it’s just- someone I ran into at the Wayne Foundation gala, that’s all.”

“Wow, a rich secret admirer. Didn’t you think you had it in you, Clark,” Jimmy comments.

“No, I-! It’s not like that!” Clark protests as his face goes red.

“Ooh, ooh, let me guess, you got the attention of some hot older woman who-!”

“What are you three doing?”

Clark has never been so grateful to hear Perry’s voice in all his life. 

“Uh, nothing, sir!” Clark says. “Just… talking.”

“Well quit talking and get back to work!” Perry’s eyes flit down to the bouquet. “Kent, don’t get flowers delivered here.”

“I didn’t- er, yes, chief.”

“And don’t call me chief!” Perry snaps before returning to his office. 

Steve returns the card to Clark, then claps him on the shoulder.

“Don’t think you’ve gotten out of telling me about your MILF, Smallville.”

“There is no- one of those!” Clark stutters out as Steve walks away. Jimmy just shrugs at him, then turns back to his own desk.

Clark sighs, then looks down at the card. He grimaces, tossing it into the trash can under his desk. 

Approximately three minutes later, he fishes it back out.

After all, might not be the worst idea in the world to have Bruce Wayne’s personal number. Maybe he can convince him to give a real, in-depth interview for once.

Chapter Text

The drive up to the Batcave is silent save for the low hum of the Batmobile’s engine. If Bruce didn’t know better, he’d think Dick was pouting about not getting to hang around with Superman more.

Well. He probably is. Bruce is just choosing to ignore it.

Dick’ll learn eventually.

He pulls into the parking spot just below the giant penny that Dick insisted on keeping, turning the car off. Dick gets out without a word, and Bruce resists the urge to sigh as he gets out.

“Welcome back, Master Bruce, Master Dick,” Alfred greets them. “I trust that everything went as well as possible, considering that the bank is now a pile of rubble? Again?”

Bruce grunts, yanking his cowl off and walking over to the small sink where he keeps the emergency toothpaste and toothbrushes.

“It’s fine. That bank was about to go under financially anyway.”

“I’m sure that will be a comfort to the people whose valuables have been crushed, sir,” Alfred says dryly.

“Don’t mind him, Alfred, he’s just grumpy cause we saw Superman,” Dick says as he takes off his mask.

Alfred looks a bit surprised for once.

“You did?”

“Yup! B threw up on his boots.”

“Oh dear. Accidentally tried the shrimp scampi again, sir?”

Bruce rolls his eyes, then spits into the sink and rinses out his mouth.

“I was seven, Alfred, let it go,” he says as he walks over to the computer. “And I didn’t, Superman just decided it was a good idea to use superspeed on a non-meta without warning.”

“Ah, I see. Would you like something to settle your stomach, Master Bruce?”

“Some water will be fine,” Bruce tells him while he sits down brings up the log. 

“Very good, sir. Also, you received a call on the landline earlier.”

“What’s a landline?” Dick calls from way over at the changing station.

“It’s a kind of phone line that allows multiple phones to have the same number. Most people used them for house phones before cell phones became prominent,” Bruce explains, not looking away from his computer or acknowledging the sudden feeling of being old. “Who was it?”

“The mayor’s secretary.”

Bruce doesn’t jump. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t look over incredulously or with his features distorted by anger. 

His fingers barely pause in their typing.

“What for?” He asks in as bland a tone as he can muster.

“She wished to inquire if you would be coming to the mayor’s re-election campaign fundraiser in two weeks. You didn’t RSVP the written invitation that was sent through the mail.”

Bruce glances over at Alfred. 

“I don’t recall receiving a written invitation.”

“Must have gotten lost in the post,” Alfred responds without even blinking. Bruce rolls his eyes, then turns back to the computer.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Sir?” Alfred asks, sounding surprised.

“‘It’s good to be seen at these things,’” Bruce quotes. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me? Besides, I’d be expected to show up after how involved I was in his previous campaigns.”

“Well, yes, but…” After a moment, Alfred sighs. “Very well, sir.”

He hears Alfred’s footsteps as he walks toward the elevator, the door hissing as it closes behind him.

“... B?” 

Bruce glances over his shoulder at Dick, who’s gotten out of uniform. His lips are pinched in that way that means he’s worried about something.

“You’re… just gonna talk to him if you go, right? You’re not gonna…”

Bruce turns back to his computer.

“Not for you to worry about, chum.”

“But-!”

“Dick, it’s fine. Go get some sleep.”

Dick is silent and still for a long moment, but soon enough Bruce hears his footsteps echoing against the metal floor. Right when he expects to hear the elevator door slide open and shut, though, he hears Dick speak again.

“He was awful to you,” Dick says quietly. “At the end, I mean. Just… remember that, okay?”

Before Bruce can remind him who the adult is here, he’s gone. Bruce grimaces, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Then, he leans forward and clicks around until he encounters the password-protected file he wants. He enters it, and the file on his investigation into the mayor opens up. 

He’s been compiling this one for a while. Dick and Alfred don’t know about it- if they did, they’d try and talk him out of it, thinking it was too personal.

Maybe it was, at the beginning. It wasn’t even really an investigation then. He was just keeping an eye on him, making sure he was safe.

Making sure he didn’t do anything… rash.

That’s not the case anymore.

Bruce leans back in his chair, tenting his fingers.

He’s managed to gather quite a bit of evidence by this point. Clandestine meetings, shelved proposals, dropped investigations- all of it points to something less than ethical.

None of it's enough for a conviction, not with his methods, but it could be enough to force an investigation at a higher level than GCPD, at the very least.

The problem, though, is how to get it out there. Gordon’s clean, sure, but he can only do so much, and Bruce trusts exactly one other person in the GCPD. This would get buried in a heartbeat.

He could bring forth the accusations as Bruce Wayne. Given his former public friendship with the mayor, some people would definitely start asking questions, but would it be enough? Besides that, he couldn’t bring forward the evidence. People would start asking too many questions.

And anyway, a PR war with the mayor’s office is the last thing he needs.

So, that leaves one route: he goes to the press. 

New issues abound there, though. He doesn’t have anyone in any of the big Gotham papers that he finds particularly trustworthy- if anyone, maybe Vicki Vale, but he’s uncertain she could do the story justice, and besides that he trusts the Gazette’s editor-in-chief even less.

It would need to be someone outside of Gotham. Someone with an unimpeachable record, with a reputation for speaking truth to power.

He already has someone in mind. He types in the name, and soon the face of one Lois Lane has appeared on his screen, along with the article she cowrote about Lex Luthor last year. 

As well as her most recent article covering the parliamentary elections in Pokolistan.

Bruce frowns. With Lane out of the country for the next two months, she wouldn’t be able to cover this. There’d be enough time left before the election, but the longer this is allowed to go on, the worse it’ll be for Gotham.

Therefore, he’ll need the next best thing to Lane. 

Ron Troupe would be the most fitting, given that he’s the Planet’s politics reporter, but Metropolis has its own mayoral campaign going on, not to mention the federal midterms. He wants someone who’ll put their full attention on this.

Cat Grant and Steve Lombard are both out automatically. Neither of them have the investigative experience or the reputation to handle a story like this, much as Grant might want to.

That leaves one person- one he’s already familiar with.

He brings up his staff photo, and the reporter from the gala smiles nervously back at him.

It takes Bruce less than ten minutes to put together a profile on him.

Clark Joseph Kent, age thirty-one. Born in Smallville, Kansas to Jonathan and Martha Kent. Graduated from Smallville High School, majored in journalism at Metropolis University where he graduated with honors. Interned at the Metro Eagle before joining the Daily Planet, where he now works as an investigative reporter. Wrote an unusual amount of articles early on in his career about how many lead pipes were still in use in Metropolis despite promises to replace them. Now generally writes about exploitation of workers and does exclusive interviews with Superman. 

Kent will do fine. 

He looks around a little more. Kent has no social media to speak of other than a long-abandoned Facebook account and a Twitter solely consisting of links to his articles- likely something mandated by the Daily Planet’s social media outreach team. He doubts Kent even checks it outside of that.

He finds his current address. That’ll be useful later, but right this minute sending him anything there would likely just put him on edge.

Bruce thinks for a moment.

Kent seemed… flustered most of the time they spent together at the gala. Not only that, but in the end, he seemed somewhat receptive to Bruce’s flirting.

It had been genuine at that point. Kent’s certainly Bruce’s type, and it’s been a while since he brought someone into his bed, or even made the effort to make it look like he was. He’d been hoping for a harmless night of fun and blowing off steam before Alfred called with the bank robbery.

Now, though. Now, it could be an in.

Bruce shuts down the Batcomputer, then moves to shower and change into regular clothes. Once he’s out of the Batcave, he turns his phone back on and navigates to the website of his regular florist, who by coincidence just opened up a Metropolis location.

After all, who doesn’t like getting roses?

Two weeks pass. Kent doesn’t call.

That’s fine. Bruce didn’t really expect him to. Kent’s probably still debating the ethics of the whole thing right now. 

Still, if it goes on much longer, he’ll need to start thinking of a Plan B. The gala is just days away, and it might be the best opportunity he has to get Kent onto the mayor’s scent.

He’s just started trying to figure out how to orchestrate a normal interview between Kent and the mayor when he opens the door to Lucius’ office.

“Lucius, have you seen-!”

Bruce walks right into what he can only describe as a solid wall of muscle. He stumbles back, blinking in shock.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so- Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce blinks again, eyes focusing on the person in front of him.

The very familiar person in front of him.

Bruce’s lips turn up in a grin.

“Mr. Kent. We have to stop running into each other like this.”

Kent flushes a bit, clearing his throat.

“I, uh, I was just, just interviewing Mr. Fox about a housing project the Wayne Foundation is working on.”

“Oh, right, the, uh… the one in the Narrows, right?”

“Heritage Hill, Bruce,” Lucius replies.

Bruce knows that, of course. What’s more, Lucius knows that Bruce knows, because Bruce was the one who pushed for the entire project in the first place, and is the one who put in extra cash on the offer when the company that owned the old building was being stubborn about selling.

But Clark Kent doesn’t know that.

“Right, right, that old thing. Well, good on you, Lucius.” Bruce smirks up at Kent. “Well, if you’re done here, how about I walk you out?”

Kent’s eyes widen slightly.

“I, uh, that’s- I wouldn’t want to keep you from your talk with Mr. Fox-!”

“Nonsense, I’d be happy to.” Bruce glances over at Lucius. “You’ll survive without me for a few minutes, won’t you, Lucy?”

Lucius raises an unimpressed eyebrow. Bruce is probably going to have to apologize for that one. Some wine he likes, or something.

“I think I’ll be fine,” he replies. “I have some proposals I need to look over anyway.”

“Great! So?”

Kent glances away, clearing his throat.

“Well, I… I suppose it’d be nice to have someone walk me out.”

Bruce grins at him, and a pretty pink flush washes over Kent’s cheeks. 

Briefly, Bruce wonders how far he can make that flush go down Kent’s body, but he puts the thought aside.

“Come on, then. The traffic on the Gotham-Metropolis bridge waits for no man.” Bruce shrugs. “Or so I’m told, at least.”

Kent nods, then starts following as Bruce guides him toward the elevator. He’s silent as they get in, eyes aimed away from Bruce. 

Seems like Bruce is going to have to be the one to break the ice here.

“I read your article,” he says as the elevator starts its descent.

“You- you did?”

“Sure.” Bruce smirks at him. “You’re not one of those people who thinks I can’t read, are you?”

“No!” Kent says quickly. “No, I, of course not, I just… I didn’t think you’d read it, that’s all.”

“I like to read the things I’m quoted in. See how the general public views me, that sort of thing. Anyway, it was pretty good work for something that’s not your usual beat.”

Kent flushes a little, clearing his throat.

“Thanks, I… I do my best.” Kent bites his lips. “Um… about the, ah, the flowers…”

“Too much?” Bruce asks.

“No!” Kent says quickly. “No, that’s- that’s not it, I just… um. I wasn’t expecting you to… I didn’t think you’d still be interested, that’s all.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“I did say I hoped we could do it again sometime.”

“Well, yes, but that’s sort of just something people say, right? To be polite.”

“Oh, my intentions were the furthest thing from polite, Mr. Kent.”

Kent’s cheeks redden. There’s a tiny smile on his lips.

“I see. Well, um, that’s… that’s good to know.”

“Mm. But getting back to your work, I have a bit of a proposal for you.”

Kent glances over at him.

“And what would that be?”

“The mayor is having a fundraiser for his re-election campaign this Friday night. I think it’d be wonderful if you covered it.”

Kent furrows his brow.

“Mr. Wayne, I work for a Metropolis newspaper.”

Bruce waves him off.

“Semantics. Besides, we’re sister cities- I know for a fact that the Gazette sent a reporter to cover Mayor Fleming’s fundraiser last month. What happens in Gotham affects Metropolis, and vice versa.”

Kent purses his lips.

“I’m just not sure if Perry would go for it,” he admits. “He can be picky about what gets covered outside of Metropolis if it’s not national news.”

Bruce hums.

“How about this,” he starts. “You go to the gala, and I’ll grant you an exclusive interview.”

Kent’s eyes go wide.

“I- me? But… you don’t do interviews. Not one-on-one, in-depth interviews, anyway.”

“Nope. But I like you. More than that, I like your work.” Bruce grins. “And hey, it’s an excuse to spend time with you, isn’t it?”

Kent bites his lip, clearly thinking it over. 

“Well… I guess I can at least ask Perry about it?” He offers.

It’s a flimsy excuse for a possible “no.” They both know there’s absolutely no way White will give any answer except “yes.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bruce says. He grins. “See you Friday, Mr. Kent.”

Then he winks at him. Kent, of course, turns bright red.

Bruce has to admit, it’s adorable.

The sun is just about to start setting when Bruce arrives back at the Manor that evening, the sky still blue behind the thinner-than-usual cloud cover.

“Welcome home, Master Bruce,” Alfred greets as Bruce walks in, closing the door behind him. “Did you have a productive day at work?”

“I’d say so,” Bruce replies. “Where’s Dick?”

“Master Dick is in the gym, sir.”

Bruce turns to look at Alfred.

“And how long has he been in there?”

“Since returning home from school approximately two hours and twenty minutes ago,” Alfred replies. 

“Of course he has,” Bruce says as he starts heading for the stairs.

“Shall I tell him it’s time to do his homework?”

“I’ll tell him when I head down there in a few minutes,” he calls as he heads up towards his bedroom. Once he’s changed into his workout clothes, he heads down into the gym, where sure enough Dick is in the middle of a gymnastics routine on the tumbling mat.

It hadn’t been a hardship, expanding the gym and refitting it with more acrobatics and gymnastics-oriented equipment. It had made the transition easier for Dick, having somewhere where he could practice.

That’s probably why Bruce is a little more lenient than he should be about how long he spends in here. There’s not a lot that makes the kid this happy.

Besides Superman, but Bruce is trying to discourage that particular interest.

Still, once Dick lands in a perfect dismount off some sort of front flip, he figures it’s a good stopping point.

“Time’s up, chum.”

Dick groans, sagging his shoulders.

“Aw, B, come on.”

“Nope. It’s a school night, and you have homework.”

“I did my homework during school!”

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“... I did most of my homework during school,” Dick amends.

“You have to do all of it before dinner, you know that. Go on, get moving.”

“Ugh, fine…”

“And take a shower before we eat, you know Alfred hates it when you come to the table smelling like the gym!” Bruce calls as Dick walks out of the gym. Dick just grumbles in response, and Bruce shakes his head before slipping in his earbuds and starting his usual news podcast. Today’s episode is about Lena Luthor attempting to drag LuthorCorp out of the mud, with an interview with the woman herself as the main segment.

Bruce has to admit, he feels for her. He remembers being in her shoes six years ago after the board nearly drove his family’s company into the ground. He doesn’t expect she’ll be successful, but trying to right her brother’s wrongs is a noble task.

Assuming, of course, she’s not just like him. Could be every chance that there’s a new headline in a few years time about her trying to take over Kravia or something.

Still, either way it’s not his problem. Leave that to Superman and the Justice Gang, or whatever they’re called now.

Gotham is his concern.

He gets through his weightlifting routine easily, making a note to add weight to the machine next time. He heads toward the pull-up bar just as Luthor’s segment begins. She’s well-spoken like her brother, but there’s less of a slimy, haughty tone to her voice. She speaks passionately about wanting to do better, about her plans to make good on the promises her brother made.

If she’s faking it, she’s good. Bruce’ll keep an eye on her.

“Sir?” 

Bruce glances over at Alfred, grunting in acknowledgment. In turn, Alfred lifts up an old handheld phone that Bruce recognizes from when he was a small child.

“Phone call for you, sir.”

Bruce pulls himself up so that his chin is over the bar and stays there.

“From who?” He asks, voice barely strained.

“The mayor’s office.”

Bruce’s grip on the bar slips. He manages to catch himself before he falls.

“I see.” Bruce exhales, then lowers himself down to the ground. He wipes his hands off with the towel, then takes his earbuds out as he walks over to Alfred. He holds his hand out for the phone.

Alfred looks hesitant.

“Are you… certain, sir?” 

Bruce keeps holding out his hand. Alfred’s lips go tight, but he acquiesces, handing him the phone. 

Bruce turns off the hold, then puts the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?”

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end.

“ Bruce!”

Bruce’s stomach churns. He refuses to let it show on his face.

“Mr. Mayor. You sound surprised.”

There’s a laugh on the other hand. Bruce doesn’t let himself think about how he used to feel about that laugh.

“ You haven’t been very receptive to my calling in the past. Or any of my invitations.” He hears the creak of a chair on the other end. “ Which is why I was surprised to see your note earlier.”

Bruce hums noncommittally.

“You know me. I love a good party.”

The mayor laughs again.

“ You certainly do.” There’s a pause on the other end. “ I… I’m really glad that you’re coming, Bruce. I’ve missed you.”

He hears the shing of a coin flip. Bruce’s grip on the phone tightens minutely. 

“Have you?”

“ Of course! I-I know that we… didn’t leave things off in the best way, but… look, I’ve been trying, alright? It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve been working on myself, and I… I want to make things right with you, Bruce.”

Even after all this time, there’s a part of Bruce that wants, so badly, to believe him.

But his word isn’t worth much to Bruce now.

“I’ll see you on Friday, Mr. Mayor.”

There’s a long exhale on the other end.

“ Yeah, I… I’ll see you then, Bruce.”

Bruce bids him goodbye, then hangs up. He hands the phone back to Alfred, then turns back toward the pull-up bar.

“Master Bruce.”

Bruce pauses just as he slips his left earbud in, looking over at Alfred.

“You’re certain you know what you’re doing?”

Bruce looks at him for a moment, then turns away.

“I do.”

Just as he puts his other earbud in, he hears Alfred murmur “I hope you’re right.”

Chapter Text

There’s someone on top of Clark.

Normally, this is a bad thing. It’s usually some killer robot or angry monster, or Gorilla Grodd if he’s in town and has decided to cause chaos.

Despite that, though, Clark gets the sense that this isn’t like that. He doesn’t mind having this person on top of him- actually, he kind of likes it. 

Might be the lips on his throat, or the hands roaming over his chest. 

Large hands. Larger than he’s ever felt on his body in this context.

Before he can think about it too hard, though, a thumb brushes over one of his clothed nipples, and Clark lets out a soft gasp.

He hears a deep voice chuckle. There’s a shift, and suddenly a thigh is gently pressing between his legs. 

“Ah!” Clark hisses, clutching at the sheets. He hears another chuckle, then feels that large hand slip under his shirt, ghosting over his stomach and making him exhale shakily. “Oh…”

He feels a tongue against his throat, and Clark shivers in response. That hand is around his right pec now, squeezing gently, and Clark wants to squirm away and lean into the touch at the same time. 

Instead, he just moans.

There’s a gentle kiss to his throat, then a shift, and suddenly the person on top of him is instead leaning over him.

“Having fun?”

Clark’s eyes open wide. Bruce Wayne smirks down at him.

“Oh,” Clark breathes. Wayne chuckles, then presses his thigh between his legs again. Clark gasps, rutting into it involuntarily. “M-Mr. Wayne!”

“Now, now,” Wayne murmurs. “I’m sure I told you to call me Bruce, didn’t I?”

Before Clark can say anything, Wayne leans down. Clark’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that Wayne’s about to kiss him, despite everything else Wayne has already done, and he’s getting closer and closer and-!

And then Clark wakes up.

He blinks, staring up at the ceiling. His sheets are pools around his hips, tangled between his legs, and his heart is beating hard in his chest.

Not the only thing that’s hard, unfortunately.

Clark groans, covering his face with his hands. Gosh, how many times is this now? He thought it was bad when it happened just a few times over the past year, usually whenever he or Lois were too busy to see each other, but now that he’s actually met Bruce Wayne it feels like he can barely get any sleep without waking up hard and aching. 

He bites his lip, one of his hands going to his stomach. It would be so easy to just… take care of it. 

(It wouldn’t be the first time he)

Clark groans, then gets up and out of bed. 

He needs to take a jog, or something. The fact that it’s still dark outside can only be to his advantage at this point.

Clark huffs as he jogs back into his building’s lobby, coming to a stop and stretching.

“Morning, Clark,” his neighbor greets him.

“Oh, morning, Mrs. Kazarian. How’s Pinky doing?”

“Still wheezy, I’m afraid. Her appointment with the vet is on Monday, at least.”

Clark smiles at her.

“Well, I hope everything goes well.”

“Me too. What about you, what have you got going on?”

Bruce Wayne’s face flashes into Clark’s head, and it takes everything in him not to blush.

“I, uh, have some work stuff going on.”

Mrs. Kazarian nods understandingly. 

“Part of the job, I’m guessing?”

“Yep. Hopefully I’ll get a good story out of it at least.”

“Hm. Well, don’t work too hard. You’re still young, you’ve got to have some fun while you can.”

Again, Wayne’s face flashes into his mind. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Clark says as he heads for the mailroom. “Say hi to Mr. Kazarian for me!”

“Of course, dear. Have a good day!”

“You too!” 

Clark heads over to the mailboxes, stopping in front of his and digging his key out of his pocket. He tries to open it, only to find that the lock was already open.

He frowns.

“Weird. I could have sworn I locked it…”

After a moment, he shrugs. It wasn’t like he had any important mail coming anyway. He pulls out his mail, then closes the door, making sure to lock it this time.

A few minutes later, the mail’s in a stack on his kitchen table as he boots up his laptop, clicking over to the beginnings of his article on Gotham’s election. He managed to pitch it as a partial profile of Gotham’s mayor, more of a human interest piece than anything outright political. He doesn’t think Ron would really care, but he’d prefer to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes if possible.

So far, he’s managed to cobble together a quick profile of the guy.

Harvey Apollo Dent, aged thirty-four. Elected as Gotham mayor eighteen months ago, becoming the youngest mayor in the city’s history at thirty-two. Prior to that, he was the youngest district attorney in Gotham’s history, elected at age twenty-six. Much of his tenure as DA was focused on stamping out the city’s massive organized crime problem, something he promised to continue as mayor in his initial campaign but hasn’t quite delivered on since. He has somewhat delivered on promises regarding social programs, but most of that is still being handled by the Wayne Foundation rather than the city itself. Opinions of him are fairly split, with an approval rating hovering around forty-nine percent. 

Clark studies the profile a bit.

All in all, Dent’s sort of… boring. Slightly left of center, good speaker, charismatic, but as mayor he hasn’t exactly set the world on fire. 

For Gotham, though, Dent’s practically a marvel. He’s not super effective, but he’s not all but openly taking bribes from the mob either. Given that was the case for the last three mayors, such a thing could be a breath of fresh air for Gothamites.

That could be an angle, Clark thinks. He’d need to spend more time in Gotham, get quotes from average people on the street, but it’s something-!

Clark’s phone rings, derailing his train of thought. He grabs it, smiling when he sees the picture of his mom on the caller ID.

“Hey Ma!” He greets when he picks up. 

“Hi, sweetheart! How are you?”

“Good. Is Pa with you?”

“Yeah, I’m here, son. We just thought we’d call to say hi and see what you’ve got going on this weekend.”

Clark hesitates, because- well, what is he supposed to say? 

Hey, Ma, Pa, I’m going to a fundraiser for another city’s mayor that a really attractive billionaire invited me to. Also he’s a guy, and also I’m more okay with possibly dating a guy than I’ve let on in the past.

Right. Because that’s a great way to come out to your parents.

If that was what he wanted to do, of course.

“I’ve got a work event tonight, actually,” he settles on.

“Again? Clark, I think that boss of yours is working you too hard.”

“I’ll be fine, Ma. Besides, the piece was my idea.” Clark decides it’s best to change the subject. “How’s Mrs. Martindale doing?”

That, of course, sets his mom off into a long tangent. They’ll be here a while. Clark grabs his letter opener, idly opening his mail as she talks and murmuring “uh-huh” at appropriate points. It’s mostly bills and junk- he really needs to figure out how to get off those mailing lists- but there’s one envelope that catches his eyes.

Specifically, because it has no return address.

Clark frowns, cutting open the envelope. He pries it open, pulling out the contents.

It’s a printed out picture of Harvey Dent exiting a building. There’s another man next to him, slightly older and followed by tough-looking men in nice suits. 

“What in the world…?” He murmurs. He turns over the photo, where a message is scrawled in neat handwriting.

Keep an eye on Dent.

“Clark? Is everything alright, sweetheart?”

“Uh, yeah, Ma, just- I gotta go, actually. Need to get ready to head over to Gotham for the, uh, the work thing.”

“Gotham?! Clark, are you sure that’s safe? I’ve heard awful things about the crime in that city…”

Clark rolls his eyes fondly.

“Pa, it’s gonna be fine. I don’t think random Gotham street toughs are in possession of kryptonite or magic.”

“Well, if you’re sure… call us when you get there, alright?”

“Yeah, Pa, I will. I gotta go.”

“Alright… well, we love you, Clark.”

Clark smiles.

“I love you guys too. I’ll call later. Bye.”

He hangs up, then turns his focus back to the picture.

He doesn’t recognize the men with Dent in the picture, but the framing clearly suggests that whatever they’re doing, it’s not something he’d want out there.

Just what is he doing, though? And who sent him this?

Before Clark can think too hard about it, his phone starts ringing. When he picks it up, he sees that it’s a timer reminding him that his train to Gotham leaves in an hour.

“Shoot,” he mutters, putting the photo down. He still needs to finish packing.

Just as he’s about to leave the kitchen, he stops, then turns around and grabs the photo.

He doesn’t know why, but he’s got a feeling it’ll be useful later.

Clark hates rented tuxes. They never fit quite right, and somehow a bowtie is even more stifling than his usual neckties.

Granted, it’s not like his usual suits are much better. Sure, it’s on purpose, but they’re still too big, and even he’s not delusional enough to think the patterns look good.

There’s really only one suit he’s ever felt comfortable in. 

But of course, that’s not a suit he can wear to his day job.

So instead, he just sighs and tugs at his collar, trying to get a little more comfortable.

“There you are.”

A hot flush blooms in Clark’s cheeks, his shoulders going rigid. He turns to see Bruce Wayne approaching him, clad in a black tux that, frankly, fits him absolutely perfectly.

(Clark kind of wants to tear it off him)

“Mr. Wayne,” Clark greets as steadily as he can while pushing away thoughts of the dream he’d had last night. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Wayne smiles at him. Clark’s stomach does somersaults.

“Good to see you too.” His eyes flick over him, and his smile slips into a frown. “I hate to tell you this, Mr. Kent, but your tailor did a terrible job.”

“Oh, I- I don’t have a tailor. This is a rental.”

Wayne looks as though this fact has personally wounded him. It’s so comical that Clark has to resist the urge to laugh at his expression.

“Well, next time you need a suit for an event like this, let me know. It wouldn’t do to have those broad shoulders of yours in a jacket that doesn’t fit.”

Clark flushes, clearing his throat.

“I, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.” He hesitates, then takes a breath. “You’d probably know, though, right?”

“Hm?”

“Well, all of your suits always look so good on you.” Clark smiles nervously. “Though I guess that could also just be you in general.”

Wayne blinks, then smirks a little.

“Careful, Mr. Kent, you’ll give me a big head,” he says before waving down one of the servers. “Champagne?”

“Oh, no thanks. I don’t drink on the job.” Plus it wouldn’t affect him anyway, and he’s never been all that good at acting drunk.

“Fair enough,” Wayne says as he takes a flute for himself. “Anyway, I was wondering if-?”

“Bruce!”

Wayne suddenly goes rigid, his heartbeat skipping, but before Clark can ask him what’s wrong he’s plastered on a placid smile and turned towards the source of the call.

“Mr. Mayor,” Wayne greets.

Mayor Dent smiles at Wayne. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“C’mon, Bruce, there’s no need to be so formal.”

Wayne hums noncommittally, then sips his champagne. Dent’s smile falters, though he regains it when he looks over at Clark.

“And you must be…?”

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” Clark answers. 

“Ah, right, the one writing the article. I must say, I was surprised when you reached out to me. I didn’t think Metropolites had any interest in the mayoral election over here.”

“Well, Gotham’s our sister city. What goes on here can easily affect us over in Metropolis.”

“True. Although thankfully the reverse isn’t usually the case. I don’t know that Gotham could handle all the giant monsters Superman ends up having to take down.”

Clark chuckles.

“I’m sure Batman would be able to figure something out.”

Dent’s smile falters slightly.

“Yes, the… the Bat’s quite a sharp cookie,” he says with an obviously fake laugh. “Anyway, you said you wanted some quotes from me for the article?”

“Oh, yes, that would be great!”

“And that’s my cue to go find something else to entertain me,” Bruce says. He puts a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Come find me later, alright?”

He squeezes Clark’s shoulder a little, and Clark has to try very hard not to blush.

It’s a lot less hard when he sees the way Dent’s mouth goes tight.

“Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit, shall we?”

Clark nods, following him over to a somewhat obscured alcove on the side of the ballroom. They sit down on either side of a small, round table, and Clark pulls out his phone, opening his recording app and setting it on the table. 

He starts with smaller questions, mostly reflecting on Dent’s tenure as mayor and his goals for a second term. None of them are particularly hard-hitting, but they’re good for a soundbite. Dent is relaxed throughout the interview, answering Clark’s questions with practiced ease.

He’s charismatic, Clark will give him that.

But that picture… Clark can’t get it out of his head. He doesn’t know who those men in the photograph are, but he’s got a suspicion. 

And so, when they’re about to wrap up, he takes the plunge.

“Actually, I do have one more question, Mr. Dent.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“One of your biggest campaign promises was to root out the mob presence in the city that was largely ignored by your predecessor. Yet eighteen months into your tenure, there’s been little to no progress made on that front. Would you like to explain why?”

Dent blinks.

“I… well, it’s- it’s just not that easy.”

“You didn’t seem to have much trouble with it when you were DA.”

Dent presses his lips into a thin line.

“I have other responsibilities, Mr. Kent. Ones that I didn’t have as DA. It’s much harder to devote my attention to any one thing now.”

“Isn’t that what delegation is for? You could direct the police to investigate suspected mob fronts more rigorously, for example.”

“The police also have their hands full, what with all the street crime and costumed miscreants running around.”

“Is that why they have to outsource their work to a pair of vigilantes?”

Dent grits his teeth, then suddenly calms.

“You know what, Mr. Kent? No comment.” He stands up. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some other business to take care of.”

“Mr. Mayor!” Clark calls as Dent walks away. Clark narrows his eyes at him, then picks up his phone and closes the app. 

It’s not much. 

But it’s not nothing, either.

Clark spends the next half hour or so grabbing quotes from other attendees. All of them express somewhat bland statements of support for Dent, which Clark thinks will contrast well with the few statements of discontent he’s gathered from people on the street so far. 

When he thinks he’s got enough, he decides it’s time to go looking for Bruce. It takes him a minute to locate him, but sure enough he finds him in the center of the ballroom, chatting with other socialites and laughing while sipping champagne.

Clark just looks at him for a long minute.

He’s been… thinking, over the past couple of weeks. 

Really, he’s been thinking since he was thirteen and he and Jake from the farm closest to theirs held hands, but it’s been more recent that he really let himself think about it. Before that, he tried to ignore it, dated women that he did genuinely like, that he was genuinely attracted to, and pretended that his breath never caught when he saw a handsome guy in an ad.

And for a long time now, he’s thought he could live like that. 

If only because the alternative seems terrifying. Letting himself be known, letting himself be even more different than he already is.

Is that something he can handle?

Wayne turns his head slightly, and they make eye contact. His face lights up, and Clark’s heart skips a beat. 

He wants to look away. He wants to walk over to Wayne. 

He wants… he wants…

What does he want?

Before he can make a decision, Dent approaches. Wayne’s expression flickers, and his smile no longer reaches his eyes.

He glances back at Clark. Something in his eyes looks… off.

Wayne doesn’t look like he wants to go with Dent.

Wayne looks… almost afraid.

Clark’s lips part, but before he can do anything they’ve already left the ballroom. He hesitates, then walks over toward a wall, leaning against it and trying to look busy while seeking out the sound of Wayne and Dent’s voices.

“... really glad you decided to come, Bruce.”

“Mm. Well, it’s good to be seen at this kind of thing. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Mayor?”

“... why do you keep calling me that?”

“It’s who you are, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s- Bruce, c’mon, it’s me. You know me.”

Wayne doesn’t say anything to that.

“You know me,” Dent repeats insistently. 

“... do I?” Wayne says after a moment. His voice seems deeper, almost a little gravelly. “Because the last time we spoke, it was like you were an entirely different person.”

Clark blinks.

“I…” A pause, and then Dent sighs. “Look, I’m sorry that… that things ended the way they did. And I’m sorry how I treated you, that wasn’t right.”

Wayne doesn’t respond. His heartbeat is steady.

“I’ve been working on it, you know. The… the anger thing.”

“The anger thing,” Wayne says flatly. “Is that what you call cursing me out in front of my child?”

Clark’s eyebrows rise.

“I’m sorry I did that. I’ll apologize to Dick in person if you-!”

“Not happening.”

Dent inhales, then exhales slowly.

“Okay. I… that’s understandable. But I am sorry.” Clark hears the floorboards creak slightly. “And I’ve missed you, Bruce.”

Wayne’s heartbeat ticks up, then goes back to normal.

Clark suddenly feels like he should not be listening to this, even more than usual

“You know, I’ve never stopped-!”

“Stop.” Wayne’s voice is shockingly stern, serious. “I’m not here for that.”

“What? But… what else would…” After a moment, Dent exhales slowly again. “Okay, well, what are you here for?”

Wayne takes a breath.

“I wanted to tell you in person that I’ve decided not to endorse you for mayor. And I won’t be donating to your campaign.”

“What?!” 

Clark tries not to wince too obviously. 

“Mr. Mayor, let me be frank: you haven’t really done the best job. What accomplishments have you had, a few social programs? And most of that is in conjunction with the Wayne Foundation, it was going to be done anyway. Crime’s still up, barely anything’s been done about corruption in the GCPD, Arkham’s still a hellhole- all those promises you made haven’t been kept.”

“You and I both know that it’s not that easy.”

“You didn’t have so much trouble with it when you were the DA.”

“Ugh, you sound just like that reporter… wait, did- did you have something to do with that? Are you using him to get your opinion out there?”

“It’s not an opinion, Mr. Mayor, it's a fact. You’ve been… ineffective at best. Actively neglectful at worst.”

“Neglectful? You’re acting like I haven’t been trying!”

Wayne doesn’t answer that.

“I am trying!”

“Are you?” Wayne asks, voice flat and… almost familiar, somehow. “What about the Maroni case?”

Dent’s heartbeat speeds up.

“That was dropped due to a lack of progress.”

“The investigation lasted two days before you personally created a new task force aimed at hunting down the Joker and assigned almost every detective on the GCPD’s payroll to it. Some might say that’s sabotage.”

“Well, those people would be wrong. You and I both know the Joker is a dangerous maniac, finding him and getting him where he can’t hurt anyone is priority number one. That was my only motivation.”

Wayne is silent for a long minute.

“I’d like to believe you,” he finally says. “But I’ve heard things. Things I don’t like.”

Dent scoffs.

“Putting stock in rumors now? You, of all people?” Clark hears the floorboard creak. “You and I both know this all is just an excuse.”

Wayne’s heartbeat speeds up, then goes back down.

“It’s not-!”

“It is. You’re not pulling out because you actually think I’m not fit to be mayor,” Dent growls. “You’re pulling out because I stopped letting you fuck me!”

Clark’s eyes go wide.

“That’s not it at all. It has nothing to do with-!”

“Bullshit!” Clark hears something crash to the ground. “You were just using me, weren’t you? The whole time, was I nothing more than a warm body to you?”

“You know that’s not true, but it’s not relevant-!”

“Stop saying that!” 

Another crash. Something shatters this time. 

“Shoot.” 

Clark stands up straight, avoiding the crowd as he follows the sound of both Wayne and Dent’s heartbeats. 

“I never complained, did I? Even when you didn’t return my calls for days, when you disappeared for a month, even when you were parading around other men and women on your arm like the whore you are!”

Clark grits his teeth, picking up the pace as he moves into the hall beside the ballroom.

“We agreed that it was best that I kept up appearances in public, especially since you’re not out. You know I never did anything with them.”

“Do I?! You’re believing in rumors, Bruce, why shouldn’t I?!” Dent laughs. “Although, considering just how boring you are out of the public eye, maybe they’re not true. Maybe you’re just a freak playing at being interesting!”

“Mr. Mayor-!”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

Something else shatters. Wayne’s heartbeat spikes.

“Look, you need to calm down-!”

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me what to do! You’re trying to ruin my life, why should I listen to anything you have to say, you piece of shit?!” 

Clark makes it to the door just as something slams against the wall next to it.

“Harvey-!”

Clark throws open the door, putting on a shocked face when he sees Dent pinning Wayne to the wall.

“Whoops. Sorry, I-I thought this was a bathroom, heh.” He frowns, glancing around the room. There’s some heavy-looking books on the floor by the desk, as well as an overturned lamp with a broken lightbulb and a shattered vase nearby. “Is… everything alright in here?”

Dent lets go of Wayne and takes a step back. He looks stunned, as if the events of the past few minutes are as much a shock to him as anyone.

“I… yes, of- of course.”

“The mayor and I were just having a rather… lively discussion, that’s all,” Wayne says smoothly, dusting off his suit jacket. His heartbeat is surprisingly steady for someone who was just threatened with violence. “No harm done.”

Clark presses his lips together, glancing between them.

“If you’re sure… actually, though, I was looking for you. I was hoping to get a quote from you on the fundraiser?”

Wayne smiles.

“Of course, just give me a minute.”

Clark nods, but doesn’t move. Wayne’s smile falters, but returns a second later. He takes a step toward Dent, leaning in.

“I’ll take care of it,” Wayne murmurs. “Don’t do anything.”

Dent looks like he’s close to being sick as Wayne turns away. 

“Well then, Mr. Kent, shall we?”

Clark nods, glancing over at Dent one last time before following Wayne out of the room. 

“Come on, this way. I could use some air,” Wayne says as he directs Clark toward the balcony. Clark follows him out, staying silent when they stop just before the railing.

“... I don’t suppose you didn’t actually overhear any of that?” Wayne asks for a moment.

“I heard enough,” Clark tells him. He takes a step towards him. “Are you okay?”

Wayne glances over at him, then smiles.

It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, I’m fine. With all those extreme sports I do, a little shove is nothing.” Wayne turns to him. “Now, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

Clark blinks. 

“A favor?”

“Mmhm. See, as much as I’m sure your readership would love to know that the mayor of Gotham was a shitty boyfriend, I’ll have to ask that you keep that out of your article.” 

Clark frowns.

“I think what he said to you far surpasses just being a bad boyfriend, Mr. Wayne.”

“That’s your opinion. Either way, I’d rather not have a PR war with the mayor’s office.” He smirks. “I think my publicist would kill me.”

Clark presses his lips together.

“Mr. Wayne, I… if he did anything to hurt you when you were together-!”

Wayne waves him off.

“He couldn’t hurt a fly. He’s just got a temper.”

“You shouldn’t make excuses for him.”

Wayne is still smirking, but the look in his eyes has turned hollow.

“Who’s making excuses? I know him better than you do, Mr. Kent.” Wayne shrugs. “Besides, it’s not like it was all one-sided. We were terrible to each other by the end.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Clark insists. “You don’t deserve to be spoken to like- like you’re nothing. And I personally think this kind of thing is disqualifying when it comes to public office.”

Wayne looks at him for a long minute, then lets out a sigh. For some reason, it feels like the most genuine thing he’s done all night.

“Look,” he starts, “even if I agreed with you, the fact of the matter is that I don’t have any proof. It’s my word against his, and I have no interest in litigating this in the court of public opinion.” He smirks tiredly. “I’m a man with a certain reputation. Who’d believe me?”

“I would,” Clark says.

“You heard it for yourself.”

“Even if I hadn’t,” Clark argues. “I’d believe you.”

Wayne stares at him, lips parting slightly. After a moment, he looks away.

“... you’re only one person,” he reminds him. “And like I said, I’m not interested in battling this out in the press. I have a child to think about, Mr. Kent, one I’ve already made life difficult for.”

Wayne looks over at him, and Clark suddenly realizes just how tired he looks.

“I won’t stop you from running this story, if that’s what you really want. But I won’t go on the record. I won’t corroborate anything. If anyone asks, I will not provide a comment either way.” Wayne looks at him, eyes cold and calculating. “This isn’t what I want, Mr. Kent. I’d appreciate it if you kept that in mind.”

Clark hesitates, then lets out a long sigh.

“Okay,” he says. “I… I won’t say anything.”

Wayne’s shoulders seem to sag in relief.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

Clark doesn’t reply, instead, turning his gaze towards the night sky and trying to ignore the part of him that feels like absolute garbage.

“... I am sorry that you had to see that,” Wayne says after a moment. “I know it’s hard to believe, but he never did anything like that when we were together."

Clark thinks Wayne’s making excuses. He doesn’t say that, though.

“It’s a nice night out, at least,” he says after a moment.

“Yeah, it is. The light pollution isn’t so bad in this part of the city.”

Clark glances over at Wayne, watching him look at the stars for a long minute.

He’s beautiful, Clark thinks before his face heats up. He looks down at the ground, trying to calm himself.

(Trying not to think of that darn dream)

“Say, why don’t you ask me for that quote?”

“Hm?” Clark asks.

“The one that you said you needed?” Wayne prompts. 

“Oh, uh, right.” Clark pulls out his phone, loads up the app, and clears his throat. “Mr. Wayne, you were one of Mayor Dent’s most prominent supporters in the previous election. Do you plan to continue your support for him in this one?”

“No comment.”

Clark saw that coming given what he overheard, but he can’t really let on about that.

“Oh. Uh… are you satisfied with the job Mayor Dent has done?”

“No comment.”

Clark grimaces, pausing the recording.

“Mr. Wayne, if you don’t actually give me a quote then I don’t have anything I can print.”

“Ask me something that I can give a quote on, then.”

Clark sighs.

“Okay, uh…” Clark turns the recording back on. “Mr. Wayne, what would you say is the biggest issue facing Gotham heading into the mayoral election?”

“Crime, obviously,” Wayne answers. “While street crime has lowered over the past few years, that’s more down to the efforts of Batman than GCPD.”

“You’re not a fan of the Bat?”

Wayne shrugs noncommittally. 

“I consider myself Bat-neutral. I appreciate the work he does, but the fact that someone who dresses up like a flying rodent has been more effective at reducing crime than the people who get paid to do it is nothing if not an indictment of our police force.”

He smirks.

“Plus, those little ears? Kind of silly, don’t you think?”

Clark can’t help but laugh softly at that as he turns off the app.

“Alright, I’m sure I can fit that in somewhere.”

“Great.” Wayne puts his hands in his pockets. “You know, these things can be good for people watching if you’ve got a friend with you.”

Clark blinks, then smiles.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And if you don’t have anything else to do, it could be fun.”

Clark thinks about it for a minute.

“Just one more thing,” Clark says. “Off the record.”

Wayne snorts.

“Alright, Columbo, what do you got?”

“Your ringtone. It’s the Gray Ghost theme, isn’t it?”

Wayne blinks, eyebrows rising.

“You know that show?”

“My parents are a little older,” Clark explains. “Ma grew up watching it.”

“That show came out in 1966.”

“Yeah, but it ran in syndication until 1982. And Ma had the whole series on tape.” Clark smiles softly. “When I was probably, hm, five or so? There was a tornado warning in the area, and I was scared of the siren. We had an old TV with a VCR attached in the cellar in case we got stuck down there for a while, and Ma put on an episode to keep me distracted. After that, it was pretty much the only thing I ever wanted to watch.”

He chuckles.

“I was even the Gray Ghost for Halloween that year. Nobody got my costume, but I didn’t care. I loved it.”

Wayne doesn’t speak for a minute.

“I used to watch with my father,” he finally says. “It was his favorite show.”

Wayne takes a breath.

“I was… probably three the first time he sat me down and showed me an episode.” He smiles. “My mother actually got quite upset with him over it. Said it was too violent.”

“Violent?”

“It was the episode with the bombings,” Wayne explains. “Obviously very tame by today’s standards, but Mother had very strong opinions when it came to any kind of violence.”

For a second, Clark thinks he sees Wayne’s smile flicker.

“When I was a little older, though, she watched a few with us. She never really liked it, but she did admit that she saw the appeal after a while. That was good enough for me.”

There’s a certain wistfulness to Wayne’s voice, and Clark thinks he might have been wrong earlier.

This is the most genuine he’s seen Bruce Wayne be all night.

“Mr. Wayne-!”

“You know,” Wayne drawls, “I could have sworn that I told you to call me Bruce.”

Clark blinks, then smiles.

“Okay,” he agrees. “But you have to call me Clark, then.”

“Clark it is. Now, what did you want to say?”

Before Clark can say anything, a scream rings out from inside the building. Wayne- Bruce looks over at it, startled, then looks back at Clark.

They both run inside. Bruce grabs Clark just before they reach the ballroom, pulling him to the side. 

“... must have forgotten my invitation! You couldn’t have been so rude as to not invite me on purpose, could you?!”

“Penguin,” Bruce mutters before peeking into the ballroom. “And… Bane? Huh, that’s not a common combination.”

“You seem a little blasé about this,” Clark whispers.

“I live in Gotham, Clark. This happens at least once a week.” Bruce digs his phone out of his pocket, then swears softly. “My phone’s dead, is yours okay?”

Clark nods, digging it out of his pocket.

“Great. Go call the cops.”

“Wait, what are you going to do-?”

“I’ll be fine, just go before they hurt anyone!”

Clark hesitates, then nods again, running down the hall until he finds an empty room and dialing 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yes, hello, I’m currently at the Wiltershire Ballroom. We’re being held hostage by the Penguin and Bane…”

Once the call’s in, Clark drops his phone and starts stripping out of his tux.

He knows Batman will likely be ticked. He’s been very clear what he thinks about having Superman in his city.

But Clark’s not about to stand around and wait for him or the police to come. Not when he can help now, before anyone gets hurt.

Batman can deal. Superman’s got a job to do.

Chapter Text

Bruce really hates galas. Not only are they long, full of unpleasant sounds, boring, and take away valuable time he could spend doing anything that actually helps Gotham as Batman or Bruce Wayne, but half the time they serve as perfect opportunities for Gotham’s villains to terrorize its upper class.

Which, to be fair, Bruce doesn’t exactly disapprove of in principle, even if he feels the methods and motives leave much to be desired. 

Still, right now he’s stuck here, hiding behind an overturned table and watching as Penguin demands wallets and jewelry while holding the mayor at gunpoint.

Bruce digs his comm out of his pocket, swearing when he sees that it’s busted- probably from when the mayor slammed him up against the wall. Even if his phone wasn’t dead, it’s too dangerous to call or text Dick or Alfred from his actual phone, given the possibility of hacking or an eventual subpoena. 

Okay. Think. Clark is calling the police right now, so it’s highly likely that Alfred will catch the call for backup when it goes out. He’s programmed an auto-pilot function into the Batmobile, so Robin will be able to get here with his suit, though not the one designed for Bane specifically. That could take a while, though, and Penguin and Bane are likely to get away by the time they-!

A sudden rush of air passes over Bruce’s head. He peers over the table to see a familiar blue suit and red cape floating nearby and tries not to grimace.

“Excuse me, sirs, but I believe this fundraiser is invitation only.”

“Superman?! Aren’t you a little out of your jurisdiction?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Superman answers breezily. Bruce narrows his eyes slightly. “Anyway, how about you give all of these nice people their belongings back, and we all go our separate ways?”

Penguin and Bane exchange a look.

“... seriously?” Penguin asks in a flat voice.

Superman shrugs.

“Worth a shot.”

“Get him!” Penguin barks at Bane. 

Bane glares at him, then rushes forward. Superman manages to catch him in a lock up position, both trying to overpower the other. Bane feints a kick, then turns Superman around, getting him in some kind of headlock before suplexing him onto the back of his head. 

A lesser man would probably be dead. Superman just rolls over, shakes it off, and gets back up to knee Bane in the face. Bane dodges it, then grabs Superman and full-on headbutts him. Superman staggers back slightly, but remains standing.

Bane grins, then rolls his shoulders. 

“Finally, a fair fight,” Bane says with a laugh. He turns up the dial on his wrist, and soon his body bulks up to twice its normal size. 

“You know, that’s really bad for your heart,” Superman comments blithely. Bane growls, then runs forward and tackles Superman around the middle. Superman goes down, grunting a little, but keeps a hold on him, slowly getting back to his feet before tossing him across the floor.

Bruce turns his attention to the Penguin, who’s watching this fight with rapt attention, then glances over at the various exits. All are guarded by armed men except the one Penguin is standing in front of. He scans the room, looking for a path toward that exit.

“‘Scuse me,” he whispers as he pushes through the cowering elite, slipping past the guards as unnoticeably as possible. In the center of the ballroom, Bane bodyslams Superman hard enough that the chandelier rattles above them. Superman responds by grabbing Bane’s leg and pulling him to the ground.

“Hey!” A woman hisses when Bruce accidentally jostles her. 

“Shh!” He says quickly.

Not quickly enough, given that he hears someone clear their throat. Bruce turns his head to see that the barrel of the Penguin’s umbrella gun is pointed right at his face, the mayor still in his grip.

“Now, now, Mr. Wayne. It’s rather rude to leave so suddenly, don’t you think?”

“Shit,” Bruce manages before putting his hands up. “Look, I-!”

There’s a flash of red and blue, and in the blink of an eye the barrel of the Penguin’s umbrella gun is tied in a knot. 

“What the-?!”

Bruce rushes forward and kicks him between the legs. Penguin makes a choked sound, then goes down in a heap, letting go of the mayor in the process.

Bruce lets out a sigh of relief, then glances over at the other partygoers, all of whom have expressions hovering somewhere between shocked and disgusted.

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Bruce says with a shrug. “Now he’s not menacing us with a gun.”

Before anyone can speak, there’s a strangled grunt; Bruce looks over to see that Superman has gotten Bane into a prone position, his bicep wrenched around his face. Bane struggles for a moment, clearly attempting to get out of it, but Superman just curls his bicep a little tighter. Soon enough, Bane’s out, lying unconscious on the floor. 

Superman huffs as he releases him and pulls out the main tube of his enhancement device, then gets to his feet before moving around the room at light speed. Soon, all of the guns are in knots, leaving the guards entirely unarmed.

“Alright, Penguin, I think-!” Superman blinks, eyebrows rising. “You got him already?”

Bruce puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs.

“Shouldn’t have taken a wide stance.”

Superman blinks, then snorts before hiding his mouth just as the police burst in.

Makes sense. Superman probably shouldn’t laugh at someone getting kicked in the nuts. Even if it’s the Penguin.

“... and that’s how you subdued the Penguin, sir?”

“You can ask anyone who was around me at the time. Though I think Superman deserves the credit for giving me the opportunity.”

The police officer looks a bit dubious, but nods. 

“Alright, thank you for your statement, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce gives the officer his best “Brucie” smile, then lets it drop when she leaves. He glances around, noting that the mayor seems occupied with talking to Gordon, that Penguin’s yelling as he’s being hauled into a police van, and that Bane’s still unconscious as they strap him onto a gurney. 

What he doesn’t see is Clark.

Bruce frowns, looking around.

“Clark?” He calls. He walks around a little. “Clark!”

No answer. Bruce sighs, then turns and starts running toward Superman.

“Superman!” 

Superman whirls around, eyes wide.

For some reason, his cheeks are pink.

“Mr. Wayne!” He exclaims before clearing his throat and speaking in a lower-pitched voice. “I, uh, can- can I help you with something?”

“A friend of mine was in the building when Bane and Penguin took everyone hostage. I haven’t seen him since then.”

Something in Superman’s expression softens.

“Oh, don’t worry, I already got Clark out. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

Bruce blinks, then narrows his eyes.

“How did you know his name?”

Superman blinks, then stiffens a bit.

“I… well, he’s- he’s interviewed me before, that’s how.”

“True. How did you know to come get him, though?”

“He, uh, called for me after he called the police!” He says quickly. “He thought it was better not to wait for the police, or for Batman.”

Bruce frowns.

“I… suppose that’s fair.” He sighs. “I’m glad to hear he’s safe, though. I’d hate for anything to happen to him.”

Superman blinks again, then slowly smiles.

“Yeah?”

“Mm. I’m afraid I’ve grown rather fond of him.”

Superman practically beams.

“I really-!” Superman seems to catch himself, then clears his throat. “I’m, uh, sure he feels the same way.”

He takes a step back.

“Anyway, uh, I’d better go.”

“Oh? So soon?”

“Well, Batman’s been pretty clear about how he feels about me in his city,” Superman explains. “Usually I’d respect that, but tonight seemed like an emergency.”

Bruce resists the urge to roll his eyes, even as he internally concedes that he might have a point.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.”

Superman nods, then takes off into the sky. Bruce sighs, then starts looking around again.

“Clark!” He calls. “Clark, where are you?”

“Bruce!”

Bruce whips his head around, relief flooding his body when he sees Clark running toward him.

“Thank god,” he says as he jogs up to meet him. “Clark, where the hell were you?”

“Sorry,” Clark tells him with a sheepish grin. “Superman put me outside, and I didn’t think it was a good idea to go back in.”

As much as Bruce wants to grimace, he has to admit, that makes sense. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, I suppose this was at least an accurate Gotham gala experience,” he says. “Sorry about all of this.”

“No, it’s alright. It’ll certainly make the article a lot more interesting.” Clark shrugs. “A little bit of action does get clicks.”

Bruce huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. When he glances up at Clark, his eyes are sparkling, his cheeks a little pink.

“Wanna go get some ice cream?” He offers after a minute. “To celebrate surviving your first big bout of Gotham bullshit.”

Clark smiles regretfully.

“I’d like to, but I really need to get back to the hotel. The bus back to Metropolis leaves early.”

For a second, Bruce is tempted to offer to drive him back himself, but that’s probably pushing what constitutes “professionalism.”

“Well, I guess this is good night, then.”

“I guess so.”

Bruce holds out his hand. Clark looks down at it, lips pursed, then takes it and shakes it.

He’s got a firm handshake, and big, warm hands. 

Bruce… might have to consider a few things later, actually.

It’s a really nice handshake, in any case. Bruce brushes his thumb over Clark’s knuckles once before letting go.

“What was that for?” Clark asks.

“I didn’t want to leave without getting to touch you,” Bruce explains. “Even if it was only a handshake.”

Clark flushes, then smiles.

“I’d have given you a better one if I knew that was what you were going for.”

“Oh, I think it was a pretty good one,” Bruce replies.

Clark smirks at him, leaning in.

“Trust me, I can do better. Much better.”

Bruce actually feels his face heat up a little.

“Well now, looks like you’re a little better at this than I thought.”

Clark laughs, and for the first time in over a year, Bruce has what he can only describe as butterflies in his stomach.

Bruce walks through the doors of the manor about twenty minutes later. Alfred is there to greet him as always.

“Master Bruce. You’re home earlier than expected.”

“Penguin and Bane cut the fundraiser short.”

“And you didn’t call us for backup?” Alfred asks.

“My comm was busted.”

Alfred narrows his eyes.

“And how did that happen?”

Bruce glances away.

“Must have accidentally sat on it. Anyway, Superman took care of it.”

“Superman?”

“Someone called for him.”

“Well, that’s rather lucky, isn’t it?”

Bruce grunts. 

“I’m heading down to the cave.”

“Very well, sir. However, might you stop in the living room to inform Master Dick that you’ve returned home safely?”

Bruce looks over at Alfred, eyebrows raised.

“He’s not in bed?”

“No, sir. He was quite adamant about staying up waiting for you.” Alfred turns his head toward the living room. “Though he wasn’t quite successful in the ‘staying up’ aspect.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, then walks over to the living room to find Dick passed out on the couch, covered in a thin blanket no doubt put there by Alfred. His heart squeezes a little at the sight, and he sighs, kneeling down next to him and ruffling his hair gently. Dick grunts, then slowly opens his eyes.

“B?” He mumbles.

“Hey, chum,” Bruce replies. “You know, it’d probably be a lot more comfortable to sleep in your own bed than on the couch.”

Dick groans, then sits up. He rubs at his eyes, then blinks at Bruce.

“B?”

“Yes, Dick?”

“You okay?” 

Bruce blinks, then smiles at him.

“Yeah, Dick, I’m okay.”

“He didn’t do anything?”

Bruce’s smile falters.

“I’m fine, Dick.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I can handle it,” Bruce replies. 

“But what if-?”

“Dick,” Bruce interrupts, “I’m Batman. What is he going to be able to do to me?”

Dick doesn’t answer, and Bruce sighs before patting him on the shoulder.”

“Get some sleep, okay?” He says. 

Dick shakes his head.

“No way, we gotta… you’re home early, so we have to patrol.”

“Dick, you’re barely awake right now. No patrol for you tonight.”

Dick groans.

“Fine… but I’m going tomorrow night.”

“So long as your vocab and history homework is done.”

Dick groans.

“You know the deal. Vocab and history on Saturdays, math and science on Sundays.”

“Fine.” Dick yawns. “But we don’t have school on Monday, so you have to let me come on… Sunday night…”

Bruce chuckles, ruffling his hair.

“Deal. Sleep well, chum.”

Dick yawns again, then shuffles off to go upstairs. Bruce watches him for a moment, then turns to head toward the cave.

“Master Bruce.”

Bruce resists the urge to loll his head back and groan, instead turning toward Alfred silently.

He knows that look in his eyes. It’s not the look of a long time servant, or a trusted friend.

This is the look of the man who raised him, and is not about to take any of his bullshit lying down.

“If that man did anything to you-!”

“I’m fine,” Bruce replies sharply. “I can handle myself.”

“I’m not suggesting that you can’t. I’m suggesting that you give that man far too much leeway.”

Bruce looks away.

“... he’s not well, Alfred. You know that. And I wasn’t a saint either.”

“I do know that. But that does not mean you have to put up with the way he treats you.”

“I’m not putting up with anything. Until this week I hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year, and I don’t plan on speaking to him again.” Bruce starts heading toward the cave. “I’ll be fine, Alfred. Trust me.”

Alfred doesn’t say anything, but Bruce hears his sigh and wishes that he had.

He could live with Alfred being disappointed if he was just clear about it.

The cave is quiet at this time of night. It’s not quite time for patrol yet, but if Bruce isn’t in the suit by ten he starts feeling… off.

So, he’s here, finishing up the update on the mayor’s case.

It had gone… mostly well. Clark had spied on them like expected, although he took much longer to intervene than Bruce would have thought considering he must have been just on the other side of the door.

Still, he knows now.

He knows more now than Bruce is entirely comfortable with, admittedly.

But Bruce can work around that.

He sips at the coffee Alfred had brought him, then puts the mug down. His eyes catch on his phone.

A thought occurs to him. His stomach turns.

He shouldn’t. He already told him he’d take care of it. 

But… he knows the mayor. And he doesn’t want him to do anything stupid.

He picks up his phone, then goes to his blocked numbers. His finger hovers over one in particular.

He can almost hear Alfred chastising him, can almost see Dick’s sad expression.

He clenches his jaw.

One message. He’ll block him again after.

Bruce takes a breath, then, with his stomach still churning, unblocks the number.

sent/ 10:43 PM

Kent’s agreed not to put what he overheard in his article.

A few minutes later, a new message pops up.

H/ 10:46 PM

Thank you, Bruce.

H/ 10:46 PM

Really.

Bruce exhales, letting his head loll back. After a minute, he looks back down at his phone.

H

(...)

Bruce blocks the number again, then puts his phone down.

There. He did it. 

Now he never has to speak to him again.

He wishes that didn’t make him feel so hollow

His phone buzzes, breaking him out of his stupor. Bruce frowns, then picks it up.

Unknown/ 10:53 PM

Hi, Bruce, this is Clark. I figured I should finally text you after tonight. 

Bruce smiles, then quickly saves the contact. He starts typing, then stops. 

Clark is… he likes Clark. Actually likes Clark, not just because he’s got a handsome face or broad shoulders that would be perfect for pinning down on a mattress. 

Clark’s sweet, and has a nice laugh, and is actually an okay flirt when he’s not so nervous he might start shaking like a leaf. 

Bruce looks at him and thinks, maybe.

Maybe he could be someone whom he lets see something besides what he presents to the public.

It had been so nice to let his guard down for just a minute. He hadn’t planned on it, hadn’t planned on the mayor getting so… personal, with his insults when Bruce knew Clark would be right outside the door, but it had led to something… nice.

It could be nice.

But then he thinks about how new this is, how fragile. 

How easily he could scare Clark away if he knew.

Or worse, what if Clark didn’t like it? What if he’s only attracted to Bruce Wayne, and just Bruce turns him off?

Like he turned off

Bruce lets out a long breath. 

Put on your Public Face, Brucie.

He starts typing.

sent/ 10:55 PM

glad you did, I was starting to feel like a teenager waiting by the phone 😉

Clark/ 10:55 PM

I’m somehow unsurprised that you use emojis LOL

sent/ 10:56 PM

and I’m unsurprised that you actually capitalize “lol”

Clark/ 10:56 PM

It’s an initialism! You’re supposed to capitalize it.

sent/ 10:57 PM

I’m also unsurprised that you call it an “initialism”

Clark/ 10:57 PM

Hey, I spent a lot of money on English and writing classes, I’m gonna use them.

Bruce huffs out a small laugh.

sent/ 10:58 PM

you’re a little stubborn, aren’t you?

Clark/ 10:58 PM

Well, I am a country boy, after all.

sent/ 10:58 PM

I thought I heard a little bit of an accent. Plus you mentioned tornadoes. Where are you from, anyway?

Clark/ 10:59 PM

Small town in Kansas.

sent/ 10:59 PM

what’s it called?

Clark doesn’t answer for a good minute at least.

Clark/ 11:01 PM

You can’t laugh.

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

sent/ 11:02 PM

how would you even be able to tell if I did?

Clark/ 11:02 PM

I have my ways. Promise not to laugh?

Bruce huffs. Clark’s a little dramatic.

He kind of likes it.

sent/ 11:03 PM

fine, I promise.

It takes Clark a couple minutes to respond.

Clark/ 11:06 PM

It’s called Smallville.

sent/ 11:07 PM

seriously?

Clark/ 11:07 PM

I didn’t pick the name!

Bruce exhales out another small laugh, leaning back in his chair.

sent/ 11:08 PM

so, does that make you a cowboy?

Clark/ 11:09 PM

Well, we did have horses when I was growing up. Didn’t do much riding though.

sent/ 11:10 PM

close enough in my book

sent/ 11:10 PM

I’m tempted to make a very dirty joke, but I’ll refrain for now 😉

Clark/ 11:10 PM

LOL

They message back and forth for a while, talking about whatever comes to mind, but after some time Clark’s messages stop. Bruce glances at the top of his phone to see that it’s past midnight and swears under his breath before putting his phone down on the desk. 

He pauses, then picks it back up to type out one last message.

sent/ 12:13 AM

sweet dreams, cowboy ♥️

He puts his phone back down, then stands up and slips on the cowl.

He’s already late. No more time to waste.

After the mess that was the gala, Bruce is grateful for a quiet night.

Well. Quiet for Gotham. Which means a couple of muggings, some gang activity, and an attempted jewelry store robbery all within about two hours.

Part of him wishes he hadn’t sent Dick to bed. It was the right thing to do, obviously, but not having any backup is harder than it used to be.

Still, once it’s done, he figures that he’s clear to do one more lap of the city in the Batmobile, then head back to the manor before sunrise.

Or at least, he does until he hears a shout from somewhere below the roof he’s on.

“Whoa! Uh, hey there…”

Bruce’s stomach drops. He runs over to the other side of the building. Sure enough, a man with a gun is menacing another man, one that Bruce recognizes. A third man is standing at the mouth of the alley, seemingly guarding it.

“Easy, fellas,” Clark says, holding up his hands.

“Wallet. Now.”

Bruce creeps down onto the fire escape, silently descending several floors.

“I, uh… actually don’t have my wallet on me right now, funnily enough. Didn’t really make sense to bring it with me while I-!”

“Then hand over the phone!”

“Okay, okay!” Clark says as he quickly gets his phone out. “Um, it’s low on charge, sorry-!”

“I don’t care! God, you out-of-towners are so-!”

“Hey, did you hear that?”

Bruce decides that’s as good a cue as any. He jumps off the fire escape, landing right next to the three of them.

“Shit, it’s the Bat-!”

Bruce rushes forward and slugs the one holding the gun in the jaw. He crumples like a piece of paper, and the other mugger screams.

“This ain’t worth it!” He yells before attempting to run out of the alleyway. Bruce jumps over his unconscious friend, grabbing him by the back of his jacket. He pulls him back in, then pins him against the wall.

“Wait wait wait!” The man begs. “Look, I promise, I was just doing a favor for a friend! I’ll never do it again, I swear!”

Batman narrows his eyes, then lets him go.

“Don’t let me see you here again.”

The man squeaks, then practically trips over himself trying to get away.

“Um… thank you.”

Bruce turns around, prepared to start lecturing Clark on getting home at a normal hour, when his brain grinds to an absolute halt.

Entirely because of what Clark is currently wearing.

Clark is not wearing his tux, or a suit, or some casual outfit, or even pajamas given the late hour.

Clark is wearing his glasses, running shoes, a red hoodie and, for some ungodly reason, possibly the smallest pair of running shorts known to man.

He has… very nice thighs. Bruce has to expend much more willpower than would be preferable to keep himself from staring at them, despite the fact that he could hide his gaze through his cowl’s lenses.

Of course, this means that he is instead, from Clark’s point of view, staring at his face for longer than socially acceptable. Clark clears his throat, glancing away.

“Uh… so…”

“Explain yourself.”

Clark blinks, looking back at him.

“What?”

“You’re in running gear at approximately five in the morning in Gotham City. What exactly possessed you to think going out at this time of night is a good idea?”

For some reason, Clark turns pink, averting his gaze.

“Um… well, I’m- I’m kind of an early bird, and I usually go running to start my mornings, so…”

“You’re not from Gotham.”

Clark blinks, then frowns.

“Well, no… how did you know that?”

Because I know you. I saw you seven hours ago, Bruce doesn’t say.

“Because no sane Gothamite would go running at this time of night. No one is out on this streets at this hour unless they have to be or are causing trouble.”

“Which one are you?”

Bruce narrows his eyes. Clark glances away.

“Right, dumb question.”

Bruce resists the urge to sigh.

“Is your hotel nearby?”

“Um… about half a mile away, I think?”

Bruce presses his lips together.

“Which way?”

Clark furrows his brow.

“Uh… why do you ask?”

“Because I’m going to walk you back there.”

Clark’s eyebrows rise.

“You are?”

“You’re an obvious out-of-towner walking around Gotham in the wee hours of the night. If I don’t escort you, I’ll likely have to rescue you again.”

Clark hesitates, then points behind him.

“It’s- It’s this way.”

Bruce nods, then kneels down to tie up and put a tracker for the police on the still unconscious man. Once that’s done, he motions for Clark to start walking, which he does after another moment of hesitation. Bruce follows a few paces behind him.

Despite temptation, he keeps his eyes trained on the back of his head. Batman doesn’t ogle people.

Even attractive reporters in tiny shorts that he’s been flirting with out of the cowl.

“So, uh,” Clark starts after a minute, “busy night?”

Bruce grunts.

“… did you… hear about what happened at the mayor’s fundraiser? I would have expected you to show up to that.”

“I was preoccupied. By the time I was available, the incident had been taken care of.”

“Yeah, by Superman.”

Bruce grunts.

“Not a fan?”

“I don’t dislike him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You don’t?” Clark asks, sounding surprised.

“Disliking him would be a waste of effort. His presence has been a net positive for the world at large.”

“Then why don’t you want him in Gotham?”

“Is that what Superman told you?”

Clark jolts a bit, coming to a stop.

“Uh, I mean…”

“I know that you interview him on a regular basis, Clark Kent.”

Clark turns around, looking incredulous.

“How do you know who I am?”

“I’m Batman.”

Clark opens his mouth, then closes it. After a moment, he sighs.

“Yeah, okay, he told me that. He, uh… seems to think you don’t like him very much.”

“I don’t like him.”

Clark’s eyes widen, then narrow.

“But you just said-!”

“I neither like nor dislike him. I just don’t want him, nor any other metahuman, in Gotham. The chaos they bring is the last thing that this city needs.”

Clark presses his lips together, then puts his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“You know, he’s an alien, not a metahuman.”

“There’s functionally no difference.”

“Well, maybe the distinction is important to some people.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“Fine. I don’t want metahumans or aliens causing chaos in my city.”

Clark huffs out a sound that could be a laugh, then turns around and starts walking again. By now, a few people have started waking up, their apartment windows glowing in the dark.

One of those windows slides open.

“Batman!”

Bruce turns to see a small girl, probably around four or five, looking at him from a window across the street.

“Hi!” She yells, waving vigorously.

Bruce tilts his head slightly, then waves back. The girl gasps, then turns to look at someone else.

“Mommy, Mommy! Batman waved at me!”

“Stephanie, what are you talking-! Oh my god get away from the window!”

“But Mommy-!”

The window shuts. Bruce takes a picture with his visor, then sends a reminder to himself to drop off childproof window locks at that apartment as soon as possible.

He turns to face forward again, only to see Clark smiling at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. That was just sweet of you, that’s all.”

Bruce’s cheeks heat under his cowl.

“All I did was wave at a small child. It’s hardly a large effort.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to. Plus, it kind of goes against the whole ‘dark and brooding’ thing, doesn’t it?”

Bruce grunts.

“Keep moving.”

Clark grins at him before starting to walk again.

“You know, all that Batman merch in little kids’ sizes makes a lot more sense now.”

“Those aren’t officially licensed.”

“Hm, guess that’s to be expected. I don’t think any major hero has licensed merch.” He’s quiet for a minute. “Well, I guess the Justice League did when they were still the Justice Gang, but that was before Lord got arrested and they went independent.”

Bruce grunts. Clark glances over at him.

“Have you ever considered-?”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

“You were going to ask if I’ve ever considered joining the Justice League. The answer is no.”

“Okay, well, why not?”

“Not interested. Gotham is my concern.”

“The others could help you out with Gotham.”

“I don’t need help.”

“What about Robin?”

“The best case scenario is that one day, I’ll be too old to keep doing this. Training a successor is a worthwhile pursuit.”

He leaves out that Dick would probably try to do it either way, and that it’s better that he keeps an eye on him.

Clark hums.

“Well… even so, tonight proved that you can’t always be there when you’re needed. Having backup wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?”

Bruce doesn’t reply to that. Clark glances at him over his shoulder.

His smile is… irritatingly smug.

Part of Bruce kind of likes it

The rest of the walk back to Clark’s hotel passes in silence. It’s still dark out when they arrive, but only just, the street lamps turning off just as they stop in front of the entrance.

“Well, this is me,” Clark says.

Bruce grunts, then slips open the cover on his gauntlet and calls for the Batmobile.

“Um, hey, Batman?”

Bruce glances up at Clark.

“Thanks,” he says with a small smile.

Bruce’s stomach erupts into butterflies again. He looks away, hoping that his flush hasn’t spread down past his cowl.

“Just don’t go wandering around Gotham after dark again,” he mutters.

Clark laughs, and Bruce’s stomach squeezes.

“Okay, okay. Well-!”

Just then, the Batmobile rolls up in front of the hotel. Bruce jumps in without hesitation, speeding off into the night.

It’s only then that he lets himself smile.

Dawn has broken by the time Bruce gets back into the cave. Bruce groans, then quickly showers, changes into sweats, and enters a log for the night.

He does not blush when recounting his time with Clark. No one can prove otherwise.

Once that’s done, he grabs his phone and heads up toward the manor. Were it a school day, he’d go from the cave to the kitchen to say good morning to Dick and Alfred before heading to his bedroom. As it’s Sunday, he skips that part, instead trudging up toward his bedroom directly.

He doesn’t bother to change into pajamas, instead simply stripping out of his sweats and old underwear before collapsing into bed. He sleepily fumbles for his charger, then plugs in his phone.

Just as he’s about to fall asleep, he hears it buzz. He groans as he grabs it again- it could be Lucius with an update on the purchase of an arms company he’s been trying to dismantle.

However, the name he sees on the notification is not, in fact, Lucius Fox.

It’s Clark Kent.

Bruce’s lips twitch involuntarily, and before he can stop himself he’s entering his phone passcode and navigating to messages.

Clark/ 06:39 AM

So you’ll never guess who I ran into this morning.

Bruce huffs out a small laugh, then starts typing.

sent/ 06:39 AM

considering that it’s only been morning for about twenty minutes, I’m very interested to know who you could have seen

Clark/ 06:40 AM

It’s been morning for hours already LOL

sent/ 06:40 AM

I disagree, it’s not morning until the sun rises. But anyway, who did you see?

Clark/ 06:40 AM

Well, I wanna preface this by saying that I’m fine.

sent/ 06:41 AM

🤨 that sounds ominous

Clark doesn’t respond for a few minutes, a typing bubble coming up and disappearing several times. If Bruce didn’t already know what happened, he’d be concerned.

Clark/ 06:46 AM

I may have sort of gotten mugged.

Bruce rolls his eyes. There was no “sort of” about it.

But he’s not supposed to know that.

sent/ 06:47 AM

😱 are you okay???

Clark/ 06:47 AM

Yeah, I’m fine!

Clark/ 06:47 AM

Batman saved me, actually.

sent/ 06:48 AM

wow, your first encounter with the Bat. you’re becoming a true Gothamite faster by the minute.

Clark/ 06:49 AM

LOL. Sorry, I’m pretty loyal to Metropolis.

Clark/ 06:50 AM

He was a lot nicer than I expected him to be.

Bruce frowns.

sent/ 06:50 AM

how so?

Clark/ 06:50 AM

Well, I expected him to be all dark and brooding- and he was- but he also took the time to wave to a little girl across the street. Probably made her morning.

Clark/ 06:51 AM

It was sweet.

Bruce flushes, heart skipping a beat in his chest.

sent/ 06:51 AM

careful, Mr. Kent, or I’m going to start thinking that I’ve got a rival in Batman 😜

Clark/ 06:52 AM

LOL. Don’t worry, I doubt I’ll ever see him again anyway.

Bruce smirks a little.

Sent/ 06:52 AM

Hey, you never know.

Chapter Text

Clark tries not to let his eyes glaze over as he reads over Cat’s latest article about some sort of TikTok drama he knows nothing about, pursing his lips tightly.

He doesn’t exactly mind doing a read-through of his co-workers articles before they go to Perry for final approval- heck, Jimmy’s doing that right now with his piece on Mayor Dent’s fundraiser (and the subsequent hostage situation.) And he likes Cat, she’s nice and is the only person outside of his mother to compliment him on a clothing choice, even if it was just a tie and the compliment was that it was “less ugly than usual.”

But goodness, he cannot for the life of him get into her articles. He knows she writes how she’s expected to in these things, and he knows that she desperately wants to break out of the society and gossip news bubble into more serious journalism, but every time he reads about some silly new online trend he feels about a hundred years old.

So, when his phone buzzes, he maybe doesn’t hesitate as much as he should to pick it up.

His heart skips a beat when he sees Bruce’s name next to the notification. 

They’ve been texting pretty consistently all week. They’ve talked about work, about movies and TV shows they’ve watched recently, whether or not a bat is actually a rodent (it’s not, Clark won) and on Tuesday had a lengthy debate about the merits of the Mighty Crabjoys (Clark was unable to convince Bruce on that one, but he’ll get him eventually.)

He probably shouldn’t text him at work, though. So, he puts his phone down, then starts reading Cat’s article again.

Then he stops, glances down at his phone again.

He bites his lip.

Then, he picks up his phone and unlocks it.

It wouldn’t kill him just to check, right?

Bruce/ 12:28 PM

have you ever had a dog?

Clark blinks down at his phone, raising an eyebrow.

sent/ 12:31 PM

Bruce, I’m at work.

Bruce/ 12:32 PM

so am I. currently texting you under the table during a meeting

sent/ 12:32 PM

Shouldn’t you pay attention to those?

Bruce/ 12:33 PM

it’s fine, I’m sure I can get someone to recap it for me later. So, dog?

Clark sighs, then glances around before returning his gaze to his phone. 

sent/ 12:34 PM

I’ve never actually owned a dog, no, but I sometimes take care of my cousin’s dog when she’s out of town.

Bruce/ 12:34 PM

you’ve got more experience than I do, then

Bruce/ 12:35 PM

Dick’s been asking about getting one

Clark’s eyebrows rise. Outside of mentioning him when he asked Clark not to tell anyone about Dent threatening him, Bruce hasn’t mentioned Dick at all this past week.

He wonders if that means something.

sent/ 12:36 PM

Well, I can’t offer you any advice except not to do what my cousin did.

Bruce/ 12:36 PM

which is?

sent/ 12:36 PM

Fail to actually train the dog at all and then dump it on your cousin whenever you want to go party out of town.

Bruce/ 12:37 PM

😆I think Kate would kill me if I did that

Bruce/ 12:38 PM

though between the two of us, I think she’s more of a party animal than I am at this point

Clark chuckles, shaking his head.

typing…

We should probably make sure those two never

“Hey, Clark, I-!”

Clark yelps, nearly dropping his phone. He quickly hides it behind his back, plastering on a fake grin as he turns his chair to face Jimmy.

Jimmy raises an eyebrow.

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you just- you startled me, y’know?”

“Oh. Well, uh, sorry about that. Anyway, I finished looking over the article about the Dent fundraiser, it’s pretty good.”

“... but?” Clark prompts.

Jimmy hesitates, glancing away.

“Well… you were kind of harsh when writing about Dent.”

Clark frowns.

“All I did was talk about his promises on the campaign trail versus what he’s actually accomplished, how is that harsh?”

“You also called him ‘a charming suit speaking insincere platitudes out of both sides of his mouth.’”

Clark clenches his jaw.

“Well I’m not wrong,” he mutters. 

“Maybe, but it feels like you dislike the guy.”

Of course I do, Clark wants to say. I heard him verbally abuse his former partner and then saw him slam him up against a wall. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s corrupt.

But he can’t say that. With the first part, Bruce asked him not to, and he can’t prove the second yet.

“He’s just… there’s something off about the guy, you know?”

“He’s a politician from Gotham, Clark. I think they’re legally required to have something ‘off’ about them.” Jimmy shrugs. “Look, take it or leave it, but I think it might be better for the article not to sound like you’ve got something against him.”

Clark grimaces, then sighs.

“I’ll… think about it.”

“Cool. Let me know if you need any more help.”

Clark nods, then waits for Jimmy to go back to his desk before turning back to his own and picking up his phone.

Bruce/ 12:41 PM

🪙?

Clark blinks, furrowing his brow. He deletes what he was typing, then starts a new text.

sent/ 12:45 PM

What’s that supposed to be?

Bruce/ 12:45 PM

a penny for your thoughts, since you were typing for so long

Clark blinks again, then muffles a laugh.

sent/ 12:46 PM

That’s not even close to a penny.

Bruce/ 12:47 PM

closest I could find

Bruce/ 12:47 PM

you alright?

sent/ 12:48 PM

Oh, I’m fine! My friend Jimmy just came up to my desk to talk about the article about Mayor Dent’s fundraiser. I asked him to look it over. 

Bruce/ 12:49 PM

ah, I see

Bruce starts typing something, then suddenly deletes it. Clark frowns for a moment before a new text pops up.

Bruce/ 12:50 PM

Lucius keeps looking over at me. I think I’ve been caught

sent/ 12:51 PM

That’s too bad. Text me later?

Bruce/ 12:51 PM

of course ♥️see you, cowboy

Clark grins, cheeks warming a little. Just as he puts his phone down, though, it buzzes again.

Bruce/ 12:52 PM

also, check your email 😉

Clark blinks, then puts his phone down and gets back to his computer. He clicks on his email tab, eyes going wide when he sees the message from Wayne PR. When he clicks on it, he sees it’s a request for confirmation of an interview this Saturday. 

At Wayne Manor.

Clark’s stomach drops a little.

“Oh, boy.”

The bus ride over to Gotham goes about as well as it can. It’s quiet, thankfully, and it being Saturday means there’s fewer commuters. 

Still, as the bus rolls over the Metropolis/Gotham border, Clark’s stomach churns like butter. 

He’s going to Wayne Manor.

To Bruce’s home.

His stomach squirms, and not just because the bus went over a pothole. 

It doesn’t get any better when he gets to the station and sees a car parked out front, with the driver holding up a sign that says “Clark Kent” on it.

Clark swallows, then walks up to the driver.

“Um, hi? I’m- I’m Clark Kent.”

“Welcome to Gotham, Mr. Kent,” the driver greets him. She opens the door for him, and Clark thanks her with a nervous smile before getting in.

The hour it takes to get from the bus station to Wayne Manor passes in silence. The city fades away about forty minutes in, and they drive through what appears to be some kind of forest for a little while before emerging on the other side to what Clark can only describe as one of the houses from those period dramas Lois refuses to admit that she likes. It’s enormous, probably scrawling across twice as much land as Ma and Pa’s entire farm.

Clark suddenly feels overwhelmingly small.

The driver drops him off in front of the gate. Clark swallows the sudden lump in his throat, then walks up to the small intercom. He takes a deep breath, then presses the button on the gate.

“Yes?” A prim, British voice asks.

“Uh, hi, I’m- I’m Clark Kent? From the Daily Planet? I’m here to interview Mr. Wayne.”

“One moment, please.”

The gates squeak a little as they open. Clark swallows, then starts walking up the path to the manor. Everything about it screams wealthy, but not ostentatious, with immaculately cared for flowers and a perfectly manicured lawn. 

Clark swallows hard, walking a little faster toward the just as ornate entrance to the main house. He knocks on the door, then takes a step back and waits.

A few minutes later, a man with silvery hair, glasses, and a well-groomed mustache opens the door. 

“Mr. Kent, I presume?” He says, his British accent clear.

“Uh, yes, that’s- that’s me,” Clark says, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mister…?”

“Pennyworth,” the man replies, shaking his hand. “Alfred Pennyworth.”

“Oh, so you’re Alfred! Bruce has-!” Clark flushes, clearing his throat. “Er, Mr. Wayne has mentioned you in our previous conversations.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow, then moves to the side.

“Please come in, Mr. Kent. Master Bruce will be with you shortly.”

Clark smiles nervously, walking into the foyer. Somehow, Wayne Manor looks even grander on the inside than on the outside, with a huge chandelier hanging before a grand staircase. 

“Wow,” Clark says quietly. “Bet this place is a heck of a hassle to decorate during Christmastime.”

“Master Bruce is Jewish, sir.”

“Ah,” Clark says, cheeks heating a bit. 

“Mm. Is there anything I can get you while we wait for Master Bruce?”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary-!”

“Hey!”

Clark looks up to see a young teen with tan skin and dark hair at the top of the staircase. Before he can say anything, the boy slides down the bannister, landing perfectly at the bottom.

Behind him, Alfred tuts.

“Master Richard, you know the rule about-!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the boy- almost certainly Dick- says. “You’re the reporter, right? The one who interviews Superman?”

“Uh… yes?”

Dick grins from ear to ear, eyes shining brightly.

“What’s he like?!” Dick asks. “Does he have any powers he hasn’t told the public about? What does he keep in the Fortress of Solitude? How come his dog isn’t always with him?”

“Uh…” Clark intones, taking half a step back.

“Dick,” a familiar voice calls, “ease up on Mr. Kent, will you?”

Clark’s heart flip-flops as Dick groans.

“But B,” he whines, “he talks to Superman all the time! I’ll never get a chance like this again!”

Bruce chuckles as he descends the stairs, glancing over at Clark.

“I think you’ll have more chances than you think,” he murmurs. Clark tries not to blush too obviously, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat. 

“Bru- Mr. Wayne, it’s nice to see you again,” he says, holding out his hand. Bruce shakes it, holding on a little longer than strictly necessary.

“Wonderful to see you again too, Mr. Kent,” he says as he lets go. 

“You didn’t mention that you’d met Mr. Kent previously, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, eyebrow raised.

“Mr. Kent was sent to cover the Wayne Foundation gala three weeks ago when the Planet’s regular society reporter was ill,” Bruce explains. “He’s also interviewed Lucius recently, and covered the mayor’s fundraiser.”

“Well, you gave me the idea for that last one,” Clark points out.

“Only because I knew you’d do a good job covering it. Even if it did end up getting a little derailed.”

Clark shrugs.

“I’ve been told that’s Gotham for you.”

Bruce chuckles, and Clark grins.

Alfred clears his throat.

“Master Bruce, sir,” he starts, “will you and Mr. Kent be heading to your study for the interview?”

“Hm, no, I think I’ll actually give Mr. Kent a tour of the grounds first.” Bruce smiles at him. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“Sounds perfect. Lead the way.”

Bruce gestures in the direction they’re going, and Clark starts following him.

“What was that about?” He hears Dick ask once they’ve left the room.

“I believe we have discovered the reason that Master Bruce has been smiling at his phone so often over the past week,” Alfred replies blandly.

Clark’s ears heat, even as a smile plays on his lips.

“Oh,” Dick says in a quiet voice.

Clark frowns, but before he can even think too hard about the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Dick’s voice, Bruce starts talking.

“So, was the ride over okay?”

“Oh, yeah, it- it was fine.” Clark clears his throat. “Though you didn’t have to send a car to the bus station to pick me up.”

“Kind of did, actually. Taxis and rideshares don’t go to Wayne Manor. You would have had to walk on the road for at least two miles.”

“Wait, really? Why don’t they come here?”

“Paparazzi.” Bruce’s expression hardens. “I… may have had to strike a deal with a few companies after I adopted Dick. Didn’t need him worrying about paparazzi photos on the way to school.”

Clark’s stomach turns.

“Oh.” He clears his throat again. “That was a good move, then.”

“Mm. That’s off the record, by the way.”

“Oh, of course. I wasn’t planning on writing much about Dick anyway- he’s a kid, and you’ve been pretty adamant about protecting his privacy in the past.”

Bruce blinks, then smiles at him.

“I want him to have a choice in how much the public sees of him,” Bruce says. “More of one than I did, at least.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

Bruce laughs.

“Sure, why not?” Bruce gestures ahead of them. “This way, I’d like to start in the sitting room.”

Clark nods as he finishes jotting down his note, following the path Bruce lays out. They pass by a few rooms, most of which have gone unused for quite a while (“I don’t think I’ve been in the billiards room since I was six,” says Bruce. “I’ve been meaning to refit it into something else, but I just haven’t had a good idea yet.”) 

Eventually, though, they stop in the library. It’s as tastefully (if somewhat gothically) decorated as the rest of the manor, with bookshelves going up to the ceiling. What really catches Clark’s eye, though, is the portrait above the fireplace.

Thomas and Martha Wayne, both probably around the age that Bruce is now, stare back at him, their faces unmoving. Thomas’s black hair is going gray at the temples, with a mustache that Clark can’t help but notice is somewhat similar to Alfred’s. His brown eyes are alight with a calm happiness, his lips turned up in a smile that reminds him of Bruce’s. Martha’s long red hair is tied up in a bun, with small braids on either side of her head. She’s smiling too, gentle and sweet. 

Bruce has her eyes.

“This was one of the better ones from this photoshoot,” Bruce says. “I kept making faces at them, and whenever they laughed they’d mess up the shot.”

Clark chuckles.

“You were a little bit of a troublemaker, huh?”

“Only a little,” Bruce replies. “And only when I thought it would be funny.”

“And how often was that?” 

“More often than Alfred would have liked, that’s for sure.” 

Clark laughs softly, then glances over at one of the bookshelves and takes a step towards it. 

“So, have you read any of these, or is it just for show?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve read half of all the books in this room,” Bruce replies. 

“Only half?”

“The other half are shelf-fillers,” Bruce says with a wink. “Not actual books.”

Clark chuckles, then looks over at the bust next to the fireplace. He takes a step towards it, only for Bruce’s hand to shoot out and stop him.

“Ah, careful, please,” Bruce says. “Dick knocked over the one we had before, it took forever to find a suitable replacement.”

“Oh, sure,” Clark says, taking a step back. “It’s pretty nice, though.”

“Mm. Shall we?”

Clark nods, then glances back at the bust as they walk out of the room.

He doesn’t know why, but there’s something… odd about it.

The tour rolls on. Clark makes notes about various rooms and the stories Bruce tells about them, and leaves out all the times that Bruce openly flirts with him.

He especially doesn’t record his attempts at flirting back. Bruce seems to think it’s charming, but Clark has a feeling other people might make fun of him for it.

Eventually, Bruce ushers them out into the garden. It’s still a little could out since it’s barely March, and Clark makes sure to pretend to shiver a little when a cold breeze passes them by.

“Sorry that you couldn’t see it in full bloom,” Bruce tells him. “Maybe I’ll get a photographer out here in later in the spring. Do you think Homes & Gardens would be interested?”

“I think they’d absolutely trip over themselves to get pictures of the gardens of Wayne Manor in all their glory,” Clark answers. “So would my friend Jimmy, to be fair.”

“You’ve mentioned him before. Is he a photographer?”

“Mm, and a darn good one, though I’m obviously a little biased.”

Bruce grins a little.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

His grin falls as he looks out into the garden, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“My mother’s garden was her pride and joy,” Bruce says before grinning again. “Well, besides me, of course.”

He looks out into the garden again. 

“I remember watching her out here with the gardeners when I was a small child. She was always as hands on as she could be with this place, putting her own personal touches into it.” He’s quiet for a minute. “I’d like to think she’d approve of how I’ve maintained it over the years.”

Clark smiles at him softly.

“I’m sure she would,” he says before jotting down another note. 

“Of course, I haven’t given it the personal touch she did.” Bruce shrugs. “Probably for the best. The one time I tried to help with weeding when I was six, I nearly dug out an entire rose bush.”

Clark laughs, and Bruce smiles at him, brushing their shoulders together. He grins, then pauses when he hears an odd rustling noise. He looks around, not immediately seeing anything.

“Everything okay?”

“I thought I heard something moving around,” Clark says.

“Probably a rabbit. They like to hang around in Alfred’s vegetable patch.” Bruce claps him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s head back in. We can grab some lunch before we head to my study for the rest of the interview.”

Clark nods, then pauses when he hears more rustling. He turns in the direction of the sound, but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

He frowns, then turns to follow Bruce back into the house.

Probably just a rabbit, like Bruce said.

After what is probably the best turkey club sandwich Clark has ever had, courtesy of Alfred, Bruce guides Clark into his study. It’s nice, with lots of polished wood furniture and sort of a vintage style of décor.

What really catches Clark’s eye, though, is the display case full of Gray Ghost merchandise. Toys, models, even a framed poster signed by Simon Trent himself.

“This used to be my father’s study,” Bruce explains. “Most of the furniture in here was stuff he picked out, and he kept his Gray Ghost collection in here.”

Clark nods, jotting that down, then looks up at Bruce.

“Would you mind if I wrote a little about how you and your father watched the show together?”

Bruce thinks on this, then nods.

“Sure, that’d be fine,” he says as he sits down at his desk. “Do you need a refresher on what I said before?”

“No, I remember.”

“Really?”

“It was sweet,” Clark tells him as he jots it down. “It seemed like a really nice memory.”

That’s not technically untrue- Clark likely would have remembered for that reason.

Even without his eidetic memory.

“Anyway, are you ready to get started?” Clark asks as he sits down in the chair across from Bruce.

“Ready when you are,” Bruce replies.

“Great,” Clark says before getting his phone out of his pocket. He starts up the recording app, presses “record,” then places his phone on the desk. “So, I understand you’re about to finish something you’ve been working on for a while.”

“Yes. As of next year, all WE buildings and facilities will have on-site daycare centers, operating at no cost to employees.”

“That’s quite an undertaking,” Clark says. 

“Yes, but I believe it’s worth it. Wayne Enterprises reports some of the highest employee satisfaction ratings in the country, something I feel is vital to our success as a company. With the rising cost of childcare in this country, I feel this move is a way to ensure that remains the case.”

“Some of your competitors, such as GothCorp CEO Ferris Boyle, have stated that such offerings cannot possibly bring a good return on investment, and are only there to win points with public perception.”

“I’d point out that Mr. Boyle said the same thing about Wayne Enterprises increasing salaries to well above a living wage for even the lowest ranking of our employees.” Bruce shrugs. “Last I checked, we’re nowhere near about to go out of business as he predicted. We’re also not under a federal labor investigation like GothCorp is.”

Clark suppresses a grin, then clears this throat.

“You first floated the idea of providing free daycare to Wayne Enterprises and Wayne Foundation employees four years ago, after the adoption of your own son. While the Wayne Foundation implemented this within two years, it has taken twice as long to implement with Wayne Enterprises. Could you explain why?”

“It’s partially a logistics problem. The Wayne Foundation isn’t nearly as large as Wayne Enterprises, and the ratio of remote workers is much higher with the former. Also, the Wayne Foundation board isn’t nearly as stupidly resistant to-!” Bruce stops, then smiles sheepishly. “Ah-heh. Could we possibly strike that last bit from the record?”

“Sure,” Clark says. He asks a few more questions, then turns off the recorder. “Alright, that should be everything.”

“Great. So, when do you think the article will be up?”

“Probably in a week or so, why?”

“Just trying to figure out when it would be appropriate for me to ask you on a real date.”

Clark’s eyes go wide as his face goes red, but before he can say anything there’s a loud thump from the closet. He blinks, glancing over his shoulder then back at Bruce. 

Bruce slowly rises from his chair, motioning for Clark to speak. 

“Uh… well, I- I’ll probably get a new assignment pretty quickly after I’m done with this, so it partially depends on that.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” Bruce says casually as he creeps across the floor. “Where do you think you’d like to go?”

“On a date?”

“Mm. The ice cream offer still stands. Although, maybe that’s not the best first date idea. Dinner might be more appropriate.”

“I… suppose so. I don’t expect a five-star restaurant or something, though.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to thrust you into high-society life all at once. Besides, hole-in-the-wall places are better if you’re trying to avoid the paparazzi.”

Clark smiles sheepishly.

“That would be more my speed. Both the restaurant and the no-paparazzi thing.”

Bruce smiles as he stops by the closet door. 

“There is one thing I need to take care of, first, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“Well, you see, I’m pretty sure we’re being spied on.”

And with that, Bruce opens the door, at which point there’s a loud yelp as Dick falls onto the floor. He groans, then looks up and laughs nervously.

“Ah-heh… hey, B.”

“There a reason you’re spying on my conversation with Mr. Kent, chum?”

Dick’s eyes flicker over to Clark.

“I just… wanted to know what you were working on with the company?”

“Try again.”

Dick groans, then gets to his feet and dusts himself off.

“Look, it’s- it’s nothing. Whatever.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, but he looks over at Clark again. His eyes are full of hesitation.

No, not hesitation.

Outright distrust.

“... ah,” Bruce says after a minute. He glances over his shoulder with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mr. Kent, I need to step out for a minute. Do you mind?”

“Uh… no, not at all,” Clark says.

“Great.” Bruce gestures for Dick to move, which he does with a groan. They leave the study in relative silence; a few minutes later, Clark hears a door shut.

He hesitates.

It… would be very rude- a violation of both Bruce and Dick’s privacy, in fact- if he were to listen in. He shouldn’t do that.

But… the way Dick looked at him…

Clark sighs, then seeks out Bruce’s voice.

“... spying on me.”

“I wasn’t spying!”

“Then what were you doing?”

“I was… playing hide and seek! With Alfred.”

There’s a long pause. Clark can clearly imagine the look on Bruce’s face.

“... okay, so I was spying.” Dick sighs. “I’m sorry, B, I just…”

“You don’t like Clark.”

Dick doesn’t say anything. Clark’s heart sinks.

“Dick, you’ve barely said fifty words to the man. Why don’t you like him?”

“Because you like him,” Dick replies. “And… I remember what happened last time you liked someone.”

Bruce’s heartbeat stutters.

“Clark’s not like him,” Bruce replies. “He’s… sweet. I think being even slightly mean to me would be torture for him.”

Clark purses his lips, then shrugs. He’s not completely wrong.

“Harvey didn’t seem bad when you started seeing him either,” Dick murmurs.

“No, but he’s sick-!”

“I know he’s sick!” Dick interrupts. “That doesn’t make it okay! You can’t keep making excuses for him, B.”

Bruce lets out a long sigh.

“Nevertheless, Clark’s not him. It’s unfair to judge him based on someone else’s behavior.”

“Yeah, but you have bad taste in men.”

“Just men?”

“Selina was cool.”

“Selina is a jewel thief.”

Clark’s eyebrows rise. 

“Yeah, but when you guys broke up it wasn’t a big thing.”

“That’s because we were barely even dating- you know what, I’m not going to explain this to you right now. The point is, Clark is different.”

“... Clark’s bigger than you,” Dick murmurs after a minute. “If he wanted to, he could hurt you. Not just the way Harvey did, either.”

Bruce exhales slowly as Clark’s stomach churns.

“What have I told you about brute force?”

“Uh… that it can be overcome with speed and proper technique?”

“Exactly. You’ve seen me face off with men much bigger than Clark, and I’ve come out alright in those cases.”

Clark frowns. When would Bruce Wayne have ever fought someone? He’s never heard of him doing martial arts or anything like that.

“Still…”

Bruce lets out a long sigh.

“Look, I understand that you’re worried. But I can handle myself. And who knows? You could like him once you get to know him.”

“I guess… but if anything seems off, promise you’ll dump him?”

“Dick-!”

“Please?”

“… I’ll consider it.”

Clark’s heart sinks, even if he completely understands why Bruce is saying that.

“But you have to promise that you’ll give him a chance, rather than judging him based on his size and something someone else did.”

Dick groans.

“Fiiiine… but if he’s a creep I’m gonna say I told you so.”

Bruce huffs out a laugh.

“I suppose I’ll deserve it.”

Dick laughs, and Clark swallows hard, looking down at his hands.

He clenches them.

He would never. He’s worked hard, so hard to control his powers, and he would never hurt someone that he cares about.

He would never hurt someone who wasn’t an active danger to others, and only if he had exhausted all other options.

But he’s had run-ins with things that make him… not himself, before, even if it wasn’t on Earth. Red kryptonite, magic, mind control- he’s not as invincible as he’d like to think.

If that were to happen with Bruce around-!

The door opens again, and Clark’s head snaps up. Bruce smiles at him.

“Hey, there. Someone has something he’d like to say to you.”

He moves to the side, and Dick walks in, eyes trained on the ground.

“M’sorry that I spied on you,” Dick murmurs, not looking up. “It was wrong.”

“That’s alright,” Clark says before getting out of his chair and walking over to him. “Dick?”

Dick looks up at him, suspicion in his eyes.

Clark holds out his hand.

“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier. I’m Clark.” He smiles gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Dick hesitates, then slowly shakes Clark’s hand.

“Nice to meet you too,” Dick murmurs, sticking his hand back in his pocket.

Clark clears his throat.

“You know, I don’t know all the answers to your questions about Superman, but I know a few.”

Dick perks up a little.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. Superman hasn’t told me about any powers he’s kept hidden, but I do know what’s at his Fortress- he has some robots, as well as some extinct species like dodo birds.”

Dick frowns.

“Why does he have that?”

“There was a whole mess with a crazed preservationist and a bounty hunter a few years back, but he ended up making a sort of enclosure for all the species that came from Earth at the Fortress after he found homes for the non-Earth ones.”

“How come he didn’t tell anyone about it?”

“It’s safer for the animals,” Clark explains.

Dick hums.

“I guess that makes sense.” Dick frowns. “And what about his dog?”

“I think Krypto might actually belong to his cousin.”

“Supergirl? Then why’s he with Superman so often?”

Because Kara has an alcohol problem that she won’t talk to anyone about, Clark doesn’t say.

“I didn’t really ask. Maybe he dogsits?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Clark thinks he sees Bruce frown, but when he glances over at him he’s smiling.

“Cool.” Dick suddenly look a bit shy. “Um… listen, I get it if it’s too big of an ask, but…”

“Yes?”

“Could you… maybe see if he’d be willing to sign an autograph for me?”

Clark blinks, then smiles.

“I’m sure he’d be happy to.”

Dick beams, then pauses before looking over at Bruce.

“Well… I guess he’s okay.”

Bruce snorts, but there’s a sparkle of relief in his eyes.

Behind them, someone clears their throat. Clark looks up to see Alfred.

“My apologies for interrupting, sirs, but Mr. Kent’s ride back to the bus station has arrived.”

“Aw, can’t he stay a little longer?” Dick whines.

“I’m afraid I do have to catch my bus,” Clark says apologetically. “Otherwise I won’t be able to get back home til late.”

Dick huffs, and Bruce reaches over to ruffle his hair.

“Don’t worry, chum.” Bruce looks up at him with a smirk. “I’ll make sure he comes around again.”

Clark blushes a little, unable to keep from smiling.

Alfred clears his throat again.

“The car, sir?”

“I’ll walk him out, Alfred,” Bruce says.

“Very good, sir.”

Clark smiles, holding out his hand to Alfred.

“It was nice to meet you, Alfred, even if we didn’t get to talk much.”

Alfred eyes his hand, then shakes it perfunctorily before letting go and putting his own behind his back.

His expression is hard to read, but Clark kind of gets the sense that Alfred’s going to be harder to win over than Dick.

“Bye, Mr. Kent!” Dick says.

“Bye, Dick. It was good to meet you.”

“Shall we?” Bruce says, gesturing out of the office. Clark nods, and together they head out to the entrance. “So, how did you find the house tour?”

Clark hesitates for a moment.

“Honestly, I was kind of intimidated at first,” he admits. “It’s a much bigger house than any I’ve ever been in.”

“But?” Bruce prompts.

“Well, you walking me through it helped.” He smiles. “Though maybe I just like being around you.”

Bruce laughs, then holds out a hand. Clark shakes it, but doesn’t let go.

Neither does Bruce.

For a moment, then just look at each other. Clark has to try very hard not to let his eyes flick down to Bruce’s lips.

“I mean it, you know,” Bruce tells him.

“Hm?”

“That I want to know the exact minute the interview goes up.” He winks, and Clark’s heart skips a beat. “I don’t want to have to wait any longer than I have to to ask you out.”

Clark flushes, unable to keep himself from smiling even as his gut churns a little.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

“You better.” Bruce lets go of his hand, but just as Clark is about to say goodbye and start heading down to the car, he leans in, pressing his lips against Clark’s cheek. Clark’s eyes go wide, and he puts his hand on his cheek when Bruce pulls back.

He winks.

“See you later, cowboy.”

And with that, Bruce walks back inside, closing the door to the manor behind him.

Clark stands there, hand still on his cheek, for longer than is probably socially acceptable.

Eventually, though, his lips break out into a wide grin.

Even as his stomach roils with nerves.

Chapter Text

“And if you’ll look here…”

Bruce resists the urge to groan, propping his head up with his elbow.

If there’s one thing Bruce can’t stand about having to be Bruce Wayne, it’s useless board meetings.

Well, there are a lot of things Bruce can’t stand about having to be Bruce Wayne, but useless board meetings are definitely up there. There’s so much good he could be doing, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne, and instead he’s stuck here listening about quarterly projections.

As if WE wouldn’t be profitable if they literally did nothing for a year.

(He checked.)

Normally, he’d skip this, but unfortunately Lucius managed to catch him leaving his office and dragged him here with a speech about responsibility to shareholders and a thinly-veiled threat about his R&D access getting cut off. Bruce is mostly sure Lucius wouldn’t actually do it, but he’s learned not to test him.

So, here Bruce is, watching some presentation with graphs going up and sneaking glances at his phone every few minutes to refresh the Daily Planet’s website.

Clark said the interview would be up today. He’s been understandably, if annoyingly, reticent to share any further details than that, and so Bruce has been impatiently waiting on it to be published.

Not because he’s nervous about it, mind. He’s sure that Clark’s piece on him will be fair, and his ego won’t be wounded if Clark doesn’t present a glowing review of the persona he’s spent years cultivating.

No, it’s because once it’s published, Bruce is in the clear to ask him out.

Inasmuch as he can be in the clear for that, at least.

He hadn’t expected to like Clark so much. Sure, he’s handsome, well-built, and refreshingly earnest, but he hadn’t expected his sharp wit, his silly sense of humor, his strong opinions on niche bands from the mid-nineties to early 2000’s- he hadn’t expected Clark Kent.

He likes him. He’d like to see more of him.

Of course, that also means he’ll need to be careful with him when it comes to the investigation into the mayor. Hopefully, it won’t get to the point where Batman needs to get directly involved, but if it does he knows that he’ll need to make sure Clark doesn’t have even an inkling that it’s him.

He’ll already be in danger. No need to make it worse.

(Even if that thing about both him and Superman dogsitting for their cousins is a strange coincidence.)

His phone buzzes, drawing him out of his thoughts. He taps on the notification, suppressing a grin when he sees it’s from Clark.

Clark/ 01:24 PM

Article’s going through a final read through by Perry. Should be up in about half an hour.

typing…

I’ll be waiting with

“Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce looks up to see that everyone is looking at him. Most people would probably react with embarrassment, but neither he nor the Bruce Wayne persona would, so instead he blinks owlishly.

“Yes?”

“What do you think about the quarterly projection revenue for Wayne Aerospace?”

“Oh, that.” Bruce waves dismissively. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Sir, revenue is projected to fall five percent-!”

“And I’m sure that Lucius has already told you that we’ve been working on securing an airline contract that would more than make up for that loss in revenue, right?”

“It did come up,” Lucius comments, seeming glad for the back up.

“But if we don’t manage to secure that contract, we’re looking at hundreds of millions of dollars in losses.”

Bruce shrugs.

“Then we’ll get another one. There’s always another contract waiting around the corner. We’ll be fine.”

The presenter looks unsure, but acquiesces.

“I suppose so.”

“Great. So, are we done here?”

“Well, we’ve gotten through everything on the agenda-!”

“Great,” Bruce repeats, getting out of his chair. “Then I’ve got some other things I need to do.”

“Mr. Wayne, there are still some loose ends to-!”

“Then ask Lucius. Whatever he has to say, I agree with. Alright, Lucius?”

Lucius rolls his eyes.

“Sure, Bruce.”

“Fantastic. Have a good afternoon, everyone!”

The presenter calls Bruce’s name, but he ignores her, quickly walking over to the elevator and pressing the button for the top floor. He leans back against the elevator wall, turning his phone back on. He has one message from Clark.

Clark/ 01:31 PM

🪙 ?

Bruce blinks, then grins.

sent/ 01:34 PM

I thought you didn’t like the whole penny bit

Clark/ 01:35 PM

I never said that, I just thought it was silly.

sent/ 01:35 PM

if you say so. How’s work been outside of the article?

They text back and forth for nearly twenty minutes before Clark suddenly stops responding. Bruce is about to send him another coin emoji when he finally does text him.

Clark/ 02:01 PM

The piece is up.

Bruce blinks, then smiles before navigating over to his browser app and opening up the Daily Planet’s website. Clark’s article is the first one to pop up, having just been published moments ago. Bruce clicks on it, then settles back in his chair.

It’s a balanced piece, a thorough, if somewhat detached, profile on the “Bruce Wayne” persona he’s built up over the years. It cuts between Bruce’s own words and details about WE’s business dealings, including an aside about the struggle for WE employees to unionize a few years back and Bruce’s own somewhat lukewarm public support on the subject, though he does note that union leaders credited Bruce with forcing through a better deal than the board wanted.

Clark, of course, doesn’t know that Bruce privately bankrolled those unionization efforts. He’d gone to great lengths to hide it.

Overall, it’s good. Not a puff piece, nor a scathing takedown, and well-written to boot.

But really, the article isn’t the point.

It’s what the article being up means.

Bruce navigates over to Clark’s contact, then hits “call.” It rings for much longer than expected- in fact, Bruce is pretty sure the call’s about to go to voicemail when Clark finally picks up.

“Hi, just one second!” Clark says hurriedly. “Sorry, Jimmy, I really need to take this.”

“Well, okay, but-!”

“Be right back!”

Bruce listens as Clark moves to wherever he’s going, greeting a few people on his way there. Eventually, he hears a door close.

“Hey,” Clark says, voice soft in a way that makes Bruce’s stomach squirm pleasantly.

“Hey yourself. I’m guessing you’re somewhere a little more private now.”

Clark chuckles.

“Yeah, sorry. We’re, uh, not supposed to take personal calls in the bullpen. Recent rule change.”

“Hm, I suppose I can understand that.” Bruce leans back in his chair. “So, I read the article.”

“I figured.” Clark clears his throat. “What, ah… what did you think?”

“It was good. You’ve got a great prose style, very snappy and impactful.”

Clark chuckles again, clearly a little bashful.

“Well, thank you.”

“Mm.” Bruce leans forward in his chair. “But, I think you know that the article isn’t why I called.”

Bruce hears a little exhale.

“Yeah, I- I figured that too.”

Bruce smirks.

“Do you happen to be free this Friday evening, Mr. Kent?”

“I do, actually.”

“Then would you do me the honor of spending it with me?”

Clark chuckles softly.

“I’d love to, Bruce.” He hesitates. “Um… but I did mean what I said when you were trying to sneak up on Dick, I’d- I’d prefer something more casual.”

“And I meant it when I said I wouldn’t subject you to the high-society life right away,” Bruce replies. “I know the perfect place if you’re willing to come to Gotham. If not, I’m more than willing to find somewhere in Metropolis.”

“I think Gotham will be fine.”

“Great. I’ll meet you at the bus station, say around seven?”

“Yeah, that sounds-!”

Bruce hears a door open on the other end, quickly followed by a yelp from Clark.

“Clark? Why are you in a supply closet?” Bruce hears a woman he recognizes as Cat Grant ask.

“Uhhhhh…”

“… ahhh, I see now. Personal phone call?”

Clark chuckles sheepishly.

“Yeah, sorry. Don’t tell Perry?”

“Mm… fine, but you owe me a favor.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“That’s cause it is. Well, I’ll leave you to it.” There’s a slight pause. “Oh, and if that person you’ve been not-so-subtly texting for like two weeks now is on the line, tell them to ask you out already.”

“Cat!”

“Or you could ask them out, I’m not-!”

“Okay, goodbye, Cat!”

Cat laughs, and Bruce hears the sound of high heels clacking away just before Clark closes the door again.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Clark mutters. Bruce can practically see how red his face must be.

He chuckles lightly.

“Well, she was a little late, but she was right that I should ask already.”

“True. Although now I’m gonna have to deal with everyone knowing I’m going on a date.”

Bruce frowns.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Hm? Oh, no, no, it’s- it’s not a bad thing in and of itself, I just…” Clark sighs. “My last girlfriend and I broke up about three months ago. She works here too, so everyone knew we were together, and found out pretty quickly when we broke up.”

“Ah. Might be awkward for her, then.”

“Well, Lois is on assignment in Pokolistan, so she won’t hear about it for a while yet, but… yeah, it’ll probably be awkward.” Clark clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Well, it’s… kinda bad manners to talk about your ex with someone new, right?”

“I don’t think I have much room to talk in that area,” Bruce deadpans.

Clark snorts so abruptly that it couldn’t have been on purpose. Bruce grins.

“So, Friday?”

“Yeah. Friday.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.” He smirks. “Have a good day, cowboy.”

He hears Clark’s breath hitch just as he hangs up, and he grins again.

The rest of the week passes slowly, like molasses pouring out of a bottle. Sure, there’s plenty to keep Bruce occupied, between the regular street crimes and Scarecrow debuting a new strain of fear toxin, but he still counts down the days to Friday.

He and Clark text consistently throughout the week, talking about everything and nothing. Tuesday evening is spent debating the finer points of a particular episode of the Gray Ghost, and Bruce finds himself mulling it over even as he wraps up a jewelry store robbery with Gordon.

“So are you just gonna... be like this all the time now?” Dick asks Friday morning over breakfast. It’s rare that Bruce is able to join him for breakfast, but it had been a somewhat light night and he was feeling up to it.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

Dick gestures lazily.

“Just- I dunno, you’ve been acting all… soft, these past couple of weeks.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“You saw me punch several men in the face on Saturday night. I’m fairly certain at least one lost a tooth.”

“Yeah, but you spent an hour before patrol texting Clark and grinning like an idiot that same night. That’s not really normal for you.”

Bruce shrugs.

“Well, I like him. You know that.”

“I’ve never seen you act like this with anyone else you liked.”

Bruce hums.

“It’s different when it’s someone special,” he says before smirking. “How’s Barbara, by the way?”

Dick immediately turns bright pink.

“Fine,” he mutters. “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

“I didn’t say she was.”

“You implied it,” Dick mutters. “We just went to the movies together, that’s all. It wasn’t a date.”

“If you say so,” Bruce answers before taking a sip of his coffee. “You should probably finish up your breakfast before Alfred comes to give you a ride to school.”

Dick lets out a “hmph,” then starts eating a little faster.

“… You know, if you wanted it to be a date-!”

Dick groans, then swallows his mouthful of cereal before picking up his plate and cup of milk.

“I’m finishing this in the living room.”

“You know Alfred hates it when you do that.”

“Yeah, but he’s less annoying than you!” Dick calls as he storms out.

Bruce shrugs. Kid has a point.

His phone buzzes. He picks it up, smiling when he sees that he has a text from Clark.

Clark/ 07:22 AM

Good morning!

sent/ 07:22 AM

morning. how long did you wait this time?

Clark/ 07:23 AM

About two hours.

Sent/ 07:23 AM

genuinely, do you ever sleep?

Clark/ 07:24 AM

I do! I’m just an early bird LOL.

sent/ 07:24 AM

well, as long as you’re not trying to drag me out of bed at five in the morning.

sent/ 07:25 AM

I can’t wait to see you.

Clark doesn’t respond right away. For a minute, Bruce thinks he’s scared him off, but then a new text arrives.

Clark/ 07:30 AM

I can’t wait to see you either 💕

Bruce can’t help but grin.

Hours later, Bruce jogs down the steps of the front staircase, pulling on his jacket as he does. Despite his insistence that he doesn’t care even a little about what Ferris Boyle has to say, he still had to jump on a video call about his response to what Bruce said about the labor violations in Clark’s article, meaning that he’s about to be late to greet Clark at the bus station.

He grabs his keys off the counter, then catches sight of himself in the mirror- specifically, the errant locks of hair on his forehead.

He grimaces, then takes off his cap and sunglasses to fix it. Just as he finishes, he hears footsteps coming down the stairs.

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

Bruce glances over at Dick, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“You have jeans on,” Dick points out. “Blue jeans.”

“Dick, you’ve seen me wear blue jeans before.”

“Yeah, for like, undercover work.” Dick narrows his eyes. “You’re not going out with him as part of some secret investigation, are you?”

“No, Dick,” Bruce replies.

It’s mostly true. His desire to date Clark and his plan to help Clark take down the mayor are two separate things, even if they overlap slightly.

“Okay… but it’s weird that you’re dressed like Ollie.”

Bruce furrows his brow, looking over at Dick.

“I have a much better sense of style than Oliver Queen.”

Dick holds out his hand, wiggling slightly.

“Ehhh…”

Bruce rolls his eyes, then puts on his cap and sunglasses.

“I have to get going. Keep an eye on anything that might turn into something when we go on patrol tonight.”

“Kay. Have fun, B.”

Bruce smiles at him, then starts heading toward the garage.

“I assume you’re leaving for your date with Mr. Kent, Master Bruce?” Alfred says as Bruce passes him.

“Yes, and I’m about to be late, so I’d appreciate it if you kept whatever you have to say to a minimum.”

“Very well, sir. I simply wish to remind you that there is no reason to rush into anything.”

Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Alfred, it’s been over a year. I think that’s plenty of time, isn’t it? Besides, Clark’s a nice guy.”

Alfred doesn’t respond to that.

“… you don’t trust him?”

“You must admit, sir, there’s something rather… odd about him, isn’t there?”

“He’s from Kansas, Alfred. I’m sure a lot of things we do are weird to him too.” He walks a little faster. “I’ll be back by ten. Make sure the Batmobile is charged by then.”

“Very well, sir.”

There’s a tired tone to Alfred’s voice, but Bruce ignores it.

He’s got a date to get to, after all.

The Gotham bus station is relatively busy around this time, though less so than it is at rush hour. Even still, Clark is easy to spot amongst the crowd, given that he literally sticks out above them.

“Clark!” Bruce calls. Clark’s head turns toward him, his face immediately lighting up when Bruce waves at him.

Bruce’s stomach flutters, and somehow doesn’t stop as he watches Clark try to navigate out of the crowd without bumping into anyone else. He can practically hear his quick, profuse apologies every time someone’s path is disturbed by his own.

“Sorry, ma’am- Bruce!” He calls once he’s free of the throng. He jogs over to him with a huge smile on his face. “Hey! Sorry, were you waiting long?”

“Not too long.” Bruce looks him over. Clark’s wearing his glasses, a light blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up halfway to his elbows, dark blue jeans, and a pair of sneakers that will likely need to be replaced soon. His hair looks slightly less messy than usual, as if he’d tried to do something to tame his curls a little. “You look nice.”

Clark flushes, lips curling into a small smile.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat. “I was, uh, actually a little worried that I’d dressed down too much. I mean, I know we agreed to go somewhere casual, but…”

Bruce gestures at himself.

“I don’t think I’d be in a position to complain even if you did.”

Clark chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I suppose you’re right.” He clears his throat again. “So, um, are you parked nearby?”

“Just across the street,” he says, pointing to the parking lot. “Shall we?”

Clark nods, and they walk over to the crosswalk, heading over to the car.

“This is yours?” Clark asks when they stop at Bruce’s car.

“Yes? What about it?”

“Nothing, I just… I guess I just expected you to drive the one you showed me on the tour.”

Bruce chuckles as he gets out his key fob.

“That is my normal car, but it seemed a bit counterproductive to drive a luxury vehicle when I’m trying not to get recognized by the paparazzi. Doors unlock when it senses the key, by the way.”

“Ah,” Clark says before opening the passenger side door. Bruce slips into the driver’s seat, then waits until they’ve both buckled up before starting the car. “So, um… do you have a lot of cars?”

“Just three.”

“That still seems like a lot.”

Bruce snorts as he puts the car into reverse.

“Trust me, in my social circle it’s not. Car collecting is a popular hobby amongst my peers.”

“And you’re not into that?”

“Not really. I do like cars, but I prefer to put time and effort into maintaining and upgrading the cars I already have rather than endlessly searching for something better.”

It’s true enough. Clark doesn’t need to know which of his three cars he spends the most time working on.

“I see. That fits.”

Bruce glances over at him.

“With what?”

“What I know about you. You’ve never been known as someone who makes ridiculous purchases.” Clark pauses. “Well, mostly.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow as he turns onto the street.

“Mostly?”

“You do tend to buy companies without much rhyme or reason.”

“Oh, that. No, there are reasons.”

“And what are they?”

Bruce gives Clark a look just as the car pulls up to a light.

“Is this a date or an interview, Mr. Kent?”

Clark blushes, glancing away.

“Sorry. Hard to turn off the journalist brain sometimes.”

Bruce chuckles.

“I can see that. On a related note, how’s that article on Mayor’s Fleming’s staff walking out on him going?”

Clark sighs.

“Well, I haven’t managed to get anyone to go on the record publicly, but I’ve gotten a few anonymous statements that…”

They arrive at their destination about twenty minutes later, pulling into a parking lot next to the restaurant. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Clark squinting up at the sign.

“O’Henry’s?”

“Mmhm. One of the nicer restaurants in this area. I used to come here when I was younger and still going to clubs. Best grilled cheese I ever had.” He pauses as he turns the car off. “Admittedly I usually had that when I was either drunk or on the verge of a hangover, but still.”

Clark chuckles, then unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. Bruce does the same, then starts walking toward the building.

A minute in, though, he realizes that Clark isn’t following him. He stops, turning around and frowning at Clark.

“You coming?”

Clark jolts a bit, then smiles.

“Uh, yeah, sorry.”

He walks up to Bruce, and they walk into the restaurant together. The hostess greets them with a smile when they come in, then guides them over to a small booth.

“Your server will be with you in a moment,” she tells them once she puts down their menus. Once she leaves, Bruce picks up his menu and starts looking it over.

“Anything look good?” He asks Clark after a minute.

“A few things.” Clark glances up at him over the top of his menu, then looks down. Bruce doesn’t think anything of this at first, but then Clark does it again, and again.

The fourth time, he clears his throat.

“Need something?”

“Huh?”

“You keep looking at me. Something on my face?”

Clark blushes.

“Oh, no, I just…” Clark clears his throat and puts his menu down, leaving one hand on the table. “Sorry, I… I guess I’m a little nervous.”

Bruce smiles, reaching over the table and covering Clark’s hand with his own.

“Don’t be.”

Clark looks up at him, cheeks still pink, but he smiles.

“Hi there!”

The smile drops as he pulls his hand away from Bruce. Bruce barely has time to furrow his brow before the waitress starts talking again.

“Welcome to O’Henry’s! Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

“Uh, water will be fine for me,” Clark says.

“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” Bruce says.

“Great, I’ll have that right out for you!”

She turns and walks away, and Bruce turns his gaze back to Clark.

“Sorry,” Clark says sheepishly. “I, just, um…”

“Not a big fan of PDA?” Bruce suggests.

Clark glances away.

“Something like that.” He clears his throat, then picks up his menu. “So, um, how’s work been?”

Bruce frowns, but decides to let it go.

“Actually, I was almost late to pick you up.”

“Really?”

“Mm. Ferris Boyle put out a statement about me talking about him being under investigation.” He snorts. “Apparently I’m a ‘virtue-signaling borderline socialist’ just because I care about the lives of the people who work for me.”

Clark winces.

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Well, it was my piece that got you into that mess-!”

“Oh, please, like I care what Ferris Boyle of all people thinks of me. He’s an asshole who never met a corner he wouldn’t cut to save a single penny.” He shrugs. “Besides, Boyle’s the one who runs a company that calls itself ‘the People Company.’ If anything, being so publicly callous is worse PR for him than it is for me. PR just wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page about ignoring him.”

Bruce smirks.

“Which will probably get to him far more than anything I could say, to be fair.”

Clark chuckles just as the waitress returns with their drinks.

“You guys ready to order, or do you need another minute?”

“I’m ready if you are,” Bruce tells Clark.

“I’m ready too,” Clark affirms.

“Great,” the waitress says before getting out her notepad. “What can I get for you two?”

“I’ll have the turkey club with a side of fruit,” Bruce orders.

“Got it. And you, sir?”

“I’ll have the Belgian waffles with strawberries please,” Clark replies.

Bruce furrows his brow slightly. The waitress, on the other hand, doesn’t even bat an eye.

“Alright. That’ll be out shortly.”

She walks away, and Clark looks back over at him. He frowns.

“What?”

“It’s nearly seven-thirty.”

“Yes?”

“And you’re having waffles?”

Clark shrugs.

“Sure. Breakfast for dinner’s always fun.”

“But it’s not-!” Bruce stops himself.

Normal people don’t care about that, he reminds himself. Normal people aren’t so… rigid.

So Bruce can’t be either.

“It’s not what?” Clark asks.

“… nevermind,” Bruce murmurs, forcing a smile. “So, tell me, what was it like growing up in a small town?”

Clark hums, looking up.

“It’s pretty much what people say about it. Everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows everyone’s business too.”

Bruce shrugs.

“Sounds pretty similar to high society to me. Maybe not the knowing everyone part, but you’ll know their business anyway.”

“True.” Clark smirks. “Bet y’all never rode to school on a horse, though.”

Bruce’s eyebrows rise.

“Did you?”

“Mm, well, the car was having trouble one morning, and the school bus didn’t run that far out…”

“… you can’t be serious.”

“Swear on my life, I don’t know how it happened.”

Bruce gives him a look as they sit down on a park bench.

“You’re telling me that someone got an entire herd of goats into the gymnasium at your school without anyone noticing?”

“Oh, I’m sure someone noticed, but they never came forward.” Clark shrugs. “Anyway, that’s why senior pranks were banned at my high school. Never got to do one.”

“That’s too bad, mine was a lot of fun.” He pauses. “Or so I heard, at least. I didn’t participate.”

“No?”

“Mm, I was pretty dour back then. Obviously I’ve grown out of it since.”

Clark chuckles, and the sound makes Bruce’s stomach flutter in a way that’s quickly becoming all-too-familiar.

“I can’t really imagine that.”

“Oh, but I was. Poor Alfred probably thought I was going to brood my way through life.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Clark doesn’t need to know that.

Clark leans back on the bench, smiling over at Bruce.

“I had a great time tonight.”

Bruce grins at him.

“Would you be amenable to doing this again sometime, then?”

“I think I could be convinced.”

Bruce laughs, then scoots a little closer on the bench. Clark’s cheeks turn a light shade of red.

“Um.”

Bruce reaches over and cups Clark’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over it gently.

“I’d like to kiss you, if you’re alright with that,” he murmurs.

Clark’s pupils dilate slightly, more redness spreading over his cheeks.

“I… yeah,” Clark replies in a soft voice. “I’d like that.”

Bruce smiles, then closes his eyes and starts leaning in. Their noses, brush, and-!

And Clark is shaking.

Bruce stops, opening his eyes and pulling back slightly. Clark’s brow is pinched, his lips pressed together tightly, and his hands are fisted in his lap.

“Are you okay?”

Clark opens his eyes. His pupils are still dilated, but there’s anxiety clear in them now.

“I…” Clark swallows. “Um… could- could you maybe…?”

Bruce nods, scooting back on the bench. Clark takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes. He grips at his pantslegs for a minute, then lets go.

“… sorry,” he murmurs. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright, Clark,” Bruce says. “You don’t have to apologize.”

He looks away.

“Though, uh, I’d appreciate a ‘no’ rather than forcing yourself to kiss me if that’s not what you want.”

“No, no, it’s-! I did- do want to kiss you, it’s just-!”

Clark grimaces, looking away.

“It’s just…?” Bruce prompts.

“I’ve never actually been on a date with a guy before,” Clark confesses quietly. “Or… been with a guy at all.”

“Oh.” Bruce shrugs. “Well, it takes some people a while to try that out after they come out.”

Clark winces.

“I’m, um… I’m not actually out, either.” He swallows. “At all.”

Bruce blinks.

“… what?”

Clark sighs.

“Look, I- I grew up in rural Kansas. My folks were alright about- about this kind of thing, but other people, kids at school, not so much.” Clark rubs the back of his neck. “A-And I’ve never had a problem with gay people-!”

Bruce tries not to make a face. Clark winces again.

“That didn’t come out right. I just, I mean that I…” Clark sighs. “I’m okay with other people being gay, o-or, um, bisexual in my case, it’s just… I guess it’s harder to accept when it comes to myself.”

He glances over at him.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

Bruce stares at him for a minute, then leans back on the bench, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Are you mad…?” Clark asks quietly.

“Not really. Mostly I’m just wondering what is it about me that attracts closeted men.”

“You’re very handsome. That’s probably part of it.”

Bruce huffs out a small laugh, then looks over at Clark with a serious expression.

“I like you, Clark,” he starts. “I really like you. But I can’t guarantee this is going to remain a secret. If you’re set on staying closeted, I’m not the best choice to date. I’ve done the long-term secret relationship before, and it didn’t end well. And you and I don’t have the established public friendship to lean back on.”

Clark hesitates, chewing on his lower lip.

“I… don’t think I want to stay in the closet,” he admits. “It’s- it would probably be easier, but I… I like you. And more than that, I’ve been ignoring this since I was thirteen. I’m… I’m tired of it.”

He looks over at Bruce, smiling a little.

“I don’t think I even knew how tired of it I was until I met you.”

Despite himself, Bruce’s heart flip-flops in his chest. He smiles, just a little.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Clark clears his throat. “So, um… if- if you want to give this a shot, then… I’m game.”

Bruce looks at him for a minute, then exhales.

“What the hell. Why not?”

Clark beams, then clears his throat.

“So, um… do you still want to…?”

Bruce hums.

“I’m not gonna kiss you,” he says. Clark deflates a bit. “Not tonight, at least, and I won’t kiss you in public until you’re out to everyone you care about.”

Clark perks up slightly.

“But…?”

“Well, the next time we’re somewhere with a little more privacy, I might kiss you.”

Clark grins.

“And how do I get from ‘might’ to ‘definitely?’” He asks.

“You seem smart. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Clark laughs, then looks down when his watch beeps.

“Shoot. The bus back to Metropolis leaves soon.”

Bruce sighs.

“I’d offer to drive you back, but I promised Dick I’d be in by ten. Gymnastics event tomorrow,” he explains.

“That’s alright, I get it.” He stands up. “But I do need to get back to the station.”

Bruce nods, then stands up. They head back to the car, driving to the station in a comfortable silence.

“Hey,” Bruce says just before Clark gets out.

“Yeah?”

Bruce holds out his hand. Clark looks down at it, blinking, then smiles and takes Bruce’s hand.

They don’t shake. Don’t really do anything but look at each other for a long moment.

Bruce thinks about kissing him again, but decides that it’s still too public, and Clark’s probably not ready yet anyway.

So instead, he just squeezes Clark’s hand.

“Safe trip home, cowboy.”

Clark blushes, but grins before finally letting go.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” he promises before getting out of the car.

“You better!” Bruce calls. He watches Clark disappear into the crowd just as the bus back to Metropolis starts boarding.

He doesn’t start driving back to the manor until after it’s already departed.