Work Text:
Gossip. It’s what inevitably happens when human beings are within communicable distance with one another. It’s neither inherently bad or good, but a natural part of life. People always have and always will love a good story, so when the opportunity presents itself, most will pounce on the latest tale with relish. Especially when that tale is slightly scandalous, in your own office, and is about your bosses’ less-than-professional relationship with a certain secretary of hers (well, personal assistant, actually. But that sounded way less sexy. A PA was something that old people had to help them with groceries. The word secretary just made for a better title of a romance novel. Or at least, that’s how Marty Cheung justified the informal position switch in his mind.)
So, the tale. The yarn. The chronicle. The short and long of it. Marty was more than down to discuss the details with anyone willing to listen, but today the twenty-seven year old had an especially receptive audience. Binh Vo was a recent hire at Wayne Enterprises’ main office, and happened to be assigned to the desk next to his. The two quickly hit it off, with Marty assigned to help Binh get orientated around the workspace and catch faer up on the who’s who and what’s what- such as which people were bitter enemies, what Kelsea from HR had been fired for doing, who had dated who in the past, who was aromantic and otherwise Not Interested, what to do if a villain attacked during work, why Ahmed the secretary (an actual secretary this time) was no longer allowed to bring ice cream to work, so on and so forth- until he walked by.
“What?” asked Binh after Marty abruptly cut himself off mid-sentence. He had been leaning over the desks to show faer how to navigate a computer program fae needed when he had caught sight of him, and the eager expression he’d adopted immediately caught faers attention.
“Oh, I cannot believe I almost forgot to tell you,” Marty drawled, voice pitched low so as not to attract the wrong attention.
Binh perked up at this, turning away from the computer to look directly at Marty, who pretended not to preen at the rapt attention.
“Okay, see that guy over there? Leather jacket, dark hair, looks like a young Jackson Wang with the pierced ears and everything?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s Terry McGinnis. He’s the personal assistant of the CEO, Dana Tan and- get this- they’re totally f*cking.”
“Really?” Binh asked, eyes lighting up at the prospect of a good story.
“Yes!” Marty cried (well, whisper-shouted. McGinnis was still in hearing range and all) “Oh my g-d, lemme tell you. The first time I noticed something was when I saw them…”
--
It was Marty’s fifth week at Wayne Enterprises. All things considered, it was a fantastic job. Good pay, good benefits, good hours, reasonable workload, a healthy union, great workspace flexibility, and protection from Costumed Incidents (which was imperative considering that not only was this Neo Gotham, but that former CEO Derek Powers had also moonlighted as the villain Blight for a time before his death and his- ahem- associates were still rather prone to targeting his old company). Nothing life threatening had happened yet, thank goodness, but for better or for worse, Marty was a thrill-seeker. So, when an interaction from across the room caught his eye, he couldn’t help but take note.
He only saw it because he had chosen to work in the communal office room with desks set up next to each other instead of in a solitary office or remotely. He was just the kind of person who worked better like that. The other options were too lonely, and they would’ve meant missing out on this.
There, by the entrance to the elevator lobby, was his boss and current head of WE, Dana Tan. As bosses went, she had to be one of his schwayest. A short Chinese-American woman in her mid thirties, Ms. Tan had assumed her position after Bruce Wayne had retired for a second time, and the few that had bad things to say about her leadership mostly did so out of jealousy. She was strong, fair, capable and charismatic. Marty had met her briefly during the hiring process and was delighted to report that she was even more stunning in person than she was on the vidlinks. He particularly admired her dedication to wearing especially cutesy outfits to work after being told at her first press conference as CEO that she was “too feminine” to be running a multi-billion dollar company (today’s outfit was a matching yellow skirt and jacket with scalloped edges, white shoes, bag, and trim, daisy-shaped buttons and clips in her hair), which was why he was looking as close as he needed to be to notice it when it happened.
Someone- tall, masculine, very handsome, dressed in business casual- who had approached Ms. Tan a moment ago and handed her a to-go mug was now standing just a tad closer to her than what was coworker appropriate. The two kind-of leaned in for a second, but hastily broke apart when someone else walked past. The two parted soon after that, but Ms. Tan’s hand definitely rested on their upper arm for longer than necessary.
Marty tried not to think too deeply into the occurrence, since it would be rude to make presumptions, but when that same person walked into the breakroom the next day and sat down a couple of tables away next to a black feminine person with bright pink hair who started loudly joking about Ms. Tan’s favorite “desk decoration” finally showing up to work, it became a bit too glaring to ignore the implications.
Through further (unavoidable. Definitely unavoidable) eavesdropping, Marty learned that the pink-haired person’s name was Max, and that they knew all about what Terry’s (the mysterious drink-deliverer from yesterday) job really entailed.
It could all be good-natured ribbing, of course- the kind that friends have made since the history of ever- but then the next day Marty spotted a trail of rounded bruises on Terry’s neck, and the next week he learned that Terry worked as a PA for Ms. Tan- something that would keep him very close and at her beck and call. Then a week or so after that he saw Ms. Tan’s hand linger on Terry’s hip for a minute before they exchanged a furtive smile. All these combined with a couple “Who hired a stripper?” jokes followed by whistling when Terry entered a room led him to reasonably conclude that there was perhaps more truth to the teasing than not. Maybe this rom-com plot would be an ethical dilemma for a more straight-laced person, but Marty had never had any illusions about being the respectful enough type to abstain from prime drama.
--
“Wow, really?” Binh said, pausing in faer (already distracted) typing for a moment to cast a glance at the hallway Terry had disappeared into a minute ago.
“Yeah!” affirmed Marty, finishing off a sentence in his report with the ease of someone well acquainted with multitasking before continuing on with, “And then a couple weeks later I saw…”
--
If nothing else about this job had been worth it, the trips, at least, would’ve tempted him to stick it out. Not that he hated his job- quite the opposite in fact. Traveling for work was already the dream (as his family had rarely had the money to get out of Neo Gotham as a kid- much less travel internationally), but the style that WE provided made it even better than Marty had hoped for. Being taken on trips as a consultant was what he had signed up for, but he had expected like, decently clean hotels that weren’t roach infested- not this five-star beauty the company-hired chauffeur had dropped him off at in the middle of Manila.
Stepping into the lobby (that looked far too grand to be considered a “lobby” by his plebeian standards), he was greeted with richly colored carpet, glistening marble columns, pretty ornaments on every wall and a certain smell that made even the air seem fancy. It was the nicest building he had ever been to- looking like something from out of those fashion accounts he followed, or those Christmas movies he’d grown up watching, except it wasn’t even Christmas and he couldn’t begin to imagine how lavishly this place was decorated for the holidays.
Approaching the front desk (though really, could a twenty foot long marvel of mahogany even be called a desk?) made him feel like a poor little Victorian orphan boy sneaking into the House of Lords. The attendants were nice enough though, putting him at ease when they swiftly checked him in and directed him to his room. He only had a small suitcase with him, but as he passed the line of bellhops with their luggage trolleys, he almost wished he had brought more stuff just for the opportunity to use one.
The elegance of the lobby extended to the elevator, hallway, and room. He felt like he was trespassing when he opened the door and placed his meager belongings down on the bed. Like some rich-person caricature would appear in a cloud of rich-person magic and demand to know what a low-lev Gotham kid was doing here dirtying up the sheets. When no such figure in a three piece suit (and what even was a three piece suit, anyways?) showed up, he forced himself to take a breath and relax. He was really here. He was here in this fancy hotel in the Philippines. He was being paid to stay in this fancy hotel in the Philippines. He had landed his dream job, was in one of his dream destinations, and was going to call his sister to gush about everything after work was finished tomorrow. For now though, the sun was shining, the jet lag had yet to kick in, and Marty had been invited by a couple of coworkers to see some sights together- so with a final look at the room with it’s well stocked (yet still overpriced) snack bar, he left to go meet up with them.
On his way to the elevators he passed someone who looked like they had just come from a photoshoot for those fashion blogs he had thought of earlier- dressed in a long pleated beige skirt, white blouse, red ribbons for accents and a long dark green trench coat that, on anyone else might have looked like a strange imitation of a Christmas tree, but on them seemed perfectly natural- then belatedly recognized them as Ms. Tan herself! Marty watched her walk up to a room, pull out a keycard, open the door and roll her luggage inside before realizing that it must be her own room that she was accessing. Why she was rooming down here on the fifteenth floor instead of the fortieth-floor penthouse suite was beyond him, but it wasn’t his place to creep around and find out, so he put it out of his mind while he joined up with his coworkers to go out- until he got back that night just in time to see Terry the Hot PA slip into Ms. Tan’s room using their own keycard.
--
“No way,” cried Binh, looking very much like fae did believe there was a way.
“Yes! For real! Just casually walked in- no knock or nothing!”
“Hot d*mn.”
“See? I told you it was good! And that’s not even the best of it- a little while later I saw them…”
--
Marty felt a spike of panic when he turned away from checking another office and almost ran face-first into his boss. He had been in the middle of trying to (rather unsuccessfully) navigate a floor full of private offices in order to find a coworker he needed to make sure was willing to collaborate on a project when the near-collision happened. He had never been on this floor before, and though each office was numbered and there were directory signs in all the hallways, he was still having an embarrassing amount of trouble finding the right office. He had become desperate enough to start poking his head into random rooms in search of someone who could point him in the right direction, and had been frustrated at yet another dead end when he whirled and almost bodychecked the CEO herself.
“Oh my g-d, I’m so sorry ma’am!” he cried, throwing out his hands to steady her when she stumbled to a sudden stop.
“No worries, it’s fine,” Ms. Tan said, readjusting the belt of the white quilted candy-patterned coat she wore, which was complemented by pink stockings, gloves and lollipop earrings with white eyeliner and knee-length boots.
“I really love your outfits, by the way,” he said, both to diffuse the awkwardness and save face. “Like, I’ve been following fashion accounts that post about them way before I even thought of working here. They’re a big inspiration to me.”
“Really? Oh my g-d, Marty, was it?”
“Yeah,” he said, surprised and pleased that she remembered him.
“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she gushed with a bright smile that made his heart race again (not in a romantic sense, more in a kid meeting Santa kind of way). “I guess I’m so used to ignoring what people say online about them, and it’s not really the focus here at work so I just forget that people actually like them. Well, my spouse likes them, but that’s a given.”
“Oh you’re married? I didn’t know that,” he said. He was a fan of hers, sure, but he’d always found it kind of creepy to go looking for info on famous people’s personal lives, preferring to instead pay undue attention to the goings-on of his neighbors and acquaintances.
“They don’t like media attention, so we don’t release photos, but you’ll probably see them around here occasionally,” she revealed, then excused herself to go back to work, leaving Marty so preoccupied with the high of meeting his icon that he only realized he should’ve asked for directions a solid five minutes later as he peeked into yet another office.
With a (slightly wistful) sigh he turned to resume his search for the elusive office, only to again be run into- though this time it wasn’t his fault.
“Oh, geez! Sorry! Sorry, that was my bad. Sorry,” the person said, stumbling over their words almost as hard as they stumbled into Marty. They had come from the same corridor as Ms. Tan, and when he looked up he recognized them as Terry the PA.
“It’s alright,” he replied, wondering at his misfortune of literally running into two of his superiors within minutes of each other. Unlike Ms. Tan, however, Terry's appearance looked significantly more unkempt. Their hair was windswept, despite the lack of outdoor access on this particular floor. They were wearing a leather jacket over a rumpled t-shirt and jeans that they seemed to be dressed in half the time, and there was a flush to their cheeks that suggested recent physical exertion and a smear of red at the crease of their mouth.
It was an undeniably attractive look, but with a start, Marty realized what exactly all these details meant when added up together. Terry and Ms. Tan both emerging from the same (empty, he had checked) corridor a few minutes apart? With both being distracted enough to run into somebody and one of them being distinctly, ah, roughed up? He tried not to think too hard about it. He already knew that Terry and Ms. Tan were involved, so to speak, but- wait. Hadn’t Ms. Tan said she was married? Maybe they had an open relationship? She had said that she was married, not monogamous, so really, he was in no place to assume.
Some form of distress must have shown on his face, because Terry gave him a sympathetic look and said, “Hey, you’re new, right? Are you lost down here?”
“Is it that obvious?” he asked, thanking the maker that Terry hadn’t interpreted his expression another way.
“Nah,” they laughed. “I’ve just worked here since high school. I know the building better than most. Need some directions?”
“Yes, please,” he responded, trying not to shriek at the ‘I know the building better than most’ part, because he would bet money that it could probably be translated to ‘I know all the best hiding places in the building’.
“Schway. I’m Terry McGinnis, by the way. He/they pronouns,” they said casually. Like a casual normal person. Because this was a casual, normal interaction and not one in which it was appropriate to start squealing in.
“I’m Marty Cheung, he/him. Do you have a preference?” he asked, hoping to the heavens that he sounded natural.
“Not most of the time, no,” they replied, then asked him where he needed to go, showed him to his destination at last, then disappeared down the hall as quickly as they came, leaving him to hold the secret of this encounter in his private heart of hearts forever.
Who was he kidding? His sister was going to hear all about this the moment he clocked out for the day.
--
“Okay,” gasped Binh in a tone that somehow managed to convey all faer incredulity, excitement, and anticipation in one word.
“Right?” said Marty, quite familiar with that reaction.
“Yeah.”
“But then a month or whatever later I was…”
--
In retrospect, when Marty approached Ahmed’s desk and found it empty, he should’ve been more cautious. Ahmed Hatim was the secretary of Ms. Tan’s, and his desk was right outside of her office. In the almost seven months that Marty had worked there, he had become good work friends with the older Egyptian man, enough to get comfortable popping over to bother him at his desk. Things like exchanging drinks, getting directions, discussing Ahmed’s recent foray into his dream of standup comedy, and Marty’s love of trying out new restaurants every weekend. Perhaps because of this he was too blase with protocol, but the fact of the matter was that Ahmed was gone (most likely to the bathroom or something), Marty had seen a notification pop up on Ahmed’s computer reminding him to remind Ms. Tan of a meeting, and figured he would repay his friend one of the many favors he owed him by doing this small thing.
It occurred to him, as he started pushing Ms. Tan’s door open, that there was probably a proper procedure for this.
A moment later, it was revealed to him why there was probably a proper procedure for this.
The door was a nice one. Solid wood of some sort, not that Marty knew enough about wood to tell which kind, but it was pretty and rich looking. It was also well maintenanced, which meant it was quiet, which meant when he cracked it open a few inches then immediately froze, it hardly made a sound.
Whether that was a good or bad thing, he didn’t know. Either way, this wasn’t a moment he was supposed to see.
Terry was sat on Ms. Tan’s desk. He was leaning back on his hands with his back to the door. He was also very much shirtless and very much being- ah- tended to by Ms. Tan. Marty couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, just that she was leaning into his personal space and speaking lowly. A second later, the little gasp that Terry let out seemed to jolt life back into Marty’s limbs and he snapped the door shut with a slight ‘clack’ that made him cringe.
Deciding that he would much rather catch up with Ahmed later, Marty fled back to his own desk with a racing heart and a resolution that if he wasn’t fired for this within a week, he would never enter a room without knocking again.
--
“Holy sh*t. Are we sure this isn’t unethical?”
“Oh it’s totally unethical- but it makes for a juicy story and, like, are you going to be the one to tell the boss she can’t have her boytoy?”
“Nope.”
“Exactly! Anyways, so then I saw…”
--
On and on the conversation went. By now it was lunchtime, and Marty was showing Binh to the breakroom where he stored his lunch and how to operate the various machines in there should fae ever need them. It was a fairly large room, with a mini kitchen, lounge chairs and a few tables filled with a couple other groups of people. There was a dedicated cafeteria a few floors down, but each floor also had a breakroom, which Marty just found more comfortable. There was enough chatter in the room when he sat down with Binh that he felt comfortable continuing their talk, so while he chowed down on his sandwich and fae started on faer soup, he leaned in to regale to faer how Terry was always coming and going at odd hours, chatting with people yet never revealing much about himself, and covering up an array of strange injuries. Binh was the one who noticed their subjects of interest lingering in the doorway, and they both shut up to watch them like school kids engrossing in an exciting lunchroom scandal.
Ms. Tan was resplendent as always, dressed in a pale blue knee-length number with an abundance of ruffles at the skirt and sleeves, accompanied by pale blue oxfords, a white lace collar, stockings, and wide-brimmed cocktail hat. Terry had slung his jacket over his arm, but otherwise looked the same as this morning (not that Marty was opposed to that). The two stood talking for a moment longer before Ms. Tan laced her fingers with Terry’s for a second then disappeared, afterwhich he entered the breakroom, grabbed something from the fridge and left.
“Huh,” Binh said before taking a long sip of faer soup.
“Yup,” Marty said between another bite of sandwich. “I’ve seen them exchange a few very hopeful ‘see you tonight?’s.”
Binh made a sound of intrigue.
“Another time I heard her tell him that he’d better be in bed later- presumably by the time she got home.”
They both ate another morsel of food.
“I wonder what their deal is.”
“Whatever it is, I hope they keep it up. It’s captivating,” he sighed.
“I can tell you what their deal is,” spoke someone new from behind them. Binh startled so hard fae almost spilled faer soup, but Marty recognized the voice and turned to face Max- who he had still only seen in passing- with the distinct feeling of being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She was sitting at the table directly behind theirs. How he had missed her he didn’t know, but she was regarding them now with a mixture of grimness and- was that dread?
“You won’t get in trouble for this, cause it’s not your fault. Problem is, it’s kinda mine and Dana will chew my head off for it, so just keep this on the down-low, yeah?”
They both nodded mutely.
“Kay, so, seeing as I was a groomsman at Dana and Terry’s wedding, I can say with certainty that they’re married and in an exclusive relationship,” they said, looking at them as if willpower alone could engrave that knowledge into their brains. “Again, I promise you won’t get in trouble for this- it was an honest mistake,” she reiterated at their looks of horror. “Just please don’t mention it to them. No need to apologize or anything, I’d never be able to live it down.”
“Okay,” Binh said with a head bob that was too quick and eager.
Max turned her piercing gaze to him.
“Of course,” Marty said after swallowing thickly, sure that an egg could be cooked from the heat of his face.
She left soon after that with further assurances of protection, leaving the two of them to subside their panic in silence.
“Well… that just happened,” Binh finally said lamely.
“Yup,” Marty said, wondering if he would ever muster the courage to show his face at work again.
“It- it could’ve gone worse for us.”
“Mhmm,” it might be best for him to switch to remote.
“...You gonna be okay?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine,” he said airily, as if he wasn’t already drafting a whole speech to give his sister.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” he sighed, and honestly it was truthful. The only things truly crushed here was his dignity and dreams.
Mostly his dreams.
Why did all the hot ones have to be taken?
--
“Hello, Maxine,” said the dark figure in her bedroom.
“Hello, Matthew,” she replied coldly, flicking the lights on to find the young man spinning around slowly in her spinny chair. Ton Ton- her cat- was curled up in his lap, enjoying being pet by him like the traitor she was. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”
“Oh, just an innocent social call,” he drawled as if any time he came to call was innocent or social. “I figured I would make sure you’re in good health.”
She narrowed her eyes, trying to think back on what could have happened recently that he might be insinuating.
“Of course I’m well,” she said, curious but unwilling to rise to his bait. To do so would be to expose that he had an advantage over her, and that was an admittance which one should never make to their enemy. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, that’s quite alright. You’ll need it more than I in an hour or two” he said, cradling Ton Ton as he stood and brushed passed her like a smug Barbie villain about to steal her chance at attending the ball.
“Thank you for your consideration,” she snapped, mentally crossing Fancy Feast off the grocery list.
“Naturally,” he said, letting Ton-Ton to the floor gently before pulling his coat on and fixing it in the mirror. “Oh, and Max?”
“Yes?”
“Remember how you tried to usurp my place as Terry’s Best Man?”
Her stomach lurched suddenly. Matt had vowed revenge at the perceived slight years ago, and they had kept up this little game ever since. He had made threats and she had parried, but this was the first time that he had come to gloat. He must have done something, but what?
“Yes…”
“I’ve finally found a suitable method of penance. It’ll be good fun for me, but I might avoid Dana for a few days if I were you.”
“Why would Dana-” she froze, dread creeping into her throat when the sharp chime of her best friend’s ringtone sounded in her pocket.
“Good luck~” called Matt, slipping out the door with a jaunty wave and a laugh.
She swallowed, contemplated letting the call go to voicemail, but knew that ignoring Dana would only spell worse trouble.
With a resigned sigh, she picked up Ton Ton, took out her phone, and held it up to her ear to be greeted with-
“Max Gibson I cannot believe you! You told my employees that my husband was my hooker?!”
-certain damnation.