Chapter Text
CLARK KENT MEETS BRUCE WAYNE
As predicted, there were a lot of people in the Gala. At it’s front, the Gala is just another launch of some paintings by a popular artist in Metropolis. But for its wealthy attendants, it’s an opportunity to socialize and get to know future business partners. For its celebrity attendants, it’s a way to introduce themselves to wealthy patrons to sponsor them in films. And for the dozens chosen reporters well-connected enough to secure a ticket in, it’s the best way to get some gossip and, of course, to connect with wealthy patrons as well.
Bruce hadn’t had enough time for himself. Every turn he made, someone from some place, wants to connect with him – specifically, to ask how Wayne Enterprises is doing, what’s their latest launch, are they open for business opportunities, blah, blah, and blah. He had half a mind not to call his sons, whom he missed so dearly. He had to remind himself multiple times that he shouldn’t call Alfred, who he knew was somewhere around, even though he had asked of him to stay behind in the Manor, and ask to go home.
He's no longer a child. Even though he so hated socializing with a large crowd – despite popular belief, he’s not actually a party-loving extrovert, he’s old, he’d rather just stay at home and watch his sons fight over the last piece of cookie, than tire himself with these gathering. It’s not like the Wayne Enterprise is thirsty for business partners. He could very well just casually stay put. Money has never been a problem for him.
He sighed. And to top it all—he hadn’t seen a whip of red dashing through the skies. He might not be as much of a fan of the superhero as his sons like to tease him with (he was truly joking the last time they asked him who his favorite hero was), but he has always been a curious individual. He wanted to see, at least, for even a glimpse, Metropolis’ beloved superhero.
Too bad the night was peaceful.
“Mr. Wayne?” he heard a voice behind him.
Bruce turned around and saw a man taller than he, wearing a thick glasses, stretching his hand towards him. Judging by the lace of the man’s ID (signifying a guest pass) and his cheap suit (oh how vain of him to notice that), Bruce surmised that the guy must’ve been another reporter. Though, he doesn’t look as desperate to make himself known as others did. He just look—like a classmate you had in college who wants to know his seatmate.
“Hi,” Bruce flashed his friendly smile. “Do I know you?” he shook the other man’s hand.
The other laughed, an easy and friendly air around him. “No, I don’t think so. I’m Clark—Clark Kent, a reporter for Daily Planet here in Metropolis.”
Bruce decided to be a little playful. “Hmm, do I own that?”
Clark merely laughed, “No, I don’t think so Mr. Wayne.”
“Call me Bruce,” Bruce said, feeling glad to see a reporter that isn’t out for blood for a good article.
“Oh, will do,” Clark actually looked nervous—but mostly awkward. “I actually didn’t know why I approached you,” he started babbling, “I just—uhm, maybe wanted to brag to my friends I met and shook hands with the Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce actually laughed at that. “Oh please—I’m not—a celebrity.”
“Please, Bruce, even in Metropolis you are quite popular,” Clark said.
“But not as popular as Superman, I’m sure,” Bruce teased back.
Clark, oddly, blushed. “Uh—well, I’m sure you’re more known than him.”
“I don’t think so, from what I gathered this is his city,” Bruce didn’t even know what came to him and why he’s defending the hero against, well—himself.
“Superman is just like the Knights of Gotham. He’s like a cop—”
“A flying cop—”
“Yeah, but at the end of the day, he’s only just that,” Clark finished, his eyes have travelled upwards, into the empty sky. As if he too, is waiting for something—or someone—to show up.
Bruce looked at Clark, trying to distinguish where he truly stands. “But he’s a hero, like the Knights are.”
Clark gave Bruce a soft smile, there’s an adoration flashing in his eyes. “Everyone can be a hero.”
Bruce coughed; a bit taken aback. “But not everyone can fly.”
“You seemed so hung up with Superman—uh, flying,” Clark said, his eyes twinkling. “And here I thought you’ll be more defensive against him.”
“Defensive?” Bruce asked, confusion etching with his voice. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped open, he knew that he had crossed into the ridiculous territory when he came to start defending the Metropolis’ own hero with one of its locals.
“No—I meant, well, I read a lot of online debates. It’s a hot topic you see. Who’s the better superhero. And one of the leading comparisons was Superman versus the Gotham Knights,” Clark said, as if he was unsure himself of the words out of his mouth. “I just—well, I thought you’ll, maybe you don’t follow them? But I heard from the news, the Knights have saved you plenty of times.”
Bruce stared at him, “So—what? Are you trying to bait me?” he didn’t mean to sound disappointed, but he was—a bit.
Clark looked shocked, as if Bruce initiating that he would do that was insulting. “No! Of course—I just—okay, so I was hoping that I’ll hear more about the Knights from you.”
“Why?” Bruce doesn’t know why but he felt irked being used to fish information for the Knights. He doesn’t know where the protective streak comes from, but damnit, he’ll not let anyone else use him to get to the Knights, even if it’s just for some silly curiosity.
Bruce must’ve sounded angrier than he actually felt because Clark looked taken aback. “I don’t mean to intrude. I was a fan, you see. Of the Knights. I’ve only ever heard of them in the news. I—admire their teamwork. How they’re able to beat down enemies bigger than themselves. And is it true that one of them—is really just a kid?”
Bruce had to pause. He remembered that time he got kidnapped by Bane. “Well—” the one with the Katana, he’s pretty sure is just a kid—he’s only up to Bruce’s waist, for God’s sake. Red Robin, on the other hand, he’s also pretty certain that’s only a teenager. Or, perhaps a young adult? Who’s just not gifted in height? With their muffled voice changer, it’s really hard to determine. “Yeah, I do believe he’s just a kid.”
Clark looked alarmed at that. “Why?! His parents might be so worried to him. Sneaking out at night to fight crime? What was running through his parents’ head?!”
Bruce nodded. “You’re not the only one worried. I’ve tried to ask Detective Gordon if he had contact to the Knights—and uh, sneakily asked if he also have their parents’ contacts. Not that I don’t trust him, or the Knights, or the Knights’ parents. But it’s worrying, truly. A child needs a good night’s sleep.” He knew that he’s being a hypocrite. Lord only knows how many times he had tried to evade Alfred’s eyes so he could sneak to his computer or the library to read books until early morning.
But still—if that had been Damian. Bruce shuddered at the thought. If Damian had been Robin, Lord knows the kind of scolding he’ll get from Bruce. He might even strap that kid in the bed and guard his door just so he’ll keep that kid from endangering himself—and his future self for not sleeping at night. It’s not enough to just merely drink milk to grow. One must get a good night’s sleep as well!
Clark laughed. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one feeling this way. If I ever had the fortune to be assigned in Gotham, I’ll be sure to tell that kid!”
Bruce smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Actually, if you want, I’ll personally tour you in the city.”
Clark gasped. “Oh—Mr. Wayn—Bruce—I can’t possibly—”
“It won’t come for free,” Bruce held up his hand, a smile on his lips.
Clark coughed, a faint blush flushing on his cheeks. “Uh—I don’t—I have a girlfriend.”
Bruce blushed himself. “I don’t mean that!” his heart almost fell out of his ribcage upon fully catching up on his innuendo. “I meant you have to tour me in your city. Quid pro quo.”
Clark nodded. He gave a big smile and extended his hand. “You got yourself a deal, Bruce.”
And Bruce shook his in return. Inward, he still hoped a little that he’ll get to see Superman in the city.