Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There were many reasons why Clark disliked galas and high society functions. Some included his boredom during them, the overpowering smell of different colognes and perfumes, the disgusting flaunting of wealth in the name of charity – that usually none of the attendees usually cared for – and the knowledge that he wasn’t doing a good job. Clark wasn’t bad at writing about these evenings with the beautiful and wealthy, but he also just wasn’t good at it. Having to sit down and somehow convey the glitz of the evening through the pages, for those who desired it dearly, didn’t come naturally to him and always took him back to the times he worked for the Smallville Highs newspaper.

But Cat had a hot date and since she frequently excused Clark's absence to Perry, he nodded when she asked to cover for her.

“It’s nothing important,” she assured him and gently patted his shoulder. “Just something about public libraries. Just talk to the hostess and maybe two attendees and we should be good.”

And so, Clark did. The hostess, a young lady who recently discovered her love for books and reading, was friendly enough to him and seemed genuinely passionate about her new charities. She gave Clark a short interview, before pointing him to some of her friends, that would be willing to talk to him. To his slight embarrassment, some of them weren’t just willing to talk but seemed eager to do so.

Maybe that was the worst part, Clark thought, smiling at a beautiful redhead, that happily talked about her favorite books to him and how she saw the future of the country in literature, while she swirled a single lock around her perfectly manicured finger. Clark nodded politely at her words, scribbling them down in his notebook. It wasn’t that he disagreed with her, but it was the fourth time he heard the arguments this evening and it started to wear him down. (Apparently, the girls had started a book club, as the second of them had told him, her hand lingering on his shoulder).

She just seemed the wrap up her speech when Clark picked up a strange sound. He had a lifetime of experience in tuning out voices and sounds, but sometimes, specific ones still managed to get through to him. An especially desperate call for help, his Ma saying his name a couple of times, while talking to her friends about him or Lois’ heartbeat, people screaming in pain (especially people in labor), or the sad meowing of a kitten scared for its tiny life. While Clark tried to keep his hearing within normal human range, it was just a thing that came with being Superman, and in a way, he loved it. Hearing the pleas for help, be they from humans or kittens, gave him the chance to actually do something. Hearing his Ma, no matter where he was on the planet, always felt like a kiss, as did Lois’ heartbeat, when it picked up in excitement.

But this time, it was none of the things. While he still nodded along to the stories of the young lady in front of him, he allowed his hearing to heighten ever so slightly. The sweet music, chatter and the clinking of glasses became louder to him – as well as… the sound. His first thought was a baby, then a sobbing teenager. Whatever it was, it sounded distressed. He really had hoped, that it was just some attendees enjoying some intimate time. But the harder he concentrated, the less likely it seemed.

“Do you like Austen?”, Clark asked, after the lady mentioned “Emma”, which prompted a happy nod and some more monologuing, giving Clark the time to keep on listening. He determined that the strange sounds, a kind of incoherent whimpering, mixed with some light and feminine giggles, came from one of the side rooms, just behind him. He tried to concentrate more on it, but it was fleeting and drowned under the cacophony of sounds that echoed through the ballroom and beyond.

Clark probably should leave it alone – but he knew that he wouldn’t.

As the redhead took a sip from her champagne, face slightly blushed from her excited talking, Clark said: “Miss Parson, thank you so much for the interview and all the time you made for me. The value of reading can’t be held in high enough regards, and I can’t wait to hear about all the good the foundation will do around Gotham and the whole USA.”

She beamed at him, before gently shaking his hand, mumbling thanks of her own and swaying away into the crowd, probably back to her girlfriends.

He had already turned around and followed that whimpering, that got louder with every step he took towards it. It sounded less and less like pleasure, mixed with the worried sighs and the accelerated breathing, Clark started to pick up on.

The door, situated on the opposite side from the little stage, far away from the action of the evening, was tall and skinny. Around it were only some lone attendees, looking at their phones and silently drinking their booze, having apparently already tired from the buzzing event. None of them paid Clark any attention, as he carefully opened up the door, still half expecting to find an excited couple behind it.

It both was, and wasn’t true.

It was a small and dark room, filled with some loveseats arranged around a beautiful grand piano in the middle of it. All the lamps inside were turned off, so the only sources of light were some tired rays from the outside lamps that found their way through the window and the light that found entrance along with Clark. The high giggling coming from the left corner of the room stopped immediately, as her skinny body tightened visibly. Jane Lowe stared in surprise at Clark, her blonde updo slightly disarranged and her face flushed. It didn’t quite show guilt, but a tight uneasiness. In her arms, just barely managing to stand, was the infamous Bruce Wayne.

“Miss Lowe,” Clark greeted, as he stepped further into the room, eyes fixated on the hunched-over and groaning man. While Wayne was known for his lavish lifestyle, hedonism, and drunken escapades, Clark had never seen the man in a shape that bad. He was half leaning against the wall, his violently shaking legs slightly parted, while his left arm was slung around Lowes shoulders. Wayne did not give any sign that he noticed someone entered the room, being too occupied with trying to keep his head up, as it kept bobbing down, as if it were too heavy for his broad neck.

 To his utter horror, Clark noticed that both his dress shirt and pants were open, while smudges of Lowes lipstick were all over his face and neck.

Back in the day, when he first started his adventures, Clark had expected that he would get used to anger and despair such and worse scenes awakened to him, that he would grow numb to the desperation he saw in the abused faces, but it never got any easier. Sometimes it seemed, it only got worse.

“Miss Lowe,” he repeated and hurried up to the woman. “Is everything okay in here? It sounded like someone is in pain!”

The blond stared at him for a long moment, her face blank and smooth. It was almost creepy to see how the smile suddenly popped up on her face. “Oh, Mr. Kant, thank you very much for checking up. But everything is o-“

“Oh my, ma’am, Mr. Wayne’s not looking good,” Clark interrupted her, letting some country accent slither into his voice. It usually had a calming effect on the people around him, especially when they were rich. He carefully reached out for Wayne's trembling hand. It felt cold and damp. Keeping his face as innocent as possible, he looked at Lowe and asked: “Did ya find him here?”

Again, she paused, while looking between Clark and the mumbling Wayne. “Mr. Kant,” she finally said, her voice growing colder, “everything is in order in here. Bruce led me in here himself. You know what he thinks about the press and reporters, don’t you? Yes, of course, you do. And now, we would appreciate some privacy.” She smiled again, but there was no kindness in it. It was a thinly veiled threat.

The anger inside of him kept rising. He had tried to make it easy for her. Not that she deserved it, but there was simply no use in causing a scene. She could have easily taken the bait, saying that she herself heard Wayne and only tried to help him, before hurrying back to her fiancé. But from the hunger in her eyes, it was clear that she would not give up that easily.

“Are you sure, ma’am?” Clark asked, staring into her eyes. “Mr. Wayne isn’t looking too swell. Would be a shame if he threw up on those beautiful shoes.”

“Kant, I demand-“

It was just a lightning-fast movement for Clark, took him less than half a second. He only had to slightly shift how he stood, reach out his leg and bump against Wayne's foot, before standing up straight again. Since the only thing keeping the man up was some goodwill and pride, it was more than enough for the delicate stability to crumble. Wayne tried to fight it, his free arm desperately searching for something to hold onto, but with his legs given in and his delirious state, it was no use. With a small noise of distress, he started falling forward.

Lowe, distracted from Clark, reacted with a shrill shriek of surprise and anger, while the weight on her shoulder increased. If Clark were any lesser person, he would let Wayne fall onto her. Would have served her right. But Ma had raised him better than that and so he immediately reached out, gently pushing Lowe aside, as Wayne fell into his arms. The man only reacted by groaning and shifting slightly, still searching for footing.

“Oh my,” he said, looking surprised between him and Lowe. “Good thing I was here. He could have hurt both of y’all, Miss Lowe!”

“Whatever, Kant,” the woman spit at him, her voice low. “Everything was great until you showed up!”

“In that case, I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” Clark said sweetly, while he gathered the barely conscious man into his arms. For some random billionaire, he was surprisingly heavy.

Lowe growled in annoyance, while she skillfully fixed her hair and dress with a few quick movements, before stomping towards the door.

When she was nearly out of the room already, Clark called out: “Oh, and Miss Lowe?”

“What?” she barked, turning around to him. Her arms were shaking.

“The names Kent. Clark Kent for The Daily Planet,” he said sweetly while showing her his best Superman smile. “Have a great evening, ma’am.”

The blonde narrowed her eyes, her anger radiating through the whole room. “Thanks for letting me know, Kent. I’ll make sure to put that information to good use, asshole.” She threw the door behind her shut. Clark kept listening to her angry steps, as she quickly made her way through the ballroom and into the next bathroom.

Once he was sure that she would not be coming back anytime soon, he let out a sigh, while looking at the man in his arms.

Bruce Thomas Wayne. Of course, it had to be the one man, so thoroughly disgusted by the media, that he had not given a single interview in his whole life. It would be quite possible that Lowe had been right, and Wayne would prefer to be alone in her room with her, her actions be damned, than with any member of the press.

Wayne started moving around in his arms, as if he wanted to show Clark, just how little he enjoyed being close to the reporter. A little surprised at the sudden movement, Clark carefully relocated him a little in his arms, until he was sure, that he wouldn’t drop him. Using just the tiniest bit of superstrength, he nudged Wayne up and started walking towards the loveseats.

Wayne groaned in his arms.

“I’m so sorry if I’m hurting you, Mr. Wayne. I’ll just help you sit down and get you some help,” he explained. His explanation sounded weirdly like the ones, he gave kitties when he had to help them out of a kerfuffle. “Just a few more steps and we have made it.” The man was still trying to straighten himself and searched for footing, wiggling around in Clark's arms. Everything could have been so easy if he only stopped trying and put his whole body weight onto Clark. But Bruce Wayne didn’t need to give any interviews for the world to know that he was a stubborn one. Clark only knew few people from Gotham, but it seemed to be true for all of them.

“Almost there,” Clark said, pushing one of the couches away with his foot. Again, Wayne wiggled and continued on with this whimpering. Apparently, he had more in common with kitties, than Clark had previously expected. Standing in front of the loveseat, he carefully grabbed the man by his broad shoulders and lowered him down. Despite his best efforts, Wanye managed to writhe out of his hands and crushed down onto the seat much harder than Clark would have liked.

“Mr. Wayne!”, Clark called out, dropping to his knees, knowing fully well, that he wouldn’t be able to answer. Now, with Wanye in front of him, he could really see how much the man had to be suffering. His face was scrunched up, eyes closed, his jaws grinding into each other, while thick beats of sweat were gathered on his forehead and pooling around his dark eyebrows. His skin was ashy, with a slightly yellow tint to it, his breathing strained, and everything was shaking.

While Bruce Wayne was famously beautiful, he currently was one of the least sexy things had ever seen and the idea of kissing him or resuming by buttoning open his shirt, sickened Clark to his core.

Being this close to him was strange. Clark always tried to respect his distaste for the press as best as possible and kept his distance, when they attended the same event. Now, having the man right in front of him, stirred a weird feeling in his gut. Something about him was way more familiar than it should be, even in his sick state. Looking at him wasn’t like seeing a celebrity for the first time in real life, but like meeting a long-forgotten friend from kindergarten again. Changed enough to seem like a stranger, but familiar in his heart. His smell carried a similar feeling to it. A mixture of stressed sweat, something sweet and sickish, and a deeper, more masculine scent, like a pine forest, surrounded him, nearly hiding his own personal scent. Matching those personal, undefinable scents to people was always hard, even with supersenses, but Clark was suddenly very sure that they meet before. He always smelled like… home. Not the way his Ma and his actual home smelled, but in the same way, Lois felt and smelled like home.

“I’m sorry, I was late,” he said quietly to the man, trying to quiet his staring and intense smelling. “This shouldn’t have happened at all, but I hope that I was able to stop the worst from happening.”

Wayne only answered with incoherent sounds. There was no way of knowing if he even registered Clark’s word. With a sigh, he stood up again.

“I’ll get you some help now, Mr. Wayne,” he continued on with his useless narration of the situation. “Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure that you get home safe.”

Clark was already outside of the room, blinking against the bright lights of the ballroom, when something dawned on him. Since Wayne never gave interviews and other socialites didn’t dare to speak of him, if they valued invitations to his events, he had little to no idea who would be able to help.

In theory, he could talk to anyone, and they would all be running to help Wayne, but somehow Clark sensed that he wouldn’t appreciate all the attention. Subjecting a man, traumatized from the press circus to thousands of photos, videos, articles, radio shows, and clickbait articles of his nearly unconscious body after being assaulted, didn’t seem like much help. No, Clark needed a discrete way to deal with the situation.

Despite his hate for the media, some things were known about Wayne. Next to the obvious stuff, like his lavish lifestyle, his parent's gruesome murder and his ever-growing company, it was very well known, that the butler that brought him up, was still working for him. He could frequently be seen in paparazzi pictures, as well as the teenage ward Dick Grayson, that Wayne had taken in a couple of years back. But as far as Clark could remember, none of them ever attended any events. There was no information about a partner or any close friendships. With a stressed sign, Clark quickly walked back towards the stage, looking and hearing around, if anyone seemed familiar, rummaging in his brain for any further information. There had to be someone.

And thank Rao, there was.

Taking another deep breath, Clark put on his reporter smile and walked up to a group of men chatting.

“Mr. Fox,” he said, as he tapped on the shoulder of a tall black man. When he turned around, he continued: “Clark Kent, with The Daily Planet. Could I talk to you for a second?”

Fox did not even try to hide his irritation, as he answered: “The timing is very bad, Mr. Kent. As you can clearly see I’m currently in the-“

“I really have to insist, sir,” Clark interrupted, staring intently at the man, trying to communicate the importance with his eyes. “I just need you for a short moment.”

“Daily Planet you said?” Fox scratched his neck.  “Isn’t that the paper Lois Lane works at?”

“Yes, sir. And she taught me all her methods.”

“Just great,” he mumbled, before excusing himself from his conversation partners and walking a couple of steps away from them. “Now, Kent, get it over with. As you should know, I only give out information about WE during scheduled interviews.”

“I understand, sir, but this is about Bruce Wayne,” Clark said quickly. Fox’s face instantly fell. “No, not like that. I don’t want information about him. I just found him nearly passed out in a room next to this.”

“Is he alright?” Fox asked, suddenly alarmed.

“Yes, he is okay, but he can barely stand or talk. I think he might have been drugged or-“

“Drunk,” Fox interrupted sharply. “He is probably just drunk. Can you show me to him?”

“Yes, of course!”

Trying to shake off the bad feeling that started to creep up his spine, Clark quickly walked back to the small room. Some more tired people had gathered near it, but only one even bothered to look up from their phone for a moment.

Despite knowing how silly he was, Clark carefully knocked on the door, before he entered it. “Mr. Wayne?”, he said as he and Fox walked in.

“Ah, shit,” Fox whispered next to him, before closing the door behind him. Wayne wasn’t even sitting up straight anymore but had managed to writhe and wiggle around so much, that his limp body had fallen onto his side. He looked terrible.

With a deep sigh, Fox looked from Wayne back to Clark. “Thank you for getting me, Mr. Kent,” he said, his voice strained. “How much do you expect for your help?”

“What?”

“How much money do you want?” Fox repeated, before turning his head back.

“Sir, I-“

“Just say how much you want, Kent. We will pay any reasonable sum, just spit it out,” Fox clarified and walked up to Wayne. “But decide quickly. I have to take care of him now.”

“I don’t want any money!”

“I can’t get you an interview…”

“No!” Clark shook his head violently. “I don’t expect anything in return, neither from you nor him. Especially no money. I- I just wanted to help him.”

“Are you sure? You would just have to tell me. But once you walk out of the room, the offer is off the table,” Fox answered, clearly not convinced.

“Yes. I’m sure. I can help you here further, or if you don’t need me I’ll just….” He vaguely gestured towards the door.

“No, I can take it from here,” Fox answered, clearly still surprised. “Well… in that case, thank you, Mr. Kent. Thank you for your help. Have a good night.”

“No need to thank me. It was the right thing to do. Oh, and if Mr. Wayne has any questions about what happened, I would be more than happy to answer them. I think it could be of interest to him. And a good night to you too, Mr. Fox,” Clark said with a smile. As he slipped out of the door, he thought about asking if Fox could update him, if Wayne got any better, or at least had made it home safely, but decided it would be no use.  

Clark carefully closed the door behind him again and looked around. The event had reached its peak by now, the noises louder, as more alcohol started flowing more freely. Everything around him seemed to have lost its glitz and its richness. He was just sad and a little tired. With being in the city, he had thought about given her infamous vigilante a visit, but as far as Clark could hear, he wasn’t even around. With a sigh and a look at his watch, he decided that it was a perfectly acceptable time to call it a night.

Lois was sitting on the edge of his desk, her long legs crossed skillfully, as not to flash what was under her red pencil skirt, a branded coffee mug in her hands and complained. It had started with her complaining about her terrible date from Friday evening and had evolved into complaining about men in general, a book she read, how terrible the internet at her apartment was, and the rising prices of her favorite ice cream, as well as her beloved dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

Clark listened to her with a small smile, as she rambled on, her commentary and tongue sharp as ever. He had little to contribute to her topics, only sometimes nodding his head, but that was okay. To the calming sounds of her heart and her sarcastic words, he did his best to piece together something halfway decent about the charity event he had attended.

The article was weak, even for him and his distaste for writing stories like that, but the words just refused to come to him. Despite knowing that Wayne was doing well – he had posted a selfie on his Instagram account – he couldn’t forget the man. Like every reporter on the planet, he had a kind of fascination with the Prince of Gotham. Despite knowing that he probably wasn’t much more interesting than other socialites, his refusal to give interviews just piqued his interest. But since last Friday the man had not left his mind even once. Between his parents being murdered in front of him, being dragged through hell and back by the media and high society about it, just disappearing for some years and coming back, a full-blown alcoholic partying moron, for whom being black-out drunk and getting sexually harassed, probably wasn’t too uncommon, something told Clark that Bruce Wayne was probably in dire need of some genuine kindness. Not the forget, the connection that he instantly felt to him.

Further down the hall, a door was thrown shut. Clark, as well as the rest of the office, flinched together.

Lois jumped immediately up from her spot on his desk, skillfully managing to not spill her coffee, and said: “He is coming for you, Smallville. I can just feel it. See ya on the other side.”

“Geez, thanks, Lois,” Clark answered, as she scurried back to her own cubicle, right next to his.

Amazingly, she had been correct. Perry White walked directly up to Clark.

Clark knew immediately something was wrong. Never before had he seen the man this pale or worried looking and worst of all, he was not screaming. He just calmly walked to Clark’s desk and said: “Clark, would you please follow me into my office? We have to talk.”

“Did you call him Clark?” Lois voiced up behind them. Standing on her tippy toes, she tried to look over the walls separating them. “Chief, you’ve never done that before. Is everything okay? You are not going to fire our Smallville, are ya?”

“Shut it, Lane,” Perry barked back at her. “You’re not getting paid to ask me stupid questions. Now get back to work. I know you haven’t done shit today.”

Lois sent a pitiful look at Clark before sitting back down. Her heart was running a mile a minute.

“Come on now, Kent,” Perry repeated to him with a sigh.

“Sure.” Clark made sure to lock his laptop since White hated it when he just left it – not, that small things like this could save him now. Whatever was coming for him, was bad. As he walked behind his editor through the packed office, all eyes following them, he would have much preferred to fight some aliens right about now. Or even deal with Lex Luthor.  

Perry closed his office door behind Clark and vaguely pointed to one of the chairs for him to sit down. Clark, tense as a bow, did as he was bid. When Perry sat down, he hid his face in his hands for some moments. He looked incredibly old, as he mumbled: “So, Kent, I just received a rather unpleasant call. And, just so we are clear, I don’t believe a word.”

“A word of what?”

“A… gentleman from Gotham called to complain about your behavior at that literature gala you attended the other Friday. You, as he claims, have assaulted his fiancée.”

Every single sensory impression of his superpowers, which he normally limited to a roughly human minimum with an iron determination, suddenly came crashing down on him. Completely knocked out, he let himself fall back in the chair, jerkily enough that it leaned backward a bit, but fortunately not enough for him to fall over. Against the cacophony of sounds, smells and images before his eyes, he blinked at Perry for a few seconds.

“Breath, Kent.”

Perry's voice reached him between the screaming of a baby in Malisa, a car honking in Germany, waves crashing somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean and Lois' speedy fingers typing. He didn’t technically need to breathe but did it anyway. It didn’t help. Someone three floors below had just used the bathroom and the smell, mixed with the ink of Whites Pen, and Cats perfume wanted to make him cry.

Seeing the rising panic on his face, Perry sighed and reached out to take his hand. The touch was edging on being painful in between all the overstimulation, but grounding all the same. Starring into his eyes, Perry started taking deep breaths, apparently trying to get him to do the same. Now close to tears, Clark stared back at him and just tried to concentrate on the warm hand on his and breathing. In and out. The hand. In and out. The hand.

When the cacophony stopped, a single tear of relief run down his face. Perry let go of his hand and walked out of the room. He returned shortly after with a glass of ice-cold water in his hand, which Clark gratefully drank.

“I didn’t do it.”

“No, I don’t believe you did,” Perry agreed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I watched you courting Lane over the years. I know everyone always says, they can’t believe their buddy would do something like that, but with you, it’s actually true. I have met my share of pushy assholes and even rapists over the years and you’re not one of them, Kent.” He sighed deeply before he continued: “But still, I gotta ask, what happened between you and Jane Lowe.”

“Jane Lowe?” he repeated slowly. He tried to fight it, but when Perry confirmed the name of his accuser, a shaky laugh escaped him. “Well… damn.”

“Tell me, Kent. What happened?”

And so, Clark did. He told him about he found her, fumbling about Bruce Wayne, who could barely stand, no less consent, and how he stayed against her wishes and got her to leave in the end. And, not to forget, how he told her both his full name and his employer in his anger.

When he finished, Perry held his head in his hands, his left eye slightly twitching. “And, just to be clear, the only other person in the room with you and Lowe was Bruce Wayne?”

“A barely conscious Bruce Wayne,” Clark clarified. “I went and got Lucious Fox from WE afterward, to take care of him. I didn’t mention anything about Lowe. She was gone already anyway.”

“So, you didn’t tell Fox, and he wouldn’t be able to confirm or deny anyway and the only other person was Bruce Wayne?” Perry lifted was head back up, a sad smile on his face. “And I don’t believe it really matters how conscious he was, son. There is just no way we can reach out to him.”

“I know that he usually doesn’t talk to reporters,” Clark retorted. “But I’m not talking to him as a reporter. This is in his interest as well, don’t you see? He is the victim here. I can’t imagine that he wants to press charges against her, but… he could at least stop inviting her or something.”

Perry let go of a deep sigh before he smiled sadly. “Son, while you aren’t wrong, you’ll have to let go of the idea. It won’t work out, I can promise you. It’ll come down to your word against hers, which isn’t the ideal situation, but it could be worse. You’ll get through it, I promise.”

“But this isn’t just about me, Perry,” Clark tried to argue. “If she harassed Wayne, she might do it again!”

Perry gave him a quick once over before he smiled sadly and suggested: “Why don’t you fly to Kansas and visit your Ma for a bit, Kent? It’ll be good for you.”

“So… I’m fired?”

“No, of course not. You’re just suspended for the time being.  It’ll satisfy these Gotham assholes for now since they already threatened to post about the situation online. It gives me time to call everyone I need to call. Since nothing happened, she can’t prove anything and the higher-ups know very well, that you are one of our best reporters, as well as a buddy of Superman. They won’t let you go over some accusation.”

“That’s horrible, actually,” Clark mumbled.

“I don’t disagree,” Perry answered with a tired smile. “But in this case, it works to your advantage.”

Clark nodded gravely, swallowing his anger. “Yes, I see… Thanks, chief. It means a lot to me, it really does.”

“Don’t mention it, Kent. We’ll get through it.”

Still slightly shaky, Clark got up and walked towards the door, trying his hardest to keep his cool. “But… is there really nothing I can do? Nothing?”

Perry looked at him for a few moments, before averting his eyes to his computer screen. “Not without a statement from Bruce Wayne.”

“But I-“

“Kent, you are suspended. Get going now. I’ll have some e-mails to write and calls to make. Give my regards to your mother.”

Manners be damned, Clark threw the door behind him shut and speed walked through the office, eyes following him again, to the next bathroom. Just like Jane Lowe did after he chased her out of the piano room. Ironic, really.

Clark took a couple of shaking breaths, while he stared at himself at the mirror, a dangerous determination pumping through him. He would get that damn statement from Wayne proving his innocence. He had saved the earth multiple times before. Getting some random billionaire to talk, should be a breeze compared to it.

Chapter Text

Batman was just grabbling onto a rooftop when he heard a faint swooshing sound. In anticipation, he turned towards the harbor facing Metropolis. He knew what was coming next, as sure as he knew that Superman, while not being great at stealth, was perfectly capable of flying without those noises.

Robin plopped down next to him and turned towards the harbor as well. His deepening voice was filled with joyful curiosity, as he asked: “What are you looking for?”

“I think we’ll get a visitor from Metropolis,” he said, his voice distorted by the modulator.

“Oh my god, really?” Robin asked, his face lighting up behind the mask. Bruce had always expected he would grow out of his Superman phase, but the older the boy get, the less likely it seemed. “I haven’t seen him in forever!”

“Because he shouldn’t come here at all, Robin. Gotham has us. It doesn’t need aliens in tights,” he answered, mostly out of habit. In truth, he had wondered about his absence as well. At some point, Superman had picked up to visit them about once a month or every six weeks. Not seeing him for over two months had left him sadder than he dared to admit.

“Aw, don’t be like that, B,” Robin scoffed and smiled expectedly at the sky. “We all know you don’t hate him anymore. And that’s okay. You are allowed to change your opinion on someone or something.”

“Thank you for the wisdom, Robin,” he answered. “But now it’s time for you to get going.”

“What?”, the boy called out. “But why?”

“Because we are out here to patrol and make sure everything is safe. We aren’t here for friendly chats with aliens,” Batman clarified. “We have hardly started, so we can’t both just stop here.”

“What, suddenly I’m old enough to patrol on my own?”

“You aren’t. But you also aren’t on your own. Stay close and call me through the comms if you need help.”

“But-“

“Go, Robin.”

The teen moaned in annoyance and probably rolled his eyes under the domino mask, but at least did as he was bid. No sooner than Robin grabbled away onto a nearby building, the whoosh could be heard again, this time accompanied by a faint colorful swirl in the night sky, that quickly came closer.

Not that long ago, the sight made him sigh and roll his eyes. No matter how hard Bruce thought about it, he couldn’t say at what point Superman approaching stopped annoying and started to… excite him. Maybe around the same time, he started smiling, whenever he heard, saw, or read something about him in the media. Probably also around that time, he noticed just how beautiful the alien was. Of course, objectively, he had always known it. His almost otherworldly beauty was always a big selling point, with his styled dark locks, the burning blue eyes, his chiseled chin and of course the suit that sat so tightly and showed his strong body off, that would be obscene on anyone else. But one time, during one of Superman's visits, he had just smiled at something Robin said, and the beauty of it nearly knocked the air out of Bruce’s lungs.

Everything had been easier when they still disliked each other, Bruce thought, as he watched Superman come closer. He carefully landed in front of him.

“B,” he greeted. “I hope I don’t interrupt any important missions.”

“None in particular,” he answered coldly, but slightly intrigued. Superman seemed… off. “Just our usual patrolling. Any specific reasons for your visit?”

Bruce often wished that he were kinder to Superman. While he favored causing fear as Batman, he wasn’t above showing kindness to others if needed. There was no point in being cruel to victims of crimes, especially scared children, helpful police officers, and from time to time even his rogues. Being friendly, or at least less of a jerk to a valued ally, should be a no-brainer. And yet, whenever Superman stood in front of him, he couldn’t help himself but be cold, the words turning sour when they rolled off his tongue. Robin rolled his eyes about it and Alfred scolded him for his silly behavior, commenting that everyone knew that he didn’t actually dislike him anymore and that no amount of “catty antics” would change that fact. Bruce begged to differ. They were too close already.

Superman shuffled awkwardly for a moment and looked down at his red boots. When he lifted his head back up, his mouth was already open and ready to answer, when his eyes darted away from Batman into the darkness for a split second and his lips curled into a smile.

Bruce sighed and mumbled: “Why do I even bother anymore?”

“I don’t k-“

“Robin!”, he called out. No one answered. “Robin. I know you are hiding. Come here and analyze Superman. Go.”

It only took a moment before Robin happily flick-flacked out of the shadows of a vent and came to stand next to Batman, with a big smile plastered on his face. Taking a good look at the alien, he stated: “His whole body is tight, from the line between his eyebrows to his shoulders, which are less relaxed than usual, when he is around us. His knees are turned slightly inward as if he is searching for a better stand. Might be a sign, that he would rather be floating, which he has done previously when nervous or uncomfortable.”

“Well, after this assessment I’m definitely uncomfortable, that much is true,” Superman said, a tight smile on his face. “Everything is-“

“Tries humor to deflect,” Robin interrupted. “But his face has its normal, slightly tanned color and there is no sweat on him. His hair is in place and the costume is clean, with no rips or tears and no debris or ashes on him. Kryptonite as well as coming directly from a rescue mission are therefore out of the question. The spontaneous visit after a longer period of absence could mean, he has tactical questions – but in those cases, he doesn’t try to deflect from the situation. Therefore, I’d conclude he is in some emotional turmoil.”

Superman blinked quickly at both of them, his ears now slightly red. “What just happened?”

“Notes?” Robin asked while looking at his mentor.

“Fine enough. Could be more detailed and even though the conclusion lacks clear evidence I’d agree with you. I’ll give you further notes when we are back in the cave,” Batman answered, not able to completely hide his smile or keep the pride out of his voice. Dicks intelligence and perception, especially for his age, were truly astonishing and a joy to see in action. “And now go and hug him before you explode.”

In a blur of bright colors, Robin jumped right at Superman, who was still surprised, but with instincts fast enough to catch the teen and hug him tightly.

“That was impressive,” he admitted, some of the worry melting away from his face. “But also terrifying. Please don’t do that again.”

Robin shrugged. “We often do this. Usually when you are gone.”

“It was an easy assessment. Your distress is obvious. The more interesting question is always the conclusion. It’s an important part of being a detective,” Batman added with a nod. “If he was listening in any way, this can at least be a learning opportunity.”

“Uh… sure,” Superman said with a grin and ruffled through Robins's hair. “Why were you hiding from me anyways? I was scared you’d already be too old for a hug from your old pal!”

“I don’t think he is capable of being too old for hugs from you,” Batman commented. “He turns back into a child whenever he sees you.”

Superman laughed, causing Bruce's heart to skip a beat.

“I wasn’t hiding from you,” Robin said with an eye roll, “but from him. He told me to get away when he saw you.”

“Really? Why?”

“My best guess is, that he wants you all for hims-“

“Robin,” Batman interrupted sharply, slightly blushing under the cowl. “That’s enough. You can stay but be quiet. As concluded, Superman is here for a purpose and not to hang out with you.”

“He is right,” Superman agreed, while carefully setting Robin down on the again. “I wish both of you were wrong, though. I’d love to just hang out with you!”

“Thanks! We would love that, too!”

“Robin.”

He loved Dick dearly, both as a son and as a protégée, but by God, that kid could be annoying. Maybe, Bruce thought, as he watched him walk back to him on his damn hands, that was the natural consequence of teaching him to be too perceptive for his own good. It was way too easy for him to know which buttons to push. And right now Bruce was being punished for trying to keep him away from Superman, with a grin and the fact that he was still upside down next to his mentor. He accepted it with a sigh. Choosing battles, or whatever that article about parenting he read the other day had said.

Superman waited a couple of seconds if the boy would stand up straight again. When he didn’t, Kal closed his suddenly guilt-filled eyes and slowly said: “I came here, because I need your help.”

“I expected as much. What did Luthor do this time?”

Shifting on his feet awkwardly, he shook his head. “This isn’t about Luthor or any villain or alien for that matter. I… I, personally, need your help. With a civilian matter.”

Robin plopped back down on his feet with a surprised gasp. It perfectly captured Bruce’s internal reaction.

“Superman, we had this discussion before, we can’t sh-“

“No, no, it’s not that either,” he quickly explained. “I don’t want to know your identity, and you don’t need mine. What I need is… I need Bruce Wayne's phone number.”

Batman had always praised how important control of one’s emotions and expressions was, both for himself and Robin. Even the slightest shift or micro expression could give the opponent knowledge that could change the outcome of a fight. Still as a gargoyle, he called it. Despite the rigorous training, the duo exchanged a quick glance. Does he know?, they both seemed to ask. Turning his gaze back to Superman, his heart threatened to choke him with the speed and vigor it beat in his chest.

“What would you need from Wayne?” he asked, hoping the pausing wasn’t too long to be suspicious. “And why would you assume that I have it?”

“I need to talk to him. I can’t explain why, without giving away too much, but it’s extremely important. If I can’t, my whole civilian life might change for the worse,” he explained, his voice strangely distant. “And you are Batman. Even if you don’t have it, I’m sure that you can manage to get it. It doesn’t even need to be his personal number. Just the number to his office would work.”

“Oh, you could call Wayne Enterprises,” Robin suggested, trying to keep his voice light and happy, but Bruce could hear that he was struggling with keeping his cool as well. “If it’s as important as you say, they will probably help you to schedule an appointment.”

Turning his face to the ground, Superman smiled sadly. “That won’t work. I tried. I talked to assistants and PR managers and even a friend of his. For two or so weeks now I’ve tried everything. I can’t get to him.”

Bruce stared at the alien in confusion. No one had told him of any important sounding calls in the last couple of days. Not even Lucious, who had to be the mentioned friend. While he, as the CEO, couldn’t take all calls, he tried his best to help if possible. Whoever Superman was outside of the cape, he probably wasn’t the kind of guy that would try something like this without a reason.

“Have you tried it on the internet?” he offered, his mouth suddenly dry. “He is known to interact there pretty freely with anyone.”

Before Superman could answer, Robin voiced up: “I somehow sense that he is blocked on Wayne's twitter.”

World's greatest detective, Bruce thought, my ass. Trying to keep his breathing steady, despite feeling like he was kicked in the stomach from this information, he looked at Robin.

It was obvious what he was trying to imply. Bruce Wayne was known for refusing to interact with just one group of people in this world. Everyone working for the media in any shape, way or form. Blocking them on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram was one of his favorite activities, actually.

“Batman, I understand that this is a weird request,” Superman said, stepping slightly closer. He seemed desperate, his left hand balled into a fist around his cape, while his right hand was outstretched to the duo. “But I can assure you that I have tried everything. I wouldn’t be bothering you if I hadn’t. There is a… misunderstanding, I guess. Bruce Wayne was there and he is the only person that can clear it up.”

Another hit, this time straight between his eyes. Whoever Superman was outside the red and blue, they had met before. All those times, when pain and worry kept him awake and he calmed himself by imagining the gorgeous hero as a normal person… when in reality they had met before. But, he thought, with another quick glance at Robin, this worked against the boy's media theory. How could he and Superman have managed to get to a misunderstanding, if Bruce refused to come near any of those bloodsuckers?

“What -“, Batman tried, before interrupting himself. His voice was thin and shaky, and nothing how Batman should be sounding. He cleared his throat and tried again: “What if I can’t or don’t want to give you his number? Or if he still refuses?”

“Do you want me to beg?” Superman asked suddenly. “B, I’m really not above begging anymore. If I get the number and he still refuses, then I at least tried everything. Everyone tells me it will be fine either way, but it won’t be for me. I worked hard for where I am and the thought that it might be ruined is killing me. Especially when all I need is a quick talk!”

Blood was pumping through Bruce's ears so loudly, it almost drowned out Kals voice. His brain running at the speed of light, he tried to comb through memories of interacting with anyone from the press in the last months.

“Can you give us any more information?” Robin asked carefully when Batman's silence settled awkwardly between them.

He shook his head, explaining: “No. It might hit the press, rather sooner than later. I probably already said too much. You two are clever and might still figure it out.” Superman sighed, his face tight. “Again, I’m really sorry to bother you. But you are the last person I can talk to before I just need to accept my faith.”

Superman looked so sad. The beacon of hope, annoyingly happy most of the time, who managed to keep his cool, even while fighting for the future of the earth, looked devastated. Knowing each other as long and as well as they did, Bruce had seen him unhappy and worried before, of course. The time he mentioned he and his longtime partner broke up, came to mind. But even then, he managed to see something positive in the situation and kept talking about how much he still cared for them. Sometimes he was disappointed in himself when he thought he did too little, reacted too late or did something wrong. But he had never looked like he was about to burst into tears.

Bruce turned his head away, knowing fully well that the next emotional blow would K.O. him, and said: “I am sorry. But I can’t.”

“Batm-“ Robin tried, but Bruce looked so sharply at him, that it managed to shut the teen up.

“Really, I am sorry. But I can’t justify using Batman to bring a civilian into your personal messes. Even if it’s someone as dumb and useless as Bruce Wayne.”

Superman took some moments before he slowly answered: “No, I understand. I… you are completely right. We can’t use the capes in a way to personally benefit us. We have the responsibility to be above such things.” He sighed. He might as well just come over and break Bruce’s nose, with how lost he sounded. It would have been less painful. After taking some deep breaths and clearing his throat a couple of times, he finally said: “I better go now. I am sorry for wasting your time and I hope you don’t respect me any less after this… situation.”

“Never.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll get going now…” With a small jump, he lifted himself into the night sky. Out of the corner of his eye, still refusing to look at him, Bruce saw him hovering. Why couldn’t he just leave?!

“And I’m sure Bruce Wayne is still a great guy. Certainly not dumb or useless. Consequences be damned, I’m happy I helped him. I’d do it again. Anyway… bye Robin.”

“Bye Superman.”

“Bye Batman.”

When Bruce didn't answer, he finally speeded away, with his signature whooshing sound.  He left behind a fuming Dick and an emotionally beaten up and bloodied Bruce. They looked after him in silence for some long minutes.

“While he isn’t dumb, he certainly is useless, when his friends need him,” Dick finally broke the silence. He stared still into the night sky, but Bruce could still see just how hard his shoulders were shaking. “And he is cruel. Fudge this. I’m out.” With some more of his colorful and near childlike swearing, he grabbled off somewhere in the dark, assumedly to his bike to end the night early.

Usually, Bruce would have walked after him to give him a lecture about the correct behavior on patrol, safety protocols and respecting teammates. But this night, he was just too tired and his mind was still racing in so many directions that it made him feel dizzy. After another minute of staring into the sky, Bruce decided to just follow Robins's idea.

Maybe at home he would be able to forget the sight of Supermans tear-filled eyes.

Chapter Text

A protein shake. All Bruce wanted was to drink his damn protein shake and maybe get a minute of peace. Ever since his last run-in with Scarecrow and later passing out, he hadn’t been feeling too well and the last two nights had been especially bad. They were incredibly long and pretty painful, leaving him beaten up, his body a constant ache, exhausted, and starving during the days. Between the strenuous nights and CEO duties, he hardly had time to eat anything at all.

How he had managed to function as Bruce, Brucie Wayne and Batman while running on a single sandwich a day just a few short years ago, would forever stay a mystery to him. Alfred said, it was part of being in his thirties, together with the pain of his nightly adventures staying with him for much longer than it ever used to.

But Alfred also said that it was important and good that Bruce was finally taking more care of his body and his eating habits - yet he refused to leave him alone to drink his protein shake! Just when it was finished and Bruce sat down in the kitchen with it, he stiffly walked in, coming to a halt next to him, and said: “My patience is running thin, Master Bruce.”

“Your patience is… what?”

“I had told myself I would wait some time before I confront you about your latest run-in with Superman and I did. Even when Master Richard asked thrice daily if we have finally spoken about it, I told the lad to be patient. That’s just how Master Bruce is, I told him. Sometimes he needs time, but, in the end, he always comes to his senses,” he explained, his voice as controlled as ever, even if he looked slightly upset. For Alfred that was practically an explosion of emotion.

“There is nothing to talk about,” Bruce replied grimly, his eyes firmly on his shake. “Superman had a request, which I denied because it was unreasonable. I am not a child. I am perfectly able to make decisions without your or Dicks input.”

“You should hope for some input from Master Richard,” Alfred countered. “It would at least mean that he is finally talking to you again.”

Bruce couldn’t help but sigh. Things with Dick had been complicated ever since that night, as he completely refused to interact with Bruce. He had informed him, that he was not interested in joining Batman for patrol until further notice and screamed at Bruce to leave him alone, whenever he tried to enter his room to talk it out. The situation had been like that for nearly a week now and no improvement was in sight.

“He is a teenager. It’s just the hormones,” Bruce said.

“There is no use in lying, Master Bruce, when we both know the truth,” Alfred answered, with an annoyed gesture of his hand. “He is irritated because you refused to help someone that is important to him – and a dear friend to you, too. And in my humble opinion, he is right to be upset. Especially when helping would be so easy for you.”

Again, Bruce sighed. He loved Alfred dearly. For the longest time, he was the only family Bruce had, helping him through the darkest times of his life and caring for him as lovingly as any biological parent would have. But sometimes, in moments like this, Bruce faintly wished, that Alfred and him were just a little less close. Just enough, that the man would respect it when Bruce stated that he didn’t want to talk any further about a matter. That his intention was set and would not be changed.

“Yes, it would be easy, but what did you all expect? That I would get my phone out and write down my number for him?” His voice was strained, with his jaw grinding so hard on each other, that it shot a flash of pain up into his temples. “We all keep our civilian identities a secret for a good reason. We had decided years ago that we wouldn’t share it with each other.”

“But he didn’t ask you for your identity, now did he?” Alfred asked back. All his words came quick and pointed as if he knew exactly what Bruce would be saying next and was already tired of it. “He asked you for Bruce Wayne's work number.”

“I am Bruce Wayne, though.”

“I am perfectly aware of this information, sir. Yet I don’t see why it would change the situation. It is not unreasonable to assume that the Batman would be in possession of it, or at least able to obtain it,” Alfred went on. “And Master Richard told me about your concern for Bruce Wayne's privacy. Which, I must admit, made me laugh. Its quite refreshing to hear from a vigilante, whose favorite pastime activity is breaking and entering.”

“Not for personal reasons! Superman admitted himself, that he needed the number just for himself. To fix a personal mess.”

“Would you be interested in a thought experiment, Master Bruce?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Great.” Alfred cleared his throat before starting: “Imagine the night again. Superman is approaching you, in obvious distress and desperation for his own personal life. He asks for a small favor. Would you be interested in helping?”

Bruce threw his hands up in frustration. He had no way of winning against Alfred when he was like this. Nothing to do but play along. With a roll of his eyes, he said: “I guess I’d like to help. Though I can’t promise it unless I have more information about the favor needed. But given that it is Superman that is asking, it will probably be reasonable.”

“Great start, Master Bruce. Now imagine Superman asks you for Lucius Fox’ number. Would you give it to him?”

After a quick moment of thinking, Bruce admitted: “Yes, I would, if I get the feeling that Superman’s reasons are important enough.”

Alfred nodded. “Imagine he asked for Ms. St. Clouds Number or Commissioner Gordon's?”

“I would give him both Silvers and Jim's number. I would give him the number, especially the office number, of just about every person,” Bruce just agreed, knowing fully well, that Alfred would have way more patience for playing this game. “Especially if they are influential in any way. I’d be more hesitant to give him the number of just a civilian.”

“To conclude, you don’t actually think that his actions are condemnable. Which, at least to Master Richards's account, the implication has been further upsetting Superman. Your decision in the matter aside, this was avoidable and a big part of why the lad is angry. You are a skilled liar, sir. You would have been able with another reason that didn’t leave everyone – including me, I might add, - upset,” Alfred explained further. He had not raised his voice at all and was speaking in his normal tone and yet Bruce could feel his ears turning red from the scolding.

“What do you want me to say?”, he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Yes, I could have handled it better. But what is done is done. We all need to move forward.”

“There is no need to pout. And this is about your next steps forward, sir. To circle back to the point, you just have a problem with giving him Bruce Wayne's number. Why exactly is that, Master Bruce? I know your secret identity is important to you, especially now that it must hide Master Richard as well, but Superman would never figure your identity out.”

His voice was small when he finally admitted: “But I would know his.”

“Don’t you trust yourself with it?”

“I both would and wouldn’t. I have no reason or interest in outing Superman’s identity. I… I just don’t want to know it!”

“Please elaborate, Master Bruce.”

“No.”

A long and painful silence filled the kitchen, as Alfred's words and Dicks anger finally really hit him. Cornered as he had felt that night, he had lashed out in cruelty.

“I… just don’t want to know,” he finally admitted, his voice sounding small and whiny in his own ears. With a sad sigh, he cradled his head in his hands.

“Very well, sir. You are right, Master Bruce. You are a grown man, and don’t have to justify your decision to me,” Alfred said, like he didn’t press for a justification just now, “but you are a man of integrity and I sense that you can’t fully justify this decision for yourself. At least not beyond your first instinct of fear.”

“What if he actually works for the media? If he is one of those, who would break into the graveyard just to snap a picture of my face, red and swollen from the tears?” His voice was shaking slightly, as the memories hunted him down. The thought that Superman, friendly, beautiful and kind, no matter how cruel Batman was to him, could be his personal nightmare, stung. A slight sickness had been sitting in his stomach ever since Robins gave him the idea, that Superman, savior of humanity, might be one of those, who had nearly been able to turn Bruce away from it forever. “Or like those, that cornered me in bathrooms, shoving pens and microphones into my face, until I had to throw up from crying?”

“Bruce, I remember what happened back then,” Alfred said, his voice way softer than it had been throughout the conversation. He gently placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed, like he did all those years back when those things were just happening. “It was terrible how you were treated and I have always respected your wish to keep from the press. But it has been a long time and things have changed. You have changed and grown into an incredible man. Maybe it can be time to rethink old rules. Also, we both know that should Superman work for the media, he would not be like them. And for all we know, he might just work in the IT department for Met News. Or his request to speak with you was blocked for a completely different reason. You do not owe Superman your help. It is well within your rights to deny it, especially if you are this involved in it. But you need to do it for the right reasons, or you will grow bitter, if not even cynic over it.”

Bruce didn’t answer for some moments. The image of Superman’s desperate face and pleas was too vivid in his head, to let him answer. “It wouldn’t be fair,” he finally managed to say, while fidgeting with his bottle. “I would know his identity, but he wouldn’t know mine. It would shift the relationship between us.”

“Only if you let it happen,” Alfred said while raising an eyebrow. “There are many secrets you know, both as Bruce Wayne and Batman, and if they aren’t of criminal nature, there is never a problem for you to not change your behavior. One might even say it’s your forte. Unless of course, there is something different when it comes to Superman.”

There was no need for an answer. And even if there was, Bruce was less than willing to give it.

So what, if there was something different about Superman? Even when they worked together and he shared the tiniest bits of his life, he was still as unattainable for Bruce, as he was for every Metropolis civilian (except for the mysterious former long-time partner). If Bruce had really, really tried, he would have probably found out by now who Superman was behind the cape, but if he forced himself to be honest – so honest, that his heart seemed to tear open –, he just never wanted to know. The thoughts of getting to know him better, being around his kindness and sweet humor, feeling his gentle touches in less comradery ways... all that was a fantasy for Bruce. The gossip papers sometimes said that Brucie could have almost everyone in this world and they might not even be all wrong. But yet he chose to think about one of those few, that were out of reach for him - until suddenly, he might not be anymore. And this thought was way more terrifying than any hallucinations from Scarecrow gas could ever be.

“If I give him my number, I’ll always be on edge. I get lots of calls and I don’t know how I’m supposed to concentrate if anyone could be Kal suddenly,” he mumbled, feeling beyond exhausted all of the sudden.

“Well, sir, if you have a suspicion, just press him for details. You are the Batman, Master Bruce. I’m sure you can figure out some ways to make out Superman,” Alfred answered with slight amusement in his voice.

“Hn,” said Bruce.

“I will leave you now, Bruce. I’m sorry if I have been too harsh with you. You are free to decide however you see fit, without judgment from me,” Alfred said, giving his shoulder a last squeeze. “Furthermore, I will talk to Master Richard.”

“What makes you think he isn’t listening in right now?” Bruce asked quietly. When Dick had been younger, it was easier to catch him, but he had gotten too quiet and skilled. Teaching a teen all those skills might have been one of his… less good ideas.

“He might. I’ll still talk to him. While he is a teenager, he is not unreasonable. He might never agree with your decision, but he will get over his anger. But can I also make a suggestion, sir?”

“Yes, sure,” Bruce just answered because it wasn’t like his approval of the request mattered anyway.

“It’s been a while until you have verbalized your feelings towards the lad. It might be time to remind him. I know you prefer to speak in actions, but it’s not always possible,” Alfred said voice still soft and with a tiny smile on his face. Talking emotions didn’t come easy to him either, as they both knew. “Maybe do something nice with him as well. Once he is talking to you again, that is.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Always, sir.” He gently cupped Bruce’s face and placed a kiss on the crown of his head. When he walked out of the kitchen again, his dress shoes were loud on the tiles and hardwood floors.

Again, Bruce was alone with his protein shake. He didn’t want it anymore but drank it anyway. It tasted as disgusting as he felt.  

Chapter Text

Everything about the Wayne Enterprise building was intimidating. Living in Metropolis, Clark didn’t mind skyscrapers and WE was far from the tallest he had seen, and yet he felt incredibly small when he walked up to it. It towered tall, dark and spooky, like the beautiful vigilante of the city himself, in the business district, like an eerie castle among the neighboring peasants.

 It was a beautiful structure, with amazing detailing and craftsmanship, from the dark floors, and the accent stained glass windows, to the masterfully tiled roof and the horde of gargoyles guarding it. The people in it were helpful and as nice as Gothamites could get – which meant, not very, but at least they tried, probably sensing that Clark came from out of town and was already scared to death. One even smiled.

Maybe, Clark thought, looking at himself in the mirror of the elevator up to the CEO and management level, it really wasn’t the WE building that had him shaking in his boots. Probably it was just that he truly had no idea what would expect him in Bruce Wayne's office.

He had spent his evening as he usually did these days: talking to Lois on the phone while he looked up job offers from in and around Metropolis. Despite what Perry had promised, Jane Lowe was still unyielding in her demands. Clark had to get fired, or she would post about his assault on her online.

Clark had talked a great deal to everyone that would listen about the situation. Everyone assured him, that he would get to keep his job and had a bright career in front of him; everything would be great, even if Twitter was a little mad at him for some time. His image would just have a little stain, no biggie.

 A stain, as Clark saw it, that would follow him for years and would keep him from many important assignments. Who in their right mind would be interested in an article about anything concerning women, be it their mistreatment or their victories - or really any minority - from a huge white guy, that had taken advantage of his privilege before. Clark did not want this stain. Not for himself, and not for all the women he had met in his life, that would be so deeply disappointed about him (supposedly) also being one of the bad ones. He always prided himself in being a safe person for everyone that needed it, both as Superman but also as Clark. All girls in College knew that could call him and he would get them home safe, he held drinks at parties, he accompanied his co-workers to interviews if they felt unsafe. He did not want to be the one, that made them realize that maybe it really is all men – especially, when he didn’t do it!

So, he and Lois looked for jobs. While he appreciated her sentiment, Clark was pretty sure that Lois wouldn’t actually accept a new job. Not, when she was that respected at The Daily Plant, and especially not if all the jobs sucked that badly. Both knew that The Plant was the best paper for their field of work, but seeing how little actual investigative work was appreciated outside of it, was a shock.

“Maybe we really should start freelancing work,” Lois suggested, through two bites of takeout. “It could be really interesting. There are many papers and websites I’d love to write for but can’t because of that stupid rule.”

“The Plant knows what they have in you,” Clark answered, trying his best to not sound as sad as he felt. “Of course, they won’t let you write for anyone else. You are their star.”

“We are their stars. And not for long anymore,” she insisted. “What would I do without you editing my drafts?”

“I’m sure Cat or Perry would be willing to do it. And in the first step, you can just turn on the spell check on your laptop. It is there for a-“, he started, when a familiar voice started ringing in his ears.

“Superman! Superman. Kal,” Batman called out in Gotham, his voice clear and steady, despite the difference in location. “Come here when you have a moment.”

“Smallville, are you alright?”

“Yes, sorry Lois,” Clark said, worry rising in his chest. “Batman just called for me.”

“Why do I even bother texting you, when I could just scream your name?”

“For one, because I’m not able to answer you otherwise and second, let’s not forget all the times you are in trouble and do just that,” he teased.

“Yes, yes. I know I’m a maiden in need, damsel in distress, or whatever those stupid clickbait articles call me,” she answered, while Clark put on the suit in a single movement of superspeed. “Still. Would you bring me donuts if I just call out for them?”

“Maybe. If you pay.”

“Hm… I’ll think about it. But now go and see what your crush needs,” Lois teased him, as she always did when Batman or Gotham was brought up.

“You can say it as many times as you like, it won’t become truer,” he answered, a slight blush on his face. “Anyway, have a nice evening.”

“Hear ya, Kansas. I’ll send you links if I find anything interesting.”

He was halfway through Metropolis before Lois had even hung up the phone.

Batman had waited for him as calmly as ever, sitting on the roof of WE next to a gargoyle, not even bothering to look up from his city, when Superman came flying in. Clark always slowed down in Gotham and made some noises, since he had once managed to startle Batman, which left him less than pleased. He knew how little B liked him in Gotham anyway, so he tried his best to make it easier for him.

“Batman, are you alright?” Superman asked before he even touched the rooftop. “I heard you call and-“

“Did the… drama in your personal life fix itself?” Batman interrupted him. Everything about him seemed calm, but Clark managed to pick up on certain strain in his voice, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“What?” If it wasn’t for his powers, he would surely be out of breath and sweating now. Not once had he slowed down to make sure that B was still safe.

“When you were here the other day,” Batman said, still staring down at Gotham’s streets in concentration, “you mentioned that something happened in your civilian life, where you needed help.”

Superman felt himself pale, as a wave of shame flooded him. Ever since Batman had called him out for his behavior, the embarrassment and shame sat deep within him. Of course, B had been right. The point of Superman was helping and bettering the world, not using him for his own personal benefit and to harass a poor man, who just wanted nothing to do with him – truly, shameful. Since that evening, he had stopped every effort to try to contact Bruce Wayne directly. Searching for a new job was a way better use of his time.

What made it even worse, was that B had to call out his terrible behavior, as he couldn’t see how wrong it was. Batman, so forceful and heroic, with the strongest moral code Clark had ever witnessed, who did everything in the name of justice and managed to be kind, even in his cruelest moments. Batman, for whom Clark had such a deep admiration that he sometimes felt breathless when he thought of the Dark Knight. The thought, that one of the best humans on earth could think less of him now, weighed heavy on him, every waking moment.

“Again, I’m so sorry that I even had the stupid idea and that I tried to bring you into the middle-“ Superman tried to explain himself, his hands reached out to Batman in apology, when he was interrupted again.

“Just answer the question, Kal. Did the situation work itself out? Did you manage to contact Wayne?”

“I-“

“Yes or no.”

“No,” he admitted, looking down at his boots. They needed a clean. “No to both of those questions.”

“Hm,” Batman growled, in a way that was so typical of him, that Clark had secretly started to call it “bat noise”.

“But it’s alright, really. I have made my peace with the situation and-“, he tried to say, before being interrupted yet again. This time, by being startled because Batman was suddenly standing directly in front of him.

“Here is his number,” he just said, before pushing a small piece of paper into Clark’s hand. “I thought about the situation, and I have been too harsh. With everything you do as Superman, there is no shame in helping yourself from time to time.”

“But-“

“That’s all,” Batman growled at him. He was still maddeningly close to Clark, their hands still squished into each other. “Now get out of Gotham. Since my partner is AWOL, I have a busy night ahead of me.”

Before Clark could think of something to say and be interrupted again, Batman had grabbled away in the darkness again. Dumbfounded, Clark stared at the note in his hand, slightly tingling where Batman’s gauntlets and gloves had touched his hot skin. “Wayne”, it said, as well as a string of numbers, written in small and neat handwriting. He had never seen B’s handwriting before, he noticed, still in awe of the situation.

Right the next morning, still just as confused, he dialed the number. His heart seemed to explode out of his chest while fighting with the sickness, that was laying in his stomach.

With the number, he had another chance, this final chance, before he finally had to send out his CV. But there was no guarantee that Wayne would actually hear him out, once Clark mentioned his occupation to him. Of course, he could lie, but it just felt wrong and like betrayal. No matter how much he needed it, Bruce Wayne still deserved the choice if he wanted to help.

“Ello, Bruce Wayne, Wayne Enterprises,” a friendly voice answered when the phone was finally picked up.

Clark’s heart was beating so violently inside his chest, it felt like he was being tortured with kryptonite. Shacking that thought, he cleared his throat and said: “Hello Mr. Wayne, my name is Clark Kent from The… from… uh-“

“Oh, now I’m intrigued,” Wayne said, while the rustling of paper could be heard in the background. “Where are you from?”

“Uh, Smallville, Kansas, Mr. Wayne,” he answered dutifully, before taking another deep breath.

Wayne made a disappointed noise. “Oh, that sounds so fake. You are lying and now I’m sad. So, what do you want, guy from Tinytown? You sound like you need money.”

“Oh, no Smallville is real, Mr. Wayne. But that is not the point here. And I also don’t need money,” Clark said, cradling his forehead in his free hand. The call was not going as planned. “But I do really need your help.”

There was a short silence on the other side of the phone. “What is your name again?”

“Clark Kent.”

“Clark Kent, hm? I feel like I have heard the name before. Did I forget a meeting we were supposed to have?”, he asked. “I do that sometimes.”

“No, we didn’t. To be honest, Mr. Wanye, we have only very vaguely interacted before, and now I need your help,” he said, his voice small and strained.

“Well, I love helping! They don’t always call me that fancy word for good human for nothing,” he answered, some pride in his voice. “What can I do for you, good sir?”

“Before I want to say that I have a confession to make. I-“

“You lied about where you’re from, right?”, he interrupted, before giggling. “That isn’t really a confession. I already knew that, silly.”

“No, Mr. Wayne, please. What I actually wanted to tell you, is… I am a reporter. My name is Clark Kent and I work for The Daily Planet. At least I used to.”

The only answer was silence.

“I know you don’t speak to reporters, and I respect that, Mr. Wayne. In fact, I’m extremely sorry that I have to bother you at all. But I swear this is important and involves me as much as you, sir,” Clark said, as fast as he could. When there was still only silence, he was sure that Wayne would just hang up on him, crushing his last hope to keep both his job and his reputation.

“I don’t give interviews,” Wayne finally said. He sounded way more somber than he had before, and the suspicion was heavy in his voice.

“I know and that’s not what I’m calling for. I would never bother you with something like that.”

“Right, of course, you wouldn’t”, Wayne said quietly, more to himself than to Clark. Then he laughed. It sounded unpleasant and too loud, making Clark wince in surprise. “You know, I don’t think I ever really interacted with someone… like you since I was a child. It’s kinda exciting. You promise you don’t want an interview?”

“No, sir. Actually I-“

“Then why don’t you swing by Gotham? I bet it’s more interesting than talking to you on the phone,” he suggested, his voice cheery again. “For me at least. But my butler always said that’s the most important thing anyways.”

Clark must have died. Yes, that was probably it. He was probably laying on his deathbed, Lex standing over him with some kryptonite, and his brain was spinning a funny little tale to humor him in his death. There was no way that Bruce “My security can and will knock out any reporter that comes within ten feet of me” Wayne was just inviting him to Wayne Enterprises. Just because it might be funny for him and because Clark had promised that he didn’t want an interview.

“Is the connection in Tinytown just bad, or is that your way of saying you won’t swing by?”

With a slight shake of his head, Clark snapped out of his stunned silence. Maybe this really was real life. “I am sorry, Mr. Wayne, no, of course, I would like to speak to you in person. I’d be honored. B-but I don’t want to bother you any more than necessary. If you prefer it, I can just tell you now wha-“

“Oh, I wouldn’t have invited you, if it would be a bother,” Wayne cut him off. “You really are a silly guy, but at least you have a cute accent. How does tomorrow sound to you? Can you make it from your Little Town?”

“I’m currently in Metropolis, so, yes. I’d be honored.”

“I don’t know why people always say that to me. But then I’ll see you tomorrow. Just come by whenever, but make sure it’s before 2 pm because I can’t promise you, I’ll still be here after that.” he explained.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Wayne. Then… see you tomorrow.”

“Have a good one!” Then he hung up. Again, Clark wondered if he was dying or just dead already.

But, since real life is truly stranger than fiction, the whole situation seemed to be real. At least he felt very real when he stepped out of the elevator onto a fancy hardwood floor. It was stunning, with the same dark charm and outdated beauty of older buildings all over Gotham. This floor was way less crowded than Clark had expected it when he saw all the buzzing life on the ground floor or compared to the Daily Planet building. Only a handful of people walked around, in their fancy outfits, while talking into phones, before disappearing into the next office.

“Can I help you, sir?” A young lady asked, after walking up to him, not smiling but still friendly. She wore a beautiful grey blouse and a black pencil skirt, paired with black shoes that had red soles. Lois had once said she would murder for them.

“Yes, ma’am, thank you. Mr. Wayne is expecting me,” Clark answered with a friendly smile.

Her face fell. The young lady cocked an eyebrow at him while giving him a thorough once-over. It could not be more obvious that she was judging his cheap suit and the worn dress shoes. It made his skin crawl.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Uhm… not really? I talked to him on the phone yesterday and he said that I could just come by before 2 pm,” Clark said. Surly, the beautiful lady would now laugh in his face. What a stupid thing to say. What kind of CEO would just invite someone into their office, like collages buddies invite each other to play video games?

But to his utter surprise, she just sighed and quietly said: “I hate when he does that.”

“Excuse me, what was that?”

“I was just saying that I will check that with him,” she lied, while slightly lifting a corner of her mouth. The Gotham equivalent of a smile.  

Her heels made a clicking noise, while she speed walked into the huge maze of floors, leaving Clark, lost and too colorful in his beige suit, in between all the dark and expensive furniture. Rarely ever before had he felt this out of place. Ever since his phone call with Bruce Wayne – or maybe even since Batman had called him into Gotham - he was just confused. No matter how hard he tried to rationalize both situations, they just didn’t make sense. Both men acted so out of character, with the flimsiest of excuses. He was grateful that things were looking up, of course, Clark just felt like a fish out of the water. No idea, how he ended up in this situation, how to act or what to expect next. While still slightly shaking, he wasn’t even that violently nervous anymore. Just… confused.

Maybe, he thought, while the clicking of the red-soled shoes returned to him, someone did something to Gotham’s water again. Batman mentioned that a lot. Maybe the Riddler or the Mad Hatter just put something funny in it. Yes, that probably was what happened.

“Mr. Wayne is indeed ready for you, Mr. Kent,” the lady informed him, with a slight nod of her head. “If you would just follow me?”

“Of course, ma’am, thank you very much,” Clark answered hoarsely.

Pushing back her silky hair behind her small shoulder, she turned around again and led Clark deep into the maze of office rooms. They only met a hand full of other people, but everything single one studied Clark so intently that he felt himself shrinking more and more into himself. By the time they stood in front of the black door, with the fancy “Bruce Thomas Wayne” sign on it, he was barely taller than the lady, that still eyed him strangely.

“Mr. Wayne has asked me to make sure, that you remember your promise from yesterday?”, she told him.

“Uhm, yes, of course, I don’t-“

“Mr. Kent, there is no need to repeat it to me,” she interrupted him because apparently nobody in Gotham had ever been told that it’s polite to let other people finish. Her slightly bored facial expressions reminded Clark faintly of flight attendants when they acted out how to close the seatbelt. “Mr. Wayne has me not informed what the promise is. He just wants to make sure that you remember it.”

“I do, ma’am.”

“Perfect. Your first meeting with Mr. Wayne?”

“The first formal one, yes, ma’am.”

She nodded her head. “There is no need to be nervous, Mr. Kent. Mr. Wayne is a great guy. He’s a real doll,” she assured him and then knocked on the door.  

It was opened in a matter of seconds by the man, the myth, the legend– his only help left – himself.

“Hi again Heather!”

“Hello Mr. Wanye,” she answered, a small smile on her lips. “Mr. Kent for you.”

“Thank you so much, I’ll let you know if we need anything,” he said politely. It was only after she was gone, that he turned to the very pale Clark. As everyone had done so far, he stared at him intently for a few moments, before smiling brightly.

“Mr. Kent, it’s lovely to meet you,” he said with a broad smile. In one smooth movement, he opened the door wider before allowing Clark to enter his office with an inviting and almost ridiculously lavish gesture. Walking past him, he caught another whiff of the eerily familiar scents, even if the feeling was slightly less intense. It sounded insane, but it was almost as if the smell of stressed sweat was now missing.

The office itself was beautiful. Less luxurious than Clark would have expected, and largely taken up by a huge dark desk on which stood three screens, as well as a multitude of proper document trays. A couch and two armchairs stood in front of the large windows, into which the timid sun shone. On the table between them stood a laptop and a cup. It shouldn't be surprising that Wayne was lounging on a couch during his work hours.

With an energized strut, Wayne walked him over to those exact couches, completely ignoring his desk and the expensive chairs around it, before flopping down on the worn-out loveseat. It eerily reminded Clark about how the man had managed to wiggle out of his hands during their first encounter.

It was only when he was seated that Clark suddenly realized that he had not said a single word.

“Mr. Wayne,” he voiced up hastily, before standing up again and reaching out his hand to the man. “I-I’m sorry. I must have forgotten my manners. Thank you so much for meeting me.”

“Please, call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne sounds so stiff,” he just answered, before shaking Clark’s hand. He had a surprisingly firm handshake that probably would have made other men wince. Also, Clark noticed, his hand felt completely different than he had expected. It was calloused and rough, with lots of small scars on it. It was a stark contrast to how well they were groomed.

“Before we get started and I’ll get to help you, can I get you something? Some water or a soda? We also have tea and coffee and different alcohol. We have great mimosas,” he offered, before crossing his legs elegantly.

Being next to a conscious Bruce Wayne was weird. Clark would have been lying, if he said, that he knew nothing about the man, even if it felt that way, since all information was second-hand and from often either uncredited or plain untrustworthy sources. Mostly old mates, former lovers or employees giving anonymous statements to shady outlets, with little content and flashy headlines. Citizens posting on Twitter how their meeting with him went, were usually the most detailed and trustworthy. Some details could also be picked up from his social media accounts (unless one is blocked because the account is linked to a news outlet). Everything else needed to be guessed from a distance just by watching him. How he dresses, where he’s traveling to, what he likes to eat, who he is dating and his mannerisms. And for a man who was widely known for being clumsy and uncoordinated, every one of his movements was unusually graceful and controlled. Similarly, to his smell, the movements seemed familiar, which they very much shouldn’t be.

“A tea sounds lovely, sir”, Clark said and forced himself to smile. He never needed food or drink, but usually enjoyed them enough to be excited for an expensive and excellent offer. But in that moment, with Wayne still staring at him like he was searching for answers in Clark’s face, he was only feeling sick. Yet, it was probably better to humor the man.

“A great choice,” Bruce said, before he typed something on his laptop. “Your tea is coming right up. I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t sound so nervous, silly,” he offered gently. “I don’t mind that you lied to me about Tiny Town.”

Clark just nodded, too tired to fight him on it.  

Shifting in his seat and recrossing his legs, Bruce looked at his own hands, as he said: “I have asked around a little, Mr. Kent. You have tried to contact me for some time now. I had stalkers that were less persistent than you are.”

“I am sorry, sir.”

“No need. It has piqued my interest,” he said. There was a bright, yet oddly cold smile on his face. While his voice was airy and light, like he had heard it on galas before, the man in front of him was completely different than what every former acquaintance made Bruce Wayne out to be. Dumb, easily distracted and confused, useless, or naïve were among the last words that came to Clark’s mind. Bruce’s eyes were glittering sharply, with his head slightly dipped in concentration and his hands curled into tight fists.

All Clark wanted to do was leave. Wayne eyed him like prey and while his words were still friendly enough, he was suddenly sure, that he could expect no help from him.

“How can I help you?” he asked. Tell me your little tale and amuse me, peasant.

And so, with a sigh, Clark started talking. He only ever paused when Heather walked in with two steaming mugs of tea, and not once looked up from his hands. He talked about the gala, the distressed sounds, and after a careful warning, how he found Wayne and Jane Lowe. How he got rid of her, before getting Lucious Fox to take care of him.

“Miss Lowe is now threatening me,” he ended his story. “She has told her fiancé, as well as my boss, that I was the one assaulting her. I assume she is counting on the fact that you won’t speak out against her or in support of me when she comes out with her accusations. If I get to keep my job at The Daily Planet, she will make the allegations public. I had really hoped that the situation would fix itself and she would forget. Instead, she has been tweeting about assault and how much it affects just about every woman, including herself. And I don’t even doubt that, but she seems to get more and more impatient, and her tweets are getting clearer and she already wrote, that she thinks she’ll be ready to share her own story soon.”

Bruce Wayne did not say a thing. From the sounds of it, he didn’t move either and barely breathed. Feeling the sting of tears in his eyes, Clark finally worked up the courage to lift his head.

He was pale and staring at him, his mouth slightly open. Not a single emotion was showing on his beautiful face.

“And while I’m here for my own benefit, Mr. Wayne, I genuinely hope that you are okay after that night,” Clark carefully added, when the silence became too much. “I am terribly sorry it happened and wish I could have stopped it sooner. I assume it was not the first time… something like this has happened to you and I really do hope you have the support that you need.”

Wayne started nodding slowly while turning his face away.

Clark bit down on his lips. He should have probably been more tactful about the whole thing. Maybe start with the information about Wayne’s assault instead of throwing it randomly in. It was probably very triggering and…

“How tall are you?” Bruce asked suddenly, looking at Clark again. “When you are not slouching, I mean. You seem to be a tall guy. Would you say you are… above 6 foot 5?”

Again, Clark wondered if he were dead or if Lex Luthor had him strapped down somewhere while experimenting on his brain. At this point, it would probably be more enjoyable than this conversation. He came here to beg and plead, and Bruce wanted to know his height.

“Above 6 foot 5, I assume, though I have not checked in a while. But I am tall, indeed,” he said. Almost desperately, he clung to the manners Ma had taught him over the years. His options were manners, crying or losing control over his powers.

“Interesting. And those glasses,” Wanye continued, his elbows on his knees, leaning forward in curiosity. “They are terribly outdated and do nothing for you, so I assume they are prescription?”

“They are indeed, sir. Without them, I am as blind as a mole,” he explained. Lex was really getting creative with his mind torture.

“And you are from Metropolis?”

“I am from a tiny place in Kansas, but I have been living in Metropolis for quite some time now, sir,” he answered dutifully. “I really enjoy it.”

“Ah, yes of course. I knew that already, didn’t I?” Wayne asked and smiled at him. Maybe it was supposed to be sweet, but to Clark it screamed of insanity.

“Sir, I-“

“I indeed only remember that night very vaguely,” Bruce interrupted him again. “I must have had too much to drink. I do remember talking to Jane Lowe and later… hands on me. But what if she was telling you the truth? That I agreed to it?”

“Did you?”, Clark asked back. While it pained him to talk about the topic, he was almost relieved that Bruce was finally taking it seriously. “In that case, I’d be terribly sorry of course for killing yours and Miss Lowe's fun. I followed my gut and reacted to a situation that looked bad to me. My intentions were pure.”

Wayne sighed. “I suppose you are right. And I thank you for looking out for me and even thinking about my privacy. That is rare in your profession. What happened that night, did indeed happen without… my explicit consent and I am grateful for your stepping in. I don’t know many details anymore, though. Not who it was, or what exactly happened before or afterward. What if I can’t talk out in your support?”

“I don’t expect you to lie in my support if you truly don’t remember. Or if don’t want to speak out for me for any reason at all, sir.”

“What would you do in that case? You said your job depends on my words.”

“I would go and look for another job. Maybe around Metropolis… maybe I’ll move back to my Ma in Kansas,” Clark answered. He could feel himself sinking deeper into the soft cushions with each word. He had come this far, just for Wanye to reject him. He wanted to scream, throw his mug around the room, and cry. But he just sat on the couch and looked at Bruce’s cup. The pictures on it seemed to be hand drawn, with smiling suns, birds and trees. Maybe a present from his ward.

“Hm,” Bruce made and shifted in his seat. “This is a complicated topic and Jane has always been a very dear friend. I can’t tell you in this second what I am going to do.”

“I understand, sir.” No amount of fighting kept the bitterness he felt so deeply out of his voice. “I am still very grateful, that I even had to opportunity to speak to you. And from your words, I assume you are alright, even after what happened.”

“Yes, yes, thank you. I’m just happy you didn’t lie and this indeed not an interview. Though it has been less fun than I imagined,” Bruce said and smiled.

“I’m sorry, sir. And after your questions, I have to say that being on this side of an interview is quite weird. I do see now why you don’t give them. I would also not like it.”

“Thank you for your understanding. A last question if I may?”

Clark nodded with a sigh.

“You have covered Superman stories a lot before, right? I knew I had heard your name before and it turns out, I have just read it a lot,” Wayne asked, his icy blue eyes following every single of Clark's movements. It was only at this moment, that he suddenly noticed, that Bruce’s voice was less airy, and had become deeper and fuller. Nothing that could be found or seen about Bruce Wayne was true anymore. Something wasn’t adding up and to his own horror, the feeling of familiarity came back with full force. The somberness in his deep voice, as well as his almost cold face, was like meeting a person you had forgotten about again, especially mixed with the scent and the movements. Nothing was adding up anymore.

“Yes, sir. Usually, Lois Lane does them, but I do help out from time to time,” Clark said. He wanted to be surprised that Bruce read The Daily Planet but couldn’t be anymore.

Wayne cradled his head in his palm, as he nodded along.

“Fascinating,” he said and smiled. It seemed strained and slightly angry if Clark was not mistaken. Taking a look at his watch – a Rolex, because of course – he sighed. “I wish I could keep you here longer, Clark, but I have a meeting waiting for me.”

“I understand, sir,” Clark sat and stood up from his chair. He wanted to smile as well, but just couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I have kept you for much longer than intended. I am sorry.”

“Nonsense, silly,” Wayne said with a dismissive gesture. They walked to the black door again. In front of it, Bruce turned to him and gave him a last long look, before he held out his hand. This time, his shake was not just firm, but so strong, that it could break bones. Clark made sure to wince this time when Wayne released him and smile nervously.

“Thank you for your time again.”

“Of course. As I have explained, I will think about it all,” he promised with a small nod of his head. “Thank you for looking out for me and I won’t let you wait for long, Clark. You are a good man. Please don’t change.”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

He opened the door and let Clark step out without a single word. He did not spend a single second longer in the building or Gotham than necessary. Something was going on and nothing was lining up with each other, but this was not the time to think about it.

Surely, Lois would let him complain further if he brought her donuts as promised.

Chapter Text

Clark was still laying on Lois’ couch when he heard her voice. Bringing her a dozen donuts had indeed worked like a charm and she was more than willing to let him come in, complain about the situation in general and Wayne and even offered to let him sleep on her couch when he was too depressed to leave – even, if she laughed at him since the couch was about half his size.

“You know, Smallville, you could also just sleep in the bed with me,” she offered, looking down at his squished form. “It’s not like it’s anything new. And I do feel kinda bad about seeing you this way.”

“Thank you,” he answered, his voice monotone. “I don’t think I’ll sleep well tonight. And I don’t want to wake you up by throwing myself from side to side. You need to get up early for work.”

Lois just nodded, gave him a kiss on the forehead and retreated into her bedroom, leaving Clark in the living room. He could clearly hear all the busyness from the street outside her window and even when his eyes were closed, the lights seemed to sting his eyes. As expected, he was awake for most of the night and only managed to fall asleep after he was out for some hours to help with a big forest fire in southern Germany. He was already awake again when Lois left the flat as quietly as possible. And ever since then, he was just staring up at the ceiling. He had tried his best with keeping his spirits up and not giving up hope that the situation might just clear itself up. The sadness and helplessness all came crashing down on him, together with all the disgust and shock, he felt, from all the information he looked up regarding sexual assault, from and on all sexes. He had quickly given up trying to talk with other men about it since their reaction oft left him feeling even worse, dirty and some kind of secondhand guilt.

Clark gave himself until lunchtime before he would get up and call Perry and announce that Lowe had won. All afternoon would be spent sending out CVs. Lois had helped him select some good articles he could attach to all his applications and more importantly, they had brainstormed some reasons he could mention as to why he wanted to leave The Planet in the first place.

He knew that everything would work out. It just sucked.

“Clark!”

He stood up with a frown, looking around in the empty apartment.

“Clark! Ey! Clark!”, the voice came to his ears again. Lois, as he concluded quickly. That was weird. Why would she scream for him? If she were in danger, she would call out for Superman to help her. He was reaching out for his phone to text her, when she continued: “Check your twitter now! Right now! Do it!”

Ah yes, sure. Now Lois was acting really weird as well. Screaming at him across town to look at this twitter. After Batman and Bruce Wayne, it shouldn’t even be a surprise anymore. Maybe it wasn’t just the water in Gotham. Maybe it was the whole coast. Or the air was polluted.

“Clark! Twitter! Now!”

“I heard ya. Where are you and why are you screaming instead of giving me a call?” he texted her.

She answered immediately: "on the roff top. dont worry iam alone here. and i just wanted to try it for funsies. anyways. TWITTER!"

“But what is on twitter? I don’t even have the app anymore.”

“than downloat it again!!!!!!! do it or i wont shut up kansas”

“I’m already on it”, he responded, knowing fully well that she wasn’t joking. Lois was a lot of things, but not a liar when it came to her threats.

Still, he would have preferred to not have to deal with twitter at this moment. He never really enjoyed the app and used it mostly to reblog articles he or friends of his wrote. Sometimes also some nice pictures of a sunset, cute little animals, or those blurry pictures of Batman and Robin. Once Jane Lowe started "vague tweeting" about him, as Lois called it, he just got rid of it. He was having a shitty enough time already without the mixture of disgust, anger and despair he felt, reading tweets about the horrors of assault from someone who behaved in that exact same way.

“I got it. What now?”

“check out lowes acount!! look at the newst post”

Less than willing, he did.

JayLowe @TheJaneLowe
Thank you so much for the support and kind words over the last few weeks regarding the horrible situation I was in, everyone! It has been eye-opening in showing me that I’m not alone. We won’t let them get away any longer!

Oh, Clark thought numbly. He was too late. She had already exposed him for his “wrongdoings”. Mentally already planning his move back to Kansas, he opened the comments and reblogs. Reading the first name in them, made him fall back onto Lois’ couch.

BrucieBabe @BruceTWayne
All these tweets have been inspiring to me as well. Thank you, Jane. I would never thought I’d find the courage to talk about it publicly but similar things have happened to me. For the longest time, I blamed myself. I was too drunk, too flirty, too dumb.
I
BrucieBabe @BruceTWayne
Who would even believe me, the “sex-crazed Brucie”, that I was molested? Everyone knows that half of Gotham had me. Why would anyone believe that I said No that one time? Who would believe me that I wasn’t able to stop a woman half my size and weight? But it’s never the victim’s fault. It was her fault and she is to blame.
I
BrucieBabe @BruceTWayne
The sexual violence amongst my social circle is shocking and I am ready to talk about it. They can only go on if we don’t stand up against them. And I say it’s time for a change.
I
BrucieBabe @BruceTWayne
I and WE have therefore decided to start a donation and awareness campaign. Money will go to lots of different projects, from free emergency centers to pro bono law firms specialized in representing victims of sexual violence.
I
BrucieBabe @BruceTWayne
Click on the link to read more about all the projects that are doing such amazing work for a problem so many of us have been facing. Help must be available for everyone, regardless of economic status, sex/gender, age – even if all these cases need different help.

The thread continued further, with more links and more information and the promise to donate 25 million dollars to get the campaign started.

Clark had to read it multiple times before he believed his eyes.

“did ya read it”

“I did. I’m speechless.” He really was. Despite Wayne seeming less than willing to help, he had saved Clark. Bruce Wayne had made it clear that he knew exactly who touched him that night and he even made the whole situation public – even if he left her active part in the situation out of it. But Clark was sure that it would be enough. If he were Jane, he would be as quiet as possible regarding assault now. Just donate a lot of money and pray that Bruce doesn’t change his opinion on showing her mercy.

And in an extremely surprising turn of events, it looked like maybe something good would be coming out of the situation. With the money that Bruce Wayne was promising a lot of people could be helped.

It took him some time to notice he wasn’t sitting anymore, but slightly floating above the couch. For the first time in weeks, Clark felt like he was able to breathe; a smile spreading on his face, while tears were stinging in his eyes. It was like Bruce Wayne's tweets removed pieces of emotional kryptonite from his chest.

“Wait. Why can we even read those tweets? Aren’t we blocked?” he texted Lois a little later from her bathroom. He just couldn’t stop floating and this was the only room without any windows.

“not anymore”, she texted back immediately. “no one form the planet is anymore”

“What????”

“well we don’t have any confirmattion yet but perry also said that someone has shown interest in buying us asap. it might be a reach but i do feel like this could be connected”

Clark stared at the phone in his hand in confusion. Nothing made sense anymore. And I had all started with Batman’s behavior two days ago. As much as Clark loved… uh respected the man, he was not one to change his opinion just because. Something must have happened with him, to shake him up like that.

And suddenly, an unexpected thought hit him like a brick. He heard the rumors that Batman und Bruce Wayne had to know and work (maybe even fuck) with each other for years but never gave them much thought. Batman was too independent and proud to accept help from anyone, much less some rich idiot, even if they lived in the same city. And even if he did, it was not Clark’s business – even if the thought of B’s personal life came to haunt him more and more often over the years. But maybe the rumors were true. Maybe they discussed Superman’s pleads with each other. Bruce Wayne said he was okay with it and pushed B to change his way on this. It would also explain why Wayne was so willing to meet him. As Robin had concluded, Superman had to work with the press and if Wayne gave Batman his approval to share his number, it would be easy to guess who Clark really was. That would also explain the weird question Wayne asked him! He was trying to confirm his suspicions!

Clark hit the tiled floor of the mint green bathroom with a thump. Really, suddenly everything made sense, as the puzzle pieces found their way to each other.

Great. Just when he thought that everything would be good now, a new problem arose. At least Bruce Wayne, but probably also Batman, now knew his secret identity.

But if Batman trusted Wayne, so would Clark – sooner or later at least. Maybe not now but… surely, he would come around.

It didn’t even matter that much to him at that moment, with all the relief he felt. His heart was pounding in his ears and his slightly tear-wet face stretched in a smile so wide, that it actually started to hurt.

Again, he reached for his phone and scrolled to the weird app, Batman had made him download some years ago. It was a messenger, and, according to B, as safe as they could get. He didn’t confirm, but heavily implied that he made it himself. The app had a bright logo and name, that made it seem like a game and once opened, it took three passwords in order to access the messages. Similarly, it had taken a very long link and some more passwords, before he was able to actually download it. It looked sleek, black and grey, with a very simple user interface, that let him do nothing but chat with a single other user, who’s name was a mixture of random letters and numbers. (Clark always planned to finally sit down and decipher what was written there, but never got around to it.)

B had said it was for emergencies only. Despite that, Clark had tried to connect with him, just to give him small updates after fights or if they hadn’t seen each other in some weeks. Nothing long, just a small message saying that he was fine and that he hoped that B was as well. He didn’t react well to it and threatened to delete Clarks as a user if he didn’t learn to behave.

Ever since then, Clark had only ever used it, when B messaged him first. But today he didn’t care.

“Thank you again. I understand now and I can’t tell you how relieved and thankful I am. Kal.”

If B was angry, he would get over it eventually. But he just needed to thank him or he would explode, as he was sure that Batman would never let him talk about this situation ever again. A simply thank you was the least he could say, after B helped save his career and reputation.

Clark took a deep breath before sitting down on the edge of Lois’ bathtub and re-reading both her messages and Bruce’s tweets again. Just to make sure, that he hadn’t imagined them.

“So now what?”, he texted Lois.

“well you have a job again, kanssas! perry will need to talk to lowe but he doesn’t expect any problems from her again. hell give you call afterwards but he told me that you can enjoy the rest of your week off before you are expected to be in again”, Lois texted back immediately. “im so glad it worked out, clark. i missed you around here <3”

“I’m too, Lois. I really am. Thanks for keeping me in the loop!”

He and his Ma were in the middle of dessert when Clark heard his name being called out. He instinctually tried to hide it when his super senses picked something up. But his Ma knew better than anyone else on this world and there was no need to hide anything from her. Allowing himself to lay his head on the side and his face to go blank, he listened.

When his eyes focused on her again, she gently squeezed his hand and said: “You have to cut this short, don’t ya, darling?”

Right after Perry had confirmed, that Lowe had taken back her threats, he flew to Smallville to tell his Ma. She had been so relieved when he showed her the tweets, that she started crying. While she had been trying to be brave, Clark knew he was suffering with him the past few weeks. But finally hearing her laugh again, brighter than the Kansas sun ever could dream of being, had pulled another, possibly even bigger metaphorical piece of kryptonite out of his chest. It was more than enough to make him forget about Bruce Wayne for a little while.

“I do,” he answered with a sad nod. “Batman just called me to Gotham. Said it was important.”

“I understand, honey. But will you finally tell him?”

Frowning, Clark stood up (and made sure to push his chair back in). “Tell him what?”

“How you feel about him, sweetie.”

“Ma…”

Lifting up her hand, she gently shut him up. “Don’t they always say he is the greatest detective? How come he can’t see what a great guy is standing in front of him, just waiting to finally take him out for a nice dinner. I know you had your reservations about him back in the day, but he must like you if he came around to help you. Do you remember what I told you back then?”

“That I’ll only get forward with him if I actually start trying,” Clark confirmed, his heart rate picking up. “I do remember. And you were right. But even now, he barely lets me stay in Gotham. He probably doesn’t even consider me a friend!”

“Well, good thing you don’t want to be his friend then, honey,” Ma said, before getting up herself. She walked around the table and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “And now go get him. Don’t let your date wait any longer.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “I’ll let you know how it went. Love you, Ma.”

“Love you, honey.”

He left the farm with a sonic boom, speeding through to sky too fast for him to overthink anything before he was suddenly in Gotham again. Strange, just how many times he had been in the city recently when he usually tried so hard to stay away from it and the temptation that radiated from its urban legend.

Clark had expected to find Batman at one of his usual spots, near crime alley, the docks, or downtown, perched next to the gargoyles, like a cat ready to jump on its prey. Instead, he was slightly outside of it, away from the busy streets and overflowing apartment buildings, sitting on the roof of a dark mansion. His legs were dangling carelessly as if the fall would not kill him, and he stared into the forest next to the house.

Maybe, Clark thought, as he lowered himself down from the sky, he had a hunch and needed help with… well, breaking into the house. Not that he usually did and not that it was like him to call for backup, but surely, he would have his reasons. He always did when he called Superman into his city.

“Superman,” he greeted stiffly, not turning his head from the forest. Weird, how a house near a city like Gotham had a private forest.

“Hey B,” he said back, sitting down next to him, unsure of what else to do. “Isn’t it still a little early for you to be out?”

“It is,” he agreed, his voice sounding strained. “But I really needed to talk to you. You have thanked me. You have talked to Wayne,” Batman flat-out stated. There was not a hint of a question in his tone.

Clark couldn’t help himself and smiled. “I already expected you to know that.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I didn’t understand it right when I talked to him, but it finally clicked for me after I saw the tweets,” Clark said, fighting against the anxiety raising in him. Next to his Ma, only one other person knew about both his identities. Lois reacted as well as she could, and to her credit, she came around very quickly, but it had been unpleasant for them both. With Batman, it was different of course. He knew about Superman having a civilian identity from pretty early on and to him, Clark Kent was no one. Still, he felt just as anxious about it, with everything in my screaming about flying off and protecting his other life. “Thank you very much for talking to him. It really did save my career and I can’t tell you how thankful I am to both of you.”

“Both of us.”

“Of course. Despite Wayne’s distaste for… people like me. And he managed to handle the situation in probably the best way there is,” Clark kept on talking. B seemed less than pleased; his posture was as hunched as it could be in the bat suit. “And without you, he never would have talked to me.”

B just made some bat noises, still staring off into the distance. “What did you think of him?”

“Of Wayne?”

Confirmative bat noise.

“I-I’m not about to judge a man who helped me.”

“Why not? Would your judgment be negative?”

“No, no of course not,” Clark managed to say quickly. Jealousy was raging in his heart. So his hunch seemed to be correct and both men were more to each other. The only other person B ever sounded this protective of was Robin. Family of the bat, something Clark would never be.

“It was just… very confusing. I’ve seen him a couple of times before from a distance and he was nothing like I expected him to be. He seemed… smarter, I guess. Less dumb than he is usually made out to be. I bet he is interesting if you really get to know him. He had a lot of questions for me, which was surprising. But, no, my judgment wouldn’t be negative. I just didn’t have enough time with him to form an opinion.”

Batman nodded carefully before he finally turned his masked face to Clark. He kept quiet for some moments, leaving Clark wondering what emotions he was currently feeling.

“I really feel for the situation,” he finally just said, before clearing his throat. Whatever he wanted to say, he was struggling. “Very recently, I had to go to an important work event after a run-in with Scarecrow. From fights and controlled doses, I have built up quite the immunity to fear-toxin and didn’t think much at first, when I inhaled some. Of course, I also didn’t care for my team’s advice to skip the event.”

Superman smiled carefully at him. Yes, that sounded very much like B.

“Crane must have changed something in his formula because about thirty minutes in, I started getting dizzy. Over just five minutes, I could hardly stand, had problems breathing and started shaking. My mind started playing tricks on me and I had some minor delusions,” he kept explaining. “Still, I thought I just had to sit it out and instead of going home or calling Alred, I decided to enter a different room. Someone must have seen me walk into it alone because they followed me.”

Clark’s heart dropped. “Oh my god, B. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He chuckled drily. “Thank you. To my luck, someone stepped in, before they had time for anything worse than a few kisses and gropes.”

A frown showed up on Clark’s face, as Batman kept talking. Only this time, his voice modulator was turned off and he gently took off his gloves and gauntlets.

“I don’t remember much. Most of it is blurr of voices, while the delusions showed me pictures of blood and pearls, or I drifted off into unconscious. But… I remember a kind voice, with a slight country accent. Something happened and the groping stopped, while the country man carried me to a couch. He kept apologizing, while I still tried to fight the fear-toxin and tried to stand or fight the pictures I was seeing. He could handle me easily and after a short disappearance, he returned with someone close to me. After that, I only know what Lucious told me. Someone found me and just wanted to help. Didn’t even want any money.”

A choked sound escaped Clark, as he understood. “Batman, I-“

After taking a shaking breath, Batman did the unthinkable and released the lead-lined mask from his face. Beneath it was the same face Clark had stared at on the couch of the piano room and the one that drove him nearly crazy in the WE building.

“Bruce Wayne,” he whispered, while his heartbeat picked up. Again, his control over his powers slipped suddenly and all sensory impressions, which he usually suppressed so masterfully, attacked him. He scrunched his face in pain and panic, both against all the sensations beating him down, but also his spiraling mind. This time, however, it only took a few terrible seconds before he was brought to his senses. Batman/Bruce gently laid his ungloved hands on Clark's face and turned it to him.

“Stay calm,” he almost demanded. “Stay calm, Kal.”

The gentle gesture, his steady voice and beauty of the man was enough to calm him immediately.

“B,” he finally said and started into the icy blue eyes. “I… I am so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“First, that that happened to you of course. But also, that I have found you. It must be terrible for you that I saw you like that. I understand that you would have preferred someone else, and-“, Clark said, his thoughts way too busy in his head.

Like so many times before, Bruce just interrupted. “Are you insane, Kal?” He gently stroked his left cheek as he continued talking: “Outside of my direct family, there is absolutely nobody I trust more than you. I trust you with my life every time we go on a mission together and I know that I am safe with you. Even outside of your suit, faced with such a situation and threats from someone much more powerful than you, you have done everything in your power to take care of a stranger. I’ll admit, I wanted to be angry at you, for seeing me in that situation, seeing me weak, but I just couldn’t. Once again in my life, everything would have been much worse without you. I know I’m often harsh to you but believe me when I say that I am so thankful.”

Clark just stared at him, trying to process everything that was happening, including how kind and almost loving Bruce’s gaze was. And then, just a few heartbeats later, Bruce’s face fell. It seemed he suddenly noticed himself, just how intimate the situation was and he backed away, taking both his warm hands and his warm gaze away as if he burned himself.

Still, Clark couldn’t think of a single word to say.

After some seconds, B cleared his throat and hoarsely started: “That’s all I wanted to share with you. It seemed unfair that I have the upper hand. Of course, this doesn’t change anything and we-“

A young voice suddenly called out from the dark: “No! Don’t be like that! Ask him out on a date!”

With a groan and a strange mixture of emotions on his face, Bruce turned around. “Dick! What have I told you about spying on me!”

A teenager, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, stepped out of the shadow of a chimney. He had dark hair, a smug, but slightly nervous look on his pretty face and seemed completely unbothered by the fact that he was standing on a slippery rooftop of a huge mansion.

Clark blinked at him a couple of times before a smile showed up on his face. “Robin?”

His smile turned bright, as he happily waved at Clark. “Hi, Uncle Kal! Good to see you again. And I’m so happy to finally really meet you. I’m Dick Grayson, Bruce’s Wayne and Robin, of course.” He stepped some steps closer and eyed Bruce closely. “I hope you can now understand why B was being such an asshole about giving you the number that night.”

“Of course! And there is nothing to forgive!” Clark tried to say, finally remembering how to use his tongue again. But before he could go on, Bruce slowly stood up next to him and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Dick, what have I-“

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m sorry for spying or whatever,” he interrupted exactly like his mentor would have done. There was a sudden tenseness in his voice, Clark had never heard from him before. “And I know it’s your life and blah blah but don’t be like that. Come on, Bruce. Really. There is no need to push everyone away. Just when I thought you came to your senses.”

B made some bat noises, mixed with a deep and exhausted sigh. As if on cue and so suddenly that he flinched, they both turned their gaze on Clark. Apparently, they both thought briefly but hard about Dick's words before looking at each other again. Clark had no idea what just happened (and was pretty sure that he didn’t want to know), but after the almost telepathic exchange, they shared a small smile.

Dicks voice was heavy with worry, as he asked: “B! Why didn’t you say something about what happened at the gala? We would have been there for you…”

Bruce sighed and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. His movement was careful as if he expected him to react badly to the gesture. “I’m sorry, champ. I was just so angry. With her, for doing it, but also with me for ignoring your advice about the fear gas. And honestly, I probably would have just repressed it. I was halfway there until it got brought up again. And I didn’t want to worry you with it.”

“You are terrible,” Dick said. He paused shortly, before launching forward right into Bruce’s chest and hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry, B. I hope you are okay, really. I get why you didn’t, but you should have still told us. We are a team. I knew there was something up with you, these past weeks. You were… the worst version of yourself, nothing like you try or want to be. Let us know how we can help you and we will do it, okay?” He sighed so deeply that he was probably fighting against his tears. After clearing his throat, he added more chipper: “And don’t worry, B, I’ll think of something nice for dear Miss Lowe. I never liked her anyway.”

“I know, Dick. Thank you so much and I’m sorry for how I’ve been and treated you. And I want you to know that I… I… lo-.”

“Bruce,” he said, a big grin and a faint blush on his face, as swatted his hand around to cut him off. “Don’t embarrass me like that in front of Superman.”

“Clark,” the same corrected.

“Clark, sure,” Dick agreed with a nod. Quieter he added: “But, I do that, too. The thing, you wanted to say, I mean.”

Bruce said nothing more but ruffled through the boy’s hair.

Stepping back from his caregiver, Dick smiled brightly at them. Gesturing vaguely downwards, he said: “Alfred wanted me to ask if you are up for some tea. He made some and he wants me to tell Uncle Kal that it’s really good.”

Bruce looked at Clark expectedly. With other people, he would have taken it as an invention or the offer to decide, but with B it wasn’t that easy. While he had earlier been kind to Clark, he was just about to send him away again, before Dick stepped in.

“I don’t want to impose. It’s been a long evening,” he said carefully. Offering to leave would be much less embarrassing than being kicked out. They would all be grateful that he offered it, say goodbyes and go their way. Bruce was right. Nothing had to change and B probably didn’t want anything to change. Dicks words might have implied something else, but he was a teenager, probably still believing in love. But he and Bruce were adults and offer such silly beliefs.  

“I think we still need a minute here, champ,” Bruce said instead.

“Okay. Take your time. I promise I won’t spy on you this time.” He smiled and vanished into the darkness again.

With Dick gone, the silence around them grew heavy again, as Bruce sat down on the edge of the house – Wayne Manor, as Clark suddenly understood. They both stared into the night.

Knowing from experience that B would be able to endure the silence much longer than him and hopeful that this was a Batman-style invitation to talk, Clark cleared his throat. Bruce slowly turned to face him. He almost looked scared, Clark noticed.

“So,” he started, before clearing his throat again. “You bought the Daily Planet.”

“Incorrect”, Bruce answered, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I impulsively made an offer to buy it. Now there are a bunch of lawyers and some project managers taking care of creating a new subdivision for media operations that can take care of such a company. After they are done, I will buy it.”

The answer was so painfully Batman, it warmed Clark’s heart. “And why?”

“Generating a new stream of income, of course,” he explained while looking out into the forest again. “Or that’s what I told them. It’s not like they question me.”

Despite being perfectly still and looking away, Clark could see just how hard B was fighting with himself. He almost spoke up to change the subject, when Bruce slowly went on: “And I’ve came to the realization that it can’t ignore the media. They are a part of my life and there is nothing I can do about it. At night I go out to fight against the worst this city has to offer and yet, during the day I can’t bring myself to answer some simple questions. It’s an uncomfortable topic for me and I tried to just ignore it, in the hopes that it would go away. Justifying it for myself was always easy, since I thought it doesn’t affect anyone in a meaningful way. On the contrary, once I took on Dick I could even tell myself that I was helping him. Even after inviting you and having the suspicion that Superman might walk through my door, I really hoped that you would be a bloodthirsty leach, trying to trick me into an interview.” He paused for a short moment, wetting his lips. “Instead, I was forced to realize that my behavior managed to hurt someone – not to mention, would have almost hurt me. Others would have left the room again, after her threats. And the worst thing is, they almost became true. If you didn’t just happen to be Superman, you would have paid for your help by getting canceled on Twitter.” Bruce made another pause, looking at his hands this time. Clark suspected he would have preferred to throw himself off the roof instead of keep talking. And yet, he did: “I keep wondering if there have been similar situations before. If others would have needed my help and I denied it, just because of their job. Or people I never thank for their help.”

Clark swallowed. “That’s… I understand, I think.”

Bruce made some bat noises that soundly both annoyed and slightly amused. “Therefore, I decided to purchase a paper that cares about journalism and facts, does good investigations that have helped the world be a better place. If I buy it, I can fund and keep it that way, to prevent it from being bought by someone that cares so much about profit and headlines, they are willing to shove the pictures of a murder scene in a kids face, just to get a reaction.”

If he didn’t expect that B would throw him out for it, Clark might have just started to cry. The pain in his voice still sounded fresh, despite these days being many years back. And he was willing to tell Clark about it, willing to share his thoughts and emotions, despite him obviously struggling and being uncomfortable with it.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Clark said, as he could think of nothing better. When Bruce turned his head back to him, he intently looked into his eyes, hoping they could convey just how much he meant it. “Really. Thank you so much. For helping me and the Planet. I hope we won’t disappoint you.”

“No, I don’t think you will,” he answered. Clark couldn’t tell if he meant, that the Daily Planet won’t disappoint him, or that Clark wouldn’t, but either way it made his heartbeat pick up. “But sadly, I won’t be able to offer you the first interview with Bruce Wayne. It will probably go to either Lois Lane. Maybe Cat Grant if Lane isn’t willing to.”

Clark let out a short laugh. “Oh, I think Lois would love to. But be careful, she can be really cruel, especially to billionaires. Just ask Luthor. And don’t worry, I didn’t expect you to give me any special treatment.”

Bruce gave him a strange look as if he were unhappy about this answer. He idly checked one of the pockets of his utility belt (the one, he kept sweets in, as Clark knew), as he went to: “We should probably be careful in general, regarding our professional relationship. We wouldn’t want anybody to get the wrong idea.”

Clark frowned slightly, trying to make sense of his cryptic sentences and accentuated relaxed tone of his voice. “I don’t think I understand?”

“Ironically, it could probably just circle back to sexual harassment.”

“What?”

Turning his whole body to Clark, Bruce showed him a small smile and slowly said: “I would love to take you out for a date.”

“Huh?”

“But, if I’ll actually be your boss in the future, I will have to be careful. I wouldn’t want anyone to think that I’m misusing my power,” Bruce explained further, completely ignoring Clark's confused facial expression. “But most importantly, of course, I don't want you to feel that way. No hard feelings of course, if you aren’t interested.”

His brain might have just switched off with how empty Clark’s head felt. All he could do was blink repeatedly. When he was so sure that Bruce would tell him, to not bother him more than he already does, just because they know each other’s identity, he did the exact opposite. After a short reboot, powered by his blinking, he just laughed. All the uncertainty of the last few weeks, the stress, the excitement, the worry, but also the hope that he recently felt again, burst out of him in a loud laugh, he couldn’t control.

With a warm feeling rising in his chest, he looked at B and realized that maybe, it wasn’t the water or the air in Gotham. Bruce just seemed to be… like that; just a little strange. Surprisingly, the thought of experiencing and getting to know his weirdness sounded good, exciting even.

Thankfully, Bruce didn’t seem to mind him laughing about the date invitation, but just smiled. There was something that almost looked like peace in it.

As he slowly gained control over his laughing again, Clark cradled his head in his hands. Looking at Bruce through his fingers, he mumbled: “You are a piece of work, B. But I could kiss you right now.”

His blues eyes slightly widened, as he lifted the corner of his mouth smugly. “Well, why don’t you go ahead with it? You have my consent.”

Taking his head out of his hands, Clark quickly turned to face Bruce. He only just now noticed, how close they scooted to each other. Before doubt could overcome him, he simply said: “Oh, well, in that case…” and leaned forward to close the distance between their faces.

Bruce met him halfway there with a smile and soft inviting lips.

The kiss was perfect. It was unusual, he didn't know how to hold his head and felt Bruce’s insecurity in it, as clearly as his own. It was also shorter than Clark would have liked; when Bruce leaned back from him, it left him tingling and hungry for more. It was exactly how a first kiss should be.

They looked at each other in silence for a couple of heartbeats. It had been an exhausting couple of days for both and Clark could feel the exhaustion crashing down on him. But he could also feel that it was okay. They would have time in the future for more talking and getting to know each other and kissing, of course.

“Does the offer for tea still stand?” he just asked once he trusted his tongue again.

“Of course. But it will be cold by now,” Bruce said with a smile and stood up. Clark carefully did as well, not fully confident in his ability to fly at that moment. “But you might convince me to make you a new cup, though you look like a coffee drinker to me. So I assume you won't be able to actually appreciate it.”

Clark grinned. “Not appreciate it, hm? So, just for the record, will you start being nicer to me now?”

A short laugh escaped Bruce, as he walked them to an open window, leading into the attic. “Seeing that you always liked me as Batman, I don’t see a reason. I can try, but I might just keep acting the same way. Alfred, my butler, says it’s part of my charm.”

They shared another laugh, as B climbed into the window. He carried to cowl and the gauntlets with him. How weird, that suddenly Batman had a face, eyes, hands a real voice. Clark couldn’t wait to get used to the sight.

Ma would be so happy when he told her about this.