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The pictures were sent to them by Jimmy.
They hadn't been taken by Jimmy, but rather by one of the interns Jimmy had helped train.
One who had been determined to make a name for herself right out of the gate.
Clark, fixing Bruce’s tie, smiling softly at whatever his boyfriend had been saying, right before they entered the movie theater.
Immediately afterwards, the pair had shared a quick, discreet kiss.
The final photo, though, she had obviously waited for, as it showed them exiting the building.
Bruce, tired from work, being the Dark Knight, and raising several kids, as well as maintaining a relationship with Clark, had fallen asleep as soon as the lights had dimmed, which had resulted in him leaving the theater with rumpled clothes and slightly messed up hair.
The photo had already been sent to tabloids and posted online so by the time it reached them there wasn't anything Clark or Bruce could do.
It wasn't a major deal, really.
They knew they'd have to announce that they were dating publicly at some point, but this wasn't how they'd wanted the news to get out.
“‘Bruce Wayne takes ‘cozying up to the press' to new level'.”
“Clark.”
“‘Who is Clark Kent, and why is Gotham's playboy interested?’”
“Clark.”
“‘Exclusive interview with Clark Kent’s co workers reveal possible hidden agenda’? What agenda? It was a date.”
“Clark, give me your phone.” Bruce didn't give him the chance to argue. He just walked over and snatched it out of the Kryptonian’s hand.
“I'm not some nefarious… money-grubbing… whatever they're trying to paint me as.” He threw his hands up in the air and stood up from the bed.
“No. You're not.”
“I'm not dating you for your money or influence.”
“What you're dating me for is between you and me. What goes on in our relationship is our business. The press both can and will guess, and what they print will be based on what makes the better headline rather than what's the truth.” Bruce fastened his tie in the mirror, talking to Clark by watching his reflection.
“Journalism. Is about. The truth!” Clark didn't get worked up about much, but his life's work, combined with his personal life was apparently where he drew the line.
“What did we talk about this morning?” Bruce asked, not even phased by Clark's pacing.
“... Hmph.”
“Clark.” Bruce turned to him. “What did we talk about?”
“Tabloid news isn't journalism. It's gossip.” He grumbled.
“One more time.”
“Tabloid news isn't journalism. We're just being gossiped about. Very publicly.”
Bruce picked up Clark's suit jacket, hanging next to the mirror, and walked it over to him.
“You don't have to do this if you're not ready.”
Clark sighed and shook his head.
“No, I'm… I'm fine.”
“This is going to be a busy, overwhelming, several hours long event.”
“I've attended galas before.”
“Yes, but never from this side.”
Clark didn't argue with that point.
He had been interviewed as Superman before, and as a witness on occasion, but never as Clark Kent, boyfriend of the social elite.
“Don't worry.” Dick, fully dressed and ready for the gala, walked into the room, heading for the cufflinks.
He rifled around Bruce's collection until he found the pair he wanted, expertly ignoring the annoyed side eye he was receiving from his father.
“I’ve been handling the press since I was in velcro shoes. If you need someone to bail you out at any point, just say the word ‘beaver’ and I'll spill something on whoever's got the shortest temper. Trust me, fastest way to get people distracted.”
“Beaver?” Clark raised an eyebrow at Bruce, silently asking if this was some sort of code they used.
Dick just shrugged. “It's not a word that's likely to come up casually in conversation. By the way, here, before I forget.”
He opened his suit jacket and pulled a sandwich baggie of gummy worms out of an interior pocket, handing it over.
“We all carry snacks. The last thing we want is Tim's blood sugar dropping and him fainting in the middle of the dance floor again.”
“I locked my knees!” Tim barged in, followed by Jason, Cass, and Damian, tie flopped around his shoulders and face red. “And I was twelve! I was still getting used to the night shift!”
Dick didn't even glance at Tim, instead pointing at him while addressing Clark. “If any of the reporters start bugging you and you don't see me, find Tim. He *loves* looking up who's going to be covering galas and finding out their opinions and stances on various subjects. They always start out all excited because they think they're getting an impromptu interview about something they personally know about, but then he trips them up by quizzing them and such. It's amazing.”
“Are we giving Clark gala advice?” Jason asked, tying Tim's tie as the teen rolled his eyes and let him.
“I guess so.” Clark shrugged. “What have you got for me?”
Jason straightened up and looked Clark very seriously in the eye. “Always, always, always keep something that stains in your hand. Red wine. Marinara sauce. Whatever. That way people won't sneak up and try to bombard you with questions or get you off guard. And if they do, all you have to do is pull off a convincing, ‘oh, my goodness! I am SO sorry! I didn't see you there!’”
Jason pretended to spill a drink on Dick and then feigned embarrassment and concern.
“Everyone wants the gossip, but no one wants it at the expense of their fancy clothes.”
Clark chuckled and nodded. “Okay. That’s a good idea.”
“There won't be that many people working for the press in attendance tonight, however the guests that will be there are skilled in getting what they want. And at events like this, they want drama. We can paint ourselves as a perfect, well-adjusted family and have them speculate, pry, and invent rumors, or we can give them what they want, put on a show, and then send them home at the end of the night. They'll think they got a glimpse of a family of dysfunctional nepo-babies and feel superior about themselves, while we get peace and privacy.”
Damian accepted his baggie of granola bites and pocketed them while he spoke.
“We're all well versed in the game of ‘look-at-me’, is what he means.” Dick handed various snacks to Jason and Tim, tossing the last one to Cass as she walked in.
“Thanks!” She slipped the bag into her clutch on her way to Bruce's desk, rifling around until she found a necklace she liked.
“So… should I put on an act as well?” Clark asked, holding up a wrist at Bruce's direction and letting him figure out which watch worked best with his navy blue suit.
“No.” Dick shook his head. “Be yourself. Get a feel for things, and gradually you'll be able to figure out your gala-sona.”
“My..?” Clark turned to Jason. “Did he just say ‘gala-sona’?”
“Like persona.” Jason rolled his eyes. “Just go with it.”
“Okay. I will figure out my… gala-sona.”
“And don't worry.” Dick waved a hand. “As I said, we all know how to make ourselves the center of attention. The first gala we attended after Jason's top surgery, Steph and Cass made a tray of cupcakes with butterfly toppings, and then had conversations all night long about their favorite butterfly facts with whoever took one.”
Cass nodded fondly. “They eat corpses. Which is good for the environment.”
Clark laughed at the mental image of what that night had looked like, and how many people would have had the willpower to finish the cupcakes.
“I was young enough at the time that it was both age-appropriate and socially acceptable for me to show great offense to people getting the names of my pets wrong.” Damian swatted Dick's hand away and yanked the comb away from him, pointedly styling his own hair. “Which, that night, I made sure everyone did.”
“How did you do that?” Clark asked, taking his hand back and admiring the timepiece Bruce had settled on.
Damian, satisfied with his hair, turned and crossed his arms, pretending to pout.
“I *know* the internet says his name is Jerry, but it's Terry. I've said this a hundred times, but they refuse to correct the issue.”
He then turned and put on a confused, judgemental look. “No..? Alfred is our butler’s name? Why would I give my cat the same name as our butler?”
Changing his expression one more time, he looked into Clark's eyes, completely deadpan. “The dog’s name is Deuce.”
They all laughed.
Cass, leaning against the desk, brushed her hair back to show off the skin behind her ear, now decorated with an image of a small, colorful flower.
“I've got my distraction prepared.” She proudly stated.
“When did you get a tattoo?!” Bruce asked, eyes wide.
Cass simply shrugged. “This morning. It's a tattoo marker, but doesn't it look real?”
Jason shook his head and elbowed Clark. “See? These two were able to get the hang of it in no time. You won't have much trouble. And if you do, just find any of us.”
“Thanks.” Clark smiled, shaking Jason's hand. “I'll do my best to find my ‘gala-sona’.”
Yyyyy
“Mr. Kent. It's a pleasure to finally meet the man who's been keeping Brucie so busy. He's turned down so many invitations to golf with me, I was starting to worry he was avoiding me.” Mr. Kenworth smiled widely as he shook Clark's hand with both of his.
“Oh no, sir.” Clark laughed, trying not to look as awkward as he felt. “I'm afraid I have been taking up quite a bit of his time lately.”
“Don't you worry about it! He can make it up to me this next weekend. My place, my treat. You come along too! We'll make a day of it. You do golf, don't you? Oh, what am I saying, of course you do! Or, wait. No, I'm thinking of Brian's new chauffeur. Oh, regardless, if you don't know how, I'm sure you can still have fun, uh, just hanging around with us! I'm sure you've got your fair share of stories to tell, and I'll be able to tell you two all about mine and Arlene’s trip to Bora Bora. What do you say?”
Clark would later say he didn't see the looks that Bruce was shooting him.
“I'd say we'd be delighted, Mr. Kenworth.”
“Oh, how wonderful! Oh, there's Arlene! You'll have to excuse me.” Mr. Kenworth hurried off, but Bruce and Clark still waited until they were sure he was out of earshot.
“I want a divorce.”
“Already?” Clark smirked, raising an eyebrow. “And we haven't even made it to the wedding yet.”
“Volunteering your boyfriend for a hostage situation is grounds for divorce. I checked.”
“Fine, but that's what you get for using me as a cover story, and then not telling me you were using me as a cover story. And I keep the kids.”
“You can either cover for me, or wait for me to finish my very long prison sentence for homicide. And I will be found guilty because I will have actually done it. And which kids? Because you can't have all of them.”
“Oh, come on. He seems like a nice, friendly guy. Sure he's a bit talkative, but you get along with Dick, right?”
“You can keep Dick.”
“Wow.” Clark stopped in his tracks to chuckle. “You don't want to think about it for a minute?”
Bruce pretended to shrug in indifference. “If it means I can get through a gala without having to be connected to this, then yeah. You can have him.”
Clark looked up at where Bruce was pointing and saw Dick happily climbing over the railing of the upstairs balcony waving to a small crowd of guests below, and then jumping and catching himself on the chandelier with his legs.
He took a few seconds to swing and build up his momentum, waving to his audience again, and then released his hold and backflipped, landing perfectly to a round of applause.
“What did I say? I told you I could do it.” He smiled and feigned modesty while they surrounded him, asking questions about the circus and which gymnastics lessons Bruce had signed him up for.
Bruce turned to Clark and patted his arm. “I'm going to go pull him into a back room and have a word with him. Will you be okay out here?”
“Yeah, no problem.” Clark held up his untouched glass of red wine. “I've got this, like Jason said, and the rest of the kids are around.”
Bruce nodded and walked off, expertly grabbing Dick by the arm as he passed and playing the role of Very Upset Parent ™.
“It's such a shame, right? Wasting that boy's potential just to treat him like free entertainment. This is why my boys are in military school.”
“Hm?” Clark turned around to see a young man standing behind him.
“Montana Douglas.” He didn't hold out his hand to shake.
Clark offered his own. “Clark Ken-,”
“Kent. Yes, I know. Tell me, what's your opinion on the Wayne kids?”
Clark frowned and lowered his hand. “I'm going to go ahead and assume that my opinions are very different from yours.”
The man raised a judgemental eyebrow at him. “I beg your pardon-,”
“Go right ahead.”
Montana Douglas blinked at him in silent shock, so Clark decided to just continue.
“Beg.”
“Sir! Do you know who I am? The Douglas family-,”
“Doesn't exist, is my guess.”
Montana Douglas’s mouth dropped open.
He snapped it closed again and sputtered, trying to find a rebuttal.
“My great-grandfather built this very manor! His company-,”
“Stop. Just stop.” Clark held up a hand. “Look, I gave you a few chances, and all you've done is assure me that you didn't do near enough research or preparation for me to go easy on you.”
Montana Douglas blinked, looking every bit the part of a child who was just caught stealing candy.
“Your name is too unique. If you're as common in these circles as you claim, I would have heard of you before tonight. You're too stuck up. Everyone in this room may be putting on a bit of an act, but they’re mostly all equals. The behavior you were showing me is how most of them act when talking with the paparazzi, not each other. This building was actually built by Wayne Enterprises, as a gift from Thomas Wayne to his at-the-time fiancee. No one here besides you is wearing a suit they clearly plan on returning to the store. Oh, and a little tip if you want to actually keep that price tag hidden? Tape it to the inside of your sleeve.”
Clark counted on his fingers as he spoke, ticking off every reason Montana Douglas was clearly not who he said he was.
“I… we…” Montana Douglas stammered, beat red with embarrassment and furiously shoving the tag back up his sleeve.
“Your coworkers over there have been polite all evening, which is why guests are being nice and talking to them. I suggest you go get some tips from them before trying anything else tonight.”
Montana Douglas clenched his jaw, but spun on his heel and marched over to where the two people wearing press passes and laughing as they interviewed people were.
Clark almost let him off the hook.
He was new.
He was inexperienced.
Everyone had to start somewhere, and overestimating one's ability to blend in was something most had problems with.
Field work had a rather large learning curve and, paparazzi or not, Clark wasn't going to fault him too much for just being new.
But then Montana Douglas walked past Tim, who didn't see that he was in the paparazzo’s way, and roughly shouldered him.
Tim stumbled and whipped around, but Clark had already taken action.
A quick check to make sure everyone was invested in their own business, a moment of focus, and he shot a small laser beam after the man.
It hit it's target, sending the price tag to the floor without notice, and Clark discreetly winked at Tim, who smiled at him.
“I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. Did you see a red flash, too?”
Whoops.
Clark turned to Mr. Kenworth, who had just removed his glasses to rub his eyes, not entirely sure how he was going to talk his way out of this one.
“Oh, uh, just now?”
“Sorry! I didn't mean to flash that at you. I was just trying to see if I'd smudged it.” Cass appeared beside Clark, holding up her necklace.
“Oh, no harm done, my dear. Say, that's a beautiful… hmm.” Mr. Kenworth trailed off as soon as he got his glasses back on and saw Cass’s butterfly pendant.
“It's a butterfly.” She informed him proudly.
“Yes, I remember that you liked those… cute little guys.”
Clark noticed that Mr. Kenworth suddenly looked like he was trying to find a polite way to end the conversation.
“I don't suppose your father allowed you to, uh, bake for us again this year?”
Cass shook her head. “Stephanie has an exam to study for, so no, not this time.”
“Oh, thank heavens. I- I mean, that your friends got such a good work ethic. Such a shame that we all missed out on your cupcakes, though. Quite the pity. If you'll excuse me, I've got to find where Arlene's wandered off to. Bye now.”
They watched him leave and Clark bent down to Cass’s level. “I take it he's not a fan of your butterfly facts?”
“They taste with their feet, so anytime a butterfly has landed on you, it's tasted you.”
“That's my girl.” Clark chuckled as she grinned widely.
“Hey! Watch it, asshole!”
Clark straightened up instantly, recognizing the voice as Jason's.
Over by the main buffet table, two boys around Jason's age were laughing while Jason wiped shrimp from his motorcycle jacket in disgust.
“I'm going to go handle that, Cass.”
She nodded and Clark made his way over to the three.
“Jason. Are you okay?”
“He's fine.” One of the boys jumped in before Jason could answer, earning him an icy glare.
“Yeah. He just needs to learn to watch where he's going.” The other one grinned, trying to hide the last of his laughter.
“You pushed me, you fu-,”
“Okay, okay, okay. That's enough. You two, get out of here. Jason, come on.” Clark stepped between Jason and the pair, effectively shooing them away.
Once the boys had left, still subtly taunting Jason, Clark pulled him out of the room and down one of the hallways until they'd reached a private restroom.
“Are you alright?” He asked as Jason removed his jacket and began picking all the shrimp off of it.
“I'm fine, but if those knuckleheads ruined my jacket, I'll be really mad.”
“Do you know them?”
Jason snorted in annoyance. “Trey and Toby Robinson. We've been in school together ever since Bruce adopted me and, since I was adopted, they've taken it upon themselves to constantly remind me that they're better than me in every way.”
“This type of bullying has been going on for a while, then?”
Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Clark, I'm an adult. I don't need you storming down to the principal’s office trying to protect me.”
“Jason-,”
“Besides,” Jason interrupted, flashing a grin. “Its not like I don't know how to handle them myself.”
“‘Handle them’?” Clark asked. “Oh, no. Jason, what did you do?”
“Relax. I didn't do anything illegal.”
“Did you do something morally wrong?” Clark pressed.
“Hmm.” Jason hung his jacket up to be better cleaned after the gala. “According to who’s morals?”
“Mine.” Clark crossed his arms.
“Then yeah, probably.” He shrugged.
“What did you do?”
Jason reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his phone. “Look, these guys have never once missed an opportunity to humiliate or mock me, so I prepared a little something in advance.”
He opened his camera roll and showed their car parked out in front of the manor with a note tucked under the wiper blade.
*T-
I was hoping to get the chance to ask you out tonight. I've had such a big crush on you for the longest time, ever since I met you, but seeing you tonight in your suit made me so flustered I chickened out. I'm sorry for being so shy. Maybe next time?*
The note was signed but Clark couldn't make out the name as it was partially covered by the wiper blade.
“You wrote them a love letter? Wait, which one is ‘T’?”
Jason grinned wider. “I'll bet they're going to be wondering the same thing on the drive home. It's such a shame that this mystery girl accidentally put the damp wiper blade over her name, or else they could have found her and asked her themselves.”
Clark shook his head and handed the phone back to Jason. “I think my gala-sona is going to be busy if this becomes a regular thing.”
“What, the love notes?”
“No.” Clark chuckled. “Attending events like this.”
Jason laughed and lightly elbowed him as he walked past. “You'll find ways to have fun. You'll see."