Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[Train station: Gotham, early morning— in the not so distant past]

Clark has a way with things. 

At the very least, he’d like to think he was more graphically organized to the point where each morning had been customary routinary work for him. He would wake up, grab a cup of coffee, play with Krypto, have his morning routine check-up as Superman (saving puppies and kites on a good day and preventing an alien invasion on a so-so day), and run to the Daily Planet in a nick of time for his 9 am. If he’s lucky he could sneak in a sandwich while he was carefully treading through the crowds.

What he didn’t expect was Jimmy Olsen handing him an assignment that Cat had assigned to him to cover in Gotham – no one wants to touch that place with a ten foot pole given the sudden Joker-fiasco a couple of weeks ago (and he thought Lex Luthor was merciless, joker had basically drugged the whole city with the joker gas). 

Mind you, it didn’t help that it centered around the mysterious Gothamite prince, Bruce Wayne.

The very one that seethes and remains reclusive. He was a hard man to catch and he hated the press. Bruce Wayne would never be caught near a damn camera, much less, a reporter!

“...Hmm, you know what that sounds like? A whole lotta not my problem, buddy.” Jimmy sheepishly shrugs, handing him the report. At times, he loved Jimmy to death…at other times, though? Not so much.

It’s how he ends up in a train bound north with an overnight bag and an empty piece of paper to scribble some notes to ask the man —if he could ever snag an interview with him (he could be turned away, the likelihood is more than likely.) 

Clark stares at the piece of paper and the numbers with no questions on it. He presses his lips together and shuts his eyes, leaning against the cushions behind him, thinking of what to ask the billionaire about the Thomas and Martha Wayne event. One that could get his foot in the door and make the Bruce Wayne stop whatever it is he was doing.

“...We are now approaching Gotham Station. Please make sure to wait until the train has come to a full stop before collecting your baggage…”

Gotham, unlike Metropolis, is damp. At times, he wonders if it was a whole other world here. It was dreary and reeked of impossible nothingness. They had their own hero here too. It was a legend in the form of a bat. He’s not entirely sure if he was a Meta. After all, it only appeared at night and no one could see him. Reports came in and stated that this anomaly would leave his victims so severely injured that they could barely remember their attackers face.

The ‘justice gang’ had sent a message — or at least tried to, they wanted him a part of the group. But Guy Gardener came to Gotham and found nothing. As if he was but a mere figment of an imagination made to wet the pants of gotham's criminals.

It’s noon by the time he arrives. Everyones out for a lunch break and the city is bustling and alive. He pushes through the crowd and tries to make his way to a bistro. He should probably grab lunch before he checks-in. There is an occasional ‘watch it!’ whenever he weaves through the crowd and glares too from men in three piece suits but he’s used to it.

Clark is small. Not literally. Figuratively. He may be 6’3 but he tries to make himself appear smaller and a not-so hulking figure to give a less scary impression to many people. It helps in the job too sometimes. Being the little guy. Plus, no one would suspect a rando like him to be superman.

He pushes in clumsily at a small bistro and he’s running straight into something — or well, someone. Everything before him moves at the speed of light and it's hard to process, really.

The poor young reporter lets out a loud gasp when he feels hot coffee spilling all over his white dress shirt (it doesn’t hurt but hey, the person across from him didn’t need to know that!) he looks up and blinks and is met with the brightest blue eyes he has ever seen.

He presses his lips together.

No way – no freaking way.

He gulps, trying to adjust himself, “I-I’m sorry…” He stammers. Truth be told, he has only seen pictures of Bruce Wayne.

Yet seeing him in person is a whole different story. He stands just as tall as him. His stature is imposing and he looks like hell reigned over him. In a good way. Because Lois is right, he has brooding energy. 

The strange man opens his mouth then closes it again and then opens it again, trying to find the right words to say, “Are you…” he paused, “Of course you’re not okay, I’ve just spilled hot coffee on you…” his voice is surprisingly soft and the brooding face has soften just a bit as if he was genuinely apologetic for whatever he had caused. The latter part was more of Clark’s fault though.

“I-I…” Clark tries to stammer something out, “I’m so sorry,” he squeezes out another apology, “I swear, i didn't mean it at all…I- at least can I pay you for a new cup of coffee..” 

Bruce has a twinkle of something unfamiliar, like he’d rather not ( some experts would claim that it was normal for him to be that way given his experience). It makes Clark want to hurl himself at outer space because he had just gotten on his bad side and it feels as if the idea of an exclusive has turned even more impossible than ever. 

“Thank you but I’ll live… " he takes out a clean piece of card and hands it to the stammering reporter, "...you can call my secretary for a refund on that shirt…as apologies…”

The tall and awkward gentleman tries to say something but it's caught in his throat as he grabs it, “Right… I really am sorry though…” 

“Please,” he nods, trying to force an awkward smile,  “Have a good day…” 

And that was it, Bruce Wayne leaves.

Clark Kent wants to cry because he should’ve been a bit more like Lois from that point on. 

Chapter Text

[Metropolis – present time]

“Seriously, Kent?” Perry deadpanned, taking the tobacco off his lips, “Nothing? Not even a quote? A bad picture?"

Clark raises a finger, ready to argue his case but his boss stares down at him through his glasses, “Not another word.” he retorts, making the junior put his digit down. The next few minutes, he is cursed and told that if the Daily Planet can’t get an exclusive, it would signify their incompetence. They needed to continue standing out to maintain their ranks in the polls. A by-liner with Bruce Wayne would be enough to bump them up even higher in the popularity poll.

In Clark’s defense though, even Gotham Tonight or the Gazette could not get anything about the foundation or the launch or Bruce Wayne, himself.  They would most likely just get a public official notice about the details from Alfred, Bruce’s personal butler, as per usual or from the company itself.  

Nevertheless, that’s how Clark ends up at his desk, staring at the crumpled piece of paper. A fine print of the name Dana Blessing and her number sprawled just below it.

“Smallville,” Lois snaps him back to reality, “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

He jumps in his seat, hiding the paper in his fist like a dirty secret. 

Lois and him had decided they were better off as friends months after the fiasco with Lex. It was for the best, really. She stated that she loved her independence and would rather be the one poking into Superman’s business as a separate entity and not as her boyfriend.

He loves her. 

But reality set in and he accepted it, so he’s trying to let her go.

Keyword, trying . 

Because the past few months, loving Lois was just as easy as breathing. Yet as the saying goes, if you truly love someone, you had to let them go.

“Don’t bother him,” Jimmy reels him back to reality, grabbing a pencil, “I think he got his first B-Bum.”

Lois whistles. Clark sinks lower in his seat, watching her as she leaned against her desk.

“B-Bum?” he repeats.

“Bruce-bummed.” Olsen shrugs, “Happens to the best of us reporters. You get Bruce-bummed. That man is impossible to get a hold of. “ he points a pencil to Lois, “Didn’t they assign him to you but you basically passed it to me because he was such an impossible subject?”

“To be fair, that was the time he was still in the middle of his sabbatical .” she defensively countered.

Jimmy rolls his eyes, “Tomato-tomato.” he turns to Clark, opening his arms as if he was trying to prove a point. Which is funny because in actuality, it was the red-heads fault as to why he was getting overwhelmed from the current subject in hand, “Now he’s your responsibility. Don’t worry, when a new hire comes in, you can pass him to them. Until then, though–” he clicks his tongue.

Clark lets out an umpteenth sigh of the day. He really should have tried to score an interview with him when he bumped into him but it felt futile. More so than that, he didn’t want to pry on the guys personal space, at all . He looked like he was off the clock and tired.

Dead tired . 

He tries to straighten his glasses and Lois gives him a pressed smile, “Don’t worry about it,” she comfortingly utters, “It happens to the best of us… there just happens to be some subjects that can’t be persuaded…" She pats him in the back then proceeds to rub small and soothing circles. He feels his blood rushing through his veins, making his heart work overtime at the warmth she presented. He missed this.

He misses her.

“Perry will lay off you in a couple of days, don’t worry…” she winks, letting him go. 

He tries to open his mouth, wanting to thank her and maybe ask her out again so she could give him some pointers but he decides against it.

She wanted this. He can’t intrude.

The bullpen continues to be in shambles; calls being answered left and right, the low hums of the television, pens clicking, keyboards tapping, the smell of fresh ink and the sound of the printer signaling a paper jam litters the air. News continues to pour in and everyone is just as busy as every other day. Clark continues with his work but the crumpled up card with Wayne’s secretary weighs heavy on his pockets.

By 2 pm, he’s outside the office and holding onto his phone, pacing in front of the restroom with the insistent sound of ringing from the other side of the call. Finally, a small click interrupted the continuous ring.

“... Wayne Enterprises, you’re calling Bruce Wayne’s office, this is Dana Blessing, his secretary … May I know who's on the line? ” A cool tone greets him.

“Hi.” he paused, unsure of how to proceed, “This is Clark Kent.”

“ Do you have an appointment with Mr.Wayne, Mr. Kent? ”

“N-No…” he clears his throat, “But, he gave me this card a couple of days back, says I could call this number for a refund?”

There is a momentous pause. Clark could hear something akin to a pin drop.

“ A refund? ” she finally repeats, “I apologize Sir but Mr. Wayne—”

He would like to tender his resignation. He can’t believe he was that desperate – “... oh hold on, ” The lady on the other line cuts his train of thought, “ Mr.Wayne listed down here that he had spilled coffee on someone’s shirt a few days ago by the Southern Bistro…was that you, Mr.Kent? ”

The southern boy pumps a fist up in the air and puts it over his mouth before straightening himself up a bit to form a proper reply, he can’t believe his actual luck , “Yes,” he nods, ignoring the way-out glance of an intern passing by him, “That was me…”

“Great, you can send in your bank details–”

“Uh,” he tries to politely cut her off, “I’m sorry. Do you think I could collect a check instead?”

That was how Clark Kent ended up in a train bound to Gotham for the second time that same week, the day after that call.

Was he insane?

No, not nearly enough as he’d like to think.

Was his timing not right though?

You could say that. 

His train was getting hijacked by a bunch of men in black suits and masks. In the middle of it all, a tall and lithe figure in a black mask stood amongst them. He could practically hear everyone’s heartbeat rising up. The young woman next to him was quivering along with the baby's cries.

He presses his lips, staring at the window and towards the strange man. If worst came to worst, he could simply butt in. All he needed to do was destroy the security footage first and take his glasses off at the speed of light (would his identity be compromised? Most likely!)

With a gun on hand, Black Mask stops, “Now, now,” he states, haphazardly carrying a gun, “One of you here, has a brief case containing a certain technology we need to get our hands on. We’ll just–”

He doesn’t get to finish his script because the window breaks and in comes a bulking figure in the form of a bat and as comical as it looks, he gets kicked square in the face. 

Clark lets out a soft gasp. He notes that it’s not even lunch time yet and although it’s dark out because it's about to rain soon, seeing the legendary figure standing there makes his eyes pop. He pretends to hide but he monitors the man closely through the crevices of the seats. 

The vigilante moves with precision underneath his suit.

There is intent as if he knew what he was doing. He does not rely solely on strength alone or powers if he even had one. 

If there was one thing that he could describe, his presence would be parallel to a man that was molded at the deepest parts of a cave and pulled out of it. He was just like Superman but at the same time, so different from him.

He watches him disarm the man quickly, not even letting him fire any bullets.

“... Oh yeah, he came around when Superman came around? Maybe even a bit earlier? I’m not sure about the logistics …” He recalls Jimmy state while they were writing about the recent calamity in Gotham, the one he wasn’t able to stop because he was in Bhutran. At that time, he was also trying to help out in another flood calamity, “ People say he’s a meta. But no one knows. People in Gotham don’t talk… it’s like they protect him… they never were one for outsiders, really… ”

“ Recruiting him would be an asset. ” He remembers Guy exclaims at one point in time, “ He’s… To operate in a city like Gotham… ” everyone viewed Gotham as unsalvageable. Like it was the place where nothing but mites and weeds grow.

But Clark thought the opposite.

They had him.

Batman.

No wonder people didn’t say much about him.

They trusted him. The caped crusader who did not give up on them.

People of Gotham looked up to him just as the people of Metropolis did towards superman.

He is their hope.

Clark’s heart catches on his throat when one of the cronies holds up a gun. It would be crazy to intervene as the fragile reporter but he can’t seem to look away. With his body weight, he flings himself to the man before he can pull the trigger. Batman could have probably dodged that (or not).

With the force Clark placed in, he must’ve accidentally made the man pass out. 

The dark knight turns to him and for the first time, Clark Kent genuinely feels small. His eyes widened. 

Sky blue meets the vivid hues of blue.

He timidly straightens his glasses and tugs his hair away, an older woman goes up to the clumsy reporter and tries to see if he’s ok but all he can do is watch as the bat takes the man in the black mask by the back of his collar along with a brief case outside when he pulls the emergency stopper of the train.

The train comes to a screeching halt.

He notices that everyone’s heartbeats return to a soft beat. 

He was right — Batman was their beacon.

He must have had powers too.

Because when the kryptonian tries to catch up to him and looks out the window, he’s gone.

It is to be noted though that this time, it was Clark’s heart that was strumming — fast.

He breaks a smile.

⋆ ˚𓆩𓄋𓆪 ⋆

It’s almost 3 pm when Clark Kent arrives at Wayne Enterprises.

He’s frazzled, his hair is kind of a mess, and his coat is a bit rumpled from earlier events. 

The lobby had tall ceilings and smelled like a five star hotel, one-way glass encompassed the whole place, giving everyone inside the privacy they needed. It was also his first time here. He makes a mental note about how he stands out too much because everyone seemed to have been wearing expensive three-piece suits and skirts that probably cost more than his monthly paycheck. He might have to write about the good salary deals instead of Bruce Wayne because color him impressed.

“I- uh, have an appointment…” He clears his throat, “Clark Kent, I’m here to collect a check from the secretary of Bruce Wayne…”

The young woman at the front desk narrows her eyes.

Clark is hoping she doesn’t see through his angle or the fact that he’s a reporter (Lois said it was obvious, at times)

“I’m sorry who?” She quips.

“Clark…” he coughs, pushing his glasses up, “Kent…” 

Before he could even say anything more about his proposition, the doors open and in comes the familiar tall gentleman he had run into a few days ago. Yet, unlike his rather tired appearance — he looked better. 

He ignores the pile of reporters behind him that were halted by the security and Clark wonders whether he’d be on that receiving end if they knew who he was and what he was attempting to do. 

“...I called Dana,” his attention returns to the woman, “She says she’ll be right back dow-” Yet, uncharacteristically, Clark feels another familiar presence looming behind him, “ — OH Mr.Wayne! Surprise that you stopped by–” the woman’s attitude did a complete 360 and he, as well, is surprised by the sudden company.

Bruce Wayne nods in reply to the woman and turns to him,  “You’re the man I spilled coffee on.” He states. Atypically, the man was a default recluse so to see him go out of his way for Clark, was something he would not expect, “Bruce Wayne…” he holds out his hand, “Would you like to come by my office for a second?” 

The clumsy reporter tries to shift his glasses for the billionth time that day, “Oh, I– uh,” he stammers, caught off guard, “I don’t think I’d–” he catches his words, halting so suddenly, “I’m Clark… Clark Kent…” yes, why was he like this? Was it because this was a preternatural experience?

There was a twinkle of familiarity in his cerulean hues, maybe it was the fact that Bruce Wayne, despite his solitary life, was held up to par on gossip magazines as the prince of gotham.

He could see it. 

He did look like royalty, like a prince who ripped himself off the covers.

“Good name,” he nods, “So, what do you say, Clark?”

Clark could only nod mutely.