Chapter Text
For Bruce Wayne, galas were the least likely place to find him. He was always invited to them, but almost never attended. That's why it was weird that Perry sent three of his best reporters to go to a gala Bruce might not even attend.
“Are we one hundred percent sure that Mr. Wayne is going to be here?” Clark asked. He clung to Lois’ side as they walked through the crowd of millionaires.
“Are we ever sure that Mr. Wayne is going to be anywhere?” Jimmy remarked. He punched Clark’s shoulder playfully. “If he’s not here, we’ll just go back to Metropolis. Easy as that.”
“If Mr. Wayne isn’t here, we'll find someone else to interview,” Lois stated.
From across the room, Clark heard someone exclaiming about Bruce’s arrival. “He’s over there.”
“Over where?” Jimmy questioned.
“Over there! Where I’m pointing!” Clark exclaimed. As soon as Lois saw the general direction, Clark and Jimmy lost her in the crowd.
“I think we should’ve told her this was a group effort,” Jimmy sighed.
“Let’s just follow her,” Clark stated. Going with separations in the crowd, Clark and Jimmy caught up with Lois. She was already making small talk with their interview subject.
“What brought you here today, Mr. Wayne?” Lois asked.
“I needed to get out of the house,” Bruce stated. He wasn’t making eye contact.
“Coming to a party just to get out of the house is odd,” Lois remarked.
Clearly, Bruce was uncomfortable with the topic. “When I’m invited to so many of these I have excuses on excuses to come.”
“I just didn’t think I’d find someone like you here,” Lois stated.
“We’re in a room full of billionaires, Ms…” Bruce trailed off. He made the slightest bit of eye contact with Lois.
“Lois Lane,” Lois introduced. She stuck out her hand so Bruce could shake it. He did not do so.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Lane,” Bruce said.
“Lois, let’s give him some time. He just got here,” Clark whispered. He put a hand on Lois’ waist and started to pull her back. When he noticed that Lois was being pulled away, Bruce left quickly.
“He was being so weird,” Lois huffed.
“You were being weird. You can’t just ask him things like that,” Clark argued.
“Mr. Wayne has GAD,” Jimmy stated.
“What’s GAD?” Clark asked.
“Generalized anxiety disorder,” Lois explained. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess we’ll just have to find him later.
“That might not be a good idea,” Jimmy warned. He looked down at his phone. “It says here that Mr. Wayne doesn’t do interviews. He had an incident with the press when he was seventeen. Since then, no press has been able to get anything out of him.”
The three stood in silence. None of them had bothered to research this before they were at the gala. Of course, all three of them felt different ways about it.
Clark felt bad for Bruce having gotten attacked. Lois felt bad because she didn’t do her research. Jimmy felt bad because Lois and Clark now owed him six hours of gas money that wasn’t even worth it.
“So, who’s calling Perry?” Lois asked. That meant she wasn’t going to do it. So, it was between Clark and Jimmy.
“I think because this wasn’t my idea, I shouldn’t have to do it,” Jimmy said, raising his hands next to his head.
Clark had already pulled out his phone. “I’ll just do it. Give me a little bit.”
Lois and Jimmy waved him off as he walked in the direction of the bathrooms. While Clark was on the phone, Bruce rushed in and locked himself in a stall. He didn’t look particularly as neutrally anxious as he did early.
“I’ll call you back,” Clark stated. As soon as he was finished he hung up the call. He walked toward the stall that Bruce was in and knocked. “Mr. Wayne?”
Nothing came from the stall.
“I may be a journalist but I have no intent of interviewing you,” Clark clarified. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Everything is fine,” Bruce muttered.
Through the stall door Clark could see that Bruce has his knees drawn up to his chest. “I really don’t think it is. You came in here quite urgently.”
“Do you not believe people when they tell you something?” Bruce scolded.
“Most of the time I do, but sometimes I know better,” Clark shrugged. “And I know something is bothering you.”
Bruce stood up and unlocked the stall door. He opened it, pulled Clark in, then shut and locked it again. His hairline was glistening with a cold sweat. He looked out of breath and frankly, horrified. “I’ve been here for ten minutes and I’m already having a panic attack.”
Clark was taken aback. “Then you need to get home, Mr. Wayne!”
“I can’t just do that,” Bruce sighed. He took a step back and his back hit the stall wall.
“Mr. Wayne?” Clark said. He leaned down a little trying to get a better look at Bruce’s face.
“I have to be here for at least an hour. Rules I set for myself,” Bruce breathed.
“I don’t think that’s healthy,” Clark tried. He placed his hands on Bruce’s arms. “You really need to get home.”
“I can’t drive like this,” Bruce stated.
“I have a license,” Clark replied.
“I don’t know if I’d trust a stranger to drive me home,” Bruce grumbled. He attempted to push Clark away, but failed.
“I understand your fear, Mr. Wayne. But you’ve got to get home. It’s my job as an upstanding citizen to make sure that happens,” Clark explained. “You don’t have to talk to me, even.”
Bruce’s brow furrowed. He nodded a little, to which Clark unlocked the stall door. He escorted the shorter man out of the bathroom and out of the venue. He was guided by Bruce to his car– a sleek, black Lamborghini. Clark hesitated to get inside.
“You’re gonna drive me home, right?” Bruce asked.
“Yes, yes. I am,” Clark stammered. He quickly walked to the other side of the car and got inside. Bruce handed him the key and Clark started the car.
“Usually people aren’t this nice to me,” Bruce mumbled. “They usually talk to me about my parents and my duty to the city.”
“I like to think of myself as a kind man,” Clark replied. He pulled out of the parking garage and started in the direction of Wayne Manor.
“Superman levels of kindness,” Bruce said under his breath.
“What was that?” Clark asked. He knew what Bruce said, but he couldn’t let that slip.
“I said you have Superman levels of kindness,” Bruce repeated.
“Never heard that one before,” Clark chuckled. “Unfortunately, I’m not Superman, I’m Clark Kent.”
“Clark Kent,” Bruce echoed. “I didn’t think I was in the car with Clark Kent.”
“I feel like that wasn’t hard to realise. I hang around the Lois Lane.”
“You’re a reporter from Metropolis. We don’t get a whole ton of Metropolis news unless it’s featured articles about Superman,” Bruce explained. He winced a little bit, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Bruce reached down and tilted the seat back. Before he laid down, he grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the center console.
Bruce laid back in silence for the rest of the car ride. He made it clear to Clark that he no longer wanted to talk. When they pulled up into the driveway, Clark was fairly sure that Bruce was asleep.
Clark got out of the car as quietly as he could. He jogged up to the front steps of the manor to knock on the door. Bruce’s butler opened it, but he was confused when he saw who was standing in front of him.
“Who are you, sir?” The butler asked.
“I’m Clark Kent. I brought Mr. Wayne home from the gala. He was having a panic attack and needed to leave,” Clark explained. “I’m pretty sure he fell asleep in the car.”
“He doesn’t fall asleep that easily,” The butler sighed. He pushed past Clark and walked out to the car. Bruce had already gotten out and met him halfway.
As they came closer to the door, The butler waved Clark inside.