Chapter Text
The warm, late September Kansas breeze carried a bouquet of scents wholly unlike what the Waynes were used to in Gotham City. As soon as they stepped out of Bruce's Porsche Cayenne, their nostrils were graced with the dry, sunny smell of the soil; the grassy freshness of early autumn field flowers; the musky scent of livestock; and the sweet, tempting flavors of home-baked and deep-fried desserts.
Jason beelined for the fairgrounds as Dick trailed behind him with crossed arms and a slouch, putting on a performance of disinterest that had no one fooled. The younger boy shouted back excitedly at Bruce to hurry while he clicked the lock on his keys. He followed his sons through the dirt field in which they had parked their car, zigzagging between the parked vehicles, until they reached the entrance of Smallville's Autumn Harvest Festival.
From the ticket booth alone, the small family felt the electric energy that buzzed throughout the entire festival. It was a rustic yet remarkable production, with vendors, stages, and carnival rides spread across seven acres of some farmer's property. There were bales of hay stacked on both sides of the entrance between which a colorful welcoming banner fluttered in the light wind. Beyond that, there were farmers selling produce out the backs of their trucks, a petting zoo next to a pumpkin patch, a cornfield maze behind the Ferris wheel, and so many food stands destined to give you heartburn sprinkled in every corner. A local band was playing on the main stage, but the shouts of excitement and the cheerful chatter of the fair-goers was the event's predominant music.
Once their yellow wristbands acquired, the Waynes made their way through the throng, looking for one booth in particular.
Jason was the first to find it, but Dick was quicker to race there.
"Uncle Claaaark!" shouted Dick as he tackled the six foot four Kryptonian right as the latter was picking up a crate full of apples. The crate fell to the ground in favor of catching the teenage boy, and had it been anyone else, Clark would have been in the dirt right there with it.
"Woah! Easy now, kiddo," chuckled Clark as he crushed Dick in a bear hug. He looked up from the hug in pleasant surprise. "The whole family's here! What are you guys doing all the way out here?"
Clark extended a hand and nabbed Jason by the shoulder, pulling him in for a side hug.
With the faintest smile, Bruce watched from the sidelines. Then, he shrugged his shoulders as he pushed his sunglasses up his nose.
"Family weekend trip," said Bruce. "And since Jason's never been outside of New Jersey before, we thought it was about time we attended Smallville's renowned harvest festival."
Clark shot him a skeptical frown knowing darn well the festival was far from renowned. But even so, the two young boys seemed excited enough to be there, if the sparkle in their eyes was anything to go by. After all, a harvest festival was always fun, especially for kids used to being cooped up in the city. It seemed like Dick was certainly glad to be back in a familiar environment, though he tried to look unfazed, while Jason was taking it all in with passionate curiosity. So far, Smallville definitely beat Gotham in terms of fresh air and sunlight!
"Now, are those the Wayne boys I see?" exclaimed Martha as she rounded up the counter of her booth. Her tattered denim overalls and flowery blue blouse gave her a young, playful air that was reflected in her glittering eyes. She opened her arms, and immediately, Dick, then closely followed by Jason, left Clark's side to receive their welcoming kisses, right on the top of their heads each. "Hiya boys. It's nice to see you again, Dick. And what a pleasure to finally meet you, Jason! Gosh, you're both so darn big already."
"Hello, Mrs. Kent," said Jason with a shy smile. It being his first time meeting Superman's mother, the affectionate welcome, although rousing warm butterflies in his stomach, made him twist his hands in his hoodie pockets out of bashfulness.
Dick on the other hand was more than used to the Kents' heartfelt customs, having long since then become the closest thing to a grandson Martha had. "Hi, Ma," he greeted after she ruffled his hair.
"You hear your brother, young man?" asked Martha while looking down to Jason, whose eyes went wide at the sudden undivided attention. "The names 'Mrs. Kent' and 'Martha' are reserved for old folks, only. If you want to address me, you better use 'Ma,' understood?"
An amused smile slowly spread across Jason's face. It was like watching a frightened kitten being coaxed out of its hiding spot under the couch. He twisted the heel of his Converse into the dirt.
"Yes, Ma."
"Atta boy," Martha beamed at the thirteen-year-old. Her attention then shifted to Bruce who took a step toward her.
"Good to see you again, Martha," said Bruce as he bent to give her a kiss on the cheek.
"What did I tell you?" Martha winked behind Bruce's back, and the two boys snickered. She held Bruce by the shoulders, taking him in. "It's great to see you, too, Bruce. I had almost begun to think you and that butler of yours had forgotten all about me."
"Oh, we could never forget such a charming lady as yourself," grinned Bruce, earning himself a pinch on the shoulder. "Alfred sends his regards, by the way. Along with some sour cherry scones which are currently in the car's cooler. I'll bring them over after the festival."
"Oh, the sly fox, he knows I can't say no to those!"
Clark shook his head with a smile and set the fallen crate atop the counter. Re-arranging the apples so that they were even, he asked over his shoulder, "How long are you guys in town for?"
"Just two days," replied Bruce. "We'll fly back out to Gotham tomorrow evening."
"You're staying with us, right? We've got a guest bedroom that hasn't seen guests in ages, it would do it some good to be lived in," asserted Martha as she reached for two of the apple pie slices that were displayed at her booth. She held them out to Dick and Jason with a beckoning nod.
Whatever possible remaining reservations Jason may have had regarding Martha immediately disappeared as he dove for the paper plate with a "thank you" breathed out in a rush.
"We wouldn't want to impose," countered Bruce. "Especially since we didn't give you any notice. We were just going to stay at the inn in the town center."
Martha set her hands on her hips with a stern frown. "Nonsense. You know you're like family, and family is always welcome. Now, you better agree to stay with us, or I will make a scene until you do."
Clark sidled beside Bruce and leaned in with the back of his hand pressed at the corner of his mouth. "Trust me, she is not above making a scene. She will get you guys to stay over."
Amused, Bruce acquiesced smiling, "It would be with great pleasure. Thank you, Martha."
Martha huffed in triumph while Dick and Jason gawked in awe. They had never seen Bruce's will be bent so easily—like steel in Superman's hands—and they could not help but admire the woman who had succeeded in doing so with just a few words. Not even Alfred could get Bruce to back down without at least a couple minutes of arguing.
"It's so nice of you guys to come all the way out here for our humble autumn festival," Clark said, a fond smile brightening his face. "You'll see, it's heaps of fun!"
"Yes, well, we couldn't miss watching you get auctioned off to one of Smallville's lucky ladies," responded Bruce with a wily smirk just as Clark's smile plummeted. "Who do you think will bid the highest? Jeanette from Seniors' Bingo, or Eleanor from the Baptist Church?"
Red hot embarrassment crept across Clark's face as he whispered accusingly, "How did you find out about that?"
"Oh, please." Bruce rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you really think you could keep this from the world's greatest detective?"
"More like the world's greatest—"
"Alright kiddos! I think it's about high time you both get to trying out those rides." Martha placed one hand on the back of each of Bruce's kids and began guiding them toward the amusement rides. "I'll give you five dollars each to buy yourselves a lil' treat, as long as you leave room for dinner."
"Oh, Martha, that's not—"
But Martha and the kids were already swallowed by the crowd. Bruce sighed, already thinking about how he could reimburse Martha without getting teared a new one for daring to suggest it in the first place. It was a wonder she would even consider giving a billionaire's kids some pocket money, but if anyone were to do it without giving it a second thought, it would certainly be none other than Martha Kent.
"I can't believe you dragged the kids all the way here just so you could stand witness to my public shaming."
Bruce leaned under the shade of the Kents' stall in an attempt to hide from the deceptively hot Kansas sun—made all the worse with his attire relying entirely on his preferred color palette of various shades of black and navy blues.
"I asked if they would be interested in attending a harvest festival outside of Gotham, and they both agreed," he said. "There was no dragging involved. Especially once Dick mentioned Superman's farm and Martha's homecooking. After that, I couldn't get them to stop talking about it.
"By the bye, I hope you still have those horses from the last time I was here, otherwise I may have made some promises I cannot keep."
Clark gave his friend a peeved look.
"Besides, I thought I'd participate as well. It'll look good for Brucie Wayne's image, and it's an opportunity to give some money back to the farms that are the backbone of our country."
"Now you're just trying to ingratiate your way out of an argument."
"Is it working?"
Clark groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses.
"How did you get roped into participating anyway?" asked Bruce, his voice painstakingly neutral. He picked off a piece of stray hay from his linen trousers. "If you were really that desperate for a date, you know I have a whole catalog of suitors I could introduce you to."
"It's Ma," Clark was quick to reply, his blush making no sign of dimming any time soon. "Every farm participating in the festival has to send one of their farmhands to the date auction to help raise money for farming equipment, and possibly next year's festival. They thought it would spruce things up and hopefully raise donations…"
"These things usually do."
"Yeah, well, Ma insisted I represent the Kent farm, even though she has two perfectly nice young men helping her out all year and who are much more involved on the farm than I am. I told her I wouldn't make a good prize since I'm too old for these types of things, but then she chewed me out for saying that, 'cause if I'm old, what does that make her?"
It was not difficult for Bruce to picture the conversation: Clark and Martha going back and forth in their yellow-tiled kitchen, two headstrong individuals trying to get their way with whatever ridiculous argument they could come up with.
"Needless to say, it was futile arguing further after that," Clark concluded with a sigh.
A short pause lulled as Bruce's eyes wandered along Clark's frame. He took in the way Clark's dusty jeans clung to his thighs, and contemplated the rolled-up sleeves of his cotton plaid shirt. And then there was Clark's face which shone ten times brighter whenever he was back home, adding a warm glow to his complexion and a thrilling vigor to his eyes that even his ugly glasses could not hide. The soft breeze tangled itself in Clark's dark mess of curls, and Bruce lowered his gaze to his leather boots.
"If it makes you feel any better," Bruce lifted his eyes again to see Clark was watching him expectantly, "I can assure you, you make quite the prize. I'm sure you'll raise the most money this festival has ever seen."
Clark's smile was bashful but blinding. He then chuckled and gave Bruce a friendly shove, the kind he knew the latter hated. "Thanks, B. Though I know it'll be nothing compared to when you're on stage."
"Yes, well, I don't know if anybody can raise as much money as Billionaire Bachelor Bruce Wayne in a date auction. I am in high demand, after all."
"You have got to be freaking kidding me," Clark gritted through clenched teeth. Bruce frowned at the poison in his voice, taken aback by the sudden change of tone in the conversation. He then followed Clark's line of sight past his shoulder and made a soft sound of understanding.
At the end of the rows of stalls, standing in a dark blue suit and green tie was none other than Lex Luthor. He was walking in their direction, waving a hand at them, specifically.
Bruce's demeanor instantly shifted, going from his usual balanced, firm posture to his affected detached attitude. He propped his elbow on his arm and put on a wry smile.
"Lex! How unexpected to see you. Did your private jet crash land in a nearby field, leaving you stranded here?"
"Very funny Bruce. I don't know how it usually is with Wayne aircrafts, but Luthor jets don't crash."
"Hm, interesting, because if I remember correctly, last year it was LuthorCorp's jet engines that got recalled due to excessive overheating and subsequential airborne fires."
"Oh, is Wayne Enterprises' business so slow you've resorted to stalking the competition in hopes of distracting yourself from your own failings?"
"I'd hardly call glancing at the Inquisitor's front page stalking, but I guess you would be more familiar with the term's definition seeing that you're at my heels less than a week after our last gala together."
Clark stood uncomfortably between the two men, wondering if he could just phase into the crowd and never return. It always terrified him to witness Bruce's sharp cattiness when he put on his socialite persona—yes, Clark was unashamed to admit he was far more afraid of Brucie Wayne than he was of Batman; at least Batman had a no-kill rule, while Brucie always aimed for the jugular.
"Oh you wish," Lex dismissed with a dramatic sigh. "I'm not here for you, Bruce." He turned to Clark which caused the latter to involuntarily cringe. "As you know, LutherCorp has a fertilizer plant in Smallville, I was just called on business here for the weekend. But when I noticed the festivities, I thought I'd stop by and take a look. Though I must say, I didn't expect to find my favorite Planet reporter all the way out here."
"That's very kind of you to say, Mr. Luthor—"
"Lex," said man interrupted with a glib smile.
"Mr. Luthor," Clark continued pointedly, "but I'm not here on business, and I'd appreciate it if we could avoid any work-related issues until we're back in Metropolis."
"Don't worry, Mr. Kent. Business has been left at the door of this… quaint festival. This is just me enjoying the provincial life for an afternoon," Lex affirmed while adjusting his silk tie. He then turned back to Bruce with a biting look. "But you didn't tell me what you're doing here, Bruce. Are you scoping out a cheap residence for when you inevitably go bankrupt and have to go into hiding where no one will recognize you?
"Or are you and Mr. Kent on familiar terms? I wonder how the Daily Planet would feel knowing about a conflict of interest between one of their top reporters and Gotham's most controversial figure? Is that why the recent articles about your person have been so positive?"
There was a lot Bruce could put up with when squabbling with Lex, however, insulting or threatening his family and friends were dangerous waters to tread. The carefree looseness of his gestures stiffened and the doltish look in his eye turned sharp. His smile was wide, but nothing about it was friendly.
"There is no conflict of interest. I'm just here with my kids so they could get a change of scenery. They've been begging me to take them to an autumn festival, and this was the closest one happening this weekend."
Lex looked unimpressed, his face contorted in a grimace. "Ah yes, your brats, Dong and Mason."
"Richard and Jason," corrected Bruce with seething animosity. Even Clark's face darkened at the disparaging jab toward Bruce's kids. Bruce steeled himself with a breath before continuing, "That's when I just happened to run into Mr. Kent here while looking at the food stalls in what I can only consider a funny coincidence."
"Well isn't that an unlikely turn of events."
"Yes, that's usually how coincidences work."
Lex rolled his eyes. Then, his phone began ringing. He fished it out of his jacket pocket, answered the call, then covered the speaker as he turned to Bruce and Clark. "I'm sorry to cut our little reunion short, but I have to take this. I'll see you two around the festival.
"Yes, this is Lex. What is it?"
Bruce and Clark watched as Lex receded in the crowd, only interrupting his call to yell at a kid who bumped into him. They turned to each other with a serious look.
"What do you think he's here for?"
"Is there any chance he's actually here for work and decided to come to the festival for a break?"
The look Bruce shot Clark was enough to have the latter concede. After all, it was very unlikely Lex would be there just to stay up to date with the stock prices of Smallville corn.
"Yeah, I know, this is Lex Luthor we're dealing with," sighed Clark. He rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced back to the corner behind which Lex had disappeared.
"I'll tail him. Make sure he isn't up to anything dangerous."
Clark turned back to Bruce. He shook his head adamantly. "Bruce, no. I won't let you miss out on your family time just to follow around some egomaniacal sociopath. You should be with your kids."
"It's not like the boys are dying to have me at their sides right now," argued Bruce as he took a step forward. "I can bet you Dick is out there charming some farm girl while Jason is firing up a shooting gallery. They'll be glad to have me out their hair for a few hours."
"No, you should spend quality time with them, Bruce. Or at least enjoy yourself on the one weekend a year you actually take off," countered Clark, earning himself a displeased Batman-frown. "I'll just keep an ear out for Lex and stop him if I notice he's up to anything suspicious."
"You'll be too busy with the date auction. You'd better leave it to me."
"Trust me, I can handle two things at once. When have you known me to mess things up?"
"Multiple times," Bruce replied without missing a beat. "You are notoriously bad at multitasking. I once saw you stir your coffee with a fountain pen and try to take notes with a spoon. I don't know why you thought me answering that question would go in your favor."
"That's because I was nervous about interviewing you for the first time without exposing our pre-existing relationship, and you know it!" Clark rebutted with a step forward, his finger pressed against Bruce's sternum. They were now a few inches apart, staring at each other with deep, stubborn frowns on their faces, as they often found themselves over the course of their nine-year superhero partnership.
"Alright you two, whatever it is, break it up."
The two men glowered at each other a few seconds more for good measure, then turned their heads toward Martha, only for their faces to drop in worry.
"Woah, Ma! Are you okay?"
Martha had come back with a whole new hairstyle, her strawberry blonde hair sticking out on all sides of her head. Her face was also bright red and there was a distant look in her usually alert eyes. She plopped herself onto the chair behind her booth with a bone-tired sigh.
"I'm alright. I just thought I'd join the boys for a ride, but sheesh, I severely overestimated my ability to handle being swung around in the air like a pea in a twister," Martha lamented as she patted her hair down. "I keep forgetting I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Ma…"
"Martha, please don't push yourself too hard on behalf of the kids. They should have known better than to take you on an aggressive ride like that."
"No, it's not their fault," Martha dismissed with a wave of her hand. "I'm the one who dared them I could do it. And do it I did!"
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose while Clark threw his head back in disbelief.
"And I'm glad I did! The three of us had a swell old time, even as I was fearing for my life. You've got some sweet boys there, Bruce, I really do wish you would send them down here more often."
Fond appreciation glimmered in Bruce's eyes as he gave Martha a nod. "I'll do my best."
"Well," exclaimed Martha, slapping her thighs and taking a deep breath, "it wasn't long before I had to let them run off to do their own thing. Dick certainly didn't need me around to flirt with the Williams' girl, and Jason was plenty busy aiming for those beat-up targets on his own."
Bruce shot Clark a triumphant "what did I tell you?" look, which the latter conveniently ignored.
"Right, now that I'm back, you can go to the auction. It ought to be starting soon."
"Already?" Clark complained with slumped shoulders.
"Yes, now get," said Martha, shooing both men away from the stall.
Their steps fell in sync as they pushed their way through the crowd, avoiding melting ice creams and crying toddlers like it was an obstacle course. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and Clark would not have been surprised if it turned out the whole county had showed up for the festivities.
Just after Bruce side-stepped a tipsy man's beer from spilling on his Egyptian cotton shirt, he stated, "I'll do a perimeter sweep and see if I can locate Lex while you go to the auction."
"Really. You're still refusing to go with my plan? What about that whole speech about giving back to our farmers? Were you really just playing it up to get out of an argument?"
"I'll still donate to the farmers. I'll make it a direct donation instead of going through the date auction. In fact, that'll even make things easier for me, I won't have to bother with some tedious date."
"I'll have you know that you're the one who wanted to attend the auction in the first place."
"Yes, well, priorities change. That was before—"
Clark stopped dead in his tracks, causing Bruce to stumble face first in the back of his head. He grumbled some complaints, but Clark did not pay attention to any of it.
"Well, I guess you will be attending the date auction after all."
Bruce looked over Clark's shoulder to the marquee under which rows of long benches were lined in front of the stage. The stage was empty, but there were already people picking out their seats—mostly women, and mostly middle-aged and up, as Bruce had predicted. Among those people was none other than Lex, sitting in the center toward the back. His attention was on his phone, tapping away at the screen with detached interest.
Clark looked back to Bruce. The latter nodded and headed to the seats while Clark went behind the stacks of bales that served as a backstage.
Seating himself a row behind Lex and a few seats to the left of him, Bruce scanned their surroundings. The stage, which was no more than a wooden platform two feet off the ground, was tucked between a barn and a wooden shack selling locally brewed beers and ciders. The benches arranged before the stage were old and flimsy, and were unlikely to conceal anything taped under them. Attendees began filtering in and squeezing themselves on the benches, but no one seemed to pay particular attention to Lex, despite his clashing outfit making him stick out like a sore thumb.
From what Bruce could gather, there was nothing overtly suspicious about their environment. He hoped Clark would have better luck with the behind the scenes of the auction, scoping out any irregular behavior and handling it before Lex could get his way. Until Bruce knew for sure what the sociopathic billionaire was up to, his attention would be entirely dedicated to him.
At a quarter past two, the auction began, and a twenty-year-old girl came out wearing a white tank top and denim shorts with a green plaid shirt tied around the waist. She had a mic in hand and welcomed everyone in the audience before then introducing herself as Harper. The rules were briefly explained—highest bidder gets one afternoon with the person they bid for within the harvest festival to ensure safety and fair play—and then Harper called in their first auctionee.
The first bachelorettes and bachelors were still in high school, and their friends had overrun the first few rows, shouting and hollering when certain couples won out. Then the ages were randomized, and you had experienced farmers coming out right after green farm hands. The older gentlemen usually had their wives bidding for them with the help of her friends, while those in their mid-twenties and upwards had audience members of all ages fighting for the chance of spending one afternoon with them.
Lex remained impassive the whole time, only occasionally looking up from his phone to glance at the stage. The longer this dragged out, the more frustrated Bruce grew. Not knowing what Lex had planned was aggravating to no end. He tapped his knee impatiently as the heat of the early afternoon caused beads of sweat to roll down the side of his face. Even under the shade of the marquee, the air was hot and stuffy, which only irked him further.
Suddenly, it was Clark's turn to take center stage. He walked on with a bright grin, though Bruce could notice the discomfort hidden in the tension of his jaw from all the way in the back. He had also ditched the plaid shirt and remained in his white cotton T-shirt which surely had to be two sizes too small with the way it left nothing to the imagination, instead molding itself to the planes of his muscles like it was a second skin.
The crowd wasted no time gushing over Clark, most of them knowing the Kent boy for years already, seeing that he had a knack for helping any and everybody he would cross paths with. As such, every woman in the audience readied their bidding hands like hunters loading their shotguns as Harper asked Clark to introduce himself, as she had to all the other auctionees.
"Hi everyone, I'm Clark from Smallville's Kent farm," he said, his eyes sweeping the audience. When he found Bruce's gaze, he held it. His hands, which had been clutched nervously in front of him, swung down to lay on his hips, giving him an air of attractive confidence not unlike when he was Superman. "I'm thirty-five, I like detective novels and sunny afternoons, and although I've learned from the best, I can never seem to get a peach cobbler quite right. Sorry Ma."
His introduction had everyone laughing. Harper thanked him, then announced the opening bid was fifty dollars. Excited clamors and wild gestures turned the auction into a hen house. Multiple women stood up and shouted over each other, some spilling their drinks or shoving into each other in the commotion, all the while the men looked on in mild fear.
The bids rose quickly, then steadied until there were only two bidders left. One was a florist Clark's age whom he had met a few times when buying bouquets for his mother, and the other woman was a retired doctor from Grandville. The bids reached two hundred forty dollars when the florist tapped out.
Harper smiled excitedly to the crowd. "And that's two hundred forty dollars for Clark Kent! Going, going—"
"Three hundred dollars," Lex spoke up, his hand raised above his head.
The audience turned to look at Lex while Clark and Bruce glanced to each other in shock and confusion. The quirk of Clark's eyebrow asked whether Bruce knew what Lex had in mind, and the latter replied with one shake of his head. Clark then gave the subtlest shrug to indicate that it was not so bad an outcome, since that would mean he could keep an eye on Lex directly. Bruce's hardened face offered no response.
Harper looked at the retired doctor with wide, questioning eyes, and when she desisted, the young host clapped both her hands onto the mic. "Alright! That's three hundred dollars, going—"
"Four hundred."
More heads turned and murmurs swept across the audience. Lex, too, turned around to face Bruce. The two men shared a heated glare from behind their designer sunglasses.
On stage, Clark gawked at Bruce incredulously, although the latter refused to look in his direction. Whatever Bruce was doing, it was unnecessarily complicating the situation, but no matter how many subtle head tilts and furrowed eyebrows Clark threw the great detective's way, Bruce was oblivious.
"Five hundred," countered Lex.
"Six."
"One thousand."
"Two thousand." Bruce removed his sunglasses with an exasperated sigh. "What do you think you're doing, Lex?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Brucie," replied Lex as he mirrored Bruce, folding his sunglasses in his jacket pocket.
"Are you so incapable of getting a date that you've resorted to coming all the way out to the middle of no where to buy yourself one?" Bruce scoffed, "Pathetic."
Lex's face contorted into a sour smile. "This has nothing to do with my dating prowess, I'm simply presented with an opportunity and am grasping it. Why do you feel the need to jump in? I would have thought that fatherhood would have put a stop to your whoring."
"It's a modern world, Lex, a man can do both. Speaking of which, between the two of us, I'm the only one known to be an equal opportunity lover. Why the sudden interest in taking this mild-mannered reporter out on a date?"
"Can a man not test the limits of his sexuality?"
"Oh honey, no queer man would have paired that watch with those shoes. There is nothing to test here except my patience."
The condescending expression that lingered in Lex's malicious eyes had Bruce's certainty falter. A cold wave of doubt washed over Bruce as his heart sunk in trepidation. Of all the contingencies he had planned, this had not been an option he had considered.
Just as Bruce was about to retort, Harper gathered up some courage once she noticed the arguing would not stop any time soon. She meekly asked into the mic, "Should we cap off the bid at two thousand dollars?"
Lex and Bruce both whipped their heads to the stage and shouted in unison, "NO!"
Bruce then added one thousand more dollars to his own bid before resuming his argument with Lex.
Stood at an impasse was Clark, watching with horror and embarrassment as the two men kept taking jabs at one another while slowly getting closer to each other, not knowing how or if he should step in. By then, people had started to notice who the two fighting men were, the last names Wayne and Luthor being whispered about in confusion and elation. Clark fidgeted on the stage while quickly scanning the crowd to try and gauge their reactions.
All things considered, Smallville had always been a very open and accepting place despite being a small town in the Midwest, however, Clark doubted it was that open-minded. Not when it came to two disgustingly rich men openly fighting to date another man. Some older folks had already begun to slip away with a disapproving frown.
Bruce and Lex were now face to face with just one bench acting as an invisible barrier between the two. They shot daggers with their eyes and missiles with their tongues, neither one of them showing signs of relenting.
The bids were up to twenty-three thousand dollars, Lex having just called out the sum in between insults. He then looked at Bruce with a challenging look. "How high are you willing to go for this, Brucie?" He spat out the name like it was poison on his tongue.
Bruce regarded him calmly, lifting his chin ever so slightly. "However high you'll go," he answered. "Plus ten thousand."
"Then it seems we've reached a stalemate. Money is hardly what either of us is lacking."
"No. But at the end of the day, my money far exceeds yours, and you should do well to remember that."
Lex scowled but ignored the taunt. "I say we settle this outside of a money race."
Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you suggesting?"
"Instead of having our bank accounts do the fighting, let's put ourselves in the metaphorical ring." Lex looked back to the bustling festival around them. "Let's find out who is the most worthy festival date by competing in these pedestrian fun fair games."
Bruce turned his head to the side with a scoff. "If you want to compete against me personally, at least pick something you'll have a chance at winning."
A sinister look settled in Lex's eyes. "I'll take my chances," he asserted. He then started walking out of the audience. "We'll need a witness to mediate our duel."
Harper turned to Clark with a bewildered look on her face. Whatever this was, it was way above her paygrade—if she even got paid at all. Clark took pity on her and patted her shoulder before jumping down the stage to jog after Bruce, who was already standing a ways off from the marquee. Harper did her best to smooth the transition to the next auctionee, but needless to say, very few people were still paying attention to the auction.
As soon as Clark had caught up to them, Bruce laid out the rules. "We'll be competing in three different games of which the winner must win at least two. If an activity ends in a tie, we simply repeat it until one of us wins. We each pick a game, Mr. Kent choosing the final one for fairness.
"No activity is off-limits, but it has to be within the festival grounds and it must be something that can be used to determine a clear winner in a test of skill. Games of chance like coin toss do not qualify.
"No prep time. We will scout which games we want now, and then engage in the activity within the allotted time to determine a winner based on the game's rules."
It was obvious to Clark that Bruce had reverted to his nocturnal personality, the detailed organization and forethought emblematic of the Dark Knight's mind. He had listed those rules like he would a mission report at the Justice League.
"Anything to add?" asked Bruce.
Lex put his sunglasses back on his face. "Only that you shouldn't get your hopes up."
"If you agree to the terms, then let's begin." Bruce held his hand out for Lex to shake. Their hands came together in a firm grip—much tighter than would ever be required—which they dipped once before promptly letting go.
"Before we begin, I must excuse myself and find the abominations they call toilets around here," said Lex.
Bruce stared at him like he did not believe one word out of his mouth. He was about to follow Lex when Clark grabbed him by the wrist to hold him back. Bruce turned around, confused. Clark returned the look and then some.
"You didn't have to jump in like that," he whisper-yelled as he pulled Bruce further away from any prying ears and eyes. Surprisingly, Bruce let himself be dragged behind a face painting tent without resistance. "I thought we agreed I'd handle it."
"I never agreed to such a thing."
"Yeah, that much is obvious now," Clark responded with perhaps more sass than he had intended. He took a deep breath and continued, "I'm pretty sure I know what Lex is after. He probably just wants some one-on-one time with Reporter Clark Kent because he knows I've got connections to Superman. He's been sending flowers and lunch invites to my desk for months now. He thinks he can flatter me into giving him information."
Whatever thought Bruce had been mulling over while he half-listened to Clark was propelled out his mind with the velocity of one of his bat-jets blasting out of the hangar at full speed. He whipped his head back to Clark and gaped at him with incredulous anger.
"He what? For months?" A cold fury coursed through Bruce's veins as he processed this development. Under the anger, there was a helplessness tied to a sense of betrayal, feelings which Bruce was loathe to dwell on, instead letting his frustration take center stage. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Unaware of the emotions ambushing his friend, Clark dismissed the complaint in Bruce's voice. "Because it was nothing I couldn't handle, and also, it didn't concern you?" The scowl on Bruce's face deepened, if that were possible. "Listen, just let this whole thing go. I'll spend an afternoon with Lex and dodge whatever questions he has about Superman, and then he'll leave me alone. Besides, I thought you didn't want to bother with a 'tedious date' anyway."
Bruce unhooked his sunglasses from his collar and set them on his face. "Too late. It's a matter of pride now," he responded. He pushed past Clark to go and look for Lex so they could begin their competition.
Clark let out a groan, but followed close behind.