Chapter Text
It has been 2 days and 14 hours since Lex has last tried to kill Superman, but unfortunately for him, Clark Kent was not supposed to know about that.
The gala was celebrating the new research lab of Lexcorp allegedly created to invest more into renewable energy. The lab itself was a modern glass building with a domineering entrance hall featuring a 3 story high glass ceiling which now danced in the light of the hundreds of candles carefully hung for the event. The marble flooring echoed the sound of steps softly making their way through the space, while the whisper of conversation filled the space, but did not overtake the soft sound of the string quartet. A champagne tower sat in the middle of a room, with waiters circling the room, making sure everyone’s glass was always full. Carefully curated nibbles were passed around with a steady pace of service.
Perry has decided, that for the good of Clark’s breadth of experience as a writer, he should be the one to step in for Cat while she was away covering the Met Gala. It was far off the usual investigative reporting he felt most at home in, but Clark was a brave man and he hasn’t stood down against bigger foes so he swore this would not be where he starts. The fact that he had to see Lex in person after the man himself stood and watched as his goons cornered and almost defeated him by the docks just two night ago, left a bitter taste in his mouth and ghost pain in his shoulder where the bullet wound had since completely healed. He could still not shake away the feeling of helplessness and pain, as he had lain there, blood slowly oozing into his cape, watching the dawn come in. He remembered not being able to breathe, a simple action in itself ripped away from him by the overarching panic and fear. He had been unable to sleep since, sitting on the roof of his building every night, greeting the dawn as his lifeline to Earth, willing the sunlight to make him feel warm again. So as stunning as the venue was, as kind as the people were to him, as much as the staff seemed to be paid well and enjoying working the event, he would have rather crawled out of his skin than approached Lex, but Perry would probably try to have him quartered if he didn’t. Which, still, was an option he had considered as he stood in front of his bathroom mirror for a long, long time before gathering enough courage to step out his flat and flag down a cab to the venue.
It started off perfectly fine. The topic would make a perfectly good puff piece for the readers, especially since all the members of high society were in attendance. The commissioner of the MDP, David Corporon - who graciously answered a few questions for Clark early on in the evening - was in deep conversation with the Mayor, both pristinely dressed in fitting three piece black suits. The floor sparkled with the colours from the latest edition of Metropolitan Fashion Monthly, and Clark made a point to snap a few pictures and get a few words from the donors wearing them expertly. He saw their appreciation when he quoted the designer names of Dior and Hermes, instantly recognising each of the dresses. Eidetic memory definitely came in helpful. Lex, ever a gracious host, slid from group to group, saying hello and thanking people for their generous donations, reminding them how they are the investors in Metropolis’ future. He was all too eager to give a quote “You have to understand, renewable energy is the future. Our new types of batteries that we will be releasing for mass production next month, will revolutionise the mobile and technological industry. Imagine a future where we no longer have to fear billions of toxic waste. That is the world that Lexcorp is making possible, today.” Clark did his best to smile through the interaction like a good reporter, making sure his grip on his pen remained loose enough no not crush it and get ink on his only good suit. Careful not to draw attention to himself, hoping Lex wouldn’t look at him too closely. Hoping he could keep his breath for shaking, and that his empathy would still win against his sense of rightousness. Not that he didn’t have faith in his hypno-glasses, but he also didn’t think Lex Luthor would find out that kryptonite was his weakness after interacting with him only twice, so he felt some well natured caution was well founded. Lex was a passionate man, Clark thought, in more ways than one, but it seamed that at least some of these passions were channeled to the right place.
Whilst it was no surprise that Bruce Wayne was on the guest list - not that anyone would have turned him away if he hadn’t been - it definitely was that he chose to make an appearance. Clark couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it felt to him that the energy of the room had shifted, the laughter got a bit louder, the music a bit faster and the colours on the floor shifted closer together, circling the new arrival. Clark wouldn’t deny that the oozing confidence of Bruce Wayne definitely had an allure to it, but it took him opening his mouth to chase it all away with the lack of anything intelligent ever coming out of it. Clark had the displeasure of making this observation for himself at one of Wayne’s galas a few weeks before. He had enough quotes to afford to stay far, far away from him as he struggled to give much credibility to anyone associated with Lex. Often rivals in business, but with a history only old money could buy, Luthor and Wayne had a familiarity that made them an unlikely favourite of the papers. As they clasped hands, wide smiles and half in a hug, Wayne intensely gesturing around the space, no doubt complementing the venue or the ladies in it, Clark could see Donna Troy circling them with her camera and decided this would be his moment.
The investigative journalist in Clark knew that this party was a perfect chance to slip away and nose around for any clues on what else the new research lab might be hiding. This may on may not have been part of his hype up speech in front of the mirror before the event. While he was inclined to believe that Lex would indeed be funding new technological discoveries - after all, the battery would only be the latest in his arsenal, following his BeeHive project last year bringing bees back from the brink of extinction, and cleaning up Metropolis’ bay with his eco trash degrading bacteria the year before - the man himself had made it very clear that he was sitting on a Kryptonite stash after he shot him near dead with specially formulated bullets of the crystal the other day. And as he felt the cold creep up his back just from the thought of it, he would rather face the pain on his own terms than be unwillingly subjected to it.
It was easy to find the stairs, two corridors to the right, and head down towards the basement. The sound of the party dulled with each step, and Clark kept his ear out for any noises coming towards him from below. He carefully put his notepad away, straightened himself out and stopped to wipe his glasses, a moment’s reprieve before heading on. In case they found him, he would tell them he wanted to snap a few pictures of the lab for his article, or maybe that he was just looking for the bathroom.
On the first floor he didn’t find anything. Under luminescent lights, in a maze of a corridor, Clark tiptoed past, scanning through the walls, noting the research equipment, the labs, all new and as expected. The second and third floors were no different. All the doors were locked, but he didn’t truly need to get inside until he could see inside.
Until he could see inside. The fourth floor was lined with lead and he couldn’t see anything at all.
None of the doors opened. If he really strained his ears, it sounded like there were people on the other side, but it was hard to confirm numbers. Clark could easily bend the handles but that would look suspicious and the last thing he wanted was for Lex to check the security tapes and put one and one together on the secret identity of Superman. He’d have to come back in his other suit to investigate further.
On the way up, lost in thought, quickly wiping his glasses as a nervous tick, Clark was just about to reach the last round of stairs when he heard the footsteps of security, approaching in large numbers “Do a sweep boys, trespassers detected. Lex wants this done quickly and quietly.”
Clark shuffled backwards as he looked around, left then right, considering hovering up to the ceiling, maybe then he’d have a change of the guards missing him. That’s when he heard a faint click as strong hands grabbed him, one around the wrist and pulled, and Clark found himself pushed against a door (a door he swore was locked when he checked it earlier), with the full weight of Bruce Wayne pressing into him, a hand softly over Clark’s mouth and the other holding a full champagne flute. With his back hitting the hard shapes of the door, Clark could almost swear the ghost pain in his shoulder had reappeared. He felt dizzy, disoriented, so much he had to blink twice to catch himself and he instinctively pushed his glasses higher up with his free hand. He almost skimmed Bruce Wayne’s face with the movement, whose grey eyes were hazily staring into his.
“Oh, Mr. Kunt, have you also gotten lost on your way to the bathrooms?” he whispered suggestively, as if they both had every right to be there.
“Mr Kent,” he tried, but all that came out was a muffled “MffK”
“Oh, of course, Kent, my bad!” he chuckled, seemingly not the least affected nor bothered by his hand on Clark’s mouth, though he eased off, leaning it against the door instead as he took a sip of his drink. He blinked slowly, his suit rumpled, one cufflink missing and the shirt buttoned midway down his chest. Clark could have sworn that the dark bruise on his sternum peaking out was a hickey. Clark struggled with a buzzing in his right ear, trying to locate himself in a room that looked almost like someone’s office, attempting to place Bruce Wayne in space as the man was almost draped around him, pushing him up against the door. His mind clicked back into function enough to remember the threat standing outside the door, and to realise that he had a civilian called Bruce Wayne in the room with him. Protecting him would be the key objective, so he softly grabbed Bruce Wayne and flipped their positions, manoeuvring him against the wall, so the door would keep them hidden if anyone did try to enter the room. He strained to hear any footsteps from the corridor, but all his ears caught was the steady breath underneath him.
Bruce Wayne seemed unaffected, champagne unspilled in his hand, though his eyes had some curiosity in them. He wasn’t pushing back against Clark, seemingly comfortable enough.
“Fancy seeing you here at this party, but I thought Ms Grant usually covers these types of event,” he slurred, “she always makes sure to get my right side too, she’s truly fantastic that way. She is very kind for a reporter covering social gossip, you know.”
Clark noticed the silver earring in Bruce’s right ear. Did he always have that?
“Mr. Kent isn’t your world investigative journalism? Didn’t you write a very long article about health and water and something about pipes in Metropolis?” he blinked at him slowly “Acid was it? No! Copper! No, wait I got it,” he scrunched his eyes, “lead! It was lead, right?”
Clark briefly wondered if it was worth mentioning that the article in question was the result of a year long investigation into the water system of Metropolis and exposed inconsistencies in the pipework, including multiple parts of the city being slowly poisoned by the lead in the system. He certainly would have to keep out the tiny detail that it was thanks to his super sight that he noticed this, but he put in twice the effort into his research to make up for it. Perry was not keen on the topic when he first heard of it, it was outside of Clark’s usual coverage, but he kept working on it in his downtime - or whatever he had of that, making up for it with his lack of need for sleep. Slowly but surely a picture took form, and now that his piece was up for Pulitzer, Perry was able to mix in some kind words into his critical observations. Lois also seemed less snappy at him after reading his first draft, which was most definitely a change of dynamic.
“I did have an article about lead pipes, Mr Wayne,” he slowly articulated, words taking oddly heavy in his mouth, “Mr Luthor has been most gracious is offering to finance an immediate replacement of the affected areas.”
“Oh, that’s good old Lex, I wouldn’t expect anything less of him,” he smiled lazily. Clark could have sworn it felt layered but there was no irony in the tone not a single emotion of Wayne’s face other than the haziness of one too many drinks. “You must be a very smart man Mr Kent for tackling such big topics, must have taken so much work.” The way he emphasised the end of the sentence made Clark think of girls fawning over celebrities. He felt weird having attention like that on him. Clark Kent was not supposed to be noticed.
“It was really just patience and perseverance, truly anyone could have done it. I’m just happy if I can help the city.” That at least, was the truth.
“Metropolis is so lucky to have men like you Mr Kent,” he dawdled, “we really need more every day superheroes instead of masked vigilantes.”
“You sound quite critical when you have your local patron bat watching over your city.”
Bruce leaned in and Clark’s eyesight blurred, his vision was so full of him.
“Are we off the record, Mr Kent?” the conspiratory smile was back.
“We never were on the record Mr Wayne,” he whispered and it was clearly the right thing to say as the response was a wide toothed smile.
The full focus of Bruce Wayne on him was unsettling. He tried again to focus on the sound of steps, straining to hear anything, trying to estimate if security were coming back yet from the lower levels, but he just felt the buzzing in both of his ears. Maybe a few more minutes until he could excuse himself, and slip away. Did Bruce Wayne know that they were a door away from a groups of Lex’s security? What was he - nevermind that - how was he in this office? He was feeling dizzy, almost a little drunk. He wondered if he could get a headache from alcohol. He did have a glass of champagne earlier but it should have made as much difference to him as drinking water. Maybe there was something in Bruce Wayne’s perfume, the smell of smoke and oud was overwhelming.
“I do admire Batman’s efforts to put bad men behind bars, though sometimes I do wonder whether that just frees up space for more criminals, you know?” he leaned in, conspiratorially. “Who in their right mind dresses like a bat though? Do you think his personality invites the supervillains into town? I mean a year ago we had no supervillains and now we have one dressed like a clown, another like an expired green ice cream running a spelling contest, and a giant reptile. Like, maybe he is not too far of the other crazies we put behind bars, you know?”
Clark blinked. Blinked again. “That’s definitely an interesting theory,” he finally formed the words, “I do like to imagine that Batman is a man willing to do what is needed to protect the people of Gotham.”
“You must be the biggest Superman fan as well then!” was Bruce Wayne taking time out of his evening to mock him?
“I do trust he has the best intentions at heart as well.”
“You really think the best of people, don’t you, Mr Kent?”
“Everyone has kindness in their heart, but might be limited by their circumstances.” From what he could tell, the smile on Bruce Wayne’s face froze for a second, but his vision had been going blurry so it may have just been a trick of the light. His eyes definitely seemed sharper than a moment ago. Greyer. He downed the rest of his champagne.
“Mr Wayne, are you feeling quite alright?” he carefully asked.
“Oh, you must really call me Bruce, Mr Kent, after I spilled so many personal thoughts.” The smile was back, along with the lack of care in the world. “I truly must apologise to you, I should not be keeping you all to myself, as fascinating as your company is, I have to let you rejoin Lex’s adoring crowd to make sure you have everything you need for your article.” With that he easily pushed Clark off and Clark all but staggered away from the wall. The sudden shift in weight distribution had him lose his balance, he hadn’t even realised how much he was relying on it to support his weight. Not missing a beat, Wayne opened the door and he was halfway out before turning back, realising Clark was staring at him. “Are you coming, Mr Kent?”
Slowly nodding, he fell in step behind him and the door closed behind them with a soft click. The corridor felt constricting. Clark wondered whether the luminescent lights were playing a trick on his vision.
“I wonder if an quote from Bruce Wayne would look good in your article,” he offered, as they made their way upstairs. Clark almost tripped on the stairs, righting himself with the help of the handlebars in the last second.
“I should have enough quotes for my article Mr Wayne, but I would be happy to be able to include one from you.” Perry would even have a praiseful word to him from scoring a quote from Wayne, which would be a miracle in itself.
“I should hope so. You really should call me Bruce though, it’s not polite to disregard people’s requests like that,” he smirked at him. “Now then, I am excited to see where Lex takes his newest research project. In the spirit of a healthy competition, my executives have ensured me that Wayne Industries is working on some really exciting new things as well, so do be on the lookout for our announcements.” With that, they arrived back to the entrance hall, just off side of the main crowd. It only took a moment for people to start noticing Bruce Wayne, and heads to begin turning their way.
“Mr Kent, it has been my pleasure,” he squeezed his shoulder, stepping away, ”I do hope that I will see you again at another of these fantastic events. Now, I think it’s time for me to go steal some of Lex’s spotlight.”
In a blink, Bruce Wayne was staggering away, smile wide on his face, one hand signalling a waiter for a drink, another lazily waving at the group standing closest to him. Clark watched him make his way through the crowd, shaking a hand here and there, kissing a few cheeks, but barely stopping. As he neared the middle of the room, Clark watched it happen in slow motion; a lady’s path intercepted Wayne’s, none of them paying quite enough attention, the glass in his hand slipped and the Champagne splashed across her dress. She cried out, stepping back in shock, one step, another, until she backed into another guest and the momentum kicked the champagne tower tumbling.
A moment later it all came crashing down with a massive smash as the crystal glasses broke into hundreds of miniature pieces, scattering across the marble. A few surprised screams rose from the crowd and the quartet faltered before uncertainly resuming the music. Bruce Wayne, unbothered by the rising commotion, kneeled down to help up the lady with a concerned frown, handing her a few napkins from god knows where, making sure she was okay. She seemed so taken aback by his attention that she forgot to be upset about her expensive dress being ruined. Clark watched on with increasing confusion how he detangled himself from the conversation after barely a minute and calmly made his way towards the exit, eyes no longer on him, but rather on the commotion. No one (else) would notice Bruce Wayne slipping away.
As if feeling Clark’s eyes on him, he stopped with the door half opened, and turned back, finding Clark immediately through the crowd as if knowing where he’d be, knowing he’d be watching. He smiled at him, full of his signature Bruce Wayne bravado, and winked.
Clark felt the heat rise up his chest. What was the man thinking?
He watched Bruce Wayne get into the backseat of a car, and as it pulled away he felt the room refocus around him, and the buzzing of his ears quiet down. His arm felt tender, and as he absentsmindedly scratched at it it was almost painful. He rolled up his sleeve to notice the finger shaped bruises in his skin. Was that from Bruce Wayne?
Questions began to form in his mind as a touch of anxiety began to crawl his way towards his chest. He breathed deeply, chasing the haze from his brain. He had been so confused and so protective of Bruce Wayne that he hadn’t stopped to think about his intentions, after all he had all but climbed on him. God, was Bruce Wayne coming onto him? Clark could definitely appreciate beauty and the man definitely had an assortment of perfect genes, and it almost seemed for him for a moment that he also had a care, after all why would he have known the article Clark had published months ago-
His brain came to a skidding halt. How did Bruce Wayne’s breath not smell of alcohol when he had clearly just drank a glass full of champagne inches away from him?
He should look into Bruce Wayne, he decided.
Something was going on that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was an investigative reporter, and he would find out.