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Assistant: Title: Man of Steel, Man of Heart
        Author: capsicleonyourleft capsicleonyourleft 
        Chapter: 1/1 
        Summary: Clark gets information that Lex Luthor is in possession of Wayne Tech and decides to confront Bruce Wayne about it. As he suspected, Wayne isn't involved with Luthor, but he is ready to look into it. It's just Clark's luck that some paparazzi catches their meeting on film and suddenly the papers are filled with "SUPERMAN: WAYNE'S LATEST CONQUEST?"
        Contents: Summary:
            
              Clark gets information that Lex Luthor is in possession of Wayne Tech and decides to confront Bruce Wayne about it. As he suspected, Wayne isn't involved with Luthor, but he is ready to look into it. It's just Clark's luck that some paparazzi catches their meeting on film and suddenly the papers are filled with "SUPERMAN: WAYNE'S LATEST CONQUEST?"
            
        

        
  Notes:





    
      Thank you to my amazing artist for inspiring this fic! It was such a joy to work with you! Please check out the art here: https://made-of-stardusts.tumblr.com/post/688703713765998592/entry-for-the-2022-superbat-reverse-bang Thank you to @Mawiiish for the support, beta and cheerleading. I really couldn't have pulled through without you. Thank you to @serephent for the speedy beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own.Thank you to the Superbat Reverse Bang mods for organizing this amazing event!
    




  





    
        
          The security system at Wayne Manor was impressive, Clark marvelled as dozens of motion sensors and hidden cameras came to life. He had not even set foot on the lawn, yet the sensors were sensitive enough to pick up the sound disruption and change in air pressure as he flew past. As he examined the lawn, he took note of the concealed metal plates wired to an electrical grid—anyone walking across could be shocked in an instant. Clark wondered whether this level of paranoia was a common trait among billionaires or exclusive to Bruce Wayne. Then again, the man  did  live alone in an expensive mansion on the outskirts of Gotham City, so perhaps some precautions were warranted.When the alarms activated, Clark winced at the high-decibel sound. This would surely complicate things — there would hardly be an opportunity for a private conversation with Wayne if emergency responders showed up. However, when Clark listened for the alarm’s signal to track its destination, he was surprised to learn it did not seem to notify any outside source. Why would Wayne bother with such an elaborate system only for it not to be professionally monitored? A moment later, the fortified back door busted open and three rounds of ammunition were discharged in Clark’s general direction. He caught the bullets in his hand and halted his flight in midair, hovering above the man that barged out of the manor. Clark guessed he was in his sixties, with a balding head and an immaculate three-piece suit tailored to perfection. With a perfect stance and his hands confident on the shotgun’s barrel, he was certainly comfortable operating firearms. Clark really should have just knocked on the front door.“Good evening,” Clark said with a rueful smile and every ounce of Midwestern charm he could muster. He put his hands up for good measure. “I do apologise for the intrusion and the late hour, sir. I was hoping to speak with Mr. Wayne — I’m afraid it’s a rather pressing matter.”The man’s eyes widened as he lowered his weapon, staring at Clark’s face and then the emblem on his chest. “Superman,” he said in a British accent, a degree of awe in his voice.“Alfred!” a deep, urgent voice called from above. Clark looked up to see Bruce Wayne himself on the balcony extending from the top floor, what could only be described as a worried expression on his face. “The situation is under control, Master Bruce,” the man — Alfred, presumably — called back. “I was unaware you were expecting company tonight, sir.” “That’s because I wasn’t,” Wayne responded and a significant look was exchanged between the two men. “I can handle it from here.” “Certainly, sir,” said Alfred before disappearing back inside. Clark stared after him, wondering if this one elderly man was the extent of Wanye’s security personnel.  “Well?” Wayne called as he leaned over the railing, one brow arched with impatience. He examined Clark with a level of scrutiny fitting for a bug under a microscope. “It’s not every day Superman shows up at my home. I assume you’re planning on informing me of the nature of your visit?” Clark flew up so they were on the same level. “May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the balcony. Wayne nodded and Clark landed in front of him, keeping a respectable distance between them. Having only seen Bruce Wayne on the covers of glossy magazines, Clark was struck by how different he seemed in person — standing barefoot on his balcony, dressed in grey sweatpants and a simple black sweatshirt, stripped of all the glitz and glamour associated with his last name. His hair was slightly dishevelled, like he’d been running his fingers through it. A small, nearly-imperceptible scar ran down his mouth, folding into the corner of his lip. Most notable, however, were his eyes; there was an intensity and sharpness to them that evidently did not translate in pictures.Clark was so distracted that he barely registered the sound of footsteps closeby before the door in the bedroom behind Wayne swung open. A boy of about eleven or twelve came running outside, lanky limbs flailing. His heart was beating fast, a note of panic in his voice when he spoke. “Bruce! What’s going on? Alfred said—” his eyes widened when he noticed Clark. “Whoa,” he exclaimed in awe, reaching to clear the mess of dark hair falling over his forehead. “It’s really you.” Clark gave a small wave and a smile.“D@ck,” Wayne said in a firm voice, taking a step backward and reaching to pull the boy behind him, shielding him with his body.  Protective  , Clark thought.  Interesting . “Go back to your room.”“But—” the boy tried as he peaked his head from behind Wayne’s waist.“Now, D@ck,” Wayne repeated the command, keeping his eyes trained on Clark. The boy huffed but turned and exited the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall.The ensuing silence was heavy. Wayne glared at Clark with obvious mistrust, assessing whether any threat was posed to his family. Clark remembered reading that Wayne had adopted a child in the past year — it caused quite the stir in the press circuits. Cat had talked about it for weeks at the  Planet ’s lunch room, hoping to be the first to land an exclusive interview about the development. Wayne never did give an interview about the adoption; in fact, he spoke of it so rarely it was entirely too easy to forget. Having witnessed his protectiveness towards the boy, it was obvious that he had intentionally and strategically kept him out of the public spotlight. The information served as a reminder that Clark was about to ask for the help of a total stranger, and one with a particular reputation at that. If Wayne’s attitude towards Clark was any indication, the apprehension and suspicion went both ways. Still, Clark hardly had a choice; he needed an inside source. Besides, he tended to believe the best about people. Sure, there were times when it spelled trouble, but that hope was just part of who he was. “Mr. Wayne,” Clark started, deciding there was no point in circling around the issue. “I was hoping we could speak about your company, so I’ll be direct. Are you in business with Lex Luthor?”Wayne’s handsome face creased in a frown. His heartbeat and respiration, however, remained steady, showing no physical response to the accusation. “Excuse me?” he asked, sounding offended. “Yeah, I figured that’s probably not the case,” Clark admitted. The rivalry between Wayne and Luthor was well documented, so it made little sense for them to be working together. Wayne’s reaction only confirmed it. Clark reached for the folder he’d hidden in his cape pocket, handing the evidence to Wayne. “It seems Lex is stealing from Wayne Enterprises.”Wayne accepted the folder and examined it, flipping through the pictures and documents Clark had compiled over the course of his investigation. “He’s stealing patents for medical equipment and chemical formulas,” Wayne commented, mouth pressed into a thin line. “These haven’t even been approved. He should never have been able to get access to any of this.”“He’s a very rich man who’s willing to throw a lot of money at the things he wants,” Clark said. “Someone in your company is providing this information to Luthor, Mr. Wayne. I haven’t yet figured out what his endgame is, but where Lex is concerned… it can’t be good. There’s enough here to trigger a police investigation, I suggest—”“No,” Wayne interrupted, closing the brief. “If we do that, it would only alert Lex to the fact he’s in danger of being found out and he’ll find a way to cover his tracks, as he always does.”  He had a point there — Lex was an expert at evading consequences and nothing ever seemed to stick to him. “This is my company he’s messing with. Right now, the element of surprise is on my side. I’ll take care of it. I appreciate you bringing this to my attention.” “With all due respect, Mr. Wayne, this isn’t a simple case of corporate espionage,” Clark protested, unwilling to be dismissed from his own investigation. “Where Lex is concerned, it’s a matter of public safety. I need to know what he’s up to so that I can stop him.”Wayne chewed on the skin of his bottom lip, seeming to ponder this. After a moment, he nodded. “I’ll keep you informed of what I find out,” he said simply. With that, he retreated back inside the Manor, locking the balcony doors behind him and drawing the curtains. Yeah, Clark thought as he lifted into the air, Bruce Wayne was not at all what he had expected.  *** The  Daily Planet  was unusually quiet on Tuesday morning, what with half the staff at home battling the seasonal cold. The side of the office where Clark and Lois’ desks were was particularly bare. Clark deposited Lois’ usual coffee order on her desk with a “good morning” before settling in his chair and turning on the computer. “Smallville,” Lois greeted as she wheeled her chair over to him. There was a smile on her face, which was alarming seeing as Lois usually wanted to murder everyone in her path until she had consumed  at least  two cups of coffee and, more often than not, well into the afternoon. This did not bode well for Clark. “I’m surprised to see you made it this morning.”Clark frowned. “It’s nine a.m. on a weekday. Where else would I be?” he asked. Had there been some sort of disaster that required his attention? “Oh, I just thought it’d be too difficult to leave your new  beau  after your late night rendezvous over the weekend,” she said in a sing-song voice, smirking. Clark wondered if he should be x-raying her for signs of a concussion.“My  what  now?” Clark questioned against his better judgement. Really, at this point in their friendship, he should know better than to ask; the best way to deal with Lois was not to give her further ammunition.  Lois’ grin only stretched wider. “You haven’t seen it yet,” she said, sounding delighted. She got up and marched to her desk — or rather, the disorganised mess that passed for such — rifling through stacks of papers until she found whatever she was searching for. With a triumphant look, she handed Clark a copy of today’s  Gotham Gazette. On the cover was a candid picture of Bruce Wayne, along with a blocky headline: “BRUCE WAYNE’S LATEST CONQUEST - SUPERMAN?” “What!” Clark exclaimed, turning the page to find the corresponding story. The byline was by Vickie Vale, because  of course  it was, and Clark felt nauseous as he read along. Someone managed to capture a blurry photo of his visit to Wayne Manor, Clark’s red cape billowing in the wind as he hovered over the balcony belonging to Bruce Wayne, a stark contrast to the otherwise dark image. The click of a camera shutter made Clark look back at Lois just as she snapped a photo of him, doing nothing to conceal her laughter. “This isn’t funny, Lois,” Clark said, dropping the newspaper and burying his face into his hands. “How did they even manage to snap that photo?”“You tell me,” Lois said, sounding no less amused. She at least had the sense to whisper the next part. “You have  superhearing . How did you not realize someone was around?”“I was there to have  a conversation , Lois, I didn’t think I needed to recon the place ahead of time,” he said miserably. In hindsight, that was a stupid oversight on his part. “But you’re right, I should have been listening for anything out of the ordinary. I was distracted—”“Oh, I bet you were,” Lois wiggled her brows, an unrepentant and wholly unsympathetic grin on her face. Really, Clark should have known to expect nothing less; expecting support from his best friend in the face of a PR nightmare was too big of an ask, apparently. “You were distracted by Wayne’s mesmerising baby blues, getting lost in those eyes—”“They’re more of a slate grey, actually,” Clark blurted without thinking, regretting it immediately when Lois’ grin widened. He felt his cheeks heat and prayed for the ground to swallow him whole. “This is a disaster,” he murmured miserably to himself. “Why would anyone even  care  about this? How can this garbage pass for news?”“C’mon, Smallville, even you’re not that naive,” Lois said, her tone placating as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “People make sense of the experiences of others by relating it to their own. They want to understand Superman through human experiences — of course they are going to be interested in your love life. Speculating about your feelings is what makes you a real person to them, even if they’ve never met you. Don’t put too much stock in it.”“You’re right,” he acknowledged with a sigh. It wasn’t the first time rumours about Superman were circulating, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. In the four years Clark had been doing this, the press had speculated about everything from his heritage, to alien biology, to how he managed to shave. It just seemed nonsensical for stories like that to be taking up space when there were real issues that needed to be highlighted. “This is just the natural cycle of these things. I’m sure nothing will come of it and the gossip will be forgotten about in a matter of days.”“Plus, it could be worse,” Lois said brightly. “At least they linked you with someone  hot  . Not that I need to tell  you  that, clearly,” she added with a wink.Clark rolled his eyes and turned to his computer, ready to do some actual work. He pulled up his file on the recent congressionally directed spending priorities, immersing himself in the material.Two hours in, he was reminded of everything that he loved about his profession. Thoughts of Bruce Wayne and inconsequential gossip completely left his mind. After finishing another paragraph, he yawned and stretched his back. Even Superman wasn’t immune to the discomfort that came with long hours in front of the computer.He wheeled his chair backwards and peaked towards Lois’ desk, hoping she would have the time to proofread and critique his work. To his surprise, she wasn’t at her desk; he must have been so absorbed in his research that he didn’t even hear her leave. He swivelled his chair and was surprised a second time when he nearly collided with his boss.“Chief,” he called, clearing his throat. “Good morning.”Perry grunted in response. “I’ve told you and Olson a thousand times to stop calling me that,” he said gruffly, but there was no heat to it. He looked over Clark’s shoulder. “Where’s Lane?”“Probably in search of her next caffeine fix,” Clark ventured an educated guess.Perry sighed, seemingly resigned. “I’m looking for coverage for an important interview. I don’t suppose you’re available to work overtime today?”“I am!” Clark responded instantly. While Clark approached his work with a sense of responsibility and always submitted it on time, there was no question in his mind that Perry noted his frequent absences. Balancing journalism with superheroing could be tricky business. Really, Clark was lucky he hadn’t been fired, and that was thanks to Perry. If he could take on extra work to make up for some of it, he was happy to do so. He just had to hope no crisis would get in the way of this commitment. “What do you need me to do, Chief?”“Cat’s kid got the flu, she’s taking the day off. She has an interview scheduled with Bruce Wayne,” Perry said. Clark’s stomach dropped. “I need you to be at the Wayne Enterprises building in Gotham at five.”Clark’s face blanched with horror. “Chief, I’d love to help, but I  really don’t think I’m the right person for this assignment—”“Me neither,” Perry said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you’re all I’ve got, so you’ll have to do.” With that, he turned to leave, his footsteps shuffling loudly down the hallway. He stopped in front of his office. “Oh, and Kent,” he called loudly over his shoulder, “make sure to ask Wayne for a comment about this Superman business.” Sh@t  , Clark thought as the door to Perry’s office slammed shut.  Sh@t sh@t sh@t sh@t. Lois was going to have a field day with this. *** Clark sighed as he stared at his watch, listening to the ticking minutes go by and tapping his leg in sync with the rhythm. He pulled on the knot at the base of his throat, the cheap fabric of his tie loosening easily between his fingers. The expensive chair he was sitting on was entirely too small for his frame and he shifted his weight in an attempt to get comfortable. Wayne was thirty-four minutes late, with no courtesy call or notice. Clark thought of all the drafts stored on his computer, all the leads he could be pursuing; instead, here he sat, having his time wasted by a billionaire with little regard for others. Surely Perry could understand there were better uses of Clark’s time and skill. If Wayne couldn’t be bothered to show up, it was hardly Clark’s fault for returning to the office empty-handed. Besides, since he had already made the commute, there were plenty of better stories to dig up in Gotham City.His mind made up, Clark rose from his seat and started packing up his belongings. Just as Clark swung his messenger bag over his shoulder and picked up his coat, the door to the conference room opened. Bethany, the same tall blonde who’d greeted him at the reception area, entered the room, her stilettos clicking on the floor. “Mr. Wayne is ready for you, Mr. Kent,” she said, holding a clipboard close to her chest. “He would like to meet in his office instead. If you could please follow me,” she gestured towards the hallway. It took every ounce of self-control for Clark to keep his eye roll to himself. After all, Wayne’s unreliableness was hardly this woman’s fault. He followed without further comment, barely paying attention as she led him down the hall to a separate elevator and pressed a button. Clark was desperate to get this over with so he could return to the real duties of his job. When the elevator opened, they stepped onto a floor that was even more opulent than what Clark had seen of Wayne Enterprises so far. Directly in front of them were two heavy oak doors, seemingly the only office on the entire floor. With a confident step, Bethany headed directly towards it, rapping her knuckles against the wood before twisting the handle.“Mr. Wayne, I have Clark Kent from the  Daily Planet  here for your interview,” she announced and led Clark inside. The space they entered was larger than Clark’s entire apartment, with modern architecture and a sleek design. Enormous glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, displaying the Gotham City skyline like a painting. This far up, even the ever-present layer of city smog could not take away from the view, rays of sunlight peeking through on an atypically bright day. A large seating area expanded into the far side of the room; two luxurious leather couches sat facing each other with a plush rug in between them. Four impressive bookcases lined the walls, their odd geometric shapes adding a decorative element. Wayne was seated behind a large, L-shaped desk, his feet propped up without a care in the world and a whiskey tumbler in hand. There was no indication he had been doing any type of work before they walked in. Clark couldn’t help the resentment that built inside of him; this man sat in his mansion-sized office doing absolutely nothing, feeling entitled to waste everyone’s time. If this was all the initiative and dedication he could muster, clearly Clark had made an error in judgement by trusting him with the Luthor investigation.“Ah, yes, of course,” Wayne said in greeting. His voice was starkly different than it had been at the Manor, with a smooth baritone and a warm, honeyed quality. “Thank you, Brittney.”Bethany rolled her eyes but said nothing to correct her boss. Evidently, she was accustomed to the fact that her employer could not be bothered with showing her the common decency of learning her name. “Can I get either of you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?”Wayne simply shook his head, lifting his whiskey tumbler as if in cheers. “No, thank you,  Bethany ,” Clark responded, putting emphasis on her name. She gave him a thankful smile in response before ducking out of the room. Wayne didn’t even seem to notice.“I keep the good stuff in here, anyway,” he said, gesturing towards the bar cart in the corner. “Feel free to fix yourself a drink.”“A generous offer, but I don’t drink on the job, Mr. Wayne,” said Clark, wondering if he had stumbled into an episode of  Mad Men .“I won’t tell,” Wayne winked salaciously. Clark didn’t bother dignifying it with an acknowledgment. Wayne looked him up and down, and for a moment, his gaze had the same sharp, calculating quality it had at the Manor.  “I have to say, I was expecting you to be much smaller and much blonder.”Clark took a deep breath to centre himself and bit his tongue. He was a professional with a job to do. He routinely challenged corrupt politicians who lied to his face, had pried information from intelligence officials and spies. He could handle one interview with Wayne, no matter how lewd and unpleasant. “Ms. Grant was unexpectedly called away. I’m covering on her behalf.”“Ah, a shame. Cat is always such lovely company to have around,” Wayne commented as he stood to his full height and moved from behind his desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Dressed in a designer suit that likely cost more than Clark’s annual salary, the man looked like he’d stepped directly off of a runway. The slim fit accentuated his long legs and broad shoulders, its light grey colour perfectly complementing his eyes. His dark, thick hair was perfectly coiffed, parted and swept to the side. He was, Clark had to admit, infuriatingly attractive. Wayne moved toward the seating area across the room, gesturing for Clark to join him. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Kane,” he said. “It’s Kent, Mr. Wayne,” Clark corrected as he followed, with just a hint of his annoyance coming through. What was it about Bruce Wayne that got under his skin?“Right, right,” Wayne said with a wave of his hand. Clark got the impression he didn’t much care to learn people’s names.Wayne settled on the couch facing away from the windows, leaving Clark to take the one across from it. He squinted at the light coming through the windows and pushed his glasses on the bridge of his nose, reaching into his bag to take out his recorder, pen and notepad. Wayne watched him with a lopsided smirk, legs crossed, and one arm stretched against the back of the couch. Clark took a moment to settle in his seat, allowing himself to examine the room more carefully. He scanned the various books lining the shelves, their topics ranging from architecture, photography and business, to a number of literary classics. “That’s quite the impressive collection, Mr. Wayne,” he commented.“Oh,” Wayne turned to follow Clark’s gaze, nearly spilling his drink in the process. “I’m not much of a reader, I’m afraid. But it does add a certain…  ambiance  to the room, don’t you think? My decorator insisted.”“I was hoping we could start with the recent work of Wayne Enterprises,” Clark said, reaching to turn on his recorder. “Last week, your medical division announced the development of revolutionary equipment that could aid in earlier detection of—”“Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Wayne interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. This time, a small amount of liquid sloshed out of his glass, dripping onto the expensive couch. Clark expected the overpowering smell of liquor to waft through the room, but it never came.  Whatever Wayne was drinking, it wasn’t alcohol. Yet, for whatever reason, Wayne  wanted  Clark to believe he was overindulging in drink.“I don’t really follow the day to day developments around here,” Wayne continued, “Lots happening, I’m sure they’re all doing very important work.”Clark stared at him. “It’s your company,” he said slowly. “You’re the CEO.”“Of course, of course,” Wayne said with a smile. “It’s a grand title, which is why I leave the tedious details to my most trusted employees,” he added. “I just sign where they ask me to sign.”Clark frowned and narrowed his eyes, suspicious. This was not at all the impression he had gotten the other night; Wayne had clearly been knowledgeable about the developments in his company. He had the urge to slam his head against the wall. Clark cleared his throat and refocused, considering his next words carefully. He was skilled at getting to the truth; all it required was patience and observation. "Are you saying you don't take an active interest in your own company, Mr. Wayne?"“I have people I pay to do that, Kane,” Wayne replied simply. “Some truly brilliant minds work for this company. I trust them to do their job.”That, at least, was the least outrageous thing Wayne had said so far. Clark allowed for a pause, giving Wayne a small smile. “It’s clear you have a lot of confidence in your employees, Mr. Wayne — they must appreciate the level of respect this communicates,” he said.  Establish a relationship with the source that’s conducive for obtaining information. “Maybe you could shed some light on the role you play within this company and your approach to running it. Do you—”“Well, my name  is  on top of the building,” Wayne interrupted again, the same arrogant smirk painting his features. “I think that counts for something.”Clark gave a tight smile in response. Internally, he sighed, resigning himself to the fact this line of questioning was getting him nowhere; he would have to return to it later. For whatever reason, Wayne was evasive on even this simple topic. Clark could recognize when it was time for a new tactic and a change in the conversation pace. He leaned back in his seat and put his notebook away. “Last year you launched the Martha Wayne Foundation,” he said, allowing for a pause as they made eye contact. “It seems to be a very personal passion project for you. Can you speak about the work that’s been accomplished so far?”Something dark flashed across Wayne’s face at the mention of his mother’s name — sadness? Grief? Even with his enhanced senses, Clark was barely able to register it before it was gone. “Ah, yes, charity is very important. I can connect you with my head of operations if you wish to learn more about that.” Wayne carefully folded his hands in his lap, staring at Clark with a frown. “I have to say, I’m used to these interviews being a bit more… fun.”“Fun,” Clark repeated, dumbfounded. “Yes,” Wayne confirmed, the same bright smile reappearing on his lips. It didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “All this talk about business is rather tedious. Not exactly what sells papers, don’t you think?”“What did you imagine I’d be asking you about, Mr. Wayne?” Clark asked, leaning forward to communicate his curiosity. Sometimes, a deep interest in the irrelevant was required to shift the dynamic, leading the source to blurt something crucial.“Well, first, I should really set the record straight regarding the whole Vanessa situation, you know? She keeps giving all these interviews about how I came between her and her sister, but I didn’t even know she  had a twin!” Wayne said, sounding scandalized. Clark did not have the faintest clue as to what he was talking about, nor did he much care to find out. “What can I say, the life of a socialite is quite adventurous,” he said confidently, getting comfortable once more. “Oh, that reminds me! I don’t think I’ve told the Bali story yet, so how about an exclusive? It involves a jet ski accident and ending up in a massage parlour with a local senator…”For the next twenty minutes, Wayne described his so-called “adventures” in gaudy detail, each story more ridiculous than the last. He gestured animatedly to make his point, seemingly unbothered when Clark tried to interject or redirect. Clark swore he could feel a headache forming as he listened; eventually, he sank back in his seat and resigned himself to the situation. Clearly, he wasn’t getting anything even remotely relevant out of Wayne. The sooner he finished what he had to say, the sooner Clark could be on his way back to Metropolis. “... and that’s really not on me, don’t you think?” Wayne was saying, looking at Clark expectedly. “Oh,” Clark said, wondering what he had missed. “Sure?”Wayne narrowed his eyes, looking at Clark with amusement. “Am I boring you, Kane?”“Um, no,” Clark said, scratching the back of his neck.  You’re just wasting my time . “It’s just… with all due respect, sir, I’m an investigative journalist, not a gossip columnist,” he said with a frown. “Your personal life is hardly a topic I’m interested in.”Wayne gave a mirthful laugh at that. “Oh sure, sure, that’s very respectable, Kane,” he commented with a thoughtful expression. “But you must be the only person on Earth who hasn’t jumped at the opportunity to ask me about my latest conquest. You’re not even a little bit curious? Here I thought you Metropolites looked up to your Big Blue Boy Scout, but maybe he’s not so newsworthy after all.”Clark’s body went rigid. “What?”“You  are  from Metropolis, aren’t you?” Wayne asked with an arch of his brow. “Or was it Maryland? I could have sworn Beccy said Metropolis.”“It’s Bethany,” Clark corrected on instinct. “And yes, the  Daily Plant  is Metropolis based.” He cleared his throat, willing his tongue to shape the next words.  Don’t back away from the sensitive questions , he reminded himself, although he was not at all asking this in his capacity as a reporter. “Are you referring to Superman?”“Well, of course,” Wayne said, his toothy grin smug and teasing. “Or don’t you read?”Clark blinked at him, disbelieving. “Are you insinuating the rumours about your involvement with Superman are  true ?”“Well, a gentleman never kisses and tells, Mr. Kane,” Wayne said with a wink. “But it’s hardly my fault when a paparazzi manages to take a picture, wouldn’t you say?”Stupefied, Clark could only stare at the other man as he lied with a straight face. What’s more, there was an easy grin on his face, like the lie had slipped out without any difficulty. His heartbeat and respiration were unchanged. Lying had given Bruce Wayne no pause.They were interrupted by the metallic ring of Wayne’s cell phone. Wayne glanced at it and paused, pursing his lips. “I apologize, Mr. Kane, we will have to wrap up for today,” he said and stood from his seat, gesturing towards the door. “I’m afraid I have to take this call. I’m sure you understand.”Still frozen in disbelief, Clark allowed himself to be escorted out of Wayne’s office. When the door closed behind him, he sighed in relief, finally released from what could only be described as a colossal failure of an interview. He loosened his collar and untied his tie, tossing it into his bag. Heat rushed to his skin as he replayed the past hour in his mind, his jaw tensing. He wasn’t even sure  why  he was so angry; sure, he had just been brazingly lied to and deceived, but it wasn’t the first time a source had done it and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Clark  needed  to think rationally so he could analyze it; if you knew to listen, there were truths unearthed in the midst of lies.Just as the elevator arrived, Clark was struck by the sound of Wayne’s voice on the other side of the door. Really, Clark had no intention to eavesdrop; as a rule, he only ever used his super-hearing to listen for those in need of help. But honing his senses was a skill that took continuous practice; sometimes, when he was stressed or overwhelmed, it was harder to maintain that kind of precise control over his perception.“Absolutely not,” Wayne was saying into his phone. His voice had changed again, sounding low and gruff like it had at the Manor. “You have to finish your homework first, D@ck. Yes,  especially  the geometry assignment, you know full well it’s due tomorrow.” The smile in his voice was obvious. “How about this? I’ll be home soon and we can work on it together after dinner. I’m leaving now.”Clark stepped inside the elevator with a hurried step, feeling shame for having listened in on such a personal moment between a family. He had no intention of violating Wayne’s privacy even further, especially when it came to a conversation with his kid. Still, a persistent thought nagged at Clark’s mind as he exited the building, surrounded by Gotham’s suffocating air. He had met two completely different versions of Bruce Wayne, which could only mean one of them was a performance. Around Superman, in the privacy of his own home, Wayne was intense, capable, intelligent and protective of his family. Around Clark Kent, he was frivolous, clueless, dismissive and self-centred; the same image he often projected to the world. The question was, to what purpose?The irony wasn’t lost on Clark. After all, his own cover had a duplicitous nature. The mild-mannered, clumsy reporter act was just that — an act. Calculated and effective. But Clark  did  have something to hide; it was a necessary part of his cover, crucial to protect his identity and safeguard the safety of the people he loved most. What could  Bruce Wayne  possibly have to hide?
  
  
*** The water sluicing down Clark’s body did nothing to relieve the tension in his muscles. He sighed and leaned his hands against the shower tiles. The day’s exhaustion seemed to be reaching all the way down to his bones, a kind of ache that should not be possible. He closed his eyes and noticed the pattern of his breathing, lungs expanding with air before he exhaled. He reached for the body wash and applied a small amount to his hand; the smell hit him almost immediately. His senses were heightened and it nearly made him gag. He focused on lathering his body, trying to massage the sore spots on his shoulders. It provided little relief; instead, it reminded him how long it had been since he’d been touched, how much he craved connection and contact. Maybe it was just what he needed to release the tension building up inside of him. Clark allowed his hand to travel down, reaching for his neglected c@ck. He felt the weight of it in his hand, rubbing his palm against the head before beginning to stroke. His c@ck responded to the touch with almost embarrassing immediacy, and it wasn’t long before he found a comfortable rhythm. He bit his lip as the pressure began to build. It was starting to get good, and maybe, just maybe, Clark could rid himself of this tension— “Superman,” a persistent voice called. Clark halted what he was doing and tried to focus, reorienting himself. “Superman, I have information about Luthor.” Wayne  ? Clark realized.  Oh, f@ck.  Clark used his superspeed to change into his costume before flying out of his window. As he made his way to Gotham, he made sure to stay high enough to be obscured from view. He was mindful of his speed, taking care so as not to break the sound barrier but fly fast enough to be invisible to the human eye. Wayne hadn’t sounded distressed, at least, so there was no need to respond with the same urgency he would to an emergency. When he arrived at Wayne Manor, Clark took a moment to examine the property from up high. It was even more impressive from this height, with its manicured lawns and gothic architecture. This time, the security system and electrical grid were disabled, a clear indication that Wayne had expected Superman to respond. He could hear Wayne’s steady, slow heartbeat as he waited on his balcony. Clark listened for any other sounds or disturbances, wanting to ensure their encounter would not be intercepted this time around. When he was certain there were no other people within a fifty mile radius, Clark descended towards the property, landing quietly in front of Wayne.Wayne raised an eyebrow as he examined him, his gaze scrutinizing. “Why are you wet?”“I was… busy,” Clark said, water from his wet hair dripping into his eye. He felt his cheeks heat and coughed into his hand to cover the blush. “So. You wanted to meet?”“Yes,” Wayne confirmed. “I have information about Luthor.”Clark nodded. “I think it’s safe for us to discuss here. I’ve scanned the area and confirmed there is no one following us. I should have done that before I sought you out last week — I let my guard down and the press took advantage.” “It was a drone that managed to capture the photo,” Wayne said. “It was light and distant enough that my sensors didn’t pick up on it. I’ve addressed the breach and updated my system to make sure it won’t happen again.”“Oh,” Clark said in surprise. Wayne seemed knowledgeable on matters of security, almost as if he was involved in its careful design. “Alright then. Speaking of those rumours… I’ve seen some of your comments. You weren’t exactly quick to deny anything. Why? Why go along with all of it?”Wayne crossed his arms over his chest, his expression inscrutable. “Are you worried about your pristine image? Did I tarnish your reputation by insinuating you could be interested in a man?”“What ?” Clark exclaimed, offended. “Of course not! I’m not even str—” Clark stopped himself from finishing the thought. Really, his sexuality was none of Wayne’s business, and he didn’t need to justify himself to the man. “That’s not it. What I mean is, it draws unnecessary attention to both of us.”“Maybe I should have told them we’re working together to expose Lex Luthor, instead?” Wayne asked sarcastically. Unimpressed, Clark merely glared at him, not intending to dignify it with a response. Wayne straightened his posture and glared before sighing. “I’ve dealt with the media’s intrusiveness and the public’s curiosity since I was a child. These kinds of rumours feed off of mystery and secrecy. If you take that away, you can take control of the narrative — and the story becomes much likelier to fade from the public’s consciousness much quicker.”Clark chewed his lip as he considered this. He had researched Wayne extensively to prepare for their interview, scouring decades-worth of information about his family, company and everything in between. The coverage was sensationalist and revolting, especially regarding his parents’ murder; the way the press hounded a ten year old boy for a comment on the most traumatic moment of his life made Clark ashamed of his profession. It was no wonder Wayne had left Gotham at the age of fourteen; what Clark wondered was why he bothered returning to the city that had caused him so much pain.It made sense, of course, that Wayne was adept at handling the media circus. It’s a skill he had no choice but mastering for his own self-preservation. Clark bowed his head at the realization, shame tugging at the pit of his stomach. It was true that Wayne knew nothing about him, but so was the reverse; it would do him well to extend some compassion and grace towards the man. “All right,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll trust your word on that.”Wayne’s gaze was sharp as it examined him. For just a brief moment, Clark was certain it focused on his mouth; he felt heat flush his cheeks once again when he realized he was still gnawing at his bottom lip. “So. What did you find on Luthor?”“You were right — he has an inside source at Wayne Enterprises,” Wayne confirmed, handing Clark a thin folder. The skin on his knuckles was raw and reddened, like he had cut it open on something. Boxing, maybe? “Doctor Erwin Rebos, one of our leading scientists. His record is as clean as they come, not even a speeding ticket to his name. That story changes when you track his digital footprint over the past two years — activity he had been careful to cover behind multiple pseudonyms.”Clark flipped through the folder, his lips pursing as he studied its contents. There were screenshots from sock social media accounts, calling for metahumans to be prosecuted and locked up, inciting violence in the name of ‘banishing the extraterrestrial threat from Earth.’ Thousands of dollars in donations to anti-alien organizations. Blog posts about the ‘invasion of aliens masquerading as heroes’ with photos of Superman plastered across the page. “Not my biggest fan, then.”“That’s not all,” Wayne announced, his expression tight. “Based on the equipment they were using and the patented formulas they’ve been modifying, I have a theory as to what Luthor and Rebos are trying to accomplish.”“I’m guessing it’s not for the purpose of benevolent medical discovery,” Clark ventured. “They’re experimenting with kryptonite,” Wayne said. Clark felt a chill go down his spine. “They’re synthesizing the mineral in an effort to compound its effects and discover new properties. If I’m right, they intend to create a more potent and more lethal weapon against you.”A shiver went down Clark’s spine as he listened to the information. In the short five years he had been Superman, he had only ever been exposed to green kryptonite a handful of times. Still, he could vividly recall the pain and anguish that spread throughout his body; the fever that disoriented him instantly, the way his vision blurred and his powers felt out of his control. The way his muscles turned weaker and weaker until he could do nothing but collapse, the pain radiating down to his very bones. He hoped he would never have to endure it again. Silence stretched between them.“How did they even manage to get ahold of kryptonite?” Clark wondered aloud. Even for someone as rich as Lex, the element was hard to come by.“So far, they’ve only managed to procure a minuscule amount, which has prevented them from making any real headway with the project. But,” Wayne paused, his eyes grave. “LuthorCorp is scheduled to receive an international shipment within the week, on the same day Robos has requested a leave of absence. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.” “Then I have to stop the shipment,” Clark said determinedly. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Wayne. I appreciate your help on this matter,” he said, turning to leave. He was stopped when Wayne’s fingers wrapped around his elbow, tugging insistently. “Superman, you can’t be serious,” he said, his eyes wide with concern. “This is a suicide mission. You can’t barge in there and hope for the best — you need to think this through, you  need  a solid plan. Let me help.”“With all due respect, Mr. Wayne, you’re only a civilian,” Clark said. “As I said, I do greatly appreciate the information you’ve uncovered and brought to my attention. I can take care of it from here,” he assured. “You said the shipment was expected within the week. Did you happen to find out when?”Wayne seemed to hesitate, squaring his jaw. “Next Thursday,” he finally said.Clark nodded, carefully disentangling himself from Wayne’s grip before taking off to the sky. *** Clark wiped the steam off the glass and looked in the mirror. His skin was flushed from the hot shower, although the reaction was short-lived. He readjusted the towel around his waist and grabbed his glasses from the counter, sliding them over his nose. It was rare that he had a night off, unencumbered by responsibility. The city was quiet tonight and he was thankful for the short reprieve. Of course, crisis and crime had no predictable schedule, so he remained on alert; for now, however, he was looking forward to a slow evening that allowed him to indulge in a good book. He walked into the kitchen and turned on the kettle, reaching for a bag of his favourite chamomile tea. As he was finishing up in the kitchen, he picked up unusual sounds in his apartment. Soft, low-pitched breathes. A steady heartbeat. Someone was in his home. Although Clark rarely used his powers when he was out of costume, his first concern was whether he had done anything incriminating the past few minutes that could have given away his identity.When Clark walked into the living room and found the source of the disturbance, he didn’t even have to fake his surprise — the shock was genuine. There was a dark figure dressed like a bat perched on his windowsill. “Batman ?” Clark questioned. There had long been rumours of a masked vigilante patrolling the streets of Gotham, exacting vengeance on those who turned to crime and bringing them to justice. When sightings were first reported three years ago, Clark had looked into the story but came up with very little. There were never any photos or footage from video surveillance. The few people who claimed to have seen him provided varying, inconsistent descriptions that seemed to edge on paranoia; some insisted he was an all-powerful vampire, while others refused to even speak of him for fear he could be watching. Clark, along with many of his fellow reporters, came to the conclusion it was nothing but an urban legend meant to intimidate and deter the criminal element. “I didn’t think you were real.”“I’m real when it’s useful,” Batman said, his voice mechanical. There was a frequency being emitted from his cowl, a low humming sound. Some type of voice modulator, perhaps? Clark took a moment to examine the man in front of him. His tight-fitting suit cut an imposing figure, made of a combination of armour and triple-weaved kevlar. The symbol of a bat was mounted on his chest plate, serving as an obvious target — a calculated attempt to draw gunfire toward the armour’s thickest, strongest point. The gauntlets on his arms were spiked and could serve as a weapon on their own. The ensemble was completed with a pair of armour boots, a black cape, a yellow utility belt and, of course, the bat-like cowl.Clark was able to draw two conclusions following this careful examination. First, the suit’s expert construction was intended to provide maximal protection against a variety of attacks — which meant the Batman was likely human and non-powered. Second, the crafting and maintenance of such a suit would cost a pretty dime — which meant he had access to money and resources.“What are you doing in my home?Batman took that as an invitation to leave his perch, entering Clark’s living room with a confident step. Stretched to his full height, he was nearly as tall as Clark, maybe an inch between them. He was broad-shouldered, the sheer bulk of him evident even through his impressive suit. Clark was suddenly very aware of the fact he was still half naked, desperately gripping the ratty towel around his hips.“Lex Luthor,” Batman said as he took a step toward Clark, producing a thick manila folder. “You’ve been publicly critical of him and have written a number of articles exposing his dealings in the past year. I have information that, in the right hands, could be valuable to exposing his corruption.”Clark accepted the folder, flipping through the documents and pictures. Hidden offshore accounts pointing to tax evasion. Shady business tactics to sabotage competitors. Violations of labour laws. Silencing anyone coming forward with mistreatment allegations with the use of NDAs. Whatever investigation the Batman had launched, it was thorough. “Why trust me with this?” Clark wondered, meeting the impassive white lenses that passed for his eyes. “Luthor has been escaping consequences for his actions for years. Too many people in power have colluded with his schemes and allowed him to maintain his influence. If anything is going to change, there needs to be public scrutiny and pressure. Right now, the tide of public opinion is in Luthor’s favour,” Batman said. “Yet, you’ve gone on record with your criticism of him. You haven’t been afraid to expose his shady dealings. The information in that folder should give you enough material to continue that work.”“Lex’s money and influence reaches far,” Clark acknowledged with a sigh. “I care about telling the truth and I will use this information to tell it. This is a start, but we are going to need a whole lot more to bring him down.”“I’m working on that,” Batman said. “Luthor has been trafficking and experimenting with kryptonite — which is itself illegal given its classification as an unregulated, hazardous material.” There was nothing Clark wanted more than to finally hold Lex to account. Experience had taught him, however, that rich men like Luthor were experts at manipulation and were often aided by systems and institutions that were structured to protect them. There were too many loopholes he knew to utilize, too many powerful people who stood to gain from his corruption and were therefore motivated to shield him. “Is there any concrete proof of that?” “A number of low-level gangs in Gotham have recently been supplied with kryptonite-powered weapons,” Batman said. “I managed to seize them, but as of now none of it can be traced to Luthor. However, there’s an unmarked shipment expected at the docks tomorrow night. I believe it to contain the largest amount of kryptonite he has been able to procure to date.”“Tomorrow night?” Clark repeated, struggling not to let confusion register on his face. That couldn’t be right. The information Bruce shared with him indicated the shipment was not expected for another three nights. Could he be mistaken? Or worse, could he have purposely misled Clark? He thought back to their conversation, Bruce’s words of caution, his insistence that Superman shouldn’t pursue it alone… Did Bruce decide to  withhold the correct information in an attempt to protect Superman?But if Bruce had lied intentionally, what was his plan for stopping Luthor? Surely he wasn’t intending on intervening on his own? Had he been the one to inform Batman? If both men had money and resources, it was probable they ran in the same circles… in fact, it was possible that Bruce knew Batman's real identity. Unless… but it  couldn’t  be…Except it  could. Rumours of the Batman started months after Bruce Wayne’s return to Gotham. He was the right height and build. He had all the necessary resources. It would explain the need for the gaudy, oblivious public persona…  “I’ll be there to intercept the shipment and whatever Luthor might have planned,” Batman was saying. “There should be no shortage of evidence following that.” “Given that Kryptonite is involved, shouldn’t Superman be part of this?”“That’s precisely why he  can’t  be involved. It’s too dangerous,” Batman said gravelly, his expression twisted in a scowl. When he spoke next, there was a note of warning in his voice. “This stays between us, Kent.”It wasn’t a request, but a command. Clark nodded, feeling duplicitous. He watched as Batman exited through the open window, using a grappling hook to move between rooftops until he disappeared into the night. Clark’s ears were ringing, one persistent thought echoing through his mind.Bruce Wayne was Batman. *** Clark sensed he was being followed the moment he exited the  Daily Planet  offices. He walked down a number of blocks, wondering if the two men tailing him were going to lose interest. When they didn’t let up, he wondered if this was more than a casual crime of opportunity. He walked up to a newstand, staring at the various papers on display, knowing the perps were going to take the opening. Sure enough, a firm hand gripped his shoulder.“Come with us, Kent,” the man said, his voice hoarse and strained like that of a decades-long smoker. He pressed a gun into the small of Clark’s back. “You even think about causing a scene and I’ll blow a hole right through your spine.”Clark paused to consider his options. He could superspeed away and change into his costume before anyone could notice. Given how crowded the streets were, however, he didn’t want to risk these guys becoming trigger-happy and civilians getting hurt. No, the best option was to follow these goons to whatever secluded location they had planned for him and find an opportunity to intervene from there. Besides, they had referred to him by name, which was unusual. The whole set up  reeked  of Luthor’s involvement. Since he always slipped away from Superman’s grasp, maybe this was one instance where Clark Kent could be more effective.“I’ll come with you,” Clark said. “Don’t hurt anyone.”The man behind him snickered. Anticipating what came next, Clark allowed himself to be shoved forward, following the men to an alley a block away. There was a white van parked in the narrow alleyway. Clark rolled his eyes at how cliche the whole thing was. “Now, you better make this nice and easy, or you’re going to get that pretty face of yours all bruised up,” the other man said. Now that they were out of public view, he aimed the gun directly at Clark’s face. With his other hand, he pulled out a pair of heavy-duty flex cuffs, motioning for Clark to bring his wrists together. Clark suppressed a sigh, struggling not to let his frustration show. If he played this right, he reminded himself, Luthor could very well incriminate himself and hand him everything he needed to prove it. He allowed the henchmen to secure the cuffs, keeping his hands very still to ensure he wouldn’t tear through them with a simple movement. The material was itchy against his skin. Next, Clark was loaded into the backseat and a bag was placed over his head. One of the henchmen sat by his side, keeping the gun trained on his temple. When the car started moving, Clark’s suspicions were confirmed; they were headed towards the docks, where Luthor’s shipment was expected. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, mindful of keeping up appearances.“There’s someone that has a few words to exchange with you,” the driver said with a smarmy smile. “Now shut your mouth. Boss said not to kill you, but he didn’t say anything about putting a bullet in your kneecap, smartass.” Clark clenched his fists, nearly dislodging the cuffs in the process. Gosh, he hated bullies. A small part of him almost  wished  one of these @ssh@l@s tried to punch him, although that would be a pretty difficult situation to get out of with his secret identity intact. It was another ten minutes before they arrived at the docks, parking in front of a warehouse that was guarded by another five heavily-armed men. The walls were reinforced with lead, preventing him from seeing what awaited inside. Yeah, this whole operation definitely had Lex written all over it. Clark was unceremoniously shoved out of the vehicle; it was clear the men Lex hired enjoyed roughing people up on his behalf. They entered the warehouse, passing rows of shipping containers on their way to the back. The majority of them contained building materials and construction equipment, three of them stacked full of weaponry and ammunition. Most alarming, however, were the half dozen made of lead.  Lex stood waiting with two of his bodyguards surrounding him. When they reached him, one of the men finally removed the headcovering. Clark squinted as his eyes met Lex’s, feigning surprise.“Lex Luthor,” he said. He didn’t have to fake the disgust in his voice. “Mr. Kent,” Luthor said with an infuriatingly confident smirk. “You’ve had quite the productive few months, haven’t you? Digging into my business, publishing stories about my company and my private affairs, all in an attempt to discredit the Luthor name and turn the public against me.”Clark squared his jaw. “All I did was publish the truth. Perhaps you should reflect on why you’re so keen on hiding it.”Lex laughed. “You have a talent for the telling of detail, Kent, I’ll give you that,” he said. “You paint a picture that sticks in the reader’s mind. That’s a problem for me.  No more stories .”“I’m not going to stop publishing the truth just because you  bark  at me in some dark alley,” Clark snapped. He knew he should be acting intimidated to maintain appearances, but he couldn’t bear to give Lex the satisfaction; he  needed  to know there were people that would stand up to him, that he couldn’t continue causing all this harm with no consequences. “Oh, I’m afraid you won’t have much of a say on that after today,” Lex said firmly. There was no mistaking the threat in his comment. “You think you can make this go away by shutting me up? There are others that will stand up for the truth. No matter what happens to me,  The Daily Planet won’t look away from your crimes —” “Ah, yes, your little newspaper loves tarnishing the people who are trying to make this city better, all the while applauding  freaks  who are not even  human  ,” Lex said, his voice dripping with venom. “You see, that doesn't matter, Kent. I’m afraid we won’t be seeing each other again. You’re right about one thing — it  doesn’t  matter what happens to you. The truth is you’re insignificant.” He paused, his lip quierking into a snarl as he came closer to Clark. “You’re  bait. ”Clark scowled, dangerously close to losing patience as Luthor turned away to face his men. “Kill him once it’s all done. We can’t have any witnesses. In the meantime, you can have your fun with him.” Some of the men snickered, clearly delighted at the permission to unleash their sadism. “You’re not gonna stay for the party, boss?”Lex looked back over his shoulder, examining Clark with a bored expression. “I have more pressing things to attend to. Call me when the alien arrives.” He motioned his two bodyguards to follow him, heading towards the exit. He paused by the door, his shoulders stiff as he looked back at his crew. “Superman doesn’t die until I’ve looked him in the eyes. He doesn’t die until he knows  I’ve won . You understand me?”The henchmen nodded, clearly accustomed to Luthor’s unhinged rants. Satisfied that his threat has been successfully communicated, Lex left the warehouse. Although Clark couldn’t visually track his movement, he listened for his footsteps. When no engine or propeller sounded, Clark concluded Lex was nearby, attending to his shipment in one of the other warehouses on the docks. A part of Clark wanted to laugh at the fact that his own abduction was meant to serve as a distraction while Lex gathered his weaponry, a trap to lure Superman to his death. Unfortunately, it also put him in a genuinely vulnerable situation, and he was going to have to play his cards right. Lex must have supplied his men with kryptonite weapons; at the moment, Clark’s main advantage was the fact they didn’t see the need to use it on his civilian identity.“He’s got you thinking you can take on  Superman  ?” Clark asked, his tone incredulous in the hopes of prying useful information out of the men. “How exactly do you plan on doing  that?”“You leave that part to us, Kent,” one of them responded. He smiled broadly, making his way to Clark. “Your job is to help us get his attention. So make sure you scream nice and loud for us, yeah? What do you say we start with your fingers?” Well, this was bound to get more complicated than Clark had anticipated. His powers were going to be revealed one way or another, so it was best to act while he still had the element of surprise on his side.Just then, Clark’s ears picked up on a subtle change in the radiofrequency coming from the surveillance cameras around the warehouse. Another device was operating on the same frequency, interfering with the signal transmission. Someone was hacking into Luthor’s system.Bruce .Clark heard the roof creak before it collapsed. A small container rolled into the room, creating a plume of smoke that obscured the gunmen’s vision. As if on cue, a dark figure descended from the rubble, immediately grappling on top of one of the higher stacks of shipping containers. Clark’s heart raced in his chest, body gripped with panic. What was Bruce’s endgame, here? There were a dozen men armed with  machine guns . He was only human, he couldn’t seriously be considering taking them on? The situation was quickly turning south, he realized, and he was going to have to interfere. He wasn’t going to risk Bruce’s life to protect his identity.As the men yelled at each other to find the source of the attack, Batman threw a number of small gadgets in their direction in quick succession. They magnetized onto the barrel of each man’s gun, causing some sort of disruption that jammed the weapon, preventing it from firing. Next, Batman jumped down to land behind two of the men; with his cape billowing behind him, he really did look like an urban legend come to life. He used his heavy boot to land a powerful kick behind each man’s knee, sending them toppling to the floor. Clark winced at the sound of bone breaking and their screams of agony. “It’s the Bat!” one of the men yelled, fear evident in his voice. The rest of the gunmen advanced and attempted to fire their weapons, soon realizing they'd been sabotaged and rendered useless. Batman was quick to launch an offensive assault, his movements as swift and elegant as a lightning strike. If Clark didn’t know better, he could have sworn the man had superspeed; his feats of acrobatics were agile and tempoed, choreographed with precision and control. He used his cape to his advantage, swishing it to confuse his enemies and obscuring his attacks. It was easy to see, now, why no one could provide an accurate description of him; he never stayed still enough for anyone to get close. He was brutal and violent, putting necessary strength into his attacks without resorting to lethal force. He used anything in the environment to his advantage, shielding himself behind large objects while launching anything he could grab at the assailants. He used his numerous gadgets like an extension of himself, launching his grappling hook to knock the enemies off their feet, sending them crashing into walls and colliding with various objects. Before long, over half of the crew was neutralized, only five of them remaining.With his location now exposed, the remaining henchmen turned their attention to Batman. Bruce took the opportunity to attack the two men circling his right, ramming into them like a tank, using his shoulder to knock them down. His very body was a weapon, brutal and efficient. As he pummelled them unconscious, the third henchman circled from behind, producing a handgun and aiming it at Bruce’s head. Ready to interfere, Clark was left in awe when Batman’s reflexes proved quicker; he grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled upwards just as the gun fired, sending it aiming at the ceiling. He quickly moved his grip to the man’s elbow, twisting his arm until the joint broke, the gun sliding out of his grip. The man grunted in pain but managed to gather enough gusto to headbutt Batman, knocking him off balance.  The fourth and fifth men ran to join the action, using the momentum to pull on Batman’s cape and knock him on his back. Both men pulled knives out of their jackets, setting a dual attack meant to disorient and exhaust Batman. Even flailing on the floor, Bruce seemed calm as he used his gauntlets to deflect the attacks, using his elbows to counter and strike the assailants. He used momentum to forcefully launch his right boot straight into one’s guy kneecap before swinging his hip to perform a roundhouse kick, landing a direct blow on the other guy’s face. He managed to spring back onto his feet before the henchmen did, quickly rendering them unconscious with a few additional blows.Clark watched in disbelief as Batman walked towards him, casually stepping over the unconscious bodies strewn about. He had just witnessed a single, human man take on a squad of twelve expertly-trained and armed men.“Kent,” Batman— Bruce—  said as he approached. Up close, Clark couldn’t help but admire the way his cowl emphasized the sharp cut of his jaw. With only the lower part of his face on display, Clark found himself staring at his mouth, the full shape of his lips. The same tiny, silver scar he had noticed at the Manor curved into the fold of his skin.  Bruce , Clark thought again, unable to identify the warm feeling that unfolded in his chest.“You’re not supposed to be here.”“Didn’t exactly have a choice,” Clark responded with a shrug, still baffled by what had transpired.There was a sudden, gentle tug on his wrist, his skin feeling like it was on fire.  Why was Bruce touching him,  he wondered, the sound of his own heartbeat pulsating in his ear. Oh, he thought as he looked down at the cuffs that were, miraculously, still bounding his wrists together. He was surprised he hadn’t accidentally broken them. Batman produced a sharp tool from his belt, using it to cut through the material. Clark rubbed at his free wrists.“Thank you,” he said awkwardly. “You need to get out of here,” Batman said gruffly, turning away with a flutter of his cape. “There’s no telling what else Luthor could have planned.”“Are you insane  ?” Clark responded defensively. “I’m not leaving. The whole point is to  expose  Lex. I need to be a part of this in order to report on it.”“Lex and the rest of his men already escaped, thanks to you,” Batman said coldly.Clark grabbed Batman’s shoulder to stop him in his tracks. “Thanks to  me ?” he questioned with a scowl, equally offended and alarmed.Batman looked down at the place where Clark’s hand closed around his shoulders, his mouth turned down in a frown as he noted the strong grip. Clark allowed his hand to drop back to his side. “If you hadn’t gone and recklessly gotten yourself  kidnapped , I wouldn’t have to make a choice between saving you and detaining Luthor.”Clark frowned. “Do you always blame the people you help for  inconveniencing  you?” he wondered. Batman simply grunted in response. Clark sighed and rubbed at his forehead, feeling guilty. Maybe he  should  have suited up for this. “Alright, so Lex escaped,” Clark acknowledged. “The kryptonite shipment is still here, isn’t it?”“It is,” Batman allowed after a brief pause. “I need to secure it, and you need to  leave .”“I’m staying,” Clark insisted through clenched teeth, staring Batman down. He had to confirm it with his own eyes, had to know what he was up against, and mostly importantly he  had to ensure that Lex could never get his hands on it. It was Batman’s turn to sigh. Clark was certain Bruce was rolling his eyes behind those stupid lenses. “Fine,” he said at last, resuming his stride across the warehouse. “But you stay behind me and follow  my  lead.”As they exited the warehouse and walked through the docks, Clark noted even more of Lex’s men tied up and unconscious. Batman must have taken them out before learning where they had been keeping Clark. Finally, they arrived in front of the last warehouse, another lead-reinforced enclosure. “You get two minutes, Kent,” Batman said as they walked through the door. “In and out, you understand? That should be more than enough to verify whatever information you need for your article. Then I want you out of my way.”Clark rolled his eyes and followed, taking stock of the room. It had fewer shipping containers than the other warehouse, but they were larger and all lead-lined. Clark was horrified by what Lex could have done with this amount of kryptonite. Batman led them through the room, scanning evidence with the computer embedded in his cowl as they went along. They advanced towards the back, where the largest container was located. Bruce pried open the lid, and Clark managed to step back quickly, hoping he would be far enough away for any exposure to the mineral.“It’s empty,” Bruce said, sounding perplexed. He moved to examine more of the containers. “They’re  all  empty.”Clark stepped forward to take a look, momentarily relieved. Had the shipment been a hoax, then? What else could Lex be planning?As they continued to search the back of the room, Clark heard a small hissing sound coming from the ventilation system. Almost immediately, Clark’s vision started to swim, a persistent ringing sounding in his ears. He thought Bruce was trying to say something, but Clark couldn’t focus on the words; his head felt foggy, his mind dazed. There was an unusual tickling sensation spreading in his throat. There was a sudden soreness in his muscles, the uncomfortable twitching paralyzing in its intensity“The room is filling up with some sort of kryptonite gas,” Batman said.  Oh, that sounded pretty bad. “Odourless and colourless. Virtually undetectable, even for someone with enhanced senses. Luthor set this whole thing up as a trap for Superman. This level of exposure would kill him in  seconds .”“Oh,” Clark managed to say, chest caving with sudden pressure.  This was bad . His legs felt wobbly and he tripped over his feet as he tried to regain balance.Clark collapsed onto his knees, searing pain burning into his flesh and bones. The tickling in his throat was no longer a minor inconvenience, but a full-on obstruction lodged in his airway. His body was seized by violent spasms as his lungs struggled to take in oxygen. He began coughing uncontrollably, covering the concrete floor with red, bright splatters of blood. His hands shook, the veins under the skin turning a vivid, poisonous green as the kryptonite circulated throughout his system. “Kent!” Batman called, but it was  Bruce’s  voice Clark could hear under the modulator. There was a strong grip on his shoulders, shaking them to get his attention. Clark’s head felt woozy, his neck limp and heavy. He couldn’t find the strength to meet Bruce’s gaze, staring instead at the Bat emblem on his chest. “Kent, look at me,” Bruce repeated, his voice gentler than it had ever been. He placed his fingers under Clark’s chin, tilting his face up. Clark could only wheeze, the metallic taste of blood heavy on his lips. He imagined the circulation in his face carried the same green hue that was so prominent on his hands. Bruce’s gloved hand reached for Clark’s glasses, removing them with extreme care. “Superman,” he said, his mouth tight. It was impossible to decipher any emotion behind his white, impassive lenses. Even if it was, Clark’s hazy mind wouldn’t allow him to register it. Clark was certain he would lose consciousness any second. He welcomed it, looking forward to the moment that he was no longer subjected to the agonizing pain. This was it, he realized; only seconds left. If this was his death, at least he could find solace in the fact that Batman would ensure Luthor faced justice. He wouldn’t allow him to hurt anyone else.The next thing he knew, Clark was staring into Bruce’s face as his hands hovered over his face. The cold lenses of the Bat were gone, and instead it was Bruce Wayne’s grey, intense eyes blinking back at him, sweat on his brow. His hair was dishevelled, sticking to his forehead in dark clumps. Clark smiled at the sight, allowing his eyes to lull shut. There was a feeling of pressure on the back of his head and neck. Bruce was trying to fit something over his head, he realized, wondering why he would be doing that. He was so tired.“Filtration activated,” someone was saying into Clark’s ear. The voice sounded robotic. Clark wondered if the gas Lex synthesized could be responsible for auditory hallucinations. There was something covering his mouth, he noted, and it was somewhat easier to breathe.“The cowl has a filtration system,” Bruce was saying, his voice sounding distant. “It should prevent you from inhaling any more of the toxins, but we need to get you out of here so you can heal.”Clark opened his eyes, looking at the lines on Bruce’s face, creased with tension. “Here,” he said, taking Clark’s arm to position over his shoulder. “F@ck,” he cursed as he took the full brunt of his weight and started pulling him along. Clark tried to help as much he could, focusing on shifting one foot in front of the other. Bruce dragged them along, his movements quick and efficient. When they made it out of the warehouse, it was a relief to breathe a lungful of Metropolis’ urban air. When the voice in the cowl announced there were no longer remnants of gas detected, Clark reached to remove it. He took a number of deep breaths, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal. The colour returned to his skin as his body healed itself, his veins returning to their normal blue as the poison was filtered out. “Thank you,” he said to Bruce, handing over the cowl.Bruce accepted it silently. There was a tense, inscrutable expression on his face before he fit the cowl over it. His fists were clenched by his side, body radiating with anger. Clark watched his face for any flicker of emotion.“You stupid, reckless idiot,” Bruce finally said. Clark frowned, watching this carefully-controlled man unravel with rage, his body all but shaking with it. “You  walked  right into Luthor’s trap,  right  into a warehouse full of kryptonite that could  kill  you!”’Clark’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he remained quiet. Bruce had just carried him out of a deadly situation, adrenaline rushing through his body. He was allowed a moment to compose himself.“You stupid, reckless  idiot ,” Bruce repeated, voice only marginally softer. “That’s a bit redundant,” Clark commented with a frown. “They mean the same thing, surely I don’t need to be insulted with  both —”Bruce’s fingers wrapped around the collar of his shirt, yanking him forward until their faces were barely an inch apart. Clark could hardly register whatever was going on before Bruce fit their mouths together, biting at his lips like it was punishment. Clark’s body reacted quicker than his brain, returning the kiss, grabbing at Bruce’s lower back to slot them even closer together. The batsuit was stiff and unforgiving against his chest, but Clark could still feel Bruce’s racing heartbeat behind the kevlar. They broke the kiss at the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. Clark could hardly tear his eyes away from the slick shine on Bruce’s lips.“You need to go,” he managed to say with difficulty, swiping his thumb under Bruce’s bottom lip to wipe away the moisture. “I’ll stay and give a statement to the cops.”“Luthor is long gone,” Bruce said. “Probably on his way out of the country.”“Probably,” Clark acknowledged. “But there’s more than enough to charge him with, now, and his public reputation will be ruined.”“The article you’re going to write,” Bruce started tersely, clenching his jaw. “I—”“I’ll leave you out of it,” Clark assured with a nod.  He moved his hand to cup Bruce’s cheek, the angle of his jaw. “Your secret’s safe with me, Bruce. Thank you for saving my life.” Bruce guarded his secret identity with great care, and with good reason; it was the very thing that protected the people he loved, his family. In effect, when he decided to save Clark’s life by removing his cowl, knowing his secret would be jeopardized, he entrusted him with his greatest vulnerability. Bruce bowed his head and cleared his throat. He reached for a compartment in his utility belt, handing Clark his glasses. “You’ll need these.” Clark slid the frames on his face, watching as Bruce grappled onto the closest roof, running along its length before leaping to the next one. Soon, he was out of sight, disappearing into the night. *** Clark walked through the gate of Wayne Manor, inspecting its gothic architecture and carefully-maintained lawns. When he reached the front door, he rapped his knuckles against the wood, his stomach tight with anticipation. The door opened a moment later, and Clark was surprised at the anxiety that greeted him. “Hi,” he said to the boy, trying for a shy smile. “Were you the one to open the gate for me?”The child nodded, motioning for Clark to enter and stepping aside to allow him inside. “You’re Mr. Superman,” he said with enthusiasm, his eyes as bright and excited as they’d been the first time Clark had visited. “Oh,” he said, his mouth suddenly turning downwards. “Maybe I’m not supposed to know that.”“I am,” Clark responded easily with a friendly smile, removing his glasses. He crouched onto one knee so they would be at the same height and offered his hand. “My name’s Clark. Or Kal, although not very many people call me that.”Clark felt relieved when the boy accepted the handshake and his toothy grin returned. “I’m D@ck. It’s short for Richard, but only Alfred’s allowed to call me that.”Clark laughed, instantly charmed by the boy’s humour and easy temperament. “It’s nice to meet you, D@ck. You’ve got quite the powerful grip.”“Thanks!” he responded, beaming with pride. “I’ve been training!”“I can tell,” Clark said seriously. “Hey, D@ck, I was hoping to speak to your dad. Do you think you could get him for me?”D@ck nodded but bit his lip, seemingly hesitant when he spoke. “We’re not really related,” he confided, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and sad. There were notes of shame and guilt that Clark recognized all too well. “But Bruce says that family is more than blood.”“I see,” Clark said. “You know, I’m adopted, too.” “You  are?” D@ck asked, eyes wide as saucers. Clark nodded. “My biological parents died when I was just a baby. I still miss and love them very much. I was adopted by a wonderful family in Kansas and I love them very much, too. It’s taken me a while to learn that it’s okay to embrace and be proud of that. That all of these pieces are what make me who I am.”D@ck listened with rapt attention, his eyes shining. Clark smiled in reassurance, reaching to ruffle his hair.Bruce cleared his throat as he descended down the stairs. “D@ck,” he called softly, his voice warm and patient. It was easy to hear the love he had for this boy. “It’s time to get ready for bed, please.”“Okay,” D@ck agreed easily. “Bye, Clark,” he said as he went up the stairs, and Clark waved at him. Clark straightened to his full height and rubbed the back of his nape, feeling self-conscious. He had no doubt that Bruce had heard his exchange with D@ck. “I, uh, hope that wasn’t out of line,” he said.Bruce shook his head. “I think it helps him to talk about it openly,” he reflected. “There aren’t many people who can relate to his situation.”“Yeah,” Clark acknowledged, feeling oddly vulnerable. He looked around the room, taking in the expanse of the living-room. “This is a much better view than your balcony,” he joked, hoping to alleviate some of the tension he felt.“Mmh,” Bruce acknowledged with a hum, looking Clark up and down. “I think  your living-room had my favourite view, actually.”Clark blushed, mortified at the memory of facing a fully-suited Batman in nothing but a tattered towel. Thankfully, Bruce didn’t wait for a response before changing the subject.“I read your article,” he said, his tone serious. “Thorough and convincing. Luthor might be on the run, but he won’t be able to escape this for long.”“I’m sure it won’t be the last we hear from him,” Clark said, “but we’ll be there to stop him.”Bruce nodded, his expression grave. “There is something I’ve been wondering about,” he said.  Me too,  Clark thought.  When are you going to kiss me again? “Oh?”“Back at the docks,” Bruce said, and Clark’s heart skipped a beat. “You weren’t surprised when you saw my face under the cowl. You already knew, didn’t you?”“Oh, ahm,” Clark said, stomach dropping with disappointment. “Yeah, I did.”“How?” Brows raised, Clark met Bruce’s eyes. Wasn’t it obvious? “Well, I am  an investigative journalist, Bruce.”Clark detailed his thought process, the evidence that helped him arrive at his conclusion. He watched something dark and feral unfurl behind Bruce’s eyes.“Are you mad that I figured it out?” he wondered. “I assure you, it’s a solid cover, you haven't been compromised, it’s just that—” For a second time, Bruce surprised him when he crowded him up against the wall, swallowing any words he had left with his lips. Clark reciprocated with enthusiasm, finding Bruce’s tongue with his own. This kiss was different, lacking the desperation of a near-death experience, but full of promise. Full of  more.So Batman had a competence kink. Clark thought he might just be okay with it.'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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