Chapter Text
GLITZ, GLAMOR, AND GENEROSITY: THE THOMAS WAYNE FOUNDATION GALA
By Clark Kent
Bruce’s eyes narrowed at the computer screen as he read through the Daily Planet article posted by one Clark Kent two days after the charity gala.
. . . hosted and attended by Bruce Wayne and his ward Richard Grayson. . .
. . . every attendee dressed to the nines and raising proceeds for medical services. . .
“It’s a family event,” Wayne said. “Family is very important to me.”
Bruce’s jaw ticked as he thought over every aspect of that night, remembering he had said those words to Jack and Janet Drake when they made a remark about the presence of children at the benefit. He had meant it as a dig at them not bringing their son Timothy, and he hadn’t anticipated many people overhearing it, especially not the reporter Bruce had elected to keep an eye on. Not that he minded that people had overheard his belittling, but of course, it was that damned reporter.
Since Bruce had put Dick to bed that night, he had kept an active eye on every article published by the Daily Planet, through subscribing directly to their web service and following their Twitter account. He wasn’t going to miss Kent’s article. And he was going to see if Kent was a man of his word.
And after reading through the article, Bruce didn’t find a single hint of Dick’s panic attack nor Bruce’s threat. Bruce did notice, however, that Kent played into the family angle throughout the entire piece.
Yes, the Thomas Wayne Foundation was made by Bruce in honor of the hard work his father had put into Gotham’s medical services, continuing with Thomas’s previous efforts to provide every government building in the city with state-of-the-art first aid kits and renovating the hospitals every few years to keep them up-to-date and filled with only the best medical equipment, but also to open and fund various free clinics around the city and provide adequate nurse’s stations in schools.
But. . . but no reporter ever focused on the symbolism of it all.
No reporter ever mentioned the way Bruce treated the children at public events.
No reporter ever drew the lines between Bruce’s care toward his father’s honorary charity foundation to Bruce taking in a child.
No reporter ever talked about Bruce’s charitable efforts in Gotham with such respect and care.
Just who the hell was Clark Kent?
The moment the question passed through his thoughts, and to ignore his more indecent ones, Bruce began digging into the mystery of the strange, attractive reporter that hadn’t taken a cheap shot at Dick despite the ample opportunity to do so.
Clark Kent, age 25, was born and raised in Smallville, Kansas to Jonathan and Martha Kent, and moved to Metropolis at age 18 when he was accepted into Metro U, graduated, and then accepted into an internship-turned-full-time job at the Daily Planet, and he had been living in Metropolis ever since. Aside from a LinkedIn and Twitter, the man had no social media presence, and what little he did have was incredibly boring, filled with re-tweeted political articles and the occasional writer’s block meme.
By all accounts, Kent was a simple, average young man who had moved from a rural town to the big city to start his life. But that still didn’t explain why Kent cared so damn much. Or why him caring turned on Bruce so damn much.
Bruce needed a closer look.
The last thing Perry White was expecting during a standard Tuesday workday at the Daily Planet was a call from Bruce Wayne’s assistant.
He almost thought he was being punked.
But he checked and double-checked the phone number, and yeah, it was the number they had on file for the secretary’s desk at Wayne Enterprises in Gotham from the last time they had reached out to try and get a quote or an interview. So, Perry knew he wasn’t being pranked, but then he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why the hell they were calling.
Okay, the why was technically easy to figure out considering it was one of the first things the assistant had brought up after Perry answered the phone, but on the other hand, there were a million other why’s.
Why was Bruce Wayne wanting an interview in the first place? Why was he wanting one specifically for himself and his ward? Why had he changed his mind about giving interviews and quotes? Why that random Tuesday? Why now? Why the Daily Planet? Why not Gotham Gazette? Why not the Daily Star?
Perry did his best to steel his emotions and confusion in order to jot down every bit of information the assistant had given before he said, “I would be delighted to send over my best reporter.”
“Oh, no, no, sir,” the assistant quickly said, and Perry’s hand froze over his notepad. “Mr. Wayne has requested a specific reporter to conduct this interview.”
“Who?” Perry couldn’t stop himself from blurting. Please be Lane, please be Lane, echoed in his mind.
“Mr. Wayne would like to request Clark Kent.”
Kent. . . Kent. Kent?
What?
Clumsy, bumbling Kent. Kent who couldn’t keep his mouth shut about political and economic opinions to save his life. Kent who never seemed to care about any celebrity gossip. Kent who could sniff out something fishy from under ten tons of fish guts. Kent who always got into arguments with another Daily Planet reporter, Steve Lombard. Kent who would be absolutely eaten alive if he were alone in a room with the charming, provocative billionaire Bruce Wayne.
Perry had every faith in Kent’s investigative skills. Some of the things he managed to find were leagues ahead of what Lois could dig up even if she was the far superior writer and a much more persuasive speaker.
But an interview with Bruce Wayne and his ward? Perry didn’t trust him not to get into an argument regarding the morality of hoarding money and resources as he had done on a few occasions with Lex Luthor and Simon Stagg, on separate occasions.
The line was silent for a few moments before Perry finally asked, “May I ask why Mr. Wayne has requested Clark Kent?”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Wayne neglected to provide an explanation for his request,” the assistant answered.
The assistant kept saying ‘request’, but Perry knew with certainty that it wasn’t a request. It was a demand. The only way the Daily Planet was getting an exclusive interview with Bruce Wayne and his ward was if it was conducted by Clark Kent. And the last thing Perry wanted was for Wayne to decide to reach out to the Gotham Gazette or Daily Star instead.
“Of course,” Perry conceded. “Mr. Kent will gladly take on the interview. When has Mr. Wayne requested it take place?”
“All the details regarding scheduling, transportation, and lodging will be sent to your email shortly. If you could internally forward it along to Mr. Kent, that would be much appreciated.”
Perry felt like he was having an out-of-body experience as he exchanged pleasant farewells with the assistant before hanging up. The only thing that shocked him out of it was the notification popping up on his screen telling him he had received an email.
Upon clicking it, Perry read that Wayne was paying for every expense. A round-trip train ticket, leaving Metropolis on Thursday in the early afternoon and returning on Monday in the late afternoon. A reservation for those four nights at a five-star hotel that Wayne Enterprises owned. A note explaining complementary hotel room service and a driver that would take Kent to and from Wayne Manor for the interview on Friday as well as to and from the train station for his arrival and departure from Gotham.
Really, all Kent had to do was show up, and all Perry had to do was know that he wouldn’t be coming into the office on Friday or Monday and would be leaving early on Thursday.
Something was definitely up.
“Kent!” Perry called toward the door as he stood up from his chair. “Get in here!”
He knew he’d be heard, and he knew Kent would come running. Kent’s people pleasing tendencies may annoy him on occasion, but at times they were helpful when needing quick action. It also helped that he ignored the curious stares of his coworkers.
When Kent walked in, Perry said, “Close the door,” before Kent could say anything.
Upon closing the door, Kent asked, “Is something wrong, Mr. White?” There was the sound of slight worry in his voice, worry that he had done something bad.
Perry sat on the edge of his desk as he looked at Kent. “Would you like to explain why I just received a call from Bruce Wayne’s assistant requesting that you conduct an interview for Wayne and his kid?”
Kent’s face blanched, though it still held an underlying layer of confusion. And when he offered no response, Perry continued.
“Somehow you managed to secure an exclusive interview with someone who doesn’t give any,” Perry said. “Bruce Wayne has declined every single interview attempt from every major news outlet ever since the ridiculous attempt of one when he was fifteen. Ever since then, no one has received so much as five minutes alone with him and has only gotten statements directly from his PR staff or quick, superficial, sometimes outright ridiculous quotes at events. The last time he gave a meaningful quote that wasn’t regurgitated from his staff was after going to court to get custody of his kid, and that was off-handed and over a year ago.
“And somehow, after your first and only gala attendance, Bruce Wayne requests you, by name, for an interview with not only himself but also his ward—his assistant was quite clear on that. His ward that, might I remind you, hasn’t been in any interviews, has only been to a small handful of public events, and is generally kept away from any and all reporters with Wayne or their butler standing as a brick wall between them.”
Perry waited a moment for all of what he said to fully sink in with Kent who was simply standing there in shock and confusion. Truly, the man had very little of a poker face.
Perry crossed his arms over his chest. “I hope in your silence that you’re coming up with a reasonable answer for me because at this point, I have nothing else but a question as to just what you had to do in order to get this opportunity.”
A beat passed before Kent’s cheeks flared bright red, his eyes widening as he realized what Perry was insinuating.
“No, no, no,” Kent quickly said, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I didn’t do anything of the sort, sir. I swear to you, nothing unprofessional happened between myself and Mr. Wayne at the gala. Or ever, at all.”
If it was anyone else, Perry might have dug further, assuming they were lying, but it was Kent. Not once had Kent ever even remotely glanced down a woman’s blouse by accident, which had to be hard to do considering the man’s height. For as long as Perry had known him since his time as an intern, Kent had been nothing but professional and amicable towards everyone around him, even the people who obviously pissed him off. The man had even interceded on the behalf of his female coworkers when they were the subject of unwanted attention and rude personal questions.
Perry had also never seen him accept any advances from anyone (dates, numbers, or otherwise), easily passing over any attempts at flirting done by various coworkers, employees at coffee shops, and even a few people that Kent had been questioning for stories. He'd once thought Kent and Lane had a relationship, but that thought hadn’t popped up until months after their actual attempt at dating.
No, Kent hadn’t slept with Bruce Wayne. But something must have happened for Wayne to change his mind regarding interviews.
“So, what the hell happened?” Perry asked. “Why does Bruce Wayne want an interview and only with you?”
Kent paused, the once prominent blush receding as he glanced up in thought. Then he grew apprehensive. Then he sighed. It wasn’t filling Perry up with much hope.
“Something did happen at the gala,” Kent said, focusing again on Perry. “But nothing like that.” Perry uncrossed his arms, folding them patiently in his lap as he waited for Kent’s story. “I was off to the side looking through my notes when I heard something. So, I went to check it out, and I found Richard Grayson having a panic attack in the corner.”
Perry certainly wasn’t expecting to hear something like that. He sat up straighter, intently focusing on Kent’s words.
“I didn’t want to leave him alone, so I helped him with it,” Kent explained. “I helped him steady his breathing, talking him through it until he could breathe normally again. And when he was okay, I asked him if he wanted me to get someone for him, but before I could, Mr. Wayne and his butler found us.” He shrugged, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. “At first it was fine. He got Richard to smile and sent him on his way with their butler, but then it was like a switch flipped the moment he got me alone.”
Perry narrowed his eyes at the wording, but even though his thoughts went one way, apparently, he was very wrong.
“The first thing he tried to do was bribe me,” Kent said. “Pulled out his checkbook to, er, keep me from writing about what happened.” Based on the stilted wording, Perry had a feeling he was quoting Wayne. “I turned it down.” Then he perked up, realizing how that sounded. “Not because I wanted to write about it! I told him it wasn’t necessary because I wasn’t going to write about it anyway. It took a while to convince him I was being honest, but when that was done, he threatened me. He wasn’t specific about how, but I can imagine he meant something about ruining my career or reputation. And that’s about it. He left after that.”
Kent awkwardly nodded to himself and looked at the floor. Perry had a feeling there might have been a little more to it, but at the very least, that was the overall gist of Kent and Wayne’s interaction.
Perry imagined, based on Kent’s comparison to flipping like a switch, that Wayne had been intimidating and not like his usual drunk yet charming, suave, persuasive self. And the man had dropped all pretense when there was no one else around.
Hm, Kent may have just stumbled onto something about Wayne’s personality. Perry always had a feeling something hadn’t fully added up about the man’s nightlife compared to his business and charity side.
But something else remained. Kent turned down an attempted bribery on Wayne’s part.
Perry pinched the bridge of his nose. “You may have a heart, Kent, but you’re also rather dumb,” he said, watching as Kent had to restrain himself from voicing offense. “There were likely many zeroes on that check, and you could have taken it considering you weren’t going to write about it anyway.”
“It would’ve felt dishonest,” Kent said.
Dishonest. Coming from a reporter.
Perry sighed and said, “Your heart of gold may have just landed you the interview of the century. You weren’t a sadistic vulture, like those at the Gazette, and now, you’re being rewarded.”
“It doesn’t feel like a reward so much as another bribe,” Kent pointed out.
“I don’t care what it feels like,” Perry quietly snapped. “You’re doing the interview.”
“But, Mr. White, I don’t do regular interviews,” Kent argued. “I have no idea—”
Perry cut him off. “Figure it out, Kent.” He stood from the edge of his desk, walking around it back to his chair. “You’re not going to squander this opportunity just because it’s a little out of your comfort zone. Going out of your comfort zone is what got you into it in the first place. So, you’re going to accept the transportation and lodging that Wayne is providing, you’re going to attend the interview, and you’re going to write the best damn article that you’ve ever written, or you’ll be on the fashion rotation for the next month. Understood?”
Kent visibly wanted to say more but stopped himself with a simple, “Yes, Mr. White.”
Perry rested his hands on the back of his chair. “Anything else?”
“Do you have any advice for the interview?”
Perry pulled out his chair and sat down as he spoke. “You’re a good investigator, Kent, but the point of an interview is to allow the interviewee to open up about their point of view and their story, not to dig deeper and close them off.” He paused, looking up at Kent. “You helped the kid through a panic attack, so he should be comfortable around you. That’s good. Use it, but don’t abuse it.”
“I won’t,” Kent said. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’ll do just fine,” Perry reassured. And with a few clicks of a button, Perry forwarded the email from Wayne’s assistant to Kent. “Go check your email.”
Kent nodded and quickly left.
On Clark’s way out of Perry’s office, he was waylaid by Lois who began following him.
“What did you do, Smallville?” she asked.
He didn’t need to look at her to know she had the viciously curious expression on her face—the one she always got when she sensed an extremely interesting story.
“I. . . I got an interview,” Clark said vaguely, as he sat in his chair at his desk.
Lois narrowed her eyes at him. “What? With who?” she asked.
Clark didn’t answer her as he opened up his email to see an email from Wayne Enterprises at the top of his inbox. Lois moved around him to look over his shoulder as he opened it.
Lois gasped. “Oh, my god. You have an interview with—”
“Shhh!” Clark quickly interrupted. He knew she hadn’t meant to be loud with her exclamation, but he didn’t want her to finish that statement, and for good reason. He looked around to see a few glances from their coworkers before turning back to her and speaking in a low voice. “Keep it down. I don’t want to be hounded by everyone.”
Lois glared at him. “Maybe you should be. How the hell did you get this?” She then thought for a moment, slowly donning a look of realization. “Wait. . .” A sly smile pulled at her lips.
He knew her line of thinking was exactly what Perry had thought.
“Stop it,” he told her. “That’s not it at all. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
Lois playfully rolled her eyes and leaned on his desk. “If you didn’t sleep with him to get an interview then what did you do?”
“I was nice.” She looked at him in disbelief, and he sighed. “I was nice to Richard.”
“Richard?” she repeated. “Who’s—oh, his ward? You actually got close enough to the ward he’s super protective of?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re still not telling me everything.”
Clark lightly shrugged. “It’s not exactly something I should be telling anyone.” And he only told Perry because he felt like he had to.
Lois gave him a long look. “Something happened,” she said. He nodded. “And you helped.” He nodded again, and so she did too. “Okay. What do you need from me?”
“Really, that’s it?” Clark asked.
Lois smacked him on the upper arm. “I’m not going to ruin this for you. What do you need?”
He shrugged again, that time sheepishly. “All my interviews are interrogations.”
“I’ll come over with takeout after work and help you figure out questions to prepare,” she said. “But remember, since Wayne never gives interviews, he might have ground rules about what you’re allowed and not allowed to ask, so we’ll need to have a wide range just in case.”
Oh, he could kiss her. “Thanks, Lo.”
“Anything else?”
“Some advice would be great.”
“I sometimes forget that you’ve only been doing this for two years,” Lois said off-handedly.
Clark had no idea how to react to that, so he waited as she made a humming noise and then continued to speak.
“Be professional, be courteous, and be flexible,” she easily rattled off. “You’ll go in with a list full of questions, but it might end up going in a completely different direction, just like for your regular ones. But you’ll need to be more easy-going with these ones. Comfortable, not matter-of-fact. Questions should be open-ended and not accusatory. You need to connect with them. And don’t dress like you did for the gala. Go for more business casual to seem professional but trustworthy.”
Clark let out a long sigh. “Really wish you were coming with me to this.”
“No, you don’t. Look at your itinerary.” She pointed at the train times and hotel reservation listed on the screen. “Three full days and four nights in Gotham, all paid for. I doubt the interview will last for more than one or two of those. He’s really making it worth your while to go which gives you plenty of time to do what you really want.” She gave him a knowing look. “Just, please be careful scoping the streets for the Bat.” She lowered her voice even further. “The last thing Metropolis needs is her favorite hero getting into a fight with Gotham’s Dark Knight.”
“I won’t be going as him, just Clark,” he assured.
“That actually makes me more worried. Just Clark has no survival instinct.”
“Hey!”
For two days, Clark was left in a perpetual state of worry and lust. Because of course, Bruce Wayne couldn’t have spent those two days not filling Clark’s hypersensitive ears with his moans at dawn, leaving Clark a near-wreck at work, at home, and when out as Superman.
The only part of the situation that Clark felt at ease with was interacting with Richard again. He seemed like a good kid. Clark didn’t mind the thought of interviewing him, even if he hardly had any experience interviewing children. It was just knowing that he’d be around Wayne again that gave him pause. And he wasn’t kidding when he told Perry that it felt like another bribe to keep him quiet.
Still, Clark packed what he needed for a four-night trip. Sure, he could fly back over to Metropolis across the bay if he forgot anything, but he wanted to keep up appearances as best he could, especially since he wanted to limit his time as Superman when in Gotham. The thought of pissing off the local vigilante with the intrusion into his territory wasn’t something Clark wanted to do. Maybe as his reporter self but not as a hero.
With his satchel carrying his essentials—laptop, phone, chargers, etc.—and a small suitcase for his clothing and care items, he went to the train station after taking an early day at the office. Once he boarded, he settled in for the train ride to Gotham, questions racing through his mind.
He wanted to know why Wayne wanted him to give an interview. He wanted to know why Wayne was paying for business class. He wanted to know why Wayne was paying for him to stay at a five-star hotel. He wanted to know why Wayne was practically chucking money at him for this trip considering Perry likely never would’ve signed off on this if it wasn’t Wayne the one demanding it.
And that wasn’t all.
He wanted to know just what it was about their interaction that made Wayne decide to not only let Clark into his home but also to use him as masturbation material, especially since he hadn’t fully replaced Superman as material either.