Chapter Text
Clark knows he’s Batman. He knows Bruce Wayne has a net worth of 4.34 billion dollars, across five companies and countless assets. The Wayne Foundation pours the profits of Wayne Enterprises into orphanages, rehabilitation centers, environmental agencies, waste reduction, clean energy, pharmaceuticals, and even more ventures. Bruce Wayne has personally bankrolled the mental health treatment of two-dozen villains who loathe the Batman.
He’s even put out underwear calendars and filmed videos of him reading thirsty posts about himself for charity, turning him into the damnably handsome, harmless playboy billionaire persona for popular culture. A persona he carefully curates.
“And why, might I ask,” Lois inquires one evening, eating chocolate ice cream out of the tub with the scoop. “Would Bruce Wayne make a persona both in and out of costume? If he’s only pretending to be good and charitable in public to hide a more genuine vigilante persona, why do you have such a problem with him?”
Clark huffs, pouring more Dr. Pepper into his ice cream float. “Because he’s actually a jerk who only cares about his adoring public if they can turn a blind eye to the fact he’s Batman?”
“So you have a crush on him,” She concludes, licking a trail of ice cream on the side of her thumb. “Got it.”
He rolls his eyes and falls onto the couch next to her, “Are you ever gonna stop chewing that bone? I don’t have a crush on him. I don’t like Bruce Wayne, I think he’s stupid, he may have everyone else under his spell but not me. I don’t get where you think I have a crush on him.”
She gestures to his whiteboard that he’s brought out to his apartment living room, the connections between Bruce and Batman scrawled in blue Expo marker. “Because this is clearly the work of someone who hates Bruce Wayne for normal reasons.”
Clark shakes his head and stabs his ice cream with the spoon. “Oh, fine. Laugh at me, then.”
Lois snickers, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “Oh come on, Smallville. Maybe you should get out and date again. Find new billionaires to hate. I hear Lex Luthor’s single.”
“Oh har har,” There’s a searing twist of his stomach at the thought of Bruce and Clark puts his spoon back in the bowl in defeat. “I don’t get why you like him so much. He’s just doing it because you know he’s Batman.”
“Bruce and I are friends, yes,” She shrugs. “But he’s been nothing but generous, kind, and considerate of me and my feelings. And the one time he wasn’t, he apologized and was very humble about it.” She sets her tub of ice cream on the coffeetable and faces toward him, drawing her Metropolis University t-shirt over her curled up legs. “Smallville, listen. I know you’d never ask me to choose between my friends, because you’re my best friend and you’re better than that.”
Clark’s face softens, his head leaned back. “Never. I may not like the guy at all, but that doesn’t have any repercussions on you or our friendship.”
“That being said,” Lois chews her lip with a pause. “What if I knew a way to get you in the perfect position to find out who Bruce really is?”
His brows furrow. “Like what?”
“Do you trust me?” She extends a pale pinky finger.
He does. Implicitly, Clark Kent trusts Lois Lane, but that doesn’t mean his heart is quiet in his chest, that he doesn’t chew on his lower lip. Metropolitan rain pelts his windows, a lightning strike flashing into his shabby apartment. His pinky gently curls around hers, all his concentration focused on an instant to just squeeze.
Clark watches her pull out her phone from her sweatpants pocket. She scrolls a little and then puts the phone to her ear, clears her throat. His brows shoot up, but before he can speak, his super hearing picks up a thrumming dark voice like a cello. “ Lois, this is a surprise. What can I do for you?”
“Bruce, hey,” Lois rubs the back of her neck, does a great job of sounding apologetic. Her work voice is a few octaves higher, which she sometimes strains to reach this late. She waggles her brows at Clark, “This isn’t a bad time, is it?”
“ For you, Lois, I’ve got plenty of time. ”
Clark rolls his eyes, mouthing, ‘Oh, for the love of…’ Stupid billionaire’s really laying it on thick, isn’t he? He shakes his head and hopes Lois isn’t doing what he thinks she is.
“Oh, you’re sweet. So , I…I was wondering if you remembered our conversation the last time you were in Metropolis. About how you and I wouldn’t work out. And the reasons why?”
What? Clark frowns. As far as Clark’s aware, that was right around the time Lois worked out she was a lesbian instead of bisexual. She’d broken the news to Bruce and he’d taken it very well from what she said, but if there’s another dimension here, Clark doesn’t know it. And that’s what worries him.
“ Yes, of course.” The voice is soft, understanding. There’s a sound like a door shutting, and then Bruce speaks a little louder, “ Whatever I can do, I’ll do it. ”
“I’m glad you said that.” Lois’s gaze comes up to Clark and the conspiratorial smirk comes back. “How do you feel about Clark Kent?”
Clark balks, mouth open in surprise, but he doesn’t dare make a sound. He could end it here, force Lois to hang up, but she watches him, daring him to do it.
Bruce lets out a little laugh across the line. “ Oh, I think he’d be cute if he wasn’t so insistent on busting my chops. Every time Superman gets a cat out of a tree, he writes a barely-engaged puff piece, but if I so much as sneeze the wrong way, he’s all over me. I’m aware he can’t stand me. Why do you ask? ”
Lois’ jaw drops, the corners of her mouth pulled in near-smile.
A rogue heat crawls up Clark’s legs and back. Suddenly, the Smallville Crows sweatshirt is too hot, his hair falling in his eyes. Cute? CUTE? What does he mean, “cute”?
“Well,” Lois says, a hand over her mouth a moment to collect herself. Her eyes twinkle with mischief and she clears her throat again, overcome with her luck. “I was assigned to have an interview with you, but now I can’t do it and I’m giving it to Clark. I just wanted to ask you if that was all right before I schedule it with Perry.”
There’s silence on the other end, the faint crackle of a fire. Probably at home in Wayne Manor, some lady waiting for him as soon as he hung up with Lois. Clark wrinkles his nose, lips pressed together.
Lois crosses her fingers.
“ Oh, that’s no problem. I’m always happy to help the Planet and…” Bruce pauses to chuckle. “ Don’t suppose you could give me pointers on how to get on Clark’s good side, Lois?”
Clark furrows his brows, eats his float with attitude. Oh, does he think it’s that simple? Just waltz on in, charm him like he’s just some easily impressed hick with a college degree? Ridiculous. Whatever.
“Abso lute ly,” Lois says, poking Clark’s ribs with her finger. “I’ll send you a text later, cross my heart. Okay, Mr. Moneybags, I have to go. Have a great night.”
“ You too, Lois. Always a pleasure.”
Clark waits for the line to go dead. “Are you out of your mind? Why would you set me up with him like that?”
“Because, Mr. Kent, how else are you going to get your final word with the man, your exposé on his dastardly ways, unless you spend time with him?” Lois tosses her phone onto the ottoman and holds her hands up, grinning like a cat picking canary feathers from her teeth. “Can hardly expose him as a fraud and a jerk from a distance.”
“Were you even assigned to interview him?” Clark pushes the soupy melted ice cream around his bowl.
“No, but this’ll give me enough time to work it out. Probably put the interview on this Friday so get ready. Need to wear something else other than that corduroy suit you keep wearing to work. Iron the socks.”
Clark glances at her sharply, drawing his feet up on the couch and turning to face his back to the armrest. “What’s wrong with my suits?”
Lois snorts and shakes her head. “Take the boy out of Kansas, I swear. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re spiffy for your hot date.”
“Oh my God,” Clark grumbles under his breath, eyes closed. “He is not a hot date. He’s not hot, nor is it a date. You declared it an interview, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to interview him.”
“‘He’s not hot’,” Lois snickers, “Famous last words. Trust me, Smallville. You’ll get answers, one way or another.”