Chapter Text
One
Clark weaved through the too-bright and too-hot streets of downtown Los Angeles, the sunlight flashing against glass towers like it was trying to blind him. His phone was tucked to his ear, Jimmy Olsen half a step behind, juggling a camera strap, an iced coffee, and his usual lopsided grin.
“Lois, I’ve been to a lot of these conferences,” Clark murmured into the receiver, ducking past a man shoving flyers at every passerby. “Flashy banners, carbon-neutral coffee, and maybe, just maybe, three genuine people in a room of five hundred.” He sighed, sidestepping a stroller. “Still showed up, though. Just me. Not you-know-who.” He pitched the last part lower, nearly lost in the soundscape of the city.
On the other end, Lois rattled off a list of Very Important People in attendance, punctuating with the Very Important Questions he had to ask. Clark’s mouth tipped into a small smile. He admired her drive, the way she could turn exhaustion into momentum.
“Thanks, Lois. Really. But maybe you spend your free weekend actually free, and I cover this one.”
“Ha. You’d miss me too much, Smallville,” she fired back before hanging up on him.
He pocketed the phone with a small smile on his lips just as Jimmy fell into stride beside him. “You look way too relaxed for someone about to sit through six hours of panel discussions, CK,” Jimmy teased, snapping a quick photo of Clark mid-step just to annoy him.
At the checkpoint, Clark flashed his press badge. The guard barely glanced at it, hard to, when Clark was nearly a foot taller. Jimmy, ever cheerful, waved his own with a “Hey, how’s it going?” before jogging to catch up.
Inside, the cold air-conditioning swept over them like a shock, chasing away the heat. Camera shutters clicked in rapid rhythm. Voices blended into a low hum, and from one corner, a jazz trio played background music that some rich knucklehead would probably describe as chill but sophisticated. Clark hated this type of events.
Snippets drifted past them, protest strategies, renewable energy tax credits, clean-tech startups, but none held him long. He kept that easy, crooked smile in place, a cup of fizzy soda in hand, while Jimmy darted around, snapping “atmosphere shots", as he liked to call them. They found the press seats near the front.
Adjusting the light-blue suit that actually fit him-one of Lois’s persistent victories-Clark glanced at the panel table. His eyes snagged on a name tag.
Bruce Wayne.
A huff escaped him, too quiet for anyone but Jimmy. Great. Another billionaire ready to explain social justice to the masses. Just what the world had been missing. He scribbled the name in his notebook, clicking his pen with faint irritation.
“What does a billionaire know about social justice,” he muttered.
Jimmy leaned over, smirking. “That billionaire? Ohh, he’s got a reputation. Half the time he’s a playboy, the other half he’s vanishing from galas before dessert.”
Clark shook his head. “Guess it’s time to find out which half shows up today, huh?.” His pen hovered, not convinced either half would give him anything worth writing.
Bruce had been awake far too long. Black coffee and pure discipline were the only things holding him upright. The dimmed lighting was a mercy he hadn't expected but was eternally grateful for, as bright light made his eyes twitch these days.
From behind the curtain, he caught sight of the placard with his name. He did a good job with his father's company the last few years. The quarterly reports were solid. Wayne Enterprises’ stock was steady. He didn’t need this conference, and he didn’t want it either. But Alfred had reminded him, urged him, really, that even Gotham’s shadows couldn’t excuse him from “showing his face in the sun” once in a while. So here he was.
The emcee droned through his biography. Bruce let it wash over him, scanning the crowd instead, not many interesting or recognizable faces in the crowd.
But then someone did catch his eye.
Clark Kent.
That Clark Kent.
The Daily Planet’s golden boy, always smiling, always tearing stories open like he was performing surgery. Bruce’s gaze lingered a beat too long before he looked away.
Odd that Kent was here instead of chasing another "Superman saves the day and 256 puppies"- scoop.
Bruce schooled his face into a neutral mask while offering a short wave as he stepped onto the stage.
Cameras flashed around him.
He slid into his seat, endured a few speeches about “equitable futures,” with words so soft they would dissolve before the month was out anyway.
Then his turn came.
“With Wayne Enterprises, we intend to connect people.”
He pressed the remote and sleek renderings of a bullet train flickered behind him along with cutting-edge magnetic levitation.
“Our pilot project between Gotham and Metropolis will finish construction soon. Built by Wayne Enterprises, in cooperation with local companies that pay union wages and provide health coverage.”
His wrist comm vibrated once and then again.
Damn it, not now.
“Public transport cards will cover both cities. Ticket prices will be affordable and fair. This is a step toward unity. Toward accessibility.”
Buzz. Again.
He didn’t look at the watch but it irritated him.
Bruce pushed forward while forcing a steady cadence into his voice.
Another buzz. Still, he didn’t check. Whoever had triggered that signal would have to wait until the questions.
He invited them in with a slight tilt of his head.
Clark Kent rose, tall and deliberate. His voice carried easily, polite but edged with steel.
“Clark Kent, Daily Planet. Mr. Wayne, thank you for your announcement. A high-tech magnetic train between Gotham and Metropolis truly is ambitious.” He let it breathe. “You’ve called it a project about ‘unity.’ How do you plan to ensure that includes the communities most often left behind by infrastructure projects? You mentioned affordability. What about access? Oversight? Accountability?”
He tilted his head, smile mild but eyes sharp. “In other words… how does a billionaire intend to build something for the people, and not just over them?”
His colleague grinned from behind his camera like it was Christmas morning.
His question made a ripple of surprise go through the room. No one usually put the question like that – at least not to his face.
Bruce leaned back slightly, buying himself a second.
Bold.
Sharper than most.
He’d expected Kent to be good.
He hadn’t expected him to be fearless.
And annoyingly enough...he almost admired it.
“Thank you, Mr. Kent,” Bruce said at last, voice steady but guarded. “Your question is important. Through the Wayne Foundation, and with the help of civic groups in both cities, we’ll make sure no homes are destroyed and new jobs are union-secured. Questionnaires have already been conducted, the results will be published this afternoon.”
It was a polished answer, everyone in the room knew that.
He cleared his throat, signaling his PR staff. “Further questions will be handled by my team. My schedule is quite packed, I’m sure you understand.”
He stood, flashing a final polite smile and then left the stage as fast as he came on it.
Minutes later, in a different suit and a different skin, he was gone, sliding into shadows, his pulse steadying as the arrowhead on his comm pulsed.
Green Arrow was already waiting.
Gotham’s billionaire was off the record again and that was the last anyone really saw of Bruce Wayne that day.