The Comfort of Family

by Katci

Summary:

Bruce snuck away to peek near the mechanics of the show. He saw a little boy in a leotard, crouching down and waiting for his cue. His dark hair was crazy, sticking out like it was gelled that way, but it was extremely sleek, like oil dripping off his ears.

The little boy glanced and caught eyes with Bruce. Bruce who was currently hiding in between large pieces of machinery. Bruce who was still unnoticed by the bustling workers. Bruce who was not used to being spotted.

Chapter 1: The Beginning

“Young Master Wayne, it just can not be healthy.” Alfred looks at the man currently crumbled in front of the stairs, bare under his robe. Alfred sighs and picks up the glasses half empty around the room nevertheless. His master just needed another case.

“Mr Wayne! This instant!” Alfred storms out not long after discovering one too many pairs of dirty underwear under the couch.

Bruce jerks and grimaces from the light coming in from the now open windows. He checks his watch, half cracked and basically worn into his skin. 4:17. Damn it. Too early to claim he involuntarily missed his meeting with the Wayne Orphanage sponsor.

Thankfully the meeting was fulfilling a personal goal as well, Bruce encouraged himself as he climbed onto his boney knees. Haly’s Circus. They would be attending at 6 and Bruce would be able to investigate the circus and record some aerial exercises.

Bruce glanced at the mirror to his right, heavy bags, pale cheeks, and red eyes. Not to mention he looks homeless, with his baggy shorts and grease stained shirt.

“For mom and dad.” But the shower seems so far away from his less than secret, secret bedroom in the west wing. He sighs. “Fuck me.” But he trudges into his attached bathroom anyways.

His shirt sticks to his body, tacky from the dried gasoline and grease from the Batmobile tune up last night. His legs look mangled from a recent bad landing. As much trouble as it is getting into the shower, the hot water is glorious and much appreciated. Scrubbing takes longer than anticipated as he can barely get a hand through his hair. Too long and dull for his liking.

His suit is laid on the bed, thank god for Alfred. But before, he shaves the heavy stubble off his chin and clips his nails. A maintenance day might be needed this coming weekend. The suit isn’t a tux but it is a three piece. The fabric is slightly baggy like how he prefers, and an extremely dark navy. He forgoes the tie and keeps his suit unbuttoned to bring the attention to the detailing on the waistcoat.

The perfect image of a young billionaire on a more casual date. With the watch telling him 5:30 he steps out to Alfred, ready with a winter trench coat, all black.

“The media will complain, Alfred.” As he shrugs it on.

“Oh Master Wayne, whatever for?” As he straightens the collar on Bruce and swiftly walks towards the stairs.

“Didn’t you hear? Black and navy are basically taboo on the same outfit.” He checks his cufflinks, almost tripping on the last step of the stairs.

“And I'm sure Master Bruce is brimming with this fashion sense.” Alfred smirks while opening the door to the limo. “He can tell Mr Connor all about it over dinner I'm sure.” Alfred basically slams the door before letting Bruce answer him.

The ride is silent on the way to the restaurant. A gaudy and expensive place, too expensive for the majority of the population but Connor is surely a regular. Bruce watches the city through the window, homelessness and crime dominate the streets during the night. But during the day, he can see students on their way home, women in gaggles and on their way to the nail salon, and men with matching merch about to head into the local sports bar. His city that he fights so hard for.

Although Burnley is much nicer than the other islands. Their streets barely reached a few inches after the Riddler's flood. Their daily lives only got easier, as the crime left their island to attack the southern parts. Bruce feels a little resentment towards the people who could not care less. Never mind that though.

He gathers himself, this sponsor is incredibly important and is key to getting the orphanage opened again for thousands of children.

The car pulls up to the front and he swiftly exits and heads to the host counter, he pulls his face into a pleasant expression. “Table for Bruce Wayne.” He grins at the young girl, who couldn't be more than 18. Her head nods strongly but her hands shake as she picks up the menus.

“This way sir.” He is led to a table in a slightly more reserved section, but it could also be that the dinner rush has not started for high society. He wouldn't know.

The man, entirely on character, showed up 10 minutes late to the dinner. The dinner in which Connor himself had called for, chosen the time for, picked the restaurant for, and the dinner for which he was to meet with a billionaire. Bruce had to respect his commitment to the plot.

But not one to be shown up, Bruce had ordered his favorite wine, as red as his soul, his dinner and told the server to wait to take the other man's order for as long as possible. Just as Bruce smells surely his delicious lobster pasta cooking, the man comes around the corner. Bruce stands.

He is dressed even more casually, a regular suit with no waistcoat and is that no cufflinks? Huh.

“I am so sorry Mr. Wayne, I was held up in horrible traffic. Please sit, please.” He looks truly sincere and Bruce can only sympathize. Gotham is not a city that is easy to navigate.

“Not to worry, I do hope that you don’t mind that I got some wine.” Bruce gestures to the bottle a little too close to half empty.

“Of course not,” His dark skin gets flushed from his smile. “I must apologize again for being late. I’m not from here so I wasn’t aware. Neither was my driver, admittedly.” He’s young for a sponsor, handsome, and he flags down the traitorous server immediately. She sends an apologetic look his way.

“So, I wanted to continue the conversation about the orphanage.” Connor begins again after ordering. "It is not really a question for me, about making sure the original building is renovated and reopened so if that was on wary ground, be assured now.” His accent turns posh with seriousness.

“What I wanted to talk about is making more than one. I’m sure you’re wondering why I even reached out to sponsor, given that you most likely have enough money.” He laughs. But Bruce also knows it’s not about the money. “I’m an orphan myself. Since starting my business I want to continue the Wayne legacy to more than just Gotham.” He sweetens his words.

“This. This is not what I was prepared to speak about, excuse me Mr. Connor.” Wayne catches himself despite his surprise. “You want to open more orphanages?”

“Yes! Specifically in my town, Midvale.” Bruce nods for him to continue. “It’s on the outskirts of Metropolis and I grew up in the orphanage there, but it has, too, shut down from years of wear.” He takes a deep breath. “I have money Mr. Wayne, but not endless amounts, I'm not a billionaire.”

“So you want me to help you, open these around the nation, starting in Gotham and Midvale." Bruce states, more to himself than anything.

“Yes.” Connor stays quiet as their food arrives, miraculously at the same time. “Thank you, thanks.” The servers scatter quickly.

“Ok. Mr. Connor I do hope that you weren’t thinking I would be so adverse to this.” As Bruce takes a bite.

“Not at all but, I must admit…” He hesitates. “Billionaires, not just in Gotham, have a hard time using their money…sometimes.” He looks like he might puke.

Bruce laughs lightly.

“I know what you mean.” Bruce himself barely has control over his expenses since Alfred took basically all his credit cards after he found a blunt.

“But I will help. And I suppose we don’t have to name them all Wayne Orphanage. It will be nice doing business with you, Mr. Connor.” Bruce extends his hand over the table and Connor's face brightens significantly.

They travel to Somerset soon after the meal. Bruce can see the bright lights and red stripes of the circus tent. The Flying Grayson’s, quite the legendary act, were what Bruce was here to inspect. Their acrobatic skills are possibly very helpful for his night job.

Of course that was his surface intent. Other than that he had found records of connections between the Grayson's and several families in Gotham. The most notable being The Falcone’s. What in the world would have caused them to interact? This being Grayson's first appearance back in Gotham in almost a year, Bruce wanted to make sure he was here for it.

The acts start soon and quickly with a lady breathing fire into the crowd. Her thigh highs and unitard attract enough attention for the couple next to them to get into a fight.

“You’re interested in this, Mr. Wayne?” Mr. Connor asks as he claps loudly for the lions that come out and jump through hula hoops.

“Oh, yes. I think it’s funny. These days I feel like a little magic never hurts anybody.” Bruce puts on his most charming smile. Looking his best to hopefully get through Connor's facade. Bruce had decided half way through the dinner that he was actually a perfectly curated mask.

Mr. Connor simply acted much too perfect. Knew exactly when to play on Bruce’s feelings about orphans. When to crack a joke, when to get serious, and most importantly. He had started to flirt not fifteen minutes in.

“I know a couple more things that couldn’t hurt, huh, Bruce?” Connor winked. Bruce honestly would have been more charmed if he was not distracted with the Flying Grayson's. Maybe another time.

The infamous family took to the ropes. The man and woman swinging and flipping without a care in the world. There was a minute when the woman missed her husband's hands, just a slight mistake, causing her to have to swing and try again. Bruce wouldn’t have thought too much about it but the woman had stopped smiling. Her eyes grim even behind the mask.

Bruce stopped clapping, feeling a change in the air. “Excuse me, Mr. Connor, I just need to find a restroom.”

Bruce spotted men around the room. All strategically staged.

“Of course, but I think you’ll be disappointed to find only porta potties outside.” Mr. Connor laughed and his attention was dragged right back to the show.

Bruce snuck away to peek near the mechanics of the show. Many ropes and such. He saw a little boy in a leotard, crouching down and waiting for his cue. His dark hair was crazy, sticking out at even odd ends, but it was extremely sleek like oil dripping off his ears.

The little boy glanced and caught eyes with Bruce. Bruce who was currently hiding in between large pieces of machinery. Bruce who was still unnoticed by the bustling workers. Bruce who was not used to being spotted.

“And the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” The boy’s eyes were bright blue. A zap went through Bruce just as the young boy jumped from behind the curtain to join his parents.

The curtain was forcibly closed by men in black.

Oh, something is very wrong. The workers moved twice as fast as before. The piece of moving metal that Bruce could feel on his shin was starting to burn. Nobody else had time to notice another figure. The figure takes the spot where the young boy, the young Flying Grayson, had just been crouching at.

It was a man with little hair and a receding hairline. Bright white against his wrinkling head. He had a suit on, but not the kind a circus performer would wear, or any of these minimum wage workers. The man's hand was twitching around some sort of communication device.

It was done in a split second.

What Bruce remembers this night is that this night is chaos. Loud booms from the middle of the performance ring. Screaming that filled attacked his ear drums and had his head ringing. Wailing from children and the machinery stopped immediately. The workers who had worked so hard to keep the show going, to keep the tent up, were still. Bruce remembers jumping out and running to the middle. Grabbing the little boy who was crouched over his mother. Running from the falling stilts in the ceiling.

But something that has been etched into his memory is the look on the boy's face as he looked down at his dead mother, her eyes wide open in fear. Completely blank, with etches of anger curled around his eyes.

And something that was noticeably missing? Mr. Connor was nowhere to be found among the crowd.

In his dreams for the next week Bruce could only hear a slimy high-pitched voice, saying “Now”.

 

Alfred picked him up from the Police Station the next morning. Bruce had been holding the young boy for hours before the police had convinced him to let go and go through processing. He was relieved to notice the boy had been clinging to his jacket just as much as Bruce.

“I’ll come back for you.” Bruce said to him.

“Ok.” The boy didn’t seem to really register the words, but he did curl in on himself when Bruce’s warmth left. Only the chill of a September morning remains.

As he walked into the living room, a familiar voice was on repeat on the answering machine. Connor was so sorry to hear about the tragedy. That two thirds of the Flying Grayson's had died in a terrible accident. Connor was already on his way back to Metropolis. Connor would like to see him again under better circumstances. Connor was lying.

Bad guys always make mistakes, whether that be able blabbing about their whole plan in broad daylight, or killing the wrong person. There is always something. Connor’s biggest mistake is that he had nothing. Everything was perfectly in place. Everything had an alibi. Bruce wasted no time in correcting this.

Midvale orphanage. Yes, Conner wasn’t lying, never adopted, left 12 years ago to pursue a degree at a nearby community college, got a lucky job at Luther Corp, researched clean energy, and. Something.

Became Chief of the Weapons Manufacturing Division. Involved in the recent struggle with Boravia. Looks like he was still located in Metropolis. Afterwards the chairs of Luther Corp gave him a promotion and transferred him back to the clean energy sector.

Weapons Manufacturing Division. Someone is trying to hide this. Bruce’s computer comes up with error page after error page. Gotcha. Afterall, Bruce hasn’t known anyone to help orphans out of their goodness of their heart.

A week later Bruce got custody of Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson was 8 years old and his parents just tragically died in a circus accident. The benevolent and well known orphan, billionaire Bruce Wayne, decided to take this young boy into his home and show him kindness.

This is the shit that the Gotham Press is currently shoving down the public's throat. Regardless, Bruce is on his way to pick up the boy from a nearby home. The place was in Old Gotham and extremely run down. There were tons of kids, all malnourished and working illegally in one of the factories down the road. Bruce made a note to fix this when he got back.

The boy was sitting alone in the driveway. A little duffle bag with all of his things. He looked worse for wear with dark circles under his eyes, cheeks sunken in, and shivering in the cold. As soon as his car pulled up, the boy was on his feet.

Bruce unlocked the door so he could be welcomed into the warm car immediately. “Do you have a jacket?” Dick shook his head. “Let’s go grab one before we head back.” Bruce put the heat up two more notches and turned the seat warmer on. He wouldn’t have his ward freezing to death first thing.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” His little voice. The curse word sounded much more vulgar coming out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce felt his knuckles tighten around the wheel. “Are you hungry?” The boy nodded. He probably hadn’t eaten much in the home.

“Do you have any preferences?”

“Can we get pancakes?”

“Of course. Do you want to go out or go home?”

“Home.” The boy whispered it as if just thinking about it but Bruce took it as an answer anyway.

They stopped by a random store in the East End, Dick grabbed a black coat and immediately walked towards the counter. Not a shopper, got it. They paid and left but not without many pictures and paparazzi catching them while getting back into the car.

The drive back to the manor was quiet but not uncomfortable. Since Dick had put the jacket on and gotten warm in his seat, he curled up and relaxed. Even leaning a bit over the console towards Bruce to avoid the cold window. But as soon as the gates opened to the manor, the boy was back to being alert and cold.

“We’re here.” Bruce turned toward Dick, making eye contact. “I live with only one person, my butler, Mr. Alfred. He's kind and don’t be mean to him. He will make you pancakes and all the other food you want, ok?” Bruce saw a nod. The urge to pat his head was strong but he ignored it.

Dick runs ahead of him as they pull into the roundabout driveway. Bruce can already see his hands shaking. It’s not that cold. He must be nervous.

The introduction of Alfred and Dick goes about how he expected. The boy stares at his feet, squirming in place, as Alfred shows him to his room and does indulge in patting the boy's head. The boy hides in his new room. Presumably unpacking his measly belongings and exploring the clothes Alfred had ordered ahead of time, along with toiletries.

Bruce doesn’t see him for the next two days, content to let the boy settle in without having to appease his foster father. Those two days end quickly when Bruce decides to spend a day in the living room. Turning on the TV to a cartoon that runs 24/7. Bruce has tracked the sun going down, and about the time that it should be coming up again, he senses motion behind him.

Whipping his head, Dick stands and stares at him from the bottom of the stairs. His hair is even messier from a good night's rest and he wears a pair of batman themed bat pajamas. Damn Alfred. Bruce just turns back to the TV and watches as the pink princess and the purple princess become friends. The TV is low but the movement of the boy seems loud as he sits a little too close to Bruce.

Bruce himself isn’t looking his best. The entire time he's been away from Dick, he’s gotten barely any sleep, this is his last ditch attempt before he smuggles weed into the house. He’s currently curled like a little kid into the far end of the large couch. Blanket up to his shoulders and spooling around his feet.

Dick is only about a foot away and puts his own feet on the couch, leaning his head on his knees. Bruce can feel the warmth of sleep still clinging to the child.

“Did you sleep well?” Bruce asks. The boy turns slightly towards him and plops down in between them. Effectively leaning his cheek onto Bruce’s upper arm. Bruce unwinds some of the blanket and wraps Dick up in it as well, watching the kid’s eyes slowly close and fall back asleep. The warmth is penetrating, the boy's body heat seeps into Bruce’s permanently cold blood.

He sleeps soundly for the first time.

Waking up in that same heat has to be one of the best things ever. His body is hot and relaxed. A smaller body is still nestled right next to him, but he feels movement. As he opens his eyes, he can see the boy still in the shared blanket, with a bowl of food on his lap, watching a power rangers TV show. He’s eating some sort of stew concoction that Bruce immediately also wants to eat.

“What’s that?” He asks from the same position, head resting on the couch and neck deep into a blanket.

“I don’t know. A stew with chicken. It has carrots, I don’t really like carrots but this is good.” The boy answers as he shovels it into his mouth.

“I want some.”

“Alfred gave it to me.” Dick looks over now. His arms covering the food and looking defensive. “It’s mine.”

“I want my own bowl.” Bruce feels surreal, talking to a child like this.

“Go ask Alfred. He always makes a really big pot of stuff.” Well he's right about that.

Bruce groans as he manages to free an arm from the blanket to grab at the phone on the counter, quickly calling the one Alfred keeps on him. As the phone is ringing, Alfred comes in with a steaming bowl in his hands.

“So lazy Master Bruce. You could have just walked right over.” Alfred passes the bowl to the table. “Did the young master sleep well?”

“Ye-”
“Yes.”

“Hey, I’m young master, you’re master Bruce.” Dick sticks his tongue out at Bruce. Alfred laughs and pats his head again.

“You must forgive Bruce, he doesn’t sleep so deeply very often. He’s probably still very sleepy.” Alfred seems to be in a jolly mood because his audacity has reached the ‘patting Bruce’s head is acceptable’ level.

“Go away Alfred.” Bruce grumbles as he shoves the soup into his mouth. He splutters as he gets hit on the arm.

“Be nice to Alfred!” Dick glares at him. Great now the orphan angry child has apparently imprinted on Alfred. This could be a problem.

Chapter 2: The Reporter

“Metropolis, Alfred, not Mars.” Bruce clips on the wrist protectors under his crisp button-up and sticks smoke bombs on the underside of his belt. “I’ll be gone for the weekend. The Metropolis news place, what’s it called?”

“The Daily Planet sir.”

“Yes, the Daily Planet, they’ve been asking for a comment on this anyway. They refuse to accept Conner's comments after their public pledge to not associate with anyone from Luther Corp.” Bruce flicks on his coat and grabs the keys. Alfred’s face seems clear but the crease in his eyebrow tells of an imminent lecture.

“It’s not that Master Bruce, but you do have a tendency to make trouble. I have a suspicion that you are lying-”

“Think of it like this Alfred, I'm helping get rid of all those incessant messages on the answering machine. Now you don’t have to listen to drivel in the middle of the day.” Bruce claps on Alfred's shoulder through the Bat Cave entrance. “Plus, I want to meet Superman.”

“Master Bruce!” Alfred struts sternly to cut him off before he could reach the entryway. “And what of Master Grayson?”

“He can entertain himself, I'm sure. Sign him up for a playdate or something.” Bruce waves him away.

“Master Bruce, I'm afraid your holiday will not go as planned.” Bruce can sense Alfred shaking his head from behind him. “It was just last week you commented on doing no interviews. Now you suddenly want to?”

“Alfred, I don’t understand what you want me to do?” Bruce grits his teeth. “Not only are the reporters getting closer to the manor, but Superman is becoming a greater threa-deal, than I anticipated. It’s about time Batman introduced himself.”

“I understand you are worried for Master Grayson’s wellbeing, but is it not my job to worry for yours? You are refusing a driver once more, or any personnel for that matter.” Alfred grips his shoulder. “You might be invincible as Batman, but not as Bruce Wayne.”

“I’ll be careful Alfred, I promise.”

“Well if there is nothing I can do to stop you then please take the container of sandwiches from the fridge before you leave.” Alfred crosses his arms in front of him and looks completely demure.

“Of course Alfred.” Bruce smiles. “I owe you one.”

 

The drive is smooth. Bruce can smell the sharp sting of salt from the sea even with the windows up. He should have checked on Old Gotham before leaving, the remnants of the flood still hard on the people’s backs. It’s been better though. The graffiti of Batman with blood on his hands has long been covered with Batman holding a child’s hand.

Batman has made his presence known in Crown Point for the past year, cutting off trafficking rings and gathering information on Bliss.

But unfortunately, the more time Batman is down there, the more he hears about issues. Conflicts with the Falcone's and Oswald 'The Penguin' Cobblepot made themselves known in the past six months. He hasn’t gotten involved as much as he should have. After all, it would be easier to let them kill each other first.

He can feel a new threat coming though, perhaps something that will need to be dealt with before the crime lords. The Flying Grayson’s tragedy still lingers in his head. The situation, the people, the silence, how sudden it was, it just doesn’t make sense.

Not to mention, he hasn’t missed how Dick acts. He’s near silent and can always tell when Bruce is nearby. He is also exceptional at acrobatics, whether that is from his circus training or something worse still needs to be looked at.

 

By the time he can see the tall skyscrapers of Metropolis in the distance, he has become all too aware of a coat twitching in the backseat. Either it has come alive through inexplicable ways or Dick has just granted himself his first ever grounding. Bruce is betting on the latter.

Not five seconds after this thought, a call is coming in.

“Master Bruce, would you please turn around and come back. I’m afraid Master Dick has gone missing.” His voice is steady, suspicously steady.

“Alfred you are the worst.”

“I packed extra snacks in your bag, please make sure he is in bed by 9 Master Bruce.”

“Alfred, can you do me a favor and stay updated on anything about The Flying Grayson's and look into the circus while I’m gone.”

“Of course Master Bruce. Have fun.” Bruce ends the call rudely, but Alfred asks for it.

“Dick. Get out of there.” The young boy pops up and Bruce immediately catches his eyes in the review mirror, taking a deep breath to start his lecture that lasts the rest of the ride.

 

Metropolis shines 10 times brighter when he crosses the city limits. An illusion surely, but there is no rain, only a light blue sky speckled with cartoon-like clouds. Bruce feels a deep longing for the dreary atmosphere of Gotham.

His appointment at the Planet starts in half an hour, timed perfectly to arrive just on time. Traffic has been taken into account, as well as a busier crowd of people at 3 o’clock in September. Bruce had not accounted for a space alien to show up and start shooting from its blasters like it belongs in a toy story movie.

The blasts barely do anything, apparently the alien has very bad aim and Superman actually shows up just two minutes in. Bruce experiences seeing the bright red and blue figure in the sky much sooner than expected. Most of the people have already started going back to their daily lives. Their trust in Superman has only grown since the conflict just this past May. Bruce can see the newly tarred streets.

Superman looks even more real, with just a few feet between them now. His dark hair, with almost a blue tint, curls on his tan skin. He’s huge, all muscle to fit his suit and significantly taller than the minivan he just passed.

Continuing through downtown Metropolis in a car does not seem to have a future for at least the next few hours so Bruce unbuckles Dick and hands him the briefcase, now turned snack bag.

“Where are you going-” Bruce doesn’t hear more after he closes the door and walks towards the passenger door, quickly opening it and putting him on his hip. The boy grips tightly on the lapels of his jacket, doing half the work himself.

“Now let’s see,” Bruce mumbles as he glances at the street names. “42nd, 42nd, 42nd, Ha.” Bruce see’s 40th street and turns that way.

A blast hits a car nearby and Bruce speeds up. There is a pavilion right off the Main Street, hot dog carts are being used for temporary shelter as well as the rather large fountain in the middle. Too late, Bruce realizes that he is the only one out in the open. Vulnerable.

A blast hits the fountain.

“Bruce-” He crouches covering Dick completely, to shield the large pieces of stone flying by, but a hand on his waist rips him from the ground. His subconscious knows of course that the person currently flying him across the city is the infamous meta, but instead of daring to fight in his grip, he only curls tighter around Dick. Even with the wind whipping and cutting knives across his face, he can still feel Dick’s small arms and hands tremble.

But before they know it, they’re landing in an alley a couple streets away.

“Bruce Wayne?” Bruce doesn’t look up, oddly shaken at being thrown around in the air. “Are you alright?”

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to that alien?” He speaks into Dick’s hair one last time before standing straight, at an S? He has to look up to find concerned blue eyes glaring down on him.

“Not to worry, Mr. Wayne.” Dimples appear next to a bright smile. “The Justice Gang is here to save the day!”

“Superman” Dick looks down, shaking out a trance to see Dick looking, hopefully, much more mesmerized as he was.

“Nice to meet you young man, but I must be going.” Superman reaches out to ruffle Dick’s hair roughly and starts floating. “Gotta save Metropolis from an alien.” He takes off and somehow makes the underwear work.

“Bruce! We just met Superman!” Dick grabs his shoulders and wiggles aggressively. “Let's go see him fight!”

“No,” Bruce whispers, “No! Absolutely not!” He repeats much stronger. “We have an appointment to get to.” He remembers to put Dick down as they get to the entrance of the city. Coincidentally on 42nd street.

 

It is times like this that Bruce thinks Metropolis could learn a thing or two from Gotham. The gold trimming of the building is simply blinding and incredibly insufferable. Not to mention, the sly smile on the reporter's face as soon as he walks in.

“Lois Lane, it’s a pleasure Mr. Wayne.” Her dark hair swoops in a curl and she smiles kindly down at Dick is similarly curled in his arms.

“Wonderful to mee you Ms. Lane, are you the one that reached out to me?” He shakes her hand as her smile grows wider.

“Of course, it’s not everyday though, that someone gets a response from the notorious Prince of Gotham.” He decides he likes her as she winks down at Dick and he hides his face away in shyness. “Please follow me, Mr. Wayne. We will have the interview in one of our upstairs offices.” He nods as she turns swiftly.

She reminds him of Selina in a way, good at her job, confidant, and singular. Bruce sets down Dick but the boy makes a grab at his hand immediately, still nervous about the location. He doesn’t miss the glances of suspicion that the boy makes to basically every reporter there.

The entirety of the inside is glass. Glass stairs, glass walls, glass desks. He almost feels unsteady with the fact that he can see no visible steel supports under the staircase he walks on. He grips Dicks hand just a bit tighter.

“Did you get stuck in traffic? I saw the attack on TV.” She speaks as her hands hold the golden rail.

“Yes, but thankfully Superman was there to save the day.”

“Lucky seeing him on your first day here. Did he look good up close?” Lois turns and winks at him and continues upstairs. Bruce does not give her a response.

“Here, Mr. Wayne.” She opens the door for him. “I am going to grab my computer from my desk, would you like to speak to Mr. White before we start? Also any water, coffee?” She gestures to the comfortable chairs in the room.

“Thank you Ms. Lane, coffee would be great. I only want to see the reporter I will be talking with.” She nods.

“And that would be me Mr. Wayne, I’ll be just a moment.”

Thankfully this room is shut off from the outside and has real, wooden floors. The chairs and the setup seem to encourage comfort, perhaps for more nervous clientele. Dick crawls onto the chair next to him.

“Is it alright if he stays during the interview?” Lois asks as she comes back in and sets the coffee down on the table in-between them.

“It’s fine.” He doesn’t suspect Dick will do much to contribute to the conversation.

“Perfect, let’s get started then.” She clears her throat. “I know you and Mr. Christian Connor have been meeting about possibly reopening and investing in more establishments like the failed Wayne Orphanage. Can you tell me any more about this project?”

“Yes, we will start with the original Wayne Orphanage building.” Bruce crosses his legs. “Mr. Connor and I have not discussed the details about it, like a potential new name for the project. We also want to expand and a place in Metropolis was also brought up as a second location.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. And can I ask you how this relationship began between Connor and yourself?” She types quietly without looking away from him.

“Yes of course, Connor reached out to me after the unfortunate incident with the terrorist, and self-proclaimed Riddler, which caused Crown Point to be flooded.”

“Did you have any knowledge of Connor’s career, relationships, or involvement with Luther Corp beforehand?”

“I knew he was employed at Luther Corp, of course I was given a brief rundown of his past with investments and education before meeting with him, are you implying something?”

“Just that Connor is speculated to have worked hand-in-hand with Ex-CEO Lex Luther this past May which almost destroyed the city. Are you even aware of the crimes Luther has been convicted of?”

“Of course, Ms. Lane, however I do not see how this relates to the new project with Wayne Orphanages.” He can see her eyes twitch.

“Let us switch gears then, how have you been handling the recent struggles that Gotham has been facing with the flooding and rise in crime rates in Crown Point and other neighborhoods in the last year?”

“I have made it a point to make donations for housing and food handouts that have been orchestrated through Wayne Enterprises. I believe about 100 million has been donated to charities and help.”

“Are you aware over 40 million of this donation has been spread out to staff and payroll, not to mention this donation happened in January. Have you made any additional steps especially considering the death of Carmine and Alberto Falcone and the alleged new drug, Bliss, that has been circulating the streets of Gotham?”

“And why would I have any business with this topic?” Lois crosses something off her writing pad.

“Are you a billionaire?”

“On paper, I am. I think you misunderstand. I cannot simply give away endless amounts of money by going through multiple channels.”

“I am not accusing you, Mr. Wayne, but have you made any plans for doing so? Maybe donating to the Gotham Police, giving another 100 million to the people of Gotham through your own pocket instead of through your company.”

“Do you trust the police? You believe the police are not just as corrupt as the Gotham underground?” Bruce can feel a heartbeat behind his eyes.

“Maybe but the point still stands that being a billionaire is considered unethical on many points. Your city is drowning, you have basically been in hiding since you took over your parent’s company, and you seem to have no problem with the accusations and gossip around you, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce stays silent and bites the inside of his cheek.

“I can only assume, Mr. Wayne, that these rumors of a recluse and selfish billionaire are not just gossip? You live in one of the few places in Gotham that was almost completely unaffected by the flood, along with your measly donation, you made no statement towards the people of your city. Not only that but your company worked with Luther Corp during our own invasion and caused hundreds of people to die within Metropolis.”

“That contract was withdrawn as soon as we heard-”

“Was it? Mr. Wayne, are you even aware of what is going on inside your own company? Do you know which weapons you sent to Luther Corp?” Lois puts her forearms on her knees and leans forward. “Do you know when it started, can you assure me that Wayne Enterprises is absolutely against Luther Corp and condemn Lex Luther for trying to start a war, infiltrate the government, take down Superman, and make his own country? Can you bring peace to the minds of Gotham and Metropolis?”

“Ms. Lane I did not come to get a lecture by a no-name reporter.” She leans back and makes exaggerated marks on her pad.

“I’m sorry Mr. Wayne but I am currently the top reporter in Metropolis with the most articles written in the past three years, I went to one of the top colleges in the nation, and I work alongside Superman to help this city in any way that I can.”

“I’m sure you do all that you can, but it is simply not that easy-”

“Mr. Wayne, I am aware that nothing in this world is easy. I am sure your own life has been no less than a train wreck. Nevertheless you seem content to do nothing about it. I find it frankly off-putting.”

“What I do with my life has nothing to do with the public. The majority of the money under my name has been given through my parent’s will and life insurance.” Bruce breaths heavily. “I am not excusing myself Ms. Lane. I..do appreciate taking it upon yourself to give me a reality check, but I promise I am aware of my misgivings.”

“I hope you know that I am not attacking you Mr. Wayne.” Lois catches his eyes. “I am a reporter, a good one. I write the truth and nothing but the truth. I hope you didn’t walk in here, as a billionaire, CEO, and Gotham royalty, expecting it to go smoothly. Naturally there is a lot of gossip about you.

“I can assure you that anything I write about you will be truthful and have no personal biases. I can assure you that it may put to rest some of the harsher rumors about you. But I cannot assure that anything will be left out of the article, and I cannot assure no backlash.”

Silence. He can already feel the stares on his neck that he will be receiving for the next few months.

“Thank you, Ms. Lane. I think I will end it here.”

“Thank you for your time Mr. Wayne. The article will be out next week.”

Bruce nods. Dick has long since latched onto his arm, glaring hard at Lois. Bruce smiles and thinks Dick would like Selina.

Notes:

I really like when Lois is ruthless. Let me know what plotlines you wanna see!