Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bruce fidgeted with the cufflinks on his sleeves from backstage while he listened somewhat absentmindedly to the newly-elected Mayor Bella Reál giving a speech. He tried to focus on what she was saying, if only to wait for his cue to come to the stage, but the anxiety of what he was doing made him hyper-aware of every piece of stimuli around him. Reál's voice echoing through the hall. The reporters’ cameras shuttering. Camera flashes. The footsteps of the stage hands. The humming of the lights. The smell of the air conditioner. He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes as he filled his lungs. He focused on just one thing: the Mayor’s speech.

“All Gothamites have been affected by the Riddler’s terrorism in some way,” she said, “but none as severely as our poorest and least fortunate citizens. These members of our society — the backbone of Gotham — already had it hard before the seawall disaster. And now with over 70 percent of Gothamites having found themselves homeless, and nearly 90 percent of them jobless, Gotham needs help more than ever before. For this reason, I am proud to announce that I have partnered with Wayne Enterprises to help provide Gotham with the aid we so desperately need.”

Applause.

“But what exactly are we going to do? What will we accomplish? Here to tell you about it himself is CEO of Wayne Enterprises: Bruce Wayne.”

More applause.

That was Bruce’s cue.

He steeled his nerves and stepped out onto the stage.

The cameras went wild, their shuttering nearly rivaling the applause. The flashes threatened to blind him. He remembered just in time to stand up straight, as Alfred had reminded him near-constantly.

Mayor Reál smiled and stepped away from the podium, gesturing for him to take her place.

Bruce took his stand behind the podium. He willed himself to look out over the crowd of clapping people, wincing in the stage lights, and trying to ignore the giant news cameras who seemed to stare at him with a penetrating gaze. He gripped the sides of the podium to steady himself. As the cameras continued flashing, he suddenly remembered to pay attention to his face. He smiled and waved at no one in particular — a gesture that he hoped didn’t look as painfully awkward as it felt.

The applause died down. The camera frenzy dissipated into the occasional flash. Bruce took the last bit of applause as an opportunity to clear his throat, then adjusted the microphone. He took his speech out of his breast pocket — a slightly crumpled page of text that he had spent the bare minimum amount of time on and given to Alfred to proofread.

He glanced up at the audience again and forced himself to ignore his beating heart. “Thank you all for coming,” he began, trying to not get distracted by the sound of his own voice reverberating off the walls. “As Mayor Reál said, Wayne Enterprises will indeed be stepping into its role as, not just a tech company, but as an organization that will bring relief to Gotham in the wake of these terrible disasters. That is why I am proud to announce the creation of the Gotham Recovery Project, which will be working tirelessly to rebuild homes, fund businesses, build schools, and finance orphanages, asylums, and shelters so that they will be better equipped to care for those of us most in need. Additionally, along with the help of D.A. Harvey Dent, we will be building and financing more youth crisis centers and rehab centers.”

He was interrupted by the applause.

He hated how fake he sounded. He had meant every word when he had typed his script, yet he wondered if anyone could tell that he was reading off this script word for word. He wondered if they doubted how much he truly cared.

The applause died down. His eyes unfocused from his page. The next words that came out of his mouth were not part of the script. “I… understand that… this all sounds very, uh, similar to when the late Thomas Wayne — my father — created the Gotham Renewal Fund, which then fell into the hands of corrupt officials who used it to fund the drops industry. Needless to say, when I discovered that, I… I, uh…” he stopped and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He shook his head. “Needless to say, that won’t happen again. Because I will be overseeing the Gotham Recovery Project personally. This project… is personal for me.”

He looked down at his script again. His heart leapt into his throat when he didn’t find his next line right away, and then again when he realized his next line didn’t flow with what he had just said off-script. He wished for the umpteenth time that day that he was back at Wayne Tower.

“The Gotham Recovery Project will be set in motion right away,” he continued, improvising a transition into his next line: “Our city has been through enough turmoil. It’s time to end it.”

A waving hand caught his peripheral vision. He glanced backstage to the right, and saw the stage director pointing aggressively at his watch.

He looked back at the audience. “I uh-” he cleared his throat and skimmed the last half of his script, desperately trying to sum it up in an instant for the sake of time. “So yes, the Gotham Recovery Project is now underway, and with the help of Mayor Reál, we will make real change for Gotham. Thank you.”

The audience applauded again. Bruce folded up his script, put it into his pocket, and let out a sigh in an attempt to steady his nerves for the next part of this ordeal — the worst part by far.

As the applause died back down, he said the words he dreaded: “I will now be taking questions from the press.”

Before he had even finished his sentence, every reporter in the room was crowded around the stage, microphones thrust towards him, their camera flashes threatening to blind him, their voices a cacophony of overlapping voices as each clamored and practically begged for his attention.

“Yes, you, miss,” Bruce said, pointing to a tall, dark haired reporter with glasses — the most persistent of all of them.

“Vicki Vale from the Gotham Gazette here,” she said. “Mr. Wayne, the Riddler targeted corrupt officials in his murders, and you were on his list. Given that such a large number of people supported his claims, how do you intend to convince the public that you’re not one of the people the Riddler believed to be making Gotham worse?”

“Don’t forget that Edward Nashton targeted innocent civilians in his final attack, too,” Bruce answered, somewhat shortly. “That was an indiscriminate attack on all of Gotham, not just the wayward elite. He was wrong about me, but more importantly, he was wrong about Gotham. In the days to come, you will see the results of our work. You’ll have your answer then. Next question. You, sir.”

“Randy Brown here from the Gotham News,” said a middle-aged man in a sweater vest. “Do you have any comment on whether you believe the Batman was involved at all in the Riddler’s attacks, given that each of the murders had a letter addressed to the Batman attached to the victim?”

Bruce wanted to roll his eyes, but suppressed the urge. “That’s a question for the police. Next question.” He pointed to a young man, waving at him frantically from behind his camera.

“Jimmy Olsen from the Daily Planet!” he said. “Do you think the Batman is an alien??”

Bruce stared at him, wondering if he had heard him correctly. Even the other reporters seemed off-put.

The reporter beside Mr. Olsen elbowed him in the side and raised her hand.

“You, miss,” Bruce said, grateful for her interjection.

“Lois Lane, also from the Daily Planet!” said the Korean woman with the pixie cut, and by far the most enthusiastic voice in the crowd. “Batman helped save thousands of lives in the seawall disaster. Will he be helping you on the Gotham Recovery Project at all?”

“Not unless he also happens to be a billionaire.”

Bruce regretted the joke immediately, but the audience’s laughter gave him some comfort. Ms. Lane, however, glared daggers at him.

The stage director caught his attention again, this time to give him the five minute warning.

“Next question,” he said. He gestured to a young man with glasses and a blue suit and fedora, easily the biggest person there. But another young woman just beside him threw herself in front of Bruce’s line of sight and took the opportunity before the man could even draw breath. “Mr. Wayne, Summer Gleeson from the Gotham Gazette! This is your first public appearance ever since your parents were killed. What have you been doing all this time? Gotham has needed help like this for so long, so why are you only just now stepping up?”

Bruce clenched his teeth and gripped the sides of the podium in a white-knuckled squeeze. Part of him was angry at her nosiness and insensitivity. The other part was afraid, because he knew this question was coming and he had no satisfying answer for it. No answer that he was willing to give, in any case.

“I’m here now,” he answered simply. “Last question. You, sir,” he said, pointing again to the young man in glasses, hoping to give him a second chance to make up for Ms. Gleeson’s interruption.

“Oh! Thank you Mr. Wayne,” he said, adjusting his glasses nervously. “Clark Kent, uh… also from the Daily Planet.” He chuckled awkwardly, but then cleared his throat and continued in a professional yet calming voice that made Bruce feel less like an interrogation subject. “You said that the Gotham Recovery Project was personal for you. I don’t want to pry into your personal life, but I would like to know: what makes this project so important to you? After all, all these things you’re promising to do are very expensive.”

Bruce stared at him a moment, his eyes resting on Mr. Kent’s kind face and innocent expression. Unlike most of the other questions up till now, this one was one that he actually wanted to answer. He stood up a little straighter. He stared down at the podium and drummed his fingers against it. “It’s personal to me because…” he paused. “Well, because I feel responsible for Gotham’s decline. Gotham was known as the city with the worst crime rates even before my time, but… even when I became CEO of Wayne Enterprises, I didn’t think that I could make a difference. I… still don’t know if I can make a difference. But I have to try.”

“What changed for you?” Mr. Kent asked, sneakily shoehorning in a second question.

Bruce ignored the frantic gestures of the stage director and focused on Mr. Kent. “What changed was my perspective. Criminals like Edward Nashton aren’t born; they’re created. I can’t help but wonder what I would be like if… if he and I had switched places. If I was the one growing up in an orphanage instead of a mansion. That’s why I’m focused on youth crisis centers, affordable housing, better orphanages, rehab centers, things like that. You can fight crime all you want. But as long as we live in a system that creates it… it’ll never stop. My father — a doctor — used to always say that you can’t cure a disease by just attacking the symptoms. You have to treat the root cause. And I believe the Gotham Recovery Project can do just that.”

As the other reporters took advantage of the pause to clamor for attention again, Clark Kent smiled at Bruce. A warm, genuine smile that made Bruce feel like he had done everything right. He almost smiled.

The stage director hissed at him. He couldn’t ignore him anymore.

“That will be all,” he said, “no more questions.”

The reporters’ demanding voices and questions only rose in volume and intensity as he stepped back. Bruce gave the podium back to Mayor Reál.

“Thank you Mr, Wayne,” Bella said. “I look forward to working alongside you in this project.”

Bruce bowed his head and left the stage as the mayor kept talking. Once he was safely concealed in the darkness of the backstage, he allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief.

The ordeal was over.

He followed the signs to the backstage exit. The moment he opened the door, more cameras and microphones were thrust into his face. He ignored them and their questions, and walked as quickly as he could to his car. Alfred was already there, holding the door open for him.

Bruce slipped into the back seat. Once the door was closed, he leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, trying to pretend that the cameras weren’t blocking every square inch of his window in a desperate attempt to see through the tinted windows. He felt Alfred sit down into the driver’s seat. As he ignited the engine, he turned to face Bruce and smiled. “You did very well, Master Wayne.”

Bruce nodded his head in a minuscule gesture of acknowledgment. “Thank you, Alfred.”

Lois threw open the doors of the auditorium.

“It’s raining again?!” she shouted, startling a couple of other journalists who were exiting the building with them.

Jimmy pushed past her, excitedly reviewing the photos on his camera as he walked heedlessly towards the stairs and talking a mile a minute. “This is great! I’ve got so many pictures of Bruce Wayne! I can add this to Flamebird along with his refusal to comment on whether Batman is an alie-whAUGH!!”

Clark caught him by the hood of his jacket, just as he was about step off the stairs.

“Hold on there, Jimmy,” Clark chuckled, pulling him back onto the landing. “Don’t wanna get your camera wet.”

“Oh shoot! It’s raining!”

Lois muttered under her breath as she searched her pockets “Stupid weather girl said it was gonna be all sunshine and rainbows today, and now I’m stuck out here without a freAKING UMBRELLA-”

An umbrella opened above her. She looked up and found Clark holding his umbrella over her head, covering barely any part of himself. He smiled his shy little smile. “Good thing I came prepared!”

Lois smiled and blushed. “Here, let me get closer so you won’t get wet either.”

She scooched closer and nestled into him, looking adoringly up into his eyes.

Clark blushed and grinned.

“Alright you two lovebirds,” Jimmy smirked as he put his hood over his head, “Let’s get back to HQ and get this report done before Perry has our heads.”

“Just stick close to me, guys,” Clark said, herding them down the stone stairs with a concerned seriousness in his eyes.

“Relax, Clark!” Jimmy said, hands behind his head as he leaned back and felt the raindrops on his face. “If any crooks show up, Batman’ll swoop in to save us, you'll team up with him to beat them up, and then after the dust settles, Batman will realize he’s an alien too, and then we’ll be the first to bring the scoop on Batman to the Daily Planet!”

“Jimmy, lower your voice!” Clark hissed, looking around to make sure none of the other passersby had heard Jimmy.

Lois sighed as they walked to the corner of the street. “And why exactly do you think Batman is an alien again?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jimmy cried. “He singlehandedly took down the Riddler, he’s got mysteriously cutting-edge tech, and he can FLY!”

“You call a grappling hook cutting-edge technology?”

“Not the grappling hook, Lois! I’m talking about his sweet ride!”

“His car?”

“It has a JET ENGINE in the back!”

“You call a jet engine cutting-edge technology??”

“When it’s on a car, yes!”

“How do you know he can fly?” Clark asked. “I haven’t seen that in any of the pictures or reports I’ve seen on him.”

“I have!” Jimmy cheered, thrusting his phone in Clark’s face.

Clark leaned his head back to get the phone out of his face and at a proper viewing angle. A blurry, grainy picture of a black, vaguely triangular shape against the Gotham night sky was what he saw.

Jimmy caught his confused, squinty-eyed look. “I know it doesn’t look like much. But this is from one of my Gotham subscribers who swears he saw him flying down from a building!”

Clark smiled and pressed the crosswalk button for them. “If you say so!”

“I know so! Just like I know that Batman is an alien!”

Lois smiled and rolled her eyes. She switched the conversation over to Clark. “So Clark, how do you plan on finding Batman?”

“Well…” Clark began. “From what I can tell, he’s mostly active at night. I figure tonight I’ll scout the city looking for him, and use my super hearing to try and detect him. Something like that.”

“I hope you’re planning on taking us with you!” she said as they crossed the street.

“Well-”

“YES!” Jimmy cried. “You’ve gotta take us with!”

“Guys, Gotham is a really dangerous place. I wouldn’t feel right bringing you guys out here at night.”

Jimmy wrapped his arm over Clark’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ve fought giant killer robots and taken down super-powered government goons! Gotham’s got nothin’ we can’t handle!”

Jimmy tripped on the sidewalk.

Clark caught him and smirked.

“Besides sidewalks,” Lois teased.

“I know Metropolis has gotten bad sometimes,” Clark continued as they walked towards the train station, “but Gotham is a completely different beast. They’ve been number one in crime for decades, and it’s only gone up ever since the Gotham seawall was destroyed! Really guys, for your own sakes, I’m not taking you with me.”

Jimmy whined. “Claaarrrrrrk!”

“Oh come on!” Lois complained. “We’ve got you! What do we have to be afraid of?”

“Serial killers who use your face as rat food,” Clark said bluntly as they stepped onto the train platform.

“He’s in prison now, dummy,” she teased.

“Okay, then what about the new mob boss who’s singlehandedly taken over Gotham’s underworld?”

“Pfft,” Jimmy said. “You mean the guy who names himself after a fat, flightless bird?”

“Guys…”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Lois said. “If it really scares you that much, we’ll stay behind.”

“What?!” Jimmy protested. “Lois!”

“Thank you, Lois,” Clark said. He brought the umbrella down and closed it, now that they were under the shelter of the train platform’s roof.

Lois took Clark’s arm around her own. “But hey, please keep your phone on you. If anything happens, let us know. You’re not indestructible yourself, after all.”

Clark smiled at her. “I’ll do that.”

She went up on her tiptoes and pulled Clark down to plant her lips on his cheek. “Thanks, Clark.”

 

The train ride back to the hotel was long, but mercifully uneventful. Clark kept his head on a swivel the entire time, never looking down, closely inspecting every new passenger, and monitoring every conversation in their car. Jimmy chattered away about Bruce Wayne and Batman, and how many new subscribers he had on Flamebird, and so on. Lois, who took the window seat at Clark’s gentle insistence, leaned against Clark’s shoulder the entire time, and Clark kept his arm protectively around her. Just in case.

As the train rode on, nothing more exciting than the arrival of a very disoriented, half-conscious, and otherwise harmless drophead happened. Clark slowly found himself relaxing and letting himself look out the window to take in the Gotham scenery.

For most of the way, he couldn’t see farther than the large, imposing stone buildings — most of them very old, judging by the architecture — that lined the streets. Hundreds of people and cars went up and down the dirty streets, still cluttered with debris after the seawall came down months ago. The people themselves, he thought, looked a little worse for wear themselves. And yet they carried on, almost as if nothing had happened.

When the train came onto a large bridge that overlooked Gotham, he could see for miles and miles. Countless skyscrapers jutted from the landscape, cold and gray against the equally cold and gray sky, almost like millions of tombstones. With nearly ten million citizens living in and among them. He brought his attention to the raindrops rolling down the window, and his thoughts turned almost as gloomy as the Gotham sky.

How on earth was he going to find Batman in a place like this?

Metropolis was big, too. Bigger, even. But it was a wealthy city. A technologically advanced city. A city that wasn’t suffering from a terrorist attack orchestrated by a sadistic serial killer. He pinched his fingers together anxiously. The Riddler had already emboldened hundreds of Gothamites to join him in his violence. What if people like him came to Metropolis? To Smallville?

He closed his eyes and huffed out a quick sigh, banishing the thoughts from his mind. He would never let that happen.

In the meantime, he just hoped that he could find Batman in this chaotic city.

 

Bruce was so exhausted he nearly fell asleep in the car on the way home. Had the drive been longer, he just might have. Just between sleep and wake, he felt the car stop and heard Alfred pull the parking brake. He opened his eyes and forced himself to full alertness. He opened the car door and out into the private parking garage reserved for the Wayne family. It was big enough for easily two dozen cars, but only the Corvette that they had driven to the press conference in was parked there.

Bruce walked ahead towards the elevator, noting Alfred’s footsteps behind him echoing off the concrete walls. The fluorescent lights above him buzzed, and their light felt so harsh in the cold, grey room that he kept his head down.

He pressed the elevator call button and waited. Alfred came up beside him, dressed in his chauffeur livery, complete with hat and gloves.

“I hate to disturb you, Master Bruce,” he said, “but Mr. Fox called and asked for you to call him at your earliest convenience.”

Bruce sighed. “Please don’t call me that, Alfred. We’re not in public anymore.”

Alfred smirked with dry amusement.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

“I’ll call Lucius once I’m inside,” he answered as they stepped into the elevator.

“Good. I’ll have dinner ready for you afterwards. And then it’s straight to bed with you.”

Bruce allowed a half-smirk to cross his sleepy face. “I have work tonight.”

He didn’t see Alfred’s face, but he felt the stare.

“You will rest if I need to chain you to the bed, Bruce.” His tone was joking, but his words were serious. “You’ve done enough for now. Things are stable again. Well, stable enough. Unless there are more serial killers out there that I don’t know about?” He looked at Bruce and smiled, knowing the answer was already “no.”

Bruce didn’t smile. “People are still looting and plundering out there,” he answered.

“Nothing more than petty thieves.” The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal the foyer of the Wayne suite. “Let the police handle the streets tonight.”

Bruce and Alfred walked out of the elevator. Bruce stopped in the middle of the black and white marble floor of the foyer. Alfred left for the kitchen, his footsteps echoing through the vaulted stone ceiling.

“Will you be coming to the table for dinner, or shall I bring it to your office?” Alfred asked as he left.

“Office,” Bruce answered.

Alfred’s footsteps faded in the distance.

Bruce headed for the second elevator, across the way.

 

Bruce kept his ears trained on the news playing from the TV, and his eyes trained on the half a dozen windows open on the Batcomputer.

The news wasn’t as informative as he had hoped. Gotham News and every other news station in Gotham was talking only about his and the Mayor’s press conference, replaying the footage over and over again, their anchorpersons and celebrity gossipers dissecting every little detail.

He was looking for something different.

Every tab and window on the Batcomputer’s screen was centered on one topic: Superman.

A wiki article listing all of his known abilities.

A government document released to the public discussing what little they knew of his Kryptonian heritage, and his arrival to earth.

The Daily Planet’s Flamebird vlog, playing its entire playlist in the background. It didn’t take long for him to recognize Jimmy Olsen from the press conference.

A classified document from Lexcorp detailing the effects of Kryptonite on a Kryptonian.

Several Daily Planet articles reporting Superman’s deeds, most notably his victory against Brainiac.

A Gotham Gazette article casting doubt on Superman’s true motives.

After hearing his own voice on the TV for the millionth time, Bruce finally got irritated and switched the channel to Metropolis News 8.

His phone rang: Lucius Fox.

Bruce swore under his breath and quickly answered the phone.

“Lucius,” he said as he turned the TV’s volume down. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner. I was… busy.”

Lucius chuckled. “Of course, Mr. Wayne. It’s no problem. I just wanted to finalize the details on the financing for the Gotham Recovery Project.”

He put Lucius on speaker and went back to looking at the screen. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“As we talked about before, Wayne Enterprises has more than enough to start out, but we’re gonna need more revenue if we don’t want to run out by the end of the quarter.”

He opened another link. “Uh huh.”

“I’m glad to see you taking my advice and stepping up as CEO of Wayne Enterprises. That’s already a good start. You’ve made some good suggestions for the company like the uh…”

Bruce heard papers rustling over the speaker.

Lucius laughed. “…the two million a year you’ve saved cutting out unneeded expenses.”

“Nothing compared to what you’ve done.”

“Well this is all stuff I should have noticed but didn’t. You should be a detective.”

“Hah.”

“Anyways, this is all good, and our profits are going up again. But we’re going to need a supplemental source of income. Any ideas?”

“No. You?”

“Well, we’ve got our finger in just about every pie. Medicine, tech, shipping, energy…”

A stray voice from the TV caught Bruce’s attention: “…welcomes Supergirl to his team, now bringing two Kryptonians into the crime-fighting picture.”

Bruce looked at the TV, a puzzled and deeply interested expression on his face.

The anchorwoman continued as a picture of a young woman with short, blonde hair and blue eyes appeared on the screen. “Kara Zor-El appeared just days before Brainiac’s attack on Metropolis, at first as an ally of Brainiac. But now she seems to have rapidly switched sides. Vicki Vale from the Gotham Gazette got the first interview with Supergirl, where the young hero explained—”

“…Bruce?” Lucius asked.

Bruce snapped his attention back to the phone. “Sorry. What was that?”

He swore he could feel Lucius smiling from behind the phone. “That’s alright, Mr. Wayne. I was saying that there might be room for investing in new industries, like aerospace.”

Bruce took a glance at one of his notebooks on the desk. A dot-grid page detailing the beginning blueprints of a jet called the Batwing was open on the desk.

“Yeah, aerospace. Good idea.”

“Alright,” Lucius responded, “I’ll do that.”

“Oh, I did just get another idea,” Bruce said, sitting up straight. He pulled up a window of another classified article he had obtained, detailing salvaged Kryptonian tech. “Metropolis has a lot more advanced tech ever since Superman showed up. See if we can get our hands on any of that.”

“Yes sir,” Lucius said. “Good thinking.”

“Will that be all, Lucius?”

“Actually, I did have another suggestion for the Gotham Recovery Project.”

“Shoot.”

“Gotham is stable for now, but people have really lost their morale. Why don’t we fund something fun for the people?”

“Like what?”

“I got a call from a Mr. Haly. You know Haly’s Circus?”

“No.”

“Well, the circus has come to town, so to speak. They’re in the area, and they heard about the disaster. They’ve offered to perform in Gotham for free admittance. They’ll need some financial help to make it possible, though. They’ve asked if we’d be willing to fund them. I’ve sent you an email dictating how much it would cost.”

Bruce minimized his tabs and opened his email.

“I’m sure you’d agree they’re being very generous.”

“No kidding.”

“I think it would be a great idea for the people, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’d be taking money away from more important things.”

“Believe it or not, entertainment is important, too. Keeps people’s imaginations alive. Gives them hope. Improves morale. Every good leader makes at least some investment in entertainment. And don’t worry about money. It’s not going to take food out of people’s mouths.”

Bruce nodded. “I see your point. Go ahead, then.”

“Excellent. I’ll inform Mr. Haly right away. I suggest you also make a personal appearance at the circus to show your involvement.”

“I’m—”

“You’re busy, I know. But between you and me, you could use a little entertainment yourself. At least think about it.”

Bruce sighed. “I will.”

“Good. That’s all I wanted to discuss, then. I’ll keep you posted on the new investments, and I’ll email you the dates of the circus once we’ve finalized that.”

“Thank you, Lucius.”

“My pleasure. Have a good night, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce hung up.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to recharge.

He returned to work again, turning the TV volume, bringing his research windows up again, and this time adding a tab on Kara Zor-El to the mix.

Even through the chatter of the news and the Flamebird livestream, he heard the elevator bringing down a passenger.

The scissor gate creaked open.

“You said you’d take dinner in your office,” Alfred said, his voice echoing through the empty train station.

“This is my office,” Bruce mumbled.

Alfred chuckled wryly and walked towards him. “Should have known better.” He cleared a space away on Bruce’s desk, and set a covered plate down on it. He removed the cover, revealing a bowl of steaming mulligatawny soup.

“In celebration of your press debut,” Alfred announced.

Bruce smiled. “Thanks, Alfred.”

While Bruce took a bite, Alfred looked up at the screen. “Superman?”

Bruce nodded.

“That’s right, you haven’t heard much about him, what with all the search and rescue work you’ve been doing. What do you want to know?”

“Who he is, where he comes from, how he got here, why he does what he does. I think I have it mostly figured out. Although I only just now learned that he has a cousin. Kara Zor-El.”

“Hm. You also have Kryptonite on there. How come?”

“It’s the only weakness he has.”

“I know that.” Alfred stood up straight and paused, bringing a hand to his chin. He glanced down at Bruce, and asked a probing question. “Some people feel that he’s more threat than hero, even after bringing down Brainiac. What do you think about him?”

Bruce shook his head. “Brainiac was more of a threat than Superman ever was, and he threw him into the sun.”

He chuckled.

“Literally.”

“What?”

“He literally threw him into the sun.” He pulled up footage from S.T.A.R Labs, showing a grainy but otherwise clear image slide of Superman and Kara splitting Brainiac’s ship in half, then Kara tearing apart Brainiac, and letting all the pieces fall into the gravity of the sun.

Alfred hung his mouth open for a moment, then crossed his arms. “Well then. That’s that.”

“What does concern me,” Bruce continued, bringing up another image, “is this.”

The image showed a picture of Superman, clad in black, markings on his face, eyes red and vacant.

“…That’s Superman?” Alfred asked.

“When he was Brainiac’s puppet, yes.” He minimized the page again. “That’s the only reason I’m interested in the Kryptonite.”

“In case that happens again.”

Bruce nodded.

Alfred picked up a mug of forgotten coffee, and started wiping away dust from the monitors with a towel. “You should go and find him,” he suggested. “Perhaps the two of you could team up. Lighten the load a little. For both of you.”

“I work better alone.”

Alfred smirked as he glanced at a small monitor to the far right, the one with a single window open that was labeled “S.K,” and said “No signal.”

“Is that so?” he said.

Bruce had caught the look, and read Alfred’s tone clearly. He said nothing.

“Well, now that we’ve determined that the Kryptonians are of no threat, I suggest you turn off the computer and finish your soup. I’ll have your bath drawn and your bed ready.”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m fine, Alfred.”

Alfred positioned himself across the desk, in Bruce’s line of sight, arms crossed. “You’re not going out as Batman tonight. You need rest.”

“You can’t stop me, Alfred.”

“I already have.”

Bruce knit his brow and looked up at Alfred. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve hidden the Batsuit and your keys until you have proven to me that you can sleep for at least eight hours in a row.”

Bruce scoffed and rose from the desk. “Alfred, you can’t do that.”

“It’s already done. So if you still intend to go out tonight, you’ll have to do so on foot and in your pajamas.”

Bruce’s tone rose. “And what if someone dies tonight, and I could have stopped it?”

Alfred leaned over the desk and his voice lowered to a growl. “You can’t save everyone, Bruce.”

“So what, I should roll over and let them die?”

“You can’t save anyone if you run yourself into the ground! You are being reckless, Bruce. You keep this up, and your defenses will go way down. Lower than they are now. If someone kills you in your weakness, then it’s the end of Batman. The end of Gotham’s hope. Do you want that to happen?”

Bruce glared at Alfred, his lips pressed together.

He rose from the desk. His tone turned gentle again. The fire in his eyes diminished to a smolder, until it was gone altogether. “But more than that, Bruce… I worry about you. I wouldn’t mind Batman if he didn’t keep returning Bruce Wayne to me half-dead every morning.”

Bruce’s heart thumped in his chest from the argument. He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes in frustration, as though he could wipe the exhaustion away from them through sheer intimidation alone. Just like every other person who got in his way.

He heard Alfred’s footsteps head back towards the elevator. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

The scissor gate creaked closed. The elevator door closed, and carried Alfred away.

Bruce sat down heavily into his chair. He leaned over, head between his knees, and sighed.

 

Alfred kept himself busy while he waited for Bruce. The penthouse was already spotless. He and Dory had nothing else to do while Bruce was away. So he polished the silver instead. All the while, he kept an eye and ear out for Bruce.

He looked up at the clock for the umpteenth time.

Eight o’clock.

He checked his watch. Same time.

Dory walked down the hall, past the dining room where Alfred was.

“Dory,” he called. “Have you seen Bruce?”

“No, Alfred,” she answered in her tremulous voice. “I haven’t seen him since he left for the press conference this afternoon.”

He sighed and let the fork he was polishing down onto the tray with a disappointed clatter. “Thank you, Dory.”

He opened the scissor gate and walked into the train terminal. The computer was off, and so was the TV. The chair was empty.

“Bruce?”

His voice echoed through the terminal. Only the bats were disturbed. A couple of them flapped about, chittering scoldingly at him.

As he scanned the terminal, his eyes fell on the desk again. He narrowed his eyes at the soup bowl. A piece of paper was stuck under it.

He walked up to the desk. The soup bowl was empty. He picked up the note.

“I at least finished the soup. — B.”

Alfred’s eyes went wide. He dropped the note and ran back to the elevator.

The elevator seemed slower than ever.

He dashed through the penthouse all the way to his room.

He threw open the doors, ran to his wardrobe.

He opened the secret compartment on the floor of the wardrobe, where he normally kept his rifle.

Empty, except for another note.

“No guns.”

“Damn it, Bruce…” he growled. He crumpled up the note and threw it against the window.

Clark, Jimmy, and Lois sat around the cheap folding table in their cheap hotel room, under a single fluorescent light bulb, laptops out and notebooks open.

“Clark, which ‘your’ should I use here?” Lois asked, staring intently at their shared document from her laptop as she highlighted the word in question.

“Y-o-u-apostrophe-r-e,” Clark answered, his mouth full of Chinese takeout.

“Oh come on, that’s an easy one!” Jimmy said as he texted on his phone, lounging in his chair in a position that was definitely unhealthy for his back.

“Says the man who spelled Edward with a ‘U’ five minutes ago!” Lois snapped back.

“I was distracted!”

“Yeah, we can see that!” She snatched his phone out of his hands.

“Hey!!”

She handed his phone to Clark, who stared at her in confusion. “Now can you please stop texting your girlfriend and help us finish this article?” she said.

He sat up straight and pulled his chair in with a loud metal scrape against the floor. “Kara’s not my girlfriend! She’s just… a friend… who has… a lot of admiration… for me. Mutual, of course.”

She smirked and stared at him.

Clark stared down at his noodles, minding his own business, but smiled knowingly as he ate.

Jimmy blushed. “Alright now who’s getting distracted?” He scolded. “Get back to work you two!” He crouched down over his laptop, hiding his face from them as he started frantically typing.

Lois chuckled and sighed, then returned to her work.

Clark looked up from his laptop and out the rain-kissed kitchen window. The sun had finally set just ten minutes ago, leaving Gotham blanketed in darkness.

“Hey Clark,” Lois asked. “How many ’N’s are in ‘Beginning’?”

Clark didn’t respond.

She looked at him and caught where he was looking. She poked his forearm. “Hey Clark.”

Clark jumped and looked down at her. “Gah! Sorry, Lois, got distracted there. What did I miss?”

She chuckled. “That’s fine. ’N’s in beginning?” She asked.

“Two.”

“Thanks…” she typed it out, then looked up at Clark again, a knowing look in her eye. “You wanna go find Batman now?” she asked. “Jimmy and I can finish the article without you if you want.”

Clark smiled and shook his head earnestly. “No! This comes first. We’re a team. And besides, we’re almost done anyways.”

Lois smiled at him, eyes full of admiration.

“In fact,” Jimmy added, typing furiously, “I’d say we’re done!” He lifted his hands from the keyboard with a dramatic flair, then leaned back and crossed his arms triumphantly.

“Wow, sweet!” Lois said.

Clark scrolled through the newest edits. He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I think we should save the ‘Batman-is-an-alien’ commentary for Flamebird, Jimmy” he suggested.

Lois sputtered angrily. “What?! How did you sneak that in there?! Will you stop with that already?” She started tapping the backspace button aggressively.

“Hey!” Jimmy whined, “I was right about Superman, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah, because Superman can fly and shoot lasers from his eyes.”

“Batman can fly too!”

While they argued, Clark smiled and shook his head at them, all while quickly glancing over the article for last-minute edits, making changes as needed.

“All right, all right,” Clark chuckled. “Don’t make me separate you two.”

“She started it!” Jimmy protested.

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything after I meet Batman myself. If I meet him.”

“Everything look good to you, Clark?” Lois asked, skimming over the document.

“Yup! It’s ready to go!”

“Aaaaaand sent!” she cheered. She pumped her fist in the air. “Whoo! That’s gotta be the fastest article we’ve written yet!” She went back to her browser and typed a query. “I bet even—” she gasped. “NOOOOOOO!”

Clark jumped up from his seat. “What? What’s wrong?”

“DANG IT, VICKI!!!” she shouted. “How is she so fast?!”

Clark smiled and rolled his eyes in relief. He slid Jimmy's phone back over to him, then stepped away from the table to get his coat.

“Whaaaaat?” Jimmy exclaimed, getting up to look at Lois’ screen.

Vicki Vale’s latest article from the Gotham Gazette was on her screen: ‘Bruce Wayne Announces Gotham Recovery Project — What This Means for Gotham.’”

“We’ve only just sent our DRAFT to Perry,” Lois moaned, “and she’s gone and fully published hers already!” She thumped her head down onto the table and groaned.

Clark walked up behind her and patted her gently on the back. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, Lois,” he said comfortingly. “She’s the head reporter for the Gotham Gazette. I don’t think she has to go through hierarchy like we do.”

Jimmy put his feet up on the table. “Plus, she has home field advantage, I suppose,” he shrugged from behind his phone.

Clark picked Jimmy's feet up by the toes and pivoted them off the table. 

Jimmy nearly slipped out of the chair when Clark let his feet drop, and went "waAAUH!"

“Ugghhhh, you’re right,” Lois sighed. She lifted her head from the table and rested her face in her hands. "She's got the advantage."

She looked up at Clark. “You heading out?”

He nodded. “Yep!”

She stood from her chair and jumped to put her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

He squeezed her back, smiling giddily.

“You be safe out there,” she said as she lowered herself to the ground.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “You too.”

He let her go and walked towards the door.

“Ask Batman if he’d be willing to do an interview on Flamebird!” Jimmy shouted as Clark opened the door.

Clark chuckled. “I will.”

“Bye Clark!” Lois said as he closed the door.

She tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against it.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you do—”

“Shh!” she hissed.

She waited for Clark’s footsteps to disappear.

She stood up tall and smiled with devilish anticipation. “I’ve got a plan for us while Clark’s gone,” she announced.

Jimmy raised both eyebrows. “You mean like… not the sitting at home bored out of our minds anxiously waiting for him to come home?”

Lois grabbed her backpack from the coat closet and laid it out on the table. “Look what I’ve got.” She pulled out a handheld device with a stubby antenna, a small screen, and analog buttons.

Jimmy blinked at it. “…A walkie talkie?”

“No, a police scanner!”

Jimmy gasped in delight. “Whaaaat?! How did you get that?”

She smirked sarcastically. “Gift from my dad ages ago. Thoughtful, right?”

“What are you gonna do with it?”

“Clark may not want us out on the streets with him, but that doesn’t mean we can’t help him from here.” She sat down at her chair again. “We’re going to listen to the police scanners until we hear them say that they see Batman!”

Jimmy pumped his fist in the air and yelled “Awesome!” He sat down and scooched closer to her. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Pfft, my dad is in the military. Of course he taught me how to use a police scanner.”

She switched it on.

A staticky voice blared from the speaker. “9L30, 9L42, can you 25 to 824 Curzon Street for the burglar alarm? Front motion and breakage.”

“9L30 10-4,” came the reply.

“9L42 76,” came another.

Jimmy stared at the scanner like it was spouting an alien language. “Can you actually understand that?”

She turned the volume down. “Dispatch is asking two officers to go to to that street for a burglar alarm. The two officers said yes and they’re on their way.”

Jimmy blinked again. “…Is this legal?"

“Perfectly legal."

"Then why are we hiding it from Clark?"

"I don't know, he'd probably think it's not safe and shut it down. Now while I listen to the scanner, you keep a lookout at the window just in case Batman happens to swing by here.”

“Yes!” He jumped out of his seat. “And I’ll bring my camera, just in case I can get a picture of him for Flamebird!” He dashed across the space into the small living room, where two windows looked out onto the street.

“While you’re up,” Lois said,” why don’t you make us some coffee?” She smiled and turned up the volume on the scanner again. “It’s going to be a loooong night.”

 

The doors to the hotel opened onto a dark street, lit only by stale orange street lights. Clark looked around, carefully taking in his surroundings.

A discarded newspaper fluttered down the street. A stray dog barked somewhere far off. Very few people were out and about with him as he walked down the sidewalk. He could hear thousands of voices in other parts of Gotham — he assumed the wealthier parts, given the substance of the conversations — but the East End, where he was at, seemed almost like a ghost town.

“Well,” he thought to himself, “that probably means this area is a good place to start.”

He came to a stop under a street light. After looking all around him and finding no suspicious characters in sight, he closed his eyes and focused.

He limited his hearing to the immediate area, then slowly expanded it. Dozens of voices turned to hundreds, all blending together in a cacophony of speech. He zeroed in on the voices that sounded more distressed.

“No! No! Please! Stop!” a woman screamed.

Clark’s eyes snapped open. He took off his glasses.

He dashed through the streets at super speed, beelining to the exact location of the voice.

He stopped just outside an alley and peeked around the corner.

A thug held a woman at gunpoint, pinning her to the wall. “Stop whining and give me your wallet!”

Clark ran down the alley just fast enough to pounce on the man before he could realize he was there.

The woman screamed.

Clark yanked the gun out of the man’s hand, crushed it in his fist, then punched him in the face, knocking the man out before he could even say a word.

“You’re safe now,” Clark said before he hurried out of the alley.

Clark threw the mangled gun in the trash, then looked around him.

Neon lights brought a cyberpunk glow to the street. A few prostitutes loitered outside of a club that practically vibrated from the loud rave music inside.

No sign of Batman.

He tried to listen again.

“Keep your voice down!” a gruff voice ordered. “We’re gonna get caught!”

He zipped down the streets and into a darkened home.

Two burglars turned to see the silhouette that showed up behind them.

Before they could raise their flashlights, Clark had used his super speed to tie them together with the rope that one of them carried.

As the burglars cried out in shock and fear, blue and red lights flashed into the house from outside.

Clark dropped them to the floor, kicking and yelling, and zoomed out the door so fast the cops didn’t see him leave.

While the cops entered the building, Clark scanned the area.

Still no Batman.

The cycle continued for hours. He would listen for Batman, or someone talking about Batman, and wind up hearing a crime in progress. He sped to the scene, and saved the victims. Rinse and repeat, over and over again.

At some point, he had even forgotten about Batman. 

By the time midnight came around, he had lost count of all the crimes he had stopped, everything from purse snatchers to gang fights. He leaned against a wall, hands on his knees, sweating, huffing and puffing with exertion, and staring wide-eyed into the void with confusion and worry on his face.

“What is wrong with this city?!” He exclaimed, startling a stray cat out of a dumpster.

He slumped to the ground, not caring if it was dirty. He groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. “Ohhhhh how am I going to find Batman in this place…?”

He buried his head behind his knees.

He took a deep breath, then started listening again.

For once, things seemed to be quiet.

Finally.

And then the silence was shredded with a scream that made Clark’s heart stop in his chest.

Lois’ scream.

He gasped, and his eyes glowed blue. “Lois!!”

He sprang to his feet. In an instant his super suit materialized over his clothes, and his red cape billowed out. He launched himself into the air and flew so fast he thought he might just break the sound barrier.

Jimmy thudded his head gently on the window pane, over and over, staring dead-eyed at the street below. At this point, after hours of staring at the same street, he was pretty sure he had memorized every crack in the sidewalk. He’d even named the stray orange tabby cat that kept walking around: Gumbo.

He was also hungry for a midnight snack.

As long as he didn’t fall asleep first.

“Would you please stop hitting the window?” Lois groaned from the couch. “I’m trying to concentrate!”

Jimmy thumped his head against the window one last time, then smushed it into the window with a long sigh. “How much longer do we need to do this?”

She took an aggressive sip from her third cup of coffee. “As long as it takes us to finally get a sign of Batman!”

“Has there really been nothing on the scanner this whole time?”

“There has been stuff, but nothing involving Batman! So far the closest we’ve gotten is when the cops found a couple burglars already tied up at a house they were robbing, but whoever did it was long gone. And then there was what looks like a gang fight where they found everyone already knocked unconscious, but Batman wasn’t there so it wasn’t worth calling Clark over it, though there was one instance where this one lady said she was saved by a guy in a…” she paused and her eyes went wide. “…coat… who came out of nowhere…”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “…Clark?!”

Lois smacked her forehead, then laughed. “Ohhhhhhh Clark!!” she cried in both amusement and exasperation. She stared at the police scanner as though it were Clark’s face itself, and cradled it in her hands. “You dumb, heroic man.”

Jimmy laughed. “Of course he’d get distracted fighting crime.”

“Whoa, but wait, reports like this have been going on for a while now! He’s been fighting crime all night! And not just any crime, GOTHAM crime!” she leapt up from the couch and threw the scanner down on it. “Ohhh, Clark!!” she started pacing the mustard-yellow living room carpet. “He’s not gonna get himself killed, there’s nobody here who can do that to him, but they CAN hurt him! And he’s gonna work himself to the bone doing all this!”

“Uh, Lois?”

“Why isn’t Batman doing his job?!” she shouted to the ceiling. “Clark’s out there busting his butt doing his job for him! What gives?!”

An angry “thump thump thump” sounded from the ceiling.

“SOD OFF!” she shouted back to the ceiling.

Jimmy tapped on the window. “Lois…?”

“I’m calling Clark and telling him to stop. He shouldn’t be doing this all on his ow-”

“LOIS!”

“WHAT?!”

Her angry expression eased to confusion when she saw Jimmy’s worried face.

“You might wanna come see this,” he said, pointing out the window.

Lois jogged over to the window and looked where he pointed.

A small group of men were clustered on the sidewalk. Four burly men kept watch while two others were talking: one, a short, rotund man in a black overcoat, whose back was facing them. The other a young man with brown hair and glasses.

Lois squinted, trying to get a better look. “Wait, is that…?”

“Here,” Jimmy said, bringing his camera up. He pointed it at the man, and zoomed in.

Lois gasped. “Lex Luthor?! What’s HE doing here?!”

“And who’s he talking to?” Jimmy added.

Lois stared at Lex, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together in an angry line. “I don’t like this…”

“Maybe he’s just… meeting a friend?”

“In the East End of Gotham? Birthplace of like 90% of Gotham’s crime?”

“Yeah this is weird.”

“And who’s this friend of his anyways? Those guys with them look like… bodyguards. Look at the way they’re scanning the street… look at those muscles. I wouldn’t wanna cross those guys’ path in the middle of the night.”

“Bodyguards for who?”

“I’m guessing whoever that guy is.”

“Wait he’s turning around!”

Jimmy zoomed in on his camera just as Lex’s companion turned around to look at the street behind him.

The man had a large, hooked nose, angry eyes, and a nasty scar across the right side of his pockmarked face.

Jimmy gasped. “Is that…?”

“Oswald Cobblepot…” Lois murmured, as though Oz could hear her. “The Penguin.”

“This is… very suspicious.”

Lois’ eyes widened. “Do you think… Lex somehow knows that Superman is here?”

Jimmy’s eyes widened too. “…I don’t know.”

“What else could he be here for? He hates Superman’s guts! It’s like the only thing he talks about anytime his stupid face is on TV! Maybe he wants Penguin’s help to hurt Superman.”

“We should call Clark.”

“Good idea.” Lois picked up her phone and dialed up Clark.

The phone rang… and rang… and rang.

“Hey, this is Clark! Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message after the beep!”

She squeezed in a groan just before the beep. “Hey Clark, listen. There’s been a development: Lex Luthor is in Gotham right now. And he’s with the Penguin. You might be in danger. Please come back as fast as you can.”

She hung up.

“Uh, Lois? They’re walking away,” Jimmy said.

She stooped over the window. “Uh oh… Get a picture!”

Jimmy’s camera shuttered.

And flashed.

Lois hissed a string of curses and pulled Jimmy down from the window. “Why did you leave the flash on?!”

“I forgot!” Jimmy hissed back.

Lois yanked the blinds string, and the blinds came crashing down over the window. She got up and peeked between the blinds.

Jimmy peeked through underneath her.

One of the bodyguards was talking with Penguin and pointing at their window.

All of the men looked up where he pointed.

Penguin thrust a thick finger towards the hotel and barked some orders.

Two of the bodyguards left and jogged towards the building.

“Ohhhhhh no, this is bad,” Lois whispered.

“Call Clark again,” Jimmy ordered, his eyes sparking with worry.

Lois picked up her phone again and called.

“Hey, this is Clark! Sorry I missed your ca-”

“UuUUUGH! Still no answer!” she cried. She looked out the window again. “Clark!” She shouted. “If you can hear me, please! We need you!”

“Clark!” Jimmy shouted.

“Come on,” Lois said. “We have to go. Now.”

She grabbed Jimmy’s arm and they bolted out the door of their hotel room.

The lights in the hallway buzzed more than they provided light. One of them flickered.

They ran past the elevator.

Jimmy headed for the stairwell.

Lois yanked at the hood of his coat. “No! They’ll be headed up the same way!”

As a matter of fact, they could hear the sound of heavy boots echoing up the stairwell.

“This way!” Lois ordered. She grabbed his arm and they ran to the end of the hallway to the fire exit door.

“Wait wait it says the door will sound an alarm if it opens!” Jimmy cried, trying to stop her hand.

“We don’t have any other choice!”

She yanked the door open.

A blaring, angry siren shrieked above the door, and a red light flashed.

They dashed through the door and onto the fire escape.

They ran down, down, down the metal grate stairs, two, three steps at a time, swinging around the corners, slipping on the rainwater that slicked their surface. The entire metal frame rattled with their movement, and the fire alarm from inside could be heard on every floor they passed.

They reached the bottom. Lois dropped the escape ladder, and winced as it made a deafening, rusty creak, and then fell into place with a loud CLANG.

An escape door opened above them.

“Go! Go! Go!” Lois whispered to Jimmy.

They clambered down the ladder and started running down the dark alley. They dodged dumpsters, jumped over trash, and raced through dirty puddles.

They heard heavy footsteps running behind them.

Lois grabbed Jimmy’s arm and yanked him down another alley, heading towards a street.

“I got them headed towards Main!” their pursuer said.

His walkie talkie churned static back at him.

Lois and Jimmy ran faster, faster, faster. Their lungs burned and their legs stung, but they kept running.

The bodyguard was gaining on them. But they were so close to the open street. If they could just get there…

The second bodyguard skidded out in front of them.

Lois screamed.

They skidded to a halt and turned.

The bodyguard who had followed them grabbed Lois. The other one grabbed Jimmy.

“Let! Me! GO!” Lois shouted as she thrashed in his arms.

The thug wrapped one arm around her shoulders in a vice grip. A gun clicked as it jabbed into the side of her head, its icy coldness burning her skin and making her gasp. “Settle down,” the man growled. “Now.”

Lois froze.

Jimmy’s captor thrust him against a wall, then yanked his camera off of his neck.

“Hey! Wait! NO!”

The thug hurled Jimmy’s camera onto the concrete with a soul-crunching CRACK. For good measure, the man stomped it into the puddle, where it broke into pieces.

Jimmy stared at his broken camera, stunned and horrified. He looked at Lois, saw the gun pointed to her head, and the blood drained from his face.

“Hands up,” said the man who had broken his camera.

Jimmy did so, then watched as the man pulled out a gun and pointed it at his head.

He smirked. “Any last words, you two?”

“Superman!!” Lois shrieked. “Help!!”

“Help!!” Jimmy shouted at the top of his lungs.

The thugs laughed at them and readied their trigger fingers.

Bruce couldn’t move.

And it was only just past midnight.

He sat against an AC unit on a rooftop, head against his knee, breathing heavily and laboriously. He kept his eyes closed. Every time he opened his eyes, visions danced across his field of view. Sometimes they were flashes and patterns. Sometimes he swore he saw a person in the corner of his eye, but when he turned they weren’t there.

The police scanner he was listening to fed police reports into his earpiece. Half of what he heard made sense, and the other half was nonsense.

For one thing, crime was apparently taking care of itself, tonight. Every other incident, from burglaries to gang fights, was miraculously resolved the moment officers arrived on scene.

If only.

“I told you to rest, Bruce,” Alfred’s voice came in over the scanner.

He shook his head weakly. It wasn’t really him. But he had to admit that he was right.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a full night’s sleep. Had he ever had one? After the seawall came down, and winter followed soon after to make things worse, there was simply no time. Every hour Bruce stopped, Batman wasn’t there to stop someone from dying under rubble, dying to hypothermia, dying at the hands of a looter.

“You know this is gonna kill you, right?” Selina’s voice crackled into his ear.

“Selina…” he whispered hoarsely.

She gently shushed him. “Hey, It’s okay.”

He felt her hand on his face, on his neck, gently stroking him. Soothing him.

“You can rest now, baby. It’s okay… it’s okay.”

Bruce’s breathing slowed. His muscles loosened. He leaned his head back against the AC unit. He felt the cool night air on the lower half of his face. When he opened his eyes, Selina was there. Blurry, but there, cradling him in her arms. She smiled at him and stroked his face. “This city takes a lot out of you, doesn’t it?”

He nodded weakly. At least, he thought he did.

“You know, even heroes have to sleep,” she teased lightly.

He closed his eyes again.

The voice changed to a man’s.

“But there’s no rest for the wicked, is there, Batman?”

Bruce’s eyes snapped open in horror.

Edward Nashton stared down at him, inches away from his face, his wild eyes and haunting smile drilling fear into every nerve in his body.

He screamed and swung at the air. He leapt to his feet and reached to grab Edward’s throat.

But he had disappeared. 

Bruce huffed and puffed, sweating from fear, and looked all around the rooftop.

No sign of the Riddler.

Or Selina.

The officers on the scanner were talking sense again.

He was perfectly lucid.

He shook his head, violently pushing the unwelcome thoughts out of his head, inwardly beating himself up for the time he’d spent out for the count. How many people had he missed because of that?

He shook out his arms, rolled his neck, stamped his feet, forcing his blood to move again.

He wouldn’t be going down that easy again.

He heard a woman scream.

His head snapped towards the direction it came from.

“Let! Me! GO!” she shouted.

Bruce ran across the rooftop. He shot an anchor into the edge of the building, clipped it to his belt, and ran down the side of the building.

He landed at the bottom and ran down the street.

A man’s voice. Same location: “Hey! Wait! NO!”

They weren’t far. Just up ahead.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins again, waking him up. He shot his grappling hook onto the building of a hotel whose fire alarm was going off. The line zipped as it pulled him up lightning-fast.

“Superman!! Help!!” Lois shrieked.

Two men laughing.

He looked down into the alley and saw the men pointing guns at the young man and woman. Keeping the grapple anchored, he jumped down and let the grappling gun slow his fall.

He kicked his feet down onto the men’s heads. The one holding Jimmy fell to the ground. The other stumbled back, still holding Lois.

Pain shot through the leg Bruce landed on. He fell onto his back and hit the ground so hard it knocked the wind out of him.

He hadn’t been going as slow as he thought he was.

The setback gave Lois an opening to fight back. She crouched down and jumped, slamming the top of her head into the thug’s jaw.

Her captor cried out in pain and stumbled backwards, holding his mouth. She grabbed his gun and pointed it at him.

Bruce jumped to his feet and pulled both the Jimmy and Lois behind him. He yanked the pistol out of Lois’ hands and threw it into the dumpster.

When she started to protest, he shouted “Get out of here!” and faced the two thugs.

The one with the gun started shooting.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Lois and Jimmy ducked behind the dumpster for safety.

Each bullet hammered into Bruce’s torso, bruising the skin under the armor, but he charged forward, relentless.

In one fluid movement he disarmed the thug with the gun, then pushed him into the other one.

He threw that gun back, but missed the dumpster. It clattered to the ground in front of where Lois and Jimmy were hiding.

Before he could react, both thugs had charged him and had hold of him.

Four strong arms, rippling with muscle, held him fast and threatened to pull him to the ground.

No matter how strong they were, it shouldn’t have mattered.

He had fought entire gangs one to twelve — impossible odds — and won.

But this time his reflexes just weren’t fast enough.

His body just wasn’t strong enough.

As fear took the place of his anger, the thugs slammed him into the ground.

One after another, they punched him in the face. Again, and again, and again, until finally Bruce was mercifully senseless.

He didn’t see when one of them had brought out a knife.

“Lois, no!” Jimmy shouted.

A shot rang through the air.

The thug with the knife was thrown back, clutching his arm. His knife clattered to the ground.

The other thug looked up and saw Lois standing in the middle of the alley, gun smoking, eyes wide, hands shaking.

Bruce took the distraction and punched the man in the face, willing the last of his strength into his muscles. When the man recoiled, he crawled out from under him and stumbled to his feet.

He turned to Lois, his nose bleeding down onto his face. “Give me the gun!” he ordered.

She obeyed and handed it to him, hands shaking.

He threw it into the dumpster. “Now get out of here!”

Both men were up again.

Bruce put up his fists and slid his feet apart. He spit the blood from his mouth. He blocked out the pain that throbbed through every inch of his body.

He could barely stand.

Perhaps this was his last battle.

Just when the thugs charged, a streak of blue and red plowed into the thugs and sent them flying backwards into the alley, spraying water and trash in their wake.

Bruce jumped back from it, then stared in shock at Superman’s back.

Superman hovered just above the ground, right in front of him. He turned around, and looked down at Bruce. The stern look in his eye turned to surprise when he saw Batman, but then became concerned and he started looking around the alley.

“Superman!” Lois shouted, running past Batman and into Clark’s open arms. Jimmy followed right behind.

“Right in the nick of time, Superman,” Jimmy said, watching the unconscious criminals behind Clark carefully.

“Lois, Jimmy!” Clark cried, checking Lois all over. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she sniffled into his chest. “I’m fine.”

“We’re okay,” Jimmy said. He turned around and looked at Batman. “Not too sure about him, though.”

Bruce limped past them and towards the thugs.

He bent down over them, almost losing his balance in the process, and checked their pulses.

They weren’t dead.

He stood up, using the wall of the hotel as a support. When he looked up, Superman, Lois, and Jimmy were staring at him with concern, blocking his way out of the alley.

Clark let go of Lois and walked towards Batman, stepping into the orange glow of the street light. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Bruce stared at his face, not sure if he was hallucinating again. He swayed on his feet.

Clark turned around. “Jimmy, call the police for the thugs. And get paramedics for Batman.”

Jimmy nodded firmly. “On it.”

“Don’t,” Bruce croaked.

Clark looked at him, at the blood seeping out from under his mask and onto the exposed part of his face.

He nodded, understanding. “Never mind about the paramedics, Jimmy,” Clark called.

“There’s gotta be someplace you go to when you’re hurt!” Lois said, trotting up beside Superman. “Where can we take you?”

Bruce stepped back from them. “You,” he said to Clark. “What are you doing in Gotham?”

“Oh,” Clark said, taken aback. “Uh, well… I came to look for you, actually.”

Bruce stared.

He chuckled. “And I’m glad, cus it looks like I found you just in time.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Clark smiled, attempting to put him at ease. “I know. You’ve been taking on Gotham by yourself for about two and a half years now. And after tonight…” he chuckled and sighed, then grimaced with the memory of the past few hours of nonstop crime fighting. “Let’s just say I have a lot more appreciation for what you do now. And for the fact that you’re somehow still alive.”

Bruce stared at him.

“That’s right,” Lois said, leaning on Clark with a smirk. “Superman here’s been doing your job all night.”

Clark flustered. “Uh, no, not exactly, I— wait, how did you know I’ve been fighting crime all night?”

She waved him off. “Long story, not important. We need to help Batman. Those thugs almost did him in.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said as he joined them, putting his phone in his pocket. “And then Lois shot one of them.”

Clark spun on her. “YOU WHAT?!”

“Again! Long story, not important! Because Batman is getting away!”

Bruce shot his grappling hook at the rooftop.

“Whoa!” Clark said, then zipped up and caught the hook in his hands midair. “Where are you going?”

Bruce retracted the line, pulling Clark down towards him most of the way until he let go, and the hook shot back into the launcher.

“Leave me alone,” he growled.

“You’re not well,” Clark said, coming down to the ground again. “I’m not leaving you until I know you’re going to be alright. Now, where can I take you to get help?”

Bruce stared at him, weighing his options. Both police and fire engine sirens were going off, quickly getting louder and closer. Blue and red lights flickered into the alleyway, diverting his attention briefly. They weren’t even that bright, but they made him wince.

And closing his eyes felt like gluing them shut.

And the darkness was so, so comforting.

When he felt Superman’s hand on his shoulder, he didn’t flinch.

“Hey,” Clark said, gently shaking his shoulder and looking nervously out of the alley. “Where can we take you to get help?”

Bruce opened his eyes again. He could hear the voices of the police now.

“Park Row,” he said.

Clark put his arm under Bruce’s shoulders. “Hold on,” he said. “Jimmy, Lois, you come with me, too.”

Both of them grabbed on.

When the police rushed into the alley, the only thing they noticed aside from the thugs coming to was a sudden breeze blowing past them out of nowhere.

The banging on Dr. Thompkins’ door made her leap out of bed and throw her dressing gown on over her pajamas. She ran her fingers through her short, mousy brown hair as she ran down the stairs and dashed to the door, just as she’d done a thousand times before in the middle of the night.

She could never have expected the type of emergency that this night would bring her.

When she opened the door, she found Superman propping up a barely-standing Batman, and a young man and woman standing behind them.

Her concern vanished, and a frown etched into her lightly wrinkled face. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Please, ma’am,” Superman said. “This man needs help.”

“This isn’t a vigilante hospital, young man. As far as I’m concerned, you can take care of your own.”

“Hey!” Lois protested.

“Leave us,” Bruce croaked to Superman.

“You sure?” Clark asked.

“Go!”

Clark obeyed and took Jimmy and Lois away.

“Leslie…” Bruce said, using his normal voice.

Leslie blinked at him. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“It’s me. Bruce.”

She stared at him a moment, then her eyes widened. She gripped the doorway for support and clutched her hand over her heart. “Bruce…”

She grabbed his arm and brought him inside and closed the door.

Bruce tried to stand on his own, but Leslie kept her arm around him as she guided him into her clinic.

As they walked in, she snapped on all the lights and sat Bruce down on an examination bed. She donned her glasses, and then her hands went to his mask.

“Help me get this thing off,” she said.

Bruce brought up his shaky hands slowly, fumbling in his uncoordinated state, and lifted the mask from his face.

Leslie stared at him, holding his bruised and bloodied face in her hands. Her eyes welled up. “Oh, Bruce…”

Bruce closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see her face.

Leslie brought a hand up to her face and backed away. She swallowed her tears with a gasping sigh and rushed to work. In seconds she had washed and gloved her hands, and was back at Bruce’s side with her supplies and a wheeled stool she swung around to his bed with her foot.

They both sat in deathlike silence as she worked. She wiped his face clean of blood and dirt with a damp cloth. Bruce kept his eyes closed. The clock ticked. It was so painfully quiet that he could even hear Leslie breathing.

His face clean, she replaced the gloves on her hands and began dabbing his split lip with antiseptic.

Bruce winced as the wound stung.

“Hold still,” she whispered. She placed a butterfly closure over the cut.

When she was done, she stood and tilted his head up to face her. His eyelids fluttered, but he couldn’t open them. She opened one herself and looked at it closely.

His vision danced. He saw a silhouette in the corner of his one open eye. He sucked in a gasp and looked, but the vision disappeared. He turned his face back towards Leslie and rubbed his eyes.

“Bruce, when was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

He didn’t answer.

She took him by the shoulders. “Bruce!”

“…A while.”

Her gaze dropped to the bat insignia on his chest. Equal parts anger and grief burst her heart. The tears came back to her eyes, welling up until her vision was blurred. She removed her glasses from her face and covered her eyes with her wrist.

Bruce saw the tears roll down her trembling lips.

He couldn’t dare close his eyes again, so he lowered them instead.

She sniffed. “Bruce…” She lowered her hand so she could see him, then brought it to his knee and stared up at his face. “Bruce why?”

Bruce blinked and brought his gaze to meet hers. His heart ached to see her cry, but his face stayed stony and resolute.

“If this is because of your parents,” she began, “this isn’t the way to do it.”

Bruce couldn’t suppress the sigh as he looked away from her. He knew this was coming. “Will I need stitches?”

“Not today, you won’t. But what about tomorrow? Bruce—” she put a hand over his pockmarked chest plate “—these are gunshots!!”

Bruce stood from the exam table, forcing her to scoot back. “You don’t say.”

Leslie stood up to block his exit. “Bruce sit down!”

He didn’t sit, but he at least stopped.

“So this is how you’ve been spending your time? And your family’s hard-earned money?” she lectured. She gestured to his suit. “Wandering the streets of Gotham and fighting people?!”

“Criminals,” he corrected her.

“Criminals are still people! Do you really think that punching them into prison is going to help anyone? They’re just going to come back out again, and when they do they’ll be angrier than before!” She gripped his arms and stared into his face with tearful earnest. “Vigilante justice isn’t justice, Bruce. It’s just revenge with a noble-sounding name!”

Bruce’s gaze flicked up to meet hers. His eyes turned cold to mask his inward turmoil from her. “You think I’m doing this for revenge?”

“What else is it?”

“It’s hope, Leslie. Hope for everyone whose lives are threatened by crime in this God-forsaken city. This isn’t for me. It’s for them.”

Leslie’s grip loosened. Her intense stare softened.

He stepped back from her. “Besides, this isn’t the only thing I’m doing for Gotham. You’ve seen the news, I’m sure.”

She nodded.

He reached back for his cowl hanging over his back. “Batman puts criminals in prison…” he put the mask on again. “…and then Bruce Wayne gives them a fresh start.”

Leslie shook her head and brought her hand to his mask, stroking his chin. “What you’re doing as Bruce Wayne is good enough. You don’t need to put your life on the line.”

Bruce shook his head. “It’s not enough.”

“Bruce, this…” she gestured to the suit again “…this isn’t the real you!”

“It’s the only part of me that’s left.”

She stared at him, tears streaking her wrinkled cheeks, mouth hung open in horror. She backed away, holding the back of her hand over her mouth again. “Bruce…” she croaked.

“Leslie,” he whispered, taking her in his arms.

She let him wrap his arms around her, leaning into him and then wrapping him up in her own arms, holding him so tight as though she feared he’d leave and never come back. Her tears fell onto his chest.

“Bruce,” she said. “What can I do that will make you stop this madness?”

“You can’t stop it any more than I can.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re scaring me.”

“I can take care of myself.”

She pushed away from him. “But you don’t!” she cried. “You don’t take care of yourself! Look at you! You’re skin and bones; I can see it even past the costume! You haven’t slept in God knows how long, and you put yourself in harm’s way! Worst of all, you’ve isolated yourself from the world. You don’t have any friends, and the few loved ones you do have, you never reach out! I kept calling even when you stopped picking up, but I finally gave up because I can tell you clearly don’t need me anymore!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, Bruce. Apologize to yourself.”

Silence.

Leslie’s anger wore down to a simmer, and then melted back to sadness. “Bruce… what would your father have to say about this? Surely you can’t imagine that he would approve of this?”

Bruce’s eyes glistened. “If we could know that, neither of us would be here.”

She stared. She bit her lips to keep them from trembling.

He walked past her. “I’ll send you a check in the morning.”

She grabbed his arm. “Hold it right there,” she said, turning him around.

“Leslie, stop.”

“I’m not going to tell you to stop, but I am going to tell you this: I’m cutting a deal with you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You start taking care of yourself. Sleep. Eat. Get some exercise that doesn’t involve assaulting people. When I call, you pick up the phone. And if I call Alfred and he tells me you’re doing worse… then I call the police and tell them that the Batman is Bruce Wayne.”

He stared at her. Hard.

“Deal?”

“Leslie—”

“Do we have a deal?” she insisted, cutting him off.

She could see the anger in his eyes, but she stood her ground, arms crossed.

The clock ticked away.

“I could call them now,” she threatened.

“Don’t,” he interrupted her. He took a deep, silent breath, trying to dispel the anger from his body. He closed his eyes.

Big mistake.

The adrenaline from their conversation started to wear off.

He was so… so tired.

So weak.

He had to be strong again. But if this was the only way to do it…

He sighed. “It’s a deal,” he said, walking past her again.

She stopped him again, this time wrapping him in another hug.

“I love you, Bruce,” she said.

He hugged her back. He let himself lower his head to her shoulder. He took in another deep breath.

She didn’t let go until he did, just a few seconds later.

“Now,” she said. “You go back home and sleep. Gotham can take care of itself tonight.”

He nodded, even if he didn’t believe her.

“And forget about the check.”

She walked him to the door.

When he opened the door, Bruce saw Superman and his two friends sitting on a bench across the street.

When Superman saw him, he waved.

Bruce sighed.

“Tell your friends to get back to bed, too,” Leslie said, staring disapprovingly at Clark and using the word ‘friends’ very loosely.

“I will.”

“Good night, Batman.”

She closed the door behind him.

Clark stood and hovered across the street, Jimmy and Lois tailing behind him.

Clark landed in front of him. “Are you alright now?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m taking myself home. And you should, too.”

“We will. But—”

“Hey Bats,” Lois interrupted. “Ever heard of saying ‘thank you?’”

Bruce heard commotion coming from behind him. He turned around. A straggling group of men with face paint were laughing maniacally and chasing something — someone — down the street from them.

He flinched when Superman put his hand on his shoulder. When he looked at him, he saw him smiling at him with a kind yet determined look. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll take care of them.”

Bruce stared at him for a second. He nodded.

“Oh before you go, Batman” Jimmy said, “I have a question—”

“Not now, Jimmy,” Superman said, grabbing Jimmy’s shoulders.

Lois chuckled. She looked up at Batman and smiled. “You take care of yourself, buddy.”

He nodded. “Same to you.”

Superman took them both by the shoulder and disappeared. When Bruce next saw him, just seconds later, he was flying overhead towards where the gang had gone.

In spite of himself, Bruce sighed in relief.

The thugs with the painted faces were an easy fix for Clark. In moments, he was knocking on the glass of one of the windows to his hotel room.

Jimmy and Lois rushed to the window. Lois opened it.

“Are you guys sure you’re okay?” Clark asked as he floated in.

“Clark!” Lois cheered. She plowed into him and hugged him.

“We’re good, Clark,” Jimmy sighed. He closed the window, then slumped down to the floor and stared sadly at his feet.

Lois looked back at him. She let go of Clark, then crouched down on the floor in front of him. “Jimmy… I’m so sorry about your camera. I shouldn’t have told you to take that picture.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, Lois,” he answered. “I was stupid enough to leave the flash on, and even stupider to bring it with me. I just…” he groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, stretching his skin in frustration. “I spent years saving up for that camera…”

“What were you taking a picture of?” Clark asked, his tone upset and worried. “And why did you leave the building? I thought you guys agreed to stay here! You could have been killed!”

“We didn’t leave voluntarily, Clark!” Lois argued, standing up to face him. “We were being chased; we had to run. Did you check your phone at all? I called you twice!”

“I… no, I didn’t. I never even noticed it in all the chaos…” His eyes lowered to the floor in guilt. “I didn’t even hear your voice…”

“I called because Lex Luthor was here.”

Clark’s gaze snapped onto her and turned sharp and worried. “Luthor?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy chimed in, standing up pointing out the window. “He was right down there, and you’ll never guess who he was talking to.” He hunched his shoulders, brought his hands up like claws, and grinned with devilish theatricality. “The Penguin!”

Clark blinked. “…Like… an actual Penguin?”

“No! The mob boss! Oswald Cobb!”

Clark raised his eyebrows. “What? Why would he… are you sure it was Luthor?”

“We saw him as clear as we’re seeing you,” Lois answered.

Clark furrowed his brow. “Why would he be here? And talking to Penguin?”

Lois sighed and sat down on the couch, “We don’t know.”

“Maybe we can investigate!” Jimmy suggested. He gasped. “We could get Batman to help! It could be an epic superhero team up!”

“We can’t,” Clark said. “We’re leaving Gotham tomorrow.”

“Maybe Perry could let us stay longer if we ask! Tell him Lex is here and talking with a mob boss! That’s quite a story!”

“On it!” Lois agreed. “I’ll ask him right now!”

“It’s 1:15 in the morning,” Clark said.

“Too late!” she said, clicking send. “He can answer in the morning.”

“Well… I hope he says yes. I didn’t really get much of a chance to meet Batman.”

“Yes!” Jimmy seconded. “And I still need my interview for Flamebird!”

“Speaking of which, I need to get back out.”

“Wait!” Lois said, leaping up from her seat. “Are you going out crime fighting again?”

“That’s right, you never told me: how did you know what I was doing?”

“Police scanner.” She interrupted him when he opened his mouth to protest. “You don’t have to, you know. You’ve done more than enough for Batman already.”

Clark smiled gently and stroked her head. “I’ll be alright. It’s just your average goons. No giant robots, no alien AI conquerors, no kryptonite. And besides… I think Batman could use a break.”

She sighed, and leaned into his hand. “Alright. Just don’t wear yourself out. And pay attention to your phone, please!”

He chuckled. “I will.” He kissed the top of her head. “Love you.”

He opened the window and flew out, leaving Lois and Jimmy alone once again.

“Hey what am I, chopped liver?!” Jimmy protested teasingly. He chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

His phone pinged.

“You too!” Clark texted.

Jimmy laughed.

Lois chuckled and closed the window after him. She stretched her arms out, face glowing and smile beaming. Then she crossed her arms and let out a determined sigh. “Okay, time to do some research.”

“Research?!” Jimmy protested. “You’re not going to sleep?”

“I don’t know about you,” she said, opening her laptop and sitting down, “but after all that caffeine and the adrenaline from running for our lives, I’m pretty sure my blood is straight electricity at this point!”

“Not me!” Jimmy yawned. “I’m wiped! Tonight was exhausting!”

“You don’t have to stay up with me,” Lois said, typing away. “Get some sleep.”

“What are you researching, anyway?”

“The Penguin. I’m gonna find out what Lex wants from him. Or what Penguin wants from Lex.”

Jimmy yawned again. “You do that. Let me know what you find in the morning.”

“Will do. Good night!”

“Night, Lois.”

 

Clark flew up, up, up into the cold Gotham sky. From his vantage point, he could see the entire city. Even this high up, he was still breathing in smog. He sighed, and thought of home.

He focused his attention on the city again, tuning both his eyes and ears for any sign of trouble. But for the moment, things seemed quiet.

Too quiet.

He looked around, brows pinched in suspicion as he looked around. He scanned the streets, looking through bricks and cement and listening to every hushed whisper and silenced footstep. A few people on the ground, masked and armed with crowbars, were looking up at the sky and backing away fearfully.

He looked up.

The Bat signal lit up the clouds above him.

Clark raised his eyebrows. The next instant, he was zooming through the sky, headed for the source of the beam.

He stopped just above the dark rooftop of a condemned building. A floodlight was mounted atop it, and beside it stood a man in a coat.

Clark hovered towards him, then touched down silently onto the rooftop a stone’s throw away from the man. “Hello?”

The man spun around, instantly pointing both a flashlight and a gun at Clark’s chest.

Clark raised his hands, palms wide open.

The man stepped back, slightly lowering his weapon as he stared at the emblem on Clark’s chest. “What the…”

“Sorry I scared you, sir,” Clark said, eyeing the man closely. Even in the darkness, he could plainly see his face. With the x-ray vision, he could see the police badge in his breast pocket. “I come in peace, officer. I just wanted to see if you needed any help.”

The officer lowered his gun. He turned off his flashlight. The floodlight lit up the side of his face and highlighted his features: the mustache, the glasses, the stern yet thoughtful eyes beneath them. “Superman, I assume?” he asked, returning his gun to its holster.

“Yes sir.” He lowered his hands and extended one to him. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Commissioner Gordon,” he replied, shaking his hand. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Metropolis?”

“Normally, yes. I just happened to be in the area. I saw the Bat signal and thought I could help.”

He chuckled. “The Bat signal’s for the Bat.”

“I know. But he won’t be coming tonight. At least, he shouldn’t be.”

Gordon frowned and his posture went rigid. “What do you mean he won’t be coming?”

“Oh! He’s fine! He just needed to rest.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes sir. Met him just a little while ago.”

Gordon’s face and stature relaxed. “Well… good. He needs it.”

“Anything I can help you with, commissioner?”

Gordon sighed and put his hands on his hips. He switched off the flood light with a loud ‘clack.’ “Nothing for you, tonight,” he said. “It can wait.”

Clark pinched his brow. “You sure?”

“No one’s in danger tonight.” He looked up at Clark, looking narrowly at his face, searching every feature. He crossed his arms. He smirked. “Say, you’re not here because an alien invasion is about to happen in Gotham, are you?”

Clark smiled. “No, sir. As far as I know, I’m the only alien in Gotham right now.”

“Glad to hear it.” He sighed and turned around, taking in the Gotham skyline. “That’s the last thing this city needs.”

Clark looked out with him. Only a few of the skyscrapers had any lights. Most of the others were dark and dead against the hazy Gotham sky. His heart sank. “I’d love to help,” he said, looking at Gordon. “Any way I can.”

Gordon lowered his head. He stared at the cement beneath his feet. He sighed, then straightened himself and turned to face Superman again. He watched him with the same questioning stare as before, but this time without the interrogative look. “You got any way I can call you?”

“Just call my name,” he said. “I’ll be able to hear you.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I should be able to, at least. Still learning how to filter it all out.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound very reliable.”

“Well… I’ll work on it and get back to you.”

“Good. You might come in handy someday.”

Clark smiled and bowed his head respectfully. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’ll be available all night.” He turned to leave.

“Hold on,” Gordon said.

Clark turned back around.

“Know anything about Oswald Cobb?”

“The mob boss?”

He nodded.

“Not much, honestly.” He furrowed his brow. “But… I have friends who spotted him talking with Lex Luthor tonight.”

“Luthor?” he parroted in disbelief. “As in Lexcorp Lex Luthor?”

“Yes.”

Gordon stood still, blinking at Superman. “You have any proof?”

“Unfortunately, no. You’ll have to take my word on it.”

“Hm,” he grumbled. He rubbed his lip with his finger, thinking. He took out a notepad and pen from his breast pocket. “I’m giving you my personal cell phone number.” He wrote it down, then tore the paper off and handed it to Clark. “Call me if you learn anything new.”

Clark took the paper in his hands and nodded. “Yes sir, commissioner.”

Gordon nodded in respect. “Be safe out there, Superman.”

Superman smiled and gave him a salute. “You too.” He leapt up into the air and soared into the sky.

Gordon watched until he disappeared into the clouds.

Bruce sat in his study, with the midmorning sun shining at his back. He stared at his laptop screen, dumbfounded.

The footage from his contact lens camera played through every instance where he had seen Superman. When each segment was done, he skipped ahead to the next. And in every single appearance, his facial recognition software brought up the same name:

Clark Kent.

The reporter at the press conference yesterday.

He opened his browser and began typing his queries.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Come in.”

The door creaked as Alfred opened it. He glanced down at Bruce’s laptop, then back up at him with a cautionary smile. “I hope you’re not abusing your above-ground computer privileges, young man.”

Bruce continued typing. “Good morning to you too.”

Alfred walked up to his desk. “How long did you sleep?”

“Woke up half an hour ago.”

Alfred smiled. “Good. How are your injuries?”

“Fine.”

He picked up Bruce’s empty coffee mug and plate of half-eaten scone. “Leslie called me this morning.”

Bruce clenched his jaw.

“She told me what happened last night. Told me about your agreement.”

Bruce stopped typing. He rested an elbow on the desk and ran his fingers through his uncombed hair. He sighed.

“I, for one, am glad of it. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“Good. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” He turned to walk away. He stopped and turned back around. “Do you still plan to meet with that investor Mr. Fox scheduled for you today, or shall I reschedule for you?”

Bruce rubbed his eyes and sighed.

“You can cancel if you need to.”

“No,” Bruce mumbled. “This is important.” He checked the old grandfather clock in the corner. 11:32 AM.

Alfred glanced at the clock as well. “Well you’d better get going, then,” he said. “I already have your clothes out.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

Alfred turned as though to leave, but stopped when he noticed Bruce’s absent stare.

Bruce stared at his laptop, fingers pressed to his temple and jaw set in frustration. The freshly opened tabs of information on Clark Kent, everything from government records to social media profiles, all sat there, waiting to reveal their secrets. But that would have to wait.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Bruce?” Alfred asked.

“Fine. Just have work to do here.”

Alfred put the cup and plate down on the desk again. “Something related to last night’s patrol?”

“I met Superman last night.”

“Leslie did mention that. What about it?”

“I know who he is. Clark Kent. A reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis.”

Alfred blinked in surprise. “Well that didn’t take you long to figure out.”

“I need to know more.”

Alfred walked up to Bruce’s side. He smiled a him, fretfully yet knowingly, and sighed. “You’re not going to be able to focus on your investor meeting until you figure this out, are you?”

Bruce sighed and stood up. “I’ll manage, Alfred.”

“Now hold on, I wasn’t mocking you. I have a suggestion.”

“What?”

“Let me do the research. Tell me what you want to know, and I’ll have a report finished for you before dinner.”

“No, Alfred, you work hard enough as it is.”

“Bruce, half of the rooms in this tower are locked up, and you never have anyone over to muddy up the halls. I collect more dust than the house does.” He took a step closer and took Bruce gently by the arm. “Let me help you, Bruce.”

Bruce stared at him, working his jaw. He moved his gaze to the side of the room, thinking. He looked back at Alfred and crossed his arms. “I thought you didn’t like the Batman’s work.”

Alfred bit his lips. He looked down at the ground, arms akimbo, and smiled. “Well, I don’t think it much matters what I think at this point.” He looked up at him again. “At this point I’d rather help you than fight you on it.”

Bruce shut his laptop. “I’ll be fine, Alfred. Take the day off.”

He stepped past Alfred, then left the study.

Alfred sighed and stared sadly at Bruce’s desk.

 

Bruce entered the restaurant, and spoke with the receptionist in the expensive suit. As he was led out into the sea of ornately decorated tables, he took in all his surroundings as though he were at a crime scene. The immense skylight and full-length window that bathed the room in sunlight. The smell of food and wine. The gleaming white marble floors. The singing clinks of crystal and silver. The soft music of a string quartet at the end of the room. The genteel, high-nosed air of the conversations. The whispers as people recognized him as he passed.

The receptionist led him to a table where a man and woman sat waiting for him: the man, richly dressed in a three-piece pinstriped suit and neatly groomed, with glasses and slicked back brown hair. “Bruce Wayne!” he announced, stiff and tall, one arm outstretched in a magnanimous sort of welcome. He extended his hand to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Bruce bowed his head and shook his hand. “Mr. Luthor.”

“Please, have a seat, my friend,” Lex said, gesturing to the empty seat. As Bruce sat, he continued speaking, this time gesturing to the woman sitting beside him. “This lovely lady is my very own Chloe Zelinski. I hope you don’t mind my bringing her along.”

Chloe smiled with unnaturally white teeth whose gleam nearly rivaled the diamonds dripping from her skinny neck. She pushed back a strand of her shoulder-length blonde hair. “He said it’d be like a date!” She giggled handsomely and fawned over Lex.

Bruce nodded politely.

Lex sat back and stretched his arm out over Chloe’s shoulders, and smiled at Bruce in a way that — he couldn’t explain why — made him feel suspicious.

But then again, he was always suspicious.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Lex said. “I took the liberty of ordering the wine before you arrived. He turned the bottle around to show off its label. “Le Cigare Volant, ’05.” He poured Bruce a glass. “My treat.”

“Bruce nodded. Thanks.” He took a polite sip, then put it down again. “Congratulations on starting Lexcorp,” he said as he opened his menu. “I understand your business has grown overnight, practically.”

Lex smirked proudly. “Quite! I appreciate the encouragement, coming from the cream of Gotham’s elite.” He raised an eyebrow at him.

Bruce forced a smile.

“So,” Lex continued, folding his hands together, “how’s business with everything going on?” He chuckled. “I’m sure it helps that Wayne Tower is 80 stories above sea level…”

Chloe giggled.

Bruce stiffened. He clenched a fist under the table.

“Too soon?” Lex raised his hands in defense and smiled. “I get it. You’re doing a fantastic thing helping out all these unfortunate souls. Though I must say, I’m worried for Wayne Enterprises. You sure it isn’t too much?”

“It’s never too much.”

He smiled ingratiatingly and nodded. “Very good, Mr. Wayne. I’m sure the late Mr. and Mrs. Wayne would be proud that the philanthropic image is being maintained.”

Bruce forced another smile. When the waiter showed up, interrupting Lex, he nearly sighed in gratitude.

“What can I get for you, gentlemen and lady?” the waiter asked.

“Yes, give me your finest lobster thermidor. Use Cognac, not regular brandy.”

“Of course, sir.” He looked to Bruce next.

Bruce gestured to Chloe. “Ladies first.”

“Aww, what a gentleman,” Chloe giggled. She leaned in towards Lex as she perused her menu. “Umm… what should I get?” she simpered.

“The most expensive thing you want,” he answered.

She giggled. Again. “Ohh, you spoil me, Lexie.” She kissed him on the cheek.

The imp in Bruce’s head said “Does he pay her by the kiss or by the hour?” He shoved the thought down and fought the twitch in his lips.

“I’ll just have the Mediterranean salad, but no pita chips, and do you have a dairy-free option for the dressing?”

“Yes,” the waiter answered simply.

“Good. That’s it.”

The waiter turned to Bruce.

“I’d like the Fettuccini Alfredo, please.”

“Would you like the chicken baked or grilled, sir?”

“Grilled, please.”

“Very good, sir.”

He handed him his menu. “Thank you.”

The waiter smiled and bowed his head at him, then walked away.

Lex chuckled at him, and sarcasm dripped from his lips. “I bet you could ‘please and thank you’ that man out of his own wallet! You probably made that waiter’s day right there!”

Chloe giggled.

Bruce didn’t laugh.

“Come now, enough small talk,” Lex said, sitting forward. “Let’s talk business.”

Chloe sat back, opened her phone, and started scrolling.

Bruce nodded and sat up straight, willing himself to focus. “What’s your proposition?”

“I’ve been taking a look at Wayne Enterprise’s stocks.” He sucked in through his teeth and donned an affectedly worried expression as he swirled his wine. “Things haven’t been so great for the business ever since your father died, has it?”

Again with the tragic orphan spiel. “What of it?”

“Like I said, you’re doing a fantastic job helping Gotham in its hour of need. But all that money’s gotta come from somewhere, right? You need investors. You need buyers. I can offer you both.” He took a sip of his wine.

Bruce waited for Lex to continued. He didn’t, which meant he expected a reply first.

“Go on,” was all he offered.

“You’ve got a finger in almost every pie,” he continued. “Technology, science, medicine, you name it. My sources tell me you’ve taken an interest in aerospace as well.”

Bruce’s attention started to wander. Lex’s voice overlapped with the clicking of Chloe’s stiletto nails against her phone screen, her gum chewing, the chiming of cutlery and glasses, more voices, and the music. A sharp burst of laughter from a few tables over shattered his focus entirely. The mask slowly slipped away and he withdrew into his mind. Everything he knew about Superman categorized itself alongside what little he knew of Mr. Kent, yielding unsatisfactory results as little to no correlation could be created yet. He needed more information. He wondered how soon he could get back home to figure it all out.

“Mr. Wayne?” Lex asked. He knocked on the table. “Bruuuuce?”

Bruce snapped back to the present and sat up straight. “Sorry. What was that last bit?”

Lex smiled in amusement. “I said: you sell me shares in Wayne Enterprises, and I give you cutting-edge Kryptonian toys to play with. I’d say that’s more than fair a trade for alien technology, wouldn’t you say?”

For the first time in their conversation, Bruce’s interest was piqued. “Kryptonian technology? What kind?”

Lex smiled in barely concealed amusement.

Bruce’s gut twisted in anxiety. He must have missed that part of the conversation, too.

“I’m glad you asked,” he simpered. He removed the ring from his finger and handed it to Bruce.

Bruce took it and studied it: a ring with a wide band, ornately engraved, and set with a large, green, kite-shaped gemstone unlike any he’d ever seen before. It seemed to glow from within.

“That,” Lex continued, “is Kryptonite. It powered my Metallo robots, which were used to help defend Earth from Kryptonian invaders. How about that?”

Bruce handed the ring back. “Impressive.”

“Indeed it is! Robots, guns, ships, you name it! Anything’s possible with a little Kryptonite!” He chuckled. “Well, unless you’re Superman, of course.”

Bruce caught the last sentence with a sudden curiosity.

“You really think Superman’s an invader?” he asked.

Lex scoffed. “Well unless he has a Space Visa, I don’t think that’s up for debate. But we’re not here to talk about him.” He stated the word “him” with unveiled disgust. “So, what do you say?” He extended his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Bruce stared at Lex’s hands and placed his fist over his mouth as he thought. He’d seen enough news clips to know what Kryptonian technology was capable of.

He shook Lex’s hand. “Deal.”

Lex gave him a Cheshire-cat grin. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement!”

“So,” Jimmy said, “Good news and bad news.”

Clark and Lois leaned against each other on the couch in front of him, fast asleep. Again.

Jimmy cleared his throat loudly.

Clark’s eyes shot open and he sat up, causing Lois’ head to fall into his lap. “What? Where?” he cried.

“Relax, Superman, it’s just me,” Jimmy chuckled.

Lois, startled awake by her sudden descent, got up and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry, what did you say?” she yawned.

“I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news, is, Perry says no on the Luthor/Penguin case.”

Lois groaned and slumped against Clark’s chest.

“What’s the good news?” Clark asked.

“The good news,” Jimmy began, volume rising, “is that he wants us to stay in Gotham for an extra three days to do a report on the circus coming to Gotham!!”

Lois blinked twice in confusion. “…a circus?”

“Yes! Specifically Haly’s Circus. They’ve just announced on their social media page that they’re offering free tickets for all of Gotham over the weekend to offer some fun after the seawall disaster.”

“They still do circuses?” Lois asked, squinting her eyes.

“Wow,” Clark said. “That’s very generous of them.”

Jimmy nodded. “For real. And get this: guess who’s sponsoring them?”

“You better not say Lex Luthor,” Lois groaned.

“Pfft, if it was Luthor, would I have this smile on my face?” He pointed to his wide, flashing grin for emphasis.

“Bruce Wayne?” Clark answered.

“That’s right!” Jimmy cried. “He’s gonna make a personal appearance there. That’s the reason why Perry wants us to go.” He whipped his phone out from his pocket and started typing. “I’m forwarding his requests to you two now. He wants us to ask him about funding the circus, whether it’s part of the GRP, etcetera etcetera, boring stuff. BUT! The important thing is that we’re staying in Gotham for a few more days. That should be more than enough time to get some dirt on Luthor.”

“Awesome,” Clark said. “I’m glad we could…” a yawn interrupted him. “…yeah.”

Jimmy laughed. “No more late nights from you, Clark. Leave that to Batman! We need you at your best for our Top Secret Mission! You too, Lois.”

Lois grumbled, her words incoherent as her face was smushed into Clark’s shoulder.

Jimmy hopped to his feet and started pacing. “Alright, here’s the plan. Step one: Lois, you tell us everything you found on the Penguin and his allies last night. Step two: we use that knowledge to start investigating. Step three: we take pictures, collect evidence, and expose them both in the Daily Planet, and then Luthor will be exposed for the crook he is and we’ll have singlehandedly taken down his empire!” He finished his statement with a triumphant pose, fists in the air.

To his dismay, his audience had fallen asleep on each other again.

Jimmy sighed and brought his phone up again. He walked up to Clark and Lois, plugged in his earbuds, put both earbuds in one of their ears, turned the volume up to maximum, and pressed play.

Both of them screamed and shot up from the couch, ripping the earbuds out of their ears.

“JIMMY!” Lois shrieked, rubbing her ear. “I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”

Jimmy laughed.  His grin dropped off his face as Lois started charging at him. He squealed and ducked behind the sofa as she leapt after him.

Clark rubbed his temples as the two of them ran around the hotel room, shoving furniture and slipping on tile. Jimmy half-laughed half-screamed apologies as he ran, and Lois shouted profanities and threats involving her military training as she pursued him.

Clark stood up as they dashed back into the living room, and scooped up Lois with one arm before she pounced on Jimmy.

She squirmed against his arm, grunting and trying to get loose. Clark patted her on the head with his other hand, his face clearly showing his exhaustion. “There there, Lois. Let’s not kill Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s thumbs-up popped up from behind the sofa. “I agree.”

Lois grumbled and slouched over his arm.

Jimmy’s big, brown eyes came into view from over the back of the couch. “I’m sorry!”

Clark put Lois down. He tossed the crumpled-up earbud to Jimmy. “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

Jimmy caught it, then winced at how the earbud had practically flattened and split under Clark’s fingers. “Nah, that’s on me.” He tossed it into the faded, stained garbage can behind him. “Thanks though.” He stood up and clapped his hands together. “Alright, now that you two are awake, let’s go over the plan again! Step one, Lois, you tell us what you learned about-”

“Correction,” Lois interrupted him. “Step one is coffee.”

Clark raised his hand, seconding the motion.

Jimmy sighed. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

 

                                                                                                    

 

 

Bruce frowned as he looked at his phone, reading through news articles about Lex Luthor. Every CEO had dirt on them, he knew, whether real or perceived. He himself had learned long ago not to take every article personally. But anyone with inventions powerful enough to enforce martial law on the biggest city on the East Coast gave him pause.

“Sir?” the barista called. “Sir??”

Bruce snapped his gaze from his phone, remembered he was standing in line, and hurriedly pocketed his phone as he stepped forward to the counter.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He adjusted his sunglasses, hoping they hid his face well enough. “Small black coffee, please.”

He paid the barista, left a tip, and then quickly walked over to a table to wait for his order. He pulled out his phone again, and started searching up Superman. The cafe was noisy, but not unpleasantly so. Nevertheless, he looked forward to being back home to zero in properly on this case. He pulled his hood tighter over his head.

The bell over the door jingled. Three new voices added themselves to the ambiance.

“But why did Penguin inherit Falcone’s empire?” Jimmy asked. “Wouldn’t that have gone to a family member or something?”

Bruce looked up from his phone, and stared at the newcomers. Immediately he recognized Clark, Lois, and Jimmy. He kept his phone in front of him to give the illusion that he wasn’t looking at them through his sunglasses.

“Falcone had a son and a daughter,” Lois answered as they stepped into the line. “Alberto — the son — is dead. No one has evidence for who killed him, but I think we can all take a guess. The daughter, Sofia, had a brief run as mob boss of her own gang, but then she got interred to Arkham Asylum. Considering the fact that that allowed Oz to become top banana in the criminal underworld, I have no doubt that Oz was responsible for that, too.”

Bruce furrowed his brow in curiosity.

A barista’s shrill voice cut through the noise. “Black coffee for… Malone??”

Bruce stood from his seat and walked slowly to the counter in order to hear as much of their conversation as he could.

“What kind of business does Oz do?” Clark asked.

“Drugs, no doubt,” Jimmy added.

“Not just any drug,” Lois answered. “There haven’t been any mainstream articles about it yet, and I don’t know if GCPD even knows about it yet; but word on the street is that there’s a brand new drug in Gotham, and Oz is the one distributing it. It’s called Bliss.”

“What would Lex want to do with a drug empire?” Jimmy asked. “I didn’t think that was his style.”

Clark’s brows pinched in a serious frown. “Lex specializes in weapons. Weapons and drugs always go hand in hand.”

Bruce paused at the counter, hand lightly gripping his coffee lid. He turned his head slightly toward Clark and watched him with an intense sidelong stare, safely hidden behind his sunglasses.

Clark glanced over at the hooded figure staring at him. Instinctively, he looked through the glasses, baseball cap, and hood, and saw Bruce Wayne’s face.

His eyes widened. He turned his head toward Bruce.

Bruce knew he’d been recognized.

“Oh hey,” Clark said.

Lois and Jimmy turned around to see who Clark was talking to.

Bruce hesitated, torn between staying to talk to Superman, and fleeing before the paparazzi were summoned.

The former won out. He stayed.

Clark looked around cautiously and lowered his voice. “Are you, uh… who I think you are?”

Bruce extended his empty hand to Clark. “Bruce Wayne,” he murmured.

Jimmy gasped and his eyes lit up. “You-”

Clark wrapped his arm around Jimmy and put his hand over his mouth. “This,” he said, grinning awkwardly, “is my friend Jimmy!” He looked seriously at Jimmy and added through his teeth: “Who is not going to make a scene about Bruce Wayne being here!”

Jimmy, having been quickly subdued, popped a thumbs-up. Clark let him go.

Bruce gave a dry smirk, then bowed his head in appreciation.

“This is my girlfriend Lois,” Clark continued.

“Hey!” Lois said, and shook Bruce’s hand firmly. “Lois Lane, from the Daily Planet! It’s an honor to meet you in person, sir! You know it’s funny we should run into you here, because we’ve heard about how you’ve sponsored Haly’s Circus coming to Gotham, and we’d love to interview you to hear more about it!”

Bruce nodded, and released his hand from Lois’ enthusiastic grip. “Perhaps another time.”

“Yes,” Clark said, placing his hands on Lois’ shoulders and smiling apologetically at Bruce. “Another time.”

Bruce nodded his head at Clark. “Clark Kent, right?”

“Oh! That’s right, I forgot to introduce myself. Yes, that’s me.”

He nodded. “I remember you three from the conference.”

Lois gasped. “Really?”

“Wow!” Jimmy fawned, “Bruce Way—ouch—” he said, as Clark jabbed his arm with his elbow, “I mean… he remembers us!” He flashed a smug pose. “We must be pretty good reporters to be that memorable!”

Bruce smiled a little in amusement, then looked at Clark again. “I overheard you talking about Lex Luthor,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” Clark answered. He lowered his voice. “We’re uh, actually doing a sort of investigation on him.”

Lois jumped in, lowering her voice to a low and serious tone. “We saw him talking to Oswald Cobb last night. Otherwise known as the Penguin. Ever heard of him?”

Bruce frowned. He nodded.

Clark continued, his voice growing serious and sure. “We’re worried he may be up to something. Back in Metropolis his motives have been… questionable at best.”

“Next!” the barista called to them.

“Oh, one second.”

They stepped forward and ordered their drinks. Just as Clark was taking out his wallet, Bruce slipped his credit card over to the barista in a quick yet fluid motion. “It’s on me,” he said.

Clark flustered. “Oh! Y-you don’t have to do that!”

“Yeah!” Lois said, “It’s no trouble for us!”

“No trouble for me either,” Bruce answered as the barista gave his card back. “Besides, you’re giving me something of value anyways.”

“…We are?” Jimmy said.

Bruce stepped back, allowing the trio to step out of the line. He continued. “Luthor and I are in the same sphere of influence and business. If there’s a chance that Luthor may bring trouble to Gotham, I may be able to do something about it.”

The trio’s eyes widened.

“You’d do that?” Clark beamed.

Bruce nodded.

Clark smiled. “We’d be happy to tell you what you want to know.”

“And,” Lois said, pushing forward, “we’d love it if you told us everything WE want to know about Luthor! Here here, have a seat.” She took him by the arms and half-guided half-pushed Bruce to the nearest table, so fast that Bruce could hardly react, and sat stunned in his seat. No sooner had Bruce sat down than her phone was thrust into his personal space, recording app open and active. He stared at the phone, then at her. Lois’ eye contact was so intense it made him fidget. It took him a second to remember he was Batman. He backed up a little as Jimmy and Clark sat down.

“I’d rather this not be published,” Bruce said to Lois.

“Oh don’t worry,” Lois said, “we’re not publishing anything yet. We don’t have near enough dirt on Luthor to be able to do that just yet!”

“You understand this could hurt business for me.”

Clark stretched a hand cautiously towards Lois. “Let’s respect his wishes, Lois.”

Lois narrowed her eyes at Bruce. “Do you work with Luthor?”

Bruce shrugged. “We work in overlapping industries.”

She narrowed her eyes even more.

“Hey, relax, Lois!” Jimmy teased. “He’s only just now learning about Luthor’s possible evildoing anyways, so you can’t blame him.”

Lois sighed. She stopped the recording and pocketed her phone. “Fine.”

Bruce nodded his head in gratitude.

“Let’s start over,” Clark said, taking out his notepad and opening to a page of notes. He looked at Bruce. “What do you want to know about Luthor?”

“From what little I know,” Bruce answered, “there seem to be a lot of mixed opinions about him. Some see a powerful and revolutionary leader; others see a reckless and womanizing weapons dealer. I want to know which is truth and which is tabloid material.”

“Obviously the reckless and womanizing weapons dealer,” Lois said with crossed arms and disgust in her tone.

Clark sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, a bit of both, perhaps. There’s no denying he’s successful and revolutionary. He’s behind most of the advanced tech we have around in Metropolis. But…”

“But,” Jimmy continued for him, “he’s put people in danger to get his way. When earth was under attack from alien robots from Krypton, he was just as interested in destroying Superman as he was in destroying the invaders! Hell-OOO!” he cried, arms waving sarcastically. “If Superman wanted to destroy humanity, he would have done it a long time before Brainiac got around to it!” He groaned and slumped backwards in his seat. “But no, Lex is intent on viewing Superman as a threat, even after all the good he’s done.”

“Hm,” Bruce said.

“I’d be more worried about the Kryptonite weapons he’s been developing,” Clark continued, his tone low and grave as he stared at his coffee cup. “Forget about Superman. These weapons hurt humans, too.”

Bruce stared at Clark. Clark’s words replayed in his head, ringing in harmony with his own truth.

“That’s what’s made us so worried seeing Luthor here,” Lois said, folding her hands together. “And talking to a mob boss, no less.”

Bruce nodded. “Good to know.”

“So, what can you tell us about Luthor?” Jimmy asked.

Bruce shook his head. “He’s still new to my circle. I only know as much as you and everyone else knows.”

Lois slumped back in her seat. “Ugh…”

“But,” Bruce continued, “I have my resources. If you’d be so kind as to give me your phone numbers, I can share things with you as I find them out.”

Jimmy gasped and went starry-eyed. “You, Bruce Wayne, are going to give us your personal phone number??”

“No. You’re going to give me yours.”

The sparkle vanished. “Oh.”

“This is great!” Lois said, tearing a piece of paper off of Clark’s notebook, stealing his pen, and furiously scribbling down their numbers. “You can be our eyes and ears on the inside! If you see him here in Gotham, hunt him down and get as much as you can out of him! We need to know where he’s going, what he’s doing, and who he’s seeing.” She slid the paper over to Bruce.

Bruce took it, folded it, then put it into his pocket. “Thank you.”

Jimmy gasped. “Wait! The circus!” He turned to Bruce. “Do you know if Luthor is staying in Gotham to go to Haly’s Circus??”

“I doubt it would be his style,” Bruce answered.

“That’s a great idea!” Lois cried. She pointed a finger at Bruce. “You invite him to come to the circus with you as a plus one! Make it out to be a publicity stunt or something, I don’t know. Whatever it is you billionaires like to do. We’re going to be there, too, so we can corner him and try and squeeze some answers out of him! You ask him stuff too. Just like we talked about. Who he’s seeing, where he’s going, etcetera.”

Bruce, desperately trying to get a word in edgewise, could only hold his mouth open as she prattled on. And then, just when he thought she’d stopped talking, she thrust her hand out to him and said “Deal?”

Bruce stared at her, stricken dumb.

“Er,” Clark interjected, leaning forward to display an apologetic expression to Bruce, “only if you want to, that is.”

“Clark!” Lois whined. “This is a matter of national security!”

“She’s right,” Bruce answered.

Lois looked up at him and beamed.

Clark’s expression eased, and he smiled at him. He chuckled. “Yeah.” He looked admiringly at Lois. “She usually is.”

Lois looked up at him and blushed.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bruce answered at last.

Jimmy pumped his fist. “Yesssss!! We’re getting the scoop on Luthor!”

“I can’t wait to see the look on Vicki’s face when we finally out-scoop her with this bombshell!” Lois said.

Clark chuckled.

Bruce cracked a smile. He got up from the table. “I have to get going now. But it was a pleasure meeting you all.”

The three of them stood with him, and shook his hands once again.

“Thank you for the information,” Bruce said.

“And thank you for your help!” Clark replied. “We really appreciate it.”

“Don’t forget to text us when you find something!” Lois ordered.

He nodded. “I won’t.”

“Oh wait!” Jimmy cried enthusiastically. He rushed up to Bruce. “Would you be willing to do an exclusive interview for Flamebird?! It’s my very own channel — now with millions of subscribers — that talks about all the most interesting people on the planet, and also all the mysteries of the universe!” He emphasized his last part with raised shoulders and wiggling fingers, as well as an impish grin.

“Uh, maybe another time,” Bruce answered.

“You got it! You have my number now! We can arrange a time that works for you!”

Bruce nodded. “Excuse me, but I do have to go now.”

“Of course!” Clark said. “Please, don’t let us hold you up. You’ve been more than generous with your time.”

Bruce bowed his head at Clark. “Until next time.”

The trio waved goodbye as Bruce walked away. The bell over the door jingled again, and the ambiance of the cafe was replaced with the normal noises of Gotham: engines, tires, horns, sirens, voices, radios blasting… the usual. Sometimes Bruce found it overwhelming. But, he thought as he unlocked his car, in recent weeks, he was finding it comforting to hear.

After months of destruction and terror, the city was alive again.

After he sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the door, he looked through the cafe windows. Clark, Lois, and Jimmy had sat down again, and were having an animated discussion. He watched Clark in particular, observing him closely. Now that he knew his identity as Superman, he wondered at how he could get away with just taking off his glasses and putting on a suit to hide his identity. Even he hadn’t recognized him until he’d looked back at what his detective vision had recorded.

He ignited the engine. As he drove out from the curb and merged into traffic, Clark’s words rolled over in Bruce’s head again: “Forget about Superman. These weapons hurt humans, too.”

He filed away a mental note to do some investigation as Batman on Luthor and Cobb as well. If he could just get enough information on Luthor to help Superman take care of him before he could cause any trouble in Gotham — if he caused any trouble — then he could leave Luthor in Superman’s hands and just focus on Penguin.

But first, he had to be more certain of Clark’s attitude towards Luthor — a man who had made himself an enemy of Superman. Superman’s plans for Luthor would determine whether or not he would help at all.

He filed away another mental note to arrange for Batman and Superman to meet again.