Chapter Text
Clark spent the whole train ride back to Metropolis staring through the window, trying to clear his mind. Bruce kept invading it with the memory of his broken body, his lightly scented cologne that clung to his collar bones, and how he managed to trick Clark into not only arriving in Gotham but revealing his identity as well.
Clark was a trusting man, Bruce was not. Yet on his little trip Bruce gave Clark more trust than he might have ever shown anyone else and Clark left wondering how much of his own trust had been used against him. Clark wondered if it was all worth it. He hoped it was.
The Monday morning back at work was the most hellish day Clark had ever experienced. And for him, that was saying something. With super hearing, any office gossip within a few miles was rendered public information. That had its benefits and its draw backs. It made most of Lex Luthor's plans clear as day and office harassment easy to catch, but when it was about Clark it cut through him like a knife.
It wasn’t like he hadn't experienced negativity before, a town just kissing the mark of 1,000 people didn’t leave many skeletons to hide in closets, but how people work in the city was different. The collective they owed their humanity to was greater, so the humanity given the individuals within it seemed to be less. Or that’s what Clark sometimes thought. Regardless, Clark could hear the rumors before he even made it to the metro.
“Did you get the Saltu story just because you slept with Bruce Wayne?”
Of course Lois would be the first person to ask Clark to his face. He almost respected it, she hadn’t said a word on the topic all morning– even to Jimmy– until she could lock eyes with Clark.
“No, and also that’s rude to ask,” Clark adjusted his glasses and made his way to his desk, fighting off the hungry stares and whispers with counterfeit confidence.
“White asked for you by name because Bruce Wayne asked for you by name. Everyone at the hotel opening saw you two get frisky and then two days later you’re being driven from his place like he’s your sugar daddy,” Lois shoved paparazzi photos on her phone in Clarks face.
“First of all,” Clark weaved around her tactful blocks and ‘stumbled’ into his seat, “there’s no shame in sugaring, Lois, but I’m glad to admit I can support myself as a journalist so I don’t need to do whatever you think I did. I’d like to think I’ve made it this far by my talents as an author and that alone, wouldn't you?” Clark turned to Lois and gave her a snarky stare.
A few years ago, she and Lex Luthor had a short lived fling that ended in a very one-sided break up. Lois wasn’t one to cover up a story to save a relationship, at least not for a story like child labor. Even though she won countless awards since then, worked in a full passports worth of countries, every once and awhile even Lois herself caught vile chatter about it behind her back.
“Okay, Smallville,” Lois begrudgingly shoved her phone back into her blazer pocket, “but how was the hotel?”
Clark gasped, “the water pressure was amazing,” he relaxed a bit at the memory. “And the sheets?” A dramatic sigh left his lips, “I never knew recycled fibers could feel so soft.”
Lois laughed and Clark smiled as she playfully smacked his arm. “Ugh, I’m so jealous,” she groaned.
“But honestly,” Clark pulled out his laptop from his battered satchel, “I think you would’ve done a better job at the opening. I don’t know why but I just froze up,” he half lied.
“Yeah, well, next time when you get to stay at a five star hotel and I have to interview our ‘revamped sewage engineering department’, think of this moment,” Lois teased. Clark didn’t need anything special to know that whenever she made comments like that she never meant malice. From their first meeting it was clear she was the type of person who showed affection by snide remarks or impishly smacking her friends like they were her own siblings. Clark didn’t think she noticed, but it took them four months to exchange touch. The first time they did touch was after he bought her dinner while they were crunching a deadline (for the fifth time, from her favorite Thai place) and it was a swift kick to his shins.
She lingered by his desk for a bit, maybe trying to read over his shoulder, maybe because she wanted to, then headed back to her office. Clark just finished polishing his article on the Saltu hotel opening when Jimmy came sprinting at him. He missed Clark, and Clark knew this because Jimmy told his favorite janitor (Chris) this.
“Clark!” He screeched to a halt just shy of the desk.
“Jimmy!” Clark returned the same energy back.
“What the hell, man?” Jimmy stage whispered.
“What?”
“Well, you and Bruce Wayne, I’ve been hearing some pretty wild stuff about you two, so are you two a thing or should I start cracking down on the water cooler chit chat?”
Clark didn’t think about this. About his close friend asking what happened between him and Bruce and what to say. How to narrowly dodge enough of the truth both for Superman and Clark. “Well,” he leaned in a bit. Jimmy leaned in a lot more. “I interviewed his butler.”
Jimmy whipped back upright and had a deeply disappointed, bland face. The switch caused Clark to laugh and Jimmy huffed playfully. “His butler? That’s it? You seriously worked the whole weekend?”
Clark nodded, “yes! I was on a work trip?”
Jimmy sighed and scrunched up his face, “fiiine, I believe you, but if you–”
Clarks phone dinged and lit up, “see you next week, I’d like to do dinner before you put on the red underwear and tights,” read just below the contact line of: ‘BRUCE?’
Jimmy slammed his hands to his mouth and gasped in such a way that brought soap opera stars to their knees, “oh, my–”
Clark went bright red and lunged over his desk, trying to get Jimmy standing since he was slowly falling to the floor, “Jimmy, Jimmy it’s not what you think, please you’re making a scene,” he begged.
Jimmy flopped about, “oh my, oh my GOD!” He snapped his head to Clark, “you lied! To me! To. My. Face.” He was both milking it and genuinely distraught. “I’ll be honest, I was expecting that kind of thing from Bruce Wayne, you know richie riches are all into that freaky stuff, but Clark. I never thought of you as that kind of guy!” He respectfully whispered when he started to talk about Bruce, but his dramatic body language didn’t quite stop. “At least he wines and dines you first. I’d like to meet him though, give him the shovel talk. Maybe take like 200 bucks from him. I don’t think he’d notice, would you?”
Clark stopped trying to contain Jimmy in utter defeat. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this, it’s just that.” He fished for the right words, but he was fishing in a slip-n-slide. “We’re taking it slow, because I’m not…” whatever embarrassment hadn’t caught up to Clark did so by now, “not. That experienced. In what he likes. And I wanted to get to know him.” He mumbled as quietly as possible.
Jimmy nodded, deep in thought. “Okay, okay, I can work with this.” He had an epiphany, “wait,” Jimmy got close again. “Is this the first person since you moved on from…” he not-so-gracefully nodded over to the direction of Lois’s office.
Clark grumbled. “...yeah.”
“Aah!” Jimmy nudged up against Clark, “look at you, moving on!”
Clark scoffed and scratched the back of his head, “thanks,” he admitted.
“Kent!” A voice boomed through the whole floor. Mr. White.
Jimmy instinctively flinched at the sound of his voice and skittered back to the photography department. White was still in his office, arms crossed, hunched over his desk.
“Coming, Mr. White!” Clark called as he snagged his laptop and hurried to his office. Something about his tone told Clark exactly what he called him over for. That, and the piece titled ‘Alfred Pennyworth: Acting to English Espionage to Fathering Gotham’s Richest Tomcat’. It was wordy, but journalists never end up picking the publishing titles anyway.