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All things considered, Clark thinks that he did a pretty decent job with the damage control throughout the whole ordeal. Although there was no way to save the building itself from coming down. With the structure's supports crumbling, and the Justice Gang busy dealing with the creature who caused it… Well, super or not, Clark is still just one man and can't keep it standing on his own.
With that in mind, the only solution Clark has left is to make sure all the civilians are evacuated out of the danger zone before all of it comes down. Thankfully, the number of people occupying the building isn't a lot. Just a few corporate staff members who'd stayed to listen in and take on an important board meeting. Getting them out is no problem.
Getting everyone away, safely, is.
One of the columns cracks under the pressure, and Clark bolts to hold up the structure to keep it from falling over and crushing the crowd as they run to escape. Holding the weight of the skyscraper is no problem for him, but balancing all of its weight is. As he pushes back against gravity, cracks start to form and spread in web-like patterns along the concrete walls. A large chunk from the crown of the building breaks off.
As it crashes against the pavement, it sends up a cloud of dust. It doesn't hit any of the fleeing civilians, but it does cause a few to shriek and fall to the ground, arms covering the back of their heads to protect their skulls. A man Clark recognizes as one of the people who had been in the building stops to turn around. Clark watches him push back through the crowd to reach the ones who'd fallen, helping each of them back up. Another piece of the building breaks off as he picks up a young woman to her feet and urges her forward.
As if in slow-motion, Clark watches as it tumbles towards him. The impact would kill him, he realizes, the window fragments cutting his skin and the rubble crushing his bones. So, he moves. Speeding towards him, Clark sees the subtle tilt of the man's head as he gets closer, turning to the side to glance up at the collapse.
As soon as Clark reaches him, he gently pushes his head back down, tucking him into an embrace to shield his entire body from any flying shrapnel. He feels glass and stone shatter against his back and faintly hears the man's breath leaving his lungs as he crashes into him, hurtling them both to safety.
He comes to a stop, incidentally, in front of the large crowd of evacuated civilians, who cheer as he returns unscathed.
As Clark looks down at the man he saved, he realizes he should have recognized him earlier. Not that he'd ever seen the prince of Gotham's face in anything other than the tabloids, but it was undeniably distinct.
"Mr. Wayne!" he exclaims, more so out of surprise than anything else. "Are you alright?" He resists the urge to x-ray him for any injuries, knowing well enough to respect the man's privacy.
Wayne didn't look hurt. He seemed calm. Shockingly calm, even, especially after such a close brush with death just now. Clark had been prepared to help him come back from any shock he could've experienced, but he's…
"Fine," says Wayne. "I'm fine." He turns his head and scowls at the mass of people gathered around, many of whom start to pull out their phone cameras. "Can't say I'm too pleased about the audience," he adds bitterly.
Clark could fix that. "Hold tight," he says as his only warning. Without another word, he grabs onto Wayne again and shoots upwards with him in his arms.
The sudden burst of speed tugs a yelp out of him, and Clark feels an unexpectedly strong grip around his shoulders, fingernails digging into the fabric of his suit. At the same time, Clark hears a rapid spike in his heart rate.
"Sorry!" he shouts. "I'm sorry, I should've— Gosh, let me just—"
He soars over to the nearest rooftop and lets go of Wayne, allowing him to have a bit of space. Wayne stumbles a bit as he lands. Physically, there's no sign of fear, but Clark can still hear the poor man's heart stuttering in his chest as he calms himself down.
"Sorry," Clark apologizes again. "I wouldn't have done that if I'd known you'd be…" Scared. The word that pops into his mind is scared. But he has a feeling he's knocked this man's pride down enough at this point and hesitates as he tries to think of a different word. "Uncomfortable," he decides on.
"It's fine," Wayne chokes out. "But maybe a warning next time would help." Clark watches him as he grips the railing along the sides of the rooftop with white knuckles and tries to steady his breathing. He feels like he should try to say something to him, maybe help him out, but he finds himself staying quiet.
"I haven't thanked you yet for saving me," Wayne says once his heart has settled. Clark opens his mouth to say 'You're welcome,' but realizes that he technically hadn't been thanked yet. His jaw snaps closed.
"So," Wayne looks him directly in the eyes. "Thank you."
The words on Clark's tongue die a little under his piercing gaze. For some reason, he gets a strange prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like Wayne sees something in him that he doesn't quite know about yet. "Sure," he's able to squeak out. "Anytime, man."
And now he wants to slam his head into the railing. He would have, if he weren't so worried about the Superman-head-sized dent he'd probably leave in it.
Wayne sighs as he takes off his coat. "I should get back," he says. "I have no doubt someone's waiting to have a word with me about the little stunt I pulled."
A question still lingers in the back of Clark's mind. "Why did you do it?"
Wayne is halfway through the process of folding up his expensive coat. "Hm?" he hums. "I don't know. Maybe I just felt like I had to."
Clark understands that feeling more than anyone. It bewilders him that this wisdom is being laid upon him by the shut-in billionaire he's only heard rumors about through the press.
Wayne turns to look at him before he's able to come up with any more questions. "There's no other way off this rooftop, is there?" he asks.
And so Clark carries him — with much more caution than before — off the building to a less crowded area, where Wayne waves him goodbye and disappears off to find whomever it is that would take him safely back home.
By the time he gets back to the scene, the Justice Gang is already soaking up all the love and attention from the bystanders. The crowd only cheers louder at his arrival.
"Supes!" Guy greets him as he lands, coming over to sling an arm around his shoulders as they walk together. "Went off to butter up Wayne, did you? Hey, he didn't happen to mention anything about a free loan, did he?"
"Guy," Kendra deadpans. "You are the salt of the Earth."
Guy simply chooses to ignore her.
In a fight between life and death, Clark decides that he would much prefer to deal with an angry but still alive Batman now rather than a silent but dead Batman later.
Despite Batman's constant warnings for him to stay out of his business and leave him to work on his elaborate schemes, Clark also had a feeling that the man wasn't about to quit until his body went cold. And so, ignoring his protests, Clark zips into the fray and sweeps the Bat into his arms to carry him safely out of range of the fight.
Batman struggles and thrashes when Clark first gets a hold of him, but stops as soon as they crash out through the roof of the warehouse. Clark hears an almost imperceptible gasp as they hit the skies, continuing to soar upwards. He only stops once they're well in the air, far from the peril they were just in.
Clark isn't happy as he shoots an accusing look at Batman. "Again?" he says exasperatedly. "Look, I get that this is your turf, but would it kill you to ask for a bit of help? Or at least warn me about whatever it is you're planning."
Batman glares at him at says nothing. To be fair, he's usually silently staring daggers at Clark, so this means nothing special to him. Clark sighs and readjusts the way he's carrying him for a safer hold. As he does this, however, Batman suddenly grasps onto his arms in what surely what have been a painfully tight hold, if Clark were human.
He stares at the Bat's hand on his bicep. It's nearly shaking from the tension he has in his grip. Clark frowns as he tries to look him in the eyes. Batman, in the meantime, firmly stares upwards, refusing to meet his gaze and refusing to glance down at the city below them. It's also then that Clark realizes he can hear the sound of Batman's heart pounding violently in his chest. It dawns on him.
"Bats," he says, slightly in awe. "Are you—?"
When Batman finally looks him in the eyes, it's with murderous intent. "Put me down," he growls.
Batman's still angry with him, even after Clark brings him back to the ground. As soon as Clark sets him down on the building's roof, he shoves him off, walking a short distance away. He stands with his back turned to him, staring off into Gotham's cityscape.
Clark clears his throat. "I didn't know you were afraid of heights."
"Shut up," he replies.
Clark hesitates for a moment but decides to approach him. "Look, it's okay to be afraid of heights," he tries to reassure him. "Everyone's gotta be scared of something."
Unsurprisingly, this does nothing to cheer the Batman up. Honestly, Clark isn't sure if there's anything that could cheer this man up. He sighs.
"Look, I'm sorry I did that without asking," he apologizes earnestly. "It won't happen again."
Batman sets his jaw. "Just," he starts, "next time, give me some kind of warning."
As Batman walks away, Clark silently pumps his fist in victory. It's a small step, but at least it's a step in the right direction.
The worst thing that could ever happen on a Friday evening at the Daily Planet is Cat Grant calling in sick. While on any other day, this might be seen as a relief to some of Clark's colleagues on his office floor, today, this meant that someone had to fill in for her at whichever billionaire's party was being thrown that evening.
Unfortunately for Clark, since he was the one who suggested they'd draw straws, that meant that everyone had immediately piled on to nominate him for the job. So, here he is, in his best suit and tie, notepad and pen in hand, and standing in the middle of an overwhelmingly bright and shiny gala no one else wanted to be at. Lucky him.
But a job is a job, and even though Cat always left a stack of handy-dandy notecards of the usual questions she'd ask the various big-time guests, Clark has his own ideas for what he wants to investigate. The only issue with that is that all of the usual suspects would only give the most… frustratingly vague answers Clark has ever heard. He's close to crushing his pen between his fingers as a man with a shiny mustache goes off on a tangent about his stock investments.
"Excuse me," he mumbles, pushing through the crowd to escape this pointless conversation. The man whom he'd tried to interview does not even notice that the reporter is gone, his rambling now turning into a spectacle for his fellow patrons.
He pushes his way through a set of doors to a quieter part of the building's highest floor. He sighs as his back hits the wall, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath to reset himself.
His eyes shoot wide open.
Standing not-so-far away at a large glass-pane window with an untouched champagne glass in hand is none other than Gotham's prince, Bruce Wayne himself. Even worse, he's staring right at him. Clark flushes at the thought that Bruce Wayne had just stood there watching his mini-tantrum that whole time.
"Hi," he manages to say. "Uh, Clark Kent. Daily Planet."
Wayne's eyes slowly move up and down, no doubt taking in every detail from Clark's appearance. There's a subtle shift in his expression to wariness before he speaks. "I didn't think I'd have company out here," he says with little emotion.
Clark walks up to stand beside him, looking out through the window at the city below. "It's a great view," he comments. "Better company than most company, if you ask me. You escaping the gala, Mr. Wayne?"
Wayne doesn't answer. Instead, his gaze sinks to the notepad and pencil Clark is still carrying.
"Off the record, of course," he clarifies.
"Then, off the record," Wayne says. "Call me Bruce. I don't care much for formalities." The champagne fizzes as he slams the flute glass down on a nearby table. "And yes, I am. I'm only here because not going would have had trouble knocking at my door the next morning."
Clark was, frankly, a bit taken aback by the bitterness in the man's voice. It was so sudden and upfront that he almost could have chuckled. But he figured doing so would probably send Bruce the wrong message. "At least you have a moment of quiet, though," he says.
Bruce glances at him, his brows arching softly.
"Until me, I guess," Clark added.
"Until you," Bruce agreed. "But you aren't the worst company to have." It's not exactly a compliment, but it's close enough to one that Clark feels a warm tingle in his chest. "And, you're right. It's a pretty great view."
This time, Clark did laugh. "Didn't think you'd be one to notice, Bruce," he comments. "I figured the height would put you off from it a bit."
The air changes. Bruce's posture shifts. Where his shoulders were more relaxed before, he's pushed them back into a straighter posture. He turns to Clark, any previous signs of casualness gone, replaced by suspicion. "How do you know about that?"
Then it hits Clark.
Bruce Wayne met Superman.
Bruce Wayne has not met Clark Kent. Until right now.
Uh oh.
"I just mean," Clark stammers, raising his hands defensively. "No, that's… I didn't mean to assume, I just guessed since— I have this friend who—" He breaks off as the sound of Bruce's heart gets steadily louder. It's not quick, but it beats strongly in anticipation of something. It's a pounding with no fear, a distinct pattern that Clark vaguely recognizes, but only to…
It hits Clark at the same time it hits Bruce, but neither of them can throw out their accusations before they're interrupted by a loud bang that echoes from inside the main hall. It's followed by screams and the shattering of glass, the sound of more shots following.
"It's an organized attack," Bruce observes. As he talks, Clark shrugs off his blazer and starts undoing his tie. "There's nothing of value worth the trouble to come up this far, so their goal's—" He breaks off as Clark yanks open his white dress shirt to reveal the red and yellow S-symbol of his suit underneath.
A feeling of awkwardness crawls up Clark's skin as he stands there with his half-exposed secret identity. "Um, if you weren't sure before, you know now."
Bruce glares at him indignantly, and if there was any doubt of the resemblance before, Clark for sure was certain of his double life now. "I knew," he informs him.
Once Clark gets out of the rest of his suit, he pops open one of the windows and starts to climb through. He pauses briefly to look back at Bruce, who's still quietly watching him. "Are you…?" he asks, just to be sure.
Bruce scowls. "No suit," he mumbles. He looks so irritated at his own oversight that Clark has to hold back his amusement.
"I'll be back for you, then," Clark promises. "Wait here?"
As he flies out the window, he hears the quiet click of Bruce's tongue that lets him know that there's zero chance he'll follow up on that request.
Clark takes nearly no time at all to take down the band of gunmen threatening the wing of guests. One of the assailants pushes the host out of the broken window… of whom Clark saves with ease before neutralizing the threat.
There's, of course, the large crowd of people that thank him on their way out as the event is slowly evacuated from the building. He smiles and nods and answers politely, even to the guests who had, earlier, made his blood boil with their avoidant answers, but there's one guest in particular that he's searching for. As soon as he spots him, he excuses himself from an extra-long handshake with a young entrepreneur and appears in front of Bruce in a blink.
He clears his throat. "Mr. Wayne," he starts. "I heard you wanted to… talk, for a moment about, uh, loaning funds to the Justice Gang?"
Clark is sure that the only reason Bruce can even look him in the eye after that is because of years of disciplined training. "Of course," he says.
Without hesitation, Clark scoops him up in his arms and takes him away. He catches the sound that Bruce bites down on as they hit the skies and clutches onto him tightly during the flight.
Once Clark comes to a stop, he hears Bruce quietly let out the breath he's been holding.
"I hate when you do that," he snaps at him, but he doesn't let go or push him away this time to stand on the rooftop. "Also, funds for the Justice Gang? Now that's going to cause a whole other thing for me."
Clark, at the very least, has the decency to look sheepish. He puts him down, but finds the two of them now standing chest to chest. "So," he begins. "You're, um…"
"Batman," Bruce says, confirming what Clark had been dying to hear since earlier that evening. "And you're Superman." He grimaces. "I can't believe you found out through my fear of heights." He sounds utterly devastated by his slip-up.
"I can't believe you're Bruce Wayne," Clark says, dumbfounded. "Batman… is Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne is Batman. I didn't think… I mean, I knew you were a shut-in, but—"
"Shut up," Bruce interjects.
"And all those gadgets you use are probably worth—"
"Stop."
"And the cowl! Gosh, I knew there was something you were hiding under there, but I didn't think—"
Bruce has to shove his palm over his mouth to silence him. Clark puts his hands up in surrender and gently pulls Bruce's hand away, revealing a cheeky grin. His fingertips linger on his wrist.
"Heights, though," Clark continues, pushing his luck a little. "You're not afraid of bullets, you're not afraid of explosions… why heights?"
"It's a thing," Bruce says shortly, as if he were talking about some common cold. "I'll have to get over it."
"Hm," Clark muses, hands wandering down Bruce's sides. "Exposure therapy?"
His eyes narrow. "How can I be sure you won't drop me?"
Clark's eyebrows shoot up, and he gives him a wounded expression. "You think I'd drop you?" he asks, alarmed.
A conflicted expression flickers across Bruce's face. "No," he admits.
Clark relaxes. "Good," he says, wrapping his arms around him again. "So…?"
He hears Bruce's heartbeat jump as panic flashes through his eyes. He grabs Clark's forearm. "Not right now!" he hisses.
Clark bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh. He leans forward and knocks their foreheads together. "Fine," he concedes, a stupid grin on his face. "Baby steps, then."