Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“You’re late,” Bruce greets him shallowly.

Across the room enters a man, he awkwardly shuffles through Bruce’s office doors. It’s the intern. The man clumsily shuts the door behind him, his briefcase awkwardly thudding against the side of it as he enters. As Bruce had been anticipating, this was the latest newbie to be taken under Bruce’s wing.

The first expectation Bruce had prematurely assigned him was confirmed. This man was not timely. Bruce wasn’t one to let off his apprentices so easily, and this case was no exception.

“I expect you in my office before eight am, any later is unacceptable. Is that understood?”

“Sorry.” He clears his throat, cracking a nervous smile, though it quickly fades once the silence of the room settles in. Bruce’s tone makes little room for small talk or casual glances.

“You’re fine, just… don't make a habit.” Bruce sighs, flipping the folder in his hands closed, no longer interested in scanning this man’s background information.

It was the time of year where interns flooded the modern halls of Wayne Enterprise. Under the advice of Bruce, one highly recommended individual would get to work as his personal assistant and essentially become his under-the-wing apprentice. This year that person was Clark Kent.

“Have a seat." Bruce gestures to the office chair in front of his desk. Clark follows his instructions and swiftly sits down, setting his suitcase beside the leg of the chair. They make brief eye contact before Clark glosses his eyes over Bruce’s neatly organized desk space. Up close Bruce can get a much better look at this guy. Clark doesn't look familiar nor forgettable, just average.

“You’re from…” Bruce swiftly flips the file back open for a peek at the location Clark was recruited from, “Metropolis?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So you decided to come to Gotham?” Bruce asks, straightening the golden nameplate on his desk.

The bridge of Clark’s glasses slip at the mention, sweat rushing over his face. “Yeah… wanted a change of scenery.”

Bruce’s eyebrows nudge, intrigued by Clark’s hesitation. He crosses a leg over his resting one and leans back in his chair, awaiting a continuation from the newbie.

Clark’s fingers mold into the arms of the chair, a nervous sigh leaving his nostrils.

“Quite the effort just to shadow me...”

Bruce expects Clark to agree, the predictability of the previous interns made it all the more easier to read his mind. An eager agreement to any opinion Bruce stated, not before flattering him from hell and back. The usual. A scramble of conversational goods to impress him. Some even make up a backstory about how much of an admirable role model Bruce and his company are. Instead, Clark just shrugs.

Clark reels his smile in with a humble shrug. “Yeah, what can I say? I’m persistent.”

Bruce scoffs. What a basic answer. He’d expected a polished compliment, something rehearsed in the mirror. What does that even mean? Persistence. Not really what he’d classify this as. However, that comes second to the impression of Clark’s response. The lack of flattery isn't missed by Bruce. The chance was nothing but blinding, and yet Clark didn't take it. He’s a little amused at Clark’s miss of the opportunity to do so. Bruce almost allows his disappointment to take over his facial expressions before bringing himself back down from his egotistical high. “Do you have any experience as an assistant?” Bruce asks, this time with more interest alongside his tone.

“Uhm, no. No prior experience.” Clark shifts in the chair, clearly foreboding of the disappointment. Having little to no experience was a normal response for most interns, yet that didn't dissolve the revelation. Lack of work-force familiarity in a building full of pros. He’d have to learn and shadow him to even comprehend the kind of tasks most higher-ups manage. Bruce knew it all too well. Clark would truly only get the way with those kinds of responsibilities.

Every year another predictable individual enters with the same introduction. Little to no experience, just as this one. He should probably just cut this short and assign him with dusting the shelves or something appropriately simple. The process would be dry and rude, but it was in Wayne fashion. Bruce didn't have time for unnecessary talk or coddling. This was the corporate world. And no matter how harsh, that's just how it was. Regardless, Bruce holds back this time around.

“That's fine, my previous assistants weren’t experienced either,” Bruce assures him, leaning forward, forcing a smile. It felt unnatural.

“So you’ll mentor me?” Clark asks a little too eagerly.

Clark’s eyes flutter in Bruce’s direction. Every nerve in Bruce’s body focuses on Clark, unsure of how to respond without seeming awkward. What kind of question is that anyway? Bruce avoids Clark’s gaze, caught off guard by his reaction. It was as if Clark was intently looking into Bruce’s eyes just to throw him off. Locked far into his pupils. Hell, maybe even further.

“Mr. Wayne?” Clark tilts his head, interrupting Bruce’s peripheral vision.

Bruce’s stomach knots. He quickly realizes he hadn’t replied to Clark’s question. If you can even classify it as one.

“Yeah…yes,” Bruce stutters. “Sure, I’ll mentor you.”

After another long silence, Clark’s eyes glide across Bruce’s desk. This time Bruce doesn't dare to look near Clark’s face, no longer wanting to risk that terribly awkward eye contact. Especially because he doesn't care to remember Clark’s face. He’ll be gone by the end of the month, just like the rest of them.

Gone by the end of the month.

Just like the rest.

Clark’s smile doesn't falter, he pressures Bruce into a conversation. It’s been approximately 15 minutes and he’s yet to give Bruce a second to breathe, or look away.

“So you live alone with your butler?” Clark asks, finally pinning the one that successfully gets under Bruce’s skin.

“Just…” Bruce sighs, “Yes, me and my butler. Just what is the meaning behind these questions?”

Bruce’s voice is only firm for a moment, his eyes accidentally breaking from the desk to Clark’s eyes. He doesn't last long. Clark’s not sure what’s making Bruce so frantic. He hasn’t asked anything wild, their conversation’s been casual.

Is he… nervous? No. That's too fast. Clark hadn't expected to get here so quickly. Such a composed man like Bruce getting nervous?

“I want to get to know my boss. Is that alright, Bruce?” Clark smirks.

Bruce’s face looks like he’d just slammed into a wall. He’s testing the waters. Going far too deep. Clark’s head fills with so much adrenaline. What he’s doing definitely calls for a lecture, even a re-reading of the code of conduct. It's so dangerous. First name basis may be pushing it, especially on the first day, but Bruce’s reaction makes the risk worth it. Clark’s face pauses on an innocent expression, smudges of pride riding from his lips to his cheeks.

Nothing. Bruce just stares at him, and doesn't make any movement.

For a moment, Clark worries if he went too far. If he’d already ruined his chances of learning just what makes Bruce Wayne uncomfortable. Did he not hear me? Clark thinks, No— he definitely did. He must be thinking of how to respond.

Bruce clears his throat, palms to the desk as he finds stability in his feet to stand up. It’s an awkward moment, one that gives Clark a new perspective of Bruce’s features. The sunlight from the window behind Bruce illuminates down on Clark. His cheekbones are detailed and the noticeable lint hairs on his shoulder are visible. Clark doesn't think for a second it makes him look any less professional. Actually, he looks quite pouty from this point of view.

Finally, he speaks.

“Are you ready for the tour of the building? Perhaps it's time I dropped you off with your fellow peers,” Bruce asks, cuffing his sleeves as if nothing out of the ordinary was said.

Clark visibly pouts, his eyes rolling after Bruce offers up a tour.

It’s all in Clark’s head. Whatever game of mind games he thought he was winning was smushed. Doesn't minimize how difficult it all felt in the grand scheme of things. Long term thinking, sure, Bruce might warm up to him. But as of today, nothing. Clark felt pathetic. This was pathetic. Regardless, if he wants to really know Bruce Wayne, what keeps him up at night, he’d have to think like Bruce Wayne. But, damn, was it hard to think like a man you’d just met today.

“How considerate.” Clark smiles plainly, standing from the office chair. Bruce walks around his desk towards the door, making no effort to check whether Clark is ready to go or not. Clark leaves his briefcase, knowing he’ll return. The two of them make their way to the door. While Bruce’s attention is focused on the hall, Clark adjusts his tie and smooths his shirt with his hand. It's a small change, but anything to seem professional will help.

Bruce swings the door open for Clark, sliding into the empty hallway. Clark following suit, the pace Bruce set was brutally fast, obviously trying to avoid any chances for small talk. It’s awfully quiet, being on one of the higher floors of the building, there's rarely any people around. It was actually nice, no disruption or noise around. However, that only made the walk to the elevator all the more painful. Of course, this was no challenge for Clark Kent.

Down the corner of the hall was the elevator, the same one Clark had used this morning. However, he was still not entirely familiar with the walking route, except now it was alongside Bruce.

Clark follows behind, watching his boss’ form shift with each step. “You know, I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Oh, you have?” Bruce dryly replies.

“Seriously,” he reaffirms, “This is a big deal for me. Getting to shadow under someone in your position in such a prestigious company. You probably hear that all the time though.”

Bruce lets out a hum of agreement and slight humor. Of course he does.

They reach the elevator, Bruce taking courtesy to press the button. “I do hear that quite often. Most interns just want to suck up to me and…”

Bruce stops talking for a moment and clears his throat.

Clark watches Bruce’s face return to normality. The elevator buzzes, indicating it’s reached the floor level. The doors open to marble floor tiles and a modern wallpaper design over the walls. The lighting is humbling, dim enough to create a shadow over Bruce’s face as he steps in first, moving to the right corner of the elevator to make space for Clark.

Bruce presses the button for one of the lower floors, Clark doesn't notice which one because he’s so focused on Bruce’s body language. He can tell Bruce is cursing under his breath, waiting for the ride to end.

The silence makes the both of them wish there was something to fill the void. The awkwardness is so tense he swears his face is burning up.

The elevator doors close, taking a moment before moving to a lower level where the elevator is needed.

“We’re getting off on the fourth floor,” Bruce informs Clark.

“Alright,” Clark replies. He waits a second, then glances up at Bruce. He’s huddled in the corner opposite of Clark, blank staring at the floor. It’s truly awkward, two men standing in a painfully slow elevator. Doesn't help that Clark is being overly pushy into Bruce’s business.

Then the elevator knocks down a floor and the doors swing open. Before either man can adjust, a swarm of people flood into the elevator. There's such a limited amount of space forced onto each individual in the elevator that Clark can't help but squeeze towards the lesser populated portion of the elevator. Near Bruce. He notices each person who enters will mindlessly walk in, look up at Bruce, and ensure they don't stand near him. In fact, Clark is the only person deliberately standing beside Bruce.

The last thing Clark needs is forced physical contact. He tries distancing himself, pushing against the stranger beside him to prevent their shoulders from touching.

Waiting for the doors to close, the final drop of people enter, officially filling the elevator to its capacity. Clark swallows down his nerves, holding in the urge to hyper focus on the part of his elbow that’s nudged against Bruce’s arm. He can feel how unexpectedly toned Bruce is underneath his dress clothes, even without flexing.

One woman in particular enters the elevator and Clark notices how she catches Bruce’s eyes. He doesn't make assumptions, but he has his theories. A man so closed off like Bruce having a workplace affair wouldn't make sense, rather, she must be someone with authority.

She actually turns around and takes mutual notice of Bruce as well, causing Bruce to snap out of his stoic front. He smiles, gently nodding his head towards the woman.

“Greetings, Mr. Wayne.” The woman's voice scarily clears the room with he deep volume. It was like his mother had just walked in on him and was about to lecture him to oblivion. So much for first impressions.

Bruce clears his throat and meets her eyes with his own, settling in a forced smile. “Morning, Ms. Zellerbach.”

Clark immediately feels the responsibility to introduce himself. “This is my new assistant, Clark Kent. I’m taking him to the intern sector,” Bruce states. Clark exhales with relief, his shoulders feeling slightly lighter.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Clark says with eager politeness.

The elevator knocks down to another floor, the doors swishing open. Half of the individuals inside leave, giving the three of them more room to freely converse. Bruce seamlessly distances himself from Clark, silently communicating his preference of personal space.

Regina doesn’t give Clark the satisfaction of her attention, instead, giving hers to Bruce. “You missed the budget meeting yesterday, and we filed on all the departments’ reserves without you,” Regina mentions, her manner rudely deaf for a private topic in a public space. “Was there something else you were busy attending?”

Bruce speaks up in a calm manner, no force or bark in his tone, “Yesterday was just one of those days.”

Regina chuckles after, though it's deprived of any humor. “I’ve noticed you’ve become dangerously familiar with skipping important and mandatory attendance meetings. Do you plan on making this a repeated habit, Mr. Wayne?”

She doesn't hold back on digging into whatever history Bruce has of missing meetings. Clark is unsure how Bruce has the ability to not go off on her right now. Perhaps it’s because they’re stuffed in an elevator with innocent bystanders trying to muffle out the tensely charged conversation.

The elevator dings at the following floor, Regina shuffling towards the door. “If you want to hold your place within the board, start by actually attending the meetings.”

Ouch.

Even Clark could feel the offense behind that. It's one of the critiques you hear from a nagging art teacher. One that definitely sticks to your mind and burns into your emotions. Clark wonders how Bruce handles it all. The internal processing. Especially being so closely monitored and controlled. Once she finished speaking, she got off the elevator.

“Goodbye, Ms. Zellerbach,” Clark coughs behind her as she struts down the hall.

Bruce let out a rich laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and quickly reforming his stoic expression. Clark smiled, he appreciated the laughter from Bruce, even if small.

Thankfully, the next level was skipped, no newcomers interrupting their travel to the intern sector of Wayne Enterprises. Clark bobbed his head in Bruce’s direction. Before the elevator was empty, Clark noticed Bruce would watch everyone leave the elevator. His eyes followed each individual, but he never said anything. And now, with no passengers other than the two men, he stared blankly at the floor tiles.

Only once the elevator buffered down to the fourth floor, did Bruce’s eyes meet Clark’s. His face reeked of exhaustion. Yet, it was only 9:00AM.

“My god,” he exhales exhaustingly. His eyes lazily blank out on Clark’s tie pattern, finding something to distract himself from the previous interaction. “If you ever see that woman, Regina… just walk away. She deserves none of your attention or time.”

Clark nervously laughs, honestly unsure of how serious he is with that warning. Though, he doesn't really care. Suddenly, he felt it. There's a weirdly uncontrollable nerve still lingering in his body from the interaction in the elevator with that lady. It felt uncomfortable to think about. He can't place it, but he definitely feels he isn't comfortable around her. But, as long as Bruce is joking with him, that’s all he cares about.

Finally, they arrive at the fourth floor. Bruce is the first to step out, Clark following suit, mimicking Bruce’s composed structure. He digs his hands into his pockets and waddles to the opening doors. Again, Bruce takes the lead down the hall. His hand reaches out to turn the knob of the first door until a woman exits just before.

“Dr. Leslie Thompkins,” Bruce greets, this time filled with genuine appreciation of his coworker's appearance. He quickly detaches from the door to avoid bumping into her. The woman instantly smiles at the first sight, focusing her eye contact on Clark.

Clark hastily clears his voice, preparing to introduce himself to more people.

A woman dressed in a white coat and dinky glasses reaches her hand out to Clark. “Splendid to meet you, Mr. Kent!”

“Hello.” Clark smiles back, showing off his pearly whites. “I’m guessing you’re Dr. Thompkins?”

The presumed Dr. Thompkins grows an even wider smile, one that Bruce can't help but mimic. “That's right. I’m the one who revised your background and approved of your transfer into Wayne Enterprises. Not much experience, but a lot of room for potential. It's always refreshing to have a new hire with such eagerness.”

Clark wonders if she went over his entire background. Though, the worry is momentary compared to the immense praise Dr. Thompkins was showering him in. Despite only meeting, she was already making such a bright impression on Clark.

“Can't tell you how much I appreciate that, sir,” Clark beamed, truly meaning it.

Clark's so lost in Dr. Thompkins' introduction he doesn't notice Bruce entering the room. Just upon entering, the mob inside the room quickly turned to an audience of greetings and formality. Even without seeing the inside of the room, he could tell from the noise that the room was bustling with people.

“Come inside, there's people waiting to meet you.” However, she didn’t wait for Clark’s approval. She wraps her arm under Clark’s and drags him inside. It's a packed space. The room was filled with up to 20 or 30 people, too many to make individual eye contact with.

Clark and Dr. Thompkins swiftly slip through the crowd of stationary randoms and focus on making their way towards Bruce, who's at the center of the room. He’s occupied with some other people, ones who look like fellow interns. “And if you bring it to my office I can look over it,” Bruce says, finishing up a conversation Clark has no interest in contributing to. His gaze pauses on Clark. “Oh, Clark. Are you acquainted with these two colleagues of yours?”

Instantly the two people Bruce was talking with changed focus to Clark. With the attention now on him, Clark repeats his introduction like a broken record.

“Hello, I’m Clark Kent,” he says, shaking both their hands. A woman with dorky glasses shakes Clark’s hand first. “Welcome! You’re the first intern to arrive so quickly. Most get lost on their way here.” The other, an older man with facial hair chimes in, “My first time here I tagged along with Cheryl here, but I know a few who got lost along the way. Although, most don't come with—”

Bruce interjects before he can finish, “Did you clear out that office like I asked?”

The man stutters into a silence and starts talking again, “Oh… Well, the one that we were gonna clear, for Clark, it’s kind of occupied.”

“What do you mean occupied?” Bruce asks. From the tone of his question, Clark picks up this is something he’d demanded of them quite some time ago.

“Dan broke the shelves in the storage closet so we had to move some things into that office,” The woman explains, though not concerned enough to allow the guilt to seep through her words.

“How…” Bruce then turns to Clark. “You’ll have to work in my office for the time being.” Bruce swings a hand to his forehead, roughly rubbing the tension from his mind. Clark can feel the tense nature of the conversation brewing, and decides to salvage what's left.

“I don't mind, I’m sure I’ll work much more efficiently in your office anyways, Mr. Wayne,” Clark says with a childish tickle.

“Oh really?” Bruce mocks in a murmur.

Before Bruce could scold Clark, Dr. Thompkins appears from beside them. Her eyes widen with excitement. “Great! You’ve already introduced yourself, now let me fill you in on our department’s purpose,” she says, swatting away the man and woman from the conversation. She’s overly eager to talk with Clark, hardly registering Bruce’s presence next to them.

“Clark, I’m so excited for you to work with us! You’ll find a variety of criminology resources in our neighboring departments,” she says, a smile pinning to her cheeks.

That's right. I’d applied to intern for the criminology research that’s provided here. Nearly forgot.

“I’m delighted to be amongst you all.” Clark smiles after his words, enjoying the demand for his presence. Truly, he was relishing in all the appreciation and praise. Regardless of who was giving it to him, stranger or boss.

So far, he’s making great impressions on what would be his future peers and apparent secondary boss. Of course, Bruce wouldn't make this so easy.

“As precious as this moment is, I’m afraid I have to be the bearer of bad news.” Not a single touch of sincerity truly lied behind his teeth as he said this. To both Dr. Thompkins and Clark’s surprise, Bruce would have his assistant work in his office until further notice.

“What?” Clark blurts out, followed by a blow of disappointment from Dr. Thompkins.

“Well, since Clark will be working in my office for the time being, we can’t stay here long. I have work to return to and we still have… ah…” Bruce’s words falter into mumbles of regret. Poor Dr. Thompkins was quickly let down, visibly itching with excuses and suggestions. Even Clark picks up her foolishness, giving Bruce a poorly put together pout. Bruce’s eyebrows flare at their shared attempts of pleading otherwise.

“But of course, he’ll visit the office, yes?” Dr. Thompkins asks, nudging Bruce’s arm. “Surely a few hours away won't hurt his performance…”

Bruce inhales a great deal of irritation. Both Clark and Dr. Thompkins now expecting him to give in. “Whatever, fine,” Bruce finally caves, “it’s nearly 10am. Return to my office in thirty minutes. And I expect you to actually be on time when I declare that, Mr. Kent.”

When Bruce said that, a nearby crowd picked up Bruce’s tone, side-eyeing Clark, as if to wait for a crumbling nod of obedience to their superior. A wave of silence radiates through the room. Clark plainly smiles, now aware of the intended pause within their conversation. Bruce clearly intended on this, forcing the conversation to rely on Clark’s agreement and assurance of further compliance.

Well two could play at that.

“I apologize, Bruce— Sorry, Mr. Wayne,” Clark slipped up, purposefully of course.

Bruce’s mind weighed between lecturing Clark or composing his image in front of all these devoted employees. Messing with Bruce, his boss, wasn’t a part of his goals here at all. Doesn’t mean it's not fun. In all truth, the newbie was eating up every twisted flicker in Bruce’s face right now.

He probably wishes he could screw his role model image right now. Lecture me to the moon and back.

“I’ll see you then.” His response delays, as Clark anticipated. Without waiting for an audience, Bruce turned his back and left the room. Clark waved goodbye, a smile tugging at his cheeks.

“That was bold of you, Mr. Kent,” Dr. Thompkins buzzes, giggling beside Clark. He may not have delivered himself in the most professional way, but the point was to embarrass Bruce, and it seemed to work. Right?

Crap. I wasn’t paying attention to which floor we came from. Wait…

Clark whips out his phone, unlocks it and scrolls into his notes app. Of course. He’d written it down for emergencies like this. Level 10. In a quick fashion, he presses the tenth floor button.

He’s already lost track of time while socializing with his fellow coworkers. And of course, the return was made even slower by the flood of people entering the elevator alongside Clark. It was as if the elevator knew just how impatient Clark was, the doors closing at a painfully slow pace. Even after closing, the elevator paused on the current floor until the color coordinated sign flickered to green.

Bruce’s office was on the tenth floor, which was just a few levels above the fourth where Bruce had left Clark. Going up the elevator ride wasn't the issue, it was the constant pauses between floors for people who were also passing from floor to floor. At every inconveniently timed stop, Clark would scrunch his eyebrows and beg the universe to stop punishing him. This is seriously the worst case scenario. He thinks to himself, already imagining just how irritated Bruce will be once he arrives at his office. He’ll probably make me look like a fool just for this one mistake. It isn't even a mistake, honestly, I just lost track of time. It’s a minor accident. That’s all.

“E-Excuse me.” An elderly lady enters the elevator with a quiet voice. She’s holding a tin of what seems to be various pastries, from the wrinkled and tinted look of the wrapping paper for each delectable, they were homemade. The elder cautiously steps into the elevator, the small crowd backing for her entrance. She turns to Clark, a polite smile across her fragile face. “Young man, would you like a muffin? It’s banana bread.” She presses the tin to his chest, forcefully insisting he takes one.

Clark hesitates, initially disregarding the minor emptiness in his stomach. “Oh, no th…” Then he stops himself.

What if I bring a muffin to Mr. Wayne on my way back. Then he’ll go easy on me and appreciate my consideration!

Clark lets out a heavy chuckle, gratefully taking a muffin from her tin. She smiles in response, her wrinkly eyes squinting as Clark thanked her. “Thank you,” he says, “how kind of you to offer these.” At the sound of this wholesome interaction, the entire party inside the elevator turns to grab from her tin.

Finally, the elevator raises to the tenth floor, Clark’s torturous journey coming to an end. He waved the woman goodbye and walked down the hallway. It was a generous exchange that would hopefully blossom some grace in his encounter with his firm boss, Mr. Wayne. Clark takes hold of the handle to Bruce’s office door, his tongue fumbling between what corny greeting to enter with.

“Hey Wayne! Did you miss me?” Clark’s voice explodes into the room with much more volume than anticipated. He unapologetically invades Bruce’s personal space, banana flavored muffin in hand.

Bruce, seated by his desk, doesn't respond. He’s facing towards the largely stretched windows, most likely reveling in his intern’s whimsy entrance. Finally, he turns to the room. A solid and firm look plastered over his face.

“There’s no way you’re aging well if this attitude keeps up,” Clark jokes. He can tell Bruce didn't enjoy the sarcasm. Clark sets the banana bread muffin down with a cheeky smile. Bruce’s eyebrows tangle at the sight, no— at the audacity of Clark. Both men slowly raise eye contact with each other, depriving the other person of a concrete expression. Clark quickly loses his smile. Crap. Crap. Crap. This is so, so awkward.

Bruce took the liberty of breaking the silence. “You brought me a muffin?” He gently pushes his pointer finger at the cupcake wrapper unfolding around it. Clark nervously shrugs it off, as if the gesture dissolved into a thoughtless gift, “I mean, I already had one and thought you’d want something to eat…” he rambles off until Bruce’s silence hushes him once more.

Bruce presses the muffin between his fingers, lifting it up to his mouth for a bite. Clark looks off to the side as he assumes Bruce would chew it, missing the glory of witnessing his boss actually reject his last minute attempt of reviving his perfect image. Bruce smells the flavor, identifying it easily.

“It’s banana bread,” he mutters, “you got these from Carol?”

“What?” Clark’s heartbeat fastens.

The attention swiftly draws from Clark’s embarrassing entrance to Bruce’s ignorance of the muffin. Even though it’s such a casual exchange, Clark felt so uneasy.

“Carol likes to bring muffins into the elevator. Did you get these for me thinking I’d excuse your lateness?” Bruce flipped the muffin on its bottom, digging all five of his fingers to the fluff of it.

Clark clears his throat, a rust of nervousness he didn't recognize grew in his trachea, “Well no, I mean, yeah. I got them from her— Carol, but it wasn’t for that purpose.”

I’m lying.

Bruce doesn't bother to respond, instead he stands silently, as if waiting for Clark to pull more excuses out of his ass. And Clark does just that. “You know, the elevator ride here was pretty packed so… I actually got on early but got stuck on the way.”

Stop lying.

Bruce tsks at the fluff of lies. He removes the muffin from Clark’s hand and tosses it into his mesh trashcan beside his desk. Clark looks at him, insanely confused. “Did you seriously just throw that away? What is wrong with you?” As he's shouting he quickly comes to the realization of his volume when he sees how emotionally charged his voice is coming out. It’s just a muffin. What does it matter? What does it even matter to him, his boss?

“When you can tell me the truth, or come up with better lies, I’ll actually give your gifts attention,” he says, dusting his fingers off with a tissue from his desk.

Clark’s face heats with anger. Anger at Bruce’s blatant ignorance. “You still don’t have to… throw it away. That is so disrespectful of you, Bruce,” Clark whispers, his fingers curling into fists. Why am I even getting upset over this? I don’t care about that woman or her muffins, and I sure as hell don’t care whether or not this emotionless freak enjoys them!

Bruce’s expression rests in one of disgust. “Oh, you think that’s disrespectful? By that logic, your lack of punctuality is disrespectful. Honestly, Mr. Kent, I never have to explain myself so plainly to a grown man like this. And additionally, it’s Mr. Wayne, not Bruce.”

He is right about that, and Clark hates that. His cheeks fill with embarrassment at the fact. The fact Mr. Wayne, his boss, is really right. But at his core, the forgetful reminder of professionality gets lost under the clouded judgment of Bruce’s rudeness.

Before Clark can even hopelessly rebut, Bruce ends the argument. “After today, you are to empty out all trashcans in this office whenever they are full. I want you to familiarize yourself with daily tasks until you’ve proven capable of bigger ones. Is that understood?”

Frustration. One emotion rules over Clark’s mind. “Whatever.”

“No, that’s not acceptable here,” Bruce corrects him, “Not with me.”

“I understand, Mr. Wayne.”

The office falls silent once more. The muffin that was once on the table is now smushed in the nearly full trashcan. A trashcan that will be taken care of by Clark until further notice.

Clark feels his head burn with stress and pent‑up feelings. There isn’t much he can do about it until he gets home. Of course. The draining effects of avoiding your boss all day.

“Thanks,” Clark mutters to the stranger who holds the exit door open for him. A small nod returns before he fades back into autopilot, mindlessly walking toward his car. As he gets closer, the comfort of slouching back on his couch soothes him. It eases his mind to know he won’t have to think of Bruce until tomorrow morning.

The concept of having Bruce Wayne become a pattern of irritation in his week isn’t very comforting. The concept of falling asleep to white noise, however, is comforting.

Clark unlocks his car from the sidewalk, his sedan blinking at his command. At least there is something he is in control of. Nice to remind himself some things are his possession, and his possession only. He opens the door and leaps in, closing the door beside him before the mild humidity of his car escapes. He enters his key into the ignition and starts the car, the sound of the engine relaxing his—

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz… Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

It’s his phone. The incoming call connects to the car, ringing all around him.

You gotta be kidding me. He groans internally before accepting the call. It’s the Daily Planet, checking on his progress under Wayne Enterprises.

“Did you have to call me? This can’t be an email or…?” he grumbles, little room for friendliness in his tone. The person on the phone seems to mutually dislike the conversation, and yet, the reciprocated tone sounds playful.

“You know we do,” the voice states. “Just get through it quickly and I’ll hang up.”

Clark smirks, glancing through the rearview mirror of his car before backing out of his parking spot. “Well… Mr. Wayne is exactly the dry raisin he’s rumored to be, and I stand by his side as long as I can handle.”

“And?”

“Oh, well, you want to get to that? No, I don’t have any proof that he’s Batman.”

Behind the robotic muffled voice is a sigh from a second person, one that Clark doesn’t need to feel weighing on his shoulders. “You know,” he starts, “It’s only my first day and I’d really love to see one of you in my shoes doing any better. It’s fucking Bruce Wayne, of course he wouldn’t give a sketchy intern from Metropolis the latest scoop on his midnight activities as Batman.”

One of the voices fumbles behind the call, whispering words that Clark can’t hear. The ends of his palms tap against the steering wheel, aggravated at the one‑sided respect.

“Yeah, I know, Clark. Realistically, he won’t just accidentally show his Bat‑tech to you, but you’ve gotta get close enough to let him willingly show you that shit. With evidence.”

“I will. You’ll get the scoop when I’m sure he’s Batman. Don't rush me.”

“Okay okay,” the voice speaks again, “Since you’ve got nothing for me to report, let’s just make this a monthly thing, yeah? Dep. says it’ll be easier that way.”

“Perfect, don’t wanna hear your voice every day anyway,” Clark replies dryly.

Clark’s finger fidgets around the ‘End Call’ button, waiting for the other voice to wrap up their repetitive reminders. “Okay, I’ll call you later, update us if you’re actually right about this.”

A set of silent breaths passes until one of them responds. “Whatever, I know for a fact this douche is Batman.”

“We’ll see,” the voice weakly chuckles, “Good luck, Clark.”

“Thanks, bye.” Clark sighs, hanging up the millisecond he’s sure nothing more is to be said. His attention shifts back to driving, finally leaving the Wayne Enterprises parking lot. Even so, all of his work‑related stress bubbles in his head. If he can, he leaves in an instant. Instead of driving to his apartment, he speeds down the highway and toward the airport. But unfortunately, he can’t.

The only reason he was even in this parking lot, this city, was to expose Bruce Wayne as the Batman.

And he would do just that.