Archive of Our Own

Good Going Gotham! was a typical morning show, showcasing snippets of news and outrageous consumerism, all disguised as something useful to an ordinary life. Leigh Roker was a perfect hostess, with a bright, charming smile no matter what drivel was going on. And like most of her kind, Leigh really wanted to be a serious journalist. Not enough to take the drastic pay cut or even loose her hellish morning slot, but she wanted the respect. Maybe, when her looks faded and she was rich enough to retire well, she’d take a risk on serious journalism.

Today, though, her audience was stacked with real journalists, in their poor fitting suits and knock-off dresses. Today, Leigh had the money and the scoop, so today was her Christmas, even if it was Christmas Eve-Eve. Her cohost was off on his vacation, the one he’d bragged so much about, and she was getting all the glory of this day to herself. She might even manage to make this into the next step of her career, letting her be considered a real reporter while still keeping the salary she loved so much.

Maybe Metropolis Morning was hiring, and she could get out of this dreadful city. She’d finally be able to talk about her work with pride when she got together with Lois. Lois Lane, award winning reporter and college friend, was covering something in Michigan and unable to be here this morning. Lois had sent an apologetic email, and a friend to cover for her. Leigh knew she’d have fun telling Lois about this show very soon.

Lois worked so hard to prove her stories, and basically owed her life to Superman so many times even he’d lost count at this point. All Leigh had to do was listen to her fans, specifically, her delivery boy when he begged her to watch some footage on his phone. From there, it had secretly snowballed. Only Tom, her producer, knew what this day meant to her, and that’s because his name was attached to the show as well.

The house lights went down, letting the crowd know the commercial was over, and letting Leigh know her guest was awake and standing in the wings. The smile on her face was genuine, much brighter than it usually was at the end of a four hour show that started at 5 am. She’d only been up at 3 am for the last six years, but it still wore her down.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a first for Good Going Gotham, though certainly not because we haven’t tried. Our next guest is simply notorious for going to bed right about now, so he’s been chugging coffee in the green room. Please give a loud as an alarm clock welcome for Bruce Wayne!”

The real audience responded as told, cheering and clapping. The reporters probably hated the idea of sitting through another of Brucie’s idiotic statements, but Leigh couldn’t see their faces. She could see they were only pretending to applaud, but that was from years of reading an audience while all the light was focused on Leigh. Tom was probably making up for it, adding an applause track to the sound that was going out live over Gotham.

Brucie came out a good two seconds after his cue, stumbling as if a staff member had shoved him out of the wings. He was hamming it up though, waving to the crowd as he came to the raised platform that made up Leigh’s stage, where she was already sitting. The interview sessions were conducted on fancy barstools, and Brucie managed to ease into his while still waving. Most people didn’t think Brucie would have the brain power to do that, but Leigh knew better.

In fact, she had proof that Brucie was smarter than he seemed. But that’s where her dusty reporter’s instincts kicked in. Why hide how smart he was? What else was he hiding, if he was that good an actor? Leigh was itching to know, but she still managed a pleasant smile when he shook her hand.

“Mr. Wayne,” She greeted when the applause died down.

“Please, call me Brucie.”

“Brucie.” Leigh gave him a different pleased smile in return, as if flattered he asked her to call him Brucie. That’s what he told everybody to call him, so it was kind of expected, but she had four hours to fill every morning. “I was afraid I’d never get you on the show, after all I hear about your nights!”

The crowd gave an appreciative noise, showing they all had heard those stories.

“Leigh, I’ll admit I’m not sure what you wanted me on for, as most of those events aren’t PG enough to talk about on your show.”

That got a few more snickers out of the crowd.

“But your people were very persistent.” Brucie concluded with a pleasant smile of his own.

“You’re the Prince of Gotham, everybody wants to know all about you!” Leigh tried not to be obvious about her sucking up, but she wanted Brucie to relax so she could get his real reaction to what was about to happen. “We’ve wanted you on for a while, but we only got really annoying, I mean persistent, when we found this footage.”

Leigh didn’t care if anybody laughed at her changing annoying into persistent and Tom might not have added a laugh track. He was busy and waiting for his cue, his chance to run the footage that only him and her had seen yet. Leigh had to show him the footage to get him on board with this whole project, and then he’d been instrumental in making sure nobody else saw it until they were ready. Brucie swiveled in his barstool to watch as the wall behind switched from the view of the ground level of Gotham’s main street to some crappy footage shot by a cell phone. Leigh swiveled towards it too, but kept on eye on Brucie’s face as he watched.

Some graffiti artist was recording his work down an alley, which kept him from turning the footage in himself. He might be made an internet sensation, but he’d still get arrested for defacing public property. They’d turned down the volume on his profanity laced boasting, as Bruce was right; this was a PG rated show. They turned the volume back up just so they could all hear the bang that caused the artist to jerk around. The video blurred, and then the artist fumbled to focus the camera. Tom had edited out the artist’s comment.

“Holy fuck, that bitch has been shot!”

A woman was now in focus on the screen, hands clutched to her chest as she slowly collapsed to her knees. A group of punk kids, entered the screen. One was holding the tattered remnants of a paper bag, used to make the bang noise. A second punk yanked her purse out of her hands. Another stopped to unfasten and steal her watch before they all ran off, laughing. Their faces were blurred because there were juveniles. They had also all been arrested for other charges since this was recorded, as best Leigh could find out.

The artist zoomed in to watch the old lady die, showing her features. For a reporter to track her down would have been hard, except Leigh’s delivery boy was this woman’s grandson. As she clutched her chest, upstanding citizens of Gotham walked by without noticing. A few of the nicer ones might call the cops, but they’d keep walking; that was how Gotham was anymore. One Gotham citizen stopped though, helping her down until he was kneeling on the concrete like a prince before a queen.

Leigh was staring at that prince’s face now and not the video, but it didn’t react at all, keeping his happy but confused resting look in place. Since the sound of this video had been adjusted, Brucie didn’t know what was about to happen, but Leigh did. She kept watching the live version of him.

On screen, Brucie stripped off his designer jacket to pillow the woman’s head. Brucie had a hand on her pulse even as he pulled out his phone. The graffiti artist moved closer, having recognized Brucie, all the better to hear what Brucie said on the phone. Or at least part of it.

“Acute angina, with palpitations, probable myocardial infarction.” He continued on to give out the exact location of where they were, while the graffiti artist filmed.

The woman found the strength to reach up and grab at Brucie’s bicep. Brucie set the phone down so he could hold her hand and keep monitoring her pulse with the other one. Between gasps and shallow breaths, the old lady began to talk to him.

Leigh hadn’t relied on her delivery boy’s assurances that it was safe for what she said to be aired. Tom had copied an audio tract of only the foreign language, and sent that to an interpreter they dealt with as needed. Tom had then subtitled the screen, so the world could see what she said.

“Family can’t pay hospital bills. Funeral so expensive. Better to die, better for them.”

Leigh wished she could have stretched this moment out, let the audience absorb what the poor immigrant had just said. If she’d been making a movie, she would have, but to do that now would suggest the video had been tampered with. As such, the audience had very little time to absorb the woman’s plight before Brucie was throwing them another shock.

“Help is coming. Don’t worry, none of this will cost your family anything. They want to you live, you are not a burden.” Brucie’s words had to be subtitled too, as they were in fluent Mandarin.

The woman smiled as if she knew better before a choking gasp propelled Brucie into action. He adjusted her body and began chest compressions. Brucie only moved aside when paramedics arrived to take over. As they pulled out the portable electric shock machine, Tom ended the video. This way they could claim decency, as they didn’t really need Gotham to see an old woman die on a crowded Gotham street. The audience had seen enough to know that Brucie Wayne knew CPR, medical terms, and Mandarin.

Leigh turned so she faced the audience a little better, still keeping an eye on Brucie for his reactions. She did notice she had her audience’s full attention, and the reporters were busy making notes.

“So, Mr. Wayne, when in your busy night schedule did you find time to attend medical school?”

Brucie finally turned away from the back wall, which now showed the standard live view of Gotham. He smiled at Leigh, but there was something dark in his eyes, instead of the blank look reporters were used to from him.

“Basic first aid and CPR classes are mandatory for all Wayne Enterprises employees, so I’ve taken those classes several times. I never thought any of it would actually stick!”

“I’ve taken those as well,” Leigh responded, even if that class had been a segment of the show. “But I still had to look up myocardial infarction. Most people would have just said she was having a heart attack.”

“Sometimes, the randomist thing will stick around in the old noggin.” Brucie smiled again, dismissing this all as unimportant.

“Like an entire language? When did you learn Mandarin?”

“Probably the last time I was in Mandar?” He asked her, expecting her to know the answer, as he didn’t.

“Mr. Wayne, I think it’s common knowledge that Mandarin is the main spoken language of China.”

“Then what do they speak in Mandar?”

“There is no such place.” Leigh realized what she was doing as Brucie opened his mouth again. She was falling into the trap of believing his stupidity, because it was so believable. She had just showed the world that Bruce Wayne wasn’t an idiot, and she was ready to play into his act like everybody else! A slow exhale and she ignored whatever idiotic thing Bruce had just said to distract her.

“Bruce, your father was a doctor, and your mother would have been an astrophysicist if Princeton gave degrees to women at the time she went through. I find it hard to believe their offspring is as dumb as you seem. I have to ask, what exactly are you hiding?”

“Well,” Bruce drawled in a slow voice, but something in it made Leigh freeze on her barstool. Or maybe it was the way his eyes narrowed and managed to get brighter at the same time. “I was trying to hide the fact that I wanted to be a doctor like my Dad, but turned out to be too stupid for it. As for what career my Mom might have enjoyed, I kind of lost the chance to find out when she was murdered in front of me.”

Leigh forgot about Tom screaming in her ear, about the people in the audience, about the multiple cameras. All she was aware of was that she’d pushed this man too far, and he might be more dangerous than she had ever considered.

“Mr. Wayne?” A new voice asked, getting Bruce to look away from Leigh.

Leigh sagged into the minimal support of her stool and took in some much needed air before bothering to turn to see who was speaking.

“I was getting some coffee and they had this show on, so I got to see what you did.”

Leigh didn’t want another surprise, but managed to throw on a professional face and turn to see Superman standing on the edge of her stage. He was waiting for a formal invite, it seemed, to get on the platform that basically was just there to suggest a separation of the crowd from the performers. The audience was looking on with amazed expressions, the reporters now out of their seats and ready to interview Superman. Leigh was just glad they were letting this distraction play out.

Distraction? Leigh questioned her choice of that word. Superman showing up here at just the right time could be seen as a distraction, but it was unlikely he’d stopped by to save her from an annoyed playboy.

“Superman! Come on up here and tell the good people what you’re doing in Gotham.” Brucie invited him with a beaming smile, taking over Leigh’s duties.

Superman stepped up to take Bruce’s offered hand for a quick handshake. From her angle, Leigh notice that they both cheated to the camera and audience, like PR pros. And the press was eating it up, like they did Bruce’s idiocy.

"Mr. Wayne, when I see people go out of their way to try and help, even if all they can do is offer comfort, seeing that inspires me. I have many gifts, but it's the greatness in humanity that keeps me going. Thank you for reminding me of that."

There was a brief, humbling moment where all of the viewing audience felt inspired and ready to take on the world. Leigh even forgot to obsess over Bruce's hidden intelligence.

"Superman, do you have the holiday blues?" A reporter shouted, and they were off. Only Superman, with his super hearing could have made sense of all the noise. Superman turned to them, hands up to calm them down, and began his impromptu press conference.

Leigh turned to look for her actual guest, and had to look some more. Bruce had moved off the stage, and out of the lights. He was talking with the Jing family, holding the large gift basket they'd brought with them. Leigh had planned to film that heartwarming thank you, but it was going on while all the cameras were on Superman. Well, only two minutes of the show left now anyway, and Superman was a much bigger catch.

She'd done what she'd set out to do and exposed Bruce's brain, as well as her own journalistic skills. She might just rest on these laurels for a while, as apparently she couldn't handle the reaction of man traumatized as a child. Leigh didn't even want to think about what gang members or terrorists would do to her. Bruce wasn't dangerous, but she had thought he was at the time.

Except, now that she really thought about it, who knows exactly what watching your parent's murder would do to child? At least she could commiserate with Lois about Superman having to show up to protect her. Leigh rolled her eyes at her speculation. What could Bruce possibly do to her that would warrant Superman showing up? All Bruce could do was buy her show and have her fired, which would only feed the rumor mill after today's show.

"Leigh!" Tom hissed in her earpiece, getting her attention.

She looked to the control booth so he would know he'd heard her and continue.

"Why didn't you keep pushing?" Leigh must have shown confusion, for he kept talking. "That's as close as anybody had ever gotten to making him talk about it! That's a Peabody Award!"

Leigh covered her mouth with her hand, as if very amused by something, so she could speak with the bare minimum of mouth movement. "Did you not have a camera on his face?"

"Not going out live, but thought that look was just the camera angle."

Leigh shot Tom a look, confirming the camera did not add on twenty pounds of mean.

"Damn. Alright, do your sign off."

Leigh stood and went through her good byes and best holiday wishes for audience members. The lights changed, dimming on stage and coming up on the audience, but the press paid it no mind. Leigh thought about seeking out Bruce, but he was gone and the Jing family was slowly leaving as well. Say this for Bruce, at least he kept his heartfelt thank you meetings short. Sighing, Leigh headed for her dressing room, realizing she'd done something else she'd never done. When Bruce had scared her, she'd sweated through her blazer, in the middle of a brutal Gotham winter.

Once he'd escaped the press conference, Superman stopped a few crimes and helped a man in Metropolis figured out why his Christmas lights weren't working. Alibi established, he'd zipped back to Gotham. Once he was sure he was unobserved and moving too fast to be tracked, Superman landed on the impressive balcony of Wayne Manor.

The doors were ornate and old fashioned looking, but opened automatically after a quick scan confirmed it was him. Stripping his clothes, it was Clark Kent who entered the room, expecting Bruce to be out like a light. Instead, he was sitting at the end of their bed, staring a peach as if he'd never seen the like. Bruce was in his silk pajamas, but Clark happily settled behind him completely nude; the tan v of his legs looked good next to Bruce's black clad ones.

"Nice peach."

Bruce sighed, and only rested back into Clark's chest a little. Not nearly enough for Clark's liking, so he upped his body heat four degrees and tried a different tactic. Bruce was a repressed college professor, and could lecture at the drop of a well disguised hat.

"Greenhouse raised peaches aren't good for you, Alfred should know better than to buy them this time of year."

"Peaches are a traditional Chinese gift, symbolizing the giver's wish for you to have a long life."

Clark smiled at the back of Bruce's head.

"The pink basket symbolized happiness and the red ribbon was for luck. Gift giving is a way of showing the giver and receiver, in Chinese philosophy, that we are all connected in some way. The hostess of the show thought it was gaudy and didn't want to let them give it to me. She suggested flavored teas."

"What horrible fate has the TV presenter to look forward to? Buy out the studio and have her fired? Grow a mustache to twirl and tell her she'll never work in this town again? Buy her apartment building and make it so the faucet drips all the time?" Clark tried not to let his smile into his voice.

"Why would I do any of that?"

"Because she made you put your punching face on?"

"She was just doing her job, if a little better than expected. Just need to delete some of the footage. It's my fault, I let the mask slip, and it didn't even help."

"Nope, you stop that thought right there." Clark commanded. To distract further, he took the peach from Bruce and used his eye lasers to slice it neatly. The heat sort of cauterized the edges, and if Clark had done it right the juice would remain inside and not drip all over the eater. It also meant he could pop a slice into Bruce's mouth any time he started to talk.

"I know when the wheels are turning in your head, Bruce. To be fair, it's because they always are, but I knew as soon as I saw that video what you'd think." Bruce opened his mouth, so Clark feed him. "Had you been in full gear, could you have done anything more to save that woman?"

Bruce sighed.

"Those paramedics, were they distracted from caring for her because Brucie Wayne was there?"

"No." His reply was softer than his sigh.

"I love you, but death will always win. The best we can do is try and make people's lives better while they are here. My Pa told me that, but I only learned it when he died. You learned that far too young, yet you still fight so hard against it. Bit irrational for you, maybe, but I wasn't lying when I said it inspired me."

"Sap." Bruce grouched, so he got another slice of peach.

"The boys who scared the woman, and robbed her. Are they going to do that again?"

"No." This came with a snort about how obvious that answer was. "The leaders are in juvie for other charges, the three followers are meeting with an unusually attentive social worker."

"How much did the family pay for her hospital bills and funeral?"

Bruce reached out and took a slice of peach himself, so he wouldn't have to answer, forgetting that Clark knew he could talk with his mouth stuffed with a hand-grenade. That hadn't pulled Bruce down emotionally like this, though it didn't do Clark any favors.

"When you use your money to help people who need it, you're not throwing money at a problem. Sometimes, that's the solution."

"Please, like Gotham needed another Chinese restaurant." Bruce stiffened a little, as if aware he'd said too much.

Clark leaned forward to press his grin into Bruce's shoulders.

"So that's how people too poor for a funeral found themselves delivering food to somebody with a TV show."

"I need sleep." Bruce said, and tried to move out of Clark's arms.

There was a small plate on the dresser, so Clark set the remains of the peach on it. Then it was easy enough to float them both up and sideways, and a grumbling Bruce moved the covers aside so Clark could land them. Bruce was still tense though, not relaxing against his heating pad of a boyfriend the way said boyfriend wanted him to.

"Let me relax you," Clark whispered, sending an exploratory hand into the waistband of Bruce's pajamas. An exhale and Bruce relaxed a little, enough to signal for Clark to go ahead.

Clark nuzzled and nipped at the back of Bruce's neck as he delved into Bruce's clothes. Bruce, as normal, wasn't wearing underwear beneath his pajamas. Said it was the only time his privates got to breathe, but Clark still wondered if Bruce's bits had needed air before they got together.

Pulling Bruce's growing erection out of the flap in front, Clark kept the handjob slow and steady. The bone melting bliss after vigorous sex was amazing, but just a likely to get Bruce to wake up as it was to put him to sleep. Overdeveloped adrenaline glands, Clark figured. So Clark just caressed his lover, using technique to build up the pressure, and some skillfully rubbed pre-cum to get Bruce to come with a small groan.

Clark caught most of it in his hand, which he cleaned up with a few happy licks. Bruce shifted his ass back to confirm Clark wasn't hard, as always needing to make sure he'd done his fair share. Clark let him feel the lack of erection, as he’d worked so hard to keep it that way, and then gently tucked Bruce back into his pjs. It didn't take long after that for Bruce to fall asleep. Technically, Clark was taking the four hour train trip back to Metropolis after going to the show as a favor to Lois, so he had time to sleep with Bruce. Instead, he whispered words of love into Bruce's sleeping ear.