Billionaire philanthropist by day; Gotham vigilante by night

He’d been hopeful that maybe he could distract Harley but it’s clear that she has her sights set on the billionaire. So, he retracts his hand, holding both of them up in surrender, “sorry, Ms.Quinn,” he glances at Bridget once more and takes a step back. “I can see you have business with Ms.Wayne so I’ll go and not bother you anymore, yeah?”

Clark is going slow with his backing up. If Bridget wanted him to swoop in then he would, but he didn’t want to step on her toes since Gotham was her city. He just needed to get out of here without her shooting him, because him being shot and unbothered by it would definitely raise some red flags.

As soon as he’s far enough away he actually turns to walk down the stairs. Harley seems satisfied with him leaving so he’ll go. As soon as he hits the stairs he takes off running, making it down a couple flights before he finds a window he can open up to get out of the building.

Bridget feels the tension in Harley’s body pressed against her as Clark leaves. She can feel the way Harley is questioning the decision of letting him go and the last thing Bridget needs is for Harley to flip the gun onto Clark instead so she purposefully squirms in Harley’s grip, distracting her just enough until Clark disappears.

“No squirming, Bridgie! Not unless ya want a bullet in ya head!” Harley snaps, gripping onto Bridget tightly. For as annoyed as she is with Clark fleeing, she still has Bridget and she’s the money maker here.

“Why are you, ngh, doing this?” Bridget grunts a little, feeling great discomfort with the way Harley. “You were recuperating. Finally free of Joker’s influence.”

“That’s right! And I recognise how much of a dirtbag that asswipe was to me. So what better way to get under his skin than to kidnap the one person other than the Bat he’s so clearly obsessed with. You!” She responds with a cackle.

Clark’s worry isn’t about getting out of there. It’s about him making sure Batwoman can show up and save things, “I know they probably won’t care about me, that’s why I’ll be fine. I want to make sure you get out of here-“ He cuts off as he hears the footsteps coming towards them then the click of a gun. It takes everything in him to keep himself from stepping between Bridget and the gun now pointed at her. But a reporter wouldn’t do that- he doesn’t want to draw more attention to himself than he has already. He watches Harley for a moment and pushes his glasses back up on his nose, turning to listening for any other bombs that might be preparing to go off.

Then, his attention is pulled back into what’s happening right there in front of him. Harley Quinn holding Bridget in a hug, basically everyone else has evacuated.

Bridget needs to get away from here so she can stop Harley from doing anymore damage.

So, Clark does something that other people might see as stupid. “I- uh-” purposefully stumbling over his words, he holds his hand out for Harley to shake, “I’m- I’m Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet, Ms.Quinn.” He even offers her an awkward smile, fully leaning into his clumsy kid from Kansas persona he’d built up through his life.

“Reporter for the Planet?” Harley replies but the look on her face makes it clear that she’s maybe not so happy with that revelation. “You know I don’t like reporters, Bridgie. Why were ya schmoozin’ with someone like that?” She adds, quickly turning the hug to a grip around Bridget’s neck as she spins her and pins the gun to the socialite’s temple.

“Easy, Harley. Mr. Kent was on his way out of here and you have who you want for your hostage. Right?” Bridget says calmly, trying all she can to get Harley to refocus on what she was here for. “Why don’t we just have a little chat, one on one. I felt like you were really making progress, you know I was pushing for you given how well you’ve done.” Bridget adds, really trying to calm the clown.

“Nuh uh. Don’t pull that bullshit with me, Bridgie. I know exactly what ya tryin’ ta pull and it ain’t gonna work!” Harley replies with a slight snarl to her voice, gripping onto Bridget tighter as she presses the gun tighter against her temple.

The woman wasn’t going to argue with her, to her drunk mind it was clear something was going on between the two even if it was unspoken. Instead she just turned to walk away, going off to find someone else who could satisfy her needs because no way in hell was she going to step on Bridget’s toes with a man, that was one sure way to get herself banned from these things, at least she thought it was.

As the building shakes Clark has almost the same reaction as Bridget, him pushing the two socialites he’d been talking with over and lying himself on top of them before scrambling to his feet. “Everyone get out of here. Take the stairs, not the elevator or you’ll just get trapped in there.” As he speaks the midwestern accent he usually has when out as Clark disappears, instead it’s the accent of someone from Metropolis.

His blush is gone as he begins to herd people towards the stairs to get them out of the building. Hoping people don’t notice as he pushes his glasses down on his nose so he can get a look outside and through the building. He’s looking for anything that might be important to this, usually the lead lined glasses helped him from getting distracted but right now they weren’t helpful.

Right after he’s sure that they’re heading down the stairs, he makes a beeline for Bridget, asking, “are you alright, Ms.Wayne?” He knows she’s fine, he’s just hoping that she picks up on his silent question of what she needs him to do to help, since Superman showing up wouldn’t make sense, but she also needs to get out of here if Batwoman is going to show up.

Bridget is still trying to figure out who would be responsible, almost forgetting that to keep up appearances, she should have been the first one out of the door. For whatever reason, this time she felt the drive to protect over ride what she was supposed to do. It was no surprise though that given current company, the majority of the guests already headed for escape, caring much more about saving themselves than anyone else.

Clark’s voice distracts her from her thoughts as she turns to face him, the fun and games from earlier almost already forgotten. “You should go. Whoever is doing this probably has little interest in a reporter and more with who they’re reporting on. Hurry before they...”

“BRIDGIE!” A high pitched squeal rings through the room causing Bridget to grimace, instantly recognising the source of the voice.

“I didn’t know you were out of Arkham yet, Harley.” Bridget replies as she slowly turns away from Clark to face the former psychiatrist. Her hands raised in the air. There’s a click of a handgun as she finds herself facing the barrel of a gun.

“I broke out early! Heard ya had fancy shmancy party and I couldn’t miss out on all tha fun! Besides! I missed ya, Bridgie!” Harley grins as she skips closer, keeping the gun trained on her.

“I was at your parole hearing a week ago, you were going to be released two months for good behaviour. Ngghh...” She grunts a little as Harley closes the distance almost immediately and pulls her into a bear hug.

Despite his best efforts at staying focused on his current conversation he hears Bridget say his name and that’s enough to get his attention. Furiously he writes on his paper and offers smiles to the guests he’s speaking with, anything to not focus on her and why she’d be saying his name.

It doesn’t work.

He can hear Bridget talking to another woman about him. He risks a glance in their direction, only to find Bridget looking at him as she mentions him being interesting in someone who wears a lot of leather. Instantly he looks away, unable to stop the color that rushes to his cheeks.

The woman on the other had thinks something much different. Despite how intoxicated she is she catches the glances and the sudden color to his face, though she doesn’t know Clark can hear their conversation from all the way over there. Still her drunken familiarity remains and she pats Bridget’s shoulder, “you don’t have to hide it. If you have plans with him later that is fine. I’ll just go find someone else to take home with me.” 

“Oh. I’m not hiding anything in the slightest.” She replies but she seems to be almost caught off guard for the first time that evening. Why was she acting like this at all? Sure, some of it was that same power trip of being able to send the someone like Clark spiralling in embarrassment. But this was also the same man who had flown the moment he couldn’t hear her heartbeat. She joked at the time about it being creepy but there was more behind it.

She parts her lips, like she’s ready to maybe admit that there could be just the tiniest bit of her that might want to be with him but then an explosion rocks the building. Instincts take over as she grabs the woman and dives to the ground to protect her. A blast of heat washing over her back as she grimaces a little, wondering who had the audacity this time to raid the gala.

Clark once again swallows as she acts like he’d just rejected her, which he had in a way, but it was the truth. He needed to get this story written.

As her hand once again rests on his chest he just hopes she can’t feel the way his heart skips a beat. He has it bad. Offering her a nod he simply says, “I’ll see you around Ms.Wayne.”

As the night goes on he tries to keep himself focused on his paper. He pulls aside different guests and asks them questions like what they thought of the cause they were donating for, and other such things. Despite keeping himself busy, and trying to keep his focus elsewhere he still ends up catching bits and pieces of Bridget’s conversations. Unlike heartbeats from hundreds of miles away he had to focus to hear, being in close quarters like this he had to really focus to not hear what she was saying.

It’s while he’s busy and focused on a conversation with another guest that a woman approaches Bridget. Clearly she’s had a few drinks too many and nothing is going to stop her. She puts a hand on Bridget’s shoulder, “Ms.Wayne may I have a word?” She asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer before pressing on. “I was wondering if you have any plans for that reporter you spoke to earlier or if I could take him home with me.” She’d caught sight of the pair’s conversation earlier in the evening and was at the very least going to ask if the known playgirl had staked a claim on the man in the mismatched suit.

“Mr. Kent?” Bridget replies, barely managing to orient herself to the stranger who is suddenly acting far too comfortable for her liking and it takes everything in her will to not just stare daggers at the lady. “Oh...oh no, I wasn’t planning on doing anything with him. Seems despite my attempts at charming him it seems he’s far more focused on his work than for any kind of fun tonight.” She replies.

Her eyes flicker back to Clark once more, convincing herself that she can see the slight sweat forming at the edge of his brow. Could Kryptonians even sweat? Something she had paid very little attention to until that very moment.

He’d been standing against a wall and can’t exactly back away from her as she once again turns to him. This time her hand comes up to his cheek and he swallows heavily, his cheeks burning and he can feel the color travel up to his ears. She’s just keeping up appearances. He tells himself.

It made sense. Bridget as the world knew her was going after whomever she pleased. Probably the worst part of this was that while part of him wanted her to be serious he knew that she wasn’t. There was nothing to his friend’s tone or heartbeat to imply this was something more than just for the keeping up of appearances.

“I- uh-“ he stumbles over his words though if it’s honest or just an act is unclear. Though as he hears the whispers of the party goers who caught sight of them his face only burns more.

“I’m on the clock Ms.Wayne. I need to get a story together for tomorrows paper and news cycle.” He gets out after another moment of stammering.

“Oh? Am I interrupting your work? Well how selfish of me for trying to include you in the evening’s festivities. I know where I’m not wanted. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Kent.” She replies, her eyes slightly narrowing up at him as her gloved hand drops away from his chin and back to his chest. They both know the insignia of his costume is sitting just beneath his shirt. Mirroring what she had done to him the previous night.

Then in an instant she’s gone, disappearing back into the flurry of bodies of party revellers. She slips back directly into bachelorette mode, smiling and laughing. Sharing silly stories of investments and flirting away with men with too much money to know what to do with. She knows how to work the crowd to get them to donate as much as possible to the charity.

The blushing wasn’t an act. Clark was honestly pretty sure he’s in love with her but he’d never say anything to that effect. He couldn’t. He respected her too much and knew there was no way she’d feel the same about him.

As she turns her back once again and reminds him its off the record, he says, “I know Ms.Wayne,” with a chuckle. “All of this is off the record, though holding the paper keeps people from wondering why someone like you would be paying any attention to someone like me.”

The pen and paper at this point in their conversation was just a matter of appearances. He didn’t want people wondering why she’d be taking an interest in him, the less people who knew they were friends the better. “At least they have you, hosting these galas to get them to donate so all their friends can see. You’re doing good and so are they even if it requires convincing.”

Bridget appreciates what Clark says. Glad that everything she was working on was at least seen as an overall positive in spite of all her own personal frustrations with the way things went down with the upper elite of Gotham City.

She turns back once more to face the reporter with his words about why someone like her would be paying attention to him. She moves in close and went for it. The soft leather of the gloved hand reaching up to gently caress Clark’s cheek before catching his chin between her thumb and forefinger.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Kent? I have no problem being seen speaking to one of the most well established writers of the Daily Planet. Are you perhaps afraid of people gossiping that you’ll be the latest in a long line of men and women the infamous Bridget Wayne took home to Wayne Manor? There’s a reason I forged that reputation as you well know but are you real so scared your good name will be sullied by becoming another notch on my bedpost?”

He continues to write away on the paper, though he’s focused more on her speaking. He just doesn’t want to draw too much attention to himself with the fact she was speaking to him. So pretending to be reporting on what ever it is they’re talking about was the best way to do that.

Chuckling softly at her comment he scribbles something else down just to look up as she steps towards him and places her hand on his tie, reminecent of how they’d stood on the rooftop a few nights before. Everything seems to pause around them and he only has eyes for her, he can feel his cheeks flush despite his best efforts.

Clearing his throat he then speaks, “yeah- yeah. Though I’m sure the fact I say y’all helps too. For some reason socialites seem to think that makes me unable to pick up on everything they’re saying.”

She can’t help but narrow her eyes at him slightly before turning away again. Even though no one was close enough to hear them, he was still pulling the act although the longer she knew him, the less obvious it was to tell if it really was an act. Or maybe the man in blue and red was the act.

“That’s the thing, Mr. Kent.” She starts to say, a gloved arm folding across herself as she brings the flute back to her lips. “Most of these people only have their money because of family. They might think they’re smart but they just have privilege on their side.”

She shoots a glance over her shoulder towards Clark. “Do I need to remind you this is off the record?” Her eyes shift to the notepad in his hand. She of course knows he would never but apparently she was in the kind of mood to keep him on his toes recently.

Clark is fully focused on the pad of paper he’s holding. He’s supposed to have this story done by tomorrow so he’s writing right now while there’s a lull in the party. Then as soon as things pick up again he’ll find people to talk to and get quotes from. Why he always got assigned the gossip columns he wasn’t sure but here he was.

Then a hush falls over the crowd and he looks up with them to see Bridget enter the room. He takes it in, a black dress hugging her form and the long gloves on her arms, doubtlessly covering up that new scar she’d have from the other day.

He finds himself staring just a little too long and quickly looks away, his eyes going back to his paper and pencil. As he writes he continues to glance up, quickly picking up on the fact Bridget is attepmting to make a beeline towards him, but continues to be interrupted.

As she finishes making her way to him and turns her back, he smiles softly. Then chuckles gently at her question, “yeah, he says I do the best job getting stuff out of people.” He shrugs despite the fact that she can’t see him, “I’m not sure about that but here I am anyways.”

Bridget continues to sip at her drink as Clark speaks, her blue eyes shifting across the room as she spots rich socialites she knows have been working with the criminal underbelly of Gotham. Watching them act like they’re not helping the downfall of her city sickens her. If she could round them up right now and make them pay, she would.

“You do have an uncanny ability to get information out of people. Both as a reporter and in your...after work activities.” She comments with slight bemusement before finally turning back to face him. She take a small step and reaches out to his tie, running her gloved thumb over it gently and glancing at it before gazing up at Clark.

Clark pauses as she reapproaches him, setting her hand on his chest his cheeks suddenly flushing from not expecting it.

He then nods, “alright, I’m glad that you’re fine. Sorry for bothering you though.” He says stepping back from her, “I’ll get out of your hair, and I’ll see you around.” He quickly leaves, flying off and back to Metropolis.

~~

It’s a few days later when he sees her again. He was sent by the Daily Planet as the one incharge of reporting on the Wayne charity Gala. So, dressed in his best suit, albeit mismatched, and with his glasses on he stays to the side of the room figuring out exactly how he wants to cover this story.

The Bat lets her hand drop the moment Clark stepped away. A small smirk crosses her face at the speed with which the Kryptonian makes his exit. Her cape flapping in the vortex of air that he produces from the swift escape. Again, thoughts drift in her mind to all that he’s capable of and yet he’s the one who almost seems afraid of her.

She turns away and slips off the edge of the rooftop to return to the cave, already having her own fears of what Alfred was going to say given her condition.

~~

Bridget enters the room for the gala and spots the familiar hush as the people all talking stop and look to her. There’s whispers and murmuring amongst the guests before the majority resume talking amongst themselves but she notes a few keep their eye on her. She notes one difference though. In the corner of the room keeping mostly to himself, the tall man with glasses and the ill fitting mismatches suit doing everything he can to hide himself. Now she knows who he is, she’s annoyed that she didn’t spot it sooner before she knew who Clark Kent really was.

Slowly she steps down the stairs, her long black gown trailing behind her, split at the leg as it trailed teasingly high up her thigh. Long black leather gloves adorn her arms. Mostly it was to hide the wound on her arm that was mainly healed but then she hardly needed an excuse to wear them given how much she enjoyed them but also the reaction it instilled in others.

To prove that point.

“Bridget! Looking lovely as always and of course, wonderful job on the event. It’s fantastic.” One of the guests who couldn’t keep his eyes off her comments as he approaches.

“Flattery will get you no where my darling.” Bridget replies, inwardly irritated as her attempt to get to Clark was interrupted. Her hand moves up to the man’s cheek and strokes gently. The man breathes and suddenly seems to melt. She then steps past him easily as he’s pretty much reduced to a mumbling mess.

Bridget continues to make her way through the gathering, continuing to be paused by well wishing guests but her eyes continue to glance towards the reporter in the corner of the room. Maybe no one else would notice it but she imagines he does.

Eventually she breaks through the crowd, grabbing a flute of champagne before stopping about a foot away from Clark. She then turns sharply to keep her back to him as she looks back to the gala.

He’s able to pick up on the fact that Bridget wants him to leave, or at least he thinks thats what she’s wanting. So he looks at her once more as she strides past him. “Your arm is alright, yeah?” He asks with a slight nod towards the wound on her arm.

“I mean- it isn’t too much? Not that it’d be too much I just mean you’re okay and can make it home no problem?” He stumbles over his words, trying so hard to make it clear that he’s not trying to overstep but that he’s worried about her nonetheless.

“You know what, never mind I’m sure you’re fine so yeah, I’ll just- I’ll go. Sorry for bothering you.”

Bridget acknowledges Clark with a slightly irritated look towards him beside her. The constant worrying about her was really annoying her and the way he kept fumbling over his words almost had her snapping at him to get it out.

But then her eyes spotted it. She might not be able to hear his heartbeat from hundreds of miles away but she had trained in reading body language for years. She might have been the world’s greatest detective but somehow she had been utterly blind to what he was thinking until now.

“Clark.” She said quietly, turning to face and approach him. A black gloved hand moved up to lay on his chest right across the insignia on his chest as she looked up at him. Recognising that he had been really scared and that he clearly cared about her a great deal. And maybe more than just as a friend. “Thank you for helping me back there. I’m sorry I scared you into thinking something happened. But I’m fine and I’m okay.”

Clark rubs the back of his neck as she says that. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he agrees softly, only knowing that she wasn’t mad thanks to that slight smile she offered.

He was still feeling awkward, he probably shouldn’t have rushed over as quickly as he had. But he had, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to face the reason that he had come to her rescue even though he knew perfectly well that she didn’t need it.

He was lost somewhere in his mind when she looked up at him and expressed her surprise that he was still there. Shrugging he says, “I don’t have any plans so no reason to go rushing back to Metropolis quite yet.” Pausing a moment before he continues, “unless you want me to leave, because you could just say that.”

The Bat almost glares at the Kryptonian as he makes the comment about leaving. Only he could do something like that. He’s essentially the strongest being in the universe and yet he can look at her like he was a puppy that she just kicked.

“I didn’t say that.” She countered quickly in a short, curt response slightly through her teeth. Some of her annoyance also coming from the fact her arm was starting to throb, causing her to roll her shoulder slightly as if the movement would make the pain go away.

He can tell from the tone of her ‘hngh’ that she isn’t happy with him just showing up here. But the fact that he doesn’t get scared easily and that the moment of not being able to find her heartbeat had scared him- He cared about her a lot and wanted to make sure she was safe.

Despite the fact that part of him wants to look away as she glares at him, he doesn’t. Instead he raises an eyebrow slightly and waits for her answer.

As soon as he’s given permission he flies closer to her and offers a hand. Once she takes it he pulls her close to him and flies them both out of there, getting her a safe distance away before landing on a rooftop and letting her go.

“Sorry,” he admits, the memory of her glare still fresh in his mind, “I just,” pausing a moment he figures she already knows he keeps track of people with their heart beats, “I couldn’t hear you for a second and wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Bridget refuses to look at him as he carries her away. She knows what he’s doing and that he’s only trying to simply help but she hates the feeling of needing to be rescued because it hit that spot deep in her that made her feel like the weak link in the League. All the others had powers of some kind they could use to their advantage but for all the training she undertook, she was still just human.

The moment he lands and her boots touch the rooftop she immediately steps away, her caped back to him until he eventually speaks about being worried about her. In that moment she turned to him, the white lenses in her cowl thinning slightly as she takes that particular piece of information in.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you sound like a creepy stalker when you say that. And that’s coming from what most would consider a creepy stalker.” She replied, maybe a small hint of a smirk breaking through the black painted lips.

He could tell from her change of tone that she was thinking about how he didn’t need to come. Clark knew he didn’t need to but, well, he wanted too. He wanted to make sure she was safe.

“Plans changed,” he replies without more explanation for the moment. Lois had found a date to join her since they were just friends, not that Clark minded too much.

He watches her look around the room for a way out, knowing Bridget is still planning on trying to get out of here on her own. “I could help you get out of here, since I’m already here,” he offers. The bullets are still bouncing off his back like it’s nothing, though why people didn’t learn they couldn’t shoot him was beyond him.

“Hngh...”

It was the familiar grunt of disapproval. Not that the plans had changed themselves but the fact the change had impacted her. Because now she got to have the feeling of being rescued in a situation she was extremely certain she didn’t need rescuing from.

Her gaze eventually fell upon the Kryptonian despite doing everything in her power to pretend he wasn’t there. The white lenses of her cowl seemingly pierce towards him indicating the intensity of her distaste at the situation.