It was a morning like any other for Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent. His schedule was complete with a Starbucks Cappuccino and a quick skim of the local newspaper. Normally he would also skim their competition's newspapers. Cat said that was traitorous, but he just wanted to know what was happening in neighboring cities. Yet today he said "thanks", looked up from the counter, and forgot about his morning reading.

For beyond that full height window was Bruce, dressed in a grey suit that was decidedly not Armani. His arm was curled around another man's. The man looked suspiciously like one of Gotham's richest that Cat frequently gossiped about. Bruce, strolling around with a spring in his step. He was wearing a silly grin like a hyperactive rabbit that was just granted twenty pounds of carrot.

Clark quickly followed the pair onto the streets of Metropolis, his half-finished Cappuccino forgotten. Bruce was unusually chatty, droning on and on about... Clark cheated a little with his super hearing, and heard the odd words spilling out of Bruce's lips.

"Oh Mr. Belmont, your banking strategies are the absolute best in town!" Bruce cooed, clamping his arm tighter around his companion. "You're so smart it makes me drool. Those stocks that you've picked this morning? They're bound to get a lovely return."

Clark wasn't sure if he had heard right. True, Brucie was infamous for spouting empty flattery and whiny complaints. But Clark had always spotted that snide, sarcastic undertone. The undertone that most of Gotham's elites dismiss as an overestimation of Brucie's brainpower. This mindless shoe-shining with sugar dripping off every word? Bruce wouldn't stoop so low.

The man, Belmont, paused in his steps to pick up a call. Bruce leaned in curiously, but Belmont stepped to one side. He curled a hand around the receiver and whispered his response.

"Investigating?" Clark whispered, stalking up to Bruce as Belmont turned away. "He's only deciding whether to put his money on the table now, or six hours later."

Bruce turned to him with an oddly impressed expression. "How do you know?"

Clark shrugged and pointed at his right ear. "You know."

Bruce's eyes narrowed cautiously at him. "Prescott said I shouldn't talk to strangers."

"... Okay." Clark raised his eyebrow dubiously. "Sorry, what role are you playing? This gets confusing sometimes. Or should I not ask?"

Bruce was about to answer, but a sharp voice cut in abruptly. "Brucie! Didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers?" Belmont had replaced his phone in his suit pocket. He glared at Clark. "Good grief, man, go buy your own!"

The light in Bruce's eyes dimmed. Then Clark's super hearing took in the strangest combination of sounds. It sounded like machinery whirring behind an envelope of flesh and skin. "I'm sorry, Mr. Belmont, I got carried away. It won't happen again."

"For a million-dollar investment, you sure did pretty easily." Belmont grunted and yanked Bruce away. Clark didn't know how to react. He clamped his hanging jaw back to where it was before and watched as Belmont drew Bruce away. Bruce followed submissively, sparing not another glance at Clark's direction.

"Boost that flattery, Brucie." Clark overheard Belmont's command as the pair crossed the road. "I've hardly gotten any compliments from you all morning."

"Sure thing, Mr. Belmont." Brucie leaned his head against Belmont's shoulder. "I can't wait to see what you put on the table in six hours."