Batman Begins/Superman Returns

Pushy Reporters

Part Two

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the reception area outside Bruce Wayne's office was deserted but for a single, broad-shouldered man in an out-dated suit and oversized glasses hunched over a year-old magazine, reading about the wedding of two Hollywood stars who had gotten their divorce the week before. Leighanne, the nervous, mousy secretary, stood before him with her hands clasped, not wanting to bother the boyishly handsome stranger, but anxious to get her message across—all the while secretly wondering what a fully grown man was doing reading Seventeen.

"Um, Mr. Kent?" she squeaked. "Mr. Wayne will see you now."

"Huh?" Clark Kent asked confusedly, looking up from the obviously-airbrushed perfume model he had been frowning at. How one could possible model perfume in a magazine was beyond Kent's comprehension, but the girl was pretty enough, he thought. That was when his mind clicked back into focus. "Oh, yes. Of course. Let me just get my things."

As Kent gracefully gathered his briefcase from its place on the floor, Leighanne walked to the tall, black doors of Mr. Wayne's office, careful to move backward so that she could keep the handsome reporter in her sights for just a few seconds longer. She opened the polished door before him, earning a smile. As the door closed, she let out a romantic sigh, and, disappointed, returned to her work.

Kent entered the overly-spacious office staring. He gave a low whistle.

A chuckle snapped him from his amazement. Bruce Wayne walked toward Kent, extending a hand.

"I know exactly what you mean," Wayne said, giving Kent a firm handshake. "This place is way too big."

Kent laughed, and fished a steno pad from his case. "I have got to quote you on that."

Wayne laughed as well. "Yes! Humanize me, please!" Kent laughed again.

"Alright," said Wayne, suddenly the businessman once again. "Have a seat, and I'll let you do your stuff."

Kent sank into one of the two leather seats that stood before Wayne's big mahogany desk, retrieved a pen and gently laid his briefcase down. He had only just clicked open his ballpoint when the phone on the other side of Wayne's desk rang loudly.

Wayne grimaced. "Sorry, gotta take this," he said, pushing his wheeled chair over to the phone, and jabbing the intercom button. "Yes, Leighanne? What is it?"

"Sorry, sir," said Leighanne's tinny voice. "But Juli Marksmith from the Gotham Gazette is on line three. Wants to know about that interview."

"Tell her she can read about it tomorrow in the Daily Planet," said Wayne, and jabbed the button again. Wayne turned back to Kent, and smiled wanly.

"Pushy reporter."

Kent laughed and shook his head. "There's a reason I like anonymity. How do you put up with people like that?"

"You get used to it," said Wayne.

Kent froze mid laugh. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, staring intently at Wayne.

Wayne frowned. "What is it?" he asked, more than a little confused.

Certainty had dawned in Kent's eyes, and he smiled disbelievingly at Wayne. "Bats?"

Wayne froze, his expression that of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But then his eyes narrowed suspiciously at Kent, and a small smile formed in one corner of his mouth. "Kal?"

And without warning, both of them burst into laughter.