The Wrong Scoop

The Wrong Scoop

The clouds hung low over Gotham, cloaking the skyline, and the Bat signal flickered once, then dimmed—false alarm. But Batman wasn’t in Gotham tonight. ... He was in Metropolis, watching someone —A mild-mannered man in a rumpled suit, crooked tie, and the uncanny habit of managing to secure interviews with the alien known as Superman: Clark Kent.

From the moment the first Superman article appeared in The Daily Planet, Batman’s interest had been piqued. The alien seemed friendly, and he was definitely doing good- helping the “little guy” as Metropolitans liked to call it. But then Luthor publicised the taped messages Superman had apparently been sent to the Earth with (purportedly from the Kryptonian’s parents)– Bruce suspected they were doctored given what he knew of Lex Luthor, but the public furore reignited his interest in Superman. And who better to approach than the only man who had succeeded in breaking the code and securing exclusive interviews with the alien himself, Clark Kent.

When simply reading his interviews didn’t reveal how to summon the alien, Bruce decided to check if the ‘gentle giant’ had pre-scheduled interviews that he might gain access to... and that’s when he realised that despite the warm articles and exclusive interviews, no one had ever seen the two meet...

And yet, Clark Kent had exclusive quotes, and far too much insight into a being that appeared and vanished like a ghost.

***

Clark stepped out of the art gallery after covering the newest exhibit– a science themed interactive exhibit that spread awareness about carbon and carbon footprint. He clutched his notepad and blinked behind his glasses at the sudden downpour.

“Figures,” he muttered, tugging his coat tighter as he waited out the rain till it petered off into a drizzle: he hated getting wet. Hurrying to ensure he’d get enough time to drop off the article at Perry’s desk in the morning, he turned into an alley for a shortcut to the Planet’s rented car— when a figure dropped from the shadows.

Clark’s heart rate spiked as he stared up at the man dressed head-to-toe in black, armoured Kevlar shaped like a bat.

“Mr. Kent,” Batman said, voice like gravel dragged across steel.

“Wh—what? Batman?!” The squeak was not faked as he looked up at the vigilante who had served as his inspiration. Strangely, he had never managed to glimpse the vigilante in person before now; and now, hearing the absence of an audible heartbeat– clearly there was some sort of dampener in the shadowlike suit; he finally realised why. “He-hello! Uhm... can- can I help you?”

“You can tell me how you contact him.”

“Him?” Clark blinked rapidly, accidentally making his glasses fog up a little with the action.

“Superman.”

Clark swallowed audibly– oh. Of course, that would be the reason for a vigilante to hunt down mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent. Lois was right– he should’ve ensured that Clark Kent wasn’t the only reporter to score exclusive interviews with Superman. “I— I don’t— he just… shows up sometimes.”

“Hrmm”

“L-lucky, I guess?” Clark stammered.

“I noticed,” Batman loomed closer. “You’re always... lucky.”

Clark shifted back instinctively– despite being invulnerable, there was just something menacing enough about the black-clad vigilante that it made you want to cower. “I really don’t know anything. Honest.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “Then why do your interviews read like he confides in you?”

“I— I’m just good with words?”

The silence that followed continued for longer than comfortable. Batman didn’t speak, didn’t quite move– a complete absence of regular human fidgeting. It was like watching shadows that had coalesced into a statue. Had it not been for his enhanced senses, Clark wouldn’t have been able to confirm that the man even breathed. Even worse, being watched by those featureless white lenses was nerve-wracking. Clark finally broke. “O-okay, okay... maybe I see him sometimes? But there’s no set schedule or anything– he- he’s not hurting anyone!”

“I never said he was.” Batman stepped closer, voice colder now. Clark got the sense that he had said something wrong... and a moment later he had his confirmation: “But it’s interesting that your thoughts went to him hurting... someone.”

“W-what?!”

There was no response, Batman simply fired his grapple line and disappeared; probably a regular human wouldn’t have even seen him grapple away (which made sense, given all the stories about him disappearing into thin air). Clark leaned against the wall, not quite sure how to feel about his first meeting with Gotham’s protector. He had a hunch that it wouldn’t be the last.

***

The next time they met, Clark was on the roof of a high-rise, having joined his fellow reporters (after a delay, given he had been the one they were watching) to report on Superman’s fight against a giant axolotl-like creature. He was happy that the Justice...gang had appeared when they had; it afforded him the opportunity to slip back into his civilian avatar without leaving anybody at-risk. Most of the journalists were heading back down now that the fight had ended with Green Lantern imprisoning the creature in a green dome-like construct and taking it away for rehabilitation. Clark took the moment of peace and quiet to simply stand and appreciate the wind in his face.

Which is why the sudden gravel-on-steel voice surprised him so completely, “Is he threatening you? Are you under duress?”

Clark whirled around, eyes widening at the sight of the black-clad vigilante. Despite the twilight brightness, the man seemed to be shrouded in shadows. “W-what?!”

He’d anticipated he’d be interrogated again... and for two days after their first meeting, he’d been on high alert. But as the days crept by and there was no further contact from the vigilante, he began to relax. He had to concede; Batman did know how to lull his target into complacency- the man had waited eight days before approaching him again. And this time, it wasn’t even a shadowed alleyway– Clark had been careful to avoid those.

He looked around, the roof was deserted apart from the two of them. Great.

“Superman,” Batman spoke again– if Clark listened carefully, there was clearly some voice modulation technology at play, even though the vigilante’s mouth was not covered by his cowl. “You’re the only one who’s ever managed to secure an interview with the Kryptonian... and in your own words, he’s saved you. And his intentions when ending the fight between Boravia and Jarhanpur were nothing but a desire to ensure there was no war. Your article reads like the alien–” Batman paused, clearly noticing his grimace at the word “The ...the man entrusts you with his thoughts and plans. Would you say he’s protective of you? Watches over you?”

Clark could only repeat, “W-what?”

“Tell him to show up,” Batman growled, “Ask him. Right now.”

“It-it doesn’t work like that!”

“So, you don’t know when he’ll show up next... grant you the next soundbite?”

“N-n-no...?”

“Interesting that you feel that way,” Batman’s gauntleted hand suddenly shot out and tightened on Clark’s lapel.

Clark’s eyes widened. He hadn’t quite expected to be actually grabbed.

“I think... with the right...incentive, Superman could be ...convinced to make an appearance,” The man moved them closer to the edge. “You’re what? –6’3... 6’3 and a half? About 240 pounds, if I was to guess. At terminal velocity, you’ll hit the ground in 3.7 seconds. Superman’s top recorded speed is Mach 7– though I suspect he is faster given so few cameras manage to pick him up. He should be nearby– he just fought that creature... So, I’d suspect he’ll reach you in 2.3...”

Batman stepped back—and then tossed Clark off the ledge.

For a heartbeat, Clark nearly reacted. Muscles tensed, instinct flaring. He wanted to stop the fall, wanted to float. But he couldn’t. Not without revealing everything.

He let himself drop: The world fell away. Wind roared. The city blurred. The ground below rushed closer.

Clark panicked—not about dying, but about not dying. What if Batman saw him survive? Would a human survive such a fall? He’d need to fake getting injured if he had to be convincing...

And then, there was the sudden sound of a line engaging, and cloth fluttering in the wind. An unexpected shadow swooped and caught him, one arm curled under his back, holding him tight against a muscled chest.

Clark gasped, and reacted instinctively- he clung.

A second later realisation struck: He was in the Batman’s arms. Like a freaking damsel-in-distress.

He expected to be lowered to the ground, but a moment later, they were moving up– the landing was not as gentle as his own, but he had to admit that if the man was not gifted with flight himself, this was the smoothest possible landing: sprawled on the ground with Batman cushioning Clark’s landing with his own body.

Clark scrambled off, “You- you threw me off the roof!”

Batman rose in one smooth movement, clearly not fazed at having 240 pounds – and his estimation of Clark’s weight was spot on, how had he managed that?!– land on him.

“Someone jumps off the roof in Metropolis, and Superman shows up. I throw you off one? Nothing... Meaning one of two things: he’s losing interest…” Batman paused. “Or you’re hiding something.”

Clark allowed his knees to buckle and sat on the ground –a regular human had to be terrified of such an experience, right? ––– dazed and breathless, tie flapping in the wind.

“Tell me the truth, did you even meet him? Were the interviews real?”

“Yes!” Clark glared up. How dare this man question his journalistic integrity?!

“And yet something doesn’t add up... Mr. Kent, is- is Superman coercing you to write those articles?”

“W-what?! No!”

“Then why lie for him?”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then tell me the truth.”

“I am!”

“You’re trembling.”

“I have low blood sugar! You dropped me off a building! Of course, I’m trembling!”

Batman paused, looking at him intently for an interminably long minute then shared quietly. “I looked into the Kent farm.”

Clark froze. “What?”

“The farm has been struggling... the bank has sent a foreclosure notice. Your parents are up to their ears in debt. And you’ve been helping them out, haven’t you? Every penny you make, you send home... You’ve even sold your furniture off in the hopes that it would make a difference...”

Clark’s eyes widened: he hadn’t noticed any intruders, but clearly Batman had looked into his living conditions. He felt a blush heat his cheeks as he remembered his threadbare mattress, the cardboard box he was using as a table and the empty fridge: there was a reason he always visited Lois but never invited her over. As a Kryptonian, he didn’t technically need to eat... and even though it would’ve horrified Ma and Pa to hear he’d been skipping meals, he’d been trying to save every dime so that he could help them.

Clark stuttered. “You… what did you do?”

“I made a call.”

“To whom? Why?” Clark’s fists clenched, heart hammering: he could handle threats against himself, but no one got to threaten his Ma and Pa. “Stay. Away. From. My. Family.”

“I intend to. But they shouldn’t have to suffer because of some alien’s obsession with you. I’ll send someone to help you out... Maybe then you’ll trust me.”

And then he was gone again.