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All six thousand, eight hundred, and ninety-seven of Lex’s computers had managed to tell him the same thing. He had rebooted them a further sixteen times just to check, but—no. They were still telling him that his highest likelihood of beating Superman to a fine pulp, taking his beaten body and using it to create clean energy that would make the world love him (and also having a level of superiority over the alien bastard) still rested with Batman.
“Why do you hate me,” he said to his computer. Unfortunately, this computer was voice-activated, and thus decided to pull up the footage that Lex had watched a thousand times: Batman taking down mind-controlled Superman with what could only be described as ease.
The footage was, of course, difficult to see; whatever nightmare of shadows Batman was made it difficult to capture visible footage, but Superman, in all his alien glory, tended to glow. A backlight from the eyes, and soft light emanating from his skin. Kryptonite alone could damage Superman, but Batman—Batman could take him down.
Lex felt his breath catch in his throat as the footage made its way to the end. Batman on top, Superman against the floor, one splayed hand, claws extended, pressing down on one side of Superman’s face so that his lasers burnt through the nearby Gotham stonework, his body trembling as it struggled against the power of the Gotham Bat in his native city. Batman murmured something; Superman blinked once, then twice, and then the lasers guttered and Superman looked up at him, wide blue eyes soft and scared.
Lex would do anything—anything—to be in Batman’s position. Anything.
The problem with the plan of finding Batman was that his computers had also insisted that Bruce Wayne was the easiest way to find him. Brucie fucking Wayne.
The second option was somehow worse, with the Joker. The Joker could, of course, find Batman anywhere, but he had his own agenda and liked to kill his business partners. The Scarecrow was another viable option, but he was scared of Superman, which meant that he took a lot of coaxing and assurances to work with Lex, which, just, ugh. No. Commissioner Gordon could find the Batman, but he’d sooner shoot Lex than work with him.
Brucie Wayne, in all his idiotic glory, might actually be Lex’s best option.
Brucie Wayne, the Prince of Gotham. Nobody was anybody in Gotham without Brucie’s say-so. Batman would not have managed to continue if Brucie had not allowed it.
Lex knew this.
Brucie Wayne was, unfortunately, also a fucking idiot, which meant a lot of people could become a somebody. Batman’s existence invited his rogues gallery, the majority of which wanted to fuck him or Brucie or both.
The biggest problem here was that Brucie Wayne was a fucking idiot, which made him completely intolerable. Being in the same room as him made him want to tear his hair out, and was at least a third of the reason why he’d shaved it all off in the first place. The other parts were two clear memories—one of being nineteen and having his father’s hand on his shoulder, his father’s hair swept back and Lex’s own falling about his chin, and someone saying to his father oh, Alex, your son looks just like you, and the other being his father on his deathbed saying Junior, you’re perfect to continue on my legacy. It’ll be like I never left.
But Lex still clearly remembered his hands pulling through his hair as Brucie Wayne laughed and continued on for a fifth consecutive minute of the same unfunny joke. Thus: Brucie Wayne had been a good chunk of the reason why he’d shaved all his hair off.
“Faith,” he called, and the bodyguard that had been pretending to not exist melted seamlessly out of her hiding spot on the wall. “Do you remember Charity’s new number?”
Faith gave him a slightly disgusted look, and he filed away feeling bad for a time when he could be bothered. “I’m a bodyguard.”
“Great,” Lex said. “Do you remember Charity’s number or not?”
“My job is not to remember your secretary’s ever changing number,” she said, holding out an expectant hand for his phone to type the number in. “I want a pay rise.”
“You should ask Charity,” Lex replied, sending off a text to Charity reminding her to cut wages. “Faith, darling, do you have any opinions on Brucie Wayne?”
“Glad he got over the depression, wish he’d shut the fuck up. Same opinion of pretty much all of Metropolis. Why?”
Lex smiled, tapping out another message to Charity. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of Brucie Wayne in the upcoming months.”
*
Lex’s first step had been inviting Brucie Wayne to Metropolis, because if one wanted to conspire about Batman, the first step was to do it out of his boundaries and maybe he wouldn’t find out before you wanted him to. Brucie was also particularly easy to get to LexCorp events, because Brucie loved pressing buttons, which was something Lex had found fascinating because as a teenager he’d seemed more interested in learning how to climb out of windows and get blackout drunk at three in the morning.
Not that he got less drunk now. The other part of LexCorp events that attracted Brucie Wayne was the free champagne and Lex’s endless parade of pretty women assistants. The latter wasn’t even necessarily on purpose, he just thought that picking women with names with a heavy-handed meaning would mean that people stopped accusing him of alien racism.
It was just reasonable precaution. Anyone with eyes would know that.
“Lexy, Lexy!” Brucie cried, staggering up the white marble steps, the champagne pouring out of his glass onto the floor as he walked. “I missed you. You don’t invite me over enough anymore.”
“Business, my dear Brucie, business. I’m afraid my schedule has been utterly packed lately.”
Brucie honest to god stuck out his bottom lip and pouted at him. He was a grown man. He had been more tolerable as a teenage roommate, and he hadn’t been particularly tolerable then. “Can’t you make time for me?”
Lex smiled at him as gallantly as possible, reminding himself that Brucie was only a small step in the plan to kill Superman. Sometimes, people with actual importance had to do unpleasant things for an outcome. “That’s why I invited you here today, Brucie. You’re the special guest of extreme importance, and you can press the button that sets off the new machine. You’re the guest of honour, I should say.”
“Oh!” Brucie exclaimed, accidentally throwing his now empty glass on the floor. “Lexy, you’re so kind!” He looked down, and his face fell. “Oh, no. Your poor glass.”
Were his eyes actually welling up with tears? That had to be a trick of the light. There was no way Brucie Billionaire Wayne was crying over a smashed glass.
“It’s fine, Brucie, it’s just a glass. I have thousands.”
“Oh, right!” He perked back up. “Love, love, love you, Lexy! I’ve got to get back to Maureen before your big reveal but I’m sure will be done on time.” He giggled, turning to leave, and Lex managed to keep the smile pasted on his face long enough for Brucie and his pink feather boa to get out of his line of sight.
“Prudence,” he said to tonight’s attendant. “I’m going to need you to find and escort Bruce Wayne to the main atrium five minutes in advance, or I will have to kill him.”
“Do you want me to wipe the lipstick off him, too?” she said, not glancing up from her phone. He was never certain if she was actually doing her job or if he paid her to play Candy Crush and Tetris on the clock. “Put some concealer on the hickeys?”
“If you don’t mind,” Lex said, which was corporate speech for if you don’t do it, you’re fired.
*
Brucie was, by some miracle and assistance from LexCorp’s staff, by the grand staircase in time for midnight. Lex did all the unveiling himself, naturally, because it took a lot of work to even get Brucie to press the right button, and Lex did actually want to present his new energy to the world.
“And now,” he said, his press pass smile sitting elegantly on his face. “It’s time for our guest of honour to show everyone how this works: Brucie Wayne!”
The crowd cheered, and Brucie staggered drunkenly up the steps. “Hi, Lex,” he said. “I love pressing buttons, did you know that?”
“Yes, Brucie,” he said, his smile tightening. “See that big green button over there? That’s all we need you to do. Just press it.”
“Cool! What happens if I press the big red button?”
“Don’t do that,” Lex said, his smile now struggling to remain in the vague vicinity of his face. That was the button that was designed to release immense amounts of kryptonite into the part of the device that was supposed to contain Superman, and then to blow it up. The part that remained there currently was the small sample of Superman’s skin he’d acquired in one of their last fights, and thus would be completely used in tonight’s display.
“Okay,” Brucie said, smiling and reaching out towards—the red button.
Lex guided his hand towards the green one. “The red button is the self-destruct button, in case of sabotage.”
“Oh,” Brucie said, drawing out the O until Lex felt his smile actually falter, and then reaching out towards the red button.
“Brucie,” he hissed. “Green for good things, red for bad things. Press the green button.”
“Oh, I get it,” Brucie said, and finally pressed the fucking green button. The relief almost burst one of Lex’s blood vessels.
The crowd let out an ooooo at the light show that followed, Lex’s dazzling smile falling back into its rightful place at his rightful adoration.
“This is just a test run of LexEnergy, a cheap, clean, and efficient energy source. We’ll be rolling it out over the next few months, but trust me when I say that this is changing the way we think about energy. This is what we call a miracle.”
The crowd roared, and Brucie said, “Wow. That sounds impressive.”
Lex gave him an indulgent smile, still feeling warm from the applause, and said, “Of course it is, Brucie. I made it.”
*
“Your assistants are so good with hangovers,” Brucie said brightly, stumbling in through the door of the dining room. Lex had, naturally, assigned the meeting with him for eleven, allowing him enough time to lose the hangover in a greasy breakfast and the parade of assistants that usually dealt with Lex after he allowed himself to think about his father with a few bottles of whiskey. “I feel like a cloud. Light, fluffy, soft, and—all those good things. Why haven’t we invented a way to sit on the clouds yet? They look so soft, like a super cool bed or something.”
“A natural deficit in our plans so far,” Lex said, turning his chair around to face him. “Now, Brucie, I actually brought you here for a reason.”
“You mean you didn’t just want to hang out?”
“These are our, ah, hanging out plans.”
“Oh, okay.” Brucie kicked his feet up onto Lex’s nice white table, and Lex consoled himself by reminding himself of how clean Brucie’s shoes always were.
“Now,” Lex said, extending his monitor out to where Brucie could see. “I have need to get in contact with Batman for my clean energy plan, and I thought you’d be just the man to help.”
Brucie blinked. “Batman isn’t real.”
Lex didn’t remember what happened next, other than the fact that he spluttered, his brain failed to function, and he was pretty sure that he blacked out. He failed entirely to compute the fact that Brucie Wayne didn’t believe that Batman was real, which was a reasonable stance seven years ago but there was pretty much irrefutable proof now. He saw question marks spark in the corner of his vision.
Every hero suffers for his cause, Lex reminded himself.
“Lex?” Brucie was saying. “Are you okay? You do know that Batman isn’t real, right?”
“What do you mean,” Lex hissed. “You have literally been rescued by Batman before.”
“Huh?” Brucie said. “You mean the time I forgot Alfred’s number and the kidnappers just let me go? I thought we all just said Batman saved us when we got kidnapped.”
The edges of Lex’s vision were starting to go dangerously red. “Have you not seen the Batman footage?”
“Footage?” Brucie asked, still looking completely perplexed.
“It was in the news all of last week.”
“Oh,” Brucie said, doing that thing where the O went on forever. “I don’t watch the news.”
Lex’s teeth started grinding. “You haven’t seen any of the footage of Batman? Patience, please get last week’s video.”
With a roll of her eyes, Patience started typing. Lex had fourteen folders with it saved on and three backup drives. It wasn’t difficult to find.
“Wow,” Brucie said, watching the footage. “Do you think they’re fucking?”
“What.”
“They have insane chemistry, that’s all.”
Lex’s fingers curled around the edge of the table, and he imagined having super strength like Superman and crushing it completely. It would be cathartic. He’d never felt such close kinship with the alien terrorist than before now, but Brucie Wayne truly drew out the worst in him.
“Besides,” Brucie continued. “That could be anyone. The footage is so blurry.”
“No,” Lex said as patiently as he could, considering he was near apoplectic. “That’s just because Batman is a creature of shadows.”
“Oh, he’s a demon? Why didn’t you just say so? Gotham is full of demons.” Brucie frowned. “Wait, aren’t demons bad? We had lots of bible classes, Lexy, and you refused to skip any classes at all, so I know you went to them.”
“Batman is a good demon,” Lex said, deciding that it was perhaps for the best if he were to just roll with Brucie’s insanity of the day. “You missed that class when you were out with Oliver and the scholarship boy.”
“Harvey,” Brucie said, cheerfully. “He’s evil now, I think. Alfred said I’m not allowed to talk to him.”
Not for the first time, Lex considered the rumour that Bruce had gone to Arkham and asked them to lobotomise him. “That’s just what scholarship boys are like,” he said instead, smiling through Brucie’s frown. “What say you? Would you like to help your good friend Lex find Batman for the greater good? It’d make your parents so proud.”
“I’d hate to be a disappointment,” Brucie said, like he wasn’t always a disappointment, except perhaps in bed. “Let’s plan!”
“I’ll have Hope fetch you a martini,” Lex offered, hoping that maybe he would get slightly more tolerable when tipsy, despite all evidence to the contrary.
“Oh, no, don’t, I’m trying to watch my figure. Laura and I were discussing this last night.”
Lex closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. “Weren’t you with Maureen last night?”
“Yes?” Brucie said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Lex took a deep breath. “Okay. Shall we begin?”
*
Gotham, Lex decided, was decidedly unbecoming. It was just—well, it was ugly, and Lex far preferred Metropolis, with its shining glass and silver and his clean white boardroom tables. Gotham, which its looming faux-Gothic architecture, was upsetting.
More upsetting was Mercy’s grim silence at the wheel as she attempted to follow Brucie’s wandering instructions. Apparently, he’d misplaced his phone at some point and couldn’t call Alfred to come and pick them up, and the place where Wayne Manor was on Google Maps was deliberately incorrect so that when they invited people they would be met there by Brucie’s chauffeur and uninvited people would simply be lost.
Lex’s offer of calling Alfred on Brucie’s behalf was met with Brucie failing to recollect Alfred’s number, and thus they were met with what looked like more of a tour of Gotham than anything else.
Gotham was not a tourist destination, and he hated every second of it.
“I’m sure it’s just around the corner,” Brucie insisted. “It’s very big. You can’t miss it.”
Mercy’s lips were pulled into a tight, flat line and she was white knuckling the wheel. Lex felt similarly, but at least he didn’t have to drive.
This was, of course, when a black car whirled round the corner, blocking the entire narrow road as it spun. The people that got out were equally dressed in black, holding sleek dark guns and surrounding the car.
Lex fucking hated Gotham.
They wrenched open Mercy’s door first, which gave Lex some inkling of hope that he might not be getting kidnapped today.
“Alright, lady,” the man closest to her said, gun in hand. “We all know you have a gun on you, so hand it over and we won’t kill your employer.”
Lex found his own door being pulled open and caught a glimpse of long blonde hair before a gun was pressed to his temple, and he cursed Gotham, Brucie Wayne, Batman, and Superman in his head. There were always new lows.
“You don’t know which one is my employer,” Mercy said, one hand curled tightly around the steering wheel. “I’m giving you nothing.”
“Everyone in Gotham knows Brucie Wayne,” the goon said, his mask impassive but his voice disgusted. “And we all know that the only person that drives Brucie Wayne is his butler. But if you insist—” He made a sharp hand gesture.
Brucie was dragged out the car and forced to his knees, hands cuffed behind his back.
“Hi, Jeff,” Brucie said, smiling even as his face was pressed dangerously close to Gotham’s probably toxic floor. “It’s been a while.”
Apparently-Jeff gave him a solid kick to the stomach, to which Brucie’s eyes started welling up with tears. “You cost us a lot of money when you couldn’t remember your butler’s number, you stupid bitch. Mr. Luthor’s going to cooperate with us this time, and I’m sure one of his team knows that number you just can’t remember.”
“Time is ticking, chauffeur,” the first man said. “Twenty seconds or we shoot. The gun, if you don’t mind.”
Mercy, jaw clenched, handed over the gun.
“Frisk her,” the man said. “Then cuff them all.”
Lex, as he was manhandled to the ground, consoled himself with the idea that Batman might save them.
*
A woman Brucie referred to as Amelie and a man he referred to as ooh, you’re new, what’s your name? took over from Jeff shortly after they were chucked into the back of a van, which had the upside of meaning people stopped hitting Brucie.
The upside was not because Lex particularly wanted Brucie unharmed, but the teenager Lex had known—the angry, moody, frequently drunk boy always getting into some fight or another—had mellowed out to the extent that a single scratch sent him sprawling, those stupid grey eyes welling up with tears. It happened so often that Lex was tempted to accuse him of faking it, but Brucie Wayne couldn’t lie worth a damn—that, at least, hadn’t changed from when they were teenagers.
And, look, Lex fucking hated Brucie Wayne, but he hated Brucie Wayne’s tears more.
“Stop using my name,” Amelie hissed.
Brucie blinked. “Why? It’s so pretty. Unless you don’t like it, in which case—”
“I hate the sound of your voice,” she said, and he pouted, and Lex realised with a sudden horror that he recognised that expression. Playfully pouting, childish but endearing, a kind of teasing pout. It would be followed up with the lowering of his voice, a slightly sultry tone, a lean in; that, then, followed with a wink and pulling back, easy and charming.
Brucie Wayne was flirting with their kidnappers.
“You could find a way to shut me up,” Brucie said, the edge of his mouth curling up into a smile, and she scowled at him.
“Absolutely not.”
There it was: the exaggerated sigh, tipping his head back, giving up. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind.”
This technique, Lex had grown to realise, left the escape route. The notice that Brucie was interested, then the opportunity to accept or decline, the breathing space in which to make the decision. You know where to find me. You have my number. I’m never that far away. Always the option.
Amelie was scowling at him still, but Lex could see that she was considering it. If it got them out of this abduction, he wouldn’t even be that mad about it.
“Up and at ‘em,” the man that was not Jeff called as the van came to a halt. Mercy was being manhandled out of a different car, and Amelie seized Brucie’s cuffs and started to drag him; three separate henchmen came to get Lex. There was probably something to be said in that Mercy was treated as the most dangerous and Brucie the least, but quite frankly Lex was just having a shit day.
He imagined, briefly, that the shadows would rise, writhe, and from them the white eyes. The ears, elongating, the claws, the ripple as a body was made from nothing, the flash of teeth. The Batman, ensconced in the shadows of Gotham, here to the rescue.
Unfortunately, the shadows were just shadows, and one of the goons dragging Lex was Jeff, whose violence was not dedicated solely to Brucie Wayne.
“Do you know who I am?” Lex snapped, feeling the bruise blossom on his cheekbone.
“Yes,” Jeff said. “You fucking idiot, obviously I know who you are. We’re ransoming you back to your employers. It’s our job to fuckin’ rough you up, you fucking twit.”
“Could you at least drop letters consistently,” Lex said, eyeing up the grime on the floor of the warehouse. His trousers were likely completely unsalvageable. This was such a waste.
Jeff hit him again.
“Jeff,” Amelie said. “You’re needed for a tech thing. I’ll watch them.”
“Just you?” he said, brow furrowing. “Are you sure?”
“They’re cuffed and stupid,” she said. “Fuck off. Besides, things’ll get a whole lot worse for you if you don’t.”
Jeff raised his hands. “One girl, honestly. I’m going, I’m going.”
Amelie watched, eyebrows raised, until he was gone. “Brucie?”
“Hi,” Brucie said, perking up. “What’s up?”
“I’ve thought about your offer.”
Brucie beamed at her. “Just a thought, or—”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes,” Brucie said, still smiling. “Do I get to be uncuffed, or—”
“Your mouth and dick work just fine,” she said, and Lex snapped his head away in horror. He was in the room.
The next twenty minutes introduced Lex to a fresh kind of hell.
Batman, he thought, desperately. Batman will save us. Me. Batman will save me. Fucking hell, this is why Batman never bothers rescuing Brucie Wayne.
“Hey,” Brucie said, breathless. “I don’t suppose you’d consider letting me go?”
Amelie huffed a short laugh. “Nice try, Mr. Wayne.”
“Please don’t call me what they called my father after that,” Brucie said.
“Do I look appropriately fucked?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Brucie,” Amelie said, and as the door opened Lex finally regained the courage to look back at them.
“Amelie?” Brucie called, his voice getting steadily higher pitched. “Amelie!”
“Hey, Jeff, honey,” Amelie sang. “Your turn for the shift.”
“Sweetheart? Hey, what are you—”
“I had a great time,” Amelie said, and slammed the door.
Lex pulled hopefully at his cuffs.
Jeff opened the door, storming directly towards Brucie. “Who the fuck do you think you are? That’s my fuckin’ girl, you fucking slut, what’s wrong with you?”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Brucie said, in the same tone he talked to his dog. “I didn’t know you were dating her. Jeff, you know I would never do anything to hurt you. We’ve bonded over the kidnapping attempts and the bullet wound you have from Alf—”
Jeff picked him up by the collar. “I’ll fucking kill you, you whore.”
“I didn’t accept payment,” Brucie tried, and Jeff visibly snarled.
This was when Brucie lunged forward, heads cracking, falling on top of Jeff’s now-unconscious body, blood streaming down his face. For a beautiful, glorious moment, his eyes cold, his mouth downturned, his eyebrows folded together, and the blood on his face, Bruce Wayne looked dangerous. He looked like he was fifteen again, laughing with blood on his mouth. For a moment, Lex saw someone beautiful and dangerous, and then he was gone.
“Oh,” Brucie said, blinking. “Alfred always said I had a thick skull and should use it. I don’t—I don’t really know what I expected.”
“They’ll kill us now,” Lex hissed. “Bruce—how the hell do we get out of here?”
“Oh, I can pick locks.”
Lex inhaled. Exhaled. “You what.”
“Everyone in Gotham can pick locks, Lexy,” Brucie said, and Lex was about thirty percent sure he was bullshitting. Maybe twenty. Gotham was weird.
*
Lex and Brucie stood outside the warehouse, Brucie’s shirt half undone and blood smeared across his face.
“It’s this one,” Lex said, flicking the unfortunately very real grime off his lapel. Couldn’t the warehouse have been clean? Who knew what was in Gotham’s toxic waste if it left clowns running about unchecked. Forget the murder, the face paint was the real crime—it was unsightly. “I recognise Mercy’s voice.”
“Cool,” Brucie said, looking up. “Do you think my dieting will help me fit through that window? It’s been nearly a whole day.”
Superman dead on the ground. Batman, pinning him down to the scared look on Superman’s face. Lex, delicately pinning Superman into his contraption like a butterfly on one of those boards his father had had, infinite clean energy for everyone. Money for him, and glory. Thousands in adoration, calling his name, smiling at him, applauding, and Lex was almost drunk on the memory of it all.
They’ll all love me, he thought. It’s all worth it just for that. Superman pinned, the adoration mine.
“Hold this,” Brucie said, dumping fabric into his arms.
Lex opened his eyes to see Brucie peeling his clothes off, revealing a slightly concerning number of scars as he began to scale the wall.
“I haven’t done this since I went to the Grand Canyon at nineteen,” Brucie said, brightly, wobbling on the bricks. “I think I was drunk then, too. But how hard can it be?”
Lex imagined ripping Brucie off that wall in his warsuit and punching his skull until it cracked, spilling blood and all the fucking air inside it escaped and he was left with the broken pieces of Brucie’s empty head and some fucking satisfaction. Somewhere, there was a world where he found justice on Brucie Wayne for being so fucking annoying.
“Hey,” Brucie said, dangling from the window. “There are guards in here.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Lex said, when a sleek black limousine pulled up. “Excellent. Now they’ve got reinforcements. We’re all going to die here, in Gotham, of all places.”
“What’s wrong with Gotham?” Brucie asked, having pulled back from the window.
The door to the car opened, and a man with the beginnings of grey hair stepped out, dressed pristinely in the latest suit—Lucius Fox. “Mr. Luthor. Mr. Wayne. Mr. Pennyworth sent me to fetch you—said his informant had called him and said you were in danger.”
“Lucius!” Brucie called, bright, and jumped off the wall towards him. Lucius made no attempt to catch him, meaning that he mostly just fell on Lex, who hadn’t had enough time to consider moving and got squashed.
“Fuck me,” Lex said.
“If you want,” Brucie said.
Lex shoved him away.
“Your companion,” Lucius said. “Would it be unreasonable of me to assume that she’s in this room?”
“Mr. Fox,” Lex said, brushing off his clothes. He worked with this man, dammit. “I was unaware this was in your job description.”
“It typically isn’t. But working with Mr. Wayne has always opened up new and exciting opportunities.” Lucius gestured, and silent bodyguards slid out of the limousine. “Your car has been escorted to the Wayne Manor garage. You and your companions will also be escorted to the Wayne Manor garage, and you can decide where you want to go from there. Please, get in the car.”
They got in the car.
*
Brucie’s Alfred came to meet them in the garage. Lex was loathe to call him the butler—he remembered boarding school, and the way Bruce had spoken of him—although he looked the way Lex thought a butler ought to, all stiff and sharply dressed and faintly balding.
“Master Wayne,” Alfred said, like Brucie were a child. “Mister Luthor. Ms. Graves. I trust you had an uneventful journey home?”
Brucie was barefoot and shirtless, hair mussed and blood streaked across his face. He beamed at Alfred. “Lexy and I had an unplanned trip. Anyway, he wanted to meet Batman so we’re gonna figure that out.”
“I’m sure you will, Master Wayne. Ms. Graves, are you to attend upstairs or will you be remaining with the car?”
“The car,” Mercy said, straightening her usually pristine blazer, the white streaked with Gotham’s general muck.
Alfred pursed his lips. “Very well.”
The camera on the wall turned to point directly at Mercy, and Lex eyed Alfred again with increased trepidation.
“Mister Luthor, if you intend to stay until night, would you have me send for fresh clothing?”
“If you would,” Lex said.
“Ooh, you could borrow some of mine!” Brucie said. “I know just the thing.”
“Master Wayne, if you may? I don’t believe that Mister Luthor will fit your clothing.”
“Oh, boring,” Brucie said, then grabbed Lex’s hand. “Let’s go, Lexy. I want to hear your Batman catching plans.”
“Finding, Brucie, finding. I want the Bat’s assistance, after all, not to catch him. That’s the job for the police officers.”
“Of course,” Brucie said. “We do the fun bits, and they do the boring bits. That’s why we throw bricks at cops.”
“What are you—? Brucie, police officers are here to protect us, and we don’t need to make their lives harder,” Lex said. “After all, I’ve had police escorts and so forth.”
Brucie blinked. “Is that why we pay them off whenever we want to do stuff like cocaine?”
“You do—of course you do cocaine.”
“It makes everything really fast,” Brucie said, fumbling in his pocket. “Do you want some?”
“No! No, I do not want cocaine.”
“I also have ecstasy and meth on me, if you prefer those.”
“I do not want to do drugs, Bruce.”
Brucie pouted. “You must be really mad if you’ve pulled out the Bruce.”
Lex pulled his face back into a winning smile. “It’s not that I’m mad, Brucie, it’s just that you have to learn that not everyone wants to do hard drugs.”
There was a long moment where Lex and Brucie stared at each other, Lex contemplating breaking Brucie’s nose, and Brucie uncomprehending.
“But drugs are fun,” Brucie said.
“Brucie, do you know what twenty plus fourteen is?”
“Uh,” Brucie said, then started counting on his fingers. “Twenty-four, right? Why? I haven’t done maths in a long time.”
“No reason,” Lex said, and smiled at him again. “Where is the elevator?”
*
“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, polishing perfectly polished silver. “Will you be having dinner, since you have guests attending?”
Bruce, Lex noted. Far more gentle than the Wayne of earlier.
“Of course I will,” Brucie said. “I’ll he having dinner because of Lex. It might be a difficult turnaround with our nighttime adventure, but—”
“We will make do,” Alfred said, and turned on his heel with a curt nod. “Your study is made up.”
“Does your—Alfred—not typically feed your guests?” Lex said, baffled.
Brucie smiled at him, a condescending smile rather than a normal Brucie one, and Lex suddenly felt as though he’d missed something far larger than he thought. “Of course he does,” Brucie said easily. “But you’re here for business, Lexy. It’s like how Sherlock Holmes doesn’t eat when he’s on a case.”
“I don’t believe that’s true.”
Brucie blinked. “Owen and Mara wouldn’t lie to me like that.”
“At least it wasn’t your latest—affair,” Lex said, lips downturning. “You talk far too much about your, ah, many intimacies.”
“Oh, no, I definitely had sex with them. Owen had the longest dick—”
“Right,” Lex said. “Where’s your study, again?”
*
Brucie’s study was large and dark panelled, books behind glass; Lex assumed they were there for decoration, because he wasn’t certain that Brucie could read. Brucie hopped onto the surface of the mahogany desk and slid backwards off it into the large stuffed chair, everything except his cheerful exuberance perfectly vampiric.
“Oh, my phone!” Brucie exclaimed, pulling out from a drawer in his desk. “Aw, I have to Snapchat Diana and Clark back.”
Presumably Diana and Clark were yet another couple Brucie had fucked. Lex wasn’t entirely sure what Snapchat was, but perhaps it was some trendy upstart company trying to do away with Whatsapp, which irritated Lex mainly because Lexcorp had been working on their own version.
“Be in my Snap, Lexy,” Brucie said, holding his phone up.
“Absolutely not,” Lex snapped.
“Please?”
Brucie was giving him huge puppy eyes, bottom lip quivering, and his eyes—were welling up with tears.
“Fine. But I draw the line at smiling.”
“Aw, you know I’d never ask you to smile,” Brucie said, cheerfully taking the selfie, typing out a caption that he decided to read aloud to Lex specifically to torture him. “Hanging out with Lexy, exclamation mark, exclamation mark, sparkles, sparkle heart, double exclamation mark emoji. Going Batman hunting, bat emoji, night emoji. Love you guys, kiss emoji, nails emoji.”
“You can’t tell them that,” Lex hissed. “What if someone sees? This is top secret.”
Brucie rolled his eyes, sending the message. “It’s just Diana and Clark. What’re they going to do, text Batman?”
“The company’s software might not be safe.”
“Snapchat was designed for people to send nudes,” Brucie said. “Everything’s private.”
Lex gritted his teeth, casting his eyes about the study to find something to change the subject to. “The clock,” he said finally, resting his eyes upon the oversized grandfather clock up against the wall. “The time is wrong.”
“Oh,” Brucie said. “It was my father’s. The clock doesn’t work anymore, but you can move the hands yourself, not that there’s much point in that.”
“Can’t you get it fixed?”
“I think it’s unfixable,” Brucie said, quietly. “But it was broken even before my parents died. My father liked it this way because he’d broken it while playing golf indoors. He thought it was funny.”
Lex thought, briefly, of his own father’s broken watch, the hand that ticked back and forth, back and forth. The way he’d called a repair company in but couldn’t stomach handing over the watch his father had always cradled in his hands and not even let Lex look at; the way the watch had been broken since Lex was six. The watch, Lex knew, was a watch his grandfather had bought for Alexander Senior on his eighteenth birthday.
His father hadn’t often been quiet about that.
“I see,” Lex said. “My Batman plan. I was going to stage a kidnapping, but I suspect, after today, that that wouldn’t work.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like me,” Brucie said. “We could kidnap you.”
Lex considered the general level of grime in Gotham, and said, “No.”
“We could throw a party and invite everyone except Batman.”
“I don’t think he’d consider himself especially uninvited,” Lex said. “I don’t think a great deal of people invite Batman to parties. Possibly none.”
Brucie stared at him, aghast. “Batman doesn’t get invited to parties?”
“Well, I mean, I don’t know him personally—”
“We have to throw Batman a party.”
Lex pressed a hand to his forehead. “No, no, I don’t think we do. He’s not the—he doesn’t like parties.”
“Everyone likes parties. It’s a universal fact of life, like champagne fountains, caviar, and the government sending weird letters saying where are your taxes.”
Lex counted to ten in his head. When that failed, he tried to imagine small fluffy sheep jumping over fences and smiling. When that failed, he imagined Superman, bruised and bloody, beneath his feet, terrified. Kryptonite dust on the floor, on his face, in the blood trickling from his mouth; breaths coming in short pants and his eyes fixed only on Lex. The whole world clapping at Lexcorp’s clean, fast energy.
His breaths evened out after that.
“Remember, my dear Brucie, how we had that conversation about how Batman is a good demon?” he asked.
“Oh,” Brucie said, dragging out the O for a full minute. Lex counted this minute in the number of different ways he could murder Superman. “What does that have to do with parties?”
“Have you ever seen a demon at a party?”
“Well,” Brucie said, considering. “Talia liked parties, although I think she was mostly tolerating them for me.”
Lex waited.
“Oh, wait.”
“Exactly, thank you, Brucie. My plan was that we disguise ourself as though we were some petty criminal, about to commit a crime, and then when the shadows start moving we remove the ski masks and tell him what we really want.”
“That’s stupid,” Brucie said, pulling nail polish out of a drawer. “Lexy, that’s real fucking stupid. We’ll both get brain damage.”
“You’ve already got brain damage,” Lex muttered, scowling at him.
“Huh?”
“Nothing. What would you suggest?”
“Alfred can get us access to Wayne Enterprise’s rooftop. We can just wait there.”
“And you expect this to work?” Lex said, baffled. “Batman can’t be on every rooftop, and I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding you.”
“Well, that’s rude,” Brucie said with a frown. “Oh, I know just the thing. Come on!”
With previously unforeseen grace and athletic abilities, Brucie vaulted directly out his chair, over the desk, landing a perfect pirouette and skipping out the room. He looked not like a man that had been kidnapped and beaten earlier that day, and entirely like a man thriving in health. Lex, however, was in possession of eyes and could still see the scars.
He had to ask. He wasn’t going to, but it would haunt him forever.
Brucie led him to an expansive bathroom, complete with a large dressing table and a larger sink, mirrored walls reflecting them back a thousand times. Lex couldn’t help but wonder if he looked into this bottomless, endless mirror enough, he might see Batman reflected back, small shadows echoing around them.
Lex then realised that Brucie was doing his makeup.
“What are you doing,” he hissed.
Brucie stared at him, eyeliner pen poised above his eye. “My makeup.”
“Why?”
“To get a hot date with the Batman,” Brucie said, slowly, as though Lex were the stupid one here. “You said he doesn’t like me, so I’m dolling myself up. Easy peas-y, lemon squeezy.”
“That’s—I—ugh, I hate you.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing, Brucie,” Lex said, smiling as gallantly as possible to the man currently smearing hot pink glitter onto his eyelids. “I just don’t think it’s necessary to dress up for a bat shaped demon. Why can’t you just go as you are, my friend?”
The door opened. “Your clothes, Mister Luthor,” Brucie’s Alfred said, holding them out to him.
“Thank you,” Lex said. “I appreciate it.”
Brucie looked at him. “Why can’t you just go as you are?”
Lex made a quick decision and started undressing; Brucie was shameless enough to have sex in the same room as him, he could be shameless enough to be shirtless for a minute or so. “I feel more comfortable in a good suit.”
“I feel more comfortable all dolled up,” Brucie said, smiling like he’d won some mastery of flyting. “Check and mate.”
“It’s ‘checkmate’,” Lex said.
“No, it’s definitely check and mate. You check for consent before you mate with someone.”
Lex breathed out. Hot water to remove the grime, fresh towel to dry it. The crisp lines of a clean shirt. The cufflinks. “Do you think everything is about sex?”
“Everything is about sex,” Brucie said brightly. “Even your beloved politics. Sex scandals everywhere. It’s very exciting.”
Just the new shoes and he would be good to go, like armour. Not as good as his warsuit, but cleaner, smarter, more professional. Brucie had… whatever that was as his own armour.
“All armoured up,” he said instead. “Are you ready to meet Batman?”
“I need to touch up my lipstick.”
*
The roof of Wayne Enterprises was quieter than Lex expected it to be.
Metropolis, of course, was alive no matter how high you went; all glass and shining metal and bright lights. Gotham, in contrast, was quiet this high up. On the ground there was dirt and fighting and corruption, the swerving of cars, headlights flashing, and people swearing at one another, drunkards staggering out into the street and narrowly missing death, vomiting into bushes.
The roof was just quiet.
Wayne Enterprise’s central building was the tallest building in Gotham, and had a curious tower-like section to one side, plastered in gargoyles.
“They’re grotesques, actually,” Brucie said when Lex tried explaining this, just to pass the time. “Gargoyles typically have a waterspout.”
“Why do you know this?” Lex had replied blankly. He wasn’t aware that Brucie was capable of knowing anything, let alone obscure facts as to what constituted as a gargoyle.
“Who doesn’t?” Brucie said. “I’m going to say hi to my favourite gargoyle. I’ll be back. Shout if you see Batman.”
Privately, Lex was glad for Brucie’s absence. Whilst he may have been, supposedly, the only person in Gotham capable of finding Batman, he had little to no interest in putting any effort in and Batman, quite frankly, seemed to be avoiding him. And this was the thing: as soon as Lex had secured Batman’s cooperation, he could edit Brucie Wayne out of his plans entirely and continue smoothly forwards to his better, brighter, energy efficient future.
He would have Brucie assassinated if not for the political fallout, he mused. Gotham would fall apart without its prince, dependent on false idols as it was.
The night was quiet. Few stars peeked through the smog of Gotham’s skies, thus leaving Lex in near-perfect darkness, deathly silent. It was unnerving. It was nothing like Metropolis, a hive of innovation and opportunity, instead a silently festering wound on the world.
In Lex’s America, Gotham would be wiped off the map. He had no need for it once he had acquired the Bat.
Quick, clean energy. Adoring masses. An overwhelmingly successful presidential campaign. Unlimited power. Superman, struggling but never succeeding against the power of Lex’s technical might; thrashing, but always in his place.
At Lex’s feet.
At Lex’s feet, where he belonged, where everyone belonged.
“Brucie?” he called to the air. If Brucie Wayne toppled from Wayne Enterprise’s roof and died, Lex’s presidential campaign would never get off the ground. His reputation irreparably tarnished. “Brucie!”
The silence echoed back to him: Brucie, Brucie, Brucie. Quieter and quieter, farther and farther away.
“Brucie, if this is a game, it isn’t funny. Gotham at night is dangerous, especially this high up.”
Any moment now, Brucie would come running round the corner, laughing. It’s not that bad, Lexy, you worry too much! Nothing in my city would hurt me.
“Brucie?” he called again, his words hanging in the stillness of Gotham’s late night air. Oppressive.
Tentatively, he began to approach the gargoyles. With his new fear, and perhaps the darkness, they became more menacing; frozen snarls caught in stone, biting claws restrained by sculpture.
There was no Brucie Wayne.
He began to peer around the corner, too far away to really see anything. If he wanted to find Brucie Wayne, he would have to traverse the rain slick Gotham stonework himself.
The gap was narrow, and tiled slipped from beneath the soles of his dress shoes to fall, and fall, and fall. He followed them down with his eyes, hand coming up to grasp the gargoyle’s mouth closest to him, and he looked down.
And he kept looking down.
The ground really was terribly far away, and it was getting increasingly difficult to draw breath.
And yet he kept going, hand over hand and step after step. Luthors did not give up at the first trial, and quite frankly if he did he wouldn’t be here, pushing through another.
“Brucie?” he said, softly, when no Brucie Waynes emerged from the brick. “This isn’t funny. Imagine what Alfred would say.”
And that was when he noticed the shadows writhing.
First, the movement. Then the height. Then the impressive billow of its tendrils, shaping out like a cape, then the white eyes snapping open, and Batman stepped out the shadows.
“Lex Luthor,” the creature said, its voice grating like gravel. “You are a long way from Metropolis. Lights too bright for you?”
“Batman,” Lex said, his words, a favoured weapon, failing him in the face of the monster of shadows that could fell even Superman. “I need your help. A brighter future—”
“I like my nights dark,” the creature snapped. “Stay away from Bruce Wayne. And stay the hell away from Superman.”
A fist cracked across Lex’s jaw. A bright flash of pain, falling, then nothing.
*
Lex awoke, comfortably, in his own bed, albeit with a slight makeshift hospital set up around him; someone had accurately guessed that he would prefer to be familiar than have the best a hospital could offer.
It came back to him in pieces. Batman had rejected his plans vehemently, showing a fierce protectiveness of both the person and the alien Lex planned to exploit. He had shown a natural and brutish proclivity to violence—and had used it on Lex despite it all—though Lex had hit him before in the warsuit and could concede the point as to Batman not particularly desiring to work with him.
Beyond all that, he had been beautiful and dangerous.
But furthermore—and most importantly—if there was Batman, where the hell was Brucie Wayne?