Rescued (SuperBat fic)

19

I lead him across to the conference table and have him sit at the head of it, then take the chair on his left.
"Who's the leak?"
Clark pulls out his phone and scrolls around for a moment, then gives me a name, not one I recognise.
I get up and lean out of the doors. A few moments pass before Tilda sees me. She lets her earbuds drop to her desk.
"Tilda, could you get me someone up here?"
I give her the name.
"And thanks for the privacy," I mutter.
"Not a bother, sir."
I step back into the office.
"Did you meet with this guy in person?"
Clark shakes his head.
We wait a few moments for the leak to arrive. A drab looking middle-aged man comes tiptoeing in the door and stands awkwardly on the threshold. I gesture for him to sit down. He sits down opposite me, wringing his hands.
"Tell me what happened," I say to him.
"I was going through the accounts when I noticed the payment. The invoice was blank. I traced the receiving account to city hall."
"Who approved the invoice? I know I never saw it."
The man shifts in his chair.
"It was Lucius, Lucius' stamp."
I curl a hand into a fist under the table.
Clark looks at me with sad eyes.
"Why leak it? Why not bring the issue to me?"
"The person I contacted at city hall said a reporter had been poking around and recommended I offer the Wayne Enterprises perspective."
He looks away from me.
"Who gives the only Wayne Enterprises perspective?" I ask.
"You, Mr Wayne."
"Damn right. This is my company, my family's legacy, and anyone under my position is not qualified to speak for it. Is that understood?"
He nods, his eyes on the floor.
"Go speak to Tilda and ask her to have HR set up an exit meeting, today. Sign the agreement, work out your notice, then don't let the door hit you on the way out."
He nods and rushes out.
Clark gapes at me.
"Was that necessary?"
"Yes, I need to use him as an example."
I stride across to the desk and hit the intercom.
"Tilda, could you get Lucius on the line?"
The phone is ringing not a moment later.
Lucius' voice sounds weak when he answers.
"You're looking into it, are you, Lucius?"
"Bruce, it needed to be done."
"Not like this, Lucius. You do not get to make calls like that alone, or even at all. It's not your name on the doors."
"You were frustrated the last time we did this, waiting for the permissions drove you insane."
"I managed."
"I was helping you."
"I don't need help. I am not a child. I have been doing this for years, and doing it well, like dad -" my voice cracks, "Like dad knew I would."
I wait for him to say something. He doesn't.
"Pack up your office," I say quietly. "Get the fuck out."
"Bruce -"
"No," I cut him off. "I'm sending security up, don't fight them."
I disconnect the call and dial down to main security.
"Ray, go up and escort Lucius out, please."
When this call disconnects, I find Clark in front of me, reaching out to put a hand to my chin. He pulls me against his chest.
"I wasn't using you. I wanted this to be a simple piece. I wanted to praise you. But my editor looked at my notes and I couldn't justify not digging."
"You were just doing your job," I mumble. "But print a follow-up please, clear my name."
"I'll work on it now. Can I stay?"
"Sure, set up at the conference table."
I let him go and watch him get comfortable. He makes a quick phone call to his boss and then sets to work typing with his eyebrows furrowed, chewing his bottom lip.
When I lean into the outer office, I find Tilda shrugging on her coat.
"You'll take the back exit, yes?"
She nods.
"Could you grab a pastrami sandwich for my baby? No pickles."
"Sure," Tilda says. "I'll be twenty minutes."
She rushes over to the elevator, thick heels clacking on the floor until she's out of sight and earshot. Once back, she sits and jokes with Clark and I as we eat, asks him if this is a usual week at the office for him. He jokes that it's not, that if it were anyone other than his boyfriend he was writing about, he'd probably be sued.
I bat at his arm softly.
He keeps quiet as Tilda and I reschedule today's meetings and set detailed agendas for them.
And when half past four rolls around, I am tired and dishevelled and sick of browsing apology gifts. I have Clark pack up and we spend the evening crashed out on the sofa in sweats, half-watching a home makeover show.