The remainder of the summer blitzed past, faster than any Clark could ever remember. He went out every night, with or without Bruce, doing what he could to help the people of Gotham. He took pains to keep his powers under wraps. He wanted people to think he was just another average man who'd chosen to embrace the night, helping the city's citizens under the cover of darkness, the same as Batman. It was difficult, but he managed. And when he did need to rely on his powers to give him the upper hand in a situation, he took great care to ensure that no one noticed what he was doing - either using his powers out of sight or by disguising them somehow.
Autumn rolled in, gentle and mild. Clark's college life began anew. He liked his classes, especially now that some of the core requirements were behind him, and he could focus on only those that counted toward his major, as well as a few interesting elective courses. His days were full, between his time in the classrooms, studying, spending time with some of the friends he'd made, and extracurricular activities, including football. His nights were spent doing homework and projects in a flash, eating dinner, and hitting the streets as Nightwing, once the sun went down.
Before he knew it, winter was coming to a close and the first thawing of spring was upon them. His sophomore year of college was nearly complete. He felt on top of the world. Nothing could stop him. Already, he was on track to complete slightly more than half of the credits he would need to graduate. If he kept pushing himself, he could finish school an entire semester early, giving him a jump on the job market. He wished he could take even more credits than he was, but the school wouldn't allow it and it would have forced him to take too many night classes, limiting what he could accomplish as Nightwing.
To keep himself busy during the summer, he worked at Wayne Tower, which was the main corporate office for Wayne Enterprises. Of course, there were satellite offices in several other major cities around the globe, but Wayne Tower was the shining central hub where Bruce oversaw his empire. Clark was nothing more than a gofer, but it provided a steady paycheck - not that he needed the money, living in Wayne Manor - and it gave him plenty of time out in the sunshine. It also allowed him a lot of freedom. He could get an errand across town done in seconds, but since he had to appear as a normal man, he often found himself with time to spare, which he utilized in a number of ways. Some days, he would sit in a park and relax. Other days he would go to the library and read up on any number of subjects - everything from fighting techniques he could employ as Nightwing to old newspaper articles as he studied the style of writing specific to the news. As a result, he grew to be an adept fighter and honed his writing skills to a professional level.
One day, toward the end of August, he was sent across town to pick up a few things at a jewelry store that Wayne Enterprises often did business with. Clark headed out into the blistering heat with a smile on his face and a thick, sturdy briefcase in his hand. He was grateful that extreme heat didn't affect him. It was a truly sweltering, humid day. Barely anyone was out on the streets at all. And those who were looked miserable and sluggish, save for a pair of skateboarders rolling easily down the sidewalk, outside of Clark's favorite sandwich shop. The thought of a sandwich from the place was too tempting to resist, so Clark ducked inside.
The air conditioning was on full blast, but it barely made a dent in the heat. Too many hot sandwiches had to be prepared, so the ovens were on. Clark decided on his absolute favorite from the place - a grilled chicken sandwich with their signature barbeque sauce, a thick slice of fresh mozzarella on top, all on a round roll. He chose a cold lemonade to wash it down with. The place made their own lemonade, and it was the perfect balance of sour tartness from the hand-squeezed lemons and sweetness from the added sugar. He sat at a little table in the corner, keeping to himself, and soon finished his lunch.
His stomach full and happy, he headed back out into the heat. He decided to grab a cab across town to his destination. He could have walked it, or flown, but he was determined to fit in and do everything as normal as possible. For once, the cabbie wasn't overly chatty, nor was the music in the vehicle blasting. It was as though the heat had leeched the energy out of everyone in every way. Even the man's driving was subdued, rather than the chaotic driving that passed for normal in Gotham. Clark tipped the man generously once they reached their destination.
He went right in to the jewelry store and was greeted by Maxwell, the owner. The two knew each other from other errands Clark had run for various members of the board of directors. Max was finishing up with another customer, so Clark patiently waited. He happened to be standing before the store's display of engagement rings, so he idly eyed them as he waited. There were a number of rings that he found to be beautiful, but nothing extra special. Besides, he reasoned, it wasn't like he was even dating anyone at the moment, let alone thinking ahead to a proposal. He'd just broken up with Nadia back in May, after he'd discovered that she'd only gone out with him because he was rich. Or, at least, perceived to be rich. Though he lived in Wayne Manor and had all his needs taken care of - food, shelter, his education, and the like - he paid for as much as he could with the money he earned from working. He hated relying on Bruce to pay for things like new clothing, shoes, or a ticket to the movies. It didn't seem right to him. He was a responsible young man, capable of holding down a job and paying for his own things.
"Thank you, ma'am. You have a great afternoon now," Max said as the elderly woman strode out with a small bag in her hands. He turned to Clark. "Kent? They sent you in here again?" he joked.
Clark chuckled and shrugged. "Yeah, you know me. Always ready to run an errand."
"In this heat? That's cruel and unusual punishment, my friend."
"It's not so bad, once you get used to it," Clark replied with an easy smile.
"Ha! Maybe for you. Me? I'm getting too old for heat like this. I'm ready to move to a cooler climate," Max said with a shake of his head.
"You know, it's usually the opposite way around," Clark joked. "And too old? What are you, forty, tops?"
"I wish!" Max laughed. "Gonna be fifty-nine this November. I'm ready to retire to the mountains. Maybe in Canada."
"Sure," Clark humored him. "And you'd be back here at the first sign of a blizzard."
Max roared a laugh. Clark knew the man despised the snow, no matter how much he might grumble about the oppressive heat of the day. "True!" He continued laughing for another long moment, then he wiped at his eyes. "You know me too well, Kent. Now then, what can I do for you today?"
"Just a couple of pick ups. Bruce said his watch you were repairing is ready?" Max nodded. "Lucius asked me to pick up the cuff links he ordered. Then there's the awards for the Cancer Research Fund dinner. And...I think that was all," he said, checking his pocket for the invoices for each of the items he'd mentioned.
His flawless memory assured him that was everything, but the farce of uncertainty was part of the act put on to be just like everyone else, though he was toying with the idea of letting that part of his "costume" - as he saw it - slide away. It was exhausting try to hide every single detail about himself!
Max checked the slips of paper, ensuring that Clark had been listed as an authorized person to pick up the items in question.
"Back in a jiff," the man said as he moved toward the locked door to his private office, where he usually kept anything meant for Bruce or his associates.
"Take your time," Clark replied. "I'm in no hurry to get back outside."
"No blame there," Max chuckled.
Clark continued to study the other pieces of jewelry in the glass display cases while he waited. It wasn't a long wait. Not three minutes later, Max returned with the watch and the cuff links. Clark looked them over while Max went back to his office. When he came back this time, his arms were laden with a cardboard box. He set the box on the countertop and lifted out the first golden medallion that was one of the Cancer Research Fund awards. He handed it to Clark.
"Max, these are gorgeous!" Clark exclaimed, truly impressed with the design. "You really outdid yourself on these!"
"Thanks, Clark. That means a lot to me." He sounded deeply humbled.
"Bruce is going to love them," Clark continued.
"Here, let me help you get them all in your briefcase," Max offered, dipping his head in acknowledgment.
"Thanks, Max."
Together, they transferred everything to Clark's briefcase, nestling it all in amongst cushioning foam, just to be overly protective of the contents. When they were finished, Clark snapped the case shut and locked it tight against would-be thieves. Not that anyone would stand a chance of wresting the case away from him. His grip was steel. No one would get it unless he wanted them to.
Clark gave his company-issued credit card to Max to pay off the balance of what was owed. The jeweler ran the card and Clark signed for the items after pocketing the card again. Clark added the receipt to his pocket and thanked Max again.
"Anytime! Good luck out there in the heat, my friend."
"Ha! Stay cool, Max," he replied as he headed back outdoors.
If anything, it seemed to have gotten even more stifling out while Clark had been in the jewelry store. He had trouble flagging down a cab - every one he saw was either off duty or had already picked up a fare. Shrugging to himself, he kept walking, keeping an eye peeled for a cab, but by the time he reached the subway station, he gave up and went down the steps. As humid as it was above ground, it was worse under it. The humidity had seeped down the stairs and was now mixed with the crowd standing around on the tracks, waiting for the next train. Clark's sensitive nose was assaulted with the stench of sweat and body odor.
It was a relief when the train pulled into the station just a few mercifully short minutes later. The doors slid open and a press of people exited before those waiting on the platform clamored inside. Clark was glad to see it was a newer train, outfitted with a strong air conditioning unit. He kept to himself, keeping his briefcase protectively close to his body. No one said a word as they crossed the city - a rare event to be sure.
When they finally reached Wayne Tower, Clark got off the train. It didn't let off directly in front of the building, so he walked the three blocks back. There was a little shop on the corner that sold ice cream and Italian ices. Clark stopped and bought a small lemon ice before continuing on his way. It was unbelievably refreshing in the heat and Clark was more than glad he'd decided to buy it. Still, the air conditioning felt amazing once he walked into Wayne Tower. For whatever reason - and he knew full well that it could have solely been his imagination - the air conditioning felt stronger and more pleasant than it had in any of the other places he'd been during the afternoon.
By then, his ice was finished, so he stopped to toss the paper cup into a wastepaper basket. The first one he came to happened to be just outside of one of the conference rooms. He could overhear a few people talking in the next room. Normally, he would have deliberately tuned his hearing elsewhere. He hated eavesdropping. But he heard Bruce's name come up in a whispered tone.
"I'm telling you. This idea of an interconnected web of computers? This so-called 'internet' Bruce keeps going on about..." That was George, Clark could hear. It wasn't hard to picture the air-quotes he would have made with his fingers during the word 'internet.' "It's absurd, is what it is."
"You don't think it has merit?" Andrew asked.
"Digitizing all the world's information and putting in one some vast, endless, intangible....thing?" George scoffed. "It'll never be more than an idiot's folly. And for Bruce to be so willing to jump in on something so...so unstable sounding...he's going to lead this company to ruin, gentlemen."
"I don't know, George," Bradley said, sounding dubious. "Bruce usually picks winning ideas to pursue..."
"Oh please!" This time, it was Roger. "Half of his latest investments have failed miserably! If he keeps this up, he'll destroy the company!"
Normally, Clark wouldn't continue to eavesdrop on a private conversation, but this sounded ominous. He kept moving, tuning his super hearing in on the meeting. He was worried, and justified his invasion of privacy in the name of that same worry.
"And the other investments have more than made up for those losses," Tabitha bluntly protested.
Clark smiled to himself. He'd always liked Tabitha. She was a force of nature, that woman. She was definitely the kind of woman who could silence a room with one word.
"Made up? Made up? Are you insane? We could have been twice as profitable if we'd put our money into other projects!" George said in a hushed roar. "More than twice even!"
"So, what are you suggesting?" Tim asked pointedly.
"I'm thinking it may be time for Bruce to step down out of his role. Retire and just reap the rewards of his company while us smarter guys..." Here Tabitha cleared her throat, annoyed. "And girls," George quickly amended, "take over the running of this company."
"Take over?" Tim replied. "And how do you propose doing that?"
"Talk to the other members of the board," Roger explained. "Feel them out and see what they think. We have a meeting scheduled for next Tuesday. George or I can start the motion to remove Bruce from the board. All we have to do is vote him out and take control."
"I'm not entirely sure that's going to work..." Tabitha replied in halting tones.
"Just...think about it," Roger encouraged. "You don't have to decide now."
"Hush!" warned Jeffrey, who'd remained silent until that moment. "Someone's coming."
Clark heard Lucius whistling softly to himself as he went about his business. Once he was well past the room where the mutineers - as Clark now saw them - were plotting, they dispersed. Clark severed the connection to their conversation. He picked up his pace as he wound his way through the halls. He'd intended to go straight to Bruce with the briefcase, but now it was even more imperative that he get to the man's office with all haste.
"Hey, Clark! Back already?" Bruce joked as Clark knocked on his door.
"Even grabbed a bite to eat," he responded with a grin. "I think you'll like what Max created for the fundraiser awards."
Bruce beckoned him further into his expansive, plush office. Clark made certain to shut the door behind him before taking any further steps. With long strides, he approached the mahogany desk and set down the briefcase carefully. Bruce took over opening the lock and snapped the case open. Ignoring his watch completely, the man went directly to the award medallions and lifted one out for inspection.
"You're right," he declared after a moment. "Max went above and beyond expectation, as usual."
"Agreed," Clark said, with a nod of his head. "Hey, listen, Bruce? We need to talk. Privately."
Bruce put the medallion down and put his arms out, as if to gesture to the entire office. "This isn't private?" he asked in a teasing manner.
Clark shook his head. "Not here. Back at the manor is better. Those walls don't have ears."
Bruce appeared to take Clark's obvious unease seriously. He checked the time. "I have a phone conference in fifteen minutes. I'm guessing it will be about an hour. We can had back home then and discuss whatever it is you need to talk to me about."
"Perfect. Thanks. And, Bruce? Whatever your conference is about? I would keep it just between you and whoever is on the other end, until we get a chance to talk."
Bruce nodded. "Okay."
"I have a few things to do before I leave for the day," Clark said. "I'll make my own way back home."
Another nod. "Thanks for swinging by Max's place to pick this stuff up." He motioned to the briefcase.
"No problem. But that reminds me, I have to give these to Lucius." Clark grabbed the box with the cuff links.
He left the office and went looking for Lucius. He caught the older man by the elevators and delivered the cuff links. Lucius thanked Clark profusely, then Clark went back to his own desk. He completed the few easy tasks he needed to, then clocked out for the night. He'd gotten a ride into work with Bruce that morning, so he didn't have his motorcycle with him - his civilian bike which was distinctly different from the one he rode as Nightwing. But the alley behind Wayne Tower was deserted, so, after a careful, thorough check, Clark ducked into it and took off into the sky. He went straight back to Wayne Manor. He was simply too anxious to do anything else.
There was still time to kill before Bruce would be back, so Clark took the opportunity to shower and shave, bouncing a line, concentrated line of heat vision over the barely-there stubble on his cheeks and chin. He changed into his favorite pair of shorts and his favorite t-shirt, then went down to the living room to wait. He turned on the television and skimmed through the channels, but found nothing of interest. His roiling stomach made it impossible to concentrate on anything as it was.
He didn't have to wait too long. Bruce came striding through the door sooner than anticipated. He shrugged off Clark's questioning look.
"My phone conference ended sooner than I'd anticipated. We came to an agreement much easier than I'd dared hope for," he explained. "Now, you sounded a little panicked in my office. What's going on?"
"Well," Clark started, clearing his throat. "Maybe you'd better sit, Bruce."
The billionaire did as Clark asked.
"Okay, I'm not proud of this," Clark tried again. "But today, when I got back from picking up the stuff at Max's? I overheard something I wasn't supposed to. I think...I know...some of the board members are looking to vote you out. They want to force you into retirement, while they take over the company."
Bruce's mouth hardened into a thin line. "What?"
Clark nodded. "It's true. There was some talk about not trusting your judgment, given how some of your most recent investments have turned out...or, rather, haven't turned out, I guess. They're worried about this internet thing you're pursuing."
Bruce went quiet for a moment, worrying Clark. When he finally spoke, it wasn't quite what Clark had anticipated. "Who? Who did you overhear?"
"George," Clark immediately responded. "And Roger. They seemed to be the ringleaders. Especially George. Andrew, Tim, Bradley, and Tabitha too. George was trying to convince them to go along with filing a motion to remove you as the head of Wayne Enterprises. I don't think the others are completely on board, at least, not yet. Tabitha, at the very least, seemed unconvinced."
"I see," Bruce said, steepling his fingers. "Well, I still have a few days before the next meeting. I can still run damage control. Thank you, Clark."
Clark shrugged, feeling embarrassed. "Glad I could help. But, I have to be honest, listening in like that...I feel...dirty, for doing it. These powers I have...I should only be using them to help."
"You did help," Bruce reminded him.
"That's not what I mean. I mean, I should be using them to help those who need help fighting injustice. This? This was just...I don't want to say 'wrong,' but..." His voice trailed off as he sought to put his feelings into words.
Bruce sighed. "I understand. But, for what it's worth, I'm grateful you did listen in. Now I have time to fix this mess." He paused, then, "You did good, Clark."
Clark nodded distractedly. "Yeah, I guess. Listen, I...uh...I think I need to get out for a bit. Get some air. Besides, I'm sure you have phone calls to make."
"By all means," Bruce nodded.
"I'm not sure when I'll be back," Clark said, in response to Bruce's unvoiced question.
Then he was gone, out the front door - just a blur of colors and an unexplained, out of place breeze marking his passing. There was nowhere he felt like going, so he flew straight up into the sky, tearing holes in the clouds and breaking free of the atmosphere to hover in that space between the Earth and the rest of the universe. He sometimes went to that place, when things on Earth became a little overwhelming. Out there, floating freely, unattached to the world, but not part of the stars, it was peaceful. It gave him a place of solitude, a place where he could collect his thoughts, far from the usual distractions of life.
But this time, he wasn't comforted. He still felt guilty over using his powers the way he had.
It's no different than if I were using them to uncover a criminal as a reporter, he told himself in his mind. And maybe, just maybe, I've finally found a way to start repaying Bruce for everything he's done for me these past couple of years, plucking me off the streets and all like he did.
That thought made him feel a little better. It was true that he felt more than indebted to Bruce.
For what felt like the billionth time, he wondered why he had the powers he did. And, more importantly, he wondered if he would ever have a concrete answer. His parents had always assured him that he was exactly as God intended him to be, but that didn't satisfy Clark. While it was all well and good to believe that he had his powers for a reason, he still wanted to know why. Was he some kind of science experiment? Was he even a human being? Was he some kind of advanced robot - a cyborg, he'd heard it called when flesh and machine comprised a sentient being.
"Who am I?" he shouted into the nothingness of space, his voice nothing more than a ghost in that perfect vacuum of sound.
To Be Continued...
