Meet Sam Wayne, Part 3
By: C. Leuch
Jon paid the cabbie and exited onto the street in front of an unassuming office building. He looked up, squinting as the sun glinted off the mirrored glass that stretched to a height that was fairly modest by Metropolis business district standards. Television vans, their broadcast antennas hoisted high into the air, lined the street opposite the building, and the assembled media mob looked fairly bored. On the sidewalk next to where Jon had emerged from the cab, a small group of protestors marched in a tight circle, carrying placards. Most of the people who passed by didn’t give the protestors more than a sideways glance. To be sure, the business district tended to have its fair share of sidewalk protests, generally to dispute working conditions or materials that were being used by the company. But it wasn’t very often that a protest group actually celebrated the deaths of innocent people.
Diane’s informant had been very accurate. The signs being carried had several different messages, including, “Good Riddance, Flight 329,”and “Corporate Greed Kills.” The assembled mob wasn’t chanting anything, preferring instead to chat amongst themselves, occasionally yelling something at people emerging from the office building that housed Metro Air. Jon felt the bile rise in his throat as he observed the scene from a distance. Slowly he approached the mob, which was flanked by a couple of police officers who appeared embarrassed to be there. Jon recognized one of the officers as working at Diane’s precinct, and he approached him first.
“Hey, Jones,” Jon said, extending his hand toward the officer. Startled, Jones looked toward Jon, an impatient expression on his face which quickly went away when he caught sight of who had called his name.
“Kent, what brings you down here?” Jones asked, grabbing Jon’s hand. Jon pointed his free thumb toward the protestors, causing Jones to make a face. “What’s the world come to, eh?” Jones said.
Jon shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder,” he answered. Jones released his hand and looked him thoughtfully for a moment as if trying to remember something, then a look of horror came over his face.
“Didn’t I hear that you lost a brother in that crash?” he asked. Jon nodded. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks,” Jon said.
Jones turned toward the protestors, his eyes narrowed into slits, an angry expression now on his face. “You lose someone close to you, your own brother, and all these jerks can say is that they’re glad he’s dead. Makes me sick.”
“Even if my brother hadn’t died, it would still make me sick. Who has such little regard for human life?”
Jones nodded. “If I weren’t here in a professional capacity, I’d give ‘em a piece of my mind.”
Jon gave a half smile and clapped his hand on Jones’ shoulder, drawing his attention away from the protestors. “The power of the press, you know?” Jon said, bringing a knowing smile to the cop’s face.
“Can’t be easy to be objective on this one,” Jones said, and Jon shrugged.
In both his capacity as a reporter and a superhero, Jon believed in giving people the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t generally question intentions, didn’t try to interpret meaning in things outside of what the facts said. Yes, there was speculation, but speculation was most useful in trying to find the truth, not in assigning any type of final condition. But in this case, speculation aside, the facts were that these people thought it was right that innocent people had died. “You can’t be objective when talking about people who want other people dead. Period.” Jon was aware that there was an edge to his voice.
Jones smiled lightly. “You get ‘em, man. Splash ‘em all over the front page. Let the word see what kinds of sickos are out there.”
Jon smiled back. “So what have you seen since you’ve been here?” he asked.
Jones gestured toward the door. “Poor employees and customers getting yelled at. Stuff nobody should have to hear. You know, ‘How does it feel to know you got someone killed?’ and stuff like that. I try not to pay attention.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I get stuck with protecting the first amendment rights of these clowns. Almost makes me nostalgic for a good old fashioned drug bust or shootout or something.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Jon mumbled, drawing a curious look from Jones. Jon gave a half smile and took a step toward the protestors. “Well, it was good talking to you. Time to get back to the old grind. Give my best to your wife.”
“Likewise,” Jones said with a small wave of the hand. “And my condolences to your family.”
Jon raised his hand in greeting, gave Jones a quick nod, and then turned his attention toward the mob. A few people seemed to notice that he was talking to one of the cops, but most of the others seemed more interested in what was going on at the office building entrance. Jon watched them for a moment, trying to see if anyone emerged as a leader, but nobody seemed to assert himself. With a sigh, Jon reached for his notebook and pen, and approached one of the protestors.
“Hello, excuse me,” he said, drawing the person’s attention. The man appeared to be college aged, maybe a year or so younger than CJ. He wore a black t-shirt with a head shot of the president of the United States inside a large “no” symbol. His long, dark hair looked like it suffered from a lack of attention. As the man regarded Jon, he looked more annoyed than anything else.
“What?” the man asked, his progress now halted and his sign propped against his shoulder. Around him, his fellow protestors continued to march.
“My name in Jon Kent, and I’m with the Daily Planet.” Immediately, the mob seemed to stop, turning their attention toward Jon. “I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about the group you represent.”
Another man pushed his way through the crowd, tapping the first man on the shoulder as he opened his mouth to speak. Although the second man appeared to be a little more clean-cut, the political message on his t-shirt left something to be desired. “We’re a group called Americans for Responsible Business,” he said. “We believe that corporations should be held responsible for the greed and destruction that they bring to this country.”
Jon raised his eyebrows and scribbled some notes. “And what has Metro Air done to bring you here?” he asked.
“About everything a corporation can do. Profited while keeping its employees at a substandard wage, polluted the air and water, forced its competitors out of the market....”
“And the crash of Flight 329?”
The spokesman smiled, his expression outwardly cordial. Jon admitted that, although he had spent a few years doing the superhero thing, he had very rarely run into someone who could be considered a megalomaniac, someone who would take perverse pleasure at the suffering of others. On the few occasions that he had, though, there had been something about them had had given him a chill, something in their demeanor that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. As he looked into the eyes of the spokesman, he got that same feeling, and had to fight hard not to let the shock show on his face.
“We believe that justice visits those who have it coming. Metro Air temped fate for a long time. Perhaps fate struck back.”
“What about the innocent people on board at the time? What do you have to say to their families?”
The spokesman shrugged, his smile unfaltering. “Those who do business with the devil are bound to suffer. It’s a shame, but fate doesn’t discriminate between those committing evil and those who are merely enabling evil to be committed.”
It was hard to write. Jon’s hand was shaking with rage, and he found himself backing slowly away from the crowd, afraid of what might happen if he didn’t. “Thank you for your time,” he said, his voice not betraying his emotion. With a nod, he turned from the group, stuffed his notepad into his pocket and quickly walked down the sidewalk, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the assembled protestors and media. After a few blocks, he ducked into an alley, walked to the end, and leaned against the wall. With a sigh, he brought his head to a rest against the brick façade, willing himself to calm down. Generally, Jon was cool and collected, even during the toughest times. He wasn’t one to fall victim to emotion, and even though certain relatives of his were notorious for their short fuses, he almost never got truly angry. But today had been the exception.
It wasn’t just that CJ had been on that plane. It wasn’t just that 250 people had died. It was the smugness with which the spokesman dismissed what had happened. Yes, sometimes bad things happened to good people, it was a fact of life. But to infer that somehow those deaths were justice for some wrong committed by the company? There had to be more to the story, more going on with that group than anyone knew. But he had nothing to back that up but a hunch, and it took more than that for the Daily Planet to take a deeper look. What this case needed was the attention of someone with plenty of time on his hands and a little incentive to reach the truth.
With a small smile, Jon pushed away from the wall. Later tonight, he supposed he would take a little trip and pursue the matter further. Until then, though, he had a couple of other stories to investigate and some notes to write up. He also had enough time to take a leisurely flight to calm his nerves. Without further hesitation, he took a good look around the alley to verify that nobody was nearby, then lazily spun into the suit and took off into the sky.
***
It was 8 AM when CJ was awakened from a dreamless sleep by a knock on his door. He didn’t remember falling asleep, although he did recall thinking at around 4 AM that he probably would be awake all night. The bed he slept in was the same one that he had for several summers before, the room was cozy and familiar. The circumstances, however, were very different, and as soon as his father had flown off toward Metropolis, he had felt very much alone. It wasn’t too surprising, he supposed. His wife and family were now a few hundred miles away, and he was sharing a large, dusty mansion with a man who was not known for being supportive and comforting. Bruce had left him to his own devices not long after Clark had left, and CJ found himself lost in a bad mood that was not helped by the dark, empty mansion or the storm clouds that gathered outside.
Now, with the light streaming in through the windows and a few hours of sleep behind him, things didn’t seem quite so dreary. Waking up alone in Gotham City couldn’t help but remind him of his circumstances, though, no matter how cheery the day was.
“Clark?” Bruce said, knocking again on the door.
“Mmpf,” CJ replied, folding his arms over his eyes.
“We have some things to discuss. Do you think you could meet me in my study at 8:30? I’ll have some coffee and rolls in there, if you’re hungry.”
“’Kay,” CJ said. He listened as footsteps retreated down the hallway, then forced himself to sit up and get going. Certainly the invitation meant that Bruce was ready to have the big talk, to unveil his plans for CJ’s future and begin to make everything normal again. The rolls and coffee sounded promising, too.
With a sense of purpose, CJ set out to get ready for the day. Normally, a day at home would mean a comfortable wardrobe, a well-worn, familiar t-shirt and a pair of jeans that had seen better days, but those weren’t available to him. Instead, he threw on the stuff, new clothes that had been waiting for him in his room when he arrived, and freshened up using the new toiletries that Bruce had provided. He had come with nothing but the clothes on his back, the last things he had that linked him to his previous life. Even his wallet, which had been in his bag during the flight, remained in the briny deep along with the rest of the airplane wreckage. He had no money, no pictures, no possessions...no name. But, if Bruce was the miracle worker that CJ hoped he was, he might at least have a future.
CJ arrived at Bruce’s study at 8:30 on the dot. Opening the door, he found the drapes open, the sun streaming in through the windows bathing the whole room in a bright light. In the summers that CJ had been in Gotham, he had spent a decent amount of time in this room, talking to Bruce, gathering information, or just sitting down with a good book to read. Even on the brightest days, though, the curtains had always been drawn, the only illumination coming from dull, incandescent lights scattered throughout the room. It was strange how much a little sunlight could change what had been a somber room into someplace more welcoming, more inviting.
“Have a seat, please,” Bruce said. Looking around, CJ found his employer standing by the window, silhouetted against the sunlight, his gaze focused outside. CJ sauntered toward the center of the room, grabbing a roll off a tray on the desk before sitting down in one of the overstuffed leather chairs.
“Since the founding of this country, the Wayne family has been in Gotham,” Brice said after a long moment, his attention still locked on the world outside. His posture was rigid, his hands locked behind his back. “At first, my ancestors profited from trade with Europe. Then, with the dawn of the industrial revolution, they found an opportunity to break away from the reliance on the old world, and usher in a new era of prosperity for this city and this country while making a few dollars in the process. The Wayne fortune was made a long time ago, the family name synonymous with wealth long before the Rockefellers or Carnegies rose to prominence. For the better part of two centuries, the Wayne fortune has passed from one generation to the next, keeping the foundation of the family and the company strong.”
Bruce turned away from the window, looked downward, then raised his head until his dark eyes met CJ’s. “With my death, so ends the Wayne family line. One of the cornerstones of Gotham City will cease to be, and one of the companies that helped make this country great will be gobbled up by Wall Street.” Slowly, Bruce began to walk toward the desk, his eyes never leaving CJ’s.
“My whole life has been about the past. My parents were killed when I was very young, and the memory of that crime has driven me to do things that I wouldn’t have otherwise. I strove to make sure that the bad things that happened to me wouldn’t happen to anyone else, to make sure that the innocent could live a life in peace without the threat of crime or violence. In a way, this family had always looked out for the people of this city, and that’s what I continued to do.
“The problem is that I spent so much time feeding off the past that I never bothered to look toward the future.” Bruce finally reached the desk. With a quick, graceful movement, he sat down and regarded CJ for a moment, a haunted smile on his face. “I did have a well-deserved reputation for being a playboy. I’m as guilty as any man of falling prey to his libido. I never wanted a family; I guess I figured that I couldn’t give any time to a family if I did have one. If it was companionship I wanted, I could always get it, but I was married to my work, and my vendetta. And, in a way, I was happy.”
Bruce looked away, bringing his hands up and running his fingers through his hair in an unusual nervous gesture. “Looking back, I don’t think that I would’ve done anything different with my life if given the chance. I don’t think I have anything to regret. But I do wish that there was someone to call family, someone to keep the name and the company alive after I’m gone. I sometimes wish I hadn’t been as careful as I had been when I was sowing my wild oats.”
CJ’s hands started to grow clammy as he realized where this conversation was headed. “If you weren’t careful, then maybe, out of the blue, some young man or woman could come knocking at your door....”
Bruce nodded, a look of determination in his eyes. “There could be another little Wayne out there. Nobody would be surprised. Most of my conquests didn’t last more than a night or two, with women I never saw again.”
“What if there really is someone? A son or a daughter?”
Bruce didn’t flinch. That familiar look was in his eyes, the one that was sly and knowing, the one that betrayed a personality much deeper than that of just a billionaire playboy. CJ liked to think of it as his Batman look. “There isn’t. I’ve checked up on every last one of them, just to be sure. But I think now that maybe a long lost son will show up after all.”
“Me,” CJ rasped, and Bruce nodded.
The room felt very warm at that moment, and CJ found it a little hard to breathe. The bright, cavernous study seemed too close, and he unconsciously reached for his shirt collar, pulling it away from his neck. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think that Bruce would basically offer to adopt him. Now that he thought about it, though, he didn’t know what he had expected from this meeting. Maybe he had thought that Bruce would take him in as a “friend of a friend,” or maybe he had thought that Bruce would use his contacts and gadgets to create a new anonymous identity. But to be told that Bruce wanted him to be his long lost son, the heir to the Wayne empire....
“I don’t know what to say,” CJ said, trying to flash Bruce a smile.
“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Bruce said. He didn’t seem upset at CJ’s reaction, but he didn’t seem as sly or confident as he had earlier, either. “If you need some time to think it over....”
CJ nodded vigorously and stood from the chair. Bruce’s eyes widened fractionally. “I’m flattered, I really am, please don’t get me wrong,” CJ said as he backed slowly toward the door. “And I’m grateful. But between the crash and the baby and this, it’s...I....”
“Baby?” Bruce asked, halting CJ in his tracks. The overwhelming anxiety that had washed over him vanished at that moment, and he felt calm. It was amazing how one little fact could put everything in perspective. No matter what happened with Bruce, no matter if he was going to be some anonymous schmuck in the big city or the newfound son of a famous industrialist, the fact remained that he was also soon going to be a daddy. That was the most important thing, after all.
He smiled as he gave Bruce a small nod. “My wife. We just found out yesterday.”
Bruce appeared to be genuinely happy for CJ. “Congratulations,” he said with a rare smile. He remained in his seat looking thoughtfully at CJ, a momentary silence settling over the room. CJ found his smile fading as he watched. “It’s been a long time since children have played in the halls of this house. But I can vouch for the fact that this place can be a lot of fun for a little one with an appetite for curiosity,” Bruce said in a soft, wistful voice.
A lump formed in CJ’s throat, and he had to look away. It was an invitation, one that just got a little harder to refuse. Wayne manor sat on acres of land with trees and caves and ponds, and the house probably had hundreds of rooms with plenty of interesting things to see. He could visualize his family here, and he knew that they could be happy under this roof, living as the next generation of the Wayne family. But he also knew that they could be happy just about anywhere, mansion or shack, city or country, so long as there was love. If there was one thing that would always be present between him, Jenny, and their child, it was love. “I appreciate that Bruce. But I’m still going to need a little time to think things over.”
Bruce nodded, then held out his arm, gesturing toward the seat that CJ had just vacated. “Understood. But please, I want to get all the facts on the table so that you can make an informed decision.”
CJ nodded slowly, returned to the chair, and sat down. Bruce proceeded to lay out his plan, getting into the fine details of what he would like to see happen. CJ would be his illegitimate son with a woman who had gone into seclusion shortly after she and Bruce had split up. Bruce spoke of the woman fondly, and CJ got the impression that she was someone that he cared for more deeply that a man would for just a one night stand. In any case, she had recently died, and that would be used as the explanation for how and why CJ had shown up when he did. CJ would be given a fake birth certificate, driver’s license, educational history, credit history, medical reports...all the little things that any normal person would be expected to have, all of which Bruce could plant with little trouble. Bruce would throw a society gala in about a month to officially introduce CJ to the world, and in the meantime would drop hints around Wayne Enterprises and elsewhere that he had recently been introduced to his son. After his coming out party, Bruce would bring CJ to Wayne Enterprises, and in an example of nepotism at its finest, would install CJ as a company vice president, a spot specifically meant to prepare him to eventually take over the company.
It all sounded very convincing, very well thought out. CJ wasn’t too concerned about a career in big business – it was what one of his degrees was in, after all. But the society parties, the idea of being a member of American royalty, struck him as being a little out of his league. He had considerable charms, to be sure, but he tended to be more in his element with people who were a little rough around the edges, with the jocks and working stiffs. If there was one thing that didn’t bother him, though, it was that he most definitely wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally running into one of his old friends in this new identity.
“So, do you have any questions?” Bruce asked and CJ had to blink a few times while he processed all the information.
After a moment, CJ sighed and shook his head. “Not right now. Although I imagine that there will be a few once I’ve had a chance to think it all through.”
“Understood,” Bruce said. With that, he rose from his chair and took a decisive stride toward the door. “Well, I need to get into the office. And you need to get started downstairs.”
“Right,” CJ said, taking his cue and following Bruce toward the door. Even if his regular identity was still up in the air, CJ’s alter ego was well defined. Officially the reigns were being turned over very soon, which meant that he had to go through the cave to make sure that he had everything he needed. It also meant that there would be a new uniform to get fitted for, new toys to play with, and a whole big city to become intimately familiar with. Tonight, he would go out in an unofficial sense, soaking up the atmosphere of Gotham City and getting a feel for things. But tonight was a long way off, and that left a lot of time for some heavy thinking.
“Hey, Bruce?” CJ said as they walked out of the room and into the hallway. Bruce stopped and turned toward CJ, a neutral expression on his face. “No matter how this turns out, I want to thank you...for everything.”
Bruce didn’t smile, although his eyes were soft. “You’re a good kid, and you’ve stuck by this stodgy old man for whatever reason.” CJ shrugged and smiled charmingly, although Bruce didn’t smile back. “You won’t be thanking me once you meet your first psycho bad guy, though,” Bruce said with his typical dry humor, and then turned and walked away. CJ just shook his head, chuckling softly. Bruce might be a very different type of man than those in the Kent clan, but he had one thing in common with them, and that was the ability to diffuse a heavy moment with a non-sequiter. Maybe that’s why the two of them had always gotten along.
Now alone, CJ decided it was time to go for a little walk around the grounds to soak up the sun before slipping into the lair of the ultimate night person. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and started to whistle, wandering slowly toward the great outdoors, and the rest of his life.
***
Jon flew a few lazy circles over Gotham City, scanning the shadows and dark corners for the city’s notorious man in black, the Batman, wondering for a moment how much luck he would have in locating a man who supposedly made a living out of not being seen. Then again, he thought with a smile, the new man behind the cowl had other talents that might make him easier to find.
“Hey, CJ” Jon said in a conversational voice from high in the air.
“Down here,” came the immediate reply. Following the sound, Jon found his brother waving at him from atop the second tallest building in town, the world headquarters of Wayne Enterprises. Jon held up a hand in greeting and quickly flew over to join him.
CJ was perched on a narrow shelf of steel at the very top of the building, leaning against the spire that housed several television and phone antennas. His outfit wasn’t the traditional Batman costume by any stretch. He wore a long-sleeved, black spandex t-shirt, and black denim jeans, and a black baseball cap was perched backwards on his head. His eyes were not obscured by any sort of mask. “Suit in for dry cleaning?” Jon asked as he landed and sat down next to his brother.
CJ looked at him sideways, a sarcastic half smile on his face, then shrugged. “The suit is a hunk of Kevlar that’s about a size and a half too small. It somehow didn’t seem all that necessary, considering,” CJ said, and Jon had to admit that he had a point. “Besides, I think you, Dad, and the winged wildlife of this town are the only ones who are going to see me up here, and the supervillain element seems to have taken the last 20 years off.”
Jon nodded gently. Nefarious bad guy activity hadn’t been too much of a problem since the days of disco. Technology had made it easier for the cops to stop criminals before they ever gained legendary status, and tougher incarceration laws made sure that once the villain was locked up, they generally stayed that way. Jon sometimes wondered if laziness didn’t play into the lack of supervillains, too – a society used to instant gratification tended to spawn the types of criminals who didn’t have the patience to cook up grand plans and elaborate schemes, especially when the less elegant way produced the same results. In all it made the work of a superhero a little less interesting, but he certainly wasn’t one to complain.
“I don’t know about me and Dad, but the winged wildlife must be good company,” Jon quipped, and CJ’s smile widened.
“They’re great listeners, sure, but so is your average brick wall. At least you and Dad occasionally act like you’re actually hearing what I’m saying.”
“Well, you know, it’s the least we can do,” Jon said as he followed CJ’s lead, leaned back against the giant spire, and relaxed. A comfortable silence settled between the two of them, and Jon let his gaze wander over the city that stretched out in front of him, taking in the sights. He was always struck by how different Gotham was from Metropolis. Even at night, Gotham just seemed darker, more menacing somehow. Crime statistics tended to support that feeling, and as Jon watched, he witnessed half a dozen different acts of violence happening in homes and alleys throughout the city. A mugging, a theft, fights and drug use, things that he had half a mind to go take care of, but this wasn’t his city. And that wasn’t why he was there.
Jon sighed. “This definitely isn’t Metropolis,” he said.
“You can say that again,” CJ answered, a certain flatness in his voice. “I never really paid attention to the feel of this town before. I was supposed to be the lackey, not the hero. But now that this is going to be MY city.... It kind of seems overwhelming, the sheer amount of bad stuff that goes on out there.”
“Gives you something to strive to achieve, I guess,” Jon said, and CJ nodded gently. “So, uh, did you get things straightened out today?”
CJ inhaled deeply and frowned, causing Jon to almost reflexively furrow his brow. The formulation of a new identity was something that he knew CJ had looked forward to, and Jon was under the impression that just about anything would be okay so long as it meant some semblance of normalcy and a quick reunion with his wife.
“It’s interesting you should ask that,” CJ said, leaning his head back and resting it on the spire with a dull clang. “I was beginning to think that I might just go crazy if I couldn’t discuss that particular issue with someone.”
“So what’s the problem?”
CJ raised his eyebrows, his gaze directed at the dark sky in front of him. “What would you say if I told you that Bruce Wayne offered to adopt me and make me his heir?”
“What?” Jon asked, not sure that he heard correctly.
“Me. A billionaire. The love child of Bruce Wayne.”
It took a few seconds for Jon to realize that he was holding his breath. He blinked, looked at CJ, and began to laugh nervously. “I’d tell you to give me whatever rabbit’s foot you’ve been rubbing,” he said. The statement only caused CJ’s frown to deepen, and Jon looked away. Yeah, maybe lucky was the last word to associate with CJ, especially given everything that had happened in the last couple of days. Being forced to abandon your life as you knew it and everyone who cared about you wasn’t the type of thing that happened to someone who was lucky. But at the same time, CJ was about to start a family, and he was being offered a chance to possibly become an American icon, inheriting a fortune in the process.
“It sounds like a great opportunity, how’s that?” Jon said, rephrasing his answer.
“Yeah,” CJ said with a sigh. “It does. I can’t argue with that. But I don’t want to be famous, and I have no idea how to be a blue blood.”
“Fame isn’t so bad,” Jon said, drawing a half smile from CJ. It wasn’t that far from the truth. At the beginning of his career, Jon had absolutely hated the attention that his alter ego received. Everywhere he turned, his face stared back at him from magazines or t-shirts or posters, and he always wondered why everyone was so obsessed with him. After a while, it didn’t bother him as much. He found himself getting used to it, and the attention began to feel more flattering than anything else. It was all just a matter of perspective, he supposed, and even something as heavy as fame could be fun if you didn’t take it too seriously. “At the end of the day, your wife will still think of you as the guy who takes out the trash, famous or not.”
“Do billionaires take out their own trash?” CJ asked and Jon had to fight the urge to sock him in the shoulder.
“And apparently your wiseacre little brother will still have no respect for you.”
CJ gave his characteristic grin. He definitely knew what buttons to push, Jon thought, and although he’d usually throw a few zingers right back at CJ, he suspected that their banter was a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the situation. “There could be benefits to being a blue blood, I’d imagine. Not that I have any firsthand experience with that one....”
CJ shrugged. “Well the money would be a benefit, sure, but it can’t all be wine and roses. For example, instead of hot dogs and hamburgers, you end up eating things that normal people know enough to stay away from. If it comes out of a fish’s butt, it’s definitely not going into my mouth.”
Jon stifled a laugh, instead putting an entirely serious expression on his face. “I’m sure your vast riches could afford only the finest hot dogs and junk food.”
“I bet they’ll expect me to wear Italian suits and know boring facts about stuff like art and wine.”
“Considering how quickly you lap up boring sports statistics, I’m sure you’ll learn everything you need to know about art and wine in no time.”
“Instead of football I’m going to have to learn to play golf,” CJ continued, undaunted.
“The horrors,” Jon said flatly. CJ gave him a somewhat annoyed glance, and Jon smiled lightly. “Look, I don’t see what the big deal is. Aside from eating stuff from a fish’s butt, I think most people would be pleased as punch if those were the biggest problems ahead of them. It seems like you’re going to have the perfect life handed to you on a silver platter. You have a great friend in Bruce Wayne.”
“A great friend, yes.” CJ look down at his hands, swung his feet back and forth a couple times, and then spoke again. “Bruce is going to end up as my father, though, in the eyes of everyone.”
“Oh,” Jon said, suddenly seeing where this was going.
“And I already have a father....”
Jon nodded. He supposed he hadn’t considered that aspect of the situation. If CJ were to become the very public newfound son of Bruce Wayne, he’d probably end up having to go to a lot of events with Wayne, act like a son would toward a father, probably even call him “Dad.” CJ and Bruce would both know that it was an act, but it would be real enough as far as the rest of the world was concerned.
“So Bruce can be a bonus dad. Like a generous stepdad or something,” Jon said, raising his eyebrows and trying to put on his most reassuring expression. He wanted to try and sidestep the assumptions and the agonizing, the inevitable questions about whether or not Clark’s feelings would be hurt if CJ decided to take Bruce up on his offer. Jon had done his fair share of worrying in the past, and if there was one thing that he had learned, it was that making assumptions about the feelings of others was a recipe for trouble. Maybe it was time to impart that wisdom on CJ.
“Our dad already is like a bonus dad. Two people for the price of one.” CJ’s voice had taken on a pouty tone. Jon leaned over and turned his head sideways, trying to capture CJ’s eyes with his own. Gentle coaxing wasn’t going to get the job done tonight. What CJ needed was a few sincere words to jar him out of his funk.
“Do you think you’ll love Dad any less if you become Bruce’s son?” Jon asked. CJ turned to him, a look of shock on his face.
“Of course not.” CJ said quickly. His expression was defiant, but it quickly softened as he let the question absorb, and after a minute he looked away. “I can see how it might look that way, though. It kind of feels like I’d be betraying him.”
“The plane crash wasn’t your fault. You had no choice but to leave that life behind.”
CJ turned back toward Jon, a pained look on his face. Obviously this was a conversation that he’d had with himself already. “But I do have a choice in who I become. All I wanted was to be some anonymous guy with a sketchy past, but now I’m supposed to be someone else’s son...a valued and well-loved son at that. If I was Dad, I would probably be a little hurt when I saw that.”
Jon smiled lightly. “What, hurt because you made something of your second life? Hurt because you took someone else’s last name, even though you couldn’t possibly use your own? Hurt because you have other people who care about you? I’d be proud if I was him. And some people think I am.” That caused the corner of CJ’s mouth to tug up. “But if Dad knows how you feel, and you know how he feels, where’s the problem?”
CJ got a thoughtful, far away look in his eyes, and Jon smiled a little more deeply and leaned back. He was definitely getting better at this whole advice-giving thing. After a moment, CJ shook his head, turned his attention back to Jon, and gave him a sincere smile. “You know what? I worry too much.”
Jon reached over and pulled CJ’s hat forward. “If you didn’t worry a little, I’d begin to wonder whether you were really a member of the Kent clan.”
“Oh, I can prove to you that I am,” CJ answered, his eyes sparking. Slowly one of his fists began to ball up.
Jon held up his hands and laughed. “No, I believe you.” His shoulder throbbed with phantom pain, the lingering memories of similar past demonstrations. Why CJ always felt the need to slug him for effect rather than just zap something was beyond Jon. “So, uh, does that mean I’m talking to the new junior Mr. Wayne?”
CJ smiled, turned back toward the city, and sighed. “Yeah, I think you are.”
With that, the conversation turned to other things. Jon waited a while to tell CJ about what he saw at the Metro Air offices earlier in the day, in part because he was enjoying their chat and didn’t want to ruin it with possibly upsetting news. As time wore on, though, and CJ started asking him about work, Jon finally broke the news.
“What would you say if I told you that I have a feeling that your plane crash might not have been an accident?” Jon cringed inwardly, waiting for the reaction. Interestingly, though, the shock and outrage he had feared didn’t come. Instead, CJ smiled lightly, a knowing look in his eyes.
“I’d say that I felt the same thing,” CJ said.
It was Jon’s turn to react with shock. “You did? Why?”
“Because I was there,” CJ said. His eyes locked into Jon’s, transmitting raw emotion and the shadow of not-so-distant memories. Jon found himself unable to look away. “I could tell you things about that crash that the NTSB could only guess at.” CJ’s voice had grown raspy, his pupils almost too wide. “The loud explosions, the way that the damage just happened to coincide with an area of the plane containing all the hydraulic lines, the quickness with which it plunged into the sea and the totality of the destruction. Something seemed too coincidental about it, something just didn’t seem right.”
After a moment, the shadow seemed to lift from CJ’s eyes, and he shrugged, his little half smile coming back. “Not that I’m an expert in plane crashes or anything. So how about you? What makes you suspicious?”
Jon found himself unable to speak for a moment, and it wasn’t just the lingering horror at what CJ must have experienced that caused his silence. He knew CJ had a bit of a dark side; he’d seen it before, but he was always surprised when it showed up. Outwardly, CJ was Mr. Funny, the class clown, the guy who could solve any problem with a smile and a joke. But somewhere deep inside, these other emotions and experiences lurked, reflections of a much deeper man than he showed outwardly. It almost made the Batman persona a natural fit. Almost, but not quite. CJ worried, but he didn’t obsess. He felt things deeply, but he usually based his decisions on fact instead of emotion. His dark side didn’t control him, but it did seem to anchor him, giving him a place to lock away all the bad memories so that he could focus on the better things in life. Still, his brief forays into his darker side tended to leave Jon with the mental equivalent of whiplash.
Jon blinked a couple of times, cleared his head, and related his story. CJ nodded as Jon spoke, listening intently. Somewhere in the middle of the story, CJ produced a notepad and began jotting some things down. Anger flashed in CJ’s eyes as Jon quoted the group spokesman, anger that mirrored the edge in Jon’s voice. As he wrapped up, they looked at each other in silence, no doubt wondering the same thing.
CJ was the first to speak. “How could people like that bring down a plane?”
“That’s the big question,” Jon said. “Especially given airport security these days.”
“Airport security is run by the federal government and is far from infallible,” CJ said. “But trying to slip something by security would be risky.”
“What if they WERE security?” Jon asked. They both raised their eyebrows.
“Those guys in the back, the ones who open up suitcases... who’s to stop them from slipping something inside one of the bags before putting it on the plane?” CJ’s eyes sparkled, his grin was sly.
“What about a maintenance worker? Someone who has access to the plane could do some damage.”
CJ nodded appreciatively. They tossed around a few other scenarios, none completely outside of the realm of possibility. It got quiet after that, both of them processing the conversation, before Jon decided that it was probably time to go. CJ agreed that it was getting late, and they said their goodbyes.
As Jon flew off, he looked over his shoulder and waved, smiling as CJ held up a hand in reply. Jon wondered if this would be how they met from now on, two superheroes on a rooftop in the dark of night talking shop. It wasn’t so terrible, he supposed, but he would miss the hanging out at neighborhood haunts, or in the back yard at home. If things went as they probably were going to, there wasn’t much of a chance for the two of them to ever publicly get together. CJ would be the next of the Wayne line, a member of the upper crust of society, the type of person that the average citizen saw only in magazines and on television. Jon was just a blue-collar reporter in Metropolis, an average guy who had no business hanging out with billionaires.
As he turned his attention to the sky ahead, Jon pushed the thought out of his head. The future wasn’t set, and nobody could know for sure how things would turn out. Fate had a funny way of coming in and turning things on their ear, too. And boy, there had been plenty of that lately. Who was to say what would come next, and who was to say that ordinary people like his friends and family couldn’t get to know someone rich and famous? Hope was a powerful thing, and as long as there was hope, anything was possible.
