Chapter Text
When it first happens, Clark keeps himself from thinking about it.
Honestly, he doesn’t have the time to think much of it. He’s just learned that his parents- his biological parents- were actually imperialists who expected him to conquer Earth and… well, he doesn’t really want to think about what else they expected him to do. Honestly, it kind of creeps him out.
The problem with that, though, is that along with the deluge of anger (much of it, he now knows, stoked by literal angry monkeys on keyboards), there’s a deluge of, well… thirst posts.
It’s not new, technically. There’s been people professing their attraction to him online since the day he caught that plane.
Somehow, though, it feels way weirder than people on social media telling him they think he’s hot or whatever. People volunteering to be part of a (very much nonexistent) harem that’s specifically aimed at taking over the Earth, it’s…
Yeah. He doesn’t like thinking about it.
So he doesn’t. For the next eight months, he doesn’t think about it at all. He goes to work, both the regular job at the Daily Planet and as Superman, he hangs out with Jimmy, he visits his parents regularly.
He and Lois become official, and Clark thinks he’s never been happier.
For the first three months, it’s great. They go on dates, Clark meets Lucy (and tries not to wonder why neither of them mention their parents at all), they go to family dinners in Kansas a few times.
It’s great.
Until it’s not.
He’s not sure when it really began. Maybe it was Lois spending an entire month camped out at the docks chasing a gun-smuggling story. Maybe it was when that other Green Lantern came to Earth and requested Superman’s help with a problem off-planet, and Clark ended up missing Lois’ birthday. Maybe they both just didn’t manage to make time for the other in a hundred little ways, and kept telling each other and themselves it was fine.
Whatever it was, though, it was enough. They call things off six months in.
And yeah, it stinks. Clark spends a lot of the following month moping on both his couch and in the Fortress of Solitude. He can’t even really heal from it at the start, because she’s right there at work, and he knows Lois feels the same way.
When she immediately takes Perry’s offer to cover Pokolistan’s first democratic election cycle following the death of their aspiring warmonger of a princess and the subsequent dissolution of their monarchy, he can’t even blame her. He’d probably take a few months away to get his head on straight too if he could.
But he can’t. He has to go to work every day and see her empty desk, and then remind himself that even if texting her wasn’t a bad idea, she probably doesn’t have great service in Pokolistan considering that they’re only just now setting up major broadband networks across the nation.
It’s been a month of that, every single day. Two months since the breakup. Clark thinks he’s… mostly okay. Not fully over it, but over it enough.
Now, of course, he has a new problem, mostly thanks to one Cat Grant.
Okay, that’s not entirely fair. Cat didn’t mean to catch the flu right before a major charity gala.
Of course, that means that since she can’t go to events, her duties are split up between various reporters. Steve gets to jet off to a music festival tomorrow, and Ron and Jimmy are interviewing some influencer with a ridiculous name that Clark’s never heard of.
Clark’s unlucky enough to get assigned her piece on the Wayne Foundation’s fundraiser for Gotham’s children’s hospital.
It’s not that he has anything against charity! Heck, he doesn’t technically have anything against galas, either, so long as he’s not forced to participate.
Which is one third of the problem. Clark’s whole disguise is wrapped up in being unnoticeable, in bad suits and dorky glasses and generally being a bit of a bumbling weirdo. In the bull pen, that’s fine: no one really notices him outside of Lois, Jimmy, or Steve when he wants to be a jerk.
At a gala, though? His whole act sticks out like a sore thumb. So he has to wear a suit that actually fits, make his hair less frizzy, and not pretend like he didn’t grow out of his clumsiness in college.
And that’s… well, it’s a little too close to Superman for his liking. It feels like playing with fire when he’s under the influence of kryptonite, and he doesn’t want to get burned.
Not to mention, there’s a certain someone over in Gotham who’s notoriously stringent about metas (aliens apparently included) in his city. Clark’s only met the Gotham Bat once, and that was just him glaring at Clark and growling at him that he works alone and to “stay out of Gotham” before jumping off the building they were on.
The fact that his brightly colored protege made his first appearance just a few weeks after that did not go unnoticed by Clark.
Still, according to Guy, Batman’s position on outside help hasn’t changed in the past few years. If anything, he’s gotten more stringent.
And yeah, Clark’s not really afraid of Batman. He doesn’t believe the rumor that he’s some kind of demon that escaped from a hellmouth under Gotham. In all likelihood, Batman’s just some guy with really, really strong boundaries and a whole lot of cutting edge tech.
Mostly he just kind of feels awkward about heading into another hero’s territory without permission, even if that hero probably won’t ever even know he was there.
So, Clark’s going to have to make sure that he doesn’t get into any trouble. Yeah, he could get out of it just fine, but the less attention he brings to himself, the better.
But that’s only two thirds of the problem.
The last third lies in who’s throwing the gala.
Now, Clark actually respects the Wayne Foundation quite a bit. From what he’s investigated of their financials and operations, they’re about as squeaky clean as one can get in Gotham. They do good work, too, helping the people in the poorest and most crime-affected parts of Gotham get by or find their way to a better life. Compared to other charities in Gotham, which regularly get exposed as, at best, ineffective tax write-offs, they’re wonderful.
The problem, however, comes with its CEO.
Clark… doesn’t really know what to make of Bruce Wayne. Six years ago, at just twenty-five years of age, he returned almost from the dead, taking over Wayne Enterprises and expelling the board that had controlled it since the deaths of his parents, save for former CEO and now COO Lucius Fox. From there, the company transformed so drastically that it hardly felt like the same blight on Gotham it was before: heavy investment in green technology, high salaries and full healthcare coverage for every single employee and even for contractors, Wayne even shuttered WE’s mining and oil operations and paid for employment services for everyone affected by the closures. And despite all of that, it’s still one of the most profitable corporations in the country.
Bruce Wayne is thought of as one of the shrewdest businessmen in the world.
He’s also flighty, loud, and was at one point frequently drunk in public, though he seems to have curbed that particular habit somewhat after adopting one Richard Grayson four years ago.
One thing he hasn’t stopped being, though?
A huge flirt. To the point that it’s one of the main aspects of his public persona.
Which leads Clark to his current problem. Because now he’s going to be at a gala Bruce Wayne is throwing, one that he’s almost certainly attending, and now he can’t stop thinking about that darn clip.
A single, thirty-six second clip from some late night show where Bruce Wayne was asked for his thoughts on the whole “secret harem” thing, and he responded by looking right into the camera, flashing a brilliant smile, and asking “is he taking applications?”
And then he winked.
He winked, and Clark-
Gosh, Clark was glad that he’d seen that one while he was home alone, because if Lois had seen the way he blushed, she would definitely have had questions.
(Or maybe she already knew. They never talked about it, but she’s smart, she figured out he was Superman within a month of knowing him.)
(Maybe she was waiting for him to come to her. Maybe she wanted him to feel comfortable telling her.)
(Maybe he was too afraid. Maybe he’s not as unaffected by growing up in a small town in Kansas as he’d like to think.)
(Maybe that’s why they didn’t work out)
Anyway.
Now Clark’s here, standing in a rented tux that the Planet will probably take a week to reimburse him for, trying not to look too noticeable while interviewing rich people across a spectrum of drunkenness.
“Alright, well, thank you for your time, Mr. Drake.”
“Sure, sure. Janet? Now where did that woman get off to…”
Clark bites back a sigh as Mr. Drake walks off, glancing at his watch, then forlornly at the door once he realizes he has to be here at least another hour.
“Okay,” he tells himself. “Just gotta keep moving. Get a few more quotes, and this’ll be over before I know it.”
Clark exhales, then turns to go find someone else to interview.
Which is when he runs straight into someone and nearly knocks them over.
“Oh!” Clark quickly moves to help the man up, despite the fact that his glasses have been knocked askew. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry-!”
The man laughs, and Clark freezes.
He’s heard that laugh before, on late night shows and random tabloid clips.
And when the man looks up at him, with those striking blue-gray eyes that he’s spent way too much time thinking about this past week, Clark briefly wonders if he’s somehow having a nightmare.
Or, possibly, a dream that ends with him tangled up in his sheets and needing to do extra laundry.
“Oh, I’m fine. You’re not even the first person to run into me tonight.” Wayne looks him up and down, then smiles suggestively. “Though I have to say, I don’t mind running into you as much as I minded running into Senator Cray.”
Clark’s heart stutters in his chest.
“I… uh.” Clark swallows as he adjusts his glasses. “I… I still should have been watching where I was going.”
“Well, so should I. Really, now, can’t we just call it even?”
“I…” Gosh, Bruce Wayne has a really nice smile. “I guess so.”
“I appreciate that, Mister…?”
“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” Clark answers automatically. He then tries not to wince.
“Ah, so you’re a reporter.” Wayne frowns. “What happened to Miss Grant?”
“Oh, she, uh, she caught the flu, so I’m covering for her.”
“I see.” Wayne smiles again, and Clark’s stomach does a front flip. “Well, seems like Miss Grant’s misfortune has led to my lucky day, then.”
And yep, now Clark’s definitely blushing.
“I, um, uh-!”
“Brucie!”
Clark hopes his relief isn’t too obvious as he turns to look at his savior, who turns out to be an actress he’s seen in… something, he doesn’t quite remember.
“Yvonne,” Wayne greets. “I had no idea you were coming to this.”
“Well, I happened to be in town, and a friend of mine had a ticket they weren’t using. It’s so wonderful to see you!”
“You too. Have you wrapped filming on that project you were telling me about?”
“Yes, though I’m not sure when it’s coming out…”
Clark glances away as Wayne and Yvonne begin conversing, biting his lip. Perry would probably be deeply unimpressed at best if he found out Clark ran into Wayne and didn’t grab a quote from him, but… well, he can probably source a good quote from someone else, right?
Besides, Wayne’s obviously busy now. It would be rude to interrupt him.
And so, Clark slips away, heading back into the crowd to talk to a rich person who doesn’t make him feel like he’s going to spontaneously combust.
The next hour goes… okay.
Well. It’s not a disaster, at least. This really isn’t Clark’s beat, and while Cat gave him a few pointers, he can’t say he doesn’t feel weird lobbing softballs at people he’d usually be questioning about unfair labor practices.
But he does it, and he thinks he gets enough to form some kind of cohesive narrative of the night. It won’t be his best work, he can already tell that much, but it’ll be passable.
“Thank you so much for your time, ma’am,” he says as cheerfully as possible before putting his phone back in his pocket. Once he’s alone, he lets out a long sigh, checking his watch.
Ten twenty-eight PM. Late enough that he could call it quits without missing anything important. His shoulders sag in relief as he turns toward the exit.
“Leaving already?”
Clark jolts, eyes going wide as he turns to look at Wayne.
“Mr. Wayne! I, well, I figured that I had enough quotes for the article, so…” Clark resists the urge to tug at his collar, hoping his face isn’t too red. “I was just about to head back to my hotel, actually.”
“Mm. Well, you know, whenever Miss Grant comes to one of these things, she always makes sure to get a quote from me. I’d daresay your editor-in-chief is expecting it by now.”
Clark swallows, glancing away.
“Well, um, I… I suppose I wouldn’t want to, to disappoint Perry…”
“Wonderful. Come on, then.”
Clark blinks as Wayne starts walking back into the ballroom. He quickly starts following him, nearly tripping over his own two feet- not on purpose, for once.
“Where, ah, where exactly are we going?”
“The balcony.” Wayne looks over his shoulder, a mirthful twinkle in his eye. “You look like you could use some air.”
Clark’s face goes hot, and he glances away, both to avoid eye contact and to avoid the temptation to look down at certain… assets.
He has to admit, the cool night air does help a little. Clark’s never been especially affected by the weather, given that he’s not biologically human, but the quiet and the breeze are nice.
“So,” Wayne starts as he leans against the marble railing, “let’s get started, shall we?”
“Oh, uh, sure,” Clark says, fumbling for his phone for a minute before he finally gets it out of his pocket. He clears his throat, then turns it on. “Mr. Wayne, this is the tenth annual fundraiser the Wayne Foundation has put on. After a decade of work, would you say that you’ve reached the goals you set for yourself?”
Wayne thinks on this for a minute.
“I think we have,” he answers, “but I also know never to get complacent, especially in Gotham. The Wayne Foundation is constantly looking for ways to better the lives of Gothamites in any way possible. These fundraisers are an important part of that, but we’re committed to doing good year-round.”
Clark nods along. It’s a perfectly good, if slightly generic, answer, one typical of Bruce Wayne- or rather, whatever publicist gives him these answers. Maybe that’s something he’d hold Wayne’s feet to the fire on another night, but after spending hours chasing down drunk rich people he doesn’t have the energy.
Instead he asks a few more follow-up questions, mostly about potential future projects, then exits out of his recording app.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne.”
“Of course.” Wayne smiles at him. “So… does this mean you’re off the clock?”
Clark nearly drops his phone, face flushing as he looks away.
“I, uh, um-!” Clark swallows, shifting from foot to foot. “Mr. Wayne, I-!”
“Bruce.”
Clark blinks, looking up at him.
“Pardon?”
“Call me Bruce,” Wayne says as he steps closer. Clark’s heart skips a beat, his cheeks heating even more.
“I… I don’t know if that’s appropriate…”
Wayne chuckles.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says. “But even then, is it so wrong to get to know each other a little better?”
Clark clears his throat.
“I- why, why would you want to get to know me?”
Wayne raises an eyebrow.
“Why would I want to get to know a very handsome man? I know my reputation mostly skews towards women, but I’ve been out for the better part of a decade by this point, Mr. Kent. I think you’re fully capable of guessing why I’m interested in you.”
Clark is definitely bright red by now. He bites his lip, glancing away.
He should say no. This is Ethics 101 stuff: don’t get into bed with anyone you report on.
Besides, Bruce Wayne is a man, and Clark’s not- well, he is, but he’s not-
He’s never-
A thought occurs to him, one that he’s… not quite proud of.
It’s not like anyone I know would find out.
And yeah, that’s… probably not the kind of thoughts a journalist, let alone Superman, should be having. He’s probably going to have to sit with himself later and unpack the whole thing.
But right now…
Well. Right now Bruce Wayne is looking at him like he wants to eat him alive, and Clark’s been single for two months, and…
And Bruce Wayne is really, really good-looking.
Clark is Superman, sure, but he’s not a saint.
“I… I guess that would be-!”
The Gray Ghost theme starts blaring. Clark blinks, furrowing his brow before Wayne takes his phone out of his pocket. He glances at the screen, then lets out a small sigh.
“I’m sorry, I need to take this.” Wayne puts his phone up to his ear. “Alfred? Is everything alright?”
Wayne listens for a moment, then frowns.
“Is he alright?” Another pause, followed by a sigh. “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Wayne hangs up, then gives Clark an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry, I need to get going. Family emergency, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, uh, that’s… that’s alright,” Clark says, feeling much more disappointed than relieved, followed by feeling guilty for that.
“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Kent.” Wayne smiles at him again. “Hope we can do it again sometime.”
Clark’s heart skips a beat, but before he can say anything Wayne walks back into the ballroom, the doors closing behind him.
For a second, Clark just stares after him.
Then… well.
Then everything sort of hits him all at once.
“What the heck,” he spits. “What the actual heck is wrong with you, Clark Joseph Kent?”
What was he thinking? Is he really that hard up that he’d actually… he has integrity! Journalistic integrity!
Clark pauses, then grimaces a little.
Well, mostly. Publishing interviews with himself is a little bit ethically dubious.
But still! He’s never- he doesn’t sleep with people he covers!
Even if they’re really handsome. And have broad shoulders… a strong jawline… really beautiful eyes…
Clark groans, tipping his head back and covering his face.
Goodness. He hasn’t felt this flustered around someone since…
Well. Since he first met Lois.
He’ll admit, he normally plays up the whole “bumbling, stumbling, wide-eyed midwestern hayseed” thing in public. He’s not actually that clumsy (anymore), or that easily flustered.
Except when he’s faced with someone who’s attractive, who he doesn’t know well yet.
Then he tends to make a fool out of himself without it being on purpose.
And this time, it just happened to be in front of an enigmatic, occasionally ditzy billionaire.
Who also happens to be a man.
Clark sighs, running his hand down his face. He leans back on the balcony railing, taking a few deep breaths.
This is a really bad place to have a mild crisis over his professionalism and sexual orientation, he thinks.
He’s not really sure how long he stays out there. He can see the party going on inside, can hear the raucous laughter of the crowd grow louder and drunker.
Lois would say it’s a good time to grab a few quotes from tipsy industrialists who won’t realize they’ve spilled the beans until it’s too late.
Clark… doesn’t really want to do that. Honestly, he should just go back to the hotel, put together an outline for the column and then go to bed. He sighs, then gets back to a standing position intending to do just that.
Which is when he hears it.
An explosion, about fifteen miles east from here. Clark turns, eyes widening when he sees a plume of smoke rising into the air. He strains his hearing, concentrating on that general area.
“- the vault! And they took half the foundation with it, this building could come down any minute!”
“Shoot,” Clark mutters under his breath. He glances back at the party, then, assured that no one is looking out onto the balcony, jumps over the railing. He lands in the bushes, strips down to his suit, then quickly hides his clothes somewhere they hopefully won’t get too dirty before speeding off toward the bank.
A smattering of police cars, as well as one sleek black vehicle that Clark would have to know absolutely nothing about Gotham not to recognize, are strewn in front of the bank. Just as Clark arrives, one of the windows shatters open, a number of henchmen barrelling straight through it. A masked teen in red, green, yellow, and black jumps out, dusting his hands together.
“B, I got the last one out. It’s just you and the ringleader now.”
“Roger that-!”
There’s a horrible groaning noise from the building. Clark x-rays it to see that there are only two people left inside, and that the walls are starting to crumble. Without hesitating, he speeds into the building, coming upon Batman and a masked bank robber in the vault just as the former knocks the latter out.
He doesn’t hesitate to grab them both.
“Wh-!”
Clark rushes them both out of the building just as it starts to cave in, letting the robber fall down in a heap and gently placing Batman down on the ground before landing next to him.
“Well, it sure was lucky I was in town, wouldn’t you agree-?”
Batman immediately lurches over and vomits all over Clark’s boots.
“Ah,” Clark says.
Batman groans, wiping at his mouth before looking up at Clark. His eyes are hidden by white lenses, but he gets the distinct impression that he’s glaring at him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Clark frowns.
“Saving your life.”
“I had that situation well in hand.”
“Wh- the building was about to collapse!”
“And I could have gotten out of it in time.”
“There was barely ten seconds between when I went in and when the building collapsed, you couldn’t have gotten yourself out, let alone with,” Clark gestures to the still unconscious man next to him, “this guy on your shoulder!”
Batman scoffs.
“I’ve been doing this for years longer than you have, do you honestly think this is the first collapsing building I’ve had to face? It’s not even the first time this particular bank has gone down in the last five years. Your interference was unnecessary.”
Clark opens his mouth to argue, but finds himself interrupted when a young voice calls out to them.
“B! B, are you alright-? Whoa.”
Clark turns to see the masked teen from before- Robin, he remembers.
“Superman!” Robin looks down, frowning. “Why is there vomit on your boots?”
“Well…”
“Nevermind that,” Batman says gruffly as he walks toward Robin. “We’re leaving.”
“Aw, but B-!”
“No buts. We’re going.”
Robin huffs, shooting Clark an apologetic look as he follows Batman over toward the Batmobile.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Clark calls, flying over and landing in front of Batman.
“Get out of my way.”
“I will, I just… look, I know Guy already asked you and you turned him down, but-!”
“No.”
Even though he was expecting that answer, Clark tries not to wince at the sheer ice in Batman’s voice.
“You could at least-!”
“Not. Interested. Move.”
Clark sighs.
“Alright, I understand.” He smiles. “It was still nice to properly meet you, though.”
Batman stares at him for a long minute.
“... get out of my city,” he mutters before walking around Clark and getting into his vehicle.
“Sorry about him,” Robin says with a sheepish little shrug. Clark gives him his most reassuring Superman smile, and he beams before getting in on the passenger side door. Seconds later, the Batmobile peels out, and Clark grimaces.
“... that could have gone a lot better,” he mutters to himself.
Then, he turns around and walks over to where the fire department’s just arrived.
After all, Gotham might not be his city, but that’s not going to stop him from helping out while he’s here.
Even if it goes unappreciated by a certain someone.
The following Monday, Clark heads into his regular job as he normally does. Steve gives him a hard time like usual, Ron vaguely acknowledges his existence, and Jimmy greets him like a real friend.
Lois’ desk is still empty. Clark tries to keep his attention away from it, keep his mind on trying to craft some kind of article around the quotes he’d gotten. The idea he’d had last night wasn’t coming out as well as he’d hoped on the page, but if he reworks a few paragraphs he might be able to salvage it.
Either way, Perry will probably never put him on this beat again. Which is something he can live with.
Clark sighs, propping up his head with his elbow.
He can live with it, except…
Well. Maybe it would have been nice to have an excuse to see Bruce Wayne again.
Clark grimaces.
No, no, it’s- it’s better that he doesn’t have a way to see him. Clearly, he can’t trust himself not to make bad, potentially career-ruining and otherwise life-changing decisions around that man.
Even if those decisions sounded really appealing when he was lying alone in his bed last night.
Clark sighs again, running a hand through his hair.
There’s no use in moping about it. It’s not like he’ll ever see him again. Bruce Wayne hasn’t had a single solo interview with a real journalist since his triumphant return to Gotham a decade ago, so unless Clark starts owing Cat too many favors the likelihood that they’ll ever be in the same place again is nil.
And anyway, it’s better that he doesn’t.
It’s best if he just never thinks about Bruce Wayne again-!
“Clark Kent?”
Clark looks up, blinking when he sees a delivery person with-
With a bouquet of roses in their arms.
“Uh… here?” Clark says, raising his arm.
The delivery person walks over to him, holding out the bouquet.
“Here, this is for you.”
They all but shove it at him, and Clark has no choice but to take it if he doesn’t want a face full of rose petals and thorns.
Not that the latter would hurt him, but that’s a problem all its own considering he’s at his day job.
“Uh, I didn’t-!”
“Sign here, please,” they say, holding out an electronic pad and a stylus.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t order any flowers,” Clark says.
“Already been paid for, sir. I just need a signature.”
Clark frowns, but quickly puts his signature down.
“Have a nice day, sir,” they say in a bored tone before walking away, leaving Clark sitting dumbfounded with a bunch of mysterious roses in his arms. He looks down at them, wondering what he should do- ideally, he’d get them in some water, but he’s at work, and anyway he doesn’t actually have a vase back at his apartment-!
“Hey, Clark, did you see the-? Whoa, where’d you get those?”
Clark shrugs at Jimmy.
“A delivery person practically forced them on me. Said they were already paid for.”
“Really? Who are they from?”
“Not sure.” Clark shifts the bouquet around, at which point he catches sight of a card buried amongst the petals. He plucks it out, turning it over.
Clark-
Sorry again that we had to cut our conversation short. I’d love it if you gave me a call sometime.
B.W.
Below that is a phone number.
Clark’s heart skips a beat, but before he can really even comprehend the fact that he has Bruce Wayne’s phone number, the card is snatched out of his hand.
“Wh-! Hey!”
“‘Clark, sorry again we had to cut our conversation short,’” Steve reads out as he walks away from Clark’s desk. “‘I’d love it if you gave me a call sometime?’ Aw, Kent, did your girlfriend send you these?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Steve, it’s just- someone I ran into at the Wayne Foundation gala, that’s all.”
“Wow, a rich secret admirer. Didn’t you think you had it in you, Clark,” Jimmy comments.
“No, I-! It’s not like that!” Clark protests as his face goes red.
“Ooh, ooh, let me guess, you got the attention of some hot older woman who-!”
“What are you three doing?”
Clark has never been so grateful to hear Perry’s voice in all his life.
“Uh, nothing, sir!” Clark says. “Just… talking.”
“Well quit talking and get back to work!” Perry’s eyes flit down to the bouquet. “Kent, don’t get flowers delivered here.”
“I didn’t- er, yes, chief.”
“And don’t call me chief!” Perry snaps before returning to his office.
Steve returns the card to Clark, then claps him on the shoulder.
“Don’t think you’ve gotten out of telling me about your MILF, Smallville.”
“There is no- one of those!” Clark stutters out as Steve walks away. Jimmy just shrugs at him, then turns back to his own desk.
Clark sighs, then looks down at the card. He grimaces, tossing it into the trash can under his desk.
Approximately three minutes later, he fishes it back out.
After all, might not be the worst idea in the world to have Bruce Wayne’s personal number. Maybe he can convince him to give a real, in-depth interview for once.