There have been many types of companions, over the years. Clark knows about some of them from the cave's databases, and some of them from tabloids. Some from experience; awkward phone calls on Christmas, heckling from another cape. Could be anyone. Or no one. Chances are they're long dead, as many people who've become entangled with Bruce Wayne end up.

But—

He shrugs broad shoulders, setting his phone down on the end table by the sofa. "Dunno. Dropped it overboard."

Like an old lady visiting the Titanic. Bruce moves forward to join him, dark eyes drifting over his form. He says, "Maybe it'll turn up," because, you know, so much other shit is being coughed up. But it's clear he isn't thinking too hard about it.