no ordinary world
1 /// 2 /// 3/// 4 /// 5 /// 6 /// 7 /// 8
1
.
Sunrise always inspired Clark.
He could be laying in bed, not really asleep, nor really awake, just looking at the dull violets of the sky through the window facing east. It was that sliver of morning before dawn, before the sun broke open the horizon with its burgeoning red sphere.
And then, it would appear.
The red sun.
Glorious and deep.
Ominous and mesmerizing.
It was then, and only then that Clark would stir, his legs swept off the bed and into his house shoes. He would move quietly to the bathroom and close the door gently, barely making a peep so that his wife wouldn't wake.
Clark then washed his face, while the shower warmed up.
Steam would always build on the mirror, signalling that it was time to lather up his hair and jump in.
The water would always be just the right temperature, not to cold, not to hot. The scent of the bar soap minty and fresh, a nice fragrance to wake him up completely by the time he stepped out.
Clark would then shave, ever so carefully, his shadow disappearing from his strong chin with every sweep of the razor.
Lastly he would brush his teeth, floss, and towel his hair. And by the time he opened the bathroom door, his wife would be right outside of it, handing him the morning paper.
"Goodmorning, Lois." Clark smiled, leaning down to kiss the brunette on the cheek.
She patted his freshly shaved face and smiled, "You look especially handsome today."
Clark smiled and then bent down again to steal another kiss, this time on the lips.
But Lois scooted away too soon, "Must be that new aftershave I bought you. Do you like it?"
Clark straightened back up, unfolding the paper. "Yeah, it's nice." He said indifferently.
Lois smiled brightly and threw on her robe. "Well, breakfast is ready. Whenever you are."
Clark lowered the paper. No matter how early he woke, Lois always seemed to wake up right after, having the morning meal hot and ready.
Clockwork.
Clark sighed and walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
The sun was higher in the sky now, breaking through some low lying clouds.
He sat at the table, spreading his butter and jam, breaking his yolks with the curve of his spoon. Breakfast was perfect, as always, and Clark could never quite figure out how his wife found the time to make all of this.
Every single day.
*
"C'mon, Clark." Lois said, scooping up her purse, "We'll be late for work."
Clark smiled right behind her, picking up his suit jacket from the hook. "Lois, we're never late."
She turned around and smiled, her fingers adjusting his tie. "Well, that's because you speed the whole way."
"Only because you make us late." Clark smiled, playfully.
He scooted around her, his arms surrounding her body, each hand planted on either side of the kitchen counter. "Of course, being late doesn't seem too big a deal." He bent to kiss her neck.
Lois smiled, patting him on the cheek. "Very funny, Big Guy."
She escaped underneath his arms, "C'mon, the office is waiting."
Clark sighed, following her out the door. "Lois, don't you think it would be more fun if we stayed home today? I mean, nothing ever happens here. I'm sure the Daily Star will survive without us writing the Honorable Mentions column for one day."
Lois spun around. "Clark, we can't just not show up for work." She blinked. "What will the editor print in place of our column?"
Clark laughed, "Oh, I don't know. Real news?" He opened the driver side door and slid in.
Lois followed.
The neighborhood Clark and Lois lived in was quaint and modest, just outside of town and close enough to Clark's parent's house. There were white picket fences around every yard, flowerboxes in every window. And a nice shady oak to cover every car that sparkled with fresh dew.
The red sun shone on everything, a pink shade cast filtering through the air.
"Nothing ever happens in this town." Clark sighed, turning the key.
Lois looked, "What are you talking about? They just opened that new coffee shop--"
"No, no--" Clark backed out of the drive way.
Next door, their neighbor was out watering his grass.
Clark politely waved. "I mean, nothing exciting ever happens here. There isn't any breaking news, no crime--"
"Crime?" Lois exclaimed, "Clark, you're talking like you want to live in Metropolis."
He shrugged, "Well, maybe I do."
Lois laughed, patting his shoulder, "Clark, I think you've been reading too far into things. Smallville is perfect in everyway. Why would you ever want to leave?"
"I don't I just--," Clark frowned, "It's just that, no one needs help here. And I've always had this feeling that I was meant to do something more. To help people. And here, well, no one needs my help." Clark sighed, "No one needs, me."
"I need you." Her hand crept into his, and Clark held it, refreshed by Lois' rare affection.
He looked into her eyes and smiled, shaking his head and all those stubborn thoughts that rose to mind on an off day like this.
Maybe he was thinking too far into things. Smallville was perfect. His wife, Lois, was perfect.
His life was, perfect.
*
The Daily Star was a four story building in the middle of downtown, a cluster of the busiest traffic on Main St.
There was a set of glass double doors in the newspaper building's entry, doors that were wiped squeaky clean every morning by the upkeepers. The same keepers that shined the silver star, and the bold lettering over the awning.
Clark held the door for Lois, and followed her in with a smile.
Inside their editor, George Taylor, was sitting on the edge of his desk, indulging on a
nice round donut.
"Kents!" Taylor, an older man with peppered brown hair slid off the desk, rubbing the powered sugar off his mustache. "Just the two I was looking for."
Clark matched Taylor's smile, sitting his leather briefcase ontop of his desk.
"Hiya, Chief." Lois straightened her name plate, setting her purse inside one of her desk drawers.
"The mayor's holding a opening ceremony for that new coffee shop on the corner this morning at ten."
Surreptiously, Clark spied a knowing look at his wife.
Lois ignored it, staying chipper. "Great, Chief! We're on it!"
"That's what I want to hear!" Taylor snapped his fingers and winked at them both.
Clark watched as their editor began to depart for the remainer of donuts on his desk.
Clark jumped up at the split of a decision. "Chief, wait."
Taylor turned around.
Lois stopped her typing, and cast a look up.
Quietly, the entire office stopped.
Clark looked around at the other reporters and secretaries.
One by one, the slowly resumed their work.
Clark blinked, curiously walking closer to Taylor to whisper, "You know how you told me that thinking ahead was the key to a great reporter?"
Taylor nodded with mild suspicion.
"Well Chief, I was thinking," Clark swallowed, wringing his hands, "What if the Daily Star had a column written from abroad? You know, a place where we could write about other worlds outside our own?"
George Taylor, a usually bright, funny man stood pale faced for a moment before his charm and smile caught up with him. "Kent," he patted Clark's back and then chuckled, "You know Harvey covers the news relay. We already print world wide headlines in the International section."
"I know, but this is different. Those stories are just reprinted." Clark's eyes brightened.
"What if we sent one of our own outside of the city to write a fresh new angle on the news, news that happens outside of Smallville."
"Outside of Smallville?" Taylor smiled again, grabbing a white powder donut. He took a bite.
Clark's hopeful smile faded.
"Why would anyone want to leave Smallville?" Taylor mumbled between munches, patting Clark's shoulder again, and left.
Clark sighed, brushing white sugar off his dark suit.
.
In the afternoons, after paragraphs were sewn and pasted together, headlines drawn and the day was over, Clark often retreated to the windmill on the back of his parent's farm where he visited his mother most days.
Tonight his bestfriend was beside him, sharing a cold beer as they reminisced about the good old days.
Pete Ross and Clark Kent were inseperable all throughout their school years. They both made letterman on the school football and baseball teams, competed in the debate club and were running mates for student council.
But Clark's favorite pasttime together was working at the school paper, The Torch.
They spent so many nights there, so many good memories...
He remembered their old editor.
"I wonder what Chloe's doing." Clark said, swishing the dark brown bottle to his lips.
"Chloe?" Pete sipped bitterly and then peered over, "Chloe Sullivan?"
"Yeah," Clark smiled, watching as the red sun slowly disappeared beneath the thick tree tops that populated the mountain ridge in the distance.
"I haven't heard you talk about her in years."
Clark winced, looking at Pete through a lowered brow. "Just because I don't talk about her doesn't mean I don't think about her."
"Yeah well," Pete opened another bottle and said very carefully, "I wouldn't think too hard. She's gone, man."
Clark laughed, "She's not gone, Pete. She only moved to Metropolis."
Pete's forehead creased with thought, his dark brows knitted together. "Careful Clark, you married her cousin, remember?"
Clark laughed again. "Relax, Pete. I was just wondering how an old friend was doing. We haven't seen her in years is all."
Pete nodded, his feet dangling off the edge of the windmill's platform.
They were up high.
Pete looked over to his friend, never sure of what exactly was running through Clark's mind. The guy was mysterious, even to him, the friend who had known him forever.
But he could guess what Clark's mind was after. It was the way his blue eyes stared straight into the sun, staring right through the impossible ridge of earth that soared high in the distance.
Clark was looking past Smallville, and into what was beyond it.
"Remember what Icarus taught us." Pete said quietly.
Clark blinked, the intensity gone. Slowly his eyes fell to the earth beneath them, reminding him just how high they were.
The sun made its last descent, the sky falling with it, stars poking through the crimson clouds.
A late wind picked up the bangs from Clark's forehead, his eyes sneaking up to where the moon crept into the sky.
It shone down on them, hovering like a spotlight. The image of the moon always reminded him of that poem his father had read him once when he was little.
A man in the moon.
For some reason it resonated with him. Perhaps the adventure or just the plain possiblity that a man could leave this small town, and be somewhere else.
Clark always wondered, if he could get there too? Could be the man who watched over everyone?
Would he ever leave Smallville?
Clark blinked, leaning back on his elbows to gaze.
Slowly, the moon made its pass over the night sky, and eventually Pete and Clark climbed down the windmill and went home to their wives, and eventually they fell asleep until the next day.
.
But the man on the moon didn't sleep.
His eyes were wide open, trained on the wide array of monitors across a vast wall. In those monitors were Clark Kent. Asleep, and dreaming.
But of what?
"Mr. Luthor."
A voice stirred him, his fingers caressing the smooth crown of his head. "What is it?"
"The crews are experiencing technical issues. We wont be ready for sunrise for another three hours."
"Late sunrise again?" Luthor growled, "This makes twice in the same week!"
"I apologize, but the radiation filters have been malfunctioning ever since the fire ball incident."
Lex sighed heavily, shutting his eyes. "Tell the production crews to set the clocks back again. And inform the cast of the long night. I don't want another repeat of the confusion last time. We had school children wandering the streets in pitch night."
"Yes sir." The assistant bowed, and left the room.
Lex turned to the monitors again, his fingers caressing the screen. "Sleep well, Kal-El. Sunrise will be here soon enough."
His suit was backlit against the bright LCD's of a thousand screens. There was one point of the observatory where Lex Luthor could perch and peer from a real window and monitor the world... an unordinary world.
His world.
There, Lex's pale face emerged from the surface of the false moon, the same that suspended far in the sky that blanketed the little world named Smallville.
*
1 /// 2 /// 3/// 4 /// 5 /// 6 /// 7 /// 8
Chlark, Superman, and the freedom of fan fiction.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
GB ch14
Title: Go By
Season: 6->
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The CW and WB own everything. I own nothing.
Couples: Chlark
Category: Multiple Chapters (?)
Summary: The story picks up right after Vortex/ Tempest, then quickly diverges in AU. But fate has a way of course correcting.
Chapter 14 / p1
*
Clark Kent stood rigid, his red jacket pummeled by bitter winds from the north.
He was in the middle of the arctic, dry snow powdered up to the calves of his boots, and a long trail of footprints behind him.
But he wasn't alone.
''Do you know why we are we here, Kal-El?"
Clark turned to face the man who called himself Brainiac. But he wasn't a man, just an intelligence and a replicated body with the darkest cloak billowing with the brutal north winds. The two Kryptonian warriors that had descended with him stood at either flank, postures strong and erect.
Clark stood across, and a far from them all.
He couldn't trust them.
It had been a long week after that day in the caves, the day of the second meteor shower. Within the first hour of the their arrival, the Kryptonian's managed to destroy and tirade through the outskirts of town until finally finding their way to him, Kal-el.
But it wasn't before Lex Luthor met them first.
There was no question that Luthor's intentions were more than despicable and malice. Lex was about to destroy them all, and hurt so many others. And despite all of Clark's abilities, he was powerless to stop him.
And so there lie the inner question that had tortured Clark all week. Was it right now that Lex Luthor was confined to a hospital bed the rest of his life? To be inert, immobile, neutralized as a threat to the human race, to the Kryptonian race...
Was it justice to remove one's enemies?
This world is too small for enemies.
Clark's brows furrowed, scanning the empty white field of ice and snow that surrounded them for miles and miles. "The caves, the journals. They both spoke about a fortress, a part of Krypton that was saved. I've spent years searching for it."
"But you haven't found it."
Clark glanced towards Brainiac, then to the two other Kryptonians standing at a distance, their black armor contrast against the bleak, bright landscape. "No."
A wicked smile curved the computer's lips. "That's because it hasn't been built yet."
Clark turned, his full attention on the man in the long black cloak.
"The programming you've studied in those caves, the journals you've collected and rehearsed, they're all noble and informative on certain subject's Kal-El," Brainiac circled, his eyes gleaming over the steep, jagged mountains in the distance, "But unfortunately, their knowledge is outdated and incomplete."
Clark's blue eyes reflected in the white snow. The air was so clean here, refreshing and pure.
Brainiac turned, "Only a Kryptonian council or archive would have complete and unobstructed Kryptonian knowledge. Fortunately, you have one right here."
Clark frowned."A council?"
"I am the Brain Interactive Construct." He smiled again, black cloak billowing in the wind, " I was sent here to instruct you."
Clark shifted stances. "My father never mentioned a council."
Brainiac's eyes searched, "It is interesting how you refer to a program as your father when you have no memory of your real father at all."
Clark swallowed, eyes falling.
"But this omission can easily be explained through malfunction or perhaps an outdated program. Even as brilliant as your father was, he did not have time to construct an thorough program when Krypton was falling down around him."
"You knew my father?" Clark's eyes lighted with hope.
"I was built by your father's very hands, engineered by his very mind... there's is so much I can teach you that Jor-El's aged programming cannot."
Clark's eyes traced the edges of the man's face, seeing no flaws, no sign that he was a computer of any kind. He looked as human as Clark did, and for some reason that didn't sit right. But he wanted to trust him, to trust all of them. Here, Brainiac was offering the truth, total disclosure to Kryptonian heritage and knowledge. And perhaps a way to see his home again. If Brainiac was created by Jor-El, then he was the most immediate extension of any semblance of his former life on Krypton.
"You're right." Clark's eyes steadied on the blank white slate of the horizon, "I've never met my true father, nor have I ever known another person like me, a Kryptonian."
"Kal-El." Brainiac stepped forward, "I am your council and guide, here to protect you, the last son of Krypton and the heritage of our home world."
Clark searched the computer's eyes, black and deep. They stared back at him without movement, without waver. Unnatural. Unhuman.
Human.
Perhaps that was a flaw of his design. Brainiac knew no humanity, had no humanity. But then again, Clark and the other Kryptonians were never meant to be human. They were never meant to land here.
This world was alien.
"Tell me how to build the Fortress." Clark's clear blue eyes strengthened, "If the prophecies are true, it's the only part of Krypton left."
Brainiac smiled, his hand on Clark's shoulder as the heady north winds beat upon them. "Nothing would please me more than to rebuild our home."
Those words seemed like a promise to Clark, but his hopes felt buried. How far would he have to follow this man, this construct, this machine towards the prophecies of his father? It was like a long, thin thread. So hard to grasp, so hard to untangle.
Everything felt so far away.
Clark watched as Brainiac began walking further north, footsteps disappearing quickly after every white gust.
There was this teetering moment as Clark let the distance build between him and the others, watching as the black figures grew into small grey smudges in the snow. He felt a single boot shuffle forward, and yet the other refusing to follow. There was a great chasm between these next steps he was taking, leading down a path he couldn't see the end of.
Clark strained his eyes to see through the snow, their figures hardly visible now.
He felt his fists tighten, his legs working independently from his mind.
For too long Clark had put off his father's wishes. For too long, Clark had chose to ignore the reason, the logic, choosing to instead live by his own free will, to cling to the thin hope that perhaps he could belong, that it all meant something.
A connection.
But, he was never certain.
And all of those human connections felt very distant to him now, the wind whipping by so fast past his ears that even Clark could not hear over the whispers that urged him to follow.
Maybe it was the feeling of being left behind, the thought of abandoning the promise of hope. Or maybe it was the physical gap that was deepening within every second Clark chose to stay stagnant and still in the snow, the white wash erasing the last connection of Krypton Clark had left.
So he followed them, his boots retracing the remnants of their tracks into whatever distance they carried him. The ever echoing thought that his humanity, and all that was left of his attachments to this world, were unraveling.
*
From a distance, little details tend to fall away from a picture.
There were flashbulbs alternating at every angle, capturing the genuine smile of a young photographer whose single picture made headlines for weeks. Across the room, Jimmy Olsen looked popular, successful, happy.
Since the publication of Jimmy's photos on the Planet's front page, and the wide distribution afterward, the young photographer's popularity grew and then soared.
Jimmy Olsen documented the largest raining of astrological bodies upon Earth. That is, for the second time.
The world began to watch the skies, millions alerted to foreign objects entering their home like an stranger creeping up on their doorstep. It could strike at any moment but instead waited for that unexpected moment, suspended above the clouds and just above their consciousness. It was this danger that drew up excitement from the public, that captured readers and imaginations alike.
And it was Jimmy Olsen's charm that captured the cameras now.
Right now he was swaying on the dance floor in a black tux and tie with his date on his shoulder. A young, pretty girl named Lucy Lane. From far away they looked like a perfect couple. And Jimmy looked happy.
But of course everything looked different from a distance.
Chloe smiled from the balcony outside, eyes jeweled from the warm glow through the patio doors.
"You sure you don't want to go inside?" Oliver asked beside her, looking smart in a black tux of his own. Tonight was a charity gala for that little town three hours away and it was only natural for billionaire Oliver Queen to attend, and not with out a date on his arm.
That date was Chloe.
But she wasn't holding smiles for flashbulbs like the other primped women inside the ballroom. No, Chloe was outside of it all, an airy gaze settled in her hazel eyes, reflecting that warm glow from chandeliers.
Oliver captured her wandering attention when she didn't answer. "Hey," he said as he brushed her arm.
Her satin, deep emerald gown rustled as she shrugged, "I wouldn't know what to say."
"Chloe," Oliver turned to her as the music from the orchestra played, "I brought you here to say goodbye. You might not get that chance ever again."
The idea stung. What if she couldn't say it?
She nodded, her fingers tracing the satin of her matching green clutch. "I don't know how to say goodbye."
The tall, dark blonde struggled to smile, his strong features austere in the shadowy light. But it wasn't his good looks or confidence that captured her attention. It was Oliver Queen, a man who had become a great friend and Allie over the years. Chloe became entangled in the deep chocolate of Oliver's eyes, wondering just how far into them she would find solace, a solution to the tangled mess that had become her life.
But the moment faded with the music, Oliver brushing his hand once more across hers as he walked back inside. Through the double glass doors, the orchestra ended a song, the ballroom applauding.
Ever since she had woken up in that field, everything had changed. Smallville endured yet another catastrophic supernatural disaster. Lex Luthor was confined to a hospital bed, on a respirator the rest of his life. Her best friend and partner, Jimmy Olsen, was a world renown photographer for the leading newspaper in the world.
And who was Chloe Sullivan? A girl dreaming in a corn field with no accolades nor memory of the past three days. In fact, the last thing she could remember was being in a different field, wheat as she recalled, and other strange things; like a foreign voice whispering in her ear, blue cerulean eyes and the distinct feeling of being carried away.
Perhaps that's how she came to that field.
She was in a dream, and when she had woken, it felt like climbing out of an eternity.She might still be dreaming out there if it wasn't for the bright barking of a dog that finally stirred her.
But she could still be dreaming. Her body felt light, like she wasn't inside of it at all.
That waning feeling passing through her many times when she tried to remember... slowly, she was waking up. Slowly, waking to reality.
Lightning flashed behind her in the dark sky of the evening.
She took a deep breath.
She'd came here to say goodbye, so she might as well do it now.
*
Even through the veil of night, flashes of lightning illuminated overcast clouds like a dim firelight through a canvas screen.
The blur from the arctic to Metropolis seemed shorter than others, Clark brushing off caked snow from his jacket after he leaping onto a nearby rooftop.
He had followed Brainiac's instruction. He needed to find the last crystal to build the Fortress. He needed to speak to his father. He needed to know there was hope.
Clark felt a wind brush past, cold from the north.
It was Brainiac.
"Remember what I've told you, Kal-El."
Clark let the monotone voice resonate in his ears.
"Humans have betrayed you in the past, and will continue to do so in the future. You must let go of them."
Clark frowned, "I've spent my whole life here. My whole life protecting humans as my human parents protected me."
"The time has come to say goodbye to that life." Brainiac nodded towards the warm glow of downtown, where the city buzzed with activity, "Clark Kent belongs in the past with this world. But you, Kal-El, are meant for greater things in greater world."
Clark frowned deeper, dark curls whipping past his eyes.
Lightning struck again, and then rain.
Thick drops slid down his jacket and then to his hands.
Brainiac's hand moved to point in the distance. "The last crystal is there."
Clark followed the line of sight, eyes strained. "You've known where it was this entire time?"
"No."
Clark looked at him.
"You have, Kal-El." Brainiac smiled, "I've only downloaded your thoughts to remind you where."
*
"I'm glad you could make it." Jimmy twirled them on the floor, the orchestra playing an old skylark song on the strings.
The ballroom was rich and glamorous, all of the charity night's events funded by the city's most wealthy benefactors.
"Well, when I heard my best friend was nominated for a Pulitzer I figured a 'congratulations' on a postcard wouldn't be enough." Chloe smiled from his shoulder.
"Postcard?" Jimmy looked at the back of her hair. It was pulled up away from her face, tucked in by a emerald beret. A gift her date had given her.
She hugged him tighter across his shoulders. "I'm going away for a while, Jimmy."
"What?"
They stopped dancing, the crowd moving without them to the slow strings and sad, muted trumpet.
"I need a break. From work, from Metropolis. Everything."
Chloe tried to start them moving again, but Jimmy didn't budge.
"A break." He eyed her skeptically. "This has to do with what happened to you, doesn't it?"
She buried her head back into his shoulder.
Jimmy's feet started again, leading them back into the sway of the dance.
"I'm your best friend, Chloe. You should be able to tell me anything."
Her body tensed.
Jimmy was right. Best friends were supposed to tell all, not hide from each other like she had all those years. Jimmy had told her everything after all. Even about the strange black armored soldiers that had tried to kill him, the woman who had put Sheriff Adams in a hospital bed with a broken leg. He told her about how he saved them with a piece of meteor rock.
But Chloe couldn't tell Jimmy about any of what had happened on her end. How could she? It would be dragging up years of lies and cover ups that would definitely need more time for explanation than she had.
"How long will you be gone?" Jimmy asked, his arms feeling limp around her waist.
"As long as it takes." She answered truthfully.
She felt him lift his hand to her cheek, forcing her to look him in the face. She was right before, about how things look differently from far away. Before, when she was outside looking in, she could have sworn Jimmy Olsen looked happier. Now, up close, where she could see the lean creases of his eyes left by undecided mourning, she could see Jimmy more clearly.
His eyes weren't of a happy man.
"Chloe, you can't leave now." he touched her cheek again, "Who will help me uncover this story? There were black choppers out there like this meteor shower was the next Roswell. It's practically screaming government cover up."
She knew how frustrated Jimmy was about not being about to write the entire story of that day. But if there was anything to say about journalistic integrity,Jimmy Olsen didn't bend. Considering he nor Sheriff Adams had physical proof, he needed to investigate a little harder before he told the whole world about the oddities of that day.
Jimmy even went as far as to recall a woman emerging from the water of the crippled Reeves Dam who then used some sort of technology to evaporate the immense body of water that threaten to crash down, and in turn save the entire county.
It was all a little too illustrative for even Chloe to take in, until he described the woman.
Blue eyes.
A silver bracelet.
She remembered.
The pensive gaze disappeared from Chloe's eyes as she smiled, "I'm sure you'll be just fine, Jimmy. Besides, there's always Lois to help you sleuth around."
He laughed then, the thin creases lining his expression."That's funny, Chloe."
They both looked over to the table where Lois and Lucy were seated. Chloe recognized the man whispering in her cousin's brunette ear. A marine biologist she met once by the name of Arthur Curry.
They watched Lois giggle, not a often occurrence, after Curry whispered in her ear.
Lucy smiled and waved enthusiastically.
Jimmy waved back.
Chloe looked over them all. "You'll take care of them, right?"
He blinked, his arms tightening around her. "Of course. I took care of you all these years, didn't I?"
She smiled against his shoulder. Bittersweet taste, beginning of an end. But as Jimmy turned them once again, Chloe thought she saw him.
Blue eyes.
Dark hair.
On the balcony.
When she spun back around, he was gone.
Frantically, she stole glances as Jimmy weaved them through the crowd, but found nothing.
The orchestra played on as the floor moved lazily.
"Whatever happened to you, or happens later on," Jimmy said against her ear, "whatever you think that's changed..."
Looking up from his shoulder, she found Jimmy, a different Jimmy.
"Nothing will change who you are. You'll always be a reporter, working at the Daily Planet. This isn't goodbye."
"This is never saying goodbye, Jimmy." Chloe smiled against his cheek, whispering words that made Jimmy grip on her waist firmer, his head burrowed deeper against her hair as their feet followed through premeditated steps, within time of the slow playing orchestra.
But no matter how light their feet swayed, Chloe's thoughts were spent on the dark shadows and dark features that lingered as a ghost outside windows.
*
Gold.
Glamour.
Wealth.
All of this wrapped around a extravagant gathering that single men like Oliver Queen funded with money that never meant more to them than objects of bartering.
He sat in the the dark corner of the ballroom, a dark liquid swirling in his stunted glass.
Typically, there wasn't anything you could do to change a stubborn man like Oliver Queen. There wasn't anything or anyone that he needed to please or impress. A man of billions and a reputation soured in gossip rags, Oliver Queen had nothing to prove, no reason to bend his ways, no inspiration to climb off his privileged pedestal.
That is, before he met Chloe Sullivan. The girl who figured out his alter ego after the very first day, and yet, never revealed it in her tiny column in the widely read newspaper she worked for. The girl had snap, smarts and a very dangerous curiosity that often led her into predicaments that the Green Arrow had to swoop in and save her from. Not that Chloe was the damsel in distress type, but she did find a way into trouble.
Even recently after the meteor shower, she'd gone missing for days. It took Oliver hours of satellite surveying to find her. But he did. He found her. And this time when he swooped in and saved her, she'd broken their rule, their "MO", and asked for a favor.
Not just help from Green Arrow, but help from him.
Oliver Queen didn't help anyone, he was a party animal, a scoundrel.
But starting tonight, he would break it all. He wasn't there in a green leather suit and bow. He was in a tux and bowtie, scratching his head as to why it mattered so much.
Why helping her mattered so much.
Because through all the years of that loyalty and professionalism, Oliver could see the potential.
The friend.
She was a friend that needed help.
Oliver spied over the rim of his glass, watching as Chloe swayed on Jimmy's shoulder.
"That's her?" A gruff voice spoke beside him.
"Yeah, that's her." Oliver sipped from his drink, glancing at the dark gentleman in a sleek black suit.
"She's pretty. Not really you're type, but pretty."
"You know that's not why I called you here." Oliver answered testily.
The man grimaced, liquor sliding down his throat where his stubble grew over a jagged old scar on his jaw. "Then why did you call me here? You know I'm a busy guy."
Oliver pulled a slip of paper from his breast pocket.
It exchanged hands.
"I need to know if you're in or out. Right now."
The dark man read it and then smiled. "Oliver, we've known each other for years. When have I ever let you down?"
"Never, Bruce. That's why I'm trusting you now."
He smiled. "You know what I noticed? Every billionaire on the continent is here tonight. Just look at the room. Have you ever seen a stuffier crowd?"
Oliver looked around.
Bruce lifted his brow at his glass. "But there's just one rich spoiled brat that's missing." He looked at Oliver."How did Lex Luthor end up on that respirator?"
"Don't look at me." Oliver stared back, "I had nothing to do with it."
"Really." Bruce chuckled and then jabbed. "I remember the day when Oliver Queen would have loved to see Lex Luthor taking his last breaths from a tiny plastic tube. Has that day passed?"
"There's a lot of men who want to see Lex dead." Oliver's shoulders slumped, elbows propped against the bar. "Yourself included."
"This is true. Except I only know two men who actually have the means to do it. And we're both looking at one."
Oliver turned to him.
Bruce looked back. "Tell me this girl isn't wrapped around Lex Luthor."
Oliver turned back to Chloe across the room.
Bruce shook his head, "This whole situation is a ticking time bomb. The moment that bald bastard dies, the district attorney, who we both know has been accepting bribes from Luthor, will be asking questions and making the answers up along the way."
Oliver steadied. "Chloe Sullivan would never kill a man."
"But the Luthor controlled media will burn her at the stake, and you know it."
"Why do you think she agreed to this?"
"Did she agree, or did you heavily suggest it?"
Oliver's expression soured.
The darker haired man smirked, patting Oliver's shoulders as he got up and walked away disappearing without a goodbye or any word of his departure. Born from the grim wealth in Gotham, Bruce Wayne never was much for manners.
Oliver sighed, sipping the last of his drink before he stood. Liquor didn't even taste good anymore. Perhaps signs of his age, the last of his reckless partying days long gone. The guy in the green suit had slowly infiltrated the hours of Oliver's daydream, and the nightmares of his nights. Soon, there would only be the Green Arrow.
The world didn't need another rich boy, an Oliver Queen.
And as he watched his date move slowly to the music on someone else's shoulder,
Oliver rethought over his decisions. Maybe this wasn't the best way. Maybe she didn't have to say goodbye. But right now, this was the only way he could watch over her. Protect her. Because if Lex Luthor ever woke up, she'd be dead.
"We need to talk."
Oliver huffed, not knowing the last time his friend to ever return so soon. "I thought you'd be in Gotham by now, flapping around in that awful bat suit." He snided, turning around.
But it wasn't Bruce.
It was Clark Kent.
"Clark." Oliver said, surprised. When he had told the guy they needed to talk about their mutual fair friend, he didn't think he'd turn up here of all place. Oliver could have sworn the only clothes Clark Kent owned were rumpled blue suits and that same miserable tie.
"Clark, what are you doing here?"
Clark's voice was dangerously still. "What do you know about Veritas?"
Oliver glanced around. "I know enough to know that its a secret organization whose name isn't leaked out to the public." He briskly walked over to the corner of the ballroom and Clark followed. ''What do you know about it?"
"I know that the Queen family belongs to it. Right alongside the Luthors ."
"Wait, before you start getting any ideas--"
"You've been working along side Lex all this time!"
"Clark," Oliver dragged him aside. "My parents were the ones caught up in Veritas. In fact, they died because of it. Lionel Luthor was the man who murdered them."
Clark studied the other man. When Brainiac told him the last crystal of knowledge was there in Metropolis, his first thought was Oliver Queen. The last peg in maze that spelled Veritas.
But as he looked into Oliver's honest, out front eyes, he didn't see an enemy.
Clark saw a friend, through all these years.
"After I found out my family was murdered I only investigated from there. My family has a lot of buried secrets in its past, secrets I'm not entirely proud of." Oliver glanced around. "The question is, how do you know about Veritas?"
"Lex Luthor."
The tall blonde narrowed his eyes. "You were the last person to see him conscious."
Clark nodded. "Yes. But I wasn't the one who paralyzed him."
"Then why are you protecting who did?" Oliver countered, voice rising in suspicion.
Clark said nothing.
Oliver slowly nodded, accepting the subtle shut off not gone without notice. "With all these secrets, only gossip and speculation are left to corrupt eager ears. And now that Lex is impenging on death, guess who's the number one suspect?"
Clark frowned.
Oliver's eyes traveled across the room.
Clark's followed.
He whipped back around, angry.
"Chloe would never--"
"I know she wouldn't." The dark brown spheres of Oliver's eyes dangerous. "But we both know she knows more than what she's letting on. Chloe may have been M.I.A., but her memory isn't."
"What makes you say that?"
"Chloe came to me for help. Specifically, she came to my physicist, Emil Hamilton, for answers."
Clark frowned. "Answers about what?"
*
There he was again. By the bar, with Oliver.
Chloe blinked repeatedly, telling herself that he was real. That he was standing just over there, and as her body yearned to cross the room towards him, Jimmy was pulling her away.
"Something wrong?"
She looked up from his shoulder, shaking her head. "No, it's just. He's here."
Jimmy followed her eyes and frowned. "Who?"
She blinked, realizing he was gone.
"Chloe."
His voice.
His hand, it was on her shoulder.
Warm and...
She turned, and then it was his face.
His eyes.
She stopped dancing.
Or maybe the music stopped first, because there was a pool of dark blue uniforms growing within the ballroom, bronze shields on their left breast.
The crowd parted like a sea as the MPD marched through the canal of bodies that led straight to Chloe.
Jimmy held onto her. "What's going on?"
Lois and Lucy stood up from their table.
A dark haired woman with a unbreakable face approached Chloe, a badge in hand.
Chloe recognized her from her pictures. Detective Maggie Sawyer was a impenetrable force in the justice system of Metropolis.
"Chloe Sullivan," Det. Sawyer clasped the first handcuff on Chloe's wrist, "I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Alexander Luthor."
The room gasped.
Oliver appeared behind her, "Wait a second." He looked to Clark, then back to the officer. "On what grounds?"
Det. Sawyer eyed him. "Questions you should ask a lawyer, Mr. Queen."
Sawyer zipped the second cuff.
"What is this?" Oliver stepped between them, "You of all people, Sawyer, I can't believe you would take orders from a corrupt system! You know she's innocent!"
"I've just come from Met Gen at the foot of Lex Luthor's deathbed." Sawyer challenged, displaying the warrant for all to see, "For all I know, the girl belongs in a institution with the rest of the freaks I've locked up. I've got good hard evidence of meteor infected gene mutations from the DNA's she left behind at the crime scene. DNA so strange it barely resembles anything human."
Murmurs traveled across the floor.
Chloe shrank back into Jimmy's arms.
Oliver darted his eyes to the side, making contact with Clark's before switching back to the detective's solid glare. He stepped forward, shielding Chloe's body with his. "What, vicious fabrications to draw up probable cause? This is low, especially coming for you Detective."
Sawyer raised her voice testily, "Get out of my way, or I will hold you for obstruction of justice."
Oliver smiled sourly, "This isn't justice."
Chloe felt Clark's hand on her again, she didn't want to look up.
"For all you know Detective," Oliver lent, "I killed Lex Luthor."
Sawyer smiled bitterly. "Is that a confession?"
"Questions you should ask my lawyer." Oliver retorted.
The detective slit her eyes, pushing his towering body aside to arrest...
"Where is she?" Sawyer spun around.
Oliver hid a smile, looking over to Jimmy who looked over to him.
Chloe was gone.
And so was Clark.
*
chapter fifteen
Season: 6->
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The CW and WB own everything. I own nothing.
Couples: Chlark
Category: Multiple Chapters (?)
Summary: The story picks up right after Vortex/ Tempest, then quickly diverges in AU. But fate has a way of course correcting.
Chapter 14 / p1
*
Clark Kent stood rigid, his red jacket pummeled by bitter winds from the north.
He was in the middle of the arctic, dry snow powdered up to the calves of his boots, and a long trail of footprints behind him.
But he wasn't alone.
''Do you know why we are we here, Kal-El?"
Clark turned to face the man who called himself Brainiac. But he wasn't a man, just an intelligence and a replicated body with the darkest cloak billowing with the brutal north winds. The two Kryptonian warriors that had descended with him stood at either flank, postures strong and erect.
Clark stood across, and a far from them all.
He couldn't trust them.
It had been a long week after that day in the caves, the day of the second meteor shower. Within the first hour of the their arrival, the Kryptonian's managed to destroy and tirade through the outskirts of town until finally finding their way to him, Kal-el.
But it wasn't before Lex Luthor met them first.
There was no question that Luthor's intentions were more than despicable and malice. Lex was about to destroy them all, and hurt so many others. And despite all of Clark's abilities, he was powerless to stop him.
And so there lie the inner question that had tortured Clark all week. Was it right now that Lex Luthor was confined to a hospital bed the rest of his life? To be inert, immobile, neutralized as a threat to the human race, to the Kryptonian race...
Was it justice to remove one's enemies?
This world is too small for enemies.
Clark's brows furrowed, scanning the empty white field of ice and snow that surrounded them for miles and miles. "The caves, the journals. They both spoke about a fortress, a part of Krypton that was saved. I've spent years searching for it."
"But you haven't found it."
Clark glanced towards Brainiac, then to the two other Kryptonians standing at a distance, their black armor contrast against the bleak, bright landscape. "No."
A wicked smile curved the computer's lips. "That's because it hasn't been built yet."
Clark turned, his full attention on the man in the long black cloak.
"The programming you've studied in those caves, the journals you've collected and rehearsed, they're all noble and informative on certain subject's Kal-El," Brainiac circled, his eyes gleaming over the steep, jagged mountains in the distance, "But unfortunately, their knowledge is outdated and incomplete."
Clark's blue eyes reflected in the white snow. The air was so clean here, refreshing and pure.
Brainiac turned, "Only a Kryptonian council or archive would have complete and unobstructed Kryptonian knowledge. Fortunately, you have one right here."
Clark frowned."A council?"
"I am the Brain Interactive Construct." He smiled again, black cloak billowing in the wind, " I was sent here to instruct you."
Clark shifted stances. "My father never mentioned a council."
Brainiac's eyes searched, "It is interesting how you refer to a program as your father when you have no memory of your real father at all."
Clark swallowed, eyes falling.
"But this omission can easily be explained through malfunction or perhaps an outdated program. Even as brilliant as your father was, he did not have time to construct an thorough program when Krypton was falling down around him."
"You knew my father?" Clark's eyes lighted with hope.
"I was built by your father's very hands, engineered by his very mind... there's is so much I can teach you that Jor-El's aged programming cannot."
Clark's eyes traced the edges of the man's face, seeing no flaws, no sign that he was a computer of any kind. He looked as human as Clark did, and for some reason that didn't sit right. But he wanted to trust him, to trust all of them. Here, Brainiac was offering the truth, total disclosure to Kryptonian heritage and knowledge. And perhaps a way to see his home again. If Brainiac was created by Jor-El, then he was the most immediate extension of any semblance of his former life on Krypton.
"You're right." Clark's eyes steadied on the blank white slate of the horizon, "I've never met my true father, nor have I ever known another person like me, a Kryptonian."
"Kal-El." Brainiac stepped forward, "I am your council and guide, here to protect you, the last son of Krypton and the heritage of our home world."
Clark searched the computer's eyes, black and deep. They stared back at him without movement, without waver. Unnatural. Unhuman.
Human.
Perhaps that was a flaw of his design. Brainiac knew no humanity, had no humanity. But then again, Clark and the other Kryptonians were never meant to be human. They were never meant to land here.
This world was alien.
"Tell me how to build the Fortress." Clark's clear blue eyes strengthened, "If the prophecies are true, it's the only part of Krypton left."
Brainiac smiled, his hand on Clark's shoulder as the heady north winds beat upon them. "Nothing would please me more than to rebuild our home."
Those words seemed like a promise to Clark, but his hopes felt buried. How far would he have to follow this man, this construct, this machine towards the prophecies of his father? It was like a long, thin thread. So hard to grasp, so hard to untangle.
Everything felt so far away.
Clark watched as Brainiac began walking further north, footsteps disappearing quickly after every white gust.
There was this teetering moment as Clark let the distance build between him and the others, watching as the black figures grew into small grey smudges in the snow. He felt a single boot shuffle forward, and yet the other refusing to follow. There was a great chasm between these next steps he was taking, leading down a path he couldn't see the end of.
Clark strained his eyes to see through the snow, their figures hardly visible now.
He felt his fists tighten, his legs working independently from his mind.
For too long Clark had put off his father's wishes. For too long, Clark had chose to ignore the reason, the logic, choosing to instead live by his own free will, to cling to the thin hope that perhaps he could belong, that it all meant something.
A connection.
But, he was never certain.
And all of those human connections felt very distant to him now, the wind whipping by so fast past his ears that even Clark could not hear over the whispers that urged him to follow.
Maybe it was the feeling of being left behind, the thought of abandoning the promise of hope. Or maybe it was the physical gap that was deepening within every second Clark chose to stay stagnant and still in the snow, the white wash erasing the last connection of Krypton Clark had left.
So he followed them, his boots retracing the remnants of their tracks into whatever distance they carried him. The ever echoing thought that his humanity, and all that was left of his attachments to this world, were unraveling.
*
From a distance, little details tend to fall away from a picture.
There were flashbulbs alternating at every angle, capturing the genuine smile of a young photographer whose single picture made headlines for weeks. Across the room, Jimmy Olsen looked popular, successful, happy.
Since the publication of Jimmy's photos on the Planet's front page, and the wide distribution afterward, the young photographer's popularity grew and then soared.
Jimmy Olsen documented the largest raining of astrological bodies upon Earth. That is, for the second time.
The world began to watch the skies, millions alerted to foreign objects entering their home like an stranger creeping up on their doorstep. It could strike at any moment but instead waited for that unexpected moment, suspended above the clouds and just above their consciousness. It was this danger that drew up excitement from the public, that captured readers and imaginations alike.
And it was Jimmy Olsen's charm that captured the cameras now.
Right now he was swaying on the dance floor in a black tux and tie with his date on his shoulder. A young, pretty girl named Lucy Lane. From far away they looked like a perfect couple. And Jimmy looked happy.
But of course everything looked different from a distance.
Chloe smiled from the balcony outside, eyes jeweled from the warm glow through the patio doors.
"You sure you don't want to go inside?" Oliver asked beside her, looking smart in a black tux of his own. Tonight was a charity gala for that little town three hours away and it was only natural for billionaire Oliver Queen to attend, and not with out a date on his arm.
That date was Chloe.
But she wasn't holding smiles for flashbulbs like the other primped women inside the ballroom. No, Chloe was outside of it all, an airy gaze settled in her hazel eyes, reflecting that warm glow from chandeliers.
Oliver captured her wandering attention when she didn't answer. "Hey," he said as he brushed her arm.
Her satin, deep emerald gown rustled as she shrugged, "I wouldn't know what to say."
"Chloe," Oliver turned to her as the music from the orchestra played, "I brought you here to say goodbye. You might not get that chance ever again."
The idea stung. What if she couldn't say it?
She nodded, her fingers tracing the satin of her matching green clutch. "I don't know how to say goodbye."
The tall, dark blonde struggled to smile, his strong features austere in the shadowy light. But it wasn't his good looks or confidence that captured her attention. It was Oliver Queen, a man who had become a great friend and Allie over the years. Chloe became entangled in the deep chocolate of Oliver's eyes, wondering just how far into them she would find solace, a solution to the tangled mess that had become her life.
But the moment faded with the music, Oliver brushing his hand once more across hers as he walked back inside. Through the double glass doors, the orchestra ended a song, the ballroom applauding.
Ever since she had woken up in that field, everything had changed. Smallville endured yet another catastrophic supernatural disaster. Lex Luthor was confined to a hospital bed, on a respirator the rest of his life. Her best friend and partner, Jimmy Olsen, was a world renown photographer for the leading newspaper in the world.
And who was Chloe Sullivan? A girl dreaming in a corn field with no accolades nor memory of the past three days. In fact, the last thing she could remember was being in a different field, wheat as she recalled, and other strange things; like a foreign voice whispering in her ear, blue cerulean eyes and the distinct feeling of being carried away.
Perhaps that's how she came to that field.
She was in a dream, and when she had woken, it felt like climbing out of an eternity.She might still be dreaming out there if it wasn't for the bright barking of a dog that finally stirred her.
But she could still be dreaming. Her body felt light, like she wasn't inside of it at all.
That waning feeling passing through her many times when she tried to remember... slowly, she was waking up. Slowly, waking to reality.
Lightning flashed behind her in the dark sky of the evening.
She took a deep breath.
She'd came here to say goodbye, so she might as well do it now.
*
Even through the veil of night, flashes of lightning illuminated overcast clouds like a dim firelight through a canvas screen.
The blur from the arctic to Metropolis seemed shorter than others, Clark brushing off caked snow from his jacket after he leaping onto a nearby rooftop.
He had followed Brainiac's instruction. He needed to find the last crystal to build the Fortress. He needed to speak to his father. He needed to know there was hope.
Clark felt a wind brush past, cold from the north.
It was Brainiac.
"Remember what I've told you, Kal-El."
Clark let the monotone voice resonate in his ears.
"Humans have betrayed you in the past, and will continue to do so in the future. You must let go of them."
Clark frowned, "I've spent my whole life here. My whole life protecting humans as my human parents protected me."
"The time has come to say goodbye to that life." Brainiac nodded towards the warm glow of downtown, where the city buzzed with activity, "Clark Kent belongs in the past with this world. But you, Kal-El, are meant for greater things in greater world."
Clark frowned deeper, dark curls whipping past his eyes.
Lightning struck again, and then rain.
Thick drops slid down his jacket and then to his hands.
Brainiac's hand moved to point in the distance. "The last crystal is there."
Clark followed the line of sight, eyes strained. "You've known where it was this entire time?"
"No."
Clark looked at him.
"You have, Kal-El." Brainiac smiled, "I've only downloaded your thoughts to remind you where."
*
"I'm glad you could make it." Jimmy twirled them on the floor, the orchestra playing an old skylark song on the strings.
The ballroom was rich and glamorous, all of the charity night's events funded by the city's most wealthy benefactors.
"Well, when I heard my best friend was nominated for a Pulitzer I figured a 'congratulations' on a postcard wouldn't be enough." Chloe smiled from his shoulder.
"Postcard?" Jimmy looked at the back of her hair. It was pulled up away from her face, tucked in by a emerald beret. A gift her date had given her.
She hugged him tighter across his shoulders. "I'm going away for a while, Jimmy."
"What?"
They stopped dancing, the crowd moving without them to the slow strings and sad, muted trumpet.
"I need a break. From work, from Metropolis. Everything."
Chloe tried to start them moving again, but Jimmy didn't budge.
"A break." He eyed her skeptically. "This has to do with what happened to you, doesn't it?"
She buried her head back into his shoulder.
Jimmy's feet started again, leading them back into the sway of the dance.
"I'm your best friend, Chloe. You should be able to tell me anything."
Her body tensed.
Jimmy was right. Best friends were supposed to tell all, not hide from each other like she had all those years. Jimmy had told her everything after all. Even about the strange black armored soldiers that had tried to kill him, the woman who had put Sheriff Adams in a hospital bed with a broken leg. He told her about how he saved them with a piece of meteor rock.
But Chloe couldn't tell Jimmy about any of what had happened on her end. How could she? It would be dragging up years of lies and cover ups that would definitely need more time for explanation than she had.
"How long will you be gone?" Jimmy asked, his arms feeling limp around her waist.
"As long as it takes." She answered truthfully.
She felt him lift his hand to her cheek, forcing her to look him in the face. She was right before, about how things look differently from far away. Before, when she was outside looking in, she could have sworn Jimmy Olsen looked happier. Now, up close, where she could see the lean creases of his eyes left by undecided mourning, she could see Jimmy more clearly.
His eyes weren't of a happy man.
"Chloe, you can't leave now." he touched her cheek again, "Who will help me uncover this story? There were black choppers out there like this meteor shower was the next Roswell. It's practically screaming government cover up."
She knew how frustrated Jimmy was about not being about to write the entire story of that day. But if there was anything to say about journalistic integrity,Jimmy Olsen didn't bend. Considering he nor Sheriff Adams had physical proof, he needed to investigate a little harder before he told the whole world about the oddities of that day.
Jimmy even went as far as to recall a woman emerging from the water of the crippled Reeves Dam who then used some sort of technology to evaporate the immense body of water that threaten to crash down, and in turn save the entire county.
It was all a little too illustrative for even Chloe to take in, until he described the woman.
Blue eyes.
A silver bracelet.
She remembered.
The pensive gaze disappeared from Chloe's eyes as she smiled, "I'm sure you'll be just fine, Jimmy. Besides, there's always Lois to help you sleuth around."
He laughed then, the thin creases lining his expression."That's funny, Chloe."
They both looked over to the table where Lois and Lucy were seated. Chloe recognized the man whispering in her cousin's brunette ear. A marine biologist she met once by the name of Arthur Curry.
They watched Lois giggle, not a often occurrence, after Curry whispered in her ear.
Lucy smiled and waved enthusiastically.
Jimmy waved back.
Chloe looked over them all. "You'll take care of them, right?"
He blinked, his arms tightening around her. "Of course. I took care of you all these years, didn't I?"
She smiled against his shoulder. Bittersweet taste, beginning of an end. But as Jimmy turned them once again, Chloe thought she saw him.
Blue eyes.
Dark hair.
On the balcony.
When she spun back around, he was gone.
Frantically, she stole glances as Jimmy weaved them through the crowd, but found nothing.
The orchestra played on as the floor moved lazily.
"Whatever happened to you, or happens later on," Jimmy said against her ear, "whatever you think that's changed..."
Looking up from his shoulder, she found Jimmy, a different Jimmy.
"Nothing will change who you are. You'll always be a reporter, working at the Daily Planet. This isn't goodbye."
"This is never saying goodbye, Jimmy." Chloe smiled against his cheek, whispering words that made Jimmy grip on her waist firmer, his head burrowed deeper against her hair as their feet followed through premeditated steps, within time of the slow playing orchestra.
But no matter how light their feet swayed, Chloe's thoughts were spent on the dark shadows and dark features that lingered as a ghost outside windows.
*
Gold.
Glamour.
Wealth.
All of this wrapped around a extravagant gathering that single men like Oliver Queen funded with money that never meant more to them than objects of bartering.
He sat in the the dark corner of the ballroom, a dark liquid swirling in his stunted glass.
Typically, there wasn't anything you could do to change a stubborn man like Oliver Queen. There wasn't anything or anyone that he needed to please or impress. A man of billions and a reputation soured in gossip rags, Oliver Queen had nothing to prove, no reason to bend his ways, no inspiration to climb off his privileged pedestal.
That is, before he met Chloe Sullivan. The girl who figured out his alter ego after the very first day, and yet, never revealed it in her tiny column in the widely read newspaper she worked for. The girl had snap, smarts and a very dangerous curiosity that often led her into predicaments that the Green Arrow had to swoop in and save her from. Not that Chloe was the damsel in distress type, but she did find a way into trouble.
Even recently after the meteor shower, she'd gone missing for days. It took Oliver hours of satellite surveying to find her. But he did. He found her. And this time when he swooped in and saved her, she'd broken their rule, their "MO", and asked for a favor.
Not just help from Green Arrow, but help from him.
Oliver Queen didn't help anyone, he was a party animal, a scoundrel.
But starting tonight, he would break it all. He wasn't there in a green leather suit and bow. He was in a tux and bowtie, scratching his head as to why it mattered so much.
Why helping her mattered so much.
Because through all the years of that loyalty and professionalism, Oliver could see the potential.
The friend.
She was a friend that needed help.
Oliver spied over the rim of his glass, watching as Chloe swayed on Jimmy's shoulder.
"That's her?" A gruff voice spoke beside him.
"Yeah, that's her." Oliver sipped from his drink, glancing at the dark gentleman in a sleek black suit.
"She's pretty. Not really you're type, but pretty."
"You know that's not why I called you here." Oliver answered testily.
The man grimaced, liquor sliding down his throat where his stubble grew over a jagged old scar on his jaw. "Then why did you call me here? You know I'm a busy guy."
Oliver pulled a slip of paper from his breast pocket.
It exchanged hands.
"I need to know if you're in or out. Right now."
The dark man read it and then smiled. "Oliver, we've known each other for years. When have I ever let you down?"
"Never, Bruce. That's why I'm trusting you now."
He smiled. "You know what I noticed? Every billionaire on the continent is here tonight. Just look at the room. Have you ever seen a stuffier crowd?"
Oliver looked around.
Bruce lifted his brow at his glass. "But there's just one rich spoiled brat that's missing." He looked at Oliver."How did Lex Luthor end up on that respirator?"
"Don't look at me." Oliver stared back, "I had nothing to do with it."
"Really." Bruce chuckled and then jabbed. "I remember the day when Oliver Queen would have loved to see Lex Luthor taking his last breaths from a tiny plastic tube. Has that day passed?"
"There's a lot of men who want to see Lex dead." Oliver's shoulders slumped, elbows propped against the bar. "Yourself included."
"This is true. Except I only know two men who actually have the means to do it. And we're both looking at one."
Oliver turned to him.
Bruce looked back. "Tell me this girl isn't wrapped around Lex Luthor."
Oliver turned back to Chloe across the room.
Bruce shook his head, "This whole situation is a ticking time bomb. The moment that bald bastard dies, the district attorney, who we both know has been accepting bribes from Luthor, will be asking questions and making the answers up along the way."
Oliver steadied. "Chloe Sullivan would never kill a man."
"But the Luthor controlled media will burn her at the stake, and you know it."
"Why do you think she agreed to this?"
"Did she agree, or did you heavily suggest it?"
Oliver's expression soured.
The darker haired man smirked, patting Oliver's shoulders as he got up and walked away disappearing without a goodbye or any word of his departure. Born from the grim wealth in Gotham, Bruce Wayne never was much for manners.
Oliver sighed, sipping the last of his drink before he stood. Liquor didn't even taste good anymore. Perhaps signs of his age, the last of his reckless partying days long gone. The guy in the green suit had slowly infiltrated the hours of Oliver's daydream, and the nightmares of his nights. Soon, there would only be the Green Arrow.
The world didn't need another rich boy, an Oliver Queen.
And as he watched his date move slowly to the music on someone else's shoulder,
Oliver rethought over his decisions. Maybe this wasn't the best way. Maybe she didn't have to say goodbye. But right now, this was the only way he could watch over her. Protect her. Because if Lex Luthor ever woke up, she'd be dead.
"We need to talk."
Oliver huffed, not knowing the last time his friend to ever return so soon. "I thought you'd be in Gotham by now, flapping around in that awful bat suit." He snided, turning around.
But it wasn't Bruce.
It was Clark Kent.
"Clark." Oliver said, surprised. When he had told the guy they needed to talk about their mutual fair friend, he didn't think he'd turn up here of all place. Oliver could have sworn the only clothes Clark Kent owned were rumpled blue suits and that same miserable tie.
"Clark, what are you doing here?"
Clark's voice was dangerously still. "What do you know about Veritas?"
Oliver glanced around. "I know enough to know that its a secret organization whose name isn't leaked out to the public." He briskly walked over to the corner of the ballroom and Clark followed. ''What do you know about it?"
"I know that the Queen family belongs to it. Right alongside the Luthors ."
"Wait, before you start getting any ideas--"
"You've been working along side Lex all this time!"
"Clark," Oliver dragged him aside. "My parents were the ones caught up in Veritas. In fact, they died because of it. Lionel Luthor was the man who murdered them."
Clark studied the other man. When Brainiac told him the last crystal of knowledge was there in Metropolis, his first thought was Oliver Queen. The last peg in maze that spelled Veritas.
But as he looked into Oliver's honest, out front eyes, he didn't see an enemy.
Clark saw a friend, through all these years.
"After I found out my family was murdered I only investigated from there. My family has a lot of buried secrets in its past, secrets I'm not entirely proud of." Oliver glanced around. "The question is, how do you know about Veritas?"
"Lex Luthor."
The tall blonde narrowed his eyes. "You were the last person to see him conscious."
Clark nodded. "Yes. But I wasn't the one who paralyzed him."
"Then why are you protecting who did?" Oliver countered, voice rising in suspicion.
Clark said nothing.
Oliver slowly nodded, accepting the subtle shut off not gone without notice. "With all these secrets, only gossip and speculation are left to corrupt eager ears. And now that Lex is impenging on death, guess who's the number one suspect?"
Clark frowned.
Oliver's eyes traveled across the room.
Clark's followed.
He whipped back around, angry.
"Chloe would never--"
"I know she wouldn't." The dark brown spheres of Oliver's eyes dangerous. "But we both know she knows more than what she's letting on. Chloe may have been M.I.A., but her memory isn't."
"What makes you say that?"
"Chloe came to me for help. Specifically, she came to my physicist, Emil Hamilton, for answers."
Clark frowned. "Answers about what?"
*
There he was again. By the bar, with Oliver.
Chloe blinked repeatedly, telling herself that he was real. That he was standing just over there, and as her body yearned to cross the room towards him, Jimmy was pulling her away.
"Something wrong?"
She looked up from his shoulder, shaking her head. "No, it's just. He's here."
Jimmy followed her eyes and frowned. "Who?"
She blinked, realizing he was gone.
"Chloe."
His voice.
His hand, it was on her shoulder.
Warm and...
She turned, and then it was his face.
His eyes.
She stopped dancing.
Or maybe the music stopped first, because there was a pool of dark blue uniforms growing within the ballroom, bronze shields on their left breast.
The crowd parted like a sea as the MPD marched through the canal of bodies that led straight to Chloe.
Jimmy held onto her. "What's going on?"
Lois and Lucy stood up from their table.
A dark haired woman with a unbreakable face approached Chloe, a badge in hand.
Chloe recognized her from her pictures. Detective Maggie Sawyer was a impenetrable force in the justice system of Metropolis.
"Chloe Sullivan," Det. Sawyer clasped the first handcuff on Chloe's wrist, "I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Alexander Luthor."
The room gasped.
Oliver appeared behind her, "Wait a second." He looked to Clark, then back to the officer. "On what grounds?"
Det. Sawyer eyed him. "Questions you should ask a lawyer, Mr. Queen."
Sawyer zipped the second cuff.
"What is this?" Oliver stepped between them, "You of all people, Sawyer, I can't believe you would take orders from a corrupt system! You know she's innocent!"
"I've just come from Met Gen at the foot of Lex Luthor's deathbed." Sawyer challenged, displaying the warrant for all to see, "For all I know, the girl belongs in a institution with the rest of the freaks I've locked up. I've got good hard evidence of meteor infected gene mutations from the DNA's she left behind at the crime scene. DNA so strange it barely resembles anything human."
Murmurs traveled across the floor.
Chloe shrank back into Jimmy's arms.
Oliver darted his eyes to the side, making contact with Clark's before switching back to the detective's solid glare. He stepped forward, shielding Chloe's body with his. "What, vicious fabrications to draw up probable cause? This is low, especially coming for you Detective."
Sawyer raised her voice testily, "Get out of my way, or I will hold you for obstruction of justice."
Oliver smiled sourly, "This isn't justice."
Chloe felt Clark's hand on her again, she didn't want to look up.
"For all you know Detective," Oliver lent, "I killed Lex Luthor."
Sawyer smiled bitterly. "Is that a confession?"
"Questions you should ask my lawyer." Oliver retorted.
The detective slit her eyes, pushing his towering body aside to arrest...
"Where is she?" Sawyer spun around.
Oliver hid a smile, looking over to Jimmy who looked over to him.
Chloe was gone.
And so was Clark.
*
chapter fifteen
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