Chlark Fanfic: Crisis, Chapter 42/Epilogue
Hi, All!
So, we’re finally at the end of the first half of this intriguing story, after which I will take a fairly long break to focus on several real-life commitments (and also review the story from the beginning so that I can properly map out the second part).
To everyone that’s read and enjoyed it since I first started this fic three years ago (ack!), I want to say a huge, huge Thank You for the wonderful way you’ve supported me in this journey, especially with such a sensitive subject matter. Rest assured that I have every intention of completing this work, and I really hope I can return to it sooner rather than later (I have to, because I, er…may have left it on a wee bit of a cliffie, so…!) *ducks whizzing shoes* :-P
…but enough of that. Ladies & Gents, I give you the last little bit of Crisis…for now.
Enjoy! And feedback is much loved and most appreciated. :-)
Title: CrisisAuthor: BabyDee1
Pairing: Chlark/Kaloe
Rating: NC-17 for disturbing themes
Warnings: ***Angst***
Timeline: Season 2-3 (Exodus - Exile; Clark’s RedK Summer & beyond)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the CW & DC comics
Summary: A violent encounter between Chloe and Clark threatens to destroy their friendship forever.
Feedback: …would be appreciated. :)
Read previous chapter here.
Read story from the beginning here.
Chapter 42/Epilogue
Lionel banged the phone down in disgust.
Stupid doctor. He clearly wasn’t familiar with the business acumen of receiving expensive grants from wealthy benefactors. Shut up, take the money, do what’s asked and keep one’s nose out of the finer details.
Instead, he’d had the door slammed in his face, figuratively speaking, by the not-so-wise Dr Weismann.
Lionel growled and clenched his hands into fists. How he’d love to make the doctor’s life a misery after this. The man deserved to pay for his insolence. Unfortunately, the risk of his incriminating phone call going public was too great, and he had other things to worry about that getting revenge on the stupid man. He made a note to himself not to do business with anyone of consequence at Smallville Medical Centre. Even their doctors were hicks.
Speaking of doctors…he pressed a hand over his midsection where the biopsy scar was still healing. His own medical team were yet to give him the final prognosis on the last set of tests on his liver, but he knew deep down that the results would be the same; he was dying.
His only hope of survival with any quality of life lay possibly with the erstwhile Clark Kent; but that was only if the boy’s origins were as he suspected. He needed more information. But how to get it?
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers as he thought. His one contact at Smallville Medical Centre had been unable to locate the Kent boy’s file. So far, he had only been useful in informing him of the comings and goings of any member of the Kent family. So either the file was very well protected, or it didn’t exist. He could always resort to kidnapping Clark to get the answers he needed, but the young man seemed to have made a habit of wriggling out of trouble. Besides, he didn’t want to lay a trail of violence that could inadvertently lead back to himself or Luthorcorp. And as the days went by and his condition worsened, he found himself making tactical errors and slipping up on occasion - like today.
But he had to get to that file. When Jonathan Kent had approached him all those years ago with his under-the-table adoption request, Lionel hadn’t really considered that the child they were seeking to adopt might be the person he had flown to Smallville to meet; he’d been expecting a fully grown man, not a wide-eyed toddler. He’d assisted Jonathan, but only to get a foothold in the town, knowing that he could dangle the threat of the man losing his son to get him to do anything he wanted.
But in recent years, young Clark had formed a close friendship with Lex, and it now occurred to Lionel that straight-laced Jonathan Kent would never have asked for his assistance; not unless he had something to hide. And an alien child would definitely explain why he hadn’t gone through the proper channels to adopt the boy. The Kent family was hiding some very big secrets, and he was anxious to get his hands on them…but how?
His brow furrowed. Hmm…maybe if he put the squeeze on the Sullivan girl again or her father, he might be able to glean a few grains of information. His last communication with her hadn’t yielded any fruit; in fact, it had reduced the Sullivans to a very desperate situation. And desperate people could be very…accommodating.
So he’d try again. It was a long shot, but it was well worth a try.
Smiling, he pressed the intercom on his desk.
“Withers, fetch me Gabriel Sullivan’s personnel file, and get him on the phone,” he barked. Assuming the man still had a phone. It was probably a luxury at this point.
A few moments later, Withers crept into his office, looking highly distressed.
“Um…sir?” he began hesitantly, “Gabe Sullivan’s file is no longer record.”
***
Lionel blinked and sat forward. “Excuse me?”
“According to Personnel, it’s been moved to archives,” Withers replied. “From what I understand, sir, he’s gotten a new job and moved out of state.”
“What?” Lionel rasped. “When was this?”
“I’m not sure…last week, I think?”
“Where has he gone?”
Withers frowned. “Minnesota…or was it Wisconsin? Somewhere up north, close to Canada.”
“I see. And who gave permission to move his file to archives?”
Withers shrank back. “It’s standard procedure for all employees who’ve been out of our employ for three months or more, sir.”
“Well send down to archives for it!” he growled.
Withers gulped. “Uh…well, Sir…I-I’m afraid we just had a storage clear-out to Iron Mountain,” he said timidly.
Lionel barely managed to control his rage at this turn of events. It would take months; years even, to dig the one file out of their off-site storage facility…assuming Gabe Sullivan’s file even made it to Iron Mountain.
“Who authorised the move?” Lionel demanded.
“Your son, sir.”
As he’d suspected. For whatever reason, Lex seemed bent on frustrating all his efforts to connect with the Kent boy.
Traitor. He would deal with Lex later.
I see, he said tightly. “And what of Sullivan’s loathsome child?”
“His child?” Withers echoed.
“A girl; meddlesome brat with bleached hair that sometimes skulks around the premises looking for information,” Lionel explained irritably. “Has she gone with him?”
“I would assume so, sir.”
Lionel thought hard. The last time he’d pushed for information, he’d gone through the girl; maybe if he spoke to Sullivan directly and offered the man his job back with a super bumper salary and a substantial bonus to cover the relocation costs, he could force young Miss Sullivan’s hand. An unlikely plan, but it just might work.
“Do we have any way of contacting him directly?” he asked urgently. “A company phone number, or email address…?”
“Er…no, sir. Mr Sullivan has been out of our employ for several months now, and the details we have - had - are almost definitely obsolete.”
“And no-one thought to maintain contact with him for future reference?” he yelled, enraged.
Withers shook his head and stared at the ground. “I’m sorry, sir.”
So he was back to nothing. Lionel’s jaw tightened, followed by his fist, and he waved the aptly-named Withers away without a word, glaring as the man slunk silently away.
Once he was gone, Lionel tapped table with nervous fingers, thinking hard. He needed information on the Kent boy, and he needed it soon, before the pain became unbearable.
One by one he ran through all the options in his mind, filtering them until the obvious answer suddenly came to him.
Of course.
“Withers?” he barked, scribbling fiercely on a piece of paper.
The hapless man appeared again. “Sir?”
“Dial this number,” he said curtly. “Patch it directly through to me as soon as you’re connected.”
He took the proffered note and nodded. “Certainly, sir.”
***
Epilogue
Lionel leaned back and drummed his fingers patiently on the desk as he waited; seconds later, the dial on his phone lit up as the call was transferred.
“Who is this?” a gravelly voice roughly queried.
“Oh, come now,” Lionel chuckled as he picked up the phone. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
There was silence on the line for several seconds. Then: “What do you want, Lionel?”
“I think you know,” he replied smoothly. “After all, you stole it from me.”
More silence. Then: “I no longer have it.”
“Then it would be in your best interest to get it,” Lionel said in clipped, precise tones. “Old friends we may be, but I will not hesitate to extend to you the same treatment I offer everyone else who dares to cross me.”
“Come on, Lionel,” the other man pleaded. “We had a deal-”
“Indeed we did,” Lionel said briskly. “And your period of grace has gone on for far too long, Morgan. I’m simply calling time on it.”
Morgan Edge took a deep breath. “How soon do you need it?” he finally asked.
Lionel smirked. Not that was more like it.
“Have it on my desk by this time tomorrow,” he drawled. “And believe me, that’s more than generous. My business with the item is of a somewhat…pressing nature.”
“Then you’ll have it in twenty-four hours,” Edge growled.
Lionel smiled and heaved a sigh of relief. Where there was a will, there was a way…and he had a very, very strong will. There was hope for him yet.
“Excellent,” he replied. “I’ll be waiting.”
***
The End (…for now).
Coming soon Edited 09.10.16: OUT NOW: the beginning of Crisis II - The Healing
(banner by ellashy)
(…and don’t worry - it’ll pick up exactly where this one left off!)
PS: Thanks so much for all the love and supporting comments on the journey so far, everyone - I couldn’t have made it thus far without y’all! *group-smish* :-)
***
So, we’re finally at the end of the first half of this intriguing story, after which I will take a fairly long break to focus on several real-life commitments (and also review the story from the beginning so that I can properly map out the second part).
To everyone that’s read and enjoyed it since I first started this fic three years ago (ack!), I want to say a huge, huge Thank You for the wonderful way you’ve supported me in this journey, especially with such a sensitive subject matter. Rest assured that I have every intention of completing this work, and I really hope I can return to it sooner rather than later (I have to, because I, er…may have left it on a wee bit of a cliffie, so…!) *ducks whizzing shoes* :-P
…but enough of that. Ladies & Gents, I give you the last little bit of Crisis…for now.
Enjoy! And feedback is much loved and most appreciated. :-)
Title: CrisisAuthor: BabyDee1
Pairing: Chlark/Kaloe
Rating: NC-17 for disturbing themes
Warnings: ***Angst***
Timeline: Season 2-3 (Exodus - Exile; Clark’s RedK Summer & beyond)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the CW & DC comics
Summary: A violent encounter between Chloe and Clark threatens to destroy their friendship forever.
Feedback: …would be appreciated. :)
Read previous chapter here.
Read story from the beginning here.
Chapter 42/Epilogue
Lionel banged the phone down in disgust.
Stupid doctor. He clearly wasn’t familiar with the business acumen of receiving expensive grants from wealthy benefactors. Shut up, take the money, do what’s asked and keep one’s nose out of the finer details.
Instead, he’d had the door slammed in his face, figuratively speaking, by the not-so-wise Dr Weismann.
Lionel growled and clenched his hands into fists. How he’d love to make the doctor’s life a misery after this. The man deserved to pay for his insolence. Unfortunately, the risk of his incriminating phone call going public was too great, and he had other things to worry about that getting revenge on the stupid man. He made a note to himself not to do business with anyone of consequence at Smallville Medical Centre. Even their doctors were hicks.
Speaking of doctors…he pressed a hand over his midsection where the biopsy scar was still healing. His own medical team were yet to give him the final prognosis on the last set of tests on his liver, but he knew deep down that the results would be the same; he was dying.
His only hope of survival with any quality of life lay possibly with the erstwhile Clark Kent; but that was only if the boy’s origins were as he suspected. He needed more information. But how to get it?
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers as he thought. His one contact at Smallville Medical Centre had been unable to locate the Kent boy’s file. So far, he had only been useful in informing him of the comings and goings of any member of the Kent family. So either the file was very well protected, or it didn’t exist. He could always resort to kidnapping Clark to get the answers he needed, but the young man seemed to have made a habit of wriggling out of trouble. Besides, he didn’t want to lay a trail of violence that could inadvertently lead back to himself or Luthorcorp. And as the days went by and his condition worsened, he found himself making tactical errors and slipping up on occasion - like today.
But he had to get to that file. When Jonathan Kent had approached him all those years ago with his under-the-table adoption request, Lionel hadn’t really considered that the child they were seeking to adopt might be the person he had flown to Smallville to meet; he’d been expecting a fully grown man, not a wide-eyed toddler. He’d assisted Jonathan, but only to get a foothold in the town, knowing that he could dangle the threat of the man losing his son to get him to do anything he wanted.
But in recent years, young Clark had formed a close friendship with Lex, and it now occurred to Lionel that straight-laced Jonathan Kent would never have asked for his assistance; not unless he had something to hide. And an alien child would definitely explain why he hadn’t gone through the proper channels to adopt the boy. The Kent family was hiding some very big secrets, and he was anxious to get his hands on them…but how?
His brow furrowed. Hmm…maybe if he put the squeeze on the Sullivan girl again or her father, he might be able to glean a few grains of information. His last communication with her hadn’t yielded any fruit; in fact, it had reduced the Sullivans to a very desperate situation. And desperate people could be very…accommodating.
So he’d try again. It was a long shot, but it was well worth a try.
Smiling, he pressed the intercom on his desk.
“Withers, fetch me Gabriel Sullivan’s personnel file, and get him on the phone,” he barked. Assuming the man still had a phone. It was probably a luxury at this point.
A few moments later, Withers crept into his office, looking highly distressed.
“Um…sir?” he began hesitantly, “Gabe Sullivan’s file is no longer record.”
***
Lionel blinked and sat forward. “Excuse me?”
“According to Personnel, it’s been moved to archives,” Withers replied. “From what I understand, sir, he’s gotten a new job and moved out of state.”
“What?” Lionel rasped. “When was this?”
“I’m not sure…last week, I think?”
“Where has he gone?”
Withers frowned. “Minnesota…or was it Wisconsin? Somewhere up north, close to Canada.”
“I see. And who gave permission to move his file to archives?”
Withers shrank back. “It’s standard procedure for all employees who’ve been out of our employ for three months or more, sir.”
“Well send down to archives for it!” he growled.
Withers gulped. “Uh…well, Sir…I-I’m afraid we just had a storage clear-out to Iron Mountain,” he said timidly.
Lionel barely managed to control his rage at this turn of events. It would take months; years even, to dig the one file out of their off-site storage facility…assuming Gabe Sullivan’s file even made it to Iron Mountain.
“Who authorised the move?” Lionel demanded.
“Your son, sir.”
As he’d suspected. For whatever reason, Lex seemed bent on frustrating all his efforts to connect with the Kent boy.
Traitor. He would deal with Lex later.
I see, he said tightly. “And what of Sullivan’s loathsome child?”
“His child?” Withers echoed.
“A girl; meddlesome brat with bleached hair that sometimes skulks around the premises looking for information,” Lionel explained irritably. “Has she gone with him?”
“I would assume so, sir.”
Lionel thought hard. The last time he’d pushed for information, he’d gone through the girl; maybe if he spoke to Sullivan directly and offered the man his job back with a super bumper salary and a substantial bonus to cover the relocation costs, he could force young Miss Sullivan’s hand. An unlikely plan, but it just might work.
“Do we have any way of contacting him directly?” he asked urgently. “A company phone number, or email address…?”
“Er…no, sir. Mr Sullivan has been out of our employ for several months now, and the details we have - had - are almost definitely obsolete.”
“And no-one thought to maintain contact with him for future reference?” he yelled, enraged.
Withers shook his head and stared at the ground. “I’m sorry, sir.”
So he was back to nothing. Lionel’s jaw tightened, followed by his fist, and he waved the aptly-named Withers away without a word, glaring as the man slunk silently away.
Once he was gone, Lionel tapped table with nervous fingers, thinking hard. He needed information on the Kent boy, and he needed it soon, before the pain became unbearable.
One by one he ran through all the options in his mind, filtering them until the obvious answer suddenly came to him.
Of course.
“Withers?” he barked, scribbling fiercely on a piece of paper.
The hapless man appeared again. “Sir?”
“Dial this number,” he said curtly. “Patch it directly through to me as soon as you’re connected.”
He took the proffered note and nodded. “Certainly, sir.”
***
Epilogue
Lionel leaned back and drummed his fingers patiently on the desk as he waited; seconds later, the dial on his phone lit up as the call was transferred.
“Who is this?” a gravelly voice roughly queried.
“Oh, come now,” Lionel chuckled as he picked up the phone. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
There was silence on the line for several seconds. Then: “What do you want, Lionel?”
“I think you know,” he replied smoothly. “After all, you stole it from me.”
More silence. Then: “I no longer have it.”
“Then it would be in your best interest to get it,” Lionel said in clipped, precise tones. “Old friends we may be, but I will not hesitate to extend to you the same treatment I offer everyone else who dares to cross me.”
“Come on, Lionel,” the other man pleaded. “We had a deal-”
“Indeed we did,” Lionel said briskly. “And your period of grace has gone on for far too long, Morgan. I’m simply calling time on it.”
Morgan Edge took a deep breath. “How soon do you need it?” he finally asked.
Lionel smirked. Not that was more like it.
“Have it on my desk by this time tomorrow,” he drawled. “And believe me, that’s more than generous. My business with the item is of a somewhat…pressing nature.”
“Then you’ll have it in twenty-four hours,” Edge growled.
Lionel smiled and heaved a sigh of relief. Where there was a will, there was a way…and he had a very, very strong will. There was hope for him yet.
“Excellent,” he replied. “I’ll be waiting.”
***
The End (…for now).
Coming soon Edited 09.10.16: OUT NOW: the beginning of Crisis II - The Healing
(banner by ellashy)
(…and don’t worry - it’ll pick up exactly where this one left off!)
PS: Thanks so much for all the love and supporting comments on the journey so far, everyone - I couldn’t have made it thus far without y’all! *group-smish* :-)
***