Decade - Prologue, 3 of 3
Title: Decade
Author: FlyingHigh / latetothpartyhp
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama / Adventure
Pairings: Chloe/Clark, Tess/Oliver
Spoilers: through Salvation, and selectively from Lazarus
Warnings: Because of when this fic starts there will be some collateral Clois and Chlollie to begin with. There was also be strong language, some violence and some mentions of sexuality. Please be sure to check individual chapters for ratings and warning changes.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I am receiving no money for this story. I also make no claim to anything written by T.S. Eliot, Emily Dickinson or William Shakespeare.
Summary: The last ten years have all led up to this.
Author's Note: This fic was written for selene2 , who won the bid for my services in the legendary_women auction - I hope you enjoy it! Many, many thanks to iluvaqt for beta-reading this.
Prologue Part 1 / Prologue Part 2 / Prologue Part 3
Reunion 1.0 / Reunion 1.1 / Reunion 1.2 / Reunion 1.3
-------------------------------------------------------------
TURPIN
“... forty-three interceptions thrown -- “
“You keep saying that.”
“It deserves notation. Forty-three interceptions in a single game. Nobody has thrown that many in a game since 1962. Nobody. Not even Farve, and he’s thrown what, 324 over his career now?”
“328.”
“Well, give Hammer a couple of years, he’ll have him beat.”
“I think you’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”
“No, that’s the problem. Nobody is making a big deal of this. It’s like nobody cares anymore. Not the fans, not the coaching staff, not the ownership. And that’s where it starts. Right there: if ownership isn’t willing to make the changes that need to be made, we won’t need two years to break Favre’s record. There’s no accountability anymore.”
“You’re talking like there was accountability before.”
“There was! Before the old man died, something like this would happen and Hammer’d be benched. End of story! Now we just come out of a press conference and all Childress can say is the guy had a bad game! Somebody from LuthorCorp needs to step forward and say, ‘This is kind of performance is unacceptable from the third-highest paid quarter-- “
The passenger door opened opened and Harper slid in, bringing the coffee and a whole lot of wet with him. “Tough time to be a Sharks fan,” he said.
“Remind me what the Chiefs’ record was finishing 2008? 2 and 14, wasn’t it?”
Harper grinned. “That’s why you have my sincerest sympathy, kid. I know where you’ve been. It gets better. We’re 6 and 2 so far this season.”
“Yeah, that won’t last. You get any cream or sugar?”
“Nah, you’re better off drinking it black. Put hair on that chest. When was the last time the Sharks even made wildcard?”
“2007.”
“Exactly, so don’t get snotty. Ah...” Harper sighed. “That’s the good stuff.”
“Are you serious?”
“You got used to drinking that $3 a cup yuppie crap Turpin, that’s your problem.”
“You get what you pay for.”
“Quarterbacks too?”
He shook his head. Hammer was a joke, everyone knew it, but he hadn’t always been. Everyone had boggled the year he was a drafted, wondering what the hell the Sharks were thinking using up a first-round pick on a QB from Washington State, but he’d had a spectacular rookie season. That’d been the year before the older Luthor died. Hammer’s fortunes seemed to go out the window with the late owner, though, and the Sharks’ with him.
“You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I think they’re right. It’s not like it used to be. The team was better off with Luthor Sr. at the helm.”
“No, they’re wrong. Nothing was better off with Lionel Luthor in charge, trust me.”
“You got something personal against him?”
“You know he grew up in Suicide Slums, right? Just like I did. Little older than me, but people’ll repeat some stories ‘til they’re dead, and there were a lot of stories about Lionel Luthor ‘round the neighborhood when I was growing up. Then he makes his first million or so and suddenly the people telling those stories aren’t around to talk about him anymore. He did the world a favor killing himself.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Harper’d never said anything about the IAB inquiry, but he had to know about it. Everyone did. It was just not everyone felt the same about it. “So, you think it’s a good thing he’s dead?” he asked.
Harper glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Let’s just say sometimes things work out the way they’re supposed to.”
“And when they don’t?”
Harper glanced at him again, took a sip of his coffee. “That’s what we’re here for. Speaking of which, are we gonna keep the peace tonight or are we gonna sit here flappin’ our gums?”
“Yeah, we should get going.” He turned the wiper speed up and threw the car into reverse. It had been a slow night, a few domestics but not much else. Weather like this made it miserable for anyone who had to make their living on the streets. He shifted into first and hit the indicator. They were pulling out.
As he wrote later in his report, the rain was thick and visibility bad. It was also possible the girl had some metahuman capabilities, because, as his partner James Harper would attest, she had not been on the street the second before their squad car came within inches of running into her.
-----------------------------------------
The girl freaked him out. She sat still as a statue in the back of the car, but from her lack of reaction she could have been anywhere: at church, the park, her own living room. Nor did she ask any questions, demand to see her lawyer or blow raspberries at Harper and him, and she’d gotten in the car quietly once Harper told her she had to. She sure as heck wasn’t acting the way most people did when they were dragged down the station. Harper dealt with the whole situation as he regularly ran down mute, I.D.-free zombie chicks in the course of his day, and who knew, maybe he had once upon a time, but he, Dan Turpin, on the other hand was officially weirded out.
“They’re gonna need to run a tox screen on this one,” he said, apropos of nothing.
“What? Oh, on her?” Harper indicated the woman in the back seat. “Probably, but I don’t think they’re gonna find anything.”
“You think she’s just crazy?”
Harper hesitated. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Harp, I’m not a doctor, but this girl has issues. She’s either high or she’s nuts or she’s both. I mean, look at her. She’s just ... staring.”
“Yeah. I guess so,” Harper answered.
He stole a glance at Harper and saw the other man looked a little worried, so maybe he was finally starting to freak out a little too.
“I know a guy,” Harp continued. “He kinda specializes in head cases like this. If you pull over a minute I can give him a call.”
“You can’t call him on the way?”
“He likes his privacy.”
“Yeah, OK. Let me find a spot.” He turned up the next street into a residential area and pulled over. Harper got out and walked over to a car port, out of the rain. His old partner, Mike, would have made the call from the car, but Mike was the whole reason he was rolling with Harper now. He’d trusted Mike because that’s what you did on the force, you looked out for each other. Until you didn’t. Hell, Harper was probably right not to show him his cards. Harper couldn’t know how he was gonna play it.
Harper didn’t know he just wanted to do his job and go home.
He looked in the rearview, back at the girl. She still hadn’t moved. God, that was weird.
“So, you got a name?” Maybe if he talked it would be a little less creepy in here with Harper gone.
The girl smiled. Her eyes stayed straight forward, but she smiled. “I’m nobody,” she said. “Who are you?”
So, no. Not less creepy if he talked. “I’m, uh, I’m Officer Daniel Turpin, I’m with the 13th precinct, and I’m gonna try to help -- “
“How public,” she interrupted. “Like a frog.”
Oh boy. “Uh, yeah, I’m a public servant, and me and my partner, Harper -- he’s out there, see --“ he pointed to Harper standing under the car port and the girls’ head turned -- “he’s a public servant too, and we want to help you. To do that, we need to know your name.”
“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” she said, still staring at Harper.
Turpin sighed. He hoped Harper got a hold of his ‘guy’ soon. “Look,” he told her, and suddenly her face swiveled back to look at his. Okay. He shook his head, it was as though she took every word out of his mouth literally. But that would be just... he paused and took a slow breath. “All I want to do is find out where you belong, and hand you off to your people without going through a lot of bullshit, and I’m sure you’d like to avoid that too. So, ma’am, do you know where you live, where your people are at? Who your people are? ‘Cuz I’d love to be able to take you to them.”
She frowned, which was the most bizarre thing she’d done yet. It made her look almost normal. Did she have to think about that one, he wondered.
“Clark Kent,” she said after a few seconds.
“You belong -- what did you say?”
“Clark Kent,” she repeated.
“Yeah, I heard you...” His weird night had just gotten exponentially weirder. What would top everything off would be if the guy still had the same number, he thought as he scrolled through his contacts. That would really take the cake. He found the listing he was looking for and hit ‘send’.
Harper poked his head into the car as the connection began to ring.
“You get an I.D.?” he asked.
“Kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“You know how you said sometimes things work out the way they’re supposed to? Well, this might be one of those times.”
“You don’t say.”
Dan held up his hand as voicemail kicked in. “You’ve reached Clark Kent, Daily Planet and Kent’s Organic Produce. Please leave a message. Thanks.”
Author: FlyingHigh / latetothpartyhp
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama / Adventure
Pairings: Chloe/Clark, Tess/Oliver
Spoilers: through Salvation, and selectively from Lazarus
Warnings: Because of when this fic starts there will be some collateral Clois and Chlollie to begin with. There was also be strong language, some violence and some mentions of sexuality. Please be sure to check individual chapters for ratings and warning changes.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I am receiving no money for this story. I also make no claim to anything written by T.S. Eliot, Emily Dickinson or William Shakespeare.
Summary: The last ten years have all led up to this.
Author's Note: This fic was written for selene2 , who won the bid for my services in the legendary_women auction - I hope you enjoy it! Many, many thanks to iluvaqt for beta-reading this.
Prologue Part 1 / Prologue Part 2 / Prologue Part 3
Reunion 1.0 / Reunion 1.1 / Reunion 1.2 / Reunion 1.3
-------------------------------------------------------------
TURPIN
“... forty-three interceptions thrown -- “
“You keep saying that.”
“It deserves notation. Forty-three interceptions in a single game. Nobody has thrown that many in a game since 1962. Nobody. Not even Farve, and he’s thrown what, 324 over his career now?”
“328.”
“Well, give Hammer a couple of years, he’ll have him beat.”
“I think you’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”
“No, that’s the problem. Nobody is making a big deal of this. It’s like nobody cares anymore. Not the fans, not the coaching staff, not the ownership. And that’s where it starts. Right there: if ownership isn’t willing to make the changes that need to be made, we won’t need two years to break Favre’s record. There’s no accountability anymore.”
“You’re talking like there was accountability before.”
“There was! Before the old man died, something like this would happen and Hammer’d be benched. End of story! Now we just come out of a press conference and all Childress can say is the guy had a bad game! Somebody from LuthorCorp needs to step forward and say, ‘This is kind of performance is unacceptable from the third-highest paid quarter-- “
The passenger door opened opened and Harper slid in, bringing the coffee and a whole lot of wet with him. “Tough time to be a Sharks fan,” he said.
“Remind me what the Chiefs’ record was finishing 2008? 2 and 14, wasn’t it?”
Harper grinned. “That’s why you have my sincerest sympathy, kid. I know where you’ve been. It gets better. We’re 6 and 2 so far this season.”
“Yeah, that won’t last. You get any cream or sugar?”
“Nah, you’re better off drinking it black. Put hair on that chest. When was the last time the Sharks even made wildcard?”
“2007.”
“Exactly, so don’t get snotty. Ah...” Harper sighed. “That’s the good stuff.”
“Are you serious?”
“You got used to drinking that $3 a cup yuppie crap Turpin, that’s your problem.”
“You get what you pay for.”
“Quarterbacks too?”
He shook his head. Hammer was a joke, everyone knew it, but he hadn’t always been. Everyone had boggled the year he was a drafted, wondering what the hell the Sharks were thinking using up a first-round pick on a QB from Washington State, but he’d had a spectacular rookie season. That’d been the year before the older Luthor died. Hammer’s fortunes seemed to go out the window with the late owner, though, and the Sharks’ with him.
“You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I think they’re right. It’s not like it used to be. The team was better off with Luthor Sr. at the helm.”
“No, they’re wrong. Nothing was better off with Lionel Luthor in charge, trust me.”
“You got something personal against him?”
“You know he grew up in Suicide Slums, right? Just like I did. Little older than me, but people’ll repeat some stories ‘til they’re dead, and there were a lot of stories about Lionel Luthor ‘round the neighborhood when I was growing up. Then he makes his first million or so and suddenly the people telling those stories aren’t around to talk about him anymore. He did the world a favor killing himself.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Harper’d never said anything about the IAB inquiry, but he had to know about it. Everyone did. It was just not everyone felt the same about it. “So, you think it’s a good thing he’s dead?” he asked.
Harper glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Let’s just say sometimes things work out the way they’re supposed to.”
“And when they don’t?”
Harper glanced at him again, took a sip of his coffee. “That’s what we’re here for. Speaking of which, are we gonna keep the peace tonight or are we gonna sit here flappin’ our gums?”
“Yeah, we should get going.” He turned the wiper speed up and threw the car into reverse. It had been a slow night, a few domestics but not much else. Weather like this made it miserable for anyone who had to make their living on the streets. He shifted into first and hit the indicator. They were pulling out.
As he wrote later in his report, the rain was thick and visibility bad. It was also possible the girl had some metahuman capabilities, because, as his partner James Harper would attest, she had not been on the street the second before their squad car came within inches of running into her.
-----------------------------------------
The girl freaked him out. She sat still as a statue in the back of the car, but from her lack of reaction she could have been anywhere: at church, the park, her own living room. Nor did she ask any questions, demand to see her lawyer or blow raspberries at Harper and him, and she’d gotten in the car quietly once Harper told her she had to. She sure as heck wasn’t acting the way most people did when they were dragged down the station. Harper dealt with the whole situation as he regularly ran down mute, I.D.-free zombie chicks in the course of his day, and who knew, maybe he had once upon a time, but he, Dan Turpin, on the other hand was officially weirded out.
“They’re gonna need to run a tox screen on this one,” he said, apropos of nothing.
“What? Oh, on her?” Harper indicated the woman in the back seat. “Probably, but I don’t think they’re gonna find anything.”
“You think she’s just crazy?”
Harper hesitated. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Harp, I’m not a doctor, but this girl has issues. She’s either high or she’s nuts or she’s both. I mean, look at her. She’s just ... staring.”
“Yeah. I guess so,” Harper answered.
He stole a glance at Harper and saw the other man looked a little worried, so maybe he was finally starting to freak out a little too.
“I know a guy,” Harp continued. “He kinda specializes in head cases like this. If you pull over a minute I can give him a call.”
“You can’t call him on the way?”
“He likes his privacy.”
“Yeah, OK. Let me find a spot.” He turned up the next street into a residential area and pulled over. Harper got out and walked over to a car port, out of the rain. His old partner, Mike, would have made the call from the car, but Mike was the whole reason he was rolling with Harper now. He’d trusted Mike because that’s what you did on the force, you looked out for each other. Until you didn’t. Hell, Harper was probably right not to show him his cards. Harper couldn’t know how he was gonna play it.
Harper didn’t know he just wanted to do his job and go home.
He looked in the rearview, back at the girl. She still hadn’t moved. God, that was weird.
“So, you got a name?” Maybe if he talked it would be a little less creepy in here with Harper gone.
The girl smiled. Her eyes stayed straight forward, but she smiled. “I’m nobody,” she said. “Who are you?”
So, no. Not less creepy if he talked. “I’m, uh, I’m Officer Daniel Turpin, I’m with the 13th precinct, and I’m gonna try to help -- “
“How public,” she interrupted. “Like a frog.”
Oh boy. “Uh, yeah, I’m a public servant, and me and my partner, Harper -- he’s out there, see --“ he pointed to Harper standing under the car port and the girls’ head turned -- “he’s a public servant too, and we want to help you. To do that, we need to know your name.”
“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” she said, still staring at Harper.
Turpin sighed. He hoped Harper got a hold of his ‘guy’ soon. “Look,” he told her, and suddenly her face swiveled back to look at his. Okay. He shook his head, it was as though she took every word out of his mouth literally. But that would be just... he paused and took a slow breath. “All I want to do is find out where you belong, and hand you off to your people without going through a lot of bullshit, and I’m sure you’d like to avoid that too. So, ma’am, do you know where you live, where your people are at? Who your people are? ‘Cuz I’d love to be able to take you to them.”
She frowned, which was the most bizarre thing she’d done yet. It made her look almost normal. Did she have to think about that one, he wondered.
“Clark Kent,” she said after a few seconds.
“You belong -- what did you say?”
“Clark Kent,” she repeated.
“Yeah, I heard you...” His weird night had just gotten exponentially weirder. What would top everything off would be if the guy still had the same number, he thought as he scrolled through his contacts. That would really take the cake. He found the listing he was looking for and hit ‘send’.
Harper poked his head into the car as the connection began to ring.
“You get an I.D.?” he asked.
“Kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“You know how you said sometimes things work out the way they’re supposed to? Well, this might be one of those times.”
“You don’t say.”
Dan held up his hand as voicemail kicked in. “You’ve reached Clark Kent, Daily Planet and Kent’s Organic Produce. Please leave a message. Thanks.”