I Don't Mind A Little Trouble, Part 3
Title: I Don't Mind A Little Trouble
Author: FlyingHigh / latetothpartyhp
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama / Adventure
Pairings: Chloe/Oliver, back-ground Lollie
Spoilers: for Luthor
Warnings: For language, since all these characters have potty-mouths when I write them. Also, this is un-beta'd.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I am receiving no money for this story.
Summary: Sequel to Of All The Towns in All the Worlds in All the Parallel Universes, You Had to Walk Into Mine. After Lionel's disappearance, alt-universe Oliver is suspected of his murder. Fortunately someone pays a call to help clear his name.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She was standing and about to unzip her skirt before he realized that by “You can have the bathroom” she meant “You can have the bathroom or you can stay right here and watch me strip, completely oblivious to your presence”. Slamming his eyes shut, he turned and smacked his nose into the door frame.
“You okay over there?”
“Fine!” he gritted, and opened his eyes. This was asinine. He was an adult. He was entirely capable of getting to the goddamn bathroom without blushing like a twelve-year-old at the sight of a woman taking her clothes off. Which he was not, he affirmed after giving himself a quick glance in the bathroom mirror. Of course, what kind of woman just sits down and takes her clothes off in front of a man she barely knows? he asked himself. Between the time he was sixteen and the time he'd met Lois the only women who'd undressed in front of him without it leading to sex were dancers in clubs - and even Lois tended to pull on her pajamas in the walk-in if she was too tired.
He leaned against the counter and pulled off his shoes. Maybe she was a lesbian. He thought he could tell, usually, but nobody bats a thousand. It was a possibility. It might explain a few things - except for the way she'd been flirting with him earlier, with that whole people-will-just-think-you're-kinky thing. On the other hand, she'd gotten pretty prim later. The pants for the suit were cut a little more conservatively than he liked, but that was probably the point. Maybe she was bi. Or bi-curious, trying to find herself. There was a shoulder holster under the jacket, side-arm included. How authentic, he thought. Of course, whether she was or not wasn't any of his business. He was engaged and she was going to flit back to her fairy kingdom when this was all over. He pulled on the jacket over the holster. Looking good, except he needed a comb; he was pretty sure his hair wasn't regulation.
He only flinched slightly when she spoke from the door. “I tried to get them to throw in a fake beard, but I guess they didn't have time.”
He gave her a wry look through the mirror. “Be grateful. Facial hair is not a good look for me.”
She grinned. “Give yourself a few years. You might be grateful for whatever hair you can get.” She pulled a small brush, full of thin, golden threads from her bag and handed it to him.
“Yeah, too bad male-pattern baldness is passed down through the X chromosome. Otherwise I could count on long, lustrous curls well into middle-age.”
“That sounds frighteningly Freudian and totally unfair to boot. I've seen pictures of your dad.“
“Have you?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I did some research. Saw old newspaper clippings.”
“You did? Well that's a little disappointing. I thought you knew everything. But I guess there's really no reason you should have to feel awkward at this little family reunion.” He watched her eyes go round and smirked. “Now you know why my eyes are not brown.” He continued pulling the brush over his brush over his skull while he watched her. She was staring at a point over his shoulder in complete disbelief.
“That's not possible.”
“The media begs to differ.”
“You mean the Inquisitor?” she said, “That just proves whoever planted the story doesn't have any evidence. If he did he would have gone with a much more reputable source.”
“If Clark was smart enough to dig through Lex's records he does, but right now I think he's just enjoying stirring the pot.”
That got her, he saw. She was beginning to believe. “This is ... “ she reached around and pulled at his chin. He turned at the pressure, staring down hard at her now-incredulous face. Her eyes ran up and down his, from one ear to another, as she shook her head. “But you look exactly like him.” He assumed the “him” did not refer to Lionel.
“You said that last time,” he said. “Just like him except my eyes are blue. Everyone always told me I was a ringer for my mother's father. Dad liked to say I got my throwing arm from his side, though.”
She was shaking her head again, her face crumpled in a way that reminded him of Lois' whenever she was feeling protective. “Oliver...”
He wasn't in the mood to be protected, though; he'd knew who he was, had known since high school. No amount of worried eyes would change that. Strength lay in doing what you needed to do, when the opportunity arose. Of course, sometimes you had to make your opportunities. “That's another thing. Were you ever planning to tell me your name?”
Her eyes and brows widened again. It was almost funny, he thought. Secretive as she was, she had no poker face at all; every thought and feeling she had flickered over her face like a movie on a screen. Right now she was nonplussed. Next, he was certain, she would be irritated. After that he was unsure, but the fun was in the gamble.
Sure enough, her brows drew together and she gave a little sigh. “A little off-topic, don't you think?”
“I don't know. I just told you something pretty personal.”
“Wh... “ Her eyes shut and she shook her head a little. Exasperation. One step closer to capitulation. “On mission I'm called Watchtower.”
Author: FlyingHigh / latetothpartyhp
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama / Adventure
Pairings: Chloe/Oliver, back-ground Lollie
Spoilers: for Luthor
Warnings: For language, since all these characters have potty-mouths when I write them. Also, this is un-beta'd.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I am receiving no money for this story.
Summary: Sequel to Of All The Towns in All the Worlds in All the Parallel Universes, You Had to Walk Into Mine. After Lionel's disappearance, alt-universe Oliver is suspected of his murder. Fortunately someone pays a call to help clear his name.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She was standing and about to unzip her skirt before he realized that by “You can have the bathroom” she meant “You can have the bathroom or you can stay right here and watch me strip, completely oblivious to your presence”. Slamming his eyes shut, he turned and smacked his nose into the door frame.
“You okay over there?”
“Fine!” he gritted, and opened his eyes. This was asinine. He was an adult. He was entirely capable of getting to the goddamn bathroom without blushing like a twelve-year-old at the sight of a woman taking her clothes off. Which he was not, he affirmed after giving himself a quick glance in the bathroom mirror. Of course, what kind of woman just sits down and takes her clothes off in front of a man she barely knows? he asked himself. Between the time he was sixteen and the time he'd met Lois the only women who'd undressed in front of him without it leading to sex were dancers in clubs - and even Lois tended to pull on her pajamas in the walk-in if she was too tired.
He leaned against the counter and pulled off his shoes. Maybe she was a lesbian. He thought he could tell, usually, but nobody bats a thousand. It was a possibility. It might explain a few things - except for the way she'd been flirting with him earlier, with that whole people-will-just-think-you're-kinky thing. On the other hand, she'd gotten pretty prim later. The pants for the suit were cut a little more conservatively than he liked, but that was probably the point. Maybe she was bi. Or bi-curious, trying to find herself. There was a shoulder holster under the jacket, side-arm included. How authentic, he thought. Of course, whether she was or not wasn't any of his business. He was engaged and she was going to flit back to her fairy kingdom when this was all over. He pulled on the jacket over the holster. Looking good, except he needed a comb; he was pretty sure his hair wasn't regulation.
He only flinched slightly when she spoke from the door. “I tried to get them to throw in a fake beard, but I guess they didn't have time.”
He gave her a wry look through the mirror. “Be grateful. Facial hair is not a good look for me.”
She grinned. “Give yourself a few years. You might be grateful for whatever hair you can get.” She pulled a small brush, full of thin, golden threads from her bag and handed it to him.
“Yeah, too bad male-pattern baldness is passed down through the X chromosome. Otherwise I could count on long, lustrous curls well into middle-age.”
“That sounds frighteningly Freudian and totally unfair to boot. I've seen pictures of your dad.“
“Have you?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I did some research. Saw old newspaper clippings.”
“You did? Well that's a little disappointing. I thought you knew everything. But I guess there's really no reason you should have to feel awkward at this little family reunion.” He watched her eyes go round and smirked. “Now you know why my eyes are not brown.” He continued pulling the brush over his brush over his skull while he watched her. She was staring at a point over his shoulder in complete disbelief.
“That's not possible.”
“The media begs to differ.”
“You mean the Inquisitor?” she said, “That just proves whoever planted the story doesn't have any evidence. If he did he would have gone with a much more reputable source.”
“If Clark was smart enough to dig through Lex's records he does, but right now I think he's just enjoying stirring the pot.”
That got her, he saw. She was beginning to believe. “This is ... “ she reached around and pulled at his chin. He turned at the pressure, staring down hard at her now-incredulous face. Her eyes ran up and down his, from one ear to another, as she shook her head. “But you look exactly like him.” He assumed the “him” did not refer to Lionel.
“You said that last time,” he said. “Just like him except my eyes are blue. Everyone always told me I was a ringer for my mother's father. Dad liked to say I got my throwing arm from his side, though.”
She was shaking her head again, her face crumpled in a way that reminded him of Lois' whenever she was feeling protective. “Oliver...”
He wasn't in the mood to be protected, though; he'd knew who he was, had known since high school. No amount of worried eyes would change that. Strength lay in doing what you needed to do, when the opportunity arose. Of course, sometimes you had to make your opportunities. “That's another thing. Were you ever planning to tell me your name?”
Her eyes and brows widened again. It was almost funny, he thought. Secretive as she was, she had no poker face at all; every thought and feeling she had flickered over her face like a movie on a screen. Right now she was nonplussed. Next, he was certain, she would be irritated. After that he was unsure, but the fun was in the gamble.
Sure enough, her brows drew together and she gave a little sigh. “A little off-topic, don't you think?”
“I don't know. I just told you something pretty personal.”
“Wh... “ Her eyes shut and she shook her head a little. Exasperation. One step closer to capitulation. “On mission I'm called Watchtower.”