I Don't Mind A Little Trouble, Part 6
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.
Author's Note: There's some spoiler-ish speculation based on Masquerade in this one.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7
He stood by the cracked door the entire wait, listening as Chloe took the champagne from the server and later the food. In between she and Martha chatted in low voices, a conversation he was clearly not meant to overhear but which he did his damnedest to. Disappointingly, none of it was about him, and little of it made much sense. Martha was trying to get Chloe to do something - “We need a voice - “ and Chloe was refusing - “If you want that you should talk to Lois.” His ears perked at that, but he couldn't hear anything else until Martha said “ - then Clark will never --” “He'll do it.” Chloe answered. “He will. We just have to - “
There was another knock at the sitting room door and he scrambled back to the bed as he heard Chloe walk to the bedroom.
“Is he - “ he began, but she was at the bed, finger to his lips, almost before he could blink. He sat very still as she leaned down and whispered “We're not here.” Her breath was hot against his earlobe and her hand was warm against his mouth. The smell of her was muskier than before, spicier, richer; it was always stronger when she was near him and he caught her wrist reflexively as she pulled away. He was tired of that. She had been so close he'd heard her inhale, and now she was frowning down at him, questioning.
He tightened his grip. If now was not the time for questions then she didn't get to ask any either; she could dangle, as he did, taunted by her own whys and what-ifs and what-could-never-bes. Her frown deepened but he refused to let go. He didn't know if he needed a punching bag or electroshock or a stiff drink; he'd gone down the rabbit hole and now it felt as if it was his world where everything was backwards and nothing made sense. Or maybe it was just that this world had everything he hadn't known he'd wanted -
She was leaning forward again, not toward him, but to the side, her free hand scrabbling blindly over the blanket. Her wary eyes fixed on his she reached further, arching as she stretched. He could feel her weight shift to compensate for the change in her center of gravity. It would be easy for her to lose her balance, he thought; one nudge and he would finally be able to pin her down. Just as, in his mind's eye, he had her sprawled out beneath him, her actual body tensed like a spring and bounced upright again, brandishing her iPad in triumph. For a second he glared at it, then up at her. She smiled, having gotten what she wanted.
He let go of her wrist.
Giving him another little frown, this one concerned, she sat next to him and pulled up the view of the room next door. In it he could see Lionel had entered, the champagne had been poured, and Martha had taken the spot next to him on the couch. It was what he should have expected, he supposed, but it was revolting just the same; his father looked so relaxed and confident and sardonic it was all he could do not to march through the door and slam the man's face into the wall. It probably accomplish the same thing the drink was meant to do, while causing only slightly more ruckus.
And would anyone really care if it did, once they knew who was taking the beating? He'd guess there were a very limited number of people in this world who not cheer seeing Lionel Luthor get his ass kicked. He doubted even those who wouldn't would miss him once he was gone. No one in his world truly had, with the possible sole, ironic exception of himself. Considering that it would be almost a sacrificial act to make sure Lionel never returned anywhere. Surely both worlds would be safer, happier, better places without him in them, and what could he, Oliver, lose that hadn't already been taken from him by that bastard? His freedom? Better to lose it for actually killing Lionel than being framed for killing him.
On-screen, Martha pulled out the Auchentoshan and offered it to the bastard, who seemed condescendingly eager to open it. He gripped the bedspread beneath him, anchoring himself with it while Lionel offered his hostess a glass and she refused. Then a sticky-note opened suddenly at the bottom of the screen and Chloe scrawled, “Don't think too hard or you'll get grossed out. But it'll work. Luthor ego!” He looked at her skeptically. She looked back archly. On the pad she deleted her first note and wrote, “Trust me. I'm a morally ambiguous genius.” Against his will, he chuckled and looked back at the feed. Lionel had put his tumbler down but not, Oliver noticed, before he'd knocked back a good half of what he'd poured. Maybe it would work. Her last plan had been pretty insane and that had come together - or should he say her last two plans? His only experience with meta-humans had been with Ultraman and the occasional Smallville-spawned meteor mutant; it had never occurred to him there might be some who were stable enough and driven enough to want to take up his fight. But she had known they were out there, just as she'd known how to break into his armory and how to de-power Clark. And she always had a back-up. Which in this case, he remembered, was him.
Taking a breath, he pulled the stylus from her fingers and wrote “I do.”
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.
Author's Note: There's some spoiler-ish speculation based on Masquerade in this one.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7
He stood by the cracked door the entire wait, listening as Chloe took the champagne from the server and later the food. In between she and Martha chatted in low voices, a conversation he was clearly not meant to overhear but which he did his damnedest to. Disappointingly, none of it was about him, and little of it made much sense. Martha was trying to get Chloe to do something - “We need a voice - “ and Chloe was refusing - “If you want that you should talk to Lois.” His ears perked at that, but he couldn't hear anything else until Martha said “ - then Clark will never --” “He'll do it.” Chloe answered. “He will. We just have to - “
There was another knock at the sitting room door and he scrambled back to the bed as he heard Chloe walk to the bedroom.
“Is he - “ he began, but she was at the bed, finger to his lips, almost before he could blink. He sat very still as she leaned down and whispered “We're not here.” Her breath was hot against his earlobe and her hand was warm against his mouth. The smell of her was muskier than before, spicier, richer; it was always stronger when she was near him and he caught her wrist reflexively as she pulled away. He was tired of that. She had been so close he'd heard her inhale, and now she was frowning down at him, questioning.
He tightened his grip. If now was not the time for questions then she didn't get to ask any either; she could dangle, as he did, taunted by her own whys and what-ifs and what-could-never-bes. Her frown deepened but he refused to let go. He didn't know if he needed a punching bag or electroshock or a stiff drink; he'd gone down the rabbit hole and now it felt as if it was his world where everything was backwards and nothing made sense. Or maybe it was just that this world had everything he hadn't known he'd wanted -
She was leaning forward again, not toward him, but to the side, her free hand scrabbling blindly over the blanket. Her wary eyes fixed on his she reached further, arching as she stretched. He could feel her weight shift to compensate for the change in her center of gravity. It would be easy for her to lose her balance, he thought; one nudge and he would finally be able to pin her down. Just as, in his mind's eye, he had her sprawled out beneath him, her actual body tensed like a spring and bounced upright again, brandishing her iPad in triumph. For a second he glared at it, then up at her. She smiled, having gotten what she wanted.
He let go of her wrist.
Giving him another little frown, this one concerned, she sat next to him and pulled up the view of the room next door. In it he could see Lionel had entered, the champagne had been poured, and Martha had taken the spot next to him on the couch. It was what he should have expected, he supposed, but it was revolting just the same; his father looked so relaxed and confident and sardonic it was all he could do not to march through the door and slam the man's face into the wall. It probably accomplish the same thing the drink was meant to do, while causing only slightly more ruckus.
And would anyone really care if it did, once they knew who was taking the beating? He'd guess there were a very limited number of people in this world who not cheer seeing Lionel Luthor get his ass kicked. He doubted even those who wouldn't would miss him once he was gone. No one in his world truly had, with the possible sole, ironic exception of himself. Considering that it would be almost a sacrificial act to make sure Lionel never returned anywhere. Surely both worlds would be safer, happier, better places without him in them, and what could he, Oliver, lose that hadn't already been taken from him by that bastard? His freedom? Better to lose it for actually killing Lionel than being framed for killing him.
On-screen, Martha pulled out the Auchentoshan and offered it to the bastard, who seemed condescendingly eager to open it. He gripped the bedspread beneath him, anchoring himself with it while Lionel offered his hostess a glass and she refused. Then a sticky-note opened suddenly at the bottom of the screen and Chloe scrawled, “Don't think too hard or you'll get grossed out. But it'll work. Luthor ego!” He looked at her skeptically. She looked back archly. On the pad she deleted her first note and wrote, “Trust me. I'm a morally ambiguous genius.” Against his will, he chuckled and looked back at the feed. Lionel had put his tumbler down but not, Oliver noticed, before he'd knocked back a good half of what he'd poured. Maybe it would work. Her last plan had been pretty insane and that had come together - or should he say her last two plans? His only experience with meta-humans had been with Ultraman and the occasional Smallville-spawned meteor mutant; it had never occurred to him there might be some who were stable enough and driven enough to want to take up his fight. But she had known they were out there, just as she'd known how to break into his armory and how to de-power Clark. And she always had a back-up. Which in this case, he remembered, was him.
Taking a breath, he pulled the stylus from her fingers and wrote “I do.”