It'll Give Us Something To Talk About The Next Time We Meet, Part 2
Title: It'll Give Us Something To Talk About The Next Time We Meet
Author: Flying High / latetothpartyhp
Pairing: Chloe/Oliver, Clark/Tess, ex-Lois/Oliver
Rating: Teen / PG-13
Warnings: Coarse language, violence, brief nudity
Spoilers: For Luthor and Hex
Summary: Oliver has problems. Lois wants out, Tess wants Clark and Clark wants his powers back. If only Oliver could have what he wants... Set in the Luthor-verse about a month after the Finale.
Sequel to Of All The Towns In All The Worlds In All The Parallel Universes, You Had To Walk Into Mine and I Don't Mind A Little Trouble.
Author's Note (and some additional warnings): Many, many thanks to iluvaqt for beta'ing this and giving me the confidence to keep writing it. This is a JLA-centered story with a Chlollie twist that ya'll should see coming from a mile away (which I write to persuade anyone put off by the lack of Chloe in the first few chapters). Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7a / Part 7b
- * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - #
“I think there's another way to approach this,” Dinah said.
Oliver stared at her politely. Dinah guessed that was an improvement. Most of the time lately he was scowling or frowning or rolling his eyes over receipts or budgets. And there'd been a lot of “lately” lately. If someone had told her a year ago she'd be spending this much time with a tree-hugging trust-fundee like Oliver Queen she would have hung up on them and gone to commercial. Hell, if anyone told her that she spent this much time with him now she'd hang up and go to commercial - No. No she wouldn't. She'd text Victor and have him trace the call. Then she'd hang up and go to commercial. Yet another way in which her life was not what it had been.
“Yeah? How's that?”
“Check it out.” She marched over to one of the pedestals and punched a few keys. Nothing happened. “Stuart? Why isn't this one working?”
The tech popped up from under the desk. “That one's not hooked up yet. Try there.” He pointed across the room.
Way to make me look good, Stuart. She marched over to the other pedestal and punched a few keys. This time a database popped up. She clicked through a few screens until the file she wanted appeared. She turned. “May I present to you: Zatanna Zatara.”
A photo of popped up of a dark-haired woman in a top-hat and dinner jacket. “She's hot,” he said.
“Priorities, Oliver.”
“Gender: Female”, Oliver read, ignoring her. “Well, that's obvious. Species: Human? - we don't know if she's human?”
“I know. Kinda freaky, right? According to Chloe there are all kinds of humanoids running around the planet. She's got at least one Martian mentioned in here. And an Atlantian.”
“Atlantian?”
“Yeah, you'd love him. In Chloe's world he's an eco-terrorist.”
He gave her a flat smile. “If we'd make such a great couple then why aren't I reading about him?”
“'Cuz he can't do what Zatanna can do.”
“Which is?”
She sighed and tapped the relevant line on the screen. “Here: Powers and Abilities: Sorceress. Telekinesis. Teleportation. Her magic is effective against Kryptonians and humans. Not tested against other sentient species. Her powers may require the aid of her father's spell book in order to be fully functional. As always, your reality may vary. See - Kryptonian. That's her Blur, which means it's also our Ultraman, right? And the best part is, Ms. Zatara's magic works against him whether he's got the powers God gave him or is just surgically enhanced.”
“So your plan is that we recruit her?” he asked, his expression dubious.
“Yes. And don't look at me that way. It's a good idea. If he gets his powers back he’ll still be vulnerable to magic.”
“I didn't say it was a bad idea. But can we really trust this photo? How do we know this isn't like one of those Match.com meet-ups you hear about where you go see someone in person for the first time and she's actually 30 pounds heavier and five years older?”
“More proof that liberals are the real pigs.”
“The point is that this,” he tapped the screen, “might not exist in our world. Not to mention there's no location listed other than 'Shadowcrest' and who the hell knows where that is? She could be anywhere in the world, or never born, or dead. I just don't know if it's worth the time and effort.”
She couldn't believe it. He was threatened. Threatened by something that could build the team and protect the world because it was her idea. So unbelievable. “You're - this is ridiculous. Why can't you admit that this could work? Yes, it's a long shot but at this point so is Victor's needle-in-a-haystack search for Clark Luthor's Evil Lab of Evil.”
“At least we have some evidence that Clark has a lab - “
“And we have evidence that this sorceress can affect him.” She jabbed a hand at the screen. “Unless you think Chloe just put it in there to mess with us.”
“I don't - “ he stopped, straightened, stared at the screen. Then at her. Then at the rosette windows overhead. “Obviously, things work a little differently in Chloe's world,” he told the windows. “Says so right here,” he said, tapping the screen again. “In her world, Lionel Luthor's dead. Clark Luthor was adopted by a farm family in Smallville and runs around doing good deeds. Oliver Queen has brown eyes. So there's a sorceress in Chloe's world who stops bad guys. Who's to say that in our world this Zatanna Zatara isn't some wicked witch cackling to herself in the mists of her stone fortress plotting to poison her pretty step-daughter?”
“I … don't even know how to begin to respond to that.”
“We're not living in Chloe's world. You've got to stop pretending that we are. Or trying to turn ours into hers,” he said, swooping his arm around to indicate the renovation.
“Whoa. Ok. I don't know what's going on in your head, but I would consider therapy if I were you. You were already using this as the Green Arrow dressing room; all I did was suggest that maybe we expand on that a little. And yes, I get that things are different. Lionel's alive here, Clark's a psychopath here, I know that. But lots of things are the same. Victor's a good guy in both places, and by the way, he looks the same too. So do Bart and Andrea and, they are, I might add, also good guys. And we've got reason to believe that weirdo in Gotham might be a good guy in both places too.”
“You know that from her little database.”
“From M.O.I.R.A.? Yes, how else would I know it?”
“I'm not in … what did you call it?”
“'M.O.I.R.A.' It's the Meta-Oriented Intelligent Recruitment Archive.”
“Ok, so I'm not in M.O.I.R.A.”
God, his ego. It knew no bounds. “Well, neither am I. Makes sense - why would she need to tell me about myself? What would be the point?”
“Maybe the point is that we're not good guys. Not everywhere.”
A light went on. Narcissus might actually have a method to his madness. Or at least a real concern. “No,” she said. “No. That makes no sense at all. First off, I would never be evil. Second, why would she have approached us if she had any reason to think we weren't good people? Third, what differentiates this world from hers is the fact that Lionel got to Clark before the Kents did. It stands to reason then that anything else that's different would be connected to Lionel or the Luthors in some way.”
He stared up at the rosettes again, smiling to himself and sort of shaking his head, like she didn't get it or something. Which - shit.
“Oliver, look at me. No, seriously. Look. At. Me.” When he had done as she'd told him to, she drew a breath. “Yes, you are Lionel's biological son in this universe. That has not made you evil. Annoying, self-involved and arrogant, but not evil. Why would you ever think that in a universe in which you were not Lionel's son that you would care any less about saving people and saving the planet and saving the whales than you do here? I hate to say it, but you are a good guy. You're a good guy here, and you're a good guy there. So stop freaking out about that shit and tell me how we're going to find this 'Princess of Prestidigitation'.”
He had an embarrassed little smile on his face now, as if she'd given him a present, or he was about to cry. She really hoped it wasn't that last one. She didn't think she could deal with a crying Oliver Queen. Thankfully he just turned to read the rest of the Zatanna file.
“Well, I guess we start with the obvious: Google her and see what comes up. We could probably stick a tracker on Clark's car and have Bart look for her when Clark's not - “ he broke off as Stars and Stripes Forever rang out from his pocket. “Just a sec,” he said to her. “General Lane. … Yes, thanks. … Say, listen, Lo told me you were stateside and I wondered if you had some time to meet. … Sure, sure. … Well, there might be some business too. … I don't know if I'm allowed to talk about that over the phone.” He laughed. It was always a little weird to see him to wheel and deal. Same SoCal frat-boy schtick as always, but somehow that schtick had made QI into one of those massive conglomerates with the kind of feel-good commercials that told you absolutely nothing about what the company did. Was this really the guy who drove a hybrid? Considering that it was a BMW hybrid, she supposed it was. “Lo sends her love. … Yeah, we'll see you then. Bye.” He clicked his phone off. “Well, that should be a profitable night's work. Nothing like a military contract to bilk the taxpayers, right?”
“I didn't think QI did military contracts.”
“Well, the military doesn't exactly bid things out the way they used to, which until now has suited Lionel Luthor just fine.”
“And why wouldn't it suit him now?”
“Because we are selling them something Lionel doesn't even know he has.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” God, she wished she had something to slam down right now. “It doesn't even bother you that it's not your technology to sell, does it?”
“It doesn't bother you that Clark Luthor is trying to recreate Ultraman?”
“How is selling stolen property stopping Clark?”
“Look around you. The plaster work and the paint job and the lighting and the dozen dozen monitors you have hooked up everywhere - what do you think pays for all of this, Ms. Efficient Markets 2011? Information Asymmetry. Look it up.”
“So, what? Every new product you've come out with in the last year has been stolen from some competitor? Wait - that actually makes sense.”
“Hey, guys?”
Dinah and Oliver turned as one to glare at the sheepish, bespectacled tech.
“Uh, I need to get at those wires, so … sorry?”
- * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - # - * - / - #
Night fell and Oliver found himself squatting patiently next to the water tank atop the Payne Avenue Ace Hardware on the corner of Payne and Maryland. Opposite of him sat the Payne Reliever, a topless place that had, sadly, lost one of their most popular dancers the night before to what rumor said was a grisly minded patron, all while Oliver had sat munching on salmon rolls and trying, with Victor, to tabulate the Luthor family real estate holdings in the greater Metropolis area. Bart had learned this while loading up on egg rolls and green papaya salad at the flea market. The girl pounding the papaya had a brother who knew the guy who'd discovered the body and, off topic, she had finally agreed to go with Bart to a movie that Saturday.
“Just make sure the movie's in town,” Oliver had told him before pulling an empty water bottle out of the recycling bin and breaking it across his desk.
That had probably been unnecessary, he thought upon reflection, but it had felt good at the time. Not that he would have likely been anywhere near the Payne Reliever last night at the time in question, but just the fact that this stuff was happening, now, when it would not have six months ago was pissing him off. For that matter the endless spool of red tape the Luthors used to hide the simplest transactions from public view was pissing him off, as had the total lack of hits for “Zatanna Zatara” online. They'd found one article from the Gotham Gazette society page archive about a John Zatara headlining at a birthday party for Thomas Wayne thirty years ago, a lot of fanfiction based on The Count of Monte Cristo, and little else. No one in Metropolis or Gotham was paying a utility bill under the name “Zatara”, nor had anyone been born with or died with that name in either county in the last forty years.
That of course meant nothing, other than that “Zatara” might be a stage name and the illusionist who used it could have been born John Wjzokowski in Peoria and died seventeen years ago of blood alcohol poisoning in Santa Fe.
It still pissed him off.
Not to mention his lucky arrowhead had gone missing.
That was pissing him off too.
All of which meant that tonight, he was squatting beside the water tank an hour before last call capturing for eternity - click - the mug of everyone who left the Payne Reliever with the camera built in to his glasses. Focusing on what he could do, that’s what he was doing. He'd had to jerry-rig an IR filter over the flash to hide it and he had no idea what results that would produce, but that was all right. Click. Experimenting with the gadgets was part of the fun. If he thought he could get away with going inside he had a camera for that too, but Oliver Queen heading into a bar in this part of town would cause too much of a distraction. So would sending Dinah in there, albeit of a different sort, but --and, yeah, this was sexist of him, but still -- he wasn't sending her anywhere near a guy who liked to slice pretty women to shreds. Click. Bart, on the other hand, he knew would be too distracted to be of any use, and Victor and Andrea were both busy with other projects.
Which again left him here, squatting beside the water tank. He'd emailed Victor earlier to ask whether Victor thought a search of DDS' servers for anything Zatara-related might be fruitful and Victor had pinged him back immediately to ask how comfortable he, Oliver, would be with a DDS investigation of Queen Industries. The answer to that, obviously, was not so much. Beyond what they might find that would endanger the team, a DDS investigation meant a drop in share prices, and a drop in share prices meant Lionel circling him like a jolly paternal vulture. Click.
And there was another problem he couldn't do anything about. Aside from being the chief suspect in Lionel's disappearance, the few weeks Lionel'd been gone had been some of the best in Oliver's life. Clark had just lost his powers, LuthorCorp had been thrown into disarray and the team had started to come together. Click. He didn't know what had happened since he and Chloe had brought his erstaz dad back into this world. It was more than Lionel stirring up the pot again - in fact, except for a few creepy, ironic media statements, Lionel hadn't done anything that Oliver could see other than to re-solidify his power at his company. No. It was like there was a permanent full moon shining down on them all, driving everyone crazy and him most of all.
That didn't matter, of course. What mattered was the work to be done. QI. The team. Stopping Clark. Finding Zatanna. Finding whoever had killed that poor dancer and making him pay. He had to keep at it.
He'd keep at it until they dragged him away.
Click.