It'll Give Us Something To Talk About The Next Time We Meet, Part 3
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
The sun was up. He could tell because the blackness under his lids had that faint reddish tinge it had when the morning was pounding on them, demanding to be let in. The morning could pound all it wanted for all he cared; he wasn't going to open them for love or money. Well, maybe for love. For the first time in a few weeks it seemed like a possibility. There was a soft voice was whispering in his ear, entreating him to “Rise and shine and give God the glory - “ and he smiled at how much dirtier that song sounded now that he wasn't twelve anymore and hearing it belted out by the girls from Camp Kippewa as they banged on the Camp Cobbosseecontee boys' cabins at five in the morning. There'd been this one girl, Alice - or was it Alison? - with blonde hair who always seemed to have a Tootsie-Pop...
… but, sadly, it was not Alison continuing to sing “Rise and shine and give God the glory-ory” in his ear. And he was pretty sure it wasn't Lois - she could be froggy in the morning, but not as bad as this. Plus Lois didn't sing. Did she? While he pondered that a hand came up and clutched his jaw, shaking it. The voice grew louder: “Rise. And. Shine. And - “ No, that wasn't Lois singing. Somebody else then. Somebody with a firm hand-shake; that grip on his jaw was pretty solid. He grabbed at where he thought the hand's wrist would be, but it wasn't. The voice chuckled. It was an oddly deep sound for this time of the morning. Normally he didn't wake up to tenors in his bedroom. “CHILDREN OF THE LORD,” the voice shouted as his blankets were ripped off him and then he was awake and upright, sitting on the edge of edge of his bed while Bart doubled over laughing in the corner across the room. He grabbed a pillow and hurled it, a gesture he knew was futile even before Bart disappeared and reappeared in the other corner.
“What the hell?” he shouted.
Bart gasped and shook his head. Oliver through another pillow, again futilely, as Bart was sitting on the bed before it landed. “Don't you have a fiancée, or something?” the kid asked.
“Yes, and she's right here,” said Lois from the doorway. “What the hell is going on?”
Bart stood, only partially, Oliver was sure, from the “answers now” look on her face. “Lois, this is Bart,” he said quickly before the little squint could start in with the crappy Spanglish. “He's been running some errands for me. I don't know why he didn't have the commonsense to knock.”
“What? I didn't want to wake everyone up,” Bart told him, followed by an “Enchanté” to Lois. So, it was crappy Franclish now.
“Likewise,” Lois answered. “How'd he get in here?”
Oliver sighed. “He's got certain … abilities … “
“Skills, even” Bart interrupted. “They're muy bueno but the boss here doesn't want us to talk about them in front of civilians.”
Oliver just shook his head. And he'd been wondering last night why he thought he was going crazy.
“Uh-huh. Well, since singing doesn't appear to be one of them I'd say your secret's still safe,” she told him, and, smiling every so sweetly, turned on her heel and left.
Oliver closed his eyes and hunched over his thighs. His hamstrings were killing him. So were his quads. And every other muscle in his legs. Who knew squatting around all night would be so hard on a guy? He needed some ibuprofen. And water. And coffee. Lots of coffee. “Please tell me you at least had the good manners to break into my house with a latte so I don't have to kill you.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“Then at least tell me you found her so I don't have to kill you,” he said, hanging his head between his knees, trying to breathe the tightness out of his lower back.
“That I can do. Mission accomplished.”
Oliver sat up. “Seriously?” Of course, that would make it Lance one, Queen zero.
“Seriously. So, now that you know, do you think you could put some pants on? 'Cuz I'm comfortable working for a guy who sleeps in a separate bed from his totally hot fiancée and then parades around half-naked in front of other guys, but, you know, not everyone is. You wouldn't want to make a habit of it.”
“Just shut up and tell me where she is.”
“I don't know if I can do it in that order.”
“Jesus, what did I do in a past life that I am surrounded by smart-asses now?” Oliver asked. He stood and tromped into the closet. “Right. Ok. Using small words you can understand: Step One is tell me where she is, and Step Two is shut up,” he said, pulling on a pair of jeans.
Bart shook his head. “No can do boss.”
“No, really, you can. You just put your lips together and then you keep them together.”
“And you have to ask why you're surrounded by smart-asses?” Bart asked, flopping down on Nanny Lizzie's old rocker. “The 'no' is for 'no, I can't tell you where she is.'”
“Why not?” Oliver whirled back to the room, t-shirt in one hand, socks in the other. “You said you found her!”
“And then I lost her. She disappeared.”
“How does that happen? Can't you just run around until you find her again?”
“Dude, she didn't just turn suddenly and blend into the crowd. She disappeared. There was smoke and then she was gone. Like in Harry Potter. Bang. Gone.”
Oliver walked over the bed and sank down. “You mean, she used magic?”
“Well, you said she was a sorceress, right?”
“Yeah, but, why would she? Wouldn't that attract attention?” If he'd gotten nothing else from their background search, it was that this woman did not want attention. Not as a sorceress. Not as anything.
“It was just us in the alley - “
“She made you,” Oliver groaned. “Doesn't that faster-than-the-speed-of-light thing usually keep people from seeing you?”
“You try following someone at faster than the speed of light and tell me how that works out,” Bart retorted. “I had to either slow down or risk starting a cyclone circling her.”
Oliver sighed. He knew that. Rather, he should have known that. Meta-powers weren't the answer to everything - look at Dinah, for Chrissakes - and he had done nothing to train the kid on what to do when they weren't. “Ok. So. Where was she when she disappeared?”
“Right here in Metropolis, behind a bar. The Jungle, down by the old stock-yards.”
“Good. You should take her picture in this afternoon, show it to the bartenders. If they recognize her great, otherwise give them your number.” He gave the kid a smile. “You accomplished more last night than I did.” This wasn't strictly true. He didn't know what he'd accomplished yet, exactly, and wouldn't until they'd reviews all the photos and made positive I.D.'s on them, which would take few days. Or, knowing their level of man-power, a few weeks.
Ok, so Bart had accomplished more than he had last night.
Bart grinned. “So does this mean I get run point when we storm Clark Luthor's Evil Lab of Evil?”
“No. It means you get to gloat when you go report to Dinah. We still have a lot more work to - “
“No, no more,” Bart declared. “Not until I get my legally mandated twenty minute meal break. I've been up all night and you have no idea how hungry I am.”
“... Do on your training,” Oliver continued. “Next couple of patrols Dinah or I take, I want you with.”
“Man, you gotta be kidding me. On top of looking for this Zatanna whenever I'm not following Clark? I do have a day job, you know.”
“Yeah, and how is that following Clark thing been working out for you lately?”
“I was the one who found that barn with the servers.”
“And he hasn't been back there since. Or any other place more interesting than Radio Shack, according to you.”
Bart looked a little peaked. “So, you're saying he knows I was following him too?”
“I'm saying you may need a little practice,” Oliver said, gentling his tone a bit. The kid was starting to look a little terrified. “Work it out with Dinah. There are some protein bars in the kitchen if you - “ Oliver broke off as a blast of air hit him. Pulling on his t-shirt, he followed him out of the bedroom only to find a bemused and slightly wind-blown Lois scanning the room for additional surprises.
“Did he just come through here?” she asked.
“Yeah. I am really sorry about this.”
Apparently deciding the danger had passed, she threw the parsley in her hand into the juicer. “So what does he do? Turn into wind?”
“Nah, he just runs really fast.”
“Like Ultraman?” she asked quietly.
“No, he can't fly, and I doubt he benches more than 170. Plus the only really dangerous thing about him is his mouth.”
“Really? 'Cuz I'm pretty sure he pinched my ass on the way out.”
“We're working on that.” He fell silent as Lois liquefied her vegetables and the tiny, raging motor drowned out all other sounds. He didn't have any meetings until this afternoon, he thought. He could take the morning and spend it with her. Take her to breakfast, show her the remodel on the Teague Tower, have a conversation that didn't end in a fight. That would be fun, he thought.
The whirring stopped.
“Is that all you're going to have? Because I have the morning off. We can go grab some maple-nuts and some coffee,” he told her. He kept his voice casual, but watched her closely, and she must have known he was, because her eyes came up to meet his.
“I'm flying up to Gotham for the day,” she answered. “Lilah's going to be showing me some condos there.”
“In Gotham?”
“I'm applying at the Gazette and the Gothamite. Max thinks he might be able to get me interviews at both of them.”
“When did you decide to do this? And why? There are tons of other journalism jobs in Metropolis besides the Planet.”
“In radio, for instance?” she asked sweetly. Too sweetly. “No thanks. Besides, I doubt I would get any of them with the mark of Luthor on me. That brand doesn't scare the rustlers as much in Gotham. And they've got that creepy bat-guy running around there. An interview with him could be my ticket to a Pulitzer.” She took a sip of her foul-looking smoothie with relish.
“Oh, so is that what this is really about? 'You don't need me anymore' is Lois-speak for 'You can't advance my career anymore?' If I gave you an interview does that mean you'd stay?”
Lois set down her drink. “That's a disgusting insinuation.”
“And yours implying that I cheated on you with Dinah isn't?”
“I never said - “
“No, you insinuated it. I work with her, Lois. Just like I work with Gina. And they're both pretty much pains in the ass, which, if anything, means I need you more, not less.”
Lois looked away, toward the general direction of the refrigerator, which she'd months ago decorated with a load of magnets featuring vintage ads of smiling housewives making cartoon balloon statements like “The best part of waking up is the whiskey in my cup.”
“Lois?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I can't do this right now. I'm sorry. I can't.” She grabbed the smoothie again and turned back to their old bedroom.
“No, Lois - “ he grabbed her free hand.
“Oliver, please. Don't.” She stared at him, troubled. Troubled, but determined. He knew that look. She was going to go to Gotham today if she had to hitch a ride in the back of a semi to do it.
He let go of her hand, ran his over the granite of the counter-top. “So the truth comes out,” he said. “I'm not irresistible to women after all.”
“I'll call Mythbusters,” she said. “I'm sure they'd love to devote an episode to that.”
“Maybe they'll hire you.”
She rolled her eyes and walked out of the kitchen. “Your bird-phone's screeching,” she called back.
He cocked his head and listened. Sure enough, Ornithology was trickling in from the guest room - his bedroom, now. He swore Lois must have super-hearing; he could barely make it out himself. Maybe they should put her on the team. Maybe she'd stay then. He stood in the kitchen, weighing his options. He could follow Lois to her room, pick another fight, make her miss her flight and go to breakfast with him. On the other hand, Dinah preferred to communicate through her Sybil-like array of online identities. She only called when the situation had gone from “urgent” to “dire”. Dammit.
He walked back to the guest room and answered his phone.