It'll Give Us Something To Talk About The Next Time We Meet, Part 9
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!
Table of Contents
He was warm, and he had been for some time. It felt good. His tendons were relaxed, his muscles slack, his eyelids heavy, his cock alert. Unlike discomfort, which was usually persistent and annoying and demanded attention, ease was something he didn't usually grasp until it was gone. This morning, he felt it: the lightness of the sheets as he rolled from one side to another, the silkiness of a woman's thighs against his knees, the friction of his stubble on his pillow.
Oliver's consciousness moved back to his knees.
Actually, it moved more to the thighs they'd brushed against. He didn't remember going to bed with an extra set of thighs, and yet, there they were, on their sides, one stacked one over the other, the lower one stretched out and the upper one bent at the hip, inviting him closer. The fact that there was another pair of strange thighs in his bed at one time would not have been surprising, but that was back when the only form of “protection” he knew anything about was a condom. Life had changed since then.
Now, strange thighs in his bed was something of a rarity, and he had wonder how it had come to pass - and what would happen now that it had. It could mean Lois had come home and crawled into bed, disregarding that he was in it, which would mean he and Lois would be having what she called a “discussion” later on. If , on the other hand, he had invited Zatanna down for a drink and one thing lead to another, it would probably mean he and Lois would later be having what she called a “fight”.
He hadn't invited Zatanna down for a drink, though. Not that he remembered, anyway. She'd told him she'd consider his offer and then she very prosaically took the elevator to the street. Nor had Lois come home. His security team had called him a little after two in the morning to tell him she'd gone home with the bartender. When she got her ass back to the apartment that too would lead to a fight, but right now he had a bigger problem to worry about: Who was sleeping in his bed?
Oliver sat up.
Then he breathed a sigh of relief. Unless Tess had gone out in the night to visit her stylist, he was safe from the very worst. Then again, “safe” was a relative term. Safe from having the breath knocked out of him, he was not. He had told Zatanna last night that he believed she could do what she said she could do, and he really thought he had. The database had said she could do magic, and Tess, who admittedly was splashing around in the shallow end of the crazy pool but was still smart as a whip, had said she could do magic. He'd believed them. He had. It was just that he had never actually seen the results of magic. Real magic. With real, blonde, curly-haired results. Lying in his bed.
Lying naked in his bed.
That was unexpected. If it was the one, blonde, curly-haired woman who had temporarily been in his life, which it appeared to be, lying naked in his bed wasn't something he'd thought she would do. Despite her choice of one of Lacey's lingerie dressing rooms for their last rendezvous, he hadn't pegged her for the kind of woman to just take it all off and slip into a man's bed. Well, admittedly she'd started stripping in front of him in the hotel room, but that had been casual, just prepping for their mission. She hadn't been coming on to him.
So maybe it wasn't her. Maybe a random woman had gotten lost, randomly wandered into the lobby of the building, randomly by-passed the security system and randomly gotten into his bed. And maybe this random woman just happened to color her hair the same shade of honey-blonde, have the same arch to her nose and the same point to her chin. Maybe she also randomly wore the same flowery hairspray and the same earthy-sweet perfume.
No. No “maybe”. It was Chloe lying there, still fully asleep, her lips slightly parted, her eyelids flickering over some mental image only she could see, and it wasn't right, leaving her exposed like that. She would hate that. He would hate that on her behalf, if he were anything other than the pervy gawker he was. He pulled at the sheet, trying to get it up far enough to cover her, but it was pinned by something. After a few more unproductive tugs he realized the something was probably her, so, leaning down, he whispered in her ear: “Chloe.”
“Hmmmff,” she replied.
“Chloe,” he repeated, a little more loudly.
“Aaarnnfff.” For emphasis, she turned her face into the pillow.
He should probably shake her, or something, he thought. For a few seconds his mind lingered on the “something”: The dip of her waist. The swell of her hip. The side of her breast pressed against the mattress.
Right. He should stick to repeating her name. People's brains were supposed to get excited when their names were repeated. Extra blood flow to different regions. Yeah.
Carefully, he leaned down and brushed the hair back from her ear. “Chloe.”
That, finally, got a reaction, although not the one he was looking for. “No tickling,” she growled.
Oliver pulled his hand back. “I wasn't tickling.”
She guffawed into her pillow. “Yes, you were, and you promised me you wouldn't.” She lifted up a finger and shook it at him. “Not before eight.”
“I would never promise that,” he said. Of that he was certain.
“Oh, but you did,” she answered, still into her pillow. “I was there. Heard it from your own mouth.” And with that, her pillow bounced off of his face, with way more force than he would have expected it too. He grunted. She gasped. “What happened to your eye...s?”
“I was on patrol and got in a fight,” he explained, but that was plainly not the answer she'd been looking for. With a jerk, she pulled the sheet up to her neck and bounced off the bed, leaving Oliver to scramble for the bedspread.
“What happened?” she asked, tucking the sheet around her. “Did you use the box? Where's Lois? Why --”
A gust of wind interrupted her, lifting her tangled curls and nearly blowing off the sheet. With it came an indignant Bart, hands on his hips and a stink in his eye. “Good question. Where is Lois. You know, your fiancée?”
God, the kid's timing. He needed to be put on meteor rock pick-up for a month, Oliver decided. “Not here. Since when did that become your concern?”
“If you hurt her, I swear on my copy of Warrior Angel issue 66 that I will make you sorry.”
Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bart, let me make this clear: there are to be no more early morning, late morning, mid-afternoon, early evening, or late night fridge raids on this apartment. Is that understood?”
Somehow, Bart managed to look affronted. “That is not why I'm here!”
“Excellent. You got thirty seconds to explain.”
“Because you haven't been answering your phone! We've been trying to call you for the last two hours, but I guess cheating on the chick you're gonna marry is a bigger priority.”
“This is so very literally not what it looks like,” Chloe interjected.
“Yeah? Looks to me as if you're wearing the bossman's bedding.”
Oliver was going to kill him. Just as soon as he figured out a way to slow the kid down. Maybe with some kind of super-sonic stun arrow. Unfortunately, as he'd told Dinah earlier, Bart was too valuable to waste. Or kill. “Look, I didn't want every barista and waitress in the city to know this, but Lois and I broke up last week.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Now apologize to --”
“Elizabeth,” Chloe offered. Oliver frowned. Then he remembered what she'd said the last time she was here about not getting involved with people in this reality.
“Sorry,” Bart told her. “So Lois is single now?” he asked Oliver. “You think you could put in a good word for me?”
Oliver's eyes narrowed.
“Yeah, you know, it is kind of soon and I totally don't want to be the rebound guy. Let someone else be her shoulder to cry on.”
“Your thirty seconds are long since up.”
“Well maybe I thought we could use a little privacy first,” he said. He rolled his eyes and nodded over his shoulder in Chloe's direction. Chloe, for her part, failed to repress an aren't-you-just-adorable! grin.
“Bart, you appeared out of nowhere right in front of her. And even if you hadn't, she knows.”
“Knows what?”
“Everything.” More than Oliver did, at any rate.
“What, like, you've been telling her stuff?”
“I've been working with her, yes. So far she's preferred to remain anonymous.”
Bart turned and eyed Chloe. “Does the rest of the team know?”
“Bart. Tell me why you were trying to call me.”
“I've been trying! We were calling you because Ultraman's back.”
For the second time that morning Oliver felt as if he'd been kicked in the solar plexus. “What?”
“You know, Ultraman? Otherwise known as Clark Luthor? Evil billionaire by day, evil vigilante by night? Him? He's back. Zoomed by me a little slower than the speed of sound last night, killed some pimp, left his little laser tag and flew off.”
“That's not possible,” Chloe said. “That mineral I used, the super-heated blue kryptonite? That effect is permanent. It shuts down the production of the hormones that allow him to convert solar radiation to energy. It was the subject of some pretty exhaustive research by a top-notch scientist from his own planet.”
Bart eyed her again, this time with a little more interest. “Send Professor Top-Notch back to school then, 'cuz the guy's back. Like I said, saw him with my own eyes, running his silver-medal finish and crushing the wind-pipe of that pimp. Some professional ladies we talked to afterward said the guy showed up and started wailing on a girl couldn't have been more than 16. Then next thing they know the guy's dead, that symbol's burning into the wall behind them, and they're all clapping.”
“For Ultraman,” Oliver said dully. “Where was Dinah in all of this?”
“She came later. She tried to talking to the girl about what happened, but she was pretty shook up.”
“Where's Dinah now?”
“She's at the Tower trying to contact Victor. He hasn't called in since early last night.”
“He's not at the farm?”
“I dunno. She had me running around trying to find the U-man. No luck there, so she told me to get your ass out of bed.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“Well, technically, you're still in it.”
“Now's not the time, Bart,” Chloe groaned.
Bart opened his mouth to protest but Oliver cut him off. “She's right. First order of business is for you to get out to the lab and check on his position.”
“Did Victor go out there alone?” Chloe asked.
“Shouldn't I be checking up on this Zatanna chick, so we can figure out a way to stop him?” protested Bart.
“Wait. You guys are working with Zatanna on this one?”
Zatanna.
“I thought you knew everything, Blondie.”
“Don't talk to her that way,” Oliver snapped. “How did you get up here?”“If I told you that they'd kick me out of the magician's union.”
“What? Like what?”
“Like that.” “She told me about the offer you made her.” “How's that working out for her?”
“Oh, sure. That. Because --”
“Would you two SHUT UP,” yelled Chloe.
“Couldn't have said it better myself.” All three of them, Oliver, Bart and Chloe included, jumped at the sound of Lois' voice from the doorway. “If I'd have known we were having a pajama party I would've bought some extra Saran Wrap. And worn pajamas,” she added, eying first Chloe and then Oliver.
She sort of had, Oliver thought, since she'd most likely slept in the clinging, leopard-print dress she had on. “Emergency debrief,” he told her. “Lois, some of the team have spotted Ultraman in action.”
Lois' eyes bulged as if he'd smacked her with a 2 x 4. “You told me he lost his powers.”
“He's got them back. Somehow. We don't know how. Bart, you take Elizabeth,” here he gestured to where Chloe had sunk down on the edge of Lois' gigantic curl-up-and-read chair, huddled inside her sheet, “and get working on that. You,” he turned back to Lois, “are about to pack a bag and --”
“Excuse me?”
“This is not negotiable, Lois. You want to have me arrested later for kidnapping you, fine. Right now we concentrate on keeping you alive. Dominic's downstairs, he'll take you to a safehouse.”
“Dominic? Is he the night-shift goon or the day-shift goon you've had following me?”
Before Oliver could reply, Bart piped up. “Miss Lane? Lois?” he asked with all the courage of a man aware he was about to sacrifice himself for the greater good. “It's not just bossman here who's worried about you.”
Lois glared. “Why are you still here? You were given an order.”
“Yes ma'am.”
“Don't 'ma'am' me. Move!” she repeated.
“Oh, we're moving,” Bart answered, dutifully walking over to the armchair and swooping Chloe up, sheet and all. “We are so moving, aren't we Blondie?”
“Like an 80's charity rock anthem,” she said right before they both disappeared.
“New team member?” Lois asked.
“You could say that.”
“What does she do?”
“What?”
“Her power? What does she do? Shape shift? Save hypothermia victims with the power of naked body heat? Compel people to speak with her Bedsheet of Truth?”
“No,” Oliver answered as he watched the now-empty chair where she'd sat. “She messes. She has the power of super-messing.”
Lois glanced at the bed. “Yeah, that seems about right.”
“How is it,” Oliver sighed, “that you are so good at giving orders but absolute crap at following them?”
“The General used to wonder that too.”
“I'm serious, Lo. You were his primary critic in the media; he's not going to give you a chance to sound off again.” He left the real reason she was in danger left unsaid; telling Lois she was just a means to any man's end, including revenge, would just prolong the argument. “You cannot be where he expects you to be.”
“I'm not helpless.”
“Against him? Yes, you are. We all are.”
“I have that meteor rock you gave me.”
“Yeah? Where is it now?”
“My purse.” She opened the envelope clutch she held in her hand and frowned. “Okay, it's in my other purse.”
“You're going to have to make sure you have it on you at all times from now on. And you are going to stay with Dom or one of your other guards at all times until this is all over. I'm sorry,” he said, throwing his hands up in defense as Lois opened her mouth to protest. “I would never be able to live with myself if anything happened to you.”
She folded her arms and took a good look at him. “Ok. I'll be a good girl and go with your goon. But don't think we are not going to have a good long discussion later. This is not over.”
But it was, he realized as she was swallowed up in the depths of her closet. It was over, and it had nothing to do with her withdrawal or the separate bedrooms or her decision to move to Gotham. It had to do with him. It was over, and, if he'd been thinking, it had been since Chloe slid that arrowhead in his pocket.