Subtraction Time (Chapter Twelve)

I'm trying something new with comments and reviews. Some of you may have heard me grouse about how I'm never sure if people see that I reply to their comments (and I do, I SWEAR I do!). So I'm going to respond to the previous chapters comments on this chapter, same with the next, the next... and so on for all my current fics! For comments on older ones, I'll be replying on my fic homework posts. :)

That way, I feel we can all have a nice rapport! So replies below! And feel free to reply to replies. And thanks for all the lovely feedback!

Now on to fic!

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PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Now we get to Masquerade. I don't plan on going into every aspect of it, just the parts that I felt needed attention or an inner monologue. 

Chapter 12

November, 2011

“It’s Bruce Wayne, isn’t it?” 

Chloe didn't even look at him. 

“Isn't it?” Oliver repeated.

She met his eyes and took a deep breath. “I can neither confirm nor deny any speculation as to the identity of...”

“Oh, give up!” Oliver rolled his eyes. “It's Wayne and we all know it.”

“No, we don't,” Clark said, frowning. “I mean, I don't know much about him. But isn't he this trust fund billionaire who does nothing but party with supermodels and...”

Oliver gestured widely to him. “Oh, he does? Hmm. Sounds familiar. Trust me. Frat boy with a budget happens to be a go-to disguise.” He turned back to Chloe. “Okay. So when do we meet him?”

“I don't know who you mean,” she said carefully.

“Batman? Bruce Wayne?” Oliver tried. “Stop pretending we didn’t figure it out.”

“If you’re talking about Batman, then you’ve met him and he doesn’t want in.” She stood and turned to the group at large. “Whatever you think you know about him doesn't change that. Besides, would you seriously want Batman pressured into some kind of involvement with us because we know who he is?”

Bart pointed at her. “So you're admitting...”

“I'm admitting nothing,” she said quickly. 

“I still want a meeting with him,” Oliver insisted, meeting her eyes and not blinking even a little.

Chloe held his gaze. “You've already met Batman several times,” she said steadily. “And he said 'no,' so maybe you should let it go. I told you. If he ever wants in, he will...” 

“Not with Batman,” Oliver said firmly. “I'd like to meet Bruce Wayne.”

She crossed her arms. “Fine, then. Do it.” 

“Okay.” Oliver gave her a small smile as he paced nearer to her. “So you don't care if I just invite Wayne to dinner?”

She shrugged. “Go ahead and try.”

He smiled. “Fine. I could do it through Queen Industries, set up a bicoastal partnership proposal and tie this up for months of back and forth...”

“Sounds great. Get your people on it.”

His smile wavered. “Seriously? You can make this simpler if you just...”

“If Bruce Wayne was who you seem to think, then he won't take the meeting because he'll know you know because everyone knows you're Green Arrow.”

Oliver threw up his hands. “But we need to know what he knows about the Squad and you know it.”

Bart nudged Diana. “You following this?”

Chloe shook her head. “He will see it as a form of blackmail and...”

“Come on! If there's anyone safe with this secret, it's us,” Oliver sighed. 

Clark nodded. “We're not even considering strong-arming him into joining.”

“It's just dinner,” Oliver insisted.

“It's never just dinner,” she grumbled.

February 14th, 2011

“It's just dinner,” she huffed to herself. “Just pick something, already!”

Chloe turned away from her closet, then stared at the box shoved under the main console, the one she'd marked “MISC,” then resolutely turned away. Last week, she'd taken out the plain clothes that she'd called hers in Gotham, but she'd left the dress and coat, still folded in tissue at the bottom and that was where they'd stay. She'd even piled various knicknacks on top of them, as if to make it final. She'd been too busy setting Watchtower up again to call Bruce up and give him a piece of her mind. “Go out once in a damned while,” he'd said. Well, she was going out tonight. But there was no way she was wearing an outfit that cost more than the average car during a recession because... principles. 

But it was Valentine's Day and something red and fancy might... 

No. She was not going to dig out that ridiculously expensive dress or that equally insanely exorbitant, horribly impractical, perfectly matching coat with the incredibly soft lining that felt so nice against her fingertips, she'd had to wonder if it felt as good against the rest... 

No. Bruce may have foisted the damned things on her. He might have also prevented her from returning them by ripping out tags and even labels, but that didn't mean she was going to wear them. She just had to have something red or pink or even purple among clothes she actually outright owned! 

With no small amount of grunting, she tried to make space between the clothes shoved into Watchtower's small coat closet so she could at least look at them. Some were salvaged from the charred ruins of The Talon apartment... and still smelled freshly smoked. The rest from storage weren't much help, either. They had sentimental value and not much else to recommend them. She wasn't about to greet Oliver in her prom or homecoming dress when she finally met up with him. 

They'd decided to go separately to give the night a little mystique. Considering he was hiding out at Watchtower, too, it wasn't like he could swing by with a limo. He couldn't swing by with a limo no matter what, considering Lionel's even more evil twin (something she would have grimly laughed at the idea of four years ago) was tying up all the money Queen Industries sunk into the Luthorcorp merger. Oliver only had access to what was in his personal account, which was mostly tied up in keeping Watchtower running. And she could forget about a paycheck for the time being… and yet she was Watchtower full time by virtue of living there.

She had to wonder why they were going out at all, with how little they could afford it. Then again, they did deserve some fun, considering how much everything had sucked up till now. They should celebrate that... Well, Oliver was comparatively broke, she was working pro-bono and living in a place with the tiniest shower ever and there were once again God damned Luthors on the loose and making life miserable. Things didn’t exactly not suck. So maybe celebration wasn't the word for it. Maybe it was more like one night of escape... only not from this city, sadly.

Even thinking that, she felt sort of guilty. Hadn't she just spent months following a winding fatalistic trail just to try to get back to Metropolis? What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she be satisfied? Why was she still so restless?

She pulled out a sleeveless top with ruffled edges. It was red, at least. It had been her favorite sophomore year. Sadly, it showed. It was faded and worn through in spots with threads hanging from several edges. Besides that, it wasn't the least bit dressy.

“So much for A-game,” she grumbled and shoved it back into the jumbled mass. 

Oliver had left ten minutes ago and he hadn't let her look at him, but he did call to her through the bathroom door as she was fighting with her hair to get it to hold a curl, telling her to bring that there A-game. She supposed he had brought his as he'd come in and hour before with a drycleaning bag, among other mysterious things. She could see him now, wearing one of many perfectly tailored suits when her choices were smoked poly-cotton blends or formal dresses or borrowing another ill-fitting dress from Lois that draped in all the wrong places. 

She stared at the box again, thinking that red dress probably didn't fit, either. Bruce might be observant, but it wasn't like he knew her exact size. Since he ripped out the tags, she didn't even know the size of the dress or the coat, except it was likely wrong. She should probably try it on... just to see how wrong he got it. He probably bought it in a size two, thinking of one of his arm candy models. She found herself tearing at the box, digging through the black and navy blue to that flash of red. She was just looking closer, really, maybe trying it on just to see how badly it...

“Oh, who am I kidding?” She held the dress out, staring at the little off-shoulder number and hoping Bruce got the size right. Considering the other leftover clothes from Gotham fit, he just had to have.

He did, she decided when she put it on, twisting in front of the bathroom mirror and wishing she had something longer. The closest shoes she could find were a darker red and she'd like to see if they didn't clash too horribly with the whole picture. Not that she had the whole picture. It would be a damned shame if that coat didn't fit...

She dug it out, still folded and shook off the tissue. Something fell back into the box with a muffled thunk. It was wrapped in tissue as well, but something was peeking out – something awfully sparkly.

“You did not,” she whispered. She tore at the tissue and frowned. It was a small, studded purse and there was something inside. Her fingers shook a little as they opened it, pulling out a matching bracelet. “This is too... He can't just...” She saw a note peeking at her from the bottom and fished it out.

Relax. They're not real. Live a little. 

Much like when she first discovered the clothes, she felt angry. A few months sparring with her didn't mean he knew about her life. She had a good mind to call him up and tell him she was living just fine. She'd gotten back to her life, hadn't she? 

But she ended up putting on the bracelet and putting a little lipgloss and her very little bit of money in that sparkly purse as it was getting late as she really did want to bring her A-game for Oliver. 

She cooled down a bit on the walk, sometimes glancing at the couples she passed and thinking of this time last year, bombarded with couples and worrying “getting ideas” with Oliver, then laughing at the idea that she could. 

This was Oliver Queen, the kind of playboy that made Colin Farrell look like a virgin. And she was Chloe Sullivan, the kind of girl that was really too smart to be that stupid. 

That was a change. Really, she had all kinds of ideas by now, considering the main thing she thought of in all that time away was getting back to him... and helping Clark, of course. Her talk with Martha was still echoing in her mind. She had to be there for Clark. 

She found herself frowning and walked quicker, even passing a few dark alleys.

That was another change. It seemed like longer, but just five months ago, she'd been so afraid of being dragged down one of those alleys with no hope of rescue. She'd like to think she could fight her way out these days. It might be a tough negotiation in heels, but still... Her life had changed, her life was... She couldn't say it was good or she wouldn't be pulling out all the stops for a date at The Ace of Clubs, of all places. But it had potential to get better if... She couldn't even finish that thought. 

So she pushed it away and moved down the block toward the thumping, slightly obnoxious bass ever-present at The Ace Of Clubs. This had actually been the last place she wanted to meet. Considering it was the scene of a rogue NSA agent wailing on her, Jimmy's little infidelity, and the worst birthday ever, among other disasters, she was fairly convinced the place was cursed. But it was also almost always packed and Oliver seemed to think it the best place to hide in plain sight.

She checked her coat and slipped the ticket into her sparkly purse as the coat check girl gazed enviously at her dress. She wasn't the only one. She got quite a few looks when she stepped off the elevator. She supposed that was one of the reasons people wore fancy, schmancy designer dresses; so people would take a good look at them. These people were probably thinking she had a dress like this for every day of the week, month even and that her life was amazing, when really...

She found herself resenting Bruce again, but for a new reason now. Maybe Bruce was right. Maybe sometimes it took someone outside to tell you what you didn't want to hear. Had she been living her life since she'd been back? Come to think of it, had she been living it even before? About two years ago, she became Watchtower to the exclusion of all else. And, on a practical level, that was supposed to be a good thing, having all that time to focus on the heroic side of things and nothing else. But that was the problem. Nothing else is what drove her off the rails last year and she couldn't keep going like this. She needed something else in her life.

As if it was the answer, she finally spotted Oliver at the bar. She let out a smile at his fedora and sunglasses. He was something else, that was for sure. Yet, even as she moved toward him, she knew that he couldn't be the answer. That was way too much pressure to put on one person, making him her escape from all this. But for tonight, he could be. Damn it, why was she brooding on all this? This was a night out. Bruce was right. She did need to live a little. 

She schooled her face into casual indifference as she neared him and his little disguise. His hair was even darker. Maybe they really were strangers tonight. She'd never worn something like this, after all.

“You know, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here,” she said, leaning on the bar next to him, “Oliver Queen, of all people.” She drew nearer and turned to lean back against the bar. “Even with the registration act behind him, the world still knows him as the Green Arrow.” She couldn't see his eyes behind those silly sunglasses, but she detected a slight smile as he played along.

“Well, he probably can't even leave the house without wearing some kind of ridiculous disguise.” 

She grinned. He said it, not her.

“Makes it, uh, pretty hard to live a normal life, I'm guessing,” he went on, leaning in conspiratorially, “You know, I heard he lost his company to, uh...Lionel Luthor.”

Her smile grew strained. That was a blow. But how many times had they smacked down a Luthor by now? They would get through this. “Well, you wouldn't want to have dinner with me in his place, would you?” she said, glossing over it. They were supposed to be escaping all that tonight. 

“Me? No.” He smiled a little, playing along again. “What would your boyfriend say about that? I mean, I heard he's a pretty tough guy.” His smirk was almost unbearable. 

She glanced away, trying on a coquettish smile. “Well, I can't exactly call him my boyfriend.” He was both more and less than that, wasn't he? They hadn't exactly started the conventional way, but a girl didn't trade her life for just any man. What exactly would she call someone like that? They never had given this a name. She turned back to him.

He took off his sunglasses, finally, his eyes just a little too serious for this game. But he smiled just a little. “I think Oliver Queen would be an absolute fool to let someone like you get away.”

She kept her smile on. “You're damn right.” She leaned in to meet his lips.

“Table for the Joneses?” a softly accented female voice cut in.

She turned to stare at the posh, little hostess with the clipboard, wondering where they were on the list... also what their names were tonight.

“You know the real b*tch of this whole thing?” Oliver grumbled. 

She turned back to him.

“Oliver Queen could waltz in here right now, get a table just like that, no problem. But he wouldn't have the luxury of eating in peace. Your brown-haired rendezvous here ... I can't even get on the list. Makes me wish I was someone else entirely.”

“Well, is it always so bad being someone else?” she tried, determined to keep this night light. She grinned. “I'm quite enjoying myself.”

He finally smiled back. 

“Last call for the Joneses,” the woman called out, louder now.

Hmmm. Maybe that was their name tonight. No one else was taking it. She glanced at the woman, then back at Oliver. “Over here,” she said, stepping away from the bar.

Oliver was right behind her. “What are you doing?” he asked lowly.

“We're the Joneses,” she pulled him in, “the two of us.”

“We're the Joneses,” Oliver sputtered, though it sounded more like a question. “We're the...Joneses,” he repeated, sounding even less sure.

“Yeah,” Chloe said, trying not to laugh.

“Right this way,” the woman said, sounding unimpressed. Chloe wasn't sure if that meant she didn't buy it or if that was just the slightly superior attitude that seemed bred into every hostess ever. Either way, she led them to a table. “Here we are.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said absently, but truly meaning it when she saw the champagne on ice, grinning and rubbing her hands together as she reached for it. She should be worrying about how much this set-up would cost in the end, but when was the last time she had champagne? When would the next time be, even? 

Live a little.

“Enjoy,” the woman said as she moved away. 

She was ready to take that advice. They were always moving from crisis to crisis with every attempt to do something the normal people of the world would call fun hijacked by supernatural beings. This was a night away from all that, finally. Oliver wasn't on board, though.

He leaned forward. “Yeah, look, we shouldn't be doing this.”

She ignored that sentiment and poured out. They deserved this night. “The universe just gave a guy with a secret and a girl with no identity the chance to enjoy an evening out in public. What’s the worst that could happen?”

November, 2011

“You're the worst,” Chloe groaned, as Oliver popped the champagne. “Put that away!”

“Hey, Wayne wouldn't have sent a limo with a stocked bar if he didn't mean for us to partake.” He said as he rummaged for glasses in the little cabinets on the side.

“All of his cars are stocked. It's for investors. Not sneaky...”

“What is sneaky about any of this? Wayne's a pal of yours, you invited him to dinner.”

“He's not going to be happy.” He hadn't taken her calls at his office and his cell was still just a blocked number. She'd ended up going through Alfred, which Alfred didn't mind, but Bruce did, if his terse text was any sign.

Sending a car tomorrow night at eight. Happy now?

She wasn't, but Oliver seemed awfully pleased with himself. He handed her a glass and she took it. She'd probably need a little help to get through this dinner. 

“I'm happy enough to have a little time on a billionaire's dime, being downgraded to millionaire these days. Seriously... How often do we get to dress up and go on the town, anymore?” He took the seat next to her and sighed. “I mean, I get to wear a suit, but it's always for stupid board meetings and you're always in sweats.” He ran a finger up the slit in her dress. “Where'd you dig that up, by the way?”

“Diana took me shopping,” she said, moving her leg away. “Stop pawing me! You'll wrinkle it.”

He chuckled and reached for her again. “You can't be too mad at me. You picked green.”

“It was only because it was on sale,” she sniffed. Though not by much. And she had the tag tucked in in hopes she could return it when this was over with. As much as she'd been exposed to the trappings of wealth, she was still a blue collared man's daughter at heart. 

“Listen, you can be mad at me all you want and so can your little bat friend.”

She rolled her eyes. “Could you stop calling him that?”

“But this had to happen sooner or later,” he went on. “And we could have had this over with by now if you'd just...” 

“Sometimes I don't think any of you get what it's like being on my side of the secret. It's not mine to tell and it never is.” 

“Hey, this could have been a party of nine.”

“Don't remind me.” It took some finagling to get Clark and Victor to agree to let them handle this first meeting. She downed her champagne in one gulp, then took his. “This stuff isn't bad.”

“Hey, slow down.”

“Why? We're not driving? You should drink up, too.”

“Why?” Oliver sat back and sighed. “Where are we being taken, anyway?”

“Beats me. Probably somewhere ridiculously trendy and crowded.”

“Yeah? I would have pegged him as a hole-in-the-wall, dark booth type.”

“That's Batman. You-know-who,” she said carefully, as she still wanted to maintain that she had neither confirmed nor denied the connection, “has an image to maintain.” She grabbed the bottle and poured herself another. “Betcha it's going to be some place with a list and a snooty French guy guarding it and a table right in the damned middle.”

She was close. It was a snooty Italian guy. 

“Definitely not the Olive Garden,” she giggled as the man double checked their names. “You think they still have bread sticks, though? Bread sticks sound so good right now.”

“How much of that bottle did you drink?” Oliver hissed.

“I dunno. There was some left, I think.”

Oliver looked over the host’s head. “Yeah. Not that you don’t deserve a drink now and then, but pick your moments better.”

“I think I did,” she sighed.

“Doesn’t even matter,” Oliver grumbled. “I don’t even think he’s here.”

Chloe snorted. “Like he’d miss this!”

Oliver turned to her. “What do you mean?”

She laughed as she turned to him. “Green Arrow, publicly out-and-about super hero, is in Gotham meeting him for dinner. Trust me, he’ll make the biggest possible…”

“There he is!”

Oliver turned sharply at the voice behind them, but Chloe took her time, already annoyed and wishing Bruce would get the billionaire playboy act over with so they could talk.

Bruce nudged the woman, taller than him, though she seemed made up of mostly leg, at his side and gestured to Oliver. “That’s Oliver Queen!”

“For real?” she gasped.

“I told you.” Bruce grinned. “Katya’s a big superhero fan.”

The woman stepped forward. “I’ve only seen pictures,” she said, something vaguely European in her accent. “Even in leather, they do you no justice.”

Oliver looked horribly uncomfortable.

Chloe wasn’t too comfy herself as the woman eyed Oliver up and down. She stepped forward as well. “There’ll be no living with him now.” She smiled widely. “Hi. Chloe. Married to him.” She took his arm in both hands before turning to Bruce, pasting on a smile. “You brought a guest!”

Bruce just chuckled. “Thought we’d make it a double date.” He turned to the host, looking deceptively wide-eyed. “Green Arrow! Right here! Can you believe it?”

Oliver groaned.

Bruce grasped his hand and shook it, leaning in, speaking lowly. “I’m sorry. Does that annoy you?” He speared Chloe with a glance. “People tossing your identity around? I guess that’s what happens when you give it away. Of course, you gave yours to the public. Other people might think they’re safe with supposed trustworthy…”

“Okay, okay.” Chloe stepped between them. “Let’s not go all veiled commenty, here. Let’s just ditch the legs,” she said, gesturing vaguely to Katya, who seemed absorbed in getting a selfie with Oliver and Bruce in the background, “and we can drink this out like regular people.”

“You mean talk this out, Sweetie,” Oliver said, pulling her hand in.

“Whatever. We can drink and talk. Also, do they have breadsticks?”

“The little woman's had a few, as you can see,” Oliver had to go and point out.

“Just because you're all tall doesn't mean you get to call me little,” Chloe grumbled. 

“But we do need to talk,” Oliver said over her, “and I was hoping for somewhere private.”

Bruce grinned. “Privacy. Interesting you want that for yourselves.” He turned to Chloe, holding his smile.

She just glared at him. “Where are we on ditching the legs?”

“We’re not.” Bruce shrugged and gestured to the wide window and the flashes coming through it. “We’ve already been papped. Best to make the most of it.” He turned to the host, grinning and grabbing his model. “Lead the way.” 

Oliver frowned as they followed the man winding his way through the tables to one smack in the center. “Is he enjoying this or something?” 

“Green Arrow,” Bruce said loudly as he pulled out Katya’s chair. “Wow.”

“Okay, you’ve made your stupid point,” Chloe hissed as Bruce also pulled out one for her since Oliver was still standing there squirming under the gaze of every eye in the main dining room. “Now stop punishing Oliver when we know it’s me you’re mad at.”

“You?” Bruce gasped. “You’re the best secret keeper in the business. I couldn’t possibly be mad at you.”

“Yes, pour on the sarcasm all you want. That helps. But we’re not getting anywhere until we’re somewhere we can talk.”

“We can talk right here.” He took his seat and smiled widely. “About this merger you two seem to want so badly.” 

Oliver opened a menu, almost dove into it. “It’s technically not about the…”

“Obviously, it wasn’t enough for you two to send your people after me when I’m at work, so you’re now intruding on my private life.” Bruce gave Chloe a tight smile. “Nice touch. Getting Alfred on your side.”

“I only told him it was important and it is.”

“And I’ve only told all of you every damned time I see you that I’m not interested in joining,” he glanced at Katya, “our business interests.”

Katya rolled her eyes. “Are you going to talk about boring business all night?” She leaned toward Oliver, who was still ducking into his menu. “I want to know about chasing down the criminals in the tight fitting clothing.”

Chloe waved at her from across the table. “Hi. Chloe. Wife. Remember?”

She pouted and sat back.

“You’re right, Katya. This might get boring.” Bruce pulled out his billfold and peeled off a hundred. “Why don’t you get yourself something from the bar while we get the business out of the way?”

She smiled and took it. “Keep change?”

“Sure.”

She kissed his cheek and sauntered off.

Bruce folded his hands on the table, saying softly. “Okay. So let’s talk about why I’m here with you and your guy, who obviously knows…”

“I didn’t actually tell him any…”

“Did you also not tell that woman in the flag underwear? Because she showed up last night along with that hulking guy in the tights and…”

“I told them not to…”

“You keep saying that you’re not behind this, but…”

“Because I’m not. They figured it out and…”

“With no help from you?”

Chloe blanched. “Fine. Maybe a little. But I can’t be held responsible. There was a truth lasso the one time and the other time, I was still shaking off the magic champagne and I barely said anything, but they…

Bruce shook his head. “Do you need some coffee so you can start making sense?” 

“They just figured it out,” she said over him, “but I have never confirmed it...”

“Really? So meeting with me is supposed to throw them off the trail?”

“It’s not like they’re going to tell. They all have private lives, too.”

Bruce nodded to Oliver. “Not this one.”

“Okay. This one,” Oliver said, finally putting down his menu, “would like to say something.” He pointed at himself. “Yeah. Still here.” He leaned into Bruce. “First, thanks for all the attention. Second, she’s been shut up tight about you all along. Third, no one else is going to say a word. Fourth and finally, I really don’t care if you join forces at this point. We’re not here for that. We’re here to compare notes.”

Bruce sat back. “On?”

“There’s another force in town, from what I hear, one we have a little history with.”

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t want anything to do with them, either.”

“No one’s saying you do,” Chloe said, feeling tired and maybe a little headachy by now. “But we need to know what they’re doing here.”

“What every other damned person is doing in Gotham,” Bruce hissed. “I told them the same thing I told you. I work alone.”

“Yes. But what did they say?” Chloe leaned in. “We need to know everything.”

Bruce looked between her and Oliver. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” Oliver sighed. “Look, this other entity has some questionable business practices and my associates and I have had to clean up their mess more than once. So we want to know that they’re up to so we can do what we do, saving the world, by the way. Remember all those times it didn’t end? Yeah. That was us. Now, you don’t want to be a part of that? Fine. You can have you little hamlet, here, all to yourself while we take care of the big business.”

She squeezed Oliver’s knee under the table, not sure if it was the champagne or that speech, but she was insanely turned on right now.

Bruce stared at him for a long time, looking none too happy with that interpretation of the situation. But Chloe knew he couldn’t deny it. Bruce was damned good at dealing with Gotham, but he hadn’t touched the world outside of it, much less been part of saving it. 

The waiter approached at just that moment, smiling, though harried. “So sorry for the wait, Mr. Wayne. Are we ready?”

Bruce tore his gaze away from Oliver and put it on his menu. “Yes. But I think we’ll be taking this to go.”

February 14th, 2011

Chloe was trying to decide if it was an inspired investigative choice to take the Jones' waiting limo or a death wish. Maybe a little bit of both, considering the both of them had got out of worse than this. Either way, she didn’t think they’d be escaping. Wherever this was going, they’d do best to be along for the ride, even if it involved getting forced into the trunk of a limo. 

At least it was roomy. Hell, compared to an SUV in the desert with Rick Flag, this was probably cake. She jostled as they hit a bump, trying to decide whether lightening up the darkened space with a little joke would help when Oliver did it for her.

“You know, when I said I wanted to spoon earlier, this isn't really what I had in mind.”

She breathed out a laugh. It did help, a little. “We're lying alone together in the dark, okay?” She reached back for him. “I think that counts for something.” In fact, if this had not involved strange men and gun point, this would count as a very interesting new place to…

“Yeah, you're probably right,” Oliver said, sounding beyond annoyed as he tried to make room for his considerably longer legs. “This is definitely the most romantic of my recent kidnappings.” 

She scooched forward, trying to make more room for him. 

“Hell of a way to spend an anniversary, right?”

She stilled. Was that what this was? She knew last Valentine’s day, with the flowers and gifts, had been kind of a start of… something for them, but it hadn’t exactly been a relationship at the time, so... 

He grasped her shoulder.

She tried to think of something to say before he turned her to face him, but failed.

“Oh, gee… You forgot...”

“No! No! No!” She cut in, facing him fully. “I did not forget that it's been a year since we started doing... whatever it is that we're doing,” she finished awkwardly, already cringing at how he’d probably take that the worst way.

“Whatever it is that we're ... Wow. Okay.” Which he did. “You weren't joking around at the restaurant, were you? You don't know what to call me.”

“Not in so many words.” Considering how this started… They never exactly had “the talk,” the “where is this going?” that every supposedly normal couple has. But considering they weren't normal...

“Okay!” He turned away. 

“Oliver! Come on.”

He turned back. “We spend every waking moment together, right? We've said our ‘I love yous’ how many times, huh? Several. What do you call that?”

She didn’t know. With how this started, she’d never expected to find herself in love with him until she said the words. Then there she was trading her life for him. Then she was gone for months. Why was he taking this so hard?

“Ow!” Speaking of hard. The damned limo chose that moment to stop and none too gently. “Can we talk about this later?” He was taking everything the worst possible way and the trunk of a car wasn’t the place to explain herself in detail and…

“Yeah, no, I'd... love to do that, if there is a later,” he grunted.

“You're so dramatic,” she sighed, laying back, frustrated with him and the whole damned situation. This “normal date” had obviously gone about the same way every other attempt do anything remotely normal had. She was probably most frustrated at The Ace Of Clubs. The damned place was officially cursed and she was done with it from now on… if there was a now on. 

God, now she was as peppy and optimistic as Oliver. Then again, Mrs. Jones was likely dead. Mr. Jones was likely next. The men who had forced them into this trunk, from the nondescript suits and expressionless faces, were likely hired and maybe by whoever did it. She was in no hurry for that trunk to open. Of course, she didn’t have much say in it when the air whooshed in along with the flashlight beams in their faces.

November, 2011

“The look on your face,” she laughed as Oliver sat next to her, white-knuckling his knees in the limo.

“What? I’m supposed to be happy we’re being taken to yet another mystery location by your oh-so-pleasant friend.” He leaned forward. “You said there was some booze left, right?”

“Guess you’re not so pleased with yourself now,” she chuckled.

“Well, that was before I met the guy. Really nice move, announcing me loudly in the restaurant and in the valet line. Just wondering what kind of humiliation’s next.” He took a swig from the bottle. “Ugh. It’s flat.”

“I think he’s done humiliating you. He’s taking us somewhere we can talk. Okay?”

“Like where?”

She rolled down the window, glanced over the darkened rolling hills before putting it up. It was freezing, after all. “I’m hoping for the manor.” She didn’t think Oliver was ready to see the cave. She was none too eager herself, considering his “pets” were always lurking. 

Bruce had gone in his car and had probably gotten there ten minutes ago with how he drove, even with dropping his nightly arm candy off wherever she came from. Did he have these women on some kind of wait list? She’d have to ask one of these times. Of course, right now she had more important questions. She really hoped, when they could talk freely, Bruce would stop with the mind games and just answer. 

She was ready to tell him just that when the car stopped. But it wasn’t Bruce who opened the door. She smiled widely. “Alfred!”

Chapter Thirteen

Obviously, with Masquerade being such a Chlollie heavy episode, I’m not quite done with it. This was getting long at over 6K. 

But I will finish it in the next… which I promise will come in way less than four months. I just can’t apologize enough about the wait!

Replies from Chapter 11...

elenorlaura said...

I've probably watched the Chloe and Martha scene in Beacon a dozen times, and never connected it as I think you've done here to Chloe's decision to leave again. 

I confess, it's not a leap I would have made without the perspective of the show being over. There's definitely a few ways one can look at that scene. But, for this fic, that scene was nothing but more pressure on Chloe to keep giving up her own wants and needs for this "greater good" that's been for so long encompassed in Clark and only Clark -- and it can't go on.

It is a weird moment. There's the acknowledgement of the clandestine roles Martha and Chloe have taken on, but Martha appears to be still making it all about Clark. It feels almost like she's reminding Chloe that Clark comes first with that clumsy claim about being a part of their family. Then you have the rest of the stuff with Oliver and the team, and the contrast is pretty stark. 

It's one of the neat things about leaving the confines of the show and looking to the future. Clark is just one of the team and not the be-all, end-all anymore and there's balance among everyone. :)

I love the way the meeting unfolds. So funny and true to the characters.

Thanks so much! I really love getting them all together... with Bart. He's kind of my pet character in every fic. He gets all the funnies I can think up. ;)

mark-online said...

I agree with elenorlaura, TPTB have always gone out of their way to make everything about Clark no matter how stupid it turned out to be. I know this is Smallville but it was like everyone thought "Clark you're a selfish jerk but hey it's okay because you're supposed to be Superman in the future, so..." 'especially in season 9). 

Season 9 really bothered me at the time. He pulled some moves that I think really needed to be called out, but he got no recriminations. Yet Chloe was called out for every wrong step and made to speak penance all the time. I would have liked just a little of that action thrown Clark's way. 

You know, the more I analyze the show, the more I wonder why I even liked it to begin with. That's why I'm so glad I stumbled on fanfiction because it fixes everything (you're a good example of that, after all you've been kind of rewriting Smallville since season 9 with this Chlollie series) and I admit I'm more a fan of Smallville's fanfics than the show itself. 

You know, I feel the same way. As much as all my fic efforts have been concentrated on SV, it's not a show I admit to liking in "real life" the way I unabashedly love Walking Dead or Game of Thrones or X-files. But I actually think the fact that it made me write fic is what kept me watching. I just really wanted to fix it where I thought it could, just IMHO, be better or more nuanced. Once you've invested that kind of time, you can't walk away. LOL. So, even when I haaated it, there I was.

The only thing that had kept me watching all this time was Chloe and then her and Oliver (seriously who needs a show about Clark when you have these two?).

Chlollie was definitely the one bright spot for me in season 9-10. I multi-ship Chloe like mad! But it was so nice to have a canon compliant ship for her that I enjoyed as... Well, the only other Chloe relationship canon gave us was Chimmy and... I mean, come on! 

It makes me even more impatient about your next chapter(s) about Masquerade and your take on the Chloe/Desaad "torture" scene (the Clark part seriously irked me).

It bothered me, too. (though I do ship Chlark as well, so any enjoyment came from "hope someone can use this for good vidding!") But Chlark... You know, at that point, when things had gone so far as for Chloe and Oliver to be in love and Clark and Lois to be engaged, then just don't, Show! For Chlarkers, it's another unrewarded tease and they've had enough of those for years by then.  Revisiting it there served no purpose. If they had let Chlark speak honestly after Escape in season 9, it would have made sense. But not in season 10. I will have explanations coming as to why that came up, though, in chapter 13 and I promise it won't be because Chloe is still harboring feelings for Chlark.

Smallville had so much potential but failed to exploit it on TV, so fanfics came in and saved the day! (pun intended). Sorry about the rant, I guess I needed to vent my frustrations to the world and it was the perfect place to do it! :)

Hey, rant away. It's cleansing. :) For me, every season had a moment where the show could have done something interesting or complex and it always wussed out and reverted to status quo and stalling. Sometimes I wish US TV was a bit more like UK TV -- less episodes and more substance to each. 

On a final note, I find myself enjoying your story more and more with each chapter. The Bruce revelation was fun and I love how Chloe and Oliver already act as an old married couple even though they got married less than a year ago. Oh and Vic! He's awesome here and I could totally picture him trying not to smile as he got full approval of everyone! Thanks for everything you're doing with this fic. It's more than just words to me.

Aw, shucks! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. It's nice to have readers with the show over so long now. And I LOVE writing the JL scenes like mad.

dreammaker101 said...

Soooooooo happy you posted another chapter! So many wonderful things in this chapter and story overall. I adore your Oliver and Chloe. You have a great way of writing them, where they are so domestic and funny, even when they are dealing with serious issues and emotions. 

Blushing like schoolgirl! I do like to inject as much comedy into the story as I can.

I get such a kick out of Ollie calling Chloe “Babe” and “Baby.” Not every Chlollie writer can pull that off in my opinion, but with your writing, I can’t help but be reminded of another wonderful married TV couple, Tami and Eric Taylor from Friday Night Lights. 

I hear such amazing things about FNL. I'm really going to have to watch it one day. As for endearments like "Babe" and "Baby" or even "Honey" or "Sweetheart," I suspect you might be a bit like me. See, I always find petnames either cute or cloying depending on context. If it's in a saccharine, lovey way or during a heartfelt speech , I find it cheesy as all hell. But if it's lighthearted or sarcastic or casual, then I like it because it's just... I can't explain it. I'm someone who writes romance, but doesn't like it to be TOO romantic. I want the love shown through progression or gestures or the easy way the characters interact, but never outright schmoopy. Anyway, when I hear Ollie saying Babe or Baby, it's tossed off and not given this undue weight that I think petnames don't warrant. I don't know if any of that makes sense, but that's me and petnames. 

I also adore Victor in this story and especially in this chapter. His suppressed smile at being unanimously elected to run the meetings and take charge of the teenagers. So cute! (C’mon Ollie – you know it’s important to Victor and to the League – “obnoxious teenagers” and “boring meetings,” – you didn’t have to put it like that! Lol!) 

LOL. The men of this group are all just a bunch of teenage boys (maybe not John), so afraid of acting like awesome stuff is awesome. :)

I totally agree with and appreciate your take on that scene. While some have viewed it as a “passing of the mantle” so to speak, and while I understood that Martha was demonstrating appreciation and trust in Chloe, Martha was all about Clark (which is understandable since she is his mother). However, to me, Martha did not express real concern about Chloe. We know that Chloe’s life could no longer revolve around Clark. I’m glad you addressed that issue. Looking forward to reading more about Chloe’s journey.

I'm definitely getting her to the decision she makes in Fortune by degrees. I just remember her going to Star City's paper and how Oliver didn't know all she was doing as being evidence she'd been working her way there on her own and, in a way, I've been building up this decision since I had her in Star City with her mother and from my interpretation of Ollie texts to her in season 9, trying to tempt her to his town. But I think she needs to get their on her own terms rather than as part of a relationship, however deep that relationship may be.

Everyone ganging up on Chloe – Good for Chloe for staying strong and reminding everyone that she needs to respect Batman’s secrets just as she did for everyone else. But I loved that everyone wanted to act as a team and had valid reasons for wanting to meet with Batman. 

Everyone, including Chloe, has a valid point in all this. :)

Got a kick out of Clark figuring out that Batman was the “billionaire with the high-tech toys” that Chloe mentioned earlier that year. Oh Clark – you were listening!

Will wonders never cease?

Again, I adore your Ollie and Chloe. Ollie is so passive aggressive in this chapter – I love it! He tries to reason with Chloe, then gets frustrated and “tattles” on her to the rest of the League. “Oliver turned to her. ‘And you promised to love, honor and be honest with me and we all know how that turned out!’” With another writer and another story, I can see Ollie coming across as a jerk, but in your story, I can’t help laughing!

Aw, thanks for that! I've always liked their banter to have just a bit of a sting, considering some of the antipathy the writers gave Chlollie in season 8. Chloe and Oliver don't mince words with each other and that's one of the things I like about writing them... that they can antagonize each other and still come out crazy for the other.

Can’t wait for the next chapter to see more of Ollie’s reaction to the fact that Chloe has history with Bruce Wayne and the fact that Bruce paid Chloe’s expenses.

Don't want to spoil it, but "petulant" might be the word.

Also interested in further discussion between Chloe and Ollie about Ollie being in control when it comes to their sex life. You raised the issue in the last chapter, and Chloe threw it in Ollie’s face in this chapter (Chloe is passive-aggressive too!) but he did not understand and Chloe would not explain.It just goes to show that even though Chloe and Ollie are married and have the “happy ending,” nothing falls into place perfectly. They are in the first year of their marriage and will need to continue working on their relationship. 

I've been teasing it since about chapter 2. This will come up more as we go. :)  I think every romantic story needs romantic tension or something to resolve between them or it's not as interesting for me to write (or, I assume , for anyone to read). I like relationships to be imperfect and I like exploring all the internal hurdles characters have to get through to be together. So that unevenness in their experience and in the smutty bits themselves, is the romantic tension for this story.

LOL. Forgive all my rambling. I'm in the midst of writing my first non-fic romance novel and am just stewing all the time on what makes me write what I write. :)

Also, looking forward to reading about the “legal” wedding that Ollie referenced!

There's more coming on that, for sure. See, it's not just that I think illegal, underground gambling establishments aren't known for their binding wedding ceremonies. But I really didn't want Chloe to go through another wedding without a certain person present. You can probably guess who.