Fic: SV/Batverse: Could End Up A Story (7/7)
Title: Could End Up A Story 7/7
Author: fryadvocate
Disclaimer: I own neither any of the characters in SV nor in the DC 'verse.
Summary: Chloe meets Gotham by accident, on her way from one story to the next.
Slam was still leaning against the side of his car. When Chloe turned around, he was pulling a cigarette, offered her one. She took it; it was something to do with her hands.
"We could go home, you could start writing," Slam offered.
"No," Chloe said. She tapped her bag. "I've got my laptop here. Let's go to an Internet café. I should probably call Perry."
"Probably," Slam said, dryly. "I know somewhere in a better neighborhood than your last one."
Nodding, Chloe gave him the point. "Fine, yes, ok, so that was a bad choice."
Slam started the car when she was in and drove back towards the financial district. Flipping her phone open, Chloe dialed her third speed dial number.
"What?" Perry barked into the phone. Chloe checked her watch. Five o'clock. The first wave of stories would be getting in, hitting the copy editors and Perry.
"Hey, Perry, it's Chloe," she said in a rush. "How are you?"
"Kent says you've got another Luthor story?" Perry must have had his door open, the familiar noise of the newsroom was loud in the background.
"Yeah," she said. "He's making some sort of missiles here. Probably to be used against Superman."
Perry made a low humming noise. "Yeah. Ok. Don't get in trouble. Tell Slam not to let you get in trouble. And Superman? Why is it that you and Lane always think everything's about him?"
"Because we're madly, passionately, in love with him?" she asked, rolling her eyes upward.
"Get out'a here, Sullivan. Get me the draft before tomorrow's deadline," Perry hung up, already yelling for someone to come and fix this goddamned tense already.
Slam parked, and opened his door. "How is Perry?"
"On deadline," she said. "In his element. This place has wireless?"
"The sign says so." Slam got out of the car, grabbing a suit jacket from the backseat, and waited until she was out, too, to walk to the door. She wasn't sure if he was holding it open out of courtesy or because he wanted to make sure she didn't get into trouble on her way into the place.
Probably the latter, given the last few days.
"Thanks," she said.
They set up at a table near the back, far away from the door, but right next to the emergency exit. Sipping her latte, she checked her e-mail. Office stuff, office stuff, five people about her article, one from a reporter at the NY Times, wondering where she'd gotten her sources.
And then the 600k message from Lexisdabomb@ilovelex.com, owner of the Lex Luthor fanpage.
Hi! These are the only ones I could find from around that time (and in all of them he's with these two skanky ho bags), they're all scanned copies (no digital cameras! *shock and awe*) but they're pretty good. OMG. Let me see whatever you do, ok?
Hugs and kisses,
Lexisdabomb
Chloe downloaded the pictures and opened them. The first was Selina, looking younger, wearing thick, heavy, shiny makeup. Lex looked like he was about to pass out, and she was perched on his lap lightly.
The second was him wearing something different, a different shirt, leather pants. He had his arm around a different girl's shoulders, someone younger even than Selina. She was pale white, had that look of heroin chic, and Chloe was willing to bet it was a look that came from real heroin use.
Her red hair hung long around her face and she was looking straight into the camera. Chloe choked on her latte; she recognized those eyes. "Oh, my god, it's Sister Magdalene."
Slam looked up from his paper, "Sister Maggie? Where?"
"With Lex," Chloe stopped. Pieces clicked, ten years ago, before Sister Magdalene had joined the convent, there'd been a donation. And now, again, when Sister Magdalene needed help, Bruce came running and if he'd known Selina then and he knew her now, it couldn't be chance.
"Sister Magdalene is Selina's sister Maggie. Who used to be a hooker," she said. "And they used to hang out with Lex Luthor."
The café was busy, buzzing with life, conversations, people reading, background music. Noise was familiar, the newsroom was never quiet. With noise, Chloe could think.
Before it was a factory it was a clinic, somewhere Sister Magdalene used to heal druggies and hookers, people she'd been. And before it was a factory, it was a club. Clubs in bad neighborhoods were the m.o. of Lex's publicly forgotten years, the years when hookers probably would have been the best company he hung out with.
Chloe leaned back, drank her latte, ran a finger along the edge of the table. "They all want it, because ten years ago, Lex Luthor was using Maggie Kyle there and something stopped it that made Selina go to Bruce so that Maggie could get help and made Lex leave Gotham alone until now."
Over the edge of his newspaper, Slam was watching her, and she didn't even try to read his expression.
"The girl at Doctor Thompkins' office, Susan, said that Lex had taken Maggie away and Selina had stolen her back." Watching him, she asked, "What do you think?"
"What could a hooker have done to get Luthor to stay away from Gotham? To frighten him?" Slam shrugged. "It was probably just that he didn't want to tangle with Bruce Wayne."
Shaking her head, Chloe said, "No, he could have crushed Bruce Wayne earlier, before Bruce expanded the empire. I always wondered why he didn't."
Scratching at his chin, Slam asked, "I thought you said it didn't matter what happened then?"
"You said it didn't matter," Chloe said. "It's just now I want to know, why would a street hooker hang around with Lex Luthor when she had Bruce Wayne on a string? What did she do that kept Lex out of Gotham? Why did he come back now? It's just more questions."
"You going to write your story?" Slam was looking at her again like he had earlier. "Selina and Maggie will still only be hurt by whatever you publish about them. You think that turning a story about something bad that's happening into one about gossip will make this easier on anyone? It might sell more papers, but it won't be what's important."
Looking at the keyboard, Chloe glared at the keys. He was right, but it hurt not having all the answers, and knowing that she couldn't unless someone broke and told her something that was buried deep. It was the years that Clark hadn't told her his secret all over again.
Her notebook was opened to her first page of notes and so she started Word and began typing. Two hours later and the story was still flowing, quotes falling into place, facts she'd have to look up bolded to make it easier on herself later. She was cruising.
Writing was always a subset of following a story for her, she wrote in the back of her head when she interviewed, when she researched, so that nearly complete paragraphs fell onto the page in the right places, at the right times. The puzzle pieces that hadn't made sense in her head, made sense on paper as she put together a story of greed and anger, of hiding weapons, of using people, of a city so desperate that it took the business of a bad man because it didn't expect any better.
There was a soft ringing from an inner pocket in Slam's jacket. He flipped open the phone. "Bradley. Yeah... When?... Ok, Hollie, I'll be right there. Calm down."
"We're going," he said.
Chloe came out of her story like it was a long sleep. "What?"
"C'mon," he said. "We have to go. There's been an explosion at the factory."
Before he'd even finished the word, she was packing up, turning off her computer, shoving it into her bag and walking out ahead of him to the car. "Was anyone in the building?" she asked.
Sirens were already sounding, she cocked her head, noticed that Slam did, too. The wail was recognizable as the fire department.
"I don't know," he said, but the expression on his face was strangely open, his movements were hasty: He looked worried.
He drove faster than she'd seen him drive before, taking corners quickly, and she recognized where they were headed, East End. She opened her window and smelled, overpoweringly, the scent of smoke. It was almost invisible in the darkness, but smoke rose out of a building a few blocks away and Slam pressed hard on the gas pedal until they were only a block away, red sirens and dark smoke making it hard to see.
In a nearby alleyway, he parked, barely waiting for the engine to stop before he opened the door, was outside.
"Slam," someone coughed violently. Out of the alleyway's darkness, Catwoman moved, like a shadow come to life. She coughed again, covering her mouth.
"Se- Catwoman," Slam said. "What did you do?"
"Something incredibly stupid," she said.
Slam snorted. "Yeah, I got that one. Where's Hollie?"
"Up on the roof," Catwoman said, voice hoarse. She stretched up, her arms grabbing to a fire escape. Even exhausted, and suffering from what sounded like smoke inhalation, she was graceful, nearly dancing as she walked. "Hurry up, I want to admire my work some more."
Although his sigh was long suffering, Chloe could tell he was relieved to see her, his shoulders lowered, face back to its neutral mask. "C'mon, kid."
Catwoman was already halfway up, not waiting for them, although, she watched them when she'd reached the roof. By the time Chloe was at the top, she was panting, because cardio was one thing, but she avoided the rock climbing at the gym for a reason.
On the roof, someone was already standing at the far edge, in the direction that the smoke was coming from. Chloe followed Catwoman, who darted back to the ledge to sit with her legs hanging over the edge. The flat factory was still bubbling smoke, yellow fireman uniforms coming in and out of the building. Water was already being sprayed, the hoses manned from every engine, hydrants at full blast.
She stared down, almost uncomprehendingly, except that she knew what it was, her story ending with a bang, a shot of flames and explosions she could put in her lead. Slam blocked her view of everything to her left except for the bounce of Catwoman's legs.
Chloe's cell phone rang, and she answered it automatically, nearly toneless. "Sullivan."
"Miss Sullivan, this is Dr. Cain from Magnus Labs. I'm faxing the report to your office, but I thought you might want to know that it will take considerably longer than we first thought to analyze the material. But," he paused for emphasis. "From what we can tell, it's a variant of the element found in the meteor rocks, Kryponite. It appears to be distilled and liquefied to increase the amount of molecules found in the space."
"Distilled Kryptonite?" Chloe said, angrily. Lex needed to pay for this, because there was only one person on earth who those would be effective against. To everyone else it was probably a fast way to mutate whoever got hit. She couldn't forget Smallville that easily. "Thanks, Dr. Cain."
"Of course," he said, hanging up.
Looking back at the burning building, she was acutely grateful for Catwoman.
"Beautiful," Catwoman said. There was a low rapture in her voice and if the word wasn't familiar the tone was and something else clicked into place.
The familiar dark, curling hair, the eyes, but mostly, the voice, "Selina Kyle," Chloe said.
Catwoman stiffened, and Slam put a hand on Chloe's shoulder, squeezed tightly. She'd seen him do that to one other person since she'd known him and it was a threat then. It was a threat now.
"Eh, she won't tell. Will you Chloe?" The girl finally spoke, no longer blocked by Slam's solid shape.
Frowning, Chloe dug, trying to remember. "Susan?" she asked.
"Hollie," the girl corrected. "I was undercover," she whispered as though she was admitting she liked Ashlee Simpson.
"Will you?" Slam asked, hand still tight. The lines were thick around his mouth, frown lines.
"Let her go, Slam," Susan/Hollie said. "She's not interested in this, are you, Chloe?"
And even though it was nice, said friendly, there was an anger underneath the words, a glint of fury and danger that Chloe had only seen before in gang members about to fight. Whenever he was about to fight, Superman just looked resigned.
"Of course I wouldn't tell anyone," Chloe said, slowly. "This isn't the sort of thing that you publish..."
"Let her go." The voice was firm, commanding, deep, and uncompromising. "Let her go now."
Chloe turned and it was the red and blue, yellow 'S', she'd been expecting all weekend. Automatically, she took two steps towards him, felt Slam's hand fall off of her shoulder.
For half a second, Superman looked at her, his eyes softened and even if she was the only one who knew it, he was Clark.
"Superman." They all turned to stare at the newcomer and it was a little bit like a Katharine Hepburn comedy where everyone arrived at the same time, or that scene in Rocky Horror.
Chloe had never really thought that she'd ever get to meet Batman, because she was Metropolis, he was Gotham, so she'd always kind of pictured him as a grown man in a ski mask with a cape. He wasn't. Batman's cape flowed over his shoulders, he was wearing what wouldn't have been out of place at a Halloween store, but ten times more frightening than anything made of plastic could have ever been.
She understood why people feared him. He was a living, breathing incarnation of darkness.
"Batman," Superman said. He was glaring. "Why didn't you do anything about the factory?"
The pause was lengthy, and unlike Catwoman's revealing costume, Batman's eyes were invisible behind lenses that reflected black at them, obsidian darkness making him look soulless, the way someone who wanted to rescue Gotham would have to be.
"I wanted to make sure you wouldn't," Batman said, finally. The words the way that you did were implied. His voice was dark, thunderous nights. It was the growl of a feral dog.
"I didn't," Superman was calm, collected; he was above human emotions because he wasn't human.
The only thing that changed about Batman was the corner of his lip moving slightly down. The rest of them were quiet.
"Oh, he's right," Catwoman said. "That was me."
They all turned to look at her except for Superman, who still stared at Batman with fury. Batman's whole mouth drew down. "You exploded a building filled with unknown contaminants in a city. Near the water." His words were flat, without inflection.
"Oh, you mean the contaminants that we moved to a separate storage facility? Really, that would have been dumb to explode nuclear waste all over the city," she said. "We moved everything. Including the missiles."
"Not nuclear, " Chloe said, suddenly. "Distilled kryptonite."
Superman might not rage the way that humans did, but his jaw tightened, his fists clenched just the same. Chloe wondered what he would say when they got home, what he would do as Clark Kent, hurt yet again by Lex Luthor.
Batman nodded at her.
Stretching, arching her back so that her breasts were exactly where Chloe's couldn't ever be without a really good plastic surgeon, Catwoman said, "We can talk disposal later. I don't want that stuff sitting around my neighborhood."
"We should talk, Batman," Superman said. He looked serious, his addressing-the-people-of-the-world look. It was his look of peace. Chloe had yet to see his look of war, but didn't really doubt she would some day if Lex continued to build weapons to try to hurt Superman.
Batman walked away, to the edge farthest from the rest of them, didn't even glance over his shoulder to make sure that Superman was following him. She'd have to press Clark for details later.
Instead, she asked, "Why did Lex stay away from Gotham for so long?"
Arching an eyebrow, Catwoman said, "Curious little kitten, you know what happened to the cat."
"Yeah," Chloe said. "It's just gossip if the world knows what happened, it's bribery if I do. What'd you do to Lex?"
Down at the warehouse, the fire was still burning, Catwoman stared at it. "I told him that I would slit his throat if he came back," she said. "He had my sister. I probably should have killed him then - a mercy killing."
Still, there was something blank in her face. "I'm off," she said, suddenly. "Tell him that we'll get together, have tea and crumpets, discuss getting rid of it all."
With a running jump a crack of - was that a whip? - Catwoman was off, disappeared, gone.
"She doesn't kill people," Hollie said, firmly. "That's why she didn't do it. But, I think that she might have killed for her sister. Family first, with her. I should go. Talk to you later, Slam."
Hollie's exit was much less dramatic, walking to the roof door, letting it slam behind her.
"Just you and me, kid," Slam said.
Chloe nodded, looked over to where Batman and Superman were still talking. Briefly, she wished she'd brought her laptop so she could keep working, but then the firefighters caught her eyes again and she shook her head.
"We should go," she said, eventually, pulling herself away from the edge.
"You aren't going back to Metropolis tonight?" Slam asked, but he was already heading for the door. Chloe glanced at Superman once more before following Slam down the stairs.
*****
Chloe came back from Gotham on the midnight flight, one of thirty exhausted people who got off the commuter plane. She was the only one with luggage, and the only one who had someone waiting for her.
When she jumped into his arms, the scene from the movie where the music crescendos and everything fades to black, he hugged her tight, wrapped his arms around her and held her, feet above the ground until they were both breathing normally again, not the shocky half-breaths of I-missed-you-so-much.
He got her luggage, a worn duffel bag that had been with her in any overseas story she'd ever done. She carried her messenger bag and held his hand walking to the car. It felt like quiet time, time that they had to themselves.
The next day, she had to run the Copy Editor gauntlet and get it put through for the final ok by Perry. All of the other news stations had reported the fire as a "factory explosion" without linking it to Luthor and Chloe felt a low burn of satisfaction in her gut.
When her story came out, she sat at her desk, heels up, re-reading it and ignoring the phone calls. She got two packages that weren't bombs: a box of lingerie from Dessous, and a potted rose bush. The note that came with the lingerie read, Good work. --Selina.
The color of the Gotham Hope rosebush was a fine pink that flowed into a deep red, even in the crappy florescent lighting.
Luthor's press representatives insisted that the story was mostly fabrication of a reporter with a grudge. Their song and dance was aired on national television, until a missile was found in an underground storage room, the only thing not touched by the fire. Slowly, with coaxing that Chloe knew was coming from the unions, people who had worked at the factory came forward.
It was something that Chloe wouldn't have exactly admitted to helping orchestrate.
At home, she put the rosebush on their kitchen table, for lack of anywhere else to put it, the lingerie was a quick change with her cotton panties and regular bra before Clark got home. She opened the box of pizza, and took out a small piece, while she waited for Clark to come home from being Superman.
*****
end
Author: fryadvocate
Disclaimer: I own neither any of the characters in SV nor in the DC 'verse.
Summary: Chloe meets Gotham by accident, on her way from one story to the next.
Slam was still leaning against the side of his car. When Chloe turned around, he was pulling a cigarette, offered her one. She took it; it was something to do with her hands.
"We could go home, you could start writing," Slam offered.
"No," Chloe said. She tapped her bag. "I've got my laptop here. Let's go to an Internet café. I should probably call Perry."
"Probably," Slam said, dryly. "I know somewhere in a better neighborhood than your last one."
Nodding, Chloe gave him the point. "Fine, yes, ok, so that was a bad choice."
Slam started the car when she was in and drove back towards the financial district. Flipping her phone open, Chloe dialed her third speed dial number.
"What?" Perry barked into the phone. Chloe checked her watch. Five o'clock. The first wave of stories would be getting in, hitting the copy editors and Perry.
"Hey, Perry, it's Chloe," she said in a rush. "How are you?"
"Kent says you've got another Luthor story?" Perry must have had his door open, the familiar noise of the newsroom was loud in the background.
"Yeah," she said. "He's making some sort of missiles here. Probably to be used against Superman."
Perry made a low humming noise. "Yeah. Ok. Don't get in trouble. Tell Slam not to let you get in trouble. And Superman? Why is it that you and Lane always think everything's about him?"
"Because we're madly, passionately, in love with him?" she asked, rolling her eyes upward.
"Get out'a here, Sullivan. Get me the draft before tomorrow's deadline," Perry hung up, already yelling for someone to come and fix this goddamned tense already.
Slam parked, and opened his door. "How is Perry?"
"On deadline," she said. "In his element. This place has wireless?"
"The sign says so." Slam got out of the car, grabbing a suit jacket from the backseat, and waited until she was out, too, to walk to the door. She wasn't sure if he was holding it open out of courtesy or because he wanted to make sure she didn't get into trouble on her way into the place.
Probably the latter, given the last few days.
"Thanks," she said.
They set up at a table near the back, far away from the door, but right next to the emergency exit. Sipping her latte, she checked her e-mail. Office stuff, office stuff, five people about her article, one from a reporter at the NY Times, wondering where she'd gotten her sources.
And then the 600k message from Lexisdabomb@ilovelex.com, owner of the Lex Luthor fanpage.
Hi! These are the only ones I could find from around that time (and in all of them he's with these two skanky ho bags), they're all scanned copies (no digital cameras! *shock and awe*) but they're pretty good. OMG. Let me see whatever you do, ok?
Hugs and kisses,
Lexisdabomb
Chloe downloaded the pictures and opened them. The first was Selina, looking younger, wearing thick, heavy, shiny makeup. Lex looked like he was about to pass out, and she was perched on his lap lightly.
The second was him wearing something different, a different shirt, leather pants. He had his arm around a different girl's shoulders, someone younger even than Selina. She was pale white, had that look of heroin chic, and Chloe was willing to bet it was a look that came from real heroin use.
Her red hair hung long around her face and she was looking straight into the camera. Chloe choked on her latte; she recognized those eyes. "Oh, my god, it's Sister Magdalene."
Slam looked up from his paper, "Sister Maggie? Where?"
"With Lex," Chloe stopped. Pieces clicked, ten years ago, before Sister Magdalene had joined the convent, there'd been a donation. And now, again, when Sister Magdalene needed help, Bruce came running and if he'd known Selina then and he knew her now, it couldn't be chance.
"Sister Magdalene is Selina's sister Maggie. Who used to be a hooker," she said. "And they used to hang out with Lex Luthor."
The café was busy, buzzing with life, conversations, people reading, background music. Noise was familiar, the newsroom was never quiet. With noise, Chloe could think.
Before it was a factory it was a clinic, somewhere Sister Magdalene used to heal druggies and hookers, people she'd been. And before it was a factory, it was a club. Clubs in bad neighborhoods were the m.o. of Lex's publicly forgotten years, the years when hookers probably would have been the best company he hung out with.
Chloe leaned back, drank her latte, ran a finger along the edge of the table. "They all want it, because ten years ago, Lex Luthor was using Maggie Kyle there and something stopped it that made Selina go to Bruce so that Maggie could get help and made Lex leave Gotham alone until now."
Over the edge of his newspaper, Slam was watching her, and she didn't even try to read his expression.
"The girl at Doctor Thompkins' office, Susan, said that Lex had taken Maggie away and Selina had stolen her back." Watching him, she asked, "What do you think?"
"What could a hooker have done to get Luthor to stay away from Gotham? To frighten him?" Slam shrugged. "It was probably just that he didn't want to tangle with Bruce Wayne."
Shaking her head, Chloe said, "No, he could have crushed Bruce Wayne earlier, before Bruce expanded the empire. I always wondered why he didn't."
Scratching at his chin, Slam asked, "I thought you said it didn't matter what happened then?"
"You said it didn't matter," Chloe said. "It's just now I want to know, why would a street hooker hang around with Lex Luthor when she had Bruce Wayne on a string? What did she do that kept Lex out of Gotham? Why did he come back now? It's just more questions."
"You going to write your story?" Slam was looking at her again like he had earlier. "Selina and Maggie will still only be hurt by whatever you publish about them. You think that turning a story about something bad that's happening into one about gossip will make this easier on anyone? It might sell more papers, but it won't be what's important."
Looking at the keyboard, Chloe glared at the keys. He was right, but it hurt not having all the answers, and knowing that she couldn't unless someone broke and told her something that was buried deep. It was the years that Clark hadn't told her his secret all over again.
Her notebook was opened to her first page of notes and so she started Word and began typing. Two hours later and the story was still flowing, quotes falling into place, facts she'd have to look up bolded to make it easier on herself later. She was cruising.
Writing was always a subset of following a story for her, she wrote in the back of her head when she interviewed, when she researched, so that nearly complete paragraphs fell onto the page in the right places, at the right times. The puzzle pieces that hadn't made sense in her head, made sense on paper as she put together a story of greed and anger, of hiding weapons, of using people, of a city so desperate that it took the business of a bad man because it didn't expect any better.
There was a soft ringing from an inner pocket in Slam's jacket. He flipped open the phone. "Bradley. Yeah... When?... Ok, Hollie, I'll be right there. Calm down."
"We're going," he said.
Chloe came out of her story like it was a long sleep. "What?"
"C'mon," he said. "We have to go. There's been an explosion at the factory."
Before he'd even finished the word, she was packing up, turning off her computer, shoving it into her bag and walking out ahead of him to the car. "Was anyone in the building?" she asked.
Sirens were already sounding, she cocked her head, noticed that Slam did, too. The wail was recognizable as the fire department.
"I don't know," he said, but the expression on his face was strangely open, his movements were hasty: He looked worried.
He drove faster than she'd seen him drive before, taking corners quickly, and she recognized where they were headed, East End. She opened her window and smelled, overpoweringly, the scent of smoke. It was almost invisible in the darkness, but smoke rose out of a building a few blocks away and Slam pressed hard on the gas pedal until they were only a block away, red sirens and dark smoke making it hard to see.
In a nearby alleyway, he parked, barely waiting for the engine to stop before he opened the door, was outside.
"Slam," someone coughed violently. Out of the alleyway's darkness, Catwoman moved, like a shadow come to life. She coughed again, covering her mouth.
"Se- Catwoman," Slam said. "What did you do?"
"Something incredibly stupid," she said.
Slam snorted. "Yeah, I got that one. Where's Hollie?"
"Up on the roof," Catwoman said, voice hoarse. She stretched up, her arms grabbing to a fire escape. Even exhausted, and suffering from what sounded like smoke inhalation, she was graceful, nearly dancing as she walked. "Hurry up, I want to admire my work some more."
Although his sigh was long suffering, Chloe could tell he was relieved to see her, his shoulders lowered, face back to its neutral mask. "C'mon, kid."
Catwoman was already halfway up, not waiting for them, although, she watched them when she'd reached the roof. By the time Chloe was at the top, she was panting, because cardio was one thing, but she avoided the rock climbing at the gym for a reason.
On the roof, someone was already standing at the far edge, in the direction that the smoke was coming from. Chloe followed Catwoman, who darted back to the ledge to sit with her legs hanging over the edge. The flat factory was still bubbling smoke, yellow fireman uniforms coming in and out of the building. Water was already being sprayed, the hoses manned from every engine, hydrants at full blast.
She stared down, almost uncomprehendingly, except that she knew what it was, her story ending with a bang, a shot of flames and explosions she could put in her lead. Slam blocked her view of everything to her left except for the bounce of Catwoman's legs.
Chloe's cell phone rang, and she answered it automatically, nearly toneless. "Sullivan."
"Miss Sullivan, this is Dr. Cain from Magnus Labs. I'm faxing the report to your office, but I thought you might want to know that it will take considerably longer than we first thought to analyze the material. But," he paused for emphasis. "From what we can tell, it's a variant of the element found in the meteor rocks, Kryponite. It appears to be distilled and liquefied to increase the amount of molecules found in the space."
"Distilled Kryptonite?" Chloe said, angrily. Lex needed to pay for this, because there was only one person on earth who those would be effective against. To everyone else it was probably a fast way to mutate whoever got hit. She couldn't forget Smallville that easily. "Thanks, Dr. Cain."
"Of course," he said, hanging up.
Looking back at the burning building, she was acutely grateful for Catwoman.
"Beautiful," Catwoman said. There was a low rapture in her voice and if the word wasn't familiar the tone was and something else clicked into place.
The familiar dark, curling hair, the eyes, but mostly, the voice, "Selina Kyle," Chloe said.
Catwoman stiffened, and Slam put a hand on Chloe's shoulder, squeezed tightly. She'd seen him do that to one other person since she'd known him and it was a threat then. It was a threat now.
"Eh, she won't tell. Will you Chloe?" The girl finally spoke, no longer blocked by Slam's solid shape.
Frowning, Chloe dug, trying to remember. "Susan?" she asked.
"Hollie," the girl corrected. "I was undercover," she whispered as though she was admitting she liked Ashlee Simpson.
"Will you?" Slam asked, hand still tight. The lines were thick around his mouth, frown lines.
"Let her go, Slam," Susan/Hollie said. "She's not interested in this, are you, Chloe?"
And even though it was nice, said friendly, there was an anger underneath the words, a glint of fury and danger that Chloe had only seen before in gang members about to fight. Whenever he was about to fight, Superman just looked resigned.
"Of course I wouldn't tell anyone," Chloe said, slowly. "This isn't the sort of thing that you publish..."
"Let her go." The voice was firm, commanding, deep, and uncompromising. "Let her go now."
Chloe turned and it was the red and blue, yellow 'S', she'd been expecting all weekend. Automatically, she took two steps towards him, felt Slam's hand fall off of her shoulder.
For half a second, Superman looked at her, his eyes softened and even if she was the only one who knew it, he was Clark.
"Superman." They all turned to stare at the newcomer and it was a little bit like a Katharine Hepburn comedy where everyone arrived at the same time, or that scene in Rocky Horror.
Chloe had never really thought that she'd ever get to meet Batman, because she was Metropolis, he was Gotham, so she'd always kind of pictured him as a grown man in a ski mask with a cape. He wasn't. Batman's cape flowed over his shoulders, he was wearing what wouldn't have been out of place at a Halloween store, but ten times more frightening than anything made of plastic could have ever been.
She understood why people feared him. He was a living, breathing incarnation of darkness.
"Batman," Superman said. He was glaring. "Why didn't you do anything about the factory?"
The pause was lengthy, and unlike Catwoman's revealing costume, Batman's eyes were invisible behind lenses that reflected black at them, obsidian darkness making him look soulless, the way someone who wanted to rescue Gotham would have to be.
"I wanted to make sure you wouldn't," Batman said, finally. The words the way that you did were implied. His voice was dark, thunderous nights. It was the growl of a feral dog.
"I didn't," Superman was calm, collected; he was above human emotions because he wasn't human.
The only thing that changed about Batman was the corner of his lip moving slightly down. The rest of them were quiet.
"Oh, he's right," Catwoman said. "That was me."
They all turned to look at her except for Superman, who still stared at Batman with fury. Batman's whole mouth drew down. "You exploded a building filled with unknown contaminants in a city. Near the water." His words were flat, without inflection.
"Oh, you mean the contaminants that we moved to a separate storage facility? Really, that would have been dumb to explode nuclear waste all over the city," she said. "We moved everything. Including the missiles."
"Not nuclear, " Chloe said, suddenly. "Distilled kryptonite."
Superman might not rage the way that humans did, but his jaw tightened, his fists clenched just the same. Chloe wondered what he would say when they got home, what he would do as Clark Kent, hurt yet again by Lex Luthor.
Batman nodded at her.
Stretching, arching her back so that her breasts were exactly where Chloe's couldn't ever be without a really good plastic surgeon, Catwoman said, "We can talk disposal later. I don't want that stuff sitting around my neighborhood."
"We should talk, Batman," Superman said. He looked serious, his addressing-the-people-of-the-world look. It was his look of peace. Chloe had yet to see his look of war, but didn't really doubt she would some day if Lex continued to build weapons to try to hurt Superman.
Batman walked away, to the edge farthest from the rest of them, didn't even glance over his shoulder to make sure that Superman was following him. She'd have to press Clark for details later.
Instead, she asked, "Why did Lex stay away from Gotham for so long?"
Arching an eyebrow, Catwoman said, "Curious little kitten, you know what happened to the cat."
"Yeah," Chloe said. "It's just gossip if the world knows what happened, it's bribery if I do. What'd you do to Lex?"
Down at the warehouse, the fire was still burning, Catwoman stared at it. "I told him that I would slit his throat if he came back," she said. "He had my sister. I probably should have killed him then - a mercy killing."
Still, there was something blank in her face. "I'm off," she said, suddenly. "Tell him that we'll get together, have tea and crumpets, discuss getting rid of it all."
With a running jump a crack of - was that a whip? - Catwoman was off, disappeared, gone.
"She doesn't kill people," Hollie said, firmly. "That's why she didn't do it. But, I think that she might have killed for her sister. Family first, with her. I should go. Talk to you later, Slam."
Hollie's exit was much less dramatic, walking to the roof door, letting it slam behind her.
"Just you and me, kid," Slam said.
Chloe nodded, looked over to where Batman and Superman were still talking. Briefly, she wished she'd brought her laptop so she could keep working, but then the firefighters caught her eyes again and she shook her head.
"We should go," she said, eventually, pulling herself away from the edge.
"You aren't going back to Metropolis tonight?" Slam asked, but he was already heading for the door. Chloe glanced at Superman once more before following Slam down the stairs.
*****
Chloe came back from Gotham on the midnight flight, one of thirty exhausted people who got off the commuter plane. She was the only one with luggage, and the only one who had someone waiting for her.
When she jumped into his arms, the scene from the movie where the music crescendos and everything fades to black, he hugged her tight, wrapped his arms around her and held her, feet above the ground until they were both breathing normally again, not the shocky half-breaths of I-missed-you-so-much.
He got her luggage, a worn duffel bag that had been with her in any overseas story she'd ever done. She carried her messenger bag and held his hand walking to the car. It felt like quiet time, time that they had to themselves.
The next day, she had to run the Copy Editor gauntlet and get it put through for the final ok by Perry. All of the other news stations had reported the fire as a "factory explosion" without linking it to Luthor and Chloe felt a low burn of satisfaction in her gut.
When her story came out, she sat at her desk, heels up, re-reading it and ignoring the phone calls. She got two packages that weren't bombs: a box of lingerie from Dessous, and a potted rose bush. The note that came with the lingerie read, Good work. --Selina.
The color of the Gotham Hope rosebush was a fine pink that flowed into a deep red, even in the crappy florescent lighting.
Luthor's press representatives insisted that the story was mostly fabrication of a reporter with a grudge. Their song and dance was aired on national television, until a missile was found in an underground storage room, the only thing not touched by the fire. Slowly, with coaxing that Chloe knew was coming from the unions, people who had worked at the factory came forward.
It was something that Chloe wouldn't have exactly admitted to helping orchestrate.
At home, she put the rosebush on their kitchen table, for lack of anywhere else to put it, the lingerie was a quick change with her cotton panties and regular bra before Clark got home. She opened the box of pizza, and took out a small piece, while she waited for Clark to come home from being Superman.
*****
end