Dance with me: Chapter III (3/?)
Title: Dance with Me
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Chloe and Oliver (Chlollie)
Rating: PG / PG-13
Warning: AU
Summary: Busy searching for the whereabouts of Lex Luthor along with the League, Chloe has enough on her plate without having to worry about attending Queen Industries Charity Ball. Then there's the dance lessons the boys are so determined to give her, and just why is Lex after Oliver instead of Clark?
Disclaimer: I disclaim!
Chapter I Chapter II
Chapter 3: Cell Phone Conversations
It was a no-brainer that when it came to computer technology, Victor could sort through it at a faster rate than all the mastered hackers of the world. Therefore, when Chloe’s cell phone rang, indicating that it was indeed Victor on the other end, she knew he had absorbed something of potential use.
“Victor,” she greeted as the barista placed her order of a foaming cappuccino before Chloe. Eyes darting to the teenaged waitress, Chloe sent her a grateful smile before absently picking up the spoon to stir her beverage with.
“Do you copy, Tower?”
Smile fading, Chloe dropped the spoon. “How many times do I have to remind you to call me, Chloe, Victor, when we’re off duty?” Hearing the pause on the other end, Chloe knew that he was mulling over her words.
“Right.”
Then another pause as he switched the phone to his opposite ear.
“I forget sometimes.”
Forgetting that he couldn’t actually see her, Chloe nodded in agreement, reminiscing over the fact that she too often forgot to turn the tape recorder off when she worked for the Torch or Daily Planet, something Lois still struggled with. Besides, Watchtower had become such a big part of her life that she often forgot that it was her job, and Oliver, Clark, and the other League members were her coworkers.
“Chloe?”
“Sorry,” she apologized, lifting the ceramic mug and bringing it towards her lips. “What did you find?”
“Well, after absorbing everything from the flash drive I brought you,” he informed, “I realized most of the data was useless.”
Frowning, Chloe set down her mug without taking a sip. Well, if that wasn’t disappointing.
“But…”
And there was that thread of hope she had been waiting to latch onto. “The anticipation is killing me,” she gushed, “please, do spill.”
“You’re far less patient than Bart.”
“Hey, I am not,” she argued childishly.
Chuckling, he answered her inquiry. “The only thing that potentially stuck out was a list of Queen Industries’ employees.”
“Queen Industries’ employees?” she repeated in confusion. If anything, she’d expected something about Clark, or some type of meteor infestation, but Oliver’s company?
“They do have this tendency to hate on each other,” Victor pointed out, slicing through her thoughts.
“Yeah, but its no lie that Lex knows Clark’s secret,” she stated, lowering her voice, and clutching her cell closer as if that would keep others from overhearing. The Talon wasn’t even busy this time of day. The rush hour wouldn’t begin for another few hours when Smallville High students were dismissed and sprinted through the doors like teenagers in need of kick starting their ATP’s.
“Then there’s the fact that Oliver owns a share of LuthorCorp.”
Another valid point on Victor’s behalf. Despite the downgrade of always being in his father’s shadow, once Lionel died, the company was finally Lex’s own. Therefore, someone-a rival- taking out a large chuck without his permission, Lex didn’t have any reason to smile. Chloe let the hot liquid slowly trickle its way down as she continued her thoughts. It still bothered her that knowing Clark’s secret, Lex still chose to go after Oliver? He hadn’t even pegged him as the Green Arrow or had he?
“Still there, Chloe?”
“Yeah, Victor…”
“Who’s Victor?”
Cappuccino sloshing over the rim of the mug in her surprise, Chloe turned to Lois with a glare. “Do you have to sneak up on people?” she groused, automatically reaching for a few napkins to clean the spilled liquid with.
“You knew we were meeting for a coffee break, cuz,” Lois answered, pulling the strap of her bag over her head and setting it down on the table along with the papers in her hand.
Displeasure blatantly smudged across her face, Chloe turned away from her. “I’ll call you back, Victor. Thanks for the update.”
“One of your patients?”
Ending the conversation that linked her and Victor with a tap to the screen, Chloe set her phone on the table and turned to Lois with a quirked brow.
“This Victor fellow.”
Chuckling, Chloe tucked a strand of blonde behind her ear. “Think more along the lines of employee.”
“Employee,” Lois repeated, the cogs in her brain turning as she tinkered with the thought, “I thought you were running a solo show at the Isis.”
Nearly laughing, Chloe decided it was best to gulp down the remainder of her drink; the Isis foundation, the once full time job that was now a side job, a cover up for her more dangerous information relaying vocation. Eyes sliding to the stack of typed sheets Lois had set down earlier, Chloe hoped to deter her cousin’s thoughts about Victor and his role in Chloe’s life. “New article?” she mused, hands still encased around the warm mug.
Lois nodded enthusiastically. “The “Blur” just pulled a massive save on a textile factory.”
“Interesting,” Chloe acknowledged, mentally swelling her heart with the pride she felt towards Clark about putting himself out there as the hero he could be without actually putting himself out there.
“Yeah,” Lois agreed, the luster wearing off the topic rather fast, “but about this Victor.”
“I told you he’s a coworker.”
“And coworkers are potential dating material.”
“I’m not interested in starting an on the job scandal just so I can be the headline of your next story,” Chloe quipped, setting down the mug.
“Funny,” Lois retorted, before morphing her tone into one of concern, “I’m worried about you.”
“And so it begins,” she added tersely.
“Chloe.”
“I lost Jimmy okay. I screwed up, and then he died. I have to carry that around with me for the rest of my life,” she said indignantly, once again not helping the sudden outburst.
“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t move on.”
“I have moved past this,” she sighed in defeat.
“By drowning yourself in work,” Lois chastised, “But you can’t go on living alone for the rest of your life. I won’t always be around.”
Great, now it felt as if Lois was her mother. “I know, Lois, and frankly, I don’t think that. I’ll find someone when the time is right, but I don’t need the coerced relationship.”
“As if you’ll actually let someone close to you,” Lois grumbled, sinking into her chair.
Shoving the fact that Lois’s words actually stung within herself, Chloe altered the catalyst for their conversation. Turning back to the article Lois was working on, she asked, “Shouldn’t you be heading back to work? You have quite the drive ahead of you.”
“I took the rest of the day off.”
“Don’t turn me into a charity case, Lo.”
“And don’t think so low of me,” the brunette added, swinging herself around and waving her hand in the air, hoping to catch the attention of the barista. “Yo, lady,” she shouted, snapping her fingers in the air.
Reaching for the thin stack of papers with a reddened face, Chloe decided to bury herself behind them. The few souls settled in the Talon had turned their judgmental eyes towards their table.
“A few muffins would be nice,” Lois continued, oblivious to the staring, as the girl who had previously served Chloe approached, “and one large espresso with two shots of two percent milk and a dash of cinnamon.”
Frowning slightly, the girl scribbled Lois’s order on a pad of paper before disappearing back towards the counter, mumbling to herself about how hotshot Daily Planet reporters needed a lesson in etiquette.
“I was actually hoping you would look over my story while we settled in front of the TV with some ice cream.”
Eyeing her curiously, Chloe pressed, “What did Ollie tell you?”
“Why would Oliver tell me something?”
“Nothing,” Chloe dismissed, giving the thin stack of papers a shuffle, “I’ll edit your paper.”
xoxoxox
Lounging on the couch with Lois’s article and half a gallon of ice cream between them, Chloe began reading over the words her cousin hadt yped, seeking errors, especially those in the department of grammar. Decorating the margins with words of improvement whenever something struck the creative juices that had long sat on hiatus since her dream journalistic career took a permanent nose dive, her eyes settled upon the television screen in time to see Captain Jack Sparrow waving around a jar of dirt in an animated fashion. Chuckling, she craned her neck towards Lois, who seemed to be wearing an everlasting plastered grin. “The textile factory belongs to Queen Industries?”
Eyes still glued to the television, Lois nodded absently.
“Does Oliver know about this?” Chloe pressed.
Shrugging her shoulder, the brunette answered, “I would assume so.”
Glancing at the paper once more, she furrowed her brows, mentally reading over the paragraph of interest. “Lois, don’t you think you should get a quote from him?”
“Write the suggestion in the margin,” Lois offered in slight irritation. Whatever happened to quietly watching a movie?
“Lois…”
“Chloe, if you’re so worried, call him yourself,” the brunette snapped impatiently, “deadline’s not until tomorrow night.”
Sighing, the blonde shot Captain Sparrow one last look before traversing towards her bedroom with blanket and Lois’s article in tow. Flopping onto the bed in a seated position, she pondered when the lines of her work life and real life had blurred. Suddenly, the League members weren’t just her coworkers, but more brother-esque. Bart would most certainly take on the role of the annoying litter brother who was ready to pry into everything and anything, although with his little “crush” on her considered, she was certain Oliver would get a kick out of this thought. Dismissing her silly contemplation, she picked up her cell and dialed one of Mr. Queen’s numbers, praying to God she had selected the one he answered.
“Chloe,” he greeted as her voice filed through the speaker, “to what do I owe this pleasure?” Hand ready to loosen the knot to his tie, which seemed to have tightened during the last ten minutes of the meeting with his LuthorCorp shareholders, Oliver heard her reply.
“Question concerning your company.”
Grimacing slightly, he yanked the tie from around him, fingers already undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. “Come on, Sidekick,” he teased, “ever just call to see how I’m doing? Isn’t that what friends do?”
“Is that what we are?” she prodded with a slight smile.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he answered sardonically, stepping away from the machine to walk around his desk.
Rolling her eyes, and wishing Oliver could actually see her commit such an action, Chloe lowered her voice, although mastering the art of code aside, the vociferous noise permeating throughout the apartment from the television was doing an exceptional job in drowning out her voice from Lois’s sharp ears. “Mr. Queen,” she began, absently prodding the sheets of paper with the pen in her hand, “are you aware that the “Blur” recently pulled a massive save from an explosion in one of your textile factories?”
Sinking into his chair, Oliver asked wryly, “Would it be prudent for the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company to want to keep this interview casual?”
Blushing slightly, she muttered, “Sorry, old habits die hard.”
He chuckled on his end before letting his laughter subside. That’s exactly what this spontaneous meeting with the shareholders had been about. Already deeming him as incompetent in regards to his previous absentee, they questioned his leadership. Now that a Queen Industries factory had gone down right under his nose, those notions were only highlighted. Rubbing his temple, he leaned a bit forward. “They labeled the explosion has an accident, Chloe.”
“Because one of the machines malfunctioned.”
“Or two.”
“What’re doing about this, Oliver?” she pressed.
“Chloe, it was an accident. These things happen.”
Releasing a breath, she huffed, “Victor found a list of your employees in that flash drive he retrieved from the warehouse, Oliver. After hearing that, something tells me this explosion was no accident.”
Absorbing her words, he absently picked up a pen and clutched it tightly, “So you think this might lead us to Lex?”
“Yes.”
“I think the boys and I need to pay a visit to this factory of mine…”
“Ollie,” Chloe’s voice filed through with slight apprehension, cutting his sudden elation over the idea of donning his green leathered costume for a reason more than just a nightly patrol, “if Lex is after you, maybe you shouldn’t traverse through your own factory like Scooby and The Gang.”
“Chloe, Lex doesn’t know I’m the Green Arrow.”
“We don’t know that,” she argued reasonably.
Sinking back into his chair in defeat, he ran his hand through his hair. “Fine,” he grumbled, “I’ll stay behind, again.”
“Grow up,” she chuckled before ending the conversation.