The Exception to the Rules
A mere three hours after he had collapsed tiredly into his bed, Oliver was jarred awake by the faint buzz of an alarm sounding. Rolling over wearily, he peeled his eyes open and stared at the silent clock on his bedside table that read 5:19 am. Frowning at the quiet device, his eyes swept over his room and landed on the true culprit.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he dragged himself up and padded over to the beeping laptop he had left on his dresser. Pushing the display screen back, he blinked curiously at the flashing notice that claimed he had visitors waiting in his elevator. Clicking the appropriate keys, he opened the surveillance feed to find Arthur Curry and Victor Stone staring back at him.
“Up and at ‘em, Sunshine!” AC sang mockingly to the camera.
Suppressing a groan, Oliver spoke to the machine, his voice gravelly with sleep.
“You do know what time it is, right?”
“You’re the one who said to get here as soon as possible,” AC pointed out, unabashedly delighted that they had disturbed their leader’s rest.
“Just open the doors,” Victor grouched, butting in. “It’s five in the morning for us too.”
Punching the necessary button, Oliver pulled open the top drawer of his dresser and fished out a pair of sweat pants, putting them on over his boxers. Grabbing a t-shirt as well, he slowly made his way out of his bedroom to find Victor and AC waiting for him in the living room.
“We interrupt your beauty sleep, princess?” AC joked as he took note of Oliver’s dishevelled appearance.
“Something like that,” he muttered, tugging the shirt on as he bypassed them and went straight to the kitchen, immediately setting about brewing a pot of coffee.
“So, I love what you’ve done with the place,” Victor called to him sarcastically, prompting Oliver to lean back and offer him an inquisitive look from the kitchen.
Victor gestured to the stacks of papers and documents littering the living room floor.
“Research,” Oliver supplied simply, going back to the coffee machine. “Chloe’s organizational system leaves something to be desired.”
“I’ll say,” Victor agreed, carefully stepping around the papers as he plotted a course towards the couch and took a seat.
“You two have any luck with that warehouse you were telling us about?” AC asked as he followed the same route Victor had helpfully mapped out and settled heavily into one of the room’s large chairs.
“No,” Oliver grumbled as he left the coffee machine to do its thing and wandered back to the living room. “Not even a bit.”
“Wow,” AC mused. “You must be slipping.”
Coming to a stop behind the sofa, Oliver leaned forward and braced his arms against the piece of furniture, shooting AC a bleary scowl.
“Would you like to take a crack at it?” He asked the other man pointedly.
“Little grumpy before that first cup, huh Ollie?” AC grinned back.
By way of reply, Oliver flipped him the finger and AC chuckled whole-heartedly.
“You say you and Chloe have been going through this stuff?” Victor asked as he scooped up the nearest pile of papers and with only a few seconds of dexterous page flipping, had absorbed the material contained in the stack.
“Yeah,” Oliver confirmed, envious of the speed with which Victor could process the information and wishing - not for the first time - that he had one or two of those practical powers the other guys enjoyed.
“And you two couldn’t find anything relevant?” Victor questioned, reaching for another pile of documents.
“Did I not say that?” Oliver sniped irritably, causing AC to start snickering all over again.
“Chill,” Victor chastised. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Chloe’s usually pretty sharp with this stuff.”
Oliver paused to consider his friend’s comment, wondering if the events that had transpired over the past few days had left the little blonde more out of sorts than he was willing to admit. She had made it clear that she wanted the distractions work and research offered - welcomed them, in fact - but maybe he had accepted her claim too readily and instead, should have insisted she take more time for herself.
“Well, that’s why you’re here,” Oliver stated as he clapped Victor’s shoulder, setting aside his worries about Chloe’s emotional well-being for the moment. “Make sure we’ve crossed all our t’s and dotted all our i’s.”
“I had to fly all night cause you need your work proof-read?” Victor asked disdainfully. “You could have just sent me the files.”
“What?” Oliver gasped sarcastically, “and deprive myself of the pleasure of your company?”
“Touche,” Victor smirked.
“Plus,” Oliver continued as he pushed away from the couch and turned to check on his coffee, “I want Bart and AC to check out a few of this Wynlie Groups’ other holdings while your sorting out the paper work. Maybe that’ll shed a little more light on things.”
Something occurred to Oliver just then and he paused, mid-stride, to turn back to face the two men.
“Where’s Bart?” He asked, finally noticing the young man’s absence.
“Was wondering when you were gonna pick up on that,” AC smiled. “You really aren’t a morning person are you?”
Waving away the question, Oliver looked to Victor for an answer.
“Breakfast,” Victor stated plainly, pointing out the obvious. “His second despite the fact that he had four suppers on the plane… which reminds me, you’re jet’s gonna need some re-stocking.”
“That kid’s lucky my pockets are deep enough to keep him fed,” Oliver remarked irritably as he resumed his saunter to the kitchen. “He gonna be long?”
As if on cue, the buzzing sound from earlier started once again, heralding another arrival via the elevator. Staring forlornly towards the kitchen and thinking of the coffee waiting for him there, Oliver grudgingly veered over to the computer at his desk to find the screen displaying the young man in question as he bounced restlessly on the balls of his feet, waiting to be admitted to the apartment.
No sooner had Oliver hit the key to release the doors, than Bart flew into the penthouse at full speed, the haphazardly arranged piles of papers that carpeted the floor flying in his wake.
“Douche bag!” Bart hollered as he seemingly appeared out of thin air to stand toe-toe with Oliver, his finger pointing accusingly in the taller man’s face.
Blinking in confusion, Oliver stared oddly at his disgruntled teammate.
“Are you kidding me right now?” He asked blankly.
“Douche… bag,” Bart repeated sourly.
Keeping his wide eyes on the strange and unexpected scene that had suddenly developed, AC leaned in Victor’s general direction and spoke up.
“Twenty on Ollie.”
“Please,” Victor disagreed, his attention just as riveted. “He’ll have to catch him first. You’re on.”
“Bart,” Oliver began patiently, fighting the urge to grab and break the finger the shorter man still had pointed in his face, “it’s too early for this shit, whatever it is.”
“You’re so full of it!” Bart shouted angrily. “All those times you told me to stop hitting on her cause she was married! At least I was just playing around!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Oliver demanded lowly, closing the small space between he and Bart to tower imposingly over the other man.
“Like you don’t know,” Bart shot back, standing his ground.
“Uh, we don’t know,” AC cut in conversationally, gesturing back and forth between himself and Victor. “Can you tell us?”
“I’ll do you one better,” Bart stated, glowering at Oliver as he marched over to the desk and bent down to the computer. “I’ll show you.”
AC and Victor were out of their seats in a heartbeat, no longer concerned about disturbing the papers as they stomped right over the now genuinely chaotic mess, crossing the room to join Bart. Decidedly suspicious, Oliver moved to look at the computer as well and watched as Bart went onto the internet and quickly typed an address into the bar at the top of the screen.
“A gossip site?” Oliver questioned acidly, ready to snap the kid in half if this turned out to be his idea of a joke.
Instead of answering, Bart struck the enter key forcefully and straightened, levelling Oliver with a damning glare.
The page loaded and Oliver did a wide-eyed double take when four photographs of he and Chloe suddenly appeared on the screen.
“Douche Bag!” Bart hollered yet again as he waved wildly at his evidence, the case open and closed in his mind.
“Move,” Oliver ordered, ignoring the shocked obscenities coming from AC and Victor and elbowing an impudent Bart out of his way so he could lean towards the monitor.
They had been taken the previous day and they captured the moment he and Chloe had shared following her tense encounter with Jimmy Olsen. One shot showed him hugging her tightly, while another framed the few seconds when his hand had cradled her cheek as they spoke closely. In the third, they were smiling together as they walked away with their arms wound about one another, and the final image was, of course, the kiss he had placed upon her blonde hair. Below the images was a short, hastily written article, which adamantly declared that they were the new couple to watch.
“Fuck off,” Oliver cursed slowly.
“Dude,” AC admonished, “I know her and her hubby are having problems, but c’mon! She’s married!”
His head snapping fast enough to warrant whip lash, he fixed AC with a dangerous look.
“It’s not true,” he explained tersely.
“They sure look like you,” Victor observed, leaning over Oliver’s shoulder to get a better view. “They’re actually nice shots.”
Growling in frustration, Oliver paced away from the desk, dragging his hand raggedly over his face before he swung back around to face his team.
“We’re not a couple,” he clarified brusquely.
“Oh really?” Bart jeered, strutting away from the desk to once again stand in front of Oliver. “So what is it then? One night stand? A fling? Booty Call?”
“It’s morning and there’s yelling,” a small, tired voice suddenly proclaimed, startling the four men. “Why is there yelling in the morning?”
Bart, AC and Victor went slack jawed and Oliver could only sigh heavily as Chloe appeared before them, rubbing her eyes sleepily and absolutely swimming in the pair of men’s pyjamas she was wearing.
“This is best League meeting ever,” AC observed out loud, blatantly astonished.
“When were you gonna tell us she was here?” Victor questioned, spinning around to face Oliver as his usual calm evaporated into shrill surprise.
“I told you she was here when you asked about the papers,” Oliver fired back.
“No you did not!” Victor protested. “You led me to believe that she had been here, not that she was sleeping here!”
“What’s going on?” Chloe asked confusedly, still disoriented.
“Huge douche bag!” Bart swore loudly at Oliver, his voice sputtering back to life after Chloe’s surprising entrance had sent him into a silent fit of shock.
“She just came from the guest room, idiot,” Oliver pointed out plainly. “What is that you think I do exactly? Sleep with her then send her to another room?”
“Whoa! What?” Chloe yelled, finally waking up completely as her eyes searched each one of them for an explanation.
“Someone start making sense. Now!” She demanded fiercely.
Sighing again, Oliver crooked a finger at her, motioning for her to follow him to the computer. Her eyes narrowed apprehensively, but she did as she was instructed and made her way over to him without protest, looking down when he pointed at the screen.
“Fuck off,” she muttered in horror.
“My thoughts precisely,” Oliver noted dryly.
“Blonde Banging Billionaire?” She read aloud, pulling the quote directly from the accompanying article’s title. “This is not happening. I’m still asleep, right?”
“Oh no,” Oliver corrected matter-of-factly. “This is real.”
“Omigod, Lois is gonna go ape shit!” Chloe whined.
“Um, I don’t mean to tell you your priorities,” AC mentioned casually, “but I think you might want to worry about what your husband’s gonna do before you start obsessing about Lois’ reaction.”
“Jimmy divorced me,” Chloe stated bluntly, shocking most of the people in the room into another silence.
“I ran into him yesterday,” she continued as she shook her head disbelievingly at the splashy web page. “That’s when these pictures were taken. That’s why Oliver was hugging me.”
“Oh,” AC said simply. “Well, that sucks.”
“It does,” Chloe assured him, “and this isn’t helping.”
“So, you’re not married?” Bart asked stupidly, trying to wrap his brain around the situation.
“Not anymore,” Chloe bit out.
“And this is…?” He trailed off, his hands motioning vaguely at the oversized sleepwear she was sporting.
“Me crashing here after spending yet another night trying to decipher these files we found at the warehouse,” she explained exasperatedly, gesturing to the papers that were absolutely everywhere.
“As for these,” she continued, plucking at the collar of her top, “I just borrowed the smallest pair I could find in the guest room, which means they’re most likely yours.”
“Those are mine?” Bart asked, his tone making a 180 turn as he looked her over appreciatively.
“Bart!” She shouted.
“Sorry,” he offered, hands held up innocently. “It’s just kinda hot, that’s all.
Hardly in the mood, she pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes and reminded herself that this was no time to get a massive migraine.
“Okay,” she said as she turned to face Oliver. “Is it too early to call up your little press monkeys and have them issue a release that categorically denies, denies, denies?”
Having taken the seat at the computer, Oliver looked up at her question, his eyes breaking away from the screen he had begun studying intently.
“I can have them do it,” he answered evenly, “but I don’t know if that’ll do us much good.”
“He’s got a point,” Bart agreed readily, his righteous anger from moments before nowhere in sight. “If you guys claim you’re not together, it’ll just up the ante for the paps.”
“The paps?” Victor questioned, shooting Bart a funny look.
“What?” The young man shrugged. “I’m big into celebrity gossip. I get my daily dose emailed to me. That’s how I found out about this.”
“So we do nothing?” Chloe gasped incredulously. “We can’t do nothing! I just got divorced! This makes me look like some sort of adulteress!”
“That’s hardly our biggest problem here,” Oliver criticized.
“Easy for you to say,” Chloe snapped. “They call you…”
She moved back to the computer and scanned quickly through the article, finding the part she was looking for and reading it out.
“… Oliver Queen, the dashing, billionaire playboy… Yeah. Tramp doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”
“Okay,” Oliver began, raising a hand to halt her diatribe. “Stop sewing on your scarlet letter and look at this.”
Following his gaze, she looked at the images of them once again.
“Look at the angle of the shots,” he hinted.
“They’re taken from above,” Chloe noted. “So?”
“You and I walking down the street wasn’t some planned, announced, public appearance,” Oliver clarified. “What kind of photographer camps out and surveys the street on the off chance something might happen?”
“Lots of them do that,” Bart contradicted. “They drive around for hours, hide in trees, pay people to tip them off… it’s their job to catch these kinda things as they happen.”
“Fine,” Oliver accepted far too easily. “If these were taken by a professional paparazzi, then why don’t the pictures have any photo credits?”
Chloe leaned over him to examine the screen herself and found that he was right.
“What do you mean?” Bart inquired curiously.
“Photographers sell their pictures,” Chloe explained, catching onto Oliver’s train of thought immediately. “If there’s no credit - either their name or their company’s name - then people can just take the images. They don’t make as much money.”
“That’s true,” Victor allowed, leaning into the desk with his arms crossed thoughtfully over his chest, “but a little credit doesn’t stop it from happening. The internet’s a big place and people steal stuff all the time. They probably just ripped these pictures off another site.”
“The article says that this site received the tip exclusively,” Chloe pointed out.
“I’m gonna call and see if I can’t squeeze a source out of them,” Oliver indicated, grabbing the computer’s mouse and scrolling through the contacts listed on the site.
“I’ll see if I can’t get into their emails,” Chloe told him, looking down at Oliver from her perch at his side. “That’s most likely how their tip arrived.”
“Good,” Oliver nodded, turning to face her. “While you’re at it, can you pull up as many maps and building plans for the street? I wanna…”
“Try and figure out what building the photographer was in or on,” Chloe surmised exactly, finishing Oliver’s thought. “But won’t that be tricky without…”
“We can just base the calculations on standard lens sizes,” Oliver explained, answering her question before she even asked it. “It won’t be exact, but it should help narrow the field.”
“Whoa!” AC called out, interrupting their planning. “Slow down for a second. What exactly have you two decided is going on here?”
“Someone’s following him,” Chloe stated simply, hooking a thumb at Oliver.
“Or they’re following you,” he pointed out, his mouth set in a hard line as he stared up at her.
“I vote that you’re the one being tailed,” she bet, sending Oliver a knowing look. “My lack of billions makes my list of enemies only half as long as yours.”
Oliver smirked at her archly.
“Ever think that maybe your security guard is checking up on you?”
Chloe’s mouth fell into a perfect ‘o’ at his suggestion.
“Do you think he got that good a look at me?” She wondered.
“Can’t say,” Oliver shrugged. “I was preoccupied at the time, what with making sure he didn’t crush you.”
“Are you two sure you’re not a couple?” Victor interrupted abruptly, his question causing Chloe and Oliver to send him a matching set of peculiar stares.
“Cause you two have your own language thing going on over there,” he clarified, his hand waving at them indistinctly.
Their curious looks turned steely in sync.
“I’m not saying, I’m just saying,” Victor exclaimed defensively.
Chapter 7 can be found here novadelphine.livejournal.com/3692.html#cutid1
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he dragged himself up and padded over to the beeping laptop he had left on his dresser. Pushing the display screen back, he blinked curiously at the flashing notice that claimed he had visitors waiting in his elevator. Clicking the appropriate keys, he opened the surveillance feed to find Arthur Curry and Victor Stone staring back at him.
“Up and at ‘em, Sunshine!” AC sang mockingly to the camera.
Suppressing a groan, Oliver spoke to the machine, his voice gravelly with sleep.
“You do know what time it is, right?”
“You’re the one who said to get here as soon as possible,” AC pointed out, unabashedly delighted that they had disturbed their leader’s rest.
“Just open the doors,” Victor grouched, butting in. “It’s five in the morning for us too.”
Punching the necessary button, Oliver pulled open the top drawer of his dresser and fished out a pair of sweat pants, putting them on over his boxers. Grabbing a t-shirt as well, he slowly made his way out of his bedroom to find Victor and AC waiting for him in the living room.
“We interrupt your beauty sleep, princess?” AC joked as he took note of Oliver’s dishevelled appearance.
“Something like that,” he muttered, tugging the shirt on as he bypassed them and went straight to the kitchen, immediately setting about brewing a pot of coffee.
“So, I love what you’ve done with the place,” Victor called to him sarcastically, prompting Oliver to lean back and offer him an inquisitive look from the kitchen.
Victor gestured to the stacks of papers and documents littering the living room floor.
“Research,” Oliver supplied simply, going back to the coffee machine. “Chloe’s organizational system leaves something to be desired.”
“I’ll say,” Victor agreed, carefully stepping around the papers as he plotted a course towards the couch and took a seat.
“You two have any luck with that warehouse you were telling us about?” AC asked as he followed the same route Victor had helpfully mapped out and settled heavily into one of the room’s large chairs.
“No,” Oliver grumbled as he left the coffee machine to do its thing and wandered back to the living room. “Not even a bit.”
“Wow,” AC mused. “You must be slipping.”
Coming to a stop behind the sofa, Oliver leaned forward and braced his arms against the piece of furniture, shooting AC a bleary scowl.
“Would you like to take a crack at it?” He asked the other man pointedly.
“Little grumpy before that first cup, huh Ollie?” AC grinned back.
By way of reply, Oliver flipped him the finger and AC chuckled whole-heartedly.
“You say you and Chloe have been going through this stuff?” Victor asked as he scooped up the nearest pile of papers and with only a few seconds of dexterous page flipping, had absorbed the material contained in the stack.
“Yeah,” Oliver confirmed, envious of the speed with which Victor could process the information and wishing - not for the first time - that he had one or two of those practical powers the other guys enjoyed.
“And you two couldn’t find anything relevant?” Victor questioned, reaching for another pile of documents.
“Did I not say that?” Oliver sniped irritably, causing AC to start snickering all over again.
“Chill,” Victor chastised. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Chloe’s usually pretty sharp with this stuff.”
Oliver paused to consider his friend’s comment, wondering if the events that had transpired over the past few days had left the little blonde more out of sorts than he was willing to admit. She had made it clear that she wanted the distractions work and research offered - welcomed them, in fact - but maybe he had accepted her claim too readily and instead, should have insisted she take more time for herself.
“Well, that’s why you’re here,” Oliver stated as he clapped Victor’s shoulder, setting aside his worries about Chloe’s emotional well-being for the moment. “Make sure we’ve crossed all our t’s and dotted all our i’s.”
“I had to fly all night cause you need your work proof-read?” Victor asked disdainfully. “You could have just sent me the files.”
“What?” Oliver gasped sarcastically, “and deprive myself of the pleasure of your company?”
“Touche,” Victor smirked.
“Plus,” Oliver continued as he pushed away from the couch and turned to check on his coffee, “I want Bart and AC to check out a few of this Wynlie Groups’ other holdings while your sorting out the paper work. Maybe that’ll shed a little more light on things.”
Something occurred to Oliver just then and he paused, mid-stride, to turn back to face the two men.
“Where’s Bart?” He asked, finally noticing the young man’s absence.
“Was wondering when you were gonna pick up on that,” AC smiled. “You really aren’t a morning person are you?”
Waving away the question, Oliver looked to Victor for an answer.
“Breakfast,” Victor stated plainly, pointing out the obvious. “His second despite the fact that he had four suppers on the plane… which reminds me, you’re jet’s gonna need some re-stocking.”
“That kid’s lucky my pockets are deep enough to keep him fed,” Oliver remarked irritably as he resumed his saunter to the kitchen. “He gonna be long?”
As if on cue, the buzzing sound from earlier started once again, heralding another arrival via the elevator. Staring forlornly towards the kitchen and thinking of the coffee waiting for him there, Oliver grudgingly veered over to the computer at his desk to find the screen displaying the young man in question as he bounced restlessly on the balls of his feet, waiting to be admitted to the apartment.
No sooner had Oliver hit the key to release the doors, than Bart flew into the penthouse at full speed, the haphazardly arranged piles of papers that carpeted the floor flying in his wake.
“Douche bag!” Bart hollered as he seemingly appeared out of thin air to stand toe-toe with Oliver, his finger pointing accusingly in the taller man’s face.
Blinking in confusion, Oliver stared oddly at his disgruntled teammate.
“Are you kidding me right now?” He asked blankly.
“Douche… bag,” Bart repeated sourly.
Keeping his wide eyes on the strange and unexpected scene that had suddenly developed, AC leaned in Victor’s general direction and spoke up.
“Twenty on Ollie.”
“Please,” Victor disagreed, his attention just as riveted. “He’ll have to catch him first. You’re on.”
“Bart,” Oliver began patiently, fighting the urge to grab and break the finger the shorter man still had pointed in his face, “it’s too early for this shit, whatever it is.”
“You’re so full of it!” Bart shouted angrily. “All those times you told me to stop hitting on her cause she was married! At least I was just playing around!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Oliver demanded lowly, closing the small space between he and Bart to tower imposingly over the other man.
“Like you don’t know,” Bart shot back, standing his ground.
“Uh, we don’t know,” AC cut in conversationally, gesturing back and forth between himself and Victor. “Can you tell us?”
“I’ll do you one better,” Bart stated, glowering at Oliver as he marched over to the desk and bent down to the computer. “I’ll show you.”
AC and Victor were out of their seats in a heartbeat, no longer concerned about disturbing the papers as they stomped right over the now genuinely chaotic mess, crossing the room to join Bart. Decidedly suspicious, Oliver moved to look at the computer as well and watched as Bart went onto the internet and quickly typed an address into the bar at the top of the screen.
“A gossip site?” Oliver questioned acidly, ready to snap the kid in half if this turned out to be his idea of a joke.
Instead of answering, Bart struck the enter key forcefully and straightened, levelling Oliver with a damning glare.
The page loaded and Oliver did a wide-eyed double take when four photographs of he and Chloe suddenly appeared on the screen.
“Douche Bag!” Bart hollered yet again as he waved wildly at his evidence, the case open and closed in his mind.
“Move,” Oliver ordered, ignoring the shocked obscenities coming from AC and Victor and elbowing an impudent Bart out of his way so he could lean towards the monitor.
They had been taken the previous day and they captured the moment he and Chloe had shared following her tense encounter with Jimmy Olsen. One shot showed him hugging her tightly, while another framed the few seconds when his hand had cradled her cheek as they spoke closely. In the third, they were smiling together as they walked away with their arms wound about one another, and the final image was, of course, the kiss he had placed upon her blonde hair. Below the images was a short, hastily written article, which adamantly declared that they were the new couple to watch.
“Fuck off,” Oliver cursed slowly.
“Dude,” AC admonished, “I know her and her hubby are having problems, but c’mon! She’s married!”
His head snapping fast enough to warrant whip lash, he fixed AC with a dangerous look.
“It’s not true,” he explained tersely.
“They sure look like you,” Victor observed, leaning over Oliver’s shoulder to get a better view. “They’re actually nice shots.”
Growling in frustration, Oliver paced away from the desk, dragging his hand raggedly over his face before he swung back around to face his team.
“We’re not a couple,” he clarified brusquely.
“Oh really?” Bart jeered, strutting away from the desk to once again stand in front of Oliver. “So what is it then? One night stand? A fling? Booty Call?”
“It’s morning and there’s yelling,” a small, tired voice suddenly proclaimed, startling the four men. “Why is there yelling in the morning?”
Bart, AC and Victor went slack jawed and Oliver could only sigh heavily as Chloe appeared before them, rubbing her eyes sleepily and absolutely swimming in the pair of men’s pyjamas she was wearing.
“This is best League meeting ever,” AC observed out loud, blatantly astonished.
“When were you gonna tell us she was here?” Victor questioned, spinning around to face Oliver as his usual calm evaporated into shrill surprise.
“I told you she was here when you asked about the papers,” Oliver fired back.
“No you did not!” Victor protested. “You led me to believe that she had been here, not that she was sleeping here!”
“What’s going on?” Chloe asked confusedly, still disoriented.
“Huge douche bag!” Bart swore loudly at Oliver, his voice sputtering back to life after Chloe’s surprising entrance had sent him into a silent fit of shock.
“She just came from the guest room, idiot,” Oliver pointed out plainly. “What is that you think I do exactly? Sleep with her then send her to another room?”
“Whoa! What?” Chloe yelled, finally waking up completely as her eyes searched each one of them for an explanation.
“Someone start making sense. Now!” She demanded fiercely.
Sighing again, Oliver crooked a finger at her, motioning for her to follow him to the computer. Her eyes narrowed apprehensively, but she did as she was instructed and made her way over to him without protest, looking down when he pointed at the screen.
“Fuck off,” she muttered in horror.
“My thoughts precisely,” Oliver noted dryly.
“Blonde Banging Billionaire?” She read aloud, pulling the quote directly from the accompanying article’s title. “This is not happening. I’m still asleep, right?”
“Oh no,” Oliver corrected matter-of-factly. “This is real.”
“Omigod, Lois is gonna go ape shit!” Chloe whined.
“Um, I don’t mean to tell you your priorities,” AC mentioned casually, “but I think you might want to worry about what your husband’s gonna do before you start obsessing about Lois’ reaction.”
“Jimmy divorced me,” Chloe stated bluntly, shocking most of the people in the room into another silence.
“I ran into him yesterday,” she continued as she shook her head disbelievingly at the splashy web page. “That’s when these pictures were taken. That’s why Oliver was hugging me.”
“Oh,” AC said simply. “Well, that sucks.”
“It does,” Chloe assured him, “and this isn’t helping.”
“So, you’re not married?” Bart asked stupidly, trying to wrap his brain around the situation.
“Not anymore,” Chloe bit out.
“And this is…?” He trailed off, his hands motioning vaguely at the oversized sleepwear she was sporting.
“Me crashing here after spending yet another night trying to decipher these files we found at the warehouse,” she explained exasperatedly, gesturing to the papers that were absolutely everywhere.
“As for these,” she continued, plucking at the collar of her top, “I just borrowed the smallest pair I could find in the guest room, which means they’re most likely yours.”
“Those are mine?” Bart asked, his tone making a 180 turn as he looked her over appreciatively.
“Bart!” She shouted.
“Sorry,” he offered, hands held up innocently. “It’s just kinda hot, that’s all.
Hardly in the mood, she pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes and reminded herself that this was no time to get a massive migraine.
“Okay,” she said as she turned to face Oliver. “Is it too early to call up your little press monkeys and have them issue a release that categorically denies, denies, denies?”
Having taken the seat at the computer, Oliver looked up at her question, his eyes breaking away from the screen he had begun studying intently.
“I can have them do it,” he answered evenly, “but I don’t know if that’ll do us much good.”
“He’s got a point,” Bart agreed readily, his righteous anger from moments before nowhere in sight. “If you guys claim you’re not together, it’ll just up the ante for the paps.”
“The paps?” Victor questioned, shooting Bart a funny look.
“What?” The young man shrugged. “I’m big into celebrity gossip. I get my daily dose emailed to me. That’s how I found out about this.”
“So we do nothing?” Chloe gasped incredulously. “We can’t do nothing! I just got divorced! This makes me look like some sort of adulteress!”
“That’s hardly our biggest problem here,” Oliver criticized.
“Easy for you to say,” Chloe snapped. “They call you…”
She moved back to the computer and scanned quickly through the article, finding the part she was looking for and reading it out.
“… Oliver Queen, the dashing, billionaire playboy… Yeah. Tramp doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”
“Okay,” Oliver began, raising a hand to halt her diatribe. “Stop sewing on your scarlet letter and look at this.”
Following his gaze, she looked at the images of them once again.
“Look at the angle of the shots,” he hinted.
“They’re taken from above,” Chloe noted. “So?”
“You and I walking down the street wasn’t some planned, announced, public appearance,” Oliver clarified. “What kind of photographer camps out and surveys the street on the off chance something might happen?”
“Lots of them do that,” Bart contradicted. “They drive around for hours, hide in trees, pay people to tip them off… it’s their job to catch these kinda things as they happen.”
“Fine,” Oliver accepted far too easily. “If these were taken by a professional paparazzi, then why don’t the pictures have any photo credits?”
Chloe leaned over him to examine the screen herself and found that he was right.
“What do you mean?” Bart inquired curiously.
“Photographers sell their pictures,” Chloe explained, catching onto Oliver’s train of thought immediately. “If there’s no credit - either their name or their company’s name - then people can just take the images. They don’t make as much money.”
“That’s true,” Victor allowed, leaning into the desk with his arms crossed thoughtfully over his chest, “but a little credit doesn’t stop it from happening. The internet’s a big place and people steal stuff all the time. They probably just ripped these pictures off another site.”
“The article says that this site received the tip exclusively,” Chloe pointed out.
“I’m gonna call and see if I can’t squeeze a source out of them,” Oliver indicated, grabbing the computer’s mouse and scrolling through the contacts listed on the site.
“I’ll see if I can’t get into their emails,” Chloe told him, looking down at Oliver from her perch at his side. “That’s most likely how their tip arrived.”
“Good,” Oliver nodded, turning to face her. “While you’re at it, can you pull up as many maps and building plans for the street? I wanna…”
“Try and figure out what building the photographer was in or on,” Chloe surmised exactly, finishing Oliver’s thought. “But won’t that be tricky without…”
“We can just base the calculations on standard lens sizes,” Oliver explained, answering her question before she even asked it. “It won’t be exact, but it should help narrow the field.”
“Whoa!” AC called out, interrupting their planning. “Slow down for a second. What exactly have you two decided is going on here?”
“Someone’s following him,” Chloe stated simply, hooking a thumb at Oliver.
“Or they’re following you,” he pointed out, his mouth set in a hard line as he stared up at her.
“I vote that you’re the one being tailed,” she bet, sending Oliver a knowing look. “My lack of billions makes my list of enemies only half as long as yours.”
Oliver smirked at her archly.
“Ever think that maybe your security guard is checking up on you?”
Chloe’s mouth fell into a perfect ‘o’ at his suggestion.
“Do you think he got that good a look at me?” She wondered.
“Can’t say,” Oliver shrugged. “I was preoccupied at the time, what with making sure he didn’t crush you.”
“Are you two sure you’re not a couple?” Victor interrupted abruptly, his question causing Chloe and Oliver to send him a matching set of peculiar stares.
“Cause you two have your own language thing going on over there,” he clarified, his hand waving at them indistinctly.
Their curious looks turned steely in sync.
“I’m not saying, I’m just saying,” Victor exclaimed defensively.
Chapter 7 can be found here novadelphine.livejournal.com/3692.html#cutid1