The Exception to the Rules
Title: The Exception to the Rules (Part 7)
Fandom: Smallville
Characters: Chloe/Oliver
Word Count: 1,259
Rating: PG-13 (Language)
Warnings/Spoilers: Canon for Season 8, except for the fact that there's no Davis.
Summary: Her new role as Watchtower comes with it's own set of rules, but Chloe's always been an exception.
I disclaim. Not my characters. Kind of a short installment, but one that was needed to keep things moving. Hope you all enjoy and thanks to those who have commented!
Part 7: The Paris Hilton Effect
“Another batch of them just showed up,” AC announced, his eyes glued to the footage streaming to him live from the security cameras that monitored the parameter of Oliver’s building.
“Seriously?” Chloe asked from her place on the couch, still draped in Bart’s too big pj’s and clutching her second cup of coffee.
“That makes eleven of them,” AC noted as he watched the group of paparazzi loiter around the building’s entrance, all of them armed with various photographic equipment.
“This is ridiculous,” Chloe muttered, shaking her head despairingly. “You’d think real news wasn’t happening all over the world as we speak.”
“They’re just giving the people what they want,” AC offered mildly.
“People suck,” she groused, taking ar massive gulp from her mug.
“So, the website’s editor swears up and down that the photos arrived anonymously late last night,” Oliver proclaimed as he entered the living room, snapping his cell closed in his hand.
“That’s unfortunately true,” Chloe concurred sourly. “The email was sent to their general account. No message, just the attachment with the pictures.”
“Can you trace it?” Oliver questioned.
“No,” Chloe complained. “Total dead end, which only convinces me more that something’s up. An innocent photographer wouldn’t put so much effort into hiding their identity.”
Oliver’s lips pressed to a thin line.
“Well, the photos are everywhere,” Bart threw in from his place on the floor, stretched out in front of one of Oliver’s many laptops. “And I mean everywhere. You two aren’t getting around this any time soon.”
“How is this so fascinating?” Chloe wondered out loud. “Forget the fact that it’s not true, why are people so interested in this?”
“Cause gorgeous,” Bart explained plainly. “Ollie’s number three on People’s top ten list of eligible bachelors. The possibility of him settling down with a small town girl is practically a gossip rag’s wet dream.”
“I’m only number three?” Oliver asked sceptically. “Who beat me?”
Chloe’s head swivelled slowly to stare at him disdainfully.
“Tell me you did not just ask that,” she ordered.
“Dude, you’re top three,” AC grumbled. “How is that not good enough?”
Ignoring their disapproval, Oliver looked expectantly at Bart.
“Clooney number one,” Bart told him. “Wayne number two.”
“Bruce Wayne beat me?” Oliver exclaimed dubiously as he moved towards Bart and crouched down to look at the computer. “That guy’s a dick!”
“That little detail didn’t keep you off the list,” Chloe observed wryly, toasting Oliver with her coffee mug when he threw a scowl at her.
“Do you ever google yourself?” Bart asked Oliver curiously. “Cause the stuff they have on you is nuts! I could have happily gotten through life without knowing your shoe size.”
“I’ve seen some of it,” Oliver shrugged. “I have to say though, it’s getting totally out of hand. I miss the days when there was a little less glare from the cameras.”
“World’s changing,” AC remarked philosophically.
“I blame Paris,” Oliver offered lightly.
“The city?” Bart asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“The heiress,” Oliver clarified with a grin. “Ever since she started flaunting herself around, the media’s been lumping all us trust fund babies and hot shot tycoons into the celebrity stratosphere.”
Head tilted, Bart looked at the older man speculatively.
“Did you date Paris Hilton?” He suddenly asked.
“No!” Oliver answered immediately, but then paused, unable to keep the smirk off his face.
“I dated Nicky,” he explained. “Nice girl. Wonder how she’s doing…”
“I can’t even begin to imagine what its like to be you,” Bart proclaimed, the mix of admiration and wonder in his voice causing Chloe’s eyes to roll condescendingly.
“Alright,” Victor announced as he emerged from Oliver’s Green Arrow locker to join the group. “I’ve gone through all the possible calculations and there are five buildings that the photographer could have been in when he snapped you two.”
“Crap,” Oliver mumbled, “that’s more than I would have liked.”
“Well,” Victor explained dryly, “I can’t get it whittled down any more than that without knowing what kind of lens the guy used. There are just too many variables.”
Four heads bobbed at him in understanding.
“However,” he continued as he crossed the room and sat down beside Chloe on the sofa. “I was able to find out something interesting about one of the buildings on my list.”
“And that would be…?” Chloe prompted impatiently.
“I can’t be completely certain,” he qualified, “but I think it belongs to that Wynlie Group that’s been giving you guys the run around.”
“Really?” Oliver asked gravely, his gaze sliding towards a wide-eyed Chloe.
“Perhaps I made a bigger impression than I realized,” she opined contritely.
“I should have made you wear the helmet,” Oliver griped, shaking his head.
“Look, I could be wrong,” Victor offered, though no one in the room paid his admission much credence. “I mean, you guys weren’t kidding when you said the paper trail on this company is all over the map, but if I’m right, it’d be too big to chalk up to coincidence.”
“So, I’m guessing another trip out to the warehouse is in order?” Chloe noted, watching as the gears in Oliver’s head started winding up.
“Not for you,” he answered sternly, unaffected by her automatic sulking. “But for the rest of us, yeah.”
“Well, you can’t go tonight,” she fired back cantankerously. “You have your soiree.”
“Dammit!” Oliver bellowed, having forgotten all about the benefit.
“Simmer down, amigo,” Bart reprimanded. “You’re gonna give yourself a coronary.”
“Bart’s right,” Victor agreed. “Just learn to delegate a bit, would ya? We’re here now, so we’ll do the warehouse recon and you can go fulfill your billionaire duties.”
“Fine,” Oliver relented unhappily.
“What about me?” Chloe asked. “What am I gonna do?”
“Sit here, stay out of trouble?” Oliver suggested flippantly. “Think you can handle that?”
“Not fair,” she argued crossly. “Why are you allowed to go out, but I have to stay locked up? We’re only guessing that whoever took the pictures was following me, it’s still possible that you’re the one that’s being watched.”
“Why don’t you go to the fundraiser together?” AC suggested reasonably, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Um, shall we revisit our discussion about how we’re not a couple?” Chloe snarked as she stared at AC in disbelief. “Showing up arm and arm tonight would be a little counter intuitive in our efforts to make that clear.”
“Just thinking you could kill two birds with one stone,” AC drawled nonchalantly. “You could watch each others’ backs and stage a photo shoot to take the wind outta the paparazzi’s sails.”
“It could work, you know,” Bart admitted, despite Chloe and Oliver’s expressions to the contrary. “Right now, the purse for pics of you two is huge cause no one has any. If you show up tonight and give them exactly what they’re looking for, the lustre on this story goes bye-bye.”
“Well, I’ll pass,” Chloe trilled sarcastically. “My ball gown’s in my other bag. Haven’t got a thing to wear.”
“Whatever,” Victor threw in breezily, nodding his head at Oliver. “Ol’ money bags here can hook you up with something.”
Looking for Oliver to back her up, she glanced at him pleadingly and was floored to find him contemplating the matter seriously.
“God,” she muttered dejectedly. “You’re actually considering this, aren’t you?”
His eyes met hers appraisingly as he quietly weighed the pros and the cons.
“Sorry Sidekick,” he finally said with a grin. “Looks like you're arm candy tonight.”
Chapter 8 can be found here novadelphine.livejournal.com/4065.html#cutid1