The Exception to the Rules
Part 14: Fast Cows and Sacrificial Lambs
Ensconced in the relative peace of Oliver’s guest room, Chloe sat upon the sprawling bed with her overworked laptop wheezing next to her. She’d been putting the poor machine through its paces for the past three hours and even though she loved the aging pile of circuits dearly, she had to admit that the time to put her trusted companion out to pasture was drawing near. The thought of saying goodbye to her computer made a strange, corny part of her sad. It had been a constant at her side during her basement dwelling days at the Planet, and had even managed to hang in there for her Isis counselling stint, but sentimentality aside, there was no denying that her current line of work was simply - bad puns not withstanding - out of her laptop’s league.
Plus, a recent bout of online browsing had revealed some sizable lust on her part for one, or seven, of the latest high tech offerings on the market. She’d tried to remind herself that her paltry financial status meant that a hardware upgrade was just a pipedream, but lately, she’d caught herself formulating various hints she could drop Oliver’s way. After all, it wasn’t exactly begging if she needed it for business.
For now though, she had to force the computer related scheming to the backburner because today was just not the day to try to get favours out of Oliver Queen. Ever since that morning, when they had confirmed not once, but twice, that Malcolm Riley was stealing from Queen Industries, the League’s fearless leader had set off down the warpath, subjecting each and every one of them to his ridiculously short fuse as he tore around the penthouse, barking out orders.
His rage was completely understandable and really, she and the boys all knew none of it was actually meant for them. Still, that didn’t keep their respective senses of self-preservation from sending them scattering as subtly as possible to the various corners of their limited space, silently unanimous in their decision to give their token billionaire a very wide berth.
Cleverly playing the girl card, Chloe had managed to secure the comfortable guest room as her refuge. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have ever let any kind of tirade chase her into self-imposed solitary confinement, but it didn’t take much to figure out that testing Oliver’s patience wasn’t the greatest of plans. If anything, she was more worried about him than annoyed, all too aware of the fact that his ranting had nothing to do with the actual money, and everything to do with what he perceived as his own failure. If Oliver was anything, he was his own toughest critic and there was little doubt in her mind that the fallout from this whole fiasco would hang off of him long after they resolved the situation. It was also what was going to cost Malcolm Riley his teeth.
Sighing, she let her eyes drift down to the little clock on her screen’s bottom, right-hand corner and was instantly relieved to see the numbers creeping past 9:00 pm.
Bad guys and near death experiences aside, the main obstacle the League had to face was the fact that the cover of darkness was an absolute must in order to get anything done. While the disguises’ the boys wore were vital for protecting their identity, they just weren’t daytime appropriate, and that meant lots and lots of hours spent sitting around in holding patterns, waiting for night to arrive.
Turning to the room’s window to confirm what the hour told her, she was grateful to see the lasts slivers of flaming orange burning out across the horizon, tucking themselves behind the spectacular cityscape as night time settled in. Reaching her arms over her head, she stretched from her fingers all the way down to her toes and convinced her lazy muscles that the time to sit back was finally over.
Snapping her laptop shut, she tucked the machine under her arm and assembled the collection of coffee cups she had amassed from the bedside table. It took a little bit of juggling, but she was eventually able to get a manageable grip on her load and once she was convinced she could make it to the kitchen without disaster, she exited the room, rubbing her shoulder into the wall to flick the lights off as she went.
She entered the living room and was surprised to find it as silent and subdued as the room she had just left. The floor and furniture were both covered with all kinds of evidence that the guys had been there at one point - strewn magazines, discarded video games and controllers, more empty food containers than she could shake a stick at - but other than that, the space was decidedly vacant.
Releasing a motherly tsk, she deposited her laptop and the mugs on the overcrowded coffee table and launched into some tidying, idly wondering why so many males were apparently hard-wired to overlook the filth they left in their wake.
“You don’t have to clean up,” a voice grumbled, cutting through the calm and startling her.
She looked up to find Oliver standing on the opposite side of the room, propped stiffly against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Every line of his grim expression conveyed the depth of his dark mood, but rather than feeling apprehension like she probably should have, she instead felt a pang of compassion, wishing he would give himself - and the rest of them - a break.
“You know,” she smiled, blatantly ignoring his command as she kept right on with her straightening. “Between you, Clark and the rest of the guys, I should be way more acclimatized to these stealthy entrances you all love so much. It’s annoying that they still get me every time.”
His posture remained rigid, but his mouth did hitch into a small smirk and all things considered, she counted that as a victory.
“There’d be no point if they didn’t make you jump,” he admitted grumpily.
“And heaven forbid I spoil your fun,” she quipped back.
His head bobbed in agreement and she could have sworn she saw the littlest bit of tension uncoil from around him.
“So,” she continued, glancing around the empty room. “Where are the other villagers? Gathering up the pitch forks so we can take down the angry green giant?”
On anyone else, the answering scowl would have been a bad sign, but she welcomed the familiar sight, certain that it was yet another step back to their status quo.
“They’re hiding in the kitchen,” he replied sourly, the answer coupled with the way his face twisted bitterly causing her to laugh openly at the absurdity of it all.
“Can you blame them?” She chided.
“Hey! Let’s try to remember that I’m this group’s average joe,” he exclaimed defensively. “It’s not like I can do a whole lot to any of them.”
“You wouldn’t think that way if you’d ever been on the receiving end of your anger,” she explained lightly. “It might not be a traditional superpower, but it still packs a wallop.”
He arched a brow at her.
“Have I ever told you how much I like that glass house you live in?”
Her answering grin was huge and the sight of it finally had his arms unlocking wearily as he pushed off the wall and moved towards her, picking up pieces of trash along the way. Stopping at her side, he reached out and took up the collection she had already gathered, dutifully following her around the coffee table as she loaded his wider wingspan with the mess.
“You know I’m just teasing you,” she offered gently, glancing up to meet his eyes as she carefully balanced empty pop cans against his chest.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, brushing away her assurance.
“C’mon,” she prodded. “We’re all on your side. Just because you’ve got more disposable income than some countries doesn’t mean we’re not taking this seriously.”
“I know,” he droned, but the response was clearly issued for her benefit and not out of any actual belief that it was true.
Her head tilted at him suspiciously.
“Do you also know that the fact that this happened does not make you a bad CEO, superhero, or person?”
He eyed her critically.
“I should have…”
“Oh, please!” She interrupted dismissively, waving away his self-recriminations before he could get on a roll. “Shoulda, woulda, whatever!”
She could tell he was trying to hold it back, but the smirk was dancing on his lips again.
“Shit happens Oliver,” she continued plainly. “Beating yourself up over this is just going to give you bruises. It’s not going to fix anything.”
“Wow,” he deadpanned, the smirk morphing into a grin. “That’s deep. They teach you these pep talks in sidekick school?”
It never occurred to her to be affronted over the fact that he was making fun of her efforts to help him. She was too happy to have him smiling again.
“What I know about being a sidekick can’t be taught,” she replied proudly. “I’m a freaking prodigy.”
He laughed outright at that and she revelled in the sound.
“You’re something,” he allowed dryly, following her as she turned and headed towards the kitchen.
Upon entering what had obviously become the makeshift hideout, she was immediately met by three extremely hopeful expressions.
“Messy cowards,” she greeted with a chuckle as both she and Oliver made their way over to the sink to get rid of the trash in the receptacle tucked away beneath it.
“I’ll give you the messy part,” Bart replied sheepishly, eyeing the quickly filling garbage can. “But cowards? No way.”
“We talked it over,” Victor explained with a rueful smile, “and after careful deliberation, we decided that you stood the best chance of getting through an interaction with him unscathed. So, we waited.”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed while she simply smiled.
“Nice to know you all think of me as a sacrificial lamb,” she drawled.
“Well, we were right, weren’t we?” AC grinned knowingly, nodding in Oliver’s direction. “Princess Pouty Pants is standing here - not ripping anybody’s head off - so clearly, you managed to talk him into a better mood.”
Chloe almost choked on the laugh that grabbed her, trying to remember that she’d just finished telling Oliver that they were taking this seriously.
“You try having millions of dollars stolen from you and see how you handle it,” Oliver growled, his arms folding back over his chest defensively.
“Yeah, see,” Bart chimed in, “us little people don’t really know much about that… unless of course our lotto numbers come through some time soon.”
“Okay, okay, enough,” Chloe interrupted, absently tugging on Oliver’s clasped arms until they loosened once again and relaxed to his sides. “Stop picking on him.”
The collective snort from Bart, AC and Victor was loud and derisive.
“I’m sorry, did you three have something to say?” She challenged, the sweet lilt of her voice a dangerous brand of menacing.
Three sets of eyes darted at each other quickly.
“Uh, no?” AC asked tentatively.
“That’s what I thought,” she grinned. “Now, everybody in the living room. I’ve got the goods on Malcolm Riley’s place and its go time.”
Turning on her heel she marched purposefully out of the kitchen, leaving the four men to stare at each other curiously.
“Well, that was interesting,” AC observed, his eyes slanting at Oliver. “When exactly did she become so protective of your delicate sensibilities?”
The retort was almost out of Oliver’s mouth, but a certain blonde’s sharp command cut him off.
“That wasn’t a suggestion!”
“I love it when she gets bossy,” Bart grinned as he scrambled to his feet and led the group out of the kitchen.
***
One mission debrief and an impressively speedy wardrobe change later, the Justice League filed out of the service elevator and into one of back hallways that curled through the bowels of the clock tower, the route known only to the five individuals marching through it with experienced ease. Falling into formation behind their leather clad leader, the group moved as one silent unit, all eyes forward and their progress steady until they reached a heavy set of metal doors. Stepping up the small control panel to the left of the exit, Green Arrow lifted his gloved hand and quickly punched in the code that sent the doors swinging open, revealing a secondary parking garage that housed some of team’s fancier gadgets.
Chloe watched as Oliver strode towards a large tarp at the back of the room and with one grand flourish, pulled the huge covering off of three gleaming motorcycles. Without hesitation, Victor and AC each moved to one of the bikes resting on either side of the familiar green Ducati.
“Why don’t I have a bike?” She questioned suddenly, breaking the stoic quiet they’d all been immersed in.
Even with the glasses, she couldn’t mistake the funny look Oliver fired in her direction.
“Cause you don’t even know how to drive one,” he pointed out simply.
“Well, I could learn,” she countered, eyeing the sleek bikes with unprecedented interest, all at once forgetting about the reservations she ordinarily harboured against the machines.
Oliver let out a heavy sigh while Victor and AC snickered.
“I could!” She insisted, annoyed by the trio’s obvious lack of faith in her.
“The bikes are mine,” Oliver offered in an effort to curb her complaining. “I just let Vic and AC use them.”
Chloe stared at the two bikes pointedly, noting the silver paint job on one and the orange detailing on the other.
“Ugh, liar,” she accused.
“I’m with you,” Bart sulked as he sidled up to her and together, they glared at their three teammates reproachfully. “Nobody thought to give me anything either.”
“You’re the fastest man alive!” AC laughed. “You don’t need a motorcycle!”
“That is so not the point,” Bart stated dismissively, earning an enthusiastic nod from Chloe.
“I swear to God,” Oliver grumbled as he turned to his bike and pulled his helmet from its resting place on the handlebars. “I am never having kids. This crap is ridiculous.”
United in their mutual indignation, Chloe and Bart turned to each other.
“And now he calls us childish!” She exclaimed.
“No respect,” her young teammate muttered unhappily, earning another agreeing shake of the blonde’s head.
“Hey! Frick and Frack!” Oliver interrupted as he scooped up the second helmet from the back of his bike and held it out to Chloe. “Get over yourselves and let’s get moving.”
The pair looked at the offered helmet and then back to each other, an understanding passing between them that instantly lit knowing grins upon their faces. Rising on her toes, Chloe tossed an arm casually over Bart’s shoulders and shot Oliver a smirk.
“Why buy milk when I have a cow?” she chirped.
“Moooo,” Bart threw in, his giddy delight unmistakable as he eagerly wrapped both arms around Chloe’s waist and practically hoisted her off her feet.
“You both know you’re not nearly as funny as you think you are, right?” Oliver groused, his lips twitching against his smirk.
“Pssh!” Bart countered. “Me and Chloelicious, we’re hilarious. Part of what makes us so awesome.”
“You boys try not to take too long,” Chloe instructed smugly as her free hand reached up and clasped Bart’s shoulder, getting ready for the blur she was about to experience. “I don’t wanna get stuck twiddling my thumbs at Isis all night, waiting for you clowns and your crotch rockets to get across town.”
“A minute ago, you wanted one of these crotch rockets for yourself,” Oliver pointed out, his eyebrows quirking at the thinly veiled innuendo.
“Keep your toys Archer,” she dismissed triumphantly, “its first class all the way for this girl.”
“That’s my cue,” Bart smirked and in the blink of an eye, the only remaining trace of the pair was a whosh of air and the faint sound of Chloe’s amused shriek.
“Dude, I never thought I’d live to see the day,” AC declared as his head swivelled towards Oliver. “You just got passed over for Impulse!”
Oliver’s eyes rolled as he turned and strapped the now useless second helmet back onto his bike.
“And you wonder why you only got third place on that bachelor list!” AC hooted.
Ignoring the chuckles from both AC and Victor, Oliver pulled his helmet onto his head and glanced at the two.
“Everyone who’s dated a Victoria’s Secret model, raise your hand,” he announced, his own hand automatically popping over his head.
The chuckling stopped immediately and Oliver smirked as he lowered himself casually onto his bike.
“That’s what I thought,” he stated as he snapped his visor closed and revved the powerful engine beneath him before taking off out of the garage with a piercing squeal of tires.
“You know,” AC mused as he turned to Victor, “all things considered, it shouldn’t be so easy for him to make us feel inadequate.”
“Speak for yourself,” Victor retorted as he hopped onto his bike and put on his helmet. “I don’t need to brag to know where I stand with the ladies.”
“What ladies?” AC questioned as he followed Victor’s lead and scrambled onto his bike, tugging his helmet into place. “I never see you with any ladies.”
“Remember that samba dancer from Rio?” Victor smiled.
AC was instantly bombarded by the memory of a certain dark haired, dark skinned, silver- bikini-wearing, slice of gorgeous they’d all eyed during their first official Carnaval experience a few months earlier.
“No way!” He exclaimed in disbelief. “You so didn’t…”
His voice trailed away as the smug look stayed firmly fixed on Victor’s face.
“You did?”
“Like I said,” Victor noted as he twisted the bike’s accelerator, making the finely tuned engine growl with pride. “I don’t need to brag.”
With that, he lowered his visor and peeled forward, rounding the sharp corner out to the street, the sound of his exit echoing through the garage.
AC stared after his teammate, his face a mixture of shock and scepticism. He’d spent an entire evening trying to talk to that girl, but got shut down. She’d said something about already having a date…
“Sonuvabitch!” He grumbled as he gunned it to try and catch up.
Chapter 15 can be found here novadelphine.livejournal.com/6175.html#cutid1