A Partner in Crime - a Smallville Chlark fic
Yay! It's finally finished! For those who like Smallville...and for those who like Clark and Chloe, and Clark and Chloe *together*, I present to you: A Partner in Crime
Category: Friendship/Fluff
Fic Title: A Partner in Crime
Written By: tianaluthien
Crossover/Triangle/Threesome(if applicable):Chloe/Clark. Our two favourite heroes/reporters are sent on assignment to Gotham city and end up meeting with a certain billionaire under the oddest circumstances. I do not own these characters or their worlds. I just have fun with them. Written for the Fading Daylight Chlark Ficathon
Warnings: None.
A Partner in Crime
A Chlark fic
tianaluthien
So this was Gotham.
Larger than metropolis and darker, edgier, the divide between wealth and poverty much sharper, the line between crime and legality hazier - when they could be seen. Most of Gotham glittered with high society, or at least exhibited upper middle class respectability, but if one ventured too far, turned the wrong corner...the dark side was all too visible.
And dangerous, as Clark was constantly reminding her when they explored the smaller streets at night (or rather, when he followed her out because he wouldn’t let her wander the seedier side alone. Since he’d rescued her from three attempted muggings down by the docks, she really couldn’t complain).
Gotham was, all told, a city that hid a thousand stories to make a journalist’s career.
And the fact that there wasn’t a speck of flannel in sight didn’t hurt.
Chloe smirked and reached for an earring; Clark was having trouble adapting to that. On the first day he’d stood out like a sore thumb, and after experiencing a few too many wide-eyed stares, Chloe had suggested he change his shirt.
It wasn’t that she had anything against flannel - in its place, in Smallville - but here in Gotham... It was easier to unearth the truth when you looked as though you actually belonged, and flannel did not belong. And she had to admit: Clark looked nice in a dress shirt.
She reached for the second earring, fastened it in place, and stepped back to survey herself in the mirror: blonde hair curled and swept up loosely, rhinestones glittering at her ears, and a silk-satin dress evening dress of a deep, dark green that flashed and shimmered when the light caught it. All in all -
A knock on the hotel room door interrupted her train of thought.
‘Coming!’
Hurrying over, she opened the door a crack, then let it swing wide as she took half a step back. It had been a long time since she’d seen Clark so dressed up; she’d forgotten how nice he looked in a tux.
And from the way he was looking at her... He hadn’t looked at her that way since the freshman dance, all those years ago. The thought made her sad, and she swatted at it impatiently. Not now.
‘You - you look beautiful,’ he said, blushing a little.
The sad suddenly became happy and she grinned at him. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’ She turned away and walked back to get her purse. ‘It’s definitely a step up from flannel,’
‘Only one?’ Clark sounded offended. ‘I would have thought at least two.’
Chloe laughed. ‘Fine. I’ll give you two. Is the car here yet?’
‘I’m not sure.’
She glanced over her shoulder from double-checking the contents of her handbag. ‘What do you mean, you’re not sure? You haven’t checked?’
Clark just looked at her. Then he sighed (smiling) and stared at the floor. What had Pete called it? ‘The Clark Kent Thousand Mile Stare’, that was it. With a smirk Chloe snapped her purse shut and headed back to the door.
‘Well?’
Clark blinked and shook his head, as though to clear it. ‘Just pulled up.’
‘Perfect.’
With one last look around her room, she followed him out. Once she’d locked the door, she turned and found Clark waiting with his arm out. ‘May I, Miss Sullivan?’
A blush touched her cheeks even as she smiled. ‘You may, Mr. Kent.’
And so, arm in arm, they made their way to the elevator and down to the waiting car.
~*~
The car was nice - very nice - and had been sent by the organizers to transport the Metropolis journalist, Choe Sullivan (and guest) to the opening of the new Gotham City Opera House.
The project had been the brainchild of Gotham’s darling, Bruce Wayne (a man richer even than the Luthors), and been financed almost entirely by himself. The grand opening was to be attended by university professors and music students, opera singers, the financial backers, the press, and the crème de la crème of Gotham society.
And the Daily Planet had chosen her to cover it.
It might not be the groundbreaking news story of her career, but it was nonetheless a (relatively) major event, and if she could snag an interview with Bruce Wayne himself... Most importantly, however, this assignment showed that her editor trusted her with something big. So it was enough.
Now here they were, mingling with the guests in the lobby of the new Opera House. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead and water burbled and splashed from a marble fountain in the centre of the lobby. Two curved and sweeping staircases (also marble, a crimson runner down the middle) led up to the second floor; up there were located the public entrance to the auditorium, and a gallery that encircled the lobby.
‘What time is the press conference?’ Clark asked, appearing at her elbow, champagne flutes in his hands.
‘Nine,’ Chloe answered, taking the glass he offered. ‘It’ll last a half hour, then there will be a short performance of excerpts from Mozart’s Don Giovanni. Until then, we mingle.’
Clark gave an amused smile. ‘And keep our eyes open for Bruce Wayne.’
Chloe grinned and raised her champagne glass. ‘Exactly.’
They mingled, Chloe using her mini recorder for interviews and comments, Clark using his eyes and ears to try and pick up on Bruce Wayne’s arrival.
‘Anything?’ Chloe asked when they met up again at the fountain.
Clark shook his head. ‘I’m sorry Chloe - I even asked, but no one has seen him.’
She bit her lip worriedly. ‘It’s almost nine o’clock and they haven’t even announced his arrival. He wouldn’t -’
‘Not show up at his own party? That would be rude.’
Chloe whirled; the speaker was a tall man, late twenties or early thirties, wearing a tuxedo. He had dark hair and eyes, and a pale, chiselled face. At his side, with her arm through his, stood an intelligent-looking young woman in a shining grey evening dress.
Don’t tell me... ‘And you are?’ Chloe asked.
A slightly sarcastic smile appeared on the man’s face. ‘I’m sorry, how rude of me. Bruce Wayne.’ He held out his hand, and Chloe felt the strength in his handshake. ‘And this is Rachel Dawes.’
Damn. I knew it. Throwing Clark an accusatory glance (he only shrugged, looking uncomfortable), Chloe gave her most professional smile. ‘Chloe Sullivan. And this is Clark Kent. We’re from the Metropolis Daily Planet.’
Recognition (is that what it was?) flickered across Bruce’s face and he looked at Rachel; she shrugged. ‘Very well,’ he said quietly, turning back to Chloe. ‘Enjoy the evening - perhaps we’ll talk later.’ Then he was gone.
Chloe frowned. ‘Wait - what just happened?’
Clark was watching Bruce and Rachel as they moved through the crowd, his expression thoughtful. ‘I don’t know.’
*
The press conference was short and efficient, and filled with all the usual and expected questions and answers, all of which Chloe could recite in her sleep. Did no one have any imagination? She liked to think her own questions showed a little more creativity.
After the press conference, everyone was ushered up the stairs and into the theatre, special guests and members of the press having the privilege of sitting in the first few rows.
An announcer walked across the stage to introduce the cast - the role of Don Giovanni being sung by the famous Nicholas Rock - and explain which part of the opera they would see (the dinner scene). When he finished speaking, a round of enthusiastic applause filled the house and the curtain rose. Music swelled and the performance was underway.
And fifteen minutes later Nicholas Rock was dead.
He turned to the audience to offer an aside - a shot rang out - and Gotham’s star crumpled to the stage with a hole in his head.
For a moment nothing happened. Then a woman screamed and all hell broke loose.
‘Clark - go.’
‘I don’t want anything -’
‘Clark, I’ll be fine - go.’
He went - but not before giving her hand a squeeze that nearly broke her fingers. All around people were diving for cover - Chloe saw Bruce reach for Rachel, shielding her with his arms - security was converging over stage and guests, training their guns on the balcony, some running for the doors.
‘Stay down!’
Chloe obeyed, though she doubted there would be any more shots. Not if there hadn’t been any by now.
A breath of air on her cheek told her Clark had returned. The hand on her arm only confirmed the conclusion.
‘Are you all right?’
She squirmed around in the aisle so she could look at him. ‘I’m -’ She came up short; there was maybe an inch of air between their faces.
‘Chloe?’
She shook her head, forcing away the thoughts. ‘I’m fine - there was only the one shot. Did you see anything?’
The grip on her arm loosened. A little. ‘No - I even went outside but I couldn’t find anyone.’
Chloe blinked. ‘That’s...weird. There’s no way he could have beat you to any of the doors...so he’s either still inside or he knows something we don’t.’
‘Gotham wasn’t infected by any meteor shower, Chloe.’
She gave him a withering look. ‘Just because you’re an alien doesn’t mean -’
‘The area is now secure - on your feet people. We need to evacuate now.’ A security guard appeared at their end of the row, effectively curtailing all conversation. ‘Make it fast.’
~*~
It was well past midnight by the time Clark and Chloe made it back to the hotel, though neither had any thoughts of sleep. Pausing only to change out of their eveningwear, they convened in Chloe’s room, armed with laptops. Chloe had opted to search for the architectural plans to the Opera House, as some hacking might be necessary, while Clark dug around for information on Nicholas Rock.
‘Wait a minute.’ Chloe sat back and looked at Clark, who was sprawled on the floor by the foot of the bed. ‘I interviewed a Gene Rock tonight - do you think -?’
Clark frowned, tapping his finger against his laptop. ‘It’s possible they’re connected, I guess.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘Well...’ He rolled over on his side, his expression suddenly distant. ‘Lex and I never exactly talked opera, but I did pick up on a few things - one of them being that Nicholas Rock is not his real name. No one knows much about him; he’s a private kind of guy.’
Chloe grinned. ‘I’m impressed.’
Clark gave a shrug and rolled back onto his stomach. ‘I try.’
With an amused shake of her head, Chloe turned back to her computer screen; for the next while only the sounds of keys clicking and soft breathing could be heard. Then:
‘Chloe?’
She shook her head sharply. ‘Almost there.’
Clark subsided and moved onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. She really was beautiful. Strange that he’d never thought about it before. She had looked absolutely stunning in that evening dress, with her hair all done up...but there was something about her, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that made her beautiful all the time, whether she looked her best or not.
‘Got it,’ she said.
Clark blinked once to refocus himself. ‘The plans?’
Chloe nodded. ‘I had to hack into the city’s architectural database, but I found them.’
‘And...just out of curiosity...is their security going to be able to trace us?’
Chloe snorted. ‘Clark, please. It’s me.’
He tried his best to look contrite. ‘Sorry.’
‘Sure you are. You want to come look or not?’
He went. ‘Anything interesting?’ he asked, crouching at the side of the bed.
She tilted the screen towards him and continued scrolling. ‘So far, no - but then again, I’m hardly an expert. And it’s really small.’
‘Wait - back up.’
Chloe froze. ‘Which way?’
‘Up - ok, good. Can you make it bigger?’
She clicked on the section and an expanded version opened in a new window. She stared at it for a few moments in silence, then sat back, chewing on a fingernail. ‘Ok.’
It wasn’t so much what was present as what was missing: they were staring at a part of the wall and corridor on the second floor where the wall seemed to be unusually thick, even according to what little Chloe knew of architectural standards.
‘I don’t suppose it has something to do with acoustics?’ Clark offered, not entirely convinced.
‘Mmm.’ Chloe threw him a glance. ‘Do you think we’d be able to get in tomorrow?’
‘We can try.’
She grinned. ‘I’ll make a reporter out of you yet, Mr. Kent. Now show me what you’ve got.’
He tugged on her arm. ‘You made me move, now it’s your turn.’
‘But I’m comfy.’
‘And I’m not - come on.’ He tugged again; she teetered; a moment later she had fallen off the bed and landed on top of Clark, sending him sprawling. It took a minute to register that she was lying across his stomach, but when it did she immediately felt a blush spread across her cheeks. ‘Um, hey,’ she muttered, trying to push herself up. Oh, this was awkward. ‘Little help?’
‘Um, right.’ He was, she noticed with some satisfaction, as red in the face as she felt. He raised himself up a bit and held up a hand; she took it and used the added height to push herself up and off.
‘That was your fault,’ she said, brushing some fluff from her pants, determined not to look at him.
Silence. She heard him move. Then: ‘I think you’ll like this.’
She almost sighed: a classic Clark Kent deflection. ‘It’s good?’
‘It’s interesting. Very interesting.’
Her head came up. ‘I like interesting.’
‘I know.’ He lay on his stomach in front of the laptop again, propped up on his elbows.
‘All right - what is it?’ She fell to a sitting position beside him and he turned the computer towards her. There was an odd excitement about him that she’d never seen before.
‘I did some checking on Nicholas Rock. He was born in 1965 into an Italian family, and began attending the Gotham Conservatory of Music in 1984. I found details of his schooling, public performances, and awards, but nothing dating before 1984.’
‘You’re stalling.’
Clark grinned. ‘So I went looking for an Italian equivalent to his name - and I found Nicola Moretti. ‘Moretti’ is, according to this site, possibly derived from the word ‘morro’, which means ‘rock’. Anyhow, there’s a lot of information about Nicola Moretti - but what you might be most interested in is the fact that the Gotham Moretti’s are a mob family.’
Chloe stared, stunned. Nicholas Rock, one of the mob? ‘Have you got a picture?’
Clark tapped on the mouse pad and pulled up another window. ‘It’s an older photo, but it’s definitely the same guy.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Moretti was never convicted of anything, but his family is definitely in, though well-insulated from the law.’
‘The rich and powerful always are,’ Chloe murmured. ‘So...we’re thinking it might have been a mob hit? But why? Have you found any record of him ever turning against them?’
Clark hesitated. ‘Not exactly, no.’
‘And that means...?’
He tapped on the mouse pad again to open another window. ‘It means that he never actively turned against them, but it seems that Nicola Moretti ceased to exist around 1984, which is when Nicholas Rock began to study at the Conservatory. He changed his name, denied his family, and now he’s famous. He might not have betrayed them to the law, but he betrayed his blood.’
Clark paused and his face closed up, giving Chloe a sneaking suspicion that he was thinking of Jor-El. ‘Ok, so we have a possible theory,’ she said. She was not going to let him brood. He’d been doing far too much of that lately. ‘But we still don’t know who shot him - or even where the shooter went.’
Clark seemed to shake himself. ‘But we do have some suspicious-looking architectural plans. When do you want to go back?’
‘As early as possible.’
His lips twitched. ‘I had a feeling you’d say that.’ Then his jaw stiffened as he fought a yawn; the yawn won out. ‘Call it a night?’
‘I guess so,’ Chloe murmured, suddenly reluctant to see him go. It was just...these days they seemed to spend so little time together when they weren’t trying to save the world. For now it was just the two of them on a case, doing what they did best, with no Lana, no Lex, no Lionel, and no Lois (those were a lot of Ls...).
Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Clark switched off his laptop. Then he held out his hand to help her to her feet - but even once she was standing, he didn’t let go. He simply stood there, looking at her. Chloe felt her chest constrict. Why...?
‘Chloe...I’m glad you’re ok.’ Then he leaned forward and brushed his mouth across her cheek. ‘Good night.’
And he was gone, the door closing silently behind him.
She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her cheek tingling, a tiny smile fighting its way onto her lips. Goodnight, Clark.
~*~
Getting past the security guards the next morning proved to be much easier than expected: one glance at their IDs and they were waved inside. Half-expecting a trap (how could it have been that easy?), they entered cautiously - and only after a whispered argument (which Clark started, unwilling to leave Chloe alone) did they split up.
Now Chloe stood on the stage at the spot where the opera singer’s body had fallen, while Clark moved around the balcony trying to pinpoint the shooter’s location, his hearing tuned to the sound of Chloe’s voice.
‘Ok...so he was facing us like this,’ Chloe turned to face the auditorium, angling herself to the left, ‘and he got the bullet in the middle of his forehead, so the shooter must have been... Clark, move over to the left. Stop. Face me. Hold out your hand like you’ve got a gun.’
He complied and Chloe tilted her head back. ‘How does this look from there?’
Clark gave a nod; it wasn’t for sure and for certain, but it might be close enough.
‘So...he must have got a good look at the shooter.’ She paused, remembering the expression on the singer’s face as he died: shock, surprise, fear. ‘Clark...he knew who killed him. He - ’
‘You’re right,’ said a calm voice. ‘He did know the man who killed him.’
Chloe whirled, stopped dead.
Bruce Wayne was walking out of one of the wings and onto the stage. He wore a long flowing coat over a thick sweater and pants, resembling, she thought, a giant bat.
‘Chloe?’ Clark’s voice. A door slammed up above and suddenly she was no longer alone. ‘What do you want?’ Clark demanded.
So much for subtlety.
Bruce waved a hand at the auditorium, a familiar mocking smile on his mouth. ‘This is my Opera House - I could ask you the same thing.’
Chloe glanced at Clark. ‘The security guard let us in.’
Bruce’s hand fell to his side. ‘But don’t you wonder why that was? Why the security guards would allow two reporters from Metropolis to access this place when everyone else is forbidden?’
Chloe didn’t think she liked where this conversation was heading; neither did Clark, if his face was anything to go by.
‘It was because I told them to let you in.’
‘You what?’ Clark asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
‘I did tell you we might talk later. It’s later.’
‘Who are you?’ Chloe demanded; she was feeling tired of the word games.
Bruce crossed his arms, the mocking smile back on his face. ‘I believe we have a friend in common. Oliver Queen.’
‘Oh.’ She’d heard of small world stories, but really, this was getting to be a little ridiculous.
‘Give me a reason to believe you,’ Clark said.
Bruce shrugged. ‘You can believe me or not, as you choose. But he’s told me about you. About the both of you. And that’s why I told the guards to let you in - I had a feeling you’d show up.’
‘And you wanted to talk to us because...?’ Chloe raised an eyebrow.
‘Call it idle curiosity, at first. But now - I want you both to stop what you’re doing and go home.’
‘What?’ Not very articulate, but it was all she could come up with. Clark put a hand on her arm, but she shook him off. ‘You want me to listen to him as he’s telling me to back off a -’
‘Chloe.’ He had that look in his eye again, that interested gleam, and when he was feeling like that, well.
‘Fine.’ She turned back to Bruce, who looked amused, damn it. ‘Talk.’
‘Gotham is my city. I’ll get to the bottom of it.’
‘That’s it?’
His expression darkened, making him look positively frightening. ‘I have set things in motion that you will disturb if you keep nosing around, putting you and many others in great danger. If it will satisfy your curiosity: Nicholas Rock was killed by the mob, but it was not the mob that ordered the hit. Now go home to Metropolis and keep watch in your own city. Leave me to watch my own.’
Part of her wanted to rebel, but another part of her, the part of her that was really watching him, understood. Something about the eyes, maybe? She didn’t know who he was, because he was obviously someone else as well as Bruce Wayne, but she did realize that he was working in the same way as Oliver and Clark and all the others she’d met. ‘Ok,’ she said, her chin coming up. ‘We’ll leave. But for the record, orders don’t always sit well with me.’
He laughed. ‘So I’ve heard.’ He nodded his head at the two of them. ‘You know the way out.’ Then he turned and started back into the wings.
‘Wait,’ Clark called. ‘What - what did Oliver tell you?’
Bruce paused and looked over his shoulder. ‘He told me a lot. He also told me the two of you work well together.’ Again the amused smile. Then he left the stage and all that remained was the receding sound of his footsteps.
‘That was abrupt,’ Chloe muttered.
Clark only shrugged. ‘He was right about one thing, though.’
Chloe looked at him. ‘And what was that?’
He smiled. ‘We do work well together.’
Well, it was a start. She smiled back at him. ‘Yes we do.’
finis
© October 2007, tianaluthien
Category: Friendship/Fluff
Fic Title: A Partner in Crime
Written By: tianaluthien
Crossover/Triangle/Threesome(if applicable):Chloe/Clark. Our two favourite heroes/reporters are sent on assignment to Gotham city and end up meeting with a certain billionaire under the oddest circumstances. I do not own these characters or their worlds. I just have fun with them. Written for the Fading Daylight Chlark Ficathon
Warnings: None.
A Partner in Crime
A Chlark fic
tianaluthien
So this was Gotham.
Larger than metropolis and darker, edgier, the divide between wealth and poverty much sharper, the line between crime and legality hazier - when they could be seen. Most of Gotham glittered with high society, or at least exhibited upper middle class respectability, but if one ventured too far, turned the wrong corner...the dark side was all too visible.
And dangerous, as Clark was constantly reminding her when they explored the smaller streets at night (or rather, when he followed her out because he wouldn’t let her wander the seedier side alone. Since he’d rescued her from three attempted muggings down by the docks, she really couldn’t complain).
Gotham was, all told, a city that hid a thousand stories to make a journalist’s career.
And the fact that there wasn’t a speck of flannel in sight didn’t hurt.
Chloe smirked and reached for an earring; Clark was having trouble adapting to that. On the first day he’d stood out like a sore thumb, and after experiencing a few too many wide-eyed stares, Chloe had suggested he change his shirt.
It wasn’t that she had anything against flannel - in its place, in Smallville - but here in Gotham... It was easier to unearth the truth when you looked as though you actually belonged, and flannel did not belong. And she had to admit: Clark looked nice in a dress shirt.
She reached for the second earring, fastened it in place, and stepped back to survey herself in the mirror: blonde hair curled and swept up loosely, rhinestones glittering at her ears, and a silk-satin dress evening dress of a deep, dark green that flashed and shimmered when the light caught it. All in all -
A knock on the hotel room door interrupted her train of thought.
‘Coming!’
Hurrying over, she opened the door a crack, then let it swing wide as she took half a step back. It had been a long time since she’d seen Clark so dressed up; she’d forgotten how nice he looked in a tux.
And from the way he was looking at her... He hadn’t looked at her that way since the freshman dance, all those years ago. The thought made her sad, and she swatted at it impatiently. Not now.
‘You - you look beautiful,’ he said, blushing a little.
The sad suddenly became happy and she grinned at him. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’ She turned away and walked back to get her purse. ‘It’s definitely a step up from flannel,’
‘Only one?’ Clark sounded offended. ‘I would have thought at least two.’
Chloe laughed. ‘Fine. I’ll give you two. Is the car here yet?’
‘I’m not sure.’
She glanced over her shoulder from double-checking the contents of her handbag. ‘What do you mean, you’re not sure? You haven’t checked?’
Clark just looked at her. Then he sighed (smiling) and stared at the floor. What had Pete called it? ‘The Clark Kent Thousand Mile Stare’, that was it. With a smirk Chloe snapped her purse shut and headed back to the door.
‘Well?’
Clark blinked and shook his head, as though to clear it. ‘Just pulled up.’
‘Perfect.’
With one last look around her room, she followed him out. Once she’d locked the door, she turned and found Clark waiting with his arm out. ‘May I, Miss Sullivan?’
A blush touched her cheeks even as she smiled. ‘You may, Mr. Kent.’
And so, arm in arm, they made their way to the elevator and down to the waiting car.
~*~
The car was nice - very nice - and had been sent by the organizers to transport the Metropolis journalist, Choe Sullivan (and guest) to the opening of the new Gotham City Opera House.
The project had been the brainchild of Gotham’s darling, Bruce Wayne (a man richer even than the Luthors), and been financed almost entirely by himself. The grand opening was to be attended by university professors and music students, opera singers, the financial backers, the press, and the crème de la crème of Gotham society.
And the Daily Planet had chosen her to cover it.
It might not be the groundbreaking news story of her career, but it was nonetheless a (relatively) major event, and if she could snag an interview with Bruce Wayne himself... Most importantly, however, this assignment showed that her editor trusted her with something big. So it was enough.
Now here they were, mingling with the guests in the lobby of the new Opera House. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead and water burbled and splashed from a marble fountain in the centre of the lobby. Two curved and sweeping staircases (also marble, a crimson runner down the middle) led up to the second floor; up there were located the public entrance to the auditorium, and a gallery that encircled the lobby.
‘What time is the press conference?’ Clark asked, appearing at her elbow, champagne flutes in his hands.
‘Nine,’ Chloe answered, taking the glass he offered. ‘It’ll last a half hour, then there will be a short performance of excerpts from Mozart’s Don Giovanni. Until then, we mingle.’
Clark gave an amused smile. ‘And keep our eyes open for Bruce Wayne.’
Chloe grinned and raised her champagne glass. ‘Exactly.’
They mingled, Chloe using her mini recorder for interviews and comments, Clark using his eyes and ears to try and pick up on Bruce Wayne’s arrival.
‘Anything?’ Chloe asked when they met up again at the fountain.
Clark shook his head. ‘I’m sorry Chloe - I even asked, but no one has seen him.’
She bit her lip worriedly. ‘It’s almost nine o’clock and they haven’t even announced his arrival. He wouldn’t -’
‘Not show up at his own party? That would be rude.’
Chloe whirled; the speaker was a tall man, late twenties or early thirties, wearing a tuxedo. He had dark hair and eyes, and a pale, chiselled face. At his side, with her arm through his, stood an intelligent-looking young woman in a shining grey evening dress.
Don’t tell me... ‘And you are?’ Chloe asked.
A slightly sarcastic smile appeared on the man’s face. ‘I’m sorry, how rude of me. Bruce Wayne.’ He held out his hand, and Chloe felt the strength in his handshake. ‘And this is Rachel Dawes.’
Damn. I knew it. Throwing Clark an accusatory glance (he only shrugged, looking uncomfortable), Chloe gave her most professional smile. ‘Chloe Sullivan. And this is Clark Kent. We’re from the Metropolis Daily Planet.’
Recognition (is that what it was?) flickered across Bruce’s face and he looked at Rachel; she shrugged. ‘Very well,’ he said quietly, turning back to Chloe. ‘Enjoy the evening - perhaps we’ll talk later.’ Then he was gone.
Chloe frowned. ‘Wait - what just happened?’
Clark was watching Bruce and Rachel as they moved through the crowd, his expression thoughtful. ‘I don’t know.’
*
The press conference was short and efficient, and filled with all the usual and expected questions and answers, all of which Chloe could recite in her sleep. Did no one have any imagination? She liked to think her own questions showed a little more creativity.
After the press conference, everyone was ushered up the stairs and into the theatre, special guests and members of the press having the privilege of sitting in the first few rows.
An announcer walked across the stage to introduce the cast - the role of Don Giovanni being sung by the famous Nicholas Rock - and explain which part of the opera they would see (the dinner scene). When he finished speaking, a round of enthusiastic applause filled the house and the curtain rose. Music swelled and the performance was underway.
And fifteen minutes later Nicholas Rock was dead.
He turned to the audience to offer an aside - a shot rang out - and Gotham’s star crumpled to the stage with a hole in his head.
For a moment nothing happened. Then a woman screamed and all hell broke loose.
‘Clark - go.’
‘I don’t want anything -’
‘Clark, I’ll be fine - go.’
He went - but not before giving her hand a squeeze that nearly broke her fingers. All around people were diving for cover - Chloe saw Bruce reach for Rachel, shielding her with his arms - security was converging over stage and guests, training their guns on the balcony, some running for the doors.
‘Stay down!’
Chloe obeyed, though she doubted there would be any more shots. Not if there hadn’t been any by now.
A breath of air on her cheek told her Clark had returned. The hand on her arm only confirmed the conclusion.
‘Are you all right?’
She squirmed around in the aisle so she could look at him. ‘I’m -’ She came up short; there was maybe an inch of air between their faces.
‘Chloe?’
She shook her head, forcing away the thoughts. ‘I’m fine - there was only the one shot. Did you see anything?’
The grip on her arm loosened. A little. ‘No - I even went outside but I couldn’t find anyone.’
Chloe blinked. ‘That’s...weird. There’s no way he could have beat you to any of the doors...so he’s either still inside or he knows something we don’t.’
‘Gotham wasn’t infected by any meteor shower, Chloe.’
She gave him a withering look. ‘Just because you’re an alien doesn’t mean -’
‘The area is now secure - on your feet people. We need to evacuate now.’ A security guard appeared at their end of the row, effectively curtailing all conversation. ‘Make it fast.’
~*~
It was well past midnight by the time Clark and Chloe made it back to the hotel, though neither had any thoughts of sleep. Pausing only to change out of their eveningwear, they convened in Chloe’s room, armed with laptops. Chloe had opted to search for the architectural plans to the Opera House, as some hacking might be necessary, while Clark dug around for information on Nicholas Rock.
‘Wait a minute.’ Chloe sat back and looked at Clark, who was sprawled on the floor by the foot of the bed. ‘I interviewed a Gene Rock tonight - do you think -?’
Clark frowned, tapping his finger against his laptop. ‘It’s possible they’re connected, I guess.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘Well...’ He rolled over on his side, his expression suddenly distant. ‘Lex and I never exactly talked opera, but I did pick up on a few things - one of them being that Nicholas Rock is not his real name. No one knows much about him; he’s a private kind of guy.’
Chloe grinned. ‘I’m impressed.’
Clark gave a shrug and rolled back onto his stomach. ‘I try.’
With an amused shake of her head, Chloe turned back to her computer screen; for the next while only the sounds of keys clicking and soft breathing could be heard. Then:
‘Chloe?’
She shook her head sharply. ‘Almost there.’
Clark subsided and moved onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. She really was beautiful. Strange that he’d never thought about it before. She had looked absolutely stunning in that evening dress, with her hair all done up...but there was something about her, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that made her beautiful all the time, whether she looked her best or not.
‘Got it,’ she said.
Clark blinked once to refocus himself. ‘The plans?’
Chloe nodded. ‘I had to hack into the city’s architectural database, but I found them.’
‘And...just out of curiosity...is their security going to be able to trace us?’
Chloe snorted. ‘Clark, please. It’s me.’
He tried his best to look contrite. ‘Sorry.’
‘Sure you are. You want to come look or not?’
He went. ‘Anything interesting?’ he asked, crouching at the side of the bed.
She tilted the screen towards him and continued scrolling. ‘So far, no - but then again, I’m hardly an expert. And it’s really small.’
‘Wait - back up.’
Chloe froze. ‘Which way?’
‘Up - ok, good. Can you make it bigger?’
She clicked on the section and an expanded version opened in a new window. She stared at it for a few moments in silence, then sat back, chewing on a fingernail. ‘Ok.’
It wasn’t so much what was present as what was missing: they were staring at a part of the wall and corridor on the second floor where the wall seemed to be unusually thick, even according to what little Chloe knew of architectural standards.
‘I don’t suppose it has something to do with acoustics?’ Clark offered, not entirely convinced.
‘Mmm.’ Chloe threw him a glance. ‘Do you think we’d be able to get in tomorrow?’
‘We can try.’
She grinned. ‘I’ll make a reporter out of you yet, Mr. Kent. Now show me what you’ve got.’
He tugged on her arm. ‘You made me move, now it’s your turn.’
‘But I’m comfy.’
‘And I’m not - come on.’ He tugged again; she teetered; a moment later she had fallen off the bed and landed on top of Clark, sending him sprawling. It took a minute to register that she was lying across his stomach, but when it did she immediately felt a blush spread across her cheeks. ‘Um, hey,’ she muttered, trying to push herself up. Oh, this was awkward. ‘Little help?’
‘Um, right.’ He was, she noticed with some satisfaction, as red in the face as she felt. He raised himself up a bit and held up a hand; she took it and used the added height to push herself up and off.
‘That was your fault,’ she said, brushing some fluff from her pants, determined not to look at him.
Silence. She heard him move. Then: ‘I think you’ll like this.’
She almost sighed: a classic Clark Kent deflection. ‘It’s good?’
‘It’s interesting. Very interesting.’
Her head came up. ‘I like interesting.’
‘I know.’ He lay on his stomach in front of the laptop again, propped up on his elbows.
‘All right - what is it?’ She fell to a sitting position beside him and he turned the computer towards her. There was an odd excitement about him that she’d never seen before.
‘I did some checking on Nicholas Rock. He was born in 1965 into an Italian family, and began attending the Gotham Conservatory of Music in 1984. I found details of his schooling, public performances, and awards, but nothing dating before 1984.’
‘You’re stalling.’
Clark grinned. ‘So I went looking for an Italian equivalent to his name - and I found Nicola Moretti. ‘Moretti’ is, according to this site, possibly derived from the word ‘morro’, which means ‘rock’. Anyhow, there’s a lot of information about Nicola Moretti - but what you might be most interested in is the fact that the Gotham Moretti’s are a mob family.’
Chloe stared, stunned. Nicholas Rock, one of the mob? ‘Have you got a picture?’
Clark tapped on the mouse pad and pulled up another window. ‘It’s an older photo, but it’s definitely the same guy.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Moretti was never convicted of anything, but his family is definitely in, though well-insulated from the law.’
‘The rich and powerful always are,’ Chloe murmured. ‘So...we’re thinking it might have been a mob hit? But why? Have you found any record of him ever turning against them?’
Clark hesitated. ‘Not exactly, no.’
‘And that means...?’
He tapped on the mouse pad again to open another window. ‘It means that he never actively turned against them, but it seems that Nicola Moretti ceased to exist around 1984, which is when Nicholas Rock began to study at the Conservatory. He changed his name, denied his family, and now he’s famous. He might not have betrayed them to the law, but he betrayed his blood.’
Clark paused and his face closed up, giving Chloe a sneaking suspicion that he was thinking of Jor-El. ‘Ok, so we have a possible theory,’ she said. She was not going to let him brood. He’d been doing far too much of that lately. ‘But we still don’t know who shot him - or even where the shooter went.’
Clark seemed to shake himself. ‘But we do have some suspicious-looking architectural plans. When do you want to go back?’
‘As early as possible.’
His lips twitched. ‘I had a feeling you’d say that.’ Then his jaw stiffened as he fought a yawn; the yawn won out. ‘Call it a night?’
‘I guess so,’ Chloe murmured, suddenly reluctant to see him go. It was just...these days they seemed to spend so little time together when they weren’t trying to save the world. For now it was just the two of them on a case, doing what they did best, with no Lana, no Lex, no Lionel, and no Lois (those were a lot of Ls...).
Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Clark switched off his laptop. Then he held out his hand to help her to her feet - but even once she was standing, he didn’t let go. He simply stood there, looking at her. Chloe felt her chest constrict. Why...?
‘Chloe...I’m glad you’re ok.’ Then he leaned forward and brushed his mouth across her cheek. ‘Good night.’
And he was gone, the door closing silently behind him.
She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her cheek tingling, a tiny smile fighting its way onto her lips. Goodnight, Clark.
~*~
Getting past the security guards the next morning proved to be much easier than expected: one glance at their IDs and they were waved inside. Half-expecting a trap (how could it have been that easy?), they entered cautiously - and only after a whispered argument (which Clark started, unwilling to leave Chloe alone) did they split up.
Now Chloe stood on the stage at the spot where the opera singer’s body had fallen, while Clark moved around the balcony trying to pinpoint the shooter’s location, his hearing tuned to the sound of Chloe’s voice.
‘Ok...so he was facing us like this,’ Chloe turned to face the auditorium, angling herself to the left, ‘and he got the bullet in the middle of his forehead, so the shooter must have been... Clark, move over to the left. Stop. Face me. Hold out your hand like you’ve got a gun.’
He complied and Chloe tilted her head back. ‘How does this look from there?’
Clark gave a nod; it wasn’t for sure and for certain, but it might be close enough.
‘So...he must have got a good look at the shooter.’ She paused, remembering the expression on the singer’s face as he died: shock, surprise, fear. ‘Clark...he knew who killed him. He - ’
‘You’re right,’ said a calm voice. ‘He did know the man who killed him.’
Chloe whirled, stopped dead.
Bruce Wayne was walking out of one of the wings and onto the stage. He wore a long flowing coat over a thick sweater and pants, resembling, she thought, a giant bat.
‘Chloe?’ Clark’s voice. A door slammed up above and suddenly she was no longer alone. ‘What do you want?’ Clark demanded.
So much for subtlety.
Bruce waved a hand at the auditorium, a familiar mocking smile on his mouth. ‘This is my Opera House - I could ask you the same thing.’
Chloe glanced at Clark. ‘The security guard let us in.’
Bruce’s hand fell to his side. ‘But don’t you wonder why that was? Why the security guards would allow two reporters from Metropolis to access this place when everyone else is forbidden?’
Chloe didn’t think she liked where this conversation was heading; neither did Clark, if his face was anything to go by.
‘It was because I told them to let you in.’
‘You what?’ Clark asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
‘I did tell you we might talk later. It’s later.’
‘Who are you?’ Chloe demanded; she was feeling tired of the word games.
Bruce crossed his arms, the mocking smile back on his face. ‘I believe we have a friend in common. Oliver Queen.’
‘Oh.’ She’d heard of small world stories, but really, this was getting to be a little ridiculous.
‘Give me a reason to believe you,’ Clark said.
Bruce shrugged. ‘You can believe me or not, as you choose. But he’s told me about you. About the both of you. And that’s why I told the guards to let you in - I had a feeling you’d show up.’
‘And you wanted to talk to us because...?’ Chloe raised an eyebrow.
‘Call it idle curiosity, at first. But now - I want you both to stop what you’re doing and go home.’
‘What?’ Not very articulate, but it was all she could come up with. Clark put a hand on her arm, but she shook him off. ‘You want me to listen to him as he’s telling me to back off a -’
‘Chloe.’ He had that look in his eye again, that interested gleam, and when he was feeling like that, well.
‘Fine.’ She turned back to Bruce, who looked amused, damn it. ‘Talk.’
‘Gotham is my city. I’ll get to the bottom of it.’
‘That’s it?’
His expression darkened, making him look positively frightening. ‘I have set things in motion that you will disturb if you keep nosing around, putting you and many others in great danger. If it will satisfy your curiosity: Nicholas Rock was killed by the mob, but it was not the mob that ordered the hit. Now go home to Metropolis and keep watch in your own city. Leave me to watch my own.’
Part of her wanted to rebel, but another part of her, the part of her that was really watching him, understood. Something about the eyes, maybe? She didn’t know who he was, because he was obviously someone else as well as Bruce Wayne, but she did realize that he was working in the same way as Oliver and Clark and all the others she’d met. ‘Ok,’ she said, her chin coming up. ‘We’ll leave. But for the record, orders don’t always sit well with me.’
He laughed. ‘So I’ve heard.’ He nodded his head at the two of them. ‘You know the way out.’ Then he turned and started back into the wings.
‘Wait,’ Clark called. ‘What - what did Oliver tell you?’
Bruce paused and looked over his shoulder. ‘He told me a lot. He also told me the two of you work well together.’ Again the amused smile. Then he left the stage and all that remained was the receding sound of his footsteps.
‘That was abrupt,’ Chloe muttered.
Clark only shrugged. ‘He was right about one thing, though.’
Chloe looked at him. ‘And what was that?’
He smiled. ‘We do work well together.’
Well, it was a start. She smiled back at him. ‘Yes we do.’
finis
© October 2007, tianaluthien