Fic: Moving on (2/6)
Fic: Moving on (2/6)
Authors: muses-circle and Pen37
Series: Slayer!Chloe
Beta: muses-circle
Fandoms: Supernatural, Smallville, Buffy/Angel Verse
Pairing: Chloe/Dean
Rating: Pg-13
Wordcount: 1,568 words
Summary: With new friends and a new outlook on life, Chloe is settling into her role as a slayer post-Winchesters. But the Winchesters aren't completely done with her.
A/N: This one is written. Not sure how many chapters it'll be. But probably shorter than Getting Up was.
Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6
Ava and Andy were both sitting at the kitchen table when Chloe finally pulled herself off the floor and went downstairs the next morning. The brunette psychic had a strong cup of coffee in front of her, and a pair of Fendi sun glasses on. Judging by the designer label - Chloe assumed that the vampires who lived here liked to collect expensive swag. She'd bet if she went through the slaypire's closet, she'd find Louis Vuitton and Gucci.
If there was anything by Chloe, she was going to snag it just for the sheer irony.
But it was probably a good thing, because the house would also have a state-of-the-art computer. And Chloe was short one computer system anyway.
“Hang over?” she asked Ava sympathetically as she sat down at the end of the table. Her own mouth tasted what she would imagine the floor of a New York City Taxi Cab would taste like. She was thankful for the wonderful slayer healing - which prevented a hangover, thank God.
“Forget vampires,” Ava muttered. “The tequila was the real danger in this house.”
Chloe smacked her lips in sympathy. “I could cheerfully murder for some juice right now,” She commiserated.
“There's some in the fridge,” Andy said.
Off Chloe's confused look, Ava nodded to Andy. “Someone went shopping this morning and stocked the fridge.”
Chloe looked at Andy and raised an eyebrow. “With what fundage?”
Andy threw up his hands defensively. “I totally didn't use my powers.”
“Then where?”
“There was a fifty in the sugar bowl,” he said.
Both girls looked at the bowl in the middle of the table.
“I saw it, and thought: what would vampires need sugar for?” Andy said.
Chloe grinned at that. “Smart thinking, Andy.”
“Thanks,” he preened modestly.
The slayer poured a glass of juice, then sat down in front of the newspaper. The Kansas City Star was no Daily Planet, but for a large metro daily, it was pretty good. She knew that Hemmingway had written for it and credited the newspaper for teaching him the sparse writing style that he was so well known for. She also knew that there were several Pulitzer winners who had worked for the newspaper.
Still, after reading the headlines, and a few of the stories in the metro section, she judged her work to be on par with the reporters in KC. She may have only worked in the basement of the Daily Planet, but she'd worked in the basement of The Daily Planet. And she'd had at least one front-page byline.
As she turned back to the class-ads section, a half-page advert jumped out at her. Beat reporter wanted.
Chloe's breath hitched.
“What?” Ava asked.
“Nothing,” Chloe shook her head. She couldn't get pulled back into journalism. Not now. But she couldn't help wanting it. If she shut her eyes, she could hear the whir of the printing presses run. Dad had once said that she had ink in her veins. Maybe that was something that didn't just bleed out with all the injuries she'd taken on as a slayer.
Ava and Andy looked at one another, and nodded. Then Andy lunged at Chloe.
“Andy! What the hell?” Chloe asked as she gently grabbed his hands in a defensive move. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ava swipe the paper. She pushed his hands away and lunged for Ava.
But it was too late. The brunette had already seen the article.
“You want to be a reporter?” Ava asked.
“I used to be a reporter.” Chloe said. “Right up until I became a slayer.”
“Then you should apply,” Andy said.
Chloe shook her head vehemently. “Slayers and jobs are unmixy things, guys.”
“Given that you're dead set against the vocal-chord discount, we're going to have to make a living somehow,” Andy reasoned. “If you have to get a job, it may as well be one you like.”
Chloe looked back down at the paper. Usually by the time a job opening like this was advertised in print, the editors already had someone in mind. But maybe she could impress them enough with her clips to parley an interview into a few freelance assignments.
Besides, Andy had a point. They'd slayed their way into a permanent address. One that needed a lot of fixing up. Which meant money for lumber and nails and other things that she hadn't thought about since the Kent's barn raising.
She'd really rather earn that money doing something she was good at.
“Maybe,” she hedged.
“It can't hurt to apply,” Ava said. “It's not like they can take away your birthday.”
Chloe nodded. “Fine.” She stood, and headed over to the office she'd discovered during last night's sweep. “But first - I've got to figure out the pass codes for the computer. I'm going to need it to build my resume.”
* * *
The Kansas City Star was located in a red brick building in Downtown Kansas. Just up the street, a blocks-long glass warehouse displayed the printing press under a sign with a bright blue start on it.
As Chloe drove Ava's beetle past the warehouse, she decided that, job or no job, she was coming back here to watch the press run at some point.
She got out of the car, smoothed out the black designer pant suit, and looked up at the office. The slaypire's designer tastes had extended to wardrobe - thankfully, since most everything Chloe owned was ripped or bloody. Of course, most of it was black, but black covered a multitude of sins.
The receptionist waved her through the door, and directed her to the first floor. The newsroom had an open floor plan, with cubicles grouped around each department. Actual offices at the other end of the room were reserved for editors. It was in one of those rooms where Chloe met with the Editor In Chief of The Star, Wentworth Michaels.
Mr. Michaels was on the phone when Chloe knocked on the door. He waved her in and gestured for her to have a seat while he finished his conversation.
“I have to say, I was surprised to hear from you, Miss Sullivan. It's not every day that a reporter with so many question marks around their name decides to come out of retirement and apply for a job.”
Chloe blinked in surprise at that. She'd applied for the job under the name she'd been freelancing under for the past few months: Anne Gabriel. She let her shoulders slump in defeat. “How did you know?”
“I recognize the writing style,” Mr. Michaels said. “I always keep an eye on the hungry young talent at The Planet, in case I can poach any of it away. Metropolis isn't that far from here, and sometimes a promising young reporter gets tired of working their way slowly up from the basement.
“He tapped a pen against his chin and leaned back in his seat as he continued to explain. “Your pen name was the second clue: Chloe A. Sullivan. A for Anne. Daughter of Gabriel Sullivan. Recently cleared of murder charges for said father. And possibly looking to re-establish her career away from the taint of said murder charges.
“But I couldn't have been sure until I saw you. I don't know if you remember, but I've been one of the judges for the Kansas High School Newspaper Association for the past ten years. And I remember a certain blonde editor claiming a general excellence award three years running for her newspaper.”
Chloe smiled tightly. “I see.” She said as she slowly rose to her feet. “I'm sorry to have wasted your time.”
“It's only wasted if you walk out that door, Miss Sullivan.”
She looked at him in surprise for the second time that day. Then she sank back into her chair. “Beg your pardon?”
“I called Pauline Kahn and asked about you. She had some very complementary things to say - in a very Kahn-ish way.”
“Sir?” Chloe asked.
Mr. Michaels rolled his eyes. “It's like this, Sullivan. Or Gabriel. Or whatever you want to call yourself. You're obviously trying to start over. I happen to have an extra opening for a reporter on the crime beat. If you think you can handle it, great. I get a Planet - caliber reporter and you get a fresh start. Clear?”
“Clear.” Chloe felt a silly grin cross her face.
“Good. When can you start?”
“Now?”
The corner of Mr. Michaels' mouth turned up. “Wonderful. Your desk is in the northwest corner of this office. You'll check the police blotter every morning. Generate stories from that, and listen to the police scanner. Any in-depth piece you can come up with: run by me first. Otherwise, go crazy kid.”
Chloe felt like her face was going to permanently crack from smiling. “You're not going to regret this sir.”
“That'll remain to be seen, Gabe.”
Chloe flinched at that.
“Don't like the nickname, kid?”
She took a deep breath, and then smiled again. “No, sir. I'd be honored.”
He nodded. “Stop by human resources before you leave. We'll get your paperwork squared away.”
Chloe nodded. Then she got up, and left the office. She tried not to skip as she made her way over to her desk. For the first time since she'd collapsed in the lobby of The Planet, she felt like her old self.