by Mara

Summary: Scott and Logan are on the road together. It could be going better. (Story #16)

NOTES: This story, part of the Golden Goose Round Robin, takes place at the same
time as Paxnirvana’s “Migration.” Thanks to Min for letting us have fun with her
idea. Thanks also to the Goddess of Evil Cackling for the fear she inspired
and to David Ellis for the beta and the wonderful suggested line that I kinda
sorta stole.

***********************************

Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: Gee, I don’t know, maybe it seemed like a good idea at the time.

“How did we get here?” Logan asked in disgust, as we tramped through the wilds
of Ontario. I was getting a little tired of wandering around the woods myself,
but there was no way I was going to admit that to *him*.

“Well, first there were a Mama bird and a Papa bird who loved each other very
much,” I said in my best snarky tone.

“Shut up,” he said as we finally approached our target. I ignored him and
hunkered down to check it out.

The squalid cabin looked deserted in the twilight. However, there were small
signs, apparent to the discerning eye, which said someone was hiding out here.
Tracks in the dirt, a partially unfastened shutter, stuff like that.

Logan and I crouched behind a tree a few hundred yards away, watching. There was
no sign of movement. I knew that neither of us particularly wanted to wait all
night, but I wasn’t sure a frontal approach was a good idea.

“The cashier said she saw a pregnant red-head and someone waiting in a car for
her,” I said finally, shrugging. “And that ranger saw ‘em somewhere in this
area.”

Logan frowned, looking at the cabin. “Let’s go in,” was all he said. I nodded
and we made our way closer.

We reached the clearing, paused, and I motioned him to go through the back
window while I took the front door. He scowled at my orders, but moved into
position when he couldn’t come up with a better plan. I shook my head, wondering
if he’d ever just take an order from me.

I kicked the door open just as he smashed the window and rolled through. We were
in fighting position, expecting Sabretooth’s attack.

Except that he wasn’t there. And neither was Madelyne.

A young, pregnant red-head sat on the bed, but she wasn’t Madelyne. And the
young man was sure as hell not Sabretooth, not unless he’d lost a foot in
height, dyed his skin and hair blue, and acquired horn-rimmed glasses. Okay, I’d
buy the first two, but never the last.

We all froze in position for a few long moments. The kids looked absolutely
terrified.

“Hell,” I said. Logan growled at me and the couple jumped in fear.

**********************************

“Jesus H. Christ in a sidecar,” I said as we stomped back to our truck later.
“That was a utter waste of time.”

“Yeah,” Logan said. “Not to mention costing us a shitload of money. Did ya have
to give them so much?”

“I felt bad. We scared the shit out of them, and they’re just a couple of mutant
kids who got kicked out of their homes.” I didn’t say that I remembered what
being a mutant kid on the run was like. If Jean hadn’t told him everything about
my background, I wasn’t going to explain now.

“Well, if you go around giving money to every scared mutant kid in the whole
damn province, we’re gonna have to steal more.” Logan lapsed into an annoyed
silence. Probably pissed he didn’t get to hit anyone.

“Not only are you Mr. Congeniality, apparently you’re Mr. Generosity, too.” I
swore under my breath as I snagged my jacket on a blueberry bush.

“Look, you smartass…” Logan said, growling as he turned to face me.

“Better to be a smartass than a dumbass,” I retorted.

“Are you calling me a dumbass?”

Even though I knew he couldn’t see it, I rolled my eyes. “If the shoe fits…”

Logan snarled, dropping into a fighting stance.

I groaned theatrically. “Oh, you want a fight? Is that all you know how to do,
Wolverine? Eat, fuck, fight? I don’t know what Jean sees in you.”

“I dunno, but it’s obviously more than she sees in you,” he said. I refused to
flinch.

We circled each other warily in the dying light.

“You think you’re so tough,” Logan said, “but you’re not much of a leader, are
you? First, you run off and join Magneto, then you get your team caught by
Weapon X.”

“At least *I* wasn’t Magneto’s killer-for-hire.”

“Yeah, but I know how to kill to protect people, you’re all such a bunch of
fucking pacifists I don’t know how you’ve stayed alive this long.”

I could hardly breathe, I felt all the months I’d put up with him smothering me,
all my frustration with our seemingly endless quest building up in my chest.
“You’re just an animal in human form.” I spat the words past the anger.

“But apparently that’s what Jean wants,” Logan said.

I wanted to strangle him, I wanted to take off my glasses, I wanted him to just
*shut up*. Constantly defying my authority, arguing with every damn decision…

“You think you’re such a badass, Wolverine,” I said, “do you realize I could
punch a hole in you *and* the nearest mountain if I took off my glasses? I’m
more dangerous than you in my *sleep*.”

“That make you proud? Oh, I’m so scared. Go ahead and kill me, see if I care.”
He stopped moving and stood with his arms stretched out, his face fierce. I
stared at him for a long moment, shocked. He really didn’t care.

“Thought about it, but you can’t do it, can you?” Logan asked. “You’re weak, you
can’t do what needs to be done.”

I felt my anger drain away. “Yes, I can. I’m just smart enough to know that
there are options other than killing.”

He jumped at me, his fist swinging toward my face. I got the hell out of his
way, grateful he hadn’t popped his claws. Yet.

I aimed a kick at his stomach, trying to keep out of arms reach and think of
some way to stop this.

“C’mon, if you want a fight, let’s do it.” Logan feinted with his left and
nearly clobbered me with his right. The edge of his fist knocked me aside.

“What the hell are we doing?” I nearly bit my lip as Logan grabbed my jacked. He
tossed me up against a tree. “Damn it, we’re supposed to be on the same side!”
My shout startled him enough that he paused.

I leaned against the tree, holding my breath. Logan shook his head slowly, his
fists still clenched. “I don’t get you, Summers. You were ready to kill me a
minute ago, now you want a peace treaty?”

“No, you don’t get me and I don’t get you.” I straightened, watching for another
attack. “You know what? I don’t give a shit. ‘Cause if I’m a leader, I should be
able to work with you anyway. And the team needs you.”

Logan lunged and sank his claws into the tree above my left shoulder. I didn’t
move. He retracted the claws and stalked away.

“Does this mean I get my peace treaty?” I called after him.

“Don’t push your luck, kid,” he said.

I followed him, staggering slightly from the ebb of adrenaline. Apparently, we’d
just cleared the air to *his* satisfaction. I just wasn’t sure what had
happened. I shook my head a few times, hoping it would make things clearer. It
didn’t.

*****************************************

Back in the beat-up truck we’d liberated in Toronto, I drove out of the woods.
Logan just scowled and contemplated the passing pine trees.

“Why *did* you come with me?” I asked.

“Just looking out for our own, remember?”

“Huh.”

“Because I bet I get to kick more ass here than in Arizona. Including yours if
you ask too many dumb questions.”

“That’s more like it.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. “So, where to
next?”

“Keep going east, there’s a town not too far.”

I drove in silence for a while, before deciding to take a chance. “You know,” I
said, “I’ve always felt like I was living in a television show, I just never
knew it was ‘The Odd Couple.’”

He looked at me like I had two heads. “Huh?”

“You know, the show with the two guys who live together and are opposite
personalities?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar, what does it have to do with us?” Logan looked like he
was a little worried about my sanity. Well, so was I, but my sanity had been
debatable for a long time. I mean, just think about my life in the past year and
tell me *you’d* be totally compos mentis.

“Well, the two guys, Felix and Oscar were totally different and they got on each
other’s nerves.”

“Yeah, sounds like us.”

“Oscar was a gambler and he liked to smoke cigars, and was kind of a slob.” Hey,
Logan hadn’t killed me earlier, he probably wouldn’t now.

“Oh yeah, and Felix was the anal-retentive prick who was always going around and
picking up after the other guy.” Logan sounded mildly amused, so I decided to
let “anal-retentive prick” go.

“That’s the show.”

“So, whatever happened to them?”

“I don’t remember. But they probably didn’t get kidnapped and tortured by
government black ops forces.”

******************************

We made it to the next town without killing each other. By this point, we had
the routine down pat and split up immediately to ask around.

I was getting discouraged. Damn it, Madelyne and Sabretooth were pretty
memorable. If they were up here, *somebody* had to have seen them.

We met up at a not-too-grungy diner on the edge of town to grab some dinner. I
sighed inwardly as I pulled some money out of our stash. I wasn’t best pleased
at having rediscovered my thieving skills, but it was better than letting Logan
mug the nearest innocent stranger. At least I’d been able to stock up on money
from less savory people when we were in Toronto. My pride would never survive
stealing from little old ladies, but I could handle stealing from drug dealers
and pimps.

Over a mediocre fried chicken platter, we reported our lack of progress and I
stared glumly at my food.

Suddenly I was hit by a reckless impulse. “What do you know about Madelyne?” I
asked, twirling a straw in my Coke.

Logan stopped eating and frankly stared at me. The tension built and I
concentrated on not fidgeting, wondering if this time I’d gone too far. But I
had a right to ask, didn’t I? It wasn’t just idle curiosity, maybe he knew
something that could help us find…okay, it was idle curiosity.

Can you blame me? I wondered what Madelyne’s life had been like, how many guys
had been with her, how many other babies there were. And who else was I going to
ask?

“What do you want to know?” Logan finally asked. I relaxed, the danger past.

“Did you meet her?”

“You mean, did I fuck her?”

“Well, that too.” I couldn’t look him in the eye. He seemed to be enjoying my
discomfort.

“Yeah, I did. Given a choice of sex or surgery, I went for sex. I felt bad for
the kid, but there wasn’t anything I could do. She didn’t get pregnant, though.”

I had a thought. “Whoa, wait a minute, if you’d seen her, then you *knew* she
was Jean’s clone. Have you told Jean that you slept with her clone?”

Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable. “No, but neither have you.”

He had me there. We looked at each other, and Logan folded first. “Yeah, I’ll
admit I was mighty surprised when I saw Jean the first time. But what was I
going to say? ‘Oh, by the way, I fucked your clone, wanna go to bed with me?’
And afterwards…well, she didn’t exactly take my first confession too well. I
may heal fast, but getting the shit beaten out of me telekinetically isn’t my
idea of a good time.”

He had a good point. I went back to fiddling with my drink and watching the
drunken truck drivers at the counter.

“So why didn’t *you* tell her?” Logan asked. “She knew what you were doing with
Madelyne already.”

I laughed. “Kind of the same problem. How do you start that conversation sitting
in a cell surrounded by your teammates? ‘Jean, you probably haven’t noticed I’ve
been in love with you forever, but hey, I *did* get to have sex with your
clone.’”

The waitress came to take our plates and I shut up. Logan was studying my face,
which felt like it was burning up. Did I have a need to make myself look like an
idiot?

Jesus, I was sitting in a diner in Canada having a heart-to-heart talk with the
Wolverine. I was obviously either having a really bizarre dream or else I’d gone
completely insane. I mean, I hate this guy.

I looked at Logan for a few moments before I realized it wasn’t true anymore. In
some weird way, our fight *had* cleared the air. We didn’t understand each other
very well and we probably never would, but we’d sort of agreed not to kill each
other either. Or something.

And if he was what Jean wanted…

He continued to watch me like a bug under a microscope. “Look, things
are…weird right now,” I said, “Madelyne, the baby, everything.”

“But you’re gonna have to figure stuff out soon.”

“Yeah, I am.” I sighed, trying to figure out the best way to say what I wanted
to say. “Look, about Jean…” I stopped as his shoulders tensed and his face
went cold and unreadable. Well, I was *fairly* sure he wouldn’t kill me. “Whoa,
hang on until I’m done.”

He didn’t relax.

“You and I both know,” I said, “that I didn’t approve of you and Jean when
you…got together.”

He didn’t move. He looked like a predator waiting to spring, and people walking
by were unconsciously moving further away. I refused to feel like prey.

I dropped all the words I’d been preparing, leaned forward and said, “She’s
yours.”

I’d never seen his jaw drop in shock before, and I took an evil pleasure in
watching it do so now. I leaned back in my chair and smothered a twinge of
anxiety. This was the right thing to do. Logan had Jean, and I just had to deal
with it.

“You know, if you hurt Jean I’ll rip your balls off,” I said.

He recovered from his shock and looked amused. “You couldn’t come up with
something a little more original, kid?”

“I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do. I’d like to see you try.”

“I’m not trying to start another fight here, I’m just saying…”

“…I know what you’re saying, and I’m yanking your chain.”

“Oh.” We were back to studying each other. I wanted to ask him how he felt about
Jean, if he loved her, if he would take care of her. But guys don’t *do* that.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I finally said. “I’d probably be totally lost by
now if you hadn’t.”

He shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t. Don’t give me bullshit praise. You think I
haven’t noticed you don’t *get* lost? You wanna say thanks, just say it.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. I *do* appreciate your help.”

The bell on the diner door jingled and we both jumped, remembering we were in
public. We began to eat again, avoiding each other’s eyes.

***************************

The waitress was counting out our change when there was a commotion at the
counter. Logan and I were halfway out of our seats before we realized it didn’t
have to do with us. On edge? Us? Nah.

Everyone was huddled around a small television set watching the news. We were
about to leave when Logan suddenly grabbed my arm and dragged me to the counter.

“What?” I asked.

“Shut up and listen,” he said.

The overly hair-sprayed and predictably blonde reporter stood in front of a dock
by a lake. It looked just like the rest of Canada to me, but Logan and the local
crowd seemed to recognize the area. I heard something about the US-Canada
border.

I finally heard what the reporter was saying. “…the three young men were found
in the nearby woods burned almost beyond recognition. Witnesses a few miles away
say they saw a strange yellow-white light in the sky.”

The scene cut to an old woman standing on her porch. “I thought it was aliens
come to take us away. You know, like in that movie?”

I stared at the television in dismay. Oh. Shit.

The station went back to their reporter on the scene. “Police are uncertain what
caused the unusual pattern of the forest fire or the strange charring on the
ground. However, a truck was seen nearby shortly after the incident, so anyone
sighting a late-model SUV…”

The crowd around us was starting to mutter, in that “Let’s find us some muties
to beat up” kind of way, so Logan and I made as subtle an exit as we could.

“Damn it,” I said through grinding teeth as we stood outside the diner, “I told
you we needed to listen to the news.”

“I don’t mind the news, I just mind your pansy-ass left-wing news,” he ground
back.

“Why the hell did some mutant have to show off his powers now?” I asked.

“You’re sure it’s a mutant?”

I just looked at him, blinking from behind my red-tinted glasses.

“Right. Well, this is just fucking great. We’re up here trying to find a couple
of runaway mutants, and now somebody has thrown up a giant beacon to the
bastards at Weapon X saying ‘Come get me.’ Just fucking great. Well, I don’t
want to be anywhere near there. We’re not the northern branch of the Xavier Home
for Wayward Mutants.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Well, at least we’re a good 150 miles away.” I took
a deep breath. “Do you want to head back to Arizona?”

Logan didn’t even pause. “No. I told you I’d help you find Madelyne and your
kid, and we’re gonna do it. We’ll just stay away from that border crossing,
’cause that’s where Weapon X will be looking.”

So, wouldn’t you know we got a lead on Madelyne the very next day. A red-head
fitting her description was seen heading north from Niagara. Right near the
border, of course. We weren’t exactly sure why Madelyne would be there rather
than hiding out in the nice empty wilderness we’d been searching, but a lead was
a lead.

As we headed south toward near-certain danger, I had two questions. One, why
couldn’t things be simple for once? Two, why *did* the damn chicken cross the
road?

–end–

by Mara

Summary: When Trip and Malcolm set out to rescue two crewmates from the Tandarans, things go from sublime to ridiculous.

NOTES: This is a response to a Challenge in a Can from the Linguistics Database.
For once, revealing the challenge in advance won’t ruin the story: it was
Trip/ache/socks. Tremendous thanks to Jane, Taryn, and Kim of the
Entwritebrigade, who made some fabulous suggestions to improve my highly
mediocre first draft, and generally inspired me to do a complete rewrite. Kim,
Taryn, and Ozchick then made more fabulous suggestions when I got stuck on the
second draft, which I (to my detriment, I’m sure) chose to ignore. I can only
hope the end product was worth the wait! Thanks to Captain Average for the beta
and the EWB for encouragement.

* * * * *

Hoshi made a face as she looked down at Trip’s feet. His boots were long gone
and he was left in a pair of socks; socks that she was certain had been both
clean and blue at the beginning of his away mission, earlier in the day.

Trip lay slumped in the chair, a pile of abject misery. She couldn’t decide
whether to hug him or slap him, so she settled for a question. “You’ve been to
Sickbay, right?”

“Yes,” the pile of misery muttered. “Doc said the pain shot’ll kick in any day
now. I’ll just lie here and ache until then.”

“Get out of that dirty uniform, and you can take a shower.” She closed her mouth
before “see, I told you so” could emerge.

Trip groaned.

“How about starting with your socks?” She held her breath as she knelt in front
of him and tentatively reached for the clothing in question.

She peeled the ripped, multicolored, and odiferous cotton off his feet. When she
let go of each foot, it dropped back to the floor, a rag doll’s limb.

“I’m gonna frame those socks,” Trip said.

“You *must* be kidding.” Even held between the tips of her fingers, as far away
as she could reach, the socks were still truly vile.

“Not kidding at all. You can see a map of everything that happened on those
socks. They’re better than a mission report.” Trip managed to lift his head, but
it quickly drooped back down.

“Certainly they’re smellier than a mission report.” Hoshi stared at the socks,
then at her weary lover. She tried to resist, but… “What *did* happen?”

Trip dragged himself out of the chair and slowly started to peel off his
uniform. “Well, it all started when those Tandarans grabbed the Captain and
T’Pol. We nearly got caught ourselves and we would’ve if Malcolm hadn’t been
looking in just the right direction at just the right time. When he dragged me
under the table, I thought he was nuts, but we got outta the room when the Cap’n
and T’Pol went down. When we realized the comms were blocked, we knew we were in
trouble.”

As his bruised and battered body slowly emerged from his filthy uniform, Hoshi
winced. “How did you lose your boots?” She carefully put the socks on the desk
and lay down on their bunk where she could see–but not smell–them.

Trip limped toward the shower, leaving the door open so he could continue the
story.

“Okay, picture this: We’re being ushered into the government building. It’s a
bright sunny day…”

* * * * *

Trip smiled as they strode down corridors filled with late afternoon light,
which streamed through small windows set high in every outside wall. (Malcolm
muttered something uneasy about arrow slits, causing the Captain to chuckle and
T’Pol to frown at him.)

The brightly painted walls sparkled and everything was smiles and cotton candy,
and fetes in their honor as night slowly fell. Trip wasn’t paying much
attention, though, he was too busy coming up with ways to apologize to Hoshi
when he got back to the ship.

That was when the Tandarans struck, taking Captain Archer and T’Pol in moments,
leaving Trip and Malcolm fleeing in unfamiliar territory.

At night, few of those previously bright hallways were lit by artificial means–
making them slightly sinister, filled with shadows that Trip expected to turn
into weapon-wielding villains at any moment. He tried to creep silently behind
Malcolm, but every time he took a step, his boots squeaked.

Finally, Malcolm stopped and turned, pointing at his feet. Trip blinked at his
crewmate and then shrugged his confusion. Malcolm pointed more vehemently and
Trip stared at him. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting…Trip mimed pulling off
a boot and groaned internally at the emphatic nod he got in response.

Glaring at his teammate, he pulled off his boots, and when Malcolm nodded in
satisfaction, they resumed their creep through the building. The stone was
slippery beneath his feet, and he had to resist a terrible urge to start skating
instead of walking. Hoshi would probably say it was his inability to take
anything seriously.

Loud voices–Trip flinched. Malcolm dragged Trip out of the hallway into a small
room. They pressed themselves against a wall and held their breath as a group of
Tandarans tramped down the hallway past them. When all was silent again, they
ventured out of their hiding place.

Trip hoped that Malcolm knew where they were, because he’d lost track about five
turns back. His world narrowed to Malcolm in front of him, moving, slowing,
stopping, looking around. He shifted his boots to his right hand, and tried not
to worry about what the Tandarans might be doing to Jon and T’Pol.

BAM! something slammed into Trip, throwing him against a wall, momentarily
stunning him. The boots dropped to the floor and Trip brought his hands up to
struggle with the shadowy figure pinning him. A few feet away, Malcolm grunted
as he struggled with his own attacker.

Trip yelped as a boot whacked into his bare ankle, a hot spike of agony shooting
up his leg. Grabbing the arms pushing against him, he slammed the Tandaran
against the wall. The attacker yanked Trip’s left arm, nearly pulling it out of
its socket, and Trip slugged him with his right.

But the angle was bad, and the Tandaran immediately kicked him, knocking him
across the hall. Trip bounced off-balance against a corner, hitting the floor
with a thud. Before Trip could get back up, Malcolm took out the alien with a
well-placed punch, followed by a kick in the gut. Without a pause, Malcolm
grabbed the now-unconscious man and dragged him toward a closet.

* * * * *

“Malcolm didn’t have to step in, I almost had him,” Trip told Hoshi, yelling
over the splashing of the shower.

Hoshi shook her head at the defensive tone. “Then what?”

“We lit outta there like bats outta hell and we were who knows how far when I
realized I’d left m’damn boots behind.” There was more splashing and some
spluttering, probably Trip scrubbing his face. “I couldn’t exactly go back, so
we kept moving.”

She looked over at the socks. “Is that when they got the holes?”

“Oh no, that was later.” The sound of the water changed and Hoshi frowned until
she realized Trip was rinsing off and had stuck his head in the stream. “That
was when I got the yellow and green stains.”

* * * * *

Running, ducking, hiding. Trip groaned as he staggered along behind Malcolm; he
was getting damn tired of this. Shouts heralded the discovery of their
unconscious pursuers, and they ran faster.

The blood pounded in his ears, a drumbeat of worry and a backbeat to his gasping
breaths; when the Captain and T’Pol were snatched, Trip was so surprised, it
didn’t occur to him how serious a situation they were in.

But now, as they ran, Trip realized he had a decision to make. If they made it
back to the shuttle, they could try to get back to Enterprise, or they could
launch their own rescue mission.

And why the hell was he stuck with this decision? This was definitely not why he
joined Starfleet. He was pretty sure that he’d had a lot more exploration and a
lot less running in mind. Maybe Hoshi’d had a point when she said–

Trip hissed in pain as he bumped a flailing elbow against a piece of protruding
statuary. Time to pay attention to more immediate problems, he told himself,
like not getting killed.

They rounded corners without even looking first, and when Malcolm skidded to a
stop, it surprised Trip. Caught up in the attempt to slow down, his feet slid on
the slick stone surface, and he slammed into a ladder, stepping backwards smack
dab onto a drop cloth covered in blobs of thick paint.

Trip stared down in dismay at his socks, now covered in green and yellow spots
to match the freshly painted walls.

“Redecorating?” he growled. Malcolm just shook his head and they leapt over the
drop cloth to dash down a side hallway.

The turns and halls blurred together: a left, another left, a right, a long hall
filled with construction supplies, a right, a right…

When a door appeared in front of them, it might have been a mirage to a thirsty
man: a small, almost invisible door that led out into elaborate gardens.

They staggered–at least, Trip staggered–across a gravel path into a quieter
patch of shrubbery, and began to wend their way toward where they had left the
shuttle. Trip closed his eyes and briefly hoped against hope that nobody had
managed to break into the shuttle, then cursed as he stepped on something sharp
and prickly.

Malcolm put his finger to his lips at the noise. Trip just glared back, trying
to silently remind the man that *he* wasn’t the one running around with no boots
on. Their movement continued, Trip checking the ground beneath his feet a bit
more carefully when possible. This enabled him to avoid tripping over some sort
of short hedge and narrowly miss crushing a lacy confection of a plant that
moved itself aside as they thumped through.

Trip almost laughed at the bizarre juxtaposition of the gardens–which he
vaguely remembered from earlier in the day as quite lovely–with their flight.
Hurtling over a low bed of spiky orange flowers into a thicket, they continued
on their way. The moonlight was just enough for them to keep from falling over,
but not much more. Trip figured the gardens would probably be very romantic, if
he weren’t on the run, of course.

He could hear their pursuers, but thankfully they seemed to be nowhere nearby.
Distant shouts–and even some weapons fire–kept them moving.

Just as Trip was starting to wonder if they were lost, he spied a spear of rock
that looked familiar. Hadn’t they passed it on their way to the suggested
meeting place?

Malcolm seemed to agree, as he paused by the rock, apparently to get his
bearings, then pointed. Trip grinned as he recognized a tall plant that T’Pol
had stopped to inspect. The shuttle couldn’t be farther than a few hundred
meters or so.

Relieved, Trip grinned as they turned the last corner and beheld the beautiful
sight of the clearing containing Shuttlepod One. He nearly ran down Malcolm as
the other man came to a screeching halt halfway across the clearing.

“What?”

“That.”

Malcolm pointed at the ground and Trip stared at the extraordinary sight of a
pack of small animals rooting around in the ground between the men and the
shuttle. They looked rather like squirrels, small, dark, and furry, with big
fluffy tails. They ceased their activity and looked up at Trip and Malcolm, eyes
wide and shining in the light of two moons.

Trip opened his mouth to say ‘Aw, how cute,’ but before the words left his lips,
the squirrels bared teeth shinier than their eyes and leapt at them.

* * * * *

Trip came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, and another
being used to dry his hair. He still looked bruised, but now that the grime had
been washed off, he looked slightly less disreputable.

As he dug through a drawer for some off-duty clothing, a choking Hoshi finally
managed to speak. “You were attacked by alien squirrels?”

“Go ahead and laugh. The Cap’n already did and I’m pretty sure even Phlox had a
good chuckle.”

* * * * *

Trip stared in momentary disbelief as the small animals scampered toward them,
teeth bared and pointy. He fell back a step as some of those teeth gouged into
his leg, ripping a hole in his uniform and scraping across his calf. “Ow! Damn
it!” He felt blood seep through his sock, a warm trickle cutting across the
pain.

More teeth ripped into his foot, shredding the upper part of one sock, and Trip
kicked at the little beast trying to subdue his foot. It fell back a few feet,
hooting loudly. Beside him, Trip could see Malcolm kicking and stomping as well.
Soon, the hooting and screeching of the creatures drowned out Malcolm’s low
cursing, and the animals had all dropped back to watch them.

Wincing with pain, Trip eyed them as they seemed to consider their next move; in
that moment of indecision, Malcolm howled and took an aggressive step forward,
swinging his leg. That was enough, the squirrels scattered for parts unknown,
leaving the path to the shuttle clear.

Trip’s jaw dropped as he looked at Malcolm, but all he got in return was pursed
lips and a bland expression. “Shall we?” Malcolm asked, waving at the shuttle.

“Oh yeah.”

Running for the hatch, Trip punched in the code for the lock faster than he ever
remembered doing it before, they jumped in and closed it behind them.

Trip leaned against the inside of the hatch, taking a moment to revel in his
natural habitat: sleek lines, flashing lights, much-loved machinery.

“Your orders, Commander?” Malcolm’s voice dragged him out of that happy moment.

“Damn.” Trip moved to check the comm, hoping to avert the impending decision by
getting help from Enterprise.

“Escape or rescue?”

Malcolm rummaged for supplies, and Trip looked up from the hopelessly jammed
comm in time to catch the medkit thrown at him. Turning away, Malcolm opened
panels all over the shuttle to reveal knives, a phase pistol, and several
objects Trip couldn’t immediately identify.

“Never hurts to be prepared,” Malcolm said without turning.

“Yeah. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you stashed any *boots* in this
shuttle, did you?”

“No, I’m afraid that never occurred to me. You’ll just have to muddle along.”

“Okay.” Trip took a deep breath. “We go get ‘em.”

“Good.” Malcolm’s fierce grin slid across his face so fast, it was almost
undetectable. “Then let’s get out of here before one of our pursuers figures out
where we are.”

“Consider us gone. But next time, I’m bringing boots.”

“Along with alcohol, extra water…soon the shuttle will be too full to carry
passengers.” Malcolm grinned as he opened the shuttle door and Trip grabbed the
scanner out of his hands.

The darkness and damp of the planet’s night seemed even less welcoming after the
shuttle, which had an air of home about it.

“Hey, if the shuttle’s full, then maybe you and I can get through a whole week
without one or both of us getting hurt.”

“Hmm, a subtle but clever plan.” Malcolm’s quiet voice was absent-minded as he
kept one eye on the path ahead and also looked over Trip’s shoulder at the
scanner. “Sounds like a plan Hoshi would approve of.”

Trip looked at him. “Has she been saying something to you…” The scanner caught
his attention and he grimaced. “Somebody’s coming this way. Let’s go.” As they
started to run, Trip sent a quick prayer up to whoever it was that watched over
fools and children.

* * * * *

Hoshi curled up against Trip’s shoulder, trying to avoid the obviously injured
bits. She was still annoyed with him, but she had to touch him, and prove that
he’d returned more or less in one piece.

“That’s holes and reddish-brown patches,” she said, nuzzling her cheek against
his neck. “What damage did you do to your socks next?”

“Let’s see, next were those brownish-black stains on the left sock.”

“They aren’t-”

“No. We were creeping around when I heard a kind of ‘sploosh.’”

She blinked and lifted her head enough to see if he was teasing her. “Sploosh?”

“Softer than a splash but louder than a squish.”

“Oh.”

* * * * *

The moon was obscured behind clouds now, which made movement more difficult.
Trip was annoyed at how sure-footed Malcolm seemed to be, even in the darkness,
and he spared a moment to wonder how the other man did it.

Biting back a curse as he stumbled over yet another small rock, Trip tried to
stay upright and find a clear path to his goal.

The lack of light began to press on Trip, the humidity filling his lungs,
creating an almost smothering feeling. He swallowed and focused on what was
important: finding the Captain and T’Pol and getting the heck off this planet
and back to Hoshi.

It was difficult, though, to ignore the general creepiness of wandering around
an alien planet in the dark, with the possibility of being jumped by the bad
guys any moment. Heck, the scanner was having trouble distinguishing animals
from dangerous lifeforms. The Tandarans could be right behind them with night
vision goggles and he’d have no way to know. What if–

SPLOOSH!

Trip groaned as he looked down at his left foot, buried up to the ankle in slime
that felt like warm tapioca pudding. As he lifted his foot out, the oozing and
dripping was one of the most disgusting things Trip had ever felt.

He took a step forward and groaned at the squish of slime under his feet.

Malcolm’s face was difficult to see as he turned to look at Trip–but his mouth
seemed to be twitching in amusement. “Be quiet, Yank,” he said, “or I’ll leave
you behind next time.”

“You’re welcome to, ’cause I’m not having a whole hell of a lotta fun on away
missions any more.”

Malcolm just shook his head and they turned back to the hunt. Each step with his
left foot was like stepping on a greasy sponge, and Trip took a moment to dream
of being clean and dry, and in bed with Hoshi.

Squelch. Squelch. Trip wondered if this was ever going to end. Maybe he was
never going to get back to Hoshi. Maybe he was the Flying Southerner, doomed to
forever squelch through the forests of this planet, appearing now and then to
weary travelers…

Intent on his morbid musings, Trip was surprised when he realized they were
closing in on their goal. “They’re being held not far ahead.” Trip handed the
scanner to Malcolm. “So, oh tactical genius, what’s the plan?” He leaned against
a tree and peered through the darkness at his feet.

Malcolm studied the scanner for a few long moments. “It seems that Colonel Grat
doesn’t want the general population to suspect that anything is wrong, because
this building is lightly guarded.”

At that, Trip’s eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t this the part where I say, ‘It’s easy.
Too easy’?”

“You’ve been watching too many movies. Besides, it’s my job to be paranoid.”
Most of Malcolm’s attention was focused on the scanner.

While Trip tried to ignore the feeling of slime dripping down the side of his
foot and undoubtedly causing horrible infections in his scratches, Malcolm
rummaged through the supplies they’d grabbed. “I’ve got a plan,” he said
finally. “We’re only missing one thing, which we’ll have to improvise.”

“What, you want me to build you another phase pistol outta rocks and leaves? I’m
good, but I’m not that good.”

One side of Malcolm’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “No, but do you think you
can rustle up something to use as a tripwire? It seems appropriate.”

“Funny.” Trip blinked, then looked down at his feet. “Oh, what the hell.” He
yanked off the unslimed sock and started to pick at the holes left from the
squirrel attack.

“What are you…oh, string. Very good, Commander. Now we’ve got to lure the
guards away from the Captain and the Sub-commander, so here’s the plan…”

It took them 15 minutes to set up. At the end of that time, Trip was crouched in
a bush just outside one of the two entrances to the building.

He peered through the near-darkness at the small outbuilding, which only
contained a few rooms if the scanner was to be believed. Small windows set high
in the wall–just as in the building they’d been in earlier–let out a few
spears of light.

From his position under the shrubbery (which insisted on dropping hard seeds
down his back) Trip could hear two guards in conversation.

“So, I haven’t had leave in six months, and it’s all that dralach’s fault,” one
said. Trip snickered a bit at the translator’s refusal to give him a direct
translation of what was obviously an obscenity. Maybe if Hoshi ever forgave him
for this morning’s argument, she’d translate it for him.

“And the food on this mission is the worst,” the other guard responded.

Trip shook his head at the universality of military service, and was momentarily
sorry for what they were about to do. Then, he remembered what the Captain
looked like the last time he’d been in Tandaran hands; anger washed away both
his amusement and discomfort as he strained to hear Malcolm’s signal.

A hooting echoed from the other side of the building, and Trip counted to 10
slowly before opening his mouth for a resounding shout.

“Olly olly oxen free!” Before he’d even finished shouting, he was taking off
around the building, and he could hear guards piling out of the building behind
him.

He pounded around the corner, taking a big leap at the last moment before diving
into nearby bushes. Malcolm yanked him out of the way and handed him a knife.

The Tandaran guards came piling around the corner and Trip held his breath as
their sounds of pursuit turned into sounds of surprise and falling. Malcolm
poked his head and phase pistol out from behind his bush and carefully stunned
every flailing limb in the pile.

Within moments, all the Tandarans lay still. Malcolm looked up. “Olly olly oxen
free?”

“It’s all I could think of. Besides, this plan is a bit weird, anyway, doncha
think?”

“It worked.” Malcolm shrugged. “I suspect the Captain might not be pleased if we
killed too many Tandarans getting him out. Speaking of which, shall we?”

Trip quadruple-checked the scanner. “Okay, I think there’s one more guard.
Problem is, he’s standing right next to the Captain and T’Pol, and he’s probably
getting pretty anxious right about now.”

“Implement Plan B.”

“Is that the technical term?”

“Shut up, Commander.”

“Watch that insubordination,” Trip grumbled, following the other man.

Phaser in one hand and scanner in the other, Malcolm led the way inside the
building. Trip winced as the cold stone floors met his wet and slimy feet.
Squelching unhappily down the hall, he followed Malcolm toward their crewmates.

* * * * *

“Well?” Hoshi lifted her head when Trip fell silent. “Then what happened?”

“The rest was anticlimactic. Malcolm jumped into the room, shot the last guard,
and we rescued the Captain and T’Pol.”

She stared at him for a moment. “All that, and nothing happened at the end?
You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head. “How’d you guess? No, that’s not the end. We got back to the
shuttle and when I was a few steps away, I discovered that our little squirrel
friends–I think–had left a present. That’s the brownish stain on the right
sock.”

“You mean…”

“Oh yeah, you didn’t think I could run around the entire planet without stepping
in a pile of animal poop, did you?”

“Oh, dear.”

“Uh huh. Really, the worst part was how nobody wanted to sit next to me on the
shuttle. You think I can install a little shower on the shuttle pods? Anyway,
why doesn’t this stupid stuff ever happen to Malcolm? He gets speared by mines
and I get animal poop.”

The joke fell flat and Trip seemed to realize it as soon as the words were out
of his mouth, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Hoshi rolled out of the bunk, pacing to the other side of the room.

“Hoshi, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t turn around, just crossed her arms and breathed in deeply. In front
of her, the wall was decorated with an assortment of photos–a birthday present
from Trip. He’d arranged them in chronological order, from an early shot of the
crew to their most recent shore leave together.

As she stared at a picture of herself, arms thrown around a startled and
delighted Trip, she felt his warmth behind her. Sensibly, he didn’t touch her.
“Darlin’?” he said.

“I told you not to go,” she said.

“I know, and–”

“I told you not to go, because you’re the chief engineer and this was a
diplomatic mission.”

“Yes, you’re–”

“Be quiet and let me finish!” She turned in time to see his mouth snap shut. “Do
you know what happens when every single one of the senior officers is down on
the planet? We’re left with nobody in charge. What kind of idiotic organization
leaves nobody in charge?”

He opened his mouth and she glared at him. He closed it.

“I told you not to go because I’m tired of you coming back hurt. You dismissed
my arguments. You condescended to me. I *hate* when you do that!”

Shamefaced, he looked away and she felt a flush of triumph.

“You just get in trouble and nearly get yourself killed and–”

So intent was she on her rant, that she was surprised when his lips closed on
hers, and his arms encircled her. She started to struggle, getting an elbow into
his ribs, but when he winced, she froze.

It was hard to maintain her annoyance when he was kissing her, and by the time
he lifted his head, she had trouble remembering what she’d been saying.

Instead of the smirk she was expecting, his face was serious. “It was the only
way I could think of to stop you.”

“Trip, I–”

“Wait, it’s my turn. I’m sorry. I’m sorry we fought this morning. I’m sorry you
thought I was condescending. I’m sorry we scared you. I’m sorry it’s dangerous
out here.”

She slid her arms around him, leaning her head against his shoulder–he smelled
humid, a kind of soapy rainforest.

“I thought about you practically the whole time I was down there, and how I
wished I was here with you.”

“You weren’t thinking about your socks?” she teased.

“Well, them too. But I’d rather they were totally destroyed than the rest of
me.”

“Me too.” Hoshi held him as tightly as she dared, considering how battered he’d
looked. “Just promise you’ll try not to put yourself in more danger than
necessary.”

“I’ll do my best.” He stroked her hair. “So, can I frame the socks now?”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: When the Teen Titans hit Gotham for a night out, Tim wonders where he can get fitted for a straightjacket.

CONTINUITY: This certainly happens before just about anything in the last year
of Robin or Teen Titans. Or it’s an AU, if you prefer.

NOTES: I love my anal-retentive Robin. A lot. Thanks to Penknife and Illmantrim
for betareading.

* * * * *

“No,” Tim said into the phone, glaring down at the innocent piece of metal and
plastic with loathing.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Kon said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“If you don’t come, the three of us will go without you.”

Tim was going to say ‘Fine.’ Then he imagined the havoc that could be wreaked on
the unsuspecting city if he wasn’t there to be the voice of reason. “We’re just
going to hang out?” he asked. “Batman’ll draw and quarter me if he finds out I
let you guys into Gotham.”

Sounding smug now that he’d won, Kon agreed. “Just hanging out. Normal teen
stuff. We’ll be Conner, Cassie, and Bart. I promise.”

With a sense of impending doom, Tim sighed. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“Awright!” Kon’s voice got muffled. “He went for it!”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Where should we meet?”

“Oh, um, yeah, that’s another thing. Can we borrow your dad’s car?”

* * * * *

It took all the patience he’d honed on stakeouts for Tim to not pace the living
room awaiting his friends’ arrival. Nothing to see here, he thought as he
watched Jeopardy with his dad and Dana.

“So, where did you say you met these friends?” Dana asked in the least casual
voice ever.

“At the coffee shop I go to with Bernard.” Tim mentally threw his hands in the
air. He was already doomed: There was an 85% chance Kon had some half-assed
story which he’d blurt out five seconds after walking through the door.

Dana shot his father a look. “Do they go to your school?”

“No, they’re from all around.” *That* was true, at least.

Dana was about to say something else when the doorbell rang. Tim was proud he
rose calmly from his chair and didn’t vault over the coffee table to get to the
door first.

Wrenching the door open, he hissed at the three beaming faces on the doorstep.
“Don’t volunteer *anything* and let me answer any questions.”

Startled blinks were his only answer and he turned to face the two people behind
him. “Dad, Dana, this is Conner, Cassie, and Bart.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Dana said brightly, her smile undimmed by
certain…unique fashion choices of Tim’s new friends.

His friends nodded and smiled and murmured greetings and Tim wondered if it was
too late to chuck it all and become a brain surgeon instead of a superhero. This
was much too stressful.

Especially the part where Kon had exchanged his “S” t-shirt for one that sported
a bat logo. Tim decided that Kon’s next month of workouts would tax even
superhuman strength and endurance. He’d make *sure* of that.

“So,” his dad said, “what were you guys planning?”

“Just hanging out,” Kon said.

“Something to eat,” Bart said. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re *always* hungry,” Cassie said, popping her bubble gum and shifting in
her silver high heels. Tim made a mental note to talk to her about taking a
disguise one step too far.

“Of *course* I’m always hungry,” Bart began.

“You’re a growing boy,” Tim and Kon said in unison.

Dana chuckled as Bart glared at them.

“I think we should get going,” Tim said, “if we’re going to get home at a
reasonable hour.”

Two people looked pleased he was worried about his curfew and three looked like
they wanted to say something snide about Batman’s patrol schedule.

Despite a strong desire to hide under his bed, Tim turned to his father. “Um,
the keys?”

Jack grinned. “Drive carefully,” he said, handing over the Gotham Knights key
chain. “I’m trusting you here.”

“I’ll be careful, Dad.”

“Nice to meet you,” the other three chorused as they followed Tim to where the
car was parked.

“Hey, it’s a Beemer,” Kon said. “Cool!”

“Tim, can I–”

“No way! I’m not letting you drive, Bart. I still remember the last time.” Tim
hopped into the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. He had to be positive.
After all, they were just going to hang out. What could possibly go wrong?

Tim suppressed a whimper. He was *so* doomed.

* * * * *

Burger Palace was crowded when the four superheroes got there, the grease-
scented air filled with voices and balled-up napkins being thrown from group to
group.

Bart made a bee-line for the counter and Cassie followed, muttering something
about a chocolate milkshake. Tim glanced over at Kon, who was grinning as he
surveyed the room. “It’s been too long,” Kon said.

“Too long?”

“I’ve been away from my adoring public,” Kon said.

Tim groaned. “Don’t give me that. First of all, you’re supposed to be more
mature than that now. Second, you’re not supposed to *be* Superboy tonight!”

“Quiet,” Kon said, wide-eyed and innocent. “You don’t want anyone to overhear
you.”

“I hate you.”

“I heard that.”

“I wanted you to.”

Kon punched his shoulder lightly. “C’mon, we’re supposed to be having fun,
remember?”

Tim leaned against the wall, then stood up straight hastily when he felt his
shirt sticking. “In what way is this fun?”

Kon stared at him, jaw dropping. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Tim almost looked down at himself, but he knew he wore the usual ‘normal
teenager’ costume–t-shirt, jeans, boots.

“You’ve forgotten how to have fun! When was the last time you did something
fun?”

Tim looked around. Several people were watching at them and he dropped his voice
to a whisper. “I can’t talk about that here.”

Kon rolled his eyes. “Not Gotham nighttime fun. I mean normal fun. Seeing a
movie. Hanging out.”

“We play video games at the Tower.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because we all know you’re just marking time and waiting for training to
start.”

“Not true! I–”

“What’s not true?” Cassie asked, slurping at a milkshake.

Tim thought about asking what she’d done with her gum, but considering the
lengths to which she’d taken the disguise, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the
answer. “We are *not* talking about this.” Tim glared at both of them. “I know
how to have fun.”

“Fine,” Kon said triumphantly. “What’re we going to do next?”

Tim closed his eyes, counting to ten. Then he tallied up the number of current
Arkham escapees still on the lam. He was starting on all the times he’d seen
Batman and Catwoman nearly kiss when he heard Bart approach.

“What’s wrong with Tim?”

Tim wondered what they would do if he went insane on the spot. Would they be
able to tell the difference?

While Bart repeated his question–again and again–Cassie found them a booth.
Tim trailed behind as Bart dropped his loaded tray next to Cassie and Kon
strolled along, practically strutting.

Tim sighed as almost every female eye followed Kon, along with no small
percentage of male eyes. They’d no sooner sat down than three girls meandered
oh-so-casually toward them.

Blonde hair teased into identical artfully-tousled dos, the three were the
epitome of the average high school cheerleader, shirts cut down to their navels
and skirts cut up to approximately the same. Their teeth were cosmetically
white, which was obvious because they were baring them in Kon’s direction. Kon
responded automatically, preening and smiling back at them.

Bart had actually stopped eating to watch their approach, his eyes very wide.
Tim looked at Cassie, whose scowl made her look more like Wonder Girl and less
like a typical teen.

The three girls draped themselves around the booth and–not-so-incidentally–
Kon. “Hey,” one said, “haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Just visiting,” Kon said, waving generally in Tim’s direction.

All three looked at Tim, dismissed him as beneath notice, and turned back to
Kon. “Visiting from where?” the second asked in a grating little-girl squeak.

“He’s from Kansas,” Cassie said, voice cold. “And he’ll be going back soon
enough, so why don’t you run along?”

The third girl tossed her hair and sneered. “Why don’t *you* run along, kiddo?
I’m sure Handsome here’s got better things to do than hang out with *you*.”

Cassie snorted. “Bitch, please. I *know* he’s got better things to do than talk
to you.”

Kon looked at both of them and Tim tried to figure out how to defuse this
situation before it got any worse.

“Ah, why don’t we head out?” Tim said, in his best ‘meek, mild, and harmless Tim
Drake’ tone.

“Shut up!” Cassie and the three cheerleaders said.

Tim sighed and leaned his head back against the smooth plastic of the booth.

“Ladies,” Kon said with a grin, “no need to fight. There’s enough of me to go
around.”

Tim turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Stop enjoying this,” he said,
softly enough that only Kon’s hearing could pick it up. Kon’s grin widened and
Tim’s eyes got narrower.

Cassie, meanwhile, was sizing up her opponents, er, the other teenagers, and was
not impressed. “So, you’re representative of girls in Gotham? Where’d you buy
your clothes? K-Mart?”

Tim and Kon winced in unison. Bart ate a cheeseburger, seeming fascinated by the
conversation.

“At least I don’t have my hair done with a lawn mower.” The girls giggled.

Cassie leaned back in her seat, but Tim could see Bart and Kon tense up;
obviously all of them expected an explosion. “My grandmother,” Cassie said, her
voice so sweet it could attract bees, “has more fashion sense than you ever
will.”

“That’s rich, coming from someone dressed like a cheap wh–”

She didn’t even have to finish the word, laughing as Bart and Tim simultaneously
grabbed Cassie’s arms, Tim nearly flattening himself on the table in order to
reach her before she could make it out of the booth.

The three cheerleaders twittered and giggled, one leaning across the back of the
booth to reach Kon’s shoulders. “Babe, why don’t you ditch these losers and let
us show you a good time?”

Kon’s smile was still congenial, but Tim could hear the steel in his voice.
“Thanks for the offer, but I think my friends and I were on our way out.”

Cassie opened her mouth, but after a look at Tim and Kon, she slid out of the
booth, closely followed by Bart and Tim. Kon nodded politely, but slipped past
the three astonished girls, who were obviously unused to such abject failure.

Tim’s neck itched, unhappy with the feeling of turning his back on the enemy,
even as he reminded himself of the unlikelihood of a weapon being fired in this
particular engagement.

* * * * *

“What now?” Tim asked, already weary as they got into the car.

“I thought you were a master of fun,” Kon said.

“Shut up.”

Bart interrupted their glaring contest. “How about if we cruise around, since
we’re in this cool car?”

Cassie settled into the back seat with a sigh. “Sounds good. Roll down the
windows. No good cruising with the windows up.”

Tim started the car as Bart leaned forward. “Hey, now can I drive–”

“No!”

“Fine.” Bart crossed his arms. “No need to yell.”

Tim gritted his teeth and pulled out of the parking lot, automatically mapping
out a route to cover the most territory in the shortest time. Kon flipped on the
radio as they turned a corner, and he, Cassie, and Bart debated their music
choices.

“No. No way.” Cassie pouted, kicking the back of the seat. “I will *not* cruise
while listening to Mariah Carey.”

“What?” Kon twisted around in his seat. “You’d prefer ‘N Sync?”

“Puh-leaze.”

Bart, beating a tattoo on the seat, chipped in. “What about the Beatles?”

Kon started to say something, but he stiffened, head tilted to one side. Tim
caught the motion and flipped off the radio as he pulled into a side street.

Bart and Cassie froze, watching Kon.

“It’s a woman. No, two women. They need help.”

“Where?” Bart asked as Tim turned into an alley and everyone jumped out.

Kon listened for another moment, then turned to the right.

“No powers,” Tim hissed as Kon started to leap into the air. Kon growled and
started running, obviously struggling to restrain his speed. Bart’s face looked
even more unhappy, but the habit of obedience was thankfully too ingrained.

As Tim ran, he realized that Cassie was using her flying ability to move faster,
but since the untrained eye was unlikely to notice, he let it go. The four of
them skidded around a corner, the sounds of struggle now obvious even to those
without super-hearing.

Four men, wearing dragon-themed jackets showing their gang affiliation, were
taunting two women, whose torn clothing and terrified expressions were more
evidence than the Titans needed. Tim automatically catalogued three knives in
hands and one gun inside the pocket of a jacket.

“Hands off,” Kon snapped. Although Tim wasn’t looking at him, he knew what the
gangbangers and victims were seeing: the true face of Kon-El. Kon did a good job
of acting the fool and most people believed it, but moments like this brought
out the implacable half-alien who had never considered any career path but that
of a superhero.

One of the men laughed at the sight of the four teens. “How do you kids think
you’re gonna stop us? Throw cell phones? Call Daddy?” He waved his knife and the
brunette he gripped by the arm whimpered.

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to know. Let them go and you won’t have to
find out.”

The blonde woman cried out as a second man held his knife to her throat, and Tim
heard Cassie’s low growl. “Brave words, kid,” the first man said, “but maybe
you’d better just leave us to our fun before someone gets hurt.”

“Too late,” Tim said. He glanced at the other Titans. “Remember…”

He didn’t bother to finish as Cassie punched the guy who’d spoken, hitting him
so hard his knife went flying as he fell to the ground.

Tim took the next closest, kicking him back against a brick wall, creating a
satisfying ‘crack’ as he hit and slid to the ground. By the time he’d turned,
Bart and Kon had rushed the last two, knocking them away from the second woman.
They held the men prone against a nearby dumpster.

The men struggled–to no avail–and Kon looked hopefully over his shoulder at
Tim.

Tim sighed, looking at the two astonished women, who were still frozen in place,
unable to assimilate the flurry of activity. “Ladies? Are you okay? Do you need
an ambulance?”

The brunette just gaped at him. The blonde swallowed. “I think we’re okay. They
didn’t have much time.”

Tim nodded. “Good. We’ll call the police, but my friends would like to get out
some aggression by knocking these two unconscious, if you don’t mind.”

That got the brunette’s attention. “Do it!”

Kon shifted his position a little. “So…”

“Fine.” Tim shrugged and turned to Cassie as Kon and Bart punched their captives
and the two would-be rapists slid to the ground. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“Sure.” She tossed it to him and he dialed a very unlisted number, moving around
the corner so the two women couldn’t hear him.

“Wonder Girl?” a computer-masked voice asked, picking up after one ring.

“No, it’s Robin, Oracle,” he said. “I’m on Wonder Girl’s phone. Supposedly off-
duty.”

“Ah. What’s wrong, kid?”

He could hear clicking. She was probably checking on his status and running a
voiceprint to make sure it was really him. “Nothing wrong, exactly. Just
interrupted some criminals and I need to you to arrange a police pickup.”

“Can do. Gimme me the info.”

Arrangements made, he returned to the alley. “The police will be here in a few
minutes, everyone.” Here was where things got delicate. “Ah, we’d really rather
not get mixed up in this. The police only need your testimony.”

“But…what do we tell them?” the blonde asked.

“It all happened too fast,” Tim said.

Bart laughed. “This is Gotham. You could tell them Batman showed up.”

Tim rolled his eyes and made a mental note to download a virus to Bart’s
computer at home that would play the Barney theme song every time he logged on.
“Whatever. Let’s go, unless you want to spend all night talking to the police.
Don’t worry, ladies, these guys won’t wake up any time soon.”

The women thanked them profusely as the more-or-less incognito Teen Titans
disappeared around the corner.

* * * * *

All the way back to where they’d parked, Bart pestered Tim to ‘show them the
sights’ of Gotham, despite Tim’s strenuous objections that Gotham didn’t *have*
sights.

“Other than Arkham,” Cassie said with a grin as they reached the car. “Shotgun!”

Bart and Kon groaned as Cassie hopped in the front seat next to Tim.

“I’m not taking you to Arkham,” Tim said.

“Who said we wanted to go to Arkham?” Kon leaned against the back of Cassie’s
seat, trying to get past her to the radio.

“She said…” Tim sighed. “I’m just going to drive around some more.”

With the long practice of a team leader who knew how to prioritize, Tim ignored
Kon and Cassie smacking each other’s hands as they tried to get their own music
in favor of making sure Bart didn’t lean too far out the window.

“Is that a prostitute? She’s got a really really short skirt and I can see–”

“I don’t want to know what you can see.”

“But I’m just trying to learn–”

“Bart!

With a pout, Bart collapsed back into the seat, arms crossed. “Then what am I
supposed to look at? I mean, when you’ve seen one gargoyle, you’ve seen ‘em
all.”

“Hey, I never claimed Gotham was a great town for tourism.” Tim scowled into the
rearview mirror. “In fact, as you might recall, Batman would prefer you *didn’t*
visit.”

Bart sniffed and went back to looking out the window. Since he didn’t seem in
any danger of falling out, Tim concentrated on driving, while Kon and Cassie
continued to argue about music.

“Pull over!” Bart said suddenly, loud enough that even Kon and Cassie stopped
talking and stared at him. Cassie snapped off the radio.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asked, even as he neatly cut off a Mustang and slid into a
parking spot. “Don’t even think about getting sick in m–”

“That alley we just passed, the narrow one, I swear I saw several somebodies
climbing up a fire escape.”

Tim twisted around in the seat to stare at Bart. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Bart,” Cassie said, sounding hopeful, “are you sure it wasn’t, like, a
window cleaning crew or something?”

Kon snorted. “That’s reaching, Cass.”

“I agree,” Tim said. “Okay, I’ll go check it out. You guys stay here.” He jumped
out of the car before his teammates could argue with him, knowing that once an
argument like that began, it could go on until the eventual heat death of the
universe.

Traffic was fairly light, so he dashed across the street, ignoring the annoyed
voices of the Titans left behind. If the gods were kind, then Bart was imagining
things and Tim would be back in a few moments with ammunition to tease the
speedster for weeks.

Before he’d even left the car, Tim had begun a surreptitious scan of the area,
and he was fairly certain there was nobody to see him except his team and the
occasional passing car. He eased his way into the shadow–glad for the moment of
the large number of broken streetlights–and slid to the edge of the alley Bart
had indicated.

It took only a split second to assess the situation, another split second to
curse fiercely at whatever deities were supposed to be watching over him, and an
entire two seconds to whirl around and glare at the three not-very-abashed
superheroes who were running up behind him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give them
the lecture they deserved without alerting the miscreants he’d seen in the
alley, so he settled for a longer glare–which didn’t seem to bother any of
them.

There didn’t seem to be any point in using sign to try and convince them to stay
out of the alley, since the chances of being obeyed at this juncture were
practically nil. With a mental sigh, Tim gestured for Bart and Cassie to come in
behind him and Kon, and slid his way into the alley.

It was a matter of moments for him to clamber silently up the fire escape,
knowing that Kon would be pretending to climb, while actually flying, and Cassie
would do the same while carrying Bart with her.

The two men jimmying a window jumped in surprise when four teenagers surrounded
them, looking annoyed.

The men both had ski masks on, but it was still easy to see their looks of
shock. One began, “What the f–”

“Ah ah,” Kon said, wagging a finger in what he probably thought was an imitation
of Superman, “language.”

Tim snatched the pry bar out of the hand of the guy on the left, smacking aside
a weak attempt at a punch as he kicked the man’s legs out from under him. The
would-be burglar went down with an ‘ooof.’

Kon grabbed the other one and held him at arm’s length. “What do we have to tie
them up with?”

“I picked this up in the alley,” Cassie said, holding up a length of rope that
was grimy but otherwise useable.

Giving her a tiny smile of approval for thinking ahead, Tim nodded. “Go ahead,
then.”

Cassie and Bart quickly tied up the two men, Kon dusting his hands and looking
pleased with himself.

As the minor adrenaline rush died down, Tim sighed, waiting for Cassie to
finish. “I’ll take your phone again. We’ll leave these guys here.”

Tim handed Cassie back her phone after calling Oracle and the four of them
climbed back down the fire escape, this time conventionally, and headed back to
the car. By the time they crossed the street, Bart and Kon had begun a debate
about who would win in a fair fight between Superman and Batman.

Cassie groaned and glanced at Tim, tossing her phone from hand to hand and
giving him a strange look. “You *do* realize we could have just called the cops,
right?”

Tim blinked.

“I mean, it was an empty office building and there wasn’t any imminent danger to
anybody, so we could have called the cops and scrammed.”

Tim opened his mouth and closed it again. “Get in the car,” he said eventually.

“Just checking,” she said with a smirk.

Tim slid into the driver’s seat, briefly considering the merits of banging his
head against the steering wheel until either his head or the wheel broke.

“Okay,” Kon said, trying to pretend he hadn’t heard their conversation, “I think
we should stop driving around and actually go someplace.”

“I want to go dancing,” Cassie announced. The three guys all stared at her,
thought about what she was wearing, and swallowed. “There has to be a dance club
somewhere in Gotham!”

“We’re not exactly drinking age, Cass,” Kon said, looking very sorry they
weren’t.

“Isn’t there anyplace that’ll let us in? You know, one of those places where
they stamp your hand so you can’t buy a drink?”

Everyone looked at Tim. He started to say no, then decided that surely a club
was less hazardous than the four of them out on the street.

“Right. Club it is.” He nodded firmly, pleased now that he had a definite plan,
and pulled out into traffic.

* * * * *

Luck finally with him, Tim found a parking spot a few blocks from the club and
everyone piled out. Kon and Bart were now arguing about who was the coolest
character on Wendy the Werewolf Stalker, so Tim and Cassie walked ahead.

“So, do I wanna know how you know about this place?” Blowing a bubble with the
gum that had reappeared, Cassie looked at him sideways.

“What do you mean?” Tim scanned the side streets as they neared the bright
lights of bars and restaurants.

“I mean, I have trouble imagining you poring over the newspaper looking for live
music and dancing and clubs that let in teenagers.”

Tim ignored her and kept walking.

“So, how do you know about this place?”

Sighing, Tim gave in. “It was the center of an ecstasy ring last year selling
tainted drugs that killed three kids. I was undercover here every night for a
week.”

“Man, I am *so* cheated!” Cassie groaned. “Wonder Woman never sends me to hang
out. Nothing *nearly* that cool while I’m working.”

“Would you want to work for Batman?”

Cassie sighed. “Point.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Kon, I was right. You
owe me $5.”

Tim opened his mouth and then closed it again just as a dark shape stepped out
of the last alley, holding a gun.

“Gimme all–”

“Good *grief*,” Cassie said. “This is so stupid.”

Tim could see the would-be mugger’s jaw drop.

“Jeez,” Kon said as he and Bart came up behind them, “nice city you got here,
man.”

“Don’t blame me,” Tim said with a snort. “I do my best.”

“Well, this doesn’t happen to me in Smallville or Metropolis.”

Bart’s foot was tapping a mile a minute. “Are we going to the club or not? I
wanna dance off some energy.”

“Hey!” the mugger yelled. “If you don’t shut up and gimme your money, I’m gonna
start shooting.”

“Uh-huh,” Cassie said absently. “Seriously, Tim, I think this place has warped
you. Now I understand why you’re obsessed with crime. Gotham is insane.”

The mugger raised his gun and Tim flicked the car keys in his hand. The other
three watched with appreciation as the glittering ring arced through the air and
knocked the gun to the ground.

Bart dashed over–slightly faster than normal speed–to hold the gun down with
his foot, while the mugger gaped at them. “What should we do with this?” Bart
asked.

Tim waved at the mugger. “We’ll leave him with it. I’m sure the police can tie
it to some crime or other.”

Shock finally worn off, the mugger turned to run and Kon glanced at Tim. “Can
I?”

“Be my guest.” Tim watched as Kon took off–also slightly faster than normal
speed–and tackled the other man to the ground, ignoring an ineffective punch to
his stomach. “Cassie, give me the phone so I can call Oracle. Again.”

Tim looked at his watch as the phone rang, wondering if he could just go on
patrol instead, where his life was less eventful.

Oracle sounded like she wanted to laugh, but managed to restrain herself and Tim
tossed Cassie’s phone back when he was done. He was listening for sirens, but
trained instincts allowed him to hear a subtler sound. “Damn,” he said with
great fervor.

Kon–busy tying the mugger to a mailbox–was about to ask what was wrong when
the sound registered in his brain. His eyes widened and he seemed to consider
the merits of running away. Cassie and Bart just looked at them, confused.

From the shadows, a voice said his name and Tim decided that going insane wasn’t
enough: At this point he might want to consider asking Superman for asylum.

Sighing, he marched to his doom, slipping into the alley, leaving his worried
friends behind him. “Batman,” he said to the looming shape, crossing his arms.

“What are they doing here?”

Tim sighed again. “In theory, we were ‘hanging out.’”

“In practice?”

“Gotham hasn’t been on its best behavior.”

“And you let three metas work in Gotham?” Even in the dark, Batman’s glare
weighed a ton.

“They’re my team. The crimes were there and so were we. They did their best to
fight like non-metas. Should we have left those women to face their attackers
alone?”

Batman glared harder. “You shouldn’t have brought metas here to begin with.”

“I didn’t ‘bring’ Superboy, Wonder Girl, and Kid Flash. I brought my friends.”
The more he thought about it, the more annoyed Tim got. He shifted his stance
automatically, feeling the change from defensive to offensive.

Batman saw the difference as well and his voice got rougher. “You know why I
keep–”

“Please. Like Superman has never visited. Like Wonder Woman has never been in
Gotham. And you can’t tell me neither of them ever stopped a crime on their way
in or out of town.”

“That’s not the point–”

“That is *exactly* the point.” Tim allowed his voice to rise slightly. “You
don’t trust *my* team. If you don’t trust them, then you don’t truly trust me.”

“You know that’s not true.”

He’d hit a nerve, because that voice was much more Bruce than Batman. “In that
case,” Tim said, “we’ll go back to trying to act our age.”

He turned and marched out of the alley, leaving behind a stunned mentor. The
sight when he emerged was even better: Cassie, face pale and eyes wide; Bart, on
tip-toes, prepared to start running; and Kon, still holding the unconscious
mugger half-tied.

A tiny ‘whoosh’ from behind him and he knew Batman was gone. Kon found his voice
first. “You…you just told off Batman,” he said.

“Mm-hmm.”

“You. Told off. Batman.” Kon dropped the now-forgotten unconscious mugger, still
staring at Tim as if he’d grown a third arm.

“Yes, I did. Now can we get out of here before the cops arrive?”

That got everyone’s attention and Kon toed the mugger out of his way as they
took off for the safety of the crowded club.

“So, you trust us,” Bart said from behind Tim.

“Yeah.”

“Does this mean I can drive–”

“No!”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: They say never to work with children or animals. Where did Bruce go wrong?

by Mara

Summary: Batman, Gil Grissom, and their teams must catch a villain before people

To: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: Re: donacia vulgaris

Thanks for the tip on that beetle. You were right and I was able to track where
Ivy got the new plant before she was able to manufacture her newest poison.

So your former DNA tech *was* the one who didn’t duck when the shooting started?
Good guess on your part. Well, you can tell him I saw him, if that would be
helpful. Subordinates seem to like that kind of thing.

Oh, and to answer your question, my e-mail username is courtesy of a colleague
who found it amusing. BBB…stands for Big Bad Bat. Don’t even think about
laughing.

Remember to give me the dates for your next class in forensic entomology, since
Robin might be interested in attending.

* * * * *

To: bbb@secure.oracle.net
From: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
Subject: Re: donacia vulgaris

I wouldn’t dream of laughing at your e-mail address. I can only be thankful that
I haven’t done anything to offend our IT department. Yet.

In any case, I’d be happy to have Robin in the class, as I’m sure he’ll be more
attentive than most of my students. My only concern is his ability to fit in. My
understanding was that he is high school age and most of the students will be
post-college.

* * * * *

To: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: No problem

I taught Robin about disguises. He’ll be fine.

* * * * *

To: bbb@secure.oracle.net
From: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
Subject: Re: No problem

Of course.

On another topic, I’m hoping you have some suggestions on one of our cases. I’m
not ashamed to admit (to you) that I’m stumped. Every lead has come to a dead
end and we’re left with several odd chemical traces found at the scene. I’ve
attached our analyses.

Damn, I’ve just been paged for another case. I hope your night was quieter than
ours has been.

* * * * *

To: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: The case

I apologize if I was curt on the phone, but there was no time to waste. I know
Nightwing will explain in greater detail upon his arrival, but let me repeat the
most important thing: You must *not* deal with the Scarecrow without backup. I
would be there myself, but I still have several crises here to deal with first.

Make it absolutely clear to your staff that they must handle *everything* at or
near the scene with the utmost care, no matter how harmless it may seem.

* * * * *

To: bbb@secure.oracle.net
From: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
Subject: We appreciate the help

Considering that there are already three patrolmen in the hospital under
treatment, we appreciate Nightwing’s assistance. He’s…impressive. At least,
Sara certainly seems impressed.

I can assure you we’re treating this case as hazmat. We’ve already had one close
call, when the aforementioned new CSI nearly dosed himself while fooling around
in the lab. Sometimes I wonder if Greg will ever learn.

So far, we’re chasing around behind this lunatic. To catch him, we’ll need to
figure out what he wants in Las Vegas.

* * * * *

To: birdboy@tt.secure.net
From: wingster@bludhaven.net
Subject: Bright lights, weird city

Hey, Boy Wonder! I’ve had quite an interesting introduction to Las Vegas. I
wouldn’t have wished Scarecrow on *anyone*, but I have to admit I’m glad to have
the chance to meet this Grissom that B is so enamored of.

He’s…not entirely describable, to be honest. He’s so closed and private, he
almost makes B look like a font of personal information. He’s brilliant,
although we’d guessed that, and eccentric (also not a big shock), but not any
more so than most of the people we know.

He’s got a rather attractive young woman chasing him, although he seems entirely
oblivious to the fact. Lucky me, she’s decided to make him jealous by chasing
*me*. (O, if you’re reading, I swear I didn’t encourage her.)

Okay, I’ve got to get a few hours of sleep, so I’m outta here. You and B be
careful, okay?

* * * * *

To: wingster@bludhaven.net
From: birdboy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Re: Bright lights, weird city

Don’t worry about us, we’re holding steady. So far, things have been quieter
than I’d expect with Ivy on the loose. Of course, that means she’s saving up for
something *really* awful, but we’ve still got some leads to track down.

You be careful too. Scarecrow’s no walk in the park.

* * * * *

To: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: Scarecrow

Gil, I can assure you, I’ve been considering the same question. Whatever
Scarecrow is up to, it will be broad in scale, and will involve mass casualties.
He rarely thinks small and his fear toxin has only become more potent over the
years. It wasn’t pleasant to begin with.

What I haven’t been able to determine is why Las Vegas. Scarecrow may be insane,
but his “logic” is usually fairly predictable. However I can find no connection
between his Las Vegas victims so far.

* * * * *

To: birdboy@tt.secure.net
From: wingster@bludhaven.net
Subject: Re: Bright lights, weird city

I’m impressed by how unflappable most of these CSIs are. I mean, even in Gotham
or Bludhaven, I can usually make someone jump with that trick of appearing
behind them with no warning. The only one it works on here is Greg. (He’s the
guy that was in Gotham.) The rest just give me the kind of look B gives us when
we’ve been fooling around on patrol. Makes me wonder about what these guys see.

Anyway, we’re still looking for some clue to what S might be planning here and
it makes me nervous that we don’t seem to be any closer to an answer. The team
here has been working around the clock. Catherine and Grissom periodically send
people home to get some sleep, but I had to force *them* to rest.

Time to go undercover and get a look at the convention center in daylight. My
current theory is that S is planning to attack something huge like the consumer
electronics show. Why else pick Las Vegas?

* * * * *

To: birdboy@tt.secure.net
From: gsanders@lvmpd.com
Subject: Hi

Hi, I’ve never written to a superhero before, so I’m not sure quite how this
goes, but…Nightwing said I should get in touch with you directly. He’s off
with Grissom investigating, but they sent me back with the latest chemical.
Nightwing wants you to take a look at it to see if we can find any clues. But my
job doesn’t call for a lot of experience with fear toxin. I mean, what does the
stuff *do* anyway?

* * * * *

To: gsanders@lvmpd.com
From: birdboy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Re: Hi

What it does depends on the specific formulation being used. It can make you see
your worst fear or become afraid of something specific. Both options can be
dangerous, uncomfortable, or deadly. Be extremely careful.

Nightwing is right. This is a formulation we haven’t seen before. I’ve got the
computer working on possibilities, but I’ve attached the information we have so
far.

* * * * *

To: birdboy@tt.secure.net
From: gsanders@lvmpd.com
Subject: Re: Hi

Have you ever been exposed to this stuff? I mean, I can’t imagine that you guys
are scared of *anything*.

* * * * *

To: gsanders@lvmpd.com
From: birdboy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Re: Hi

Yes, I have. We all have. However, it’s not an experience any of us cares to
discuss.

* * * * *

To: birdboy@tt.secure.net
From: gsanders@lvmpd.com
Subject: Re: Hi

Right. Sorry. Anyway, my system has found some weird ingredients to this stuff
and I’m working the computer to see if any of them can be pinpointed to a
specific company or location.

* * * * *

To: wingster@bludhaven.net
From: birdboy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Where are you?

Nightwing, where are you? Greg’s got some info on the toxin and I want you to
follow up. Did you melt your comm again? O’s still teasing you about the last
time, so I can’t wait to hear her *this* time.

* * * * *

To: wingster@bludhaven.net
From: birdboy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Okay, this isn’t funny

Where the hell are you? B’s on Ivy’s trail, but if you don’t respond soon, he’ll
leave him to the GCPD.

* * * * *

To: gsanders@lvmpd.com; ggrissom@lvmpd.com
From: birdboy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Nightwing

Have you seen Nightwing in the last few hours?

* * * * *

To: birdboy@tt.secure.net
From: gsanders@lvmpd.com
Subject: Re: Nightwing

No, I haven’t. Last I heard, he and Grissom were tracking down a lead in
Henderson, something to do with a sighting. Should I put out an APB?

* * * * *

To: gsanders@lvmpd.com
From: birdboy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Re: Nightwing

Not yet. Let me try to reach him for a little longer.

* * * * *

To: wingster@bludhaven.net
From: birdboy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Last chance

Damn it, if you don’t answer us soon, the jet and I are on our way. If B doesn’t
beat me to it.

* * * * *

To: bbb@secure.oracle.net; birdboy@tt.secure.net
From: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
Subject: Nightwing

I know Nightwing has contacted you, but I suspect that he downplayed the
severity of the situation. When I found him, he was unconscious. Unfortunately
(in my view) he awoke before we reached the hospital. He convinced me, against
my better judgement, to take him to my house instead. I called in some favors to
get him confidential medical care, and I’m assured he will recover, but it was
most certainly touch and go for a few hours.

He let me take away his communicator on the condition that I sent a report to
you. The full report is attached, but the short form is that Scarecrow’s new
toxin causes a fear of money in all forms. Then it is fatal without treatment,
as far as we can tell.

* * * * *

To: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: Re: Nightwing

Thank you. I can’t leave Gotham, but Robin is on his way.

* * * * *

To: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
From: birdboy@tt.secure.net
Subject: Re: Nightwing

Thanks for taking care of Nightwing. He can be remarkably difficult to treat, I
know.

I’ll be there in a few hours, but I’ve attached what I’ve learned so far. The
question is, why fear of money? Sure, Las Vegas=gambling, but money is
everywhere. He could just as easily have caused a fear of neon. Why Las Vegas?
What’s special?

* * * * *

To: bbb@secure.oracle.net
From: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
Subject: Target

I’ve got my team and the police tracking down those suppliers, but it’s still a
long shot. I hope you’re having a better night. Robin suggested I run some ideas
by you.

We’ve been brainstorming what might have brought Scarecrow here, based on what
will happen within the week in Las Vegas.

–There will be visits from several low-ranking UN officials and the US
Secretary of State. The city is always filled with major and minor celebrities
so it’s difficult to determine exactly who else will be here, unless they’re
requested a police presence.

–Upcoming conventions of over 10,000 individuals: Global Gaming Expo,
International Pool and Spa Expo, the International Consumer Electronics Show
(150,000 visitors), the National Automobile Dealers Association, and the World
Shoe Association.

–Nearby attractions include (besides the obvious casinos and hotels): Lake
Mead, the Hoover Dam, the Natural History Museum, the Lost City Museum of
Archaeology, Old Las Vegas Mormon Fort Historic Park, several ghost towns…

* * * * *

To: bbb@secure.oracle.net
From: gsanders@lvmpd.com
Subject: Nightwing went after them

I don’t know what you can do, but I don’t know who else to contact. After you
called, Grissom and Robin took off for Lake Mead along with every spare officer
they could find. I was supposed to stay with Nightwing, but as soon as he
realized what was happening, he went after them. I couldn’t stop him, even
though he’s still pretty sick.

Grissom and Detective Brass aren’t answering their cells, and I get the feeling
you guys don’t want me to put out an APB on Nightwing. I’m going after him
myself. From what he said, I think he’s heading up toward the Bluffs Trail and
working his way south from there.

I just figured someone should know where I’m going.

* * * * *

To: gsanders@lvmpd.com
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: Re: Nightwing went after them

Do *not* attempt to follow Nightwing. The Scarecrow is too dangerous. Respond
immediately.

* * * * *

To: gsanders@lvmpd.com
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: Re: Nightwing went after them

Are you there? Respond *immediately*.

* * * * *

E-MAIL DELETED BEFORE SENDING
To: gsanders@lvmpd.com
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: Re: Nightwing went after them

Damnit, answer me. If you get killed going after him, Grissom won’t forgive me.

* * * * *

To: bbb@secure.oracle.net
From: goddess@secure.oracle.net
Subject: What the hell did you do with them?

B, I’m sending you an e-mail because now *you’re* not answering your goddamn
comm. What the hell are N and R doing? Both of their comm signals have
disappeared, last seen somewhere near Lake Mead. I thought N was supposed to be
convalescing.

Before he was cut off, N said something about fish? I see two fish hatcheries on
the map, but there’s nothing I can do from here. I have no contacts on the LVPD.

What’s going on?

* * * * *

To: goddess@secure.oracle.net
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: Re: What the hell did you do with them?

You’ll know as soon as I know anything.

* * * * *

To: bbb@secure.oracle.net
From: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
Subject: It’s over

I know you’ve heard from both Nightwing and Robin already, but I wanted to send
this before I became tangled in wrapping up the case.

Thank you for your help. Thank you for sending your two able assistants. Without
their help, I doubt any of us would have survived the night. As it is, several
of my team had near-misses, including myself. Only Robin’s intervention
prevented me from taking a headlong fall into the fish hatchery tank filled with
fear toxin.

I’ve attached the most current analysis of the fear toxin, which Robin tells me
is different than normal. Apparently it generally stimulates the amygdala, but
this batch instead confuses the prefrontal cortex, causing it to misinterpret
specific incoming data as a danger–in this case, money.

(Nightwing said rather dryly that it was an unpleasant sensation. I would assume
that was an understatement.)

It seems Scarecrow planned to use Lake Mead to distribute his toxin, allowing it
to rush through the Hoover Dam to Nevada, Arizona, California, and Mexico. In
addition, when his toxin shut down the Dam’s electricity generating plant, it
would have caused significant difficulties in Arizona, Nevada, and California.

* * * * *

To: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
From: bbb@secure.oracle.net
Subject: Re: It’s over

I’m glad the Scarecrow is in custody again, and glad Nightwing and Robin were
able to assist you.

Nightwing was reticent about his physical state, but he was quite voluble
concerning the bravery of your one of your CSIs. It was foolhardy of him to take
off by himself, but I am grateful, as is Nightwing.

Apparently Greg helped him escape from a close encounter with another dose of
fear toxin, showing up quite literally in the nick of time and holding back
Scarecrow with his weapon until Nightwing could act.

Perhaps there’s hope for Greg yet.

* * * * *

To: bbb@secure.oracle.net
From: ggrissom@lvmpd.com
Subject: Re: It’s over

I’ve always thought there was hope for Greg, and he’s finally proven it to
himself. We’ll see what happens next. Of course, at some point he and I will
have a chat about his going after Nightwing alone…

* * * * *

Gil hit “send” and leaned back in his chair, looking at his team, exhausted but
triumphant as they filed into the room and found somewhere to lean.

“Fear is the main source of superstition,” he said, “and one of the main sources
of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom, in the pursuit of truth
as in the endeavor after a worthy manner of life.”

Sara’s eyebrows shot up. “Um…George Bernard Shaw?”

Nick leaned over and smacked her shoulder. “Brown-noser,” he said with a grin.

Gil smiled at both of them. “Not a bad guess, Sara. But no, that was Bertrand
Russell. A philosopher and mathematician.”

“And your point was…?” Catherine asked, tilting her head from one side to the
other until she got a crack.

“Hmm?”

“Gil, we’re all too tired for games.”

“No games.” Gil glanced at his computer. “I was just thinking about the
different ways of leading a worthy life.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to support vigilantes,” Warrick said.

“I don’t,” Gil said. “But I do support the pursuit of truth.”

Catherine rubbed her temples and Sara snickered. “Sure, Grissom,” Nick said,
stretching his arms over his head. “Whatever you say.”

“Oh, and Greg?” Gil said.

Greg, who’d been trying to hide behind Warrick, froze in place. “Uh…yeah?”

“Nice work.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: To his own surprise, Lex finds himself helping Chloe disguise herself as a society babe. And what good can come of *that*?

NOTES: This fic got out of hand, and as usual, it’s all Medie’s fault
Tremendous thanks go to Alexis for reassurance and betareading duties. And thank
you to Angelsgracie for giving me the opportunity and the incentive to write
this fic.
DEDICATION: This story is a gift for Medie on the occasion of her fandom roast,
in honor of the many plot bunnies she’s sicced on me, as well as the
encouragement and praise I’ve received from her. ::hugs::

Lex barely resisted the smirk he felt trying to creep across his face–partially
because he knew how much smirking annoyed Chloe and partially because this was a
smirk-worthy situation.

He’d been silent and expressionless through her entire presentation, a tactic
that had been known to cause less-prepared businessmen to develop a stammer and
drop pens on the floor. But Chloe completely ignored his lack of response,
laying out her proposal with a succinctness Lex secretly wished he could teach
some of LexCorp’s top executives.

“*My* help?” he asked when she finished, leaning back in his leather chair and
tenting his fingers to hide any smirk vestiges. “You want *my* help on a story?”

Chloe frowned at him. “Well, if I’m going to write about the bad behavior of
rich, spoiled young adults, you’re be a natural person to help.”

Lex didn’t move a muscle. “Some people would be trying flattery at this
juncture. Or at least tact. I would imagine that someday you’ll learn both.”

That baited her into a response, her fair skin flushing. “You *know* what I
mean. You know these people, how they dress, how they talk. I need your help to
fit in.”

“Considering our past…antagonism, I’m surprised you’re here,” he said.

“That’s in the past,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Live in the now, Lex. And
right now I’m asking for your help. Will you do it or not?”

Taking his time, Lex studied Chloe: hair in the blonde flare she’d worn forever,
pink floral shirt making her look younger, expression trying for calm and
patient while he could hear her toes tapping. Four years of college hadn’t
changed her all that much.

Was it even possible? Could he turn nosy spitfire Chloe into a visiting society
girl? And why *would* he?

Although he *knew* nothing was showing on his face, Chloe seemed to have
followed his thoughts. “Look, if you don’t want–”

“Wait.” He knew why he was going to do it: It represented a challenge and he
hadn’t had a good challenge in a while. Besides, he still owed her for…for his
father. “How much time do we have?”

Chloe grinned. “You’ve got a week, Pygmalion.”

“It’s nice to see that some classics are still known. Perhaps this won’t be as
difficult as I thought.” Mind already full of makeup and hair, Lex eyed her
again, trying to estimate her size. This little project might even be fun.

And fun was something else that had been conspicuously lacking recently.

* * * * *

Lex’s secretary was scandalized when he swept out of his office, ushering Chloe
in front of him with a hand on her back. “Rose! Cancel this afternoon’s
meetings,” he called. “Tomorrow too. Reschedule Finver and Gifford for Thursday.
Everyone else gets the next open slot.”

“But Mr. Luthor…” Rose opened and closed her mouth and Lex knew what was
bothering her. Certainly he’d been known to take it in his head to disappear
with a young lady, but they were usually the kind of young lady considered
suitable for the head of LexCorp–rich, gorgeous, and either stupid or devious.

Hand still on Chloe’s back, Lex paused. “Yes, Rose?” His voice held undertones
he knew his secretary could read.

“Nothing, Mr. Luthor. I’ll take care of the rescheduling immediately.” She shot
a curious glance at Chloe, but chose to keep her job.

“Glad to hear it.”

Chloe, eyes narrowed, was obviously trying to figure out what had just happened,
but Lex had no intention of enlightening her. For one thing, he wasn’t in the
mood for the inevitable 20-minute lecture on wealth and power and double-
standards for women. There was enough of that in his immediate future.

“Come along. So much to do, so little time.” As he led her out of the office, a
quick glimpse of her face showed suspicion mixed with caution.

Good.

* * * * *

Suspicion seemed to be winning by the time they stepped off the elevator into
the marble-floored corridor leading to his penthouse. On the way over, she’d
been suitably distracted by the amenities of his latest Ferrari, but now she had
the unsubtle look on her face she’d nearly always had in high school when he was
around.

“Relax, Chloe, I have no interest in ravishing you. I haven’t ravished an
unwilling woman in, oh, weeks.”

She scowled at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. But what *are* we doing here?”

Lex unlocked the door and strode through, covertly watching Chloe’s unease with
the moderately opulent surroundings. They’d have to work on that, he thought as
she picked her way across the deep pile of the rug. “Why are we here?”

“Yes, Lex, why are we here? It’s not a difficult question.”

Down the hall, passing his own bedroom, he stepped into a guestroom. “We’re here
because of a truism.”

Chloe crossed her arms, leaning against an 18th century walnut dresser. “What
truism?” she asked.

With a flourish, he threw open the closet doors and stepped to the side. “Why,
clothes make the man, of course.”

Chloe’s jaw dropped and she was speechless for a moment as her eyes roamed the
racks of clothing of every style and description, men’s and women’s both. Never
speechless for long, she turned to him. “Is there something I should know about
your dress habits?”

“First lesson of the rich,” Lex said. “Be prepared. You have the money, so you
use it.”

“To buy clothing?”

Lex began to flip through the racks, occasionally turning to appraise her again.
“To be able to offer a guest a gown for an unexpected black tie event.” He
pulled out a black Vera Wang dress and handed it to her. “Or something more
casual for a night on the town.” A Casper pantsuit in peacock blue came out, was
held up against her, and then went back. Tilting his head, he considered the
same outfit in red. Nodding to himself, he pulled it out and handed it to her.

“You keep clothing in case a guest needs it?”

When he glanced over his shoulder, Chloe’s jaw looked like it wanted to hit the
floor. “Second lesson: Never look surprised. Never sound astonished. And never
ever seem impressed.”

“How do you do that?”

“Hmm?” He was looking back and forth between a burgundy Halston and another Vera
Wang, this one a gold minidress.

“How are you so…blasé about everything.”

Lex chuckled. “You misunderstand. I didn’t say you had to *be* blasé, just that
you have to *act* that way.” He turned, holding the Halston up against her skin
and hair. “You need to stop showing your feelings on your face.”

She made an effort to stop looking disconcerted and uncomfortable and he raised
an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know how,” she said finally, shifting under his
gaze.

“You’ll learn. If you want this badly enough, you’ll learn.”

He sorted through the rest of the clothing, after shooing her into the bathroom
to start trying on the outfits. She was already starting to get that stubborn
look, but Lex didn’t give her a chance to refuse the clothing. She’d never
succeed for an instant without as much as she could wear, but if he let her
argue, she’d just talk herself out of it.

“Rules are for other people,” Lex said loud enough to be heard through the door
as he flipped the racks to look at the more sedate everyday items. “Whatever you
see someone do, whatever they say they did, don’t look shocked.”

“But–”

“You’re going to have to stifle your natural impulses,” he continued. “Outrage
and curiosity are rarer than a virgin in these circles.” His lips twitched at
the stifled sounds from the bathroom.

Three more outfits in hand, Lex turned when he heard the door opening. “And be
certain that you…”

The words died on his lips as he looked at the figure stepping through the
doorway. Even without the other changes he’d planned for her, Chloe in the Vera
Wang, barefoot, rounded in all the right places, was…astonishing.

Obedient to his previous coaching, she was looking unconcerned and haughty
(well, almost), but when he didn’t respond, her face changed. Glancing down at
herself, she wrinkled.

“I look stupid, don’t I?” She ran a hand over one hip, where the nubby silk fell
perfectly into place, outlining curves he wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed before.
“I don’t think this is going to work. You can put a pig in a suit, but it’s
still a pig.”

“Ah, Chloe,” he found his voice, “don’t compare yourself to a pig. In fact, I’d
prefer you attempted to excise all farm metaphors now, rather than later. But
that’s beside the point.”

She blinked at him. “What’s the point?”

“The point is,” he ran through three responses, “that the dress suits you.”

“It does?”

“It does. If you ask nicely, I might even let you keep it.” He’d never seen her
look so uncertain before, and it was oddly charming, especially when paired with
the bare feet. Tearing his eyes away from the neckline that fell just low enough
to tease properly, he turned back to the closet. “Try on the others.”

“Lex?”

He took an instant to blank his expression before turning. “Yes?”

“Why are you going to this much trouble? You don’t even *like* me. If this is
some weird backhanded favor for Clark, then you shouldn’t bother.” Now she
looked and sounded like herself again–combative and argumentative–and it made
him feel better.

He momentarily considered giving her one of the true answers to her question,
but settled for an evasion. “You asked for my help.”

“Lex–”

“Try on the clothing, Chloe. And remember to look at the labels, so if someone
asks you about them, you’ll know what they’re talking about.”

She met his eyes and held them, once again giving him the disconcerting feeling
that she knew what he was thinking. (Had she been able to do that in high
school? Surely not.) But she couldn’t know. If neither Lionel nor Clark had ever
learned to read him, it was impossible that *she* had. He held her gaze,
consciously staying relaxed, his expression faintly amused.

Finally she gave up and stomped back into the bathroom. Lex let his expression
change to something slightly more nostalgic, remembering countless days and
evenings spent with Clark and his coterie. Frustrating in their nearly
impenetrable innocence and naïveté, they had nonetheless provided a telling
counterbalance to his upbringing. Not that he planned to point that out to
Chloe.

She came out in a sea foam green strapless Chanel that didn’t quite work without
the proper push-up undergarment. He considered it for a moment, giving up when
he decided she would rebel if he tried to pick out a bra for her. Smallville
sensibilities strike again. “The color’s right, but not the size. Next.”

Chloe saluted and marched back. “Okay,” she called through the door, “I can’t
talk about farm stuff or journalism. What *do* I talk about? I’m assuming the
average society girl isn’t much for politics or TV sitcoms. What are my choices
for small talk?”

“No current events unless it’s business or society news. And we all watch
television, we’re just not allowed to admit it. There’s always money–who has it
and who doesn’t. Fashion is safe, but I don’t have the time to teach you more
than the basics.”

“Don’t worry, I can fake almost any topic.” Her voice was momentarily muffled.
“One advantage of journalism is you learn how to sound like an expert without
actually being one. Besides, I have a good memory.”

She stepped out in the pantsuit and he nodded his approval. “That one will do.
So, I’m assuming you have a more clever plan than hoping someone will do
something illegal.”

“Yes, Lex.” Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “I *am* an investigative
journalist. As you might recall.”

“Touché.” He shooed her back to try on the next outfit. “Somehow I doubt your
readers will be surprised that the young, bored, and rich use drugs and have
indiscriminate sex.”

“I want to see what they do and how they manipulate the system to keep out of
official trouble. But I think there’s more to it,” she said through the door.
“These people are influential–if not now, then later when they end up running
businesses or sitting on the boards of philanthropic organizations. Their lack
of ethics now has future consequences.”

He paused, considering the closed door. “Chloe?”

“Yes?”

“Are you investigating me?”

Something thumped and he leaned against the wall, arms crossed and waiting. The
door opened enough for her to stick her head and part of a bare shoulder out.
“No!”

Lex waited.

“No, I’m not investigating you. Jeez, if I was, I’d have said so. Or else you
wouldn’t have known until I published and you tried to squelch the story. You
know that!”

Lex waited.

“Lex, I swear I’m not investigating *you*.”

He nodded once. “Okay.”

“Okay.” They stared at each other, then Chloe realized she was only half-dressed
and ducked back into the bathroom. “So,” she said, “once we’re done raiding your
wardrobe, what next?”

Since she couldn’t see him, he smiled. “Next, we pay a visit to Alberto.”

“Who’s Alberto?”

“The very best hairdresser in Metropolis, of course.”

Her groan was loud enough to be heard in Smallville.

* * * * *

It was fortunate that Lex had no personal need of the man’s services, because it
was entirely likely that Alberto would never, ever forgive him after the
experience of cutting the hair of Chloe Sullivan. Chloe didn’t know it, but Lex
had paid a substantial sum to Alberto to get him in after hours, so nobody else
would see them.

Lex leaned against a nearby counter and watched the battle. Oh yes, this was
definitely amusing enough to be worth the trouble.

“What do you mean tinting?” Chloe’s voice seemed to have gone up an octave.

Alberto was shaking with anguish. “Your hair, it has been butchered. There is
only so much I can do in one day. A little tint, maybe I can distract from the
dryness, the…oh, Mr. Luthor.” He turned to look at Lex, who shrugged. “I can
only do my best.”

“Look, can’t you just cut it or,” she waved her hands around, “something.”

“There is more than just cutting. This is art!” Alberto waved *his* hands, but
his years of experience allowed his handwaving to symbolize his helplessness,
his need to do this right, and just a bit of disgust that she’d let her hair get
in this shape.

Lex nodded. So far, it was Alberto: 2, Chloe: 0. He could see a sweep coming.

Two hours later, as they exited the salon, Chloe watched herself out of the
corner of her eyes, seeming unsure quite what to make of the fashionably elfin
hairstyle with its streaks of silver and gold.

“Next stop is Andrea, if she’s in.”

“I’m afraid to ask, Lex. Just tell me she’s not fitting me for a mink, because I
draw the line at animal fur.”

“Andrea is complicated.” Lex slid behind the wheel of the car. “Let’s just say
she owes me a few favors and I’m cashing in.”

He forestalled her next question by flipping on the car’s mobile phone. Two
rings and Andrea picked up, her warm contralto sounding pleased as it echoed off
the car roof. “Lex! How have you been?”

“The same.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Lex could hear Chloe’s intake of breath, but he ignored her. He certainly wasn’t
going to explain what Andrea meant. “Are you free for a few hours tonight or
tomorrow? I could use some help.”

“Really?” Her interest was piqued. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I’ve got class. But
if you come by tomorrow evening, I’ll do whatever I can. Do I get an
explanation?”

“Let’s just say I need you to dig out your war paints. I think it might be
easier to explain the rest when we get there.”

“We?” Andrea laughed. “This should be interesting.”

“I know you’ll think so. Tomorrow at 7?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

Lex clicked off the phone and glanced at Chloe, daring her to comment. She
narrowed her eyes and compressed her lips, refusing to give in. “Well, if
Andrea’s not available, I think we’ve done enough for this evening. You must
have studying to do, windmills to tilt at.”

He could almost hear her teeth grit. “I *do* know who Don Quixote is.”

“Just checking. I can never be sure with Smallville schools.”

Chloe sighed. “Thank you for your help, Lex.”

Conversation was desultory on the way to her apartment.

* * * * *

As arranged, he picked her up the next evening to drive them to Andrea’s. And
just as he’d suspected, Chloe’s curiosity was piqued.

“So, how do you know Andrea?” she asked.

“Prep school.”

If all her interviews were this subtle, he was going to have to re-evaluate his
opinion of her journalistic ability.

“Hmm. And the favors she owes you?”

He looked through the front windshield. “Are for services rendered.”

That shut her up, although he could feel her studying him. Why had he thought
that consulting Andrea was a good idea?

Because she was one of the very few people he could trust.

When they pulled up in front of the modest brownstone, Chloe stared, but didn’t
ask. Lex strode up the front steps without waiting to see if she followed, but
he heard her shoes click on the concrete behind him.

Before he could ring the bell, the door was flung open and Andrea threw her arms
around him. As always, he was thrown off-balance by the warm, genuine welcome.

“Andrea.”

“Hello, Lex.” She grinned and let him go, stepping back.

“You look wonderful,” he said. And she did, curves where they should be, dressed
casually but with style, and a smile hovering around her lips.

“You definitely look the same.” She eyed him briefly. “Still need to get out in
the sun and eat a few more vegetables, but you’ll do. I suppose.”

Chloe stifled a chuckle and Lex glanced at her. “Andrea Lassic, I’d like you to
meet Chloe Sullivan. Chloe, this is Andrea.”

“Good to meet you,” Chloe said, sticking out her hand.

“Likewise. Won’t you two come in?” Andrea ushered Chloe in first, catching Lex’s
eye. He looked back blandly, but knew she recognized the name. He’d forgotten
how much he’d told her of Smallville.

Within moments, they were seated in her living room, Chloe looking stiff in a
chair while Lex and Andrea reclined on the couch.

“So, Lex, what’s the deal?” Andrea waved at a series of containers on the coffee
table. “I’ve dug out the war paint, but why do you need it?”

It only took a few minutes for Lex and Chloe to explain the plan.

“…so I was hoping you could give her some tips on makeup and demeanor.”

Andrea laughed at the dubious expression on Chloe’s face. “Ah, she doubts my
qualifications.”

“No, I, I mean–”

Chuckling, Andrea leaned forward to pat her knee. “It’s okay. I don’t look like
a spoiled brat anymore, but I can assure you I was.”

Don’t get into it, Lex thought, cutting her off. “Believe me, she was. So,
Andrea, will you help?”

“Of *course*, Lex. I’d be happy to. Now shoo.”

“Excuse me?”

Chloe struggled to keep a straight face as Andrea waved her hand as if he was a
recalcitrant puppy. “Go work on my computer. I’m sure you’ve got some stock
research to do or something.”

“Yes, Lex, shoo.” Chloe was definitely laughing now.

Pulling together the remnants of his dignity, Lex stood. “I’ll be in your
office.”

As he left the room, he could hear Chloe. “So, how do you know Lex exactly?”

He winced, tempted to listen at the door, but those who eavesdrop rarely hear
good of themselves. Continuing down the hall to her office, his memory dredged
up other days and nights with Andrea.

Andrea with a needle in her arm. Andrea found pawning her mother’s pearls for
drug money after her father cut her off. Andrea leaning over his arm to throw up
in the toilet.

Lionel had never approved of Andrea as a friend and Lex had needed to sneak
around to see her. Originally, it was out of rebellion, but her wicked sense of
humor appealed to him.

Andrea on the floor, barely breathing. Andrea begging him to help when her
parents refused to take her calls. Andrea on her first day out of rehab, so thin
he could count every rib, her eyes only half-alive.

Nobody knew what he’d done for her except the two of them. And possibly now
Chloe. This was definitely a bad idea, giving Chloe ideas about him that weren’t
true. He wasn’t some do-gooder like her or Clark.

Andrea offering to sleep with him as a thank-you, weeks later. The surprise and
gratitude in her eyes when he said no. Andrea the day she got into grad school,
her entire face the very picture of joy, allowing him to experience that joy
second-hand.

He flipped on the computer, diving immediately into work he’d been putting off,
writing a few unclassified reports from memory and logging on to his external e-
mail. He’d installed her system, so it was *nearly* as secure as his own.

When Chloe came to get him some time later, it took him a moment to notice her
in the doorway, so absorbed was he in the question of whether to increase the
R&D budget to allow for more nanotech research.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him. In return, he studied her face. As
expected, Andrea had done an excellent job. The makeup was subtle and
sophisticated. Exactly right.

“Lex?”

“Can you duplicate this?”

“Pretty much. With some practice. She gave me what I’ll need.” Chloe held up a
small bag in her hand.

“Great. I’ll thank her and we’ll get going.”

Chloe started to say something, but he brushed by her. She got the message
quickly…for once.

She spent most of the ride home that evening giving him strange looks, which he
ignored, instead continuing his lectures on how to act rich, bored, and stupid.

* * * * *

A week later, Chloe’s expression as she threw open her apartment door was
priceless, something like surprise, annoyance, and a pinched nose all put
together. “Lex, what are you doing here?”

Smiling slightly, he inspected her makeup, hair, and the fit of the Donna Karan
dress that slid over her right shoulder and across her chest, finding no fault
with any of it. “I’m here to escort you to the soiree, of course.”

“I told you I can handle things from here. It *is* my job as a journalist and
I’m good at it.”

“I’m sure you are.” Lex extended his arm. “But your professors must have taught
you the value of a native guide. With my introductions, this will go much
faster. Besides, how do you think you got invited if not as my companion for the
evening?”

Chloe obviously wanted to argue with him, but after opening her mouth, she
closed it again. Her nose twitched slightly as she tucked her arm into his and
allowed herself to be escorted to the car. “Fine,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“Let’s go.”

He opened the door for her and watched her stifle the impulse to snap at him for
the courtesy. “Good girl,” he said.

Dropping the pose, she glared as he got into the driver’s seat. “Call me girl
again, and story or no story, I’ll kick your ass.”

Lex chuckled as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “This
should be an amusing evening.”

* * * * *

For Chloe’s “debut,” Lex had chosen a small party thrown by Ambrosia (sadly, her
real name) Fitzgerald, who he knew for certain, and from personal experience,
was into nearly every illegal, unethical, and immoral practice Chloe was
interested in.

As they pulled up in front of her Metropolis condo, Lex could see Chloe eyeing
the façade with distaste and discomfort. He’d been just about to tease her
again, but changed his mind. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“Of course I am.” Her chin went up and her jaw tightened.

“It’s not too late to give this plan up and have an early dinner at La Miche.
They make a lovely salmon in crab sauce.”

Eyes narrowing, Chloe looked at him. “Why are you suddenly trying to talk me out
of this?”

“I wasn’t,” Lex said, “I was trying to make you angry, because when you’re
angry, you forget to be scared.”

Chloe blinked. “I’m not sure I want to know why you’ve thought that much about
me.”

“Shall we go in?” Without waiting for her answer, he slid out of the car and was
opening the door for her before she had time to forget and open it herself.

“Thank you.” She bestowed a cool smile on him.

“By jove, I think she’s got it,” he said. Taking her arm, he led her up the
steps to the door, pressing the doorbell set into the intricate floral design.

To Lex’s surprise, Ambrosia herself flung open the door, giggling with glee, her
long black hair flying in all directions. “Darling! I can’t believe you actually
agreed to come!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He gave her a sedate kiss on the cheek. She was already three
sheets to the wind, from the way she swayed, and he remembered *why* he’d
stopped attending her parties.

“Naughty boy,” Ambrosia said with a pout that was the envy of her peers.
“Pretending you haven’t refused practically every invitation for years. We might
even think you didn’t like us.”

The tiny movement from Chloe was probably too small for anyone else to notice,
but Lex didn’t look at her. “Ah, but how could I refuse this particularly
opportune occasion to introduce you to my dear friend Lana Ross?” Stepping back
from Ambrosia, he put his arm around Chloe’s shoulders.

Ambrosia didn’t look entirely pleased at the sight, but she recovered gamely.
“Lana, it’s wonderful to meet you. Any friend of Lex’s is a friend of mine.”

“A pleasure,” Chloe said, shaking the outstretched hand.

“Well, come in then, things are just getting started.” Ambrosia turned and led
them down the hall, past a Ch’ing dynasty vase and a delicate painted screen
that was in rather better taste than he’d expected from her. Her latest
decorator was obviously classier than usual, he thought as her voice drifted
back down the hall, wafted by the sounds of some annoying modern music. “Skye
and Simone are both here and I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“I’m sure,” Lex said.

As they followed Ambrosia, Chloe grabbed his arm and yanked. “Lana Ross?” she
hissed.

“Well, you weren’t planning to be introduced as Chloe Sullivan, were you?”

“No, but–”

“So I’ve given you a name.” He dared her with a quirk of his lips. “Think of it
as a gift.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “Another one?”

“I still owe you a debt.” He hadn’t intended to say that, but he didn’t allow
his face to change, hoping she’d let it go. But this *was* Chloe, after all.

“Lex, there’s no debt.” All vestiges of Lana Ross disappeared and she was all
Chloe again. “If you still think I–”

“I have no desire to discuss this.”

Ambrosia had turned at the door to the living room and dining room and was
looking at them strangely. “Something wrong?”

“Of course not.” Lex smiled just enough to make her melt. He slid his arm around
Chloe’s waist and ushered her in just in front of him, watching how she blanked
her face as he’d taught her, glancing around the room with casual interest and
mild disdain.

She’d actually learned to hide her true feelings much better than he’d expected,
which would make things easier. So why did it bother him so much when she did
it?

“Lex,” Helena called, standing up from a leather couch, “I couldn’t believe it
when Ambrosia said you would be joining us.”

He kissed her cheek. “It has been a while, hasn’t it? I’m afraid business has
taken up much of my time. May I introduce you to Lana Ross? She’s new to town
and I promised I would show her around.”

Helena turned an appraising eye on Chloe and found her acceptable. “It’s lovely
to meet you. So, what brings you to Metropolis?”

“You know how it is,” Chloe said with a languid smile, “Daddy was a tad upset
with me over *one* escapade, and he decided to drag me out of Paris.”

Helena threw her head back and laughed. “Oh yes, I know how that is.”

“So,” Chloe said, “can anyone tell me what fun there is to be had in this
place?”

Helena grinned at Lex and tucked Chloe’s arm into her own. “Oh, I think that can
be arranged.”

* * * * *

The next weeks were a flurry of activity, as Lex worked all day while Chloe was
in classes and studying as much as she could, then he escorted her at night from
party to club to sordid back room. Her impression of a bored party girl got
better so fast, Lex wondered why she’d never tried acting as a career. *He*
almost believed it now and then.

He’d intended to escort her to that first party then leave her to her work, once
he knew she could pull off the impersonation well enough. But he found the
thought of leaving Chloe to the vultures that inhabited his world made him
nervous. She might have learned to play the part, but she was still from
Smallville and truisms become truisms for a reason. You could take the girl out
of Smallville…

Besides, if he let anything happen to her, there’d be hell to pay from Clark,
right? So, obviously, he had to make sure she was safe.

He smiled genially at Zora, who was trying her best to get him into bed, but
kept half his attention on Chloe, who was curled up on a couch with Ambrosia.
Their heads bent together, the conversation looked like it was getting serious.
Chloe brought her drink to her mouth and Lex tried to figure out if she’d really
sipped or was just faking. She’d *better* be faking, because he knew exactly how
much alcohol was in that glass.

“Lex?”

“Hmm?”

Zora leaned forward and put her hands on his cheeks. He didn’t pull away as she
kissed him, but he didn’t encourage it either. Soft lips, talented lips, a hint
of floral perfume, he should have at least been *thinking* about sleeping with
her.

She pulled back after a moment, amusement on those talented lips, and wiped her
lipstick off his lips with her cocktail napkin. “I see I’m wasting my time.”

“Are you?”

“Don’t kid a kidder, Lex. I can’t tell which one of them you want, but stop
wasting my time and go get her.” Zora leaned her head in the direction of the
couch, where Ambrosia was giggling as she whispered something into Chloe’s ear.

“Thank you for the advice.” Lex narrowed his eyes. “But I think I can take care
of my own affairs.”

“Suit yourself. You always do.” Shrugging, she rose from the small table, frothy
pink drink in hand, making sure he got a good look at her ample charms. “If you
change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“I do.” He put as much innuendo as he could into the two words.

She curled her lip at him. “It’s nothing you didn’t do in your time, Lex. I
remember when you were fun.”

He didn’t bother to respond as he leaned back in his seat, struggling to not
turn his head and look at the couch. Sipping his drink, he watched Zora sway
across the room to a more likely–if less wealthy–candidate. He probably
shouldn’t have alienated her, but she’d begun to annoy him. Well, Lex Luthor
could get away with things that lesser mortals couldn’t.

A swish behind him and Chloe was draped across his shoulders in a waft of rose
scent. The pose was sexy, but the voice was all business. “Ambrosia’s on her way
to a drug deal. I’ll make my own way home.”

Smiling genially, he pulled her around and into Zora’s vacated chair. “No.”

Her face didn’t change, a tribute to his teaching. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, you’re not going without me. I know Ambrosia, remember?”

She laughed as if he’d made a joke. “This is *my* story. There’s no point if I’m
not willing to take a risk. Besides, it’s not as if I’m going to *take* any
drugs or try to make a citizen’s arrest.”

“This is a bad idea.” He had to struggle to keep his cool expression.

“Give it up, Lex. I’m not a child.” Smiling, she patted his shoulder with more
force than anyone watching would have seen, and stood up.

“Be careful.”

Looking over her shoulder, she gave him a genuine grin. “I grew up in
Smallville, Lex.”

He watched her walk away and thought about the various meanings of that sentence
as she met up with Ambrosia, slipping out the back door moments later.

He counted to thirty, then left his drink on the table and followed the ladies
out the door. It wasn’t difficult to track them, as they were giggling loud
enough to be heard for miles around, and he tried not to pay attention to the
content.

Ambrosia stumbled on her high heels, still giggling, and Chloe caught her,
saying something too low for Lex to hear. He strolled along, following the sound
of their voices through several back alleys and out onto the street. Thanks to
several other clubs in the area, there was enough of a crowd at 2 am that
neither of them seemed to notice him.

Soon they were out of the nightlife district, the streets getting dirtier, the
alleys getting darker. Lex had to drop back because the lack of foot traffic
made him too conspicuous. Fortunately, Chloe’s gold dress and Ambrosia’s violet
one both glowed even in the faint streetlights–not to mention how they didn’t
seem to even be looking for someone following them.

Now Lex was starting to get *really* annoyed, stepping over a pile of
unidentifiable liquid and trying to hold his breath. He spent the time as they
picked their way down the street coming up with new and subtle ways to flay
Chloe alive for this.

When they stepped into a slightly less dilapidated apartment building, Lex
cursed under his breath, wondering if he should be calling someone for backup.

He watched them get on an elevator and waited until that elevator stopped on the
10th floor before he pressed the up button. Tapping one foot on the floor, he
considered his options and why he was *so* sure something was wrong.

“Smallville,” he said aloud.

In all his time in Smallville, nothing had ever gone as planned. Every plan had
always gone to hell in a handbasket. And somehow this reunion with a Smallville
resident had him jumping at shadows again.

Perhaps he should leave her to her story.

He turned halfway and stopped as the elevator wheezed and let out an anemic
ding. Well, maybe he could just go up and make certain she was okay. He nodded
and stepped onto the elevator, holding his breath as it groaned and creaked its
way up ten stories.

He’d planned to knock on doors until he found them, but his task was simplified
by the sound of raised voices in 10-C, one of them recognizably Chloe’s.

“I’m not a cop!” Chloe said, with the air of someone repeating herself.

Lex groaned and stuck his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling and
wondering what he’d done to deserve this.

He was *never* going to live tonight down.

* * * * *

It took a fair amount of knocking to get the attention of the apartment’s
current occupants, but after a shocked silence, the door finally opened and an
unfamiliar face peered out, stringy hair hanging around a barely-shaven face.

“Is Ambrosia there?” he asked, with an innocent smile.

“Lex?” Ambrosia’s voice was nearly a screech. “What are you doing here?”

“I did promise Lana a ride home.”

“Lex!” Chloe said. There was a small sound that he suspected was the yelp of
having a gun pointed at one’s head. He was familiar with the sound. Ah,
Smallville.

Lex smiled wider at the man holding the door, thankful that Ambrosia couldn’t
see his face–she wouldn’t buy his ‘stupid rich man’ act for an instant.

“Get in,” the man finally said, opening the door.

Lex stepped inside and glanced into the living room area. Chloe, check. No
visible injuries, check. Gun pointed at her, check. “There’s no need for that,”
he said, voice calm and ready to soothe all nearby maniacs.

“Your girlfriend here is a narc. What about you?” The second man was cleaner,
but he looked much smarter, which could be either good or bad. The gun was
definitely bad.

“A narc? Lana? Surely you must be mistaken.” Keep them talking, that was always
best.

“I seen her talking to a cop,” the first man said. “Narc division had me in for
questioning and she was talking to one of the cops. And she wasn’t under arrest,
neither. She was writing stuff down.”

Damn it, of all the unfortunate coincidences…

“Why would you think that was me?” Chloe demanded.

“Hair like that? Don’t see that everyday.”

Lex’s mouth twitched at the irony and he could see Chloe trying to decide
whether to laugh or glare at him.

“What are we going to *do*?” Ambrosia wailed.

Lex had forgotten about her, but from the way she was wringing her hands, she
wasn’t going to be much help. Worth a try, though. “I think Lana and I should go
home and forget that this evening happened.”

Her wild eyes focused on Lex with a start. “You never forget, Lex! Not a slight,
not an insult, nothing.”

“Tie ‘em up in the other room while we decide,” the second man said.

Lex hid his sigh of relief but Chloe was getting angry. Damn.

“Look, this is ridiculous,” she said, in what Lex recognized as the basic
Smallville ‘If you’re going to kill me then get it over with’ speech. “You have
no good reason to believe we’re with the police, so why–”

The second man was about to hit her. “Lana.” Lex’s voice was soft, but he made
it compelling. “Don’t argue.”

Her expression said–in no uncertain terms–that his plan had better be damn
good or she was going to haunt him in the afterlife. But she ducked her head and
was quiet.

“Get up,” the second man said, grabbing her arm. “You.” He pointed at Lex. “Get
in here.”

Lex followed Chloe into a small bedroom and docilely allowed himself to be tied
to a chair while Chloe was bound to the unmade bed. As the two men left the
room, Chloe slumped down on the bed with a wince for her awkward position.

“Do you know,” Lex said, staring at the cobwebbed and splotchy ceiling, “since I
left Smallville, I haven’t been attacked *once*? I’ve even been in fewer car
accidents than I’d been accustomed to.”

“Lex?”

“Nobody struck by meteor rocks has tried to gnaw on my leg.”

“Lex.”

“No love spells, no monsters stalking me through cornfields. Just the occasional
hostile corporate takeover. It’s been peaceful, really.”

“Shut *up*, Lex!”

“Why?” He looked at Chloe.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about *escaping* maybe. On the other hand, if
you’d rather wait until they gathered up their courage and came back to kill us,
you can stay.”

“And what was your plan from escaping from these ropes?”

She glared at him. “I’m not sure, but if you could shut up for a minute, maybe
I’ll think of something.”

“Why bother?”

Her jaw dropped and she stared him. “You’re secretly suicidal? How did I miss
this?”

“No,” he said patiently, “I just thought we might wait for Superman, since he’ll
be here any moment.”

“What?”

“Before I knocked on the door, I called Clark on my cell phone.”

“You called Clark?” It was almost a squeak.

“He did,” a voice said from the now-open window. “I was surprised.”

Lex sighed. “Hello, Clark. Or are we required to call you Superman now?”

Clark floated in, settling down between them with an annoyed expression, cape
fluttering in the nonexistent breeze. “How many times do we have to have this
argument?”

“Uh, guys?” Chloe tugged on her ropes. “Do you think you could save the eight
millionth repetition of ‘Power corrupts, superpowers corrupt absolutely’ for
some time when I’m not *tied to the bed*?”

Lex and Clark stared at each other for a moment of astonished accord, then
turned to look at Chloe. She stared back, red creeping up her face. “If you
could both get your minds out of the gutter for a minute, there’s a little
matter of men with guns in the next room.”

“Right.” Clark straightened and threw back his shoulders in that ‘hero to the
rescue’ pose that always pissed Lex off. With a quick yank, Clark ripped the
ropes off Chloe’s wrists.

Lex tried not to sigh as Clark did the same for him and turned to the door. He
rubbed his wrists and listened to the sounds of Superman disarming and tying up
the three in the other room.

Chloe leaned against the window, her profile looking angry.

“You could say thank you,” Lex said, never one to step back from a fight.

Chloe whirled, hands on her hips. “I’ll thank Clark when he’s done.”

“I meant me, actually.”

Her glare would have gone right through him if she’d had Superman’s heat vision,
but whatever she was going to say was forestalled by Clark re-entering the room.
“Shall I call the police?” he asked, oblivious to the tension between them.

Chloe looked around. “Are there drugs here?”

His eyes unfocused as he turned in a slow circle. “Absolutely.”

“Good. Call the cops and they can book them for the drugs and leave us out of
it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Lex and Chloe said.

“Okay.” He shrugged and held out a hand to Chloe. “C’mon, I’ll give you a lift
back to your apartment.”

“No, thanks.”

Clark blinked. “How were you planning to get home?”

She looked away. “I was hoping Lex would drive me home, since he’s still got to
pick up his car from the club. If that’s okay.”

It was Lex’s turn to blink. “Certainly.”

“You want Lex to drive you home?” The shock in Clark’s voice was galling. Was it
really so unbelievable?

“We have things to talk about,” she said.

Clark looked at her, then looked at Lex, suspicion all over his face. Lex
shrugged, as nonchalant as possible under the circumstances. Who was he to argue
with Chloe’s whims? Clark should know better.

“Well, if you two are ready to go, let me at least take you down to the street.
And I’ll get the story later.”

Chloe nodded and Lex gritted his teeth as Superman lifted them both with ease,
tucking them under his arms like children or bales of hay.

* * * * *

They made it back to Chloe’s apartment building in complete silence, nothing but
the road noise beneath the car’s tires and the weight of the previous weeks
pushing on Lex’s chest.

When he pulled into a parking space, there was a silence that managed to be at
once louder and more painful. Lex stared out the front windshield, wondering
what he was supposed to say.

Chloe reached for the door handle and paused, clutching it like a life
preserver. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Surprised, he turned.

Her arms were crossed, she looked defiant, brows drawn, but she repeated
herself. “I’m sorry.”

Lex swallowed. Twice. “For?”

Chloe looked down. “This didn’t go the way I’d planned.”

“You have quite the story, though.”

“But I…” She paused, looking him in the eye. “Yes, I’ve got a story, but I
feel like I made a fool of myself.”

“If you did, you didn’t do it alone.”

Her eyes dropped and she absently smoothed the dress over her thighs. “I’m sorry
I got you into this, Lex. It was a stupid idea.”

“What were you really looking for?” How had he never asked that question of her?

“I’m not sure. I…I wanted to get these people, why they’ve got so much power.”

“Money.” The answer was obvious to him.

“Yeah.” She shrugged, still looking down. Her words seemed pulled out of her
unwillingly. “Maybe I wanted to know what it was like to be like that. To not
care about the rules or what’s right.”

Suddenly, it was incredibly important that she understand. “Not everybody is
like that. I introduced you to the worst I knew because I thought you wanted
that. Not everyone’s like them or…like my father.”

“I know. Andrea kind of explained that.” Her eyes looked unnatural with the
makeup, her cheeks artificial and cold like a mannequin. “Lex,” she said, “what
are you doing?”

His hand was on her cheek, he found, rubbing at the foundation, trying to get
back to the Chloe he remembered, the nosy spitfire who’d plagued his Smallville
days and stood up to his father when nobody else would. He ran a hand over her
hair, wishing he could remove the tinting so easily.

“Lex,” she said again, catching his hands with her own.

“I’m sorry for making you what you’re not.”

“I asked you to.”

“When my father exiled me to Smallville, I spent some time trying to be like
everyone else. It didn’t work.” His hand was still against the side of her face
and he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I wasn’t suited for country life.”

“But if you could make me suited to city life…” She leaned into his hand. “I’m
not. Not like that, at least. I acted like an idiot. I can’t be like those
people and–”

“And I don’t want you to be!”

She stared, eyes wide.

“I prefer you as Chloe.” He heard her breathing catch, felt her hands tighten on
his. “Don’t change. I think I need to know Smallville won’t change. Even if I’ll
never fit in.”

She smiled and even through the makeup, it was Chloe. “But I think we make a
pretty good team.”

“We do.”

Without a conscious thought, he leaned toward her as she tugged on his hand.
They met over the gearshift, lips brushing awkwardly and then with more
assurance.

She still tasted like expensive lipstick and brandy, but he knew that wouldn’t
last. And the way she kissed lacked the broad experience of Zora, but the
knowledge that she wanted him and not his last name or money made all the
difference.

He licked her lips, smiling when she giggled and looked embarrassed. She finally
loosened her hand, but he only drew back a few inches, looking into her eyes.
“Chloe?” His voice sounded hoarse and his breathing was ragged.

“Come inside?”

“If you want me to.” This was no time to rush. Chloe wasn’t Zora or Ambrosia or
Simone or Helena–she needed care and…

She leaned forward and kissed him again, her tongue slipping into his mouth and
he sucked on it.

Care and honesty. He pulled back. “What do you want?” he murmured against her
lips. “I’m not good at…relationships.”

“Neither am I.” She reddened. “But we *do* make a good team, don’t we? My
brains, your money…”

He chuckled, sliding his hand through her hair again. “I don’t want to let you
down.”

“If you do, you won’t do it alone.” Chloe bit her lip. “Lex, please. Give this a
chance.”

“For you.”

This kiss went on for a while, Lex lost in the moment, enjoying the novel
experience of not needing to impress his partner. Pressing Chloe against the
seat, he leaned forward, jamming his side into the gearshift.

Chloe laughed as Lex rubbed his side. She opened the car door and stepped out,
pausing halfway out. “Coming?” she asked over her shoulder.

He was out the door and around to her side in an instant, arm around her waist.
“Allow me.”

Warm and soft, Chloe leaned against him as they walked up the steps and around
the corner to her apartment. She fumbled with the keys and her face felt warm
when he caressed it.

Squeezing her tighter, he got her attention. She smiled up at him and he kissed
her forehead gently.

Chloe opened the door and they stepped inside, Chloe slamming the door behind
them and nearly pouncing on Lex, who stumbled a step backward.

“Sorry, just a little overenthusiastic,” she said, kissing him again.

“Enthusiasm is refreshing.”

* * * * *

A siren whooshed by the window, waking him from his light doze. In the faint
moonlight, he saw Chloe blink once and close her eyes again, snuggling closer.

His arm was half-asleep from the weight of her head, but he wasn’t inclined to
make her move. Every breath she took wafted across his skin, warm and humid and
alive, and he wondered what it felt like for men with hair on their bodies.

They did make a good team, he thought. The past weeks aside, she’d always had a
nose for a story, and determination that matched his own–a need to get her way.
Her moral compass was too strong and his too weak. Her common sense was a little
lacking now and then, but with him behind her, there was nothing she couldn’t
do.

Chloe’s eyes drifted open. “What are you thinking?”

“Why do women always ask that?”

She ignored him, turning her head to kiss his shoulder. “Answer the question.”

“Oh, just plotting to take over the world.”

“What, again?” She yawned, pulling him closer. “Can’t it wait ’til morning?”

“I suppose it can.”

“Good. We’ll talk then.” She closed her eyes and nuzzled his shoulder with a
small sigh.

For a moment, he stared, trying to figure out if she was serious. Then he closed
his eyes.

She was right–it could wait until the morning. After all, now they had all the
time in the world.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “I’m fine, Clark. Just wondering how long you’ve had a twin brother.”

Chloe blinked. Then she blinked again. Then she rubbed her eyes and wondered if
she’d had enough coffee that morning. Maybe one more cup might help?

Nope, still the same sight.

“Uh…Chloe? You okay there?” Clark sounded worried.

“I’m fine, Clark. Just wondering how long you’ve had a twin brother. I mean, all
those years growing up, you’d think I’d have noticed. I know I was busy with the
Wall of Weird, but really, it’s been 10 years since we graduated, couldn’t you
have ment–”

“Chloe!”

She stopped, barely hiding her smile. “Yes?”

“He’s not my twin brother. Conner’s my c–cousin.” With an ecstatic smile, Clark
put an arm around the shoulder of a teenager who didn’t really look like an
exactly identical twin, but could certainly be Clark’s slightly shorter
fraternal twin. The nose was different, but still…

Conner didn’t look nearly as thrilled by Clark, but he managed a respectable
grin. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Your cousin.” Chloe wondered for the thousandth time if Clark thought she was a
moron. “Right. Well, it’s nice to meet you too. Are you just visiting Smallville
for the summer?”

“Uh…”

Clark shot Conner a look she couldn’t decipher. “He’s going to be staying with
my parents for a while. Maybe going to high school here in the fall.”

Chloe thought about challenging this shoddy cover story and asking about the
heretofore unknown aunt and uncle, since she used to love making Clark stammer
and blush while he tried to lie believably, but that had gotten old at least
fifteen years ago. Besides, this new kid didn’t deserve it until he’d been
around for a while. “Uh-huh. Well, Conner, welcome to Smallville, home of the
weird.”

“The weird?” Now Conner looked worried.

“Clark hasn’t told you?” She shook her head in dismay. “How could you not
prepare him for the strangeness? That’s just mean.”

“C’mon Chloe, gimme a break.”

Clark shot her a look she knew of old, and she relented. “Okay, but when he runs
into his first green glowing cow and you haven’t warned him, it’s not *my*
fault.” She shook her head.

“Fair enough.”

Chloe smiled at the adorably bewildered Conner and wondered if he was some kind
of meteor mutant that Clark had adopted. “Conner, in any case, welcome to town.”

“Thank you,” he said with an adorable smile, “and my friends call me Con.”

Clark looked at Conner, who smiled blandly back. What was *that* all about?

“Right. Con. But let’s talk about cheerful things instead of Smallville. So,
Clark, how’s work at the Daily Planet? And then I’ll tell how I’ve got it so
much worse at the Gotham Post.”

Conner sat back in his seat and let them banter.

She’d give him a little time to settle in. She owed that much to Clark, at
least.

* * * * *

Chloe let it go for all of two days–which she was fairly sure was a new
personal best–but at the end of those 48 hours, she was hunched over her
laptop, using every shady computer contact she had to investigate this Conner
Kent.

It took a lot less time than she expected and her coffee was still warm when she
picked it up and sipped thoughtfully. There wasn’t much, which wasn’t entirely
impossible, except that Conner only seemed to be four years old. Well, his
history was only four years old, at least. There was his driver’s license from
this year, and a library card that hadn’t been used much, as well as some not-
very-secured records of the foster care system in Metropolis.

Conner didn’t seem to have a birth certificate she could find, or standardized
test scores, or *anything* older than four years.

And why had the Kents apparently allowed him to languish in foster care? That
was probably the weirdest part of the whole thing. Chloe tried to imagine
Jonathan and Martha Kent allowing their nephew–heck, even their fourth cousin
twice removed–to stay in foster care for longer than it took them to find a
lawyer, but there even her prodigious imagination failed.

Chloe stared into the bottom of her mug and decided she needed to get home and
use the computers at the Post. Maybe she could find something from there.

* * * * *

Knowing that if she officially showed back up at work before her vacation was
over, she’d be dragooned into covering something like the mayor’s press
conference on education reform, Chloe snuck in when only the night shift was
there and found an empty office to work in.

After an hour of searching, she’d found little more than she’d turned up from
Smallville, and it was beginning to make her head hurt. Chloe leaned back in the
chair and frowned at the screen, freezing at the sound of a voice behind her.

“Who are you working for?” the voice asked in a soft growl.

She blinked. “I work for the Gotham Post. How about you?”

“Don’t try to be funny,” the voice said, circling to stand off to her left.

She turned her head, careful not to make any sudden moves, but couldn’t help the
small gasp. “Robin?”

The slender young man in the cape and green and red outfit didn’t look amused by
her reaction. Actually, considering that he was almost as short as her and was
walking around in green tights, he mostly looked really really dangerous. “Who
are you working for?”

“Honest,” she said, “I don’t know what you’re asking.”

His face grew more still. “Your investigation is going into very deep waters. I
know about your history with Luthor, but I’d advise you to stay out of this
fight. You’re way out of your league on this one.”

She scowled at him. “Look, if you’ve been investigating *me*, you must know that
I don’t like being threatened.”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m warning you: Stop what you’re doing or you will be
in danger.” With a last long look, he turned and strode out the door into the
hallway.

Chloe burst out of her chair and ran after him, but by the time she came through
the doorway, the hall was already empty. Hands on her hips, she glared around
her, but realized the futility of chasing him.

Stomping back into the office, she sat in the cushy swivel chair and rocked
back. “I hate when–Luthor?” She stared at the opposite wall without seeing the
dog calendar hanging there. “Luthor? What the hell do the Luthors have to do
with this? And why does Batman’s sidekick care?”

Chloe slumped down and her lips quirked up in a grin. Well, even if she never
did figure out who Conner was, she’d just gotten the best affirmation *ever*
that Clark was Superman.

Although other than that, she thought with a frown, Robin thought she knew a
heck of a lot more than she actually did. Which was flattering, if not precisely
helpful.

Tapping her fingers on the desk, Chloe pondered what she *did* know:

One, Conner Kent was somehow related to, or at least associated with, Clark
Kent, and therefore Superman.

Two, Robin (and probably Batman) was not pleased with her investigating Conner.

Three, somehow Conner led back to either Lex or Lionel Luthor. Or–she thought
with annoyance–Robin could be using her known animosity to the Luthors to lead
her off the track. But she didn’t have so many leads that she could ignore this
one.

Four, they had some kind of tap on the Gotham Post computers and possibly on her
laptop. Chloe glared at the computer and tried to decide if she was confident
enough in her hacking skills to try and find that tap and defeat it. No, she
wasn’t. But were they watching her, or had she just stumbled into something they
were already doing?

Five, the Kents were in on this, whatever it was. After all, she’d always been
certain they knew about Clark’s weird abilities. And it was highly unlikely
Clark’s lousy lying could convince his parents they’d somehow forgotten a
nephew.

Six, someone had wiped all records about Conner before four years ago, so that
period was presumably the important time. What happened to Conner four years
ago?

Logging off, Chloe swept out of the Gotham Post’s offices. Whatever the answers
were, she wasn’t going to find them sitting around Gotham, not unless she wanted
to sit on rooftops and hope that Batman would show up and tell her.

She only hoped the airline was logging her frequent flyer miles correctly.

* * * * *

Following people in Gotham was easy, since the city was abundantly supplied with
crowds, alleys, shadows, and other accoutrements of the stalker. Chloe frowned
as she squinted into the standard-issue Smallville bright sunlight. Obviously
this was going to require some additional effort.

Slumped down in her rented car a few hours later, Chloe kept her eyes glued to
the binoculars and hoped nobody she knew would drive down this road, the most
deserted one she could find overlooking the side of town nearest the Kent’s
farm. It could have been worse, she supposed–she could be trying this in a town
she *didn’t* know like the back of her hand.

And well, if they went somewhere too far away, she could always run into them
accidentally. Smallville was, after all, a small town.

Chloe sighed in boredom as Clark and Conner strolled down Main Street, peering
idly in windows. “C’mon, Clark, don’t you have something better to do?” she
muttered. “Leave the kid alone for a while.”

Clark and Conner both stopped short in front of a window and looked at each
other. Frowning, Chloe refocused the binoculars. Surely they weren’t that
impressed by Mrs. Jenning’s yarn store? Clark said something to Conner, who
shook his head, then both of them oh-so-casually looked around.

Although she was amused to note that Conner had just as little ability to be
subtle as Clark, she was less amused when both of them seemed to stare directly
at her for an instant. She dropped the binoculars in shock. What the–?

Picking them up again, she took a minute to find them. They were once again
strolling idly. As she watched, she chewed on her bottom lip. Did Superman have
super hearing and super vision? And even if he did, why had Conner reacted at
exactly the same moment? Was he also a…whatever Clark was?

It certainly would explain a lot. Except for where he came from and why he
didn’t seem to exist more than four years ago. And what the hell the Luthors had
to do with it all.

Chloe leaned her chin on the car door and continued to watch.

In fact, she watched for two hours, until they finally went back to the farm.
Once they got started on chores, she decided that Jonathan would keep them busy
for a while and it was probably safe for her to take a break.

Driving back to the motel room she’d rented in Wichita (in the hopes she could
keep her presence secret for at least a little while), Chloe tried to decide if
she was wasting her time or not. Well, she still had a week of vacation time
left, so she could waste at least another day while she tried to come up with a
new plan.

Pulling into the motel parking lot, Chloe noticed a white van pulling in behind
her. That made her nervous, so she started to turn the car around, but before
she could, the van rammed the back of her car. Head flung forward onto the
steering wheel, she saw stars and heard voices. She tried to get out of the car,
but before she could, someone else was opening the car door. That was the last
thing she remembered.

* * * * *

The light was entirely too bright, Chloe thought as she struggled to open her
eyes. And why was someone operating a jackhammer so close to her head? And while
she was at it, she really didn’t appreciate the dead skunk in her mouth.

Chloe groaned as she recognized the telltale signs of being kidnapped and
drugged. It got tiring. Who was it this time? She tossed a mental coin. “I
didn’t think your lot went in for kidnapping, Robin.”

In the confused silence, she concentrated on focusing her eyes, and the blur
resolved into…a man who was definitely not a costumed superhero.

“Never mind,” she said faintly as the hulking man with the scar on his left
cheek twirled a gun around his forefinger.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said with an annoying smirk, disappearing through a door
to her right.

Tugging on her arms, she found that, as she’d suspected, she was tied to a chair
with heavyweight rope. She wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

Well, if it wasn’t Robin and Tall, Dark, and Scary who’d kidnapped her…She
looked around the room, which appeared to be an unused laboratory, with stone
counters and fume hoods and things. Now really, who did she know that had lots
of laboratory space in which to imprison reporters?

When the door opened again, Chloe wasn’t surprised to see Lionel Luthor in all
his hairy glory. Irked, certainly. Disgusted, definitely.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said with all the casual disdain she could muster.

His laugh was just as slimy as she remembered and she had to repress a shudder
as he walked closer. “It’s nice to see you, Miss Sullivan. It’s been some time
since we last met.”

“Puh-leaze.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you fool anyone with that act anymore?”

He stood just off to the side, so that to watch him she’d have to crane her
neck. “You might be surprised what people are willing to believe in order to get
what they want.”

She refused to turn, staring straight ahead at an empty counter, trying to count
the gray specks in the black stone. “No, I don’t think I’d be surprised.”

“Well, I *was* surprised–not pleasantly, I might add–to find that once again
you were snooping in my business.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see
his head tilt as he studied her. “Others advised me to leave you to it, but I’ve
found that to be an ineffective method of dealing with you. I prefer to
be…more direct.”

She couldn’t help one nervous swallow. Whatever she’d stumbled onto, it was big.
If only she could think of a way to convince him to tell her more. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”

“Come now,” he said with another smooth laugh, “we know each other far too well
for such dissembling, don’t we? Why don’t you just tell me how you found out?”

Chloe shook her head in disbelief. It was flattering to know that everyone had
such a high opinion of her brains, but they could pick a nicer way to show it.
“Go fuck yourself.”

His greasy smile disappeared, replaced by a look of cold calculation. “You’ll
tell me what you know soon enough. And when I have my son back…” He glared at
her and stalked out of the room.

Chloe blinked. His son? How did Lex come into this? Her head spun and not just
from whatever had knocked her out. This was getting weirder by the moment.

The scarred man who’d waved a gun at her came back, accompanied by another
anonymous thug. Without speaking, they untied her and dragged her down the
corridor. She mentally sent a prayer to whoever might be listening as they threw
her into the room. The thud of the door was followed by the click of a solenoid.

She sat down hard on her butt, blinked twice, and looked up at the doorway. A
grin slid across her face. “No no, don’t throw me in the briar patch with the
electronic door,” she whispered as she limped over to examine the keypad on the
inside of the doorway. Of course, it had millions of combinations, so there was
no chance she’d find the right one by accident.

They’d taken her purse, but hadn’t searched her pockets. Chloe grinned as she
pulled a slim piece of metal out of her back pocket. About a year before, she’d
taken to carrying this easily missed item, in the expectation that at some point
in her journalistic career it might come in handy. Apparently today was that
day.

She wedged a fingernail into an almost invisible crack in the surface and opened
the tiny container of screwdrivers and other such useful implements. Attacking
the panel with glee, Chloe made a mental note to send a thank you note to
everyone she’d pestered into teaching her electronics, lockpicking, and other
such useful arts.

Half an hour later, she wasn’t quite as amused, but she was making progress. She
just hoped she could finish before they came back to get her, because she
doubted she’d enjoy whatever came next. Lionel obviously thought she knew
something and somehow it seemed unlikely he’d developed anything approaching
scruples in recent years.

Mumbling under her breath to herself, she grinned as she finally figured it out.
She manipulated several wires and listened in satisfaction as the door unlocked
itself. Flinging the door open, she was surprised to see two figures standing in
front of her, nearly identical mouths hanging open. One was in spandex with a
cape, the other in jeans and a t-shirt. Both had an S-symbol on their chests.

Chloe skidded to a halt before running Clark and Conner down. “What took you so
long? Never mind, let’s go catch Lionel. I owe him.”

Clark recovered first from his surprise. “No, we’ve done what we came here to
do. Let’s go.”

“Thank you for coming to save me, but I–”

“We didn’t come here to save you,” Conner said. “We didn’t even know you were
here until a few minutes ago.” He grabbed her arm and tugged her down the
hallway.

She tried to resist, but found he was substantially stronger than he looked. No
big surprise there. “But Lionel is–”

The lights flickered as alarms started to blare. Clark and Conner both winced in
pain, then looked at each other. An instant later, Clark picked Chloe up before
she could argue.

Her mouth opened then closed as she suddenly found that all three of them were
floating in midair, then flying down the corridor at high speed. “Whoo hoo!” she
yelled as the walls flashed by.

Conner pulled slightly ahead and Chloe covered her head as he smashed into a
door and shards and splinters flew around them.

* * * * *

The air rushing by was so loud that even if she’d yelled questions at Clark, she
doubted she could understand the answers, so she had to settle for hanging on
and hoping they’d land soon.

In answer to her hopes, Clark and Conner settled down in an abandoned field that
had once grown corn. Clark put Chloe carefully on the ground and stepped back,
arms crossed, obviously waiting for the explosion.

Chloe brushed debris from their escape off her arms. “Well? What do you have to
say for yourself, Superman? And you? Who are you…Superboy?”

Clark covered his mouth to hide a grin as Conner choked. “Just call me Kon. With
a K. That really *is* what my friends call me.”

“Hello, Kon. Nice to see you again. Now I assume I’m going to get my
explanation?”

Clark and Kon both looked up at the sky and Chloe snorted. “Oh, don’t think
you’re going to get out of this so easi–” She ground to a halt as a small sleek
airplane slid to the ground not far from them.

A hatch opened and several figures appeared, jumping or flying out. A blonde
teen in bike shorts and a halter-top flew straight up and hovered above the
plane, obviously keeping watch. A yellow blur sped around a few times before
slowing to become a red-haired teen in spandex. He sped close to them long
enough to wave cheerily and shout “Hi, Kon!” and dashed off again. Another young
woman, this one with a bow and quiver on her back, jumped out, waved, and leaned
against the plane’s side. Wisps of smoke floated by her shoulder and Chloe
decided she didn’t really want to know about that.

The last figure leaped out with catlike grace, cape billowing, and Chloe wasn’t
surprised to see Robin striding toward them. His face was as expressionless and
calm as it had been in Gotham, but as soon as he was close enough, Kon grabbed
him, pulling him into a rough hug. Chloe saw his face change for just an instant
and her annoyance with Robin faded when she saw that moment of concern and fear
for a friend.

Robin stepped back, all business again. Without a word, he looked at Chloe.

“Hi!” she said cheerfully.

He looked at Clark and Kon. The former shrugged. “We couldn’t leave her with
Lionel, T–Robin.”

Robin looked like he was tempted to disagree. “No, I suppose not.”

Chloe couldn’t wait any longer. “Why did Lionel call you his son?” she said to
Kon.

He flinched and Clark and Robin both leaned forward as if to shield him.

“Oh my god!” she said as the pieces fell into place. “You’re a clone! That’s why
I couldn’t find anything more than a few years old. Lionel cloned you from
Clark.”

Kon stared at the ground. “Not exactly.”

“Ew. Don’t tell me he cloned you from Clark and himself. ‘Cause that’s just
gross.”

Clark looked a little green about the gills at the idea as well. “No, not
himself.”

“Lex?” Chloe’s breath caught in her throat. “He used Lex’s DNA, didn’t he? He
was making himself a new son with superpowers.”

None of them answered, which was answer enough.

Chloe thought about it. “That’s awful. That…explains a lot.”

“Yeah,” Clark said. “I figured you’d make that connection eventually.”

“It *was* about four years ago, wasn’t it?”

Clark nodded, his round face unusually haggard. “When Lex found out…well, it
was the final blow to his sanity. Somehow he decided it was *my* fault.”

“Clark–” She put a hand on his arm.

“I know it wasn’t my fault, but I’ve tried so hard…”

“Superman, you know Lex Luthor can’t be trusted,” Robin said, arms crossed and
looking as if it wasn’t the first time he’d had to say that. Beside him, Kon
stared up at the sky, and Robin turned, his voice rough. “I didn’t say that
*you* couldn’t be trusted.”

“But he’s kind of my dad, isn’t he? I have half his genes.”

Chloe snorted. “If your other half is Clark’s genes, I don’t think you have
anything to worry about. He’s the biggest do-gooder for miles around, with or
without superpowers. If you even got half of that, I think you’ll be okay.”

Kon brightened. “You think?”

She nodded firmly. “I know.” She brushed hair back out of her face as the
speeding teen in spandex took a few turns around their group, stirring up the
air.

Robin turned to face him. “And we’re all with you.” Chloe couldn’t see Robin’s
face, but Kon’s was full of emotion.

She and Clark stepped away, the latter coughing politely to cover their retreat.

“So…Superman.” She eyed the costume, glad to get a chance to see it up close.
It was interesting. “Does Lois know?”

Clark flushed. “She found out recently.”

“Hmm.”

“Chloe, I wanted to tell you. I did.” For a few moments, he looked so young
again, just like the teenager she remembered tripping over his own feet whenever
Lana looked in his direction.

“It’s okay, Clark. I knew.”

“You knew?” He actually looked surprised, the dork.

“Yes, Clark. I’ve known you were different in some way since 8th grade, and I’ve
known you were Superman since…” she stopped to count on her fingers, “since
the third time Superman saved Lois Lane from certain death.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve *got* to tell me what Lois said.”

“Later,” Robin said from behind her. “We need to get back to business. What’s
the status of your mission?”

Kon looked much happier. “Success, man. We’ve got everything you need to know to
build a…” Looking at Chloe, he grinned. “A Superboy. Or at least repair one.”

“And?”

Clark nodded. “Luthercorp are going to find that every speck of data on the two
of us has disappeared from their computers. Your virus worked. You?”

“With Kid Flash’s help, Arrowette and I wiped the laptop and home computer of
every scientist involved. Wonder Girl and Secret tell me the government’s data
is gone as well.” There was the tiniest tilt in the corner of Robin’s mouth.
“The only thing left is their memories. And I think we’ve given them enough to
think about for a while.”

Clark and Kon looked satisfied and Chloe frowned. “Who’s handling the PR
aspect?”

They all looked at her like she’d spoken Greek. “What?” Clark asked.

“C’mon,” Chloe said, “you’re a reporter, Clark. In a few hours, Lionel Luthor is
going to be on the phone with the owners of every major newspaper and TV station
in the country, in between phone calls to the vast number of Senators and
Representatives he owns. You’re going to have the entire US military after you
and that’s just to start with.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared. “You need to fight back or the image
of every hero will be tarnished.”

“If he could do that, then why hasn’t he done it before?” Kon asked.

“Because you’ve never hit him this badly before.” She paused, uncertain whether
to go on, but they needed to understand. “I saw his face when he thought I could
tell him where to find you, Kon. This is different. He…he won’t stop.”

Kon’s mouth tightened and Chloe could see individual muscles in his arms clench
and release.

Clark nodded reluctantly. “She’s right. I remember how he was with Lex. This is
going to be worse than we thought.”

“I won’t go back,” Kon said. Were his eyes glowing red?

“No, you won’t,” Clark said.

The man and the boy faced each other silently and Kon slowly relaxed. “Okay,” he
said. “What now?”

“Now,” Chloe said with relish, “we fight back *my* way. We take this as public
as we can.” She eyed clean-cut Kon, with the all-American face and the spit curl
on his forehead. “Oh yeah, Lionel’s toast. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Robin stared at her. “Can you take down Lionel Luthor?”

“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity for years,” she said. “And with this
ammunition, we can do it.”

“She’ll have our backing,” Clark said, and Robin nodded slowly.

“Whose backing?” Chloe asked.

“Heroes like Superman, Batman, and the Flash. We’re the newly formed Justice
League of America,” Clark–no, Superman said.

“Justice League of America?” she said, nodding. “That’s catchy. I can work with
that.”

–end–

Final author’s note: I know the show had a Bart Allen/Flash character, but that
made absolutely no sense, so in my own mind, that Flash was *obviously* Wally
West and my speedster cameo is the true Bart Allen. So there. And on a separate
note, I first encountered the idea of the JLA needing a PR person in
MyklarCure’s JLAin’t series, available on ff.net and the Cat Tales site.
Granted, I’ve gone about it entirely differently, but I suspect I was influenced
by that storyline.

by Mara

Summary: The Doctor decides that he and Rose need a vacation.

Notes: A pinch-hitting fic for the Ninth Doctor Ficathon, written for Sam
(eternalwings). No spoilers.

* * * * *

“Work…becomes at once a delight and a tyrant. For even when the time comes and
you can relax, you hardly know how.” — Alice Foote MacDougall, The
Autobiography of a Business Woman

“Vacation?” Rose followed the Doctor around the console as he smacked–
apparently at random–buttons and levers and switches and what appeared to be
the ESC key from a computer keyboard.

“Yes, vacation. Is that a problem?” He hit one final button and the TARDIS
shuddered.

“No. It’s just that you don’t seem like a vacation kind of bloke.”

“I don’t?” The Doctor looked up from the console, wearing the crestfallen
expression she’d dubbed ‘kicked puppy.’ “But I like vacations, I like relaxing
and…relaxing. It’s very…relaxing.”

Aha. Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “In 900 years, you’ve never actually
taken a vacation, have you?”

He stared up, avoiding her eyes. “Not precisely. I’ve been to quite a few
vacation spots, though.”

“But something always comes up? A handy alien invasion or something?”

“Well, yes, but there’s this little planet on the far side of Betelgeuse, it’s
so out of the way that nobody goes there except for vacationers.”

Sighing, she gave in. “And that’s where we’re going?”

“Yeah.” He grinned and she couldn’t help smiling back. “It’s supposed to be a
great resort, nothing but desert islands of bright blue beaches, water the
perfect temperature, drinks with those little umbrellas in them…”

The TARDIS came to a grinding halt and the Doctor opened the door, still
talking. “The food’s usually fabulous at these places, although I don’t always
get to eat.”

The sunlight streaming in seemed promising and Rose followed him out the door.
She blinked, blinded by light after the TARDIS’ dim interior, but gradually her
eyes adjusted. All she could see at first was blue–the promised blue beaches
and a sky so blue it looked like a crayon color.

Blue beaches, blue sky, yellow trees. And nothing else. Rose looked around. “Uh,
Doctor?”

He frowned. “That’s not right. There should be buildings here, people, some
signs of civilization.”

Leaning against the side of the TARDIS, Rose shrugged. “Guess we’re here at the
wrong time.”

“Rose, this planet was a resort for over 500 years. Somehow I doubt the TARDIS
went astray quite that far.” He peered into the distance as if he expected a
cabana or chip shop to materialize out of thin air.

“Hey, you!”

The voice came from the other side of the TARDIS and Rose and the Doctor stared
at each other for a second before ducking around the corner. There was still
nothing but endless vistas of blue sand and yellow plants, with the sole
exception of the man trudging through the sand toward them. He wore an
improbable outfit that most resembled an old-fashioned bellhop in one of those
posh hotels in Mayfair.

“Ah, hello,” Rose said.

“You can’t park that here,” the man said, scowling as he approached them.

“Pardon me?” the Doctor asked.

“Your ship.” The man circled it once, coming to stand in front of them again.
“It cannot stay here. This is a no-parking zone.”

The Doctor tucked his hands in his jacket pockets, looking particularly
affronted.

“A *what*?” Rose asked.

“No parking zone. There is clearly no parking here.”

“How were we supposed to know that?” Rose stared around her in confusion. Nope,
just trees and sand. “There aren’t any signs.”

“Well, do you see any other ships parked here?”

“Oh, that’s human logic for you.” The Doctor snorted.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Rose said quickly. “We’ll move it soon, but we were wondering
where all the other people are.”

The man stared at her. “None of your business. Move your ship.” He turned and
trudged away through the sand.

* * * * *

“Face it,” Rose said, smirking at the Doctor, “you’re just incapable of taking a
vacation *or* admitting you screwed up.”

“I didn’t screw up.” The Doctor furiously punched buttons, peered at the screen,
and muttered to himself. “There’s something wrong here.”

“You’re daft. There’re no monsters, no war, nothing.”

“Exactly!” His expression was manic. “There should be *something* here.”

“You just don’t want to give up.” Sighing, she watched him for a minute. “I’m
going to go for a lie down. Let me know when we go someplace interesting.”

When she emerged, yawning, the Doctor looked like he hadn’t moved. He certainly
hadn’t slept, she thought, leaning against the console.

“Look at this,” he said abruptly.

It looked like some squiggles with a side of flashing green lights. Rose
shrugged. “Yeah?”

“There’s something out there.”

“Yes, Doctor. There’s water and sand and trees and if you can find a place to
park, I might get to stick my foot in that lovely water and get a bit of a tan
before we get back to saving people.”

“No, there’s something else.” He thumped the console, making the squiggles
change to blips and then settle back into their previous positions. “Definitely
something wonky.”

“Is that a technical term?”

He shot an annoyed glance at her before apparently deciding to ignore that
comment. “The being we met must be the one who’s done it. Whatever *it* is.”

“What, the parking attendant? Who ever heard of an evil parking attendant?”

“Now you have,” he snapped. “Run along while I figure out what’s going on.”

Rose grumbled, thought about getting beans on toast just to annoy him, and went
to the TARDIS library to find something to read; there was no reasoning with him
in this mood. Sorting through the stacks–whose organizational scheme was
probably only comprehensible to a Time Lord–she found a book on small birds of
Ursa Minor which looked fairly interesting.

(Not that she was especially interested in birds, but the birds of Ursa Minor
seemed to have some very weird habits, at least if the cover was to be believed.
Was that actually…Rose wandered out of the library, turning the book around to
see if the cover made more sense that way.)

Settling down along the TARDIS wall, she flipped through the book while keeping
an eye on the Doctor, who muttered nearly continuously to himself.

“Aha!”

Rose dropped the book in surprise, jumping to her feet. “What?”

The Doctor was running around the console furiously and his words drifted to her
over the sounds of the TARDIS moving. “I’ve found all the people. And
buildings.”

“Doctor, what are you talking about?” Refusing to chase him, she stood against
the railing and waited for him to skid to a stop.

“They’re here,” he said, pointing toward the door.

Closing her eyes, Rose prayed for patience. “No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are. They’re just in some kind of dimensional warp, at right angles
to the rest of the universe. That’s why we can’t see them. That…parking
attendant must have somehow trapped them.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Let’s get them out then.”

“Righto!”

* * * * *

Six hours later:

“You,” the man said with a deep frown, “have caused me a great deal of
difficulty.” He stared at the Doctor and Rose. “A great deal of trouble.”

Rose stared down at the floor with a deep sense of doom. Now they were really in
for it. After all this time, all their adventures, this time they’d really
stepped in it.

“Um, would it help if I said I’m sorry?” the Doctor said.

“Sorry?” The chief administrator of the Happy Shores resort covered his face.
“Sorry? If you’d just registered at the front like all the *other* guests, or
even bothered to read the brochures, you’d have known that all our facilities
are in different dimensions to prevent overcrowding.”

“I can help put everything back,” the Doctor said. “Just the way it was.”

“No. Go sit on a beach. Do nothing.” The administrator pointed to the door and
glared at them. “Oh wait, there is one thing you’ll need to do.”

The Doctor perked up. “What’s that?”

“Apologize to our parking attendant. In his 12 years working here, he’s never
been tied up.”

–almost the end–

Three hours later:

Rose tipped up her shades and stretched, feeling the pop in her shoulders. She
really was enjoying the beach, but the Doctor was tapping his fingers
impatiently on the beach chair and if his foot bounced any harder, he was going
to dig himself a hole in the sand. If she didn’t get him out of here soon, he
was going to *start* a revolution just for fun.

“Doctor, why don’t we–”

The two figures materialized as if they’d been summoned. “Doctor!” called the
elephantine pale yellow creature. “We need your help. Please come quickly!”

“The invasion,” shouted the greenish one, “it’s begun!”

As quickly as they’d appeared, they vanished again. Silence spread as all the
nearby vacationers turned and stared at them.

Rose looked at the Doctor, whose eyes were wide. He turned toward her, looking
hopeful.

“Fine,” she said, picking up her towel with a sigh, “let’s go save your friends,
shall we?”

“Fantastic!”

–the real end–