Ruled the World

Disclaimer: Let's see, I own a chess set, but I don't own Chess.

Peter.

Maybe if he just ignored the voice, it would go away, Peter Fleming thought, as he sipped his morning coffee.

Don't be ridiculous, you can't ignore me, Peter. The CEO of ARK Corporation closed his eyes for a moment. It was true. He couldn't ignore Chess.

Doesn't something seem off? Peter glanced around his living room. Everything seemed fine to him.

Oh, really? Then where are my contacts?

"They are," Peter cut himself off, and closed his mouth. He was not going to start talking to Chess aloud. The last thing he needed was for people to find him talking to himself. Instead, he put down his mug of coffee, and shuffled over to where he usually kept the box for his alterego's contacts. (He'd have gotten rid of the damn things if he thought the act would keep Chess away, but he knew better than that. At least with the contacts in, Peter wouldn't have to worry about looking in a mirror and seeing Chess looking out of his own eyes.) He frowned. The box wasn't where it was supposed to be. None of his employees or business associates would have been stupid enough to move it. Perhaps there had been a break-in?

Honestly, Peter. You really think someone went through all of the trouble of getting past our security to break-in and steal a pair of contacts?

Fleming crossed his arms over his chest. This was why he wanted to find a psychiatrist that would help him to get rid of Chess once and for all-not because of his homicidal temper, but because the villain was the only one who dared to insult Peter's intelligence. Alright, ignore the psychopath and think about this logically. For whatever reason, the contacts were missing; had anything else been tampered with?

Check on the mask-

Peter was one step ahead of him and already heading towards the closet where he'd hidden Chess' mask and costume. His heart sped up when he realized that they too, were gone. If someone was trying to blackmail him with proof that he was Chess, he was playing a very dangerous game.

Peter, did you see that? Look on the bureau. A picture frame had caught Chess' attention. Peter moved to inspect the photo, and nearly dropped it. It was a photograph of himself and his daughter, Jamie, one that hadn'tbeen there the night before…because it hadn't existed. He hadn't posed for this picture; it was much too recent. Jamie had gone missing (he refused to think 'run away') years ago. She was clearly older in the photograph, about the age she should be today, but he knew at once that it was her.

"How is that possible?" he murmured. He gently placed the frame back on top of the bureau. I must be going mental, he thought.

We're not mental, Chess insisted. Peter nearly snorted at the irony, when he noticed the light on his answering machine was blinking. He absentmindedly pressed the play button. Maybe he'd be able to explain these anomalies after he finished his coffee…

"Mr. Fleming…"

He knew that voice, but, no, it couldn't be. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Marty Voyt, his former Chief of Police, was dead. There was no way a dead person had left a message for him last night.

"It's Marty…"

Fleming grimaced. He could feel a headache coming on. Better grab the acetaminophen…Wait! What did that say? He pressed the rewind button and then replayed the message.

"You said to remind you that your daughter, Jamie, is expecting you at…"

PFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPF

His chauffeur had the car ready for him when he left the penthouse. As he settled back in the seat, he mentally listed the inconsistencies. There was no sign of Chess' existence, aside from the presence he'd grown to live with and the occasional voice in his head. Not only had the entire costume disappeared, but a hasty web search before his departure had pulled up nothing on the menace of Palm City. There was nothing about the murders he'd committed, the demands for his capture, or the supposed revelation of his secret identity.

He had even done a follow up search on the name "Vince Faraday," but no obituaries had popped up. There had been some data on his career with ARK, but Peter barely glanced at it in his hurry. He'd have to take a closer look later, though. He swore he read something about Faraday, not Voyt, being his Chief of Police.

Speaking of which, there had been no obituaries for "Marty Voyt," either, which was just as well, since he couldn't deny that that had been Voyt's voice on the answering machine. So Scales hadn't killed him in this…whatever this was. (Perhaps it was a fantasy. He'd gone beyond Multiple Personality Disorder, and was now having delusions that he wasn't estranged from his daughter…)

Well, that would explain why Scales wasn't in prison. He hadn't discovered that fact through the web. He'd discovered it on his way out, as he'd run smack into Dominic Raoul. Just as he was about to ask what the bloody hell Scales was doing on his doorstep, he learned yet another astonishing fact.

Scales was his bodyguard. And, as far as Peter could tell, Scales didn't want to kill him.

Well, of course not, Chess put in. Why would we hire a bodyguard that wants to kill us?

Again with the implied insults to his intelligence. Peter sighed. This Scales just struck him as too compliant, too quick to please him, as if he didn't consider himself an equal.

He was never our equal, Peter.

No, but last time Fleming checked, Scales thought he was. This Scales just wanted to know if he should accompany Peter to Jamie's house. Not necessary, Peter had assured him, wondering what on earth would possess him to take that brute with him when he went to visit his daughter.

PFPFPFPFPFPFPFPF

The car pulled to a stop in front of a house. He supposed it might be considered lovely or cozy, but it struck him as modest. No, modest was an understatement. Jamie was his daughter, the heir apparent to ARK Corporation. His ballerina should be living in a mansion or a palace.

Are you going to stand here critiquing the place all day? I thought you couldn't wait to see her again.

Too true, he acknowledged, though he seriously wished Chess would quit with the running commentary. Steeling himself, Peter rang the doorbell. The door was flung open almost immediately, revealing…

"Jamie!" He embraced her in a tight hug. Oh, God! He really had thought he'd never see her again. After all, no amount of bribing or threatening his sources had gotten him any closer to finding her. He'd even unleashed Chess, to no avail. But what did that matter now? She was here!

"Dad!" Jamie returned her father's embrace, though she pulled back faster than he would have liked. "It's good to see you." She glanced at the doorway behind her. "Sorry, he woke up late this morning."

"He?"

"Come on, Dad. Not you, too. Bad enough that my husband acted as though he couldn't remember my name earlier. I don't need my father pretending he has amnesia." She turned behind her and called out, "HURRY UP! Dad's here!"

Peter draped an arm across Jamie's shoulders, as he tried to register what she had just said. Her husband? His princess had gotten married? He heard a voice emanating from another room.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" The owner of the voice walked into the room, took one look at Peter, and froze in shock. Peter smiled, glad that he evidently was more adept at keeping the shock off of his own face than the man before him. Of all the men his daughter could have married…

"You!"

"I must say, Faraday, you look surprisingly well," for someone who ought to be dead, he finished silently.

Author's Note: Thank you, Orwell is watching-xoxo and IronAmerica for reviewing!

And so, the plot thickens. Don't expect me to keep updating this fast, ok?

So, first time writing from Fleming's POV. What did everyone think? Disappointed that Vince won't get to meet AU Fleming, after all? Want to give poor Vince a hug?