Author's Note: Well, this one may be a little short and bit unnerving for myself, so let me know what you really think about it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville, DC comics, characters, la-la, so on and so forth.
oOo
"Sullivan!"
Chloe heard the sudden bellow and she was struck with a comforting sense of nostalgia. She couldn't help the sudden thrill that streaked through her.
A sound slap against her desk and Chloe found her newly written article contained within a manila folder. She'd managed to crank it out in record time. There wasn't a chance in hell that she could've gotten a wink of sleep last night after everything that had happened. By the time she'd managed to scramble down the rooftop and make her way back to the main drag to hail a cab, her blood was pumping, her mind racing with ideas.
For all that she had to write about Bruce Wayne's piddle –party; she couldn't let this go without a word.
Chloe simply turned to look up into the furrowed gray eyes of Mr. Grant.
"Five seconds. My office. Now!"
Chloe smiled inwardly. Ah yes, that was the sound of her story getting ready to hit the front page.
Chloe exaggerated a pensive sigh and with a heavy slap of her hands against her desk and shoved her chair away to get up and follow him. She had a feeling that Walter might react this way. She was brought back to a moment that wasn't unlike going to the principal's office and it was usually over something that she'd written for The Torch. But all it really seemed to take was a bit of coaxing, a touch of debate…
A quick, loose slam of the office door didn't even manage to conjure a smidgeon of apprehension.
Walter rounded his desk quickly. "If you aren't in the Witness Program now, you should be after this hits the streets," he informed as he slung the folder onto his desk with quite an emphasizing slap.
Chloe quickly reached down and picked up the folder with a sense of excitement. "So does that mean you're going to run it?"
Walter placed his palms on his desk and leaned heavily. "I send you out to cover that Wayne-thing and you bring me hints at a mob war?"
"Aw, c'mon, Walter," Chloe droned. "Bruce Wayne is the society page," she began as she strode towards his desk. "This," she held up her article. "…is news."
Walter looked up at her, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Do you have any idea what you're getting ready to drag this paper into?"
"I'm doing some research right now," Chloe began, gearing up for a scintillating presentation. "By all reports, Carmine Falcone is still missing. This is the perfect moment for anyone who wants to expand their territory and judging by last night, dibs have already been placed."
Walter gave her a look of warning. He couldn't deny this. Word was already spreading that there had been an ambush in The Narrows, but now there were no suspects, only speculation.
Chloe could see more than reticence on Walter's face. "White-faced terror" was more the expression. In the past, it seemed that the mob had beaten down the city of Gotham so far to the point that everyone was afraid to stick their necks for fear of having their heads lopped off.
But something had happened.
Something happened and Chloe knew that Gotham was on its way to crawling out of the shadows of fear.
"Walter, I remember, there used to be a time when The Gotham Gazette nearly rivaled The Planet in journalism. No one in this building was afraid to go after a story and you," she stopped and looked at him pointedly, "You never balked at flashing a controversial front page," she argued.
"I was younger in those days," Walter mumbled as he took a seat, but eyed Chloe pointedly. "And things were different in those days."
Chloe gave a quick casual toss of her hands. "So The Gazette needs updating and little fine tuning," she said, placing her hands on the opposite side of his desk and leaned toward him. "C'mon Walter, let's restore The Gotham Gazette to its former glory. Gotham City is getting ready to play host to the up-and-coming mob games of Olympic proportions. Don't you think the people have a right to know what's coming their way?"
"C'mon Walter, now is the time."
Walter only looked up at Chloe, her blue eyes sparkling with ambition and crinkling with witticism. It sounded like a good motivational speech, and for a moment Walter Grant felt that driving force which had propelled him into journalism to begin with and he hadn't realized how much he'd repressed out of fear.
For a moment, he only sighed and looked away for a moment, his hands clasped together in front of him. Chloe could only hold her breath for briefest of moments.
For the first time since The Torch that she had felt that wonderfully invigorating feel of what it meant to be a real reporter. Last night she had been on a high that not even the strongest cup of caffeine could produce. She didn't want to lose that. She didn't want to lose that feeling of making a difference.
For all of Clark's amazing powers, Oliver's connections, and everyone else that she knew that were blessed with amazing abilities, all she ever counted as her truest attribute was her journalistic passion. Sure she'd been meteor-infected and she'd been graced with the power of the double-edged sword. She had to use her powers wisely, possibly at the risk of her own life. Sure she could make a difference…for a time. But this way…
This way she could accomplish so much more.
"All right."
Chloe jerked out of her own thoughts with a mistaken sense. "Excuse me?"
"We'll run it," Walter finally conceded. "But I want you to make sure you cover your own ass," he added with a stern look and a single point of his finger.
"Aye, aye captain," Chloe threw a mock salute. "Ass covered, sir."
She tried to resist the urge an actual squeal of delight, keeping her excitement to an ear-to-ear grin. She turned to walk out, but quickly swiveled back around with a look of confusion. "Are you sure about this?" she asked, knowing that covering her own behind was all well and good, but that it left everything all on Mr. Grant.
Walter waved a dismissive hand. "I'll figure something out," was all he could say. They both knew what it meant. Public hinting at a mob war with prominent names featured heavily in a high profile article could mean something dangerous…maybe.
Chloe looked at Walter and knew that she couldn't simply let him take the full brunt of her journalistic ambitions. Maybe if she could contact Oliver and ask him for a few favors.
"Maybe that strange character can help out," Chloe muttered aloud in monotone as she studied her article.
Walter's head came up. "Strange character?" he reiterated in question.
Chloe scrunched her eyebrows and shook her head nonsensically. "Yeah," she replied nonchalantly, but didn't go on to explain who he was, what he'd done or where he'd gone afterward. "Weird guy, but speaking of my behind, he saved it last night."
Walter couldn't help a sheepish smile and scratched his head. "Strange character, you say? Look peculiar?"
Chloe scoffed with cynicism as she pretended to glance over her article once more. "I ran into a lot of 'peculiars' last night," she muttered..
"Yes, but, did he have a specific look?" Walter kept hinting.
Chloe glanced up and pinned Walter with glance of suspicion.
"I thought we'd seen the last of him," Walter mumbled aloud and caught Chloe's look of disbelief, only to return one of his own. "You mean, you haven't heard? You. Haven't. Heard?"
Chloe was beginning to become frustrated at the cat and mouse game. She lowered the folder with a drop of impatience. "All right, I'll bite."
Walter decided not to goad Chloe about the Batman. 'Let her find out about him on her own', he thought with a grin.
Chloe knew condescending humor when she heard it and it took everything within her to tell Walter that she'd been covered up to her ears in paranormal and meta-humans since her sophomore year in high school. One man parading about the night dressed as a large bat was hardly going to be a blip on her radar.
"I take it that last night wasn't his premier debut?"
Walter only shrugged with a glint of teasing that crinkled at the corners of his eyes. "Well, whatever the case, don't leave him out," was all he could say as he settled comfortably in his loose, leather desk chair, grabbing the phone with a little wave of dismissal.
"Are you serious?" Chloe was indignant at first. "You want to me to feature a grown man that dresses up as if it's a perpetual Halloween in what could possibly be the highest profile article of the year?"
"Get Ginny to help you," was all Walt could say as he turned his attention back to the phone, swinging around in his chair. "Yeah, Jim, get up here right away. Got a new headline for you…"
Chloe's eyes went wide. She stared at Walter for only a second before she was shooed out of his office. Turning sharply, she stalked back to her desk.
oOo
Alfred breezed from the kitchen and through the rest of the manor practically on tiptoes carrying a silver tray which held "Master Wayne's" breakfast…at one o' clock in the afternoon along with this morning's newspaper.
He couldn't stop smiling.
Alfred carefully backed into the dark den of Bruce Wayne's bedroom, carefully setting the tray on the bedside table and opening the dark brocade drapes to allow the midday light to stream into the room.
"Rise and shine, Master Bruce" Alfred called innocently, his hands clasped behind his back.
A roll and a groan from Bruce and Alfred knew that it was going to take some of the typical coaxing to get him out of bed. Shouldn't be a problem today.
Bruce rolled towards the alarm clock and growled in frustration. "Alfred, it's one o' clock," he groaned.
"Oh, but don't forget that The Gazette covered the fundraiser," Alfred noted in a much punctuated tone as he took a seat across from his bed.
Bruce, in a tired motion, slammed his face into his pillow. "So did everyone else, Alfred. You know I don't read that stuff," he added, as he pulled the sheets over his head.
"Oh, but I think you might enjoy this particular commentary," Alfred suggested as he gave the folded up paper a gentle shake for emphasis.
Bruce's finally tossed the sheets away and came to sit up on the edge of the bed. "So, it made the front page," he scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "Big deal."
Alfred only beamed at him as he handed him the morning paper.
Bruce, perplexed to say the least by Alfred's behavior, tentatively took the offered paper and flipped it open.
And froze.
"All Along The Watchtower?" Bruce recited in question the feature headline above the article. No by-line.
"Hmm, there's a nice throwback to Bob Dylan," Alfred hummed.
Bruce quickly gave a glance of annoyance at Alfred's blasé attitude.
Falcone's Men Murdered.
"Last night, with what appears to be a shipping exchange gone wrong ended with two men found dead and police stumped. In the darkness of the early morning, unknown assailants infiltrated and ambushed the known convicted criminals said to have been under the extensive employment of one of Gotham's most notorious citizens of the underworld, Carmine Falcone. Earlier this year, Falcone was institutionalized prior to the city's sudden bout with anarchy and escaped during the chaos. No one has heard or seen Falcone since. While the murders are under police investigation, no known suspects have been named at this time. Gotham City Police department comment regarding persons of interest…."
Bruce's eyes grew darker as he scanned the rest of the article. Whoever had written the article left out the obvious conclusion that no one wanted to think about: A mob war could be on the rise.
And as of last night there was one witness and one lunatic still roaming free.
He folded the paper with his fist. Could it truly be that blonde reporter from The Gazette last night that was responsible for this article? In the first place, what had she been doing down in The Narrows into the wee hours of the morning after having just left the party soon after he'd caught her snooping around his library?
"Alfred, my clothes," Bruce stated plainly as he stood.
Alfred simply stayed his seat. "Don't you want to read the feature about the gala?" he nodded towards the paper turning a ridiculous toothy grin towards Bruce.
An aggravated look of confusion towards his butler and Bruce exhaled sharply through his nose. For the moment, he already forgotten it and quickly flipped to the page where he knew the article should be.
And when he didn't find it there, his brows furrowed as he kept turning page after page.
Grinning the entire time, Alfred managed a bit of pleasure at watching his ward squirm over the lack of attention he was used to receiving after throwing such a bash. As blasé as Bruce tried to be about the amount of attention he received from the paparazzi, for fundraising events Alfred knew that his young master was confident his fundraisers would be one the most highly publicized.
Bruce finally found the small paragraph at the bottom left on the back of the Society Page.
"If you thought this was a place for a scintillating article featuring Bruce Wayne, stop now and pick up the nearest copy of The Inquisitor," he read aloud in a monotonous tone. "Last night, Mr. Wayne, ironically threw an impromptu fundraiser to feature his multi-million dollar home. The interior architectural stylings of the house are reminiscent of the days of early American tycoons with homes that are featured extensively on any episode of 'America's Castles'. "
Bruce began to pace back and forth as he continued. "Mr. Wayne dazzled guests with a superior humor and rapier wit."
"Rapier," Alfred repeated with what almost sounded like… glee. "I like that."
Bruce shot his butler a deadly glare.
"While the fundraiser may not have raked in as much as the cost of the home at a pittance of only a few million dollars, I'm sure the winner of "Dinner date with Bruce Wayne", which, arguably, had the most bids, will feel as though it were all worth it as Mr. Wayne flirted shamelessly with each and every enthusiastic bidder."
Bruce allowed his hand to drop, his lips pressed into a thin line as he exhaled through his nostrils once more. 'Dinner Date with Bruce Wayne, 'he droned bitterly in his mind.
"You know sir," Alfred began again. "If I didn't know better…
A piercing glare from the corner of Bruce's eyes and Alfred simply summed the rest of it up with a grin.
Bruce simply tossed the paper onto his bed and made his way to the shower. "Don't get too hung up on her, Alfred," he called over his shoulder.
oOo
Author's note: Well, let me know what you think.
