Metropolis Museum, Metropolis
Clark checked his tuxedo bowtie in the gilded mirrors of an ante room. Outside in Luthor Hall, a classical string quartet played an lively melody.
The bowtie was still crooked, he frowned.
Lex noticed Clark's frustration and quickly adjusted the bowtie. Both Lex and Clark had matching black-tie tuxedos, complete with coat-tails.
"I was hoping they'd play Beethoven," Lex observed, as he gave Clark's tuxedo one last once-over. "Did you know Beethoven had composed music for Napoleon Bonaparte, but ripped it up the moment he learned that the little Corsican had the audacity to crown himself Emperor?"
Clark shrugged. "I guess he felt Napoleon had gone too far." He set aside the thought for now and peeked outside. The elite of Metropolis society were already mingling. A wooden podium stood in the centre of the hall.
"I'm sorry Pete and Chloe couldn't join us," Lex offered. He sensed that Clark might feel out of place among the academics, business tycoons and senators that formed the Luthor social circle.
"Pete's got that crucial basketball game at Metropolis U. to cover for the Torch," Clark replied. "Chloe ... well, she said she was busy. Student council articles, biology and stuff."
Lex smirked. "Poor girl," he remarked. "If she keeps going full-throttle like that for the rest of the school year, she'll burn herself out before she even writes her SATs. Maybe you should ask her out."
Clark blanched. "We're just friends." Bruce arrived in the ante room, with Lana Lang on his arm. All eyes turned to Lana, in her strappy, mauve evening gown.
"Isn't she too young for you, Bruce?" Lex joked. Clark felt jealous: Bruce and Lana did look great together.
Bruce shoved Lex playfully. "Lana took a wrong turn. This museum's layout is confusing. If I didn't offer to escort her to Luthor Hall, we may have lost her among the Prehistoric Kansas wing!"
Lex took a seat near the ante room exit and studied his speaking notes. He checked his watch. Six o'clock exactly. In fifteen minutes, he would re-introduce Oliver Queen into Metropolis society and make an informal bid for help in his campaign to reclaim the Queen fortune from Lionel Luthor.
Bruce looked around the room. "Is ... Oliver here?" Lex and Clark appeared to be nervous at the mere mention of his name.
"I know what you guys are thinking," Bruce said, "and don't worry. I've thought about what you've told me. The issues I may have with Oliver are mine, but I don't expect either of you clean up the fallout. I am glad he's alive again. It's just that ... things are complicated."
Lex wanted to believe that Bruce had set aside his conflicting feelings about Oliver, but he still feel wary about their eventual meeting tonight. "Good," Lex finally replied, then paused -- not knowing what else to add. "As long as we've cleared the air on this." The string quartet stopped playing and a hush fell over the crowd. Clark peeked outside again.
He spotted the close-cropped blond hair, emerald eyes and slightly-stubbled beard of Oliver Queen. A bejewelled, middle-aged woman gasped as Oliver walked towards the ante room. Two congressmen muttered something incomprehensible when he passed them. The crowd had realized the truth: Oliver Queen had indeed returned from the grave.
Oliver opened both panelled doors of the ante room. He was also dressed in a tuxedo, though without coat-tails. He immediately spotted Lana.
"You look stunning," he declared, as he gallantly kissed her hand.
"Oh, this old thing," Lana beamed. "I just grabbed the first thing in the closet."
Oliver shook Clark and Lex's hands. "Gentlemen, we meet again." Clark suddenly felt uncomfortable. Bruce Wayne was only a few feet away. No one knew what to expect.
Oliver slowly walked towards Bruce Wayne, who was as tall as Clark -- but with broader shoulders. Oliver had to look up slightly to meet Bruce's gaze. He extended his hand.
"Bruce Wayne," Oliver stated. "I'm glad you could be here." Bruce didn't immediately accept Oliver's hand. Lex tugged his shirt collar. Just shake his hand, Lex seemed to say with his eyes. Please.
Alfred's arrival interrupted the awkward moment. "Oliver Queen," he announced. "Lazarus awakened! It's so good to see you." Alfred bore no ill will towards Oliver and was pleased to see him.
Oliver gave Alfred a friendly hug. "My man, Al. You've got me out of a few rough patches, as I recall. If it wasn't for you, I might have been stuck in that Turkish jail for a week!"
"Mr. Queen seems in good health, wouldn't you say, Master Bruce?" Alfred offered, attempting to engage him in conversation with his estranged friend.
Bruce extended his hand in greeting. There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief in the room. Oliver hoped that the gesture meant that all was forgiven.
He was mistaken.
"I'm here out of respect for the Queen family," Bruce explained clinically. "Oliver and I have unresolved issues."
"Master Bruce ..." Alfred began, but Bruce's expression seemed to indicate that he was not interested in any further debate.
"I'm glad you're here, just the same," Oliver replied. He wasn't about to let Bruce's infamous stubbornness ruin Lex's plans.
Lex checked his watch again. It's 6:10, thank goodness, he sighed in relief. "Ollie? We'd better get out there. The curator is going to make his opening remarks in five minutes."
Oliver nodded politely to Clark and the rest of them, then exited the room with Lex.
"Bruce Wayne," Alfred stated impatiently. "That was uncalled for. Oliver Queen was prepared to put aside the bad blood between you. You could have at least extended the courtesy!"
"I'm not going to get into this now, Alfred," Bruce protested. The argument he had with Oliver one year ago still left him with bitter feelings. Oliver tended to speak without thinking, but he had crossed the line. No one speaks about my parents the way Oliver did that night, Bruce grimaced.
No one.
"Bruce, he's really trying," Clark added. "Just give him a chance."
Bruce turned on Clark. Sometimes, he thought, Clark doesn't know when to stop pressing an issue. "What would you have me do, Clark Kent?" Bruce demanded. "Should I just grin and bear it, knowing that Oliver Queen showed no respect for my parents! The things he said ..."
"He was a different man, then," Lana added. "He's really sorry. I'm sure once he has the chance to explain, both of you can work it out."
"If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't even have the mining operation to come back to," Bruce remarked. He checked himself. Clark seemed confused by the remark, but he didn't pursue the argument further. Lana's intervention appeared to diffuse the situation, since Bruce knew that Lana shouldn't feel uncomfortable because of him.
Bruce regained his composure after taking a deep breath. "I apologize, Clark. Lana. The murder of my parents has always been on my mind. It's not your concern, and I regret that you had to be involved in this spat with Oliver." He left the ante room and mingled with the crowd outside.
"Stubborn, stubborn man," Alfred winced. "His parents are a sensitive issue, as you may know. I guess all those feelings re-surfaced once he saw Oliver again."
Clark was confused. What did Bruce mean when he said that Oliver wouldn't even have that mining operation if it wasn't for his help?
"Sometimes, I just don't get Bruce," Clark complained to Lana. "I mean -- he tells me that he values me as a close friend. Then, he shuts me out whenever the taboo subject of his parents is brought up."
"Actually," Lana replied. "I think I can sort of relate to what he's going through. For the longest time, I didn't want to discuss my parents' death with anyone. I felt that no one could truly understand how I felt. How much I missed them. But I realized later that you can't live like that. In a shell. When you shut out people for so long, it can become second nature. I will miss my mom and dad for the rest of my life, but I know that they wouldn't want me to live life in isolation. You just can't work through the pain alone. Believe me, I've tried. And it doesn't work. You only hurt yourself more in the end."
Clark sighed. "They why does Bruce insist on suffering alone?" At least Lana knew that the meteor shower had killed her parents. Bruce had to watch as a thug shot both of his parents. The killer was never found. Justice had denied the Waynes, and Bruce had to live with that knowledge.
The museum curator was already making his opening remarks. Clark and Lana hurried outside and joined the audience. Before Lex and Oliver could reach the podium, Lionel Luthor appeared from another room. Dressed in a silver bowtie and tailored black tuxedo, he stepped up to the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lionel began. He relished the stunned expression on Lex's face. Lex thought that he might be able to tap into the political capital of the Luthor name -- and use those contacts to form a strategic alliance with Queen. With hundreds of eyes upon the stage, Lionel was confident that Lex could do nothing to upstage him now.
"What the hell is Lionel doing here?" Bruce muttered quietly to Alfred.
"It appears, Master Bruce, that Lionel is here to stir things up," Alfred grumbled. "That is his specialty."
Lex's face has flushed red with embarrassment. Or was is rage? Clark could only give his friend a supportive nod. Lionel was definitely up to something.
"Thank you all, museum directors, curator, members of Congress and city hall, and my brethren from the financial world," Lionel announced. "We are here today to welcome that icon of the West Coast natural resource industry ... Mr. Oliver Queen. How about a round of applause for Star City's own Lazarus!" A roar of applause and hurrahs echoed through Luthor Hall. Lionel held up his hand to calm the crowd. "Let us hope that Mr. Queen has the sense not to run off on another seafaring adventure. My son, Lex, will be happy to outline the itinerary for this evening. Lex?" Lionel graciously stepped away from the podium, but he was doing no favour for Lex. He had just stolen the spotlight from his son, and he enjoyed the moment.
"Sun-Tzu once said that if you wait by the river long enough, your enemies will eventually float by," Lionel sneered at Lex. "I'm on the governing board of the museum. Do you take me for a fool not to know what goes on in my own hall?"
Lex turned towards his father, just as confident that Lionel's stunt was only a minor obstacle. The goal was still the same: the restoration of the Queen fortune to its rightful owner. "I'd suggest you wait by the river a bit longer," Lex snapped back. "because you'll soon find yourself against a deluge of enemies." He calmly approached the podium.
"Thank you," Lex nodded politely to Lionel. A dozen servers arrived with delectable finger foods and pastries. "Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy yourselves. I'm confident that we all would like nothing more than to see Oliver Queen return to the corporate world stronger than ever -- even with a mild case of tropical sunburn." The audience laughed at the joke. "The formalities will begin in half an hour." Lex understood that the real work would occur out on the floor, in the ante rooms and next-day conference calls. He planned to gather as many willing investors as possible to thwart Lionel's plan to gobble up what was left of Queen Enterprises.
"A word, Dad, if you please," Lex remarked, still aware that people were watching him. "In the ante room." He nodded to Oliver and Bruce, prompting them to follow.
"Oooh, this sounds serious indeed!" Lionel grinned mischievously.
"Clark, I'd like you to come with us," Bruce stated. "You're a friend. There should be no secrets between you, me, Lex -- or Oliver."
Clark hesitated, but sensed that Oliver was also in agreement. Lana realized that she was not part of that inner circle and thought of retreating to the dessert table. Alfred would not hear of it. He bowed in front of her. "Miss Lang, might I invite you for a spin on the dance floor? I hear a waltz." Several couples had already stepped out on the floor, while the musicians began to play.
"Uhh, okay!" Lana grinned. "I've never waltzed before, but now's as good a time as any."
Behind the ante room door -- where some of America's most powerful industrialists had fled -- the mood was anything but festive.
"Whatever you're scheming, Lionel," Bruce barked, "it's doomed to fail. I'll see to it!"
"Ah, Bruce," Lionel shrugged, as he studied his hands. "Still the crusading knight. A shame, really, that you lack your father's common sense! Thomas Wayne was an idealist, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one."
"I'll not have you speak poorly of my father, not while I'm still breathing," Bruce growled.
Lionel ignored him and turned to Lex. "Did I not teach you to surround yourself with like-minded people? Now I find you frolicking with riff-raff such as Queen and Wayne. Surely you realize they are not up to Luthor standards. They wouldn't know an honest day's work if it stepped on their pedicured toes!"
"Oliver and Bruce are easily worth a thousand of your sniveling LuthorCorp. drones," Lex declared. "Our course is set. Nothing you do can change that now."
Lionel sniffed disdainfully at the show of bravado. He smirked at Oliver. "Oliver Queen. Back from the dead. You'll need more than a miracle if you're casting your lot with Lex and Bruce. All sizzle, no steak, those two. Queen Enterprises is mine, and shortly your diamond operations will be mine too. NAFTA or no NAFTA treaty."
Oliver grabbed Lionel by the lapels and shoved him against a wood-panelled wall. "I've had it with your snide remarks. You know what one year on a deserted island gave me? It gave me focus. A purpose! You have what belongs to me. I'll take it back from you somehow."
Clark and Lex pulled Oliver away from Lionel, who didn't appear to be concerned at all. He slipped his hand in his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "Are you really certain you know the difference between friend and foe, Oliver Queen? This might change your mind."
Oliver snatched the envelope from his hand and opened it. It was a memo -- stamped CONFIDENTIAL -- from Wayne Enterprises, dated a few months before his round-the-world yachting race. He knew that Bruce wasn't enthusiastic about the partnership he had proposed. It would have given him the leverage to crush LuthorCorp.'s presence on the West Coast. He figured that Bruce probably harboured some bitterness over losing Dinah to him. The memo said something entirely different.
The smug Bruce Wayne had judged him as an inferior partner, not worthy of sharing a corporate banner with Wayne Enterprises.
He glared at Bruce, while mumbling through the document. "So you thought I was 'inadequate'? 'A poor judge of character'? The memo says Lucius Fox was in favour of our partnership, but you alone encouraged him to kill the deal! It's your signature here, effectively signing away my family legacy. Always passing judgment on others! You freaking boy scout."
Lex skimmed through the memo. "I take it my father had a mole in Gotham City. How else could he have obtained this? That's corporate espionage."
"If you can prove it," Lionel chuckled, "which, of course, you can't. So I ask you again, Oliver, are you sure you can trust these two?" He began to walk away, towards the exit.
"You wouldn't have understood then, Oliver," Bruce muttered.
"I'm sure Bruce had his reasons," Clark offered weakly. "You said it yourself, Oliver. You were living on the edge back then. A loose cannon."
Oliver paced away from them. "You don't get it, do you, Kent? Bruce never had faith in me then, even as I was trying to make something of myself. How can I expect him to back me up now, when I have a clear goal and need his help the most?"
Lex tugged uncomfortably at his collar. Lionel wanted to drive a wedge between Bruce and Oliver. There was already a seed of mistrust between them, and now his father's tactic inflamed that ember. If he didn't act in time, it threatened to consume them all.
"Drop your ill-conceived protest with the NAFTA review board, Oliver," Lionel proclaimed, "and I'll make you the executive vice-president in charge of my Asian operations. Think of it, Oliver! Imagine the adventures you could have, with the Far East as your playground. With my business sense and your passion, we could amass a fortune well beyond that pittance from your family. Wealth beyond belief. Oh, it's a limited-time offer. It's off the table once the NAFTA board convenes in Metropolis in two days. You have 48 hours. Take my offer, or doom yourself to ruin. Lex may wish to ally himself with Wayne, but you need not. Choose your friends well." Before Oliver could protest, Lionel had returned to the festivities outside.
"Like the Romans of old," Lex observed, "my father intents to pit allies against each other, then divvy up the spoils of war. He'll exploit any gap in our resolve. All of us need to set aside our differences. Now. We must close ranks if we're to prevail against him."
Clark glanced nervously at Bruce and Oliver, who had turned their backs to each other. Bruce distracted himself with his Blackberry device, while Oliver paced erratically in another corner. Two wounded egos that needed each other to survive.
If they were sensible enough to recognize it.
Clark felt like a puppet, jolted this way and that way on the whims of his stubborn, squabbling friends. Those threads of friendship were fraying before his eyes, possibly beyond repair.
"That's assuming Bruce and Oliver want to be allies at all," Clark sighed.