One thing to be said about California was that it was sunny eighty percent of the time, even in October. This, in Chloe's opinion, made for vertiginous sunsets, but shitty mornings for night people whose' bedroom faced east and was equipped with those oh-so-fashionable—absolutely useless— beachside blinders.

She slapped the shrilling device on her nightstand to shut it without looking, rolling on her stomach to bury her face in the pillow. Then she flopped on her back, and pulled the sheet over her head. Neither thing worked. The alarm pierced the silence again, and a hundred thoughts started swirling in her mind once more. Smallville, Clark, Lois, Lionel…

Chloe pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, willing the memories away. She wasn't going to cry. She'd locked tears away the day she'd called the FBI on Lionel Luthor. She had not shed a tear the day they'd buried her father—whose funeral she couldn't attend, not even from a distance. She hadn't cried when she'd stepped out of the plane in a foreign country whose language she didn't speak, seventeen and an orphan. Her eyes were dry when she'd set foot back in the US again, after three years in Germany and another handful of months in Toronto. She hadn't cried when the door of this apartment had closed on her even if the space was so impersonal it physically hurt. Lois' first by-line, the picture of her and Clark someone had added on her online memorial's wall, nothing had wet her eyes since Chloe Sullivan died, and Dorothy Gale was born. She was proud of it.

"Sullivan-Lane women do not wallow in self-pity. They stand up and they fight."

Out loud, reverberating on the rays of sunshine slanting through the blinders, the mantra sounded almost convincing.

Chloe opened her eyes for good. She wasn't in Kansas anymore and the Daily Planet had found another ace reporter in her cousin. At least working as a freelancer had its perks. Like making one's own schedule and get up at… She casted a glance toward the—now blissfully silent—alarm on her bedside table.

"Oh crap. Crap crap crap crap crap!"

The blonde woman shot out of bed toward the bathroom. Then she dashed the other way to put coffee on, grab clothes and grumbled about stupid Chloe who accepted meetings at nine in the morning instead of sticking to the classic midnight rendez-vous. What was wrong with her? Why did she quit the whole see-you-in-the-dead-of-the-night-in-a-dark-alley gig? She was a night owl. Really, getting up any time before noon was just mean.

The hot water achieved to revive her. She lathed shampoo on her hair, her head already on the coming face-to-face. Renowned bioengineer with a post-doctorate in genetics, acclaimed author, ferocious defender of girls' schooling, Dr. Cecile Adams stopped for no one. If Chloe' sources were correct, the good doctor had a front-row seat for the next Nobel prize in her field.

Chloe had hounded her publicist for weeks to snatch an interview as soon as she'd learnt Adams was to deliver the keynote speech at Star Labs Open Doors event on New Year's Eve. Like so many of her peers, the woman was driven, with the persona of an ice-queen, in particular when she had to deal with those she had dubbed 'the babbling vultures': members of the press and politicians. So the late call from a harassed assistant was nothing short of a miracle. She didn't question it, or any of the conditions coming with the agreement. She had ten questions and forty minutes to get them answered. No more. No less. This interview could be her breakthrough. Her way to move away from the influence of the Luthors once and for all—Lex's help, though welcome, was not endless and definitely not safe for either of them. It also came with the acrid tang of an apology for all she'd lost she had more and more difficulty to swallow.

Chloe considered her choice of outfits and settled on a classic shirt-dress in a neutral khaki tone. It was time for her to land on her own two feet. She already had two magazines interested, and was waiting for a reply from The Star City Gazette. All she had to do was manage to get there on time.

She managed to be on time. In fact, despite California's insane traffic, her bus and a brisk walk got her to the little seaside restaurant in Coast City with fifteen minutes to spare. Chloe sat at the small table overlooking the beach. Looking at the endless brilliant surface, she allowed herself to relax for a moment, and breathed.

The day was glorious. Open blue skies, golden sand and just enough wind to make one think she'd walked into a Hollywood movie set. October had curved the smoldering heat to something warmth and fragrant. Even this early on a Saturday, there were joggers on the sidewalk, while other skated. Others lounged in the sand, probably nursing a hangover. Later, she knew, families with kids would join, then teenagers and young adults, until the place swarmed with people.

With a sigh, she picked up her cup of coffee.

"Miss Gale, I presume. I am Doctor Cecile Adams."

Chloe straightened up when her interviewee, a brunette in her forties, sat down briskly. "Miss Adams, thank you for agreeing to see me."

"Doctor Adams. You're a long way from Kansas, Miss Gale."

The older woman detailed her with piercing grey eyes. Trying not to fidget on her seat, Chloe forced out the expected little laugh. Lame quotes from the Wizard of Oz were something she'd counted on when she chose the name. While people quipped about Toto, yellow brick road and ruby slippers, they overlooked the young woman in front of them. "Which one betrayed me? My pale skin or my mid-west accent?"

The tentative opening fell completely flat. Not a joke after all… Cecile signaled the waiter for a teapot without even acknowledging Chloe had uttered a word, then returned her attention to her.

"I trust my assistant gave you the run down?"

"Yes, she did. You'll approve the article before it goes out, and will be apprised of whomever buys it."

"Apprised?"

The doctor put enough disdain in the word to make the question sound like a threat. Chloe met the challenge dead on.

"Yes, Doctor Adams. I have the final say on who's paying my bills. Shall we begin?"

Cecile Adams stared a moment longer, then bowed her head, like a queen about to receive a lowly subject's grievance. Chloe took another sip of coffee to drown her annoyance, and took a pad and a recorder off her small backpack to set it on the table.

"I will record the interview, with your permission of course."

The other woman's frown deepened. Chloe raised a challenging eyebrow in return. Finally, the good doctor relented. "I am listening."

"October 27, 10:00 am. Interview with the doctor Cecile Adams, bioengineering and genetics. Doctor Adams, Star Labs deals with some controversial aspects of bioengineering, as much as physics. What decided you to agree to a keynote speech? You've made no secret of your opinion of Luthorcorp and their research programs about genetics and cloning. Harrison Wells declared his particles accelerator will be ready within a year, and how he intends to study the effect of radiation of DNA, which is rather close to what Luthorcorp is doing. So why Star Labs?" Chloe paused, pen at the ready, and watched her vis-à-vis carefully.

Cecile Adams picked up the teabag the waiter had brought and set it to steep. Chloe picked up her coffee to hide a coming huff behind it. She had only forty minutes, some of her questions were technical and she had no doubt the stuffy woman was going to enjoy lecturing her.

"Harrison Wells and I met during his sabbatical year at San Diego University. We stayed in touch. I am privy of some details of his work that I obviously cannot share with a journalist, but when he contacted me, our discussions proved that we had enough of a common ground for an educated address."

Good God, the woman was lecturing her, and they had barely started. If her tone was any indication of how she treated a simple question, Chloe wondered how she was to react when she brought back Luthorcorp again.

"The subject I have chosen to discuss relates to polycationic neutralization of membrane cells. I expect some in the audience not to follow on the finest points."

Chloe knew she should be insulted. She was far from being an idiot. She'd graduated from a foreign university in three years right after high school. But even with her Smallville's grooming, some notions of advanced genetics were just mind-blowing for the non-initiate. Cecile Adams made no mystery of her disdain for the mass, and clearly had no intention to lower herself to its level. Chloe swallowed her pride, and burned one of her questions—the one she'd hoped would give the woman the opportunity to demonstrate she was nice, and asked, "could you elaborate in maybe less technical terms? I wouldn't want to misinterpret your saying."

"That's why I intend to review your paper, Miss Gale."

Gah. Cruela Devil has nothing on you, you arrogant, snotty woman.

"If you please, Miss Adams?"

Chloe savored the sting of the daggers that shot out of the woman's eyes when she ignored her title. The volleying continued for the rest of the interview. Her subject deserved her reputation to a T. And she questioned Chloe back about her background, Kansas in general, and Smallville in particular. Chloe feigned ignorance, but more than once, the blonde found herself forced to choose her words properly not to betray she knew more about the Meteor Capital than she was supposed to.

"Well, I am afraid I have another appointment. I must be going."

"Thanks you for your time, Doctor Adams. I'll be in touch when I am done with the piece."

That wasn't dignified with an answer, or more than a good bye. Chloe leaned back in her seat to finish her coffee, and tried to rid herself of the tension by watching the colorful crowd on the sidewalk. Maybe she'd take a stroll herself, and enjoy the rest of the day.