**A/N 03-2011: A new Chapter One (2 . One) has been inserted, pushing all other chapters, except the Prologue, down one.**
Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $
Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.
Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl
SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN
"You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."
- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died.
FIVE
.
ACE Of CLUBS
.
Vandal Vanderbilt was sitting at the bar nursing his second beer. The trendy, expensive Ace of Clubs wasn't exactly his taste, with its white and silver décor and erratically placed hanging light thingies; he preferred his bars dark, dank, and cheap, but it was conveniently close to the Planet. It was easier to keep an eye on things from there, and a lot of interesting, high-profile patrons trafficked the hot night spot.
A man in dark, nondescript street clothes sat down next to Van. He stuck out painfully despite his attempts to be inconspicuous; he was fidgety, nervy, and casting furtive glances. He tapped at the edge of the bar and then made a hand gesture—which he didn't seem fully committed to—to get the bar tender's attention. He ordered a beer.
Van ignored him completely, watching people instead. When the man finished his brew, he set it down gruffly. Van barely saw the slide of hand as the man slipped something under Van's coaster while snatching up a napkin and wiping his mouth. Van counted to fifteen, picked up his drink, and slid the coaster closer with the other hand; with his thumb, he slid the flat, hard item out from under the coaster and into his palm.
Minidisk, maybe an SD card, or a flash drive...
Van put his empty drink down, and slid it and the coaster towards the back, signaling he wanted another. Putting his hand in his pocket, Van deposited the item and retrieved four bills: one Lincoln, one Hamilton, and two Benjamins. The fifteen was for the next round; the rest ended up under a napkin that was discreetly taken by his neighbor.
The bartender returned, the man paid with a card and then left. Van knew what digital data was now sitting in his pocket, so he was in no hurry to leave. He'd have a few more drinks before thinking about taking a cab back to his apartment.
"Is this seat taken?"
Van looked up and saw a man about his age. He was dressed in nice, dark street clothes and the dark hood from the layer below his jacket billowed around his neck like a scarf. His shag of golden hair obscured his eyes and his smile was meant to be disarming and unobtrusive. Van prided himself on his ability to read people. The innocent face and slightly apprehensive air told Van two things: he was probably new in town, and, of all the customers in the Ace of Clubs, was the least likely to be a story. He also knew when people were projecting, and this guy wasn't especially interested in being seen, or at least not noticed. There might be a story there.
"Please," Van replied demonstratively, "It's all yours."
"Thanks."
"What'll you have, sweetheart?" asked the buxom bartender, smiling sweetly at the newcomer. She was taken with his angelic charm.
"Um...rum and coke?"
"Preference of rum?"
"Malibu," he replied definitively.
"Sure thing, sugar."
Sugar is right. He likes his drinks sweet, but doesn't want a girly drink. Someone might say something, and that would cause unwanted attention. Let's see if he has a reason for wanting to blend in.
"You new in town?" Van said, putting on his friendliest demeanor.
He breathed a silent laugh. "Yeah. Is it that obvious?"
"Oh, don't feel bad. Everyone's new sometime," Van told him, offering his hand, "I'm Vandal, but you can call me Van."
"Van. Nice to meet you. I'm Christopher," he replied, and then smiled, adding, "And you call me Christopher."
Van laughed. "Alright, Christopher it is."
"So, is this the place to be, or what?" Christopher asked, looking around the club.
"Only if you're Metropolis's who's who," Van said.
"Oh, that's me," Christopher said, sarcastically. "So, I should expect to see the likes of Rachel Davenport, Tess Mercer, Oliver Queen, or maybe even the elusive Luthors."
"Yeah, this town really doesn't have much to offer in the way of likeable celebrities." Christopher chuckled and rolled his eyes. So, he didn't necessarily agree but wasn't willing to be confrontational about his opinion. What an odd notion, Vandal thought.
He felt his pocket vibrate and fished out his phone; it had seen better days.
.
JIMMY: Van. Where R U? Got some great pics 2 show U ASAP
VAN: ace of clubs come on over ill buy u a beer
JIMMY: U won't wanna drink the nite away after U C these. OMW
.
"What does 'OMW' mean?" Van asked Christopher.
He thought a moment and then offered, "On my way?"
"Right. So, Christopher," Van said, taking a swig of beer, "where ya from? And what brings you to Metropolis, pinnacle of shiny and safe?"
It was no secret the rampant crime the city suffered.
"The low crime rate definitely was a lure," Christopher replied. "I'm from...well, all over. I travel a lot for business."
Right. Noncommittal, vague answer: gotta be hiding something.
"Oh, yeah?" Van said casually with enthusiastic interest. "That's cool. What do you do?"
"Consulting."
Consulting? He's a business consultant? Like that's even a real thing. That's the oldest fake job in the book.
"What kind of consulting?"
"Oh, uh, I come in and help out when a place is floundering or has lost key internal figures."
"You wouldn't happen to be here to clean up the LuthorCorp mess, would you?"
"Oh, no," Christopher laughed. "Nothing that high end. I don't do a lot of corporate stuff."
"Really? What kind of stuff do you do?" Van asked.
"Well, for instance, I'm in town as a stand in for a local foundation after its founder went AWOL."
Now things are getting interesting, Van thought.
"Foundation?" Van asked as though he didn't understand the word. "Any place I might know."
"Probably not," Christopher replied. "It's a small, low key operation with a very specific focus."
"Vague much?"
"Ha, ha. Not on purpose, but yeah, I suppose I am. At any rate, I always keep those details confidential."
This guy's not gonna let anything slip on accident; I'm going to have to pry it out of him. That's assuming there's anything there.
"Why's that?"
"Contractual obligations," Christopher said simply. "If your business was crumbling or in need of some dire clean-up, you wouldn't want that spread around town. That kind of PR is bad for biz."
Van nodded in agreement.
"Let me get this straight, you're here to fix a crumbling, floundering foundation 'in need of some dire clean-up' that wants to stay out of the spotlight because of the kind of business it does? That's got scandal written all over it if you ask me."
Christopher rolled his eyes. That disheartened Van because it meant he was probably wrong.
"Aren't you a little young for this kind of thing?" Van asked.
Christopher shrugged. "Like I said, small stuff not high-end corporate messes. I'm still just getting my feet wet."
Van nodded appreciatively, mulling it over.
"You sure are full of lots of question," Christopher pointed out lightheartedly. "I think it's—"
"Van!" It was Jimmy. "There you are."
Jimmy had a warm coat over his typical bowling shirt, which was stained and rumpled. He had been looking pretty rough lately.
"James, what do you got for me?"
Jimmy pulled several large glossy photographs out of a manila envelope and handed them to Van. Van crossed his arms as looked carefully over them.
"These were taken three weeks ago," Jimmy told him. "That puts our deputy mayor and the DA at Cadmus labs a full two weeks before the inquest."
Van's mouth gaped as he threw his hands in the air.
"This completely throws out that garbage Tess published this morning," Van exclaimed. "I cannot believe—"
"Wait a second," Christopher interrupted. "Vandal? As in Vandal Vanderbilt, the reporter?"
"The one if the same," Van replied with a melodramatic flourishing half-bow. It disappointed Van further that the revelation of him being a journalist didn't seem to faze Christopher in the slightest. "Oh, I'm sorry. Christopher, this is James Olsen: the Planet's finest photographer."
"Jimmy," Jimmy corrected Van, offering a hand to Christopher as he shuffled his full arm load.
"Jimmy," Christopher repeated as he took his hand, offering a broad smile and tossing the hair out of his face reflexively. "Christopher Hawke."
Jimmy nodded. Van could tell he was confused; he didn't know who Christopher was or why they were talking with him. Jimmy, unlike Van, wasn't especially social. Van and Lois shared the credo the more people you know the more connections you have, and the more connections you have the more information you get. That made Van a friend to everyone, and everyone an acquaintance, and possible informant, to Van.
"Guess that explains the 20 questions," Christopher said. "So, you're the one who co-wrote that awful piece in this morning's issue of the Daily Planet?"
"Yeah," Van drawled, "But in my defense, that article was totally Lois's idea."
Jimmy and Christopher both seemed stunned and taken a back.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Van rescinded, laughing. He grew more serious and said, "That article is a twisted shadow of what we wrote and we're working on a retraction right now."
"We won't need one," Jimmy interjected, turning the focus back to business. "This proves everything in your original piece, and is enough to write two more. Tess Mercer will be eating crow, humble pie, and anything else you want to serve up."
Van smile slowly. "I like the sound of that. This story may have just blown wide open."
"Well, it looks like you two have work to do," Christopher said. "Why don't I get out of your way?"
Christopher climbed down from his chair and offered Jimmy his seat.
"What do you say we get a table, fellas? Drinks on me."
Van turned to see Oliver Queen, who was sporting a sizeable shiner. He looked more like a frat boy than an executive to Van with his leather jacket and skinny jeans.
"Oliver," Jimmy said, "You're back from your worldwide walkabout? And with some trophies..."
Jimmy gestured awkwardly towards his own eye, obviously unsure if he should point out the black and blue bruising around the blond billionaire playboy's eye socket. Van hadn't forgotten that Lois, Jimmy, and Jimmy's on-again-off-again girlfriend—whom he had yet to had the pleasure of meeting—were on friendly terms with Oliver Queen; the fact, due to its absurd nature, did occasionally slip his mind. Lois, in no uncertain terms, had made it clear that Oliver Queen, the Good Samaritan, was off limits. That only made Van more eager to dig up some dirt and write a headline or four.
She's gonna flip when she reads the one sitting in my pocket.
"It seems even private jets are susceptible to turbulence," Queen said with what Van took as faux self-effacement. "Guess someone should have paid better attention to the 'fasten seatbelt' sign. You wouldn't think the back of a chair would feel like a left hook, but they're surprising similar."
You are a terrible liar, Van thought at him.
"Yeah, I bet they're real easy to mix up," Van commented dryly. More enthusiastically, he continued, "So, how about them drinks?"
Jimmy and Christopher shrugged and nodded their agreement. Oliver signaled to the bar tender and led them to a near buy table. Van wondered what Christopher thought of one of those aforementioned Metropolis celebrities showing up and buying them a round of brews.
He was torn between scooping Queen and vetting information from Christopher. Van wasn't much of a multitasker, but he'd do his best. He surmised that Queen's bigger personality, a foil to his own, would no doubt distract him from Christopher's more subdued disposition. That made him want to watch Christopher all the more.
"It's Vanderbilt, right?" Queen asked him, taking a chair and rolling up his sleeves.
"Vandal Vanderbilt. I prefer Van," he replied as the waitress brought their first round.
"So, you're Lois's new desk mate..." He grinned smarmily, pausing to take a drink. "I've been itching to meet the guy that can keep pace with Lois."
"She's the one who has to keep up with me, actually."
"Really?" Queen said, his cloud of arrogant disbelief was almost chocking, "You keeping her on her toes?"
"Among other things," Van said suggestively, loosening his tie.
Jimmy choked on his beer.
"I didn't realize that you two were—" Queen began more somberly.
"Things happen when you work closely," Van shrugged, leaving Queen reeling, Jimmy sputtering, and Christopher seemingly enjoying the show. "James, let's see these pictures again."
Van turned his attention towards Jimmy, who was fumbling to pull out the photos while whipping the beer from his face and the table. He'd already seen enough and come to his own conclusions, but he let Jimmy talk while he listened to the stiff introductions between Queen and Christopher. He made a mental note of the resemblance they bore one another, but then dismissed it as coincidence. Occasionally, he felt Queen's peeved glances at him, no doubt sore over the Lois subject. He was surprised at how quickly Christopher had warmed up to Queen given his glaringly obvious initial discomfort with rubbing elbows with the celebrity. Had he not know better, he would have thought he sensed a preexisting familiarity.
Van realized Jimmy was waiting for him to respond; too bad he hadn't been listening.
"Um, well James, if our original article could get printed in its entirety first, that would be great. I'm too angry right now to really have an opinion about the next one."
"I just asked if we should give Lois a heads up about this," Jimmy said, his eyes scrunched in confusion.
"Right," Van said, scrambling for the recovery. "I guess so. I figured you already had."
"On it."
"You guys working on an encore to this morning's rousing success?" Queen asked, smirking.
"Something like that," Jimmy replied, obviously embarrassed about the piece.
"I'm sure your company's stockholders are just thrilled about Cadmus's collapse," Christopher interjected, shaking his head.
"I think you've got your mega-corporations mixed," said Jimmy hesitantly but confidently.
"He's right," Queen affirmed, "Queen Industries doesn't own Cadmus labs; that's a LuthorCorp asset."
Normally, Van would have been the first to protest Christopher's stament, but there was something about his initial comment that had him listening instead of speaking for once. Christopher looked incredulously at Queen first and then confusion spread across his face.
"I...uh," he began slowly, "With respect...Mr. Queen, I think you're mistaken."
"I think Oliver would know what his own company owns, Chris," Jimmy countered. Van saw Christopher's blinking increase momentarily: the only sign of his annoyance at the truncation of his name. "Especially if it was at the heart of a high profile government scandal."
"Normally I wouldn't disagree with you," Christopher said, reaching for his bag; he had a thin leather over-the-shoulder messenger bag with him. "But I'm sure I just read about it this morning."
Christopher pulled out a tablet, tapped its touch screen several times, and laid it on the table for them to see. It was the second quarter analysis from the business section of the Daily Planet Online. Christopher pointed to a subsection and, using two fingers, enlarged the entry.
"See," he said, "here. Queen Industries acquired Axiom Group for seven point three million effective June thirtieth."
"Right. I'm familiar with the deal," Queen said. "I'm the one that spearheaded it."
"Isn't the Axiom Group in Star City?" Van asked coyly. He was well aware of what Christopher was getting at as well as of what was located where. It seemed he and this new guy were the only ones privy to the information, not that it was classified by any means; only one need know where to look. He wondered with pleased anticipation what Queen's reaction would be.
"And Cadmus Labs is right here in town. What does this deal have to do with anything?" Jimmy added.
"Right," Christopher said. "It says right here in the listings of what the acquisitions include."
Christopher clicked on the link and magnified.
"Axiom Aggregates, Axiom Tower, Star City MedCon, and the Chollaris Foundation," Queen read aloud. "Right. That's it. Very profitable deal for my company. No Cadmus Labs."
"But what about the Chollaris Foundation?" Christopher said.
"Yeah, what is that? I've never heard of it." Jimmy asked.
Van rolled his eyes. As if you would have. Like you know of every business venture around, James. Sometimes Jimmy's overzealous forays into matters above his head annoyed Van.
"They deal in medical research," Queen replied. "We've been branching out from tech into the medical field for some time now, especially into areas where they overlap."
"Like cybernetics?" Van asked, laughing. The disk in his pocket told him exactly what he wanted to know and what the Chollaris Foundation was. He didn't expect it to become cocktail conversation, but it didn't change anything. Queen would have found out sooner or later. It didn't change anything.
"Were...were you not aware of what Chollaris included?" Christopher asked delicately.
Tact, he thought scornfully. It was something had little use for but often found himself restricted by.
"Of course I was aware."
Christopher followed the link to the listings for the Chollaris Foundation.
"Besides their headquarters in Star City, they have additional properties under their heading: Metron Pharmaceuticals, a warehouse in Coast City, and Cadmus Labs."
"What?" Queen said in disbelief, picking up the tablet. "That's not right. Metron and Cadmus separately are both larger assets than Chollaris; they couldn't be just tacked on at the end...It says here their acquisitions were finalized the same day as my deal. That's not even legal under the terms of our contract."
"It looks pretty solid..." Christopher told him regretfully.
"It looks like you got duped," Van added cajolingly.
Queen picked up his beer, clicked it against Christopher's, sat back and took a swig.
"That kinda changes things doesn't it," Jimmy said slowly, breaking the silence.
Queen nodded appreciatively with pursed lips.
"Aren't you gonna do anything about it?" he continued, "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, making phone calls or something?"
"I will," Queen said simply, "after I've finished my beer."
Van regarded Queen with thinly veiled curiosity as Jimmy chattered away in his ear about the ramifications—he kept using that word and it was beginning to annoy him—as Christopher pointed out several other AP articles to Queen about the deal. He took a drink and found his bottle empty. The waitresses seemed to have vanished, despite the big spender at the table.
"Anyone want another?"
"I'll definitely be having another," Queen told him.
Jimmy nodded "yes;" Christopher shook his head "no."
When Van returned with two bottles, Queen was standing. Probably off to the restroom, Van surmised. Van's buzzing pocket startled him and he accidently knocked Jimmy's camera, which hung from the back of a chair, to the floor. Van hurriedly handed the two bottles to Queen and scooped up the camera, setting off the bright flash in the process.
"Careful there, spaz," Queen said, blinking away his temporary blindness.
"I'm so sorry, James," Van said, handing off the camera and pulling out his phone, "is it broken?"
"No worries, Van," Jimmy assured him. "It looks fine."
Van smiled in relief, and, as he opened his phone, glanced at the caller ID: "Lois Lane."
"Hey, beautiful," Van answered the phone, heavy on the charm and intent to aggravate.
"Are you still at the office?" She shot back with disgust.
"Ah, no," he refuted, "Sitting behind a desk just isn't the same without those pretty brown eyes of yours...glaring at me."
"I was half way to Smallville to pick up what has apparently become my new dog when Jimmy texted me. This better be good."
"No, no. Go get your puppy. You can leave your name on this morning's mess; I'll take the game changing follow-up."
"Not on your life, buster. Spill."
Van saw that Queen was watching him and that he knew Lois was on the phone.
"Well, beautiful," Van repeated, "I think you'll have to see for yourself. And it seems your beloved Mister Queen has somehow gotten himself tangled up in this."
Van grinned across the table at Queen spitefully.
"I hope you can corroborate your facts on that one, or you'll be the one tangled up in something," she warned.
"You're such a tease."
"And you're delusional," she retorted. "I'm five minutes out. You gonna come meet me?"
"I've had one too many," Van lied, "you're gonna have to be our DD."
"If you're too tipsy to tango with traffic then maybe you should just hit the hay."
"We really need to work on your mixed metaphors, Lois."
"Hanging up now," Lois said in a sing song voice.
"Just come get us and drop me off at my apartment," Van insisted more forcefully, "we can parley en route. That way you can drive yourself after we finish."
"You're gonna end up walking home," she warned. "You better be downstairs when I pull up."
"Love you too," he cooed sardonically and hung up.
Eyebrows rose expectantly round the table after his boisterous phone conversation.
"Come on, James," Van said. "Let's roll. We have work to do."
Jimmy hurriedly gathered his things.
"It's been real gentlemen," Van, rising from the table, said in a loud, leave-taking voice "Oliver Queen, thank you for the drinks. Christopher Hawke, if I don't see you again, pleasure making your acquaintance."
"Likewise, Van," Christopher smiled, absently brushing the hair from his face. Queen nodded and raised his bottle.
"Hey, uh, Van," Jimmy said, "Give me just a second, okay."
He nodded. Jimmy went around the table and leaned in close to Queen.
"Oliver, uh, have you...uh," Jimmy stammered, unsure. "How's Chloe? Have you seen her or heard from her?"
"Oh, Chloe." Queen was clearly caught off guard. "I...haven't really...I think Chloe's keeping herself pretty busy with Isis right now."
"It's just that I can't really seem to get our 'day, time, and place' synced up. The lines of communications are kind of crossed right now. And Lois is really playing right guard on this one. So, I was hoping that you—"
"Listen, Jimmy, man," Queen said, "I don't really wanna get in the middle of this, but I think she's still pretty bent out of shape over the Clark thing—
"Clark," Jimmy repeated the name like it was a curse.
"And the Lana thing," Queen interjected quickly. Then more quietly out of the side of his mouth, he added, "And the getting fired thing. And the getting arrested slash kidnapped thing.
"Look, just give her some time. I'm sure she'll come around. It's just bad timing. That's all, man."
"Alright. Thanks, Oliver," Jimmy acquiesced as Queen patted him on the shoulder.
Van jerked his head towards the door and Jimmy followed him. Christopher gave a "well that was uncomfortable" close–lipped smile and waved goodbye to them.
"Sorry about that," Jimmy told him as they walked to the elevator.
"No worries. Girlfriend still giving you problems, James?"
"Yeah, my 'put myself out there and get down on one knee' is still just sitting out there."
"They say the moment of silence between when you ask and when she answers feels like forever," Van said, "but I think you're setting a record. I don't know, man; I'd cut her loose."
"You don't know, Chloe. She's...worth the wait," Jimmy said just as the elevator doors opened for them.
"I hope your right."
Van followed Jimmy into the car and pressed "lobby" three or four times.
"Hey, who was that Christopher guy anyway?" Jimmy asked as the doors began to close.
"Maybe no one, maybe a headline."
.
.
"So, Christopher," Oliver said, leaning forward, his casual playfulness gone, "You wanna tell me why you broke into my friend's place of business?"
Christopher was fighting a smirk that didn't seem fitting of the moment and that bothered Oliver. There was something about this Christopher Hawke that got to Oliver. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy, because, if he was honest, he found him kind of endearing. It was that there was something familiar about him that he couldn't put his finger on and it made Oliver very uncomfortable.
"So, you heard about that," Christopher said; he seemed to be straddling the fence between casually amused and shrinkingly meek.
"Yeah, she was a little shaken up about it. Breaking and entering can have that effect on a person." Oliver said sarcastically.
"Did she leave the part out where I had a key?"
"Speaking of which, where did you get that?
Christopher exhaled and smiled, dropping his head as he shook it.
"I'm sure your friend filled you in on the details," he replied. "Look, can I just level with you...Mr. Queen?" The final words seemed uncomfortable, unnatural in his mouth.
"Please."
"I'm here to help. I don't know how to make that any clearer," Christopher told him. Leaning in closer to match Oliver's posture, he absently brushed the hair from his eyes and added more quietly, "You...and Chloe...need to focus on bringing Clark Kent home. Ms. Lang is doing everything she can to find him; she sent me to help you so that you can do the same."
"What that's about anyway? You show up acting like you belong here, like you're in the middle of all this, like you're in on some hot secret. If Lana really was trying to help, don't you think she would have...I don't know...called? Dropped a line. Maybe a text or a tweet. Wrapped you up in a bow and stuck a tag on you?"
"The longer we all dance around like this, sizing each other up, the longer Clark is stuck where ever he is. He could be hurt or dying. Every moment we waste could turn into a moment too late." Christopher retorted emphatically. He pulled out an envelope and slapped it on the table between them. In a snarky tone, he added, "Sorry, my gift wrapping didn't make it through customs."
It was grey and sealed with pink wax, a single "L" in flowing script stamped into it. "Oliver Queen," was written on the front in a matching silver-grey ink that only showed when it caught the light. Oliver was skeptical and it showed as he picked up the letter.
.
Oliver,
I'm not writing this as from one close friend to another. Consider it a peace offering between two people that care deeply about the same person, a person who is in grave danger. I don't expect for you to be happy about this letter, but I'm doing what I think is necessary.
Please believe me when I say I'm doing everything within my power to find Clark and bring him home, just as I know you and Chloe are. I don't have to remind you of his importance, but maybe I do have to remind you of what he means to me.
I know I left, but that doesn't change anything. I left because the world needs him more, but I wasn't there to protect him when he needed me. I'll never forgive myself if I don't fix that.
I've disappeared; I can devote myself to finding Clark, but you need your company, and Chloe needs Isis, as a cover. Let me help with that.
Christopher Hawke is honest and loyal. You can trust him. You're going to have to convince Chloe to let him run the foundation for her, but she needs the help. Queen Industries isn't any of my business, but Christopher could be of help to you too, Oliver. If you want it. He's talented and capable, but it's entirely your call. He knows to wait for your lead and won't broach the subject without you expressing interest.
Olive, one last thing. Lex is alive. You know how dangerous he is, even more so now with what he knows. He's up to something big. Be careful.
~Lana Lang
.
Oliver turned the page and there were several documents. One of them included information about Lex's direct involvement in dumping the defunct and scandalized Cadmus labs on Queen Industries.
"Did you know about this?" Oliver asked Christopher, holding up the paper.
He nodded.
Oliver folded the papers, put them back in the envelope and stuck it inside his leather jacket.
"This could still be a trick."
"A very elaborate and convincing one," Christopher countered.
"So, do you work for Mercy," Oliver asked, gesturing with his beer bottle, "or just Lex?"
"Ugh," Christopher groaned melodramatically as he rolled his eyes, "I do not work for Lex. Would you people stop with that?"
Oliver folded his arms and sighed.
"You know you're still gonna have to convince Chloe..."
Christopher folded his hands a rested his chin on them, an expectant look in his eyes.
"...but," Oliver drawled, "I'll put in a good word for you."
"Thank you," Christopher beamed. "You won't regret this."
"I hope not. But that's it, just Isis for now," Oliver amended, standing and dropping several large bills on the table.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Christopher said, an innocent and confused look on his face, still sitting.
"No, 'taking care of my business' for me. You gotta earn your keep and our trust; then we'll see how it goes."
Christopher maintained the expression a moment longer and then a tug at the corner of his mouth broke it. He chuckled as he stood.
"That's not really helping win my trust there, Christopher."
"She said I wouldn't bring it up unless you did, right?" Christopher smiled. "When you want my help, you've got it. Until then, I'll keep myself busy at Isis. I'm only here to help. You have my word, Mr. Queen."
"Just...Oliver."
"Oliver."
There was that thing again where he seemed to be tasting his words like they were new. Something was both unusual and intriguing about this new comer. Oliver threw his arm around Christopher's shoulder and guided him towards the elevator.
"Come on, kid" he said, "I'll give you a ride home."
A/N: thanks for reading. Reviews welcome.
Chapters FOUR, FIVE, and SIX started out as one chapter so if you want to consider them that way, that's fine. FOURa FOURb FOURc ...whatever