Chapter 7

"Morning, Smallville. Where's my coffee?" Lois, leaning back in her chair with her long legs propped up on her desk, snapped at Clark as he strode into the busy newsroom on the fifth floor of the Planet.

Clark sat down heavily in his chair and regarded Lois from across the space of their desks. "Maybe in the pot where you left it?" He suggested grouchily.

"Someone's in a lovely mood this morning," Lois observed. She left her chair momentarily and returned, two plain white diner coffee cups clutched in her hands. She gently set the black coffee next to Clark's keyboard. "Peace offering."

"Thanks, Lois. I didn't sleep well last night," Clark muttered in excuse for his boorish behavior toward her.

"Well then, that should perk ya right up," Lois replied cheerfully before flitting off somewhere when a skinny copy editor called her name.

Clark peered into the cup apprehensively. He wondered if Lois made it. She had a tendency to make coffee too strong for his taste. Cocking an eyebrow, he raised the cup to his lips and sipped. Awww, smooth. He readjusted his chair, making himself comfortable at his desk and then powered up his computer. As the Planet logo spun on the screen while the monitor booted up, Clark rested his cheek in his hand and blew non-existent bangs out of his eyes. Clark jumped in his seat as Lois' abrasive voice startled him as she began to berate one of the other copy boys who had managed to misspell half of the words. Why he'd ever thought Lois could be a compatible romantic interest was beyond him as he watched her snatch the article from the cowering guy, ripping it into pieces and throwing it back at his face. Oh, yes, rebound haze, Clark thought as he recalled the moment during Chloe's wedding when his bad judgement almost came to a head. He'd been on the job for over a month now and every other day he wished to strangle Lois. And Oliver along with her for talking him into this.

The night he'd come back from his mother's, after he and Chloe nuetralized what would have been an epic battle over the last can of root beer between Connor and Kaid, Clark lured the two boys outside where Oliver joined them later.

"What are their names?" Clark asked Connor and Kaid as he helped brush down the horses in the barn.

"This one," Connor pointed to a pretty brown and white Paint horse in the stall they were currently in. "Her name is Dalma. The next one, his name is Mancha. It means 'splotch' in Spanish," Connor finished proudly.

"Do the two of you ride?" Clark asked, boosting Kaid up on his knee so the boy could reach up and scratch between Dalma's ears.

"Yep. Dalma is mine and Mancha belongs to Connor," Kaid answered as Dalma lifted her sturdy neck to nuzzle her mouth against Kaid's outstretched hand, no doubt eagerly in seach of a treat.

"Nice to meet you." Clark nodded politely to both horses, the Paints looking almost like twins themselves. "Who is that at the end?" Clark asked, motioning to a regal looking blonde Palomino with a white gold mane and matching tail.

"That's Odysseus. He belongs to Mom," Connor piped.

"Really?" Clark commented incredously. The image of Chloe on a horse made him laugh as he remembered the first and last time Clark had seen Chloe mounted. As freshmen in high school, he'd taken both Lana and Chloe for a horse ride through the forest that butted the Kent's land. As usual, Chloe's motives were not purely recreational as she had brought her camera along in hopes of landing a story on some land surveyors who came up against a hermit by the name of Kyle Tippet. A man who Clark would later come to befriend and respect. Somehow, Chloe dropped the camera and when Lana volunteered to retrieve it, her horse spooked and bucked. Lana was thrown, her scream breaking the quiet, fog-filled air as her horse galloped away. Clark, making the mistake of leaving Chloe alone with the two remaining horses, raced back to find Lana. In retrospect, he should have been more worried about leaving Chloe by herself with two very nervous equines than Lana in the hands of Kyle Tippet. They returned to find a muddy Chloe, throwing a tantrum in the middle of the wet forest path. After Clark finally calmed her down, Chloe explained the two horses she'd been baby-sitting spooked at the snap of a twig somewhere off in the distance. A gentle mare, Clark assured a wary Chloe, named Becca, reared and Chloe slid right off, afraid for her life as horse hooves came down, almost stomping her to death as it ran away.

"Clark Kent, I don't care how many hugs you try and bribe me with, I will never go riding with you again!" Chloe yelled into his shoulder as Clark wrapped her in a strong embrace to quell her shaking. For once, Lana was more composed than Chloe as the three teenagers tramped the three miles back to the Kent farm. Trying to take Chloe's mind off the frightening experience, Lana gave Chloe the first exclusive interview about her run-in with Kyle.

Things really had changed for his best friend, Clark thought.

"You guys giving Clark the tour?" Oliver called out as he strode into the barn, waving both hands at the twins in greeting. Like the night before last, the twins broke away, running out of the front stall with Dalma and ran screaming, "Ollie!" to the tall man. Oliver hunkered down, hugging each one of them before joining Clark who was leaning against a beam, watching the twins run back to the horses.

"How you doing today?"

"Better," Clark answered, his eyes not straying from the horses. The American Paint horse was known for it's docility, but Clark still kept a close watch on their hooves as the twins petted and patted them.

"I was wondering if I could talk to you about something," Oliver mentioned.

"Sure," Clark turned his attention to Oliver. "What about?"

"Hey, boys," Oliver said to the twins. "I saw Marcus heading this way. Why don't you two see if he needs any help."

"Yeah!" The boys dropped their brushes and scrambled out of the stalls to race out of the barn. Oliver reached inside and retrieved one brush as Clark got the other one.

"What did you want to talk about?" Clark asked when the two men were seated on the landing of the wooden staris leading up to the loft. Oliver sat next to him, his hands laced casually between his knees.

"I was wondering if you had any future plans?" Oliver began by asking.

Clark met Oliver's eyes and for a split-second, he wondered if Oliver was talking about Chloe. But an excited gleam shown out at him and Clark knew Oliver had an idea sprouting. "I'm still trying to re-group. I didn't expect to be gone this long," he answered truthfully. He had returned, ready to face the responsilibilities his powers entrusted him with but how to go about it, Clark had no clue.

"How would you feel about joining the Justice League?" Oliver offered.

"The Justice League?" Clark parrotted.

"Yeah. I know you liked working solo before, but I would like to bring you in. I'll put you on the payroll and everything. You helped us out back in the day and I would like to have you back. We even have a few new recruits I'd like you to meet."

"Thanks for the offer, Oliver, but what would I do with the rest of my time? Chase flashing lights?" Clark asked.

"You used to work at the Daily Planet," Oliver began, turning to look at Clark. He continued as Clark nodded. "I believe there is a postition open for you if you want it. I could put in a good word for you with the owner if you want."

"I did like my job there, but I don't want you to go to any trouble, Oliver. Who owns it now?"

"You're looking at him!" Oliver exclaimed. "I acquired it back when Queen Industries took over Luthorcorp, but only now have I started getting involved. I finally hired a chief editor who seems to know what he's doing. I found him working out of his '93 Cadillac as a freelance reporter. When I mentioned his name to Chloe, she went berserk! She said his work was amazing and I had to give him a job."

"Chloe's got good instincts," Clark replied. "Especially when it comes to journalism. I hated to see her give up on her dream so quickly," he said, referring to when Lex fired Chloe from the Planet on suspicions for hiding something for Lionel Luthor, which she had been. To protect Clark.

"She really enjoys what she does now, though. It may not seem like it, but the job gives her down time with Connor and Kaid she would never have gotten if she was still chasing Pulitzers for the Planet. Chloe handed the Isis Foundation over to a Board of Directors when the boys began. . ." Exhibiting alien behavior. "School. She wanted to spend time with them and be able to pick them up from school or stay home with them if they were sick. She works from home a lot these days, too."

"So who is this guy you found in the car?" Clark switched back to the Planet's new editor. He was having trouble ignoring the pang of jealousy that was beginning to grow as Oliver spoke more about Chloe.

"His name is Perry White. Chloe said you and her had a few clashes with him back in high school. He was writing for some Sci-fi tabloid rag, but it seems meeting you set him back on the path to righteous journalism. Why am I not surprised?" Oliver observed with a grin.
Clark returned it, thinking fondly of the reformed drunk who had found himself back on top.

"Do you think he'd consider giving me my old job back?"

"I'd say so. Especially with a kind word from his boss. And you're in luck." Oliver's grin widened. "You old partner is availble."

"My old partner?" Clark asked with confusion. The only real partner he'd ever had in the literary world of news was Chloe. Unless Oliver meant. . . "No," Clark said emphatically, shaking his head.

"Exactly, buddy." A self satisfied smile broke out over Oliver's face, making him look very impish. He clapped Clark on the shoulder. "You and Lois!"

Clark chuckled as he recalled the look on Lois' face when Oliver mentioned his new idea. After choking on a mouthful of spaghetti noodles, she glared at both Oliver and Clark at the same time.

"I guess since this is a request from the owner, I can't say no," Lois simpered only to recieve a swift kick under the table from Chloe. "I would love to work with you again, Clark. You can soar to new heights of uselessness." Chloe kicked her again. Oliver, perfectly used to Lois and Chloe's childish antics at the dinner table, waited patiently for Lois to get all her barbs out. Finally, she ground out, "It would be nice to have you back, Smallville. You were always great at tech support."

"Thank you, Lois," Clark accepted a bit uncomfortably. He had never seen Lois so angry as he had that day, even with him. But on the first day, he was surprised by what lengths Lois went to make up for her earlier snideness. She took him around and introduced him to collegues and showed him the layout of the fifth floor. Then he was taken up to meet Perry White.

"I have to say," Perry began, looking even more haggard than he had when he and Clark met last. "I always wondered if I would meet you here someday." Clark shook his hand, more of a friendship grip than a business-like shake.

"You know the Chief?" Lois asked in bewilderment at the obvious reportaire between the two.

"Don't call me that, Lane. Its Mr. White to you and don't you forget it," Perry blustered, sitting back down in a chair that looked as weathered as he did. "What ever happened to that lady bulldog editor you had in high school? I liked her," Perry chirped, referring a young Chloe.

"She went a different way," Clark answered. He noticed Lois leaning against the wall, pouting. "She's actually the head of the Isis Foundation."

"Chloe?" Lois spit out. "You know Chloe?" She directed at Perry.

Perry continued to ignore her. "Impressive. Ah, well. You two seemed to make a good team. Sorry to say I won't be able to harness and leash the dynamic writing duo. You two would have sold papers like crazy! Guess you'll have to make due with Lane, here."

"Make due with me?" Lois cried with outrage. She pushed away from the wall and stormed across to Perry's desk, jabbing at it with her index finger. "I have to make due with him!" Lois exclaimed, standing on her tiptoes and gesticulating toward Clark.

"Don't be too hard on her, Mr. White," Clark began, patting Lois on the shoulder placatingly. "Chloe is her cousin, so it's in her blood."

Lois seethed, brushing off his hand.

"Then I'll leave it to you to bring it out. Now get out of my office and go sell newspapers!"

So Lois and Clark were partners again, only this time they were residents of the fifth floor instead of the bullpen in the basement. While he'd been away, Lois had made a name for herself, it seemed. Sniffing out scandals like a bloodhound, Lois snarled and clamped her jaws around them, dragging them up and out into the light of day and the starkness of print. She catapulted to the fifth floor on the wave of political intrigue and sensational pay dirt, along with really juicy leads that found their way onto her desk in a emerald green file folder. As of right now, Clark's only function was to perform the heavy lifting which included proof-reading her copy, taking her messages and only sometimes getting her coffee. He set his teeth as the words 'glorified assistant' floated through his brain. Just until I get my feet back under me, Clark said to himself. He had a good deal and wasn't about to go screwing it up by biting off more than he could chew. He had one year of experience and a couple of articles on a high school newspaper, heavily influenced by a more talented writer reading over his shoulder as he typed.

As much as he wanted her, Chloe wasn't here to peer over his shoulder as he worked or to suggest ideas that might spark some interest. Truth was, Clark missed Chloe more than just in the Planet. He would always think of this building as Chloe's domain instead of the tall scraper just down the block. He also missed getting up early and making her morning coffee, although he did manage to run over her favorite caffine creations from time to time after he moved into the Talon apartment a little over three weeks ago. He didn't think he'd find it as quiet and lonely as it actually was. Which is why when he wasn't working late or chasing stories with Lois, he was at the house with Chloe, the twins and sometimes Oliver. Still, he missed her when she wasn't with him, a feeling Clark realized he'd been feeling for a long time now. With a slow smile, Clark picked up the phone and dialed. She was, however, just down the block.

"Isis Foundation, how may I direct your call?" A business-like female voice answered. Clark checked the screen on the phone, making sure he'd dialed the direct line to Chloe's office she'd given him.

"I'd like to speak with Chloe Sullivan," Clark told the voice.

"May I ask who is calling?"

"Clark Kent."

"And who are you with, Mr. Kent?"

"I'm a personal friend," Clark said.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kent. You're name is not on the list. May I ask what this is in regards to?"

"I'll just try her on her cell, thanks." Clark disconnected the call and dialed the cell number with arched brows. It went straight to voicemail. "Hey, Chloe, it's Clark. If you don't have any plans for lunch, give me a call. Otherwise, I'll have to you eat your cousin. You know the number." Clark replaced the phone in its cradle, feeling slightly deflated. What list? Why wasn't he on the list? Clark turned back to his computer and began checking his email. Lois emailed him her first draft on their interview with the chairman of the school zoning committe for his plans on the new Metrolpolis school zones. He opened the document and began reading their work. He'd actually helped on this one. Lois had used a lot of the questions he'd come up with. As his mouse pointer hovered over the print option, his desk phone rang.

"Clark Kent," he answered.

"Clark." She didn't have to identify herself. He'd know her voice anywhere.

"Chloe! Does this mean we're on for lunch?"

"Yeah," Chloe replied. She sounded different, nervous.

"Chloe? Are you all right?" Clark asked as Lois appeared upon catching Chloe's name.

"What's wrong?" Lois mouthed at him.

"Could you come over?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in a second."

"I'll leave your name at the desk. They'll escort you up." The line went dead.

"Escort me?" Clark repeated, looking at the dead phone in his hand before hanging it up.

"Was that Chloe? What's wrong?" Lois pestered the moment he cradled the phone.

"I don't know, Lois. She asked me to come over and then said I'll be escorted up," Clark explained as he pulled his thick, charcoal overcoat on and then straightened his maroon tie.

"Oh no," Lois sighed, sitting in Clark's office chair as he stood. "She must have gotten another one."

"Another what?"

"Another note," Lois clarified as she gathered her long hair, a black matching Clark's in honor of Halloween this month, and pinned it in a bun at the base of her neck with paper clips. Clark was always amazed to watch her do this. It was like when Chloe would paint her nails with the white-out in the Torch while she was plagued with writer's block. They were the girliest things Clark had ever seen Chloe or Lois do.

"All this is about a note?" Clark asked in disbelief. When had Chloe become so paranoid? She used to live for hate mail.

"It's not the notes, it's the sender," Lois said with a roll of her eyes. "There was this scientist working for Queen Industries, a Dr. Mickler. He'd been insourced from the Luthercorp takeover. When Lex was expendited back to the U. his trial, he began incriminating all the people who were involved in his little Russian Science Fair. I know, Lex crying plea bargain shocked even me. In the end, it didn't do any good. All his accomplices either went to prison or lost their jobs and Lex is still in a six by three cement block. All except this Dr. Mickler. There was never enough evidence to pick him up on anything, so Oliver just fired him."

"Lois, do I need to sit for this or do you have a point soon?" Clark asked irritably. Chloe sounded unnerved and it was taking all his will power not to just fly out of this busy room to her building.

"Keep your suspenders on, I'm getting there," Lois snapped. Clark glowered at her. He liked his suspenders.

"Anyway, Dr. Mickler spiraled out of control. No one would touch him a 39 and a half foot pole. He drank away his savings and in the end, his wife left him, taking their three boys with her. It's no secret he blames Oliver for all this."

"So why send threatening notes to Chloe? Why not Oliver?"

"He sees Chloe as the weaker partner. Or maybe the one with the power, I don't know. At first it was just pleading to talk to Oliver and beg for his job back. As time went on, his notes and calls became more bellergient and violent. He feels by threatening Oliver's family he'll get what he wants. But neither Oliver or Chloe are budging."

"That still doesn't explain why I'll be escorted up to Chloe's office," Clark reminded Lois, circling back to what started this whole conversation.

"He probably showed up in the lobby demanding to speak with her. He does that every now and then when he gets drunk. Chloe has security, but they're just those Grandpas With Guns. I'm guessing when you get there, you'll be seeing some of Queen Industries Finest. Come on, let's both go," Lois said as she flew foward onto her feet.

"And what would we tell Mr. White if he came down here looking for us?" Clark tried to dissuade her. Chloe asked for him, not her and him.

"We'll leave a note telling him we're out following a story. Chief hardly makes it down here to the fifth floor, unless he feels the need to come and chew on my ass for something," Lois griped as she started to pull on her coat as well. Clark should have known the thought of getting reprimanded at work wouldn't help when it came to Lois. And then, as if he knew Clark needed him, Perry's gravely voice spoke over the office P.A. system.

"Lane! Get up here!"

Lois groaned. "Fine. Go without me." She threw her coat back over her chair. She marshalled Clark over to the bank of elevators and hit the down button for him and the up for her. "Tell my baby cuz hi." Her elevator arrived first. She waved as the doors closed and then Clark heard the car rise steadily. Looking surreptitiously around him, Clark saw everyone else on the floor was absorbed in their own activities. They never found the source of the cool breeze that scattered their papers.

Jillian didn't show up for work that morning. She didn't even call. From the day Chloe hired Jillian, the young woman was never more than five minutes late without calling. She lived with her college dorm-mate in a high rise over on the east side so traffic had the potential to be a nightmare for her. Since Chloe never left Smallville before eight, after dropping the boys off at school, she didn't require Jillian to come in anytime before nine-thirty, roughly when Chloe was parking her car in her assigned space. But Jillian was always seated at her desk, her electric time card reading 8:45 or earlier. Today, she wasn't.

It was to be a busy day. Chloe had meetings scheduled with all department heads. They arrived and were surprised to see the heavy double doors to their CEO's office wide open and Chloe standing just outside the elevator to greet them. At 10:45, Chloe ushered her accountant from her office and called the temp working the Welcome Desk.

"Has Jillian called yet?" Chloe demanded with worry.

"No, Ms. Sullivan," the girl chirped.

"Thank you. Transfer me to HR," Chloe ordered shortly.

Moments later, a male voice barked, "Lisa, I told you, you can't be calling me-"

"This isn't Lisa," Chloe informed the perturbed sounding man.

"Oh, sorry, ma'am, I-" the man stuttered.

"That's fine. This is Ms. Sullivan." Chloe rolled her eyes at the sharp intake of breath. "I need Jillian Hoffman's personel file sent up immediately."

"Of course, Ms. Sullivan. I'll bring it up myself." Minutes later a good-looking, if shaggy, young man tapped on her door, a brown tri-fold file cluctched in his hand.

"Thank you," Chloe left it hanging as the man made his way quickly to her desk.

"Brad Freeman."

"Thank you, Brad." The man turned to go. "Brad?"

"Yes, Ms. Sullivan?" He said eagerly, facing her again.

"Is this Lisa, the temp working the Welcome Desk, is she your girlfriend?"

Brad's ears turned red. "No, she's just a really good friend."

"Oh," Chloe responded knowingly, recognizing the light in Brad's eyes she'd so many other times in another young guy's eyes. "Treat her better," she said softly in dismissal.

"Yes, ma'am." Brad left and Chloe directed her attention to the file. Finding Jillian's home number, she dialed only to hear a grating busy signal. Then she tried her cell phone, only to be sent to voicemail. Trying a different approach, Chloe dialed the emergency contact, someone named Evone Macrum.

The voice that answered was a woman and by the sound of it, a distraught one. "Hello? Hello?" She said again when Chloe didn't respond right away.

"Hello. I work with Jillian Hoffman and she hasn't come in-"

"How did you get this number?" The woman asked with hostility.

"You are listed as her emergency contact. This is-"

"Who are you?"

"Am I speaking to Evone Macrum?"

"Yes, it is," Evone snapped. "Who are you?"

"My name is Chloe Sullivan. I'm Jillian's boss. I got worried when she didn't show up or call-"

"Jillian's dead." The hostility vanished, the voice becoming tearful and child-like.

"What?"

"She was murdered last night. I'm her room-mate and I came home this morning and-" The girl broke off in tears. "I have to go. I'm sorry." The line went dead and Chloe fell back in her chair, stunned. Jillian? Dead? Her rusty journalistic instincts shook the dust off and made her nerves sing. Jillian was one of the most organized, most thorough, most mature, most boring women Chloe had ever met. How could she have been murdered? Out of habit, she hit the intercom button, to tell Jillian to cancel all her meetings. Instead, she dialed Gladys' extension and asked her if she would mind calling all the heads and telling them their meetings were to be rescheduled for a later date.

"Why? What is wrong, Chloe?" Gladys asked in a hush, still able after all this time, to tell when Chloe was upset.

"Jillian was murdered last night," Chloe spoke in a horrified whisper.

"Oh no! Do you need me to-"

"If you could just call my appointments today. I'm taking the rest of the day off." To investigate, she thought. After assuring Gladys she was as fine as she could be numerous times, Chloe hung up the phone. Grabbing her purse and her warm beige trench off the coat rack, she was closing her door and locking it when she heard the elevator door slid open. Beginning to tell whoever it was she would have to see them later, Chloe turned to find a florist deliveryman holding a long white box.

"Oh, hi," Chloe greeted with surprise.

"Good morning. Are you Ms. Sullivan?" The older gentlemen asked. He was handsome, in a very rugged way and in some ways, reminded Chloe of an older version of Jonathon Kent, if the man were still alive. He didn't look as if he belonged delivering flowers, although Chloe was sure he made the hearts of house wives pound.

"That's me. How can I help you?"

"These are for you," he said with a toothy grin and held out the box. His hands were encased in expensive leather, black gloves.

"Thank you," Chloe accepted the box, glancing at the type of gloves he was wearing with interest. "Hold on, let me get you a tip."

"No need, ma'am," the man said as Chloe balanced the box on a hip to rummage for her wallet. "The man who sent them included it."

Chloe watched the man get back on the elevator and disappear behind the steel doors. With an annoyed huff, she unlocked her doors again and went back inside her office. Setting the box on her desk, she saw the ribbon was a velvety black. Cutting it, she pushed it aside and manuvered the fitted top off to reveal a pretty bouquet of lilac colored tulips. The stems were gathered together in a ribbon matching the one on the outside of the white box. Chloe smiled, thinking Oliver had sent them to her as an apology for being distant this past month. Picking them up to search for a card, Chloe's skin began to crawl. Dropping the flowers to the floor and staggering away, a sharp scream erupted from her mouth as she glimpsed the bottom of the white cardboard box. A long, dangerous looking dagger covered in deep red, dried blood rested there harmlessly.

With shaking fingers, she dialed 911. Moments later, two street cops came shooting into her office. They saw the knife and looked at each other with perplexed eyes. Chloe sat in her chair, a few feet from the flower box, chewing on a fingernail, a pale green tint to her skin. She knew the knife had been used to kill Jillian. And she knew who did it. In an eerily calm voice, Chloe told the cops everything she thought she knew. The notes, the visits from Dr. Micker and the late night calls that Oliver didn't even know about.

"Do you know what the card means?" Asked a CSI operative, a while later as she plucked the card up with latex-gloved hands.

"I didn't touch anything." Chloe said, wringing her hands together.

The woman opened the card. "Ms. Sullivan, you need to read this." She came over to stand beside Chloe, holding the card open.

Under a bloody smudge that looked like a fingerprint, dark purple ink shone in the bright light of her office. "This was your last warning."