When fandoms collide
Sep. 4th, 2006 09:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mistressaceI have a fic to post here and it's a departure for me. While Smallville remains one of my true obsessions, I've recently discovered Due South -- both the show and the fandom, thanks to my pusher... dear friend and beta, Diluvian. When this woman pimps something, look out. She's a powerhouse....
The story below combines both of my fandoms, Smallville and Due South and was written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
getfraserlaid challenge. This is my first foray into writing Due South, so I hope I got the character voices right. The prompt and the story are behind the cut.
Title: A Man of Justice
Author: Mistress Ace
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 18,315
Pairing: Fraser/Lex (Smallville)
Notes: Diluvian worked her usual magic in keeping me sane, and pointing out when what I'd written wasn't making sense. My ever-patient hubby Masterthorgim lent a hand as well -- he corralled the other plot bunnies so I could finish this with this one.
Prompt # 214: Fraser/Lex (Superman, comicverse or whatever you want) - Lex is attending a diplomatic dinner at the consulate. He sees Fraser and decides to make Fraser his, if only for the night.
Summary: When worlds collide...
A Man of Justice
*~*~*~*~*
Raising his glass to his lips, Lex peered over its rim, savoring its contents as another parade of guests filed past his vantage point. Scotch, single-malt, Islay -- Laphroaig -- six years longer in the cask than he'd been in existence, its natural harshness seriously mellowed by age. Overall, a good choice on the part of the caterer.
Or, given the last name of the man he was currently eyeing, on the part of the Inspector himself.
With his mirror-polished boots and flawless uniform, the Canadian Consulate's chief of security, Inspector Benton Fraser cut an imposing figure. Highly decorated and well-seasoned, an RCMP officer with at least twenty-five years of service under his gold and black dress belt if Lex's interpretation of the insignia adorning the notable worthy's left bicep proved accurate. Five gold stars, one dead center and the remaining four arranged in an arch beneath it, each star indicative of five years on the force.
The passage of that time hardly showed on the man's face -- around the eyes, perhaps, and hints of gray at the temples -- and the rest of the package was well worth staring at.
An occupation many had indulged in over the course of the evening. Most of the women present and more than a few of the men had drifted past the Inspector at some point, each hoping to catch his eye.
Standing ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back and head angled slightly to the right as he paid polite attention to Greenhaven's latest diatribe about environmental issues, Inspector Fraser appeared unaware of the intense scrutiny leveled his direction. On occasion he would look away, sparing a quick glance at the door, the windows, and the other RCMP officers stationed about the room before returning to the conversation at hand.
Subtle. Good at his job. Competent without being an alarmist.
Taking another slow sip, Lex briefly considered offering the Inspector employment. He could certainly use some competency where his personal safety was concerned. But the preservation of his own skin was not the impetus for Lex's fascination with Benton Fraser.
Quite simply put, the man was beautiful.
A living, breathing fairy-tale. Rather than detracting from his looks, the arrest-me red uniform with its gold accents and the impressive row of medals showcased his pale skin, providing a perfect foil for artic blue eyes and jet black hair. Snow White clad in masculine form, topped off with a mouth meant for sin.
Until this evening, Lex's presence in Chicago had been a waste of time. The negotiations for LuthorCorp's new facilities in Vancouver, Ottawa, and Montreal had progressed so smoothly even the most incompetent of his father's drones could have handled the transactions. With NAFTA-facilitated smiles firmly in place, heads nodding at the appropriate moments, the flesh had been pressed, promises made across highly polished conference tables and through it all, Lex had been supremely bored.
Until now....
*~*~*~*
Fraser's last sweep of the room was satisfactory. The condition of Constable Cooper's boots merited some concern, but as she had just returned from a patrol of the Consulate's grounds, he'd address the matter of their less than perfect shine in a private debriefing.
Ah. Good. She'd noted the problem on her own.
Nodding his approval and dismissal, Fraser once again turned his attention to Mr. Greenhaven. There was something just mentioned....
"Unfortunately, sir, I have to disagree with you. Thanks to the diligence of our American neighbors, fish are returning to the Great Lakes in record numbers. I'm happy to report the overall population of several previously threatened species has been on the rise for nearly a decade."
"Impossible. That's unsupported propaganda disseminated by their department of fish and wildlife." Greehaven shook a thick finger under Fraser's nose -- ink smudge on the second knuckle, flecks of tobacco under the nail, cheap cologne insufficient to mask the ordure of fatty beef, poorly aged cheese and a salt-cured pickle consumed an hour or less prior to his arrival. Middle management, chained to a desk most days, doomed to an early death -- heart disease most likely. "If you believe what they have to say, then you've lived here too long, Inspector."
"I can assure you it's not propaganda, Mr. Greenhaven. I'm a living witness of the resurgence in the piscine population. While working on a case in conjunction with the Chicago PD six years ago, I personally observed nearly a dozen healthy specimens of Salmo trutta, commonly known as brown trout, in the waters of Lake Superior."
If Ray were here, a two fingered gesture would have accompanied that statement -- albeit couched in more colorful language and quite possibly followed up with a threat of bodily harm. Pity he couldn't attend. The promise of a kick to the head would certainly liven things up.
But Antonia, Francesca's eldest, had her first piano recital tonight and the attendance of all members of the Vecchio clan had been mandated by their matriarch. Even those members whose connection was situational, rather than natal, were obligated to make an appearance. He'd received his own imperious summons and only been excused because Mrs. Vecchio grudgingly accepted Her Majesty's prior claim on his time.
By now Ray was probably asleep, worn out by the increased demands arising from his own recent promotion. Propped up by Blanche's shoulder, her hand resting over his mouth to muffle the soft snores, her smile firmly in place as she shielded her husband's exhaustion from those who would tire him even further with their concern.
She was a good woman. Exactly what Ray deserved.
Their anniversary was next week. His gift to them was in his office, wrapped and ready for delivery. The conference would be over by Monday -- he'd drop it off then.
"Well, be that as it may, the toxin levels are still unacceptable."
Stifling an irritated sigh, Fraser replied, "Yes. Yes, they are."
Time for another scan of the room. Windows still firmly shut, a drift of music from the ballroom underscoring the babble of conversation, a bustle of late-arriving guests at the front door -- all was in order.
Wait. Not completely in order.
He was being watched. No, more than that -- he was being examined, his every movement weighed, measured, and committed to memory.
Northeast corner, lounging alone at a table, head and face half-hidden by a potted palm. Very distinctive individual -- young male, late twenties to early thirties, his lean frame clad in a suit Ray Vecchio would've talked about for weeks, long fingers curled around a tumbler, light sips followed by a flicker of tongue across the lower lip, giving the Laphroaig the attention it deserved. There was a faint scar on his upper lip, and several interesting calluses in the saddle between left thumb and forefinger -- reins? No, too isolated.
Ah, a fencer.
Height: difficult to pinpoint based on his current position, but given the length of his torso and the amount of leg visible -- 1.83 meters. Weight: 70 kilograms. Most arresting feature: the eyes. An indeterminate shade of gray and infinitely hungry, their focus fierce and all-consuming. A slow curve of smile spread the scar, thinning it into near invisibility and the glass was lifted again, its rim tilted in his direction before being tipped back.
Fraser cut a glance to the left, then the right. Unless there was a woman lurking behind him....
No, Albert Greenhaven was the only person in his immediate vicinity. Over the years he'd learned there was no accounting for taste, but he sincerely doubted the corpulent Canadian environmentalist merited such an appreciative appraisal.
His collar suddenly felt tight. Tilting his head to one side, he tried to ease the pressure. As the crack of his neck echoed through the room like a rifle shot, Fraser clenched his right hand to keep it from drifting up to smooth his eyebrow.
Smiling graciously as a waiter stopped to freshen his drink, his observer leaned forward. With the masking greenery now abandoned, Fraser considered adding twenty years to his first age estimate.
Current masculine fashion allowed for affecting a glabrous appearance, but not even the sharpest straight razor wielded by an expert barber could achieve that level of smoothness. Natural baldness of such magnitude was rare in the young -- usually limited to cancer patients and individuals suffering from severe radiation poisoning.....
Oh. Oh dear.
Diefenbaker's recent observation was accurate: he was slipping. Both his assessment of his observer's age and intent were so far off the mark as to be laughable.
Alexander Joseph Luthor, age twenty-four. Bald since childhood, his remarkable condition the result of exposure to massive radiation during a meteor shower fifteen years prior. He was one of the youngest CEO's in the world and a guest of honor this evening. With the combination of his plans for economic expansion in several provinces and a stellar environmental record since replacing his father at his company's helm, he reigned as the current darling of the Canadian government.
Fraser hadn't had the pleasure of an introduction as yet, due to a seminar in Ottawa from which he'd returned just this morning. Although he'd been apprised of the man's presence in Chicago, and had taken a few moments to skim a weighty dossier concerning Mr. Luthor, a disaster with the caterer had delayed his arrival this evening to the point where he'd missed the reception line entirely.
Yes, that must be the motivation behind the intense regard. As soon as politely possible he'd have to make his excuses and approach Mr. Luthor. Given that he was ultimately responsible for the man's safety during this evening's festivities, he should at least exchange pleasantries.
Perhaps there would be time to discuss the impact another fertilizer plant would have on the Fraser's delicate ecosystem. The wetlands outside of Vancouver were especially at risk; a chemical spill there could prove catastrophic in nature.
With apologies on his lips, Fraser took a step backward and nearly tumbled into the woman now at his elbow. A slim hand insinuated itself into the crook, perfectly manicured nails pressing briefly against the pulse point, touching him as if she had a right, as if he were a possession long lost and just now being reclaimed.
No. Not now.
How had she gotten past Constables Fenimore and James? Had she stolen someone's invitation? Was there a legitimate guest of the Consulate currently bleeding to death somewhere on the streets of Chicago?
Frozen, barely able to breathe, his back throbbing for the first time in years, Fraser fought the tide of irrational panic. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a wealth of dark brown hair tumbling over delicate shoulders, the fine arch of an eyebrow, and the curve of her cheek. The height was right, just below the level of his jaw.
A large diamond pierced the lobe of her right ear, blue-white and winking in the light. A perfect two carats -- Fraser gasped, his lungs drawing in bitter cold air. The concrete tore at his skin, the glitter of diamonds scattered around him turning sanguine as his best friend, the man he'd betrayed for love, called out to a God who had deserted them.
I caught this morning morning's minion...
"Hello, darling. Sorry I'm late." Her lips pressed against his cheek, the softness of her hair so well remembered. He was lost.
No.
He grabbed her arm, pushing her back and found himself staring down into wide brown eyes. Brown, not green.
Christina Nichols smiled and winked before turning to Greenhaven. "Sorry to barge in, but I need to talk to him for a minute, okay?"
Greenhaven's disgruntlement at being interrupted in mid-speech softened as he nodded in recognition, "Of course. Forgive me, I've been monopolizing the Inspector's time this evening. It's been a pleasure, sir." He started to turn away, and then pivoted back, looking down at her hand which was now wrapped around Fraser's. "I have to admit I'm a little surprised. I didn't know you two knew each other."
She squeezed Fraser's hand, "We've known each other forever. My father introduced us."
Finally taking the hint, Greehaven wandered off -- possibly in search of another victim.
Disengaging his hand from hers, Fraser gave in to habit and dragged his thumb across his eyebrow, glowering at the young woman now standing in front of him.
Utterly unrepentant, she grinned and said, "Hello Chicago."
*~*~*~*
Ah, there was the opening he'd been waiting for.
As he watched the couple in the center of the room, Lex finished his drink and set the tumbler down. Moving casually through the crowd, Lex nodded to a few people he knew and smiled at the woman in red serge with whom he'd had dinner the previous evening. To his immediate left, Consul General Thibodeaux was engaged in a conversation with the Minister of Trade. Lex forestalled an invitation to join them by angling away to the right.
He arrived just in time to hear Christina say, "It's no big deal. You just looked like you needed a hand."
"Be that as it may, Miss Nichols, the subterfuge was unnecessary. I'm quite capable of extricating myself from a conversation."
Irritated was a good look for Benton Fraser. Lex wondered what other expressions would wear well on the man. Probably all of them...
"With that blowhard? I don't think so. The only way to get away from that guy is with a crowbar." She leaned in, tapping the Inspector's chest with her forefinger. "Look, I know you, Chicago. You're way too polite. If I hadn't stepped in, you'd've been here until midnight still trying to figure out a way to out-bore him."
"Now, Christina, I'm sure the Inspector had the situation well in hand," Lex drawled, sliding his hands out of his pockets as he waited for her reaction.
Right on cue, she spun toward him, outrage heightening her natural color, a sharp comment at the ready before her eyes alit on him. As he'd anticipated, she squealed in delight, and then launched herself in his direction. "Lex! I'd heard you were in town. How are you?"
Accepting her enthusiastic embrace, Lex nuzzled her cheek, placing a light kiss on her earlobe. "Better now."
She melted against him, sighing. "It's good to see you again."
Over the top of Christina's head, Lex watched Inspector Fraser. Two small lines appeared between the man's eyes, his mouth tightening and then smoothing out as he said, "Forgive me, sir. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of an introduction?"
Disengaging from Christina, Lex held out his hand in greeting, but she beat them both to the punch. A mischievous smile appeared, a dimple winking in and out of existence while she pointed at Fraser, then at Lex. "Chicago, meet Metropolis. Metropolis, this is Chicago."
Unfazed by the casual form of address, Benton Fraser shared a brief glance of universal commiseration with Lex. Of course, yet another man Christina Nichols had led on a merry dance. While Lex sincerely doubted the Inspector's experience with Christina had included skinny-dipping, false ID's, and dancing until dawn in a leather bar, all things were possible.
The Inspector's handshake was decisive, his palm dry and he didn't look away when Lex lingered, grasping his wrist and pressing back firmly. "Inspector Benton Fraser, Mr. Luthor. I'm sorry I wasn't able to greet you earlier."
"That's quite all right. I'm sure running the security for this event has put great demands on your time. And please, call me Lex." Lex released his grip on the man's wrist. Aware Christina was watching both of them avidly, he stepped away from his actual goal and gliding a hand down her spine, let it come to rest in the small of her back. "It's nice to finally meet you, Inspector. I was hoping to put a face to the legend."
Benton Fraser's sudden blush was spectacular. In a matter of seconds he was nearly the same shade of scarlet as his uniform. "Oh dear. May I ask who's been telling tales out of school?"
Laughing, Lex shook his head. "A gentleman never reveals his sources. So tell me, did you really come to Chicago on the trail of the killers of your father?"
*~*~*~*
To Fraser's surprise, Mr. Luthor was actually interested in hearing the whole story. When he tried to gloss over the details, Lex would interrupt with a particularly salient question and bring him back on track. The man was an excellent listener, remarkably observant and by the time they were called in to dinner, Fraser decided that under other circumstances Lex Luthor would've made a fine detective.
As Mr. Luthor was a guest of honor, they weren't seated near one another. But the Consul General had matters to discuss with their guest and Fraser had his own duties to attend to.
Christina's parting comment about being glad to see that Lex had managed to find his way out of the closet was a momentary discord. But considering how in depth their conversation eventually became, her presence had been largely ignored. Perhaps she was feeling slighted.
Dinner was a pleasant affair, and despite the last minute substitutions, quite palatable. When he made his rounds through the kitchen, Fraser congratulated the caterer on a job well done.
The Consulate grounds were quiet, the surrounding streets lined with limousines and well-kept cars. At the southeast corner, two men lounged against the fence, one smoking and the other telling a joke that had his companion smirking around the cigarette clenching between his teeth. Fraser compared their faces to the photos he'd retrieved from Mr. Luthor's dossier, identifying them as the man's personal bodyguards.
Their suits were excellently tailored; a casual observer would've been hard pressed to locate their armament. Shoulder holsters for both, Glocks if he'd interpreted the outlines correctly. The one smoking had a second pistol -- probably a Ruger 9mm, 9-round clip -- in the small of his back, and there was a knife hidden in the other's right sleeve. Neither man wore a vest, a rather lackadaisical attitude given the casualties suffered by Mr. Luthor's staff in the past.
Fraser nodded to the men, making a mental note to mention the oversight to Mr. Luthor should the opportunity present itself.
After a final scan of the surrounding area, Fraser tapped his boots clean on the front step, opened the door to the Consulate and stepped inside.
*~*~*~*
Lex watched as Fraser stripped off his gloves, tucking them into his belt before wiping down his boots with a white handkerchief that seemed to appear from thin air. His cheeks were ruddy, his hair and shoulders briefly adorned with flakes of snow. Perfect once more, he straightened his shoulders and met Lex's gaze head on.
Answering Fraser's friendly smile with one of his own, Lex set his glass down and ambled toward the foyer. The brandy had been excellent, its warmth still seeping into his bones, but here was the real fire. He'd love to spend hours banking it, building it up to a roaring inferno, and watch it die down slowly only to stir the embers back into life again.
Unfortunately, the evening's festivities were drawing to a close. The early birds had already made their exits and the remaining guests were starting to drift out in twos and threes. When he'd last spotted Christina, she was on the arm of a very pretty boy, laughing gaily as said boy whispered something in her ear.
He wished her good hunting.
Lex held his hand out to Fraser. "All's well?"
Fraser looked at his hand, then at his face before accepting the handshake. "As I'm happy to report. Did you enjoy your evening in Canada?"
"I did, very much, although I suspect it was more the company than the location. It's a pity my visit has to end. Unless...." Lex moved in for the kill, holding onto Fraser's hand as he stepped closer. His voice dropped to a murmur. "Would you care to join me for dinner tomorrow?"
Yes. There it was. Match to dry tinder. A catch in the breath, blue disappearing into black, a flicker of tongue on the lower lip -- ignition.
"I'd be delighted."
"Good. It's a date."
*~*~*~*
A date. Lex couldn't possibly have meant...
Oh dear.
Momentarily flustered, Fraser held tight to the hand still resting in his. His palm was growing damp but he barely noticed it. He was too caught up in the spark that had passed between the two of them.
He had to be mistaken.
Yes, his solitary state of being had been wearying of late, but he thought himself past this. At this point in his life, he should be able to spend an evening in the company of an attractive man and not allow his isolation to join forces with his imagination.
Especially with a man like Lex Luthor. Charming, rich and by all appearances, enamored of women. With the exception of their private conversation before dinner, Mr. Luthor had been surrounded by the ladies in attendance. He'd complimented their dresses, their jewelry, their perfume -- he'd engaged the intellectuals in well-considered debates and deflected the politicians with polite enquiries about their favorite causes. Each of the fairer sex who had come into his orbit spun away with a secret smile, each of them more content than they had been before he'd drawn them in.
He'd dealt with the men similarly. But none of those conversations exhibited the sexual undertones that were currently threatening to set the room ablaze.
Chiding himself for being foolish, Fraser released Mr. Luthor's hand and stepped back. The man's history, however brief his perusal of documents compiled by his staff had been, didn't support these... fancies.
Prior to a business-related move to rural Kansas four years ago, Mr. Luthor had cut a swath far and wide through the eligible female population of Metropolis. The man left in his wake a trail of broken hearts and several shattered engagements before he'd taken on the challenge of revitalizing a failing fertilizer plant and by extension, saving a dying town.
Twice married by the age of twenty-two -- the first marriage lasted only a week before his bride launched an elaborate homicidal attack on his person. Upon her incarceration, Mr. Luthor obtained an annulment and married again a mere seven months later. His second set of nuptials lasted longer, but also ended in quiet annulment with each party going their separate ways. Mr. Luthor had taken over the reins of his father's company and Dr. Bryce was purported to be currently running a clinic in Rwanda.
On the Kinsey scale, the man rated a perfect one. To assume anything else was sheer folly.
*~*~*~*
Satisfied the seed had been planted, Lex took his coat from the hands of the white-clad waiter standing at his elbow. He shrugged it on, tucked his scarf into the open throat of his suit coat, buttoned the cashmere all the way up and pulled on his gloves.
"Until tomorrow then?"
The Inspector shook himself, the open look on his face disappearing behind the polite mask he'd worn for the majority of the evening. "Yes. Until tomorrow. Good night, Mr. Luthor."
"Ben... I can call you Ben, right?"
After a moment, the mask cracked a little as the man nodded.
For that, Lex rewarded him with a pat on the shoulder and a friendly grin. "It's Lex. Mr. Luthor's my father and since having dinner with him is more like engaging the enemy than sharing a meal, I think you're better off spending your time with me. So please... call me Lex."
*~*~*~*
Before Fraser could respond, Consul General Thibodeaux was beside them with his hand outstretched, thanking Lex for attending and walking him to the door. Following in their wake, Fraser stopped at the front step and scanned the street again.
Fenimore, James and Cooper were opening car doors for other departing guests. Mr. Luthor's bodyguards moved rapidly to flank their charge and as Thibodeaux said his final goodnight, the two men guided their precious cargo to a waiting limousine.
They would have succeeded if Lex hadn't stopped at the gate to gaze back over his shoulder. Thankfully the hour was late and even with the muted rumble of engines, the street relatively quiet. Quiet enough that Fraser heard the snick of a round being chambered and turned in time to spot the muzzle flare.
The guard on Lex's left went down and Fraser was running.
Leaping the fence, he hit Lex in the back and knocked him to the ground as the other guard screamed, clutching at a leg that blossomed red. The second bullet's report echoed in the air, followed by five more shots, three of them thudding into Fraser's back. From the sound of the ricochet, Fraser thought the other two bullets had struck the street and impacted into the far curb, but pain may have affected his judgment.
People were screaming and running as Fraser laid there, covering Lex with his body and hoping the shooter didn't have the presence of mind to aim for their heads. Lex's was still exposed, his face pressed into the concrete, his eyes closed. Dragging himself up on his elbows, Fraser shifted until Lex's bare scalp was covered by his shoulder, Lex's cheek resting on the back of his hand.
He should get up and take control of the situation. But when he tried to move, the sharp pain in his back took his breath away.
"Officer down. I repeat, officer down!"
James -- ten feet to Fraser's left, hunkered down with his back against a brick pillar and a cell phone clutched in his hand.
"Sir! Sir, are you all right?"
Cooper -- to the right. Turning his head, he spotted her crouched beside one of the limousines. There was a cut under her chin but she was otherwise uninjured.
"Thibodeaux? Trade Minister Nichols?" he asked.
"In the Consulate."
"How many?"
"One sniper, ground level -- three buildings due west. Fenimore's after him."
Ah, good. Fenimore was armed, his firearms permit and Fraser's own obtained last month at Ray's insistence. Also, Fenimore was a good twenty years Fraser's junior and faster than the wind. Even in his prime, Fraser would've been hard pressed to beat Constable Fenimore in a foot race. If anyone could catch the miscreant, it would be Fenimore.
"Good man. Injured?"
"Just Mr. Luthor's men... and you." Cooper inched closer, looking him over.
As she moved, Lex stirred. Slowly his eyes opened and he stared up at Fraser. "He shot you."
"Several times. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Lex looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted wings. Black gloved hands cradled his face, touching him with reverence. "Jesus, Ben. You're alive. He shot you and you're alive."
Fraser nodded, then winced as his back protested. "I'm wearing a vest."
At that Lex swallowed heavily, his hands sliding away. His face was wreathed in mist as he murmured. "Probably a good idea around me. How are Rhodes and Sloane?"
"Both of them were hit. I'm not sure of their condition. Cooper?"
"Alive, sir. There's an ambulance on the way." She settled in beside them, lightly touching Fraser's back. With her help, he was able to roll off to one side. "Are you..."
"Merely winded, Constable. See to the injured and get Mr. Luthor inside."
Once the orders were issued, his people moved with alacrity. Cooper had Lex on his feet in seconds as James abandoned the cover afforded by the post. Shielding Lex with their bodies, they bustled him up the steps and back into the safety of the Consulate.
With a great deal of effort, Fraser pushed himself up, peering over the hood of the car. Unholstering his weapon, he studied the street, looking for any further threat. Although Cooper had reported only one assailant, there were scattered guests and Consulate personnel still exposed to danger, counting on him for protection.
*~*~*~*
Part 2
The story below combines both of my fandoms, Smallville and Due South and was written for the
getfraserlaid challenge. This is my first foray into writing Due South, so I hope I got the character voices right. The prompt and the story are behind the cut.Title: A Man of Justice
Author: Mistress Ace
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 18,315
Pairing: Fraser/Lex (Smallville)
Notes: Diluvian worked her usual magic in keeping me sane, and pointing out when what I'd written wasn't making sense. My ever-patient hubby Masterthorgim lent a hand as well -- he corralled the other plot bunnies so I could finish this with this one.
Prompt # 214: Fraser/Lex (Superman, comicverse or whatever you want) - Lex is attending a diplomatic dinner at the consulate. He sees Fraser and decides to make Fraser his, if only for the night.
Summary: When worlds collide...
A Man of Justice
*~*~*~*~*
Raising his glass to his lips, Lex peered over its rim, savoring its contents as another parade of guests filed past his vantage point. Scotch, single-malt, Islay -- Laphroaig -- six years longer in the cask than he'd been in existence, its natural harshness seriously mellowed by age. Overall, a good choice on the part of the caterer.
Or, given the last name of the man he was currently eyeing, on the part of the Inspector himself.
With his mirror-polished boots and flawless uniform, the Canadian Consulate's chief of security, Inspector Benton Fraser cut an imposing figure. Highly decorated and well-seasoned, an RCMP officer with at least twenty-five years of service under his gold and black dress belt if Lex's interpretation of the insignia adorning the notable worthy's left bicep proved accurate. Five gold stars, one dead center and the remaining four arranged in an arch beneath it, each star indicative of five years on the force.
The passage of that time hardly showed on the man's face -- around the eyes, perhaps, and hints of gray at the temples -- and the rest of the package was well worth staring at.
An occupation many had indulged in over the course of the evening. Most of the women present and more than a few of the men had drifted past the Inspector at some point, each hoping to catch his eye.
Standing ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back and head angled slightly to the right as he paid polite attention to Greenhaven's latest diatribe about environmental issues, Inspector Fraser appeared unaware of the intense scrutiny leveled his direction. On occasion he would look away, sparing a quick glance at the door, the windows, and the other RCMP officers stationed about the room before returning to the conversation at hand.
Subtle. Good at his job. Competent without being an alarmist.
Taking another slow sip, Lex briefly considered offering the Inspector employment. He could certainly use some competency where his personal safety was concerned. But the preservation of his own skin was not the impetus for Lex's fascination with Benton Fraser.
Quite simply put, the man was beautiful.
A living, breathing fairy-tale. Rather than detracting from his looks, the arrest-me red uniform with its gold accents and the impressive row of medals showcased his pale skin, providing a perfect foil for artic blue eyes and jet black hair. Snow White clad in masculine form, topped off with a mouth meant for sin.
Until this evening, Lex's presence in Chicago had been a waste of time. The negotiations for LuthorCorp's new facilities in Vancouver, Ottawa, and Montreal had progressed so smoothly even the most incompetent of his father's drones could have handled the transactions. With NAFTA-facilitated smiles firmly in place, heads nodding at the appropriate moments, the flesh had been pressed, promises made across highly polished conference tables and through it all, Lex had been supremely bored.
Until now....
*~*~*~*
Fraser's last sweep of the room was satisfactory. The condition of Constable Cooper's boots merited some concern, but as she had just returned from a patrol of the Consulate's grounds, he'd address the matter of their less than perfect shine in a private debriefing.
Ah. Good. She'd noted the problem on her own.
Nodding his approval and dismissal, Fraser once again turned his attention to Mr. Greenhaven. There was something just mentioned....
"Unfortunately, sir, I have to disagree with you. Thanks to the diligence of our American neighbors, fish are returning to the Great Lakes in record numbers. I'm happy to report the overall population of several previously threatened species has been on the rise for nearly a decade."
"Impossible. That's unsupported propaganda disseminated by their department of fish and wildlife." Greehaven shook a thick finger under Fraser's nose -- ink smudge on the second knuckle, flecks of tobacco under the nail, cheap cologne insufficient to mask the ordure of fatty beef, poorly aged cheese and a salt-cured pickle consumed an hour or less prior to his arrival. Middle management, chained to a desk most days, doomed to an early death -- heart disease most likely. "If you believe what they have to say, then you've lived here too long, Inspector."
"I can assure you it's not propaganda, Mr. Greenhaven. I'm a living witness of the resurgence in the piscine population. While working on a case in conjunction with the Chicago PD six years ago, I personally observed nearly a dozen healthy specimens of Salmo trutta, commonly known as brown trout, in the waters of Lake Superior."
If Ray were here, a two fingered gesture would have accompanied that statement -- albeit couched in more colorful language and quite possibly followed up with a threat of bodily harm. Pity he couldn't attend. The promise of a kick to the head would certainly liven things up.
But Antonia, Francesca's eldest, had her first piano recital tonight and the attendance of all members of the Vecchio clan had been mandated by their matriarch. Even those members whose connection was situational, rather than natal, were obligated to make an appearance. He'd received his own imperious summons and only been excused because Mrs. Vecchio grudgingly accepted Her Majesty's prior claim on his time.
By now Ray was probably asleep, worn out by the increased demands arising from his own recent promotion. Propped up by Blanche's shoulder, her hand resting over his mouth to muffle the soft snores, her smile firmly in place as she shielded her husband's exhaustion from those who would tire him even further with their concern.
She was a good woman. Exactly what Ray deserved.
Their anniversary was next week. His gift to them was in his office, wrapped and ready for delivery. The conference would be over by Monday -- he'd drop it off then.
"Well, be that as it may, the toxin levels are still unacceptable."
Stifling an irritated sigh, Fraser replied, "Yes. Yes, they are."
Time for another scan of the room. Windows still firmly shut, a drift of music from the ballroom underscoring the babble of conversation, a bustle of late-arriving guests at the front door -- all was in order.
Wait. Not completely in order.
He was being watched. No, more than that -- he was being examined, his every movement weighed, measured, and committed to memory.
Northeast corner, lounging alone at a table, head and face half-hidden by a potted palm. Very distinctive individual -- young male, late twenties to early thirties, his lean frame clad in a suit Ray Vecchio would've talked about for weeks, long fingers curled around a tumbler, light sips followed by a flicker of tongue across the lower lip, giving the Laphroaig the attention it deserved. There was a faint scar on his upper lip, and several interesting calluses in the saddle between left thumb and forefinger -- reins? No, too isolated.
Ah, a fencer.
Height: difficult to pinpoint based on his current position, but given the length of his torso and the amount of leg visible -- 1.83 meters. Weight: 70 kilograms. Most arresting feature: the eyes. An indeterminate shade of gray and infinitely hungry, their focus fierce and all-consuming. A slow curve of smile spread the scar, thinning it into near invisibility and the glass was lifted again, its rim tilted in his direction before being tipped back.
Fraser cut a glance to the left, then the right. Unless there was a woman lurking behind him....
No, Albert Greenhaven was the only person in his immediate vicinity. Over the years he'd learned there was no accounting for taste, but he sincerely doubted the corpulent Canadian environmentalist merited such an appreciative appraisal.
His collar suddenly felt tight. Tilting his head to one side, he tried to ease the pressure. As the crack of his neck echoed through the room like a rifle shot, Fraser clenched his right hand to keep it from drifting up to smooth his eyebrow.
Smiling graciously as a waiter stopped to freshen his drink, his observer leaned forward. With the masking greenery now abandoned, Fraser considered adding twenty years to his first age estimate.
Current masculine fashion allowed for affecting a glabrous appearance, but not even the sharpest straight razor wielded by an expert barber could achieve that level of smoothness. Natural baldness of such magnitude was rare in the young -- usually limited to cancer patients and individuals suffering from severe radiation poisoning.....
Oh. Oh dear.
Diefenbaker's recent observation was accurate: he was slipping. Both his assessment of his observer's age and intent were so far off the mark as to be laughable.
Alexander Joseph Luthor, age twenty-four. Bald since childhood, his remarkable condition the result of exposure to massive radiation during a meteor shower fifteen years prior. He was one of the youngest CEO's in the world and a guest of honor this evening. With the combination of his plans for economic expansion in several provinces and a stellar environmental record since replacing his father at his company's helm, he reigned as the current darling of the Canadian government.
Fraser hadn't had the pleasure of an introduction as yet, due to a seminar in Ottawa from which he'd returned just this morning. Although he'd been apprised of the man's presence in Chicago, and had taken a few moments to skim a weighty dossier concerning Mr. Luthor, a disaster with the caterer had delayed his arrival this evening to the point where he'd missed the reception line entirely.
Yes, that must be the motivation behind the intense regard. As soon as politely possible he'd have to make his excuses and approach Mr. Luthor. Given that he was ultimately responsible for the man's safety during this evening's festivities, he should at least exchange pleasantries.
Perhaps there would be time to discuss the impact another fertilizer plant would have on the Fraser's delicate ecosystem. The wetlands outside of Vancouver were especially at risk; a chemical spill there could prove catastrophic in nature.
With apologies on his lips, Fraser took a step backward and nearly tumbled into the woman now at his elbow. A slim hand insinuated itself into the crook, perfectly manicured nails pressing briefly against the pulse point, touching him as if she had a right, as if he were a possession long lost and just now being reclaimed.
No. Not now.
How had she gotten past Constables Fenimore and James? Had she stolen someone's invitation? Was there a legitimate guest of the Consulate currently bleeding to death somewhere on the streets of Chicago?
Frozen, barely able to breathe, his back throbbing for the first time in years, Fraser fought the tide of irrational panic. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a wealth of dark brown hair tumbling over delicate shoulders, the fine arch of an eyebrow, and the curve of her cheek. The height was right, just below the level of his jaw.
A large diamond pierced the lobe of her right ear, blue-white and winking in the light. A perfect two carats -- Fraser gasped, his lungs drawing in bitter cold air. The concrete tore at his skin, the glitter of diamonds scattered around him turning sanguine as his best friend, the man he'd betrayed for love, called out to a God who had deserted them.
I caught this morning morning's minion...
"Hello, darling. Sorry I'm late." Her lips pressed against his cheek, the softness of her hair so well remembered. He was lost.
No.
He grabbed her arm, pushing her back and found himself staring down into wide brown eyes. Brown, not green.
Christina Nichols smiled and winked before turning to Greenhaven. "Sorry to barge in, but I need to talk to him for a minute, okay?"
Greenhaven's disgruntlement at being interrupted in mid-speech softened as he nodded in recognition, "Of course. Forgive me, I've been monopolizing the Inspector's time this evening. It's been a pleasure, sir." He started to turn away, and then pivoted back, looking down at her hand which was now wrapped around Fraser's. "I have to admit I'm a little surprised. I didn't know you two knew each other."
She squeezed Fraser's hand, "We've known each other forever. My father introduced us."
Finally taking the hint, Greehaven wandered off -- possibly in search of another victim.
Disengaging his hand from hers, Fraser gave in to habit and dragged his thumb across his eyebrow, glowering at the young woman now standing in front of him.
Utterly unrepentant, she grinned and said, "Hello Chicago."
*~*~*~*
Ah, there was the opening he'd been waiting for.
As he watched the couple in the center of the room, Lex finished his drink and set the tumbler down. Moving casually through the crowd, Lex nodded to a few people he knew and smiled at the woman in red serge with whom he'd had dinner the previous evening. To his immediate left, Consul General Thibodeaux was engaged in a conversation with the Minister of Trade. Lex forestalled an invitation to join them by angling away to the right.
He arrived just in time to hear Christina say, "It's no big deal. You just looked like you needed a hand."
"Be that as it may, Miss Nichols, the subterfuge was unnecessary. I'm quite capable of extricating myself from a conversation."
Irritated was a good look for Benton Fraser. Lex wondered what other expressions would wear well on the man. Probably all of them...
"With that blowhard? I don't think so. The only way to get away from that guy is with a crowbar." She leaned in, tapping the Inspector's chest with her forefinger. "Look, I know you, Chicago. You're way too polite. If I hadn't stepped in, you'd've been here until midnight still trying to figure out a way to out-bore him."
"Now, Christina, I'm sure the Inspector had the situation well in hand," Lex drawled, sliding his hands out of his pockets as he waited for her reaction.
Right on cue, she spun toward him, outrage heightening her natural color, a sharp comment at the ready before her eyes alit on him. As he'd anticipated, she squealed in delight, and then launched herself in his direction. "Lex! I'd heard you were in town. How are you?"
Accepting her enthusiastic embrace, Lex nuzzled her cheek, placing a light kiss on her earlobe. "Better now."
She melted against him, sighing. "It's good to see you again."
Over the top of Christina's head, Lex watched Inspector Fraser. Two small lines appeared between the man's eyes, his mouth tightening and then smoothing out as he said, "Forgive me, sir. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of an introduction?"
Disengaging from Christina, Lex held out his hand in greeting, but she beat them both to the punch. A mischievous smile appeared, a dimple winking in and out of existence while she pointed at Fraser, then at Lex. "Chicago, meet Metropolis. Metropolis, this is Chicago."
Unfazed by the casual form of address, Benton Fraser shared a brief glance of universal commiseration with Lex. Of course, yet another man Christina Nichols had led on a merry dance. While Lex sincerely doubted the Inspector's experience with Christina had included skinny-dipping, false ID's, and dancing until dawn in a leather bar, all things were possible.
The Inspector's handshake was decisive, his palm dry and he didn't look away when Lex lingered, grasping his wrist and pressing back firmly. "Inspector Benton Fraser, Mr. Luthor. I'm sorry I wasn't able to greet you earlier."
"That's quite all right. I'm sure running the security for this event has put great demands on your time. And please, call me Lex." Lex released his grip on the man's wrist. Aware Christina was watching both of them avidly, he stepped away from his actual goal and gliding a hand down her spine, let it come to rest in the small of her back. "It's nice to finally meet you, Inspector. I was hoping to put a face to the legend."
Benton Fraser's sudden blush was spectacular. In a matter of seconds he was nearly the same shade of scarlet as his uniform. "Oh dear. May I ask who's been telling tales out of school?"
Laughing, Lex shook his head. "A gentleman never reveals his sources. So tell me, did you really come to Chicago on the trail of the killers of your father?"
*~*~*~*
To Fraser's surprise, Mr. Luthor was actually interested in hearing the whole story. When he tried to gloss over the details, Lex would interrupt with a particularly salient question and bring him back on track. The man was an excellent listener, remarkably observant and by the time they were called in to dinner, Fraser decided that under other circumstances Lex Luthor would've made a fine detective.
As Mr. Luthor was a guest of honor, they weren't seated near one another. But the Consul General had matters to discuss with their guest and Fraser had his own duties to attend to.
Christina's parting comment about being glad to see that Lex had managed to find his way out of the closet was a momentary discord. But considering how in depth their conversation eventually became, her presence had been largely ignored. Perhaps she was feeling slighted.
Dinner was a pleasant affair, and despite the last minute substitutions, quite palatable. When he made his rounds through the kitchen, Fraser congratulated the caterer on a job well done.
The Consulate grounds were quiet, the surrounding streets lined with limousines and well-kept cars. At the southeast corner, two men lounged against the fence, one smoking and the other telling a joke that had his companion smirking around the cigarette clenching between his teeth. Fraser compared their faces to the photos he'd retrieved from Mr. Luthor's dossier, identifying them as the man's personal bodyguards.
Their suits were excellently tailored; a casual observer would've been hard pressed to locate their armament. Shoulder holsters for both, Glocks if he'd interpreted the outlines correctly. The one smoking had a second pistol -- probably a Ruger 9mm, 9-round clip -- in the small of his back, and there was a knife hidden in the other's right sleeve. Neither man wore a vest, a rather lackadaisical attitude given the casualties suffered by Mr. Luthor's staff in the past.
Fraser nodded to the men, making a mental note to mention the oversight to Mr. Luthor should the opportunity present itself.
After a final scan of the surrounding area, Fraser tapped his boots clean on the front step, opened the door to the Consulate and stepped inside.
*~*~*~*
Lex watched as Fraser stripped off his gloves, tucking them into his belt before wiping down his boots with a white handkerchief that seemed to appear from thin air. His cheeks were ruddy, his hair and shoulders briefly adorned with flakes of snow. Perfect once more, he straightened his shoulders and met Lex's gaze head on.
Answering Fraser's friendly smile with one of his own, Lex set his glass down and ambled toward the foyer. The brandy had been excellent, its warmth still seeping into his bones, but here was the real fire. He'd love to spend hours banking it, building it up to a roaring inferno, and watch it die down slowly only to stir the embers back into life again.
Unfortunately, the evening's festivities were drawing to a close. The early birds had already made their exits and the remaining guests were starting to drift out in twos and threes. When he'd last spotted Christina, she was on the arm of a very pretty boy, laughing gaily as said boy whispered something in her ear.
He wished her good hunting.
Lex held his hand out to Fraser. "All's well?"
Fraser looked at his hand, then at his face before accepting the handshake. "As I'm happy to report. Did you enjoy your evening in Canada?"
"I did, very much, although I suspect it was more the company than the location. It's a pity my visit has to end. Unless...." Lex moved in for the kill, holding onto Fraser's hand as he stepped closer. His voice dropped to a murmur. "Would you care to join me for dinner tomorrow?"
Yes. There it was. Match to dry tinder. A catch in the breath, blue disappearing into black, a flicker of tongue on the lower lip -- ignition.
"I'd be delighted."
"Good. It's a date."
*~*~*~*
A date. Lex couldn't possibly have meant...
Oh dear.
Momentarily flustered, Fraser held tight to the hand still resting in his. His palm was growing damp but he barely noticed it. He was too caught up in the spark that had passed between the two of them.
He had to be mistaken.
Yes, his solitary state of being had been wearying of late, but he thought himself past this. At this point in his life, he should be able to spend an evening in the company of an attractive man and not allow his isolation to join forces with his imagination.
Especially with a man like Lex Luthor. Charming, rich and by all appearances, enamored of women. With the exception of their private conversation before dinner, Mr. Luthor had been surrounded by the ladies in attendance. He'd complimented their dresses, their jewelry, their perfume -- he'd engaged the intellectuals in well-considered debates and deflected the politicians with polite enquiries about their favorite causes. Each of the fairer sex who had come into his orbit spun away with a secret smile, each of them more content than they had been before he'd drawn them in.
He'd dealt with the men similarly. But none of those conversations exhibited the sexual undertones that were currently threatening to set the room ablaze.
Chiding himself for being foolish, Fraser released Mr. Luthor's hand and stepped back. The man's history, however brief his perusal of documents compiled by his staff had been, didn't support these... fancies.
Prior to a business-related move to rural Kansas four years ago, Mr. Luthor had cut a swath far and wide through the eligible female population of Metropolis. The man left in his wake a trail of broken hearts and several shattered engagements before he'd taken on the challenge of revitalizing a failing fertilizer plant and by extension, saving a dying town.
Twice married by the age of twenty-two -- the first marriage lasted only a week before his bride launched an elaborate homicidal attack on his person. Upon her incarceration, Mr. Luthor obtained an annulment and married again a mere seven months later. His second set of nuptials lasted longer, but also ended in quiet annulment with each party going their separate ways. Mr. Luthor had taken over the reins of his father's company and Dr. Bryce was purported to be currently running a clinic in Rwanda.
On the Kinsey scale, the man rated a perfect one. To assume anything else was sheer folly.
*~*~*~*
Satisfied the seed had been planted, Lex took his coat from the hands of the white-clad waiter standing at his elbow. He shrugged it on, tucked his scarf into the open throat of his suit coat, buttoned the cashmere all the way up and pulled on his gloves.
"Until tomorrow then?"
The Inspector shook himself, the open look on his face disappearing behind the polite mask he'd worn for the majority of the evening. "Yes. Until tomorrow. Good night, Mr. Luthor."
"Ben... I can call you Ben, right?"
After a moment, the mask cracked a little as the man nodded.
For that, Lex rewarded him with a pat on the shoulder and a friendly grin. "It's Lex. Mr. Luthor's my father and since having dinner with him is more like engaging the enemy than sharing a meal, I think you're better off spending your time with me. So please... call me Lex."
*~*~*~*
Before Fraser could respond, Consul General Thibodeaux was beside them with his hand outstretched, thanking Lex for attending and walking him to the door. Following in their wake, Fraser stopped at the front step and scanned the street again.
Fenimore, James and Cooper were opening car doors for other departing guests. Mr. Luthor's bodyguards moved rapidly to flank their charge and as Thibodeaux said his final goodnight, the two men guided their precious cargo to a waiting limousine.
They would have succeeded if Lex hadn't stopped at the gate to gaze back over his shoulder. Thankfully the hour was late and even with the muted rumble of engines, the street relatively quiet. Quiet enough that Fraser heard the snick of a round being chambered and turned in time to spot the muzzle flare.
The guard on Lex's left went down and Fraser was running.
Leaping the fence, he hit Lex in the back and knocked him to the ground as the other guard screamed, clutching at a leg that blossomed red. The second bullet's report echoed in the air, followed by five more shots, three of them thudding into Fraser's back. From the sound of the ricochet, Fraser thought the other two bullets had struck the street and impacted into the far curb, but pain may have affected his judgment.
People were screaming and running as Fraser laid there, covering Lex with his body and hoping the shooter didn't have the presence of mind to aim for their heads. Lex's was still exposed, his face pressed into the concrete, his eyes closed. Dragging himself up on his elbows, Fraser shifted until Lex's bare scalp was covered by his shoulder, Lex's cheek resting on the back of his hand.
He should get up and take control of the situation. But when he tried to move, the sharp pain in his back took his breath away.
"Officer down. I repeat, officer down!"
James -- ten feet to Fraser's left, hunkered down with his back against a brick pillar and a cell phone clutched in his hand.
"Sir! Sir, are you all right?"
Cooper -- to the right. Turning his head, he spotted her crouched beside one of the limousines. There was a cut under her chin but she was otherwise uninjured.
"Thibodeaux? Trade Minister Nichols?" he asked.
"In the Consulate."
"How many?"
"One sniper, ground level -- three buildings due west. Fenimore's after him."
Ah, good. Fenimore was armed, his firearms permit and Fraser's own obtained last month at Ray's insistence. Also, Fenimore was a good twenty years Fraser's junior and faster than the wind. Even in his prime, Fraser would've been hard pressed to beat Constable Fenimore in a foot race. If anyone could catch the miscreant, it would be Fenimore.
"Good man. Injured?"
"Just Mr. Luthor's men... and you." Cooper inched closer, looking him over.
As she moved, Lex stirred. Slowly his eyes opened and he stared up at Fraser. "He shot you."
"Several times. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Lex looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted wings. Black gloved hands cradled his face, touching him with reverence. "Jesus, Ben. You're alive. He shot you and you're alive."
Fraser nodded, then winced as his back protested. "I'm wearing a vest."
At that Lex swallowed heavily, his hands sliding away. His face was wreathed in mist as he murmured. "Probably a good idea around me. How are Rhodes and Sloane?"
"Both of them were hit. I'm not sure of their condition. Cooper?"
"Alive, sir. There's an ambulance on the way." She settled in beside them, lightly touching Fraser's back. With her help, he was able to roll off to one side. "Are you..."
"Merely winded, Constable. See to the injured and get Mr. Luthor inside."
Once the orders were issued, his people moved with alacrity. Cooper had Lex on his feet in seconds as James abandoned the cover afforded by the post. Shielding Lex with their bodies, they bustled him up the steps and back into the safety of the Consulate.
With a great deal of effort, Fraser pushed himself up, peering over the hood of the car. Unholstering his weapon, he studied the street, looking for any further threat. Although Cooper had reported only one assailant, there were scattered guests and Consulate personnel still exposed to danger, counting on him for protection.
*~*~*~*
Part 2
