Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I in any way associated with, Smallville or any other DC affiliated ... stuff.
There was something about stealing a gun out of a man's hands so fast he did a double take that made Bart smile every time. He barely slowed down enough to drop the men's guns before turning back and slamming into them at what he considered one of his lowest speeds. After a few hits at a leisurely forty miles an hour the mobsters -- at least he thought they were mobsters, he didn't take the time to notice -- made a nice, neat pile in the back of the alley and Bart waited around only long enough for the local police to show up before high-tailing it out of there.
He knew what Oliver would say if he was here: "You need to scope things out before getting involved." Well, they hadn't named him Impulse for nothing and even Oliver couldn't argue that leaving two groups of armed men to shoot it out in the middle of a neighborhood was a good idea. Plus it had been a productive way to blow off steam, something he desperately needed today.
Bart didn't stop running until he reached his hotel room, one city over from where he'd taken out those men. After he'd joined the League all his rooms were paid for courtesy of Queen Industries and he'd learned it was a lot easier to keep under the bad guys' radar if he kept out of their way until the last minute. Plus, in this part of Europe, nice hotels were few and far between and Bart Allen was done with the low life.
He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and flipped on the TV. By the time the remote fell onto the couch he'd already zoomed into the bedroom and come back with the room service menu. He flopped onto the couch and heard a paper rustling beneath the sounds of the TV starting up. He sighed and pulled the envelope from his back pocket and -- after a moment's consideration -- tossed it onto the table and settled down with the menu.
He wasn't quite sure how the piece of mail had found him, but he supposed that was just one more thing that made her amazing. Even at the speeds he traveled, never stopping any longer than was necessary, she could send him a letter.
It was an invitation, actually, to what should be the happiest day of her life. If he was her friend, he would be there. He knew that and he didn't care. He didn't want to be her friend today; he wanted to be mopey and sad and if he was in America he'd be sitting in a bar listening to sad country songs but he wasn't so he was stuck with annoying, peppy Eastern European news anchors!
He blinked, realizing suddenly how angry he was getting, and looked at the menu in his hands. It was crumpled where he gripped it and tearing down the middle despite the heavy lamination. He tossed it aside and buried his head in his hands.
How stupid could he be? Chloe Sullivan had shown interest in him for less than an hour over four years ago. And sure, he'd flirted with her since then, but that was it! Okay, aside from occasionally stopping by Smallville just long enough to make sure Clark hadn't let her date some moron, but that was only because Clark was an idiot who wouldn't know his best friend was dating a serial killer until it was almost too late to save her. And, given Clark's angst-ridden nature, saving Chloe was really saving everyone from months -- maybe even years! -- of angsty superhero if she got hurt.
And Bart had been fine justifying his slight preoccupation with Chloe that way for quite a while now, but not when he got the letter. At first he'd been surprised to be getting mail, then proud of her for being so far ahead of him, and then he'd seen the elaborate calligraphy, the embossed names and had stuffed the stupid letter in his back pocket, never to be seen except when he washed his uniform. He'd made a point of leaving whenever her name was mentioned among the other League members. He hadn't even called to say he wasn't coming.
But then Oliver had called earlier today -- or yesterday given the time on the clock over the TV. Bart had barely let him say, "About the wedding," before cutting him off with a, "I'm not coming," and hanging up. That was when he'd gone out searching for someone shady to beat up.
If he had his timezones right the ceremony should be over by now. People should be dancing happily, the best man should be getting drunk, and if Ollie and Dinah didn't at least make out in a broom closet Bart was going to be very disappointed. And most importantly, Chloe was a married woman. Taken. Off the table. Plenty of other fish in the sea. But right now, Bart really didn't want any other fish.
He was at the bar downstairs in seconds, ordering whatever the guy next to him was having because he just didn't care. Before he could take a sip his phone went off. He bit back a growl when he saw the caller ID.
"Listen, Green Giant, I'm not coming. I don't care if Clark's crying into his beer about the first time she berated his fact-checking skills. I. Am. Not. Coming."
There was a brief pause before Oliver spoke, his voice tight. "Something attacked the wedding. We don't know what, but it took Chloe."
Bart was out of the bar and halfway around the world in a flash.
AN: If you're wondering why Oliver called the first time, it was to tell Bart not to come. In my mind Chloe invited the League members to the wedding but the reason only Oliver showed was because, given Chloe's memory loss, it would be pretty hard to explain the others. (Although, given Ollie's history with the maid of honor, I don't know what he was doing there either.)
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