Dance with me: Chapter II (2/?)
Title: Dance with Me
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Chloe and Oliver (Chlollie)
Rating: PG / PG-13
Warning: AU
Summary: Busy searching for the whereabouts of Lex Luthor along with the League, Chloe has enough on her plate without having to worry about attending Queen Industries Charity Ball. Then there's the dance lessons the boys are so determined to give her, and just why is Lex after Oliver instead of Clark?
Disclaimer: I disclaim!
Chapter II: Healing that has to be Healed
Ensconced in the couch at Watchtower, Chloe pulled the portable computer into her lap and leaned back languidly as the sound of a whizzing arrow passed by unnoticed. Clicking the file she had hacked into just minutes before, Chloe continued searching for something worthwhile. So far, her hours of research yielded nothing more than past LuthorCorp experiments now on permanent hiatus. With an escaped sigh, she turned in the direction of the tall blonde, who was busy loading another arrow into the bow in his hand.
“You’re burning a hole into my head with those eyes, Sidekick,” Oliver spoke up without turning in her direction. Pulling the rigid string on the bow back, he released the arrow.
Running a hand through her hair in frustration, she frowned, watching half heartedly as the arrow secured its-she knew it all too well-target. “All of this information leads to very stagnant waters. These projects have been dead since Lex went MIA.”
Grabbing another arrow, he turned to face her. “Until that warehouse showed up.”
She nodded. Biting her lip, she turned back to the computer screen, eyes blurring as another yawn escaped. Jargon, that’s all this information appeared to be, jargon. Sliding the laptop off her, she swung her legs over the edge of the sofa and stood up. Walking the short distance towards the main computer, her fingers began gliding over the buttons of the keyboard.
Dropping his arms, the loaded bow still in his hand, Oliver craned his neck to face her. Recognizing the rigid professional stance, he asked, “What’re you up to, Tower?”
“Just checking the coordinates for the warehouse.”
Giving up on the sharpening of his archery skills, Oliver set down his bow and made his way to where Chloe stood with his hands in his pockets. “And what will that tell us?”
She didn’t fail to notice the hint of sarcasm in his voice. Smiling lightly, she quipped, “The better to give us more insight.”
“Red Riding Hood innuendos aside,” he began with a hand to his chin, “I still don’t see the point.”
Sighing, she whipped around to face him. “If Lex has been there, then maybe the location of this warehouse will provide insight to where he currently is. He couldn’t have walked out of that avalanche when the Fortress went down unscathed. He’s not Clark.”
“Why do you gotta bring the Fortress into this, Sidekick,” Oliver chuckled, “you really can’t expect me to take you seriously when you bring Clark’s Kyrptonian technology into this.”
Palm flat against his chest, she pushed him back as she walked with her brows quirked. “Clark is real as you and me, and that includes all the alien ice castles.”
Hand wrapping around her wrist, he asked, “So do you think Jor-El knows the whereabouts of our evil doer?”
Clicking her tongue, she shook her head, doubtful. “Doesn’t work like that. Besides, I think Jor-El was damaged then.”
“But doesn’t he have…”
“Ollie, just shut up,” she giggled.
Watching her laugh, he couldn’t help the swell in his chest. It was a refreshing change to see Chloe carefree when she had been so uptight since…well, since her life had been turned upside down. Divorced, reconciled relationship, and then to have it taken away from her all in the span of a few months, damaged didn’t seem a descriptive enough of a word. Yet, she never let that take away from her duties, and that’s what scared him the most. Watchtower…Oliver wasn’t naïve, he knew this building was designed to keep anyone from getting close to her, so those moments when she peeled away her professional demeanor and let anyone of them in, he was elated.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she dared to call out, her features taking on slight apprehension.
Pulling out of his reverie, Oliver realized he had been staring. Quickly looking elsewhere, he was grateful for the whoosh of air serving as an interruption.
“Chloilicious!”
Eyes sliding to Bart, Chloe sent him a tiny smile. He stood there with a grin plastered to his face and hands behind his back, looking as if he deserved a pat on the shoulder for a job well done. Raising her brows, she eyed him with inquisitiveness. “What’s up, Bart?”
Shaking his head, he stepped towards the pair, producing a pair of polystyrene cups when his eyes darkened after having fallen from Oliver to the hand he had wrapped around Chloe’s wrist. “Dance lesson?”
It was then Chloe noticed the warmth of Oliver’s calloused fingers and palm around her tiny wrist. Swallowing slightly, she pulled away from his grasp. “Dance lesson?” she repeated, hand sliding to the nape of her neck awkwardly.
Bart nodded. “Queen Industries annual Charity Ball?” he pointed out, handing her one of the two cups.
Accepting the cup, she took a whiff of the aromatic beverage. Almond Mocha, the kid was good. Taking a sip, the hot liquid warming her throat as it slid down her esophagus, she stated, “I’m not sure I’m attending.”
“Where’s mine?” Oliver asked, noticing that a third cup was missing from the equation.
Frowning in displeasure from the contact he had previously witnessed between his Chlolicious and boss, Bart turned on his heel to face Oliver. “Did I know you would be here?”
Making his superior height a bit more apparent to the younger man standing a mere few feet from him, Oliver nodded with a fold of his arms. After all, since Chloe had helped him bounce back from the depths of his own darkness, he had moved all his Green Arrow Accessories to the building, often using his free time to strengthen his archery, or help Clark and Chloe with whatever mess they all had landed themselves into.
Ignoring the older man’s stance, Bart turned his attention back to Chloe. “Why aren’t you going?” Although he was beginning to like the idea of Chloe and Oliver spending a night free from professional duties even less and less now.
Traversing back over to the computers, Chloe once more began tapping away at the keyboard. “There’s so much information to sort through. It’ll take days, and with the event approaching, I’m not sure I can even…”
“Why not have Victor take a crack at it,” Oliver interrupted her babble, “he’s much faster at this.”
“Are you trying to make me feel like I’m inadequate?” Chloe shot at him.
“No,” he sighed, “I’m saying you could use the break. You haul yourself in here…”
“I choose to, Oliver,” she quivered, “no one is forcing me…”
Blinking slightly, he walked over to her. Placing his hands upon her shoulders, he attempted to sooth away the sudden outburst. “I know, but Chloe, you have to put yourself out in the real world as well.”
“Socialite dance parties aren’t exactly real world for me,” she chuckled humorlessly.
“But it is my real world…or at least part of it,” he said, cocking his head to the side.
Catching his eyes, she let out a shaky breath. “I just wanted to bring out the best in people.”
Pulling her towards him, he wrapped his arms around her tightly in an embrace. “I know,” he whispered again, causing the hair atop her head to flutter with the exhale of his breath. He didn’t push the subject further, knowing all too well that this mere statement had to do with her staunch support for a certain “Blur” that resulted in the dire consequence that was Jimmy Olsen.
Injecting noise into the silence that had settled around them, Bart asked, “So does that mean you’re going to attend the Ball?”
Turning her head to face the young man while still clutched in the warmth of Oliver’s arms, Chloe nodded with a smile. He was right, if she was ever going to heal, then she had to stop drowning herself in work. “But why are you so excited?” Oliver had made it pretty clear that Bart’s attendance was not going to be accepted.
“I have moves to show you.”
“Not this again,” Oliver uttered with a roll of his eyes.