Never going to Change
Title: Never going to Change
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Chloe Sullivan/Oliver Queen (Chlollie)
Rating: PG
Summary: After months of absence, Chloe returns to Metropolis at a Queen Industries Masquerade Ball, hoping to stop a possible threat, when she bumps into Oliver herself.
Warning: AU with a slight spoiler from Beacon
Disclaimer: I take ownership of nothing
A/N: So I was reading through old fics, when I found this one. I started this after the "Homecoming" episode aired and then abandoned it. The recent spoilers prompted me to give this fic a finish, and here I am with this one-shot. Enjoy my fellow Chlolliers!
Never going to Change
Tearing her eyes away from tallest building of Metropolis, she felt the ache in her heart grow with each step. In her past life, she would be in front of the main computer, guiding her band of heroes through whatever situation was in need of fixing. However, that was a thing of the past-a job all her own-a job she claimed months ago, but she didn’t live in the past, and that was never going to change.
And neither was the color of her hair, or the green of her irises. A change in appearance was the first thing Oliver Queen and Clark Kent would suspect, especially since Chloe Sullivan had wiped all traces of herself-almost all traces of herself. There was still that text she’d sent to the two teens running her old haven to consider. Being their idol, she had to illustrate her gratitude in one form or other, and who else knew how to send an untraceable text better than the master of all things computer and technology. That was never going to change either.
With her hair inched considerably, woven into curls at the end, she proceeded down the queue in front of the grandest hotel in Metropolis. That was another thing neither Clark nor Oliver would expect of the girl who wiped her very existence to ever do, show up in a city she called home.
The feat was simple for her master hacker-self. Obtaining the guest list, she changed a simple RSVP’d no into a yes, and suddenly she was Georgina Adams, an Excelsior Alumni now elite lawyer. Of course, it helped that Miss. Adams was blonde. That was never going to change either, her love of research.
Gliding down the red carpet elegantly in her black gown, she covered her smoky eyes with a stylish mask. Outlined with the mask’s intricate beading and glitter, her moss-green orbs sparkled enchantingly. With a simple enunciation of Miss Adams’ name, she passed security with a smile. That was never going to change either, her ability to go undercover. Years of investigative reporting with Clark back in her Torch days and later as a journalist for the Daily Planet were a big help.
Passing the large pillar of the hotel’s foyer, she stepped into the main ballroom, gazing up at the large chandelier suspended from the ceiling. In her old life, she had requested that Oliver keep Chloe out of the lime light. She didn’t want to be a part of Metropolis’s high society, prancing around in a dress fit for the Oscars. Chuckling humorlessly, she glanced down at the silk fabric of her dress. The paparazzi complete with flashes of light may have been absent, but she was here, at a gala, watching as men in penguin attire carried crystal flutes on tray’s of silver. The only thing missing was Oliver at her side.
Dropping her bared shoulders due to the burden of her heavy heart, she picked hors d’oeuvres off a passing tray. Igniting her taste buds with an exquisite taste, Chloe couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a meal this scrumptious. Mostly she’d been living out of cartons and fast food, traveling didn’t allow dinners fit for a king. Her love of food was another thing that was never going to change, and neither was her addiction to coffee.
Admiring the impressive colorful burst of floral arrangements, she aimlessly continued her walk around the periphery of the ballroom, stopping to occasionally smile when a man glanced in her direction. Hopefully no one would ask her to dance.
“Oh excuse me…”
Stiffening from the sudden contact, Chloe remained rooted to her spot along the edge of the dance floor. She knew that brush of the shoulder like the back of her hand, it was a mantra that had been playing in her head since the day she’s traded herself in for Oliver. Concentrating her efforts on the wall before her, she realized of her grave mistake. It was strange, but she could actually feel him pausing, the cogs in his brain turning, deciphering the brush of the shoulders before turning around as he realized what that bump entailed.
Chloe could run, but she wasn’t one to flee, not unless she had a plan. Right now, her plan required her to be here. There was a threat posed against Queen Industries and LuthorCorp. Apparently, Lionel was back from the dead, and not in a way that sided with her friend from another planet.
Maybe he hadn’t noticed, and she could veil herself into the crowd of Metropolis’s more classy citizens. Taking a step, she heard the voice that cut her thin thread of hope.
“Stop.”
How had she let this slipup occur when she was supposed to be seeking out the father of a man with a follicle problem? Glide in and out. The feat was simple, yet she had just made it more difficult. Following Oliver’s instructions, she slowly turned to face him. “Pardon,” Chloe mumbled in an impressive French accent.
Brows shooting to his hairline, the man let out a slight chuckle. “That’s the best you can do, mumble in French?”
Wrinkling her brows in what she hoped was confusion, she watched as Oliver took a step forward, and instinctively she took one back.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know me, Chloe.” He saw the way her body tensed as he uttered her name. She was weakening, giving in. Taking off the emerald colored mask, he glanced in her direction, waiting for some sort of change. “I’ve dreamed about this day…”
“What gave me away?” she asked, shooting him a look that told him she was disgusted with herself. One look at the handsome man standing before her and all her endeavors had fumbled.
“I smelled the almond mocha.”
That was never going to change either, her love of almond mocha.
“How could you be so careless?”
Great, her plans were foiled before she even carried them out. Forming her hand in a fist, she controlled herself from banging it against a nearby table. Coffee wasn’t the same in the places she’d gone, and the moment she’d stepped back into her city, she couldn’t resist running to the kiosk that sold her favorite flavor.
“The aroma of coffee lingers,” he stated in even tones, stepping closer still.
Chest tightening, she looked up through her lashes at his towering presence.
“It consumes everything in its path, and Almond Mocha consumes you, it invades your clothes, your everything…”
His brown orbs had always carried that ability of piercing through her soul, but now they had become unbearable. This entire situation was unbearable. Taking another step, her back met with the wall, every cell of her skin on high alert. Reaching forward, he gracefully lifted the mask shielding a small portion of her face. Exposed, she felt utterly exposed after months of hiding, months of planning. “Way to kill my covert operation,” she quipped.
“Covert operation?”
“Luthor,” she whispered as his eyes shadowed with confusion, “Lionel.”
In her past life, he would’ve laughed, but he didn’t now. In their past life, Lionel was dead, and that was never going to change. Now, however, their worlds were upside down. Vigilantes were a threat to society.
“You leave and the world goes awry. My beacon of hope dissipates.”
Swallowing, Chloe didn’t let him know his words were like a tazered arrow to her heart. Instead, she did what her fingers had been twitching to do. Reaching forward, she brought her hand to his face, feeling the familiar texture of his skin. “I was always here watching over you, and that’s never going to change.” Although Chloe had left watchtower, she had never really left her watchtower role. A majority of her time spent away had her keeping an eye on those she cared for, and letting them sprout into the heroes the world needed them to be. No matter what the current outlook on heroes, the world’s need for masked figures who brought justice to society was never going to change either.
Her body ached for the building where her husband once upon a time had passed. It ached for the gentle hums of the computers and sound the keyboards made when her fingers glided over them. Most of all, she missed the sound of the whizzing arrows as Oliver practiced his archery. Her past life was a life of comfort. Watchtower had felt like home then.
“It’s dark and gloomy now,” he stated as if he had latched onto her train of thought.
Biting her lip, she let her hand fall back to her side. “It’ll get better.”
Shaking his head, Oliver latched onto her wrist at the first sign that she was going to escape. “It’s not going to get better. I’ve lost my purpose.”
Fighting back the tears, she tore her watery eyes away from the hand around her wrist and pushed back the burning notion the mere contact was ensuing. She was his purpose, and although she may have been able to deny it before, she couldn’t now for that wasn’t going to change either. “I…I have to stop Luthor.”
“Why can’t we stop him together?”
A small smile graced her lips as she thought back to her past life, back to her and Oliver working to uncover just who the Justice Society of America was. The two them digging up information with the help of Watchtower’s database for whatever was in dire need of fixing. Green Arrow and Watchtower, they had been a real team. Chloe knew that would never change either.
“Lionel’s going to take LuthorCorp from you and Tess.”
“Is that even legal?”
Shaking her head, she watched as Oliver released his hold on her and held the mask back towards her.
“You didn’t go on a soul searching journey like Lana did, did you?” She giggled for the first time in a long time, and Oliver didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up. Her smiles had always been contagious, and that would never change.
“I’m afraid not.”
“But you had to learn to kick ass somewhere.”
“I’ve had an army brat for a cousin, a super powered alien for a best friend, and a league of tight wearing heroes, I picked up a few things.”
“By watching us?”
“Keeping an eye on you,” she corrected.
“So I’m allowed to help in this covert operation?”
“Only if you ask me to stay.” It was as if she had literally felt his smile then, and when his lips came crashing down on hers in the next moment, every feeling she had worked hard to lock up came rushing back with full force. That was never going to change either, the way she felt about the man standing before her. She may have been his purpose, but somewhere down the line, he had become hers. It was the reason for her new life, the driving force behind her trade, and the strength to pull along with the plan she had carefully planted.
“Was that enough of an ask?” he inquired charmingly, his calloused fingers brushing along her lips.
Wrinkling her brow from the wording of his question, she bumped her shoulder into him as she passed. “Let’s kick ass,” she stated, taking the mask and refashioning it around her.
Her feelings for the CEO of a billion dollar corporation with a masked alter ego aside, her need to bring justice to the world was never going to change either. It made her Chloe. Chloe was never going to change.
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Chloe Sullivan/Oliver Queen (Chlollie)
Rating: PG
Summary: After months of absence, Chloe returns to Metropolis at a Queen Industries Masquerade Ball, hoping to stop a possible threat, when she bumps into Oliver herself.
Warning: AU with a slight spoiler from Beacon
Disclaimer: I take ownership of nothing
A/N: So I was reading through old fics, when I found this one. I started this after the "Homecoming" episode aired and then abandoned it. The recent spoilers prompted me to give this fic a finish, and here I am with this one-shot. Enjoy my fellow Chlolliers!
Never going to Change
Tearing her eyes away from tallest building of Metropolis, she felt the ache in her heart grow with each step. In her past life, she would be in front of the main computer, guiding her band of heroes through whatever situation was in need of fixing. However, that was a thing of the past-a job all her own-a job she claimed months ago, but she didn’t live in the past, and that was never going to change.
And neither was the color of her hair, or the green of her irises. A change in appearance was the first thing Oliver Queen and Clark Kent would suspect, especially since Chloe Sullivan had wiped all traces of herself-almost all traces of herself. There was still that text she’d sent to the two teens running her old haven to consider. Being their idol, she had to illustrate her gratitude in one form or other, and who else knew how to send an untraceable text better than the master of all things computer and technology. That was never going to change either.
With her hair inched considerably, woven into curls at the end, she proceeded down the queue in front of the grandest hotel in Metropolis. That was another thing neither Clark nor Oliver would expect of the girl who wiped her very existence to ever do, show up in a city she called home.
The feat was simple for her master hacker-self. Obtaining the guest list, she changed a simple RSVP’d no into a yes, and suddenly she was Georgina Adams, an Excelsior Alumni now elite lawyer. Of course, it helped that Miss. Adams was blonde. That was never going to change either, her love of research.
Gliding down the red carpet elegantly in her black gown, she covered her smoky eyes with a stylish mask. Outlined with the mask’s intricate beading and glitter, her moss-green orbs sparkled enchantingly. With a simple enunciation of Miss Adams’ name, she passed security with a smile. That was never going to change either, her ability to go undercover. Years of investigative reporting with Clark back in her Torch days and later as a journalist for the Daily Planet were a big help.
Passing the large pillar of the hotel’s foyer, she stepped into the main ballroom, gazing up at the large chandelier suspended from the ceiling. In her old life, she had requested that Oliver keep Chloe out of the lime light. She didn’t want to be a part of Metropolis’s high society, prancing around in a dress fit for the Oscars. Chuckling humorlessly, she glanced down at the silk fabric of her dress. The paparazzi complete with flashes of light may have been absent, but she was here, at a gala, watching as men in penguin attire carried crystal flutes on tray’s of silver. The only thing missing was Oliver at her side.
Dropping her bared shoulders due to the burden of her heavy heart, she picked hors d’oeuvres off a passing tray. Igniting her taste buds with an exquisite taste, Chloe couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a meal this scrumptious. Mostly she’d been living out of cartons and fast food, traveling didn’t allow dinners fit for a king. Her love of food was another thing that was never going to change, and neither was her addiction to coffee.
Admiring the impressive colorful burst of floral arrangements, she aimlessly continued her walk around the periphery of the ballroom, stopping to occasionally smile when a man glanced in her direction. Hopefully no one would ask her to dance.
“Oh excuse me…”
Stiffening from the sudden contact, Chloe remained rooted to her spot along the edge of the dance floor. She knew that brush of the shoulder like the back of her hand, it was a mantra that had been playing in her head since the day she’s traded herself in for Oliver. Concentrating her efforts on the wall before her, she realized of her grave mistake. It was strange, but she could actually feel him pausing, the cogs in his brain turning, deciphering the brush of the shoulders before turning around as he realized what that bump entailed.
Chloe could run, but she wasn’t one to flee, not unless she had a plan. Right now, her plan required her to be here. There was a threat posed against Queen Industries and LuthorCorp. Apparently, Lionel was back from the dead, and not in a way that sided with her friend from another planet.
Maybe he hadn’t noticed, and she could veil herself into the crowd of Metropolis’s more classy citizens. Taking a step, she heard the voice that cut her thin thread of hope.
“Stop.”
How had she let this slipup occur when she was supposed to be seeking out the father of a man with a follicle problem? Glide in and out. The feat was simple, yet she had just made it more difficult. Following Oliver’s instructions, she slowly turned to face him. “Pardon,” Chloe mumbled in an impressive French accent.
Brows shooting to his hairline, the man let out a slight chuckle. “That’s the best you can do, mumble in French?”
Wrinkling her brows in what she hoped was confusion, she watched as Oliver took a step forward, and instinctively she took one back.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know me, Chloe.” He saw the way her body tensed as he uttered her name. She was weakening, giving in. Taking off the emerald colored mask, he glanced in her direction, waiting for some sort of change. “I’ve dreamed about this day…”
“What gave me away?” she asked, shooting him a look that told him she was disgusted with herself. One look at the handsome man standing before her and all her endeavors had fumbled.
“I smelled the almond mocha.”
That was never going to change either, her love of almond mocha.
“How could you be so careless?”
Great, her plans were foiled before she even carried them out. Forming her hand in a fist, she controlled herself from banging it against a nearby table. Coffee wasn’t the same in the places she’d gone, and the moment she’d stepped back into her city, she couldn’t resist running to the kiosk that sold her favorite flavor.
“The aroma of coffee lingers,” he stated in even tones, stepping closer still.
Chest tightening, she looked up through her lashes at his towering presence.
“It consumes everything in its path, and Almond Mocha consumes you, it invades your clothes, your everything…”
His brown orbs had always carried that ability of piercing through her soul, but now they had become unbearable. This entire situation was unbearable. Taking another step, her back met with the wall, every cell of her skin on high alert. Reaching forward, he gracefully lifted the mask shielding a small portion of her face. Exposed, she felt utterly exposed after months of hiding, months of planning. “Way to kill my covert operation,” she quipped.
“Covert operation?”
“Luthor,” she whispered as his eyes shadowed with confusion, “Lionel.”
In her past life, he would’ve laughed, but he didn’t now. In their past life, Lionel was dead, and that was never going to change. Now, however, their worlds were upside down. Vigilantes were a threat to society.
“You leave and the world goes awry. My beacon of hope dissipates.”
Swallowing, Chloe didn’t let him know his words were like a tazered arrow to her heart. Instead, she did what her fingers had been twitching to do. Reaching forward, she brought her hand to his face, feeling the familiar texture of his skin. “I was always here watching over you, and that’s never going to change.” Although Chloe had left watchtower, she had never really left her watchtower role. A majority of her time spent away had her keeping an eye on those she cared for, and letting them sprout into the heroes the world needed them to be. No matter what the current outlook on heroes, the world’s need for masked figures who brought justice to society was never going to change either.
Her body ached for the building where her husband once upon a time had passed. It ached for the gentle hums of the computers and sound the keyboards made when her fingers glided over them. Most of all, she missed the sound of the whizzing arrows as Oliver practiced his archery. Her past life was a life of comfort. Watchtower had felt like home then.
“It’s dark and gloomy now,” he stated as if he had latched onto her train of thought.
Biting her lip, she let her hand fall back to her side. “It’ll get better.”
Shaking his head, Oliver latched onto her wrist at the first sign that she was going to escape. “It’s not going to get better. I’ve lost my purpose.”
Fighting back the tears, she tore her watery eyes away from the hand around her wrist and pushed back the burning notion the mere contact was ensuing. She was his purpose, and although she may have been able to deny it before, she couldn’t now for that wasn’t going to change either. “I…I have to stop Luthor.”
“Why can’t we stop him together?”
A small smile graced her lips as she thought back to her past life, back to her and Oliver working to uncover just who the Justice Society of America was. The two them digging up information with the help of Watchtower’s database for whatever was in dire need of fixing. Green Arrow and Watchtower, they had been a real team. Chloe knew that would never change either.
“Lionel’s going to take LuthorCorp from you and Tess.”
“Is that even legal?”
Shaking her head, she watched as Oliver released his hold on her and held the mask back towards her.
“You didn’t go on a soul searching journey like Lana did, did you?” She giggled for the first time in a long time, and Oliver didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up. Her smiles had always been contagious, and that would never change.
“I’m afraid not.”
“But you had to learn to kick ass somewhere.”
“I’ve had an army brat for a cousin, a super powered alien for a best friend, and a league of tight wearing heroes, I picked up a few things.”
“By watching us?”
“Keeping an eye on you,” she corrected.
“So I’m allowed to help in this covert operation?”
“Only if you ask me to stay.” It was as if she had literally felt his smile then, and when his lips came crashing down on hers in the next moment, every feeling she had worked hard to lock up came rushing back with full force. That was never going to change either, the way she felt about the man standing before her. She may have been his purpose, but somewhere down the line, he had become hers. It was the reason for her new life, the driving force behind her trade, and the strength to pull along with the plan she had carefully planted.
“Was that enough of an ask?” he inquired charmingly, his calloused fingers brushing along her lips.
Wrinkling her brow from the wording of his question, she bumped her shoulder into him as she passed. “Let’s kick ass,” she stated, taking the mask and refashioning it around her.
Her feelings for the CEO of a billion dollar corporation with a masked alter ego aside, her need to bring justice to the world was never going to change either. It made her Chloe. Chloe was never going to change.