Decade: Reunion 1.5
Title: Decade: Reunion
Author: FlyingHigh / latetothpartyhp
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama / Adventure
Pairings: Chloe/Clark, Tess/Oliver
Spoilers: through Salvation, and selectively from Lazarus
Warnings: Because of when this fic starts there will be some collateral Clois and Chlollie to begin with. There was also be strong language, some violence and some mentions of sexuality. Please be sure to check individual chapters for ratings and warning changes.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I am receiving no money for this story. I also make no claim to anything written by T.S. Eliot, Emily Dickinson or William Shakespeare.
Summary: The last ten years have all led up to this.
Author's Note: This fic was written for selene2 , who won the bid for my services in the legendary_women auction - I hope you enjoy it! Many, many thanks to iluvaqt for beta-reading this.
Prologue / Reunion 1.0 / Reunion 1.1 / Reunion 1.2 / Reunion 1.3 / Reunion 1.4
Author's Note: This is the last update for this section, and for a few more weeks. I want to finish up The Loyal Opposition (which hopefully won't take long!), I will be traveling over the holidays, and I might be moving (I'll know more after the weekend about this).
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Seeing Chloe again wasn’t at all the way Oliver imagined it would be. He’d imagined sweeping her up and holding her as she clutched at him, neither one letting go until they were someplace where they could get to the naked part of their reunion. He’d imagined smiles and tears and vows to never to be apart again. He’d imagined it so hard that the reality, here and now, felt as if it were happening to another person, a different Oliver Queen faced with a woman who was not Chloe Sullivan.
And yet, he had to remind himself, this was real. Chloe was indeed sitting on the couch in Clark’s living room, looking still and serene, like her mother had the one time he’d seen her. In this case, however, the effect was chilling rather than sad. When he’d visited Moira her eyes were shut, which gave the illusion of sleep. Chloe’s were wide open and happily focused on nothing, which gave the illusion she was insane. He sat on the rocker across from her and tried to think of what to say. Nothing he’d imagined seemed appropriate.
“Chloe, it’s Ollie,” he told her finally. “Can - right, no questions. Uh, look at me.”
Dutifully her head tilted turned toward him. She seemed to see him, but in the same way she had seemed to see the fire that was burning. He was not her lover Oliver to her. He was just something else to look at.
Now what? he thought. He had a million questions he couldn’t ask. Everything he wanted to know, everything he hoped she might say, was locked inside her mind and no one had the key. “I just got back from Bludhaven,” he told her, for lack of anything better. And why not? No one else had asked about the mission. He knew Chloe would have though. She would have wanted to hear every detail in order to pick through them with that analytical mind of hers. “I was chasing around a group of guys you would have found interesting. It would have been nice to get your input on this one. Mercy thinks they’re an off-shoot of Intergang looking to stake out some territory there, but that’s a pretty big play; they haven’t tried anything like that since Morgan Edge died. Plus everyone operating in Bludhaven’s under orders from a family in Gotham, and Intergang doesn’t have the muscle built up to take any of those guys on.
“So we’ve been arguing about it, of course. That seems to be what we do best. I say, if they are connected to Intergang, it’s ‘cuz Mannheim put up a stake: he’s the money, but he’s not running the show. It just doesn’t feel as if they’re setting up shop. But, Mercy says the chatter she’s picked up is Mannheim’s very interested in the project in Bludhaven. She won’t tell me who’s the mouth behind the intel though, so I don’t know how seriously to take it. And there are issues there, between us -- I mean, obviously there are. There always have been, and now she doesn’t want to share her contacts and I gotta wonder if she’s feeding any of this info to Waller, trying to get back into her good graces, or if the info she’s getting is from Waller. I mean, why else wouldn’t she tell us? But I can’t think that, because we needed her, we decided to trust her, so I gotta trust her. And I’m babbling, so I’m gonna shut up now,” he finished.
He didn’t know what else to say. She had no insights for him, no thoughtful questions, no answers. He’d missed that about working with her; every conversation they’d had gave him a new idea. He’d missed that so much, had dreamt about it so many times, the kind of happy dream in which every problem was miraculously solved and all he had to do was live happily ever after or until the alarm went off, whichever came first. He had lived for those dreams in the beginning, for hearing her tell him again and again how proud she was of him and how much she loved him. As the months wore on, though, he’d begun to dread them more than any nightmare. For every dream there was a waking, and every waking was to a day in which she was still gone and time was rushing by.
In the beginning he had been angry and determined and confident that nobody could keep anything he wanted from him. He was Oliver Queen. More than that, he was the Green Arrow. For weeks he had called in every chit he had, hounded every cop he came across, cornered every thug he could find. He’d driven poor Bart mercilessly until Clark and J’onn intervened. He’d even bullied Tess into arranging a meeting with Waller, but that had turned out to be in vain. Her comm to her former boss was cold. The White Queen apparently had nothing to say to them.
The last month or so he’d gone from relentless to … tired. Part of that was the lack of sleep, but part was the waiting. He’d gotten so tired of waiting. Nothing was happening, nothing more was coming in. He’d told himself the case was still open, they’d find her, they were just waiting for a new lead. It wasn’t until now, sitting directly across from her, that he realized he’d stopped expecting one.
Hadn’t wanted one.
Had wanted it to be over.
Now she was back, and it was so not over. It had barely even begun.
He stared at the rug and tried not think about how great a drink would be. He hadn’t had one since his captors had handed him off for her, hadn’t trusted himself to have one, and he didn’t think now was the time to start. He glanced up. She was still calmly staring at him, oblivious to his own inattentiveness. She didn’t care that he’d given up. She couldn’t even be aware that he had.
“I’m gonna go now,” he said. “I missed you so much. I still miss you. If you can remember anything, remember that, OK? I missed you and I can’t believe you’re back. It’s... it’s really good to have you back.” He stood. Her gaze remained where it had been. He walked to the porch door, mulling excuses he could make to get Clark out of there for an hour or so. He had to do something. Whatever Emil had told him, Ollie wanted to know.
**************************************
She was on the porch. How she had gotten there she had no idea; the last thing she remembered was shivering in Clark’s room.
Maybe Clark brought me down here. If so, where had he gone? she wondered. And why?
It was colder out here than it would be in his room. Colder, and somehow militant. The moon was full and the trees and barns and fence all stood in sharp vigil under it. She felt as if she was standing guard with them. Maybe that was why Clark had brought her here, to watch and raise the alarm if they were attacked. That made the most sense. The stars, she noticed, were hard and bright, as if they too were watching in the night. She curled her toes against the cold and watched with them.
Behind her, the porch light burst on, obliterating her view.
“Chloe,” she heard Clark say. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s freezing.”
“I’m watching,” she said. “They could come at any time.”
“I would hear them if they did,” he answered slowly. “Come inside.”
She scrunched her feet a few times to get the blood flowing. They felt icier than the boards beneath them. “You’re supposed to be asleep. You can’t hear everything.”
“Chloe, come inside.”
She shook her head. “He’s coming, Clark.”
She heard the creak of the boards beneath his feet, knew that he was coming for her, to take her in. The cold, which had been her ally in the dark, turned on her and invaded, setting her to trembling. The sudden heat of his belly against her back was a shock that only made it worse.
“If he comes, I can be out there to stop him before he knows what hit him.”
He could. She knew he could. Clark could beat anything. Why then was she so afraid? Why was she shaking so?
“Please,” he said. “If you come inside, we can watch for him together.”
That made no sense at all, she thought, then sighed. The heat of him was finally soaking into her skin, through her back and from her abdomen where his arms were crossed over her. The contrast with her feet, bare against the world, was sharp. It might be unhealthy to stay out here, she thought. She would be no good to anyone if she caught sick, and Clark was equal to anything they’d come across in the past.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s go in.”
Author: FlyingHigh / latetothpartyhp
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama / Adventure
Pairings: Chloe/Clark, Tess/Oliver
Spoilers: through Salvation, and selectively from Lazarus
Warnings: Because of when this fic starts there will be some collateral Clois and Chlollie to begin with. There was also be strong language, some violence and some mentions of sexuality. Please be sure to check individual chapters for ratings and warning changes.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I am receiving no money for this story. I also make no claim to anything written by T.S. Eliot, Emily Dickinson or William Shakespeare.
Summary: The last ten years have all led up to this.
Author's Note: This fic was written for selene2 , who won the bid for my services in the legendary_women auction - I hope you enjoy it! Many, many thanks to iluvaqt for beta-reading this.
Prologue / Reunion 1.0 / Reunion 1.1 / Reunion 1.2 / Reunion 1.3 / Reunion 1.4
Author's Note: This is the last update for this section, and for a few more weeks. I want to finish up The Loyal Opposition (which hopefully won't take long!), I will be traveling over the holidays, and I might be moving (I'll know more after the weekend about this).
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Seeing Chloe again wasn’t at all the way Oliver imagined it would be. He’d imagined sweeping her up and holding her as she clutched at him, neither one letting go until they were someplace where they could get to the naked part of their reunion. He’d imagined smiles and tears and vows to never to be apart again. He’d imagined it so hard that the reality, here and now, felt as if it were happening to another person, a different Oliver Queen faced with a woman who was not Chloe Sullivan.
And yet, he had to remind himself, this was real. Chloe was indeed sitting on the couch in Clark’s living room, looking still and serene, like her mother had the one time he’d seen her. In this case, however, the effect was chilling rather than sad. When he’d visited Moira her eyes were shut, which gave the illusion of sleep. Chloe’s were wide open and happily focused on nothing, which gave the illusion she was insane. He sat on the rocker across from her and tried to think of what to say. Nothing he’d imagined seemed appropriate.
“Chloe, it’s Ollie,” he told her finally. “Can - right, no questions. Uh, look at me.”
Dutifully her head tilted turned toward him. She seemed to see him, but in the same way she had seemed to see the fire that was burning. He was not her lover Oliver to her. He was just something else to look at.
Now what? he thought. He had a million questions he couldn’t ask. Everything he wanted to know, everything he hoped she might say, was locked inside her mind and no one had the key. “I just got back from Bludhaven,” he told her, for lack of anything better. And why not? No one else had asked about the mission. He knew Chloe would have though. She would have wanted to hear every detail in order to pick through them with that analytical mind of hers. “I was chasing around a group of guys you would have found interesting. It would have been nice to get your input on this one. Mercy thinks they’re an off-shoot of Intergang looking to stake out some territory there, but that’s a pretty big play; they haven’t tried anything like that since Morgan Edge died. Plus everyone operating in Bludhaven’s under orders from a family in Gotham, and Intergang doesn’t have the muscle built up to take any of those guys on.
“So we’ve been arguing about it, of course. That seems to be what we do best. I say, if they are connected to Intergang, it’s ‘cuz Mannheim put up a stake: he’s the money, but he’s not running the show. It just doesn’t feel as if they’re setting up shop. But, Mercy says the chatter she’s picked up is Mannheim’s very interested in the project in Bludhaven. She won’t tell me who’s the mouth behind the intel though, so I don’t know how seriously to take it. And there are issues there, between us -- I mean, obviously there are. There always have been, and now she doesn’t want to share her contacts and I gotta wonder if she’s feeding any of this info to Waller, trying to get back into her good graces, or if the info she’s getting is from Waller. I mean, why else wouldn’t she tell us? But I can’t think that, because we needed her, we decided to trust her, so I gotta trust her. And I’m babbling, so I’m gonna shut up now,” he finished.
He didn’t know what else to say. She had no insights for him, no thoughtful questions, no answers. He’d missed that about working with her; every conversation they’d had gave him a new idea. He’d missed that so much, had dreamt about it so many times, the kind of happy dream in which every problem was miraculously solved and all he had to do was live happily ever after or until the alarm went off, whichever came first. He had lived for those dreams in the beginning, for hearing her tell him again and again how proud she was of him and how much she loved him. As the months wore on, though, he’d begun to dread them more than any nightmare. For every dream there was a waking, and every waking was to a day in which she was still gone and time was rushing by.
In the beginning he had been angry and determined and confident that nobody could keep anything he wanted from him. He was Oliver Queen. More than that, he was the Green Arrow. For weeks he had called in every chit he had, hounded every cop he came across, cornered every thug he could find. He’d driven poor Bart mercilessly until Clark and J’onn intervened. He’d even bullied Tess into arranging a meeting with Waller, but that had turned out to be in vain. Her comm to her former boss was cold. The White Queen apparently had nothing to say to them.
The last month or so he’d gone from relentless to … tired. Part of that was the lack of sleep, but part was the waiting. He’d gotten so tired of waiting. Nothing was happening, nothing more was coming in. He’d told himself the case was still open, they’d find her, they were just waiting for a new lead. It wasn’t until now, sitting directly across from her, that he realized he’d stopped expecting one.
Hadn’t wanted one.
Had wanted it to be over.
Now she was back, and it was so not over. It had barely even begun.
He stared at the rug and tried not think about how great a drink would be. He hadn’t had one since his captors had handed him off for her, hadn’t trusted himself to have one, and he didn’t think now was the time to start. He glanced up. She was still calmly staring at him, oblivious to his own inattentiveness. She didn’t care that he’d given up. She couldn’t even be aware that he had.
“I’m gonna go now,” he said. “I missed you so much. I still miss you. If you can remember anything, remember that, OK? I missed you and I can’t believe you’re back. It’s... it’s really good to have you back.” He stood. Her gaze remained where it had been. He walked to the porch door, mulling excuses he could make to get Clark out of there for an hour or so. He had to do something. Whatever Emil had told him, Ollie wanted to know.
**************************************
She was on the porch. How she had gotten there she had no idea; the last thing she remembered was shivering in Clark’s room.
Maybe Clark brought me down here. If so, where had he gone? she wondered. And why?
It was colder out here than it would be in his room. Colder, and somehow militant. The moon was full and the trees and barns and fence all stood in sharp vigil under it. She felt as if she was standing guard with them. Maybe that was why Clark had brought her here, to watch and raise the alarm if they were attacked. That made the most sense. The stars, she noticed, were hard and bright, as if they too were watching in the night. She curled her toes against the cold and watched with them.
Behind her, the porch light burst on, obliterating her view.
“Chloe,” she heard Clark say. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s freezing.”
“I’m watching,” she said. “They could come at any time.”
“I would hear them if they did,” he answered slowly. “Come inside.”
She scrunched her feet a few times to get the blood flowing. They felt icier than the boards beneath them. “You’re supposed to be asleep. You can’t hear everything.”
“Chloe, come inside.”
She shook her head. “He’s coming, Clark.”
She heard the creak of the boards beneath his feet, knew that he was coming for her, to take her in. The cold, which had been her ally in the dark, turned on her and invaded, setting her to trembling. The sudden heat of his belly against her back was a shock that only made it worse.
“If he comes, I can be out there to stop him before he knows what hit him.”
He could. She knew he could. Clark could beat anything. Why then was she so afraid? Why was she shaking so?
“Please,” he said. “If you come inside, we can watch for him together.”
That made no sense at all, she thought, then sighed. The heat of him was finally soaking into her skin, through her back and from her abdomen where his arms were crossed over her. The contrast with her feet, bare against the world, was sharp. It might be unhealthy to stay out here, she thought. She would be no good to anyone if she caught sick, and Clark was equal to anything they’d come across in the past.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s go in.”