Letting Go
Letting Go
The warehouse's heavy metal door had just swung shut behind her when her ears caught the distinctive sound of a bow string snapping, followed closely by the thawp! of an arrow embedding itself deeply in its mark. Apparently, target practice was in full swing at the Queen dojo.
Knowing it would be beyond stupid to surprise the guy firing off razor-sharp projectiles, she moved slowly through the darkened maze of decorative screens that enclosed the training space and called out to him hesitantly.
“Ollie?”
Instead of another resounding snap, a silent pause settled through the air before his answering voice filtered over to her.
“Chloe?”
Satisfied that she wasn’t in danger of getting mistakenly impaled, she picked up her steps and rounded the final corner to find him waiting for her in the middle of the cavernous room, his bow hanging from his fingers at his side.
“Hey,” she greeted with a small smile and an equally tiny wave. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”
His lips quirked into a welcoming grin and he nodded towards the opposite side of the room. Following his gaze, she smirked at the sight of the poor defenceless targets that lined the wall; each one littered with at least half-a-dozen perfect bullseyes.
“I think you killed them,” she observed wryly as she swung her eyes back to him.
“Just working out some stress from a bad day,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Had a thirty-million dollar investment go belly up on me.”
Her brows shot up and a low whistle escaped past her lips. “Ouch.”
“Yeah well,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “You win some, you lose some. The joys of business.”
Nodding absently, she wandered towards the targets to inspect his marksmanship up close; her hand drifting up to caress a soft, feather fletching.
“Shooting pretty coloured circles, huh?” She teased. “How’s that for therapy?”
He made some sort of non-committal sound in the back of his throat.
“More productive than some of my other vices,” he confessed, almost managing to sound mild about his rather recent trip to the gutter.
Still playing with the arrows, she marvelled a little at his ability to be so open about his tumble off the pedestal. Lately, she’d taken to locking her feelings up tight, hiding them as best she could from everyone; herself especially. Not Ollie though. His emotions were big - his mistakes huge - but he just wore it all on his sleeve, knowing he was far from perfect and willing to let people see that.
Forcing her hands into her jean pockets, she looked over to him once again and realized they’d stumbled into an awkward silence.
“So,” he ventured, a trace of apprehension in his voice. “What’s up?”
She could practically see him bracing himself and she couldn’t help but wonder when exactly her presence had come to equal bad news.
“Nothing to worry about,” she promised quickly, trying to grin reassuringly. “The world’s not in danger of ending or anything like that.”
His muscles relaxed on cue and he covered up his anxious lapse with a smile that was far more comforting than hers had likely been.
“Well, the night’s still young,” he kidded.
Though she appreciated his try for levity, it didn’t keep the silence from creeping right back up on them and she could tell that he was trying to figure out what was going on. She couldn’t fault him for it; she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing either.
“Are you okay?” He questioned carefully, worry for her creasing his features as he took a few steps forward.
“I’m fine,” she told him, the answer springing out of her automatically after so much overuse. “I just…”
She stopped herself, biting down on her lip as she thought about all of things she kept pushing behind that word, all of things she kept insisting were fine.
“Chloe?” He prompted tentatively, closing more of the space between them.
Letting out a sigh, she gave him a weary smile.
“How about this?” She offered. “I see your bad day and raise you a weird one.”
The way his brow furrowed in confusion was admittedly cute.
“I thought ‘weird’ was a relative term in our world,” he wondered.
“Usually is,” she agreed, “but every once in awhile something decidedly odd sneaks through.”
“Alright, the suspense is killing me,” he complained sullenly. “Spill it.”
She quirked a brow at him cause, frankly, that sounded a bit like an order, but she decided to forego the snarkiness and get to the point. “A twelve-year-old tried to kiss me today.”
His dark eyes went wide and he waited a second for a punch line that wasn’t coming.
“Will I be getting an uncomfortable call from child services?” He asked plainly.
The laugh burst out of her before she even had a chance of reining it in.
“No, no,” she promised, eyes rolling at him. “I said he ‘tried’, as in, I stopped him. Plus, he was working a full-grown, appropriately aged, superhero body when this happened.”
His brow did the cute, befuddled furrowing thing again and she was amazed to find herself giggling.
“Okay, you know what?” He announced as he dropped to the floor and motioned for her to join him. “I can tell there’s a helluva story behind all this, so pull up some mat and let’s hear it.”
Doing as she was told with a smile on her face, she lowered herself across from him.
“Ever been to Wonder-Con?” She began.
He shot her an incredulous stare that she could only interpret as a resounding ‘no’, so she told him all about the convention and the comic book that - yes - really was enchanted. She explained how Stephen’s sticky fingers got him transformed into none other than Warrior Angel and how he’d used his newfound powers to keep her from getting flattened by a falling planet. She ended with Zatanna showing up to work a little magic and get everything straightened out, but not before Stephen went all puppy dog and confessed his feelings for her which, although sweet, was just a bit too creepy for her taste.
Grinning at the absurdity of it all, Oliver shook his head slowly.
“Wow,” he mused. “My lost thirty-million doesn’t quite stand up to that.”
“Well, I figured this much crazy needed to be shared,” she smirked, bracing her arms behind her to lean back casually.
“So,” he began his face suddenly turning serious, “other than the obvious stuff, what was it about today that’s got you rattled?”
Her smile faltered at his blunt inquiry and the sense of comfort she’d been enjoying evaporated.
“What do you mean?” She hedged.
Oliver fixed her with a knowing look.
“I appreciate being kept in the loop and all,” he told her gently, “but I get the feeling you didn’t come here just to swap stories.”
“I thought you’d get a kick out of it,” she shrugged as her eyes skated away from his gaze.
“Chloe.”
He was right, of course. She’d come with a purpose, but that didn’t make the moment any easier.
“It was something Stephen asked me,” she conceded, her voice small. “He wanted to know why I’d given up on the little things that make life good.”
She didn’t have it in her to meet the eyes she could feel on her, but she could tell he was trying to decide what to say, so she waited patiently in the thick silence.
“What was your answer?” He asked slowly, his voice dropping to match the quiet they were swimming in.
Involuntarily, her lips spread into a soft smile.
“He asked me right before he tried to kiss me,” she explained. “Fending him off spared me from giving him an answer.”
Oliver’s astonished bark of laughter rang out in the open space, the sound bouncing off the walls and making her all at once glad she’d told him.
“Okay, you need this more than me,” he proclaimed as he grabbed up his bow, unfolded his long legs and rose gracefully to his feet.
“Need what?” She questioned with a frown, her neck craned all the way back as she looked up at him from the floor.
“This,” he replied, giving the bow a telling shake and gesturing to the targets. “You can pretend the kid’s face is what you’re aiming at or something.”
She let out an unladylike snort and shook her head.
“I don’t think the Robin Hood bit will do it for me,” she joked. “Besides, I thought you already had a mini-me in training. You don’t need two of us.”
“Please,” he scoffed, reaching down to hook her arm and lift her easily to her feet. “The more the merrier.”
She was putting together a quip about Robin and merry men, but he had the bow in her hands and was reaching his arms around her before the comment was properly thought through.
“The trick,” he divulged as he set about lining up her hands and nudging her feet into position, “is to release the arrow when you exhale.”
“Really? Just breath out and fire?” She muttered doubtfully. “Mia’s lucky she was talented to begin with cause this training of yours seems a little flimsy.”
“Mouthy,” he chastised good-naturedly as he selected an arrow from the pile at their feet and set about balancing it perfectly against her grip.
She watched in fascination as he fussed over every aspect of her, moving her fingers this way and that, making changes to the line of her shoulders and ensuring there was just the slightest bend in her knees.
“I’m never going to remember all this,” she murmured as she tried to catalogue all the little nuances he was sharing with her; somehow distilling his lifetime’s worth of expertise into a few mere seconds of instruction.
“That’s what practice is for,” he answered as he made a final adjustment to her hold on the bow’s string. “Only way this stuff ever comes naturally.”
“Practice, huh?” She repeated to herself, her mind flickering over the various things in her life that no longer seemed to come naturally to her.
“Makes perfect,” he confirmed as he rested his hands over hers. “Ready?”
“Should I be doing something more than just standing here?” She questioned curiously.
He tugged on her hand, helping her pull the bow’s rigid wire back.
“Keep your mind clear,” he instructed softly; the words right by her ear. “Focus your eyes exactly where you want the arrow to land, take a breath, then just let go.”
“Just let go,” she whispered before she drew in a long breath.
She pushed the air from her lungs in a rush and hardly even noticed that she’d released the string until the sharp strumming sound snapped right beside her. For the shortest second, she swore she could hear the arrow whistling through the air, but before she could pinpoint its location, it slammed firmly into the target and stayed put.
Eyes blinking, she focused across the room and was easily able to find her arrow given that it was the only non-bullseye in sight.
“Blue,” she stated simply, staring at the blue circle on the target that she’d managed to hit. “I got blue. What does blue mean?”
Oliver’s chuckle sent her blonde hair dancing over her cheek. “It means you did pretty good for a first try.”
She nodded in satisfaction at the small accomplishment.
“Ollie?”
“Yeah?”
She took a deep breath and lowered the bow slightly. “Have I given up too much?”
“Chloe,” he sighed and she felt the loss when his hands slid away from hers. “After everything I’ve done, I’m in no position to judge you.”
She spun around to face him, staying close because she knew she’d lose her nerve if she let him get too far away.
“But that’s why you’re the best person to ask,” she entreated quietly, praying that it didn’t sound like she was begging. “Just tell me what you think. I can take it.”
His hands settled heavily upon her shoulders and exerted just enough pressure to turn her away from him. Sensing a dreadful dismissal, her heart started to hammer out of fear that she’d just exposed way, way too much. He didn’t leave her side though, and instead, began putting her hands back into position around the bow.
“I think,” he told her slowly, the words hushed, “that you went through something really hard and it changed you.”
She listened carefully, her legs and shoulders and grip pliable under his guiding hands, falling into place without thought as he picked up another arrow and helped her load the bow.
“Right now,” he continued, nudging her arms back up and double-checking her aim, “you’re figuring out what this change means and you’re learning how to live with it. That’s all you can do.”
“I don’t know if I’m doing a very good job of it,” she murmured, voicing the fear she’d been grappling with lately.
“Well, you haven’t gone off on any month-long benders, so you’ve got me beat.”
Given how serious things had gotten for him, his comment shouldn’t have been funny, but she let out a ghost of a laugh anyways. She realized she had to. This stuff they were both dealing with would never go away if it stayed trapped. It had to be dragged out into the open if it was ever going to be seen for what it really was.
“Okay,” she announced firmly, not really to him, but more to herself and she knew that he understood her when his bigger hands engulfed hers and squeezed reassuringly.
Smiling just a little, she narrowed her eyes at the target. “What kind of stuffed prize do I get if I hit a bullseye?”
His warm hands kept holding hers tightly and she felt him lean closer to her, his snicker tickling her collarbone.
“I’m all out of pink unicorns and I’m starving, so how about I just buy you dinner.”
“Pink unicorns?” She echoed, her nose scrunching in distaste. “Pretty girly operation you’re running here.”
She swore she heard his eyes roll.
“Dinner or not?” He questioned archly.
“What if I miss?” She checked, shifting her feet as she sized up the small yellow circle she needed to hit.
“We go get dinner anyways,” he explained blandly. “Did you not hear me say I’m starving?”
A smile tugged on her lips as she took a steadying inhale, released her breath slowly and let go.