Fic - Shelter (Smallville) 1/2
Pairing: Chloe/Davis
Rating: 17 and over, kittens
Spoilers: Through Legion, the rest is just spec or "what-if"
Summary: vagrantdream gave me "outside" as a prompt, so here's my whole attempt at a realastic take of the romance/sexual angle.
Shelter by Paraxdisepink
**
Things got so bad he started talking to the monster inside him. Some days that was the only time he spoke at all. He made a bleak little home for himself in the basement of the Isis building and spent his time sitting on the floor staring at nothing, waiting to wake up in the ambulance posting in a dark parking lot to his partner telling him he was having a nightmare.
He ate when Chloe brought him something to eat, but only because she’d gone through the trouble of cooking for two or wasting her time at Super Walmart buying him soda and water and microwave dinners. He doubted he needed to eat. In fact, he wondered if starving himself would weaken the thing inside him, if he could die of natural causes or at least put himself and that thing in a coma for a while. With his luck the opposite would be true though - the weaker he got the easier for the monster to come out and play, and risking more lives was the last thing he wanted. So he ate and said “thank you” as sincerely as he could even when she brought things like spaghetti and pizza and the red, red color of the sauce made his stomach clench with the images of blood and bodies. He’d seen gruesome cases - gunshots, murders, the occasional dog mauling - he knew how much blood a human body held and that it didn’t take much to spatter it everywhere, but it was different soaked into your skin. It felt like acid, poison, and the panic was so strong you’d think it’d burn your flesh right off, even impenetrable flesh like his. Davis didn’t know how he would do it, an eternity of sickness inside. He puked his guts out the instant Chloe left, not a very refined function of his stellar design.
He didn’t come out of the basement unless she asked him to, and he didn’t talk unless she asked him a question. He didn’t want to bother her when she was in the computer room or trying to think. They weren’t friends - they couldn’t be - he couldn’t just make conversation for the sake of it. It amazed him though the way she took the alien thing in stride and didn’t flinch at the concept of him being genetically engineered with programmable emotions. He didn’t ask how she could be so cool about it, just told her everything he could about his blackouts, the day of her wedding, and what the Construct had said. The concept of artificial alien intelligence didn’t faze her either and he didn’t ask why. Why wasn’t his business. He just cooperated and thanked her when appropriate, apologized for bringing her into this as often as he could, and otherwise stayed out of the way. That was the plan, keep to his dark little lair and fade away from the world.
So long as no one hurt her.
He wouldn’t have let her ten feet near him - the idea of ruining her life sickened him as much as any murder - but he knew she didn’t do this for him. She was just doing her part to save the world, working toward a solution to keep him from hurting anyone else. No matter what he was, Davis wanted that more than anything. Maybe on some level the monster did too. It never came out around her.
They’d reasoned that it operated on some kind of survival instinct, that apart from her wedding day it emerged and killed when its cover was threatened. They both wondered why it needed a cover when it was so unstoppable - he had shown her how impenetrable he was - but clearly it saw no threat it her and stayed quiet inside him. It was one of the few parameters Davis understood about this mess.
He didn’t think about his feelings for her anymore, and whenever he watched Chloe and felt warmth or affection he tried to turn those sentiments off like background music. Not because they were in any way manufactured and false - he refused to believe that - but because they were as wrong as anything else about him. He was a prisoner here to the only one who could hold him and he doubted she saw it any other way. He deserved this prison, not sympathy or help or any shred of human compassion she might show her clients. He was a bomb she had to diffuse because by some twist of fate that was what she did.
He watched her though when he couldn’t help himself, golden and kind and taking charge of things and thrown by very little, completely amazing even to his inhuman eyes. He used to dream of finding that kind of girl and when he’d met Chloe he’d been pretty sure she was that girl. But all that was gone now - the drive to make something good of himself, the hope of building a future, a family. All he had was this nightmare, and the only solution he wanted was the one that put an end to him and it.
Sometimes he was glad when she left him alone, when he couldn’t hold it all inside anymore, when he couldn’t stand seeing her act as though alien creatures with dangerous abilities were an everyday crisis she’d avert sooner or later, when she gave him hope. This wasn’t the movies, and he could barely wrap his head around the idea that helpful, amazing Chloe Sullivan was some kind of hero who belonged as part of some top secret government organization like Torchwood or something. Thoughts like that made him believe she really had been sent to him, and believing there was something out there, something that allowed this tore him up worse than anything.
He prayed in the dark, sitting on the floor with his arms around his knees. He asked God why He would do this to him. But maybe God was just another Kryptonian. Maybe these people had come to earth a long time ago, parted the Red Sea and left the Ten Commandments on the mountain top. If he could rise from the dead lying in buckets of his own blood on a hospital floor then who was to say Jesus didn’t have superpowers too? That’s when it all came crashing down and everything, even breathing, seemed pointless. When you suffered it was supposed to be a test. God gave man a conscience for a reason. God gave man a choice. He had a conscience, but no choice, and by that logic there couldn’t be a god, someone up there to make this stop, just an experiment that designed him to murder and feel the horror afterward.
Davis prayed anyway, and when no one answered he crawled over to the bathroom and threw up all over again. Sometimes he even felt weak and he didn’t eat the days Chloe didn’t come. Hunger and sickness were something to hold onto, human problems he could understand. Sometimes he looked forward to the blackouts, his only escape. That was when he would sink to the floor again, yell at the monster that he didn’t want to hurt anyone. In the dark, the monster never answered, and that’s when he put his face in his hands, broke down, and cried.
Chloe never heard him raving, thank god, and one night she stopped by with eggplant parmesan and left in a hurry. Her friends still took up a lot of her time - Oliver Queen, Clark, and her cousin Lois - and Davis had to admit he didn’t think much of them. They seemed to only want favors from her and none of them had seen through her empty relationship with Jimmy. What kind of friends were those?
She promised to come back in an hour, but two and then three hours passed without a sound on the main floor above. Davis came out of the basement and stared through the window. She’d taken her scooter; her car keys were on the table and her car was outside in the parking lot. He knew she did things she didn’t want anyone knowing about. At this point he wouldn’t be surprised to learn she worked for the CIA in her spare time. But Metropolis was a dangerous city and the more time passed, the more he worried.
He got in her car after another hour and went out looking for her, taking the side streets so no one would see him. He was good at hiding and better at finding people - kids who ran away from him on the job more afraid of their parents finding out they were out when then shouldn’t be then of the fact they needed medical attention, especially the ones who were on something. He used to have a foster sister who ran away about every other night too, and even though she’d made it clear she didn’t need any “weird white boy” looking over her shoulder, he still went out and looked for her every time. That was back when he thought his biggest problems were that he didn’t have a family and Emily in biology class couldn’t go to the homecoming dance with him because her dad didn’t want her involved with “that kind of guy.” Smart dad.
He’d had a family once. They’d taken him in when he was seven, took him to the movies, Mass on Saturday - things normal families did. They even had plans to adopt him and take him to a specialist about his blackouts, someone his mom’s boss Lionel Luthor recommended. But one night he’d gone to stay at a friend’s and came home to yellow tape and flashing police lights. His parents were dead, stabbed by something the authorities couldn’t identify. The paramedics had tried to save his mother, but she’d bled out on them.
Davis pulled over. He hadn’t remembered that until now. He must have blocked it out, or the thing had blocked it out. It had been trying to protect itself. His eyes watered. How many more? And if Chloe ever did find a solution would the right thing be to turn himself in? There was no statute of limitations on murder.
He made himself keep driving. What if he’d blacked out and done something to Chloe? What if the thing didn’t want to be stopped and would kill her before she found a way? Davis blinked and tried to keep his head clear, focusing on the road in the darkness. The last he needed was to crash into someone because he was too busy panicking.
He found her in a field behind a dark warehouse building, sitting there with her arms around her knees. He got out of the car, so relieved to see her alive and in one piece he could have thrown his arms around her. But he didn’t. He just hurried to her.
“Chloe . . .”
She looked up, and didn’t seem angry that he’d come after her or taken her car. She just smoothed her skirt and glanced down at herself, biting her lip, and he could see something was wrong.
“Are you okay?” Davis crouched down before her in the dirt and weeds. It was cold out here and goosebumps pebbled her bare arms and legs but she didn’t seem to care. She folded her skirt halfway up her thigh and bit harder into her lip. He averted his eyes out of respect, until he realized she wanted him to look.
A red gash ran along the outside of her thigh and she’d scraped some skin off in the process. “I was going for this whole Xena thing climbing the fence and I fell,” she said. “Stupid shoes.”
He nodded, glad for an excuse to take his eyes from that soft, golden skin. Who the hell climbed fences in a short skirt and heeled sandals? He glanced at the warehouse behind them. She’d been after something in there, probably helping Lois or Clark with a story - at least that would be the reason she’d give, if she wasn’t doing something for Oliver Queen instead. Davis looked away, angry. What kind of friends let her go out alone at night in a crime-ridden city? If he were a normal guy he’d kick . . .
No. Chloe wasn’t out here because of them. Chloe was out here because of Chloe, and if her friends couldn’t see that either . . . He made himself stop. Anger didn’t help now.
“Clean that and you’ll be fine,” he told her. “It doesn’t look like you need stitches.”
It was such a normal thing to say, from a guy who wore a uniform for a living no one would run from, a guy people would trust with their kids and who filled people with relief when he showed up, not terror. A guy he couldn’t be, no matter what he wanted. That guy would have offered to clean the wound for her.
“Yeah,” Chloe agreed absently. “I think I’ve got some Neosporin in the car.”
He shook his head, and before he thought about it said, “Actually, that stuff’s only good for keeping a bandage from sticking to a wound.”
She glanced at him with an “I didn’t know that” expression and went back to staring at nothing with a lost look on her face. Obviously, she’d been sitting here for a while, and he didn’t know what else to do but lean back against the chain link fence behind them and sit next to her.
“Was someone chasing you?” Things happened in this city he didn’t want to think about, and it wouldn’t surprise him if a pretty girl like Chloe caught some psycho’s eye. He seethed inside at the idea. No one would come near her if they knew what he was.
She shook her head. “No. You didn’t have to . . .”
What? Worry for her? Maybe he didn’t have a right to show it, but it was a little late for that. “Look, Chloe, I know you probably hate me, but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
That caught her by surprise and he thought he saw a smile flash across her face. But it vanished so quickly he probably imagined it. She sighed and picked up her phone where it was lying on the ground beside her.
“It’s stupid, but I was sitting here going through old text messages.” She laughed at herself and tilted the screen so he could see.
Got a client for you. Walks thru walls. Put her grandma in cardiac arrest this morning.
The message was from him, back when he thought he could help people and help her help people since he had turned her on to this Isis venture in the first place. It had been their unspoken arrangement, he kept his eye out for potential clients and she smiled at him and said things like “you know, Davis, it’s fun having someone to change the world with.” His eyes watered, and when she turned off her phone and set it down again she had the heavy expression of someone who’d lost something.
He let the moment stretch. She was only one more fooled by his camouflage routine than he had been. That was their connection now and he hadn’t realized she missed him, the old him. He had just assumed she’d stopped caring, written off everything they’d had, and that was that.
To his surprise she slid closer and put her head on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything for a long time and he didn’t expect her to, just listened to the distant hum of traffic and took in the dark air where they sat beyond the reach of the streetlights. He hadn’t been outside in a couple weeks and he was used to being outside at night. He missed it.
After a while she shifted and said, “Davis, I don’t hate you,” in a tone that told him he should know better. “I just wish things were different.”
It was stupid of him to hold his breath, like that could keep him from focusing on the warmth of her against his side. He hadn’t felt warmth in a long time, and he wasn’t supposed to feel her warmth. He was supposed to keep his distance, do what she said, and not get in the way of her life. There was no friendship or affection involved, because he wasn’t a person, just a thing that had ended with up with feelings by accident. Feelings that didn’t and would never serve any real purpose.
But here she was, staring up at him in the dark like they were both victims of circumstances and he hadn’t deceived her with his Oscar-worthy person act and sent her husband to the ICU in a helicopter. She looked pained, and it was stupid and pointless of him to hope he hadn’t misjudged the reason, but he opened his mouth anyway.
“Different how?” It came out in a thick whisper, not very steady, but she heard him. Her fingertips touched his jaw and she tilted her face up.
Davis closed his eyes when her mouth touched his. The warm shock of it was like ice cracking after he’d forced himself to accept that he’d never know a feeling like this again, the innocent thrill of finally being kissed by the girl he loved. He went completely still inside, and she pulled back when he didn’t respond.
“Davis, I thought you wanted . . .”
She trailed off. He didn’t realize he was holding himself so stiffly, that his fingers had clawed into the dirt to keep from tangling in her hair and pulling her close the way he’d wanted since he met her. It hurt to look at her, her eyes big and confused in the dim light. He drew in a breath.
“I do.” That was the sick part, the monster wanting a human woman the way a man does, as if he could just ignore the killing and the violence and pretend at something as pure as real love. He looked away. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
Chloe brushed that off, her warm fingers splaying across his cheek as she kissed him again. There was more force to it this time, and he couldn’t help himself. His mouth opened against hers and he drank in the heat of her. She tasted like lip gloss and candy and the cold night air and his head spun like he was kissing a girl for the first time. But when the warmth from her spread through the rest of him down into his skin he pulled back. This wasn’t right.
She watched his face, pressing her lips together hard. “Davis . . .”
He swallowed. Transforming into the thing wasn’t half this painful. “It’s just this,” he gestured to her against his shoulder. “Me. You should be horrified.”
She pushed her hair out of her face and stared down at her hands, fingering a wedding ring she no longer wore. After a moment, she raised her head and said in a small voice, “Davis, don’t make me feel like an idiot for being here with you. It’s the last thing I need right now.”
He blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d hurt her. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “You’re not an idiot, Chloe. I’d do anything for you.”
His hand came to her face and the little smile he thought he’d imagined earlier resurfaced. He didn’t know who kissed who that time, but he let it happen, warm and slow. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe she just needed someone now that she and Jimmy had separated. He could do that, be her big alien comfort toy like a twisted stuffed animal for grown-ups. Maybe it could be one of his fantastic adaptive abilities.
She slid one thigh over him and climbed into his lap. He leaned back against the chain link fence behind them, the pressure and warmth of her stirring up sensations he shouldn’t feel, normal human sensations - arousal, hunger, anticipation. His hands settled on her waist, and part of him wanted to push her away.
The rest of him . . . His pulse was rising and he was kissing her harder now, her mouth surrendering under his until he could feel her tongue and all the wetness and heat of her. Wetness, heat, the far-off sounds of traffic faded around them, drowned out by the pounding in his lap.
She wasn’t bothered by that. Not Chloe. She deliberately wriggled against him and laughed quietly when he groaned against her mouth. It didn’t surprise him that she would tease. He’d always thought a guy would have to be something to keep up with her. She let her head fall back and his mouth settled on the soft skin behind her ear, his fingers crawling up her body to the top button of her shirt. Her breathing quickened in the darkness and he couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like he’d gone back in time to when he was just Davis again and they were alone, just a girl and a guy giving in to what they felt for each other. But they both knew there was no going back, and no matter how lonely she was sooner or later she had to come to her senses.
He raised his head from where his mouth had slid to her collarbone, drifting slowly toward the gap in her shirt. “Chloe, all you have to do is say ‘stop’,” his voice was rough and he was breathing hard. “I’ll stop, I promise.” He couldn’t promise he’d make it out this mess or that he wouldn’t turn into that monster for good one day, but he could promise right now that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. The guy he wanted to be wouldn’t. Ever.
She nodded, her arms winding around his neck. Next he knew she was pulling them to the ground.
He twisted so she ended up lying on top of him. It seemed safer that way; he didn’t know how strong he was these days. Chloe didn’t mind; she draped herself over him, slid her hands under his shoulders and kissed him as hard as she could. He didn’t know why she wanted to be anywhere near this freakishly indestructible body of his, but he could have drowned he was so caught up in her. His hands went everywhere, in her short blond hair, over her back, and trailing along her bare thigh stretched across him. She bit the place where his shoulder met his neck when his hand slid under her skirt. Hers went to his waist, unzipping his pants and pushing them off his hips, impatient like she wanted to go through with this before she realized what she was really doing.
Davis caught her hand before this went too far, if it hadn’t gone far enough already. “Chloe . . .” It wasn’t like he came prepared for this sort of thing anymore, and they were in a field for god’s sake.
She got it and lowered his eyes, a little embarrassed. “I’m on one of those shot things.”
He nodded, relieved. The last thing he needed was to impregnate her with some spiny alien thing that might tear its way out of her and maybe kill her, if he could impregnate her. She kissed him again and pushed his hand back under skirt, and he gave in to the throbbing in his lap intensified by the weight of her and found himself peeling off the kind of flimsy underwear that made a guy wonder why women bothered. He wanted to touch her, really touch her, but he couldn’t after his hands had been in the dirt, and she had other ideas anyway.
He rolled his head back with a choked sound when she slid onto him, the amazing warmth of her melting him and burning him up at the same time. He knew she liked it, watching him roll his head to one side and then the other on the ground as she moved over him. Maybe that was all she needed after the things the Construct had made her do, control. She smothered his mouth and swallowed all the sounds he made, and when he slid a hand up to cradle the back of her head and wrapped an arm around her, holding her against him and moving with her, he wasn’t the only one crying out anymore.
As he closed his eyes, he wished he could just vanish into her, stay where it was safe and let what happened happen to the physical shell he left behind. She knew him, the real him, the part science couldn’t engineer.
She was going to hurt her bare knees on top of him like this. He tightened his hold on her and rolled them over, and she choked out his name when he sank down onto her. There were too many clothes between them; he wanted the warmth of her skin, but it didn’t matter. He had to be careful, not too much of his weight, not too much force, no matter how she clawed at his shoulders through his shirt for more. He laid his cheek against hers and squeezed his eyes shut, and the sensation building in him was like climbing out of a dark pit toward a white light high above and the only way to reach it was to keep going until Chloe’s breath caught and she shook under him.
It took him a long time to bring the world back into focus when he rolled off her, barely able to catch his breath. Whatever he was, he was human enough right now.
Chloe stretched herself out beside him, her face shining with sweat and a dazed little smile on her lips. He wondered if it’d fade when what they’d done finally hit her and the regret set in. He promised himself he’d have to live with it, make himself accept all over again what they couldn’t have. He promised himself he wouldn’t bring tonight up unless she did.
She was the first one to climb to her feet, the color in her face deepening a few shades when she looked around and remembered where they were. He did her the favor of not saying anything about it, getting up from the ground and straightening his clothes.
“I’ll drive your car back,” was all he said.
She nodded and headed to her yellow scooter, and when she drove off and led the way back to Isis he wondered if he’d spend the rest of the night threatening the monster inside him that if it ever hurt her . . . He shook his head and drove home in silence.
**
It started to rain on the way back to Isis. Chloe turned and led the way down a dark side street when the downpour fell, soaking her thin skirt and top in no time flat. Davis pulled over and opened her car door, calling for her to get in and let him have her scooter instead, and although it wasn’t like a little rain would melt her, she nodded and climbed down. At least he was acting like Davis Bloome again, helpful and chivalrous probably to a fault. But when she held out her helmet the charming guy who’d always offered her a hand or held a door for her vanished and Davis shook his head a little sadly. “Come on, Chloe. You know I don’t need that.”
He was right. A tumble from her bike wouldn’t hurt him anymore than the rain would, and he’d told her he didn’t feel cold or heat anymore. Those things shouldn’t have bothered her. Clark didn’t feel cold or heat and was the last person on Earth who needed a helmet, but she got in her car and chewed her lip the whole way back to Isis anyway. Clark’s abilities made him special, an added bonus to the person inside. Davis’ were a reminder of why he had been created, that the person inside was only supposed to be another facet of his sophisticated design, a means of hiding a weapon in plain sight.
She had been looking for blue meteor rock in that abandoned warehouse tonight. Of course, her foray into the night hadn’t started out that way. She’d been scoping out a lead for Lois on Luthorcorp and animal experiments, because let’s face it Lois didn’t have the Scooby chops for sneaking around top secret places that didn’t have guys to flirt with and the last thing Chloe wanted was her cousin getting hurt. The meteor rock epiphany hadn’t hit her until she’d stood in that dusty building staring at piles of the green and red variety, but in keeping with her usual bad luck lately the veritable candy store that was Luthorcorp was all out of blue when it came to alien flavors.
The idea made sense. Davis was to some degree as Kryptonian as Clark. If the blue stuff could keep him human . . . . The other alternative was the black variety, but that was a last resort and she would have to find a way to kill the monster first and a way to keep it from killing her and Davis. She would need Clark’s help and she doubted he would do it, given the risk of loosing Doomsday into the world without a Davis to contain it.
She’d tried getting Davis to connect with it, to figure out whether it felt anything or was capable of any kind of reasoning, but he was understandably reluctant. It broke her heart when he’d look away and tell her he didn’t know what the thing would do if he gave into it at all.
Chloe didn’t drive back to her apartment in Smallville that evening. She was tired and the weather was too bad for a two hour car ride. Davis brought up the medical kit he used to carry in his car so she could bandage her leg, but he didn’t say much before shutting himself away in the basement for the night. She let him go with a brief “goodnight.” Over the past couple weeks she’d gotten used to his moody silent presence and who could blame him if he hadn’t felt like talking these days?
The Isis Foundation was meant to house meteor victims who needed rehabilitation before going back out into the world, and Chloe had made up one of the rooms for herself so she wouldn’t have to drive back and forth while Jimmy was at Metropolis General. Her things were still there - her clothes, the mounds of beauty products every girl carted around. She pulled off her wet things and got into the shower - after all, a warm shower fixed what caffeine couldn’t. She tried not to think too much as the hot water washed over her and thawed some of the cold from her skin, and definitely tried not to dwell on the fact that it was Davis she was washing off her.
She fell asleep in her bathrobe lying on top of the covers. In her dreams, the thing that had crashed her wedding smashed through her bedroom doorway and tore everything apart. She screamed like some idiot in a bad horror movie who knew the blonde always gets it and tried calling Davis’ name. It didn’t work. There was no Davis in there anymore, just that thing coming toward her on her bed.
Chloe woke with her heart pounding, and she didn’t let out her breath until she opened her eyes and saw everything in the room where she’d left it without any destruction or battered doors. She rolled onto her side and tried to refrain from hugging her pillow like a little girl. It wasn’t like she thought her dreams predicted the future, but she couldn’t ignore what might happen either, that she was racing against a ticking clock here. One day he might transform and not change back. Her fingers curled into the pillow and a knot formed in her stomach. She and Clark always saved the day. There had to be a way out of this.
When she closed her eyes she could feel the solid weight of Davis’ body and the warm imprint of his mouth on hers. There’d been nothing monstrous about him tonight, and he’d been as careful not to hurt her as Clark would have been, so much so that she’d been the one tearing into his skin trying to get closer. She wasn’t supposed to know what going that far with him felt like - oh, she’d thought about it back when he was her shiny new paramedic friend and the ring on her finger wouldn’t let her blur the line between fantasy and reality The heat of him had just melted away all the cold and confusion, and the look on his face when he’d hurried toward her . . . Bloodthirsty monsters didn’t worry for people they cared about that way. It was the only emotion she’d seen in Davis lately besides pain, and monsters didn’t feel that either, not his pain.
The thought of that man disappearing inside a spiked indestructible killing machine made her sick inside. He’d wanted to help people, to make a difference, and she was going to lose him.
She got out of bed before she knew it, sliding into her furry purple slippers and creeping out of her room. She didn’t know why she tip-toed like a child trying to get away with something. It wasn’t like anyone could punish her for sneaking over to the door leading down into the basement and for God’s sake she had to check on him. For all she knew the thing had come out and looked at her in her sleep.
The idea made her shiver as she inched open the basement door. It was completely dark down there. Apparently, Davis was too big a boy for a night light. She didn’t hear any growling, and in the light the open door let in she didn’t see anything moving below. A shape like the thing that had crashed her wedding would be impossible to miss. She should have closed the door at that point and went back to bed, but she made her way down the rickety steps anyway, almost tripping over a shoe when she reached the bottom. She swore and shoved it aside with her foot. Davis might be neat about most things, but he was still a guy and it was discouraging to know that even alien men didn’t pick up after themselves.
He’d brought one of the mattresses down and made a bed for himself in the corner. He used to live in a nice apartment, and with the overtime and night differentials on top of the money he made Davis Bloome could have owned a home and supported a family. He didn’t need those things anymore, he’d said. He didn’t need space, a kitchen, a couch. If Chloe brought a cage down here he would have locked himself in it like a dangerous animal, and if she brought him food in a little plastic bowl he’d probably get down on the floor and eat that way too. That’s how he saw himself, inhuman and deserving of being treated accordingly.
She could barely see him in the blue light of his alarm clock. He was lying on his back with an arm stretched out, his head lolling to one side, fast asleep. Chloe smiled to herself, wryly. Score one for her; she’d found one way to keep the monster quiet. Davis had told her he hadn’t slept since discovering his skin could shatter a knife like glass.
Maybe she really was the village idiot; she slid out of her slippers, folded the covers back and climbed in next to him. Her bare leg brushed his under the blankets and a warm shock went through her. He wasn’t wearing anything and here she was inching down beside him. Her head couldn’t go anywhere but onto his shoulder with the way he was lying and it was comfortable there. She always thought it would be, kind of like Clark but different in a way she couldn’t put her finger on.
She could feel Davis breathing and her hand went to his chest. She could feel his heart beating too, steady and normal, and there weren’t any dangerous spikes under her fingertips just hard muscle and smooth skin. She hadn’t been able to touch him earlier through all their clothes and she hadn’t realized how much she wanted to until her hand slid over his chest on its own. He was so warm, and Clark would never let her touch him like this, and when her hand moved lower she wondered how Davis had ended up with abs like that, and if all Kryptonians had gorgeous encoded in their DNA.
He shifted and his arm wrapped around her. She should have untangled herself and snuck away now that she knew Davis was still Davis and that he hadn’t changed during the night, but she liked the way his muscles tensed under her touch and she liked lying against him. It felt so forbidden and selfish, letting her bare skin soak up the heat of him beneath the blankets. But part of her wanted to be selfish, and her hand crept all the way down.
The response was as instant as when she’d climbed in his lap earlier, and she couldn’t help the little high that came with it. Every girl felt a rush having that effect on a guy she wanted, but to have it on an unstoppable superbeing . . .
Davis made a sound and turned his head toward her. It was true what they said about finding your lover’s lips in the dark; his mouth closed over hers with a muffled “Chloe . . .” and then he was kissing her in his sleep in the laziest manner possible. Her skin tingled at the sound of her name. Had this been Clark, he would have called Lana’s in a moment like this.
Her fingers tightened and Davis caught her wrist, awake now, pulling her hand and his mouth away. “Chloe -?” He pushed himself up on an elbow and looked around in confusion, expecting to find himself somewhere other than the basement. When he realized she was the one who’d come to him, he let out his breath and lay down again. “I thought I was dreaming. Is something wrong or are you just cold?”
The question stung. Was this what life with Davis could have been like? Crawling into bed with him when something was wrong? That’s what you were supposed to with someone you loved and right now everything was wrong.
“The truth is, Davis,” she heard herself answer honestly for the first time in weeks, “I am scared, that I can’t stop this and that I’ll lose you.”
He was supposed to tell her everything would be all right, but he didn’t know what to say. His eyes were on her, soft in the dark and only a few inches away, and in the dim light of that stupid clock she thought she saw a sad smile come and go on his face. He didn’t take his arm from around her, and his fingers rubbed her shoulder through the terry of her bathrobe.
“You don’t have to save me, Chloe,” he said as though he had a thousand pound weight on his chest. “You just have to find a way to kill me. That’s all I want.”
They both knew that was the furthest thing from the truth and the selfish part of her rose up again. What about what she wanted? He was her friend. She couldn’t put herself through this to lose him and she couldn’t be the one to kill him either.
“Davis, there has to be a way.”
He shook his head against the pillow. “Even if there is, I can’t just walk away from this, Chloe. I’ve killed people.”
“It wasn’t you.” Her voice climbed an octave in the dark. “It was -“ It was Brainiac and a thing trapped inside him that had nothing to do with who Davis Bloome was or who he’d made himself into despite his past and what his creators wanted. But he wasn’t convinced.
“Someone has to take responsibility.”
She pressed her lips together. That was just it. How could he be held responsible for something he had no choice in? Her fingers dug into his arm now that he’d let go of her hand. “The people who made that thing are responsible.”
He had nothing to say to that, and Chloe doubted he disagreed. Inside, he had to be angry that his life had been violated against his will, but maybe he was too tired to show it now. He laid his hand over hers and his warm palm made her feel small in comparison, which she was. “I didn’t know you were doing any of this for me. I just thought -“
He thought what? That she gave up on people she cared about just because they happened to be from another planet? No. She knew what he thought; he didn’t deserve anyone in his corner because he couldn’t make the distinction between Davis Bloome and the thing inside him.
Someday that distinction wouldn’t exist anymore, and while carpe diem had never been her motto she couldn’t afford to think about that day now. Maybe that was why she did the most impulsive thing possible.
She stretched up and kissed him, hard, just in case he had any more protests. He didn’t fight kissing her back this time. It was just like the first time earlier, one kiss led to another and she couldn’t stop. Maybe she didn’t want to stop. Maybe she was begging him to help her forget everything - her friendships that were falling apart, the solution she needed to find but couldn’t. It wasn’t fair that the one person who could do that had to be the same man at the center of this mess.
Davis’ hands went to her shoulders and he pulled back. “Chloe, slow down . . .” He was breathing hard, and she hadn’t realized she was moving against him like some kind of over-affectionate cat.
She caught her breath and let him ease her back against the pillow. How many guys told you to slow down at a time like this? Clark would have, but only so he could find a way to untangle himself and run for the hills. Davis didn’t run; he settled over her on an elbow and when his mouth met hers this time things went much slower. Chloe liked the way he kissed her, the way he seemed happy just to lay there and do just that instead of treating kissing like something to get out of the way so they could move on to better things. She was the one who untied her bathrobe and let it fall open.
He got the idea. His hand traced the curve of her shoulder and along her arm. If he meant to comfort her with his almost too gentle touch it had the opposite effect. Her breath came faster with the heat of his palm against her breast and her back tightened when his fingertips trailed over her stomach. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Every inch of her that he discovered felt more and more dangerous, a line crossed that she’d never be able to step back behind - the big reason you weren’t supposed to sleep with a friend.
His fingers slid along the inside of her thigh and then there wasn’t much left to discover anymore. Her back arched with the first up close and personal touch between her legs and she squeezed her eyes shut with a little high-pitched sound when the touched the right place. He was a medical person; it shouldn’t surprise her that the female body didn’t pose any mystery to him, but the sharp warmth flooding through her was making her dizzy.
He laughed against her mouth at the way she squirmed against him, that breathy velvet sound she hadn’t heard in a long, long time. “What’s the matter, Chloe? Didn’t the other guys know what to do with you?”
She wanted to ask just how many guys he thought there were and whether he meant Jimmy and Clark, but before she knew it his mouth slid to her jaw and then her neck and all she could say was, “Davis . . .”
He looked up, and she could almost see his brown eyes shining in the dark doing their best to swallow her whole. “Just lie back, Chloe,” he muttered. “I’ve pretty much got one thing to offer you right now.”
Deep down, it hurt to hear him reduce himself to that. But then his mouth was everywhere his hand had been, almost slavish sliding down her body. It didn’t take a psychic to know where this was going. She closed her eyes at made a weak sound at the wet shock of his tongue, patient and most of all loving. A little part of her panicked that she was lying on her back all spread out with his head in her lap, another part of her thought about returning the favor while the rest of her just throbbed. Her hands found their way into his short hair and soon enough she was twisting this way and that under him and she couldn’t tell whether he was really giving her everything left in him or demanding everything she had.
She ended up with one foot on his back, limp against the pillow with her skin damp and flushed as though from a fever, trying to catch her breath. Davis crawled up to her and the rest just happened. He lowered himself on top of her, filled her with the marble-hard heat of him, and when he moved with her he wasn’t in any real hurry and she wasn’t in any hurry to let go of him.
He didn’t feel indestructible or inhuman. He was warm and his mouth was soft on her mouth and the underside of her jaw and wherever else he could reach. She wondered what the scientists who’d made him would think if they could see him now, as far from what he’d been created for as he could possibly get.
She couldn’t help the sense of triumph that she’d succeeded for a little while; she’d saved a little part of him, and even if she had to let him go one day when he changed and didn’t come back, she had something to remember of him. If she could let him go. She had the feeling that was one of the lines she couldn’t creep back behind so easily anymore.
Rating: 17 and over, kittens
Spoilers: Through Legion, the rest is just spec or "what-if"
Summary: vagrantdream gave me "outside" as a prompt, so here's my whole attempt at a realastic take of the romance/sexual angle.
Shelter by Paraxdisepink
**
Things got so bad he started talking to the monster inside him. Some days that was the only time he spoke at all. He made a bleak little home for himself in the basement of the Isis building and spent his time sitting on the floor staring at nothing, waiting to wake up in the ambulance posting in a dark parking lot to his partner telling him he was having a nightmare.
He ate when Chloe brought him something to eat, but only because she’d gone through the trouble of cooking for two or wasting her time at Super Walmart buying him soda and water and microwave dinners. He doubted he needed to eat. In fact, he wondered if starving himself would weaken the thing inside him, if he could die of natural causes or at least put himself and that thing in a coma for a while. With his luck the opposite would be true though - the weaker he got the easier for the monster to come out and play, and risking more lives was the last thing he wanted. So he ate and said “thank you” as sincerely as he could even when she brought things like spaghetti and pizza and the red, red color of the sauce made his stomach clench with the images of blood and bodies. He’d seen gruesome cases - gunshots, murders, the occasional dog mauling - he knew how much blood a human body held and that it didn’t take much to spatter it everywhere, but it was different soaked into your skin. It felt like acid, poison, and the panic was so strong you’d think it’d burn your flesh right off, even impenetrable flesh like his. Davis didn’t know how he would do it, an eternity of sickness inside. He puked his guts out the instant Chloe left, not a very refined function of his stellar design.
He didn’t come out of the basement unless she asked him to, and he didn’t talk unless she asked him a question. He didn’t want to bother her when she was in the computer room or trying to think. They weren’t friends - they couldn’t be - he couldn’t just make conversation for the sake of it. It amazed him though the way she took the alien thing in stride and didn’t flinch at the concept of him being genetically engineered with programmable emotions. He didn’t ask how she could be so cool about it, just told her everything he could about his blackouts, the day of her wedding, and what the Construct had said. The concept of artificial alien intelligence didn’t faze her either and he didn’t ask why. Why wasn’t his business. He just cooperated and thanked her when appropriate, apologized for bringing her into this as often as he could, and otherwise stayed out of the way. That was the plan, keep to his dark little lair and fade away from the world.
So long as no one hurt her.
He wouldn’t have let her ten feet near him - the idea of ruining her life sickened him as much as any murder - but he knew she didn’t do this for him. She was just doing her part to save the world, working toward a solution to keep him from hurting anyone else. No matter what he was, Davis wanted that more than anything. Maybe on some level the monster did too. It never came out around her.
They’d reasoned that it operated on some kind of survival instinct, that apart from her wedding day it emerged and killed when its cover was threatened. They both wondered why it needed a cover when it was so unstoppable - he had shown her how impenetrable he was - but clearly it saw no threat it her and stayed quiet inside him. It was one of the few parameters Davis understood about this mess.
He didn’t think about his feelings for her anymore, and whenever he watched Chloe and felt warmth or affection he tried to turn those sentiments off like background music. Not because they were in any way manufactured and false - he refused to believe that - but because they were as wrong as anything else about him. He was a prisoner here to the only one who could hold him and he doubted she saw it any other way. He deserved this prison, not sympathy or help or any shred of human compassion she might show her clients. He was a bomb she had to diffuse because by some twist of fate that was what she did.
He watched her though when he couldn’t help himself, golden and kind and taking charge of things and thrown by very little, completely amazing even to his inhuman eyes. He used to dream of finding that kind of girl and when he’d met Chloe he’d been pretty sure she was that girl. But all that was gone now - the drive to make something good of himself, the hope of building a future, a family. All he had was this nightmare, and the only solution he wanted was the one that put an end to him and it.
Sometimes he was glad when she left him alone, when he couldn’t hold it all inside anymore, when he couldn’t stand seeing her act as though alien creatures with dangerous abilities were an everyday crisis she’d avert sooner or later, when she gave him hope. This wasn’t the movies, and he could barely wrap his head around the idea that helpful, amazing Chloe Sullivan was some kind of hero who belonged as part of some top secret government organization like Torchwood or something. Thoughts like that made him believe she really had been sent to him, and believing there was something out there, something that allowed this tore him up worse than anything.
He prayed in the dark, sitting on the floor with his arms around his knees. He asked God why He would do this to him. But maybe God was just another Kryptonian. Maybe these people had come to earth a long time ago, parted the Red Sea and left the Ten Commandments on the mountain top. If he could rise from the dead lying in buckets of his own blood on a hospital floor then who was to say Jesus didn’t have superpowers too? That’s when it all came crashing down and everything, even breathing, seemed pointless. When you suffered it was supposed to be a test. God gave man a conscience for a reason. God gave man a choice. He had a conscience, but no choice, and by that logic there couldn’t be a god, someone up there to make this stop, just an experiment that designed him to murder and feel the horror afterward.
Davis prayed anyway, and when no one answered he crawled over to the bathroom and threw up all over again. Sometimes he even felt weak and he didn’t eat the days Chloe didn’t come. Hunger and sickness were something to hold onto, human problems he could understand. Sometimes he looked forward to the blackouts, his only escape. That was when he would sink to the floor again, yell at the monster that he didn’t want to hurt anyone. In the dark, the monster never answered, and that’s when he put his face in his hands, broke down, and cried.
Chloe never heard him raving, thank god, and one night she stopped by with eggplant parmesan and left in a hurry. Her friends still took up a lot of her time - Oliver Queen, Clark, and her cousin Lois - and Davis had to admit he didn’t think much of them. They seemed to only want favors from her and none of them had seen through her empty relationship with Jimmy. What kind of friends were those?
She promised to come back in an hour, but two and then three hours passed without a sound on the main floor above. Davis came out of the basement and stared through the window. She’d taken her scooter; her car keys were on the table and her car was outside in the parking lot. He knew she did things she didn’t want anyone knowing about. At this point he wouldn’t be surprised to learn she worked for the CIA in her spare time. But Metropolis was a dangerous city and the more time passed, the more he worried.
He got in her car after another hour and went out looking for her, taking the side streets so no one would see him. He was good at hiding and better at finding people - kids who ran away from him on the job more afraid of their parents finding out they were out when then shouldn’t be then of the fact they needed medical attention, especially the ones who were on something. He used to have a foster sister who ran away about every other night too, and even though she’d made it clear she didn’t need any “weird white boy” looking over her shoulder, he still went out and looked for her every time. That was back when he thought his biggest problems were that he didn’t have a family and Emily in biology class couldn’t go to the homecoming dance with him because her dad didn’t want her involved with “that kind of guy.” Smart dad.
He’d had a family once. They’d taken him in when he was seven, took him to the movies, Mass on Saturday - things normal families did. They even had plans to adopt him and take him to a specialist about his blackouts, someone his mom’s boss Lionel Luthor recommended. But one night he’d gone to stay at a friend’s and came home to yellow tape and flashing police lights. His parents were dead, stabbed by something the authorities couldn’t identify. The paramedics had tried to save his mother, but she’d bled out on them.
Davis pulled over. He hadn’t remembered that until now. He must have blocked it out, or the thing had blocked it out. It had been trying to protect itself. His eyes watered. How many more? And if Chloe ever did find a solution would the right thing be to turn himself in? There was no statute of limitations on murder.
He made himself keep driving. What if he’d blacked out and done something to Chloe? What if the thing didn’t want to be stopped and would kill her before she found a way? Davis blinked and tried to keep his head clear, focusing on the road in the darkness. The last he needed was to crash into someone because he was too busy panicking.
He found her in a field behind a dark warehouse building, sitting there with her arms around her knees. He got out of the car, so relieved to see her alive and in one piece he could have thrown his arms around her. But he didn’t. He just hurried to her.
“Chloe . . .”
She looked up, and didn’t seem angry that he’d come after her or taken her car. She just smoothed her skirt and glanced down at herself, biting her lip, and he could see something was wrong.
“Are you okay?” Davis crouched down before her in the dirt and weeds. It was cold out here and goosebumps pebbled her bare arms and legs but she didn’t seem to care. She folded her skirt halfway up her thigh and bit harder into her lip. He averted his eyes out of respect, until he realized she wanted him to look.
A red gash ran along the outside of her thigh and she’d scraped some skin off in the process. “I was going for this whole Xena thing climbing the fence and I fell,” she said. “Stupid shoes.”
He nodded, glad for an excuse to take his eyes from that soft, golden skin. Who the hell climbed fences in a short skirt and heeled sandals? He glanced at the warehouse behind them. She’d been after something in there, probably helping Lois or Clark with a story - at least that would be the reason she’d give, if she wasn’t doing something for Oliver Queen instead. Davis looked away, angry. What kind of friends let her go out alone at night in a crime-ridden city? If he were a normal guy he’d kick . . .
No. Chloe wasn’t out here because of them. Chloe was out here because of Chloe, and if her friends couldn’t see that either . . . He made himself stop. Anger didn’t help now.
“Clean that and you’ll be fine,” he told her. “It doesn’t look like you need stitches.”
It was such a normal thing to say, from a guy who wore a uniform for a living no one would run from, a guy people would trust with their kids and who filled people with relief when he showed up, not terror. A guy he couldn’t be, no matter what he wanted. That guy would have offered to clean the wound for her.
“Yeah,” Chloe agreed absently. “I think I’ve got some Neosporin in the car.”
He shook his head, and before he thought about it said, “Actually, that stuff’s only good for keeping a bandage from sticking to a wound.”
She glanced at him with an “I didn’t know that” expression and went back to staring at nothing with a lost look on her face. Obviously, she’d been sitting here for a while, and he didn’t know what else to do but lean back against the chain link fence behind them and sit next to her.
“Was someone chasing you?” Things happened in this city he didn’t want to think about, and it wouldn’t surprise him if a pretty girl like Chloe caught some psycho’s eye. He seethed inside at the idea. No one would come near her if they knew what he was.
She shook her head. “No. You didn’t have to . . .”
What? Worry for her? Maybe he didn’t have a right to show it, but it was a little late for that. “Look, Chloe, I know you probably hate me, but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
That caught her by surprise and he thought he saw a smile flash across her face. But it vanished so quickly he probably imagined it. She sighed and picked up her phone where it was lying on the ground beside her.
“It’s stupid, but I was sitting here going through old text messages.” She laughed at herself and tilted the screen so he could see.
Got a client for you. Walks thru walls. Put her grandma in cardiac arrest this morning.
The message was from him, back when he thought he could help people and help her help people since he had turned her on to this Isis venture in the first place. It had been their unspoken arrangement, he kept his eye out for potential clients and she smiled at him and said things like “you know, Davis, it’s fun having someone to change the world with.” His eyes watered, and when she turned off her phone and set it down again she had the heavy expression of someone who’d lost something.
He let the moment stretch. She was only one more fooled by his camouflage routine than he had been. That was their connection now and he hadn’t realized she missed him, the old him. He had just assumed she’d stopped caring, written off everything they’d had, and that was that.
To his surprise she slid closer and put her head on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything for a long time and he didn’t expect her to, just listened to the distant hum of traffic and took in the dark air where they sat beyond the reach of the streetlights. He hadn’t been outside in a couple weeks and he was used to being outside at night. He missed it.
After a while she shifted and said, “Davis, I don’t hate you,” in a tone that told him he should know better. “I just wish things were different.”
It was stupid of him to hold his breath, like that could keep him from focusing on the warmth of her against his side. He hadn’t felt warmth in a long time, and he wasn’t supposed to feel her warmth. He was supposed to keep his distance, do what she said, and not get in the way of her life. There was no friendship or affection involved, because he wasn’t a person, just a thing that had ended with up with feelings by accident. Feelings that didn’t and would never serve any real purpose.
But here she was, staring up at him in the dark like they were both victims of circumstances and he hadn’t deceived her with his Oscar-worthy person act and sent her husband to the ICU in a helicopter. She looked pained, and it was stupid and pointless of him to hope he hadn’t misjudged the reason, but he opened his mouth anyway.
“Different how?” It came out in a thick whisper, not very steady, but she heard him. Her fingertips touched his jaw and she tilted her face up.
Davis closed his eyes when her mouth touched his. The warm shock of it was like ice cracking after he’d forced himself to accept that he’d never know a feeling like this again, the innocent thrill of finally being kissed by the girl he loved. He went completely still inside, and she pulled back when he didn’t respond.
“Davis, I thought you wanted . . .”
She trailed off. He didn’t realize he was holding himself so stiffly, that his fingers had clawed into the dirt to keep from tangling in her hair and pulling her close the way he’d wanted since he met her. It hurt to look at her, her eyes big and confused in the dim light. He drew in a breath.
“I do.” That was the sick part, the monster wanting a human woman the way a man does, as if he could just ignore the killing and the violence and pretend at something as pure as real love. He looked away. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
Chloe brushed that off, her warm fingers splaying across his cheek as she kissed him again. There was more force to it this time, and he couldn’t help himself. His mouth opened against hers and he drank in the heat of her. She tasted like lip gloss and candy and the cold night air and his head spun like he was kissing a girl for the first time. But when the warmth from her spread through the rest of him down into his skin he pulled back. This wasn’t right.
She watched his face, pressing her lips together hard. “Davis . . .”
He swallowed. Transforming into the thing wasn’t half this painful. “It’s just this,” he gestured to her against his shoulder. “Me. You should be horrified.”
She pushed her hair out of her face and stared down at her hands, fingering a wedding ring she no longer wore. After a moment, she raised her head and said in a small voice, “Davis, don’t make me feel like an idiot for being here with you. It’s the last thing I need right now.”
He blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d hurt her. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “You’re not an idiot, Chloe. I’d do anything for you.”
His hand came to her face and the little smile he thought he’d imagined earlier resurfaced. He didn’t know who kissed who that time, but he let it happen, warm and slow. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe she just needed someone now that she and Jimmy had separated. He could do that, be her big alien comfort toy like a twisted stuffed animal for grown-ups. Maybe it could be one of his fantastic adaptive abilities.
She slid one thigh over him and climbed into his lap. He leaned back against the chain link fence behind them, the pressure and warmth of her stirring up sensations he shouldn’t feel, normal human sensations - arousal, hunger, anticipation. His hands settled on her waist, and part of him wanted to push her away.
The rest of him . . . His pulse was rising and he was kissing her harder now, her mouth surrendering under his until he could feel her tongue and all the wetness and heat of her. Wetness, heat, the far-off sounds of traffic faded around them, drowned out by the pounding in his lap.
She wasn’t bothered by that. Not Chloe. She deliberately wriggled against him and laughed quietly when he groaned against her mouth. It didn’t surprise him that she would tease. He’d always thought a guy would have to be something to keep up with her. She let her head fall back and his mouth settled on the soft skin behind her ear, his fingers crawling up her body to the top button of her shirt. Her breathing quickened in the darkness and he couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like he’d gone back in time to when he was just Davis again and they were alone, just a girl and a guy giving in to what they felt for each other. But they both knew there was no going back, and no matter how lonely she was sooner or later she had to come to her senses.
He raised his head from where his mouth had slid to her collarbone, drifting slowly toward the gap in her shirt. “Chloe, all you have to do is say ‘stop’,” his voice was rough and he was breathing hard. “I’ll stop, I promise.” He couldn’t promise he’d make it out this mess or that he wouldn’t turn into that monster for good one day, but he could promise right now that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. The guy he wanted to be wouldn’t. Ever.
She nodded, her arms winding around his neck. Next he knew she was pulling them to the ground.
He twisted so she ended up lying on top of him. It seemed safer that way; he didn’t know how strong he was these days. Chloe didn’t mind; she draped herself over him, slid her hands under his shoulders and kissed him as hard as she could. He didn’t know why she wanted to be anywhere near this freakishly indestructible body of his, but he could have drowned he was so caught up in her. His hands went everywhere, in her short blond hair, over her back, and trailing along her bare thigh stretched across him. She bit the place where his shoulder met his neck when his hand slid under her skirt. Hers went to his waist, unzipping his pants and pushing them off his hips, impatient like she wanted to go through with this before she realized what she was really doing.
Davis caught her hand before this went too far, if it hadn’t gone far enough already. “Chloe . . .” It wasn’t like he came prepared for this sort of thing anymore, and they were in a field for god’s sake.
She got it and lowered his eyes, a little embarrassed. “I’m on one of those shot things.”
He nodded, relieved. The last thing he needed was to impregnate her with some spiny alien thing that might tear its way out of her and maybe kill her, if he could impregnate her. She kissed him again and pushed his hand back under skirt, and he gave in to the throbbing in his lap intensified by the weight of her and found himself peeling off the kind of flimsy underwear that made a guy wonder why women bothered. He wanted to touch her, really touch her, but he couldn’t after his hands had been in the dirt, and she had other ideas anyway.
He rolled his head back with a choked sound when she slid onto him, the amazing warmth of her melting him and burning him up at the same time. He knew she liked it, watching him roll his head to one side and then the other on the ground as she moved over him. Maybe that was all she needed after the things the Construct had made her do, control. She smothered his mouth and swallowed all the sounds he made, and when he slid a hand up to cradle the back of her head and wrapped an arm around her, holding her against him and moving with her, he wasn’t the only one crying out anymore.
As he closed his eyes, he wished he could just vanish into her, stay where it was safe and let what happened happen to the physical shell he left behind. She knew him, the real him, the part science couldn’t engineer.
She was going to hurt her bare knees on top of him like this. He tightened his hold on her and rolled them over, and she choked out his name when he sank down onto her. There were too many clothes between them; he wanted the warmth of her skin, but it didn’t matter. He had to be careful, not too much of his weight, not too much force, no matter how she clawed at his shoulders through his shirt for more. He laid his cheek against hers and squeezed his eyes shut, and the sensation building in him was like climbing out of a dark pit toward a white light high above and the only way to reach it was to keep going until Chloe’s breath caught and she shook under him.
It took him a long time to bring the world back into focus when he rolled off her, barely able to catch his breath. Whatever he was, he was human enough right now.
Chloe stretched herself out beside him, her face shining with sweat and a dazed little smile on her lips. He wondered if it’d fade when what they’d done finally hit her and the regret set in. He promised himself he’d have to live with it, make himself accept all over again what they couldn’t have. He promised himself he wouldn’t bring tonight up unless she did.
She was the first one to climb to her feet, the color in her face deepening a few shades when she looked around and remembered where they were. He did her the favor of not saying anything about it, getting up from the ground and straightening his clothes.
“I’ll drive your car back,” was all he said.
She nodded and headed to her yellow scooter, and when she drove off and led the way back to Isis he wondered if he’d spend the rest of the night threatening the monster inside him that if it ever hurt her . . . He shook his head and drove home in silence.
**
It started to rain on the way back to Isis. Chloe turned and led the way down a dark side street when the downpour fell, soaking her thin skirt and top in no time flat. Davis pulled over and opened her car door, calling for her to get in and let him have her scooter instead, and although it wasn’t like a little rain would melt her, she nodded and climbed down. At least he was acting like Davis Bloome again, helpful and chivalrous probably to a fault. But when she held out her helmet the charming guy who’d always offered her a hand or held a door for her vanished and Davis shook his head a little sadly. “Come on, Chloe. You know I don’t need that.”
He was right. A tumble from her bike wouldn’t hurt him anymore than the rain would, and he’d told her he didn’t feel cold or heat anymore. Those things shouldn’t have bothered her. Clark didn’t feel cold or heat and was the last person on Earth who needed a helmet, but she got in her car and chewed her lip the whole way back to Isis anyway. Clark’s abilities made him special, an added bonus to the person inside. Davis’ were a reminder of why he had been created, that the person inside was only supposed to be another facet of his sophisticated design, a means of hiding a weapon in plain sight.
She had been looking for blue meteor rock in that abandoned warehouse tonight. Of course, her foray into the night hadn’t started out that way. She’d been scoping out a lead for Lois on Luthorcorp and animal experiments, because let’s face it Lois didn’t have the Scooby chops for sneaking around top secret places that didn’t have guys to flirt with and the last thing Chloe wanted was her cousin getting hurt. The meteor rock epiphany hadn’t hit her until she’d stood in that dusty building staring at piles of the green and red variety, but in keeping with her usual bad luck lately the veritable candy store that was Luthorcorp was all out of blue when it came to alien flavors.
The idea made sense. Davis was to some degree as Kryptonian as Clark. If the blue stuff could keep him human . . . . The other alternative was the black variety, but that was a last resort and she would have to find a way to kill the monster first and a way to keep it from killing her and Davis. She would need Clark’s help and she doubted he would do it, given the risk of loosing Doomsday into the world without a Davis to contain it.
She’d tried getting Davis to connect with it, to figure out whether it felt anything or was capable of any kind of reasoning, but he was understandably reluctant. It broke her heart when he’d look away and tell her he didn’t know what the thing would do if he gave into it at all.
Chloe didn’t drive back to her apartment in Smallville that evening. She was tired and the weather was too bad for a two hour car ride. Davis brought up the medical kit he used to carry in his car so she could bandage her leg, but he didn’t say much before shutting himself away in the basement for the night. She let him go with a brief “goodnight.” Over the past couple weeks she’d gotten used to his moody silent presence and who could blame him if he hadn’t felt like talking these days?
The Isis Foundation was meant to house meteor victims who needed rehabilitation before going back out into the world, and Chloe had made up one of the rooms for herself so she wouldn’t have to drive back and forth while Jimmy was at Metropolis General. Her things were still there - her clothes, the mounds of beauty products every girl carted around. She pulled off her wet things and got into the shower - after all, a warm shower fixed what caffeine couldn’t. She tried not to think too much as the hot water washed over her and thawed some of the cold from her skin, and definitely tried not to dwell on the fact that it was Davis she was washing off her.
She fell asleep in her bathrobe lying on top of the covers. In her dreams, the thing that had crashed her wedding smashed through her bedroom doorway and tore everything apart. She screamed like some idiot in a bad horror movie who knew the blonde always gets it and tried calling Davis’ name. It didn’t work. There was no Davis in there anymore, just that thing coming toward her on her bed.
Chloe woke with her heart pounding, and she didn’t let out her breath until she opened her eyes and saw everything in the room where she’d left it without any destruction or battered doors. She rolled onto her side and tried to refrain from hugging her pillow like a little girl. It wasn’t like she thought her dreams predicted the future, but she couldn’t ignore what might happen either, that she was racing against a ticking clock here. One day he might transform and not change back. Her fingers curled into the pillow and a knot formed in her stomach. She and Clark always saved the day. There had to be a way out of this.
When she closed her eyes she could feel the solid weight of Davis’ body and the warm imprint of his mouth on hers. There’d been nothing monstrous about him tonight, and he’d been as careful not to hurt her as Clark would have been, so much so that she’d been the one tearing into his skin trying to get closer. She wasn’t supposed to know what going that far with him felt like - oh, she’d thought about it back when he was her shiny new paramedic friend and the ring on her finger wouldn’t let her blur the line between fantasy and reality The heat of him had just melted away all the cold and confusion, and the look on his face when he’d hurried toward her . . . Bloodthirsty monsters didn’t worry for people they cared about that way. It was the only emotion she’d seen in Davis lately besides pain, and monsters didn’t feel that either, not his pain.
The thought of that man disappearing inside a spiked indestructible killing machine made her sick inside. He’d wanted to help people, to make a difference, and she was going to lose him.
She got out of bed before she knew it, sliding into her furry purple slippers and creeping out of her room. She didn’t know why she tip-toed like a child trying to get away with something. It wasn’t like anyone could punish her for sneaking over to the door leading down into the basement and for God’s sake she had to check on him. For all she knew the thing had come out and looked at her in her sleep.
The idea made her shiver as she inched open the basement door. It was completely dark down there. Apparently, Davis was too big a boy for a night light. She didn’t hear any growling, and in the light the open door let in she didn’t see anything moving below. A shape like the thing that had crashed her wedding would be impossible to miss. She should have closed the door at that point and went back to bed, but she made her way down the rickety steps anyway, almost tripping over a shoe when she reached the bottom. She swore and shoved it aside with her foot. Davis might be neat about most things, but he was still a guy and it was discouraging to know that even alien men didn’t pick up after themselves.
He’d brought one of the mattresses down and made a bed for himself in the corner. He used to live in a nice apartment, and with the overtime and night differentials on top of the money he made Davis Bloome could have owned a home and supported a family. He didn’t need those things anymore, he’d said. He didn’t need space, a kitchen, a couch. If Chloe brought a cage down here he would have locked himself in it like a dangerous animal, and if she brought him food in a little plastic bowl he’d probably get down on the floor and eat that way too. That’s how he saw himself, inhuman and deserving of being treated accordingly.
She could barely see him in the blue light of his alarm clock. He was lying on his back with an arm stretched out, his head lolling to one side, fast asleep. Chloe smiled to herself, wryly. Score one for her; she’d found one way to keep the monster quiet. Davis had told her he hadn’t slept since discovering his skin could shatter a knife like glass.
Maybe she really was the village idiot; she slid out of her slippers, folded the covers back and climbed in next to him. Her bare leg brushed his under the blankets and a warm shock went through her. He wasn’t wearing anything and here she was inching down beside him. Her head couldn’t go anywhere but onto his shoulder with the way he was lying and it was comfortable there. She always thought it would be, kind of like Clark but different in a way she couldn’t put her finger on.
She could feel Davis breathing and her hand went to his chest. She could feel his heart beating too, steady and normal, and there weren’t any dangerous spikes under her fingertips just hard muscle and smooth skin. She hadn’t been able to touch him earlier through all their clothes and she hadn’t realized how much she wanted to until her hand slid over his chest on its own. He was so warm, and Clark would never let her touch him like this, and when her hand moved lower she wondered how Davis had ended up with abs like that, and if all Kryptonians had gorgeous encoded in their DNA.
He shifted and his arm wrapped around her. She should have untangled herself and snuck away now that she knew Davis was still Davis and that he hadn’t changed during the night, but she liked the way his muscles tensed under her touch and she liked lying against him. It felt so forbidden and selfish, letting her bare skin soak up the heat of him beneath the blankets. But part of her wanted to be selfish, and her hand crept all the way down.
The response was as instant as when she’d climbed in his lap earlier, and she couldn’t help the little high that came with it. Every girl felt a rush having that effect on a guy she wanted, but to have it on an unstoppable superbeing . . .
Davis made a sound and turned his head toward her. It was true what they said about finding your lover’s lips in the dark; his mouth closed over hers with a muffled “Chloe . . .” and then he was kissing her in his sleep in the laziest manner possible. Her skin tingled at the sound of her name. Had this been Clark, he would have called Lana’s in a moment like this.
Her fingers tightened and Davis caught her wrist, awake now, pulling her hand and his mouth away. “Chloe -?” He pushed himself up on an elbow and looked around in confusion, expecting to find himself somewhere other than the basement. When he realized she was the one who’d come to him, he let out his breath and lay down again. “I thought I was dreaming. Is something wrong or are you just cold?”
The question stung. Was this what life with Davis could have been like? Crawling into bed with him when something was wrong? That’s what you were supposed to with someone you loved and right now everything was wrong.
“The truth is, Davis,” she heard herself answer honestly for the first time in weeks, “I am scared, that I can’t stop this and that I’ll lose you.”
He was supposed to tell her everything would be all right, but he didn’t know what to say. His eyes were on her, soft in the dark and only a few inches away, and in the dim light of that stupid clock she thought she saw a sad smile come and go on his face. He didn’t take his arm from around her, and his fingers rubbed her shoulder through the terry of her bathrobe.
“You don’t have to save me, Chloe,” he said as though he had a thousand pound weight on his chest. “You just have to find a way to kill me. That’s all I want.”
They both knew that was the furthest thing from the truth and the selfish part of her rose up again. What about what she wanted? He was her friend. She couldn’t put herself through this to lose him and she couldn’t be the one to kill him either.
“Davis, there has to be a way.”
He shook his head against the pillow. “Even if there is, I can’t just walk away from this, Chloe. I’ve killed people.”
“It wasn’t you.” Her voice climbed an octave in the dark. “It was -“ It was Brainiac and a thing trapped inside him that had nothing to do with who Davis Bloome was or who he’d made himself into despite his past and what his creators wanted. But he wasn’t convinced.
“Someone has to take responsibility.”
She pressed her lips together. That was just it. How could he be held responsible for something he had no choice in? Her fingers dug into his arm now that he’d let go of her hand. “The people who made that thing are responsible.”
He had nothing to say to that, and Chloe doubted he disagreed. Inside, he had to be angry that his life had been violated against his will, but maybe he was too tired to show it now. He laid his hand over hers and his warm palm made her feel small in comparison, which she was. “I didn’t know you were doing any of this for me. I just thought -“
He thought what? That she gave up on people she cared about just because they happened to be from another planet? No. She knew what he thought; he didn’t deserve anyone in his corner because he couldn’t make the distinction between Davis Bloome and the thing inside him.
Someday that distinction wouldn’t exist anymore, and while carpe diem had never been her motto she couldn’t afford to think about that day now. Maybe that was why she did the most impulsive thing possible.
She stretched up and kissed him, hard, just in case he had any more protests. He didn’t fight kissing her back this time. It was just like the first time earlier, one kiss led to another and she couldn’t stop. Maybe she didn’t want to stop. Maybe she was begging him to help her forget everything - her friendships that were falling apart, the solution she needed to find but couldn’t. It wasn’t fair that the one person who could do that had to be the same man at the center of this mess.
Davis’ hands went to her shoulders and he pulled back. “Chloe, slow down . . .” He was breathing hard, and she hadn’t realized she was moving against him like some kind of over-affectionate cat.
She caught her breath and let him ease her back against the pillow. How many guys told you to slow down at a time like this? Clark would have, but only so he could find a way to untangle himself and run for the hills. Davis didn’t run; he settled over her on an elbow and when his mouth met hers this time things went much slower. Chloe liked the way he kissed her, the way he seemed happy just to lay there and do just that instead of treating kissing like something to get out of the way so they could move on to better things. She was the one who untied her bathrobe and let it fall open.
He got the idea. His hand traced the curve of her shoulder and along her arm. If he meant to comfort her with his almost too gentle touch it had the opposite effect. Her breath came faster with the heat of his palm against her breast and her back tightened when his fingertips trailed over her stomach. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Every inch of her that he discovered felt more and more dangerous, a line crossed that she’d never be able to step back behind - the big reason you weren’t supposed to sleep with a friend.
His fingers slid along the inside of her thigh and then there wasn’t much left to discover anymore. Her back arched with the first up close and personal touch between her legs and she squeezed her eyes shut with a little high-pitched sound when the touched the right place. He was a medical person; it shouldn’t surprise her that the female body didn’t pose any mystery to him, but the sharp warmth flooding through her was making her dizzy.
He laughed against her mouth at the way she squirmed against him, that breathy velvet sound she hadn’t heard in a long, long time. “What’s the matter, Chloe? Didn’t the other guys know what to do with you?”
She wanted to ask just how many guys he thought there were and whether he meant Jimmy and Clark, but before she knew it his mouth slid to her jaw and then her neck and all she could say was, “Davis . . .”
He looked up, and she could almost see his brown eyes shining in the dark doing their best to swallow her whole. “Just lie back, Chloe,” he muttered. “I’ve pretty much got one thing to offer you right now.”
Deep down, it hurt to hear him reduce himself to that. But then his mouth was everywhere his hand had been, almost slavish sliding down her body. It didn’t take a psychic to know where this was going. She closed her eyes at made a weak sound at the wet shock of his tongue, patient and most of all loving. A little part of her panicked that she was lying on her back all spread out with his head in her lap, another part of her thought about returning the favor while the rest of her just throbbed. Her hands found their way into his short hair and soon enough she was twisting this way and that under him and she couldn’t tell whether he was really giving her everything left in him or demanding everything she had.
She ended up with one foot on his back, limp against the pillow with her skin damp and flushed as though from a fever, trying to catch her breath. Davis crawled up to her and the rest just happened. He lowered himself on top of her, filled her with the marble-hard heat of him, and when he moved with her he wasn’t in any real hurry and she wasn’t in any hurry to let go of him.
He didn’t feel indestructible or inhuman. He was warm and his mouth was soft on her mouth and the underside of her jaw and wherever else he could reach. She wondered what the scientists who’d made him would think if they could see him now, as far from what he’d been created for as he could possibly get.
She couldn’t help the sense of triumph that she’d succeeded for a little while; she’d saved a little part of him, and even if she had to let him go one day when he changed and didn’t come back, she had something to remember of him. If she could let him go. She had the feeling that was one of the lines she couldn’t creep back behind so easily anymore.