Of Love and Friendship - NC17 - Chloe/Oliver - Chapter Fourteen
Title: Of Love and Friendship
Category: Smallville
Genre: Friendship/Romance/Humor/Action/Drama
Ship: Chloe/Oliver
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 3,200
Summary: (AU) Chloe Sullivan grew up in Star City, California with high hopes of becoming a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter, but destiny has other plans. Finding a best friend in billionaire Oliver Queen, their lives intersect and take them on a journey neither of them ever expected.
Previous: Prologue, Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII,
Of Love and Friendship
XIV. Of Drill Sergeants and New Outfits
He’d be lucky if she didn’t hate him by the end of this.
Chloe was no quitter, and whining wasn’t in her history. But when she was being drilled into the ground these things tended to want out. Complaining was a last resort and despite a few pleas to take a break here or there, she took what he handed out and she pushed herself harder. Her body screamed at her to quit already, to give in to the unrelenting strain of aching muscles and seizing lungs, but she didn’t, wouldn’t.
In the years she’d known Oliver, she’d regularly teased him about his Adonis-like body and how he vainly took care of it. But now that she was doing the work to get herself into shape, she was beginning to find a whole lot of respect for him. Just as soon as she got her body honed, she wasn’t about to do anything to lose it; because working it into what she needed was hard enough the first time.
Oliver was no slouch in the trainer department. He kept on her despite mood, situation or any scheduling differences. She knew it was only because of what happened with Marcoff; he refused to let her be a victim. So he pushed her and he pushed her and when she was ready to break he kept her together. If it had been anybody else in her ear, urging her forward, she would’ve snapped. But she trusted him and she knew he was only doing this for her benefit. And so she followed his rules and she did what needed to be done. Before and after work, she arrived at his place without fail, and she sweated and worked until he finally told her she was done. While she’d never be a brick house, she could see the rewards showing. She felt where her body was changing; somewhere deep behind the pain of it.
They continued their yoga each morning, the stretching helped to relax and release any stress from the day before. When she’d properly centered herself, they started running. Laps around the manor were long, the property he owned was massive and she didn’t know just how much until they were jogging together around the whole of it. In the beginning, she’d content herself with waving at the gardeners taking care of the flowers and hedges. But after awhile, when jogging became hardcore running, she could only try to regulate her breathing and tell herself her knees weren’t going to go out on her. And he pushed her, running circles around her when she slowed down. “Come on, Chloe… You can do this… Just breathe!”
She glared at him, not happy that he had an edge of years working out behind him. But her irritation only pushed her to try harder and she knew he knew it. If anything, he learned to use his own arrogance and training to make her keep going. She was no quitter and even if it was only to save face, she wasn’t about to stop or slow. Whatever he could do, she could do too.
When they finished running, he moved her right along into sit ups, pull ups, squats and balance training. And he did it all right next to her, urging her on with each of his movements and sarcastic jabs to get her motivated. “That all you got, Sullivan? I expected more!”
She worked with him for months, out in the field and inside the weight room. And when she had time after work, she went to a local kick-boxing class for extra help. Over the course of six months, she worked out every frustration she ever had. And there were many. Where once her only defense had been a tazer, now it was herself. There was no chance of someone like Tony getting close enough to do any damage to her again. It was that reminder that always got her going; on days when she felt like she could happily die, her body hurt so much, she’d remember how easily he’d tossed her on that cot and she’d force herself up.
Her thighs burned with each squat, and her calves felt like they were tearing in half when she ran the perimeter of Queen Manor, by the end of each day she was like a limp noodle. She lost weight and gained muscle, but she was in no way Xena’s equal. Her stomach flattened and if anything, her curves became more present because of how her waist cinched in and her hips still flared. For the first time in a long time, she felt confident for something other than her quick wit. She knew she was pretty, but beautiful wasn’t a term she’d equate to herself. However, with the strength she had, inside and out, she felt like could do and be anything.
She refused to diet; mostly because she was fairly certain Oliver would try and take her coffee away and that was a no-go. Besides, she loved food, especially when made by Eleanor. She would work her butt off with weights and the rock-climbing classes he’d signed them up for, but she wasn’t giving up popcorn or pasta. So while she could still have all of her favorite foods, she had to make up for it when she stepped onto the work-out mat. Wrestling Oliver was an amusing and frustrating experience. He had a height and weight advantage that never failed to annoy her. But he was teaching her how to use her own attributes against him and on those rare days that she was able to knock him on his ass, she got a surge of pride from it.
But most days, she just wanted to bury her head in a pillow and tell him to go to hell.
Which was what she was doing today.
“Chloe… We’ve got class in less than an hour. If we wanna beat traffic you have to get up and ready,” he sighed.
Holding herself hostage beneath her very comfortable duvet, she scowled despite knowing he couldn’t see her. “I’m sick.” Her half-hearted attempt at a cough was pitiful.
He snorted. “Yeah, it’s a real health scare.”
“Shut up!” Throwing her blanket off her head, she glared up at him. “Oliver… I love you, I do… But I’m not doing this.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s dancing, Chloe… I’m not asking you to swim with sharks.”
Her lip curled. “I don’t see how learning every dance there ever was is going to help me.”
“It’s a serious workout and it’ll help your balance.” He shrugged, unaffected.
Eyes narrowed, she shook her head. “I’m balanced… and if I work out anymore my muscles are going to burst out of my skin and strangle me.”
“You’re overreacting,” he said simply.
“No! No, don’t you act like this doesn’t hurt. Because it does! A lot!”
Smiling gently, he sat down on the bed next to her. Reaching out, he rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. “I know it does. And you’re doing awesome. Just take these classes with me, they’re only three weeks long and by that time, this will probably all be over.”
Her lips pursed. “Probably?”
He grinned. “All right, gimme three weeks and I’ll scale down your workouts until you’re at a more moderate pace.”
“By moderate do you mean I can go back to just yoga?” she wondered hopefully.
“Yoga, swimming and running,” he offered, brows lifted staunchly.
She sighed remorsefully. “Ugh… That’s hardly a bargain.”
Chuckling, he stared at her in amusement. “I’m relieving you of all your weight training.”
Lower lip out in a pout, she asked, “Do I have to run?”
“Yes… With the amount of running away from targets you already do, it’s pretty much a must.”
Rolling her eyes, she rolled onto her stomach and groaned against her pillow. “Fine… But I’m wearing sneakers to this dance thing!”
“I already bought your shoes and dress,” he argued before standing from the bed. “And trust me, they’re not sneakers.”
Sighing, she knew she was defeated. The only upside was that in three weeks, she’d be hurting a whole lot less.
Dancing was fun-ish.
They learned everything from the Cha-Cha to the Waltz, but the Rumba was her favorite. Oliver was an excellent dancer, having learned early and only excelled later. Their teacher warned that it was best to make a connection with your dance partner, to learn their cues and take heed of their personalities so one could truly move with them. Since she and Oliver were already so in sync with each other, that wasn’t hard. It was learning to let herself loose and flow with the music that became her problem. She thought too much, always focusing on what she looked like. In situations like this, she often felt embarrassed, and a good way to get out of it was usually with sarcasm.
“This is stupid,” she muttered, listening to the teacher try and tell them what their next move was. “I feel like I’m walking on stilts and the ground is jell-o.”
“I like jell-o.”
She laughed. “Oliver!”
He grinned. “What? You wanted me to commiserate? Quit being a baby, Sunshine. Just dance with me!”
Groaning, she did just that, trying to stop her smile the whole time.
He made it fun, instead of letting it be some overdramatic thing between them. And spinning around on heels entirely too thin for safety’s sake, only to find herself safe in his arms was beyond comforting. Where she might’ve lost balance, he was always there to catch her. He mirrored her movements, read her fears and her slips before they even happened. And she took from his confidence to gain her own; learned that doubting herself wasn’t helping. She had to believe she could do something in order to do it. Expecting failure only made her fail. It took time, learning that she had no reason to be embarrassed, that she wasn’t as clumsy as she thought, and that there would always be a safety net to fall back on if she ever should make that fatal mistake.
When three weeks had past, Oliver was calling her Twinkle-Toes and she had mastered their dance classes. And finally, the worst was over with. The mornings were restricted to their usual yoga routine, running and light swimming. When her kick boxing class was done, she tried something else, going into a belly-dancing course for the fun of it. It toned her stomach while simultaneously boosting her ego and while Oliver made all the jokes under the sun, she still enjoyed it.
When she arrived at his house, she expected him to bombard her with target practice suggestions. They hadn’t had quite enough time to fit in regular shooting what with her already hectic training schedule. But as she entered the manor, all was quiet.
“Joey?” she called out, searching the lower half for any sign. The kitchen was empty, meaning Eleanor had likely gone home, and any sign of the other staff was non-existent. Suspicions raised, she crept along the hallway, using the mirrors and pictures on the wall to give her a look into rooms before she passed them by. For Oliver’s place to be so quiet this early was simply impossible.
She used the back stairs, knowing very few had any idea where they were. Hidden behind a door next to the pantry, they led to the second floor through Oliver’s office. Without making a sound, heart hammering, she eased her way out of the office and into the hallway. She heard rustling, but from where she couldn’t pinpoint. His bedroom door was shut and so was the spare room she usually occupied. There were three other bedrooms and two bathrooms on this floor, however. Not to mention the master suite his parents had used that he never went near.
Walking down the hallway, her ears perked for any sign of life, she came to a sudden stop when she felt a chill run down her spine. Her instincts were screaming at her that somebody was behind her and just as a hand reached out past her shoulder, her body tensed. Whoever he was, he had a tight grip on her throat, but she wasn’t about to panic. After all this time spent working herself into frenzy, she was going to let him know who the hell was boss around here. Throwing her elbow back until it slammed into a hard body, she grabbed his hand, hooked her other around his arm, bent her knees and flipped the man right over her and onto his back. Before he could take a breath, she was back on him. Straddling his waist, she had the heel of her hand against his throat, cutting off his air supply. Wearing a black ski-mask, she couldn’t see his face. She reached for it, but he quickly began bucking his hips at her and managed to throw her off of him. Somewhat expecting that, she braced herself and rolled easily back into position. Feet planted and knees bent, her arms rose, fists lifted as she waited for him to attack. She could feel the menacing look on her face and the exhilaration of the fight in her body. Now she knew what Oliver felt when he was out there each night, saving lives.
He stepped closer, his shoulders hunching and his arms widespread as if he were going to tackle her. Remembering her experience with Marcoff’s man and his not so comfortable tackle, she moved first. Scissor kicking high in the air, she caught him in the chest and landed on her feet, losing her balance for a half a second before she caught herself again. He stumbled, fell back but was on his feet just as quick, simply rubbing his chest before he lifted a hand and encouraged her to do it again.
Angry with his arrogance, she attacked. But it was the emotion she put behind it that was her downfall. When she went to strike with her fist he caught it, twirling her around until her back was pinned to his front. He used her own arm to keep her in a chokehold, her forearm pressed tight against her larynx.
Tugging his mask off, he laughed. “Close but no cigar, Twinkle-Toes.”
She stilled, lifted her head back and stared at the amused face of her best friend. Pissed off even more now, she took a deep cleansing breath. And then she slammed her heel into his foot, her elbow into his gut, kicked his feet out from beneath him, pinned him on the floor, face down, and took his arm hostage behind his back. “I’ll take a Cuban, Arrow. Right after you find your manhood!”
He laughed, patting the floor in a sign of giving up and with a frown she stood.
Arms crossed, she glared darkly at him. “And that was necessary, why?”
He grinned, dusting off his all-black outfit. “Had to test your reflexes and I knew you’d always take it easy on me for fear of actually doing damage.”
Logical. Didn’t make her any less upset though.
With a roll of her eyes, she lifted her brow. “Love the outfit. Very outdated burglar-esque.”
Smirking, he nodded. “Thank you. I have one for you, too.”
“Black’s really not in this season,” she muttered, pursing her lips.
Sighing, he reached out for her. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I wasn’t scared!” she bit out.
“Maybe not for yourself, but I bet you were worried about me and the staff,” he replied knowingly.
She really wished she could wipe that smirk off his face. Rolling her eyes, she simply shrugged. “Maybe for Joey and Eleanor.”
“Okay, fine, be mad at me all you want, but I still want to give you a little graduation present.” Arm wrapped around her shoulders, he walked her back into his office.
Staring up at him with a furrowed brow, she asked, “Graduation?”
“You officially finished Oliver Queen’s Training Program; I think that deserves something…”
“Drill Sergeant that you were, I’m expecting a trip to Maui where hot pool boys will do whatever I ask,” she mused.
“I’ll take that suggestion under advisement,” he replied, smiling. “In any case… I have something else for you.”
Revealing his secret Arrow room -of which she still found fascinating no matter how many times the wall moved- he led her inside by the hand.
There, hanging next to his green leather outfit was another one. Except it was white, not leather, and entirely too petite for him.
“I know you said no suit, but given that you’re a well-trained partner now and we don’t know what might come up in future, I thought it might be best if we at least had one on hand…” He stared, waiting for some kind of reaction.
The pants were tight, from hip to ankle, with white surcingle belts that looped around her waist and thighs, clasps ready to hold whatever tools she might be equipped with. Her top was reminiscent of his, with the same type of shape and front-zipper; the only difference being the color and sleeves. A hood, dark gloves and a pair of white sunglasses accompanied her new outfit. And then there were the boots; black with a small heel they were, perhaps, her favorite part.
“So?” he asked impatiently.
“It’s…” She blinked. “Can I try it on?”
He grinned. “Of course.”
She motioned for him to turn around and he did so while she got her suit out from behind its glass casing. It took her a few minutes to get everything in place, zipping herself and her boots up before clasping belt buckles and donning her new glasses. “Okay…”
Turning slowly, he took her in from head to toe, his brows raising. “Wow… You look really… Wow.”
She laughed lightly, smoothing her hands down her suit. It wasn’t too tight, like she’d expected, and it was surprisingly versatile as she moved and bent to test it out. “It’s actually kinda comfortable.”
He smirked.
Rolling her eyes, she pointed a thumb back at his. “But mine’s not leather, so…”
“No, but you’re fire retardant.”
Her lips curled. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “I honestly hope there’s never a situation where you’re anywhere near enough to test that out, but yes, I made sure they had it specially made so you wouldn’t burst into flames at any time.”
“Comforting,” she mused. “So… Are we gonna stand around here gawking at my awesomeness or are we gonna do something with it?”
“Target practice?” he suggested happily.
With a chuckle, she nodded. “Sure… Just let met get out of this and I’ll join you outside.”
Nodding, he stepped back from his room. “Before you know it,” he called back, “People will be calling you hero in your own newspaper.”
She smiled after him, looking down at herself rather proudly. She hadn’t done anything so heroic yet, but she just knew that given the chance, she’d prove him right. Maybe this reporter was meant to do more than just write about the story; maybe she was meant to live it.
[Next: XV - Of Unexpected Dreams and Suspicious Cousins.]