So Bright - Mature - Chloe/Stefan - OneShot [1/2] [Series]
Title: So Bright, The Flames Burn In Our Heart (That We Found Each Other In The Dark)
Series: Life, Love and the Undead
Category: Smallville/The Vampire Diaries
Genre: Humor/Romance/Drama
Ship: Chloe/Stefan
Rating: Mature
Warning(s): Sexual Content
Word Count: 10,703
Summary: Life on the road, chasing a new mystery whenever it presents itself, brings Chloe to a backwaters pub where she meets a handsome, brooding vampire in need of self control and friendship; they both get more than they bargained for.
So Bright, The Flames Burn In Our Heart (That We Found Each Other In The Dark)
-1/1-
Chloe's luck really was something of a legend, it being as bad as it was. And when it came to men, it seemed her luck was never worse.
Enter Stefan Salvatore in a remote backwater pub, where the buzz of flies was followed by the zap of them getting too close to the neon light of fatal attraction. Chloe was fairly sure if she tried hard enough, she might even hear the gators in the swamp not too far away. What brought her here was the ever elusive mystery; the elusive part being that there was always another one she was desperate to solve almost as soon as she stamped a 'Case Closed' sticker on the last.
What brought him to the bar was, alas, heartbreak.
And Chloe, being, well, Chloe couldn't help but lend a shoulder. Unfortunately, it was later a few inches higher that he was focused on. But when she first spotted him, a sweating beer bottle wrapped in his long fingers and that forever brooding expression on his handsome face, something inside her clicked. Maybe it was nostalgia over a just-as-broody alien best friend she'd been in love with, what seemed, a lifetime ago. Or maybe it was just one of those itches of hers, added to curiosity and danger, that she never could scratch enough to sate her. But before she knew it, she'd taken a seat on the stool one over from his, her eyes darting from the bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors lining shelves across a mirrored background, dusty with age and lack of use, to the thin-eyed glare he was giving his own reflection.
Her eyes washed over him, from the carefully coiffed brown hair, styled up like he ran his fingers through it so often that it just stayed that way, to the tanned skin and strong, square jaw that flexed every few minutes. His thick, dark eyebrows were drawn heavy above sharp, blue-green eyes. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, lips set in a firm line, but when she found herself focusing on how pink, how full they were, she forced her eyes down, away. The dark, button-up shirt he wore stretched across the length of his shoulders, drooping heavy with some yet unknown burden.
She swore she heard him chuckle before it even exited his throat. Her eyes darted back up to find him staring at her through the mirror, his lips quirked on one side before they were wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle.
"Was I staring?" she asked, half-smiling back. "It's a habit."
"Really?" He licked his lips as he dropped the bottle back to the bar and turned his tipped head to look at her. "And the drooling?"
She laughed, brows raised high. "Going for the throat, that quick?" She shook her head and reached up to dab humorously at the corners of her mouth.
He ducked his head, smiling.
"I'm a reporter," she explained. "Or… I was one… And then it became a sort-of freelance thing and then…" She thought of how she'd gone from writing for The Daily Planet to chasing an investigative reporter spot to letting her curiosity get the better of her, chasing story after story and forgetting about the byline it might grab. "Then I just sort of forgot about the writing part and focused on the investigating…" She shrugged. "And for awhile there, I was even a counselor. So you can see how curiosity might get me into these kinds of situations."
"That's too bad," he said, gaze set on his beer bottle.
She raised a brow wonderingly. "Because…?"
"For a second there…" He looked over at her, a vague tilt to his lips suggesting a smile, and searched her face. "I was flattered."
She grinned slowly. "Well, if it makes you feel better, my curiosity is rarely peaked for just anybody…"
He nodded. "It does."
She turned in her seat, resting the heel of her boot on the ledge of the stool between them. "So what's your story then?" Her eyes wandered him quickly, taking in how his shirt hugged his biceps and down his torso, seeming to fit as if tailor-made. She pointed a finger knowingly. "I'm going to take a wild-guess and say you aren't a local…"
He raised a brow, puckering his lips. "Really? What gave me away?"
She looked around the run-down bar pointedly and he turned on his stool, his eyes following the path hers had. There were all of four gentlemen, and she used the term lightly, filling the room, and one was the barkeep. One man was snoring, hand still around his mug of, by now, warm beer, head leaned back against an ancient jukebox that she was fairly sure wasn't even plugged in. Another had a table full of peanut shells, piled up all around him; he was using them to create some weird collage on the beat-up wood tabletop. And the third was talking to his ex-wife, who wasn't there at the moment, but apparently when drunk he liked to tell her everything he never got a chance to when they were married. The last, the bartender, was a thick man, wearing a stained white t-shirt that stretched across his wide midsection, with holes here or there, having seen better days. He hadn't said a word to anybody, just raising a brow for their order, handing it over, and returning to his seat next to the cash register, where he was reading The DaVinci Code, of all things. While she couldn't say he looked like the type, people had a way of surprising her still.
But that didn't mean she thought the man sitting next to her fit in here in any capacity. He stuck out as much as she did, though she'd traded in her pencil skirt and blouse for a comfortable pair of dark wash jeans and a red, spaghetti strapped tank-top, the damp heat that permeated the air practically demanding something light and comfortable.
"All right, I'm seeing your point," he agreed, turning back around. "You're right. I'm… passing through," he said, with some amusement.
"Really? The town's luxurious tourist spot hasn't convinced you to pick up and move?" she said in mock surprise.
He snorted, lips parting to show a flash of white teeth as he smiled. "Not exactly."
"I don't know…" She gazed around the old, wood shack of a bar, with its cheap, peeling wall paper, and dusty, rarely-swept floor. The stools they were sitting on were probably sturdier than the building itself; the walls seeming paper thin, the windows ready to fall from their precarious perches in rickety sills. "It holds a certain… charm."
"Yeah, the cheap kind," he replied, brows flashing.
She grinned. "Depending on who you are, that could be the best kind."
He smirked, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I'm destined to just be a tourist around here…" He looked over at her from the corner of his eyes. "And you? You said you were a journalist, the kind who seems to be chasing mystery wherever it takes her…" He eyes darted back and forth between hers. "No roots anywhere?"
She shrugged. "I used to. Metroplis, Smallville, Metropolis again."
"A Kansas girl," he mused, nodding. "How'd you like small-town life?"
"It was…" She darted her eyes away thoughtfully, brow furrowing. "Surprisingly interesting."
He laughed shortly. "Yeah, I can relate."
"And where is…" She paused. "The mysterious tourist I haven't asked the name of, from exactly?"
He turned in his seat to face her better, tapping one hand on the bar and holding out the other for her to shake. Her eyes dropped to where a silver and blue ring rested on his middle finger, bearing a crest and a large S. "Stefan," he introduced himself.
Her arm stretched toward him. "Chloe," she returned.
As their skin met, she felt a zing run through her that jolted, snapping the breath right out of her lungs. She didn't let go, however, curiosity ever too strong for her to simply pull back and ignore it. Forehead wrinkled, brows drawn, she stared at their hands but couldn't imagine what could have caused it.
"That was… weird," she muttered.
Stefan cleared his throat and drew his hand back. "Mystic Falls."
"Huh?" She looked up at him, confused.
"I, uh…" He reached up and scratched behind his ear. "I'm from Mystic Falls."
"Oh." Remembering what she'd asked, she nodded. She thought back on her high school geography class and snapped her fingers before pointing at him triumphantly. "Small town Virginia."
"Yeah." He hiked his brows, lips pressed in a frown. "And it had its share of excitement."
She smiled. "I have a feeling I have you beat on that aspect. I don't think anywhere on this planet probably had quite as much… excitement as Smallville."
He tipped his heads, eyes narrowing. "Really?" His eyes wandered over her face, that vague smile of his returning. "I'm willing to put that to the challenge."
"Is that so?" She lifted her beer to take a long drag and then dropped the bottle down to the counter with a snap. "All right…" She rested her elbow on the bar and nodded. "Challenge accepted."
He licked his lips and waved a hand at her accommodatingly. "Ladies first."
She raised a brow. "Possession," she said.
Instead of derision or disbelief, his lips curled and he gave a short nod of acceptance.
It wasn't long before they were leaning toward each other, or the subject had changed to much shadier, less believable standards.
"Does it count if I was also possessed by a witch?" she wondered. Shrugging, she shook her head. "Technically, witches should still have their own category, right?"
He snorted. "Oh, they definitely deserve it."
She raised a brow in question, but he ignored it. Instead, he took a moment to think it over, his lips pursed.
"Don't tell me you've run out of small-town-weird already?" she teased, smiling. "Because I'm just at the tip of the iceberg here…"
His eyes dropped, seeming to think it over a moment, and his smile all but vanished. Finally, he raised his gaze to hers and said quiet seriously, "Vampires."
"Really?" Her eyes narrowed. "We're not talking rare-strain of rabies, curable virus, are we? Like honest-to-God vampires?"
He shrugged slightly, turning his face away. "I don't know if 'honest' is the adjective I'd use," he returned. "But they're as real as ever…" His eyes skittered back to her, watching, waiting for a reaction; negative or hysterical, she imagined.
"Well I can't say I'm surprised…" she mused.
"No?"
She smiled. "Like I said… Tip of the iceberg…"
He nodded. "Let's hear a few stories then. You boast a good game." He pointed at her, brows hiked. "But I want details."
"My pleasure," she told him, grinning. "And while my writing skills are a little on the rusty side, I'd like to think my memory and story-telling abilities are as sharp as ever." She winked at him, crossing her leg over her other knee.
For a moment, she wondered where to even start, there were so many options, so many stories, but then, she simply decided that the beginning was where any story should begin, so she went all the way back to when she was just thirteen, with a crazy crush on boy-next-door-archetype Clark Kent, and the weird happenings of Smallville were what made farm-life-central anything but a snooze.
Stefan was a good listener; he laughed, a deep rumbling sound that emanated from his chest, he looked genuinely surprised even concerned during certain near-death-experiences, of which there were many, and he leaned in at every interesting point. A sort of freedom was found for Chloe, sharing her insane youth with someone who instead of scoffing at her or looking for the nearest exit to escape her deranged ramblings, rather encouraged her into telling another one. Long past the other patrons leaving, Stefan sat with his head perched on his hand, elbow on the counter, just listening to her stories, watching with some amusement the way her hands moved as she talked. She wasn't sure if maybe small towns just had a way of being weird or what, but she thought she might've found a kindred spirit in Stefan. And what a handsome one he made.
The stool that sat between them seemed like a larger barrier than it actually was. She was a hand-talker with exaggerated arm motions and Stefan was a leaner, eventually sitting with his elbows on his knees and his shoulders hunched as he listened; she imagined if they were side by side they would be far into each other's personal space. After a couple beers and hours spent sharing their life stories, she was beginning to think being in his personal space wouldn't be a bad thing.
"And that would be about the time I realized that 'normal,' 'boyfriend,' and 'Smallville' were anything but synonymous," she laughed.
He grinned, nodding his head. "You're a great story-teller," he told her. "I feel like I was actually there while it was happening."
Her eyes widened. "Then I'm sorry for your emotional trauma."
He chuckled, ducking his head. Licking his lips, he drew a breath. "When you were trapped… Buried in the ground…"
She nodded.
"It must've been terrifying… Being that close to death."
"It was…" She thought back to how it felt like the air was thinning, getting too warm; how each breath seemed emptier than the last. "But then I eventually got used to that feeling."
"You might just be a little immortal," he mused. "With how many times you've escaped death."
Amused, she shrugged. "I think I've maxed out the nine-lives quota."
"So, where were your parents when all of this was happening?" he wondered, waving two fingers at the bartender, who, after huffing, forced to put his book down yet again, climbed from his stool and gathered up the two bottles to drop in front of them before returning to his place behind the register.
Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Well, my mother left when I was young…" She let out a long breath, memories of Moira filtering through her mind, young and old, good and bad. Sighing, she turned her eyes to the bottle as she tried to snap the cap off. "For the longest time, I thought she was in a psych ward and eventually, one day, I'd just…" She snapped her fingers. "Lose it."
He stared at her hand a long moment before taking the bottle from her and unscrewing the top swift and easy. "That must've been difficult," he said, his voice low, heavy. "Fearing that moment that you might lose control of yourself…"
She nodded. "It was. It was… terrifying."
His eyes met hers. "But she wasn't? In a psych ward?"
"Oh, she was…" She nodded before letting out a slightly bitter laugh. "Just not for the reasons I thought." She shrugged, raising the bottle to take a swig. Licking her lips, she asked him, "You remember I told you about the meteor shower and how it… gave people these-" Her eyes narrowed, "These powers?"
"Yeah." He nodded. "Most of the time, it came with a heavy price-tag of sanity and common sense."
She snorted. "Yeah, later traded for a toe-tag or a one-way ticket to Belle Reve."
"Then, your mom?" He frowned, searching her face. "She was infected?"
"Yes… With the ability of control, even." She shook her head, scoffing. "Weird, right? How I was always waiting for the day I wouldn't have control and there she was with an abundance of it."
"But what did she control?"
"People… The infected." She shrugged. "Anybody with a little green rock flowing in their bloodstream were just puppets on a string for her."
His brows furrowed thickly. "But she put herself way?"
"She didn't want to hurt anybody…" she all but whispered. She didn't want to hurt me, went unsaid.
But she thought, as Stefan stared at her thoughtfully, handsome face now clear of confusion, he might've figured that part out all on his own.
"Anyway, she was moved to a safer facility after it became all too clear that her abilities meant the interest of a Luthor." She turned her eyes toward her beer bottle. "I used to visit her; she's in Star City now…" She shook her head. "But it's been awhile since I've been out that way."
"You miss her," he said, not a question but a statement.
"Can you miss someone you hardly remember?" she wondered. "I… I was a kid when she left and even when we met again, it was like…" She sighed. "I don't know. Family, right? You love them, it's natural, but maybe a part of me just can't forgive her for not being there when I was growing up…" She scoffed. "Then again, my dad wasn't exactly winning Father of the Month either."
Stefan stared at her while she forcibly kept her eyes on the beer label she picked away at with her fingernail.
"Family has a way of disappointing you even when you think you've stopped caring," he muttered darkly.
She turned to look at him, and that hollow broodiness was filling his face once more.
"So that's what's got you filling a seat here," she mused. "Parents or sibling?" She frowned. "Unless you have a kid out there. Although you look a little young for that…"
He snorted. "Not as young as you think," he said, before tipping his beer back. Licking his lips, he leaned on the bar counter. "And it's my brother."
"Right, you mentioned him… Uh…" She snapped her fingers, trying to find it. "Darren?" She wrinkled her nose, knowing that wasn't it.
"Damon," he supplied, before finishing off his beer in one long swallow.
"Wow…" She watched him drop the empty bottle to the counter with a clink. "That is some sibling rivalry you two must have…"
He snorted, drumming his hands down on the bar a couple times. "You could say that…"
She stared at him searchingly before giving a nod. "Parents' attention or a girl?" she asked, tone steady, even though there was a little part of her, a bitter part, that wondered if she would ever meet a man she liked who wasn't already in love with someone else, and always someone unattainable.
"Mostly?" He nodded. "A girl."
"The girl," she corrected knowingly.
He glanced at her and then away, brows furrowed. "I thought so."
"Since you're here and she's not, and since you've got your broody face down pat, I'm going to venture a guess that the war is already lost…"
His jaw ticked. "I broke up with her."
"You had her?" she said, voice full of questioning. She was used to the 'wanting from afar but never getting' dilemma, so this was new. "Then… why?"
He clenched his teeth, glaring at the bar top before finally turning to face her again. "I didn't have all of her."
Chloe's heart thumped hard in her chest, not for the first time wishing a man could feel that way about her. "So a little isn't better than nothing?"
"I thought so…" He sighed, turning his head to the side, "at first."
Chloe thought back to her many relationships, to wanting and never having, to having and knowing she'd have to let go. To Jimmy when he was sweet on Kara. To Clark when he wanted Lana, and later Lois. She remember wanting so desperately to be enough for them and never being that. And the moment she knew she wasn't going to be the piney best friend, or the girl who held on to a boyfriend who didn't want her as wholly as she wanted him. When she walked away from sweet, goofy Jimmy. When she put away her feelings for Clark and took up the roll as best friend and nothing more. And when she finally said goodbye to the both of them and the life she might've had or even wanted with them, instead hitting the road in search of purpose and herself and a series of mysteries just waiting to be cracked.
"You shouldn't settle," she told him decidedly. "I tried that."
"With Clark?" he wondered.
She half-smiled. "I guess I was a little obvious, huh?"
He tipped his head. "What girl doesn't love a hero?"
"You say that like you've never been one." She frowned, gazing at him thoughtfully. "Why do I get the feeling you're wrong?"
He shrugged, turning his eyes away. "Do you think…?" He trailed off.
"What?" she prompted.
"I don't know, I…" He shook his head. "I was thinking out loud, I guess."
"Then finish where you were going," she suggested, smiling.
"I just… wondered if you thought heroics ever… balanced out the bad stuff." He purposely didn't look at her and she could tell.
"You mean, like… If it made up for any mistakes you might've made?" She watched his profile, the tense lines of his face, of his neck and shoulders.
He nodded.
"Did you ever ask for forgiveness? Or did you pull the heroics card because you wanted to make up for your past?"
He frowned. "I did it because I loved her… I-I saved her because I loved her… And-" He turned to look at her, his brows furrowed. "Because it was the right thing to do."
"I think everybody makes mistakes. Some… larger than others." She nodded. "But ultimately, I think it comes down to who you are in the moment… Who you choose to be in the end and not the beginning." She shrugged lightly. "A villain is only a villain until he's redeemed."
"And then?" His mouth twisted darkly. "What is he after, but a failed villain?"
He looked so tired that Chloe hardly thought it through before her hand was braced on his forearm, squeezing. "He's just a person. A man." She stared at him. "He is what he wants to be. What he decides to be."
Stefan stared at her hand against his bare skin, the sleeve of his shirt rolled up. "And if he always sees himself as a monster…?"
"Then he either gets his eyes checked or he changes his future…" She shook her head. "Monsters are made, not born. Outside influences are only there as long as they're allowed to be there. So you cut ties to whatever's making you into what you don't want to be, you start over… And then one day it's not a monster in the mirror anymore."
"And if what makes him a monster isn't something he can walk away from…? Instead it-it's a part of him… It is him."
"Then all that's left is control… And acceptance."
He turned to look at her, brows knit. "Acceptance? Of the monster inside him?"
Chloe stared at him, curiosity having already begun to put the pieces together. "If you're always fighting it, there's no real winner or loser, just a constant, endless war. But if you accept that part of you and you understand that it's there but it doesn't always need to be in control, then you have a better chance."
"Of what?"
"Survival." She shrugged. "You can't live your life as two people, constantly pitted against each other. But if, for instance, you reach out and say, 'Hey, you're a part of me. Not a part I really like, but you're there. Now you do your thing and I'm gonna do mine.' Which is where control plays its part."
He thought it over a moment, face folded in thought. "And if my control snaps?"
"You start again."
He sighed, shoulders slumping.
"I bet you're really wishing you had that curable rabies strain right about now," she mused.
He turned dark eyes on her, brows raised in surprise, even a little worry.
She slid her hand down and tapped her forefinger against his ring. "For infinity, or eternity, either way…" She shook her head. "You know, after all the years you've probably had for working on that secret-keeping thing, you let that one slip pretty easy."
He stared at her finger on his ring. "You're easy to talk to," he said quietly.
She smiled. "Trick of the trade." She moved to draw her hand back, but his fingers caught hers. She watched him curiously.
"You're not afraid."
Her eyes fell. "I only figured it out a few minutes ago…"
"During our conversation about monsters and a lack of control," he reminded.
She laughed shortly. "When you put it that way…"
"You should be scared," he warned her.
"Why? Because curiosity killed the cat?" She raised a brow. "I think by now we can agree that I'm not your average cat…"
"The meteor rocks…" He turned his eyes toward her, face still down-turned toward their hands. "You were infected?"
"It comes and goes when it pleases," she admitted. "Sometimes I'm not even sure it's there anymore… It's not the kind of power I can call on at will or test just for the fun of it."
His eyes narrowed. "But you've never lost control? Never… killed anybody?"
"I was lucky." She shrugged. "Or, at least so far…" She knocked her free fist against the wood bar. "You can never be too careful," she mused with a smile.
He snorted. "Said the woman sitting at an empty bar with a vampire."
The word repeated in her head.
Vampire.
Vampire.
Vampire.
Her eyes left his then and darted around the bar; he was right. The others had moved on, left, even the bar tender seemed to have moved on into the back; apparently he wasn't worried about them robbing him, that or he cleaned out the till and couldn't care less about what alcohol was left.
A chill ran down her spine, but she couldn't be sure it wasn't from the cool slip of air that whispered past her, touching her skin, warm and damp from the muggy air that filled the bar and clung to her. Now that she was paying more attention, she noticed he wasn't sweating while she could feel drops of sweat dabbing her upper lip and dribbling down her back, wetting her shirt. Her hair was stuck to her temples and down her neck and she imagined her face was flushed, red; she checked the mirrored wall to be sure. Sitting next to him, she thought she looked like a wilting flower, while he was still immaculate.
"I choose my battles wisely," she murmured. "Vampire vying for control, trying not to be a monster, kind of speaks volumes about the company I'm keeping." She turned to face him once more. "Unless poor, tortured soul is your shtick, and then I'd tell you your acting skills are above average."
His lips curled at the corners. "Who said you were even my type anyway?"
She scoffed, feigning offense. "You've got something against O-Positive?" she teased.
"I prefer to stick to animals, or blood bags if necessary…"
She raised a brow. "Prefer to, or it helps with that whole control issue?"
"You're taking this way too well," he told her, brows raised, but he nodded. "Mostly for control. A little because drinking from people has a way of making me feel guilty. Usually because they end up dead."
"Even willing participants?" she wondered.
"Can't say I have too many of those." He shook his head. "Which is probably good, because then I might get close to them. And when I snap and kill them, it'd be even harder to get over."
"Way to think positively." She bumped his elbow with hers. "Maybe that's part of your problem…"
He frowned questioningly.
"You should have more faith in yourself…" She shrugged. "If you're always expecting to snap, then you will. It's like laying down arms before you've even been challenged."
His brows furrowed. "I never looked at it that way."
"You learn something new every day." She winked. "And just how many days has it been, anyway?" She pushed her half-empty beer bottle away. "You said you were older than I suspected, so what's the number?"
"Let's just say I was alive during The Civil War," he told her.
Chloe's eyes widened. "I feel like I just hit a historian's mother load," she said, drawing a deep laugh from him.
He turned to look at her over his shoulder once more. "This has been fun," he admitted. "Probably more than I've had in… a really long time."
She grinned. "Likewise."
"How long are you in town?"
"I officially finished solving the latest mystery this afternoon… It was the Sheriff in the librarian's office, with a musket."
"Musket?" he repeated, eyes wide. "You're kidding."
She shook her head. "Nope." With a grin, she rested her chin on her upturned hand, elbow on the bar. "He broke into the local museum, which is one disturbingly small room I might add, stole the artifact, went back to the library and knocked off his ex-girlfriend, who just-so-happened to be a big history buff and was leaving town the following week to pursue a career in the city… She was working at the library in the meantime and the Sherriff took broken heart to a whole new level."
Stefan nodded slowly. "Wow, okay…"
"See?" She shrugged. "Here's to having a broken heart and not shooting your ex in hers with a musket."
He burst into laughter, his head falling, shaking side to side.
She grinned, feeling a warmth pool in her stomach at the sound of his amusement, at the smile stretching his handsome face.
When he looked back up, he had his bottom lip trapped beneath his teeth. "I'm glad I met you."
"I like to think I leave an impression."
He nodded, expression softening. "You do."
She stared at him a long moment. "You're not so bad yourself."
"What, with my poor-me sob story and inner-monster issue?" He waved a dismissive hand, ring glinting in the low lighting. "Mystic Falls had its off days, but I think Smallville has us beat."
"You underestimate yourself, Stefan." She shook her head. "And in the end, I don't think a girl and the whole dual-personality problem is everything that makes you who you are…" She frowned, tipping her head wonderingly. "Who were you before?"
His brows furrowed as he turned his eyes off to stare distantly, thoughtfully. "Sometimes I can't remember…"
"So who are you now? Let's say you take your ex and the monster-thing out of the equation?" She raised a brow. "Who is Stefan?"
His eyes dropped to the bar. "Right now… A traveler."
"Destination?"
His mouth pursed. "Away."
[Continued in: Second Half.]