Contact--1/1
Author: BlueSuede
Title: Contact
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairings: Chloe/Oliver
Summary: a one-shot glimpse into loneliness
Warning: somewhat AU (Chloe and Oliver aren't together)
Author's Note: I'm still battling writer's block among other things, and once again, I seized an idea when it presented itself; I hope it's not terribly depressing. I wanted to take a moment to dedicated the first portion of this story, the section from Chloe's perspective, to the guy who let me sleep on his shoulder on a bus yesterday. He has no idea what he did for or to me. ...but that's another story. For now: Chlollie.
Also, in keeping with the theme of this story, that is, the need for reaching out and making contact, I chose to share my face for the first time ever. It is distorted some, of course. Anonymity is still my best friend. But anyway, I was gripped with the notion to do it, and I decided to go with my instinct.
One touch.
That was all it had taken. One tiny, indistinct, unimportant touch, and the walls had cracked. Just slightly. Not enough to make them crumble, not enough for light to become visible, not even enough for water to seep through, but a crack nonetheless.
Chloe’s eyes closed gently and she took a deep, shuddering breath before allowing them to flicker back open.
All he had done was touch her hand, hold it for a matter of seconds.
It had been enough, though. She was too intelligent not to realize that. It had made her acutely aware of just what she had become: Hollow.
She lay on her side on the couch in the Watchtower upstairs apartment, her knees drawn into her chest, her hand pillowed under her head as her eyes locked with the TV screen, the reflection of the documentary on the screen flickering in her unseeing green eyes. She pressed her parted lips closed and tightened her other arm across her chest slightly. She blinked.
She hadn’t been aware of the transformation as it happened; no one ever is. Somehow, though, she had become hollowed out on the inside, empty, her very bones seeming to be missing from her collective being. Her loneliness echoed and swirled inside of her shell-like body like a dull, cruel wind, and a faint, barely detectable ache had settled somewhere deep in her chest, clenching and unclenching and refusing to fully release its hold.
It was easy to ignore at one point. It always is, no matter who it happens to. No one realizes they have become this shell of a human until someone temporarily, for one small blip of an instant, fixes them. And when that moment ends, suddenly returning them to their state of emptiness, they find to their horror that they can no longer remain oblivious. It becomes impossible to ignore.
The craving begins.
Chloe Sullivan desperately craved human contact. With anyone. It didn’t matter. Lex Luthor could have felt like cuddling and she might not have been entirely opposed to the idea.
It had become a near-constant battle now that the craving had taken hold of her. When other people were in the room, when they came to see her, she found her muscles actually twitching to reach out for them, her mind calculating possible reactions they might have to each way she might somehow close the space between them. She blessed Bart’s visits, his affection boundless. Hugs, kisses on the hand or cheek, and an arm around her waist that she once might have considered annoying or inappropriate were now a lifeline, something that allowed her to breathe for the few seconds that they lasted. And yet, in spite of this, she couldn’t properly react, either. In spite of being barely in control of her own actions at times, she found herself unable to respond or return the contact, unable to encourage it, making it seem unwelcome and unappreciated.
For a brief moment she realized how odd it was that Bart’s affection hadn’t been the thing to unleash her awareness. Instead it had been Oliver, Oliver who never broached the line between business and friendship. He had been the one to momentarily grasp her hand and make her feel whole for one blissful moment.
Again she hugged herself a little more tightly, shifting on the couch and rubbing her bare feet together to warm them.
Yes, that had been the moment of awakening, and now every time he touched her, the release became that much more painful. She wondered why it was him.
Perhaps, she thought vaguely, he was experiencing something similar to her. He, too, had shut people out for a brief period of time. Perhaps the momentary connection of two souls undergoing the same turmoil had been enough to jolt one out of its comatose state.
Today had been particularly painful. Or glorious, depending on how you looked at it.
The team had been traveling overseas for a week, and today they had come home. It was the ride from the airport that had done her in. Eager to keep people unaware of the fact that Oliver Queen had been abroad, they had rented a limo with tinted windows to take them home from the airport two hours out of Metropolis. Exhausted from the trip, the boys had fallen asleep almost instantly, all except Oliver. Chloe, of course, couldn’t sleep. She rarely slept anymore, let alone in a moving vehicle.
Then, without giving it so much as a second thought, Oliver had pulled her over toward him so that she could lean on his shoulder, finally allowing her to get comfortable and fall asleep, in spite of the feeling of her heart slamming against her ribcage.
An uncomfortable tightness gripped her chest, resembling the insistent ache a person feels just at a moment in which they desperately need to cry but won’t let themselves do it. She shut her eyes tightly, simultaneously trying to stop thinking about it but also trying to reinvent the sensation in her imagination so that she might be able to fall asleep now.
It didn’t work.
The moment she’d realized the car was pulling to a stop for her, she’d had to fight back an instinct to grip onto him and not let go. All she was doing was resting her head on his shoulder and she felt warm and complete and cared for. She didn’t want it to end.
But God forbid she make too big of a deal out of it, or he might become uncomfortable and nothing like it would ever happen again, so instead of giving into the urge to wrap herself around him like a boa constrictor, instead she had released him immediately, barely making eye contact as she blushed and mumbled a “Thanks, see you tomorrow” type line, her fingers not completely sliding away from him until the very last possible second.
And now: insomnia. Which was just great. Just freaking great.
She released a harsh, frustrated sigh.
How was she ever going to recuperate from this so she could actually feel like a normal human being again?
______________________________________
Midnight. It was midnight and he was staring into her window. This was an entirely new level of inappropriate for him. This wasn’t like checking her out at work, or making a suggestive comment. This was invasion of privacy...spying.
It hadn’t been his intention when he went out. He swore to himself that he hadn’t actually planned on coming out here and staring at her through her window from the neighboring rooftop.
He turned his head away and looked out over the Metropolis skyline, barely visible against the starlight. He’d gotten home and in spite of his previous exhaustion from the trip, he hadn’t been able to get to sleep. He blamed it on jet lag and decided to suit up, go on patrol until he was worn out enough to go to bed. He didn’t call her to let her know, even though he knew she’d be upset about that. He hadn’t wanted to wake her. But then while he was out he was seized by the urge to come check on her, to see if she was asleep.
It looked like she was, but he couldn’t make out her face. It was possible she was actually watching the documentary on her TV, but he doubted it. He wondered if she slept in front of the TV often. He suspected she did, imagined that somehow the light of a screen flickering across her face gave her some subconscious comfort even at night. No, that wouldn’t surprise him at all.
He wondered whether she thought about him much when he wasn’t around, or if he was more of an out-of-sight-out-of-mind type of figure in her life. He had constant thoughts of her. Maybe it was something to do with the attraction of the unobtainable, but he wanted her. Not necessarily in a sexual way, although he wouldn’t turn that down, either, but in an all-access-pass kind of way. He wanted exclusive rights to Chloe Sullivan. She was so closed off, so shut down to everyone around her. He wanted nothing more than to be the one person she finally let in, allowed to touch her, to make some sort of contact with her. He hadn’t known Chloe as long as some of her friends, but he had known her enough to see how unnatural it was for her to be so distant and isolated. She was the sort of girl who should be held and kissed and touched at every available moment. She needed that. He could almost see the desperate hunger for it in her eyes and it made him wonder what it would take for her to allow him to provide that.
What would it take to get her to let him hold her?
He sighed and shook his head, realizing he needed to stop this. Watching her...that was crossing a line. Checking up on her? Okay. Fine. But he couldn’t let that turn into something else.
But even half an hour later, back in his own apartment, dressed in normal clothing, he was unable to put her from his mind. Maybe it was the exhaustion talking, but it had finally gotten to be too much for him.
And that was the underlying thought as his motorcycle tore through Metropolis in the night, making its way back toward Watchtower...toward Chloe.
It was a startled, confused, and very weary looking Chloe that greeted his agitated figure.
He saw he swallow tightly at the sight of him, saw her almost flinch in recognition. Her mouth parted slightly in confusion and slowly anxiety developed in her expression as she registered that for him to be there, something serious must have happened.
Not entirely sure what he thought he was doing or how he thought this was going to end Oliver approached her, slid a hand onto her hip and an arm around her and dragging her against him, crushing her to him, feeling her gasp quietly in surprise, her body going rigid in response.
He didn’t care. He buried his face in her hair and closed her eyes and drew comfort from her that he hadn’t realized he craved, refusing to let go of her.
And then a miracle happened. Slowly, uncertainly, Chloe’s tensed muscles relaxed slightly. Her hands, which had been momentarily pressed against his chest as if not sure whether to push him away, moved upward and then wrapped around his neck. Her face turned into his chest, and Chloe breathed, her body actually trembling with the effort.
He tightened his grip on her, as if suddenly realizing just how badly she needed this, more than he had ever suspected.
He had thoughts of kissing her, of making love to her, of removing every stone of those carefully constructed walls, but he brushed them aside, if only for the moment. Instead, he lifted her up into his arms, and silently carried her up to the bedroom. He could almost feel the panic rising up inside of her as uncertainty seized her, not knowing what it was he wanted, but he only placed his lips on her forehead, pressing them against her in some small gesture of comfort, silently telling her to relax, not to question him for the night.
And then he laid her down in the bed, and climbed in beside her and dragged her against him, his large frame swallowing her tiny form, and the two of them slept, a deep, gratifying, healing sleep, for the first time in a very long time.
hello.
Title: Contact
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairings: Chloe/Oliver
Summary: a one-shot glimpse into loneliness
Warning: somewhat AU (Chloe and Oliver aren't together)
Author's Note: I'm still battling writer's block among other things, and once again, I seized an idea when it presented itself; I hope it's not terribly depressing. I wanted to take a moment to dedicated the first portion of this story, the section from Chloe's perspective, to the guy who let me sleep on his shoulder on a bus yesterday. He has no idea what he did for or to me. ...but that's another story. For now: Chlollie.
Also, in keeping with the theme of this story, that is, the need for reaching out and making contact, I chose to share my face for the first time ever. It is distorted some, of course. Anonymity is still my best friend. But anyway, I was gripped with the notion to do it, and I decided to go with my instinct.
One touch.
That was all it had taken. One tiny, indistinct, unimportant touch, and the walls had cracked. Just slightly. Not enough to make them crumble, not enough for light to become visible, not even enough for water to seep through, but a crack nonetheless.
Chloe’s eyes closed gently and she took a deep, shuddering breath before allowing them to flicker back open.
All he had done was touch her hand, hold it for a matter of seconds.
It had been enough, though. She was too intelligent not to realize that. It had made her acutely aware of just what she had become: Hollow.
She lay on her side on the couch in the Watchtower upstairs apartment, her knees drawn into her chest, her hand pillowed under her head as her eyes locked with the TV screen, the reflection of the documentary on the screen flickering in her unseeing green eyes. She pressed her parted lips closed and tightened her other arm across her chest slightly. She blinked.
She hadn’t been aware of the transformation as it happened; no one ever is. Somehow, though, she had become hollowed out on the inside, empty, her very bones seeming to be missing from her collective being. Her loneliness echoed and swirled inside of her shell-like body like a dull, cruel wind, and a faint, barely detectable ache had settled somewhere deep in her chest, clenching and unclenching and refusing to fully release its hold.
It was easy to ignore at one point. It always is, no matter who it happens to. No one realizes they have become this shell of a human until someone temporarily, for one small blip of an instant, fixes them. And when that moment ends, suddenly returning them to their state of emptiness, they find to their horror that they can no longer remain oblivious. It becomes impossible to ignore.
The craving begins.
Chloe Sullivan desperately craved human contact. With anyone. It didn’t matter. Lex Luthor could have felt like cuddling and she might not have been entirely opposed to the idea.
It had become a near-constant battle now that the craving had taken hold of her. When other people were in the room, when they came to see her, she found her muscles actually twitching to reach out for them, her mind calculating possible reactions they might have to each way she might somehow close the space between them. She blessed Bart’s visits, his affection boundless. Hugs, kisses on the hand or cheek, and an arm around her waist that she once might have considered annoying or inappropriate were now a lifeline, something that allowed her to breathe for the few seconds that they lasted. And yet, in spite of this, she couldn’t properly react, either. In spite of being barely in control of her own actions at times, she found herself unable to respond or return the contact, unable to encourage it, making it seem unwelcome and unappreciated.
For a brief moment she realized how odd it was that Bart’s affection hadn’t been the thing to unleash her awareness. Instead it had been Oliver, Oliver who never broached the line between business and friendship. He had been the one to momentarily grasp her hand and make her feel whole for one blissful moment.
Again she hugged herself a little more tightly, shifting on the couch and rubbing her bare feet together to warm them.
Yes, that had been the moment of awakening, and now every time he touched her, the release became that much more painful. She wondered why it was him.
Perhaps, she thought vaguely, he was experiencing something similar to her. He, too, had shut people out for a brief period of time. Perhaps the momentary connection of two souls undergoing the same turmoil had been enough to jolt one out of its comatose state.
Today had been particularly painful. Or glorious, depending on how you looked at it.
The team had been traveling overseas for a week, and today they had come home. It was the ride from the airport that had done her in. Eager to keep people unaware of the fact that Oliver Queen had been abroad, they had rented a limo with tinted windows to take them home from the airport two hours out of Metropolis. Exhausted from the trip, the boys had fallen asleep almost instantly, all except Oliver. Chloe, of course, couldn’t sleep. She rarely slept anymore, let alone in a moving vehicle.
Then, without giving it so much as a second thought, Oliver had pulled her over toward him so that she could lean on his shoulder, finally allowing her to get comfortable and fall asleep, in spite of the feeling of her heart slamming against her ribcage.
An uncomfortable tightness gripped her chest, resembling the insistent ache a person feels just at a moment in which they desperately need to cry but won’t let themselves do it. She shut her eyes tightly, simultaneously trying to stop thinking about it but also trying to reinvent the sensation in her imagination so that she might be able to fall asleep now.
It didn’t work.
The moment she’d realized the car was pulling to a stop for her, she’d had to fight back an instinct to grip onto him and not let go. All she was doing was resting her head on his shoulder and she felt warm and complete and cared for. She didn’t want it to end.
But God forbid she make too big of a deal out of it, or he might become uncomfortable and nothing like it would ever happen again, so instead of giving into the urge to wrap herself around him like a boa constrictor, instead she had released him immediately, barely making eye contact as she blushed and mumbled a “Thanks, see you tomorrow” type line, her fingers not completely sliding away from him until the very last possible second.
And now: insomnia. Which was just great. Just freaking great.
She released a harsh, frustrated sigh.
How was she ever going to recuperate from this so she could actually feel like a normal human being again?
______________________________________
Midnight. It was midnight and he was staring into her window. This was an entirely new level of inappropriate for him. This wasn’t like checking her out at work, or making a suggestive comment. This was invasion of privacy...spying.
It hadn’t been his intention when he went out. He swore to himself that he hadn’t actually planned on coming out here and staring at her through her window from the neighboring rooftop.
He turned his head away and looked out over the Metropolis skyline, barely visible against the starlight. He’d gotten home and in spite of his previous exhaustion from the trip, he hadn’t been able to get to sleep. He blamed it on jet lag and decided to suit up, go on patrol until he was worn out enough to go to bed. He didn’t call her to let her know, even though he knew she’d be upset about that. He hadn’t wanted to wake her. But then while he was out he was seized by the urge to come check on her, to see if she was asleep.
It looked like she was, but he couldn’t make out her face. It was possible she was actually watching the documentary on her TV, but he doubted it. He wondered if she slept in front of the TV often. He suspected she did, imagined that somehow the light of a screen flickering across her face gave her some subconscious comfort even at night. No, that wouldn’t surprise him at all.
He wondered whether she thought about him much when he wasn’t around, or if he was more of an out-of-sight-out-of-mind type of figure in her life. He had constant thoughts of her. Maybe it was something to do with the attraction of the unobtainable, but he wanted her. Not necessarily in a sexual way, although he wouldn’t turn that down, either, but in an all-access-pass kind of way. He wanted exclusive rights to Chloe Sullivan. She was so closed off, so shut down to everyone around her. He wanted nothing more than to be the one person she finally let in, allowed to touch her, to make some sort of contact with her. He hadn’t known Chloe as long as some of her friends, but he had known her enough to see how unnatural it was for her to be so distant and isolated. She was the sort of girl who should be held and kissed and touched at every available moment. She needed that. He could almost see the desperate hunger for it in her eyes and it made him wonder what it would take for her to allow him to provide that.
What would it take to get her to let him hold her?
He sighed and shook his head, realizing he needed to stop this. Watching her...that was crossing a line. Checking up on her? Okay. Fine. But he couldn’t let that turn into something else.
But even half an hour later, back in his own apartment, dressed in normal clothing, he was unable to put her from his mind. Maybe it was the exhaustion talking, but it had finally gotten to be too much for him.
And that was the underlying thought as his motorcycle tore through Metropolis in the night, making its way back toward Watchtower...toward Chloe.
It was a startled, confused, and very weary looking Chloe that greeted his agitated figure.
He saw he swallow tightly at the sight of him, saw her almost flinch in recognition. Her mouth parted slightly in confusion and slowly anxiety developed in her expression as she registered that for him to be there, something serious must have happened.
Not entirely sure what he thought he was doing or how he thought this was going to end Oliver approached her, slid a hand onto her hip and an arm around her and dragging her against him, crushing her to him, feeling her gasp quietly in surprise, her body going rigid in response.
He didn’t care. He buried his face in her hair and closed her eyes and drew comfort from her that he hadn’t realized he craved, refusing to let go of her.
And then a miracle happened. Slowly, uncertainly, Chloe’s tensed muscles relaxed slightly. Her hands, which had been momentarily pressed against his chest as if not sure whether to push him away, moved upward and then wrapped around his neck. Her face turned into his chest, and Chloe breathed, her body actually trembling with the effort.
He tightened his grip on her, as if suddenly realizing just how badly she needed this, more than he had ever suspected.
He had thoughts of kissing her, of making love to her, of removing every stone of those carefully constructed walls, but he brushed them aside, if only for the moment. Instead, he lifted her up into his arms, and silently carried her up to the bedroom. He could almost feel the panic rising up inside of her as uncertainty seized her, not knowing what it was he wanted, but he only placed his lips on her forehead, pressing them against her in some small gesture of comfort, silently telling her to relax, not to question him for the night.
And then he laid her down in the bed, and climbed in beside her and dragged her against him, his large frame swallowing her tiny form, and the two of them slept, a deep, gratifying, healing sleep, for the first time in a very long time.
hello.