While You Were Gone - NC17 - Part 1/5
Title: While You Were Gone
Category: Smallville
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Chloe/Oliver, some Clark/Lois
Warning(s): Sexual Content
Word Count: 2,672
Author's Note: This story has been finished ahead of time, so know that the next four parts are all ready to be put up!
Summary: With Clark and Lois gone Chloe is left to her own devices, but there’s someone else willing to help pick up the pieces and in the process, heal himself along the way.
sarcastic_fina
kc_2009
While You Were Gone
1/5
I.
He came through the window like a common burglar. He knew where the key was, could’ve come through the door like any average person, but then… Neither of them were really so average. She’d been lying there awake for hours, tossing and turning and staring at the dark ceiling, half hoping it’d cave in and put her out of her misery. They were all gone and now she was left with empty silence, something she’d never been able to handle well.
He didn’t speak and she didn’t want him to. Instead, he sat at the edge of her bed, his head bowed and his arms hanging loosely off his lap. Grief, anger, confusion; it swamped him. She knew those feelings well, but just as she hadn’t known what to do with her own exhausting range of emotions, she simply waited.
Finally, when it seemed neither of them could sit in suspense any longer, he simply slid to his side and curled up next to her, faced away. She took the silent cue and turned to face the opposite wall. Inhaling deeply, catching the thick scent of leather and sweat, she let her eyes close and welcomed the once illusive sleep.
It went on in the same manner for weeks. He’d show up, often around three or four in the morning, say nothing, sit in quiet contemplation and then lay down. They didn’t touch, they didn’t speak and he never really looked at her. Part of her felt he was apologizing in some way. But simultaneously, she felt as if he was seeking her comfort as well.
She found herself angry some mornings, waking up to find him gone and herself mad that he thought he could come to her, lay in the same bed as Jimmy once had. She would tell herself that when he came that night, she’d ask him to stop. She’d tell him they couldn’t do this, whatever it was. But then he’d arrive and the same routine would occur and she’d stay silent, no longer upset but needing that warmth and weight next to her.
The first couple weeks, she told herself he was Jimmy. She calmed herself by pretending he hadn’t died, that he was right there next to her. That there was never a Davis Bloome to enter and destroy the life she’d built. But then she’d inhale and the scent of sandalwood, fresh air and sweat would invade her nostrils, reminding her that the man lying beside her was nothing like Jimmy. And while it hurt, knowing that bubble had been burst, it also served to heal. There was no chance for denial any longer and after awhile, she simply stopped and accepted that he was gone, but that didn’t mean she was alone.
The first time he spoke, she found herself less startled than expected.
“I caught a robber tonight… Lurked around the ATM’s with no luck, so he thought he’d give the pawn shop a try…” He shook his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “He begged me to let him go, said he was just trying to survive…”
She waited, stared, watched the quickly morphing play of emotions displayed on his streetlamp lit face.
“And I did,” he finally said, his voice low, hoarse. “He would’ve scared, possibly even hurt, the people that arrived at those ATM’s. He would’ve ransacked somebody’s business, taking what he liked and selling it off to the highest bidder. And he’ll do it again, I know that. But… I let him go this time.” He sighed, his head falling impossibly lower for him to rub at his eyes in frustration.
She didn’t have to ask why because he was already gathering his reasons.
“I looked at him and all I could see was some pathetic human being… And maybe he was just trying to survive or maybe… Maybe he enjoys the thrill. I don’t know… But I know he seemed like an insignificant ant compared to the cockroaches that are quickly taking over… The monsters, both human and alien, that will do anything not to survive but to conquer…” Hands ran through his hair before falling to rub at his neck, tugging the voice distorter away and tossing it to the floor carelessly.
“What am I doing?” he asked, closing his eyes tightly.
She wasn’t sure why she did it; words would’ve been just as effective. But instead, she sat up on her knees and reached out for him. She looped her arms over his shoulders, lowered the zipper on his vest and pulled it down off of him, letting it fall to the floor. And then she hugged him, her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades and her arms wrapped loosely around him, hand pressed against his chest; the thrum of his heart felt against her palm.
“Surviving,” she murmured gently.
His hand rose, covered hers, and they sat like that, simply breathing in silence.
After awhile, she felt her eyes grow heavy and without thinking it through, she tugged him back until he was lying on the bed next to her. But this time, she didn’t turn away and neither did he. He laid on his back, still holding her hand and together, they let themselves sleep.
The routine changed then, he would arrive and he would lie down but if he needed to, he would talk and share and slowly, she felt certain he was healing. She remembered all too well the fallen hero he resembled but now he was becoming the man she had once looked up to and admired for his strong sense of loyalty and justice.
Tales of sadness, of mistakes and regret were turning into those of triumph, of the thrill he gained from knowing he’d done the right thing and saved someone in the long run. He still wouldn’t look at her, but when he spoke his words were only for her. He was no longer subdued or pained, he was freely opening up to her about the bad guys and the good guys and the reasons he had for what he did. He told her about Tess, the whole sordid tale, he explained everything with Lois and how the love he was certain he’d felt for the both of them was nothing like what it appeared. And some nights, when the room seemed darkest, he would share his memories of his parents with her. His hand held hers tighter those times and her thumb would stroke back and forth, trying to comfort him as his mouth ran ahead of him, his mind caught up in the past.
The nights he didn’t speak she knew were her turn. And she let them pass for the first while, instead welcoming sleep rather than the comfort of release. But then, one night, while he simply laid there, drawing figure-eights on her palm, she spoke.
“I loved him… I still do. But sometimes, I wonder what it would’ve been like if I’d never met him. Either of them… I wonder what my life would’ve turned out like. There’d be less drama but would I be any happier?” Her eyes stared searchingly into the night, as if seeking an answer she wouldn’t find.
He said nothing, waiting just as she had.
“And sometimes… Sometimes I’m…” She choked on a whimper. “Sometimes I’m happy he’s gone… Because I think I would’ve just hurt him more in the end…” She shook her head, her eyes falling closed and squeezing the tears out in their pursuit to hold onto her emotions. “I think…” She inhaled shakily, “I know that as much as we loved each other… It never would’ve worked.” She grit her teeth to end the sob before it escaped. “I kept too much from him and I was willing to keep doing that. Even when he said he knew about Clark, the rest of me knew that it was only a small, tiny part of the mountain’s worth of secrets I knew…”
She sniffled, balling her hand up in the blanket across her so she wouldn’t wipe at her face, as if he hadn’t already noticed she was crying. “And I wouldn’t tell him the rest. I wouldn’t put you and the others at risk… So I let him go on in this life with me, where he barely knew half of what I did or why I did it. Like I could keep him safe somehow… Or maybe I was selfish, I don’t know… I just know that whatever happened, I couldn’t and wouldn’t tell him what he so desperately needed me to.”
She gave up then, lifted a hand and wiped furiously at her face, pinching her brow to stop the headache that formed there. “And I’d do it all over again… Even knowing now what happened…” Her head turned side to side. “I lost him and Lois and Clark… But…” Her lips trembled. “I’m starting to think I’m supposed to be alone, because everybody around me just keeps getting hurt or killed or… or leaves me.”
Tired of trying to hold in her cries, the dam broke and she sobbed heartbrokenly, forgetting any semblance of courtesy and letting her body be wracked painfully with tears.
And he gathered her up, drew her into him and held her. Her face buried against his chest, tears and likely snot spilling out of her and onto him. His fingers stroked her hair and his warmth calmed her. It could’ve been minutes or hours, but eventually, she let her eyes fall closed and focused on the hitch in her breathing, listening only to the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear.
When she woke that morning, he hadn’t left like usual. He wasn’t sleeping either, which surprised her some. And he looked at her, for what seemed like the first time in ages.
“Coffee?” he asked her, lifting a brow.
She nodded mutely.
“Two sugars, one cream,” he recalled, not bothering to look back and see if he was right.
“Three sugars, no cream,” she murmured to herself, knowing his order just as well.
When he came back, she glanced down at the green leather pants he was still wearing. He’d taken to removing his own vest and distorter before joining her these days.
As he passed her mug to her, she jutted her chin out, “Those can’t be comfortable.”
He looked down and then shrugged. “You get used to them.”
She snorted into her coffee before taking in a long swig. “Somehow I doubt it.”
A smile cracked his mouth. “So you’re nixing leather on your team outfit?”
Startled, she looked up. “I’m still on the team?”
His humor faded. “We’ve all made mistakes… Can’t stand to lose any allies though, especially those as loyal as you.”
Her gaze fell, staring at the blanket thoughtfully. “Leather doesn’t breathe well,” she finally said and felt a sense of relief flood her.
“And here I was thinking a red cat suit was so you,” he cracked lightly.
Shaking her head, she leaned back against the headboard. “Obviously you’re sleep deprived.”
Chuckling, he sat down on the edge of the bed, no longer the morose figure he’d once been. “Actually, lately, I’ve been sleeping better than ever.”
“All right, we’ll chalk it up to insanity then.”
He nodded with an easy shrug. “Not the first insanity accusation I’ve heard.”
“Repetition is telling.”
“True.” Running a hand through his bed ruffled hair, he looked over at her from atop his shoulder. “Think I should check myself into Belle Reve?”
“That would only mean I’d have to come up with some elaborate plan to get you out. Please, spare me the work,” she replied, finding her mouth curving. She hadn’t felt this at ease in too long.
“Without the cat suit, you have no disguise,” he reminded.
She quirked a brow, resting her mug on her lap. “And since when has all black gone out of fashion in the breaking and entering realm?”
He rolled his eyes. “No self-respecting hero would sink so low.”
Shaking her head, she smirked smugly, “I’m the sidekick, remember? I can wear what I want.”
“Unfortunately for you, this team has a strict rule on uniforms,” he replied just as smartly.
Her mouth dropped open and a short laugh escaped. “Bart wears a hoodie and jeans!”
“That’s as close to covert as I could get him,” he replied with a shrug. “And you’ll notice neither are black.”
Her brow furrowed comically. “So what, I change the color on my retro burglar outfit, and I’m okay?”
“No, still too lame.” Leaning back, he grinned. “What’s your opinion on nylon?”
With a short chuckle of amusement, she tossed a pillow at his head in answer.
Catching it easily, he stuffed it under his side to lean more comfortably. “All right, we’ll work on the outfit, but in all seriousness, I would like to have you back at the watchtower, doing what you do best…”
Smile fading, she chewed her lip. She couldn’t remember leaving her apartment for anything more than a few vital groceries and the newspaper.
“There’s no rush, but… I wanted you to know you’re still welcome… That you always will be.” He stared up at her searchingly, brown eyes sincere and caring.
Nodding, she turned her gaze back down to her coffee. “I’ll see what my schedule says and get back to you,” she told him lightly.
“Good.” Climbing off the bed, he reached down to grab his distorter and vest. “Think if I go out now, people will just think I’m a weirdo with a fetish for Halloween?”
Rolling her eyes, she pointed to a closet behind him. “I think I have some clothes in there that’ll fit you. You’re too big for anything of Jimmy’s, but after a few late-night pow-wow’s with Clark, often resulting in him staying entirely too long and camping out on my couch, things get left behind.”
Nodding, he perused the closet to find an old pair of sweatpants and a sweater. “Covert enough to get back?” he asked, holding them up.
“They’re not black, but I think they’ll pass.”
With a nod, he walked toward the door. “You need anything…” he called to her.
“I know.”
He turned a smile in her direction before visiting the bathroom to change and using the front door to exit.
For the first time in several weeks, she felt ready to face the world.
He didn’t stop visiting.
Except now, whether conversation came from either part or not, they wound up lying close together. Her head found his chest and his hand stroked her hair absently. And before she fell asleep, she felt him kiss her forehead tenderly. He stopped disappearing before she woke and one day there was a duffel bag on her floor, so he had something to change into come the morning. He never unpacked, but he was always there, always present for every big and small event to come.
He stayed in the room with her as moral support when she decided it was time to pack up all of Jimmy’s things. He held her as she cried when the police announced the search for Lois was officially called to an end. He supported her when she gave the reigns to ISIS over to someone who would give the foundation the care and attention it needed. And every night, he held her and listened to her and never let her fall into the depths of loneliness always ready to creep in.
She didn’t know how to thank him, but then, she was pretty sure they were supporting each other equally. When he fell, she picked him back up, when he needed to talk, she listened, when he questioned himself, she was there to talk sense into him. And the weight of life shifted, now balanced comfortably between them rather than on top of either of them. She felt refreshed and appreciative and eventually, as if the world was no longer trying to crush her.
[ Next: Part II.]