Title: Going On
Category: Smallville
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Chloe/Oliver
Warning(s): Spoilers for the season 8 finale, "Doomsday"
Word Count: 1,056
Summary: He made his choice and it was her.
Going On
1/1
She knew he was there without having to turn and see. He didn't send up a gust of wind like Clark and he didn't head straight for the fridge like Bart. There were no warning signs, really. Dinah at least showed the courtesy of knocking. He, however, appeared out of thin air; he might not have superpowers, but he'd honed what he did have to the bitter end. A picked lock seemed like nothing in the grand scheme, and really, who was she to point fingers over breaking and entering? She'd done enough of it in her time.
"I didn't expect to see you so soon," she announced, turning slowly to face him.
He nearly shrugged, started but then allowed his shoulders to simply sag. "I was at the funeral."
"Right." She smiled bitterly. "On the outskirts, wearing the infamous sunglasses. Very subtle."
His jaw tightened but he said nothing, his eyes turning away in what she was certain was shame.
"You know, of all of you, I expected you the least."
He raised his chin. "Expectations are overrated... I never expected to become the fallen hero, but..." He head shook side to side. "Here I am."
She stared at him, eyes boring into him severely. Her posture, once painfully tight, lightened now. "Are you?" she asked, lifting a brow.
Not one for backing down, he met her stare head on. "Am I what?"
"Fallen," she said simply. "Because, in my opinion, those who fall can always get back. Now those who lay down..."
He sighed, his chest deflating along with all of the rest of him. "It's not that easy." Brown eyes lowered as if he couldn't bear to look at her. His hands curled into fists and then his fingers spread out, back and forth, restless. "I... I killed... I was willing to kill again..." He swallowed tightly, his throat bobbing with the strain.
"You're not a killer, Ollie."
He looked up sharply, half angry at her for such a soft tone. There should be anger, hurt, fear, something other than understanding. "I killed, Chloe..." He frowned. "Pretty sure that makes me a killer."
Walking toward him, she kept her gaze level with his own. "That night, with Davis, you had your chance... He was right there in front of you. All you had to do was let go of the arrow..." Her head swayed side to side, tendrils of blonde brushing her cheeks. "It would've pierced him long before I reached him." Her brow furrowed. "But you know that... You knew..."
His teeth ground together. "I could've hit you in the process," he replied, voice low, deep.
Brows rising, she came to a stop a mere foot from him. "So it was me or every innocent life waiting outside... Why didn't you take the shot?"
"It was too close." His eyes darted away and then back. "I-I tried to stop you... You can't trust people. You- You and Clark, you're always choosing to believe that everybody is better than what they are. And look! Look what he did to you!" He stepped back, began pacing right before her. "All this time, he could've killed you without having the strength to help him stop. And you- you just went! You chose Clark's life over your own!" He laughed, a stuttered disjointed noise escaping his throat.
Suddenly, whirling, he was in front of her once more, his hands wrapped tight around her upper-arms. "Why? What makes his life so much more than yours?" He shook her, unable to stop himself. "What? Tell me, because I can't figure it out!" he yelled, his chest heaving.
Staring up at him, her eyes stinging, she replied, "Maybe it's the same reason you chose me... All those people, they didn't get to choose. Only you did, Ollie. And you made your choice. It was me or them. One split second to decide. Shoot, on the off chance you might hit me, or risk the lives of everyone else..." She let a tear escape, run down her cheek, drip from her chin, unceremoniously. "And you chose me."
His fingers dug into her arms before finally loosening and dragging her forward, against him, hugging her there closely. "I hope it's not. I hope our reasons aren't the same. Because mine was selfish..."
Resting her face against his chest, she sighed. "The world needs him..." Her nose wrinkled as she held back the sob that tightened her throat. "They need him and I was the only person who could make sure he was alive for them."
His arms tightened at that, his face burying in her hair. "And I need you."
She balled his shirt up under her hands. "Ollie..."
"I know..." His eyes fell shut. "It's beyond the wrong time, but... You asked."
She sniffled, unable to draw herself away from him, despite now knowing that fallen hero or not, this man that she'd laid her trust in, that she held in such high respect, had somehow, at some point, opened his heart to her enough to risk the world. She should pull away, she should remind herself that her husband wasn't even cold in his grave, but she was alone and lost and really, he was all she had left now. And whether it was wrong or not, she wanted him there, needed him to be.
She wasn't sure how long they stood there, embracing each other in silent understanding, but eventually, when the pain had receded some, he loosened his grip and leaned back enough to see her. "I want to get up," he said simply, the honesty showing in his dark eyes. He cupped her cheek, his thumb wiping away the dampness of her cheek.
Squeezing her arms around him, she nodded. "Then I'll help you."
She wasn't sure what the future held for either of them, but she knew, at least, that they had each other. And if nothing else, they could begin repairing themselves and what was left. So perhaps he'd fallen, but the hero was still present and while she wasn't anywhere near ready for what he so desired, she wouldn't turn her back on him. He would get up, she'd dust him off, and they would right all that was wrong. As long as they had each other, they could and would go on.