There were certain things a girl learned after a while. There were ways to protect yourself, ways to protect the people you cared about. There were ways to keep going. There were ways to keep your head above the water. There were certain measures that had to be taken to ensure that you kept going and that your heart couldn't be broken. There were things that had to be done, rules that had to be followed.
Rule Number One: Always keep the secret.
From someone's middle school crush to their alien origins, it doesn't matter what it is. If you know something about someone that they don't want anyone else to know (sometimes that they didn't even want you to know) you learn to swallow the truth and bury it deep so that it never slips to the surface. Secrets must be kept. Keeping secrets saves lives. Keep--your--mouth--shut.
Rule Number Two: When your best friend tells you he doesn't like someone you're spending time with, you will listen.
No, it doesn't matter that it's the first guy to show romantic interest in you in over a year or that you haven't been kissed in an even longer amount of time. No, it doesn't matter that you're furious at your best friend for the millionth stupid thing he or she has done to you. Your best friend will inevitably be right and will have to rescue you from the homicidal maniac you found yourself so unfortunately attracted to.
Rule Number Three: Never trust the quiet ones.
Do not tease, mock, or provoke the alleged "quiet ones" in any way. Do not make friends with them. Do not approach them. Avoid them by any means possible because somehow they will become endowed with superhuman powers and will either turn on you, in which case you will need rescuing, or they will suddenly decide that you will be the one person they don't want to kill...and you will still need rescuing.
Rule Number Four: If it is alien in origin, stay far, far away.
Upon discovering that your best friend is, as he likes to refer to it, "and intergalactic traveler," your world will suddenly explode and become a galaxy...several galaxies, actually. At this point in time, you must make the very clear, conscious decision to never touch, taste, wear, own, or stand in the same room as anything that you recognize as having alien origins. Even when your alien friend tells you it is all right, be wary. This ranges from the meteor rock necklace your friend is wearing and the meteor rock class rings your high school passed out to the alien computer you are going to hack with the alien intelligence you should not have.
Rule Number Five: Keep--your--head--down.
Do not draw attention to yourself. Do not make new friends. Do not flirt. Do not try to be the smartest or the prettiest or the best in any way. Doing this catches people's attention. Some of them will try to kill you. More frightening, some of them will like or love you and you will like them back. You may even love them as well. And then you will lose them. And you will hurt. You will ache. You will feel the kind of loneliness that no one should ever know. Your pain will be indescribable as you watch them walk away one by one. Some will go unwillingly, many will not. So no, do not make friends with the friendly, bright girl your friend is in love with. No, do not try to 'save' the troubled soul who seems so kind and caring. No, do not kiss the adorable bow-tie-type who is interning with you this summer.
Rule Number Six: Start carrying a weapon.
The moment you are legally allowed to do so. Period. Actually, if you can get your hands one one (discreetly) before you are legal, do not hesitate to do so. Once you have your weapon of choice, learn how to use it. If possible, become an expert (bearing in mind that yes, this will infringe on #5). Hand-to-hand combat skills are also extremely valuable.
Rule Number Seven: Always run.
When you see your golden opportunity, run. Run as far away as you can get. When you are kidnapped, go out fighting. When you are trapped, do not stop beating at the bars of your cage even when your knuckles begin to bleed. When you are cornered, bite, scratch, and claw the person or thing that has you backed against that wall. Run away.
Rule Number Eight: Do not fall.
Do not fall down. Do not have a falling out. Do not fall in love. Very simple. If it involves falling in anyway, simply do not do it. Falling down makes it easier for the murderer/monster to catch you. Falling outs mean that you and your best friend will be strained and he will be so removed from your life that he will almost not make it there in time when someone is about to kill you. The less time you spend buried alive, the better. Falling in love means having a weakness and eventually getting hurt.
Rule Number Nine: Become a fortress.
Yes, like the one you saw in the arctic made of ice. Visualize that fortress and concentrate on it until you become it. Letting people in means getting hurt. When you feel the fortress being torn down, close your eyes, hold your breath, and focus everything you have entirely on rebuilding it.
Yes, this was the list of vital rules Chloe had slowly assembled over the years which had brought her nothing but heartache, emptiness, loneliness, and loss. After realizing that she had gotten accustomed to pain and death threats and coming in second place, the first couple of rules had formulated. Since leaving high school they had become increasingly vital to her survival. She wondered when they had become so bitter-sounding.
Maybe it was the day Jimmy had told her that marrying her was the biggest mistake of his life. Or perhaps the day that Clark had walked away from her and all things human, only to suddenly decide that her cousin was worth making the exception for. It might have been earlier than that. It might have been watching all of her friends from high school slowly be driven away because they couldn't handle being part of such a huge universe. They wanted to keep their lives limited to earth. She had been the only one to stick it out, and this is where it had landed her: alone, behind a computer screen.
She sighed. "Damn him."
No, not Jimmy. Not Clark. Not any of the people directly responsible for the person she had become. This was about the person who had somehow started forcing her to break the rules.
Oliver.
She swore again, just at the thought of him. She didn't know how he'd done it, gotten her to open up, let him in. He'd managed somehow, though. She blamed vulnerability, mostly. He'd just happened to be there at the exact moment that she was weak, the exact moment she thought she couldn't keep it up anymore, that she needed someone.
She'd like to blame alcohol, but she'd barely taken one sip of the blasted whiskey that night.
Maybe she should just blame magic. If it hadn't been for Zatanna's father and that stupid hexed comic book, she wouldn't have been vulnerable in the first place.
Whatever the reason, though, Oliver had gotten past her defenses and broken in--something that was more or less second nature to him, when she thought about it--and she'd let herself trust, care...maybe even love, all things she'd forbidden herself to do.
And then he'd proven her right, proven that her rules were meant to be followed.
She thought about letting herself break down and cry, wanted to terribly, but she didn't let herself. That suddenly became Rule Number Ten. Don't cry. It just makes you feel weak.
Why? Why had she done it? Why had she let herself...she couldn't even think it. She wanted to hate him, hate him for hurting her, for making her feel worthless and horrible. She knew she sometimes went over the edge, often because she was trying so hard to adhere to the rules, and sometimes going over the edge meant crossing lines without realizing it. She regretted it, but surely he should have known her well enough by then to understand that she never did anything for money. That was so far from being like her...it was just the most insulting thing anyone had ever said to her. And that covered a long, varied list.
But as if that hadn't been awful enough, he'd poured salt into an open wound by making her feel used, castoff, wretched. She had never in her life felt so tawdry and cheap, and he had done that. He had made her feel that way.
A few tears finally burst forth and she cursed. There went a brand new rule right out the window thanks to him, she thought bitterly, sinking to the floor and hugging her knees.
And then he showed up.
Fan-friggin'-tastic. She almost laughed hysterically at the idea that he had once again managed to appear at the worst possible moment. She hated being vulnerable.
When Oliver entered Watchtower, his heart nearly stopped. There were certain things he'd never in his life expected to see, and Chloe Sullivan on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, sobbing openly was definitely one of them.
"Chloe! Are you all right? What happened?" he looked around wildly, half-expecting to see some sign that she'd been physically injured. He saw nothing, no sign that anyone had been there other than her for hours. He dropped to his knees beside her and pulled her to his chest. "Chloe, what's wrong?" he asked rubbing her back soothingly. Her muscles tensed at his touch.
"Leave me alone."
"Yeah right," he rolled his eyes. "What's wrong?" he repeated.
"I hate you."
Oliver's heart clenched. He'd been afraid he'd hurt her feelings the other day, but he'd never expected this.
"Chloe, don't say that. I didn't mean it. Any of it."
"Shut up. I don't care. You still said it."
"I was angry."
"You think I don't get angry?"
"Actually, I think you don't. I think you hold in your feelings for several weeks until you internally combust and I find you on the floor crying, but this is a new discovery. I could be wrong," he joked weakly.
She spared a moment to glower heavily at him.
"Sorry."
"You're sick, you know that?"
"I see this going nowhere good for me."
"Well, I'll give you one thing, Queen. Your instincts never fail you."
"Chloe, I'm really, truly, honestly sorry. I'll say it a million times if you promise you'll forgive me before a million and one."
She scoffed.
"I'm serious, Sidekick," he said, hoping maybe the term of endearment would cheer her slightly, or at least make him seem like less of a villain.
"You know, I got over this a long time ago."
He wasn't sure what that meant. "I--"
"I mean, really!" she said, her voice suddenly growing in volume. "Doesn't anyone ever get tired of the same old plot? How many times can you watch a guy break a girl's heart before the story gets worn out?" she demanded.
Oliver became deadly still. Break a what? What had she just said? "Chloe?" His own voice sounded strangely removed from him.
He'd rushed her; he knew that. They'd gone from first kiss to sleeping together in a matter of moments and there was no real excuse for that except for pent up feelings that had been waiting to be set free for longer than he cared to admit. So he'd pretended it was casual, that it was light and unimportant because it didn't matter how badly he needed her, she needed and deserved to figure things out in her own time.
Based on her words, this, apparently, had been a poor choice.
"Chloe," he repeated.
"What?" she asked tersely.
"I didn't know I was capable of breaking your heart."
"Well, you're an idiot," she said sarcastically, and he realized the only reason she hadn't broken free of his hold on her was that she was too exhausted to do so. She was sitting there hoping he'd eventually give up and go away.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"No," he said firmly, "I'm not."
"Yes," she mimicked him, "you are."
He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Fine. I'm an idiot, but I really didn't know I would hurt you this badly when I said those things."
She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her to the chase.
"Not that there's any excuse for hurting you in the first place."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Or for not being aware that I could do so." He determined that defending himself was not going to help this situation any. He was going to say anything, whatever she needed to hear if it would make her feel better.
"Thank you. Apology accepted. Now go away."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "And if I refuse?"
"What do I care if you feel like wasting your time? Though one would think that you would have better things to do."
He chuckled darkly, drawing his arms away from her and rocking back onto his heels. "I cannot imagine anything that could possibly be a more valuable use of my time than being with you."
He tallied a point for himself when he saw her head tilt involuntarily toward him. Apparently, that had been a good thing to say.
"I further cannot imagine," he continued, "anyone I would rather be with. As a matter of fact, you have become such a pleasant distraction that I frequently consider kidnapping you and spending all of my time with you."
She turned to him and raised an eyebrow. With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself off the floor and walked away from him. He watched her do so, not sure whether to follow or not until she rounded on him and said a single word: "Distraction?"
Ah. Point lost then.
He rose. "Focus," he corrected.
She rolled her eyes dramatically and went to get a glass of water.
"You don't believe me," he teased lightly, following after her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, and pinning her own arms to her sides in the process.
"Why should I?" she asked wearily.
He was quiet for a moment, planting a kiss on top of her head. "Because it's true."
"Yes. Thank you. That's was very convincing," she snapped, trying to wriggle free of his hold.
"Chloe," he said warily, "I'm serious. If you didn't know that I care about you more than anyone else in my life, then I have failed you miserably."
She stilled.
"I do," he confirmed for her, knowing she was questioning what he'd just said. "I swear I do, Sidekick. We have pretty much reached the point where I am incapable of tying my shoes without you."
She said nothing, waiting quietly, and he could tell she was holding her breath. With Chloe, that meant that she was attempting to rebuild walls that had momentarily been rendered useless. He had a very short amount of time before she would shut him out completely.
The irritating voice that kept flashing into his mind for the past couple of months once again made itself heard.
You don't want anyone to know how important they are to you, so you act like a jackass.
He heaved a sigh. Okay. Headfirst.
"Chloe, I love you."
Deafening silence.
With great effort he forced himself to speak again. "And I don't just mean that I care about you or that you're important to me. I mean I'm completely, blindly, helplessly--even a little bit pathetically--in love with you."
The only sound he heard was her catching her breath.
He hoped, prayed that that was a good thing.
He felt her trying to turn to face him, and he loosened his hold. Her eyes found his, and he saw that she was still crying. Anxiously, he raised a hand to rub the tear stains from her face.
She pushed his hand away dismissively. "Don't do that."
His throat tightened. "Sorry," he lowered his hand.
She rolled her eyes. "Not that. The other thing."
He stared at her, confused. "What?"
She sighed. "Breaking the rules," she said, and her arms flew around his neck, her lips meeting his so suddenly it caught him off guard. Within a moment, though, he was kissing her back as hard as he could. He was confused, not even sure if this meant he was forgiven or not.
"What does that mean?" he managed to breathe into her mouth.
Her lips left his as she dropped her head back and closed her eyes, apparently thinking her answer through. Then, looking him in the eyes, she said with a hint of resignation, "Probably that you're good for me."