'Ending Fit For A Sidekick'
1/1
In a world as theirs, happy endings were certainly few. And, as she settled her eyes on the object in the palm of her hand, placed there with such assurance, she could not help wonder if hers was a life meant with a happy ending.
The princesses in all those Disney movies seemed to get one, but she highly doubted fortune of their calibre extended to real life. Yeah, she was blonde enough, but she didn't have a whole bunch of hair like Repunzel, and her voice, hardly sweet at 31, wasn't going to swoon over any prince charming. Not that a whole bunch of hair held a candle to her own assets.
But Chloe Sullivan looked the princess. Standing on the balcony, wind flirting with the curls of her shoulder-length hair, tasteful jewellery twinkling in the light, red dress eliciting looks of approval from everyone, and by him. . . well, other princesses certainly had gone with less.
Now, attention back to the object in her hand, she didn't know what to think. What did this mean? Was he asking for more? Hadn't he already known, the matter having been alluded to by hers truly countless times, that she, Chloe Sullivan did not know how to do relationships successfully? She did not want this particular disposition of hers to make an enemy of him. She respected him, she was thankful, he'd been amazing, she. . .But this was different, this didn't make any sense. And if she allowed herself to remember, this was eerily familiar.
Tearing her eyes away from the object that continued to sit unmoved in her hand, she glanced up at him with what she hoped was a look of calm, honest confusion and not a whole heap of panic.
"A key?" She questioned, with a quirk of a brow. "But I –"
Just as she hope to clear the air, very suffocating air in her opinion, his eyes and smile shifted in a different direction. She followed his eyes, trying to distinguish what else at this very moment could possibly claim his interest more.
A slight chuckle from his lips, and her confusion now bordered what was becoming dangerous Chloe frustration.
"Well, that's very interesting." He said. Immediately he started, feat quickly, sophisticatedly scrambling to leave the balcony.
As the space widened between him and Chloe, she could hear him add, "Very interesting, indeed."
She tightened her fist around the object and let it fall to her side, her other hand grasping the rail slightly, her back against the cold glass. She watched, with curiosity, as he weaved through the many faces, never quite colliding with anybody, and how could he? He was the host, no matter how rich the rest of them were, he'd taken the cake and it seemed for every breath he bestowed them, he'd gotten twice as many compliments and bows. It seemed somewhat ironic that they, like everyone else, seemed only at ease to throw fear and hate in his alter ego's face, when they had nothing but kind words and reserved judgement for him. . . the same bloody man.
He gradually came to a stop, his large smile giving way for a kind of quite understanding and reverence, and as he claimed a random man's hand in his own, her own tightened around the railing with a strength that until this moment was alien to her.
She gasped at once in a sort of dramatic, theatrical way she'd never done before in her life, teeth claiming her bottom lip fiercely, her already wide eyes about to twitch from awe. Her knees threatened to buckle, the pulse in her throat racing a mile and her stomach was stunned with a case of some very mean butterflies, that it felt her belly was being sliced in half. Emotions and feelings of delight, sickness, complete and utter bliss, repulsion, fear...Everything. She felt it all.
She swallowed, and tried to breathe, and with the aid of the only remaining saneness in her entire being she understood one thing; no man could ever make her feel the way that this familiar face did. He did then, and he undoubtedly did now. Even after all this time, even after she had gained the ability to associate him with the most perfect indifference. Well, that clearly didn't last. It's funny, you can forget about someone you love, their name would no longer condition any fervent emotion, you could even talk freely about them, but when you see them in person, what the hell happens? It all comes crashing down, and you feel like you've lost, because you want to be held again. Stupid, splendid love.
She wanted to cry. To hide. To kiss him. She'd need to do something.
She pushed against the glass on the railing, hoping it would conveniently swallow her, but alas it was to no avail.
It didn't make any sense, she concluded. How could she, after all this time, still feel as intense and identical an emotion as the one from their time together? To lose all sense, Chloe never did, and right now she could have fooled the world.
The two figures, her acquaintance tonight and that lovely, familiar face of a man, laughed, chatted, one looking absolutely grave for a split second, and just as she was preparing herself emotionally, physically, the whole nine yards, for the worst, the two men parted.
The familiar face retreated into the crowd, and her acquaintance, seemingly chuckling in actual delight without the restraint of his usual dark manner, made his way back to his stunned, albeit relieved date.
The key in her hand was now the least of her problems, and if she were being honest, she'd very much enjoy discussing it, rather than having to face the past. And, indeed him.
They called it a past for a reason; a point in time everyone hated, and pretended to forget. She really liked the false reassurance.
His chuckle subsided into a warm smile, and his shock at seeing his friend now settled on his furrowed brows.
"Oliver Queen, who would have thought?" He quipped, settling beside her. "Why, this is his first appearance at one of these damned things in such a long time. But then I believe rebuilding one's fortune does take up time. Not that I'd know."She stood in the same position, slight uncertainty on her pretty face from what he could observe, but dedicating her stance no further thought, he resigned to watch the crowd just as she did.
"Bruce," she murmured. "What did Mr. Queen say?" About what? Her?
Bruce Wayne frowned slightly at the bluntness of her question, and after a moment, "Oh the usual. That man always has a new insult ready, I can tell you that."And another chuckle. "But it is good to see him."
A nod of her head, then silence. "He's gone over to speak to one of the guests, but he said he'll be with us shortly."
"He's coming back?"
"Yes, something about having to see you."
Say again? A heartbeat skipped, as expected in a most horrid situation as this. She pressed her lips together, eyes darting from person to person, trying to make him out desperately. She felt sick at the thought of seeing him tonight, but found herself searching the crowd urgently, dissecting every face for his familiar features. He wanted to see her? But, why? And, most importantly, why was Bruce so calm about it? Granted, she had wanted to see him again on many occasions but such daydreams now seemed far easier to handle. She had loved him dearly, and she knew that somehow he loved her even more, violently. And if it had hurt her, their separation, well she didn't want to think about what it was like for him. They'd settled on being strangers – it was easier, and far more probable. With his life, with hers... A frown and a sad smile later, she decided that lamenting would have to be placed on hold. There were far more pressing matters. Like him wanting to see her!
She feared Bruce would ask her questions she didn't want to answer, and instead she ached to hear more about Oliver.
"He said he's seen a change in me. Apparently I'm not as tall, dark and brooding, as I used to be. He wanted to meet the woman responsible."
Relief! She exhaled, "Oh."And a little something else, disappointment?
"I swear a girl has to have changed him once, he never used to say such things in our entire acquaintance."
"Dinah Lance." she offered, blunt as she could put it.
"I don't know about that. . ."
If only Bruce knew. Oliver had long ago told her that she'd been solely responsible for his becoming the man he was, and she had finally allowed herself acceptance of such claims in her and Oliver's last few months of love, having before believed that it was all him. She was glad. Proud. He deserved peace, happiness. And she realised long ago also, with what she'd heard and read of his life after his time in Metropolis and with her, that he had been happy again. He was happy now. He'd survived a lot; losing his fortune, another case of downward spiral, then he'd dragged himself back up, and regained his fortune. His business and political ambition had become considerable, and he was at his best. It was clear that what she had accomplished on his behalf, he could now do himself. A marriage, however distressing, didn't surprise her and she'd wished Dinah and him happiness. A divorce later, and Chloe felt as much sadness on the subject, as she did joy. She wasn't in the business of caring about it anymore. Their lives were their own. Plus, she had Bruce's world anyway. The hero world gave her comfort, it's the only one she knew how to live and breathe so she was thankful she was a part of it.
"Bruce," she tried a different subject. "About the key. . ."
"Chloe," Bruce uttered her name with an air of effortlessness. The admiration and respect he had for her, no matter how much she'd deny such claims, matched hers and then some. "Relax." He gave her a smile, and then replaced his eyes on the party.
All she could do was stare at him, puzzled, as she tried to pick apart this calmness of his. Why would he tell her to relax? Giving her a key to his place, to Wayne Manor, to everything in essence, did not merit any kind of calmness in her opinion. Move in with Bruce Wayne? Oh! Wouldn't Oliver Queen be jealous, it was the one thing he could never get her to do!
"Ah, he's coming." Bruce announced.
Both pairs of eyes could make out a figure approaching from the back of the spacious room, only stopping to shake a few hands flung his way, and Chloe could not help smirking. There it was, that fake smile he reserved only for these kinds of people. Bastard.
Oliver's eyes finally shifted in the direction of the balcony and he spotted his acquaintance and friend and a women, by his side, who's looks and gown rendered Bruce's fashion sense useless. She was the most stunning thing he ever saw.
A smile that bordered a smirk, and Oliver approached the couple.
Nodding to Bruce, "So, this is the lovely creature that's –" But cutting himself off, he took Chloe's hand, the one that clutched the railing for dear life, and kissed her knuckles lightly, and letting it go said, casually, "Hello."
Chloe reclaimed her hand, and all she could do was stare. Then, out of nowhere a genuine smile broke out from her lips. Ollie! He continued, unaffected, "Can I just say Bruce, I can't believe you haven't mentioned this beauty enough, man." Chuckling, then to Chloe, smirking, "I'm Oliver Queen by the way. And it's very lovely to meet you. If you were responsible for mellowing out this moron, then I sincerely. . .uh, thank you."
Punching Bruce lightly, teasingly on the shoulder, Bruce immediately became frustrated, as Oliver knew he would. God, he loved frustrating the guy.
Bruce sighed and leaned back against the railing, yes, frustrated but in ways glad to see his associate and friend.
Turning his attention back to Chloe, who continued in a silent sort of matter, or more like lost to the English language, Oliver offered, "So, does the lady have a name?"
She stared a moment longer, at his face, at his lips, at his crisp shirt and dark suit, at everything she felt the wish to touch but feared she never would, then looking quickly to Bruce, and meeting that same unruffled composure that helped her none at all, she turned back to an expectant Oliver, in seamless disbelief of what was going on, and what she was now doing. Swallowing, she replied, "Chloe Sullivan."
He smiled, and after a decided moment later, "Nice to meet you then, Chloe Sullivan."
She searched his eyes at that moment, and to her anticipation, found nothing. His brown orbs betrayed nothing, and if she looked close enough she could see her reflection. Unlike him, she was breaking.
She imparted him with a shaky smile, one that barely met her eyes. Then glancing again at Bruce, who's expression had changed slightly – was that perplexity? – She said to the both, "Will you excuse me, gentlemen. The little girl's room calls I think."
She swiftly moved past him, and Oliver turned just as quickly and, with Bruce, watched her disappear into the crowd.
Bruce and Oliver's view of her was most pleasing as she walked off, but countered that off the guests that she snaked past.
Each step she took with more haste, and she pressed her lips together, wishing those tears that threatened appearance would just fuck off. She hadn't understood any of what transpired, except for one thing. At first, she couldn't believe it. The man had somehow forgotten her, if forgetting your supposed first real love was that possible. Perhaps, she'd been too assured. Why introduce himself, otherwise, why ask for her name? But her assumptions were wrong; he knew exactly who she was. She understood one thing, and that was that smile, that smirk that he reserved for those high-class, rich bastards. He'd offered her the same sort of smile, and knowing that she perhaps was the only one that could call his bluff, he smiled even wider. She hadn't received such a smile, in their entire knowing each other. He loved her too much to ever smile like that before, to even entertain the thought was laughable. Why do it to her now? Was she really, after all that history, just another face he dreaded seeing?
Finally, she stepped into the intimate hallway, and placed herself against the wall for support. Then, swallowing, taking a calming breath, she pushed herself off and made for the bathroom.
She'd worked hard these past years and while perhaps becoming more emotionally secure and acquiring a lot more perspective, she had none of that to aid her now.
While she hadn't expected that sort of cold-shoulder greeting, she had hoped, imagined, yearned for something more. Their break-up was mutual, so why did he make her feel like it was all her fault?
But shaking away her thoughts, she hastened towards the bathroom and saw the door in her view. She pushed on, but for some reason she couldn't move another step. It was like in dreams, the not being able to move thing.
A moan escaped her, and something like a whine or sob followed. Something held her in place.
"I don't remember you ever going to one of these things with me, Chloe." a voice, Oliver's? So very cold, so indignant. "I wonder what changed."
She tried to claim back her arm, eyebrows arching in frustration, fear, and was that a little determination? Finally, he released her arm, and she immediately twirled around, greeting her worst nightmare and only dream with as bitter a pair of eyes as she could muster.
Completely and utterly at a loss, Chloe couldn't say a thing. Oh! How tonight and their last day together differed.
"But, Bruce Wayne huh?" he retorted all of a sudden, eyes dark, blaming. "Guess you really like your heroes. It's pathetic Chloe, you needing us this much. Sidekick then, Sidekick always."
Staring at him, her anger left her and hurt took its place. Her eyebrows lifted in that way they always do, and she gave him a quick nod before turning her back and taking several quick steps toward the bathroom.
Silence as she moved, so so close to the bathroom, and then she could hear him after a few seconds running and he grasped her arm a second time, albeit far more lightly.
She closed her eyes, willing the tears away, and this time finally found the courage, "Let go of me, Oliver."A simple instruction, and at the sound of her trembling voice, he immediately complied. His name tasted bitter, but familiar on her lips, and she hated how much she missed saying it.
Exhaling frantically for the millionth time since his arrival, she found she could only take a few more steps, before his hand claimed her arm a third time.
"Okay," she said, calmly and carefully. "You're gonna have to stop with the manhandling, Oliver. I know you got a killer grip, I sorta registered that the first time you decided to latch on."
And with that Chloe Sullivan found her footing again, well as much as was applicable in this situation. She was furious, and deeply hurt by his comments. She wouldn't believe he hated her, and what would be his reasoning in doing so? But his comments, as harsh as they were, had some truth to them. Never as effective as throwing the truth in one's face. But, amongst the upset and the pain and the sadness, and the yearning, she found herself smiling for a fraction of a second, on the inside though. What a big baby, the bastard, she thought.
Now well into his thirties, Oliver looked not the picture. A few lines here and there, a lot more scars, but still the same face. It had been about five, six years. Still the same face, but a stranger's too. It wasn't right of her to assume people weren't capable of changing, even if they did a complete one eighty. And with that, she understood that he wasn't exactly her Ollie anymore.
He just watched her intently. God, he knew he was a bastard. But to this day, Chloe Sullivan really was the most stunning creature that he ever saw. Hearing of her tonight, hearing about her at one of these silly events, so warmly, from no one other then Bruce Wayne, and that she was actually present. . .well, calling it a haze was a hefty understatement. He felt dizzy, thinking she left only to live a same sort of life with someone else.
Then, taking several breaths frantically, in conflict at what to do, he closed the space between them and pulled her tiny form towards his as swiftly as possible, his hands falling to either side of her cheek, and angling her face towards his own, he seized her lips in a rushed, hungry kiss. Feeling her pulling away, his hands immediately shifted, one to the back of her neck, the other around her back, in an effort to make her movements void. Her hands just as quickly went to his chest and she tried to push him off, but to no avail. Kissing her harder, and more forcefully, he couldn't quite believe the feel of her soft, such soft lips. He knew what it was like to kiss them, and when that frightful time came when he wanted to, but couldn't kiss her anymore, he still felt their effect. Granted, that need to grab her sort of occurred within the very first minute of their mutual break up but nothing like years and years of looking back, to finally do something. And, boy did he hate that word – mutual? When was anything ever really mutual?
In that moment, just as he was about to back off for fear of hurting her, he heard a moan, to his complete incredulity, and she kissed back just as roughly if not out of enjoyment then out of resentment, her mouth opening as much as humanly possible and finally giving his barging tongue full access. A few greedy swipes of their tongues, and as quickly as it happened, it was quickly over. She pushed at his chest, and finally managed to shove him away. He stumbled a step or two backwards, and then seeing her retreating again, he rushed after her.
Flushed, breathing heavily, a little sore at the places he grasped, hair in a total mess, she quickly said, "If you grab me again, I swear to God. . ."
"I just want to –"
"Actually," she said, turning back around again. "What do you want?"
She looked at his arm, somehow having extended it towards her, and registering his gesture, he let it drop to his side at once. He leaned on one leg, staring at her, shoulder shrugging, but not quite. He knew what he wanted, but. . . Then he actually smiled; so brief, and eyes, his eyes twinkled with tenderness.
"You look. . . you look incredible, Chloe." He rasped, and shook his head in disbelief. Was this really happening, was she really here? Did he really just savour those same lips he had last access to a whole painful six years ago? God. He shook his head. Had any sane person seen him, he'd be declared a fool and head case in one swift scrutiny, but a fool and head case in love. Then, like he'd been hit with a case of bipolar, he uttered, smile gone, "But why dress up for him? Chloe, you don't –"
"I didn't dress up for him, you insufferable. . ." She shook her head, at disbelief with herself and her inability, after everything he had endeavoured tonight, to insult him. "No wait, how is this any of your business? Last time I checked, we broke up six years ago!"
Actually, it's been exactly-"
"Just please! – stop talking!"
And with that, she flung her arms in the air, a dramatic act of sorts for the second time tonight, and instead of escaping to the bathroom, she moved to the nearest wall and attempting to rest against it, although finding it uncomfortable she slid down and sat on the ground, a pool of red dress around her.
A moment later, he took to doing the same, and sat down by her silently. She turned her face towards him, and then in frustration turned it away again.
She couldn't understand why they were having an argument, after such a long time. She had imagined and hoped for, had she seen him again, friendship and understanding. A mutual breakup shouldn't leave any strings attached. Ever since she returned after her little stint with The Suicide Squad, their time had been incredible. And after the I love you's were said, things were still perfectly fine. They were fine.
Staring out into the hallway without really seeing anything, he finally said, "You said you'd stay, you know."
After several moments of silence, she was almost glad he was getting on with it. And, surprised by his statement, she replied, "Your right, I did say I would stay. For a while."
Somewhere along the line this stranger, who'd lived what was an entire second life without her, and who had indeed loved again, done it all in fact. . . somewhere along the line, he decided he liked his past better.
But, it was so strange, seeing him. It felt a bit like she was outside looking in, and she feared he wasn't at all a man she knew, like he was just Oliver Queen, billionaire, the guy she read about. She was still in awe, thinking that a man like him loved her once, and she couldn't quite ever get her mind around it, even to this day. Thinking he'd forget her, well that wasn't silly, was it?
She smiled a warm, resigned smile. "We're actually having this conversation."
"Well, between my protests that day and your assurances, I don't think we quite got around to it."
"Ollie, from what I remember, it was as mutual as it got. I might have started it, but we both finished it."
"You didn't just start it, Chloe," he stressed, turning his head in her direction. "You, you ran. After all that heat on Green Arrow blew over, you –"
Turning swiftly his way, feelings finally giving way, she immediately cut him off, "I already told you that day that it wouldn't work. Your priorities changed; you were Oliver Queen again. The Green Arrow was back in full swing, you started looking after your company again. . . But we both know, I never saw that as a bad thing. I loved you back at your best. But things were fine again, and you were going to move back to Star City, and, and, I, I was scared.
It was all well and good, so easy, when you were a fugitive and the only worry we had was wether we'd get caught at Watchtower. And who was Chloe Sullivan by Oliver's side, at that point? I didn't even have Watchtower anymore, it couldn't ever be the way it was before I left, no matter how much the place drew me in. I couldn't, Ollie, I just couldn't. And I thought you had understood. You agreed. I remember, you let me go, I know you did. . ."
"Yeah, I did."
He turned his whole body towards her, and leaned his head against the wall, in thought. She pressed her lips together, blinked a time or two. His face was as sober as ever.
"I'm so sorry, Oliver."
"No, Chloe." He shook his head, giving way to reality. "The fault's my own. I shouldn't have let you go, I realised that the second we parted. And now that I think back, I don't know what I was thinking. I was so scared you were going to disappear again if I didn't comply, that it somehow seemed easier if I could just say the words myself."
Her brows knitted together, "No wonder there's never any fear living the kind of lives we live, it's stuff like this that seems to drain it all."
To her astonishment and racing heart, he claimed her small hand in his own, and traced his thumb lightly over it. The touch, simple and perhaps more intense than that kiss her lips still seemed to throb from.
She closed her eyes, and let herself get lost in the feeling. To her smiling self, she couldn't see his grave eyes, burning, blaming longing.
Oliver Queen couldn't believe it. There she was. Years later, while forgotten by many of their acquaintances, and scarcely talked about, was still the first and only women that he loved like nothing else existed. Oh he'd thought of her, in silence yes, but hers was a face and name that screamed out. When he'd gone through a second bout of downward spiral, he was able to get up, with her in mind. The fortune, dear Dinah, the drinking, the sex. He'd lived it. He was done. If he believed she could make her way into his life again, then he had warrant to hope. And, thinking if he ever got another chance, he promised to work on his jealousy. No matter how infuriating Wayne was.
He just stared at her, strangely at peace.
"I missed you, Professor."
She roused, eyebrow cocked, "Oh! Really? And that little smile on the balcony, was that you missing me then too?"
He coughed slightly, taken back, "Okay. Not my finest moment. And before I realised what I was doing, it was too late. You sorta rushed out. And I certainly didn't mean it. You know that. I'm angry and stubborn. Like a lot. But, Chloe, come on. Bruce Wayne? Not that moron, for the love of. . ."
"What's wrong with Bruce Wayne?"
"What isn't wrong with Bruce Wayne?"
"I'll have you know, working with him is very rewarding."
Shaking his head, and despising himself the second he started, "Never could live without the heroes, could you?"
Smile slightly fading, taking offence, she retorted, "I never regretted any of it and I hardly do now, Ollie. I don't care, I love the Sidekick life. I love to help. And, you know what? I don't remember you complaining."
Slowly, "No, you're right. I never did." What he'd give to have her by his side again. Clearly, he'd lost her to Wayne or at least a part of her, he considered. And that thought felt more filthy and wrong than anything else. He'd lived his life since that day, so in a funny, morbid sort of way he shouldn't have expected any less of her. The fact that he knew only so little of her new life bothered him, and offered no comfort.
"And since I've taken to being honest for whatever ridiculous reason tonight. . ." But she stopped suddenly. What was she to say? Telling him he's a bastard, screaming at him some more, then kissing him and professing her feelings, well yeah, sounded awesome on paper. But instead she shook her head, she let it rest against the wall, in quiet contemplation.
He held his breath for a second, but then seeing her resign, let it out and let them sit in silence, never quite giving her back her hand.
After several minutes, she finally broke the silence. "I read about you, you know."
He'd dreaded that. He wondered what she'd think about certain aspects of his recent life and the many mistakes made. The second he made them, he thought of the disappointment that Chloe must have felt. To save him, and then watch him eagerly fall back down again.
"I think congratulating you on certain aspects, and scorning you for others might be a little pointless now."
And wishing dearly not to dwell on that particular comment, he added, "I read about you, too."
"Oh?" She turned, a lazy, resigned smile that in fact did meet her eyes, if just a little. "Couldn't help checking up on me, huh?"
He grinned. "Gotham Gazette. The online edition. It's good to see you went back to your roots, but I don't get one thing. How did you catch Wayne's eye? Actually, I withdraw the question. Let me guess, found out his little secret?"
She pursed her lips, amused, "Yes, that. But, ever since the whole Dark Knight business, I think I was one of the few that actually wrote anything remotely kind and, in my opinion, intelligent on the subject. Guess, he wanted to meet me. And, as assured as I was, he'd done his homework as well."
"So you work for Batman?"
"And Mr. Brooding." And then she bit her lip, contemplating the start of the evening. The key.
Not wanting to discuss that moron anymore, especially when he could barely contain his feelings, he decided on a single question, a poignant, simple enough question, to answer the thousand other ones he struggled with.
"Just tell me something," he began shakily, "Are you scared now?"
Was she? So much. But. . .
3
She watched carefully as he finished a brief conversation with a guest, and then shifting, caught his eye. He offered a smile, and she returned it. She quickly closed the spaced between them and coming to his side, she offered her apologies for leaving his company so suddenly.
Just as she was about to apologize again, and enquire to the length of her absence – she could have sworn she was gone for an hour, no more - he began to search his pocket.
Confusion settled on her features, and then panic when immediately he pulled out the key and held it between them, brow raised in expectation. Oh no! She suddenly felt the emptiness of her hands, and realised the key had somehow disappeared without her even noticing its absence. To her intelligence, she had absent-mindedly left it at the balcony when she disappeared.
"Bruce –"
The man cut her off without delay, and "Didn't I tell you to relax once already tonight?" smirking, a shake of the head, "This isn't what you think, Chloe."
Fast becoming at ease, all she could do was listen. And laugh. And shake her head. Oh, she liked to jump to conclusions.
"So, you don't want a relationship?" she joked, though still in want of confirmation.
Both laughed for a moment, and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, he replied, "No. Strictly business. Oh, and this friendship thing we've got going's pretty good too, in my opinion."
God, she'd been stupid. He didn't want a relationship, and thinking about it, she didn't know why she'd jumped to such conclusions. They've never even kissed. Either way, she was glad. And, Ollie, he wasn't going to be as jealous that a different billionaire succeeded in something he never could, well back then anyway. Bruce explained that with how closely her life and job was integrated with his own, though secret to the residents of their dark, beautiful city, it was in their best interest, and convenience that she have access to his place, to everything. He didn't have a reason to distrust her and over the few years she'd known him, she'd gone from a personal assistant and watchtower type, to a dear friend. It was inevitable, really. Making best friends of superheroes, to Chloe, came with a funny kind of ease.
"And where's that fool anyway?" he added, looking around in amusement.
Chloe's eyes slightly widened, but seeing her alarm, he quickly added, "Am I going to have to tell you to relax a third time? Don't worry. That homework I did on you, it was a little more extensive than what I told you, and I guess I found some other things out. Oliver acting the way he did tonight, pretending not to know you. What the hell is wrong with that man? I'll never understand him, I think. I'll tell you something though. It took about five seconds, Chloe , before his mind was made up. That man never ran faster in his life, after a beauty too."
She raised an eyebrow, but just as quickly lowered it, not at all upset with him, for concealing his knowing . . . well, everything.
"But, please, please let me hurt him. Can you let me do that?"
A wide grin later, and she shook her head no. "Can't let you do it, Wayne. I think you might just win. And I do sort of like him. . . "
"Still?"His playful astonishment only made her laugh louder.
Then, knowing she was wasting too much time, she took the key from his hand, holding onto it tightly. She might just like having access to everything Bruce Wayne.
Slowly retracting from him, she stopped for a moment, remembering, "I might be a tad late for work tomorrow."
"Oh?"
Nodding, "Something about Chinese takeout and catching up. . . "
With that she turned, and disappeared just as quick as she came. He managed a brief chuckle, turning back to his guests.
So, where to from there princess? She mused. Well, she was starving so there was a start.
Two people finding each other again, well, it certainly wasn't impossible.
Disclaimer: Do not own Smallville. Frankly, it'd be too messy a job=)