Title: Better Than It Was
Rating: T
Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst
Pairing: Chloe/Oliver
Word Count: 500
Summary: He wasn't certain when he began to miss her.
Author's Notes: This is a ficlet I wrote in reponse to a one line prompt, "better than it was," from the linebyline community on Livejournal.
He was dressed and ready to go an hour before the mission was scheduled to begin. The hotel room was empty. He wouldn't be returning aftwards; the team was scheduled to be in Iquitos the following night to intercept a delivery of meteor rock. The jet would be fueled and waiting for them after tonight's mission. He was antsy tonight, his skin crawling. The bud in his ear was silent, no hiss of static to indicate there was anyone listening. He checked his watch and decided to leave; pacing around the room was only making him nervous.
Riding the bike was the closest he got to flying. Traveling in the corporate jet didn't compare; it was like gliding over the earth on a slow-moving sofa. On the bike, scenery zipped by in a blur while the wind roared in his ears under his helmet. The thought occurred that he had never taken her for a ride; he grinned as he imagined her small hands wrapped around his waist, her breasts pressed against his back. He decided to invite her when he saw her again. He wondered if she would say yes.
He'd been away from Metropolis for three months. He wasn't sure when he had begun to miss her. He carried a picture of her in his laptop bag. She didn't know about it; he'd confiscated it from Bart with the intention of returning the stolen photo to its owner. Bart insisted that Clark would never miss it, but Oliver had been adamant. It wasn't until he had been carrying the photo around for three weeks that he'd realized he'd coveted it for himself. He had let A.C. lead that night, his excuse being that the rest of the team needed leadership experience. They had leapt at the chance; only Dinah had narrowed her eyes in suspicion. He had refrained from speaking on comm since then, unless making a general announcement about his status or movements. She had attempted to engage him in conversation once or twice but he had cut her off, saying abruptly that he was switching to silent running.
He parked the bike in an alley several blocks away from the warehouse and used a zip-line to get to the top of a building. He waited there for the go-ahead, wishing he'd found something else to occupy his time. Waiting gave him too much time to think. Then he heard it...the hiss of static in his earbud. He held his breath, wondering if she could hear his heart thudding thousands of miles away.
"Watchtower online," she said in a clipped, professional tone. When he didn't answer, she said more softly, "I know you're there."
He closed his eyes and allowed the pleasure of hearing her voice again wash over him, the ache in his chest better than it was before she'd spoken. He didn't need this complication. She worked for him. He had dated her cousin. She was engaged.
He was screwed.