Title: The art of survival
Pairing: Shades of Chlark
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: Only the idea is my own. The characters belong to DC and the CW
Author's Notes: This is something quite different from me: it's a lot less 'shippy' then my other stories. I didn't mean to write it, it wrote itself really and I'm not quite sure what I make of it.
Enjoy!
"Clark, don't."
Her small hands tighten around his, trying to push him away but he ignores her indignant attempts at swatting him away and forces her sweatshirt up, gasping in horror, at the dark and mottled purple skin that's revealed.
His stomach lurches and swallowing the bile in his mouth, he drops the sweatshirt, watching in disbelief as she pulls it down over her stomach, until she's covered again. Her wide eyes, when she looks at him are closed-off and wary.
"Chloe?"
She scrapes her hair off her face and looks at him in silence for a few minutes. Her heart beating wildly in his ears, calms and slows to a steady rhythm just as her eyes clear and he knows that she's made the decision to tell him the truth.
No more furtive limping when she thinks he's not watching. No more gasps of pain quickly disguised as bursts of laughter or fits of coughs. No more long sleeved sweatshirts and the pretence of shivering in her sweltering apartment.
He lets her take his hand and walk him to the sofa. She waits until he's sat down before turning to him again and for a split second he's not sure if he wants the truth.
"Punch me."
She hesitates, feeling awkward, but the sardonic lift of one eyebrow and the glaring disappointment in his eyes, have her lifting her arm and throwing all her weight in to the jab only for him to catch her fist easily in the palm of his hand.
She feels the impact all the way up her arm and pain explodes in her shoulder. She grits her teeth to stop herself crying out. When he lets go of her fist, her hand is numb.
If he sees her flexing he hand, he doesn't show it. When he looks at her, his gaze is thoughtful. "Today, I'll teach you the basic moves. Tomorrow we'll put them to practice."
He throws her a pair of boxing gloves. "The gloves are only for today."
"You're a fan of bare knuckles fighting." She jokes.
He doesn't laugh. "Hand to hand combat. It's the only way to fight."
He circles her slowly and she feels the small hairs on the back of her neck stand. "Are you a fast learner Miss Sullivan?"
"Well, I'm not slow."
"Good."
The splintering of the wood is oddly satisfying. The faces of Oliver and Victor as he crashes through the door, even more so because they knew the truth and hid it from him.
He bypasses his friends, ignoring them completely, heading for the dark haired man on the other side of the room. With the first blow, he knocks him clean off his feet, the second meets empty air and the whistling sound as his arm slices the air is oddly jarring.
Before he can clear his head, Chloe is there, hands on his chest, eyes sparking gold with fury. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I should be asking him that." He spits.
Bruce Wayne grimaces as he touches a tentative hand to the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. "I see you told him." He says to Chloe.
Clark tenses, muscles becoming rigid, almost aching with the effort to keep still. He's surrounded by Oliver and Victor now, as well as Chloe, and they all share cagy glances.
"I won't go easy on her. After all, no one else will."
Bruce's words drop heavily into the silence and there's a collective gasp of air as everyone waits for his reaction but the look in Chloe's eyes stills his tongue and shrugging her off, he stalks out of the room. He runs until Star City is just a blur behind him. He doesn't stop until the only sound is the pounding of the blood in his ears.
"You're not concentrating, Chloe." He twists her arm behind her back and brings her close. "Clear your mind." He whispers into her ear.
"It is clear."
"Are you sure the shadow of a certain farm by isn't lingering?"
She sighs and he lets go of her, gesturing to the long bench along one side of the room. He waits until she's sat down before joining her.
"He wants to protect you but he can't. You're the only one who can do that."
She scuffs her feet. "I know."
"I told you what it would be like Chloe. I told you to find someone else if you expected an easy ride."
"I didn't." She stands up again. "I don't."
"Your choices sometimes fell flat with me." Chloe's gaze is intense. "Quite a few times, in fact, but I still supported you."
He throws the bale of hay over his shoulder. This is different, he wants to say but he knows she wouldn't agree. "You want me to sit back and watch you being beaten black and blue?"
"No. I want you to try and understand," She leans against the barn wall. "And for the record the black and blue thing happens a lot less often now. I winded Bruce yesterday and that's particularly unheard of."
The pride in her voice is unmistakeable but he can't share it, not when his mind is clouded by rage and confusion. "What the hell does Wayne think he's doing?"
"Teaching. He's teaching me how to survive."
Images of her battered and bruised skin flash through his mind. "Why are you putting yourself through this, Chloe?"
She shakes her head in frustration. "Didn't you just hear what I said?"
"There's no need…"
"Yes." She says with steely determination. "Yes there is. Lex has already had me in a lab twice. Next time he tries, I want to give him one hell of a shock."
"But…"
"Clark, I can live with a couple of bruises, considering the alternative."
"And it has to be Wayne, does it? He's the most dangerous man on the team, can't you find someone else?"
"He's the only one brave enough."
He scoffs.
"Well, he is. Vic and Ollie treated me with kids gloves. Lex's goons won't be so considerate."
He feels himself deflate. "When did it become about surviving instead of living, Chloe?"
She shakes her silently and he wants to turn the clock back to a time when her biggest concern was the layout of the 'The Torch' and when the pursuit of truth and justice had been accompanied by belly laughs and midnight stake outs complete with junk food and Pete's incessant complaints about the date he had given up.
She blinks in surprise to find him waiting for her after her session with Bruce. He's holding a paper bag and two coffee's and the smile on his face is tentative.
"Clark, what are you doing here?"
He holds up the bag "Coffee break."
She laughs delightedly, relieved that their pseudo stand off is at an end and holds up a finger. "A shower and a change of clothes and I'm all yours." Her choice of words has her grimacing but she shrugs it off. There's no reason to feel awkward but she does anyway.
They take their coffees to the rooftop, perching on empty storage containers as they talk. He looks tired and she point it out to him.
"Nothing's been the same since you rescued me from the Fortress of Solitude." He looks straight ahead and her heart twists for him. "Lana found it easier to live with a man who shared my face and none of my values and you're pulling away, trusting a man who's vision of the world is dark and bleak."
"That's not true." Her words are indignant.
He laughs wryly. "Which part?"
She takes a sip of her coffee, making the conscious decision to side step the minefield that is his relationship with Lana. "Bruce is a realist. He doesn't paint the world in dark hues but he recognises that darkness exists and fights it."
"Maybe."
"And you're wrong. I don't trust anyone as much as I trust you."
His smile is bitter. "Why? Why do you trust me Chloe?"
"Because you never let me down."
"Don't I?"
And for the first time she recognises his pain at having hurt her in the past and her smile wobbles. He's looking at her steadily, waiting for her reply and she reaches over, pulling him into a hug. His arms wrap around her instantly and he buries his face into her hair. "No, Clark" She whispers into his ear. "No."
When she moves to pull back, he doesn't let her go and she gives in, resting her head against his chest. The steady beating of his heart is relaxing and she closes her eyes, losing herself in the moment.
Clark's annoyed to feel a grudging respect for Bruce Wayne amidst the latest JL victory. After all, it would have been impossible without him.
"Hey!"
Chloe snaps a finger in front of his face and he shakes himself out of his trance, taking the bottle of soft drink she hands him.
"He's not too bad, is he?" She tilts her head towards Bruce, whom Bart and AC are trying to get drunk. AC doesn't think it's possible. Bart wants to prove him wrong.
He looks at her and he's not surprised that she knows what he's thinking. It's always been unnerving the way she's been able to tap into his thoughts. Unnerving and slightly annoying, especially when she's looking at him with a triumphant grin.
"He's not as bad as I thought." He concedes. " I still don't agree with his methods."
"I know." She quips. "And then there's you innate distrust of suave billionaires who proclaim to want to save the world." She nods her head. "Totally understandable, of course but maybe you're not different as you'd like to believe."
He grins mischievously. "The guy dresses up as a giant bat."
Chloe laughs loudly before clapping a hand over her mouth. "I wouldn't speak too soon. You've yet to pick out a Lycra themed outfit."
"I've told you Chloe. I'm not going to hide behind a disguise."
"Uh-huh!"
"I'm not."
"Whatever you say." She's grinning as she scans the room quickly. "Lana not here?"
He shakes his head and he can feel his mood darkening. "She's at Nell's. She said she wasn't in the mood for a party.
"Oh, Clark!"
Her sympathy brings a lump to his throat and he wants to tell her everything. How his dreams of a life with Lana are crumbling before him. How they tiptoe around each, walking on eggshells, desperate not to let the cracks show, losing themselves in the process.
"Clark?"
She rubs his arm gently and he covers her hand with his own wondering at the twists of fate that have led to Chloe standing at his side, fighting with him, both personal demons and those that threaten the world. For so long he had convinced himself that it was that way only because Chloe knew the truth and Lana didn't.
He doesn't have that excuse to fall back on anymore and the knowledge is sobering. He looks down into her concerned face, at the golden hair, falling in soft waves around her face, and wonders how everything can change and yet remain the same at the same time.
"Maybe everything hasn't changed. Maybe you have."
He's taken aback, unaware that he'd spoken the words out loud.
"Maybe you're right."
She smiles softly. "I usually am." She loops her arm though his and her voice is lighter when she speaks. "Come on, I want to know if Bruce really can get drunk."
He lets her lead the way, comfortable with her arm entwined with his and the rhythm of her steps beside his own.
Liked it? Loathed it? I'd love to know.