Rating: T
Ship: Chloe/Oliver, side Clark/Lois
Genre: Romance/Angst/Tragedy
Warning(s): Character deaths
Summary: Even in death he loved her too much to let her go.
Living For Her
1/1
"Death ends a life, not a relationship." - Robert Benchley
Oliver stared down at the gold band around his left ring finger, a ridiculously large grin on his face. Three and a half years they'd been together and they suddenly packed up and took his jet to Las Vegas for a quickie wedding. He'd never felt better than he did in that moment. He remembered what brought it on, despite the fact that it all seemed to happen in a blink of the eye. They'd been in bed at their Metropolis apartment, the morning sun peeking through the window, reminding them another day had begun and they would have to participate eventually. But they were enjoying their languid time together as much as they could…
She looked so beautiful, laid out beside him, her hair mussed and her cheeks flushed with morning. She stared up at him with penetrating green eyes, another reason for him to love the color. Her skin was an alabaster white, soft beneath his fingertips and his mouth. She smiled as he trailed his hand down her shoulder and across her collar, fingers dipping lower, tracing the curves of her breasts. She giggled softly as he tickled her skin and he grinned before leaning down to kiss her stomach, nose nuzzling her lightly as he journeyed higher, tasting the roundness of her hips, the ticklish area of her ribs, the soft-firmness of her breasts, the curve of her neck, down the slope of her arm, the inside of her wrist, the lines of her palm, the tips of her fingers. Her hand delved into his hair, running it through her fingers as he laid his ear down on her stomach, smiling up at her contently.
"What do you want out of life?" he asked her, his voice low and husky still with the early day.
"What I want?" she replied, her brow furrowing.
"Yeah. Dreams, aspirations, anything. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you." His fingers drummed over her ribs as he sat waiting for her response.
"Some things can't be given," she reminded, shaking her head.
"Like what?"
"Like experiences." She shook her head, grinning. "I'd like to…" She laughed, shrugging, "Feel the air beneath me as I hand glide or- or the rocks beneath my fingers as I climb a mountain. I- I want to swim in the bluest ocean and see the most beautiful cities. I want to write about them, live in them, breathe their air!" she told him dreamily. "I'd like to backpack all over Europe, sleeping in hostels or just under the stars in a tent. I want to experience life to the fullest. Without the darkness and the crime and the death threats." She sighed, smiling. "I want to get married one day and have children. I want to know what it feels like to be a mom and watch as my children grow and learn and live their lives to the fullest. Preferably without the same difficulties I had; meteor freaks included. And… And I want to lay here with you for the rest of the day, no interruptions and no clothes," she said, grinning.
He smiled softly. "I can give you some of that."
"Yeah? So we'll turn the phones off?" she asked, eyes widening with excitement.
He laughed, nodding. "And I can do you one better." He rolled to a sitting position, straddling her waist and leaning forward so his mouth was just inches from hers, their hands entwined on the pillows on either side of her head. She smiled up at him, her eyes glittering with amusement. "Marry me?"
Her expression became shocked then, wide eyed and slack jawed. "W-What?"
He nodded. "Marry me. Now, tonight, wherever you want. We'll go to Europe if you'd like. Just… Just say yes."
"Ollie this is… This is so sudden," she said, shaking her head slightly.
"Everything about is sudden, Chloe. Our whole lives are one sudden mess. But us… We're… We're great together and I can see it, twenty or thirty years from now and we're still great."
"We can't just…" She trailed off, her mouth opening and closing. "Can we? I mean it's so…"
He chuckled, smiling at her sweetly. "We can have a big one when we get back if you want. But I want you to be my wife now, before you can change your mind," he teased.
"Are… Are you sure about this?" she asked, her brows lifting with uncertainty.
"Completely," he said, nodding.
She stared at him, her teeth gnawing at her lip.
He let go of one of her hands to cup her cheek, thumb caressing her skin. "I love you. Your insatiable curiosity and your knack for getting into trouble. I love waking up next to you, going to sleep beside you. I love that Sullivan smile of yours that could light up a room and I love… I love your dreams and I want to be part of them."
Her eyes glistened slightly and she let out a choked chuckle before she nodded. "I love you, too."
"Then marry me, please? We can go to Vegas or Paris or wherever," he told her, eyes wide with the possibilities.
"Yes," she said, smiling shakily. "Yes. Yes. Yes."
He kissed her in between his happy laughter. Her arms wrapped tight around his neck and they rolled over on the bed, sheets shucked off and hands roaming all over. They could catch a plane in a little bit; they had some celebrating to do.
And now he was sitting on his private jet with his wife next to him, her head on his shoulder. Their hands sat entwined in her lap, her fingers fiddling with his wedding ring. They were married by some cheesy looking Elvis impersonator that Chloe said they simply couldn't pass up. It was quick and it was less than phenomenal but it was legal. They were married and she was his and he was hers. He wasn't sure how they were going to explain it to their friends or her father. He winced. Gabe wasn't going to be very forgiving. But they'd agreed to have a big wedding later, for now it was just them being them. Sudden but happy.
Three and a half years ago, he'd had no idea where they were going. While on assignment a fake make out session to keep guards off their trail suddenly turned real and then unexpectedly they were sleeping together every few days. And then she was at his place more than her own and he was clearing out half his dresser for her. She was his date to benefits and he was her excuse to keep every other male out of her way. Before he knew it, he was in love with her and they were a whole lot more than just a stand-by lover. Their friends had been making bets on when they'd get together but he was pretty sure they hadn't thought it'd last as long as it did. But they had, beating the odds set against them. She was his partner in more than one way. She knew his secret identity, supported it and helped him with his drive for justice. Just as he knew she was meteor infected, terrified that one day she might lose her mind like her mother, and entirely too dependent on coffee. They balanced each other out, with a few trips along the way. He was always coming and going because of his business and the League. But she too had a life to live, fighting crime by written word and digging up the dirt on every criminal that came in contact with her.
Now that he'd filled at least one of her dreams, he wanted to fill the others too. There was nothing stopping them from exploring the world. Sure there were always duties relying on them, but they'd juggled those responsibilities in the past. They had their whole lives to live and they were going to experience it all together.
"What are you thinking?" she asked him, looking up at him rather sleepily.
"Life," he told her, his hand reaching up to drag her bangs out of her eyes, fingers trailing down her cheek as they went.
"Yeah? And what is it's secret?" she wondered, her head falling back, revealing her long neck to him as she smiled up at him seductively.
"It shouldn't be wasted," he told her, bending low to press a kiss against her neck, tongue and teeth marking her. He trailed up and down and all over, placing small kisses on every inch of skin he could.
She moaned from the back of her throat before drawing herself up and moving to sit in his lap, legs straddling his waist. "Anything else?" she asked cheekily, her eyes washing over his face as if she were taking him all in.
"Well mine's meant to be spent with you," he told her, his hands wrapping around her hips and sliding higher, kneading her sides.
"Oh?" She lifted a brow. "And what will you be doing in this life with me?"
"A lot," he said, smirking. He tugged the back of her shirt out of jeans and slid his palms up her back, fingers spreading out to feel her curves and the warmth of her skin.
"Yeah?" she breathed, leaning forward, her bangs brushing over his face.
"Yeah," he said before his mouth met hers. Warm against his own, his eyes fell shut at the feeling of coming home. Her lips parted, granting entrance to his tongue as it searched for hers. His hands slid up her back, lifting her shirt with them. Her hips rotated, brushing against him intimately. His fingers wrapped around the back of her shoulders, holding tight to her as her lower body rubbed against him. She nibbled his lower lip, her nose nuzzling against his, while her hands slid down his shirt, undoing the buttons with a few easy flicks of her fingers.
He felt her warm hand, bare against his chest, pressing directly against his heart and he felt something stir in his stomach. For years he'd honestly thought he'd never find this. This right here. True love; it simply didn't exist. But he had it; in his lap, in his arms, engrained in the ring around his finger, beating in his heart. And he never wanted to let it –her- go. She broke away from his mouth just a breath from his lips, inhaling deeply. Her eyes opened to slits, staring at him with that same adoring gaze he woke up to each morning and would every morning in the future.
"I love you," he whispered, squeezing her shoulders and tilting his head to brush his lips against hers in a small, tender kiss. Her supple lips pressed against his further as he leaned back. One of her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, drawing him back toward her. She stroked the underside of his eye with her thumb, bringing his gaze back to her.
"I love you more than you'll ever know," she told him, her tone strong and serious. He stared at her in mild confusion for a minute. "I just don't want you to ever think that I love you any less. Everything you feel for me, I feel it too." She smiled, her face softening. She reached up, taking hold of his forearm and drawing it down. She took his hand, pressing it against her chest. "It still speeds up every time you're near me," she admitted, her eyes fluttering as if they were filled with tears. "And," she swallowed tightly, "And my skin still tingles, everywhere you touch me." Her hand lifted, wiping away a stray tear. "You know those butterflies?" She chuckled, sniffling. "They've never gone away." She lifted a shoulder, smiling largely.
He felt his heart skip a beat at her confession and spread his fingers against his chest, focusing all of his attention until he could feel the fast thump of her heartbeat beneath his palm. He smiled. Her hand covered his, fingers threading, before she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. "You know, I think we're going to be very happy together, Mrs. Queen," he told her, eyes locking with hers.
"Do you, Mr. Queen?" she replied, her mouth quirking. She shifted around in her seat, smirking as his eyes fluttered when she brushed against his hardness. "You know what would make happy right now?" she queried, her voice low and suggestive.
He lifted a brow. "I have an idea."
"I have more than an idea," she whispered, bringing her lips down against his once more. Her hands slid down his chest, separating his shirt as they went, tugging it from the waist of his pants. As she broke away from his mouth, her lips trailed kisses down his neck and across the broad, toned expanse of his chest. It was as her lips stilled over his heart than an alarm started ringing around them.
Oliver's eyes rose abruptly from the intimate form of his wife to the blinking light above the door leading to the cockpit. Seatbelts, the red writing screamed at him.
"Mr. Queen, this is the captain, we're currently undergoing s-some technical dif-difficulties. If you and your wife could please—" There was a loud buzzing sound and suddenly the air masks fell from the compartments above them. The plane began to shake and shudder around them, the lights going in and out. The plain jerked forward and then down and Chloe was thrown from his lap, landing hard on the floor. "Ow," he heard her mutter beneath the loud crackling of the radio. "May-Day May— May -ay!" he could hear the pilot shouting into his radio.
Oliver scrambled out of his seat, falling to his knees next to Chloe and taking her hand, pulling her against him.
She looked up at him, her hand on her hand and a wince on her face. "What do we do?"
"There are parachutes in the back," he told her loudly, motioning behind him.
He helped her stand up and they struggled to get down the aisle, holding seats to keep themselves steady. Just as he reached for the handle leading to the door of the emergency closet, the plane jerked wildly and they were thrown back to the floor. The plane seemed to be in a tailspin as Chloe began rolling down and away from him. Her arm stretched out, fingers reaching for him.
"Chloe!" he shouted, pushing himself up onto his knees and crawling toward her.
The plane began rolling in the air, throwing them until they were on what would've been the roof. Despite the way it continued to roll and jerk, Oliver kept trying to get closer to her, using his arms and legs army-style-crawl to move himself. As the plane twisted sideways, Chloe was thrown against one of the roof compartments, slamming her head against it, her arm twisting funny. He heard her cry out and winced, moving faster against the pressure around him. "Chloe, I need you to come toward me," he shouted to her.
She rolled over, nodding her head but her eyes were closed and her mouth was set in a grimace. She only used one arm as she pulled herself toward him, eyes opening to stare at him; terror gleaming in her usually vibrant green eyes.
"Come on, baby," he murmured, his fingers spreading out toward her.
She was just a few inches from his hand now and her fingers finally tangled with his. He smiled reassuringly. "We're going to be okay." She nodded, tears sliding out of her eyes. "I promise."
"I- I know." She swallowed tightly. "I love you."
He shook his head, his jaw tightening. "Don't say that, please."
She smiled at him; a brilliant Sullivan grin. "We'll be fine."
"That's right," he said with a sharp nod.
He felt the plane shudder beneath him and saw the roar of the fire in the cockpit as it finally hit the ground. Chloe's hand was torn from his as she was rocketed one way and he the other. His head slammed into the side of the plane and everything went dark.
Everything hurt. Oliver opened his eyes a sliver, barely recognizing anything around him. There was so much white. He let them close for a moment, he felt so tired. He opened them again when he thought he heard voices. It was all fuzzy for a moment until he blinked a few times and found himself staring at Clark Kent. A few other faces appeared beside him; Bart, AC, Victor and Lois. They were saying something, but he couldn't quite make out the words.
"Ollie?" he heard in a gargle.
His gaze turned to Lois who was crying as she looked down on him. She lifted a hand, covering her mouth. "Can you hear me?"
He nodded his head slightly but he was too sluggish to do much more.
"We weren't sure you were going to…" Bart trailed off.
"Good to have you back man," AC told him, half-smiling.
He opened his mouth, his throat burning as he tried to speak.
"Shh…" Lois told him, shaking her head.
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "How long?" he choked out in a raspy voice he barely recognized as his own.
They all looked at each other.
Lois reached out with a shaky hand, brushing his hair back from his face. "Almost two weeks."
He nodded slightly, eyes fluttering. He was so tired, he just wanted to go back to sleep. The bed beneath him was uncomfortable though; too small and stiff for his liking. He'd rather be at home in his king sized bed; he could always get a doctor to come and see him there, right? At least at home he'd have Chloe. His brow furrowed and his eyes gazed around the room in confusion.
"Where's Chloe?" he asked, eyes lifting to stare at them all questioningly.
"You need to rest," Clark told him, his expression grim.
He shook his head, annoyed. "No, I don't want to rest, I want- I want my wife," he said, lifting his head from the pillow and straining to sit up.
"Ollie! Oliver, you can't just—" Lois exclaimed. "You've been in a plane crash! You just woke up from a two-week coma! Now lay down," she shouted at him, her hand at his shoulders, pushing him back down.
"Did he say wife?" AC could be heard asking.
"Oh my god… You didn't! Tell me you guys didn't…" Lois trailed off, staring at him with a furrowed brow.
Oliver sighed. "We were going to have a big wedding when we got back, we just…"
"Couldn't wait?"
He nodded. "Where is she?" he asked, looking around. "Why weren't we put in the same room?"
"Oliver, I really think you should lie down. We should get the doctor to check you over. He's going to want to—"
"I don't care what he wants," he interrupted angrily. "I want to see Chloe. Now."
"Ollie," Lois said, her voice quiet and broken.
He turned to look at her, fear clenching in his chest. "Don't."
"I'm so, so sorry," she cried, tears streaming from her eyes.
Her hands were still on his chest and he pushed them away, nearly throwing her away from him. "Where is she?" he demanded harshly.
"Oliver it's been almost two weeks… We couldn't wait. We had to…" Clark trailed off, his arms crossing over his chest and his eyes turning away.
"No," he choked out, his brows drawing together. "She can't be." His eyes turned to Victor, then AC, and finally a crying Bart that was trying to swipe away the tears before anybody could see. "Please."
"I'm sorry," Lois sobbed.
Oliver shook his head in denial, his hands fisting in the sheets beneath him.
"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry," she cried, her hands covering her face and her back hunching. Clark reached for her but she leaned into Oliver's body, her hands gripping the blanket over him as she repeated how sorry she was over and over again.
He wanted to push her away. He didn't want to be touched. It all had to be some nightmare; it couldn't be real. He started pulling the wires from his arms and chest, pushing the blanket away and shifting to the side of the bed, trying to get up.
"Oliver, you can't!"
"Get off me!" he yelled at them as they reached for him. His legs were shaky and gave out beneath him as soon as he tried to stand. The four men circled the bed, reaching for him, helping him up even as he pushed them away.
"You need to lie down," Clark told him quietly.
"I need my wife!" he shouted in his face. "I need her," he repeated, his breathing picking up rapidly. He felt dizzy as he leaned against the bed. Lois was sobbing on the sheets still, head on her arms.
"She's gone," Victor told him, shaking her head. "She gone, Ollie."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, no, no…"
Bart wiped at his face with the back of his arm. "We're sorry."
"I don't want you to be sorry! I want you to get her back! I need her back!"
"We can't do that," Clark told him, his hand gripping Oliver's shoulder supportively. "We loved her too. We want her back too. But she's not coming back," he said, his voice trying to stay strong but wavering near the end.
Oliver swallowed painfully, his eyes falling and his chest heaving. His head was clouded and the dizziness was beginning to make him sway.
"Ollie?" he heard being called worriedly.
He fell back toward the bed, his chest hurting and his stomach twisting painfully. Their faces hovered above him, asking if he was okay in garbled voices.
"Call a doctor," he heard someone say.
"I need her," he told them, tears leaking out the sides of his head.
"We know."
"I need her," he repeated, his eyes rolling back into his head. "Chloe," he murmured until the darkness swept him away once more.
Oliver stood on the ledge of the Daily Planet building, staring out across the expanse of Metropolis. Somewhere out there, bad people were hurting the innocent and good people were in love. Some were married, divorced, dating. Some were expecting children or fulfilling their dreams. But none of those people were his wife. Chloe Anne Queen was buried in the family plot in Star City, an angel statue marking her grave.
He'd been released from the hospital three days before and spent them all mourning in the darkness of their bedroom, in the same rumpled sheets they'd been laying in before they left. He was holding one of her tape recorders in his hand, rewinding it to listen to her voice repeat the many interesting things she found out about some unsuspecting dirt bag politician. So curious and vibrant, the lilt of her voice reached his ears like music. But then the tape would end and he'd have to rewind it to hear her again. The same words, the same inflections each time, because she could say nothing new. He could only hear her from a taped recording now. She'd never laugh or tease or snark at him again.
After three days locked in his room, not sleeping, he finally registered something she was saying and it forced him out of his bed. "Justice will be served," her voice had repeated an uncountable amount of times throughout those three days. So strong and certain as she recorded her next piece on tape. He took a shower, ate a meal that tasted like sawdust, and dressed in his Green Arrow gear. He was going to patrol. He was going to go on. He was going to live.
He turned back to stare at the golden planet rotating on the top of the building, representing so much. In that moment, he came to one conclusion. Take that one step backwards and let himself fall. Do what the plane crash couldn't and end his life. Or use his grappling hook and rope to scour the city for the wrong doers and set them straight.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, his arms out to the side, and fell backwards into the waiting arms of the city. He could feel the air rushing around him, cool against his skin, ruffling his hair. He let himself relax into the fall, no fear in him at all. God, he missed her. Her smile and her touch and the way she smelled. He missed waking up holding her and going to sleep with the scent of her hair invading his senses. He desperately wanted to see her just once more. His eyes opened, staring up and catching the gold glint of the Dailey Planet rotating far above and then he released the grappling hook, feeling as it grasped the top of a building and a moment later, he was swinging through the air, safe in the hold of his rope. Justice would be served, at least tonight.
Forty Years Later
Lois Kent sat in the front row, her dyed brown hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, holding tight to the paper memorial she'd been given when she entered the church. Her husband sat next to her, his silver streaked black hair combed back attractively. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, still just as strong as ever. Alien or not, Clark aged, he just happened to do it far more gracefully than any human.
She'd been expecting this moment for far too long; forty years too long. But he'd finally gone; peacefully at that.
A throat was cleared at the front podium and Lois lifted her eyes, squinting slightly behind the glasses perched on her nose. For only sixty-nine, her eyesight was cruelly dull. She knew Clark wasn't squinting and for some reason that made her want to elbow him in the side. Stupid alien genes!
Standing at the front was thirty two year old Justin Queen, Oliver's eldest adopted son. Standing next to him, her hand on Justin's forearm comfortingly, was twenty-seven year old Anne Queen, Oliver's only adopted daughter. And sitting slumped on a chair behind them, his head in his hands, was his youngest adopted son – Matt – just nineteen and already without a father. Justin's wife and two daughters sat in the pews down the way, all somberly waiting for the funeral to begin.
There was a large blown up photo of Oliver sitting on a stand up front, his usual half grin staring up at them. Like her husband, he'd aged well. Somehow he made grey hair look good. Even the wrinkles at his eyes and mouth made him charming. Those eyes though… They'd dulled over the last forty years and never quite regained the happiness they once had. Feeling the familiar pang in her heart, she turned her attention back to the front, looking up at the grief stricken expression of Justin. She remembered him when he was just a young boy. He was four when Oliver adopted him and took to his new father quickly. Few knew just how much he followed in his father's steps, picking up the green garb when Oliver was unable to any longer. Crime fighting came easy to him, learning from an early age that justice was key in life.
Anne fought with the use of her type writer, becoming a semi-well known journalist that would've made Oliver's wife proud. Matt was a bit of a drifter. He came into Oliver's life when he was twelve and quite jaded with the world and how it had treated him. But he loved his dad like no other and he was more than just lost now that Oliver had passed away.
The mic made a high pitched noise as it was adjusted. Justin cleared his throat before saying, "Hello. I'm glad to see you could all make it, I know the funeral was very short notice. Dad would've been happy to see so many of you. He'd been traveling the last few years and hadn't been in contact with a lot of his old friends."
Lois smiled lightly. Traveling was a light way of putting it.
"Uh some of you may or may not know me. I'm Justin, the eldest of three. I was adopted by dad when I was four and my parents had been," He cleared his throat, scratching his neck below his ear, "killed in a robbery." He glanced down for a moment. "He and I were very close. He was… one of my best friends."
He paused a moment, staring at the picture of his dad to the side of him. "You know, when I was growing up, he used to tell me all of these crazy bedtime stories about these…" He chuckled, smiling reminiscently. "These meteor infected people and the insane adventures this girl had." He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "He didn't tell me until I was about fifteen that the stories weren't made up at all." He looked out at the crowd, his brows lifted. "They were about Chloe. Someone I'm sure you're all familiar with. Dad never ran out of stories about his Chloe." He shook his head, eyes falling. "She… She died before I even came into the picture but sometimes I felt like I knew her. He talked about her so much, you know? He always referred to her as my mom. Always said how proud she'd be of me." He sighed. "I was jealous of her when I younger. So jealous that he could love her so much and talk about her all the time. I didn't think he had enough love for me too. But… He did. He always did. He was… the best father I could've ever asked for."
He rubbed at his throat, staring down as his face tightened with sadness. "He taught me how to shoot an arrow instead of riding a bike and he showed me how to read people rather than to wipe my feet on the mat or put all my toys away. He was so bent on making sure no harm would ever come to me I sometimes wondered if I'd ever really get to experience life." He lifted his eyes, smiling sadly out at them. "It was always, 'Put your knee pads and elbow pads and helmet on,' and 'Don't touch the stove unless someone's with you,' and 'Never cross the street without an adult.'" He shook his head. "He was so scared that I was going to get hurt that when the smallest scrape happened, he was ready to take me to the hospital…" He smiled. "But you couldn't stop him when he wanted to do something completely… insane," He laughed, lifting his brows for emphasis.
"You know he went hang gliding just last week?" he asked them, nodding. "He climbed Mt. Everest when he was thirty-five. He rock climbed all the time. He bungee jumped and sky dived and swam with sharks. He learned to pilot his own plane, he backpacked over Europe four times, and he had his own custom wingsuit! He was a pro at waterskiing, snowboarding, surfing and dirt biking." He laughed, throwing his arms up. "My dad was the ultimate death defier. But… He wasn't happy."
He shook his head. "He had his moments. He loved all of his kids and he never regretted a moment with us. But… Ask anyone close to him and you'll know that he… He was waiting to die. He had been since he was thirty." He licked his lips, pausing for a moment in thought. "I don't know how many of you actually knew Chloe. I've seen pictures and I saw a few home videos my dad had. I wish I could've met her. She… She was the light of dad's life. You know he never dated, not once in all the time I knew him. He wore his wedding ring every day, never took it off for anything. He was completely and entirely devoted to her. So much so that… That when he died, he turned to me and he said…" Justin lifted a hand, rubbing at his chest as if to soothe the pain away. "He said Justin…" His voice cracked. "Never take your dreams for granted. Love when you love and live when you live. I lost my other half when I was young but I filled her dreams for her. I lived for her." He lifted his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. "And he did."
He fiddled around in his pocket, pulling out a piece of wrinkled paper and showing it to the crowd. "This is…" He sniffled, "a list. It was a list of dreams Chloe had that dad fulfilled." He cleared his throat, smoothing the paper out with his hand. "Feel the air beneath me as I hang glide. He crossed that out. The rocks beneath my fingers as I climb a mountain. He did that too, many times. Swim in the bluest ocean – he lived on the beach next to it. See the most beautiful cities – write about them, live in them, breathe their air." He nodded, smiling to himself. "Backpack all over Europe – sleeping in hostels or tents beneath the stars. Experience life to the fullest, without all the bad stuff mixed in." He paused, biting his lip for a moment. "Get married. Have children. Watch them grow, learn, and live. And last, but not least…" He lifted his eyes to stare out at them all. "Return to Chloe."
Justin lifted a pen from his coat pocket and used it to cross off the last line. He then folded it up, turned and walked toward the closed casket, placing it on top. "Say hi to mom for me." He knocked his fist against it as if in goodbye and then moved to sit in a seat next to his brother who was silently crying.
"Hi," a soft, feminine voice greeted the room. "I'm Anne Queen, his only daughter. I work as a reporter for the Daily Planet, the newspaper my father owned." She was a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair and bright brown eyes. She was tall and slender, a warm face and a ready smile for anybody she met. "My dad adopted me when I was two, so I didn't really know any other father but him." She shifted her weight to the other side, nervously nibbling her lip. "When I was a little girl, I used to hate brushing my hair, so every few days dad would have to sit me down and try and comb out all the tangles. I used to scream for hours!" she admitted, chuckling lightly. "But he'd just tell me…" She sniffled, lifting a hand to wipe away her tears. "It's your own fault, Anna Banana, you've got to start brushing your hair every day. And I'd cry and tell him I didn't want to. It got so bad that when I was seven I cut it all off. I regretted it an hour later and tried to tape it all back on. I begged him to buy me a wig but he absolutely refused. He also had a hard time not laughing at my hack job!" she admitted, holding a hand over her mouth as she chuckled.
She let out a shuddering breath, biting down on her lip. "And Justin was right when he said he was the most protective man you could ever know. He literally chased my first date off with military style interrogating. He actually checked the record of every person we ever talked to, I swear!" She chuckled sadly. "He taught me karate when I was eight and got me into self defense classes before I was even twelve. He refused to let me take my training wheels off my bike so I had to do it myself with a screwdriver when I was eleven. He would've super glued a helmet to my head if he could just for general every day use." She shrugged, rubbing the underside of her nose with her hand. "But… But it was sweet in an overdramatic, loving dad sort of way." She smiled softly. "I didn't understand for the longest time why he could do all this cool stuff and I couldn't ride my bike outside of the driveway. But then I realized he wasn't trying to stop us from having fun, he was just… He was trying to hold onto us as long as he could."
She swallowed tightly, lifting a hand to hold onto her throat as if it hurt. "His parents died in a plane crash when he was only nine and he almost died the same way when he was thirty. He lost his wife in that crash and though I never knew her, I know he loved her with all of himself. Did until his dying day. He lived his life on the edge when it came to everything but his family. He kept us all close and he never once let us doubt that he loved us."
She wiped her cheeks, trying to smile at the crowd but failing. "He used to read me the Robin Hood series as bedtime stories. He gave them to me a few weeks ago." Her hand fell to her stomach, eyes glancing at her fiancé. "And when I was five, the only thing I'd eat was peanut butter sandwiches. He was allergic to peanuts though so he always wore these silly gloves that he let me draw on and make "pretty" for him." She gave a watery smile. "When he was dying, I told him I was going to miss him," she confided, her eyes turning off as if she were retelling herself. "He told me not to. That he'd always be watching out for me. That whatever happened, he was my dad and he'd never really leave me." Her voice wavered and she closed her eyes, tears spilling forward.
Justin rose and walked to her, wrapping his arms around her as she cried. She shook her head against his shoulder. "I want to say he's too young and h-he shouldn't have gone. But he wasn't young," she said with a laugh. "His heart was and he acted like he was but…" She sniffled, burying her face in her brother's shoulder.
Justin rubbed her back, walking her to sit in the chair reserved for her beside her youngest brother.
There was silence for a moment, everybody simply sitting in thought.
Matt stood up from his chair, looking uncomfortable in his tailored suit. He ambled up to the mic and stared broodingly out at the people before him. He ran a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm Matt; I'm Ollie's youngest son." He cleared his throat. "I met him when I was twelve. I was pick-pocketing on the street and he… He offered me a place to stay." He shrugged. "Next thing I knew, I was adopted." He shifted his weight around on his feet. "I don't have the stories from when I was a little kid to share. There weren't peanut butter sandwiches or training wheels on my bike. My dad taught me how to shoot the perfect arrow though. And he never judged me for who I was. He… He loved me. Never let me think for a minute he didn't consider me his son." He shook his head, his jaw clenching. "Ollie was the best man I'd ever known in my life. He was… This crazy guy that sky dived and rode a motorcycle and just… just lived every day." He half-smiled. "And he did love Chloe. He told me about her all the time. That she was curious and strong and she kicked ass when she needed to. She was his hero, I think. Just like he was mine. They were special. Like these two people in a world of really unspecial people. They stood out and they stood up and I'll never… I'll never forget what he did for me or what he's done for so many others." He stared at them, his expression drawn but serious. "My dad was the greatest man alive and nobody can ever tell me different." With that, he turned and walked to the casket, placing a small arrow pendent on it. "Thank you," he whispered.
Lois wiped a tear away, barely registering as a minister came forward and told them all that they would take a moment out now to spend in silent memory. She'd just spent the entire time in her memory. Remembering days past, spent at the Queen Manor or out at the Kent farm with Ollie and his children visiting. He'd truly lived a good life, even if it was bare of his most treasured love. He wore her wedding ring on a chain around his neck, never took his own off, and was married if anybody asked. The League boys teased him about his ongoing celibacy but he never commented on the fact. He wasn't low on offers either. He'd been proposed to more time than she could count and various beautiful women had propositioned him for a night. Just weeks prior, an heiress tried to turn his head and failed miserably. Lois learned over the year just how devoted he was to Chloe. The two had been quite the pair while they were together; joined at the hip and fighting for justice all over.
Oliver was never quite the same after she died. It was weeks before he spoke again. He was reserved and spent most of his time in their apartment or out patrolling. He had a limp when he left the hospital that never fully healed through the years. He used a cane while playing Oliver Queen during the day, but shucked it at night. His leg worked well enough and it never hindered him in his crime fighting. It helped to separate the identities for any suspecting outsiders.
The funeral came to a close, with a procession of people walking up the aisle and passing the casket, paying their last dues and placing flowers on top of it. He'd be buried in the family plot, next to his wife, where he would want to be. As Lois stopped next to the casket, she dropped a white tulip next to his list. It was Chloe's favorite and Oliver always had a bouquet put on his kitchen table to greet him each morning. She pressed her hand down against the pale green casket top. "Hug her for me, Ollie," she told him.
She had no doubts he would. He was probably up there, somewhere, holding her tight and vowing never to let her go. He'd done his duty and lived for her and now he earned the right for all eternity by her side. She hoped they were happy. Clark squeezed her hand and they walked down the steps, pausing to hug their nephews and niece, saying it was a nice service before they left to meet their three sons at the exit. Lois had to get home and finish setting up the get together at the farm. Everybody was coming over for the party Oliver made her promise she'd throw when he was gone.
She surveyed the large crowd that had come to the funeral and sighed. "We're going to need lots of beer," she told Clark, nodding.
He grinned down at her, shaking his head slightly. "Our boys have that covered."
As they walked toward the car, Lois' eyes drifted out toward the familiar angel statue sitting regally in the center of the Queen plots. The sun shone down on it beautifully and she felt a warmth fill her chest. They were together. She just knew it.
Author's Note: Sad and dark and angsty, I know. I was in the mood for it. Sorry. Kind of an opposite way to go compared to Avenging Chloe, I think. I like how it turned out though, definitely. I hope you did too. Reviews are sustenance readers! Luv yas - Fina!