Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of CBS and are only used for fan related purposes. Any dialogue from the eleventh episode, "Splash", included is used only to further the story.
who she was (and would be)
Flirtatious.
Smart.
Charming.
Intoxicating.
Maybe even a little morbid.
That's who Chloe Carter was… but there was more, always more. You never would've guessed it but she was also this: practical. When everyone else was running, screaming, fretting, hiding, in the Candlewick, in the Cannery, Chloe was thinking, watching, wondering. Of the others, she was the one to sit down and make a list. She was the one to figure out who was gone (Lucy, she was gone wasn't she?) and who was left (not enough) and who would be left standing when morning came—
—okay, she allowed, maybe a good deal morbid. Still, that was her practical side, her self-preservation instincts talking, but then again, practicality could only take her too far when a touch of naïveté lingered. And Chloe, though she never knew it, was probably more naïve than Madison Allen.
The thing was this: Chloe never really thought she would be one of the victims. She never thought either of them would die. She was bright, blonde, and beautiful and Cal, hell, he had an accent! They were happy, they were in love, they were going to get married—getting murdered by some sociopath on this out-of-the-way hellhole island was not part of the plan.
Even when shots rang out and she knew—just knew —that Cal had been hit (it was his shoulder, thank goodness, and he was fine), she wasn't worried about surviving. Even when the homicidal bastard burst through the Cannery, his knife flailing and his dark eyes flashing, Chloe knew she would get away. Even when he'd captured her, throwing her in a hole, taunting her (is you're fiancé willing to die for you?), she knew Cal would come for her.
He came for her.
It was a reunion out of a cheesy horror flick, all snot and tears and heartfelt emotions. Cal, her precious little Englishman, he saved her and she fell into his arms like a cliché, accepting his proposal, even more sure they would get away, have their wedding, have their own happily-ever-after.
And then they weren't alone anymore, and the damn high bridge was the only way out. The damn high bridge with its useless gate and a drop that would kill you before you hit the water.
Like that Johnny Depp movie with the possessed barber, the straight blade and the desire to shed blood over a twisted notion of revenge and a yearn to just murder, John Wakefield was a demon, stalking forward, pressing his advantage. Cal was pleading, pleading with her to go but she couldn't. She couldn't find her footing, she couldn't climb around the gate, she couldn't leave him behind.
She couldn't leave him behind.
And then Wakefield was upon them and Cal went out to meet him with the useless rifle, to protect her, to give her time to get away, and Wakefield stabbed and Chloe screamed as if she, too, felt the boarding knife as it cut through Cal Vandeusen.
There would be no wedding.
"Chloe…"
There would be no happily-ever-after.
Splash.
But there would always be Cal and Chloe.
"You can't have me."
prompt (courtesy of websofseaweed on lj): Harper's Island, Cal/Chloe, there is a barber who's cutting and cutting away at my only joy
End Note: This ficlet was written in response to a prompt on the livejournal doomed ships comment fic-a-thon. I have another two HI one shots coming up after this, but this prompt just begged to be written!
- stress, 09.18.10
