Mr and Mrs Queen
Summary: Oliver leaves Smallville with his new wife, who is hiding behind a different identity and pursuing her dreams in Star City.
Characters: Mainly Chloe, Oliver, Bruce
Rating: PG13
Part 3
Chloe rejected the incoming call, then slipped her phone into her pocket.
It was nothing close to the place that Oliver had gotten for the two of them. The wall was bare except for white paint. At least it was clean. Really, if she bought it she could just build upon the naked walls, maybe hang a few—
Well she could not hang photographs of her friends and her family, not for the purpose that the place was intended.
It was not even close to Jimmy's gift. As much of a fixer upper as it was, the Watchtower was a huge space with large windows that let light stream in merrily.
But it was in Star City and believable on a journalist's budget. Unless she wanted the IRS or Bruce Wayne to constantly be on her case, then this was the perfect solution. Chloe wondered how she would get financing for the place using a brand new identity and no credit history, but she figured that was something she could fix on her own with a few hacks here and there.
When Oliver arrived, hooded and hidden like he had been in Smallville during the height of the VRA issue, Chloe broke into a grin. She hesitated at first, allowed him to have a look around. "Sorry for the short notice," she said to him. It was at the end of her work day, yet early enough that she knew Oliver was still blocked for conference calls. She was impressed by how efficiently he moved his appointments around to come when she called.
"You called," he said simply. "And I will always come." He sounded different, odd, somber when he should have been lighter, flirtier. Chloe looked up at him in surprise. He was so attuned to her that almost immediately he took her hand. "If I have anything to say about it, nothing's going to stop me."
So she nodded, then nodded towards the simple one-bedroom unit. "What do you think?"
"It depends. Why do you need a place of your own?"
She searched his face. The real estate agent would meet her there, in her rush to check the place the woman had not had enough time to commute. Chloe stepped closer to her husband and pulled down the sunglasses that barely hid the fact that he was Oliver Queen. It was just the two of them, and she loved it when neither of them had to hide. Chloe laid her palm on his chest. When she did he broke into a smile, grasped the hand that wore her wedding ring.
"You're trying to distract me," he said with a small smile.
And she was. No use denying it.
The phone vibrated in her pocket, and she ignored it until the vibration stopped.
Chloe knew Oliver, and Oliver's frustrations and little pleasures the past few weeks, that she knew wearing the ring would soften the blow. "It's part of the identity," she told him. "Writing down that parking lot address on my ID wasn't my best sleuth move. It was amateur, and I've been found out."
He frowned. "We've lived like this for more than a month and this has never been an issue."
She bit her lip. Her next revelation was sure to frustrate him. He had never had a problem with Bruce Wayne before, not even when she talked about making the man's acquaintance and working with him when she was traveling, waiting for her opportunity to bring the Squad down around Oliver's team. Since he met the man again, since seeing how Bruce interacted with her, Oliver's viewpoint had drastically changed.
Not that she could blame him, Chloe decided after the latest encounter with Bruce.
"I wasn't being scrutinized before," Chloe pointed out. "Now I am. Wayne."
His eyes narrowed. "This is about Bruce Wayne?"
Chloe spotted a young couple that made their way into the living room, eagerly exploring the open house. That was apparently the type of financial capacity that her selected place attracted. The two seemed fresh out of college, on their first jobs. Chloe dragged her husband by the hand to the kitchen area where they had privacy. Oliver glanced around the room, with its modest furnishings and simple design. He was unimpressed. Chloe expected the reaction. She had been overwhelmed when he had playfully carried her across the threshold of the penthouse apartment he had privately owned and declared their first home together. Even at his apologetic demeanor, their home was a dozen times sleeker, more polished, more comfortable than this.
"Listen," she began, with urgency in her voice that was impossible to deny. "Bruce confronted me earlier today. He doesn't trust me," she said. "So I had to tell him. About us." At his obvious relief, Chloe continued, "Not all of it. I couldn't explain it all."
"What did you tell him?"
"He knows that we slept together," Chloe relayed. "He thinks we left the party together and I spent the night at your place."
At the revelation, Oliver scowled. "So suddenly my wife is relegated to a one night stand." His voice rose at the end, in disbelief, in protest.
"This is actually good, Ollie," she rushed to reassure him. "If he thinks we slept together and you sent me on my way, then he wouldn't question me when I slip and I look at you the way a lot of women tend to do."
"You're not all other women." He sighed in frustration. "And the fact that I need to tell you that shows you how screwed up this arrangement is. You're my wife."
"He can't know that. Nobody can," she insisted. "Not without raising so many questions. Who am I? Chloe Sullivan doesn't exist."
He took a deep breath. The way he looked at her was unfamiliar, strange, and Chloe wondered if the secrecy was too much now. But her husband was Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow for so many years before the entire world even had a clue. Secrecy and hidden identities were part and parcel of the man he was. One secret as simple as hers would not shatter him.
He was the strongest man she knew, stronger even than Clark—and her best friend was a superman.
"You know damn well we need to act on that. Soon," Oliver reminded her. "I can't even update any of the papers at Queen."
At those gentle words Chloe relaxed. She linked her hands at his nape and pulled him down for a kiss. When their lips parted ever so slightly, she looked at him. "Maybe I have a selfish reason for balking on that," she confessed.
"And what is that, Mrs Queen?" he asked. He brushed his nose on hers.
"Maybe I don't want to think about last wills, or even think about possibly waking up one day to find that you're gone."
"With the life we lead, Chloe, you have to be prepared."
Out of so many dangers in her life, this was the only prospect that she feared then. Gently, lightly, Chloe rested her hand on his chest. "There are a hundred other ways to leave this marriage than dying on me, Oliver." When he opened his mouth to address that, she shook her head, "I don't want to hear about it."
She could see the sad smile on his face. "You sound like a child right now, Mrs Queen," he whispered.
"If you love me, you're not going leave me."
But there were times when leaving was the best thing to do. She of all people knew. She of everyone could recognize the hypocrisy of denying that. She had walked away from him once when she could not bear to lose him and it was the only way she knew to save him. She had almost walked away when she thought for sure their love was secondary to his purpose.
That apartment, that simple room, was nothing special. And yet it seemed like the grandest abode when the broker arrived and told them about the design, about the family that lived there. When it was obvious that the agent did not recognize Oliver in his disguise, Chloe found it refreshing that she could hold Oliver's hand and he could wrap his arm around her waist. She leaned against him as they listened to the broker.
For a precious half hour she was neither Chloe nor Anne. And he was not the Green Arrow, not billionaire Oliver Queen. For that short moment in time they were newlyweds looking at place to settle down.
"You make a beautiful couple," the broker told them, and even though she knew it was a line used on every newlywed she could not help but feel the warmth suffuse her. "What was the wedding like?"
And it was the woman who usually answered. At least that was what Chloe deduced when the question was directed only at her. "I don't even remember," she said honestly. She felt the quick shift of his relaxed stance to tension, almost imperceptible, but she had countless nights lying against him she recognized every little shift of his body.
The broker's brows rose in surprise. And she broke into a big smile, ever the saleswoman, so easily and conveniently followed up with, "Vegas?"
"What happens in Vegas stays there?" Chloe responded. She shook her head. Her hand wrapped around Oliver's. A touch always relaxed him. She looked up at him because she knew even at his most desperate—in that virtual reality where he was bound and trapped—a look into her earnest eyes could bring him back. "We were married in Metropolis."
And just as she expected, the look and the words brought a small smile to his lips. He leaned down and kissed her, quickly, but passionately enough she gasped for breath afterwards.
"Don't take this place," he told her, and the plea was so earnest. "We have a home."
And there was nothing she could do other than to turn to the broker and shake her head. They exited the apartment building, and Oliver rested his hand on the small of her back. Chloe took the car keys from her bag, but her husband pushed her hand down and said, "I brought a car."
Chloe cocked her head to the side. "You want me to leave the Porsche."
He pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in his scent. She was grateful that night had already fallen. They would not be able to stand outside wrapped in each other if it was still light out.
Chloe slipped into the car and Oliver took the driver seat. The interior of the car was dark; the dashboard glowed green and orange and yellow. In the pitch blackness he reached for her hand. Chloe turned to Oliver in the darkness, brushed her thumb over his jawline. "Hello Mr Queen," she said quietly, her heart swelling at the sight. He was beautiful, more beautiful than she ever imagined she deserved. And now…
The diamond on her ring sparkled and winked, impossible to miss, even in the dark.
Oliver turned his head and pressed a kiss in the palm of her hand. "Chloe," he said. Even the sound of her name was enough to tell her that there was something. It hovered in the small space between them, and suddenly even the confines of the car was too wide, too yawning, too much to close.
She remembered the short conversation that he had begun lightly enough, dropping the hints like he was still in love.
He was going to leave.
He was going to leave and her heart splintered. She had never hated herself more once she realized what she felt was exactly what she had made him feel when she walked away.
Her lashes fluttered, and she looked down at her lap. Chloe then looked out the tinted window, focusing instead of the black night outside. There was nothing to see, but the emptiness was far better than looking at his shadowed face while he was breaking her heart.
"Chloe," he said her name again, and she heard him urging her to look. When she did not, he took her chin in his hand and turned her face. Slowly, his lips flitted over hers, like butterfly wings, and Chloe breathed out unsteadily, her exhale tremulous with stifled sobs.
"No," she whispered.
He was not going to do this. He was not going to leave after breaking her down so much, after making her admit she loved him, after loving her so much she had been willing to sacrifice her freedom for him. He was not going to rip open old wounds that were just scars now, not going to be the one who walked away after pulling her down from the ivory tower and letting her experience was living truly was.
And suddenly her desperation was suffused with anger. "No!" she realized. Chloe beat on his chest. She would not go quietly into the night. Rage, she remembered those immortal words. This was the dying of the light, and she would rage against this death. "You're not going to do this to me, Ollie. This is not fair."
He did not ask her how she knew. But Oliver rested his chin on the top of her head and waited until her fists slowed. And then she felt him rest his lips on her temple. "When I lost you," he said as she slowly regained her breathing, "I felt like a complete failure because I couldn't protect you."
What did half a year ago have to do with today? How did it change the fact that they had sworn to be together forever?
And then Chloe sniffled, pulled away so she could look at him, hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks. She swallowed, then said in a rush, "You want us to come out. You want to be able to tell everyone that we're married. You hate Anne Jones."
He shook his head.
"I can be your wife. I can be Chloe. I can be a Queen. I don't care about my secret identity. I don't care about starting over, Oliver. Not if it's going to cost me you."
She was the strongest person that he knew. That was the woman he had fallen in love with. This begging and pleading was demeaning, but right then she did not care about pride.
"Please, Ollie." She bit her lower lip. "If you tell me what you want, what we need to change, we'll make it work."
"Chloe," he said firmly, his hand closing over her arm, "I haven't stopped loving you, not for a split second."
"You're not leaving?" She hated the whisper soft weakness in her voice. Chloe pressed kisses along his jaw.
"I have the darkness inside me."
Her heart stopped.
The shame, the fear—they rang clear and loud in the confession. Chloe raised her head and she met his eyes. She reached above them and switched on the interior light. She shook her head, narrowed her eyes. "No. No, Desaad didn't capture you. It was me. He tried to turn me."
He swallowed. "He told me you were dead."
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, defeat washing over her. "He got to you. The bastard got to you."
"I'm not going to hurt you, Chloe. I was too weak to resist him—"
"It's not your fault," Chloe insisted.
"This was my weakness, and now I can feel it creeping in me, flitting around in my skull, giving me visions. I can't hurt you, Chloe."
"You won't," she assured him. And now it came together, the pain in his eyes when he saw the bruises, the way he seemed so far away in his head before he physically pulled away from her. "You would never hurt me."
"There's going to be a time when the darkness takes me over, Chloe. And then everything I am is going to be lost." He shook his head, told her again what he had said many times before. "I don't want you to be caught in the crossfire."
"I won't. I'll be standing behind you, Oliver." And then she grasped his face with both of her hands. She glanced at the winking diamond that graced her hand, the sight of it strengthening her resolve. "And no matter what happens, I know you're going to remember what you promised me when I came home to you—"
He seemed almost afraid, but he nodded and repeated the words he told her when she was lost and searching for a way to define herself against him. Oliver met her gaze, did not waver, repeated the words, "No matter what happens I know who you are."
"Yes, you do. And you will." And their mouths slanted together, deep, lasting and firm. Chloe's hands grasped his back, and Oliver gripped her upper arms as they pressed so close and tight they almost vanished into each other. "We've faced danger several times before, Oliver. Whenever we faced them apart everything went to hell. The team split up, people died, you were kidnapped and I went missing," Chloe enumerated. "Well that's not going to happen this time, Ollie. This time we stand together."
The phone in her pocket vibrated once again. It was negligible then. Her entire world, all her focus, was on her husband.
"Promise," she prompted.
Oliver nodded, then said, "I promise." He took a breath. "You're far braver a hero than I ever will be, Chloe."
Bravery. Strength.
They were funny little concepts. Both of those she found in her husband every time she saw him, every time she heard him. Since finding out about the darkness, Chloe had shown him, told him, everything she thought he needed to know. And she was brave in the way she stood, displayed her strength whenever she took his hand and told him she knew more and more about the darkness that was as much a mystery to her then as it had been when they first started researching.
Exhausted, Oliver crawled into their shared bed fully clothed. Chloe placed her bag on the bedside table, then took the keys and her phone from her pocket and slipped them inside. She ignored the multiple missed calls on the screen, knew it was Bruce Wayne. But Anne Jones did not have the time to address all the heroes who knew to call her. She was Chloe right then, would be Chloe to the one man who mattered above them all.
Chloe shed the clothing she wore to work and left them on the floor. In her bra and slip Chloe climbed into the bed and laid behind him. His steady breathing told her he had fallen asleep. It was so quickly that he sank into oblivion that Chloe realized how long he had held in the torturous secret, wondered how little he slept since. When she rested her hand on his arm Oliver flinched in his sleep. She pressed a kiss on the back of his shoulder.
The morning found her in front of her computer, communicating with the Watchtower and scanning news stories searching for information on the darkness. She had called in for a few days off, and Chloe thanked her editor for asking very few questions. The loud gasp from the bed startled her. Chloe rose from her seat and made her way to the bed.
"Oliver!" she said, shaking him out of his nightmares.
His eyes shot open and for a split second he stared back at her in shock. And then, upon realizing what had happened, he sat up on the bed and held her tight.
She was not going to ask. Making him relive the experience would just be cruel. Instead she rubbed her hand up and down his back and whispered into his ear, "We're okay, Ollie. We're safe."
One hour ago
The black leather of his cape was heavy and loud when the Batman hit the pavement in front of the apartment building. There were hundreds of steps to trace, maybe thousands. But he would trace them all. Throughout the afternoon and the night he had called. Anne Jones never missed an SOS, not since the day he met her, not since the day they worked together to bring down a Gotham crime lord.
Just like he suspected, Anne had removed the tracking chip he had put on her phone. If—when he found her he was going to have to talk to her seriously about being on GPS. He just hoped he was not too late. She had been missing for almost an entire day.
He recognized the abandoned Porsche immediately. Bruce scanned the surroundings and spotted a surveillance camera in the store across the street. He made his way back to his hotel room and hacked the police database, then pulled the recording from the night before.
Oliver Queen. He recognized the stance despite the ridiculous costume. The man was a fool if he truly thought it was an effective disguise against people who had actually interacted with him.
Oliver Queen was the last person seen with Anne Jones before the reporter mysteriously disappeared.
Bruce sat in front of his computer and opened the folder containing all research documents that his program scanned over the night, looked through every one of the digital traces in the last months to determine if there was anything in particular that would catch his eye. Metropolis seemed to include a bulk of his newsworthy activities. Of course, Bruce realized, it came part and parcel with the man's decision to come out as the vigilante Green Arrow.
His hand fisted. Anne Jones could have approached the man in her mission to inspire heroes.
Oliver had taken advantage and slept with her. Either way, he needed to find Anne, and the best path was through Oliver Queen.
As he scanned through the files, one entry in particular caught his attention.
That bastard.
He hoped it was enough to convince Anne Jones that heroes were people too, and most of them were as flawed as Oliver Queen. Bruce narrowed his eyes at the digital entry of the marriage certificate.
Who and where the hell was Chloe Anne Sullivan?
tbc
