Promises, Swear Them to the Sky
by: singyourmelody
Author's Note and Disclaimer:I don't own any of The Nine Lives of Chloe King characters. Title is from The Naked and Famous's "Young Blood," one of my favorite songs ever. This is conclusion to my second post-finale story. Thank you so much to all of those who reviewed the first part. It's wonderful to know that someone is actually reading my stories! I appreciate you all.
Fall Back in Love Eventually
"So this is the morning after?" he asks, when she opens her eyes and looks at him. She's vaguely aware that her hair is flat on one side and that her eye makeup is most likely smudged, but he's looking at her like he can't see any of that.
"Guess so," she replies back, noticing that his hair is also a mess, thinking about how she was the one who made it that way.
"It's supposed to be awkward . . ." he continues.
"And embarrassing . . ." she adds.
"And I'm supposed to be wondering how long I have to stay here."
"And I'm supposed to be dreaming about our future children and chanting 'Mrs. Chloe Petrov' over and over again in my head."
He looks at her and laughs, before leaning down to kiss her again.
Finally he pulls back and tucks her hair (on the flat side) behind her ear. She stares at him for a moment, before curling up on her side, pulling his arm around her as her eyes slowly close.
"Hey Chloe?"
"Yeah?"
"I have to tell you something."
"Hmm?" she asks, not moving, fully enjoying the feeling of his knees tucked inside of the back of hers.
He pauses then and doesn't say anything and she finally turns to look at him, concerned.
"I . . ." he starts, and he looks so serious that she's momentarily afraid he's going to break them both apart with whatever he says next.
"I," he starts again, ". . . am so hungry. We should get some breakfast."
She sits up and punches his shoulder. "Jerk," she mutters.
"Ow," he complains, but his eyes are smiling. "God, you try to feed a woman and look what happens."
They order room service and watch morning cartoons and it all seems so easy, but she knows it's not that simple. It can't be, right?
When they check out of the hotel the desk concierge asks, "How did you enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Flukenaunter?"
"Flukenaunter?" she asks, stifling a laugh. They've used different names at each of the hotels they've stayed at, Smith, Thompson, Jones, Williams. But Flukenaunter? Has to be the worst he's come up with.
"I'm sorry, did I mispronounce it?" the concierge questions. She buries her face into his arm to suppress her grin.
"No, you said it perfectly," he says, looking quickly at her nametag, "Priscilla." He flashes the employee a winning smile and leans closer and Priscilla blushes, actually blushes, a bit.
She has to stop herself from outwardly groaning, but inwardly, she's glad to see some of his smug charm returning. He signs the statement and as they walk to the car, she notices that he slips their room key into his pocket. She's pretty sure he was supposed to return it and she bites her bottom lip and tries not to think of the way her skin felt every time he touched her the night before. The memory is seared into her brain, however, and she decides that maybe this is one thing she doesn't need to forget. One thing he doesn't want to forget.
"Mr. Flukenaunter?" she asks when they arrive at the car.
"Mmm. Of the Berlin Flukenaunters," he replies without missing a beat.
He pops open the trunk and begins to load their luggage in.
"So what does Mr. Flukenaunter do?" she asks.
"Investment banker. But he always secretly wanted to be a baseball player," he says, simply, as if Lloyd Flukenaunter was a real flesh-and-blood person, with hopes and dreams and ambitions.
"And Mrs. Flukenaunter?" she asks, stepping closer to him as he shuts the trunk.
"Artist. Creates the most beautiful pottery. When she's not raising little Jens and Anna of course."
"Of course," she says. She reaches up and touches the back of his head. He leans into her touch and it's the smallest thing, not even an entire movement, just a lean, but it's enough to make her breath catch in the back of her throat. They stay like that for a moment before he says, "Where to, Mrs. Flukenaunter?"
"Well that depends, Mr. Flukenaunter."
"On . . ."
They walk around to their respective sides and she can feel energy building up inside of her as she watches him over the top of the car. "On whether or not you brought your passport."
He nods and she can tell he's surprised (she keeps doing that to him and she loves it) and she hopes she remembers enough from Spanish class to get by. She probably doesn't, but they go anyway.
The Temple in Magdalena, Mexico is an exquisite old church and she feels a calm settle over her as soon as they enter. She hasn't been to church in a long time, probably since she was a little girl, and she's somewhat uncertain if she's even allowed to be there.
They enter and light three candles (his suggestion) and sit for a while in one of the pews. Some of the shadows have returned to his face and she knows he is thinking of them and of the choices that the two of them have made. She reaches over and holds his hand as they sit in reverent silence, the sacred air and hallowed ground renewing that part within each of them that they had forgotten was there.
It's dark when they leave the temple, but instead of leading them back to the hotel, he pulls her over to a nearby hill and lies down on the grass. She doesn't know what to make of this, he's not really the grass-lying type and he's been quiet all day, but she lies down next to him and realizes why he stopped there.
Looking up she sees the sapphire sky, littered with tiny, twinkling stars. It seems expansive and all-encompassing and she suddenly feels very, very small.
Eventually his hand reaches over and takes hers and her back is damp and it's starting to get a little windy, but this feels like such an intimate moment that she doesn't want to move. She thinks of everything they did the night before (her skin on his skin, his lips on her neck, her fingertips tracing the ridges of his backbone) and she didn't think they could ever really go any deeper than that. But lying here, both their souls cut open and haphazardly stitched back together, she realizes that somewhere along the way the thread she used to stop the bleeding intertwined with his. And that with every stitch, every small, insignificant effort she made to pull herself together, she was pulling him closer.
And now here they are, lying on a damp hill in Mexico of all places and she's never been good at making decisions and this is kind of a big one, so how come she's not scared?
Later, she'll dream of Valentina and Jasmine and they seem happy.
(She doesn't see Brian but even within her dream she notices that she doesn't see him, as if his absence somehow becomes a presence).
She awakes with a start and feels uneasy, so she turns over to look at him. Brushing his hair off of his face, his arm slung around her waist, she feels the tightness in her chest begin to subside a bit and she exhales. It was a strange day for both of them. It's August and they know this is all coming to an end very soon, but a part of her isn't ready to let go yet.
They needed this and they needed each other, but come September, come September . . .
She doesn't know how to finish that thought.
They were separate in the before and most definitely together in the after but if today showed her anything, it's that they are still damaged no matter how much they don't want to be, and how does any of it fit into the now?
When they are back in Arizona, his phone starts vibrating. A lot. He ignores it at first, constantly clicking it off and hiding it in his pocket but she finally wrestles it away (kissing the small spot right below his ear is a good form of distraction, she discovers) and flips it open.
It's a text from Dominic and it's not a happy one. He's demanding to know where they are and why Alek hasn't brought her back yet.
He shrugs when she shows it to him. "Valentina wouldn't have even let us go this long," he says, quietly, and she knows he's thinking of how much has changed since Dominic took over as leader of the San Francisco Mai group.
They sit on the edge of the bed for a while and don't say anything.
"It is almost the end of August. I don't think my mom would be too suspicious if I came back now. We should go," she says, finally and resolutely. Maybe.
He nods and she feels like they are on the edge of some big, life changing conversation or confession or something, and she's not entirely sure if she wants to walk down that road quite yet. The whole thing is still too new, too raw, too pure to taint it with messy words spilling out from that place deep inside her that he somehow managed to unlock and open.
He looks up at her and she can tell what he's thinking, so she leans forward and kisses him and his fingers brush lightly over her shoulders when they remove her cardigan, making her shiver. The last words she said still hang in the air, echoing in their ears: We and go and perhaps the most scary of them all: should.
They fall backwards and his fingers interlock with hers, pressing her hand into the mattress. He stops kissing her for just a moment to whisper, "Not yet, okay" and it's a question more than a statement so she whispers back, "No, not yet."
Eventually they do go back. They have to. There's too much waiting for them there: prophecies, school, Amy, Paul, her mom. As she's thinking of all the reasons why, she realizes that those are her reasons, not his, and that in reality, he only has one reason: her.
And that kindasortamaybe freaks her out.
(She briefly considers what she would do if the roles were reversed, if she was the protector and he was the chosen one. She thinks the answer is yes, but she's not entirely sure of the question.)
The drive from Arizona is boring, so they pass the time by trying to outdo one another with random trivia.
"You cannot snore and dream at the same time."
"The human heart beats seventy-two times per minute."
"Abraham Lincoln was a licensed bartender."
"Penguins mate for life."
"Really?" she asks. "Do Mais do that too?"
"I don't think so. Why?"
"I don't know. It would just explain some things."
She sees his grip tighten on the steering wheel. "Explain what exactly?"
"Me and you. This whole trip. I don't know." She really doesn't know what she is saying, but the closer they get back to San Francisco, the more she can feel the whispers sneaking up around her. She might have left them behind, but the memories of those they have lost haven't left her.
He nods and stares straight ahead. "Right. Because there's no way we could possibly be together unless some strange Mai rule is involved, is that right?"
"I didn't mean it like that," she says quietly.
"Then how did you mean it?"
It feels like everything is slowly spinning out of control and she's letting it and she doesn't even know why, so she remains silent. They ride for twenty, thirty, forty miles before she finally breaks the silence.
"Alek, I. . ."
"You what, Chloe?" he asks, not harshly, not callously, but as someone who is worn down, tired, and spent.
"I just don't know what to do with any of this."
And it's always come down to this, hasn't it? Her own fickle heart betraying her once again. Self-doubt creeps up over her and grabs hold, refusing to let go, no matter how much she tries to shake it off. She doesn't want to hurt him, but she thinks she already has. All of the wrong parts of the Chloe of the before have come storming back and she doesn't know how to fix this or even what needs to be fixed, only that something is wrong. That she made it wrong.
They ride in silence for the last few hours and eventually arrive on her street.
The trees and the sidewalks are all too familiar and she really can't believe they have been gone for months.
He pulls up in front of her house and helps her unload her luggage. He hands her the suitcase, but won't let go, until she looks up at him, questioningly.
"Every moment we were together, every second we spent driving and eat licorice and getting lost and laying in the grass and riding elevators, all of it, I chose to be there. I chose to be with you," he says.
His words wrap around her and for a moment she can't hear Jasmine's laugh or see Valentina's eyes or feel Brian's arms. It's as if his words are a buffer, protecting her. Just like he always does.
"But you. . ." he continues, "you didn't choose that. I made you come with me. And I shouldn't have. It was too much and I'm sorry." She's taken aback as he says this. The Alek of the after (and even the one of the before) does not apologize and does not feel remorse. So what is happening?
"Alek, you didn't force me to go with you . . ." she begins, but his look is skeptical and she trails off. They both know he can be very persuasive when he wants to be and that Tuesday afternoon in her room feels like decades ago. She remembers packing and then sitting in his car and it's all a bit fuzzy, but she knows she still made a choice.
"Chloe, don't. I get it, okay?" he says and she realizes that he's letting it go. Letting her go. And she really thinks she doesn't want that, but she's not sure how to make him stay.
"It'll be better," he states.
"Better?" she asks, as she feels an acid taste creeping up from deep inside.
"Starting now we do it better, right?" he reminds her, before stepping back, the promises they made on the mountain in Yellowstone ringing in her ears.
He gets in his car and drives away and he is whole and put together and composed, while she stands on the curb, a chaotic combination of then, now, and somewhere in between. She decides that this must be how it feels when the Chloe of the before and the Chloe of the after collide.
She apologizes profusely to Amy and Paul and lies to her mom about her great camp experience and somehow she manages to pull the whole thing off. Amy and Paul forgive her (after quite a bit of begging) and she feels terrible, because she doesn't deserve their forgiveness or their friendship or her mom's faith in her or Alek's . . . Alek's what? Affection? Devotion? Love?
She shudders when she thinks of that word. They definitely aren't there yet.
She sits up straight in her bed when she realizes the thought that just passed through her mind. Yet. As in, could possibly someday happen. May possibly someday happen. Will possibly someday happen.
He always saw the yet when she couldn't even dream of it. And that's how they've always been haven't they? Him leading, her following, him sometimes pulling her along. She's always been a strange mixture of resistant, rebellious and competitive, and now? Now it's her turn.
She finds him on her roof. Dominic has upped her security since they've returned, for fear of Zane and his group and he's been on duty less and less, sharing the responsibilities with countless others. But for tonight, he's there.
He doesn't say anything when he sees her, so she grabs his hand and drags him down to the ground, pulling him to the corner of Elm and Taylor. The streetlight may be the only constant thing in her life, always glowing in the darkness, a literal light on her path and she needs that.
They're back to where this whole thing started, only that's not really true. If she was honest, the whole thing started with a basketball strategically bounced over her head and his hand pressing into her hipbone in a whitewashed school hallway.
They stand there silently before he clears his throat and says, "I haven't seen you in a few days. How are you?" He's trying to be polite, and it actually makes her a little angry at him (she knows she doesn't have a right to be, but there it is).
"Really?" she asks, shaking her head and he doesn't respond right away.
"I'm trying to let you go," he says quietly, after a moment of strained silence.
She almost laughs out loud when he says it. In the before, he would never back down. Not against Brian or Valentina or Jasmine or even herself and he picks now to grow a conscience and become a gentleman?
"You can't let go of what won't let go of you," she says to him finally.
She thinks again of Brian and Valentina and Jasmine but notices that she doesn't feel them, doesn't hear them. It's the first time that's happened in the after and the silence is empty and deafening, but it's also relieving.
"And what? You're not letting go of me?"
"No, I'm not."
He still looks skeptical, so she continues.
"I'm finally getting used to how we live now. . ."
"And you need me to do that," he says and he sounds bitter. She does need him. This isn't news.
"Yes, I need you. I admit it. Okay?" she says, her words coming out sharper and more heated than she means them to.
"So what?" he says, his voice growing louder.
He looks away and she feels like she's disappointed him, again. He who has never hesitated or changed his mind or done any of the things she seems to do regularly.
"You have the power to break me, you know that? I gave that to you a long time ago and, and I don't even want it back." She's almost surprised at her own conclusion.
He refuses to look at her. Finally he meets her eyes and shakes his head. "Breaking. Power. Who's in control. This isn't supposed to be how relationships work."
"That's how we work," she states, but he doesn't say anything. "Fine. Then tell me how they work."
"You know, flowers and candy and hearts on the line," he says sarcastically.
She narrows her eyes at him.
"Okay, fine. Relationships suck sometimes. They really, really suck. But every so often, you wake up early and the sun is just coming up and there's this girl lying next to you and she is everything."
She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again.
He's also quiet for a moment before he finally says softly, "I don't want to be wrong for you."
And she gets it now. After everything, all of the months put together, they are still a little damaged and damaged people leave devastation in their wake and he doesn't want that for her. Doesn't want to do that to her.
She thinks he underestimates both of them.
"Don't you think I can be the judge of that?" she asks.
His eyes become steely and cold. "You aren't always the best judge of what is good for you."
"And neither are you," she counters and for just a moment, they are back in that field with Zane. She knows his anger. He recognizes her insecurity. And neither of them is walking away.
She's standing under the streetlight on the corner of Elm and Taylor on a too-warm August night and there are no confessions of love or future plans or any of the things she and Amy would swoon over in romantic comedies. She hasn't poured her heart out or even begun to scratch the surface of the truth (because the truth is that she doesn't only need him, she wants him) and she realizes she will need to do that and that kind of terrifies her. But the thing is, she's not standing there alone.
And maybe that makes all the difference.
So she begins.
The first day of school comes too soon.
She already knows AP History is going to kick her butt and that English will be her favorite class. And she already has homework in Chemistry, but she forgets all of that when she walks out of her classroom after the bell rings and sees him standing there. He smirks a bit when he sees her, a smug little action that makes her simultaneously want to hit him and maybe kiss him.
She smiles and together they walk down the hall.
Eventually, their hands link together and she's not sure if she reached for his or he reached for hers, but their fingers are tightly interwoven together and the whole thing really is just that simple, isn't it?
Later he sneaks into her room and pulls back the covers and wraps himself around her.
She will not admit it to him (his ego is big enough already), but she was waiting for him. So when his arms slide around her waist, she turns and kisses him. He kisses her right back and it's fast and they haven't kissed in almost a week and she thinks they have a lot to make up for. She unbuttons his shirt and his hands are seemingly everywhere all at once.
He doesn't say I love you and neither does she and it's still perfect.
After a while (a long while), the before and the after all seem to melt away.
They are different in the now. Stronger, more mature. They have to be to face what seems to be coming at them from every angle.
The Order, rogue Mais, prophecies, prom.
Every so often, she makes them do something that reminds them how to be normal. Reminds them that it's okay to do ordinary, routine things. They need that.
So on prom night he shows up to her house early and he brings her a bouquet of flowers (corsages are tacky) and her mom takes pictures and they dance (their salsa skills still haven't improved much) and he kisses her goodnight on her front porch.
It's like something out of an 80s movie, except afterwards he climbs in her window, bow tie undone and they talk about the latest Mai attack until they both fall asleep curled up together on her bed, as they have done for as long as she can remember.
Eventually they get word that a mid-western Mai group has caught Zane. He inhales sharply when Dominic tells them this and she steps closer to him and lightly touches his lower back.
He tells her he can't see him yet and she understands. They do that now, understand each other. It helps with, well, everything.
They still fight. She reminds him not to be a jerk and he pushes her to be more careful with her lives. Not everything changes.
But they don't walk at night. They don't need to. They are beyond that now.
Instead, he is sitting on a park bench, her head in his lap and he is absentmindedly playing with her hair while he reads a book and she's almost asleep, when he softly says, "Thank you."
She forces her eyes open and looks at him. "For what?" she asks.
"For saving me," he replies. She can think of too many times when she's saved him: in fights with the Order, from Dominic's frustration, from disappointed teachers after he hasn't done his homework, but looking into his eyes, she knows what he means. He's thinking of that summer.
"I think it was the other way around," she says, quietly, before sitting up so they are at eye level.
He shrugs. "Does it even matter anymore?"
She leans forward and kisses him softly. He's right.
This is the now and they are together and everything before and after and somewhere in between has led them here.
And maybe what really matters is the cool breeze of the fall day and the pumpkin pie they tried (unsuccessfully) to make and the bruise forming under his left eye from their counterattack the night before and the fact that she now knows what it means to be a ghost and also to come back to life.
It's exhilarating and it's a second chance, and it's theirs.
End.
Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Love.