Nothing Remained But Your Eyes

Rating: PG13

Characters: Chloe, Oliver, Zatanna, John Zatara, Lex Luthor, Lionel Luthor, Clark, Lois

Pairing: Chlollie

Summary: At the end of his life Oliver Queen asked the most powerful sorceress in the universe to grant him one wish. Now he's living a new chance to retrieve what he once lost.

AN: One of my favorite poets is Neruda, and many of the stories I have written are anchored on lines from Neruda's poems. Every part of this story that I want to tell is anchored on Sonnet XC of the Hundred Love Sonnets.

AAN: Here's a little bit of background for you guys.

Part 2

Your mouth was the daylight and dark of my world,

Your skin, the republic I shaped for myself with my kisses.

It should have been explosive.

She had abandoned him, and she had taken the choice out of his hands when she went and erased herself from the world. But the day of the reckoning came and she had walked back into her life like she had no care in the world.

Instead of the pent up fury he had nursed for the weeks since he had accepted that she had left on her own, that night when Oliver saw her, he was frozen where he stood. In his dark suit, with his sunglasses on, he had walked back into his apartment. His shoulders were hunched, remembering how the casket weighed as he gripped the gold handle. He had met AC's eyes as his friend lifted the other end.

It was a new team that carried Carter to the grave. He had been the last of the founders of the Justice Society. The reality sank in that what happened to Carter's team would one day happen to the League as well.

One by one they were going to fall.

And he refused to accept that Chloe was the first casualty of it all.

Because God knew even under the dismal rainpour that thankfully hid if he shed a tear during the interment, Oliver could feel Chloe's presence so strongly it would be an affront to find out she was already dead. In the dark halls of the museum that had once served as the JSA's base, while he drowned out and blurred the reality with a scotch or twelve he looked over his shoulder fully expecting to see her barreling down towards him.

Imagination. Wishful thinking. Oliver vaguely remembered that Carter had been seeing Shayira the last few months before he died. Maybe it was a sign that he was not going to survive the next encounter.

He was not even a little afraid.

And so when he made his way back to the apartment, exhausted and barely conscious, Oliver had first thought the figure sitting tensely on the edge of their bed—his bed, he forced himself to correct—was just, like every other silhouette he thought he was, a figment of his masochistic brain.

And then she rose and slowly turned to face him, and her face was streaked with tears—for Carter or for the two of them he did not know. Maybe for all of them. He would accept it if only he knew she cried part of those tears because she lost him too.

Slowly he pulled off the sunglasses. The dim light from the interior shone on her hair.

"Are you real?" he whispered softly, afraid any louder she would blow away. And she nodded, her gaze still bearing a hint of fear and a heaping dose of longing. "I had to ask. There were so many nights I imagined you there, when I remembered you. Then you were gone and I had to tell myself I hated you for leaving."

When she answered, her voice—now only familiar from recollections he gathered and squirreled away in a tiny corner of his mind—sent a lick of flame in the bottom of his spine, drew cold diagrams on the skin of his neck. It was half of a sob, half of a confession. "No matter how it seemed, you have to know that it wasn't ever by choice."

He closed his eyes, listened to his heartbeat as he let the words wash over him. They may have varied definitions of choice, different ways of understanding what sacrifice and love entailed, but it was enough for him at least to know what she believed. And then he felt his arms grow full of her, finally, and like a cresting wave his long withheld emotions rose and crashed down. Her lips covered his with kisses, and her fragrance curled around the embrace until everything he smelled was her.

He wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss with all the passion he had kept at bay. It had been so long since he held her, even longer since he had to silence himself and everything he felt. When they had to pull away to breathe, Oliver looked down at her and saw everything in her eyes that he had always wanted to see.

His hand was at first tentative when he brushed his thumb on the hollow of her throat.

"Oliver," she breathed, like it was a prayer that flew from her lips.

He swallowed, then met her eyes.

She reached up and undid the buttons of her blouse. Chloe did not look down, but held his gaze when she released the last. Oliver reached and touched the skin she revealed, running a finger down her throat to her navel. Her stomach tightened in reaction. Finally she looked down, her short hair falling at the sides of her face, hiding her from him. Impulsively he brought her chin up so he could look at her face again.

No more hiding.

And then Oliver peeled back the blouse and tossed it to the floor. When he reached for the zip of her pants he bent and took her mouth for a slanted kiss. Her hands reached up and frantically, blindly, released his tie. When she pushed his jacket off his shoulders he helped her discard the item of clothing, then gritted his teeth when her hands ran the expanse of his chest.

"I missed your touch," he told her.

And it was undoubtedly the biggest understatement in the world, because there were nights when he wondered if there was technology in the world powerful enough to sear off memories so he could live his life again.

He placed an openmouthed kiss on her collarbone. Her pants dropped to her ankles now. He heard her breath hitch and she gasped. Her fingers buried into his hair and tightened. Still, he kissed his way down her throat and finally buried his nose between the swell of her breasts.

"I thought we'd never have this again."

And he was sufficiently relieved when she grasped his shoulders and raised herself up, wrapped her legs around his waist. The bed was just behind her, and Oliver carried her towards the bed and laid her down. He covered her body and marveled at how comfortable and familiar this was—despite the months that had passed, despite the rare occurrences they found themselves in his bed.

They were going to make love, because he missed her wrapped around him, missed the way he felt like there was nothing wrong with the world when he was inside her. And then she placed a hand on his chest and sat up on the bed.

"I love you," she said tentatively.

Despite having heard it before, this was the first time he saw her face when she said the words. His heart constricted. He said in return, "I love you too."

"After this—"

Oliver took her hand in his and quickly dispelled her words by kissing her lips. "I love you; you love me. Anything other than that can wait until I'm done welcoming you home."

He gave her a smile, because in his bed she was not supposed to think of what was missing in life, or what was wrong outside. They had started this to be happy. And she was home. He was happy.

"Do you know how much I missed you when I was gone?" she asked softly.

If she really believed the time apart was out of her hands, then she could have felt a fraction of what he did. So he answered, "Of course."

And he touched her. He slid a hand under her bra and released one breast, kissed the nipple and flicked it with his thumb until it was straining under his attention. Oliver licked it, then took it between his teeth. She released a long breath and fell back on the bed. Oliver bent down and kissed her stomach. When she reached down and pulled him up so she could kiss him, Oliver felt her thighs cradle him and her opening warm and moist under him. He reached down between them and slid two fingers inside her.

"I stayed awake at night dreaming of this," she confessed.

He whispered into her ear, "I never forgot."

And then he slid inside of her, and Oliver groaned when her muscles yielded to accept him and then squeeze him tightly. He laid his mouth against her cheek as he started thrusting in and out of her. She gripped his shoulders and whispered into his ear how much she loved him. And then Oliver felt her body spasming around him, squeezing and then clenching tight. She let out a small cry of release. Oliver's vision darkened and he pushed and pulled until he came inside her.

Even after he was done, and her hands rubbed up and down his back, Oliver did not move from his place on top of her. He closed his eyes. "Wake me up if I'm too heavy for you." Instead she wrapped her arms around him and tightened her legs as she held on to him.

It was a couple of hours later when Oliver opened his eyes. Outside the moon was still high in the sky. He felt himself stirring and he dropped a kiss on her shoulder. She woke and met his eyes, then tentatively she raised her hips. He was hard, and he angled his hips forward. Her green eyes sharpened at the sensation. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she threw her head back. Wordlessly, Oliver pumped his hips. She raised her arms over her head. He twined their fingers together and he held her hands down on either side of her head.

Chloe hooked her legs tighter over his hips and met his thrusts, then tightened her fingers around his when he came inside her again that night.

Morning came and with it came the carefully planned vengeance. The Justice League gathered around the Watchtower, and Oliver nodded when Chloe took her place to his right. She had laid a tentative hand on his arm that morning when he gave her a cup of coffee.

"We need to talk."

"I still love you. I won't ever stop," was his response. "Do you still feel the same way?"

And her smile was easy, a little sad though he did not know why, when she told him, "I'm always going to love you, Ollie."

Then there was time enough to share stories, to talk about the future, after they take down the bastard that killed Carter. "Then we'll talk tonight," he promised her. Because when they sat down and figure out tomorrow they would have all the time in the world, all the focus they could bring. After all, they would be agreeing on forever.

~o~o~

He kicked at the door, and it did not budge. Once again he grabbed the doorknob and hissed in pain at the scorching metal. Chloe took his hand and pulled it back. Around them the beams screeched and one flaming rod clattered from the ceiling to just a several feel behind them. He covered Chloe's head with his arm and pulled them down and away.

She was pale and trembling. Oliver pushed her behind him as he searched the building for a way out. He took a bow from the quiver and shot at the window, but his arrow clattered to the ground. He cursed at the strength of the material used.

"I'll get us out of here," he assured her. "Stay low and so you don't inhale too much smoke."

Chloe gripped the back of a chair and cried out, falling to her knees. He rushed over to her side and grasped her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and grasped his collar. She cried out again. Chloe reached up and tore her shirt partway down. Oliver saw the green glow coming from the vicinity of her heart.

"What is that?"

Her grip on him was strong, close to painful. But the look she gave him tore at him more than any physical pain. "That's what I needed to tell you," she gasped. "I didn't know how long it would take before it reacts. They planted it on me like they planted it on Tess."

Biorhythm.

"We need to turn it off."

He shook his head furiously. "I'm not going to stop your heart."

In his arms she recoiled, then cried out once again. He held her close until the pain receded. "It's not a tracking device, Oliver. It's going to implode. This facility is right below where there are civilians." It was burning, scorching hot, and Oliver knew this was how hell burned. "We don't have time, Oliver."

"I'll find a way out," he barked. He could not hate her for leaving when she thought it was the only choice. But he could hate her if she forced him to do this. "Hold on."

"I shouldn't have come back. Not for this. It was selfish."

His eyes filled and he willed himself to focus, because if there was a way to escape then it would be that much harder to hit a target if his eyes were puffed. The fucking comm link was dead. He pulled it from his ear and threw it away in disgust. He yelled for Clark, because Boy Scout should be able to hear and save them.

"Oliver, last night was borrowed time."

Last night was the best moment in his entire life.

He looked back at her to tell her that, but she was on her knees now, her lips bloodless. The device was killing her from the inside. For that at least he would think the bastards were humane, because they would kill her off before at the very last moment setting off the explosion.

"There's always something we can do," he assured her.

She shook her head. "We were living on borrowed time, Ollie. Ever since the exchange, ever since they took you, it was either you or me."

"Then it should be me!" Should have done was useless now, but he figured for the damned should have done was the only way out. "I was the one that was captured. I'm the one who's supposed to die."

And when she smiled, it struck him like a punch in his gut. Because she smiled but her eyes filled with tears, and she said she understood but he knew her well enough to read the distress on her face. "No. It was going to be me. It was always going to be me." And then she told him the truth that he had feared, the possibility that stayed in the back of his head ever since he learned that she wore Dr Fate's helment. "I saw your destiny, remember?" He hated destiny—hated the word when Clark used it, despised it even more now that Chloe believed this. "I knew you were destined for so much more than dying today."

"But you didn't see your fate," he insisted. He clenched his jaw, because she was being strong and did not deserve to see a mess. "I'm supposed to save you."

"No, you're not." She nodded, as if nodding at him would make him agree, like he was a child that could be tricked, like this was not the most preposterous thing she ever expected him to accept. "And you're still my hero."

He hated that word too. He liked it up until now. Right now when she used it he could feel how utterly inferior he was to what a hero was supposed to be.

He laid his lips on hers just because he needed to feel her, to hold her to him when she was pulling away. She licked her lips. "Now be a hero to everyone else. You have to do it, Oliver. You know you do." She kissed his lips, his cheek. She created a universe with her kisses. His skies lit up with a million stars that were memories of her tears shining as they rested on her lashes. "You're destined for greatness. Your name will be remembered by dozens of heroes who will follow on your footsteps." Every word that followed felt like a curse. "You'll get married. You'll have sons who are going to be as strong and as legendary as you are."

Nowhere in that destiny did she say her name, and Oliver could not accept what greatness there was in a life without her. "It doesn't matter."

"You'll forget me."

"Now I know you're lying," he gritted through clenched teeth, "because I would never forget you."

"We think people around us are irreplaceable," she said gently. "The truth is, you're going to fall in love one day and you're going to build a life, Ollie." And then she grabbed his shoulders. He felt her body tense as the pain rolled through her body. Afterwards she rested her head on his shoulder and Oliver pulled her up to her feet. But she hung from him, limp, looking up at him as shallow breaths passed through her lips.

"Doesn't mean I'll forget you. Doesn't mean I'll love anyone as much as I love you."

Her eyes were fading. "I didn't know it was going to be today." Oliver felt the cold metal of an arrow when she pressed it into his hand. "I'm dead anyway. I'm sorry it had to be this way." Chloe guided the tip of the arrow to her stomach, right there above the place where he had spent time last night kissing her. "I swear, Ollie, your life will be incomparable."

But he did not want to hear about a destiny she had seen, not during this.

He was glad for the shades that covered his eyes, glad even for the fire around him that he hoped would kill him afterwards. He felt her body react to the pain, to the device that was working its way from her heart, and in the space between her breaths he tightened his grip and clenched, then pushed the tip into her body.

Oliver heard her gasp, felt her blood pump slowly out of her body and spill onto his hand.

Her fading eyes met his, and she reached up and slowly pushed off the shades to reveal his eyes. "I want to remember them." So he looked at her, straight, unwavering. Her body slackened in his arms and her eyes drifted close. Oliver closed his lips over hers.

~o~o~

Straightway the books of the world were all ended,

All friendships, all treasures restlessly cramming the vaults.

The Queen mansion was simple, quite tasteful. Zatanna had always been so used to looming displays of power. Shadowcrest was home to her because of how well it housed centuries worth of magic. The high ceilings and daunting portraits of her ancestors did not hurt either. Indeed, Shadowcrest thrummed with enough energy to power the multitude of earths that coexisted, stable enough to be the anchor among them all. She was quite proud of Shadowcrest. But the Queen Manor, again, was not something to scoff at.

She made her way up the grand teak staircase, newly polished. She looked down and saw her reflection on the surface and reached up to fluff her hair.

Over the years they had fallen one by one. For someone who had been nursing a death wish for decades it was quite odd and ironic that Oliver Queen would be the last to go. After seeing off so many of them one would think Zatanna would be spared a final goodbye to the very last one, but that was impossible. Once when they were younger and Oliver Queen was a specimen of a man she had sworn that she owed Oliver Queen one. The Zataras always kept their promises.

She walked down the corridor and spotted the master bedroom at once. There were two men posted outside like handsome guards. She nodded towards them and pushed through the door.

There were children playing or teenagers reading at the foot of the bed. Her eyebrows arched. She walked towards the bed and sat down on the side of it, causing it to dip slightly and the old man to open his eyes. Zatanna inclined her head and gave the old man a fond smile. She touched his face.

He chuckled. "How are you still so young and beautiful?"

"If I say magic, you'd believe me," she replied with a grin. Slowly her smile faded when she remembered how Bruce appeared in his waning years. Selena had grown old like him. And Zatanna had maintained her youthful appearance out of spite. Only even when they all died one by one she seemed to always be the one on the losing end. "It's not all that."

Oliver Queen licked his lips. Zatanna touched them briefly and brought back the moisture to the old skin.

"It took you almost half a century to call in the favor I owed you," she said to him, and she recognized the petulance on her voice. It almost seemed so ill-suited to a woman her age. She was glad it did not show. She glanced around the room, then said casually, "You have a lovely family." And Zatanna knew Oliver enough to know that was one of the promises of the Fate helmet. "You have everything."

Those old eyes crinkled, but they were as warm a brown as they always were. Those eyes never changed. "We both know that's not true," Oliver Queen returned, his voice a little raspy from use. "I don't regret a single one of those children, Zatanna. Their children—they were the joy in the twilight of my life."

Zatanna nodded. She had never had the chance to have a family. But she knew many other people who lost the chance as well. Bart was the one who died after Chloe, and the loss had been shocking. "It almost seems selfish that you would want more than what you were given," she said.

"Are you here to judge me?"

"I'm here to do you a favor because a Zatara's word is binding," she clarified. She took a deep breath, then asked, "What else do you want, Oliver?"

"Her."

She had expected that, but no matter how she wrapped her head around it she could not figure out how to give him what he wanted, not unless she woke demons and her magic would not support that.

"She was my whole world," the old man remembered in a soft voice. For a split second Zatanna thought his face morphed into that of a young man, without the burden of the world lining his skin. "When she left, I was gone."

Of course he would ask that. At the end of one's life was the clearest when it came to perspective. No one in the world even remembered Chloe Sullivan now. It was so long ago. Her name had long been forgotten. Outside in the world there was not one mention of her name in the decades since her death. Even Lois barely remembered her save for a little girl she had named after her cousin.

"You weren't meant to be together, Oliver," Zatanna said, patting the old man's hand. "That's why she died. This was the life you were always meant to live." And it was not a bad life at all. "You married a hero, just like you. You spent a lifetime fighting for your beliefs. You led the city out of the darkness."

Oliver pushed a button and his sons entered the room. At Oliver's request the children were escorted out. When they were alone, Oliver continued, "I had a short-lived marriage to a nice woman who let me forget for a few minutes before I retreated back to my memories. I fought a fight that never ended. I had two terms as mayor in a city that is going to plunge back into vice after I go."

"You had a beautiful life."

Old man Oliver was as stubborn as the playboy, Zatanna realized. "Not enough. You owe me, Zatanna. I'm calling in the favor. I want her." His breathing was shallow, and his chest puffed up and down while her stomach hollowed. "I'll take whatever you can give."

Zatanna pursed her lips. She opened her bag and looked for an incantation. She turned back to Oliver, then warned him, "She won't know you. And it would be—different. Not too different, but there are other people who choose a second chance. Circumstances are affected. So she's-"

"But it's still her?"

She nodded. "And you wouldn't know her."

He closed his eyes. "I'd know her wherever, whenever I wake up."

"Go on. Sleep."

"If I sleep, do I die?"

Without hesitation, she answered, "Yes." He grunted. "Do you need to see your family?" she offered. She had wanted to see her father before he died and she was not given the same opportunity.

"We've said our goodbyes. You were right. This was a lovely family, a wonderful life. But I'm ready for her, Zatanna. I've lived the destiny that Nabu had for me. Now I want to live the life I deserve."

And he smiled peacefully. The atmosphere of the home was peace, and she realized he had been waiting for this for so long. She took his hand and whispered, "At the end of your life, Oliver, who do you want to be?"

When he closed his eyes he was a young man again, his mouth of her skin, his universe filled with her kisses. "I want to be her hero."

Zatanna held his hand and whispered the incantation over and over again. When she opened her eyes, she turned back to the old man on the bed. His chest was still, and there was a smile on his lips. Light spilled into the room, and Zatanna blinked in surprise when she realized her eyes had filled with tears. She looked up and said, "Connor, I'm sorry."

"He's gone?" Zatanna nodded. "It's fine. He'd been preparing for that adventure for a long time. The Green Arrow's off to find the love of his life." Connor walked into the room and looked down at his father. He reached down and patted Oliver's still shoulder. "Good luck, dad. Thanks for staying around so long." He took a deep breath, and Zatanna recognized the brave face that hid the sudden grief. "I'll tell my brother."

tbc