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.

Part 4

But when death in its time chooses to pummel the doors—

Ay! There is only your face to fill up the vacancy.

In her consciousness there was death. In her nightmares there was love. In that single moment that was burned into her brain forever—where pain and fulfillment meshed together well and wove strands of another life—there were his eyes.

And then, in that split second when it was the most painful, there was his kiss.

Her fingers were tentative when they rose to touch her lips. Right there. When she closed her eyes he was there, pressed against her while she hovered between then and now. One moment she sucked in air, and then his mouth covered hers and she exhaled into his kiss.

"What happened?"

Chloe opened her eyes, pulled out of the reverie by the quiet voice. The gray blue tint of Lex's gaze was intent on her, and she looked up at him. But there were no words. How did one describe the precise moment when she kissed him and felt like everything she had been searching for was right there on his skin? He was a stranger, a stranger who was not a stranger only in her nightmares. And only because then he was her killer.

"Oliver Queen," he concluded.

Whatever it was he saw in her eyes convinced him, because his hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles grew white. Chloe reached forward and rested a hand on his taut arm. "No," she whispered.

Because Lex was right. Out of all the people in the world, she knew best what he was capable of.

Even at that moment when she answered, she could not understand why.

Except she imagined how his skin tasted, how his kiss had taken her breath away.

Oliver Queen was going to be the death of her, and for all the reasons she could not completely comprehend she did not care enough.

"No," she said instead.

Like the nightmares was just a nightmare when she saw those eyes herself, pieced them together with the very real pain when she teetered in the brink of death. When you died in your dreams, you died. And even then—"No, Lex. It wasn't him."

And she could feel Lex's cool blue eyes burning the back of her head, but still she kept her eyes towards the window, at the streetlights and the buildings where they passed. It was a pleasant neighborhood, but far from the penthouse where he lived. Definitely far from the long road that led to Smallville, far from the cousin she knew would not be home, far from home.

Most important of all—"This is a place where my father wouldn't find you."

At the end of it all, no matter how much he cared, this was the end all, the be all, that one goal.

She straightened in her seat, and realized the day of the reckoning had come. Far too long they had spoken in vague, indefinite terms of the time when the entire world would crumble around Lionel Luthor. Above all else, she knew, Lex wanted to be free of the man. And for far too long the goal had been a lofty one, one that never turned into concrete objectives, into action steps. Lex stopped the car outside a tall building that loomed and drew the eye with that large stained glass window face and she knew the time had come.

At the end of the street there was a newspaper vendor, with a coffee cart sitting to his side. She was going to visit that cart, in those rare instances when she stepped into a world that existed outside.

So she got off from the car and followed him into the building, entered the elevator that reflected her quite readily. Chloe looked at her reflection, wondered at the flush of her cheek that had not been there before, marveled at the way her eyes glinted.

Tonight she shimmered, like the entire world paled in comparison to her, like the world grew that much dimmer, like she shone a little bit brighter. Even the dark hallway lit up in her eyes—

Her lips throbbed, her heart thundered.

And my God, how her entire world changed with one kiss.

"Chloe, come here."

And she wondered if Lex noticed the guilt that flushed over her when she snapped back to reality and followed him into the large room, empty save for a spiral staircase that led to a loft. He stood at the center of it and Chloe stepped into the room. Her gaze moved to the round window right behind him, and for a moment she cringed at the image of a body crashing through.

She started, and realized it was Lex that grabbed her arm. His brows furrowed in concern. "What is it?" And then he cursed. "Is it that nightmare? If you can't focus, we can't do this."

"I'm fine," she answered, strengthening her voice, affirming her conviction. "I can do this." Because Lionel Luthor, whatever they said, was the man responsible for the deaths of LuthorCorp employees that included her father. And if that was too much of a leap, then she had him for the murder of his own parents. She mattered. In this case she mattered. In this, she held all the aces.

"Good. Because I can't do this without you, Chloe," Lex told her, and it was music to her ears. "This will be your hideout. When I said you need to move to Metropolis, I was serious. No more commuting to Smallville. I can't have you that close to my father. Do you have a problem with that?"

Lois had already said goodbye.

"No."

"Good. There's a room that's furnished. Use it until we figure out how to set up an investigation in this space."

"Alright."

"I want this to be over, Chloe. The sooner he falls, the sooner we can move on."

The desire was right on his face, the hunger so strong and clear. When Lionel fell, and Lex Luthor rose, then the mission was complete. And then she would be unnecessary. So, she feared, would he. And then she would be left, once more. "Where will you go?"

Finally there was peace on his expression, peace that he had never had before. To Chloe he had not looked younger, more content, than when he imagined the fall of his father. It was all in her hands, that peace. All in the evidence she held tightly to her chest, safe where only she knew how to access.

He looked almost as vibrant as she did when she glimpsed her own reflection, while her lips prickled with Oliver Queen's kiss.

"I don't know," and on his face she recognized the same acceptance that Lois had when she said goodbye. "And I don't care. But I know we have to take him down."

Chloe swallowed, and then she promised, "Okay." Because she was not going to deny Lex Luthor the prospect of something that made him shine the way he did right then. "Whatever it takes."

She mattered now, and even if afterwards she faded into nothing then at least she served her purpose—even once.

"Thank you." Before he left, he turned back to her and said, "I'm not kidding, Chloe. Tell me what it is that scares you. Tell me who, and I will bring down everything on him." He paused, and in that heavy, pregnant pause, Chloe thought she saw a part of Lex he reserved only for his father. "Even if it's Queen."

A frisson of fear, a jolt of panic. Her hand tightened around his wrist, and she denied, "And I said it's not him. Listen to me Lex. Stay away from Oliver Queen." It must be her imagination. Her voice could not possibly have sounded like a threat. Not to Lex. Not for that man. "Promise me."

One curt nod of acknowledgment from a man who did not need to humor her.

And then Chloe was alone, standing in the center of the space. She heard a steady thrum in her ears. She closed her eyes and listened. Thought it was impossible. But there it was, strong, steady, right there at her ear, like she was pressed close to that heartbeat.

She looked around that large space, the emptiness, and wondered why it was that she heard it still. And it was quiet. But it was the most sound that rocked her world. Every breath, every second, and she was nearer to him.

That night she dreamed, and in her dream she sat on the edge of a bed—feathersoft, smooth like silk. On the edge of the bed she looked down at a still face and her hand reached out and trailed across the bare warm skin of his chest. She felt her lips curve, and Chloe in that dream his face was clear. His closed eyes hid nothing, and her heart was sluggish in her chest and her gaze drank in his features.

"Oliver," the name flew like an exhale from her lips.

And that was when he opened his eyes, and those brown eyes frightened her for nothing more than the way they crinkled when he greeted, "Morning."

And it was like it was just one of many mornings together. Her body moved of its own will when she slithered up against his body and he said to her, "I love you."

She breathed, like the declaration was part of the air and she could inhale and trap the words inside her. Chloe rested her head on his chest, her ear right there above his heart, and she said in return, "I love you."

His heartbeat was steady in her ear.

When she woke, she wondered if it was a nightmare. It must have been. His skin, his breath, his heartbeat. Never once had she mattered as much as she did in those few seconds. It was the most beautiful nightmare in the world, just because she knew while she said those words that it was all a dream.

She wandered into the hallways of the university as she found her classes from muscle memory—a turn here, a dozen steps in that direction, a few seconds from one floor to the other. She arrived at her class a few minutes early and Chloe's attention drifted to the newspaper held up by one of her classmates who sat waiting on the bench.

The must have been reading the sports page, because the lifestyle section weaved as a small wind blew in and out. Chloe stared at the photograph printed in color. Black and white would have taken life from his eyes, and in that shot Oliver Queen looked so alive. Of course his face would grace the Lifestyle pages. After last night's gala, Oliver Queen proved himself an icon.

She envied him for a second, envied his purpose, wondered what it took to be as much in control of his destiny as he appeared.

The class before theirs was dismissed, and the students milled out, for a time obstructing her view of the newspaper and his face. Chloe's gaze fell to the floor. When the corridor cleared it was sharp eyes that drew her attention back up. Chloe met the curious gaze of the woman who now offered the newspaper to her.

"Do you want it?"

She had not seen her before in class, wondered if the professor allowed sit-ins so late in the semester. But Chloe accepted the paper and murmured her thanks. The paper warmed under her arm, almost like touching his image on paper was the same as touching his skin. The woman took a seat beside her in class. Chloe's eyes skimmed through the article that told her much of everything she had already assumed the night before.

Was surprised that for the benefit, for the excavation, for that contribution, not one of them called him a hero.

Maybe I'm a hero only to you.

It was a pity, how no one else could see. He seemed built to be a hero, fit enough to become everything they needed. Yet no one else knew what she did, no one else saw. Even if her nightmares came true, and he killed her, she did not matter enough to reverse all the good that he could do.

She shook her head. How stupid, how completely insane.

"Hello Chloe."

The sound of her name surprised her. It was a stranger's voice, a woman she had not met save for the kind gesture of lending her the paper. Chloe looked back up to the woman who sat beside her. The woman smiled, and it was affecting, charming, and drew a smile from Chloe in return.

"Don't be scared," she said said, as if it ever worked on anyone who already was fearful. "My name is Zatanna." And even she seemed to find humor in the quirky name that a small grin played on her lips. At the sound of the name Chloe's heart swelled and rose, like she was supposed to feel something, and then discovered it was gratitude. For a stranger. Whatever had she done?

Maybe because of the paper. But the nameless feeling overwhelmed her, like she owed Zatanna much more. And suddenly, she was not scared at all.

"I came to talk to you about your dreams."

Chloe was frozen in her seat. The world paled around her, like Zatanna sucked in the colors until the only thing vibrant in Chloe's eyes was Zatanna herself. Gone were the sounds surrounding them, and Chloe felt the two of them encapsulated, unaffected by the rest of the class.

"I'm here to fix a little mistake." Zatanna reached out a hand, and despite her better judgment Chloe placed a hand in the outstretched one. "I came to take away the nightmares."

That intense pain that went beyond her consciousness.

The dream from that morning when for the first time she mattered to someone enough to love her, when someone mattered so much she loved him too.

Death as opposed to love. With those same brown eyes the two seemed to come together, inextricably.

"You should not be having those nightmares," was the simple explanation, "and I can take them away." That was why. That was how she could so easily speak to her, because Zatanna could take away the memories, even of these few minutes. "I can make it go away." Those clear eyes narrowed and Zatanna sat forward. "I don't know what went wrong, but if you say yes then you won't have to be afraid anymore."

"The dream when I died," Chloe said tentatively.

"I'll make it vanish," Zatanna swore. "And you won't dream of it again. All the pieces that come along with it—"

"His eyes—"

"Everything," Zatanna assured her. "You shouldn't have any of it. But you are bringing things into this world that you shouldn't." And she muttered under her breath. "You're breaking boundaries, inviting ghosts, and I need to make sure they're blocked."

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"This is another chance, not a continuation of something you already lost." Zatanna huffed, like she had been cheated. "And that is how all of your ghosts have treated it."

Zatanna must have been her father's princess, Chloe thought idly, for the reaction she had—offended at the thought that she had been one-upped. The words reminded her of Lois, of the night, of the moment she said goodbye.

"Why not?"

The breath released from her lungs quickly. The world spun, faster and faster until she knew by the end memories would vanish like they were never there. In panic Chloe clutched Zatanna's wrist and broke her hold.

"Listen to me," Zatanna insisted. "If you don't let the past go, then it will all happen again. And I don't have enough power to conjure another round of this!"

She stood abruptly from her seat, and the fine barrier that seemed to isolate the two of them from the rest of the class shattered. The colors shifted, and Zatanna was no longer as vivid, the world no longer so pale in comparison to her.

"If you don't let go, it will happen again," Zatanna whispered.

The professor cleared his throat, calling their attention to the disruption they caused.

"All you have to do is say yes, and you begin again."

She would forget the pain; that was Zatanna's promise. Chloe would forget the day she died, and how he killed her. But then, she would forget his eyes. His eyes, that when they opened in her dream told her he loved her before he said the words. She would forget his skin, forget the universe his kisses painted above the two of them.

And she drew a breath, then said, "No."

Chloe turned on her heel and ignored the curses in a language she knew was older than time. Zatanna's words of warning floated in her head, muddled, almost senseless now, incredible enough she wondered if the woman had lost portions of her sanity. She walked out of the classroom rather than invite questions, and for a minute or three as she drew away from Zatanna her heart grew lighter.

"Chloe, we need to talk this through."

And right there, trailing her, was the beautiful woman who made her head spin.

But she did not want to forget. She could dream of the pain, only if it meant she could dream of him too.

When she burst out of the halls, out the doors of the building the cool air greeted her with cold bite. Chloe glanced back at where Zatanna stood. And there was Zatanna behind her, watching, waiting. And for a split second Chloe was relieved because the woman made no move towards her.

"Believe it or not, I'm doing this for you." And then, Chloe heard the hitch in her breath. There was a second's pause. "For Oliver."

She knew so much, knew everything impossible for her to know. Her world, her family, her place—they were all suddenly so incomprehensible.

"You know I'm right. You know you believe me," was the gentle reminder, the stubborn emphasis on something Chloe did not want to accept. But despite her refusal to believe, the world around her crumbled just a little by virtue of those words.

"This isn't real," Chloe realized.

And for the ridiculous possibility of it, its utter stupidity and her incredulity perhaps made it true most of all.

For a brief moment she remembered the sadness in her cousin's expression when Lois promised that Chloe would be her maid of honor at her wedding.

I really just wanted to make sure you're okay. Now you're here tonight and I know you will be.

"No," Zatanna answered. "And it's never going to be real as long as you hold on to those memories."

Memories, she said. Memories now, not nightmares, not dreams.

The realization dawned so slowly, so agonizingly slow. Her entire world sank.

And then that one extended hand. "I should have expected that you'd be stubborn. Just take my hand. Once you forget this world would be more real than you can even imagine."

The outstretched hand did not tempt her at all. Chloe looked down at the hand, then back up at Zatanna. The air around her grew colder still, and she wondered if it was because she upset the other woman even more. If she had a part in this, then Chloe's head spun at the sheer power in that proffered hand.

One blink of an eye and then she was standing alone in the desolate steps outside the building. She shivered with each step that she took as she descended onto the street. There was a darkness that crept at her feet, and she took the steps even more quickly down. And then she was running, running through the streets outside where it started to rain, heavy drops of water drenching her, the frozen air for a moment blocking away the scorching flames that licked at her consciousness.

How long she ran she did not know. Where she went, she could not control. But she took the street so quickly and intently that the next thing that she knew she walked past guards who were dumbfounded at the drenched young woman who tore through the lobby. Chloe huddled inside an elevator, looking up at the reflected version of herself, pale from the cold and chilled from the rain. She stepped off the elevator without knowing where she was, and then Chloe threw open closed doors that led her right there.

And she stood, stock still, toe to toe. Her gaze rose until she was looking up at him, warm brown eyes familiar and puzzled at the sight.

"Chloe," he said in surprise, and the way her name played upon his tongue sent a tight coiled spring into her belly.

Chloe looked up at him, and her hand lifted, like it had a will of its own. She touched his face and then told him honestly, "You're going to destroy me." His breath caught, but she continued, "And I'll let you."

"Why?"

She swallowed the painful lump in her throat. Chloe held onto his jacket and pulled him down, murmured low in her throat at the sensation of his lips caressing hers. When the kiss was over she burrowed into arms that wrapped around her without hesitation, and Chloe pressed her cheek onto his chest, her ear right there where his heart beat.

It was the exact same beat from her sleep.

Death crept slowly, certainly, as close as Zatanna had warned. But in his eyes she mattered. And that—in wherever she was, in whatever this was-could be her salvation.

tbc