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: It's the 23rd and I am not done with my Christmas shopping. Here's to hoping I don't get stranded as I brave the malls. Let me know what you think of this part. Cheers to all of you.

Part 5

Only your clarity pressing back on the whole of non-being,

Only your love, where the dark of the world closes in.

His arms were full of her, full to overwhelming, and Oliver stepped back and allowed the door to shut behind her. It was bright outside still, so Oliver squeezed her arms and excused himself to shut down the blinds. In the background he heard his phone ringing. Oliver was loathe to break the thick air that surrounded them. If he did not answer his security would come barreling in. One glance at Chloe convinced him.

Oliver pushed the answer button on the speakerphone and made sure that no one would come to break into the world her presence immediately created.

The girl—this stranger—Chloe—

He licked his lips and then he heard his own voice, so gravelly it was almost unfamiliar. "You're soaked." Whatever had possessed her to run through the rain and straight into his office, however she knew how to get there when all they found about each other were names—

He thanked his infamy, that at least while he worked to find her Chloe found herself at his doorstep. Oliver turned and took a clean, dry tower from the private bathroom adjoining his office and handed it to her. She looked up and for a beat appeared puzzled. It was a towel. But he did not blame her. He was in a state of perpetual confusion these days.

So he offered her his hand, and she took it.

And for a split second there were dim golden lights surrounding them as the room pitched into a street corner and darkness. And only then, it was her bright smile, her bright hair a halo around her head, and a rush of blood to his head.

"Be careful, Ollie. Or I'm going to start to think you're falling for me."

The breath rushed from his body in a quick exhale. Slowly his eyes adjusted, and they were back, right there in his office, and he held her hand tentatively. As he returned he willed himself to remain grounded. Oliver reluctantly pulled his hand away and then with the towel dabbed at the sides of her face, at her neck, until slowly he saw her return from whichever place her own thoughts brought her.

He wondered if it was an oddly familiar street corner, a few blocks down from his building, seconds from the café he frequented since coming to Metropolis.

"How?" he asked. Chloe took the towel from his grasp. Beads of water rolled from her hair, trailing a path down her neck. Oliver watched as droplets hung from her chin and sparsely rained onto the heavy cloth of her soaked blouse. Later he would find a way to get her into dry clothes. But now—"You said I'm going to destroy you." It was impossible, but the fear in her expression was real. "How?"

And she closed her eyes. Oliver saw the wet lashes tremble briefly as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Did she see her death, right then, when her lips parted and she breathed out softly, when air caught in her throat? He reached out a hand and brushed away the water that gathered in that hollow of her throat, then said, "Tell me how, because hurting you is the last thing I'd willingly do."

And then her eyes fluttered open, and they were so close as he leaned over her. Her parted lips shone under the light of the office, and all he could remember was the look on her face as the brief teasing moment in that memory, as they stood in the night under the streetlight and he held her hand.

He heard the muffled sound when the moist towel dropped at their feet. He felt her fingers, tentative at first, then self-assured when she grasped his head and pulled him down for a kiss. Oliver slanted his lips over hers.

Was this not odd, he thought, for this to be so natural when those words haunted him.

She gasped against his mouth, and then her other arm hooked at his nape. She pressed her body against him and he felt his tighten in response. Twenty four hours. Not even. He had not known Chloe for longer than a day, but she was as familiar as a lifetime. His hands settled on her waist and then, like he was propelled by a knowledge that was deep-seated in the pit of his stomach, Oliver navigated the floor blindly until she was pressed back against the blinds of the glass windows.

The blinds clattered from behind her. Oliver felt the warmth of her body despite the rain-soaked clothes, groaned deep in his throat when the warmth intensified as she parted her legs. She clutched at his coat now, pushed her body against his and kissed him so intensely he thought she was bound to take his breath away.

He cupped her cheek.

Froze.

Slowly he raised his head and looked down at her. He had been so lost, and so had she. She blinked up at him and he looked down at her, knew the warm wetness that streaked her face was not the rain.

The voice that tore from his chest was harsh, and for a moment he envied her the horror of her own imagination, of her dreams, of whatever it was inside her head that scared her about him. Perhaps if he could have a glance, he would have control. "I'm sorry," he said. But he needed to know, needed to take the situation in his hands. Because even though the entire universe conspired against them, she was his purpose.

Oliver Queen did not back down in the face of ancient ruins and curses, did not buckle under the pain of losing his parents and taking the reins of billions at a young age. Oliver Queen had faced more than many of his peers had faced, like the obstacles were made for more than one lifetime.

For some reason, it struck him that this would be the most important challenge of all.

She shook her head, urged him closer by leaning up into his arms.

"What did I do?" he asked. And then, like fear clawed up his throat he asked afterwards, "What did you see?"

But she licked her lips, and the very gesture sent a thrill up his spine. She was a stranger and every little thing was familiar, like it was part of the way he breathed, the involuntary beat of his heart. "You'll think I'm crazy."

"Maybe you are," Oliver answered thoughtfully. "I'm already sure that I am. From the moment I saw you yesterday I knew what I felt, how quickly I felt it, how intense it was-it wasn't sane." And then his thumb brushed across her bottom lip. "I figure if I go insane and you'll be a part of my life then sanity is overrated." He took a breath, then realized, "Tell me, Chloe. And then we'll be crazy together."

He could see the storm in those eyes, the confusion, the sheer reluctance. And for a brief moment he thought she was stubborn like she always had been, stuck in that place in her head where she thought she would keep him safe.

Oliver swallowed, rested his forehead against hers as he fought the words that threatened to spill from his chest. Because Oliver Queen did not say those words. Because if Oliver Queen said them, she would label it a line. Because no one in their right mind would ever utter that statement after twenty four hours.

But they had already agreed that they were far from sane, as long as they were together.

"You're the reason that I'm here, the only reason I know." Even though he did not truly know.

For a few brief seconds Oliver thought she would tell him. Her green eyes moved like she was conflicted, and Oliver grabbed the moment and closed his lips over hers, breathed deeply and washed away the permanent scent of soot and blood that permeated his senses from the day he was born. Her fragrance drenched over him as she returned the kiss.

"I need to go," she gasped when she finally pulled away. She kept her eyes on the ground, and Oliver reached forward to tip her chin up.

"I can't avoid whatever it is that scares you if you don't tell me."

"I don't know you."

Softly, he rejected the idea, "That's a lie. You know that's a lie." And then he told her, "If you feel what I feel, then you know that you don't know anyone else in the world as well as you know me."

She stepped backwards, farther and farther away from him, and Oliver wanted nothing more than to reach for her and keep the shortest distance possible between them. But there was fear enough that warred in her gaze. He took deep breaths, one at a time. A breath at a time and he would gain understanding, patience which he lost steadily as he slowly seemed to lose her.

"If I tell you—if you remember—" Her eyes closed briefly, and the vision sent a cold finger down his spine, and he realized he abhorred the sight of her eyes closed. She looked like death. It was a vision that rendered him motionless. And then her eyes opened and Oliver burned the green eyes into his brain. "The more memories we have, the more it will happen again. That's what she said."

She.

"Who?" he demanded.

There was one woman he had seen her speak with, one other soul she knew. That reporter. Chloe and that reporter—Lois Lane—spoke intently in the museum. He made a note to look up Lane.

Until the name that struck him cold and speechless.

"Zatanna."

His expression smoothed, and the day that Zatanna stepped into his life more than a year ago played back in his head. That impossible night when the gorgeous woman strode into his life and, without preamble, offered him her home. "Zatanna," he repeated quietly.

But she had said more than she wanted, more than she had assumed was allowed. Oliver's hands fisted at his sides as he prevented himself for reaching for her. Desolate in the center of the office, Oliver watched as she closed the door behind her.

He paused for a beat. Two.

Chloe had walked into his life, twice now. Oliver was not a man to sit and wait. He picked up the towel from the floor and tossed it over onto the couch. Then he strode to where he had left his coat hanging and put it on. Without thought to what he left behind Oliver stepped outside and took his own elevator down to the lobby and caught a glimpse of her as she hurried out of the building. The car waited for him, parked outside in the driveway.

"Follow the cab," he instructed the driver.

It was barely ten minutes when they stopped outside the building he had admired many times before until he discovered that it was under Lex Luthor's name. Oliver sat back in his seat and he watched Chloe enter the building surreptitiously. Oliver sat forward when a familiar convertible pulled up at the front of the building. He knew that Lex knew her, but suddenly the appearance of Lex Luthor at that moment sent warning bells in his head. Lex got off the car and entered through the same door that Chloe had taken.

Oliver slammed out of the car. He had no reason to be there, but still he crossed the street towards the building with those stained glass large windows he had imagined flying through.

He had the full intent of following them until he was stopped by a vaguely familiar face. Oliver turned towards the man who stood several feet away on the street. The man had been at the museum ball with Lane, and stared intently at him that it was impossible not to inquire, "Do I know you?"

Slowly, the man nodded, the puzzled gaze running from head to toe. "Or maybe you don't. My name is Clark Kent. I came here to talk to you."

If he did he would have proceeded to Queen Tower. It was obvious this was an afterthought, or the man was quick—supernaturally so. "I have something to do. You should schedule an appointment. I have a secretary."

Oliver turned and proceeded towards the building. And then he heard, "Over the last few months I've had revelations that threw me off."

Oliver paused briefly, then glanced back at Clark. "I don't see how that concerns me."

"Because I saw you way before you came to Metropolis. It started a year ago."

A year ago was the day he revisited Shadowcrest and found the ancient book. He turned around and walked back towards Clark. "A year ago? I've been in Metropolis a few months, Mr Kent. Why are you coming to me now?"

Clark pursed his lips, then glanced up at those stained glass windows that Oliver adored. "Because I've only started to put it together now." He paused. "Last night."

The museum—when the world stopped still and turned gray, when everything faded and the only sound was her heartbeat.

"My fiancé and I were drawn here just last year, and we had a history and a life. But I always knew I already had everything I needed," Clark explained. His brows furrowed. "And we were stuck here where we aren't supposed to be."

Lane. Kent was Lane's partner. Lane was the only one who seemed to know as much about Chloe. "Where is Lois Lane?"

"She's gone. She already saw what she was here for," answered the other man. "And that's the only reason I came directly to you. I need to get out of here but I can't."

"I can't help you with that." He had his own problems. In another life, he thought, he would have set aside his goals and stopped to listen. But Oliver had his own purpose now. He had one sole purpose, and she was there in that building with a man who was at best amoral. "Follow her."

"I'm not done," Clark answered.

And at those simple words the world around him dimmed and heated, like he was caught in a furnace or hell. Oliver's chest grew tight, like he needed air he could not get, even as he stood in the open.

"What do you mean?" he rasped.

There was the heaviness of regret in the other man's eyes, the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Oliver saw the proud stance slump at the question. And then Clark Kent replied, "Once you called for me and I couldn't come. And that was the biggest regret of my life."

When Clark reached for his shoulder, Oliver's first instinct was to pull away. He did not, and Clark's hand grasped his shoulder.

"I'll make up for that, Oliver."

And then in his head Oliver was holding on to the universe in his arms, pleading and promising, and all he could smell was blood and smoke and a hint of Chloe. His throat was raw as he yelled a name. Clark. It was his name. He screamed until his throat tore and he could choke on his own tongue as his throat swelled. He yelled and cried and called for the only one who could save them—who could have saved her.

"You'll forget me."

"Never."

"The truth is, you're going to fall in love one day and you're going to build a life, Ollie."

"Doesn't mean I'll forget you."

When Oliver returned to his senses and Clark's image pieced together before him once again, the other man's expression was of concern and trepidation. "Would you believe me if I told you that we knew each other?"

Without pause, Oliver answered, "Yes."

"Like we were brothers, Oliver."

"Enough to trust that you would have saved her." And then Oliver's brows furrowed. "You didn't."

"That's why I'm here," Clark admitted. "It didn't matter how many lives I saved. A hundred thousand people never made up for the way I failed my best friends."

Oliver did not know this man beyond the conversation between the two of them, could not tell the ridiculous story from a lie. But then subconsciously he reached forward and grasped Clark Kent's elbow, then said, "A hundred thousand lives is more than enough to redeem you."

Clark Kent returned with a stifled chuckle, then shook his head. "You never forgave me until the day you died. Not really." He glanced up. "Neither did I."

Meanwhile, up above the two Lex opened the doors of the Watchtower and found Chloe looking out of the stained glass windows, relishing the skyline that blurred in the horizon. He said her name, and she turned halfway, her face hidden in the shadow of the silhouette.

"I called the investors of LuthorCorp over tomorrow for the big reveal," he said into the yawning room. "The FBI would be undercover in the meeting. We're taking him down, Chloe."

Her cheeks were stained so she quickly dried the tears. When she looked back at him her eyes were bloodshot from the tears. He walked over to him, and Chloe placed her palms over his chest. She held her breath, feeling for a moment. And then she laid her ear over his chest and listened, knew the beat was different, the rhythm unfamiliar.

"Tomorrow," she agreed.

"Are you ready to tell me?" came the cool, disaffected question.

"You have to promise that you won't hurt him in any way, Lex." His eyes narrowed. She locked her jaw and raised her chin as a challenge. Reluctantly, Lex nodded. "I think I'm in love with him."

"Queen," he said again, just as he had said half a dozen times the day before, and had her deny a half a dozen times more. This time she nodded. "You barely know him."

"I'm dreaming of him."

Memories, Zatanna had said. Memories, not dreams.

But she was not prepared to tell Lex. Not when he had his father and the company and the chaos in between to deal with tomorrow.

"How does he kill you, Chloe?" he whispered. "In those dreams, how does he do it?"

For the longest time, he was the only one she trusted enough with secrets about Lionel, the only one who protected her from the beast. And he had sworn he would not hurt Oliver. Lex kept his word. It was a hardest word she could utter, "Arrow." She swallowed. "I was killed with an arrow."

And then, it was Lex. "So was I."

tbc