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: Hope you had a very merry Christmas. I ran out of lines in the initial sonnet I chose but I did find another one of my faves from the same collection that would help me continue the story. The next lines come from LXXVIII.

Part 6

Never, forever… they do not concern me. Victory

leaves a vanishing footprint in the sand.

The sun was slow to set, and in the impending dusk Chloe Sullivan emerged from the darkened tower. Clark had long gone with the promise to keep close watch. When she saw him she stopped still on the sidewalk. Oliver stepped out of the car where he had been waiting and strode towards her.

A life. An entire new life. Another chance.

She paused, and the fear in her eyes was fleeting but heartbreaking.

But he was not going to let some ghost of a past dictate his future. Instead Oliver stepped forward, Clark's words mysterious and still fresh in his brain. There would be another time when he would sit with that half stranger who claimed an affinity to him like a brother. But now it remained. In his mind, in his heart, no matter what she believed in this lifetime Oliver knew his only purpose in this life was Chloe Sullivan.

When he reached her she did not breathe, did not move, did not dare meet his eyes. Instead her gaze focused on his hands, and he saw how they were fisted. What to him was determination, she could likely construe as something darker, more violent, far crueler. At least that was what he saw when he looked at the face that haunted him with memories of a bright smile.

"You're afraid of me," he said, and the sound of his voice was painful even to his own ears.

Even more, was the slip of an agreement, gentle but biting, tentative but ripping, "I am."

"I'd never hurt you," he swore.

When Clark arrived, she was dead and Oliver was half alive. Oliver—that Oliver that Clark knew—that Oliver he used to be—never forgave Clark for not being able to save Chloe. But Oliver knew, from the second that Clark shared the truth, that he hated the man more for arriving in time to save him.

How much easier would it have been if they burned together? And then their ashes would have blown away, intermingled, floating and dancing all the way to heaven.

For one forgetful moment he reached for her hand, and at the brief touch the green eyes looked at him wide-eyed, in wonder, and he swore she did not see anything that would make her afraid.

You saved me.

In those eyes he was larger than life—certainly larger than this one, with all its lies and smoke screens, with the secrets thinly veiled. In her eyes he was a myth. He was a man. A worthy one.

"I love you," he confessed.

Those green eyes flickered, and for a heartbeat or two he thought finally she believed him. Stupid as it was, unrealistic it may be, but he heard his own declaration and knew for all the unbelievable speed of it all it was true, and he was in love. More in love than he had been until then. More in love than he had been since forever. In love only as much as he had been once before, long ago, so long ago he barely remembered but so in love he would never forget.

There was that numbing pain in the vicinity of his heart. For a split second he was blind, staggering down in the darkness, his wrists bound and he hit another body with a force that jarred him. That changed the world.

"I swear," he said, his throat tight, like this was the most important negotiation of all—more than all the million-dollar deals of his life put together in one plea, like he was down in the ground with his neck held down and his face hovering a hairsbreadth away from a two inch deep puddle that would drown him in mud. "I'd sooner die than hurt you. Whatever you think I would do to you, whatever you think I did—"

She stared down at his hands, large hands, hands that engulfed hers. He tightened his grip around her hands to show her how strong he was, how capable he was. How he could take care of her.

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a sense of inferiority. "I can protect you." Four words. Simple words. Common words. Mundane even. But it meant the entire universe now.

After all she died right there, and he wondered about the faint memory of the sweetest, hottest breath against him. Knew that was when she died.

She whispered, and he had to strain to hear, "From you."

"Tell me what you saw!" he pleaded.

Slowly she pulled her hands away. For a split second she glanced back to the building and then she looked back at him. And then, Oliver held his breath when tentative fingers reached up and trailed down the line of his jaw. He itched to reach up and take her hand but kept himself still. There was time enough to give her. There was time enough, now with this new life.

"What do you want from me, Oliver?" she asked softly.

And it was a question he had not expected, did not think of. And even then the response came so easily he wondered if in his dreams he had rehearsed them. "Everything," he answered. And then they spilled, like flood, like a raging dam broken and freed. "Everything we never had a chance to have."

Her eyes were on his lips, reading the way they moved like his mouth was a book and all the knowledge she needed was written in the shapes they took. She blinked slowly, then offered, "I died."

So close to her was like breathing memories that sent his head spinning. She had died. Too early. And suddenly he could see what she saw in his hands, smell the metallic odor of fresh blood. Her blood.

It was terrifying, seeing what made her afraid. But still he held on, forced his attention instead on what she wanted to know. "Everything we would have had if—" If he hadn't killed her– "if I didn't lose you."

She waited. Decades. It was decades and it was centuries between the second she asked and the moment he answered. Decades since she was gone and he finally died, just so he could tell her what he would have given her.

If only. So many of those. If only. Two words he despised even when he had been happiest just because they were just that—words. Two words that were everything in this lifetime.

"I want it all."

Between them the words hung, pictures emerged. And Oliver closed his eyes because even as he slowly pieced together the past all he could imagine was her.

And when she spoke he swore she could see right into his brain. "One diamond. The ring would be gold. It wasn't top of the line."

"My father hadn't made his billions when he proposed."

But that was what she would have gotten. One simple engagement ring that belonged to his mother, understated, not a quarter as rich as what he could afford but exactly as meaningful as every time she brightened when he walked into a room.

"Marriage."

Because there wasn't ever going to be anybody else. Even when there was, there was nobody else. Nobody quite like her. And every day he loved and lived was another day he knew how very much it could not compare.

"Children."

And that he hated most of all because he loved every one of them, and still at night when he closed his eyes he dreamed of children with green eyes, girls who sounded like her and boys as brave as her. His children that he loved and still, he wondered what hell he would find himself in after he died because at night he asked if he would love them more had they been hers.

"I remember," he realized. Everything. Everything that mattered—everything from the way she smelled to the taste of the stars on her skin. Everything about her. Except the day he lost her.

"You remember," she said.

"I remember you."

And when he nodded the glass shield that protected her shattered, and Oliver saw it melt into tears that filled her eyes. She drew a deep breath, released it with a shudder.

And then he paused. The shadows were quiet, subtle in their movement, but still he saw. Oliver's gaze rose from her to the gray blue eyes of the man in the shadows. Luthor.

"Chloe, is something wrong?" called Luthor.

And then the man emerged from the darkness. The streetlight glowed a dull sheen on his scalp. Oliver nodded, because he knew Luthor and she trusted him.

"Nothing, Lex."

"Are you sure?"

For five seconds Oliver fought the urge to snarl at the other man, to throw him out of this life because this was the life he had asked for, the chance he had fought for all those years. Lois and Clark were Chloe's ghosts, tearing their way through the barriers for their own unfinished business, and for her he welcomed the intrusion. Lex Luthor had no place in this life.

Right then it seemed that she agreed, because Chloe said a curt goodbye to Lex.

And then, Chloe turned to him, and Oliver's face suffused with warmth at the words that followed. "I want it too," Chloe told him. "All of it."

I live a bedeviled man, disposed, like any other,

to cherish my human affinities. Whoever you are, I love you.

It was waking from a dream. And the skies above them thundered, and within a split second the skies darkened and the clouds broke, drenching the two of them with the heavy rain. His hand wrapped around her and he pulled them towards the building and pushed the doors open.

"Ollie!" she gasped.

The nickname sounded like an endearment, familiar and liquid as it flew from her lips. The hurt of betrayal in Lex's eyes as she pushed him away washed away with the rain and the grin that graced Oliver's expression at the name. His blonde hair was wet, plastered over his forehead when she saw him. Chloe reached up and pushed the hair back until it spiked over his head.

Another thunderous rumble and the bulb lighting the foyer died. In the darkness she held onto him and Chloe's heart leapt to her throat.

"Are there emergency lights?"

"No idea," she answered. After all Lex had only just given her the building to hide in, and she doubted Lex would answer her call if she tried him now. She felt around blindly and pulled him with her until she found the stairs. Generator-powered elevator or not, she was not going to get in when there was a power outage. "But I saw a rechargeable lamp upstairs."

They felt their way upstairs with his hand on her waist.

They made their way to the safehouse, the watchtower. Chloe made her way to the center of the room and started when a flash of lightning illuminated the large room. She turned around and found Oliver standing at the doorway, watching her. A brief second of thunder and the light, and Chloe surged with joy at the sight of him.

She blinked.

You're safe.

I'm safe.

"Chloe."

She shook her head. The heavy downpour lightened, like it was some trick, like she had been played, and she wondered how much Zatanna could see or hear or manipulate the world. But the memories, the whispers in her ear. None of them were from Zatanna. No one knew but her. Him.

In the darkness of the room, she stood in the center and he at the doorway, and she refused to make her way to him. She shivered, and Chloe watched as he peeled away the heavy suit and heard the loud thud when it hit the floor. Chloe looked over to the stained glass window and saw the slow emergence of the moon and the stars. Moonlight streamed through the window, lending a chilling shade of blue and green and red across his torso.

"You should take off your clothes."

And still she did not move an inch. He made his way to her, his skin glowing under the colorful slivers of moonlight as the wetness shimmered. In her mind's eye he was naked against a backdrop of wide open windows and miles and miles of forest behind him.

"Ollie," she said again. She loved that name. It danced on her tongue. If only she could say it over and over and remember every time she did.

If only. But he remembered now.

It was just a matter of time.

When he reached for her Chloe looked back towards the windows and imagined nursing him back. She could not remember her death, but knew exactly how she died. His hands rested on her cold wet shoulder and she shuddered at the warmth. She had watched her blood spill from her gut and onto his, felt the firm way he held that arrow, remembered the pain like it was yesterday.

But she loved him.

His hands peeled away her clothes like he was born to do so. Chloe threw back her head when Oliver's warm lips kissed her collar. And then the blouse fluttered to the floor. Chloe watched as the golden head lowered over the swell of her breasts as he kissed so lovingly it brought tears to her eyes.

She was going to have sex with a stranger.

With a man she knew killed her. With the man Lex said did the same to him.

And it was, in every sensation, with every gasp, every bit like coming home.

She blinked down at him and was embarrassed when one of her tears fell onto the slope of her breast, then rolled to the hollow in between. He caught it with a tip of his finger and looked up at her. And she saw the emotion in his eyes and felt the kick in her gut. His breath hitched. She caught his face in her hands and she lowered her lips and gave him a deep kiss.

Whatever he was, whoever he was.

"Find Zatanna. Find her," she said softly, "and tell her that we know."

"And then?"

"I want you to take her hand and do what she asks you to do."

But. There was always going to be a protest. "I won't lose you."

"You won't," she swore. "We deserve another chance, Oliver." Now that they remembered—"Take her hand and we'll have another chance."

"Okay."

Chloe suspected he would have agreed to anything, just for a chance. He buried his lips in her throat and she exhaled his name.

And then they were there, on the hard floor. When he laid her down and covered her body, he pushed the skirt over her hips. Chloe's legs parted to cradle his hips, their mouths latched together like a second apart was another lifetime wasted.

"I want to feel you," she whispered.

Tomorrow she would do what Lex wanted, because she owed him. And then it would be a lifetime with Oliver. He raised himself up and knelt before her naked. His hand pressed on her chest. "I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Never again," she promised.

A touch of Zatanna and there would never be fear. Not again. There would be no memories. Whatever he had done, all they would know is how they felt.

She had dreamed of his, dreamed of him, prayed to matter as much as she mattered now. His hands were gentle when he ran them up and down her arms. Chloe sighed when those warm, wet hands cupped her breasts. Her stomach tightened in response. His thumbs flicked over her nipples and Chloe gasped when he lowered his head and took one taut nipple between his teeth. His tongue rolled the nipple and Chloe arched. Her hear fell back.

She remembered how he loved her, remembered how long he spent on her body when there had only been one man before him. One man she was certain she loved, but from one life to the next, from death to life, that name and that face vanished between now and then while Oliver's, despite anything that she had done, haunted her for another lifetime.

"I don't remember anyone else except you."

"Neither do I," he breathed.

And then he was on her lips, kissing her, drinking her.

"Nothing as beautiful as you," she said lovingly, and those eyes, those eyes that remained long after she was dead, those eyes that stayed in her mind long before he was alive again. Nothing remained, and even then he was everything.

His lips were attentive, curious, intent. He kissed down her body and Chloe tensed when his mouth hovered above her navel. Oliver held on as she trembled. She heard him, in those words that endangered so many before her in countless cautionary tales, "Trust me, Chloe."

And then she gasped, because suddenly he had parted her and her eyes rolled back in her head as his arms hooked underneath her knees and his nose buried in her curls and his tongue darted in her.

Stars. Stars. A universe of kisses and stars.

The groan was ripped from her throat. Chloe gasped, her inhales and exhales erratic and uneven. And then it was his name, just his name, an eternity of his name. She erupted against his mouth, and she was not fully back to earth when she felt herself stretch and fill with him. Chloe opened her eyes and looked up at him while he thrust in and out of her. His mouth covered hers and she tasted herself on his lips.

"I love you," she gasped as she recovered her breath and met him thrust for thrust, helping him achieve his climax on the hard floor of the building that Lex had provided. Tomorrow she would complete his promise to Lex and then she would forget. Like Oliver. Tomorrow they would both forget and live anew, with nothing of the burdens of the past. "I love you." Chloe wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders and her wide open thighs screamed at the tension.

And then her belly coiled so tightly, her vision narrowed and she held on to him, knowing she was going to break. Her body spasmed and she came, and Chloe fell back and squeezed him. She watched him when he came. His face was beautiful above hers, the sweat rolling off his forehead and onto her chest. He came inside her, hot and burning her inside, flooding her until she was so full from him. Traces of him dripped from her as she lay beneath his body, kissing his shoulder.

She loosed her tight embrace around his back, but kept her arms around him. Exhausted, Chloe closed her eyes. Before she drifted off she whispered another I love you. Just because tomorrow there might not be one, and there was decades to make up for, possible years before she could ever say it again.

It was almost morning, but still dark, when Chloe woke at the feel of him lengthening and hardening inside her. She was sore from the night, but the awakening sensation of his body coming alive brought her hip up. She opened her eyes and found those brown eyes intent as he pumped, plunging in and out. She took a deep, openmouthed breath, and breathed out the same way.

Her arms were pinned to either side of her head, and he tangled his fingers with hers. And then she turned her head away, because there was no way she could hold his gaze. Not today. Not for the last time. Instead she wrapped her legs high around his hips, and Chloe wondered if her tears would mark the floor. Maybe tomorrow night she would walk in and wonder about the stain, scrub it until it was gone.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut tightly when he came inside her, relished the heat of him, memorized the sensation of his hips jerking against her again and again when he came.

Oliver fell back on the floor, and with his arm around Chloe's waist he brought her up against him. She rested her chin on his chest and lovingly remembered his face. Playfully she brought her lips to the cleft of his chin.

For another chance, she wondered how much she would need to forget.

"I want it all," she said to him, like an apology. "I want everything this time around, Oliver."

"So," he said, "Zatanna's the key. I can find her." And then he brought her hand to his lips. "How about you?"

Nothing would take away their second chance. Not even their memories.

"I'll be right behind you."

tbc