Black and Blue

Title: Black and Blue
Rating/Warnings: PG
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Chlark, brief mentions of Clana
Spoilers/Timeline: Post-Wrath AU; Next in the Murder of One series, following Catapult.
Disclaimer: I own very little, certainly not these characters. Please don’t sue!
Author’s Notes: The closing chapter in this series. In keeping with the theme of Murder of One, Time and Time Again, Angels of the Silences, and Catapult, lyrics are from “Black and Blue” by The Counting Crows.

--
Fading everything to black and blue
You look a lot like you
Shatter in the blink of an eye
You keep sailing right on through
--

He almost passed out this morning. Seeing your long-dead best friend will do that to a man, regardless of his planet of origin.

Ollie tried to prepare him. Told him she wasn’t ready to see him. Nothing could prepare him for the heartbreaking hesitance she approaches even the smallest tasks with.

There is a map to the horror she has known as a way of life on display in her eyes, for anyone to see. He is as close to invulnerable as anyone, yet he is terrified.

Like the coward he is, he follows her from room to room and watches from just out of sight using his X-Ray vision. He has never been so grateful for the adoration in Bart’s eyes. It draws her out in a way little else does. Her smile is the first thing he’s recognized.

The grin lingers as she jots a note in her journal and passes it to Bart. Chagrinned, he calls out.

“She can feel you watching her, Slim.”

As relieved as he is that the connection they always shared seems to remain intact, he’s still petrified. She deserves better friends than him.

He steps hesitantly around the corner. When she meets his gaze, he is overcome by the patient wisdom she regards him with.

Her eyes well with tears and he’s across the room and holding her before he knows what’s happening.

--
Every time you say you're learning
You just look a lot like me
Pale under the blistering sky
White and red
Black and blue
--

She can’t find her voice. He can’t find his courage.

They’re a fine pair.

They agree without words that she’ll speak when she’s ready. When she does, he’s not sure he’ll have the courage to ask the questions that keep him awake at night.

It’s become the world’s strangest one-sided conversation, because Chloe Sullivan could always say more with her eyes than words could capture.

“Lana appealed again.” He tries for a casual mention. “I think Lex might have tipped her off, because her lawyers filed a motion to exhume your remains. Lionel’s contacts in the prosecution are pretty sure the motion won’t make it past the judge.”

She looks up, amused.

“Yeah, I know you’re over it. I still don’t understand, though.”

Her fingers thread through his and she brings his hand to her cheek. She closes her eyes, and her gratitude for this moment is humbling. It’s hard to breathe.

He’s noticed his reactions to her physical presence more and more lately. He wants to control it; tries to clamp down on the flutter when she wraps him in a stubborn hug or brushes the hair out of his eyes.

As she recovers, she relies more frequently on physical gestures of affection, and seems to revel in having them returned.

The smile she flashes after he lands a quick kiss on her cheek is stunning. He recognizes the pang of regret for what it is, this time. Her eyes hold no trace of the girl who once wished for more.

“I want to understand.”

--
You've been waiting a long time
To fall down on your knees
Cut your hands
Cut yourself until you bleed
Fall asleep next to me
--

Clark Kent knew that immortality was a very real possibility from the time he was a teenager. He lived in denial for a time with Lana, but he never once dreamed he might share eternity with anyone, much less the first girl he ever kissed.

It’s not hard to find the irony.

He watches her and wishes, more than anything, that he could take some of the pain she has borne. She is a miracle by any definition, and he can’t help loving her.

He admitted it to himself a month ago, stopped fighting the urge to hold her. He tells himself that the affection seems to help draw her out of her reflection, but he knows it’s as much for him as it is for her.

She chews her lip thoughtfully, and scribbles a note.

You’re doing it again.

He smiles and gathers his courage. “I am, and I was thinking I might never stop.”

She tilts her head, curious.

“You’re amazing. You’re all I dream about anymore. All I want to dream about.”

Her hand caresses his cheek and the regret in her eyes warms him. She doesn’t want to hurt him. He wishes he possessed the wisdom to spare her so long ago.

“It’s okay. I know. This is enough for now.”

The hesitant smile she graces him with is worth the ache.

--
Have a dream I'm falling down
On my face
Scrape my knees
Scrape my hands until they bleed
Cause you're fast asleep next to me
--

He was lost without her, and she lost herself along the way, so it’s little wonder that they’re a perfect match. The only tragedy is that it took him so long to catch on.

He barely leaves Oliver’s compound, and the billionaire has questioned neither his motives nor his plans. Every morning, he tells her he loves her. Every night, he tugs her to his side and pulls the covers snug around them.

He hasn’t done more than kiss her cheek, but she knows every fear he left unspoken until now. His insecurities are laid bare before her. They rarely break contact when they are in the same room, and her easy laughter gives him hope that it’s helping.

It is Sunday, official day of rest, so they putter around the unofficially shared apartment that overlooks the sprawling gardens of the Queen estate.

She pauses before the French windows, suddenly captivated by the sunset.

“Do you ever think about what comes after, Clark?”

At the sink, he drops the dish he was rinsing in his shock. He tries to regain his composure and shuts off the water, unsure where this is leading. He doesn’t want to spook her.

“I used to. Now, I try not to think about it.”

“Mmm.” Her gaze doesn’t waver. “It’s…nice. Kinda like…coming home.”

He dries his hands and wraps her in a hug from behind. “I was there once. It was hard to leave.”

“Yeah, it was.” She leans into him. “Your dad was there, and Alicia. They seemed happy. They helped me.”

He tries to take that in without crying.

“Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

“God, Chlo.” He can’t help burying his face in her hair, and sends a prayer of thanks to whatever higher power sent her to him.

They’re battered, but not beaten. And they have an eternity to pick up the pieces together.

---

End