sv fic: feels like home
Sometimes, when it's late. Chloe/Clark. Pg. 860 words. Future. For iconic_cousins
Sometimes, when it’s late, Chloe remembers what it was like, before.
Before: when she was alone, after Jimmy, after Davis, after all that occurred in that brief period. Her life, what it was then, seemed to have collapsed. The foundation had proven to be faulty and crumbled as a result, what happens when too much pressure is exerted on a foundation with cheap construction.
Before: after what happened, when she left, when she ran. When for the first time in over ten years she didn’t have Clark at all in her life. She cut him out, begged him to leave her alone, and he did as she asked. She needed to be alone, needed that removal of him from her life.
A coward’s choice, perhaps, the easier way out: she’s never sure, not even now. She can see the argument from both sides. Clark has never told her his thoughts, nor has Chloe ever asked.
She did return, after a few years, when she got tired of running and thinking that being away was the best solution. After she had found herself, so to speak, after she began to understand what had gone wrong.
Clark was gone when she returned. Off training, as Oliver told her, when she asked, two days after she returned to Metropolis. She had nodded and said, “Of course.” Oliver had smiled kindly and said, “He’ll be back.”
Implicit in Oliver’s words was that there would be time in the future. There will be time floated in the wind and she didn’t believe, not then.
And now, as she lies in the bed, beneath the light blue comforter, she remembers that moment and how hopeless she felt. But even when we don’t feel the hope, it’s still there, waiting, and she knows this now. She knows it as she lies here, as her fingers trace random patterns on the bedspread.
&
In the distance, she hears a siren. The sound is piercing and she worries, like she always does when she hears sirens. Worries for the people involved, worries for Clark.
Chloe’s eyes close then open a short time later, the dozing of someone trying to stay awake. The sirens have faded, disappeared. She sits up and turns on the lamp next to the bed, shattering the darkness, picking up her book. She reads slowly, feeling her eyelids grow heavier and heavier. The light beside her burns bright.
Eventually she turns off the light and settles back down into the bed. Her eyes close and she sleeps, but doesn’t dream.
&
She wakes in darkness, confused as she blinks. There’s a dull pressure against her bladder and she shrugs off the arm that has settled on her waist. She pees, then returns to the bed, moving slowly in the inky darkness.
Clark’s arm reclaims its spot around her waist. Chloe moves her body into his, so that her back is pillowed against his chest. It is how they sleep: in this position she feels like she is home, their bodies pressed together as they sleep. The intimacy is what matters.
It seems almost like a lifetime ago that she thought she would never get a chance to rebuild her friendship with Clark. So much had happened, but then so much has happened since that moment as well. That’s life, she supposes, the way it twists and turns as the days progress. A hundred songs have been written about this, but at this moment she remembers none of the words to any of those songs.
Fingers find hers, lacing. His fingers are warm, as usual. Lips lightly touch her neck, soft, gentle, familiar.
“Hey,” she murmurs. “Good night?”
He breathes against her neck. “It was fairly good. I’m glad to be home.”
She smiles at his words. Clark says this almost nightly and it never fails to make her smile. They have a home and she hadn’t dreamed of this since she was in high school and in the love sick school girl phase. Now it’s real and different than what she dreamed about. Some moments are harder than others, sometimes she almost feels like giving up.
Isn’t that true of everyone, though? There are the good moments, the bad moments, the in-between moments. The moments collide and fracture, or collide and build. It’s never-ending.
But yes sometimes she almost feels like giving up, like letting go of what she has, escaping to a life that might be simpler. A life that doesn’t involve waiting up at night and one that doesn’t involve superheroes and evil villains.
Then a moment will come along that reminds her of what she loves about this life. Not always a large moment, sometimes just like this one right now, their bodies pressed together in the dark, their joined hands resting against her stomach, his warm breath on her skin. Not a particularly unusual moment, but it can be the routines that are the most important.
“I’m glad you’re home too.”
They fall silent afterwards, her eyes closing, and she imagines his closing as well. They sleep and dream in their shared bed in their home. Bodies lay close together and they sleep.
&
End.
Now I must go and print out my paper and stop editing the damn thing. Stupid perfectionism.
Sometimes, when it’s late, Chloe remembers what it was like, before.
Before: when she was alone, after Jimmy, after Davis, after all that occurred in that brief period. Her life, what it was then, seemed to have collapsed. The foundation had proven to be faulty and crumbled as a result, what happens when too much pressure is exerted on a foundation with cheap construction.
Before: after what happened, when she left, when she ran. When for the first time in over ten years she didn’t have Clark at all in her life. She cut him out, begged him to leave her alone, and he did as she asked. She needed to be alone, needed that removal of him from her life.
A coward’s choice, perhaps, the easier way out: she’s never sure, not even now. She can see the argument from both sides. Clark has never told her his thoughts, nor has Chloe ever asked.
She did return, after a few years, when she got tired of running and thinking that being away was the best solution. After she had found herself, so to speak, after she began to understand what had gone wrong.
Clark was gone when she returned. Off training, as Oliver told her, when she asked, two days after she returned to Metropolis. She had nodded and said, “Of course.” Oliver had smiled kindly and said, “He’ll be back.”
Implicit in Oliver’s words was that there would be time in the future. There will be time floated in the wind and she didn’t believe, not then.
And now, as she lies in the bed, beneath the light blue comforter, she remembers that moment and how hopeless she felt. But even when we don’t feel the hope, it’s still there, waiting, and she knows this now. She knows it as she lies here, as her fingers trace random patterns on the bedspread.
&
In the distance, she hears a siren. The sound is piercing and she worries, like she always does when she hears sirens. Worries for the people involved, worries for Clark.
Chloe’s eyes close then open a short time later, the dozing of someone trying to stay awake. The sirens have faded, disappeared. She sits up and turns on the lamp next to the bed, shattering the darkness, picking up her book. She reads slowly, feeling her eyelids grow heavier and heavier. The light beside her burns bright.
Eventually she turns off the light and settles back down into the bed. Her eyes close and she sleeps, but doesn’t dream.
&
She wakes in darkness, confused as she blinks. There’s a dull pressure against her bladder and she shrugs off the arm that has settled on her waist. She pees, then returns to the bed, moving slowly in the inky darkness.
Clark’s arm reclaims its spot around her waist. Chloe moves her body into his, so that her back is pillowed against his chest. It is how they sleep: in this position she feels like she is home, their bodies pressed together as they sleep. The intimacy is what matters.
It seems almost like a lifetime ago that she thought she would never get a chance to rebuild her friendship with Clark. So much had happened, but then so much has happened since that moment as well. That’s life, she supposes, the way it twists and turns as the days progress. A hundred songs have been written about this, but at this moment she remembers none of the words to any of those songs.
Fingers find hers, lacing. His fingers are warm, as usual. Lips lightly touch her neck, soft, gentle, familiar.
“Hey,” she murmurs. “Good night?”
He breathes against her neck. “It was fairly good. I’m glad to be home.”
She smiles at his words. Clark says this almost nightly and it never fails to make her smile. They have a home and she hadn’t dreamed of this since she was in high school and in the love sick school girl phase. Now it’s real and different than what she dreamed about. Some moments are harder than others, sometimes she almost feels like giving up.
Isn’t that true of everyone, though? There are the good moments, the bad moments, the in-between moments. The moments collide and fracture, or collide and build. It’s never-ending.
But yes sometimes she almost feels like giving up, like letting go of what she has, escaping to a life that might be simpler. A life that doesn’t involve waiting up at night and one that doesn’t involve superheroes and evil villains.
Then a moment will come along that reminds her of what she loves about this life. Not always a large moment, sometimes just like this one right now, their bodies pressed together in the dark, their joined hands resting against her stomach, his warm breath on her skin. Not a particularly unusual moment, but it can be the routines that are the most important.
“I’m glad you’re home too.”
They fall silent afterwards, her eyes closing, and she imagines his closing as well. They sleep and dream in their shared bed in their home. Bodies lay close together and they sleep.
&
End.
Now I must go and print out my paper and stop editing the damn thing. Stupid perfectionism.