hands buried in pockets

First things first, who else near-about died with that Beast trailer? ^-^

Reccing Notes: Anyway, a fix for you which is both angsty and deep. (Also, tastefully hot.) Its about both Clark and Davis here. Chlavis romance. Chlark friendship. angst. (because simply is all about angst) And guess who's kissing at the end? woops. spoilers.

by simplytoopretty at her lj
1722 words. pg. stiletto.

She’s no longer treading water.


Wool against her throat, scratchy fabric against the thin cut, irritating it slightly, a reminder of what has happened. The fabric is heavy on top of her skin, an illusion in truth; the fabric is thin and lightweight. Its weight is all in her mind.

Its weight reminds her of what has happened tonight. Wrapped around her throat, wool against skin, and she can’t forget.

Forgetting is impossible.

Chloe touches the wool resting on top of the cut as Lois talks of how she made up Stiletto in pursuit of an interview with the Red-Blue-Blur. Touches the wool briefly, fingertips brushing against the scratch of the fabric. A reminder of what has happened, what her choices have led to, and she has the urge to confess.

Confession to unburden her mind, perhaps even to unburden her soul: tonight hangs heavy over her.

Lois continues to talk of what she has done. Chloe continues to listen.

Nothing changes.



There is a consistency to her days. Here is the consistency: Chloe lies.

This is something Chloe has done for years, something that has become embedded in her nature. Yet it is different now, even if the concept is the same. There are lies, but not like before.

This is what she has chosen, intentionally or not. This is the result of her choices, and there is no one to blame save for herself.



If Chloe closes her eyes, she would see the sight again. The red splattered across the walls and floor, the red dark on Davis’s skin.

He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, his human arms. She remembers this, the press of his skin against her jeans.

“I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled over and over again.

She rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. She said, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” over and over again.

Repetition: both of them. What they clung to at that moment, stability in that repetition.

He fell silent eventually, so did she, and if she closes her eyes, she would see this all in vivid clarity. Her eyes stay open.

And Chloe remembers.



There are words that want to escape her lips. The secret she has, one of them, this secret the result of a choice she has made. A bad choice perhaps in the final tally, but Chloe isn’t sure what the final tally will be; there are no assurances at this point. Yet the words stay buried deep inside her, not released into the cool air of the apartment to hang heavy in the space between her and Lois.

The truth is too much. This is what she tells herself.

But she has revealed that there is a choice she made, one that is at least now a bad choice, and she has to stay something. Lois is looking at her expectedly; an eager look for there is comfort in shared stories of decisions made that went wrong. No one makes a decision intentionally planning for it to be the wrong choice.

Some decisions lead to negative consequences. An inevitable reality.

Chloe says, “Jimmy should be at the Ace of Clubs.” A nervous hint of laughter, and then she adds, “I really should remove him from my Facebook friends.”

Her words reveal nothing about the inner demons plaguing her, the decisions she has made that led to tonight’s events. Nothing about the choice to harbor Davis and the monster living inside him, the monster that could easily kill Clark. No true secret left out; everything important stays buried, in a box that might never see the light of day. She wants to be unburdened, yet there are risks involved in this, too many risks, so the secrets stay hidden.

No one can see inside her soul. No one knows the truth, the complete truth, dark and sullied as it is, possessed only in entirety by her. And so she is her only judge.

Lois’s eyes are wide and sad, the disappointment clear; another burden upon Chloe’s soul. She’s never wanted to disappoint her cousin, but she has, once again, and it’s too late to change that.



Choices are made in the blink of an eye.

Made and that’s it: there are no take-backs.



Lois leaves.

Chloe wonders if her cousin has an inkling of the truth. Right now she feels as if she’s treading water with arms and legs growing numb from the effort.

The question is what will happen next.



Choices are made every minute of every waking hour. Not all are equal, some choices are more important than others. Together, these choices add up to define a person.

It is the choices we make that shape our personality and mold our future.

Mere weeks ago she chose to hide Davis. This was her choice, the one she made from the options available, a choice made one part from feelings for him and one part from feelings for Clark, her desire to protect her best friend. Her choice in the end, one Chloe has to live with, day in and day out.

Has to live with it even if the choice has resulted in her feeling that’s she’s slowly but surely drowning. For now she’s treading water.

This will change.



Chill air on her face as she exists the Talon building, orange garbage bags in tow. First one then the second into the garbage bin, the remnants of what her choice to harbor Davis has caused. Remnants tossed away as if it really was that simple.

A man died tonight because of her. A man who would have killed her, but that is no excuse: all children learn in grade school that two wrongs don’t make a right. Wrong is wrong, no way around that.

Her hands feel wet and Chloe raises her hands in the thin, dim light of the alley behind the Talon. The wetness is blood, real blood, lynched through the plastic orange onto her hands. Physical evidence stains her hands, evidence of her sins. Maybe she could have prevented this needless if she had chosen differently, if she hadn’t decided that she could save Clark by harboring Davis, but she made her choice.

A choice made and here are the consequences.

Now there is blood on her hands and the weight of the guilt from her choices presses firmly down on her shoulders, forcing her to sink to the ground. Cement beneath knees, hard and unforgiving; her knees will ache later, but she doesn’t care, not right now, not after all that has happened tonight. Tears sting her eyes and fall upon her cheeks, just like she has fallen upon the ground, her position supplicant.

But nothing changes.

The water level is rising and she could drown any minute now.



Weeks ago she climbed gray cement stairs and locked the door. Her choice made.

The consequences are those she must deal with.



Her footsteps are loud on the basement stairs. Davis meets her at the bottom, his gray sweatshirt similar to the shade of his skin.

Davis asks, “Is it…?”

Chloe nods. “I cleaned up. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Davis steps forward and encloses his arms around her. “Thank you.”

There are tears in eyes, stinging again, but she blinks them away. She says, “I’ll keep you safe.”

She swallows thickly around her words, tasting the truth and lie contained. There is a desire to protect him, but not just for his sake, for Clark, for the world. And now there is what her choices have led to, the death of a man, blood upon her hands. Guilt is heavy on her shoulders, but to tell the truth would be to reveal possibly more than might be safe. Now she is her only judge: it is easier to be one’s judge.

“I know you will.” Davis kisses her forehead. “I love you.”

“I know.”

She feels there is water in her throat and she could choke to death.



A choice made: not to confess.

There are tears in her eyes, prickling, a pain she hates. Her eyes are sore, but she can’t rub at them, not with Clark here. He is watching her, concern etched upon his face.

Chloe says, “I just need a little break.”

A sign of the respect Clark has for her is found in his response. He accepts her words, evening with the doubt in his eyes. He doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t fight, just backs off and leaves.



No confession because the truth would be too much. Clark might never forgive her.

Chloe doesn’t think she could live knowing that. Simpler to lie and let him believe those lies because he trusts her.

Lies can remain lies. The truth doesn’t always become revealed: Chloe knows this.



The more she lies, the more entrapped Chloe becomes. The more she feels like she’s drowning, water in her mouth, in her eyes.



Dim, fibrous light in the basement, all there is, allowing shadows to fester in the corners. Chloe has grown used this thready light in the past weeks. This basement, once so unfamiliar, has become a second home.

All this because of one choice. One choice made and so much has changed in her life.

She’s standing across from Davis, near the stairs, near the wall. A small physical space separates them. They are hopelessly entangled in every other respect that isn’t physical.

Davis says, “You’re the only one who can save me.”

Chloe knows this and she replies, “I know. I will do anything for you.”

For him, for Clark: it’s all intertwined, her reasons, her motivations. Nothing can be separated at this point.

Davis’s hands cup her cheeks. Calloused fingers on her skin. “You are amazing,” he says, voice full of awe. He seems to think she is some kind of saint, a holy person whose hands offer forgiveness and who will save him from damnation. His faith is her is alarming.

“No, I’m not. I’m just…me.”

He shakes his head, disagreeing.

Chloe’s eyes flutter shut, unable to stand any longer the look in his eyes. It horrifies her and warms her at the same time, and it’s all too much.



Later, her lips closer over his, hard, lips and tongue meeting. She pushes him against the cement wall.

She’s no longer treading water.