persephone in hell

Reccing Notes: Listen to the Chloe voice! and try not to fall over squeeing. I dare you.
Often ships like this tend to fall into wangst, but this bucks the trend so beautifully. You have a snarky!smart Chloe with perspective, a very in love Davis- sexual tension, and meaning behind it all.. Did I mention it makes use of mythos references much better that the car scene in Doomsday?

by chocolator at her livejournal
3149 words, mild r/m, beast


Well, screw Brainiac, screw Jimmy, and absolutely no screwing of Davis, because no matter how compelling the attraction, no alien AI is making me dance its little puppet dance.


If a man you’ve recently met tells you he’s afraid that he’s a serial killer but doesn’t know for certain because of his blackouts, I suggest you take him at his word. Ignore his chistled beauty. Ignore the flutter in your heart, your loins. Run straight to the nearest superhero.



But I didn’t, even though I have a superhero pal in my corner. I wish I could blame this on some other reason, like drinking problem, but my beverage of choice leans more toward almond mochas than tequila shots.



For those of you who haven’t been keeping up with the life of Chloe Sullivan, former girl reporter, let me give you a synopsis: my friend and not-so-secret crush, Davis Bloome, is the Cornfield Killer, who slaughtered at least fifty of Metropolis’ Most Wanted.



It was worse than that. Underneath the dimples and the perfectly carved physique, he was Doomsday, the legacy of a Kryptonian experiment to craft the ultimate destroyer.



It was Doomsday who gave Davis his human form and violent urges. But Davis murdered because it was the only way he could control Doomsday: he would cut one victim to thin slices of meat, rather than annihilate a whole city. And his control was slipping away.



Davis observed he didn’t change when he was with me; for a reason that I chose to ignore, I gave Davis the strength to stay human.



So I settled on the best way to keep Clark safe from Doomsday, the only creature strong enough to kill him. Of my own free will, I ran away with the monster who told me he loves me.



I called Clark—tried to explain it—but he didn’t understand. He only pleaded with me to abandon Davis.



So I told him, “I must have thrown a million green rocks away, but I never really saved you.”



I turned off my cell phone and wiped my tears away. I could do this. I could be as heroic as Clark. By taking Davis far away from him, I could save Clark, I could save Davis, and now that Jimmy has left me, I could salvage what was left of my tissue-thin self-esteem.



Married for one month, all of which Jimmy had spent in the hospital. That must be some kind of record.



I shook off the self-pity before I could wallow in it.



Oh, and one last footnote in the life of Chloe Sullivan: when I met Davis, I felt a powerful connection to him, physically and emotionally. I might have called it love at first sight, but I held fast to the idea that I loved Jimmy. But it turns out my feelings for Davis were programmed by Brainiac, as part of its plan for it and Doomsday to overthrow the world together.



Well, screw Brainiac, screw Jimmy, and absolutely no screwing of Davis, because no matter how compelling the attraction, no alien AI is making me dance its little puppet dance.



That resolve was almost derailed when, in front of the car, Davis handed me a chocolate in the shape of the heart.



A heart. It was hard to ignore the message, even though it was in the palm of my hand.



We jumped in the last-minute-purchased truck. I sat next to Davis, so close I smell the sweetness in his breath. My body was a circuit, energy coursing through it. The blood in my veins sparked like a live wire. One touch from him, and I would go up like a flare.



No. Think about…baseball.



I felt like I was in hell, with this wanting but not having. Because he needed me to stop Doomsday, I had to consider my relationship with Davis as professional. He was now my responsibility. I was his therapy, and he was my patient. He was the disease, and I was his cure.



The heart-shaped candy was dressed in a red wrapper, the color of rose petals strewn in my dreams. The color of Davis’ eyes when Doomsday struggled to break free.



As Davis drove us into the night, he caught me staring at the candy. “If you play your cards right,” he teased, “there’s more where that came from.”



Yup, I really am in hell.



We headed north toward the now-promised land of Alaska. I turned on the radio, heading off any potential awkward silence. “What kind of music do you like?”



“Music?”



I tried to inject a little levity into our very grim situation. “Just because we’re on the run from every law enforcement official in the United States, it doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves.”



Davis smiled wryly. “Even alien monsters need some good vibrations?”



“Exactly. Besides, I need some new music to go with my new life.” I tried to sound cheerful, to ward against the feelings of despair before they could take hold.



I needn’t have worried about awkward silences. We chatted easily on the ride, as always. I kept the conversation on the level of witty banter, away from outright flirtation. He had a nuanced view of the world, experienced but optimistic. Even though I knew Doomsday was the Kryptonian version of the Antichrist, Davis made me happy. At least my life in Smallville taught me that the world wasn’t as simple as good and evil.



A few hours later, my turn to drive. More chatting. More radio. More highway. Always more highway.



When one particular song came on, he turned the volume up and sang along to a ballad with a deep and sultry voice. I think he was serenading me.



After the song, he was silent.



I turned down the volume. “Nice pipes you have, Bloome,” I said. “Very…” I glanced at him, but he had huddled in the passenger seat, turned away from me, and I couldn’t tell if his eyes were the color of heart-shaped candies, of blood.



Was he going to change again?



“Davis?”



“You know, Chloe,” he said suddenly, “in the last few weeks, my whole world has changed. I’ve learned that I was a serial killer, but then actually I was an alien who was born to kill.” His words were lighter than they should have been.



Yes, Davis must have had a worse few weeks than I’ve had. I just killed someone under the influence of Brainiac, lost my memory, activated Doomsday, shed Brainiac, got married, got divorced. But to learn you’re not even human…that was pretty unimaginable.



“You’re alien by nature, but you’re human by nurture.” I tried to sound encouraging. “When you’re filling out your census forms, you get to call yourself bi-racial.”



“It should be the worst time of my life.” He turned to look at me, and I felt the full force of his emotion. “Instead, it’s the best. Because of you.”



I swallowed hard and kept my focus on the road.



“You’ve left everything you’ve known,” he said, both mystified and honored.



“You would have done the same for me,” I replied quickly.



“Yes,” he said urgently. “I would do anything for you, Chloe.”



I glanced quickly, trying not to show my apprehension. The way he said it, so full of intensity, I really did believe he would do anything for me. If he were just Davis, I would have shed my caregiver role and let him kiss me as tenderly as he did in my dreams. But he was also Doomsday. Violence was as natural to him breathing.



He said, “Pull over.”



I gripped the steering wheel, eyes forward.



“Chloe,” he said gently, “it’s my turn to drive.”



We exchanged places at the next stop. I kept my head down and would not look at him when we passed each other behind the car.



We had driven through the night, and by the morning, we were exhausted. We found a nameless motel in a nameless town, and I checked in using cash. As the desk clerk reached for the key, I imagined the queen-sized bed that Davis and I would have to share. I asked, “Do you have a cot?”



The desk clerk looked at me.



“It’s for my…daughter. My husband is in the car with her.”



He nodded, handed me the key, and went to a back room. The cot was tied up and I could carry it easily. As I lugged it back to the car, where Davis waited with our bags, I could see he was mildly disappointed.



“I get it,” he said as we hauled our few belongings to the room. “Just because we’re on the run doesn’t mean we’ll be living in sin.”



“I figure we can alternate,” I said. “Every other night, one of us gets the real bed.” I put down the cot as I worked the door with the key.



“Wait,” he asked, “how did you get the desk jockey to give you the extra bed?”



I opened the door. “I told him it was for our daughter.”



His face contorted, and he looked away. I could tell he was filled with an emotion that was made of longing and did not have words. I walked past him, leaving him to his undoubtedly poignant thoughts.



He set up the cot as I dove onto the bed and under the blanket. I was exhausted, but my thoughts were too loud to ignore. Drive to Alaska. Find some remote town. Rent an apartment. Get jobs.



Live happily ever after?



Oh, Davis.



I found myself clenching the sheets in my fists, miles away from anything resembling sleep. Just knowing he was in the same room made me more awake than I had been all day.



I heard him stir, and I knew he was awake too. I wonder if the same thoughts were keeping him from sleep, restless with unfulfilled need.



If I were to get through this, I would need to keep some distance. If such a thing were possible, emotionally, he was more fragile than me.



I must have drifted, because Davis woke me a few hours later. The sun was setting, casting long, thin shadows through the broken blinds.



I used the bathroom, brushed my teeth. In the shower, the floral scent of the shampoo nearly did me in. He had kissed me once in front of a flower shop. I’m overwhelmed with the scent of lilac and by the memory of his need.



He wanted me. I wanted him. It should be simple, shouldn’t it?



Not with Doomsday.



When I came out, Davis was folding his clothing and packing his bag away neatly. Then I saw him, really saw him. He was an unrestrained killer. He was a victim of genetics and a path set in motion by an alien race. He was beautiful and sympathetic and funny. And all of it at once.



“You’re staring at me,” he said abruptly. “I must be folding wrong.”



“Oh,” I looked away. “Sorry. It’s just…” Just what? I was torn by so many conflicting emotions, from overflowing love to outright hatred to terror, that I didn’t know what to feel from one moment to the next. I only knew that when it was just the two of us, Davis and me and no fears about the fate of the planet, I was as comfortable and relaxed with him as any person I ever knew.



“It’s just,” I said with conviction, “I’ve never seen a man fold so well.”



“Not even Jimmy?” He looked intently on his clothes as he asked me, avoiding my gaze.



Jimmy. It’s funny, considering that he was the man I had chosen to have and to hold, when he was out of sight, he was out of mind.



“No, not even Jimmy.” I turned the subject back on him. “So how did you learn your way around a laundry basket? Some lucky girl?”



He shrugged. “There were one or two girls along the way. None of them stuck around.” He looked at my clothing, strewn across the bed. He grinned. “Well, since I’m on a roll, you might as well give me those.”



“Here, you can have it.” I tossed him my pajamas and last night’s shirt. They probably reeked, but a serial killer and his protector on the run couldn’t stop for the Wonder Wash.



Davis kept folding, still looking away. So it surprised me when he said, “I don’t want to hurt you, Chloe, so if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. But was Jimmy the only man you ever loved?”



What a question. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared. “Jimmy was the only man I ever made love to. But once upon a midnight dreary, I was in love with Clark.” It was so long ago, it didn’t seem real, not Clark, and not even Jimmy.



He shook his head. “I knew I had a reason to hate him that wasn’t just genetically preprogrammed.”



“Hah.” I grabbed my purse and gave the room a visual once-over. No trace of us remained. “Are we good to get gone?”



He actually saluted me. “Aye, aye, captain.”



We laughed, at ease with ourselves, despite my feeling like a character in the movie Badlands. So I wasn’t in hell. Purgatory?



I checked out of our room as Davis loaded the car. More highway, more gloom of night. He drove so I could still see the stars.



I knew it took millions of years for the light of distant planets to reach us, and stars that hadn’t existed for eons still twinkled in our perception.



One of them was Krypton, and its light still lingered, a ghost of its former self. I thought about the two Kryptonians in my life, orphans of a dead world, one born to save Earth and the other to destroy it. Neither of them had a choice. But if there were no choices, it would follow that none of the lives Clark saved and each of the lives Davis tore to shreds actually mattered.



And what about us humans? Were we so frightened and savage that we needed a savior from another planet to keep us from killing ourselves? It made me feel as if our own destruction was written in our genes. We were flawed, broken.



It was all so sad.



Davis must have noticed my anguish. Now it was his turn to be the strong one. “So,” he said, breaking the grim silence, “I hear Wyoming has many fine highway rest stops. Why don’t we hit one?”



I nodded, still lost in thought.



“It feels good to be like this,” he said, “just the two of us. I feel,” he smiled, “strangely happy.”



That brought me out of my mood. I bathed in that word, “happy,” taking in the warmth in his voice. He was so alive, so present. Just as I promised to be there for him, he had made the same promise to me. In a world without direction, he had become my lodestone.



I said, “Good. You’re going to need that enthusiasm when the bears decide we’re Lunchables.”



Davis cocked his head in my direction, glanced over, and looked back at the road. I think he noticed my emotions were running away faster than even we were. “I really do love you, Chloe,” he said, and his soft brown eyes were full of hope.



After a marriage whose lifespan didn’t outlast the expiration date on a carton of milk, I couldn’t trust my own feelings. “Let’s eat,” I said.



Davis didn’t speak until we ordered take-out at a drive-thru.



In Laramie, we ate our dinner in the cold night air, enjoying a change away from the interior of the truck. Afterward, we sprawled out on the hood of his car and looked at the stars.



It turns out Davis was something of a stargazer. He traced the outlines of the constellations for me and told me the stories behind them.



Then he told me of the legend of Persephone. Hades had kidnapped her, and her mother Demeter enlisted the gods to rescue her daughter.



“When Hades offered Persephone her chance at freedom, to everyone’s surprise, Persephone chose to live underground, with the Dark Prince.”



I remembered I had heard the legend before, from Clark, who kept a telescope in his barn. Pomegranates. Yes, that was it. She had eaten five seeds and was forced to stay in the underworld for five months each year.



But why would she eat the seeds, knowing they would condemn her?



Before I had time to contemplate this, he said, “We’re actually going to pull this off, aren’t we? Find some place to slow down, build a life together.”



I said, “As long as we can keep the gods from hunting us.”



“Chloe,” he said, far too casually, and I knew his deep fears must be close to the surface. “Um…are we…really going to build a life together?”



He needed to be with me at all times, so I could quell the rages that unleashed Doomsday.



“Of course we’ll have to live together,” I said, and I could see the relief spread across his face. “And I don’t plan on keeping you in my basement again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”



He turned on his side, propping himself up on one elbow, to better look at me. “As long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter.”



Persephone must have known that Hades had needed her to stay with him beneath the earth. She must have known she was the air he breathed, the only light in his darkness. She must have recognized that, with the two of them alone together, this was the best way he could love her.



How you feel, Davis, is how Hades felt. But what about Persephone?



“Ya know, Davis, if I have to be on the run from the law and even from my friends,“ and I realized what I was saying the moment I said it, “there’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”



Despite the unspoken agreement that demanded we never touch, my hand found his face.



I said, “We’re both living a new life. Let’s make it a life together.”



Davis looked at me as if I were the only person in the world who mattered. I was saving him. I was the hero of this story, even though a persistent voice inside me said it would end as a tragedy.



He took my hand gently and kissed it, searching my face for signs of distress. But with the exception of a bagful of clothes and a purse full of sundries, I had nothing to lose and a whole new life to gain. With Davis.



I leaned closer, then he kissed me like he did in my dreams, and the distance between us fell away. There was only Davis and me and the light of all the stars, and it was sweet as any pomegranate.



I can’t tell you why Persephone ever chose to leave Hell.