grazing complications

Reccing Notes: Sometimes there's nothing better (or hotter) than getting it all out in the open. And in this- with Chloe and Davis's frustrations spilling over after leaving Smallville together, inversely shows how much they need each other and just how right they are together.

by lust_4sorrow at her livejournal

1023 words, pg-13, post-beast

Neither Davis nor Chloe understands how the wall has formed or how they’ve gotten here. They are simply aware of the way words won’t stop leaving their lips and the pain that’s seeping in their skin, touching their bones and hearts.They’re fighting.

They’re arguing, two forms standing tensely in front of one another in a dully decorated motel room. Davis’ hands are curled into fists by his sides and Chloe’s throat is going sore from all the yelling she’s done. The paths taken, actions done, words spoken have all fused into a wall in their minds that appears in the worst of moments, a wall so strong and unfortunate that it pulses as it takes in their current state. Neither Davis nor Chloe understands how the wall has formed or how they’ve gotten here. They are simply aware of the way words won’t stop leaving their lips and the pain that’s seeping in their skin, touching their bones and hearts.

Green eyes glaring at every inch of the motel room, Chloe yells, barely thinking, just letting the anger in the air embrace her, “I hate this room and this stupid little town!”

Davis’ eyes darken, his knuckles going white. “You think I like being here? You think I like these people or the fact that I can barely leave this fucking room because someone might recognize me? Do you think that I like being trapped?!”

Hearing him curse makes her wince, but she doesn’t relent. She takes sight of his shaking fists and doesn’t frighten. In the back of her frazzled mind she knows he won’t hurt her-not physically. Looking at the old flowery wallpaper of the room, another brick settles atop the wall in her brain, the cement cultivated by angry determination. “You’re not the only who feels trapped Davis. Do you have any idea how much I despise not having a home, being on the run like some sort of animal!”

The word animal makes him flinch and his fists uncurl as he steps closer to her and a growl escapes him. His eyes begin to grow wild while her eyes begin to reflect some guilt, some thought outside of hatred. Either way, she steps closer to him, her set jaw a challenge. Davis jaw twitches, his chest heaves but his eyes are their dark, dark brown. They both know he won’t hurt her- not physically, never physically.

He snarls, speaks through gritted teeth, “No one said you had to be here. It was your decision to run, this was your idea. We’re here because of you.”

Chloe blinks rapidly, his words making her throat ache. She swallows it down like a bitter pill, ignores the voice in her head that says he’s right. She steps closer to him and focuses on keeping her voice strong.

“No…we’re here because you’re an alien who just happens to have the ability to turn into a monster! We’re here because you couldn’t stop killing!” She reminds him of his past digressions and her eyes fill with tears when his chin slightly quivers. Her hands suddenly settle atop his heaving chest, fingers curling into fists. He glances down- as if in shame-, lets his lips part before raising his hands and grabbing her wrists. His fingers close around her wrists tightly but not tight enough to leave a bruise. The subconscious tenderness makes her chest clench with guilt.

“If my being a monster bothers you so much, then go call Clark. I’m sure your best friend wouldn’t mind saving you from me,” he says, voice soft but immensely pained. Chloe’s lips quiver at the sound of it and she gasps when he releases her wrists and turns away, his back facing her. She steps back, arms curling around her middle, her back shaking as she watches his back remain tense. How…how could…how could she? How could they?

She shakes her head desperately, mentally kicking the wall until it crumbles and lets a river of sorrow flow down her cheek. Chloe turns and pulls the door open, then runs. She runs down the hall, runs, runs, runs passed the five year old girls playing with dolls. She runs until the hallway meets a wall and her chest is rising and falling rapidly. She leans against the wall, feels an idle tear slip down her cheek. Her eyes close, her teeth bite into her lip. She takes deep soothing breaths, feels the need for Davis’ arms around her.

& & &

Two hours later her back is still against the wall, her knees touching her chest as she wraps her arms around them. She lifts her face from her knees, opens her eyes and for the first time, notices the charm bracelet hanging limply on her wrist. She touches it with her fingers, eyes the little coffee mug charm hanging down the chain. An agonized chuckle escapes her and suddenly she’s rising and running back to the motel room. She gets there in a matter of seconds, stops when she’s about to collide with the door. Hands shaky, she lifts one, and makes a fist but doesn’t move it. She bites her lip nervously, eyes filling with tears when she hears movement behind the door. Her fist shakes and she hears him move again. She sniffles and suddenly she hears Davis’ palm hit the door and the mix of a growl and whimper.

“Davis-“ she whispers. The door opens and she falls easily into his arms, her fist opening up so that she can cup his cheek. His strong arms wrap around her waist, pull her to his broad chest, rock them back and forth. She shakes her head, their forehead pressing together.

“I’m sorry, so sorry. I-

“Shh. I’m sorry too. We shouldn’t have…I didn’t-

“I know.” They interrupt each other, arms tightening around each other, eyes closing at the comforting feeling.

“Davis…”

“Shh, we’ll figure out something. It’s okay-

“I’m sorry-

“Me too, me too.” They whisper desperately against the other’s lips, fingertips tracing from cheeks to collar bones to hips then back up to lips. They both aware that they need to think things over, that they’ll have to leave this town soon but right now Davis is running his hands through Chloe’s hair the way she loves and she’s running her hands down his back the way he needs and nothing…nothing else matters.

with the end of the world in your eyes

Reccing Notes:I've read possibly all the Beast fanfics there are for Chlavis, and none, I think may have touched me quite as much as this. There's the fact that there is Doomsday inside Davis, and that's horrible and ugly and so are the deaths it causes, but then there's the fact that Davis doesn't want to let it hurt Clark, no more than Chloe does, and Davis himself (the man who wanted his whole life to save people, build a real life with Chloe) might be the ultimate victim of this story.

by autumn_whispers at her livejournal
2121 words, r, injustice

The hand he rests against her jaw is sticky with blood but firm. “Look at me,” he says and when she does his lips are soft on hers, eyes wide and warm.

Her mouth yields under the pressure, opens up to him. He delves deep, desperation cloying the taste of him. She feels the slick underside of his mouth against her tongue and the beast shifting, yowling inside its human prison.It’s easier than Chloe expects, to fall into this new life and adjust to another living person breathing beside her, a bed away.

Motels become familiar; Smallville a strange, waning memory.

-

She calls Clark from Mexico City inside a run down Internet café, the payphone handle sticky in her hands. She watches Davis pace outside the shop with his hands in his pockets, shoulders tense and unsure. He seems lost in the flurry of people moving about their day, eyes sliding between the bodies rushing past.

He is careful not to look to the café.

To her.

Chloe watches him until the line rings in her ear, bright and insistent. There is a small bubble of relief when it goes to voicemail. It’s easiest when she doesn’t have to fight against Clark’s pleadings or Oliver’s sharp disapproval.

“Stop trying to find us,” she says after the beep, voice strong and sure. “I’m safe…we’re safe. Please stop looking. You’re making it worse,” she tells them.

She knows they listen to her messages together. It's easy to imagine them, hunched over Clark’s desk in the bullpen, shoulders pressed together to listen, to formulate their next plan.

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve made my decision,” she tells them, careful to keep the uncertainty she knows they’re looking for from her voice. She hangs up without saying goodbye, afraid of the tremble building in her voice and the doubt leaking through.

The sun is bright, white hot against her eyes when she finds Davis in the street. The stiff line of his shoulders soften when she falls in step beside him, the worry on his brow easing. When he takes her hand in his she flexes her fingers around the rough edges of his skin, feels his gentle squeeze in return and breathes out.

-

Clark stares at the Metropolis skyline, streets dark below, and waits. Minutes pass before the elevator door dings and slides noiselessly open. He can see Oliver’s distorted reflection in the windows moving towards him.

“Any word?”

“Just another message,” Clark says and turns to face him. Oliver shifts under the intensity of his gaze. “You?”

“They dumped their passports after they crossed the border. They’ll have new ones by now.” He sighs and Clark stiffens as the expression on Oliver’s face shifts. “Chloe’s…Clark, she’s very good at this. Part of her job as Watchtower was getting us fake papers, helping us move through South America and Europe. She has access to people who can help her disappear.”

“We’ll find her. Find them,” Clark says and the blind determination in his voice makes Oliver look away.

-

Chloe can’t tell if he’s sleeping or not, but his rhythmic breathing is better than the rickety fan that rattles above them. The room is too hot, her skin feels slick with sweat and the mattress is lumpy under her back. She’s a thousand miles away from Smallville and from any comfort or familiarity. She feels alone. Feels scared. Mostly she just feels like crying but Davis is only a few feet away, lying on his own bed.

Her throat burns with her swallowed sobs and she blinks rapidly, tears hot against her skin. After a few seconds when the tightness in her chest dissolves she breathes out in the silence, an unsteady sound that lingers between them. She stares at the shadows playing out on the walls and waits for sleep.

Across the room he shifts, clothes and sheets rustling. “Chloe,” he says, quiet and careful, giving her the chance to pretend she’s asleep. Her answer is noncommittal, a sound low in her throat as she turns over to face him. She can see the edge of his shadow as he sits on the bed. She knows he can see her perfectly in the dark.

“They think I kidnapped you,” he says and for a moment Chloe doesn’t understand. She stares uncomprehending. “The papers…they’re saying I took you, with me. When I disappeared.”

“Lois,” Chloe says, bolts up in the bed. Her hand is halfway to the cheap cell phone before she remembers, struggling with the knowledge that she can’t call her. Not with Clark and Tess looking so closely for them. Not with all they have at stake. She pulls her hands back towards her, cradles them against the light cotton of her pajama bottoms.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” she says finally and the tremble in her voice betrays the resolve she’s trying to bring to the surface again. Lois probably thinks she’s dead or worse, and Chloe feels herself crumbling under the weight of all the courage and certainty that lead her here. It wasn’t meant to go like this.

“I’m sorry,” Davis says, suddenly beside her. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes into her hair and Chloe holds onto him, fingers tight and fearful. The skin of his bare shoulder is smooth and cool against her fevered skin. Her breath hitches, mouth gulping air as his hands move across her back, gentle and soothing.

“It’s ok,” he lies and Chloe prays for strength.

-

“You have to tell her,” Oliver says, face soft as he watches Lois sleeping at her desk. She looks pale and worn out under the weight of Chloe’s disappearance.

“I know. I just…I need more time,” Clark says. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t look at Oliver either.

“This is killing her Clark. You have to tell her about Chloe, about the truth and Davis. If you won’t, I will,” he threatens.

“Ok,” Clark says, breathes out, “Ok.”

He’s told her once before about his secret, he can tell her again. It’ll be easier this time. He knows her response and knows she’ll accept him whole and actual. The hand he lays on her shoulder is gentle, hesitant but she wakes instantly, Chloe’s name on her lips before her vision clears and she sighs, disappointed. Her gaze flickers between him and Oliver searching, desperate.

“Any news?”

“Lois,” Clark starts before looking back at Oliver. “I have to tell you something.”

-

They don’t talk much during the day and even then it’s only for necessity. Davis drives and Chloe sleeps. Days and counties blend into each other, her whole world boils down to sleeping and eating, moving from the car to another bed. Davis never asks her drive, never gets sleepy or tired but each night he lays down on the other bed in their hotel room, closes his eyes and doesn’t move until the next morning.

-

Clark looks at Lois, face flushed but alive, the line of her back sharp as she bends over the map and talks quietly into her phone. She’s writing something down, her words quick and short. After a moment she snaps the phone shut, carefully placing another push pin into the map. “They’re in Columbia,” she announces and the hope simmering in her eyes is enough to renew the straggling optimism inside Clark. It’s been almost a month without word from Chloe or any of Oliver’s sources.

“One of my contacts said someone matching their description passed through one of the border check points about an hour ago. “

“The jets ready,” Oliver tells them.

“It’s faster if I go on my own,” Clark says. “I’ll bring her back safe,” he promises Lois.

“You better,” she threatens but it’s only a halfhearted warning and the smile she gives him is forced, laden with worry.

-

Chloe dreams about Clark, body lain broken and bloody, at her feet like a prize. The snow is red and Doom looms over her, face a horrible mask of rage. She wakes up to Davis’s face, his hands on her shoulder, shaking her into consciousness. The tendons on his neck strain against his skin and, even in the dark, she can see the red tinge to his eyes.

“He’s close,” Davis chokes out and Chloe’s up in an instant, throwing their belongings into their bags and rushing out after Davis. She’s still in her pajamas when they get into the car, barefoot.

-

“She’s never going to give up, you now that, right?” Oliver asks and for a moment Clark isn’t sure if he’s talking about Lois or Chloe. “Maybe,” Oliver starts, hesitantly, “you should just let her go. She doesn’t want to be rescued.”

“I can’t,” Clark says desperately. He’s lost so much over the years but he can’t lose Chloe. She’s been his only constant, the one fixed point in his life.

“You have other responsibilities,” Oliver cuts in, surprised by the edge in his own voice. “Metropolis is falling apart under your struggle and Lois needs you to be strong. I’ll keep looking but you need to pull it together. You need to be the man Lois thinks you are.”

“I know,” Clark says, but he isn’t looking at Oliver. He’s starring at the sunset, left wondering if Chloe’s watching the same one, a thousand miles away, hoping she’s safe and praying Oliver is right.

-

Tess’s men catch up to them in Peru. Chloe is alone, unprepared and out-numbered. She’s on her knees, mouth bloody when she hears the men behind her scream. Chloe knows without looking that Davis has come for her, despite her plea for him not to. There is nothing she can do now and it grates, this helpless. It is all she can do to wait, eyes closed until the sound of men dying fades and there is only the stillness of the night.

When she opens her eyes it takes every part of her not to pull away from the creature in front of her. The thing extends its hand towards her, the first real human gesture Chloe has seen. She accepts numbly and allows herself to be pulled up from the dirty floor, guided away. She does not struggle, just concentrates on the gentle pressure of jagged bones and flesh pressing against her palm. The careful way it holds her hand.

When they stop at the mouth of the alley she feels it shudder beside her, skin and bones shifting, melting away. When she looks again it’s just Davis before her, alive but bloody. Human. His eyes are vast, endless with guilt and shame. Chloe feels the beast stirring inside his fragile human chest even now, waiting. It does this for her, gives her Davis, broken and empty, a shell of himself because it is easier.

“Chloe,” he breathes, and she turns away from him. “I didn’t,” he starts and she closes her eyes against the images of the torn bodies behind them in the dirty alley. She doesn’t want to remember this, remember him changing and shifting under the need to protect them, but the images feel like they’re seared against the underside of her eyelids.

“We have to- we have to go,” she tells him thickly, swallowing down the hysteria she feels building.

The hand he rests against her jaw is sticky with blood but firm. “Look at me,” he says and when she does his lips are soft on hers, eyes wide and warm. Her mouth yields under the pressure, opens up to him. He delves deep, desperation cloying the taste of him. She feels the slick underside of his mouth against her tongue and the beast shifting, yowling inside its human prison.

“Tell me to stop,” he says and the desperation in his voice stills her long enough to let him kiss her again. She pushes against his naked chest, his skin slick with blood and sweat but her hands fall away, ghosting over him. He slips a knee between her legs and shoves them apart. She falls forward into him and he grunts, rubs his thigh against her.

“Not here,” she says and he breaks away from her, breathing labored and the expression on his face pained. “We have to leave, Clark-”

“Clark,” Davis repeats, voice dark. He shakes himself, shoulders stiff and jaw clenched. After a moment he relaxes into her and she gives him this moment, to hold her against him and breathe her in. To remember why he’s running.

“Come on,” she says finally, hand settling in his for the walk back to the hotel room, to the stolen jeep and their journey farther south.

rest stop

Reccing Notes: So Chloe and Davis run away together. After seeing Davis's clear horror in Prey, it always seemed to me that he would be the more reluctant of the two to embrace his survival and crossing the savior/saved lines he and Chloe had set up. Based on this vid I made. Would that I had the vid skills to make it happen. (^-^)/

by vagrantdream at defying mythos
1842 words, nc-17, alternate universe/beast

Chloe lifted herself up to him with flickering eyes. He remembered, briefly, the night they’d met, he wanted to be the hero her eyes clung to. The light in her eyes had been a heady rush. He’d woken up in the darkness of the alley that night, screaming.

As a boy, Davis Bloome had always been aware of something dark stirring over him. He hadn’t seen the eternal cycle of blood and death, then.
“So you shut yourself off from everyone.”

Chloe thought he was afraid. As long as he could remember, Davis hadn’t taken the time to grow attached to people or places, he lived with what he was given and didn’t try for more. “It wasn’t right, Davis.” She whispered, pretty, soft green eyes sticking to his in the half-darkness. “You’re human.” Chloe was the only person he’d met back in Smallville who would describe him like that. She had left with him soon after they found out the truth. He’d been on the edge of a breakdown, grasping at straws to assuage the transformations.

He was squelching her life by lingering near her, even now. She was aiding him; he felt it taint her as they moved from town to town, cleaning up mobs of murderers and thugs. Davis was afraid of a lot of things; he was guilty of more. Chloe understood and accepted the best compromise. She had him. “How did you live?”

Something in his chest hurt, melting away inside. “I found you.” Davis whispered. She’d told him he could use his powers to stop the senseless killing. He’d wanted nothing more than to die until she’d picked him up off the ground.

His feelings for her had driven him before, one glance and he could barely speak. Chloe closed her hand over his. Her small palm fit there, hid the stretcher calluses and disappearing scars on his. “You have me.” This was charged, heavy; this was more. “I used to help people like you, but none of them cared for more than what I could do for them. You have all of me.”

Chloe lifted herself up to him with flickering eyes. He remembered, briefly, the night they’d met, he wanted to be the hero her eyes clung to. The light in her eyes had been a heady rush. He’d woken up in the darkness of the alley that night, screaming.

Now, Chloe knew what he was-immortal, panicked, something that ought to exist only in nightmares of what her life could have become. She didn’t look at him any differently. I don’t have forever, Davis. He kissed her before the words could be spoken.

They had been subsisting off of light touches since they’d taken to the road. Any kisses were clinging and afraid; broken as soon as one of them came down on a hard surface. It was hardest to stop. She closed her eyes like he was hurting. Her mouth was hot and yielded easily, her gulps and breaths pulling themselves into his lungs. Davis wrapped an arm around her, fingers brushing the hollow of her back before she went off balance.

Chloe rubbed him into her body. He fisted the frail cloth breath and thrust blindly. She cried out. Heat, wet cotton, denim- the blood draining its way out of his brain caught up to him. Fingers brushed his lightly, whispering the cotton down her legs, flush moisture singeing at his cock. He grabbed at them, and held on, blinking painfully. The danger here was to her. When she opened her eyes, Davis couldn’t move.

“Take it, quick.” She said. Chloe was beautiful- her shoulders twitching, red from his hands, a flush making its way down her neck. She hadn’t had time to let her impulses out anywhere else; they usually talked more, but when they dealt with complex feelings this way there seemed less of a chance for tears. “I-I don’t want to do this on my own again.” She said. She smelled like apprehension and heat.

Her mouth found his neck and she was trying not to look at him. They’d both been taking small steps back to protect the other- but was it so hard to admit that that was useless? Her voice was small and gasping as he pushed her up against the closest surface he could find. Davis felt himself clench.

Blindness trickled into his eyes- a dark cloud vaguely reminiscent of his losses of consciousness. He could feel every contact of her knees with his, the small soft press of her tongue against her teeth, her wet intakes of breath. Chloe stumbled back into the coffee table, purplish jacket catching on the ratty lamp shade, dimming their tiny light bulb even further.

Chloe had seen what he was capable of. She was remarkably intelligent even without an alien construct in her head. She knew what it took to preserve her life and safety and did just the opposite. Her fingers locked his mouth to her neck, pulling the buttons out of the way so he could bury his face in soft skin. He closed his eyes and dragged his tongue over a peaking nipple. She made a soft, impatient sound and pushed her body needily up to his mouth. Arousal gave way to a solid, agonizing burn and it was hard to keep perspective when she was a trying to kiss his bottom lip with clingy uncoordinated motions. He aligned them and dipped his hand between her legs, finding the solid circular motion that she liked.

“Y-you.” She stuttered.

“No. Not yet.”

She groped at his lips, prised at them with her tongue, nudging him in. “Yes.”

The room was swimming, a cloud of motion. Chloe had wrapped her half clothed legs around his hips where he stood. Her fingers wrapped around him for a moment, stroked against feverish flesh and he literally couldn’t see past the glimmer gleam that was her eyes. They watered and winced when he pushed inside her completely. He didn’t fare much better when her muscles trapped him in sultry clasp. Chloe shifted her head, down on the desk, licking at her mouth, holding his hands over her hips. “Slow.” He groaned softly, not understanding if it was a command or a reassurance. “I want to be with you.”

Davis thrust into her a little harder, clenching his hands and eyes shut above her, trying to forget her mouth and the soft reciprocating motions of her body; he couldn’t come like a teenager, not now, even if it felt like he had the only thing he’d ever wanted. He needed to show her. Davis considered climbing over her but her face was already clenching at the awkward position. She was trying to get him where she needed him. Her inner muscles tightened in increasingly powerful ripples. “Uhuh. That's--that's it..”

No, he thought, biting into his bottom lip desperately.

He followed her tugs, higher inside her, and it was like she was exercising some invisible magnetic pull. The soft blurriness of her eyes and her wetness and the soft movements of her lips- ‘more’ driving him pound into her like a heedless, violent animal. “No.” He muttered, stilling and gasping, nudging back inside. She was open to him, so hot he could have sworn he’d burn up if he didn’t move a little. She scratched with hot fingers and he jerked.

“Yes. Davis…” The column of her neck rolled, so white and perfect he longed to brush his fingers there. Davis pumped into her from where he stood, wishing he had the power to twist and bend himself close enough to kiss it. His power was to bring death to everything he touched. She trusted him, somehow.

Her legs buckled against his back, softly, like the life had left the invisible, threatening faces under his fingers. She’d seen. Yet, she was helpless and needy and he wanted to hold her as she broke. Davis hunched his back to kiss her and her lips panted dryly against his. He clasped at her shoulders, the muscles jumping at the unexpected restriction. Chloe swiveled, legs quivering wildly as he surged in once more, a tell tale trickle signaling that he was losing it. She had to come.

There was a Chloe blanket over his thoughts, her face and her sweetness and how badly he needed her. How badly he wanted her to need him. “Yes. Yes. Y-“

His hands kept their hold, nearly bruising her. Chloe jerked and he was trapped inside hot agony, wrung out with warm squeezes. He felt warm, pouring himself into her so deeply he cried out and clutched not to go to his knees. The terror and blanketing defenses in his mind shattered into oblivion. He was empty except for Chloe and she was curving his head into her shoulder, murmuring.

Her hips lifted unconsciously up to his as she rode what remained of her climax out, grinding against his pelvis, lips parted tenderly. Davis could feel little shocks of it going through his system and groped to squeeze her hands while she felt it. Chloe uttered a sound and dropped her head back against the wall.

“What-what is it?”

“I think I must be in love with you.” She whispered. It had been their first time for everything. Hazed, he gathered Chloe back into his arms, her proximity like a drug in his system. It was all he wanted to hear and now all his mouth wanted to do was gape. He knew, but the words were new nevertheless.

“We’re going to be doing this more once we get out of here.”

Davis didn’t want to think of the ominous, bloody miles of road ahead of them. He didn’t have the heart to speak. Her hand trailed awkwardly against his shirt, and she was shaky and beaming. Chloe looked so- free-for a moment that it seemed almost a crime that the thing in him could hold her.

“Hey.” He breathed instead. The world had rarely been kind or good even in his ironic as life as paramedic, but he grasped onto hope through sheer will. Chloe had lived most of her life used and ignored by some of the most clueless men in the world. She loved him, somehow, unbelievably, and there had to be some order in the universe that said he would make her happy. His nose rubbed into her hair; the pang was bittersweet. He, not the beast, would kill anything that took that away from her. It felt like that time was coming closer.

Davis would have been lying to himself if he told himself he hid it from her. The smile in the corner of her eyes had dimmed a little.

“I’m sorry, Chloe. I love you.”

She didn’t expect the guilt and constant terror to disappear just because she took him inside her. Yet she almost could have sworn there had been a moment when she’d seen it all leave his face. She needed that for him.

“You should be sorry.” Chloe told him thoughtfully, dragging her head into his shoulder. “You’re heavy.”

darkness covers, we find shelter

Reccing Notes: This fic covers the (longer) gap of time between beast and whatever happened afterwards. Chloe and Davis are away from Smallville and living together for a year and as Davis's spiraling control over Doomsday gets worse, somewhere there, he and Chloe are in love.

It's heartbreaking, but it's affirming and the ambiguity of the ending lets you fill in the gaps as you will.

by falsemurmur at wings_for_craft

3120 words, pg-13, beast

She kissed him in the darkness, but in the daylight it was too easy to see the goosebumps on her skin from his touch.


“Let’s leave Smallville.”



Chloe and Davis run away. Far away. They erase Smallville from their maps, not wanting to be found.


-¤-




Wherever they go, they’re just the blond and the dark haired but pale man.

Davis tells her, “I’m okay. You don’t have to sit around with me all day.” (It’s almost painstaking to tell her this. But it’s obligatory--the good guy in him tells him so.)

She shrugs, smiles. “I’m okay, too. I like it here.”

They sit in a dusty motel, the noise of traffic blowing through the cracks of the windows. A shopping mall down the block, a park across the street, a café down the north road. Just minutes from Chloe, from average civilization, but Chloe sits on the stained mattress just inches from Davis, talking about anything that doesn’t remind either of them of home (or in Davis’ case, the lack of any home).

It’s just the first week though, Davis reminds himself. The first week of anything is the toughest.



.


Chloe makes a phone call to Clark.

Davis knows it’s necessary. For her, anyway, it’s necessary. He also knows it’s necessary for her to have a life that isn’t just about him, but any slip away she takes, his heart involuntary sheds a fraction.

She smiles at him--not the most sincere smile, but she smiles. He feels intact. Okay, he remembers. He knows she’s there when he needs her.


This is what the first month is like for the most part.


.



The solitary life is infuriating. Chloe isn’t herself. So Davis gets mad. Davis blacks out. He blames her.

And then he’s sorry.

“It’s not your fault,” he says in puffs, shivering against the dark.

She only rubs his arms.

“I…I’m angry. I want you to be happy. And because you’re not, I yell. But I’m mad at myself. Know that.”

Chloe pulls her hands from his arms. She tilts her head at him and smirks.

“Hey, I made a decision. Yeah, it’s hard to get used to this. To being away from Smallville. From Clark, Lois, Jimmy too. But what’s life if not change? Just constant change.”

Chloe possesses a rare courage. The sort where she has the capacity to say what everyone is thinking, but no one dare speak. She hadn’t spoken one word of Jimmy to him since before she’d left Smallville, hadn’t said the word “missed”--but she said it now. And though the mention or thought of her husband tends to surge rage in him, in this context, it is necessary.

He kisses her then. And she kisses him back.

This is progress for him.

-¤-




Six months after crossing Smallville off their map, Chloe and Davis pretend a dingy apartment in New Jersey is perfect.

Davis sleeps on the sofa bed of the living room-slash-kitchen-area, and Chloe sleeps in the room with a curtain for a door.

It’s laughable, so Chloe laughs after the first night, and soon Davis is laughing too. Kansas was small, as were the houses on occasion, but the rooms were always home. This apartment was the exact opposite, but it was remote and quiet enough to not allow for disturbances. The neighbors were sparse, and mostly working people who couldn’t be around to ask questions. To inquire, or to refer to Davis and Chloe as a couple.

(The terminology was too complicated for Chloe. She kissed him in the darkness, but in the daylight it was too easy to see the goosebumps on her skin from his touch.)



.


Chloe was a trained reporter once upon a time, and a watchtower to superheroes, and now she serves hot plates to ordinary people.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a waitress,” she snaps at him when he slides her a brochure for a local magazine department.

“I’m just trying to help, Chloe.”

Chloe stares up at him, then down at her cereal bowl. She rounds her eyes, scanning the bare apartment and the old-fashioned tinted windows.

“This isn’t permanent, Davis. You know that we won’t stay here forever, that we can’t stand out anywhere we go. You know this better than me. And I get it--you worry that I feel stuck or trapped. But stop worrying. However I feel, or I don’t, that’s something I have to take care of. That’s my responsibility, not yours. So stop trying to make me, this normal. We’re not a normal couple, having breakfast before we head off to work. We’re two people, trying to stay alive, trying to keep people alive.”

“But I care about you, Chloe! I want to know how you feel and…and if you feel trapped.”

She sighs. She lowers her head, and a sound escapes her mouth. But she only stands up, grabs her purse, and says, “I’ll see you later.”


.



The phone in the apartment rings for the first time in the two months they’ve been there. Immediately, he knows something is wrong.

“Hello,” he says into the phone. There’s a strong pause, but he keeps the phone fastened to his hand, a lump strong in his throat.

“Davis, grab the money we’ve saved and get out. Take the 4:15 out to Connecticut.”

The phone clicks--his yells of “Chloe--Chlo!” were obsolete.

He grabs the money, and though she had told him to only get that, he grabs her emergency bag, throws in a couple of his shirts, and heads for the door when he hears steps feet from the door.

“Chloe, I know you’re in there!”

It’s none other than Lois Lane, and Davis feels a wave of fury.

He knows Clark could have found them long ago, but Chloe’s “I don’t want you to find us” must have subdued his search. But of course no such thing would pacify Chloe’s cousin.

He looks at the window. He slings the bag over his shoulder, pulls the window up, and doesn’t even take a breath when jumping down two levels.

His heels break, and a couple stares at him in awe when his bones crack back into place, and he stands up. He doesn’t look at them, despite their staring. He runs, runs impossibly fast.

At the train station, he pulls out a fake identification, buys a one way ticket to Connecticut, and he does something he’d only do for Chloe--he prays, prays she’s on the train, or at least that she’ll be in Connecticut.

On the train, he looks over every face twice. When he finds Chloe, he doesn’t have to do a double-take. He breathes “Thank God” and she hears it, but doesn’t acknowledge it.

He sits down beside her, asks “are you okay? Did she see you?”, but she only says in a murmur “I’m okay”.

She’s silent the rest of the way, and so is he.

-¤-




They reach their destination, Chloe picks out an inn, and they room together. She doesn’t ask for two beds, although she usually does.

When in the room, she tosses him a passport--a fake passport, that is.

“We’re going to Canada. First into Ontario, and east from there.”

“Alright.”

Chloe scrambles around the bag Davis brought, looking for nothing in particular. She stops suddenly, but still looks at the contents of the bag, her eyes stuck.

“I saw her. She went into the restaurant. I told the manager I felt sick and was going home. He said okay, it’s a slow day anyway. I went outside. And I just…stood there for a minute. I looked at her. I stared at her. Half of me hoped she saw me and would chase me. I saw her find the manager, and talk to him. Lois probably got the address from him. But she could have seen me right then and there. Still, I turned around, I ran off. I called you. I could have just as easily not called you. I could have stayed there, waiting until she came back outside, and see me. I could have let her yell at me. Then take me home. But I didn’t. I ran away. Again.”

Davis feels his heart pounding in his chest. Afraid. Scared. He is scared. Sure, she’s here now. But she could have another moment, any second, she could have a moment where wants to go home.

“If I’m trapped, it’s because I want to be trapped. You need me and…I’m not even sure if you want me because I can…save you, or because I‘m me. And I don’t need you, I don’t need this. And this definitely isn’t the life I want. But I want to be here.”

Davis looks over at her, to see her looking at him.

“I want you here,” he says.

Chloe walks over to him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders. And then he feels the burn of her tears.

“I’ve betrayed everyone I love, everyone who loves me. I turned my back on the girl who fell in love with and married Jimmy.”

He holds her firmly. “But you want to be here.”

He feels her nod.

(He feels empowered. He knows it’s wrong to feel this when she’s breaking, but she’s also building something--building a place where she accepts that the blacks and whites of life have no place in reality. )

They share the bed that night, but they only sleep.

He doesn’t black out this night.

-¤-




They don’t stay in Canada long. They remain in Russia for even a shorter period. It’s when they ride through Australia that they agree that it’s not a bad place at all.

They rent a flat in the middle of Albany, looking over a narrow street. It’s a two bedroom flat.

They’ve been sleeping together since Ontario (some weeks after that night they got to Canada--it was a normal night, and Davis knew she was frustrated more than anything, but she was hurting too hard for him to push her away then of all times) but she still wanted a two bedroom place.

Davis gets work at a bread shop and Chloe at a tech factory.



.



There are nights when Chloe can feel the walls shake. They’re only subtle vibrations, but they send her on alert.

“Davis, Davis, stay with me,” she whispers.

She clasps his head with her hands, tries to hold onto his eyes. He hasn’t blacked out in months, but he’s had close calls. He’ll always have close calls. This is something she’s accepted. But she won’t tell him, because he’ll then realize that in that aspect, she’s given up hope.

“Stay with me,” she says even more harshly.

His teeth clench, and his eyes blink rapidly.

Chloe kneels on his bed, and pulls his heavy frame to her. “Davis,” she says close to his ear.

He stops shaking gradually, and she finally feels him holding onto her.

She pulls back and smiles, relief spread over her eyes.

“Thank you,” he tells her.

His room is dark. She can’t even spot his shadow, but her own shadow lingers by the bedpost.

She kisses him, like she kissed him the night she got Clark’s phone call when in Quebec and he told her that Jimmy had filed for an uncontested divorce. She had hung up with a civil “thanks for telling me”, despite feeling like she had been given up on. But she didn’t really have a husband anymore--she hadn’t been a wife for too long now. So she kissed Davis, because she was just a girl alone with a boy who wanted her, needed her. She was alone with someone she chose not only to save her best friend, but also because he made her feel something she hadn’t known existed. (She doesn’t have a word for it, she only knew that Davis made her feel.)



.


She climbs into his bed on the nights when guilt isn’t weighing on her shoulders.

She used to kiss him hard when anger rose in her chest. But weeks passed, and he would make her laugh, he would make her forget they were living in a foreign land. He began kissing her softly on the cheek on his way out the door. He began buying her small insignificant treats and leaving them on the coffee table, or on the kitchen counters. She forgot this wasn’t normal, and when she remembered it wasn’t normal, she realized she was hurting him when she kissed him because someone from her past was pressing on her heart.

So she crashes on her bed when she’s spinning from madness and sadness, reeling from remorse. And when she’s done with tripping away from the world, she walks back into his world and falls into his pattern.

They do their best to keep the darkness outside his door.



.


“A picnic. At night. We’re not doing this with candles, right? There are a dozen trees around us,” Chloe says, a chuckle ringing through.

“Right, and girls are the romantic ones,” Davis muses.

“I’m just being practical,” Chloe shrugs, whilst jabbing his shoulder.

He sighs and shakes his head. “I brought a lamp,” he explains, taking out and lighting an encased lamp.

Chloe smiles widely at him, and sits back, looking at the stars overhead. The stars overhead never left her, and she never left them. It was the closest thing she had to home--in every corny sense of the connection.

“So, you want to start off with a sandwich, or pasta?”

Chloe cocks her head at him, squinting. “What kind of buffet is that?”

“I did what I could!” he yelps, laying out the simple sandwiches next to a Tupperware of pasta.

“Pasta first. We’ll save the best for last.”

“Sandwich rates over Italian pasta in your universe?”

“Oh, like it doesn’t in yours.”

Davis laughs, but nods. “You know me too well,” he murmurs. Chloe quiets, but keeps a tight smile on her face. She waits as he takes out the plates, and serves pasta on their respective plates, and places forks on them. He hands it to her, and she softly says “thank you”. She sits upright, and takes a bite.

“It’s good,” she says after one forkful.

“Thanks,” he says.

There’s a quiet tension, but Chloe doesn’t verbally acknowledge it. This is the epitome of a first date, but the thing is that they’ve been running from Smallville for close to 14 months now. The thing is that they have shared kisses, a bed for several months now. The thing is that they have sex now and then. The thing is that he treats her like his girlfriend, she lets him treat her so, and sometimes he is her boyfriend. The thing is, in all that time, with all their experiences, and with all the loud moments, with all the good quiet moments, they have never been on a date.

This isn’t a date either. She will not call it as such. For all the feelings she has for him, and as real as their situation is, the flat in Albany and the jobs are all pretend. And so too much of it is pretend to allow for something as real as a date.

The plates are empty and the sandwiches are gone soon enough. They lie on a blanket, inches between them, talking about nothing important. Minute facts that are interesting and vital to others, but irrelevant to them. Softened memories of their travels. Casual talk of work.

And then Davis seems to have fallen asleep.

Chloe blinks a slow blink. She breathes in a deep breath, exhales gradually. It’s peaceful and the numbing “You can’t do this forever” conscience dies. In another blink, Davis twitches beside her.

She can’t do this forever.


-¤-




The black outs come back. Stronger than before.

She had gotten used to the close calls, but there was a piece of hope that believed that the close calls were as bad as it was ever going to get again.

Davis told her he loved her one day. She was never able to say it back. She didn’t know why, she was just not able to say it. Maybe it was because love was a cursed word on her lips. Maybe it was because she wasn’t sure what she felt.




She never says she loved Davis for the simple fact that she may have been in love with him, but she didn’t love him. The inverse of loving a man but not being in love with him.






He fights her when she says they have to go back. It’s getting too dangerous for him. It’s too hard to control that foreign part of him. He refuses.



When he hurts her, that’s when he sees the foreign part of him is more Davis than that other thing. He says “let’s go back”.



.


They make a lot of stops, just the two of them. No public transportation.

Any time of day is dangerous. At any sign, Chloe stops for however long it may take. She tries to bring him back, no matter how dangerous he gets. Sometimes she succeeds. When she doesn’t, she still sticks around.

Some days, he wishes she wouldn’t. But he’s thankful.


.



They reach Mexico, but that’s as far as they get alone.

Clark gets to them, and everything is a blur afterward.

From Clark dashing them to his farm in Smallville, to the chains on Davis’ wrists. From Davis’ escape, to his capture and death.



Chloe Sullivan has a hand in it all. There’s blood on her hands in every metaphorical way possible. In a lot of literal ways too.


-¤-





She buries Davis. Clark joins her, but she tells him she can do it alone. It’s not his fault, it’s hers.

(Besides, Clark didn’t know Davis. Only Chloe knew Davis. And Davis was the only one who knew what Chloe was capable of, of what she had done in that year plus months away from home: things not Clark, not Lois, not Oliver could possibly imagine. What Jimmy wouldn’t have wanted of her.)

sight

Reccing Notes: In case you don't know already. I love this verse. I reallyrealy do. One of the beast things to come out of beast. it's beautiful because it stays true to the realtionshipp, but then fates not cutting them any breaks. (And I was having such fun with Davis and his sweet undercurrents and sexy-ish thoughts. Dang it, then the plot had to intrude!)

by nonky at her livejournal
1367 words, pg-13 (a much better Beast- her verse)

He was fairly stricken with anxiety about it. When the lights were out and he was barely touching her, letting her sleep, her scent was the anchor for his humanity.

He knew how she smelled, of course, and might have been absorbing details like that into his DNA; pushing out alien killing machine know-how.

“'Paba free' is good,” she said. “But 'all natural ingredients' isn't always better.”

Chloe taught him things all the time, most of the information slipping away soon after she finished speaking. He listened intently, because she was interesting no matter what she said or did. The words held so much emotion he was distracted. One whole level of his being was thrown just picking up on the range of feelings she expressed in short, factual sentences. She commanded tones of her voice like symphonies of gentle mockery, sweet loving kindness, and fearless protective instincts.

Eyes brimming with love is real, Davis mused, brimming and overflowing with love for me. Only everything she is does that.

She picked up another bottle of shampoo, because the out-of-state mom and pop drugstore didn't have her brand. Davis was entrusted with deciding what her hair would smell like. He was fairly stricken with anxiety about it. When the lights were out and he was barely touching her, letting her sleep, her scent was the anchor for his humanity.

He knew how she smelled, of course, and might have been absorbing details like that into his DNA; pushing out alien killing machine know-how. Chloe had been all over him, and he remembered each second like the gold nugget of living it was. Those moments in the car and cheap hotels were as far from shame as he could imagine himself at his present point. He couldn't talk about that in front of the nicely greying couple behind the counter, though, who glanced over periodically and met their customers' eyes to give them the opportunity to ask for help.

Besides, if Chloe smelled like arousal, sweat and contentment all the time, he would have to get himself chemically castrated before they maimed each other.

“Okay, these three,” Chloe proclaimed, lining up the bottles in her arms. “They're basically the same, good stuff for hair, so locate my essence.”

With a flirtatious pat of encouragement, Davis' entire world strolled away to give him privacy to deliberate. He flicked open the top of the first bottle, and glanced over his shoulder at her. Chloe was within their safe zone. If he put his arm out and she did the same, they would touch. It was late at night, they were moving again, and he worried about random loss. He was watching for Clark or his allies to take her, but a stray bullet in a robbery could do the job. Davis drove very cautiously, he worried over diner kitchen cleanliness, and he tried not to obsess over her human vulnerabilities.

She stretched for a tall shelf, and her neck was bared for a moment. The Beast purred appreciation, and Davis sighed.

He was getting over some of his horror about his alien body. It could shield her in a building collapse, deflecting lethal shrapnel and glass. Davis would not wish his fate on anyone, but it eased his mind to think he didn't have to worry about leaving Chloe. He could sacrifice himself for her as many times as she was in danger. She didn't like to talk about it. Her face told him her calm in life-or-death situations was the result of practice more than temperament. The Beast didn't like talking about it, either, so Davis tried to live with the vague dread.

He wrinkled his nose at the heavy perfumes rising from the three selections. He was used to the muted shower scents dissipated by steam. The kiwi was too much, the strawberry was okay, but the third - called Snow and Honey - was blissful. It made him shiver as he sniffed, but then a wave of warm sweetness blanketed him. Davis put the other two back and carried the winner to Chloe.

“This one is you,” he said certainly. “At least, it's the closest imitator to how good you smell. Nothing could ever match.”

Her cheeks went pink as she took the bottle, and Davis leaned down to kiss them. She ducked away playfully.

“They're looking at us,” she mumbled. “Come on, we're in the Bible belt. No kissing.”

“No kissing in the Bible belt,” he asked, chuckling, but pulling his black baseball cap down just in case. “Wow, that's strict. I thought they'd have more of population problem though, if there's no kissing. Besides, they're not looking at us, they think we're cute.”

Not even in his childhood had anyone ever thought him cute. The social services people and doctors called him 'healthy' or 'advanced in his development'. Prospective foster parents sometimes commented on his good posture and manners, but his wounded silence dissuaded all of them from wanting him. Once he started growing, thin and strong, cute wasn't the word to match his serious nature. A few elderly patients had called him sweet, but that was because they were grateful to him. Davis tried to be pleasant and helpful, but he couldn't remember ever having unforced joy until he met Chloe.

Cute, he thought, mulling it over as he let her go. We're cute together. Most of it is her, of course, but I don't ruin the picture.

“A few more things,” Chloe said, still blushing prettily. “I know we haven't gone that far tonight. We'll make it up with quick lunch stop and then I can drive for a while.”

“I'm not tired,” Davis told her. “What do you need?”

“Shower gel, and snacks. One of these nights we're going to end up somewhere without an all-night restaurant that delivers.”

They drove evenings and nights, into the early hours of the morning. They were farther from Kansas, but still being careful. Chloe had explained that distance wasn't a problem for Clark if he was really looking for them. Davis seemed rather awed by his fellow Kryptonian's powers, but not envious. He had thought himself normal but flawed for most of his life. He likely wouldn't feel better about himself if he thought of his alien origins made him exceptional. What Clark professed to want would mean giving up all the entitlement he'd been raised to believe was his, and Davis was without that arrogance.

She touched his chest and he curled down toward her. It was nice to do something normal with him, but she suddenly wanted privacy. He didn't protect his feelings at all, and Chloe didn't like having everyone else staring at the frank longing in his touch. She'd never been able to tease him, or joke around, so she couldn't say if he'd take it well or be hurt. Her sense of humour wasn't razor sharp anymore.

She'd seen him covered in blood, caked in it so thick it didn't drip but rather slid in sheets down his naked flesh. There was little to joke about after that.

Chloe unwound from Davis' arms and located the shower gel, hefting the huge bottle. He took it from her and held her hand as they went to another aisle.

“Industrial sized,” he said. “You expect to be doing some mud-wrestling?”

“It's one hundred and forty showers, for one person; so seventy combined showers,” Chloe told him, grabbing a box for his approval. “Good?”

He nodded. The idea of months of showers with her was the best proposition he'd ever heard – easily surpassing the time she begged to go home with him because he was all she knew and trusted. Davis thought about the tiny shower kit in the car, bought in a hurry before they left Kansas. She hadn't bothered stocking up because they just didn't know how far they would get. He had recognized her coaxing as fake confidence, but it hadn't seemed right to pick at her for it. She was trying to help him.

Chloe believed now, honestly. She saw the happy ending.

“Great,” he said deeply, kissing her. “Perfect taste.”

They paid for their stuff and Davis picked up the shopping bag. He nodded to the woman who served them, then took Chloe's hand for the walk through the parking lot. She smiled at him as the door swung shut behind them.

Two minutes later, the man behind the counter joined his wife and picked up the telephone grimly.




This fic verse needs moar comments. So, comment? ;)

somewhere between perdition and salvation

Reccing Notes: I've always thought SPN and Smallville were sister fandoms, in a way, with their possible apocalypses and supernatural happenings lurking underneath the normal guise of the world. I was just waiting for a fic to prove it.
In this fic, xxlammxx beautifully ties the interconnected journeys of Chloe and Davis and Castiel and (Dean) the Winchester brothers together. Sam and Dean begin to track a very in love 'werewolf' and the woman protecting him. The rest is history.
As a tiny sidenote, there are some mentions of Dean/Castiel slash, if that's not your thing and you don't want to be converted. :p

by xxamlaxx at her livejournal
1663 words, pg-13, beast

Davis fills up her life, expands into it, until her each and every single thought revolves around him and even those that don’t somehow contort and curl and tangle themselves so tightly around Davis she is never sure if they were ever independent thoughts at all.

Chloe finds that the world is both strangely empty without Clark and amazingly preoccupied with Davis. Davis is warm, lean muscle beside her in bed, a soft considerate mien in the driver’s seat of the car, hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel, brown eyes locked on the vast expanse of highway ahead of them. Davis fills up her life, expands into it, until her each and every single thought revolves around him and even those that don’t somehow contort and curl and tangle themselves so tightly around Davis she is never sure if they were ever independent thoughts at all.

-

Fourteen hotels in two weeks and the days are beginning to blur together. Dirty motel floors and streaked bathroom mirrors are blended, one long, long swirl of hours and minutes and seconds. Hotel sheets smell like cheap detergent and fabric softener, floral and synthetic and scratchy, occasionally stained with coffee and food and semen. Late nights she lies awake in bed, Davis curled up against her side, one of his arms around her waist and she stares up at the ceiling, rests one of her hands over the back of his and watches the fan blades rotate above her in slow circles; the low hum of electricity in the darkness.

“Hmm, why are you awake?” Davis slurs, rests his cheek on her bare abdomen, his breath a heated tickle across her skin.

“You know, the occasional insomnia.” She runs her fingers through his hair, traces patterns across his scalp, soothes him back to sleep.

-

Two strange men check into the cheap motel on the outskirts of Idaho. One is tall, taller than Clark, lean with longer than normal brown hair and brown eyes. The other is shorter, handsome, a face and body of sex and sin, but his green eyes are haunted and broken, like he’s not completely whole and he can’t understand why. She watches them both and pushes Davis into their room and shuts the door, smiles at them when they pass her in the hallway. The tall guy is on his phone and doesn’t give her a second glance but the other gives her one quick once over, flashes a grin and a wink and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

-

She begins to think they’re being followed when they cross the border into California. The same two men from Idaho pull into the parking lot of a rundown hotel in Los Angeles. They’re in a black Chevy Impala, all perfectly waxed black metal, well maintained and so kickass. This time they deliberately avoid her, pretend that she isn’t there and Davis growls low in the back of his throat, it growls and she kisses his cheek and trails a hand down his side to calm him.

At three in the morning she can’t sleep and worry is consuming her brain. The air conditioner is loud and blaring, blows icy air throughout the room and she slips out the door, into the warm, stale night air of downtown Los Angeles, smells exhaust and oil on the pavement, can hear silence and engines and the screeching of tires far in the distance. She leans against the railing of the second story and stares down into the parking lot, the mostly deserted square of cracked gray concrete and fading paint. The shorter, better looking man is standing by his car, talking loudly and angrily, shouting at someone she can’t see.

She hears the name “Cas” once but when she scans the parking lot he is the only man there.

-

“Hello miss, could we have a minute of your time please?” The two men confront her in San Francisco, they’re both wearing suits now and they flash golden badges. She nods and moves over to make room for them at the table, carefully texts underneath the table top to Davis who is across the room, within eyesight, always in eyesight, and tells him to stay where he is.

“Of course, what can I do for you?” She smiles, is so good at smiling now, can look happy when inside she’s screaming and drowning and dying.

“We’re with the FBI, I’m agent Walker.” The man with the broken green eyes who talks to someone named Cas when he’s alone lets her examine his badge. Relief flashes quickly through her body, spikes her blood, because she was worrying about Oliver and Clark and hoards of Tess’ minions but instead it’s nothing more than the federal government. “We’re looking for Davis Bloome, he’s suspected in dozens of gruesome murders. There have been reported sightings of you two together.” She can see Davis just over Agent Walker’s shoulder, right in the corner of the room, beside a tall green plant and a cracked pinball machine.

“Look, we understand if you two are involved, and you’re protecting him because you love him, but he’s dangerous.” The taller of the two speaks, sounds distracted, continues to glance down at his cell phone, as though he’s waiting for it to ring.

“I’m not with him voluntarily. He’s stalking me; I’m trying to escape him. If I see him, you’ll be the first I call.” She lies, mendacities flowing from her lungs like air as she accepts the stiff rectangular piece of paper with their numbers.

They leave and she and Davis are on the road again before Agent Walker can order a cup of coffee.

-

“You’re not really from the FBI.” She announces, tries to be glib as she and Davis back into a corner. The two men are holding large silver knives and loading silver bullets into guns. She doesn’t quite know what they think Davis is but she does know that they are very, very wrong and if they don’t leave soon their blood will be a red splatter on the walls, their bones embedded deep in concrete. “And I’m assuming you didn’t tell me your real names.”

“You’re a smart one sweetheart. My name’s Dean, step away from the werewolf before he hurts you.” Dean, the one with the haunted green eyes and imaginary friend extends his hand to her, a gentle, soft expression on his face.

“Werewolf, you think I’m a werewolf?” Davis laughs, laughs and laughs and laughs and she’s laughing too, laughing until her sides ache because Davis is far worse than an oversized canine from horror stories and cheesy Hollywood movies. Davis is Doomsday, Davis can kill and destroy like no other creature on Earth, he can bring about the apocalypse with one transformation and Dean and the tall man have no idea what they’re up against. “I’m not a werewolf, I’m something worse. Please leave, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry buddy, you won’t be hurting us.” The taller man plunges a long, silver stake into Davis’ shoulder. Davis winces and roars and blood rushes red down his shirt, soaks into the cotton of his t-shirt, pools on the floor and then he reaches up and pulls it out and the hole heals itself up immediately.

“I told you. I’m so sorry.” Davis’ eyes flash red and there’s nothing she can do. She can’t stop it now. She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, wants it to be over, but suddenly there is a bright, bright flash of white and she has to open them, looks up to see a man with dark hair and a tan trench coat standing in front of Dean who sits bleeding on the floor, the taller man, whose name she thinks is Sam, crouched beside him, a hand over the deep gash in Dean’s chest, trying to hold the blood in. The light hurts her eyes, makes them sting and water, and Doomsday begins to melt away and soon enough Davis is standing barefoot and naked in the deserted, boarded up building. In the blinding light she makes out the faint outline of wings, beautiful, shimmering white feathers and then Davis is on his knees. “Oh Angel of the Lord, forgive me for my sins…” Davis prays, rubs the sign of the cross into his forehead over and over and over again.

“God does not blame you Davis. He has decided to answer your prayers.”

The angel touches Davis’ forehead with two fingers and the world is enveloped in that holy white light.

-

“I’m not the beast any longer?” Davis stares at his hands, his feet, runs his hands over his chest, every inch of his skin, like he can’t quite believe that he is completely free.

“No. God has freed you from your darker half and banished it to hell.” The angel, Castiel is solemn, lays a hand on Davis’ shoulder. “Go and live your life.” Outside the sun has set and the moon hangs low and silver in the pitch black sky. “You have never lost faith in God.”

Davis sleeps like the dead that night, sprawled out on his stomach, on the opposite side of the bed for the first time. Now Davis doesn’t need to touch her, can be away from her. Davis showers alone in the bathroom, doesn’t need her on the other side of the curtain or beneath the hot water with him. She slips out of bed and kisses his naked shoulder blade, retreats outside into the frosty night air, staring out at the Ocean, smelling salt and sand and seaweed.

“It’s pretty damn cool that you can exercise friggin’ aliens Cas.” Dean and Castiel are sitting side by side on the hood of the Impala, illuminated by the glow from the moon. She hides in a sliver of darkness and watches, motionless and breathing shallow.

“The Lord can do anything Dean. If one only has faith.”

“You keep telling me that Cas, but I still don’t believe you.”

“God has great plans for you Dean Winchester. When will you accept your destiny?”

“I don’t want to talk about God Cas.” Dean sighs, leans against the back window of the Impala.

“I know.”

Castiel kisses Dean, slow and sweet, and she returns to the comfort of her room and Davis, presses herself up against his chest, tucks her head into the notch between his neck and shoulder.

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.

scorched earth

Reccing Notes: What more can you ask for? Angst, 3 dimensional characterization and a look into life on the run. Plus, shower scene (think of Prey) but much more romantic. Did I mention true-to-her-feelings Chloe is back?

by nonky at her livejournal
2235 words, pg-13, post-beast

Chloe's hands felt like they were washing away something dark and lonely.
To anyone outside their shared understanding of the universe, the young man and woman in the dark vehicle signaling to turn off the highway would look like hell.

Davis and Chloe were both rather pale; paler since their lifestyle had become flight and particularly for him once he'd discovered how much of a fantasy she really was. He had self-control, but being in the presence of a woman he loved led to arousal more times than they could possibly indulge. His blood headed down and settled in his groin about ten minutes after he came, creating a problem solved only by more sex or road hypnosis.

He was bored. They were both bored and anxious. Their circumstances were difficult and tedious, forcing them to inaction. They were trying to prevent anything from happening, precluding much living.

It seemed odd to be ungrateful for the getaway, but they weren't on a vacation. They didn't stop at tourist spots, or meander on hiking trails. They drove as much as they could, changing radio stations as the miles made the previous channel drop out into static. Chloe picked up wireless networks and hacked into law enforcement databases. They didn't even dare strike up conversation with a waitress, just in case they were tracked to a particular diner. His romantic notions about stealing a little time to date were blown to hell.

It was no small consolation that Chloe had forced him to pull over a few miles back and sucked him off into the stratosphere. Davis hadn't been at all sure they were going to be together that way. It was – he cringed at calling it a miracle, but it was remarkable gift. There would never be a way to repay her, but he could show her how much he worshipped her.

Davis cringed again. He was having some problems with blasphemy since his multiple deaths. Religion hadn't done much for him lately, but he found some comfort in faith. If it helped, he would take it and show it the respect it was due.

Perhaps seeing his fleeting expression, Chloe turned and petted his arm. She had her wallet out. It was stuffed with twenties. In addtion to harbouring a murderer, she had also embezzled from the Isis Foundation. It wasn't more than a few years of her salary, but Davis knew she felt bad. Once they could stop somewhere, they'd get back to honest livings again.

“You okay?” He nodded, and she grinned. “I'll check us in, then. Can you grab my suitcase?”

“Of course.”

He stopped the car by the motel office. She stepped out after a quick grasp of his hand. Davis didn't even blink until she was under cover again. He felt The Beast try to stir, but only to the extent of following Chloe.

She'll be two minutes, he thought precisely, concentrating on the the little span of time and a lack of worry. Chloe is coming back. She will always come back.

The urges toward violence were mostly gone unless he thought too hard about the people looking for them. If he had to describe The Beast's mood, it was euphoric. It didn't understand the sacrifice she was making, but it was undeniably protective. The Beast might not have human emotion or the nuances of relationships; it was more a vague sense of Chloe being good, small and female. She felt petite to Davis, so he imagined The Beast must perceive her like a gorilla holding a beloved kitten.

Both he and The Beast were far too dumb to ever truly comprehend all of her. Davis knew enough never to suggest she was The Beast's pet. As far as he knew, The Beast hadn't ever spoken more than her name. Hopefully, it wouldn't get chatty. If it tried to tell her what to do, he expected bloodshed. She would emerge without a wrinkle in her blouse, but any version of him would let the beating come. Hard to hold a woman when she's ripped off your arms, he thought.

“Just don't make a fist,” he muttered, and The Beast rumbled. The blinds moved on the office door, and she stepped out. Her face was turned back to thank the manager. Davis reached over and pushed the passenger door open.

“Hi, you didn't have to wait,” Chloe said. She leaned over and kissed him lightly, her breath sweet from a mint that rolled against his tongue. Davis had come in her mouth less than an hour before. His legs were still a little numb when he thought about it.

“I did. It was getting crabby. I, uh, didn't want to take any chances.” Davis pulled around to the back parking lot, backing into the space so they could drive out faster if anyone came for them.

A transformation in broad daylight would be disaster. She played it off, but shivered on the inside. She couldn't lose him. They were doing so well. Two days of traffic, tension and rude truck stop service hadn't put a dent in Davis' control. Left to their own lives, she and Davis would be able to make it work safely. If anyone interfered, she might not be able to stop The Beast from killing them.

He's out cold for hours after The Beast gets loose, she mused. I can drag him away, but I don't even think I could lift him into the car.

They had fake drivers' licenses. She was working on fake passports to get them to South America. Any diligent government department would find something off and send up an alarm. They couldn't be ill or injured. They couldn't even allow for a whole day outside the car. Clark and Bart were so fast, and Oliver's jet would fly the rest of the boys. Then she would only be able to watch as they ripped Davis to shreds or died at the hands of Doomsday. But she couldn't waste time or energy on imagining horrors, because Davis was only functioning with her belief they could escape. He didn't even have suicide as an option. She couldn't betray any kind of doubt or let him brood so hard he lost control.

“I have some delivery menus,” Chloe told him cheerfully. “What do you feel like?”

We're kind of ridiculous, he thought. 'I nearly became an alien monster and slaughtered the first person I could grab, because you weren't in my sight for a minute.' 'Oh, don't worry honey, everything is fine now. What would you like for dinner?' 'Anything but red meat; I'm still full from that cab driver I chewed to bits.' I know she's being brave, but this is too much for anyone to handle. It's more than I would be able to ask from her.

“An Italian place maybe, if it does salads. I couldn't eat another burger right now,” Davis shrugged. “I'm not that hungry, I guess.”

She shook her head and stuffed the menus in her purse. “We can figure out something when you are. I'm dying for a shower.”

Chloe let them into the room and disappeared behind the unlocked bathroom door. She didn't leave girl stuff everywhere, like he'd heard his friends complain of girlfriends. Chloe opened her suitcase and took out a fresh nightgown and her bag of toiletries. She would change clothes and sort her laundry into a separate bag, packing it all up again. She put on lotion and a little bit of makeup, but for the most part she looked the same without any enhancements. Her shower kit was even smaller than his own. She had a tiny bottle of shampoo, one of conditioner, and a third of gel soap.

He could find her by scent alone, Davis thought. It wasn't even an ability from The Beast. He just knew the way she smelled that well. It was the only thing that allowed him to close his eyes without feeling cut off from any peers. He had Chloe to be with, her soft warmth pushing away the despair.

“Davis,” she called from beyond the door. The whirring of the fan was an irritating noise over her gentle use of his name.

He realized he'd been pacing right outside, and rubbed his chin ruefully. “Way to stalk,” he mumbled. “Yeah, do you need something?!”

“Shower with me,” she said, and her tone didn't even sound pitying. He pulled his shirt over his head as he kicked off his sneakers.

She saved his life about fourteen times a day, and he really needed to find a greeting card to express both 'I'm sorry I'm burying your life in my problems' and 'Please don't ever stop putting up with me because I can't even die properly.'

Davis stripped down as fast as he could, throwing the clothes on the floor. He wasn't sure if he was really horny or just desperate to be held. He went into a room already filled with steam. Chloe liked hot showers and his skin could withstand temperatures to melt steel. He drew the moist air into his lungs and felt better after hours of air conditioning chemicals.

She pulled the shower curtain open for him, her body already sleek with soap. Davis stepped into the tub with a sigh of pleasure, pulled Chloe's back to his front. She moved almost to the wall, too close under the shower head to be sprayed. He let his neck wobble loosely under the water, scrubbing at his hair.

“No shampoo,” Chloe asked.

“Heh, no,” he admitted. “I got excited, I guess. Being near you is about a lot more than just becoming The Beast.”

Her face showed discomfort, possibly another harsh bit of information about his destiny, but she didn't say it. She smiled after a moment, tipping her own bottle into her palm. “You can use mine, if you don't mind smelling the same.”

He was going to be hard all day, but he didn't care. He had so much to wash away. Her hands could do it and make the feeling stick. Chloe could will him to be a better man. She could smile him into grace.

She reached up and he immediately bent lower to help her. His face turned down under the spray, and his wet hair was nearly as inviting as the silky dark strands were when dry. She could touch him anywhere and he accepted it with gentle obedience. Chloe didn't understand how he didn't tense at every word or deed from another person. They had all let him down. It was probably another foster kid thing; premature attachment to new people. She wanted it to be genuine love, but if issues were boats they'd be dragging two cruise liners behind the SUV.

There are no ulterior motives, she told herself. He just wants to love and be loved. He doesn't know quite how it works, but he's happy to learn and works hard at it. The answer to every question now is 'I love you, Davis.' This is still right, even when it's not easy. We succeed or we don't even have to worry about living with failure.

His dark hair was cropped short, but without a trim it was quickly starting to look shaggy. Chloe flipped open her shampoo and pressed his hand flat to pour some into his palm. “Well, I love you anyway,” she said. “Even if you are using up all my shampoo.”

Davis' hand trembled, spilling before he closed it and brought his hands up to wash his hair. He took a step back and for a moment Chloe worried she'd told him something he'd rather not hear.

“That's very reassuring,” he drawled, meaning to make it ironic but ending up sounding wistful. He moved up as she inched behind him to the other side of the tub, sticking his head under the water.

“Is it? Good,” she said. “I'm glad. Now, let me wash your back before I get out.”

He was going to smell like a girl for a week, but the water and suds moving under Chloe's hands felt like they were washing away something dark and lonely. He smiled to himself and caught her hands around his waist, a blond weight belt to help him carry his load.

“Chloe? Thanks.”

Her fingers linked together and she squeezed him gently, her body pressing into him. “You're welcome. Remind me to buy shampoo later.”

She slipped away, bending her forehead to his skin for a moment. He listened to her getting towels and leaving the bathroom before putting his face into his hands.

She loved him. He was going to have to buy her a pony or something instead of another dumb little chocolate. He wondered if she'd sit on his lap while he drove. He thought about rings and mortgage rates in South America and whether alien destroyers could have blond babies with green eyes.

Davis caught his knees shaking and commanded himself not to freak out. It was the first big change in a long while that he was unreservedly happy to adjust to, and it would sink in as a good thing once he got over the shock. Deep breaths and more of Chloe's soap restored him admirably. He was suddenly, miraculously starving. Maybe rings and houses could wait, but he would have to insist she let him buy her extra spring rolls.