Reaction Time (Part Five)

Chloe checked her phone again as she walked from her car to The Watchtower. There were dead zones on the freeway and she might have a message by now. She'd only been calling all day. But there was nothing.

She'd been making a lot of calls today. It had really been the main order of business since she woke on The Talon's couch in her clothes from the night before amid the hazy memories of a two day bender of "watching Clark's back."

She would have slept at The Watchtower. She'd been making a habit of it these days as it was just easier, but the couch was taken by Emil who, by the smell of him, was sleeping off a serious bender of his own. His seemed to have stripped himself of most of his clothes, stripped the Watchtower of most of her supplies meant to make it more of a hospitable hang-out, which included a twelve pack of beer, every bit of food in the place, some takeout containers that told her he must have ordered in, and two suspicious hand-rolled buts put out right on her coffee table that told her he'd ordered in more than food.

She'd vaguely thought of rousting him and asking what Clark put in his head, but she was too damned tired. She'd passed out as soon as she got home, her head pounding. When she did wake, it was almost like a hangover. She felt achy all over, nauseated, and mildly guilty. Most of the ache was in her nose, which felt like someone had pounded it repeatedly. When the memories came flooding back, she realized that was exactly what happened, courtesy of Tess Mercer. Then the guilt hit as she realized she'd tussled with more than Tess. She'd spent her morning alternately dialing Lois and Oliver, trying to get one of them to pick up and accept her mea culpas.

She'd had a message from Lois by the afternoon and "Apology accepted. I think there was some seriously bad chocolate going around. I mean, I was a little off, too. I mean REALLY off."

She had another message, a stuttering apology to call her own from Emil. "I seriously would never have... I mean, I haven't touched it since college. I swear, if the circumstances hadn't been what they were... I trust you heard from Clark. I really wasn't myself. I will have your table refinished and replace everything... I really am sorry."

That was all well and good, but she hadn't heard a thing from Oliver. As the double doors opened with that tell-tale hiss, she thought she saw him there. A tall man in the dim light. But it was Clark.

Cut to a year ago and she wouldn't have been surprised to see Clark in her space. But things had shifted this year and Clark was about the last person she expected to see waiting for her. Or maybe he wasn't. He was just staring at her monitors and she vaguely wondered if that's all she was these days, just a hub of information, not even a person. Not to him, at least. Not anymore.

She moved to join him in front of the digitalized scale model of the two towers, almost hoping he was waiting for her, that he wanted to speak to her. Old habits died hard and attaching hopes to Clark Kent was something she had a hard time letting die.

She waited for him to speak, hoping stupidly that he'd say something sweet and profound, like he would have once, something adorably apologetic about not being himself, about how he'd never order her around, then a bad trademark joke followed by a smile. She wanted it so badly, to know it wasn't over, that they still could be... whatever the hell they'd once been.

"If you were really under a command to protect me," he said, staring at the monitor, not at her, never at her, "why didn't you let me kill her?"

They weren't the words she was hoping for, but they were ones she'd gone over herself, trying to make sense of these last few nights. "Because sometimes protecting you means protecting you from yourself," she said baldly. "You're someone we all have to believe in. Nothing can compromise that." He represented hope, the future. He was a symbol. Maybe, last night, she had it right. Maybe that symbol, that beacon, was all he could be to her now. Not a friend. Not these days.

"Zod took matters into his own hands," he said, his voice dry, businesslike, the kind of voice he used with her now. "He killed Jor-El's murderer. It was Alia."

That snapped her out of her useless mourning for what once was. Your own life, and the possibility of keeping it, had that effect. "So now Alia can't slay me in the future like she's supposed to. This means the future's changing."

"There's only one way to be sure," he said.

She'd ask him how, but that didn't seem allowed these days.

So she watched him speed off, papers rustling in his wake. No goodbye. Not these days.

She closed her eyes, thinking of when they used to hold onto each other at times like this. Crazily enough, Clark had been the one that got her so spoiled on hugging. She'd never hugged her father much. Her mom had been the hugger. She'd always gone along, almost reluctantly. She just wasn't a hugger. With her gone, she hadn't filled the gap with her father. He'd seemed so bent on pretending everything was okay after she left, as if she was at the store, that she hadn't made up the difference with him. Didn't want to scare him off after she'd scared one parent off already.

It wasn't until they moved here, until Clark, that she found herself hugged and often. When he saved her, when she saved him, when it was Tuesday, there was this embrace that seemed to last for hours. She'd never considered herself a hugger until he came along. She'd thrown herself at his chest, breathed him in so many times, that hugging someone, being close to someone, seemed like second nature after a while. Now it seemed so foreign, being touched.

She opened her eyes. Because it was enough. She was finished with it now. Whatever she and Clark had been, they were something different now. They weren't something better or she wouldn't feel so hollow, but they were definitely different. They were colder, distant. Maybe she could just go back, be that girl who had to be pulled into a hug.

It should feel like strength, but it felt cold and empty now, as if she couldn't touch or be touched. She didn't want that kind of strength anymore. So she found herself dialing again, praying he'd pick up this time.

"Hello?"

"Ollie?" She was almost surprised to hear him. After a day of hearing his voicemail pick up, she expected more of that. "I... was just going to leave a message."

"Okay. Just tell me whatever you were going to leave." He chuckled.

"I..." She chuckled herself. "I just mean that I was used to getting your voicemail."

"Well, I've been busy." He sounded rather clipped and she wondered if now was the time to explain everything.

"Ollie... Last night I was..."

"Oh, yeah. Talked to Clark. Crazy night. Pixie dust?" He chuckled. "You can't make this stuff up."

"So... You're not mad at me?"

"Why should I be mad? I mean, you ran around, barked orders, worked your computer mojo. Nothing out of the..."

"Ollie," she cut in. "I need...." to be with someone, to know that I can touch and be touched, that I'm not cold and empty. "I need to see you," she finally said.

"I bet you do. I hear you really got into it with Tess?" He gave a low whistle. "That woman's intense. You're going to need a hell of a lot more training if you want to tangle with her again. That why you called?"

"No," she said firmly. "This is not about training. I was thinking about..." About how she needed to be touched? About how she needed to feel life in her body? Somehow, that seemed like a little more than she could ask anyone to take on. "I was thinking about fun. Ollie, I need to have fun... and with you."

"Fun with me?" His voice was lower now, almost a whisper.

"You know I wasn't all there the other night," she said, keeping her voice low as well. "I had plans before Clark... happened."

"Fun plans?"

She smiled at that note in his voice, so glad he was on board. "Very fun plans." She wouldn't have absorbed hours of The Kama Sutra and countless how-to's on handling male genitalia for anything but fun plans. She wanted to forget these last cursed nights and pick up where she should have left off. "Where are you?"

There was silence and she started to wonder if it was too late. Maybe Clark's kryptonite-enhanced streak had really derailed everything.

"Tell you what..." She let out a breath at his low words. "You meet me at The Ace of Clubs in fifteen minutes and we'll see what kind of... fun we can have."

He hung up. She'd have been put off, but after these last days, after what was damned near phone sex, there was no doubt.

And she was ready now, readier than she'd been for her first time. She'd been watching videos, doing kegels, absorbing everything she could about sex and how to do it just right. It didn't matter that she'd been with one man and he'd been with... not men, at least not that she knew. Then he had been in boarding school and they say...

God, she was getting loopy. She was still nervous, really. But she didn't want to let it take over. She was industrious, studious, a hard worker. She always had been. That had to make up for... every other thing she lacked.

She moved toward the desk, opened the drawer. She stared into it for what seemed like an hour before she took out the contents and closed the drawer decisively. She shrugged off her jacket and moved to the bathroom by way of the coatrack, grabbing her old, well worn trench.

No more stalling. It was time.

********************

It was crowded. Who knew Tuesday was such a wild night? She'd hoped it wouldn't be. That they could find some quiet corner and bang this out, no pun intended. She wanted to set some ground rules before getting to it. She didn't want any more games. This was happening tonight.

She smiled to herself and secured her coat. She wouldn't be taking it off here. So maybe it was just as well the place was a zoo. They wouldn't be here long.

She moved through the crowd in her rather awkwardly high-heeled shoes. They were new, bought last week on clearance and shoved under one of the consoles. She hadn't had time to break them in, which kind of sucked because she really wanted to swish her hips and click around with sey confidence. Not get bounced between couples like a stumbling ping pong ball and fall against some guy... which is exactly what she did.

"Oh, sorry," she muttered, trying to move away quickly.

"No problem, my delicious dispatcher."

She froze and turned. "Bart?"

He grinned, handing her one of three shots in his hands. "We were wondering when you'd get here. You can have our brave, little toaster's shot. It's just for show, anyway."

"Victor's here?" she asked, taking it numbly.

"Sure. Ollie called the troops for a night out, said you really needed some fun. Vic was in town and I, of course, am always available for you." He grabbed up her other hand with a wee blur and planted a kiss. "Come on! Drink up. Vic won't care." he leaned in to whisper. "I only got the other shot because the rich guy's buying."

She raised it to her lips and threw it back, figuring she'd need it. She hardly even tasted it, just let it warm her gut as Bart pulled her through the undulating bodies. When they got clear of the dance floor, she saw him at a table, with Victor, who stood as she approached with Bart.

"Hey, Watchtower." He pulled her in. "You look surprised."

"Didn't expect to see you till tomorrow," she said, belatedly remembering to hug him back. Her eyes were on Oliver, who was taking a shot from Bart, barely looking at her.

"I got in this morning. Thought I'd take in a game, check out our new doc. I'm not drinking," he whispered. "I'll be there by noon tomorrow to help with... the thing," he finished as Bart appeared beside them.

"What thing?"

"None of your business, Shortie," Victor said with a shrug.

"Like you're so tall." Bart handed Chloe his shot. "Here you go, my supercomputing siren. You need to catch up."

She took it, staring past him to Oliver. "I didn't expect you'd all be here."

"That's why it's a surprise, Babe." Bart led her to the table. "Ollie said you had a rough time. How's your nose?"

She drew away from Bart, her hand flying to it. It was still sore, but she'd done her best to cover it up and distract from it, piling on so much makeup she felt like either a streetwalker or kabuki artist. And all for a guy who wouldn't even look at her. "Is it that bad?"

"No. Can't even tell, but we knew you needed to blow off some steam. What better way than drinks with your favorite guys?" He leaned in. "I tried to get Clark in, but he's so not a joiner these days. Guy totally snapped at me. Could you tell him to lighten up?"

"Like he'd listen to me anymore," she muttered, downing the shot.

Ollie looked up at that. Not at her, but at Bart. "Our Chloe's quite the little organizer. She thinks we should be getting together all the time, dinner and bowling and..."

"Don't." Bart pulled a bottle toward him. "I can't believe you guys went bowling without me."

"Ollie didn't bowl," Chloe pointed out, thinking he just might look at her.

"Because he hates bowling," Bart supplied. "I, on the other hand..."

"Chloe and John seemed to have it down fine," he said, knocking back his shot and still not sparing her a glance. "Just team fun. That's all it was."

"Not as much without me. I'm an awesome bowler and probably way more fun than stupid John. He wouldn't even come tonight," Bart scoffed. "Said drinking was juvenile."

Chloe turned to him as he lifted a bottle. "Speaking of that, are you even old enough?"

"In October," he said sheepishly, stopping with the bottle halfway to his lips.

Chloe took it from his hands as Victor chuckled. She took a long sip, trying not to grimace as she really didn't like beer. "Well, it's a shame you two weren't here on bowling night," she said evenly. "It was pretty boring."

"You seemed to be having your fun," Oliver said, staring into his own beer bottle, still not looking at her. Damn it.

"It only seemed like fun," she said through clenched teeth. "I was nervous. It had been a while since I'd... been bowling," she finished lamely.

"Dude, you just aim for the center and let out a deep breath," Bart said sagely. "See, people don't get how bowling is almost like yoga. It's all in the br..."

"Some people," Oliver cut in, "think they make the rules. They can just pick up a spare when they feel like it."

"Thought you hated bowling," Bart said, digging for pretzels in the wooden bowl on the table.

"Doesn't mean I don't know the rules." Oliver finally looked at her and stayed a while.

"I haven't bowled much," Chloe said, holding his stare. "Some of us don't know how to play and we need more time to learn."

Bart slapped the table. "That's it. We're going to have a bowling night next Wednesday and I'll just have to host a tutorial first. Chloe, reserve the Watchtower. Ollie says it's near the lanes and..."

"Bart," Victor cut in.

"Clark can take on the criminals that night. He won't come, anyway. So..."

"Bart!"

Chloe tore her eyes from Oliver and turned to Victor. "There are two girls at the bar." He wasn't looking at Bart, but at Oliver. "They look lost." Chloe wasn't sure how he could tell as he wasn't looking at the bar either, but Bart turned to the bar.

"They do look lost," Bart said thoughtfully.

"They must be from out of town." Victor turned to her and she had the sudden urge to duck her head, but she held his stare. "We should welcome them."

"I'm on it," Bart said, disappearing. Chloe felt the urge to scold him for using his powers in public, but she was still pinned by Victor, who was getting up, moving to the bar.

"I'll leave you to debate the finer points of... bowling," he finished, turning away.

"So... bowling," Oliver drawled, his eyes in his beer bottle again.

"Let's just drop the bowling," she sighed, placing her own bottle down. "Why did you call them?"

"You don't like the boys? They'll be heartbroken."

"Of course, I like the boys. I love them. But I thought you'd be here alone."

"Well, I thought a few things this week, too." He traced little lines down his sweating bottle. "Isn't it funny how things turn out?"

She leaned over the table. "Jesus, Ollie, would you at least look at me?"

"I would, but all that makeup is blinding me."

She drew back, silent. She'd only done all that for him, to look sexy, and not like she'd been battered in a rampaging girl fight, for him and now she felt stupid. "Okay." She nodded and pushed her chair back. "I'm not going to drag this out. If you're not interested, then you're not interested." She moved through the throng again, trying to get to the door without falling on her ass in these stupid, too-high, too-new heels. She stopped, almost doing just that as a hand grabbed the back of her coat.

"You have a hell of a lot of nerve," she heard behind her, "telling me I'm the one who's not interested. I was interested, but after that night..."

She whirled on him, securing her belt. "I wasn't myself! I wasn't in control," she said, moving closer to him on the dance floor, not wanting to attract attention. "I did crazier things than kick you out, so..."

"Like tell the truth?"

"It wasn't the truth. Sure, I want to protect Clark, but not like that. Not the way I hurt people. I'm not like that. I don't..."

"I'm not talking about that, Chloe. I'm talking about what you said."

She searched her mind. Those nights were still a haze and it was hard to pinpoint one...

He grabbed her by the arms. "Do you even know how it's been for me?" Oliver leaned in to her, eyes narrowed. "I'm thinking that I finally have someone who gets it, someone who's been at rock bottom. You even pulled me out of that and I thought... Jesus, Chloe, I thought you..." He trailed off, his hands gentling. "I thought of you. I thought of you too much. And in ways I probably shouldn't. That first night, when you, me, and John went out, I thought it might be just us. It wasn't. So I let it go because I didn't want to want you. We have to work together." His face was so close, they might as well be kissing. "Do you know how guilty I felt? Going after the widow who works for me? I felt like a sleaze. But then you come in, drinking my scotch and talking about a good time and I thought... I thought it was a good thing, that I could take it away. That we could make it all go away together and maybe it wouldn't be forever, but we could find something good in this f*cked up situation together."

She melted in his grip. "Ollie, I wanted..."

"Then you back off and I think... Maybe it's too soon. I'm thinking of all you lost and wondering if I should give it up. Then you start playing along and I think maybe I'm not a f*cking creepy bastard, then Sunday, you..."

"Oliver, that wasn't how Sunday was supposed to go. If Clark hadn't."

"This isn't about what Clark did. This is about what you said."

"Oliver, I..." She shook her head. "Jesus, I did so much these last days, I don't remember what I said."

"You said you knew from the start." He let her go so abruptly, she stumbled backward.

Her eyes widened. "I did."

"You were teasing me all along. Must have been fun for you." He smirked. "I know you don't get a lot of action, Chloe, so I get it."

The words hurt, but there was something else in his eyes, as if he was hurt, too. "Ollie..." She reached for him, but he brushed her hand away.

"If that's your idea of fun, then you're really missing out because I could have..."

"I wasn't teasing."

"Sure you weren't." He backed away. "Anyway, you were the one who said it was pointless, so this conversation is pointle..."

She grabbed his leather jacket, the same one he'd wrapped her in that night. "I'm not a tease. I had every intention of delivering," she said slowly and loudly, trying to make sure he got it.

"Really?" he scoffed.

"Really. I still do."

He tried to pull away, but she held firm. "Really?" he said, his sarcastic tone wavering.

They weren't going to get anywhere like this. She took a deep, only slightly shaky, breath and pulled him through the throng behind her, moving behind a large speaker and jerking him in front of her. She unbelted her coat and pulled it open. "Really!"

His eyes widened, then traveled down, then up again. She waited for him to say something and it looked like he was going to, but he just stared some more, so she stood there, arms still holding her trench apart because she couldn't think of what to do now. She was plum out of moves and she felt frozen... and freezing.

It had been a chillier walk than she'd thought. Not that her coat wasn't warm, but it felt like every breeze seemed to snake up her legs and the two-piece lingerie he'd bought her wasn't much of a buffer. She'd only put up with it because she didn't think she'd be out long. She was supposed to lean forward, sexily whisper that she'd followed his instructions, that she was wearing either the lingerie or nothing under her coat. She'd even envisioned herself leaning back with a saucy smile, telling him he'd have to take her out of there to find out which.

Her plans didn't go beyond that. She rather thought he'd take it from there, maybe drag her out of there in some sort of hot, masterful way. She didn't plan to flash him in a noisy club, that was for sure. And he didn't seem anywhere near taking it from there. He was still staring.

"Oliver?"

He dragged his eyes to her face.

"Did you wanna... maybe get out of here?"

"Yes." He moved closer and her stomach did little flips. Maybe this night had gone off course, but it was still getting to where it needed to... She flinched as he pulled her coat closed, belting it tightly, his eyes hard. "Would you cover yourself up? What the hell is wrong with you?" He gripped her wrist and dragged her through the dancing throng, towards the door.

This was, at least, going according to plan, except for how he didn't seem overcome with lust.

She tottered after him in her too-high heels, feeling stupid, cursing whatever made her think she could pull something like that off.

She dug in her heels when he pulled her out the door, just wanting this whole humiliating debacle done with. "Let go," she said, trying to tug her hand from his.

"Where's your car?" He gripped her tighter.

"Let go," she repeated, glaring at him.

"Where's... your... car?" he repeated, moving closer.

"I walked. It's only a few blocks. Now..."

He moved down the street, pulling her with him. "You keep saying that. Is everything a few blocks from the Watchtower?"

"Well, it's a central location. Oliver, get off..."

"Great. That's a perfect excuse to run around without a coat or in your damned underwear."

"You're the one who told me to wear it." She tripped after him, having no other choice since he wouldn't let go. "I was trying to..." She trailed off, feeling even stupider now.

"Trying to what? Get yourself picked up for prostitution?" She gasped and dug her heels in again. "Or dragged down some dark alley and..."

"The only one dragging me around is you." She stopped, finally yanking her hand away. "And I was trying to look sexy for you, you jackass!" She pushed at him and moved around him.

"Chloe..." His hand reached for her again and she jerked herself forward, trying her damnedest to walk without tripping.

"No. Go away. You don't want me? Fine. But you don't have to be an as*hole about it."

"I'm trying to walk you home," he said, his steps dogging her, "keep you safe since you..."

She didn't stop. "And insulting me just comes with the territory?"

"Okay. Fine. I'm sorry I called you a prostitute."

She stopped, wanting to point out a few more insults, but she realized that was about the only insult, unless she counted asking her what the hell was wrong with her. She couldn't fault him for that. She was wondering that herself. "Apology accepted," she said quietly, then walked on. "Good night."

He was still behind her. "I'm not leaving."

"Whatever." She let him be there. She supposed he was keeping her safe. Luckily, she could see her building ahead. This would be over soon.

Some girls could prance around in high heels and naughty underwear and tempt a man out of his wits. She just wasn't one of those girls. Maybe Oliver had briefly flirted with the idea of falling into bed with her, but her selfish need for more time had pushed his limits. She couldn't be sorry. She'd needed some time. And he was a man used to a more instant form of gratification, so they just didn't mesh and he was no longer interested. She moved faster, pulling her keys from her pocket, wondering if it was her hips. They'd been nothing but trouble since they showed up in eighth grade. If they were just a little slimmer, if her breasts were bigger, maybe the sight of her in lingerie wouldn't have had him dragging her around like a naughty toddler.

At any rate, her hips weren't about to slim down any time soon and, thank God, she was at her building and this night was over. "I'm back. I'm safe," she said tiredly, climbing up the stairs with aching ankles, wishing she could stop wearing heels. It had become a necessary evil, always being surrounded by unreasonably tall men. She was still bombarded by one now. She looked over her shoulder. "I said I was safe." He didn't say anything. Just stood on that top step, so unnervingly at her back that she was having trouble turning her key. "Could you just..."

"Sure." He pushed her aside, taking the key. She hadn't meant that. She meant for him to go. But maybe it was best he was still there.

"Listen, Ollie," she sighed. "I don't want things to be weird."

"Neither do I." He turned her key and pulled the door open.

"So we can just call this an off week?"

"Very off." He put his hand at her back and prodded her inward.

"And I'm sorry about tonight. It must have been strange for you."

"Very strange." He said behind her.

"So let's forget it and..." She turned at the door, holding her hand out for her keys, but he was still holding on to them, putting them in his pocket, even. And closing the door. With him inside. And she forgot what she was about to suggest they do after forgetting it.

She didn't think she could say much, anyway, not with his tongue in her mouth.

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