Action Time (Chapter Seventeen)

So... this one is especially wordy and full of long talks. There's are some things that need to be said and shared and I really wanted them to do it after Oliver's injury as it seemed reasonable that both might be a little more open to touching on some tough subjects.

Chapter 17

By the time a very relieved Doctor Hamilton called to tell her Oliver was on his way up, Chloe figured she'd done all she could. She'd told Emil not to tell him she was waiting, which Emil didn't think was a good idea as Oliver was pretty crabby about being made to stay put all day. "He says he wants to be left alone. And he's fired me six times this afternoon." But she insisted. She doubted she'd get any guff for surprising him, not when she was wearing this dress. 

It was a deep, eggplant sort of purple, sheer beaded lace over a simple slip. She smoothed it over her hips, hoping the wrinkles and creases didn't show too badly. Like most impulsive purchases this year, it had stayed untouched in the bag in Watchtower's storage closet, crushed under spare equipment, along with a pair of running shoes she bought with her New Year's resolution to start jogging, a bag full of cards and "Holiday Hits" CDs she'd meant to send out over Christmas and hadn't, Halloween decorations she'd never put up around Watchtower, and even a bag of rotted groceries she must have tossed in there one of the many times she came back to find an emergency waiting, the stench of which had spread to everything except the dress in its safe plastic zipper bag. She tried to tell herself she was still relatively normal. People often made impulsive purchases that stayed in their closet or piled by their front door. But how healthy was it, being this married to her work? The groceries disturbed her most of all. Sure, she hadn't had much occasion for a slinky cocktail dress, but there was a time she would have found an occasion, a reason. Hell, she could hack herself onto any guest list in town. When did she stop enjoying clothes, decorating for her favorite holiday, sending cards, eating yogurt and bananas for God's sake?

It didn't matter. She was taking a damned break tonight and she'd damned well enjoy it.

She moved to the door and tightened her apron strings... literally as she'd picked one up just before grabbing dinner, pressing her ear to it, waiting for the elevator's ding. When she heard it, she rushed to the mini bar and grabbed the martini that had taken her at least five tries off googled instructions, all of which tasted awful. But this one was the least awful. Or maybe she was just a bit buzzed and desensitized to the taste from sampling the others. Sure, most of them had gone down the drain, but some of each had found its way down her gullet. She reminded herself to have water with dinner as she wobbled a bit in her high heels, trying not to spill any. Sure, they'd taken some of the edge off this day. But this day wasn't exactly over. This was just a break and soon over. 

Still, she was glad to have it, glad to have him. And she'd show it.

She saw his shadow grow larger behind the glazed door and tried to strike some kind of artful pose. She had little enough chance to wear too much eyeliner, heels that were more girly than sensible, and an honest-to-goodness dress these days and she wasn't about to look like a slouch. She pasted on a smile as he pushed open the doors. "Welcome home, Mr. Queen."

He looked her up and down, his mouth working wordlessly before he let out a huff of laughter. "I'll be damned."

"Yes. Here I am with your martini," she said, trying to slink more than hobble toward him, "Your hot meal." She gestured to his desk, which they could consider a table for now. "And in an apron, no less." She held out the martini. "Just like in your wildest dreams, you big, strong he-man."

He took the glass, looking a little dazed. "Just to be thorough, my wildest dreams had you in an apron and nothing else... if you want to get it just right."

She chuckled and moved to the desk. "You know, I actually considered that. But I didn't want the dinner I slaved over to get cold." She turned her latop around, letting the gif play full screen. "I've even got an animated roaring fire here."

He took a sip of his martini with wide eyes, then choked a little. "You made me dinner?" he said, looking slightly fearful.

"Well, I ordered dinner. But I did take it out of the bags all by myself," she finished as seriously as she could, gesturing to their meal. "Best I could do, considering I'm still going crazy, trying to fix Watchtower in DOS mode." She pulled his desk chair out.

He chuckled and moved toward her. "Such royal treatment."

She shrugged as he sat down. "Well, you are a Queen."

"That makes me feel like a big, strong he-man," he said, grunting just a little as she pushed him in.

She moved around his chair. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, sounding annoyed before he took a breath. "Anyway, I want to hear more about all the wild, fifties housewife stuff you're going to do to me."

"I don't know. I can praise your money-making prowess or wheedle spending allowance out of you or fix my makeup to make myself fascinating for you or plan a tupperware party," she said, tossing him a smile as she pulled a chair of her own to the corner of his desk. "But I'm not rubbing your feet, so put that out of your mind this second,"

He laughed, then gripped his chest. 

"Oliver..."

"I really am okay. It's just this thing is still healing and it really bothers me."

She leaned over him. "I'm probably going to get a big, fat no on this, but maybe we should take you back to the hospital." 

"You're right." He gave her a pained smile. "Big, fat no." 

Her hands moved to his buttons. "Fine. Then just let me see..."

He batted her hand away. "An even bigger no. I'd rather not have my shirt off ever again, thanks."

"Fair enough." She let out a resigned sort of chuckle and sat down. "But I really hope you don't mean that."

"You try having to just sit there for a whole day while Emil constantly stares at your chest, muttering amazement. I feel violated," he grumbled. "Anyway, It doesn't hurt much. That's exactly what bothers me."

"Why?"

"Well, I know it's healing. I feel these twinges, but then they go away just as quickly. Shouldn't it... hurt more?"

It should, if someone weren't unconsciously taking his pain. She didn't know exactly how Rachel's healing worked as opposed to the powers she once had, but she had a feeling that every time that pain went away, Rachel was the one feeling it. "You know, maybe that's just how the healing goes," she said lightly, thinking Oliver didn't need to know that a seventeen year old girl might be clutching her chest right now, hissing in pain. "It's probably not going to hurt as much with the... nature of it, I guess." 

"You mean the hocus pocus, alakazam, magical nature?" He shuddered. "Listen, I really appreciate what you all did, but..."

"We hardly did anything. It was all Rachel."

He shook his head. "Magic, though. I've tried not to look at the damned scar all day. I don't know if it's creepier that it happened or that it's just... going away. Hard to get used to."

"I thought you were taking powers in stride after all this time."

"Aliens and metahumans are one thing. There's even science behind them. But magic still wigs me out. I'm barely used to Zatanna."

"Who is?"

He shrugged. "Good point. So what's this kid like?"

"She's empathic, she can heal injuries at least up to a third degree burn, so that's impressive, she can teleport across at least two states and indicated she might be able to take others with her, read minds, project her own thoughts or feelings, she said she could negate bad feelings or the feeling of pain or..."

"No. Emil gave me the full profile. She sounds like a damned fine asset on paper. But what's she like?"

Chloe thought hard, but couldn't seem to think of the right words. "Hard to figure out? I don't know. She's very withdrawn and mostly quiet. But I can't tell if that's a genuine shyness or what seems like an abject fear of making any kind of emotional connection to others. She only just showed up in Gotham City in the last two years, but seems unwilling or maybe even afraid to tell us where she's been up till now. And I suppose Emil told you what Zatanna thinks."

"Yeah, let's not go too deep into that. I'm freaked enough with all the magic without bringing demon possibilities into it." He leaned forward. "But what do you think?"

"I think our team needs someone like her and... I think she really needs a team. I was thinking, when she's legal, we could train her on a trial basis. John is equal to some of her powers and Victor... Well, he seemed very protective of her. I know he'd want to be involved. As for her history, maybe she'll open up at some point. All of you were secretive once."

"Not easy with you around to ferret everything out," he said with a rather warm smile. "Well, I trust your judgment. I guess I'll have to get used to her, too, when she comes on board."

She smiled back, glad he'd said when, not if. She really did want Rachel to have what she seemed to so desperately want.

"I don't have much of a choice besides trusting you. I hardly remember her."

"Well, you did kind of..."

"Clutch my pearls and swoon?"

"Let me guess," she said on a laugh. "Bart visited today."

"Yes. He gave me multiple replays of his version of events."

"Brat. He's supposed to be running my supplies."

"Just tell me... is there anything left in my electronics warehouses?"

"Victor said you..."

"I'm kidding. I know it's needed. I might even have something else that can..." He stopped, hissing.

She stood. "Okay, did Emil give you any pills or..."

"Calm down. It's just a twinge. Over now, anyway. Anyway, I'm never taking anything Emil gives me again. I was tripping like a damned college kid all day. This'll do." He took a sip of his martini, grimacing just a little. "Ah. Delicious."

"You hate it," she sighed. "I knew it. Well, I'm not exactly a bartender. I must have made it all wrong."

"I don't think anyone can make it right for me. I just hate gin."

She rolled her eyes and stood, moving to his stocked bar. "Then why do you have three different kinds?"

"For schmoozing with fat cats."

"Ah." She twisted the top off a bottle of Glenfiddich. "So is there a such thing as a scotch-tini or..."

"Oh, no. You don't mess with scotch."

"I certainly don't," she muttered, pouring one out for him.

"Hey. You did that first night."

"Any booze would have done that night. I guess I'm more of a wine girl."

"Well, I think I have a little something I picked up in St. Julien last..."

"No. Nothing for me. This is just a little dinner break. I'm going to have to get back on Red Queen detail asap and I need every neuron firing." She handed him his new drink.

"Thanks," he said absently. "So the red queen..."

"The short version is she's a shadowy figure who's blocking me at every turn. The long version," she stopped as her stomach let out an embarrassing, gurgling growl, "can wait. This won't be much of a dinner break without dinner."

"Can't argue that." He sipped his scotch and set it down. "My last five meals have been delivered in a tube, so... What do we have here?"

She took the lids off their foil containers and handed him a plastic fork. "Takeout from Bessolo's. Overpriced linguini with clams for you. Horrifically over-priced veal parm for me."

"You do remember that they treat those baby calfs like..."

"No, no, no," she said, putting a hand up. "I don't want to know. Besides, those clams diggers could have... hurt dolphins or something."

"Yes. Dolphins often burrow under the mud for shelter at low tide."

"Oh, shut up and eat your muddy clams."

"Have fun with your tortured baby c..."

"Not listening," she sang.

"One of these days, I'm going to get you to go free range and organic." He peeked in the empty bag. "And order salad," he added.

"Damn it. I forgot salad."

"You usually do," he chuckled. 

"Well, we can't all have abs like yours."

"God forbid. I like all your middle parts the way they are." He reached for her under the desk, but she slapped his hand away.

"None of that. I don't want any wounds reopening."

"Fine," he groaned. "So... are we finally on a date?"

"Finally?"

"Well, come on, we haven't gone on any actual dates."

"What do you call going away for the weekend?"

"A disaster, with how it turned out, but definitely not a date, considering how much you went on and on about not defining us or what we were doing or..."

"Okay. But you did intend to take me out for dinner on my birthday, even though the party..."

"I had no such intention. I was all about that party, devious all the way through."

"Hmmm. You're right. I mean, we eat together."

"But it's usually take-out."

She laughed. "Well, so's this."

"But you're all gussied up, there, so I'm calling it now -- date."

She laughed again. "What do people usually do on first dates. As you know, I haven't had a lot."

"Eh, jobs, usually. They pretend to be interested, nod a lot, wait for the sex..."

"Which you are so not getting tonight."

"Then you shouldn't have worn that dress," he said with a wink. "Tease."

"You're hilarious. Anyway, jobs... Well, my job sucks right now. I'm rebooting a system that was painstakingly built over a year and ruined in one night. I'm hunting a gang of aliens that can't be traced. I'm blocked by a scarlet woman... or maybe a man fashioning himself as a woman at every..."

"Yeah. You know what? I've just called for the check." He shook his head. "This date is not going well for you."

She gasped. "That's nice."

"Well, it's all important, but you yourself said this was a break. Maybe we can talk about things beside Kandorians and Red Queens and you calling in the Geek Squad out of desperation."

"I'm this close." She let out a laugh. "But yes, please." She took a bite, waited for him to say something. But he was just chewing, staring at her as expectantly. They both swallowed, then opened their mouths and shut them, waiting for the other to start. This happened a few more times before she groaned and dropped her fork. "Okay, what the hell do we talk about?"

"I don't know," he said, perplexed. "I'm just realizing we talk about work a lot."

"Or coworkers, which is still kind of work talk. Anyway, I doubt Clark's talking about work on his dinner break. He kind of can't when he's dining with P..." She stopped herself. "Sorry. Work talk."

"No, no. Gossip about coworkers is damned good date talk." He lifted his glass. "Who's Clark supping with?"

"Well, Mrs. K's in town."

"Oh. Good for him. But why can't he talk about... Oh, Lois is there, too."

"There's that. And Perry White," she kind of mumbled.

"Who?"

She drew back, almost angry with him before she realized he wasn't exactly in on who's who in Metropolis journalism. "Perry White. He's only one of the greatest reporters that ever lived. He blew the whistle on just about every scummy corporation in the tri-state area... until he targeted Lionel Luthor."

"Don't tell me... He was suddenly unemployable."

"For a decade. But he pulled himself up again. He even wrote on Lionel's trial and conviction when Lionel was at his worst." She smiled. "I'd like to think he thought of me. I was a part of making that happen." She shook herself. "Anyway, Clark and Lois are both having dinner with him now that he's dating Martha," she grumbled.

Oliver laughed. "Really? That little minx."

"Ugh. Don't joke about it. It's too weird."

"Why? She's still young. She should be dating. It's healthy."

"You never knew Jonathon Kent. I grew up around them. With a single dad and an absent mother and a sea of other friends with varying degrees of broken home, they were... I don't know. They were the ideal. I mean, it's been four years,so I know it's perfectly reasonable for her to date, but it still feels strange."

"Well, maybe it's not so much that she's dating for you, but who."

She glanced up.

"Come on, Chloe. You practically had hearts in your eyes over him blowing that whistle. Don't pretend this is about anything other than your first love."

"Perry?" She laughed. "He wasn't a crush. He's my dad's age for crying..."

"I meant journalism." He leaned forward and gripped her hand. "And you can still do it."

She pulled her hand away. "This again?"

"Yes. This. You want to write. So why don't you?"

"Because I can't write about what I..."

"There's more than us hero types going on in the world."

"Let's not do this." She forced a smile. "Dead hopes and dreams are kind of a date killer, anyway."

"But they don't have to be d..."

"Oliver, just no. Please." She sighed. "What do the normal people talk about?"

He stared at her for a long time, then threw up his hands. "I hardly remember actual dating. I don't know. Movies? TV?"

"Who has time?"

"Music?"

"I hardly ever..." She smiled. "I got something. You know The Music Man?"

"Not personally, but..."

"This is no time for tired jokes. I've made an important discovery."

"Do tell."

"The songs 'Seventy-six Trombones' and 'Goodnight, My Someone' are..." She paused for effect. "The same tune."

"What? No, they're not."

"No. I'm right. Believe me, I've had that entire score running through my head these last weeks. I was whistling one, then the other and... Okay. Hum 'Seventy-Six trombones.'"

He chuckled, but did it. 

"Now do 'Goodnight, My Someone' a little."

"I hardly remember that one. It didn't have all the good horns and..."

"Fine, then. Hum 'Seventy-Six Trombones' very slowly."

He rolled his eyes, then started slowly humming. "Wow," he said after a minute. "I never noticed that."

"It's kind of obvious when you think about it. You'd think I'd have noticed it before. My Dad loved that movie. He'd sing every song in the shower so loudly it echoed through the whole house," she said, feeling a smile creep up. "Back when he was around," she finished, the smile leaving quickly. She picked up her fork again and stabbed at her dinner. "I'm sorry. I'm ruining this date again."

He gripped her hand and stilled it. "Chloe, you never talk about him."

"He's not around and he's never going to be. What's the point?"

"Well, neither is Jimmy, but..." He let out a reisgned sigh. "Well, you never talk about him, either."

She let out a hollow laugh and pulled her hand away again. "It's funny, you mentioning them. There's some funny similarities. I mean, two major men in my life. One a father and one a husband. Both red-heads, both praise me to the damned skies, both tell me they love me more than anything and both... both left as soon as things got hard." She felt a splash on her hand and realized she was crying. "God, I'm really killing this date," she said with a sniff.

She heard the dull roll of his chair and felt his arm slide across her back. "Don't worry. We have an injured man and a seriously overworked woman. This date was doomed from the start."

She sniffled and nodded. "Maybe once I get Watchtower back in order, I can get some sleep and stop..."

"Telling the truth? Chloe, just say it."

"Say what? That you were right? Is that what you want to hear?"

"I don't know if this is about what I want to hear. But you obviously have something to say."

"Well, you were right. You were right about Clark and how I was going backward. There is no going back, anyway. How can we ever be the same again?" She took in a long breath and shook him off. "I haven't confronted him, you know, and I'm not going to. You were right about that, too. What good does it do now? There's no fixing me and Clark. I knew that even before, even when we talked it out, after he rescued me from Checkmate and... after he pushed me under the Red K. Finding out he kept my memories away just... sealed the deal. There's a distance there that I think might always be there now." She lifted her head and turned to Oliver. "But maybe that's okay. You can't be as close as we were for so many years. It messes with everything, like it did with Jimmy."

"Chloe..."

She gripped his arm as he pulled away. "No. You were right about that, too."

"Maybe I was. But I didn't want to say it the way I did that day."

"You had a right to an opinion," she said evenly. "You knew him, too. Knew him at his lowest, I guess."

He sighed. "I had some one-on-ones with Jimmy in my time." He gripped her hand. "He didn't just leave you just because things got scary, you know. He really loved you, which is probably why he kind of hated you those last months."

"Because maybe he knew," she said dully. "Deep down, he knew."

"Knew what?"

"That I... I don't know. Jimmy seemed very easy to love. Who couldn't love a guy like him? He was sweet and good and normal and... it was like a sin not to love him. And I wish I..." She gave a long sigh and gently pulled her hand away. "I've done so much thinking this week about these last years and why things went the way they did and wondering how it all could have changed if I'd... just been honest," she said softly, folding her hands in her lap, staring down at them. "I used to be honest, you know. Painfully, embarassingly honest. Somewhere along the way, I lost that. The truth stopped mattering. I went from uncovering it to hiding it and... and then everything else changed. I went from being friends with a few heroes to thinking I was supposed to save the world. I went from a girl who had a way with search engines to hacking into government servers nearly overnight. And why? Because I thought it was what was needed. It wasn't what I wanted. What I wanted stopped mattering and that just fed into Jimmy." She leaned on her knees, letting out several long breaths. "His name wasn't even Jimmy. You know that?"

"I know. At the funeral, they called him Henry James. I know lots of guys that go with middle names to avoid some embarrassing first name or..."

"It's more than that. It wasn't vanity. I think he really thought Henry was someone else, someone he didn't want to be." She sat up. "I found out after our engagement party. He told me about his family, about his drunk father, about how he never wanted to be called by his father's name, how he worried about his little brother, Jimmy, still stuck with him." She gave a watery laugh. "Jimmy. I gave Jimmy Jimmy's camera. I wonder if my Jimmy thought that was fitting. Maybe Jimmy could be proud of me for that, if nothing else." She opened her eyes and turned to Oliver. "See, I wasn't all there for him. That night, that engagament night, he told me so much, everything he'd ever held back and I thought 'This is where I should tell him.' He'd given me everything and maybe I should finally tell him all I was holding back. But I didn't." And yet she was doing it now, saying everything she held back. Again, she was giving Oliver things she never gave Jimmy.

"Well, I get that." Oliver leaned forward. "Chloe, Clark's secret wasn't yours to tell."

"No," she said softly. "That wasn't why. It was because I... I didn't want to give him all of me. Even though he gave me everything, I couldn't give him even the smallest bit of me. And I knew why. But I refused to be honest about it, even with myself. And he loved me so much," she said haltingly, "that I thought if I just married him, gave him what I could of me, then it would even out in the end. I could have something normal and... easy." She laughed. "Jimmy was supposed to be easy, simple and carefree and easy to love. But it was never easy." She toyed with her pasta. "It was pleasant enough when I could just push away everything else in my life and maybe that's supposed to mean it's easy, but... that doesn't exactly translate to easy. I had to hide who I am and what I do." She glanced at Oliver. "And that's not just about Clark and his secret. I needed to keep some of myself for... just me." She pushed her chair away and leaned her head back. "Even though he gave me everything, though he didn't need to hide things. I did. And I know why now. Even after he knew about Clark and how things were all this time, in that split second when I thought about our life together going forward, I didn't think it would be easy. Because he can be let in, sure. and maybe that would have cured all the mistrust between us, but the bottom line was that he wouldn't come first and I don't think him knowing why would have made that sting any less. Easy isn't always a good thing," she said softly. "Easy isn't even easy. And I don't think I would have gone through with it."

"With what?"

"With the wedding, at least when it happened. I guess I blame Clark for that, even if I never tell him so, for letting it get that far. Because I wouldn't have done it if I knew who I was and what was really going on. The situation with Brainiac, with the beast... That was no time to gleefully plan a wedding." She stood, feeling restless, paced to the bar, wondered if she did need some wine to get through this.

She heard his chair scrape back behind her. "You think that, if your memories had been intact, you wouldn't have..."

"Well, what happened happened. We can't change it now. But if I'd known what was going on, I'd have been more suspicious of Davis because..." She turned and leaned against the bar. "Well, the Legion undid Brainiac's work. But I remember that he left Davis there, left only Davis in my mind. If I knew that, I might not have ignored his calls. I might have known to tell Clark and we might have talked about what that could mean and... and all that would have taken priority over a wedding." She closed her eyes. "I can almost see it, like a slideshow in my head. I tell Jimmy I want to postpone. He asks why, he gets sad. I'm not available, he gets angry, maybe calls it off altogether. I'd be miserable and guilty, but there are more important things to deal with. There always were with Jimmy. We kept hitting that same, damned wall." She opened her eyes, swiping hastily at them. "I never felt what I should, that... connection, that pull, that thing that tells you don't have to hide a thing. It was never right with Jimmy and marrying him only made it more wrong. And after it was done, I knew it was wrong, deep down, but I kept trying to make it right, make it fit." She took several deep breaths, trying to stop the tears. She'd done enough damned crying for one date. "It was never going to fit. And I think I've kind of resented you, all this time for the ways you... you kind of made that obvious to me. Not just things you said, but... things you do. And the things I never felt for him that I..." She took a deep breath, determined to say it. "That I feel for you."

She glanced up, waiting for him to say something. But he just stared at her.

She clasped her hands together tightly, trying to stop their sudden shaking. "And I'm sorry. I know I'm not easy. I'm sorry about all the ways I've pushed at you because... I mean, you haven't been hiding anything from me and I... Well, it's almost the same thing I did with Jimmy, except to you and I don't want to..." She felt his hands on hers, sliding over them, separating them. "I feel like there's something here and I don't... I..." 

"Chloe?" He moved backward, taking her with him.

"Uh-huh?"

"Can you stop talking?" He sat on the couch, pulled at her arms. 

She landed in his lap and he gave a slight grunt. "Did I hurt your scar?" She tried to get up, but he held tight.

"Not enough for me to let you go. Now can you stop jawing away and concentrate on me for a sec?"

"Well, I'm just saying I know this hasn't been easy..."

"Mmm-hmmm." His lips brushed her jaw. "Best things never are."

"I mean, I definitely have walls and..."

"Miles of 'em." He nipped at her ear. "But I can't be easy to deal with, either." He stroked her neck and she turned, catching his lips.

There was something new, something almost hesitant about kissing him now, almost like this was a first date, a new start. With all she said tonight, maybe it was. She pulled back slightly, resting her forehead against his. "Believe me. You're a piece of cake."

He chuckled. "Come on. I'll be the first to admit I'm not the most emotionally mature guy in the world." 

"But you're never afraid to say how you feel." She slid her hands over his shoulders. "I don't think you ever have been. You might say it with a joke or a large bucket of sarcasm, but you say it. Believe it or not, I used to be the same way. I think I learned to hide and... I learned it with Clark and Jimmy and even with my father and... I don't know. I want to stop hiding what I feel. I want to stop making you pay for things done by... a bunch of other guys." Sometimes, when she looked at him in those moments, those crazy moments where he said something absolutely wonderful and she responded with fearful avoidance, it wasn't him she saw. Honestly, Oliver had never truly hurt her except... She saw his eyes, narrowed and bitter as he said the two words that had haunted her ever since. "Was it?"

"Seems a certain meteor freak named Sebastian Kane died at the hospital right after he got a visit from somebody who looked an awful lot like you."

"That was Brainiac...not me."

"Was it?"

Maybe a part of her had resented him for that night. But she shouldn't. Besides, he was right, wasn't he? Not that she wanted to think about that ever again, but he was right. And she was doing her penance, always doing her penance. But for how long? For the rest of her life? Maybe.she thought. She slid her hands to his face and kissed him hard, trying to shake herself out of that dark, strange, confusing year. So much was covered in the haze and the missing pieces, but the regret was clear. But she wouldn't brood on it. She'd just keep trying to make it right.

But tonight, right now, she had a moment away from that, a moment with him and she wasn't going to waste it. But there was one regret, just one, that she could put to rest. She pulled back and waited for his eyes to open. "I've been afraid, Oliver."

He smiled pulled her in tighter. "Of little old me? Madness."

"I'm serious. You've been getting a lot of heat from my conscience for making me feel the way you do."

"Can you let me off with a spanking or..."

She slapped lightly at his shoulder. "Would you listen?"

"I am listening," he said, stroking lazily at her back. "I'm also trying to get you to crack a smile. If this date doesn't end with you smiling, how do I know you'll go out with me again?"

She did smile, then. "Just let me finish. I'm done being afraid, okay? And I'm done feeling guilty and I'm done blaming you for... being more to me. You know, I actually felt horribly guilty this whole time. I mean, with Jimmy..."

"I'm going to stop you right there," he said, smiling just a little sadly. "Because I know that. I kind of gathered that by how you burst into tears that first night."

"And a billion times since." She sighed. "I've had a lot of stupid ideas, all this time. I kept thinking, if it's just sex, then I still loved Jimmy enough. But if it was more... See, I didn't want it to be more. I haven't exactly been with a ton of guys. So I had this idea that Jimmy was love and commitment you were sex and freewheeling fun and... it was only good because I didn't have feelings for you. I know that sounds stupid. But there was no grey area for me then."

"So there is one now?"

"Well, you aren't just some sex toy to me. You know that."

"I do. I think I knew it, then. So we're in that nebulous grey place between, huh? And which way are we going?"

She held his stare, swallowed hard. "Wherever we... end up going, I guess. I don't exactly know."

He smiled. "Guess that's good enough. For now. And, speaking of sex... Did you know that sex with feelings is a damned lot better than all that freewheeling fun..."

"Oilver..."

"No. Studies show. It's at least thirty percent more intense and enjoyable, especially after a night of long confessions. And sex after a week without it? Seventy percent better. So we're looking at two-hundred percent..."

"We are not having sex," she cut in abruptly. "Not while you're still healing."

He chucked. "I know. Still worth a shot." He moved on the couch and settled her against him. "This'll do."

She laid her head on his chest and breathed it all in. Maybe she wasn't sure which way they went, but they were her now. She closed her eyes, let herself drift off on the weightlessness of this night. So many things she let go. She wished she could feel this way every...

As if to say that wasn't going to happen, her phone rang out shrilly. Clark's ring, the loudest one, guaranteed to pull her out of the deepest sleep. She sat up, remembering that there was a world out there and that it just might be in danger. "Dinner break's over," she said dully.

And she'd barely eaten.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

This turned out longer than I thought it would. Still, it all needed to be said. I borrowed some thoughts on Chimmy from another fic of mine as it's still the most reasonable Chimmy explanation I've written and I can't dream up a better one. But the Gabe/Jimmy similarities were something new to me. Never thought of that before. Interesting...

I'll be back with the rest of Hostage soon.