Welcome to My Chlollie World...

Welcome to my blog. I've created it mainly as a place to archive my writings. Currently, my focus is on the pairing of Chloe Sullivan/Oliver Queen of Smallville, also affectionately known in fandom, as Chlollie. I began writing for this couple as Smallville entered it's seventh season, not ever really expecting them to become Smallville canon. So imagine my pleasant surprise (okay, I squealed like a fangirl in the throes of a fangasm) when the showrunners decided to put them together. I don't know what the show will do with them, but I don't care. I'll always adore them, and Chlollie will ALWAYS be my One True Pairing. I write about them for fun, as creative outlet, and because I think they're perfect together, and have the potential to be a supercouple, comic-book "mythos" be damned. The Green Arrow of Smallville belongs with his Watchtower. Most of my stories contain adult content, so please don't read if you are under the age of 18. All story graphic arts and manips are created by me unless otherwise stated. Feedback is always welcome. Thank you for reading!

And now for the boring stuff so no one sues me. Feel free to read it in that fast talking lawyer kind of voice, like at the end of a radio commercial.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Final note: I never believed in the years that I've loved this couple, that the show would do the right thing by them. But as a fangirl I just have to say, OMGOMGOMG! THEY ARE MARRIED!!! Thank you, Smallville for giving my couple the happy ending they deserve!

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Signal Fire Chapter 4

Signal Fire
Chapter 4

Philip sat behind his desk in the dimly lit basement office of the Gazette. Only the night custodial staff and two female interns who manned the phones were around at this hour. He’d finished the article, and was about to send off a copy to the editor, when the cell phone he carried in his suit coat pocket rang. Pulling it out with dread, he flipped it open.

“What happened, Philip?”

He’d recognize that smooth voice anywhere. Philip cast a glance over at the interns some distance away, seemingly engaged in their own conversation, talking and giggling as they munched on vending machine junk food. He swiveled in his chair away from them, lowering his voice. “Look, it wasn’t my fault. The Green Arrow showed up out of nowhere. I just don’t understand why this entire elaborate scheme is needed anyway. If you want the girl, just kidnap her. Game over.”

“I’ll deal with the Green Arrow in time. But I’m surprised at you, Philip. All war is deception. For someone well schooled in the art, you certainly don’t seem familiar with the ‘divide and conquer’ tactic.”

“I know what it is. I just don’t see the need. Kidnap her and be done with it.”

“I want them divided emotionally, as well as physically. ‘If your enemy’s forces are united, separate them. If sovereign and subject are in accord, put division between them. Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected.’”

“Sun Tzu, The Art of War,” Philip responded, recognizing the quote. “Still, it seems a waste of time.” Philip had known of the rivalry between Lex Luthor and Oliver Queen. They’d been schoolmates at Excelsior Academy, but beyond that, he didn’t understand Lex’s need to crush Queen, or why he wanted Chloe. No one knew where Lex had gone, or why he’d disappeared nearly a year ago. Lex never talked about it, but since his return, he’d remained hidden these many months, running Luthorcorp, and orchestrating events from locations unknown. For all intents and purposes Lex Luthor was still missing. Queen and most of the rest of the world remained unaware that he was still alive and well. ‘Appear where you are not expected.’

“Hardly. There’s more satisfaction in being the puppet master, than the puppet. I need her. The ruin of Oliver Queen is simply a fortunate and long-awaited consequence. I’ll enjoy watching his downfall. Only this time, there will be no Chloe Sullivan as his angel of deliverance.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Luthor. They seem inseparable.”

Lex admired Philip for his willingness to speak his mind. Philip had been the perfect man for the job. A ready-made soldier with no family to speak of and a past that was nondescript and easily erased. “No relationship is perfect. Find the cracks in the foundation, and chip away at them. It’s quite simple.”

“Mr. Luthor…”

“There’s no problem, is there Philip?” At Philip’s hesitation, Lex continued. “Believe me, I’m well aware that Ms. Sullivan is… intriguing. She’s also a force to be reckoned with. Don’t let her fool you.”

“I’d just like this job to be over with so I can get back to Metropolis, no offense.”

Philip could imagine Lex’s smirk over the phone. “None taken. You know what to do.”

“It’s already in motion.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch.”

And with that, the call was ended. Philip sat back in his chair, clutching the cell phone, lost in thought. He’d been instructed to win the confidence of Chloe Sullivan. Take an interest in her, insinuate himself into her life and try to pull her, ever so subtly, inch by inch, away from Oliver Queen, and do whatever he could to sabotage their relationship. Philip was no slouch when it came to winning over women. He was handsome, tall, well built, with dark hair, ice blue eyes, and a devastating smile that never failed to enchant any woman he’d set his sights on. But Chloe Sullivan was a tough one to crack. She seemed completely oblivious to his attempts, or otherwise slightly amused, but had never taken him seriously. She was a challenge, unreachable, unattainable, and maybe that’s why he found her so desirable… no. It was more than that. She was more than that, and he understood why a man like Oliver Queen would fall completely in love with her.

Part of him wished he’d never accepted this job, but he owed it to Lex. Lex had probably saved his life. If it weren’t for Lex Luthor, he’d have ended up in some shitty government run veteran’s hospital making finger paint drawings, in between physical therapy sessions where he’d learn to walk again. Philip had been part of a Special Forces, Black Ops unit. The United States government had trained him well, turned a wide-eyed skinny kid into a man, a soldier, a killing machine. He learned quickly. He was good at what he did. Philip Cook was well trained in art of war. ‘All war is deception’.

He didn’t know how it had happened. How his team had been discovered. He didn’t recall much of that day, and maybe it was just as well. He wasn’t certain he could live with the guilt and pain of losing his teammates if he’d recalled all the details. Explosions. That’s all he remembered. He awoke in a facility, not knowing how he’d gotten there, or how long he’d been there. Sometime later, after his full recovery, feeling stronger and better than he’d ever felt before, he was introduced to Lex Luthor. They’d made small talk, but eventually the conversation turned to how Philip had come to be there. Lex was running an experimental, government funded facility for the rehabilitation of soldiers wounded in the field, he’d said. Lex claimed not to know the fate of his comrades, but Philip was lucky. They’d been able to save him and his leg using new, experimental technology. He was one of the first patients in a new program. Project Ares it was called. Lex said it was highly classified, and would say no more. That was three years ago. Since that time, Project Ares had been dismantled due to subsequent problems with prototypes, but Philip had worked for Lex in various capacities while he completed a journalism degree at Lex’s insistence, all paid for with Luthorcorp money. There’d be a job for him at the Daily Planet when all was through he’d said. And now, Philip simply wished this mission were over. He’d gladly take the newspaper job and live quietly where he could escape the past.

Thoughts of living a quiet, happy life away from all the intrigue had his mind turning once more to Chloe. Her expressive green eyes, her smile, the way the sunlight touched her hair creating a golden halo about her face, the way she felt in his arms when he’d held her tonight; her petite, curvy body pressed against his while he pretended to protect her from gunmen. A slow coil of sexual hunger sent warmth surging, tightening low in his belly as he thought of her, fleeting visions of soft skin and tangled limbs in rumpled bed sheets. Hell yes. He wanted her.

Philip picked up his cell phone, dialing a number and waiting. “Adriana? Can you get away? I need to see you.” He paused, listening for her response. “I know it’s late. Meet me at the hotel in twenty minutes?” She agreed. He closed his cell phone, pocketing it. He’d slake his desires as he’d done before, with Adriana. She was a beautiful woman, recently divorced from her husband, ready for sex and more than willing to entertain Philip as well as herself.

Philip sent a copy of the completed story to the floor editor, turned off his computer and reached for his suit coat draped over the back of his chair, slipping his arms into it. He bid the interns goodnight with a confident wink as he passed them, causing them to blush and giggle some more as they watched him leave.

* * * * *

The photographs were splashed all over the Star City Sentinel, and the gossip pages of the Daily Planet as well. A copy had been placed on her desk. Chloe couldn’t bear the stares and whisperings behind her back, or the sympathetic, meaningless words directed her way. Someone had captured Oliver with Adriana at Del Monaco’s. It looked worse than what she’d actually seen. Along with those photographs were pictures of about twelve other women, including both Lois and Chloe, listed as though keeping a running count of Oliver Queen’s harem, complete with descriptions, and dates, some as far back as his senior year of high school. A scathing article that pretty much compared Oliver to a spoiled, rich, stray dog incapable of staying on a leash, accompanied the photos. Chloe couldn’t bring herself to read it through. Someone had nothing better to do with his or her time, she mused, and she wondered who had placed the Sentinel copy on her desk.

Lois had called her twice. At first Chloe had to calm her protective cousin, and convince her not to wield any sharp instruments near Oliver’s reproductive organs. She explained what had happened as best as she could while at work. Initially, Lois was furious not so much for herself; she didn’t care about her own picture appearing, ultimately realizing that it was the intent of the gossip columnist to hurt all those involved. After they talked, Lois understood what was happening, and vowed to take her own action. Chloe told her not to worry, it would all blow over soon. After a few hours, her brain in a fog, a headache pulsing behind her eyes, she realized that she wasn’t going to get much work done. She decided to take off early. The weekend was coming up, and she’d be able to seclude herself in the manor house, away from everything. Chloe told the boss she wasn’t feeling well, which really wasn’t far from the truth, and that she needed to go home. She’d already called for the limo.

Philip had noted her distance. She didn’t seem inclined toward conversation with him, and so as he saw her readying to leave he approached her desk.

“Listen, Chloe… if you need anything, let me know.”

“I’m fine Philip. Oliver and I already talked about it. I know nothing happened. I just can’t deal with all of the unwarranted attention right now.” She shrugged. “And I’m not getting any work done anyway.”

“Those photographs… I hate to say it Chloe, but doesn’t look as though nothing happened.”

Chloe rubbed her temples, as if willing away the newly forming headache. “We’re in the newspaper business, Phil. Do you believe everything the Sentinel prints? Our own paper didn’t pick up the story, because there is no story.” Chloe knew she was being unnecessarily short with him, but after Oliver’s observation of Phil, she didn’t want to encourage him, and had kept her distance all day.

His dejected look, told her he knew something wasn’t right between them.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Philip watched her walk away, then moved closer to her desk, picking up the copy of the Sentinel he’d placed there before she came in this morning. He tossed it into the trash bin, returning to his desk. He sat in front of his computer rubbing a hand tiredly over his face, thinking that for all his training and combat experience, this had to be the worst mission he’d ever completed.

As she stepped out of the Gazette building, she found the limo already waiting for her. Moving past the suffocating buzz of paparazzi snapping photos and shouting questions, she ignored them. The driver and one of Oliver’s security guards acted as a buffer, escorting and opening the door for her, and when she entered, Oliver was unexpectedly inside extending a hand to help her slide into the seat. She slipped her hand in his, and felt him tug her toward him, and wrap an arm around her, holding her close.

No words were spoken. They held each other as the limo pulled away from the curb; Chloe buried her face in his shirt. It was all so overwhelming, and no matter how hard she tried to stop them, the tears came anyway.

Oliver squeezed her, and pressed his lips to her forehead, his fingers threading the softness of her hair, stroking, soothing as she wept silently, his shirt becoming damp from her tears. She wasn’t used to this. Public scrutiny. One’s life and past under a microscope, gracing the pages of newspapers and gossip columns for the entire world to see. Even he had cringed inwardly at the sight of all those photographs of women he’d dated or had flings with. And that wasn’t even all of them. He didn’t know what to say to her. Somehow, ‘I’m sorry,’ didn’t begin to cover it.

Seeing the photographs of numerous women in his past was another reminder of his inability to maintain any kind of meaningful relationship. Oliver’s gut twisted. He had looks and money, success; he had everything, but when it came to love, he was basically a loser. Even when he’d found someone special in Lois, ultimately it hadn’t worked. Consciously or not, he’d fucked up every relationship he’d ever been in. And now, the woman he loved more than anything, the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with was here, crying, seeking comfort in his arms, when he was the one to cause her tears. He couldn’t change the past. Couldn’t change what had happened. All he could do was give her all of himself, and right now, it just didn’t seem enough, and he wondered if he would ever be enough. If he would ever get it right.

“I’m sorry, Chloe,” he murmured, hating to have to utter those words, knowing how useless they were.

She sniffled. “It’s… just… everything at once. It’s not you. I’ll be all right.”

He couldn’t answer. She was wrong. It was him. She didn’t deserve this. He’d have his publicist release a statement, but even that wouldn’t be enough to ease the hurt he’d caused her. He cradled her cheek in his palm, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered. “They weren’t very kind to you.” The article had insinuated terrible, hurtful things about him, using names of women and dates as proof of his womanizing ways, questioning whether or not his current ladylove would forgive him, and dooming their relationship.

“I don’t care about that.” He brushed his lips against her temple. “I’m more worried about you, and… what Lois will do.”

“I told her not to take a knife to the Queen family jewels.”

She felt his warm lips curve in a small smile against her skin as they traveled over her cheek. “Thanks.”

Chloe’s breath stuttered, as her palm moved over his shirt, caressing his abdomen. “Purely selfish. I enjoy them too much.”

“And they’re all yours. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” she whispered, but new tears formed at her answer, causing Oliver to gather her up more closely.

By the time they’d reached the manor gates, she’d calmed, but her headache had grown worse, throbbing relentlessly behind her eyes. Surprisingly, there were no photographers at the gates, and they were able to enter their home, unmolested.

They entered the manor house quietly. Oliver led her to the dark, overstuffed leather sofa in the main sitting room, leaving her momentarily, returning with a glass of water and two aspirins. She swallowed them gratefully.

He knelt before her, taking her hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. “I’m going to see if I can’t do some damage control. Why don’t you go up and rest a bit. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

“I’m okay, Ollie.” She felt foolish, and didn’t want him to treat her as though she were some breakable china doll. “Maybe I’ll go to my office…”

“No work,” he admonished softly, brushing the hair back from her cheek. “In fact, we’re taking the weekend off. It’s early enough. We can be in Capri by sunset. Just let me make a few phone calls.” He’d wanted not only to speak to his publicist, but needed to contact Victor as well. He’d sent digital photographs taken with his Arrow glasses, of the license plate on the sedan. He wanted to know who the men were who’d attempted to attack Chloe and Philip last night.

She nodded. Oliver leaned forward kissing her softly before he moved away.

Chloe went to their large room, soft sunlight filtered in, touching everything in a warm glow. The rich mahogany wood furniture, the king-sized four-poster bed covered in various homey shades of light and dark greens, the wall hangings, all of it was them. She’d made a life here with Oliver Queen, built something with him right down to the bed linens and the bathroom towels. Her head pounded, and though the bed looked inviting, she was too anxious for sleep. She stepped over to the balcony doors overlooking the manor grounds, gazing out through the tempered glass. It was a beautiful, peaceful place, and Chloe felt her shoulders relax imagining, not for the first time, what her Oliver must have looked like as a child running amok over the verdant hills, climbing every tree. A dog. They needed a dog, she thought. A big fluffy one.

After a few moments, she turned moving over toward the chair where they’d often toss jackets and suit coats at the end of the day, intending to hang them up later. She reached for one, causing another to slide to the floor. Shoving the first jacket under her arm, she bent for the second one, grasping the fabric, surprised to find something oddly shaped inside the pocket. It crinkled. Chloe stuffed her hand inside, pulling out a folded, slightly wrinkled piece of paper, along with two unused condoms, still in their wrappers.

Her head began to pound once more in time with her increasing heartbeat. She dropped the jackets, moving over to the bed, climbing atop the edge, unfolding the paper.


I’m thrilled that we were able to spend some time together again. God, how I’ve missed you. When you first contacted me weeks ago, I couldn’t believe it. I’m so glad you were able to get away, and that I could meet you in Gotham during your business trip there. The day we spent in bed together was incredible. You’re still an amazing lover.

My divorce is now final. I’m free! I know that you don’t want to leave her; I know you feel sorry for her, but I’m here for you whenever you need me.


Oliver entered the room, stopping up short upon seeing her. All the color drained from her face, her expression one of stunned silence. “Chloe… what happened?”

The events of the past two days, the photographs, the newspaper article, the paparazzi, the pounding headache, the condoms, the love note, men with guns, all of it seemed to burst inside her at once. She scooted off the bed, approaching him, shoving at the hard wall of his chest attempting to push him out of her way. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me!” she growled, trying to slip past him through the bedroom door.

Oliver grasped her arms, not allowing her to run from him.

“Let me go!” She struggled futilely with him, knowing she was no match for his strength.

“Tell me what’s going on. What’s this?” He noticed the wrinkled paper in one of the fists she was using to shove him away, and what looked like crumpled wrapped condoms in the other.

She backed away from him, opening her fists, letting the items fall to the floor. “You tell me, Oliver.”

He released her, bending to pick up what appeared to be a note, leaving the condoms on the floor. He didn’t know why they’d be there, they never used them since Chloe was on the pill, but his pulse began fluttering erratically. Seeing them would make her think he’d been with someone else.

As he picked up the note, she fled through the hall. “Chloe!” Oliver ran after her, catching her up around the waist, picking her up and dragging her back to the room. She wanted to kick and scream and cry, throw a tantrum, and pound his chest with her fists. Instead she attempted to remove his arm from her waist and twist around, arching her back, pushing her body away. That didn’t work.

They were both breathing heavily. “Just… let me go, Ollie.”

“No.” He entered the room and tossed her on the bed, immediately diving in after, covering her body with his, keeping her immobile. “Not letting you go until you tell me what’s going on,” he breathed, his face above hers. She wiggled around beneath him, but he wouldn’t let her move.

She tried to head butt him, but he backed away. “I want to go home.” She said through clenched teeth, knowing full well that she sounded like a five year old, and not caring in the least.

“You are home.” He growled, struggling with her, pinning her arms above her head.

“What were you doing in Gotham two weeks ago?” she panted, twisting under him.

“Meeting with Bruce, you know that.”

“Really? How was the hotel?” She bucked against him, trying to get him off of her. She thought to use a few of the moves he’d taught her, and attempted to slip her knee between his legs. “Was the room service any good?”

“I didn’t stay in a hotel, I stayed at Bruce’s mansion, and you know that too. Damn it, Chloe, what the hell is this about?” he said, his patience wearing thin. He felt her knee come up, but evaded the blow, quickly flipping her onto her stomach and pinning an arm behind her back. “Stop. I thought you liked the Queen family jewels,” he leaned over her, keeping her secure, panting in her ear. She was tiny but damn, she was a handful.

“Apparently, so does everyone else!” She grunted from the bedcovers, struggling for air. “Especially your long lost love, Adriana.”

“Will you stop now?” he asked, releasing her arm, sitting up, his weight pressing down on her as he straddled her bottom. He smoothed the wrinkled note in his hand, and began to read.

“Get off.”


“I can’t breathe.”

“Too bad.” He bounced his seat down on her lightly for good measure, she grunted, releasing a rush of air, and he continued to read.

“My head hurts.”

“Be still, woman. Let me read.”

“I can’t do this, Ollie. I can’t. I won’t. Just let me go back to Metropolis with some dignity.”

“I’m not letting you go.” He finished the note, and crumpled it in his fist. “This is all wrong.”

“You’re telling me.” Came her muffled voice. She had stopped struggling, and lay beneath him, catching her breath now that the wrestling match was over.

“No. I mean. Adriana or someone else is playing some horrible game, and I’m going to find out who it is.”

“You do that. I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can’t stop me.”

Oliver slid from her, rolled her over and stretched out beside her. Blonde strands of hair covered her reddened face. He brushed them away. “No, I can’t.”

“I’m not staying.”

“You can’t believe that note.”

“What should I believe then?”


“Look, if you want to be the billionaire playboy, that’s your business. Just don’t pretend to want to play house with me while you’re at it.” She rose up from the bed, evading his touch. Walking toward the closet, she pulled down her suitcase. “I’m not your charity case. You don’t have to be with me so you can feel good about yourself. Feel sorry for me? Why? Because I’m not a supermodel or a debutante? I don’t think so.”

“That note is nothing but lies, Chloe. I hadn’t seen Adriana in years until yesterday at the restaurant. Supermodels and debutantes? I don’t know what that has to do with any of this. How did those photographs get published so quickly? Who was there with a camera? I’m telling you it’s some kind of set up.”

She ignored him, and moved about the room, opening drawers, slamming them closed and tossing articles of clothing on the bed.

“She could have easily slipped the note into my pocket.”

“She was certainly close enough.”

Oliver ignored her sarcasm, running a hand though his hair, and slipping off the edge of the bed. How could he make her believe him? He followed her to the dresser. “Chloe… none of this is fishy to you? All of this happening at once? The entire article written overnight, with photographs of women? Come on. You work in the newspaper business, nothing like that gets printed so quickly.”

Chloe felt the warmth and brush of his body at her back. She stopped riffling through the drawer momentarily. He was right. No full-page article like that complete with accompanying photos with names, dates and other facts was printed on a whim. Something was indeed wrong. She rubbed her forehead. Damn headache. It fogged her brain. She felt his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently. She relaxed beneath his touch, and he pulled her back against him.

“Please believe me, Chloe. I’ve never lied to you, ever.”

“Who would want to hurt us this way?”

“I don’t know.”

Slowly she turned within his grasp, peering up into dark eyes, full of anguish.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Let’s get to the bottom of this, together.”

Oliver took her hands, pulling her along as he stepped backward, and sat on the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, burying his face between her breasts, her hands cradling his head as she slipped her fingers through his hair. She hugged him to her chest, bending slightly, pressing her lips against his cheek. She swallowed down the ache forming in her throat. “I need to get away, Ollie. Away from this… public spotlight. I want to go back to Metropolis. Just for the weekend. Clear my head. Stay with Lois. See Clark. I miss them.” She hadn’t told him that Lois had already offered her place for a few days. Now, Chloe thought it was a good idea.

He pulled away, gazing up at her, his chin resting against her bosom. “I’ll go with you.” He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t want to be without her, not now when all this was happening. She was always his anchor when the waters were rough, his signal fire whenever he felt lost. He didn’t want her to go.

She stroked his hair, soothingly. “I’ll be back Sunday night. I promise. I’m not leaving you. I don’t know if I can honestly say that I believe you, but I’m willing to find the truth.”

“Maybe that’s all I can ask of you.”

“Maybe it’s enough.”

He watched her pack, feeling wretched inside. She’d said she’d be back and he knew she would, but it still didn’t ease the ache he felt. She’d promised to call as soon as she was at Lois’s apartment. He knew she would, but it didn’t stop the hurt inside at her leaving. Even for a weekend.

She insisted on driving her Yaris to the airport by herself. He let her go. More than an hour after the Queen Industries jet should have taken off for Metropolis, the pilot called from the tarmac wanting to know if there had been a change of plans. Ms. Sullivan had never arrived.

End Chapter 4

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