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!

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Signal Fire Chapter 6

Signal Fire
Chapter 6

"He arranged everything… set it up. The photographs… he even wrote the article for the Sentinel… it was Philip. Philip Cook. Oliver’s girlfriend works with him.”

After the words left Adriana’s lips, Oliver bolted; vanishing from her darkened bedroom soundlessly, and rappelling down the side of the apartment building. He leapt upon his motorcycle, rear wheel spinning out sideways as he took off. He tore up the darkened, sparsely inhabited road, fingers gripping the handlebars as black rage roiled, churning in his blood. He knew where Philip lived.

He had known, sensed Philip’s attraction to Chloe. But why would the man orchestrate this entire elaborate and sinister scheme simply to try and take Chloe away from him? No. There was something more going on here. As far as Oliver knew, Philip was the last person to see her. The attack last night, Chloe’s disappearance, Adriana’s admission of her role in his scheme; it all had to be connected somehow. Someone had done their homework, and it was probable that aside from Adriana’s involvement, Philip wasn’t working alone. If all of the recent events were different parts of the puzzle, then each piece had been orchestrated to cause discord between himself and Chloe, get her alone, away from him. ‘He wanted them separated,’ Adriana had said. But why? And who, aside from Philip would want to see them torn apart? Who had a vested interest in seeing Oliver Queen and Chloe Sullivan separated? So much so, that entire scathing articles, digging up the past could be printed literally overnight? Who could wield that kind of power? Who would want her taken from him? There were only two people that came to mind, and one person had been missing, presumed dead for over a year, while the other had disappeared from a hospital eight months ago.

Oliver spurned his bike onward, roaring toward his destination. He arrived in the sleepy sub-division where small, nondescript, identical tract houses snaked around winding tree-lined streets and cul-de-sacs. He cut the bike engine and rolled silently to the rear of the box-like single story house. There were no lights on, and he assumed that Philip was either asleep, or not at home. Using his night vision glasses, he peered in through darkened windows, giving one of them a shove to test it. It slid upward, and Oliver hoisted himself through, landing catlike on the carpet beneath him. Odd. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of furnishings. The room he’d landed in appeared to be an office, but the lone empty desk that occupied the room was void of any computer or papers. Having seen Chloe in action while working on a story, papers and notes strewn about, he couldn’t imagine a reporter not having at least a laptop and a file cabinet. Arrow stepped closer to the desk, noting the fine coating of dust around a clean area where a computer monitor might have been.

Oliver moved quietly through the narrow hallway, each room was the same; empty or barely furnished. The living room contained exactly one floor lamp and one couch. Barren walls, no television, no audio system, nothing to indicate that anyone lived here. The larger bedroom contained only a mattress on the floor and a dresser with empty drawers. Even the refrigerator was void of any food. No dishes or glasses in the cabinets, no silverware in any kitchen drawer. Nothing. Empty. That was it.

A bit of Oliver’s rage gave way to puzzlement as he stood in the living room once more, turning, eyes scanning for any clue. This was Philip’s house, he was sure of it.

As he turned to head back toward the office he’d first entered, he was met with a sudden teeth-jarring blow to the jaw, his head snapping back. Arrow stumbled backward, disoriented. He shook his head to regain his bearings, blinking behind dark glasses, clearing the stars in front of his eyes. He found himself face to face with a man in black military fatigues; his face covered with a black ski mask.

Oliver ducked under the next punch and threw himself forward returning the favor, smashing his fist square into the man’s covered face, causing him to falter backward. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Who the hell are you?” The Green Arrow’s synthesized voice demanded. Stupid question, Oliver thought. As if he’ll tell you. “You’re too late,” Oliver ducked just under the man’s right hook, dancing back lightly on the balls of his feet. “Looks like someone beat you to it; there’s nothing here to steal. Better luck next time.” The man grunted, as Arrow delivered a fisted bomb to his gut.

The man made no answer, recovered from the blow, and then proceeded to charge. Oliver moved quickly, evading the shoulder meant to drill him into the wall, and delivering a hard chop to the back of the man’s neck, his arm swooping downward, connecting brutally as he passed. The man however, deciding that Oliver was a better opponent than he’d expected, came back for more. Nearly leaping in some acrobatic move right out of a Bruce Lee movie, the man spun in mid-air, offering up an explosive roundhouse kick to the abdomen that had Oliver flying, his back slamming into the opposite wall, crashing into and knocking down the lone floor lamp.

Oliver panted; wincing at the pain as he sat slumped against the wall, thinking that the kick the man had just delivered was inhumanly powerful. He ran his tongue along the inside of his stinging cheek. “I’m looking for Philip Cook.” He held an arm against his side, vaguely wondering if he’d cracked a rib. He imagined what Chloe would do if he came home in this condition. She would ask what happened, her green eyes filled with love and brows knit with worry while she would insist stubbornly, disregarding his protests, on placing her hands over his bruised midsection. Her gentle fingertips would move over his face, soothing him, taking away his injuries and he would in turn admonish her gently for healing him, because what he hated more than anything in the world was to see her in pain; especially his. Thinking of her made him hurt in ways that had nothing to do with a cracked rib and a bruised jaw. “Friend of his, by any chance?”

The man took up a fighting stance once more. The glint of a dagger flashed in front of Arrow’s eyes, and the man made to move toward him, as if to finish him off.

Oliver rose to his feet. “Is that all you’ve got?” The Green Arrow taunted. He realized that the man had originally been feigning an inability to fight well, testing Oliver’s skills like a card shark trying to lure him in before turning the tables. Whoever he was, the man in black was a trained fighter. He also refused to speak. So that’s how it is, Oliver thought. He didn’t start this fight, but he was sure as hell going to finish it, regardless of any pain he might be feeling, because he had just enough rage in him to do it. “Come on,” he urged, offering the man a flash of an arrogant smirk. “Don’t be shy. Show me the good stuff, now.”

His opponent, breathing heavily under the ski mask went in for the kill, attempting to plunge the point of his knife into Oliver’s throat. Arrow countered it, raising his left elbow in a strike that deflected the move, and coming up with a right-handed palm-heel blow to the man’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. The man’s body hunched forward as he fell back several faltering steps. Arrow followed through with a left cross to the man’s jaw, knocking him flat on his back, motionless. The dark figure seemed to be down and out, but as Arrow approached intending to remove the ski mask, a black, heavy booted foot snaked out, sweeping Arrow’s legs from under him with amazing force, giving the man in black fatigues the opportunity to collect himself, scramble up and stumble, staggering out the front door.

Oliver, sprawled on his back, rolled to his side, panting; the pain stabbing with every lung full of air he took. All his of anger, all of his fear and worry for Chloe gave him strength, and he rose to his feet in pursuit of the mysterious attacker. But when Oliver exited the door, the dark, quiet, tree-lined street was empty. He didn’t know why the man was there. Was he also looking for Philip? Did he know him? Was he part of the scheme? It was another piece of the puzzle, and his heart anguished. He was still no closer to finding the woman he loved.

* * * * *

She was lying on her back in their bed, dozing on a wispy cloud. Oliver was stroking her hair, his fingertips brushing over her forehead, trailing down her cheek as he admired her; she could almost feel his dark eyes drifting over her face, lovingly. He did that sometimes when he thought she wasn’t aware, thought she was in deep sleep. He did that sometimes to awaken her in the blue haze of pre-dawn light just before he proceeded to worship the rest of her with his hands, his lips, his body. Chloe awoke gradually. Her head felt heavy, eyelids drooping as her gaze drifted around the dimly lit room. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but lifting her head inches from the pillow to peer down at herself, she noticed small bandages at the bend of her inner arms, as though someone had either injected her with something or drawn her blood, or both. She found that part odd.

“You’re safe here,” a man’s soothing voice drifted to her on cattail down. “No one will hurt you. I promise.”

Her eyelids slid closed feeling heavy, and she tried to open her eyes wider, shifting her head against the pillow. It wasn’t Oliver who had been stroking her hair, touching her face.

He smiled at her sadly; fading bruises adorning his handsome face. A healing cut on his lower lip. Chloe thought he’d looked as though he’d been in a boxing match. “Turns out you’re more amazing than I ever thought possible,” he said softly.

The warm memories of Oliver faded, replaced by the sudden flooding harsh reality of her abduction and the man standing at her bedside. Her mind still groggy, she registered the figure beside her. “Philip?” Her throat was dry and her tongue felt about twice its normal size. Chloe struggled to sit up, leaning on her elbows. It had taken her a moment to recognize him, aside from the fog in her brain; she’d never seen him dressed the way he was now. He was wearing a black long-sleeved, form-fitting t-shirt that accentuated his lean, muscular physique, black B.D.U. military pants and boots. A shoulder holster cradled a 50 calibur Magnum Desert Eagle at his side. He handed her a glass of water, and she took it, not knowing whether or not she should trust it. She eyed it momentarily, then drank it anyway, her thirst overcoming her concern. “What have you done? Where am I? Take me home now!” her voice rose weakly in panic, finally realizing that she was not in her own bed, her clothing replaced by light blue cotton pajamas, the room too clinical, too hospital-like.

He took the glass from her hand, placing it on the nightstand next to the bed. “You’re safe Chloe,” he soothed, cupping her shoulders, attempting to ease her back down onto the bed.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Okay…” he let out a sigh, removing his hands from her. “Okay.” He backed away a few steps. “Don’t be afraid of me, Chloe. It’s not what you think. Listen...”

“Where am I?” she demanded, glancing around the room frantically, regaining a bit of her senses. “And how the hell would you even begin to know what I think!” She attempted to rise up from the hospital bed, but was overcome by a wave of dizziness, too weak to do much more than sit up, her arms trembling with the effort.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’m to see to your welfare, personally.” In fact, he had requested it of Lex. He figured Lex owed him that much. He wanted to be here when Chloe awoke, he wanted to watch over her, guard her. He didn’t know how long Lex wanted to keep her, but Philip wanted to be the one assigned as her bodyguard for as long as her stay required. After this mission was over, he may not ever see her again. Not only that, but he knew she’d be angry, hate him, and any chance he may have fantasized of having with her would be null once she discovered his involvement. She’d never have him now. He must be some kind of masochist, wanting to be near a woman he could never have. Maybe that torture was justifiable penance for what he’d done to her.

Chloe ran a hand over her eyes, brushing her hair back as she did so. “Tell me what’s going on, Philip. If that’s even your real name,” she accused.

His tone remained calm, quiet. “It’s my real name.”

“Tell me,” she ordered, her voice as commanding as she could manage at the moment.

Philip sat in the chair next to her bed, reaching for her hand, grasping it gently. She pulled it away angrily, hoping her strength would return sooner than later. Wherever she was, she needed to get out of here. “Someone very important needed your talents.” He looked away for a moment, knowing she’d not allow the contact, then back at her, his ice blue eyes fringed by dark lashes were filled with intrigue and awe. “And… I never knew you could do that. Heal people.” Philip stood, taking a few steps toward the foot of the bed. He turned to her. “I mean, I’ve heard of people like you, with abilities, but… man, that’s some secret you’ve been hiding.” Something that sounded like a half-hearted laugh tinged with irony left his lips, as he shook his head. “Could’ve used you in the field…” his voice trailed off as he thought back to that fateful day when he’d lost his team, and nearly his life. “The military would love to have a secret weapon like you,” he said almost to himself. “Does Queen know about you?”

Chloe turned her head away from him. The small window was closed, dark brown curtains covering it, thin streams of light filtering through where the fabric lay slightly parted. She wondered if she could attempt to break out of it later. “Yes. He knows.”

“I figured he would.” Philip wondered why Queen had never thought to capitalize on her ability.

She glared at him; a defiant gleam in her emerald eyes. “Why are you involved?”

“I was hired to deliver you,” he said quietly, as if that explained everything.

“So, you’re not really a reporter?” Her gaze flitted to the gun at his side.

“I am. But I suppose I’m sort of a mercenary as well,” he shrugged.

She let loose a breath that was half frustration, half disbelief. “And if you needed my help, you couldn’t have asked? I had to be kidnapped?”

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t have helped him unless I brought you here.”

Distrust darkened her gaze. “You’d better stop talking in riddles and tell me what I want to know.”

“I’ve only just discovered the reason for this mission two days ago. That’s how long you’ve been here. But now it explains a lot of questions I’ve had. It’s no wonder he wanted you.”

“Two days? I’ve been here two days?”

He nodded.

She thought to ask what had happened to him, why he looked as though he’d been in a fight recently, then decided she didn’t care. “You know Oliver will be looking for me,” she said. “And believe me, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Philip’s calm demeanor ruffled at the mention of the blonde billionaire and her empty threat. “I’m sure he will, unless he’s otherwise occupied. But, I’m sure we can handle him.”

Her eyes flashed. “What do you mean, otherwise occupied?” Chloe was becoming livid.

Philip smirked. “You think he won't replace you? Adriana is waiting in the wings.”

Her blood boiled, giving her strength to sit up and attempt to swing her legs over the bed. “You bastard.” Her bare feet hit the cold tile floor as she slipped from the bed, but her legs felt like jelly. What the hell had they given her?

Philip was there, his arms around her, holding her up as her legs gave way. “Easy. The sedative hasn’t worn off completely.”

“How am I supposed to use the bathroom?” She complained as he settled her back onto the bed.

“I suppose I could…”

“Like hell you are,” she interrupted, indignantly.

“Call the nurse,” he finished, a glint of mischief in his blue eyes.

With Chloe’s attempt at indignation failed by her inability to do much more than sit up in bed, she sighed, fixing the covers over herself. Even doing that much was an effort; her muscles refused to cooperate, prompting Philip to tuck her in as though she were a child. She decided to move the subject away from Oliver. She knew he’d be frantic with worry, and doing anything within his power to find her, no matter what garbage Philip tried to feed her. “You mentioned a mission. What mission?”

Philip stood over her, folding his arms over his chest. “Apparently your blood was needed to create a healing serum. My mission was to bring you to him... among other things.” Philip didn’t think it was wise to mention separating her from Oliver Queen.

Chloe gazed down at the small bandages on her arms. That’s what had happened. They’d taken her blood. She lifted her eyes to his once more. “What are you talking about? Who needed my blood? Why?”

“Thanks to you, my employer was able to restore Tess Mercer back to full health. Surprisingly, it’s as though she was never comatose for eight months. Amazing actually.”

“Your employer? Tess Mercer?” The name sent a surge of unease and dread coursing through her, but that sensation would be nothing compared to the one that overcame her at name he spoke next.

He stared at her silently for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Yes. Lex Luthor.”

End Chapter 6

A/N: Philip is my creation, and I wanted to give everyone an idea of what he looks like in my head. Picture a darker haired, blue-eyed Josh Duhamel, and you’re pretty close to the resemblance of the dude in my imagination. :)

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