"Blondie"

/// 1 /// 2 /// 3 /// 4 /// 5 /// 6 /// 7 /// 8 ///

Season: (for Smallville, post season 9) & (for LOST, Season 6)

Rating: R, for language and mild sexuality.

Disclaimer: The CW, WB, ABC networks own everything. I own nothing.

Couples: Chlawyer/Chlames (Chloe and Sawyer/James) with Chlollie, Chimmy,
and of course Chlark.

Category: Cross over fic // LOST & Smallville

Summary: Sometimes you meet someone who awakens memories of those you lost along the way. This is my attempt of bringing LOST and SV together.

[If you don’t follow LOST, especially the last season, you probably wont follow this fic.]





　

　







Blondie / part1





*



The sky never felt so unattainable, so threatening. He felt his body leave the ground, and for a moment, he expected it to be dragged back, the fear that this place might never let him go. He was chained to it, to the mistakes, to the loss, to the heartbreak, to the bittersweet memory.



He could only remember her smile now. It wasn’t a happy one, just one of thought and intrigue. She didn’t love him blindly, but for every part, every flaw of the man he was. She accepted him, and he loved her far more than he ever thought his damaged soul could conceive.



His only wish was to leave, to forget the place that took her. Never to forget her.



Suddenly, the sky tilted upward through the small oval window, and he looked to the side, another face who'd been forgotten. She smiled at him, and he just nods, both of them sharing the same thought.



They were leaving. Together.



Another moment in time, and then the sun peaked through her window, creating a halo around her dark hair. It turned gold. And for a moment, he thinks he sees her.



It is her.



It wasn't possible, her being there. But inside this place, everything seems reasonable and clear.



Suddenly, it made sense.



All he thought about was that they were together. It was all that mattered.



She smiled at him, and leaned over to whisper. He eagerly drew closer, but as the sun turned brighter behind her silohuette, he lost her eyes, her face. Everything flooded with light.







Bright.













White.













*



He wakes up, and its the white light from the skylight that interferes with any lasting impression of his dream. He knows it doesn’t matter, but he can’t remember anything in the past months. It should concern him, but strangely, it just doesn‘t. He’s felt like he’s been floating for weeks, with no particular place to go.



He shakes the grogginess out of him and observes the airport that he‘s woken up in. And suddenly, he remembers what he’s here for. It stands out like a shining beacon, the only thing in that airport brighter than the skylight.

　

　







Blondie.

　

　





It’s her yellow curls tucked behind delicate pink skin that gets him. She’s reading a book, a thick one, while her laptop charges. He strolls right up her as she takes a long drink from her coffee, the aroma telling him she likes it strong.



They’re inside a busy airport, and while everyone hurries about to their destinations, the two of them settle in place, both of them oblivious to any hurry.



He sits down, setting his duffle next to her overnight bag. She looks calm, and cool, maybe even a little sad. He gets the idea that she’s traveling alone.



She reminds him of someone, but he shakes that thought away, observing how she brings the brown cup to her lips but never quite drinks.



Pouting lower lip to the slender slope of her neck, down to the tempting curve of her breast that peeks out from a low cut blouse. She’s a pretty thing, small and compact. She’s hardly wearing any make up and she looks young. Younger than what she really is. She’s wearing jeans, and leather boots with her coat slung across her lap.



The coat is a dead give away that she’s from not around here.



"Hey," he says casually, letting his eyes talk for him. He catches hers and notices that they’re identical to his. Bingo, he thinks and smiles devilishly.



"We must be soul mates," he says in his southern drawl.

She doesn’t look amused, and it’s the quiet challenge in her eyes that hooks him.



He smiles again, figuring how he’s going to read her cards… she kept them very close to her chest. He’s a good looking guy and he knows it.



"We have the same eyes." He points to hers and then his. "Hazel, right?"



She doesn’t look at him, but she sips from her coffee.



He laughs quietly, undeterred. "Some people believe the eyes are the window to the soul. When you find someone with the same eyes, it’s supposed to mean something." He says this while watching for any sign that could trickle through her solemn face. There is one wistful glance she makes to her book, but it disappears all to quickly for him to notice.



"I quit believing in superstitions a long time ago."



His smile tweaks. "That’s too bad. For a second there I thought you might be good luck for me."



He watches her stew in a way that creates the smallest crease above her eyes.

She drinks again and says, "You’re trying too hard, don’t you think?"



He tries to look innocent, but she eyes him hard and steadily until he gives in.

"Okay, you got me. Why don’t you just let me buy you another coffee and you can tell me how I can make you smile."



She sets down her book and looks at him, doubtful. "No thanks," she says throwing what remains of her coffee in the trash, hopping up to gather her things.



He stares at the trash can and then to her discarded book left on the seat. "I’m sorry."



She pauses in mid step, slinging a laptop case over her shoulder. At first he thinks she wont bite, but she does, ever so slightly turning towards him.



"I couldn’t make you smile." He says apologetically, turning towards her with an uncomplicated, easy grin of his own.



She does smile this time, a little one. She looks at him for a moment, taking in his presence.



He’s attractive, rugged and strong. Long dirty blonde hair swept from his dark side burns down to his squared unshaven chin. He wasn’t lying; his eyes are like hers, green, amber and gold, but darker, with the veil of mischief that goes along with the boyish smirk that tilts his lips.



She looks at him a moment longer, and there for a second, he thinks he recognizes something.



He smiles crookedly. "I’ll try harder next time, Blondie."



She blinks for a stutter of a moment, and its just enough of a tell.



That was the hook, he says to himself, smiling in his little victory.



She turns, saying nothing else, and he watches her as she makes her departure.



He watches her small form slink away until it's lost in the crowd. He knows better than to make the chase. Eventually, she’ll come to him. Because after all, he make the hook.



Thoughtfully, he looks down at the book she’s left behind, and opens it.



He flips several pages, each one reinforcing the frown that lines his eyes.





They were all blank.





*



It’s not long after until he finds her again on board their plane, sitting in her window seat with her laptop purring in front of her. She’s focused on her screen, and she doesn’t even look up at him when he opens the luggage carrier above and shoves his duffle bag in. She still doesn’t look up when he plops down beside her, a sh*t eating grin on his face. Her fingers dance over the keys in a way that reminds him of a practiced musician, which makes him wonder what kind of music she likes. Its this random thought that creates a smile, so he leans his head back and waits.



She's entirely too involved in what ever she's working on, but her distractions give him opportunity to admire the quiet beauty, without that witful tongue.



He waits until she turns her head, finally torn away once she closes her screen.

He doesn’t miss the surprised jolt, nor the disbelief that causes the smallest crease between her dark brows. He also doesn’t miss the cluster of little freckles on her cheek turned to him. He asks himself how he missed that detail before.



"You." She says, with a tinge of disdain.



"I guess you thought you’d never see me again." He says, rolling up his sleeves.



She sighs, placing her laptop underneath her seat. "No, I didn’t."



"Well," he looks over to her, very confident in himself, "I don’t usually let beautiful women get away so easily. And besides, I promised you I’d make you smile next time. And well," he waves between them, "here we are together again. Must be fate."



Her lips tilt a little, but it wasn’t really a smile. "I’m sorry, but I think you got the wrong impression back there." She turns to him, her face very serious. "I wasn’t playing hard to get. I actually shut you down." She makes a condescending look, "But I guess you don’t get that a lot, do you?"



He surprises her and looks humble for a moment. "You’d be amazed."



Eyes playful. "I like a little challenge," he says and adds, " anything worth having isn’t easy."



He pauses, on second thought, "Pardon the expression." Eyes narrow as he wet his lips. "Besides, I’m not what you think I am." He looks geninune and open, " I wasn’t trying to pick you up or anything. Just thought we’d make good friends."



Her brows raise before she turned away and rolled her eyes. "Friends, right."



He frowns. "What? Haven’t you met someone and knew immediately that you had chemistry?"



She stares out the small oval window, her blonde head nodding slowly. "Sure I have," she turns to him, only this time its her eyes that hold a little mischief, "but I know from experience that ‘friends’ that look like you have trouble staying, ‘friends’."



He makes an innocent face. "What’s that suppose to mean?"



Hers isn’t so innocent. "You know what I mean."



His lips tilt again and this time the smirk creeps up into his eyes, twinkling in delight. "Well maybe you got it backwards." He makes an appreciative glance at her, but remains gentlemanly. "‘Friends’ that look like you shouldn’t stay ‘friends’ very long." He artfully throws her words back, but means all of it.



A dismissive sound escapes her, and he’s right on top of it. "What, no one’s ever told you you’re beautiful?"



Another flippant look and this time, its him who frowns. "You’re kidding me. So your husband doesn’t appreciate you?"



"Look, not that it’s any business of yours," she says, the amusement gone from her face, "but I’m not married," she pauses, both for emphasis and for subtly, "and I’m not interested."



But it doesn’t deter him, only poking at the fire stewing inside. "Not married,

huh? Boyfriend?"



She slides her face, genuinely annoyed now. "No. You?"



"No," he smiles, stretching a little in his seat, not taking any mind to how his leg brushes up against hers, "No boyfriends, but I have had a lot of girlfriends in my day."



She laughs a little, and he misses it because he’s still stretching. She doesn’t miss the way his shirt rides up a little, exposing the pattern of dark hair that circles his navel and leads down below the waistline of his trousers.



"What about you, are you married?"



He straightens up, pleased that he’s at least cracked the ice with her, some. "No. I’ve never had the pleasure." She looks at him questioningly, and he knows what she wants before she can ask. "I’m not married for the same reason you’re not married." His eyes study hers. "Haven’t found the right person."



"That’s where you’re wrong. I was married, once." She says to the little window.

He watches the side of her face, connecting the small freckles in different patterns as she speaks. "My husband died. A long time ago."



He nods, his voice softer with sympathy, "not to break your heart or anything, but just because you married the guy didn’t mean he was the right one."



She snaps around, hurt, and maybe…. guilty. "I loved him."



He holds her gaze a little longer, weighing the pull shade of remorse there. "Of course you did." He watches one of the barriers he broke down moments before build back up before his eyes.



She turned towards her window again, her sad reflection staring back. "I guess you wouldn't understand."



He opens his mouth to speak, and then stops. He had been in love once, hadn’t he? His mind turns over, searching for the face, for the right pair of eyes… they seem close to the tip of his memory, but fade away before he can recognize them, just like the strange dreams he’s been having but could never remember once he broke the surface. The woman sitting next to him helps him remember. She has the same eyes, the same hair.



Who did she remind him of?



"I guess that answers my question."



He looked over to her and catches up. "No, I remember being in love. But it was a long time ago, like a different life altogether."



She nods to this, and they both feel the plane gear up, moving across the tarmac.



The plane gains speed and they’re close.



Everyone braces against their seat, the engines roaring and angry.



It's the build up to something dangerous and powerful, the sound of the engines blasting behind you that keys up every bothered nerve in your body. Its the vibrations of the cabin that makes his legs clutch his seat tighter, and her fingers wrap firmer around the arm rest.



And then they’re off, faster than he remembers ever going before. This time when the plane leaves the runway, he feels like lead just before they touch off the ground, and then its









weightless











He looks over and there's wonder in her eyes. She’s watching the ground fall away from them, the roads and buildings becoming smaller and smaller underneath the white puffy clouds that obscure the view. She looks like she’s remembering something.





"What do you do?"



She looks over to him. "Well, I…" she thinks a moment before continuing, "I used to work with computers."



"Used to? What do you do now?"



She smiled. "I write for a newspaper."



"Really?" He smiled, "which one?"



She pauses again, but covers it up with a smile. "Does it matter?"



Deflection, he thinks, and its this that confirms that she‘s a smart girl. He knew before she was intelligent, he could tell by the way she typed methodically, keeping her key strokes close and contained. It's the same how she sits, legs crossed so delicately, so careful not to touch over on his side.



It was also the way she thought out her words. He couldn‘t tell if she was just being modest or if she was really that defensive. But he knows there’s a crack somewhere, and it’s somewhere along her looks. She’s a beautiful woman, but somehow he gets the feeling she doesn’t agree. Figures it stems from the death of her husband or the lack of relationships after. She only needed a little confidence. But he realizes she’s asked him a question, and he‘s been staring at her too long to not say anything so he says, "I guess not, Freckles."



It’s this little quirk that influences the smallest of smiles from her. He knows he can do better. They're engaged in this air travel, small talk bullsh*t but he knows he's closer to getting somewhere with her.



A wistful thought flows past her before she asks, "Do you always lend strangers little pet names?"



He shrugs, and rubs his bristly chin. "It’s kind of my hobby, nicknames." He looks at her before adding, "But as for the strangers part, I don’t agree.

Somehow I feel like we know each other."



She smiles and looks at him thoughtfully. "Yes, why is that? Have I met you somewhere?" She asks, and this time he notices her eyes are smiling too. He tries not to stare into them longer than necessary, and so he focuses on her lips. They too are intoxicating. Infectious how they make his tilt sideways at the sight. He backs up, thoughts reeling from it.



She's dangerous, he tells himself before he carefully tells the next line.



"I told you," his eyes smile at hers, "we’re soul mates." He says this as a charm, but deep down, he feels it. Like lightning striking his bones, charging and reawakening his soul. It feels so true, it scares him.







Turbulence.







The plane jostles, but the two of them never lose eye contact.



"So why two names?" She measures his eyes, "You’ve called me both Freckles and Blondie. Don’t you think one nickname is enough?"





The hook.







"Some people are just born with two."







The air is thin now and her breath hitches for a second. "I see. So what are yours?"



"Actually, I only have one." he holds out his hand, "And it’s James. James Ford."



She takes his hand, but she doesn’t shake it. "James."



He nods, and then looks at her expectantly before he says, "Chloe."



And then, she knows. He watches the friendly expression disappear from her grace, her lips quivering for a second, and then she’s like stone.



"I have seen you before." Her voice so low, a growl.



The intensity in her eyes tangle in his, and before she realizes it, her wrist that he’s holding has a cold handcuff around it.



Zippp.





"You have." He says, and steadies her hand when she tries to pull away.



She stares angrily at him, but she doesn’t make a sound of protest. There really isn’t anywhere to run forty five thousand feet in the air. "Who are you?"



He stretches again, and this time it isn’t his navel that catches her eye. It’s the bronze badge that he pulls out from his waist band. It says, Detective.



"I’m the guy who’s bringing you home."



*


part 2