"Proxy Coat"

Rating: PG
Season: 9
Summary: The one that Clark primes Chloe's apartment, starting their relationship anew and without all the history.


*

Help.


She definitely needed help.


Chloe flipped open her cell and held down the first key. She always kept him at the top of her speed dial. Good thing their mobile to mobile was free too, because there was no telling the potential overage charges they should have accrued over the years.

On the second ring it picked up as Chloe brought the phone to her cheek,
“Hey, I need your help. I’m at my apartment so, whenever you can could you come over and---“

She didn’t even get to finish that last line before she felt her bangs fly away from her brow as a gust of wind filtered through the apartment.

“Chloe, what’s wrong?” A familiar male voice echoed from behind her.

She cracked a smile as she flipped her cell phone closed, turning around to see a Clark Kent standing in her new living room. Clark looked really terrible. She mildly wondered who looked shaggier today, Clark or Shelby.

She almost smiled until she noticed Clark slump over in his jaded black S-symbol t shirt and black jeans.

At least he left that awful black trench coat at home today, she thought idly.

He must have been out doing his rounds of Metropolis. No wonder it only took him half a second instead of a full one it took from the farm.

Clark was really hitting the streets hard lately. This morning he’d saved two people from a potential hit and run, and prevented three separate kidnapping attempts all around the city, and clandestinely put out several arson fires in the red-light district. All modest saves of course, but not without the S insignia left behind by Metropolis’ own hero. The Blur’s latest saves riddled the ticker feed Chloe hacked from the Metropolis PD HQ. It came in handy when she needed the latest concerning the Blur’s involvement.

It wasn’t as if Clark kept her updated these days.

“Well, nothing’s wrong per say. I just needed a hand.” She smiled innocently, watching
as the concern slowly fell from Clark’s face. He looked tired and grumpy.

Clark rubbed his bristly jaw and blinked.

“Chloe, I thought you were in trouble. That’s why I rushed over here.” He said, sounding almost annoyed.

“I know. I’m sorry, but you didn’t let me finish before you sped over.” Chloe sighed.
“It’s not urgent, so it can wait.”

Clark sighed, “Chlo, I’m already here. So let’s have it.” He looked around the open room.

There were stray boxes, spare pieces of furniture drop-clothed, and a few gallons of paint resting on the worn wood floors. She’d only moved in a couple of weeks before.

The Talon apartment had apparently grown too small, with Lois living in it again. Oliver had convinced Chloe of finding a place closer to her work. It took a few weeks of deliberating with her, but Oliver finally got the stubborn sidekick to give in.

It was the three hour commute from Smallville to the city that finally settled the argument. Now looking back, she can’t remember why she stayed in Smallville for so long. The ten minute walk to Watchtower was quite enjoyable, especially with bountiful cafés en route.

Clark saw several gallons of paint sitting across the worn wood floors and a single paint roller and ladder leaning against the far wall.

It wasn’t a surprise when Chloe picked this place. Chloe’s new apartment was a remodeled art deco. The apartment came unfurnished, but with an impressive view. On the thirty-ninth floor, the studio offered a nice fifteen foot ceiling rise which, on the east wall, housed four elegant floor to ceiling windows out looking downtown Metropolis. Working for Oliver Queen did have some benefits.

The dim, deco walls were worn, but looked regal in its age. It represented the sage and wisdom of something only experienced with time. But it looked like Chloe was planning to paint them soon.

Then it struck him. He looked at the ladder, which was extended all the way to the ceiling. The entire fifteen feet. He wondered how she had planned to paint that high without falling off the—

“Oh.” Clark caught up with her.

She noticed the wry smile forming on her friend’s face and grinned. “I figured you could hold the ladder. You know, catch me if I fall?” She said over her shoulder, already climbing up the ladder.

“Whoa, wait a minute.” He gently caught her waist and tugged her down. “Just let me do it, Chlo. That way I don’t have to worry about catching you at all, okay?”

“What about the height? I thought you were afraid of heights?” A wrinkle forming between her brows.

“Well, not afraid. Just not fond of them, that’s all.” He scooted her away, and motioned for her to bring him a paint roller. “Besides, you’ll be here all day painting. I can speed through it.”

“No, Clark it’s ok. I like painting, really. You can just keep me company, ok?” She kept her voice chipper, hoping he’d let things slide her way. But she recognized the firmness in his tired voice and surrendered the paint roller.

Clark took the roller and huffed, “Yea, but this way it will be done.” Yes, Clark was grumpy.

Chloe opened her mouth to protest it, but before any words poured out, Clark sped up the ladder, roller in hand, and started painting.

In superspeed.

Yes, Clark morphed into a blurring paint fill. He raced up and down the ladder, careful enough not to break it under his weight and hustle, and rapidly made progress throughout the apartment. He reloaded his paint roller and moved the ladder along the way, his main concern being to get this little job done. After this, he could go home and relax. It had been a long day for Clark. Besides, Shelby was waiting at home too.
It wasn’t until Clark completed the entire perimeter that he saw the outcome.

Paint splatters. Everywhere.

The floor, the ceiling… Chloe.

Chloe and her healthy, golden waves were spackled with white flecks. In fact, Clark managed to ruin everything she wore, from her light blue v-neck and dark jeans down to her stylish heeled sling back sandals. White primer paint, everywhere.

Clark looked at her sheepishly. He could tell by the way her brow wrinkled in the middle that she was more than mad. Chloe was plain livid.

“CLARK.”

He backed away, the paint roller still in his hand. “Um…”

They stood there for several moments. Chloe, brows pressed together, hands suspended in front of her still in disbelief. Clark, standing motionless, was watching his friend’s face change from angry to shocked to fuming again.

“Chloe, I’m sorry—“

But then, she laughed. Not just laughed, she was roaring with fits of giggles and chortles.

Clark squinted at her, keeping his distance.

Her body shook as she silently doubled up, the fits of laughter unceasing. She gasped for air once she regained control of herself and looked at Clark with bright, teary eyes.

“Look at you! It’s all in your hair!” Another round of chortles came again as she pointed at him.

Clark reached up to comb his fingers through his hair and felt wet, sticky flecks patterning it. He chuckled.

“Yeah. We’re both a mess.” He laughed again, happy to see Chloe’s warm smile covering her face between fits of laughter. He hadn’t seen her smile like that in months. He took him back to freshman year when he chased Chloe around with the gardening hose outside the barn.

“Stay there,” Chloe spoke between soft snorts, “I have a clean shirt you can wear.” She walked towards the bedroom and disappeared around the door.

Clark looked down at his chest. His looked worse that Chloe’s. Where his faded family crest once centered his shirt, there was white primer splattered all against it. It was ruined.

Clark frowned and cursed himself. He should have known his super speed wouldn’t have been a good idea. But he’d been so used to using his abilities lately, for everything really, that he didn’t think twice about it. His patience to think things through wore off along the way this year.

Chloe reemerged with a blue cotton shirt and a towel.

“Here,” she tossed him the shirt, “It was Jimmy’s.” Her eyes dimmed only briefly before she brushed the towel against her cheek to wipe paint from it. “I bought it for him a long time ago, but he never wore it.”

Jimmy. They had made terrible mistake back then and it was his fault, Clark reminded himself. His jaw tightened. It only took the mention of his name for Clark’s guilt to come riding back in waves.

“I can’t wear this, Chloe.”

“Clark, please. It’s just a shirt. I can’t have the Blur running around Metropolis looking like he was thrown into a blender with ‘Egg Shell White’.” She smiled wryly, reading from the side of the paint can.

He smiled before shrugging off his black shirt, and slid into the fresh one. It was a little snug, but Clark always loved cotton. So comfortable.

He looked down at his blue chest and felt a familiar tug of rightness swell from within it. He looked up at Chloe.

She was standing patiently, biting her lower lip and gazing at him with a certain glint in her golden eyes. Chloe radiated with a certain recognition, as if she’d rediscovered something.

“It is so good to see you out of black.” She chuckled, and tossed him her towel.

He caught it and began rubbing it through his hair. “I look good in black.” He said in flimsy defense and smiled.

“No, everyone looks decent in black. But it doesn’t mean they wear it twenty four seven. That’s totally the grim reaper’s garb.” She spat out, while she walked back into the bedroom. “Or,” he heard her satirical tone from the room next door, “or maybe you want to be doppelgangers with that new vigilante over in Gotham. I hear his favorite color is black, too.”

“Hah!” Clark huffed. He’d met Bruce Wayne, briefly. He didn’t necessarily like the guy. Reminded him a lot like Oliver. It wasn’t a surprise that the too of them were good friends.

Chloe returned again, this time with a fresh white blouse and ninety percent of the paint removed from her hair.

“Well, I guess that’s it. You saved me probably two or three hours of work. Looks like the Blur rescues no matter how small the crisis.” She smiled brightly.

“Very funny.” He handed her back the towel, ”I’m sorry about the mess.”

She escorted him to the foyer and opened the door. “Don’t worry about it. Everything’s tarped. And the floors are being resurfaced anyway. Really, you saved me a great deal of work. Thank you.”

She was only slightly disappointed. She meant for Clark to come over while she painted
later in the evening so they could just spend time together. She couldn’t remember the last time they saw each other just for the sake of spending time together. Every instance was on a basis of life and death, crisis of the moment when they convened at Watchtower. No wonder their relationship seemed so stressed.

So, yes, Chloe sought out some company from an old best friend. But Clark never seemed to want to stay longer than he needed to. Things had just changed completely between them.

She numbly reminded herself that her best friend was gone.

Clark stood in the apartment hallway and pulled at the hem of Jimmy’s shirt. “Um, I’ll bring the shirt back once I get back to the house.”

“No Clark, don’t.” Chloe’s voice was earnest, “I want you to have it.” She sighed and leaned against the door frame. “Jimmy never wore it. And well, he’ll never wear it now so…”

Clark’s jaw clenched.

She knew Jimmy’s death was a pivotal point in their straying relationship. Neither could account for exactly what they had done wrong, other than believing in people's second chances. Only now, she and Clark couldn’t give Jimmy a second chance. He was gone, permanently.

Clark’s lips parted to speak, but she beat him to it, “Just keep it Clark. You always wore blue well. You belong in it.”

Clark stood there, looking at his friend through the small opening of the door she kept between them. Had they really grown this distant that she had to escort him out of her home?

Chloe smiled softly, a few flecks of paint scattered here and there across her face.

“It’s good seeing you outside of the ‘office’.” She smiled, making air quotes with her fingers.

“Yeah. I know.” He took a breath and relaxed his shoulders. “I guess we’re both caught up in our work these days.”

“Well, we don’t have much of anything else.” Chloe replied.

Clark nodded weakly, and Chloe smiled goodbye, gently guiding the door closed before Clark perked up on the other side of it.

“Oh, Chloe.”

The door peeked open again. “Yes?”

Clark stood there for a moment, his mouth opening and closing several times before he spoke, “Oliver wants to install a Queen Industry security system to this place. It’s the best on and off the market. I think it’s a good idea.”

Chloe quirked a small sideways smile. “I know. He’s already brought it to my attention how worried he is about his side kick.” She spoke with a wry, raised brow.

“He’s not the only one.” Clark drew his brows together. “Tess is more dangerous now that she knows my secret and Zod.”

“Then consider it done tomorrow morning.” Chloe acquiesced easily. She didn't want this to become another heated argument they've been having regularly.

At least Clark still looked out for her well being. He did rush over earlier when she called, Chloe reminded herself.

She smiled, knowing that while some parts of their friendship had changed, the most important aspects never would. She and Clark would always look out for one another.

And then she closed the door gently, Clark disappearing behind it.

She leaned against the door, listening as Clark’s heavy footsteps fell further down the hallway and faded.

It was gone.

Chloe felt Clark’s uneasiness when he was around her. How could she not? The synchronicity and synergy their friendship once orbited around vanished, leaving behind only hesitant, obligatory smiles and sharp exchanges. Chloe could fool herself and blame their disjointed relationship on account of their dizzying schedules. But she knew what it really was.

It was her.

Clark didn’t rush over to confide in his oldest best friend anymore. He confided in…

Lois.

She smiled weakly in the irony. There was a time when Lois and Clark couldn’t stand one another.

How times change.

But Chloe accepted it. She always accepted Clark Kent.

Clark needed someone without the long history. Someone without the piled guilt one
acquired after all those years. Clark needed someone who wasn’t Chloe Sullivan, for she was too familiar to Clark Kent and all of his failures that he would never let himself forget. Clark Kent didn’t need reminders of his past when he reminded himself everyday. And besides, the Clark Kent Chloe knew was dead, wasn’t he?

Chloe lingered at the door several minutes, letting the smell of wet paint and the airiness of her new apartment gather in her senses. She absently lifted her fingers to brush a stray blonde wave away from her forehead as she distantly observed the empty setting.

The painting labor should have taken hours, but Clark managed to shave it down to a tenth of a second. She smiled grimly as she thought of the lavish deco patterned wall that was buried underneath the fresh proxy coat. It was gone.

“Just like that,” Chloe whispered in awe.

She took a deep breath, straightened up from the doorway and ambled through the apartment.

Chloe Sullivan finally accepted her homecoming to her city, but it didn’t feel like home.

Not yet anyway, she told herself.

Eventually, she’d forget about Smallville and all the years she devoted her life there. It was a distant memory anyway; one that would soon pale. Besides, she knew Smallville would soon forget her. It was just as well she'd turn those years over, and start again.

But then again, she didn’t want to forget completely. Because somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, she heard a warm voice speak to her despite her gentle attempts to quiet it,

I never throw away good memories, Chloe.

Chloe pondered those words, tying to recall where they were spoken to her, but she drew a blank.

Odd.

But she shrugged it off; thinking her past might be fading faster than she thought.

She moved to the set of windows that stretched to the ceiling. Chloe stood beside them for a long while, eyes glistening as the city lights glowed softly in the distance.

It was twilight in Metropolis.