Here Lies Hope

Summary: Davis Bloome had dreamt of her, loved her, killed her, before he even met her.

Spoilers: I haven't watched an episode with Plastique or Davis yet. This is my interpretation based on spoilers.

Pairing: Chloe/Davis Bloom

Part 1

The first time ever I saw your face

I thought the sun rose in your eyes

Like a storm brewing deep within him, surging upwards until he was choking full of the grit. Terror seized him like waves upon waves of suffocating, murky floodwater. He was drowning from within and he grappled for any lifeline, a sliver of light that pierced the darkness consuming his entire world.

"Maybe," her voice whispered in his brain, and he sucked what air he could to survive, because surviving meant recollecting. His body warped itself into odd, impossible contortion, driving itself towards the unknown source, as if to come to the voice, to relish in her, to nourish him. She was imprinted in inside him now, branded amongst the utter desolation and the thousand savage deaths still ringing in his memory. "Maybe I love you."

And the message was crystal clear and sweet enough to blister the shell of his ear.

She was there, floating above him, his golden angel. Her smile was a flash of brightness of which he was so desperately starved. He extended his hand to reach for her. He was pulsing heat, as if he was burning from the inside and a cry of pain erupted from his lips. He was flaming and she was welcoming him still. He watched as his flesh scorched from his shoulder, the tendril of fire licked away a trail to his fingers. He tried to jerk his hand away as he drew closer to her but his command was unheeded. And he watched in horror as she raised her hand, in wonder he assumed by the spark in her eyes, to touch him.

And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave

To the dark, empty skies

"Don't," came his choked plea.

He knew it would happen before it did. In morbid fascination he watched one action equal the fevered reaction. Her hand edged close, hovering just above his splayed fingers. And it was him who rose and closed the gap. Her calm expression shifted to pained. Her gaze met his in confusion, mild accusation. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted with a mute cry.

In front of him she burst into invisible flamed and her watched her skin boil, burn, disintegrate, as a millisecond of his touch destroyed her.

His eyes shot open and he sat up, gasping for air. Davis rolled off the bed and stumbled into the kitchen, a mere eight steps from the bedroom of his cramped apartment. He shook his head to clear it of the nightmare, his frequent bedfellow since Metropolis. Davis opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a 

small bottle of water, unscrewed the cap and gulped down the contents. He threw the bottle into his recycling bin. He felt gutted, empty, and each time he blinked the stranger's image smiled back at him from beneath his eyelids—the stranger he killed in his dream, the stranger that called to him for her death.

Davis looked up at the wall clock and walked towards his closet. Mechanical now, he pulled the uniform out and laid it on the bed, then stepped into the shower. He turned on the water and gritted his teeth against the cold water. Far be it for him to heat water at his salary. Even more, and even stronger, he hated being drenched in liquid heat and he did not know why.

The first time ever I kissed your mouth
And felt your heart beat close to mine

As he dressed, he kept glancing at the mirror. Finally, he approached his reflection. Davis raised his hand and he looked at it, then touched it to his cheeks, his chin. His eyes went to the mirror again and he watched closely, fully expecting his hand to go through his form. It was always in his head, this feeling that he wasn't quite alive. He needed to leave this job. Death and blood day in and out bound him to depression. He spiraled ever lower ever deeper every day.

Twenty minutes had not passed before he found himself behind the wheel, called to the scene of an explosion that rocked the quiet city night. On the way, he set his jaw in preparation to the gory sight that might be waiting. When he stopped on the other side of the street from the scene, he grabbed his medical kit and hopped off of the vehicle. Davis walked purposefully to where other emergency workers helped the injured. His eyes scanned the site, trained to pick out those that would need help. Many of the worse cases had already been brought to the hospital. He settled on a girl who sat on the sidewalk. She was leaning against a fire hydrant, staring down the street, appearing lost amidst the furor around her. The girl clutched her arm. His eyes narrowed to focus on the injury. Her skin was scraped off and it looked worse than it was. He relaxed his stride and crouched in front of the girl. He did not bother to smile despite his supervisor's advice about bedside manner.

His voice was still warm with concern when he told the girl, "Let me check your arm."

The girl looked at him with challenge in her eyes. Ever so reluctantly she extended her arm and winced at the pain that the movement caused.

"I'm just cleaning it up. It's just a scratch."

"That's a helluva lotta blood for a scratch," she complained.

The words made his lips curve, finally. She seemed to hesitant in admitting pain. "Sometimes wounds that bleed so profusely are not serious at all." He turned the cap from his betadine solution. "This shouldn't hurt," he assured her as he started dabbing the open wound with the dark solution.

"Shouldn't!" she repeated, offended.

"What's your name?" Davis asked to keep her mind off the wound.

"What's yours?" she returned.

He pointed to his small name plate. "Bloome."

She smirked. "Fancy name. Very manly."

Davis shook his head. "Davis Bloome. So now will you tell me yours?"

"The name's Bette Sans Souci." She shrugged. "But don't you waste your time figurin' who to call. I ain't got no parent or guardian."

"Then, Bette, I suppose I should call in Child Protective Services," he began.

"I can take care of myself!" she spat.

Davis placed the gauze over the wound and taped it on. "I'm bound to call them in. You're underage, Bette," he explained patiently.

"Someone's already offered to take me in. And she's got a license to do it and all. She's from the Isis Foundation," she rattled off. Bette hated to be carted off everywhere, from one house to another.

"Right." He had heard the story several times before, teenagers insisting they were good. His mind ran down images of the different death poses he or his partner found them in the next week. Davis would not lose anyone again. "And where is this guardian angel lady?"

The girl was looking right behind him with a big smile. He turned slowly and first thing he noticed was the bottle of water she gripped in her hand, with the water droplets rolling off her fist and onto the ground.

Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command

"Bette! Sorry it took so long. Here." Davis watched as the blonde leaned over the girl and handed her the water. She turned to smile up at the paramedic. And he remembered that smile. He was fascinated by that smile until he killed her in his dream. She extended a hand. "Mr Bloome." He started, wondering how she knew his name. And then he remembered his name plate. Flustered, his eyes fell to her proffered hand. It was a touch that decimated her body. And still, just like in his dream, he could not keep himself from reaching up to clasp her hand in his. "My name is Chloe. I work in the Isis Foundation." Chloe handed him a card. "We're accredited by the US government to take over the care of orphans and runaways."

"That's a noble job," he managed. His hand tightened around hers and his heart leapt at the contact, because she was still alive.

Chloe grinned. "Says the paramedic."

And he felt himself flush for the first time since he could remember.

"You got some sandwiches or something?" Bette asked.

Chloe dangled her car keys in front of her. "There's a Big Mac in the passenger seat that's got your name on it." She pointed to her vehicle.

"Nice!" The girl grabbed the keys and walked over to the small car.

The first time ever I saw your face, your face,
your face, your face

And all of a sudden, several feet away from them, there was a thunder and a flash of violent light. Davis tugged at her hand and brought her down to the ground, then covered her body with his. Chloe squeezed her eyes shut. Second later, when the explosion was over, Chloe looked up above her to see the small cut on his cheek. He helped her up to her feet and she touched the cut skin. She had not meant to heal him, but the moment her skin touched the open wound, Chloe felt her energy drain from her. Her hand fell and she saw that his wound was gone. Dizziness assailed her. Chloe clutched onto his arm as he held her up. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She smiled at him, then waved at Bette. "I probably stood up too fast." Chloe extricated herself from his hold. "Thank you. She stayed still for a few moments before walking towards Bette.

"Bette," he called. Both the girl and Chloe turned waiting for what he was about to say. "I'll check on you tomorrow. Just to make sure I don't need to call Child Protective Services."

"I assure you that Bette will be fine with me," Chloe said.

"No doubt." Davis nodded. "I would love to see you two again though."

Chloe smiled. "Tomorrow morning then. Breakfast at Isis."