Author's Comment: I hope you have half as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

B.S.S.

When Chloe arrived back at Watchtower, she was not expecting to see Oliver Queen sitting on her couch, drinking her booze. As a matter of fact, she was pretty sure it was the last thing she was expecting. Furthermore, she had a feeling that it did not bode well for her evening.

"Ollie?" she questioned. "What are you doing here?"

"Drinking," he stated frankly.

"I gathered," she said, setting her purse on the counter. "I meant why are you here and not home or at a bar or a club or somewhere else normal people would go to drink."

He shrugged. "Wanted to see you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Mind my asking how much you've had?"

"Nope."

"How much have you had?"

"Relatively speaking, too much, but also not enough."

"Relative to what?"

"Too much because I'm contemplating having sex with you. Not enough because I'm contemplating it instead of doing it."

Chloe moved straight through several reactions sequentially. First, a flash of fear because that's only natural in such a situation. Second, relaxing again because it's Oliver, her Oliver that might apparently be attracted to her, but would also never hurt her, no matter how much he'd had to drink. After that, relief that he hadn't had enough to just throw himself at her. Finally, humiliating, secret disappointment that he hadn't had enough to just throw himself at her.

"Right," she said. "Well we'd better cut you off then before you move past contemplation." She walked over to him on the couch and started to take the bottle of scotch from the coffee table, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Leave it."

"Oliver, I think you've had more than enough."

But he didn't let go.

"Ollie, really. If you drink anymore I'll be forced to throw you out."

He scoffed. "Please. Like you could get rid of me if I didn't want to go," he said, but released her in any case.

Chloe frowned heavily at his statement as she whisked the bottle away. If she didn't know him so well...

"How did you get in here anyway?"

He looked at her with an eyebrow quirked. "I installed your security system. You think I didn't hang on to the access codes?"

She gave him a sharp look. "Ever heard of ethics? I think you could use a review."

"Don't pretend you wouldn't have given them to me if I'd asked."

"I wouldn't have."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd come home to find you sitting on my couch totally wasted," she answered pointedly, walking back over to the couch.

He pulled her down to sit next to him. "Are you telling me you're not happy to see me?"

She sighed. "I am always happy to see you, Ollie. I'm just never happy to see you drunk."

"I am very drunk right now," he agreed a little absurdly.

"Would you mind telling me why you are so very drunk?" she asked, amused.

"Because there was nothing else to do. It wasn't exactly a plan. One drink just led to another."

"And several others," Chloe continued, noticing the glazed look in his eyes.

He nodded.

"Oliver, you do know how dangerous it is to drink that much don't you?"

"You do know how ridiculous you sound when you get motherly, don't you?"

She glared.

"Yes, mom, I know how dangerous it is to drink so much. But what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, right?"

"Or it just weakens you so that the next thing will kill you," she countered. "And anyway, drinking can kill you."

He smirked. "How sweet. You care."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Oh, Ollie." She sighed.

"Chloe?"

"Hmm?"

"Why aren't we dating?"

Chloe almost choked on air. "What?"

"You do realize we might as well be, right? We have all the responsibilities of a couple, and we act like a couple and bicker like an old married couple and we're both attracted to each other--"

"Who said I was attracted to you?"

He raised his eyebrows in a look that clearly said, "Seriously?"

She glowered. "Fine."

"The only thing we don't do is acknowledge it."

Chloe couldn't help but think that there were certain other things couples did that they definitely did not do, but she didn't say that out loud.

"It's very annoying," Oliver continued.

She gave him a surprised look. "Why would it be annoying? Shouldn't you revel in the idea of all the benefits of a relationship with none of the strings?"

Oliver looked at her like she was an idiot. "You are very lucky I am drunk."

"Why is that?"

"Because otherwise I would definitely not tell you that calling you my girlfriend, being able to tell other guys to back off, and having permission to kiss you--among other things--any time I want are all benefits that I absolutely do not have right now."

Chloe blushed scarlet.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed," he chuckled.

Chloe stood up. It wasn't that she didn't like what he was saying. It was the fact that he was drunk. This whole situation was just asking for trouble. She seriously considered sending him home, but she knew he was too drunk for that. She would not be held responsible for scraping green leather off of pavement tomorrow morning.

Oliver looked vastly disappointed. "Figures. You're scared of everything."

She chose to ignore his comment.

"You can crash here tonight, if you want. Actually, I'm not letting you leave, so I should say you're going to crash here. I hope you know what a massive hangover you're going to have," she pointed out.

He nodded. "Won't be the first. Won't be the last."

Chloe made a sound of disapproval.

"Where are you going?" he asked, as she disappeared into another room.

"I'm getting some pillows and blankets and movies because you and I are going to be staying up for a while. I can't let you go to sleep in this condition. You might not wake up." Oliver opened his mouth to say something, but without even seeing him, Chloe cut him short. "Don't patronize me."

He closed his mouth and sat sullenly on the couch.

She came back in the room, tossing the blankets on the couch, and setting by the television. "I'm going to change my clothes and wash my face. Don't go to sleep," she ordered.

"I won't if you let me watch you change."

She deigned no response, but left the room for a few minutes, returning in forest green sweat pants and an off-white camisole, her face fresh and clean.

"You're cute when you're irritable," he noted. She rolled her eyes. "Why don't you ever believe me when I say that?"

"Because it's you," she said, putting the movie in.

"That is hardly a logical reason."

"Who said anything about logic?" she asked, sitting back down next to him.

He put his arm around her. "Why won't you consider dating me?" he asked seriously.

"Because you're drunk."

"I'm not always drunk."

"But you are right now."

"That's completely convoluted."

"It's not. If you ever thought to ask me while you were sober, I might think about it," she said. "But you're not going to remember any of this tomorrow, unless my guess is off, so there's really no point right now."

"You are--" he stopped, noticing the movie. "Disney's Robin Hood?" He looked at her. "Do you know you're the perfect woman?"

She chuckled to herself. "I thought you'd like it."

He nodded, settling into the couch comfily, almost like a child. It was really quite adorable. Then he reached over and pulled her onto his lap.

"Ollie!" she protested, but he was having none of it. He just held her there until she gave in and snuggled into him.

"Stop it." Chloe said without looking at him.

"What?"

"I know you have a smug look on your face right now. Stop it."

"You're cute when you're flustered," he replied.

She twisted around to look at him. "Is there any time when I'm not cute?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"When you're telling me off for something."

"What am I then?"

"Sexy as hell."

"Oh brother."

"Just saying."

"You would."

"So are you going to tell me when I'm sexy or cute?" he asked.

"Why should I?"

"Because it's only fair. And because I won't remember in the morning, so I can't use it against you even if I want to."

Chloe laughed. "Just for that, I'll give you one thing." She deliberated, giving the cartoon a portion of her attention. "When you're doing target practice. You get this really concentrated look on your face. It's--"

"Sexy?"

"Cute."

He shrugged. "I'll take what I can get."

She smirked. Actually, it was incredibly sexy.

"Chloe?"

"Uh huh?" she asked, eyes still on the movie.

"Would you mind reminding me tomorrow that I asked you out and you refused purely because I was drunk?"

"Yes I would mind."

"Not fair."

"Don't drink so much."

He paused, sulking. Then, "Do you have a pen and paper?"

"No."

"Yes you do. Somewhere." He looked around, but saw none. "Darn."

"You're also cute when I'm getting the better of you," she said smugly.

"Yeah, well, the only reason you're getting the better of me is because I know there's no getting you back in my lap if I stand up to look for paper."

She laughed lightly.

Hours later they both fell asleep, Chloe still in his arms. When Oliver woke the next morning, it was to a splitting headache. He swore quietly before realizing the extremely unusual situation he appeared to be in.

Chloe?

Holy crap.

He looked around warily. No telltale signs of sex, and they were both still fully clothed. That was a good sign, he hoped.

Chloe suddenly moved in his arms, snuggling in closer to him, a satisfied sigh escaping her.

Yeah. This was weird.

"Chloe?"

She frowned, moaning a little before burying her face in his chest.

He would have chuckled if he hadn't been so confused.

"Chloe?" he persisted, shaking her gently.

"What?" she grumbled.

"What am I doing here?"

"Drinking," she replied sarcastically, mimicking his response to that very question the night before.

"That explains...nothing."

She groaned, opening her eyes and pulling away from him. He let her go, not a little reluctantly.

"I have no idea why, but I came home to find you totally inebriated. On my couch."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Oh."

"Care to explain?"

"Not really."

She rolled her eyes, going to get him some water and herself some coffee.

"You're angry with me. What did I do?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You were just ten times more honest with me while you were under the influence than you've been in the entire time we've known each other."

"What did I say?" he asked slowly.

"I told you last night I wasn't going to tell you. I'd like to see if you ever think of it when you're sober."

He got up, and, hoping to make light of the situation, said "Okay, look, I can explain the secret identity thing, I swear!"

She smiled ruefully.

"You're cute when I'm getting the better of you," she said.

The statement sounded familiar.

Suddenly she heaved a frustrated sigh and slammed the glass of ice water she was about to hand to him on the counter. "You are the most annoying person I've ever met, do you know that?"

"I--"

"I mean, apparently you have the emotional complexity of a middle schooler!"

"You--"

"Does it ever occur to you to quit being so stoic and actually talk about things?"

"I--"

"And it's just ridiculous that of all the places you could have gone last night, you chose to come to my place to get wasted, so that I would end up having to nurse you like the huge baby you are."

"You--"

"And furthermore, don't think this is going to happen again!" She poked him threateningly in the chest. "Because I will toss your butt out of here faster than you can say 'abuse of friendship' and that will be the end of it!"

"Now really--"

"Don't think you're so charming and so attractive and irresistible that you can just get away with things like this!"

"Chloe--"

"Because I'm not putting up with it, you understand? I refuse to be your designated hangover nurse."

He said nothing.

She looked at him angrily. "Well? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

He looked at her warily before opening his mouth and closing it several times. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he grabbed her by the arms and kissed her as hard as he could, ignoring the indignant sound of protest she emitted.

He let her go.

"You--you--" she seethed, clearly furious. "You took long enough about it!" she snapped, finally, shoving the glass of water into his hand and walking over to the couch again.

He rolled his eyes, smirking. God, he loved that woman.