Author's Note: Thanks so much to all my loyal reviewers. Your kind words are such a source of encouragement, and also give me an indication as to what stories you truly want to see more of. Think of reviews as your own personal voting machine.

To anyone following any of my other WIPs, such as Life Can Be Deceiving, or Angry all the Time, I am not giving up on those fics. I'm simply waiting for the moment to strike where I can finish them in the fashion they deserve.

I'm sorry I'm still behind on my other works, but I've been holding back this fic for some time now, and I'm tired. I'm ready to start sharing it. I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's not yet a completed fic, but I do already have several chapters written, so take heart.

The Lie That Binds

She heard him before she saw him. Following the grunting noises and heavy breathing she peeked around the corner, slightly hesitant, observing him for a moment. Sweating and heaving Oliver appeared to be exhausting all possible energy through his boxing workout. His eyes fierce on the target as he hit it, over and over and over. Clearing her throat she announced herself. "Did that bag do something to you? Don't tell me you found it chewing your Armani shoes again," she clucked her tongue, teasingly.

His disinterested eyes barely flicked over her, a hand reaching out to steady the swaying heavy bag. "You need something?"

She blinked in surprise. No clever retort, no acknowledgment of her wit. "The guys said you'd be training here."

"I figured."

So that's how it was going to be. "What's wrong?" she inquired swiftly.

"What do you mean?" he played dumb.

"Are you upset about something, or are you upset with me for something?"

A careless smile crept up the side of his mouth. "Have you done something I should be upset about it?" he laughed unfeelingly to himself. Catching the concern in her eyes he tried to derail the coming intervention. "I'm not upset with you Chloe."

"So you're upset about something else."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say you weren't, either. You gonna spill it, or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?" she picked up a pair of boxing gloves in contemplation.

"I'd like to see you try," he stared down from his full 6'3" frame, imposing on her 5'5" self.

"Are you really trying to intimidate me?" she asked incredulously. "We both know you're twice my size and you'd kill me in hand to hand combat. We both also know that these ten teeny fingers could rain destruction down on your head with a few keystrokes."

He closed his eyes and tried to regain his composure. He knew why he was getting worked up, but he had no right to take it out on her, an innocent bystander.

"Sorry," he ducked his head, stepping back into a more relaxed posture, jaw still tense.

She motioned for him to follow her over to the benches. Finding the fridge she grabbed them each a bottle of water, tossing his to him. Swigging the liquid gratefully, he leaned his head against the concrete wall.

"When did you take up boxing?" she asked randomly.

"When I stopped hitting the bottle, I started hitting the bag." He sighed and stared into the distance.

"Oliver, if you can't tell your Sidekick, who can you tell?" she offered.

His tension was palpable. "Things can't stay the same. I can't do this alone," he admitted, in one of the quietest voices she'd ever heard him use.

It worried her. He drank, but no longer to excess. He still seemed to enjoy female company... just not quite as recklessly. She knew the loss of Lois had bothered him for a while, but she'd thought he'd bounced back. Was she wrong? Was something from his past still plaguing him? Or was it something new?

"You don't have to," she reminded him gently. The depth of caring in her eyes surprised him. "That's what your friends are for."

If only she knew the irony her words held.

"It's not about me," he clarified. "It's just... there is so much going on. Things I can't control, and I'm not sure how to make sure they're taken care of."

"Oliver, you're talking in riddles. I'm right here, just be blunt. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can take it."

He was hunched over now, one palm rubbing his forehead tiredly. "What happens if something happens to me?"

"Nothing's going to happen to you," she tried to reassure him.

"This isn't about me, don't you see? What if something happens to me? What happens to all of you?" he vented, the worry creasing his brow, showcasing the lines already forming by his eyes. He paused.

She stayed silent this time, waiting for him to continue.

He pulled his knees up, resting his arms long across them as he looked at her. "I don't like starting things I'm not prepared to finish. As it stands right now, if I'm ever... out of the picture, the League's over and done with."

"That's not true. We won't give up fighting; you know that," she promised him. Their ragtag group of heroes had come too far to turn back now. She liked to believe that if push came to shove, they'd band together more tightly than ever.

"No, but you won't always have the resources to get the job done either, will you?"

"We'll find a way. We're fighters."

"I know you are."

She tried to decipher him, his body language. He seemed to be wrestling with something, but she was having trouble figuring out which argument he needed to hear. He was anticipating his demise and worrying about them. Did he need to know he'd be missed? That they'd always go on, even without him? That he was needed for more than his money? She searched for the words that would reach him. "Where is this coming from?"

"A few weeks ago I updated my will." His admission hung ominously in the air.

"Ah." So there it was then. Once again he was facing his own mortality, and that had never been an easy task for him.

"The League would not function at its highest level without the funds to do it."

"That's true," she conceded.

"Sometimes I hate being rich."

"And sometimes I hate being poor," she retorted quickly, with a hint of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah, nobody wants to hear the rich guy complain," he waved her off.

"Keep going," she cajoled him.

"I've got to find a way to take care of what's important," he implied clearly.

"I've yet to see a wall you can't scale. Somehow, eventually you'll find a way out. As long as you keep looking, you'll get your answers."

"I hope so," he murmured to himself, patting his forehead with the terrycloth towel. He cocked his head sideways. "That was a pretty good pep talk. If you ever change your mind about Watchtower, you'd make a great cheerleader," he grinned cheekily, his apprehension lessened, but not entirely abated.

She rolled her eyes at his antics. "Aren't you the one who said there was no turning back?"

"Going forward you're going to need a costume at some point, right? I'd be happy to buy you some pom-poms..."

She threw a towel at his head, drawing herself to her feet. "And on that note, I take my leave. I've officially fulfilled my duties for the day. Stop by Watchtower tomorrow, we have some new crime hotspots in the city."

His ears perked up at the new intel. "That's right, you did come by for a reason."

"Nothing that can't wait."

"Then why'd you traipse all the way down here?"

"Word travels fast, Oliver. You've been a little out of your head space lately."

"So you were checking up on me?"

"I just thought maybe you'd like something to refocus your attention on, but you clearly have a pretty full plate right now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"My place," he suggested out of the blue.

"Why?" Years of training had her automatic suspicion kicking in.

"Ever since Bart spilled that milk Watchtower's been in dire need of spring cleaning." He crossed his arms, confidently quirking an eyebrow, knowing his argument was solid.

She wrinkled her rnose at the very thought. "I don't know how he did it, but we're going to need an entirely new radiator."

She'd expected to see him earlier in the day. With his busy schedule, he tended to pop in for a few minutes or call before heading into the office. When 10 o'clock came and went with no contact she took the initiative on herself. Calling him a couple times no response, she was pleased to see a text message arrive from her time challenged friend.

12:42 PM

From: Oliver Q

To: Chloe S

It's later than our usual meetings, but does 7 work for you?

12:43 PM

From: Chloe S

To: Oliver Q

7 is fine. I'm supposed to meet Lois for movies at 8 though, so we'll have to do a Cliff Notes version.

12:47 PM

From: Oliver Q

To: Chloe S

Can she take a rain check? I have a few things of my own to go over.

1:12 PM

From: Chloe S

To: Oliver Q

I canceled. She doesn't know it's you, but she hates you. See you at 7.

Setting an alarm for herself in case she got distracted, Chloe pushed thoughts of Oliver's recent behavior to the wayside and dove back into another government database. The tactic worked well when she had direct Watchtower duties to perform, but the drive to the Clocktower was another matter. She prayed whatever was boggling his mind would be a small speed bump instead of a major road block. After all, didn't they have enough every day drama in their lives?

He greeted her as soon as her heel stepped off the elevator. Tie long gone, his dress sleeves were rolled up and the top buttons left undone. By the looks of things he must have had a long day at the office.

"Which do you prefer – pizza or chinese?" He held up two takeout menu choices.

"I grabbed a burger on the way over, I'm fine."

He looked at her doubtfully. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I've seen you eat. A burger isn't going to offer sufficient value and this could take a while."

She made a face at him and redirected. "What kind of coffee do you have?"

"The kind in a tin?"

"Pizza and Starbucks it is."

Nodding his acceptance of her odd request he reached for his phone while she settled in at the kitchen table, opening her laptop. Chloe was showing him the topical map she'd created, indicating the sudden spike in crime rates in select locations. They tried to find a connection between the crimes or areas, but were getting nowhere fast when the food finally arrived.

"Time for a break, Sully." He closed her laptop and set it on the counter, placating her with what he assumed had to be a complicated and time consuming coffee beverage the barista was sure to have resented making.

Dinner conversation was forced and stilted. Chloe inserted tidbits about Bart and AC to spark some interaction, but he mostly offered small guttural noises in response. Huh. Hmm. Uh uh. Mm Hm. That so? Sounds good. Okay. This was not a good sign.

Wadding up her paper napkin she tossed it on her plate and took advantage of the break to use the bathroom. She discreetly peeked in his medicine cabinet, checking for anything out of the ordinary. You could never be too sure, she always said. Pill bottles seemingly in order she padded back down the hall, finding him staring out the balcony window. Eyes on his broad expanse of back, she'd bet twenty dollars he had stress knots in there. Hearing her footsteps his gaze turned to her. There was something deeply serious, not just in his eyes, but also in the way they focused directly on her. They seemed to have a lot to say, but she could barely begin to guess their meaning. The only thing she knew for sure was that as soon as they landed on her, she could feel the winds of change already brushing against her skin.

"We need to talk," he intoned deeply. They were standing a room apart, but it still felt too close. Neither one seemed inclined to move.

"What about?" Dread and fear quickly became her ruling emotions. She watched as he ran his hand through his hair, needing something for his hands to do. Forcing his hands to his side she watched his mouth twitch. It was as if he was rolling the words around in his mouth, testing how they felt before he spoke. "I updated my will." He started with old material.

"You mentioned that yesterday."

"I changed the benefactor. Previously the majority was divvied up between several charities, save for a few exceptions."

"So who's the new recipient sure to be speeding up your demise?"

"You."

The shock froze her in place. Absolutely stunned, Chloe Sullivan was speechless. Blinking several times replaying the single word in her mind, she wondered if she'd heard correctly. "Me?"

"You."

"Oliver, you can't possibly think that I'm -"

"There's more."

She wished she carried a fan on her, because the room's heat had increased tenfold since thirty seconds ago. "I need to sit down." Collapsing on the couch she took a deep breath.

He waited for the moment to pass, until the spark of curiosity in her eyes had returned. "You know better than most what this past year has been like, for all of us. I've had some pretty big life decisions to come to terms with."

"We're still alive, so I'd call it a pretty good one."

"The past few months I've been evaluating what is most important to me in this world. What priority comes before everything else, and it was clear – the League. It's the closest thing I have to a legacy in this world; it's what I'm most proud of. It's also the most difficult to protect, logistically."

She nodded, affirming she was still on the same page as him, even though she didn't know how the chapter ended.

He tried to describe what made the league's existence even possible. "I fund everything out of my own pocket, with the exception of all the Queen Industries technology I'm able to access and dismiss as business. That's one benefit of being the CEO. But if something were to happen to me, it could all unravel quickly. Whoever is named executor of my will would undoubtedly learn of my side projects."

"Placing the League in danger," she finished, understanding.

"You're the only person I can trust Chloe, with this combination of information and responsibility."

"I don't know what to say, except... let's hope it never comes to that."

"I'm still not done." This time his eyes seemed to be bracing for the big finale. "If I name you as the benefactor, the will will be disputed, no doubt about it. Between the shareholders and the board members, me leaving my billions to a random girl from a small town with no business background is more than enough to throw them into an uproar. If nothing else they'll tie this up in probate for years. "

"If that's unavoidable, then doesn't that defeat the whole point of your plan?"

"So we make it avoidable."

"How do we do that?"

That dramatic, slightly desperate look came back over his face. "I know I sound crazy. I know this makes no sense... except that it's the only thing that makes sense. It's ridiculous and preposterous and about a hundred other psychotic adjectives..."

"You're talking in riddles again, Oliver."

"I have looked everywhere for another solution. I've barely slept in days trying to come up with something else. I don't know what else to do. The only way for me protect the League, to ensure that my estate is protected and preserved, to solidify that my business associates have no chance to get their hands on my money is..." His mouth had gone dry as sawdust and it took everything in him to force the words from his lips. "...if we get married."

She thought no bombshell could possibly top the first. She couldn't have been more wrong. Nerves igniting her body, she physically shook with overload and she began to laugh. An awkward, heaving chuckle at first, then with her head thrown back as the absurdity of it all sank in.

"Marry you?" She held her stomach, belly aching already. She lifted her eyes to him and the smile died on her lips. Her loose giggles were in stark contrast to his own behavior, so tightly controlled."You're for real, aren't you?"

He cleared his throat. "I don't see any other way. You think I don't know how this sounds?" he growled in frustration. He felt foolish enough without being her comic relief for the evening. "I had a close call a few months ago," he revealed.

"How close?" She asked, suddenly concerned, for both his physical and emotional wellbeing.

"Closer than I'd like, but it was a wake up call. All this could be gone tomorrow. I think about all the reasons I became the Green Arrow... not only would I not be here to patrol the streets, but I'd be dropping the ball on an entire community that could no longer operate."

"I get that, those fears, I really do. But even so, that's not justification for a marriage. I know people from your circle may marry for business reasons, but come on."

"What I'm asking is colossally huge and if you can't handle it, then you can walk away. I won't lay this on your shoulders."

"I don't think you understand what you're asking," she tried to reason with him. Her thoughts hadn't even progressed to the point of dealing with what his question meant for her; her worries were focused solely on what his mindset must be to have gotten to that point.

"Let me just ask you one question – if you woke up tomorrow and realized everyone you cared about was in danger and you could have prevented it – could you live with yourself?" He accurately predicted the response his grave question would create.

Her eyes teared up a little, slow dawning awareness shining in her eyes. "I don't know what to say," she whispered.

"I don't expect you to, not right now," he told her, coming to sit on the coffee table across her. "Take some time and think it over. List every reason you think we should or shouldn't do this. Bring it to me when you're ready."

Wordlessly she rose from the sofa and shuffled her way to the door, arms huddled tight across her chest, the only defense she had against onslaught of fear and confusion. "Oliver," she called out, obviously searching for something before she left. "In one sentence, tell me why I should do this."

His eyes were afflicted, fighting a battle he wasn't sure he could win. He stared her dead in the eye. "To protect the people we love."