Title: My Undefined
Author: aquaxeyes
Rating: T for sensual scenes
Full Description: Chloe didn't know what was happening between her and Oliver, but when someone from the past resurfaces, she starts to realize how much he really means to her.

Author's Notes: This fic is a kind of supplemental off-screen story that pieces Chlollie bits (between episodes) on the show together. I was inspired by the 9x16 "Escape" clip newly released on YT.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story.

Prologue.

Chloe curled up into a ball and rested her head against her knees, wishing she could feel her fingers and toes. More importantly, she wished she could feel calm in the knowledge that someone was coming for her. But she knew better. She was alone in a dark, cold basement without windows in neigh but a faded t-shirt and some sweatpants.

Nothing like not knowing where you were to get you up in the morning.. if it was morning. She had no idea. All she remembered was coming to against the cold concrete she was sitting on, light barely present enough to help her discern that aside from her, the room was empty. Devoid of all life.

When she realized that, she started to panic. She'd always hated confined spaces, and though a room wasn't exactly a coffin or a morgue slot her climbing anxiety was rooted in the fact that she was trapped, just in a bigger cage. She screamed, pounded on the door, shouted for help, for Oliver and even Clark, but no one came.

Then she sat there for what felt like an hour, until she calmed down and regain her senses. Eventually, she was able to get up, investigate the room. There wasn't much; concrete floor and walls and a solid door. Nothing to sit on, no electrical outlets. It was strange, like she'd been thrown into a black hole and the only way out was to wait the situation out.

She didn't have a clue as to what was going on, so she tried to be patient and sat back down on the ground. Maybe someone would come find her. Maybe whoever put her there would come back. She could occupy her time by counting the seconds.

Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. One. Two. Three..

She sat and sat, slowly feeling her hands and feet go numb. It was like the floor was siphoning her body heat and replacing it with ice. The prickles dancing on her feet had gotten so sharp she lost count after six thousand four hundred and twenty-four seconds.

She choked back a sob. She lost her hold on reality. No longer was there sense of time, simply her failing attempt to maintain sane thoughts. Somewhere between rationality and despair she came to a stark realization.

She was going to die. Who knew if anyone would find her body?

Stiffly, she wiped the tears from her eyes and spread them across her cheeks, enjoying the momentary warmth on her face. It felt like a kiss grazing her cheeks. She smiled. For some reason, the feeling reminded her of Oliver.

Instead of dismissing the train of thought, she followed it, painting the memory in her head. The effort helped her compartmentalize the affects of the cold. She let the memory envelop her and soon all she could see was a target with green arrows, practically feel a bow in her arms and a hard body aligned with hers..

The beginning.

A few months ago ( A/N: Chloe's POV was a prologue thing. Starting now, it's a POV free-for-all. )

Chloe let out a breath she didn't know she was holding as her mind processed that she hit a bullseye. Never had she accomplished anything like honing in on her archery skills. Her life had been journalism, hiding and protecting Clark's secret, computers, and playing Watchtower. For the second time in the past twenty-four hours she tried something new and was thrilled by it.

Or maybe her mind was misdirecting this newfound exhilaration. Maybe it had more to do with the fact that Oliver hadn't let go of her arm and was slowly sliding his hand over her skin to take the bow out of her hands in a way that made her nerves skittish.

The moment was silent but charged. Frozen in place, she didn't want to break the thin ice they were treading on. Yes, their verbal dance-with a bit of alcoholic influence-had primed them for this fight-or-flight moment, but her brain was still trying to tell her to feign ignorance. It was an attempt to fool herself so she could fool him. "Think that was beginner's luck?" she asked, barely recognizing her own voice.

Okay, fail. She could tell by his deliberate silence she hadn't been able to fool either of them.

"No," he said, taking a strand of her hair in his fingers. "You're a natural."

She felt the move down to her bones. "What are you doing?" she asked, breathless.

"Practicing an art that's like breathing to me." He brushed her hair away from her neck. "If you get a clear shot, take it."

Her skin broke out in goosebumps. "Oliver," she said, closing her eyes as his lips touched the crook of her neck. No. This was crazy! She'd only meant to flirt with the idea of flirting with him, but to actually feel this way.. She had to stop this. She turned around. "We shou-"

Before she could get the warning out, his mouth was covering hers, obliterating all thoughts of protest. She was swept away. The last person who had kissed her this passionately-in an urgent, end-of-the-world kind of way-was Clark, and it was so long ago that she'd forgotten what it felt like. To kiss someone who wanted to kiss her just as badly. To be held in strong arms, a warmth that was sweet and sensual. It was a taste of something she hadn't known she'd been hungering for.

She couldn't help that she wanted more.

He figured she was going to try to fight, pull away. But when she caved in, it was like nothing he ever anticipated. He almost didn't want to admit it, but she was giving as well as she got, to the point where he was wondering who was trying to seduce who. He placed his hands on her hips and brought her even closer, until they were pressed against each other, and it was all he could do not to make a single sound. One word ran through his head.

Couch.

Still holding on to her, he backpedaled, not really knowing which way he was going, only that she was fanning this deep fire within him. They didn't stop until the back of his legs hit something. Startled, they parted long enough to see he'd bumped into a desk. He looked back at her, eyes asking her "Now what?"

She ran her fingers under his black t-shirt and together they took it off. His skin was scorching, untouched. Her eyes never left his and soon their lips met again. Her hands ran up and down his bare back and he groaned, spinning them around so that she was backed up against the desk.

The rational, Chloe part of his conscious quickfired in response. Was this right? He was sure they were about to reach the point of no return. Him. And Chloe.

She pulled away, again staring into his eyes. Without breaking contact she took off her shirt. He took the sight of her in, mesmerized by how beautiful she looked under the dimmed lights.

She arched a brow, her eyes asking "What now?"

He looked at her and grinned. He was willing to bet they wouldn't be able to keep the nonverbals up for very long.

Oliver felt the warmth of colorful light kiss the lids of his eyes right before he opened them. He'd had the most interesting dream. A night involving his bow and arrows, a single malt, and a beautiful woman. Every man's dream, minus the bow and arrow bit. Recalling the woman, however, was what spiced it up. In the past Oliver had his fair share of two-second fantasies involving Chloe Sullivan, but never had he actually done what he dreamt he'd done last night. Just thinking about it brought a small smile to his face.

He rubbed his eyes, and they finally adjusted to his surroundings. Stained glass. Modern furniture. Computer screens. He looked down and realized that, although he was covered by a blanket, he was covered only by a blanket. He sat up.

Oh. My. God.

As the realization begun to sink in, a mug appeared to his left. Attached was a silent, pensive Chloe.

He took the mug, aware that she was trying to avoid touching him, and watched her take a seat on the couch across from him. She was wearing what she wore last night, reminding him of how every article of clothing had been stripped off and-

He took a sip of the mug's contents, barely noticing how strong the coffee actually was or how the liquid burned his throat on the way down. He was undressing Chloe with his eyes, which was a serious no-no, especially since he'd caught on to her solemn mood.

Chloe didn't know what to say. After what they had done, what were their first words to each other post-one night stand supposed to be? She stared down at her hands, interlaced in her lap. How was any of this supposed to go?

There were tons of questions running through her busy mind, but surprisingly she felt quite calm. And that's when she grimaced. She slept with Oliver Queen. She should be anything but calm.

Oliver stared at her, knowing there was much more going on in her head than what she was showing. He hoped that maybe she was just as confused about where to start as he was. He decided to proceed with caution. "Last night.. happened."

She nodded. "We had sex," she said, almost disdainfully.

He raised a brow at the statement. How she could sit there, wide-eyed and typical Chloe, and say something so audacious.. it was new. He shrugged. All of this was new. He looked at her stiff expression and said, "Uh, yeah. I was there."

She ignored the attempt at humor. It was definitely her guilty conscience telling her not to find any of this funny. "It shouldn't have happened," she said, using the logical part of her brain that was recalling the facts. "Not only am I cousin to your ex-flame, but we work together."

"Notice, Lois is my ex who is dating our friend Clark, and our line of work doesn't have an employee handbook." As in, work and past relationships were not valid reasons why they shouldn't have slept together.

She shook her head. He confirmed what she feared. He didn't realize she broke a rule; never sleep with a friend, never cross that line no matter how thin it may be. "You're one of my good friends," she said, "and I took advantage of you."

"Okay, I don't know where you got that insane idea from, but you didn't take advantage of me." He didn't know if he should feel confused or offended. He was probably both. Now that he was fully awake he remembered what happened clearly, remembered her reacting to him as much as he reacted to her. There was no "taking advantage" of anyone.

"You're not just saying that so I'll feel less guilty?" she asked.

"No. Look, would it make you feel better if we Dawson's Creek this thing to death?"

She tried to smile. He was doing his best to keep her from overreacting. "I only wanted to make sure this temporary lapse of better judgment didn't interfere with our working relationship." She didn't know why she didn't add "and our friendship", but he didn't seem to notice, too focused on the first part of what she said.

"Temporary lapse.. Chloe," he said, furrowing his brow, "you really didn't see this coming?"

She blinked. "I'm not sure I'm following."

He deadpanned her, but her expression told him she really needed him to explain. "Friends for years, partners seeking justice, but these past few months we've been working closely together.." So much for not getting all Dawson's Creek.

He couldn't understand how she missed the telltale signs. Their quick-witted conversations moving into personal territory. Having a morning coffee run routine. Him moving his extra gear into Watchtower. They talked-or texted-every day, and he was almost positive she set him on speed dial one. Sure, he'd missed them at first, but when he considered how natural it was to be with her mere hours ago he knew it wasn't a random hookup.

She didn't want to see where he was leading to. It meant that something had changed. Selfish as it sounded, she didn't want anything between them to change. Despite their understated highs and lows, he was last remaining constant in her life. She'd already lost so much; she didn't want to give that up, too. "Do you think we could find a way to put this behind us?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "Are you asking me to forget last night?"

She bit down the part of herself that wanted to deny it adamantly and comfort him. She wanted what happened between them last night just as much as she thought he did. But last night was about comfort, about wanting things that weren't conducive to reality. In the morning light, she had to face the truth; she and Oliver Queen had a one night stand. That was it.

"Let's just chalk it up to a hazy night of drinking and bad choices," she said then added, "On both our parts."

( Worth continuing? )