I disclaim. It's a random little ficlet-ish thing from Chlollie married life. Originally part of this was in Bites of Life-and someone wanted the full story. Then, randomly, I decided to write it. Such is my way. I took a week-long break from reading/writing fanfics . . . so it's incredibly silly :)

Oliver Queen was quite sure that Lucy Lane needed to be punished severely. It wouldn't happen today, of course, as it was indeed her wedding day. You couldn't punish a bride on her wedding day-though a less intelligent man might have deemed marriage in and of itself a punishment.

Oliver Queen, however, was not a lesser man.

And one day he would get even.

He had started a list of mental ways to get even-including getting her husband, a businessman who worked for a Queen Industries affiliate, transferred to Alaska. Or maybe Greenland. Somewhere, he decided, that she'd hate. Lucy, Oliver knew, was not fond of the cold. This knowledge, along with that train of thought, made him almost gleeful. Revenge-he thought in a rather silly way that made him wonder briefly if he were suffering from heatstroke-was a dish best-served cold. But you could plan it while you were hot.

All puns aside, he would have his revenge, eventually.

As for why he felt the need to wreak vengeance upon his wife's cousin, well, he had his reasons.

You see, his pregnant wife was nine months pregnant. And five days. Five days overdue, and you'd think she had been pregnant for years. If it were up to Oliver, they wouldn't be at the reception anyway. Chloe was so very large . . . and it made her husband rather nervous to see her waddling-gliding around.

Lucy should have had better sense. She shouldn't have scheduled herself a June wedding mere days after her cousin's due date. Sure, they weren't close, but this was cruel and unusual torture.

And really, June? Not only was it annoyingly clichéd and unnecessary-but it was hot. The women were wearing long and bulky dresses-the bridesmaids, that is, because Lucy Lane had not gotten the fashion sense in the family, and apparently Lois' influence had sadly not rubbed off on her flighty sister.

Whenever Lois decided to rant about the flightiness or immaturity of her younger sister, everyone around her was careful to merely agree, and nod their heads-attempting to avoid being conspicuous-because if Lois were mature and levelheaded, the world would end. But that was besides the point. The point was, of course, that all of the men and women present were in uncomfortable clothes in the heat of late June.

It was hot.

It was awful.

And Chloe was in a completely bitchy mood. "Don't you just hate brides that dress their bridesmaids in hideous clothing just so that they look nicer? I mean, those dresses are god-awful. And, to be honest, nothing can save the bridal dress. Feathers, Ollie. Feathers. And some ridiculous bows and lace that kind of make me want to throw up. You know I've had an aversion to chicken lately, right?"

Chloe was also rambling. So today was not a good day.

"I'm sure that if she knew about your dislike of chicken she would have chosen a different design." Yeah . . . no, she wouldn't have. Oliver avoiding mentioning that the feathers were in fact not chicken feathers. Such a comment would be irrelevant, and probably end in Oliver begging Chloe for mercy. She was much better at planning revenge schemes than he was. Which, quite frankly, terrified him. And made him strangely proud.

"Don't do that Ollie. Don't try to appease me by telling me what you think I want to hear." She said it harshly, but she smiled anyway.

Today was an odd sort of day.

However, in some circles, it's superstitiously acknowledged that any day that begins horribly has the potential to end well.

Chloe would have called it a damned lie if she'd been told such a thing. She wasn't, of course, because calling it a lie was probably the least of the things she could do.

As she stood, waiting for her cousin and her new husband-who Chloe decided looked like a rutabaga-to cut the cake, she felt a tug at her dress. She looked down.

The four-year-old flower girl just stared at her, until she decided to point and suggest that Chloe had peed on herself.

For a brief moment, Chloe thought that she had, indeed. Alas, the baby had chosen the worst possible time to come-as is the general case with babies.

"Oliver?"

"Yes?"

"Grab some cake for later."

"Oh, are you full? I'll see if I can round up a way to save the cake."

Chloe just looked at him. "No, Oliver. That's not the problem. Get the damn cake."

Oliver cluelessly stared at her until it finally occurred to him. "Oh."

"Yes, oh."

"We need to go. We need to-oh, crap." He started sweating even more so than he already had been. He had a wide-eyed look about him, like he'd completely lost all ability to think clearly.

"Oliver, calm down."

"My wife is about to have a baby, what do you expect me to do?"

"Oliver," Chloe said patiently, "I've been about to have a baby for nine months and five days. Just get me some of that cake. I'm never going to get any otherwise."

He looked as if he were about to argue with her, but a firm look from her stopped him. "Okay."

"While you're at it, grab some of that pie. It's key lime. I love key lime pie."

A look crossed her face-of somewhat pain mixed with anticipation.

She really couldn't wait to eat that cake. And the pie.

Yum.

She moaned in pain. "Oliver, now."

So very silly, right? :)