Normal people didn't just go around kissing their colleagues. Or, if they did, they stuck around until their colleagues processed the sudden change in the dynamic. They didn't just breeze out without a care in the world.

They didn't sit across from you at dinner a couple of hours later—while you were freaking out a little at how random it was—and have the utter gall to look like they were having an awesome time while you were talking plumbing with a middle aged contractor and former sidekick with the worst code name ever.

Chloe decided it was because it didn't mean anything. If she was wrong, it wasn't going to mean anything because Oliver said that it was her move, and her move was to pretend that it did not happen.


In the meantime, it wasn't like she was sitting on her hands. She started every day with new Kandorians in need of IDs, references, enough of a narrative history to blend in. Then there were little problems that Clark dropped on her to solve. Apartments, bank accounts, credit, medical—the support systems she built for her clients at Isis were for Isis, and she did not want the Foundation's clients and the Kandorians to run into each other, so she had to work around that as well.

Pat Whitmore, Courtney's stepfather, came by to check out her plumbing and to start working on an estimate.

Victor was taking her basic design for Watchtower and adding capacity, redundancy, and security. The entire floor had to be re-wired. At the end of most days she was too tired to sleep. Her brain just kept churning through the next thing on her ever-expanding to-do list.

She missed two appointments with the HR specialist assigned to work with her on Jimmy's death benefits. This was stupid and crazy since she had an immediate and pressing need for that money since she was trying to buy or steal as much refined meteor rock as she could find. Between procuring forged documents and buying meteor rock, she was running all over the tri-county area with a lot of cash. She used Bart to courier for her forged documents whenever it was practical. Since these were cash transactions, she had to get Oliver to authorize the transactions, send Bart in to pick up the cash and make the exchange, and then get Clark to pick up the documents and get them to the Kandorians after she added her finishing touches on the ID's, registering the tracking microchips she had placed in each ID.

It didn't really explain why she was still thinking about it a week later when she met Jonn and Victor for dinner on Wednesday night. They were debating ordering desert when Oliver arrived.

When her heart tripped at the sound of his voice behind her head, she put it down to guilt. With the payout on Jimmy's insurance policy delayed, she took advantage of her access to the Isis Foundation's investment account, tapping the reserve line for nearly a hundred thousand dollars. Then worked on coding an exploit that would take advantage of the backdoor she created on QI's server. Research and coding consumed the better part of a full day to find a weak point to attack and then write the code that would drag a false trail through servers all over the world.

She had a meeting set up to expedite the paperwork for Jimmy's life insurance, and she consoled herself with the idea that she would replace the funds from Isis within the week. Probably.

With a long drive home ahead of her, she left as early as she could manage. The next morning, she was working at her console when the first part of her new security upgrade pinged to let her know that Oliver was on his way up.

"Lu-cy? I'm home," Oliver called out, doing a cheesy, but credible imitation of Ricky Ricardo as he breezed into Watchtower like a six-four breath of fresh, hot life.

Chloe looked away from her monitors, taking it all in. There was a lot to take in. The legs on that guy were ridiculous. In jeans, he looked spectacularly wholesome, healthy, and pleased with life. The burst of irritation that came with the interruption took a hard hit when he placed a cup of coffee in front of her.

"You're in a good mood," she noted as her own mood improved. He looked sunburnt, but he was just back from Florida, reconnecting with AC, so that wasn't too surprising.

"I am," he agreed. "What did I miss around here?"

Her mood elevator dropped a floor. "The usual," she said, bringing her coffee delivery to her nose, breathing in the scent. She took a sip. "Raspberry mocha?"

He was watching her with a smile. "It was the drink of the day."

"Good choice," she took another sip.

"Clark's panties are in a bunch?" he surmised, taking off his jacket and putting it over the back of one of her chairs. "Update me on our Kandorian friends," he invited. "They are out in the world, making friends, getting jobs, finding crappy apartments in bad neighborhoods, having the usual alien immigrant meets world problems," he snapped his fingers. "That one!" he said, grinning when he made her laugh with him.

She gave him a helpless shrug. "You do know that I don't have any direct contact with them?"

He huffed out a sigh. "Yeah, and Clark's on Santa's list for a sense of humor," he confided, resting his hands on the edge of her workstation. It was cluttered with a lot of stuff including her ubiquitous coffee cup, an evenly spaced line of hot pink post it notes with her handwriting forming a to-do list in a column next to her mouse, her phone, and a decorating catalog with pages marked with post it notes.

Interesting clutter, he decided.

He spent two days in Florida, going out with AC on a boat to dive in the morning. They spent the rest of their time at a bar on the beach, which for Oliver, should have been like sending a glutton on a diet to a buffet with all of his attractively packaged favorite vices on hand.

His new-found appreciation of sobriety and Chloe Sullivan prevailed. Either that, or he was even less in a hurry to get back out there than he thought he was.

"What's this?" he asked, reaching for the catalog, waiting for her nod before he picked it up and started thumbing through it. "If you are thinking about decorating this place," he gave her a look, "pink filing cabinets to brighten up the place are a big no," he told her.

She rolled her eyes. "They were ugly grey filing cabinets, they came with the space, and Lana and I spent hours taping them off and painting them."

"That explains a lot," he said. "She was post-Lex and you were enabling," he nodded to himself as he flipped pages. "Hm," he grunted. "What's this for?"

"There is a room upstairs with a box spring and mattress between a pair of milk crate end tables," Chloe pointed out. "I sleep here sometimes. I was thinking about making it more comfortable."

His eyebrows rose. "More comfortable, huh?" he started checking her tabbed pages. "You know I have a perfectly good guest room less than ten minutes away from here. "I'm neat—not freakishly so, but reasonably tidy. I have a cleaning service," he dangled the offer.

She tilted her head to one side.

"Hey," he said softly. "I'm being serious," he pointed at his face. "See?" He looked like he was experiencing the pangs of rejection again. It was a look she had seen on his face in his most recent post-Lois drama.

"Vordigen and Frosty's kid broke in here, Chloe. Not so long ago you were sleeping with a gun under your pillow. Come stay with me for a while. If you hate it, you can move back in here after we've done some modifications to improve security," he said with a hint of anxiety. "Don't you get lonely? I get lonely."

She figured that there was a punch line coming, but he simply held her gaze until she looked away, feeling oddly exposed for someone who hadn't said anything personal.

"In the meantime . . ." he let her know that he was backing off, "it's an open invitation if you need a place to crash and you don't want to drive to Smallville. At least until we get this place locked down like Fort Knox. What kind of progress are you and Victor making on that?"

She nodded, back on track with business, and walked over to the tabletop touchscreen unit to pull up blueprints of Watchtower. Her hands flew over the screen, calling up specifications and cost estimates. She video conferenced Victor in on the discussion.

Courtney's stepfather had contacted her with an estimate, so that was another problem that would soon be resolved.

Oliver signed off on their plans, and went to work.


A few days later, she was at Luthor Plaza to meet with the HR specialist working on Jimmy's death benefits. The meeting concluded at noon. Chloe composed a text to Oliver to tell him that she was in the building. She sent it and quickly followed with: Lunch?

When he didn't respond by the time the elevator arrived, she slipped her phone into her pocket feeling a little disappointed. She was returning her visitor's badge at the security desk when the greeter answered the phone. Her eyes flicked over to Chloe and she raised one finger.

"Yes, sir. She is here, now," she said, and then shifted the receiver away from her mouth to tell Chloe, "Ms. Sullivan? Your party will meet you here to leave for lunch," she said.

Chloe walked over to lean against the back of an oversized couch while she checked her messages and email. Victor was working on streamlining Watchtower's indexing and data compression, and the code wasn't entirely de-bugged, so it generated automated error messages to her mixed in with her usual alerts.

She was listening to a message from Lois when Oliver rounded the corner from the express elevator. It gave her an excuse to be occupied enough to be watching him without giving away that she was watching him. He carried off a business suit and tie and managed to look effortlessly polished. She cut off the recording of Lois grumbling about a ridiculous assignment, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

She was wearing a pair of black trousers, heels, and a print blouse with a soft, shawl collared three-quarter sleeve sweater topped with a thin black belt, and found she enjoyed his appreciative appraisal as she pushed off the back of the couch.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," she said before he could say hello. "I was in your neighborhood, so I thought I'd take you out to lunch."

"I'm glad you did," he said. "Where are we going?"

"There is a new place around the corner that I wanted try."

He fell into step beside her. "Were you here to meet with HR?"

"Yes. Thanks for setting that in motion."

The new place she wanted to try was crowded so they ended up finding a food truck selling wraps and eating on a park bench. Chloe's hands were cold and the horseradish in her wrap had her nose running freely before her wrap started dripping through the paper. Oliver disposed of it for her and surrendered the napkins he had grabbed for the cleanup.

"Wow! What a great lunch, Chloe," she mocked herself.

Oliver had ordered a spinach and bacon wrap. "It was good," he said, stretching his legs. He looked pleased in general. He ran his hand over her arm, squeezing it lightly. "You need to get out of the wind?" he asked.

She blew her nose. He chuckled softly, rubbing the soft angora of her sweater between his fingers. "Your cheeks and your nose are red," he told her.

Great. Despite her bewilderment at why he had kissed her, this wasn't the greatest time to discover that she had been enjoying the ego boost.

Sure, maybe it sprang from some crazy idea that she was interested in Carter, and it wasn't the first time Clark or Oliver had expressed some kind of possessive prior claim on her time and attention, but he kissed her and it seemed like more than just a spur of the moment thing. That was flattering.

His hand slid under her shawl collar, rubbing her shoulder

"May I ask you something?"

He tilted his head, biting his lower lip while he waited for the question with a knowing look on his face.

She kind of wanted to smack him for that, and considered dropping the question.

"Are you going to ask me why I kissed you?" he asked.

"Sort of," she hedged. "Yeah, I—why? And, then no, because I get it. You've been through something that was very isolating, and who else would understand that? So . . . me, Dinah . . . I get that, but why?"

He looked amused. "It's not that complicated. The bottom line is I kissed you because I really wanted to. Still do," he added, "In case you were wondering."

She had no idea what her face was doing, but it made him rub her shoulders. "You are my first and last call, no matter what kind of day I'm having. Making you uncomfortable is literally painful to me."

For a heart stopping moment, when their eyes met, she thought he was going to kiss her again.

He broke off first, checking his phone. "I've got a meeting in fifteen minutes," he said, looking tempted to ignore the message.

Torn between disappointment and relief, Chloe rose, nodding. "I need to get back to work, too." There was a garbage can a few feet away. She threw away a wad of napkins and tissues while Oliver flagged down a cab.

He shrugged off her disapproval. "Normally, knowing that this is the only exercise that you get, I'd applaud your determination to walk eight city blocks in heels," he pointed out as he opened the door for her.

He gave the driver her address and a twenty to cover the fare.

"Hey?" Oliver tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, smiling when it immediately sprang free. "I've seen you deflect like you are made of Teflon, so I'm getting mixed signals here. Just saying. No is a word that I understand and respect. Until I actually hear it, I'm operating under proceed with caution."

Before she could say anything, the door was shutting and the cab was peeling away from the curb. Chloe stared blindly ahead until a break in the row of buildings abutting the street shot a shaft of sunlight glaring into her face. She went back to her purse for sunglasses and another tissue.

The cabbie was an older guy. He looked amused, glancing back at her. "You're Teflon?"

She huffed at that. "Crazy, huh?"

"So . . . you aren't Teflon?"

"I find it difficult not to develop a crush on anyone with the good taste to like me," she said. It was supposed to sound sarcastic, but it was a little too on the nose.


The next day, she bailed out of Watchtower before Oliver showed up for his scheduled patrol. She was having a bad day. Her morning was full of error alerts from the database. Victor had to put debugging code on hold to meet with their suppliers. The HR specialist she was working with told her that the insurance company hadn't answered her calls.

A little after two in the afternoon, at a tech conference in Colorado Springs, a software engineer identified a weakness in a widely used server software package, announcing that the company was simultaneously pushing out a patch. Since her exploit depended on that weakness, Chloe had to deploy her exploit or lose her window of opportunity.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed Oliver. His voice mail picked up, and she ended the call without leaving a message. She'd have the money to replace what she was taking in a week or two.

With two clicks of her mouse, she launched her exploit.

Standing in the Civic Center, looking for Lois, her cell phone vibrated in her hand.

It was a text from Oliver asking for her location.

She dialed his number, holding the phone to her ear.

"What's up?" she asked when he picked up the call.

"I'm getting ready to go do my thing. Where are you?"

"Meeting Lois for coffee," she said. "She's covering a comic book convention at the Civic Center. It's Lois, so she's probably in costume."

Oliver chuckled in her ear, "Fun. I've got this. If you get pinged on anything, send it to my cell."

She blinked a couple of times. "Are you sure?"

"I used to do this routinely without you in my ear. I think I can handle it," he teased back. "I'm out here if you need anything."

"Good to know," she said, feeling some of her tension ease. "Ollie?" There was a blast of electronic noise from a toy ray gun near her ear, and she winced.

" . . . have . . ."

"What?"

"Nothing," he said. "Find Lois. Have fun."

Right—like she had fun having fun anymore, Chloe thought as she rolled her eyes.


After her little trip down the rabbit hole with the twelve-year-old boy who became the unwitting victim of the curse John Zatara placed on a Warrior Angel comic book, Chloe decided that sleeping in was in order. She was still in her pajamas when Clark arrived with a sheepish Alec.

They ended up having a late breakfast at a restaurant off the highway. Watching Clark connect with a child tugged at the origin of her feelings for him. When Lois told her that The Blur confided in her, she felt a stab of something that she didn't want to examine for fear that it was jealousy. The unpacked baggage of her unrequited feelings for Clark got in the way of a more obvious truth.

She missed her best friend. Clark had started pulling away when she was planning her wedding to Jimmy. She had understood what he was doing and even agreed that it was necessary. They had learned from Clark's relationship with Lana that they relied on each other for things that made Clark's relationship with Lana complicated at times. Clark understood that asking her to keep things from Jimmy would be a source of conflict, and he had been ready to let go of that without her asking.

Deep down, Chloe thought it was a period of adjustment to accommodate Jimmy.

They were never going back to being Clark and Chloe. It was good that Clark internalized aspects of their friendship. Confiding in Lois, making Lois a partner and collaborator, even if it was in a roundabout way, was the necessary thing that had been missing in his relationship with Lana. Clark needed to involve Lois in every part of his life.

And that was the way it should be, she thought as she smiled at the mock serious debate that Clark and Alec were having about pancakes versus waffles.

She worried that he was going to succeed and disconnect from humanity as he claimed when he told her that he was going to finish his training with Jor-El. But, the Clark who forgave Oliver and welcomed him back, and the Clark who was falling in love with Lois and finding ways to share every part of his life with her, and the Clark who was available to a boy who needed him, was the Clark Chloe loved.

Maybe, she didn't need to worry about him anymore.

And, maybe the person in their friendship who was becoming hard to recognize was her.

After they finished breakfast and parted company in the parking lot, Chloe got in her car and drove back to The Talon. She had been beating herself up about being . . . Chloe Sullivan.

Girl most likely to fall for clueless, carefree superhero? Been there, done that with about the same mismatch of emotional maturity from both parties. Cringing inside at how eager she had been to share her perspective on the care and maintenance of the superhero from the Watchtower. She had woken up ready to find a park bench where she could go to share her hard won 'expertise' and bask in man-child admiration.

Bewildered because she used to understand the difference between wanting attention and admiration and demanding respect through her actions, she had woken up feeling lost.

What was holding her back with Oliver? Why had she spent nearly two weeks thinking about something that she told herself she couldn't have? He was available, interested, he knew how demanding her life was, and she liked him.

What had Oliver said when they had lunch together? She knew how to deflect. If she didn't want his attention, all she had to do was tell him.

There were several excellent reasons to do that, and none of them seemed to apply. They weren't colleagues. Oliver paid her salary, but he really wasn't her boss. They served the common good as their gifts dictated and their consciences directed, and believing that, she found it reassuringly hard to imagine what could interfere with that.

Weighed against all the things they had overcome, what could come between them and the mission? For as long as she could remember, she had always known exactly how she wanted to express what she felt called to do. Being a reporter wasn't about a by-line and being heard. It was about finding answers, exposing injustice, challenging people to do better and be better. Sometimes it was about showing people how others were making a difference, or getting useful information to people to equip them to make important decisions.

She discovered that she liked to collaborate. A good paper encompassed the perspective of many people. One of the things she loved about her work with the Isis Foundation was finding how new people created opportunities to expand services and outreach.

She still felt lost, but she could feel lost without feeling as if her heart was going to explode if she didn't have something to do. She could direct a group of super-heros, and she would figure this out. The answers weren't going to be easily found, but she had friends and meaningful work, and time.

She spent a good part of her afternoon with her phone turned off, writing. When her eyes grew heavy, she took a nap, waking to find a message on her phone from Oliver.

Talked to Clark. I'm playing Watchtower tonight. You know where to find me if you need anything.


It was dark when she made it to the Watchtower after putting some face time in at an Isis fundraiser.

Every time she left the Watchtower, she had a moment when she returned where she had to gather herself. When she felt like she was walking through the quicksand of the disastrous miscalculations and failures that led to being found by Emil and Oliver with two dead men, sitting in a pool of Jimmy's blood in a state of nearly catatonic denial. Every time. There was a part of her that wanted to just skip to the end to find that it made a difference.

Like every other time, she took the next step past that moment with only the slightest hitch in her step, and into the present, throwing open the door because she couldn't skip to the end, and showing up was the first step in making a difference.

She wasn't able to contain her flinch at the sound of an arrow hitting the target.

It was Oliver, casual in blue jeans and a t-shirt, holding one of his high-tech compound bows.

"Slow night?" she guessed, un-pausing. The chandelier was dimmed and most of her monitors were dark.

"I figured I'd take in some target practice," he tilted his head back a little, "And a single malt."

Was drinking alone supposed to be a warning sign? In Oliver's case, drinking in a club was probably more dangerous. He was as much at loose ends as she was, but he was trying. Taking Mia under his wing, attempting to reconnect with Lois, giving way graciously to Clark when that didn't pan out for him, and resuming his unofficial role as first string on patrol.

She smiled at him. "Did you bring enough for the rest of the class?" she asked as she walked past him.

"Help yourself, professor."

Her smile became wry. The bottle was on a console table, and she picked it up with a spare glass before walking over to the couch. She looked up as she sat on the couch to find him watching her.

"Running a little light on allegory tonight. Bumpy day?"

"Not the smoothest," she admitted. She wondered what he knew about her latest misadventure. Not for the first time, she wondered why he trusted her to run things for their as yet unnamed group. If she was a better person, she would have explained why he shouldn't.

She poured herself a drink. "Someone asked me when the last time I had a good time was," she braced herself for the bite of the alcohol. "I didn't have an answer."

"I don't think anyone can fault you for being on edge, Chloe."

"If anyone can relate, it's me," he looked over his shoulder and their eyes met. Held by the sudden intensity of his gaze, she marveled that they were here with a lot less baggage and a lot more goodwill than ever seemed possible to her. Last year, they had run the gamut, and yet, it wasn't lost on her that no matter how disappointed, angry, or betrayed Oliver felt, his first impulse was usually to try to help her, even when he didn't agree with her.

"Yeah," she expelled a small, tension-relieving laugh. "You can." She felt the muscles in her face relax.

She gave him a small nod and toasted him silently after he turned back to the target, lining up his shot.

"You know," he sounded like he was concentrating on the shot, though it wasn't complicated, "sometimes you got to take your fun where you can get it."

He let the arrow fly. Her fingers tightened on the glass in her hand, but she didn't flinch, and her heart rate stayed the same. It was a sound that usually meant that the cavalry had arrived—at least until Vortigen, and she was glad that despite being startled at the door, it didn't bother her.

"And sometimes," Oliver turned to look at her again, and she realized belatedly, that he was trying to tell her something, "it's right in front of your face."

She tilted her head, wondering if he had any idea that she was already on the same page.

'Now you've really done it,' the voice in his head was mostly exasperated, faintly disapproving, and richly sardonic. It was the voice he actively refrained from using when he was talking to his employees or to service people who were in no position to tell him to fuck off.

Closing his eyes as his fingers carded Chloe's softly curling hair, Oliver swallowed the sound of she made—it wasn't anything, he told himself, willing himself not to start working out how to get horizontal in five moves or less. When he was showing her how to shoot an arrow, he was painfully aware of how fragile the moment was, hyper-conscious of how she looked and felt, and how good she smelled. He had a million questions rolling around in his head. Where had she been for the last day? That was quickly followed by why had she dressed in a skirt and blouse tonight. This was not her usual casual jeans and cute top. He almost wanted her to put him out of his misery and treat him to a kind but firm 'no way'. And why, why, why had he handcuffed himself to wait for her to make a move by telling her that the next move was hers?

Sure, it worked out great when she spun around and he realized that Chloe was going for it—though he almost spoiled it because he had this crazy impulse to laugh at her when she was looking up at him like kissing him was her prize for hitting the target.

And then she went up on her toes, pulling him down to her, looking into his eyes like she was dazzled by the reflected radiance of her smile. It faded just the tiniest bit right before her eyelashes swept down and their lips met.

It was ridiculous. She tasted like milky coffee, burnt sugar, and his scotch and she smelled like something he wanted to take up residence in his nose forever, and if he thought kissing her was something he wanted to do again, he discovered that when she was all in, it was something he wanted to do all the time.

Then she touched his face, and his hands were on autopilot, taking her up into his arms, against his body, while their lips parted and came together again.

'Ridiculous' the voice in his head jeered.

He ignored that stupid voice. Where was the voice when he was wallowing in guilt, drowning in booze, and burning a perfectly good hoodie? That voice was a piss useless fucker that needed to go sit in a corner and contemplate the end of being single.

Her hand on his face did something to him. Her fingers were cool and soft, and familiar. She was always touching him, except not like this. Her fingers were on his face, stroking his skin, moving down to his neck while she kissed him back, and it felt so good. Better than it should have. Possibly he was developing a fetish. He was already feverishly imagining her cool, sensitive hands all over him.

She ducked her head a little when their lips parted and tilted her head obligingly when he reached her neck. Her hands slipped down to his upper arms, and her breath gusted against his cheek as his hand found her ass. A heartfelt groan escaped him. Her ass had played a feature role in some of his fantasies lately.

"Oliver," she breathed his name, pulling back a little before she turned her head to kiss him, catching the corner of his mouth.

His eyes opened before hers, catching the contrast of her skin against the bronze green of her blouse, the sparkle of an earring nearly lost in her hair as she tilted her head back again. When her eyes opened, he smiled, because she looked like someone faced with buying something they didn't want to pay for later.

It was probably not a good time to tell her that he wasn't sure that he could keep himself together for another moment if he couldn't have her. Except, he could. He would, because it wasn't just about what he needed. And if she needed his restraint, he was going to give it to her. But, not just yet. She was still, pliantly, in his arms. Uncertain, maybe, given the tentative way her fingertips were stroking the back of his neck.

He had to sell this. His hands caressed her, registering cool satin over warm skin. She was pressed up against him, and there was no hiding how turned on he was.

"So . . ." he pursed his lips. "It's early, and," his eyebrows rose as he looked down into her eyes. "I think there's potential for fun," he said.

She looked deliciously rumpled, and flushed, and from the smile she couldn't quite suppress, he thought he had a shot.

"Ollie," his shortened name fell from her lips. "I . . . yeah. I'd like that."

His throat got a little tight. He kissed her to cover for his sudden inability to speak, cradling her beautiful face in his hands. He had been running from this for weeks. Flirting with Dinah. Taking a Hail Mary pass at Lois, which had gone exactly how he thought it would. Filling every available hour with activity while he searched for purpose.

"Let's go," he said.

"Where?"

He knew where he wanted to go. He untangled one of her dangling earrings from a curl and got distracted by the velvety soft edge of her earlobe. The way that she moved her head hinted that her neck was sensitive.

Conversation was overrated, he decided, when her lips brushed his again and she nibbled on his lower lip until the only thing that would feel right was to kiss her back.

"You are really good at that," he said, impressed.

She grinned back at him, preening a little. "I've got moves, Ollie."

She tilted her head, eyebrows rising in question. "Couch?" she suggested.

"Depends on what you've got in mind," he countered. They had spent a lot of time on that couch. Talking. Eating. Hanging out. He didn't want to get sidetracked into a comfortable round of what they normally did. The couch was a trap.

He had turned off the monitors for a reason. The longer they stayed here, the more likely it was that something would happen that would distract her.

She eased back, a frown forming. "Okay . . ." she said. "I'm misreading this, aren't I?"

"Nope," he shook his head. "Misreading what?"

She shook her head. "You, seducing me, or whatever you playboy types call it," her nose wrinkled. "Hook up is a little—"

He shook his head, "Juvenile," he supplied as she started to look like she was going to retreat to the couch.

He grabbed her wrist, "Oh, I'm . . . seducing the hell out of you," he retorted as he reeled her back in. "But, look around. We're here. Watchtower. And since your place is three hours away-

"Not the way you drive," she muttered.

He chuckled, conceding the point, before remembering other objections to her place, "Then there is the color scheme from The Flintstones, the fact that people drop in on you without calling—"

"That's mostly you," she told him.

"Lois?"

Chloe gave him a look. "She lives there Oliver—not that I'm arguing for my place."

Oliver nodded. "So, it's my place."

She bit her lip, thinking about it as he pressed up against her back, brushing her hair away from her neck. "I sleep here sometimes," she said.

"Yeah, and people barge in at all hours," he pointed out.

She made a face, laughing a little. "Also, mostly you," she told him, closing her eyes as he kissed her neck. "You are around a lot."

"Uh huh," he grinned, feeling her shiver as he nuzzled her neck.

She had never really been a neck person, but she was ready to sign on now as his lips and tongue brought up gooseflesh that skipped around her best bits, amplified by the slippery material of her blouse shifting against her skin. He was really good at that.

"I have condoms at my place," he said.

Smooth, the voice in his head snorted.

Chloe laughed. "Wow. Does that usually work?"

"Hmm?" His left hand cupped her breast and his blunt fingers went for her nipple, rolling it between his fingers under the satin of her blouse and the lace of her bra while his arm tightened around her waist.

"Well, it's the principal of it. I don't think women should be responsible for being responsible."

She turned her head to look at him, and got kissed for the effort. "That's kind of—" she turned in his arms, sliding one of her arms around his waist, pouting a little when his hand left her breast, "progressive," she breathed.

"I'm all about the girl power," he smirked, resting his forehead against hers. "In fact, if you want to be on top, I promise you I won't put up a fight."

Her giggle was met by his lips, and she threaded her fingers in his hair, kissing him back, tasting Scotch.

"Maybe we don't need them," she said between kisses.

His hands cupped her bottom. "That's crazy talk," he scoffed. "Who is seducing who here, huh?"

She didn't have an answer for that. "Oliver . . ."

"No," he gave a spare shake of his head. "Get your jacket and your purse—or whatever, and let's get the hell out of here. We can have the 'should we, shouldn't we' conversation over a really expensive bottle of wine someplace where clothing is required."

On so many levels, it was a bad idea, Chloe reminded herself as her gaze shifted. If they slowed things down to be sensible and rationale, she was going to end up in flannel pajamas wondering what happened. She let her forehead come to a rest against his chest. God. He smelled good. His hand rubbed the back of her neck and she felt his cheek against her head.

He lowered his head, nudging her back a little to make her look at him. "Do you see where I'm coming from? Before we try something as adventurous as a quickie at the office, I'm thinking a more controlled environment, a bottle of obscenely expensive wine, and we see where that takes us?"

Her chin went a little wobbly at the way he was looking at her, and she had to press her lips together as her throat tightened.

"O-okay," she croaked.

"Yeah?" he smiled at her. "I've got a spare toothbrush," he said.

She blinked away the moisture that was making her feel like her eyes were swimming and summoned up enough attitude to roll her eyes. "I bet you've got a spare toothbrush."

He gave her a smile and a little lift of his eyebrows. "Actually, got it for you after the last time you stayed over. Always prepared for those little emergencies, Chloe," he said as he hooked his wrist around her neck, taking a step backward. He ran both hands down her bare arms. "Where is your jacket?" he gave her a considering look, "or maybe you ought to go trench coat. It's the on-trend look for the slink away after awesome sex for this spring."

"Oliver . . . you are setting yourself up for . . ." she got a little stuck on what he was setting himself up for. Less than awesome sex?

"Yeah," he drawled, "that doesn't really work, does it?" he teased. "First, there is me," he feigned modest pride.

She pulled away from him to get her jacket, and then her purse.

"And then there is an obscenely expensive bottle of wine," and after that, of course, she had to put Watchtower on sleep mode since turning off the monitors didn't turn anything off except the monitors. She sighed inwardly at having to walk around tomorrow turning each monitor back on.

"800 thread count sheets," Oliver continued to enumerate all of the reasons why it was going to be awesome.

"—oh," he cocked a finger at her, "I've been wanting to try that KY-Excite stuff. You know what I'm talking about? K-Y. Kind of gives it away, right? No? Hmm . . . you'll Google it. I'm thinking we should probably do it without and then try it—"

"C'mon, Romeo," she tilted her head in the direction of the exit. "I'm starting to wonder if you actually need anything but your imagination to make this work for you."

He grabbed his own jacket, slipping it on as they exited. "Can I get back to you on that after I've seen you naked?"

At the elevator, Chloe shook her head at him. "Oh, you are hilarious," she told him.

He looked awfully happy for someone who was risking a lot with his whole, 'let's slow down and talk about this' approach.

"So, we are going to your place?" she got her keys out of her purse.

Logistically, that posed a problem. He had banked on having dinner with Chloe, so he was hungry.

"Are you hungry?"

He looked so hopeful, that Chloe sighed. "I could eat."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing the top of her head. "Yeah? I'm starving," Oliver admitted. "So . . . we go to the grocery and get food, or we order something in, or we go sit across from each other at a diner—"

"I don't think that they serve things you eat at diners," Chloe told him.

"Swann Street," Oliver countered. "The late night menu has a breakfast skillet with a bacon wrapped fillet under a poached egg and hollandaise. Or—"

Her stomach growled under his hand, and he chuckled. "Picked a winner?"

"If this evening ends with me in flannel listening to Lois snore, your playboy street cred is going down," she warned.

The elevator chimed as they reached the lobby. Swann Street was closer to Oliver's place, and her car was already off the street in the garage. Chloe put her keys away when Oliver pulled her over to his car.

They had shared a late meal at Swann Street before, so it was nothing new to walk the two blocks over and find a table in the back after Oliver garaged his car at his building. They didn't bother with the menu. He ordered the egg sandwich and oven roasted potatoes. Chloe went with the breakfast special.

She waited until their server departed with their orders, and then adjusted to sit on her foot. It gave her an extra four inches, and she needed a few extra inches to lean across the table.

"Talk," she pointed at him. "How do you see this going?"

He leaned forward until she was close enough to kiss. "Chloe? I'm not having face-to-face phone sex with you in a diner," he said in his most reasonable smart-ass tone.

She tried to keep a straight face and failed. She tipped forward as a surprising dirty, sexy laugh sputtered from her.

He adopted a mock thoughtful expression. "No phone? Face-to-face? I guess that's just foreplay, huh?" he whispered.

"For normal people," she scoffed. "For you, it's probably just interfering with your schedule."

He shook his head, exasperated. "Okay, let's get that out of the way. With all of your 'keeping a watchful eye' on people, I'm guessing you've probably seen some of my less than stellar moments."

"Ollie—"

"Nope. I get it. I'm a little . . . shop worn—"

She shook her head. "I'm just teasing you," she protested.

He bit his lip, looking up at the ceiling. "All those other women . . . I guess that kind of makes me . . . I mean, objectively, and totally factoring in that I'm loaded, how hot am I?" he asked, keeping a straight face. "Because falling down drunk and disheveled, I'm a freaking chick magnet," he said.

She eased back down on her side, shaking her head, smiling at how ridiculous he was.

"No words, huh?"

She laughed. "Pretty much."

He rubbed his jaw. "Yeah? Interesting. You never seemed all that impressed with me."

She tilted her head to the side. "Likewise."

"I almost asked you out once," he said.

She looked like she didn't believe him.

He nodded.

"When was this?"

"Rooftop, when we met Canary," he said. "You were so matter-of-fact about everything until you realized that you scuffed your shoe, and I said something like 'maybe you should wear shoes that you can actually run in' and you—"he pointed to her, "threatened to beat me to death with your shoe. I thought you were—"

"Adorable," she made a face.

"Pretty much," he admitted. "I usually don't go for adorable. It was a big moment for me."

"So, you came to your senses, huh?"

He shrugged. "Clark was so mad about why you were on the rooftop that I figured I had antagonized him enough for at least a year."

Their food arrived, and her coffee was there. Chloe emptied two containers of cream into it and took a sip before adding a half a packet of cane sugar. The next sip was perfection, and she savored it.

He was watching her with a small smile of his own.

The breakfast special was a casserole dish layered with hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, diced tomatoes, and bacon crumbles. Chloe picked at it while Oliver ate with obvious hunger.

She thought he was teasing when he said that he had almost asked her out once, and the specificity of it convinced her otherwise. She and Jimmy were still in a pretty rocky place back then, but Lois really wasn't over Oliver yet. It would have been weird, she decided.

"This is not a date," she said slowly.

Oliver's eyebrows rose. He took a sip of water before agreeing. "No kidding. I don't bring dates to Swann Street."

"Just saying. Not a date. We aren't dating."

"You seem adamant about that," he said. "Talk to me about what we are doing?"

"Breakfast for dinner," she said, and then frowned at Ollie's patently patient expression.

Unfortunately, she had nearly a decade of experience decoding Clark and then Lois' relationships. Duh! Maybe it wasn't a date, but it was a meal served with a boatload of flirting and relationship talk, so it was date-ish.

"We're . . . figuring out how to have fun," Chloe amended. "Without dating."

He smiled at her, figuring this was a warning shot. She was so hung up on defining them. It was kind of cute.

"More coffee?" he asked, seeing the waiter with the pot.

"Mm-huh," she nodded, still thinking while Oliver gestured to the waiter to get his attention.

She tilted her head to one side. "Actually it's scary how much this is like a date," she admitted. "This is why I have to assert that it is not a date, because I'm not doing that again."

"Dating?" he clarified, deciding not to re-assert that this was not his idea of a place he'd take her on a date, even as his mind started wandering down that track.

"Exactly," she nodded.

"It's not like it's a big deal," he threw out there suddenly, wary about setting the bar so low that anything that they did together outside of Watchtower would be construed as a date.

"We're adults, and we aren't doing anything wrong."

"We're just enjoying each other's company."

"With no strings, no expectations, no pressure—"

His eyebrows lifted, "That's quite a list. So, we aren't telling anyone about this?"

Chloe's eyes widened a little. "God, no!" with a shudder at the possible reactions.

He laughed, having no trouble following that train of thought. "I get it. No drama."

She sat back, smiling now that it appeared that he was on the same page.

He was watching her with a small smile of his own.

Normally, a late dinner made her wilt, but she felt keyed up even more than coffee would account for. Oliver didn't seem to notice, but after the check was paid, and they were leaving, he paused with her on the sidewalk.

"So?" he asked. "Flannel and snoring or do I get to break out the expensive wine?"

She cocked her head to one side. "Did you really buy a toothbrush for me?"

He chuckled. "I really did."

She nodded. "Your place."


"Now this is more what I had in mind," Oliver said as he kicked off his jeans.

Chloe scooted back on the bed. A moment ago, it seemed dark in the bedroom, but what little light there was seemed to find him. She bit her kiss swollen lower lip, feeling breathless and reckless in a way she rarely indulged as Oliver crawled toward her. She put her foot on his thigh, feeling the way his muscles moved as her foot slid up to his hip. He wrapped his fingers around her ankle and pulled her down toward him, pushing her legs apart as his head bent.

His mouth was hot on the inside of her thigh.

After they arrived at Oliver's place, he turned on the gas fireplace on the balcony and they sipped wine out on the terrace. Chloe was sure that her panties, shoes, and his t-shirt were still out there. It was a good thing that they went out to dinner to get all the talking out of the way.

Her body arched as his fingers found her, his thumb rubbing her clit. "Mmm, you are so wet," he crooned. "I want your legs over my shoulders, Chloe."

"And I want a pony," Chloe retorted. That bottle of wine might have been a mistake. She was a little buzzed.

His head popped up. "Perv."

"Ew! So gross," she said, giggling. "I'm not a porn star, Ollie. If my legs accidentally ended up over your shoulders—"

He was shaking his head. "Please stop talking. I'm already mentally dressing you in stockings and those amazing pumps you wore when we met Canary."

Diverted, she gaped at him. "How on earth do you remember the shoes I wore two years ago?"

"I told you that I was going to ask you out," he reminded her. "And you threatened me with them."

"Oh," she remembered. "Those were Cole Hahn, too. Honestly, they should have lasted until I was practically geriatric. Unlike you, I don't need a costume to do my job."

His potentially snarky response was lost in a lip-biting groan as he slipped his finger into her. He nuzzled her stomach. "It's kind of cliché," he attempted, "but, yeah . . ."

"Yeah, what?"

"Tight," he said roughly. "Tightly wound. Uptight. Smart. Bossy," he punctuated each word with his finger thrusting inside of her. "God. I knew," he muttered. "I knew."

"You knew what?" Chloe asked, bewildered.

He smirked. "I knew that you'd be amazing in bed," he said.

She gave him a skeptical look. "Right. You knew," she rolled her eyes.

He kissed the inside of her hipbone. "Yep," he said cheerfully. "You said something like, 'do I tell you how to shoot your little arrows?'" he recalled, "and I thought—"he paused, frowning. "No . . . that wasn't it. That was kind of gross, with your eyes rolling back in your head and your nose bleeding—"

"Good times," she deadpanned.

"Well, I knew," he insisted, penetrating her with a second finger, and watching her bite her lip as he moved his fingers in and out of her. He was ready to call the expression on her face 'better-than-coffee' when he looked up from where he was making sure her nipples weren't actually cold.

It came to him then. It was at Isis when she took up Watchtower full-time. She said something about how he knew what he really wanted, and his reaction was almost comically inappropriate given the context.

She pulled him up to her. "Come on, Oliver. Everything is working. Let's do this."

"Let's do this?" he repeated.

"I haven't had an orgasm that I wasn't personally responsible for in a while," she huffed. "And when I do, I'd prefer it if you were inside me."

He just stared at her for a moment. That voice in his head was back, warning him not to say what was going through his head no matter how bad he wanted to see that.

"Are you close?"

She squirmed and nodded. "Uh-huh," she breathed.

That merited another long, slow kiss.

"Okay . . ." there were condoms in the table next to the bed. He hated not having superpowers. Or extra hands.

"I'm going to—"

She grabbed his face with both hands. "Focus, Ollie. If I have an orgasm right now," she bit her lip, drawing a deep, shaky breath. "I'm going to be a little disappointed that your participation is limited to something I do all by myself."

"Okay, condom," he said, moving across the bed to the table.

"If it's not great, we should probably do it again, just to make sure that it wasn't a fluke," she said when he was back.

"Because . . ."

"The first time you have sex with someone it can be . . . why are you looking at me like I'm crazy?"

"Have you formed this theory from personal experience? Because if you have, you really are too nice for your own good."

"Fine," she huffed. "If it's not good, I'm out of here, and if it isn't good for you, you can—"

He kissed her to cut her off, and kept kissing her until they were both breathless and he was easing his way into her.

She tensed up a little, and he rubbed her nose with his, holding her gaze. "It's just me, Chloe," he said. "Do you have any idea how crazy I am about you?"

She looked worried. "Ollie—"

Bracing on one elbow, he shifted, running his hand down her side to get her to open up more. She went with it, bending her knees and opening her legs more.

He hated it that she looked worried.

Sliding his hand under her neck, he stroked her neck with his thumb, kissing her softly as she started moving with him. Her hands told him what she needed, and tried to give back what she felt.

She didn't tell him if she came, and he didn't ask after he did. Lying on his back, catching his breath after, he played with her fingers, willing himself not to push.

"We're doing that again," she announced.

He chuckled, nodding. "Yep," he agreed, turning his head to look at her. "When we are on the same page, we're amazing."

She curled into his side, kissing his shoulder.

She still looked worried, but when their eyes met, she smiled. "Where is this famous toothbrush?" she asked.