"I wish I could accommodate you, Mister Queen, but tours of objects not on display in one of the museums have to be organized in advance, and—"

"Our flight departs this afternoon and I cannot postpone my return to Queen Industries. Surely as the curator you have the authority to arrange for a quick visit."

Chloe pitied the man. He probably ignored if the Hick motor of the Leeds Mill was still part of his museum's collection, and if it was, where. They hadn't known about the engine themselves—another thing she had overlooked— until the IMAX movie started explaining how Hick and Sons had competed over the much more known Watt engines for the mill industry in the nineteen century, going as far as designing a winged sun regulator for the Temple Mill factory in Leeds. Maybe it was another long shot, but after last night fiasco, she wanted to pursue every lead.

"Ollie, it's all right…" Chloe bestowed a sad little smile to the unyielding curator. She squeezed his hand discreetly, willing him to follow her lead. "Mister Elliott is extremely busy, I'm already grateful he took the time to meet with us on such short notice. I'll simply put a footnote in my article that I couldn't access the information."

Panic struck as she hoped. Veiled threats of bad publicity tended to do that. The curator swallowed hard. "An article?"

She smiled sweetly. "Oh yes… Didn't Oliver mention that I'm a freelance reporter? I write harmless pieces, really."

Oliver placed one arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek chastely. "You're too modest." He turned toward the curator who was turning a very interesting shade of green. "Her piece about the Nineteen century Industrialization depicted through literature landed in the Times."

The green paled to the point of white. Chloe giggled. Their little show was working and Oliver had caught the ball right off the bat. "The New York Times' Sunday edition, Ollie."

"Front page."

Anyone in the Arts business knew what that meant. Elliott was not different. "Congratulations, that's… quite an achievement, Miss…"

"Of sorry, I realize I didn't introduce myself. I'm Chloe Sullivan."

The name brought a reaction she wasn't expecting. "Sullivan. I heard that name before. Can you give me a minute?"

Without waiting, the man stood and walked to the cabinet on the far end of his large office. Oliver leaned to whisper in her ear. "What are you getting at?"

"If the motor is in the collection, it must have been described and photographed at some point. They might have digitalized it, but I've made enough wrong assumptions this week."

"Backup plan. Got it. I assume footnotes about unavailable information look bad…"

She smirked. "Very bad."

"You're sexy when you're devious."

He was about to kiss the corner of her mouth when Elliott walked back with a large envelope in his hand. "We had a demand years ago by a Moira Sullivan. We had just opened the access to civilians, and it was one of the first requests of the sort, that's why I remember. We agreed to the request, but Mrs. Sullivan never called back to set up a meeting."

Chloe paled. "Moira Sullivan is my mother. She… She fell ill more than fifteen years ago."

"I am sorry to hear that." Elliott opened the envelope and scanned through the information. He offered a small smile, the kindness tempered by a slight frown.

"It seems your mother was interested in the same piece that you are."

Oliver squeezed her shoulder. "Science evolution is a passion that runs through the family."

Chloe stared at the letter in the curator hands, her mind running a mile an hour. Did her mother make the same connection than they had? How? When? Had she continued to investigate even after Carter had sent her away?

"Miss Sullivan?"

The curator's address pulled her out of her thoughts. "I'm sorry, yes?"

"I obviously cannot give you a tour right now, but I could see that some of the documentation we have on hand be sent? It's not as if Hick and Sons' inventions were State Secrets."

Oliver stood. "Why don't you send what you have to my personal attention. This is my card."

The man beamed. "It will be my pleasure."

"Thank you." Chloe said sincerely. She accepted Oliver's hand to stand and smiled at the curator once more. "It'll be a great help. I'll send you a copy of my article."

Void promise if she'd ever made one.

They walked out of the office and the museum. Strakes of blue peeked through white clouds, while the sun splashed timid rays on the sidewalk. Oliver threaded their fingers as they walked toward the town car waiting for them.

"You know, the amount of coincidences we are facing is starting to make me ill-at-ease."

"You're not the only one."

She'd read somewhere that coincidences took a lot of planning. She was starting to believe that. Maybe it was really Fate at work, like Carter implied time and again.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Chloe turned her head toward Oliver, surprised by his serious tone. Or the fact that he asked that at all. It reminded her that despite the rush of the past few days, they still had a lot to discover about each other. "Go ahead."

"How much does Tess know about our trip?"

"Tess? Why?"

"I think we need a someone who can consider the situation with a clinical eye, and Tess is the smartest person I can think about who is not involved. You and I are not objective."

"We could ask Lois."

"I like your cousin but…" Oliver trailed off, probably realizing too late he was about to insult her surrogate sister.

"Actually, Lois is a much better choice than Tess. She is a good investigation reporter Oliver. A fantastic one, even. She won't let her feelings get in the way. It's settled. I'll talk to her once we get back."

Being back meant more than talking to Lois. It dawned on her suddenly that her apartment was in Smallville and Oliver wasn't even based in Metropolis full time. He gave her hand another squeeze, as if he'd sensed the dark path her thoughts were taking.

"You know, he'll be quite disappointed when he realizes that his museum won't be splashed as glorious and forthcoming in the papers."

"Are you suggesting I should dust off my journalist skills?"

In addition to everything else? Because obviously, Watchtower, Isis and babysitting the League and stopping Clark and Lois to catfight all the time wasn't enough work…

"Why not? I know you miss writing."

She did and sometimes she put more care than really necessary in the reports she wrote for the League.

"I'm not saying you should go back to it full time, but freelance is a good idea. I know the Star City Register employs several of them."

Wow, wow, wow, rewind a second, the Star City Register? Chloe's head snapped up to meet with earnest chocolate eyes. "What are you suggesting, Oliver?"

He brushed hair out of her eyes, and smiled. The tenderness didn't make her heart thud any less. "Nothing. I just want you to be happy and I know that journalism is your dream. Lionel forced you to abandon it and that's not fair. If there's anything I can do to help you revive that dream, I will."

Chloe leaned in across the seat to kiss him softly on the lips. "Thank you. But I am perfectly happy with what I do now. I like helping at Isis, and I want to have time for Watchtower as well. Maybe one day I'll go back to Journalism, but not right now."

"All right."

The look he had on his face suggested she'd just turned down a very different offer. One she wasn't entirely sure she'd read correctly. Might as well ask, since they'd agreed on complete honesty.

"What's on your mind, Ollie?"

The young man stopped playing hide and seek with the ruffle at the hem of her skirt. The occasional brushes of his thumb on the bare skin of her inner knee sent shivers up her thigh, each one harder to ignore than the last. "Logistics."

Somehow, she believed he wasn't talking about her clothes, or getting her out of them. When had she started thinking about sex so much? How could she still be thinking about sex after last night! Though a repeat sounded… Bad Chloe, you're in a town car, with a driver who can hear—and see— less than three feet from you!

"What kind of logistics?" Her voice sounded a tad breathier than she would have liked.

"I'll tell you later," Oliver murmured. His hand deserted her knee and the draft of cold air felt like an acute loss. Chloe blinked again and realized the car had stopped at the airport terminal. Oliver helped her out of the car then directed the driver toward the private area to deliver their bags directly to his jet. Her Shenu purred under his palm when he placed one hand on the small of her back to guide her inside the building.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that…"

"Used to what?"

Her face grew hot, hindering any lie about him showing manners or the VIP treatment they received anywhere they go. In for a penny… "The way I feel when you touch me," Chloe whispered.

Oliver grinned. He dipped his head but stopped millimeters from her lips. "I certainly hope so since the feeling's mutual, Professor."

He kissed her then, and even though he kept it light and gentle, she felt it down to her toes.

Chloe ran a hand on the butter soft leather of the seats.

"What's with the wistful sigh, Professor?"

She'd gotten so used to Oliver's presence that she wasn't surprised to find him standing right behind her. "Nothing. Just admiring the view…" Chloe smirked at him.

"And wondering how things will be once we go back to our day-to-day life?"

"A little."

He'd been the one to open that particular can of doubts, after all. Oliver had been part of her life for a while now, sometimes— most of the time— from afar, but now he was more. Now he was part of her, and the idea of not to have him there, not to be able to see or touch him every day was abhorrent.

Oliver stirred her toward the plush loveseat on the opposite side of the cabin. He sat with his arms still around her so she had no choice but to follow suite, her legs across his thighs as she sat sideways.

"I'm thinking about it too. And about my very public life and about my not-so-public one."

She looped her arms around his neck to adjust her position on his lap. "And where all that thinking gets us?"

Teasing him was so easy when she was cocooned in his embrace, alone with him among the clouds. Chloe felt herself relax for the first time since they'd entered the museum IMAX theatre. Oliver's mouth twitched in amusement before he grew serious again. "Back to logistics."

"What about them?"

"You could stay with me."

She almost lost her balance. Oliver smiled at her softly, catching her eyes after he'd resettled her properly. He stared while she processed.

"You're asking me to move in with you?"

"I know it's new and fast, and you like your independence but… we managed pretty well the past few days and my place's pretty big so…" Oliver paused, shrugging a little as if he was trying to make light of the offer or bracing himself for a refusal. "We'll probably end up in your bed or mine every night anyway, right?"

Chloe opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. They could barely spend ten minutes without touching. Spending a full night without Oliver was an alien concept that bordered terrifying.

"Lois will be over a lot."

"I have guest rooms."

"I leave my shoes and my coffee mugs everywhere."

"That's what cleaning services are for. I'm not exactly Mister Clean myself, you know. I apparently live half-naked. Dixit Bart."

"I certainly won't complain about that…"

Oliver laughed. "I thought not."

Chloe poked him in the ribs.

"So… Are we heading to Smallville tomorrow to pack your things?"

She nodded and suddenly, going back became a lot less scary.