Chloe shifted on her chair to get rid of the pins and needles in her leg. Her fingers automatically went to her knee and she worked some feelings back into it, her eyes strained on the video feed she'd just hacked.

In the background, her program walked through layers of property titles and insurance documentation to find the owner of the building. Even if Oliver was right and their perp was just a poor soul looking for easy cash or a place to rest for the night, it never hurt to be prepared. Chloe continued her massage with a frown while she called the search on screen. The Swiss Bank Account number was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it.

She liked neither that, nor the tension she could hear in Oliver's voice. The way their potential burglar bobbed his head and swayed rubbed her the wrong way, too. The last time she'd seen that type of behavior, it'd taken both Clark and A.C. to bring the metahuman down.

You're overreacting because it's the first time you and Oliver aren't in the same place for more than two hours. It's not Turkey again. He has his bow, and you have everyone on call if he needs help. The sigil on her back prickled.

"Arrow?"

All she heard in reply was labored hisses, worsened by the metallic quality of the comms.

"I'm not sure I like that sound you're making, Archer."

Chloe hated how detached she appeared to be in her Big-Sister-is-Watching role. As if she was a puppet master, and not caring about whose strings she pulled while she saved the city, one hero at the time.

"Ollie, are you hurt?" she whispered.

"One of them took a swing at me. I just need to walk it off a bit more. I'm good."

The guttural tone sent shivers down her spine. Chloe's hand stilled. She looked down at her fingers hovering above her joint. It had to be a coincidence. "Did he catch you in the knee, Arrow?"

"Just a graze Tower. An ice pack, a kiss and I'll be ready to cater to your every need…"

Her lips twitched at the innuendo. If he still could flirt with her… "Sounds promising, Arrow." Chloe glimpsed at the camera. "Our perp just got in. Are you good to go?"

"Almost. Remind me to brush off my breaking and entering skill—"

A burst of static interrupted Oliver's quip. "Arrow?"

Nothing.

"Green Arrow, do you hear me?"

Her heart picked up at the lack of answers. Oliver would never go radio-silent on her in the middle of a mission without mentioning it first, especially not like this. "Arrow? Do you copy?"

The beat in her chest turned frantic.

"Ollie?"

Her whin echoed so loudly in the empty room her throat closed.

"Ollie? Are you there?"

The nausea hit her so fat Chloe barely had the time to slap one hand over her mouth. The kitchen was closer so she rushed to the sink on shaky legs. The second she lowered her head, she vomited bile and coffee, the acid burning her throat. Her stomach twisted and squeezed as she emptied it. Getting air in sent her into a bout of dry heaves.

Unable to stay upright, she slouched to the floor, covered in cold sweat. Blood pounded on her temples. She tried to press one hand to her forehead to ease the migraine, but her arm was too weak. A white hot blade pierced her skull.

Blind by the pain, Chloe screamed as loud as she could against her clogged throat.

"Chloe?" Strong hands straightened her up, or tried to. "Chloe, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Clark… Ollie… Please…"

"Where's Oliver?"

The ache in her head pulsed behind her eyeballs. Even with her lids closed, it hurt. Talking—thinking— was excruciating and she couldn't move past it. At a loss, Chloe pointed a desperate finger toward the living room, hoping her best friend would take a hint and check her laptop.

The wind hollered and somehow, took her nausea with it.

Chloe blinked in surprise. She took a careful breath, then slowly pushed to her feet, amazed to realize her legs supported her weight, albeit uneasily. As if she'd just got on a boat and just discovered her sea legs.

She hurried back to her chair. The outside camera she'd hacked was still connected to her laptop. But all it showed was an opened door, the rectangle dark and empty. Nothing else. No Oliver, no Clark, nothing. Chloe swallowed, tears welling up against her will.

A spark of electricity pinched her ear. She jumped on the feeling. "Oliver?"

"Chloe, it's me." Clark's deep voice raised every hair on her arms. She felt another bout of illness rolled low in her stomach. "Oliver's fine. His comm short-circuited."

"Give him yours, I want to him to tell me himself."

"Huh… Sure…"

Clark sounded slightly taken aback at her command. She'd deal with the questions later.

"Ollie?"

"Yeah, I'm here… Our perp used the confusion to try and knock me out. Everything's fine. He's gone. I'll circle back to the bike and head home."

"All right. See you soon?"

"You've got it, Tower. Arrow out."

Chloe slumped in her seat, shivering. A gust of wind hit the nape of her neck.

She turned slowly to face Clark who frowned, his other questions momentarily forgotten. "You're kind of pale…"

So much for hiding her little mishap. "I'm all right."

Her migraine had abated to a dull ache at the base of her skull, her stomach settled back into place. "Really, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. I found you on the floor after you—"

"Clark, I promise I'm okay." Her best friend narrowed his gaze. Chloe gave him her most reassuring smile. "The stress of losing communications with Oliver got to me. You know what I'm like when that happens."

The dark hair man crossed his arms over his chest. Ten years of friendship allowed him to read her like a book when he took the time to.

"It's been a stressful week, Clark," she tried to be stern.

"You were vacationing in Europe for the past week, Chlo. With Oliver, for that matter."

Chloe opened her mouth to defend herself, then she realized she didn't have to. He'd already added two and two, and why would she lie?

"You're my best friend, Clark, can you just be happy for me?"

"I—"

"Oliver knows all my secrets. He knows all my dreams and all my failures and he still wants me. He listens to me, he treats me like a partner and like a desirable woman. For the first time in my life, the man I love loves me back, unconditionally."

Clark shuffled his feet. "I'm happy for you, I am, but—"

"No buts," she said firmly.

Clark placed both hands on her shoulders and gave her that look. The one that had her swoon all through High School, and then some. Now, she recognized the protectiveness for what it was. Fondness and a kinship. Nothing more. And nothing less.

"All right. No buts. Just a promise. If he screws up, I am throwing him in a place that'll make his island a paradise."

"That's assuming I would survive Lois' wrath," Oliver interjected as he walked inside.

"Oliver!"

She all but quivered when she caught sight of him, both arms automatically reaching out for him as she extricated herself from Clark.

Oliver dropped a first kiss on her head, one hand snaking around her waist in an unsubtle way to pull her farther away from the other man, then he pressed another on her lips. Her body warmed from head to toe at once. She sighed in pleasure when his leather brushed against her bare legs as he hauled her up against him. He nipped her bottom lip. Chloe yelped, and blushed furiously when he flickered his tongue over the tiny wound before he allowed her to stand on her own.

"I'm not telling Lois."

Chloe turned a boiling crimson face toward their friend. Clark smirked, or what could pass for a smirk for her candid best friend. "I am not telling Lois," he repeated. "She'll ask how I found out, and I'd rather forget you started making out half-naked in front of me."

"She knows. And we're not half-naked."

She spied Oliver's chest, still clad in green leather, and lost track for a second. Oliver used her distraction to touch her back in a barely-there caress. She shot him an irritate look. It probably wasn't very effective considering the heated one she got in return. Chloe swallowed and articulated stupidly, "not naked."

"You don't have pants on, Chlo," Clark pointed out.

She looked down at herself. Her hoodie—Oliver's— fell down so that it hid her shorts. She resisted the need to pull the fabric further down, thighs pressed together against the blooming ache between them. "I am in my pajamas! It's late!"

Clark snickered. "Whatever you say, Chloe…"

His expression grew serious again, brows furrowed in concentration for something only he could hear. "I have to go. Come by the farm this weekend? Mom's back from DC, she'd love to see you."

And grill you about this new development…

"We'll be there," Oliver answered, his thumb petting the mark Clark didn't know was there. Her body hummed in awareness, the pleasure too keen to contain. Fortunately for her, Clark vanished in a gust of wind before she could embarrass herself further.

Chloe drilled a finger in Oliver' shoulder.

"Jerk! Don't think you managed to distract me. There's blood on your hood. I'm calling Emil."

Oliver frowned at the mention of blood. He reached for the hood and twisted his neck to try and see the stain. "I didn't notice I bled. I'm fine, seriously. No need to call Emil for a scratch"

Chloe examined the small cut on the side of his head. It did look like a scratch. The small lump on his nape didn't even bring a wince when she pressed her fingertips to it. The Shenu on her hip warmed when she did.

Chloe pursed her lips. "Yes, you are fine. Magically so…"

Oliver dropped his hand from her face to her waist. "Magic? You mean…"

She touched the side of his leg where the leather was torn. "You hurt your knee earlier, didn't you? And you took a nasty blow to the head."

Oliver tensed instantly, eyes roaming over her in concern. His fingers grasped her hips a little harder. "Did you—"

"Feel it? A little. The nausea caught me off guard completely, but it lasted less than a minute."

"We're calling Emil."

The corner of her mouth lifted. "That's what I said."

"Not for me. For you."

She raised an eyebrow. Oliver went on, undeterred. "And we're calling Carter."

"Carter? Why?"

"He must know something. Zatanna doesn't have a clue and even you couldn't find anything useful. This time, Tweetie is better answering our questions if he doesn't want to end up roasted on a pit."

Chloe treaded her fingers through his short hair and started to gently massage his scalp in soft, calming circles. Oliver tugged at her waist a little so she got the message and came to seat on his lap. His forehead hit her collarbone, his hot breath a ghost in her neck. "This feels good…"

Since her hands were occupied, he released her just long enough to squeeze one hand between them and lower the zipper of his vest. She abandoned her kneading to reach for the black tee-shirt he wore beneath his vest. Oliver growled, "Chloe…"

He leaned forward to rub his mouth against hers, just a brush at first, then more firmly. Chloe moaned. His pants grazed against the sensitive inner skin of her thighs as she rocked against him. Oliver deepened the kiss, coaxing her tongue in a loving, fiery ballet. Wet heat rose between her legs in time with his hand climbing up her torso.

Chloe licked her lips, suddenly very aware of his fingertips moving down her back and up under her top.

"Still a jerk…"

"I was just making sure Clark got the message," he shot back.

"Oh, he got it, thank you for that, too."

His arms looped around her to bring her flush against him. "You parade in front of me wearing my hoodie and nothing underneath, how am I supposed to resist?"

"I'm wearing shorts!"

Oliver scooped her up. "Not for long."