Oliver carefully unwrapped himself from Chloe to slip out of bed. She stirred then slept on, her fingers curled around the sheet. She looked so incredibly peaceful in her sleep he considered for a minute crawling back in to catch more Z. As if he had been staring at the ceiling for the past hour. Oliver grabbed some clothes and dressed quickly in the dark before he padded barefoot to the office, closing the door behind him.
The sudden glare of the desk lamp made his weather water. He pressed the heels of his palms to ease the itch then ran his fingers through his hair. The area where he'd been slugged in the back of the head was vaguely sensitive, nothing like the blinding pain he'd felt when it happened, and certainly much less than what it should be mere hours later. Something sour twisted inside his chest at the thought of Chloe must have endured because of him. If she shared every blow and scratch now… Being the Green Arrow wasn't exactly a desk job. But he couldn't stop, nor would she let him.
Oliver stored away the guilt to examine later while he booted his laptop. The files he wanted appeared on screen with a few clicks. He'd recognized the paper trail the moment he'd seen it. He'd dealt with trust fonds, subsidiaries and inheritance transfers for more than a decade. Chloe would have noticed, too, if she hadn't been so worried for him.
A few more clicks connected him overseas.
"Hello?"
"Walter, it's Oliver." There was a pause and the unmistakable noise of a car flasher. "Sorry to call out of the blue, is this a bad time?"
"No, it's fine. I'm on my way to the office. Which is a good thing, because Suzan is extremely unhappy you left London without coming to say hello."
Oliver chuckled. "We had dinner together less than four weeks ago, Walter."
"We both know it's Chloe my wife wanted to meet, not you."
The blonde sighed. He was pretty sure his PR advisor was already making a list of the events he would "have to" attend with her to prove he was serious this time, while his board leaned on the opposite side of the spectrum. The old goats never missed an opportunity to remind him of the impact what his image had on the company's shares. Monday Lead meeting was going to be fun. Maybe he should have stopped to have dinner with Walter and Suzan Steele in London, in a very public place, so that part would be over with.
Oliver sighed. "Just use it to convince Suzan to make the trip home with you for QI barbecue next month. Look, I won't hold you long on the phone, I just want to know if Queen Industries own the Brimstone Building in Metropolis. It's a warehouse in the old industrial district."
"I know of it. The fund put it on the market years ago, it's too close to the Suicide Slums and unsellable. I believe it was part of your paternal grandmother's dowry."
Oliver sat back in his chair. So he'd been right. More than. His father's parents had passed away the year after he was born. He'd never met his mother's family, which considering who he was and how young he'd been orphaned, meant there was no one on that side either.
"May I ask why you're asking?"
Oliver returned his attention to his interlocutor. "I was looking into real estate and the account number on the deed rang a bell, that's all."
Sometimes, he hated how easily he could weave falsehoods and real information around people. It was necessary, but left him wanting for something truthful. There were no lies with Chloe.
"All right. Give me an hour, I'll see if I can pull some papers for you. In the meantime, may I suggest you go back to bed? Sneaking out to call business associates in the middle of the night isn't going to win you any brownie points, let me tell you."
Oliver smirked. "Guess I'll have to rack them up another way, then."
Walter coughed. If he'd been in the car with him, he would have seen the eye-roll.
Oliver laughed. "Email me whatever you find, please. Have a good day, and thanks, Walter."
"You're welcome. Good bye."
He cut the communication and drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. His gaze fell on the photograph of his parents he kept there. His mother smiled at him, forever young and serene, while his father had his arm around her shoulders.
"Ollie?"
He lifted his head to see Chloe shivering on the threshold, garbed in her flimsy pajamas. "Hey… Come here."
She obeyed and walked quietly across the room to perch on his lap. Oliver pulled her higher so he could wrap both arms fully around her. Her skin warmed under his hands. Chloe burrowed into his chest with a yawn, only half-interested in the documents on the screen.
"Have you been up long?"
His feather-like kiss on her shoulder sparked a happy sigh. The giddy little sound tempted him to carry her back to bed without answering. Instead, he arranged her head in the crook of his shoulder so the cold tip of her nose stopped tickling his throat.
"Not long. I just needed to call Walter."
"QI business?"
Oliver secured her against him with one arm while he leaned forward to open his email. "Sort of. It seems I own that building."
Her green eyes lost their owlish allure in an instant, her nails digging a little into his bare shoulder. "Really?"
"Yes."
"How did you find out?"
Oliver tried not to cringe at the hundreds of unread messages. He scanned the top of the list for Walter's promise email, knowing it was too soon to have something anyway. He would be lucky to have the promised information by noon, Kansas Time. And what kind of information he would get remained to be seen. "I recognized the account number on the property title chain of custody."
"Oh."
Chloe said nothing else, her gaze past his shoulder on the massive clock behind them. Oliver used his free hand to turn her face toward him. "Hey. No guilt trip. The information wasn't critical then and it still isn't. It's just another one of those weird coincidences."
"We're having too many of those. Whoever tried to break in got the jump on the Green Arrow." She paused then admitted. "It makes me nervous."
Oliver skimmed over that particular mishap, wishing she hadn't noticed that he'd been sloppy. "You weren't looking for the information, Chloe. You were hurting—because of me I might add— and you were worried. The comms failed on the top of that. It's a lot for a first night back."
"I've handled much more critical stuff before."
"Chloe."
She chose not to address the gentle scolding and changed the subject. "You have an email from the Museum in London."
"Huh?"
"May I?"
Oliver released her so she could move closer to the desk and use the mouse to click on the message that got her attention. Chloe read out loud.
"Dear Mister Queen, please find attached the documentation requested by one Moira Sullivan. I took the liberty to include more information regarding our current exhibit and the support your family offered the museum when we started our efforts to redeem the public view on the industrialization era in Britain. Yours truly, David N. Elliott. That's how subtle as it gets to suggest you send a big fat check."
He pondered the line about his family throwing money at the museum. "We'll see if the information's worth it. Go on, open it."
The compressed file contained several PDFs and a series of photographs. Chloe sifted through them quickly. They all displayed an assembly of pipes and cogs he supposed was the Hicks motor. Though it would fascinate Vic or someone like Hal who loved mechanics almost as much as he loved baseball, there was nothing to see there. The alleged winged sun was nothing more than a set of feathers touching a solar disk. Chloe selected one picture at random. Oliver's hand stilled in her back.
"What's that?"
"What?"
"I can't believe it."
He took over to zoom on the sun and the three bars carved vertically into it. Chloe stared at the familiar coat of arms, then back to him. "It looks like…"
"My family crest? Yeap. Wait a second."
Oliver gently put her on her feet to stand. He left the office for the secret room where he kept his gear and knelt to open a small safe. The gold ring he took out from a velvet pouch gleamed. Chloe peered at it above his shoulder. "I've never seen a ring like this one before…"
"It's a signet. A family heirloom." Oliver explained.
"We need that engine."
The lighting gave the determined glint in Chloe's eyes an almost unnatural glow. The mark on his back prickled.
Oliver touched his lips to the soft skin of her shoulder. Her arm covered his around her waist, fingers lacing against her stomach.
"Write that article. We'll send a curtesy "preview" to Elliott, ask him for more recent photographs of the engine.
Chloe bobbed her head slightly to grant him more access to her neck. "They'll have to bring it out of storage to take pictures. Then we'll send…"
"Hal."
He kissed the same spot again, his thumb brushing circles around her belly button under her camisole. Chloe's breathing picked up.
"Bart could steal it right under their noses…"
"Hal," Oliver gave her hips a tug so she all but fell backward into him. "His ring will react if there's nth metal there."
Chloe pecked the corner of his mouth. "What if…"
Oliver growled. What ifs were not part of his immediate to-do list. His palm grazed the hot skin under her breasts. Chloe gasped. She tried to keep her head on their conversation, poorly.
"And what about… the building?"
"Mine." Her, and the damned pile of stones that interested her so. "I'll go take a look."
"I want… to come with you."
"You will."
Desire was raging again, hot enough to scorch to the ground every conscious thought that were not her, her taste on his tongue, her body under his…
"Ollie…"
He pulled her top flung over her head at her whimper. Oliver invaded her mouth as he lifted her enough to get rid of the other obstacles between them and then there was only heat. His name on her tongue, his body under hers…
Much later, Oliver pushed damped hair off her forehead to kiss her temple as she burrowed on his lap with a happy kitten purr. "Comfortable, Sidekick?"
"Very… You're warm…"
"So is our bed." He stood with her in his arms easily. His sweats pooled around his ankles so Oliver just stepped out of them on his way out of the locker. Chloe giggled.
"What's the funny?"
"Clark's face if he walked on us now…"
"I'd rather Clark not sees you naked. Or in those things you insist to call pajamas."
Chloe grinned against his collarbone. "He helped Lois chose my bikini, you know."
Oliver frowned deepened. "I don't know what to address first, the fact that Clark is choosing your lingerie or that I haven't seen that one yet…"
Chloe leaned back on the mattress, pulling him down to her and laughing. "It's just a swimsuit, Ollie…"
"Still. I think you have to make it up to me…"
Her answer got lost in a kiss.
