Chloe sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the dizziness to pass. The cotton in her head made her sluggish. She remembered bits and pieces of the night before, and too clearly everything else. Her chin trembled. She turned her hands on her lap, staring at her palms. The burns and cuts were long gone. Chloe closed her eyes.
"Choe?"
The blonde lifted her head. She decided her attire of yoga pants and old tee-shirt was decent enough. "Come in."
A dark man hair in his early thirties appeared on the threshold. "Hey, sleepy head. I'm Hal Jordan. We met—"
"On the beach the other week." Chloe supplied.
"Yes. Oliver asked me to keep you company until the doc can make it this way. He had some business meeting he couldn't—"
"Right."
Anger surged, burning grief in its wake. She needed Oliver and he was not here. After the emptiness, the black hole inside her filled with fire and rage. "He saw me break down twice before, so that's not it. What then? Does he feel guilty? My memories were to come back at some point. He has nothing to do with it."
"I don't think—"
Chloe clenched her hands into fists. She wanted to punch something. Hit and hit and hit until she reduced the world to rumble. Because her heart clawed at her chest to get out and if she let it, there would be nothing else inside her but the pain, and breaking something was the only thing that made sense. "The world doesn't resolve about Oliver Queen."
"Glad we agree. Wow!" Her fist flew. Hal jerked back just in time to avoid the punch. "If you want to pick up a fight with Oliver, wait for Oliver."
"Like Hell."
Chloe spun on her heels and strode toward the closet to grab her suitcase. She yanked it open, then moved toward the dresser. Drawers slammed open, close. "I am not waiting for his Royal Highness to look down on his next charity case."
"A little cliché, but I can see where you're coming from."
Her head snapped up. "Excuse me?"
Hal's mouth twitched. "Not everyone is fit for the Cinderella's role after all."
Cinder— Oh the absolute nerve…
"I've been taking care of myself since I am sixteen years old." Her hand itched to smack the glibness off his face. "I'm not some helpless damsel who wrings her hands waiting for the hero to swoop in to save her. I save myself. I saved myself."
But you couldn't save your father. The excruciating shame burned.
"Yes. You did." The man stepped forward. "You saved yourself, and you paid a terrible price for it. You are no more responsible for your father's death than Oliver is, Chloe. You didn't set that house on fire."
She was not discussing her father. Her father was not the point. He was dead. "If you're done with the counselling 101, the door is right here."
Hal took another step. She glared. His silhouette wavered a little. Chloe wrapped one arm around her torso. The other shot forward and collided with a broad chest.
Her knees hit the bed. Hal was some blurry dark mass helping her seat.
"It's not your fault."
"Don't touch me."
"It's not your fault."
"I killed him."
"It's not your fault."
"Yes, it is!" She wiped her cheeks. "Clark, Lex, even Lana, they all warned me to let it go, but I didn't listen. I went after Lionel anyway."
A tear pearled under her eye and rolled down her cheek, then another, then another. She cried for her father, and for the girl he'd loved. For the Sunday mornings when he tried to make pancakes and they ended up eating breakfast at the Talon. For the pride on his face when she'd been named the Torch's editor, and for that terrified look on his face when she'd asked him to take her to the mall to buy a bra. She cried because he had never helped her moving into a college dorm, or consoled her through her first real heartbreak. Because he would never see her grow old.
The meeting was finally adjourned and the crowd broke in small groups. Oliver shook the hands of the mayor and the rest of the councilmen, then excused himself to talk with the leaders from the Salinas tribal council. Conversation with the dignified older couple suited his current mood more than leaning a polite ear to suave politicians. What he really wanted, though, was get out of here without anyone noticing. To go back to Chloe. The chances for that to happen within the next hour were slim. It was Queen Industries show to run, and Barbara chastised him often enough to "put his charm to good use, once in a while".
He briefly considered using his back injury as an excuse to leave. There was that twinge in the small of his back…
"Mr. Queen?"
A stunning redhead woman with a dark-blue manly shirt and cream slacks approached him. He'd briefly spotted her in the crowd during the presentation, taking notes. He pegged her either for a journalist, or an activist. She certainly didn't dress like a lawyer.
Oliver took a second to appreciate her prowl. Tall, slim, with the face of an angel and eyes so clear they would cut through the hardest glass. He'd never cared much for female predators. He plastered a bland smile on his face, hoping she would get the "not-interested" vibe. "Yes?"
"Doctor Teresa Mercer, with the Star City Waters Institute." A scientist then. Just what he needed to end his day. "Can I have one minute of your time?"
Oliver nodded politely at the Salinas people and gestured toward an empty space some feet away.
"Queen Industries presentation was well-informed and to the point. Congratulations."
"I'll make sure to let my people know you appreciate their work, Dr. Mercer."
"You'll do that." Here we go, Oliver thought. Rest your case, make it good and make it fast, so I can reply I look forward financing whatever you want money for, and I can get out of here. "Though I'd rather you make sure to tell me about our common acquaintance."
Her tone stopped him short in his tracks. Oliver schooled his feature. "Beg your pardon?"
Mercer stared back, visibly unimpressed by his sudden sharp tone. "Petite. Blonde. No-nonsense attitude." Oliver tensed but he already knew before she added, "She goes by the name of Dorothy Gale."
He trusted years of practice would keep his face friendly. "I believe we've met, yes. She's a reporter, isn't that right?"
"Don't play me for a fool, Mr. Queen. Where is my friend? I know she's not in Coast City house-sitting."
His cell phone vibrated at the exact moment he opened his mouth to lie. Oliver didn't even check the caller ID. He all but jumped away from the barracuda in a navy cargo shirt. "Excuse me, I have to take that. Oliver Queen."
"Mr. Queen. Harold Jordan speaking."
"Hal. Sorry. I… Never mind. Is everything all right?"
"We're heading to the shore promenade now. You're joining us for diner? I'm thinking seafood."
Oliver detected something in his friend's avoidance of the question, but decided it could wait until they were face to face. "That's the best offer I've had all day.
"Good. The Reef?"
"Works for me. I'm leaving now. I should be there in forty, forty-five minutes."
Less, if he took a couple of short-cuts.
Oliver cut the call. The redhead was eyeing him from afar. He made no movement to go back to their previous conversation. If Chloe knew her, it would be up to the blonde to decide if she wanted to contact her or not.
Since no one else was paying attention to him, he made a beeline for the exit.
