"Actually, this might prove a tad difficult. I'm sorry, Chlo. I should have known this was going to happen."
He watched, helpless, as realization downed on Chloe's beautiful face. "Someone saw us at the restaurant yesterday."
"Yes."
"How bad is it?"
"It's… It's not bad, but… Here, see for yourself."
He handed her tablet to her. She switched it on and immediately saw what he meant. The by-line was not as nasty as some of the press he'd had over the years. "Is Oliver Queen off the market?" The article actually avoided the usual speculations of pregnancy and quips about his taste for tall leggy brunettes. But the photos were self-explanatory and not something he could wipe out under the carpet as fakes. The first must have been taken on the promenade when they exited the restaurant. Oliver had his arm wrapped around her shoulders while she had her head on his shoulder. The other showed them entered the underground parking of Queen Tower, again too close for an employer and his helper. The story he'd concocted of a house nurse would not hold to that.
"What are we going to do?"
"I don't know. I called Barbara already. She said she'll look into it but… The articles and pictures are more respectful than what I faced in the past." Oliver ran one hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I am really sorry…"
Tess sprang into action. "Pack your stuff. You're coming back with me now. The photos are grainy, so they still don't have a clear picture of your face. It could be anyone. I'm parked downstairs. You're a Queen Industries employee. It's mid-afternoon on a Friday. For all they know, we're carpooling."
"That's…" Oliver fought the automatic refusal that seared his tongue. It was simple. Safer for her, safer for him, the perfect solution to the mess he'd created. He released his death grip on the edge of the counter to hook his hands in his back pockets. It cut his heart to ribbons to admit it. "That's actually a good idea."
Chloe sought his eyes. The light in hers was wavering like a candle in the wind. "All right, I'll be but ten minutes, Tess."
"Sure, no worries."
The blonde exited the kitchen without looking back. Oliver stood where he was, rooted into place. Tess walked to him and stared, her head slightly cocked to the side. The expression on her face reminded him of Hal. Except to her he could lie.
"I just feel guilty for the danger I've put her in."
After a minute, she patted his chest lightly with a light smile.
"Just a bump in the road. You'll be fine."
Oliver held his bow steady. He counted his heartbeats, breathing into the fetch by his mouth, and let fly. The arrow hit the line between black and blue. After days of unused, the muscles in his back twinged at the renewed tension. Oliver rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight from foot to foot to ease the pressure before he selected another arrow in the quiver next to him.
The room was silent, his only company the noise of his own breathing and the quiet hum of the Watchtower servers he'd turned back on. He'd shut down his phone and headed down to the Arrow training room as soon as he'd received Chloe's text telling him she was back to her place. Rather than the furious workout session the boiling anger in his veins wanted, he elected to work on his aim. The patience required for target practice helped with the depressing feeling he'd let Chloe down.
Tess was right, in a way. For her, going back to her place that afternoon was the simplest way to avoid the paparazzi that certainly camped all around Queen Tower now. They would see each other at the Masquerade, if she chose to attend. The press was only allowed at the red carpet—which he intended to walk alone, no matter what she decided. After that… After that they would figure it out. Oliver released another arrow, swore when it missed the center.
He picked up another shaft, aimed.
The penthouse upstairs was empty. The cushions on the couch were straight, one on each corner, one in the center. The remote for the entertainment system was in its place by the TV. Coffee mugs and glasses dried on the rack in the kitchen. There were no heels to stumble into in the hallway, no plaid thrown haphazardly on the back of the sofa. He'd erased every little sign of Chloe ever being here in about ten minutes of enraged housework.
Oliver adjusted his stance, aimed again, shot. Bull-eye.
The last arrow in the quiver felt unbalanced in his hand. He inspected the length of the shaft from point to tip. Part of the fetch was damaged. He had all the time in the world to repair it. Or he could suit up. It was still early. His chest hurt every time he breathed too deeply, but he'd patrolled through worse. The Green Arrow could make his rounds, just to be seen here and there in the city. He would end up on the rooftop of the building opposite to hers, he knew, and spend hours watching the lights blink on and off in her apartment. Close, and far away at the same time. Pure torture. Hal was right. He was a glutton for punishment. Oliver lowered his bow.
He walked to the wet bar and splashed two fingers of single malt in a glass he took with him near Watchtower. The monitors came to life with a simple mouse-click. Police reports and media feeds appeared on screen. Oliver pulled the keyboard toward him and typed a command. Instantly, the closest screen offered a selection of folders. He clicked the one labeled City Hall and started to read about the comings and goings of councilman Gordon Byers.
Two hours later, he was nowhere closer to understand what his instincts were trying to tell him about the man. His back hurt again—should have stretched after his shooting practice— and he was hungry. Oliver shut down the monitors. He gathered his equipment to put the bow and arrows back in their proper place, gave one last look to Watchtower and climbed the flight of stairs leading to his penthouse. The wood panel in the living room closed with a whoosh. Leftovers would have to do. He was decidedly not in the mood to cook.
When he entered his bedroom to shower first, Charlie stared back at him from his comfortable position against his bedhead. Longing hit him like a freight train. Oliver grabbed his phone.
"Hey…"
"There's a stuff pumpkin on my bed, Sidekick."
"Charlie insisted. He said you would be lonely without him."
"What if he molests me in my sleep?"
Her laugh filled some of the hole next to his heart. "I'm pretty sure you're safe from the big bad pumpkin, Oliver. But if I'm wrong, I want an exclusive."
"How mercenary of you. Are you settling back okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine." She paused, and he found himself holding his breath. "There was no one to steal my prep veggie when I made dinner. It was strange."
Oliver kicked the orange ball out of the way. "Yeah."
Silence stretched again. This time, he didn't feel the need to fill it with small talk. The quiet was an extension of those moments they had in the past few days when just being with each other was enough.
"Oliver?"
"Hum?"
"I'm sorry I had to leave like this."
"Hey, none of that. It's not your fault. It's mine. I've dealt with paparazzi my whole life. I should have known your stunt wouldn't stop them for long. I even told so to Hal hours before it happened. I just…"
I just wish we had more time. He didn't say it. Her voice when she spoke fizzled to a whisper before it firmed again. "We'll see each other at the Masquerade, right?"
Yes! "Of course." Oliver smirked, knowing she would picture it from his tone. "Unless I cannot recognize you. What's your costume going to be again?"
The chuckled dissipated the last shreds of his melancholy. "Nice try, Buster. Don't worry. I'll find you, Don Capone. Then we'll discuss terms."
"Terms?" Oliver crooked an eyebrow. It was all he could do to refrain a hopeful grin to grow.
"For Charlie's custody. He's my pumpkin."
"Charlie is staying right here with me. You abandoned him."
"Then I demand visiting rights."
The smile bloomed to a full beam. "I'm opened to negotiations."
If he heard the yawn hidden in her chuckle at that, Oliver knew it was because he was so attuned to everything that was Chloe.
"You should go to bed. Called me if you need anything."
"I will. 'Night Ollie."
"Good night, Chlo. Sleep tight."
After he cut the call, Oliver stared at the orange stuffed ball at his feet. Tess had mentioned a bump in the road. He just needed to find a way to level the ground.
