Oliver stared at the newspaper on his desk, then up to the blonde woman allegedly waiting to "interview" him to complete her article on the Oasis foundation.
"This is the third praising article in as many weeks, Chloe. I swear, that's a lot of good press for a guy who did his best to terrify you."
She pushed a blonde bang out of her eyes. She'd changed her hairstyle since the last time he'd seen her at the Masquerade. He'd rather forget about their disastrous non-date that evening. Oliver smiled at her. The shaggy haircut suited her newfound confidence to a T. What did it say about him that he liked the sass as much as he'd enjoyed being her hero? Probably that he was a lovesick fool.
"I don't think he scared me on purpose, Oliver. I was already so close to the edge it was probably just the last straw." If only he could believe that. "Besides, the Star City Gazette pays really well for the articles."
"Chloe, if you need money, I can—"
"No, Oliver."
That tone he knew well. In fact, it seemed to be her new normal with him. Except when she talked about the Green Arrow. The hero got praises while Oliver Queen received sharp, clipped barbs. He closed his mouth at once.
"You already paid me for "nursing you back to health" when I did nothing, and don't you think I know that you put a bug in the Museum Curator's ears about the exhibit planned for next March?"
"That one is on Carter, don't blame me."
Her smile softened at the mention of the older man. Barbara's husband also deserved a free pass apparently. She did have a thing for tall, dark and troublesome. Drat it all.
Oliver circled his desk to join her on the sofa. "What's the exhibit about?"
"Medicine and shamanism."
"Huh, sounds interesting?"
Chloe shrugged. "It's work. What I am doing for the Green Arrow is more fulfilling."
Oliver frowned. The sound of that, he didn't like at all. "The work you are doing for the Green Arrow?" He certainly hadn't asked her to do anything. Hell, he'd been careful to stay away, even if his patrols brought him in her neighborhood. "Chloe?"
Catastrophic scenarios popped in his mind like grenades: twisted copycats, serial killers, Lionel luring her out… A petite hand covered his on the cushion then it was gone. "Oliver, I am only giving a hero the reconnaissance he deserves, that's all."
"I am not sure he's a hero."
Chloe turned reproachful eyes on him. The effect was endearing. "Have you even read my articles? Of course he's a hero! He risks life and limbs every night to help people no one cares about, and he's not asking for a thing in return. That's what heroes do."
Her green orbs, so vibrant, almost undid him. Her looking at him with such faith was all the recognition he needed. The surge of longing it created in the pit of his stomach was a problem for another day.
Oliver looked at her hand on her lap, and reached to push the stubborn lock of hair away from her eyes for her. She slapped his hand away. No liberty allowed today. "I worry."
Chloe smiled. "I know. But you don't have to."
"I still do." He grinned to alleviate the moment. "Who's going to keep my ego in check if something happened to you?"
Her hand somehow found his again, squeezed then returned safely to her side. She shrugged a shoulder. "I'm just using a keyboard. It's not like I plan to lurk in dark alleys at night."
Oliver gave her a meaningful look. "Okay, I did. Once. I used to do that all the time when I was a reporter. I miss it."
"You are a reporter Chloe."
"Not the kind I wanted to be. You know, the kind that chases leads in dark alleys, sneaks in shoddy nightclubs, exposes the vile and corrupted."
The kind that got themselves bloodied, crippled, or worse. He clenched his teeth to the point his jaw hurt. Oliver blew air through his nose, forced his back to relax before his ribs started throbbing again.
"Fine." He scouted away from her to drape himself over the back of the couch with a nonchalant grin etched over his feature. "However, remember that you are my sidekick."
"Oliver?"
Oliver lifted a finger at the interruption. "Come in, Mark."
"Sorry to disturb you. The accountant meeting starts in ten minutes."
"Right. Thank you. Miss Gale, I believe we're done. Do you have any more questions?"
Chloe flipped through the pages of the notebook she hadn't even opened until now. "No, Mr. Queen, I think I have everything." She stood, brushing a non-existent wrinkle from her pencil skirt—a white one today, to go with her forest green blouse. He followed the movement with his eyes, for his EA's benefit—and his own. Chloe licked her lips, nervous despite her nonchalant thanks. "Thank you again for your time."
He liked making her nervous, even if it was just for show. "It was my pleasure. I look forward reading your article. The Oasis is worth your best… efforts."
He drawled the words on purpose, certain she remembered the last time he'd teased her with the same. When her flush intensified, he knew she did. "If you have any more questions…"
"I'll be sure to call. Enjoy your meeting, Mr. Queen. Accounting's important. They pay your bills."
Minx. As if she didn't know he was going to try and get her to reply to his text messages before the hour was up. Try being the operative word. Her newfound confidence and crusade to get good press for his alter-ego apparently kept her too busy for indulging him these days.
What was he about to do was stupid, Oliver knew. Beyond stupid, it was reckless. And Foolish. And wrong. One misstep, and Chloe would find the Green Arrow in her balcony.
He aimed his crossbow and fired the hook. The grapple wrapped around the overhang above her bedroom balcony with a muffled clang. He waited, counting up to fifty in his head. He doubted she would hear the noise from her spot at her kitchen table. When he texted her earlier, she'd mentioned organizing recipes. It apparently required incredible focus since she hadn't replied after that.
If he hadn't known better, he would have assumed she was giving him the cold shoulder treatment. That kind of ploy wasn't Chloe' style, Oliver reasoned each time the thought nagged at the back of his mind. And if it was, she wouldn't do that to him. Their time at the Masquerade hadn't been that bad.
Oliver yanked on the line to confirm it was secure then allowed the pulley to propel him upward. He landed without a sound, immediately retreating to the shadows.
He'd toyed with the idea for the best part of the afternoon while his meeting dragged. Discouraging her from continuing her self-appointed crusade to boost his image would not work. He'd tried, but neither warning her of the dangers of having her name on the front page of the Star City Gazette nor cajoling her had worked. She'd just crooked an eyebrow over those deep green eyes and he'd gone down without a fight. Truth be told, her capacity to reduce him to be her lapdog was a little worrying, in itself. Since she'd refused Oliver Queen with less than a blink of an eye, her bowing to his alter-ego if he tried to get her off his trail was next to nonexistent. And he was certainly not going to scare her off. The only way to keep her safe, he figured, was to point her in certain directions rather than let her dig at leisure.
Oliver chanced a glimpse inside through the shutters. The light was still coming from the kitchen. Knowing her, it could be a few hours before she decided to come to bed.
A lamp flared in the apartment next to hers. He flattened himself against the wall, controlling his breathing. A door opened, closed. He strained his ear, picked up the whoosh of water running down the drain. The pipes groaned so hard he winced, took a mental note to discuss plumping maintenance with the super. Queen Industries owned the building after all, curtesy of his dalliance with Lena Luthor. Oliver reached as carefully as possible into his pocket to extract a mini-spray of WD40. If the pipes' screeching were any indication, the hinges of the shutters would need the help.
Bare feet padded across the floor. He picked up the rustle of sheets, a sigh, then nothing. Oliver waited. More rustling, a thud, a mumble… The light went out. He gave whoever had just gone to bed a few minutes to fall asleep, then got to work.
Once properly oiled, the shutter parted without a fuss. She'd left the windows ajar. Oliver tsked under his breath while he reached for the sucker arrow in his quiver. If he dared put a hole in her pillow, she would probably skin him alive, hero or not.
Making sure the USB key he'd prepared for her was solidly attached to the shaft, he aimed through the sliver of empty space at her bed. He stood there immobile for a second, suddenly fearing to make what could be the worst—and that said something— mistake of his life. What if she didn't get the message? What if she unmasked him? What if she never forgave him the deception? The dongle was a direct access to the resources of the Watchtower. With it, he put his life, both lives, in her hand.
Oliver closed his eyes to focus on his breathing. His heart steadied to a more sedate pace. Chloe trusted him. He trusted her, too.
The arrow whooshed in the air until it hit its target. Oliver lowered his bow. The shaft vibrated from the rush then stabilized. The dongle balanced next to the fetch. Mission accomplished.
