Learn By Going

[latetothpartyhp]

Title: Learn By Going
Author: latetothpartyhp
Pairing: Chlollie
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Smut, bad language, angst, hurt/comfort, some gory imagery. First time writing Chlollie & first attempt at smut. If you were a big, big Chimmy fan you might not want to read this.
Spoilers: through Roulette
Short summary: This is set some time after Roulette. AU. Chloe and Oliver become intimate.


Dark,dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
- In a Dark Time, Theodore Roethke

Great Nature has another thing to do   
To you and me; so take the lively air,   
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.   
What falls away is always. And is near.   
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.   
I learn by going where I have to go.
 - The Waking, Theodore Roethke

And Adam knew Eve his wife; and she conceived.
 - Genesis 4:1a



It was late, she was out of coffee, she was going to headdesk at any moment, and out of nowhere she could feel his fingers feathering over her shoulders.

"Just let the software do its work and go to bed."

"I'm writing the software," she mumbled.

"Then its going to be full of bugs. There's the futon upstairs. Go to bed," he told her. His breath brushed her ear, and she shivered.

She went to bed, but not to sleep. She was suddenly too tense. Too aware. He was in the bathroom down the hall; she could hear the slight squeak of the faucet, the water running, the sound of him spitting into the sink. They were intimate, domestic sounds. She shivered again, expecting hear him turn out the light and pad bare-chested to the non-existent bed beside her.

He did not.

The next day was the same as every other day. Systems to monitor. Bad guys to catch. The next day was completely different from any other day. She kept waiting for him to walk in. He was in Moldova though, signing some papers on a deal with men who made her stomach turn. It would be a good in, he said. They needed some internal contacts if they were going to monitor the human trafficking situation effectively. Eventually she stopped twitching at every noise.

Two days later he was back, and in need of briefing. Intergang was re-forming. She'd gotten some intel that indicated a large meeting, schematics of the warehouse where it was to be held, shipping documents indicating a large delivery of some kind to it. For some reason he was reading the monitor from over her shoulder. He seemed close. Did he need to be that close? Maybe she had issues with personal space. No, he was close.

One hand settled on her shoulder as the other gestured at something on the screen. Something? Oh. Yeah. The dock doors. Something about repainting a semi --

"I don't think they're expecting many deliveries," she answered. "Just the one."

"You can fix that, can't you?" Now the other hand was on the other shoulder.

He was definitely too close.

She drove all the way back to the Talon that night, stayed awake to the sound of Lois' snoring. It was preferable. She would rather think thoughts she didn't want to think than dream dreams she didn't want to dream. Twice before she had felt this kind of awareness. Once it had left her alone on the dance floor. The other time... She pulled her traitorous body into a little ball. Thinking about dreams wasn't any better than dreaming them.

"You bailed pretty early last night," he said when she got in. He looked fresh and starched and smelled like melting butter. Or was that the coffee?

"Special delivery," he said, handing her a mug. "Blue Mountain. Roasted this morning. You have somewhere to be?"

"Hm?" She needed to sit.

"Last night. When you took off -- did you have somewhere to be?"

"Yeah." Why did he keep talking? This coffee was damn near sacramental. She stared at the rosette window and let it hover over her tongue.

"Are you feeling alright?" He looked worried.

"Um, yeah. This coffee is just that amazing. Requires all my Zen-like powers of concentration to appreciate it."

He smiled around his mug and went back to the table. She relaxed. Distance was good.

"It means we have a lot to cover today, you know," he said from the table.

"Mm-hm."

Distance was very good.

Except he hadn't gotten the memo, it seemed. She tried to keep moving, but the work did occasionally demand some stationary concentration. When it did, he was there, destroying it. Typing next to her, asking questions. More of the staring-over-her-shoulder thing. He gave literal meaning to "breathing down one's neck." The tiny warm puffs were like targeted hits; she had to dig her nails into her palms to keep from arching into them.

And there was no escape. He sent out for Thai at lunch and bullied her into eating it. The holy basil sauce was delicious but almost unbearably hot. She could feel her face flush with its burn, feel her lips and tongue become swollen and irritated. She wondered why the great cathedral window couldn't be cracked open. God knew how hot and thick the air was in here.

Relief arrived mid-afternoon, when a meeting with lenders demanded his presence at LuthorCorp. Without him, her nervous energy bailed on her; the fourth time she felt herself jerk awake in front of her laptop she closed it and crawled up to the futon. She never napped. Never needed to. He must have pulled a fast one and bought decaf. She closed her eyes and let the silence lull her.

Noises eventually pulled her from her heavy blackness. She pulled on her robe and walked down the stairs. She must have slept all night; the gentle light of morning was filtering through the great window. She froze though when she saw what morning had brought. In the many-colored pool of sunshine stood Davis: smiling, naked, hands dripping with blood.

"Chloe?"

Her hand lashed out and was caught. She opened her eyes to Oliver's. He looked alarmed.

"Chloe, what's going on? Are you sick?"

"Let go of me." She sat up and blinked. There was still some light from the window, but it was fading fast.

He released her wrist and lifted the hand to her forehead.

"You feel a little hot."

"I'm not sick. Please --"

"It's five-thirty. What are you doing in bed?"

"I couldn't sleep last night, I needed to make-up some sleep. Could you just -- " She smiled hard and tried to push at him, but he was as immovable as Clark.

"What kept you up?"

He was not going away. Fine. Just -- fine.

"Chloe?"

"When you were ..." she waved vaguely, "in your funk, did you ever say to yourself: 'Who the hell do you think you are? You don't know what you're doing. You don't bring anything to the table. You're too....' Did you ever think that?"

He laughed.

"Are you serious? Chlo --. You are serious. This is what's keeping you awake?" His hand moved down to her cheek. She could feel the hard calluses on his palm, hidden beneath his manicured nails.

She closed her eyes. She couldn't look at him. "I don't know if can trust my instincts anymore. I feel like I've been on auto-pilot since spring, and now I need to turn it off and land, and I don't know if I can."

His thumb brushed the apple of her cheek. "You can. I know you can. You always do what needs to be done. You're a fighter Chloe."

It was her turn to laugh. She opened her eyes again. "Now you're stealing my lines?"

"You are the best writer."

His thumb was still moving back and forth, rough against her skin. Her throat and face and belly felt tight enough to pop; she was going to lose it soon if she didn't move. He was so close, inches away. She could see the fine little lines forming around his eyes, his huge black pupils, and then his slightly shiny lids as his eyes closed and he kissed her. For a moment she just let him, her gaze fastened on the wiry stray hairs above his brows.

"Chloe?" He asked again, right before his lips brushed the corner of her mouth, the side of her chin, her jawbone, gentle touches that made her want to sob.

"Yes?" she answered. Then gasped. He had kissed her neck. Was continuing to kiss her neck; she could feel his breath under her jaw and along her esophagus. Her spine arched. He stopped.

"You seem tense. I'm sorry, I think I -- mis-interpreted the situation." He didn't seem embarrassed, though. His pupils were smaller, but he wasn't going anywhere. She could still count the freckles on his nose.

"No," she said automatically.

"Because I don't want to push you into anything," he replied.

"No. No pushing. I just ... haven't been in a situation like this for awhile," she said as cheerfully offhand as she could.

"A situation like what?"

"Like ... this. I haven't kissed anyone since the divorce and between the wedding and the divorce there was a lot of 'be careful of the stitches', and then after the divorce there was just so much crazy, and then -- "

She stopped. She was babbling. She lifted her hands against him, tried to gain some leverage, but he was pulling her to him. His neck was hot against hers and faintly coarse. She stopped trying to push and capitulated, burrowing her arms in his jacket, feeling the heat radiating from beneath his shirt. Hands ran lightly up and down her back. She thought they were meant to be soothing, but every stroke made her quiver more.

"And look," she said, pulling back, creating space. "Even before the wedding there was Brainiac, which got into Mulholland Drive-levels of weird. I did all these crazy things. With Kane -- but there were other things, too. Things with Jimmy -- there were flashes when I was with Jimmy when it felt as if it was happening to someone else." What was she doing? She would never tell anyone that. She could barely think it without immediately changing the subject in her head.

"You mean, when you two were in bed?"

She blushed. She wanted to hide her head in his collar again. For her pride's sake she didn't. She had to maintain some sense of composure. She was not fourteen. She was mature and and sophisticated. God knew she'd had enough frank, open conversations with Clark about it to earn that badge. Never after he'd kissed her, though. Never when she was close enough to smell his skin.

"Yeah," she said with a little laugh, but then found herself continuing. "Other times too, mostly toward the end. I would look at my ring and wonder why I was the one wearing it, like it wasn't me he had proposed to, and I hadn't said yes." And again with the babbling. She bit her lip to keep herself from opening her mouth again.

He began massaging her shoulder, a little too firmly. She was tense enough that it hurt. "That was Brainiac."

"Was it?"

His hand stilled and he gave her a sharp look. "So, is this what you meant about not trusting your instincts?"

"Maybe." It was getting harder to talk now; her throat had become stiff, but she kept going. "I keep having these dreams. I see Davis with blood all over his hands, and then when I look down it's all over mine."

"You did not kill -- " he said fiercely. "If anything -- " She opened her mouth to rebutt what she thought he was about to say, but he rushed on. "No. Listen to me. What I said earlier is still true. You are the fighter. You do not give up. You don't wallow in existentialist bullshit and leave other people to clean up the mess.  Even when you say you're on auto-pilot, you don't give in." He paused again, she opened her mouth again, he took his hand from her shoulder and pressed his finger to her lips. "I said I'd mis-interpreted this situation, and I did. I am so sorry, Chloe. I am so sorry." He leaned his forehead against hers, folded his hands around hers like a supplicant.

She scrunched her lids up tight. She wanted to answer: You don't understand, but her throat had seized up. She could only gasp for air and hope it made it to her lungs. She didn't know where any of it had come from, how it had gotten out or why her mind had chosen now, of all times, to lay itself bare for inspection. But he was next to her still, he hadn't walked off in revulsion. In spite of all her verbal diarrhea he was there, warm and a little scratchy. And he'd said something. That was Brainiac. I am so sorry. Trembling gratitude seeped in to the emptiness her outpouring had left behind.

She opened her eyes and saw his were still closed. From the set of his mouth and the tautness in his jaw he looked tense.

"Ollie?" she whispered.

His eyes flew open. He looked like one of his own bow-strings, drawn and ready to be loosed.

"Thank you." She pulled her hands from his and fitted them to his cheeks. He was so beautiful. She realized she could let herself think that now. His eyes were huge, though; the arrow was still nocked. She didn't know what he was waiting for, but she wanted to give it to him. She pressed her lips to his cheek between her thumb and his nose, his upper lip, the corner of his mouth. A rush of adrenaline filled her as she worked down. Once before she had ventured a kiss that tried to mean something. It hadn't, or maybe it had meant too much, but this time --

Hard arms wrapped around her, soft lips moved against hers. She had never been kissed the way he was kissing her now. It was as if she'd downed a bottle of champagne and was floating over the futon while the world spun around her. And despite what he'd said earlier, he was pushing, or she was falling, because she was lying down again, and he was over her, somehow. And he was big. Big shoulders, long legs, hands that could wrap around her waist. One of those long legs was braced against the floor, propping him up, but the other was draped over hers, pinning them down. His kiss was deepening, his lips more insistent, his tongue lapping hers. The world began to tilt as well as spin, air became harder to inhale. Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch something in her decided. She pulled her mouth free from his and took a large, gulping breath.

"Are you ok?" he asked. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't look at him right now without losing her sense of up and down. And she needed to be up.

"Could you sit for a minute?" He shifted and complied. His weight gone, she was cold but able breathe again. She opened her eyes and ventured a glance. He wore a confused frown. She recognized that frown. She'd seen it on Clark, the day he'd returned from the Phantom Zone.

"I'm guessing I mis-interpreted again."

If only it were that simple, she thought. She could feel everything it seemed: the brush of her hair against her neck, the scratch of her bra against her nipples, her pulse beating in every extremity. It was too much, and not enough. She needed to not make the same mistake again. She needed to get this right.

"No," she said, and that was the truth. But her heart wasn't racing with excitement only. Frankly, she was damn terrified. "Maybe, uh -- maybe more like this." She scooched over and straddled his legs.

His frown seemed more worried now. "Chloe - no, if you're not -- "

"No. I mean -- yes. Yes, I want this. It's just like I said before. It's been awhile."

He stared at her for a minute, then gave her a little smile. "Well, I can definitely work with this."

She blushed (again!) and this time she did hide her face in his collar. At least she could now do it under cover of sexiness. She kissed the faintly stubbly skin under his jaw, worked her way up his chin to his mouth. His hands had settled at her waist, thumbs brushing her belly. While she was en route he seemed content to wait, but when she kissed him on the lips again she could feel how hungry he was. The spins-feeling returned instantly. She pulled back, just a bit, just enough to clear her head, tugging at his bottom lip with hers, then deepened it again. She repeated it until they developed a swaying rhythm, following a Goldilocks-like cycle of too hot-too cold-just right. But which of them was Goldilocks? she asked herself through her haze. A vision flashed before her of Oliver in a pinafore, trying out chairs. The picture made her giggle against his mouth.

"I hope that means your giddy with excitement?" he asked.

She probably was, she realized. It had been nearly a year. No, that was wrong. She'd never done this before.

"I just feel ... liberated," she said. Like she'd just jumped off the high dive and realized she hadn't drowned.

"Yeah?" He grinned. "You want to liberate yourself from this?" He plucked at her shirt. She smiled back and pulled it up; even before she'd gotten it over her head she felt his warm hand on her stomach, skimming up for her ribcage to her breast. She felt his thumb graze the lace over her nipple, felt her whole body tighten and arch at the touch. She could feel his fingers of his other hand kneading, his thumbs massaging her abdomen just above her hip bones. The movement pulled at her low in her body, activating an electric current that gave her hips a life of their own. She rocked her pelvis against his and he answered, his erection rubbing against her, sending every other sensation into overdrive.

"How about this?" he asked. "Is this liberating?" His hand skimmed up and pushed her bra strap down, peeling back the rest of the cloth. She nodded. It seemed easier than trying to form words. He bent forward and flicked her now taut, tingling nipple with his tongue. Chloe gave a little scream and almost fell off his lap. His arm caught her in time, pressing her into him, forcing her legs further apart, and still he kept on licking and sucking until she was writhing half in ecstasy, half in pain.

Almost ready to scream in earnest, she pushed him away again, her nipple coming loose from his mouth with a pop. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded now, with an intensity to them that hadn't been there before. It made her shiver as badly as his hug had. A minute. She needed just a minute. She stood. "I'm going to continue the work of the revolution here," she said as she unzipped her skirt. "You want to lose those capitalist trappings?"

His hands flew to his buttons. "Isn't that El Che Vive stuff a little 2004? Besides, creative capitalism will change the world," he informed her as he yanked his jacket off.

"There you go, being an imperialist pig again." Watching him strip, Chloe decided he could be the spokes-model for imperialist pigs. A few posters of him shirtless could accomplish more in five minutes than the CIA had managed in decades. Exercising a little fascism of her own, she grabbed the Egyptian cotton and tropic-weight wool and was draping them over the chair to the room's work-station when he lunged for them.

"Hey -- you're throwing the baby out with the bathwater," he said while pawing through his pockets.

"Interesting analogy. You always carry a few of those around with you?" she asked when he successfully fished out a couple of condoms. The yeah, duh look he gave her made her laugh. "I think we gave out 'Boyscout' to the wrong team member."

"Yeah, except for my epic struggle with that 'morally straight' clause, that's me to a T. Get over here."

He had flopped down on the couch again and was ripping open one of the wrappers. Chloe walked over and re-straddled his lap. She'd caught her breath again and was feeling wiggly. She grabbed his cock right before he did. It jumped at her touch and she had to bite her lip to suppress another giggle. She suddenly understood why guys named them; they did seem to have minds of their own.

"Jesus! You're in the way. Unless you want to do the honors?"

She let go. "I'll watch. Seeing guys handling their junk is my secret kink," she added in a stage whisper. Something she had never told Jimmy, or at least, didn't remember telling him. It wasn't how they'd worked. Ollie, on the other hand, had probably heard worse before he could legally drink. Which meant maybe it sounded really lame.

If it was, he was grinning in spite of that fact. "Well I do like to put on a good show," he said, and he did, stroking himself leisurely, massaging his tip until moisture leaked out. He rolled the condom on slowly -- teasingly, Chloe thought. She was fascinated and achy and wanted to jump on him so she could hide her face again.

Which is exactly what she did when he was done, or tried to. Hopping right on him wasn't working; maybe the angle was wrong, maybe she wasn't ready -- she felt ready -- but it took a few burning, stinging tries before he slid in with a sharp pain that shot all the way to her navel. She gasped and he rocked his hips up again, sending another sharp stab up her belly. She leaned forward against his warm skin, that seemed to help a little, but the pinching feeling she had every time he moved was still there.

"Hold on hold on hold on," she said. His hips stilled.

"Shit, I'm sorry - "

"It's ok, it's just been --"

"Awhile," he finished. "Ok. Shit." He closed his eyes again, quieted his face. One of his hands slid from her backside to hipbone, his fingers tracing the ridge of it while his thumb circled over her pubis, right at the tip of her body. Her body tightened and her hips rolled forward reflexively. His thighs went hard, as if he were bracing himself, and his thumb kept circling, around and around until probed into the cleft of her labia, her hips rolling with each pass. It was as if a spiral of liquid light was emanating from that spot, filling every muscle and contracting it with bliss. She was levering herself up and down now with her knees, squeezing all around him, knowing at last that stopping was no longer an option, no matter how needy or demanding she seemed, this feeling had to continue.

Below her Oliver was breathing through his teeth. He'd stopped moving in rhythm and was instead the rock-hard immovable object to her unstoppable force. His free hand was at her waist, lifting and pushing, digging painfully in. There would be bruises tomorrow, and she would wear them gladly if only she could --

The spiraling light reached an apex and exploded. She floated on the drifting embers. Ollie's finger, Ollie's cock, Ollie's arm pinning her hip down were her only connections to the material world until she collapsed, drooling, onto Ollie's chest. Boneless as a jellyfish and only half as aware, she felt herself lifted and laid flat, her outer leg pushed up and out, and the fucking re-commence. Blurry-eyed, she saw his arm straining to hold himself up on the futon, his face twisted with concentration and need. The head of his cock hit her cervix again and again, sending hard golden aftershocks through her. She tried to lift her hips to meet his, but muscle control was beyond her. And her thigh hurt. Maybe if she lifted her leg up, stretched her ankle up to his shoulder. Above her Ollie moaned, thrust haphazardly a few more times, then shoved her leg aside right before flattening himself on her.

God, his body was a blast furnace. And heavy. Heavy legs, heavy head, heavy breath on her collarbone. He was this giant pleasure-giving, air-depleting, mind-obsessing paper-weight, but he was done now. He was softening inside her. In a moment he would slide out, sit up, walk away.

Either that or his evil chain saw-wielding twin with an Incredible Hulk complex would appear out of nowhere and butcher them both.

Something between a laugh and a sob escaped her. Ollie lifted his head.

"What's so funny?"

"I'm not laughing at you," she said quickly. Jimmy had been remarkably touchy at times post coitus. She didn't want start Ollie off.

"Well, you were laughing at something." He slid off the condom and got up, walking over to the wastebasket. Cool air washed around her, curling her into a ball. Across the room he was so far away.

"Just a dumb thought I had. This is the moment where I'd expect to see Mrs. Voorhees step out of the shadows and knife us."

Ollie walked back over to the couch. "Move your legs down. Your mind is a really scary place." A little firework of happiness burst in her at his return. She stretched back out so he could drape himself over her again, warm and weighty. She smiled at the heft of him on her, then tried to choke discretely as her abdomen fought to pump air.

"Well, it does live in Smallville. When I was in high school I was involved with two -- no three guys besides Jimmy. All of them were meteor mutants. One cloned himself in order to graduate early and then tried to throw Lana and I off the dam when we found out, and one was a telekinetic who tried to psychically chop off my head with a chain saw." She stopped to muscle through an inhale; that little speech had her lungs screaming.

"Geez, who was behind door number three? Freddy Krueger?" As if sensing her impending asphyxiation, he propped up his body on an elbow. Chloe sucked air gratefully.

"No, he moved into Lana's old house and forced his daughter to dream her way into a permanent coma. Number three was Sean; he was a body-heat vampire. Girls he got with froze to death."

"How'd you escape?"

"Clark."

He stroked her hair silently for a minute while goosebumps paraded down her spine. He was like an electric blanket, so why was she trembling again?

"Wow," he said finally. "I thought I had it bad when my friends set me up with a transvestite hooker for my 18th birthday."

End goosebumps. "Really."

"No," he said with a grin, which switched off almost instantly. "Yes. What kind of asshole makes a joke like that at a moment like this? But I guess that explains why Jimmy."

"Are you implying I only dated him because he didn't try to kill me?"

"Not at all, but with your history I'm sure it was a nice bonus."

She opened her mouth to retort, but couldn't. Jimmy had been so safe. Until the very end, she would never have believed Jimmy was capable of hurting anyone. Which had been a plus. And a minus, she realized. Why was that? She focused on their positions instead.

"Could you shift or something? Your hip bones are digging in."

He smirked. Then, in what she thought was supposed to be a single whirl of motion, he scooped his hands under her ass, swung his legs around and got promptly stuck, one leg folded between her and the back of the futon.

She would not laugh, Chloe told herself. She would not.

"You know what, why don't you just stand up for a moment," he said. Biting her lip, Chloe stood and grabbed the blanket she'd been using for her earlier nap from its pile on the floor. Oliver had stretched out on his side, the sight of which made her quickly wonder how much Playgirl would pay for a photo. He patted the sliver of empty space next to him. She bent to sit.

"No. Other way." She let herself be turned by him and pulled down, her back spooned against his chest. He took the blanket from her, shook it out around them, let it settle like a blessing over them. Cold air pushed out, he tucked the blanket around them.

She repressed a shiver. Davis had held her like this once, after a nightmare of his own. Ollie wrapped a leg over her thigh, slid his forearm between her breasts.

"This better?" he whispered.

She nodded. Less painful, but more surreal. She rubbed her cheek against his hard arm, felt the solidity of muscle and the vulnerability of human skin. He didn't feel as if he was going anywhere.

"Anyways," she said, putting her memories and conjectures into sleep mode. "Lana had it worse."

She felt his stomach contract as he snorted. "I'll say."

"Meaning what?" She craned her neck to look back at him.

"She married Lex Luthor. Does it get worse than that?"

She remembered during much of her senior year, she'd secretly thought Lex was the dictionary definition of sexy. But then there'd been the Black K incident, when her savior of the spring before had tried to kill her. Maybe she should have kept that in mind before agreeing to execute Clark's plan. She sighed.

"Well, she did wise up eventually."

"Yeah. Eventually. Although I kind of admired her chutzpah at the end. You could learn something from that." His hand cupped her breast as if for emphasis.

"What would that be?" she asked warily. Lana's brand of audacity had gone through several different phases.

"She really hit him where it hurt, stealing that suit."

"And as I recall, he returned the favor in spades."

"You pays your money and you takes your chances. Sure, she didn't do all her due diligence, but she got over her useless little china-doll phase and was ready for and took the opportunity when it came. That is what you need to do."

"Get over my 'useless little china-doll phase'?"

"No," he said, and pinched her nipple. She tried to slap at his hand but he grabbed hers easily, pinning her arm down. "I meant train like she did. Train with Mia and me. And you have to learn to shoot."

"I can shoot. Let go."

"I meant other than at point-blank range. And if you trained with me you'd be able to get out of this grip yourself." He released her fingers. She frowned. Surreal happy-fun time was over. Now she just wanted to kick his ass. "Plus," he continued "you need to be ready and willing to shoot. You'd never be able to fire a gun at someone right now unless you're sure you'd miss."

She twisted around to face him with proper indignation. "That is not true. I almost killed Jimmy on Black Thursday with a gun."

He laughed. "So the moral of the story is that you can dish it out but you can't take it?"

Jerk. At least Clark --

She swallowed. "At least" Clark had expressed his displeasure by cutting her out of his life. They were still barely speaking to each other, each waiting for an apology that wasn't coming. And even if she did apologize, they would probably fall right back into their ask-Chloe-for-help-then-insist-Chloe-is-incapable-of-making-decisions routine. Of course he was like that with everyone now. She wondered if Lana had ever realized that even with the suit, Clark would have never really seen her as a partner. Not the way Lana wanted him to.

She twisted back away from him. "Why is this suddenly so important?"

He wrapped himself around her again. "Because you are not a useless little china doll. You shouldn't act like one. You shouldn't be afraid that everyone you get close to is going to become a monster."

"And learning how to turn them into pincushions will make them not become monsters how?"

"Maybe they won't. Maybe they will -- but if they do, you'll know how to face them. Yourself." He propped himself up then, his face hovering over her ear, his breath punctuating her cheek. "And it's not just about kicking ass and taking names. When I'm at the archery range, it's very simple. It's just me and the target and the bow. I know what I can do, I know what I can't do. I know what mistakes I'm making, and I can practice and correct them. That time is how I know I can do what I need to do on the street."

She lifted her back back toward his; their noses barely missed bumping. His eyes shown with such certainty and his passion seemed so pure, she hated herself for ever thinking he was a spoiled brat in need of a spanking.

She lifted her hand to his cheek. "It sounds as if you'd do that every second if you could," she said softly. "Why don't you?"

He lay back then, pulled his arm away.

"We're different. You don't choke up when it gets rough, but you don't give yourself any breaks, either. You think you should be able to do everything. Or you bully someone into doing it for you."

"Ok. You think I need to learn my limits. Or my possibilities. And be less of a nag. I got it. I was asking about you."

"I know my limits. I just don't need yet another reminder of what I can't do."

Her throat tightened. She did not like hearing this. This was not Ollie. This was Clark. He must be infecting people, and not the fun way. She turned again, her whole body this time, bunching the blanket between them.

"Are you serious?"

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Who's stealing lines now?"

"First and last time. You're right -- mine are better. Oliver, you can be the most can-do person I know. You are the person that made what Dinah and Bart and A.C. and Victor and I all do possible. And you say we are so different, but when you're in form, you're the one who's always pushing, who can't stand loose ends."

"You mean like Lex," he said, staring at the ceiling. "No. I don't like those."

She hadn't, but it was out there now. She could see him changed, felt what she had feared. That quickly he'd become distant, despite being squished between her and the back of the futon. If he could leave without crawling over her, he would, she thought.

Which -- fine. Let him. She was done chasing rainbows. Except -- he hadn't let her push him away. Oliver Queen was not fooled by a big cheesy grin. Would she let herself be fooled because he turned off the "open" sign?

Besides, she admitted, she didn't want to let him go. She would so much more rather stay on the futon with him, entangled and entwined, packed like sardines with noses bumping, rather than feel the empty space around her when he left. Feeling him around her, on top of her, under her, beside her had felt ... so good. It hadn't made everything All Better, but it was a little better. Maybe that was all he needed, too. She reached out, feathered back his hair, traced his brows, the ridge of his nose. He lifted her hand and pushed it back.

Right. Tough love it was. She'd see how well this disher could take it. She bounced up, leaving him behind, leaving the the blanket behind, letting the air pebble her skin. Seriously, where was Mrs. Voorhees when you actually needed her? Little kids were drowning right now because guys who should know better had to take personal days for dark nights of the soul.

"So, what? You're giving up again? You're ok with letting more people die or be experimented on in hidden labs because you don't think you're pure enough to help them? What happened to 'Learn to face your monsters, Chloe'?"

"I am the monster in this scenario. There's no ambiguity about motives or what was in control of my body or what I remember. I know what I did and why I did it." He was still staring at the ceiling. Look at me Ollie, she wanted to yell. Look at me!

"No, you are not. You are not perfect, but you are not a monster. Those guys I was talking about earlier, the ones with the chain-saws and the ice-breath? They weren't monsters because of what the meteors did to them, they were monsters because they wouldn't admit they didn't have the right to do what they did. You have."

"Admitting it doesn't turn back time and make it so it never happened."

No. Only one man had that privilege. But maybe the less thought on that, the better.

"Neither does wallowing. And as I said before, while you're wallowing in your sinful nature, Bad Things could be happening. Who knows what Tess has up her sleeve right now?"

He sat up to face her. Finally. His jaw was set. Fine. Hers was too. And she was pretty sure her hair was bristled out around her like a cat's. Also fine. Bring it on, pretty boy.

"Ok," he said. "Let's say Tess wants to take over the world. She's a pretty smart girl. She might do a bang-up job. And even if she does some pretty shitty things along the way, they're all probably things I've already done myself. How can I possibly pass judgment on her?"

"Don't be an ass. It wouldn't be about you or Tess; it would be about the people who would be hurt. And you have hurt people, ok. You have done, but you aren't doing now. You'll try not to in the future, because unlike world-dictator Tess, you won't lose all sense of accountability. As I said before, that's the difference between monsters and men."

He stared at her, hard. She stared back. She felt as if she broke his gaze, she'd see the air crackle around them. But if she broke his gaze, she'd lose, and she was so damned tired of losing right now. She couldn't lose him, not now, not after --

He buried his head in his hands. "Ok. I'm not a monster."

"Thank you."

He ran his hands over his face, pulled with them at his hair. "I can't call myself a hero, though."

"You don't have to, and, frankly, it'd be a little pompous if you did. All you have to do is try -- and God, did I really sound exactly like my dad just now?"

"Well thank God you don't look like him."

"Would you be -- " Oh. He was joking again.

Her anger suddenly deflated, she crossed her arms under her breasts and tried not to look so nude. He smirked. She glared. He bent his head again.

"I just don't think this is ever going away," he said quietly.

She walked over to the couch, feathered her fingers over his hair again. "Maybe it shouldn't. I know," she said, crouching down to lift his chin, "for me: Davis, Kane, Jimmy. That won't ever go away. But -- " she took in a few deep breaths. "But to quote my dad again, sometimes you just gotta keep on keeping on, you know?"

He laughed. "I really want to meet your dad."

"He is such a dork."

He pulled her up, onto his lap, and pulled her in, next to his chest. More goosebumps, from the heat of his flesh and the chill of the air, the nearness of him and not wanting to let go. So close. Close was good. She curled her fingers into the hair at the base of his skull. She didn't ever want to uncurl them.

"We're gonna do this," he said.

She nodded. They would. Take on Intergang, stop human trafficking, train with Mia, kiss each other blind...

She pulled back. "You really are horny all the time, aren't you?"

"Nah, it's just getting yelled at by naked women is my secret kink."

He was such a dork. "We should unfold the futon this time," she said, nipping his ear-lobe.

He nuzzled her neck in return. "We should get a bed up here is what we should do. That fold-out in the other room sucks even worse."

"I'll call the decorator tomorrow," she gasped. She was going to fall off his lap if he kept that up.

"I hate the color purple and -- mmph! --Rococo-revival antiques." While his mouth was busy talking she'd taken the opportunity to return the favor.

"Noted." She was going to sleep like a log tonight.