Watchtower. Oliver is wearing a nice suit and holding a gigantic bouquet of red roses. Seriously, even his impressive biceps must be straining under its weight. He's alone and deep in thought when the door opens behind him and Chloe enters, wearing what I thought at first was a long black dress. They are, in fact, long flowing pants with a sparkly halter top. Oliver, suddenly a bit awkward, gives her the roses. Now that they're back in the real world, they have to deal with real things. "I just stopped looking for you," he blurts out. "I figured that's what you wanted, right?" Chloe can't look at him for a few seconds. She puts the roses down, lest she herniate herself. "You have no idea how much it means that you trusted me," she says. There is a distance between them, literal and otherwise. They have to feel their way around it, testing it like a wound for tenderness. He's hurt that she didn't at least call. She says the Fate helmet warned her to stay away. She takes a step toward him, but he doesn't move. "Did the helmet say anything about how I'd be sitting alone, listening to old voice mails just to hear your voice?" He says he looked at every stranger's face, hoping to see her smile. Chloe's eyes fill with tears. She says she figured it out without the helmet. She takes another step toward him. She says she didn't trust herself to reach out to him. If she saw him again, she wouldn't be able to leave when she needed to. She's dreamed about coming back to him, every day. She takes a final step toward him, eyes pleading with his. "You sticking around for a while?" he asks. "Yeah," she says. There's a long moment when things could go either way. He could let the moment pass and walk away, or close that last little bit of distance. Finally, he smiles and says, "Good." He takes the last step and pulls her into his arms. They kiss and kiss in the middle of the shuttered Watchtower. If they had dinner reservations, they're probably going to be late.