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raywritesthings · 4 years

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Happy Accident 3/3

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Thea Queen, Susan Brayden, Adrian Chase, Susan Williams, Quentin Lance, Talia al Ghul, Curtis Holt, Rene Ramirez, Rory Regan Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Felicity’s punch has consequences no one intended, driving Oliver to take drastic measures with their own unexpected result. *Can be read on AO3, link in bio*

Laurel didn’t know what to think upon stepping through yet another strange portal into their base to find a couple strangers standing there. She’d heard the others mention recruits, of course, but it seemed odd not finding her teammates there waiting for them. At least, not both her old teammates.

Thea stood from a chair at the computer monitors, arms crossing as she eyed Laurel with a mix of mistrust and pain. “Rene and Rory filled me in. So, any sudden, overpowering need to kill a person yet?”

“Aside from your usual moods,” one of the men added. Laurel cringed; Iris had told her that a number of the others’ Earth-2 doppelgangers had also been criminals, but she did not love being judged as one herself.

“Where’s Felicity?” The other man asked.

“Felicity is taking a leave of absence,” Oliver answered simply, which Laurel thought was probably for the best rather than getting into details. She was still shocked it had even happened. “And we’ll be monitoring the situation with Laurel to see if the Lotus is necessary and if we can acquire more of it.”

The first man raised his eyebrows. “I thought the plan was bring her back, lock her in a cell.”

“Well, considering I haven’t even been read my charges let alone my rights, I’m not sure I agree with that plan,” Laurel decided to interject. “There’s also the fact that I’m not really who you think I am. When Ollie tried to bring back my doppelganger, it didn’t work, but somehow he found my soul and brought me back instead.”

“And you are…?” The second of the two men asked.

Oliver stepped up beside her and laid a hand at the small of her back. “Rory, Rene, I’d like you to meet the Dinah Laurel Lance original to Earth-1, the Black Canary and someone very important to me.”

The one she could guess was named Rory gave a start; Rene looked skeptical; but in that moment, Laurel really only had eyes for Thea, who gasped and swayed a half-step forward before catching herself.

“You’re really…?”

Laurel nodded, a smile growing on her face as Thea rushed forward.

Before her friend’s arms could circle round her however, Rene called out. “Wait a minute. Hoss, how do we know she isn’t just playing you again?”

“I mean, the Flash team thinks it’s her, so if she’s not that’s gonna be awkward,” Curtis remarked finally. “I mean, I only met Laurel — the real Laurel — once. I only met her doppelganger once, too, so that doesn’t help much, I guess. But if I had to say which one this Laurel reminds me of more, it’s probably the real one. I think?”

“Thanks, Curtis,” Oliver said, not doing much to disguise how insincerely that was meant. “Laurel - this Laurel - knows things that only the version I knew would really be aware of. Cisco tested that for himself as well.”

“Maybe people would feel better with one more test?” Rory suggested.

“I’ve got something,” Thea said. She turned to Laurel and asked, “What did I tell you about Alex compared to Roy?”

It took Laurel a moment to recall, but she nearly laughed when she did. “That you’d be surprised who uses more tongue?” Beside her, Ollie pulled a disgusted face.

“It’s you,” Thea declared, then practically squealed as she launched herself into Laurel’s arms. Laurel grinned from ear to ear as she hugged her friend back just as tightly. This, in some ways, truly felt like a homecoming.

Thea pulled back abruptly, her eyes darting from Laurel to Oliver and back again. “But this is — I mean you guys — did you tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Laurel asked, looking back at Oliver who had gone a remarkable pink color.

“One thing at a time,” he said. “First thing’s first; Thea, I’m gonna need your help drafting a proposal.”

“Okay. To City Council?”

“To the President of the United States.”

More than a few jaws dropped, and Laurel waited for Oliver to break or otherwise indicate he was joking. Yet apparently he wasn’t.

As it turned out, only the previous month Oliver’s team, Barry’s team and Sara and her crew had all repelled an alien invasion — because of course there were aliens — along with a different alien from a totally separate world and had been declared heroes by the President. Who had been the Vice President, last thing Laurel knew.

Ollie’s plan was to use that goodwill from their Commander in Chief to parlay some kind of deal for Laurel to receive immunity against being prosecuted. It wasn’t a terrible idea, all things considered, except for one small problem.

“This might just cover me for everything I did as Black Canary in the past, but it’s not going to hold up for anything I continue to do.”

Oliver looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean when I go back out in the field with you guys. I’m going back out there,” she added before he could even start. To her annoyance, the Queen siblings shared an uneasy look. “I understand that what happened last spring was traumatic. It was for me, too. But I am not going to let some kind of fear from what Darhk did to me make me waste my second shot at life.”

“We know,” Thea said. “We just — it’s been hard without you. I haven’t even been going out in the field much. Things were rough.”

Laurel rubbed Thea’s shoulder with one hand. “I’m sorry, and I’m glad you’re giving yourself some space to figure things out. But I don’t need time off. In fact, I’m pretty sure you need as many hands on deck as possible,” she added to Oliver, “considering Felicity is taking time off and John also doesn’t seem to be around.”

Oliver and Thea both looked down. “John’s in prison.”

“What?”

“He was framed by a superior officer,” Thea said. “Cause he went back for a fourth tour. Like I said, things were rough.”

Laurel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. John couldn’t be sitting in prison; he had a family to take care of, a daughter to watch grow up. “Can we get him pardoned with me?”

“I have a friend working on his case,” Oliver told her. “That’s the best hope we have for him right now.”

Privately, Laurel made a note to review said case and said friend’s handling of it so far, but there wasn’t much else she could say now without knowing all the facts. She’d have to see John as soon as she was allowed to walk about without risk of ending up the block above or below him.

All too soon, Laurel found herself standing in one of Oliver’s beta sites in front of a large screen that currently displayed the president’s seal. Oliver stood beside her dressed in his Green Arrow uniform.

The screen finally changed, showing President Brayden sitting at her desk in the Oval Office. “Green Arrow, Miss Lance.”

“Madame President,” Oliver said. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us in this manner.”

“I’ll admit, there was some debate on my part as to whether I should insist on a meeting face-to-face. This is a very sensitive matter. But why don’t you explain from the beginning what happened to you back in April, Miss Lance?”

Laurel nodded, taking a deep breath as she recalled the story they had practiced. She didn’t relish getting to lie to the president, but all of them had agreed that the less world governments knew about the Lazarus Pits, the better. “Last April, I was taken from the hospital by men working for Damien Darhk. I guess they must have substituted some kind of fake body or something for me to make everyone think I had died. According to them, since I had lived, he wasn’t done punishing my father for betraying him. But I guess Darhk was killed before he could make good on his promise

“I was moved from place to place. They didn’t seem to know what they were going to do with me, and there wasn’t a good window of escape for a long time. I wasn’t tortured, but they would starve me or leave me without water for periods of time, and I was still recovering from my injuries.

“What allowed me to finally escape was me discovering my metahuman abilities.”

“And these are?”

She’d been expecting that question; she and Oliver had agreed it was best to be forthcoming about this development so it didn’t look like she’d been concealing something on purpose from the Commander in Chief. “I can produce screams at loud enough frequencies that the sound waves are visible and can physically impact a target. I’d offer to demonstrate, but I imagine that wouldn’t be very good for your speakers.”

“No, probably not,” Brayden agreed wryly. “And upon escaping, you returned to your city and your team.”

“Yes, Madame President,” Oliver confirmed. “We were unbelievably grateful to have Laurel back with us. But we’re afraid to lose her again.”

“Green Arrow and the others wanted me to ask you for a pardon,” Laurel said. “But if I was granted one, it wouldn’t allow me to continue to operate as Black Canary.”

“And that’s something you wish to do.”

“Yes. Being the Black Canary is a part of me, and it’s the best way I know how to help people.” Laurel shrugged. “As much as I have loved being a lawyer, I know there’s no practice or District Attorney’s office that would take a publicly known vigilante. A lot of other jobs would be leery of it, too. That’s why I have a proposal.”

President Brayden steepled her hands together and leaned a little closer towards the camera. “I’m listening.”

“I understand that last month you gave an address commending my fellow heroes. You see the need for what we do, but I imagine there are some in Washington who don’t like the idea of trusting us blindly.” Laurel laid a hand over her chest. “With my identity known, I could act as a liaison of sorts between my team and your administration. I’m accountable to both sides since everyone knows who I am.”

Brayden thought for a few moments. “That would be a tremendous responsibility for you to take on, answering for any of the actions your fellows take.”

“It would be my honor to represent each and every one of them, Madame President,” Laurel said. Okay, so she didn’t actually know Rene or Rory or even Curtis all that well, let alone most of the people Sara traveled with. But Laurel trusted Oliver and Sara’s judgement in who they would choose to fight alongside them.

“And we would be honored to have Laurel representing us,” Oliver added. “Not one of us is going to take the trust she, you or the greater public have placed in us for granted.”

“Let me say that this arrangement is an attractive idea,” Brayden finally said. “But I will need time to discuss it with my advisors. You can expect a call from me as to my final decision within two days, Black Canary. Thank you for your time.” With that, the president signed off.

“I think that went well?” Laurel said, turning to Oliver.

“I’m inclined to agree. No matter what happens, though, we’ll handle it,” Oliver told her.

A week of negotiations ensued. All the details of Laurel’s new appointment had to be worked out; how and when and to which agency or body Laurel would be reporting to, what she was expected to disclose and what infringed on the other’s expectations of privacy. She remained down in the beta site the entire time, visits from Thea or Oliver with food and reminders to sleep breaking up the monotony of video calls and working out, testing the limits of the body she had woken up in. She really was going to have to send a blood sample to Caitlin for analysis; whether it was the meta gene or something about Earth 2, she felt stronger and more durable than ever, and part of her was itching to get out into a real fight to see for herself.

She took a round trip on a private plane to sign the final documents in D.C., shaking hands with President Brayden immediately after doing so while Secret Service members stood incredibly close. She supposed a metahuman would present a highly unique risk to the life of their charge.

“I’m hopeful that this is the start of a beautiful partnership, Laurel,” the president told her as the White House cameraman snapped their picture for the next morning’s press release. Laurel would not be attending since she would be in a special closed court session back home getting her death overturned.

“I’m hoping with you, Madame President.”

It was still early evening when she arrived back in Starling even though a whole day had passed for her. “I’m exhausted, and I miss a real bed,” she admitted to Oliver, who had been waiting just outside the tarmac to pick her up. She was sure once she had fallen into the cot in the beta site she wouldn’t care what she was sleeping on, but right now with her freedom very nearly secured, she longed for those kind of simple comforts.

“Why don’t you come back with me instead?” He asked.

Laurel stilled for a moment, then gave a quiet, “Okay.”

She was still so confused about what was going on with Oliver. She had wanted to chalk up his happiness, the frequent touching and the near-constant praise to just the newness of her being back, but it had been nearly two weeks and there was no sign of it slowing. Then there was the sort of excited buzzing about Thea seemed to do whenever Oliver so much as entered the same room as Laurel. Laurel recognized the behavior from Thea’s childhood; she had a secret, and she wanted to tell it. If she hadn’t been so busy working out the details of her new life as a publicly sanctioned vigilante, Laurel would have demanded her friend just tell her already.

Stranger still was the continued lack of Felicity’s presence and Oliver’s continued lack of seeming to care about that. Laurel had honestly thought the couple would have made up by now and resumed their lives together, yet her resurrection had seen them further apart than ever. She didn’t have the whole story yet; Laurel knew something had happened to a man named Billy who Felicity had obviously cared for, and there also appeared to be tension surrounding the way Felicity and Oliver had been clashing on leading the team’s new recruits, but Laurel would have thought Oliver would be devastated to be experiencing even more troubles with the love of his life. What exactly was she missing here?

All these thoughts were running through her mind as Oliver parked the car in the garage attached to his new home as the Mayor of Star City. He came around to lead her up through the house and to what looked to be an unused guest bedroom. Laurel bid him goodnight and climbed beneath the covers, letting herself succumb to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be an extremely important day, and Laurel wanted to be prepared for it.

She woke up to Oliver’s soft knock on her door the next morning, a breakfast tray in his hands. Laurel smiled and combed some of her hair back from her face. “Breakfast in bed? Careful, I might not want to go back to my apartment.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind the company,” he replied, his eyes soft once again as he gazed at her. Laurel took a bite of her eggs so she wouldn’t be expected to reply. “I also thought you might like to call your dad before the big announcement from the president this morning.” He took out his phone and a piece of paper, setting both down on the edge of her bed. “That’s the number to the rehab facility.”

“Thank you, Ollie. For everything. Really, it’s kind of impossible to sum up how much I owe you for all this.”

Oliver shook his head. “You don’t owe me a thing. It’s what you deserve from me.”

She was speechless again. Laurel looked down, taking up the paper and fiddling with it.

“I’ll let you make that call,” Oliver said, backing out of the room.

Laurel willed the heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks back down as she tapped each number in its sequence. She waited as it rang twice before a woman with a pleasantly calm voice answered. “Evergreen Care Center, how can I help you today?”

“Hi, my father is staying at your facility right now, and I was hoping to speak to him. Quentin Lance?”

“Date of birth?”

Laurel gave it, followed by his phone number and the last four digits of his social. She’d memorized such information years ago after her mother had left them and Laurel had realized she would be his designated representative in any emergency situation.

“Let’s see here. Oh, yes, we do have Quentin with us. I’ll see if he’s up to a phone call this morning,” the woman replied, and Laurel felt her heart sink lower in her chest. She should have called sooner. “One moment, please.”

Laurel waited as she was put on hold, her fingers drumming on the bedspread a counterpoint to the soothing music that played. Eventually it cut out, and her father’s voice — tired to her ears — came on the line.

“Sara? You’re back in town?”

Laurel’s lips pressed together for a moment before she answered, “I’m not Sara, daddy.”

She heard a sharp gasp, then a thump that had her worried, but her dad asked, “Laurel?”

“Mm-hm. I’m alive. Ollie — it’s complicated — but Ollie found out about another Pit, and I’m okay now.”

“Oh, God. Oh, thank God. You — I’ve missed you so much, missed your voice, baby. Where are you?”

“I’m in the city. Listen, I’m going to get myself declared alive again today, and I’ll come visit. Please don’t check out of this place, dad. If you need it, you need it. I want you to get the help you need.”

“I needed you, honey,” he argued. “This stuff, this was just to keep me going. But I’ll be fine with you back, I promise.”

“When does the program end?” She asked.

“Nother two weeks,” was his grudging reply.

“Then just do the two weeks. I’ll still be here. I want you to learn how to do this without me or Sara, because you know we lead crazy lives. Anything could happen.”

“Hey, you just said you’re still gonna be there.”

“I know.” There was a knock on her doorframe, and Laurel looked up. Thea was standing there with a suit bag that was probably holding her court clothes. “I need to get ready for my appointment. We’ll talk about this when I come see you, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. I never said it enough, before, but I- you’re my world, Laurel.”

She swallowed down the lump in her throat and said, “I’ll see you soon, dad.” Laurel drew in a breath as she hung up and let it out before getting up and facing Thea. “Okay. Shower?”

“Bathroom’s down the hall to the left,” Thea told her.

Laurel took a quick one, realizing belatedly that she had left the suit bag with Thea in her temporary room. She pinned her hair up and wrapped a towel around herself, hoping to sneak down the hall unnoticed. But as she drew up towards the guest bedroom door, she heard voices.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t told her,” Thea complained.

“It’s not exactly something that comes up in a normal conversation,” Oliver replied.

“Yeah, but how you feel at least? Ollie, you have a real chance to be happy, and I don’t want to see you walk away from that because you think you’re unworthy or something like that.”

As much as Laurel desperately wanted to know what Oliver’s response to that would be, she was hearing a conversation that was clearly meant to be private. She was also in danger of running late if she didn’t get dressed soon, not to mention that she was starting to get a little cold out in the hall with nothing but a towel on.

So Laurel pushed the door open the full way. “If I can have the room for a few minutes?”

The Queen siblings looked her way, but only Oliver sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes unmistakably flicked up and down her body for a moment, and Laurel flushed with heat a second time that morning at the way he licked his lips.

Thea crossed between them, but it wasn’t until she called, “Ollie, coming?” that either of them seemed to snap out of it.

“Right. Uh, sorry.”

Laurel backed up to give him room as he practically fled out into the hall, and she thought she caught Thea smirking as her younger friend shut the door. Laurel fanned her face with one hand as she grabbed her clothes to finally change.

Her day in court was short-lived considering all she was being required to do was appear in person and give the judge the written version of the statement she had delivered to the president, signed by both herself and Brayden. Judge Moore reviewed the document before adding her own signature.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Miss Lance.”

Laurel smirked. Moore couldn’t know how literally that statement applied to her case. “Thank you, judge.”

She was shepherded into the car around the side of the courthouse. “Brayden’s press conference just finished up,” Thea told her. “You’re officially the world’s first publically-sanctioned hero. You ready for a gig in PR?”

“I guess we’ll find out tonight,” Laurel answered. Oliver had scheduled a gala for tonight, ostensibly to check in with some of the higher-society constituents, but really to serve as Laurel’s reintroduction to Star City. It was strange how fast everything seemed to move now that she was alive again. And she was so, so glad for it. Her life had always been messy and complicated and confusing. She hadn’t known what to do with all that peace.

---

Adrian Chase had a problem. And he hadn’t planned for problems.

Everything he had worked for these last five years, every piece he had put in place, had ensured that Oliver was walking right down the path he had designed for him without even knowing it, all the while thinking he had a fighting chance. There simply weren’t room for mistakes.

But one had apparently been made, and as the morning news told him, it all came down to Dinah Laurel Lance.

Adrian had been satisfied overall with the Black Siren’s performance and the effect she had worked on Oliver and his team, the trauma that having to fight a woman that looked like their departed friend had brought on. Even if he had had to remind the woman of her place now and then, she had always been meant as more of a blunt instrument than anything. Something to let out and play for a while before she was rounded up by ARGUS’ agents.

At least, that was what Adrian had assumed had happened to her. That had been his first mistake.

Next had been not trying harder to learn why Oliver had taken a sudden trip out of the country or why he had come back looking as though he were walking on clouds. Strange, considering that his spying had informed him that Felicity Smoak was no longer going to the Green Arrow’s base of operations. If Oliver’s team had truly splintered so badly, what could he be happy about?

In his guise as DA, he had had no luck getting his ‘friend’ to open up to him about it, or the impromptu press conference and gala he had scheduled two weeks after his strange behavior had begun. All Oliver had said was, “You’ll see.”

And he was seeing it now. He was seeing her right on his television screen.

“President Brayden, surprising the nation and perhaps the world this morning with a stunning revelation — Star City’s own Dinah Laurel Lance is alive and well. In a written statement, Miss Lance explains that she was taken captive by men associated with the late terrorist Damien Darhk and managed to escape only last month. Lance was famously exposed by her friend Mayor Oliver Queen as the vigilante known as the Black Canary. In the president’s release, she indicated that not only will charges not be brought against Black Canary, but instead Miss Lance will be taking on the role of official liaison between the Capitol and the growing roster of masked men and women we have seen take place over the years. We at Channel 52 say welcome back, Miss Lance, and Star City should be happy to know their Canary has flown home.”

He wanted to break something. How dare that woman? Who did she think she was, turning her back on him after he had rescued her from the Flash’s pipeline and running into Oliver’s arms? What sort of game was she playing?

Since he was on the guest list for Oliver’s gala tonight, he intended to find out. After all, he was pretty sure who the guest of honor was going to be.

Sure enough, that night Adrian stood in a crowd that applauded as Oliver led who everyone thought was their miraculously returned hero up to a podium with her arm looped through his. His eyes practically shined as he let Laurel go and stood just off to the side to give her the floor.

“Thank you,” she began, a picture of grace and humility. She had perfected her act in the weeks since Adrian had seen her last, and he would be hard-pressed to tell the difference now between her and the original. He could acknowledge a guise well done.

“I’m thankful and relieved to be able to stand here in front of you all tonight and be welcomed back to my home. I can’t wait to get back to work making this city the best that it can be, and I hope you all feel the same.

“I’ve been doing everything I can to catch up on what I missed while I was gone. One of those things is the significant damage done to the Glades district last spring, a section of our city which has already suffered too much over the years. There is a donation plate available tonight to help fund the relief efforts Oliver and his administration have put in place. Please consider giving if you are able.

“That’s all I really have to say at this time. I’d rather speak to you all personally. I ask that the questions about my captivity be limited. It’s not exactly a period of my life that I want to dwell on.”

Adrian fought down a smirk at that. Clever, he had to give her that.

“Thank you.” Laurel Lance stepped back from the podium and rejoined Oliver as the two made their way out to the floor to speak with groups of people here and there. They made a fine couple, which begged the question: what had she told Oliver? How had she convinced him to go along with this? Adrian had clearly underestimated the power even a shadow of the woman Oliver had lost last year would have over him.

Eventually, the pair of them made their way around the room to where he stood. “Laurel, this is Adrian Chase, my DA.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you.” There was not a hint of recognition in her features. Did she hope that here, in public, they were trapped into playing their roles, that he wouldn’t be able to get the truth out of her?

For now, he smiled politely. “You as well.”

“Adrian’s agreed to help with John’s case,” Oliver added in an undertone.

Her eyes lit up. “I was hoping to hear more of the details on that.”

Well that was interesting. Was she angling to speak with him now?

“I’d be happy to get such an accomplished lawyer’s position on it. Who knows? If things had been different, we could’ve been working this together,” Adrian said, his one hand clenched right where it rested in his pocket as she failed to give any hint that she understood his double meaning. “If I could borrow Miss Lance for a moment, Oliver? Shop talk, you could call it.”

“That’s fine with me. I’m sure you and Laurel have a lot to say on the subject. I’ll just be making the rounds.” With a last smile in Laurel Lance’s direction, the man turned and walked back through the crowd.

“It’s a little loud in here, don’t you think?” Adrian asked, not waiting for an answer before he turned and left the main hall. There was a smaller, unused room in the venue just across the hall, a few tables and chairs being stored and little else. It would do.

“So, Oliver told me you were able to have John remain here by invoking the Star City charter,” she said as she entered the room.

Adrian rolled his eyes. “What exactly is your plan here?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You can drop the act, Siren,” he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “I highly doubt Oliver is listening in considering how well you’ve apparently wrapped him around your finger. I have to wonder how you did it.”

She stared at him. “How do you know about Black Siren?”

Adrian was about fed up with the games. “How does the man who sprung you from a four-by-four cell know who you are? You can play dumb with Oliver, but it won’t work on me.”

“You’re Prometheus,” she breathed, and the shock looked so genuine, he found himself honestly wondering if she somehow hadn’t known, no matter that he knew she did.

“I’m glad you’re caught up, but you seem to need a reminder of who exactly is in charge here,” Adrian said, reaching swiftly to circle his hand around her throat.

Her eyes bulged as her nails dug sharply into his hand. He threw her down before her kick could connect with his side; he just felt the scrape of her heel against his pant leg.

“This new life you’re trying to build yourself here on this Earth, you wouldn’t have it without me. I can take it away just as easily.”

She shot up and lunged at him immediately, and Adrian sidestepped her, letting her careen straight into one of the tables. The crash did not seem to faze her, for she whirled around and was on him before he could dodge a second time, clawing and punching at every bit of him she could reach. Her eyes were wild, and without his training he might have been overwhelmed.

But he rammed her with his shoulder to send her staggering back, one of her heels snapping.

Adrian straightened his jacket, reaching into an inner pocket for his stars as she rallied, lips pulled back in an animalistic snarl.

One thing was finally clear: this was not the Black Siren. This was something else. Something worse.

---

Oliver walked through the throng of people, nodding in acknowledgement whenever he caught the eye of someone he and Laurel had already spoken to. So far, the night had gone off without a hitch, for which he was immensely grateful. Laurel deserved a night of celebration like this.

He kept waiting for some sign that he was dreaming again, some indication that it was all about to be ripped away. He didn’t get lucky like this, not ever.

There was so much he wanted to say to her, it was hard to put the feeling into words. Thea made it sound so easy, but then Thea didn’t know how he had failed to let Laurel know what she meant to him that night in the hospital when she confessed her own feelings. Feelings she hadn’t spoken of or acted on since. Not even now that he and Felicity were well and truly estranged.

He had expected to feel more regret over that, but truthfully it had made some things easier. The recruits had started shaping up more, whether that was out of fear of being kicked off the team or what he couldn’t exactly say. But he was glad to be able to feel in control of this unit he had agreed to take on. Thea was coming down to the base more to borrow the training area, too, and he had a feeling she was inching back towards the life of Speedy now that her partner in the field had returned. With Laurel’s new role official, she would be joining them down in the bunker rather than the beta site as well. It would be good to have more people with experience than just himself out there.

But how to show Laurel that, that he was happy and hopeful about the future again? And a future with her. It wasn’t even a question of if he should tell her; he didn’t think he could hide the way he felt for very long. When she had come back to her room that morning looking so much like the dream he had had, Oliver had forgotten how to breathe for a moment. Forgotten, too, that he was not her fiancé with the permission to look upon her with awe and desire.

She deserved to know. He just had to get over this old fear of his, convince himself he wouldn’t screw it up this time, and tell her.

Oliver wandered the perimeter of the room as these thoughts played out in his head until he found himself standing near the door he had made note that Adrian and Laurel had left through. He wanted to be able to catch her when she came back, missing her by his side already.

“I was starting to wonder if I might catch you alone.”

He froze. “Susan…”

It was not that he had forgotten the reporter he had taken on a date. But guilt churned in his stomach all the same as he turned to face her fully. There was no reason for it; Laurel had been, as far as he had known, beyond his reach in this life, and had given her deathbed blessing to him finding happiness without her — even if she had felt that would be with Felicity at the time.

“You must be really happy to have her back,” Susan said.

“I am,” he answered with a small smile he couldn’t help. He felt guilt towards Susan as well, considering what he knew was really in his heart. He should have called her to end things before now. “Listen, about, um—”

Susan held up a hand to stop his halting attempt. “It’s been nice, Oliver, but I’d have to be blind not to see what Laurel Lance means to you. And I’m big enough to know there’s little point getting in between that.” She smirked as she added, “Probably better I don’t get too heavily involved with the politician I’m trying to cover anyway.”

Oliver nodded. “Thank you. Really.”

She nodded and turned to leave. The relief that Oliver felt was cut short when he heard a loud crash from somewhere out in the venue. Susan pivoted on the balls of her feet.

“What was that?”

“I’m not sure.” Oliver slipped out of the door, unsurprised when Susan followed him. He was fairly certain it had come from the room directly ahead. “Stay behind me, okay?” He asked as he cautiously approached the door, which had been left just slightly ajar. He peered through the gap, eyes widening in alarm at what he saw.

Adrian stood in the middle of the floor, his suit and hair rumpled and a split lip slowly leaking blood. And Laurel, missing one shoe and the other snapped off at the heel, struggled to free the skirt of her dress from where it was pinned to the wall by three throwing stars.

“I’d love to understand what you really are, but Oliver isn’t ready to know my secret yet. I’m afraid there’ll be need for a fresh grave in Starling Cemetery.” Adrian flicked his wrist with practiced ease, another star sailing through the air.

Oliver threw the door open and leapt in front, remembering Susan’s presence at the last minute. He forced his instinct to snatch the weapon out of the air down, instead letting it slash his upper-left arm, teeth gritting at the pain. But the weapon clattered uselessly several feet from Laurel.

He turned to see Adrian’s shocked gaze, and Oliver willed his voice to remain steady as he asked, “What’s the meaning of this?”

Adrian’s answer was cut off by the rip of fabric, and Oliver ducked as Laurel released a sonic scream, features contorted with blind rage. Adrian fell to it, hands clapped over his ears as he cried out in agony.

Laurel marched towards him, her intent to worsen Adrian’s suffering clear. Oliver reached out and caught her around the waist. “Laurel! Laurel, stop!”

The scream died, and she blinked as if coming back to herself. “I- I wasn’t — oh, God.”

“Hey, it‘s okay.” He rubbed her back as she sagged against his shoulder. It was clear what must have happened; the blood lust had been triggered during whatever fight had broken out here. He was just glad he had intervened in time to keep a life off her conscious. Even if it was the life of a man who must have had some sort of long game to betray Oliver planned. Who really was Adrian Chase?

He caught Susan’s eye as she surveyed the whole scene and asked, “Can you call 911?”

She nodded. “I take it the DA is actually our Throwing Star Killer,” Susan remarked, gesturing to the weapons still in the wall, little strips of Laurel’s dress hanging from them.

“Looks like it,” he agreed. “I don’t have a statement on that just now. I, uh, I’ll see what the police are able to find out about it.”

They stuck around long enough to see Adrian taken away. He was only just beginning to stir as he was led away in handcuffs to be looked over at the hospital before being transferred into the SCPD’s custody. Oliver also placed a discrete call to Lyla’s office to see what ARGUS could do about assuming jurisdiction over the case as soon as possible. Adrian knew far too much, even if Oliver didn’t yet understand how.

Laurel’s other shoe was located, and he helped her to hobble towards the back entrance of the venue, hoping to shield her from as much of the press as possible. The last thing needed right now was the press photographing her in a dress with the skirt torn halfway up her thigh.

The driver took them back to his place. Oliver knew it was likely only Laurel’s shock at how she had lost control that was keeping her from asking to be dropped off at either the beta site or the old apartment Thea still owned. She would probably return to the latter soon if he didn’t say anything. Didn’t make any kind of sign.

Once they were inside, Laurel bent down and undid the straps that were barely holding her broken shoes on. “Well, some night,” she remarked with her head still tilted down, hair half-hiding her face.

“It wouldn’t be Star City if something eventful didn’t happen,” he replied. “Was, uh, was that the first time you’ve used…”

“The sonic scream? On purpose, yeah. I didn’t really know how strong it would be. I could’ve killed him.” Her eyes had a haunted look to them as she continued, “One second we were just talking, the next was like he just flipped personalities, was trying to threaten me. He thought I was her. Siren.”

“If he’s really Prometheus, then that makes sense.”

“The way he talked about me – her,” she amended, giving a slight shake of her head as if to clear it. “It was like he thought he owned her. The others told me the things she did, but nobody should be talked to like that.”

“I know,” he agreed. “She told me that she wanted out. I never found out if it was the truth or a lie.” Seeing the way his Laurel felt about it now, he thought maybe it just might have been a truth, even one that Black Siren hadn’t actually wanted to admit to herself. Or maybe that was wishful thinking; thanks to the others, he would never know.

“Then he attacked me. I just lost it, and when you were hurt—” Her hand reached out, just barely brushing his arm below the gaze bandage a paramedic had applied. “If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed him,” she stated. “I guess I’m not as different from her as I thought.”

“Maybe, but that’s not such a bad thing,” he said. She looked up at him in surprise. “If I hadn’t seen some of you in her, I might not have gone so far to try and bring her back. I might never have known there was a way to save you. Black Siren wasn’t evil, no matter what the others say,” he added. “I think she was just lost. You know what that’s like.”

She nodded.

“But you’re not a killer, Laurel. That was the effect of the Pit.”

“I was hoping the new one wouldn’t have the same side effects.”

“So was I,” he admitted. “But we’ll get more of the Lotus. You’ll be fine, just like Thea.”

Laurel’s lips twisted in a funny half smile. “Thea doesn’t seem fine right now. I think she’s going to lose it if you don’t tell me whatever it is she wants you to.”

Oliver swallowed. There it was. He was being handed a perfect opportunity to open up, to be truthful about his feelings. There was never anything half as terrifying as that. “Thea… what she wants me to tell you, it wouldn’t make any sense to come right out and say. There’s things you have to know.”

“Like?”

“Like how much losing you hurt. That it caused me to look back on the last few years and think of all the time I wasted. How much I wished things had been different for you and me.”

Laurel’s throat bobbed, but she remained silent, listening.

“And a couple months ago, my wish was granted.”

“A couple months?” She asked, and he didn’t blame her for the confusion. Laurel had only been back for a month.

“Yeah. See, when the Dominators came to Earth, they took a few of us hostage, to try and study us for potential weaknesses. We were placed in some kind of stasis where our minds went to a made-up reality based on our dearest-held dreams. Thea and I were back at the Manor with mom and my father. They were alive.”

“Oh, Ollie,” Laurel said softly.

“Yeah. The thing was, you were there, too. And it was almost our wedding day.”

Laurel’s mouth fell open. He didn’t know if the shock on her face was a good or bad thing, but Oliver also knew that he needed to say this no matter the outcome.

“I love you, Laurel,” he confessed. “And I know it doesn’t make up for all the years or the ways that I’ve hurt you whether I meant to or not. All I know is, when you told me how you still felt, all I could think about was what could’ve been for us. It haunted me the whole time that I thought we’d lost that chance.” Even now, he could see her in that beautiful white gown, her face so sad as he was forced to leave to help the others. “I wondered how I hadn’t seen it, why you couldn’t have said something before.”

“You were happy,” she said, as if that was all that needed saying. Her eyes shone bright with unshed tears. “You were happier without me.”

He shook his head. “The one thing I haven’t been this past year is happy without you. This, right now, is the best I have felt in a long time.”

He didn’t just mean because he had finally given voice to his feelings. Oliver had a team that was learning to respect his judgement calls in the base and in the field; he honestly didn’t miss the constant back talk on the comms. He felt better, too, seeing Thea happier and knowing that once Quentin finished his rehab program that he would come home to his daughter and be whole again. The looming threat of Prometheus had been ended as abruptly as it had begun. None of this would have been possible without Laurel.

“I know this cannot be an easy decision to make. I understand if, whatever our feelings for each other are, you’d prefer to remain as we were before that night. All I’ll ever ask of you is to be part of my life, Laurel, because it’s a far less full one without you,” he finished.

Her head tilted as her lips pressed right together for a moment, considering him. Then at last she stepped forward, cupping his cheek with her hand. “You know I never do things halfway, Ollie.” She rose onto her tiptoes, her hand at his cheek guiding his lips to meet hers in that perfect synchronous dance he had longed for, so much better than his dream for knowing that it was real.

Oliver smoothed his hands over her arms, down her back and up into her hair, unable to choose now that he was granted it all. Laurel seemed of a similar mind, hands cupping his face then smoothing down his shoulders, then up and his suit jacket. They were each aware of the time they had wasted before and how they could never get it back, and it spurred them on towards making the most of the time they had ahead. The time they very nearly hadn’t had.

He regretted what had happened to Laurel’s counterpart from Earth-2. No version of her deserved a violent end in his eyes. He took some comfort at least that she was now free from men like Adrian or Zoom. Maybe her soul had gone to whatever was next beyond the grave to find the Ollie she had truly loved and not just the man that looked like him. He chose to believe that, since he’d been granted the same beautiful dream in its own way.

For all that he and Laurel had suffered through, if it meant they arrived at this point together, Oliver wouldn’t change it. No matter how tempting it could be to fix the past, he knew how fragile time could be. And this time, at last, was theirs.

---

Talia al Ghul was more familiar with disappointment than one of her ability and lineage would like. Her first disappointment had come from her Beloved. Bruce had been a fine warrior, full of discipline, intellect, skill and honor. Yet he had lacked the conviction to bring a permanent end to those who committed evil in the world and so he had left her and her father’s League behind.

Then there had been her father himself. She could admit with chagrin that Bruce had been the one to initially question her father’s intention to pass on the title of Ra’s al Ghul to her. As the years had worn on, Talia had seen for herself that he would never do so. And so she had left, forming her own following to carry on the mission she still believed in.

Yet now, two of her own students had disappointed her one after the other. Oliver Queen and the one who called himself Adrian Chase. The former had killed her father and handed the League of Assassins to a traitor which caused it to fail less than a year later, and the latter had failed to be her instrument of revenge. Instead, she currently watched as the news continued to cover his arrest and the accusations mounting against him. Something would have to be done, and quickly. She was not ready for The connection Mr. Chase had to her to be revealed, as it might should he be questioned.

Talia had left it up to her student to plan the reckoning Oliver should face, who it would involve and where it would be. All of this would have to be abandoned now, and more planning would have to be done. Especially to accommodate the unexpected wrinkle that had developed: the return of this Earth’s Dinah Laurel Lance, Oliver’s own Beloved.

Talia’s spies had followed Oliver and his associates’ progress to the mountains of Siberia and confirmed to her that one of the rumored Lazarus Pits was in that location. She had also been made aware of the comings and goings of Miss Lance to and from the United States’ Capitol. Yet she had not realized until tonight — nor had Mr. Chase, it seemed — that rather than the copy of her from another Earth, Oliver had somehow managed to resurrect the original. It would be like him to play with those kind of forces with little regard for any consequences.

Talia left her current base of operations to deal with one of those consequences. Mr. Chase was going to be moved from where he was being seen at Star City General to a holding cell at the downtown precinct. It was her task to ensure this never came to pass.

She took up her position only minutes before Mr. Chase was escorted out the front doors towards a waiting transport van. From the rooftop across the street, she watched her chosen spy approach at a walking pace, the umbrella he had taken from their supply store tucked under his arm. She saw the moment he fired the jet of poison gas from a crushed cyanide ampule, though it was truly invisible to the eye, then smirked as an officer moved to intercept him from fully crossing paths with the police escort. Her agent backed away, feigning as though he had not realized what was going on, and crossed the street to continue his walk.

Just as Mr. Chase was walked up the steps of the transport van, he collapsed to one knee, the poison already taking its effect. None of those around him would realize that was what it was, of course. To them, it would appear as though he suffered a sudden heart attack. They would see the matter as closed and put the unfortunate memory of their fallen District Attorney behind them.

Oliver would suspect, of course. Oliver always suspected. But he would only have his suspicions. For now, Talia would retreat and reassess the best way to bring retribution to her former student. Let him grow complacent with his loved ones; she had all the time the Lazarus water allowed her to have her revenge.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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olicitysecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Convergence

For @swiftletinthecloud

Hello! We have never met or spoken before, but I am so happy to have you as my giftee because now we have! I was so happy about your response to my anon ask about what kinds of fic you like, because so many of your interests are also mine. It was actually a problem because I had too many interesting ideas for fic that were inspired by your suggestions. Now I just have more fic to write, I guess.

Anyway, I decided to write this idea for you because it was the SHORTEST of all the ideas I had. You can see how well that turned out. What is below is 2 out of 3 total chapters. The last chapter still needs editing, so your gift will be fully complete when I post this to AO3. Until then, please enjoy these first two chapters of season 1 alternate canon!

Much love, @allimariexf

Title: Convergence

Warnings: No warnings apply

Relationship: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak

Tags: Arrow season 1, alternate canon AU, episode tag 1x21 (The Undertaking)

Chapter 1

Oliver Queen moved like a panther through the underground casino, a sleek and beautiful predator at home among the understated opulence. His eyes strayed around the room, a careless smirk masking his close assessment of the security.

Two pit bosses, a floorman, and six armed guards, two of which flanked a hallway that must lead to Dominic Alonzo’s office. If he was going to get in there, he needed to come up with a distraction.

His mind went back to the document he’d found saved on his computer. Like all the previous messages he’d gotten over the past seven months, it took the form of a simple text file, saved prominently on the desktop of his computer in the foundry.

December 12, 2012: Harold Backman deposits $2 million to Cayman Fidelity on behalf of Dominic Alonzo, known kidnapper.

Also December 12: Walter Steele goes missing.

Coincidence? I don’t think so.

I know I normally don’t agree with your “shoot first, ask questions later” policy, but I’m willing to give you a pass on Alonzo. He seems like just the kind of low-life someone would pay to kidnap Mr. Steele. How many arrows do you think you’d need to put in Alonzo before he gave up Mr. Steele’s location - probably a lot, right?

Never mind, forget I said that. Alonzo’s private records are offline - likely stored in his office in his base of operations, an underground casino with basically its own private army. Not the best odds, even for you. But I have a plan that doesn’t involve arrows or any other pointy objects, so sit tight and I’ll contact you tomorrow.

The corners of his lips lifted at the memory. The anonymous hacker who’d been helping him certainly had a way with words, and in their months together she’d often surprised him with her uncannily insightful observations. But if she honestly thought he’d sit back and wait when they finally had a solid lead on finding Walter, maybe she didn’t know him as well as he sometimes suspected. Not when Walter had been missing for almost five months and the likelihood of him being found alive decreased every day. Not with the recorded evidence John Diggle had collected that seemed to confirm his mother had something to do with Walter’s disappearance - and that it was all connected to the List.

Oliver was tired of waiting for answers. This was something he could do. It just so happened that this time, he needed a bespoke suit of Italian wool, rather than green leather in order to do it.

Eyes tracking the movement of the guards, Oliver positioned himself at a well-situated roulette table. Several wealthy patrons crowded around the dealer, including an elegant brunette who instantly met his gaze.

“You’re Oliver Queen,” she purred, reaching out with graceful fingers to draw him toward her. Slipping easily into the role, he let his eyes travel down her body as she trailed her hand down his arm.

Choosing not to answer with words, he winked and held out his dice for her to blow on. It was enough to maintain the part he was playing, and in another life he would have taken her up on the unspoken invitation written in every line of her body. But as his eyes slid down her lithe frame, he barely saw her. Instead, he was seeking something else, some spark of her.

Huli jing.

His anonymous hacker ally.

His thoughts turned to her, as they had increasingly done over the past several months. Who was she, in her normal life? Where was she, what was she doing? When he mingled among the residents of Starling City by day, could she be right next to him, without either of them realizing it? Like always, the possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Part of him was acutely aware that it was futile, even ridiculous, to entertain those thoughts, but as long as they only existed on the fringes of his mind, he indulged them. His life was his mission, and there was no room for anything else, but there was no harm in letting his mind play with the idea of her in his downtime. Not when there was no chance they could ever meet. So when he put in his appearances at Verdant, when he met up with Thea at her favorite cafe, when he picked up his mom from Queen consolidated, he allowed himself to wonder. And if his eyes caught on long red hair, a charming smile, or a long length of exposed thigh, he’d mentally compare the woman in front of him with his mental picture of her. But none of them ever had her unique, undefinable spark. And somehow, by comparison, every woman he saw seemed somehow less because they were not her.

She had contacted him for the first time seven months ago, though “contacted” hardly felt like the right term. He’d arrived at the foundry and booted up his computer one night only to find the entire system had been upgraded, and simple text document saved to the desktop:

I’m truly stunned that no one managed to trace the redistribution of Adam Hunt’s funds back to you. No one else, I mean.

Now that I mention it, I’m even more surprised you managed to steal that $40 million in the first place. Your system looks like it’s from the 80s.

(And not the good part of the 80s, like Madonna and legwarmers, to be clear.) I maybe spruced things up a little bit while I was in there. Seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me in my soul. Seriously it was like you left a crying infant on my doorstep, except it was like a 30 year old baby and it wasn’t my doorstep, because I was the one who kind of broke into your house. But my point is, you have a severely neglected computer setup, and I guess my maternal instinct kicked in. So to speak.

Oliver had barely finished reading the note before he’d ransacked the bunker, searching for evidence of a breach. When he found none, he read the note several more times, seeking hidden clues as to what the infiltrator knew, what they wanted. The program he used to take Adam Hunt’s money was something he’d taken from ARGUS, and no one should have been able to track it. Deeply alarmed, he read the note again and again. Not until the sixth time did he finally consider the playful tone of the note might be sincere, and only then did it occur to him that there might not be a threat buried in the message at all.

He remained on heightened alert for several days after that, but only on principle. The improvements she’d made (and she was a she, he was sure) to his system made his ARGUS programs run faster, and while using compromised equipment was normally a risk he would never take, his gut told him there was no danger. For reasons he didn’t examine, he found himself rereading the note, until he had it memorized word for word.

When he didn’t hear from her for three weeks, he told himself the sense of disappointment he felt was only because lingering questions felt too much like unfinished business. Not because he was intrigued by the hacker. Not because her note had made him smile the way no one had since he’d returned from the island.

He was starting to think of the incident as an amusing, but ultimately harmless one-time stunt when one night, after an afternoon of failing to get data off of Floyd Lawton’s computer and an evening taking his frustration out on a slum lord, he returned to the foundry and discovered a large data dump open on his computer - along with another note.

Blueprints to the Exchange Building, where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place. Gonna be a pretty target-rich environment. For the person who is trying to eliminate bidders in the auction via assassination, I mean. Which, to be clear, someone IS trying to do, according to the SCPD’s unreleased records. Anyway, do with this information as you wish. (Not “as you wish,” as in code for “I love you.” Obviously, I don’t even know you. Though from the captured video footage of you, I can say with confidence that you can really wear a pair of leather pants. Anyway, speaking of Westley, the papers are calling you “the vigilante” or “the hood,” but maybe you should consider adopting Dread Pirate Roberts. A name that inspires fear, so that you don’t have to do so much arrowing in order to get your point across. You should consider it. Good luck with the auction.

Oliver huffed out his nose, struck by her abrupt topic changes and her particular, rambly way of putting things before it even occurred to him to wonder how she’d managed to pull any information off Lawton’s damaged laptop. Or question whether she had any ulterior motive in doing so.

It was unusual for him to trust anyone so quickly, especially someone he knew virtually nothing about. But somehow, he did, and when her tip about Lawton proved sound, he found he wasn’t surprised at all.

After that he began to seek out her help, adopting her habit of communicating via text document saved to his computer. With each tip she left him, she proved herself invaluable to bringing down another of the city’s worst offenders. He could tell that she was brave, fearless even, and before he knew it, they had developed a rapport. And while it wasn’t exactly a partnership, it worked.

If I’m the the Dread Pirate Roberts, who are you? He asked finally, against the advice of the inner voice that cautioned him that the more he knew about her, the harder it would be to one day give her up.

But in answer, all she said was, You can call me Huli jing.

The Dark Archer, Ted Gaynor, Count Vertigo, Ken Williams, and the list went on. The notes came more frequently, and Oliver found himself looking forward to them, the first thing he’d check for every night. Even having never been there, she filled the dark, dank foundry basement with a bright presence that was just as tangible as John Diggle’s reliable support.

What do you think keeps these bad guys up at night? Probably not worrying about that one time they accidentally stared at a man for two full minutes while they were busy trying to figure out what the Cylons’ plan really was. They said they had “a Plan,” like capital P PLAN, you know? Anyway, despite what that guy probably thought, I was NOT creeping on him. But to my point, now that I think of it these criminals probably just close their eyes and get a full 8 hours every night. Sometimes it really sucks to have a conscience.

As the months wore on, he learned that she wielded a formidable intelligence, a sharp sense of humor, an unerring sense of justice, and, somehow, an unshakeable confidence in his mission. In him. She became a voice in his head that he couldn’t tune out. And he found, more and more, that he didn’t want to.

Anyway, while I’m at it, did you ever think about not killing some of these thugs? Look, I get it - they’re taking shots at you and you’re just trying to stay alive, but on the other hand, they’re just hired guns and you’re…you know. You. All I’m saying is, with your aim - which I have seen evidence of, so please don’t start with the false modesty - you could just as easily be shooting these guys in the hand or leg or something, you know? Anyway. Just a thought.

Before he realized it, she had come to haunt his thoughts. When he was wrestling with a problem, he found himself playing out imaginary conversations with her, unerringly channeling her firm conviction and steady support.

He didn’t even know what she looked like, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. Sometimes he thought he was half in love with her. No; that was ridiculous. It was the fantasy, the not knowing, that fascinated him. The idea that she could be anyone. He told himself didn’t want to know who she really was, because there was no way the reality could live up to the fantasy he’d built up in his mind.

A rough voice, intentionally pitched to grab his attention, cut into his reverie. “Is that Oliver Queen?”

“No, couldn’t be,” came a loud, theatrical reply, drawing closer toward him.

“Why not?” the first voice asked from somewhere right behind him. Oliver turned his head to present the speakers with a careless smirk.

“Because Oliver Queen wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” the second man sneered, pressing a gun against his back.

The gun cocked. “Well then I guess he has a death wish.”

So much for blending in, he thought as they dragged him toward the back hallway.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Felicity stilled her frantic movements to free herself from the ties that were cutting into her wrists as the door abruptly opened and a man was pushed inside. She tried not to gape as her captor stepped in behind him and roughly zip-tied his hands behind his back, exactly as he had done to Felicity not ten minutes before.

Despite her situation, she couldn’t stop the flow of words that spilled out of her mouth when she saw who had joined her. “Oh, great. It’s you.” The newcomer whipped his head up and she locked gazes with a pair of striking blue eyes.

Strangely, the first thought that crossed her mind was that if she had known her curiosity about the hood was going to lead to crossing paths with Oliver Queen, she would never have tried to solve the mystery of Adam Hunt’s $40 million in the first place.

Though to be fair, her interest in the Hood pre-dated the article that mentioned Hunt’s missing money, so she couldn’t entirely blame her entanglement with the vigilante on her compulsive need to unravel knotty mysteries. And it wasn’t just the allure of a dark and brooding man who could pull off leather, either. Something about his single-minded dedication and passion, at the risk to his own freedom and safety, was simply irresistible.

It was curiosity that first led her to him. Maybe boredom. Her job was monotonous and unchallenging, something she’d sought out after her brief brush with hacktivism had backfired so spectacularly. When she first read about the Hood, she dismissed him as some whacko loose canon. But she followed the story - and the police reports - for lack of anything better to do. But when she read that Adam Hunt claimed the Hood had stolen $40 million, Felicity was intrigued. A crazy person couldn’t - wouldn’t - pull something like that off. So she hacked into Hunt’s accounts, following the trail back to a program that emptied the money and redistributed it to Hunt’s victims. It was shockingly easy, like following a flashing neon sign, and she was legitimately stunned that the police hadn’t managed to do the same. They also had no idea that the missing money had been returned to its rightful owners. On impulse, she erased the digital evidence.

She could have left it at that, but the mystery was too compelling. She told herself she just wanted to make sure she hadn’t just enabled a psycho or terrorist to do even more psychotic and terrifying things, but the truth was, the fact that he’d quietly returned Hunt’s victims’ money to them cast him in an entirely unexpected light. She needed to know more.

She found that his system was alarmingly, disturbingly unprotected. And primitive. Really, it wasn’t even tolerable for the tiny amount of poking around and passive monitoring that she planned to do. Which is why she discreetly updated speed and capacity as much as she could without added hardware, then added a few dozen security protocols, because anything less was begging the police to come find him.

Then she established several monitoring programs and alerts, and waited. Just a few weeks later, she got an alert that an unprotected device had been plugged in - a quick remote in revealed that it was one of those Tuff laptops, with a damaged system. It was clear that the Hood hadn’t been able to access the drive, but Felicity was curious, so she remotely cloned the data and opened it on her own system. When she discovered the blueprints of the Exchange Building on the drive, she remembered that the Unidac auction was shortly going to be held there, which naturally reminded her of recent news that one of bidders, James Holder of Holder Group, had recently been murdered. Which naturally then led to a little bit of unsanctioned poking around the SCPD’s internal files, and before she knew it the she found herself composing a message to the Hood before she’d even consciously decided to get involved.

After all, she didn’t actually want to be involved. She was just an IT girl, and she intended to keep a low profile. But the possibility that she could help prevent another murder weighed on her conscience, so she left a message pointing him in the right direction, hoping her suspicions were false.

When she heard about the shooting at the auction, she poured herself a glass of wine - well, a bottle, really - and gave herself a talk. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad she’d helped prevent an even greater catastrophe, because she was. It was just that the reality of the situation finally hit her, and she was faced with a choice.

Get involved, take a stance, use her powers in the real world again? She’d been down this road, she’d seen what her interference was capable of. She’d played with fire and hadn’t just gotten burned; she’d burned down her entire world - and Cooper’s.

But the Hood wasn’t Cooper. He wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t naive to the forces he was playing with. She wasn’t sure what he was. He’d killed, and he would kill again, she was sure.

But as much as she couldn’t condone the killing, she also couldn’t ignore the good that he’d done, and she realized she already didn’t have a choice. Something was happening in her city, the signs were all around her, and choosing to do nothing would only make her complicit.

From then on, she kept tabs on the Hood’s activities, always leaving documents on his desktop explaining, briefly, what he needed to know. It wasn’t long until he began leaving notes of his own.

Through unspoken agreement, they never asked each other personal questions, but between the lines, she gained a sense of the man he was. Compassionate. Loyal. Selfless.

When Oliver Queen was arrested as the suspected Hood, Felicity instantly dismissed the idea. She knew about the arresting officer’s personal grudge against Oliver Queen, which explained why he pursued him like a dog with a bone. But Felicity knew it was impossible; she knew what kind of person Oliver Queen was, and there was no overlap with the kind of person the vigilante was.

Aside from that, she purposely avoided speculating about who the Hood could be. If she had wanted to know, she could have found out easily enough, but she didn’t want to know. She told herself it didn’t matter; that the work he was doing was what was important. She didn’t want to put a face to the hood, because then she would begin to worry about him.

More than she already did, that is. Despite not knowing his name, she felt a connection with him that sometimes felt stronger for their mutual anonymity. His notes were always brief, especially compared to hers, but she learned to read what he didn’t say. And when he was repeatedly crucified in the media while his quietly heroic actions went unnoticed, he never complained, never faltered in his mission. He never even acknowledged the subtle tones of praise layered into her notes. She would almost suspect him of being a robot if it weren’t for the clear passion that underscored every action.

So when Walter Steele gave her the notebook that turned out to be filled with names that correlated with the criminals the vigilante was confronting, she didn’t say anything. There was too much she still didn’t know about the notebook to risk jeopardizing their relationship over it. Because if there was one thing she did know, it was that she trusted him.

When Mr. Steele went missing, however, she had to break her silence. Without giving away details that could expose her own identity, she presented him with digital evidence of Moira Queen’s involvement of the events that likely got her husband kidnapped, and asked him for help.

Which was how she now found herself in this hideously decorated criminal lair staring into the supremely beautiful face of Oliver Queen.

Chapter 2

“Oh great. It’s you.”

Oliver looked up at the sarcastic words being spoken by a stunning blonde. Even as he was roughly manhandled, his hands being zip-tied behind his back, he couldn’t help but be a little offended at her tone. “Excuse me?” Beautiful women treating him like some kind of disease was something he’d never experienced before, and while he wasn’t the same person he used to be, he had to admit his ego took a hit.

She stared at him silently, eyes flashing with undisguised contempt, until after Dominic Alonzo’s minion had left the room.

“Oliver Queen?” she finally answered distastefully, tilting her head at him in an exaggerated motion, as if his name was explanation enough. “Entitled billionaire and general asshole?”

Her stomach swooped as his eyes searched her face. Disturbingly, and contrary to the cool attitude she was projecting, Felicity found his presence a little overwhelming, not quite matching the plastic and glossy picture presented by the tabloids. Rather than being some kind of smarmy Trust Fund Ken, in person he was exquisitely human. Felicity had always suspected she was immune to the appeal of a man in a suit, but on him, the tapered line from broad shoulder to narrow waist suggested an essential masculinity that awoke a deeply primal response she’d never experienced before. In contrast to the brutal strength of his body, his eyes were startlingly expressive; his chiseled jaw was complemented by soft, sensual lips. In short, he was utterly, unfairly beautiful in a way that affected her immediately, physically, and urgently.

“Wow, okay,” Oliver scoffed, unaware of her internal struggle. “Most people lead with ‘Are you okay, Mr. Queen?’ ‘How did you survive all those years alone, Mr. Queen?’ ‘What does it feel like to be the only survivor in an accident that killed your father, Mr. Queen?’” He spoke harshly, wielding the crude words like a club. While he usually found the subject too intrusive to mention to anyone, let alone complete strangers, something about this woman’s fiery disdain was really getting under his skin, and extreme measures were called for.

Felicity smiled insincerely, holding on to her irritation like a shield from the confusing wave of sympathy that, along with his sheer attractiveness, threatened to undo her. This man slept with his girlfriend’s sister, she firmly reminded herself. “Well, I’m sorry, but my concern didn’t really seem necessary, given the fact that you seem utterly unaffected by what you went through. I caught your appearance at the opening of Queen Consolidated’s Applied Sciences building,” she added witheringly. “You seemed perfectly okay. Or at least as okay as you ever were.”

Oliver crossed his arms, bothered by her words even though the image she described was the exact public persona he’d been purposefully crafting. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t stand the idea that this woman found him so completely and vehemently offensive. Shaking his head, he tried a different tack. “Have we met before? Have I done something to offend you?” There was something compelling and almost familiar about her, but he was pretty sure he would remember if they’d met.

She scoffed dismissively. “No, definitely not.”

“Well, you sure have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me.” His eyes ran over her again, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. She was undeniably beautiful, with delicate features animated by a streak of passion that was not characteristic of the type of woman he’d have gone for before the island.

“Oh, I know all about you, Oliver Queen. If it’s on the internet, I can find it. Not -” her eyes flew to the ceiling as she turned pink, “not that I’ve looked into you!” Her sudden lack of composure was completely unexpected and disarming, and Oliver was intrigued and charmed by the new side of Felicity it revealed. And, if he was being honest, gratified by the suggestion that maybe she was not as immune to him as he originally thought. “It’s just that I work for your company,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes again as sarcasm crept back into her tone, “and it’s a little hard to avoid hearing about all your little…adventures and mishaps.”

“Hmm,” he answered, covering the dismay he felt at hearing her refer to his past actions when he suddenly, illogically, wanted her to know that he wasn’t that person anymore. “You work for Queen Consolidated?”

“Yeah, I do.” She pinned him with a fierce look. “But don’t go getting any weird ideas. I don’t work for you.”

Felicity rolled her eyes to illustrate how distasteful she found that idea, and to cover up the effect his nearness was having on her. This was Oliver Queen, Frat Boy Extraordinaire, Professional Heartbreaker. She should not be flattered by any interest he showed to her. Anyway, he was probably just talking to her because there was no one else to talk to, as they were both literally imprisoned together. Speaking of, she needed to stop being distracted by Oliver Queen’s whole overwhelmingness, and start figuring out a way out of her handcuffs so she could carry out her plan to infiltrate Dominic Alonzo’s computer. She was lucky that when they caught her counting cards they brought her here, at least. Though she would have preferred that she hadn’t gotten caught at all, so she could have found her way here without the zip-tie cuffs, as she had planned. But dammit, she was new to this. She didn’t know anything about going undercover in an underground casino. As evidenced by the very great misfortune of finding herself trapped with Oliver Queen, of all people. Well, at least his presence solved one problem. “So anyway, how is it that Oliver Queen ends up handcuffed in the back of an underground casino?” she asked, deliberately toning down her attitude in the hopes that he’d prove cooperative.

“I could ask you the same thing, Miss…” he trailed off in question, a clear indication that she should fill in her name, as he tried to figure out how to respond.

The truth was certainly not an option. Even if he could trust her with his secret - and for some inexplicable reason, he did feel generally inclined to trust her - doing so would put her at risk. He couldn’t even tell her a half-truth. Sure, the whole city at this point knew that his step-father was missing, possibly kidnapped, probably dead, but there was no good reason why Oliver Queen would be investigating that. Or that he should have figured out that Alonzo was the person who had him kidnapped.

Felicity met his eyes warily, aware that she didn’t have an acceptable explanation for being there either, and they came to a silent agreement not to press each other for information. For now. “Felicity Smoak,” she supplied.

He smiled. She stared back, refusing to be charmed, even though she detected a hint of dimple.

Needing to get him to stop smiling at her, because she was much more susceptible than she wanted him to know, she hastened on, “It’s good that you’re here, actually, because you can help me.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Help you?” Help her do what? He didn’t expect his co-hostage to have any sort of plan; rather, he was busy trying to figure out how he could convince her to stay calm, and possibly hide in a closet, while he dislocated his thumb, got out of the zip-ties, searched through the office, and then called the police to come rescue them.

It wasn’t an ideal plan; he considered all the variables, all the things that could go wrong. Getting made definitely hadn’t been part of his plan. He’d hoped to sneak in the back without being noticed, not get thrown there with the attention of Alonzo and his thugs. And Felicity proved an even bigger problem. While he could easily hold himself back and take a beating if necessary, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do the same if they threatened her; and if it came to a fight, he wasn’t sure how he was going to preserve his secret.

“Help me get out of these zip-ties,” Felicity answered, taking a deliberate step toward Oliver. Her heart was pounding at what she was about to suggest, but she schooled her expression to appear nonchalant, annoyed by the necessity, even. Not flustered. And definitely, definitely not turned on by the prospect. She took a deep breath. “I need you to get the knife out of my bra.”

Oliver blinked. No words could have been more unexpected coming from her mouth. “What?”

She rolled her eyes to distract from the fact that she was blushing. Eyes firmly locked on the ceiling, she elaborated, “There is a pocketknife in my bra and we can use it to cut our binds.”

Oliver stared at her in wonder, steadfastly ignoring the primal thrill that ran through him at her suggestion. It seemed he had severely underestimated Felicity Smoak. His mind was racing with questions, but the one that he blurted out was “Why do you have a pocketknife in your bra?”

“Mr. Queen!” she flared, exasperated nerves causing her to meet his gaze. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Oliver’s mind was suddenly reeling with images of what she was proposing. In an instinctual stalling tactic, he said the first words that came to him. “Mr. Queen was my father.”

Felicity gaped at him.

Oliver shook his head at himself, saying nothing as he attempted to get his head on straight. He considered her plan rationally. Aside from the question of why it was so important to Felicity that she get out of her cuffs, and the mystery of what she planned to do once she was free of them, the fact of the matter was that going along with her plan would free him to search the office without having to dislocate his thumb. Deciding to continue their no-questions truce, he nodded. “Okay. But…,” he trailed off, throat dry as he looked looking down into unexpectedly near wide blue eyes.

Felicity was pretty sure they were both imagining what he was about to do. “Yeah,” she exhaled, suddenly very aware of the cadence of his breaths, his intoxicatingly masculine scent. Throughout the course of their discussion, he had moved closer to her, and now his expressive eyes fixed on her, waiting. “You won’t be able to see what you’re doing, but if you’re standing, I can kneel behind you and you can kind of…feel around.”

Oliver’s eyes widened as she spoke, her matter-of-fact words making the situation more real. More shocking. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done more with women he’d known for less time in much less dire circumstances, but something about touching Felicity in these circumstances felt wrong, like a violation, and he suddenly, irrationally found himself wanting to get to know her first, and to tell her about himself, about the real him. He briefly reconsidered his original plan of dislocating his thumb.

Mortified by Oliver’s reaction to her words, Felicity tried to cut the tension. “I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but I figure it’s gotta be better than the alternative.”

Caught up, Oliver automatically asked, “What’s the alternative?”

Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips and she swayed a little toward him as she whispered, “Using your mouth.” But when her eyes flicked up to meet his, neither of them were laughing.

Oliver’s mouth fell open in surprise, his gaze dropping to the deep vee of her bodice, before dragging back up to her face. The action pulled him even closer toward her, and a rush of heat washed over him as he fully took her in for the first time. The red chiffon dress clung to her curves, outlining a deeply feminine, lush body. She was a study in contradictions, watching him through darkly-lashed eyes that were somehow both innocent and knowing; her face lightly dusted with freckles that contrasted alluringly with a sinfully soft mouth. She watched him with dilated pupils and parted lips, and his cock twitched in response.

But then reality crashed back in on him as she interrupted, “Not that I’m suggesting anything! I’m not coming on to you or anything.”

Oliver blinked, trying to regain control by reminding himself where they were and why. Catching her gaze, he nodded in an attempt to reassure her. Hoping that she didn’t pick up on just how affected he himself was.

Felicity took a deep, centering breath. It didn’t make any sense that Oliver Queen was having this effect on her. He was just some shallow billionaire, a douchebag womanizer. None of it made any sense. When he looked at her, it was like he saw her. And as much as she told herself it was impossible, it looked as if he wanted her. No. She had to be projecting. And she didn’t want him to want her, anyway. Sure, he was gorgeous. So, so masculine and touchable he smelled so good, with an essential manliness that was softened by those eyes…but no. He was still Oliver Queen, and the fact that she was so attracted to him only explained why so many women had given in to his appeal, despite the long list of reasons to avoid him. She might have judged those women in the past, but now she could not.

She squared her shoulders, trying to clear the attraction from her mind and prepare for what had to happen next. “So, okay?” She chanced a look in his direction, not quite meeting his eyes.

Oliver nodded, and Felicity took refuge in remembering her mission. After all, she was here to help the Hood, and she could not have her sudden weakness to very handsome men - or rather, one specific very handsome man - getting in the way of that.

“All right, just turn a little to your right,” she directed hoarsely, nodding encouragingly as he complied. “Okay, stop there. I’ll position myself so you should be able to locate the knife relatively easily.” She lowered herself to the ground behind him as she was speaking, her voice only slightly wavering with the awareness that Oliver Queen was about to feel her up. “It’s on the left side,” she rambled, masking her response to the feeling of his surprisingly rough fingers dipping below her bodice, carrying on as if this were normal, as if she were directing someone to the library, as if Oliver Queen’s very large hands weren’t currently sliding along the sides of her breasts…her words tapered off and she bit her bottom lip, concentrating on not moaning out loud because oh god, his fingers brushed against her nipple and her body responded as if he was tugging on a string tied directly to her thrumming core.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be quick, methodical, and clinical, but he had felt enough breasts in his life to know that Felicity Smoak’s were a rarity. As much as he tried to stay on task,he found himself getting distracted, unable to stop the picture that drifted through his mind. Perfect breasts, not large, but extremely full; firm but very soft, with tight nipples that his fingertips couldn’t help brushing over repeatedly as he wedged his large hand into the tight space of her bodice. Tight, very sensitive nipples, he corrected unhelpfully, judging by the way she gasped softly in response to his inadvertent touches. As her voice trailed off, he remained aware of the soft catching of her breath, and even with his back to her, he he felt completely in tune with her, much more intimately than if they had only been having sex. Finally, his fingers touched upon warm metal, and even though the entire encounter lasted less than fifteen seconds, he was out of breath as he withdrew the pocketknife and turned to meet her eyes. His dick was rock hard, and the look she returned him said she was equally affected.

She was staring up at him, speechless, so he took the lead, flipping open the knife and directing her in a soft voice, “Turn around. I’ll cut your ties.”

Felicity nodded silently, turning so that they were back to back and trusting that he wouldn’t cut her as he twisted around to line her zip-ties up with the blade. “Okay,” he told her when the knife was in position, “try an up and down sawing motion,” and they easily and wordlessly fell into a rhythm that quickly parted the plastic around her wrists.

“Oh thank god,” she exhaled as her hands came free. She instantly started rubbing her wrists, then silently turned to take the knife.

Oliver felt her warm hand close around his wrists, steadying him as she positioned the blade against his ties. He took a steadying breath as she freed him. “I probably shouldn’t do this,” she commented, “since my plan is to maintain the illusion that we’re still tied up and that would be easier to do if you actually were still tied up, but I have to admit that I’ll feel safer if your hands are free.” With a final tug, the plastic came apart, but she didn’t release his hands immediately. Inexplicably, her words inflated him with a disproportionate sense of pride and purpose. He liked that she felt safe with him, that even without knowing his alternate identity, and despite her pre-existing opinion of Oliver Queen, she somehow trusted him. He was struck with an acute desire to be worthy of that trust, and a deep yearning to prove to her that it was not misplaced.

After a long moment, Felicity dropped his hands, taking large step backward in a move designed to decrease the tension. Truthfully, she was a little impressed by Oliver Queen. He was a lot more gentle, sensitive, and thoughtful than she would have thought. She had expected him to be obnoxious, entitled, and immature, the type of person who, finding himself in this situation, would either panic or make a joke of the whole thing. Either way, she’d have expected him to be throwing his money around trying to save himself, not quietly and calmly following her lead. And no way would she have predicted he was capable of being so respectful of her body. Probably more respectful of her body than she was being of his. Not that she had forced him to feel her up…but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it. Fleetingly, she wondered if it counted as sexual harassment to get turned on when a man was merely trying to locate a knife in your bra so you could escape a kidnapping situation.

For his part, Oliver’s admiration for Felicity was growing exponentially. She was much more resourceful and level headed than he would have expected anyone to be in her situation. From the moment she opened her mouth, she’d already proven herself smarter and more sensible than most people in his experience - she had a cautious, strategic manner that he was unused to in other people.

“So now what?” he asked, caught up in the intelligence in her eyes, the mystery of her presence. Even though he was the one with a plan and she was technically just an inconvenience, he momentarily set that aside because he just wanted to know. He wanted to know what she was planning to do. He wanted to know her. “You mentioned you have a plan, one that requires your hands be free,” he prodded, hoping she would fill in some pieces of the puzzle.

“That’s for me to know,” she countered playfully, holding his gaze as she reached into her bra, pulling something else out, “and you to find out.”

His eyes widened and dropped to her chest before snapping back up, unsure if she meant anything by it. Again, it was the last thing he expected. And again, it set his heart racing.

“Or, I mean, not to find out. There will be no finding out, from you. Just stay there and look pretty.” Her eyes grew rounder. “Not that you’re pretty, it’s just an expression. Just sit there.” She backed away until she ran into the desk, and then she dropped to the ground and started feeling around underneath it.

He watched her with amused eyes, interested in her actions and utterly captivated by her. “I’m not pretty?” he pressed, curious to know how she would react.

Her head popped up from the other side of the desk, sending him an exasperated look. “No! I mean, yes! Very pretty like, really very attractive, objectively speaking I mean, I’m not coming on to you. It’s science; you’re scientifically pretty.” Her head disappeared again beneath the desk.

Oliver stood up, drawn to her, until he was leaning over the desk looking down at her ass protruding from under the desk. “Scientifically pretty?”

Felicity visibly startled, then took a deep breath, then carefully, and with as much dignity as possible, crawled backwards and rose out from under the desk, smoothing down her hair. She arched her brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of these anti-science climate change denier people.”

Oliver guffawed, unable to come up with a fitting response. She was unlike anyone he’d ever come across. Instead of answering, he watched as she sat herself at the desk and instantly penetrated the password protection, diving with singular focus directly into the files on Alonzo’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked after a moment, fascinated by her actions. He knew time was precious, that he should be taking the opportunity to riffle through drawers, search filing cabinets, etc., but rather than pursue his mission, he couldn’t help but pull at the loose thread that was Felicity Smoak.

She lifted distracted eyes to him, giving the distinct impression that he had yanked her out of a very deep concentration, despite the fact that it had only been twenty seconds since she’d sat down. He expected her to crack another joke, but instead she blinked and said seriously, “It’s better you don’t know,” before returning her attention to the computer.

Surprised, Oliver slipped off the desk he’d been casually leaning against, the hair raising on the back of his neck; her words were like a warning, almost ominous. Who was she? Why was she here? What was she involved in? Habits shaped over the past five years forced him to question her motives: honest people rarely found themselves involved with guys like Dominic Alonzo; he had to consider that Felicity might not be as innocent as she seemed; he had to wonder if she might even be on the list. But as soon as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it. His five years away had also taught him to trust his instincts, and every single part of him was shouting at him to trust her.

“Okay,” she announced a few seconds later, “I need you to come here and keep an eye on this feed.”

Oliver stepped up beside her to where she was pointing at CCTV footage in a corner of the computer monitor. “What is that?”

“Security feed, showing the corridor just outside. This way we can know ahead of time if anyone’s coming.” Her eyes returned to the screen, where she was still methodically searching through the computer’s files.

“Felicity,” Oliver said firmly, coming to a decision even as his eyes obediently remained glued on the feed.

“Hmm?”

Oliver took a deep breath, his racing mind rapidly drawing conclusions that he couldn’t quite believe were true. But every objection he came up with was easily disproved; rather, every detail about her only seemed to confirm the picture that was forming in his mind.

Huli jing.

“Felicity,” he repeated, and this time the name felt familiar on his tongue, like he had been saying it his whole life, like he had been born to say it. “You need to tell me why you’re here.”

He knew. There was no denying it; when she spoke, it was with the voice he’d been hearing in his head for seven months. When she smiled, it was with the unique humor that had amused him like nothing else had been able to do since returning from the island. And when she looked at him, it was with eyes that perceived all the things he didn’t say. It was her. But he needed to hear her say it.

“Oliver, look,” she began, unexpectedly turning to meet his eyes. He was nearly flattened by the look of sincere regret and conviction in her eyes. “I’m sorry about before, what I said.”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“When I said you hadn’t changed. I was wrong. The person the tabloids make you out to be - that’s not who you are. And I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Oliver’s lips parted in surprise. “That’s not -”

“No, it is necessary,” she pressed, misunderstanding what he was going to say. “I made assumptions, and they were completely unfair.” Over his protests, she continued, “I don’t know what you did out there to piss off the casino bosses, but I’m really sorry you’re caught up in this. Please,” she emphasized, “just believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the safer you’ll be.” She reached out a hand but started to pull it back before it made contact with his chest, and he caught it between his own before she could fully withdraw.

“Felicity.” He fixed her with a steady, knowing look, and he heard her breath catch, and felt her pulse pick up under his fingers. “I need to ask you something.”

Felicity’s eyes widened at his sudden, inexplicable intensity and focus. She had no idea Oliver Queen was capable of such depth and sincerity. His large hands were cradling her, his thumb soothing over her wrist, and she had long ago surrendered to that penetrating look in his eyes. “What?” she breathed, not knowing what Oliver Queen could tell her that required so much intensity and passion, but suddenly very much wanting to find out.

His words were the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you here because of the Hood?”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

Before he could respond, he caught sight of someone on the security feed walking up the hallway. “Someone’s coming!”

She turned to the feed, then instantly went to the computer and, with a blur of hands on the keyboard, logged off and put the monitor to sleep. There was no time for anything else, so without thinking any further, Oliver reached around her body, pressing her wrists together behind her in an approximation of being handcuffed, secured his own hands behind his back, then pressed his mouth to hers in an urgent kiss.

Felicity gasped in surprise, and he instinctively used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, coaxing her lips open, his tongue seeking hers. After a stunned moment, she responded with ardor, the passion exploding like a match to dry tinder.

Kissing her was like putting the last piece of the puzzle in place.

For seven months, he had been drawn to the woman with intriguingly contradictory parts: a dizzyingly sharp partner who amused and irritated and charmed and inspired him.

For seven months, the more space he allowed her in his mission, the wider the empty hole that only she could fill had become in his life. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it, but meeting her face to face meant he could no longer deny how he felt about her. He had been drawn to her since he saw her, his body seeking any excuse to touch hers. Everything about her provoked and challenged and called to him; her passion, her intelligence, her humor, her bravery, and the glimpses of vulnerability.

She was the woman he’d been waiting for, and if the way she was responding to him was any indication, she’d been waiting for him too.

He bore down on her, covering her with his body, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands behind his back. The need to touch her is like electricity in his veins, and he forgot everything but the urgent need to be close to her.

“What’s going on?” The voice broke into the moment like a bucket of cold water.

Oliver’s lips released Felicity’s reluctantly, and she met his eyes as she pulled back. Her pupils were nearly black, her lips parted and swollen, and the sight sent a jolt through his body to his already throbbing dick.

“Oliver Queen, you really can’t control yourself, can you?” asked Dominic Alonzo, striding into the room. “I’d almost be impressed if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”

Oliver glanced once more at Felicity, and the last thought he had before turning his attention to Alonzo was that she looked utterly shell-shocked.

…to be continued…

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa #goodbye olicity #submission

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pastel-flapflap-blog · 6 years

Text

The Holy Grail, ch 1

I have always been around But you never really noticed Cause I don't draw a lot of attention I'm a stranger in a crowd Blame it on the evolution Trying to find a way to say this

Thea’s home was a quaint, two-story house with fading yellow paint that was situated in a cul-de-sac in what probably used to be a nice, quiet neighborhood at one point in time. She would have killed to own this type of property two years ago when everything was alive. There was a long-gone garden that she liked to imagine might have had the most beautiful hydrangeas; not the pink kind, but blue-purple bursts of color that she’d always wished she would have had the room to grow someday. Instead, the garden grew nothing and was full of long-dead hedge bushes and weeds that took over nearly all the way to the porch. There was a lot to mourn since the beginning of this apocalypse, but the lack of pretty flowers would always be a sore spot for Thea.

It was selfish, especially when she thought of all the people who had died in the two years since the start of everything but goddamn, a little color would make things so much more bearable. Everything was so dingy and dirty nowadays.

Thea was on her porch in the swing that faced the road, using her legs to slowly swing back and forth as much as she could without making the rusting chains creak. She gnawed on a well-used toothpick between her teeth and her arms were spread on the back of the swing carelessly. It was a sweltering, lazy day and she had absolutely no desire to move any more than she had to. She’d scavenged more than she thought she’d get her hands on the day before—a stroke of luck—and she had always been a procrastinator. When she ran out of food and water… well, that was a problem for Future Thea.

Present Thea just wanted to pretend to have a normal day for the first time in a long time. She’d been watching the road but let her head fall back to stare at the ceiling of the porch before letting her eyes close. If she really tried, she could believe the dead didn’t roam the Earth and she was still waiting to play with her band at the local coffee house in a few hours.

A soft whine drew her out of her brief reverie and she opened her eyes to look down at the source of the annoying noise; a greyish wolf-dog that had been following Thea for so long, she had finally admitted to owning the damned thing. Another mouth to feed at the end of the world.

She sighed when Mads nudged her knee and put a hefty paw on it, digging her claws into the soft flesh right above the kneecap. Thea put her hand on Mads’ head and gave the wolf-dog a scritch behind her ear, which seemed to somewhat please the beast. “We have to wait to eat, baby,” Thea said. “I don’t feel like going out again anytime soon, so we have to make it last.”

<You’re being selfish,> Mads said, her eyes judgmental.

Thea slit her eyes at the creature. “You’re a fucking wild animal. Go hunt.” This was a normal exchange between the two of them; Thea had started “hearing” Mads’ thoughts soon after the wolf-dog started following her around. She was sure she was being crazy and was just lonely, but sometimes she really didn’t know. Who’s to say people didn’t get weird powers when the dead started walking? She hadn’t been around enough people since the beginning to even ask what their names were, much less start a conversation on super powers versus schizophrenia.

Mads huffed and dragged her paw off Thea’s leg, the claws scraping down her skin. Thea hissed in pain and furiously rubbed her knee to try to stop the hurt. “Fucking bitch,” she said.

<You’re not a liar,> Mads said, walking to the top of the stairs to lie down.

They stayed like that for a while—Thea stewing and swinging, and Mads lying with her head in her paws while she looked out across the overgrown front yard. Thea’s head went back to staring at the ceiling and wasn’t paying attention to where Mads was looking, so when the wolf-dog began to let out a low growl, she snapped her head back up to stare.

<Something is coming,> Mads said. Her lips began to curl to show off her sharp canines and Thea saw her hair begin to bristle at the base of her neck.

The swing stopped, and Thea leaned forward far enough to lean her elbows on her knees. Her eyes scanned the cul-de-sac and waited to see what Mads could sense, her own muscles beginning to tense up and ready to launch her body up to defend herself or hide. Whatever was coming, Thea had no doubt they would be able to deal with it accordingly, as she and Mads had done since near the beginning of end of the world.

She was readying herself to see a dead man, or even an entire herd of them. So when a very much alive man in black burst through the back yard of the house diagonal from her own, she was slightly taken aback. Mads began to snarl loudly and Thea waved her hand at her. “Shut up,” she hissed, hoping the man wouldn’t see them before she could sneak into the house with the wolf-dog in tow. But he seemed to have the hearing of a goddamn bat because his head jerked from searching frantically behind him to stare at Thea dead in her hazel eyes.

Thea froze, her toothpick ungracefully falling out of her mouth; she was embarrassed that she even wondered if she was stuck in place because she thought that she was in danger or because he was ungodly handsome, even from this far away. His rough appearance seemed a little purposeful; the leather jacket and jeans form-fitting enough to show off his assets but roomy enough to allow him to move freely. The man and Thea stared each other down for what seemed like minutes when Mads snarled again.

<I don’t like him, Thea,> she said. Her voice was gravelly and mean. When Thea tore her eyes away from the man and glanced over to her, she saw that the wolf-dog had stood up and looked very intense. Her head was low, and her tail was tall. She looked to be very much a wild beast that absolutely should not be reckoned with.

When she turned her gaze back on the man, he was staring with wide eyes at Mads. He looked back at Thea and licked his lips nervously, like he wanted to say something, before his head turned to look behind him.

“Is he running from something, girl?” Thea whispered.

When the man started toward them again, it was with his hands up in a mock surrender and a pace that looked as slow as he was willing to go. He was definitely being chased by someone. Or something.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, trying to be friendly. A huge grin was plastered on his unshaven face and Thea wondered if he really thought that would make her put her guard down; if anything, it made her reach for the knife strapped to her waist. He noticed the movement and stopped at the beginning of her yard, his gaze skipping between her and Mads nervously.

<Don’t trust him,> Mads repeated. She silently showed her teeth to the man. Thea finally stood and moved behind her wolf-dog slowly. A nervous sheen of sweat was starting to make her tank top stick to her skin and she felt a pulse of anger when she realized the man gave her a once over before smirking. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut, though.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Thea asked the man. Her voice was steady and stern, and she mentally pat herself on the back for that because she was beginning to feel unnerved.

The man licked his lips again and looked like he was thinking whether to answer truthfully but when they heard a yell in the far distance, he met her eyes and frowned. “I’m Negan,” he said. They stared each other down for a moment and he looked as though he wanted to say something else. When Thea failed to say anything in response to his name, his leg started to move forward and Mads growled again. He stopped moving.

“You answered one question,” Thea said. “Now what do you want here?” Her fingers grasped the knife handle at her waist and she moved to stand directly next to Mads, her leg touching the wolf-dog’s side to show solidarity with her partner.

<We will attack if he gives an insufficient answer. This one will not let us run and hide; we will have to find a new home.> Mads growled once more.

Thea glanced down and gave an affirmative noise, and the man named Negan furrowed his brow at her. She continued to glare at him. She knew she probably looked crazy as hell, but that was not her main concern at this point. Hell, maybe if he thought she was a bag of cats, he’d turn around and hightail it out of her neighborhood.

Negan swallowed before answering. “My group was caught in a cross-fire with another group who were trying to raid the same store we were. My men have either been killed or they scattered to the fucking winds,” he said, the last words almost spit out bitterly. He was trying to remain as calm as he could even though he still looked like his anger was threatening to boil over, Thea noticed. She wasn’t sure what to think about Negan. She heard another yell in the distance and noticed the man stiffen slightly as he looked into her eyes, awaiting her judgment.

“I take it those aren’t your friends,” Thea surmised.

“Far fucking from it,” he said, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice.

Thea felt her grip on the knife loosen. Mads seemed to sense her change in demeanor and looked a little less ferocious. She still showed the man her teeth, but her tail lowered slightly, and her head was higher up. <How do we know he won’t hurt us?>

Thea took only a moment to think, since she knew the men who were hunting Negan down were getting closer with every second they stared at each other. She didn’t owe anyone anything in this new world, but she had never left anyone to die; this man looked at the end of his rope and when she scanned down his body, she noticed a red splotch of blood on his white shirt under his jacket. It had been hidden until he had started moving forward the last time and his jacket had opened a little more than it already was.

“How do I know you won’t hurt us?” Thea bit her lower lip as she repeated Mads’ question to the man.

“Darlin’, I give you my fuckin’ word. I know it isn’t much, but I swear to you that I’ll make it worth your while.” Thea furrowed her brow at the slight sexual undertone of the promise, but she couldn’t be sure he had meant it the way it came out. He looked her in the eyes and she felt that he was being earnest. Another yell came from behind the man, even closer this time.

“Come on, then,” Thea said. “But you’re going in first and you do exactly as I fucking say.” She took her knife out of the sheath and pointed it at him.

“Anything you want, darlin’,” the man said, oblivious to Mads’ harsh questioning. He smiled widely again, and the way his eyes began to glitter made Thea decide he had known exactly what idea he had implied earlier. Her frown deepened as she stepped aside and let Negan walk up to the stoop.

“Mads, back,” she said to the wolf-dog next to her as she pushed her back with her leg. Mads huffed and growled, but obeyed.

Negan hurried up the steps and onto the porch with Thea moving quickly behind him. “Hurry inside,” she said. “We need to hide.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he mumbled. He opened the door and Mads pushed past him in a show of dominance. Thea followed them inside. She closed the door as quietly as she could and moved her non-dominant hand behind her to lock it, her right hand still holding the knife to Negan’s back. He seemed nonplussed about it when he turned to give her a questioning look. She waved the knife toward the stairs.

“There’s a spot upstairs in one of the bedrooms that you can probably fit into,” she said. She didn’t miss the slight upturning of his lips. He didn’t say anything, though, and began the trek upstairs. “The door all the way at the end of the hallway,” Thea told him.

She followed him into the master bedroom and he stopped in the middle of the room to take a quick survey of his surroundings. It was as clean as it could get in the apocalypse and it was quite cozy; almost completely free of dust and grime. The bed in the middle of the back wall was a four-poster king with black curtains draping down the sides. Mads had jumped onto the bed as soon as the door had opened and laid down near the center, staring at Negan through cold dark eyes. <You are an idiot, girl.>

Negan turned to make a comment and Thea interrupted him before he could even begin. “Shut up and go to the closet. There’s a hidey hole there; it’ll be a tight fit, but I think you can manage.”

Negan looked a little more than grumpy at being shot down, but nodded and headed for the closet across the room. When he opened it, Thea pointed to the lower right hand side. “On the far, far right there’s a space for your fingers to open the wall. The people who built this place were pretty shifty, I think.”

As he reached to open the crawl space, he turned to look at her. “Thanks, doll.”

Thea’s nose wrinkled at the nickname and she frowned. “Just don’t get any blood on my stuff.” She turned quickly on her heel and clicked her tongue to call Mads, who jumped off the bed and followed her owner out the door and into the hallway. “I’ll come get you when the coast is clear,” she said without looking at him.

As Thea shut the door, she began to think about what to do next. She leaned against the wall, crossed her arms, and began to nibble on her lip. <You are a very, very stupid girl,> Mads said. Judgment laced every word.

“I can’t just leave him to die,” Thea said.

<Why not? You don’t even know him. What if he’s the instigator who started whatever shoot out that he says happened?> Thea eyed Mads and continued to chew her lip. <He could come out to kill you as soon as he hears you leave the hallway.>

Thea brought her hand up to her mouth and began to nibble on her index knuckle instead of her lip. What if Mads was right? She had been stupid enough to not properly pay attention to her surroundings just because she had been feeling lazy and now it was probably going to come back to bite her in the ass. She should have run inside to hide in the damn crawl space and let him fend for himself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t right; even though she hadn’t seen enough people to feel good about the remaining populace in general didn’t mean that she had to purposely leave someone to die. That wasn’t her.

She would just have to ride this out and see where she landed; hopefully, it wasn’t going to be anywhere six feet under. “No,” Thea said to the wolf-dog. “I think I have to do this. I wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

Mads huffed. <We barely sleep, anyway.> She began to pad downstairs and Thea reluctantly followed her friend, throwing one last glace at the bedroom door behind her.

#the walking dead #fan fiction #fanfiction #negan #daryl #daryl dixon #original female character #nanowrimo #the holy grail

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raywritesthings · 5 years

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Dear Friend, 7/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, John Diggle, Felicity Smoak Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: When Felicity decides to get serious about Ray, she knows it won’t be a good idea for Oliver to be hanging around. So she turns to the world of online dating to keep him distracted. Unknown to the both of them, over the summer Joanna had set Laurel up with an online dating account in the hopes that her friend could move on from past failed relationships. There’s only one way this can end. *Can also be read on my AO3*

She was elbow deep in a file with a couple of clerks when her phone started ringing late one morning. Knowing she’d lose whatever detail she was trying to find if she broke off now, Laurel nodded to her cell on the desk and met one of the clerk’s eyes.

“Can you get that?”

Abby nodded and picked it up. “ADA Lance’s phone, can I take a message.” There was a pause, then Abby covered the phone with one hand. “Um, there’s a man asking if you can meet him for lunch.”

Laurel looked up. “What?” She stepped around the desk and took the phone, glancing at the caller ID.

Oh.

“Seriously, Ollie?”

“You did say any time between 11:30 and 2:00.” The slight teasing tone left his voice as he asked, “Does today not work for you?”

She had half a mind to give him an irritated yes, but she paused. This was the first time Oliver had even tried to take her up on her offer. Had something happened?

“No, I can make it.” She looked over her shoulder at the clerks and the pile of work on her desk. “Just, maybe give me thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be there in an hour,” Oliver promised, and he hung up before she could reply.

Laurel shook her head and returned to her work, not even leaving room for her assistants to ask any questions.

True to his word, Oliver was rapping on her door frame just after noon. She grabbed her purse and walked with him out of City Hall.

“Your pick,” Oliver said. “You’d know better than me what’s good around here.”

So they really were just getting lunch. Laurel led them along to a sandwich and soup place, trying to gauge his mood. Oliver had been odd ever since his and John’s trip to Nanda Parbat, but nothing about this seeming good mood rang false.

She couldn’t resist asking as they sat down with their food, “So what brought this on?”

“Does something have to have brought this on?”

She gave him a look.

Oliver shook his head but was smiling just a little. “A lot’s been going on. With the League, the team. I guess I realized maybe I could use a little normal.”

“Okay.” She started to unwrap her sandwich, and he did the same.

“What were you working on when I called?”

“Building a case. You know, the usual.”

“Right. How’s your dad? I’ve been trying to stay out of his way.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t blame him. Even if she had told her father the Arrow wasn’t at fault, he was still likely to lash out if provoked. “He’s drinking again. Angry. Feels like old times.”

“I’m sorry.”

Laurel lifted her eyes from her plate. “There’s no point in saying it, Ollie. We’ve both made our positions on Malcolm clear.”

He nodded. “I wish there was some other way.”

“You do?” It was the first he’d said so.

“I miss seeing you happy.”

She had trouble finding her voice for a moment. “Well, I’m not — I’m better than I have been. Going out there with you guys helps.”

Oliver nodded.

“What about you?” Laurel risked glancing up at him while keeping her face tilted down. “Are you happy?”

“Trying to be.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“A lot. Me, mostly.” Oliver sighed. “Maybe it is possible to have a life along with the work that we do, but so far I have not been able to find that balance the way the rest of you have.”

“Well, hold the applause, because I’m not sure I’m the best example of someone who has it all,” she remarked. “What do you feel like is missing from your life? A job, a social sphere?”

“A little bit. Connection. A relationship, I guess,” was his final answer, causing her heart to sink despite herself. “The trouble is those never work out for me. And at this point, I’m not sure it’s what I deserve.”

Laurel sighed. Ever since he had first come home to Starling, it seemed Oliver was in constant conflict with himself over what he could or couldn’t have. That back-and-forth had burned her more than once. The least she could do was help spare the next woman. “As much as things have gone wrong at times, as mad as you can make me — you always have the best intentions. I don’t think that anyone who is genuinely trying to do good for others deserves anything less than happiness. Even if it’s not today.”

He looked at her, lips forming the slightest potential of a smile. “You really believe that?”

“I have to. You’re not the only person who’s made mistakes, you know.”

He shook his head. “I think if we get into comparisons, it’s gonna become obvious pretty fast which of us deserves that happiness.”

“Good thing it’s not a zero sum game, then,” she replied. Then she took up her food again, keeping her eyes on it as she spoke. “So stop stopping yourself, would be my advice. If you want to start a relationship, then you should go for it.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “The worst thing is to have to wonder what might have been. Trust me.” Laurel hoped her smile met muster, but it was an effort to keep up.

“Okay. Thanks, I needed to hear that.” Oliver settled back in his seat as he also returned to his food.

They talked about this and that for the rest of the meal, never straying into anything that serious. He even walked her back to her office. It was the nicest lunch she’d had in a while.

Oliver could be really sweet when he wanted to; he’d make someone else very happy.

If there was any consolation, it was that all this talk seemed to be purely in the theoretical. After all, Oliver wasn’t currently spending time around many single woman. She’d have some time to prepare herself for that inevitably.

—-

John was certain in his decision to marry Lyla. That didn’t mean he liked all the decisions that came with a marriage, or rather a wedding.

Things had been much simpler in Afghanistan. No questions of table centerpieces or who sat where, what their colors were going to be. He’d jokingly suggested camo and gotten a roll of the eyes out of Lyla for that. About the only worthwhile part of the planning was when they had decided what part little Sara was going to play in all of it. A part of him was glad she was here ahead of the wedding; it was their love for her and each other that had him going through with this.

But he was going to tear out the little hair he had if they didn’t get this guest list situation sorted out soon.

Felicity had flipped back and forth on whether she wanted to bring Palmer, knowing John didn’t completely approve of the situation. Then Thea had dropped her plus one. A couple of the guests on Lyla’s side had had to cancel last minute due to unexpected assignments. But he thought they had the whole thing settled now.

It was the last possible person he could have ever expected to throw a final monkey wrench into the whole thing.

That afternoon he made it down to the base ahead of everyone else. Everyone else, that was, except Oliver. His friend was going through his usual workout, but rather than at least finish the set he was on, Oliver stopped as soon as he noticed John enter the room.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Something up?”

Oliver nodded rather than answer. He took a long pull of the water bottle he’d set aside, and John couldn’t help noticing the fingers of his free hand twitching at his side. Nervous energy.

Oliver wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and said, “John, I need a favor. And it’s about the wedding.”

John shook his head. “Look man, there’s nothing you need to worry about. You’re good with speeches, and there just isn’t a better choice. You’re my brother.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that, really.” Some of Oliver’s tension had dissipated, but not entirely. “I was wondering if it’s too late to ask for a plus one.”

John stared. “You’re bringing a date?”

“Hopefully.” Oliver licked his lips. “I still have to ask her.”

“But you haven’t been dating anyone.” When would he have even had time?

“It’s sort of a long story.”

John crossed his arms. “Alright, when did you meet this girl?”

“This past fall.”

“But Felicity—”

“It wasn’t until after we tried — she should be okay with it. She’s got Ray.”

He had to raise an eyebrow at that. It was Ray now?

“And this woman knows you were in love with Felicity.”

“She knows I was trying to get over someone. But it was one failed date, John,” Oliver reminded him.

“And how many dates have you been on with this new woman?”

His friend looked like he only just held back from rolling his eyes. “Look, I know it’s sudden. And you have every right to say no. This is your wedding, and I don’t want to bring someone into it that’s going to complicate things for you or Lyla,” said Oliver. “But I have given a lot of thought to this, about whether this is a step I want to take with her, and I think I do. I think I want to introduce her to the other people in my life.”

He didn’t know what to think. Yes, Oliver had been rather quiet on the whole Felicity front for a while, but he’d thought that had been his friend’s typical coping mechanism of repression. How could he have missed this?

“You’re really moving on?”

“Yeah.” Oliver didn’t sound sad or wistful. In fact, there was the smallest smile on his face. “Yeah, I think I am.”

John sighed. “Alright. Yeah, we got room for one more.”

Oliver’s smile made it actually seem worth it. “Thank you, John.”

“Anything I should know about her?”

“Well, she’s funny, but sort of with an edge to it? Tough, but really just kind underneath it all. She is a really good listener. I mean, I know I only started talking to her about four months ago, but it feels like we’ve been friends for years.” His voice had grown softer and his smile, though still present, shy. He really liked this girl.

John pushed the misgivings he might have had to the side and reached out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man.”

Could he really begrudge him for trying to move on when Felicity was doing likewise? Though that did make him wonder just what Felicity would have to say about all this.

Oliver left to grab a bite to eat — was he meeting this new woman? — and within half an hour Felicity arrived at the base.

It would only be fair to warn her, right? He didn’t really want some blow up at his wedding.

So he approached her station at the computers. “Did you know Oliver was dating?”

“What?” Felicity looked totally shocked for a moment, until suddenly her confused expression cleared up. “Oh! Yeah, I set him up with an online account. Didn’t really think he’d tell you about that.”

John frowned. “He didn’t.”

Felicity frowned in an almost perfect echo. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he didn’t mention the online bit. Just asked me for a plus one to the wedding.”

“Woah, something actually happened?”

“Guess so.” Now the misgivings were back in full force. Oliver thought he was serious about some online chick? Did he even know if she was real?

“Well, who is she? What’s she like?”

He thought of what Oliver had said and shook his head. Anybody could pretend to be witty and charming online. “I have no idea. He didn’t even tell me her name.”

“He must be really serious about her if he’s meeting her in-person and everything,” Felicity said, her eyes downcast.

“I’m sorry, Felicity.”

She blinked and looked up at him again. “Why would you be sorry? This is exactly what I wanted.”

“But you — I mean, why set him up with someone else?”

“Because I have watched other women try to get over Oliver Queen. And that is impossible to do when he is single. Helena went crazy, McKenna has never come back to the city. I mean, Laurel hasn’t dated for almost two years because of how things turned out with him and Tommy! I do not need that kind of emotional scarring.” She took a breath, and her tone grew more subdued. “And I guess I made the right call, if he really could get over me by talking to some online woman.”

“I’ll tell him not to invite her,” John decided.

“Well, you already gave him the plus one,” Felicity reminded him. “And if you take it back now he’s going to think I had some problem with it, which I don’t. I’m happy with where things are between me and Ray. The last thing I need is an Oliver swinging in at the eleventh hour.”

“If you’re sure.” A thought occurred to him. “You don’t think you could use his phone, trace this girl’s signal back to the source?”

Felicity was already shaking her head. “Oh no, I am not getting involved.”

“But it could be anybody on the other end. He could be setting himself up to get real hurt.”

“Well, that’s a risk he’s going to have to take if he wants to meet her. But I don’t even want to know how angry he’d get if he found out I hacked his phone. You couldn’t even pay me. Not that any of you ever have,” she added in an undertone as she swiveled her chair so her back faced him. A pretty good indicator that the conversation was over.

John sighed and backed off. He could only hope they weren’t all making a huge mistake, and that Oliver was right that he really did know this girl.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #john diggle #felicity smoak #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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raywritesthings · 5 years

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Wrong Road to the Right Place 9/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Quentin Lance, John Diggle, Thea Queen, Moira Queen, Joanna de la Vega Pairings: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Laurel finds herself curious about the marks Oliver showed her that night in his bedroom - and the tattoo on his left shoulder stands out in particular. When she discovers its meaning, she finds herself questioning everything she knows about the man she doesn’t want to admit she still loves. *Can also be read on my AO3 page*

Oliver did not want to be awake. If awake meant feeling like this, he never wanted to be awake again. But his body stubbornly fought its way back to consciousness as it had been trained to do.

“Mornin’,” said Digg, and Oliver’s gaze refocused on him. A few feet beyond him, he noticed another figure in a chair. Laurel. Her head was resting on one shoulder and her eyes were closed.

He sent Digg a questioning look.

“She wouldn’t go home till you woke up.”

That sounded like her. Oliver grimaced. He didn’t really relish the idea of Laurel seeing him like this ever, but especially not right after she’d learned his identity. He couldn’t afford to be seen as weak or damaged right now.

“You think you can uncuff me? Not going to kill you,” he added. “Promise.” He could only hope he hadn’t done something particularly dangerous while he was out of it.

Digg unlocked the restraints, and Oliver pushed himself up to sitting. He had to blink the spots from his vision, and the room was still swaying dangerously as he placed one foot after the other down on the ground.

“You're standing. That's pretty impressive,” Digg remarked. “The Count only got you with half a dose, but you still sweated out a small swimming pool coming down.”

As he spoke, Laurel’s face scrunched up and her legs stretched. She blinked her eyes open, then sat up straight as she caught sight of him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He cleared his throat when he heard the croaky quality to his voice.

She stood from the chair and drew up to Digg’s side. “How are you feeling? Should you be up right now?”

“Probably he should be giving it a few hours,” Diggle replied before he could. He fixed Oliver with a look as he continued, “A near drug overdose isn’t something you just walk away from.”

“Well, I take it the SCPD didn’t bring the Count down.”

Digg frowned, which was about all the answer he needed.

“But maybe they should,” Laurel said nonetheless. “Oliver, you got really lucky last night. If the Count had gotten you with more than a half dose or if Digg couldn’t get you both out of there, you’d either be in jail or dead right now.”

He hadn’t been able to stop an eyebrow raise. So it was Digg now? Apparently they’d forged an alliance while he’d been unconscious, which he wasn’t sure whether to be glad about at the moment or not.

“Thea—”

“Is fine. Safe. Not going to jail anytime soon,” she cut him off before he could start. “If that’s what this is about, then you’re already done. So why do you need to be the one to take the Count down?”

“Why do you still want him to be out on the streets?” He shot back.

“I don’t. But you need to decide what this is about. What all of this is about.” Laurel turned from him and marched over to one of the computer tables. His list was sitting on it and she picked it up.

“Well, you two talked a lot,” he said.

“We had a lot of time,” Diggle replied, steady and calm as ever.

“And we’ve lost a lot of time.” He walked over to the syringe Digg must have pulled from him. It still held some of the potent drug. “We need to get this analyzed if we want to know more about where the Count is manufacturing his product.”

“We can do that after you stop home, man,” Diggle argued. “You’ve been out all night. Your family’s got to be worrying by now.”

“We can get the sample analyzed, but you need to take it easy for now,” Laurel agreed.

Oliver sighed, but handed the sample back over to Diggle. He agreed to be taken back to the manor, where he did end up having to answer a few awkward questions from McKenna when she claimed to have spotted him at the bust, but he was more in danger from his irate mother than the law for that. Later, he and Digg swung by Queen Consolidated to drop off the Vertigo sample with Felicity, and then Oliver had his friend return them to the Verdant. If he was supposed to be resting, he could do that just as well there as at home. And it would make things easier once they got the results back.

Felicity called with the information he needed to figure out the Count’s location just after dark. Diggle tried to stop him, but Oliver left the base on his own. There wasn’t any time to lose now that they had the information to bring the Count down.

He fought his way through various men, his pace slower than usual but not enough to allow them the upper hand. The Count tried to reason with him as to why he should let him go, even arguing that they were one and the same. Oliver took a vicious pleasure in injecting the man with Vertigo so he could see for himself why it wasn’t the public service he claimed.

The police arrived, and Oliver kept his grip on the Count, knowing it was his only leverage if he’d let himself be surrounded. Lance ordered him to drop the syringe, to stop the drug dealer from feeling the effects of his own product.

“He deserves this!”

“Not according to the law. The people that think you're a hero, people like my daughter, if they could see you now... You're no hero. You're what I always said you were — a killer.”

Oliver gritted his teeth, but threw the Count down in Lance’s path, fleeing before his team of officers could fire on him. He raced away from the warehouse on his bike, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the scene he’d left behind as possible.

Lance’s words stung more than usual. Maybe it was the knowledge that Laurel could see him now, even more clearly than Lance. Would she have called him a killer if she’d been standing there in her father’s place?

Diggle had left the base by the time he got back, and if Laurel had shown up she’d gone home since, so Oliver changed and took a taxi home to avoid driving any more than he had to. Hopefully he’d be well enough by morning, since Thea was counting on him for a ride to her first shift at CNRI.

Oliver woke the next day hardly feeling any ill effects like he had been, so he showered and changed in time to wake Thea up for some breakfast before heading over to the law office.

“I’ll be back to pick you up at six,” he told her.

“Seven,” Laurel countered. “We’ve got a lot of work for her to do.”

“Then let’s make it eight,” he said as Thea groaned.

“Alright.” Laurel was smiling, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “And actually, I need to borrow you for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t remember signing up for community service,” Oliver joked to cover his unease. Laurel didn’t say anything as she led him back to an empty conference room and shut the door behind them.

As soon as that was done, she whirled around. “What were you thinking?”

“What do you mean?”

“Diggle called me, Oliver. You went out as the Hood last night when we all agreed you weren’t in any state to.”

He shook his head. “The Count had to be stopped before he took his drug citywide. You and Digg both know that, and you’re gonna have to trust me to know my limits.”

“That is asking a lot since one misjudgment from you could land all three of us in jail. If you don’t get yourself killed,” she added.

He frowned. “You never worried about the Hood putting himself in danger before.”

“And that was my mistake, but do you really not expect me to care about you putting yourself in danger?” She took a step closer. “You’re one of my oldest friends, Ollie. I- I care about you. And I don’t want to go through losing you again.”

Oliver closed his eyes. This was one of many reasons he’d been set against letting his loved ones in on his secret. He had to be able to do whatever needed to be done, no matter the risks.

“Laurel, this is what my life is now. It’s something you have to accept if you’re going to be on the team.”

“No.”

Oliver stilled. “No?”

“If this is all just for your own personal vendettas, then you can’t ask people to risk everything on it with you,” she said. “And if it’s not, then this can’t be your mission, your way. On a team, you don’t get to make unilateral decisions just because you don’t like John’s advice.”

She walked to the door and placed her hand on the knob. “You can’t call this a team and then treat us like your subordinates, Oliver.”

Laurel left the room, and after a short pause, Oliver did likewise. He headed out the exit instead of back to the main room and her desk, not really wanting to bump back into Thea. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bump into Laurel, either.

Every time he went out there, it was a risk, no matter whose decision it was. Couldn’t she and Digg just be happy he’d caught the Count?

Yet not killing the Count and barely managing to escape were not good enough, not when Laurel and John were just as at risk as him if he were to ever be caught himself. Oliver had already reached this conclusion, but it occurred to him what Laurel was truly asking him for; not protection, but a say in what the three of them were risking it all for.

He’d had to rely on his own skill and judgement for so long on the island, it was hard to know if he was capable of trusting someone else’s choices. Even if they were two of the people he trusted most. It went against every instinct he’d built up to survive.

This couldn’t be about merely survival anymore. He had to be better. Oliver just wasn’t sure he knew how to be anymore. Or how to show Laurel he was willing to try.

—-

Laurel sighed as Thea left CNRI for the day. Apparently Oliver had elected to text that he was waiting in the car outside rather than stop by. That probably had to do more with their talk this morning than anything.

Had she been too harsh? Sometimes she regretted the things she said to him the minute they flew out of her mouth, but she didn’t know how to stop herself. He made her crazy, always had.

And truthfully, sometimes he needed to hear the harsh words, if only to try and get through to him.

Oliver was not insane as so many claimed the Hood was. But he was reckless and stubborn, and he rarely thought through the impact his choices had on the people around him. She’d promised herself when he was found alive that she wouldn’t enable that sort of behavior anymore.

So where did that leave her?

She believed in the change he had been causing in the city, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be following his or anyone else’s orders. Maybe she just wasn’t meant to be on this team Oliver was building. It’s not as if he’d actually asked her. She’d pretty much forced his hand.

Her decision to back off was tested later that week when Cyrus Vanch was released from jail on a technicality. She had no real legal recourse to pursue a second arrest. This was just the sort of thing she would have been tempted to call the Hood in on only a week ago.

But for the moment, she was on her own. And with that thought in mind, it occurred to her she was hanging onto something of her father’s she no longer needed. In fact, maybe making him think she was totally out of this Hood business would be better for all of them.

Laurel caught him at his desk and set the vigilante phone down in front of him in lieu of a greeting.

He looked up. “What’s this?”

“That phone I, ah, borrowed,” she explained. “I thought I should probably let the SCPD have it back.”

He shrugged. “I told you we’re not using it.”

“Okay, well, neither am I. I have no intentions of calling the Hood ever again, so you can rest easy on that.” At any rate, she’d be calling Oliver’s phone directly in the future, so it was only a partial lie.

“Oh.”

Her lips quirked. “Don’t get too excited. And here I thought you’d be over the moon to hear I am not planning to call a lawless vigilante anytime soon.”

“Yeah, well,” her father said.

He was waffling. Laurel frowned.

“Why aren’t you happy? Why do you want me to hang onto this thing so bad?”

Her father blanched. “I don’t have a reason.”

“Oh, really?” She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him lie so badly. “Then why the disappointment when I’m trying to give it back to you?”

“That’s not — I’m not—”

“Quentin,” said Hilton at his own desk. They both turned to look at him. “Just tell her.”

Laurel whipped around to face her dad again.

He stopped and started more than once, but eventually said, “I told you to hang onto it because I was trying to catch him.”

“The Hood.”

“Yeah.”

Somehow that wasn’t surprising. But the question remained, “How?”

He struggled some more before picking up the phone and pointing at it. “Kelton, he gave me this thing to put in here that lets him hear what’s being said. So whenever you called him—”

“You’d be listening in.” An eerie sort of calm had settled over her, one that she knew wasn’t likely to last.

Her father seemed to know it, too, for he rushed to say, “Look, I knew you were gonna keep talking to him, so this way at least I could make sure you were safe.”

“By using me as bait?”

“No—”

“Yes, unless tricking someone into setting up a sting operation suddenly doesn’t qualify!” She was aware most people in the bullpen had stopped talking, but couldn’t really find it in herself to care. “I can’t believe you!”

“Yeah? Well, look at it from my point of view! You’ve been mixed up in cases with the Bratva, the Triad, and then all this Hood stuff.”

“So you were just gonna take advantage of that.” It was so typical of him to try and put this all on her. Any shame he’d had in admitting what he’d done was totally forgotten. “Then sorry to disappoint you.”

She stormed out of the precinct and back to her car, driving a little faster than necessary back to her apartment. It was hard to know whether she was feeling more angry or hurt by her father’s actions, even if she couldn’t be surprised by them. She should have been suspicious the minute he let her keep the phone.

And the nerve of him to blame his own actions on her! Whether he’d done it because he was worried about her didn’t matter much when he’d betrayed her trust. More and more she was wishing he’d never seen that paper with the Bratva tattoo, even if it had led her to figuring out the truth about Oliver.

About the only positive thing she could think of was that she’d been lucky enough to discover Oliver’s secret before she’d called him on the Hood’s phone again. Just thinking about how much trouble she could have gotten him into unknowingly was enough to tie her stomach in knots. He wasn’t the only one who needed to be more careful, clearly.

If she didn’t hear back from him by tomorrow, she’d go to talk to him herself, Laurel decided once she was home. And hopefully more calmly than last time. She didn’t want to seem like a pushover, but she also knew now it was more important than ever that they were all on the same page if they weren’t going to be caught.

Laurel thought through how she wanted to go about making her case to Oliver as she reheated and picked at some leftovers from the night before. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to run it by Digg first.

There was a knock at the door. Then again.

Laurel sighed. Probably her father. She got up and undid the lock, only for a man she didn’t know to start pushing his way through. She threw her weight against it, but a second man shoved back as well and they were coming through.

Laurel grabbed at the first man and spun around, throwing her back against the door to trap the second. She hit at her first attacker twice with her elbow, then whirled to push at the second and slammed the door on his leg. His cry of pain almost covered up the ding of the elevator.

She ran towards the back of her apartment, searching wildly for the first weapon she could find as she was chased. Her hands closed on the handle of an umbrella as hands landed on her back and shoulder, so she swung out with it. One of the men — she’d lost track of which was which — went down, and she ran under the outstretched arms of the other. Before he could turn back around, she’d hit him as well and then shoved him straight into the glass cabinet standing against the wall.

She turned to run before he’d even finished falling, but her path was blocked by Cyrus Vanch himself. “I love a girl who can take care of herself.”

Laurel barely had enough breath to demand, “What are you doing here?”

His smirk only grew. “I hear you know the Hood.”

Just as he held up what looked to be a taser, Oliver appeared like some kind of vision in her hallway, lunging forward to place Vanch in a chokehold and proving just how real he actually was. The taser fell from Vanch’s hands as he grappled with both hands to try and remove Oliver’s arm from around his neck. Laurel’s hands flew over her mouth as she watched his face redden and his eyes slowly fall closed. Oliver’s stone-faced expression barely changed as he lowered the man to the floor.

She darted forward a step, and Oliver looked up, seeming to take in her stricken expression. As much as she hated Vanch...

“He’s alright. Just asleep.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief. Footsteps announced John’s arrival, his gun out as he checked over the room. It had been them coming up in the elevator. Not Vanch. “Thank you.”

Oliver stepped over him and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I thought I had it covered, but I guess Vanch hung back.”

His gaze went over her head, and she could tell he was taking in the wreck she’d made of her front hall while knocking down the rest of her would-be captors.

“I think he got lucky, then.”

He pulled her into a hug for just a moment, and it wasn’t until then that Laurel realized she’d been shaking. She didn’t think it was from fear; her heart was still pounding, but she felt safe. The adrenaline just didn’t have anywhere to go.

Digg moved further into the room as well, his gun holstered, but one hand hovering over it. “911 says the neighbors already put in a call.”

“Good,” said Oliver. “Most of what happened we can tell them as is. We’ll tell the cops you took care of Vanch.”

Digg nodded. “Better that way.”

“Okay.” Now that her heart rate was slowing back down, it occurred to her to ask, “What were you two doing here? Not that I’m not grateful.”

Oliver sent a somewhat panicked look Diggle’s way, who simply indicated with a tilt of his head that that was up to him to answer.

“I was — we were coming to see you. To talk about the team. And about how we’re going to manage that from now on.” Oliver’s eyes were not quite on her face; he’d fixed his gaze somewhere to the left, and she suspected it was the only way he could say it.

She found her lips curving upwards despite herself. “Well, I think it’ll have to wait for one night.”

The sound of approaching sirens on the street below underscored that sentiment.

All three of them had to answer questions, and she spent the better part of an hour rebuffing her dad’s attempts to get her to spend the night at his place instead of cleaning up her own. She still wasn’t happy with him, especially since it seemed that she owed this particular attack to a mole Vanch had had within the police department who had overheard her argument with her father earlier that day.

But she felt better about everything with Oliver. Even if they hadn’t gotten to have the talk he and Digg had been coming to her place for, it at least showed he was listening, and that was usually half the battle with him. It made her all the more eager for the hours to go by faster the next day at work.

Eight rolled around, and Thea made a humming noise as she looked down at her phone. “Ollie says he sent one of the drivers for me. Apparently he’s busy.” She shrugged. “See ya, Laurel.”

“See you,” She replied, frowning as Thea disappeared from sight. If Oliver couldn’t make it, that had to mean something was up.

Laurel left the office shortly after and made her way immediately to the Verdant. To her surprise, Oliver was there and hadn’t suited up, but he and Digg were both talking quietly and with very serious expressions.

“Hey,” she said, and they both looked up. Laurel made her way down the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

The two of them exchanged a look, and Oliver turned towards her.

“There’s a lot that’s happened. A lot that’s changed. An employee at the company, Felicity, she gave me a second copy of this.” He took something out of his pocket and laid it on the nearest table.

It was the book Digg had shown her the other night.

“Did it have all the same names?”

Oliver nodded. “Apparently Walter found it in my mother’s things and was having Felicity examine it before he disappeared. When I asked my mom about it, she claimed it was my father’s and that it would be dangerous to look into, and she burned that copy.”

“And that isn’t everything,” Diggle added. “I shadowed Mrs. Queen off and on the last few days to see what I could find out. She took a meeting with a man. Couldn’t make out his voice distinctly, but they talked about something called the Undertaking.”

“Do we know what that is?”

Both men shook their heads.

“There’s more,” said Digg, but he didn’t look like he wanted to continue. “They were talking about the Queen’s Gambit. And from what they said, Laurel...it doesn’t sound like it was really the storm that sunk it.”

She looked from him to Oliver’s somber expression. The words didn’t seem to want to register. But when they did, it felt as though she’d just heard the news of the shipwreck all over again, only worse.

Sabotage.

“Laurel?” Oliver asked, his voice gentle. “Are you okay?”

It took her a minute to look up and meet his gaze. Her eyes felt heavy with tears that had already been spent.

“For years after the Gambit went down, I was researching boating accidents. Storms. Anything that might explain what had happened out there. I didn’t want to believe it was an accident. And now you’re telling me I was right.” She had her arms folded over her chest, but it felt more like an attempt to wrap herself up in some kind of safety than anything else. “Your mother knew this whole time?”

“We don’t know for how long,” Oliver said. She could see the pain from that revelation still swimming in his eyes. “But I think my father did. That’s why he gave me his copy of the list.”

She frowned to herself. That list, it all seemed to keep coming back to it. Someone had killed her sister because she had happened to be on a boat with a man who owned a copy, and now Walter had vanished for having possessed one himself a short while.

But copies. There was something there...

“Mr. Queen didn’t write it?”

“No,” Oliver admitted. “The copycat archer that took those hostages at Christmas, he said he worked for the man who did.”

“The man that had the Gambit wrecked. The man who killed my sister.”

“Laurel, if you need some time to process this,” Oliver began.

“No, I’ll be okay. I’ve had five years to process, and he’s had five years of getting away with it.” Her fists clenched at her sides, and she only barely kept her tone even as she asked, “What do we know about him?”

“Most of what we know about him comes from the Dark Archer,” said Digg. “This guy is rich enough and connected enough to have an assassin on hand whenever he needs it. They don’t like what Oliver’s been doing with the list, and they know he has a copy of it.”

If the Dark Archer’s boss and whoever Mrs. Queen had been talking to were connected, then she supposed it wouldn’t have been a hard leap of logic to make that the list was what the Hood was working off of. But then what was the list for in the first place if not for what Mr. Queen had asked of Oliver? Something didn’t quite ring true, like a sour note in an otherwise perfect melody.

“He started killing people you’d already gotten to to get your attention,” she said to Oliver.

He nodded. “I thought I was being framed, but then he put himself on TV. Think he was hoping to just get rid of me then.”

None of them chose to mention how close the other archer had come to that goal.

“Not all the victims were people you went after, though, right? I thought I remembered the news saying something about that.” She'd been following that particular angle closely back then, hopeful that there had to be some other explanation than what the police had been trying to pass off as true at the time.

Oliver frowned, clearly thinking back. “Yeah, Doug Miller. But he was on the list. I would’ve gotten to him eventually. He worked for my parents’ company.”

“What else do we know about him?”

“Mostly that he’s dead,” Digg remarked.

Laurel gave him a look. “Yes, but what does that tell us about the Dark Archer?”

Oliver was still frowning. “What do you mean?”

“He didn’t have a reason to kill someone you hadn’t targeted yet. It would’ve showed his hand that he knew about the list.”

“He told me he knew about it anyway.”

“But that was later,” Laurel reminded him. The pieces were coming together in her mind, like she had some invisible board on which to pin her thoughts like at CNRI. “Killing one random guy you hadn’t gone after yet makes no sense – unless he had a specific reason.”

“What are you getting at, Laurel?”

“I think you’ve been looking at this list all wrong, Oliver. It’s not just a list of names of people who’ve hurt the city.” She tapped the book with two fingers. “It’s an extortion ring.”

Oliver and Diggle both stared at her.

“If your father knew this list was of all the people who had done wrong to the city, then he or someone had to have the proof. And instead of turning that proof over to the cops, they made this list. So what were they doing with that list?”

“Blackmailing them. Miller knew he was on it,” Diggle realized.

“Exactly,” said Laurel. “And the Dark Archer must have had reason to think he wasn’t going to keep quiet about it anymore. There’s a leak at Queen Consolidated.”

“Or was,” said Oliver, expression grim. “Walter.”

“Walter got hold of your mother’s copy of the list,” Digg said. “Maybe he tried to ask Miller about it. Miller sounds the alarm to the guy who made the list. Guy who made the list has Miller killed by the Dark Archer, and Walter…”

Walter. There wasn’t much hope something similar hadn’t happened to him. But there had to be some reason he’d be taken instead of left behind with a few arrows in his chest. Something whoever was running this whole thing needed him for.

She flipped the book open and tapped the inside cover. “Your mother’s copy was completely identical?” Laurel received two nods. “Then this symbol means something to somebody. If we can figure out what, we might have a better idea of who’s doing this. Who your father got mixed up with before it killed him. And to stop it before it happens to Mr. Steele.”

“So how do we wanna do this, Oliver?” Digg asked. “You could have a talk with your mother.”

Oliver frowned, and Laurel knew this had to be the part that was bothering him the most. How could Mrs. Queen be involved with the man who killed her husband? Then again, her husband had seemingly been just as involved.

“If I talk to her, it’s as her son, Diggle. I am not visiting my mother as the Hood.”

“What if that doesn’t work? You’ve tried it once already.”

“Then maybe we try a different tack before Mrs. Queen again,” Laurel said, taking a step forward to try and diffuse the visible tension growing between the two men. “The Hood showing up to ask the exact same questions right after Oliver might look suspicious.”

Oliver was looking rather pleased at her suggestion, but Diggle frowned. “Whatever this Undertaking is, I don’t think we can afford to wait to find out more, Laurel.”

“So we follow a different lead.” She lifted up their new copy of the list. “We have a whole book full.”

The other two exchanged a look. Slowly, Digg nodded, and a smirk formed on Oliver’s face.

“We find another leak.”

—-

Tommy was reaching his wit’s end. Twice in barely a week Laurel had been in some kind of danger. And this was the second break-in to her apartment in less than a year. What was happening to this city?

More specifically, what was happening with Laurel? She was mixed up in something, and Tommy felt he was honor-bound to find out, since she’d made such a big deal about the importance of their friendship those few months ago.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Laurel. It was that he absolutely trusted her to get herself in a whole heap of trouble. She was flirting with danger every time she got involved with that Hood alone.

She’d been acting so odd lately. And she hadn’t seemed happy at all. Usually stressed. To be fair, Laurel hadn’t been all that happy for the last five years, but this felt different. And Tommy was paying more attention now.

So he got on the phone to the person he felt could most reliably inform him.

“Hello?”

“Joanna, hi. It’s Tommy.”

“Oh, hey Tommy.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Okay, considering,” she said, and he could practically hear her shrug on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry for what you and your mom are going through. I know how hard that is.”

“Mm-hm. But I don’t think that’s why you’re talking to me.”

“Admittedly, you’d be right. Listen, I wanted to ask you something. It’s about Laurel.”

“No, I don’t know if she and Oliver are actually dating,” Joanna said.

Tommy grimaced. “Yeah, not about that. I meant more if you knew whether she was getting involved in something dangerous.”

“If this is about a case, Tommy, I couldn’t tell you anything even if I knew. Client’s right to privacy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right, right, but what about non-cases? Anything there?”

“Not really sure what you mean. And even if I did, why would I tell?”

“Joanna, come on, give me something. I’m worried about her.”

“Well,” she began slowly. “There was something she was looking into that didn’t involve any current client.”

“Okay, good, what was it?”

“I don’t think you’re gonna like it. It was about Oliver.”

“Oliver?” What could Laurel have possibly been looking into concerning Oliver of all people that had pinged Joanna’s radar?

“Yeah, she was on the phone with some people. I don’t really remember specifically what she was asking about. But I remember she wrote the word Triad down in her notes. It was right around that time they almost got into that gang war with the Bertinellis, remember?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember.” And Laurel had been quite interested in the Bertinellis at that time, too, if only because Oliver had seemingly been interested. What was going on there?

“That’s all you know?” He checked.

“Yeah. Look, I don’t know why you’re so interested all of a sudden, but Laurel has a habit of biting off more than she can chew. It hasn’t gotten her yet.”

“Yeah. Yet being the key word. Thanks Joanna.” He hung up shortly after and thought through his options.

He could confront Laurel with the little he knew and get stonewalled. He could ask Oliver about it and get who knew what kind of response; Tommy hardly knew how his oldest friend would react to one thing or another anymore. Or he could try a totally different approach.

That afternoon, Tommy found himself willingly going down to the SCPD’s precinct for perhaps the first time in his life. Lucky for him, he caught Detective Lance at his desk.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a minute, would you, Detective?”

Laurel’s father glanced up and scoffed. “For you? Forget it.”

“What about for Laurel? I need to talk to you about something.”

The man paused, then pushed back from his desk and stood. “Alright, in here.”

Tommy was shown into a vacant interrogation room, which was not at all threatening, and he chose to perch on the corner of the table rather than sit across from the older man.

“What’s this about, Merlyn?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Laurel’s been acting weird lately. Last week, she called me out of the blue and asked me to send the cavalry after her if I didn’t hear back from her in two hours. Told me she was on her way to see a client in a bad neighborhood but that I wasn’t supposed to worry about it. Kind of contradictory message, don’t you think?”

Lance frowned. “Sounds just like her. What’s your point?”

Tommy could tell he was rapidly losing the man’s interest. “The point is that she called at all. So I called Joanna up and asked her if she knew of any clients Laurel had in a really bad neighborhood.” He got a nod for that, which seemed to indicate Lance appreciated his amateur police work to some extent. “Then when I asked her if she’d been doing anything off the books, Joanna said she had seemed interested in the Triad.”

Lance cursed. “Triad. Bratva. I knew it. I knew she hadn’t dropped it.”

Tommy blinked. “What do you mean, Bratva?”

“One of her clients got mixed up with them. Maybe it’s the same one. Joanna tell you who all this Triad stuff was about?”

“Uh, no,” said Tommy. “Client confidentiality, apparently.”

Lance nodded with a grumble. “Alright, I’ll see what I can find out.” He stood and reached out to clap Tommy on the shoulder. “Thanks for the tip, Merlyn. Maybe you aren’t so bad.”

Tommy managed a tight smile, which dropped almost immediately after Lance left the interrogation room. Then he turned and left the station altogether.

He didn’t know why he’d lied. Maybe because he knew how quickly Lance tended to fly off the handle about Oliver. After all, it’d be crazy to think he was somehow at the center of all this, right?

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #john diggle #quentin lance #tommy merlyn #thea queen #my writing #green arrow #black canary

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