Ghosts on a Snowy Night
By Morganperidot
It didn't usually snow in Starling City, but tonight it was.
It was dusk on Christmas Eve, and the snow was beginning to fall more heavily, making the city feel temporarily clean with its unblemished white coating. Oliver Queen was on a mission, but not one as his hooded vigilante archer. He found a parking spot a couple blocks from his destination and headed there on foot. His long dark coat, boots, and scarf kept the cold at bay, but nothing could protect him from the pain in his heart. No matter what progress he made on his father's book of names, he wasn't satisfied, because he could not make amends to the one person with whom he most wanted to set things right. His ability to fix things with Laurel had been lost forever in the dark waters where her sister had drowned.
Despite his time on the island, Oliver's memories of his relationship with Laurel remained crystal clear and razor sharp. He had made more mistakes with her than he could name – more than she should have forgiven – due to his own selfishness and stupidity. Life was just a game to him then, with all the money and time in the world do whatever he wanted. She had given him a love he hadn't appreciated or understood, not until much later, when it had slipped through his fingers like the sand on the island's beaches. And now she was with Tommy, and Oliver was alone – and knew that was what his past behavior deserved.
But he had still slipped out of the Christmas party at the Queen mansion and gone in search of a piece of the past, ghosts on a snowy night, something to fill the deep hole inside of him if only for a moment.
He pushed open the door to the small Italian restaurant, and stepped out of the biting wind. He glanced at the tables and saw that they were mostly empty; one couple sat in a booth with a large cheese pizza and a carafe of red wine on the table between them. Oliver walked over to the dessert counter – and stopped dead in his tracks. The person ahead of him wrapped in a long royal blue coat was requesting a dozen cannoli, and Oliver recognized her without question. She received her box and then turned and faced him, and Oliver saw his own shock reflected back in Laurel's eyes.
"Oliver," she said finally, and he stood there speechless for several seconds, the memory of the two of them there together buying cannoli so many years ago colliding with the present moment to temporarily jam the gears in his brain.
"Hey," he said finally, unable to come up with anything more sensible.
"Isn't there a party at the Queen mansion tonight?" Laurel asked.
"Yeah," Oliver said. "I just…needed to get out."
"I'm not surprised," Laurel said, and Oliver wasn't sure how she meant that. "I did too – needed to get out," she said, seeming uncomfortable as she tried to hold the box out of view.
"Is Tommy here?" Oliver asked.
"No, we…we were together earlier," Laurel said vaguely. "Look, I should…"
"Do you have a few minutes?" Oliver asked. Before she could respond, he said, "Just enough time for one cannoli. I'll pay you for it."
Laurel smiled. "OK," she said, "a few minutes." She turned and walked over to a table in the corner of the restaurant. Oliver glanced at the window and saw that the snow was coming down harder. He remembered snuggling with Laurel in front of a fire during a blizzard. Oliver sighed and pushed that image aside before joining her at the table. The box of cannoli was between them; she opened it.
"Thank you," Oliver said, taking one. "I was serious about paying…"
"That isn't necessary," Laurel said.
Oliver smiled. "OK," he said. He took a bite of cannoli – and it was still as good as he remembered. All those years ago, it had been his idea for them to go there that first time in the snow. He was surprised to find that she would want to go there now on her own. "How are things with Tommy?"
"You know I should say that's none of your business," Laurel said.
"But you won't?" Oliver said. He opened his coat and relaxed a little. He just hoped there wasn't going to be a need for the archer tonight – or for Oliver Queen to whip out some fancy fighting moves for that matter. He could use a night off.
Laurel sighed. "Things are complicated among the three of us," she said. "I understand that."
Oliver looked in her eyes and saw how much she wanted him to just go along with this statement the same way he had just gone along with similar statements since he found out she and Tommy were an item – but this time he couldn't do that. "Actually, it's simple," he said quietly. "I miss you, Laurel. I miss us."
"There can't be an us, Oliver," she said. "You know that. "
Oliver had second thoughts – and even third thoughts – but he decided not to back down. "You don't miss us?" he asked.
"I missed us when you were sleeping with my sister," Laurel said coolly.
"That was a long time ago," Oliver said. "And if I could…"
"My sister is gone forever because of your selfishness, Oliver," Laurel said fiercely. "She's dead because of you." He looked away at the snow. "I don't want to say these things to you," Laurel continued without the steely edge in her voice of a moment earlier. "I know you regret it, but what happened when you took her on that boat with you can't be fixed," she said. After a pause she added, "We can't be fixed."
Oliver looked back at her and what he saw didn't convince him that she really meant what she was saying. "I don't believe that," he said.
"I know you're unhappy, Oliver," Laurel said. "And I'm sorry about that. That isn't what I want, believe me. You need to find someone else..."
"Like you found Tommy?" Oliver asked, adding quickly, "Do you love him?"
"I care about him..."
"Do you feel about him the way you felt about me?" Oliver asked.
"Oliver, that…"
"I still love you," Oliver admitted.
"Don't say that," Laurel said.
"Why not?" Oliver pressed, because he was already so far over the edge there was no point in stopping. "If I say that is it going to make you finally tell me the truth? Are you going to tell me why you came here tonight or why you always have that look in you eyes when…"
"Stop it," Laurel spit at him. "Do you think you're the only one hurting? You don't care, do you? I thought you changed on that island, but you are still the same selfish bastard you always were." She stood and grabbed the cannoli box.
"Laurel…"
"Good-bye, Oliver," Laurel said, and without another word she left the restaurant. After a minute Oliver followed. He stood there in the swirling snow for a moment, but then he heard the sounds of a car not starting. He walked toward the noise and found Laurel in her car continuing to trying in vain to get it going. He knocked on the window. She waved him off but he didn't move. Finally she lowered the window. "Go away, Oliver," she said.
"Let me drive you home," he said.
"I'd rather freeze to death," Laurel said. She reached to put the window back up, but before she could, he pushed the button to unlock the doors and yanked the driver's side door open. "Come with me," he said. She tried to pull the door closed but he stood in the way. So she got out and tried to physically push him out of the way, but Oliver would not be deterred; he grabbed her – and pulled her close to him, bringing his lips to hers in a forceful kiss – one that lasted a few moments longer than he expected it to before she shoved him away and delivered a painful slap to his face. "You son of a bitch," she said. "You are just the worst kind of person. All you do is take advantage…"
He moved closer and pressed her against the car, his body burning up despite the freezing air around them. He brought his lips to her ear. "If I'm going to be accused of taking advantage, then I may as well do it," he said. He kissed her neck, his hands on her body, and she was…surprisingly silent and nonresistant. His brain was melting; he needed to have her. He needed to know that she wanted him too…
"Oliver," Laurel said, her voice quiet. He looked at her face then and was surprised to see the tears there.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, suddenly feeling the bitter December air around him like a cold shower. He stepped back from her and tried to pull his scattered thoughts back together. The snow was falling like crazy now, and Oliver felt disoriented in a way he hadn't in a long time.
She pulled him back against her warmth, and he felt his own eyes sting. "We need to get out of here," she said. He understood what she said, but he couldn't do anything about it other than hold onto her the way she was holding onto him. He felt himself teetering on the brink of some sort of posttraumatic moment; despite the certain knowledge of where he was he could see the dark water and the island and feel the torture that had left his strong body forever scarred. "Oliver, look at me," Laurel said, and her voice was distant, like an echo. He felt himself fading out…
"Oliver!" Laurel shouted at him, and he heard it with shocking clarity, which was enough to make him meet her gaze. "Do you hear me?" she asked.
Oliver felt the fog begin to clear. "Yes," he said.
"What day is it?" Laurel asked.
"I'm fine…"
"Answer the question," Laurel said.
"Christmas Eve 2012," Oliver said. "OK?"
"OK," Laurel said. "Let's find your car." Oliver led her directly to where his car was parked, but when they got there she stopped him from opening the door. "Give me the keys," she said.
"Honestly, Laurel, I'm fine," Oliver said. He was telling the truth; his mind was sharp again. But he could see that she wasn't going to take his word for it, so he decided to just hand over the keys. "Be careful," he said. "This car is expensive." He turned to go to the passenger seat, and felt Laurel grasp his hand.
"Oliver," she said.
He looked at her. "I'm OK," he said.
"You're not," Laurel said. "There was something in your eyes back there. Something different – something lost."
"I'll be fine," Oliver said. I have to be, he thought. He pulled his hand from her grasp – reluctantly – and got into the car on the passenger side. Laurel hesitated a moment and then got into the driver's side and started the car. Oliver fiddled with the radio as she drove, finally settling on one of the stations playing holiday songs. "Why did you go there tonight?" he asked.
"For cannoli," Laurel said.
Oliver looked out the window. He no longer felt like pushing this issue; instead he just let the car be silent other than the radio and closed his eyes. He hadn't meant to fall asleep and was surprised that when that Laurel woke him the car was stopped in the garage of her building. They got out, and he walked over to her and held out his hand for the keys.
"I think you should stay here tonight," Laurel said.
"I don't need to do that," Oliver said. "Just give me the keys."
"You don't want to stay?" Laurel said.
"I don't want to play this game," Oliver said. He reached for her hand that held the keys.
"You wanted to play before," Laurel said, stepping back from his grasp. Oliver turned away. "What are you afraid of now?" she asked.
Oliver looked back at her. "I'm not afraid," he said. "I'm just tired. And being played is different than playing."
"You should know," Laurel said.
The words were like salt in his old, unhealed wounds. "Give me the keys, Laurel," he said.
"Take them," Laurel said.
Oliver realized she was pushing him now, and he didn't understand why. Did she really just want to be cruel? He leaned against his car and said nothing – did nothing – just let the moment slow down. It was an uncommon thing for him to do in his new life, because he wasn't good with patience anymore. The silence and stillness of this moment disturbed him more than anything had since he'd come back home. It felt like loss and defeat; it felt like weakness. But he wasn't going to be drawn into a battle he couldn't win; he had to know better than that. He had to know when to just wait it out.
"You're not the same, are you?" Laurel said. "Sometimes you pretend that you are, but you're not; it's just a character you're playing." Oliver didn't respond. "What happened on that island – it did change you," she said.
"I'm the same Oliver Queen," he said.
"You used to be a better liar," Laurel said. She walked over to him, up close to him. His body responded to the close proximity with an urgent need to touch her, but he resisted it. She pushed his coat open and put her hands against his gray sweater, where it covered his scars, and then lifted the material and touched his skin. His physical response was powerful and agonizing, worse than being shot with an arrow. Laurel put the keys on the top of the car and then took his face in her hands and kissed him softly, tenderly, and far too briefly. "Come upstairs, Oliver," she said. "I have a present for you."
Oliver looked at the keys, then back at her, and thought about the exercise equipment waiting in the dark and his father's book closed and locked in a drawer. He had made a promise to his father and to the city, and it was one he would keep no matter what stood in the way. He picked up the keys and slid them into his coat pocket. But like Diggle had told him more than once, there were times that promise could wait. "Show me," he said, and they headed toward the entrance to her building.