Oliver Queen had not yet adjusted to the trials and tribulations that came with the life of a single parent. Hell, Oliver Queen hadn't even known he was a parent until he came home from his five years a castaway on Lian Yu. It had been quite a shock, to say the least, to discover that not only was he the father to one Connor Hawke, but that the boy's mother had recently been killed in a car accident, leaving Queen as the boy's sole guardian.

That was how he found himself awake one early Sunday morning listening to Connor babble on about the pros and cons of wearing a Power Rangers Versus a transformers shirt to the open house they'd been invited to attend at the six year-old's new school. Oliver wasn't thrilled at the prospect about spending an afternoon rubbing shoulders with other parents, listening to them brag about the "achievements" of children too young to comprehend more than simple math and spelling. If it were up to him, Connor would have come down with some convenient illness and they would have spent the day doing quite literally anything else. Connor had mentioned before wanting to visit the zoo in Central City.

Unfortunately, the decision was taken from his hands by Moira, who insisted that gatherings such as these were an important part of Connor's social development. For having shoved the boy's existence under a rug for nearly seven years, Moira seemed to have quite a lot to say on how Oliver raised his son. He selects a nice looking suit jacket as Connor finally settles on the Transformers shirt, tugging it over his head and ruffling the mousy brown hair Oliver had only just managed to tame a few minutes prior. They meet Moira and a ruffled-looking Thea in the foyer, the latter apparently just as unenthusiastic about the affair as her brother, and pile into the waiting car at half past ten.

The ride is silent, save for Connor's talking. When he's first arrived in the Queen home, Oliver had struggled to get more than a sentence out of the boy at a time. Once he'd settled in, though, it had become impossible to make him stop. The subject of the latest monologue had turned to kids he hoped to spend time with during the event. Namely Joe, a recent transfer to the class. Connor had taken quite quickly to the mute boy, often returning home from school with tales of their adventures. Oliver couldn't help but feel relieved that his son wasn't having a hard time making friends.

Connor flees their presence as soon as he's able, vanishing into the crowd of kids to locate his companions. Moira and Thea likewise disappear, Thea spotting a classmate and Moira being led away by small group of chattering parents, leaving Oliver alone in the chaos. He pushes his way through the sea of bodies and tries not to flinch away from the companionable claps on the back a few parents give him in passing, muttering apologies he doesn't really mean as he makes his way towards a table that seems to be the source of the hot coffee most of the adults are carrying around.

Amidst the chatter of parents and excited squeals of children, Oliver hadn't even heard the man approach. He spins on the spot, intending to find as isolated a chair as possible in the crowded gymnasium in which to nurse the lukewarm coffee he'd collected from a refreshments table, and instead runs headlong into a solid chest. The murky concoction spills over the rim of his cup in the impact, staining the stranger's impeccably white dress shirt. The man's huff of surprise echoes Oliver's own, and Oliver struggles to drag his eyes from where they've fixed on the small puddle of coffee that's formed at their feet.

"I'm so sorry," he starts over the din of the room, before he finally gets a good look at the man.

Oliver's breathe catches in his throat, the rest of the apology forgotten in favor of eyeing his victim. Dark eyes, dark hair that's just greying at the temples, tanned skin, and Oliver is certain that the man is well built under his ruined dress shirt. He's certain his heart has just skipped a few beats.

"No, I'm sorry," The man says smoothly, eyes flickering up from where he dabs hopelessly at the dark stain that mars the fabric with one of the flimsy napkins that have been supplied, "I shouldn't have been standing so close."

With a disgruntled sigh, the man appears to give up on any chance of salvaging the shirt, choosing instead to button the black suit jacket up far enough to hide the offending stain. Oliver shuffles awkwardly back and forth, trying not to feel too cowed when the man's sharp gaze returns to him.

"Slade Wilson," he says as he steps around Oliver, picking up another two cups of coffee. Slade offers him a congenial smile and one of the cups, following with a sweeping hand in a motion that Oliver interprets as an invitation to walk with him. They step away from the refreshments table, Oliver gripping the cup more tightly than is perhaps necessary, directed by a hand that has settled at the small of his back.

"Oliver Queen," he returns, settling into the chair Wilson offers him at an empty table. Wilson takes the one beside it. "I really am so sorry-"

"Don't worry about it, Kid." Wilson says. "I've got a dozen more. Besides, you looked like you were miserable enough without adding the guilt of ruining my shirt. Not a fan of these things?"

"Is there anyone that actually enjoys them?" Oliver scoffs, nursing his drink. Wilson laughs, a deep rumble that sends shivers down his spine. "Which one's yours?" He asks, gesturing to the group of kids that mills about the room.

"Joe. The little one in the leather jacket."

Oliver's can feel the heat of a blush rising up against his cheeks when he finally spots the boy in question. He's practically a carbon-copy of his father, dark hair and eyes and tanned skin. And he's hanging off of Connor's arm, following the taller brunette around as Connor makes his various social calls to the other kids in his class. Mortification clouds Oliver's mind, and he barely manages to spit out a response when Wilson asks him which kid is his. He'd not only spilled coffee on a very attractive stranger, said man happened to be the father of his son's best friend.

A hand on his shoulder starts him out of his thoughts. Moira stand over him, apparently having broken away from the group she'd been fraternizing with since they'd arrived. She smiles politely at Wilson, who gives her one in return.

"We're about to get started. We should go find Thea," she says to him, gaze flickering over the room before she steps away. Oliver moves to follow, pushing himself up with a hand on the table, but a firm grip on his wrist stills any further movement. He turns to look at Wilson, who's staring at him indecipherably.

"I didn't give you my card," the other man says softly, fishing in his pockets with his free hand, releasing Oliver's wrist when he offers the small piece of white cardstock. "In case Connor wants to arrange some sort of play date," Is added as an almost afterthought.

"Of course," Oliver stutters, feeling the blush in his cheeks worsen as he tucks the piece of paper into the inside pocket of his coat before offering Wilson his own. "Thanks."

Oliver is almost certain he can feel Wilson's eyes on him the entire time he walks away.