"Your sister?" Felicity asked, her voice gentle. "What happened to her?"

Oliver could hear the concern in her voice and knew she already suspected the answer. Captain Diggle shifted in front of him and Oliver caught the warning look in his eye. Still, the big man backed off, leaning against a small side table with his arms folded, his gaze firmly fixed on Oliver.

Oliver took this as his cue to speak. He gathered his thoughts, slightly rattled by the unexpected emotions suddenly surging to the surface. This would not be easy to talk about, especially to such an audience. He took a long shuddering breath, keeping his eyes firmly fastened on the floor as he struggled to keep his feelings in check.

"My sister," he began shakily, "Theodora. Thea, as everyone called her… calls her. She was also on my father's ship."

Captain Diggle shifted but Oliver did not look in his direction. He didn't think he could handle the other man's disinterest at that moment. Instead, Oliver shifted his focus to the large window at the side of the cabin. He realized that this would be the first time he spoke of the events of that night, even though the memories haunted his thoughts.

"It was a pirate attack," he said carefully, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone. "When we were attacked, it was late and I was…with someone. Thea was alone in her cabin." Oliver smiled sadly. "She was afraid of being at sea, so I told her I would look in on her before I went to sleep. But, my attentions were elsewhere and it grew late, and she was alone when they attacked."

Oliver's jaw clenched, remembering the sudden violence of the pirate attack. They had sprung onto the deck like demons emerging from the night, their crazed eyes bright in paint-darkened faces. For a brief moment, he wondered if Captain Diggle and his crew used the same tactic – sidling up to unsuspecting vessels on moon-dark nights, their lamps quenched and their blades blackened. He kept his eyes carefully fixed on the window, staring out into the night, knowing that if he were to look at any of the other occupants of the room his hatred for them and their kind would show. Whatever they were, he needed them if he was to have any hope of getting home or of finding Thea.

"They came out of nowhere, in the middle of the night," he said simply, his tone impassive. "There was no sound and no warning, and they killed without mercy."

"They took no prisoners?" The captain's voice was also expressionless, but at least the question indicated that his interest was piqued.

"Almost none that I saw," Oliver responded, already knowing what he would have to say next. "My father tried to fight them, but…" He stopped, his composure beginning to falter. It seemed that, even after a year, it was impossible to speak the words.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," he heard Felicity say gently, and Oliver's eyes snapped towards her in surprise. She looked genuinely saddened, and the small nod of appreciation he gave her was not feigned. The captain remained silent.

"I tried to get to Thea," Oliver continued. For some reason, his eyes were still locked on Felicity and the faint edge of pleading in his voice confused him. He realised that it was important to him that she believed him. If she did, if someone else accepted that he had done everything possible to save Thea, would the ever-present guilt fade? "I did everything I could," he said quietly, "but there were too many of them and I couldn't even make it below deck."

He watched the corner of Felicity's mouth curl in a small, understanding smile that almost brought him to tears. On some level he realised that she pitied him, she, who was just another pirate like those who had killed his father and taken his sister. Why then did her sympathy affect him so deeply? But the answer was obvious - if even a pirate could pity him, he was truly pitiful. After all, he was the one who had failed his sister when she needed him most.

"You believe she is still alive?"

The captain's deep voice startled Oliver, not least because it sounded almost compassionate. He turned towards the other man and was surprised to see that his expression was gentle, with a level of understanding beyond that of a casual listener. For the first time, Oliver wondered if the captain had a family, besides whatever it was he had with Felicity.

"Yes," Oliver answered immediately. "I saw her, just before I was knocked overboard. They were dragging her across the deck, towards their ship…" he hesitated, but his voice cracked only slightly, "and she was calling my name."

"Oh, Oliver," Felicity murmured.

"She's not dead," Oliver said firmly. He looked at the captain and Felicity in turn, willing them to understand. "They were taking her towards their ship. They wouldn't do that if they were going to kill her. Besides, she's a Queen of Port Starling, and that means she's valuable."

He bit his tongue on the hundred other arguments he had thought up during his year on the island, all of the many reasons he had to believe that his sister was still alive. For all he knew, her ransom could have already been paid and, at that very moment, she was safely at home in Port Starling with their mother.

"Did you see their flag?" The patience in Captain Diggle's tone was somehow worse than any reaction Oliver had expected. It was as if the man was simply humouring him, waiting until Oliver finally accepted what the captain already believed to be the truth.

"Yes," Oliver answered firmly. "I will never forget it. It was a black flag with three white stripes, almost vertical." He looked from Felicity to Captain Diggle. "Do you know it?"

His heart sank as he watched Felicity and the captain exchange a long, weighted look.

"Yes, we know it," the other man answered finally. Oliver looked towards Felicity, who was shaking her head slowly.

"That's Captain Merlyn's flag," she breathed.

Oliver leaned over the ship rail and stared into the water, ignoring the chill night breeze biting at his bare arms. He was too preoccupied to notice the cold, Captain Diggle's firm voice cycling endlessly through his mind.

Merlyn doesn't take prisoners, he doesn't bother with ransoms. He attacks out of nowhere and then disappears the same way. He doesn't take women. Maybe it's better that way. Don't let Felicity's situation here fool you. This world is not kind to women.

That had been the worst part. Oliver realised the man had been trying to help, trying to awaken him to the reality of the situation without detailing everything his sister would have suffered, but somehow the veiled suggestion had been worse. This world is not kind to women. There were so many things that that could mean, and Oliver was struggling not to imagine them all.

A light footfall caused him to turn on his heel, his right hand already pulling a small blade from the waistband of his pants. The moonlight fell on pale blond hair and he lowered the knife, meeting Felicity's surprised eyes. He had stolen the knife from the galley his first day on the ship, and he wondered how he was going to convince her not to tell the captain. But she was already speaking, apparently oblivious to his transgression.

"I'm sorry," she said hastily, "I wasn't trying to frighten you. I mean, I know that I'm not frightening. I don't think that you would be frightened of me, it's just, I know you were on that island for a while and, clearly, you're still uncomfortable with…" she gestured towards him as she spoke, and Oliver's eyes fell on the light-coloured piece of cloth in her outstretched hand. She followed his gaze and faltered to a stop, cheeks flushing.

"I brought you this," she said awkwardly. "Your shirt has seen better days."

Oliver looked down at the tattered remains of his once fine shirt and couldn't help thinking of the many implications of that statement. "It has," he responded finally, replacing the knife quickly and taking the cloth from her hand. "Thank you."

He felt the weight in the material as soon as he took it from her, and opened it out to reveal a thick, well-made cotton shirt. It looked a little large, but at least it would be warm and comfortable. He shook his head, speechless. It was a simple gesture, but it had been a very long time since anyone had offered him the slightest hint of kindness. Oliver looked at her, his eyes travelling over her face with renewed appreciation. He smiled warmly, with unforced gratitude, and was surprised to see her answer his smile with her own.

"I'm sorry," Felicity said abruptly. Seeing Oliver's confused frown, she continued in a rush. "I'm sorry that we can't take you home just yet, and I'm sorry about your sister. I can see that you love her dearly. Whatever you may think about that night, she is lucky to have someone who cares for her so much."

Oliver simply stared at her, stunned. He could tell from the look in her eye that she was sincere, and he felt his chest constrict as he, quite literally, took her words to heart. She had used the present tense when referring to Thea, probably more for his sake than anything else, but his jaw clenched as he choked down a confusing tumult of emotions.

"Thank you, Felicity," he managed finally, his voice pitched low but gentle. It was not enough and he held her gaze, trying to express his gratitude wordlessly. The silence stretched for a moment, but it was strangely comfortable. Then Felicity blinked and looked away.

"It's time we went to bed," she said finally, turning from him abruptly and beginning to walk across the deck.

Oliver's jaw dropped open. He knew he had heard her correctly, but he was not quite certain he understood. Was that an invitation? Did she expect him to follow her? More importantly, did he want to follow her? He stood frozen, fully conflicted. But she decided for him, stopping short and pressing her hand to her forehead.

"Ugh," she groaned loudly, "you know what I meant."

Oliver nodded, even though she couldn't see him, and tried to look casual when she turned to smile at him over her shoulder.

"Goodnight, Oliver."

"Um, yes. Sleep well, Felicity."

He watched her disappear in the direction of the captain's cabin, and the surge of disappointment that followed rattled him. Oliver shook his head, stunned by his momentary insanity. There was no doubt that Felicity was attractive and her kindness towards him was unexpected, but at the end of the day she was a pirate who survived off the suffering of people like him and his family. Besides, Anatoly's warning rang in his ears. The last thing he could afford was to get on the captain's bad side. He still wasn't sure what their relationship was. Belatedly, he thought of Laurel, but he struggled to summon an image of her to his mind. Oliver had betrayed her in the past, and more than once. He knew she probably believed him dead and was most likely already married to someone else, but he had thought of her often on the island, and the knowledge of how he had wronged her only added to the guilt he already bore. Although he knew now that he didn't love her, his past behaviour towards her and the other women he had been involved with left a foul taste in his mouth. He did not want to become that man again.

Oliver realised that he was listing reasons, as if to convince himself not to entertain dangerous thoughts, and that unsettled him further. Still, he spent a long time breathing in the cool night air and staring at the waves breaking against the ship's hull, the memory of blue eyes and full lips lingering in the back of his mind. Finally, he slipped below deck to the crew's quarters, his new shirt clutched tightly in his hand.