Ghosts on a Snowy Night: Part 4
By Morganperidot
1.
Laurel was having breakfast with her father at a diner. It was something they occasionally did to keep in touch about day-to-day things, especially when their jobs and other assorted craziness had kept them apart for awhile. The Acropolis Diner, with its soft blue-and-white motif and comfy booths had a relaxed atmosphere and waitresses and waiters who were nice in a way that indicated that they either genuinely liked their jobs or did a great job of pretending that was the case. It was still near freezing outside, and Laurel had indulged her craving for a short stack of pancakes drizzled with real maple syrup and a toasty cup of gourmet hazelnut coffee. Like usual, her father, Detective Quentin Lance, ordered scrambled eggs and plain black coffee.
That was her father, stable and solid. He had never approved of Laurel's relationship with Oliver or understood why she had wanted to spend time with the Queen heir when there were so many other men who were…more like him, men who would be suitable partners for a steady, boring future. Quentin had made it clear that he considered Oliver to be the kind of trouble that would wind up breaking Laurel's heart. And of course Oliver had done just that – had torn her heart apart – and ripped her sister away from her forever on top of that. Oliver had proved to be the kind of poison her father had said he was. So when he was lost at sea, drowned somewhere with her sister, Laurel hadn't shed any tears for him. Not to say that Oliver's 'death' didn't hurt her – it did – but the loss of her sister was so overwhelming, and her fury at him was so big, that she had refused to mourn him. It was easier to pretend that he had never existed at all.
But then Oliver returned to Starling City, looking not that much the worse for wear, and his behavior had seemed the same, an empty shell of a man, a playboy, picking up his life from where he had left off before the shipwreck. Yet every time Laurel was with Oliver she sensed that he was somehow different, that something was decidedly 'off' in the persona he was portraying. There was a new edge he was keeping hidden, one that was stronger and deeper than any that had been there before.
"What's on your mind?" Quentin asked, and Laurel realized that she had been absently staring out the window of the diner.
"Just a case I have coming up," Laurel said, not wanting to get into an argument with her father. "It involves a family that recently immigrated here. The father is accused of stealing from the company he worked for, but I'm pretty sure he's just being targeted as a scapegoat."
"You didn't look like you were thinking about work," Quentin said. "Are things really over with Tommy?"
"Yeah, that wasn't going to work out," Laurel said. "I just didn't feel like…we had a future together."
"Tell me this doesn't have anything to do with Oliver Queen," Quentin said, always the straight shooter – well, most of the time, anyway. "Things seemed to be going fine until he returned," he added.
"It had to do with Tommy and me," Laurel said. "Tommy wasn't the right one. It wouldn't have been fair to stay with him." She looked at her father. "But I do think it is time to ease up on Oliver a bit," she said. "He made some terrible mistakes, but he has suffered for them."
"Not enough, as far as I'm concerned," Quentin said. "It will never be enough. He took Sara from us. Don't make the mistake of letting down your guard around him, Laurel; he's still dangerous. If you let him into your life again, he will hurt you. You have to protect yourself."
Laurel was silent for a moment. She knew that her father would never understand the feelings for Oliver that were returning to her. It was best to stay silent about her feelings and the possibilities that they had reopened for the two of them. After all, those were possibilities that might never be fulfilled, and there was no reason to upset her father about something that might be nothing at all…even if she hoped it would. Laurel sighed. "I have to go," she said, and with a parting hug she left her father behind in the booth.
2.
Later that day at a ritzy dress shop, Laurel filled her dressing room with dresses that she tried on one after another. They were all beautiful and expensive…and not right, not the one she wanted to wear to the Starling City New Year's Eve soiree. She knew black was always supposed to be good, but it didn't seem right for this occasion. Blue was usually nice, but for this it was just too…blue. Then there was red, which was always enticing but in this case, perhaps a bit too…obvious. White…too pure; pink…too cute; brown…too boring; yellow…too pale; metallic…too shiny; print…just no.
There was one dress she had left to try on, one she had grabbed for the style rather than the color. It was silk chiffon, with one-shoulder strap and a slanted, close-fitting top that flowed into a loose, full-length, gently ruffled skirt. She liked it, but the style might be enough to make up for a color that didn't necessarily pop – a deep forest green. Laurel slipped into it and found that it hugged her body perfectly, and she closed her eyes as she thought of Oliver, his body pressed to hers, and then his lips, so soft, kissing her. Feeling light-headed, Laurel opened her eyes, and in the color of the dress she saw something else, the hood of the vigilante, his smooth, quick movements and the way he averted his face most of time, although there were moments when she had caught glimpses of his features hidden behind some dark make-up.
She looked at her bare throat and thought about the pendant she had gotten for Oliver, the arrowhead, purchased long ago before he had been shipwrecked and trapped on an island for years. She remembered the look on his face and his surprise at the gift. Why was he so surprised by it? It still seemed like his first reaction had been stronger than fit the situation.
And there was another question, one that seemed totally unrelated but that suddenly surfaced in her mind as though it belonged. Why did she feel so safe with that dangerous, hooded vigilante, like she knew she could trust him enough to meet with him alone in the dark on a rooftop, when anyone with sense would know that was an insanely reckless thing to do? How did she know that he would never harm her, and beyond that, how did she feel a connection with him when he was something so completely alien to her?
"Oliver," she said out loud, looking at the dress, that green that was perfect, for both of them. She would wear her hair up, with a necklace, the emerald pendant her mother had given her. No, she thought, not Oliver, it was ridiculous; it was impossible. And hadn't he denied it when she had brought it up on Christmas Eve? No…not so much denial as misdirection. And it added up, the timing, after he returned from the island. But could it possibly be Oliver with a bow and arrow, a modern-day American Robin Hood going up against the villains of Starling City? Really? Oliver?
She thought of the man in the hood, the glimpses she had seen, his voice. Surely she would have recognized Oliver's voice? Laurel shook her head. No, she thought. It wasn't Oliver. No matter how much he'd changed on that island, he wasn't running around Starling City with a quiver of arrows seeking justice for the downtrodden. That was beyond him; that was another person entirely. It had to be.
When Laurel brought her hands to the zipper to remove the dress she realized that they were shaking – not exactly from fear or concern but excitement, excitement that coursed through her body with the help of a hit of adrenaline. She sat down on the bench in the dressing room, still wearing the dress and took her cell phone out of her handbag.
Oliver answered on the second ring. "I haven't changed my mind about the soiree," he said. Laurel smiled but said nothing for a moment, just listened to his voice. "Laurel?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Laurel said, thinking to herself that she had to be having some sort of mental meltdown to be once again thinking that Oliver might be the vigilante.
"You sound strange," Oliver said. "Are you OK?"
"Yeah," Laurel said. "Of course I am. I just…I don't know. It's nothing."
Oliver was silent for a moment, and Laurel held on to that silence and the connection there that made it so much more than emptiness. She knew she could ask him the question, and he might even answer it, right then in that moment. Her heart was pounding, pushing her toward it…but she didn't do it. She didn't ask it, not for real, not yet. She needed to be with him, to look in his eyes and see it in him. "Laurel?" Oliver said.
"Yeah, I'm here," Laurel said. "I just wanted to check that you had proper attire for the party."
"I think I may have a suit or two," Oliver said.
"Right," Laurel said.
There was another brief pause, and Oliver said, "That's it?"
"Should there be something else?" Laurel asked.
"I guess not," Oliver said.
"So I'll see you tonight," Laurel said.
"Yeah," Oliver said. "I'll be one dressed like a rich playboy."
"I'm sure I'll find you," Laurel said. They said their good-byes, and Laurel ended the call, took off the dress, and put on the sweater and jeans she had worn into the store. She still needed to get shoes and maybe a bag to match. Laurel took her armful of dresses and hung the majority of them on the silver rod at the front of the dressing room area, then headed to a checkout with remaining green dress.
3.
The soiree was being held in the penthouse of the most expensive hotel in town, and Laurel made sure to arrive fashionably late. She looked around but didn't see Oliver; however, there were a lot of people there, so it was possible he was somewhere she couldn't spot him. She found a group of people she knew and was chatting with them when she finally caught a glimpse of him looking amazingly fine in an exquisitely tailored dark gray suit. He saw her as well and smiled…but didn't head in her direction. Instead he continued his tour of the party guests, smiling and shaking hands. Yeah, Oliver is the vigilante, Laurel thought as she watched him. How could she have seriously considered that? But then again, wasn't Batman secretly millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne? Laurel laughed. Oliver was a lot of things, but he was no Batman.
For a while they circled each other in the crowd, chatting with acquaintances and business associates. Finally Laurel found a quiet corner of the room away from the rest of the people where she took out her phone and pretended to look through her emails. She felt him close to her before she saw him, before he touched her, his palm against the small of her back sending shivers through her body. "Oliver," she said, still facing away, but knowing with certainty that it was he.
"Laurel," he said, close to her, too close, and at the same time not close enough. She knew she could easily leave this place with him to find somewhere soft and dark where she would rediscover his body and his touch, his breath on her skin, his kiss, everywhere. But where would that lead? "Enjoying the party?" he asked.
"Yeah," Laurel said. She still hadn't met his gaze, and she wondered why she felt so out of control.
"You look beautiful," Oliver said. "This color is perfect for you."
"Thank you," Laurel said, and she looked at him then, in his eyes, and felt her desire for him spike to all-time high levels. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a faded bruise on his face and touched it lightly with her fingertips. "What happened?" she asked.
"Tommy," Oliver said. "He blamed me for you giving back his ring."
"He hit you?" Laurel asked. Tommy was no slouch, but anyone with the reflexes of the vigilante would be able to dodge any punch Tommy might throw – which was more proof that Oliver and the man in the hood weren't one and the same.
"Yeah," Oliver said, "but it wasn't a fair shot."
"He shouldn't have done that," Laurel said. "That was between him and me."
"He knew about Christmas Eve," Oliver said. "You told him we met."
"Yes," Laurel said.
"He thought you chose me over him," Oliver said.
Laurel sighed. "It wasn't like that," she said.
Oliver smiled. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special," he said.
Laurel laughed. "You don't need me for that," she said. And she thought again about the man in the hood, the vigilante who couldn't possibly be Oliver. "Oliver, answer a question for me," she said.
Oliver's smile slipped away as he waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he asked seriously, "What is the question?"
Before Laurel could answer, the countdown started to the New Year. She parted her lips to ask it anyway, but by then the countdown was at one, followed by a cacophony of music, horns, and people shouting "Happy New Year!" Then Oliver pulled her close to him, her body against his, his hands on her skin, and all of her thoughts dissolved as his lips met hers in a kiss that was hot, deep, urgent, and completely inappropriate for the venue. Laurel knew she should pull away from him, out of his warm and pleasantly crushing embrace, but she couldn't. He made her feel like no other man ever had.
When the gunshots sounded, Laurel thought it was just part of the celebration; it was Oliver who stiffened and withdrew from their make-out session a moment later. Stunned silence was quickly replaced by screaming; to their right people were backing away from the exit doors, and Laurel caught a glimpse of a man there holding a large gun that Laurel realized he had been firing at the ceiling. "Oh, God," she said. "That's the only way out."
"Maybe not," Oliver said quietly.
"What…"
"You have to trust me, Laurel," Oliver said.
The gunman was telling everyone to stay where they were and no one would get hurt. Somehow Laurel knew that was lie; someone was going to be hurt or dead before this thing ended. "What are you going to do?" Laurel asked.
"Behind us past the window, there's an emergency exit to a stairwell," Oliver said. "I can get some cops. The ones here don't seem to be doing much." Looking squarely in her eyes, Oliver added, "You have to decide right now if you can trust me." Laurel noticed that the last vestige of his playboy image had dropped away, and he was now projecting nothing but complete confidence.
"What do you need me to do?" she asked.
"Stay calm," Oliver said. "Join the crowd, but stay out of sight." When she continued to stare at him, he said "Do it now, and don't look back." After another second of hesitation, Laurel did as he said.
The gunman grabbed a young girl from among his captives and held her with his arm wrapped around her throat while he swung his gun back and forth. He was tormenting the girl and taunting the crowd, but as of yet he didn't seem interested in shooting anyone. Laurel looked over to where the emergency exit was, and she saw a dark figure step soundlessly into the room. A moment later there was a flash of movement through the air, and then the gunman dropped both the girl and the gun. The gunman started howling, and Laurel realized that the vigilante had fired an arrow right into the man's hand and now stood poised to fire another as the doors opened and police poured in. When Laurel looked from the police back to where the vigilante had been, he was gone.
Laurel's phone buzzed, and she looked at the text there. It was from Oliver. 'Meet me in the lobby', it said.
4.
Laurel found him sitting on one of the sofas. He was still dressed in the dark gray suit, but his tie was hanging loose. The first couple buttons of his shirt were open, enough for her to see the cord for the arrowhead pendant she had given him on Christmas Eve. Laurel sat down next to him.
"Are you OK?" Oliver asked.
"Yes," Laurel responded. "What did you do?"
"I got the police," Oliver said, but he didn't provide any further explanation.
"Yeah, they arrived shortly after the vigilante," Laurel said. "He pretty much had the situation defused before they came in."
"Everyone is OK?" Oliver asked.
"Yes," Laurel said, "maybe a bit traumatized, but unhurt."
Oliver was silent for several seconds, and Laurel couldn't imagine what his thoughts were. "Are you angry?" he asked.
"There are things you haven't told me," Laurel said. Oliver looked away from her gaze. "If you want to have a relationship with me, you are going to have to talk to me," she said. "You asked me to trust you, and I did. Now I need you to trust me."
"It isn't that easy," Oliver said.
"It isn't going to be easy," Laurel said. "You broke my heart twice, and my father will never forgive you for what happened to Sara. If you want me to forgive you, you are going to make an investment of yourself in me."
Oliver was silent for a nearly a minute. Laurel waited it out. Finally he looked at her. "OK," he said, "but not here."