Guardian Angels

by Mayet

AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line. Rating for violence.

11. Chapter 11

Guardian Angels

Summary: AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

A/N: I feel like I have to apologize to Helena and those among you who commented that Oliver was treating her too harshly.I agree with you by the way, but I feel it is in character for him at this time, so... I'm sorry. Particularly considering the beginning of this chapter, though I hope I give Helena enough credit to hold her own against him.

Andrus Tolero: Wow, that's quite a compliment. I'm glad you enjoy it. The show does seem to take an either-or approach at times including, and maybe especially, Oliver, though in his case I can see how five years alone on an island (never mind the horrors of the Lian Yu) could shape him into such a hard man. I wanted to explore how The Hood and Black Canary would affect each other - that's how this story started. Sometimes I think that's where it risks losing itself.

deant33: I may include mentions of the wider world of superheroes, so you may assume that Supergirl and Superman exist in this fictional world, but currently I'm not planning on having them pay a visit to Starling. Maybe later...

crazyaboutMalfoy and hotkillerz: I like that Ted is more closely involved in this story as well. Funny you should mention him...

And I'm having huge fun with letting Oliver fish in the dark. But all good things must come to an end. (SPOILERS:) I've mapped out the basic plot twist for the next few chapters and it looks like by chapter 13 Laurel's luck is up.

Chapter 11: Allegiances

Oliver watched quietly from a corner. There was no doubt that his quarry had seen him, but she continued as if nothing were amiss, barely even glancing his way during the entire session. However, he did notice that her punches and kicks became swifter, stronger – all her anger at him was taken out on the sandbag. She was not in uniform, instead she wore a pair of sweatpants and a purple t-shirt, hanging loosely down past her waist. A few final vicious hits and kicks and she angrily shoved the sandbag away from herself with a huff. She still preferred not to look at him as she made her way over to grab her towel and the water bottle waiting for her a few feet away. She twisted the cap off unceremoniously and gulped down half the bottle before setting it down and wiping her mouth. Finally, she acknowledged him with a dark look in his direction.

He took that as his cue to approach her, while she sat down on a nearby bench. Lifting her duffle bag onto the bench, she made it clear that he wasn't invited to sit down with her. Oliver sighed internally at her display of rage. Sometimes the two women vigilantes in his life made him feel stuck between a rock and a hard place; they were both usually angry with him and hated each other's guts... He rolled his eyes at himself. When he came to stop in front of her, he waited for a quiet minute until she raised her head at him. He had her attention. Then he waited another few seconds to make sure she kept her attention on him.

"I know you're upset," he began quietly. "You lost someone – it doesn't matter that you barely knew him; you were trying to save him and you lost him. I know what that feels like."

She scoffed.

"It makes you want to give up. Retreat into a shell and never interact with anybody again, in case you fail them too. I have failed friends and comrades before, but I also failed myself every time I failed them... and it is crippling. But you can't let that beat you! The people you fail; they're not a reason to give up, they're a reason to keep on fighting-"

"Maybe I don't want to fight anymore!" she snarled at him. "Maybe I don't have it in me."

"You did after the shooting at Queen Consolidated Plaza," he reminded her. "Despite the potential collateral damage-"

"I didn't mean to hurt Mrs Queen!"

"But you didn't let it deter you, either! And that's how you pull through. You focus on your goal and you pursue it for yourself and for all the people you failed... and you do better this time!"

"My goal is to take down my father and I tried your method, or don't you remember?! And he got away! Where is he now?! He got away!"

"But the man who actually killed Michael did not."

There was a tense silence for a moment as they were reminded that he had been the one to kill him in the end, not Helena. She glowered at him, but Oliver was past apologizing for it. He held her stare from underneath the mask until she calmed down and looked away.

"Nothing we can do about your father at the moment," he reminded her, "except make sure you're ready when the time comes... Isn't that why you still train here?"

He let that sink in, her eyes rising to his masked and darkened face in surprise. She looked away almost instantly, choosing to take another swig from her water bottle rather than answer him. She seemed calmer now, more receptive to what he was telling her. So he knelt down to be eye level with her, a hand on her knee to catch her attention. It took her a moment, but finally she reluctantly turned her head back to face him.

"Let me help you," he asked her again.

She neither scoffed, nor glared. He took that as a good sign and retreated before she could change her mind. He disappeared, first into the darkness of the far corner of the room, then into the early morning hours. It was still dark out, the air fresh and livening. He took a deep breath before climbing onto his motorbike. He had to see a woman about a drug, but it was still a bit early to meet her, so he opted to patrol for a little longer. He started his patrol at Starling General as he had for the past couple of days, looking in on Thea for a brief moment. She was still fighting for consciousness and he and his mother were going crazy waiting for her to wake up. Oliver cringed when he saw her through her window from his spot on a roof across. Her prone form, tiny and half-hidden by the hospital bed and medical machinery was the stuff of his nightmares. He gripped his bow tighter, until he had to look away. This was why it was so essential for him to get Yao Fei's herbs in for analysis. Maybe their properties could be synthesized or changed into a form that could be ingested through a naso-gastric tube or even an IV.

Maybe they could give him his little sister back...

Not to mention all the other victims of the drug. His eyes fell onto the prison wing of Starling General. Somewhere in there was Dr Webb, lying prone just like Thea as his body was ravaged by the drug. Oliver expected a sense of grim accomplishment to surface, but mostly he was just empty. While Webb had certainly deserved what he'd gotten, drugging him hadn't actually accomplished much of anything. Sure, the drug dealer was paying for what he'd done, but his sister was still in a coma and the doctors still didn't know how to help her. Perhaps if Webb were awake, he could have helped them... though Oliver seriously doubted that he would have, even to make a deal with the DA.

"She'll be okay. Thea is the strongest, most stubborn kid I know. She'll pull through," Diggle tried to reassure him. Oliver was only half listening. Things had been a bit frosty between the two of them since Oliver had woken up from the drugs and found out that not only had his partner let the other two vigilantes into their lair (something he'd already done with Black Canary, but which he conveniently ignored), but he'd also let them take the only real lead on Black Canary's identity away with them. Now they were back at the starting point!

"Yes, thank you, Spartan," he said with irritation. "Let's keep radio silence unless there's something going on..."

He heard a sigh from the other side, but Diggle wisely remained quiet. Oliver felt a little guilty. He didn't mean to be so harsh; he was just so exasperated. Every little thing seemed to grate on him. More than it should and it made him snappy.

"Yeah, well, there is one thing that might interest you: Cyrus Vanch has been released from prison."

"Is he on the list?" The name didn't seem familiar, but, well, his father left a very long list.

"He is. He's been charged with at least fifty-two counts of homicide as well as ties to human trafficking and drug running. He'd been sentenced to three consecutive life sentences, but was released two days ago after eight months in prison due to lack of evidence."

"Lack of evidence? After the trial?"

"Apparently one of the key witnesses has disappeared," Diggle replied grimly over the comm.

"Sounds like a charmer."

"Yeah, he makes you look like a new-born kitten, but there's more. Your favorite attorney represented some of his victims' families and there's been talk that CNRI is already planning to fight his release."

Oliver had been in a constant state of agitation ever since getting the call about his sister being drugged. On most nights, he put that agitation to good use crossing some names of the list and stopping random crimes he found throughout the city with extreme prejudice. It took very little for him to put all that fidgety energy into action as he made his way over to Laurel's apartment. A quick glance from a close-by roof found it empty and he wondered where she'd gone at five in the morning when something below him caught his attention. An arm came out of a car window below him to snap off some cigarette ash. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a number of cigarettes on the ground outside that window.

"Someone is staking out Laurel's apartment," he informed Diggle.

"Could be Vanch's men," the bodyguard agreed.

Using one of his cable arrows, he dropped himself onto the car. As the doors opened on both sides at the noise, he threw a dart at the man riding shotgun, catching him in the shoulder, while jumping down onto the driver. Similar to how he had seen Canary flip the young Reston, he brought the other man onto the ground. Pulling out a knife from his right boot, he lay the cold blade flat against the man's frightened face as he bent over his captive. He heard the sound of a gun being pulled and threw another dart. When the injured man rounded the car, one arm cradled carefully at his side, the firearm was knocked clean out of his hand and landed several feet away. Oliver dug the blade in hard enough to draw a thin streak of blood.

"Don't move," he ordered the other man harshly.

"Okay, okay," the man on his feet agreed quickly. "What do you want?!"

"I want you to get into the car, drive away and not come back."

"Okay," they both repeated in unison.

"Tell Vanch that he better make reparations and then leave my town."

There was a moment of hesitation as confusion crossed both men's faces. Then the man who was standing moved his hand to the inside of his pocket. Oliver's knife moved from his captive's cheek to his throat.

"Easy, easy, I'm not going for a weapon," the other man said and produced a badge.

"You're police?"

"Yeah, Detective Lance placed us here when Vanch was released two days ago," the man on the ground told him. "Miss Lance and Vanch crossed blades in court, so to speak, and Detective Lance fears he might come after her." There was a tremble in his voice as he said it that made Oliver narrow his eyes, but his story made sense. He remembered the two officers who'd been posted to Laurel's building when she'd gone after Somers. Detective Lance was certainly a protective father who would deploy a unit to watch his daughter's home when a dangerous criminal was on the loose with her in his cross-hairs.

"I thought he had," Oliver murmured, more to himself. He let the other officer up, but not without removing the gun from its holster and sliding it under the car. Both men looked at him strangely. "She isn't here."

It was a statement, but both officers knew it was really a question.

"She is at CNRI. Went into work early."

"If she made it there," the vigilante reminded them, then used another cable arrow to get back up to the roof and rush over to CNRI. There was no reason for Laurel to be at CNRI before the crack of dawn, unless she hoped to meet someone who preferred the dark cover of night. He vaguely remembered her mentioning something about meeting him on the roof again, so he wasn't surprised that when he got there, Laurel was already on the roof. He took a quick glance around, perhaps not as thoroughly as he normally would and should, but enough to ascertain that no one was hiding in the shadows on the roof of CNRI or one of the adjacent buildings. Laurel was leaning against the roof access booth, looking down at something in her hand, but she looked up when she heard him land on the roof. A hesitant smile came over her face when she saw him and he noticed her grip on the object tighten. It was a small velvet box, the right size for a bracelet or a large brooch. Suddenly, dead certainty about what was in that velvet box flooded over him along with memories of the fireman who fell into the raging inferno at Stagg Chemical. His chest constricted as he thought about it and he flinched away when she threatened to bring it closer by stepping toward him. Startled, she stopped dead in her tracks for a moment, but then decided to approach him anyway to hold out the badge.

He shook his head.

"I don't deserve it."

"Danny's mother thinks you do. She had her daughter extract the promise from me to make sure you get it. She wants you to have her son's badge and it's been sitting in my desk drawer long enough," Laurel said with conviction and finality. She took another step closer, laying the box gently against his chest, the object novel, but the weight familiar. He grasped it hesitantly. When she let go, he studied it for a moment, but didn't open it. He kept it in his hand, the weight both comforting and challenging.

"I wish this was the only reason I came to wait on the roof, but..."

"Cyrus Vanch," he offered.

"I'm sorry."

"What do you need?"

"Something to send him back to prison...", she suggested sheepishly. "Somebody got rid of the key witness right after Vanch's attorney filed for an appeal of the sentence. There's been a lot of back and forth since, but ultimately they had to let him go. He can't be allowed back out onto the streets. Every day he is free is like someone is spitting on his victims' graves and twisting knifes in the backs of their family members and-"

"There'll be more victims."

"Yes, and more heartbroken families. I can't get to him, not without evidence. And he'll be looking at me."

"You represented the families; wouldn't he rather look at the DA."

"The DA has been put under guard; it's not that easy with a civilian. And I'm not running from him. I don't need protection. I don't need a shield... I need..."

"A sword to slay the dragon with," he teased, earning himself a chuckle.

Their merriment was interrupted by a clicking noise. They both startled at it, looking suspiciously around for its origin. Oliver drew nearer to Laurel, in case it was Vanch's men come for her after all.

"What was that?", she asked him.

"We're not alone," he mumbled, just as the roof access door slammed open to let Quentin Lance and a bunch of police officers out onto to roof. Without hesitation, Oliver grabbed hold of Laurel, turning her around in his grip and hiding his body behind her. The velvet box fell from his hand and landed cluttering on the ground, making Oliver grit his teeth, but he had a hostage to focus on now. He knew she was safe; they wouldn't fire at them while she could get hurt. And, despite what the police may think, he knew he wouldn't hurt her either. He wondered if she knew that and scrutinized her reaction. Her breathing had quickened, therefore so had her pulse, but she wasn't tense. He had hopes that she wasn't afraid of him this time. "You're safe. I won't hurt you... I'm sorry."

He felt her nod imperceptibly and squeeze his arm around her throat even as his other hand held a sharp dart to its vulnerable flesh.

"Dad!", she called out, her focus back on the police officers in front of her while he dragged her over to the edge of the roof.

"You so much as hurt a hair on her head and I'll drag you down to hell myself!", Lance barked at him angrily.

"I'll help you," he whispered into Laurel's hair instead of answering her father. Then he shoved her in the direction of the officers and used the confusion to jump over the edge of the roof. Another cable arrow caught, depositing him gently on the ground and he dashed for the cover of a nearby alley right away just as the police officers began to fire from the roof.

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(Helena's apartment)

She had gone straight home from her chat with the vigilante. She wondered if he'd hoped to inspire her. Perhaps some time ago it would have worked, but now she was too focused on another quarry. She turned on the twenty-four hour news channel for Starling City and removed the painting above her couch from the wall. When she turned it around, she found her puzzle of news clips and pictures she had taken still intact, so it was unlikely that he or the bird bitch had found it. She had divided it into two sides, one covering all the information released about the green-clad vigilante and some of the notes she had gotten from the police file she had stolen.

On the other were mostly pictures she had taken of the drug deal Oliver Queen had arranged. After she'd sent Black Canary away, she had made her own way to the meeting point and situated herself where she had a good view, but would be unlikely to get involved in the action. Additionally, she had jotted down what she remembered of the fight in Oliver's room when the assassin had come to eliminate the vigilante thinking they were the same person.

At the time she'd dismissed the idea for two reasons. Firstly, because the vigilante had been seen elsewhere in the city that night. And secondly, because Oliver had relied heavily on her protection during the confrontation. Or so it had seemed at the time. After seeing him dash through the exchange of fire between drug dealers and police officers to run after the chemist, she wasn't so sure anymore. She remembered him searching for something to swing at the attacker, but there had also been a moment when he'd directly engaged the man. A kick and then he'd moved as if to outright attack, but by then she'd intervened again. Now she wondered what would have been if she had been a second slower.

As for the vigilante sighting, she had placed a cut-out article about that in the middle of her makeshift board. If her suspicions were correct, it would have had to be someone else. Mr Diggle came to mind automatically, but the vigilante was unmistakably Caucasian even with only the lower half of his face exposed. On the other hand, it had been the dead of night and only one arrow had been recovered from the scene. Everyone else had been taken down with guns and Helena doubted that had all been friendly fire.

However, Müller got away and could not confirm if he'd seen something and those who had gotten arrested had made no mention of the vigilante's skin color. Did that mean there had been no difference to other sightings to report or had they simply not noticed in all the confusion or not recalled? Helena scoffed at herself; Diggle would make perfect sense and people often saw what they expected to see. They were notoriously unreliable witnesses. Still, all she had were her suspicions. She needed something concrete if she wanted to get out from under his blackmailing thumb. It would only be half a victory without birdie's name, too, but perhaps she could turn the tables on the Hood... on Oliver and wrangle his partner's name from him.

A noise from the TV made her look up to see the vigilante almost surrounded on a rooftop, his arm around a well-dressed woman he was using as a shield. Helena squinted, only to recognize Laurel Lance herself. Now she truly scoffed as she watched him back away to the edge of the roof and push Ms Lance right into the police.

"Her handsome hero... (1)", she taunted quietly.

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(Queen Consolidated)

The way to the IT Department was almost more familiar now than the way to his father's and now Walter's office, despite all the times he'd visited it in his youth. Ever since his return from Lian Yu, he had made repeated use of tech-savvy Felicity Smoak's particular skill set to help him find the information he needed. What he would ask of her today fell outside the scope of her duties at Queen Consolidated and most likely also outside her area of expertise, but he hoped that she might be able to run and interpret the necessary tests for him anyway. He didn't know anyone else who might even remotely be capable of helping him on this. If only Tommy had majored in biochem... Oliver chuckled a little, unable to imagine his best friend in a white lab coat.

He rounded the corner finding Felicity hunched over something, not looking at her screen. Her reaction to him was peculiar to say the least. When she heard his steps approach, she straightened herself and hastily shoved whatever she had been studying so intensely into a drawer of her desk, closing it with an audible thump. Her face was flushed, with adrenalin and embarrassment no doubt. Her breathing was a bit faster than he expected and she actually bothered to pretend that she'd been working on her computer, even though she had to realize that he'd seen her... He hadn't, unfortunately, caught even a glimpse of the object, which made him peak curiously at the top of the desk, wishing for x-ray vision in order to see through it and into the drawer.

"Mr Qu- I mean, Oliver – what can I do for you?", she greeted with a smile that was too bright and too innocent even for her vivacious personality. He narrowed his eyes at her, but she merely smiled wider in order to deflect him. Internally, he shrugged. Maybe she was having trouble with a boyfriend. So, instead of pressing the matter further, he pulled the small plastic bag out of his pocket and held it out to her. The dried leaves inside made her push rapidly back from the desk. "Whoa, no – I don't – uh, you can't smoke in here!"

Rather than getting offended at her thinking he was a pothead, Oliver smiled softly at her as if she'd make an amusing joke. Then he proceeded to lay the bag on her desk. He noticed her eyes followed the little plastic bag and that she approached it for a closer inspection once he'd laid it down. A frown appeared on her face when she picked it up spontaneously a moment later, holding it under the light of her desk lamp for examination.

"That's not weed," she finally concluded, biting her lip. "Sorry, it's just – when somebody comes in here with a bag of leaves, I... Uhm, I didn't take you for tea guy."

"It's not tea either," Oliver replied calmly. Well, it could be, but that was neither here nor there.

"Okay, then I'm officially out of plants one would possibly bring into my office... Actually, come to think of it, what are you doing in my office with... not-weed, not-tea...leaves?"

"Did you hear about my sister?"

She nodded. "I was so sorry to hear about what happened to her. Is she any better?"

"About the same," he sighed, then he fixed her gaze with his. "I did something stupid shortly after I saw her at the hospital. I...uh, I arranged for a meeting with the drug dealer in hopes of finding something to take to the police or, I don't know, maybe a cure or something..."

"Yeah, that was stupid..." Then she noticed his gaze. "She said, unnecessarily repeating the reason he beat himself up- sorry. I heard about it on the news, yeah. The police aren't pressing charges... Go on."

"I was drugged before the police got control of the situation, but one of the vigilantes gave me some of this to swallow right away and... well-"

"You're not in the hospital," she concluded, refocusing her eyes on the leaves with renewed fascination. "You think this could help the other victims, including your sister?"

"That's what I'm hoping, but she can't exactly swallow them at the moment, so..."

"So...?"

"I was wondering if you could find out what makes them so effective and, I dunno, synthesize it or something."

"Or something?", she asked, a little incredulously. Then Felicity caught herself, once she saw the openly desperate look on his face. This was just like the meeting with the drug dealer for Oliver. A last hope that he desperately clung to. He wanted to help his sister, but he had no idea how. So he grasped onto the idea with the leaves and pursued it as best as he could. For all she knew, she was the only person he knew with a science background, though there must be a couple of doctors at least among the rich and powerful, right? Why come to her? Why not go directly to Queen Consolidated Research Lab or, hell, even just hand these leaves over to Starling General- She stopped herself on that thought. Most people who practiced allopathic medicine probably wouldn't think all that much of someone showing up and giving them a miracle weed, no pun intended. She looked back up at Oliver. "I'm an IT expert, not a biochemist, Oliver. I'm not sure what I'd be looking for, or even looking at once the results come in."

He visibly deflated.

"Have you shown this to the police? Or one of the people who treated you at Starling General?"

He shook his head.

"The vigilantes saved my life. More than once. If there's even a chance this could lead back to them..." She watched his face become contrite. He obviously felt a great deal of gratitude toward Starling City's Guardian Angels. Felicity narrowed her eyes, wondering, not for the first time, how much of that was an act. If this could demonstrate his connection to the Hood or even get someone closer to one of the other vigilantes, it made sense to come to someone who wasn't so closely connected to the investigation as the police or the hospital.

"I may know someone...", she managed. "Who can look at this, discretely."

A good bit of tension fell away from him then, making her automatically feel better as well. He nodded at her gratefully, but as he turned around to leave a thought crossed her mind. She pulled open the drawer and grasped the object inside. The sound alone made him hover on the spot as he turned back to face her. She looked down at the small thing, hesitant. She wondered if she really should place all her cards on the table, just yet. Glancing up at him, she tried to get the measure of him, tried to gauge what he would do. Tried to decide whether she would be in any danger once he realized how close she was to knowing his secret, if it was his secret...

"Do you know when Mr Steele might be back?", she asked, stalling.

The question caught him by surprise. He hadn't even thought of Walter once, since this whole mess with Thea started. Now his thoughts were thrown into turmoil as he wondered why his step-father had not yet returned. He must have heard of Thea's hospitalization. It had been on the news and surely his mother told him... Then he thought back to the strange tension between the two of them when Walter had announced to leave for the Australian office and wondered if she had, in fact, told him. Or spoken to him at all since that day.

"I... I haven't heard from him," he admitted to Felicity, who nodded gravely. Then she pulled out something that almost knocked him off his feet. A small, leather-bound booklet. For a second, his mind shifted to the same little booklet in his hideout, wondering if it was indeed still there and how she may have gotten her hands on it. Then his logical side realized that it must be a different book and his gaze zeroed in on the small bound volume. He practically snatched it out of Felicity's hands and leaved through it, finding the same names as in his own.

"So you have seen it before," she confirmed, wondering if this had been recently or five years ago. "Mr Steele apparently found it hidden in the room he... uh.. the room he shares with your mother..."

Oliver slumped against the desk. He heard her get up and round the table to stand beside him.

"Quite a few names on that list have been attacked by the green archer. I was helping your step-father investigate how your mother and these people may have been connected."

She looked at him for a moment, but it was clear that he was shocked and she doubted she would get an answer. He kept staring at the list of names in the book in silence, so she decided to go get him a glass of water and give him a few minutes to himself, but when she returned Oliver Queen was gone.

And so was the book.

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(SCPD)

The precinct was full of people bustling about despite the early morning hour at which their little enterprise had started. Laurel looked about with some irritation as officers rushed her by, but no one would meet her eye. Unsurprising, given what she'd just been through. She noticed Detective Hall was amongst the ask force that had rushed out onto the roof; a nice promotion for the investigator from vice, but even she avoided facing the attorney, focusing instead on a pile of forms that needed filling out. Laurel blinked a few times when the sun hit her face. The hours had progressed to mid-morning in the time she'd been looked at by a paramedic ("No, really, I'm fine!"), given a statement ("I was never in any danger until you turned up.") and waited for someone to toughen up an face her with an explanation/apology for using her for an ambush. So by the time her father wrenched himself free to find her at his desk, she was late for work after all and silently fuming.

"Sorry, it's been a little crazy-"

"Yeah, I saw."

Her father ducked his head for a brief moment before attempting an explanation.

"Look, you know you were never in any danger, right? It's my job to do everything to catch this bastard, but I'd never let you come to any harm."

Laurel wanted to push, thought about it, but ultimately decided that it would just make things worse at the moment. She was way too angry with him for this conversation and he was way too convinced he did the right thing. And then there were her own secrets to consider... They both needed time to cool off and think this through, or else they'd say things they didn't really mean, but couldn't take back.

"If I'm free to go, I need to get to work," she finally announced. "I've got a case to prepare."

"Oh, yeah, I'll give you a lift," her father offered and Laurel almost did a double take at the smile he gave her. Did he think that just because she didn't argue with him, he was off the hook for putting her on his hook to catch the Hood? She couldn't, wouldn't leave him with the impression that everything was fine and dandy between them; that wouldn't be fair to either of them.

"No, dad. I'll take a cab."

"It's really not a big deal," he urged, but deflated when she squared her jaw.

"I can't... do this right now. You used me, your own daughter! As I told the officer who took my statement, I was never in any danger until you turned up-"

"Oh, and you playing Maid Marian to that psychopath – don't you think that twists a knife in my back?!"

"So, turnabout is fair play – that's your argument?!", she asked incredulously.

He sighed.

"No!... Look, let me drive you to work and we can talk this out and-"

"No, dad. I can't right now... I just can't."

She turned away without another word, aware of all the stares from the officers who were done pretending not to listen. She briefly caught Hall's eyes, but the woman looked away immediately. The stares followed her out the door and then they probably swiveled back to her father once she was out of sight. Stepping out into the still fresh morning air did nothing to calm her nerves, nor did the sunshine that hit her face, bright and warm. She flagged down a cab and shook her head at herself, unsure where to go from there with her father. Her own secrets tore at her heart right then, but her father hated both the Hood and Oliver enough that she couldn't tell him what she'd discovered. She didn't have it in her. In the relatively short amount of time that she had worked with him both as Laurel and as Black Canary she'd come to trust him and rely on him. With a bitter sense of guilt she vowed to herself to keep his secret unless he did something truly drastic.

She didn't think he would.

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(Vanch Residence, that evening)

"Have somebody take out the trash, darling," Cyrus remarked casually, looking down at his dead lawyer. The man who'd managed his estate and embezzled from it had paid the ultimate price for his lack of loyalty. He'd kept Vivian out of it, so she could run his business without being overly scrutinized, but George's mismanagement had interfered more than he'd anticipated. He could easily hire a new lawyer, but loyal footmen were apparently a commodity these days. Vanch crinkled his nose at the body with pure contempt. The man had not done him any favors, chipping away at his connections and diminishing his reputation over the last few months he'd spent in prison. He moved into the kitchen, walking to the sink to wash his hands. His official release and other formalities had taken up much of the day, but come tomorrow he would start rebuilding his empire.

Moving goods, rather than owning or selling them, had given him the freedom to work with a variety of organized crime families without either having to swear allegiance to one or become their target. He needed to rebuild his service. His name would open a few doors, but he'd have to make a significant contribution to the criminal underworld to reestablish trust relations his lawyer had let wear. While one of his guards switched on the TV for him, he contemplated how best to show his god faith and trustworthiness. If he didn't want to upset any of the established powers, he couldn't go after a shipment not entrusted to him, so he needed to find a target outside the established base, such as a new guy in town who was grating on everyone else by encroaching their territory.

"The police confiscated much of Bertinelli's possessions, including his drugs, right?", he asked Vivian the a thought came to him. "Taking it back and distributing the wares among Starling's finest or even selling them for our own profit would send a powerful message not just to our former clients, but also to the cops. We're back in business."

She nodded, but bit her lips and came around the kitchen table to grasp his hand. He intertwined his fingers with her and looked at her quizzically. He knew that look on her face. She always wore it if something was bothering her. Since she had no trouble with swiping drugs and weapons from the police or a bit of good old-fashioned violence, he knew it must be about something else.

"What is it, Viv?"

"George suggested to keep a low profile for a while to-"

"The maggot," he muttered.

"-avoid you going back to prison. And that lawyer is already mounting another attack on you, Cy. We should at least take care of her first," she suggested, unperturbed by his anger.

He considered her for a moment. He knew exactly which lawyer his girlfriend was referring to and unadulterated rage bubbled inside him at the thought of her. Vivian had a point insofar as Ms Lance's passionate representation of the victims' families had led to her going after him much more intensely than even the DA. And he didn't doubt for a second that she wouldn't rest until he was back at Iron Heights, a goal in regards to which he had no intention of accommodating her. The witch hunt she would start to get him back behind bars would put a serious dampener on his business. No one wanted to hire a contractor so openly accosted by the law, so Vivian was right; he needed to take Laurel Lance out first.

A noise distracted him briefly, but he refocused on Vivian after only a moment.

"You're right. Laurel Lance poses a problem that we need to deal with. The same way we dealt with her and the DA's key witness."

He and Vivian shared a grin.

Sudden gunfire had both of them duck behind the kitchen table. Cyrus crept forward to see what was going on and just about caught a glimpse of a green-clad form disappearing into the underbrush. He narrowed his eyes. Vivian had briefly told him about this new vigilante on the way down from Iron Heights. He had imagined that he'd clash with the guy eventually, just as he'd clashed with his female – and, from what he'd been told, much softer – counterpart almost a year ago now, but he hadn't expected it to be quite so soon. He'd only just arrived after several months in prison, which left him wondering what he might have done to upset the man already. Or was this merely a warning? As he got up, he caught sight of a blinking light in the corner of his eye. Turning toward it he saw an arrow had been edged into a nearby column, no doubt causing the sound he'd noticed earlier.

His eyes then fell on the TV screen and Cyrus did a double take. Motioning for the remote, he had one of his guards turn on the sound. He listened intensely as the reporter commented what had transpired on the roof of Lance's legal aid firm that morning. The news channel had gotten a lucky shot of the green-clad vigilante using Lance as a shield to evade the police when they stormed the roof. Cyrus' mind immediately went to consider what the lawyer may have been doing up there in the first place. Irrespective of whether she'd assisted the police or simply gotten caught in the crossfire, there was obviously more to her story with the vigilante than met the eye. Since she met with him mere hours before the vigilante staged his home invasion, he didn't believe for a second that the two weren't connected. A new plan formed in his mind. A new, daring plan that would solve most of his main problems at once.

"Time to kill two birds with one stone," he murmured with a grin as he pulled the arrow from the wall.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

(Laurel's apartment)

The civilian police car still sitting opposite her building she'd expected since she had spotted it days ago. At the time she'd just figured that her father was worried given the disappearance of the key witness in the Cyrus Vanch case, but now she suspected it had been there to see if they could trap Oliver. Her irritation flared to the surface once more, but she still managed to offer the two officers a nod and something that at least vaguely resembled a grateful smile. What she hadn't expected was Tommy Merlyn standing outside the main door to her building, looking at her expectantly as she came home. It had rained quite profusely earlier and given that the umbrella hanging at his side was still wet, he must have been waiting for her for a while. She wondered why he hadn't simply come to CNRI – although, if he had seen the news and was here to lecture her, she was grateful that he hadn't. With a nod of the head she motioned him inside.

"Are you okay?", was the first thing she asked.

"Yeah, I'm good." When his gaze remained unsure, she went on. "He wasn't going to hurt me."

"Good."

She turned to him with surprise.

"He saved you at Iron Heights. If he wanted you hurt, he could have done it then. Or simply sat idly by."

Well, that was a valid argument, at least for someone who didn't know just how good Laurel was at kicking ass. But she was immensely glad that somebody saw things from her perspective for once today. She'd already gotten a couple of looks and murmurs behind her back that obviously questioned her sanity. Her only ray of sunshine had been Joanna's worried call, because her friend had been as outraged as her that her father would use her to lure the Hood into a trap. Joanna had even asked if the vigilante had made it out okay, her trust in him unshakable after he brought Danny's killer to justice.

"That doesn't mean you should make this a habit, though. He is still dangerous and so are his enemies, I would imagine," Tommy interrupted her internal musings.

"His enemies aren't interested in me."

"Is that why there's police outside your door?", he countered, unconvinced.

"No, they're there to trap him," she told him. "And because of Cyrus Vanch."

She lifted the stack of folders she had tucked underneath her arm for a moment to emphasize her point. She had brought some of the case files home with her to keep prepping for the inevitable court case. She'd helped put Vanch in prison in the first place and she'd damn well do it again. That man was a monster.

"Yeah, I heard... Are you sure you want to stay here? You can stay at my place. I've got a guest room and the building has round-the-clock security. A-and Vanch would find it more difficult to find you somewhere else, right?"

Laurel hesitated for a moment. It was a really sweet offer, particularly given that the risk he would be taking on. She, however, knew exactly the extent to which Vanch would go to silence someone and was only waiting for the news that their witness had been found washed ashore somewhere on discovered in a ditch. She was not willing to put a target on Tommy's – sweet, innocent, good-hearted Tommy – back. So she shook her head, slowly, sadly, and grasped his hand to squeeze softly.

"I won't put anyone else at risk."

He nodded, as if he had expected that answer. Perhaps he had, but he still accompanied her to her door and then inside. She narrowed her eyes at him, about to make a comment that he wasn't staying over to look after her either, when she saw him checking her kitchen and switching the light on and off as if to make sure they worked. When he caught her gaze, she rolled her eyes and made for the living room, where she immediately dropped her files and her purse once she switched the light on. Her gasp of surprise drew Tommy into the room, brandishing his umbrella like a weapon, but then he hesitated when he, too, saw the Hood crouching against a stretch of wall between two windows. His bow was in his lap and his hands up in the air to indicate that he hadn't come to harm them. Tommy slowly lowered his umbrella, but maintained a tight grip on it nonetheless.

"What are you doing here?", Laurel asked, the first to regain her composure. "Are you nuts?! There's a police car outside!"

"Yeah, we had a chat early this morning," he admitted with a chuckle at her raised eyebrow. She exchanged a look with Tommy. "I'm sorry if I...if I'm interrupting anything..."

Startled, they both shook their heads.

"Tommy was just worried over the news of Cyrus Van- are you here about him? Did you find something?"

"Yes, and it's not good. His residence is too heavily fortified, so I couldn't get close, but I got this..." There was a moment of hesitation then.

He sighed heavily, standing up carefully avoiding the windows. His bow moved from his lap to his non-dominant hand to leaning against the wall. He moved forward extending a small silvery gadget toward her. He played them the conversation between Vanch and his girlfriend and despite the vague terms of their threat, all of them understood implicitly what was meant.

"That's it," Tommy announced, "you're coming home with me. You'll be safer there."

"You won't be," Laurel countered, shaking her head. "I told you, I'm not dragging you into this."

"You're not dragging me into anything... but I'll drag you if necessary," he replied gravely.

She stared him down, unimpressed.

"You couldn't handle a couple of bouncers, but you plan to kidnap me?"

"Laurel-" Tommy protested, glaring at her for both her stubborn attitude and the mention of the club incident.

"I'll stay with her."

They both looked up.

"I'll stay with you tonight and then you can drop of the recording with your father or the courts tomorrow and get protective custody." Not that that would stop him from going after Vanch to prevent him from killing Laurel. He just needed to get his allies on board.

"...Yeah, dad tried that when I discovered boys. It didn't take then, either."

"Laurel," both men protested in unison.

"I won't stop living my life because of this man. I'll just work harder to put him back in prison where he belongs. I won't live in fear."

The finality in her tone made both men sigh, even as Laurel herself picked up her files and went over to her desk.

"Now, Tommy, if you're staying, could you make some hot cocoa for all of us. I work better on chocolate..."

After another set of baffled looks that she ignored in favor of settling into her work, she noticed him moving toward the kitchen and smirked to herself. Tommy didn't stay the whole night, since he got a call from his father that ended in an argument judging by the side of the conversation she could hear. He gave her an apologetic smile and a firm warning to be careful, before nodding at the Hood and leaving for home. There was companionable silence after that as the Hood had returned to sitting against her wall, trying to avoid the scrutiny of her police detail. It was late when Laurel finally decided to stop brooding over the files in an attempt to build a case without their key witness, but ultimately the constant yawning made work impossible and she had to postpone worrying herself sick to tomorrow.

When she got up and moved to rinse her mug (he hadn't even touched his), then brush her teeth, she realized that he followed her around the apartment. Perhaps it was because he wanted to remain inconspicuous or because he wanted to give her what little privacy he could, but she noticed that he kept himself at a distance. Perhaps he was just protecting his secret identity... In any case, when he began scanning her bedroom for a comfortable sitting position, she drew the line, so she picked up a pillow and her blanket and moved them to the couch. Having Oliver/The Hood in her apartment was one thing, but her bedroom was too... intimate. She picked up a second blanket when he sat back down with his back against the couch once he realized her intention and handed it to him.

"I have no intention of sleeping," he told her gravely.

"I know. That doesn't mean you should get cold, sitting on the floor."

She killed the light and moved back to the couch to curl up under her own blanket, but she didn't try to sleep immediately. Instead she studied him as furtively as she could. His brush with death or coma due to the drug he'd been injected with had scared her. He'd been burning up half the night fighting off its influence with the help of the herbs. When he'd finally woken up from that, he'd been deathly pale and weak as a newborn kitten. He'd shaken all over as he tried to straighten himself up and had leaned heavily on her when he found that he couldn't do so immediately. The toll it had taken on his body had been palpable. That was more than a week ago now and he seemed back to himself, but she kept flashing back to the pale, twitching mass of limbs he'd been in those early morning hours. She had half wanted to give him a lecture about the stupidly chivalrous act that had nearly cost him his life, half envelop him in a hug, so ultimately, of course, she'd fled the lair with barely a word to either him or Diggle, her voice shaking as much as Oliver did.

She wondered how badly he'd taken that. She hadn't been out much as Black Canary after that, once the news of Cyrus Vanch's impending release had hit the media and she'd commenced burying herself in the evidence. She felt their gazes meet when he turned to face her, perhaps sensing her attention on him. Her hand moved to softly rest on his shoulder and his gloved one came to cover it gently. Taking in a deep breath, she held his eyes in the dark.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he promised quietly.

She chuckled bitterly.

"Even you can't promise that."

She didn't wait for his answer, merely squeezed his shoulder and curled herself into her couch. Laurel was a quick sleeper, so it didn't take long before she was out like a light. Hours passed; Oliver watched her shaded face in the darkness. He couldn't really make out whether she looked calm or worried in her sleep, but he could hope. Her grip had loosened considerably with sleep, but his hand came up to cover hers nonetheless. He squeezed it gently in return and, he hoped, in reassurance. He hadn't been completely honest; he had no intention of sleeping, true, but he was also not quite sure he could sleep if he wanted to. He had vowed to keep a distance from Laurel for both their sakes. He shouldn't drag her into his world, even if only by association, and he couldn't afford the liability she presented. An emotional attachment threatened to cloud his judgment and could be used against him if somebody found out about it.

This morning had exemplified that, when he'd nearly killed two police officers because he'd thought them a threat to her. He looked up at her face again. All his fears had already come to pass. He'd let so many people back into his life. Some he'd been close to before – his family and Tommy – some he'd approached out of necessity – Diggle and Felicity... and Laurel, he supposed. Some more out of intrigue, like Canary, Helena... and Laurel again. Of all of them the last two had come the closest to his truest self, one way or another. And while he was wary of Helena, not that he'd admit that out loud, she'd sneaked up on him sideways when he hadn't expected to get along with her, while Laurel had dived headfirst into his life and become his... something.

More than a friend, but less than she could be and it terrified him. But here they were. He held her hand more tightly, unwilling to let go and lose the connection. Perhaps Diggle had been onto something. Perhaps she didn't have to be a weakness, perhaps he could draw on her affection and friendship for strength. Perhaps he could draw on all of the people in his life for strength and not be so alone, even when he was all hooded up and unapproachable. The sudden tightness of his grip startled her awake. Her upper body came up into a sitting position faster than he could react, her hand ripping itself out of his grip for her arm to come around his throat. The awkward position she held herself in gave him ample opportunity to throw her off, but instead the Hood held absolutely still, even as he struggled to breathe through her choke. A second later the pressure was gone and her panicked murmur of apologies filtered into his consciousness. His eyes remained narrowed as he turned around to face her, his instincts wary, wondering what this lawyer before him had gone through to make her so cut-throat in the morning. He was like that, post-island. He'd nearly choked his mother that first night she and Walter had come into the room unannounced while he'd been asleep. He couldn't imagine Laurel going through anything traumatic enough to cause these defensive instincts. Could the attack on her at Iron Heights really have been so distressing? Had something else happened since he'd returned, or before then, when he had not yet known her? Her self-defense instructor was ex-military; maybe he had instilled this combat-readiness in her during training?

"Not exactly a good way to start the morning," she mumbled.

Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door. He was up in a split-second.

"Would Vanch really knock?", she asked as she got up. "Besides, I'm pretty sure it's my dad come to smooth things over. We had a bit of a falling out after he used me as fucking bait..."

Nonetheless, he followed a few steps behind her to the door. Which was just as well, because as soon as she opened it, a hand grabbed for her and pulled her roughly into the hallway. She felt a fist to the stomach. Even doubling over, she remembered to grab onto the man in front of her and ram her bent arm against his breast bone. She heard and felt it crunch under the assault, so she moved on to press two fingers into the small triangle where his throat met the bones of his shoulder. The sudden discomfort had the man gasp for breath, so she could focus on the man behind her. The Hood had him in a vice-like grip around the chest, apparently having reached for him as he tried to follow her to where his partner had thrust her into the hallway. She took hold of the man's head and smashed it into the wall with the Hood's help. He went down immediately. The two of them stood over Vanch's men, panting. Finally, the Hood stepped over the unconscious guy to pull Laurel behind him and punch out the remaining assailant. Then he turned to her, his head averted to avoid her seeing his face, even as one hand stroked carefully through her hair.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah... you? I never thought he'd actually go this far... You need to leave. I have to call this in."

"Wait," he called when he spotted something peaking out from underneath one of their assailants' shirts. He barely noticed the doors to the other apartments opening as the neighbors inquired after the noise, nor their surprised and sometimes frightened gasps at seeing him with Laurel and two men on the ground. Unperturbed, he picked out the items he had spotted and held the zip ties up for Laurel's inspection. She grasped them out of his hand without missing a beat and began to tie their two aggressors up.

"Well, at least these will come in handy."

"They weren't here to kill you, they came to kidnap you," he muttered darkly.

"Why? So he can finish me himself?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not giving him another chance."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

When he finally reached his daughter's floor, he pushed passed colleagues and residence until he caught a glance of Laurel. He felt some of the tension leaving his body even as his step faltered as he thought back to their last conversation. He wondered if she would want him here. In their exchange she had made it clear that she needed some distance, but that hardly counted when she had just nearly been killed. Vanch's men had already been removed from the premises, which was just as well because he felt like using them for target practic for trying to hurt his little girl. He resumed his movement, swiftly closing in on Laurel. She was talking to a uniformed officer, no doubt giving her statement. His movement must have caught her attention, because she looked up and they locked eyes for a split second. She didn't seem angry or like she was about to send him away, so Quentin figured circumstances had created a temporary truce.

She nodded at him, so he approached further. He had almost reached her, when a hand on his arm stopped him and pulled him back. An officer he didn't recognize pulled him aside to give him some of the details of the event. He pointed at several neighbors and summarized some of their statements. Quentin was about to tell him to shove it, because his only interest right then was in talking to his daughter and making sure she was safe. And hopefully bullying her into protective custody. But the officer had something else to say.

"Several witnesses place the hooded vigilante at the scene, sir. Mr Shaw, who lives two doors down from your daughter, claims he saw the vigilante emerge from her apartment after the altercation had already started."

Quentin took a moment to look wide-eyed at the uniform, letting sink in exactly what he'd said and all the implications that came with it. He looked back at Laurel. She seemed to realize that something had changed, because her face turned first inquisitive, then severe. There was an edge about her, though, a vulnerability in her eyes that raised a father's instinct, so he turned to the officer and questioned him with some measure of irritation.

"So, what you're saying is, in addition to being attacked by Vanch's assassins, that lunatic broke into her apartment. One more reason to put her into protective custody, now she has to listen to me. Thank you, officer."

With that, he marched away and finally reached Laurel. Even though a thousand questions burned on his tongue, the first thing he did was hug her tightly to himself. Stroking over her hair and pulling back, he assured himself that she was all in one piece – flushed from the adrenalin and the exertion, but fundamentally okay. Her eyes flitted about a bit every few seconds as if checking for further dangers. She was alert, but clearly unafraid. She shared that trait with her mother; something that had driven Quentin mad on several occasions with either woman.

"What was the Hood doing here? What was he doing in your home?!"

He might have wanted to keep the accusation out of his tone, but when Laurel's jaw hardened, he knew it was too late for that.

"He saved my life," she hissed out between clenched teeth.

"Yes, he's getting into the habit of that, I'll admit – you know, when he's not putting a blade to your throat-"

"Only because you used me as bait and stormed the roof-"

"Because you had to play Maid Marian to Robin Hood. Is that what you see in him? Because he isn't, Laurel, he's a-"

Laurel stepped back, huffing. Holding up a hand, she got him to quiet down, mostly because she was turning away from him and he didn't want that. Not when he'd almost lost her that morning. Quentin sighed and tried to calm himself down. Counting to ten only helped a little.

"What was he doing here?", he asked again, as calmly as possible.

"He was there when I woke up," she ground out with reluctant, begrudging calm. "To apologize for putting me in danger. Then there was someone at the door and I thought it was you, also come to apologize for this morning. When it wasn't..."

She didn't finish that sentence, but he followed her gaze across the dents and cracks the fight caused in the walls of the hall. He didn't have to imagine what happened. Or what could have happened. He sighed again.

"I'm glad you're alright."

That was the only thing worth saying.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

(The Hideout)

He would have to wait for nightfall, though, so before Oliver did anything else he went to meet Diggle in their lair under the club. Using the side entrance he spared himself necessary explanations for his friend Tommy, whom he had seen hard at work if slightly distracted as he'd approached the building. He would make sure to pass by upstairs a little later. Diggle was waiting for him in front of the row of computers, following a brief news story about the attempted kidnapping. The reporter mentioned that Laurel had apparently turned down police custody even after the traumatic events of the early morning. Oliver couldn't help but grit his teeth at the news. Not that he'd expected any different, but he'd clung to hope that she would do the sensible thing, instead of the foolishly brave one, for once.

"You made the news," Diggle informed him, muting the live report and pulling up a new clip.

"The police has expressed concern at the numerous witness reports that have placed Starling City's Emerald Archer on the scene. Residents have reacted with mixed feelings, many worried to fall into his cross-hairs, though they unanimously credited the vigilante with the failure of Ms Lance's attempted kidnapping-"

Diggle cut the feed, turning to him expectantly. Oliver merely shrugged. He was not that concerned that police and residents were worried about his presence. He was simply infinitely grateful that he'd been able to help prevent Vanch's men from taking her.

"This is good, Oliver. It helps changing the view of The Hood from a ruthless killer to -"

"A hero?," he finished for his bodyguard and scoffed. "I'm no hero, Dig, and I don't care what people think of me. I'm not doing it to be liked."

"But what you do could be easier if people trusted you."

Oliver pondered this, briefly. He knew Diggle had a point, but he didn't have the time to invest in good public relations.

"As for not being a hero," Diggle continued, looking back at the muted feed as it went on about the kidnapping attempt, "you could be... You are liberating this city of much of its criminal population."

Oliver suddenly flinched as he remembered it. The object in his pocket. He had barely thought about it again after he had pilfered it from Felicity's office when she'd gone to get water, presuming him in shock. His mind had been so full of Vanch and what he might have planned that he hadn't really had the time to worry about the implication of the little thing. Now, though, that Diggle had inadvertently reminded him of it, the booklet seemed to weigh a ton and burn a hole in his pocket at the same time. He suppressed the urge to reach for it, for now.

"Vanch's residence is a fortress. I'm going to need help if I'm to get in."

Diggle nodded.

"You know that will limit your... uh... freedom of movement," the veteran tried to paraphrase it as nicely as he could imagine. He watched Oliver's face contort first into a scowl, then into a sigh. The sound was neither angry nor resigned though, so Diggle was unsure what he thought on the matter. He watched calmly as Oliver pulled out the phone and placed it in front of both of them as it dialed. He had put it on speaker for convenience, but for endless seconds all they heard was its ringing tone. It took so long that they thought she wouldn't answer and Oliver was about to cut the call angrily when suddenly the line clicked.

"Canary?", he asked warily.

"She's busy; can I help?", asked Wildcat's distorted voice.

"Busy with what?", Diggle asked, before he could stop himself.

After a moment of silence and a sigh, Wildcat asked: "Does this have to do with Cyrus Vanch?"

"You know him?"

"We worked to get evidence and take him down before he was arrested and the recent news burst is hard to miss – good work, by the way. What do you need?"

"Backup. I'm not giving him a chance to recover, but his place has heavy security. I can't take him on my own."

"When?"

"Tonight, round nine. He lives on the periphery, so it should be dark and empty."

"Aside from his goons... Alright, I'll be there," Wildcat promised darkly, then the line shut off, before either Oliver or Diggle could question him on it. They looked at each other in shock.

"What could keep her so busy that Wildcat takes this job?", Diggle wondered out loud.

Oliver narrowed his eyes. He was plenty surprised himself; it was not like her to just disappear. The only other time she'd done it was during his trial for vigilantism. Suspicion pooled in his stomach, churning at the parallelisms. She hadn't come to confront him then, but then neither had she turned up at the arms deal Diggle disrupted. Either she had chosen to observe from a distance, or... Or what? Was the nagging doubt that slithered through his thoughts even feasible? There were so many people in his life that he was uncertain about, could he truly bear the weight of even one more doubt? His hand went into the pocket to retrieve the object hidden inside without a thought, pulling it up to look at it once again. Diggle noticed the movement and stared at him in confusion.

"You want to cross some names off, today? Other than Vanch's, I mean."

"It's not mine," Oliver told him, making Diggle narrow his eyes. "Apparently, Walter found it... He thought it was my mother's."

Diggle's eyes widened in surprise.

"What... What are you going to do?"

"Well, obviously, he was wrong. My father must have kept it in the bedroom."

"Your father gave his to you," Diggle pointed out and Oliver glared at him, but the bodyguard didn't back down.

"He could have made a second copy."

"That looks exactly like the original – whichever one is the original..."

"A decoy." He was grasping at straws and he knew it. The look Diggle gave him showed him that the other man knew it too. Still, it was a plausible explanation. His mother couldn't be involved in any of this. Her name was not on the list, even though, technically, neither was his father's.

"Maybe you're too close to this, Oliver. I could look around a bit, see if I can find something."

"No," he shot Diggle down emphatically. He would not have him spy on his mother of all people.

"Oliver-"

"My mother has nothing to do with this. She wouldn't-"

"You want to think the best of your mother, I understand; just like I'm sure you thought the best of your father before the Gambit."

Oliver schooled his features carefully to hide his flinch. He didn't want to admit that his friend's statement had hit so close to home, but Diggle had gotten the point across elegantly. He had thought he'd known his father, known what kind of man his father was, until the man himself had turned it all upside down and inside out with his confession and suicide. He hadn't truly known Robert Queen and now, truth be told, he wasn't so sure about his mother either. Or anyone, for that matter. He had kept these doubts buried, but the booklet left him little room for denial. He would have to put these demons to rest, sooner or later.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

(Queen Consolidated)

"I was tempted to just throw it in the trash," Felicity admitted without glancing up when he walked into her office a little later. Oliver stopped short briefly, then his mind caught up with some panic. He couldn't help the glance he hastily threw at the trash bin, innocuously posited next to her desk. When he looked back at Felicity, she had raised her gaze warily and angrily at him. It did not change even as he attempted to smile in a winning fashion to assuage her irritation with him. She scoffed at him instead and her look suddenly turned accusatory. "You just up and left, with the booklet."

She stood up then, stretched herself to her full height in heels. Still shorter than him and dressed in brightly colored garments, Oliver didn't think it had the effect she had hoped it would. He certainly didn't feel threatened, though he realized how important this issue was to her. She marched briskly around the desk to stand in front of him, her hand open in a silent challenge. Oliver cocked his head to the side. He had no intention of returning the booklet and had, in fact, not brought it with him, but if he wanted her to cooperate, he would have to find some common ground with the IT expert.

"Mr Steele and I were investigating this, so I need that booklet back."

"So am I. And I dare say I'll probably have better chances than you at getting to the bottom of it."

"Oh, of course. Because of your extensive scientific background, investigative skill and your degree from... which of the four colleges you were thrown out of?.. makes you the world's greatest detective."

She had sass; he had to give her that.

"I don't think your pretty face will buy you much here."

"I actually thought I'd just ask mom about it," he told her. Felicity deflated a bit, but quickly found her footing again.

"What if she doesn't give you a straight answer?"

Oliver hesitated. He'd been thinking that, on and off when he hadn't managed to distract himself with other things or hold on to his denial, since he'd first laid eyes on the second list. Revealing his doubts to Felicity, though she'd always been helpful and extremely resourceful, seemed to admit a vulnerability, however, that he was uncomfortable with.

"I can outsource," he answered evasively.

"You mean like every time you come here to ask me for a favor..."

Oliver sighed internally. That woman had a witty repertoire for every occasion, it seemed. She wasn't wrong, though. He had come to her for help repeatedly and so far he had not been disappointed.

"...Point taken," Oliver conceded. "We could certainly look into it together, but I don't have the booklet with me right now and it's not why I'm here."

Felicity leaned back against the desk, a little more relaxed now that he seemed to have conceded to her involvement. She wondered what Mr Steele would think of this arrangement, but given that he'd all but disappeared she had little choice. She needed an ally as much as Oliver did, even if she wasn't sure hers was not a homicidal vigilante with a Robin Hood complex. She exhaled slowly, chastising herself. It wasn't as though everything about the Hood was bad. Some of the news seemed to paint him more as an anti-hero, someone with fundamentally good intentions. Of course, the road to hell was proverbially paved with good intentions... She glanced up at Oliver's calm, expectant and still softly smiling face. It was difficult to reconcile his contrary, but mild-mannered behavior with reports of roof-diving acrobatics and deadly force. Felicity scrunched up her nose; she could think on this more tomorrow if she really wanted a headache. For now she would content herself with getting a booklet-less Oliver Queen out of her office, clear about the understanding that no more favors would be forthcoming until they had resolved their dispute over the book.

She waved a hand vaguely in his direction.

"I forwarded them to a biochemist I know. He'll get back to me."

Oliver waited for her to elaborate, but nothing happened.

"When will that be? Hours, days...?"

"...More like days, weeks or months. Synthesizing a drug takes time and he has to do this under the radar."

"My sister can't wait months."

"Then you should try the authorities or convincing the doctors to give her the herbs themselves through gastric intubation," Felictiy defended her friend, crossing her arms in front of her chest in irritation. What did he think her response would be? That her friend had magically snapped his fingers and a synthetic drug had assembled itself?

Oliver fumed a little. He couldn't go to the authorities and if the police – particularly one detective – heard of a miracle herb curing his sister, he was sure to have another witch hunt on his hands. Especially when the police lab or the hospital realized the herbs provenance in East Asia. It would take very little to connect the dots then, not that Lance wasn't already wary and out for his blood due to what happened to Sara. And all he knew was that Sara had died on the boat; if he knew the real story, the detective would probably take Oliver out to sea again and make sure that he truly did drown this time. Oliver shook himself when the images surfaced, mentally scrambling to reassemble his defenses. Now was not the time to ponder Sara's fate.

On the other hand, his sister needed him. He had already watched idly while they stuck her full of tubes and drugs that had little to no effect. Sometimes he wondered what kind of a brother the island had made him that he hesitated. Even though he doubted the doctors would listen to him about Yao Fei's herbal remedy, he should have at least tried. Or perhaps he should break into the hospital again and administer it himself. An inelegant solution, but at least no one would look too closely at Oliver Queen, because they'd focus on the Hood. His sister was being fed through some kind of a tube, though, and he wasn't sure how best to administer the herbs. He glanced up at Felicity. Perhaps she could give him some pointers... First, though, there was something else he needed.

He exhaled slowly to refocus himself.

"...I actually came for something else. I was wondering if you could pull up some building plans for me."

"Have you considered the public library. They do store building plans in the archives. For historical research and... stuff."

"Publicly accessible?"

"Well, you'd need to request-"

"I'd need them now."

"You realize you're asking me to hack a public institution, right?"

He smiled through thin lips.

"The booklet," she prompted, her face all hard lines.

"I'll ask my mother about it. If I don't get anywhere, I'll be on your doorstep the next day," he promised easily. She eyed him suspiciously, but nodded once, before going back to her computer. He watched her work quietly behind the screen, not daring to make a sound except when she asked which building, in case she changed her mind. When he told her which building, that raised her eyebrows. Her mouth opened as if she intended to say something – most likely to question his sanity – but then she chose not to comment. It took quite a while, though he kept his mouth shut and did his damnest not to look at his watch. On one of the few occasions where his impatience got the better of him, she told him calmly, but in no uncertain terms that hacking wasn't like walking into a store and filling a shopping cart. He found the analogy somewhat curious, but merely nodded when she then handed him the printed copies a few minutes later.

"I'll see you soon," she reminded him as he approached the door.

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(CNRI)

Laurel closed the last case file with some satisfaction. She was tired. The day had started terribly and had basically continued that way. It had been long and filled with paperwork and the two police officers her father had tried to stick her with despite their earlier argument had not made it better. He'd had the wisdom not to come to tell her himself, but his partner had looked ever more uncomfortable the longer he went on and the stormier Laurel's face grew. There had been lots of hissing, barking and raised voices, but finally they'd found a compromise of sorts. The police couldn't technically force protective custody on her, not without a court order. But she couldn't prevent them from patrolling outside CNRI, keeping watch over the building and her from a distance that allowed her to breathe – not to mention, pretend they weren't there!

Though she did have to watch herself a little, remember that they were indeed there and not do anything that would give away her secret identity. Not that there would be a lot of activity from Black Canary in the next few days. She was so tied up with Vanch's case that she was bone tired. She hadn't been sleeping well since his release. Even before that, if she was honest with herself, but now the days were a struggle. She had to focus all her energy on putting him back behind bars and that could only work with evidence. She had spent today gathering everything they'd already had on Vanch from the previous trial, carrying up all the boxes they'd stored away in the cellar and going through them. Adding what the Hood had discovered, Laurel and her team had put together a pretty good argument for the judge tomorrow. They'd gone so far as to do a couple of trial runs in the conference room with their new staffer Anastasia, filling in for Joanna, as opposing council trying to shoot down all of their carefully crafted arguments. There was no way she'd be at one hundred per cent tonight, even she had to admit that. And doing this while she was barely conscious – at least that was how she felt at the moment – would be suicidal. Ted would never even let her near her armor in the state she was in.

She switched her light off and stood. Today was the first day she wouldn't be taking work home with her. She figured the day before she had to appear in front of the judge it was better to relax than try to cram even more into her brain. The stress would just make her forget it all. Laurel stretched briefly, feeling some kinks working themselves out briefly, only to settle right back into place. She thought briefly of taking a good soak in her tub, but with what happened that morning that wasn't a very good idea. She didn't know when the next attack would come, so she better stick to a quick, functional shower. A little bit of disappointment settled into her stomach then, even though it was silly of her to feel that way over a missed opportunity for a stupid bath. She shook her head free of the thoughts and turned to the door, only to find Anastasia waiting for her.

"I know there's a police escort waiting for you outside, but I'm coming down with you," she told Laurel in a tone that allowed no room for argument.

"You might just be putting yourself in danger. I won't let that happen," Laurel replied anyway, indicating for her to go ahead.

"Maybe I could decide that for myself?", Anastasia retorted just as quickly, linking her arm with Laurel's and dragging her toward the elevator. Laurel sighed in resignation at having company, but pulled her new colleague toward the stairs instead.

"Better chances to run away," she explained. "If you're trapped in an elevator with someone who wants to hurt you, you've got nowhere to go." She then also bent down to take of her heels, indicating for a reluctant Anastasia to do the same.

"A wise policy," a voice said.

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(Vanch Residence)

The first few went down without a fight. They didn't even notice the two vigilantes were there until it was already too late. As he'd announced, Wildcat had been the one to meet Oliver in the shadows some ways away from the entrance to Vanch's mansion. Oliver had narrowed his eyes at the other man, but he'd been unaffected by his death glare and had instead suggested they get a move on. When he'd made his way over the wall without further ado, Oliver had had no choice but to follow. Wildcat had grabbed the first guard and begun to choke them into unconsciousness. Oliver had not given himself such problems and simply shot the man patrolling a few feet away when he turned toward them. His body tensed for a moment, expecting a fight of some kind or at least a dirty look, but nothing came. Wildcat simply moved on to the next triplet of guards, Oliver close behind. While his shot created a moment of distraction, Wildcat jumped straight into the fray, punching one guard in the gut and locking their arms so he could throw him at the other. While they still stumbled together, he followed it up with a swift kick to the stomach, pushing them backward until one cracked his head against the outer wall of the house and fell forward. To avoid his falling comrade the other man stepped further away toward where the vigilante was waiting to knock him out with a punch to the face, but an arrow embedded itself into his chest first.

Wildcat seemed a bit non-plussed at this missed opportunity for a moment, but when he noted the shuffling on the roof he jumped back into action. He heard one of Oliver's arrows zing past, then a muffled groan and a body falling from the roof, but Ted was already climbing the wall to get the other one, while Oliver drew their fire. His knees protested rather painfully at the movements, making him grind his teeth to avoid making a sound and drawing attention to himself. When he finally made it over the roof, he grunted with the effort. He had no time to rest, though, as the nearest sniper was backing up to turn his gun on him. Rushing his opponent, Ted kicked the rifle straight out of his hands, one of which he stomped on with his combat boots for good measure. The sickening crunch and pained scream gave him a certain amount of satisfaction, so he kicked the guy in the ribs as well. He felt some of them give, even as the henchmen deliberately rolled with his kick to diminish some of its impact. He heard shuffling behind him and turned straight around to punch him in the face. His attacker had an arrow embedded in his hand. It must have been a recent hit, because he'd only just dropped the gun when Ted's fist collided with his nose. The man stumbled back and straight off the roof.

A flash of green in his periphery alerted Wildcat to the fact that Oliver was moving on to the next target. He made sure to knock the lights out of the guy lying curled up on the floor behind him, then quickly disassembled both the gun and the rifle and threw the parts in opposite directions. With a satisfied smirk he noticed that it took him no time at all. The resounding splash coming from the other side of the roof told him, however, that Oliver certainly hadn't wasted any time either. Ted took to running. He barely caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure approaching his green ally, while he was otherwise occupied, before he leaped down on top of him from the roof.

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Cindy was always very alert when she walked through the Glades at night. Or, really, any other time of day. Having her friend with her did not make a difference either. She knew how quickly the mood could change in a district like the Glades. One minute, everything was quiet, and the next, you lie bleeding (dying) on the sidewalk. So she always kept an extra eye out when she walked along the streets. So when she spotted a parked car – the same parked car she'd seen that morning when she'd passed this street to get to work – she knew something was off. If that hadn't tipped her off, the suspiciously still figures inside certainly made her warning bells ring loudly. One hand went straight into her jacket pocket to where she kept her pepper spray, while the other balled into a fist, ready to be swung at whatever malfeasant she'd encounter. She started to make a wide berth around the car until getting a better look at the people inside made her stop dead in her tracks and then scramble even further away, hand moving from her pepper spray to fumble for her phone. Call help, she told herself. Call the police, then get the hell out of here!

It took a little while before her body obeyed her thoughts and she jumped into action. The conversation on the emergency line wasn't exactly easy either, since she was horrified at the sight before her, but found herself unable to look away. She didn't give her name, even though the officer asked for it repeatedly. When no other question were posed but that one, she hung up unceremoniously. Trying to will her head to turn and her feet to move to the other side of the road took some effort, but eventually she began to move on shaky legs. As the sight drifted out of her peripheral vision, she stared straight ahead, practically locking her head in position. She was going to have a few chinks in her neck tomorrow, but the hairs on the back of it were still standing up and when she spotted a drunk woman literally crawling out of a building on the other side, goosebumps spread across her skin. Dead drunk, by the looks of it. Lawyers, she thought; they all had a burn out in their mid-thirties. Well, at least the woman still managed to pull herself to her feet – by a lamppost. Scoffing and sighing, she resolved to at least call the woman a cab. She could hardly leave her here with two dead cops. In retrospect, why it didn't occur to her that the woman might be involved in something way worse than binge-drinking given the dead cops with slit throats across the street from her office, she couldn't fathom. She would curse herself for several days, but right then, grasping a shoulder to get the woman's attention, she suddenly noticed the men who had followed her outside.

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(CNRI)

Things had gone to hell quickly. From the moment the strange voice had filled the hall, events had progressed in short order. Laurel hadn't waited for confirmation of hostility, particularly as she noticed two more men coming up the stairs and more coming down to crowd around them. She'd grabbed Anastasia and shoved her down the stairs rather unceremoniously. As planned, she'd crashed into one of the approaching men, who, on instinct, had reached out to catch her, thus softening her fall. Luckily, the attorney had caught on quickly and rammed her elbow into his kidney twice and once more into his head before rubbing her head in confusion or checking if all her bones were still intact. All of this, Laurel only caught out of the corner of her eye, because even as she'd thrown her new colleague, she'd already leaped down the stairs as well, crashing knee-first into the other man's face. He would have gone down immediately, but Laurel held onto him and twisted. Finding purchase on the floor, she used their momentum combined with her own strength to flip him down the second set of stairs.

She herself landed in a crouch, but quickly jumped up again when she noticed the others rushing toward her and Anastasia now. She grabbed the other woman's hand again and they headed down the stairs, though not before Anastasia threw one of her heels into an assailant's face. How she'd managed to hold onto them through the hustle, Laurel would never know, but if the situation weren't so dire, the sight of one of (no doubt) Vanch's henchmen getting struck by a six-inch heel would have been hilarious. Instead of laughing the two women leaped over the prone form at the bottom and raced down two more flights of stairs with their attackers hot on their heels (pun intended), before Laurel felt Anastasia being ripped from her. Her momentum had her stumbling forward another few steps even as her body was torn backward because she tried desperately to hold on to her friend. Being torn in two different directions had her miss a step, falling down eight more stairs. Without assessing her possible injuries or even focusing on getting up again, Laurel raised her head to look for her friend. Anastasia had been pulled back into the very man who'd been hit by her shoe, but he'd apparently not factored in her second heel, which the attorney rammed heel-first into his face. His eye was wounded and bled profusely, but Anastasia showed no hesitance in pressing her thumb into the bleeding wound to make him let go of her and back up. Her knee rose to connect with his crotch repeatedly as well until the man crumpled away from her. She threw her heel at the next attacker and rushed down to help a stunned Laurel to her feet.

"Dad made me take Krav Maga since I was eight," she huffed by way of explanation.

Once Laurel was back on her feet, the women moved to make a break for the door, but suddenly someone else was in their way, an electric glow emitting from a little piece of machinery in his hand.

"Love a woman who can take care of herself," he complimented haughtily, even as he approached them. Laurel's heart doubled its speed inside her chest as she fumbled to get Anastasia behind her. Just as Cyrus Vanch moved in for the kill, though, the other woman surprised her by pushing her away across the room, while moving herself into the man's trajectory. The sound of the stunner was as sickening as the sight of her friend's whole body shaking uncontrollably under its effect. Anastasia fell to the floor in a heap once Vanch stepped back with a grin. Her body was still trembling, but her eyes had rolled back into her head.

Laurel felt so sick she had trouble fighting down her gag reflex. She'd landed on the ground only a few feet away and hadn't thought to move (stupid, stupid, stupid) while she'd been disgustingly captivated by the sight of Vanch's attack. His men were hanging back on the staircase, two of them supporting the guy Anastasia had taken out and one more carrying the one she'd thrown down the stairs fireman style. Laurel cast a quick glance at them. Most seemed uncaring, almost apathetic, but the bleeding goon was grinning down at her friend's prone form, making anger boil in her stomach. Looking back at Vanch, she noticed that he was approaching her now. In one swift move, Laurel was on her feet. Even as his men tensed, Vanch seemed unperturbed. He continued to approach her, the taser flashing now and again when he activated it to make her heart rate spike. Strangely enough, even though a moment ago his presence made her heart beat in her throat, now she was completely calm. Her muscles were tense, ready to pounce, but her heartbeat had slowed and her head was clear. She was waiting for him to approach, to step closer.

Another step.

A beat.

Then another.

And another.

He stopped. He was in range, but she waited for him to make the first moved. His grin grew a little wider when he saw her eye his taser, thinking perhaps that she was wary or fearful.

"Love a woman who can take care of herself," he repeated slowly, delighting in the anticipation of his punch line. "...but can't block a taser."

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Wildcat blocked a fist and twisted his assailant's arm until he'd led him in front of his own body where he was hit by friendly fire almost immediately. Ted thanked his lucky star briefly, then shoved the man forward into the next and used him as a springboard in order to leap over the other man and pull him across his back. His foot came down on the man's chest, pushing it inward until he felt the ribs give way. Another leaped toward him, but Oliver whisked around to place an arrow in his throat. The man stumbled back until he leaned against a glass wall that separated the terrace and pool area from the inside of the mansion. Ted and Oliver shared a look. He'd been the last one and the sudden calm was too much for their nerves. Without needing to speak, they stepped forward to kick him swiftly through the glass, shards scattering across the floor and crunching underneath their boots as they stepped over him.

The house was mostly dark and quiet, the only glint of light coming from the kitchen. When they entered, everything was quiet until a split second later a gun cocked next to Oliver's head. He reacted without thinking, knocking it out of the woman's hands. A shot got loose, luckily embedding itself into the tiled floor. The sound made Ted jump briefly; it had been very close to his partner's head. A moment later, the woman had her arm twisted on her back as she was secured against the wall. Ted's stomach revolted a little, because instead of showing fear, the woman laughed lowly in the face of her defeat. Oliver twisted her arm a little further, interrupting her laughter with an agonized yelp, but her sadistic grin soon returned. The two vigilantes looked at each other quizzically. This was not a reaction they'd expected.

"Where's Cyrus Vanch?", Oliver asked in his customary dark tone.

"You're too late," the woman cackled back at them.

"Where's he fled?"

She only laughed harder.

"Cy's not a coward. He doesn't run. Certainly not from men in tights..."

Dread settled in Ted so quickly, his knees almost buckled. He extracted the woman forcefully from the Hood's death grip, bringing her face-to-mask with him, a threatening scowl the only feature she could make out.

"Where is he? Off to deal with some business? The Triads, the Yakuza, who?!"

Her grin only grew wider.

"Nothing so fancy. It's rather a quaint little business... in the Glades."

Ted's stomach dropped. He could tell by the sudden stiffness in Oliver's shoulders that he'd caught the implication. Wildcat turned the woman around to tie her up with zip ties, before rushing out of the house. Her cackling laughter and her taunting haunted their footsteps.

"You're too late! You were always too late!"

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(CNRI)

Without noticing, she must have hit her head on something when Anastasia shoved her out of the way. She was dizzy and her skull was drumming painfully as if someone tried to drill a hole in it while she was wide awake. She risked a glance behind her; it wasn't far from the truth. She dreaded to think what would await her if Vanch got his hands on her. In retrospect, given her head injury, blocking his strike with the taser and twisting both their bodies until he flew back into his band of merry lunatics hadn't been such a great idea. Her head had spun from the movement, so when Laurel had let go, her own legs had given out under her. It was a good thing that they'd already reached the ground floor, since she now stumbled and crawled her way toward the door, all the while praying to god above that Vanch and his men were too busy delighting in their hunt of her to pay any attention to Anastasia still unconscious on the floor.

"Oh, but I can," she'd taunted him for good measure. It had kept his attention firmly on her.

She made it out the door, holding onto it for a moment longer for support, before wildly slamming it in Vanch's general direction. An amused chuckle was her only answer. Laurel gritted her teeth. Her vision was a little blurry and she wondered how she hadn't realized immediately that she'd hurt her head, but she had been so taken by the anger and the fear and the determination to survive this that she hadn't paid enough attention. Cursing under her breath, she made her way carefully across the sidewalk until she could grab onto a street light. Gratefully, she clung to it, used it to pull herself to her feet, catch her breath for a few precious seconds until she heard the door open again. She heard an indistinct voice coming from somewhere to her side. Not Vanch, she knew that much if only because it sounded concerned. She wanted to tell what she assumed to be a concerned citizen to run, to call for help, but instead she turned herself around. She leaned much of her weight against the street light and focused all of her attention on the approaching gaggle of scumbags. No one seemed to carry an unconscious woman; Laurel counted that as a win.

"End of the line, Ms Lance."

Laurel leaned her head back and laughed. Or tried to anyway; it came out as a choked, hysterical giggle. She was out in the open, now. More chances to run, but he was right. This was the end of the line. She had everywhere to run, but not the coordination for it. Or the patience. She thought of Ted and Oliver, who were likely tearing down his mansion as they spoke. When they didn't find him inside, they'd put two and two together and come rushing here to save her, no doubt. Irritation boiled in her, spilled over into fury. There had been all too much 'saving her' going on lately. She shouldn't need saving. She didn't need a hero; she was not a fucking damsel in distress!

She closed her eyes. Stupid pride.

A hand reached out to the unknown person next to her. Wary as they were, they were still hovering close, talking calmly – trying to talk down Cyrus Vanch. He pushed the taser in their direction and lit it. Just as Laurel managed to take hold of the other person's shoulder – small and slender, probably a woman, she just about had the time to think – a few things happened all at once. Vanch began to advance the final few steps. The person next to her pulled something out of their pocket and held it in his face. Vanch recoiled when something sharp filled the air. And instead of using her grip, as she'd intended, to push the other woman (probably) away, Laurel tightened her grip to support herself as she moved to kick Vanch swiftly in the face. He hit the ground with a satisfied thud that Laurel could enjoy even though she saw his goons home in on her even through the fog around her consciousness. A sharp, loud noise shook the night, another body hit the ground. Then there were lights everywhere, blue and red and white, rustling clothes and angry shouts and someone picked the semi-conscious Vanch of the floor only to punch him in the face twice before someone else pulled them away. Pulled them toward Laurel and then she was in her father's arms and she was crying and her legs didn't hold her up any more and she didn't fucking know why! He was talking soothingly to her, guiding her to a medic. The unknown woman was pulled with her because Laurel wouldn't let go, because she didn't even know she was still holding on. She vaguely heard herself alert her father to Anastasia lying unconscious inside the building while she tried to keep her eyes open despite the bright light the medic was shining into them.

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When they arrived at CNRI – or thereabouts – the police presence was already lighting up the area like a Christmas tree. They spotted an ambulance speeding away and nearly followed without thinking, but then they noticed that, in all that chaos, Laurel Lance was a small figure huddled in blankets and sitting on the hood of a squad car. Her father was next to her, pulling her to himself. Ted breathed a sigh of relief. There was a bandage around her head, but otherwise she seemed fine. A tapping on his shoulder had him divert his gaze. Oliver was pointing at where an apparently groggy Cyrus Vanch was ushered unceremoniously into police car, handcuffs already firmly in place. Another woman was talking to a police officer nearby and repeatedly pointing at Vanch. Both Laurel and Detective Lance were watching carefully until the car sped away from the scene.

"All is well that ends well, I suppose," Ted stated quietly. "I'll make sure the police know to check Vanch's mansion, soon... Guess our involvement ends here."

He looked at Oliver, but the hood was drawn deep over his face making his features unreadable. Ted shrugged; he hadn't really expected an answer or for the Hood to engage him in small talk anyway. Rising from his crouched position on the roof, he made to walk away, but Oliver's sudden comment made him stop dead in his tracks.

"She doesn't have to avoid me," he murmured.

It was so low, Ted almost didn't catch it.

"What happened at the drug lab... a-and in the foundry..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. Finally, he repeated: "She doesn't have to avoid me."

Ted knew he was talking about Black Canary, but Oliver hadn't turned around and was still facing CNRI. Still facing Laurel. Ted wanted to panic for a brief moment, wondering whether he'd figured it out and how they had given themselves away. Then he mentally shook himself. Perhaps Oliver was just looking for such a slip, a confirmation. Or perhaps he was just worried about his lawyer friend. Either way, whatever Oliver thought he knew, Ted would not be the one to hand him any sort of clue, so he chuckled. That drew Oliver's attention away from the scene below, though he still looked at Ted with a curious tilt of his head – as far as the boxer could tell with the hood still in the way of reading his expression.

"Queen-of-the-castle problems...", he sighed at him. "She isn't avoiding you, exactly." Even he couldn't deny that Laurel had tried to avoid Oliver and the Hood following the heart-wrenching worry of the drug overdose he'd suffered for her. "She's out of town on business. Some of us have to work for a living, Queenie."

A moment passed. Ted imagined Oliver blinking slowly. Comically.

"Speaking of, is there an ETA on that club of yours?"

"Why, would you like to introduce yourself?"

Ted smirked.

"Maybe," he admitted. "I like taunting you."

"You like lording it over my head that you know and I-"

"And you're still fishing in the dark, yeah. Wouldn't you?"

No response.

"So?", Wildcat prompted.

"...I'll let you know," he conceded. "About Canary..."

"I'll let you know," Ted quipped, making Oliver growl in frustration. Realizing he'd taken the teasing a bit too far, he apologized before continuing more somberly. "Sorry. I'll be sure to make her call you. You've got some things to talk about."

"...Yeah, we do," he had to admit. Part of him dreaded the conversation. Part of him looked forward to it. He couldn't decide which side was right.

He caught Wildcat shaking his head in resignation.

"You kids these days. I've said it to her and I'll say it to you: can't you just go on a date like normal people..."

Without waiting for a response, he disappeared onto the next roof. Oliver didn't bother following him. Or contradicting him, even if only in the privacy of his own mind. He didn't know if Wildcat wasn't right. He didn't know what to do with all the thoughts and feelings Black Canary and various other people stirred in him. Those were some of the demons he had to slay.

Or, perhaps, submit to.

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A few roofs over, Helena crouched to watch, unsurprised that the Hood had ultimately turned up at Ms Lance's office. She'd almost feared that she'd have to interfere herself, but ultimately she'd gotten away with an anonymous call to the police when she'd found the dead officers. Maybe she should have done more for Ms Lance, who had, after all, offered to help her prosecute her father, but this wasn't about Ms Lance. It was about proving Oliver Queen was the Hood. With his puppy gaze around the lawyer, she found her suspicions further confirmed by the vigilante's interest in the same woman.

But it was still too superficial. She could try to bullshit a confession from him, but if that didn't work, then he'd be alerted to her plan and she'd get nowhere. Now there was also the other man to think about. He'd already been at the drug deal, but she'd assumed him to be a friend of the bird. Where was she now? Helena realized that if she wanted to get somewhere with her investigation, she needed to do it from the inside. She needed to get back in, but after their last conversation she was pretty sure it would be suspicious if she tried to actively get back in the game. Helena cursed herself for her stupidity. She thought she was punishing him by being uncooperative, but she'd only managed to make it harder on herself.

Now she had to wait for an opportunity – and an invitation. A sliver of doubt caught in her chest when the familiar image of losing her grip on the fireman appeared before her inner eye. Hadn't she been honest, though? She was tired of fighting. There was only one prey she wanted to hunt... Was cornering Oliver really that important?

She cast one last glance at the two men on the other roof. Well, she would probably have some time to think on it.

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(Starling General)

Ted breathed another sigh of relief when he saw Laurel lying in the hospital bed. She appeared to be more irritated than hurt and he soon found out that the reason was that they wanted to keep her for observation due to her head injury. The veteran chuckled lightly at his friend's disgruntled face. He knew she hated hospitals, even though medical treatments were par for the course in their line of night work. She had gotten accustomed to a do-it-yourself attitude early on, though, due to the risk of exposure if vigilante's ended up in the hospital too often, so Laurel found it incredibly difficult to sit back and let doctors take care of her. She, like many vigilantes, had adopted a sense of unease around these sterile white walls.

"This isn't funny," she grunted when she caught him smiling.

Ted raised his hands to placate her.

"I'm just glad you are okay."

"...Thanks," she muttered. "Mild concussion; they're keeping me here tonight just to be safe. Anastasia got it worse..."

"It could have gone a lot worse for both of you."

"Yes," she admitted, while shuffling to make room on the small hospital bed for him to sit down next to her. He took a brief look at the bandaging as if trying to gauge the severity of the injury from the type of gauze they used, but ultimately only grunted at his assessment. "How did your evening go?"

"Rather well, all things considered."

"You didn't butt heads, then?"

Ted smirked.

"At least not each others...", he trailed off with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Well, look at you, looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream," she teased him gently. "I'm glad it worked out. What did you tell him about me? He must have asked where I had gone."

"He thinks you're avoiding him over the whole drug issue. I told him you were working out of town – regular work, I mean."

Laurel considered this. It told her a lot about how he'd taken her hasty flight from his presence the other day. She would be the first to admit that that reaction had been anything but stellar, of course, so she shouldn't be surprised that it seemed to have added an additional layer of tension to their working relationship or friendship or whatever it was that they had. It was confusing, this constant push and pull of positions and roles and attachments between the two of them. The fact that she knew he was Oliver Queen had not made things easier as she may have expected. On the contrary, it had made her relationship with him – both his personae – more complicated even as Laurel Lance. Before the Cyrus Vanch situation had intruded upon her life she had toyed with the idea that coming clean with him might take some of that tension of, but now that her absence had made everything even more tense she wasn't so sure. She wanted a clean slate. She wanted to work with him without the aggravation and the dancing, without complications. She thought it was possible; they made a good team.

She looked up at Ted, who studied her quietly. She had to discuss this with him, though. It wasn't just her secret on the line. Not just her story to tell. The hospital was perhaps too vulnerable a location to discuss this, but she thought she should at least give him fair warning that there was something to discuss. Opening her mouth to tell him they needed to consider their options where the Hood/Oliver Queen was concerned, she halted when the door swung open to reveal the man in question. He stopped short in the entrance, glancing between them surprised and a tad wary. Laurel blushed furiously when she realized she'd leaned into Ted during their conversation and scrambled to sit upright. A smirk broke out on Ted's face briefly, which he suppressed before it could arouse suspicion as he glanced with practiced ignorance between his friend and the newcomer.

"I came to visit Thea. When I heard you had been admitted, I thought I'd come by. Uhm, I didn't mean to- uh..."

"Friend of yours?", Ted asked amicably.

Laurel flushed a little harder with irritation.

"Uh, yes, sorry. Oliver Queen, this is my friend Ted Grant. I train at his gym frequently. Ted, Oliver is a former client and now good friend," she introduced them awkwardly, biting her tongue. Ted slid lazily down from the bed to approach a still wary Oliver. He reached out first and the two men shook hands. He did the same with John Diggle who was hovering in the hallway past Oliver. The billionaire's focus had already shifted to Laurel when Ted turned back around.

"Are you alright?", he asked cautiously.

"Yeah, just a bump in the head. Anastasia pushed a little harder than expected to help me... Uhm, thank you. For stopping by. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you." She was, of course, referring to Thea's prolonged stay at Starling General one or two floors up and watched Oliver's face cloud up in response to the reminded. She saw him swallow down a lump in his throat and nod, not trusting his voice. Opening her arms, she invited him into her embrace and they shared some much-needed warmth and comfort. Once they hugged, something clicked in them, making them hold on more tightly. She could feel his strong heartbeat in his chest as they clung to each other. It reminded her of their interaction at Sara's grave. They had held on so desperately, the other a lifeline in all the turmoil of Oliver's return and the five years of grief that preceded it. Her hands fisted in his suit jacket and she could feel one of his hands brushing through her locks and cradling her neck, mindful of her injury but clearly needing to be closer.

It was the clearing of a throat – Ted's or Diggle's – that made them let go of one another ultimately, though they shared a long, intense look before Oliver retreated back to the door. His eyes were darker than she remembered and swimming with some kind of emotion she couldn't identify. It caused an urge in her, though. An urge to reveal the truth there and then, just blurt it out and be done with it. She could feel the words rising in her throat as he looked at her, fighting to break loose even as he retreated from her, his right hand drawing along her form from where they had rested on her back over her shoulder and down her arm. When finally the last connection broke as their hands drifted apart, the moment was lost and the lump of revelations receded in her throat.

"I should go check on Thea," he said quietly by way of explanation.

"I hope she wakes up soon. Give your mother my best, please."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

When Oliver entered Thea's hospital room, his mother was asleep. Given the lateness of the hour and her overall lack of sleep since Thea had been admitted, that was to be expected and, on any other day, would have been a welcome sight. Now though, Felicity's and apparently Walter's revelation about the booklet weighed on his chest and burned in his throat. Thus, Oliver found himself a bit disappointed that he wouldn't be able to ask about the booklet. Or about Walter's inexplicable disinterest in Thea's condition. No visit and no phone call that he knew of. Not for the first time did Oliver wonder if his mother had even told him of the events that had transpired since he left. Though part of Oliver found it hard to believe that Walter had somehow missed the news from Starling, he would have expected a message of some kind by now, permitting only the conclusion that Walter had no clue what was going on.

If his mother had no intention of informing Walter for whatever personal reasons they had been hashing out, Oliver would call him tomorrow, he determined. For the moment he sat down next to Thea, taking gentle hold of her hand as he surveyed all the machinery she was hooked up to. Of particular interest was the tube they had fastened to her face. Diggle had read up a bit about gastric tubes. This was what fed his sister in her coma, what kept her hydrated and provided her with all the necessary nutrients. He followed the small clear tube from her nose to the solution bag placed high above her. The bag was half-empty. If he wanted to take the chance to give her the herbs, now would be the best time. Perhaps the only time. He cast a worried glance at his sister. There was no telling if the herbs would do anything so long after the intake of the drug. For that matter, the form of feeding them to her worried him. He didn't know if something solid like the herbs might cause irritation or other negative effects, but he figured with the tube leading all the way down to her stomach, there was no chance of suffocation and she hadn't been off solid food that long.

Oliver raised a hand to Thea's cheek; it was warm but pale. It had none of the normal flush he'd find on his sister's lively face. A pointed look at Diggle had him man the door. He had seen first hand what those herbs could do and, like Oliver, he hoped for one more miracle. Making sure his mother was still sound asleep, Oliver removed a small plastic tube with ground leaves (it didn't hurt to be careful) and a pocket knife from his jacket. Poking a small hole near into the solution bag near the top of it, he added the herbs to Thea's solution. Putting everything away again, he watched as the solution dripped down from the bag, slipped through the tube and into his sister's form. He gripped her hand once more as he waited, hoping, hoping, hoping. He knew nothing would happen immediately, but he couldn't help stare at her unresponsive face until a small humming noise distracted him briefly. He realized with a start that it was his mother's phone on the nightstand beside Thea's bed. He frowned when he saw the caller ID flash with Walter's name briefly, before disconnecting. Picking the phone up, Oliver followed his hunch and checked the call history. There must have been a dozen calls by Walter in the last few days alone, along with a few from Malcolm Merlyn and an unknown number. Oliver frowned; with how quickly the call had disconnected, his mother must have set the phone to ignore or reject calls from her husband, yet he could see from the history that she had talked to Mr Merlyn and the unknown caller for anything from a few seconds to a few minutes every time they had called. Glaring at the phone he wondered what could have happened between his mother and Walter for her to suppress his calls like that. It didn't seem like her to let petty animosity stand in the way of her family.

Then again, Diggle's words came to mind that maybe he didn't know his mother as well as he thought. Before he could contemplate this further, his hand was jerked involuntarily, making him drop the phone onto the floor. Looking back at Thea, he noticed that she'd changed position. Her whole body jerked just then. Then again. And again. The machines measuring her vitals went nuts when she seized again. Doctors and nurses flooded the room and his mother started awake. Oliver was urged to back away to give the medical professionals space to work. He ran both hands through his hair in panic, frightened at what he'd done, as his mother jumped from her seat and clung to him. The two of them and Diggle looked on powerless as Thea's frail body continued to jerk uncontrollably on the bed.

End of chapter 11!

A/N: Oh oh, what has Oliver done? Will Thea be alright?

(1) I took that phrase from the title of Belle's favorite book in OUAT.