December 20, 2013, morning:

The call comes in at ten in the morning, while Quentin's still sleeping off last night's shift. The vibration of the phone is enough to wake him, but not quickly enough for him to answer it on time. It can't be that important anyway, he reasons, grumbling and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He's the go-to guy for one thing and one thing only these days: Green Arrow. And the Green Arrow doesn't operate at ten in the morning, which means that Quentin sure as Hell doesn't have to either.

The phone starts ringing again. So much for listening to the voicemail.

"Lance," Quentin says gruffly, answering. They know what his hours are, would it kill them to go to someone else with their problems for once?

He's not thinking that anymore when the call's over. For this kind of thing, they could call him at any hour of any day. Hell, if it'd happened on Christmas, Quentin wouldn't even have been mad about the notice.

Cyrus Gold bent the bars on his jail cell, killed one guard, seriously wounded another, and broke free of the SCPD holding area, half an hour before Quentin had been called. He'd told them to take precautions – everyone had seen what he'd done to the multiple SWAT teams that had been used to subdue one man. Whatever those folks down in holding had managed to wrestle up hadn't been enough.

Quentin's never been one to dally going to work, but he makes it to the station in record time that morning. The captain is waiting for him, and half the taskforce's already there.

"No offense, Captain," Quentin can't help but ask, when he's sequestered in the man's office, just the two of them. "But why are you bringing us in on this? Arrow's wiped his hands with it, turned it over to us."

Captain Pike is scowling. "He knew about this guy first – I don't care how you do it, I don't want to know, but you are going to track him down and get him to tell you everything he knows about Gold."

Quentin's been working with the Arrow too long to give away his discomfort. "If I knew how to find the Arrow –"

"Skip the BS, Quentin. Like I said, I don't need to know details. He knows how to get in touch with you somehow, even if he's just following you around on rooftops like some murderous puppy. You can't find him, fine – but the next time he finds you, I don't care what you have to promise him, just get him to tell you the truth."

Frank's not a huge fan of the Green Arrow, Quentin knows. He's one of those cops who'd still arrest him on sight, if he saw him (if he still went out in the field, if the Arrow would stand still long enough). If he's asking for the Arrow's help, through Quentin or not, then he's taking this thing seriously. Good. Maybe next time, they won't let Gold get away.

"And the taskforce?" he asks.

"Gold's a cop killer," Frank explains, "but we don't need the city panicking about a regular guy with the strength of Superman. Your guys are used to keeping cases quiet, and officially, the Arrow was the one who brought Gold to our attention anyway. Think your guys can handle it?"

Quentin doesn't think Gold has the strength of Superman (dear God, he hopes not – he's seen what that man – alien – can do on TV) but he gets Frank's point. They're keeping the media out of this, cop killer or not. He can't say he disagrees with the choice. The less the vultures know the better.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, my guys can handle it." They're not without their faults – some of them more than others – but Gold's a cop killer. They'll bring him in. Especially with the Green Arrow on their side.

After all the help Quentin's given him this past month, the Arrow owes him. Quentin intends to make him pay up.

December 22, 2019, night:

"What's the plan, for the rest of the month?" John can't help but ask. Christmas is right around the corner but with the Mirakuru, on top of everything else, Oliver's hasn't even mentioned taking days off. John knows how much Christmas means to Oliver, but with his mother still in jail, for the time being, he's not sure how much the man feels like celebrating.

Regardless, they've been working hard since December began, excepting the brief pause Oliver had taken on account of his injuries, and they've got a hundred different things going on. They could use a break. All of them.

Oliver looks over at him, then looks over to Felicity. "Gold needs to be found," he says severely, which isn't an answer in the slightest.

"Lance's entire taskforce is on it," John reminds him. "And I'm not saying we give up. I'm just saying, there's Christmas, and then your mom's trial, and…" And the injuries, on top of being CEO during the day and vigilante during the night, are starting to take their toll on Oliver. They don't have nights where they go home early anymore, not while making room for Roy's training, and Thea's training, and looking for their kidnappers, and trying to solve the mystery of the Mirakuru. The Bertinelli crime family has taken a backseat entirely, and even if they're still keeping an eye on the way the city is treating the fake lists, they haven't targeted any actual Listers in weeks.

"I can come in on Christmas, Christmas Eve," Felicity suggests. "Finish up some of these algorithms, do some of the computer work."

That hadn't been what John had had in mind.

"That's not –"

"It's not my holiday," Felicity cuts him off, amused exasperation in her tone. "I already celebrated Hanukah, remember? I'm not planning to overwork myself, but Queen Consolidated is giving us Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off, so I've got plenty of free time."

John looks over to see what Oliver thinks about that and finds a clear reluctance and obvious indecision on Oliver's face. "Look," he says. "Your sister's going to need you, for this trial. Spend some time with your family over the holidays." He's not afraid to take advantage of Oliver's need to help people, if that's what it'll take for his friend to take a break.

There's not much going on for his family, the Diggle's at least, but after all they've been seeing each other with lately between ARGUS and the Arrow, Lyla's invited him to a quiet dinner Christmas Eve (nothing formal, not a date, just a family tradition she has trouble following through with on her own, given that the rest of her family lives near DC). And on Christmas itself, nevermind that he's not related to them, Carly's family has invited him for dinner. It might be awkward, but for AJ's sake, John intends to put in an appearance for at least a little while.

Oliver nods. "Fine," he says. "But I've got tomorrow off too. We can spend the day here, then take two days off for the holidays."

"Except for me," Felicity chimes in. She really doesn't seem bothered by it, but then, why would she be doing anything on Christmas anyway? John had never really given it much thought before, but it's just another day to her.

"And afterward?" he asks for clarification.

"The trial's during the day," Oliver says plainly. "It shouldn't interfere. Neither of you have to be here –"

That wasn't what he'd meant either, but two days off is better than nothing.

"We'll be here," John says, looking over at Felicity to see her nodding along with his words. They're in this, all three of them. No matter what Oliver might think.

And Oliver's right, even with the holiday's coming up, they really do need to catch Cyrus Gold.

December 30, 2019, evening:

CNRI, technically speaking, closes at five. Most of the time, it's even true. But Laurel's worked late enough times – either as a group or by herself – that she's well used to the sight of dark offices around her as she soldiers on. She's pretty sure half the lawyers at CNRI know the alarm codes to lock the door if they're the last ones out of the building, if not three-fourths of them.

Technically speaking, Laurel doesn't even need to be working late tonight. She's finished up the paperwork for her most recent case – it ended in a settlement, but luckily one that Laurel feels was in her client's favor – and she hasn't started in on anything new, and even law firms try to take time off around the holidays.

Tonight though, she's working on something old. Well, her and Jo.

"How about that?" Jo asks her, finality in her tone as she leans back in her seat, finished for now. Anderson hasn't returned their calls since their first meeting with him, so they haven't gotten another face to face, but that doesn't mean they're giving up.

Laurel studies the words Jo had just finished typing up. "Looks good to me."

"Think he'll actually reply to this?"

Laurel's optimistic. They've done a lot of digging the past month, and they've managed to find three other former patients – or relatives of former patients – of Anderson's that also feel as though they were treated incorrectly, and against their wishes. Only one other death, and the flimsy evidence still isn't nearly enough to take it to court, but it's been enough to keep their bosses at CNRI off their backs and motivate them to keep going. Their email to Anderson isn't overtly antagonistic – they don't want him to consider them to be too much of a threat; the kind of powerful people on the List have the means to ruin lives, or even end them – but it's bordering on it. It's also just open-ended enough to make Anderson think they're going to give him an out. (They need him to reply, because he isn't returning any of their calls.)

She rereads through the text one last time. There's just enough of a suggestion at the end to make them seem not entirely competent. Hardworking and dedicated, from the time they've put into it, there's no getting around that, but not the smartest of lawyers. At least, that's what they want Anderson to think.

"I do," she replies. "We're practically handing him a weakness to pick at. He'd have to be an idiot to pass it up, and he's no idiot."

Jo doesn't look nearly so certain, but she stands, stretching slightly as she moves away from her computer. "Well, it'll have to be enough. At least for tonight. When do you want to send it?"

Laurel isn't listening anymore. She grabs the remote from off of Jo's desk and quickly turns up the volume on the TV that's been playing in mute in the background as they've worked. It's just the evening news – Laurel usually keeps it on just to make sure she knows about anything big going down in the city – but right now it's playing news about Moira Queen's trial. And, according to the banner on the bottom of the screen, the sinking of the Queen's Gambit.

Her gut is in her throat as the newscaster's words finally become audible.

"… blackmailed through the kidnapping of her now ex-husband, then current CEO of Queen Consolidated, now CFO of Star City National Bank, Walter Steele, as well as threatening the lives of her children. This, however, was supposedly not the start of Moira Queen's troubles. It was quickly revealed that Merlyn was originally working not only with Moira Queen but with Robert Queen as well – and when Mr. Queen decided not to participate in the Dark Archer's plans, Merlyn decided to eliminate him. Details have not been released, but it is reported that the defense has already presented evidence backing their claim that Mr. Merlyn was responsible for the sinking of the Queen's Gambit, killing Mr. Queen in the process and stranding his son, Oliver Queen, on a remote island for five years. Oliver Queen was not available for comment –"

The television shuts off and Laurel looks over to see that Jo has grabbed the remote from her hand without her even noticing.

"You don't need to hear that," her friend says.

Laurel doesn't care. She's not even mad. She'd heard all she'd needed to hear.

Sara. Malcolm Merlyn had been responsible for Sara's death. She'd known that Malcolm had been behind Walter's kidnapping. She'd known that he was the Dark Archer. She'd known that he was the architect responsible behind the plan to level the Glades, and that Moira Queen had, supposedly, only been ever pressured into it. But to think that this all started over six years ago, that the Gambit had gone down because Robert Queen had tried to back out of the plan that had ultimately resulted in the miniquake – and could have been a whole lot worse had Green Arrow and Superman not gotten involved…

"He killed Sara," she hears her own voice say faintly, as if echoing from the other side of a long tunnel. She feels Jo's careful hand on her shoulder, is faintly aware of her friend leading her back to her seat.

All this time, Laurel's harbored doubts about Malcolm Merlyn. Not about the fact that he was a bad person – she knows that unequivocally; he's a murderer who wanted to kill thousands – but about the fact that he was Tommy's father. It had been for Tommy's sake that she'd wondered if, given the chance, he would have been capable of change. It had been for Tommy's sake that part of her had wanted him to have lived through that night, for the Arrow not to have killed him. She'd wanted him in jail for life, no doubt about that, but she'd regretted that Tommy had lost him permanently that night, with no hope of whether or not he could have been redeemed.

But Malcolm killed Sara. He'd wanted to kill Robert Queen, and okay, yeah, that's objectively bad, but it's not any different from all the murders the Dark Archer had committed. (And Robert Queen, Laurel is willing to admit, was not all that great of a person, even if she in no way wanted him dead.)

Except he hadn't just targeted Robert Queen. He'd targeted the Queen's Gambit. Sara had been on that boat. Oliver. The crew. Too many lives lost, just because Robert had finally decided to try and do the right thing.

Sara's life.

Laurel's had time to adjust to losing Sara. She'd been angry, and then she'd fought against that anger, because she'd fallen for Oliver too, so how could she have blamed her little sister for that. And then Oliver had come home, and the anger had resurged all over again, and she'd hated him for a time, hated that he'd lived while Sara hadn't. She knows now that isn't his fault (knew it then too, even if she hadn't been willing to admit it). She's reconciled with Oliver. The anger is gone. The grief isn't, but its manageable.

Sara's death had been tragic and awful and heart wrenching, but it'd been an accident. She wouldn't let herself blame Sara. She'd finally stopped blaming Oliver. (And she'd never blamed her mother, not really, after learning that the woman had let Sara leave.)

It'd been an accident. And now it isn't any more.

"Laurel, you're freaking me out," Jo's voice cuts through her panic, clear and sharp with just a hint of her friend's own panic beneath the words.

Laurel blinks and breathes in. She's had a lot of practice, working on handling blaming others. According to the news, it is Malcolm's fault her sister is dead. That's alright. She can process that. For a long time, she'd blamed Oliver. She knows how to handle blame.

"I'm alright," she finds herself saying.

"No, you're really not," Jo counters. She shoves a glass of water in Laurel's face.

Laurel doesn't know when her friend left to go fill up the paper coffee cup, but she takes a sip. Tap water. Not the Glades' finest. But the feel of the rough paper in her hand and the taste of the water grounds her.

"I am," she insists. "I always knew Malcolm was…" Whether it's shock at what she just learned or a love for Tommy, Laurel can't say whatever it is she's thinking. "I just…"

"Yeah," Jo says. "Look, that, that was a lot, alright? But… he's dead now. Sara…"

Yeah, Laurel knows that. Sara's killer – because now she has a killer, now Laurel knows she was murdered, if only as a consequence of murdering Robert Queen – is in the ground. There's nothing more to be done to him. (And Laurel knows she certainly doesn't blame Tommy, or even Moira Queen.)

"Yeah," she echoes. "No, no, I know. You're right. Malcolm's dead. The Arrow got justice."

Jo stares at her uncertainly. "But…" she prompts.

"Did Oliver know?" Laurel asks uncertainly, before she can stop herself. Did Thea? Did Tommy?

Actually, Tommy probably didn't, but Oliver and Thea have been talking with their mother, learning the truth from her while she sits in jail awaiting her trial. How much had Moira told them before tonight? How much have they been keeping from her? Does it matter, with Malcolm already dead and gone?

Before Jo can answer, Laurel refocuses on the computer screen. "Send it tomorrow morning, beginning of business hours."

Jo blinks at her. "What?"

Laurel nods at the screen. "The email. Send it tomorrow morning."

Jo looks to the screen, then back to her. "Laurel, you cannot seriously be –" she starts to say, exasperation in her tone.

"I really don't want to talk about this right now, Jo," Laurel cuts her off. She's got someone to blame now for Sara's death, but that someone is dead, and, oh yeah, also Tommy's dad. For a little while at least, she doesn't want to think about it.

Jo hesitates, glances away, then looks back again. Laurel figures she'll return to talking about Dr. Anderson, or maybe some of the other cases that have crossed either of their desks lately, or even the other Listers. But Jo goes an entirely different direction than the one Laurel's thoughts are headed in. "How are you and Tommy doing?"

Laurel blinks at her, surprised out of her earlier shock and not entirely understanding the question. "What?"

"Well, it's just… y'know…?"

Laurel doesn't know. "Tommy and I are fine," she says, almost defensively. Has she said anything recently to give Jo the impression otherwise? Has Tommy? (Malcolm's acts are almost entirely forgotten, for a moment. She could never blame Tommy for what his father did.)

"No, I know that," Jo says, quick to reassure her. "It's just, you've said he's been… struggling. After…"

The momentarily relief she'd felt at misinterpreting her friend's concern vanishes in the blink of an eye. Yeah, she's glad that Jo doesn't think something's wrong with her and Tommy, but…

Laurel shakes her head. "The nightmares are better," she admits, "but he still won't talk about it."

Jo only stares at her, unimpressed. "I seem to recall a certain someone who got right back to work after her kidnapping."

Laurel flushes. Alright, so maybe she's being a bit hypocritical. Has she told anyone what happened that night, other than her dad? The only thing Jo knows is that the Arrow saved her, which is the only thing she knows about Tommy's kidnapping as well.

"I see your point," she admits reluctantly. "But he's been hanging out with Oliver lately anyway. I, I think he's doing alright."

"Well go on then and get home to him," Jo chides her gently. "We've worked late enough as it is."

She's right, and they'd finished what they meant to do anyway. Laurel watches as Jo schedules the email to be sent at 9 am the next morning, and then they're both on their feet packing up for the night.

"And Laurel," Jo says softly. "If you ever need anyone to talk to…"

"Thanks, Jo," Laurel says sincerely. She's not sure she'll be ready to talk about it for a while, but she's certainly not going to talk to Tommy, Thea, or Oliver about it, given their own parents' involvements in Sara's death, regardless of which side they were on. She appreciates the offer.

In the meantime, maybe telling Tommy about her own kidnapping will get him to open up about his. He could probably use a distraction from Malcolm's crimes even more than she could tonight.

January 2, 2013, early evening:

It's a sunny day in January when they read off the verdict, and Moira Queen is declared a free woman once more. She can't help but stare in shock for a few moments after the judge states she has been found "not guilty of all charges". Only a moment though, before her eyes move to her children.

Thea looks equally surprised, torn between relief and uncertainty. She's handled Moira's actions the hardest, between the two of them, and she's still reconciling the mother she'd known with the woman who'd worked with Malcolm to level the Glades. But she grins at Moira, after a moment, letting the relief overtake her, even if Moira knows she's still not fully comfortable with all that Moira had done under threat.

Oliver's surprise is more subtle, less obvious, but then, so are the rest of his emotions these days. She's starting to see that now. She hadn't let herself, when he'd come home, too determined to have things return to normal, but Moira's finally stopped seeing her children for what she wanted them to be and started seeing them for who they are. (She is so proud of the people her children have grown into.)

She can't deny that she isn't surprised at the final outcome either though. It's been a tense few days, no matter how hopeful the trial has been. She'd allowed herself to lean toward optimism, these past few days: five years, maybe, instead of the fifteen she'd been willing to plea for, but… not guilty of all charges? She knows what she'd done, under duress or not, and as much as she very much does not want to go to prison, guilt had stayed her hand from tipping things in her favor. She'd gotten the best lawyer money could buy, then stayed out of it. She hadn't extended her influence on the judges, on the jury, on the opposing lawyers.

It turns out, she hadn't needed to, and she isn't about to argue with the final verdict. (She hadn't dreamed of getting out so soon, but she's missed too much of her children's lives already. She isn't going to miss any more.)

The sun is still shining by the time Moira finishes going through processing, filling out paperwork, and picking up the belongings she was taken to jail in, though it's dipping down near the horizon now, blue skies darkening. She'd told Oliver and Thea not to wait for her, so she takes a chauffeured car home on her own. Truthfully, she relishes the peace of the drive.

She's been in jail for over six months. The freedom of being outside is overwhelming and Moira has always been the type to never display her weaknesses in front of others, not even her children. She'll take the moments of solitude before setting up her masks again.

That isn't the only reason she enjoys the drive home alone. It's a shock, a transition, in more ways than just the physical. Moira hadn't considered that she'd be going home anytime soon. Five years, at least, at the bare minimum, she'd always figured. (It's a number she'd kept repeating to herself, the most optimistic she could get, without rigging the trial herself. And she'd learned from her earlier crimes. She'd known she deserved to be there.) She hadn't let herself think about what she might do when the trial was over, because she'd thought she'd be in prison. She's not.

The reasoning for that, the fact that the jury found her not guilty of all charges, rings strangely to her. (She can still hear the newscaster's words, on the footsteps of the courthouse after the trial: "An example of the corruption of Star City, even within the justice system, or a jury sympathetic to the plight of a mother blackmailed with the safety of her children at stake, her first husband dead and her second kidnapped?"). If someone got her out, she needs to know – she's not about to owe anyone a debt. For the most part though, her mind lingers on other things. She doesn't want to think about the trial, or all the tense visits with her children in jail, or the meetings with her lawyer, or the strange therapy sessions she'd had weekly, for some reason, and the unsettling psychiatrist, Dr. Williams, who'd given them.

All she can think about for the moment is how much of her children's lives she's missed. Thea, she knows, is still dating Roy. She's managing Verdant, which Oliver still owns, and she'd been on track to pass the two online classes she'd taken for the fall semester, with another class scheduled for the spring. Oliver… Oliver hasn't told her much about his own life. When she has managed to coax him to talk about something other than her trial, other than Thea, he talks about Queen Consolidated, or Verdant. He doesn't talk about his late nights, or the few injuries she's seen him with, or the state of his city. He doesn't talk about… Well, Moira only suspects anyway, but she'd like to think a mother knows.

Regardless, she's missed out on too much and she only has herself to blame. True, Malcolm deserves more blame than her, perhaps – she doesn't doubt that she'd made the right choice in the days after Robert's murder; she'd made the only choice available to her, and she can blame Malcolm for that. But afterward, in the years Oliver had been gone… It'd just been her and Thea, and then Walter, and she'd fooled herself into believing that everything she'd done was to keep Thea safe. But it'd been five years. She knows her resources are vast, is aware of her own power. She could have done something. She can try to pretend that backing out would have only gotten her killed, as she'd had to watch Frank die, but she knows better.

She'd tried and failed to get Malcolm assassinated, certainly, but she'd had five years. It had been fear that had stayed her hand, fear of Malcolm, not a lack of an inability to stand up for herself. Now she's suffering from her inaction.

She's free though. A trial of her peers has exonerated her, whether through bribery or not. And with the car ride to collect herself, she can greet her children calmly when she arrives home, with warm hugs and loving arms.

Moira Queen will not let anyone control her ever again. And she will do anything in her power to keep her children safe. (She also knows, however, that that means she actually has to get to know them. She has to be the mother she never was before. She has to make sure that she stays a part of their lives. Even if that means not telling them, not telling Thea, the truth about her history with Malcolm.)

Oliver and Thea are waiting for her when she gets home. They're standing in the foyer, postures pristine, not a hair out of place. Something in Moira's heart aches at the sight of it, and she's not sure if the feeling is regret for how she's raised her children or love at the sight of finally being home with them. She sweeps Thea up in a hug first, smiling broadly, and ignores the hesitation in Thea's movements before her daughter gives in and squeezes back just as tightly. Oliver, her precious Oliver, is much more reserved in his movements. His grip is just as tight, but stiff, and he lets go sooner than Thea had.

"We gave the staff the day off," he starts, as he pulls back. "Raisa –"

"Oliver, Oliver darling, that can wait," she chides him gently. They've already told her about the new maid they'd hired, and Moira can wait to hear everything about the estate until after she's caught up with her children first. She can't help but wonder though, is he falling back on propriety because that's what she taught her children, or because he can't think of anything else to say?

Regardless, Moira reaches up to put a hand on her son's cheek while her other hand reaches over and lands gently on Thea's shoulder. "Right now," she tells them both, "I just want to spend some time with my children."

Oliver and Thea exchange glances, something unreadable passing between them, and something in Moira aches again at the sight of it. She used to be able to read her children. She's not sure when that stopped. She's not sure how she hadn't noticed that earlier.

"Alright, Mom," Thea agrees, moving Moira's hand off her shoulder to clasp it tightly in her own.

Oliver pulls back slightly, giving Moira's other hand a squeeze, like his sister, but not holding on. "I was just going to say that Raisa made us dinner," he says gently. "Just the three of us."

Of course. Of course. Moira smiles back at him. "That sounds lovely."

These are her children, and no one will ever get between her and them ever again – not even herself. Moira doesn't care how long it will take Oliver and Thea to get used to her again, she won't ever stop trying to be a part of their lives. Not anymore.

January 3, 2013, evening:

"Roy again tonight, right?" Digg asks as Oliver reaches the bottom of the stairs. As per the new normal, on the days when Oliver doesn't get to the bunker until after dark (too busy with Queen Consolidated), both he and Felicity have arrived before him. The trend won't last forever – they're shifting back into their old schedule with Felicity and Digg trying to rotate nights off, and Digg won't be guarding Tommy forever – but Oliver still appreciates it every time he sees them as he arrives.

He also appreciates that neither Digg nor Felicity seem inclined to ask how Moira's doing. They'd had enough of that discussion last night and Oliver's made it clear that his family needs a little time, on their own, to settle back in together. (That also explains why Thea isn't here, because as much as she's reconnected with Moira, Oliver knows she's a bit unsettled to have their mother living with her again.)

Oliver nods in response, moves for his suit, and then pauses as he sees the look that Felicity and Digg exchange at his movement. "What?"

"Just… have you given letting him know any more thought? I mean, we've seen evidence of his strength, sure, but he doesn't seem to be losing it or anything."

Slade had seemed more or less alright in the beginning too. It had only been after he'd learned that Oliver was responsible for Shado's death that he'd turned into a complete madman. (He'd been obsessed with going after Ivo, but Oliver thinks it was the betrayal of a friend – and the fact that Oliver had lied to him about Shado's death – that had really tipped him over the edge.) Oliver just needs to figure out what Roy's trigger point might be. Thea, obviously, but he needs to know more than that, needs to know if there's anything else that might ignite Roy's anger. He needs to be sure that Roy has practice controlling his anger.

"I need more time," he says, keeping his tone even rather than snapping out a tense "Not yet." Teamwork. Cooperation. It's not just his decision anymore. (Oliver knows this, believes it, is working hard on enforcing it, but if it came down to it… He gets the final call. It's not so much a belief or a desire as it is a fact in his mind. Maybe that's the problem, maybe that's what Felicity and Digg have such trouble accepting, but this is Oliver's team and Oliver's mission and he'll never be able to fully convince himself that his decisions aren't the best. If he were ever emotionally compromised, or if the topic was something that Digg or Felicity knew more about… But tactically? When it came to the safety and security of his team? Oliver knows best.)

"Do you… I mean, how long do you think?"

If Oliver didn't know better, he'd suspect that Felicity was asking on behalf of Thea. But Thea's been focusing on the trial this week, and with Moira back at home she's been spending time again with Roy and Laurel, and she still works Verdant shifts most of the time Oliver's in the foundry anyway. As far as Oliver knows, she hasn't been communicating much with Felicity or Diggle. They don't know each other well enough for Thea to prod Felicity into action on her behalf. No, Felicity's asking for her own sake.

"Roy isn't pressing," Oliver points out. He doesn't doubt that Roy is curious, but the man is focused on controlling himself right now, as Oliver has asked of him, now that he knows all about the Mirakuru in his system.

"Thea is," Digg counters.

Oliver knows that well enough. To be honest, he's not sure Thea will be able to lie to Roy for long. Digg and Felicity he'd chosen to reveal the truth to because he knew they could keep a secret. Thea… she won't tell the public, he's not worried about that, but after Moira's betrayal she's not as comfortable keeping the truth from her loved ones. She's been lied to too much to do the same to others. Still, it's been a chaotic month for her. Enough to keep her distracted from the fact that she's lying to Roy. Enough to give Oliver more time yet to make a proper decision.

"Then she can ask me herself," Oliver says. It's the team's decision, but the team isn't just the three of them anymore. Oliver knows he's putting off a discussion because he knows he doesn't agree with Digg and Felicity, knows this isn't the proper way to proceed, but putting off the discussion is better than outright disagreeing with them. Better than starting another argument they might not be able to come back from. "Is that a problem?" he finds himself asking.

Diggle and Felicity exchange another look. "No man," Digg says. "Just… just keep it in mind, alright?"

That, Oliver can agree to easily enough. He nods and, as his partners don't seem to have any other news to share, he moves to change.

Roy beats Oliver to the empty warehouse Oliver's been training him in, as he does most nights so far since they'd started. (Sometimes he uses the same warehouse as the one Oliver has taught Superman a few moves in, from time to time, so he knows its relatively secure, but sometimes he wants the tight corridors and openness of the alleys of the Glades. Tonight is a warehouse night.)

Every night they meet, no matter the lateness of the hour, Roy seems pent up, bursting with energy and ready for action. It has faded slightly, as Roy's come to terms with the Mirakuru in his blood, and the danger of what he's now capable of, but that energy seems to have given way to a deeper determination.

Before, Roy'd been fighting to help people, the way he himself had been helped. Now, Oliver's teaching him not to hurt people. Roy had never wanted to be the person that people needed help from. He's been giving it his all, trying to follow Oliver's training, trying not to let his anger overcome him. For all his rough edges, helping people is so deeply engrained in Roy's soul that the possibility of hurting someone terrifies him.

"Let me guess," he starts, only a touch of bitterness in his tone as Oliver fades into view from the shadows, "slapping water?"

The exercise isn't just about strength, it's also about control. And what Roy needs most right now is control. The ability to exercise patience. (Oliver'd needed it too, back when Shado had taught the trick to him.)

Oliver quirks an eyebrow, though he knows Roy can't see it under the hood – especially not with the new mask Barry'd given him. "Is it frustrating you?"

As he'd thought, the question causes Roy to bristle, then instantly force himself to relax. Oliver's been testing him constantly, gentle probes to rile up his anger.

"Yes," Roy answers through gritted teeth. He takes a deep breath.

Oliver's also been teaching him about honesty – you can't fight what you refuse to acknowledge exists – and breathing techniques.

"Good," he replies. "Focus on that, learn what it feels like. Know how to recognize your own anger – you control it, it doesn't control you." He nods at the bowl of water. "Again."

Roy takes another deep breath, clearly fighting against his frustration, but he does as Oliver says.

How much longer they'll be able to keep this up, Oliver doesn't know, but for now it seems to be working.

January 4, 2013, afternoon:

Despite how much she hates lies these days – she's spent enough fury at being kept in the dark to not want to do the same to anyone else – Thea isn't hesitant about keeping the truth about Oliver's activities from Walter. Roy, Roy is different. He's involved with the Green Arrow. He's being trained by Oliver every night now, for an hour or two minimum before his shift at Verdant. That's different.

But Walter… Walter has never gotten involved with the Green Arrow. The hero, for all that he'd rescued Walter, is not a part of the man's life. Walter treats the Green Arrow the same way most of the city does, those middle-class people who've never been in danger or never been in trouble. He's appreciative of the hero but in a detached sort of way. Thea has never discussed the Green Arrow with him before. She doesn't feel any urge to discuss him with Walter now.

Or, she wouldn't, if Oliver weren't eating lunch with them this time. Even then though, Thea isn't particularly upset over her own lies. Walter asks how Oliver's doing and they talk about the trial (avoiding all talk of Moira) and Queen Consolidated instead of the Green Arrow. It's not really lying, Thea figures. It's just… avoiding the topic.

And then Walter asks what classes (or class, in this case), she'd decided on for the spring semester, and how Roy's doing, and what Thea actually ends up lying about is Roy. Oliver's asked that she not say anything to anyone about the Mirakuru he was dosed with, but even if he hadn't, even if she hadn't known that Oliver is the Green Arrow and her brother hadn't been involved, Thea doesn't think she would have told anyone anyway.

It's not the kind of thing she would expect anyone to believe.

Despite it all, despite the turmoil and chaos of the last month of her life, lunch with Walter isn't awkward. It isn't tense or uncomfortable and it doesn't make her feel like she's betraying him. Walter, she has the feeling, would understand.

Instead, the only thing that makes lunch tip toward uncomfortable is the looming specter of Moira Queen in the back of Thea's mind. Moira knows that she and Oliver are at lunch with Walter, and while it was easy for Thea to see that her mother still has feelings for her ex-stepfather and regrets the way things are between them now, there had been no question of Moira tagging along.

Walter almost definitely doesn't feel similarly to his ex-wife. He's come to the manor a few times – Thanksgiving, Christmas, other holidays – but he doesn't make himself too comfortable, acts like it isn't his home anymore. It isn't. Moira, Thea thinks, hasn't adjusted in the same way.

Thea's past wanting to hurt her mother the way Moira hurt her, but… Well, Moira had seen Walter "imprisoned" to protect him, and even Thea can tell that he's still not fully recovered from his ordeal. (Perhaps recovered isn't the right word. Like Oliver, his experiences changed him. He's not the man who got taken over a year ago. He probably won't ever be again.) She can't blame him for not wanting to see her mother.

"You going home?" Oliver asks, once Walter has driven off and it's just the two of them standing in the parking lot. He, Thea knows, has to head back to Queen Co.

She shakes her head. "I was going to meet up with Roy. Why?" As usual when she's face to face alone with Oliver these days, there's a conflicting thread of pride and dread in her gut. Does this have to do with the Green Arrow, she can't help but think, every time he asks her a question.

Oliver grimaces. "Text me when you're heading home?" he suggests. "One of us should probably check on Mom."

Thea grimaces too. It's not that she doesn't want to, necessarily, but things are still awkward with the three of them as Moira adjusts to life out of prison. "Yeah, alright," she agrees. Knowing Oliver's schedule as well as she does now, she's fairly certain she'll beat him home, if he even goes to the manor before tomorrow. "See you tonight then?"

"You stopping by?" There's a wariness to Oliver's question, but he's yet to ask her to stop her training with Felicity, who's been teaching Thea about their computer systems, so Thea'll take it.

"Was planning on it, but only during my breaks," Thea replies, keeping her tone purposefully light.

Oliver gives a short nod and they bid each other farewell and go their separate ways.

Sin's not an idiot. She'd grown up in the Glades, she's spent the last few years of her life living meal to meal on the streets, some nights without even a roof over her head. But she's not the kind of idiot who claims to "know the streets". You can't know the streets. You can memorize a road map and learn how to handle yourself in a fight, but that doesn't mean you "know the streets". It's a useless saying anyway. Gang territories are often changing, and if they aren't, well, then maybe the leadership within a gang has shifted. There's no way to predict who you'll run into in any one area of the Glades.

She's familiar with the streets, familiar enough to know not to go poking around places in the middle of the night. No, safer to go in the daytime, when there's more people around – when it's less likely she'll be notice. Less likely she'll get stabbed for the few dollars in her pocket.

The clinic she and Roy and Thea have been planning to target (just her now, because her new friends are so busy lately) gets plenty of traffic during the day. Enough that Sin manages to wander on in and sit in the waiting room for an hour before she gets bored, without anyone noticing her enough to even ask if she needs help. Understaffed, with people starting to worry about flu season in the new year, and with still too few clinics in the Glades after the miniquake.

That's not why she's here. She's not actually here for anything in particular, just… rumors. Whispers, amongst the more violent of the Glades residents she comes into contact with. Rumors of corruption.

They say, if you want to deal with an arrow wound these days, no questions asked, this is the place to go. Normally, Sin'd be all for a snitch free zone. Cops can be corrupt too, and some people simply need to stay out of the system. She knows how it goes – she's eighteen now, but she wasn't always, and if anyone in a position of power had figured that out… Well, she'd avoided the few scrapes she'd gotten into. But the people who tend to receive an arrow wound these days… Sure, there's still the odd lacky, just taking whatever job he needs to to get by, but mostly these days the Arrow only targets those that really deserve it. Which means that this clinic's helping the worst of the worst, instead of the most desperate, like they should be doing.

Sin doesn't really have any clue of how she's going to do something about it, all she knows is that she is. She's done sitting around – and that includes sitting around waiting for Abercrombie and Princess to get their acts together. She'll figure something out on her own. She always has before.

January 6, 2013, night:

Monday night, Oliver hears the familiar sound of Roy's footsteps approaching and he mutes his end of the comm, stopping his muttered conversation with Digg and Felicity about their latest leads on the Mirakuru as he turns to face the younger man. Roy's fist flies at him from nowhere, unexpected, unanticipated. Oliver just barely manages to move in such a way that he isn't completely knocked unconscious by the Mirakuru fueled punch. He falls to the ground anyway, head ringing.

"Murderer!" Roy screams at him, and kicks him in the chest, throwing Oliver back against the wall.

There's no time to wonder why, no time to chastise himself for letting his guard down, for trusting a Mirakuru soldier, no matter that it's Roy. He struggles to his feet, dodging the next punch that Roy throws at him. The man's fist slams into the wall, tearing at the brick, and as he pulls it free Oliver skitters backward, out of range.

Roy finally frees himself, spinning to face the Arrow with a vicious snarl on his face. "You killed them!" he screams, accusingly.

Oliver ducks low, swinging his bow at Roy's chest, and manages to connect with brutal force. The kid stumbles, even angrier than before. His whole body, his entire mind focused on the fight before him, Oliver swipes his leg outward at his opponent's feet, knocking him to the ground. With a desperate grab, Roy latches onto his foot before Oliver can fully pull it back. Pain whites his vision for a moment, but pain had stopped being a distraction a long time ago.

He wrenches himself backward, stumbling down onto one knee. Similarly, Roy staggers to his feet, placing a few more steps between the two of them.

Oliver's ankle is broken – he heard the snap, felt the fire race up his leg – and several of his ribs are definitely cracked, but his arms still work just fine. Down on one knee he finally has enough distance between him and Roy to line up a shot and fires a wire-cable arrow at the young man out of his mind with rage. It connects solidly, throwing Roy into the brick wall behind him.

Roy struggles against the bindings, and Oliver takes the briefest of moments to catch his breath. Roy might be untrained, but he'd caught Oliver by surprise and he has Mirakuru strength on his side. He doesn't have long to recuperate. The steel pins at the end of the cables are deep in the wall, but Oliver can already see the brick and mortar crumbling around them as Roy struggles.

"Roy!" he shouts, trying to get through to him. "Listen to me, Roy!" It's not working. Oliver stands, placing most of his weight on his good leg and ignoring the subsequent tinges of pain from the little weight that his broken ankle takes. He throws off his hood, clicks off the voice modulator, and pulls his mask down around his neck. (It's not an action that requires thought. There's no time for thought right now.) "Roy!"

Finally, Roy stills slightly, narrowing his eyes at Oliver.

"I promise you," Oliver continues strongly, taking a (very painful) step forward, "I didn't do it Roy. I didn't kill them." He doesn't know who, doesn't know where or when or why, but that's not important right now. Roy caught him by surprise, and now he's injured, and he can't face a Mirakuru fueled opponent right now, especially one he's not willing to kill. "Think about Thea."

Roy gapes, blinking, and seems to come back to himself. Apparently, the shock of learning that Oliver is the Green Arrow is enough to snap him out of his mindless attack. (The mention of Thea probably helped.) "You… you're…"

"I didn't do it Roy," Oliver repeats more softly, allowing himself to limp a little bit as he takes another step forward. "Do you believe me?"

Roy nods mutely, still staring, and Oliver takes the time to click on his comm again.

"Felicity, are there any cameras near my location?" he asks. He'd been waiting in an alley for Roy, and though he's scoped out the area well enough, it's still just a little-used alley in the Glades. He needs to be certain. (He thinks about holding back Felicity's name, but Roy knows who he is now – maybe it's time he meets the rest of the team too.)

"What? Uh, hold on… No, there's nothing. Why, what happened?"

Oliver shakes his head, regardless of the fact she can't see it. Roy's attack had been so sudden, so unexpected, and his comm had been off at the time, so Felicity has no idea of the fight that had just occurred. (Not that she would care, he thinks bitterly, and immediately regrets it. Felicity and Diggle had every right to be angry with his secrets and they're almost back to the way things were before. Just because they'd had a small fight the other night about priorities and keeping the truth from Roy even as Thea knows the truth doesn't mean they're leaving again. He'd seen how Felicity and Digg both had reacted to his near-death experience last month.)

"Long story," he says out loud, "Roy wasn't happy with the Arrow. I'll fill you in when we get back."

"We?" Felicity asks, but Oliver mutes his connection before she gets the chance to say anymore.

He meets Roy's gaze again.

"You're… you're really him. You're the Green Arrow."

Oliver nods once.

Roy blinks again, and then his eyes scan Oliver's body, and the alley, torn up from their fight. He seems to realize once more that he's tied up, and his look of shocked awe turns to horror. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Oliver, I…"

"I'm fine," Oliver says easily (his chest aches and his head is pounding and he really doesn't want to put any weight on his right foot right now, but he's fine. He is.) "You weren't yourself." He limps forward, and disconnects the cables still holding Roy to the wall.

"I'm so sorry," Roy repeats.

"What happened?"

"My neighbors, I thought you'd… There was an arrow, sticking out of both of their chests. Green. Robby was only… only sixteen."

Saying that is troubling news would be an extreme understatement, because if Roy's recalling events accurately then that means there's someone out there killing innocents and framing the Green Arrow, but Oliver files it away for later. Right now, his biggest priority is ensuring that Roy doesn't slip again, that his state of mind stays stable.

He shakes his head. "It wasn't me," he promises.

"I know. I mean, I did but I didn't… I…"

"You needed a target," Oliver finishes for him, and with green arrows sticking out of his friend's chests, Oliver had been the easiest option. (There's someone killing with his arrows, but Oliver can't think about that right now.)

Roy nods. "I'm so sorry Oliver, I didn't mean…"

He had, and he hadn't. Oliver understands that. Better than Roy could ever imagine. (He'd meant to hurt, to punish, to release the anger and rage inside of him, but he hadn't meant to hurt the Green Arrow. To hurt Oliver. Sometimes, that's not enough. Sometimes, intentions don't matter. But this time Oliver is fine letting it be enough.)

AN: We've managed to speed through the end of December here, but our heroes still have a lot on their plates. Chapter 31: Out in the Open, should be posted January 7th. Thanks for reading!