January 22, 2014, early morning hours:

"Got another body in front of us," Detective Lance says into the phone. "How soon can you get here?" His tone is as gruff as it usually is when speaking to their on-call hero, but Emily's known him long enough now to pick up the undercurrent of respect. She can't say for sure whether or not Lance likes the Green Arrow, but he's certainly aware of how capable he is.

"I need a location, Detective," comes the reply. It's distorted, same as it always is, which makes it hard for Emily to pick up any sort of tone or emotion. (The only vibe she ever gets from GA is sheer, overwhelming competence.)

Lance scoffs, and this time there's derision in it. Emily's seen him joke with Green Arrow before – if their traded barbs can be considered joking – but with another murder on their hands, he's clearly not in the mood. Emily doesn't blame him. She'd processed the scene like a professional, as expected, but she can't bring herself to look back at the body at the moment. (She just… she needs a moment to recover, before diving back in. She's young. Still relatively fresh. You'll get used to this, she tells herself, and she's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.)

"I'm not in the mood," Lance says shortly. "Miss –" he cuts himself off, looking up at Emily. She offers a faint smile. She knows well enough Lance has been working with Green Arrow longer than most people suspect. She's not surprised there are aspects of their relationship she's not privy to. "Your friend got another name?"

"Oh, uh, not, not yet Detective. But, uh, yeah, I've got your location." The change underneath the distortion is subtle, but even without the slight difference in pitch Emily can tell that Green Arrow wasn't the one to respond. He'd never be so hesitant or uncertain.

So. He's got at least one partner, and a woman from the sounds of it (and the detective's aborted greeting). That doesn't entirely surprise her. He's always done a lot for being only one man.

"But, uh," the woman continues hesitantly, "can't you just, send us the file?"

Lance's eyebrows shoot upwards, and Emily's own aren't far behind. Is Green Arrow… Is he actually turning down the chance to meet them at a crime scene? Much less one that someone's trying to frame him for, or just imitate him? Shock fills both her and her boss as their eyes meet over the phone in Lance's outstretched hand, but neither of them gets an immediate chance to reply before the call is disconnected – and not on their end.

Emily's eyebrows stay raised. Green Arrow just… No. Green Arrow's partner just tried to back out of a meeting. There are… there are so many ways to interpret what that might mean. Star City's hero isn't perfect, by any means, but Emily's never had anything but faith in him when it comes to his dedication to helping people. And now someone's dropping bodies with his arrows and he's… he's not even going to investigate? Sure, he isn't a police officer. Maybe he doesn't need to see the crime scene himself. And maybe it wasn't even him who tried to back out. But that his partner did it for him anyway…

Thoughts and facts swirl through Emily's mind – every encounter she's had with the man, her boss' grudging respect, the fact that neither of them have more than briefly considered that the body prone before them might be there because of Green Arrow. The recent drop in Green Arrow sightings.

It's a subtle drop. Not something someone else might pick up on. He doesn't go out every night, after all, doesn't stop a mugging every night. Some nights he just patrols. Some nights he sticks more to the shadows, chasing down leads. Some nights he's probably doing whatever he does to figure out which of Star City's rich and famous he's going to target next. Emily'd figured he's been busy, between Gold on the loose and his copycat, plus everything else he usually handles. But this…

"That… that isn't good, is it?" she manages to say, worried.

Lance's eyes bore into hers. "What do you know?"

She thinks back to the last time she'd seen Green Arrow, on a rooftop before they'd targeted Gold. That'd been weeks ago. Over a month. She shakes her head. "I don't know. Just… he hasn't been stopping too many of the smaller crimes, lately." There's no such thing as a small crime, not when there's a victim, someone being hurt, but Lance knows what she means. He keeps up with the big stuff, busy coordinating everyone else. She lets him know about the little things that slip through his cracks, every single reported instance of a crime stopped by GA, false or not.

"Explain."

Emily shakes her head again, glancing down at the body beside them. Idly, she wonders how long Lance's clout will be able to keep the crime scene techs away. (The scene's already been processed, of course, but the clean-up crew still needs to come through.) "I…" she runs through the statistics in her mind, processes the data she remembers, and frowns at the conclusion that's been hovering in the back of her mind for days. "He isn't getting involved, physically. He's… he's stopped a few things, here and there, with arrows from rooftops, but…"

Lance's frown echoes her own.

Emily shakes her head yet again, trying to dispel the doubt creeping in – her own or her boss' she's not sure. "He's gone longer, with less action," she says, speaking louder. Why is she so worried?

(Is it because you know the danger he puts himself in every day, her thoughts whisper. Is it because you know he's just a man? Is it because you sometimes dream of the day you'll find his body in a dark alley, soaked in blood? Dark thoughts, but she can't help herself. She admires Green Arrow. She believes in him (though he could tone down the violence a bit – fear's not always the best way to discourage repeat offenders). But she has no illusions about who he is.

He's dangerous. He's deadly. He's going to get himself killed one day.)

Lance grunts an acknowledgement to her words.

"What about his partner?" Emily finds herself asking. After all, it hadn't been Green Arrow who'd tried to back out.

Her boss' lips thin, eyes glancing to the side briefly. It's not quite a grimace, but it's close enough. "She's…" he starts, then stops, seemingly searching for the words.

He knows who she is, Emily realizes. Maybe not a name, or anything, but this isn't the first time Lance has spoken with her. And Emily knows Lance has been working with Green Arrow for some time – it's never been explicitly stated, but she's positive he's the detective who helped stopped Merlyn's earthquakes. There's probably a lot about Green Arrow that he knows, and she doesn't. It's not surprising, that Lance has talked with this woman before.

Emily doesn't want to press. She doesn't need to know secrets, just… just personalities. As Lance searches for words, she quickly tries to think of her own way to express what she's thinking.

"I don't mean, uh, I'm not, not asking who she is," she says, thankfully getting her thoughts together before her boss. "Just, uh, if GA is injured…"

Lance's jaw clenches again, but this time it seems like it's more exasperation than denial or displeasure. "She'd worry," he agrees. "Probably more than he would."

So maybe it's not as bad as it seems.

Emily doesn't get the chance to press any further. The phone vibrates in Lance's hand and he answers it with only a glance in her direction.

"Listen –" the detective starts to say.

Green Arrow cuts him off. "I broke my ankle," he says shortly, voice tense and unhappy even through the distortion. "It's healing. I'll be there in five." He hangs up the phone again before either of them can respond.

Emily blinks at the suddenness of it. A broken ankle… Definitely not as bad as she'd feared. Her gaze flickers back up to Lance.

"He usually tell you when he's injured?" she finds herself asking.

"No," Lance responds gruffly, quickly. From the look on his face, he's not sure whether he wants to know.

Emily's not sure she does either. On one hand, it's good to be aware of what the hero is (currently) capable of, good to know his (current) restrictions and limitations. On the other… It doesn't sit right in her gut, thinking of the man as one who can break and bleed like the rest of them.

She knows that's the wrong reaction, knows that to treat the hero as anything other than human is wrong and unfair and asking too much of him. But he's put himself up on a pedestal, by his actions as much as the fact that he wears a costume (and now a mask) and sometimes, she has difficulty remembering that that pedestal isn't real. He's no different than the rest of them.

She just needs to keep reminding herself of that until she believes it.


The silence when Oliver returns to the foundry that morning is almost stifling. Felicity is very pointedly focusing on her computers – her shoulders tense when he walks in, and she doesn't look his way. Digg, on the other hand, very pointedly gives Oliver a look that says 'we are talking about this'. Oliver ignores both of them, stewing in his anger, and goes to change.

Thea isn't there. Roy isn't there. Tommy's still in Central City with Laurel, helping her mom. Oliver can get as angry as he likes and his sister won't hate him for it, his best friend won't look at him in disgust.

Working with Felicity and Digg is different than working with everyone else. They've only ever known this version of him. They know perfectly well how cruel he can be. They, more than anyone else, understand the monster that he is.

And they know perfectly well how he operates.

(They think you're a hero, Oliver's thoughts remind him. It's not enough to stave off his anger, not really, but it gives him pause. Staring into the bathroom mirror as he removes the mask Barry Allen gave him, Oliver takes a deep breath.)

When he re-enters the basement, Felicity tenses. She doesn't look at him, but her fingers drift from the keyboards, so he knows she's not really focusing on the screen in front of her.

Oliver doesn't want to lose them. Doesn't want to do this without them. They've had so many arguments, so many fights, so many disagreements. Their morals aren't the same. They don't understand his drive.

He can't do this without them.

And he can't do this if they don't respect his decisions.

He sucks in another deep breath.

"This cannot happen again," he says, firm and harsh and angry because how dare she?! How dare Felicity think to presume that she could just –

Oliver grits his teeth. He knows his own shoulders are tense, his fingers clenched in fists at his side.

Felicity turns to face him, a response on her lips. Oliver doesn't care if it's agreement or an argument or an apology. He really, truthfully, does not want to hear what she has to say.

"No," he says forcefully, cutting her off. There's a growl in his words, an anger that he can't stop. "This cannot happen again," he repeats, with even more force than before. He does not want to lose them, but he refuses to let them operate like this, refuses to let Felicity get away with this, refuses to be okay with her blatant disregard for him.

Felicity's teeth click shut. She swallows. Glances over at Digg. Meets his eyes again. She's always been stubborn. Sometimes, Oliver admires that about her. Sometimes he hates it.

"Oliver," she says, soft but tense, a plea in her tone. Her gaze flickers to his ankle.

Oliver's chest swells up with rage. He has a broken ankle! If it weren't for the way the injury restricted his mobility – if it wasn't for the fact that he's home, and he has time to rest, and space to heal – then he'd still be out in the field every day. A broken ankle makes it harder for him to walk, but it's nothing, the pain is nothing.

She'd been worried when he'd almost died – when his mother had shot him, when Gold had thrown him into a wall and he'd fallen onto a box of syringes? Fine. That was fine. Those were injuries that even Oliver can fully admit he was lucky to walk away from. But this! A goddamn broken ankle!

No. No. Oliver has been patient. He wears the stupid cast and he uses the stupid crutches and he restricts his physical activities, at least when it comes to staying on his feet too long. This is the most patient he thinks he's ever been with an injury in years.

"If this happens again," he says plainly, voice tight with anger, "we're done." Felicity doesn't look apologetic. She doesn't look like she regrets her words. At his own, her eyes widen in shock.

Digg takes a step forward. "Oliver…"

Oliver's glare cuts him off, but only for a moment. Digg raises his hands, placatingly, because Oliver is the dangerous one here, Oliver is the monster tightly wound on a short leash and Oliver is the one snapping at them and Oliver is the threat – and it rankles because Digg's right to be cautious, because anger flutters fiercely in Oliver's chest and violence simmers in his heart and he'd held it in for his meeting with Lance and Hwang but he wants to hit something.

Except he's not the one who messed up. He's not in the wrong here, no matter how dark his soul. He bares his teeth, half-tempted to just leave, but listens as Digg speaks.

"I'm not… I'm not promising anything – not yet, not until we talk things out," Digg tacks on quickly, "but, just. We do need to talk about this. Talk, not argue. I'm not…" Digg closes his eyes and grits his teeth briefly, as though his own words pain him. "I'm not taking sides. Yet. Just, just saying that we need to use our words. We need to… we need to understand what the problem is here, before any of us say something that we regret." He sends a warning look at Felicity at the end of his hesitant speech and Oliver feels a shiver of shock course through him.

Digg… doesn't actually think Oliver is the problem here. Or, at least, he doesn't think Oliver is the only problem here. Oliver doesn't believe that Digg hasn't taken a side, if only in his own mind, but for the first time he considers the possibility that it's not Felicity's side he's on. That's… that's shocking, however faintly.

It doesn't really matter. Anger still thrums through Oliver's veins, but he chooses to focus on Digg's other words. He knows perfectly well what Felicity did wrong, and he's got the impression that Digg knows what he's mad about as well, whether or not he agrees with the reaction. But Felicity… She's not like them. Does she know what the problem is? Does she understand why he's struggling not to be consumed by his fury? Does she truly not understand the enormity of what she'd just done? How could she, without having lived a life of violence and distrust?

Jaw still tight, fists still clenched, Oliver forces himself to take another deep breath. He doesn't regret his words. He'd meant them. If Felicity ever gives away information about his injuries again… But Digg's right too. The only way to ensure that it doesn't happen again (other than forcing them out, cutting them from his life, doing this alone again) is to talk about this, to make sure she understands how thoroughly she messed up.

He forces himself to unclench his fists, folds his arms across his chest instead and holds himself tightly. His eyes flicker to Felicity. He's not the only one who's been struggling, lately, he reminds himself. And, on top of everything going on in Star City, Barry Allen is in a coma after getting hit by lightning the night STAR Labs' particle accelerator had exploded in Central City. Oliver knows they'd gotten close, and she's talked about arranging time to visit, and it's probably best if she doesn't leave with this still hanging between them.

"Never," Oliver says plainly, firmly, coldly, "tell anyone about my injuries." He's not just looking at Felicity as he says it. He'd thought it was unspoken, but after tonight, he needs to make sure Digg understands too. (Thea, Tommy… he's not sure they ever would. They're not fit for this life, for the secrecy. He'd thought Felicity could manage, but maybe…)

"It was a secure line!" Felicity argues back, though she stays seated and doesn't raise her voice too much.

Well, she's learned that, at least. He'd thought she'd learned more. Then again, it had been her idea to bring in Barry Allen, however well that had turned out.

"We have contingencies," Oliver reminds his partners through clenched teeth. "Not one of them includes telling someone that I've been injured." Hell, back when he'd started this, he hadn't even told Digg and Felicity every time he'd been injured. Even now he only tells them the big stuff – the stuff that needs stitches, or might impede his movements.

"Those contingencies were for if you died," Felicity counters, "and I only told Lance."

Digg takes a step forward before Oliver can reply. "Stop me if I'm wrong," he says, very carefully holding onto his own calm (Oliver can see how tight his shoulders are), "but, what I think Oliver is trying to say, is that he doesn't want anyone treating him differently, in the field." His words are slow and cautious and he watches Oliver closely as he speaks, clearly trying to gauge his reaction.

Oliver's jaw tightens, then releases again. Yes. No. He… he doesn't know. He's never had to put this into words before. All he knows is that his injuries are his problem. He doesn't need Lance thinking he can't handle himself, he doesn't need Lance fretting over him and getting distracted as a result. He doesn't need his enemies catching wind of his wounds and targeting next time they meet.

He doesn't need Lance to target his wounds, if they wind up enemies again.

Maybe that's the crux of the matter. Oliver's inability to trust anyone. Lance has proven himself to be on the Green Arrow's side, lately, but how long will that really last? How many more crimes can Oliver commit before Lance turns on him again? And Hwang? He trusts her, loosely, trusts her to do her job, at least, but he's barely met with her in person. They've never worked a case together, not like he has with Lance. He doesn't have years of background knowing her. If there's even the slightest possibility that they could use his injuries against him… (There's always a non-zero possibility of that. Which means they can never know.)

"What I mean," he says tightly, correcting Digg, "is that my injuries are private. I don't care who you're talking to." How can he admit that he still doesn't trust Lance? Felicity, especially, will never understand that. (Lance hates him – hates Oliver Queen, at least. If he ever were to discover the truth…)

Felicity huffs in frustration. "You have a broken ankle," she says, like that's a death sentence, like that truly stops him from doing anything.

Digg cuts her off before she can keep going. "And," he says pointedly, "what I think Felicity is trying to say is that we're worried about you, man. You're pushing yourself hard, and we want you to heal properly."

They're just worried about him. Everything they do is out of concern for him, and while Oliver thinks he may have adjusted to the strange feeling of knowing people care about them, he hasn't managed how to figure out how to tell them to stop. He doesn't need this worry. Worry is a liability, in the field. It slows people down. Clouds their judgement.

Felicity probably just doesn't understand that though, and as far as Oliver knows Digg's always had fellow soldiers at his back.

Oliver takes a deep breath.

"If you are concerned about my injuries," he says tightly, "then we can discuss that. In private."

Skepticism crosses Felicity's face for the barest of moments before it's replaced by determination. "Alright then," she says boldly, standing. "You're pushing yourself too hard."

Oliver stares her down because he isn't. Because this is Mirakuru, and people who'd been willing to kidnap his only family, and Roy losing his mind, and… He isn't. There is no pushing himself too hard on this. Oliver doesn't care what happens to him, if his family is safe.

And that's the crux of the problem, he's self-aware enough to admit. Because Felicity and Diggle do care. And he doesn't. The way they view the world is fundamentally different. Oliver doesn't want to die, has no desire to die (and he's startled now, to realize how desperately he wants to live, for Thea and Tommy, Felicity and Digg, Roy and Laurel, his mother, Walter, Lance…).

He doesn't want to die. But he's okay with it.

He's the only expendable piece on their side of the chessboard. He doesn't understand why Felicity and Diggle don't see things the same way. They've met him, after all, they've seen more than anyone else. He frightens them sometimes, he knows he does. Neither of them were close to him before, like Thea and Tommy and Laurel. Neither of them started this out by looking up to him as a hero, like Roy had.

"People are dying," Oliver shoots back, harsh and quick, because he's not sure there's anything he can say to change Felicity's or Digg's perspective. Words aren't enough here.

"Yeah, they are!" Felicity says. "And we don't want you to be one of them!"

Oliver takes another deep breath. Felicity's words echo the thoughts racing through his mind, the fundamental disconnect in the team.

Felicity and Digg don't consider his life, his health, to be a worthwhile sacrifice. Oliver does, if it keeps those he loves safe.

He was furious with her, for taking charge like that. He still is. But Digg's careful intercession has let him see the big picture too, and realize why Felicity had spoken up. She's never had to fight for her life. She's never had to head into danger with calculations running through her mind on exactly what she can afford to lose, in order to win. And Oliver never wants her to. He can't be mad at her for that. (But can he expect her to stay? Can he ask her to stay, knowing that one day she might lose that innocence? He hates himself for it, but the answer to that is yes, because he needs her. Because he doesn't want her to leave.)

"Felicity," he says, low and careful. "I have no intention of throwing my life away." He won't be able to talk her out of this, he knows. But… "Trust me," he says, "to know my own limits."

Those words, more than anything else he's said, give her pause, but then her expression twists into a scowl.

"Oh, you know your limits alright – that doesn't mean you actually pay attention to them!"

Oliver wants to turn away, walk away, stew in his anger alone before he says something he regrets. He wants to hit something. He wants to pick up his bow. He wants to go back to their earlier topic of conversation, to make sure that she understands that she is never, ever, to reveal any of his weaknesses, not even to their allies. But he's the one who said that if they had a problem with the way he handled himself, they could talk about it in private.

Digg steps forward, maybe seeing the ugly look on Oliver's face, the tense set of his shoulders.

"Oliver," he says, low and careful, "when was the last time you got a full night's sleep?"

It's concern, clear and simple. It's concern that had had Felicity reacting the way she had and concern that has Digg mediating their conversation and Oliver doesn't want it! He wants results, he wants Gold, he wants the Mirakuru off his streets and Tommy and Thea's kidnappers found and his copycat behind bars and he can't get those results if they're holding him back!

He grits his teeth, clenches his fists, pushes back the anger welling inside him, resists the urge to pace. If only his stupid ankle would just heal already! But Oliver knows better than most you can't rush recovering from injuries. It would only cost him more in the long run. They think he's pushing past his limits but they don't understand how fully and completely he is holding himself back from doing so. The number of times he'd fought through an injury he shouldn't have…

But he doesn't have to do that anymore and he knows it! Their concern has taught him that. He doesn't need any more than that.

"Fine," he says, not answering, "fine. Let's restructure. Delegate. Felicity, drop the fake Lists, coordinate with Lance on the copycats. Digg, are you still coordinating with ARGUS about the kidnappers?"

Digg and Felicity exchange glances and raised eyebrows, trading expressions back and forth, but Digg nods after a moment.

"Yeah," he says. "And if we're delegating, you need to focus on Queen Consolidated and Rochev, and training Roy, not to mention keeping your family safe."

"Ambler's moved into the manor with her family," Oliver dismisses, the intrusion into the maid's privacy only the latest assault against his family after the miniquake, "and my mother rarely leaves the grounds. That can take a backseat, and the rest of the Listers too."

"The Bertinellis?"

Oliver grimaces. "Ignore them for now."

"Thea can run point for you on patrol, when she's here. You can split your time between training Roy and looking for Gold. Leave the kidnappers to ARGUS."

"The kidnappers aren't a priority to ARGUS."

"I'll push Lyla. They'll find something, Oliver."

"You could always ask Roy to keep an ear open too."

"Not with Mirakuru in him. If he hears something he doesn't like –"

Eyes flicker down to Oliver's ankle as he cuts himself off. Well, they've seen the results of Roy's unintentional anger. Silence settles between them for a moment. Oliver takes a deep breath, then another, then turns to Felicity.

"When are you leaving for Central City?" he asks.

She glances over at Digg before answering. "I got a flight out on Friday. I… I won't stay long. He's…" her voice trails off, but Oliver understands. Barry's in a coma. There's not much she can do.

"I'll check in with Tommy, while I'm there," Felicity ends up finishing with.

Oliver only nods, not thinking about Tommy and Laurel and the way his secrets are pushing everyone away. He takes another deep breath, grits his teeth, and pushes down his anger again.

"What happened tonight cannot happen again," he says, firmly, plainly, a mere statement of fact because Oliver will not accept anything less. He stares down both of his partners.

Felicity's jaw tightens too, but Digg meets his gaze unflinchingly. His first partner nods.

"Understood," Digg says without sounding disgruntled. "But I'm putting myself back on rotation, especially with Tommy in Central."

Oliver blinks, takes a moment to process the change in topic, then opens his mouth to protest.

"No. I'm your bodyguard," Digg replies, "whether you need it or not. Nobody's gone after Tommy since his kidnapping. We can dial it back, if you want, but I'm going to do my job."

Arguing would be pointless, and Oliver knows he'd never had a problem with it before. It doesn't make sense to fight about this now, even if some part of him doesn't like it. Maybe he's gotten too used to being without Digg by his side, or maybe he's just uncomfortable leaving Tommy unguarded. He shoves such thoughts aside and looks to Felicity.

"I won't make calls without talking to you first," she decides, clearly reluctant. "But we will talk about these things."

Oliver knows better than to make a promise like that, all too familiar with the way words sometimes get stuck in his throat, or anger clouds his judgement when it comes to his past, but he takes the answer.

"Then we should all get some sleep," he says, and he waits until Digg and Felicity move to pack up their stuff for the night before he sweeps from the room himself.

Nightmares keep him awake more often than not that night, nightmares and the cast on his ankle, but he does go home. That's… that's something he probably wouldn't have done, a few months ago.


January 27, 2014, night:

Felicity gets back from Central late on Sunday, spends the night sleeping off her jet lag (only a few hours, but flying itself always makes her tired), drags herself to work on Monday, takes a nap that afternoon, and then heads into the Arrow Cave for the night. She'd stayed in touch with the others while she'd been gone, but Oliver isn't much of a texter, and neither is Digg for that matter – they both tend to be prompt with their replies, but Oliver sticks to one word answers and, while Digg will expand a bit more, he uses texting to convey information, not chat. Knowing all that, Felicity had spent the weekend mostly texting with Thea instead, and it hadn't taken her long to pick up on the other woman's irritation.

When she finally makes it to the foundry, that irritation's clear to see. Oliver's walking Roy through some very deliberate movements (that show off both their arms very nicely – Felicity'd nailed the right time to return) and Thea's standing off to the side, watching with a small frown on her face.

Felicity gives her usual cheerful grin and wave, knowing Oliver'll stop when he's finished what he's doing, and not before then, no matter her return. But as soon as Thea's attention returns to the training (and Oliver's baton-stick-thingy raps Roy on the bicep for letting his attention drift), Felicity's eyes flicker to Digg. She raises an eyebrow, inclining her head subtly toward Thea. Things hadn't been that bad when she'd left, had they?

Digg grimaces in return. No, they hadn't then. This is a new development, and likely not a one-off for tonight, from Digg's response. Felicity finds herself grimacing too. She's in a crappy mood herself, having spent the weekend with a comatose Barry Allen and a Tommy struggling to pick up the pieces of his relationship, but she'd been looking forward to coming home too. Too bad the atmosphere here isn't much better.

Digg talks her through the progress he's made on the kidnapping attempts and updates from Lance about the copycat. The media hasn't blamed Oliver yet, though Lance says they keep hounding the police for a statement regarding Shrapnel's claim that Oliver killed the mayor. The only reason no one's making a big deal of it, Digg figures (and Oliver too, presumably), is because they haven't connected the mayor's death with the other deaths yet. No one knows they have a serial killer on their hands.

At least there haven't been any new deaths since the one from last week. (The woman had turned out to be one of Laurel's co-workers, of all things, though not someone Laurel knew well. She'd been fired a few months ago actually, for abusing her position.)

By the time Felicity's up to date on those two investigations, Oliver's wrapped up his training for the night. Roy's trembling with effort – more from keeping his patience reeled in than any physical effort, Felicity figures. When Oliver tells him to take a seat on the mat and meditate for the next hour he has to physically grit his teeth and hold himself back. But he nods and settles down. Felicity knows from experience that Oliver won't hesitate to call him out if he lets himself get drawn into their conversations. She feels a little bad for him, but she's argued with Oliver enough lately that she's not going to fight him on this. At least he's not training Roy in back alleys anymore – at least he's comfortable enough to do it in front of them.

"How's Central?" he asks as he makes his way over to the two of them, Thea trailing behind her brother.

Felicity hears the hundred other questions wrapped up in that simple one and answers them all at once. "Good," she says honestly. "We busy or you want the full report?"

Digg hadn't made it seem like there was anything immediately urgent going on, but it's possible Oliver's got plans for tonight besides training Roy.

"Full report?" Thea asks with a wry grin, probably a bit more bitter than it should be. "I thought Digg was the soldier."

Felicity finds herself blushing, not even realizing she'd slipped into Oliver-speak (but it feels so familiar, like coming home, being back here, slipping into this role again) even as she worries for Thea. "You know what I meant," she chides the other woman, jostling Thea slightly with her elbow.

Thea's grin slips into something a little more genuine, but it doesn't last long, and Felicity looks back to Oliver.

He hesitates, which is how she knows he's still worried about Tommy and Laurel, but not for long. "Full report. Digg already fill you in here?"

"Yep," Felicity says, before proceeding to go over what she'd learned in Central. Barry's… well, he's not fine, but there's not much to report there. He's in a coma. They don't know when (if, but Felicity won't let herself think on that) he'll wake up. Central City itself is mostly recovered from the explosion, though STAR Labs will never be what it once was. And Tommy and Laurel are, more or less, still together. Tommy's still staying in a hotel room while Laurel stays with her mom, but they're going out on date nights and talking things through.

"Tommy said they'll probably come back soon. Laurel doesn't want to miss too much work and the power's back on at her mom's so…"

Oliver's face is carefully blank. He nods once, filing away the information, then nods at the computer. "We need you to hack a few cameras," he says. "Roy gave us a few ideas on how to track down Gold."

Felicity glances over at Roy reflexively at his name, but though he twitches at their words in a way that suggests he's listening more to their conversation than he should be, his even breathing doesn't falter. That's… well, that's progress, she supposes. He hadn't been able to sit still for five minutes only a few weeks ago. (Quite frankly, she's not sure she has the patience for meditation herself, but then, she doesn't have a serum racing through her blood lending her super strength and enhancing her anger.)

"Sure," she says, slipping into her seat (and that feels comfortable too, feels like hers, in a way slipping behind her desk at Queen Consolidated hadn't, earlier this morning). "What've we got?"


Oddly enough, Thea seems more frustrated with the pace of Roy's training than he is himself. It's not like he isn't frustrated – the Mirakuru seems to have ramped up his usual irritation at doing nothing – but he's also, in the moments when he feels most like himself, oddly content.

When he isn't feeling like himself then yeah, it feels like Oliver has him sitting around doing nothing. His neighbors are dead and he doesn't have any answers. He hasn't thrown a real punch in month, because every training exercise Oliver insists on moving through the motions at a glacial pace. He's stuck meditating and breathing properly and focusing on staying calm and it's annoying. But… but he's training with Green Arrow. He's getting trained by Green Arrow. He's working with Green Arrow's team, and Thea's working with Green Arrow's team, which means he doesn't have to keep any secrets from her.

Besides, all it takes is one look at the cast still on Oliver's ankle for him to remember what happens when he loses control. It's his fault Oliver's been riled up lately and it's his fault Oliver can't fully investigate Sarah and Robbie's deaths. He'd done that, and he can't forget that. In the face of that, he'll do things at Oliver's pace forever, if that's what it takes.

Thea isn't so convinced. She's worried about the Mirakuru, Roy knows, but he thinks there's something else beside that, as irritated as she's been lately.

"I just…" she grits her teeth, letting him open her car door for her. "Why are we acting like we need Oliver's permission to tell her?" she asks.

Thea isn't the only one who's been irritated lately: Sin has been too, and Roy can't even blame her for that. He and Thea have been dealing with their own issues so much lately that they haven't been spending much time with her.

Roy hesitates, grateful for the pause he gets as he shuts Thea's door and walks around to his own. Thea's in enough of a mood that he knows better than to side with her brother, but his mind's clear enough at the moment to think logically. (A mental check he's been running lately, trying to figure out when he's acting thinking rationally or letting the Mirakuru influence him. He thinks he's fine now, but the problem is he usually can't tell when he isn't. That's the thing about irrational thinking.)

"Well," he says reluctantly, "it is his secret."

"The Mirakuru's not," Thea points out, not incorrectly.

He… can't really argue with that. But Oliver had told him not to tell anyone.

Thea's right, some bitter, dark part of him sneers. Since when do you need anyone's permission?

But this is Oliver, he reminds himself. He knows what he's doing.

Except…

It's not about needing permission, he tells himself. It's his life. His body. There's nothing wrong with telling Sin about that, at least. She deserves to know.

"Alright," he agrees. "But just my part in it. We don't need to tell her about Gold, or whoever's behind it."

"She's going to want to know –"

"We can tell her Oliver's – the Green Arrow's – looking into it," Roy cuts in. "She knows I'm part of that. And we can tell her he's helping me. But she's the one who said she didn't want to get involved with the vigilante business, remember?"

Thea grits her teeth but doesn't argue back. Part of Roy wants to press her, find out exactly what's bothering her. The other part of him feels like it's him who's the problem. Him and his lack of control and the fact that he'd almost killed her brother. If that's the case… he's not sure he could bear to hear it. He gives her her space instead.


February 1, 2014, early afternoon:

Soft sunlight filters onto the scene through a wall made almost entirely of windows, shimmering and crystal clear in the early afternoon light. The scene outside the windows is picturesque, the grass green despite the winter weather, not a fallen leaf to be found on the grounds. A small, artificial creek winds its way through the landscape, tiny stone bridges providing passage over the water.

Inside the windows is no less picturesque, nor any less obviously expensive. The chandelier that hangs in the center of the room is a marvel of crystal – not glass. The furniture is pristine, the decorations tasteful. Seven people sit in an artfully arranged circle, few of them close enough to even touch their neighbor with an outstretched hand, all of them wearing the latest professional fashion.

"The maid was useless," one of them says, hands folded neatly in their lap, expression carefully neutral. "We were right to think she'd be scared of Moira, but she turned to the son instead. She's out of our reach now."

"Well, he does have a reputation with women."

"Is there something else we could try? A bodyguard, perhaps? A chauffer?"

"My wife has a plan to handle Moira. In the meantime, perhaps we should worry about Green Arrow – he was spotted in the Glades a few days ago, questioning Quincy McBride."

"McBride doesn't know anything."

"Not about us he doesn't. I don't doubt he spilled everything about his friends though."

"So what? They're already going to prison – the ones that haven't disappeared, at least – and none of them know anything either."

"Perhaps not, but McBride is smart – smart enough to want nothing to do with their plans."

"You think he might be smart enough to put something together."

"Our part was subtle – I don't think McBride could tell Green Arrow anything, even if he realized his friends were too stupid to come up with the idea on their own. But the fact that Green Arrow's even questioning McBride isn't a good sign."

"He's not the type to let things go."

"We've been ignoring our resident hero until now – focusing on getting the List, on finding out what the Queens and Merlyns know. But he's getting in our way."

"We could hire an –"

"Don't be stupid, he's proven himself more than capable against everyone he's gone against in the past. Besides, we're not looking to kill Star City's hero. No, I think a distraction would do nicely. Keep him busy with other things."

"Perhaps it's time to utilize our friend in the prison system."

"For this? Don't you think that's one card we should keep up our sleeves?"

"I think too many people before us have underestimated Green Arrow – and I won't be one of them."

"I'll give Dr. Williams a call. Iron Heights, right?"

"You really think a woman's prison would be a better idea?"

"Enough. Iron Heights should be sufficient. Ensure that it can't be traced back to us. And… it doesn't need to be everyone, but Green Arrow's put more than a few people behind bars. If it is mostly his enemies that are released…"

Nobody in the circle needs for anything more to be said. They move on to their next topic of conversation.


AN: Sorry for the wait, and thanks so much for your patience! No guarantees when the next chapter will be up, but its title is Behind Bars and it should cover until at least mid-February, timeline wise.