I know, I know. It's been a right age. I think apologies just don't cut it at this point in time so I guess I'll just say that life can be a real bitch sometimes. Lots of ups and downs. Not much time for writing.
But anyways, I've finally attained some stability so here is the next chapter, enjoy!
Quentin Lance jerked awake with a start.
Gasping for breath and clutching at his chest, he fought to calm himself as he rapidly shook his head to fight away the after-effects of sleep.
Of the nightmares.
They had been plaguing him, ever since that night on the docks.
Images of the vigilantes he'd encountered danced in his subconscious. Swords, arrows and that black and orange facemask taunted him, depriving him of any peace at night.
A week had passed and not a night had gone by where he hadn't been jerked awake in one way or another.
This time it had been the man's katana, scything towards his neck, cutting him down mercilessly, his deep voice echoing hauntingly in his ears.
Ambition is the mother of all failures…
Swallowing deeply, Quentin dragged a palm down his face, taking with it the sheen of sweat that had formed on his forehead in his sleep.
"Get a hold of yourself Lance." He muttered as he turned his head to look at the alarm clock beside his bed.
02:33am it read.
Quentin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and clearing the crusts away from his eyelids.
Knowing from experience by now that sleep would not return for some time, he forced himself out of the covers, slipped into an ancient dressing gown and made his way into the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee.
He paused as he passed Sara's open door. Looking inside, he saw no sign of his younger daughter, just a neatly made bed staring back at him as it so often had since her return.
Shaking his head despondently, he moved on into the dining room.
To his surprise, someone else was already there.
Laurel looked up from the laptop she'd been working on at his entrance, her hands stilling over the keyboard as he stopped in the doorway with a soft grunt of consternation.
"Laurel? Honey what are you doing up at this hour?"
She had been staying with him while her old apartment was repaired after the Triad attack, but he hadn't expected to see her up this late. The dark rings under her eyes were a mirror image of his, he was sure.
"I could say the same thing of you." She returned quietly before flicking her hair out of her face. "But if you must know, I'm finishing up the Somers case filings."
"At two thirty in the morning?"
She shrugged. "No other time to do it. Tomorrow it'll just be someone else. Another case, another entitled ass to take down."
"Hey, none of that language around here young lady." He chided, though only half-heartedly. Making his way over to the bench, he set the kettle to boil before moving back to the table, where he pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.
He just watched her for a moment as she worked away, stubbornly not looking up from the screen. It saddened him to see her this way, so devoted to her work, pushing every other aspect of her life aside.
"If you have something to say, dad, just say it." She cut into his thoughts with a tired huff.
He chewed his lip, waiting until she finally looked up to meet his eyes.
"Are you okay?"
She froze for a moment, eyes unblinking before they hardened and an emotionless mask snapped into place. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well for starters you're out here at this hour, claiming to still be working on a case that was wrapped up five days ago."
Laurel looked away at that, her jaw twisting as she tried to come up with her next words.
"Was it the break-in?" Quentin tried, softening his voice and stretching his hand across the table to grasp hers. "Because I can promise you it's not going to happen again. Those vigilante maniacs scared the Triad right back across to the other side of the Pacific. I doubt they'll be coming back anytime soon-"
"It's not about the Triad, dad." Laurel cut in, her voice strained. "It's just…"
She sighed deeply, her eyes darkening before shaking her head. "Never mind…"
"Baby, somethings-"
Quentin was interrupted by the shrill ding of the kettle going off, the unwelcome tone cutting through the room and leaving an awkward silence in its wake.
He held his focus on his eldest daughter for a moment – now resting back in her chair with her arms stubbornly folded across her chest, still refusing to meet his eye.
With a heavy sigh of his own, he pushed himself up and slowly shuffled back into the kitchen. He finished pouring his brew in silence before making his way back over to the table. He retook his seat and rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"So why are you up this late dad?" Laurel asked dryly.
Quentin shrugged. "Comes with the job." He answered. "You'd think I'd be used to it after all these years…"
"Still no luck identifying them I take it?"
Quentin shook his head sadly. "Nope. Not a bit."
"Is that why you can't sleep?"
"Partly." Quentin answered off-handedly. "If something doesn't change soon, the case is going to get taken out of our hands."
"And that's a bad thing?"
Lance inhaled deeply, smacked his tongue against his teeth. "Laurel, you're a smart girl, you've seen the way this city's been headed the last few years. These vigilantes are just the latest in a long line of assholes to take advantage of it.
But this time it's different. Now the stakes are raised. The gap between the lower and upper classes is astronomical, and it's only going to keep growing with all these fraudulent pricks running the stockmarket around here."
"Which is why I'm trying to take them down-"
"Yeah but you're not the only one. Now these four are joining in, and they don't use the same legal methods as you."
Quentin paused, and looked at Laurel imploringly. "Tell me, what do you think will happen if these millionaires keep getting bankrupted at best, killed at worst."
Laurel frowned. "Nothing good… I've been in law long enough to know what kind of connections these guys have. Nothing pisses a rich conglomerate off more than losing their stocks."
"Exactly." Quentin leaned forward. "And once the elite start getting pissed off, the government starts getting pissed off. Right now, they couldn't care less about a dozen crime syndicates getting taken down. Hell, it just means one less job for them to do. The rich on the other hand… that's a whole other story. The rich are their bankrollers, their campaign funders, their propaganda pushers. The rich are where the government's power lies. And the only thing they fear more than losing their money, is losing their power."
Laurel's eyes widened. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying – and this is strictly between you and me – that if this case gets taken over by the feds, it spells the end for this city. These vigilantes don't seem like the kind of guys to just turn tail at the sight of a suit. They'll fight back. Before you know it we'll be under martial law. Lines will be drawn, sides will be taken. We could be dealing with an all out Civil War."
Laurel gasped at the implications. "But surely four people can't have that much power?"
"You'd be surprised." Quentin returned. "Look through history. You'll find most crusades began with the ideology of a single person. Alexander the Great, Joan of Arc, William Wallace, George Washington. Hell, if you want to be a loony you could interpret The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse as the Romans did – as a prophecy of a new world order to come. Imagine what four as skilled and motivated as these vigilantes could do."
Quentin allowed himself to trail off, taking a long sip from his steaming cup before offering it to Laurel. "Anyway…" he murmured, before looking over his shoulder, back down the hall. "Do you know where your sister is?"
At his question, Laurel froze, before stiffly setting the mug back on the table with an audible thud.
"Nope." She muttered. "Don't really care to be honest. She's probably off gallivanting with Oliver. Wouldn't be anything new."
"Hey that's not fair-"
"No, dad, it's not fair!" Laurel raised her voice and stood. "She's been back for two weeks and I don't think she's called either of us once! Hasn't spent any time with us voluntarily, hasn't even asked how we've been. It's like we don't exist to her!"
"She's been through a lot, Laurel." Quentin tried. "Doctor Lamb said they both will likely have changed."
Laurel scoffed acridly. "Oliver maybe. I don't think Sara's changed at all."
With that, she slammed her laptop closed and stormed from the room. Her door closed loudly behind her, leaving Quentin alone in the dining room with his rapidly cooling mug of coffee.
Frustrated, sleep deprived, and fearful for both his and his daughters' safety, the man could only drop his head exhaustedly into his hands.
"Where are you Sara?" he murmured to himself. "Where are you?"
…
"James Holder. You've failed this city."
Her voice was flat, grim, her eyes narrowed and her lip curled as she took in the bathrobe-clad man in front of her.
The singular blade in her hand was levelled at his throat.
He stood before her, defenceless, though strangely he didn't seem to care. His arrogant smirk never left his face. She saw his eyes dart down to take in the exposed flesh of her chest and she snarled.
"How many people died because of your defective smoke alarms?" she demanded. "How many paid a mortuary price because you couldn't pay a monetary one?"
Holder snorted. "I don't know who you think you are lady, but I have armed security one call away."
He held up his phone and began typing a number, only to pause as a sharp clattering sound rang out to his left. He frowned as a trio of Colt pistols was tossed at his feet.
"Go ahead."
Holder froze at the voice. A deep, dark rumbling that turned his very blood to ice.
Looking to his side, he saw the shadowy figure come stalking out of the dim light of the penthouse. Saw the black and orange facemask emerge onto the deck. Saw the blood glistening on it.
The figure moved slowly. Heavy, poignant steps reverberated in his ears as they came to a stop on the other side of the rooftop pool.
Cutting off his escape…
"They won't hear you." The man growled.
Fighting his rising panic, he whipped his head back and forth between the two. "What the hell do you want with me?"
The blonde woman in front of him smirked. "There's a saying, where we're from…"
She sauntered towards him, the point of her sword not deviating from his chest.
"Evil is to be replaced by death."
Holder shuffled backwards, his heart rate rising at the menace in her words, until to his horror he found himself pressed against the far railing of the building. Fuck… they had him cornered…
"Have you ever felt yourself burn, Holder?" the blonde asked. "Ever seen your skin melt before your eyes? Felt your nerves scream as they're incinerated? Because your victims do."
"Hey I had no idea those alarms were faulty!" he protested. "I have the court ruling to prove it!"
"Shut your mouth you parsimonious shit!" she snapped, slapping him violently across his face, sending him stumbling away before snatching her hand out and grabbing him roughly by the chin. Despite her shorter height and lighter stature, he was powerless against her grip.
She brought him close and hissed in his ear. A low, mean whisper.
"You know it can take up to ten minutes to burn to death? Depending on the intensity of the flames. Of course, you won't be aware of it. Within thirty seconds, your brain knows death is inevitable and shuts down your nerve endings. You remain awake though. Conscious… alive… as you watch yourself burn up without even knowing about it, until your eyes liquefy and you're blinded, paralysed, left only with the knowledge that your fate is inevitable. How does that sound?"
Holder trembled before her, his eyes white with fear and his chin trembling. "P-p-please!" he begged meekly.
She growled and tossed him forcefully away from her. He scrambled back on his hands and knees.
"The courts may say that you owe your victims nothing. We disagree. Your fate will be the same as theirs."
She pulled a lighter from her utility belt, and Holder's fear became extreme.
"Evil is to be replaced with-"
Bang!
Sara jumped at the sudden sound, ducking instinctually.
Not a moment later, she felt something whiz past her, inches above her head, before slamming into her target.
She looked back up at Holder just as his chest exploded in blood, sending a foul spray of red across the deck. Another shot found its mark immediately after and he jolted a second time before convulsing violently as his nervous system haemorrhaged. A sickening crack sounded a moment later as his entire spine snapped and he dropped.
Stunned, her eyes flew open.
"Get to cover!"
She registered Slade's voice an instant before she was tackled aside, the Australian launching himself into her from across the pool, the two rolling aside to take cover behind a thick concrete bench as shots continued to be fired.
Covering the blonde with his body, Slade chanced a look up at the surrounding buildings. He briefly saw a muzzle flash before the bench behind him exploded, showering the two with dust and debris.
Cursing, he ducked his head back down. For the shots to obliterate Holder's chest as they'd done, they could have only been fired from a high-powered sniper rifle – a Barrett most likely, judging by the higher pitch, reduced flash and rapid firing rate compared to most other such rifles.
His armour – while resistant to weaker guns and smaller bullets – would offer little protection against such high calibre ammunition. And without their two archers, they couldn't even return fire.
More shots rang out and bullets continued to pepper their cover. Whoever the shooter was, they weren't content with just Holder's death.
Grimacing, Slade counted down the shots in his head.
Five… six… seven…
"Get ready." He ordered Sara. The blonde rolled out from beneath him and got up on her haunches and nodded.
Bang!
The corner of the bench shattered and Slade recoiled reflexively, the shrapnel of the bullet pinging off his helmet. He gave it no thought though.
That was number eight…
"Go, go!" he shouted, springing up. "Before he can reload!"
He made a break for the penthouse. It wasn't the most efficient escape route, but it was the closest, and right now close was better than fast.
Reaching the door – taking himself out of the sniper's line of sight – he turned to see Sara lingering by the benches opposite the pool. She seemed to be examining them.
"Sara come on!" he roared.
"One second!" she yelled back in response as she drew one of her swords and jammed it into the concrete. Cranking upwards, she seemed to dislodge something. Slade didn't get a good enough look at it before she stowed it in one of the pouches on her belt and holstered her blade smoothly, before sprinting across the deck and leaping across the pool.
Rolling forward easily upon landing, she scooted through the doorway and popped up next to Slade.
Breathing heavily, the Australian look down at her. "What the fuck was that?"
…
"Someone shot at you." Nyssa raised an elegant eyebrow.
"Well he certainly wasn't inviting us over for drinks." Slade grumbled in return.
After escaping Holder's penthouse and scouring the surrounding area extensively for the sniper – only to find nothing – the two had decided to call it a night and returned to the foundry where Nyssa had been waiting for them.
She certainly did not like what they had just told her.
"And you are both alright, yes?"
"As far as I know." Sara replied, closing the notebook after crossing off Holder's name. "Just pissed off."
"Yeah, you're not the only one." Slade commented. "I was enjoying that."
Sara sent an unamused frown to him.
"What?" he shrugged. "I'm Australian. We like barbeques."
She shook her head disbelievingly at him. "You're insufferable…"
"Focus, please." Nyssa cut in. "Did you see anything that might hint at the shooter's identity?"
"No. Nothing." Slade shook his head. "We searched the area and didn't find a thing. Whoever they were, they knew their stuff."
He paused, before adding uneasily. "I don't even know if Holder was the target… or if we were."
Silence fell over all three of them as his words sunk in.
"The chances of the police or any kind of government strike team knowing where you would be is incredibly low." Nyssa said guardedly, "There is only one group that would be capable of such a thing."
Sara turned to her. "You think Darhk could be behind this?"
Nyssa flicked her eyes to meet hers. "It is a possibility." She admitted. "News of our exploits is spreading further. It is not unfeasible that HIVE has connected the dots. A more likely possibility is that Holder himself was the target. A man as corrupt as he had to have more than one enemy. And the court ruling could have been enough to incentivise one of them into action."
She turned to Slade. "How did he die?"
"Double tap to the chest." He answered. "Straight through. It was a clean kill. He was dead before he hit the ground."
"But why would he keep firing at us afterwards?" Sara asked.
"Maybe he saw it as a chance to kill two birds with one stone." Slade offered. "Or he was simply buying time to escape. We won't know unless we find him."
"Do we plan on finding him?"
The two turned to face Nyssa. It was her call.
The Heir to the Demon was silent for a moment, pondering the information that had been given to her.
"I think it is paramount we do, yes." She stated eventually, her voice taking on a distinct edge. "If he was targeting Holder I want to know why, if he is acting alone or if he is a hired gun."
"And if he's targeting us?" Slade asked seriously.
Nyssa flicked her eyes to his. "Then he will face the full wrath of the League of Assassins."
"Well I have something that might help." Sara said, reaching into her utility belt and pulling from it the object she had pried from the concrete at Holder's penthouse. She held it in front of her for the others to see.
A single, crumpled bullet.
Slade's eyes widened. "So that's what you decided was worth risking your life for..." he muttered disapprovingly.
Sara grinned at him. "Bite me Slade. You're just mad I thought of it and you didn't."
Slade scoffed. "I think you're forgetting who it was that tackled you out of the line of fire."
"Cheer up!" she clapped her hand on his shoulder as she made her way over to the computers. "I thought you'd be happier now that you don't have to smelt arrows anymore."
Slade just turned away, still grumbling to himself.
"Good work." Nyssa came up beside Sara and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "With any luck we'll get a lead."
Sara smiled at her, losing herself slightly in the feeling of Nyssa's nimble fingers dancing across the back of her neck. "I'll get started on the analysis in the morning." She gave a tired yawn. "I've dealt with enough bullets for one night."
"Very well." Nyssa said. "In the meantime, I think it is time we brought our other archer back into the fold."
Sara looked up sharply. "But he said-"
"It has been a week, beloved." Nyssa cut in gently. "He has had more than enough time to get his thoughts in order. I'm sure hearing what happened tonight will motivate him sufficiently."
Sara nodded, before her lips curled into a wry grin. "And here was me thinking the two of us would be motivation enough."
Nyssa let out an uncharacteristic snort, before taking the blonde's hands and kissing her deeply. "That too, beloved… that too…"
…
"So there's still no sign of him?"
The man opposite her shook his head. "No ma'am."
She huffed in frustration. "Tell me Mr Diggle, how is it that you, an ex-military sergeant with multiple tours to your name, are unable to keep track of an immature billionaire playboy who was stuck on an island for five years."
Diggle bristled visibly at her question. His jaw clenched and he stood straighter. "Ma'am, with all due respect, for one thing I've never had a client that didn't want my protection, and for another, one of the first things we learn in search and rescue ops is that if someone truly doesn't want to be found, they won't be. If your son is as stubborn as you say he is, and given the capacity he's already shown to evade me, the chances are you won't see him again until he's ready for you to."
"I hired you." She said curtly. "That makes me the client. Now I have paid you good money for my son's protection, if you feel such a task is beyond your capability then I am happy to replace you with someone else."
Diggle paused, his eyes hardening ever so slightly as he weighed up his options. Eventually, he sighed. "Very well ma'am. I'll keep looking. The moment I find him I'll let you know."
"Thank you."
Diggle took his leave, and she found herself alone with her thoughts.
Moira Queen was a very unhappy woman indeed.
Not only had Oliver missed the announcement of the Robert Queen Applied Sciences Division, he had seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth, and despite her and Diggle's best efforts there hadn't been so much as a sign of him since their argument.
Her calls went unanswered, Sara and Tommy didn't know anything and even Diggle it seemed was struggling to track him down.
Such evasion worried her greatly.
Not only did it bring back unwanted memories of the times all too recently she'd thought she'd lost him for good, it also left him vulnerable to the machinations of the four vigilantes that were still terrorising the city.
James Holder's death had reinforced her worry, and it was not impossible that Oliver had fallen afoul of the hooded murderers.
She sat back in her chair and folded her arms, feeling very alone all of a sudden. Walter had already left for what was now a very busy job and Thea was shut up in her room as always.
She was jolted from her silence though by an abrupt, simple knock on the door to the mansion.
Moira found herself leaning forward in her chair as she listened to Raisa's dainty footsteps echoing through the halls as the maid moved to answer the door.
She frowned when she heard faint whispers in a language that sounded suspiciously like Russian, but quickly schooled her features when Raisa entered the living room and stepped aside, revealing the last person Moira expected to see.
It was the third member of the rescued trio.
"Miss Raatko, this is a surprise." She stood to greet the younger woman. "If you're looking for Oliver, I'm afraid he's not here."
Nyssa offered a respectful bow of her head in return. "Mrs Queen, I'm aware of Oliver's… absence. I wished to speak with you, in private if possible."
Moira eyed her warily, still not sure what to make of the mysterious woman. She seemed nice enough on the front, but Moira had spent well over half her life in the business sector. She was more than aware of people's tendency to hide their true nature, especially when pursuing something they wanted.
"Of course." She said a moment later, nodding at Raisa in dismissal. The maid exited promptly, and Moira gestured for Nyssa to take a seat in one of the two leather armchairs positioned either side of an ornate coffee table.
"You've been shopping." Moira commented at Nyssa's sharp and svelte outfit.
"Indeed." Nyssa nodded. "I wasn't exactly privileged to have access to a wardrobe while on Lian Yu."
Moira frowned. "That's the first time I've heard any of you refer to that island by name."
Nyssa snuffed a laugh. "You'll find I'm somewhat more pragmatic than Oliver and Sara. They tend to be more… emotional."
"I don't think anyone's ever described Oliver as 'emotional' before."
"You'll be surprised at what traits are uncovered by hardship." Nyssa smiled tightly, an action that did not go unnoticed.
"You said you wished to speak with me?" Moira changed the topic.
"I do, yes." Nyssa affirmed, "I heard of yourself and Oliver's disagreement and felt it prudent to clear the air. I understand you are unhappy with his desire to move out."
"I have my doubts, yes. I don't know how much you know about me, Miss Raatko, but I am fiercely protective of my family."
The corner of Nyssa's mouth quirked into an almost predatory grin. "Aren't all parents."
She paused before continuing. "If it is myself you are concerned about, you have nothing to fear from me. I have enough money to last several lifetimes and am fortunate enough to occupy an esteemed place in society overseas, thanks to my father's corporation. It would be futile to attempt to take advantage of resources I already have. I care only for Oliver as the man he is, and he for me."
"I see…" Moira kept her eyes locked on Nyssa's. The younger woman's dark, exotic irises did not waver.
"Does your father care for you, Miss Raatko?" she asked suddenly, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward in her chair.
Nyssa frowned, and for the barest moment her composure slipped, caught off guard by the question. Moira grinned internally.
"I'm sorry?" Nyssa recovered.
"Has he called you since you were rescued? Has he come to visit you to make sure you're okay? As the apparent heiress to a private security contractor of the stature you've described, I find it hard to believe Mr Ducard would be so careless with the future of his business."
Nyssa eyed the Queen matriarch carefully, evaluating her, trying to ascertain the direction she was trying to take with this. "He has enquired to my health and wellbeing, yes. Both myself and Mr Wilson report back to him on a weekly basis."
"I looked into the company your father owns." Moira mused. "Hashishin Protection. An interesting name for a bodyguard company. 'Those that stand apart from society'."
Nyssa forced herself to clamp down on every bit of restraint and emotion she had. She knew the elder woman would have investigated her father's false business, but not to such an extent.
"He operates on a mantra of turning his adversaries against themselves." She explained coolly, "By operating under the moniker he does, he is metaphorically fighting criminals, rogues and assassins with themselves. I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at here."
"Miss Raatko, to be quite frank, unlike yourself I am a parent. And my highest priority is to keep my children safe. And right now, with what is happening, Starling City is not safe. Despite what you might think, my concern for Oliver is not out of spite or selfishness, but care. And candid though it may be, it seems to be that you were not raised in an environment that allows you to understand this."
"I understand more than you might think." Nyssa fought to keep the ice out of her voice as she stood abruptly, tiring of the conversation. "I cannot claim to know what Oliver was like before I met him, but I survived with him for three years. Cared about him for three years. If I know one thing, it is that he is committed. If he sets his mind on something, nothing and no one will stop him from achieving it."
"What are you implying?"
"Nothing." Nyssa moved to the doorway. "Consider this a warning on behalf of your son. If you keep trying to get in his way, he will simply knock you down and step right over you. Have a nice day."
Swiftly leaving the building, Nyssa closed the door behind her with as much restraint as she could muster before storming over to where Slade waited beside a jet-black Jaguar XKR.
She was fuming inside, having only got the answer to one of her questions.
Now she needed to find the other.
…
Oliver yawned as he took in the cityscape before him, the rising sun bathing the high-rises around him in glorious orange light, creating a strange contradiction of natural and artificial.
He was dressed in a simple pair of tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt, his hair still damp from showering after a lengthy pre-dawn run – in disguise, of course. He was well aware his 'bodyguard' had been attempting to track him down.
He sighed contentedly as he observed the people below going about their day, affirmed his conviction that one day they would be able to do so without being manipulated, stepped on and abused by the bastards on the List.
The time away from it all had been good for him, had allowed him to centre his thoughts and bleed his anger. He was happy Nyssa and the other two had acquiesced to his request for some time alone, but now he knew it had come time to refocus. He couldn't stay hidden forever.
Pushing the door to his room open, he made his way silently into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.
Lost in thought, he rounded the corner only to slam into another body.
He jumped at the feminine shriek that assaulted his ears. Recovering quickly, he fixed his eyes on the person he'd crashed into, only to close them immediately and turn away in disgust.
"Oh Jesus…"
The buxom blonde let out another screech as she scrambled to find something to cover her naked flesh before bolting from the room.
Cracking his eyes open, Oliver watched her exposed rear vanish from sight and breathed a sigh of relief, only to growl at the sound of raucous laughter.
"Dammit Tommy! I thought we discussed this."
He shook his head at the sight of his best friend stood in the doorway the blonde had just disappeared through. His shoulders shook mirthfully and he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
"Hey, don't blame me! You're the one that asked for a place to stay. Not my fault you don't like the associated… perks."
Tommy grinned at his own double entendre before approaching. "And since when are you up at any hour starting in… well AM."
Oliver stared at him, deadpan. "I have things to do."
"Yeah so do I." Tommy wiggled his eyebrows. "Things starting with 'T' and ending in 'eresa'."
"Enough, please." Oliver held a hand up in front of him and turned to the side. "It was bad enough hearing what you got up to last night."
"Not too long ago you would've joined in."
Oliver bit his lip, feeling a little sick at the thought. "I'm taken now, Tommy, thank you very much."
Tommy scoffed. "Oh yeah… how could I forget." He walked up and clapped a hand across Oliver's back. "Only Oliver freaking Queen could get stranded on an island in the middle of fucking nowhere, and come back with not one but two of the most gorgeous women in the world at his side."
Oliver blinked at him. "You're a reprobate, you know that."
Tommy smirked and gave a mock salute. "And proud of it!"
Despite himself, Oliver shook his head at his old friend's antics. While overwhelming at times, the playboy's carefree cheer and energy was a welcome change from the stress he'd been under since returning.
"Have you thought about my proposal?"
Tommy sobered at the question. He was still for a moment before his eyebrow quirked. "Sure. Opening a nightclub after five years away from civilisation, with no business credentials and no financial support from your family. What could go wrong?"
"I'm serious, Tommy." Oliver said. "After five years, I do have plans, things I want to do away from my family's company. This way, I get to do that, and still have some fun on the way."
"Are you sure you haven't been smoking that weird pouch of herbs I've seen in your room?" Tommy joked.
His smile faded at Oliver's lack of response.
He sighed. "Well, if you're serious about this hair-brained idea, a good place to start would be to scope out the competition. The newest club in town is called Poison. Max Fuller owns it-"
"Max Fuller? I slept with his fiancée."
"Then it'll be doubly fun!" Tommy smirked. "Risk and reward, you know. Plus I'd like to see him try the same thing with Sara or Nyssa."
At that, Oliver couldn't stop the wistful smile that broke out. He would very much like to see someone try hit on either of the two assassins. The last person that did so had woken up without his genitals.
"See, there's that famous Queen grin!" Tommy broke his thoughts. "I'll pull some strings and get us on the entry list. For now… If you'll excuse me…"
He hurried off back to his own room, closing the door coquettishly behind him.
Oliver was quick to return to his own room in Tommy's apartment. Retrieving the one suit he'd bought with him, he quickly got changed and left before he was subjected to any more sound effects.
He didn't go to the foundry however.
He had somewhere else he needed to be.
…
Walter Steele finished thanking his secretary as he took his morning schedule off her.
Stepping inside his office, he hummed thoughtfully before moving to his desk. He made it all of one step before freezing.
"Oliver? What are you doing here, you scared half the life out of me!"
The man stood casually before him, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.
"How did you even get in here?" Walter recovered quickly. "My office is normally off limits without my permission."
"I ah… think your assistant has something of a crush on me." Oliver said awkwardly. "Besides, I needed to talk to you."
Walter frowned. "Here? You couldn't have done so at home? Your mother's been worried sick about you."
Oliver's visage darkened immediately. "My mother and I aren't exactly seeing eye to eye at the moment… I wanted to speak to you specifically."
"Alright." Walter hummed quizzically. "About what?"
"Your proposal." Oliver clasped his hands together in front of him. "I'd like to accept it, and take on a role as your understudy. If you're still willing, that is."
Walter was unable to stop his eyebrows rising significantly at Oliver's apparent change of heart. "I am, yes. But why didn't you come to the announcement to say this."
Oliver took a deep breath in. "To be completely honest with you, I have no intention of disclosing my activities with the media at all."
"Oh?"
"Let's just say being alone on that Island rather changed my outlook on the paparazzi."
Walter could understand that. Even looking at him now, he could tell the young scion was nervous, and he offered a gentle smile of reassurance. "That's fair. I have no time for their sensationalism either. Have you at least told your mother about this?"
"No."
And there it was, the cold mask that slipped into place with unnerving efficiency. It concerned Walter, the ease at which Oliver schooled his features.
"I don't want to get between you two." Oliver offered by way of apology, "But since I've come back, Mom, she's… let's say difficult. Until she realises she can't keep me on a tether, I have no desire to inform her of anything quite frankly."
Walter sighed at the animosity towards his wife shown by her son. He'd listened to her concerns at length in the past week and certainly sympathised with her point of view. He was inclined to believe Oliver was simply reverting back to his old ways, but the man in front of him spoke of something else.
There was no recklessness, no rebellion for rebellion's sake. No, when he looked at Oliver, he saw above all else someone desperate to be their own person, to step out of the shadow cast by his father and break the shackles imposed on him by his family name.
That he could understand.
"Alright." He said reluctantly. "Well as long as you can maintain a professional relationship in public, I won't intervene in private."
Oliver didn't even try to disguise his sigh of relief. "Thank you." He said sincerely. "In the meantime, shall we begin. Looks like you have a busy day." He nodded at the thick folder still in Walter's hand.
"Indeed." Walter answered, snapping back into his role of Chief Executive. "Do you have any questions to begin with?"
"Not immediately. I wouldn't even know what to ask to be honest." Oliver glanced around the office. "I guess I was just hoping to shadow you for now and learn as I go."
Walter nodded, before moving towards his desk. "Alright, well to begin with this morning I have a list of candidates to confer with about positions in the new Applied Science building."
"Job interviews?"
"Not exactly." Walter took a seat at the lengthy glass table in the corner of the room and gestured for Oliver to join him. "It's more of an informal introduction. A simple meeting between myself and the applicants to vet out who may or may not be suitable for a position within the company. The actual interviews will be conducted with the rest of the board members present."
He paused and looked at his watch. "The first one should be due any minute now, you're welcome to observe the process and ask any questions of your own."
Oliver blew out a sharp breath of air as he adjusted his suit. "Sure, how hard can it be."
…
Oliver groaned, and let his head fall against the stack of paperwork in front of him that had accumulated throughout the morning.
He brought his hands up to massage his throbbing temples, grateful for at least a moments respite.
Beside him, Walter chuckled at his discomfort. "I see you're learning the life of a CEO isn't as glamorous as it appears."
Oliver sent him an exhausted frown.
He hadn't expected it to be easy, but what had transpired was the biggest shock to his body since joining the League.
Peak physical condition he may well have been in, but the interviews had left him mentally drained to the point where he almost wished he was still on the Island. There was only so much business jargon that he could handle, and he'd nearly reached his breaking point.
Wearily, he looked up at the clock on the wall. It showed the time as five minutes until midday.
And with midday came salvation: Blessed lunch.
"How do you do this for a living?" He asked Walter.
The man snorted. "Believe it or not it does get easier. You've had quite the baptism of fire."
He wasn't wrong. Far from the laidback nature of the interviews Walter had described, the morning had actually been filled with an overwhelming, continuous onslaught of rapid fire, back and forth questions and answers between himself, Walter and the prospective applicants. It had been interesting at first, but Oliver had quickly found himself getting lost in the technical nature of the discussions, and had instead resorted to simply taking notes of anything he couldn't make sense of.
He had almost filled an entire notebook.
At least Walter seemed to sympathise with him. "Don't worry, there's only one interview left and then you can have a break."
Oliver forced a smile. "Thank God…"
It was then though that the door opened and Oliver's smile fell flat.
"Nyssa?"
The Heir to the Demon strode into the room confidently, looking to all the world as if she owned it.
It was not often that Oliver was taken by surprise, but in that moment he could do nothing but stare at his fellow assassin, open mouthed.
But then he looked at Walter and the equally confused expression on his step-father's face told him that no, something ridiculous was not happening and Nyssa was not here to apply for a job at the company. Which begged another question in and of itself.
"What are you doing here?"
His piercing stare hid another question. How did you find me?
"There you are. Sara told me I might find you here." She said cheerfully, while surreptitiously jerking her eyes up at the security camera in the corner of the room, giving Oliver his answer.
He stood up and moved over to her, embracing her warmly. She returned the hug as she pulled him close and whispered in his ear. "You need to come to the foundry."
Separating from her, Oliver looked at her quizzically, but the look on her face told him there was no room for arguments.
"I was in the city and wondered if you'd like to join me for lunch." She explained, more for Walter's benefit than his own.
"Sure." Oliver replied. "I just have one more interview to do here and then I should be out in a couple of minutes. Assuming that's okay with you, Walter?"
"Of course." The man smiled, before turning his head to the open door. "Ah, Miss Snow, come in."
Oliver and Nyssa turned as one at the name.
"Caitlin?" they exclaimed in identical gasps, before comically catching themselves and looking at each other in matching surprise.
"Oliver? Nyssa?" The brunette woman stood frozen in the doorway, a notepad tucked under her arm and an equally shocked expression on her alabaster face.
Walter just looked between them in amusement. "You three know each other?"
"Sure." Oliver spoke first. "Caitlin used to date my cousin back in college."
He moved over to embrace her, a gesture which she quickly returned, albeit timidly. "Used to is the appropriate word." She murmured softly. "Turned out he had something of a split personality…"
"Well it's good to see you in any case." Oliver smiled at her.
"Likewise." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was happy to hear you got rescued. But I can't believe I didn't connect the dots between you two." She pointed between Nyssa and himself.
"Yeah that leads me to ask how you two met." Oliver stepped aside.
"In a coffee shop, that day at the courthouse." Nyssa answered. "We bumped into each other, literally. She helped clean up the aftermath."
She held up her wrist to show the still-red mark on her skin where she had been cut by the glass. For his part, Oliver raised an eyebrow at her but chose to say nothing else.
Instead, he turned back to Caitlin. "So how come you're here?" he asked her. "Last I knew you were at MIT."
At his words, Caitlin's eyes lowered and her visage darkened. Her shoulders slumped forward and she seemed to retreat into herself. It was a barely perceptible change, but both Oliver and Nyssa noticed.
"I was." She looked away, before shaking her head of whatever thoughts were plaguing her. "But let's just say circumstances changed and I had to switch careers."
"Oh, so what are you studying now?"
"Studied." Walter cut in, sending an appreciative nod her way. "Miss Snow has just finished her PhD in biomedicine if I am understanding correctly."
"You are." Caitlin nodded shyly, bringing her notebook up to her front and crossing her arms over her chest. "I originally applied at STAR Labs in Central City but they vetoed me so… here I am."
"Well I must say that Queen Consolidated has a higher capacity for those in your field of expertise than Harrison Wells. Personally I find him rather distastefully conceited. Why don't you take a seat and we'll go through what a position here would entail."
She bowed her head and moved to the table where she sat down demurely.
Sensing her nervousness, Walter gave her a reassuring smile before looking back at Oliver and Nyssa. "Oliver, unfortunately, given yourself and Miss Snow are personal acquaintances, you can't be present for this interview purely for auditing purposes. It's a part of the company's integrity policy. Why don't you take an early lunch and I'll see you back here at one?"
Oliver looked between he and Nyssa. "Thank you, Walter, I'll do just that."
He made to leave the room, but not before turning to face Caitlin one last time. "It was good seeing you again." He told her genuinely. "Let me know how it goes here, it would be nice to catch up properly some time."
Caitlin smiled at him. "I'd like that."
With a final nod, he and Nyssa made their exit.
It was only once they were out of the building that Oliver turned to her. "What happened?"
"A lot, beloved." She replied seriously. "It is best you see for yourself."
To be honest, the main reason this chapter took so long to get done was because I simply didn't want to write it. Not much action, a lot of boring dialogue and set up meant it was overall a thoroughly un-enjoyable experience to write.
It was important nonetheless, there was a lot of important things in the chapter that set things in motion moving forward. There were a few Easter Eggs in this chapter, along with Tommy being… well… himself and Caitlin needing to be protected at all costs. Hope you enjoyed!
Thanks as always for your feedback, follows and favourites, it really means the world and gives me motivation to see this through to the end.
Cheers, until next time!
