March 2, 2014, night:
Tommy doesn't really know that anything's wrong until he gets a call from Felicity. It's an immediate indication that not everything is normal – Felicity likes to talk, and Tommy enjoys talking with her, but she doesn't call much. Their conversations are usually either in person or through text. His heart skips a beat in his chest. His first thought, as he picks up the phone and swipes to answer, is Oliver. His second, in the brief pause between his "Hello?" and Felicity's response, is that Laurel hadn't answered the text he'd sent that afternoon asking if she wanted to grab lunch with him, or the one he'd sent that evening letting her know a problem at the clinic would keep him late.
He wanders out of the office he's in at the moment, scrambling to make up for a canceled order from one of their suppliers. He's mildly grateful for the excuse to stretch his legs, but mostly he's just worried.
"Tommy?" Felicity replies. "You alone?"
Tommy's heart skips another beat. "What, what is it?" he asks, words falling out almost on top of each other in his haste to get answers. "Is Oliver okay?" Because this can't be about Laurel. Why would she… she's barely even accepted Oliver as… There's no reason Felicity would be calling about Laurel, right?
"He's fine," Felicity says quickly. "Well, I'm pretty sure he was injured, but he's –" She cuts herself off before she finishes. "That's not what I'm calling about," she corrects quickly.
"Felicity," Tommy says, because he knows she's calling for a reason – the fact that she's calling at all, coupled with the anxiety in her tone, is more than enough proof of that. "Just tell me."
"It's Laurel," Felicity says. "She's, she's fine. Or, at least, well, they didn't hurt her –"
"They who?" Tommy cuts in, urgent and frantic. He glances back toward his office, pats down his pockets, and starts to head back the way he came when he doesn't come up with his keys.
"She's fine," Felicity repeats. "She was with her friend Jo, and Thea's friend Sin, apparently, but they're with the police now, getting their statements taken. None of them need the hospital."
Right. Right. Who took her doesn't matter. Tommy has no idea what happened, and some part of his brain desperately wants to fill in the missing information, but what's much more important is that she's okay. She's alright, and safe, and… "Where?"
Tommy breaks a few speeding laws to get to Laurel's side. He'll feel bad about it later; when Thea had called about Oliver, all those weeks ago, he'd been so careful to stay under the radar. (But that had only been her suspicions of something wrong, and this is a kidnapping. It's not the same thing.)
The sirens fill the parking lot he's headed for with eerie red and blue light, all the stronger for the lack of anything else around. There are plenty of headlights pointed in various directions, but the nearest streetlight is out. It makes it hard to see much of anything; Tommy's not sure if street parking's allowed in this part of the Glades, but there's so much chaos that he doesn't think anyone'll notice.
Bolting out of the car quick as he can doesn't really get him anywhere though, and it takes him a moment to clear his mind and actually think about his next move. Right. Felicity had said she wasn't really hurt, and that she was still on scene. So she hasn't left, hasn't gone to the police station, hasn't been taken to the hospital. But she's still a… a victim (and Tommy shudders and swallows and hates how familiar he is with the ache in his heart), so…
There. There's a crowd around one of the ambulances. Tommy takes a hurried step forward, then pauses and takes a deep breath.
She wasn't injured, he reminds himself. He'd stayed on the phone long enough with Felicity to verify that – even if he hadn't stayed on much longer.
He'd thought, when he'd finally gotten Oliver back…
What? That everything would be fine? His mental voice is chiding, scornful. There's no such thing as happily ever after. But Tommy squashes those disdainful thoughts. Maybe happily ever after doesn't exist, maybe his brother in all but blood routinely risks his life for strangers and friends alike, maybe his girlfriend throws herself into danger to help others, maybe his father was a would-be mass murderer, but that doesn't mean he isn't happy. He's got Oliver back. He's got Laurel. He's got so much to be thankful for.
And she's alright. He can focus on that for now. She doesn't need to be worrying about him.
He doesn't quite manage to plaster a grin on his face, but he's not panicking when he finally reaches Laurel's side, and the relief in her own expression is all he needs to go on.
She's alright. And Felicity said that Oliver was okay too, more or less. He can work with everything else.
March 4, 2014, evening:
Dusk has gently settled in, the soft sounds of the dishwasher running in the background, when Laurel is interrupted from cleaning up the kitchen by a knock on the door. She jumps, then frowns, hating her reaction. Half of her is paranoid that someone's come for her – who, she couldn't say – while the other half, desperately trying to be normal, wonders if maybe Tommy forgot something.
Like his keys? Laurel asks herself sarcastically, setting down the sponge and wiping her hands off on the kitchen towel. It's probably someone else just stopping by. She knows her dad, at the very least, is going to be hovering for a while, and she can't help but wondering if Oliver's going to stop by to discuss the small conversation they'd had in that dark basement. (She's been seeing that horrifying, terrible moment as he'd jerked from the impact of that bullet – distracted by her – in her dreams.)
It's not Oliver though, it's the other Queen sibling, and Laurel hesitates a moment in surprise as she pulls back from the peephole. But then, no, it's not really surprising, is it? She and Thea are closer than they've ever been, or at least they were, before the revelation of Oliver's alter ego. They haven't really spoken much since then.
"Everything alright?" she finds herself asking as she opens the door.
Thea quirks an eyebrow at her. "Aren't I supposed to be the one asking you that?"
Laurel softens a little. "I'm fine," she says gently.
"Are you though?" Thea asks, and Laurel takes the time to really consider the question.
She finds herself swallowing, remembering those hours trapped, the knowledge that no one knew she was missing, the thought that even now she might get into trouble, if anyone looks too closely at her story, because even if she'd been kidnapped, she'd been breaking and entering first. "I'm worried about Jo," she finds herself admitting.
Thea doesn't look any less skeptical. "That doesn't mean you're doing okay," she points out.
Laurel grimaces, then steps aside to let Thea in properly. "I…" she doesn't know what to say. It's not like it's the first time she's been kidnapped, or in mortal danger. It's not the first time she's woken up several nights in a row, nightmares jolting her from her sleep. Honestly, as much as she hates it, the fact that Jo was kidnapped too has been a blessing because it gives Laurel something else to do, someone else to focus on instead of her own problems. (Sin, on the other hand, seems to be handling herself just fine, or, at least, she doesn't want Laurel's help in getting over their abduction. Laurel's barely been able to keep in contact with her.)
"I was kidnapped too, once, you know," Thea says, blunt and to the point.
Laurel blinks. Stares. "You… what?" Thea was kidnapped? When?!
"Oliver and I," Thea says. "About a month after Tommy. We figured they wanted the same thing they wanted from Tommy – to find out if our parents had told us anything. I… Oliver got us out, so, officially, it never really happened."
Thea's words are trying for nonchalant, but it seems forced to Laurel. She's got a hand over her mouth without realizing she'd moved, and she's staring at her friend in shock.
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
Thea shakes her head, and her attempt at an answering grin is more of a grimace. "I'm fine," she bites out. "It was months ago."
Laurel lowers her hand and considers the younger woman. "I don't think either of us is fine," she says. "You want something to drink?"
Thea opens her mouth, but Laurel talks over her.
"Coffee, or tea," she corrects. She's not sure what Thea's stance on sobriety is at the moment, but they don't need alcohol for this conversation. Laurel's well aware of the pitfalls of relying on alcohol to dull the pain. She's learned from her father's mistakes.
"Coffee would be nice," Thea says after a moment.
Thea follows Laurel into the kitchen, and awkward silence permeates the air for a little while as Laurel putters around, pulling out mugs and grabbing the k-cups. She hesitates for a moment in picking Thea's coffee, realizing how long it's been since she's had Thea over, since she's put anything but the dark roast she usually prefers in the machine.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she finds herself asking as the first cup is finished.
The corner of Thea's lips quirk upward in wry agreement. "Yeah, guess it has. Things have been crazy for a while."
Laurel lets the words sink in before she responds. "Yeah, yeah they have. Since Oliver got home, really."
"We barely knew each other back then," Thea points out.
"The world seemed so much simpler back then, even with Oliver back from the dead."
"It was never simple, we just didn't know the truth."
Laurel doesn't think she's imaging the bitter touch to Thea's words. She picks up her own mug, taking comfort from its warmth. "Maybe," she admits reluctantly, almost certain that Thea's right but not quite ready to admit it. "You gonna tell me about your kidnapping, then?" She jerks her head toward the living room, and Thea follows her lead.
"Sure, if you share yours," Thea says as they settle on the couches.
Having already talked about it with Tommy, having gone over the sequence of events a few times over now with Jo, Laurel feels fairly confident she can share her own experience. She doesn't particularly want to, but she can. "Alright," she agrees, and settles in to listen.
"I just… He's so stubborn! And arrogant! Always thinking he knows best, that I can't do anything, that only he can fix things! Roy is getting worse and worse, day after day, and he just expects me to sit there and do nothing, y'know?" Thea's hands gesture wildly as she rants, her coffee mug long since emptied and set to the side.
Laurel's leaning forward in the seat across from her friend, forearms resting on her knees as she listens intently. It's like a weight off her shoulders, to be able to talk freely about this with someone. Tommy knows, of course, but she doesn't want to insult Oliver in front of him when she knows the two of them have worked hard at rebuilding their brotherhood. She doesn't know Felicity or Digg nearly well enough to vent to them, and she definitely can't go to Oliver about this. Thea though? Thea she can talk with, openly and honestly, and it's clear that Thea feels something similar, from the way she's been going on.
"Men," she scoffs in answer. "I know what you mean. Even before I knew who he was, he was always trying to protect me." But she feels a twinge of guilt at her own words. "Of course, he wasn't entirely wrong," she admits reluctantly. "I wasn't really… ready to handle a lot of it."
Thea's scowl is fierce. "So what?" she says. "Why does he get to decide? Why did he let Felicity and Digg help, but not me?"
Laurel frowns at her friend. It has been a while since they've hung out, and she's been, for the most part, avoiding Oliver. She'd had no idea Thea was so interested in getting involved. "This really bothers you, doesn't it?"
"How does it not bother you?" Thea shoots back. "Are you really gonna let Oliver decide what you can and can't do?"
Laurel pulls back. "No, of course not," she says instinctively, strongly, before calming slightly again. "It's just… I didn't know this meant so much to you. That you were so interested in helping. I know Tommy mans the computers and stuff sometimes – he doesn't even let you do that?"
Still scowling, Thea rolls her eyes. "I don't want to be stuck in a chair, looking through emails, or 911 calls," she complains. "I want to help him."
"Thea…"
"Oh god, not you too!" Thea throws her hands up in the air. "If Oliver can do it, if Digg can go out in the costume sometimes, if Roy can help him, then why can't I? Are you seriously telling me to leave it to them?"
"I'm not saying that," Laurel says. "Just… you want to fight?" She can't help the touch of incredulity that slips into her tone, and she can't help but remember the brutality of Oliver's fights. His movements as the Arrow are always fluid, but heavy somehow too, as if the weight of what he's doing reflects itself in his actions. As if there's a force behind his every motion, a threat of violence lurking in his limbs. Oliver isn't gentle, as the Arrow, and she can't imagine Thea wanting to mimic that.
Though, she can't help but wonder, has Thea ever even seen Oliver fight? Like, really fight, bashing someone's head to the concrete, physically pushing arrows into flesh with his bare hands?
"You know how to fight!"
Laurel shakes her head, pulled from her thoughts. "That's different. I mean, yeah, I can handle myself in a fight, but…" But what she can do is nothing compared to what Oliver does. She doesn't think she's too shabby, but she's self-aware enough to admit that.
"Look, I'm not saying I want to lurk around in dark alleys all night and put arrows into people, yeah? I know that's not me. But he won't even teach me how to throw a punch! Is it too much for me to want to learn to protect myself, to make sure that I don't need his help?"
Now that, that surprises Laurel. "He won't?" she finds herself asking. She can understand Oliver not wanting Thea to be involved. Maybe not agree with him, she's not sure yet, but she can understand it. Oliver's protective, Thea's his little sister, and he knows better than anyone the brutality that can be found in the world. She doesn't blame him for not wanting Thea to get involved in that. But not even teaching her self-defense? She can't see that, can't understand that choice. Everyone – every woman – should know how to defend themselves.
Is Oliver so desperate to keep Thea away from what he does that he won't even show her how to protect herself? (And, if he is that desperate, what does that mean about what he thinks of himself, and his own brutality, if he won't let anyone see such a fundamental part of who he's become? It's a thought for another time.)
"I know, right?" Thea asks, clearly agreeing with Laurel's incredulity.
Laurel takes a moment to think, ideas already forming in her mind. She doesn't want to be like Oliver. She can respect the need for brutality in a fight – there's no such thing as a fair fight, Dad's drilled that into her head often enough – just… not on his level. But she also knows that staying away from his mission is no guarantee of safety. Tommy, Thea, Jo, Sin… They've all been in danger, for reasons that have nothing to do with Oliver. Her too.
"I can teach you some basic self-defense moves," she finds herself saying, despite all her earlier talk about wanting to keep Thea out of this. "But… you're right. I don't want to put on a costume either, but, with everything that's happened these last few months – this past year – I don't think anyone could blame us for wanting to look after ourselves. I'll look into some options."
Thea freezes, eyes wide on Laurel. "Really?"
"Really. You're right," Laurel repeats. "I'm tired of relying on someone else to get me out of trouble."
March 10, 2014, afternoon:
Despite the fact that Moira came home in early January, despite the fact that it's been two months since their small family was essentially reunited, family meals are still rare. Oliver's rarely either home or awake when his mother wakes to eat breakfast. And, until recently, he'd had Queen Consolidated on the weekdays to keep him coming home for lunch. Weekends he's been spending entire days in the foundry, looking for Mirakuru, searching for the copycat, tracking down the escaped fugitives (he'd nabbed another two last week). Throw in his arguments with Thea lately and her attempts to avoid him, and they haven't been seeing each other much.
It's an awkward lunch they fall into as a result, five minutes into the meal and barely a word said. Oliver's almost certain their mom can tell it's because they've been arguing, but it doesn't help that her own attempts at conversation have fallen flat. Oliver had listened closely when she'd mentioned joining a book club of her peers, but he hadn't recognized the names as members of the List, and he isn't a reader, nor is he interested in his fellow one-percenters. Thea'd just grunted in response.
Talk about Queen Consolidated had quickly been cut short when Oliver had informed his mother he wasn't interesting in fighting to get his job back – he'd never been interested in being CEO, he just wanted to save his family's company.
He's not much in the mood for conversation, and he's only here because, one, well, he does need to eat, and two, because he'd meant to be reconnecting with his family. He can still remember that, not joy, but, maybe contentment, however slight, that had settled in after the Undertaking. They'd all survived, and Oliver had decided to spend more time as Oliver Queen, less time as the Arrow. They'd gone to a ball game.
It feels like so long ago. That Oliver is gone now too. He doesn't have time to fix everything going on in Oliver Queen's life because he doesn't even have time to solve everything the Arrow's dealing with. And no one would come to a game anyway. Laurel and Thea have both pulled away from him, Laurel because of his methods, Thea because he won't let her be a part of them. Roy's attention is continuously divided between him and Thea, and for all his drive to help, he's losing himself to the Mirakuru anyway. The SCPD can't work with them – Hwang's stuck on desk duty for a few weeks, and Lance can't risk it after helping them bring in Tockman. The city doesn't trust the Arrow, and the company doesn't trust Oliver Queen. Even Tommy, who continually reaffirms that he's behind Oliver one-hundred-percent, is swamped as his clinic in the Glades gets up and running.
Digg and Felicity are still here, he reminds himself. He still has two amazing partners. But they're as swamped as he is.
Eventually, Moira settles into a discussion of her campaign – Walter actually asked her to be mayor, and Oliver is both shocked and not at the same time – something that Thea is willing enough to engage in.
"I actually had a gentleman come to the house the other day, Australian, believe it or not. He expressed an interest in supporting the campaign."
Despite the myriad other things on his mind, Oliver tunes back into the conversation at the words. An Australian man, with Mirakuru loose in the city? A memory of Slade's signature accent (signature, Oliver supposes, only because he doesn't really know any other Australians) rings through his mind. He grits his teeth and tries to ignore it. Coincidence. Paranoia. Slade's dead. He'd made sure of that.
But Sara had survived, hadn't she? his thoughts whisper, sinister and unwelcome.
"That's good," Thea comments, half supportive, half irritated in a 'why do we care' sort of way. She's not in a good mood at the moment. Oliver gets the impression she hadn't gotten much sleep last night, staying up with Roy and coming home only an hour or so before lunch. (Not that he'd gotten any either.)
"He expressed an interest in meeting the family," Moira continues, which, well, at least that explains why she's bringing it up. "I've invited him to join us for dinner on Friday evening, I expect– I'd like you both to be there. He said he'd met you before, Oliver, only briefly."
Oliver's chest grows tight. No. You're being paranoid, he tells himself. He doesn't believe it. "Really?"
"He was an older gentleman, quite polite. He had an eyepatch, of all things."
Oliver freezes. No. It can't be. How…? He's overreacting. He's being paranoid.
An Australian gentleman, older, with an eyepatch, came to his house, spoke with his mother, expressed an interest in seeing him, all at the same time that Mirakuru is infiltrating his city…
Sara had survived. And it's too many coincidences for him to brush aside, even ignoring the claim that they've met before.
"Did he give his name?" he finds himself saying, and he barely recognizes his own voice, can barely hear himself speak.
"Mr. Wilson," Moira answers, nonchalant, completely unaware of the bombshell she's dropping into his life, of the horror that's flooding his system. "Slade Wilson, I believe."
Oliver barely holds himself back from fleeing the table, from rushing instantly to the foundry to track down Slade, to pick up his bow and arrows, to, to… He doesn't know. He'd hallucinated Slade, back when he'd first faced down Gold, but he'd never actually imagined, was never really ready to accept that his nightmares might be reality, no matter his paranoia. But this, this… There's no arguing against this.
He forces himself to loosen his limbs, grateful his fists were clenched beneath the table and away from his mother's and sister's gazes. He nods at Moira. "I'll be there," he finds himself saying. It's true, in that, if it comes to that, there's no way he's letting Slade interact with his family without him there, but it's a lie, in that he desperately hopes he can do something before then, track down Slade, in a best-case scenario, or maybe just get his mom to cancel, for one reason or another.
Thea throws him a look across the table, frowning – he can't blame her for having noticed something, not in these circumstances – but ultimately turns back to Moira. "Yeah, I'll be there too," she agrees. "Is that usual, to get international sponsors?"
Lately, Oliver knows, Thea's been spending a bit more time with their mother, learning a bit about the mayoral campaign, as far as he's aware, so her question isn't really a surprise. He lets her and Moira fall into conversation about international businesses in Star City, and the possibility of dual citizenship and whatever else they're discussing. He isn't really listening. He can barely keep his heart from racing.
But he doesn't want to alert them as to why something's wrong, let alone that something is, so he forces himself to stick around for several more minutes, to put food into his mouth that tastes like ash and swallow it down, before he finally excuses himself. He doesn't have Queen Consolidated as an excuse, so he makes something else up instead. He's not quite sure what.
Knuckles stinging, heart racing, Oliver finally pulls back from the punching bag in front of him. It's not even really anger that had had him wailing on the bag, or at least, not anger at Slade. It's hatred a little – of himself, more than his brother who's been corrupted so badly as to be unrecognizable.
Mostly though, it's fear. He knows what Slade is capable of. He bears the marks: Shado's tattoo, a reminder of his failure – not just for Shado, but for Slade too.
They'd been brothers, once. And in the end Oliver had put an arrow through his eye. He'd been too angry then to do what he should have done, to make sure Slade had died rather than make sure he'd suffered. The monster in him had just been starting to take form. (Or maybe, his thoughts whisper, you should have just used the cure. He shakes those thoughts aside. It's too late now. There's no use in regretting it.)
Oliver wishes his hood was here, wishes he'd gone to Verdant for the briefest of moments instead of this hidden sanctum, if only so he could stare at the mannequin that holds the costume for his monster and scream at the cause of all this. Except he knows he's the cause of this, monster or no monster. He can fool himself all he wants into keeping the two separate, but so many people have been trying to tie them together. Tommy. Thea. Laurel.
And now Slade.
Slade is behind the Mirakuru. Slade was in his house, talking to his mother.
And Oliver can't beat him. He barely managed the first time, thought Sara had died then, for a second time. Now, Slade's been planning this for months and Oliver's barely managing to stay afloat.
Without the Mirakuru, if they had a level playing field…
Oliver tenses, horrified for a moment by the direction of his own thoughts. He knows someone on a level playing field with a Mirakuru enhanced individual – who has the upper hand, actually. He knows someone who offered to help, if he ever needed it. He knows someone he hasn't talked to in weeks, but who he's coached through basic fighting stances and helped improve his techniques.
Can he really bring Superman into this mess, into his mess? Part of Oliver rebels against the idea, and it's half pride, half protectiveness. But the rest of Oliver, the monster inside him, is willing to do whatever it takes to protect his family, to save his city, and to stop Slade from hurting anyone else.
It's just… can he really ask that of Superman? Can he ask Metropolis's shining hero, the ever-optimistic do-gooder, to go toe to toe with Slade Wilson?
Oliver has felt an irrational urge to protect Superman once before - or maybe more than once, during those early initial meetings - but he'd pushed it aside then. Superman is a hundred times the hero Oliver could ever be, and a hundred times more powerful too. He doesn't need protection. He's gone up against terrifying foes and incomprehensively large natural disasters.
At least, that had been Oliver's reasoning. Now, looking back, he realizes that he hadn't even managed to convince himself of that, no matter that he'd thought he'd pushed such feelings away. He has been protecting Superman, in a manner of speaking, and part of him still wants to, because the way in which he's been doing so... it's exactly how he's been protecting everyone else he comes across. It's why Thea's mad at him. It's why he and Digg and Felicity have had so many fights. It's why he got off on the wrong foot with Barry. It's why he'd never initially planned to tell Tommy and Laurel (or anyone else) the truth.
There are other factors, of course. His secret identity is important, and he can't deny that his guilt drives him to act, but...
Oliver's changed, in the year and a half since he's come home. Changed enough to be able to reflect upon his own actions, think on them more clearly. And a lot of his own actions, a lot of the issues and arguments he has with other people, boil down to more or less the same thing: he wants to keep as many people away from the darkness in the world – the darkness in him – as he can, whether that person is Superman or his little sister.
There are other factors, a million and one little things he's dealt with in Star City - yes, he'd still been worried about not really knowing who Barry was when it came to the other man knowing his identity; yes, he'd made decisions without consulting Digg and Felicity; yes, he's been harsh, and cruel, to more than just his enemies; yes, it might be closer to selfishness, and wanting to maintain his relationships, than real protectiveness. Oliver knows himself better than to paint his own actions in a positive light. He's no hero, whatever others think. But those thoughts and feelings still exist.
Superman could handle a man with Mirakuru in his blood. He could handle Slade. All Oliver has to do is find out where Slade is and just... point Superman in the right direction. And yet he doesn't want to.
He doesn't want to shove his problems off onto someone else.
It's arrogance, too, he realizes. He wants to be the one who handles it. It's his problem. His fault, his job to solve the problem. It's the same feeling that had had him hating every second of watching the police taking down Gold and vowing to never sit on the sidelines again.
And yes, there are other factors with this too. Would Superman believe him? And, more importantly, beating Slade in a fight isn't even enough. Oliver needs to detain him, stop him from hurting anyone ever again. Superman won't kill. And though Oliver would be lying if he said he hadn't considered it - if only he'd actually killed Slade when he thought he had, on the Amazo - killing Slade isn't an option. Yet.
Oliver knows he can't handle Slade on his own. Maybe in a one-on-one fight, in an environment of his choosing, if he has all his gear and can catch Slade off guard, then yes. But with all Slade's manipulations in the background, with other unknown individuals with Mirakuru out there... He's got too much on his plate already. He's had too much on his plate for months.
The thing is though, it's not just his plate anymore. Oliver's not ready to bring Thea into this, or Laurel, or Tommy, and maybe that's part of his problem, but Digg and Felicity, even Roy... Well, Roy's never met Superman yet. Maybe it's time Oliver corrects that.
He pulls in a deep breath, grabbing a towel. Still though. Still. Can he… can he ask Superman to handle a monster he created?
Because some of his reluctance, Oliver knows, has to do with a lack of trust. An inability to trust. To trust someone else to do the job in his place. To trust someone else not to turn on him when the job is done. "The only man you can trust is yourself." Anatoly's words. Oliver's thought them often enough since he's heard them, because they'd rang true to him back then.
A large part of him still believes them. Part of him doesn't, clearly, part of him has let Digg and Felicity, and Tommy and Roy, and even Thea and Laurel, into his life. He's let others watch his back. He's worked with the police.
But there are so many different aspects to trust. Trusting someone with his life, something he doesn't consider to be particularly valuable, isn't hard for him. He wouldn't trust it to a random stranger, but if he's done his homework, as he has with Superman, as he had with Digg and Felicity, that's not ultimately difficult. Trusting someone with his secrets, though... Trusting them not to turn on him once they learn the truth of what he's done, trusting them to trust him, to take him at his word...
That's harder. He's not sure he's ready to trust that Superman will believe him, that Superman would let him hand Slade over to ARGUS.
He's not sure he has any other option. But, he reminds himself again, he's not in this alone anymore. It doesn't just have to be his decision.
Digg, Felicity, and Roy are all already in the foundry by the time Oliver arrives. It's obvious they're worried about him, and Oliver can't blame them for their reaction. With as much time as they've been spending crammed together in the dark basement these days, he knows how out of character it is for him to be the last to arrive, let alone for him to be as late as he is.
Felicity is working at her computers. Digg is exercising with Roy, walking him through some movements on the mats in a way that suggests Roy's having trouble controlling himself. Impatience, maybe, waiting for him, Oliver considers. Normally he might feel guilty about that. Tonight, he has no space for that in his mind.
All eyes are on him by the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Nobody bothers to hide their uncertainty, but something about the expression on his face must warn them off, because nobody asks any questions either. For a moment, silence hangs in the air between the four of them, tense and heavy with the weight of what Oliver hasn't said yet.
"Slade Wilson is in Star City," Oliver announces, grave. He knows perfectly well that none of them know who Slade is, or what it means that he's alive, let alone in Star City, but the statement catches his team's attention, as it was meant to.
Digg and Roy drop out of their fighting stances, Digg moving to grab a towel and wipe at his face, Roy stepping for the edge of the mat. Felicity's attention is no longer on her computers.
"Who's Slade Wilson?" Roy is the one to ask, glancing between Digg and Felicity, as if checking to see if they know.
"Slade was on the island with me," Oliver answers. "He was the first man – the only one – I ever saw survive the Mirakuru."
More than anyone else in the room, Digg tenses at the words. Oliver supposes, out of everyone there, he's the one who most understands what those few words mean. He's the one most capable of linking Oliver's adverse reaction to Mirakuru, here in the present, with poor experiences in the past.
Oliver can see a hundred questions racing through his teammates' minds. Questions about the island, about Slade and who he is to Oliver and what the Mirakuru turned him into. Digg is the one to speak though.
"How do you know he's in Star City?"
Despite the topic, Oliver feels a small rush of relief flow through him. Digg's focusing on the present. He's not pressing Oliver this time, demanding answers about the past. He meets his friend's gaze, and Digg nods subtly in response. He knows what he's doing. He's choosing not to ask, to let Oliver spill the story in his own way.
"He came to my house," Oliver says.
Glancing between Oliver and Digg uncertainly, Felicity takes her cues from the both of them. "I'm guessing that's a bad thing?" she asks. It's… well, she's keeping the conversation in the present, mostly, but her desire to know the backstory behind Oliver's words comes through well enough.
But she's not pressing, no matter how clearly she wants to, no matter how poorly she's holding herself back, and words can't express the way Oliver feels about his teammates, in that moment.
"Slade and I… we worked together, in the beginning," Oliver tells them, because they aren't asking, but they still deserve to know. Not… not everything, there's so much Oliver won't be able to bring himself to say, but… Enough. He can tell them enough. "About a year after I landed, we met…" he shakes his head. Digg and Felicity know the truth, but Roy still doesn't know about Sara. "A ship came to the island," he ends up saying. "The man leading the expedition was looking for a Japanese sub that had sunk in the area during World War II."
"The Mirakuru," Digg says softly.
Oliver nods. "Ivo didn't care why we were there. He didn't want anyone getting in his way. Slade… he was hurt, badly, so we… we tracked down the Mirakuru first, and used it. After that…" he grits his teeth, remembering kneeling on the forest floor, throwing himself in front of Ivo's gun, and it still wasn't enough. Shado's death, Slade's downfall… that's on him. And he's not ready to talk about that.
"Slade gave into the Mirakuru," he says instead. "Turned against us, took over Ivo's ship. It… We almost didn't stop him."
Silence settles for a moment, the others processing his words, or perhaps figuring out how to best phrase their questions.
"We?" Felicity asks softly. "You and –" but she cuts herself off too, with a glance at Roy.
"And some other prisoners Ivo had on his ship," Oliver agrees.
"So… you killed him?" Roy says, looking sick. "Slade?"
Oliver meets his gaze. He knows why Roy's asking. "I thought I did," he says plainly. "But… we were stuck on that island," he continues. "There was no possibility of even looking for another solution, not after the Mirakuru really took over." Guilt tugs at his stomach; he doesn't mention the cure.
"You said this Ivo came on a ship," Digg says.
Oliver's not sure if Digg's suggesting there was a possibility to look for another solution, or if he's trying to ask why Oliver didn't make it home sooner than he did. Oliver's not ready to mention that he didn't spend his entire five years away on Lian Yu either though, even if his team already knows that ARGUS found him shortly after the events he's currently describing.
"He did. And we took it from him. That was when Slade went mad. The ship went down with him, in the end."
"So he's… insane," Felicity says hesitantly.
"He'll do anything to destroy me," Oliver says, except it's not him he's worried about. "Including go after my family." Slade wants to see him suffer, wants him to remember everyday what happened to Shado. As if he doesn't already, even without seeing her tattoo every time he looks at his back in the mirror.
"This was your second year?" Digg asks. "So he's…"
Digg frowns in concentration, and Oliver takes the pause to interrupt.
"He's had five years with Mirakuru running through his veins. Five years to plan his revenge against me, more or less." Slade would have needed time to recover, after all, time to get off the island, somehow. (Had ARGUS had a hand in that too? Or the people Sara now owes loyalty to, whoever they are?)
Silence settles again. Roy looks sick, Digg pensive and worried, Felicity just a touch away from panicked rambling.
"The important thing is," Oliver says, drawing everyone back to the present, "that he's here now. He's behind Gold, the man in the skull mask, the doctor at the clinic we took down last week, and probably more than that besides. And my mother invited him over for dinner on Friday."
That gets their attention.
"What?" Roy asks, and thankfully he seems too startled by the idea to start to be worried for Thea.
"He won't make it to dinner," Oliver promises, to all of them.
"So we need to find him before then," Digg says. He glances over toward Felicity. "Can you track him down?"
Felicity turns to Oliver in response. "I… I can…" she shakes her head slightly, as if trying to clear it, as if steeling herself, or shaking off thoughts of Oliver's past. "Tell me everything you can about him."
Oliver nods, and fills her in. He gives up Slade's name, spills his description, what he knows about his life before Lian Yu, the eyepatch his mother had said he was wearing, and the few details he'd let slip to her.
Felicity absorbs it all, entering information into her search algorithms as needed. "It sounds like he's not exactly trying to hide," she points out. "He donated money to your mom's campaign. We just didn't know we needed to look for him, before."
"Donations can be anonymous," Digg points out.
"Not to me."
"That still doesn't tell us where he might be staying," Oliver reminds her.
"Or how many men he might have working for him. We still haven't caught the man in the skull mask, and if he's behind Gold, there might be others with Mirakuru that we don't know about."
"Yeah, yeah," Felicity half-murmurs, already absorbed into her computers. "That sounds like something for you two to worry about." She glances up at Roy. "Three, I mean. Not that I was trying to exclude you, I just –" She cuts herself off with a shake of her head and gets back to work.
"Even if we can't find out where he is," Digg points out practically, "we know where he's going to be."
Oliver tenses, but he gets what Digg's saying.
"You're not seriously considering letting him back in the house?" Roy asks, incredulous, and they all know it's not Moira he's worried about.
"Not the house," Oliver says, quickly before Roy can get himself worked up. "We won't let him get that far."
"Can we stop him, though?"
"That… that was the other thing I wanted to talk about," Oliver admits, and he still doesn't want to say it, but he has to. Roy's right to be worried. Oliver won't let Slade near his family ever again. Even if that means he's not the one to bring him in. "I think we should call in Superman."
The sentence alone speaks volumes to his partners, the two who have been with him from the beginning. Hell, the first three words alone tell of weeks, of months of changing mentalities, of time spent together, of the sweat and blood and tears they've poured into protecting Star City.
"I think", because Oliver isn't certain it's the best call, because Oliver's willing to admit that he's not certain it's the best call. "We", because Oliver's making it a group decision, because Oliver's not insisting he knows best, that this is a call only he can make.
This is still his team; Oliver will stand by that. Calls in the field are still his to make. And if it comes right down to it, if, for some insane reason he can't even think of right now, Digg and Felicity disagree with him, and they go after Slade, and it isn't enough, he'll probably go over their heads and call Superman anyway. But Oliver doesn't think that'll happen. Right now, he's giving them the chance to voice their own opinions. He wouldn't have done that a year ago.
(He didn't have his mask, a year ago. Didn't have Tommy, a constant supportive presence in the background. Didn't have a swarm of people who knew the truth about him, and hadn't rejected him.)
"Superman?" Roy asks in astonishment.
Digg and Felicity exchange glances. It's clear the both of them understand the undercurrent of everything Oliver's said in that one sentence – and everything he hasn't said.
That, more than anything he thinks he could ever say about Slade, impresses upon them the seriousness of the situation.
"We've met with him, before," Oliver says tersely. It's an answer to Roy, because Roy deserves an answer, but most of his focus is on Digg and Felicity, evaluating their response to his suggestion.
"After the Undertaking?" Roy asks. "That wasn't just…"
"Superman found me in October a year ago, after I started out. He told me if I didn't stop killing people, he'd stop me himself," Oliver reveals. He's still not looking at Roy. Digg and Felicity are having a silent conversation with their expressions, and Oliver's following along. (They seem to be in favor of the idea, but it's clear they have their doubts, as much as he does.)
Roy startles. "And then you… you worked together?"
Oliver nods once.
"Even if we do call Superman," Digg cuts in, "that doesn't answer what we're going to do about Slade."
Oliver knows. They can't exactly arrest him. But he's thought about that too. "You're still seeing Lyla, aren't you?"
"You want to bring ARGUS in on this?"
"They won't want Slade on the streets any more than we do."
"But will they be able to hold him? Legally?"
Oliver's not surprised Felicity has her doubts. She doesn't know ARGUS the way he does, even the way Diggle does. "They'll hold him," he says to her, then turns to Digg. "Tell Lyla to tell Waller I know where this'll put the scales." ARGUS had done him a favor last fall, after all. And Waller doesn't do anything for free.
Digg frowns at him. "What?"
"She'll know what it means."
"Oliver," Digg says, reluctant, "if you think –"
"I don't. ARGUS will do it – you're right. Wilson's a security risk. They'll hold him." And Waller's cold, but she probably won't try to use Mirakuru for herself – if only because she wouldn't trust any scientists to work on the project.
Digg hesitates for a moment, as if trying to decipher Oliver's words himself – Oliver wouldn't put it past him to already have an inkling of what it means – but the evening's been tense enough already. Digg can no doubt tell that Oliver is strung out and exhausted and very much does not want to talk about this anymore.
He nods once. "I'll let you know as soon as we're green."
"So that's holding him," Felicity says, "but will Superman agree to that?"
Oliver stares at her. "There's only one way to find out." She and Digg both hear the question in his words.
"We should have a solid plan, before we approach him," Digg says in answer. "And… you'll have to tell him the truth. Maybe even more than you've told us. He has to know how much of a threat the Mirakuru is."
"I could –" Roy starts.
"No," Oliver cuts in, going back on his earlier thoughts. "You're not going to meet Superman."
Roy blanches. "What?"
Oliver gives his trainee his full attention. "Superman doesn't need to know."
"Oliver, if Roy…"
"No."
Roy's fists are clenched at his sides, his shoulders tight. "Digg's right, I don't want to –"
"Are you under control?"
Roy hesitates. Oliver waits. Roy clenches his jaw and looks away.
"Superman won't be happy about holding Slade without due process, even if I convince him. We'll tell him that Slade can stand trial once he's cured."
"If… if he's cured," Felicity points out hesitantly.
Oliver keeps his eyes on Roy. "We'll make sure there's a cure." There was one once, surely there can be one again.
Roy understands what he's saying. He nods once.
"So, we're doing this?"
Oliver glances between his partners. "We are."
"I'll call Lyla," Digg says.
"I'll focus my attention on finding someone to make our cure." Felicity spins back to her computers.
Oliver nods, and steps over to Roy. "I'm not hiding you," he says plainly.
"You're protecting me," Roy says. He doesn't sound happy about it, but he doesn't argue.
Oliver nods again. "Meditate, for an hour, then we'll train." When Roy returns to the mats, Oliver pulls out his phone and moves to step out the back door. There's one more person who needs to know about Slade's return, even if there's nothing she can do about it.
AN: Thanks everyone for their patience! I'm almost done with this fic - the next three chapters are fully written, pending edits, and the three after that are almost fully outlined. Chapter 39 is titled Shattered, and I should hopefully publish that in August.
