Chapter Three
Cupid's Arrow
For someone with her background, tracking down Roy's address proved no challenge at all. Given the information she had, his true name and age, she simply called the area high schools and asked if he was enrolled. Claiming to be his after school employer, she'd asked to speak to his guidance counselor, pretending to be fearful that his schoolwork might be suffering because of his extra-curricular activities. She'd learned, in the conversation, not only the name and address of his legal guardian, but also the fact Roy was a decent student who could be a great one, and sometimes fell asleep in class. She'd pretended to be deeply apologetic over that one, and secretly hoped she had done him a good turn.
Thursday night at precisely eight p.m., Dinah stood outside the door of a condominium in a complex which surprisingly seemed to house mostly senior citizens. For a second, she wondered if she'd been following the wrong trail. But on the whole she was sure of the detective work that had led her here, and had no fear about ringing the bell.
Sure enough, when the door opened the unmasked but still mostly familiar face of Roy Harper split into a wide grin. "Dinah!" he exclaimed, surveying his guest delightedly. "I knew you'd make it! Happy birthday. And...wow. You look really different without the wig on."
"Kinda the point," she observed mildly.
He continued to gape at her till a male voice from inside the apartment reminded him, "Hey, Roy — why don't you introduce me to your protegée instead of making her stand out in the hall."
"Oh. Right. Come in," said Roy, embarrassed. He moved out of the way and gestured for Dinah to come inside. "Ollie, this is my friend Black Canary — Dinah Lance. And this is the Green Arrow."
There was a touch of reverence in the teenager's voice as he indicated the man who stood next to him. The blond man smiled at the newcomer and held out his hand. "Otherwise known as Oliver Queen."
"Nice to meet you," Dinah said, leaving her hand in his grasp just a touch longer than necessary.
"Charmed." Oliver looked her up and down, as if trying to visualise her in costume.
God's gift to women! was how Dinah summed him up to herself. Even at her age she could recognise a player when she saw one. Suave, a little too masculine in a particular kind of way...still, she thought, there probably weren't too many women who turned down the so-called gift. Dinah herself wasn't entirely immune; five minutes earlier she wouldn't have believed it possible to see someone with such ridiculous facial hair and not feel the slightest urge to laugh.
Her host was equally impressed with her. She really was stunning, and to her great credit she met his gaze steadily instead of blushing and turning away giggling like a little schoolgirl. He couldn't wait to see what she looked like in the blonde wig and stockings.
"Sit down," he invited. Dinah made her way into the seating area and sat primly on one end of the sofa. He draped himself across the other end while Roy perched nervously on a chair across from them. A few seconds later the boy was on his feet again, offering his guest a soft drink or anything else she wanted.
Accepting the offer graciously, she turned to the older man with interest. "So, you're the greatest archer of all time, huh?"
"Is that what Speedy tells you? Well, I admit I'm no Howard Hill or Saxton Pope, but I'm on the short list."
"But I'm still faster," Roy reminded him cheerfully. He handed Dinah a glass with too much fizzing liquid and too little ice.
His mentor leaned across to him and whispered, "That's not something you want to brag about in front of a girl."
Roy blushed furiously and looked as if he wanted to either sink through the floor or murder his guardian. "I haven't had any complaints," he said under his breath.
"Don't worry, Roy," Dinah told her friend. "My mom pulls the same stunt on me. I guess when people start to get older they try to hold onto their youth by acting childish."
Oliver let out a whoop. "Pretty fast with a shaft yourself, birthday girl!" he said, impressed.
She gave him a mischievously smug sort of smile he found very attractive. Roy, delighted to see that they had taken a liking to one another, grinned from ear to ear. And, although he certainly didn't need defending against his guardian's very familiar teasing, he was elated to think she was willing to jump to his defense.
Still chuckling, Oliver unfolded himself from the low couch and crossed the room to the kitchen, divided from the living room area only by a brick hip-wall and countertop. He removed the lid from the large pot simmering on the stove and looked at the newcomer. "What do you do for a living, Dinah?"
"I'm a florist. What about you?" she asked, continuing the casual small talk.
He hesitated a moment. "Oh, this and that," he said only a little evasively. "At the moment I'm working as a bodyguard."
"That's appropriate."
"Uh huh." Returning to his seat next to her he gave her a piercing look and inquired, "Okay, you know I gotta ask...what's a pretty girl like you doing in a dirty business like this?"
She scowled at him, figuring he was about to start lecturing her about being too young, about how it wasn't a fit job for a woman anyway, much less a girl. She was only surprised it had taken him so long to get around to it; he struck her as the direct sort. "What's your excuse?" she countered.
Oliver shrugged. "I had nothing better to do. I had time on my hands, at the time I had plenty of money, I was irresponsible as hell. See, my parents died before I was old enough to fend for myself, so I never really had a chance to learn sensible behaviour."
Roy, who recognised the gambit for what it was, rolled his eyes, but Dinah was immediately all sympathy. "Oh, I'm so sorry. How old were you?"
"Twenty-one."
Dinah blinked. "Twenty-one. Oh. Okay." Then she laughed; she couldn't help it, the wide grin behind the beard was infectious.
"Now come on, your turn — answer the question. I'm just curious. I won't bite."
She smiled at him and shrugged slightly. "I'm not actually the first Black Canary. I guess you could say I inherited my mother's secret identity. Well," she amended, "maybe not so much inherited it as stole it because she wasn't using it anymore. My very first memory is of her climbing in the window of our apartment wearing her costume.
"I mean, I grew up on this stuff. My favourite bedtime stories were my parents' tales about all their great, exciting adventures. I met all their old friends...I grew up with an 'Auntie Wonder Woman' for heaven's sake! This...is normal to me."
"Wow," breathed Roy. "And I thought knowing Green Lantern was impressive."
"Don't let him hear you suggest otherwise," grinned Oliver.
Dinah gave a little shrug. "Oh, there weren't that many, even then. Come to think of it, most of 'em were already retired by the time I knew them. The hero business has kind of gone into a slump, I guess."
"Driven underground," Ollie suggested. "The government probably thinks we're some kind of threat. Like we're the ones attracting all the criminals."
"That's Mom's theory, actually. But I don't know if she really believes that we bring it all on ourselves, or if it was just a way to keep me from going through with taking up the trade myself."
"So how'd she take it when you actually did?"
Dinah finished off the last of her soft drink, and looked at him coyly over the rim of the glass. "She doesn't know yet."
Roy grinned. "I don't think mine would've gone along with the idea, either. Oh, hey, you want a refill?"
"I know she wouldn't have," Oliver agreed firmly.
"Thanks," smiled Dinah, holding out her glass. "Maybe just a little more ice, if you don't mind."
The boy smacked his forehead. "Uh oh!"
Oliver gave him a slightly irritated look. "I told you to pick up a bag of ice."
"I know, I know. I just forgot."
Oliver dug a dollar bill out of his pocket and tossed it at Roy, who disappeared without acknowledging Dinah's protests about not really needing it that badly.
"I oughtta make him pay for it," he said lazily. He knew very well why the kid had been so uncharacteristically absentminded; he'd talked of nothing else but this girl all week.
His guest's mutinous expression reminded him suddenly that she really was just a girl, in spite of her obvious maturity. She might seem much older than her age most of the time, but she was still at the point where she'd take a kid's side over a parental figure every time.
He gave her a no-harm-done sort of wink, probably meant to be apologetic though it didn't quite make it, and returned to the kitchen. "Want a taste?" he asked after a minute.
Dinah leaned across the low wall and took a mouthful of the chili. Wishing Roy hadn't forgotten the ice, she gasped and fanned her mouth with both hands. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed.
"Well?"
"Needs more garlic," was her only comment once she recovered her powers of speech.
"Atta girl!"
She grinned back at him. "Hey look, seriously — thanks for letting me come over and eat with you guys. Are you sure you don't mind throwing a birthday party for a total stranger?"
"Considering we've got a grand total of six supermarket cupcakes for dessert, it's not much of party," he said. "And anyway, what guy in his right mind would object to his son bringing home a pretty girl?"
Surprised, she asked, "Is he your son? I sort of got the impression otherwise."
"Hrm." He was long enough about answering to make her wonder if she'd offended him by asking a question that was really none of her business. "He might be," he answered finally.
Dinah felt slightly embarrassed, and wished she'd never brought it up, but Oliver didn't seem to mind. It wouldn't take long for her to learn that circumspectness wasn't really a large part of his character.
"His mother was an old girlfriend," he explained needlessly. "More to the point, she was an old friend. She always claimed she never really knew for sure, but my name's on his birth certificate. Either way I've sort of been in and out of his life for years. We do have the same blood type, though," he added hopefully.
"And the same eyes," Dinah reflected. He looked back at her steadily across the barrier as she stared up into his green eyes just a touch too long. Stop it! she told herself firmly, dropping her gaze. What was it about her and older men? Sheesh!
Oliver pretended not to notice anything. "Just a coincidence," he said casually. "Mind coming around here and getting some bowls? No, the other cabinet. Roy's mom had the whole redheaded, green-eyed Irish thing going."
Dinah began to set the table, just to keep herself occupied. But when she stepped back into the kitchen space to look for spoons, she found herself in uncomfortably close proximity to Oliver. They were both acutely aware of one another's presence.
"Y'know," Ollie said lightly, "there's a joke I could make about this. Your name, where we are..."
"Old folk song? Yeah. I'd really rather you wouldn't."
Roy's return cut off whatever reply he might have made.
Later, while the three of them were eating, Oliver asked Dinah impulsively, "So, do you intend to keep on being a solo crimefighter, or join our little club?"
"I think I can teach you boys a thing or two," she replied, managing to keep her surprise hidden.
Roy gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. "Yeah!"
Oliver held up his glass and the others clinked theirs against it.
"Here's to the start of a beautiful friendship."
->>> ————————>
Recognising in her a kindred spirit, a similar disdain for authority, Green Arrow made no attempt to "train" the young woman as Speedy had imprudently suggested. Instead, over the next few weeks he offered a combination of honest compliments, tactful suggestions, and a few swift kicks in the pants along the lines of "Well, now that was a goddamn stupid thing to do." The latter invariably resulted in a fantastic flare of temper, but since his criticisms were usually justified, once Black Canary had calmed down a bit she generally took his advice.
One bone of contention was her daredevil refusal to wear a mask while she was in costume. She shrugged off the need, saying most people thought they were an urban myth anyway. He pointed out to her that one stupid journalist — and they were all stupid, take it from him — with a telephoto lens could make her life a living hell. She promised to think about it, but did absolutely nothing about acquiring a better disguise. Fed up, the archer appeared one night with a black domino mask in hand.
"You just don't take 'no' for an answer, do you?" Black Canary laughed.
He grinned back at her and motioned for her to sit next to him on the low, sloping roof. "Contrary to popular belief," he said, taking out a tube of spirit glue, "I do occasionally take 'no' for an answer. What I don't take is, 'I'll think about it,' followed by a week of 'I haven't gotten around to it.'"
"Nag, nag, nag," she said, trying not to laugh. Behind the older man's back Speedy was nodding emphatically.
"There," Green Arrow breathed as he fixed the mask in position. One finger brushed softly against her cheek for a moment before he pulled his hand away. The green eyes behind his own mask looked deeply into hers, and Dinah felt herself tremble.
Oblivious, Speedy surveyed his mentor's handiwork. "Definitely better," he said with approval. "Like you always say, Ollie, nothing's sexier than leaving somethin' to the imagination."
With difficulty, he tore his gaze away from Black Canary's. "I said that!" he demanded playfully. "What would I ever say a silly thing like that for?"
The retort the young man was about to make was cut off by a scream for help, more frustrated and angry-sounding than frantic, somewhere in the vicinity. "Probably another purse snatcher," Oliver said, starting to rise.
"I'll take care of it," Speedy offered, in a slightly deeper than normal voice. He hurried off down the fire escape.
"That was for your benefit, you know," Green Arrow said with a glance at his remaining companion. "He's got such a crush he's desperate to impress you."
Black Canary leaned back lazily on her elbows. "I know," she chuckled. "It's cute. He's trying so hard to sound grown up."
Green Arrow threw back his head and laughed uproariously.
She glared at him for two solid minutes, then she began to see the humour in it. She gave him a rueful smile. "I know, I know. You're right. Roy's only a couple years younger than I am. It's just that I'm about a hundred years older than he is."
The smile faded off Oliver's face. "I know that, Pretty Bird," he said seriously. "That's the whole problem."
What he meant was, a problem for him.
———————— -
The last Friday in May, traditionally one of the busiest months in the floral industry, found Dinah busily making graduation wreaths when a coworker tapped her on the shoulder.
"Hey, Dinah, somebody up front asking for you personally." Dinah made a face and the woman reassured her with a grin, "You'll like this one. Tall, blond hunk with a beard. Yum."
"Oh!"
Oliver Queen leaned across the counter as soon as she entered the front of the store, resting his weight on his fingers in a characteristic gesture that made him look exactly like the archer he was, even without the bow. His green eyes sparkled with excitement. "Guess who I just ran into at the airport?"
"Ronald Reagan," she guessed, playing along. She rested her elbows on the counter, her face close to his.
He shook his head. "Wrong villain entirely. You —"
The shop's manager interrupted his urgent news. "Dinah?" she said quietly. "We still have a lot of work to do with those graduation orders. I'm afraid Ms. Lance doesn't have time to entertain visitors during work hours," she added sternly, giving Oliver a freezing look over the tops of her glasses.
He broke into a warm smile and turned all of his considerable charm on the woman. "My dear lady, I assure you that I have every intention of being a paying customer just as soon as I find what I'm looking for. A customer brought into this particular florist by the fact that you have the taste and intelligence to hire this young lady, I might add. Ah, here we go," he said, selecting a single yellow rose off the counter display.
This speech, which might realistically have sounded insulting coming from someone less flamboyantly charismatic, reduced the manager to a wilted wreck. She blinked her eyes, patted her hair into place, and said, "Well. I'll let you get on with your business, and please, do come again."
As soon as she disappeared into the back Oliver got on with his business. As Dinah made change for his five-dollar bill, he leaned close to her. "You're the only one in the country trying to get rid of this particular S.O.B."
"Craig? You found Craig! Oh, Oliver, thank you!"
"Never mind the thanks. We can't count on his plane being delayed more than another couple hours. We've gotta get those papers and get going, or he'll be back in the Amazon basin and you'll still be stuck with him."
She opened her mouth to object, then grabbed her purse and hurried to the door with him. "I'm afraid I have to leave, Mrs. Leatherman. It's an emergency," she shouted. She had one glimpse of the manager's outraged face appearing at the door before they turned onto the sidewalk to make their way to Ollie's car.
A sudden fog had made its way inland during the day, necessitating putting up the Mustang's top which he hated to do. Like any transplanted Californian Oliver complained incessantly about the weather in the Pacific Northwest, but he seemed to have taken a real liking to the area for all that.
"What do you want with a yellow rose, anyway?" she asked him as she opened the passenger door.
He took a deep sniff and offered it to her with a flourish. "Canary yellow," he corrected. "I bought it for the prettiest soon-to-be divorcée I know."
"You're such a flirt!"
"How would you know?" he asked.
It was true. He'd always been uncharacteristically well-behaved around her; not one single pickup line or come-on, simply because she was nineteen, married, and a friend of Roy's. And maybe, later on, for a few other reasons as well. He glanced over at her, sitting in the convertible's passenger seat, head bent over the flower, and thought that if he didn't know better he'd probably buy into the illusion that she was the demure young maiden she looked.
Idiot, he scolded himself and slammed the car into gear.
"So how did you happen to run across my soon-to-be ex?" she asked when they finally neared the airport's parking area. It had taken them more time than expected to find the divorce papers at Dinah's apartment, and by that time the weekend travellers were congesting the foggy highway near SeaTac.
"Sheer blind luck," he admitted. "I had a little business to take care of here, and I saw Windrow's name on his bags, so I started talking to him. Friendly guy. Told me more than anybody could ever possibly wanna know about what and where he's studying. Including the fact he's been back in Seattle for two weeks."
Dinah slammed the door in irritation as she got out. "Sounds like him," she said sourly.
As they made their way through the crowded terminals, they heard the announcement, "Pan Am flight 514 to Buenos Aires now boarding at Gate 3." Oliver swore under his breath and increased his speed.
"Hey, Windrow," he said, catching hold of his quarry's arm as he was picking up his bags. "Hold on a sec, will ya?"
Craig looked round in surprise. "Oh, hi, uh...Queen, right? Look, I was just about to head to the boarding area." He started to walk away, but Oliver fell into step with him.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. This won't take more than a minute. See...after I talked to you earlier I found out we've got a mutual friend, you and me," Oliver said, shaking his finger in the other man's face. "And she's just dying to have a couple of words with you before you fly off to the back of beyond again."
The younger man stopped, suspicion clouding his expression, and began impatiently, "Look, Mr. Queen, I'm afraid I don't have — Dinah!" he interrupted himself.
"You're damn right you don't have Dinah," she spat as she stalked up to the two of them. "In fact, as soon as you sign these, you won't ever have to be troubled with me again. And vice-versa."
"Huh?" he questioned, reaching for the sheaf of papers she held out to him. "Oh. I see. You're divorcing me."
"She's trying to, you nitwit," Oliver said under his breath. He relieved Craig of his heavy bag so he could take the pen Dinah produced from her purse.
Craig gave his wife a long look. "You know, I came by the apartment once," he said awkwardly. "I was kind of hoping to see you again, but I guess...are you sure about this?"
"You better believe it," Dinah told him decisively. "And you better hurry if you don't want to miss your plane."
He shook himself, his slightly glazed eyes focusing again. Then he scribbled his signature on the indicated lines and handed the papers back to Dinah with a bittersweet smile. "Well, I guess this is it, then."
"Yep."
As Craig retrieved his carry-on bag from Oliver, he inspected the bearded man curiously. "So, are you some kind of private detective, or do you just have a vested interest in my wife?"
"Something like that," was the ambiguous answer.
Dinah laughed at the exchange and turned to leave without so much as a backwards glance. Oliver followed suit, leaving Windrow to blink once at their retreating forms before he shook his head and ran to make his plane.
"How do you feel?" asked Oliver as he caught up to his friend.
Dinah stopped walking. "Is the courthouse still open?"
He checked his watch. "We should have time to make it."
"In that case, after I file these with the judge, then I'll tell you how I feel. But I can tell you right now, it's gonna be good."
"Glad to hear it. I think this calls for a celebration, don't you?"
"Absolutely," she agreed happily. "Now if we weren't both broke I'd make you take me to the most expensive restaurant in town, but..."
He laughed. "Dream on, kiddo. But I think I can afford a couple of decent steaks if you feel up to braving my cooking. Then maybe we can go out later and bust a few heads, just the two of us. Whaddaya say?"
"Sounds like my idea of the perfect evening," she grinned, linking her arm through his.
->>> ————————>
The presence of Roy Harper, away on a weekend camping trip with some school friends, was certainly missed, but not as much as Roy would have hoped. He was delighted his two companions had become friends, and no other interpretation had ever entered his mind. He was too young, and too infatuated with Dinah to realise that he might not be the only one thinking three wasn't exactly an ideal number sometimes.
The steaks had depleted Oliver's budget, and as Dinah couldn't legally buy alcohol, the pair were roaring sober, toasting her divorce with Soder cola. The lack of artificial stimulant wasn't affecting the party atmosphere, however. They told story after story about the lifestyle they'd both chosen, trying to top one another and growing more hilarious by the moment. Dinah was at a distinct disadvantage in the contest with only a few months' worth of experience, a lot of which he had shared, but she countered with second-hand tales of the people she'd grown up with.
Ollie, not one to relinquish center stage easily, was in the middle of telling her about the first real superhero he'd ever met. "So, anyway, there we were in Singapore, just having a drink and arguing politics as usual, when this guy about seven feet tall bursts in and starts shooting up the place. I don't mind tellin' you, I was down on the floor in a second."
"No bow and arrow, after all," she agreed.
"Right. Plus, I might have been a bored playboy looking for adventure, but I wasn't a complete idiot, you know? But when I look around for my pilot, I realise he's standing up, holding out his fist in front of him, and this weird green light comes shooting out of his ring. Now that was enough to floor me anyway — if I hadn't already been down there — but then the green light turns into a giant boxing glove and knocks Gargantua stupid. And I'm like, 'Hal, you have magical powers.' And then, 'Hal, you have no imagination whatsoever!' A giant green boxing glove, for God's sake!
"Turned out the big guy with the Uzi was some gangster the authorities had been after for a long time. They told us they owed us a debt of gratitude for catching him, but they didn't want any trouble in their country so we should just get out before they deported us or worse."
Dinah couldn't stop laughing. "Unbelievable," she choked. "I don't know what I like best: the police kicking you out, your private pilot turning out to be Green Lantern, or the giant green boxing glove. What happened to Hal after that?"
"Oh, we travelled the world for awhile, became buddies, then he got called back to his test pilot job, and I had to go back to being a crappy businessman. I still hear from him off and on. Boy, he tried his damnedest to talk me out of going into the hero business. 'I have powers, I have responsibilities, you're just an idiot who wants to shoot arrows at people.' I got back at him, though, when I was going through my 'trick arrow' phase. How does a green boxing glove-tipped arrow grab you?"
She hid her face in her hands. "Please tell me you're kidding..."
"Oh, no. I had all kinds of gimmicks; I'm surprised Speedy hasn't told you all about them. He's been after me to go back to the trick arrows ever since I decided to stick to the basics. I'll dig them out and show you one of these days."
"I can't wait."
"Hey, I'll have you know it takes serious skill to fire specialty arrows," he said defensively. "Wildly varying heft and balance. Not just anybody could use something like that."
"Not just anybody would want to, would they?" she teased.
Oliver folded his arms on the table and leaned across, moving the "canary" yellow rose in its glass of water out of the way so he could pretend to glare at her more effectively. "Now, listen, you —"
Dinah held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll stop making fun of you," she grinned. "I believe you. You started using them just to prove you're the world's greatest archer, right?" A strange expression crossed his face as she said that. Pained, almost horrified. "What? Oliver, what's wrong?" she asked, alarmed.
"Yeah, that's what it was, all right," he said, not quite managing his normal voice. "Not for the reason you think. It's because I did miss once."
He got up and paced around the room for a few minutes, changing the CD to something a little heavier, less in tune with the carefree evening they'd been having until a moment ago. Moving to the window, he twitched the curtain aside and stared moodily into the darkness. Dinah watched him silently, biting her lip.
"Short version — bank robbery, hostages, cops crawling all around, and an idiot in a costume getting right in the middle of everything as usual. I'd been playing hero for about a year by then. I was learning. And I found a sniper the cops didn't. He had one in his sights, just about to fire, so naturally I had to stop him. I don't know if I made a noise, or if his hearing was good enough he heard the bowstring, but either way he turned, and I missed. I was just aiming for his shoulder, but the arrow caught him —" he patted his chest above his heart. "Poor bastard was probably dead before he hit the ground."
"Oh, no," breathed Dinah. She stood up and crossed to the middle of the room, but she stayed several feet away from him, respecting his space. "But it wasn't really your —"
"It wasn't my fault. I know," he interrupted roughly. "Even the police said that. There wasn't even much of an investigation, can you believe that? Nobody except a few high-ranking officers found out who I was, and the only thing the news people ever knew was that one of the bank robbers was accidentally killed during a standoff with the police."
He turned to look at her, his expression more serious than at any time she'd ever seen him. "At first I tried to do the same thing, telling myself that he was just some worthless piece of scum and the world was better off without him. Probably true enough, but I still couldn't wriggle out from under the fact that I was the one that killed him. And I couldn't handle it, Dinah. I'm not one of these broody guys that has to question every move I make, but that was just more than I could take for awhile."
She moved close to him and took hold of his arm gently. Oliver patted her hand and looked out the window again. Dinah watched his reflection in the glass. Two hours ago he'd been her hero, the handsome older man, the object of one last teenage crush before she left her teens. But now, humanized, stripped of all the romance and glory, he was incredible.
"I reacted just like the spoiled brat I was. The game was getting too intense for me, so I just changed the rules. Made it into a real game, one where nobody would get hurt if I could help it. I started using all the trick arrows, boxing gloves, nets, bolos...all kinds of stupid stuff that would slow them down, but not hurt them. By the time I realised I wasn't actually accomplishing anything except making a jackass of myself, I was over the worst of it."
"How are you doing now?" she asked gently.
He looked down into her concerned face, and put on a sudden smile. "Oh, absolutely cured, thanks to your catharsis," he answered fatuously. "You're a miracle worker, just for listening to me."
"Ha ha."
"Seriously, Dinah, I'm okay. I don't wake up thinking about it anymore, and I don't usually go around dumping on people. And, for what it's worth, I apologise for ruining your celebration party."
She nodded silently, accepting his apology. "Not necessary. That's what friends are for. And besides, after what you did for me today, I owed you."
"Well, that's true," he said magnanimously. "But...nevertheless I ought to make it up to you. Let's go out and have some fun, shall we? There's got to be someplace in this city the two of us can get into trouble."
"Everywhere you go, Oliver," she teased. She wasn't quite sure if he was putting on a brave face for her sake or his own, but he had apparently said all he intended to on the subject. So, if he was determined to recapture the carefree atmosphere of the evening, she'd do everything she could to help. "Now, are you going to be a good host and help me with the dishes before we hit the rooftops of Seattle?"
He waved away the suggestion. "I have a dishwasher."
"And a self-clearing table?"
"All right, all right," he grumbled, picking up a couple of plates and following her to the sink. "Women! Can't even go out and fight crime without finishing the housework first. I thought 19-year-olds were supposed to be completely lacking in housewifely skills and all that stuff."
"I was married, you know," she reminded him.
He grinned. "Was is the operative word, Miss Lance. Now you're a free woman."
"A free woman," she repeated, taking the glass he handed her and running water into it before putting in the dishwasher. Dinah became quiet. She couldn't bring herself to look at Ollie, though she felt his eyes on her. Their attempt to recapture the lighthearted mood had failed; the easy banter had become forced and they both knew it. Something had changed between them the moment he confided in her.
"Yeah. A free woman. Except..." She swallowed, then continued in a quiet voice. "Except that for some reason I don't understand I think I'm falling in love with somebody else."
At that moment, Oliver Queen came face to face with nobler instincts than he'd ever known he possessed. Several facetious remarks were on the tip of his tongue: "Who's the lucky guy?" "I hope you're not talking about Roy," and, utterly unforgivable, "I certainly hope you're not talking about me!" But the heartless quips fortunately remained unsaid, and he looked at Dinah with absolute seriousness.
"You wanna talk about it?" he asked softly, resting his hand lightly against the middle of her back.
She responded by pivoting into his arms and pulling his mouth down to hers. His arms tightened around her, and she was gratified to feel that his heartbeat was as out of control as her own, his breathing just as laboured.
As soon as he'd noticed the attraction, the tension building between them, Oliver had cold-bloodedly considered the idea of seducing her just to get her out of his system. Now, after everything that had happened tonight, the way he had let himself go with her, it occurred to him for the first time that it might be a little too late. He cared for her. He wasn't in love with her, not yet, but she was really starting to get under his skin.
"What were you saying about the two of us getting into trouble?" she whispered.
"I meant...in costume."
"I didn't."
"You brazen hussy," he murmured approvingly, his lips brushing against hers.
So Seattle was left to look after itself for the weekend, and Roy was in for one hell of a shock when he got home Sunday morning.