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Oliver's POV

A night of restlessness later found him in front of Merlyn's house. It was early in the morning and he only had a week to get his head somewhat in order. That wasn't going to be anywhere near long enough. It would take months to sort out his personalities. That didn't even include trying to sort out his pain.

That morning he had put on a black short sleeve shirt with grey cargo pants. His dog tags were in their usual spot on top of his shirt.

He hesitated for a brief moment before knocking on the door. Inside he could hear the light footsteps of Malcolm. Then the door opened to reveal the older man. Grey blue eyes clashed with ice blue. The ice blue softened when they saw him.

Malcolm greeted, "Oliver, you're right on time," he stepped away to allow Oliver inside, "Come in."

Oliver stepped past the alpha carefully. He had practically groan up in this house. In some ways it was more familiar than his own. He almost absentmindedly made his way to the gym. When he visited he mainly kept to Tommy's room or the living room. There was little need for him at the time to use the gym.

In the seven years he was gone the gym didn't change much. Malcolm had pulled his some weapons to allow him a choice. Since meeting the League of Assassins it made sense. His shadow was still around, Oliver could sense him. Seeing the man was an entirely different story. So far the man had mostly stayed out of sight.

Malcolm questioned picking up one of the swords, "Do you have any experience with swords?"

"A little. Mostly machetes," he picked one that was evenly weighted. It was short and straight. Oliver had always preferred a straight blade to a curved one.

Oliver entered a basic stance that he learned. Malcolm entered his own his eyes hardening.

The older man made the first move lunging at him. A quick side step and he responded with a strike of his own. Malcolm responded by side stepping and they were once more facing off.

Swords fighting was always something of a dance. A deadly dance but a dance nonetheless.

Oliver's movements were less graceful than his father's. Swords had never been his favored weapon but he knew how to use them.

His thoughts were broken when the man attacked again. The movements were smooth but swift. He could barely bring up his sword up into a guard. The strike was powerful causing him to grip the hilt with two hands. He pushed up and away to disengage.

Malcolm said eyeing him, "You have a lot of potential. It's unrefined but still you have it. We will work on it as will your mentor when you go with the League. Let's see if you have any potential with a bow."

A bow was something he was more comfortable with. Having made his own bows since he was small he could shoot them well. This skill was compounded upon in Tam Quan. Bows were more often than not quieter than a gun. In the hands of a skilled archer they were more effective.

His hands ran over each of the various compound and recurve bows. There was one that fit perfectly into his hands. It was a beautiful wooden bow. The draw weight on it was seventy pounds. While slightly heavier than he was used to it didn't hinder his ability.

After choosing a quiver he slung it over his shoulder and made his way to the targets. Fifty yards was the mark and for a warm up it was easy.

He nocked the arrow and drew it back between his index and middle finger. It was drawn so that the thumb of his left hand touched his jaw next to his ear. As he released the arrow the breath he was holding was released with it.

With the release the arrow flew true as it hit its mark. Center in the bullseye his arrow lay and Oliver had a slight grin on his face. Not touching a bow since coming out of Medusa and he still had it.

With his back turned he didn't see the surprise on Malcolm's face. Or the calculating look that he now shot at the younger's back.

Oliver repeated the process taking several shots at various distances. Never once missing a target. Despite not having formal training he was a master of the bow.

Malcolm inquired curious, "How long have you been into archery? Surely we would have known about this before you left."

Oliver replaced the bow on the stand and replied, "I've been making my own bows since I was small. Robert by that time had begun to ignore me. So I would make my own. I practiced every day to improve myself. No one paid attention to an omega who wanted to be alone. So I was able to get away with it."

If they paid more attention to him then maybe he wouldn't have gone with the CIA. Then he would never know that this man was his father. They could have gone their whole lives without ever finding out.

Malcolm said moving to place his hand on Oliver's shoulder, "Come. Let's discuss this in the living room."