A/N: I apologize for the delay. Last week was a mess work-wise. This is a very dense chapter. On with the show.

[CHAPTER V: CONFECTIONS]

"What were you thinking?" Simon came into the station, asserting a demanding tone. His hands were varnished red from dried blood. "Did you really think you could take on four men at once?"

Tyler turned his attention from the work he was doing, swirling the computer chair he sat on around and gave his boss a sly grin. "If only I had a nickel for each time a guy asked me that." Simon was not amused by his remark. His face remained stony. Tyler always told him that he needed a sense of humor. After all, it was a heart-healthy thing. He beamed at the cold-blooded assassin, hoping to elicit a small spark of warmth in him with his traditional charm. When it failed, he sighed loudly, exasperated by his boring moroseness. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, o' anointed one. Forgive me?"

"Nothing needs to be forgiven, Babnik," Simon said, despondent to his attempt at reprieve. Babnik was his codename for Tyler, who hated it with a passion. It was a Russian word equivalent to the phrase like Don Juan, or Casanova. It was Simon's sly comment on Tyler's casual carnal history with people. Maybe it was a subtle reminder what Simon had done for him. He went over to the computer monitor opposite of Tyler and checked the surveillance images cycling on the screen. "You have your own free will. Next time, I may not be there to save you from having your ass reamed."

Tyler chuckled, knowing better than to believe his dismissal of his safety. He may have been known to others as "Darwin", the Ghost Assassin, but he knew him as Simon Kincaid, a man with a lonely heart capable of love. He would know. He and Simon were lovers. He had experienced emotional and physical affection with him. Albeit, Simon was not a traditional lover, but Tyler made do with what he had to work with.

He still remembered his first encounter with Simon. It was a bright sunny day on Harvard's campus. The summer was ending, and first semester classes had just begun. Tyler was making his way through the Harvard Yard, the most historic part of the campus, with its lush grass, treasured libraries, and freshman dormitories. He was returning from his afternoon classes. On his way, he saw a tour guide leading a group of hopeful prospects. He nodded politely to them all as he passed by.

He did not notice one of the tourists falling from the group in pursuit of him. When he crossed the grassy walkway near the libraries, it was unpopulated. That was when his follower took the opportunity and grabbed him from behind, slamming him against a nearby tree. When Tyler was not submissive, fighting back, his hinderer turned him around and held a dagger with a silver handle to his neck. There was Simon, dressed in Harvard clothing gear, including a cap and crimson sunglasses. He was slightly taller than Tyler, with a rugged body underneath that clothing. He took off his sunglasses, revealing his verdant eyes which matched the surrounding greenery around them. They exhibited an intense anguish and calm reserve.

"Go on," Tyler spoke emphatically. "Take whatever you want. My wallet is in my back pocket."

"I'm not after your money, Mr. Barrol," Simon said. "In fact, I have an offer to make you. I know all about your family's misfortune. If you wish to change that, meet me in the Widener Library in twenty minutes." He drew back, allowing Tyler to compose himself. "This is a one in a lifetime opportunity to raise your family above the ashes. I suggest you be there, second floor, German section. I'll be waiting."

"Who are you?" Tyler asked him before he departed.

"Tired of living the life of a hustler? I'm someone who can equip you with a life far superior than exchanging tricks. Join me soon, I'll tell you how."

From that moment forward, Tyler was in the palm of Simon's hands. It was the honest truth that he wanted a life outside of being someone's boy toy. When his family lost their penthouse, money, and cushy living, everyone they knew cast them away like rodents. Suddenly they were no longer desirable by association. The Barrol name was tarnished by his father's inability to manage his investments. Tyler, not wanting to see his mother and brother suffer from his father's mistakes, sought to make amends. At first, he tried to obtain a job to keep the family afloat. When his older brother left for medical school, Tyler fell from job to job, unable to sit still.

That wandering around led him to the world of hustling. Tyler drifted into an upscale bar, sporting his best shirt and tie, hoping to network as his father had done before him. Instead of landing a job, he landed a flimsy sexual encounter. An older, suave man by the name of Caleb Ponce, approached him in the bathroom. He was a prominent lawyer in the area, known for his aggressive prosecution. He was fit, charismatic, and persuasive. He was also married. But that did not stop him from glancing at Tyler's package at the urinal. He liked what he saw and wanted more. When they were on their way out, Mr. Ponce placed a hotel card in Tyler's shirt pocket, told him the room number, and offered him $5000 to show him how that package worked in the sheets.

At first Tyler had no intention of showing up. But, when the night became unproductive to his objective, he reconsidered, knowing he was in no position to turn down that much money. It was just sex, right? Prior to that night, he had not been with another man before. The good attorney eased him in to it. Mr. Ponce was very skillful, causing him to actually enjoy their vigorous carnality all over the hotel room. Marriage must have been an effective incubator of pent up sexual energy.

Afterward, Mr. Ponce fronted him with the cash and highly advised him to keep his discretion. Tyler expected it to be a one-time occurrence. Unexpectedly, Mr. Ponce called him up a week later and wanted more. Thus began Tyler's descent into the hustling business. At first it was just the attorney, but then Ponce told a few of his friends about Tyler's willingness to service him. Those friends contacted Tyler for those services, and told their friends after the fact. It was exhausting work to satisfy men who no longer had sexual attraction to their spouses. They paid good chunks of money to relive the days of their twenties. Tyler earned every dollar, performing acts he never dreamed of doing in the first place.

All the money he earned went directly to his parents. Of course, they asked where he was getting his income. Tyler did not lie and told them the situation. At first they were appalled by it, but when Tyler made them see that it was strictly business and that he wanted to get his family out of crippling debt, they hesitantly did not oppose the measure. His father apologized for getting them into their mess, and his mother told him to be careful.

Unfortunately, the money he was earning was chump change compared to the millions of dollars of crippling debt the Barrol family faced. At least he was able to put his family into a comfortable home and a place to start rebuilding. However, Tyler yearned for more. He wanted to make more money, cleanse the Barrol name, and return his family back to the lavish estates they formerly lived in. Naturally, he set his sights to the Ivy League. As luck would have it, his clientele referrals reached the ears of Leslie Montgomery, an entrepreneur with a generosity toward bright young men. After few after-hours sessions with him, Harvard was his to conquer.

Tyler watched Simon doing routine protocol around the station, checking systems, analyzing intelligence data, rechecking the surveillance footage to make sure Tyler's encounter with the gangbangers was erased from it. Assassins like him were so meticulous in detail, having the impulsive need to be prepared for anything and everything. When he met Simon on the second floor of the Widener Library, the first thing that occurred was a quick frisk between unoccupied bookshelves. He was checking for concealed recording devices. From that initial contact, Tyler learned from then on that Simon favored being in control. After being recruited to infiltrate Daniel Grayson's life, every action Tyler took was scrutinized closely by the ever watchful assassin. He could not even go to the bathroom without a say from his superior. It might be hyperbole, but it may not be as well.

It took Tyler three years to finally thaw Simon's icy heart. Over the years, piece by piece, he learned that Simon was on a quest to find the man who murdered his adoptive parents in cold blood when he was sixteen years old. Accessing the Graysons was a step closer to achieving that goal, since the killer had ties to the Initiative, the organization behind the Graysons. Simon was patient, willing to wait four years for Tyler to graduate with impressive credentials from Harvard, build a strong friendship with Daniel, and get his foot into the doors of Grayson Global. He was willing to wait for Tyler's use to come to fruition. During those initial three years, Simon shaped Tyler into an effective spy so he was prepared to perform his duties in Grayson Global.

Simon and Tyler were antithetical to one another. While Simon was sociopathic, quiet, stoic, disciplined, and conservative, Tyler was friendly, rowdy, forward, anarchic, and impertinent. It was for that reason that Simon frequently assigned Tyler to run point on human intelligence operations. While reconnaissance, cyber information, and signal intelligence were useful, nothing could replace good old-fashioned human intelligence information. Simon often complained that Tyler talked too much, thus he put his annoying habit to good use.

Despite Simon's hardened exterior, Tyler knew there was compassion beneath it all. All that was needed was someone to draw it out. He worked hard to bypass the assassin's personal barriers. The result was winning his heart. It happened shortly after they expertly faked Tyler's death to extract his presence from the Hamptons. They were infiltrating one of the Initiative's cells in Canada. They got caught in an ambush, and Simon fought hard to get Tyler out safely. Simon was critically injured during their escape, requiring fast medical attention. With the help of Simon's CIA partner, they reached a trusted doctor in time. When Simon woke up the next day, he confessed to Tyler in his bed, "You are important to me, Barrol. So goddamn important. I'm glad I have you at my side." It was probably the morphine drip coursing through his veins which allowed those words to escape from his lips. All the same, Tyler reciprocated his feelings.

Being Darwin, Simon was a very difficult lover. He was no Edward Cullen. He knew what he was: an assassin by trade, discipline, and lifestyle. He made no effort to conceal that nature. In fact, he was forthcoming about the expectations were entering the relationship. Simon was going to continue his craft, and Tyler must have accepted it. There was no brooding dilemma about it. A good thing about being a relationship with a career killer: they were transparent in intent and willing to be blunt, regardless of the reaction it would earn. It was something Tyler could appreciate, especially since most gay men are neither transparent in deeds nor blunt with words. Simon may not have shown affection like a star-crossed lover, but he placed Tyler's best interests at a critical priority. Despite not wanting to share his lethal skills, Simon chose to train Tyler in case he was unable to protect him in future missions.

"Everything is clean," Simon declared, turning to Tyler, who was still watching his lover from his computer chair. "Do you need painkillers?"

"No," Tyler responded. "I want to stay sharp."

"Good choice," Simon approved. Tyler got up and embraced him from behind. His muscles stiffened at the intimate touch. It was a typical reaction when Tyler tried to initiate physical affection. It was still a relatively new thing they were trying. Simon had no clue how to react to affectionate touch. It was as if his brain shut off, his body paralyzed by the physical aspect of love. Tyler was in the process of easing him into the experience.

"Just relax," Tyler whispered in his ear, rubbing Simon's sculpted chest, pressing his body against him. "Lose yourself with me." He tenderly pressed his lips within the curves of his taut neck, inhaling his musky scent. Simon was breathing deeply, most likely restraining himself from breaking Tyler's contact. When there was no contest, Tyler got bolder and started clenching his rigid pectorals while sucking his neck with care.

Before they could indulge in farther passion, Simon stopped Tyler and pushed him away. The next moment, another man came into the station, hoisting a duffle bag on his shoulder. Simon glanced at Tyler with a fretful look before turning his attention to his other partner. "Nat, what did you find?"

Nat, a man in his mid-thirties, a constant five-o-clock shadow, and useful CIA access. His real name was Balthazar Mylan, senior case officer. Nat was his codename, a homophone of gnat, a nickname Simon called him during his early training days with him, due to his tendency to hover tediously. "It's not much, but it's a start," he reported. "David Clarke is currently residing in the beach house next to the Grayson estate. I monitored the place. He was absent most of the day and evening. He returned about half an hour ago in his own vehicle. I was unable to confirm whether the Syndicate had made contact with him yet."

"For now, we'll assume they haven't," Simon told him. "It's getting late. They'll most likely strike tomorrow, early in the morning. We should get some rest. We'll need to intercept them."

"There's another problem," Balthazar added. "Our prisoner, Patrick Osborn, may be a contingency for us. There's an MPR in Pittsburgh for him. The agency there may reach out to Victoria Grayson."

"Fixable," Simon snarled, giving Tyler a stinging glare. "Right, Barrol? It was your idea to use him as leverage. Go talk to your prisoner. Persuade him to reach out to the person who would report him missing. Do it quickly."

Tyler nodded and departed from them, picking up his burner phone on the way to the cells adjacent to the main room of the station. The metal door had a digital lock. He entered the 7 digit code and stepped into the white cell. Patrick lunged at him from the side, attempting to take him down. Tyler grabbed one of his arms and twisted it behind his body, subduing him to his knees, threatening to dislocate it.

"You're wasting your time with me," Patrick pleaded. "Nolan does not care about me. He will not do what you want for me."

"We'll see," Tyler countered, shoving him to the floor. Patrick groaned and stumbled back up against the bed. "But, someone out there does care about you. Cares about you enough to notice you have gone missing. Any idea who that would be?"

Patrick gulped hard at his captor's inquisitiveness. "How should I know?"

"Come on, Osborn," Tyler rolled his eyes. "I know you're smarter than that." He tossed him the burner phone. "Call your roommate, boyfriend, fuck buddy, whoever is involved in your life. Tell them you're on a personal hiatus and had no inclination to tell anyone. Try anything funny, and I'll make sure that missing report turns into an obituary."

Patrick quivered as he hesitantly began dialing a phone number.

Ben Hunter pulled his SUV into the Grayson Manor's spacious driveway. He rushed out of the vehicle and knocked on the front door. Jack answered it and led him to the office where Nolan was working from. "Sorry I'm late," he told them. "My case got very interesting. Any luck on the man's identity?"

"I should be getting a hit any minute now," Nolan affirmed. "I'm combing through Interpol's database. I have a feeling that man isn't American."

"What do you mean?" Ben asked.

"His getaway car was registered to a manufactured alias," Jack explained while Nolan kept working. "The alias is John Butler. This alias was first used in Switzerland for a bank transaction. Nolan suggested that the alias was created to initiate a visa to get into the States."

The computer chimed urgently. Nolan's face beamed with relief. "Gotcha!" He turned the monitor around to show Jack and Ben. "Gentlemen, I present to you, Falco Daniloff, Interpol's wanted for arms trade. He's from Bremen, Germany. Now that I have this information, I'll send out a crawler to look for facial recognition matching his image. The next time he steps out into the Hamptons, I'll know where."

"This is great, Nolan," Ben praised him, looking at the information on the computer monitor. "How did he make it through the border without flagging at Interpol? He's a dangerous man."

"He's a mercenary for hire," Nolan speculated. "He must move very fluidly. It's easy to dodge facial recognition with the right clothing at the right angle, especially in places with lots of people. Thankfully, the Hamptons is a select area. It will not be too difficult to find him if he resurfaces here."

"Okay, so what do we do after we locate him?" Jack inquired, thinking critically at the monitor. "This guy moves fast, so even if your crawler spots him, we'll be reactive and still be behind him. We need to devise a way to be able to hail him down immediately before he goes off grid again."

Ben thought for a second. He could order squad cars to keep an eye out matching Daniloff's description. But, if the guy was as smart as Nolan made him out to be, Daniloff would be skillful at counter-surveillance techniques. Still, the city-wide net of eyes could put pressure on him. However, that would risk putting Emily's life in peril if Falco caught even the slightest clue of a manhunt for him. Was there a way to survey the city without compromising her safety?

Suddenly, an idea came to his mind. "There is one option," he announced, staring intently at Falco's Interpol photo. "There is a German consulate here in New York City. I could call and ask about John Butler's visa. Say a witness to a case placed him near the scene. It may not mean much, but it could make some waves. Perhaps I can get more information about this guy's alias, maybe find out what the purpose of the visa is."

"It sounds kind of risky," Jack told him. "If an outside force gets involved, Falco will know it was you."

"I'll be discrete," Ben assured him. He was already planning what he would do to initiate the contact with the consulate. It would not be difficult at all.

Nolan was gazing at a photo of Emily and David on the desk beside the computer. He abruptly connected the dots between Emily's abduction and the information Tyler revealed to him at his house earlier that evening. "I can't believe I have not thought of this before. We need to bring David into the fold."

"Why?" Jack questioned. "We can take care of this between ourselves."

"Well, for one, he's her father," Nolan scoffed. "Secondly," he paused for a moment, thinking of how to phrase his reasoning without revealing Tyler Barrol was alive. "David told Emily that Malcolm Black was involved in arms trading up in Canada when he was captured by him. What if Falco Daniloff was involved with Malcolm Black? David may know more about this guy. Maybe even know how to initiate contact with him."

"It could possibly explain why he targeted Emily," Ben analyzed. "But, if he's in town, why go for her instead of Mr. Clarke? Emily has been careful to keep her true identity concealed. For all he knows, he has Clarke's rich next-door neighbor."

"I don't know," Nolan sighed. "But, I will show him the footage tomorrow."

"He's going to be so pissed off at me," Ben shook his head in shame.

"I'm sure he will be understanding," Nolan consoled him. His cell phone rang. He glanced at it and saw a Starling City area code. "I'm going to take this call outside." He hurried out the door, not wanting to miss the call. When he was in privacy, he answered, "This is Nolan Ross."

"Hey Nolan," Oliver Queen's greeted from the other end. "I hope I am not calling too late. I just wanted to call to say thank you for your company today at the yacht club. Thea and I enjoyed ourselves. Were you able to help you friend?"

"All is well here, Mr. Queen," Nolan replied. "Thank you for asking."

"Please, call me Oliver. I'm hoping that you and I will become friends during our time here."

Nolan smiled. "The feeling is mutual, Oliver. I would like nothing more than to extend my friendship to you."

"Perfect," Oliver exclaimed. "I will be seeing you soon, then."

"I look forward to it," Nolan responded.

"Have a good night, Nolan," Oliver said, ending the call.

Nolan did a quiet celebratory jump. He may have a way to get out of the mess with Tyler and his superior's demand for his help.

Oliver placed his cell phone on the table and looked at the laptop screen in front of him. "Did you get it?" He asked into the monitor.

Felicity was on webcam from their base underneath the Verdant. She nodded. "Yes, I got through his cell phone firewall. I have access to everything he does on it and his location."

"Thank you, Felicity," Oliver expressed his gratefulness, holding Nolan's business card in his hand. "You made our objective a lot easier now. Have a good night."

"You too, Oliver," Felicity said.

Before she could sign off, Oliver said hastily, "Wait!"

"Yes?" Felicity obeyed.

"I miss you," Oliver uttered quietly. For a brief glimpse, he saw her beam and blush. He quickly logged off before she could return his words.