As Tommy's best friend, Damian Wayne was afforded a certain amount of tolerance that an individual of his nature wouldn't otherwise deserve. His mouth was set in an obstinate, disrespectful twist upon seeing who had requested an audience.

"Hello, Damian." Mrs. Queen said to the obnoxious boy on the little screen.

Rather than return the greeting, he looked at her surroundings. "Is this that room full of photographs? I always thought it was a bit much."

She took a deep breath. "I need to ask you some questions concerning your Aunt Nyssa."

He crossed his arms. "You're forbidden from involving me in Fury business. Your father said so."

"Well tough shit, Dami," she snapped, using her interrogator voice. "I've got questions and you're the only one who can answer them."

He pouted in his unintentionally adorable way. "No, you're not allowed to use me against the League of Assassins—"

"There's no longer a League to use you against. Everyone was slaughtered in Nanda Parbat and then the place was torched."

His lips parted in shock. "How?"

"It wasn't the Furies, or any other government-funded organization."

"Of course not. None of them have the skill."

Mrs. Queen rolled her eyes. "The only clue we have is something Baqir said concerning Nyssa's death."

"She's dead?!"

"Baqir thought her shadow did it."

"That's a troubling use of past tense." he replied.

"Yeah, we killed him. It's what we do. Now can you explain who he was referring to?"

Damian was reluctant to share. "The one everyone referred to as Nyssa's shadow couldn't have done it. Baqir was wrong."

Curious, Mrs. Queen tilted her head to the side. "And why would you say that?"

"He was Nyssa's son."

"HA!"

Mrs. Queen flinched at the triumphant sound and turned to see her husband standing behind her, leaning over the back of the couch.

"I told you," he bragged, "but you didn't believe me."

Straight-faced, she blinked at him then returned her gaze to the screen.

"I'm about to send you a picture. Will you tell me if it's him?" A second later Alexander Deering's profile was sent, and Felicity watched his expression change from his default scowl to thinly veiled amusement. He continued to stare, his smile stretching until he was overtaken with laughter.

Mr. Queen cleared his throat. "So, is it him?"

"It's so convincing!" Damian exclaimed, mostly to himself as he fought for breath. "All this time I saw him as a vicious beast that delighted in the slaughter. But look at his dimples! He had precious dimples! And apparently he knew how to tango!"

The Queens gave Damian a moment to revel in this discovery. In that time, Diggle showed up.

"Why is he laughing so hard?"

"Just sit down," Felicity said. "This is getting interesting."

The three of them waited for Damian to calm down before proceeding.

"Felicity, I think we nearly killed him."

"On the contrary," Damian countered with a silent chuckle, "that gave me life."

Mrs. Queen smirked. "So if that's Nyssa's son, that means she didn't buy a prostitute—"

"She bought an alias for her son to use when he traveled with her." Her husband finished.

"Nyssa pretended her son was her lover?" Diggle chimed in. "That's messed up."

"Clever though," Felicity responded. "Her son would be an ideal target for any enemy of Nyssa's. But who would target her whore? She could just get another one."

Damian nodded. "Clever indeed. She'd always promised him that one day she would allow him to leave Nanda Parbat. This must be what she had in mind when she took that exorbitant contract from the Comtesse. Nyssa wiped out all of her competition shortly before I left to live with my father, and this alias must've been part of the Comtesse's payment."

Felicity tilted her head, confused by his sudden expression. "You look a bit… bitter. Was there a rivalry?"

His eyes widened, almost in offense. "Rivalry? Between a true al Ghul and an abandoned baby my aunt took pity on? Don't be ridiculous."

"Awful lot of venom in your voice." she remarked coolly. "You sure there's no bad blood between you?"

"Oh, there is plenty." he snarled. The three sat back and waited for the rant. "I was forced to call him cousin. Can you believe the audacity? He bore our family name as if he had a right to it! He wielded my grandfather's sword! Not me, him! And my grandfather didn't even like him! Did you know that's why Nyssa killed him? Her own father? It was because he was wise enough to see that her son, her precious little Noor, was making her soft. He poisoned Noor with Tibetan pit viper venom and he died—or didn't, only Nyssa knows and she never told anyone—"

"He may or may not have died?!" Diggle exclaimed under his breath.

"And they took their revenge on the Demon's Head together. My mother told me Noor beheaded my grandfather himself. It was his first kill and he was allowed to keep that fucking sword."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "That was quite a while ago. How old was he then?"

Damian shook his head and rolled his eyes, as if Mr. Queen were missing the point. "Five, six, seven, somewhere around there. But they let him have the sword. Even after I was born he got to keep the sword."

"Yeah, okay, we got it," Diggle said.

"Do you mind if we circle back to the important question?" Felicity asked irritably. "So he was worse than an illegitimate son and Nyssa loved him and he got your stupid sword we got it but do you mind telling us why he couldn't have possibly killed Nyssa? I mean you called him a vicious beast."

Damian simmered down a little. "He was a monster, but he was her monster, and she kept him on a short leash. She was the only one he had any connection to. I'm sure she told him she was the only person he could trust, and she was probably right. Whenever she was home, he was always by her side. And whenever a league member broke a rule, he was the one to punish them, usually in front of everyone. Whenever someone committed an offense punishable by death, he was like a gladiator in an arena. He loved to entertain her. I saw him rip a man's spine out with these special gloves Nyssa had given him for his birthday. They had sharp metal points at the fingertips, like claws. I will admit I was quite jealous. He was spectacular with close-range weaponry."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "So you did respect him."

"As a killer, not as a human being."

"Fair enough,"

"You maintain that he was too devoted to Nyssa to kill her?"

"Mrs. Queen, Noor excelled at two things: pleasing his mother and treating murder as an art form. Noor is dead. He either died defending her, avenging her, or at his own hand after avenging her because he couldn't live without her."

The retired Fury studied him very carefully. "You sound so certain,"

"Trust me, I would not have laughed as I did upon seeing his alias if I thought otherwise. And, I suppose, it could be argued that Nyssa loved Noor more than my mother loves me. So yes, I am confident that their bond was too strong to be broken."

"By any betrayal?" Diggle asked.

"What betrayal could there be? I can't think of anything that could drive Noor to not only assist dissenters in destroying the League but also kill the only person he ever loved. I assure you, Baqir was wrong."

She sighed. "Well, if you're sure. Goodbye, Damian."

"Goodbye."

Ah, square one, you heinous bitch. Felicity stewed in frustration the rest of the night, even though Damian being right was probably a good thing. It was just dissenters; Nyssa's shadow wasn't a part of it. No big deal.

But why did Baqir jump to that conclusion? The thought tugged at her until she fell asleep.

She awoke to the sound of Oliver in distress. The clock glowed an unreasonable hour as she turned towards him.

"Another nightmare?" She gently stroked his arm. He sat up and tried to get his breathing under control. Oliver wouldn't look at her. "What was this one about?"

Ignoring her, he reached over to swipe her phone from her nightstand. The glowing screen illuminated the panic in his expression.

"Oliver, you're scaring me." she admitted quietly as she pressed closer, resting her chin on his shoulder so she could look at the phone. "Why are you looking at that?" His wife ran a comforting hand through his hair. "Did you have a nightmare about the big bad shadow?"

His eyes met hers, and she saw something hiding there. "It was just something Damian said."

"He made his cousin sound pretty scary."

Oliver shook his head and put her phone back. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's all right if you want to talk —"

"I'd rather sleep." He gave her a firm kiss on the cheek after pulling her into his embrace.

She lay there, snug in his arms, wondering what nightmare was too horrific to tell her about.

The next morning, it was evident that the effects of the nightmare hadn't worn off. Felicity watched her husband from across the table as she sipped her coffee. He was attempting small talk—about the kids, today's agenda, even the weather—and she answered appropriately, noting his lack of eye contact. It was so unlike him. Not that this behavior didn't have a hint of familiarity.

"What are you protecting me from?" she queried, making sure to keep the frustration out of her voice.

For a moment he seemed too busy with his scrambled eggs to answer. Then, finally, he responded. "What I always protect you from."

This sent a shiver down her spine, because she knew exactly what he was talking about. She laughed out of nervousness. "That's interesting. You haven't had to protect me from that in years."

"It was stupid." he said, gripping his mug. "Just a stupid dream. No need to bother you with it."

"And yet you're so shaken," she prodded. Felicity wasn't even sure why she was pushing for the information; she knew it would likely hurt to hear it.

Her husband sighed, his jaw tensing. "It… was something Damian said. About his cousin being abandoned as a baby."

"And what did your subconscious figure out?"

Oliver stalled by taking a long sip of his coffee. "It figured out a possible reason for Nyssa's son to kill her." He leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "Felicity, what if he found out he hadn't been abandoned?"

It was like standing in front of a train, knowing it would hurt but not being prepared for the pain when it finally hit. She'd hoped he would say something different than what she'd anticipated: that he would've arrived at a different conclusion. Her stomach lurched, her old wounds threatening to burst open. She took a deep breath and fought to maintain a steady voice.

"I suppose if he'd been told his whole life that he'd been abandoned only to discover he'd actually been taken from a family that loved him…" There were almost tears, but she stopped them by pressing her nail into her palm. "I can see how that could upset someone to the point of homicide. Being raised a monster and finding out you were supposed to have been raised a prince. I understand now why you wanted to see his picture again. I can see the resemblance."

He took her hand, frightened by her sudden paleness. "It's a stretch,"

"Absolutely," she replied eagerly, adjusting her glasses. "Completely circumstantial."

"Not worth a second thought."

Tears were brimming, and her nervous laugh was back. "But if a mysterious new vigilante shows up in Starling, we might have to reconsider."

Her nervous laugh was contagious. "Of course. Because that's what we do in this family."

"If you're missing and presumed dead, you come back to Starling City years later and kick major ass."

Their laughter was almost jovial. It was kind of unsettling. "I did it, Sara did it, my buddy Tommy did it… It's tradition!"

Once the laughter died down, their smiles were difficult to keep on.

"Well, I have errands to run," She gingerly slipped her hand out of his. "I should go get ready."

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm fine," she lied as she hurried out.

Felicity barely made it to the nursery before the tears came. It was one thing to share nightmares of what is and what could be, but that…

The door safely closed, she wandered around the room. Her fingers danced along the top of the crib, swiped at the mobile, slid across that soft blue baby blanket…It had been so long since she'd been in here. Ever since Tommy had outgrown it, everything had remained pristine and untouched. The handmade baby blankets of her three children hung folded on the side of the crib, two a bit worn and one brand new. She picked the latter up and rubbed the monogramed name with her thumb.

She used to spend a lot of time in here, holding this blanket. It brought back a lot of memories. Bad ones, mostly. All that false hope people had dragged her and Oliver through—the schemers with their changelings or bogus ransom demands, the dead-end leads—had left her broken. Deep down, despite what her dreams occasionally suggested or how she felt about that tombstone, she believed her baby was dead. Just like everyone else secretly assumed. In some ways, it hurt less. It protected her from disappointment.

Pressing her face into the blanket, she screamed. That monster was not her baby. He didn't kill Nyssa because he found out Felicity was his real mother. He may have Oliver's slight widow's peak and his strong jaw and his hair and his brows but he wasn't her baby.

Her baby was never coming home.

"Crazy" by The Kills

The next 3 or 4 chapters will be flashbacks to this fic's version of Season 2.