Oliver hides in the wings, waiting for any sign of movement from Deadshot in the scene below. So far he hasn't seen any action, and it causes his jaw to clench, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He re-grips his bow, the only sound made by his leather glove rubbing against the wooden surface.
Frowning at the offending black eyepatch in his hand, he sighs and slides it over his eye, knowing it's the best option. Though it won't give the police much to know he's missing an eye, very few people have their eyes sutured shut, and he doesn't want to give the police any more than he has to about his identity. It feels like he's masking a part of identity, but then he reminds himself that it's exactly what he's trying to do.
He sighs and then pulls the hood over his head, liking the way it hangs low over his head and shadows his face. He slowly zips the jacket over his torso, making sure the long-sleeved shirt with the high collar hides the worst of his scars. It's a little warm, but it's a small price to pay for being unidentifiable.
He raises his binoculars again, watching the auction down below for signs of disarray, only to find none. His vision finally lands on his mother, in a black dress, looking perhaps a little older but so similar; he has to take a deep breath when he recognizes that she's on the arm of his father's former CEO—then man she married. Oliver thinks it isn't fair—he doesn't get to move on, and he wonders why she gets to forget the man she loved so dearly, the son she lost. Then he realizes he wouldn't want to see her in agony anyway.
Waltzing in behind them is Thea, hanging on Diggle's arm, talking quickly and waving her free hand amiably. The older man nods, hanging on every word with an indulgent, almost brotherly smile, and Oliver feels the corners of his mouth turn up. Perhaps Thea has fared the best, then, finding herself a replacement along the way. Thought it saddens Oliver a little, he thinks it might be for the best.
Another woman walks in behind them, on her own but not seeming self-conscious due to the lack of a man to take her arm. She looks lovely a deep shade of midnight blue, her blonde curls pinned over one shoulder. She doesn't wear gaudy jewelry, but lets a set of diamond teardrops hang from her ears, a bar in the top of one of them in a subtle show of defiance of the formal setting. She studies the room with piercing blue eyes, her fuchsia lips pursed.
It surprises him because of the level of attraction he feels toward her, familiar and foreign at the same time. It's no secret that Oliver had his share of relationships with women—often multiple ones at once—before the island, but he's avoided everything serious since. He knows that he's not ready to commit to anyone, and God knows he can't handle the idea of having someone dependent on him when he can't even get his own shit straightened out. But something about her would make him want to try under different circumstances, if he wasn't so very obviously damaged.
But then she holds up her clutch, and Oliver very nearly drops the binoculars when he sees the turquoise fingernails.
He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts away and concentrate on keeping his family safe and stopping Deadshot. Of course there are no signs of him because he's probably not in the building, but, still, Oliver expects a laser sight or a flash of a sight from one of the other buildings surrounding the Exchange.
He gets it, landing on Walter Steele's chest, and Oliver tries to trace it back to the source so he can send an arrow through the guy. But, before his binoculars leave the scene, someone steps in front of Walter, and it's almost as if Oliver's blood turns to ice when he sees that red dot trained on his sister.
He doesn't know what to do because there's nothing to do. Deadshot has taken cover inside the building to the east, and there's no way that Oliver can reach any of them to stop it. The only thing that gives him hope is that Walter moves, and he hopes that the assassin hasn't taken the shot yet.
It doesn't matter, though, because she's pulled violently out of the path just before the bullet lands in the wall and chaos spreads through the building. It's his assumption that Diggle is doing his job, but he's very surprised to see Felicity's hand wrapped around his sister's arm as the blonde pulls her into a sitting position behind a table, effectively blocking them from the direction.
For a moment, Oliver wonders just exactly what Hell she's been through, but then his mind snaps back to the task at hand. He sees a burst of movement in the eastern building, and he figures Deadshot is going to try to complete his mission before the cops get there. Knowing that, he fires one of the special grappling arrows into the side of the building and swings toward it, knowing impact with the window is his only way in.
He tries not to tense as he goes through the plate glass window, but his left shoulder crashes through it, causing him to wince. It's a painful piece of work, but he knows he has to head off Floyd Lawton, to stop him from hurting innocent people. Lawton's mode of travel is a little faster, as he's already there, using the same arm-mounted guns he used when Oliver broke into his motel room.
Lawton fires at Oliver as soon as he sees him, and he ducks behind a pillar, obviously not fast enough because fire shoots through his torso, just above his hip. A quick glance downward confirms that he'll have to dig out a bullet later, but for right now, he's more concerned about the lone gunman and the curare already starting to spread through his system. From experience, he knows he has some time, but now he's on a time clock.
"You're good," Lawton calls, "but so am I. We're both after the guys with the money—and I'm willing to share my cut."
Oliver answers with an arrow, darting around the pillar for half a second, and Lawton screams as it goes through him. It takes his left shoulder, and the distraction of pain gives Oliver enough time to run up to him and disarm him. Blood boils in his veins as he remembers this man nearly put a bullet through Thea tonight, and he clenches his fist so hard it shakes. "You and me," he spits angrily, "we're not the same. I kill for this city—you kill for the money." He draws the bow again, this time aiming for the man's heart.
"Oliver!" a voice shouts, startling him, then he hears the sound of crunching glass as someone walks up to him. A hand falls on his shoulder, and he whirls to find one very disheveled blonde staring at him, her mouth turned down into a frown. Her hair is sticking out in multiple directions, her dress is torn, and she's standing awkwardly due to a broken heel, her ankle already starting to turn purple.
"That's enough, Oliver," she says quietly, and he takes a moment to wonder what gave him away. Then he remembers this is Felicity Smoak, with her observant eyes and quick intelligence—and she probably knew he was the Arrow before he did. Her eyes are pleading, her voice calm and steady, pointing toward where Thea watches them both, eyes wide. "See? Your sister is safe—a few scratches, maybe, but he didn't hit her." She motions around the room, pointing to some of the people still lying face down on the ground, not breathing. "Haven't enough people died for one night?"
He doesn't answer, but she doesn't seem to expect a response, her hand reaching for the bullet wound above his hip. He snatches her fingers back, explaining his actions with, "Don't touch it—the bullet is laced with a slow-acting poison."
She frowns and raises an eyebrow, but asks easily, "Do you have something to treat it?" When he nods, she fishes a set of keys out of her clutch, proffering them to him. "Good. There's a first aid kit in the glove box of my car, and it has a set of tweezers that are excellent for removing bullets. If you'll hunker down in the back seat, I'll take you somewhere safe." Sirens echo down the street, and she gives him a shove toward the doors. "Go—I'll give a statement and I'll be a few minutes."
He does as she asks, taking a moment to pull a small pouch from his pocket and pinch out some of the herbs from the island, chewing on the dry leaves. They're bitter and more horrible than they are crushed, but he doesn't have that kind of time. Then he clicks the button on the remote until he finds the black sedan, pulling open the door and tearing through the glove box for the first aid kit. Once he finds it, he moves to the back seat, stretching across it as best he can and removing the bullet. He means to sew it up with a pack of suture he finds in the kit, but the first traces of the poison take effect, and his muscles start to spasm.
It's the last thing he remembers before he passes out.