A/N: Long time, no posting, everyone! As alluded to in my responses to the previous chapter's comments, it hasn't been a missing muse causing me not to post. Rather, if you follow me on social media, you'll be aware of the fact that I got a precocious, adorable, unbelievably ornery puppy this summer, and she has been demanding all of my time and attention. I love her to pieces, but I also miss writing. She is showing signs of calming down (thankfully!, finally!), so I'm tentatively hopeful that perhaps the rest of my life can soon return to normal...ish. In the meantime, I finished writing this story a long time ago, and I should have finished posting it a long time ago, too. But I didn't. And that's on me, not Lilibett Regina (my corgi puppy). So, here's an update. For anyone still interested in this story, cross your fingers that I continue to be productive at work during my lunch breaks. Stay warm, everyone!

~Charlynn~

Chipped Blocks
An Olicity Flash Fic Story

Flash Fic Prompt #44: Touch Me

Chapter Sixteen

"I'm bored."

Without visibly reacting, Oliver ignored Mia's complaint. Instead of addressing it, he adjusted his aim, drew back his bowstring, and let the nocked arrow fly. He hit the target, dead-center. As was his routine... and as Mia was supposed to be doing herself, Oliver took a breath and then started the process all over again. After all, the idea of target practice was repetition. While he worked, he could feel the teenager beside him waiting impatiently – glaring, sighing, even going so far as to tap her toes against the concrete floor. If she thought her signs of impatience would deter him, however, then she was sadly mistaken. Besides, it was not like Mia complaining was anything new.

At first, she had started out with whining about the difficulty of the tasks he set before her. Oliver expected her to run too far, and yoga was too hard, and the bow, her bow, was rubbing her hands raw. Blisters were child abuse, right? It didn't take long, though, for her grievances to shift. Instead of her training being too challenging, it then just became stupid. Pointless. Mia couldn't understand why Oliver was making her do such strange and grueling things. How exactly was slapping water going to get her clean... well, besides the obvious benefits it had for the palms of her hands. Now, apparently, Mia was moving onto boredom... which wasn't surprising given the combination of her age and aptitude.

Frankly, she was a prodigy, and, seeing her almost immediate success... and then denial of said success... stung Oliver's pride. What took him months – years! – to learn, Mia could master in a matter of weeks. As soon as she was through the withdrawal stage of her recovery, Oliver had immediately started training her. She weakened quickly, and she had absolutely no self-motivation, but she was a gifted fighter and archer. On one hand, it pleased Oliver to see her succeeding. He had believed that such physical tasks would prove grounding for Mia, that the outlet for her anger would help her focus her wrath away from herself. However, at the same time, it frustrated him; she frustrated him, because he saw so much natural talent, so much potential in her, and Mia denied both her skill and her interest – both of which were there.

"Come on, can't we at least listen to some music while we make like neanderthals?"

Smirking, Oliver mouthed back, "I think neanderthals used clubs, not bows and arrows."

"Fine, Indian Outlaw, Half Cherokee and Choctaw." Oliver didn't need to look away from his target to know Mia was rolling her eyes at him. If nothing else, she was dramatic. What he did have to do, though, was bite the side of his mouth to keep from grinning. When she wasn't being cruel, Mia Smoak had a wicked sense of humor. She actually reminded him a little bit of his sister, and Oliver knew it would be dangerous when Mia and Thea started spending time together, because their sarcasm and mocking would just feed off each other. "If you don't want to rock out with your... crossbow, then I guess we'll have to talk."

"What do you want to talk about?" Normally, he wasn't one for conversation, especially not when he was training, but Oliver recognized Mia's proclaimed boredom for what it really was: loneliness. While he wasn't in the mood for twenty questions, he wouldn't shut the teenager out either. She needed someone to be there for her, to be her friend and mentor, and Oliver had volunteered for that position when he asked Felicity to trust him with her daughter's recovery. If that meant entertaining Mia's curiosity, then so be it.

Much to Oliver's dismay, Mia tossed – yes, tossed – her bow aside before she started twirling and dancing around the basement's shooting range. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her movements closely. The slight distraction was necessary so as to not accidentally shoot the girl but not a detriment to his shot. "So... how many people have you killed?"

His attention wavered, but Oliver held strong. "How is that relevant to your training, Mia?"

"I just want to know how much leeway I have for errant arrows."

"None. Because you won't be aiming them at people."

She neither disagreed nor agreed with him... which was troubling. Instead, Mia just ignored the reprimand and persisted with her line of inquiry. "But, no, seriously, how many?"

"Honestly, Mia, I prefer to think in terms of how many I saved instead. But, to answer your question," and he would. From the moment Oliver woke Mia up with the tools of his nighttime trade still out in the open and accepted what that would mean for the both of them moving forward, he had promised himself that he would always be upfront and open with her... no matter what. "Too many."

"So, what changed?"

Pausing, Oliver released his bowstring but kept his nocked arrow loosely in place. Relaxing his arms down to his sides, Oliver twisted around until he could find the sixteen year old standing behind him. "What do you mean?"

"Listen, I'm not up on all my Starling City vigilante history, but I know that, when he... you... first started, you were dropping bodies like acid." That was a worrisome simile, but Oliver didn't interrupt her or draw attention to the metaphor. "Then, all of a sudden, you stopped. What gave?"

"I disappointed someone close to me, and then he died before I could make it right." Looking away from an empathetic yet inquisitive Mia, Oliver found himself admitting softly, "so many people died. Too many. I couldn't... stay me, stay Oliver, and add to that number anymore."

"Huh. I kind of thought maybe it was for a girl."

Oliver smirked and then turned back to his target. As he released yet another arrow, he said, "I see my other reputation precedes me."

"Oh god, no!" And Oliver would swear that he could hear the revulsion in his young charge's voice. "I don't... just, please, please, spare me. I just meant... well, you've turned your lair into a one-woman rehab center after dating my monster of a mother of all women for, like, two hours. If you'd do all that for her, it just made sense that you'd pull your arrows for a girlfriend as well."

That was almost... complimentary (in Mia-speak) towards Felicity, so Oliver decided to push his luck. "No, it wasn't like that, and there hasn't been anyone... like that... in a long time. Your mom is special."

"Yeah. Special ed."

"Mia," he chastised.

But Oliver's reprimand went unheeded. And then she was bouncing into his sightline again, disrupting any shot he'd try to attempt, and the last thing Oliver could worry about in that moment was improving Felicity and Mia's relationship. "So, I have an idea on how we can jazz up this training sess."

Deadpan, he said, "I'm afraid to ask."

"Then don't ask; I'll tell," Mia snarked. "You know how I'm light on my feet, right?"

"You're a regular twinkle-toes." And she was, but Mia hated the description. She scowled at him before getting her revenge.

"And how, let's be real, in your ancient age, you've slowed down."

"Why run when you're as accurate of a shot as I am?" More truthfully, Oliver only seemed sedate, because Mia was so quick.

Mia ignored him. "And your eyesight? Well, let's just say that somebody hasn't been eating their carrots."

Quirking his brows in an impatient manner, Oliver asked, "do you have a point, or is your idea of training making fun of me?"

Speaking slowly and with emphasis... as if she were revealing a grand, impressive idea, Mia suggested, "I think you should fire... at me."

Oliver had to have heard her wrong. "What?"

"Well, obviously, I'm not going to let you actually hit me."

"Obviously," he mocked, scowling.

"We'll consider this a practice in agility."

"No."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"What are you," Mia challenged him, smiling widely. "Scared?"

"Practical," he countered. "Your mother trusted me with your welfare, to keep you safe. The last thing I'm going to do is shoot arrows at you, Mia!"

"What Felicity doesn't know won't hurt her."

"Not going to happen." Oliver meant for his pronouncement to be final, but, not only was Mia skilled at martial arts and archery, but she could goad him like no other.

"Oh, come on, vigiladdy! I promise I won't embarrass you. Much."

The basement fell silent, and Oliver just stared at the sixteen year old. "Wha... what did you just call me?"

"Vigiladdy."

"I just... why?"

"Well, because you're the vigilante, and, let's be real, in six months' time, you're going to be my new daddy, too. I was debating going with vigidaddy instead, but I felt like I was stiffing vigilante out of its proper portmanteau respect. Plus, laddie works as well."

Completely horrified, Oliver questioned, "it does?"

"Sure. Because you're a lad."

"Fine."

"Fine... you recognize my genius and are prepared to answer to your new term of endearment, or fine... you recognize my genius and want to play tag. With arrows?"

Instead of answering straight-out, Oliver decided to use this to his advantage. "If I agree to play your game, what do I get out of it?"

"Please, despite what I said when we first met, I won't actually sleep with the bitch's sloppy seconds."

"Mia!"

"Sheesh. Untwist the briefs, Chief."

"If I do this, you're going to do something for me." Before she could ask him for further clarification, Oliver amended, "no, make that three things."

"Name them."

"Well, first of all, you will never breathe a word of this to your mother. Ever."

"Duh. Why would I want to talk to that...?"

Before Mia could finish yet another insult directed towards Felicity, Oliver cut her off. "Two, enough with the disparaging remarks and names against your mom. You will show her the respect and kindness she deserves, and you will refer to her as your mother. Mom, preferably."

"You're acting extremely whipped right now, but whatever. Fine. You win. What's your third demand?"

"You're going to start spending some quality time with your mom."

"Define some, define quality, and define time."

"You're leaving this basement, Mia."

For a girl with a penchant for running away from home, Mia was now practically a shut-in. Oliver wasn't sure if she was afraid to test her sobriety out in the real world, or if she wasn't ready to reintegrate back into society. Either way, staying locked away wasn't a realistic, long-term solution to Mia's problems. If her recovery was going to stick, it had to happen outside of such a controlled and protected environment. It had been more than a month since Oliver had carried her down the stairs and into his base of operations. Now, it was time to get Mia to voluntarily walk back up them on her own and start putting the pieces of her real life back together.

"I leave," she yelled, but there was no real heat behind her words, and her tone quickly turned to grumbling instead. "I go to my meetings, to my counseling sessions. I help Raisa carry in the groceries, and Roy and I go joyriding in the ridiculous number of cars you own."

He knew about the meetings, about the counseling sessions, about the chores Raisa had assigned to her, but the joyriding? "Excuse me?"

"Please," Mia scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You know how fast those cars go. How could we not take them out racing?"

Sometimes, it felt like every other word out of Oliver's mouth was his young charge's name said in reprimand. "Mia!"

"Alright, fine. I lied. You don't know how fast they go."

Shaking his head in aggravation... and to hide his amusement, Oliver simply offered up one word in response. "Run."

Mia took off like a light – no delay, no hesitation. And for a good five minutes, she deftly dodged his shots. Eventually, she broke Oliver's concentration with a taunt, singing out, "na-na-na-na-na, you can't touch me."

Oliver chuckled. "Really? That's what you want to go with?"

The teenager paused, smirked, and then started to roll her hips, running her hands down and over her body. "Do you wanna touch, do you wanna touch, do you wanna touch me... with your arrow?"

Without pause, Oliver shot off an arrow... which Mia dodged gracefully and easily. "That was just disturbing."

She giggled. Just as Oliver nocked yet another arrow, Mia fired her own shot. "You should tell her... my mom. About you – vigiladdy, you."

His shot went wild, went wide, and Oliver would have gaped at his young charge, because she actually managed to catch the arrow, but he couldn't think of anything but the advice she had just dropped on top of him. When he had explained his reasons behind wanting to help Mia to Digg, Oliver had suggested that he was perhaps ready to reveal his greatest secret to those closest to him. But telling Mia was one thing. If she turned him away, if she shunned him, Oliver didn't stand to lose anything. While there had always been the chance that she'd refuse to keep his secret and, in telling the world, also tell his son, sister, and his... Felicity, in doing so, she would have taken the risk of emotional honesty out of his hands. Now that she knew, however, and now that she had accepted his secret identity without even batting a lash, it was a whole different matter for Oliver to share that same truth with the people he loved the most.

"I... don't know."

Mia skipped towards him, eventually handing Oliver back his arrow. As she placed it in his right hand, she spoke to him with more gravity, more confidence, and more sincerity than he had ever heard from her before. "I do."

He knew that he shouldn't push his luck, but Oliver needed to know, "why do you care, Mia? You hate your mother." Or so she claimed. "Why do you care if I'm honest with her, if our relationship has a chance to last?"

"Because I hate lies more, and even my... mother... deserves the truth. And you deserve to tell your truth, too."

As Mia walked away from him, for the first time since Oliver had met her, he could see more than just a resemblance between mother and daughter when it came to their looks and their intelligence, their willfulness; for the first time, he saw in Mia Felicity's heart as well.