Disclaimer: Arrow emotionally scars me a little more each week. If I owned it that would not be happening. No masochism here. Although I am putting myself through classes that end up requiring like at least six hours of homework each night...
If there is one thing that Lance and Oliver have in common, it's their lack of ability to actually use words. Of course, that very short list excluded the ven diagram of people they both loved who were now dead or suffering. Putting aside that depressing visual aid, the two men share a complete and utter inability to actually utilize the English language.
It was a very particular issue that only ever seemed to flare up when being able to talk could have been really important. Telling people you cared about important things generally involved actually talking. Lance had long ago realized that talking apparently didn't work well for him. It would appear that Oliver Queen had a similar problem.
With Lance, this problem had ultimately resulted in divorce. This had ended up developing in to full blown inability to communicate with his family and a very good working non-verbal relationship with multiple bartenders. From there he had apparently moved on to a position where in pretty much everyone he considered someone he had any kind of relationship with felt the need and the right to lie to him.
Lance was essentially two steps a way from saying fuck human communication and committing to a life of hermitism. He could live without technology. Remote mountain tops were looking pretty good.
As it was, Lance had found himself generating to the communicational level of post-it notes. That had actually been a major method for a little while. When his kids had been little, he had left little yellow notes in red Sharpie in their lunch boxes with reminders about things like important tests. In Laurel's case the notes had included things like grocery reminders. Sara's notes had more closely involved a spare copy of her schedule and ballet classes.
After the divorce, the notes had been mostly things for Laurel. "Back by seven. Stir Fry in the microwave." "You need a better lock on your door. A guy should be by tomorrow." Those kinds of notes piled up between them.
With Oliver Queen, Lance had originally noted that he fairly easily avoided direct communication simply because in his life it wasn't necessarily a requirement. Lies worked if they were even halfway believable and money bought the other half. When the truth was a definite requirement it came in tiny little tough nuggets. Any direct communication was achieved with a thick layer of overworked charm.
It had seemed when he first got back that nothing had changed. Queen still seemed to slip past every sort of honest method of communication. He flashed bright smiles and glib answers to the press with a sort of ease that made Lance feel vaguely nauseous. When Laurel claimed he had changed Lance shut down that implication with a definitive slam.
Working with Team Arrow had begun to show him something different. Oliver spent most of his time quiet. Lance noted that he had different modes of communication for different situations.
Anytime a mission was involved his words became clipped and economic. He had gone from someone who used words to distract people to someone who deliberately used as few as possible. Lance could understand that. In a crisis words took time, time that wasn't always available. When he dealt with press he seemed to flip on the old version of him like someone who had thrown a switch.
Taking over Queen Consolidated had thrown the kid into a matured sort of perception. It was borderline freakish. It was almost like watching a high speed growth film of a tree. It started out small and scrappy and then suddenly showed up looking like a full grown tree. Somehow though, there was something even further off. Lance couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was until he watched a press conference.
Queen was talking about the future of Queen Consolidated. He wore a straight face, a suite neatly pressed, matching, and expensive. He looked directly at the camera with dark blue eyes and said, "Hopefully in the coming years, the new innovations of the applied sciences division will help t paint a brighter picture for the future of Starling City.
A cold shiver had gone up Lance's spine. Suddenly he had known exactly what was wrong with Oliver Queen's business persona. It was an exact imitation of his father.
Watching him switch from version to version, avoiding honest communication each time was like watching a snake repeatedly shed it's skin and then grow a seamless new version. That he could crawl into the skins of others was even creepier.
As the Arrow he seemed to simply settle in to a skin of leather and question marks. But in that mode he seemed to have a different way to communicate with each member of his team. And each and everyone of them was somehow shockingly honest.
With John Diggle Lance had seen Oliver seem to communicate with a system of hand signals. It made sense knowing that Diggle had been in the military. He communicated with Roy on a similar system only slower and more direct. It was sort of like the laymans version of military hand signals.
Oliver had communicated with Sara based primarily on body language. Small tilts of the head or a specific cant of the shoulders said which way to go and what was happening. Once, Lance had seen the Arrow ad the Canary simply switch to Chinese to have a conversation, not bothering to disguise their communication any further.
Watching Oliver try to communicate with Laurel was like watching someone try to drag a boulder through mud. Up a mountain. Through a river. And maybe across a field too. Even at first it had been painful. As in the I-am-trying-incredibly-hard-to-not-strangle-my-daughter's-living-scum-incarnate-boyfriend kind of painful. Now it consisted of watching Oliver duck around barbs and pointed questions and awkwardly mumble his way through stilted replies.
It was such a drastic contrast to watch how Oliver seemed to interact with Felicity Smoak. Lance noted that it wasn't necessarily that he talked more with he than he did with anyone else, he was just more invested in listening. When he did speak it was quiet. His voice seemed to soften on the edges and the guard he normally used seemed to drop away.
That didn't change the fact that there were some words he just didn't seem able to say.
One night at the foundry Oliver had sat at the counter he used to sharpen arrows. He had been rubbing his temples for the last ten minutes and Lance was about two seconds away from shoving an Excedrin and a bottle of water down his throat. Possibly a sedative to. Lance wasn't sure when exactly Queen had developed an aversion to painkillers, but it apparently was a maintained personal policy.
Felicity swung around in her chair. "Right," she said. "That's done for the night. I have the program running, and I'll probably be past the firewall by tomorrow morning."
Oliver sat up straighter and laid both palms flat on the table top. He gave her a small, tired smile. "You should go home. Get some rest. With the league coming I have a feeling we may not be getting that many opportunities."
She nodded and tucked her coat back around her shoulders. It got caught behind her and she struggled tiredly for a moment before simply stopping and looking at him. Oliver sighed and pulled himself up to standing. He gestured for Felicity to turn and after she complied Lance saw Oliver make quick work of detangling the jacket from her arms and rearrange it around her shoulders. A slight tap on the shoulder was the signal for he to turn back around.
Then she spun and started slightly. Lance guessed that from her startled expression she probably hadn't realized she was quite as close to him as she was. Oliver's hands moved, not as quickly as he might have moved normally but still faster than most people probably would have been able to and caught her just under her shoulders to help her balance.
He didn't let go immediately and Felicity didn't step back. Oliver reached lightly back around and pulled Felicity's hair out of her collar, brushing it around her shoulders. He simply stood still for a moment like that. Lance noted that he wasn't looking straight at Felicity, he was looking at where her hair tangled around his fingers. He looked vaguely confused, as though his mind was a little too tired to try to process what exactly didn't make sense about the image.
"Hey," Felicity said suddenly. Oliver looked up and she frowned up at him, lifting a hand to angle his head. "One of your pupils is like, gargantuan." Oliver made a non-committal noise but Felicity didn't let him look away. "How bad of a headache do you have right now?"
Oliver blinked and shook his head. "It's nothing. Temporary migraine. It'll pass in a while."
Felicity backed away from him and reached in to her purse. She drew out a bottle of Excedrin and shook out two pills. She handed them to Oliver who took them with out question. "I've got water somewhere," Felicity said. Oliver had already swallowed the pills dry. "That wasn't quite as gross as you stabbing a needle in to your leg but it still ranks up there pretty high," she informed him.
Oliver shrugged. "It works."
She nodded and took a step back. "I should go." She turned and began to make her way up the stairs leading out of the basement.
"Hey Felicity," Oliver called after her. "Thank you."
That moment was the first time that Lance realized that Oliver Queen is good at thank yous. He says them with a sort of fervent sincerity that carries it's own weight and echoes off the walls ad ceilings. But he sucks at saying good bye.
That's why it didn't surprise him when they're all standing in the desert in Nanda Parbat, and both of them refuse to say the words.
"We're always saying goodbye to each other," Lance heard Felicity say in a small voice. He had turned and begun to move away with Thea, Diggle, and Merlyn. Some moments were supposed to be private.
He still heard Oliver's next words. "So let's not say goodbye this time." Lance risked a glance back and saw that they weren't really touching apart from the kiss. Oliver's body was just sort of bent forward around hers. The kiss shakes Lance a bit and even he as unromantic as he is realizes that the moment is heartbreaking.
It's sweet, and sad, and tender. It's the kind of moment you catch in dramatic movies with epic music in the background. It's not supposed to be the kind of moment that's only going to end. Also not the kind that people are supposed to watch.
With that thought in mind, Lance turned back around and started walking after the other people involved in this particular horror show escape movement. For a few minutes he wasn't sure weather or not Felicity would end up following them. It's actually kind of surprising when she does. There were tears in her eyes but she was didn't know where the League of Assassins stood on bringing along the love of your life, but he was pretty sure that they would be willing to make an exception for the new "heir to the demon" or whatever the hell Queen's new title was.
A kiss like that was a hell of a thing to use to mark a goodbye.
Lance guessed that that was just another sign. A sign that goodbye may be a small word, but it is definitely one that when applied to people he loves Oliver Queen just can't say.
A/N: So what do you guys think? I know this took a while for me to post but I have been given proof recently that homework really actually does come from the innermost circle of hell. I think the last episode of this nearly broke twitter! Olicity was trending! :) Review for me! I'll probably have another chapter up next weekend. xoxoxoxoxooxoxooxoxoxooxoxooxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxooxxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo