Disclaimer: Um, so... have you seen anything that I've been writing on TV on Wednesdays? Because I haven't. And if there is something I've written on TV after the point at which I wrote it that you don't already recognize from the show then I think I would probably be paid for it. Or maybe not. I don't really know how the people at the CW or DC Comics work. Maybe they'd ask me. Whatever. Arrow doesn't belong to me. That's the point of this part isn't it?
Quentin Lance knew something about Oliver Queen that few people have guessed at, few people know, and even fewer people give the credit it's due. It's something he'd always know too. Or at least nearly always. He'd known it since nearly the first day he'd ever met Oliver Queen. And what he had known was that Oliver Queen was a fighter.
The first time he had ever learned that it had been during Laurel's second week of first grade. He had come by after his shift to pick her up and found that all of the kids had been let out on to the playground after classes. He had sighed as he had begun to scour the mass of running kids for the one that was genetically half his.
Eventually he had found Laurel standing just under the shadow of a yellow twisty slide, and the sight made his blood run cold before that coldness was replaced with hot fury. Not because she was standing by the slide, but because a third grade boy was standing in front of her holding up a soccer ball over Laurel's head. His daughter was crying and her long brown curls were tangled and pasted across her eyes.
Lance had just started forward when a blur of yellow hair, red backpack, and blue tee shirt shot under one of the supporting beams of the play structure and came to a halt between Laurel and the third grader. The blur then resolved itself in to a little boy with a head of floppy blonde hair, and large blue eyes. He was wearing a pair of soccer cleats and his eyes were narrowed at the larger boy.
"Give the ball back!" the little boy demanded. "She had it first!"
The taller boy jeered at him. "What are you going to do about it if I don't Queen?" he mocked. "Last time I looked it seemed like I was bigger than you and little princess combined." Lance was about to interfere but once again the little boy beat him to it.
"That doesn't mean you can take the ball," he had argued with a belligerence Lance had rarely ever seen in a first grader. This wasn't a normal little boy interfering with a bullying case. This was a boy who wanted something, and was used to being able to demanding what he wanted. "You made her cry."
The older boy stretched his arms up a little higher, holding the soccer ball even father above Laurel's head. "Well that's her fault. If she can reach the ball she can have it back."
The little blonde boy furrowed his brow and then gave what Lance could only describe as a devil grin. "Okay," he said. Then he promptly stepped forward and kicked the older boy in the shin with his still cleated foot as hard as he could. The boy promptly dropped the soccer ball as he reached down to hold his still sure to be throbbing shin. The little boy picked up the ball and held it out to Laurel. "Can you reach now?"
Laurel looked at the little boy with shining eyes and reached out tremulously to take the ball. "I'm Oliver," the blonde boy introduced himself. "Who are you?"
"Laurel," Lance heard his daughter say quietly.
The boy, newly named Oliver grinned at her and then took Laurel's hand and tugged her out and around the older boy who was still hoping on one leg. "My dad owns a company," he spluttered. "He donates money here. I can have you both thrown out."
"My parents have a company to Max," Oliver told him, sounding not at all scared by the threat. "And QC is way bigger than Fuller Corp."
That was when Laurel noticed him and ran over to give him a hug. "Hey honey," Lace greeted, ducking down to catch her in a hug. "Are you ready to go home now?"
Laurel looked up at him, then at Oliver, and then at the ball she had dropped on the ground. "Can I stay and play?" she asked, looking up at him with the huge brown eyes that Quentin knew he would probably never be able to say no to as long as he lived. "Please?" she asked.
That was the final straw, the moment that Lance caved. "Okay princess," he agreed. "No more than fifteen minutes though okay? Mommy's waiting for us at home." When Laurel nodded enthusiastically Lance said, "Okay deal. Want to introduce me to your friend?"
"I'm Oliver," Oliver piped up.
Lance took a breath and nodded to him. "Okay." Then he looked back down to Laurel. "You be careful okay? No more picking fights with fourth graders." With that Laurel nodded again and took off.
As they moved away Lance heard Oliver ask if Laurel wanted to come play soccer with him and his friend Tommy. A man with light sandy hair and the same blue eyes as Oliver stepped up beside him. "You have a wonderful daughter," the man informed him.
Lance glanced at the man and assessed his shining shoes, well cut suit, and expensive wool coat. There was a brief-case tucked under his arm and a tall, overly muscled man stood a few yards away watching the parking lot. More than that, Lance recognized the man's face from the cover of the recent local newspapers. Robert Queen, CEO of mutli-billion dollar company Queen Consolidated was standing next to him in an elementary school playground.
Trying hard to ignore how surreal the moment felt, Lance nodded. "Thank you. I'm proud of her. She's six but I swear to God she's gonna end up smarter than me. Takes more after her mother I think."
Robert Queen smiled and nodded. "I get it," he agreed. "My boy's turning seven in May and when his mother thinks he's like me," he shrugged. "Maybe in looks but when he wants something he just narrows his eyes and sets his chin. And then he gets this look on his face and it's just all Moira."
"That him?" Lance asked pointing to Oliver's blonde head as he tugged Laurel across the throng of children to a little boy with dark curly hair wearing similar soccer gear to Oliver.
"Yeah," Robert had responded with the kind of proud smile that only a father could ever manage for their children. "My boy Oliver. He's scrappy now but I just get this feeling he's going to do something bigger than I ever have. Maybe every parent feels like that, I don' know. But I just know he's going to change this city." Robert gave a decisive nod. "Maybe your girl will help him huh?"
Then Robert caught sight of a pale man with a sweep of black hair, a pale face, and dark eyes stepping out of a town car and waving. "Well that's me then," he said. "The only way I can ever justify these trips out of the office to pick Oliver up from school is if the board thinks I'm getting something done. Weekly meetings with the CEO of Merlyn Global seems to do it." He held out his hand to Quentin. "Robert Queen."
Lance took the proffered hand. "Quentin Lance."
"Good to meet you."
Robert began to walk away and lance couldn't help but call after him, "You might want to tell your son that if he ever wants to change the world someday he might want to stop fighting with kids three years older than him."
Mr. Queen stopped and considered for a moment. "Nah," he finally decided. Then with a smile he said, "after all. His mother's a fighter."
And Oliver was indeed a fighter. He might have been a fairly crappy teenager by, well, any moral, legal, or ethical standard, but he damn well proved to be a fighter. Sometimes he lost, but he did fight.
Lance for one had had multiple opportunities to get up close and personal with the results of that particular facet of Oliver Queen's nature. When the son of a billionaire got in to a bar fight either as an underage or excessive drinker it turned out that people tended to call a few sources. One of them was TMZ (any other gossip show or site was interchangeable with that one), and the other was the police. Normally calling the police came something like ten to twenty minutes after they had called the gossip sites.
Really Lance would have preferred to be on that particular law keeping front a little less often than he was. There were really only so many times that a father could arrest their eldest daughter's on again off again boyfriend without being seen as, at the best, meddling. However, lance didn't get to pick which calls his superiors had him respond to.
That didn't mean that Lance wasn't under the impression that some manipulator god of the universe was doing this to him on purpose to screw with him.
Long story short, Quentin Lance saw Oliver Queen throw more than one seriously decent punch in a bar or club fight during his pre-island years. There had also been that rather unfortunate on camera altercation that featured one angry and drunk Oliver Queen, and a few overly pushy members of paparazzi. Literally everybody with TV or computer aspect and some free time had managed to see that testament.
Bar or playground, Lance knew that even pre-island, Oliver Queen was stubborn as hell, brash, reckless, often overly confident, and unconcerned with his own safety. But a fighter none the less.
When Oliver Queen had gotten back from Lian Yu Lance had gotten to watch him fight without ever knowing that that was who he was watching. He hadn't been watching Oliver, the kid who used to kick fourth graders in the shin for Lance's daughter. Instead he was watching the Hood, and the hood was a ruthless killer that had absolutely no limit on what he would or wouldn't do to accomplish his goals.
The Hood fought like a tidal wave. More than that, he fought like the forty day flood that according to the bible (a book Lance didn't set store by but knew had some great stories to use for making illustrative points) had driven two of every living thing on board to escape the water. The Hood fought as a driving, never ceasing, drowning force that would drown everything in it's path.
When Lance watched Oliver Queen fight as the Hood without knowing that he was watching Oliver Queen, he had gotten the impression that The Hood was lethal. That lethal nature was only increased by the fact that he was unpredictable. His MO even changed, staying mostly with the bow but sometimes branching to guns, knives, or handy blunt instruments. His victim pool was mostly one percenters but sometimes that spread to thieves, assassins, and bank robbers. Either way, the hood was merciless, brutal, and effective.
The Arrow's fighting was different. It was more controlled, less lethal, but no less dangerous. The pointed focus of a vigilante that didn't kill was objectively much more terrifying. An uncontrollable killer acting outside of the law was a million times less complicated than a trained fighter who everyone knew could kill, and had apparently decided not to.
The day that Lance first saw the Arrow engage in a different kind of fighting was also the first day since the Arrow changed his tactics that he had killed.
Lance had pulled up in front of Queen Consolidated after responding to the 9-1-1 call that had stated that the drug dealer The Count had gotten out of prison again and taken Felicity Smoak hostage. He was completely unashamed and honest with himself with admitting that he had broken no fewer than seven different speed laws to get to the building early. As it turned out, he had arrived just as a window on the top floor shattered and The Count's body came tumbling down.
He smashed down on the windshield of the car, and even from where he stood Lance could see that there was blood seeping from his head. Lance didn't need to be a medical professional to know that that meant that the criminal's skull was bashed in. There were also three arrows in his chest grouped tightly around his heart and lungs. The arrows were green.
Lance jogged inside and took the elevator up to the executive floor. Some kind of classical music was playing calmly over the elevator speakers as he tapped his foot impatiently. He wasn't planning on arresting the Arrow for killing the Count, but he couldn't say honestly that he would be able to stop another cop from doing it if they got there first.
He walked in to the conference room to find the Arrow standing in front of Felicity Smoak and helping her up off of the floor. It seemed to Lance that he was being incredibly careful to keep Felicity away from the shattered glass. As he got closer, Lance could hear the two of them bickering.
"A bullet went through your arm," Felicity was saying, her voice was a little tremulous, but she didn't seem to be backing down. "I don't call that nothing. Do you call that noting? Well I mean obviously you just did but really that's not my point. My point is that you got shot which for most people including me is not a nothing kind of a thing. In fact, it jut really is a thing. It's not a not a thing kind of a thing. Which is kind of defined by the virtue of it being a thing. You know?"
The Arrow seemed to sigh. "I really, really don't," he answered as he noticed Lance in the doorway and activated his vocal synthesizer. "I promise you I'm fine." He reached out and took her shoulders. "You were kidnapped by a psychopath. I was shot by him. I am fine."
Felicity pulled her hand back and flicked her thumb and forefinger at the Arrow's right shoulder. Lance couldn't see any blood but he guessed that that was where the gunshot wound had happened. If he strained his eyesight he could see a thin shadow in the dark of a rip in the green leather covering his arm. The vigilante flinched and jerked his arm away. "You normally don't do that when I flick you," she informed him.
Lance suddenly got the distinct impression that the Arrow was grinding his teeth. "Your finger nails are longer than the last time," he muttered. Through his voice modulator Lance thought he sounded rather like a petulant and argumentative child. "I think you cut the leather."
"I did not!" she interjected before Lance could even try to warn them that the rest of the police would be there within minutes. "My fingernails are very deliberately under a care regiment for typing. Which is so not the point right now! You got shot. And you shot someone which on a whole other level probably really sucks for you now. So my point is that this is a thing and not a nothing which is actually kind of a thing. And I just started wondering how you ever manage to fix that suite because there is no way you can send it to a dry cleaner and sadly this is not the first time you have ever been shot."
Quentin cleared his throat and the Arrow looked over at him for maybe half a second before he turned back to Felicity. He laid a hand on each of her shoulders. "We can fight about this later if you want Felicity," he said. "But I have to go so I don't get arrested." Then he leaned over and brushed a kiss over her forehead before leaping out of the broken window.
If Oliver Queen and his body guard showed up later to pick up Felicity from the police and paramedics and Oliver repeated the same actions... Well who really gave a damn anyway?
The Arrow fought differently because the Arrow could choose.
Al-Sahem fought with the cold calculations of an expert chess player. He fought without mercy or regret. He was like a dark thunder cloud, killing people with quick lightning strikes that decimated the enemy. They sure as hell never struck twice either. Al Sahem didn't need to. One strike was enough of a death blow. And if the hit was coming there was no way in hell to stop it.
Most people didn't see that Oliver Queen was a fighter but Quentin Lance had known it since that first day he had picked up Laurel in first grade and Oliver had kicked Max Fuller in the shin. They saw him as a rich boy who by the grace of god and incredible amounts of luck had managed to make it through five years on a deserted island and come back alive.
Lance knew better. To survive a crucible you had to have the will to live. You had to be a fighter.
Oliver Queen had surrounded him with people who fought. John Diggle was a soldier and Laurel had been the kind of person who fought since she had learned what the word "argument" meant. Thea Queen was also like her mother. Steeled, defiant, and an absolute fighter to the last breath she breathed. It must have been a Dearden trait.
Felicity fought differently. She fought with her brain and a computer and her brain was impressive. Lance thought after watching her hold her ground verbally against Diggle, Thea, Laurel, Roy, Ray, Damien Dahrk, Malcolm Merlyn, and Oliver Queen on an adrenalin high with full arrow gear that she might just be the most dangerous of the bunch.
Oliver Queen and Team Arrow were fighters, and when they fought there was no getting in their way.
However, Lance also watched carefully and knew for a fact that Oliver Queen would forever and always loose fights against one person. He would stick to his guns like a dog with a bone, and be a stubborn jack ass, but he would still loose. Oliver Queen would always loose in an argument against Felicity Smoak on any and all fronts simply because he lacked the will to really do it.
Lance got the feeling that most of the time Oliver simply forgot quite exactly what he was up against when those arguments started. Then by the time the argument was up and moving the kid seemed to think it was too late to back down. So Felicity and Oliver would fight, and bicker, and argue until eventually Oliver would inevitably be shouted down.
During one such argument the two had reached a pause and Lance had watched Thea lean over towards Diggle. "Do you think it would help get this over with sooner if I made a comment about how the kids don't like it when Mommy and Daddy fight?"
Both Oliver and Felicity had turned to her and said a perfectly in sync. "Thea this is not the time!"
Lance wasn't even sure if they managed to remember what it was that they were fighting about.
That memory didn't resurface for him until the day that Oliver and Felicity's daughter Adrianna was born. The day that they were supposed to bring her home Lance had volunteered to hold the sleeping baby while Oliver and Felicity juggled their bags and the car seat. Adrianna had gotten a good grip on Lance's index finger with her eyes still shut, looking for all the world like she was sleeping soundly. "She's got a good grip," Lance commented.
"Yeah," Felicity said as she hovered over his shoulder for a moment. "Well she's already strong. She's going to be a little fighter isn't she?"
"No," Oliver argued. "She is going to be happy and safe and very far away from anything fighting or boy related until after the point where I can't do anything about it anymore."
Adrianna squeezed Lance's finger tighter and squirmed around in her pink blankets, her face pinching up before it relaxed again. "That's what you think Queen," Lance muttered. Privately Lance thought Felicity was right. This little baby in his arms was going to be a fighter. Looking at her parents, there was no way that would work out any other way.
But Oliver was right on a level to.
Oliver Queen was a fighter, and if Lance knew one other thing about the kid it was that he would fight until he died, get resurrected, and come back to fight again if it was for something he cared about it. When the Queen's and their friends fought they did it decisively. They breathed blood and fire and grew heads like a hydra. They found anyway they could to keep going and they didn't stop. Forces of nature collided collaborated for one common end.
When they fought, they won.
A/N: Hey Guys! I'm sorry that it's been a while but school is a black hole of time. I hope you liked the chapter and will send me some more prompts to work off of for when I have the time. If there are typos or you think that this could be improved in any way please let me know. I'm seriously tired right now and my proof reading skills aren't incredibly high to start with. Review for me!xoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxo