"Poor Dig," Felicity chuckled. "He wrestles for days over whether or not to join your crusade, and then when he finally decides to do it, you get arrested not five minutes later."
"Yeah," Diggle chuckled in return. "I was definitely wondering if I had made a mistake."
"Sorry about the timing," Oliver joked.
Constantine chuckled. "Well, I think we'll just continue on," he said. "I'm sure everyone's wondering how you'll wiggle your way out of this one, mate."
The screen opens on Lian Yu. A rabbit is happily munching on some leaves when it is struck dead with an arrow, fired by Yao Fei. He points to it and turns to Oliver. "Dinner," he says.
"Aw, come…" Oliver complains. "Hey, I got an idea. Why don't you let me shoot that thing and you can go pick up the bloody, dead, disgusting animal."
Yao Fei holds out the bow for him, and Oliver looks at him, surprised, not expecting him to actually let him try. "What?" he asks, clarifying.
"Try," Yao Fei answers. "Breathe. Everything, breathe. Breathe, aim, fire."
He mimes shooting an arrow. "Yeah," Oliver mutters, taking the bow. Yao Fei hand him an arrow, and after a few tries, Oliver nocks it on the string.
"Wait, so that was your first archery lesson?" Clay asked incredulously. "Breathe, aim, fire?"
"Yeah," Oliver chuckled.
"Aim that tree," Yao Fei tells him, pointing to a large tree.
Shakily, Oliver pulls the string back and aims. "Breathe," Yao Fei advises again.
Oliver lets go, and the arrow misses the tree by a couple feet. Oliver sighs.
Everyone in the room burst out laughing. No one had ever really given any thought to how Oliver had learned to shoot. They all had just assumed that he had some sort of natural talent for it. "What?" Oliver asked, grinning himself. "I'm not some sort of archery protege, if that's what you thought. I had a learning curve, just like anyone else."
"Ni hui si de hen can," Yao Fei comments.
"What does that mean?" Oliver asks.
"You will die badly," Yao Fei answers. "Get."
He gestures to the animal and to the arrow Oliver shot. Oliver looks at him pleadingly, but Yao Fei just glares at him. Oliver hands the bow back and heads off. He walks a little ways, and finds the rabbit. As he bends over to pick it up, however, the masked men from before suddenly converge on him and grab him, putting a hand over his mouth as he tries to call for help. They take him to some sort of camp and throw him in a hole in the ground with bamboo bars over the top. His hands are cuffed. "Wait! Wait!" he shouts. "You can't leave me here! Don't do this to me, please!"
One of the man hits his hands with the butt of his gun in answer. Oliver screams and lets go, falling to the floor of the hole. "Please!" he screams. "I didn't do anything!"
Back in Starling, Oliver is being led from the squad car to the police station, reporters surrounding him and shouting questions. "The police think they know who I am," he says in a voiceover. "They think I'm the vigilante. The man in the hood terrorizing the city's criminals."
In the station, they record his fingerprints. "They also think they have me trapped," Oliver continues. "That I have no way out."
They take his headshot. "They're only half-right," Oliver concludes.
"This is a mistake," Oliver tells Lance after he's settled in an interrogation room. "I'll be asking you a few questions," Lance says, ignoring him. "Standard stuff for the report. Have you been arrested before?"
Oliver laughs. "That's okay, I know the answer to that one," Lance continues, "plenty of times."
"Like I said," Oliver repeats, "this is a mistake."
"As far as I can tell, the only mistake I made was not shooting you down at the docks when I had a chance," Lance states coldly.
"I am not who you think I am," Oliver insists.
"Oh, you're exactly who I think you are," Lance answers.
"It's so hard to believe that you actually liked each other when you were kids," Grant commented.
"We like each other now too," Oliver answered. "There was just this little window of time, or in other words, whenever I was romantically involved or had the potential to become romantically involved with one of his daughters, when he didn't like me very much."
"You're a dangerous menace who doesn't care about who he hurts, except now you're doing it with bows and arrows instead of trust funds and yachts," Lance continues.
"Detective," Oliver says calmly, "you hate me. I get it. But that doesn't make me a vigilante."
"No," Lance agrees. "The security camera footage of you from the Unidac auction with a green hood does that pretty well."
"And, as I said, again," Oliver answers, "I ran into the stairwell once I heard the shooting, I saw a duffel that I thought maybe belonged to the shooter, I grabbed it, looked inside, and saw a hood."
"And what, you took it home with you?" Lance comments. "'Cause we can't find it. And what about harassing Adam Hunt? That just happened to take place right across the street from your little homecoming bash."
"Those were coincidences," Oliver insists.
"No," Lance answers. "When they pile up like that, it becomes evidence."
An officer opens the door. "His parents are here," he tells Lance.
"Tell them to wait," Lance orders.
"I want to see my son!" Moira shouts authoritatively from outside, and she and Walter push their way in a moment later.
"I'm in the middle of an interrogation here!" Lance exclaims.
"Detective Lance," Moira says in a dangerous voice, "I know you hate my family, but I had no idea that you'd go so far to arrest my son without any grounds whatsoever!"
"I have solid grounds," Lance growls, "and I have evidence."
"Which you can present to Mr. Queen's attorney when he gets here," Walter interrupts, once again stepping between Lance and Moira. "Until then, this interrogation is over, Detective."
Lance looks between Walter, Moira, and Oliver. "Sure," he mutters, gathering his file. "You have 15 minutes."
He leaves. "Detective Lance appears to be on some personal vendetta," Walter observes.
"He is," Oliver answers. "He blames me for the death of his daughter."
Walter nods, and Moira closes her eyes in dismay. "He also thinks that I dress up in a green hood and shoot people," Oliver continues. "With arrows."
"Wow, you sure manage to make it sound ridiculous," Felicity chuckled.
"That was kinda the idea," Oliver answered, smiling at her.
"The important thing is not to say anything until your attorney gets here," Walter advises.
"Fine," Oliver agrees. "I want Laurel."
Both Walter and Moira laugh incredulously. "Brilliant," Walter mutters.
"Oliver," Moira says, her voice rising steadily, "I don't think your ex-girlfriend can be counted on to be objective here!"
"She knows me better than anyone," Oliver insists. "She knows that I could never be this guy. Walter, you say Lance has a vendetta? I think Laurel can get him off of it. He raised her to do the right thing. That includes representing an innocent man. So, Mom? Please."
Later, at CNRI, Moira walks in. The news is on, talking about Oliver's arrest. Moira finds Laurel looking at some files next to a bookshelf. "Laurel," she says, attracting her attention.
"Mrs. Queen!" Laurel says, surprised. "What are you. . ."
"It's Oliver," Moira answers before Laurel could finish asking. "Something's happened."
"It's been all over the news," Laurel tells her, nodding towards a TV, showing footage of Oliver being led into the police station. Moira sighs.
"These charges are ludicrous!" she complains.
"I know," Laurel agrees.
The judge scoffed. "Except you really were guilty," he commented.
"I was," Oliver agreed. "But I knew things that no one else did, and I knew that no one else had the capabilities to deal with those things. I had to be around to deal with them."
"You know," a woman said shyly, standing up, "I've been wondering something this whole time."
Oliver turned to her and gave her a kind smile when he saw how nervous she was. "What's your name?" he asked kindly.
"Ann," she answered, looking down. "Ann Catos."
"You can ask your question," Oliver told her gently. "I don't bite."
The rest of the room looked at him incredulously. "People who don't deserve it," he amended. "I don't bite people who don't deserve it."
The room laughed, and he got a slight chuckle from Ann as well. "It's probably stupid," she said, making to sit back down.
"Hey, no, listen," Oliver said quickly. "I'm pretty sure that's the whole point of this, is for everyone to know everything about me, to understand. So any question you have, or anyone has, is a good one. This was done with the best intentions, I'm sure, but it was done by people who lead the same kind of life I do. There may be things that all of us take for granted that aren't obvious to people who haven't lived through what we have."
She smiled shyly at him. "Why didn't you just take the book to the police?" she asked after a moment. "Someone you trusted to not be corrupt? Tell them everything that happened with your father, give them all of your research about these guys, and let them deal with it? Legally?"
Oliver sighed and let out a sad laugh. "Because nothing would have happened," he explained. "The people in that book, they weren't all corrupt businessmen. Cops, lawyers, judges, city councilmen…people in positions of power, who would be destroyed if the book was used. Any investigation would have been nipped in the bud, the book would have been destroyed, and then no one would have stood in the way of these people. Even if I raised a few people's suspicions, they would have been powerless to do anything without going outside of the law themselves. If anyone was equipped to do that, it was me, and I wasn't going to let anyone else get in trouble because of my father's actions. My family was part of the cause of the mess, and it was my job to clean it up."
She nodded her thanks and understanding and sat down. John let the room muse over Oliver's words for a moment before continuing.
"Can I ask you," Laurel continues, "who's representing him?"
"Well, that's why I'm here," Moira says. "He wants you to represent him."
Laurel raises her eyebrows, and her eyes go wide with shock. "Me?" she asks.
"Yes," Moira answers. "I told him it was a bad idea, but to be frank, I am desperate. He says that if you don't represent him then he doesn't want any attorney."
"Mrs. Queen, my father is the arresting officer," Laurel states, "and I don't think it's a good idea for me to represent someone who I've been involved with."
Moira bows her head, closing her eyes. "Uh, listen, I am sorry for what your family is going through…" Laurel continues.
"No, no apologies," Moira interrupts. "Your idealism is, I think, why my son, for all his mistakes, is so smitten with you."
Laurel draws in a breath, obviously uncomfortable. "Regardless," Moira continues, "it was a bad idea on his part and I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."
Laurel gives her a kind smile, and Moira leaves.
Later, at the court, Oliver enters the courtroom, led by a cop, as a guard reads off the docket. "Docket 81-9-4-1, 'People versus Oliver Queen.' Murder, aggravated assault. . ."
Lance watches Oliver's progress, a scowl on his face. "Assault with intent," the guard continues. "Menacing, and trespassing."
Moira, Thea, Walter, and Tommy watch Oliver nervously as he sits down. Oliver and the judge size each other up for a moment. "Where's your attorney, Mr. Queen?" she asks finally.
"I'm representing myself, Judge," Oliver answers.
"I'm not sure that's the wisest course, Mr. Queen," she advises.
Oliver stands. "I think it is," he answers. "I'm innocent."
"Then we'll consider that your plea," she accepts.
"Thank you," Oliver says.
He sits back down. "Now, as to bail…" the judge starts.
D.A. Spencer stands, interrupting. "Your Honor, Mr. Queen's family owns a pair of private jets, and while on the subject of their wealth I would point out that there is virtually no bail amount that could guarantee his presence at trial."
"So then I guess it's a good thing the People's case is so circumstantial," Laurel calls from the doorway.
She walks in, to the astonishment of her father. "Dinah Laurel Lance, Your Honor," she identifies. "I'd like to file my appearance on behalf of the defendant."
She sits next to Oliver, who has vacated his chair and moved to the side. "Mr. Queen's wealth should not deprive him of the right to be released on bail while under the presumption of innocence," she continues.
"He is a flight risk!" Spencer argues.
"Then minimize the risk," Laurel returns. "The defendant is willing to submit to home confinement and electronic monitoring. . ." Oliver squeaks and holds up a finger - "through the wearing of a UKG45 administrated ankle device."
"No, he wouldn't," Oliver counters.
"Sold," the judge says, pounding her gravel.
"Your Honor. . ." Spencer starts.
"Bail is set at $15 million," the judge continues. "5 million dollars bond. Defendant to see probation for the fitting of a GPS device."
She pounds her gravel again and the court is dismissed. Oliver turns to Laurel. "I knew you couldn't resist saving my a**," he says with an amused smile.
"You're gonna make me regret this, aren't you," she returns.
"No," he whispers. "It's gonna be like old times."
"Fortunately for you," she says, getting them back on topic, "with the legal case, there's no way that you're this vigilante."
"I agree," Oliver states.
"Because he's actually trying to make a difference," Laurel burns, "and we both know that's not really your style."
She turns away, leaving Oliver blinking in shock at the table.
"Dang!" Rene exclaimed. "I wish I could'a met her, Hoss. I like her!"
Oliver gave him a glare.
Later, at the Mansion, Oliver is sitting on the couch, his right leg extended in front of him, as an officer attaches the ankle device. Tommy, Moira, and Walter look on, and Moira looks positively sick, turning her face away. "Mom," Oliver says, seeing her distress, "it's not that bad."
"Okay," the officer says, "this device has a direct line into the precinct. Stay on the property, you're golden. Any questions?"
"Yes," Oliver says. "I am having a sizeable get-together here tomorrow evening and there is a better than likely chance it spills into the outdoor pool."
Tommy looks at him and then at Moira and Walter, incredulous. "Pool deck's fine," the officer answers. "Step on the grass, they're sending a SWAT team to forcibly subdue you."
"Thank you, officer," Walter says.
"Of course," he answers, and sees himself out.
Moira walks towards Oliver. "A sizeable get-together?" she asks angrily.
"I am confined to this house for the foreseeable future," Oliver says, raising his voice. "I might as well make the most of it. And this party is gonna be themed. I'm thinking…prison! Uh, Burning Man meets Shawshank Redemption. The invite says, 'Come before Oliver Queen gets off.'"
Walter checks his watch, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation and unsure how to handle the rebelling stepson that he has no relationship with. He looks to Tommy. "Uh, maybe a party's not in the best of taste," Tommy puts in, walking over to Oliver and sitting down next to him, "you know, considering the circumstances."
"Tommy, the circumstances are why we're having the party in the first place!" Oliver says, a little louder than maybe was necessary.
Tommy raises his hands in surrender, and Oliver turns his attention back to his mother and stepfather. "I want people to know that I'm not worried about any of this," he states.
"Well that makes one of us," Moira says, her voice literally shaking with anger.
the woman intending to send (future active)
"Is this really how you were, you know, before you were shipwrecked?" Beth asked.
"Unfortunately, yes," Oliver answered. "I'm not happy about the person I was back then, but at this point in my life, I was just trying to keep my head above water, and it was easier for me if I appeared to everyone to be the same person I'd always been. Less likely for someone to ask questions that I was not by any stretch of the imagination ready to answer."
At Laurel's apartment, she is also having a less-than-courteous conversation with her father. "Before you start yelling. . ." she starts.
"Why would I yell?" Lance growls. "You're only defending the man that killed your sister."
"Oliver did not kill Sara!" Laurel exclaims.
"If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't have been on that boat!" Lance argues.
"Have you considered the possibility that that's the reason you're trying to make him out to be this – this menace?" Laurel asks.
"No!" Lance yells. "It is the video tape, it is the suspicious timing, that is the reason!"
"This is Oliver Queen we're talking about," Laurel shouts back. "He wrecks fancy cars and he dates models, he doesn't kill people!"
"No, he just uses them," Lance argues, "like he used Sara. And like he used you, and he's only asked you to be his lawyer to get up me!"
"No, he asked me to be his lawyer to get through to you!" Laurel returns. "You hate the Hood and you hate Oliver and you want more than anything for them to be the same person. But Oliver isn't the reason why Sara died. Or the reason Mom left."
"I don't have to listen to this," Lance mutters, brushing past her and heading towards the door.
"By the way," Laurel calls, whirling around, "you're not the only one who misses them."
Lance exhales, squints at her, and leaves.
In his bedroom, Oliver is doing more research on the list at his desk when there is a knock on the door. "Yeah?" he calls, and Diggle enters. "Thank you for coming," he says. "Shut the door."
He sits back in his chair and the two of them study each other for a moment. "I guess it was just a matter of time before the police caught up to you," Diggle observes.
"Except they didn't," Oliver denies.
"Oliver, they got you on video," Diggle argues.
"I knew the security camera was there," Oliver tells him, "just like I knew the police would review the footage and arrest me. All part of the plan."
"So you wanted to get arrested?" Diggle asks, confused.
"Well, I returned to Starling City and a few days later the vigilante appears," Oliver answers. "Sooner or later somebody was gonna make the connection."
"So what part of serving yourself up to the cops will help you avoid going to prison for the rest of your life?" Diggle asks.
"There's more to it," Oliver answers.
"Well, there better be, for your sake," Diggle says, "because your family is freaking out downstairs. Oliver, your mother and your sister just got you back, and now you're gonna put them through a trial, maybe even worse? Don't you care?"
"Of course I care," Oliver says slowly. "The mission comes first."
"Wait, wait, stop!" Edward exclaimed, and John stopped it. "Did you seriously just say that your mission to kill people comes before the well-being of your family?"
"Yes and no," Oliver answered, holding up a hand to stop Diggle from saying something. "The mission came before spending time with my family, or alleviating their worries. I was keeping my family at arm's length, afraid that if I got too close to them I would…I would somehow infect them with my past. If it were truly about their safety, I would have chosen them without a second thought. But at this point in my life, I buried my own feelings and didn't have time for anyone else's. That's what I meant."
Everyone thought over his words for a moment, and then Oliver nodded to John.
Oliver turns his laptop so Diggle can see the screen. "Who's he?" Diggle asks, gesturing towards the scanned articles displayed on the screen.
"Leo Mueller," Oliver answers. "German arms dealer. Suspected in the theft of a hundred M249 Squad Automatic Weapons."
"Okay," Diggle says, still unsure what this has to do with them.
"Last night he arrived in Starling City to sell the guns," Oliver continues.
"Oliver," Diggle starts, "don't you imagine there's enough trouble you're in this week than to go after this guy?"
"I imagine what would happen if a street gang got their hands on military hardware. I imagine our city's streets turned into a war zone." Oliver insists.
"But you're under house arrest, Oliver," Diggle reminds him, "which means you can't just go after this guy."
"Look," Oliver concedes, "for now I would just like you to shadow Mueller. I would like you to track his movements. I want to know where the buy is happening."
Diggle nods. "Okay," he agrees. "And how am I supposed to track him?"
"Well," Oliver gets the slightest twinkle of amusement in his eye, "you know us billionaire vigilantes, we do love our toys."
"Do you know other billionaire vigilantes?" the D.A. asked curiously.
Oliver chuckled. "So many," he answered. "But I'm the original."
"No you're not," Barry argued.
"Oh really?" Oliver turned to him.
"Batman?" Barry suggested coyly.
"The Batman is an urban legend," Oliver insisted.
"Wait, you don't believe Batman's real?" Barry asked in mock horror.
"He's not real!" Oliver exclaimed. "He's an urban legend concocted by the Gotham City Police Department to scare criminals. I'm the original vigilante, Barry!"
"Really, guys?" a voice called out from somewhere.
A moment later, the doors blew open in a gust of wind and suddenly Supergirl was standing in front of them. "Kara?" Oliver asked in surprise. "What are you doing on Earth-1?"
"Felicity, Dig, and John called me, same as they called everyone else," Kara answered, "I just had to finish something in National City first. I came as soon as I could, though."
Oliver stood and walked up to her, holding out a hand, which she ignored to hug him instead. After a moment's hesitation, he returned her hug awkwardly. "It's good to see you," he said with a small smile.
"It's good to see you too," she answered, "and I'm sorry about all of this."
She gestured around the room. "It was bound to happen sooner or later," Oliver stated. "I always knew that. I just let myself stop believing it for awhile."
"Uh, Mr. Queen?" the judge interrupted. "Who's your new friend?"
"Oh, um, everyone, this is Kara Danvers, she's from Earth-38, originally from a planet called Krypton, and she's a friend," Oliver introduced.
Kara gave a little wave and a smile. "Well, I'm so glad you could make it, Kara," John put in, "but if you'll find a seat, I think we should continue."
She nodded, ignored the confused, uncertain looks from the non-superheroes in the room, and found a seat just behind Barry.
At the factory, Dig turns on the lights and truly looks around for the first time. "Wow," he whispers in amazement at Oliver's set up. He carefully touches the tip of one of the arrows and winces as he cuts himself on it.
Oliver laughed. "What did you think was gonna happen, Dig?" he asked when he had gotten hold of himself again.
"I don't know," Dig answered with a smile at the friendly ribbing. "I wasn't used to your obsessiveness about the sharpness of your arrows yet."
Oliver chuckled.
Dig finds what he's looking for and opens a case. "Ooh," he admires the contents. "Oh, that's sweet."
In Walter's office at Queen Consolidated, a man walks in. "You wanted to see me, sir?" he asks.
"No, I didn't," Walter answers from the window. "In fact, this meeting isn't taking place."
He gestures for him to sit, and sits down himself. "How long have you been head of security at Queen Consolidated, Josiah?" Walter asks him.
"Going on seven years now, sir," Josiah answers.
"Sounds about right," Walter muses. "But what I'm about to tell you will test the bounds of your discretion. You're aware of the Queen's Gambit, Robert Queen's ill-fated yacht?"
Josiah nods. "I found it," Walter confides.
"Sir, the boat went down in the North China Sea five years ago," Josiah questions.
"Which is why my discovery of its remains in a warehouse downtown was unexpected, to say the least," Walter deadpans. "I want you to transfer those remains to a secure location. Can I count on you?"
"What's going on, Sir?" Josiah asks after a moment.
"That's very much what I'm trying to determine," Walter answers.
At the police station, Oliver and Laurel are meeting with Lance and D.A. Spencer. "Thank you both for coming," Spencer says once they're settled.
"No, thank you," Oliver answers. "It's nice to get out of the house."
"I'll cut right to it," she says, unamused. "Detective Lance arrested your client without consulting my office first. So, congratulations. I am willing to consider a plea in this case."
"Absolutely not," Oliver says immediately.
"Mr. Queen spent five years in seclusion," Spencer continues. "On a deserted island, cut off from the woman intending to send (future active)civilization."
As she is speaking, Laurel looks incredulously and exasperatedly at Oliver, who simply smiles sweetly at her. "It is quite possible he's suffering from some form of post traumatic stress," Spencer continues. "Given that, we would support a plea of insanity."
Oliver's mouth drops open and for a moment it looks like he short-circuited. "Conditional on a period of indeterminate incarceration at a psychiatric facility," Spencer finishes.
Oliver squeaks a few times before finally managing to speak. "Uh, no thank you," he says, "I'm not crazy."
"Finally, something we agree on," Lance speaks for the first time. "He's not a nut, he's a killing machine."
"Actually, I'm neither," Oliver argues.
"There is nothing you can say to me that I would believe," Lance tells him coldly.
Oliver considers his words for a moment. "I'll take a polygraph," he volunteers.
"Uh, polygraphs are inadmissible," Laurel tells him quietly.
"In front of a jury," Oliver agrees. "I'll take a polygraph in front of him. He's the one I need to convince."
Laurel whirls back to Spencer. "I'm gonna need a minute," she says.
Lance and Spencer glance between the two of them for a moment and then leave. "You're looking at life in prison," she growls at him as soon as the door closes. "What Spencer just offered you is a gift."
"I'm not crazy, I am innocent, I kinda want to take the polygraph," Oliver lists, "and if I take it and I fail, then. . ."
He pauses and sets his face. "I will consider making a deal," he states.
They stare at each other for a moment. "Fine," Laurel says, annoyed. "I'll set up the poly. And I will tell Spencer that we're not pleading out. But Oliver, you have a family. Friends. People who actually care about you. So don't for one second think that you're the only one with something to lose here."
the woman intending to send (future active)She sighs. "I'll be right back," she says in a calmer tone.
Laurel leaves and Oliver stares after her for a moment before turning his gaze to the table in front of him. The screen flashes back to the island. Oliver is handcuffed and being led by two masked men. They take him through a camp filled with all sorts of equipment and vehicles. Oliver looks around in astonishment, but they hurry him along and bring him into a large tent. They shove him into a tent pole in the center of the "room," and he groans in pain as he slams into it with his wounded shoulder. The two men leave. Oliver braces himself against the pole for a moment, breathing heavily as he tries to recover from having his wound jostled so violently. Suddenly, a man speaks to him from behind a desk in the corner. "Please, sit," he offers, his accent making him seem friendlier than he looks. "You're making me feel rude."
Oliver considers for a moment, but the chair is too appealing and he does as the man commanded. "I do apologize for my men's treatment of you," the man continues once Oliver is somewhat comfortably seated. He opens a can of soda and pours it into a glass in front of Oliver. "They're, they're trained to view any stranger as hostile. I'm Edward Fyers, by the way."
Oliver just stares at him. "And you are?" the man finally prompts him.
"I'm Oliver Queen," Oliver says after a moment in a pain-filled voice. "I was shipwrecked here. I don't. . .know for how long. My family has money. They have lots of money. You would be. . . you'd be really well compensated for my rescue."
"Wait," the D.A. interrupted. "How long had you been there at this point? When was this?"
"I think it was about five weeks," Oliver answered slowly. "I'm not. . . really sure, after awhile everything just. . . blended together. But it was somewhere around five weeks. Definitely longer than a month, but nowhere near two months."
She nodded, seemingly in acceptance, and John continued.
"Well, I look forward to that," Fyers answers. "But for the moment, let's just talk."
"About what?" Oliver sighs.
"Well, for instance," Fyers begins, grabbing a picture from a makeshift shelf behind him. He holds it up for Oliver to see. "This gentleman," he finishes. "Do you know him?"
Oliver looks at the picture. He's more civilized-looking, and dressed in a military uniform, but Oliver still immediately recognizes him as Yao Fei. "No," he says after a moment.
"No?" Fyers repeats.
"No," Oliver says again. "Who. . . who's he?"
"You're a poor liar," Fyers states. He puts the picture down in front of Oliver. "I've been polite," he says, his voice taking on a less-friendly tone. "I'll offer you one more chance before my manners leave me."
"Hey, hey," Oliver says, leaning forward. "I. . . I don't know this guy. I. . . I thought I was on this island all by myself."
"Do you know what this island is named?" Fyers asks.
Oliver looks at him incredulously and shakes his head. "We're on Lian Yu," Fyers informs him. "Mandarin for 'Purgatory.'"
He leans forward, pounding the table. "But I can make it feel like Hell," he growls in Oliver's face.
Oliver shakes his head, looking at the table. Fyers stands, taking his glass of soda with him. "I don't know why you're protecting him," he muses. "You're young, foolish. Perhaps you don't know why, either. Think on that when you're begging for death."
He leaves, and Oliver stares at nothing, almost looking like he's about to cry. In that moment, he looks very much like a scared boy who just wants everyone to leave him alone and let him go home.
Oliver's family naturally inched closer to him, the look on his face breaking their hearts. Many of the parents in the room covered their mouths or tried to fight back tears. It suddenly hit everyone that the person on the screen was not the murderer that they were judging in court, but a scared boy who had, as of yet, committed none of the sins he was on trial for. In fact, it could have been this very situation that helped to turn him into the man he was today, and all at once several people began to wonder: exactly who was Oliver Queen?
"He's yours now," Fyers calls to someone outside the tent, and Oliver turns as a man enters, wearing a yellow and black balaclava, a sword strapped to his back.
Back in 2012, at the mansion, Thea is texting while sitting on the patio. Oliver sticks his head out of the door. "Hey, Speedy," he calls, "one of the workers left a keg too far from the bar. Can you ask them to move it, please? I've got the ankle. . . thingy."
He sticks his leg out and shakes it for good measure. "I don't want to set off a SWAT invasion," he jokes.
Thea just looks at him incredulously, and Oliver's smile fades. "Hey," he says cheerfully. He comes and sits next to her. "All this stuff? It's gonna be fine, I promise."
"Yeah, well, when you and Dad left on the yacht, you promised me I'd see you in a few days," she returns. "Which didn't happen."
"This is different than that," Oliver objects. "I didn't do any of this stuff, you know that, right?"
Everyone quickly looked over at the "superhero section" as there was a dull thud. "Ow!" Oliver exclaimed. Thea had hit him on the back of the head with her purse. "I was just trying to cheer you up!" he protested. "I couldn't blow my cover, you know that!"
"I know, I know," she answered, "but that doesn't make it any easier to watch you outright lie to all of us, all the time, about everything."
"I know, Thea," he said softly. "And I wish it were different. I wish everything had been different."
"Me too," she said, equally softly.
She put a hand on his shoulder and he grasped it, squeezing gently. "I love you, Thea," he said, emphasizing every word.
"I love you, too," she answered.
"You're out, all the time," Thea says, shaking her head. "You have those scars. And since you've been back, you've been acting really weird."
"None of this makes me some Robin Hood wannabe," he argues.
"And you gave me this," Thea says, her voice breaking as she holds up the Hozen. "I mean, it's an arrow head."
"Oh, man," Oliver whispers. He sighs. "Thea, I bought that in the gift shop of the Beijing airport."
Thea looks with disappointment at the Hozen. "I," Oliver continues, "now I'm kinda happy I didn't buy you the. . . shot glass with the panda on it, 'cause then you'd think I was. . . 'Panda-Man.'"
"So. . . where did you get it?" Clay asked.
"I'm sure you'll see," Oliver answered.
John nodded.
Thea smiles despite her best attempts to hide it. "You know," she confides, "I knew you couldn't be this person. I just. . . I can't lose you again."
Oliver nods. "Deal," he promises.
Elsewhere in the city, Malcolm Merlyn is working at his desk when Moira enters. "Moira," he greets. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Yes," she acknowledges. "Could you please make this quick? I'm in the midst of somewhat of a family emergency."
She sits down across from him. "Yes, of course," he says, "it's all over the local news."
He chuckles. "Possibly even national," he adds.
"Well, I. . . I know what you're thinking," she starts.
"Do you?" he interrupts.
"My son is not the man targeting the list," Moira states firmly. "The charges are preposterous."
"Not according to the district attorney, assistant district attorney, investigating detective, and the police department that filed charges against him!" Malcolm lists.
"That detective has a vendetta against my family," Moira objects.
"Why?" Malcolm demands. "Is there something untoward about your family? If so, something really needs to be done about that."
Moira glances at Malcolm's bodyguard, realizing he likely is not just a bodyguard.
"Your mother really was under duress," Spencer mused.
Oliver stared at her incredulously. "I thought that had long since been established," he said.
"There were always those of us who wondered what was really going on behind the scenes in your family all those years," she answered.
"Well, I guess you're finding out," Oliver answered darkly.
"I guess I am," she acknowledged.
In the station, the polygraph has been set up. "Is your name Oliver Queen?" Quentin asks.
"You don't know who I am, detective?" Oliver jokes.
"The question is to calibrate the polygraph," Lance isn't having any of it. "Is your name Oliver Queen?"
"Yes," Oliver answers.
"Were you born in Starling City, May 16th, 1985?" Quentin asks.
"Yes," Oliver responds again.
"Is your hair blue?"
"No."
"Ever been to Iron Heights Prison?" Quentin jumps into it.
Oliver takes a moment to school his expression to a carefully neutral one. "No," he answers.
Laurel looks over at him, surprise written all over her face.
"Wait, why does she look surprised that you said that?" Jackson asked. "Does she know you're the Arrow? Or, the Hood?"
"No," Oliver answered. "I'm sure you'll find out why she was surprised."
Lance then holds up Oliver's sketch of the Hood. "Are you the man in this picture?" he asks.
Oliver flashes back to the island, where his hands have been tied above his head against the tent pole. He's breathing quickly, and obviously panicking. Fyers is holding up the picture of Yao Fei, the man in the balaclava looming threateningly behind him. "Where can I find the man in this picture?" Fyers demands.
Oliver pulls himself back to reality and somehow manages to calmly answer, "No."
Lance looks questioningly at the man reading the poly, who nods in confirmation that Oliver is telling the truth. Lance runs his tongue along his teeth, aggravated. "You steal 40 million dollars off of Adam Hunt?" he asks.
"No, I didn't," Oliver answers.
"Were you marooned on an island called Lian Yu for five years?"
"Yes."
"How is that even relevant?" Laurel demands.
"I don't need to show relevance, but since you asked, whatever happened to your client on that island turned him into a cold-blooded killer," Lance growls.
Oliver is pulled back into the past again, as Fyers steps away from him and nods to the man in the balaclava. The man lifts up Oliver's shirt and stabs him in the abdomen with a sword. Oliver screams.
William gasped and turned his face into his father's shoulder, his body shaking with silent sobs. Everyone else in the room looked at each other uncomfortably as Oliver attempted to soothe his son. "Hey, it's okay," he said gently. "William, it's okay. I'm right here, I'm okay, okay? I promise. Will, buddy, I need you to look at me. Can you look at me? Please?"
William lifted his head slowly, his tear-filled eyes meeting his father's clear blue ones. "I am okay," Oliver said firmly. "All of that was 11 years ago. It was just a few minutes, buddy, it wasn't that bad, okay? Trust me, it wasn't that bad, and I am fine, I am right here."
William buried his face in his father's neck again, and Oliver turned to Constantine. "He doesn't have to be here, does he?" he asked. "He shouldn't be here."
"No," William said, his voice clouded but firm. "I want to be here, Dad. I deserve to know what happened to you just as much if not more than anyone else here."
"Yes, you do, buddy," Oliver agreed, "but Will, a lot of what happened those five years, it wasn't good, and I don't think that you need to know about it yet. I promise you that I will answer any questions that you have, but hearing about something is very different from actually watching it."
"No, Dad," Will argued. "If I leave now, then I'll always wonder. And I doubt I'll ever get another chance. I'll always regret it, Dad, for the rest of my life. Watching it now is hard, but I'm strong, Dad, like you, and if you could survive it when you were about 10 years older than I am now, then I can watch it."
"Yeah, I survived it, but it changed me, buddy," Oliver argued. "It changed me, completely, totally, unequivocally, and I don't want that for you. I want you to have a normal life."
"Normal?" William scoffed. "Dad, Damien Darhk kidnapped me when I was ten years old to get to you. My mother and I were kidnapped by Prometheus when I was 11, again to get to you, and my mother was killed when he blew up an island by shooting himself in the head in front of me. My dad is the Green Arrow. My life has never been normal. But I wouldn't trade it for anything, because I have you and Felicity, and I love you guys, so much."
"We love you too, Will," Felicity put in, wrapping her arms around William from behind.
"We love you too," Oliver echoed.
The small family sat there for a moment, their arms wrapped around each other. Raisa's silent sobs eventually grabbed Oliver's attention, and he pulled her into the group hug too. Eventually, they pulled apart. "Okay, buddy," Oliver agreed. "You're 13 now, and you're right, you've been through enough to make this decision for yourself. If you're sure that this is what you want."
"I'm sure," he answered.
"Okay," Oliver said quietly.
"The physician that examined you reported that 20% of your body is covered in scar tissue," Lance continues.
Oliver again has a flashback. The man in the balaclava is now dragging his sword across Oliver' s chest, and Oliver screams again. Oliver pulls himself back into the present, this time gritting his teeth, but still managing to hold his neutral expression. Laurel is watching him, however, and she can tell how tense he is suddenly. She knows something is wrong. "The machine won't work unless you ask a question," she reminds her father.
"Did that happen to you there?" Lance obliges her.
Oliver manages to make eye contact with him. His eyes are noticeably redder than before and he suddenly looks completely and utterly exhausted as he answers, "Yes."
"When you came back, you told everyone that you were alone on that island," Lance observes. "Are you claiming that your scars were self-inflicted?"
"No," Oliver answers. "I wasn't alone."
Laurel looks at him in astonishment. "I didn't want to talk about what happened to me on the island," he clarifies.
"Why not?" Lance asks.
"Because the people who were there tortured me," Oliver answers.
Laurel's eyes fill with tears as she looks at him, her eyes raising slightly as she comprehends his statement. "Have you killed anyone?" Lance pushes.
Oliver presses his lips together, looking down at the table, his eyes now obviously red as he thinks about his answer. He starts to answer multiple times, but ends up fighting back tears instead. Eventually, he gains some semblance of control over himself and answers, still looking down at the table, "Yes."
He locks eyes with Lance, guilt written all over his face. Laurel stares at Oliver and Lance glances at Laurel before returning his gaze to Oliver. "When I asked your daughter Sara to come on my father's yacht with me," Oliver elaborates. "I killed your daughter."
He gasps the last four words out. Lance draws in a slow breath, and Oliver watches him for a moment before detaching himself from the polygraph sensors and almost running out of the room. The door slams behind him. "I'd have to study the data," the technician says, "but just eyeballing it, he's telling the truth."
"Mmm," Lance says, unconvinced.
Laurel stands. "Can I assume that you'll be recommending Ms. Spencer to drop all charges against my client?" she asks, her voice betraying her own inner turmoil.
"No," Lance answers. "I know a guilty man when I see one. He is guilty, whether you can see it or not."
Laurel leaves without another word.
That night, Oliver's highly ill-advised party is in full swing in the backyard of the mansion, complete with prison-themed dancers and dressed-up party-goers. Oliver himself is dressed in a simple pair of pants and a blue button-up shirt, with a patch on his chest proclaiming his "prison numbers." He walks through the crowd and jumps up on a platform, motioning to the DJ to cut the music. "Hi, everybody!" he shouts.
"Hey!" they shout back.
Lance is standing in the crowd, looking disgusted and uncomfortable with his surroundings. "I'm very touched that you came to celebrate with me before I am sent up the river," Oliver continues.
The crowd boos. "Closest neighbors are six miles away, so don't worry about the noise," Oliver assures them. "Actually, on second thought, LET'S WAKE THOSE LOSERS UP!" he shouts.
The crowd cheers, and the music begins again. Oliver jumps off the platform and disappears, becoming anonymous in the crowd, and makes his way to Diggle. "If you think this is what prison's like you're in for a rude awakening," Diggle jokes dryly.
They make their escape and head to Oliver's room. "Mueller's car has been parked in the warehouse district of the Glades for 45 minutes," Oliver says, handing the phone showing Mueller's location to Diggle.
"Yeah, that's a good place for an arms deal," Diggle agrees.
He hands the phone back to Oliver, who shoves it into his pocket. "Okay," Diggle says. "Since this is going down tonight, what do we do? Drop a dime on Mueller with the cops?"
"No," Oliver answers. "The man in the hood. He's gonna stop them."
"Oliver," Diggle says, frustrated. "You can't leave the house."
"It doesn't have to be me in the hood," Oliver says cautiously.
He and Diggle stare at each other for a moment, sizing each other up yet again. Diggle scoffs. "That's why you threw this ridiculous party?" he half-asks, half-realizes. "So you have a hundred witnesses placing you here at the house while I'm supposed to be across town dressed as a vigilante?"
"I thought that it was gonna be good enough just for you to be seen in the hood," Oliver answers. "I didn't count on Mueller showing up, and I didn't count on the possibility that the Glades could be flooded with machine guns!"
Diggle just stares at him, shaking his head. "Look," Oliver says, moderating his tone. "I promise, it was never my intention to put you in harm's way."
"Oliver, I didn't think joining your crusade was ever gonna be risk free," Diggle states. "I just don't like being played. Now, you might have gotten used to lying to everyone else in your life, but I am the one guy you don't lie to!"
Oliver nods. "You're right," he acknowledges. "I'm sorry."
Diggle walks past him, heading for the door. Oliver turns toward him. "So, am I going to jail?" Oliver asks.
Diggle turns around to face him. "No, man," he says. "I got to stop an arms deal."
Oliver nods, something akin to a scowl on his face as Diggle leaves.
At Queen Consolidated, Walter is working in his office when the phone rings. "Hello?" he answers it.
"Mr. Steele," the man on the other side says. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir. This is Mike Vogel down in security. I have some sad news for you. The company's head of security, Josiah Hudson, was in a car accident tonight. He's dead, sir."
Walter freezes, the phone hovering in between his ear and the desk as he stares into space.
At the mansion, Oliver is making his way through the foyer. There are guests everywhere, and while he's playing the part of the carefree playboy, it's obvious that he's uncomfortable in the huge crowd. He's occupied himself with clearing glasses to avoid interacting with his guests, and places one down at the makeshift bar in the middle of the foyer. He stuffs his other hand into his back pants pocket, but then frowns in confusion for a moment before whirling around just in time to see Laurel walk in.
"Wait a minute," Grant said, shock lacing his voice. "Did I see that right? Did you somehow hear Laurel coming in, over the music and the other people and everything else going on?"
Oliver shifted uncomfortably in his seat as everyone in the room whirled to stare at him, none of them having picked up what Grant did. Then, seeing that there was no way out of answering, Oliver slowly nodded. "I, um. . ." he started. "I. . . on the island, I had to learn to rely on my senses, my instincts. And then after. . . after I started working for A.R.G.U.S., they. . . they discovered my already extensive skills in that area and they made sure I developed them until there was literally no one in the world who was better at it. By the time I came back, I could feel an arrow whistling through the air from behind me and catch it before it hit me. I could sense when someone raised a gun and duck before the bullet was even shot. And, I could detect gaits specific to certain people. I recognized the way Laurel walked in her heels. It was different from how anybody else at the party was walking, and I knew it was her."
"Wow," Grant breathed. "That's why you don't do well with crowds, why you always avoided them, even as mayor."
Oliver nodded. "All of the input, the stuff that my brain is constantly noticing without me telling it to, or even wanting it to. . . in a crowd, it just gets to be too much. It's overpowering, and I can only handle it for so long. But of course, playboy Oliver Queen never had any problem being in a huge crowd of loud, drunk people. And Mayor Queen could never appear to be terrified of the people in his city, or have a nervous breakdown in the middle of a speech because too many people shifted on their feet at the same time. So I just avoided them as much as I possibly could without it being noticed, and I prepared myself in advance for the times I knew I couldn't get out of."
"But what about as the Hood, or the Arrow, or the Green Arrow?" Spencer asked curiously. "I mean, guns, swords, fights, people yelling, screaming, all of that has to be ten times worse than a crowd of relatively civilized people."
Oliver shook his head. "I don't really know why, but when I wear the hood, it never bothers me," he answered. "There's something about it that just feels. . . I don't know, safe. Like I finally have everything under control. I'm doing what I'm meant to do. Instead of all that extra input overloading my senses, the more I sense, the calmer I feel. I suppose a psychologist could have a field day with that, but. . ." he shrugged. "That's just the way it is. Somewhere during the five years I was away, fights stopped being terrifying and started just being where I was in my element."
Constantine let the people in the room muse over what could have happened to cause him to feel that way for a moment.
"Hello," Oliver greets her. "Do we have a legal meeting or something? Because. . . I have friends over."
Laurel looks decidedly uncomfortable in the middle of this party. She walks over to him. "Do you think maybe you can tear yourself away from this inappropriately-themed rave for a couple of minutes?" she asks.
Oliver and Laurel head up to Oliver's room, and Oliver opens the door for her. "Wow," Laurel says, looking around. "I can't remember the last time that I've been in this room."
"I can," Oliver answers. "Halloween, 2005. We were getting ready for Tommy's party."
Laurel puts her purse down and walks further into the room. Oliver closes the door. "Ah, yes," Laurel remembers. "I wore those horrible fishnets."
"I thought you looked good," Oliver returns.
"Listen," Laurel says, more seriously. "I just wanted to come by and apologize for my father's behavior today. During the polygraph."
"You don't have to apologize for him," Oliver says, shaking his head. "He has a right to feel any way that he wants."
"It wasn't just Sara, Ollie," Laurel says.
Oliver frowns in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"After Sara died," Laurel explains, "my father threw himself into his work. I think that's part of the reason I'm an attorney. He ran to the law, and I followed. But my mother couldn't. So, she left him. Left us."
Oliver sighs. "Look, I'm not trying to tell you this to make you feel bad, or worse," Laurel says quickly, taking a step towards him. "I just, I really want you to understand him."
Oliver takes a moment to collect himself. "Why don't you hate me?" he finally asks miserably. "You should."
"I did," Laurel admits. "For so long, I did, Ollie. But after today, I realized that I was so focused on what happened to my family that I didn't even stop and wonder what could have happened to you. I didn't know about the torture, or your scars. What happened to you on that island was far more than you deserved."
She takes a shaky breath, fighting back tears. Oliver clenches his jaw, trying to keep it together. "And I was wrong that I didn't ask you before," Laurel continues shakily, "but I'm asking you now. I need to know. I need to see."
Oliver looks at her, the absolutely miserable expression on his face breaking her heart, as well as everyone in the room watching. He looks down for a moment, trying again to collect himself. "Are you sure?" he asks.
She looks at him for a moment, then nods. Tears are filling her eyes, but her face is set. "Yes," she whispers.
Oliver reaches a hand up to his buttons and starts slowly working his way down the shirt. He can't bring himself to open it, however, so after a moment Laurel reaches out and spreads the shirt out, revealing the scars on his chest. She exhales as she runs her hand down two slashes on his abdomen that were obviously very sloppily stitched up. Her mouth is open, but she doesn't notice. Her breathing quickens, like she's struggling to catch her breath. "How did you survive this?" she finally gasps.
"There were times when I wanted to die," Oliver answers, his monotone speech demonstrating just how uncomfortable he is. She slowly looks back up at his face, realizing that he just admitted to thinking about suicide, or at least wishing for death. "In the end, there was something I wanted more."
Slowly, they are drawn closer, and then suddenly they're kissing. For a moment, they simply revel in the other's embrace. And then Laurel gasps and pulls back. She brushes past him and leaves without another word. "You don't. . ." Oliver starts. "Laurel, you don't have to go."
But she's gone, and he stands there, miserably. He closes his eyes, and flashes back to the island. He is now hanging limply from his bound hands, his head bowed and his eyes closed. Blood is oozing through the slashes in his shirt. "Amazing," Fyers muses, looking at him. "You have resolve I didn't credit you for."
Oliver is unable to lift his head, but he does open his eyes and give Fyers a glare reminiscent of the Arrow's hard stare.
"So you didn't tell them anything?" Clay asked in astonishment.
Oliver shook his head. "I didn't tell them anything," he confirmed.
"Or perhaps," Fyers continues, "he truly doesn't know anything. Yeah."
He turns away and slaps Yao Fei's photo onto Billy's chest. "You should put him out of his misery," he tells him, and leaves the tent. However, he is quickly sent flying back into the tent as another man lands on top of him. Yao Fei enters and fires an arrow, cutting Oliver free from the pole. He falls limply to the side and onto the ground. He then fires an arrow at Billy, who catches it. They fight, and Yao Fei eventually manages to throw him backward. He grabs Oliver, supporting him, and they rush out of the tent as fast as they can manage.
Back in the past/present, Mueller's deal is going down. "It's an M249 machine gun," he tells his potential buyers. "Gas powered, air-cooled, fires up to 800 rounds per minute."
He tosses it to the leader, who whistles as he handles it. Suddenly, the lights go out. "We need to move, now!" Mueller shouts. He grabs the gun back from the man and everyone scatters. Diggle takes care of those that were lingering, decked out in the Arrow costume.
At Queen Consolidated, Moira enters Walter's office, where he is waiting for her. "Well," she greets him, "I'm not accustomed to being summoned to the office in the middle of the night. What was it that was so important that I had to race down here?"
"I found the Queen's Gambit, Moira," Walter says. "I know you secretly had the boat salvaged. I wanted to move it to a more secure location before confronting you about it. In fact, I sent Josiah Hudson to the warehouse for precisely that purpose. But he died, mysteriously, in a car accident."
Moira closes her eyes, shaking her head, and slowly sits down. "I hope you now have a better understanding of why it is I've been so distant of late," Walter finishes. "It's very disconcerting to discover that the person with whom you share your home, your bed, and your heart has been lying to you so convincingly. And I would be a fool not to consider that all the things you told me are lies."
"Walter, you're my husband," Moira starts.
"Yes, I am," Walter agrees.
He stands. "Walter, please," Moira says, standing as well. "You've got to stop looking into this, it's not safe. You'll be. . . You'll be upsetting people. People with influence. You are very far out of your depth."
Walter turns to face her.
Oliver is still in his bedroom, sitting on his desk, staring into space. His cell phone rings and he answers. "Man in the hood, one, gangbangers, zero," Diggle's voice reports.
Oliver nods. There is a knock at the door. "Hang on," he says to Diggle. "Yeah?" he calls.
Outside his door, a man dressed in a waiter's attire is screwing a silencer onto a gun. "Mr. Queen, if you're entertaining guests upstairs should I have some drinks sent up?" he asks.
"No, it's just me up here and I'm on my way back down," Oliver answers.
He strides towards the door and puts the phone back up to his ear. "Good job," he tells Diggle. "Now get back here."
He hangs up and opens the door. The man points the gun in his face. Oliver's eyes go wide and he quickly grabs the gun and pulls it to the side, punching the man in the face. He twists his arm and there is a crack. The man groans and drops the gun. He elbows him in the face and kicks him in the knee, still holding his arm. The man gets half free and reaches towards the floor for his gun, but Oliver yanks him back. The man throws Oliver over the couch, but because Oliver still has a grip on his arm they both go over, knocking over a table as they roll off the couch and onto the floor. Oliver ends up on the bottom, and the man gets up with the couch's assistance. Before he can do anything, Oliver grabs him with his legs and twists, throwing him and getting upright at the same time. He backhands him in the face. The man flies backward – unfortunately, right over to his gun. He grabs it, but before he can fire, someone shoots him from behind, and he falls over, dead. Oliver looks up in surprise as Lance rushes in, gun at the ready. Once he's satisfied there're no other intruders, he and Oliver stare at each other: Oliver in astonishment and Lance in disgust.
"Wow," Edward breathed. Everyone in the room is very impressed by Oliver's ability to take an unexpected attacker in stride.
A little bit later, Oliver is settled on the couch, an icepack on his hand and Thea sitting next to him. Tommy is sitting on the armchair next to the couch. Quentin is pacing in front of them, talking on the phone. "Yeah," he says to whoever's on the other side. "Yep."
He hangs up. "How did you know I was in trouble?" Oliver asks him.
"Because when the guy was fighting you, he broke the ankle monitor," Lance tells him.
Moira and Walter hurriedly enter at that moment. "Are you all right?" Moira asks before she's even fully entered the room.
Oliver turns to see her as she walks around behind him. "I'm fine," he answers.
"Oliver," she starts.
"Mom," Oliver interrupts her. "I promise."
Oliver having adeptly dealt with her, she turns her wrath onto Lance. "This is on you," she accuses. "By accusing my son publicly, you've made him a target."
"Do you have any idea who attacked Oliver?" Walter asks, once again playing the peacemaker.
"We haven't identified him yet," Lance answers, "though it must be someone with a grudge against the Hood, obviously."
He crouches down, rolling up Oliver's pant leg. "What are you doing?" Oliver asks.
"I got a call from my lieutenant," he answers, taking off the ankle monitor. "An arms dealer was attacked across town tonight. By the vigilante. Multiple witnesses put him there. In light of that, all charges against your son are being dropped." he addresses that last part to Moira.
"I'm truly sorry for what's happened to your family, Quentin," she says with barely contained rage. "But would you kindly get the h*** out of my house?"
Lance looks at her for a moment and then turns to go. "Mr. Lance?" Oliver calls after him. "Thank you."
Lance nods after a moment and leaves.
The next morning, Moira barges into Merlyn's office. "Moira," he greets her. "Did we have an appointment?"
"No," she answers angrily, "but I decided to screw propriety after you tried to have my son killed."
"I'm sure you understand," he starts, "I was justified in suspecting that your son was the vigilante targeting our associates. I had to take steps."
"And now that you know your steps were taken in error, that Oliver is not your enemy?" Moira asks.
Merlyn chuckles. "I offer my sincerest apologies."
Moira nods. She leans forward. "I know you found out I had the yacht salvaged, just as I know you had Josiah Hudson killed," she informs him.
"Well, accidents tend to befall people who are too curious," he answers.
"I've been the good soldier," she says. "I've done everything you asked. But if any member of my family so much as gets a paper cut, I will burn your entire world to ashes."
She walks out without another word.
"Your mom was scary," Barry commented.
Oliver turned around and glared at him, then turned his glare on Kara once he caught her nodding in wide-eyed agreement.
At the mansion, Oliver is cleaning up the mess in his room. He sees one of the packets of herbs on the floor and picks it up, looking at it. He flashes back to the island. Yao Fei half-carries Oliver into the cave and lays him on the ground. Oliver groans. "I tell you island dangerous, but you not tell them where to find me," Yao Fei says. "You stronger than I thought."
He holds out a packet of herbs. "Take it," he orders. "I lead them off. You stay."
Oliver weakly grabs the packet, panting heavily and obviously in a great deal of pain. "Remember, everything breathe," Yao Fei calls from the cave entrance. "You breathe, you survive here longer."
Oliver attempts to get to his feet, groaning. "Wait, I'm coming with you!" he shouts, but Yao Fei runs out and then collapses the entrance, locking Oliver inside.
Pulling himself back into reality, Oliver stares at the pouch for a moment. There is a knock at his door and he turns around as Laurel slowly enters. She takes in the messy room. "Rough party," Oliver attempts to joke.
"My father told me what happened," she says. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he brushes off her concern.
She looks down at the papers in her hands, then holds them up. "These are your polygraph results," she says. "My father asked you if you'd ever been to Iron Heights. It's the prison where the vigilante saved me last week. It's also where you and I went on our 8th grade field trip."
Oliver nods and clenches his jaw slightly as he realizes his mistake.
"Wait, so you just forgot that you had been to Iron Heights in 8th grade?" Spencer asked.
Oliver shrugged. "A lot happened since then," he answered. "And I had a lot on my mind. But yeah, it was a stupid mistake, and it could have gotten me in serious trouble."
"When you said that you had never been there, I thought maybe you were just nervous, or you'd forgotten," she continues. "But then I looked at your results, and there is a slight flutter in your answer to that question. And if you lied on one, you could have lied on others."
Oliver is staring somewhere to her right, his eyes turning red, obviously fighting to keep it together. "What happened to me being too selfish to be a masked crusader?" he asks monotonously.
"Oliver!" she exclaims. "I saw your scars!"
Oliver finally looks at her. He takes a few steps towards her. "Do you wanna know why I don't talk about what happened to me there?" he asks quietly. "Because if people knew, if you knew, you'd see me differently. And not as some. . . vigilante. As damaged." his voice breaks and he pauses. "I don't sleep. I barely eat. I can barely sign my name, let alone aim a bow and arrow."
"After last night, clearly we're still attracted to one another," Laurel says after a moment. "Oliver, nothing can ever happen between us."
"I know," he answers.
She hands him the results and he takes it gently, almost gingerly. She leaves, closing the door behind her, leaving Oliver standing in the middle of his wrecked bedroom, polygraph results in one hand and a bag of island herbs in the other. He looks up with a start as the door clicks shut.
"So how much of that was actually true?" Beth asked.
"Most of it," Oliver admitted. "Obviously, I could aim a bow and arrow. But the not eating or sleeping? Very true. When I was gone, whether on the island or not, eating was a luxury, not a necessity, or something that could be taken for granted. When I did eat, there was nothing special about the food. Yao Fei's cooking was. . . horrible, and when I learned to cook for myself I wasn't much better. I ate well for a few months in Hong Kong, but it was Japanese food, not American food. Then I was back on the island, eating army rations, and then I was living a violent life in Russia with little to no money to my name to buy any sort of food. I wasn't used to the type of food my mother enjoyed, which is why I found myself at Big Belly Burger so much. The food there was flavorful, but simple, and I was actually able to enjoy it. And sleeping. . . if I ever managed to feel safe enough to even close my eyes, I would soon be woken by nightmares. It was safer for me and the people around me if I slept as little as possible. Even now, I sometimes worry that I'll hurt Felicity in the throws of a nightmare."
"You still have nightmares?" Beth asked sympathetically.
Oliver nodded. "Not as many," he clarified. "It's nowhere near as bad as it was. I think I have my wife to thank for that."
He smiled at Felicity. "But the type of things I experienced, I am experiencing, they don't just go away overnight," he continued. "They stay with you. For a long time. Probably forever."
"So you lied to her," Diggle observes as Oliver enters the main room in the foundry, carrying his wooden chest. "Or maybe you just gave her a version of the truth."
"I told her what she needed to hear, Diggle," he answers, putting the chest down on the table. "She was getting too close."
"Sad thing is, I think you actually believe that," Diggle observes. "I think things didn't go down exactly as you planned."
Diggle's voice continues as Thea is shown in her room, looking at articles about her brother and studying the Hozen. "You didn't count on so many people having questions. Doubting you. You didn't think about what happens when you lie."
Walter is leaving the mansion, his luggage being carried to the car. Moira comes halfway down the stairs. "Walter?" she asks.
"Especially when you lie to the ones you love the most," Diggle continues.
"What is this?" Moira asks.
"Business trip," Walter answers. "I decided it's long overdue for me to inspect our holdings in Melbourne."
Moira's face shows that she knows why he's really leaving. "And how long will you be?" she asks, her voice trembling.
"I don't know," Walter answers softly.
"When you were stuck on that island, plotting your grand plan to save the city, I don't think you stopped to consider the effect it would have on the people in your life," Diggle continues.
Lance is sitting at a bar, drunk. Laurel enters and drags her father out of the bar, protesting as he takes another swig before allowing himself to be carried out.
"Or how it might hurt them," Diggle finishes, as the screen cuts back to the foundry.
"You're wrong," Oliver answers. "I think about it all the time. And just to be clear, not being able to tell my family the truth, it doesn't hurt anyone worse than it hurts me."
He pulls his hood out of the chest. "Where are you going?" Diggle asks.
"Mueller still has to sell those guns and I have to stop him," Oliver answers.
"Oliver," Diggle starts.
"He had his chance," Oliver says coldly.
In an abandoned warehouse, Oliver crouches in the rafters as Mueller sells the guns. "Twenty-eight crates, four guns in each crate, $25,000, cash," Mueller offers his buyers. "Take it or leave it. That's the deal."
Oliver jumps down and does a backflip, taking down a sentry. He fires into the air on his way down, alerting the others, who fire blindly, but Oliver quickly takes them all out, leaving only Mueller. He draws back his bow. "Leo Mueller," he growls, "you have failed this city."
The screen goes black, but Mueller's scream and the twang of an arrow firing can be heard.