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1. Moira
The party was in full swing when Moira realised she hadn’t seen Oliver in a while. She tried telling herself she wasn’t feeling a little guilty about asking him to come – after all, she hadn’t given Thea any choice in the matter. But Oliver had been behaving strangely since his return, and while he had insisted on accompanying them, Moira still wasn’t entirely convinced it had been a good idea – which was why she would feel more comfortable if she could keep an eye on him.
Excusing herself from her conversation with the Mayor and two members of the City Council – dreadfully boring stuff –, she walked to the bar. It had once been a sure way to find Oliver – before – but not anymore. He wasn’t there, but Moira spotted Walter and Thea, and she was about to make her way towards them when she caught a glimpse of–
Yes, there he was, at the back, with his bodyguard – Diggle, was it? Their heads were bent close together, their bodies angled towards each other as they ignored the rest of the room. It looked strangely intimate despite the fact that they appeared to be arguing. Oliver wore a reckless smile, his expression daring as he leaned insolently against the wall. It made Moira both glad and worried to catch a glimpse of the son she had known before the island had taken him away – Oliver was always up to no good when he had that look on his face.
Diggle was shaking his head, clearly disagreeing with whatever Oliver was saying – good man, Moira thought –, and she was about to go over to add her voice to his and talk her son out of whatever he had planned when Oliver aimed one final grin at the other man and ducked into the staircase. Diggle threw his hands up in the air and, after a quick and furtive look around the room, followed.
Moira blinked.
Oh.
Oh.
Her surprise was forgivable: Oliver’s tastes seemed to have changed rather drastically. He had accustomed them to young, pretty and quite frankly stupid things, women and men both – though she and his father had managed to keep the latter out of the press. Really, it had been a relief when Oliver had settled down with the Lance girl. She had had a solid head on her shoulders. But that relationship was over now – how could it not be, Oliver had burned his bridges quite thoroughly there –, and Moira did worry about him after everything he had been through.
Diggle… well, Diggle wasn’t Oliver’s usual fare. He wasn’t particularly young, or pretty – though he was handsome, Moira would give Oliver that. As for stupid, he certainly wasn’t that either, though being too smart could be just as dangerous. Still, he seemed like an honest man, and not the type to go to the press to sell his story for a few thousand dollars. However there was still room for improvement. His bodyguard, really? Moira bit back an aggravated sigh at the cliché. Only Oliver. The press would have a field day if they found out, and it left the family open to all kinds of allegations, from abuse of power to sexual harassment – really, this… thing of Oliver’s could become very embarrassing very fast.
She would have to make sure it was kept under wraps.
Moira went back to mingling, keeping an eye out for the two of them throughout the evening. They reappeared eventually, Oliver a little dishevelled and flushed. One of the buttons on his shirt was still undone, and he looked extremely pleased with himself. Moira rolled her eyes at the display – there were some things about her son she didn’t need to know. It wouldn’t hurt Oliver to learn to be discreet, for his companion’s sake if not his own. After all, he wouldn’t be the only one exposed to the comments of the press if words of their affair got out.
Diggle didn’t seem all that concerned, looking both exasperated and oddly indulgent as he motioned towards the button Oliver had missed. Oliver glanced down and quickly finished closing his shirt while Diggle muttered something to him. She was too far to hear what he said, but it made Oliver throw his head back and laugh, and Moira stared. Oh, how she wished she was near enough to have heard that – she couldn’t remember the last time Oliver had laughed, really laughed. She missed it.
She headed towards them, hoping to catch Oliver before he closed up again. He smiled at her when he saw her, eyes sparkling and mischievous – happy –, and she found herself smiling back helplessly.
Maybe Diggle wasn’t such a bad choice after all.
The next day the papers were full of the vigilante’s latest ‘exploits’, and Moira spared a thought to be thankful that at least this time Oliver had an alibi – no matter how inconvenient –, should Detective Lance come knocking on their doors. Malcolm would not be deterred if suspicions fell on her son again.
Yes, Diggle may turn out to be useful in more ways than one.
2. Carly
The man was there again – Oliver Queen, John’s boss. What Carly didn’t know was why he seemed intent on hanging out in a diner almost but not quite on the wrong side of town. Surely he could afford to eat somewhere else, somewhere nice. Maybe he was looking for trouble – maybe it was drugs.
Maybe she should call John.
The ding of the bell jerked her out of her thoughts, but it was one of Lucy’s orders – Oliver’s, in fact, and Carly watched as she brought it over with a flirty smile. Oliver was quite the catch, and Carly remembered his reputation back in the day. But she could already tell Lucy wouldn’t get anywhere with him: Oliver was smiling back, but it was clear he was just being nice, and indeed Lucy made her way back to the counter half a minute later, sighing in an overly dramatic manner that told Carly she wasn’t really upset.
The Oliver problem, however, remained whole.
Carly thought about it as she took a table’s orders and gave another their check, glancing at him every now and then. He had barely touched his food and was looking outside as if waiting for something – someone? That made up her mind. John had said Oliver was a good man, and she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.
She had her phone in her hand and was scrolling through her contacts when John walked through the front door. Carly let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding and put her phone away as he came over and kissed her on the cheek.
“How are you and my favourite nephew doing?” he asked with a warm smile that never failed to remind her of his brother.
“We’re good. Are you still coming for dinner tomorrow?”
He nodded, before adding: “Unless I have to work.”
“Talking about work, how is that going?” she asked pointedly.
“Well enough, why?”
“He’s here again.”
“I know,” John said, and turned around to look at Oliver, who waved.
He had been waiting for someone then.
Carly felt a little silly for worrying.
“I’ll talk to you later,” John told her, and made his way to Oliver’s booth, sitting down in front of him.
Things got busy then, and when Carly looked back at their table, John was eating Oliver’s food and drinking his water. She frowned – she could have brought him something –, but Oliver didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was smiling. It was smaller than the smile he had used on Lucy, but it seemed more real too. They were talking quietly, mirroring each other’s position as they leaned over the table – towards each other. In fact it looked like–
When she realised what it did look like, Carly was first shocked – Oliver Queen, really? –, and then relieved. It had been too long since John had dated anyone. He wasn’t in the military anymore, he didn’t need to hide. It’d do him good to have someone in his life again.
Still, Oliver Queen? John could do so much better.
Oh well. The man was very handsome, and he obviously enjoyed John’s company. That was something. If John was happy, that was enough for her.
She would bring them some ice cream.
3. Walter
It was late and Walter made his way quietly up the stairs. He had had a lot to catch up with at the office – last minute trips to Australia tended to be hell on one’s schedule –, and he was tired. He was getting old: a few years ago, he would have bounced back from the jetlag without trouble, but not anymore. Tonight he just wanted to go to bed and sleep for days.
As he was walking past Oliver’s room, he heard raised voices, and instinctively slowed down. One of the voices was Oliver’s, but he wasn’t sure about the other. It was a man’s, definitely – had Tommy come over? No, it didn’t sound like him. But then who?
Walter paused outside the door, debating with himself. On one hand, what Oliver got up to in the privacy of his own bedroom really wasn’t any of his business – in fact Walter didn’t want to know about it. That being said, Oliver hadn’t been himself since he had come back from that island, and Walter worried. The boy – man now, really – had a habit of making poor decisions, and Walter had witnessed the fallouts of some of them. He had just been a family friend then, but he had seen how hard it always was on Moira. Now that Oliver was his step-son he felt he had a responsibility towards the boy, and if there was anything he could do to help…
Walter knocked.
The voices suddenly quieted, and the door opened. Except it wasn’t Oliver on the other side of it, but the bodyguard – Diggle. Walter wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“Everything alright?” he asked with more confidence than he felt.
“Yes, sir,” Diggle said with a sharp nod, almost standing at attention. “We’re done here. I was just leaving,” he added with a significant look towards Oliver, who had his arms crossed over his chest, looking not at all pleased with the interruption.
Diggle stepped out of the room with another nod and a ‘Sir’, and Walter watched him disappear at the end of the corridor before glancing back at Oliver. Now that Diggle was gone, the boy looked almost regretful, and Walter frowned, trying to make sense of the interaction. Had Oliver given the man the slip again? Was that what it was all about? But then it was nearly 3 am., surely Diggle wasn’t so dedicated that he had waited for Oliver to come home to have it out with him. Or had Walter’s first instinct been the right one? Had he blundered his way into some lover’s quarrel and involuntarily made things worse?
Walter wished he wasn’t so tired – maybe then he would be able to make some sense out of this.
“Oliver, are you okay?” he still asked in case Oliver wanted to talk, and the boy almost looked surprised by the question.
“Yes, I’m fine. You should go to bed, it’s late.”
“So should you,” Walter pointed out, and Oliver smiled slightly.
“I will. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Walter closed the door behind him and went to bed, falling asleep immediately. He didn’t think about the whole thing again until the next morning, when he sat down at the breakfast table after too little sleep and Thea breezed in.
“Oliver isn’t in his room, has anyone seen him?” she said, and Walter almost choked on his coffee.
Once he had stopped coughing and caught his breath, waving away Thea’s and Moira’s concern, he sat back in his chair and thought about early morning arguments.
They must have worked things out. Good. He hoped Oliver had apologised – whatever had happened, Walter had learned he could never go wrong with an apology. Besides, it was Oliver – Walter was sure Diggle deserved an apology or three. If he hadn’t, well… Walter hoped Diggle was as patient in his personal life as in his professional one.
Oliver may be a little difficult, but he could do with some happiness in his life.
4. Malcolm
He was bleeding, and the police would be there soon, but Malcolm had to know – had to be sure. Besides, the kid was hurt badly – he had made sure of that –, and he couldn’t have gone very far.
He followed the path he had taken, peering out of the broken window into the alley – there he was, lying on the ground. He wasn’t moving, and Malcolm frowned. Was he dead? The thought brought strangely mixed feelings. He certainly wouldn’t mind being rid him of this Hood problem, and yet the man had been good, a worthy opponent – maybe the best he had had in years. It would almost be a shame for him to die now, when Malcolm was only starting to enjoy himself.
But no, his green arrow was still breathing – unconscious then, but for how long? Death or the police would come eventually. He really should go out there and get rid of him for good. After all, no matter how much fun the evening had been, Malcolm had still beaten him. No point in delaying things further.
Movement in the alley stopped him, and Malcolm flattened himself against the wall. Whoever was out there wasn’t a cop, they were trying too hard to be quiet. They were also very much alone. Malcolm would kill them too.
“Jesus Christ, Oliver!”
Well, well, well. It seemed his mystery man number 2 had found mystery man number 1, only for neither of them to be mystery men.
He had been right after all.
Malcolm watched as Oliver Queen’s bodyguard knelt next to his boss, his hands skirting around the arrow wounds on his back before going to his neck to check for a pulse. A sigh of relief escaped him as he found one, and he turned Oliver over carefully, looking for more injuries.
The man didn’t seem surprised to find his boss in a vigilante costume, which could only mean he had known, possibly for a while. He may even have worked with him if the Hood sighting that had occurred while Oliver was in police custody was any indication. And wasn’t that interesting, that Oliver had chosen to trust this man with his secret, that trust rewarded by loyalty.
Before Malcolm could contemplate the implications further, Oliver coughed, swimming back to consciousness and coming up fighting, the other man easily deflecting the blow.
“It’s me,” he told him, and Oliver slumped back against the ground, groaning as his wounds made contact with the unforgiving floor.
“Going to say I told you so?” he asked with a weak grin that Malcolm had to admire, knowing how much pain he had to be in. However, it didn’t impress his companion, who just snorted.
“Maybe later,” he said, keeping his eyes on what he was doing – which, Malcolm saw as he shifted slightly to get a better look, was wrapping his tie around Oliver’s thigh. He was careful with him, so careful, even if he was quick, and Malcolm raised an eyebrow at that. There was anger there too, if the way he was resolutely refusing to meet Oliver’s eyes was any indication, but why? Because Oliver had failed? Or because he had put himself in danger and gotten hurt? Probably the latter, if the resignation that flickered across his face when he finally looked up was to be believed. Oh, yes, he cared, probably more than he should.
How… pedestrian. Sleeping with the help, Oliver? Mommy would be so disappointed.
But then the man wasn’t just the help, was he? He was well trained, that one, his voice and hands steady despite the circumstances. Malcolm didn’t know his name – it hadn’t been important until now – but he would have to find out, along with everything there was to know about him. Starting with his relationship with his boss.
“Talk to me, Oliver.”
“Pneumothorax. I think,” Oliver wheezed. “Shit, it hurts.”
“Okay, you’re probably not going to remember this, but I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Instead of answering, he pulled him to a sitting position before yanking him to his feet and over his shoulder in a fireman hold. Oliver cried out once before he passed out, going limp and causing the other to grunt at the sudden dead weight.
“You’re not dying on me, I haven’t said ‘I told you so’ yet,” the man stated, walking away, and Malcolm let them go.
He smiled.
It was always good to know where your enemy’s weaknesses lied.
5. Thea
Thea juggled with the pastries and the two coffees she had bought on her way to the hospital as she waited for the elevator. It was still early, but she hadn’t been able to sleep last night, not with the accident so fresh on her mind. She had been a bitch to Oliver, but they were turning a new leaf – one that started with breakfast.
Of course, she hadn’t counted on Oliver still being asleep when she showed up with her peace offering.
He wasn’t the only one: his bodyguard was sleeping in a chair not far from the bed. He was in his shirtsleeves, his jacket draped over his chest, and Thea had to wonder how he had managed to fall asleep in the first place – that position didn’t look very comfortable.
Hovering in the doorway, she felt a pang of guilt – maybe she should have brought a third coffee. Granted, she didn’t know Diggle very well, but he was always around these days. And the weird thing was, Oliver didn’t seem to mind. It was as if he liked having him there, and not in the idiotic way he used to have before, keeping someone around to push their buttons and see how much they would take. She had walked in on them talking more than once, only for them to stop abruptly when they had seen her.
Fine, Thea was a little jealous. She wanted Oliver to talk to her, not to some stranger who was paid to be there. Maybe it wasn’t rational, but who said it had to be?
Oliver made a noise, somewhere between pained and scared – that was just wrong, Thea thought, her brother shouldn’t sound like that –, and Diggle bolted upright, blinking back sleep and looking almost confused. His sudden movement made Thea jump and she took an instinctive step back, out of eyesight. She almost dropped the cups in the process, and it took her a couple of seconds to deal with that minor crisis.
A cry brought her back to the room’s doorstep in a hurry. Oliver was having a nightmare, and Diggle – who had moved from his chair to the edge of the bed – had his hands on Oliver’s shoulders. He was either trying to wake him up or hold him down, Thea didn’t know, and she was about to rush forward to do… something – she wasn’t quite sure what, tell him to stop maybe – when Diggle leaned forward, his mouth almost brushing against Oliver’s earlobe.
“Oliver, wake up. You’re dreaming and you’re going to hurt yourself,” he said calmly, and Thea almost snorted – no way that was going to work. But it did, all the fight going out of her brother, and she was still staring when Oliver opened his eyes.
“Digg?” he asked, voice scratchy and rough, reminding Thea of too many hangovers.
“Yeah.” One of Diggle’s hands moved to the bedside table to get the glass of water waiting for him there. His other hand remained right where it was.
“Ow,” Oliver complained as he tried to sit up and winced, Diggle helping him drink.
“I know. Broken ribs suck,” he said, not sounding very sympathetic. Thea frowned – he should be nicer to Oliver. “Want to talk about it?”
Oliver sighed, and Thea was about to save him – Oliver didn’t speak about the island, of course he didn’t want to – when he started talking.
“There was this guy, on the island. He found me – actually, he shot me, but you know how that goes –”
“Wanting to shoot you? I really can’t imagine…” Diggle trailed off, and although Thea could only see his back, she heard the smile in his voice and found herself smiling along with him when Oliver snorted, wincing again as he did so.
“Very funny – please don’t make me laugh.” He poked at Diggle’s upper right arm, making the man flinch back a little – odd, Thea thought, but then the whole thing was. It was almost as if– But surely not. Except it would make sense, wouldn’t it? It would explain everything, all the secrets and the private moments and how comfortable they were around each other.
Still, Diggle? Okay, the man was hot – Thea had eyes, thank you very much – but she hadn’t thought he was Oliver’s type. At all.
“Anyway,” Oliver said pointedly, “this guy–”
He sounded more relaxed and Thea left before she could hear more, feeling bad for overhearing as much as she already had. Yes, she wanted to know about what had happened to Oliver, but she wanted him to tell her, not spy on a conversation between him and his boyfriend. Talk about awkward.
Anyway the coffees were probably cold by now. She would go and buy fresh ones – three of them this time.
+1. Laurel and Tommy
The music was too loud, and Laurel hoped her neighbours wouldn’t call the cops. But then it was December 31st, just a few minutes before midnight, and the whole city seemed to be celebrating. They were probably safe on that front, leaving her to worry about the state her apartment would be in to start the new year.
It was Tommy’s party, now a far cry of the small and intimate gathering they had agreed on. Laurel wasn’t sure how everything had gotten so out of hand, but she knew she probably wouldn’t be able to blame Oliver for it – this time. The man had only been released from the hospital earlier that afternoon, and while he had insisted on coming, even he couldn’t cause that much mayhem in so little time. Then again, maybe he could. Laurel knew better than to underestimate how much trouble Oliver could get into if he really tried.
Talking about Oliver, where had he disappeared to? He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, sneaking around with that bodyguard of his – what was his name again? Laurel couldn’t remember if they had been properly introduced after he had saved her and Oliver’s life. But she didn’t know why he was there now. Surely Oliver wasn’t in any danger here?
But no matter. Oliver was hurt. He should be in bed, not at a too crowded New Year’s Eve party. Laurel was allowed to worry.
“Have you seen Oliver?” she asked Tommy, yelling to be heard over the music, and he shrugged.
“He was there just a minute ago,” he said, pointing towards the balcony doors.
“I’ll be right back,” she told him and started walking over. Sensing someone behind her, she turned her head to see Tommy following her.
“What? I’m worried too! He looks like crap,” he shouted, and she gave him a pointed look until he added, chagrined: “And it’s almost midnight.”
She could see the balcony now, and there was Oliver, leaning forward with his elbows on the railing. She had a brief flare of panic – what if he passed out and fell off? He did look bad. But no, he seemed alright, smiling at someone. It was one of his private smiles, not the fake one he graced most people with these days, and Laurel took another step forward, wanting to see who had earned it. Now that she had made her peace with him and was trying to make things work with Tommy, she wanted him to be happy. And yes, maybe part of her had been a little relieved when Tommy had told her things hadn’t worked out between Oliver and Helena, but Laurel was human too.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw Oliver’s bodyguard next to him, facing in the opposite direction to keep an eye on the room and seemingly ignoring the smile directed at him. Then again she wasn’t sure why she was surprised – the man had barely left Oliver’s side all evening. She wondered if maybe–
“Only one minute ‘til midnight!” someone shouted behind her, and everyone cheered.
On the balcony Oliver grinned and grabbed the other man’s sleeve, tugging him towards him. Laurel thought she could see a hint of vulnerability under the bravado, and she tried to look away, she really did, but she needed to know what happened next.
She held her breath as Oliver straightened up and pressed their lips together – held her breath for the next few seconds as nothing happened, oddly disappointed. But then the other man started kissing back, his hands coming up to frame Oliver’s face as the kiss deepened, and Laurel finally looked away, feeling a little hot.
“Is that Oliver?” Tommy asked, twisting around her to get a better look. “Man, he’s doing it all wrong, it’s not midnight yet.”
“Tommy, shut up,” she said, and distracted him with his own kiss before he could go bother Oliver about New Year’s Eve kissing etiquette.
Somewhere in the background the countdown started, but she ignored it, and even the explosion of noise at midnight barely registered.
When she next thought to look for Oliver, the balcony was empty.