Pretty Bird

by mydarlingdearestdead

Summary:

Dinah Drake-Lance has just made the daunting move from Gotham to Star City. In an unfamiliar city, in an unfamiliar school, in an apartment that doesn't quite resemble home, all she has to hold onto are a battered leather jacket and a phone number for Desmond Lamar's dojo.
There's also the small matter of Oliver Queen. Not that Dinah thinks to excess about something as trivial as the rich boy in her English class. Clearly.

 

This fic is just my love letter to Dinah "I push people away. It's up to you not to let me go." Lance, actually. Thank you and good night
(this *is* a DinahOllie fic)

Chapter 1

Star City’s most reputable high school, the actual name of which Dinah couldn’t be certain of due to every building being named in honour of a different, but equally prestigious donor, possessed, typically, only one guidance counsellor. His name was Edward Nygma- Or, so it said on the faux-golden nameplate which sat on the desk he refrained from sitting at. Instead, he stood at one of four paned windows, gazing out at the football field below. For eight minutes, each of which she counted off on her watch, Dinah had sat staring at the back of his green, pinstriped suit, occasionally tearing at her cuticles or shuffling her feet.

 

“So, Diane-”

 

“Dinah.”

 

Ignorant to her interruption, he continued in the same even pitch, “Gotham to Star City. It won’t be too much of a transition. Same miserable examples of adolescence everywhere in this country. In fact,” Here, he finally turned to face her, “I am a Gothamite originally myself.”

 

His tie, inexplicably, had question marks on it. Dinah thought a bowler hat would rather complete the look.

 

“What a coincidence.” She replied with a forceful cheeriness learned by proxy from her mother, “Mr. Nygma, can I ask-”

 

“Don’t bother.” He cut her off, waving his hand through the air as if to physically do so, “Whatever the question, you’ve got to begin your tour…” When she hesitated, he commanded, “Go! I have another appointment for god’s sake. Send Mr. Queen in on your way out, will you?”

 

“I don’t know who…” Dinah began to argue before, ultimately, reaching the conclusion that this conversation was simply not worth the effort spent to continue it. He would be speaking in riddles before the session was finished and, frankly, she would rather be studying trigonometry than deciphering the ramblings of this lunatic. Standing and leaving him, back turned once more, Dinah stepped out into the hallway.

 

On her immediate left, two people stood side by side in silence: A man, blue-eyed with hair so blindingly blond that it had to have been bleached (Dinah would know, after all) and a woman, striking red hair hanging in a curtain to her shoulders. Instantly, her eyes were fixed intently on Dinah. The man, on the other hand, was more subtle in his examination.

 

“Mr. Queen?” He looked startled. Dinah almost laughed, “He’s ready for you.”

 

He flashed her a smile so flawless that she imagined he must practise it in the mirror before bed, then walked past her into the office. Something about it sent a chill through her. It wasn’t so much a smile as a display of his teeth, precise and calculated and never daring to reach his eyes. Although admittedly fascinated, something within her wished to never lay eyes on him again.

 

It took her a moment to realise that the redhead was addressing her, “What?”

 

“Diane?” She was reading off a neon green sticky note.

 

“Dinah, actually, but yeah.” How many guidance counsellors does it take to screw in a lightbulb? She thought, Or to get a student’s name right?

 

At this, she crumpled the sticky note in her hand, “Dinah. Okay, from one Gothamite to another, welcome to Star City. I’m Barbara.” She picked up her school bag from the floor by her feet and slung it over her shoulder, “Ready for your tour?”

 

Dinah nodded, “Ready when you are.” Then, when they had begun walking toward the exit, “What brought you to Star City?” She hoped this question may deflect the same being asked of her, as well as induce some form of conversation.

 

Barbara winced, “My dad was police commissioner when I was really young- James Gordon- and I’m sure you remember the corruption from within the force. They hung my dad out to dry for it. He’d probably be in jail if not for Harvey Dent.”

 

“The mayor?” Dent had run for mayor only the previous summer, having served as district attorney for almost a decade. Many citizens campaigned against him, claiming that they would sooner die than see a ‘Freak’ representing their city, but those, however vocal, were in the minority. Dent won a landslide victory, despite his disfigurements. Dinah had celebrated that evening with her mother, cheering that Gotham may finally be going in a direction they could be proud of. Three weeks later, they were packing for the seven-hour car journey to Star City.

 

In his campaign, he had promised to prevent the continuation of senseless violence in the city’s “Developing” (Read: Poor) areas. However, Gotham still had yet to see a change made. Frankly, Dinah was of the opinion that even if Dent managed to force the most crime-ridden city in the world into respectability, it was already far too late for that change to be of any meaning to the people wounded.

 

A daughter, quaking from the loss of her father, does not want to watch his murderer flourish into respectability.

 

Returning to the present, Barbara nodded in response, “Harvey represented my dad free of charge. Saved him. But we had to get out of the city… Too much history, he said. More like Too many people trying to throw bricks through our windows.” She sighed, “I feel like we ran away.”

 

Dinah drew her jacket around her tighter, feeling the breeze as they exited the building. She turned to Barbara with her best estimation of a reassuring smile, “Sometimes running away is all you can do. Sometimes it’s the best option.”

 

Her words were shallow, pathetically so. It was not a philosophy Dinah subscribed to, after all, only one she had the privilege of experiencing day after day.

 

Seemingly in agreement, Barbara resumed her brisk pace. They were in the courtyard now, surrounded by the entrances to each of the five buildings. It was a massive space, smattered with groups of people and clusters of benches.

 

“Now,” Barbara continued, “Here, you’ve got all your classic high school cliques. Your basic Beautiful People.” She waved a hand to her left in demonstration, “Unless they ask you for pop quiz answers, they may as well be on a different planet.”

 

A blur of movement from within the bubble Barbara had indicated caught Dinah’s eye. She grinned, “Really? Because one of the ‘Beauties’ is waving at you.” In apparent surprise (Or, perhaps, dread), Barbara spun around. Sure enough, the boy had now detangled himself from the mass and was making his way steadily towards them. Barbara groaned, throwing a certain avian hand gesture in his direction. He, in response, laughed and continued his journey unperturbed.

 

“Hey, Babs.” He looked like he might have been of south Asian descent, with sharp, dark eyes and carefully arranged black hair. Turning to Dinah, he said, “I don’t think we’ve met. Dick Grayson.” Then, when he spied her doubtful expression, “I’ve heard every joke about my name there is, but you’re welcome to try and impress me.”

 

Dinah produced a fairly convincing pout in response, “Well, now you’ve taken the fun out of it.” She teased, “Dinah Drake-Lance. How do you and Barbara know each other? Out of curiosity.”

 

“Oh, we-”

 

“We’re old friends.” Barbara pinned Dick with a look so severe that it might have stung, “I think Kori’s looking for you.”

 

Like a puppy dog, Dick’s attention instantly swerved back to his peers. He sifted through their ranks, his eye finally landing on a young woman with gorgeously tanned skin and a mass of flaming red curls. Not to mention her eyes, shining like gemstones in the damp of a cave. She did not, however, seem to be looking for Dick, but she did wave him over upon catching his eye.

 

Without breaking eye contact, he muttered, “Got to go, Babs.” And wandered, utterly content, back to her side.

 

Dinah watched them for a further couple of seconds before turning back to her companion. She crossed her arms, repeating with obvious suspicion, “Old friends?”

 

“Shut up.” Barbara had already moved on, pressing forward toward a group of people in what seemed to be in, at first glance, mediocre cosplay, “Here are your Superheroes. Classic delusional personalities. I mean, I could beat Flash over there in a foot race.” And Dinah noticed, with some guilt, that Flash was, in fact, quite overweight.

 

“And here’s your pot-heads.” She stepped over a guy laying on the grass, staring blankly toward the blinding sun above. He had perhaps half a dozen companions, each in a similar state and many stacked on top of one another like dominos. As long as they’re enjoying themselves, Dinah supposed.

 

Barbara, next, addressed a group sat around one of the few tables, all fawning over a laptop decorated with multitudes of colourful stickers, “Hey!” She said and a cheer rose up. Someone attempted to nudge the laptop toward her but she shook her head, “I’ll take a look at lunch, okay?” And grasping Dinah’s hand in a flurry, she walked away, whispering, “I’m their god.” Dinah laughed, finding herself leaning into Barbara’s touch.

 

Then, a thought struck her.

 

“Hey,” She laid a hand on Barbara’s arm, “What about that Queen kid?”

 

To this question, Barbara seemed to have very little notable reaction, aside from crinkling her nose.

 

“Oliver Queen.” She said simply and Dinah shrugged, “Queen Industries? He’s set to inherit half this city. Well, that is if he doesn’t commit a crime big enough that daddy can’t pay his way out of it before his 21^st.”

 

“So, he’s the Bruce Wayne of Star City.” Dinah replied dryly. She shook her head then, not quite disappointed. Resigned perhaps, “Doesn’t matter. I’ll see him on the front page before the hallway.” Barbara offered her a short, puzzled laugh before continuing the tour. She commentated throughout the campus for a further hour, partially because the two had lain down in the grass by the football field for twenty-five minutes, in which time Dinah fell asleep. Then, she delivered Dinah to room 107, where, as she was told, she would return to each day for English class.

 

It was here that Barbara was forced to desert her, claiming to be running exponentially late for a coding workshop. Dinah waved her goodbye, clutching the piece of paper Barbara had slipped her with a phone number scrawled on it. Her mother had begged her to make at least one friend before coming home that evening, perhaps Barbara could fulfil her quota.

 

Her English teacher was a younger man by the name of Mr. Jones. He welcomed Dinah, despite her having arrived almost a quarter of an hour late and invited her to sit wherever she could find an available chair. There were two options:

 

The front row, right by the door, with the wall to her left and the girl Barbara had named to be Kori to her right. Kori smiled at her with a genuine warmth, despite appearing bored out of her skull moments previous.

 

Or, the second option, in the third row, by an open window and in the company of… Well, if it wasn’t Mr. Front Page News himself. Oliver seemed captivated by something entirely outside of Dinah’s range of sight as he stared aimlessly out the window. He hadn’t even glanced at her as she entered.

 

There was no illusion of choice. She sat beside Kori.

 

 Seemingly pleased with such a decision, Mr Jones went on to speak at length about the attributes of the earlier works of William Shakespeare, as well as to announce the novel of the semester- The Taming Of The Shrew, which induced a chorus of groans- and make vague reference to some final exam. Surprisingly, this seemed to excite the class rather than intimidate them.

 

The bell rung with a sort of desperate urgency at which Dinah flinched with such violence that her wrist collided with her pencil case, knocking it onto the floor. Kori retrieved it with a brief, sincere smile, saying, “Happens to everyone.” In a manner which somehow never entered the realm of patronisation.

 

Dinah learned that Kori was not, as she had assumed, a nickname. Rather, her legal name was Kori Anders as was written in chicken scrawl on the inside cover of her novel. As she was packing up to leave, Kori politely asked whether she could walk her to her next class. Dinah, requiring a brief respite to check the printed timetable Mr. Nygma had given her, waved her on, “Free period.” She told her, “Don’t worry about me.”

 

And with that, Kori left her. Most students had rushed onward by now, leaving only Dinah, Mr. Jones and, because fate demanded it, Oliver Queen. He was chatting quietly to Mr. Jones, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Dinah heard only snippets of their conversation, remarks regarding final grades and the application of one’s talents. There was, however, also no small amount of laughter.

 

It wasn’t long before Dinah collected her belongings and made for the door such as everyone else had. It was Mr. Jones’ booming voice that turned her to stone where she stood, “If you wouldn’t mind staying for another few minutes, Miss Lance.”

 

“Drake-Lance.” To correct was becoming an automatic action. Not that it was to any avail, of course. She would be called ‘Diane’ three more times before the final bell.

 

He nodded, “I’ll be right with you, Miss Drake-Lance.”

 

Without acknowledging this, Dinah sat down on her desk, satchel thrown over her shoulder still. Oliver and Mr. Jones continued chatting in even, hushed tones, attempting to dissuade Dinah’s attention. It was just as well. She had always been too curious at the worst of times.

 

It only took another thirty seconds or so for the two to finish up. Oliver left, then, without so much as a glance in her direction. Soon after, Dinah found herself seated across from Mr. Jones’ desk, peering at him. True, he was a younger man, but still had deep lines etched into his forehead and dark shadows beneath his eyes. It seemed that his work had aged him immensely, something which offered Dinah no comfort.

 

There was no fanfare as he began. Straight to the point, he asked, “I just wondered if you could confirm what you studied in your previous course?”

 

Dinah sighed. God was it depressing for the longest conversation you’ve had all day to be with your English teacher.

 

☆☆☆

 

That night, from within the privacy of her bedroom, Dinah typed ‘Oliver Queen’ into the Internet Explorer search bar on her mother’s old, duct-taped laptop. She didn’t expect to find anything terribly interesting, you understand, aside from maybe an insight into her new classmate. The results, however, were far more than she had bargained for.

 

The Wikipedia article bearing his name was, in a word, lengthy and, in another, fascinating. Born to the late Moira Queen and her husband Robert- Well reported to be a chronic adulterer-, Oliver Queen upheld a playboy persona in the media for a number of years until his seventeenth birthday party, held on a yacht which capsized during a thunderstorm, miles from the nearest coast. Fortunately, a nearby vessel was able to rescue every passenger… Aside, naturally, from Oliver.

 

There in followed a four-month unexplained absence in which he was presumed dead. It was said that his body would wash up in a matter of days by those official-looking types who did interviews for small-town news stations but, when their predictions never rang true, rumours began to circulate that he had been kidnapped or, less extreme, placed in a European boarding school for children with behavioural issues.

 

Notably, his father never allowed him to be declared legally dead.

 

The following September, he attended the first day of school just like any other student. An elderly librarian reportedly had a heart attack upon seeing him. Wikipedia did not mention whether she survived. Dinah hoped so, though she had been seventy-eight at the time. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

 

Regardless, that had been September. This was now March. Nothing more had been discovered regarding Oliver Queen’s missing months and, reportedly, the boy had become something of a loner. Previous friends of his, even people who had been on the yacht, jumped at their chance to soak in the spotlight with interviews on screen and in print alike. It was animalistic, Dinah thought, completely and utterly inhuman.

 

One name caught her eye: Tommy Merlyn. He had done almost a dozen interviews, each with a different news outlet, each more bizarre than the last.

 

She managed to stomach the first several paragraphs of Tommy Merlyn: My Best Friend Came Back A Different Man before decisively closing the tab and, from there, the laptop in its entirety.

 

Now, she was at a loss. Even in a city such as that, without friends or resources or even the knowledge of where to get the best pizza, Dinah may of well have been stranded on a desert island. Laying on her bare mattress- Her mother had misplaced the sheets during the chaos of the move-, a thought struck her. She wandered into the kitchen, peering in drawers and boxes until she came across it.

 

Before they left Gotham, Ted had given Dinah a brochure for a dojo run by an old friend of his in Star City. He was always looking for volunteers to help with the little ones, Ted told her, Plus if she volunteered out he would be happy to give her some tips every now and again. The brochure was ancient, its colours faded to sickening greys and blues, but the number printed on the front was still connected.

 

Dinah almost dropped her phone when he picked up.

 

"This is Desmond Lamar, what can I do for you?”

 

“My name is Dinah, I trained with Ted Grant in Gotham.” Desmond inhaled deeply, though he did not interrupt her, “I heard you might want some help around the dojo some evenings?” It was an open-ended question, allowing for his refusal. In fact, Dinah almost expected it.

 

Instead, Desmond sighed, “You got the address?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You free now?”

 

She considered the mountain of work that awaited her after having been thrust into a new curriculum in March of a school year.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Come on down, I teach a 6-12 class at 7:00 if you can make it. If not, the 12-18 one is at 8:00.”

 

Dinah’s fist closed around her keys where they lay on the counter. She glanced at the clock above the oven, only to realise it was stuck at 2:30, and then at her phone. 6:12. She hoped Desmond couldn’t hear the grin in her voice as she replied, “I can make 7.”

 

“See you then.”

               

☆☆☆

 

Dinah decided, after having supervised the sparring of two eight-year-olds for an hour, that it was in her best interest to gauge the competition from within her own age group. Desmond laid a hand on her shoulder, “You can participate if you’d prefer to, but I’d rather you help me with demonstrations.”

 

She nodded, “Got it.”

 

Desmond had welcomed her from the very instant she crossed his threshold. Though the two had little time for conversation as of yet, she knew she had found a kindred spirit, much like what she felt in Ted’s company. His dojo felt, to her, like a piece of Gotham that she had managed to drag with her across the country.

 

Now, I beg of you, imagine her surprise as none other than Oliver Queen walked across the threshold, thus invading her newfound sanctuary, a gym bag slung casually over his shoulder.

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She muttered.

 

Desmond glanced around her shoulder, “What’s that?”

 

She shook her head, spinning as to put her back to Oliver and give Desmond her full attention. “Nothing!” She said, perhaps too cheerily, “So, what’ll we be demonstrating? Do I get to flip you?”

 

His face lit up, “What exactly was Ted teaching you?”

 

“Everything.”

 

Desmond grinned in response, his hands clasped before him. Dinah knew in that instant that she and this man were to be very good friends. He adored a challenge and appreciated an opponent with the same ferocity she had always carried.

 

Well, it may not have been in school, but Dinah did technically make a friend that day. Although, her mother would hardly consider the middle-aged owner of the local dojo to be a success. Dinah made a mental note to call Ted and tell him the good news. As long as Dinah Sr. couldn’t be happy, at least her uncle might be.

 

The 12-18 class trickled in slowly but by five past the hour enough were in attendance that Desmond decided it was time that they begin. Throughout warm-ups, Dinah dozed in a chair behind the students, her attention fixed when it could be on a blond head of hair, sweating his way through the barest exercises. If she had been raised any less politely, Dinah may have laughed.

 

Desmond called her up for a number of demonstrations, placing her in the defensive position in all but one. After each, he would pair the students and tell them to practise what they had just seen for ten minutes. It was an average class schedule, perfect for an even-numbered group such as this.

 

That is, until one girl was knocked to the mat by her partner and refused to get back up again. Poor thing was only twelve, Desmond said it was her third week after graduating from the younger class, still feeling rather put of place. He carried her off to the side, tasking Dinah with supervision for the time being. The only issue was that, in this girl’s absence, there was an uneven number.

 

Dinah made the decision to adopt the stray student as her own partner notably before she realised just who it was.

 

Oliver Queen had his eyes downcast, staring at his bare feet on the mat as if he wished the ground would be kind enough to swallow him up and be done with it. Before Dinah could address him, he spoke, “Is she okay?” It surprised her just how much like a child he sounded, someone preparing to be scolded by the teacher.

 

“Just overwhelmed.” Dinah hoped it resonated with him in a reassuring manner rather than dismissive or cold. It was not often she had to comfort boys who could pay her rent for a year with just the watch on their wrist, but she tried her level best.

 

Dinah didn’t know whether she resented him for being wealthy until that moment. Although she knew it was not something that, ultimately, Oliver had any control over, the part of her which worried whether her parents could afford to buy her birthday presents or grab takeout on a Friday night roared with pure rage.

 

No, she did not resent him for being born wealthy. She resented him for letting that money which could be used for the betterment of the people of Star City gather dust in a bank vault when it could be put to use investing in the local community.

 

Now, he thought it appropriate to raise his head and it occurred to Dinah that this was, truly, the first time he really looked at her. Not a fleeting glance or some monstrous example from his periphery. Now, he was forced to confront her.

 

"You’re… In my English class.”

 

“Thanks for noticing.”

 

To go into detail about the minutes that followed would serve no purpose other than to deeply embarrass Mr Queen. Instead, we shall just say that, by the time the clock struck nine, Dinah was mildly brushing the hair from her eyes, holding out a hand to her partner, who struggled to lift his arm long enough to take it.

 

Desmond had the young girl’s mother come and pick her up twenty minutes early. Following the incident, he allowed everyone else free time to try out whatever moves they liked under his supervision. This worked perfectly for Dinah who was, quite honestly, enjoying the power she held over Oliver. Regardless, she helped him struggle to his feet when the time came.

 

 “You’re pretty good.” He mumbled against her shoulder, “What’s your name again?”

 

“Dinah.”

 

“Ollie… Did I ever tell you I like a woman who-”

 

Despite herself, Dinah felt a smile on her lips as she cut him off, “If you want any chance with me, you’re not going to finish that sentence.”

 

Oliver seemed to consider this for a moment before producing the best approximation of a shrug he could manage in his current condition, “Fair enough.”

               

Chapter 2

In the following weeks, Desmond and Dinah came to an agreement: She would spend her Monday and Thursday evenings, as well as her Sunday afternoons in the dojo, assisting him in coaching groups up to the age of 18 and, in the case of Sundays, ensuring her own skills did not dull. Oliver Queen attended on Mondays and Thursdays. As his young partner never returned, Dinah took on the role of his partner week after week in her place.

Every session, without fail, Oliver looked to her, “Improving?” He would ask.

Dinah would shake the disbelief from her mind before replying, “In some ways.” And it was true. He no longer lost his breath as easily. In fact, he was still able to shamelessly flirt with her until perhaps the third time she knocked him on his ass. Progress of a sort.

He even began to stay later in order to help her and Desmond secure equipment for the night- Although, usually he was too bruised to do much more than sit on a bench shouting what might have passed for encouragement with anybody else and occasionally hold a role of tape.

It astounded Dinah just how quickly all her resentment evaporated. It was ridiculous. He was still Oliver Queen. Still the rich playboy who held his 17^th birthday on a goddamn yacht. Still the kid who was lost for four months. Can just four months change a person so structurally? Was he always like this? Or are his actions now just a farce? Something to lure her in before the trap snaps shut?

Ted always told her that her natural guise of scepticism was a virtue in a fight. He never mentioned how much of a pain in the ass it would be in a friendship.

Regardless, despite every instinct she had relied on her entire life, the fascination won out. True, he was still Oliver Queen, but he was also someone she would have liked to study under a microscope should the opportunity arise.

“Pretty Bird-” He began, perched on the bench with what Dinah suspected to be a dramatic reenactment of a sprained ankle.

Dinah groaned, regretting ever sharing any story of her childhood with him, “Six years of singing lessons for god’s sake!” She murmured, knowing Ollie was close enough to hear her.

“-You missed a spot.”

“Missed a spot… I’ll hit you with the broom if you’re not careful, Oliver Queen.”

A laugh burst out of him and he stood, “Kidding. You’re pretty much finished up here.”

From the back of the shop, Desmond appeared, dragging a felled punching bag along the carpeted floor with a scraping noise that made Dinah feel as if something terribly urgent was due. She rushed forward to aid him, but he held up a hand, stopping her, “Go home.” He said, “Both of you. Your parents will be sending out search parties soon enough.”

She and Oliver both seemed to squirm as that statement hung in the air. Then, as Desmond chased them out into the night, they found themselves laughing. Oliver had a car- An adequately expensive Lexus, but nothing too unique, in Dinah’s opinion- but she faced the twenty-minute jog home on an empty stomach, in a city where half the sodium lamps were due to be replaced twenty years ago.

  Before they could bid goodbye, Oliver inclined his head toward the car, “We couldn’t have a girl like you walking home all alone.”

She crossed her arms across her chest, a familiar rage flaring, “Is that right?”

“Every crook in the city would be at danger of infertility.” He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, “I am just trying to protect my people.”

Dropping her defensive stance, Dinah took a decisive step toward the passenger side door, asking, “Your people?” But Oliver merely shook his head, unlocking the car with one hand while the other dug in his pocket.

“There’s water in the glovebox.” He told her, once they were on the road, “Probably never been refrigerated, so don’t expect cold.”

Over the radio, an old rock song crackled. Dinah found herself drumming her fingers to the beat absently, following the bass through the cacophony. After a while, she grinned, “I should do this!” She told him, raising her voice slightly as to be audible.

“A band?” Oliver, despite driving like a man released only days from Arkham, was at least partially focused on the road.

Dinah shook her head, “No, install car radios. Yes, a band! Drive my mother crazy.”

For a moment, he might have seemed thoughtful. That is, if he had been anyone else but Oliver Queen.

“You know…” He began slowly, “You don’t seem like the type of person to let your mother tell you what to do.”

“Can’t help that she tries.” Dinah replied quickly. Then, a desperate attempt to change the subject, “You know where you’re going, right?”

In response, Oliver turned his head slightly so Dinah could see that he wore a silver earpiece like ones she saw used by high-powered assistants in films. “GPS.” He told her, “Not as familiar with this part of town.” Although he didn’t say it, she knew he meant the area where citizens were living paycheque to paycheque.

Dinah agreed, turning to fiddle with the glovebox until it popped open. True to his word, there were three sealed bottles of water, along with no small amount of candy wrappers, the car’s owner manual and his license and registration.

She snorted, “Your middle name is Jonas?”

“Wha-” He glanced in her direction, “Put that back!” But he joined in on her merriment, laughing as he attempted to keep an eye on the road and retrieve it from her at once, “I’m sure yours isn’t any better.”

She relinquished the license to him. Then, after a moment’s consideration, told him, “Laurel.”

“Dinah Laurel Drake-Lance.” He sighed, “Fuck. Yours is better.” Even in the darkness flooding the car, Dinah saw his grin, “Only person I’ve ever known with a middle name that adds anything.”

Just as these words left his lips, his headlights illuminated a familiar building front. Dinah attempted, within her own mind, to force it to align with her idea of home, but it refused, threatening to spiral into a migraine. Her apartment here felt more like a liminal space than anything when she turned it over in her mind. Even her bedroom may as well have been a hotel room.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she bid goodbye, apologising, “I’d invite you in but…” She glanced at the car’s clock, reading 11:02, “Yeah.”

Oliver shook his head, “I should’ve been home an hour ago anyway. Good night, Pretty Bird.”

“’Night, Ollie.”

☆☆☆

 

Her mother lay on the sofa, feet up, watching a pirated Netflix documentary following a serial murderer in Boston from the 80’s. When Dinah made her entrance, she muted it, calling, “Don’t you dare try to slink off to that bedroom.”

Knowing her escape attempt had been foiled, Dinah followed orders. She perched on the edge of an ancient leather armchair. It was positioned at a right angle to the sofa, meaning she had to turn her head at an awkward angle to be allowed to read her mother’s expression when she spoke.

“So?” Her mother began cryptically.

 Dinah regretted not pausing to take off her jacket in the hallway. With all the windows closed, the apartment was uncomfortably warm, despite its utter lack of indoor heating and the March breeze.

“So what?” She replied, attempting to shift her weight into a more comfortable position. If she could avoid it, she didn’t seek to sit on the chair itself as that may indicate intent to stay for a time longer than what was strictly necessary. That, she couldn’t afford. Three pages of index notation awaited her in her bedroom.

Her mother offered a smile. Dinah wondered, not for the first time, whether she would become the woman sitting before her. Their smile was the same. Their eyes. Sometimes, she doubted her father had been involved at all. Having retained the glamour of her youth, Dinah Drake was by no means a woman withered by time. Becoming her in the physical sense might have been considered a blessing by many, but Dinah wished above all else to never to share her mother’s motives.

“The boy who drove you home.” Her mother always had this glint in her eye when addressing Dinah’s social life, “I assume it’s a boy, but I’ll love you regardless, you know. God knows I fooled around before I met your father. In fact-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” Dinah hurriedly interjected. There was a satisfaction in her mother’s posture, so achingly familiar. She laughed, shrugging off her jacket, laying it across her lap. It had lived a previous life on her mother’s shoulders before being given as a gift on Dinah’s twelfth birthday, though still far too large then. Mended perhaps a dozen times since, the artwork on the back remained bright, sealed with some varnish or another. A golden canary, framed against darkness, singing its heart out to an audience unknown.

Dinah slunk into the armchair, kicking off her boots, “Any word on when the shop’ll be habitable?”

“Changing the subject?” Her mother grinned, “Oh, you certainly are my daughter.”

               

☆☆☆

 

Each school day faded into bland monotony. Morning announcements, music performance, chemistry demonstration, three more pages of The Taming Of The Shrew in Mr Jones’ steady, monotonous voice.

If not for the chaos of lunch, Dinah may have allowed herself to slip into the routine as well. She began with sitting outside, beneath a massive oak tree by the literacy building’s secondary exit. Here, she was shaded from the sun, as well as hidden if a teacher happened to pass by on their way to their car. She could spend the forty minutes idly playing Subway Surfers on her phone uninterrupted. It was the perfect place… Until the weather took an extreme turn for the worst.

Then, having taken advantage of Kori’s generosity, Dinah spent a day sandwiched between her and a girl who introduced herself as Karen but whom everyone referred to as Bee. Dick and Kori were polite enough to attempt to include her in the conversation but it was obvious she did not belong amongst their ranks.

The following day, she infiltrated Barbara’s followers. True to her word, they did, indeed, worship her as their god. This was welcome as, being Barbara’s guest, they also treated Dinah in such a manner. However, upon realising Dinah was inept at anything more complex than a Google search, they alienated her without remorse.

Finally, having burned through her options rather spectacularly, Dinah found herself laying against the cafeteria’s back wall, chomping on a green apple and making a mental note to check the forecast for the following day. Teachers patrolled the aisles like vultures, plucking phones from the hands of anybody unfortunate enough to be caught. That meant, clearly, that Subway Surfers was not an option. Although she briefly considered attempting to decipher another page or two of Shakespeare, Dinah instead resigned herself to the timeless pastime of people watching.

When she was young, spending afternoons lulled by the flora and perfume in her mother’s shop, Dinah would lay on the counter by her mother as she tallied profit or counted inventory. In her mother’s pursuit for a mere moment of peace, Dinah often found herself tasked with creating a magnificent backstory for the shop’s patrons. Then she would entrust these tales to her mother, patient until the petals wilted. Once, the two had been in such a state over a dragon-fighting businessman that they had scarcely been able to ring him up. These were some of Dinah’s fondest childhood memories, framed before Gotham became an enemy state, things she wished to recapture whenever possible.

Now, drowning in this sea of strangers, Dinah began doing the very same thing. The boy in basketball shorts, skinny with his hair cemented back with gel could have been an ogre, entrusted with guiding the well-mannered princess- A girl whose hair was tied neatly in French braids and adorned with blue ribbon- and in reluctant partnership with the knight-A boy from Dinah’s maths class to whom she had the pleasure of informing how to spell ‘Angle’. The three had been sent on a quest by the wizard- Barbara, of course. Dinah could picture her in a tower of sorts, overseeing the entire operation. But what was their goal? A quest or an escape? No, a rescue mission. A dear friend of theirs had been captured by the dark commander- Tommy Merlyn, naturally. Their friend, a renowned archer, awaited them, helpless… The only issue was finding someone to fill the role. Perhaps the blond boy, holding a cardboard salad bowl and walking, at quite a pace, towards her?

She looked more closely at him. Oh.

Oh.

Oliver Queen stopped before her with all the poise of a drunk elephant. When he smiled at her, however, it was nothing like the factory-fresh, manufactured thing he had produced outside Nygma’s office. It was honest and, frankly, rather eager. Dinah returned it.

"Quite a shame, a pretty bird like you eating lunch all alone.” He mused, “I might know an alternative… If you’re interested, that is.”

In sheer disbelief, Dinah stared at him. Then, after a few moments left in consideration for the sole purpose of getting his heart racing, she leapt to her feet, saying, “Next time you want to take me out, Ollie, just ask like a normal person.”

 As it turns out, Oliver’s idea of an ‘Alternative’ happened to be the front seat of his car with the windows rolled down and the sound of raindrops beating against the roof. It had only taken them ninety seconds to dash from the school entrance to the parking lot, yet Dinah felt as if she may as well have taken a dip in the local pool.

“Next time,” She panted, having closed the door just moments before, “Let’s just find an empty classroom, okay?” Ollie’s smirk grew, “Oh, not like that. All guys are the same.”

“So, just to be clear, first base is…?”

This shocked a laugh from Dinah’s throat, “Tell you what, you tell me where you went last year and then we’ll talk about first base.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Pretty Bird… Too hard.” For the briefest instant, Dinah may have seen a flash of something quite similar to resentment on his face but, just as it had arrived, it flickered into careful neutrality.

They lapsed into silence. Dinah continued chomping at her apple while Oliver speared lettuce on a plastic fork, although that is not to imply that any of it ever made it to his mouth. Minutes passed before he sighed, “I am… Trying to… not let my temper ruin anymore friendships.” Dinah watched as he brutally executed a cherry tomato, “I’m sorry.”

“No.” She inhaled deeply, realising for the first time that, despite the open windows, his car reeked of cologne, “No, it’s not my place. You have a right to privacy and to defend it. Forget it ever happened?”

“Forgotten.” He agreed. Then, “So… You’re sure first base is totally off the table?”

“Off the table, buried under it… Your choice.”

No longer committing atrocities against vegetables, he barked in laughter. Now, he had progressed to actually eating the wilting cafeteria lettuce. Another dismal sign of progress. Droplets of water fell from his hair occasionally, some of which contaminated his food, others merely his jeans. Dinah, comparatively, pushed her hair behind her ears. This action seemed to catch his attention.

“Is your hair natural?” Oliver tilted his head slightly, peering at Dinah’s roots.

She shook her head, “I wish, box dye. You can’t tell?”

“Mine is.” He informed her through a mouthful of lettuce, “Natural.”

For some reason beyond all comprehension and limits of human understanding, Dinah believed him.

 

☆☆☆

 

Desmond closed the dojo for Easter, despite not subscribing to the Catholic faith himself. Dinah argued against it, well aware that he barely broke even most months, nevermind actually turned a profit.  

“We have to respect all religious faiths, even if it means losing a few days of business.” He told her, locking the equipment securely, “And anyway, don’t you have some kind of important test coming up? Go home, Dinah. Study. See your boyfriend.”

She snorted, letting her head fall back so it hit the wall with a satisfying thud, “Ollie is not my boyfriend. Not by a long shot.”

“But you assumed I meant him.” Unfortunately, Desmond looked rather pleased with himself and, even more so, he was right to be.

Again, her head thudded against the wall, “He is everything I should be against, Dez… And I have a fucking schoolgirl crush.”

“Everything you should be against?” Desmond questioned, joining her in her position against the wall.

 Dinah groaned, deaf to his question in her vigour, “It’s no different than Gotham. The rich just keep getting richer by picking on the little guy and Ollie? Ollie is no different. He- He threw his seventeenth birthday party on a yacht, for god’s sake! He has so much power and wealth and what does he do with it? Abso-fuckin’-lutely nothing!”

“Have you ever said any of this to him?” Desmond asked in his soft, patient way. Dinah shrugged in response, eyes glued still to the water-stained ceiling, “Maybe you should. See how- Or if- he defends himself. Or you could keep going with your schoolgirl crush. That sounds like a good idea too.”

Dinah wanted to tell him how correct he was. Wanted to admit how much of a child she had been. Wanted to call Ollie that second and beg him to reveal some secret fund he had set up, proving himself to be a good person and clearing her conscience once and for all.

Instead, she asked, “How exactly do you and Ted know each other again?”

“Old fighting circuits in and around Gotham.” Dinah heard the smile in his voice, “If Wildcat couldn’t lay any man down.”

Dinah grinned, “Clearly you’ve never seen him go a few rounds with me.”

In apparent disbelief, Desmond shook his head, “Always too chivalrous for his own good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Now, she cared finally to lower her gaze. Desmond was wearing a Cheshire grin, looking to her with an eyebrow raised, “Okay, yeah, you’re funny.” She crossed her arms across her chest.

“You’re good at reading people, Dinah. Do me a favour and remember that before jumping to the easiest conclusion next time.”

Something in his voice made her question whether she understood his request. Turning her head as to gauge his expression, she found that he had already moved on, footsteps soundless on the dojo’s carpeted floor.

He was standing inside the boxing ring, positioned in the shop’s backroom. Dinah could only see him through the doorway as he held up the ropes, beckoning her closer. Ted had always told her that, in the ring, she was entirely at ease. Desmond was offering her a chance to prove such a fact, or a chance to let her mind wander toward something else.

Either way, she was immensely eager to follow him.

Notes:

Hi!! Okay, so, I decided to cut out all the shit about Ollie being a dick because... Well, it's Ollie. We know its happening. This is a fluff fic. Plus, I like the versions of them where Dinah just powers through how much of a prick he is when trying to push her away. She knows she deserves better but unfortunately that pesky red string is cutting off the blood to her brain.
Anyways, I won't have my laptop for a few days so next update is Thursday the 21st (of August. It's august right now). This will be completely updated since I already have everything written and edited
Any comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and make my day... Plus, a digital cookie for every commenter :)
(ALSO I GOT THE GA/BC WEDDING SPECIAL AT FORBIDDEN PLANET TODAY)

Chapter 3

Notes:

This and chapter 4 are slightly shorter because they were meant to be the one until that ran on way too long and I had to bite the bullet and split them... So, sorry

Over the next several weeks, Dinah and Ollie made their lunch dates a regular occurrence. On days where the weather was less than ideal, they would sit in Oliver’s car, picking at their school-issued excuses for nutrition, laughing, more often than not, like maniacs. Or, when the weather permitted such, they sat beneath Dinah’s favoured tree, doing very much the same in the sunshine.

They spoke of all things- Imperative and meaningless- but all intensely impersonal. He never asked what drove her from Gotham’s streets, and Dinah never questioned his apparent personality shift, despite the horror stories which graced her ears under the cover of gym class. True, he had a temper and, true, he was not always capable of reining it in, but Dinah had been taught that flaws prove our humanity. God knows she had enough of her own to not be afforded the luxury of judgement.

One day, the sun falling across his face even as he brought a hand up to shield his eyes, Oliver requested, “Tell me something true.”

“True?” Dinah echoed, tilting her head back, “My favourite movie’s When Harry Met Sally.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the rom-com girl.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do…” She teased, “We had it on DVD. When my dad… I was stuck at home a lot. Watched it most days. Background noise.”

Oliver nodded, “We’ll watch it together sometime. Never seen it.”

“But I bet you’ve seen Iron Man half a dozen times.” Dinah scoffed. She was attempting to unpeel an orange, despite having bitten off half her fingernails the night previous while pretending to study for biology. If nothing else, she learned that keratin is not edible.

Wordlessly, Oliver took it from her hand, beginning to peel it in deft hands. Dinah opened her mouth to argue but promptly closed it again. Since her conversation with Desmond, she had been trying to give Oliver the benefit of the doubt wherever possible. Wealthier than god or not, he was a nice guy, or he was trying to be. He was her friend. She had no right to judge him just because she resented what he might become.

“As for Iron Man,” He continued, handing it back to her, “Not once. Superheroes aren’t really for me.”

Dinah stretched her legs out in front of her, her back against the tree’s thick trunk. She peered at her companion, despite the blinding sun, replying, “First guy I’ve ever met.”  

“Well,” He spun to look at her, “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Pretty Bird.” In parroting her, he induced a further bout of manic laughter which, when ceased, left the two of them laying on the grass, exhausted, shielded by the shadows of flourishing boughs above.

Dinah lay with her legs pinned under Oliver’s, trapped in place. She thought there were far less desirable places to be trapped and, frankly, far less desirable company. She heard Oliver’s sharp intake of breath. Before he could ruin the moment, Dinah hushed him, “Don’t say anything. You’re so much less annoying when you’re not speaking.”

This, he must have conceded because he complied with her request. She felt an arm snake around her shoulders, bringing her closer.

“What do you think makes a good person?” When Ollie offered no reply, despite his tenure as having an opinion about everything, Dinah sighed, “You can speak now.”

“Wasn’t risking it.” He replied lightly, “Do you know what I’d pay not to fuck this up? If you give me an order, I am following it to the letter.” And although he laughed, those words struck Dinah as though they were bladed and barbed.

She heard the bitterness dripping from her voice as she responded, “Because you can pay your way out of any problem, right?”

“Dinah…” She supposed that ‘Pretty Bird’ was reserved for when they were getting along, “That isn’t what I meant and I think you know that.” He was right, but who would she be if she admitted as much? Instead, she let him desperately attempt to answer the question, “A good person is someone who puts more into the world than they take out. I mean… Not that you have to donate 60% of your paycheque every month, just smiling at people in a coffee shop in the morning. Dropping by a foodbank every once in a while. Not taking what you’ve been given for granted. And I know you think I’m a hypocrite. I know my ‘Fighting the1%’ agenda is bullshit when I am the 1%. But-”

“Stop fucking talking.”

He, so absorbed by his tangent of self-pity, hadn’t noticed how Dinah shifted her weight, moving to support herself on her hands, bearing down on him. He was, however, certainly paying attention when she laid her hands on either side of his face and pressed their lips together.

Well, she thought, There goes the unsaid schoolgirl crush.

It was Oliver who pulled away first, gasping. Dinah remained suspended above him, quite unable to force herself into any other position. He had several blades grass invading his hair and a smudge of her lipstick across his lips. She decided, not for the first time, that he reminded her of a Robin Hood character. Rather resenting the implication that she was to be Maid Marian, Dinah then managed to lay herself back down on the grass by his side, aware vaguely that her arms had begun to ache from the prolonged strain.

“God damn, Pretty Bird.” Ollie’s voice was hoarse, “Here I was thinkin’ you hated my guts.”

Dinah’s heart hammered against her ribcage. Despite all those years spent in the ring or on stage, she had never felt anything close to this. She laughed, telling him, “Don’t get too cocky. There’s still time.”

It occurred to her distantly that this meant that Desmond owed her an ‘I told you so’ during their next meeting, but fortunately that was something that could be pushed back for deliberation at a later, more opportune time. Preferably when Oliver wasn’t attempting to wipe her lipstick from his mouth.

 

☆☆☆

 

“Will that be all?” Dinah’s mother asked, a smile fixed on her lips as she handed a customer a bouquet of lilies tied with a yellow ribbon, “Thank you so much. Have a nice day.”

Then, the guise of hostess fallen, she laid a soft kick into Dinah’s side, “Would it kill you to get up and help on the busiest night of the year?”

Dinah, laying with her back to the counter, legs splayed out on the floor, out of the view of customers, argued half-heartedly, “I thought that was Valentine’s.”

As if in reply, her mother dropped an apron across her lap. Dinah was beginning to severely regret having offered herself as free labour. She stood, tying the apron deftly behind her back as she had done however many times a week throughout her childhood. Every afternoon spent dozing among dahlias or laughing among lilies, perched by the register with her mother or hiding beyond it as she did now.

Her mother pulled her to her feet, chiding, “If you’re not going to tell me about that boyfriend- Or girlfriend! Still non-discriminating. - of yours, I might as well put you to use somewhere else.”

“So… My options are gossip columnist or florist?” Dinah stood, astounded by the situation she had found herself in. She reached for a white rose and promptly pricked her thumb on a sharp thorn, drawing blood. Bringing the wound to her mouth, she sighed, “Florist, it is.”

“That’s my girl.” Her mother was ready, offering a child’s pack of plasters, each decorated with a different circus animal. Grateful and reluctant in one, Dinah chose the elephant.

The work, however monotonous, was rather enjoyable once managing to gather her bearings. Assembling Easter bouquets meant a lot of colour as well as plenty of embellishment. All the bells and whistles, as her mother had put it. In fact, Dinah rather enjoyed seeing the culmination of her labours displayed and, eventually, chosen by one grateful customer or another. No two were the same, after all. They were arranged by eye, without extreme care taken to ensure one ended up more or less valuable than its companion. Really, it was down to personal preference when it came time for them to be sold.

The clock struck 8:00 and the last bouquet had long since been assembled and sold. All that remained were a few wilting roses, positioned by the counter in a faux-crystal vase overlooking Dinah’s allocated time playing games on her phone.

Removing a pair of heavy, envy-green gloves, Dinah’s mother announced, “You’ve run out of excuses.”

As these words hung in the air, Dinah watched morosely as her player slammed into the backside of a cargo container. Then, forced to face what lay before her, Dinah chose her words carefully, “Do you think this harassment is really appropriate?”

“Harassment?” Incredulous, her mother burst into a fit of laughter, “Let me tell you, if your father were with us, then you would know the meaning of harassment. I’m the calm one, remember?” She snorted, “He’d probably show the poor kid his gun before letting him through the front door!”

“No, he…” Dinah trailed off. He absolutely would. She swallowed, “It doesn’t matter.”

Stowing her phone safely in the pocket of her jacket, Dinah moved purposefully toward the front of the store. She exited without so much as a glance in her mother’s direction, waiting for her to follow as to allow them to begin the- Hopefully silent- journey home together.

She knew that her behaviour was like that of a petulant child. She understood that they couldn’t continue to prance around the topic of her father for the rest of their lives. She had even resigned herself to the knowledge that grief is eternal. All this, however, did not mean she was going to chat and be merry like he was still waiting for them at home.

The ‘Home’ to which she referred, after all, was no longer a reality. This wasn’t Gotham, not by any measure. Through no fault of Dinah’s own. Though, the same could not be said of Dinah Sr.

Shutters safely and securely locked, Dinah was joined by her mother. She had her coat slung over her arm as the April weather had taken a surprising turn for the better. That is, when it wasn’t lashing rain.

“Dinah-”

Dinah- The younger- knew she had one card left in her hand available to play. She could only pray that it would be enough to steer the conversation entirely south from where it was currently planning to dock.

“His name is Oliver Queen- Yes, that Queen. The Inheritance-Larger-Than-The-Island-Of-Manhattan Queen.”

“Well!” Her mother seemed positively delighted, all traces of previous hardship having been at least stowed for a time, but there was still suspicion there, “You changed your song quickly.”

Dinah shrugged, “Had to let the cat out of the bag eventually.”  

Although at least some small part of her knew that using Ollie as a diversion could not be a long-term solution to the issue, Dinah rather enjoyed the novelty of being able to talk to her mother about something so trivial as a high school boyfriend. Even in Gotham, they had not possessed a relationship such as this since before Dinah had left Barbies and princess dresses behind. It was, in a way, deeply comforting to know her mother was still her mother, despite everything they had endured together.

               

☆☆☆

 

Desmond was forced to step out of the first round of Monday classes when the dojo reopened following Easter. He didn’t entrust the information as to why to Dinah, but she understood it to be of great importance to him. Something about his body language when he told her, in how he kept twitching, eyes darting… It made her feel rather as if she was about to lose her breakfast.

He would return, he said, for the 12-18 class at 8:00, but the less advanced were subject to Dinah’s mercy. Despite claiming to have full confidence in her, he also requested she bring in Oliver for support. That was how this situation came about.

Dinah, her feet in Ollie’s lap, laying vertically on a bench, supervising twenty or so children as they attempted to knock one another to the mat without major injury. Someone- A little girl with gorgeous blonde pigtails- swung her kick too high, narrowly avoiding her opponent’s- A slight boy several years younger than her- temple.

“Hey!” Dinah called, “Too high! You want to knock him down, not knock him unconscious.” Then, in a whisper, “Was I ever this incompetent?”

Oliver sucked a harsh breath in through his teeth, “You? Less than perfect? Now, I’d pay to see that.”

“Oh- Hey! Keep your wrist straight or you’re going to break it!” This was directed at a kid of only about seven, standing bewildered in the centre of the class. He looked at Dinah for a moment before, wide-eyed, pointing to himself with an incredulous hand. She sighed, muttering, “Give me a minute.” Before weaving her way toward him through the mass causality sites currently dotting the space.

“Okay.” She kneeled by the boy, ignoring his partner entirely, “Show me what you do when you throw a punch.”

Unbeknownst to her, it was during this moment that Desmond made his grand return, earlier than expected. He entered silently from the back, avoiding the bell which rung each time a parent or student did the same. Oliver caught his eye first. He nodded his head toward Dinah, still knelt on the mat, then stood to join him.

Desmond tilted his head, straining his ears to hear Dinah’s advice. He looked briefly at Oliver, “She’s really something, huh?”

“You’re telling me.” If Dinah had heard him, she would have named a dreamy quality in his tone; Something utterly besotted.

She rose from the mat, dusting herself off and turned to find Oliver having deserted. Then, spinning around in confusion, her eye landed on the pair stood overseeing. With light, deft steps, she padded toward them, narrowly avoiding stray fists at each turn.

“Can’t even trust me for an hour?” She crossed her arms, “Ouch.”

“Appointment finished sooner than expected.” Desmond replied simply, “Why don’t you two relax in the back for five minutes? I’ll finish here.”

Opening her mouth to argue, Dinah flinched as a scream of “Sensei Desmond!” reached her ears, followed by a chorus of the very same. She turned, then, to face the congregation of children, all looking wide-eyed at their mentor… All, except for the boy she had knelt beside, whose eyes resided solely on her.

“Got to appreciate the loyalty.” She remarked, grabbing Ollie by the wrist. He rejoiced, despite having exerted himself a precise zero times that afternoon, in being afforded such a respite and followed Dinah eagerly toward Desmond’s office.

Despite being affectionately dubbed an office, what it really consisted of was a battered purple sofa, the fabric of which was patched and peeling off in half a dozen places, a minifridge where Desmond stored ice packs and cans of Coca Cola, two plastic potted plants and several steel filing cabinets. On a nail in the doorframe hung the keys to the equipment lockers. They jangled as Dinah opened the door, pushing Oliver through and disturbing their peace.

He stopped in the room’s centre, gawking at the butter-yellow walls, all without decoration aside from a circular clock- The batteries of which, according to Desmond, hadn’t been replaced since Kylie Minogue was still in the charts- not unlike those which hung in the school hallways.

“I didn’t expect it to be so…”

“Prison cell-esque?” Dinah suggested, collapsing onto the sofa, “You should see my mom’s shop: Four white-washed walls, steel buckets, cash register. If we sold anything but flowers, you might think it was a mortuary.”

Without offering a reply, Oliver came to sit by her. He relaxed against the worn fabric, settling into the corner opposite Dinah. Like before, she laid her bare feet in his lap.

“Tell me something true.” She said, echoing what he had requested of her, just days previous. They heard the thud as someone fell heavily to the mat outside, as well as Desmond’s yell, seconds later, commanding them to begin finishing up.

Dinah held his eye. He had the beginnings of a beard on his chin, something she hadn’t noticed before. In that way, it was fortunate that she hadn’t yet kissed him. She would have been victim to a nasty surprise.

Now, when he smiled at her she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was genuine. He laid his hands on her ankles, as if intending to keep her there, before leaning forward, “I’m a pretty decent shot with a bow and arrow.”

“How good is ‘Pretty Decent’?” She asked, returning his smile. This was him confiding in her, that she understood. Something sacred to him that he entrusted her with.

He shrugged, “Bullseye from 75 metres.”

Struggling to visualise this, Dinah admitted, “I have no idea if that’s impressive.”

“Well, Olympic targets are set at 70, if that helps.”

This, of course, was said as if it was the most casual admittance made that day. As if he was informing her that he enjoyed cereal with milk, or star-gazing without light pollution.

Dinah clutched her chest in faux shock, “I’m sorry, are you, Oliver Jonas Queen, being humble right now? You know how to do that?” His responding laughter was sharp against Dinah’s delightful chuckling, “I’d tell you how impressive you are but I really don’t want to stroke your ego any more than strictly necessary. God only knows how much larger it has to become to start flooding out your ears.”

“Ha, ha…” Oliver shuffled closer, bridging the gap between them, “Tell you what, I have a bow and quiver in the trunk of my car-” The classic accessories every Ken doll couldn’t live without. Dinah thought- “If we’ve got half an hour after this, I’ll show you. Maybe you can serenade me after, huh, Pretty Bird?”

Thankfully, Dinah was saved by the distinct sound of knocking on the office door. Desmond’s voice came through it, “Stop necking and get out here.”

Detangling herself from Ollie and opting to ignore his rather irritated expression, Dinah dashed for the door. Upon opening it to a sea of pathetically engrossed faces, she may have been tempted to scream loud enough to shatter even Ollie’s satisfied grin.

“For the record,” She began, “Not what we were doing.”

But would you believe her?

Notes:

Fun fact, When Harry Met Sally being a movie Dinah enjoys is actually canon as of Green Arrow/Black Canary. It's one of my favourites too and, you can ask my friends, I almost collapsed of sheer delight when I found out
Anyways... This is 13k of fluff, that's all you can expect from chapter four... and maybe a little Hal Jordan mention for funsies. Kind of upset I didn't write more of Dinah and Desmond's relationship in hindsight but its too late to dwell on it now.
If you're reading this, I hope you're enjoying my silly little high school au!! Any kudos or comments are greatly encouraged and even more greatly appreciated <3

Chapter 4

Notes:

Now, I know that I said No Capes AU from the start. However, I do believe eluding to a future with the metaphorical capes is okay, don't you?

The Saturday following this incident was what Ollie designated to be ‘Date night’, despite Dinah’s begging to the contrary. He arrived outside her apartment building, fifteen minutes late and reeking of the same cologne, not in his tastefully expensive Lexus, but in an ancient green pick-up truck with an innumerable series of rust patches, a cooler strapped down in the bed atop several blankets and, as promised, a bow and quiver in the front seat.

Dinah, standing in torn fishnets and her mother’s hand-me-down jacket in the building’s entryway, flanked by chipped frosted glass, wondered, not for the first time, if she was utterly out of her depth. But these fears dispersed entirely as Oliver waved her toward him, yelling, “Pretty Bird!” over the roar of some pop-rock band on the radio.

It was difficult for her not to match his enthusiasm as she climbed into the passenger seat, kicking the quiver aside to make room for her feet. As she reached for the seat belt, she asked, “Where did you get this car?”

Ollie inclined his head toward a photograph stuck in the driver-side visor. Dinah, rather than crane her neck, reached out and plucked it from its perch, “Hal Jordan. He lets me borrow it from time to time.”

Dinah squinted at the photo in the dim. Oliver had pulled onto the road by now and the only light offered to her was that of intermittent flashes of pale orange from the sodium lamps on the highway- That is, those which were still operational.

From within the snapshot, a familiar face beamed at her, alongside somebody totally foreign. Hal wore aviator sunglasses, pushed back hazardously into his hair, along with a brown, heavily patched jacket. He had an arm thrown around Ollie, the hand of the other stretched toward the camera. Ollie’s blond hair whipped around him, implying a breeze that somehow left Hal wholly unaffected, but he still managed to flash the camera a delighted grin. There they stood, beaming in fading sunlight, like something out of an old film she might come across late at night.

Suddenly, Dinah felt as if she had trespassed on something entirely too personal for words. Tucking the polaroid back into the visor, she asked, “When was that taken?”

“Christmas, I think.” Ollie made a sharp turn, forcing Dinah to collide with his shoulder, “Two weeks we spent dragging one another across the country. Christmas morning, we spent being chased by fucking bears in Wisconsin. I almost broke my leg scrambling over tree roots for my life. If it hadn’t been for Hal, you might be on a date with a far less delightful personality right now.”

Dinah snorted, “I’ll send him a Thank You card when I get a chance.” Again, Oliver subjected her to another sharp turn and she asked, “If you’re taking me to a remote location to continue your career as a serial murderer, I just want to remind you that I can take you in a fight.”

“Trust me, Pretty Bird, that I will never forget.” He sneaked a glance at her, “But we’re going somewhere a whole lot more special than that.”

While he spoke, Dinah tore at a scab on the inside of her thigh. She, at a loss, then proceeded to open the glove box and peer inside it. Nothing as interesting as Ollie’s, just a user manual, a digital camera and a battered copy of The Shining. Of these, Dinah chose to examine the camera.

Oliver must have been watching her out of the corner of his eye because, as soon as she lifted it, he sighed, “I’m beginning to think you only like me for the wide array of glove boxes I afford you.”

Flicking through the camera’s- Charged, thankfully- gallery, Dinah paid him no heed. After forty images of corn-fields and butterflies on tree branches, she had almost given up, wondering just how much phone battery she could waste on Subway Surfers before it became socially unacceptable. Then, following a picture of a fox peering curiously at a blackbird perched in the lowest bows of a great oak, Dinah stumbled upon something far more interesting.

“You never mentioned you play guitar.” She closed one eye, leaning close to the screen in order to facilitate a clearer image. It was certainly Oliver, shirtless, his modesty preserved only by the guitar leaning against his chest. He sat in front of a campfire, his eyes not quite focused on the photographer, but rather at a golden canary, perched upon the very same cooler which now resided in the truck bed. That same boyish grin resided on his lips.

He clicked his tongue in mock disbelief, “First my driver’s license, now this? You might think that you take pleasure in exposing me.”

Dinah slapped his arm gently. If he hadn’t wanted her to find it, he would have hidden it or, better, removed it entirely.

When she was really too young to argue, Dinah had possessed the nickname ‘Canary’, a strange coincidence. She assumed for many years it was due to her fascination with the jacket she now wore over her shoulders, it was only later that her mother revealed that her father had dubbed her as such because she refused to give him a moment’s peace from the day she was born. Always singing or- Worse- screaming at the top of her lungs.

Lost to such a memory, Dinah was startled when they parked, without warning, on what seemed to be the edge of a minor road. Oliver shouldered the quiver, taking his bow with his opposite hand. He tossed Dinah the keys, claiming, “No pockets. Hold ‘em for me, would you?” She nodded, pocketing the camera in the same motion.

Somewhere in the distance, a motorcycle revved, disturbing a flock of crows from a scraggly-looking tree. They flew upward, dying the golden sky a frightful ink-black for the briefest of moments. Then, their journey continued onward.

Dinah took the cooler, throwing the blankets over her arm as Oliver led her toward an open field. “This,” She said, “Would be a perfect opportunity to tell me where we’re going.”

“You’ll like it.” Was all he said in reply.

“I haven’t been on a date since leaving Gotham,” Dinah grumbled, “And my expectations are in the gutter. Yet, you manage to surpass them all. Congratulations.”

“Only for you, Pretty Bird.” Suddenly, the arm with which he held his bow was around her waist, obscuring Dinah’s view of what lay ahead. Oliver hadn’t thought to bring any torches. Hence, not wishing to force their phones into a premature grave, they wandered in the dark for a frankly embarrassing amount of time until Oliver announced they had reached their destination.

Said ‘Destination’ was a patch of wildflowers beneath a decrepit oak tree. At first, Dinah thought him, truly, to be possessed by the spirit of a madman. Then, she took note of the spray-painted imitation of an archery target on the tree trunk, as well as the bird house hung high in its boughs. The remnants of campfires long burned out where she stood, the flattened grass where tents may have once been pitched. Ollie was gawking openly at her, attempting to gauge her reaction.

Laying her head against his shoulder, Dinah told him, with no small amount of delight, “Remember what I said about us not necking? I may be reconsidering.”

And then she was weightless, lifted off her feet by the sheer joy in his manner. Distantly, she heard the arrows spill from the quiver as it fell with a dull thud to the grass. She supposed his bow must have joined them at some point, logically, but none of that was of any consequence as she wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands were on her thighs, fingernails leaving dark crescent moons where he forgot himself. Dinah gasped against his mouth, engulfed by that same stench of cologne that she was coming to anticipate. As before, it was Oliver who broke the kiss. Only, this time he attempted to make for the exposed skin of her neck instead.

Dinah, despite throwing her head back in what he accepted as an invitation, untangled herself from him, forcing Ollie to drop her in response. Panting as if he had gone half a dozen rounds with Ted in the ring, he asked, “No?” She shook her head and he nodded, “Alright.”

Following a minute spent catching their breath, he took two of the blankets from where they had landed on the grass and shook them out before laying them down in a strange patchwork. The motioned for Dinah to take a seat, holding the third still, before draping it over her crossed legs.

Then, he proceeded to gather the bow and quiver once more and… Race to the other side of the field. Naturally.

“Ollie, you shoot a fucking arrow through my arm-”

“Relax, Pretty Bird!” His ever so intelligent reply.

Dinah crossed her arms over her heart. Despite squinting at the darkness beyond, she could no longer see Ollie, regardless of how she strained her eyes. He was at an advantage here, after all. Familiar ground. Dinah, on the other hand, was at an utter loss. Beginning to feel rather like an idiot squinting after him, she turned to face the target.

Really, it was a rather crude imitation. Three misshapen circles encompassing one another, a smudge of paint in the centre. Now she was closer, however, Dinah noted how the wood was chipped and crumbling, particularly surrounding the centre. Too many bullseyes to count. How many girls had he given the same treatment to? How many hadn’t denied him when he asked?

It was just as this thought crossed her mind that the arrow burst out of the centre and Ollie’s triumphant yell reached her ears. Despite all her fears and suspicions, it was impossible not to match his joy. If anything, it was a contagion, bound to chain her to him for eternity. The only two remaining lepers in a thriving society.

Dinah heard his approaching footsteps, each pounding down upon the grass with a ferocity reserved for the most delighted of actions. She stood before he could reach her, allowing him to sweep her off his feet once more. She wondered vaguely if this was another part of his ritual. Make the girl feel as if she is in a romantic-comedy, literally lift her off her feet, persuade her to do things she might not do otherwise.

Then there was Ted’s voice in her ear again- Not pleasant, mind you, to hear your uncle’s voice when someone else’s tongue is in your mouth-, telling her to hold onto her scepticism. Telling her that it might save her ass against a dirty-fighter.

But this wasn’t a fight.

This was Ollie.

“Hey.” Dinah decided when they were finished, breaking contact, “How about that serenade?” There might have been a hint of disappointment in his eyes, but it was quickly drowned in the ensuing anticipation.

He tossed the quiver aside, dropping to his knees on the blanket, “My attention is yours and yours alone.”

“Alright, Romeo…” Dinah retrieved her phone, loading an audio recorder app before she could convince herself otherwise, “You won’t have heard this on the radio,” She told him, soft guitar chords humming through the speakers, “But hopefully you’ll like it.”

She closed her eyes.

 

Do you think there’s an end when you run the skies at night?

Can you feel that slice of guilt before you end the fight?

Our gasoline-filled lungs, inhaling sparks to spark the end,

There’s only one refrain us little birds can comprehend.

This is short. Make it last. Make it count.

This is short. Make it last. Make it count.

                 

Dinah heard Ollie scramble to his feet before opening her eyes. His standing ovation was, in a word, enthusiastic. Dinah gave a mock bow, indicating that his praise could now cease. He understood his cue and, true, while he refrained from clapping, he then dived forward, tackling her to the ground. It was all Dinah could manage in response to hold onto him for dear life.

 

☆☆☆

 

“I’m not a religious person, but if I was, I’d be thanking god for you. If you stayed in Gotham… I’d probably have my head stuck in the neck of a bottle by now.” Dinah lay with her head on his chest. In the field, it was as if the laws which dictated time passed right by them, skirting around the edge of their little world like storm clouds avoiding a valley on a summer’s day. Her hand in his, Oliver continued, “This might be the only relationship I’ve ever built without a foundation of money.”

“What about Hal?” Her voice sounded strange, lighter than usual.

“Queen Industries funds the military sector that employed his dad.” Ollie replied, some resignation in his voice, “Besides, me and Hal… It’s not the most stable relationship.”

This, Dinah could understand. The school yard of the Gotham public high school was hardly any place to create lifelong bonds, but she had hoped that at least one ‘Friend’ would maintain their efforts to contact her following the move. A ridiculous notion, as she learned.

“Can I tell you why we came here? To Star City.”

“Pretty Bird,” His voice was low, almost dreamy, “You could read me the dictionary and I’d listen just for your voice.”

Resigned by now to comments of this nature, Dinah struggled onward, thinking it best to begin with the statement which felt like poking an open wound, “My dad was killed in November.” She said, hearing how her breath caught. Ollie tensed beneath her, “He was a cop. An attack on his precinct, the how doesn’t matter, only that it was the third in a series of attacks on the areas where poverty is at its worst. In February, they moved on from public spaces to private businesses. They burned out the old shop. And I know that if dad was still with us then we never would’ve left, not until all our other options had been eliminated or- or exhausted. But mom insisted that I would never be safe there.” Despite not being aware of the tears on her cheeks falling, Dinah felt the callouses on Oliver’s fingers as he wiped them away, “She- Mom, she found an empty store we could afford and an apartment with no fucking heating and packed us into a rental car headed for Star City. I want to be able to understand it. Understand why she uprooted my entire life for the hell of it, but I can’t. She keeps saying she’ll explain but it’s always the same story, ‘I have to protect you, Dinah.’, but from what?” She was gasping now, the arm which wasn’t tangled with Ollie’s resting over her fevered heart, “You know the funny part? They said the attacks would stop if some superhero from the fucking 80’s came out of retirement to fight them. It was only after I threatened to take up the mantle and fight them myself that Mom really got serious about moving.” She laughed, but it was devoid of all semblance of mirth.

Then, in a whirlwind of uncoordinated movement, Oliver had his arms around Dinah, pulling her into a sitting position. His breath was warm on her neck, her face pressed into his t-shirt. After Dinah had deposited a significant portion of her mascara on said item of clothing, she whispered, “I don’t wanna ruin this.”

His reply was immediate, “See if I let you.”

 

☆☆☆

 

Later, having retreated from the field due to an invasion of immensely aggressive ants, Dinah lay with a blanket over her legs and Ollie’s arm around her shoulder. There was a silence in the field that seemed to define its very nature, a silence which engulfed them, making them its own. There had been suggestions of turning on the car radio, met with disbelieving laughter.

Her eyes had long since dried, her ribs ached from hours of laughter, her makeup had all but worn away.

Oliver always inhaled before he said something important, like plotting the course for an arrow. His breath now was laboured, “I spent five weeks deserted on an island. Wilderness retreat, my father calls it. It was more like Castaway. Being there changed me… For the better, I think. I hope.”

Dinah turned to look at him, noting with a hint of satisfaction that her lipstick was smudged across both his jaw and the bridge of his nose. His gaze was fixed on something intangible far in the distance. She placed a hand against his cheek, forcing him to meet her eye, “You didn’t have to tell me.” She told him, “But thank you.”

“The guy I used to be…” Ollie seemed to shake himself from some memory or another, his face darkening for the briefest of moments, “You wouldn’t have liked him much. After that, I was… Violent. Stuck. Dad sent me to some rehab facility- Not the first one I’ve seen, but the only one that actually did anything for me-, that’s where I met Hal. I’m glad he did it now. I couldn’t have made the decision for myself.”

True, it sounded like some ridiculous beginning to an equally appalling pick-up line. From any other person on the planet, Dinah would have dismissed it in an instant. Even ignoring that she had her ear to his heart, if he had dared lie to her in this moment, Dinah would have known instantaneously. It was that kind of love.

“Tell me something true.” It was Oliver’s decision to leave his suffering in the past, where it belonged.

Dinah accepted this without question, “I once broke a window singing scales when I was twelve. Told my dad it was done by a local gang. I don’t think he believed me, but we got ice cream instead of doing homework anyway.”

 He pressed a light kiss to the crown of her head, “As adorable as that story is… What the fuck do you mean you shattered a window with your voice?” It was all she could do to laugh at his expression, “I thought that was a myth. You mean, you can actually do that? Recreationally?”

Dinah shrugged, “The real trick is volume, not pitch… But yes. Call it a party trick.”

Disguising a harsh breath in a laugh, Ollie tugged her closer, “Damn, Pretty Bird, you’re just full of surprises.”

Notes:

Confession time: I actively reread this fic myself because I have found no dinahollie fics on this website that I really enjoyed. That actually might be why I wrote this in the first place.
Anyways, that song isn't mine, its from Green Arrow 2016 issue 48, in which Dinah sings it to Ollie over the phone while he's out doing vigilante things. I wasn't bothered to find a real world song or to (God forbid) write one so that seemed like the obvious solution
If you've made it this far, I thank you and I love you. Any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated and genuinely make my day... I hope I did these characters justice for just how much I adore them both <3

Notes:

Yes, I picked the most classic dinahollie fic title ever. Bite me.
I marketed this as a dinahollie fic for so long, but, if I'm being honest, it's just me thinking about Dinah for three days straight and editing it a grand total of once.
Comments and kudos so greatly appreciated, anything makes my day <3

Edit: I forgot, but for updates, they'll be in @mydearestdarlingdead on Tumblr... That's all, good night