Note: Some talking in broad daylight this time! It won't be an easy conversation. This chapter takes the Oliver-Roy talk in "Blind Spot" and takes it to AU places.

Timewise, if you don't remember what happened in 2x11, "Blind Spot", this occurs before the Arrow offers to train Roy but after Roy got injected with the Mirakuru.

"I used to be a lot like you, Roy."

"I doubt that. I spent more time in the back of cop cars than limos, so. . ."

-Oliver Queen, Roy Harper 2x02

Roy was busily dumping the trash in the little hidden alley behind Verdant when the familiar greeting, in an unfamiliar voice, had him freezing mid-motion, heart in his throat.

"Hello, Roy."

He's here. Shit, shit, shit. He knows. For a split second, Roy panicked at the thought of facing the Arrow, of facing his judgement and hearing that once again, he'd been weighed and found wanting. He had essentially gone behind the Arrow's back to do exactly what the man had warned him not to do and then made a serious mess of it by putting a man in the hospital with critical injuries.

It didn't occur to Roy until much later to wonder why he'd immediately assumed that the person greeting him was the Arrow. It was broad daylight; late morning in fact. And the voice was not the deep, synthetically modified voice of the Arrow. But then again, this was Roy's unofficial rendezvous alley with the Arrow, who did have the annoying tendency to sneak up- rather creepily- behind him. It didn't help that Roy had been waiting for the vigilante's violent version of an I told you so for days on end.

He kept imagining seeing arrows coming at him from the corner of his eye, an angry presence in green telling him that the city was better off without his help because he destroyed everything he touched. All he was good for was taking a beating, not fighting crime. There's a difference, the Arrow had said. Guess he was right.

But when Roy braced himself and turned to face the music, what he got was. . . not the music. It was Oliver Queen, looking at him with an amiable, but mostly plastic smile on his face, hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket. Thoroughly relieved- and slightly disturbed by his own previous deer-in-the-headlights reaction- Roy snorted at the irony of the moment. I'm happy to see Oliver Queen's face. What's next? Thea will decide that my hoodie doesn't need washing? Pigs flying?

"Lurking in an alley," his mouth spewed out. Of course, he meant, What the hell are you doing here? And why are you cornering me in a tiny alley, middle of the day or not, and blocking the exit?

Roy's go-to defense for anything remotely related to authority was making itself known once again. (Not that Queen was really in a position of authority, he was just Thea's billionaire older brother. Who disapproved.) His sarcasm and cheeky comments had always toed the line between an I-dare-you-to-fuck-with-me aggressive defiance and a surivor's instinctive knowledge of their own vulnerability in the face of a bigger threat. The smart comments allowed Roy to assert his autonomy to an extent without being too immediately aggressive. Sometimes, it was a great way to test the boundaries of what he could get away with. But more often, it was simply a way for Roy to show his street creds and bluff his way out of thorny situations.

Roy grabbed the blue, plastic recyclable bin and went back to his task. "That's not at all creepy," he said, in the blandest way possible while thinking: You just about gave me a heart attack, you son of a. . .

From behind him, Roy heard what sounded like a genuine chuckle. "When I ran the club, I learned all the secret entrances," said Queen, sounding friendly and oh, so conversational, the smile dripping from his voice.

Never let it be said that Oliver Queen didn't know his way around people. The man was talking to him like they were old BFFs. It was probably good enough to get most people to lower their guard and start exchanging lighthearted comments about the old foundry's amazing secret entrances. But the friendliness only raised Roy's guard higher. What does he want? Why's he talking to me? Nothing good, Roy was sure. He kept walking, intent on doing his job.

Queen was probably here for that long overdue stay away, from my sister, you piece of shit speech and this was his warm up. It was strange how all he got from Oliver Queen, back when Thea first introduced him to her brother, was a very firm handshake and an icy glare. No hate speech, no threats, nothing. Roy thought Oliver Queen's non-reaction to his dating Thea was more unsettling than if he'd threatened to off him on the spot, or hire a killer to make him disappear quietly.

Behind him, he could still feel Oliver Queen lurking, following him.

"I never got the chance to thank you for saving my mother's life," said Queen, out of the blue.

Whoah! What?

Roy stopped in his tracks and shot the man a disbelieving look. Is that what he's here for? To thank me? Somehow, Roy had a hard time believing someone like Oliver Queen would go so far out of his way to corner Roy in a secret alley just so he could- what- thank him? Well, yes, it was his mother's life that Roy had saved singlehandedly. Still. . . Roy had Oliver Queen pigeonholed and pegged in a neat little box; in an instinctively drawn schema that mapped the things big and small separating Starling City's elite one percent and the masses of rats from the Glades like Roy. Oliver Queen personally tracking him down to a dirty alley, running after him as he continued doing his job and basically ignoring the guy, all to thank him, was screwing with Roy's schema, his view of the world and of people. (Though how that schema had stayed intact after Thea came into his life and turned it upside down, Roy had no idea. He must have just pegged her as an exception and left it at that.)

No. Thanking me is an excuse, a cover for something else.

Queen must have misinterpreted Roy's disbelief though, because he said, with a near-unnoticeable stutter, "Th-Thea told me. She said that you were very brave."

Or maybe he was pretending to misinterpret, if that little stutter was anything to go by. For a guy notorious for getting into a lot of typical rich kid delinquencies, the guy was seriously bad at backtracking in a subtle manner and he was laying it on a bit thick with that 'brave' comment. Roy mentally shook his head and got back on his original errand: bringing the emptied blue recyclable bin back inside. At least, his schema of the world was safe for now. Roy could only handle one Thea Queen to skew his perspective, thank you very much. But if Oliver Queen wanted to play nice, Roy could play along. What's the harm?

Looking appropriately awkward at the praise- it wasn't hard, he just had to pretend the comment was sincere and the awkwardness would follow naturally- Roy threw back his own stuttered response. " I- I did what anyone would have done," he said. It was mostly the truth anyway. The truth was always the best cover for a lie. Saving people had always been Roy's first instinct, even as a child, though life in the streets taught him to tone it down out of self-preservation. Since the Arrow had saved him, Roy had been reconnecting back to that original instinct he'd lost when his father had died all those years ago.

"Not anyone." Queen continued smoothly, persistently, keeping in step behind Roy.

By this point, Roy was clutching at his blue plastic bin as if it was the only thing between him, Oliver Queen, and the really awkward and very suspicious conversation the man had brought with him.

"It takes a lot to run towards danger, " said Oliver Queen.

What? Now that's blatant praise.

"Not away from it," Queen continued in a softer tone, as he finally caught up to Roy, halting just beyond his personal space. The man sounded absolutely sincere. Not a hint or a whiff of anything else. But the most mind-bogglingly bizarre thing was the way he said it- it didn't sound like a platitude. It was as if Oliver Queen knew intimately just how much it took to run towards danger, instead of away from it. Knew enough that he could quantify the amount of courage necessary if he wanted to.

Question marks were multiplying like mad rabbits in breeding season in Roy's mind. The game of subterfuge and veiled agendas they'd been playing- or Roy thought they'd been playing- fell to pieces around him, and Roy had nothing left to respond with but blunt honesty.

He turned around and looked Oliver Queen in the face. This time his halting speech was uncontrived. "That. . . sounded like praise." Then, because the tide of honesty was sweeping him away- damn it- before he knew it, more truth than he'd intended to say was tumbling out. "I. . thought where I was concerned. . . you. . . didn't approve."

And there it was, out in the open, the elephant in the room; whenever Roy and Oliver were in the same room that is. Didn't. Approve. "Does not approve" was the phrase that Roy could practically see scrolling in neon, digital script above Oliver Queen's head whenever he saw Roy with his little sister.

Queen smiled and huffed. His expression was open and slightly sheepish, but mostly amused, as if he was privy to an inside joke that Roy wasn't getting. "I was being an overprotective older brother. Nobody was good enough for my little sister," he said.

"Think of it from my perspective," he went on to explain. "The last time I saw Thea before I got marooned on a deserted island for five years, she was a little girl of twelve, barely out of her 'boys have cooties' stage. When I come back home, she's playing around with Vertigo, clubbing all night like I did, and making out with spineless little. . ." he cut off whatever derogatory word he meant to say and tried again "one of her guy 'friends' in her room, with her shirt off."

Oliver Queen sighed. "It wasn't that I disapproved of you in particular." He leaned in and gave Roy an intent look, brows drawing down into a serious line. "But I needed time to get used to Thea being old enough to know what she's getting into." The corner of his lips turned up and he drew back. Roy could feel a joke coming on. "If anything, I'd approve of Thea dating someone like you more than if she'd chosen some spoiled, rich brat from her school, or that softie I'd caught in her room who'd taken one look at me and nearly wet his pants."

Someone like me? Like street rat from the Glades me? Purse-snatcher boyfriend?

"Someone I can respect," Queen elaborated, seemingly anticipating the one little phrase that would catch all of Roy's attention amidst Oliver Queen's little speech.

Roy was at a loss for words. He just stared at the man, the blue, plastic bin forgotten in his arms. His brain was busy shutting down and rebooting.

Why? Why, why, why? Respect? Even Roy didn't respect himself. And Thea cared about him a lot, Roy knew, maybe she even loved him. But respect him? That was another matter entirely. What has Oliver Queen been smoking?

Oliver Queen gave him a knowing look. He was smiling into Roy's face, looking down at him gently. The look on his face reminded Roy of some of the social workers who used to check up on Roy back when he was living under the system. It was a loaded look, filled with things that Roy had never been able to unravel or identify. All he could clearly get from it was: I know. I understand. Sometimes, Roy caught: things'll get better kid, you'll see.

"You're a survivor, Roy," the man offered simply, as though it answered the question Roy was dying to ask, and had probably already asked without knowing it. The guy seemed to be able to read minds (or read Roy). "And yet, you kept your heart intact. . . and in the right place."

Roy decided that it was too late in the morning to decipher cryptic statements like that. It had been hours since breakfast. He'd been working all morning cleaning up after last night's club scene and receiving ordered goods for the club's booze stash. Lunch was due and he was too hungry to deal with all the potential awkwardness this conversation seems to going into. Roy really didn't want to talk about his heart, or what the right place meant.

Oliver Queen too, seemed to have decided he'd done enough heart-to-heart talks for the day, because he ripped the blue, plastic bin right out of Roy's arms and with a curt, "Go take a break, Roy. I got this," made off with it through the backdoor of Verdant without another word.

Roy stared at the door he'd disappeared through for a second, before shrugging and shelving, as he'd intended to do, most of the very strange conversation he'd just had with Thea's equally strange older brother, for later consideration. Maybe after lunch he'd ponder it. Or, Roy smirked, after a good run around the city rooftops this evening.

*Dialogue from "Hello, Roy" to "Not away from it" taken from epsiode 2x11, Blind Spot.

A.N: Please leave a review. Did you like it? What did you like? Did you not like it? What did you not like?

I'm planning more Oliver and Roy interactions next chapter on the theme of "Anger". Actually this chapter was supposed to be "Anger," but along the way it turned into a game of things said and unsaid, honesty and deception. Huh. Well, what do you know. The characters write themselves sometimes.

March 14, re-written because the scene seemed too. . . flat. And the organization of the. . . Well, it had room for LOTS of improvement, let's just say.

March 15, edited and revised again. What's wrong with me? Nah, I just needed to cite my sources and references for quoted material like a well-trained student.