Guardian Angels

Summary: AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow (or Eleven-Fifty-Nine would have never happened)

A/N: I wasn't planning on posting this until I had a few more chapters done, but after 4x18... I can't believe that episode! Killing off Laurel after just saying she was going to be fine was annoying by itself, but that whole Olicity moment in her love confession really did me in! Laurel deserved better. She had been so badly written for a long time and now, when they were just starting to do better, they bloody kill her off - they weren't even subtle about it! You could tell for the entire episode that it was a goodbye episode for her.

Anyway, this is a re-imagining of season 1, in which we encounter a very different Laurel. She and Oliver didn't know each other before the island and he certainly didn't cheat on her with her sister (Honestly, I thought, what kind of hoops do they want these characters to jump through?!). This was supposed to be fun, occasionally updated AU. Now this chapter is a tribute to Laurel: she deserved better.

This will have Lauriver sexual tension, flirting, maybe romance in it. I'm not just making this Lauriver, partially because it's set in season 1, but also because this story will feature a different Laurel, and I think she would have great chemistry with Oliver/Arrow.

Chapter 1: The Woman in Black

He had finally made it home. As he smoothed out his suit in front of the mirror that was his one thought. He had always known he would return, because he owed it to his father to set things right. Failing had not been an option, but after everything he had endured, after being back here before, it still seemed like a dream to him that this time, he was finally here to stay. His thoughts drifted to why he was wearing this suit, his court appointment. He was getting legally resurrected. Oliver knew it was barely a formality, but now that the day had come, and so quickly, he was slightly daunted by what was expected of him. He would have to retell the story of the shipwreck, or at least the version he wanted everyone to believe. Another lie to add to the growing pile he had accumulated in the short time he had been back. Not for the first time, he cursed the stupid system. It was readily apparent to anyone that he was alive and well, but thanks to the system he required a lawyer and a confession to prove it.

As he made his way down the stairs to where his mother and Walter were waiting in the parlor, he briefly wandered who his lawyer would be. He remembered an elder lady, about his mother's age, to have defended him during his previous encounters with the law. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember her name. He let his sister tease him, and his best friend make light of the event. He needed that; Tommy's humor seeped through his skin and lightens his mood. After the previous night, and his harsh rebuttal to his friend's question of what had happened to him, he hadn't been sure he would see Tommy again so soon, and that was after Tommy had backed him up with the two incredulous police officers. Whatever Tommy's misgiving about his story about the man in the green hood, his friend seemed to have slept on it and dismissed them, and Oliver would be thankful for small favors. He caught a glimpse of the news on his strong-arming Redman into making up for his wrongdoings as they walked out.

The ride to the court house was mostly silent. No one seemed quite sure how to start a conversation, until his mother told him that it would all be over quickly, and then they could go to the company. Oliver smiled for her sake, all the while wishing it were already over. When they got out of the car, he was, for the first time, glad his mother had hired Diggle. With the reporters zeroing in on him immediately, his family and Tommy might have gotten trampled without his new bodyguard. He had no interest in feeding their avaricious hunger for headlines, so he pushed past them with Diggle's help, while his mother always stayed close by his side and Tommy and Walter covered them at the rear. The difference to inside the court house was enormous. After the endless, annoying chatter outside, a true hailstorm of questions bombarding him from all sides, the silence of the court house was deafening in its own way. While stormed by reporters, he had been haunted by images of Sara's death. Every question, every microphone thrust into his face was like a knife to the gut as he relived those memories that haunted him. Now, in the silence of the court house, he could breathe more easily again, though he knew the worst was yet to come when he faced the judge.

Oliver took a moment to look around. No one had stopped to look at them yet, no one bothered him with questions for now, and so he just stood back for a moment and observed his surroundings. A small, sharp part of him cased the building to map out emergency routes, but his conscious mind was focused on a few court officials, lawyers and their clients making their way slowly or hurriedly, but always as quietly as possible, through the stone-floored building. Matter of fact, there was a small group of three women standing right in the middle of the foyer, sticking out by merely quietly talking. Two of the women were carrying briefcases, marking them as lawyers to his eyes. One was softly curved with tan skin, and long black hair. The other lawyer stood with their back to them, so all Oliver could make out was long brown hair and a gray pantsuit. She had a hand on the third woman's shoulder – their client no doubt – and was obviously trying to assure her as she spoke to the woman, who seemed scared but determined somehow, in soft tones. Oliver was surprised at this show of humanity. While he vaguely remembered his mother and their older lady lawyer being good acquaintances, it had always been strictly business between her and Oliver himself. Then again, he didn't think the timid-looking woman was here for drunken driving or assaulting a reporter.

He kept looking intensely at the other lawyer, willing her to turn around and satisfy his curiosity in putting a face to the act and the soft voice he couldn't quite make out. He was so focused on it that he didn't realize his mother had moved, until she stood directly in his line of sight to greet the other lawyer. Swiftly, he moved to round on the group of women, ignoring the amused cough from Diggle behind him. As the woman turned around to greet his mother, he got his first good look at her. She had an oval face covered in light make-up. Nothing over the top, although the shade of her lipstick could certainly be called an eye catcher. She looked from his mother to him, and smiled lightly as she extended her hand to him. He took it with a small, suspicious smile of his own. He had seen her now, recognized the subtle lines of determination on her face, and his curiosity was assuaged. Now he was unsure why he was being introduced to her. How did she know his mother?

"Oliver, this is Miss Laurel Lance. She will represent you today," Walter told him as he joined their growing group.

"Really?," Oliver asked surprised. A brief silence followed, and he explained. "I'm sorry. That sounded... What I meant was that you look busy, Miss Lance."

"You're not wrong. I represent Miss Nocenti in her case for CNRI, but the trial only begins later today, and your resurrection won't take long."

"Promise?" Oliver asked cheekily.

She paused a moment to consider the answer. His cheekiness could be attributed to his philandering ways, and made Laurel want to roll her eyes at him. But that wasn't the only vibe the lawyer got from Oliver Queen. There was a tension in his shoulders that he might have been trying to play down. So she swallowed down the sarcastic remark that came to her mind first, and instead offered him a reassuring smile.

"I know this must be daunting, Mr Queen, and I assure you no one is here to rush you. Take as much time you need. Shall we?"

Oliver was taken aback by the concern in her voice as he followed her up the stairs. He had tried to throw her off, see how she reacted to pressure, and here she was turning it back on him. Was the anxiety in the pit of his stomach truly showing so much on his face that even a complete stranger could tell? He had thought that he'd been doing a good job of hiding that. He followed the others into the court room with a certain apprehension. He had gone over this in his mind more often than he could count, considered what to say and how to act, but now that the day was here, he had to fight to retain the ice and stoicism he had wrapped around his heart to protect himself and those he loved. He sat tensely on his chair as he waited for his cue. When he was finally asked to retell the events of the night the Gambit sank, he got up to stand directly before the judge's desk.

"There was a storm," he said, wondering how such a simple sentence could be so difficult to press out. He mentally shook himself. He needed to regain his focus, stay on task. They wanted him to recount the events that had stranded him, and he knew he had to keep it simple, even as the memory of watching the boat sink screaming for Sara threatened to overwhelm him. He was less likely to entangle himself in his own web of lies that way, and he doubted anyone would press him for details. After all, he had the advantage of public sympathy as a castaway. "The boat went down. I was the only survivor... My father didn't make it."

His voice caught. He could practically hear the gun going off again.

"I almost died. I-I thought that I had 'cause I spent so many days on that life raft before I saw the island." He could see it happening again before his inner eye now, and he felt the same bone-aching tiredness seep into his limbs, then that flicker of hope sparking as he thought back on how he first saw the island. It had been like a beacon to him then, his salvation. He hadn't yet known what hell would await him there. "When I reached it I knew, I knew that I was gonna have to live for both of us."

He felt the stricken mood of the audience behind him like something cold running down his back. He dared not glance back at his mother, Walter or even Tommy, not wanting to see their compassion, for it was most likely misdirected. He knew the man he had become probably didn't deserve anyone's sympathy anymore. Instead he kept his eyes strictly on the judges face as he finished up his recount.

"And in those five years, it was that... one thought that kept me going."

Laurel rose before any questions could be posed. She doubted anyone would press Mr Queen for details, but it was apparent how difficult this had been for him. Best to nip any further inquiries in the bud, so she started filing her motion even before she fully stood. Judging by how her client hang his head now that he was done talking, she thought he probably appreciated that it was over.

"Your Honor, we move to countermand the death in absentia filed after Mr Queen's disappearance at sea aboard the Queen's Gambit five years ago. Unfortunately, we will not be requesting that the declaration of death filed for the petitioner's father be rescinded." She saw him turn his head around to his loved ones out of the corner of her eye, and had to resist the urge to reach out to him – not to admonish him to focus on the judge, but to comfort him, particularly as she went on. "The Queen family is entitled only to one miracle, I'm afraid."

When they left the court room, Miss Lance apologized for his hardship and for having to rush off, but her case against Mr Somers was waiting for her in court room 117. The name rang a bell with Oliver for some reason, but before he could question her further, she was already halfway down the stairs.

"She is a lot faster in those heels than I expected," Tommy commented. "But she wears them well."

The two men grinned at each other as the made their way out of the court house. When his mother suggested they go straight to the company, he deflected her with a quick remark about his deposition just now. He wanted to find out where he'd heard the name Somers before, but he kept his list in his hideout for safekeeping. His mother and Walter seemed to understand. Tommy followed him out, and they watched together as Somers made an insistent statement of his innocence. Oliver almost smiled when he called Miss Lance's building a case against him a 'witch hunt'. She had been delicate toward him, but he didn't doubt her tenacity when she wanted to achieve something badly enough. Still, if his suspicions were correct, the young lawyer had gotten in over her head.

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Laurel was fuming as she and Joana made their way out of the court house after the first session of the trial was over. Joana was glum, too. She had listened to her friend make a passionate speech about the value of life for her opening statement, combining elements of ethos and pathos to move her audience. Somers had just sat there, his expression just serious enough to avoid looking callously blank in the face of Emily Nocenti's loss. They and Somers' lawyer had proposed their motions to the judge, and another hearing had been set for the next day. It hadn't gone too badly for them, but it had taken such a long time to even have the courts take the matter up that even one day's recession seemed like a punishment. Somers confidence was an additional thorn in their side. He was obviously very sure to win the case. Joana and Laurel knew that he had reason to, and they had also explained this to Emily.

The young woman had understood them, but she was intent on fighting for justice for her father as long as there was hope. She was willing to go as far as necessary, exhaust all remedies. And she might have to. Their evidence against Somers was circumstantial at best. That was the reason they agreed to make such an emotional appeal to the court in the first place. They saw Emily off with encouraging smiles, before going to D'Angelo's for lunch. It was still early in the day, so the place was mostly empty, giving them free choice of seats. The picked a booth near the large window looking out to the court house. When the waitress came, Laurel ordered for two earning her an odd look from the other two women.

"Ted's joining us in a little bit," she said by way of explanation.

Joana nodded. She had watched Laurel's relationship with her sparring partner with interest over the last three years. At first, she had found it odd that her friend would pick a gym in the worst part of town to train in until late at night. Sure, they worked in the Glades, but Joana had always made sure that Laurel was out of CNRI and on her way home by eight o'clock. The Glades were too dangerous at night for long hours, even for a cop daughter who had gotten self defense training since she started walking. It had worried Joana that Laurel stayed so late in the Glades on several nights a week, at the same time she'd been glad her friend finally spent her evening with something other than work once in a while. Ted Grant's training soon left a mark on Laurel, several marks actually. If Joana had not known about Laurel's training regimen, the scrapes, cuts and bruises on her friend would have worried her a lot more than they had. Her friend had always been fit, but now her muscles became more defined, but the truly striking difference lay somewhere else. It was so subtle that Joana hadn't at first noticed it. She seemed happier, smiling more often. Some of the tension she had accumulated due to their cases slowly began falling off of her. After a while, her friend seemed to glow as if she had found a new purpose. She had come to work with renewed vigor every day since. Seeing the change in her long-time friend, Joana had come to support her and Ted's close friendship, so she rose to greet him with a hug of her own when the man in question arrived at their table right along with their food. She had sometimes wondered why it never evolved into anything more, but Laurel was happy and that's what was most important. Of course, right now, she didn't look particularly happy, but Joana had something up her sleeve that was sure to cheer her friend up.

"How'd it go?", Ted asked with sincere interest. He had come around the office a couple of times in his spare time to take Laurel to lunch, or help file stuff, give them some information on what was going on in the Glades with regards to their cases – the parts the media and the police either didn't know or care about. He had even brought them a few clients over the last few years, including Emily Nocenti as it were. He and Emily's father had been friends for a while, with the older man using the gym to work frustration out of his system and helping out to get some of the kids with a rougher history off to a new start. He had described in minute detail everything Emily's father had told him about Somers over the years, how it made him hate his work, and hate his life, the Glades and the system, because they didn't allow him any other options. Now, Ted took one look at their sour faces, and grit his teeth. "That bad, huh?"

"It was just opening statements, but the trial already stagnates. Somers' lawyer moved to have the charges dropped completely, because of the circumstantial evidence. The judge shot him down this time, but it was clear that he expects a waterproof case, and we haven't got it." Laurel took an angry sip from her milk shake. "We'd need a miracle to make it stick 'like glue' as the judge put it in his office after the session."

Joana huffed, momentarily distracted from her original intention to cheer Laurel up. "Somers is slippery like an eel, nothing's going to stick to him, except a confession."

Laurel's eyes came to rest on her in a way that made the other lawyer uneasy.

"Oh no, don't you look at me like that!", she told her friend.

"Like what?", the other woman asked innocently.

"Like I just gave you an idea. Somers is never going to confess."

"We'll just have to work him hard enough. Put enough pressure on him so that he crumbles."

"Oh, and how are we going to do that?! With the evidence we've got we could barely scare a little boy stealing candy from the local kiosk... Especially if his buddies insist on giving him that neat little alibi, and I think we both know they will."

Laurel looked down onto the table, and began to tap her finger in annoyance. She then looked up to Ted. The two shared a glance as she mumbled. "I don't know yet. We'll have to corner him somehow..."

"Or we could hope that he's the next target of the Man in the Hood," Joana suggested, only half-jokingly.

"What? That guy is a lunatic!", Ted asked, harsher than necessary. At Laurel's admonishing glance, he raised his hands apologetically.

"Perhaps," Joana agreed, "but I've been meaning to tell you; remember when I had to leave you in front of the court room with Oliver Queen-"

"Queen? What would he need a legal aid office for?", Ted wondered.

"He didn't. I helped him come back from the dead, legally speaking. It was a favor;" Laurel answered calmly, shaking her head.

"Favor? They don't have their own lawyer, charging them 1000 bucks an hour?"

"The Queens are some of CNRI's biggest sponsors. It was nothing but a formality. Their lawyer has taken some personal time, and I had an appointment at the court house anyway. It was interesting, actually. I've never brought anybody back to life before," she waved it off, smiling slightly. She felt a tug, though, when she thought back at the traumatic events Mr Queen described during the hearing. It was terrible to have to listen to that, unable to do anything to help. She was pretty sure she never wanted to do something like that again in her career as a lawyer. She turned back to Joana quickly, before her mind could be consumed by the images Oliver Queen's statement had conjured, and before it could drift to other images of snow storms and mountains. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"Yeah, well, CNRI has been taking calls from the pensioners Adam Hunt had taken out to the cleaners all morning. Apparently, large sums of money corresponding to their losses have mysteriously turned up on their bank accounts over night, and the news reported that the Man in the Hood attacked Hunt last night in his office. So... as their lawyers, of course, we advised them to never mention this to anyone, ever..."

She could literally see Laurel's face light up with glee, even as her eyes sparked maliciously at the news of the attack on Adam Hunt. Joana mentally added an image of her friend rubbing her hands together and cackling like a mad scientist for a moment, before shaking her head smilingly.

"That's good news, at least. You should have told me earlier," Laurel said.

"I wanted to keep it in case you needed cheering up after the Somers hearing, which you did. It seems that Starling has another Guardian Angel-"

"Guardian Angels don't drop bodies," Ted interrupted her darkly, making the smile drop from Joana's face. He had a point she supposed, but he didn't have to destroy the good mood completely by being so blunt about it.

"At least he gets results. It's more than I can say about the police most days, or even the legal system."

They argued for a bit, but Laurel stayed quiet. She could see both their points. She might have agreed with Ted a week ago, but she couldn't exactly argue with the results Joana mentioned, even if she strongly disagreed with his methods to achieve them. She and Joana had prepared that lawsuit for months, all the while their clients had treaded on financially thin ice or needed welfare to pay their bills. The Hooded Man had managed in a single night what the police, the courts and CNRI hadn't been able to do for the better half of a year. The court case itself would have taken more months, and her clients would have been the ones to suffer from it. She may not agree with his methods, but she had the unsettling feeling that it would be as simple as Ted made it out to be.

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That night Oliver made his way to Somers' office at the docks wearing his green hood. He had been right; Somers was on his father's list of people who were poisoning his city, and he would put an end to it. While Ms Lance might make a successful case against him, that would take ages, and the people suffering from Somers' deals with the triads needed relief now. Even if the pretty lawyer managed to bring Somers down for one murder, the machinations at the docks would go on with his second. No, Oliver needed to tear up his organization from the inside to make the port a wholly unattractive location to do illegal business, for good. He stopped at one of the taller buildings, making his way to the roof to overlook the building structure of Somers' offices, so he could plan ahead for possible escape routes Somers might attempt – or that he himself might need to make a quick get-away if the police showed up.

He was mapping the area when he heard a commotion below. There was a short, high-pitched whine, followed by rough laughter. As the vigilante looked down, he might have rolled his eyes. A small woman in a professional skirt and blazer was being cornered against the dead end of the alley below the house by four men. The scene looked like a corny, overused stereotype they employed in movies so often, but this was real life, and while Oliver was focused on his father's list, he would never just abandon that woman to her fate. He cast one more glance at the docks.

"Later," Oliver muttered darkly as he turned around to deal with the brutes. In the half-second he had looked away, the air had changed completely, though. It was suddenly charged with something, some dark energy. Where previously had only been the clicking of the woman's heels and the shuffling of men who knew they had their prey cornered, now he heard metal tapping and a sure, quick stride that came from the darkness around the corner. The vigilante stopped mid-motion, curious and slightly unsure. Another figure came around the corner, a metal staff tapping against the brick wall of the building Oliver stood on. The form was wrapped in dark clothes hiding it from sight in the house's shadow, but it was too thin to be a man. He could make out a light, almost white point somewhere near the top of the figure. Oliver crouched down to be closer, to get a better look once the figure entered the light. The tapping stopped.

"Run," was all the figure said. The voice was distorted like his, but it was clearly a woman's.

The other woman whimpered, moving back and forth as she tried to find an escape route.

"You're not going anywhere, angel," one of the men said crudely.

"Yeah, she's staying right there," another one added towards the darkness with confidence, but Oliver could tell that it was a struggle. Apparently, so could the mysterious woman. She gave a dark chuckle that sounded even more eerie with her distorted voice.

"I wasn't talking to her," she announced amusedly.

"Who do you think you are?! Bitch!", one of the men yelled, grabbing for her in the shadows. He disappeared from Oliver's sight for a moment when the darkness swallowed him. His comrades yelled encouragement in a staccato fashion as they shifted their weight from one foot to the other. All they could hear where noises, grunts, crunches and clicking noises, then their friend tumbled out of the shadows holding his arm to his body with a whimper. For a moment, all anyone heard was the strong, sure tapping of female footsteps closing in until the light revealed a small, lithe woman in a blond wig and black leathers from head to toe. She was carrying a metal staff as Oliver had suspected, allowing it to swing back and forth in her hand as she approached the men casually. A domino mask obscured her face to anyone who might recognize her.

"Now, what, boys?"

For a moment, there was dead silence. The decision was made, though, the moment she chose to challenge them. They couldn't back down now, challenged by this tiny woman. They'd have to give her a lesson, and Oliver wasn't sure how that would go. He had heard of this other vigilante only briefly in a news report on his attack on Adam Hunt by way of comparison. She either hadn't been very active recently – perhaps due to injury – or she had never much made the news. He suspected the latter because when he had made subtle inquiries about her with Diggle and Thea, they hadn't known much about her either. First time they had heard of her, she had been nothing more than an urban legend over eighteen months ago, and to this day she seemed to have remained shrouded in that unearthly obscurity. It must be part of her strategy, just as theatrics and threats were part of his. This meant that he didn't know what to expect from her when the men attacked...

When the men attacked, the intended victim ran screaming around the tumultuous bunch, while the blond woman in black jumped right in. She swung her staff across the shortest possible distance to each target, ducking under or jumping over the attacks of the others. All their attacks came into nothing as she landed hit after hit. When finally one of them thought he had her by enveloping her from behind, he got his nose broken by the back of her head for his effort, and probably a couple of toes too from the looks of it. His hold lessened, and she swiftly threw him across her shoulder into one of his friends, then slammed one end of the staff into the groin area of the guy coming at her from the side. The whole sequence of actions was one fluid motion; if he'd blinked, he would have missed it. Her right leg performed a perfect arch as the man righted himself, struck him in the face and send him flying. She swung her staff around again to hit the other two men, who had disentangled themselves from one another, across the face sending them sprawling once more. This time for good if the sagging of their bodies was anything to go by. The victim had disappeared, three men were unconscious, and the Woman in Black stood panting lightly amid the crumpled bodies.

Oliver felt something tug at his face, and realized suddenly that he was smirking. She was sure something, this urban legend, though he was sad to see that the story of her wearing fishnets unfortunately wasn't true. So absorbed was he in the surprise that he almost didn't see the fourth man, the one she'd taken down first, approach her quietly from behind. The injured arm was still pressed against his chest, but the other one was holding a knife. Before he could think about it, he had cocked an arrow onto the string at let go. At the same time, the Woman in Black must have heard the muffled footsteps, because she rammed her staff into the man's gut behind her, turning halfway around to him. Then man bent over, dropping the knife instantly as he gasped for air, and the arrow went flying just barely over his head. The woman slammed her knee upward into the man's face for good measure, before turning around to face the vigilante. She looked up, he looked down. They couldn't really make out each other's faces, but they knew they were the focus of the other's attention. The air around them grew tense, but before anything more could happen, Oliver decided to get back to his mission, jumping clean off the other side of the roof to reach his bike.

It took him only minutes to reach the docks, and take down the first defense line that Somers had established. He barely noticed the guns firing around, though a cold, calculating part of his brain knew the bullets were for him. He felt supercharged with a dark alluring energy. The previous fight had put him in a dangerous mood, even though he only been a witness until right up to the end. Add to that Somers criminal machinations that had made hundreds of people suffer, and his blood was well and truly boiling by the time he reached the man himself. When Somers made a move for his drawer, and the gun that was likely in it, he planted an arrow in the desk just before Somers. He cocked another arrow onto the string immediately, and it took all his training not to let go another arrow that would go right through him, and instead stick to his routine.

"Martin Somers, you have failed this ci-"

Before he could finish, a silver staff came out of nowhere, knocking his bow and arrow down. In his surprise, Oliver let the string go. The arrow ended up stuck in the foot of the bureau. Oliver followed the staff's length with his eyes, not surprised when he found a small blond woman in black at the other end. This time he could even make out the details of her face that weren't hidden by her mask, so he could tell that she was scowling at him. So she had intuited his intentions and followed him? Or had they both been on the way to confront Somers, and merely chanced upon the same attempted gang-rape-in-progress? Oliver believed neither in coincidences, nor in fate, but he had not been in town long enough for her to have studied his movements to intercept him deliberately.

"I think he's gotten it, don't you agree?", she asked. "Particularly, after you hospitalized three of his guards and murdered another two."

"This does not concern you," he bellowed at her.

"This is my city. I've been working to make it safer for the last year and a half. Any attempted murder in it concerns me."

"Then why do you protect him? He's has recently killed a man, a father-"

"So bring him in. Make him face justice," she lashed out in return.

"I am making him face justice." His voice was a deep growl now, but she was obviously unimpressed, for all she did was cock her head to the side and give him a speculative look.

"Funny, you don't look like a blind-folded lady holding scales to me – wrong weapon too." It was meant to be a cheeky, even mocking reply, he had no doubt, but the distortion of her voice made it sound like the rumble of an angry sea. Oliver scowled. He hated the ocean, and he didn't discuss his actions with anyone, he didn't have to. This was none of her business. Just because he had watched her fight didn't mean she got to but into his. He moved to march right past her, but she grabbed his arm suddenly and spun them both back around until she was again standing between him and his prey. His scowl only grew deeper. She was getting annoying. He gritted his teeth. Somers men were easy, but he had also surprised them by attacking from the shadows. He had been through them practically before they realized he was there. She, on the other hand, was trained, as he had witnessed only a few short minutes ago. A fight with her could drag on, and they couldn't risk the police finding them both in middle of a battle. She had impressed him, but he had to act decisively.

They both noticed the scratching sound of the wooden drawer being pulled back. The Woman in Black slammed the end of her staff on Somers' hand as it lifted to raise the gun at them both. There was the scrunching noise of fingers breaking, and Somers screamed in pain. So she was obviously not opposed to inflicting bodily harm. Interesting. The woman tutted at Somers. Another smirk tugged at Oliver's face, but he kept it firmly twisted into his scowl.

"Be a good boy, and let mommy and daddy hash this out..." (1), she admonished him.

Now Oliver couldn't help the smirk, even as he replied gruffly.

"We only met ten minutes ago. We doing co-parenting now?!"

She turned her face back to him.

"No, I guess not, because clearly I have to parent you too," she snapped back.

That wiped the smirk right off his face. He'd been so amused, for a moment he'd lost sight of his purpose there. He took a step back to be far enough away to cock an arrow at her, but she must have predicted that move. She twisted her hands around the ends of her staff, and when the middle part fell out, she kicked it up toward his face. Again, the arrow got knocked away, upward into the sky this time. Oliver cursed under his breath, because he didn't have time to cock another arrow onto the string when she immediately exploited his vulnerable position, aiming with one of her new, short batons at his hand holding the bow. He blocked the attack, and dodged the swing aimed for his hand, using the moment to punch her in the gut. She stumbled back, but when he tried to kick her, she twisted away. The momentum of her tight circular movement brought her baton down on his shoulder, making him spin with the force of the hit. He grabbed an arrow during the twist, and let it go without pulling the string fully back or even aiming first when he saw her charge him. She leaned away from it, even as she brought her baton up to deflect it. It embedded itself in one of the containers behind them. As she jumped him, she was planning to use the momentum of her attack to flip them both over until he was lying prone on the floor with her sitting astride him. Seeing it coming before his mental eye, Oliver pushed into the attack, and, with a slight twist of his hips, brought her back in contact with the wooden desk. He heard her grunt in pain, yet she reacted without hesitation by slamming the palm of her hand into his jaw. His hand came up to intersect the strike, just as her leg came around to throw him off her, just as they both heard the gun cock. The looked at each other, and he hoped to god she couldn't see anything in the shadow of his hood, then looked at Somers backed against the wall with the gun in his left hand. Without prior consultation, they decided at the same moment to roll over the opposite side of the desk, evading the bullet. They ended up on the floor with the Woman in Black on top of him.

"Great," she muttered, as they pressed together while Somers continued firing. Sirens blared in the distance, getting closer.

"And here I thought this was what you wanted?!", he smirked up at her. Instead of answering, even just with a glare, she took one of the small arrows on his sleeves, placed it in his hand and nodded at him. He understood without question. They rolled over again, so he could throw the arrow at Somers, and knock his gun away.

"Time to go," she told him, moving to make him get off her. He got up, looking for his bow. He had lost it in the fight with her at some point. Then he approached Somers, but stopped when he felt the woman tense up. He didn't have time for another fight with her.

"At the trial tomorrow, you will confess. You will tell everyone what you did. If I have to come for you again, she and all the triad killers in the world won't be able to protect you."

Somers looked adequately scared. When he turned , partially to leave, partially to see if he had gotten through to her too, the woman was gone. Oliver grunted, and made a run for it. The sirens seemed to blaring right in his ear by that point.

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An hour later, he quietly closed the front door of the Queen Mansion behind him. He had briefly thought about climbing onto the balcony of his roof, but the night had exhausted him. He had been prepared to fight his way through mob gangsters. He had not expected to meet someone who could match him, punch for punch. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He hadn't been this sore since he first started training with Yao Fei and then Slade. His frown deepened as he thought of the two who had made him the man he was now. They and Shado had created the man in the Hood. Without them, he could not hope to save his city, and yet he had brought all three of them nothing but blood and death. Two had been killed before his eyes. One he had destroyed himself. Now all he could do was honor their memory by putting their training to good use.

He made his way into the living room where he found Diggle and his mother arguing once more over where he might have gone. Their attention shifted to him when he entered the room, and his mother questioned him without preamble on where he had gone and what he had been doing. This, Oliver was prepared for. He'd had ample time in the last five years to come up with excuses his family and friends would believe without batting an eyelash. He ducked his head a little to be more convincing and grinned.

"Mom, I've been alone on an island for five years."

"I know, Oliver-"

"Mom, I was alone," he repeated softly, yet with emphasis, giving her a suggestive look.

"Oh," was all his mother could force out at first, even as he saw Diggle role his eyes. Oliver wasn't sure the man believed him.

"I promise to introduce her to you if it ever gets to the first names exchanging state," he added awkwardly for his mother, though he might have bit his tongue right afterward as no one needed him to be introduced in this city. His mother, thankfully, overlooked this slight incongruence in her agitated state, in favor of demanding him to bring Diggle along on his excursions instead. Once Oliver assured her that he would, she left the two men alone. Oliver looked over to Diggle to assess the situation. He had given his mother his word, but he could hardly drag Diggle with him into the gunfights and pretend it was just for an illicit affair. Still, part of him felt badly for his new bodyguard. It wasn't Diggle's fault that Oliver would have to disappear for a couple of hours on a semi-regular basis from now on.

"I'm sorry to have given you such grief," he apologized half-heartedly.

"I've served for five years with the special forces in Afghanistan, Mr Queen. You don't even come close to my definition of grief," the other man countered quickly. Oliver suspected he could change Diggle's mind about that if he gave him a taste of this new life the billionaire now lived. "But one thing should be clear: if you ditch me again, no one will have to fire me. I'll quit."

Oliver inclined his head to signal that he understood even as Diggle walked right past him without another glance. The former castaway stood motionless for a moment as if waiting, hoping for Diggle to return, so they could find a solution. He wanted to find a solution that suited them both. One that would allow him to continue his crusade against his father's corrupt friends. A noise alerted him to another presence, and Olive shook his head free of his darkening thoughts. He looked up, not sure what he was expecting. Diggle or Thea or his mother, someone else ready to chew him out for disappearing again. He really should have climbed the wall and sneaked back into his room. The look of surprise on his face was sincere when he found his step-father walking up to him instead. Walter came to a stop less than two feet away, and his expression made Oliver tense. It seem to hover somewhere between uncertainty, understanding and disapproval. Oliver cocked his head, waiting for the other man to speak first.

"Your mother told me you escaped Mr Diggle for amorous adventures, but six hours would have been a lot even for your old self," the older man said evenly.

"Then I guess you didn't know my old self very well," Oliver replied, trying the cheeky approach. He knew most people backed off if you confirmed a preformed opinion they had of you. He trusted Walter would be disappointed enough in his lack of maturing that he'd drop the subject, but it seemed he was out of luck once more tonight when Walter's stern gaze only narrowed. Subsequently, Oliver amended. "But, you're right, I didn't spend the last six hours... I came back a while ago. I just wanted to be alone – literally. With my father. I went to his grave in the garden, figuring I wouldn't need a bodyguard for that."

"No, you wouldn't...," Walter agreed a little too quickly. Now Oliver's eyes narrowed. "Which is why I looked there for you first."

Oliver cursed under his breath. He realized climbing the wall would have been the easier way. He had nothing to say to Walter's unsaid accusation, so he said nothing. The two men stared at each other in fraught silence, but Oliver was not the boy who had left on the Queen's Gambit. That Oliver had been a spoiled rich brat. The man he was now had thugs and professional assassins crawling back into the shadowed alleys from which they came, or soon would. Something of that must have shown on his face, because eventually Walter broke eye contact and even turned his body away from Oliver.

"I know this situation must be new and difficult for you, Oliver, and I'm probably the last person who should tell you this... but you cannot behave this way. You were abducted on your first day home, and Moira is understandably worried."

Oliver twitched uncomfortably. This was too personal. He had only just discovered his mother's new marriage, and while he had outwardly made his peace with it, and while he knew Walter was a good man and that his mother deserved to be happy, he wasn't ready to have any profound discussion with the man. Certainly not about his mother...

"Walter," he interjected tensely. His stepfather turned around swiftly, his face stern.

"You agreed to Mr Diggle's protection, Oliver!"

This made Oliver flinch again, because he knew Walter was right. Since he hadn't really wanted a bodyguard, he should not have given in so easily when his mother insisted. He should have said something. Instead he had accepted, and now he was going back on his word to his mother, and Walter was her husband. It was natural for him to be upset at Oliver making her worry. He realized he thought more highly of the man for confronting him about it, though he had first wholly resented the presumption behind this discussion.

"I know. I've just been alone for so long-"

"I heard!", Walter interrupted him exasperatedly.

"No, I mean alone. I've been entirely self-reliant for the last five years. To rely on someone else now, for whatever reason...," Oliver argued back heatedly. "And then the Gambit. Everyone died when it went down. Everyone except me... Everyone around me died, Walter. Sometimes, even being near someone- I can't. I just can't..."

Walter started at the revelation.

"Is that why you won't let your family in, Oliver? You think they'll get hurt."

Oliver sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair again. Another lie, another half-truth that would weigh on his conscience. Walter would no doubt pass it along to his mother, not that she would ever confront him about it, and they would both back off. Hopefully.

"I know it's stupid, but I- I can't stand the thought, you know. Sometimes it's all I can think about," he finally admitted. "I want my family safe. Even from me."

When Walter came closer to place a hand on his shoulder, the look in his eyes had changed. It was softer, and his entire face seemed to have relaxed a bit. Oliver had to suppress a wince at the touch as Walter had inadvertently picked the exact spot the other vigilante's baton had made contact with his shoulder. He distracted himself from the surge of pain by searching for a trace of pity on his step-father's face, but he found none. It calmed the storm raging inside of him if only a little. The storm had never left him since his father's confession, and Oliver suspected it never would until he righted all the wrongs his father had done.

"It's not your fault, Oliver, but I suspect you know that. I know it doesn't make you feel less guilty for surviving when other's were not so fortunate. I can't imagine how that must burden you... But you're here now, and your family has waited so long for you to be returned to them. Now you're here, and you seem to have never left that island."

Oliver nodded minutely. He knew what Walter meant, only his step-father didn't know it had been wholly intentional.

"Take the time you need, but try to return to them," Walter asked, then added an afterthought. "To return home. Perhaps you need to do this in reverse order, to start with someone else... but you need someone."

"Thea said that, too."

Walter smiled.

"She's a clever girl... Now, in consideration of Mr Diggle's threat to quit should you abandon him again, perhaps it would be best if we didn't mention your little stroll through the family garden."

They shared a small smile. Oliver could get on board with that. The two men went their separate ways, and as Oliver climbed the stairs to his room, his mind went back to the part of the conversation that had made him most uncomfortable. Why had he agreed to take Diggle on as his bodyguard? He knew he didn't need, nor want one. The man would only interfere with his nighttime activities. Every time he wanted to go patrolling or scratch another name off the list, he'd have to find a way to get away from the former soldier. He continued to muse on the matter as he unbuttoned his shirt. And if Diggle really quit, then he'd have to get used to another bodyguard and his mannerisms, and then likely another and then another, for no one would last very long with him constantly disappearing on them. Either they'd quit, or his mother would fire them as she had threatened to do with Diggle. Oliver had instinctively prevented that from happening, though he was unsure as to what purpose that may have served. Point was, he would have to find a way to come to an arrangement with Diggle if he wanted his vigilante activity to run smoothly.

A vague idea began to form in his mind and consolidate into a plan as he finally turned in front of the mirror to examine the bruise on his shoulder. It had already turned into an ugly shade of purple, and the shoulder was slightly swollen, too. That girl certainly packed a punch. He grabbed some ointment from his bathroom to apply to the bruise. He didn't usually bother for something so trivial , but he had a feeling he'd be getting more of these if they ran into each other again. Which was likely considering her extreme aversion to his methods, and pronounced interest in seeing Martin Somers safely to court. This would no doubt extend to others he would target after Somers confessed tomorrow. If he confessed tomorrow, but Oliver preferred not to think about that. He concentrated on the woman as she posed the bigger problem, should she decide to make it her business to get in his way. He didn't like the idea of another vigilante in town, and it had shocked him to know she had been active so long before his return. He could hardly tell her to put down the mantle, and let him handle it from here on out, particularly considering their disagreement this evening.

He could take her down, he supposed, and hand her over to the police, but Oliver thought that measure might be a bit extreme after crossing blades exactly once. That was also assuming that he wouldn't be exposed in the very same fight. They had seemed evenly matched tonight, although he hadn't been giving it his all, but neither could he tell if she had. He had prepared to fight criminals in the last five years, not blond chicks in tight leather outfits, even if they tried to smash his head in with a metal baton. It would be quite a risk to take to try to expose her. He'd rather see if they couldn't stay out of each other's way first. The men on his father's list were still striving despite her activity in the past year and more, so she didn't seem to go after big mob bosses on a regular basis. Briefly, he wondered what had made Somers so special, but perhaps she had just followed him somehow. If she indeed stuck to street crime, they might be able to coexist after all. Those were just the symptoms of the cancer recorded in the list, and he was fighting the cancer itself. He had no time to chase after petty criminals, though like tonight he doubted he would ignore it if it happened right in front of him. It would seem he'd have to come to an arrangement with the Woman in Black, also.

With that, he sank onto the bed and into fitful sleep.

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When Laurel tiredly reached her lair, he was waiting for her with ointment and bandages in case she was bleeding. She wasn't. She slipped of her leather jacket to reveal any number of bruises covering her torso, but the skin wasn't broken anywhere. A part of her just wanted to take a shower and crawl under a blanket, but she knew he wanted to talk about what he'd heard through the coms with which they stayed in contact while she was out. So she sat down on the gurney they had placed at the center of four three metal shelves forming a U. The shelves were stocked with medical equipment, an array of weapons ranging from batons and staffs to throwing knifes and technological gimmicks.. At the back wall of the shelves was a small desk on which a number of small round objects he had been tinkering with for the last couple of months. They'd almost both gone deaf when they'd finally figured out how to amplify their effectiveness. Separated from the tech support of their lair, they'd established a training area with judo mats for sparring, a punching bag and a pull-up bar. She let her eyes wander around the lair while he softly rubbed salve onto her shoulders and back as she hissed, cursed and sighed.

"What happened to your back?"

"Got slammed into Somers' desk. It's nothing."

"Clearly, you haven't managed to look in a mirror yet... Might be better that way," he commented. "Anything useful?"

"He's almost as strong in hand-to-hand as he is with his bow. Only times he missed was when I redirected his aim. He's a head taller than me, male, white, but that's about it."

"It's a start," he tried to encourage her.

"Thing is, I couldn't identify his fighting style. It's fluid and well-exercised, but I've never seen anything quite like it. It doesn't look like anything the triads or the other mobs are teaching their guys from what I can tell after getting my share of bruises from them, too-"

"You also dished out quite well."

"-t's not the Taekwondo the police gets taught either."

"So I guess we can exclude former gangbangers and cops. What about military?"

Laurel hesitated.

"I don't know. I don't know that many guys in the military." That was an understatement. She didn't know any, unless you counted the brief glance she had exchanged with Mr Queen's body guard the day of his court appointment. Military may be a viable option, though. He was obviously acclimatized to violence and had a low inhibition threshold when it came to killing, but she was probably generalizing too much there. If all soldiers were like the prejudices against them suggested soldiers to be, Starling would be inundated with vigilantes.

"We'll figure it out."

"Hmm," Laurel mumbled. "He threatened to go back for Somers if he didn't confess at the trial tomorrow... I wonder if he's actually going to try to kill him." She went to pull some fresh clothes from a nearby shelf. She didn't bother looking behind her, knowing that he would turn around to give her some privacy before she started changing.

"Well, he certainly won't go there to take a cup of coffee with the guy." his voice was hard. "He's killed two of Somers' men already. This was a warning, and if Somers doesn't react the way he is supposed to, the Hood will have have to up his game. He'll have to do something drastic, and we know he's willing to kill."

"Yeah, but, he knows I know his plan, and that I'll be there. I made it clear I wouldn't just let him butcher the man." She zipped up her skirt, and put on her heels before walking over to him and pat him on the shoulder. It was their sign that it was okay to turn back around. There had been a few embarrassing mishaps before they'd developed this method, particularly during that first time when he would come out with her. They had decided to be adults about it of course, shrugging it off as nothing they hadn't seen before, but they preferred to prevent even that first moment of awkwardness. When he turned to look at her, he didn't look at her at all. He was lost in his own thought, contemplating their new situation.

"It means he will know to make plans," he finally said, but he was clearly speaking more generally out loud than directly to her, despite the fact that she was the only other person down there with him.

"He'll be expecting another fight."

"He'll be prepared for another fight," he corrected her.

"I'm not sure I can take him," she said without thinking about it. When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand, and explained further. "He was holding back. He didn't really use his bow. The one time he did point an arrow at me – I'm not archer, but even I could see that he was aiming for my shoulder. He wanted to incapacitate me, not kill me."

There was a moment of silence, before Laurel spoke out loud what truly worried her.

"What if that changes?"

She couldn't look at him. He'd taught her not to doubt herself, because doubt in battle would be the end of her. Now she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the Man in the Hood unleashed all the fury she had sensed in him on her. He put a hand on her shoulder, and waited quietly until the uncomfortable silence made her look at him.

"We'll figure it out."

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Oliver marched out of Queen Consolidated in a huff. He had fought again with his mother and step-father, just after he and Walter had gotten to something of an agreement last night. He brushed past Diggle as the man held the car door open for him. His jaw was set when the bodyguard joined him in the backseat.

"You know I spent 27 years of my life in Starling City and the next 5 in Afghanistan. You want to know what I learned?" Diggle said by way of greeting. The abruptness took Oliver by surprise as much as the topic. He wasn't sure what his bodyguard was getting at, but it had been abundantly clear from the beginning that the man didn't buy half of the bullshit Oliver told his family. The rolling of his eyes when Oliver suggested he went out to meet girls had been a good indicator if nothing else. The billionaire had tried and tried to throw him of the scent, but Diggle just kept on looking straight ahead, looking at him with laser focus.

"There's no place like home?", Oliver offered sarcastically. He was not in the mood to try out his new resolve to come to an agreement with Diggle. The idea was too fresh and unformed, and he was in too bad a mood after hurting his mother again.

"No, just the opposite. Home is a battlefield. Back home they're all trying to get you. To get you to open up. To get you to be someone you're not sure you are anymore." The insight surprised Oliver again. It expressed exactly how hard he found it to even talk to the people he loved, because he was not the man they remembered, and couldn't be the man they wanted him to be. These past five years had broken that boy and birthed a new man, a man with only one goal. He couldn't be what his family needed him to be, what part of him wanted to be for them, and atone for his father's sins. Even if it meant losing them.

Maybe Walter was right, maybe he needed someone else. Someone new with no preconceptions or hopes for his identity, so that he could speak freely – or as freely as anyone with his secret ever could communicate with anyone. He chanced a glance at Diggle. This might be the agreement he had been searching for with the man. Maybe he could be that new person in his life, but then he was so close, too close already. If he were to open up with the bodyguard, he might as well just take him for a tour of his lair. Oliver was about to respond when the radio caught his attention, the speaker declaring that Martin Somers had insisted on his innocence during his hearing today.

" - unconfirmed reports indicate that Mr Somers has been attacked by Starling City's new vigilante last night. Witnesses report gunfire at the docks near Somers' property last night, and Starling City detective Quentin Lance was seen heading to the office buildings this morning. Mr Somers denies any sitings of the hooded vigilante. Detective Lance is the father -"

At that point Oliver was no longer listening, looking out the window at the city passing by while he contemplated the unfolding events. Somers had failed to honor his orders, and he would have to pay the price for that, but he had other concerns too. With the trial up in the air, and the vigilante out of Somers' reach, his most likely target would be the attorney who was gunning for him. Somers had triad connections, and had already proven his ruthlessness by killing Miss Nocenti's father. Now Detective Lance had confronted and possibly provoked Somers by his appearance at the docks that morning. By night time, the mobster would strike.

If he went to take out Somers first, it would likely be too late for the attorney. Laurel Lance sure knew how to pick them. Her father would no doubt place her under police protection, which would no doubt not be enough to protect her, but certainly enough to make an appearance as the hooded vigilante unwise. He needed to find another way to insert himself in her protection scheme. The officers would be parked out front, which meant that no one would be inside the apartment with her. She had resurrected him, legally speaking, perhaps he could convincingly suggest that he wanted to thank her, he thought, when a jingle started him out of his thoughts. An ice cream truck had stopped directly in front of his car, and he could see children zoning in on the sweet delight. He told the driver to stop as well, and waited for Diggle to open his door.

"They didn't have one of these on the island. It's on me," the billionaire said with a grin. He could almost sense the confused look his bodyguard threw him, and figured he had finally found a way to throw the man, and completely by accident at that. They waited patiently for their turn, then stood in the early afternoon enjoying their ice cream. Oliver was anyway, Diggle didn't seem too convinced with the situation.

"What's wrong, Diggle?"

"You're surprisingly calm and... happy. Maybe you're not as messed up in the head as you have the right to be."

Oliver smirked slightly.

"Maybe we both aren't...", he pointed out wistfully. Suddenly, he felt a certain bond with his bodyguard. He shook it off quickly. "Eat your ice cream, before the Rocky Road scoop melts onto your suit."

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That is how Oliver found himself knocking on Laurel Lance's apartment door that evening with a can of Rocky Road ice cream in a bag. As expected, he had noticed the two squads in the nondescript cars opposite the entrance to her apartment block. They weren't doing a very good job of blending in, at least not for someone with a trained eye such as him. Still, it was better than no one being out there at all. It took him a couple of knocks before she opened the door. She looked through the peephole first. Good. By the look on her face, she was ready to fight. She tried to look around him as if expecting someone, though clearly not him if the look of surprise was any indication.

"Hi. Are you okay? There are two cop cars outside..."

"Mr Queen? What-" She didn't sound irritated or disappointed. He took that as a win.

"My sister took – She pointed out to me that I've been distant and abrupt with everyone, and I realized that I never properly thanked you for your assistance yesterday."

"Well, that's hardly your fault. I was the one who had to rush off..."

"Still..."

"Where's your better half?"

He laughed at hearing her call Diggle that.

"Mr Diggle and I agreed that my lawyer was unlikely to assassinate me just after she went through so much trouble to bring me back to life."

"I suppose..."

"May I come in?"

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea at the moment, Mr Queen-"

"Call me Oliver, please, and I promise I won't stay long," he lied about the last part, or at least he would attempt to make it a lie if she didn't kick him out. If she did, he would at least plant some bugs to watch over her from his car. She looked unconvinced for a moment, while he smiled charmingly at her to change her mind. Finally, she opened the door wider and stepped aside. He followed her inside, closing the door behind him. The furnishing of her apartment was simple, but elegant. Only the hot pink color of the walls surprised him slightly, but it was such a dark shade of pink that it didn't look girly at all.

"Thank you," he told her. She smiled a bit awkwardly as they stopped to stand in the living room, unsure as to what to do with each other now. There wasn't really any protocol for this; an unknown castaway and the lawyer who had represented him in court in her apartment after dark. Laurel mentally shook herself. Her stressed out mind made it sound worse than it was, and clearly it was not unimpressed with Queen's – Oliver's – good looks, nor warned away by his reputation. Meeting him in the court house, he had been an intriguing curiosity, and she had felt for him during his tale of the shipwreck. Afterwards, she had been too busy to think of him much, except when prompted by Joana and Ted. This was the first time she truly got a good look at him, and he seemed as calm as he had been during the hearing. Too calm, she had thought then, for what he had gone through, but now she saw the hard lines of his face and realized that he was marked by what he'd lived through. He looked haunted.

"What's in the bag?", Laurel asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ah. I thought about many things on the island, but there was one thing I thought about every day. I actually dreamed about this on the island, and I figured there would be no better way to thank you for my resurrection..." His hand dived into the bag, and pulled out a can of Rocky Road ice cream. Laurel tried hard not to look impressed.

"Did you guess my favorite flavor, or did you google it?"

"Google, I'm afraid. It's surprising what you can learn about this city's legal officers on the Internet." He ducked his head a little and gave her a self-deprecating smile. She finally smiled back, before she went for bowels and spoons. They ended up sitting on the couch spooning the sweet dessert.

"How did you come to represent me?", he asked her out of the blue. She should have expected the question, though. Ted had asked her the same thing. "I mean, I'm grateful. You did a great job, but you are not... I googled CNRI, too, while I was at it. It's a legal aid office. Representing rich boy castaways doesn't really seem to be your usual terrain."

She nodded briefly, while swallowing a mouthful of ice cream. It made her throat hurt to do it so quickly, and she exhaled softly through the mouth to let the warm air soothe the ache. She put down the spoon, and sat up a bit straighter as she always did when discussing her carrier in the law.

"While I was getting my law degree, I did an internship at Queen Consolidated," she explained, clearly capturing his attention as he too sat up straighter. "On my first day, I met this woman in the elevator, and I was so excited and so nervous that I started chatting with her, asking her all kinds of things about Queen Consolidated and probably revealing more of my life aspirations than I would normally tell my own father. A couple of floors up, a man joined us. He said: 'Good morning, Mrs Queen', and I went... 'Crap!'"

Oliver chuckled a little as her facial expressions changed to accompany the story.

"A little over a week later your mother came down to the legal office, and spoke to my supervisor. I'm not sure what he told her, but later I was asked to assist Mrs Baxter, your usual attorney. At the end of my internship, your mother met up with me. One of the senior members of the company's legal office wanted to step down in two years. Someone else would take their place, and the company would need another lawyer."

"She offered you a job?"

"Well, with strings attached. I hadn't finished my law degree, so she offered me a scholarship, essentially, if I worked for Queen Consolidated afterwards."

"You refused, clearly."

"Yes, I... Not that I didn't love working at Queen Consolidated, the legal team there is great – I'm still in contact with some of them – but corporate law was never really my cup of tea. I wanted to try it, just once, and it confirmed what I already knew; I'm a cop's daughter. I wanted something more... down to earth." Her voice raised a little towards the end as if afraid she would offend him. Oliver just smiled. "And as for why I ended up representing you specifically... well, I figured I owed you one after I helped Mrs Baxter have you declared dead. It was two years after your disappearance, and they couldn't postpone it any longer. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. I was gone."

To lift the tension he tried to shift the focus back on the ice cream.

"This is as good as I remember." There was a small silence as he sat on the floor and looked up at her. Then he pointed to the ice cream with an embarrassed huff. "I mean... I didn't come here because..."

"I know. I may only know you by reputation, but if you hadn't changed one bit after five years alone on an island, I'd worry about your sanity."

He gave another huff. "I haven't changed that much... My mother wants me to join the company. Take my rightful place."

Laurel raised an eyebrow, trying to conjure up an image of Oliver sitting behind a desk and making decisions for an internationally successful company. Nope, she couldn't picture it. He was right, then, and really hadn't changed much. Or he had changed too much, and long surpassed any ambitions in the economic world. She used her spoon to point at him as she spoke, her face grimacing at the thought.

"I can't really picture you as master of the universe."

"You know, after five years, I have plans," he told her, nodding his head for emphasis. Walter was right. It was easier talking to a stranger. "I have things that I have to do, and I can't do them when I'm... I don't know, attending board meetings and stockholder briefings..."

She took a deep breath. It felt odd discussing his life with him. She barely knew him.

"Oliver," she answered, testing out his name as he had invited her to do. It felt foreign on her tongue, but the look of encouragement and the small smile on his face made her press on. "You're an adult, you can say 'no'."

"Oh, I tried. Didn't take."

"Well, then, don't tell her, show her. Be the person you want her to see you as." She put down the bowl. "Trust me, I have plenty of experience with disapproving parents."

"So do I, just not necessarily with mine."

They shared a soft laugh, but then a noise made him tense. When she told him she hadn't heard anything, he grabbed the kitchen knife on the table. Another noise had them both stand up. This time Laurel had heard it as well. He thought it came from the fire escape, so he took her hand and they made their way to the front door to leave just as someone crashed through the door. He forcibly made her change direction of her bedroom window, but there too an intruder blocked their way. The shooting had started almost as soon as they had seen the man run through the door. They ran through her apartment ducking, hoping the bullets wouldn't hit them. During their retreat from her bedroom, Laurel took the lead for a second to direct him toward a small, unassuming bureau. Pulling out a drawer, she grabbed a gun. The man who had followed them from the entrance had barely moved around the corner when he caught a bullet to the shoulder. Oliver admired her aim, and breathed a sigh of relief at not having to fight this battle alone. He should have guessed, though. Her father was a cop; of course he had taught her how to shoot. She turned around to shoot at the second man as soon as he came out of the bedroom, but in the meantime Oliver found himself face to face with a third attacker, a woman with stark white hair and curved knifes in each hand. The shot behind him didn't startle him. After seeing her take down their first attacker, he trusted Laurel to handle her gun. He looked around for something to do use against their final attacker that would allow him to keep his secret. In a pinch, he would fight her hand-to-hand though. He hadn't seen anything useful on his way in, and Laurel didn't turn fast enough to stop the other woman's attack. Oliver had to block her strike with the knife, all the while doubtlessly blocking Laurel's aim. When Diggle came in, he took only a moment to aim at the Chinese woman before firing. He missed her, and she used the layout of Laurel's apartment and her proximity to Oliver to close the distance before Diggle could fire again. She struck at the man's hand, making him drop his gun, then brought up her other knife in a wide arch to slit his throat. Diggle dug under her attack, twisting the knife out of her other hand, and hitting her leg. She swiped at him with her remaining knife, unbalancing him and making him fall. Both Oliver and Laurel watched unable to do anything due to the constant movement.

"I can't fire. I could hit him," Laurel whispered to him.

When she had Diggle on the ground the woman moved to kill him. Oliver quickly changed positions to throw the kitchen knife at her. Laurel followed him, probably hoping to find a better angle to shoot from, or maybe a bit afraid to remain on her own. He struck the knife straight out of the Chinese killer's hand, and the woman looked up in shock. Before Laurel could fire, their attacker got up and ran. He could hear the clattering of the gun falling onto the ground as Laurel bridged the remaining distance between them in a dash. Without thinking about it, they were suddenly hugging, and he was brushing strands of hair out of her face. She was flushed and her eyes wide. He couldn't tell whether this was due to fear or anger. He just held her. He denied that they were hurt when Diggle asked them in a panic, then asked him again specifically.

"This is why it's a good idea to have a bodyguard."

He concentrated on Laurel, brushing through her hair as he moved back to get a good look at her face. She was less flushed now, and her breathing had calmed. When he asked her if she was alright, she just nodded, clearly not yet trusting her voice. Part of him wanted to pull her back into the embrace gently until she had fully recovered, but she gestured at the phone wanting to call her father, so he let her go. When her father arrived, he pulled Laurel into his arms and held her tightly to his chest. His worry for his daughter and his gratefulness to Diggle were only overshadowed by his anger at Oliver. Detective Lance was already unimpressed with him in regards to his claim about the Man in the Hood saving him and Tommy, and now that Laurel had been attacked in his presence, the man liked him even less.

"It seems whenever you're close to someone, people die. So do me a favor and stay away from my daughter!", the man bit out harshly. "Or next time you disappear, it will be permanent."

"Dad!", Laurel bristled.

"No, it's okay. I understand," Oliver cut her off.

"No, it's not okay," Laurel cut in, positioning herself between Oliver and her father, surprising them both. Oliver looked at the back of her head with a stunned expression when she rose to his defense. They had barely met, and she had just been assaulted and almost killed in her own home, while he was there. Considering the trauma, her rationale was impressive, as was her ardent sense of justice that would not allow her to let her father's slight against him go. Her own father...; it might be useful to have her in his corner – in and out of the mask. "This attack was meant for me, not Oliver. I put him in danger, not the other way around. And more importantly, I might be dead if he hadn't been here, because without him, Mr Diggle wouldn't have been here to save me either."

When her father looked properly chastised, she turned back to Oliver, who was still stunned into silence.

"I'm sorry for putting you through this."

"It's not like you didn't warn me," he shrugged it off. "You did say it wasn't the best moment."

She smiled gently.

"I should have been more insistent. I'm sorry. Perhaps it would be best if you did stay away from me, for your own protection."

"Perhaps you should rethink the cases you take," he suggested quietly. Detective Lance snorted in the background. He seemed both annoyed and disbelieving that they were on the same side of anything.

"Don't bother. I've been telling her that for years."

After Oliver and Diggle left, her father sent the other officers out of her apartment, though some remained stationed outside her building again. There was a twitching in her father's right eye while he waited for the last officers to go out of earshot. Laurel tensed on the chouch, sensing that there was going to be a fight. Both Lances followed the police officers with their eyes as they left, then kept looking anxiously at the door while their footsteps receded down the hall. When even those ceased, awkward silence suddenly filled the room – but only briefly.

"You're gonna go back to that court room tomorrow, and you're gonna recuse yourself from this case, or drop it," her father said without preamble. The order alone made all the hairs on the back of Laurel's head stand up as her anger rose, but he was far from done. " - either way, you're done."

The finality of his words only made her angrier, and she was quick to respond.

"If you think I'm gonna abandon Emily Nocenti, then you don't know me all that well."

"You don't know me well, young lady!", her father called back, gesturing wildly with his hands at himself. "I will lock you in a cell if that's what it takes!"

She stood up to this, literally. "Well, I guess that's what it's gonna take then," she told him sardonically. With that, she turned away from him, dismissing any further discussions on the topic, but, of course, it would never be that easy. Her father's continued argument made her turn back to him, even when she had already walked behind the couch.

"DAMMIT, Laurel!", he barked, hand on his face. The worry and fear lacing his voice stopped her dead in her tracks. She looked at him, then, wide-eyed and wondering if he had been against the path she'd chosen for herself all along. "After what happened to... I thought you'd stop being just so reckless..."

There was desperation in his voice now, and a part of her wanted to cry at it. A louder part was just more irritated, and in the heat of the moment that's the side she went with.

"It's not about being reckless! I'm trying to make this city safer just like you." She began wondering if they were still talking about the same 'job'. She began wondering what exactly she herself was talking about.

"Yeah, and we've seen how that went for you, nearly getting shot – bullets and arrows are equally deadly, you know."

She should have been taken aback, but Laurel actually found her footing now that they were on the same page.

"Were you like this with mom?"

"I didn't have enough time. She didn't tell me until it got serious, and she dropped out after we decided to try for children," he scoffed, then softened his tone. "We wanted you, Laurel. We weren't willing to risk that... And Starling was different back then. Now it's... meaner." He sighed.

"I can handle it. I can handle myself. You and mom made sure of that, and I want to do it," she explained. "I might stop too if I ever... but my city needs me right now, and I can't... I know it's scary; I'm scared too half the time, but that never stopped mom, and I'm not gonna let it stop me either. But I can't do it like this, with you... suffocating me."

There was a brief standoff, where they weren't sure what to do with each other. Angry words had been exchanged, and if they didn't want to go their separate ways unsettled that evening, they needed to bridge the gap quickly before it had time to grow. Her father was the first to move, softly called her by his favorite endearment, and she knew that he was on a path to reconciliation.

"Sweetheart," he murmured as he came closer, "you're my only daughter, Laurel... You're all I have. You're all I have left to live for."

"But what you want from me is not living, dad. Having cops around, not being able to do my job," she said, her voice cracking. Or my night job, she thought.

"Your job is not going after people like the triad, or Somers," he argued back.

"My job is to keep this city safe and to use the law to fight for what is right, just like you taught me!", she responded equally angry as the moment of peace shattered again. She had just wanted to follow in her parents' footsteps. In her mother's footsteps. In his. Couldn't he see?! She was doing this for him, for herself, for her city and for... All she did; she thought he understood.

"Well, that's dirty; using me against me... Can't do that." They both needed to take a breath it seemed, and she needed to move.

"Well, maybe I picked that up along the way to," she suggested, making him half smile at her, even if it was so clearly pained.

"The Hood promised to return for Somers if he didn't confess in court today. He didn't," she added calmly, gesturing to her ruined apartment. "I need to go if I want to prevent a blood bath, but I need your help to get past the cops outside."

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"I'd say thank you, but I don't think that would cover it," Oliver threw over his shoulder in passing as he simultaneously threw Diggle an ice pack to cool his wound. His bodyguard stood up before replying, emphasizing once more that he was just doing what he had been hired for. Oliver relaxed internally when that seemed to be his only reaction, but of course he should be that lucky, because Diggle continued after a brief pause.

"Besides, I think it should be you I'm thanking." His tone was bemused, maybe even suspicious. Oliver stopped and turned as soon as Diggle spoke up again, then closed in when the man was done. His face was an expression of bewilderment, but his body was crowding the man as subtly as possible to incite him to back down.

"What for?", the vigilante asked as innocently as possible.

"The knife," Diggle answered immediately, and in a tone that told Oliver not to bullshit him. The vigilante might have smirked if that hadn't given his cover of innocence away. Not that it was doing him much good anyway, because when he suggested his feat to have been pure luck, Diggle sure as hell didn't swallow it. "That was a kitchen knife. It wasn't even weighted properly, yet you through it for accuracy across a ten-foot-room."

"Exactly," Oliver insisted outwardly confident, though he knew how weak his argument was when he reiterated: "I got lucky."

"I'm not the kinda man you want to take for a fool, Mr Queen," Diggle warned. If Oliver hadn't known he'd have to do something about the 'Diggle Situation' already, he'd certainly get the hint now. The man was far more perceptive that he calculated, or rather, he hadn't calculated to get kidnapped on his first day back in town and his mother subsequently hiring a bodyguard. He had failed to factor the new situation into his plans. He really would have to deal with that, but for now he had more important things to be doing. To be doing in the harbor area. He tried to think of a way out when Diggle unintentionally provided him with one. "And I think I'm just beginning the kinda man you are."

There was his opening to reinforce his image, effectively ending the conversation.

"Shouldn't take you long," he replied a bit haughtily. "I'm shallow... and very tired. Good night."

He barely heard Diggle reply as he made his way to his room, only to sneak out of it again after securely locking the door. This time he would take the route across the balcony, both to get out and to get back in as well.

As he got dressed for tonight's mission, Oliver thought on what he had given Somers. An opportunity. An opportunity to make things right, and the man had thrown it right back in his face by attacking the lawyer who had tried to stop him. By attacking someone Oliver was coming to care about. He hadn't known Laurel Lance very long, nor did he know her particularly well, but he recognized the same determination and passion in her eyes that he had admired in Shado's. Laurel Lance was a fighter. She fought for this city in her way, and he would do it in his. In a way they complemented each other. Cops and district attorneys in this city were corrupt; there was no way of knowing who was trustworthy, and he might need an ally in the 'real world' soon. Laurel Lance had unknowingly set herself up as that ally. That Somers had tried to have her killed was like a glowing recommendation as far as Oliver was concerned. That she had even tried to bring him to justice said a lot about her character and integrity. She cared, much like he did, although it might be difficult to convince her of approving of the vigilante, but he would tackle that problem another time. For now, he would fulfill her goal.

Martin Somers would still face justice, just a different kind.

And if the Woman in Black turned up to rain on his parade again; well, he had an arrow for that...

When he reached the harbor, he took only a moment to assess possible threats, before he started taking them out one by one. Gunfire erupted like last time, and like last time it was useless. He could tell Somers was panicked when he called through the radio for his men once the gunfire died down. From his vantage point, Oliver could see him hightail it out of his little corner of the docks. He had been packing money since before Oliver had first started taking out his men. He was afraid of the triads. They were coming to get Somers, and dispatch him because he was a potential witness. He wouldn't get very far even if Oliver let him go. He hadn't returned to Starling to see people killed in triad hits, though, not even Somers. Besides, it was a good opportunity to introduce himself to organized crime, and give them a message they would remember.

He followed Somers and pinned him to a stack of boxes.

"I want the truth about Victor Nocenti!", he called angrily through his voice modulator. The man was already whimpering with an arrow on either side of his neck. Still, he resisted.

"I can't! The triad will kill me."

"The triad is not your concern right now,", he reminded Somers, aiming to stick another arrow near him for emphasis. Just then the bo staff he'd expected all evening appeared in his peripheral vision. Oliver had expected her to throw his aim again, and turned his bow away. Too late he realized she aimed for the side of his knee. Forcing him onto one knee, his aim was thrown anyway, and the arrow sailed high above Somers head when he released it reflexively at the onslaught of pain.

"This is a bit déjà-vu, don't you think?", she said as she moved in front of him, again placing herself between him and Somers. Oliver gritted his teeth. This was going to be tedious. He didn't have time for this with the triad on the way, yet by the look on her face, both today and last night, there would be no reasoning with her. Women. He pulled another arrow, and she raised her bo staff ready to act. He caught her gaze briefly lingering on the metal contraption along the arrow's shaft, before she focused back on him. With lightning speed she smacked the bow right out of his hand. He had to shake it out from the pain, flexing his fingers carefully to make sure nothing was broken.

"I'm not killing him. I've not killed any of his men; they're all just out of commission, so you can fuck off," he hissed in her face as he closed in. He hadn't bothered to pick up his bow, but the arrow was gripped tightly in his hand, anger evident in his posture and the stiffness of his muscles, yet the Woman in Black remained unimpressed.

"No, instead you're torturing now, because that's so much better," she hissed right back. When Somers tried to move from his spot, she snarled at him without ever turning her face. "DON'T. Move. Don't even think about it." Somers was petrified enough by Oliver's actions that he went completely stiff as the rest of the color drained from his face.

She lowered her bo staff a bit to show just how unimpressed she was with his tactics, but that was what he was waiting for. She had taken this as an almost domestic argument, wherein she had nothing to fear from him except angry words. She would soon regret underestimating him. Taking a deep breath as if argue, he held it as he manually released the gas from the arrow. The woman sucked in a breath in surprise as the compressed gas hit her straight in the face, and that was her second mistake. It took only a moment before she swayed. When she lost consciousness, he let her fall carelessly to the ground, sadistically enjoying the heavy thump when her body hit the floor. He took only a moment to gloat over his victory, before he picked up his bow.

"She is only unconscious, but I want the truth now, or your fate will be much worse," he told Somers in that same dangerously calm, icy voice that the Woman in Black had used when telling him to stay put. This time, Somers caved. The whole confrontation had left him shivering and sweating, and crying too.

"Alright," he hastened to say. "Alright, alright... It wasn't me that killed him, it was the triads-"

But Oliver wasn't gonna let that pass.

"Acting on whose instructions?", he questioned again, sticking an arrow right above Somers' head when he didn't immediately answer. "On whose?!"

"Alright, alright – it was mine! It was mine!," he whimpered. "Nocenti said he was gonna testify against me..."

Before he could say more, Somers got distracted by something behind Oliver. The vigilante knew instantly that he had missed the approach of someone dangerous. He turned quickly around, but China White had already thrown one of her curved knifes at him. He didn't have the time to react anymore. Never had Oliver been so glad to hear the clinking sound of metal against metal as he was when the knife was batted away with a bo staff. He extended an arm to help the woman who saved his life up from the floor.

"Now you decide to be a gentleman," she griped. "You didn't have to let me fall."

"It had to look authentic," he responded, not without a certain amount of glee in his voice.

"We'll discuss that later." Oliver was surprised he even understood that considering it was more an angry growl than an actual statement.

"Sure, honey," he replied, using her own joke against her. The glare she gave him should have intimidated him, but it felt more like a badge of honor than a threat.

They focused on the triad assassin again when she spoke. Since it was in a variety of Chinese, the Woman in Black didn't understand a word, but surprisingly the hooded vigilante replied in the same language. Whatever they spoke of, their tones carried tons of threats. Thankfully, neither of them moved immediately, so she could inquire about the content.

"What did she say?"

"Move away from him," the hooded man replied.

"And what did you answer?" She just wanted to be on the same page here, but she had a feeling that she would regret it.

"Make me." See, she regretted it already.

"Of course you did," she muttered. The sound of footsteps indicated Somers' hasty retreat. Clearly, her command hadn't held him in place for very long. Since the hooded vigilante and the triad assassin seemed to have unfinished business, she decided to run after Somers. She called back at the green guy over her shoulder. "I'll take him!"

Oliver gritted his teeth. That was not part of the plan.

Flashback

He was standing in full sight on the roof, overlooking the docks a little sideways from where Somers' headquarters were situated, but close enough that she couldn't possibly overlook him. There was something light slung over his shoulder, something other than his quiver. It was almost like he was waiting for her. As she got closer, she could see that the light object was a white linen cloth. A white flag? This was almost certainly a trap. Nonetheless, she couldn't not offer him the chance to explain or whatever he wanted to do under a truce if there was even the slightest chance that he meant it.

He knew immediately when she landed on the roof behind him. She had probably been close for a while by then, no doubt casing out the roof and looking for possible hidden threats and escape routes. He was impressed that he hadn't noticed her before. She made no move to hide her final arrival though. He wasn't sure whether that was brave or stupid, but the fact that she seemed to trust him at least a little bit was reassuring. Especially considering the circumstances of their first encounter last night. It would ease the coming conversation, and it made him confident that she would accept his proposition. Probably. Maybe?

"There's no point in us fighting. We want the same thing," he jumped right into the problem.

"You promised to kill Somers if he doesn't confess, and here we are. That's something to fight about."

"And what if it wasn't?", he asked as he turned around, loosening the white cloth from over his shoulder. He let it fall carelessly to the ground as he approached her. She was instantly on guard, raising her bo staff higher. He switched his bow to his right hand and extended his left arm, hand raised up in a placating sign. Even with her domino mask on, he could see her raise her eyebrow, but she didn't stop his approach. "What if I wasn't here to kill Somers, what then?"

"Then I would ask what you're here for then."

"I would say that I want to get the confession he denied to the court."

"And I'd ask how you intend to obtain it."

He paused, not sure how to answer. There was no way around using Somers for target practice, but he had a feeling he should put it more nicely if he wanted her to give his suggestion the time of the day. He took a moment to think about it, and was grateful when she let him work through it without rushing him. As she stood there patiently, the man took a moment to assess her in a way the warrior he was hadn't been able to last night when they were on opposite sides. Her face was hidden behind a mask and the blond hair was obviously a good wig, but he could see she was slender with nice curves, though not too prominent. She wore flat boots; sensible in her line of work, but her long legs were only emphasized by the black leather pants. The leathers she wore were tight-fitting, adhering to her body like a second skin. There was nothing like leather on a good-looking woman to make her look even hotter, and his mind drifted off for a second before he remembered the question.

"I intend to scare the crap out of him until he confesses."

She still looked dubious.

"He won't come to harm, but I'll certainly make it look like he will if he doesn't answer my questions."

"And you expect me just to take your word for it and stay out of it, is that it?"

"No, on the contrary. I need your help," he said, pulling a specific arrow out of his quiver and indicating the metal contraption behind the arrowhead. "This releases anesthetic gas. I want you to come to protect him and breathe it in."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he just went on.

"It isn't filled with anesthetic gas today. It's just fumes. If you pull it off, he'll believe he's defenseless and he'll talk. No harm done."

"How do I know that's what you say it is."

He paused again. This was the crux of his problem and of his argument.

"You'll just have to trust me."

End of Flashback

Thankfully, she had, but now with China White's arrival, his plan had been blown to bits. It had taken longer than expected to pull the whole thing off, giving the triad assassin enough time to reach them and Somers. Now he had an angry Chinese bitch on his hands, while his more or less willing partner in crime was pursuing his target. Brilliant. Why couldn't this have ended in a chick fight – at least that would have been entertaining. And hot. Mostly hot. Then again, it might have been distractingly hot, and Somers would have gotten away. Either way, he didn't have time to contemplate the matter further as China White moved in on him. Doing a cartwheel she picked up her knife and went on the attack. He used his bow to ward off her knives, and also to lung at her with.

As she drove him backwards through the building, their fight became interspersed with kicks, one of which he took directly to the face as he was too slow to react. Sirens wailed, and he crumpled slightly, partially from the kick and partially because he really couldn't deal with this on top of everything else. Then the sound of a chopper got added into the mix, and he was distracted enough again thinking on how the Woman in Black might be coping with Somers and the arrival of the police that another kick got him in the side, and then another in the chest. Dammit, he needed to concentrate. Just in hat moment, a voice from the chopper announced that they were surrounded and told them to surrender. China White took that as her cue to run, and he followed her example, but went in the opposite direction to follow his 'partner'.

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Meanwhile, Laurel was gaining on Somers as he ran outside the building. She threw her bo staff at him to make him stumble, and when he did she closed the distance. Using his shoulders for support, she flipped over his head. Pressed onto the ground by her weight, he couldn't react in time before her leg came up and swing kicked him in the face. His lights went out right away, mildly disappointing her. Perhaps she should have let the green guy go after the runaway. At least the Chinese assassin would have fought back. Then again, maybe this apparent lust for a fight was a sign she should take a vacation. She had been warned. This life would suck her in until she was addicted, until she wouldn't know how to live without the thrill of it. If she wanted to preserve her sanity, she had to escape that addictiveness. She'd realized that taking breaks helped. Though she always felt bad for leaving the city to fend for itself, it wasn't like Starling would implode if she dropped out for a week, and she realized that these pauses made her miss her normal life more when she was back in costume. That sense of longing kept balance with the rush of her blood and the pump of her heart and the elation of all that adrenalin coursing through her on the job.

While she contemplated, bizarrely, if maybe should could arrange a vacation schedule with the hooded vigilante, she got out her handcuffs from the satchel on her right thigh and secured Somers' hands behind his back. Then she took her second pair of handcuffs and did the same to his ankles, just to be sure. This man wasn't going anywhere but prison after all he had done. Once she was done, she intended to go back inside and see if her green-hooded 'partner' wanted or needed a hand with the triad assassin. When she closed the cuffs around Somers' ankles, the man began to regain consciousness. She may have secured him, but she didn't exactly want to leave him unattended if he while conscious. Laurel gritted her teeth. Brilliant. Sighing, she moved halfway around him as he attempted to get up on his own.

"Sorry," she said.

"Huh?" Clearly, he was still too groggy to get anything more out. Well, that wouldn't change soon.

"For this," she replied to his unvoiced question, drew back her fist and smashed it into his temple, knocking him right back into unconsciousness. "Can't risk you getting loose, and I have to go see what my 'partner' is up to. He promised no killing, but I'm not so sure."

Just then the sound of sirens, quickly followed by the whooshing of a chopper in flight reached her ears.

"Oh, good. There's your ride. The police has come to take you home to a nice, warm, too-good-for-you prison cell." She began to walk away, muttering. "At least I won't have to babysit you again."

When she turned around, she was faced with a gun and the detective who held it. Dammit. Apparently, her father had driven ahead without the sirens to try and help her. With the other vigilante potentially watching, though, they needed to make this look good. This night was giving her a headache. She really did need that vacation apparently.

"Freeze," her father ordered, then moved closer when she did. She'd have to wait for him to 'try' to cuff her, and then disarm him. "Don't move or I'll shoot." His gun wasn't quite aimed at her, subtly leaning towards the side, so she wasn't worried. "On the ground, hands above your head."

Really? She closed her eyes. Well, at least her father understood that it 'needed to look authentic', but did he have to make it look this good? Nonetheless, she obeyed. It wasn't like her training hadn't covered how to disarm someone from a disadvantageous position. Her father hadn't made a move toward her when something hit his gun and carried his aim sideways. For a moment she worried a shot might be set loose, but instead the weapon was flung backward and fixed to a container with a blinking miniature arrow. For a few seconds father and daughter looked equally baffled, and it was actually the detective who regained his wits first. He grunted in displeasure, his body turned toward the arrow, but his eyes were fixed on her face. A quick roll of his eyes urged her to take the opportunity to disappear, and so she did, while her father went to investigate the blinking. Laurel didn't have to wait around for that. She could guess that it was some kind of recording of Somers' confession. The mobster would wake up in jail tomorrow, and every morning after that for the rest of his life.

Mission accomplished.

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They were back on that roof top ten minutes later, but this time they were sitting ducked behind the protruding wall to avoid notice by the police. Their bodies were faced slightly sideways to look at one another, and there was a small space between them silently designated their safety distance, but their weapons both lay on the ground a foot away from them. Neither of them was there to fight.

"Thank you," she said, deciding to start the conversation on a positive note.

"You're welcome," he replied, smiling. "I couldn't exactly let my 'partner' get picked up by the police, now could I?"

"I would have handled it." She couldn't resist saying it, dammit.

"I know," was all she got in return, and the simple, declaratory way in which he said it made her believe him. He was being honest, which meant that he hadn't helped her out of a sense of duty for getting her involved, or because he thought her in need of a knight in green leather armor, but simply because he'd been there at the right moment and it was more expeditious. She smiled at the thought. It was... nice.

"That went better than I expected," she admitted.

"See, I told you we are on the same side."

"But we pursue our goals differently. And with this 'business' being what it is, it's inevitable that we'll cross paths sometimes."

He ducked his head.

"Are you saying this city is not big enough for the two of us?" His voice had taken on a dangerous tone as he tensed up. He felt her tense up in response as well.

"No, I'm saying we need a way to handle this. Ground rules. We can't fight crime if we are fighting each other, but... neither of us can change their spots," she admitted. "I can't just let you go around killing people. If I'm there, I will always stop you."

He believed her that she would try, and she would succeed more often than not simply by keeping him busy long enough that the police would arrive on the scene and then they'd both have to run. She was right. They needed a better solution. Even if they could agree to stay out of each other's business and not go looking for one another, they would inevitably end up working on the same case again someday. They needed a plan of action for then, and it would be easier to make one now, together than to separately try to find ways to one-up another. It would require sacrifices on both their sides. It would require compromise. He wasn't sure he was ready to involve someone else so burdened with secrets in his decision making, no matter how remotely, but the choice had been taken from him on this occasion. Even as he vowed that next time the decision would be solely his, even as somewhere in the back of his head the plan he'd intuited the previous night on how to confront Diggle took shape, Oliver conceded this round. They both would have to.

"I guess I could restrain myself when we do meet," he muttered hesitantly.

The woman nodded and swallowed.

"And I guess I could cut you some slack."

With that she stood up, and made to leave. He watched her move across the roof when a thought suddenly hit him. Curiosity bubbled inside him in an almost childlike manner. He fought it down, but the urge to ask remained.

"Hey," he called after her softly. He waited for her to turn around before continuing. "Do you have a name? For this, I mean." He gestured at her general form.

"Yes," she said, not elaborating. "Do you?"

"No."

He watched her lip twitch.

"Well, you better come up with one. I don't want to call you Leprechaun forever."

They shared a laugh.

"And what about you, Woman in Black...", he shot back.

She thought on that for a moment, cocking her head to the side as she conceded his point. Then she seemed to come to a decision because she moved back to the edge of the roof. Oliver felt a twinge of disappointment when he thought that she might simply leave, but her head turned to the side to address him over her shoulder.

"I'll tell you mine when you tell me yours."

A/N: It's a different setup than the original season 1. What do you think?