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Oliver simultaneously has to fight the urge to lash out with all his strength to defend himself, and the overwhelming feeling of wanting to cry. It’s been two months since he arrived at Slabside Supermax and this is his fourteenth beating. And he just doesn’t have it in him to fight back anymore.
He learned within the first couple of days that nearly half of the other prisoners here were people he’d got locked away as the Green Arrow, so that basically meant everybody hated him and wanted him dead. He learned that during the brief thirty minutes of time outside of his cell, where he was taken to exercise in the Yard with a dozen or so other prisoners, he was likely to be attacked. He also learned that there was a high possibility that the guards didn’t give a shit about him being hurt, and would only step in if it looked as if Oliver wasn’t going to survive whatever the other prisoners did to him.
Over the last two months, he’s spent more time in a solitary medical ward cell than in his actual, official ones. There have been too many injuries to count; stab wounds, broken limbs, dislocated joints, concussions… the list goes on. The images and thoughts of Felicity and William crying as they’re told about him being attacked have been permanently etched into his brain. Punishment for fighting is having all visiting and phone call rights being taken away. Although he hasn’t started any fights, the guards write on all the official reports that he causes them. Oliver hasn’t seen or spoken to the two people he loves most in the world since they said goodbye and he was carted away by the FBI.
Every day is a struggle. He thinks about hurting himself. If he attacked one of the guards, they could shoot him. He wonders how badly he’d have to spook a guard for them to aim at his head. Suicidal ideation and thoughts are not new to Oliver, as he’s suffered from depression ever since the island, but he’s always had a support system in the form of his team and particularly Felicity, to give him reasons to stay alive. He doesn’t have that here. The only reason Oliver doesn’t kill himself is that he knows that Felicity and William would never get over his death. The grief and pain he would cause them by dying would haunt him in the afterlife, if there even is one.
Which is why, as he frantically curls into a ball on the ground and tries to dissociate away from the pain of being kicked repeatedly in the back, head and stomach, punches raining down on him from above as the other prisoners spit and swear and scream at him, Oliver thinks of his family.
He has to stay alive. For his wife and son.
For Felicity and William.
Something dormant yet powerful stirs within him. It’s a kind of vast, static energy that’s erupting from so deep inside of him, Oliver can’t help but suspect it’s emanating from his very soul. And yet, despite how immense and strong the energy feels, spreading fire through his veins and invigorating every nerve, it’s soothing. Warm. It feels like everything good and pure and virtuous in the universe.
It feels like love.
For Felicity and William.
The great force surges out of him and it’s so bright that Oliver has to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid being blinded. The white light surrounds him like a protective shield, pushing outwards. The archer remains limp and bleeding on the ground as the power throws the seven prisoners beating him back, sending them flying through the air with cries of agony as the energy tears through them.
He hears shouts of confusion, anger and fear.
But Oliver is too weak to do anything except pass out.
When he wakes up, he’s so out of it that he doesn’t immediately recognize his medical cell, and he tenses up. Pain instantly spreads through his entire body, which he reckons is so bruised there’s not an inch of skin on him that hasn’t been turned black and blue. Oliver groans as he manages to sit up, rubbing shaking hands over his face.
He can’t really remember what happened exactly. He remembers being whaled on by other inmates, the sensation of his ribs cracking and limbs being bent the wrong way, and then that energy bursting out of him. Everything is black after that. Checking himself over methodically, Oliver finds his chest wrapped with bandages because of his damaged ribs and his right wrist in a brace. Nothing broken, which is a relief. He didn’t fancy living with broken fingers again. His head is swimming though and he feels nauseous, which indicates a minor concussion.
His head snaps up and he bites back a defensive, almost feral growl that bubbles to the surface when the door is unlocked and opened. Heart thrumming in his chest as the adrenalin causes him to tremble in anticipation of a fight, Oliver doesn’t relax, even when the person entering the cell is revealed to be the prison doctor.
Doctor Sampson looks up from his clipboard and stares at him scrutinizingly. “You’re awake.”
“Seems so,” Oliver rasps.
“You got off lucky this time,” Sampson says. “Four cracked ribs and a sprained wrist. One of the ribs nearly pierced your lung. Lots of lacerations, only one on your shoulder that required stitches. How’s your head?”
“It hurts.”
“Probably a concussion too, then.”
The archer turns away from him, gazing at the dull grey wall. “I’ve had worse.”
“I know,” the doctor nods. He’s seen Oliver with four stab wounds that resulted in him losing nearly two pints of blood, so he’s not lying. “Mr Queen… please answer me honestly. Are you a metahuman?”
Oliver frowns at him. “No.”
The doctor doesn’t look as if he believes him. “We’ve sent your DNA away to be tested.”
“I’m telling the truth. I’m not a meta.”
Sampson raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to explain to the warden what happened out in the Yard. Admitting to meta abilities now will help your case when it’s revealed by the DNA test later that you withheld information about them.”
“Doctor, I don’t have meta abilities,” Oliver insists. “As for what happened during that fight… I have no idea. Everything is… fuzzy.”
His answer doesn’t satisfy the prison warden either. They determine that until the DNA results come through and Oliver’s ribs have healed up enough, he will be staying in the medical cell.
Three days later, the doctor comes back in and tells Oliver, “You’re not a metahuman.”
“I did tell you that,” Oliver responds tiredly.
The warden appears behind the doctor. He sits down in a chair next to Oliver’s bed, pulls out a tablet and shows him CCTV of the fight. It’s grainy black and white video, but clearly shows the seven inmates beating up Oliver and then a massive white blaze erupting from the archer, hurling everybody backward. “Then how the fuck do you explain what you did,” he says harshly.
Oliver is lost for words.
Then, he remembers.
He’s not a metahuman. But he does have the ability to use light magic.
He peers in closer at the CCTV footage, paying special attention to his eyes. Due to the monochromatic nature of the video, his eyes should have been grey. But the archer’s eyes were glowing white. The same as the energy field.
“It’s magic,” Oliver says.
They give him his third psychiatric evaluation since he arrived at the prison the next day.
Everything mostly goes back to normal. Once Oliver’s healed up, he goes back to his normal cell. He gets his three meals a day through the hatch, exercises in the Yard, does push-ups until he’s so exhausted he has to fall asleep. He suffers from nightmares of being torn away from his crying family and writes letters to Felicity and William that he hopes are being delivered to them. There is one major difference, however. None of the inmates attack him. As he does weights in the Yard, Oliver sees them huddling on the other side of the gym space, muttering under their breaths to each other and eyeing him warily. Word must have traveled around about Oliver throwing those prisoners back with that huge, unexplainable burst of energy, because the others seem too scared to approach him, lest the archer use his weird abilities against them too.
“Yo, Queen.”
Oliver sighs. He sets his pair of dumbbells back on the rack, dusting grit off his hands. The guy brave enough to march up to him is a man by the name of Alric Leston, a serial killer who the Green Arrow brought to justice. Leston’s a huge guy, a few inches taller than Oliver, and he’s just as ripped. Leston has several of his posse backing him up, although they don’t look thrilled about getting close to the archer.
“What do you want, Leston?” Oliver says flatly.
“Whatever the fuck you did to Big Keller and his boys made them shit themselves. I ain’t as easily scared. You’re gonna fuckin’ pay for putting me in here, Queen. I’m gonna make you squeal like a pig being slaughtered. Make you wish you were dead.”
Oliver tries to ignore him. Judging by Leston’s current body language, he’s all bark and no bite. He claims he’s not scared of the archer, but Oliver can tell that he’s nervous about attacking him and ending up just like Big Keller.
“Seen pictures of that pretty little wife and precious son of yours in the newspapers,” Leston continues with a sneer. “They must miss you. You know, Benton here’s got buddies on the outside. Maybe he should pay them a visit.”
“If we can’t make you squeal,” the guy who must be Benton smirks, “My buds would definitely be able to make your wife. Bet she’s all lonely without you in the house. Probably needs a good pounding. One of my boys would enjoy that son of yours too.”
Oliver snaps. He whips around and snarls, “Back the fuck off.”
“Yeah?” Leston steps forwards, looming over the archer. “Make me.”
His eyes flit over to the guards standing in the corner of the Yard, who are watching them indifferently. “Fuck off, Leston,” he says, turning away from the man. “I’m not fighting you.”
Leston smiles cruelly at him. “Thought you got off on starting fights,” he goaded. “Would shock nobody if the Green Arrow had a kink for rough play.”
“I’ll make sure to tell my man on the outside your wife likes it violent,” Benton says.
The archer seethes silently, heading away from the group towards a lifting bench.
“Hey, don’t walk away from me, Queen!”
Leston grabs Oliver’s arm. He freezes, muscles bunching as he tenses and strains against the too-tight grasp. He wants to punch the guy so badly, but he can’t. He can’t start a fight. He can’t end up in medical again. He has to stay alive, for Felicity and William.
For Felicity and William.
Before he even knows it’s happening, the energy is swelling inside of him again, pulsing and hot and colossal. When Leston’s fingers tighten around Oliver’s wrist, yanking him towards him, the power bulges inside of him and blasts out. With a familiar rush of bright white, the men are tossed across the yard with screams of pain.
Oliver almost collapses in exhaustion, the energy exploding out of him leaving him drained and bone-weary. He falls to his knees, breathing heavily as his head spins. Glancing down blearily at his hands, he catches sight of them radiating that white light before he faints.
“It’s magic, you said?” the prison warden asks.
Oliver shrugs his shoulders, picking at the threads of his blanket as he shifts uncomfortably in the medical bed. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Magic makes sense to you?”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve come across it. Or even the second time.”
“That’s bullshit,” the warden says, and then he leaves.
He’s not wrong.
Oliver gazes down at his hands, flexing his fingers. Biting his lip, he clenches them into fists. He has no idea how to control this. Back when he was fighting Darhk, he managed to channel the light magic inside of him well enough to utilize it properly, but now… his very small amount of magic seems to be bursting out of him, at seemingly random times.
Except… it’s not seemingly random times.
It’s every time he’s reminded himself he has to stay alive for Felicity and William.
For Felicity and William.
A soft white glow begins in his palms. It’s a weak yet steady radiance of light, sending tendrils of warmth tingling through his fingers and arms. Oliver’s eyes fill with tears and he sniffs. Felicity and William are his magic’s anchors. Of course. They’re the most wonderful part of his life, the two people who give him the strength to carry on in hard times. His love for them is more powerful than any hatred he’s faced in this prison.
Just thinking about them causes the light to increase in intensity, bathing the room in a soft, warm shine. Oliver’s so focused on the mesmerizing brightness that he barely notices the cell door swinging open.
“What the fuck?” the doctor exclaims, his voice high-pitched with astonishment.
“I told you, it’s magic,” Oliver says.
For once, the archer’s not the one passing out.
His magic astounds and bewilders the warden, the doctor and all the guards. They have no idea what to do with Oliver anymore. The metahuman power suppressing cells don’t work on magic, and because Oliver has limited control over his abilities, there isn’t really a way to control them.
Apparently, they go to ARGUS for answers and help after the FBI gives them no information to work with, but Lyla pretends to have no clue what they’re talking about. Oliver decides that if he ever gets out of prison, he should probably offer free babysitting for the rest of his life and buy her a couple of her favorite bottles of rose as repayment.
After the sixth incident where Oliver defends himself from attacking prisoners using his powers, the warden decides that he should be given his thirty allotted minutes in the Yard privately. That way, there’s no risk of anybody beating on the archer, and no risk of them being injured by an explosion of magic. Oliver is fine with this - ecstatic, even. He gets injured less and he doesn’t have to face the other inmates, who stare at him in fear and bemusement nowadays.
“We need you to stop,” the warden says, when Oliver gives two rookie guards concussions after they decide the archer’s ‘not being cooperative’ enough on his walk to the Yard.
“I can’t. I don’t know how.”
It’s a lie.
But he’s not going to stop repeating his mantra of For Felicity and William anytime soon. Not when that’s the only thing keeping him sane and remotely mentally stable.
The warden escorts him back to his solitary cell and Oliver feels bad when he ends up with a dislocated shoulder after the guard leading him back gets a little too rough, tightening the handcuffs too much.
The doctor isn’t stupid, and knows Oliver has more control over the magic that he’s letting on. “What do you want?” he asks. “In exchange for you to stop.”
“To see my wife and son,” Oliver responds without a beat of hesitance.
“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Sampson replies. “Especially considering your son is a minor. But I’ll talk to the warden and we’ll try and arrange something. If the meet happens, you’ll stop?”
“If I get attacked, I’ll still defend myself. But I can make it so the injuries caused are less severe.”
It’s not a lot, but it seems to be enough for the doctor.
For Felicity and William.
He might be able to see his wife and son.
“What’s this I’m hearing about my husband being an extra for Harry Potter?”
“I may have magic, but I’m not a wizard,” Oliver says, not raising his gaze from where he’s twisting his blanket around his fingers.
He’s in medical again, after a riot broke out. Oliver didn’t participate, remaining inside his locked cell, but the inmates targeted him directly. Leston decided to get revenge for the magic-throwing incident by stealing a guard’s taser and using it on him repeatedly while his boys held him down and punched Oliver into submission. The archer has a broken clavicle, a couple more broken ribs and electric burns all over his torso. Leston and his boys are in states that are much worse than Oliver’s a few rooms along, after they were struck by another magical shockwave.
They have the archer on pretty strong painkillers, so he’s not surprised he’s hallucinating Felicity.
His wife sobs. “Oh, Oliver. You look like a wreck.”
“You should see the other guys,” he responds flippantly.
And then the hallucination caresses his cheek softly with a gentle, shaking hand and she’s not a hallucination.
Oliver stares at Felicity in disbelief. His very real and very upset wife is sitting on the edge of the bed, her blue eyes glimmering with unshed tears as she strokes her fingers over his face and shoulders, seeing him and touching him for the first time in nearly three months.
He bursts into tears.
“I love you so much,” he cries into Felicity’s shoulder, once they’re wrapped in each other’s arms and hugging. He clings to her like a needy child, freely weeping as she rubs his back and sobs with him. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” she whispers. “God, Oliver, I love you so much, it’s been torture living without you.”
They spend the next three hours together, Lyla having used her ARGUS connections to get them some time alone. They cuddle and talk, speaking about Felicity and William’s lives. They’re staying in an ARGUS safehouse on the outskirts of Star City; Felicity has been setting up her own company, Smoak Technologies, and has been homeschooling William, who was being bullied so badly at school because of his dad being the Green Arrow that they were forced to pull him out. Oliver doesn’t want to tell Felicity about his life in prison - it’s dismal and dark and miserable. But he doesn’t really have to. They end up having a pretty intense make-out session, being careful to mind the archer’s injuries and when Oliver strips off his medical-issued white t-shirt, Felicity erupts into fresh sobs at the sight of all his bruises, burns and new scars.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” Felicity murmurs, kissing him so desperately during their last minute together that his lips sting. “We’re going to get you out of here, Oliver, you’re going to come home to us.”
“I know,” he says. “And I’m going to stay alive. For you and William.”
Oliver’s hands shimmer with that bright magic.
Felicity gazes at him in complete awe, dancing her fingers over his palms as she observes the light magic. It’s been two years since she’s last seen him use it and he has a much better handle on it now than he did back then, when he used it sorely to fight Darhk. “It’s beautiful.”
He smiles sadly, flicking a lock of her hair behind her ear. It’s a pretty light show, sure, but it’s nowhere near as stunning as the ray of sunshine in front of him right now. “Not as beautiful as you.”
“Come home, Oliver,” Felicity kisses him. “Stay alive and come home. William and I need you.”
“You are my heart,” he whispers, his forehead against hers. The energy has engulfed them both, illuminating them in pure light. “And you are my strength. I will always love you. You… you are my light in the darkness, my star in the night sky and I promise you I will try as hard as I possibly can to stay alive and come home to you and William.”
For Felicity and William.
Staying alive is much easier now than before. During the riot, Oliver saved a couple of guards from violent inmates and protected both the warden and the doctor from being killed. Ever since that, the prison staff have been acting noticeably more considerate towards the archer. The handcuffs are loosened a little when he’s taken to the Yard, he gets an extra bottle of water with breakfast and some of the guards even try to make conversation with him sometimes. Phone calls to Felicity and William, which he wasn’t allowed before, become part of his daily routine. It makes Oliver feel less lonely. Knowing that his family are okay and coping on the outside is relieving to him, and fuels his determination to survive until he’s declared a free man.
He’s having a health check-up when all the lights suddenly cut out. The sudden darkness triggers Oliver to jump in his skin, glancing around anxiously. He hears the doctor shift and stumble towards the door, opening it to reveal more blackness.
“My phone’s not working,” the doctor says.
Oliver narrows his eyes, trying to adjust them to the darkness. The ECG machine beside him, which has been monitoring his vitals, has turned off as well. “Nothing electrical is,” he realizes. “Something like a large-scale EMP device might have caused everything in the building to short out. This could be an attack on the prison - somebody trying to break one of the inmates out.” He hopes it’s not Felicity. He doesn’t think she would do something like this, but she’s surprised him before.
“Mr Queen, any chance you could give us some light?” Sampson requests.
“Do you not have a torch?”
“They got rid of all the staff’s torches when an inmate stole one and tried to use the battery acid in the batteries to build a bomb,” the doctor replies. “We use rechargeable electric lamps. Which won’t work if your theory about an EMP is correct. You’re my only option for light right now. I need to find the warden and if you help me, I won’t handcuff you. I’ll make sure a good word is put in for you and you get more privileges.”
They hear guards yelling in the distance. Oliver kind of wants to know what’s going on, because it can’t exactly be good, so he closes his eyes and focuses on the love he feels for his family. He concentrates on memories of embracing his wife and hugging his son, movie nights spent cuddling together on the couch with popcorn and mornings catching up on episodes of Survivor while eating omelets.
“Thank you,” the doctor says, and the archer opens his eyes a crack to see small, revolving balls of light resting in his palms, illuminating the whole room. The light highlights the doctor’s faintly scared and apprehensive expression. “Let’s go.”
“You need to take a taser or something with you,” Oliver tells him solemnly. He slides off the medical bed as he yanks off the ECG leads and the blood pressure monitor strap, his moving hands causing the light levels to fluctuate throughout the room. “You might need to defend yourself. I can fight, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to protect you.”
“The fuck is the prisoner doing out of his cell?” the warden says, when they eventually find him staggering down a pitch-black corridor. He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from Oliver’s magic, which hurts his sight after so long in the dark.
“He’s our only source of light at the moment,” Sampson snipes back at him. “Mr Queen’s agreed to help us. Do we have any idea what’s happening?”
“No clue. Communications are down. I sent Hopper and Jones to check on the backup generator, but it seems to be non-functional.”
“It’s got to be an EMP,” Oliver mutters under his breath.
“Shut up,” the warden orders him. “In the event of a power-cut, Slabside goes into complete lockdown, which alerts the local police and Homeland Security. They’ll send a couple of units down here soon once we don’t respond to their messages.”
“Somebody’s got to be outside to receive them,” Sampson comments.
“There’s only one door in this entire facility that can be opened during the lockdown; it’s non-electronic and requires multiple keys and code combinations. Queen, I need light so you’re coming with me, we’re gonna check that door hasn’t been breached. Doctor, it would probably be safest for you to head back to the medical area, if you can. I’ve ordered most of the guards to keep an eye on the inmates in their cells or patrol the facility.”
The archer and warden walk in frigid silence through the prison to find the only exit that currently works. They pass a couple of inmate blocks, where the prisoners scream questions about why Oliver’s out of his cell, and they’re not. Oliver ignores them all and continues remembering the smell of Felicity’s perfume and the special washing powder he uses to remove grass stains from William’s baseball kit so he can maintain the magic lighting up their path.
“If this is your wife, Queen,” the warden says, “You’re dead, you hear me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oliver responds steadily.
“Last time she was here, she threatened to shut this whole place down if I didn’t let you two exchange phone calls every day,” the man informs him. “She’s a hacker, and CEO of a tech company. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out she could be behind this.”
The archer shakes his head. “My wife wouldn’t do this.”
God, he really hopes she wouldn’t.
They reach the door and it takes ten minutes to unlock it, with all the different keys and code combinations needed. When they swing the door open, they’re immediately met with several gun barrels aimed at their faces. Oliver immediately takes a step back and raises his hands in surrender, which results in the gun bearers being blinded by the light from his palms being shone directly in their faces.
“Well that explains why he’s not in his cell,” a familiar, pissed off female voice says.
It takes every ounce of self-control Oliver has left not to punch FBI Agent Watson in the face.
Turns out, the FBI staged the blackout in order to take Oliver from his cell so he could work as an asset on a major drugs bust operation. They didn’t inform the prison authorities about removing Oliver from their custody before deciding to take him, and presumed that the archer would agree to help them in exchange for a shorter sentence.
The look of shock and annoyance on Watson’s face when Oliver flatly tells her that he will play no part in their operation and the FBI can fuck off, is comical.
“If you don’t agree to work this operation, you’re giving up any chance of getting out of this prison within your lifetime,” Watson scoffs.
He doesn’t need to make a deal with the FBI to have hope that he’ll one day be free.
He has his love for Felicity and William keeping him strong.
“Don’t fancy it, thanks,” he replies. “It would be much appreciated if you could turn the power for Slabside back on and then leave. I’ve got a scheduled phone call to my wife and son in about thirty minutes. I’ve got a funny story to tell them about how the FBI thought that I would work for them after the shit they pulled where they threatened and blackmailed a civilian in exchange to protect a city from a terrorist.”
The prison warden barely manages to muffle his laugh behind the archer.
Watson tries to grab Oliver’s arm when he turns away from her. A thought flits through Oliver’s mind about how this is the woman who separated Oliver from his family, who has caused him, Felicity and William so much pain over the last couple of months.
For Felicity and William.
Watson’s thrown back twenty feet by a sharp burst of white light. She lands on the ground and doesn’t move, unconscious, but unharmed. The rest of the FBI agents back away from Oliver slowly. The warden doesn’t immediately slap him into handcuffs as he expected - in fact, the man looks amused.
"I want it on record that I technically didn't touch her," Oliver says.
"'Technically'?"
Oliver pointedly waves his hands, which he's been holding up in the surrender position the whole time.
“Is Oliver Queen a metahuman?” he hears one of the agents ask in a whisper to another.
The warden answers him. “No, he’s a wizard.”
They shut the door in the FBI agents’ befuddled faces.
“Let’s get you back to medical so you can still have that phone call on time,” the warden says, letting Oliver walk ahead of him to cast light down the dark hallway, as it will take a while for the power to come back on.
“I’m not a wizard,” Oliver says.
The man raises an eyebrow, motioning down at the archer’s hands, which are still softly glowing with light. “Fuckin’ look like one to me.”
“My wife and son are never going to let me live this down.”
William strokes his fingers over his father’s lit-up palms with a fascinated look on his face. Oliver hasn’t been able to stop crying since Diggle brought his son into the meeting room, and the archer can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from him. His hands started glowing the moment that he laid eyes on William and the magic has entranced him.
It’s been too long since he had his son in his arms. William has grown a couple more inches. He’s definitely taller than Felicity now, and Oliver reckons he’ll be taller than him too. It’s hard not to notice how his son’s muscle mass has also increased, aided by self-defense and archery classes that Diggle and Roy, who has returned to help out the team in Oliver’s absence, have been giving him. They've already spent an hour together, discussing everything about William's life since May, and now his son is focused on Oliver's magic.
“I know it’s twenty years too late,” William says, “But I think you’ve earned a letter to Hogwarts.”
Oliver laughs wetly. “I think I’d rather come home to you and Felicity than go to Hogwarts, buddy.”
“You will,” William replies, so sure of the fact that Oliver’s heart swells with hope. “You promised you’d always try your best to come home to us. And although this situation is out of your control, out of mine and Felicity’s control… you will come home to us.”
Oliver nods, swallowing the lump in his throat.
He remembers the reason why he’s fought to survive in this prison for so long, why he’s held on to his faith that his cell isn’t his forever, For Felicity and William and the light in his hands grows brighter by a spark.
“Sooner rather than later though,” William tells him, with a wobbly sort of smile and tears in his eyes. His arms tighten around his dad’s waist as he buries his head in Oliver’s shoulder. “Please.”
The day Oliver is pardoned and released from prison, he runs towards Felicity and William; who are both waiting on the other side of the gates. He runs with not just lit-up hands, but his entire body shining and radiant, the brightness bursting out of him at the seams.
He hugs his wife and son and feels the magic within him swirl with happiness.
The three of them cry so much that they’re all wet, sobbing messes by the time Lyla and Diggle get them into the car to go home.
And now it’s not just Oliver glowing.
Felicity and William are too.