Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Felicity. I'll be careful." he said, sliding his bow over his back and pushing the last arrow into his quiver.

"I know! I know. But this isn't going to be a quick in-kill-someone-out job, Oliver. You know that right?" She replied, standing up from behind the computer.

"I know what I’m looking for.”

Felicity gave him a dull stare.

“Roughly.. and I've got John as backup, right Digg?" he turned to the man.

"You got it." John said, sending him a mocking salute.

"Exactly. We’ll head over now, I’ll go in and find what we need and John’ll have my six.”

He looked up to meet Felicity’s eyes. She was still worried.

”That's not nearly as reassuring as you think it is, Ollie." She sighed. "These people appeared out of nowhere and all we have to go on is that they’re professionals. And monsters. Professional monsters. They’ve hardly left a trace, we don't know who they are and still they've managed to shake up most of Starling's underworld. You know damn well there’s nothing they won’t do if they get a hold of you.” She rambled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Then I’ll just have to make sure they don’t.” he replied, shooting her a sarcastic grin and pulling his hood down over his face.

Felicity huffed, waving them out of the cave.

John shot her a comforting smile before following Oliver up and away.

–

The building was shrouded in darkness, a decommissioned factory. Litter skittered across the empty street, getting caught in the weeds lining the sidewalk. The only noise breaking the eerie silence was the sound of boots against the worn down street. Quiet, too quiet.

Sharing a look the men approached the front of the factory. A booted foot nudged the door, pushing it inwards. John raised his gun; crossing it over a torch, Oliver’s hand hovered above his quiver. They stepped slowly into the building, scanning left then right, up then down. Nothing.

Edging forwards, Oliver stopped suddenly. John paused next to him, throwing him a questioning glance. Oliver gestured to the steps. A nod of understanding. They continued on.

Oliver held up his hand, stopping again. He could hear the sound of a door squeaking open and grating against the floor as it closed coming from the bottom of the steps.

“There’s someone down there, and I’m guessing they’ve noticed we’re up here.” John said, flicking off his torch.

“Let’s go and introduce ourselves then” Oliver replied, stringing his bow and starting his descent down the stairs.

–

The thunk of metal against skin, Oliver grabbed the staggering man, quickly grabbing him and twisting his neck to stop him from falling down the stairs or yelling; alerting any others to their presence. It was unlikely he was alone here. Wedging the body onto a step, he noted the black combat outfit, a silver scorpion occupying the right breast pocket. They were in the right place at least.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs he slung his bow back into its holster. Combat in such close quarters didn’t take kindly to distance weapons like his bow and, besides, he could work just as well with his hands or a knife.

John spotted the door leading into what was presumably the main area of this base, flicking his head at it to grab Oliver’s attention. Replying with a nod they headed towards it. The sound of voices was louder now. Oliver paused thoughtfully, head tilting towards the sound. No more than five, if he had to guess. He held up his hand, fingers counting down from three.

On one John slammed open the door, subtlety no longer a concern, throwing up his gun and firing shot after shot. There were shouts of surprise. Two men appeared in tandem, weapons aimed at the door. The others scattered, taking cover around the room. Two shots and the men were down, barely having a chance to fire their own weapons. A graphic mural of red splayed out behind them.

Seconds later, a knife thunked into the wood next to John, grazing his arm. He dropped to the floor with a grunt, gun wielded in front of him.

Following suit, Oliver knelt behind a cabinet, whipping out a throwing knife, not having the space for his bow. He spared a glance at John, noting the blood staining the arm of his jacket. John flashed him a thumbs up then, eyes locked on to movement, shot again. Metal hit flesh. A reciprocal wound. The man hissed, anger driving him from his hiding place. He ran towards John’s position. As he passed the cabinet, Oliver stuck his leg out tripping him. Before he’d even hit the floor Oliver pounced, jerking the man’s head up by his chin and clawing the knife across his neck. With a gurgle he went limp, blood pooling underneath him.

John’s eyes widened, giving a shout.

As if in slow motion Oliver turned, the knife spinning out of his hand into the leg of the man behind him, still slick with blood. In the same moment he threw himself back down to the ground, the attacker’s knife flying over his head and sinking into the space where Oliver’s head had just been.

John rose to his feet, gun poised at the man. Oliver stood, flexing his hands, eyes tracking the man’s slow movements.

The attacker dragged himself across the floor, his leg leaving a trail of blood, marking his journey. He stuck his arm out in an attempt to reach the gun in front of him. Boot met hand, kicking the gun away. A crunch filled the air, quickly followed by a sharp growl. Oliver grabbed the man by his hair, yanking his head back. The man let out a weak grunt.

“What are you doing here? Who’s in charge?”

No reply.

“How many more of you are there?”

Nothing.

Oliver stomped on the man’s bad leg eliciting a howl of pain. Panting slightly, the man looked straight into Oliver’s eyes, grinning wickedly before he clamped down his jaw.

“What did you do?” Oliver roared as the man’s eyes began to flutter. He released his grip on the man’s hair like he’d be burned, the body twitching and convulsing as it hit the floor. Taking one last look at the foaming mouth, mumbling incomprehensibly, Oliver turned around to examine the rest of the room, fists clenched, pointedly ignoring the look John was giving him.

Computers lined the right wall, glowing gently in the dim light. Stepping over the body he approached the long table filling the middle of the room, John following a few paces behind, clutching his arm where it bled sluggishly. The table was obscured by papers; floor plans, reports, notes jotted in pencil on the sides. Closer inspection showed several files stamped ‘CONFIDENTIAL’. John turned on his torch, holding it between his teeth as he flicked through the first few pages. Pages upon pages of equations and calculations, diagrams and annotations, absolutely nonsensical. John wouldn’t call himself a genius but he knew a weapon when he saw one. He turned to call Oliver’s attention to the file only to find himself alone, the door at the far end of the room half open.

–

Oliver snuck through the door, canvassing the dimly-lit room in front of him, arms tense. A sharp wheeze drew his attention to the back corner. Oliver sucked in a breath, swearing softly. There in front of him knelt a boy, blond, head hung, kneeling with his arms suspended from the ceiling above him with rough rope - seemingly the only thing keeping him upright. He walked forward slowly, clearly telegraphing his every move, although the boy didn’t even glance up at him, eyes closed, muscles slack.

A torch flashed from behind him as John hurried forward catching sight of the boy. The newfound light painted a grim picture across the boy’s skin, previously obscured by the darkness. Blue bled into purple, purple into green. Angry red welts licked the boy’s shoulders. Hair unkempt, body covered in a layer of grime.

John’s eyes flicked away as Oliver knelt in front of the boy, one hand moving to support his head as the other went to his neck. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief as a steady pulse ticked away beneath his fingers.

“He’s OK, D. He’s fine. Help me get him down?” Oliver gestured to the ropes, receiving a curt nod from John.

Both men produced knives and began to saw at the rope. Once they were most of the way through, Oliver stooped down to support the boy’s body as John finished cutting. The boy’s arms fell to his side as his body slumped against the wall. Oliver shot a look at John.

Before either of the men had the chance to react, blond hair met Oliver’s face in a vicious headbutt. Oliver’s hands rushed to grab at his face, eyes wide.

The boy shot up, using both men’s surprise to weave past, scrambling towards the door.

“Hey! Wait!" Oliver called, pulling himself to his feet, the boy already halfway across the room.

“We’re only here to help!” Oliver tried, gaining on the blond figure.

The boy didn’t even deign to turn his head, determined to make it to the exit, rushing forwards clumsily. He stumbled right before the door, throwing out both arms to catch himself with a pained grunt. Knuckles white, gripping the doorframe, he finally looked up, eyes darting between Oliver and John. His cheeks were pink with exertion, forehead creased in pain. Blood crusted around his nostrils. The men stopped slowly in front of him, trying not to further startle the boy.

“Stay... Stay back...” he panted, eyes flickering dangerously, cataloguing the men’s appearances, their every move. His hand itched towards his back, the wound begging for pressure.

The men made eye contact, a moment passed, a silent conversation shared between them.

John stepped forward.

Brown eyes narrowed.

John held up a hand, the other loosely gripping his torch. “Please. You need help”. He gestured towards the paling boy.

“Just needed to catch my breath,” the boy huffed, his British accent slipping out unthinkingly, “then I’ll be on my way.” His back bled sluggishly, dripping down onto the back of his legs. He needed to go. Now. Keeping his sights on both the men, only glancing behind him for a moment, he loosened his grip on the door frame vision swimming, ears ringing. He grumbled out a curse.

“Just wait a second!” This time Oliver paced forwards. “You’re bleeding, we can help, we can get you to a hospital.” Keeping his tone even and his voice low.

The boy flinched at the sudden move, muscles tensing. He shook his head, “No, no hospitals. I’m fine.” A pained smile graced his face, one hand leaving the door frame to palm at his back. Taking as deep a breath as he could he let go and began shuffling backwards. The smile dropped from his face as black filled his vision. He lost his balance, hitting the ground.

He began to crawl blindly, making out vague shapes around the spots, hands scratching at the floor trying to find purchase. His body wasn’t cooperating with him.

Finally into the next room, he lost consciousness, dropping his head back against the cold ground.

Oliver and John rushed forwards, catching sight of the gory wound adorning the boy’s back: a deep slash right below his kidneys.

“Grab what you can, I’ll get him out.” Oliver said, sliding an arm behind the boy's knees and shoulders, being careful not to jostle the gash. With a nod John began to move around the room, grabbing files and pulling what information he could from the computers for Felicity to look at later.

Steeling himself, Oliver hoisted up the boy, walking him up the stairs and out of the factory.

Chapter Text

A wave of pain rolled through his body, slowly dragging him back to the present. He stifled a groan, trying to maintain his cover of unconsciousness. Memories flooded back - had he made it out? Who were those two men? He shouldn't have been captured in the first place, let alone need rescuing from some guy in a ridiculous Robin Hood costume. How humiliating.

Evening out his breathing he tilted his head ever so slightly, trying to gauge if there was anyone in the room. All he could hear was the clacking of nails against a keyboard. Somewhere… in front of him? The sound bounced strangely off the walls, a basement maybe? Not a hospital at least.

He paused, taking stock of his body. He could feel the pressure of a gauze and bandage wrapping around the wound on his back underneath a loose t-shirt. How sweet, they’d stitched him up, at least he wouldn’t have to do it this time.

Provided they’d done a good job.

They shouldn’t have ever been able to get close enough. Who knew where they’d taken him. Who knew what they’d done to him whilst he was out. His heart raced at the thought.

Frankly, he felt like shit. Everything from his head to his legs ached, his arms were faring no better. Irritating but not surprising. He knew he was lucky, SCORPIA had just been getting started with him before his knights-in-shining-armour had come to his aid. Pathetic. He’d gotten himself out of worse situations.

Maybe he was losing his touch..

He shifted slightly. He wasn’t restrained. Hm.

The typing stopped. He didn’t know how far away the person was, who they were or what they wanted. Only one option: get out of here as quickly as possible. He opened his eyes, swiftly flicking them around the room and taking in what he could see. Footsteps approached from in front of him.

“Oh shit..” someone whispered. A woman? She sounded scared. He could work with that.

–

Had he just moved? He had definitely just moved. Felicity stopped tapping away at the computer, rolling back her chair to go and check on the boy. She slipped off her cardigan to wrap around her face in a juvenile attempt at a disguise.

As she approached she saw his eyes open. Definitely awake.

“Oh shit.” She’d been hoping someone else would be down here when the boy woke up. Dealing with disorientated tortured kids was not her strong suit. She kept her distance, remembering how reactive Oliver had said he was.

“Hey, I’m-” she started. There was no use, the boy had already leapt up off the table, half-crouched behind it, eyes flashing dangerously. She held her hands up, the universal sign for ‘please don’t hurt me, I promise I’m not going to hurt you!’.

“Hi? The boys brought you back and sorted you out, hope that’s ok?”

His eyes scoured the room, twitching slightly as they landed on something behind her. She risked a glance in the same direction. He was either looking at the dozen knives Oliver had just sharpened and left laid out on the table or the several swords stored slightly to the right.

Not good. In Felicity’s defence they didn’t exactly get a lot of visitors.

“What’s your name?” She tried.

No response.

“Whatever’s going on, whatever you’re caught up in, we can help you.”

He almost rolled his eyes at that.

In one swift move he vaulted over the table, dashing past Felicity and stumbling towards the knives. Ripping one up, he held it out in front of him, hand shaking slightly although she didn’t dare underestimate the threat he posed.

Just great.

“Stay right there” he barked, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He took a step back, throwing his head over his shoulder, catching sight of the elevator. He turned back to face her. Brown eyes meeting blue.

“Don’t. Move.” He embellished his point with a flick of the knife. He was pale, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. She almost felt bad, except for the fact he was threatening her with a knife.

Felicity kept her hands held up, grumbling to herself. “I’m so dead. Of course it’s me letting the evil Ollie Jr. escape. Don’t even know his name...”

The boy made it to the elevator, clambering in. With one last brandish of the knife the doors closed, taking him up and out of the cave.

Shit.

The second she was out of sight Felicity dashed back to the computer, searching furiously for anything she could find on the boy.

–

He fell back against the wall of the elevator, breathing hard. His arms ached. Fuck. If both those men from before had been there when he’d woken up he didn’t think he’d have been able to make it out of there. He was weak from lack of sleep. And food. He was just generally in a bad way.

Thinking about it, he didn’t actually know how long SCORPIA had held him for, a few days at least. Nothing anyone would worry about. He’d just have to get right back to the task at hand.

Now that SCORPIA knew he was here then he doubted he’d be able to evade them for long. He paused. The last thing he’d seen before he passed out was a man in black and red - an agent bleeding out on the floor. He’d just have to hope Green and his sidekick had dealt with the rest. Still, they’d be more careful now, he’d have to up his game. Finding them the first time had been an accident - he wouldn’t get that lucky again.

He drew a deep breath, testing his ribs. Sore but not broken, he’d managed much more difficult escapes with far worse injuries before, he’d be fine.

The elevator chimed and he pulled himself off the wall, tucking to one side of the door, hand clutching the knife. The door opened to a large, dark room, the dim lights casting a strange blue glow. He crept out, inspecting the space. Empty. Thank god. He spotted a fire exit sign at the far end and began making his way towards it, pressed neatly against the wall.

Easing open the door he slipped out into the fresh air. The midday sun stung his eyes as he looked around. Warehouses and old factories much like the one SCORPIA had hidden him in. He was in the industrial district, thankfully an area he’d grown accustomed to. The town house he’d called home for the last few weeks wasn’t far. It might take a while in his current condition but he had no money for a taxi so he’d just have to make do.

He’d make an excellent Scout, very resourceful he thought, then scoffed.

Hand ghosting his back, he set off.

–

Not bothering to take off his shoes he flopped back on to his bed. If he’d already met Robin Hood and his trigger-happy sidekick, who was the woman - Maid Marian? He snorted to himself.

Not the time. He’d wasted too much time already. He was here to stop SCORPIA, not get captured by them.

He sighed, pushing up from the bed. He needed a shower, then he needed to get back to work.

Finally kicking off his shoes, he headed towards the bathroom, ditching the t-shirt he’d inadvertently stolen from the trio when he’d made his great escape.

Clasping the sink he looked into the mirror, flinching slightly at the gaunt face that met him. A bruise blossomed against his cheek, lip split. That explained his headache. Turning away, he began to unravel the bandage from around his waist, peeling back the gauze to get a better look. They’d stitched the cut neatly. He had no memory of it, not even the sharp pain of needle meeting flesh. His stomach rolled at the thought. Pulse inching faster.

Undressing fully, he turned the handle and positioned himself under the shower’s spray.

Cold and unforgiving.

He scrubbed his body at speed, not stopping to think about the myriad of scars which lined his body. However, even a vague downwards motion threatened to rip the stitches on his back so he forced himself to slow down. The water washed away the blood and grime from the last few days, brown and red swirling down the drain.

He felt better.

Stepping out of the shower he caught his reflection in the mirror again, pushing back the hair from his face. Brown eyes met brown eyes. Julius looked back at him, grinning.

His breathing sped up, coming out as pants. The pink web of scar tissue on his chest throbbed in time with his pulse.

Fuck.

He tore his eyes away, shoving open the bathroom door.

No use.

His breathing only continued to pick up as he pulled on the nearest pair of pants and t-shirt.

Heart beat thrumming in his ears he began to pace his room, like a caged animal. He huffed a laugh at that between rapid breaths. A caged animal, the perfect metaphor for his life.

A hand came up to grasp at his chest, then the neck of his t-shirt. Everything was too much. It felt like his clothes were clinging to his body. He paced, up and down, up and down, up and down, tugging at his hair, a growl of irritation escaping his throat.

Get a hold of yourself, this is ridiculous.

But he couldn’t. He felt trapped. What else had they done to him whilst he was unconscious? Even the thought made his skin crawl.

Did they know who he was - his body told a hell of a story?

Who even were they, not a lot of people go around warehouses looking for trouble? Unless that was a thing here.. Had he ruined the mission so soon? He wouldn’t be able to face Blunt if he had. He couldn’t go back empty handed, he didn’t dare.

Agitated, he swept an arm across his desk, sending notes and stationary flying.

He couldn’t breathe. He had to leave. He had to get out of here.

Fresh air would sort him out. Grabbing his keys and phone with shaky hands he all but flung himself out of the house and onto the streets below.

Blood thundered in his ears, his skin hummed.

–

He hurried down the sidewalk, aiming for nowhere in particular. He paid no mind to where his feet were taking him, trapped in his thoughts, being jostled by passersby. The constant contact only made him feel worse. He turned off down a random street, the traffic muffling the sound of his panicked breaths.

He clenched in fists at his side. In. Out. In. Out. Head down. Just breathe.

He’d shot Julius. Point blank. The clone couldn’t hurt him. Not here. Not any more than he already had. The thought did nothing to soothe him, seeming only to agitate him further. Phantom blood trickled from between his fingers where his hand gripped his chest.

His head was buzzing, thoughts swirling. This was, perhaps, why he was so surprised when he walked straight into the man in front of him.

“Woah there, kid! Watch where you’re going.” A gruff voice spoke, not unkindly.

“Sorry, wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry.” He managed to heave out.

In a small act of mercy from the universe he remembered to put on his American accent. Lifting up his head he examined the man in front of him: dirty blond hair, cropped short; blue eyes swirling with something Alex couldn’t quite place. His clothes spoke of quiet luxury. Something about the man was familiar, tugging at a thought in the back of his head. He’d come back to that when he felt like an actual, functioning person.

“You alright, kid? You’re not looking too good..” Alex was not in the mood for pity, or for unwanted questions. Even stopping as briefly as he had was making him itchy, irritated. His pulse was still racing, skin thrumming with energy.

“I’m good. Thanks.” Alex skirted round the man, only making it a few paces before he spoke again.

“Hey, hold on!”

Ugh. The universe was not on his side. For fuck’s sake.

Chapter Text

“He did what?! Are you okay? No, don't even try to justify that. I’m heading over right now.” Oliver sped up his pace. “No, Felicity, it’s fine. We’ll find him, he can’t have gone too far,” He sighed into the phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me if anything comes up, okay?”

He hung up. Of course the second he stepped away the brat would run off. He’d hoped they’d get some information out of him, or at least convince him to go to the police. He checked his watch. He wasn't sure what time he’d left but clearly he’d been gone long enough for blondie to cause trouble. Picking up the pace he turned the corner, making his way back towards the cave. 

Having pulled out his phone to check his emails he didn’t see the person walking towards him until they crashed straight into each other.

“Woah there! Watch where you’re going, kid.”

“Sorry, wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry.” The boy mumbled, looking up. His eyebrows furrowed, brown eyes scanning Oliver’s face, assessing him. Not necessarily threatening but the familiar move put Oliver slightly on edge.

Getting a better look at him Oliver almost did a double take: it was the boy from the factory. 

Felicity had been panicking about losing him since he’d made his great escape. Well, after she’d gotten over him threatening her with a knife. Apparently ‘he didn’t look like he could do much damage’ and had just gone for the closest weapon to him. Had they had the conversation in person he was sure Felicity would’ve smacked him for leaving his knives out. From her description of him he wasn’t looking much better - still clearly injured.

Now here he was right in front of him. And he’d agree: kid looked like shit.

What were the odds?

He could’ve sworn he’d had a British accent when they’d last spoken, though. He’d also passed out and smacked his head on the floor and bled everywhere. So, all bets were off.

“You alright, kid? You’re not looking too good...” Oliver gestured to his lip and cheek. 

Gotta keep him talking, this was his chance.

Hopefully the boy wouldn’t mind a little concern from a good Samaritan. He could try and get a name at least.

“I’m good. Thanks.” He muttered. Pale. Shaky. He shouldn’t even be upright, let alone wandering around the city. Alone. Where were his parents?

The boy stepped around him attempting to walk away.

“Hey, hold on!” Oliver called out, trying to buy himself more time.

He was worried, the kid had been kidnapped and tortured, he needed to know why. Either he was spectacularly good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time or there was something much more serious going on here.

The boy groaned quietly before turning to face him.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

He pulled a face at that, as if to say ‘ Really?’   He had his hands held in front of him to pick at his nails, sleeves pulled down to his knuckles. Oliver knew the red raw skin that marred his wrists.

He shot the boy what he hoped was a placating smile in return, completely relaxing his body language.

“Not trying to be rude, but stranger danger, man.” Shrugging one shoulder slightly, although the action prompted a slight wince.

Oliver’s eyebrows raised of their own volition: it had been years since he’d had to introduce himself, the pros and cons of being the heir to one of the largest fortunes in Starling City. He hadn’t been a ‘stranger’ in years.

In the moment of stunned silence it took for the older man’s ego to recover; it was like the boy had transformed before him -  stance relaxing, an easy grin gracing his face. A practised move. He’d sized Oliver up and decided he needed to be someone else, someone calm and confident, someone uninjured. It made sense, showing any weakness - especially around this part of the city - would only serve to make him an even bigger target. 

“Oliver. Queen. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.

The boy’s eyes widened just a fraction before his face fell back to normal.

“Of course,” he chuckled, “sorry. Busy day.” He gestured vaguely.

A pause. 

The boy eyed Oliver’s outstretched hand, made a decision. 

“Lukas.” A confident handshake, although Oliver could feel a small tremor. “You might have come across my dad. Jason Miller? We only moved here recently but I’m sure you two move in similar circles.”

“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” He racked his brain… Miller. It didn’t ring any immediate bells, at least he’d have something to offer Felicity.

“No worries.” He shrugged again. “Well, I'd better be off. Places to be and all that. I’ll see you around Mr. Queen.” The kid gave Oliver a cheeky two-fingered salute before strolling off down the street.

Oliver watched the kid walk away. He’d used up all his excuses to chat. Prod any further and he’d either have to reveal his identity or risk looking like a creep- neither of which were appealing options.

Lukas.

He whipped out his phone, tapping out a quick text to Felicity.

Lukas Miller. Dad is Jason Miller. Moved to SC recently. Me and J ‘move in similar circles’. ETA 5 mins.

Almost as soon as he sent it he received a ‘thumbs up’ back. She knew him well enough to not bother asking him how he’d found that out, he could explain it better in person.

–

Felicity took off her glasses to rub at her eyes, this was bordering on ridiculous.

“Still nothing?” Oliver walked over, standing behind her to look at her screen.

“Nothing helpful. He’s only mentioned by name in one article. The only two photos I can find are from stories on his dad. No social media, no sporting or academic achievements. Kid’s a ghost. I mean seriously, what kind of teenager doesn’t have any social media these days?” She sighed, throwing up her hands.

“Maybe he’s just a private person. Depending on how wealthy his family is it’s not unreasonable that he’d keep his personal life to himself. It would make the most sense if they took him to get a ransom. Quick cash. You don’t expect the rich guy’s son to fight back, and from the looks of him they were right.”

“But no missing persons report, no public appeal to find his son.” She gestured frantically. “Maybe Lukas wasn’t down there that long, maybe his dad didn’t care. I have literally no idea.”

“They might have told him not to go to the police, said they’d release some unsavoury information or threatened someone close to the family. You’d be surprised at the lengths people will go to to avoid being embarrassed.” 

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He made a good point, maybe she’d have to do some deeper digging on Miller Senior. “Not that you’d know anything about that, huh, Mr Party-Boy?” She said, waggling her eyebrows at him.

He gave her a flat look.

“What? Just saying…”

“Anyways. Maybe we shift our focus to Jason.” He suggested, clearly picking up on where Felicity’s own thoughts were heading. “If they’ve got something on him we need to know what. 

His eyes flickered, pulling a face, clearly remembering something “You’re sure he’s from the States? I’ve not heard of him before but Lukas said we might’ve met before. I can’t say I remember him if we have.”

“As sure as I can be.” She flicked her hand towards the screen. “His documents are all airtight, Milwaukee born and raised.”

“Hm. When we first spoke to Lukas I could’ve sworn he had a British accent…” 

“Maybe he sent his kid to an international school? Could explain that and why I can’t seem to track him down.”

A private school boy from a rich family fit with the kid’s personality based on what Oliver had said. He was cheeky but still respectful, withdrawn but not rude. Even to a stranger (although that stranger was Oliver Queen - what kind of rock did Lukas live under that he didn’t recognise him?).

“That could work.” He paused. “That seems to be as far as we’re going to get with the Millers. Have you managed to have a look at whatever Digg managed to get off of their computers?” 

They’d already flicked through all the paper files John had pulled: complete and utter nonsense. Meaningless productivity and financial concerns but nothing about what they actually had planned. It made sense that they wouldn’t print highly sensitive documents, but it was irritating.

“Not yet, I was waiting for someone else to get down here. Tag team it.” She dangled the USB between her fingers. 

“Let’s do it. I’d be grateful just to get their name at this point.” Oliver gave her shoulders a quick squeeze before sitting down next to her.

She plugged the drive into her computer, clicking open the first file. Almost immediately the screen began to flicker, pop-ups covering every inch of the display.

“What is this? No no no…” Felicity murmured, hands flying across the keyboard.

“Felicity ?” Oliver looked over, unsure of what to do.

“No! Oh this is not good.” Her brow furrowed in concentration. “I must have missed a log-in point somewhere and now it's… Oh shit.“ Her eyes widened. “How the hell did they do that? You are not getting my information today, evil USB drive. I must’ve missed something. What did I miss…” 

With one final clack of the keyboard she managed to shut off the computer, stopping the program in its tracks, ripping the USB out of the socket.

Oliver turned to face her, expression baffled. 

“What the hell was that?!” He gestured to the now-black screen.

“That was someone who really doesn’t want us looking at their files.” She groaned. “I can probably sort out the computers but I’m going to need some time.” She stood up from the chair, stretching out her back. 

“Later.” She turned to face him. “Back to basics. Where did you say you bumped into Lukas again?” 

– 

Alex felt better. He’d felt confined in his room, only reminding him of bad memories. Getting out into the fresh-ish city air had done him some good. 

He thought back to his inadvertent meeting with Oliver Queen, chastising himself for not recognising the man sooner - he was practically the face of Starling City. As if that wasn’t bad enough he’d also been acting strange. In his stupor he’d allowed himself to be Alex Rider, not Lukas Miller. 

Thankfully, the only person who would’ve noticed him missing was his partner for this mission, Johnston, and Alex hadn’t been gone long enough for him to worry, thus, to everyone else Lukas had been going about his life as he normally did, no one need know any different.

He could play off the bruise on his face as a mugging-gone-wrong, the best lies were often the simplest.

He couldn’t afford to slip up like that again, though. The more he integrated himself into the city the more people he’d have to fool.

He’d only just managed to sort himself out when Queen had stopped him from walking off. That in itself had been strange - why had the man wanted to speak to him, surely he had more important things to be doing with his time?

Alex had to admit he’d looked pretty bad, but he’d tried to keep his face angled so that the bruise and his split lip were less visible. 

Panting like he’d run a marathon probably hadn’t helped, he’d had limited success trying to get his breathing under control, but he’d made a conscious effort to even it out whilst him and Queen had been speaking.

Nevertheless, the meeting had helped him plant the seed, he’d mentioned him and his ‘Dad’; maybe they’d get invited to some more things now.  All the best rich people had good connections. MI6 needed information and there was no better place to get it than galas and fundraisers.

Starling City reminded him of London in some ways but there were clear differences. He missed Chelsea, he missed his home.

Something buzzed rhythmically in his pocket. In the chaos of the last few hours he’d forgotten that he’d grabbed his phone as he left. Thank god for small mercies. 

He picked up the phone.

“Hey, Luke. Fancy grabbing dinner from the new Chinese place down the street, a friend recommended it to me?” The agent was still at work so Alex had to read between the lines: head home, his partner had something important he wanted to share.

“Yeah, sure. What time?” Alex played along, just in case there was anyone listening in. 

“Meet back home for 7? I’m swamped at work today”

“Sounds great, Dad. See you then.”

“ Alright, kid. Talk to you later.”

The line went dead. 

Alex checked his watch. 16:30. He still had a bit of time before he needed to be ‘home’, but his back was killing and he needed to clean up the mess he’d made before he left. He slipped his phone into his pocket and headed back towards the house.

– 

Alex picked up all the files and floor plans he’d swept off his desk earlier, sighing gently.

Having spent most of the walk back chastising himself for acting too strangely to be Lukas he decided now was as good a time as any to do some Starling City research. It’d been quite a while since he’d been in the US, he was out of the loop. 

He couldn’t afford to lose it again, not like he had.

Top of his list: Oliver Queen, heir to the non-existent Starling City throne. He could’ve kicked himself, of all the people he could’ve bumped into (and subsequently not recognise). 

He spent the next 2 hours researching various celebrities, notable CEO’s and rich people who might hold a grudge, hoping to better understand what had drawn SCORPIA here.

During his deep dive into Tommy Merlin he heard the latch on the front door go, Johnston was back. He closed the laptop and headed down to greet him.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs he paused, the man had actually brought food from the new restaurant with him. 

“Take what you want and sit. We need to talk.” He gestured to the living room, giving Alex a concerned once-over. Clearly noting the way he was grasping his side and the bruise on his face.

Alex grabbed a box of hot something and some chopsticks before taking up position on the nearest couch. Johnston did the same.

“So, we’re back to square one with possible base locations, you look like shit by the way, make sure you ice that eye.” He gestured vaguely to Alex’s face. “With the Green Arrow bursting in like that they’ll have gone back underground. Who knows when they’ll poke their heads up again.” 

He broke off to take a bite of food. 

“However, Jason Miller has been invited to a fundraiser for the hospital, and encouraged to bring a guest. You up for a schmooze? MI6 is footing the suit bill.”

“Sure.” Alex shrugged. “Do we know anyone going?”

“I’ve unfortunately not been made privy to the guest list, but ‘6 is working on that. Gives us a good chance to show our faces and cement ourselves as part of the community. Someone will slip up, or say something, and we need to be there when they do.”

Alex agreed, the better integrated they were the easier it would be to get information on any unsavoury activity or criminal dealings. Even just local gossip could help point them in the right direction.

As soon as they got the guest list they could start planning: who was at the top of their list to speak to, topics of conversation, who had children around Alex’s age.

Alex was used to being paraded like a prized pig, Sarov had given him all the experience he could need. The Millers’ first real introduction into Starling City society. As far as missions went, this one was relatively simple and would go off without a hitch.

Hopefully.

Chapter Text

Alex was out again, looking for SCORPIA. Creeping through the industrial district on a whim.

There was every chance they’d moved on but he had a feeling, call it intuition. He could only hope that the illustrious Green Arrow had taken care of all the SCORPIA operatives in the factory, even so, he’d covered his face and hair this time, hoping to leave a far less distinctive trail back to his cover identity.

His age was an asset but also had its drawbacks; only so many blond kids meddled in terrorist business, and if terrorists were anything like the intelligence community then they didn’t believe in coincidences. 

Johnston, his partner, was out as well, scouting the other half of the area code, looking for anything out of place. 

It was definitely SCORPIA, that much they knew. A fact Alex had helped confirm with his kidnapping- if they’d wanted to hide their identity they wouldn’t have had those tacky scorpions pinned on their uniforms.

Unfortunately, he’d been too busy being beaten up to find anything of substance in the old factory. They had to be planning something big, they always were.

The two spies needed an in: drugs, weapons, government corruption. There had to be something appealing about the city, and whatever it was, they’d find it.

They’d narrowed down possible new locations with a few key factors (provided they hadn’t uprooted and fled the city completely): proximity to the previous base, size of the building, a place no one would think to look. 

Alex slunk past a group of homeless men crowded around a fire, not wanting to bring any unwanted attention to himself.

Ordinarily he’d have avoided the risk of being seen entirely by using the rooftops but with the majority of buildings being old factories they were difficult to climb and too spread out to be worth the effort.

Although, he thought, he could get a better vantage point from higher up. No harm, no foul, he mused. The climb would give him a nice adrenaline rush at the very least - that all but made up his mind and he siddled up to the nearest building, looking for good footholds to begin his ascent.

-

Pulling himself up onto the building’s fire escape he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He really ought to silence that, he noted as he pulled out his phone, scanning the brief message from Johnston.

‘Anything?’

He rolled his eyes.

‘No. U?’

‘No.’

Thrilling, truly. The older agent really had a way with words.

As much as the man seemed to respect him he couldn’t seem to look past Alex’s age. If he had found something he would’ve texted the man for backup, not keen for a repeat of the other night.

The older agent knew this, they’d discussed it already. Alex didn’t need babying in the form of not-so-subtle reminders to check in. 

Texting had an extra level of security in comparison to a phone call. For one, no one would overhear them - so there was no need for either agent to mask their words. MI6 had finally graced Alex with a useful gadget: a phone with end-to-end encrypted messaging, this app in particular ensured that anything sent was erased thirty seconds after it was opened. Like Snapchat for agents so classified they didn’t even have photos on file.

Peace of mind. Call him paranoid.

He sighed, pocketing his phone and scaling the remaining few metres to reach the top of the building.

-

Finally on the roof he looked out over the city.

It would probably be a beautiful night if not for the light and air pollution being churned out. But, the place had its own charm. The lights from the larger skyscrapers shone gently as if to replace the stars he couldn’t see. Each light representing a different person, with a different life and different dreams.

Starling City was like any large urban area: there were areas of extreme wealth and areas of extreme poverty.

If even a handful for the city’s ‘1%’ tried to change things they could help hundreds, if not thousands, of people. But the Glades wasn’t their concern, it was rotting from the inside out and they stayed away to avoid catching its disease, fortressing their skyline apartments against the riffraff, playing the role of omnipotent by-standers.

Alex allowed himself a moment to take it all in before he returned his attention to the streets below him.

The industrial part of the city was strikingly dark in comparison, left deserted by the rich and well-to-do of the city. This far out of town there weren’t many houses, mainly factories and warehouses - only a few of which were still up and running.

He’d done his research, the crime statistics were through the roof.

People got trapped here.

If you couldn’t land yourself a good job you couldn’t find housing further out. If your job didn’t bring in enough for you to pay rent you had no other choice than to turn to less legal forms of employment. Crime pays. This place was full to the brim with unfulfilled dreams, given half a chance some of these people could do incredible things. Not that they’d ever be given it.

Alex supposed his cover persona would feel much the same. New money had even more of a gripe against the lower classes, terrified that they’d slip and become them once more.

Unless, of course, he was feeling like some good-old teenage rebellion.

Rich son betrays his fathers ‘hard work’ and discovers empathy. He hummed. Better to fit in, it was far easier to be an asshole.

He stayed crouched atop the building until, at long last, movement caught his eye.

Scaling an adjacent building almost as quickly as Alex had was…

Oh for God’s sake. It was the man in the hood.

Alex had been hoping they wouldn’t bump into each other again, he was more than a little embarrassed at having to be ‘rescued’ and he could barely remember a thing after the over-enthusiastic SCORPIA agent had nicked him with a knife.

Just his luck.

Thankfully the man hadn’t spotted him, clearly distracted by his own plans.

“Please be doing something useful…” Alex muttered, slinking over to the next rooftop in cautious pursuit of new-age-Robin-Hood. 

He thumbed out a quick message to Johnston, holding off on sending the man his location for the moment.

‘Found GA. In pursuit.’

‘Backup?’

‘Good 4 now. Following.’

Looking back up Alex cursed, the Green Arrow was nowhere to be seen.

Slippery bastard, he’d only looked away for a moment.

Pushing up from his crouched position Alex scanned the surrounded rooftops.

Nothing.

No doubt the man could’ve led him somewhere useful, Google was only helpful for finding out so much.

He glanced down at the streets below, seeing nothing of interest. Coming up here was proving to have been a fruitless exercise.

He growled in frustration, kicking the wall in front of him before turning back towards the fire escape he’d crawled up.

Only to be met with the sight of the Jolly Green Giant himself standing in front of him.

Shit. How had he not heard him?

His pal from the SCORPIA base must’ve clapped his ear harder than he’d had realised. Or he was losing his touch. That would be bad. Trust Rider luck to run out when he actually needed it.

“What are you doing up here?” The man spoke in a deep, gruff voice.

Great question. He hadn’t exactly thought of a good excuse for why he was loping around the rooftops dressed like a ninja.

“Just chilling, I find abandoned buildings very relaxing. And yourself?” 

Alex could barely see the man’s eyes in the dark of the night but he could certainly feel the unimpressed look being shot at him.

“Who are you?” The man tried again, taking a step closer.

Alex raised his hands. 

“Look, I don’t want any trouble-“ 

“So tell me what you’re doing. You don't need a balaklava to star gaze.” He cut in.

“The older generation, so nosey. Maybe I’m just being fashionable.” Alex knew he wouldn’t be able to go much longer without aggravating the Arrow. More than he already had. He fiddled with his face cover.

He was tired. Screw that, he was exhausted. So, he decided to end the conversation the quickest way he could think of: punching the older man in the face and shooting round him to the fire escape. 

It was a perfect plan, except for the fact that Robin Hood seemed to be impossibly fast.

Yeah, his Rider luck had definitely run out. 

The vigilante’s hand held on to Alex’s wrist with a deadly grip. That was going to bruise.

Unfortunately his attack hadn’t surprised the man as much as Alex had hoped and he was dragged back towards him. 

—

Oliver could feel the blood dripping from his nose, jackass packed a mean punch.

Smart enough to cover his face but not smart enough to realise that attacking him would only serve to piss him off. Kid was young, inexperienced. He hadn’t even noticed Oliver until he was stood right behind him.

The younger man also hadn’t done himself any favours by lying to him; poorly might he add. It had just made Oliver more suspicious. No one covering their face in the Glades had good intentions. Then the kid had gone and jabbed him in the face, seriously tainting any sensible explanation the boy could’ve given.

Oliver slammed the boy onto the ground, trying (and failing) to grab at his shirt when he rolled away and up onto his feet with a grunt. Effortlessly. Huh. 

Both men were poised, muscles tense, ready.

“If you’re caught up in something, now’s your chance to appeal to me, kid.” He ground out, looking his opponent up and down, something about him was familiar, how he held himself maybe. Luckily tonight had been quiet so he had time to waste figuring it out. 

The boy huffed out a laugh, “You don’t have time to hear about all the shit I’m caught up in, old man.” launching another strike at the man. 

The pair shared blow after blow, some landing, others dodged. Oliver could tell the younger man was getting tired, his moves becoming more sloppy. He managed to land a lucky kick round his side. To his surprise the boy went down with a shout, landing on his knees. The move wouldn’t have normally been an incapacitating one - he must’ve already been injured.

Something itched at the back of Oliver’s brain, something wasn’t right.

The boy hadn’t made a move to get up, instead had stayed kneeling, breath coming out in short pants. Oliver stayed coiled, ready to strike.

“Fucking hell.” The kid huffed. “No fair."

It took a few seconds to process then Oliver took a hurried step back. A young man with an injured back, swearing in a decidedly British accent. It was that blond kid again. Lukas. Why was he everywhere? He really ought to start charging a babysitting fee.  

“You’re the kid from the factory.” 

Lukas stiffened in front of him, looking up.

“What… Ugh..” He took a sharp breath, still clearly in a lot of pain. “What factory? Doesn’t really sound like my kind of place.” And all of a sudden he was American again.

“Don’t try and play coy with me now, Blondie.”

There was a beat before then Lukas dropped back on to his heels with a sigh, pulling the covering off his face. He didn’t look much better than the last time Oliver had seen him but the black eye had healed slightly at least.

“You stalking me or something, Greenie?” 

Oliver bristled.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing. I’ll ask again: what are you doing up here?”

“Like I said, just taking in the sights of the city. I’m new here, I need to get the lay of the land. Hard to do when I’m being choked out by smog in half the city.”

“And you needed to do it dressed like.. that?” He gestured at the boy, hoping his disappointment was evident. 

Kid was a terrible liar.

“Not to state the obvious but you’re also dressed up, buddy.” Lukas held up his hands to look like goggles over his eyes, finally plopping himself down to sit on the ground. “It’s a bad part of town. My dad’s rich. I didn’t want anyone to recognise me. I know it’s dumb. Do you spend most evenings going around beating up children or is tonight special?”

It wasn’t the truth but Oliver could sense he wasn’t going to get any further with the topic. Not without getting a bit rougher. But even so, Lukas had held his own fairly successfully when they’d fought; up until Oliver had smashed his foot into what was essentially an open wound, so he might not make it out unscathed either. He sighed.

“See last I remember, you and Little John were helping me out, not beating on me.”

Oliver shot forwards at that, grabbing the boy by his shirt.

“The fuck did you just say?” He snarled.

How the hell could the kid know John’s name?

“Woah woah woah!” Lukas’ eyes widened, hands held up in surrender. “Robin Hood? Little John? The story! Your costume makes you look like a knock-off Robin Hood so your sidekick must be Little John. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve there, Greenie.” 

Olive let out a scoff, shoving the kid back down. Hilarious.

“Ow. Watch it! I’m precious cargo. You know all the shades I’ve got going on under this shirt, man.” 

He suppressed a wince at the thought  

“Your parents know you’re prancing around up here?”

Lukas opened his mouth to reply when a shrill scream sounded from the alley below. Two heads spun in the same direction.

Oliver was torn- he needed information, Lukas could be dangerous, or he could be in real trouble. But he’d sworn to protect the city, and someone down there needed his help. The police never came this far into the Glades. 

He snapped his eyes back to Lukas who was breathing more normally now, but still looking fairly pale in the dim moonlight. 

“We’re not done here.” He warned before leaping over the side of the building, scaling back down the wall.

A sarcastic ‘sure thing, tough guy ’ caught on the wind as he reached the ground.

Kids these days.

Chapter Text

The journey back to the townhouse had been a tedious one, with Alex taking various detours and winding back on himself at least twice, hopefully giving anyone trying to follow him a serious headache. He would’ve preferred to have headed straight home, back throbbing, but he couldn’t guarantee that the Arrow wasn’t tailing him.

His lip had finally healed to the point where it didn’t threaten to split every time he spoke, just in time for the hospital fundraiser. Yay. A room full of possible threats, where, if he lost his shit, there’d be no going back. On the plus side, he’d thoroughly enjoyed picking out an outrageously priced suit at MI6’s expense. It didn’t undo the years of irreversible trauma he’d received in their service, but it didn’t hurt. Johnston had promised he’d be able to justify pretty much anything Alex bought, which the younger agent obviously took as a challenge. 

Now he sat in front of a mirror, bow tie loose around his neck, shirt unbuttoned, attempting to cover the remainder of his bruise with some makeup. This process had been covered in one of SCORPIA’s less deadly courses. He’d been forced to resolve all sorts of situations with only the use of makeup and prosthetics so a simple bruise wasn’t much of an issue. The lip was in the late stages of scabbing and, hopefully, wouldn’t scar; Alex couldn’t do much about it apart from hope that no one would ask too many questions. Any attempt at covering it would just make it look lumpy and garish, better to go back to basics and just lie. 

He peered closely at his work, diligently avoiding meeting his eyes in the mirror. It would do-  now he just looked like he’d missed out on a few nights of sleep. Just a totally regular, normal teenager. Nailed it. 

Double checking the bandage was wrapped tightly around his waist he began to button his shirt. His back was still raw, the wound barely healed thanks to the Arrow sticking half his boot into it the other night, but he’d just have to cope this evening; it was much harder to explain than a split lip. 

Satisfied that he looked vaguely more human he decided to whack some gel in his hair, trying to tame it with about as much success as always. That was the little bit of himself Alex could keep with him, the rest had to be locked away for once he’d finished the mission. Keep the messy hair, forget everything else. He’d struggled, at first, but as the years went on and he became a myriad of different people from all different backgrounds it became far easier. Now it was almost harder to be himself, which he supposed should probably worry him more than it did. Who was he when he wasn’t working? He no longer had Jack, his uncle, or even Tom really to guide him back to who he was before. It seemed now that he lived his life through various different lenses, multiple ideologies, countless opinions. Alex Friend lingered, right at the back of his mind, Kevin Blake, Felix Lester. They no longer existed (although they’d never actually existed to begin with) but Alex felt as though they’d never left him, and that they never really would.

A knock on his door broke him from his thoughts. Johnston stuck his head into the room, giving Alex a once over.

“Not bad.” His eyes settled on Alex’s eye and cheek bone. “Must’ve been a makeup artist in another life, huh? Ok, so, we’ll leave in thirty. Remember, this is the easy bit - smile, nod, be curious and let me do most of the talking.”

Alex moved to grab the box containing his new shoes off the bed whilst Johnston continued, humming slightly to show that he was listening.

“If your back gives you too much trouble let me know and I can come up with some excuse, these things are always dull so I don’t mind. Likelihood is we won’t get anything tonight, we’re still too new on the scene but it’ll help us start to cement our covers.”

“I’ll be fine.” Alex grumbled. 

He wouldn't comprise the mission for such a trivial injury. One way or another he was a professional, with years of experience in the field and he’d do whatever he had to to prove that.

-

Alex took a deep breath as the two agents strolled through the bustling entryway of the museum. The place was packed, bowties and high heels for as far as the eye could see, waiters swinging past holding trays piled high with food he’d never seen before whilst others balanced tall glasses of champagne.

Alex definitely did not grab one of the glasses and down it in one gulp. Absolutely not. And wouldn’t even dream of grabbing another one as a waiter went by, pointedly ignoring Johnston’s judgemental look in his peripheral as he plopped the now-empty drink onto the platter.  

They’d gone over the plan in the car: speak to as many people on their list as possible, make their presences known but don’t draw too much attention. Alex didn’t see why he couldn't also have some fun at the same time, he was a teenager after all, it was good for his cover.

Their host appeared on the stage, striding up to the lectern, microphone screeching as he attempted to begin his speech.

Alex swiped another glass from the nearest tray, he was in for a long night.

-

The moment that Johnston spotted Oliver Queen alone he hurried over, Alex trailing behind him in what he hope was a mopy, teenager-y kind of way. 

“Mr Queen! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, although I hear my son has already bumped into you. Literally. My apologies.”

The two men shook hands firmly whilst Alex stood at Johnston’s side, observing Oliver’s reaction. He didn’t look as bad as when they’d first met so hopefully the man wouldn’t ask too many questions. It wasn’t really party-conversation material. 

“Not at all, and please, call me Oliver. Mr Queen was my father. You must be Jason.” He turned to face Alex. “Good to see you again, Lukas.”

Alex nodded, an easy smile gracing his face.

A tall, sturdy looking man approached them from behind Oliver, stopping a pace or so behind him, eyes flickering over both agents. Bodyguard , thought Alex, tensing slightly on instinct.

Without looking Oliver threw a thumb over his shoulder, “And this is John Diggle, my babysitter for the evening.” 

John inclined his head though said nothing, electing to ignore his boss’ comment. Something about his posture and harsh gaze tickled at the back of Alex’s mind, he’d never met the man but there was something familiar. A problem for later , he decided.

“And my girlfriend is around here… somewhere.” He paused, quickly casting his eyes across the room. “I hope you’re both enjoying your evenings so far?” 

“Definitely.” Johnston’s tone was light and cheeky, clearly trying to play into his new-money persona. “It’s been a warm welcome, but between you and me, they haven’t grovelled nearly as much as I expected they would. I assumed this would be a scrape-my-wallet-clean type of evening.”

Alex winced slightly at the same time as Oliver raised an eyebrow. John, of course, remained impassive. If Johnston was going full ungrateful-playboy then he could at least be the slightly embarrassed, image-conscious son.

“It is a fundraiser. For a hospital. Some might call that a worthy cause.” Queen countered.

Interesting. All the news reports had made him out to be a snobby heartthrob despite the 5 years he’d spent on a deserted island. Now either he was trying to get a gauge on Jason Miller , Starling City’s latest up-and-coming mogul, or he was far less vain than the media made him out to be. If that was the case, the man had designed a watertight alter ego, it was anyone’s guess who really lay beneath. 

“What he means to say is we’re not exactly pros at these things.” Alex jumped in. “TV and movies aren’t actually all that helpful when it comes to parsing your way through conversations where no one knows or cares who you are. And we weren't quite sure what to expect. Isn’t that right, Dad?” 

He shot Johnston a look and the man clapped him on the back, resting a hand on his shoulder in what was, hopefully, a caring and paternal display of affection. The move jostled his injury just a tad, forcing him into a sharp inhale which he tried to cover with a cough. Not subtle.

“Absolutely. It’s difficult to find your people in a crowd like this, but just like you said, Oliver, we’re here to donate for a noble cause.” Johnston shot back, moving his hand away from Alex’s back and ruffling his hair instead.

Unfortunately Oliver seemed to have locked on to Alex after he’d flinched, his eyes tracking Johnston’s every move. Great, now Starling City’s most influential bachelor thinks Lukas Miller is being abused by his dad. Although, there weren’t many other conclusions to be drawn without knowing the full story. And Alex had very successfully avoided the topic when he’d bumped into the man before so he’d had plenty of time to speculate on the topic.

“Well, seems like maybe a donation would be a good investment. Looks like Lukas got himself into some trouble?”

Oh and he wants to talk about it. Even better! An innocent but slightly accusatory question, good move. Disarming but probing.

They’d gone over their story before the gala. Mugging. He’d tried to fight back, the guy nicked his phone. Simple.

“Yeah, I got mugged. You should see the other guy!” It made more sense for Alex to speak, letting Johnston do all the talking would only make Oliver more suspicious, the guy seemed to have pretty good instincts.

Oliver gave him a flat look.

“Totally my fault, shouldn’t have been so distracted by my phone, I mean I was pretty much asking for someone to grab it.” Deflect, be funny, be self deprecating. Classic teenager moves.

Oliver opened his mouth to say something when a piercing screech rang through the room. At the same moment the main lights went out, leaving only the soft glow of the exhibits. 

Saved by the bell. Someone really needed to fix that microphone.

All four men spun towards the noise, John’s hand ghosting his gun. There in the middle of the room were several men. Armed, in black combat uniforms, embellished silver scorpions catching the light. 

Oh, just perfect. Couldn’t he have one night in peace? None of the lower-ranking SCORPIA members should recognise him but Alex wouldn’t bet on it. He sent out a little prayer to whichever deity might be listening before beginning to assess the situation.

Each man had a tight grip on a party guest, threatening them with a weapon. Some had knives, some guns, all looked confident. A masked figure stood on the stage and tapped the microphone, turning everyone’s attention to him.

A roof full of rich people overtaken by international terrorists with guns? Pretty clear what they were after. The question was why? SCORPIA didn’t need more money, so why were they taking hostages?

“Let’s keep this simple. You are all currently trapped in here.” He gestured to the room. “And we are waiting for our little green friend. If he doesn’t show up, we’re going to start killing people.” 

Gasps filled the room and Alex tensed. He needed to help, but how? If he could just slip away from the crowd…

As if reading his mind Johnston grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him close. The man leant down to whisper sternly to him.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.” Then, slightly louder. “Everything will be ok, Lukas. I promise.”

He felt Oliver shift behind them before the man swore quietly.

“Felicity.” 

Alex spun around but both Queen and his nanny were gone. What the hell?! No fair they were allowed to dash off and he wasn’t. He assumed ‘Felicity’ was the girlfriend Oliver had mentioned earlier and now the man was going to go something stupid and people were going to get hurt. All the while Alex just had to stand there and watch it happen. 

A scream rang out from the front of the room and Alex whirled round again just in time to see a woman fall to the floor. Blood dripped from a shallow cut on her head and she curled in on herself tightly. They were making good on their threats.

“Just a little warm up. No more heroics. Hopefully someone was filming, I haven’t got all evening.” The lead goon tutted. He seemed unphased, completely in control of the situation.

The twang of an arrow being fired was the only warning before he tumbled forwards with a grunt, crashing into the lectern and tumbling off the stage. Chaos ran amok through the room with people screaming and running for cover. Johnston pulled Alex down with him, taking shelter behind an exhibit. 

There was a beat before a hooded man swung down onto the platform, arrows flying as he went. Gunfire joined the arrows from the wings of the stage, taking out one SCORPIA agent then another. Alex watched like a hawk as each shot rang true. 

It was the Arrow, and he had a friend. Probably the man from the other night. He could almost kick himself, how had he not noticed before? He’d met Oliver and John in person and still not seen it, now both of them had disappeared and two unknown men had come out of nowhere, saving the day? Only someone in the room could've gotten up there as fast as the Arrow had, and Alex hadn’t seen anyone else sneak off mysteriously. 

He met Johnston’s eyes, seeing his disbelief mirrored he could assume the man had come to the same conclusion. Just the Arrow and he might not have got it but both men together was too much of a coincidence.

The sound of sirens brought them both back to the present. Any SCORPIA operatives who hadn’t been shot dead were fleeing the scene, leaving the hostages behind. Their leader was dead or close to it, they needed to regroup and reset without getting caught by the police. They’d failed their clear objective, lure out the Arrow to kill him or turn him. Time for plan B.

Chapter Text

Oliver was taking a breather when he saw a man approaching, eagerly, in his periphery with a younger man following languidly behind him. Blond, young, and looking far better than the last two times Oliver had seen him. 

He was beginning to consider that Lukas was seeking him out and not the other way round.

The older man, presumably Lukas’ father, shot him an award-winning smile before speaking.

“Mr Queen! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, although I hear my son has already bumped into you- literally. My apologies.” Embarrassed by his son but all too eager to make a new wealthy connection. Classic. Oliver knew his type well. No trace of an accent either.

He felt Lukas’ eyes rake over him as he shook hands with the older man.

“Not at all, and please, call me Oliver. Mr Queen was my father. You must be Jason.” He rattled off, giving Jason a bland smile before turning back to the younger man. He was stood close to his father but tense as a coiled spring, hands fidgeting with the stem of a half empty glass. 

If he hadn’t rescued the boy from that old factory he might’ve assumed it was his father who’d inflicted the bruises, he certainly didn’t look comfortable next to the man, although it could be the hundreds of strangers he was crammed into a room with. Maybe if he cast some vague aspersions he could find out a bit more about what had happened, what Jason knew. Surely he had noticed the state his son was in, how much pain he had been in, or at the very least the glaringly obvious black eye.

There was, however, every chance he hadn’t. Oliver remembered his own teen years, his father almost never there. Always away for some meeting or another, leading him to act out just to grab a sliver of his old man’s attention. If Lukas had managed to hide everything from his father then maybe he was in more trouble than Oliver had first assumed.

“Good to see you again, Lukas.” The boy nodded at him, smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He felt John reappear behind him, back from his sweep of the room, heard a slight falter in his step as he recognised Lukas.

“And this is John Diggle, my babysitter for the evening.” He joked. Keep the atmosphere light, let them drop their guards. “And my girlfriend is here… somewhere.” He paused to look around, she’d disappeared to use the bathroom but had yet to come back, presumably having been trapped in conversation with an over-eager executive. He was just glad it wasn’t him.

“I hope you’re both enjoying your evenings so far?” He probed. Jason seemed fairly at ease, even if Lukas didn’t. 

A thought crossed Oliver’s mind. The Millers moved here recently, so had the up-and-coming new gang he’d been chasing. He didn’t know the exact timeline but it was a hell of coincidence. They could be after Jason, or he could be involved personally. He’d have to do some digging. 

“Definitely.” Chirped Jason, breaking Oliver from his thoughts. “It’s been a warm welcome, but between you and me, they haven’t grovelled nearly as much as I expected they would. I assumed this would be a scrape-my-wallet-clean type of evening.”

“It is a fundraiser. For a hospital. Some might call that a worthy cause.” He pointed out, judgement clear on his face, tone flat. Lukas looked as though he was waiting for the ground to swallow him up. Why else would they have come- the hospital’s aims were crystal clear. 

Oliver was disappointed but not overly surprised, he was more than happy to share his wealth for a good cause but he knew this sentiment wasn’t shared by the majority of the people here. It wasn’t an immediate red flag but the man was clearly trying to appeal to the Oliver Queen the media portrayed, not bothering to pretend he had good intentions with his money.

It was a persona he maintained for his own safety- no one would ever accuse the careless, charming Oliver Queen of being the Green Arrow. Again. He’d worked hard to fool the public and the media after Quentin had pointed a finger in his direction. He needed to be completely separate from who he became at night, even if sometimes it felt as though the lines had begun to blur. But he couldn’t allow himself to slip into his old ways, who he had been before. Now he had a life, a purpose.

Lukas, looking embarrassed, jumped in with a phony-feeling spiel about fitting in, it’s not like it is on TV! 

Interesting that Lukas would try to save face on his father’s behalf. Oliver faltered slightly at his words, though. TV and movies? He’d had the impression that the Millers, much like the Queens, were just another rich family; old money, generational wealth. If they were turning to the media for how to act at a ‘high society’ social gathering clearly their money was newer. Again, if only he knew exactly when they'd found their wealth then maybe he could link it back to recent events in the city. Nevertheless, it put Oliver slightly on edge, it felt too rehearsed, too calculated, he didn’t feel like he was the one in control here. There was nothing explicitly wrong with his words but his gut was telling him differently. There were too many pieces to this puzzle.

Oliver watched closely as Jason moved to pat Lukas’ shoulder. The boy half flinched before he let out a strange mix between an inhale and a cough like he’d caught something in his throat, except his drink remained idle in his hand. The image of the raised welts on the boy’s shoulder and the deep gouge lower down on his back sprung to mind. Now either Jason was completely clueless or was being intentionally malicious, he truly couldn't tell.

“Absolutely. It’s difficult to find your people in a crowd like this, but just like you said, Oliver, we’re here to donate for a noble cause.” Jason added easily.

He moved his hand from Lukas’ back to ruffle his hair, perhaps sensing the boy’s discomfort. 

Time to press the issue.

“Well, seems like maybe a donation would be a good investment. Looks like Lukas got himself into some trouble?”

“Yeah, I got mugged. You should see the other guy!” Lukas replied sheepishly.

Well that was complete bull, and they both knew it. And Oliver had seen ‘the other guys’ - they were all dead.

“Totally my fault, shouldn’t have been so distracted by my phone, I mean I was pretty much asking for someone to grab it.” 

Not the worst story he could’ve gone for, but muggers around these parts tended to lean more towards stabbings than decking rich teens in the face.

He had half the mind to tell Lukas this when the shrill squeal of feedback sliced through the hubbub of the party goers as they fell into near darkness, save the exhibits' spotlights which cast strange shadows over the room.

Shit.

He was immediately on high alert as John reached for his gun, spinning to face the source of the noise.

There was a group of men standing at the front of the room in black combat gear. A glint of silver catching the light told him all he needed to know: it was the same people as the other night. Well, not exactly the same. 

Only one man stood on the stage. “Let’s keep this simple. You are all currently trapped in here. And we are waiting for our little green friend. If he doesn’t show up, we’re going to start killing people.” 

Well that made it easier, at least he didn't have to guess who they were here for.

Jason was in front of him having ducked his head slightly to placate Lukas. Oliver shifted slightly from behind the other man and stopped cold.

“Felicity.”

-

He slunk off to the side of the hall, heart pounding in his chest. He’d been so caught up in figuring out the Millers he hadn’t thought to look for Felicity, and now they had her.

He’d hidden his kit in the overhead pipes of the service hallway. Call him a paranoid bastard but he’d never been so pleased. The only sound was their dress shoes tapping against the ground, the flicker of the fluorescent lights doing nothing to calm his nerves.

Oliver shucked off his jacket and loosened his tie before reaching for the bag. Off came the tie, replaced by his hood, his quiver sliding easily over his shoulder. He thought back to the blueprints he’d studied earlier, mapping out a route to get him behind the stage.

He felt John’s eyes darting over every inch of space around them, waiting for something to break stillness, before landing back on him. He gestured behind him and they set off in silence.

A muted scream followed by what was presumably taunting urged them to go faster.

He burst through the curtains, bow raised, arrow notched, letting fly as soon as he caught sight of his target. 

There was no time for games or conversation, Diggle could chide him later. Oliver felt more than saw the look John gave him. Now worked too.

“He got exactly what he asked for, here I am.” He grunted.

Almost in slow motion the man slumped forwards and fell, just as Oliver caught sight of Felicity, blood dripping sluggishly down her forehead.

He saw red. The crowd began to scream.

He fired shot after shot, thankfully the bastards had made themselves easy targets, the full black distinguishing them from the varied colours of the guests. John shot to incapacitate, he shot to kill. 

There were a few attempts to fire back but Oliver was moving erratically, dodging this way and that whilst John hid in the shadows. They made a lethal pair.

At some point in the last few minutes someone must’ve called 9-1-1, he could hear the sirens now. His clue for Oliver Queen to reappear. As the last black-clad man went down, the rest having already fled, he moved back into the shadows.

Time was of the essence as he and John raced back to where he’d left his bag. All the staff had been on the floor when the maniac had started his speech so it was unlikely anyone would come back this way. Even so, John remained on high alert as Oliver threw his hood and bow back into the duffel and knotted his tie. 

He had to get back to Felicity. The urge to run to her had been almost overwhelming but he wouldn’t dare risk his identity, let alone hers. She had been okay but he had suffered many a head wound and knew that looks could be deceiving. She needed to get checked out, as soon as possible.

They stalked back through the corridor, only stopping to push the bag up through a loose ceiling tile to come back for later.

Oliver stopped to take a breath before tentatively opening the door back into the main hall, face pinched with worry. John kept close to his side, hand hovering over his gun, as they walked out into the throng of panicking people.

He, thankfully, managed not to swing at the person he felt rushing up behind him.

“Oliver!”

“Felicity!” 

He immediately spun around, eyes darting over her, checking for injuries. His hand hovered over the cut on her head, finally able to reach out and assess it. Worse than it had looked at first glance, he concluded. She seemed alert and aware but would probably wake up with a gnarly headache tomorrow.

“You okay?” He asked. He sure as hell wasn’t, they’d been apart less than an hour and she’d been hurt, a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

“A bit shaken up, and my head hurts like hell. Guess I can tick ‘getting pistol-whipped’ off the bucket list though.” She replied with a wry grin, clearly hoping to lighten the mood.

“I am never letting you out of my sight again.” He huffed, pulling her carefully into a hug. “Now let's get you to the hospital.”

She pulled back, letting out an indignant whine. “Seriously? I just want to go home, Ollie.”

“Felicity you’re bleeding on my tux, you’re going to the hospital.”

He saw her eyes meet the dark patch where her head had been resting before she nodded sheepishly.

“Dig, bring the car around?”

Chapter Text

Alex and Johnston had split after the gala, the older agent going back to the house to start writing up his report whilst Alex took to the streets once again. He’d made some offhand excuse: he needed some air and it was worth keeping an eye out for the last few SCORPIA stragglers from this evening. Johnston had clearly taken note of the tension in his body and hadn’t bothered to question him as they went their separate ways.

His skin crawled as he walked, veins thrumming with pent-up energy. People had gotten hurt and he’d just stood there, useless. 

He could’ve done something, he reminded himself, but he had chosen not to. What did that say about him, how far was he willing to go for a cover? How much of himself was he willing to lose?

Guilt settled like concrete in his stomach, making him nauseous, eating him alive. Protecting people was the whole reason he’d stayed with MI6 for so long, they’d taken so much from him but at the end of the day he’d made a difference- he’d helped people. Who was he if he couldn’t even do that?

Well, not the entire reason, it wasn’t like he’d ever had much of a choice in the matter.

The paper bag he held crinkled under his vice grip. His feet moved solely on instinct. Any notion of rationality had gone out the window as soon as he’d begun to panic, his thoughts swirling viciously with only one truth ringing clear: he was guilty.

It wasn’t often he allowed himself to be completely consumed by self pity like this, but everything had piled up too fast and being undercover meant he hadn’t had any time to himself to stop and process. 

Now, fortunately, was the perfect time to freak out. SCORPIA’s whole operation had imploded so whatever they’d had planned wouldn’t be happening tonight. He deserved a moment of downtime.

He found himself back in the Glades. If Johnston asked he could come up with some bullshit excuse that he was following a lead; truth be told he was looking for trouble. All he needed was one person to decide they didn’t like the look of him and he could release all the discomfort buzzing beneath his skin, the ugly, self-destructive side of him that yearned for pain. Something, anything, to ground him, to snap him back into his body. It was stupid, and dangerous, but that wasn’t really high on his list of concerns right now - either someone was going to beat him to shit or he was going to get so drunk he wouldn’t care that they hadn't.

It wasn’t that he was making himself an easy target but he hadn’t bothered to change out of his suit after the gala, his bow tie hung loose around his neck. All any passerby would see was a rich boy who’d gotten too drunk and wandered too far out of the city. An easy mark.

Alex knew he could initiate something but that would be falling to a new low, even for him. It was something he couldn’t quite justify to himself let alone come back from. It meant giving up on the last small part of himself that clung to normalcy. He hadn’t sunk that far, not just yet. 

The fact that he’d even considered the idea scared him, the fear of losing who he was at his core overpowered the sense of guilt that had been clawing at his throat.

Disgusted, he crossed the street, aiming for the fire escape of a blacked out building, he’d made his decision. No one to hurt him, no one he could hurt. He needed to expel the adrenaline, to see the open sky, to breathe. It wasn’t London, but it would do. 

One foot then the other, he began to climb.

-

Oliver had waited for the police presence to die down before returning to the museum to collect his things, slipping in and out unnoticed.

It had only been a few hours, the group from tonight, what was left of them, couldn’t have gone too far. A few of the ones who’d made it out had been injured so should at least leave a trail. Even so, he was playing catch-up.

So far, he’d found nothing. They were organised, accurate, evasive. The worst kind of criminal. Everything that could’ve gone wrong for them this evening went wrong and yet he still had no further guesses on who they were. Not even a name. Which again begged the question: what had they wanted with Lukas? Wrong place, wrong time, or something darker? The kid knew something, surely they wouldn’t have gone to such sadistic lengths just to teach him a lesson. Or, maybe they would have. Again, he didn't have the first clue who exactly he was dealing with here. Usually there was at least a name-drop into the big speech but the guy had given him nothing. No motive, no identity, nothing concrete to go on.

He had to assess the facts: Lukas was somehow involved in this, that was a given, and he knew more than the rest of them did. Nothing in the physical papers they’d swept up had been remotely useful and the digital files had just been a headache. They’d all inadvertently ended up playing some big game, and Oliver was lagging behind.

Seeking out the kid in person was no use, he wasn’t going to open up to a stranger, who could blame him, and he’d had little success approaching the boy as the Green Arrow - he’d somehow managed to simultaneously brush off all of his questions and all-but break his nose. He was out of ideas, he’d just have to go back to the beginning and start again.

For now all he could do was head back onto the streets and hope someone, somewhere, had something useful to say.

-

Alex was drunk. 

Scratch that he was fucking plastered.

The few hors d’ouvres he’d snatched up at the gala were fighting a losing battle against the sheer volume of liquor sloshing around his stomach. 

It was just a bad day, it wasn’t like he made a habit of it.

The words span round and round his head like a mantra, although the only person he had to convince was himself. 

Logically, he knew drinking when he already felt bad was not a great decision. He’d seen the films, he’d had the assemblies at school. He hadn’t thought much about them after the fact, of course he hadn’t, he was just a kid. 

The ache that shot through his chest at the thought had him clutching his shirt, knuckles white, eyes squeezing closed, and if he let a tear or two slip out that was between him and the darkening night sky. 

He had been young and innocent once, he’d had his own kind of family, he’d been loved. 

Those days were long gone, not a single trace of his old life remained, only his memories. 

Now he was sitting on the top of a high rise, barely able to hold himself upright, alone. He may only be 17 but he hadn’t been young in a long time; age meant nothing when compared to experience. The dark underbelly of the world had revealed itself and there was no coming back from that. Every shadow was a threat, every connection was ammunition against him. No one was safe, hell, he wasn’t safe. 

Over the blood rushing in his ears he heard the thump of boots against the roof. A puff of air escaped his lips before he pulled his head up, vision swimming slightly as he forced his eyes open. 

“Oh you have got to be joking.” The words fell from his mouth before he could stop himself, mumbled and slurred but their meaning was clear; the look of irritation that appeared on his face was unmistakable. Trust this twat to show up when he could barely remember his own secret identity, let alone someone else’s. 

The figure swirled round, clearly having not seen him squished haphazardly between the wall and a generator. 

With limbs heavy as lead, Alex raised one arm in a lazy greeting. 

“Please, Mr. Arrow-man, by all means. Come up here, ruin my night.” He sighed, hands gesturing erratically around him as he spoke. 

The man took a few slow steps closer, seeming unperturbed. 

“We really ought to stop meeting like this, people might talk.” 

The accompanying finger-wag sent the bottle he’d been clutching rolling across the roof, coming to a stop as it bumped Oliver’s boot.

“I mean seriously, what are the odds? Knowing my luck you’ve decided now would be an excellent time to kill me and then disappear into the night. Like Batman!” 

He paused and frowned, scanning over Oliver before announcing, “But you’d need a cape, if after all this time I get murdered by some psycho without a cape I am going to be seriously disappointed.”

A beat of silence. Alex scrubbed a hand through his already messy hair. The ‘talk until they get angry’ approach was not working this evening. Something else then.

“What do you want?” Perfect. 

Diplomatic, elegant, an open question, his conversational skills were absolutely off the charts. 

Even through the hood he could feel the older man’s gaze on him, making him squirm before he finally decided to speak.

“What are you doing up here? Again?”

“Just thinking.” Not technically untrue.

Oliver nudged the bottle with his foot and Alex could feel the judgemental look the man was giving him without needing to see his face.

“Trying to stop thinking then. It’s not working, if you were wondering.” 

“Last time we spoke-”

“Last time we spoke there wasn’t much speaking.” He jumped in, cutting off whatever Oliver was about to say. He needed time to think before he said anything stupid if this conversation was going the way he thought it was.

He racked his brain, what had he said (or not said) that the man would be so interested in bringing up again. Fuzzy memories floated through his brain but no particular moment stuck out, although he wasn’t sure he would’ve noticed if it had. At least he’d had the good sense not to sock the man in the face again. Not yet, anyways. The night was still young. 

“You said-”

“I say a lot of things. Kind of my thing if you hadn’t noticed, teenage narcissism and all that.” 

Deflect, disarm, irritate.

Oliver sighed before taking a final step to slide down the adjacent wall, sitting a few feet away from where the younger boy had wedged himself. Had he been less drunk he might’ve begun to panic about how boxed in he was, the one clear escape route now essentially blocked, but he was too far gone to do more than groan quietly.

“What did you mean, the other night? What are you caught up in?” The questions firm but not unkind, his voice sounding equal parts concerned and curious. 

Ah.

“Anyone else getting déjà vu? No?”

“Don’t avoid the question.”

Alex licked his lips. He’d been upset then and he was absolutely off his tits now - both of which the Department would consider compromised conditions. He probably ought to just toss himself backwards and off the roof before he said anything he’d regret. Then again, he wasn’t sure if his identity would hold up against any serious investigation and he didn’t fancy causing an international incident. 

Spy Suicide - British boy found dead in Starling city. Not ideal. 

What could he say that would both satisfy Oliver and maintain his cover? If only he hadn’t been stupid enough to let himself be captured. 

Oliver turned to look at him, clearly he’d taken too long to answer.

“I can help you, but only if you tell me what you know.”

That he could work with, offset the man’s interest in his involvement with tidbits of information about SCORPIA. 

But then, how did the Millers fit into all of this? His only option was to wing it and fill Johnston in as soon as he got back- there wasn’t exactly an easy way out of this.

“I don’t know much.”

“A name? What are they doing here?” The man sat up straighter, listening in as Alex shrunk back into himself, the fight leaving his body.

“I don’t know.” Alex sighed.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” He bristled.

He looked up at the man, hopefully making eye contact through the darkness shrouding him.

All of a sudden Oliver seemed to come to a decision, had seen something in his face. He reached up and peeled back the hood, letting it fall back onto his shoulders. The domino mask did little to mask his features, only serving to solidify what Alex already knew: Oliver Queen was the Green Arrow. 

This had undoubtedly not been the man’s intention but regardless, Alex took the show of trust for what it was.

“I swear to you I don't know what they’re up to. Scout’s honour.”

“Why did they take you, then?”

The eye contact was a lot harsher without the hood, even in the low light. The man was getting frustrated now, which would’ve been helpful before he’d agreed to spill his guts. 

Alex huffed, he was actually going to have to give the vigilante something. His fingers twitched instinctively, searching for something, a cigarette, a gun, he wasn’t sure.

“So much for having my breakdown in peace…” He grumbled. “I was nosing around the Glades, must’ve walked onto the wrong plot. SCORPIA is the only name I overheard. They weren’t speaking much English, only to me, asking who I was and what I knew, that sort of thing.”

Oliver must’ve assumed he’d been taken deliberately, that Jason Miller was mixed up in something untoward. That was something they’d have to remedy if they wanted their covers to remain ‘lowkey’.

Oliver furrowed his brow before standing. 

Finally.

“You shouldn’t be up here, especially not in this state.”

Yes, mother. Clearly the man had realised he wasn’t going to get much more out of him this evening. Alex was surprised he’d managed to understand anything the way he’d been mumbling. 

“I’m fine, go tackle a cat thief or something, man.”

He didn’t think the vigilante would take no for an answer but it was worth a shot.

“Let me make sure you get home safe.”

“Take a boy to dinner first, geez.” Cue grumpy glare which was not as unsettling now he knew the man beneath the mask. 

“You can chaperone me back to the city, no further. Don’t need the slightly pervy Arrow knowing where I live.”

-

They walked back in relative silence, Lukas stumbling a few times and complaining a few more.

“This is where we part ways, bud.” The boy drawled sarcastically. “Don’t follow me, I’ll know. You’ve trusted me tonight, now I’m trusting you.” 

Oliver nodded once, stayed back in the shadows as Lukas walked on, waiting for him to trip and fall. Making it down the fire escape had been one thing but walking back through the city alone, at this time…

He wouldn’t follow him, more like tail him, just in case. 

He’d made sure the kid didn’t swan-dive off a multi-story building, it would be a shame to see him hit by a particularly aggressive taxi driver now.

A rhythmic buzzing pulled him from his thoughts. He pulled his eyes away from Lukas’ shrinking form to reach into a pocket and fish out his phone.

“What’s up?”

“I called in a favour, an old friend of mine in the CIA.”

“And?” 

“Lukas Miller is not Lukas Miller.”

Oliver’s head shot up, eyes failing to find the boy. 

Shit. 

“I’m heading straight to you.”

Chapter Text

“This is so wrong. And beyond illegal! Please tell me this is some terrible attempt at a joke, Dig.”

“Because this is hilarious.”

“They’re not the first government group to use children and they won’t be the last.” Oliver slumped back against a workbench, raising one hand to peel back his hood and scrubbing the other down his face. 

“How long has this been going on?” Felicity asked, turning back to John. 

“She couldn’t say for sure, anything that wasn’t redacted was vague as hell. But, she recognised him from something she'd been digging into - he’s only 17.”

The air was tense, too many questions, not enough answers.

“So Jason, going to assume he’s not actually Jason? Or the kid’s Dad?” Felicity’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Diggle sighed before continuing. “It’s not pretty. Information on him was harder to dig up. She couldn’t seem to find anything, but she told me she’d keep looking. As for the kid, both parents were killed in a plane crash when he was young. Then his uncle in a car crash a few years ago, followed by his guardian less than a year later, though the details were vague.”

“Jesus. Poor guy.”

As much as Oliver would like to believe that Lukas - Alex - hadn’t had a choice, there was no way to be certain. If  this was something he wanted to be doing this there wasn’t much any of them could do to stop him. Not unless they wanted to get tangled up in the world of international politics and espionage. From the state Lukas had been in last night his doubts were small but if he was wrong then everything was at risk. The kid was clearly losing his grip, if whatever had him stationed out here didn’t clear up soon, he wasn’t sure how much longer the younger man would last.

“He may be young but he still did some serious damage. He’s fast, he’s strong, he’s skilled. If he hadn’t been injured I think we would’ve been pretty evenly matched.” Oliver paused, looking up, his jaw set. “He’s good, but he’s dangerous and unstable. We still don’t know what he’s here to do.”

“This is not something you want to get involved in, Oliver. Brits sniffing around on US soil? It never ends well, especially when they’re using kids.” John’s arms rested crossed over his chest, his posture saying what they were all thinking: this was quickly becoming more complicated than any of them had been prepared for.

“He’s in my city, that makes it my problem.” He dropped his bow down onto the table, leaning forward, shoulders hunched. “I was finally getting somewhere cleaning up the city, and now this . It’s just too many coincidences at once and I can't see how they’re linked.” 

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” Felicity sidled up next to him, rubbing a soothing hand over his back. “You’re right, we don’t know why they’re here. It could be to do with this SCORPIA group, it could be something completely unrelated. So, we do what we always do, find out more and then we can act. There’s no point in jumping to conclusions just yet.”

“You didn’t see him, Felicity, he looked…” He paused, face morphing unconsciously  into something akin to understanding. “You didn’t see him. I want to help him, I really do, but if we’re on opposite sides of this? Then I don’t have much of a choice.”

“We will figure this out. Now that we’ve got some information it should be easier to find out more, we’re not starting from nothing this time. Maybe you could meet with ‘not-Jason’ in person, see if you can get anything out of him. Then at least Lukas, Alex, whoever, has some time to cool off. I can jump back online, see if I can find anything else.”

He turned back around to face John as the other man spoke, Felicity’s hand moving to tuck around his bicep.

“I can go back to Lyla, see what else we can get. Any other occasion? I’d say Jason’s the operative and Alex is the cover, just based on age, but now we know what that kid can do? I’m guessing they’re both agents. Jason could be the handler or the lead, but the kid’s gotta be in on it. I mean as happy as ‘6 are to use minors, I doubt they’d let him be in charge.”

“The accents as well. If we hadn’t heard him in that factory I never would’ve guessed he wasn’t American. It was flawless, that takes some serious training.” Jason’s had been perfect as well, Oliver recalled. The two of them made quite the pair.

“Jason could be American. CIA? FBI?” Felicity pointed out.

“I doubt we could get away with using child operatives, especially foreign ones, without someone hearing about it. Best guess is he’s MI6 as well. The CIA don’t usually play nice with others.” John pointed out. “And if that’s the case, then we are seriously out of our depth Foreign intelligence working on US soil? We all need to be careful. If they think there’s a risk we’ll expose them, they won’t hesitate, especially not when they have so much at risk. Nothing stays secret, no rock goes unturned. Family, friends, work. If we’re going to dig into this it damn well better be worth it.”

“It will be.” Certainty laced Oliver’s tone, he’d make sure of it.

-

It was almost midday before Alex got up, gut rolling, head pounding. The feeling of his dry mouth and fuzzy teeth almost had him running back to the bathroom. Instead he just groaned, jamming the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Last night, what he could remember of it, had been bad. Very bad. Aside from the fact that Queen probably thought he was insane, he’d been too open. Hell, he’d almost led the man straight to the safe house. Even the thought of that had his stomach rolling, and not from last night’s alcohol. A wave of anxiety washed over him. He’d messed up, big time, and now he had to find a way to justify his insanity to Johnston without the older agent reporting him to some MI6 psychologist. 

He splashed a handful of water over his face and did a cursory brush of his teeth before walking over to the door. He eyed the handle as if praying it had magically locked from the outside, forcing him to put off his conversation with Johnston. A quick prod at the handle revealed that this was, in fact, not the case. With a gentle sigh he pushed open the door and padded down the stairs.

The older agent was sitting in the kitchen, laptop open next to a messy pile of files. He looked up as Alex entered the room, standing wordlessly to grab some Aspirin and a bottle of water. He thanked the man with a nod before opening his mouth to speak, only to be cut off.

“Where were you?”

“Like I said, following up on a lead.” Completely plausible. Also, obviously, a lie.

“Hm.” Yeah, he wasn’t buying that, was he. Unfortunately working with spies and poor excuses didn’t tend to mix. Johnston’s disappointment was clear, and setting him on edge, making him feel defensive.

“I spoke to Queen. He didn’t say much, nothing we didn’t already know but he’s definitely got some suspicions about the Millers. I said I’d ended up in the factory by accident but I think we both knew that was a load of horse shit.” Johnston’s incredulous look only made him more agitated. “Oh, don’t give me that look - I had to give him something and their name seemed like the most harmless thing. Don’t imagine it would've taken him much longer to find it out anyways, they must’ve found something at the base. Other than me.”

“What’s done is done, all we can do is try and fix this moving forward.” Johnston sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You absolutely cannot meet with him again. These identities need to be airtight, we can’t afford to have anyone poking around.”

A bit late for that.

Alex knew he’d fucked up, badly, but if they both continued to ignore that fact then they could work around it and actually get some work done. 

“It’s not like I set the meet! He found me, not the other way around, I just happened to use the situation to my advantage. Plus, he didn’t follow me last night. He could’ve, but he didn’t. That’s got to count for something, there must be some way I can use that trust. Get him off our trail at least.”

Johnston nodded, his gaze falling back to his laptop screen. Alex took this for the dismissal it was and turned to leave.

He got as far as the door before Johnston called out.

“Alex.”

He turned around.

“Should I be worried?”

“What?”

“About last night, should I be prodding for details or have you got it under control?”

He looked like hell and he knew it, even the worst operative would’ve picked up on it. Johnston had undoubtedly heard him chucking his guts up when he finally made it home. He’d been as quiet as possible but they were both light sleepers, an occupational hazard. Thankfully the man had left him to his own devices, saved him the embarrassment. Until now.

Ignoring the state Alex had been in last night completely would be negligent, he knew that. They were out here as a team, the only guarantee they had was that they could rely on one another, no matter what . Alex was pushing his luck and Johnston needed the assurance that they could still work harmoniously. Even so, irrational frustration prickled at the base of Alex’s skull. If he were any other agent, Johnston wouldn’t be so blunt about it. It felt patronising, condescending. His blood felt hot, his skin itchy.

Alex had gotten new information, end of story. The how was not important, the state he’d stumbled home in (and who he’d stumbled most of the way home with) was not important. He didn’t need the man’s concern and he certainly didn’t need to be underestimated. Age was irrelevant when it came to ability. Hell, he had more experience than a good portion of ’6 agents, but some people just couldn’t seem to separate his youth and his skill.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Ignoring the raised eyebrow the older agent sent his way he moved to leave again, and if he let his feet fall more aggressively than usual against the stairs then sue him, he was just acting his age.

Already embarrassed about his childish outburst he drifted over to the desk. His report wasn’t going to write itself. He took one deep breath, pushing his lungs out against his ribs, bringing himself back to centre, before opening his laptop, only to be greeted by Oliver Queen’s grinning face. Tommy Merlin stood next to him, a hand clasped on Queen’s shoulder. Unfinished research from the other day. Or Queen was using psychic powers to taunt him. He closed the tab.

He sighed again before flexing his hands and beginning to type. Dull, uneventful admin. Just what he needed. He could collect his thoughts and try to avoid thinking about what a complete shitshow this mission had been thus far. He’d had worse, of course, this one had been merely embarrassing instead of permanently debilitating or world-ending, but the bitter taste of failure lingered nevertheless. Everything he typed sounded like the ramblings of a madman, too close to a confession. He couldn’t seem to disconnect from his actions, see them from an outside perspective. Should he lie and pretend everything had been smooth sailing? What had Johnston’s latest report said, he couldn’t risk contradicting the man. How much progress were they expecting him to have made?

Only as the copper dribbled over his tongue did he realise how viciously he’d been chewing his lip. Blood in the water, the spray as the bullet hit his chest, the sharp burn of the spider’s web. All mistakes, all his fault. The scar tissue on his chest throbbed, his fists clenching in an attempt to dispel the humming under his skin.

He’d do better. From here on out there would be no more slip-ups, no more mistakes. Information he needed would be collected by any means necessary; no matter the consequences. At the end of the day, he was just another cog in the machine, no one cared about his concerns, let alone his infantile temper tantrums. It wasn’t like he had anything left to lose anyway.

If he wanted respect, he needed to earn it, prove that he could handle things. The legacy of his father and uncle could only do so much to shield him, he needed to start making a name for himself. His skill, his talent, his luck. That’s how he could prove himself, protect himself. 

When people looked at him they didn’t see ‘Alex Rider, child spy extraordinaire’, they saw the tired, hollowed-out shell of the adolescent he’d never been allowed to be. Before him laid two paths and one obvious choice. He couldn’t go home, couldn’t change the past. The only option left was throwing himself into work, giving up on living a ‘normal’ life and instead focusing all his energy on honing his skills. 

‘Should I be worried?’ Johnston’s words echoed. Yes, yes he should be.

Chapter Text

Will Johnston wasn’t a sentimental man, his years in the service had beaten that out of him. In the beginning he’d tried to be strictly professional with Alex, but frankly it was difficult to act like having a seventeen year old as a partner was normal, legal or morally sound. He was torn. Yes, he was responsible for the boy, was supposed to look out for him, but in reality they had a similar amount of experience in the field. Things he’d been doing in his late twenties the kid had been doing since he was fourteen. It was a unique situation and it put him on unbalanced ground. Care too much and he’s overbearing and condescending- Alex was more than capable of handling himself, he’d shown as much. Don’t care enough and they could end up in serious trouble. Like, for example, one of them getting kidnapped by the very terrorist organisation they were supposed to be investigating. He couldn’t win.

“I’ll be back around six.” He pulled on a shoe, looking up at the younger man. “Try not to cause an international incident before then?”

“Ha.” The boy gave a sardonic smile before going back to picking at his toast.

He had agonised over that report- not wanting to dob the boy in but also not wanting to see him punished for simply making a mistake. Had it been any other agent he wouldn't have wasted any time thinking it over, he knew that. He wasn’t being impartial, he knew that but he couldn’t help it, call it instinct. He’d given the younger agent’s version of things a once-over and ensured he backed Alex’s story - they were partners afterall. 

“I’m meeting with Queen for lunch, I’ll test the waters and we can go from there. We cannot have him digging around, or this whole op goes tits up. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to play his cards right away, so I need all my focus on this, see if I can get anything from him.” He hoped the so don’t make me worry about you was clear enough, he didn't feel like rehashing yesterday’s chat.

“Yeah.” From the way Alex looked down he could tell he’d got the message. “And if he has got something he can use?” 

Keys, wallet, phone. He could have coffee at the office. He checked his watch again.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. No, if we get to it. Let him ask his questions, we’re more than ready for them. If he digs too deep he’ll blow his own cover, it’s mutually assured destruction. Look, I have to go, we’ll talk later, ok?”

He made it to the door before stopping short and turning around with a sigh.

“I’ll have my phone on. Lay low, take it easy, do some yoga or something.”

The only indication the boy had heard him was a grumble and the quick flash of a thumbs up, his eyes staying trained on his plate.

As an agent his only focus should be the mission, completing it, and making sure no one ever found out about their involvement. But Alex reminded him too much of his past, what he’d lost, who he’d lost. He couldn’t help but notice the doubt that settled in his gut.

He didn’t want to coddle the boy but at the same time he wanted him to feel comfortable coming to him with any problems instead of scrambling around on the rooftops with vigilantes or getting beaten up by SCORPIA thugs. The quasi-familial position this line of thought put him in was dangerous. They were partners, he was Alex’s superior, nothing more, nothing less.

With a shake of his head and a hum he headed out the door, locking it behind him.

-

Will scanned the room, eyes locking onto Queen, who was sitting exactly how he would’ve if he’d gotten there first: back to the wall with a perfect view of all the exits and windows. The man raised a hand in greeting as he made his way over.

“Mr. Queen- Oliver. It’s great to see you again.” The other man stood to offer him a firm handshake. 

“Jason. The pleasure is all mine.”

They both sat, fussing with menus and discussing recommendations, the conversation remaining polite but shallow. 

The restaurant was quiet but not empty- a couple in one corner, what looked like another business meeting in the centre of the room, a smattering of lone diners. He picked out the man’s security almost immediately, she looked slightly too casual, making too much of an effort to not look at them or listen in. She may be good, but he was better.

The host had sat them all far enough apart for conversations to remain private but close enough together to maintain the pleasant atmosphere. The quiet drone of voices provided the calm ambiance most people preferred to a stark silence. There was a reason Queen had chosen this restaurant, Will would’ve considered it too, had he been in charge of setting the meet. Queen wanted his guard down, wanted to find answers to all his questions. Will would act the part, play the game and give him nothing. 

The growing pile of evidence was not pointing towards the man being a bumbling idiot like they’d been hoping. Night-time activities aside, the man appeared completely at ease and in control of his business, speaking to a high level of intelligence despite what the press thought of him. He seemed sharp, paranoid, observant. Johnston wouldn’t let the other man get under his skin, he could spot his tricks from miles away, but it hammered home what he and Alex both knew: don’t underestimate Oliver Queen.

The waiter came and went, the conversation resumed. They were here to talk shop afterall.

“So, from what I’ve gathered you work in security?” A casual question like the man hadn’t dug as far into his past as he could.

“Yeah, mostly private work, cyber-security, that sort of thing. I have done some city contracts as well, I can get my people to send you the details if you like.”

“That’d be great.” He paused, tapping his finger against his glass. “You seem to have the experience, but you’re a pretty new name on the scene. My head of security wasn’t too pleased with what she could find on you. Or rather, couldn’t find on you.”

He was testing the waters, prodding and poking to find a crack in the ice. He wouldn’t.

“People pay for discretion, Oliver.” An easy smile graced his face, practiced and placating. “I’m ex-military, there’s a lot she won't be able to find. And, my work speaks for itself, or rather doesn’t. The fact that you can’t find much on me or clients should tell you all you need to know. I have no desire to show off.”

Queen didn’t speak immediately, clearly considering the information. They both sat, picking at their food. Silence made people uncomfortable, forced them to show their hand. Will didn’t feel the need to fill it, he’d been playing this game for far longer. 

Oliver cracked first.

“I’m sure I saw that you’re ex-military? What made you turn to the private sector?”

“To be frank? The money. Also, my schedule. I’m in charge, I get veto power over any and all jobs. If I need the time away from work I can take it. I have my son to think about, after all.”

Oliver nodded. “How is Lukas, anyway? He must’ve been quite shaken up after the shithshow at the fundraiser.”

So shaken up, in fact, that he’d got drunk enough to need babysitting from the Green Arrow. Of course, Oliver hadn’t seen Alex since then, it made sense he’d be worried. He hoped and prayed that night had been a one-off, but he was starting to notice patterns in the younger man’s behaviour. As long as he kept it together for the duration of the assignment Will wouldn’t need to have any serious interventions with him, he could leave that for the shrinks.

“He’s doing alright, he’s always been a tough kid. Wasn’t exactly a great introduction to the city, though.”

The conversation moved back to business as both men kept up appearances: a bite here, a sip there, not wanting to be seen to rush but also not wanting to spend a minute more than strictly necessary. Johnston watched Oliver’s eyes flicker around the room, taking everything in, cautious but not unnecessarily so. It was clear he was used to watching his own back, Will could relate.

Oliver’s attention was grabbed by something behind him, his security guard mostly likely, prompting the man to check his watch. Time was up, Will could only hope he’d done enough to alleviate the man's suspicions

“Well, I’ll get the information sent over to you and you can speak with my team once you’ve had some time to think.”

Both men stood up, shaking hands once again.

“Will do. Thank you for meeting with me, it’s great to start getting to know people around here.”

“Please, my treat. Welcome to Starling city, Jason.”

-

“What’s this?” Alex spun the laptop around to face him, open, to his most recent report. “Agent William Johnston, signed and dated, written yesterday.”

He said nothing, schooled his features, not quite sure exactly what the boy had taken issue with. 

“What, you think I can’t handle a little scrutiny? Huh? Little Alex can’t take the pressure? You really think I’m worried about what they have to say?”

Alex had rounded the table, walking towards him, gesturing wildly. He hadn’t expected the younger agent to snoop through his laptop, but he should’ve. Once again underestimating him, once again making a mistake. 

The cogs whirred wildly in his brain before he finally put his finger on it.

It wasn’t that he’d been untruthful in the report, but he may have omitted some details and rephrased others. There wasn’t a way he could explain things without setting off another round of hysterics from the boy, but surely Alex understood that he’d done it with good intentions. MI6 were brutal when it came to unstable behaviour and if the higher-ups caught wind of Alex’s brazen and idiotic actions he dreaded to think what they’d do. Better agents had been shipped off to god-knows-where for less, never to be heard from again. 

Will had Googled the kid as soon as he’d been given the mission brief: there was nothing. No photos, no social media, no family, no friends, nothing. He was a ghost - it was like he’d never existed at all. Everyone in the department knew about his parents’ deaths, as well as his uncle’s, but there was nothing on that either. Not even their obituaries. No past, no present, and his future was anyone’s guess. Making him disappear would be easy as. The only proof that the boy still existed was him- his physical body. 

Sure, Alex was upset, but they could talk this out like adults, have a mature and productive conversation. Maybe he’d overstepped but he’d only been looking out for the kid. 

“Look, Alex-” He started.

“No.” Alex came to a stop in front of him, raising a hand to jab at his chest. “No. Why would you even do that? Why lie? I can handle myself! This just looks bad for me. Once they find out you’re lying, and they will, they always do, they’re going to ask why!”

“Hold on-”

“And you better have a stellar fucking excuse ready for them. I don’t need you to look after me. I don’t need you to hold my hand. Stop treating me like a child and start treating me like an agent. That is all I am, it’s all I have been for a long time.”

Will felt his face drop, any irritation draining straight out of him. Alex reacted almost instantaneously to the change, instinctive, unthinking. Like a switch had been flipped, his body relaxed, shoulders dropping, expression turning blank. His hands clenched at his sides before he spoke, voice flat.

“Anyways, how was lunch?” 

Will took a moment to look over the boy, Alex met his gaze as if daring him to say something. They both knew it wasn’t his place, that he wouldn’t derail a debrief for a welfare check. 

“I’ve cemented my place as a possible contractor, he gave me some jobs to look over, see if I want to pick them up.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, as if he could physically dispel some of the tension that had settled over the two of them. “I’ll make a decision tonight and get back to QC in the morning, I need to check in with ‘6, see which is the most viable.”

Alex hummed thoughtfully like he hadn’t almost just leapt over the table to yell at Will. Any trace of the anger he’d shown a few minutes ago had vanished completely, leaving the air thick and heavy with words unsaid. It was unsettling as much as it was concerning. He’d been almost relieved when the kid’s emotions had finally bubbled over, that he could be something other than the mindless agent he claimed to be. The hollowed-out shell he saw before him put them right back at the start- they hadn’t talked about it, nothing had been resolved. They were back in a cycle neither of them could seem to break.

“SCORPIA fucked up big-time at the fundraiser, we cannot give them time to regroup. If we want to nip this in the bud, we have to do it now.”

Chapter Text

Jason Miller had been everything Oliver had expected: polished, polite and not particularly forthcoming.The man had been entirely pleasant but something about him had felt predatory, like he knew . Oliver had spent the whole meal balancing on the edge of exposing himself, and he had a feeling Miller could tell. There were things only Oliver Queen should know and different things that only the Green Arrow would know, he’d spent an awful lot of brain power not confusing the two.That had put him on edge internally, restraining him from asking anything too obvious. He didn't like being backed into a corner, but it was starting to feel like he had been. 

He’d had Felicity dig into the intel Jason had given him and it all held up to scrutiny. Either he was Jason Miller and only Alex was an operative, or his cover had been made by some of the best. Regret lingered in the back of his head: he should’ve asked more, dug deeper; the more rational side reminded him that Jason could very well be a highly skilled government agent, and if he’d slipped up in even a minor way his whole life could’ve imploded.

An email had appeared in his inbox that morning - Miller had taken the job, which at least gave him some more opportunities to probe under the guise of building business relations.

A hum from Felicity broke him from his thoughts.

“Got something?”

“I think so, it should be-” Her focus was clearly on the screen in front of her and not on verbalising her thoughts. 

Oliver walked over to stand behind her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. She’d been working almost non-stop trying to get into their files without exposing themselves. Anything was better than nothing at this point.

She pointed as she spoke. “This, here, is some of their recent communications. If I can just…” She began typing again, hands flying over the keyboard as the text finally turned into something readable. “Yes! This is from today, they’re meeting down by the docks. Tonight.”

His eyes flickered over the information before he glanced at his watch. It was eight o’clock now, he should have just enough time to get there and set up before they arrived to do whatever it was they were doing. Most likely a weapons drop since they'd been forced to ground after the gala, they’d be running low on resources and needing to stock up. They were building up to something big, again, only this time Oliver was in a better position to stop them.

John, having overheard them, had started rifling through the drawers behind them, getting ready. Oliver turned to join him just as Felicity spun her chair around, grabbing his forearm in a vice grip.

“I said be careful last time, and clearly ,” she shot a look at John, “neither of you listened. So, seriously, be careful . You’re good; they’re better and there's, like, way more of them.”

“Not as many as there were last time.” John muttered as he slipped a gun into his holster.

“Shut up, not the point. You got shot, you are now being stalked by James-Bond-Junior and potentially on the British government’s radar and I got smacked in the head and then bled all over my boyfriend’s nice suit.” She pointed at each of them in turn as she spoke.

He frowned at her words.The gala was not something he wanted to dwell on. He’d failed her, that night, and he had no intention of ever doing it again. And the only way that that was going to happen was if he nailed SCORPIA and put an end to their meddlings in the city.

-

The wind was harsh, whipping at his face as he and John laid flat against the cold metal of the freight container. It was dark tonight, and utterly silent. Thick clouds covered the moon. His fingers twitched every time the waves lapped against the dockside. Tonight was their chance to get information, if not to finish things, there was no room for error.

His comm crackled to life as a ship horn blared at the far end of the port.

“I found something. It could be big.” 

John tensed beside him as he hummed, not wanting to be any louder.

“I managed to get one of the file names. Not what’s actually in the file. I mean, I’ve been trying for hours and I’ve got nowhere, so I thought I’d just give you what I’ve got then keep working on it so-”

“Felicity.” He hissed. She was good, but her tendency to ramble was only endearing when they weren't laying in wait to drop in on an unstable terrorist group.

“Right, sorry. So, all I can tell you is that the file’s called ‘Curare’. I’ll try and get into it but-”

The temperature felt as though it had dropped ten degrees. Whatever Felicity said next was lost as background noise to the wind and the buzzing of his thoughts. Curare , poisoned arrows used by South American hunters, paralytics. Taking control piece by piece whilst their victim remained entirely cognizant.  It had to be intentional, he no longer had any doubts about SCORPIA’s plans here: they wanted him.

They were here, in his city to, what, paralyse him, paralyse the city? Let him suffer whilst they took everything from him. But why?

Was their problem with him, what he represented? Did an old adversary have a bone to pick? 

Felicity’s voice faded back in, still chatting away. His focus returned to the scene in front of him, flexing his fingers to force some blood into them. 

“Anyways, I’ll keep trying and let you know if I get anywhere.”

“Copy that.” 

The comm went briefly to static before falling back into silence.

“This is personal.” He felt, more than saw, John’s head whip towards him. “They want me. Or to get my attention. Curare’s used to poison arrows, that’s not a coincidence.”

Before John had a chance to ask any questions the sound of boots cut through the silence. They were here. Lifting his binoculars slowly, he counted three men dressed in black tactical gear, something on the chest glinting dimly. It was SCORPIA.

They weren’t visibly armed but that didn’t mean they weren't. He and Diggle remained deathly still. The men below them stood huddled together, talking to each other quietly, too quietly to be heard but he daren’t shoot down any sort of listening device for fear of being noticed. 

He counted each second before anything happened, irritation building slowly under his skin as the men stood, clearly waiting.

Exactly five minutes after the trio had arrived, a lone man strode up to meet them, eyes sweeping left to right, body taut. 

Concealed only by the night, Oliver watched as the man shook hands with the appointed leader of the trio, before he dipped his hand into his pocket and presented a small black box. 

He was torn, jump down now and intercept or wait to see how things evolved. Either option was risky, go too soon and he risked spooking them before he got anything, leave it too long and they could get away. Diggle seemed to be waiting for him to make his move, poised but still.

Whilst Oliver was still deliberating, the choice was made for them. Breaking the stillness of the evening, a blond mop of hair barreled across the concrete towards the group, their heads shooting round simultaneously at the noise. And then he was on them, fists flying. 

The newfound distraction allowed him and John to poke their heads up higher, taking in the scene beneath them. Lukas, Alex , was quite comfortably holding his own against four clearly trained, much larger adults. Only, here and there, he seemed to let them land a punch, shots he could’ve easily blocked, shots he had dodged just seconds before. Oliver didn’t think he’d ever figure the kid out.

“What’s the play here?” Diggle was still waiting for instruction, wanting to follow his lead on this. Even so, he sounded worried. As much as Oliver wanted to wait up here and observe the kid fighting some more, not stepping in when he clearly could seemed unnecessarily cruel, and he still wanted to get some information out of at least one of the group.

“ Oliver. ”

“Let's go.” He responded, gruff, jerking his head towards the fighting.

-

Alex looked surprised for all of a second before irritation fell back over his face followed by him swiftly backhanding one of his more enthusiastic attackers.

“Like it rough do you? I’ll have you know I’m still a minor.” Although the boy was fighting like a rabid dog, he couldn’t shut up for more than a minute before he seemed compelled to say something stupid.

Something was bothering Oliver though, his face was visible, he was recognisable, making no effort to conceal his identity. Did he know these men already, or simply not care?

The whistle of a blade parting the air broke him from his musings. Forearm met forearm as he swung the knife away from his chest, shoving his boot straight into the man’s knee. If they were going to play dirty, so would he. This sentiment was only strengthened as he heard Alex hiss behind him, having either been taken off guard or misjudging the strength of his opponent.

Oliver dropped to avoid a sharp kick to the chest, whipping a small blade from his boot and slicing the back of the man’s calf in one quick arc. The muted background noise of panting and the dull thud of flesh meeting flesh was interrupted by the man’s yell. He faltered but didn’t fall, knocking Oliver in the nose as he went.

This stumble seemed to signal some unspoken cue between the four of them. Like a switch had been flipped, they started to run. 

Oliver’s few seconds of hesitation gave them a head start. He’d been giving it his all, sweating and exhausted and all of a sudden they were taking off into the night. If he lost them now, who knew if he’d find them again. 

He started to run. 

The smacking of boots behind him told him that John was following, but the distance between him and the group was only growing. He pushed himself harder, digging up every ounce of strength he had left to try and close the gap. There was no point nocking an arrow, the jagged pulse of his steps would only disrupt his aim. 

The SCORPIA agents sped round the corner of a shipping container, only dipping out of sight for a split second, but it was long enough for them to get into and start a car. The scent of rubber filled the air as the tires squealed.

It was now he pulled out his bow, stopping to aim and fire off arrow after arrow as the car sped away into the dark. 

Too little too late.

He let out a gruff yell, bow held dumbly by his side. How had they missed a car? He could’ve kicked himself. They’d gotten away, again, and he’d learned nothing new. They’d been too cocky, too certain, too stupid. SCORPIA had played them and he’d been too wrapped up in it to see. 

At some point he’d lost John, the silence only now reaching him. He shuffled back around the corner, eyes traipsing over the dockyard. His eyes locked on to two figures back where the fight had broken out, Alex seemed to be knelt on the floor with Diggle standing, presumably, as close as he could, bent down slightly to speak to the boy. Oliver jogged back over, not having the heart to go any faster.

When he got there he wished he had, Alex was clutching a dark red line around his midsection, head bowed and panting. His head shot up as he heard Oliver approach, clearly still on edge. Oliver slowed his pace in response, lifting both his hands.

“It was too easy. I thought something was off and I still fell for it.” He muttered.

“What are you talking about? You’re bleeding, you need to go to-” John sighed as he spoke, clearly they’d been over this a few times already.

“I’m fine . You need to go after them.”

“Are you serious? You’re not fine.” Oliver chimed in. The look Alex sent him was enough to move on from that line of thought, now was not the time to push too hard. ”Alright,” he sighed, deeply, reaching a hand up to scrub at his face. “What do you mean ‘too easy’.”

“Dude. If you’re not going to go get them, I will.” He pushed up from the ground, ignoring John and Oliver’s attempts at help.

“Hey, stop.” 

Alex flapped a hand in his direction as he hobbled off.

“Hey. Come on.”

Somehow he was managing to pick up the pace, despite the blood dripping between his fingers. Oliver was torn, he needed to get back to Felicity, try and find SCORPIA, stop them for good, protect his city. But his sense of duty to the kid was almost overwhelming. He couldn’t just let him go. Would ‘Jason’ even care? Something awful could happen and no one would ever know, because the Millers didn’t exist . He wasn’t going to fuck up something else tonight just because he couldn’t decide when to step in.

“ Alex .” 

He had never seen someone's head spin so fast. The look on Alex’s face was a harrowing mix of shock, shame and surprise.

The game was up, that much was clear from his expression. No more cat-and-mouse, Oliver had shown his hand, it was time for Alex to show his.

Chapter Text

Just as fast as the expression came, it left, leaving Alex standing frozen in front of them. A charged silence. 

John came up to stand beside him, shoulders brushing. A warning. He’d just burnt an MI6 deep cover, if he got this wrong they were not walking away unscathed.

“I-” Alex shook his head as if shaking away a thought. “They’ve seen my face now, so, I’m fucked. I need to go. Now.”

“We’re on the same side of this.” Without pulling back the hood he only had his voice to show his sincerity; he hoped it would be enough. “What did you mean, ‘too easy’?”

“No. No, I can’t do this right now.” Alex’s grip tightened over his torso, fingers white. “And don’t you ever call me that again.” 

Goosebumps rose on his arms, some sort of primal instinct, Alex was a caged animal with nothing to lose.

“We all want the same thing here, you have to see that.”

“You have no idea what I want.” Alex hissed back. The window was closing, they were losing their chance to get information.

“Whatever was in that box is gonna hurt people. We can stop that from happening, but only if we stop butting heads.” John spoke, keeping his tone calm and posture relaxed, ever the diplomat.

Alex took a few seconds, eyes flicking from him to John, before he sighed deeply, muttering something before speaking. “Fine. I’m not promising anything here, just sharing what I know.”

“That’s good enough for us.” For now. 

“They were testing us. If SCORPIA wanted any of us dead we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation.”

He had been hoping for something they hadn’t already guessed but it was a start. Getting anything out of Alex had proved to be a Sisyphean task thus far, but any information was good information so he’d just have to grin and bear it. He’d dealt with worse than uncooperative teenagers.

“How did you know they’d be here? And how did they know we’d all be here?” Him and Diggle had only had a few hours’ headstart themselves.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” 

It was clear now that they all knew who Alex was, but the kid wasn’t going to spell anything out for them. 

Minced words and hidden meanings, ever the spy. It was understandable, he wouldn’t give up Felicity’s name readily, either. 

Alex tapped a finger where it rested over his torso. “And I don’t know, but you’d be wise not to underestimate them. Maybe they were expecting you, maybe just me, it’s hard to say. Either way, they got what they wanted.”

So, they were testing the city’s defenses, the Green Arrow’s reaction time. A sinking feeling took hold, maybe the message Felicity had found had been a trap after all, and they’d walked right into it. 

“Does the name ‘Curare’ mean anything to you?” A different tactic: instead of asking for information he’d give it and see where they ended up, earn some trust. He searched for any trace of recognition in the kid’s eyes.

Alex’s brows furrowed. “I mean, maybe back at the warehouse, but-” A grimace fell over his face, teeth briefly but viciously worrying his lip whilst he thought. “I think I’ve heard it before, a few years ago. An old SCORPIA project that they shelved, something Jet was working on. Eijit Binnag. But I’m not sure who for. Or what it actually was. Where did you get that name anyways?”

“We scraped the computers before we found you. We’ve been working on it since.”

Alex hummed quietly, clearly not eager to rehash the events of that unpleasant evening. Clearly the kid had some connection to SCORPIA but he didn’t feel like pushing their luck tonight, they’d learned enough for now.

“Come back with us, we can patch you up.” He nodded to where Alex was still clutching his midriff. 

He raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘Seriously ?’ 

“What, you gonna do it yourself?”

“Good night.” Alex turned away from them and began to walk, a mirror image of earlier that night.

“It’s a long way back to the city!” One last attempt to change his mind.

Alex’s shoulders hunched as he tightened his grip over the wound, clearly a task he only needed one hand for as the other hand came up to wave them the middle finger as he wandered off into the darkness of the dockyard.

Oliver turned to face John, who clapped a hand on his shoulder, wordlessly urging him not to go after the boy. 

He raised a hand to meet his comm. “Felicity, you get all that?”

-

It was Will’s turn to yell. His chair scratched across the kitchen floor as he stood.

“Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Will-”

“No, Alex . You know how precarious this situation is. And what do you do? Huh? You go off. Alone. Unsanctioned. Like an idiot! No. Like a child.”

He was well aware that his yelling was just as immature, but he’d been sitting in the house alone, stewing, for the last few hours and seeing Alex had only reignited his anger.

“Oh, come on.”

“Shut it.” His finger seemed to move of its own accord, jabbing at Alex. “I can’t keep explaining these things away to head office and you can’t keep pretending they’re not happening. You’re being careless and I refuse to lose this job because of that.”

His eyes followed Alex as he sat at the kitchen table in front of him. Purposefully giving him the high ground, at least he felt a little guilty. The kid was doing an excellent kicked puppy impression but he’d worked himself up now and he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop before he’d blown off some steam. 

“This might be hard for you to understand, but adults’ choices have consequences. This isn't some sandbox for you to mess about in. This matters to me.” Will spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child. It was patronising and it was petty but he was intent on making his point clear. 

“You look fucking awful.” Something he’d found himself saying far too often, it was like Alex didn’t even try to stay out of trouble.

Alex snorted, chewing the inside of his cheek, clearly deliberating over what to say. 

Will gave him some time to mull it over, he wanted a full explanation not some half-arsed placations. In the meantime, he walked over to the freezer to fetch a bag of frozen peas for the younger man’s face, tossing them over in lieu of a peace offering. 

“Look-” Alex’s breath seemed to hitch, Will locked on immediately.

He should’ve seen it sooner, the shallow breathing, the way he was hunched in on himself, not just shame but pain. 

Well, maybe a bit of both. 

Will’s eyes scanned over him. Yes, the boy looked terrible, but not in his normal ‘beaten-up-in-a-side-alley’ way. 

He was pale, the bags under his eyes looked almost painful- this was something else. He’d been too pissed off to notice how the wet spot on the kid's shirt and the way his hands were trembling.

“Stop.” He held up a hand, interrupting Alex who couldn’t look more confused if he tried, eyes flicking over his face. “You should’ve said you were hurt.” 

Irresponsible. Childish. Stupid. 

Alex opened his mouth to object but didn’t seem to have the energy to follow through, gaze fixed pointedly at the table. Instead, he just shrugged.

“Show me.” He gestured to the boy’s torso before turning to fetch the first aid kit from under the sink, not bothering to wait for an answer. 

Behind him he heard Alex huff as he attempted to escape his t-shirt. Clearly fighting a losing battle, he turned and waggled the scissors in silent question. The younger man rolled his eyes but moved his arms away from his torso to allow Will to cut at the material.

The sight he was met with was disturbing to say the least. Deep reds and purples painted his torso, a morbid backdrop for two sluggishly-bleed cuts. Alex had walked all the way back, from wherever the hell he’d been last night, like this . Will fought the urge to comment, noticing how Alex had gone completely still in front of him, eyes focused on nothing in particular. It was a sign of real trust that he’d allow himself to be so vulnerable, Will would do nothing to disrespect that.

He pointedly avoided gawking at the myriad of scars on the boy’s body, thin white lines, the telltale shine of healed burns, the bullet scar almost exactly over his heart. He instead focused on the task at hand, pulling out sterile wipes and thread.

“This is going to hurt.” Nothing he could say would make it any better so why bother saying anything but the truth.

Alex looked up for a brief moment to nod before his expression went flat again. Despite his age, he seemed to have mastered the spook art of disconnecting from one’s feelings; it made some horrendous experiences slightly more bearable, Will would know.

“You want to tell me what happened tonight?” Will asked, gently wiping at the skin around the wounds as Alex winced, although whether from the pain or the idea of explaining himself he couldn’t tell..

“I…” A pause. Will’s hands didn’t stop moving, he didn’t dare look up at the boy. “I followed Queen. I knew I’d get something. It was last minute. I didn’t want to waste any time. So I went alone.”

Needle in, needle out, pull tight. The repetition gave them both something else to focus on.

“They were waiting for someone, something. I don’t know how they got their intel, there must be someone else. The-” He hissed as Will tugged the needle. “The girlfriend maybe.”

He’d done a full background on the key players at QE, Felicity Smoak had left quite an impression. She was a tech genius, it could make sense. He should’ve pushed harder when he’d had lunch with Queen, but he had a feeling that mentioning Smoak would’ve put him on guard.

Alex was paler now, hands shaking where they rested by his side. He recounted his version of the evening without flourish, like he was rattling off a report, the words disconnected from any sense of emotion.

Will listened, without judgement, lest he derail Alex’s speech. Not once did their eyes meet, afraid that any eye contact would rip away the sheet of honesty that had fallen over them.

He took one last look at the gashes before covering the puckered wounds with some clean gauze.

“And then I came back here.”

He didn’t know what to say. To be frank, it was a complete shitshow. 

Queen and his partner knew who Alex was and could probably guess at his ties to SCORPIA, you didn’t just know intimate details about members and share them freely. If he didn’t know Alex’s past with the group he’d be more than a little concerned. Just because Queen and his buddy had helped the boy tonight didn’t mean they were all on the same side.

Worse still, SCORPIA almost definitely knew about their presence here now. All four of them had made it out of the fight and if any of them recognised Alex then it wouldn’t be long before that became a not-insignificant problem. There weren’t exactly many teenagers who liked to meddle in terrorist affairs, so the thugs sharing even his description put their covers at risk. This was getting out of hand, and fast.

“We need to call this in.”

The younger agent grimaced but didn’t object, remaining slouched against the chair.

Taking that as a go-ahead he slung the first aid kit back under the sink and scrubbed at his hands where the blood had begun to dry under his nails. 

After wiping his hands against his pant legs he slipped his phone out of his pocket, looking up at Alex before placing it in the middle of the table.

“Ready?”

Alex flashed him a thumbs-up before heaving himself upright, inhaling deeply through his nose.