February 8, 2014, morning:

Things are tense when Tommy gets back to Star City, in a different way than they've ever been before. He's seen Oliver and Digg and Felicity fighting but this is… it's different, somehow. More desperate. There doesn't seem to be any indication of fission between the three of them, but there's tension all the same. Less friendly chatter, fewer shared meals.

Tommy's had enough of tension. He and Laurel are finally back in a semi-decent place. She's asked for a bit of space – he hasn't moved back into the apartment yet – but she's letting him take her out for dinner every other night and call her to tell her good night in the evenings. That's… that's progress, from knocking frantically on her mother's door and wondering if he would be let in.

He spends one night back home, then rallies himself and drags Digg and Felicity out to breakfast with him on Saturday. He spends the first bit talking about himself – about Central, though Felicity's heard some of that already, and about his clinic, now in the process of interviews – before their food arrives, the waiter leaves them alone, and he stares down Felicity and Digg across the table. Over the course of about two hours he presses them for more details, lets them rant about Oliver, and then carefully but forcefully teases out the real issues.

Most of their frustration, it seems, stems from the fact that they feel like they haven't accomplished anything in too long. Tommy can't blame them for that. Oliver'd almost died (again!), and they haven't caught the man who'd all but killed him.

Tommy knows he's nothing close to a relationship counselor or mediator or whatever the hell the proper term is. But he's done this dance before, this lack of communication that leads to fission, and fractures, and grief and regret. He's not doing it again. He's not.

So he drags Felicity's and Digg's complaints from them, and counters them, and gives an outside perspective, and at the end of the (long) meal, everyone seems exhausted but less wound up than they were before. There hadn't really been any danger of the team splitting, Tommy figures, even more so now that he's heard their issues out loud, their latest arguments rehashed. But sometimes it's good to talk about these things, and he can tell Felicity and Digg feel better for it, so that's good enough for him.

He goes back to the Queen Manor, takes an hour nap, catches up with Moira, then drags Oliver out onto the grounds for a walk when the man wakes up from his messed-up sleep schedule. (He's a little reluctant, to force a still-healing Oliver to stroll the grounds with him, but with Moira now at home he knows Oliver prefers this to possibly being overheard, and it's been over a month now. Oliver's keeping the cast on, but Tommy can't imagine it'll last more than another week or two.)

Then he repeats the process all over again. Oliver's more reluctant to dump his burdens on Tommy, more closed off – less likely to see his issues as issues at all, instead of just facts of life, and Tommy pointedly does not think about how Oliver is so used to being miserable he can't even recognize it anymore – but even if his recollections are more fact than emotion he tells Tommy about their arguments and struggles all the same. Tommy responds by filling Oliver in on how Laurel's doing, and he rambles about his clinic here too, and he makes it pointedly clear that he'll be in the basement as much as Oliver needs him to be, going forward.

"I don't want to get between you and Laurel," Oliver argues back.

Tommy shakes his head, because no. He's not doing this again. "We've talked about this – me and you and me and her. She's not against what the Green Arrow does," he reminds his best friend. "She just needs time to adjust to the fact that you're the Green Arrow."

"You mean the fact that I lied to her."

The statement is blunt, unforgiving, self-recriminating, but the fact that Oliver's saying it out loud at all, to Tommy, instead of bottling it up or pushing aside Tommy's words, is enough for now.

Besides, he's not wrong.

"Give her time," Tommy repeats. "I came around."

Oliver gives him a look, but Tommy's not having that either.

"Nothing you can ever say or do will ever make me regret anything other than how long it took me to return to your side," he says blatantly.

Oliver's shoulders tense at that, his gaze going rigid, and Tommy knows that's because he doesn't agree, but he doesn't care. He means it. Oliver'll come to realize that, one way or another, eventually. Until then, Tommy won't stop showing him, with words and actions both.

February 10, 2014, evening:

Laurel looks through the peephole on her apartment door, wondering who is visiting her now, and finds she isn't surprised to see Felicity on the other side. Right, Felicity knows the truth, she remembers. Oliver, it seems, has told random strangers his secret over her and she feels a familiar ache of betrayal that's only just started to fade.

She grimaces, but Felicity hasn't really done anything wrong – they aren't friends, she had no obligation to tell Laurel anything – so she opens the door. Aside from her father and Jo, Felicity's the first to visit her since she'd gotten back (and Tommy, but that's different).

"Mind if I come in?" Felicity asks with a sheepish smile on her face.

Laurel already knows she going to. She tries to respond with a smile, gesturing the other woman inside, but she's pretty sure it ends up as half-grimace, at least. She does not want to hear what this woman has to say, does not want to hear Tommy's excuses again, from someone else's mouth. She knows that what Oliver had told her was the truth – that he had good reasons for keeping his secret, that there'd been good reasons not to tell her. It doesn't change the fact that he still had told everyone else, and that she was the last to know.

Tommy, Thea, Thea's boyfriend. His bodyguard. Felicity Smoak, apparently. Is there anyone in Oliver's life who doesn't know? (The thought makes Laurel realize how few people there actually are in Oliver's life, especially compared to his life before – but she pushes those thoughts aside. She wants to be mad at Oliver right now, she doesn't want to feel sorry for him.)

"I already know what you're here to say," she tells Felicity as she closes the door behind it. It probably comes out a little stiff. Laurel doesn't really care. Respecting her wishes, Tommy's stopped talking about it around her. Now that she's home in Star City though, she'll probably hear the same apologies all over again. That is, if Oliver actually bothers to visit. (You know that's not fair, she chides herself. Oliver'd been the one to tell her the truth in the first place, even if he hasn't spoken to her since.)

"You probably do. I always thought you would have figured it out eventually on your own, with as close to Oliver as you are."

Laurel's mood doesn't lighten any at the statement, or the fact that Felicity doesn't seem pleased by her own words, and Felicity blanches.

"I just meant… not like close-close. I mean, you're with Tommy now, everyone knows that, I just…" she sighs, running a hand threw her hair. "Sorry. My mouth likes to speak for itself sometimes. I just meant…" she trails off, searching for the words.

It doesn't matter. Laurel already knows what she's going to say there too. "You mean physically close," she says bluntly, harshly. In close proximity. Yeah, she knows she'd worked with the Arrow and hadn't once suspected him to be her ex. She doesn't need Felicity to rub that in her face as well. "You meant that I stood right next to him night after night and didn't even see it."

Felicity grimaces, barely a foot into Laurel's apartment, and runs a hand over her hair again. "I'm sorry, I'm going about this all wrong, I just…"

But Laurel doesn't even know Felicity, besides a few odd conversations here and there that they've exchanged. Nothing this woman can say or do is going to change her mind. She needs time, as she'd told Tommy.

"Did Oliver ask you to be here?" Laurel cuts in. To apologize for him?

"No!" Felicity looks genuinely startled, so at least that rings true. "No, I just… Look, I won't…" she grimaces. "I remember what it was like," she says, a bit slower, "when I found out. At that point, there wasn't anyone I could talk to. And it's not just about Oliver, I'm worried about Tommy too. You can't blame him for not telling you – it wasn't his secret to tell. I just… I just thought you should know that. Not that I thought you didn't already! But, just, if… if you've ever got any questions…"

All Laurel's questions are for Oliver. She doesn't want to have them answered by some proxy, whether Felicity's here at Oliver's behest or not. But she does soften slightly, at the noticeable concern for Tommy (and for Oliver too, she supposes, because she's not sure what they are anymore, but he's still something to her and it's good to know he's got people in his corner – people willing to keep his secret, she remembers uncomfortably).

"Thank you. For the offer," she manages to force herself to say. "Right now I'd just like some time. To process things."

Felicity nods and lets herself be shooed out, looking displeased, but Laurel can't really be upset by that. She doesn't owe the other woman anything.

February 11, 2014, night:

"How sure are you of this intel?"

Oliver hides a grimace beneath his hood. He passes the flash drive in his hands over to Lance. "This is all the evidence we have. We're reasonably certain it's Gold, but there's another entrance not on camera. His patterns suggest he's still there, but he might have friends and we can't track his movements entirely."

Lance grimaces too. "After all this time, that might not be good enough for the brass." He gestures with the flash drive. "Illegally obtained evidence isn't admissible."

And trust in the Green Arrow is dipping again, Oliver knows, with his copycat out on the streets. (At least, from the SCPD, the only ones who know about the arrows found in the victims.)

"Can I expect backup?" is all he asks, because he's going after Gold with or without SCPD backing, and Lance knows that perfectly well.

The detective's eyes flicker to his ankle. If he stares hard enough, he'll see the slight bulge under Oliver's pants that indicate he's wearing his brace for patrol, but Oliver thinks it's dark enough Lance won't notice anything. Besides, he doesn't know which ankle Oliver broke.

He tenses anyway, because he hates this, hates the needless concern or the thought that he might not be capable of doing what's necessary right now.

"Too hard to say," Lance says though, thankfully not commenting on it. "Likely, but I doubt we'll get the same leeway we got last time, 'specially if we're not sure if anyone else's in the building."

So no gas then. Oliver can live with that. Or, he could, if he was the only one going after Gold.

"We're going to need to coordinate this," he finds himself saying. He could make a plan for going after Gold – he's learned from his first encounter, he could even ask Digg to back him up. He could live with the police making a plan for going after Gold – he killed one of their own, after all, and passed out enough injuries for everyone to be wary. But he's not sure how he'll be able to – if he'll be able to – go after Gold as the front line of attack, knowing that it's the police that have his back.

Even if they backed him up during the fight, he can't convince himself that they wouldn't immediately turn on him afterward.

Lance looks startled. "You plan on being there yourself."

Oliver knows better than to say that he doesn't quite trust the police to capture Gold, that he'd only passed along the task the first time because he'd just barely survived another near-death encounter. He grits his teeth. He's trying to work with people. "Can you guarantee your people will be prepared?"

Tellingly, Lance doesn't swear at him for the slight to the SCPD's capabilities. He just swears in general, spinning away in frustration before turning back again. His gaze flickers up and down Oliver's shadowed form, hesitating again at his damn ankles.

"They're not gonna like taking your intel," he says, unnecessarily.

"As I said," Oliver growls out. "We need to coordinate."

Lance swears again. "You can't be near him when we take him in."

Oliver – the Green Arrow – moves to take a step forward, to be menacing, even if he thinks maybe Lance knows the vigilante a little too well for that now, but Lance cuts him off.

"No," he says, holding up a hand. "No. I don't want to hear whatever you have to say about the SCPD's capabilities. We can bring him in. But we need to do it properly, without vigilante justice getting in the way."

There's something else though, some other frustration bubbling up inside Lance. It doesn't quite seem to be directed at Oliver though, or at his 'vigilante justice'.

"And?" he asks harshly.

Lance looks away again. "Damn it all!" he swears, and Oliver thinks he knows what has Lance riled, even if Lance doesn't seem willing to admit it. He'd rather have Oliver charging into danger than his men, though that's probably not the most polite way to phrase it (and it does say something, Oliver registers, as to how highly Lance thinks of his capabilities).

"Like I said," Oliver repeats, "we're going to need to coordinate this."

The fact that Lance doesn't argue again only tells Oliver that his thoughts were correct. By now, Lance has taken his directions. He's passed on tips. He's sent Oliver after criminals. He'd all but given him official permission to take down Gold on his own, if he'd found him first (and Oliver'd been tempted, but if he's not willing to kill, and since ARGUS isn't an option after he'd cashed in his last favor, this is what's left to him).

But Lance has never worked side by side with him in the field – at least, he's never planned to do so, though they've been in a few altercations at the same time (the shootout at the docks at the end of summer comes to mind). And he's especially never had his men work with Oliver before.

The Green Arrow isn't a cop. He doesn't follow protocols, or their rules. He doesn't obey the chain of command. From their perspective, he'd be a liability in the field, no matter how talented he is.

They won't be able to go after Gold simultaneously. But that doesn't mean Oliver won't be there. It just means, for once in his career as a vigilante, he's going to follow someone else's lead. He's going to let Lance takes charge and go where Lance sends him. (Oh, he'll fight like Hell if he doesn't agree, tactically, with Lance's decisions, but he already knows he won't be charging headfirst into the fight this time.)

Oliver's working with people, he's utilizing his resources, he's recognizing that he doesn't have to do this alone.

It feels like he's giving up.

It feels like he's sending others to their deaths.

This can't be the answer, because it feels like he's only adding more sins to his ledger.

February 12, 2014, evening:

The next time Laurel has the occasion to look through her peephole after Felicity's visit, it's Oliver standing before her, face characteristically calm and expressionless. She thinks about ignoring him, pretending she didn't hear the knock, but she's angry, and she's never been one to run from a fight. Barely a few days home but he's already coming knocking at her door… It only reminds Laurel that she doesn't really know him anymore. Doesn't have a clue what he's capable of. (It also reminds her of all the people who'd come to her, begging for forgiveness on his behalf – Tommy, Felicity, Thea had even called – without him ever once showing his face, or even sending her a message while she'd been in Central. He'd all but cut contact after she'd learned the truth, and now here he is, without so much as a warning.)

"What do you want?" she asks, yanking open the door violently and facing him head on. "Come to tell me why I should forgive you too?" Felicity's visit is fresh in her mind; Tommy's hesitation to discuss Oliver (to disagree with her) never really leaves her recent memories.

Oliver blinks, but doesn't flinch at her harsh tone or sudden movement. "I came to see if you're doing okay," he says plainly. "You went to Central City to get away, only for the particle accelerator –"

"I'm fine," Laurel snaps out, interrupting him, but she relaxes ever so slightly as she does so. He's here because he's worried about her safety, not for anything related to the Green Arrow. (People died, that night. Her own experience had been… Well. It's an understandable worry, but it doesn't change things between them.)

He still doesn't flinch at her tone though, simply holds out the brown paper bag in his hand.

"I already ate."

"It's ice cream. Mint chocolate chip. You don't have to share it with anyone."

Laurel takes it. Silence falls. She doesn't invite him in.

After a moment, Oliver speaks again. "If you ever need anything…"

"I'll know to ask someone else."

Oliver actually hesitates at that, opens his mouth ever so slightly as if he wants to say something, but in the end he only nods once. "I'm sorry," he says, "for everything." Without waiting for a reply he turns and walks away.

Laurel watches him go for a moment, then shuts the door. Without Oliver there she practically collapses, releasing her tension and anger, but she manages to make it to one of the kitchen chairs before she lets go completely. She's upset to admit that there are tears in her eyes and she pushes the ice cream away across the table, scorning Oliver's gift.

She'd worked with the Arrow so many times, stood on rooftops with him. They'd fought on the same side, for the same reasons. And yet Oliver hadn't trusted her, had lied to her even as he told the truth to Felicity and Diggle, Thea and Roy – Tommy.

And yet… Thea has called her, Felicity has visited, Tommy has done both – all of them asking for her forgiveness, for Oliver, for Tommy, for them for not telling her themselves.

"It wasn't his secret to tell," Felicity had ended up telling her. She'd been speaking of Tommy, but Laurel's thinking of Oliver now.

It's not even so much his own secret that has her so angry – she's had time to absorb that, she understands why he hadn't wanted anyone to know. It's not just his secret, it's that, combined with the fact that Tommy had known and lied to her, that everyone else had found out before her.

But Oliver had come to her. He'd waited after the quake until Thea was in a good place, had told his sister the truth, and then had come to Laurel. (Maybe. She's still a little fuzzy on the timeline.) He'd opened up. And Laurel had wondered how she hadn't seen it before. All those scars…

She glances over at the ice cream, still in its brown paper bag, and pulls her phone out of her pocket, dialing before she can second guess herself.

Oliver picks up on the second ring.

"Ice cream's not really the same without someone to share it with," she says hesitantly, "if you're still offering."

"It's just… I was the last to know," Laurel says, and she hates the insecurity in her voice as she speaks.

Oliver finishes his current spoonful of ice cream, contemplative. "I was never going to tell anyone," he says honestly. "But then Diggle came along, and I knew he wouldn't tell anyone, and his life was in danger. I couldn't let him die."

He never speaks about the island, about what happened to him or exactly how he got his many scars – only that he hadn't been alone, he'd been tortured – but this isn't the island, this is what came after it. Maybe he'll open up slightly.

"And… everyone else?" she asks, wondering if he'll respond. She takes another spoonful herself as Oliver sets down his own spoon.

"Do you… do you remember when the Arrow attacked my mom at Queen Consolidated?"

Laurel nods.

"She shot me," Oliver says plainly, like it's not a big deal, like there's nothing wrong with that picture (and what does that casualness say, about what else he's been through? Laurel tries to imagine her father pointing a gun at her. She can't.). "I needed help, and Felicity had already hacked a few things for me, not knowing what she was doing."

Before Laurel can say anything to that startling revelation, to Oliver's casual dismal of his own injury and how he got it, he continues.

"Tommy found out later. I didn't know about Malcolm then, so when I learned there was a plot to kill him I tried to stop it. Tommy was there with his father – I knew he would never trust the Arrow."

So Oliver had told him the truth and saved a mass murderer that he'd later killed. God – was any story Oliver had to tell a happy one?

"He hated me for a while," Oliver admits, "it's only since about July last year that he's actually started helping, and only rarely." He glances over at her, expression open and honest. "He wanted to tell you for so long. Remember…"

"Malcolm's house…" Laurel finishes, remembering. That had been when Tommy had first admitted that he'd met the Arrow, though he hadn't given any indication that he'd known the man under the hood.

"It's my fault he didn't tell you," Oliver says plainly, "you can't blame him." It's the same thing Felicity had said – if you can't forgive Oliver, at least forgive Tommy. He was only keeping a friend's secret. But they're both wrong – if Laurel's going to forgive anyone it's going to be an all or nothing thing. If she can forgive Tommy for keeping Oliver's secret, then she can forgive Oliver for having a secret at all.

"I told Thea a couple months ago. I didn't… she's been through so much. But she already hated our mom, and I… I couldn't give her any reason to hate me too."

There's more Oliver's not saying – of course there is, how can there not be? – but Laurel's not certain she should press. Maybe she doesn't know who Oliver is anymore, but she still knows parts of him – better than he ever did. He's grown tenser as their conversation has gone on, however freely he's answered the questions she's asked.

Part of Laurel thinks he'll answer anything right now, so long as the question comes from her. He's feeling guilty, her thoughts whisper enticingly in her mind. There is so much she could learn the truth about…

But the rest of Laurel holds herself back. She's been angry, yes, but she hasn't forgotten about the effort it must have taken Oliver to tell her at all. Especially hearing that he'd only told Diggle, Felicity, and Tommy the truth because of circumstances. He hadn't come to them and sat them down and talked it out. They'd learned the truth in the middle of life-or-death situations. That means something. And Laurel's not so angry that she can't see what the conversation is doing to Oliver.

The ice cream in his bowl has barely been touched. His shoulders are tight, his gaze moving rapidly, never settling on one spot for long. Maybe she doesn't know Oliver anymore, but she still recognizes this. He's anxious, he's nervous. He's uncomfortable.

That's because of you, her more anxiety-ridden thoughts whisper. He still doesn't trust you.

But he's here. He came here willingly, Laurel replies to herself. He did that for her too.

"Thank you," she finds herself saying. She's still not sure if she's happy about this. She still feels left out, ignored, shunted to the side and betrayed. But he'd come to her, even if she feels that it was wrong he'd waited so long.

"I always thought you would have figured it out on your own, eventually," Felicity had told her too. Except Laurel hadn't had to, because Oliver had come to her and given her the truth.

His only reaction to her words is a miniscule tightening of his jaw, barely noticeable if she hadn't been looking for it. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't pick his bowl back up either.

"Are you… are you going out tonight?" she finds herself asking, gaze flicking downward for a moment. There's a brace on his ankle, but he's not wearing the full cast anymore, and he hadn't brought his crutches.

Oliver studies her for a moment. "I am."

There are a million ways Laurel could respond to that, and she can't fully articulate, even within her own mind, which one she really wants to say. She nods instead. She's not sure if she's ready, yet, to think about what that means. To think about Oliver with a bow and quiver full of arrows on his back. Oliver, merciless and ruthless, a stunning display of carefully controlled violence, fighting for their city. (Oliver, beaten and bloody, lying in a back alley somewhere with broken bones. This vision, at least, is fiction. For now.)

Her heart aches for him, and her heart aches for her, and she'd spent all her time in Central City pointedly not thinking about Oliver, so she still doesn't know how to react.

"Is Tommy…?" she trails off.

"He is," Oliver says, and she doesn't know what question he's answering. "He misses you."

Laurel's eyes find Oliver's again. "He missed you too, while we were in Central City." And there it is. Just like that, half of her problems are solved. It's a cliché lightbulb moment. Tommy loves her. He misses her when they're apart.

He loves Oliver too. His misses him when they're apart. They're practically brothers, Laurel knows, so how can she be mad at her boyfriend for protecting his brother? She can't look at this with the ghost of what she and Oliver used to be together hanging over her. She has to look at it from Tommy's perspective, from how completely and utterly wrecked he'd been the first time he'd lost Oliver, six years ago now.

Oliver looks away again, like he's not sure what to do with that information, but Laurel's too busy reveling in the fact that, yes, she's willing to forgive Tommy.

"I'll call him," she decides. "It's… it's lonely here. Without him."

Oliver nods once. Heaves himself to his feet. Had that really been what he'd come for? Her acceptance of Tommy back into her life? Or has the tension just been building in him since she'd invited him back in and he's reached his tipping point?

As much as she believes that Oliver loves Tommy too, staring at his tense shoulders, Laurel's more inclined to believe the latter reasoning is his reason for leaving now. His bowl of ice cream sits mostly melted on the coffee table in front of them.

"If… if CNRI can do anything to help…?" she offers hesitantly.

His jaw flexes, but he nods again. "Not right now."

"Right." Laurel stands too. "I'll… Thank you, for coming."

Oliver's eyes are serious and somber. "Anytime," he says strongly, almost harshly. It is not the comforting declaration of Tommy promising to stay at her side, to not keep any more secrets from her, but it is just as immutably true.

She nods too, softening slightly, and shows him to the door.

February 15, 2014, early morning hours:

Oliver knows that Tommy isn't coming tonight – he's moved back in with Laurel, and though they're still in regular communication, he's taking it slow when it comes to actually coming in to the foundry, partially because he's busy with his own jobs – but Thea and Roy arrive a little after midnight, changed out of their own date-night clothes, even though Oliver had told them that they hadn't needed to come. He'll barely be doing anything himself.

He hadn't stopped them though. For one thing, they most definitely won't be in any danger – they won't even have to see him in danger, if all goes well. For another, he can understand why they want to be here. Roy has Mirakuru in his veins, and Gold's boss is behind that. (Oliver's not sure how he feels letting Roy see what another person with Mirakuru is capable of, with enough anger and the proper application of force, but he's known Roy long enough by now to believe that the young man will take any violence from Gold as an example of what he can do if he's not careful, not just of how strong he is now. Roy shies away from the thought of hurting innocents. Maybe seeing Gold do exactly that with his own enhanced strength will be a deterrent.)

The raid isn't until two in the morning though, so they resort to small talk in the meantime. Felicity can't stop swiveling in her chair, flipping through her screens, searching for anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small. Digg's fallen back on his old habit of cleaning his guns while he's nervous. Thea keeps getting out of her own chair, pacing back and forth a few times, and then catching herself and sitting down again. Roy's fidgeting too. A half hour after midnight, he glances over at Oliver's way for what must be the twentieth time.

"How can you be so calm, man?" he asks incredulously. (Felicity's loud, even with her nonverbal nervous cues, Oliver's not surprised Roy picked up on her nerves. And Digg's tense, so he's not surprised that Roy picked up on that too, though others – others not raised in the Glades, like Thea – might not have. From Roy's perspective, Oliver is probably the only one in the foundry who looks calm.)

The raid isn't until two, the SCPD hoping to catch Gold, and whoever else might be present, sleeping. Oliver's scoped out the spot he and Lance have picked out for him twice already (and he's trusting that Lance hasn't told anyone else that's where he'll be tucked away). He's got another half-hour before he heads out himself. In the meantime, he's been keeping one half-hearted ear on the meaningless conversation of his teammates as he reviews blueprints for anything he might have missed, old police files on Gold for connections they might have glanced over – nothing too strenuous, so that his mind stays focused.

He looks over at Roy now, debating how to answer him. There are numerous choices. He's not sure he'd call his mental state right now calm. Maybe hyperalert. Maybe vigilant. Maybe patient. There's a fire thrumming through his veins, but dim and distant, because he's holding it back until it's needed.

"Practice," he says.

"Experience is a good teacher," Digg chimes in.

Roy fidgets some more, looking like he wants to ask something. Oliver doesn't press. He'll either ask it or he won't – it isn't mission critical, so whatever it is can wait, if Roy can't muster the courage. Oliver's keeping his mind busy at the moment and he doesn't want to get too distracted, after all.

But Roy's eyes flicker over Oliver's one too many times, and Oliver starts to get a picture of what's worrying Roy when Roy opens his mouth, hesitates, glances over at Thea, then closes his mouth again.

"Aren't you… aren't you worried?" the younger man ends up asking, obviously a very edited question from what he'd probably originally intended to say.

The answer, of course, is yes. It's always yes. But it's also no, because Oliver's not sure that worry is the right term, either, for the feelings he experiences before a mission. Apprehensive, sure. Aware of what could go wrong, definitely. But worried? Anxious? Troubled and doubting and uncertain? No. Oliver's worry, if it could be called that, is clinical. It's a cool list of likely mistakes or potential reactions beyond plan A. That's not… that's not worry, not in the way Roy means.

"There's no room for doubt in the field," Oliver ends up saying. "Doubt clouds your judgement, slows you down." He'd almost died, last time he'd gone into a situation distracted, seriously doubting himself, uncertain about how Mirakuru had wound up in his city. He won't make that mistake with Gold again.

"No, I meant… I just…" Roy hesitates. "You almost…" He can't seem to bring himself to say the words. He wasn't even there, for Oliver's near death experience, and neither was Thea, for that matter, but they've both learned bits and pieces of it, over the weeks they've been involved, if not quite how close he was to death.

I handled you just fine, didn't I? Oliver thinks about saying, but even he's aware enough to know that would be a bad idea. Roy doesn't need reminding of his mistakes, especially given how obsessively he's guilted over Oliver's ankle, and on top of that, Oliver's not sure that a couple broken ribs and a snapped ankle fit anyone else's definition of 'fine'. He's learned that much too, in his time with his partners.

"Why do you have to handle this?" Thea finishes for Roy, with a little too much emphasis on 'you' for Oliver's liking. She'd taken things well – too well – when she'd first found out who he was. Lately though, she seems to be having second thoughts. Oliver can't say he didn't expect something similar to happen.

Truthfully, he's not sure if that's how Roy would have finished. The young man clearly worries about him, but he's also never seemed to doubt Oliver's capabilities. Likely, it's just Oliver's injury (an injury Roy caused) that's giving him pause now.

Regardless, Thea's words are out there, and while Oliver is half tempted to just leave now without getting into the discussion that will surely result from them, he figures he owes it to his sister to respond. Even if he never wants her to really know how much he has to make up for. How deep the stain on his soul penetrates.

He has to hold back irritation too, and he's frustrated with himself for that, because of course Thea doesn't understand that this is the furthest it can get from him handling things. He's not handling things. He's there to watch as the police handle things. He's there as an outside perspective. He's there if Lance and his crew get into trouble they can't handle. But he isn't handling things and it rankles and bothers him. It feels like he's getting sidelined for the mission, like his capabilities are being doubted, even though he knows perfectly well that it was his decision to stand back, and that his capabilities are in doubt, at least one-on-one against a Mirakuru-enhanced individual. He'd lost last time, after all, even though he's committed to not making the same mistakes again.

"I've faced Mirakuru before," is what Oliver ends up saying in response to his sister's plea. It's the rational, logical answer. Oliver knows it will be better received than 'I won't let anyone else die for my mistakes'. (He also knows that that's what it feels like he's doing anyway, letting the police go in his stead.)

That doesn't mean he expects the words to be handled well though, and sure enough Thea's frustration doesn't seem to ease much. Roy sends her another anxious glance but seems like he'll stay out of it. He's yet to come between brother and sister, and Oliver's mental calculations honestly can't say which of them Roy would choose, if he had to. Between Roy's hero-worship for him and love for Thea, Oliver can only say for now that it would depend upon the situation.

"Yeah, but –" Thea cuts herself off, with a sharp glance at his ankle. She hadn't been there for the argument Oliver had had with Felicity and Digg about his injury but she's picked up on Oliver's reluctance to discuss it anyway. It would be hard not to, he knows, for anyone who spent time in the foundry basement.

"I'll be there as a last resort," Oliver says sharply, because he's tired of being coddled for a mostly healed minor injury! But then he reigns in his frustration. Thea doesn't know any better. He doesn't ever want her to know better. (He wants her out of this life.) He makes a show of glancing at the time. "We can talk about this later," he says, and he doesn't know if it counts as a lie or not. He certainly has no intention of bringing up the topic himself.

Regardless, he has a job to do tonight, however minimal, and he can't let Thea's doubts distract him.

Oliver'd scoped out his perch twice already, thoroughly and extensively, so he knows exactly the best route to get settled in without getting noticed by anyone nearby, including the SWAT teams all kitted out and hunkered down not far from his position. He does one last brief sweep before he settles in, then checks in with Felicity and Digg. There's been no movement from their target building. He lets Lance know he's on scene with a brief text, then falls into radio silence.

Thea and Roy might be worried about him, might be worried about the situation, but Oliver locks those thoughts in a small box and sets them aside. He can think about that later. For now, he knows Felicity and Digg will maintain proper radio silence on the foundry's behalf.

Time passes. Oliver notices it, and doesn't, mind solely focused on what's in front of him. He catalogs the cars passing by, the few strange pedestrians at this time of night. He notices windows that light up from within in nearby buildings, and mostly watches the entrances of where Gold is hunkered down.

It's a good location, all things considered. Another reason besides all the evidence they already have that someone else is the brains to Gold's brawn. And it makes sense, a cruel, cold, calculating sense, that the man in the skeleton mask would test the serum on loyal followers, rather than on himself. Oliver can't help but wonder how many have died from an injection. Roy might have, if Oliver hadn't been there.

Normally, Oliver would push these thoughts aside too. But they're relevant to the mission. He doesn't know what the ringleader of this operation looks like without his mask: he might already be inside. Even if he's not, he's surely had a hand in picking this location. Which means Oliver can't only consider things from Gold's point of view. He can't underestimate his opponents. His mind whirls with plans and back-up plans and he finds frustration seeping in that he works hard to push away because what happens next is not up to him.

Five minutes before the raid, Oliver takes a deep breath, then another, and settles his mind. He watches, three arrows in hand but none nocked – as the police surround the building. He watches as half of them pour inside. He listens in, from Felicity jacking their communications, to the shouts and gunfire and sound of tear-gas canisters being deployed. Screams too, mostly from those in the building, but a few shouts of surprise and orders from the police.

He hears it the second they find Gold. One man calls immediately for reinforcements. Smart. Another screams in pain. Oliver's tense, but there's nothing he can do. He forces himself to relax his jaw, keeps his limbs fluid and ready. If someone makes it outside the building, outside the police perimeter…

Minutes pass. A few people get brought out in cuffs, but the building's occupancy is low. The fight with Gold is still ongoing, and Oliver hears it too the second the police decide to turn to more lethal measures to contain a man who shrugs off individual bullet wounds. The gunfire that follows is rapid, and the silence that settles after that is tense. There are no cameras in the building and Oliver doesn't know what's happening.

He hates it. He hates it, hates imaging the blood and bodies he could have saved if he'd just been there, just done something sooner, hadn't screwed up the first time he'd fought Gold. His shoulders and fingers stay ready, but he has to force himself to relax his jaw again.

"My God, is he still –" The officer's murmured horror is cut off by another gunshot.

The raid is over. Gold is dead. Oliver waits for confirmation from Lance, waits until he hears the numbers, sees the ambulances pull away with injured SWAT loaded up, but he knew the truth the moment the rapid gunfire had erupted. After Gold had decided to fight back, the police had given up on taking Gold in alive.

It should be a weight off his shoulders. Should be a relief – over two months later, and Gold's no longer a problem.

But it isn't. Maybe they'll gain some valuable intel from this – from who owns the building, from any paperwork or digital documents stashed away inside. But Gold's dead – he won't be telling them anything. And if he survived the procedure, there might very well be others. For now, Oliver has managed to stop them – whoever they are – from mass producing Mirakuru by destroying their centrifuge when he'd saved Roy. But that doesn't mean they can't make any of it.

Things are far from over, and the idea of returning to the foundry is abhorrent right now. Oliver is short and cold as he communicates with Felicity and Digg over the comms, ignoring the fact that his sister and her boyfriend are probably waiting on his return, and hits the street. He spends, one, two, three hours on patrol, until dawn has started to lighten the sky and his limbs are aching with the effort, with the brutality of how he'd spent his night.

Thea and Roy are gone by the time he gets back to the foundry. But he's not alone. Digg, Felicity, and Tommy are sitting around a table, printouts before them, sorting through information. On what issue – Mirakuru, Gold, the man in the skeleton mask, the kidnappers – Oliver doesn't press.

"I called him," Felicity says, when she sees Oliver's surprise at the sight of Tommy.

He'd thought the man would be sleeping, after his Valentine's Day date night with Laurel.

Oliver tenses, waiting for reproach. Waiting for them to yell at him for staying out all night, for them to try to scold him into going to sleep, for their lack of understanding – for them to not comprehend how little stopping Gold changes things.

Tommy just eyes him calmly for a moment, concern clear in his gaze. He reaches under the table and sets a large brown paper bag on the metal surface. Over the scent of his own sweat and exertion, Oliver picks up the smell of cooked eggs and warm pancakes.

"Thought you'd be hungry," Tommy says. "Should still be warm if you want to grab a quick shower."

Oliver's gaze flickers over all three of his partners. He's still not sure they understand the gravity of the situation, how much killing Gold is very much not quite a win, how much he is desperate to know if anyone died tonight and how much he very much never wants to find out. But even if they don't understand that, it seems like they've come farther in understanding him than he'd expected. He finds his shoulders relaxed without him even needing to force it, and nods once.

He moves to shower, knowing they'll be waiting for him when he's done.

February 19, 2014, night:

I'm so going to get fired over this. It's a stupid thing to be thinking, because it isn't even true – not if she handles things right – but it's all that's going through Jade Williams' head at the moment. She knows very well she's breaking the rules – breaking the law. She also knows every detail of the plan to get away with it. She knows she's going to quit in about a month's time, due to an unrelated issue (mother's health, she thinks, something to get her to have to move out of town for an extended period of time).

She also knows she is getting paid very, very heavily to do this. And what does she care about the end results? The city's trash already, and the prison system stinks whether its residents deserve to be there or not.

And yet the thought keeps running through her mind, the anxiety, the displeasure. I'm so fired.

It's an instinctual reaction, Jade figures. It's not as though she doesn't want to do this. It's not as if she cares about the end results. It's just that she's never been fired before. Her record is spotless. She doesn't care about breaking the law for the law's sake, or for the people who might get hurt as a result, she cares because she doesn't want to get caught. She's got a reputation to maintain, after all, and she'd worked hard to earn it. Double the hours of her male peers, enduring scorn and derision, given crap jobs and lower pay.

Who cares about your reputation, she reminds herself, the amount you're getting paid for this… If it weren't for the fact that quitting her job immediately after helping to break thirty-some prisoners out of a high security prison looked suspicious, she'd never have to work a day in her life again. As it is, she's only got a month of the job left, no matter how much effort she put into getting to where she is today. And it wasn't wasted effort either: she'd never be getting this payout if she hadn't earned her rank already.

All you gotta do is push a few buttons, plug in the flash drive, and no one will even know it's you. It is, in the end, very, very easy. She's been known to check in on the cell video feeds now and then, monitoring her more unruly patients, and it's not exactly riveting work. The guards are used to her enough that they barely pay her any mind, and slipping the flash drive with the virus on it into the security console is easy. It's a tiny thing, barely noticeable, and it's easy enough too to slip it in with her sleeve pulled down over her fingers so she doesn't leave any trace, if she has to leave without removing it herself.

Honestly, she even forgets it's there for a while as she looks through videos of patients – some of which will be back on the streets soon enough.

Jade leaves the office barely an hour later, flash drive tucked in a tissue and at the bottom of a trash can where no one will ever think to look for it. If the code downloaded correctly, in around nine hours, just after midnight, Iron Height's external security system will fail. Not a huge deal, with the prisoner's cells locked for the night, though that in itself would be enough to cause a panic.

Of course, given the fact that an entire cell block's security will also fail… Well, Jade doesn't expect them all to make it out, but some of them surely will. She doesn't know why her benefactors want to keep the Arrow busy for a while, but, well, she also very pointedly does not care.

Not given how much they're paying her not to.

AN: Thanks again for everyone's patience. Despite current events, I am keeping pretty busy. Not sure when the next chapter will be published, but it's place in the current timeline is the middle/end of February.

Please stay safe and healthy out there everyone!