AN I really enjoyed writing this. It was a fun little introduction piece for the Arrow world, and it allowed me to shamelessly roll around in all of my emotions. Thank you all for the attention this has received, it's frankly tickled me pink :)

+ i. frustration

"Hey, Oliver, you in here?"

"Yeah, Digg, gimme a sec," Oliver said, grimacing at the rasp in his voice. He straightened, and ran his wrist against his eyes. It had been a long, long day, one that had begun with Thea sneering at him for his hypocrisy, hovered around the middle with Laurel snapping at him for the horrible image he willingly sank into, and finally tapped out with one of the guys on the list leaving the city before Oliver could get to him.

It had been a long day. And it would be followed by another long day, and another after that, and on and on until he was done with the list and he was left with wreckage, because he could not have the little details and the big picture at the same time.

"Hey," Diggle said, voice gentle. At this point, Oliver genuinely did not care if he saw him. He glanced around, and almost didn't feel anything at the gentle edge in Diggle's eyes.

Oliver just looked at him, unable to drag up the energy to say anything. He was sitting the Foundry, looking tired and pathetic with a bow, some arrows, and a bottle of vodka for friends. Diggle watched him a moment, weighing it all out. It was a rare person to catch a fractured Oliver Queen in their hands, and measure him in terms of recovery, and not damage done.

"You don't have to do it all, you know."

"Yeah, I know," he said, gruff now that the moment had passed. He tried shouldering his way around Diggle, but he held his hand out, pressing it against Oliver's chest and holding him in place. Obviously, Diggle did not agree.

"Really. You spend all your time focusing on defending the city, keeping people safe, protecting them from the evil rich. But, as much as you may hate the fact, you are just a guy. You can't possibly expect yourself to be strong enough to go full out, every day, never resting, never taking anything for yourself."

"I know," Oliver said, giving Diggle a flat look. Diggle matched it with his own, and shook his head.

"No, you don't. Either you're down here, up in your Hood, or dancing around anything that requires more than a couple drinks and a few hours' worth of time."

"Diggle," he bit out, "I'm really not in the mood for a lecture."

"Then how about a little advice. It's okay to stop for a little bit, let yourself be the Oliver Queen you're always covering up, for the sakes of other people."

"I don't have the luxury—"

"Of caring about people? You know, Oliver, I really doubt that. If you fight for it, you could be happy, at least for a few moments."

Oliver looked away from him, mouth shut tight. He thought he knew what happy was, and despite what Diggle believed, he knew how to grab moments of it. It was hoping for anything more that got him into trouble.

"So how about we make a deal?" Diggle said, and his eyes were more kind than ass kicking. "I'll get off your back, if, for one day, you go home and give a bit of time to your family, see what you can see. Find a bit of happy for a whole minute, see how that feels."

Oliver watched Diggle for a long moment, then turned back to the table. He picked up the vodka, and poured a glass.

"Oliver, I don't think—"

"Relax, it's only one."

He offered the glass to Diggle, and kept the bottle for himself. Diggle eyed him, then took the glass.

"One day, for seeing and stuff."

"Yeah, seeing and stuff," Diggle snorted, as if he really could not believe that he was working with such a blockhead. "See if that doesn't make you a little better.

"Not better."

Oliver considered what he had said for a moment, then raised the bottle in toast to Diggle.

"Prochnost."

"Uh, yeah, prochnost," Diggle said, raising his glass, and then tipping it back.

Oliver gave him a tired smile, closed up the bottle, and headed home.