Alkeni: I forgot to put this in the notes but, in this AU, Grant doesn't have a biological sister. Also, thank you for the kind words.

Stand with Ward and Salvatore: Read on and find out! And thank you!

KathPetrovaDiary: Thank you so much! And yes, knowing all of those languages is going to come in handy.

This chapter was very difficult to write, but very rewarding to complete. I really hope you guys and girls enjoy it.

Quentin knelt by the pool of Holder's high-rise, glancing around the rooftop.

The damn place had been scrubbed clean. The police department had taken what they needed, sure, but based on his career experiences, there was usually something he could spot. So either the police had gotten everything, or somebody had tidied up the crime scene afterwards.

Well, ain't that just dandy?

Grant walked side by side with Oliver at a brisk pace, heads down low. Turning right, they entered the parking lot of an automotive repair shop. Oliver pulled the door open and Grant stepped inside, his friend following shortly after.

"Ya ischu Alexi Leonov (I'm looking for Alexi Leonov)," said Oliver.

The mechanics turned toward them, eyeing them suspiciously. Both of the Russians were old. One had graying hair and a decent amount of muscle, meaning he was the enforcer. The other was bald and shorter, most likely the man in charge.

"Tam nikogo net zdes's takim imenem (There's no one here by that name)," replied the bald man.

"Ne v vashem garazhe (Not in your garage)." Oliver stepped forward. "V podvale pod nim (In the basement underneath)."

"Voz'mite nas k Alexi Leonov (Take us to Alexi Leonov)," demanded Grant.

The enforcer advanced toward them, pulling a gun from his jeans and cocking it. Oliver twisted the man's wrist before tearing the pistol away, dismantling it. "Ya Bratva (I'm Bratva)," stated Oliver, pulling down the front of his shirt to reveal a tattoo of a green spiked ball. "Ya khochu chtoby Alexi Leonov (I want to see Alexi Leonov)."

After a moment of hesitation, the bald mechanic stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Pleased to meet the both of you."

As the four of them descended the staircase to the basement, Alexi, the shorter Russian, spoke up again. "I apologize. We meant no disrespect to two captains. Particularly two American ones." They settled around a metal table, leaning forward. "So, how can I be of assistance?"

"I'm in the market for a hired gun. Someone the organization's used before. His calling card is a 7.62 millimeter gun laced with curare," informed Oliver.

Alexi shook his head, pouring four shots of vodka. "I know no man who uses such tools."

"But you can find out who does," said Grant.

"First, we will drink to everyone's health," said Alexi, handing the three other men a glass. "Then, I will look into the identity of this man you seek."

The four raised their glasses, downing the shot in one mouthful.

Alexi stared at the two of them. "I will also confirm that you two are really Bratva captains. Should this not be the case, I will send my mechanic here to find you and kill you and your families." The man finished the threat with a broad smile on his face.

Your mechanic wouldn't last a second against either of us.

Nevertheless, the two nodded before ascending the staircase.

"Carl Rasmussen was found shot to death in his home earlier this evening. The police will not comment if there's a connection between Mr. Rasmussen's death and the murder of James Holder a few nights ago. Mr. Rasmussen leaves behind a wife and three children," stated the reporter on the television.

Deadshot smirked as he finished his tattoo, flexing his muscles in the mirror and looking at the new name engraved in his skin.

Carl Rasmussen.

"It's a great loss," said Walter Steele, Moira's colored British husband. "Carl was a titan."

"A titan…who was looking to buy out a company called Unidac Industries?" questioned Detective Lucas Hilton, leaning against a wall in the Queen Mansion's family room.

"Well, industries is something of a misnomer," explained Walter. "UI's recent activity was actually looking into alternative energy."

Quentin, the other detective in the room, cleared his throat. Walter turned his attention to him. "I think the point my partner is trying to make is that Carl Rasmussen was the second bidder this week to lose his life."

Moira glared at the detective from her spot on the couch next to her husband. "Are you implying something, Detective?"

"Well, only that your husband's looking into buying Unidac Industries and the competition seems to be dropping like flies," retorted Lance.

"And I'm sure your veiled accusation has nothing to do with how you feel about my family?"

Walter put an arm around Moira's shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze. "Unidac's in receivership, Detective. Ownership is subject to a liquidation auction, so that means there are many prospective buyers. And the auction's tomorrow, so if I was taking out the competition, I would have a lot of killing to do in a very short amount of time."

Lucas smiled, embarrassed by his partner's threats. "We're just making the rounds with the interested buyers. Letting them know to be careful."

"Oh, yes," said Moira, sarcastically. "And I'm overwhelmed that Detective Lance is concerned for our safety."

"Well, thank you for your concern, gentlemen. Our security consultant, Mr. Diggle, is taking all the necessary precautions," said Walter, nodding to Diggle, who stood at attention on the other side of the room.

"Yeah," grumbled Lance, rising from his seat. "Right. Well, uh, if you need us, we're just a 9-1-1 call away."

"Got something!" declared Natasha, leaning back in her seat.

Clint and Pepper entered the room, a slice of pizza in each of their hands.

She smirked at them. Clint had never been good at cooking, so he usually made frozen pizzas when it was his turn in the kitchen.

"What is it?" asked Pepper.

Natasha turned the laptop so the two of them could see the SCPD report she had managed to get her hands on. "The SCPD are investigating the murder of James Holder. The detectives assigned to the case, Lucas Hilton and Quentin Lance, recovered several green arrows. But Holder's cause of death was two bullets to the heart, both laced with a poison called curare. It's the calling card of an assassin known as Deadshot."

Clint nodded, picking up on where Natasha was going. "So our target is gonna be going after this Deadshot because Holder got picked from him.'

"Exactly."

The African-American security guard nodded to Tommy and Oliver, allowing them entrance into the nightclub.

"Oh man, this is going to be killer!" declared Tommy, a wide grin on his face.

"If Max Fuller sees me here, I agree," mumbled Oliver.

Poison seemed to be a hit, men and women dancing across the blue lit club and drinking at the fancy bar.

"If you want to run a business, you've got to take a few risks."
"I don't see your name on the list," said the guard.

Oliver glanced over his shoulder to see John Diggle being stopped at the entryway.

"Mr. Queen," called Diggle.

Sorry about this, Digg.

"I have never seen this guy before in my life," he told the security guard. "Ever."

Before he turned around, he caught sight of Diggle's murderous expression.

When they entered the bar area, Oliver wanted to turn around and go back home.

Because Tommy had caught the gaze of none other than Laurel Lance.

Which is just fucking great. Despite their conversation before the Triad broke into her house, he still was not sure where he stood with Laurel. He was pretty sure she didn't completely hate him, but that didn't necessarily mean she did not harbor feelings of resentment. And with everything he'd picked up on since his return, he was pretty sure that Tommy was trying to convince her to go on a date.

Still, there was no denying the fact that she looked beautiful in her black dress that fell to the middle of her thighs.

"Oh, wow!" grinned Tommy, walking up to Laurel. "Doesn't you going out and having fun violate some kind of law, you know, like the ones that are carved on a stone tablet?"

"That's cute, Tommy," she said, her face lacking any sign of humor. "I can see you two are up to your old hunting patterns."

Ouch. Yep, still slightly bitter.

He put on his best smile. "Just seeing what passes for fun in Starling City after five years."

"Ah. Well, I'm sure you'll find that it just hasn't been the same without you."

The fake smile on Oliver's face faltered. Laurel had always been able to shut him down completely with just a few hurtful words. It was a power she held over him that he didn't fully understand. She was the only person who could fill him completely with joy or crush him and leave him feeling empty inside.

At that moment, Thea giddily walked over in a blue sequin dress. "Big brother! Oh!" She clapped her hands together several times. "I am so wasted right now." She put her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to steady herself when she almost fell over. "There is…there is two of you."

Shocked, he opened his mouth several times before any words formed. "I thought you were grounded," he commented weakly.

Seeing his little sister like this distressed him. He wanted to help her so bad because she was family and he loved her, but he had no idea how to. She was turning into an exact replica of him when he was her age and she refused to let anyone help her.

"I am," she said happily. "And thank you…thank you for that, by the way."

Stepping closer, he placed a hand on his sister's shoulder. "You're done for the night."

"Oh, what are you going to do? Tell mom?" mocked his sister.

"Thea!" growled Oliver. "You are hanging with the wrong people."

She snorted. "You're one to talk. How much do you know about your own so-called friends over there?" She jerked her thumb in the direction of Tommy and Laurel, who busied themselves at the bar in an attempt to avoid the conversation.

Tommy sighed. "Oh, Thea, maybe you should-"

"Tommy, I think your BFF has a right to know."

"Thea," interrupted Oliver, "let's go."

His sister shoved his hand off. "Well, I guess Tommy never told you that, while you were gone, Laurel came to him a few times to get screwed."

"Look, man," started Tommy.

"Tommy." Oliver held up his hand. "It's okay."

It hurt, it really did. But, having had a secret relationship with Laurel's sister, he was in no position to express his feelings. So, he bottled everything up and closed the lid as tight as he could, and turned to his sister. "You and me, we're done for the night." He grabbed her by the shoulder, turning to guide her out.

Once again, she shoved his hand away. "Get your hands off of me!" She stepped closer, invading his personal space. "You're not my father. And you're barely my brother."

Just like that, she left him standing there.

Oliver had never been one to cry, and he sure as hell wasn't going to do it now. But the mixed emotions welling up inside of him threatened to spill and it was only a matter of time before he punched something.

"Well, look at this. Oliver Queen," called a familiar voice.

He turned to face the club owner.

Max Fuller was a wealthy man with blue eyes and light brown hair that was swept to the side, as well as a cocky attitude to boot.

"Max Fuller. How you been?"

"Happy you drowned."

The guards grabbed hold of Oliver, leading him across the club.

He was shoved through curtains into what seemed to be a storage room for the club's alcohol. Turning around, he spoke. "Hey Max-"

He was cut off by a hook to the face. It didn't hurt one bit but he had to remember that he was currently Oliver Queen and not one of the hoods. So, he turned with the punch and allowed himself to collapse to the ground.

"Get him up!" shouted Fuller.

Gritting his teeth, he clenched his hands into tight fists. What I would give to knock the shit out of him.

"Hey, let him go, let him go!" shouted Tommy, barreling into the room. He shoved the guards aside, stepping in-between them and Oliver. "I said let him go!"

"Told you he was going to be pissed," whispered Oliver into Tommy's ear.

Fuller crossed his arms, a cocky smile on his face. "Back off, Merlyn. This isn't your problem."

"You want to get to him? You've got to go through me." The guards stepped forward threateningly. "Wow, they are probably going to get through me," his friend said, bravado slipping.

When one of the guards tried to grab Tommy by the shoulder, all hell broke loose.

His friend reacted with a right hook, sending the guard scrambling backward.

Oliver lost track of him after that, focusing on the two guards flanking him. He stepped to the side of one of their punches, making sure to slow down his reaction time so it looked like he was struggling. Elbowing the man in the back of the neck, he knew the man behind him was about to hit him. Instead of defending himself, he allowed the guard to punch him in the back. Falling forward, he gritted his teeth as the two men delivered kicks to his ribs.

When he heard Fuller grunt in surprise, he grinned to himself. Thank you, Laurel.

"So is this over, Max?" mocked Laurel. "Or are you going to have your boys pound on me next?"

Fuller staggered to his feet, backing up slightly. "You three consider yourselves banned for life. Get the hell out of my place!"

Tommy hobbled forward, shouting after Fuller's retreating form. "Your club sucks anyway!"

"You guys okay?" asked Laurel, approaching them.

"Just peachy," grunted Tommy, one arm wrapped around his stomach.

"I think so, thank you," said Oliver.

She nodded, turning to walk away.

"Laurel," he began. "What Thea said-"

She turned around, glaring at him. "Oliver, Tommy and I don't need your blessing. And I don't need your forgiveness."

Oliver fake-limped behind Diggle as his security guard opened the door to Big Belly Burger for him and Tommy.

"Why don't you guys take a seat, and I will grab a couple of burgers and some ice for those faces," said Diggle, waving to an African-American waitress whose black hair was tied into a ponytail.

"Oh," whispered Tommy, "she's pretty cute."

Diggle glanced at him, a deadly expression on his face. "That's my sister-in-law."

Tommy's face took on an 'oh shit' look that had Oliver grinning slightly. "Who I will never speak to…or look at. Ever." He pointed toward the booths. "Gonna grab a seat."

"She's not wearing a wedding ring," commented Oliver. "Brother out of the picture?"

"Yeah," sighed Diggle, "you could say that."

As he watched his bodyguard walk away, he felt even worse than before.

Not only did what Thea and Laurel said make me feel worthless, I just reminded Diggle of a probably deceased relative. Nice going, Queen.

Breathing deeply, he trudged over to where Tommy sat and plopped down across from his friend.

"Look man…about Laurel. I was going to tell you. I was just trying to figure out the right way," said Tommy, shifting in his seat.

"To tell somebody that you slept with their girlfriend after they went missing and were then presumed dead." Remembering that he shouldn't be one to talk, he put on a fake smile. "What, there's no greeting card for that?"

His friend laughed nervously. "Look, it was wrong. And I'm sorry-"

"Tommy. I was dead."

"No, man, you were with Laurel. And whether you were dead, or as it turns out, alive on a deserted island, you are my friend. And me sleeping with Laurel violated that friendship in about fifty different ways."

"Thank you. But it's okay," he insisted.

It was okay. He deserved it after putting Laurel through the exact same thing when he brought Sara on the Queen's Gambit with him. However, that didn't mean it didn't hurt. When he had gotten back, he had been hoping to be friends with Laurel at the very least. What he had been wishing for the most was that Laurel would be willing to try for a relationship, which obviously wasn't going to happen.

Tommy frowned. "You are being really chill about this. I-"

He was cut off when Oliver's phone started ringing. Sending an apologetic glance at his friend, he answered the call.

"Hello?" After listening for several seconds, he lowered the phone and turned to Tommy. "It's a Russian model calling me. Can I have a minute, please?"

Tommy snorted, rising from his seat. "I can see now why you were able to be so chill. Enjoy."

After deeming his friend a far enough distance away, he brought the phone back to his ear. "So I checked out?"

"Yes, you and your friend. The man you are searching for, his name is Floyd Lawton. I have address. Where he stayed last time he was in Starling City. But that is all," informed Alexi.

"Let's hope he's a creature of habit. Go."

"1700 Broadway Papelton Room 52. You will leave us out of this, yes? Assuming Mr. Lawton doesn't kill you first."

He hung up the phone.

Oliver approached the wooden door, standing perfectly still and listening for any movement. Hearing none, he breathed deeply before bursting into the room. He came face-to-face with a Caucasian with slick brown hair and a brown leather jacket.

He fired an arrow, which his opponent dodged by taking cover on the other side of the bed in the corner of the room. The man lifted his arm to reveal a wrist-mounted gun, which opened fire on him. Grunting, he exited the room and pressed himself flat against the wall. Shit, shit, shit. When the sound of bullets stopped, he spun into the doorway and released an arrow.

Lifting the bed, his opponent managed to block the shot before raising his arm and firing again. Oliver pushed himself up against the wall once more. Before he could do anything else, he heard the window break open. Dammit! Sprinting into the room, he found it empty. He looked out the window to find that his target was nowhere to be seen.

Growling, he saw a laptop on a nightstand.

He closed the lid, picked it up, and exited the room.

"Grant, you want a job?" asked Oliver, walking into the Foundry.

The man in question raised an eyebrow, staring at the bullet-riddled laptop that Oliver held. "What's with the laptop?"

"I'll tell you on the way to Queen Consolidated. Do you want a job?"

Thinking over it, he realized that maybe having a job would be a good idea. It would definitely help with his community presence at the very least. And since taking down criminals was mainly a nighttime activity, he had a lot of downtime. "Sure, why the hell not?"

Grant, in a black wrinkle-less business suit, stepped into Queen Consolidated's Information Technology department after Oliver. The only other person in the room was a petite blonde in a pink button-up shirt.

Oliver cleared his throat. "Felicity Smoak?"

The woman turned around, startled, and removed a red pen from her mouth.

"Hi. I'm Oliver Queen," said Oliver, introducing himself.

Grant stayed back, observing the conversation from a short distance away.

"Of course," she said, smiling. "I know who you are. You're Mr. Queen."

"No," his friend said, shaking his head. "Mr. Queen was my father."

"Right but he's dead. I mean, he drowned." Grant cringed in the background. Nice going, Smoak. "But you didn't, which means you could come down to the IT department and listen to me babble. Which will end in three, two, one."

Oliver smiled, holding up the computer in his hands. "I'm having some trouble with my computer and they told me that you were the person to come and see." He placed the laptop on her desk. "I was at my, uh, coffee shop surfing the web and I spilt a latte on it."

"Really?" questioned a disbelieving Felicity.

"Yeah."

"Because these look like bullet holes," she pointed out.

In the background, Grant suppressed a snort.

"My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood."

'My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood'? Seriously, Oliver?

"If there is anything you can salvage from it," continued his friend, "I would really appreciate it."

Grant watched from behind Oliver and Felicity as the blonde woman typed on her computer.

"Looks like blueprints," she commented, pulling up building plans.

"Do you know what of?" asked Oliver, leaning forward to get a better look.

"The exchange building."

"Never heard of it."

"It's where the Unidac Industry's auction is scheduled to take place. I thought you said this was your laptop."

What the hell is going on?

"Yes," confirmed his friend. "It's mine."

"Look, I don't want to get in the middle of some Shakespearean family drama thing," muttered Felicity.

Oliver looked bewildered. "What?"

"Mr. Steele marrying your mom. Claudius, Gertrude…Hamlet?"

"I didn't study Shakespeare at any of the four schools that I dropped out of." He turned to Grant. "Tony, what about you?"

Grant shook his head. "I learned a bit about Shakespeare but it never seemed important. I can't remember it."

Felicity sighed, launching into an explanation. "Mr. Steele is trying to buy Unidac Industries. And you've got a company laptop associated with one of the guys he's competing against."

"Floyd Lawton," said Oliver.

"No. Warren Patel. Who's Floyd Lawton?"

"He is…an employee of Mr. Patel, evidently." Oliver stood up. "I have somewhere to be, but first I'd like to introduce you to Tony Masters. When he's not with me, he'll be running security in this area of the building."

Grant extended a hand, which Felicity shook.

"Sir, are you sure you'll be okay without me?"

Oliver sent him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about me."

His friend exited the room, leaving Grant to take up a position against the wall and Felicity to return to her work.

Okay, so now we know that this Floyd Lawton guy is working for a Mr. Patel. That means he's going to be targeting someone at the exchange building. There's no way Oliver and I can cover that much ground by ourselves.

"So," mumbled Felicity, breaking him from his thoughts. "What's your secret?"

"What?" he asked, startled.

Is she suspicious of me? Did she figure me out? Does she work for an organization? Do I need to kill her?

She gestured vaguely in his direction, turning fully to face him. "You're all muscly and stuff. How'd you do it? I mean, I tried yoga once but I pulled a hamstring."

Inwardly, he sighed in relief. She's a friendly, no need to harm her. He smiled genuinely. "Ms. Smoak, I think we are going to get along quite nicely."

Oliver grabbed Detective Lance from behind, shoving him into the hood of a car and positioning his arm so he could break it at a moment's notice.

"Ah," groaned Lance. "You son of a bitch!"

"Detective, quiet," hissed Oliver.

"You've got a pair on you, pulling this right outside the police station!"

Calmly, Oliver held Lance in position as he struggled against his firm grip. "Floyd Lawton's the one targeting the buyers interested in Unidac Industries. Interpol calls him 'Deadshot' because he never misses. You can look this up after I go."

"Yeah, and stop chasing you, I suppose?"

"Warren Patel hired Lawton," informed Oliver. "I can't be sure who they're targeting. It might be all of the buyers, and I can't protect them in a space that big. I need your help."

Lance snorted against the hood of the car. "Yeah? Professional help."

"Lawton laces his bullets with curare. Tell your men to wear Kevlar."

With that, Oliver pushed Lance forward and disappeared.

"Well, it's quite a turn out, huh?" observed Moira, who wore a knee-length black dress.

Walter, in a business suit, smiled and put an arm around her. "It's quite an opportunity, actually. But regardless of the outcome of the auction, I'm already a winner because I have the two most beautiful women at my side tonight."

"Two?" questioned Moira.

"Mm-hmm," said Walter, nodding to Thea, who walked up behind Moira in a sleeveless blue dress. "Thanks for coming, Thea. It means a lot to your mother. And me."

Moira smiled, enveloping her daughter in a hug.

"Mr. Steele," called a woman with a clipboard. "The auction will be opening in five minutes. Please make sure your bid is ready."

"Thank you, Gina."

"Shall we?" smirked Detective Lance.

"We shall," said Lucas Hilton, descending the wide staircase that led to the entry room. He approached a businessman with graying hair. "Warren Patel, I'm going to need you to come with me, sir."

"Unit one, all clear. Unit two, you copy?"

"We have Patel in custody. Still no sign of Lawton."

"Unit three?"

"I'm at the northwest perimeter. All clear."

"Unit four?"

"Parking structure is clear."

"Unit five, what's your status?"

Deadshot smirked, picking up the radio. "This is unit five. All clear."

Oliver groaned inwardly as Detective Lance stopped him in his tracks.

"Well, don't you scrub up nice?" mocked Quentin.

"Here to support my family."

"Yeah, me too, God help me," muttered Lance.

"Thank you," said Oliver sincerely.

Quentin scoffed before walking away.

Turning around, Oliver made his way over to his bodyguard, who stood at attention and observed the room and its occupants.

"Digg, got your eyes open?"

"That's what I'm here for, sir," replied Diggle with a straight face. "That and answering patronizing questions."

"This guy's out of time," whispered Oliver to himself. "If he's going to do something, it's going to happen before the auction."

"Sir?" asked Diggle, raising an eyebrow.

Shit, watch yourself. "I, uh, heard a story on the radio."

"Oliver," called Walter.

Thankful for the distraction, he walked toward his stepfather.

"So pleased you were able to attend," said the Brit.

"Walter, the police said that some of the Unidac bidders were murdered. I just think that we should be a little bit more careful. My mother's already lost one husband."

"Well, if Moira shared your concern, she wouldn't have come. And she definitely wouldn't have convinced your sister to come either."

Fuck, this isn't good.

Making his way over to his mother and sister, he gestured for Diggle, who nodded and started walking over.

"Hi. Oliver, what a wonderful surprise," said his mom.

Ignoring her, he spoke to Diggle. "I need you to get them out of here right now."

Quentin Lance tapped his foot in impatience.

He loved his job, sure, but he did not like having to be around anyone in the Queen family. Turning to glance at Walter Steele, his eyes went wide when he saw a red dot on the man's chest. He sprinted as fast as he could, tackling the man to the ground as a bullet embedded itself in the wall behind where Walter was standing moments ago.

Ducking, Diggle wrapped himself protectively around Moira.

Oliver pushed Thea to the side. "Are you okay?" he asked his sister. When she nodded, he turned to his mom. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," she breathed, panicked. "Where's Walter?"

Glancing to where he had left his stepfather moments before, he saw Detective Lance pushing him toward an exit alongside a large crowd of people.

"Walter's fine."

"Sir," said Diggle. "I have to get you out here."

"No!" shouted Oliver. "Them!"

Before anyone could say another word, he sprinted toward a staircase.

Pausing by a trash can, he pulled off the lid and opened the bag he had stashed there.

"Shit, are we too late?" asked Clint as they entered the parking garage.

"Well, we aren't early. But I don't think we're too late. Come on, the shots were fired from a few floors up," said Natasha.

Pulling himself up using a grappling arrow, Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a second arrow connect with the building. He turned around to see Grant pull himself up.

"I thought you were with Felicity," commented Oliver.

Grant turned to face him, almost invisible in his Taskmaster uniform. "You really need to pay more attention to the workings of your company. My shift ended thirty minutes ago."

Oliver grinned slightly. "Up for kicking some ass?"

"Why the hell do you think I showed up?"

Together, they vaulted upward and entered the upper levels of the parking lot structure.

Landing on their feet, they immediately dove to cover as Deadshot opened fire with his wrist-mounted gun.

"We have a slight problem," growled Grant, firing off an arrow in Deadshot's direction.

"What's that?" hissed Oliver.

"Them," he said, nudging his head in the direction of the doorway, where Clint and Natasha stood.

He knew it was only a matter of time before they found him, especially because he had really only done a half-assed job of concealing his identity. Well, that and the fact that you also dress up as a hooded vigilante and take out criminals. S.H.I.E.L.D. would see them as possible recruits and attempt to take them in for questioning. He was willing to bet that was why his former supervising officers were attempting to confront them.

"Go!" shouted Oliver over the sound of machine gun fire. "You take care of them and I'll take care of Deadshot!"

Nodding, he took a deep breath before leaping over his cover and jumping out of the building. He turned in mid-air, firing a grappling arrow and swinging into a lower section of the building. He rolled to his feet and glanced up, finding Clint and Natasha already waiting for him.

Clint moved forward, fingers wrapped cautiously around an arrow. "Lower the bow, remove the mask, take off the hood, and put your hands up. We're taking you in."

I'm sorry, Clint. But that's not going to happen. I can't go back. Not when I have a chance at rebuilding a life here, away from Skye and the others. Not when I have a chance at finally being happy again.

"That's not going to happen," he growled. "Back off and nobody has to get hurt."

"I'm afraid we can't do that," said Natasha, stepping forward.

"Then I'm afraid we'll have to take you out," said a familiar voice.

Wait a minute…Sara?

The blonde walked forward in her black leather catsuit, taking up a stance next to him.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"I saw what happened on the news. Figured you could use my help."
So you just reappear after leaving without an explanation? "We are having a very detailed conversation about this later."

"How many vigilantes are there?" groaned Clint.

"It doesn't matter. We need to take them in for questioning," stated Natasha, pulling out escrima sticks.

"Don't kill them," whispered Grant.

Without responding, Sara charged forward.

Reaching behind him, Grant pulled out a tranquilizer arrow and fired it at Clint. The other archer dodged to the side and sprinted forward. Ducking underneath the other man's hook, Grant delivered an uppercut to his stomach and followed up with an elbow to the ribs. Cursing, Clint grabbed hold of the sides of Grant's head and pulled him down. He struggled against the tight grip as his mentor kneed him several times in the chest.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself forward and wrapped his arms around Clint's waist. Staggering forward, he shoved the older man against a wall before picking him up in an attempt to throw him to the ground. In mid-air, Clint managed to reverse his position, using his weight and momentum to slam Grant into the ground instead. He grunted as pain exploded throughout his body, vision blurring slightly. His former supervising officer continued to pound into his ribs and Grant was sure he would pass out at any second.

Desperately, he reached toward his lower left leg, searching for the miniature quiver that contained several trick arrows and darts. When he felt his fingers graze a tranquilizer dart, he renewed his efforts. Grasping the dart, he removed it from its sheathe and shoved it into Clint's shoulder. After several seconds of grunting, the man on top of him went limp.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he unceremoniously pushed the body off of him and stood up shakily. Turning, he saw Sara and Natasha still focused and engaged in combat. When Sara kicked Natasha away, he used it as an opportunity and fired a flash-bang arrow at the redheaded assassin, blinding her momentarily.

"Come on! Let's go!" he shouted.

When they got to the Foundry, Grant was surprised to find Diggle stalking off.

"What…happened?" asked Grant, putting down his bow.

"Before I killed Deadshot, he got a shot off on Diggle. I took him down here so I could give him the medicine to counteract the effects of the curare. When he woke up, I asked him to join us. What you saw was his response." Oliver turned around, eyes widening when he saw Sara. "Sara?"

"Hey," she said, smiling.

Grant walked away abruptly, making his way toward the exit of their lair.

"Hey! Where are you going?" called Oliver after his retreating form.

"There's something I have to do."

I need to show Clint, Natasha, and the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. that I'm not coming back.

"Guys," shouted Fitz, running into the kitchen.

The team glanced up from their breakfast.

"What is it, Fitz?" asked Coulson, standing up hurriedly.

"There's something you need to see."

Coulson's team plus Steve, Tony, and Bruce stood in the living room, watching the flat-screen television with wide eyes. What looked to be a very important press conference had been called, hundreds of people filling the audience. The camera panned to the speaker, a blonde man in a business suit who kept his head down.

"Some of you may know me as Tony Masters, while most of you probably don't know me at all. But I have gathered you all here today to say that…my name, in fact, is not Tony Masters. Many of you knew my father, whether it be personally or from newspapers and interviews. He was a wealthy businessman but a terrible parent. He was killed on his way to a court hearing by the same man who attacked Unidac Industries." The man raised his head, staring straight into the cameras. "For those of you who haven't guessed, my name is Grant Ward."

At that moment, the onscreen crowd exploded in an uproar of questions and incoherent shouting.

That night found Oliver and Sara by themselves in the Queen Mansion, rain pouring heavily outside.

Oliver leaned back against his bed, observing the blonde who stood across from him. She was in a blue long-sleeved t-shirt and black jeans, arms crossed over her chest.

"Why are you here, Sara?" questioned Oliver. "Why…why do you keep showing up if you're just going to disappear again?"

"I-I want to come back. I'm just scared, Ollie."

"Of what?" he asked. "There's nothing to be afraid of Sara."

"Of how everyone's going to react. I can't get a read on Grant. I can't tell how he feels. I mean, one second he seems happy and the next he's moody. Can you imagine what my father will be like? He might hit the bottle harder than before. Or-or, what about Laurel? She's going to hate me for putting her through everything that I did. How can she ever forgive me, Ollie? Not only did I sleep with you multiple times, I went on that boat with you. She thought I was dead. What will she do when she finds out that I wasn't?"

"Sara, I think she'll be happy to see you," reassured Oliver.

She snorted. "How do you know?"

"Because you're her sister. And she only gets one."

"It's just, what if everything goes wrong and no one wants me back? What if it turns out everyone hates me now?"

"Not everyone," whispered Oliver.

Their eyes locked and he watched her expression slowly begin to soften.

He didn't know what possessed him to do so, but he moved forward and pressed his lips against hers. Almost immediately, she kissed him back. Grabbing her by the waist, he pushed her gently against the wall, deepening the kiss. Oliver reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. As they moved across the room, the rest of their clothing was thrown to the floor. Sara wrapped her legs around his waist as he picked her up and gently laid her on the bed.

Grant stood frozen in the heavy rain as he watched the scene unfold through Oliver's open window. Blinking several times, he turned around and pulled his black hoodie up.

As he walked away from the mansion, hands in his pockets, the downpour chilled him to the bone.