The desperate need to pee pulled Stephen from his sleep. He blinked awake slowly, shifting uncomfortably on the metal table that now pressed against his hips and every nob of his spine as if to fight the pressure inside him.

"Oliver?" he called in the darkness. Emergency lights on the walls flickered to life in response and a draft of cold air blew over him. The emptiness of the space around him only exacerbated the shiver.

Stephen levered himself up and swung his legs over the side of the table, then had to stop to rest. Every bit of his body hurt: his back and neck were stiff from sleeping too long in one position, and everything else...he scrubbed his face, dragging his hands over the top of his head, through hair that felt oily and stiff. He needed a shower—badly, if the stink surrounding him was to be believed—and his teeth felt thick with fuzz.

Oliver hadn't answered or stepped into view, with or without a bow in hand. Besides the thump of music through the ceiling, Stephen heard nothing to indicate anyone else around. "Felicity? Diggle?" He peered around the space, taking in the banks of lighting, the computers, the exercise equipment, and all the other undefined machines that spoke of a well-organized and funded operation. But, no people. He was alone, the expanse of Oliver's hideout spread around him. Stephen hunkered in on himself, uncertain both of his welcome and of why he'd been abandoned.

"They have all left for the night," a voice answered, its sound echoing through the room.

Stephen shot up at the familiar sound, pushing away the blanket that had covered him. "TIM?" He slid off the table with a loud groan and started toward the computers. He knees barely wanted to support his weight and every step hurt. "What time is it?"

"It's not quite 3 am. You have been asleep for nearly ten hours."

Ten hours? Stephen couldn't remember the last time he'd slept that long without being deathly ill. Or being badly injured, so maybe the time spent unconscious made sense. The timing was a different matter. The last thing he remembered was he and Oliver arguing about what information Stephen might have and whether or not he was withholding it.

He had no idea what happened after he passed out, though he could only assume from the lack of destruction or spilled blood his slowly-adjusting eyes showed him that Oliver hadn't taken out his frustration on the facility. That was actually a surprise.

"Wow. What did I miss? Anything important?" He started toward the bank of computers from which TIM's voice emanated, until a cramping in his abdomen reminded Stephen of why he'd awakened at all. "Wait, first things first. TIM, is there a bathroom down here?" He didn't see how there couldn't be, yet hadn't spotted any obvious doors. There definitely weren't any signs pointing at facilities or—he turned a slow circle, verifying what he'd noticed-without-noticing—exits. Though a minor detail, the lack of signage reemphasized that this area was private, secret.

"One moment..."

A check of the blueprints or security records or movement patterns of the people who used this headquarters, or whatever it was TIM could access from the digital side of the world, revealed a bathroom tucked into a corner of the basement, as if an after thought to the architectural design. Limping with all the speed he could risk, Stephen made it. Barely. Though the room was tiny, Stephen found a toilet and a sink, both clean and stocked with necessary supplies, which was all that mattered. It was also oddly reassuring to know that for all of Oliver's puff and bravado, at least some part of him still thought and functioned like a normal human being.

One basic need attended to opened up Stephen's awareness to all the other ones that waited their turn. For starters, he was hungry again. This was pretty much background noise in his life, so he was used to having to ignore it for stretches of time. He was also filthy, with his jeans and t-shirt now stiff and rough against his skin. The bathroom did have a shower with water that ran hot as soon as Stephen turned the handle. He considered hopping in and getting cleaned up, until he cringed at the realization that he'd have to put his dirty clothes back on afterward. The shower, he decided, could wait.

Personal comfort aside, he had also shattered his curfew—with no explanation he could provide, much less that would appease his mother.

Mind churning in anticipation of all the dire consequences waiting for him, he started again toward the bank of computers from which he'd heard TIM's voice. A few more minutes with a familiar voice might give him the courage he needed to face his mother.

"So, TIM, what are you doing here? Did you really just, like, show up?" For all the caution Oliver had put into whether or not to bring Stephen—his family—into his secret headquarters, that TIM would have basically had to invite himself in struck him as the most dangerous thing he'd seen all day.

"Technically speaking, I am not here," TIM answered. "All my hardware and software is still quite safe and sound back in New York."

"Smart ass," Stephen chided. "You know what I mean."

TIM chuckled. "Considering the adventure you've found yourself embroiled in, John and Cara both insisted—"

"—On sending someone to babysit me?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"And to report back to them?" Stephen would have been more upset at the implication that he couldn't take care of himself, except, well... He rubbed at the bandages that wrapped up one wrist, sending a frisson of pain up his arm.

"Only in the event that you might need either, or both, of them to assist you."

Stephen nodded in resigned acceptance. As Cara had pointed out, Stephen was racking up a lot of experience in getting kidnapped and rescued. It was starting to become a habit. With what John and Cara had told him about whom his father was and how important he was to the Tomorrow People's mission, it was probably a small miracle that they hadn't both been sitting at his side when he woke up—to make certain he woke up.

A part of him wished he could turn back time and witness the alternate path where they had been. For as tricked out as the Lair was, it had nothing on Oliver's headquarters. Of course, John didn't have anywhere near the resources Oliver had either.

And, holy shit! It struck Stephen Oliver had a full crime-fighting laboratory that totally was not the kind of thing a normal person would have, billionaire or not. If John came here, he would have a billion questions about what the hell was going on.

Stephen's heart jumped into his throat at he knew and what Oliver might do about it. "You haven't told them—I mean, they don't know—Do you know—"

"I had become aware of your cousin's secret identity prior to initiating contact," TIM assured him. "However, Felicity made a point of swearing me to secrecy. In the interest of facilitating family harmony, I see no reason to share to break her trust."

With a loud exhalation, Stephen relaxed. "Is that why you're here and she's not?"

"Indeed. When it became clear that you were, as they say, 'down for the count,' I assured her I was more than capable of alerting her if you exhibited any problems—which you did not. How do you feel?"

"Like I was assaulted, beaten up, kidnapped, hogtied, and held at gun-point for several hours. For the record, those things are all a lot less fun than they seem in the movies."

"Using humor to cope with stress is a common and understandable technique," TIM commented, as if he were taking notes in Stephen's medical chart. "How are your powers? Are they restored?"

Strain on psychic powers didn't have obvious physical symptoms like bruising or bleeding, and even the dull headache throbbing around the edges of Stephen's temples could be attributed to any of the other violations he'd suffered, or the after effects of his last panic surge. "I don't know..." he started, half afraid to check. What if his powers were still on the fritz and he was stranded here until Oliver came back? He didn't exactly know where "here" was or how long he might have to wait.

Casting around for an easy target, he spotted a lone French fry on the floor. That would do. A small mental nudge and it levitated, leaving a splotch of grease behind on the cement. As hungry as he was, Stephen wasn't going to eat a discarded, cold piece of potato—the five-second rule was well over—so he looked for a place to deposit it.

There wasn't one. What had happened to the garbage cans? He knew there'd been at least one earlier.

"Telekinesis Test, successful," he stated, the fry still in his mental grip. "Cleanliness test, not so much. I gonna have to flush this thing. Hope it doesn't clog the pipes."

TIM chuckled. "Good to know on both counts. I would not want Felicity to think me negligent in my after-hours care-taking duties."

"Not negligent at all," Stephen replied. Concentrating, he guided the lone French fry over to the bathroom and dropped it into the toilet without it wobbling even a little. He was starting to get good at this! "Yes!" he cheered, pumping an arm and basking in the thrill of success. "So, let's try this again. What did I miss?"

"Nothing that is unable to wait until morning," TIM answered.

He was an AI.

A computer. He could pick any inflection he wanted to speak in, so there was no reason for him to sound cagey.

Yet he did.

Stephen's eyes narrowed. The only reason he could imagine for TIM's response was because he wanted Stephen to press, but he also wanted to claim plausible deniability. "It is morning." The continued deep bass thumping from overhead told him he was splitting hairs. "Technically," he amended. "It's not my fault I got my forty winks a little earlier than everyone else. Since I'm up, now seems like as good a time as any to get caught up."

"It would be advisable to wait until Oliver can rejoin us."

All the yelling and accusations of the previous day still rang in Stephen's memory. Just because he'd gotten some rest since then didn't mean he was ready to take on more. "Somehow, I highly doubt that. Felicity didn't happen to swear you to secrecy from me too, did she?"

"She did not."

"Then fill me in."

Beats passed, like TIM needed to reconcile himself to the risks of following Stephen's directive against whatever one Oliver had undoubtedly left him with, then a computer monitor brightened to life. In a day that had so much go wrong, having two small successes so close together were just the boost Stephen needed.

Dropping into a chair in front of the computers, he spun around once, then twice, his arms and legs thrown wide. Sometimes a guy just needed a moment to appreciate life. When the chair finally stilled, he pulled closer to examine the police file on the display.

In short order—and with none of his earlier hesitancy—TIM brought Stephen up to speed on the deaths of the other kids and the conclusions Oliver's team had come to about them.

And then came the question Stephen had both feared and expected. "You were the only one to have any meaningful contact with any of the perpetrators," TIM pointed out. "Are you certain you didn't learn anything?"

Stephen was shaking his head before the question mark.

"Perhaps one of the guards thought of a name or a face..."

A harder head shake, then Stephen stood up as abruptly as he'd sat down. "God, I wish I did have something." The file from the boy whose body had inadvertently derailed Stephen's earlier arrest stood open on the screen. Eighteen years old, white male, a loner. Dark hair, blue eyes, just like Stephen. How easily this file could have been about him. "Mind reading isn't exactly the easiest thing to learn, ya know?"

"So I am to understand, although I cannot comment from experience."

Right, because—once again—TIM was an AI and, therefore, not a human being, next stage of evolution or not.

"There were just so many of them," Stephen continued, feeling the need to justify his lack of skill. Oliver had pressed him on this too. Why was everyone so quick to assume Stephen was withholding vital information? He wouldn't do that. Nausea churned in his stomach and tightened his chest as the still recent, still raw memories bubbled up from his captivity. "And it was a little hard to concentrate." The skin of his wrists and ankles throbbed, and he started pacing as if to escape the shackles that had once bound them. "I-I still don't know what I'm supposed to be doing or how I'm supposed to be doing it, and now every time I turn around, there's someone new after me—"

He pulled up short at the sight of Oliver's vigilante costume mounted on a display dummy. The green suit, gloves, and hood looked imposing enough in the transparent case that protected them, yet Stephen already knew how much more Oliver made them when he put them on.

Oliver was already tall and well-built, though Stephen had not give either any consideration until that moment, while hunkered on the floor, that the Hood burst into the room to rescue him. The Hood had filled up the door frame and burned with so much confidence and self-assurance at what he'd needed to do to effect the rescue that Stephen almost didn't believe the shock of recognition he'd seen in Oliver's mind. To see the vigilante that close had been awesome, in all the meanings of the word.

"He's a superhero," Stephen said, sounding the phrase for only the second time since finding out. It still didn't sink in. "My cousin is a real life superhero." He gave his arm a pinch, though the pain barely registered among all the others. Superheroes weren't real. Super powers, sure. He knew lots of Tomorrow People and had been told there were hundreds—possibly thousands—more around the world. In the weeks since he'd learned of them, not once had anyone suggested putting on a costume and using their powers to fight crime. The idea was, frankly, absurd. Drawing public attention to their powers was the last thing the Tomorrow People wanted to do. Yet here was someone without powers who'd decided to become a hero anyway—and Stephen was related to him.

"Your cousin has made some unconventional choices with how to spend his free time," TIM responded, "though I would hesitate to apply the term 'hero' to his actions. Local records are incomplete, as much was destroyed during an event a few months ago called the Undertaking; however, it seems Oliver is directly responsible for killing several dozen people."

Stephen blinked, the number bouncing out of his brain without leaving any meaningful concept behind. Oliver had killed, though; he understood that. He'd been right there when Oliver shot and killed the guard with an arrow through the heart. No hesitation, no regret.

Just like the guard who was prepared to shoot and kill Stephen with that gun he'd waved around, who had killed how-many-others before.

But for a better purpose.

"How many has he saved?" Stephen countered. "Isn't that what matters? Not what he's doing, but why he's doing it?"

TIM didn't answer right away, and for a second Stephen wondered whether he had spoken out loud. Given the way his day had gone, it didn't surprise him that he might use telepathic when he meant to use spoken communication. "That sounds like something Jedikiah would say," TIM finally said, his volume low yet somehow still strident. "Be careful, Stephen, you're walking a dangerous line."

Stephen blew out a breath, his body sagging at the shock of the mirror TIM had held up. Oliver was his cousin, and Jedikiah was his uncle. Both sides of his family held people who had seen injustice in the world and enacted their own incredibly extreme way to combat it.

What did that say for his chances at picking the right side?

Rapping his forehead, he dismissed the thought. It was too late at night to contemplate questions like that.

All he knew is that Oliver had saved him. And, if all those open files on the computer were any indication, he was determined to make sure that what had happened to Stephen never happened to another kid again. That was enough for Stephen.

"TIM?" Stephen asked, a different realization penetrating the morass of his thoughts, "Why is Oliver's suit here?" The last time he'd seen it, he'd been shoving it underneath his bed. He stepped closer, inspecting the costume on suspicion that it was a different one and he'd just said something profoundly stupid. Though that would be par for the course.

"Oliver retrieved it and brought it back here earlier this evening. That was when we decided it was wiser to allow you to rest than to try to return you to the Queen mansion."

Which meant that wherever Oliver had gone next, it hadn't been in his superhero role. Stephen ran his fingers down the front of the jacket. The leather was surprisingly soft, and clean. No outward sign showed of the fight nor of the time the suit had spent crumpled on a dodgy bathroom floor or beneath a bed. It was like Oliver had found time to get the suit dry cleaned before returning it. Stephen was going to have to ask him where he did that, especially if he had any desire to follow the superhero side of the family.

Growing up, he'd often imagined how it would be to live his cousin's life: to have the mansion and the expensive cars, to be able to buy all the video games he wanted. Hell, to be able to buy the video game company if he wanted.

Stephen was older now and more aware of how big money could also cause big problems—he, for example, never had to worry about his yacht capsizing—though, it turned out that being kidnapped because someone wanted your money and being kidnapped because someone wanted your superpowers both sucked the same.

Now, in a weird way, he and Oliver had become equals. Idly, Stephen wondered how the suit would look on him. Maybe, in the dark, no one would notice that the cuffs were rolled up or the jacket was too loose. He didn't have to use the bow to carry it...

In that weird way where thinking about one thing could lead to connections forming on another thought entirely, an epiphany popped into Stephen mind. His body went rigid, hands clenching by his sides as the thought clarified. He was afraid to move, to turn his head, to so much as breathe in case the idea scuttled away. "TIM..."

As if sensing the fragility of the moment, TIM did not answer except with a faint, short hum.

"Those kids. What if we were wrong?" That he hadn't been contributed toward the conclusions about who and what they were wasn't worth nitpicking; he'd bought into them easily enough. "What if they weren't killed because they didn't have powers, but rather because they did." Stephen scuffed a foot against the floor and sneaked a glance around the HQ in case Oliver or Felicity had returned for an early start on their days. He suspected either of them would knee-jerk challenge any theory that referenced powers. Diggle, at least, would hear him through, though not without making Stephen work for it.

This time, Stephen breathed a sigh of relief this time at seeing how alone he was.

"Although I am capable of understanding complex sentence structures, perhaps you could clarify what you mean."

Stephen dropped his head back, gathering his thoughts. At some point, the music upstairs had stopped and he no longer felt mass of minds that had been pushing on the edges of his telepathy. Funny how so many things became more obvious after they stopped. "So, the guys who attacked me threatened to shoot me if I used my powers. That's the part that doesn't make sense. If they were trying to capture people with powers, then why kill someone who has them?"

"Perhaps as a test of obedience," TIM ventured.

"OK, yeah, except that works right up until they turn their backs. I could've teleported away at any time. The only reason I didn't is because I knew they knew where I lived. Or, where I was staying. You know what I mean."

"This time I do."

Ignoring the jab, Stephen pressed on. "So, I'm thinking our kidnappers were looking for something else. I don't know what." He started to pace back toward the computers, then turned and returned to his spot in front of Oliver's costume. "What if, like me, the other kids were already Tomorrow People? What if they knew each other? I mean, think about it: there are TP all over the world, so there's gotta be groups of them in places other than New York City."

"You are proposing the existence of a person on the West Coast in the role of Jedikiah?"

Stephen shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" He considered the unblinking ruthlessness of Jedikiah's determination to kill the Tomorrow People. "Well, maybe not exactly the same. My attackers didn't want to kill me; that was the other strange thing. They were ready to, but they didn't want to. I don't know what they were after, but they were definitely looking for something … besides superpowers or a million dollar ransom. Whatever it was, they musta thought the other kids would have it too."

"Tenuous though it might be, it's a lead. I can begin researching connections. Good work, Stephen."

Stephen couldn't help but preen, his chest puffing out.

"As I'm going to be busy, may I suggest that you return to the Queen residence and go to bed. Oliver has provided a cover story for you with the rest of your family which will hold up much better if they are to find you in your own bed when they awaken."

As much as he didn't think he could sleep again after the last ten hours, the suggestion of burrowing into clean sheets and resting his head on a thick pillow induced a jaw-cracking yawn. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Let me know if you find anything?"

"Of course," TIM replied. "Before you can return home, we have a killer to stop."