Sins Of The Father

[Oliver Queen]

It was bad enough spending your time in Gotham City. It was worse when you had to venture beyond the city limits, and beyond the confines of Gotham County. That was when you had to accept the grim reality of your existence; the uncomfortable truth of what your life had become.

That was when you had to admit you lived in New Jersey.

Okay so sure, Jersey wasn't that bad. Most of the state was relatively inoffensive. It was just the shore. And the cities. And the people who lived there. For someone like Oliver, born and raised in the wealthier parts of sunny California, it was about as opposite to normalcy as it was possible to get. You would have thought that a secluded island the polar extreme to the life that Oliver knew; but there was comfort there, and a strange sense of familiarity. Oliver had ventured beyond the city in his youth; explored the redwood forests, the national parks, the wilderness. Being away from civilization was a comfort; now more than ever.

No, it was Gotham that was strange, and backwards. It was the city that had loomed beyond the walls of Brentwood Academy. It was the forbidden place where it was best not to go; too dangerous for a young boy, especially one so wealthy and well-dressed. Bruce and Alfred had made sure that Oliver never felt the need to venture into the city; if he ever did, it was within the confines of a chauffeured car. It was the same whenever his uncle visited, or made arrangements to spend time with his nephew. A car collected him, ferried him door to door. It was a childhood spend trapped, handled, coddled.

Perhaps it was his childhood hatred that explained the amusement that he felt at the irony of now.

Oliver couldn't help the smile that formed on his face as the bolts and latches clunked open, the doors of the nondescript trailer swinging open to reveal the thing of beauty (http://i221.photobucket.com/albums/dd259/o6untouchable/Fans/DC/Arrow%20Car%20big_zpsk3ms5zck.jpg) that lay within. Roy and Mia teased him about the name. Arrowcar. Truth was that Oliver hadn't really even named it himself - it was something the tabloids had come up with, and it had kinda stuck. Frankly, he thought it was catchy. Besides: Arrowmobile would have sounded too much like a Batman rip-off, and Oliver had never really liked that word - too many bad memories of that Moonday girl down in Mobile, Alabama.

Too much itching, too.

Oliver's attention shifted, turning from his car to the figure standing beside him, arms all smugly folded across his chest. Oliver was glad that he had an excuse for his smile. Saved him admitting that so much of it was because of the two people who'd driven the truck to get here; cross country, all the way from Star City to Jersey. "There'd better not be a scratch on her, Roy." Oliver tried to sound deadpan; stern even. He couldn't manage it. The smile took over. Damn it.

[Roy Harper]

"That was one time," Roy protested, though the confrontational tone in his voice was mostly fake. There was a time when he would have risen to that; a time when he would have done anything to have it out with his adoptive father. Not now though. Oliver would say that he was mellowing in his old age. Mia would say that Oliver was rubbing off on him. Though he'd never admit it, Roy didn't see much wrong with either. There were worse things to be than a mellowed out Oliver Queen.

Truth be told, Roy was glad to be here. For all his arrogance, for all his indignation, he had faith in his old man. He trusted him. Relied upon him. Oliver Queen had been his compass, when his morality and his sobriety had lured his life off course. Oliver Queen had picked him up off the streets, and taught him to be someone who actually cared about things. Being at Oliver's side, righting the wrongs inflicted against Star City by it's criminals - it had given him a purpose, a mission, an ambition. Being Arsenal felt more like being himself than being Roy Harper had ever been.

Things had changed now, though. Oliver's investigation here in Gotham City had never been supposed to last. That was the only reason Roy had agreed to Oliver's plan; acquiesced to his request. With the internet, social media, and all that stuff, Oliver was concerned that if people caught wind that the Green Arrow was away from home, shooting it up on the streets of Gotham, the criminals back in Star City would have a field day. It wouldn't matter how many Arsenals, or Canaries, or Red Arrows were patrolling the streets: it was the Green one that everyone cared about. Star City needs a Green Arrow. That was what Oliver had said. Just for a few weeks. Just until I get to the bottom of this. That was the deal. That was why Roy had agreed to switch out his red and gold for green and brown.

But this? Shipping the Arrowcar cross country? This was serious. This was longer term. Roy hadn't asked how the investigation was going. He was afraid to. The longer Oliver stayed in Gotham, the longer Roy needed to be back home, faking it. Pretending to be the Green Arrow, so no one realised the real deal was gone. Was this the status quo now? The Green Arrow in two places at once? Oliver had always talked about how he hoped Roy would take over from him when he was gone; take up the mantle; make a family tradition of it. Roy knew it mattered to him; knew that Oliver felt like he was some inadequate legacy for his own parents. It was kinda touching really, in a way, the knowledge that Oliver trusted Roy enough to continue his mission. In another way, it was terrifying. Roy's life was barely starting, and Oliver Queen already had it's trajectory mapped out for him. He'd never say as much of course; but Roy knew how much regret Oliver felt at never having followed in his father's footsteps while he still had the chance. Don't make my mistakes, Roy. It was a nice sentiment. Or at least, as nice a sentiment as a life sentence could ever be.

Roy let his head loll to the side, fixing Oliver with a look. "And that was in the crappy old yellow one. This one's a thing of beauty. I'd never do anything to hurt her."

[Oliver Queen]

Oliver's mouth drew into a thin line.

"The car exploded, Roy."

His eyebrows rose, his best approximation of a disapproving father. It was an expression Oliver knew all too well; something he'd been on the receiving end of far too many times.

"One time is too many times for that."

The glare lasted all of seven seconds before it crumpled, the grin returning. It took barely another second for Oliver to reach out, grabbing Roy by the shoulder and dragging him into a bear hug. Roy wasn't a fan of this kind of affection, but Roy's preferences be damned. Everything that had happened lately, everything he'd discovered and stumbled across, the progressive deepening and worsening on the Queen Consolidated rabbit hole he was tumbling down... he was damn well going to hug his boy, and Roy would damn well like it.

"It's good to see you, son." Better judgement kicked in, keeping the I missed you admission to himself.

[Roy Harper]

"Easy, big guy," Roy muttered, his protest not nearly as instant as it should have been if he really meant it. "How about you save some of this for Mia?"

That certainly grabbed Oliver's attention, and it earned Roy another look. He interrupted before any kind of disparaging words came along with it. I heard you on the phone, Ollie. That was what Roy wanted to say. That was the honest truth of it. I know what this little road trip means. You're worried. The Green Arrow doesn't do worried.

Roy had practised the words in the truck, recited them over and over in his head in those peaceful moments between Mia's demands for conversation.

You remember what you told me once, when I asked why it mattered so much that we felt like a family? About why it meant so much for you to have us around? You said we were the most important arrows in your quiver. You said that when everything else seemed lost, when you had nothing left to give, nothing left to fight with, nothing left to fight for - you had us. Damn right I brought your daughter. You need us.

That wasn't what left Roy's mouth though, no matter how true those words would have been. It didn't matter, because one look said it all. Mia and Oliver, they were the ones who had the heartfelt talks. Roy and Oliver were the men. Everything between them was unspoken. A look. A grunt. A gesture. A quick hug that lasted a split second longer than it should have. A lie that was so threadbare it obscured less of what lay underneath than one of Rihanna's red carpet dresses.

Roy heart the click and clunk of the cab door opening. He raised his voice just enough to ensure his sister would hear exactly what he was saying.

"I didn't want to bring her," Roy lied, "But she just wouldn't shut up begging me to. You know how she gets. It was kinda pathetic, really."

[Mia Dearden]

"Are you two done being all sappy yet?" Mia's voice carried from the side of the trailer that she'd been leaning on, sticking to the shadows with practised ease.

A few steps brought her into the meager light cast by the headlights Ollie's civilian car. It was probably over dramatic, but what the hell? They were superheroes, after all. You could always spare a few moments to pose in some awesome lighting and look like a badass if you weren't being shot at. Mia looked from Roy first before letting her eyes roll over in the direction of Ollie. Dad as he was called when she particularly wanted to pull at his heartstrings for various reasons.

Oliver wasn't her father, not as far as genetics went, but he was more a parental figure than the jackass who actually was. Not many people would willingly choose to adopt a teenage girl, especially one with all the baggage that Mia did, but Ollie had. That alone said far more about him than any number of compliments that Mia could come up with ever could, probably.

Thrilling dramatics done and over with, Mia took the few short steps needed to close the gap between her and Ollie and instantly threw her arms around him. A slight smirk formed on her lips as she looked back to Roy.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that 'Hey, you want someone to come with to make sure you don't fall asleep on the road and kill yourself' was begging to come along." A slight squeeze of her arms around Oliver let him know she wasn't being entirely serious - not that it was needed; he was more than familiar with the duo's banter.

Despite being the norm for the last few years of her life, Mia still couldn't get over it. Having Ollie and Roy, dad and big brother; people who genuinely cared about her rather than just pretending to for their own benefit and exploitation. It was nice. This was nice. Ever since Ollie had left for Gotham things hadn't felt right. It took now, being on the opposite side of the country, the three of them standing around some parking lot of an abandoned convenience store in the middle of no where for things to actually feel right again.

It was the real reason she'd come along, Mia knew that. A chance for them all to be together again, especially since Ollie had called for the car. That had meant that things were serious and that his short little trip to Gotham wasn't going to be as short as he had originally said. That meant moments like this were going to be impossible for a while and Mia wasn't ready to give up on her family that easily.

[Roy Harper]

"For someone who is allegedly doing this out of the goodness of her own heart -" Roy teased back, taking the opportunity to step back out of Ollie hug range and fold his arms across his chest. He did that a lot: Oliver always said it made him seem unapproachable, but whatever, it was comfy. Not just the physical comfort, but the psychological barrier it provided, too. People didn't get too close when you made yourself all defensive like that. Reduced the risk of someone sneaking in close and ripping your heart out. Only so many times a person could survive that happening, and Roy was still waiting on his to grow back from the last one.

"- you sure did spend a long time complaining about all the shows I was making you miss."

Roy allowed an over-exaggerated frown to form on his brow, trying to look as analytical as he could. His mouth betrayed him though, a smug smile forming in place. He hadn't perfected Oliver's ability to do this yet: to look sternly disapproving and utterly mocking in equal measure.

"Wait no, that's right. You've had all those shows set up to DVR for weeks now. That's kinda weird, especially since we didn't get Ollie's call until a couple of days ago. Why might you -"

He turned his attention to Oliver, as if he were discussing some sort of important business matter, pretending that Mia wasn't even there."

"Hey Ollie, isn't Dodger supposed to be flying in from London this weekend?"

[Mia Dearden]

"That's not why I've set them all to record! He has nothing to do with it!"

It sounded far too defensive to be entirely true, came out too quickly as well, but the problem was it took Mia actually hearing it to realize all that. At least her posture hadn't changed, well... not much. She did let go of Oliver and her hands were lingering awful close to her hips. Mia felt herself shuffle a bit until her arms mimicked Roy's in how they crossed over her chest.

"I do it because someone needs to keep you out of trouble on nightly patrols and it's not my fault apparently criminals think Prime Time is a great time to cause problems. I'm lucky if I can get home and watch anything before all of Facebook spoils everything. Did you know that with Game of Thrones I went to check one message and found out about that whole Red Wedding thing?? One Message and it was plastered EVERYWHERE! It hadn't even shown in our timezone yet. Bastards. Wish we could find out who posts crap like that and put an arrow through their..."

Her grumbling drifted off as an overly large smile formed on her lips, almost comical in it's exaggeration and sickly-sweetness. Mia turned that expression right on Oliver and batted her eyes just once or twice for the full effect. "You so missed this, didn't you?"

[Oliver Queen]

To be honest, Oliver didn't really have a clue what the whole deal with this Game of Thrones thing was. It wasn't the first time he'd heard Mia complain about it, but try as he might he just couldn't understand. He'd tried reading the books, but how ridiculously young everyone was made him all kinds of uncomfortable and overprotective, and every time he got to one of the important scenes, the author started writing about food, and Oliver ended up too hungry to carry on reading. He'd tried watching the show too, with Mia eagerly interrupting every few minutes to make sure he understood exactly who was who, and what was going on, and why this part and that part differed subtly from the books - he loved every second of it, loved every part of being dragged of being subject to Mia's enthusiasm and passion, loved the way she suddenly realised she was watching a show full of boobs and sex with her sort-of dad; he'd just never really had much chance to grasp the story. The Red Wedding, was that the poisoning one, or the one with the wolf heads? Was that the one with the Margarine girl, with the Princess Leia hair and that oh so enticing smirk?

He pushed the thoughts aside, and turned his attention instead to his wards. His partners. His kids. A proud smile formed on his lips; he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the hand that settled itself, gentle but firm on their shoulders. He looked at them in turn, sharing his focus equally between both. "I missed you," he countered, with the kind of soft tone that probably to anyone else would have seemed sappy beyond belief; but Roy and Mia knew that tone, they knew the sincerity it carried with it.

Oliver allowed silence to linger for a few moments longer, and frankly it was all he could do to stop himself from dragging the both of them in for another hug. He kept the impulse at bay, finally letting his eyes linger on Mia.

"And if anything happens with you and Dodger, I will shoot him in the knees, and then shoot him between them."

[Mia Dearden]

Mia could not possibly roll her eyes with any more purpose than they now did.

"Augh, Ollie. It isn't like that." It was just shy of calling him dad, the same pleading sing-song tone was used, but it was best to keep that ammo tucked away until necessary.

She wanted to protest more, about how Dodger was an associate and nothing more. A kinda hot bad boy with a dreamy accent but still just an associate. Mia knew better than that, though. She wasn't quite sure what the just be careful talk about boys from Oliver was like, but she certainly wasn't keen on finding out. That and Roy was standing right there and the last thing she needed to do was give him more cause to tease her on the ungodly long drive back to Star City they would eventually have to take.

Thankfully there was an obvious redirection that could take place, and not an entirely unwarranted one either.

"Sooo... How are you planning on getting your normal car back to Gotham anyway?" Mia asked with a not-so-subtle grin that left the next bit entirely unnecessary to speak but she had to, anyway. "Can I help? I promise I won't blow it up like some people."

[Oliver Queen]

A matter of moments, and Mia was already trying to extract herself from his company. He tried not to read into that too much; tried not to take it too personally, but it was hard. When he'd first found Mia, when he'd first attempted to salvage her from her life on the streets, she had been so eager, so determined to get out there, to be part of Oliver's crusade, to wrap a mask around her face and exact justice with a bow. Some of it was teenage rebellion, but some of it - or at least, so Oliver had allowed himself to believe - was a desire to be by his side. Not just a desire to fight crime: a desire to fight it with him.

As she had grown older, more comfortable in herself, and more comfortable beneath her hood, that changed and morphed. Mia had found her feet; she didn't need Oliver any longer. Now, the crusade itself was it's own reward, the thrill of the action, that warm feeling of having done the right thing. Mia was becoming a hero in her own right, and more and more she desired to do things for herself, to find her own way; alone. Oliver was proud of her for that, but saddened at the same time. It was only a matter of time before he became surplus to requirements; another Speedy about to grow beyond the need for him.

She still called herself the Red Arrow. Oliver wondered how long it would take before that changed; before she desired a name that didn't link her to him so strongly.

"You can if you want, I guess," Oliver replied with a shrug, not entirely faking the slight note of dejected disappointment in his voice. "In fact, sure, go for it. I was going to ask Roy to take the car back so that he could get some much needed rest, while you suited up and helped me take the Arrowcar out on a patrol... but if you'd rather have a boring drive through Gotham's evening traffic, I'm sure Roy would be happy to engage in a little nocturnal rooftop jumping with me instead."

[Mia Dearden]

Mia's eyes widened. Oh no you don't. She knew Ollie was using some sort of reverse psychology or parent voodoo on her, but that didn't matter. Of course she had brought her gear. There had been little danger of someone attempting to hijack and steal the Arrowcar, but practically everyone who ever even considered themselves a vigilante or a hero knew better than to ever leave home unprepared. Though being prepared and actually expecting to make use of anything were usually two different things.

Ever since Ollie had left Star City, she had become Arsenal's sidekick. Well, sidekick to the decoy Green Arrow if you wanted to get specific about it. Mia didn't mind working with Roy - far from it! Being alongside her somewhat big-brother had been cool at first, but nowadays seeing Roy in the green getup rather than his typical outfit had become more and more of a reminder of the fact that Oliver wasn't there. Even the few nights she tagged along with Dinah instead hadn't really made up for the obvious lack of her real mentor.

"No way," Mia gave them both a bit of a glare. "I'm not giving up on my chance to actually patrol with the real Green Arrow. Not for some car anyway. I'm your sidekick nowadays, after all. You can't have Arsenal show up in Gotham City, no one would believe it!"

[Roy Harper]

You could tell when Oliver Queen was sure of himself. For starters, it was pretty much most of the time, so if you guessed that he was you had a fair chance of being right. But more than that, there were subtle tells, subtle actions. Like now, for example. Oliver was so confident that his baiting would work that he'd already covertly dug the keys to the Dodge out of his jacket pocket; and even as Mia finished making up whatever excuse or protest she'd decided upon his hand was already reaching out towards Roy.

"You heard the sidekick," Roy teased, as Oliver's grip loosened on the keys, converting them from concealed cargo to a suspended dangle of metal. He gently took hold, and Oliver withdrew his hand; Roy tossed the keys up and down in his palm a few times, before wrapping his grip around them, and shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. A leather jacket that, incidentally, was part of a clothing ensemble that now he thought about it, matched Oliver's to an alarming degree. Gone - for the most part - were the perpetual hooded sweatshirts that he'd hidden inside for most of his youth; he'd tried to be more than that, tried to seem more than that. Apparently his concept of more skewed towards the Oliver Queen end of the spectrum. Yet another similarity. Yet another step towards becoming his almost-father.

"Guess we were wrong when we thought you didn't need training wheels any more, Speedy."

His eyebrows twitched sarcastically.

"I don't need need another study session with the old man, but if you do?" Roy shrugged. "Go right ahead. I'll see you at the hotel. And be careful - these Gotham crime types are nasty. Let 'em get too close, and they'll pop you one... last thing your face needs is a broken nose. It'll be hard enough to seduce Dodger as it is."

And with that, and a sly wink, Roy stepped back out of the pool of headlight, and clambered his way into Oliver's car, ignoring whatever protests and rebuttals Mia tried to throw his way.

[Mia Dearden]

She dearly wished that she had something she could throw at the back of Roy's head just then. Note to self - invest in a nerf gun. Not that tiny little foam darts would have made her point, but they would at least have been more satisfying than watching Roy walk off knowing there wasn't a single thing she could say that would irritate him the same way as he had her. Every time Mia had tried to turn one of Roy's relationship exploits or embarrassing moments against him he always responded in the same cool calm manner that owned up to it rather than caused it to let him get all flustered. It was admirable in a way, infuriating in others. What fun was there in having a semi-sibling if you couldn't torment them back?? Well, at least not on the spot. She'd come up with something suitable and exact revenge when Roy least expected. Until next time, Arsenal...

Mia let a devlish smirk play on her lips as she watched him drive away before she turned to Oliver and excitement took over in it's place. "Sooo... Guessing I should grab my things?"

[Oliver Queen]

Oliver wondered if he should have intervened. Roy and Mia baiting each other was the equilibrium that they had established as pseudo-siblings. Deep down Oliver knew that it came from a place of love and caring - both knew exactly how far they could push things before anyone stepped on any nerves and caused genuine upset - but still, there were times when he wanted to grab them both by the side of the face and crack their skulls together. Knock some sense into them. Demand that Roy be nicer to his younger sibling; the ward that Oliver still couldn't help feeling overprotective of, no matter how skilled and self-sufficient she became.

He didn't though, only because of foresight. Roy was a big fan of making a dramatic exit; but often that came at the expense of thinking things through. For example, right now he was sitting in the driver's seat of the Dodge, and probably hadn't spared a single thought to the fact that for starters, Oliver's gear was still stashed in a duffel inside the car, and all of Roy's luggage - which probably wasn't much; Roy was far better at travelling light than Mia was - was still sitting in the cab where he'd left it. That suspicion was proven true as the ground crunched a little beneath the car's wheels as Roy reversed slowly away.

Oliver remained standing, arms folding across his chest - something he'd noticed that Roy had taken to doing lately; something he avoided doing himself whenever Roy was around, just to make sure that his boy didn't get all self-conscious and stop subconsciously emulating his dad - a slow sigh escaping him as he watched Roy negotiate his way back to the main road.

Leaning ever so slightly to the side, he directed his words to Mia. "How far do you reckon he gets before he realises that my gear is still in the trunk, and his stuff is still in the truck?"

[Arsenal]

* * *

Roy should have gone to the hotel. Oliver had been right: it had been several days of driving, several days of getting even less sleep than normal, several days of non-stop Mia. He should have hit the hotel, and crashed out. Okay, so he found himself badly in need of a drink; but he should have got comfortable in the hotel bar. That's what it was for, after all. But no, that hadn't felt right. That hadn't been what his gut was craving. So he'd parked the car in the hotel lot, tossed his duffel over his shoulder, and trudged on out in search of the nearest dive bar he could find.

It hadn't been enough. The tension that he found knotting between his shoulder blades wouldn't slip away; refused to be dislodged by the few doubles of whiskey he'd downed, the pool game he'd aced his way through, the brief scuffle with the butthurt competitors that he'd deprived of a few hundred bucks. It wasn't the embarrassment of his little luggage snafu either; it was something deeper, something that had been plaguing him for months now. It was almost like restlessness, but not. Not the kind of restlessness when you were bored; more like the kind when you couldn't sleep, when you had all these excess thoughts and extra energy that you just couldn't vent. Too many arrows in my quiver. That was the turn of phrase that Oliver used; that feeling that if you didn't do something, all the sharp and pointy hurtful things that you tried to shove inside would start spilling over and causing you problems.

So despite the tiredness prickling at his eyes - he'd downed a couple of corner store energy drinks to stave that off - and despite all forms of better judgement, here he was: suited up and ready to go, his duffel and his regular clothes stashed in a convenient hidey-hole in a back alley, clambering around the same rooftops as his dad and sis. He'd tried to suss out where Oliver might have taken her. Much as he trusted her, Oliver was cautious to a fault; he'd stay away from the bleaker areas of town, avoiding the Narrows and the major gang locations. They'd probably cruise through Ted Grant's turf, and the surrounding neighbourhoods: a show of force for the locals there, the ones who not only needed hope but who would actually thrive on it. What you didn't appreciate in Star City, or Central, or Metropolis, was just how grim and hopeless things were in Gotham. Maybe it was because it was easier to pretend that Gotham didn't exist: to ignore the dire circumstances, the rampant crime, the widespread poverty and suffering. But despite having one of the most infamous families of vigilante protecting the city's streets, nothing changed. Read the right newspapers, listen to the right politicians, and you might even end up believing that things in Gotham had grown worse. It was easy to loose faith in a situation like that; easy to believe that there wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel.

That was what made Oliver different; that was what set the Green Arrow apart from the Dark Knight. Batman had styled himself as an agent of fear: something that strikes from the shadows, something to rattle and intimidate the criminals he faced. When the Bat Signal shone in the sky; sure, it was a sign to Gotham that Batman was on the case, but when was he not? Mostly it was a reminder to criminals that it might be best to rethink whatever they were doing; the streets weren't safe for their kind. Not so with the Green Arrow, though. You didn't dress like Robin Hood to make people afraid of you: you did it to inspire hope. You did it because you wanted the victims, the regular people, to know that you were looking out for them. In Gotham, you were afraid that the Batman might get you. In Star City, you had faith that the Green Arrow would save you. If Oliver was here to stay, for now at least - and that was the only conclusion that Roy could draw from this little cross-country automobile delivery - that was a message he'd want to start getting out there as soon as possible.

But tonight, Roy wasn't part of that message. Arsenal wasn't out here to inspire hope: he was out here to pick a fight. He sprang from the edge of the rooftop, springing off one wall of the narrow alley and then the other to arrest his descent, landing in a crouch atop a parked van. A quick flip of acrobatics and he was on the ground, crouching out of reflex, sweeping his senses around in search of the pair of would-be gangsters that he'd seen duck into this maze of alleys a few moments before.

A sound snapped his attention around, a bow drawn, arrow ready. He mentally reprimanded himself as an abandoned beer bottle rolled out from behind a dumpster, a scruffy looking cat scampering out after. All that excess energy, all those overstocked arrows in his quiver were making him jumpy. He forced his muscles to relax. Shook his head as he turned away.

Almost instantly the bow came back up. Where a split second before had been nothing but empty alley, now stood a figure staring him down; and as his eyes processed those familiar features, a shiver ran down the length of his spine, like he was staring into the face of a ghost.

[Cheshire]

Time is a precious commodity.

One that steadily, insistently, slipped through her fingers the way grains of sand fell through an hourglass. Her heels beat a faint rhythm across the cracked pavement as she strode through the dark, dirty streets of Gotham, looking over her shoulder more often than she ever had before. Then again, this was the first time she’d ever gone against the wishes of Ra’s. She had followed his directives and those of her superiors for almost as long as she cared to remember.

Faithfully.

Loyally.

Without even the hint of a question, until they had pushed too far even for Jade to accept.

Their unalloyed pleasure at the discovery of her condition and their expectation that she would simply hand the child over to the League to be raised and trained upon its birth. Preparations had begun for the eventuality as they saw it, and the memory made bile rise in her throat. She remembered too well how she had been pushed into martial arts as a child, and her subsequent recruitment and induction into the fold of Nanda Parbat. The thought of allowing it to happen again, to her own flesh and blood, finally drove her to run.

So she found herself here, in Gotham, halfway around the world, and wondered if it was far enough even though she knew all too well that it wasn’t. There was nowhere that could be far enough away or out of the reach of the League. They did not simply accept people leaving their ranks – if you did, you ended up in a body bag. She’d done her own share of hunting those branded as traitors and bringing them to a miserable, painful end.

It was the fate decreed for her, of which she had no doubt.

But the League had taught her well, and she had learned much from the masters over the years. Her trademark emerald green kimono and thigh high boots were tucked away at the bottom of the bag she carried over her shoulder along with her mask. A simple fitted bodysuit and tactical boots had replaced them, the secure straps and sheaths holding her sais and shuriken in place beneath a simple leather jacket. Within easy reach, but out of sight for any but the most discerning gaze.

Slender fingers pulled up the collar of the jacket as she paused, head canted to the side, and listened for a moment at the entrance to an alley. Her gaze narrowed as she turned, altering her course and slid down the alley near soundlessly, keeping to the darkest shadows. There was a muffled thump of someone landing on the pavement, followed by the intimately familiar sound of a bow being drawn and an arrow readied.

Cheshire inhaled slowly as she drew her sais almost silently from their sheaths, each step chosen carefully as she moved forward. An exhalation saw her pressed up against the wall as a shadowed form rose from a crouched position and turned towards her position. Her eyes widened, and recognition drew her out of the shadows and into a faint pool of light. She let her gaze wander over the sight that presented itself to her while her mind reached for words that just wouldn’t come.

“It’s…been a while. Didn’t think I’d find you in an alley in Gotham of all places. I…” a frown marred her features as she averted her gaze for a moment. There was a great deal she wanted to say all at once, and stemming the flood of words once they’d started was proving difficult.

“…we need to talk.” Jade said softly as she lifted her eyes to meet his once more, uncertainty flickering within.

[Arsenal]

Oliver would have something to say in a moment like this. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world. Something like that. Something irreverent. Something niche. Something that filled the awkward silence that had descended between them, other than the creak of the leather in his gloves as they tensed against the bowstring. Jar of Hearts was about all he could come up with under the circumstances. It would be so easy, just a single nerve impulse down his arm to release the nocked arrow. Maybe she'd dodge, and then maybe they'd fight, but maybe it would be worth it. He'd be able to tell himself afterwards that it was the smart choice. Dangerous assassin. Death wherever she went. It would be a service. His duty. Saving lives. He knew the truth in the moment, though. It wouldn't be about anyone else, except for him and her.

"So talk."

The words came out with gruffness, and as a challenge, the kind that Green Arrow would throw out at some petty criminal, as if a bark was all it would take to subdue them. Sometimes it even worked. That thought was strange as it meandered through his thoughts. Green Arrow was supposed to mean Oliver, but of late it had begun to encompass him as well. Then there was the older Green Arrow as well, the one who dated back to the golden age of capes and heroes, the one with the hat and the beard whose shoes Oliver had stepped into, or stolen, or been gifted, depending on whose version of the story you believed. It was strange, feeling part of something like that. Strange to think of what it was he might be inheriting. Legacy; that was probably the word you were supposed to use, though it was only now that Roy was starting to understand what that meant. His head filled with Ollie's voice, or at least some approximation of it; something about inner demons and better angels, and which to listen to; something about the how being as important as what they did. Roy had struggled - anger came too easily to him; always had - but Oliver made it simple; four simple words.

Be Clark, not Bruce.

Roy's aim wavered, half an inch of tension and a few degrees of aim relaxing from the bow. His eyes didn't deviate from her - from Jade, from Cheshire, from the heartless killer - for an instant.

"Talk fast."

[Cheshire]

Cheshire blinked, long lashes shuttering her uncertainty away for just a few moments. He hadn’t shot her…that was a start. One, admittedly, that she hadn’t expected.

Violence, she would have understood.

This momentary, minute release of tension on his bow string was enough to give her pause. She didn’t know what to make of it. She breathed deeply and opened her eyes once more, fixing her gaze on his leather wrapped hands as they held the bow and still-nocked arrow. It was easier than looking into those eyes. The ones that had haunted her for so long.

“I…need…help.” She managed slowly, the difficulty in admitting it aloud far greater than her decision to leave Nanda Parbat had been. That had been relatively easy and instantaneous. But telling Roy about…she had no idea how to do it without just blurting it out.

Jade let out a heavy breath and her fingers tightened on the well-worn hilts of her sais out of reflex. “I left the League. They wanted…they wanted more than I was willing to give them. So I’m running…”

Her voice trailed off as she cast a glance over her shoulder, a faint scraping sound drawing her attention for a moment until a rat scurried across the detritus covered concrete. Paranoia, she thought, was going to keep her and this baby alive. All she had to do was tell Roy about it.

“But that’s not the only thing.”

She adjusted her grip on the sais, gaze still locked on the nocked arrow that was aimed in her direction. Her stance shifted and the darkly glittering blades in her hands rising of their own accord into a more defensive position. With everything they’d been through…with everything she’d put him through, she wouldn’t be able to blame him if he let the arrow fly.

“I...” Jade swore softly in Vietnamese, letting her gaze finally drop to the ground between them. “...I'm pregnant.”

[Arsenal]

Roy's anger flared, pulse pounding loud enough in his ears that he didn't fully hear the words that were being said to him. Words like League, and running, should have been red flags to him, should have been the elements that his mind latched onto. He should have cared that this was a plea for help. He should have understood that it meant something that she was either willing or desperate enough to come to him seeking it. He didn't. His mind was still trapped in the orbit of a few months ago, the sinking black hole of doom and gloom that his persistent anger wasn't enough to rip him away from.

"You left me."

The words came out as a challenge. The bow lowered, but the arrow remained in the string, resting comfortably in wait of whatever next words might spur it into flight. He took a step forward, muscles tight and aching beneath his suit, a swirling and directionless anger consuming him. It didn't want to lash out, it didn't want to yell, it didn't want him to break things or hurt things; it didn't want anything, save to exist, to torment, to overstuff his quiver until it felt like he would burst. A little leaked out as an exasperated laugh.

"I told you about this -" He gestured with his bow, shrugged his shoulders beneath his hood. "- my biggest secret, I trusted you more than I've ever trusted anyone, and you just left in the night without a word."

It was a struggle to look at her, his eyes finding the brickwork above and around them instead, deflected away like matching poles of a magnet. It wasn't just the anger either, Roy knew that. He knew what was stirring beneath the hulking form of his anger, what urges and impulses would kick in if his anger ever abated enough to let another emotion creep through. At least he hurt too much for anything that stupid right now; that came as some small consolation.

"So, what? You shacked up with someone new, the asshole got you pregnant, and now I'm supposed to... congratulate you? Help you out because you've got nowhere to go?"

His anger slipped, just enough that his next few words came out wounded.

"You don't get to do that, Jade. I don't deserve that."

[Cheshire]

“…hoạt động giả mạo ếch…”

The curse slipped passed her lips involuntarily as her hands shook from the tight grip she had on her sais. It was little more than she expected, truthfully, and he had every right to be angry at her for the way she had left. She’d had her reasons, and though none of them seemed good enough right now – they hadn’t even the night she’d left – she’d done what she thought was the right thing.

So naturally it turned out to be one of the worst mistakes of her life.

Jade forced herself to lower her sais, keeping her grip on them, but letting her hands dangle at her sides. Her dark eyes rose to finally meet his and the pain evident in his voice and his frame cut through the anger she’d mustered up. “You meant everything to me, Roy, but for fuck’s sake, I’m an assassin. With the League. Of. Assassins. Do you understand what me leaving them even means? I’m going to be hunted.”

She stepped forward, tentatively, uncertainty writ across her slender shoulders as she simply stared at him and drank in the sight for a moment. “Your child is going to be hunted. Not someone else’s, yours. I never-“

She cut herself off and turned away, biting down sharply on her lower lip before she admitted to anything more. Jade rolled her shoulders in an effort to release some of the tension that had begun to settle into an ache when a ripple of nausea rolled over her senses for a moment.

“Right now? Really?” Jade hissed softly, and mostly under her breath as she waited for it to pass.

[Arsenal]

It was like being kicked in the head and the balls at the same time.

She'd said League. Left the League. In the moment, he'd thought nothing of it, but now it was spelled out, things slowly began to click into place. She was an assassin. She had been an assassin. Everything he'd assumed was wrong. The long absences, the trips abroad, the work that she couldn't tell him about; he'd assumed it was government work. Agent. Operative. It was an easy assumption to make, given their past. They'd first met when Roy joined the Army, a misguided choice to follow in Oliver's footsteps, volunteering for the military service that Oliver had been forced into by his own guardian. He'd been a Lance Corporal; she'd been the Lieutenant in intelligence. It had been something secret, something taboo, something impulsive and exciting and unspoken.

Service had taken them in different directions, and that had been the end of it; right up until fate slammed the two of them back together in Star City. She hadn't been willing or able to tell him about what she did; but then, neither had he, not until that last night. It had been familiar, but different, and he'd let himself get swept up in it. He'd thought maybe it was more than it was, and so he'd made the step: tell her the truth, admit that he was a vigilante. All had seemed well until she'd left in the night without a word; but now it was different, not running because of what he was, but running because of what she was; what she'd done; how he might have reacted if she'd shared the same kind of truth. Did that change things? Maybe it did, but for now his mind was too busy reeling from the secondary blow to his delicates.

Your child is going to be hunted.

Your child. His child. Something he'd never considered, never imagined. At the back of his mind, he wondered if perhaps he would follow in Oliver's footsteps. Perhaps he would be the Green Arrow in his own right one day, the one and only rather than some elaborate decoy; or perhaps he'd strike his own path, but either way, perhaps one day he'd find a Speedy of his own. Find someone struggling through the same kind of hardships that he, and Mia, and Oliver all shared. Perhaps they'd become his ward, and perhaps one day they'd look at him as almost a father in the same way that he saw Oliver. Never had he considered that his own child might be part of the equation; maybe that was just part of being an orphan, or maybe that was just him. But here was Jade, standing here in front of him, telling him that he was going to be a father; that the unimagined was already happening.

But no, that wasn't all of it. Hunted. Not merely hunted, either: hunted by the League of Assassins. Ruthless. Insidious. Unstoppable. Jade said she had run, to Gotham of all places; but why? For what?

Roy drew a breath, and released it slowly.

"I need you to start at the start, Jade."

Another step closer was taken. The bow fell completely to his side this time, arrow stashed back in his quiver. Another step, and another; his freed hand reached out, hesitating for an instant before it came to rest against Jade's arm.

"What happened? Why are they after you?"

[Cheshire]

Breathe.

Just breathe.

In…out. In…out.

There was a sort of eternity passing in the moments it took his mind to grasp what she was telling him, and for the wave of nausea that assaulted her senses to fade away. It was all she could do to remember to breathe, and even then, Jade almost needed the mantra to remind her body of its natural function.

Just breathe.

As the nausea finally passed and left her senses to slowly reassemble themselves, she realized he’d approached. It was the sound of his voice that brought her back completely, and she blinked owlishly at the hand that now rested on her arm. It was…the closest they had been since the night he’d given up his identity as a vigilante…and the night she had left. It was closer than she had ever thought they’d be again after that night.

Jade breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, now giving her own mind the time to catch up and try to put a few words together in some semblance of a response. He deserved one, and not the kind she’d have given him before. This needed to be the truth. The complete, unvarnished truth, no matter how much it would sting to lay her decidedly sordid past bare.

She studiously avoided his gaze as she began, her voice quieter than it had been before.

“When I left…I…I went back to the League, because I was supposed to. It’s what I always do. I follow orders, to the letter. I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left you in Star City…I was just running. But they knew by the time I got back and there were plans being created…”

Bile rose in her throat and darkened her vision, cutting the stream of words off for several long moments until she could contain the reaction.

“I was supposed to be dutiful and just hand over the baby after it was born. Let them raise her, train her, indoctrinate her…she wouldn’t have been our child anymore. I couldn’t let that happen, not after everything my own parents put me through. So I left…and I came here to Gotham. It’s the one place they won’t…they can’t just stroll into to get me back.”

Dark eyes rose slowly, their focus shifting from the pavement at their feet, to the sais in her grasp, and lingered on the hand he still had pressed against her arm. She took a deep, measured breath and finally lifted her gaze to meet his, tracing the familiar contours of his features beneath the mask.

There was more she could say – wanted to say, but she’d run out of words.

[Arsenal]

Ninjagarten.

The word formed in his head like a reflex; a defense mechanism. For some people, hearing the voice of their father in their head was a source of reassurance, or wisdom. For Roy, it was a coping mechanism. No matter how dire and grim the situation, Oliver Queen found humour, nocked it on his bow, and shot it at the face of whatever they were up against. That would have been his response here. The notion that the League of Assassins was taking babies, and training them as killers from infancy, it was too big to process; to heinous, too terrifying. It dredged up too many questions, threw too many new perspectives on revelations that Roy was still struggling to come to terms with. Was that Jade's story? Was that conditioning, that indoctrination, the reason that someone he'd cared for - maybe loved, even, though they'd never made it as far as that - could be a ruthless killer for hire? If so, what did that mean for them, for him, for what she'd felt? It was too much.

And so Oliver's disembodied voice provided Ninjagarten. It was simple. Obvious. If there were baby assassins, there'd need to be baby assassin day care. Ninjagarten. It's what Oliver would say right now: the glimmer of levity, the hand reaching down to help him clamber up from the maelstrom of thoughts that he had fallen into.

That wouldn't be the end of it, of course, just the start. It was what would get Roy back on his feet. Oliver would ask if he was okay; Roy would lie and say that he was; and then they'd move on, move past it, get back to whatever mission or situation or fight demanded their immediate attention. Right now, the fight was Jade. An ex-assassin, on the run from the League, because they wanted to take her baby away. Whose baby, his baby, could wait until later: strip away the other factors, and it was clear which side in this was right and wrong. A woman needed his help, and if Roy was going to deserve the green in his costume that Oliver was trusting him to wear, he damn well needed to help her.

"We need to talk."

Roy said it quietly; firmly; not quite his voice, but not quite all the way to the commanding tone that Oliver always adopted as the Green Arrow, either.

"We need to talk, a lot, but not in some dingy Gotham alley. We need to get you out of sight, somewhere safe -"

His voice faltered, hand slapping to his neck out of reflex as something punched into his skin. His fingers wrapped around the offending object, pulling it and the attached needle free from his flesh and into view. Dart. His eyes tried to seek out the source, but his vision had already begun to blur. Not good. He staggered, a wave of nausea and disrupted equilibrium sweeping over him. Something moved on one of the rooftops above. The alley floor slammed into his shoulder. His gaze, still darkening, settled on Jade.

Oh no.

[Tigress]

Artemis landed in a low stance, the hand crossbow that had fired the offending tranquillizer dart, laced with Vertigo, still gripped in your hand.

"Your boyfriend's not wrong."

Her voice came out in a practised purr, one that echoed a dedication to the Tigress moniker she had inherited from their mother which continued through the strands of dark in her platinum hair, and the tones of black and gold woven into an outfit that otherwise reflected Cheshire, her usual League attire abandoned back in Nanda Parbat in favour of something more befitting the streets of Gotham. The conspicuous difference was the katana slung across her shoulders: not something that one might expect to blend in anywhere else in the world, but on the streets of America you could get away with most things if you did them with sufficient confidence.

A smile tugged at Artemis' lips, fighting the urge to reach for the sword already, eyes keenly aware that Cheshire was already poised to make use of her signature sais. A pang of nostalgia squirmed within her, and the smile faltered, memories of contests between enforced contests between the two of them at their parents' behest. Cheshire had won, always; always the victor, always so eager to please; always daddy's best, daddy's favourite. That had been her first mistake; her second, a string of betrayals. Abandonments. Cheshire had left, abandoned their contests, left Artemis to train, and hone, and harden in her absence. It was what she did; it was why the name, Cheshire, fit her so well. Running, fleeing, fading into darkness - it was what Cheshire did best.

Artemis had fought to embody her name just as aptly. Tigress had been a name their mother had used; Huntress was another. Artemis strove to be both, and it was why she was here. Cheshire was prey, and the League of Assassins wanted her found; hunted; dragged back as bested quarry to face judgement for one betrayal too many. That was the mission. The will of the League.

Her knuckles clenched beneath fingerless gloves, a narrow-eyed gaze seeking out Jade's attention.

"You have something that belongs to the League," she demanded, a hint of snarl creeping into her words. "Ra's al Ghul demands its return."