Oliver tried not to smile. He wasn't averse to it, especially not these days: the smiles and quips were as much a part of the Green Arrow as the arrows in his quiver. But that was a different smile. Smug. Friendly. Reassuring. Whatever the situation, whatever the victim or the perpetrator demanded. Gone was the ruthless mockery of justice that there had once been, abandoned when Vengeance had been torn from him. This new Oliver, this new Arrow, sought to protect, to reassure, to inspire. The Green Arrow inspired hope; he inspired unity; he inspired a sense of civic responsibility. He had made the streets of Star City safe again, but he'd also helped his city become somewhere that people could be proud of. His arrow, his symbol, adorned signs, t-shirts, scrawled graffiti messages of solidarity. He was no Son of Krypton, granted; but not everyone wanted to come like some godly mountain of muscle descending from the skies. He was Robin Hood, and that was no accident: not because he stole from the rich, but because he gave to the poor; a mission statement to look out for the little guy, in a world where so few ever did.

This, though? This was a different smile. This was a satisfied smile, a contented smile. This was the smile of a man hurtling down the streets of Gotham City, shop fronts and street lights streaking past the windows of the Arrowcar, the strange near-silent whir of high tech electric propulsion echoing back from the towering walls of Gotham's canyons. This was a smile that became harder and harder to resist, every time he glimpsed the crimson occupant of the seat beside him from the corner of his eye. This wasn't a Green Arrow smile. This wasn't merely an Oliver Queen smile. This was a dad smile; and his efforts to conceal it weren't because of shame, or reluctance, but merely a concession to his daughter, and an effort to spare her from straining herself from rolling her eyes too hard.

His resistance survived about another block and a half before the smile changed tactics, a lopsided grin managing to force it's way through. His eyes glanced up, his emerald-wreathed gaze catching a glimpse of Mia's scarlet-wreathed counterpart.

"I'm glad you came."

That too was a concession, restraint for her sake. It wasn't a confession that he missed her, both in the field and out of it. It wasn't an admission that he'd found himself humming along to the absent sound of Mia's latest music fascination, a background ambiance that he griped and grumbled about. It didn't express the hollow feeling every time one of his quips or puns went unacknowledged - to him, Mia's groans were as valuable and viable a response as laughter, and infinitely better than the silence he currently endured in their wake. It didn't mention the deeper, more complicated thoughts and emotions that had followed him to Gotham, either: perhaps it was harder to keep those concerns at bay when he didn't have his kids around to stay strong for; or perhaps it was just that he was simply stronger with them by his side.

It didn't touch on the most complicated part of it all, either: the rabbit hole of we need to talk that was Connor Kent. But that was a conversation for another time; definitely not now. Now was a time for dad smiles, and Oliver was determined to cling to that as long as possible.

"No one in Gotham thinks I'm funny. It sucks."