Chapter Text
"Make the choice again Donna Noble. And change your mind. Turn right."-The fortune teller from the Doctor Who episode "Turn Left"
"Oliver Queen is alive," a newscaster announced from the television screen, words slipping carefully through the hum that always accompanied the running of the ancient set. "The Starling City resident was found by fishermen in the North China Sea. Formerly presumed dead during the tragic sinking of the yacht, The Queen's Gambit, five years ago Queen is now being returned to his family. Before his presumed death, Queen was a regular tabloid presence and a fixture at the Starling City club scene. Shortly before his disappearance, he was acquitted of assault charges stemming from a highly drunker altercation with the paparazzi. Queen is the son of Starling City billionaire Robert Queen who was also on board but is now officially confirmed as deceased."
One of the men cleaning who had been cleaning an already immaculate gun for something to do with his hands, snorted at the television. "So another rich brat's gonna be around to help wreck the Glades," he drawled. "So what?" The man standing in the doorway, cigar hanging from his lip like he belonged in an old black and white gangster movie, turned a dark gaze on the speaker. The newscaster moved on to the weather without so much as changing his tone and a phone in another room rang.
"Answer it," the man with the cigar snapped. The man cleaning the gun scowled unhappily but obligingly set the gun aside and went to grab the phone before it decided to give up the ghost and stop ringing. From the shadows in a far corner, Roy Harper's eyes fixed on the man in the door. The fourteen year old hadn't always had a crappy life. A long time ago he'd had decent parents. Then Dad had been shot on duty, being a cop in Starling had never exactly been safe, and Mom had turned to drugs. That had led to his current predicament, kidnapped and forced to work off his probably dead mother's debt. Officially Roy Harper had been missing for thirteen months, going on fourteen now, and the cops had probably given up hope, if anyone had reported Roy missing at all.
It wasn't as if Roy had ever had many friends. Cynthia Lance, more commonly known as Sin, was the only one who regularly talked to Roy and even then their conversations were often stilted and awkward. The sad truth was that no one in the Glades wanted to willingly associate with a cop's kid. It hadn't helped that once Roy's father had died, bullies had decided to try their luck and Roy had beaten them up. That had earned him a reputation as the "kid most likely to get into fights" and any chance he'd had at being friends with anyone but a very determined Sin had gone up in smoke.
The man who'd answered the phone stomped back in, looking displeased, and the man with the cigar broke eye contact with Roy. "Job?"
"Yeah," the man who answered the phone replied. "Kidnapping gig. Her majesty's askin' us to kidnap Oliver Queen, find out if he knows anythin' 'bout the big plan she's got going."
The man with the cigar considered for a moment before saying, "Get some rest Adam. We'll grab the crew in the morning." Adam nodded, scooping up his gun and leaving the room without a backwards glance. Cigar Man then turned towards Roy. "That goes for you too." Then he stomped out of the room, workboots clomping on the cheap linoleum. Roy didn't move, couldn't force himself to even if he tried. His legs felt like lead. Kidnappings were the worst. Too often they ended in violent, blood deaths that haunted Roy's dreams. The last kidnapping had been a little girl who'd ended up beheaded and left in front of CNRI drenched in her own blood.
The man stomped back in, scowl darker than night and grabbed Roy's arm tight enough to turn just healing bruises purple and black again. "I said move brat," the man snarled, practically dragging Roy to his feet and towards the room that was his cell. The newscaster droned on about Malcolm Merlyn's latest contribution to the city as Roy was thrown into the room, the door slammed shut behind him. A moment later the newscaster's droll voice was cut off midsentence, leaving nothing but silence behind.
Miles away in Gotham City a dark haired man sat in front of the television watching the local news. A steaming mug of strong black coffee was cradled between hands that were surprisingly calloused considering the fact that the man was a billionaire. He took a sip, ignoring how it tried to scald his tongue, and reached for the remote, about the flip off the set and head to his self-proclaimed Night Job when the announcement that Oliver Queen had been found alive flashed on to the screen. Vicki Vale, a nosy reporter who often enough butted into Bruce's social life, gushed over Queen's surprise return. Bruce's considered the screen, hesitating. "You coming B?" The call came from a tiny dark haired boy with the biggest, most expressive blue eyes Bruce had ever seen.
Eleven year old Richard Grayson stood at the bottom of the staircase, those eyes fixed on the man who'd taken him in after his parents had been murdered right in front of him. The boy often joined in on Bruce's Night Job, the pair of them working together to make Gotham a safer place. "I'm coming," Bruce reassured the boy, flipping off the set and walking towards the study, the boy chatting cheerfully to him as he skipped along. The billionaire didn't realize that in several days he would be researching Oliver Queen's return and questioning how he didn't see the signs before.
The last thing Oliver had wanted to deal with on his first day home was a kidnapping. Still it was becoming common for life not to give him what he wanted. He and Tommy had driven through the Glades, Oliver scoping out his father's old abandoned factory as a possible lair from which he could plan to save this city Then there'd been the visit to Laurel who was, understandably, furious with him. Still it had eased his conscious some to apologize to her for Sara. After Oliver's showdown with Laurel, Tommy had driven almost aimlessly, chatting the entire time as an attempt to ease the pain he obviously saw his friend was in. Oliver appreciated the attempt but he didn't appreciate what happened next.
It started with a teenager accidentally stumbling in front of Tommy's car. Wide eyes focused on the vehicle for a only a moment as the kid scrambled back and Tommy slammed on the breaks, swearing up a storm. Oliver had felt adrenalin rush through him but he'd also noticed had the kid's eyes shot towards the shadows. In the time it took the newly returned to civilization Queen to realize the whole thing was a set up, Tommy's door was already being pulled open. Oliver could only go along with everything in the hope that Tommy wouldn't get hurt.
That was how Oliver had ended up here, zip tied to a chair next to an unconscious Tommy Merlyn while one of the men with a black ski mask over his face came over to interrogate him. "Mr. Queen?" Oliver didn't so much as twitch. He knew how to play this game after the island. "Mr. Queen!" The question changed to a demand. "Did your father survive that accident?" Oliver turned his eyes past the man's shoulder, ignoring him even when he yanked out a taser. The teenager was standing in the shadows, two men flanking him like they were keeping the kid from running. The man tased Oliver. "Listen," came the snap. "I ask the questions and you answer them. That's how this works. Did he make it to the island? Did he tell you anything?"
Oliver turned his gaze away from the kid and towards the man who was already moving the taser. "Yes he did." The man startled a bit, as if surprised Oliver had given up without a fight, and then nodded.
"What did he tell you?"
"He told me I'm going to kill you."
The man tilted his head back and laughed. Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw the kid flinch at the laugh. Cold anger settled in the pit of his stomach, making him even more determined to get rid of these thugs. He'd done a lot of things he wasn't proud of while he was away from Starling City but none of them had involved terrorizing teenagers. "You're delusional," the man said. "You're zip cuffed to a chair." It was then that Oliver lifted his unbound hands, showing them to the laughing man.
"Not anymore," he said, voice ice.
It was over for the first couple men before they could even think of more than clumsily fight back. The third one was a little different. He grabbed the kid, using the boy as a shield with a knife pressed underneath the kid's chin. Oliver saw a trickle of blood drip down the kid's bared throat and had to fight not to move. He didn't want to do anything that would get the kid killed. "Put the knife down," Oliver ordered and the man holding the boy hostage laughed.
"You can't order me to do anything," the man sneered. From his position still attached to the chair, Tommy groaned and Oliver realized he was running out of time. Instead of showing anything he was really feeling, Oliver smirked.
"Oh really," he questioned, casually tucking a hand in his pocket. Pocket knives were exactly standard rich kid gifts but Robert Queen hadn't exactly been a man determined to live entirely up to stereotypes. The knife in question had been a gift for Oliver's sixteenth birthday, not that he'd carried it before the Island. Things had changed since then and Oliver had found the knife the night before, determined to have something to protect himself with, even if it only eased his paranoid mind. Now he was glad he had. The blade eased out as the man stared at Oliver in confusion. Then the Queen heir threw the knife.
The man screamed as the blade sunk into his hand, fingers twitching. The knife he'd been clutching toppled to the ground and the kid, in a surprisingly agile move, managed to squirm free. That was all the time Oliver needed to disorient the kidnapper and snap his neck. He turned to look for the kid then only to find the teen had bolted as soon as he'd gotten free. Tommy moaned again and Oliver cursed, knowing he was out of time. He grabbed the knife and cut Tommy's bonds, preparing himself to go back to playing the boy he'd been before the Island.