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“Where is my son?” A very irritated and overly pissed off Moira Queen demanded, her usual calm demeanour rustled and messy. “It’s been two days. Where. Is. My. Son?”
Barry stood, near frozen, his eyes wide. “Mrs Queen--” He began, unsure as to how exactly he could finish that. What could he say to a very distressed and clearly worried mother? ‘Sorry. We can’t find your son. But don’t worry! We also have no evidence towards anything!’ “I'm-- We're-- We, Starling Police Department, are trying our best.”
The look Moira gave could only be described as murderous, a sharp inhale from the nose and square of the jaw paired nicely with a flame of a glare. “You’re best isn’t good enough.” She spat, turning on her heel, stomping away, her heels clicking down the hall until there was a slam of the precinct door.
Barry sighed, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "Great..." He muttered under his breath, slumping down on his lab chair, small sheets of paper floating down to the floor. He glanced to them, shrugging once seeing that was merely calculations and theories. Nothing valid. It had been two days since Moira strolled in, demanding for her son, and five since Oliver Queen had gone missing. The department had been in a flurry, Lance putting Barry straight onto the case, Laurel already filing the papers to take whoever did this to court. Although, by the looks of things, she'd had to extend her court notice by at least another month. All the evidence they'd gathered, or Barry gathered, was nothing. A green cloth, paint, a footprint that was clearly Oliver's boot, scraped along the front of Oliver's house. If they could get into Oliver's apartment, Barry was almost 100% certain this investigation would be faster.
Oliver blearily blinked awake, groaning as his wrist shifted to stretch as his brain had forgotten for a brief moment they were chained. He looked around for any signs of disruption, disappointed that nothing had changed. The table with a piece of paper on(for movement. If there would to be any movement the paper would rustle or go off the table.), still had it on, the light was still flickering and the drip of water hadn't begun. Oliver was really beginning to lose the will.
"Where is he, Allen?"
Barry outright groaned at the sound of Lance at the door, running a hand down his face. "I don't know, sir. Since you won't let me into the house, there's not much to work off."
Lance scoffed a laugh. "You should've gathered enough evidence. It's hardly our fault that you can't work with what your given. You're supposed to be out best."
There was a fluster of the paper, snapping Oliver out of the daze that he'd thrown himself into. Who knew how long he'd be in there, or if Malcolm would have shown up at all?
"Dainty place you have." A micking voice teased from the shadows, and Oliver knew.
"It would've been nicer if I'd have known how long you'd take to find me." Oliver was laughing with his words, condescending and teasing.
There was silence, two footsteps, then silence again.
"Four days." Oliver continued, surprised at the lack of taunt back. "I think that's a record, right, Merlyn?"
"For you, perhaps."
Oliver scoffed. "I even left tracks for you. Obvious ones. Tsk. You're truly lacking."
Merlyn laughed. "I'm not the one in chains."
"Coffee. The curer of all." Iris chimed, sliding Barry's drink to him before sitting down in front of him, clasping her own mug.
Barry smiled gratefully, looking at his coffee, avoiding Iris' questioning gaze. "Thank you." He muttered, taking a sip of the coffee. Orange spice. Oh no. That meant discussion.
"You don't usually ask for coffee dates anymore." Iris said at Barry's frown. "So I figured something was wrong."
Barry laughed under his breath. "Yeah, nothing I can discuss."
Iris raised her brow with an amused smile. "Since when, Barry?!" Laughter laced her voice. "You talk about everything to anything that moves and is willing to listen."
Barry shook his head fondly. "You're lucky I love you so you get away with that comment." He took another sip, groaning a little as he put it down. Okay, maybe Iris was right. But he was going to get in a fuck truck of trouble for this. "It's just-- Ugh. I'm working on the missing Oliver Queen case. And-- And it's really hard, Iris. Like, harder than anything I've ever worked on. There's nothing obvious, we have paint, a foot smear. That's it. Lance won't let me into the apartment because Moira-- Mrs Queen complains."
Iris gasped. "Wait. Missing Oliver Queen? The one that's been on the news? Barry!"
Barry grimaced. "You sound way too excited for someone who should be empathizing with their best friend."
Iris giggled. "Right. Right, sorry. It's just I was assigned that too. Anyway. Ugh. What do you usually do in your science adventures?"
Barry deadpanned. "Everything I have, Iris."
Iris blushed a little. "Right. I should've-- Have you tried sneaking into his apartment?"
Barry choked a little. "I'm not breaking into a billionaire's apartment. What if I break something?!"
Iris shoved him lightly. "Don't be silly. I've done it tons as a reporter. If you wanna do your job, do it right."
Barry tsked. "Breaking in somewhere isn't right."
Iris raised a brow. "You need the evidence thooooough." She singsonged. Barry hated that she was right.
Barry sighed as he clicked the door of Oliver's apartment open. Oliver fucking Queen's. The billionaire. Oh God. If Iris was wrong he'd have to sell his organs to get the ability to pay the bill that Moira would sue him with. He winced at the crunch of glass under his feet, flicking on the light. He frowned at the lack of damage, only a broken vase on the floor. Everywhere else was fine, the table was unbroken, the tv was off, no signs of struggle. "Odd." He commented to himself, stepping over the glass and looking to the table. Maybe Oliver was... He tilted his head at the card for the club "Verdant". Barry frowned. Wasn't that the gay club? No. Wait. No It wasn't. Okay. He read it, realization dawning on him. He wasn't taken from the apartment. He was taken from the club.
Barry shoved the double doors of the club open, a little 'yes' escaping his lips. It was probably bad he felt smug for figuring it out, and being right, but hey, it was a little sweat off his back. He looked around, bottles smashed, stools over, the DJ booth broken. Yep. This was the place. Now... Where would Barry take a billionaire and hide them... Okay. Uh, where would a criminal take a hot billionaire and hide them? His thoughts were cut off by a groan, loud and low from underneath him. Oh no. Oh god, he's fucked. He should've called back up. Oh man, why did he listen to Ir-- Another groan, the word .Malcolm. clearly within it. What the fuck?
"Malcolm is that you?"
The voice was hoarse, broken. Beaten. Mildly like Oliver Queen's voice that Barry had heard once on the video where Oliver's so drunk he started a rebellion at his Mother's speech.
"No! It's Barry Allen, from SCPD? Mr Queen are you okay?"
There was dead silence, and Barry looked around for doors, for anything that could access him to the basement.
"You need to go!" Was called back.
"I wouldn't be doing my job well if I did." Barry shot back, sighinf and rushing over to the door he found on the side. It wooshed open and Barry was greeted with steps and a dark room.
"No, Barry Allen, you really need to go."
Barry laughed, trotting down the stairs. "I can't. Look, whatever your kidnapper said isn't true. I'll take you back to the station and--"
"Did my mom send you? Mrs Queen?" Oliver avoided looking to Barry, who was using his phone as a torch and was messing at the chains around Oliver's wrist.
"Yeah. She's really worried."
Oliver scoffed a patronizing laugh. "Please. My mother doesn't do worry. She does display."
There was a clang of chains on the floor and Barry smiled, smug. "Sweet. I didn't think that would work."
Oliver growled. "You really need to go-- Ma-- He's--"
Barry ignored him. "Stand up. Can you stand up? God, I'm really regretting not bringing back up. I'm nervous, can you tell I don't do this? I sit in my lab doing nothing all day. Well. Not nothing. Don't tell your mom I said--" His arm was grabbed as Oliver ran with him. Barry ran behind, groaning as he did so. "Great. Running. Can't you at least seem like you've been gone for 5 days? Have you even been gone?"
Oliver groaned. "Shut up, Barry. I'm going to the station with you, aren't I?"
Barry made a face. "What the hell? I've known you-- Christ. I'm only trying to help."
Oliver shook his head. "I didn't ask for you to."
Barry squared his jaw. "Stop running." He stopped himself. "We don't have to run. It's a five minute walk."
Oliver looked over his shoulder to Barry and all Barry could think was fuck. "Unless you want to be invited to dinner with my mother and sister and myself, I'd be running too."