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"You're frowning again."
Oliver snaps his gaze from his plate to a worried Barry sitting across from him. He doesn't remember looking away in the first place.
Shaking his head, "Sorry, it's just...work stuff."
Barry tilts his head just so, in that way he does when he's not simply looking at Oliver, but into him. It's almost uncanny - almost frightening - how easy it is for him to understand what's going on in his fiancé's head.
Yet, as always, he reaches into the space between them and takes Oliver's hand. Then he murmurs, with a small smile, "Olly olly oxen free?"
Oliver gives a quiet snort. Ever since he and Barry met in the middle of SCPD's bullpen, that's always been Barry's phrase for him. It means "tell me what's bothering you - doesn't matter what it is." Like they're playing a perpetual game of hide-and-seek, and Barry's tearing the forest apart to find him.
Not that Barry would ever tear anything apart. He is light and kindness where Oliver is...well.
"Every time I put an arrow in somebody," he murmurs - because of course Barry knows, he couldn't marry him without his knowing - "I keep giving away little pieces of myself, and. I wonder, am I doing the right thing? Torturing people, killing them?"
The gentleness in Barry's face is far from what he deserves. "You avoid killing unless it's absolutely necessary, Oliver. Are soldiers evil because they kill on the battlefield?"
"Am I just some soldier, then?"
"No, you're a hero."
Oliver sighs through his nose, turning his gaze down to their joined hands. Stroking his thumb over Barry's, "At least one of us thinks so."
Barry ducks his head until their eyes meet again. "You came out of that island wanting to bring justice to your home. Most people would've been shells or worse after what you went through - you're the bravest man I know because of that. What you're doing is good work! You stop bad guys, save people's lives. So do yourself a favor: stop being full of crap."
Oliver can't help but smile. "I don't deserve you."
Barry's cheeks turn scarlet. "Shut up, you definitely do."
They don't stay in the restaurant for long.
Not a day later, two people wind up dead and a rare Elizabethan sceptre is missing.
Barry comes home from work that day pale and shivering. "Th-the bodies," he whispers, "they were...I've never seen anything like it."
In short spurts, he relates what happened: the police looked into security footage of the night before, when the sceptre was taken. Whoever the killer was moved too fast to see. Literally, it was just a blur of lightning, and then suddenly the guards were both torn in half from head to groin, their blood and organs left while their spines, rib cages included, were taken out and put on either side of the sceptre's stand, as if to guard the empty spot. And their faces - skin torn clean off, one put on the sceptre's pillow, the other poor bastard put on the floor between the spines.
Oliver holds Barry until he falls asleep. Then he texts Diggle.
Press calls them the Scarlet Speedster. They also call them evil.
In the same breath, they beg the Arrow, their hero, to help.
"I told you so," Barry says from his place on Oliver's lap.
It's on the Speedster's fourth heist that the Arrow finally catches up with him. (The less said about the aftermath of heists two and three, the better.)
He - for it is a he - actually slows down and stands before his adversary with his sack of money from Starling National's vault.
"Fancy meeting you here!" he says, and his voice sounds strange. As if he knows what Oliver's thinking, "Yeah, isn't it cool? I can vibrate my vocal chords, so I sound like this!"
For a cold-blooded murderer, his smile is sunny. However, he's wearing crimson tinted goggles, so Oliver has no idea if it reaches his eyes.
Speaking of, his costume is something a teenager could put together (he's certainly lanky enough to be that age, anyway): a solid scarlet leather jacket with a bolt of lightning emblem shining gold on white next to his lapel. Underneath is a black shirt, then dark pants that look to be the same material as the jacket, with odd-looking running shoes. His leather gloves are already stained with blood, as is his hair, so there's no telling what color or style it is outside of these...activities.
As for his skin, it's an unearthly white. He's powdered it, but why? Some sort of mask? Symbolism?
"Scarlet Speedster," begins Oliver, but he's interrupted with, "Oh, I know, awful isn't it? Believe me, I did not come up with that name."
And he can't resist. "Frankly," he says, knocking an arrow, "I don't give a damn."
The Scarlet Speedster throws back his head and cackles. It sounds like a death rattle with the added vibrations. However, he's not distracted enough to miss the arrow whistling his way; he catches it with his free and and zips out of the building.
Oliver's barely started to berate himself when suddenly the Speedster returns, sans bag, with...coffee?
"You have to get something for that," he says, putting the cup into Oliver's hands, "like, wow, that just made my week. Sorry, I don't know how you take it, so I sort of just left it black? You can add whatever in your lair. Do you even have a lair? You seem like the guy who would have a lair."
The rambling is reminiscent of Felicity, something Oliver does not want to associate with this kid - he seems so young, how could he - or his friend. "What do you want?"
"Me? Oh, I'm a man of simple tastes," the Speedster grins.
"You've stolen - "
"Ah, but I plan to give it all back, see?"
Oliver blinks. "Why?"
Abruptly, the villain is inches away from his face. Oliver still can't see his eyes.
"I like you, so I'll let you in on a little secret about us villains," he whispers, a bloody finger running down Oliver's cheek. "Sure, we lie and steal and kill and what have you. But we also do whatever we want, and that? That's something no policeman or hero - " his mouth quirks, "can predict."
"I'm not a hero," Oliver argues.
The Scarlet Speedster's grin is filled with childish glee. "Then why are you trying to stop me?"
He's gone before Oliver can think of a response.
Felicity, Diggle, and a few minutes later, Barry, are gathered in the foundry upon his return. Barry wipes the blood from his face, apologizing that he couldn't come sooner, it was just that the robbery had Lance summoning him and then he couldn't get away -
Oliver kisses his fingers, the closest part of Barry he can reach. "Hey," he says, "it's fine."
Felicity points to his hand. "Is that coffee?"
Oh. "Yes."
Diggle's eyebrows raise. "Never thought you'd be the one to get a hot one after talking to a killer."
"It's not that," Oliver quickly protests, "he - he gave it to me."
Barry blinks. "Should I be jealous?"
"That's what he was rambling about after you delivered that awful line?" Felicity asks incredulously.
"What awful line?"
Diggle shakes his head, telling Barry what Oliver said. Barry buries his face in his hands, torn between groaning and laughing helplessly at his fiancé.
"I don't know whether I should be proud you know a book reference, or if I should be mad that you flirted with a criminal."
"I did not flirt with him," Oliver retorts, taking both of Barry's hands in his, "I already have someone to do that with."
Felicity and Diggle share fond looks before they turn the conversation back to actually catching someone who can probably break the sound barrier with his speed.
Fortunately, Oliver is great at multi-tasking. "Simple. We set a trap."
"How?" asks Barry.
"I'm glad you asked."
The plan fails.
Although the Scarlet Speedster does get two arrows in his back, all he does is laugh through the pain and say, "Should've known you like it rough. Don't worry, baby; I heal fast as I run."
And he makes away with a priceless diamond necklace.
Felicity and Diggle end up calling Barry to the foundry so he can convince Oliver to stop training and come home.
"You're the hero, he's the villain," he says, "so what if your trap didn't work? You're going to catch him; it's how this always plays out, you'll see."
Oliver wishes he shared his optimism.
"Oh, and when you do get him, could you let me punch him in the face?" at Oliver's surprised look, Barry merely grins and says, "Felicity told me what he said. No one gets to give you pet names but me."
That, at least, draws a laugh from him.
What's that phrase? Third time's the charm?
After the second trap's failure - not even being riddled with arrows stopped him; he just made a Boromir comment, tore a few out, and ran off - Oliver decides, fuck it, and sets up a classic net trap. He doesn't tell Barry, because he wants it to be a surprise if this actually works, and they can laugh about it when he sees it.
Now, Oliver stares triumphantly up at his enemy, arms crossed and definitely not gloating. Okay, maybe a little.
"You're a hard man to catch," he calls.
"A net and a pun," is the flat reply, "classy."
"While we're waiting for the SCPD to take you to Iron Heights, you will answer my questions."
"Well, you did manage to trap me," the Speedster says, with a smile that almost looks proud, "and I can't resist when you talk to me like that."
"I'm flattered," Oliver replies sarcastically, "but I'm taken."
The Speedster laughs, "Bet I can change your mind."
The Arrow's eyes narrow behind his mask. Even with the vibrating vocal chords, he can tell regret when he hears it. Why regret?
Something to figure out later. For now, "How did you get your speed?"
In response, the Speedster wags his finger. "Ah-ah-ah!" he sings, "That's one question I simply can't answer."
Fine. Iron Heights'll be doing tests anyway. "You said you planned to give back all you stole."
"Material things, anyway. Human lives is a little harder to return, don't you think?"
Oliver suppresses a wince. "Where is it, then?"
"I promise on my speed that I'll tell the police exactly where the goods are. Next question."
This is getting irritating. "Why do all this, then? You could've used your speed for the good of others. There are better ways to get a thrill."
The Speedster leans back in the net. "Y'know, for a guy who says he's not a hero, you're behaving an awful lot like one. Trying to make me question my own morals, regret my decisions in life."
Before this can continue, there's the sound of sirens outside. The Arrow flees the scene, swinging up onto a nearby rooftop to make sure the kid's put away.
They drag him outside, two cops putting iron grips on his arms. The Scarlet Speedster complies, his hands cuffed in front of him - right up until he looks straight at Oliver and smiles.
Suddenly Oliver is face to face with him once again, and the cops are crying out in surprise below.
"Don't make me -"
He's yanked into a bruising kiss before he can finish. It's desperate, crushing, and invasive, as if the Scarlet Speedster wants to absorb every inch of Oliver's mouth and memorize it for a rainy day.
He's been kissed exactly like this before, knows those lips as surely as his own. But it can't be. It couldn't be -
The Speedster leaves a lingering kiss on his jaw before putting his mouth against his ear and whispering, without vibrating his voice, "It's like I said, Oliver: you're a hero. Don't ever doubt that." Oliver chokes. "I know, babe. And I'm sorry, but I just - I had to show you who you are. The goodness in you, the light, the-the humanity. I love you."
Then he's back on the ground, and Oliver can only watch, frozen in place, as screams erupt from the officers.
By the time the lightning's disappeared around a corner, there's nothing but a pile of severed limbs next to a police cruiser. On the white of the car, written in blood, is a message:
OLLY OLLY OXEN FREE.