Some mornings it paid to get to work early.
Early being relative, since so much of fighting crime happened at night. Criminals and the cover of darkness and all that.
She’d been running various data spreads to try and pinpoint some kind of activity initiated by Faust. So far, he’d been a complete ghost. Someone hiding this long from her was unacceptable, and thus she had been coming into the Bunker early to adjust the parameters and to keep everything going smoothly.
In doing so, she’d discovered that Oliver was also using the early morning time.
To work out.
When he was really frustrated, he worked out harder than normal, driving himself to the edge of his ability, working his body until every muscle had been hit. Flexing and stretching until he glistened with sweat.
She sipped her coffee and watched.
He was on the salmon ladder.
She loved the salmon ladder.
Didn’t care too much for actual salmon. It was fine and all—why did everyone want to put lemon on fish?— but their ladders were a sight to behold.
Oliver pulled himself up, cable-like muscles flexing, twisting under his skin. He swung and jerked, using sheer strength to power his way up to the next set of hooks. Once there he did a series of pull-ups on the bar.
It took a lot of core strength.
Core strength she could see with the bunching of his abs, the tautness of his hip flexors standing out like cables. Cables down which she had run her fingers not that long ago.
She took another sip of coffee.
At the top, he did a pull-up that turned into a full press, lifting himself halfway over the bar itself. He hung there, in space, a carving of all things masculine. The light fell on him from above, catching the highlight of each muscle and casting a deep ridge of shadow underneath them.
It took her a long moment to swallow her coffee.
She could tell when he spotted her because he dropped down, landing lightly like a cat and moving toward her. Still buzzing on the adrenaline generated by his exercise, his movements had a pantherish grace, all liquid power and languid motion.
She forgot about her coffee.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone would be in this early.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m not complaining,” she replied casually. Really not complaining.
He leaned close to her and picked up a towel that had been draped over the rail beside where she stood. He was so close she could feel the warmth pouring off his body, the heat of movement. It made her head go a little wonky for a moment.
He pulled back and began drying off, and she pulled herself back together. She watched him, paying attention. She loved his body, but it was Oliver’s face that captured her every time. It was a strong face, one made for scowling—which intensified his eyes, but generally it held more than a trace she thought of as lost little boy.
This morning though, his features appeared haggard. The circles under his eyes were too dark, his stubble too solid, and his mouth was a hard line.
“You look like hell,” she said.
He frowned. “Um… thanks?”
“I mean, you look fit,” she said, and she bit her lip, stared at his abs, and muttered, “like really, really fit.” She kept staring until he reached for another towel. The movement broke her concentration, making her look back up at his face. “You haven’t been sleeping.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know what you look like when you get a good night’s sleep.”
It took him a long moment to respond. “Yes, I suppose you do.” The intensity of his look and the intimacy of his voice made the back of her neck warm.
“Um, why aren’t you sleeping?”
“It’s William.”
“Was it bad the other night?”
“He’s…” Oliver sighed and moved to lean on the console, near enough to touch her if he wanted. “He’s been through a lot.”
“I know how that feels.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she wanted them back. “I mean, I can imagine how it feels, I don’t know how it feels. I mean my mom is still alive. In fact, she’s due to visit again soon, that won’t be awkward or anything—” She stopped talking, and she could feel the mask of horror on her face. “Oh, god, I just made the death of your son’s mother about me—I’m a horrible person. I suck. I am the worst.”
“Felicity, it’s okay. I understand.”
Change the subject, she thought. “Is he getting better?”
“Some. He still has trouble sleeping. And he’s angry.”
Felicity made a face.
“What?” Oliver said.
“Well, he is your son.”
“I was a lot like him at his age.” His eyes drifted up and over her shoulder. “My parents didn’t know what to do with me.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I almost got shipped away to military school.”
“Oh, that would have gone over well. You do so well with authority.”
“I don’t have a problem with authority.”
“As long as you’re the authority,” she finished with a smile. “What kept you from being sent away?”
“Raisa,” he said firmly, definitively. “She was my nanny as a child, and my only true friend. My growing up wasn’t exactly child-friendly.”
“But Raisa made it better?”
“She saved me.”
“And William is just like you were?”
“It’s… frightening how much we’re the same.”
Felicity sighed and shrugged. “Sounds like you know what to do.”
He considered it. “I wonder if Raisa would be willing to come help.”
“If she’s family, she will help your son.” Felicity reached out and put her hand on his arm. “You should put your energy into helping William, and once he’s better we can talk about that thing that we don’t talk about because we need to talk about it.” Her eyebrows pulled together tightly. “You do know what thing I’m talking about that we aren’t talking about, right?”
“I do,” he reassured her.
“Good!” She smiled. “Because I wasn’t sure with all the talking, not talking about the thing.” She pulled herself back on track. “But I’m here, not going anywhere, perfectly patient to talk about the not-talked-about-thing when William is better.”
“Felicity Smoak—” Oliver leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “—you are too good to me.”
He turned away.
“I am, you know,” Felicity said quietly, her voice light and dreamy as she watched Oliver walk away.
He still hadn’t put a shirt on.
* * *
Dinah pulled the door closed softly, not wanting to disturb Chavis’s rest. Officer Kannan was back in his chair.
“Did you get anything good out of him?”
She had a flash of annoyance that he hadn’t stood when she left the room. It was a disrespect of her rank and, she suspected, a disrespect of her gender. She put a note of his name in a mental file. There would come a time she would show him the error of his ways.
“I’ll have it in my report,” she said. “Oh, that’s right, you won’t have the right to read it.” She stepped around him, and began walking away. Over her shoulder she added, “If I catch you slacking off on this detail, you’ll be doing foot patrol in the Glades.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered.
She turned the corner and moved past the nurses’ station, dodging around bustling nurses and orderlies and gracefully making her way through the crowded hallway. She went through the doors that led to the elevators and saw a familiar sight.
“John?”
Diggle turned around, and he didn’t look happy to see her.
“Oh yeah, Dinah,” he said. “You were here to question that guy about the beating.”
“I am,” she said. “But why are you here?”
The elevator opened and they stepped inside.
“Just a basic check-up,” he said. They both moved to the back of the elevator car, standing side by side but far enough apart that they wouldn’t be in each other’s way if anything were to happen. Other people joined them, showing no such awareness.
She leaned toward him, speaking from the side of her mouth.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?”
The elevator chimed, the doors opened to a new floor, and people filed out two by two. John waited until they were alone in the elevator before responding.
“Everything is just fine,” he said firmly. They both stepped off the elevator into the lobby and, after saying a quick goodbye, began moving in opposite directions.