The minuscule gape laid between Oliver's arm and my right thigh was more calculated than the casual position appeared to be. The left side of his body leaned against the side of the couch with his arm rested on top of the cushion beneath my body. We were engaged with the conversation at hand while simultaneously aware of the mere inch between our limbs, careful not to touch the other.
Oliver's keen observation of his own arm brought a sense of relief and appreciation through my body. He remembered how I didn't like to be touched and made sure he never did— as if his arm was glued to the spot on the couch.
The ice cream he brought over was dispersed into our bowls while Oliver kept the carton for himself and grabbed a silver spoon to eat it with. He settled on the floor near my end of the couch after Laurel and I returned to our respectable seats. The glass bowl numbed the pads of my fingers on both hands from the cool temperature of the ice cream, despite the remaining amount already melted at the bottom.
My stomach felt full after eating two bowls of the sweet delicacies. Ice cream and coffee were big weaknesses of mine. I could never bring myself to say no to them. Even back in high school when I would drink two cups of coffee at eleven at night and immediately regret it when I was still awake when my alarm went off for school.
A sense of calmness and nostalgia grew strong behind my sternum the longer time ticked by. Things had changed a lot since the last time the three of us were properly altogether as friends. This moment felt nice, even if none of us quite knew what to say.
The ice cream carton shifted in Oliver's hands before he carefully set it down on the table beside him. He dropped the spoon inside.
"This is as good as I can remember," he spoke, softly.
"You can never go wrong with ice cream," I added from beside him.
The end of my spoon dragged through the melted ice cream puddle at the bottom of my bowl. The silence that followed my statement caused me to lift my gaze and took notice of the slight furrow of Oliver's eyebrows at the base of his forehead.
"What is it, Olly?" I asked, inquisitively.
His brows furrowed even more at my question. His focus on the table diverted onto me beside him with a mystified expression on his face. After years of friendship, the ability to read Oliver's facial expressions and body language became a second language to me. The years he was gone didn't change anything, except for how he subconsciously tried to mask his emotions after being on his own for so long. We related to each other in that sense.
"There's something on your mind, isn't there?" I pressed, curious to know the reason behind his scrunched face. "That's why you came by, right? To talk?"
His head swiveled on his neck as he brought his face to peer straight ahead at the wall. Part of me still felt guilty for not being home when he went to look for me first, but I knew I could still listen to what he needed to say here.
"My mother wants me to join the company," Oliver announced after a few seconds. "Yeah, take my rightful place."
"But you just got back," I pointed out, baffled as to why Moira thought it was a good idea. "You haven't even fully adapted to being home again or a chance to relax. That's not fair to you at all."
He lightly shrugged his shoulders. Laurel pursed her lips at the conversation. She absentmindedly fiddled with the spoon between her fingers.
"I can't exactly picture you as the master of the universe," she stated and tapped the bottom of the bowl with her spoon.
"Do you even want to take over the company?" I inquired.
There was no doubt in my mind that Moira was being utterly selfish in her decisions to pressure her son into taking over Queen Consolidated. He barely had been home for a week after five years of being stuck on an abandoned island and his mother thought this was a smart idea. She wanted to believe everything was back to normal without taking into account how those five years affected Oliver.
Oliver looked back at the wall in silence, lost in thought.
"You know, after five years, I have plans," he paused to glimpse back at us on the couch. "I have things I have to do. I can't do that if I'm—" he sighed. "— attending board meetings and stockholder briefings."
My heart ached for him. None of this was fair. The mere thought of returning to my old life after I came home after my kidnapping sent me into an overwhelming state of panic until I eventually learned how to adapt over time.
The awful sound of a spoon being dragged against a glass bowl forced my nose to scrunch as Laurel lifted another spoonful of ice cream to her mouth. She pressed her lips together when she saw my look of distaste and realized what she did.
"Oliver?" She turned her attention back to Oliver. "You're an adult. You can say no."
I quietly snorted in amusement.
"As if Moira would take a simple no," I muttered under my breath.
Oliver bobbed his head and languidly gestured over his shoulder with his thumb in agreement. He slid his arm across the couch a few inches as he repositioned himself on the floor until swiftly pulled it closer to the edge, far away from my body as if he suddenly remembered I didn't like to be touched.
"Oh, I tried and Hensley's right. Didn't take," he replied.
"Well, then don't tell her. Show her," Laurel suggested with a casual half shrug.
Oliver looked back at her from his spot on the floor.
"Be the person that you want her to see you as," she continued. "Trust me, I have plenty of experience with disapproving parents."
Laurel freed her hands of the empty bowl by setting the dish on top of the table until she leaned back on the couch and saw my hand extended out toward her with my own bowl. She playfully rolled her eyes and grabbed the bowl from my hand.
"I have been on the receiving end of your father's disapproval," Oliver pointed out.
He watched the small exchanged between us before he grabbed the bowl from Laurel's hand and placed it on the table with the other one to save her a step. The coldness of my hands sent a shiver down my spine and I desperately pressed my palms against the inside of my jeans, hoping the warmth of my body would bring them back to room temperature.
Laurel tilted her head to the side with a small, sad smile. My heart swelled for my friend at the casual mention of why Detective Lance held strong distaste toward Oliver. On one hand, I understood part of the resentment, considering Oliver was still alive and his daughter died in the boating accident.
"He blames himself more than he blames you," Laurel admitted after a few seconds passed. "He thinks that, you know—"
She briefly glimpsed in my direction as if she were worried how heavy the conversation would get and may need support. The topic of her sister was often brushed over to avoid the heartbreaking emotions from taking control of Laurel.
My eyes dropped to the red, ribbed material of the couch. Sara was the epitome of a cool and older sister. We never talked much when she was still alive. Perhaps, every once in a while, a few words were exchanged between us, but that was it. The truth was I felt intimidated by Laurel's sister.
"— maybe if he and Sara were closer, she would have told him about the boat trip and he could have stopped her from going with you," Laurel finished.
A moment of silence trailed behind her words. All of us knew nothing would have changed if Detective Lance was closer to his eldest daughter. Sara and Oliver kept their side relationship a secret for a reason. Neither of them wanted Laurel to ever find out, knowing it would be the ultimate betrayal to the sweet girl.
"I am sorry," Oliver earnestly apologized.
"You apologized already," Laurel stated in a soft voice.
He lightly shook his head with a remorseful look in his light blue eyes. There was a strong look of resentment and disappointment expressed on his facial features for his own actions that led to Sara's unfortunate demise.
No one could have predicted the tragic accident that would occur that day, along with everyone dying except for Oliver. It wasn't surprising how he believed he was at fault.
Survivor's guilt.
"And it'll never be enough," he added.
The two shared eye contact while I kept my gaze on the couch beneath my legs, running my fingers over the raised material. Part of me couldn't help but wonder if Chase returned to his post outside the front door.
My fingers hesitantly hovered over the couch before I gently rested the palm of my hand over Oliver's shoulder in a form of comfort. His head dipped down at the gentle touch. A look of surprise flashed on his face.
The muffled sound of metal clanging from another part of the apartment caused my hand to instinctively clench around his shoulder. My head snapped up at the mysterious noise, nervously swallowing. There wasn't a plausible reason for that noise to occur on its own inside of the apartment.
"Did you hear that?" Oliver whispered.
I hesitantly removed my hand from his shoulder and peered over the back of the couch at the rest of the apartment, worried. My stomach flopped when I remembered what happened the last time I found myself in a friend's house and discovered someone else was inside.
My father spent years training me to become as skilled as he was, yet nothing— not even my side project— helped release the internal fear I felt of potentially being kidnapped again.
Laurel's eyes darted from side to side, confused.
"What?" She asked, oblivious to her surroundings.
My breath caught in the base of my throat when I heard a second sound of metal creaking. The metal noise was too familiar in my mind this time. A distinct memory from earlier this year resurfaced in my mind when I crept along an old fire escape during my escape from John Ratcliffe's security after I murdered him in his home.
Two different types of thoughts floated around in my head in the span of two seconds; knowing I had to be the one to protect my friends, and simultaneously wanted to freeze up as the moment of fear triggered unwanted memories.
I placed a finger to my lips and locked eyes with Laurel. My heart pumped blood faster through my veins as my heartbeat loudly echoed in my ears as anxiety overwhelmed my body. We needed to move quickly without giving away our location to the intruder on the fire escape.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I repositioned myself on the couch while I watched Oliver quietly grabbed a kitchen knife from the table. He rose to his feet. Laurel confusedly glimpsed between the two of us, growing concerned with every ticking second.
"There's someone on the fire escape," he whispered in warning.
My first, natural instinct was to yell out for Chase, despite knowing I was fully capable of fighting against the attacker after years of training from my father. I feared the consequences of alerting the intruder and kept my mouth shut instead.
There was a fine line of how much I could fight back without blowing my cover as Code Black.
Laurel's eyes widened as she watched Oliver creep around the table with a cautious look in his eyes. She desperately looked toward me, unable to process the information, almost as if she expected us to announce it was a joke. I shook my head at her and climbed to my feet in front of the couch, hands clenched into fists by my sides.
"Wh- What?" Laurel stumbled over her words.
"Hey, come on!"
Oliver's hand darted down and wrapped around her wrist to yank Laurel to her feet. I helped urge her to follow behind him as my eyes scanned the living room for something I could use as a weapon.
"Come on!" Oliver shouted again.
He quickly glimpsed over Laurel's head as she struggled to catch her balance after we roughly yanked her up from the couch. His eyes widened when I easily bypassed them and raced around the corner for the front door. The soles of my boots slipped against the hardwood floor and caused my body to fling forward until I grabbed ahold of a nearby chair in the room to stabilize myself.
I sucked in a deep breath as I straightened back up after forced to an abrupt stop, eyes locked on the white door, roughly six feet away. I mentally prayed Chase was on the other side with an empty bowl of ice cream in hand.
"Cha—"
The desperate scream for my body fell short when a loud thud sounded from the hallway, followed by the door shattering into several pieces. A man aggressively slammed his entire weight against the wood and stumbled into the apartment, uneasily. He staggered on his feet with a machine gun clutched in his hands.
My heart plummeted to my stomach when I realized Chase was nowhere to be found. An Asian woman with platinum blonde hair raced down the hallway not far behind the man.
This wasn't just an intruder. This was an assassination.
"Oh, fuck..." I breathed in shock.
"Hensley!" Oliver shouted behind me.
His hand latched around the hook of my elbow and forced me to spin away from the man and woman. I allowed him to pull me behind him a few steps before I shook his hand off and shoved Laurel into a run. They broke into the apartment for her and I'd be damned if I let them complete their mission.
"Oh, my God..." Laurel gasped.
"Go, go!" I yelled at the back of their heads.
The rapid hammering of my heart doubled my anxiety levels. My mind played cruel tricks on me by mentally triggering the same emotions from the night I was kidnapped. Not even the years of training could complete remove the emotions tied to that night. That kind of fear stayed with you.
My hands flew up to cover my head when gunfire rained down around our racing forms from the man behind us. Oliver tugged Laurel back through the living room and around the corner into the dining room. He ducked down from the bullets and led the way toward her bedroom, momentarily safe from the gunfire in the front of the apartment.
He reached back for my hand to keep me close to his side until a second man crashed through the bedroom window. The man fell to the floor with pieces of glass landed on his body and ground surrounding him.
Oliver switched his hold on Laurel and urged her away from the bedroom with his other hand reached out for me. My hand stretched out to grab his hand until my eyes fixated on the machine gun pointed at the back of Laurel's head.
"No!" I shouted.
Our fingers barely brushed against each other. My body speedily lunged through the door frame of the bedroom and closed the distance. The butt of my right hand slammed into the underside of the machine gun. His grip slipped on the weapon as the barrel flew up toward the ceiling.
A grunt of pain flew from the man's mouth when my left hand swung through the air and collided into his cheek. He staggered back from the blow and nearly dropped the gun. A look of pure rage flashed through his dark eyes.
The distance between us was too small for him to fire a shot. I predicted his next move before he wrapped his left hand around the barrel of the gun. I ducked backward as he swung the butt of the gun at my face. An explosion of pain erupted in my right shoulder when the gun clipped the side of it instead.
I stumbled back a few inches to regain a better position. The pain stung in my shoulder, but my energy was too focused on the fight at hand. A new wave of fury raced through my body as I swung my leg back and kicked the man directly in the chest.
A loud thud echoed in the room as he lost his balance and crashed into the wall before he dropped to the floor. His head bounced against the hardwood floor. The gun clattered to the floor and slid underneath the bed.
An astonished look shined on Oliver's face as he watched me spin around underneath the door frame and realized he witnessed the entire fight. I ran out of the room to rejoin their side in the dining room. Laurel's eyes were wide with panic as she looked around her apartment, completely oblivious to the fight that happened in her bedroom.
"Oliver!" I yelped out in warning.
The blonde woman reappeared in the living room behind him, dressed in all-black attire. She raised her fists in the air in front of her body with two sharp daggers clenched in them. The sound of a gun reloading came from foyer caught our attention.
The first man that barged through the door stood underneath the entrance of the foyer with his gun held in one hand, pointed directly at us. My head snapped back and forth between the two, mentally weighed my options of who to fight first without the consequences resulting in my friends being injured.
Another gun fired twice from behind the man. I flinched at the sudden noise and watched the man's body fall against the wall before he collapsed to the floor, bleeding from the bullet wounds in his back. A small sigh of relief flitted from my lips when I caught sight of Diggle with his gun drawn.
He raced further into the apartment with his gun aimed at he ground before he smoothly raised it back up and fired two shots at the man attempting to creep out of the bedroom. The man dropped to the floor.
Oliver stepped in front of me while he kept a tight hold on Laurel's hand beside him. My hand instinctively reached out to grab his bicep.
The woman's head whipped from the three of us to where Diggle stood in the hallway. She dashed to her right and ran toward him, daggers at the ready. The grip on Oliver's bicep tightened as I anxiously watched the woman disarm Diggle with ease.
Diggle impressively avoided the woman's dagger every time she swiped at him. He knocked one of the daggers from her hand after he ducked down to avoid being cut. The sound of three gunshots fired from outside of Laurel's apartment from the hallway echoed throughout the building.
Who the hell was that? I wondered. Chase?
The woman gained the upper advantage by continuously throwing jabs against Diggle without giving him a chance to defend himself. Oliver shifted on his feet in front of me as if he mentally debated intervening.
My eyes flickered from the back of his head to the fight across the apartment with the same thoughts laid heavy on my mind. Diggle was holding his own against the woman. The gun clattered to the floor near the hallway.
The distance could easily be cleared in less than five steps if I broke into a run. The woman would be too distracted by Diggle to gain enough time to counteract my attack once I dropped to my knees and snatched the gun from the floor, firing one shot in her head and chest.
Suspicions would arise about my abilities and place a large target on my back, considering how everyone in Starling City— aside from my dad and Chase— saw me as a fragile, broken girl. The last thing I needed was to have my secret life as Code Black revealed to the city.
Diggle stumbled over his feet from dodging multiple jabs and tumbled to the floor. Oliver's name quietly fell from my lips in a soft gasp when he sprinted away from us. My hand grasped at the open air when it dropped from his arm. A mixture of relief and worry churned in my stomach as he risked his life to play hero, which meant I wouldn't need to potentially interfere.
Laurel latched her shaky hands around my left arm and pulled herself close to my side, petrified. She wildly glanced around her apartment, hair flew in front of her face, struck with panic and terror at the assassins invading her home, no doubt tied with her case against Martin Somers.
The grip on my arm tightened when Oliver dashed through the connected doorway to the living room. The woman struggled against Diggle's strength as she pinned him to the floor with his arm locked in her hold. The Chinese ring dagger spun around her fingers above his chest to gain a better hold on the handle.
Oliver expertly threw the kitchen knife across the apartment into the entryway with shocking accuracy. The knife sliced through the air until the end collided against the woman's hand and knocked the dagger out of her fingers. The woman released her hold on Diggle as she scrambled to her feet. She sprinted out of the apartment through the broken, front door.
Laurel loosened her grip on my arm and darted across the room for Oliver. She threw herself into his arms for comfort and safety. His arms wrapped around her in a protective manner. His gaze flickered back to where I stood motionless in the door frame of the dining room, aware of him in my peripheral vision.
The adrenaline caused by the hostile situation gradually trickled out of my system as I realized I finally survived a home invasion in a friend's place. My chest swelled with an overwhelming amount of mixed emotions triggered from my PTSD from the darkest night of my life.
The gun returned to Diggle's hand. He quickly glanced back at the door to make sure the woman wasn't an issue anymore. His gaze lingered on the hallway out of our sight before he turned back to Oliver.
"Are you hurt?" Diggle yelled from across the apartment.
"No," Oliver answered, immediately.
He protectively held Laurel in his arms while continuously glimpsed in my direction as if he sensed I was seconds away from a panic attack. My vision began to blur with every deep inhale through my mouth. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest with the thunderous beat in my ears.
"Are you hurt, Mr. Queen?" Diggle screamed again with his hand outstretched toward him.
"No," Oliver reassured, gently cradled the back of Laurel's head with one hand. "No."
"This is why it's a good idea to have a bodyguard!" Diggle shouted.
Both of his hands gripped the gun as he kept it aimed at the floor. Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Diggle turned back to the front door.
"You stay with them. I'll check out the rest of the apartment," he ordered before he turned for the bedroom, gun at the ready.
Chase hurried inside of the apartment with his pistol withdrawn from the holster in the back of his pants. The barrel of the gun pointed to the floor like Diggle had his gun. The collar of Chase's suit stood up on one side and the black tie he always wore was nowhere to be seen. A sheen layer of blood coated the top of his knuckles on his right hand.
His green eyes intently scanned the apartment until they landed on me in the hallway outside of the dining and living room. The strength in my legs vanished when we locked eyes. My knees buckled.
Oliver gently pushed Laurel out of his arms when he saw my legs give out from beneath me. He took two large strides in my direction with his arms outstretched to catch my falling figure before I collapsed on the ground next to the man Diggle shot first.
The few seconds it took for my legs to collapse and my body to drop through the air felt like slow motion. The two boys burst into a run from opposite ends of the apartment. A loud thud sounded when my knees painfully slammed into the hardwood floor. Chase narrowly cut off Oliver and encircled his arms around my body.
My shoulders rocked forward in his embrace as the first sob broke past my lips, no longer needed to be strong enough to keep us alive from the intruders. The triggered emotions were too powerful to keep locked and hidden in my head.
Oliver came to an abrupt stop a foot away from my sunken position on the floor, wrapped safely in Chase's arms. A defeated expression laid on his face.
"I got you. You're okay now," Chase whispered in my ear. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I should have been here."
The comfort of his arms brought a sense of security from the tight hold and trust we built over the years. My hands desperately clawed at his button up shirt, reveling in the feeling of being safe again.
A situation to this extreme hadn't occurred since the night of my kidnaping. The first six months of my return in Starling City included a handful of low-life individuals that found humor in breaking into the first apartment Tommy and I shared. They always explained to the cops how it was just a prank and I was the foolish one for taking the break in so seriously.
Dad heavily encouraged us to move into our current apartment and increased Chase's work hours with a more than decent raise along with paying for the apartment next door.
XXXX
Oh, hey there. Long time no see.
I have been working on this chapter basically non stop for the past 3-4 days because I needed the whole apartment scene to be perfect.
Also, if I see ONE PERSON complain about how she shouldn't be crying or some bullshit like that, I will riot. Yes, while she is usually quite the badass, she wasn't always that way and went through a very traumatic experience that gave her PTSD and certain things still trigger old memories and emotions. This entire home invasion reminded her of her kidnapping and naturally triggered those memories.
So do not give Hensley a hard time. She does not deserve it.
You'll find out about where Chase was in the next chapter. I considered keeping the chapter going, but I'd rather just end it here and pick up where I left off. Tommy will be in it, too. Oliver may ask about where she learned to fight like that and be curious and such.
Question: How are we feeling about this chapter? Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?