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[For Derek; January 7]
It feels good to be suited up and out at night again without having to watch his back every single second. Whatever was going on with the animals seems to have stopped; Oliver still keeps an eye out, but not to the degree he had been for the past week.
Everything going back to normal has allowed him to go back to what he's been doing recently-- namely, stalking his boss. Oliver's trusted enough now that Alexei includes him in the planning of certain deals, though they each come with the expectation and warning that he needs to step up and actually use his rank once more, or sever his ties to the bratva entirely.
Considering that means they intend to kill Oliver if he doesn't take on his role as a true avtoritet, he's got a bit of a dilemma on his hands.
He's come up with stalking Alexei, collecting intel in order to shut him down for good. While it will mean an end to his job and the connections he's come by thanks to the bratva, Oliver gets to live at the end of it.
Alexei has spent most of his night in rather innocent pursuits, leading Oliver around half the city as he checks in on employees and rivals alike. While he doesn't seem to realize that anyone is on his tail, Oliver has had the feeling lately that someone is on his. He hasn't let on that he knows he's being followed, but the night is drawing to a close and Oliver's grown tired of it.
When Alexei's car rounds a corner to head back to Lush, Oliver doesn't follow; he drops into an alleyway instead, bow up as he blends into the shadows behind a large dumpster. It doesn't take long before he hears careful movement follow, and he lets his arrow fly, aiming low to disable whoever it is.
Everything going back to normal has allowed him to go back to what he's been doing recently-- namely, stalking his boss. Oliver's trusted enough now that Alexei includes him in the planning of certain deals, though they each come with the expectation and warning that he needs to step up and actually use his rank once more, or sever his ties to the bratva entirely.
Considering that means they intend to kill Oliver if he doesn't take on his role as a true avtoritet, he's got a bit of a dilemma on his hands.
He's come up with stalking Alexei, collecting intel in order to shut him down for good. While it will mean an end to his job and the connections he's come by thanks to the bratva, Oliver gets to live at the end of it.
Alexei has spent most of his night in rather innocent pursuits, leading Oliver around half the city as he checks in on employees and rivals alike. While he doesn't seem to realize that anyone is on his tail, Oliver has had the feeling lately that someone is on his. He hasn't let on that he knows he's being followed, but the night is drawing to a close and Oliver's grown tired of it.
When Alexei's car rounds a corner to head back to Lush, Oliver doesn't follow; he drops into an alleyway instead, bow up as he blends into the shadows behind a large dumpster. It doesn't take long before he hears careful movement follow, and he lets his arrow fly, aiming low to disable whoever it is.
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"Come on," he says, starting to move deeper into the alley. It'll make the walk back quicker, at least, though he keeps his gait slow, waiting to see if Derek can make it under his own power. "It'll only be a couple of minutes back."
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The wound is starting to heal, but it's deep enough that it'll take awhile. Still, the telltale tingling sensation is a welcome one, and he catches up to Oliver within a few moments. "If you let me borrow some sweats, I'll consider forgiving you."
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He breathes out hotly against Oliver's face in an admittedly unsettling way, and he shuffles along behind him. Derek will be fine, even with the taste of blood in his mouth, and he feels okay enough to give Oliver shit about it, but he's still relieved when they make it to his building.
There's sweat on Derek's brow and he takes in a deep, wheezing breath, lurking in the shadows and pushing Oliver ahead. "Scope it out. Make sure I won't indecently expose myself."
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The fact that Derek can be so annoying at the moment leaves Oliver confident enough in letting his concern fall away for the moment.
It doesn't take long for Oliver to work the back door of the building open and check things out. He prefers this entrance, where most building tenants don't go, probably because the garbage chute leads right into a small room just near the entrance. It's quiet, as Oliver knew it would be, and always dark enough that he's been able to stash a go bag for a quick change before heading back out and in the front door as though nothing's amiss.
"Sorry about the smell," he tells Derek when he holds the door open, knowing it'll be worse for him.
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The wound hasn't stopped bleeding yet, and Derek knows that it probably won't until he stops moving. He's putting too much strain on it for the healing process to really quick in, and Oliver's glove, Derek notes with a bit of smug satisfaction, is nearly soaked through.
"Here's to hoping that the elevator doesn't have cameras," Derek says as he keeps moving. "Because I am so not in the mood for stairs."
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He has his clothes out in a moment, handing the jeans and sweatshirt over to Derek but keeping the shirt for himself. They'll look ridiculous, he realizes as he begins to unzip his jacket and pull off the hood, but not as suspicious as they otherwise might.
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He throws the bloody glove in the dumpster and pulls the jeans on, leaving them unbuttoned before pulling the sweatshirt on. He zips it up almost all the way, hissing as the material brushes over the wound.
"This looks untoward," Derek says as they walk up the hallway together. "Like a reverse walk of shame. Your eyeshadow is even all smudged."
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He's uncomfortable, half Oliver, half Arrow with a t-shirt over his pants, and the inability to shed one skin for the other is an itch he can't scratch. It feels even worse to have his bow and quiver put away in a duffel bag slung over his shoulder when he still has the leather pants and boots on, his heavier steps a sound associated with a having a hood over his head and a bow in his hand.
Oliver keeps up a steady pace as he leads the way down the hall to the elevators, one eye on Derek. "We can go up in separate elevator rides if you're that concerned."
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"I'm not ashamed of us," Derek says flatly, hitting the button for the elevator. It opens quickly, and it's thankfully empty. Derek trudges inside and leans against the back of it, tilting his head back as he presses his hand to the wound. "I will wash your sweater. I can get bloodstains out of pretty much anything."
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The ride is brief, and when they stop on his floor, Oliver takes a moment to look out into the hallway before stepping out and heading for their door, keys already in hand. "Felicity's late at work tonight. We'd be getting a whole bunch of questions otherwise." (It's not something Oliver will ever admit out loud, but there's a part of him that enjoys Felicity fussing over him.)
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He stands in the middle of the living room, looking around awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
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"I'm pretty sure she doesn't like being used to seeing me come home bloodied up."
That, at least, is something he can make easier for her in Darrow. His injuries are rarer, mostly just scratches and bruises to be patched up.
"Sit down," he tells Derek, gesturing to the kitchen table and one of the chairs there as he heads down the hall and into the bathroom. "I'll grab the med kit."
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Oliver tells him to sit and Derek huffs, hobbling over to the table while Oliver heads to the bathroom. “I will heal, you know. I’ve had way worse injuries than this.”
He thinks of those seeing stones, and how he can still remember what it felt like to be impaled through the back with a metal pipe and stuck to the floor, blood dripping down. It was just a vision; it didn’t really happen. But sometimes it really feels like it did.
Peter’s shoving his claws through his back, splintering bone and tearing through muscle to get to the other side—that happened. Derek shudders at the sudden memory and lays the sweatshirt on the table, looking down at the hole on his chest. Yeah, he’ll take an arrow any day.
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At least he can be grateful that of the memories they seem to have gained, she didn't have to see him go down by Ra's al Ghul's sword.
"You still have a hole in your stomach," Oliver calls out as he heads back down the hall, med kit in hand. It's a small black bag with everything they could possibly need, thanks to Oliver's storied past with various weapons. "Do you need stitches, or will a bandage do?"
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He gives Oliver a wry look as he returns, and then looks down at the wound, mouth twisting unpleasantly. "It'll probably heal a lot faster if it gets a few stitches."
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He sets the med kit on the table beside Derek, and it's not hard to find the stitching kit-- he gets banged up enough that Felicity probably has a technique that could outdo most med students in the city by now.
"Sorry, by the way," he says as he pulls a chair out to sit facing Derek. He keeps his eye on the wound, grimacing slightly now that he has a decent look at it. "For shooting you."
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“It’s okay,” Derek says easily, because he was never actually mad at Oliver. He was just protecting himself. “I’m sorry for following you around in the middle of the night. I was just curious.”
He tilts his head, blinking as he sits up a bit straighter to make things easier on Oliver. “What were you doing anyway?”
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"I was following a courier. I've been keeping an eye on the Russian mafia."
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"The mafia," he says flatly. "Obviously. Remind me why you're keeping tabs on the mafia?"
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"I spent five years away from home before I started up as the Arrow," he tells Derek, keeping his eyes lowered as he focuses on stitching him up. "I made friends in interesting places, and I banked on a connection to get me a job when I first got here."
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"So, you're working with the mob?" Derek asks after a moment, genuinely curious "Why are you keeping tabs on them then?"
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It's not like he has any doubts about Oliver being able to take care of himself. The hole in his chest is evidence enough of that. But still, he is concerned for his friend. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
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He puts the kit away and rubs his eyes, grimacing when he realizes he still has greasepaint on.
"I could use your help." He'd always kept Barbara in the back of his mind for when things got this far, but she's gone and Oliver knows he'll need backup eventually. Derek will definitely work, and he knows he has Barry to ask now as well.
"I'm trying to get enough on their activities to take them down without any major problems, but their patience with me is starting to wear thin." Alexei has no choice but to kill Oliver when he finally decides he's no use to him anymore (which, in Alexei's terms, means he won't step up to fulfill his proper Avtoritet duties). "I'll need backup when the time comes."
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"Anything you need," Derek says easily. For all their bickering and joking around, Oliver is one of his people. He's pack, in Derek's eyes at least, and he'll do whatever he can to help him. "Just let me know."
He watches as Oliver packs the med kit back up, smiling a little at the smear of greasepaint on his face. "You know if you need a job, you'd have one at Semele's, right? I know it isn't much, but it's yours if you want it."
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He smiles briefly a the job offer, not sure he can remember the last time he took a job that didn't come thanks to a connection or his name. Something small and invisible, probably, when he was being anyone but Oliver Queen. "I might have to take you up on it, the way things are looking."
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