You Found Me: An Arrow Fanfic

Chapter 2

A/N: Australian slang: Ankle biter – young child

Slade had kept to himself and retreated to the abandoned outhouse to wait for Oliver. To say that the other man had been astonished to learn that he was alive would have been an understatement, but since he didn't have the time to explain, he'd given his friend his location and asked him to come quickly.

While he felt a certain measure of relief at knowing that help was on its way, the larger part of him resented even having to ask. He was a man of action, a loner by nature. For most of his life he'd been conditioned to act alone, to find solutions to any problem by himself, to accept the challenges thrown his way and to make the best of any situation. He didn't ask for help, it wasn't how he was made. Instead, he lead from the front, he faced any attack head on, without fear or hesitation.

However much the warrior within him screamed at the injustices levelled against him, wanting nothing more than to squelch every last man who'd betrayed him, his practical side held his ire in check. Just. He was weakened and without resources. Going into this situation blind would be the equivalent of a suicide mission. While he didn't fear dying, he rebelled against doing so under a cloud of falsehoods and lies. His career, and by extension his reputation, meant far too much to him. If he was going to clear his name, he needed more than brute force on his side, he needed the wherewithal to find the evidence that would prove his innocence.

His current status as a fugitive in a foreign country made acting independently more than a little challenging. Alone, he wouldn't last very long, even with his smarts and ingenuity.

Spying a fancy sedan heading in his direction, he squinted into the late September sunshine convinced that it was Oliver, but needing to be absolutely sure. When he saw the back door open and a tall man in a tailored grey suit emerge, he smiled for the first time in way too long. Gone was the young, pampered pup he'd met on the island years before and in his place stood the powerful and skilled fighter he'd mentored.

Leaving the safety of his hideout, Slade called out, "Still the same rich bastard I met a lifetime ago, aren't you?"

He watched as Oliver's eyes widened in shock, his eyes travelling over him rapidly, sizing him up. Slade didn't blame him. In his shoes, he would have been equally suspicious.

"It is you," Oliver said, apparently satisfied with his appraisal. The younger man threw his arms around him as they hugged, ending the embrace with a few manly slaps on the back.

"How? I saw you die," Oliver murmured, confused. The driver's door of the sedan opened and a dark skinned man stepped out.

Immediately on the defensive, Slade swiftly withdrew his gun and aimed it at him. "Who the hell are you?" he snarled.

"Whoa!" Oliver lifted a hand and placed it over the gun, then turned to the driver. "Dig, lower your weapon." He turned to Slade. "It's okay. That's John Diggle. My," he seemed to hesitate for a fraction, "security."

Slade stared into the driver's dark eyes, his gaze assessing. Lowering his weapon slowly, he placed it back in the holster at his side before picking up his bag from the floor.

"Gone soft, kid? Last time I saw you, you didn't need a bodyguard."

Having noted that Oliver's stature was indicative of someone who was in good physical shape, he wasn't quite sure why he needed to keep a man around to watch his back.

Oliver shrugged, smiling at the familiar nickname. "My family insists, so I indulge them."

Slade couldn't put his finger on it, but something about that explanation seemed off. He knew how well Oliver could fight if he had to. There was no way any personal security detail would be better at defending him than he was at defending himself. However, there would be time for questions later. They needed to get out of there.