You Found Me: An Arrow Fanfic

Chapter 5

Over the course of the next week Laurel did exactly what Slade asked. She treated him with civility, but kept their encounters brief and strictly professional. She didn't ask him any questions, unless it somehow related to their investigation. In fact, she hardly asked him anything if it wasn't completely necessary for her to do so.

It was hard for her to live with someone who preferred to remain a virtual stranger, but if she was going to make it through the next few weeks with her sanity intact, it was best to follow his advice. For the most part, their new arrangement seemed to suit him perfectly, a thing she resented since she was having such a hard time sticking to it.

The truth was, she hated it. Several times she had to remind herself not to talk to him, not to draw him into some kind of repartee. But since he didn't appear to have any of the problems she was having, she refused to appear the weaker of them and give in to her urge to reinstate some kind of hospitable vibe between them.

The last man she'd shared her living quarters with had been Tommy and that hadn't really been a permanent arrangement. For the most part he'd stayed over two or three nights a week and spent the rest of his time at the Merlyn mansion. Their relationship hadn't exactly been one laden with heated passions. Instead, it had been warm and comforting and with the help of time and distance since their break-up, she knew that he wasn't the great love of her life.

Sharing her space with Slade felt very different. Apart from trying to stay out of his way in an apartment that wasn't large enough to avoid someone permanently, she had to deal with her newfound awareness of him – as a woman – which she was loathe to admit to herself. Not entirely unexpectedly, she found herself running into him at the worst possible times. Like when he emerged from the bathroom first thing in the morning, with a barely-there towel hanging low on his hips, his chest a smooth, solid wall of muscle. If that wasn't enough to drive her crazy, a few times the steamy air from the shower had billowed around him, making him look like one of those sexy stars featured in T.J Scott's In the Tub coffee table book.

On those, and similar occasions she'd tried desperately to keep herself from letting on that the naughty part of her brain wanted to lick him like an ice-cream. Once the wayward thought had entered her head, she had a really hard time making it go away. Perhaps it was a good thing that they weren't really on speaking terms. There was no way she'd make a fool of herself and live with the humiliating knowledge that he knew she found him attractive.

Now and then she'd heard his deep voice on the phone, the only time she caught glimpses of his sense of humour. She had grown accustomed to his accent and enjoyed listening to him speak. But since he hardly ever spoke to her, she had to rely on eavesdropping on calls he received from Oliver or Diggle. The teasing tone he used with them, he never used with her – she apparently only brought out the serious and intense side of his personality - and once the call ended he was right back to being his broody, detached self.

It was a cold evening, and everyone had gathered at her apartment to discuss what they'd uncovered in relation to Slade's case. Laurel had made a pot of coffee and placed it on the table along with some sweet pastries she'd picked up after work.

Diggle addressed the group, "As the head of Oliver's security detail, I was questioned yesterday by the SCPD. They wanted to know if I'd perhaps noticed anything unusual, if my employer," he quipped in amusement, "had been meeting with anyone out of the ordinary. Naturally, I didn't give anything away-"

"Quite the thespian, aren't you, Dig?" Felicity joked.

He laughed. "You learn new things about me all the time."

Oliver grinned before sobering. "They came by the house too. They didn't insist on a search of the premises, but they did ask me very pointed questions about you," he said, looking at Slade who was sitting with his elbows on the table, leaning forward.