FIC: "Interim II" (1/1, Reunion'verse)
Interim II
Part of the Unexpected Guests/Reunion’verse
Takes place during Reunion
Summary: Ollie, Alfred and a promise made on Bruce’s thirteenth birthday.
INTERIM II
Club Orion was loud, crowded and bustling - just the way Oliver Queen liked it. There was a smidgen of anonymity to be found in being squeezed like a sardine, and while most of the time he didn’t mind being well-known - it came with the territory of being the heir to a large corporation, and at least he wasn’t bald like a certain someone - every now and again it was nice to walk into a room and not be noticed because of who he was.
Not that being noticed for something as superficial as his looks was a heck of a lot better.
It was a Saturday night and it seemed like everyone from Star City between the ages of fifteen and thirty had showed up. There was no band; European techno blared from the speakers as multi-colored lights flashed over the writhing crowd. He liked to just sit at the bar and people-watch, and so that was what he did, sipping at a Coke, preferring those empty calories to others that would leave him unable to function until tomorrow afternoon. There was a time and a place for public drunkenness, he supposed, and sitting alone at Club Orion wasn’t it.
He ignored the women - most of them at least slightly inebriated - who kept eyeing him; there were times when the anonymity of a one-night stand appealed to him, or he was tempted by the thought of a longer affair with women in his acquaintance, but something always stopped him. He wasn’t sure what it was: a feeling of duty and decency inherited from his father, or his vague, fading memories of his mother, or something else he’d not yet been able to identify. Protocol almost always necessitated a date for the social events he felt duty-bound to attend, especially the events connected to the charities and organizations that his parents’ trusts funded, but these were not serious relationships: a distant, younger cousin was often on his arm, and when her exam schedule at USC didn’t allow for a late evening, there were other friendly but not romantically inclined females willing to step in. The tabloids might say something now and again, but their rumors were always fabrications.
In a nutshell, Oliver Queen was lonely, bored and not particularly inclined to anything at the moment.
And of course that was the exact moment his cell phone rang. He jumped - it was on ‘vibrate’, really, rather than ‘ring’; a person could barely hear himself think at Club Orion, let alone tell which phone was sending out a distress signal - and the bartender laughed at him.
“Queen,” he answered, scowling a little.
“Master Oliver, if you continue to make such a face, I daresay it shall remain that way, and no decent young lady shall ever wish to grace your arm again.”
Ollie frowned even deeper. Who the hell was calling him? The voice was masculine. British - not quite Oxbridgean, but it was cultured, educated. Old, like someone’s aging butler -
“Alfred?!”
“I am once again thankful you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you.”
“How did you know-” Ollie started looking around, searching for Mr. Pennyworth. He was watching him somehow -
“Up and to your right, sir.”
Oliver turned right and saw, in a private office window that looked over the dance floor, the tall figure of a man, a shadow, really, against the glass. The figure nodded.
“Alfred, how did you-”
“I think this is not a place to have this discussion, Master Oliver,” Alfred told him. “Meet me out front and we’ll have a pleasant little drive to a better location.” And then the old man hung up on him.
Ollie shook his head. “Put it on my tab, Jake,” he told the bartender as he closed up his phone and then took a final swallow of his Coke. He couldn’t imagine why Alfred was in Star City - he hadn’t seen the man since he and Bruce (among others) had graduated from Excelsior back in ’98. He hadn’t seen Bruce in quite a while, either - at least a year before his childhood friend had gone off “to find himself” in the Far East and severed all communication.
Whatever Alfred wanted to see him about would surely be important.
At least he wasn’t bored any more.
“You will recall, sir, my master’s thirteenth birthday, of course.”
They were in the Wayne’s old seaside cottage - ‘cottage’ being a polite term for the small mansion that sat on a high cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Ollie wasn’t sure if Bruce had been there since his parents died; if Bruce had, he might have dropped in on his old school friend. Bruce could be taciturn and difficult, but he was usually polite to a fault and remembered his friends. Ollie sipped at his water; Alfred had tried to talk him into something stronger - an indication of the gravity of the conversation to follow - but he’d declined.
“Of course I remember,” Ollie replied. “Bruce barely spoke. Lex scowled the entire time and went home early. I remember Mr. Luthor sneering at us like we were beneath his notice when he came to get Lex. James Wentworth got sick on the cake and - what was his name? Anyway, some other boy tried to set off a pipe bomb in the East Wing.” He laughed and ducked his head a little in embarrassment. “I remember thinking that you were pretty cool for an old guy because you knew how to diffuse it.”
Alfred nodded with a little secretive smile but said nothing.
“It was better than my birthday party that year,” Ollie continued. “Is there something specific I should be remembering? I could go on.”
“Please do, sir,” Alfred told him.
Ollie lifted his eyebrows, a little confused, but went on. “It was summer, of course - we were out of school, and so after the party everyone more or less went home, or to their parents at the very least. I stayed with you and Bruce the entire week - Star City was a bit far to fly for just the one day, and Bruce and I had been pretty good friends that year.” And of course I didn’t have parents to go home to, he remembered, but he didn’t say it out loud. Alfred knew all of that.
Some days, he was nigh on certain that Alfred was omniscient. And possibly God.
He looked at Alfred, but the old man was simply watching him with a patient, almost indulgent expression. Like he knew that Ollie was supposed to be smart enough to figure out what he wanted - eventually - and he was willing to wait until Ollie figured it out.
That was part of the reason why he’d once speculated that Alfred had to have some kind of superpower to keep him from going crazy waiting for -
Superpower.
The realization must have been obvious on his face because within a split second, that indulgent expression had turned into a smirk.
“Alfred, come on,” Ollie pleaded. “We were thirteen. Kids say all sorts of crazy things. Make all kinds of stupid promises.”
“And that is why it is merely a suggestion and an offer of help should you choose to embark on that journey, Master Oliver,” Alfred said, a little stoically. “Now is the time to make that decision. I do believe twenty-five was the agreed-upon age?”
“Bruce isn’t here,” Ollie reminded him, searching for an out that wouldn’t damage Alfred’s measure of his honor. They had agreed on twenty-five - old enough to be scary, Bruce had declared with adolescent logic, but young enough to not kill themselves trying. “We were supposed to do that together.”
Alfred nodded and took another sip of his drink. Ollie wondered if he shouldn’t have taken Alfred up on that ‘something a bit stronger, sir?’ offer after all. “Master Bruce has chosen a slightly different path,” the older man replied. “He thought it wise considering the distance of your friendship these last few years, and he thought himself ready before the appointed time. He did not want to pressure you ahead of schedule.”
“Crap. That’s what it’s about, then? The whole wandering-Asia-incommunicado thing?”
Alfred simply nodded.
Oliver sighed and threw back his head, swallowing the remainder of his water. He longed for a hard surface to bang his forehead against, but the battle was already lost. “I think I could use that scotch about now,” he said. “But forget whatever he said about costumes. If Bruce had his way, we’d look like ninjas.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve spent some of my new leisure time learning to color Kevlar green, sir,” Alfred said slyly. “I do seem to recall a preoccupation with tales of Robin Hood.”
Oliver smiled. “I correct myself, Alfred. You’re not God after all, but Mephistopheles, and that’s one hell of an offer.”
“As always, sir, it is a pleasure to serve,” Alfred replied, clearly holding in a laugh. “I suppose, then, you would indeed be interested in seeing some prototype bows?”
Ollie got up out of his chair and poured himself that needed drink. “Alfred,” he said, “I always thought Bruce was lucky because you were the coolest dad any of us had. Now I know I was right.” He swallowed the alcohol in one go, barely feeling the burn until it reached his stomach. “Let’s take a look at those bows.”
[END]
*Author’s Note: Ollie’s cousin attends USC - the University of Star City, naturally!
Part of the Unexpected Guests/Reunion’verse
Takes place during Reunion
Summary: Ollie, Alfred and a promise made on Bruce’s thirteenth birthday.
INTERIM II
Club Orion was loud, crowded and bustling - just the way Oliver Queen liked it. There was a smidgen of anonymity to be found in being squeezed like a sardine, and while most of the time he didn’t mind being well-known - it came with the territory of being the heir to a large corporation, and at least he wasn’t bald like a certain someone - every now and again it was nice to walk into a room and not be noticed because of who he was.
Not that being noticed for something as superficial as his looks was a heck of a lot better.
It was a Saturday night and it seemed like everyone from Star City between the ages of fifteen and thirty had showed up. There was no band; European techno blared from the speakers as multi-colored lights flashed over the writhing crowd. He liked to just sit at the bar and people-watch, and so that was what he did, sipping at a Coke, preferring those empty calories to others that would leave him unable to function until tomorrow afternoon. There was a time and a place for public drunkenness, he supposed, and sitting alone at Club Orion wasn’t it.
He ignored the women - most of them at least slightly inebriated - who kept eyeing him; there were times when the anonymity of a one-night stand appealed to him, or he was tempted by the thought of a longer affair with women in his acquaintance, but something always stopped him. He wasn’t sure what it was: a feeling of duty and decency inherited from his father, or his vague, fading memories of his mother, or something else he’d not yet been able to identify. Protocol almost always necessitated a date for the social events he felt duty-bound to attend, especially the events connected to the charities and organizations that his parents’ trusts funded, but these were not serious relationships: a distant, younger cousin was often on his arm, and when her exam schedule at USC didn’t allow for a late evening, there were other friendly but not romantically inclined females willing to step in. The tabloids might say something now and again, but their rumors were always fabrications.
In a nutshell, Oliver Queen was lonely, bored and not particularly inclined to anything at the moment.
And of course that was the exact moment his cell phone rang. He jumped - it was on ‘vibrate’, really, rather than ‘ring’; a person could barely hear himself think at Club Orion, let alone tell which phone was sending out a distress signal - and the bartender laughed at him.
“Queen,” he answered, scowling a little.
“Master Oliver, if you continue to make such a face, I daresay it shall remain that way, and no decent young lady shall ever wish to grace your arm again.”
Ollie frowned even deeper. Who the hell was calling him? The voice was masculine. British - not quite Oxbridgean, but it was cultured, educated. Old, like someone’s aging butler -
“Alfred?!”
“I am once again thankful you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you.”
“How did you know-” Ollie started looking around, searching for Mr. Pennyworth. He was watching him somehow -
“Up and to your right, sir.”
Oliver turned right and saw, in a private office window that looked over the dance floor, the tall figure of a man, a shadow, really, against the glass. The figure nodded.
“Alfred, how did you-”
“I think this is not a place to have this discussion, Master Oliver,” Alfred told him. “Meet me out front and we’ll have a pleasant little drive to a better location.” And then the old man hung up on him.
Ollie shook his head. “Put it on my tab, Jake,” he told the bartender as he closed up his phone and then took a final swallow of his Coke. He couldn’t imagine why Alfred was in Star City - he hadn’t seen the man since he and Bruce (among others) had graduated from Excelsior back in ’98. He hadn’t seen Bruce in quite a while, either - at least a year before his childhood friend had gone off “to find himself” in the Far East and severed all communication.
Whatever Alfred wanted to see him about would surely be important.
At least he wasn’t bored any more.
“You will recall, sir, my master’s thirteenth birthday, of course.”
They were in the Wayne’s old seaside cottage - ‘cottage’ being a polite term for the small mansion that sat on a high cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Ollie wasn’t sure if Bruce had been there since his parents died; if Bruce had, he might have dropped in on his old school friend. Bruce could be taciturn and difficult, but he was usually polite to a fault and remembered his friends. Ollie sipped at his water; Alfred had tried to talk him into something stronger - an indication of the gravity of the conversation to follow - but he’d declined.
“Of course I remember,” Ollie replied. “Bruce barely spoke. Lex scowled the entire time and went home early. I remember Mr. Luthor sneering at us like we were beneath his notice when he came to get Lex. James Wentworth got sick on the cake and - what was his name? Anyway, some other boy tried to set off a pipe bomb in the East Wing.” He laughed and ducked his head a little in embarrassment. “I remember thinking that you were pretty cool for an old guy because you knew how to diffuse it.”
Alfred nodded with a little secretive smile but said nothing.
“It was better than my birthday party that year,” Ollie continued. “Is there something specific I should be remembering? I could go on.”
“Please do, sir,” Alfred told him.
Ollie lifted his eyebrows, a little confused, but went on. “It was summer, of course - we were out of school, and so after the party everyone more or less went home, or to their parents at the very least. I stayed with you and Bruce the entire week - Star City was a bit far to fly for just the one day, and Bruce and I had been pretty good friends that year.” And of course I didn’t have parents to go home to, he remembered, but he didn’t say it out loud. Alfred knew all of that.
Some days, he was nigh on certain that Alfred was omniscient. And possibly God.
He looked at Alfred, but the old man was simply watching him with a patient, almost indulgent expression. Like he knew that Ollie was supposed to be smart enough to figure out what he wanted - eventually - and he was willing to wait until Ollie figured it out.
That was part of the reason why he’d once speculated that Alfred had to have some kind of superpower to keep him from going crazy waiting for -
Superpower.
The realization must have been obvious on his face because within a split second, that indulgent expression had turned into a smirk.
“Alfred, come on,” Ollie pleaded. “We were thirteen. Kids say all sorts of crazy things. Make all kinds of stupid promises.”
“And that is why it is merely a suggestion and an offer of help should you choose to embark on that journey, Master Oliver,” Alfred said, a little stoically. “Now is the time to make that decision. I do believe twenty-five was the agreed-upon age?”
“Bruce isn’t here,” Ollie reminded him, searching for an out that wouldn’t damage Alfred’s measure of his honor. They had agreed on twenty-five - old enough to be scary, Bruce had declared with adolescent logic, but young enough to not kill themselves trying. “We were supposed to do that together.”
Alfred nodded and took another sip of his drink. Ollie wondered if he shouldn’t have taken Alfred up on that ‘something a bit stronger, sir?’ offer after all. “Master Bruce has chosen a slightly different path,” the older man replied. “He thought it wise considering the distance of your friendship these last few years, and he thought himself ready before the appointed time. He did not want to pressure you ahead of schedule.”
“Crap. That’s what it’s about, then? The whole wandering-Asia-incommunicado thing?”
Alfred simply nodded.
Oliver sighed and threw back his head, swallowing the remainder of his water. He longed for a hard surface to bang his forehead against, but the battle was already lost. “I think I could use that scotch about now,” he said. “But forget whatever he said about costumes. If Bruce had his way, we’d look like ninjas.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve spent some of my new leisure time learning to color Kevlar green, sir,” Alfred said slyly. “I do seem to recall a preoccupation with tales of Robin Hood.”
Oliver smiled. “I correct myself, Alfred. You’re not God after all, but Mephistopheles, and that’s one hell of an offer.”
“As always, sir, it is a pleasure to serve,” Alfred replied, clearly holding in a laugh. “I suppose, then, you would indeed be interested in seeing some prototype bows?”
Ollie got up out of his chair and poured himself that needed drink. “Alfred,” he said, “I always thought Bruce was lucky because you were the coolest dad any of us had. Now I know I was right.” He swallowed the alcohol in one go, barely feeling the burn until it reached his stomach. “Let’s take a look at those bows.”
[END]
*Author’s Note: Ollie’s cousin attends USC - the University of Star City, naturally!