Talks with the Enemy

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Arrow/Assassin's Creed; the Templar!Tommy one
Summary: Tommy and Ollie debate the philosophy of the Assassins and Templars and flirt.
Word Count: 1859
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Tommy/Oliver (which has actually started, as opposed to being pre-ship, in this case)
Warnings: not in detail, but covers some of the religion-persecuting-people stuff, because a) topical b) relevant to fic setting and c) yeah Assassin's Creed Templars would absolutely be leading the charge to trying to force people to become conforming robots.  But Ollie's beginning to see that yeah, there are issues with the Assassin agenda, too.

        “So, what do you find so terrible about Templars, then? We’re trying to put an end to fighting,” Tommy murmurs in Ollie’s ear, setting down the drink and sliding into the booth, Ollie a distracting warmth at his side.
        His father had been insistent that his libido not distract from the real work ahead. It had been easy before, until he’d learned of the identity of the man beneath the Assassin’s hood. Until he’d worked out that Oliver was flirting, was interested, and now merely being in his presence is distracting. And it’s not a ploy, because he’d been fully ready to just...let Tommy kill him, if he wanted, in his lair. Dropping his defenses. Completely vulnerable.
        It’s uncomfortable realizing that’s because no one, not even Laurel, had mattered as much as the mission. That nothing burned as bright, as fierce, as his need to eradicate every last trace of the Assassins, the bastards that had taken Oliver from him.
        The fact that all of that probably meant that he’d been in love with his best friend for years and just...hadn’t noticed. Not like it was a bad thing. Not like he’s complaining. Maybe, if he’d gotten the feeling Oliver Jonas Queen wasn’t interested back, but he is, so it continues to be uncertain and uncomfortable in all the best ways.
        It’s that, well. He’d thought the eldest Queen had been confident before the Island, but he hadn’t had this version to compare to. For as much as he might act like an alien attempting to wear a skin-suit sometimes, he’s also sure of himself in ways the playboy hadn’t been. And apparently one of his hang-ups was being bi, which he’s discarded since. It’s a good look on him.
        Really a good look on him. So sue him, apparently Tommy’s as weak to history and interest and Ollie’s charms as any of the women that had fallen into their beds over the years. And those charms! Maybe it’s the fact that Oliver’s interested, in him specifically, but he’s merely intensified that, with teasing touches and words and the kind of genuine smiles that he’s not sure anyone else has seen in far too long. And what distracts him, late at night, is that he’s noticed. This new version of his best friend isn’t used to touch, will sometimes flinch away, as if he expects touch only to mean pain (but, honestly, with those scars, who can blame him) and yet he’s not even just choosing to reach out to maintain the illusion he hasn’t changed, he actually wants to do it, and that’s...the kind of ego-stroking that leaves the young billionaire breathless. He’s half convinced, if there was no audience, Ollie might take his hand and kiss it, like an old-fashioned damsel, and he’s pretty sure he’d enjoy it, too.
        And it’s—maybe he gets that enemies-to-lovers trope, because the fact that this is not allowed, that they fought not too long ago, that this is forbidden on about seven different levels? He likes the idea this is illicit, that he’s Ollie’s dirty little secret.
        This is...a test, and genuine curiosity, and maybe he’s flirting back, Tommy’s not sure, but he absolutely wants to get to know his friend again, and maybe more intimately than before, because, well. They never really talked about anything that wasn’t shallow, did they? There was the occasion, but. There’s more there, now, to both of them, and he actually wants to know. He wants that closeness.
        “I’m going to answer your question with a question, if that’s okay.” Yeah, he’s being honest and genuine and vulnerable and this is the absolute best seduction Tommy’s ever seen Ollie do and he is definitely not complaining.
        “You’re just going to do it anyway if I say no, right?” Tommy teases, elbowing him, and Oliver’s smile falters. Is he wounded again? Tommy hadn’t heard about anything, but then, he’s under no illusions that he’s aware of absolutely everything to do with the Hood. Sure, they’re good, but Ollie’s got more experience keeping a low profile than they do, and that’s saying something.
        “I was, yeah, but the way you said that…” he responds, mood broken, and—
        Yeah, that’s true. No matter what Captain Lance thinks of them.
        “Hey, you know me. I’m just goofing around. I want to hear.” To give Ollie some space, he takes a sip of alcohol.
        He more feels rather than sees the nod, his friend leaning just a little more into his side. It’s actually almost peaceful, intoxicating and content, sitting here, his friend practically plastered against his side, caught between the buzz of alcohol and the smell of Ollie’s cologne. It takes him a bit, but he does open up, wants to, and that’s a boost, too. “Would I be as interesting if I was the perfect son? Always following the law, always doing what I’m told?”
        Damn. It’d been easy to think about it in abstract. No more fighting. No more wars. Ollie wouldn’t have to get hurt again, never have to cut off another chunk of his soul to do what he has to do. It’d been easy to think of the necessity of it, the fact that sacrifices would have to be made, that it’s for the good of the people.
        But doing that would come at the cost of Robot Ollie. Probably Robot Thea, too, even though he’d be more than happy if she’d lay off the drugs already. Sadly, he follows his dad’s orders more than he should, but he wants—oh, he wants.
        “I read about Altaïr. That the only reason he was spared was because who he was and what he could do were too entwined. I’m the same, I think. It’s tempting to say everything would be better if we were all peaceful, but...where does it end, Tommy? ‘Being gay is against the rules’? ‘Oh, sorry, you’re married, that’s permanent, endure it’? ‘You were born a woman, so your only place is bearing children and don’t you dare want anything else’? ‘Women are women and men are men and they are to be shoved in boxes and live according to instruction’?” He smiles ruefully at the raised eyebrow, taking a sip from Tommy’s glass that’s more for show. Rather than his own. For some reason. Tommy swallows anyway. What did they call those? Indirect kisses? Wait that means they’ve shared a lot of those after the years—Tommy is nowhere near sober enough to be dealing with that kind of thought. Or maybe he's not drunk enough? It's hard to tell. “I figure there’s a reason Templars allied themselves so closely with the Church all these years. Sure, humans are messy, we don’t fit in boxes, and that sometimes leads to conflict, even people dying, but the alternative isn’t an alternative. That’s just imprisonment, sometimes genocide.”
        No wonder his father had considered Ollie a bad influence all these years. He’s pretty good at this, but, worse...he’s reasonable. He has good points.
        “You’ve thought a lot about this,” he states, admiring, and Ollie shifts, because he hadn’t been expecting that, apparently.
        It’s not fair if Oliver’s the only one allowed to surprise or cherish, here.
        “They’re not...all good at it, but they should be. Just being a weapon isn’t a good use—and unfortunately, I had a lot of time to think about the missions I was given and whether the masters I was working for were good ones.” It’s not a lot, but it’s something. More, he guesses, than anyone else has been told, and that makes Tommy’s heart beat a little harder, the longing demanding he turn and kiss his best friend.
        He doesn’t. But he’s thinking about it.
        “If they’re still alive, I’d kill them for you. If you asked.” Yep. He’s been Ollie’s for a long, long time, because he didn’t even quite mean to say that out loud. It just happened, and he doesn’t regret a moment of it.
        Ollie stills completely, not moving a muscle, and then whispers, voice deepened, “You’re supposed to be the voice of reason, Tommy.”
        He shrugs. Knowing that he’s just a little bit broken, too. That he can understand Ollie, better than maybe anyone else. “Blame my dad. If it hadn’t been you,” under the hood, he thinks but doesn’t say, “...I would’ve killed you. Because Assassins took you away from me, and the rest of the world just needed to burn.”
        It takes him a minute. Probably, he’d known Tommy was a Templar, hell, they’d fought, but he hadn’t actually put together the pieces, in large part because he’d been watching Tommy for signs that he hadn’t clued in on the fact Tommy was different, too, now. If he hadn’t, he might’ve worked it out before now.
        “I think you were right,” he states lightly, as if this isn’t huge, as if Tommy isn’t just stuck staring. “I still don’t know what, exactly, but I think Assassins were involved—but Templars, too. I haven’t worked out why Dad was so important, or who was betraying who. I don’t even have any proof, yet, just things that aren’t adding up.”
        O-kay, that’s not even anywhere close to a traditional seduction and it’s still every bit as hot.
        “Dad’s planning something. I don’t know what, and I’m not even sure it’s…” he swallows. “He’s too pleased about it. Like when he convinced me to join the Templars. I haven’t bothered to question a thing he’s told me since then.” Not until now, he doesn’t say, and given how Ollie hums understandingly and then sadly, tragically, leans back to give him the space to breathe, he doesn’t have to say it. “I’ll look into it,” he adds, somewhat unnecessarily.
        “Thank you,” Ollie says with feeling, cuffing him on the shoulder. It’d just be a best bros gesture if not for the proud look of adoration in his eyes. “Sorry your dad’s a dick.”
        Tommy’s laugh is inadvertent, but Ollie’s grinning and almost looks normal.
        “Oddly enough, he’s perfectly fine when I’m playing the perfect puppet.” He’d convinced himself it was fear, fear something else would happen to his son like it had his mom, the wear that lies could take on a relationship. He was also probably giving people who didn’t deserve it the benefit of the doubt, but then, he’d been told multiple times he had his mother’s heart.
        It’ll suck to find out he’s wrong, but his days of taking the easy way out are over.
        He waits until Oliver gets too distracted, too fidgety, and knows it’s time for them both to get to work, but it was a decent, what, twenty minutes? Half an hour? Where they both pretended to be normal, just talked about nothing and everything. Honestly, most of it was Ollie asking him questions about the latest in pop culture and musicals and just listening to him talk with a smile, but it was nice, it’s probably the most his best friend has let himself relax since he got back, and they both kind of needed a break to get their heads back in the game.