The call comes at three in the morning, inconvenient at best, devastating at worst when John’s woken from a very pleasant dream about a vacation in the Caribbean. He’d told his sources (Lyla’s sources, but he likes to think he still has connections despite his years away from the armed forces) to contact him with any suspicious information about Slabeside, and he doesn’t begrudge the call--but he does answer it with slightly less tact than he normally would have.
“This is Diggle.” He barks into the receiver, careful to keep his volume low so as not to wake Lyla. The voice croaking back at him is that of an old squad commander Lyla had known before they got back stateside. Daniels had saved both their lives more than a few times, and the favors between them were starting to rack up.
“John, we’ve got a problem. There’s--” It’s subtle, but the hesitation is easy enough to track when you know the person you’re talking to. “--The prison’s going on lockdown. Nothing in or out. I don’t know for certain, but I’ve got a hunch your guy’s to blame. I don’t know what he’s planning, but I don’t think it’ll be good for Oliver.”
John sighs, shifting slightly so he’s further away from Lyla. “When is the lockdown happening?”
Silence fills the receiver for a moment--a terrible sign. “We got the order an hour ago. I...I’m not sure if we’re going to be enough to stop whatever’s coming.” Daniels says, referring to the small number of guards John can be sure are actually on the side of good.
“You found out about this an hour ago and you’re just calling me now? Damnit, we’re losing time.” He’s being unfair to Daniels, and to the situation, but he’s tired, and the tiniest bit cranky, and very worried about Oliver. He sighs again. “I need you to get me in there. A visitor pass. A guards uniform. Whatever you have to do--I need to be on the inside of those walls by tomorrow.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” The call ends with a click, leaving John with only the ever-growing weigh of his concerns. If Diaz is really messing with Slabeside, it’s for one reason only: The Emerald Archer himself. And while John had meant it when he’d promised to be the last thing standing between Oliver Queen and death, he hadn’t expected that moment to come quite so soon.
Their bond, their brotherhood, was strong enough to weather any storm, but death would be a brink they hadn’t crossed, a channel they hadn’t navigated. John, for one thing, didn’t really want to live in a world where Oliver didn’t exist anymore. He knew the rest of Oliver’s family felt the same way.
He turns to lay back down in bed and finds Lyla on her side, eyes wide and staring at him. He appreciates her quite presence, calming in a way he’d never found anything else. She waits for him to speak, to explain the situation, and although it takes him far too long to find the words, she’s there when he does.
“I have to do something dangerous tomorrow,” He starts, and she laughs.
“What, instead of the perfectly safe and normal nocturnal activities you usually get up to?” Her pretty mouth is quirked up into a grin, but he can still read the worry in her eyes.
“Lyla please.” John asks, practically begs, because if he’s going to have to say goodbye he wants to do it right. “I have to go help Oliver tomorrow, and I don’t know how it’s gonna go. But he’s in a real bad way, and I can’t leave him there. Diaz has locked down the prison.”
Lyla pulls him closer and wraps her arms around as much of him as she can. “We don’t say goodbye, John. That’s not who we are. So you go rescue your brother tomorrow, and then you come home for dinner, understand?“
It’s the only moment of softness she’ll allow him before she’s rolling away and pulling out her laptop, fingers clacking furiously over the keys before he can register that she’s moved.
“I’ll make a few calls and see if I can’t get Richard Smith transferred in a new night watchman.” She promised him, mouth stressing the syllables to the fake name he’d once used on a covert mission to break up a smuggling ring. It’s not his favorite alias, but it’s got the papers he needs to get him where he wants to go as fast as possible, and he needs the element of surprise on this one.
“Lyla if I wasn’t already married to you, I’d propose right now.” He promises her, and she gives him a wicked grin.
“Third time’s the charm.”
-
He enters Slabeside with relative ease for a building that’s supposedly on lockdown, and it’s suspicious. He’s on edge, waiting for someone to pop out of the shadows and rip off his helmet, but no such attacks come.
He begins to wonder if Diaz has sent the majority of the guards home, citing the lack of prisoner movement as a reason for sending them all away. John believes his reasoning lies closer to a desire to brutalize those in cells with as few bleeding hearts around as possible, but he’s biased.
The guard uniform Lyla and Daniels had procured is itchy, and far too tight around his shoulders, but he likes to think it adds to the intimidation factor of his silhouette. He’d told no one but his wife about this visit to the prison--a fear of who might have access to their phone lines keeping from informing anyone else who might be in danger from the information--but their combined skillset was more than enough to bypass a few security cameras and avoid some guards.
Oliver was being kept on the other side of the prison, the wing for serious offenders, and the thought hurt John to the core. Oliver, as a person, wasn’t violent. He wasn’t inherently build or bred for destruction, and John knew that he lost a piece of himself in every punch he threw. Oliver didn’t belong trapped in a wing with some of the most violent criminals Star City had to offer.
He’d asked Daniels to have Oliver taken to the med bay around nine PM, a luxury he was certain Diaz would attempt to deny, but there was no way around it. They needed him out of the cell for this plan to work.
The blow to the ribs was necessary, a cover so they could give him the signs and symptoms of internal bleeding. Diaz was petty, but he was also proud, and John was counting on him wanting to take his prize himself. Daniels had given the all clear over fifteen minutes ago, and it was down to John to locate, extract, and get Oliver to safety.
He counts the door numbers down, lower and lower and lower until.....finally. Footsteps as quiet as he can make them, but still too loud for the empty hallway he’s in, he steps up to the tiny window and whispers: “Ollie? Come on man, please be in there. I didn’t come all this way just to get the wrong room.”
