For those who don't know the Dark Archer Malcolm Merlyn and the former time agent turned defender of Earth Captain Jack Harkness in Doctor Who are played by the same actor: John Barrowman.
“What did you say your name was again?” The cop said gruffly.
At least, he came off as a cop to the man he was questioning.
“Look I don't know what name I'd have been known by if I had ever been here before, but as I haven't I doubt it matters.” The stranger replied curtly.
“I'm not suggesting you have been.” The inquisitor replied somewhat put off by the resistance this man maintained within his own mind.
“Oh your not insisting I'm this Merlin criminal you called me?”
“I know enough to know you're not him. At least you don't believe it of yourself. That doesn't answer my question of who you ARE.”
“You got a point. I'm not going to bother calling myself 'James' or 'Johnathan'. People call me CJ.”
“Ok, etiquette tip. When a police officer asks for your name it's polite to give them your actual name.”
“True, but you're not a cop. I mean, unless they were on the take or something, no cop I know would be hiding their faces like that. But you don't come off as any kind of criminal either. If anything...”
“What?” the hooded figure said in a slightly calmer voice, and with sincere curiosity.
“It strikes me you think my doppelganger IS a criminal; that's why you're after him at all.”
“You got that part right. Malcolm Merlyn is a prick. I don't like him and he doesn't like me.”
“Either of you, you mean?”
“Leave the cop out of this.” The vigilante stated tersely.
“What, you leave that hood on all the time?” CJ replied sardonically. He wasn't sure if the man he was talking to was really stupid enough to have misunderstood his question. And he was pretty sure he was going to regret his joke. But it was still the most concise way he knew to clarify his previous statement.
“I don't like him and he doesn't like either of the faces I wear.” The man corrected himself. “That pretty much what you meant?”
“Exactly so. But I still say you're a liar. It seems to me that he doesn't like one of you and until quite recently, didn't care about the other. That's my reading of the situation.”
“You lead a double-life as well?” The other man stated, intending it as more of a 'here you go' gesture than the jab at the man's character CJ took it for.
“I've gone under a lot of different names in my life. But I've been who I am through most all of them. At least, I'd like to think so.” He looked down a moment, making sure not to drop his head at all. “Let's come straight to the point. You've brought me here, thinking I was this Malcolm person, and to prove that he was as much of a criminal as you believed of him.” CJ stated in as calm and controlled a voice as if he'd been the one doing the interrogating. “And I am curious about whether the detective sanctions you?”
“...On this yes. He knows Malcolm is a criminal and when he saw your face; he decided to let me have this opportunity.” The vigilante stated plainly, seeing no reason to lie. “As you may not've noticed...”
“...He doesn't exactly like you.” CJ finished. “Or if he does, it's a new sensation on his part.”
“We fought our way out of a few scrapes together yeah...And when our missions are the same, he's not past cooperating toward that goal...”
'Why in the name of hell is he spilling his guts like this?' The detective wondered from the other side of the room. 'Either he knows him somehow, trusts him for some wacko reason or is trying to BS him.' His mind replied unyielding. Something weird was going on. Which, he had to admit, wasn't exactly unusual where the hood guy was concerned. He just hoped he didn't, once again, have two vigilantes on his hands.
“...But what's that to you?” the hood finished, thoroughly interested.
“I have a question for you and don't give a damn if you answer, but I think it's only polite to ask.”
About 3 seconds of quiet later, the Detective walked into full view of the two men. He gave the hooded man and the stranger each a long cold stare. Neither of them cared. CJ asserted that it wasn't a timed entry; and for several hours afterward remained certain it was fortuitous timing for both the cop and himself.
“Polite?” the Detective stated simply.
“...Appropriate then.” CJ replied placidly. “A way to see where you stand and to show you how much I know in the same stroke...at least, what I think I know. And we go from there.”
“You know how the game is played.” The cop admitted. He looked to his cohort, and nodded.
“What's your question?” The hooded figure stated.
“This man you mistook me for...Is he even still alive?”The next thing CJ knew the hooded man had shoved him against the concrete wall with his forearm across his throat. He didn't flinch.
“Who the HELL are you?!” They stared into eachother's eyes for a few seconds.
'What d' ya know, green arrow.' CJ thought to himself. He kept his voice strong and reserved as he answered. “My suspicion doesn't come from an outside source. I've done enough lying in my time to see it in another person's eyes. And I haven't seen it in yours, so I figured you'd answer honestly....assuming you'd answer. If you want absolute proof that I'm not this creep, give my a knife and stand back.”
The vigilante slowly backed away and to CJ's lasting delight, the detective reached into his jacket pulled out a pocket knife, which he opened and handed to him. Within five seconds CJ had taken it, stabbed his own left forearm and sliced it from elbow to wrist. He took his scarf from the chair and dabbed the wound. The detective drew his gun in an instant. The vigilante narrowed his eyes.
Shoving his arm in their faces he asked point blank.”Does THIS answer your doubts?” Captain Jack really had done this a number of times, and didn't need to see their faces to know his arm was healing before their eyes. And with wide eyes, and dimmed expressions both men nodded weakly. The cop kept his gun out.
“Yes, I'm dangerous. No, I'm not a killer.” CJ told them both in such a cool detached tone that they were once again reminded of the maniac they'd taken him for...though there was no longer a suspicion that he was so. As the vigilante took note of this truth, he relaxed his form.
It was about 35 seconds of bemusement later that Jack spoke again, his words thoroughly sarcastic. “I'm fairly certain I've answered your questions. I've only even asked you both one question. Please answer it.”
“I saw him die.” The hooded vigilante stated firmly.
“Good riddance.” The detective intoned, confused but calm.
“You are reasonably assured that I am not the lunatic you saw in me?” CJ prompted them. The three men stared at each-other, and both inquisitors nodded. “Then can I get the hell out of here?” He continued emphatically. Detective Lance nodded and opened the door to the outside world. CJ threw his scarf around his neck, caring nothing for the bloodstain from his wound, and walked outside the door without speaking to or looking directly at either one of them. Quite acutely giving them the impression of a man caught in a bar fight who'd been asked to leave the establishment once he'd been declared the victor.
“Well that was fascinating.” Detective Lance quipped a few minutes after the man had gone.
“We had to be sure and you know it.” The Archer replied coarsely.
The detective took a step toward his collaborator, then another.“You know you have..”
The man grabbed his bow and hissed. “Don't even think about it!” Lance stepped back to where he had stood and bluntly asked what was up. “You and I are allies; more-so than we were. That doesn't make us friends.”
“You sure as hell got that right.” The cop replied coldly. “I just wanted to tell you you have a tracker on your hoodie there.”
The hooded archer smiled just broadly enough for the other man to see. “I know that. It's fairly clear to me that CJ wants to find me again, and I intend to let him. He and I aren't in the same business, that I can see.” Quentin looked mildly surprised. “I figured you'd be as curious about him as you were about...the other archer. But good bad or indifferent, I need to know what he's up to. And if he intends to stick around.”
“Can't argue with you there.” Lance admitted. “I can't believe I'm going to say this but, good luck.”
It was an infuriating feeling, that the man he'd practically hunted for over a year had become a partner in his investigations. But this was made much less awkward by the reality that the vigilante himself had called him in on a number of his own missions. When he thought it over, the hood had apparently started negotiating with his targets rather than flat out executing them. Something had changed. And at the moment Lance had only a vague idea of what. But he was going to find out for sure, from the source.
“You know him pretty well?” Jack asked of the archer, having followed him as promised. He stood stock still waiting for a reply to his inquiry. He didn't mind standing about 30 feet away, staring at the back of the man's head. He could see the man was no longer wearing his green hood. And clearly was not about to look him in the face. “The Detective I mean. He's the one who doesn't like you with your mask off, but has to tolerate you when it's on. What I thought applied to your enemy, actually applies to your collaborator.”
“How long have you been in town?” The vigilante replied calmly, thoroughly avoiding the question.
“About a week or so. I woke up here bout a week ago. How long I was around? Who knows?”
“So you're not a total liar, just confused?”
“I don't know how much sarcasm I should read in that remark.” The man replied, blunt and straight-forward as ever. “But I think we both know it's literally true.”
“Yeah, I've gotten pretty good at seeing through other people's b.s.” The archer replied simply.
“Listen, you've been here for the past 6 hours and you've barely moved from that seat. Either this is your base of operations, and you wanted to meet me here of all places. Or this is some weird kind of a trap for a man you see as an opponent. I would think I've shown you how pointless the latter is.”
“If I were trying to kill you it would be pointless. Questioning you however would be exceptionally easy in a place like this.” He paused to let the threat sink in. “ But I just wanted to see how much you knew.”
“And you had at least one more question for me, I know that much.”
“I was wondering why you asked if your doppelganger was still alive.”
“You both looked like you'd seen an old enemy come back from the dead.” CJ replied accurately, but only half-truthfully. “And a few seconds later it was a sensation I shared.” He added to finish the truth.
Jack normally paid very little attention to what he'd taken as a bunch of random REM cycle dreams. Especially considering many came from the 'ridiculous science-fiction serials' upon which his friends would have been raised. Many said stories actually seemed to have a basis in fact, given his travels. But if that was the case, if those fragments were accurate, there was only one possible explanation.“You're not some spoiled rich kid trying to make up for bad behavior are you? I meant that would be one hell of a coincidence?”
It was clear to the vigilante that Jack suspected his words as perfectly true. The question was, how strongly did CJ believe the accusation. Oliver decided an abridged version of the facts was the best way to go. “That is more or less how this got started.” He admitted glumly. “I'm not sure what it's become.”
“Do I assume correctly that your original mission is more or less over? As a question of curiosity are you trying to find...” he hung his head in mostly genuine shame. “NM that. I don't expect you to tell me.”
“Hehe, you find it easy enough to pry. Why relent so soon?” The Archer teased.
“ 'It is unfortunate that we masked men must hide so much from each-other' ” Jack quipped. “A friend of mine told me that once...well I say friend...but he was right.”
“I'll ask you again.” Oliver began, picking up his bow. He placed an arrow in the shaft and turned slowly to face the man. “Who the HELL are you?”
“Not that it'll means a damn thing to you.” CJ replied calmly, with something approaching confidence in his voice. “But I've gone with Harkness as a surname for almost 300 years. 'CJ' stands for 'Captain Jack', an old term of endearment. It's my name. PERIOD. Well as close as makes no nevermind.”
“...That's your name.” the vigilante corrected. “Now it's time you actually answer me. Who are you.”
“I'm a man who some years ago didn't remember a thing of his past life. But according to my 'closest friend', who called himself Johnathan Taylor, that life has gone on for a while. Given that I apparently have survived, in no particular order '...falling off a cliff, being trampled by horses, world war one, world war two, poison, starvation...' Well you get the idea. Taylor told me that he and I met because I was a con-artist. But to this day I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I was at one time a worse form of criminal. I've made it my mission to make up for whichever is true.” He looked at the 'metal clock', on his wrist, otherwise known as his vortex manipulator, and frowned. The digits were going ballistic.
“What's wrong?” The archer asked in a tone to suggest he cared more about getting an answer than what the answer was.
At least that was the impression CJ got from his words.“I still haven't learned how this blasted thing works.” Jack admitted easily,tapping the device with his other hand. “But I think it's telling me to get the hell out of here. Don't know if Jonathan's waiting, but I am pretty sure it's time to move on; that's the straight up truth.”
“What and you're asking for my permission?” The hood asked, something like disbelief in his voice.
“I don't want you to think I'm avoiding answering your questions. I usually try to close these things out before flat out ending them.” CJ replied resolutely.
“You may or may not believe this,” The other man said quietly. “but it was nice to meet you, Captain Harkness.” It really had been one of the more open and comforting conversations he'd had in a long time.
Captain Jack Harkness flashed a boyish grin.“Likewise Oliver Queen.” He ran out the door of the basement and out into the alley as quickly as anyone could have done.
The man responsible for the misconception was arrested 2 days later. He had been a long-time victim of Malcolm Merlyn's cold-heartedness, and had jumped at the chance to pin something on him. Or so it seemed at first. Then the hood got hold of the man's toxicology report, and the charge was changed from obstruction, to drugs. One of the detective's Criminal Informants confirmed that Harkness had been in town for about a week and a half. And upon this evidence the detective and the archer came to the same conclusion: Jack had been telling the truth as he knew it.
Several days later, when Oliver responded to a summons by the detective, hood and voice-changer firmly in place, he found the man pacing the entire length of the same rooms in which they'd questioned Jack. It had become their standard meeting place.
“Getting sentimental?” the Archer asked with a slight humor evident in his voice.
“I was wondering if you use this room a lot?” the man retorted briskly.
“It's a peaceful middle ground.” The Archer replied. “Neutral territory between the station and my base of operations...What's going on detective?”
“This time I've got a question for you.” Detective Quentin Lance stated firmly, and without reserve.
“Then ask it.” The hood responded in a deadpan tone.
“What was your connection to Tommy Merlyn.”
“I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business.” Oliver replied with concealed shock.
It was a shock the cop mistook for anger. And under almost any other set of circumstances, Quentin Lance would have backed off. But there was too many 'bits and pieces' which had piled up over time for him to ignore anymore. And he felt they were all leading him to one conclusion. “Look, you've been an infuriating puzzle to me from day one. And I'll admit, at first I thought your motives and goals changed as rapidly and as quickly as you flee a crime scene. I gave up trying to put this all together a long time ago...”
“...But the mystery of Captain Harkness changed all of that?”
“The fact that we actually worked together solving the mystery of that solider, yeah it did. It started me thinking. You saved Tommy's father from poison, saved him from kidnappers and such, went on a three month leave of absence when they both died. I don't mind telling YOU that the city could really have used your help. But you vanish, as though forever. And actually start being a team player once you're back?!”
“I wouldn't go that far.” The Hood interrupted.
“You call me in when you think Merlyn was back from the grave...close-er to a team player.”
“You called me in.” the Hood countered him.
“Yeah but I didn't expect you to go all in like that!” The detective replied, not caring for a game of who did what at the moment. “I just...”
“Detective Quentin Lance, neither of us will enjoy what will come from this.”
“I figured that.” The cop replied coarsely, apparently resenting being treated like an idiot. He took a few deep breaths, and waited for the right words to come to him. He knew he was asking a masked, mass-murderer that he'd hunted for over a year to suddenly remove his mask simply because they weren't enemies anymore. When he thought of it like that, it did make him sound like an idiot. He chuckled at the irony. He couldn't help it.“I..I just need to know what the hell is going on.”
There was an infuriating silence. Neither man felt any desire to move a muscle. Finally Oliver spoke.
“Hatred sucks.” He said with feeling. “You've hated me for ages...in both forms apparently. And why someone I've never met could see that so quickly I don't know. But...” He deactivated the voice changer. “...it doesn't take a genius to see that Tommy was my friend.”
It took a few moments for these words, so casually uttered by his nemesis, to be processed by the detectives brain. When he finally put the pieces together, he could only think of one appropriate thing to say. “SON. OF. A...BITCH.”
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