Dre stretched out across the bed in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling with the strange satisfaction of a man who had finally been allowed to sleep somewhere that didn't smell like disinfectant and despair.
The room wasn't shabby by any means; the bed was comfortable, the walls were clean, and there was even a small sitting area near the window. Still, it was worlds behind the luxury of the Continental. The hotel had been chosen because of its proximity to the courthouse, making it convenient for his legal obligations, but Dre couldn't help feeling like he had been placed in an expensive holding cell with better furniture.
Eh, he'll take what he can get at this point.
He lifted his leg and stared down at the black band secured around his ankle, then shook his head in resignation. The damn thing was apparently designed to be nearly impossible to break, with Irving explaining that the newer models were considerably more durable than the standard monitors. Dre had briefly considered testing that claim before deciding that spending another night in a police station probably wasn't worth the satisfaction.
"Well, then, that went well," Irving said as he gathered his things near the door. "Settle in and remember your radius. We can't afford you breaking the terms of your bail. The court gave us a generous arrangement, and I would rather not explain to the judge why my client decided to test the structural integrity of government property."
Dre cracked open a bottled water from the small refrigerator and took a long drink before raising the bottle toward Irving, "Don't worry. I don't plan on giving them any excuses to take me in again. Cheers. You were good in there."
Irving lifted his own bottle in return, a small smile appearing on his otherwise serious face. "Cheers. The goofy bit in the beginning wasn't strictly necessary, though I apologize."
Dre laughed. "That was the best part."
Irving chuckled and shook his head. "It works sometimes. Make yourself look a little silly, lower their expectations, then drill them the moment they stop taking you seriously. Some prosecutors get flustered when you change the rhythm of the hearing. He wasn't one of them, unfortunately."
Dre grinned and drained the rest of his water. "Well, I gotta take a piss. When's the next court date?"
Irving checked his notes before answering. "A week from today. The court needs to send out the jury notices, and then we'll begin jury selection. Hopefully we get some good options. Until then, take it easy, stay inside your permitted radius, and don't get into any trouble. I'm sure you'll enjoy sleeping in an actual bed compared to that cell. I'll call you in the morning."
Dre waved him off. "Have a good night." Irving nodded, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. Dre waited until he heard the door close behind him before limping toward the bathroom.
He stopped halfway there.
Something felt wrong.
Not dangerous. Just…different.
Dre turned his head toward the living room and stared at the darkened space beyond it. He couldn't hear anything, but after everything he had been through, silence didn't necessarily mean an empty room.
He shrugged it off and continued into the bathroom, turning on the tap and splashing cold water across his face. When he looked up, his reflection stared back at him, bruised and tired, with a fading cut across his cheek and dark circles beneath his eyes. His gaze drifted toward the shower. The idea of hot water was suddenly too tempting to resist. He turned the handle and let the pipes groan as steam began filling the room, then stepped beneath the spray and allowed himself to breathe.
The relief was immediate. Hot water rolled over his shoulders and down his back, loosening muscles that had been clenched for days. Dre stood there longer than he intended, letting the heat wash away the smell of the cell, the hospital, the courthouse, and the city. Forty minutes passed before he finally stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and ran another towel through his hair. He opened the bathroom door and stepped into the living room.
Then he froze.
Quentin was sitting comfortably on the couch with a glass of whiskey in one hand, while Brock sat across from him with a deck of cards spread between them. A bottle of whiskey rested on the table, along with several empty glasses and a bowl of snacks that Dre was almost certain hadn't been there when he arrived. Quentin looked completely at home, as though he owned the place, while Brock appeared to be taking the card game far more seriously than the situation warranted.
Dre stared at them.
Brock stared back.
Quentin slowly turned his head and smiled.
"Dre."
Dre recovered from his surprise, though the realization that he was standing in front of his boss wearing nothing but a towel made his confidence evaporate almost instantly. "It's good to see you, boss," he said, trying to sound as though this were a perfectly normal way to greet someone after being released from jail.
Quentin stood and approached him with a broad smile, clapping a hand against Dre's shoulder. "You too. Glad to see you're out." Dre nodded, trying desperately not to look down at himself. Quentin glanced toward the hallway. "Amanda, bring over the clothes we brought him."
Amanda appeared around the corner carrying a duffel bag. She stopped when she saw Dre, and Dre watched the realization cross her face before she looked away with a poorly concealed smile. He immediately reached for the bag. "Thanks." He grabbed it from her and hurried back toward the bathroom, closing the door behind him before either of them could say anything else.
Quentin looked toward the bathroom door, then at Amanda. A quiet laugh escaped him. "Why's he so shy?"
Brock shrugged, trying not to laugh. "Probably because he's standing around in a towel in front of everybody."
"That didn't seem to bother him when he was fighting Brickwell I heard he tore his clothes pretty good."
Amanda finally laughed. "Brickwell wasn't looking at him like that."
Quentin shook his head, amusement still in his expression as he returned to the couch. "Fair enough." He picked up his cards and glanced toward Brock. "Your turn."
Brock studied his hand. "You know, considering we're supposed to be discussing the future of Star City, I feel like we're spending an awful lot of time talking about Dre's underwear."
From behind the bathroom door came Dre's muffled voice. "I can still hear you!"
That only made Quentin laugh harder.
A few minutes later, Dre emerged wearing a clean pair of jeans, a dark shirt, and a jacket that fit him slightly loose around the shoulders. His hair was still damp, but the bruising and exhaustion were far less noticeable now that he had showered and changed. He walked into the room and looked between the three of them before shaking his head. "You people are terrible."
Quentin gestured toward the empty chair. "Sit down. We have things to discuss."
Dre lowered himself into the chair, stretching his injured leg out carefully. His eyes moved between Quentin, Amanda, and Brock. "So, I'm guessing you didn't break into my hotel room just to welcome me back."
"No," Quentin said. "Although the thought did cross my mind."
Dre smiled.
Quentin leaned back and studied him for a moment. "How are you feeling?"
"Like somebody shot me with an arrow."
"Technically, somebody did."
"Thank you for the medical clarification."
Amanda sat down beside Brock, folding her hands in her lap. "How was court?"
"Surprisingly boring. Irving did most of the talking. Prosecutor tried to make me sound like some kind of international terrorist."
Quentin's expression remained amused. "And?"
"And apparently I'm a flight risk because I don't exist."
That drew a small laugh from Brock.
Dre continued, "They said I don't have an identity, don't have a normal residence, don't have family ties, and supposedly have access to an organization that can move people all over the country. Basically, because I don't have enough paperwork proving I'm boring, they decided I must be dangerous."
Quentin swirled the whiskey in his glass. "That is one of the unfortunate consequences of being invisible. The moment someone notices you, the absence of a history becomes a history in itself."
Dre nodded slowly.
"They're going to keep digging," Quentin continued. "The arrest gave them an opportunity they didn't have before. Now they know your face, they know your name, and they know you're important."
Dre leaned back. "Yeah. Oliver made sure of that."
The room became quieter.
Quentin's expression changed slightly. "Tell me about him."
Dre exhaled through his nose. "Green Arrow?"
"Yes."
Dre thought back to the moment on the rooftop, the arrow striking his leg, the Underpass members arriving too late, and Oliver standing over him while police sirens grew louder in the distance. "He's good. Really good. Didn't waste time. Didn't kill anybody. Put me down, restrained the others, and waited for the cops. Then he tried to get information out of me."
"What did he ask?"
"Kieran."
Quentin's eyes sharpened.
"He wanted to know who Kieran really was, how the Underpass operates, who the other leaders are. Basically everything."
"And what did you tell him?"
Dre smiled.
"Nothing."
Quentin's smile returned.
"I figured."
"I gave him enough to piss him off, though."
Amanda laughed softly. "That's probably not the best strategy."
"Worked for me."
Quentin studied Dre for a long moment before nodding. "You did well."
Dre's smile faded slightly.
"Seriously," Quentin continued. "You were caught in an unexpected situation, injured, surrounded by police, and questioned by a man who has spent years learning how to extract information from people. You gave him nothing useful. That's important."
Dre shifted in his seat.
"I'm starting to get it," he admitted. "The whole leadership thing."
Quentin raised an eyebrow.
Dre looked toward Amanda. "Brickwell taught me some of it."
Amanda looked confused.
Dre continued, "Not because he was a good leader. Because he wasn't. He hid when things got bad. Sent other people to fight his battles. I figured out that if I wanted the people under me to trust me, I had to be willing to stand beside them when things got ugly."
Quentin nodded approvingly.
"And then Oliver taught me something else," Dre said. "You can be good at what you do and still get caught. I thought we had that game room covered. I thought I had enough people watching the area. Then he just walked in and dismantled the whole thing."
Amanda's expression tightened.
"That wasn't entirely your fault," she said.
Dre looked at her.
"You were dealing with Green Arrow," Amanda continued. "None of us knew he was coming."
"Doesn't matter."
Quentin watched Dre carefully.
Dre leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "If I'm going to be responsible for people, I can't keep telling myself that something wasn't my fault. That's how Brickwell thought. He always had somebody else to blame."
Quentin's smile faded into something more approving.
"That," he said quietly, "is the right lesson."
Dre looked at him.
"You're not supposed to become someone who never makes mistakes," Quentin continued. "You're supposed to become someone who learns quickly enough that the same mistake doesn't kill the people depending on you."
Dre nodded.
The words settled over the room for several seconds before Amanda finally spoke.
"So what happens now?"
Quentin glanced toward her.
"Now?" He took another drink of whiskey. "Now we adapt."
His eyes moved between them.
"The police know Dre's face. Green Arrow knows Dre's importance. The heroes are beginning to understand that the Underpass isn't something they can put on the back burner and deal with at any time. That means we change how we operate. We don't retreat, but we don't become reckless either."
Dre nodded slowly.
"And Amanda?"
Quentin looked toward her.
"You're still the manager."
Amanda blinked.
"Even after all this?"
"Especially after all this."
She straightened.
"You've spent time training with Dre. You've learned how to defend yourself, how to make decisions under pressure, and how quickly a situation can become lethal. Now you're going to learn the other half of the job."
Amanda frowned. "What's that?"
Quentin smiled.
"How to keep everyone alive when you aren't the strongest person in the room."
Dre glanced at her, then smiled.
"Welcome to management."
Amanda rolled her eyes.
Brock laughed.
For the first time since his arrest, Dre felt himself relax. He still had an ankle monitor strapped to his leg, a court date waiting for him in a week, and an entire city of superheroes beginning to take an interest in the organization he represented. None of that had changed.
But he wasn't alone.
That mattered more than anything.
"So boss seriously what's the plan, I don't want to be tied down in this radius for an extended amount of time." Dre said
"Don't worry too much." Quentin responded taking a sip of his whisky, "If you think that thing can keep Nolan out you are sadly mistaken."
Quentin continued before Dre could respond, "Stay put for now I'm sure there are people monitoring this hotel, and I'm sure the arrow isn't far off either. The trial is a joke really even if some disaster strikes and you lose we can still get you out. I want Amanda to be coordinating all of this with you for the remainder of the trial it will give you both experience working together."
"Understood." Dre replied
"Understood boss." Amanda smiled clenching her fist in nerves and excitement
"In the meantime I will get the arrow off your back, he's the main issue."
"How will you manage that?" Amanda asked
Quentin smiled, "I can give them something to worry about no problem. I will head back to Gotham for a couple days."
"I want to visit my best friend."