140Title of Piece: Not Afraid to Die
Universe: Death-Defying (currently unposted)
Word Count: 5328
Notes: Sorry today's post is so late—I wanted to write something else, but I didn't have quite enough time. So, instead of making you wait a week for something, I decided to go ahead and drop this instead.
Also, posts in this collection probably aren't going to be this long. I had enough to make a pretty nicely-sized fic, so I went with it. But usually my rough ideas, like this, are about 1000 words long, not 5000.
This comes from the piece you might have heard me mention on Tumblr a time or two. It's going to be called Don't Fear the Reaper when I finally post it, but it's going to be an epic-sized universe, I can already feel it. (Also evidenced by the fact I started it last October and I'm not done yet.) Anyhow, the scenes below come from the first two chapters, "Death is Only the Beginning" and "Not Afraid to Die." I'm intentionally leaving out some introductory material, but I think you can follow it well enough without it.
I'd love to know what you think, if you have the time, but if not, thanks for reading! :)
Oliver has been in town for the entirety of twenty hours, after five years shipwrecked, when everything goes sideways. He remembers standing by Tommy's Mercedes while he went to visit Laurel (Oliver knows better than to see her after all that happened), and then Tommy walks up to him talking about models and sushi. Then he hears the sound of a gun with a silencer firing, and then a tranquilizer dart in his neck before everything goes dark once again.
At least when he awakens this time, it's not after dying. He can tell because he pulls out of it as easy as a sleep, instead of feeling like he nearly died in a nightmare. He wasn't able to differentiate in the past, but a whole host of deaths on the island have taught him the difference between unconsciousness and dying.
Three masked men stand around him in an abandoned warehouse, one of them holding a taser. Oliver's eyes flick over to the collapsed body on the floor behind them, and he sees red when he realizes it's Tommy. He's not sure what kind of shape the Merlyn Global heir is in, but he has to believe he's still alive. After all, if he's dead, then Oliver isn't sure if he'll ever forgive himself.
Or, more importantly, if he will leave these guys alive.
"Mr. Queen," the muffled voice of the kidnapper in charge says, "this is what's going to happen. I ask the questions, you give me the answers." He fires the taser a couple of times, as if to appear threatening. "Did your father survive that accident?"
Oliver says nothing, sitting defiantly in his chair and looking at them. He's too focused on getting out of his zip-cuffs to answer, anyway. The kidnapper puts the taser against his chest, and he somehow manages not to give the asshole the satisfaction of groaning. He's been through worse than this, and it takes a little more than torture and a taser to make him talk.
"I asked you a question, Mr. Queen," the kidnapper continues. "Did he make it to the island? Did he tell you anything?" He fires the taser again in warning, but Oliver doesn't give in. After all, he's almost out of his zip-cuffs now, and one more hit with a taser isn't going to kill him.
Even if it did, it's not like it would be a problem.
He's about to put the taser to Oliver again when he hears the sound of a knife flying end over end, and then the head kidnapper screams, the sound high-pitched and rather shrill. When he finishes, he examines the knife in his arm, one that's black from handle to blade—or, at least, what Oliver can see of it that isn't buried in the man's wrist. Once the criminal is finished screaming incoherently, he says to the other two, "Shit, it's her. Find her—kill her."
Oliver's eyes narrow in confusion at the pronoun usage, and part of him wonders if it's not the Oracle—the mysterious woman who has ruled Starling City from the shadows since his father was a child. Named accurately, the Oracle is said to see all and know all that happens in her city—and she does whatever it takes to protect it. There's no way it can be the same woman, of course; it's most likely a title that's inherited—Starling's own Dread Pirate Roberts.
But the most important thought is that Oracle a fighter who has been collecting criminals for the SCPD for generations, and that she's probably here to help Oliver.
Before he can explore it further, an arrow flies through another man's arm, the shaft and fletching dark as pitch. It isn't lethal, but it is used to pin him to the wall. A second arrow follows the first, this one crimson, and it catches the leader through the shoulder. The third man has a better sense of self-preservation, and he runs.
The woman that they fear steps out of the darkness, though she still blends with it. Her suit is black leather that clings to her figure, and it appears to be a bodysuit that stretches down the length of her legs, down to her wrists, and up to the collar at her neck. Instead of a mask, a fabric is pulled over her mouth and nose, exposing only a set of brilliant blue eyes. Black gloves are coupled with what appears to be combat boots, and her blonde hair is pulled up in a clamp at the back of her head.
She twists a white, circular device on her belt, just above her hip, before saying, "Arsenal, follow him and drag him back." Her voice comes out in five different tones at once, and Oliver can't distinguish her voice from the other tones. Her command is a call to action, and a lanky boy in red leather and a hood over his head darts past her, running with a bow in his hand.
The blonde stands over Oliver, turning toward him. "Sorry about the lousy welcome wagon, Mr. Queen," she says. "But, on their behalf"—she steps on the leader's shoulder to stop his escape attempt, and he groans because of her proximity to the arrow—"I'd like to welcome you back to Starling City." She pulls the knife from his arm and wipes it on the kidnapper's shirt before sliding it back into its sheath on her belt. Then she pulls another one—a highly illegal butterfly knife—and continues, "Allow me to help you out of those cuffs."
He pulls his hands from behind his back to show her that he's already broken them, and her eyes widen a little in surprise. "They were loose," he explains lamely, and her raised eyebrow informs him that she is so not buying that, even though she doesn't argue. Instead of trying to convince her, he goes over to Tommy, releasing a breath when he finds a pulse under his fingers. Oracle drops her bow and moves to the restraints around Tommy's wrists, attempting to cut them.
Oliver turns back to the blonde to ask a question, and he sees that the man she shot has pulled the arrow out of his shoulder and is attempting to flee. On instinct, he grabs her bow as he rises to his feet, then pulls an arrow from the quiver at her back. He isn't familiar with her bow or how it shoots, but all he's focusing on is the man who kidnapped his best friend and is now trying to get away. Despite the lack of familiarity with her weaponry, he manages to send a black arrow into the man's calf, dropping him instantly.
Oracle studies him with wide eyes, then nods several times. "Yeah, okay," she says finally. "That was... impressive, Mr. Queen." She studies him a moment with intelligent eyes. "I'd bet you didn't spend the last five years of your life drinking from coconuts on a deserted island. If being a billionaire doesn't pan out for you, I guess you could always become a vigilante."
He studies her for a moment, unsure about how serious she is since he can only see her eyes. "Is that a job offer?" he asks finally, and her eyes light up when she chuckles.
"No," she replies, but quickly tacks on, "but it is an interview offer." She pulls his cell phone out of the front pocket of his jeans, and he's surprised by how personal the moment is and how impersonally she makes the exchange. She programs a set of numbers into his contacts list, adding, "Call this number tomorrow night, and we'll arrange a meet and a working interview." She winks at him as sirens start to blare, and Oliver can see the cop car pull up outside the building, just as the boy she called Arsenal comes back into view. He's leading the last criminal back into the room, and he knocks the man unconscious.
"It's Lance," Arsenal says in his own synthesized voice, this one more robotic, and Oliver stiffens at the mention of the name. The last detective he needs on the scene is one Quentin Lance, who would want to see Oliver in jail, anyway. "Line 'em up?" he asks now, to which Oracle nods.
Arsenal starts dragging the unconscious—or wishing-they-were-unconscious—men across the floor, and he notices the black arrow that Oliver placed in a man's calf. "Not like you to aim for the legs," he comments. "Did you drop a runner?"
"Actually," she answers as she cuts through the bindings on Tommy's wrists, "Oliver managed that shot." Arsenal doesn't look like he believes her, and she continues, "It wasn't bad for a guy using a foreign bow. He's earned himself an interview."
Arsenal opens his mouth to argue, but closes it when he sees Detective Lance charging toward them, gun drawn. He holsters it when he sees Oracle, and she says casually to him, "Three kidnappers for you, Detective—they went after Mr. Queen and Mr. Merlyn." She shrugs. "That should give you enough to find out who hired them, which man they were after, and why they were paid to do the job."
Lance snorts. "Well, can't hold that against them," he answers dryly, just as Tommy starts to come to. Then Lance tilts his head to the side. "How did you know about this?"
Her eyes look like she's smiling, a slight twinkle in them as she answers, "I'm the Oracle, Detective—I see all, I know all." It's the last thing she says, and she turns to Oliver, offering him a discrete wink before she leaves. "Come on, Arsenal—let's take our leave before the bad cops get here." Oliver watches them walk out of the building together, the blonde wrapping her arm through the kid's. It has to be one of the strangest sights he's ever seen—two vigilantes, side by side and arm in arm—but then he chuckles because Oracle is the last thing he expects.
It's not five minutes later that she sends him a text message: "61st and Franklin tomorrow night, 8PM. Bring your gear and be prepared to get your hands dirty." A second one follows the first that states, "Oh, and you're in charge of an escape plan. 252 North Adams Street. Extra points for creativity." He shakes his head, fighting a smile.
Damned if she didn't end that second one with a winking smiley face.
Oliver shows up in his gear at their specified meeting location, as directed. Oracle is already there when he arrives, and he suspects that Arsenal is waiting in the wings with an arrow nocked, just in case there's any trouble. It's what Oliver would do, so he supposes it's what Oracle would do, too.
The old, abandoned warehouse is set up with a table in the middle, where a tablet sits, waiting for instructions. The lighting isn't wonderful, but the glow of the screen informs him that it probably won't matter. After all, if her information is stored on the tablet, low lighting only reduces the likelihood that anyone will be able to fire off an effective shot. Another smart plan, also probably conceived by Oracle.
"Did you take care of arrangements?" she asks as soon as she sees him walk in, and Oliver nods in the affirmative. She tasked him with setting up a clean getaway, and he figures the zipline and his "resurrection party" (as Tommy keeps calling it) will make for easy cover. He told them to prepare, and he's already checked in to find two duffle bags in the hiding place, nestled next to his own.
"Good," she answers. She motions him over, and he stands next to her, laying his bow on the desk next to hers. Her eyes narrow slightly, and she picks it up, pulling on the draw experimentally. He's surprised she can even pull it back; he has a strong draw, but she pulls it as easily as her own. "This antique?" she questions, sounding surprised. "This is what you're using?" She shakes her head. "If you join up, we are definitely replacing that—it hurts my soul." He chuckles as she sets it back on the table, and then watches her carefully to see what she'll do next. Thus far, Oracle has proven somewhat unpredictable.
He's surprised when her fingers rest on his biceps, and he thinks she almost has an admiring look playing across her features. "Wow, this fits really well," she comments casually. "I mean, I'm not going to be the only girl to dream about you in this suit, I'll tell you that." Her eyes widen as her mouth catches up to her brain, and he can see the telltale signs of a blush peeking out from under her face mask. He tries to fight back a smile, but it doesn't quite work. "My mouth runs away with me sometimes," she admits then, as if he hasn't already realized that and found it intriguing.
She studies him for a moment longer before leaning so that she can look up under the hood. She reaches both hands up slowly to pull it back, and then studies the grease paint around his eyes for a moment. She touches it with two fingers before pulling her hand back, and then she rubs her fingers against her thumb when it comes off on her hand. "I thought you wouldn't have a mask," she says finally, and then she pulls a black one from her belt. She pats his shoulder and winks. "You can't be a vigilante without a mask." She waves a hand, and he notices for the first time that her fingernails are painted turquoise. "It's, like, part of the code or something."
He slides the mask over his head, pulling it into place before drawing his hood over his head again. "Does that look better?" he asks, surprising himself by smiling.
She nods once. "Now you look like a hero," she answers, and he thinks she might be smiling, judging by her eyes. She shakes her head once, then turns to the tablet, swiping her fingers across it to reveal blueprints of a building. "So, this is the Hunt Multinational building. Best way in seems to be from the ground floor—if we go through the windows with wire, it's going to set off alarms. I can hack those, but we'll have to fight mercenaries on both fronts." She looks at him instead of the tablet for a moment. "Better to keep the enemy in front of you."
She pulls up a single floor in the plan, and Oliver realizes it's the top floor. "We've issued a warning to Mr. Hunt, but he didn't pay his forty million by the deadline, surprise surprise." She rolls her eyes. "So, he knows we're coming and he's prepared—holed up in his office on the top floor." She looks at Oliver. "That's where we split duties." She points to a section on the tablet. "Arsenal is going to guard the doorway, block off some of the guards. My job is at the computer—I'm hacking his accounts on his servers that don't have Internet access. I'm going to send part of that information to the police, so they can arrest him for his shady business dealings." She pokes a finger in his chest. "Since I'm going to be occupied, your job is going to be covering me. There are always a few men that manage to get past Arsenal, and they're your responsibility."
She points to a set of arrows she has waiting, with green shafts and fletching like his. However, hers are a different composite, one that will probably fly straighter than the crude ones he makes. He notices that her arrowheads aren't as well-crafted as his, though; maybe they have a trade-off on skill set. "These are tipped in a tranquilizer," she says to him, "which will make your job a little easier. We don't fire kill shots, so the tranquilizers will keep the goons down for a few hours at a time."
"Your shafts are better," he says finally, through his own synthesizer, his voice sounding unnaturally deep to his own ears, "but your arrowheads could use some work."
She takes an arrow from his quiver, studying it for a moment. "We'll trade arrow-making tips if this all goes well," she replies finally, and there's a smile to her voice. "But right now, Adam Hunt has a debt to pay, and it's our job to collect in all our mysterious-vigilante glory. The mask and the hood will let everyone know you're with us." She shrugs. "It will make you a target, but at least there's some solidarity there."
"Are the cops on our side?" he asks, eyebrows narrowing in confusion. Lance was friendly enough, but he needs to make sure before anything happens that the police force won't turn on them. And, if they will, he also needs to make sure he counts them among his enemies.
She sighs. "Detective Lance and I manage to get along because we've never killed and we toss the bad guys his way when we round them up," she starts slowly, "but most of his colleagues don't share his appreciation for our work. The SCPD sees us as 'violent criminals'"—she actually uses air quotes—"and they don't tolerate vigilantism in any of its forms." Her voice goes flat and monotonous toward the end, as if she's reciting a speech that someone in the police department made. "So we're out in the cold with only each other to depend on." She grabs his shoulder with a wink. "Here's hoping you have something warm on under that green leather."
In a moment, she's changing tacks, waving a hand over her head in a come-here motion, and Arsenal drops to the ground as though he does it every day. She hesitates before finally saying, "Since we know your name, we thought it was only fair that you know ours." She looks at Arsenal for confirmation, and he nods once, though he isn't smiling. "Consider it a counter-blackmail offer—this way, if we give you up, you have our names, too." Her eyes turn dark as she adds, "And vice versa, of course."
The message is loud and clear: Rat on us, and we'll make sure your sorry ass is sitting in the cell next to ours. She pulls back the boy's hood, and he lowers his red mask. His eyes are blue, his hair dark. Sharp cheekbones are his most prominent feature, and Oliver realizes that the kid is probably still a teenager—younger than he expects. The boy extends his hand though he doesn't seem thrilled about it, the other one reaching to turn off the synthesizer. "Roy Harper," he says in a soft and deep voice that Oliver doesn't expect. "My handle is Arsenal, and that's what we'll be using tonight." Oliver shakes his hand, and the boy hands him an earpiece. "This is so you can communicate with us, should we all get split up."
The blonde pulls down the covering over her mouth and nose as Roy pulls his gear back on, exposing lips painted fuchsia that are curled into a smile. She's pretty, Oliver can't help but notice, though he thinks now is neither the time or place to be noticing. "Felicity Smoak," she says as she extends a hand, shaking Oliver's before pulling on her gloves and the mask over her face. It surprises him that she sounds all the world like any woman off the street; high, soft voice with an almost lyrical edge to it. "I think you already know me as Oracle." She laughs. "And, despite being part-time vigilantes, we're really not very creative, so your handle tonight is going to be Green."
Oliver slides the earpiece into place, nodding when he can hear all of them across the comms. Felicity is the one who hands him his bow, and she winks at him before trading out the set of arrows in his quiver for her tranquilizer ones. He can practically feel her buzzing with excitement as she leads the charge out of the building, and Oliver throws Roy a questioning look before letting his eyes flick back to Felicity again.
The teenager shrugs. "Blondie gets a high from this," he answers after a long moment. Then he shakes his head. "It's kind of like sending a crack addict to a cocaine convention."
Felicity turns back, her eyes surprisingly serious. "Once you start in on this life, Oliver, it either destroys you or consumes you. But, either way, once you've done this, there's no going back." She says it as a warning, a careful indication of what is to come.
Oliver's response is quiet but firm: "There's nothing in my past I'd ever want back."
Even as he fires another shot off into a hired mercenary, Oliver can't help but think the entire process seems to be going well. Adam Hunt is well-guarded, but Felicity puts him down herself with a swift kick after they manage to make it to the top floor, and she slides into the chair at Hunt's desk as if she owns the place. "You're up, Green," she warns him lowly, and he offers her a nod while standing sentry at her side.
For the most part, it's easy work. Roy is better than Oliver thought he'd be; he has a tendency to drift to the left, but he knows it and compensates for it beautifully. A few attempt to brush past the teenager, but Oliver stops them with an arrow before they have the chance to get too close to the boy. Begrudgingly, Oliver offers to Felicity, "The kid's a good shot with that bow."
Felicity's eyes light up as though she's smiling. "Of course he is," she answers, pride coating her words like she's a proud mother whose child has just taken their first steps. "He learned from the best, after all."
"Is that who you learned from?" Oliver can't help but ask as he fires off an arrow toward another mercenary. Roy manages to keep his distance, but he's starting to give ground, making Oliver's job much more difficult as more men close in on them. There's nothing Roy can do about it, of course, but the problem is still there.
"Roy and I learned how to shoot from the same instructor, but she was a lot more skilled by the time Roy started learning the trade from her." She looks up at him and winks playfully before turning immediately back to her computer. "Teaching yourself how to use a bow is an absolute bitch," is her final answer, and Oliver shakes his head because he should have known. She's full of false arrogance, but he rather likes this unpredictable Felicity Smoak—hard and soft at the same time, full of confidence and exuberance.
From a distance, Oliver helps Roy pick off some of the mercenaries hired to stop them, watching as Roy steadily takes steps backward, slowly giving ground even though he has no desire to do so. They both use fire arrows as quickly as possible, but twenty-four arrows in his quiver go fairly quick, and Roy is out before he is.
"Time to earn your paychecks, boys," Felicity calls through her synthesizer. "I can't do my job if you won't do yours." Oliver takes the hint, moving closer into position near Felicity's desk. One man takes it as a challenge, and Oliver takes the gun from his hand before he can fire it, then drops him with a swift punch. A second joins him on the floor only moments later, this one managing to send a bullet searing into Oliver's bicep before he can be stopped.
Then he sees Roy overwhelmed in the corner, and he knows he needs to do something. Using a break in the violence on his side of the room, he moves closer to Felicity, sliding his hand down her side to find one of her knives. She's in mid-reach for the mouse, and her hand misses it by a mile, slamming down against the desk and missing the mark completely. "There's a time and a place, Green. This—" She stops abruptly when Oliver pulls the knife loose, throwing it into one of the mercenaries just before he can take a swing at Roy.
Male pride makes Oliver note that Felicity doesn't seem opposed to the idea of his hands lingering in inappropriate places, but instead his timing.
Thinking about that is a bad idea, so he turns back toward Roy, taking out a few mercenaries who think it's fun to pick on a kid not much older than his sister. He manages to help Roy out for a turn, and then he hears the movement of a gun behind him. Turning, he finds one of the gunmen with a pistol pointed at Oliver's head.
If the man expects Oliver to flinch, he's wrong. He hasn't survived five years of hell without taking a few risks, and he's no longer the scared kid who got in over his head; now, he's not afraid of death. Oliver charges him without a second thought, but a black-shafted arrow blossoms through the gunman's chest before he can. Oliver turns back to Felicity, offering her a sharp nod as she rises from the computer, and she gives him an awkward salute in response.
"I think we've outstayed our welcome, boys," she comments to them through the comms. "Mr. Hunt has made a nice little donation to charity and turned himself in, so I see no reason why we should hang around." She fires off another arrow. "Green, you're up with the exit."
Oliver pulls a one of the two remaining trick arrows from his quiver, nocking it until the light turns green, releasing it to blow out one of the windows. "Oh, I have got to get me some of those," he hears Felicity mutter behind him, and he fights a smile. The second one is pulled out of the quiver next, and he fires it into the building across the street. The high-polymer cable catches at the end, and he attaches it to one of the pillars close to the window.
"Hook your bow over that," he tells them, "and slide down. Our bags are there—we can slide out through the party." He turns back to them, his attention following theirs toward the swarm of cops coming up the stairs. "I'll stay behind and hold the line. First one through will have to break the window on the other end—dive feet first and you'll be fine."
Roy—obviously the thrill seeker of the two—needs no further invitation; he walks over, slides his bow over the top, and pushes off into the night. Felicity follows only to the window, then looks over the edge. "I'm afraid of heights," she informs him suddenly.
Oliver can't hide his exasperation from her, heaving a sigh. "You could have told me that before I set this up," he answers dryly. He has to admit, it's not a reaction he was expecting from her; Felicity seems fearless in her role as Oracle.
"Actually," she answers, her voice a little high-pitched, "it's a recent discovery. I didn't know it either until about five seconds ago." She sighs as she looks down at the ground, then frowns at it. "Damn irrational fears," Felicity grumbles under her breath, and Oliver can't hold back another chuckle.
One of the police officers calls out to them, "SCPD! You're under arrest—drop your weapons immediately!" Oliver has to admit that he's impressed; apparently any mention of Oracle brings a full SWAT team crawling after her. An odd response for a vigilante who has never killed before, but Oliver decides he's not the best judge of what's normal. After all, he's a vigilante archer who has died seven times, which doesn't exactly constitute normal, either.
A plan comes to Oliver, and he takes the opportunity granted to him. "Hold on to me tight," he warns her quietly He reaches down to Felicity's thigh for another throwing knife, flicking it over the officers' heads close enough to make it look like an accidental miss. A yell comes from the group, but only one officer manages to get off a few shots before Felicity's arms are around his neck and they're on the zipline down toward the building.
Both of them manage to land on their feet, Felicity looking very pale as she pulls down the face mask. Roy is already leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest in wait, hood pulled down and mask around his neck, like they're wasting his time. "Oliver Queen," she accuses him breathily, "you are absolutely batshit crazy." Then she holds out her hand for him to shake. "Which is why I'd be an idiot not to offer you a place on the team. Welcome aboard."
A smile turns his mouth upward, and he doesn't bother to hide it. "Thank you, Felicity," he answers, shaking her hand briefly before turning back toward a frowning, silent Roy who is clearly less than pleased by the idea. Oliver walks up to him. "If you want me to leave," he starts slowly, "I'll leave. I'm not going to destroy a good team because I'm not wanted."
Roy's eyebrows shoot up, then he looks behind Oliver to Felicity. "Well, you're not completely useless," Roy offers, and Oliver takes it as the best compliment he's ever going to get. "And you had my back in there." He crosses his arms. "I'm not going to be the asshole who says you can't stay."
Oliver offers his hand to shake, and, to his surprise, the kid takes it. "Thank you, Roy," he states sincerely.
The kid scoffs as he crosses his arms over his chest again. "Just don't take this as an invitation to start discussing feelings, Queen," he quips, but there's no bite in his words. Maybe this is just how Roy Harper chooses to communicate. "That's more Blondie's speed—guys always want to discuss feelings with her. Especially Ray." The look on his face is suggestive, indicating that perhaps feelings aren't all this Ray chooses to discuss with her.
Felicity, though, is more than willing to clarify. "Ray doesn't want to discuss feelings, Roy," she corrects as she starts pulling their bags from the corner, ones containing their street clothes. Oliver takes his from her at the same time she decides to add decisively, "Not really. Ray wants to discuss getting back into my pants." Somehow Oliver manages not to choke on his tongue at her flippant declaration. "He's looking for the dream—a woman to marry for love, two-story house complete with white picket fence, his two-point-six children, and 'til death do us part." Something dark flickers across her face, maybe even something a little disappointed. "While the sex was amazing and I loved that he knew the plot of every episode of Doctor Who, I'm never going to be that kind of girl."
Whatever seems to have dampened her mood, Roy seems to understand. Instead of trying to comfort her, he simply takes his bag from her hand, stopping to knock his shoulder against hers. "Don't get me wrong, Blondie—I don't want to pick out curtains with you or anything," the kid starts slowly, and against Oliver's better judgment, he thinks he's developing a soft spot for the kid. Still, when Felicity's mouth starts to pull upward, he can't help it. "But you've always got me. Forever." It's a promise, one filled with meaning that Oliver can't even begin to understand. God only knows what these two have faced together, creating some sort of bond between them stronger than siblings.
Felicity drapes her free arm around his shoulders. "Most days, Roy, that's enough."