The Beginning of the End
Violence: not really
Author's Note: (updated 7/15/13)
This is the beginning of an Alternate Universe story for Arrow, which picks up directly after "Darkness at the Edge of Town." I know where the story is going now. There will be three parts:
-The Beginning- this part, wherein all the characters adjust to their new situation.
-The Middle- which will remain status quo, while the new team handles various missions and objectives together. (I am NOT going to write this part! I'm sorry, I suck at plots, and I have other projects I need to work on.) (Not to be egotistical, but if anybody wants to write for these "episodes," you're more than welcome to!)
-The End- the sort of series finale, in which things will change yet again, and there will be some sort of closure for situations and events. I know that sounds vague, and the "end" will still be somewhat open-ended.
Note: references to prior events may not match canon. (This happens because I've only seen each episode once (usually) back when they came out, and I have to rely on my memory.)
(Totally useless author notes you can ignore:)
This happened because I missed a week of Arrow, so I caught "Darkness at the Edge of Town" when "Sacrifice" was already out. But after the cliffhanger of "Darkness," I didn't watch the next episode. (I'm masochistic like that.) While waiting another week, I asked my Brain what Merlyn might do next. And my Brain said, he's going to have a little talk with Oliver.
The next thing I know, my Brain has absconded to Tijuana for a week to write that little talk, and others that follow it. I hope you enjoy it. (And I hope Arrow doesn't get cancelled, cuz Every Single Freekin show that I start to really enjoy in gets cancelled!)
The Beginning of the End
Oliver's world reeled. There was darkness, a sharp blade of yellow light, pain. His whole body ached, his head throbbed. Was he upright or lying down? He tried to get his limbs to move. They were too heavy. He tried to get his eyes open. He couldn't see, couldn't focus. He tried to order his mind. His thoughts, his memory, they spun tantalizingly out of reach.
He felt a sharp pain in his arm, needle sharp. "No," he moaned, flashes of The Count's merciless smile crossing his vision.
"It's all right; it's just a sedative," said a calm voice. Caring. "Oliver, you've been hurt very badly."
His head lolled towards the voice. He should recognize it. "Wh...?"
"Here." Something hard, smooth, curved, pressed against his lips. A glass. Oliver gratefully sucked on the cool water. "You can rest in a moment, but first I need to know who you were working with."
"Digg?" His eyes just wouldn't open. There was a blur standing before him, a man, that was all he could make out.
Malcolm Merlyn drew his lower lip slowly through his teeth. A nickname wasn't much to go on. "Who is it that's been working with you?" he pressed gently. "What's his name?"
"Digg?" Oliver mumbled incoherently. "Where...?"
"I know he's been working with you, doubling as the Vigilante. He could be in grave danger." Or at least Malcolm hoped so. He'd sent his private guard to the warehouse to make sure of it. Nevertheless, should he bolt...
Now that jogged something, wasn't it a Mr. Diggle who had been driving Moira around one week? Spying on her, just before she'd been attacked. Oliver's bodyguard. Of course, that made sense. Malcolm leaned over Oliver and rewarded him with another sip of water. "Who else was there? Who planted the trojan?"
"What's her full name? How do I find her?"
"Fel...," Oliver mumbled. "Licity. Ssss... no." The high dose was making him incoherent, but it was the only chance of getting him doped-up enough to cooperate. "No... no, no no..."
"She's been hurt, Oliver. We need to find her. Where is she?"
"No... no, stayed behind..."
Malcolm gripped his shoulder. "Felicity's hurt, Oliver; she needs help, now. She could die if we don't get there in time."
"Felicity? No... can't... let her get hurt... No more..."
"She stayed behind? At your headquarters? Where is it, Oliver? At the club?"
"How do I get in there?"
"'Slocked," Oliver slurred, his head dropping further.
"Where's the key? Do you have it with you?"
"'Ssss code." He started mumbling something; Malcolm could only assume it was the numeric code.
He straightened. If he couldn't puzzle out the slur of numbers, well, there were other ways of breaking coded locks. "It's all right. I'll go get her." He gently patted Oliver's shoulder as he turned away.
That... blur... was going to get Felicity. "No..." Somehow, that was bad, Oliver could feel it in his bones. The blurry shape retreated rapidly, then disappeared. "No no no no no no..."