Author Note: If you're waiting on the update for Letting Go, I promise it's coming. My netbook locked up week before last and I ended up having to take it to a computer shop. Unfortunately my netbook is what I use most for writing and I didn't have the recent chapters backed up yet, but the guy told me that he didn't think I'd lose anything. I get it back this weekend, so updates will be posted as soon as I get it.

Meanwhile, I decided to start writing this story because it's been in my head for a while. Pretty much follows canon through S9 'Echo' but picks up before Chloe implemented her plan to bring Oliver back in 'Roulette.' It's a little darker, so let me know how this part works! As usual, no Beta so all mistakes are my own.

Prologue

He didn't know her – not really, anyway. He didn't know her name or where she came from, whether she had family or friends, where she worked; and yet he knew her. She wasn't like the multitudes of other nameless, faceless people he passed every day. Something about her was different, and it took him a while to recognize what that difference was. She wasn't like the others because she was like him.

He hadn't always been broken. Before he'd gone off to war, he'd had dreams of being something – exactly what, he wasn't sure, but he knew he would have been something. And then a couple of well-aimed airplane missiles had brought down the Towers in New York and as they crumbled, a country's faith in its own security began to crumble as well. He still remembered the disconnected feeling of shock as he'd watched it all unfold on TV like a summer blockbuster; but the anger had swiftly followed. With only one semester remaining to finish his degree, and to the dismay of his family, he'd marched into his local Army recruiters' office and signed himself up. He remembered the pride he'd felt, the sense of altruism as he vowed to defend his country or die trying.

Ten years and five tours later, what he'd learned was that there was nothing truly glorious about war or dying a hero's death. He'd seen terrible things happen to people on both sides of the battle lines, and tormented faces haunted his dreams. People suffered in war, and rarely was it those responsible for setting the events in motion. He wouldn't say he regretted his choices exactly, but they had changed him in irrevocable ways. He'd left pieces of himself in that godforsaken desert, and the voices of all those lost souls had followed him home.

In the two years since he'd been discharged, he had tried to pick up his life in Metropolis. He signed up for classes to finish his degree in Business Administration, but he found that he couldn't stand to sit in the classrooms with all of the young, naïve students who had no idea how the world really was. He also couldn't sleep without the security of his rifle; in the end, he'd cut a length of wood to mimic the size and weight of his rifle as it rested by his side in bed. He'd failed every class that semester, so he shelved his old dreams and took a job working for a storage company down on the docks. The mindless physical activity appealed to him and more importantly, it tired him enough to quiet the voices in his head.

He'd been walking home from the docks the first time he saw her, blonde curls shining like angel wings beneath the streetlights. He always took notice of everyone around him, but he never really saw them. She was different; and without even thinking too deeply about why, he had followed her from a safe distance. She had gone into a coffee shop, emerging with a large cup of coffee and a small pastry bag. She had then walked back in the direction from which they had come, and again he followed her, watching as she entered a towering building.

He wasn't sure why he followed her that first time, nor did he understand why he continued to watch for her on his solitary walks home from the docks each night. As their paths continued to cross, however, he began to look forward to seeing her. After a while he realized that he was drawn to her because she, like him, had demons haunting her. Shadows clung to her just as they did to him; but what fascinated him most was the focused energy that she exhibited. She was always alone, and he wondered how someone like her could have ended up so abandoned. And despite her air of purpose, he sensed fragility beneath the front; it was that which pulled at his humanity in a way nothing else had in years.

He had been careful not to attract her attention because he didn't want to scare her. He didn't mean her any harm, but he knew he was dangerously close to stalking her as he waited and watched for her each day, following her to the coffee shop, occasionally to a neighborhood bookstore, and once to the Daily Planet. Apparently he hadn't been careful enough though, because he saw her giving him suspicious glances one day. After that he just sat on a bench across from the building she always returned to, content with making sure she got inside safely.

It never occurred to him to try to talk to her. And then one day she came to him as he kept his vigil on the bench. He sat there, watching warily as she walked up slowly, holding an extra bag. She handed it to him, along with a cup of coffee. He was too surprised to say anything, and she didn't speak either; she simply turned and walked back across the street and into her building.

He spent the next day wondering why she had done that. Did she think he was homeless, that he had no money and nowhere to go? It was possible – he was certainly dirty every night after he finished work, and his clothes were drab and worn. He supposed it was better to let her believe that, but another thought that returned, over and over, was that maybe she recognized in him the same things that he had seen in her.

That night he sat on the bench and waited as he had for so many nights previously. After much internal debate, he'd decided to talk to her if she approached him again. He hadn't been there long when he saw her come out of the building. She paused and looked in his direction, and that was when he saw it. Like one of his nightmare shadows come to life it dropped from the sky, descending towards her with alarming speed. Even before he leapt into motion, he knew he would never reach her in time. Moments later she was gone, and he dropped to his knees as her face joined the countless, nameless others he'd failed to save.

Two weeks later in Star City

Oliver leaned into the bar, ignoring the loud fans around him as a football game went into overtime. Seedy sports bars weren't really his scene, but he had wanted a little more anonymity that night. He picked up his shot and downed it, chasing it with the cold beer he'd ordered. It was just one more in a long string of nights he'd spent drinking or engaging in self-destructive behavior. After the latest incident with Toyman he'd felt the need to get out of Metropolis, and he'd made his way back to Star City. He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping for by returning to his hometown, but the change of scenery had done nothing to lift his melancholy or the feelings of worthlessness that plagued him.

He downed another shot as a loud cheer signaled the end of the game. The man beside him jostled his arm, causing Oliver to spill one of the shots lined up in front of him. Without looking at the guy he said loudly, "If you could keep your gorilla arms to yourself, that'd be great." He sensed the guy turning towards him, but he ignored him as he picked up his beer and took a long pull.

"You're kind of pretty to be talking smack," he heard Gorilla Arms say.

Oliver picked up another shot. "I'm flattered, but not nearly drunk enough to swing your way."

He heard some of the guys laugh, along with a few asking if Chuck (he assumed that was Gorilla Arms) was going to let 'Pretty Boy' talk to him that way. Suddenly, he was hauled off the bar stool and shoved back into the bar as a large, semi-balding man got in his face. "What the fuck is your problem? You got a death wish or something?"

That was exactly what he had, Oliver thought. He shoved back as adrenaline rushed through him and he prepared for an all-out bar brawl. And just as suddenly as it all started, it ended as Gorilla Arms was forcibly pulled away from Oliver.

"He might be too drunk to hand your ass to you, but I guarantee you I'm not. Let's call this one a draw, boys." Hal Jordan stepped between them, facing down the angry men with calm resolve. Oliver watched them consider their odds before they walked away, grumbling.

Oliver turned back to the bar and downed another shot, welcoming the burn that momentarily chased away the chill as he asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Hal leaned against the bar beside Oliver, signaling the bartender for a beer. "Apparently I'm saving 'Pretty Boy' from having his ass kicked. You're welcome, by the way."

Oliver snorted. "One, I didn't ask for your help and two… I thought you were off on some extended E.T. mission."

Hal shrugged. "Been back a few days – and imagine my surprise to find my old friend Oliver up to some very old and very dumb tricks. Want to tell me what's going on with you? Because I thought you were past shit like this."

Oliver took another pull on his beer, eyeing the TV mounted in front of them as he ignored his old friend. His attention was caught by the news story in progress as he saw images of Metropolis flashing across the screen, followed by what looked to be a news conference. His brows snapped together as he saw Martha Kent and Lois talking to a reporter, and he set his beer down with a thud. "Hey turn up the volume!" He called out to the bartender.

The bartender barely glanced in their direction, but he did turn up the volume as he passed the TV nearest to them. Hal followed Oliver's gaze. "I saw that news story earlier; damn shame about this missing girl. It was why I was looking for you, actually. I was thinking about heading over to Metropolis to see what I could find out."

But Oliver wasn't listening to Hal anymore as photos of a pretty, blonde girl flashed across the screen. His stomach lurched painfully as he realized that the missing girl in Metropolis was Chloe Sullivan.