Author's Note: This is a complete and total experiment. Whether it's successful or not is up to you guys. I have never written for this fandom, and I have only just recently picked back up the TV show. With that being said, Green Arrow is my all-time favorite comic book hero. And I just love the fact that they've introduced Mia Dearden's Speedy (though for how many more episodes, I'm not sure). On that note, I think the character of Vordigan and the entire Brotherhood of Sion was extremely underused. Hench the background and plot use for this story. In the talk of relationship wise, Mia and Oliver are not a couple in this story. This is strictly a master/apprentice thing. I'm not sure if Clark Kent will actually make an appearance in this fic, the plot is still ticking and turning in my head. Anyways, read and review at own risk, but if you don't like, please don't hate. I have a low enough self esteem as it is lol.
Chapter One:
The Brotherhood Returns
The first time Mia Dearden met Oliver Queen, he'd told her that he wanted to fix her life. Looking back on the situation, she was doing well over 120mph in his Aston Martin and found it highly unlikely that the Queen billionaire would want to help her. They were strangers then and after she'd almost gotten him killed, they developed a unique friendship. He became her mentor and she stayed off the streets.
She drove him around during the day and trained with him at night. She didn't think there was that much more to Oliver Queen. When she first started, the world was black and white. There were no shades of grey. You were either taken advantage of, or the one taking advantage, and if you couldn't distinguish between what you were and what other people wanted you to be, then that was your insecurity.
Then she was introduced to the color green.
The moment she found out that Oliver Queen was Green Arrow wasn't quite all that exciting. Having a bag over your head and no idea where you were can do that to a girl. Especially if it's done by your mentors mentor. But in the end, Oliver had saved her from Vortigan and she had saved Oliver from himself. They needed each other, and after all of her time spent alone, she'd forgotten what being a part of something felt like.
But, he was not without his faults. He was moody, had an insane hero complex, enjoyed alcohol, and his favorite pastime was fighting in a local underground boxing ring. Now, under normal circumstances, all of the above are either dangerous or illegal. And under normal circumstances, she would be against all of that. But, then again, she wasn't exactly normal.
"Rule number one?" She heard his voice a clear as day through the incessant cheering in the abandoned warehouse.
"Identify your opponent," she answered. "Or, in this badly outmatch circumstance, opponents." Her taped left hand extended out in front of her while her bandaged right was brought up to her cheek. His bare back was to her and she imagined his stance mirrored her own.
Normally the matches were one on one, but Steven Hoyt, ring master and orchestrator of the little underground boxing ring didn't like the fact that all his fighters were getting their asses handed to them by a girl. So that naturally lead to cheating, which was currently why she was back to back with Oliver, three men on either side of them.
"I have a 185, a 190 and a 210 that's swinging a metal pipe." She could hear the small smile on his face. Though they were outnumbered, they were severely underestimated.
"My guys beat yours," she said, feeling his right shoulder press against the bare skin of her own. She shifted with him, identifying the signal he was giving her. The men on his side were moving. "I have two 210's and a 195."
"Okay," he nodded. "Plans?"
"Waiting for them to attack isn't a plan?" She eyed the cheering crowd around the perimeter of the room. It still amazed her how much the everyday person loved violence.
"You know, I don't know how you get yourself into situations like this." He sighed deeply, teasing her. "I always have to bail you out."
"You say that like this is my fault," she said, half serious. "It's not my fault these guys can't handle me." She turned slightly to look at him, "And you don't always have to bail me out. I've saved your ass plenty of times."
He chuckled behind her, and she let a smile grow across her face. The men facing them must have taken it as a taunt because they rushed forward, snarling like feral animals.
"Hold our ground," he said, taking a small step away from her.
"But stay connected," she answered, mirroring his movements. The space they created between their backs was large enough for them to move independently from one another, but small enough so that an opponent couldn't get behind as a surprise.
One of the 210's to her right, a bald man with crooked teeth, threw a wild punch aimed at her head. She ducked and slammed a hammer of a fist into his gut. He doubled over but tagged her with a fast fist to the side of her face. She fell back and dropped to the ground as the other 210's leg wet sailing over her head.
Spinning to her feet she advanced on the smallest man quickly, snapping a kick that collided with his side. He doubled over and she grabbed his head, pulling it down as she brought her knee up, slamming the join into the man's face. He dropped to the ground, howling in pain, blood gushing from his broken nose.
One down, two to go.
She turned and caught Oliver out of the corner of her eye. One of his opponents swung at him with a metal pip, but Oliver caught it and pulled hard, kicking the opponent in the face as the man went to his knees. In one swift motion, Oliver yanked the pip free and spun it around his waist, warding off any close attacks. Continuing the motion he moved the pipe above his head and twirled the metal between his fingers. Finally, he pulled the weapon down and tucked in underneath his right arm in one sharp motion. Crouching, he extended his left hand and motioned for his two remaining opponents to 'bring it on'.
Mia smiled to herself; he always did like to show off.
She was pulled back suddenly, a hand wrapped tightly around her red and black razorback sports bra. Cursing, she used her own momentum to send herself backwards, crashing into the man behind her. They were both sent to the floor and she heard the man underneath her slam his head into the concrete. He went slack beneath her.
Her remaining opponent stood a few feet away, eyes wide. She rolled off of her comatose opponent and got to her feet. Baldie seemed to throw caution to the wind and charged her.
She threw a right; he caught it with both hands and kneed her in the gut. She gasped and doubled over. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she ducked and pulled back. His fist whistled over her head. She slammed a right into his kidneys and continued with another blow to the side of his head. Pulling the follow through back, she caught his face with the back of her hand. Her knuckles grated across his teeth.
She tried to keep up the attack, throwing another right, but he blocked it and tried to knee her again. She ripped her hands away and snapped out a right kick. He blocked. She sent a left, he blocked again. The last block kept his hands preoccupied and she sent another fist to the side of his head. His body turned from the blow and she tagged him with another shot to his ribs. He threw a desperate swing to keep her away; she ducked and ran right into his ambushing left hook. The blow sunk into her stomach. She bent forward, air escaping her lungs. Before she knew it, another fist snapped her head towards the ceiling. She staggered backwards, stars dancing across her vision.
Blood dripped onto her lips.
She narrowed her eyes and brought her hands out in front of her. This bastard wasn't good enough to make her bleed.
Baldie roared and came at her with a left hook. She slapped it to the side with the palm of her hand. He sent a right in rapid succession; she blocked it and slipped her fist under his arm, finding his stomach again. She sidestepped and was behind him in an instant, slamming her knuckles into his back and then to the back of his head. She hit him again before he could block. Another of his wild rights collided with her face and she spun away. He pursued her, pulling back another right.
Instincts took over and she did a back handspring under his swinging fist.
After the move, Baldie studied her for a moment. In the next second, he attacked, but she could tell he was weary of her. She ducked under his left hook and then his right. Before he could readjust himself, she kicked out and caught his knee. He cried out in pain and went to the ground. She kicked his back, he was sent to hands and knees. She ran forward, put her hands on his back and flipped over him, grabbing his neck and head in the process. In seconds they were both rolling and Mia was on top of his in the end, hammering fist after fist into his face.
"Mia."
She stopped mid swing and looked up. Oliver was standing feet away, leaning on the metal pipe lazily. The three men that had attacked him were on the ground groaning or unconscious. She understood the blond's direct gaze instantly and got up from the man she was sitting on.
Someone in the background call 'Match Over' and the crowd switched from cheering loudly to small side conversations. Mia knew most of them were about her and Oliver.
"We headin' out?" She asked walking towards him.
Oliver Queen studied her for a moment before reaching his bandaged hand up to hold her chin delicately. Slowly, he turned her head to get a better look at her face. "We have some more work to do, kid, if one of these guys made you bleed."
She swatted at his hand. "It was a lucky shot," she mumbled, and then scowled at his amused face. "Not everyone's as badass as you think you are," she complained as they headed towards their bags. The spectators moved out of their way. "Your ego could suffocate half the people in this room."
He grinned at her and slung his bag over his shoulder. Turning, he waved to Steven Hoyt, a small blob of a man who looked like he was having trouble breathing. His face grew steadily redder with each fury induced breath.
"Maybe next time, Hoyt," Oliver called. "Eight on two sound fair?"
The man stuck out his chest and pointed towards the exit firmly. Mia imagined that she could see steam spewing from his ears and laughed slightly to herself.
Oliver gave a lazy wave. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. 'Don't ever step foot in this place again.'" The Emerald Archer shook his head and turned to his disciple. "That's what he said to us last time, remember? But here we are, still kicking the crap out of his men." He watched Mia snicker to herself before saying, "And put some clothes on. I can't have you half naked in public."
"If I put one on, you have to too." Mia scowled at him but shrugged on a t-shirt. "Besides, would you rather me go bare-chested like you?" she prompted as the crowd's attention shifted to another fight. "I thought I was done with that life."
He laughed, pulling on a t-shirt of his own. "However interesting the thought is of you fighting naked, I would prefer it if you keep your clothes on. That way I know you win from skill, not by surprise."
She groaned and shoved him. "You're disgusting. I didn't actually mean it."
"Ah, yes," he prompted, holding up a finger, "but you brought it up."
"You're such a child."
He shrugged off her comment. "And what have I told you about sacrificing good footing for an acrobatic dodge? Those flips will get you in trouble some day."
She shrugged. "I didn't mean to do it. It was instinct."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Your instinct told you to flip instead of duck?"
She shrugged again, pushing aside the large metal door that lead to the small parking lot at the back of the building. It was a chilly night and Oliver shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his sweat pants. The moon above them shown down with a full face, illuminating the blacktop in front of them with silver light.
"Tell me again why you had to park so far away?" Mia groaned beside him, wrapping her arms around her chest.
"Parking in between the lines has become a lost art," Oliver answered. "I don't trust anyone near my car."
"I don't understand…" she trailed off and he felt her stiffen beside him. She kept walking, but her form was tense. "…why you're so paranoid," she finished with a cautious breath.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled up. He suppressed a shiver, but acted like nothing was wrong. They were halfway to the car, but someone was definitely watching them. "My life has taught me to be cautious," he continued the conversation and glanced briefly to his companion.
He locked with her eyes and nodded his head a fraction of an inch. Together, the two spun around, hands in front, ready for battle.
No one.
Mia lowered her hands a fraction.
"Wait," he warned. There was still a sinking dread in the pit of his stomach. Something was not right.
Out of the darkness created by the large warehouse emerged a figure dressed in black. Oliver, for a split second, thought he was hallucinating. The figure wore an outfit that closely resembled Vordigan's. A hand crafted wooden bow was strung and knocked with an arrow, but the metal tip was pointed towards the ground.
"Is that…" Mia breathed beside him. She shook slightly, from the cold or recognition of the outfit, he could not tell. He did not blame her caution. Vordigan was a touchy subject for both of them.
"The apprentice heads his master's call." The figure called out. He took a step forward, bow still pointed towards the ground. His voice was strong, commanding, and he moved with the swiftness and grace of a hunter. "Do you know why I am here, Oliver Queen?"
Oliver licked his lips and took a step forward. "I left The Brotherhood long ago," he ventured cautiously.
"No one leaves The Brotherhood of Sion." It was barked back.
"Look, I told Vordigan the same thing I am telling you now." Oliver kept his voice calm, though somewhere in the back of his mind, he was shaking. "I am not a part of that life anymore."
"You took your vows, Oliver." The man took yet another step forward. He was getting closer. "You swore absolute loyalty to the Master Archer. Absolute loyalty. Our laws dictate that the master must leave this world while he is still strong. You were chosen as his successor, but you turned it down," his words became hard and dripped with venom. "Vordigan, our master Dark Archer, will wither away and die an old man. You deprived him of the honor of passing in his prime. You have broken your oath, and as my final test, I must kill The Betrayer."
"Please tell me you aren't The Betrayer," Mia whispered to him.
Christ, he should have seen this coming. Vordigan wasn't the only problem inside The Brotherhood. The whole lot of them were deadly loyal to the cause.
"Run," he whispered.
"What?" Mia hissed.
Oliver turned to her. "Get to the car and stay in it."
She blinked at him. "Oliver, you've trained me. I can help you fight."
"Mia," he breathed, "You cannot handle this man and I can't fight him worrying about—"
An arrow slammed into his left shoulder, sending him backwards to the pavement. It was an excellent shot, right where The Brotherhood was taught to shoot. Oliver lost his grip on reality for a moment. His hearing was muffled and stars danced across his vision. Mia was yelling beside him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw that she was clutching her calf. There was no arrow. Another one must have grazed her.
"Goddamnit!" she cursed through gritted teeth. Whipping her head sideways, she registered that the Archer was sprinting towards them, bow already knocked and pulled back with another arrow. "Oliver! He's coming!"
Oliver pushed himself up and dove behind a parked car. An arrow embedded itself in the ground where he had been lying. Clenching his teeth, he grasped the shaft of the arrow in his shoulder. With a cursed he snapped the wood in half. He couldn't pull the entire arrow out, but with the shaft smaller he could work. Taking a quick glance around the car, he saw that the figure was sprinting straight towards him. Gulping in a mouthful of air, Oliver pushed himself to his feet and out into the open space.
The figure, mid sprint, launched himself onto the hood of a parked car, slung his bow onto his back and threw a head height kick. Oliver ducked from pure instinct. He threw a wild right, catching the figure on the back of the head. Oliver tried to raise his left, but was painfully reminded that the limb was useless. He couldn't raise it to throw a punch or block.
"This is not a fair fight," the blond bellowed, dodging another swing from the dark figure.
"And what would you know about fair?" the figure laughed back. "Vordigan told me what happened during your meeting. He said he fired three arrows at you and your apprentice, but that somehow, they were destroyed mid flight." The figure bared his teeth and snorted, "I will show you the same fairness you showed our master."
Oliver rolled his eyes and groaned. He knew the figure would target his left side. It was the most logical move in a fight. If your opponent was injured, you would attack the side in which he could not defend.
As if to prove the thought, the figure snapped a kick to Oliver's left side. The blow collided with his limp arm and sent streaks of white though his vision. Next, the Brotherhood member followed with a right fist. Oliver twisted and slapped the blow away with the palm of his right hand, and then sent his fist into the other man's face.
The blow sent the man backwards, staggering like a drunk. But he caught himself and was back on the attack in seconds, throwing blow after wild blow. Oliver ducked, weaved and bobbed, taking the defensive. He only threw a punch when he was absolutely positive it would land. He would not be reckless in this fight.
But he was wearing down. Blood dripped from his fingertips and he wasn't sure when he had lost feeling in his left arm. A tingling sensation moved through his nerves and he no longer felt pain. He could twitch his fingers, but that was all.
To make matters worse, the bumper of a car caught him right behind the knee, sending him to the pavement. He landed hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. He looked up to see a savage grin spread across the dark figures lips, the rest of the man's face was covered by a hood.
Before the figure could even reach for his bow, Mia rammed into his middle, both bodies going to the pavement. She was on top of him in seconds, slamming fist after fist into his face, snapping his head this way and that. "I'm so glad we aren't fighting fair!" she roared, sending another fist into the side of his face.
With a snarl the man bucked her off and was on his feet. Mia staggered to her feet as well, but hopped backwards, favoring her uninjured leg. She brought her hands up and blocked a right from the dark figure.
"You broke my bow!" he snarled and his shoulders shook with rage. Oliver looked to the ground and found the attackers bow, snapped in two. That was not good. A Brotherhood members bow was carved from the Sion tree in Ireland. You were only granted one.
"Well, at least you can still use it as firewood," Mia snapped back, lunging forward with a right.
He dodged, his hand lingering a split second at his belt before he thrust it forward into Mia's gut. She doubled over, coughing. Swinging a desperate right, she tried to push him back. The figure ducked and tagged her with a powerful right to the face that sent her to the ground. She didn't get up.
"Bitch!" the figure spat.
Oliver grabbed desperately at his bag. In a second, he had launched a water bottle at the other man's head. The plastic container connected with a slapping impact that surprised the archer. He stumbled forward and ran into the hood of a car, slumping to the ground.
"Mia!" Oliver roared to his companion. "The car!"
He staggered to his feet, grabbed his brunette apprentice by the arm and hauled her to the car. He unlocked and started the Aston Martin with the click of a remote and was in the driver's seat in seconds. The slam of Mia's door signaled his shift into first gear.
Oliver gripped the steering wheel with his good hand and stomped the accelerator to the floor. The car jumped forward. They were out of the parking lot in seconds and careening down Beeman Street.
"…Ollie…this is gonna need stitches…" the weakness in her voice froze the blood in his veins. She never called him that.
He snapped his head sideways to see Mia slumped against the door in her seat. Her seatbelt was forgotten and her head hung down, fingers tracing the knife in her stomach.
"Ohmy—don't touch it," Oliver snapped through his panic. He wiped the blood in his eyes against the shirt of his shoulder to see if that changed the image. It didn't. The knife was still there and she was still in pain.
"It's gonna get all over the leather," she mumbled, glancing to him with weak eyes. She tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace almost instantly.
He reached for her shoulder to comfort her and forgot that it was the only one keeping the wheel straight. The car swerved, he pulled it back, but not before he ventured into the other lane. Motorists honked at him. "I don't care about the leather," he said, his voice shaking. He couldn't stop looking at it. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.
"…but it stains," she complained in a small voice. Blinking, she tried to sit up in the seat, but failed horribly.
"Mia, I don't care about the goddamn leather!" he snapped. It was getting harder and harder for him to breath. It could be broken ribs or the fact that his chest was constricting somewhere around where his heart was. "I can fix this," he said quickly, glancing to the knife in her stomach again. "I can fix this. Just don't take it out, okay?"
She nodded vigorously, like she couldn't control the weight of her head, and clenched her teeth. "How's your shoulder?" she panted.
He laughed a nervous, sad laugh. "You're bleeding out in my passenger seat and you're asking how I am?"
She blinked slowly at him. "It was just…a question." He watched her pull her hands away. They were coated with blood. "I have to tell you something," she whispered suddenly.
"For God's sake, Mia, stop talking." The more she talked the more energy she wasted. He needed her to be strong. He needed her to show him that she could hold on. Because if she couldn't, he would lose it. He braced his knee against the steering wheel and dug in his pocket for his phone. Flipping it open, he pressed 6 and then send. It rang once. Twice.
"Pick up, dammit."
"Hello?"
He let out a breath. "Thank God. Chloe, are you at Watchtower?"
"Yeah." She paused. "Ollie, what's—?"
"Get the trauma center ready. You have two patients coming your way. We'll be there in ten." He hung up and focused on the road. Black was starting to eat away at the edge of his vision, but he fought it back.
"Watchtower?" Mia asked, eyebrows furrowed, "That's a funny name."
"Its where help is, so stop complaining."
"Complaining," she laughed a panting laugh, squinting up at him, "who's complaining?"
He ran a red light and power slid into the left turn. They were five blocks away from Watchtower but he pulled into the hidden parking garage below the building in seconds. The car was off and he was out of his seat. When his feet hit the concrete, his worlds tilted. He stumbled forward on one hand and knees, trying to get his balance back.
"Pull yourself together," he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. "Come on, Oliver. You can do this." He faintly heard something dripping, but figured one more pint of blood from his shoulder wouldn't matter if he didn't get himself and Mia up to Watchtower.
He rounded the car and wrenched open the door. "Come on, kid," he slipped his good arm around Mia's shoulders and lifted her out of the car. He almost fell with the combined weight, but she found her footing, and they staggered together to the elevator.
When the metal doors slid shut and the machine started to move, Mia groaned, her body sagging in his grip. "We goin' to the top?"
"Tippy top," he answered, leaning against the shiny wall, suddenly exhausted.
She smiled against his chest. "I don't see…why I'm so surprised. Your friends and heights is like you and distances. They don't go well together."
She wasn't making any sense. He risked a glance to her and found that blood had run from the wound in her stomach, down her right pants leg, where it stained the denim. One of her small hands was still clutched around the foreign object sticking from her body, but it was sticky and slick with blood.
Forcing his head back, he glanced lazily to the flashing numbers. They were at the top and the moment the doors slid open, he was staggering out, dragging Mia with him.
"Chloe!" he roared, bursting through the double doors into the lowest level of Watchtower. His knees buckled on him and he was sent to the floor. He stayed there, Mia slipping from his hold. She lay next to him, eyes open and blinking absently.
Voices came to him, but they were flooded and twisted together. He tore his gaze away from the pained face of his apprentice, only to find Emil Hamilton in front of him, shining a penlight into his eyes.
"Mr. Queen, what happened?"
"Jesus, Emil, she's bleeding everywhere! We have to get this under control or she won't make it!"
Oliver nodded his head weakly towards Mia, though he couldn't see her anymore. "You gotta…help her."
"We'll do everything we can, Mr. Queen."
Content with the answer, Oliver collapsed sideways into darkness.
-.-.-.- Insert Dramatic Music -.-.-.-
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