After my first story, I received a number of requests for a Malcolm Merlyn piece. My concept probably isn't fresh, but hopefully I have done something you'll enjoy. Feedback inspires me, so please share!

As always, these characters belong to someone else.

Yesterday he was standing by the edge of a cliff in the shadow of an ancient minaret, his dark brown hair whipping in the wind, his eyes searching for the horizon line. Now he was sitting at the base of a fake pyramid sipping weak scotch. His eyes gazed up where the windows of the Luxor gathered together into a single peak above him. So much artifice. Through a ridiculous twist of karma, Malcolm Merlyn found himself in this place, which couldn't have been more different than the lair of the Demon. That was a place that conveyed deprivation. Pain. Gravitas. For what seemed like an eternity, Malcolm embraced the ways of Ra's al Ghul, eschewing the trappings of the billionaire lifestyle he left behind. Now, here he was, stuck on a layover and surrounded by nonsense. Scanning the room, Merlyn noted how few people looked like they could afford to indulge in the wickedness on offer. He felt pity and disdain for these creatures.

He could have stayed somewhere more upscale, like the Bellagio, but he had enough marble and granite hallways to last him for some time. He also thought it best to keep a low profile as he made his way back home to Starling City. Despite being gone for some time, he was still a known person in the Western world. Here in this downscale den of lunacy he was unlikely to run into an old acquaintance and he relished his anonymity.

Malcolm slowly spun on his barstool and surveyed the casino floor. It really was ridiculous. Everything in this town either seemed needlessly decadent or was bathed in a patina of grime. The latter reminded him of the Glades at its worst. The Glades. His thoughts wandered home ahead of him. He was returning a different person, although his friends and family would never realize it. Who could know what he had been through? Who could appreciate the man he was now? They certainly wouldn't understand his radical vision for saving his city. His mind was clear and he was ready to set his plan in motion.

A group of ladies on a Hen Night stumbled past in provocative cocktail dresses and feather boas. They cackled to each other in code - vodka-infused jokes only they understood - before moving on to the next bar. Malcolm no longer calculated how long it had been since he was with a woman. And honestly, it hadn't bothered him. Not everyone in Nanda Parbat acted like they were in a monastic enclave. There was coupling, surely. But Merlyn had chosen to remain celibate unless a mission demanded compulsory seduction. Luckily that was rare. Life was less complicated without romantic entanglements. It helped him to focus on more important things.

He never considered his single state might have something to do with grief. Indiscriminate violence had taken his beloved wife. That event set him on a path away from his decaying city, his motherless son, and toward exotic destinations and the League of Assassins. The League. They were the steel that polished his mind and tested his body. They taught him to not just survive, but to annihilate whatever might be a threat. Invincibility suited him.

Malcolm's senses were magnified now. When he first arrived in this place the sensory overload nearly drove him mad. So many lights. The din of slots. Crowds of goddamn people crushing in the aisles. Now his breathing had slowed and he could home in on specific elements. The pattern of the carpet. Egyptian kitsch festooning every surface. Even the employees wore ridiculous costumes. He turned back to the bar and stared into the remnants at the bottom of his glass. The sounds around him disappeared and all he heard was the wild wind of Nanda Parbat. His meditation was interrupted by a voice, at once smoky and girlish.

"Are you one of those guys who can read ice cubes? My Granddad could do that. But only after three Old Fashioned's. He predicted that Reagan would get assassinated. Well, of course that didn't happen exactly - he lived. But Poppy was kind of right."

At this point, Merlyn had to turn to face the source of the chirping. It turned out to be a petite cocktail waitress in a little gold tunic dress. A Cleopatra wig and overtly-dramatic makeup nearly ruined her looks, but she had the biggest doe eyes Malcolm had ever seen.

"Ice cubes!"

Malcolm regarded her with curiosity and then did the easy thing. He smiled. The girl-woman's mouth opened ever so slightly in surprise. Wow. He was the handsomest man she had seen in a long time. Flashing dark eyes. A chiseled jaw. Dimples had appeared. Hell, she was a sucker for dimples. She almost blushed and he hadn't even spoken yet. She managed to stammer.

"I'm so sorry for disturbing you. Si, Sir can I get you another?"

"You didn't disturb me. Actually, I would like another scotch." He gently shook his empty glass.

"Of course. I'll be right back," her eyes sparkling and oh-so-huge.

She smiled coyly and walked away. Was she flirting just then, he wondered? It had been a while since he had to read those kinds of signals. But as her hips swayed on teetering heels, he answered his own question. Malcolm read her in an instant. She was a woman who liked to please people. With detachment, he surmised that a woman like that living in place like this probably had a tough life.

The Dark Archer's instincts were confirmed when the waitress returned with his drink and a bowl of peanuts.

"You looked hungry," she smiled warmly. I'll bet men look hungry around you all the time, he thought. Malcolm that he was back in the west again, where manners and small talk were compulsory. He might as well take this opportunity to re-acclimate.

"Thank you," he smiled. He noted micro expressions on her face that conveyed his smile affected her. He lowered his eyes toward her cleavage and then over to her shoulder, peering at her name tag. "Dee." She seemed to be blushing under her makeup. Was it possible that a woman filling out a dress like that could be so guileless?

"Dee, did you know this," Merlyn displayed his hand, his palm flat and horizontal, his fingers together, "is the Egyptian hieroglyphic for the letter D." He recalled it from a display at a museum he had seen on a family outing. He had always been good at remembering things. It was a crucial skill in business.

"Really?" Her eyes grew, fascinated. She bit her lip and advanced her palm to mirror his, careful not to make actual contact. She guessed that his hand would be warm. In a flash, Dee's mind went to that naughty place women didn't discuss except with each other - the one that had to do with hands indicating the size of...other things. Yes, this dreamboat had an exceptionally nice hand. "Are you some kind of Egypt expert? Like Indiana Jones?"

Ah, a pop culture reference. Luckily, Merlyn had a son and he had taken the boy to a movie or two.

"No, I'm more like James Bond. License to kill and all that." Malcolm gave her a sly smile. Yeah, he was kind of telling the truth here.

"Oh, I love those movies. Sean Connery. I always wanted to be a Bond Girl. I'd have a sexy name and get to wear amazing clothes."

"It's all about the Bond girls. And the guns. And the cars." Last month he had garroted a man on a train in Yemen. And now here he was, carrying on a perfectly normal conversation with a cocktail waitress.

"So where does James Bond learn about this?" Dee raised her palm once more.

"I took my son to see King Tut once." Malcolm admitted with a laugh. Not exactly James Bond now.

"Oh, you have a little boy," she sighed. With this man's genes, his child was probably adorable. But this also meant that he was attached. Dee swallowed her disappointment, but not before Malcolm read it on her face.

"Not so little now. Tommy's finishes at Princeton this year." This revelation intrigued her. Most children at Ivy League schools came from wealthy families. High rollers usually stayed elsewhere.

"Tommy," she said in a sing-songy tone. "That's wonderful. You must be so proud of him," she paused. The next thing she said would be personal and sometimes that wasn't smart to do with strangers in her line of work, but this guy was...different. He nodded.

"My daughter just won a scholarship to MIT. She's only 16!" This revelation was unexpected. But the look of love and pride on Dee's face confirmed she was telling the truth. He watched her retrieve a photo from a secret pocket in her dress. "This is my girl, Felicity." Malcolm studied the photo of an awkward-looking little blonde in glasses and pigtails wearing an Einstein t-shirt. She wasn't a looker like her mother, but she had potential. With a brain to go with that, she'd do fine. Merlyn also noted the use of my and mine. No ring. Adding to all the other clues, Dee was apparently available.

"Felicity. Lovely name. Are you worried about her going off to school at such a young age?"

"I'm terrified." Dee's face flashed a moment of worry, then replaced her smile. "But she's a very level-headed girl. Not like me at her age."

Merlyn's mind was suddenly full of a list of possible adventures and indiscretions a woman like Dee endured as a teenager. Sweaty backseat humiliations with jerks. Drunken parties. Perhaps an unexpected pregnancy or two. She seemed to have survived it all. Maybe they were both survivors.

Now, under no stretch of the imagination was this woman Malcolm Merlyn's type. A man of his stature required the long-term challenge and support of a sophisticated woman. His wife had been that woman. Still, at this very moment this waitress was diverting. Colorful and full of life like a tropical fish. She obviously wasn't going to be mistaken for Rhodes scholar but she had her charms. She smiled very easily. She was buoyant. Bubbly. She reminded him of a high school cheerleader or a local beauty pageant queen. They were always up for a bit of fun. He stared at her and his mind considered all of her generous curves. So feminine. Soft. He hadn't experienced soft in a long time.

"Can you possibly forgive me?" He looked like an apologetic puppy. Dee reacted, a bit confused. "You are being so kind and here I haven't introduced myself. I'm Malcolm," he offered his hand. She awkwardly accepted it. Nice manners. God, his hands were warm. Thinking about warm hands in the right places gave her a thrill.

"It's nice to meet you. Malcolm." Dee held his gaze for a moment or two and then remembered herself. "I should get back on the floor." She looked around, nervously. A supervisor might be watching.

"Of course. Thank you for the drink, Dee."

"You're welcome." She turned and took a few steps.

"Say, can you recommend a place where a fellow, you know, a James Bond type, could get a steak tonight?"

"Hmm," she grinned. "Let me ask the bartender. He always knows the best places." On that, Dee pivoted away. Malcolm admired the view again.

Moments later, a delicate hand slipped a napkin beside him on the bar. It had the name of a restaurant in block letters - Tony's - and next to it, a phone number. Beneath that, in cursive writing appeared "Dee S" and another phone number. Finally, at the bottom edge of the napkin. "I never do this but here is my number. I get off at 7, if you would like some company."

The Dark Archer smiled and looked up. Suddenly, Nanda Parbat felt very far away.