So, hello there. I wrote this story out of boredom during class. My class for this term is Monday thru Friday, 730am-230pm, and I only need about an hour to actually do my homework in the class. There's like no point to the class beyond that...so I spend the rest of my time writing! This fic only has minor editing done to it by yours truly, but we'll see how bad it really is.
Disclaimer: Yeah, don't own Arrow. If I did, this probably would have happened.
"There's a part about being 'The Hood' that neither of you are considering!" One Oliver Queen shot off, taking a glance between his two associates; his bodyguard, John Diggle. And his former IT expert and now personal assistant, the beautiful Felicity Smoak. Not that he would ever tell her that. His voice hung in the air because of his pause, the two people accompanying him into that glass office looking at him curiously, wondering where he was going with this. "-The Body Count." He finished finally, flashes behind his eye lids of his best friend calling him a murderer. A killer. Of his best friend dying in his arms, asking him an honest question and being forced to lie to him.
On her own end, Felicity couldn't help but sympathize with her billionaire boss upon his utterance of these very words. Many times over the last year, she had made his life difficult over this very subject. She'd locked the door shut on him when he'd gone out to scare someone on the list. She was a young computer geek. She wanted no part in orphaning little kids. And now, here she was; trying to convince him to pick up the bow and go back to work. Go back to work killing criminals.
This realization didn't stop her from trying to inspire him into action, of course. The work he had done in that green outfit had done some incredible good to this city. "And forgive me for saying this, but so what? Since when have you cared?" She asked as she stepped forward, placing both hands on his desk and leaning towards the tortured billionaire, finding herself looking into his eyes. Just one step away from losing herself in them.
She almost didn't notice the awkward silence her question had invoked, lost in his eyes as she was. Until he broke the contact to look down at his desk, she had slowly seen the emotions play across his face; the hurt, the pain, and it took her a moment to connect the dots. Nearly the same amount of time it took Dig. "Since Tommy." The 'bodyguard' realized in that beat of silence. There was a single, short nod from their arrow launching friend.
"My best friend died thinking I was a murderer. A killer. And every single person that I kill, dishonors his memory." Felicity felt a pang, her mental soft spot for that tortured soul hiding under a multitude of masks further softening in response to this statement.
She suddenly wanted nothing more than to offer him an ear to vent to, a shoulder to cry on, and a conscience to keep that bad habit. That kill or be killed mentality he'd developed in order to survive for five years in a hell she could scarcely pretend to comprehend, in check.
And it was in that moment that she decided, she would. She owed him too much not to.