Longer summary: Carrie Cutter is one of the most interesting and intriguing characters in "Arrow" and at the same time rather neglected by the fandom. Amy Gumenick gives a terrific performance every time when she appears on the screen and thanks to her portrayal I started to pay attention on Carrie. The idea to write a separate story about her (which again was supposed to be an one-shot, but became something else) appeared when I was working on "A Professional Observation".

I can't believe that nobody really touched the topic of Cupid's obsessive love to the Arrow, or rather wrote a paring like this. So it seems that for the very first time I will have a pleasure (lol) of creating a new paring in the fandom—Carriver. It won't really happen until the sequel to "A Professional Observation". You don't necessary need to know that story to read "His Quiver", although the last chapter will lead directly to the sequel and it is set within the universe started by "A Professional Observation". So the same as that story "His Quiver" is an AU after 2x23, only incorporating a part of the episode "Draw Back Your Bow" (I'm flexible when it comes to certain subplots, I just cancel the existence of the rest from my mind).

Cupid is more like a dangerous and destructive element than anything else. She acts on the spur of the moment without second thoughts, has zero restraints or scruples, and will raise hell all over city in order to get what she wants. That would be of course getting into the Arrow's pants. To some extent she represents all those women who hook up on serial killers—only that in her case it is brought to an extreme and she is a killer herself. Sweet serial killer I would say. Dealing with her must have been particularly disturbing for Oliver, as at times she seemed to be a reflection of him shown in a distorting mirror. Come to think of that Doctor Pressnall's diagnosis of Carrie partially suited to Oliver as well...

One can only wonder what made Carrie so twisted, and what she was like before. Because the Carrie she is now has nothing to do with the girl she once was—all of those are symptoms of a terrible mental illness. Although it will be not the main focus (going to mix action, romance, drama and angst here), this story deals with psychological trauma and obsession caused by a mental disorder. If you don't like stories which dwell too deep into psychology, psychopathology and sociopathy as well as mental health issues, there is a very high possibility that you will find some parts too disturbing.

Tagging this as a romance is rather a long shot, but love—albeit obsessive, crazy, and one-sided (for the time being—wait for the sequel of "A Professional Observation", "His Quiver" will have some Florrie though—Carrie Cutter/Floyd Lawton)—is an integral part of Cupid's character. After all what she craves the most is to love and to be loved...

Many thanks to Perosha for beta. :)

Light of his life, fire of his loins
Keep me forever, tell me you own me
Light of your life, fire of your loins
Tell me you own me, give me them coins

And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers
Chasin' me all over town 'cause he knows I'm wasted,
Facin' time again on Rikers Island and I won't get out
Because I'm crazy baby, I need you to come here and save me
I'm your little scarlet, starlet, singin' in the garden
Kiss me on my open mouth

Yo I'm off to the races, laces
Leather on my waist is tight and I am fallin' down
I can see your face is shameless, Cipriani's basement
Love you but I'm going down
God I'm so crazy, baby, I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving
I'm your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island
Raising hell all over town
Sorry 'bout it

Lana Del Rey "Off To The Races"

His Quiver

Prologue

Roses

This whole unfortunate series of events starts on a seemingly completely ordinary Thursday night. It is another dull and empty evening, and Carrie Cutter is sitting in her apartment, feeling lonely and useless, succumbing to depression.

She stares blankly at the bouquet of red roses standing on the table in a tall slim vase, supporting her cheek on her hand. Well, those flowers were red a week ago. Or perhaps that was more than a week. A dozen days or so. She is not sure. Now the once beautiful roses have lost almost all their petals and turned gray, withered and lifeless. It is exactly what her life is right now. She has no idea what to do with herself. It has been nearly two weeks since she finished her therapy. Six months earlier she spent some time on a locked ward in St. Walker's hospital after she suffered an emotional and mental breakdown. Pressnall, the shrink SCPD sent her to, gave her professional opinion after they finished their psychotherapeutic sessions. She described Carrie as "functional again" and "slowly recovering", but strongly suggested a line of work which wouldn't put such high strain on her, since her psychological make-up, as she put it, is very fragile. That basically means the end of Carrie's carrier in SCPD. It is highly unlikely that she will ever go back into the field, not to mention join the SWAT again. Her superior, pretending to be concerned about her future in the force, has suggested to her a new post in the precinct—an office job, which plainly speaking is a degradation. It is obvious that he would be more than glad if he managed to get rid of her. A cop with a psychiatric problems is a cop causing trouble and they don't need that in SCPD—they already have a lot on their plate with that vigilante who appeared out of nowhere and has started to mete out justice on his own account, working outside the system.

Her boss advised her that she should take some time off to mull over the offer and come back when she's ready. It seems that Carrie will never be ready. She can't imagine herself being stuck behind a desk and working in the archive full of dust-covered files of old cases. She needs to do something useful. She craves action and an adrenaline rush. How is she supposed to live without all that?

She focuses her attention on the flowers again, thinking that she should get up and get rid of that bouquet. Take the vase, throw away the dead flowers to the trash bin and wash the vessel. Put it back on the shelf and maybe buy new roses tomorrow... but she can't find in herself the motivation to perform even such a simple task. She just doesn't have enough strength... Can't pull herself together and do something useful. She is such a failure... Her whole life is. Her job was all she had, and now they have taken it from her as well.

Some more time passes before she finally gets up and goes to the kitchen. She stands in the middle of the room for a longer while, wondering what she intended to do. Finally she decides that brewing some tea would be a good idea. That she is able to do. She takes from the shelf a large green tea tin. It has a printing of a large four funnel liner with a black hull and a gold stripe with white superstructure. She opens it only to discover that she has run of black tea.

Great. Just great. She can't even brew herself tea without trouble.

At that time she has no idea that this one apparently small, meaningless and petty thing will contribute to changing her life forever.

She ponders a while over the empty tin can and then puts is down onto a kitchen unit, deciding to pop out to a corner shop to buy that damn tea. And maybe something for a late lunch. She looks at the clock hanging on the wall. Or rather dinner, given the late hour. Her fridge is empty. She doesn't take care of herself lately and completely lacks appetite. She suspects that it is one of the side effect of the pills Pressnall prescribed her. They don't make her feel better, only more miserable and lousy. Black tea is her main fuel. She can't go on like this forever, but she really doesn't care.

She never makes to the shop. She is not far from her apartment when suddenly she finds herself in a middle of chaos. She has no idea what is happening, and stops in the middle of the narrow street, disoriented. It is not the nicest neighborhood, but relatively calm. What's causing all the commotion? People are screaming in panic and apparently running away from some danger, passing her on the way.

Well, for one thing they aren't seeking cover from a shootout—Carrie realizes that there is no thud of gunfire. What is it then? Her police training kicks in. She looks around and quickly locates the source of the havoc. Two men in orange and black masks, not far away. They act very aggressively. Apparently they've set a few cars and some trash on fire, and are attacking anyone who is unfortunate enough to find themselves in their way. One of the men glances down the street and his eyes stop on Carrie, standing alone in the open space. Or rather, she guesses that he's looking at her, as she can't see his eyes exactly—they are two deep black empty holes in that ominous-looking mask.

Carrie is paralyzed with fear. She can't move. Before she regains control over her body, the man approaches her in a few swift moves. He seems to be awfully fast for someone of his size and build. He seizes her by her throat without saying a word and lifts her up without any effort. She never has a chance to defend herself—it happens so suddenly. She gasps for air, feeling a powerful grip tightening on her windpipe. She clamps her hands on his wrist instinctively, trying desperately to make him let her go. But he is strong. Too strong.

"No! No, no...!" she utters pleadingly, tussling frantically like a fish out of the water.

Her vision dims as she feels the grip of the assailant's fingers slowly tightening on her throat. He apparently takes a sick pleasure in killing her slowly. Nobody does anything. Everyone is too afraid or thinks only about themselves. Tears of helplessness well up in her eyes—she doesn't want to die, not like this...

Suddenly a black van stops not far away with a loud screech of brakes. In the next moment, she hears a swoosh cutting the air, and suddenly she is free. She falls down on the asphalt, wet from rain, hitting the hard surface with her knees and the palms of her hands.

She scrambles, too weak to get up on her feet, and glances up on her savior.

She sees a man in a green hood wielding a bow, with a quiver full of arrows on his back. The street lamp casts some yellowish light on him, outlining his silhouette and allowing her to take a good look at his leather costume.

The vigilante.

He saved her. He came to the rescue in the very last moment, stepping up for her when nobody else would.

The psycho in the mask focuses his attention on him. He yanks an arrow out of his shoulder and rushes to attack the hooded man. His partner, who is close by, joins him in that the attempt. But the vigilante is prepared for that and shoots an explosive arrow under their feet. That takes down both of them.

There is also a second man with the Arrow, a tall and well-built African-American in a leather jacket, holding a gun. Carrie doesn't pay much attention to him. Her eyes are riveted to the Arrow. What she feels is hard to describe. But there is a lot of feeling welling up in her chest. Gratitude. Awe. Fascination.

And deep, a very deep affection.

She feels as if he's set her on fire, matching the color of her red hair.

"Everybody get back inside!" orders the Arrow, his voice full of authority. Carrie has a chance to admire him a while longer. Standing tall and unafraid, an island of self-assurance and strength surrounded by a sea of chaos and madness. He and his accomplice get back to the van, which leaves the scene in the blink of an eye with a roar of the engine and screech of tires. Two masked men who the vigilante has taken down are either dead or unconscious. All civilians had listened to his command and quickly taken cover, disappearing from the view.

Only Carrie is left. She notices the arrow the vigilante shot to save her lying in the street. She stretches out her hand and picks it up. She stands up, looking at the arrow as if it is the most precious trophy. It has a light green shaft. Two feathery vanes are also green, but have darker hue, the third one is yellowish—for the time being she has no idea why they are organized like that, and what a cock vane is. Very soon she will learn a lot about archery. Because of him. But now it's the arrowhead which draws her attention. It is covered in blood. He spilled it for her. She needed him to come and save her, and he did, appearing out of nowhere as if something was driving him to her.

Carrie tightens her grip on the arrow. It is clearly a sign. She has desperately looked for a new purpose in her life and he has given her one. It can't be a coincidence. In that moment she knows. That they are meant to become one, with their destinies entwined like that.

"I will love you forever. Not maybe," she whispers with a small smile dangling on her lips. "You're my one true love."