Thud thud thud. Thudthudthudthudthud. Thud thud thudthudthud.
The quiet under Verdant is broken by the dull impact of Oliver's fists against the dummy. Step, strike, duck, breathe, strike again, breathe, focus. He isn't himself, not right now – he is a predator. He is the snarl of his teeth and the whoosh of his breath and the pain that sings in his arm where the bullet grazed. It builds to a crescendo as blood pounds in his ears, until his muscles shake with it, until he is nothing but power and rage.
He killed again today. A part of him – this part – almost enjoyed it.
His movements abruptly stop as that realisation sinks in. True, he had no choice but to kill the Count. True, he wishes that he hadn't broken his promise to Tommy. That he hadn't been the monster his friend despised once again. But if he's honest with himself...
When he saw Diggle, lying poisoned and shuddering on the table. When he answered the phone to Felicity, only to hear her muted sobs and a madman's laughter (his chest still tightens in fear at the memory). When that same madman was stroking her hair, caressing her neck. When all that separated her from death was the millimetres between the point of a needle and her throat.
Yes, if he's honest, he wanted to do it. That familiar darkness had been stirring and then it was upon him, summoned by Felicity's cry of pain, and by then he couldn't have changed course if he tried. One arrow would have been enough – pierce the heart and it'll be over in seconds – but for some reason once that first arrow flew, he felt like he couldn't stop. He shot another. And another. He wanted him gone, dead, wiped out. He wanted it to be by his hand.
Then the Count fell through the window with a gurgle and the darkness retreated, satisfied. It had claimed its prize and enabled Oliver to do what he had to – protect her. Protect the city. (He felt a jolt of surprise that his mind listed her first... and then another when he realised it had been that way for longer than he could remember).
He had thought he could honour Tommy's memory by driving out the darkness, even the advantage it gave him. But if tonight showed him anything, it was that he would never be truly light and whole and... good again. The island had robbed him of that, and let in demons that would never leave.
He remembers Felicity's bound hands and quiet whimpers, and muses that it might not be a bad thing. Better to lose himself to demons than to lose the people he loves.
(Loves? He did just think that, didn't he?)
He's been in the lair for an hour, maybe two, when he hears the soft click of the concealed door. Snatching his bow from the desk – it's been a stressful day and he's only slightly on edge – he checks the time display on the sleeping computers. Almost 5AM. Still dark and far too early to expect the usual company. He's about to assume the worst when he hears the jingle of falling keys, a soft curse, and Felicity appears in his view.
"Felicity, what are you doing here so early?"
The newly picked up keys fall out of her hands again as she jerks in surprise, letting out a strangled yelp. He tries so hard not to find it endearing, to keep the beginnings of a grin from tugging his mouth, but as usual he fails.
"Okay, we need to have another talk about you just appearing out of nowhere like that," Felicity groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We're not all ninjas, and we don't all have freaky ninja senses. Not that you're a freak – I mean, everyone's a bit freaky," she stilled, and a blush started climbing her cheeks. "I – don't mean freaky like that, unless you are, which... is..."
God help him, he can't bring himself to interrupt. He's just basking in that familiar mix of awe and amusement that can only be brought on by Felicity Smoak's train of thought crashing off the rails.
"Which is... none... of my business." She clears her throat and shakes her head. "Starting over. Felicity Smoak; nice to meet you."
It takes a moment for him to recover, to calm the mirth in his chest and place a hand on her arm(studiously ignoring the tingle it causes and the urge to run a thumb over the fabric). "It's 5AM. Couldn't you sleep?" He had meant to tell her to take the day off – as much for his benefit as for hers. Her being safe and warm at home sounded all too appealing to him after what happened.
Her face darkens, the faint, almost ever-present suggestion of a smile fading away. He misses it as soon as it goes.
"No," she looks away briefly, chewing her lip. "I thought – I never considered the security cameras at Queen Consolidated. The vigilante taskforce is going to be all over the office as we speak, and sooner or later they're going to turn up with a warrant for the tapes. Unless a certain star IT girl-turned-PA wiped the data."
The joke feels hollow, with none of the energy she usually has. She's putting on an act of happiness for him. He feels a wash of melancholy that the tables have turned.
"You don't have to do that. Diggle or I could–"
This time, he thinks he might just see that spark in her smile. "Do either of you know how to delete data from a certain very security-conscious company's servers without leaving a trail, while simultaneously making it look like it was deleted when a third party – in this case the Arrow – hacked the system?"
Touché. "I'm getting pretty competent with Windows 7 now," he offers. "I found the start bar yesterday."
She laughs, and it's like a balm.