Note: An absence of whump and angst in this particular fandom led me to this. Oh, and watching Season 1 again after the mid-season finale left me utterly destroyed. Read and please leave a review and tell me what you think. I will try to update quickly, but with the Christmas break, bear with me. Thanks and ... enjoy the season!
A soft drizzle had wrapped itself around Starling City, covering the city in a nightly orange-tinted glow, accentuating all artificial light sources like only a autumn shower could. The air was saturated with cool humidity and a barely comfortable stinginess.
All of this and a another long string of further detail registered in his mind as he stood at the rim of a four-story building right where the famed Glades bordered the rest of the city with its business district further east. His conscious attention was turned elsewhere however. Tonight it was turned intently on the alleyway below him. Barely lit, most of the light sources shot out by local low life, it was coated in the same humid blanket than the rest of the city. Opening towards one of the main avenues that led into the main of the city, the further end of the alleyway was blocked by grates and various dumpsters… a perfect meeting place for paranoid drug dealer and other criminals that preferred controllable surroundings and avoidable surprises. Right below him was the entrance to the run down building he was standing on. Declared dangerous after the Undertaking that killed so many people, the building had been closed down by the authorities… but as with many things in the Glades, appearances were misleading and so the building was off-limits for the Police patrols… but not for local criminals or as tonight drug sellers and traffickers to meet and plot the possibilities of furthering their business ventures.
And so, various chatter had indicated a first meeting between a new player from Coast City and the local Russian mob. Things had been slow going in the last few weeks, while the Arrow had managed to establish a semblance of quite in the city and crime rates were at a low. Perfect timing for a new, daring hard-ball mastermind from the outside to come to Starling City to try and make a name for himself.
But the Vigilante that had assumed protection of his city, had a word to say about that. Several in fact…, he thought as he checked flechettes, arrows, quiver and arrow heads in an automated and established order. Anatoly Knyazev, local leader of the Bratva had entered barely five minutes ago, accompanied with several of his lower level soldiers and his lieutenant Vitali Anoshkin.
A studious look towards the skies assured Oliver Queen, better known under his vigilante Alter Ego 'The Arrow', that the drizzle was nowhere ready to stop. It would render every ledge, ever stop, every wall and every step slippery and thus uncontrollably dangerous. For not only for him. His mind went on auto-pilot. Checking window sills, controlling which ones were blocked by wooden panels, which fire escape on which level was still functioning and load bearing, which balcony would make for a good exit point and which emergency exit would make for an assured dead trap. His secondary exit was through the sewer system which was on the same system as the old industrial building turned night club that after being closed forcibly last year, now exclusively served as his and his team's hide-out once more. He was alone tonight. Simple recon. Nothing that would have warranted calling in either Diggle, Felicity or even Roy.
In truth, when he had built this life for himself, had imagined it on the island or the months in Hong-Kong, never had he thought of people at his side. In his mind, he was alone. No strings, but also no danger. No vulnerability. No accountability either. But life had played out differently, and he had needed help. And while he was infinitely grateful for everything his friends did for him and the Arrow, by putting everything at stake for him and his persona, he felt crowded sometimes.
The island had changed him. And while he did enjoy the proximity of people, the fact that someone cared about him, at the same time the smallest part of him felt secluded by it at times. This. Here. Alone on a rooftop. A hunter with his objective. This was the one thing he had always been sure of. The one thing that had always come back to. Like the physical exertion of a ruthless and unforgiving workout would dull his senses and border on self-punishment for former sins, the lone hunt helped him to focus.
And so, he was alone that night. Just him, the rain, his bow and a group of criminals that needed pruning.
Two cars pulled up into the alley below him and a cautiously stepped back onto the roof to avoid detection, the gravel under his boots was the only sound he made.
"Here we go."
The words crossed his mouth in a silent whisper out of pure habit only to realise a split second later that there was nobody on the other side of a radio to hear them.
Tonight, he was alone. And he relished the thought.