A/N 1: This puppy is dedicated entirely to smoaklen on Tumblr - and her fault, too. Entirely her fault. We were having this convo that somehow turned to Thea and her inevitable future Malcolm problem, and long story short, my fic-loving brain fixated on the following directory: Speedy and Canary team-up to take down the Dark Archer, Felicity offers technical support, and all the dudes just step back and take notes.
This one-shot is...a variation on that directory. Yeah.
Anyway...*clears throat*
Carry on.
Speedy
"Do you have the location yet?"
Felicity did her best not to bristle and snap back at Oliver's bark of a query. The crazy not-as-dead-as-everyone-would-like psycho archer who destroyed half the Glades has his sister, she reminded herself. You can forgive him for being a little –
"Felicity!"
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Merlyn has his sister, she chanted to her irritated self. He's just exceptionally snappy because Merlyn has his sister.
Well, half-sister, evidently. Who had seen that one coming? Felicity certainly hadn't.
She hadn't seen Malcolm Merlyn's rise from the dead coming, either. Until it had happened. Until he had come after Thea.
He had her now. Oliver and Diggle had tried to stop it. Needless to say, it hadn't exactly gone according to plan – mostly because Oliver had gone in arrows blazing without thinking it through and tried to take on Merlyn with only Diggle as his backup on-site. The end result was a bit of history repeating itself, minus self-inflicted stab wounds to the chest. Broken bones had been involved, though.
Felicity sighed and whirled in her chair. "I have the location." She had cross-referenced locations and distances and traffic patterns and CCTV camera footage and a whole lot of other variables that were starting to hurt her head, but she had her location; a recently abandoned building complex in the Glades. That was where Merlyn had Thea.
Oliver made to walk – or more like, limp – closer to the screen, and Felicity promptly minimized the search results. He pulled short, blinked, then glared at her – like that was going to change anything.
"Felicity," he hissed a warning, to which she raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.
"You're not going there," she told him, then let her eyes slip to Diggle's hunched over form by the medical bay. "Either of you."
"He has my sister," Oliver insisted, approaching growling territory. "I'm going after him, and I'm taking him down."
"He broke your arm," Felicity deadpanned, giving the makeshift cast on his left arm a cursory glance. She pointed to Diggle. "And two of Digg's ribs. How are you going to take him down, exactly?"
"I don't need my bow to fight," Oliver maintained. He was ridiculous. They were both ridiculous.
"Oliver," she said, looking him dead in the eye, "as good as you are, you're no match for him even on your best day. You won't make it to the door in this state. You'll lose."
"He has my sister!" Oliver roared, and under other circumstances, Felicity would have felt bad for all the pain that sentence carried; all the lies and deceit and betrayal woven through the words. As it happened, though, she did not have time for this.
Someone had to give Thea a helping hand.
"And we'll get her back," Felicity said with confidence. "But you boys are benched on this one."
Before Oliver could test her eardrums' endurance some more, Diggle spoke up. "Then, who's 'we'?"
Felicity presented both men with her most confident smile. "You guys are outmatched here, and so am I, which means we need to even the playing field."
They stared at her.
Oh, well, no one can blame them for being slow on the uptake in their current condition, she thought. "What do you bring to a fight with a League of Assassins' assassin?" she asked; that had to be enough pointers for them.
She was only met with two blank stares.
Right. "Another League of Assassins' assassin," she said slowly; it should have been obvious.
It took an inordinate amount of time for understanding to dawn on their bruised and battered faces.
"Sara," Diggle stated it for the record.
Felicity's smile widened. "The Canary's flying home, boys," she declared, moving her eyes to another screen, where a news feed played on mute, an inconspicuous little black canary flashing in the corner. Felicity and Sara had a system; outright communication could be tricky, mostly because Sara bounced from one location to the other, so they had forsaken digital for analog – so to speak. Wherever Sara was, she watched the news channels; Felicity would hack the feeds, plant in the canary as a calling card. When the beacon lit up, it was time to fly home.
In this particular case, so they could take down the Dark Archer once and for all. Felicity had sent out the call two days ago, right after they had learned Merlyn was still alive and kicking.
Moments later, the lock on the basement door beeped.
Right on time.
Sara walked in, mask and wig in place and staff in hand. She smiled at the three of them. "You called?"
If she closed her eyes, maybe all of this would disappear; maybe she would be back in the mansion, and her mother would be helping her pick out a new dress, and Roy would be making smart-ass comments about all the expensive furniture, and her brother would drop lame out-of-date references to pop culture and be his brooding self the rest of the time, and Malcolm Merlyn would be dead.
Maybe, if she closed her eyes, Malcolm Merlyn wouldn't be her father.
Thea shut her eyes tight, for the hundredth time since she had been taken. Maybe it would work on the hundredth and first.
It didn't.
When she lifted her puffy eyelids, the sight, blurred by her continuous tears, was still the same; she was curled into a ball in the corner of an abandoned fifth-floor condo, and Malcolm stood just a few feet away.
She'd known her mom had had an affair with him. That had been shock enough. But to learn that she was the product of that affair…
No, she told herself resolutely. It doesn't mean anything. Blood doesn't mean anything. He's not my father. My father was Robert Queen, and he's dead.
The betrayal crushed her, though. Her mother's lies. Everything about this made it hard to breathe.
She would still give anything to have her mother come barging through that door and taking her in her arms. I want my mom, she thought desperately, whimpering again.
"There is no need to be afraid, Thea," Malcolm spoke, and she instinctively burrowed further into the wall. He was just walking around leisurely, like he was waiting for something; probably a call that would let him know that whatever arrangements he had to get them out of Starling City were ready. That was what he wanted to do, take them away, somewhere no one could find them; the crazy, deranged psycho actually thought they could live on as father and daughter. That they would be some sort of twisted happy family. It made Thea sick.
"I know this is very upsetting for you," he went on, and Thea's stomach rolled when she realized he meant to sound soothing, comforting; fatherly. "But it's necessary, until we are safely away. Then, you can do whatever you want, go wherever you want…" He gave her a smile. "We'll be very happy, you'll see."
"I – " Her tears choked her, but she swallowed them down. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she ground out, wrapping her arms around herself in hopes of stopping the shaking of her entire body.
She glared at him through her tears, and as her words reached him, he glared back; it only lasted a moment, though, and the next, he had that sickeningly loving look back in his eyes. "Arrangements are being made as we speak," he said. "In only a few hours, we'll be away from here. And then, we can start over, just the two of us." He took a step closer and Thea recoiled; his face fell. "You're all I have left, Thea," he told her, and sounded like he was actually hurting; like he had any right to be hurting after everything he had done. "I've lost my wife, my son – your brother."
Do not drag Tommy into this. Yes, he had been like a brother to her – barring that phase when she'd had a crush on him, and that, in this new context, kinda tested the limits of her gag reflex. He'd even called her his baby sister once, which was –
She shook her head; Tommy was off limits.
"All I have left is you," Malcolm went on. "My daughter. You're upset now, but in time, you will come to share my joy over this knowledge."
She reared back. "You are not my father," she spat. "My father died six years ago, and you killed him!" My father was Robert Queen. She was a Queen, no matter her mom's indiscretions. She was a Queen, and the Queen women were strong. Her mother had raised her to be strong.
So, she may be shaking from head to toe, and her throat may be clogged with tears, and those same tears may be leaving fresh trails on her cheeks with each passing second, but she wasn't bowing down; she was a Queen, and she was strong.
Malcolm's glare wasn't just temporary now, and all of that easygoing countenance he tried to put forward was gone. Before Thea could reconsider her strategy, a shrill filled her ears. It echoed in her head, and the vibration made it hurt; her hands came up to cover her ears on instinct, just as every window in the place shattered. The raining glass made her let out a scream, but it died in her throat when a figure rolled in through one of the broken windows.
Thea stared; rumors of a female vigilante dressed in black roaming Starling City were rampant, though no one could claim to have seen her for a few months. They called her the Canary. Because of the sonic device she used to subdue those she targeted.
The Canary had landed on one knee, pulling a long staff in two and spreading the halves like wings at her side. Slowly, she rose.
A familiar hiss drew Thea's attention away from the woman, and to Malcolm, who now stood with a loaded bow, pointing a black-tipped arrow at the newest arrival. "Did he send you?" he demanded.
Thea frowned; who was he? The vigilante? The Canary was known to be associated with the Arrow. The Arrow had also been the one credited for taking down Merlyn when the Glades fell – though that had obviously been an exaggerated assessment. The vigilante had also tried to keep Merlyn from taking her. And failed.
"I'm sure he's looking for you, too," the Canary said. "But I'm not here on his behalf."
Malcolm smirked. "The Arrow's, then."
So, he wasn't the vigilante. The vigilante had sent for the Canary, though, it seemed. Thea swore the green-wearing nut job had a fixation for trying to rescue members of her family. When he wasn't abducting and threatening to kill them. Nut job.
"You could say that," the Canary replied, her voice stone-cold. "It's time you picked on someone your own size." And with that, she charged.
Thea yelped and bounded to her feet, keeping to the wall.
Malcolm fired arrow after arrow, some of which the Canary dodged, and some of which she snapped in half with a wield of her staff mid-air. She slid to the ground and rolled, coming closer to Malcolm; the metal of her weapons screeched against Merlyn's bow, and Thea only watched as they fought hand-to-hand, a blurry of movement. She, for her part, stood frozen; she couldn't move, she couldn't think.
"Run!" the Canary yelled at her at one point, but she still remained in her spot. She wanted to run, she did, but couldn't make her feet obey her brain.
The bow was knocked out of Malcolm's grasp, but a second later, so were the two halves of the Canary's staff; they were down to fighting with their bare hands. Not that it seemed to slow down either of them.
The Canary had her legs wound around his neck, to break it, but he threw her off; she landed on the open palms of her hands and with a backflip, was on her feet again. His arm swung at her but she ducked, moving out of reach and behind him, to kick him in the shin; his leg buckled but his other shot out, hitting the back of her knees and making fall to the ground. She jumped back to her feet.
Thea had never seen anyone fight like that. With that much precision and speed and fluidity; not Roy, or even the vigilante from what she had seen of him. These two were next level stuff. And evidently, they came from the same batch.
And then, Malcolm had Canary in a chokehold.
It was like watching it from behind a screen, like she wasn't part of it. She couldn't be. Expect she was.
The bow just lay there on the ground, within her reach. And next to it, a heap of unused arrows.
It had been years since she last picked up a bow. Growing up, and after Ollie had disappeared, she'd taken on archery; had a few trophies, too. She'd given it up. It just looked stupid after a while.
What was the point? Being able to hit a paper bullseye wasn't going to bring her father and brother back. It wasn't going to make her mother pay attention or snap out of it. It didn't mean anything. So, she'd given up archery in favor of living in the fast lane.
But there was a bow right at her feet now.
Her hand was clammy as she took hold of it, and shook as she picked it up. She grabbed an arrow, too, and straightened. She hadn't held a bow in a long, long time.
But her fingers curled along the arc, and the arrow's shaft brushed her skin as she slid it into place.
Just like riding a bike.
The bowstring tightened under her pull, and it drew Malcolm's attention. He whirled to face her, still holding the Canary by the throat; she looked like was still fighting, and Thea took it as a good sign; she breathed in, breathed out, held herself straighter, then commanded, "Let her go!"
There was a beat before he practically threw her to the ground, like discarding an afterthought. Thea watched her roll on the ground, then pull herself to her knees and hands; her fists clenched then relaxed, and she looked like she was building her breath again, working herself back to fighting shape. She wasn't down for the count.
Malcolm was stepping closer, and Thea pointed the black arrow right at his chest. "Don't!" she yelled, though her voice wavered. "Jus – just stay where you are!"
He held his arms out, like he meant to placate her. "Thea," he began – sweetly, the bastard, "don't you see? You are my daughter." He gave a short chuckle. "I've watched you grow up, take up archery – I wished many times that you were mine, because I could have been proud of your love for a skill that I hold so dear, and now, I know that you are." Her skin crawled with revulsion, but he still went on. "Archery is in your blood, Thea," he said. "Like it is mine. Because you are my daughter. Don't you see?"
No. No, no, no, she chanted to herself. No!
The tears that stung her eyes made his shape blur in and out of focus, but she didn't let her hold on the bow go slack; she was a Queen, and she was strong. He wasn't her father. It didn't mean anything.
Behind Malcolm, Thea caught sight of the Canary rising to her feet, but she didn't make a move to attack again. Instead, and slowly, she nodded. Take him down. Beat him.
Thea swallowed, adjusted her grip and her aim. "No," she hissed, and let the arrow fly.
Felicity stared at her screens, where the thermal imaging feed was playing – one she had obtained courtesy of a hacked NSA satellite.
"She shot him," Diggle stated, sounding dumbstruck. "With an arrow."
Chancing a glance at Oliver, Felicity found him to be sporting that face he had when he was experiencing such informational overload that his expression simply went blank.
"Looks like you might wanna add another member to the tree house, Oliver," Felicity commented. "You'd finally have someone to murder tennis balls with."
He simply turned his blank expression on her.
Right. Give him some time to adjust.
After confirming that Sara was well and on her feet again, Felicity dialed Roy. The poor thing had been freaking out, momentarily putting grievances involving a shot to the knee aside and practically begging the Arrow to let him do something, and was, when Felicity reached him, in the middle of a half-cocked attempt to find Thea on his own; Felicity disguised her voice, impersonating his on-again, off-again idol and giving him the location.
Someone had to make sure Thea made it out of there safely, and Felicity was pretty sure Sara would be a little bit busy in the aftermath.
It got him in the shoulder.
For a moment, he looked frozen – incredulous – before falling to his knees. The Canary was there in a second, placing her staff under his chin and against his throat.
"Do you want him dead?" she asked.
Thea couldn't process the question for a few beats, transfixed by the sight of trickling blood down Malcom's clavicle. She'd done it. She beat him.
Her bow arm lowered limply by her side. I beat him.
The Canary repeated her question, more loudly this time.
"W-won't you kill him anyway?" Thea countered with a question of her own; Malcolm didn't speak. He didn't look like he would make any attempt to, either. He just lost everything, Thea realized. The last thing he thought was his, that he had a right to. Because I beat him.
"I want to," the Canary answered. "But if you wish him to live, I will respect that."
Thea looked down at Merlyn. It was wrong to give a green light on killing someone, right? He was a murderer; if she told the Canary to snap his neck, she would be one, too, by proxy. Like Mom. Then again, no matter what, her mother was the greatest woman she knew, and she was only beginning to see that.
She hated Malcolm. Everything he was, everything he'd done; destroying the Glades, killing her real father, terrorizing her mother, taking her brother away – both her brothers, one way or the other. She hated him.
So, she said, "I don't care."
The Canary gave her another nod and what looked like a proud hint of a smile. "You may want to turn around for this," she instructed, and Thea didn't need to be told twice.
She turned her back to the two, closing her eyes.
"You should be thankful, Dark Archer," she heard the Canary whisper – right into Malcolm's ear, probably. "I am granting you your freedom."
Then, there was only the sound of a sickening crack and a loud thud. Thea didn't turn around.
After a while, she felt the Canary's presence right in front of her, and slowly opened her eyes. She met bright blue ones. "It's done."
Thea thought she would've felt something at the realization that Malcolm Merlyn was dead for good; she didn't. She hated him. She didn't care.
Her eyes fell to the bow she still held. "Guess archery really does run in the family," she commented, not a little bitterly.
A small huff made her look up, and the Canary seemed like she was about to crack a smile.
"Did I say something funny?" she snapped.
"A little," the other woman said. "But," she added, growing serious, "whether that's true or not doesn't mean anything. There is so much more to you than your family name or your blood. You decide who or what you are." She shook her head. "Not self-important men."
Thea let the words sink in, and eventually, she smiled, too.
The ensuing silence was cut short by loud, running footfalls and Thea whipped her head to the side just in time to see the door being kicked down and a panting Roy appearing in sight.
Her feet moved of their own accord this time. The bow clattered to the ground as she ran to him, and he picked her up readily, holding her tight. She let her entire body sink into him, burying her face in his red hoodie; he kissed her hair and her temple, mumbling some words she didn't quite register, but that still comforted her.
She felt him tense under her then, and shifted within his arms just enough to be able to look over her shoulder. The Canary stood over Malcolm's body.
"What are you going to do with him?" Thea asked; somehow, she had the feeling she wouldn't just leave him there for the police to find.
The Canary took a moment to respond. "Burn his body," she said. "There are ways to bring back what is dead, but you can never rebuild what's been burned." She gave both Thea and Roy a firm nod. "You can go. I'll take care of this."
"Thank you," Thea told the woman, which earned her a wide smile, just as Roy began leading her away.
She leaned into him as they walked down the deserted flights of stairs, grateful for the crutch he made for; with all the adrenaline draining from her system, she was starting to feel drowsy. Despite that, she also felt…liberated. Stronger.
Maybe she could take up archery again, one of these days. It wasn't so stupid after all.
A/N 2: There was a post a while back on Tumblr (which I regrettably haven't earmarked) that pointed out the different archery trophies on display in Thea's room, as seen in the pilot. Obviously, that is where most of this story comes from. A story I hope you enjoyed. Or at least found decent. Like, something other than a complete waste of internet space.
Yeah.