Title: All We Relied Upon
A/N: This contains very minor spoilers for 3.02.
…
Chapter 3: As My Anger Reigns
'Til everything burns, while everyone screams
Burning their lies, burning my dreams
All of this hate and all of this pain,
I'll burn it all down as my anger reigns
- Anastacia feat. Ben Moody, Everything Burns
…
After the madness of his first week back from the island, Oliver finds himself at the Starling City cemetery without quite knowing how he got there. He hadn't planned on visiting Tommy's grave, and he is not exactly sure what he's doing here- Tommy is long gone, not even his body rests here.
But he feels a pressing need to acknowledge this new chapter in his journey as the Hood. He has made a promise in Tommy's name, and he knows keeping it will be one of the hardest things he has ever had to do. He will have to fight instincts that became a part of his very nature on the island.
He wishes fiercely that he hadn't waited to make this resolution until after Tommy's death, because now, no matter what he does on this path to redemption, his best friend will never be there to witness it. Tommy died believing he was a murderer, and that cuts Oliver deeply, because even though Tommy often acted like a spoilt, shallow playboy, he'd always had a heart of gold; had always been one of the best people Oliver knew.
He remembers that day when Tommy had come to Honk Kong to look for him, when no one, not even his own family, had believed he was alive. Being forced to send him away had almost destroyed him. It was the first time that Oliver had lost all hope that he would ever get back home.
And then those first weeks after his return from the island- he'd had such a difficult time adjusting, and it had seemed like his family constantly wanted him to act okay when he really wasn't. Tommy was the only one who had accepted him back without any questions or expectations. He had chattered inanely about the TV shows and movies Oliver had missed, treating him exactly the same as he always had. And yet he had never been insensitive, had never tried beyond a half-hearted suggestion or two to drag him to parties or ply him with women, and he had given him his space when he needed it without begrudging him.
Letting out a shaky sigh, Oliver drops to one knee in front of the gravestone. "I'm sorry you died thinking I was a killer," he says tightly. "From now on, I'm going to live my life like you're watching every move I make." He draws in a deep, steadying breath and tries not to remember the way Tommy looked when he died. "I promise; I will never let you down again."
…
At first, Slade lets Tommy's refusal to use the punching bag pass without comment, though his lips press into a tight line when he sees it untouched day after day. As time goes by, he seems increasingly impatient, however, and the news broadcasts increase in frequency.
One day, when he is handing Tommy his dinner, he notices something and grabs his arm in a crushing grasp. "What is this?" he growls.
Tommy looks down and flushes dully. His entire arm is covered in bite marks- he'd noticed pain was an effective way of keeping him grounded during his fits of anger. Since then, he's been using this as a way of keeping himself in check.
"It's nothing," he mutters.
Slade searches his face and then let's go of his arm, looking amused. "Don't tell me," he says, "That you are laboring under the delusion that you can fight the effects of the Mirakuru? If you do not choose a focus and an outlet for your anger, it will consume you completely."
"I am not going to let you turn me into a weapon against Oliver," Tommy retorts hotly.
Slade first looks surprised, then mildly impressed. "You're sharper than you look, kid," he says in his gravelly voice. "But all I've done you is show you what Oliver has done to this city."
"He's my best friend," Tommy says through gritted teeth. The best friend who slept with the woman you loved, a traitorous voice whispers in his head. He shoves it down before the anger can bubble up and take over.
"The same best friend who lied to you?" Slade counters. "Who abandoned you in a collapsing building to save a stranger? Who killed your father?"
"What?" Tommy asks, shocked. "He didn't-"
Slade's gaze sharpens. "That's what he told you? The kid hasn't changed at all. Well, I hate to break it to you, but he lied. Malcolm Merrlyn is dead."
"That's not possible," Tommy stammers, though seeds of doubt are beginning to take root.
Slade smiles unpleasantly. "I can show you the broadcast if you want proof," he says. "But is it really necessary? Think about it, Tommy. How could the Arrow have stopped him without killing him? Oliver lied to you."
Tommy doesn't want to believe it, but Slade's words make a horrible kind of sense. He stares at him for a split second before turning away and smashing his fist into the punching bag with all his might. How could you, he thinks in a blind rage, barely noticing when his knuckles split open. How could you have lied to me? How could you have killed my dad, how could you have slept with the woman I loved?
He barely registers Slade leaving as he punches the bag again, and again and again, the haze of anger consuming him completely.
…
Oliver knew his return to Starling City wasn't going to be easy, but if he had guessed how difficult it was going to be, he's pretty sure he would never have left the island. Only two weeks back and he has never felt more like a failure-the Glades are in ruins, Sebastian Blood seems hell-bent on crucifying him, his mother is probably going to get the death sentence and he doesn't even want to think about the kind of shape Laurel is in.
He misses Tommy fiercely. His friend was always good at lightening the mood in difficult situations, and there are moments when Oliver almost expects him to walk into the middle of a messy situation and defuse it with some well-timed humor.
It's a strange thing, because even as it crosses his mind he knows that Tommy didn't exactly joke around much last year. Oliver feels like he is remembering some version of Tommy that pre-dated the island, or maybe he is just thinking of how things should have been.
Felicity calls him self-absorbed, and she is right, but not in the way she thinks. Neither she nor Diggle seem to realize how badly Tommy's death still affects him. It's as if they think he's left all that behind him on the island. He hasn't, and probably never will.
He doesn't blame them for not understanding because they were never around before the island, when he and Tommy were practically inseparable. Thea was, though, which is probably why she forgives him so easily for his four-month absence.
Sometimes, Oliver doesn't know what hurts worse- the fact that he never got a chance to fix things between them, or the fact that he never really tried. Now, he is determined that no matter what it takes, he won't fail in his promise to Tommy.
…
Tommy loses hours every day to the punching bag. It requires no thought- it is just pure physical exertion, sweat and force and bloody knuckles, which is far more satisfying than a book or a movie could ever be. Once, he even manages to knock it to the floor completely, spilling sand across the floor. (The moment reminds him vaguely of a scene from a movie he knows he should recognize, but he is so consumed by the fire inside him that he doesn't even pause to remember which it is.)
Slade doesn't comment, but replaces the punching bag, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His broadcasts continue at regular intervals. Oliver is back now, but the city is still in complete chaos. The latest broadcast is about the return of a serial killer known as 'The Dollmaker', who had captured and nearly killed Quentin and Laurel Lance. The broadcast doesn't make it clear how she survived it, but the idea of Laurel in danger makes Tommy's blood boil. Shouldn't Oliver be keeping an eye on her?
It is a nightmare that finally snaps him out of it. He collapses into bed one night, exhausted, and when he closes his eyes he sees Oliver's face hovering over his, eyes wet with tears and desperation, telling him that he's going to be alright, that he is nothing like his father. Tommy jerks awake, feeling as if he's just had a bucket of cold water dumped over his head.
For the first time in days, he finds himself able to think clearly. It is suddenly obvious now-Oliver clearly thinks he is dead. After those of injuries, Tommy shouldn't have survived. Oliver hasn't abandoned him, and he only lied about his father to protect him. Honestly, Tommy can't blame him for that- if he had died, he wouldn't have wanted his last thought to be the knowledge that his best friend killed his father.
Is this why Oliver ran away from Starling City? Was it all just too much? Tommy puts himself in Oliver's shoes, thinks about everything he's lost. Watching his mother admitting to mass murder on national television, and then being forced to kill his best friend's father and then losing Tommy, all in one same night? Tommy is only surprised his friend didn't stay gone.
Tommy is still angered by Oliver's betrayal where Laurel is concerned, but then, he had screwed that up himself first, hadn't he? And he'd known all along that Oliver still loved Laurel, had been waiting for the situation to blow up in his face for a whole year, and it finally had. Though he can't forgive his friend, he can't hate him for it, either.
He runs a hand through his hair and feels fear and helplessness twist in his gut. What the fuck is happening to him? He doesn't even recognize himself anymore. This terrible anger is like a demon possessing him. He has no control over it at all.
His eyes skip over the room, taking in the gashes in the walls, some of which he can't even remember making. Walls of metal stronger than military grade- it must have cost Slade a small fortune. Why is the man going to such lengths to keep him here?
Suddenly, Tommy's eyes widen in realization. It feels as if a light bulb has gone off in his head, and he curses himself for his stupidity in not realizing it sooner. Slade had known everything about the Mirakuru. He was built like a block of steel. On the first day of his captivity, he had warned Tommy not to break the TV in a fit of frustration. He had known about the increased strength and healing, and the need for physical exercise. That kind of intimate knowledge could only come from personal experience.
Slade had obviously been injected with the same drug, but unlike Tommy, he has somehow learnt to control the effects. He seems focused, determined- he has obviously planned every detail of Tommy's captivity carefully. The room, the broadcasts, the patience with which he waited for Tommy to use the punching bag all show that he has found away to avoid being ruled by his anger.
But how is that possible? This all-consuming fury is so violent and unpredictable, how could anyone control it? Tommy closes his eyes, his mind whirling as he reexamines Slade's actions over the last few weeks. And then he remembers what Slade said a few days ago. If you do not choose a focus and an outlet for your anger, it will consume you completely.
His eyes fly open. Slade has focused all his anger, all his hatred on Oliver. His entire being is consumed by planning Oliver's downfall, and that is the only reason he is able to stay in control of himself. Tommy thinks about Oliver up against that kind of hatred, of how completely blindsided he will be, and feels a spike of anger on his friend's behalf. Oliver doesn't deserve that.
This time, he does not try to fight the anger. If he needs a focus for his hatred, then what better candidate than the man who drugged him, captured him, and is trying to brainwash him into hurting his best friend? Tommy's lips curl into a hard smile. He gets up and turns to face the dark outline of the punching bag. He pictures Slade standing there and draws his fist back, letting the anger build until it's the only thing he knows.
...
TBC…
