The Trial and Judgement of Malcolm Merlyn

by Dark Empress V

Malcolm Merlyn is tried and judged for his actions. With a twist. AU. Elements of season 1, 2 and 3.

4. Don't Call it Freedom

Trial and judgement of Malcolm Merlyn

Chapter 4: Don't call it freedom.

Author's note: First of all, I want to thank Bloodsong, my beta, for her amazing amount of help in this chap and also make it clear: Malcolm Merlyn is never broken, despite how dark this story gets. He rules, lol. Also, wanted to thank you for the amazing reviews! So here, the story continues!

Malcolm Merlyn LIVES!

XxXxXxX

When Malcolm regained consciousness, his head was pounding so badly he did not even have the strength to open his eyes. He nearly let out a moan of pain, but managed to stop himself. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He had surrendered to his urge to scream far too many times during this torment already.

He shifted slightly, trying to get his bearings. He wasn't lying on the ground; instead of the crunching gravel digging into his body, he felt a soft mattress. It seemed so unreal: the last thing he remembered was Oliver's tightening grip on his throat and the crushing certainty of approaching death.

So, Oliver hadn't killed him, but merely taunted him with the prospect of the grim reaper as part of his sick psychological torture? He caused him to lose consciousness and dumped him back in the cell to continue the gruesome spectacle later?

Given what Oliver had proven himself capable of recently, this supposition would seem correct, if it weren't for several significant details. As more of his senses awakened, Malcolm noticed that his wounds had been rebandaged; his mattress and pillow were somehow softer. When he inhaled gingerly, he couldn't smell any of the rancid odors that always drifted around his cell. Yes, this definitely felt as if he were somewhere else.

He allowed himself to slowly open his eyes. His vision was blurry at first as he tried to look around, but it slowly became clearer. Malcolm let out a gasp of shock.

He was back at the Merlyn Global penthouse, lying on a comfortable couch. He let his gaze wander over every detail of the décor, wanting so badly for this to be true. But it couldn't be. Just another drug-induced hallucination, like the one with Rebecca. Or Oliver did kill him and he was in a version of paradise Heaven had prepared for him. He chuckled weakly at the thought. If he did die, paradise was certainly not where he'd be headed.

Malcolm lifted himself up on his elbow slightly, grunting as his entire body protested against the effort. The pain seemed real enough, but then again, the agony he'd experienced during his hallucinations hadn't been any less acute. Malcolm stared at the walls and the furniture, trying to detect any anomalies, distortions that would prove he was right. He found nothing of the sort. Everything looked perfectly ordinary and normal.

"Tim, he's awake!" a voice said nearby, and suddenly both Kevin McDouggal and Timothy Kent were hovering above him, concern painting their features.

"How are you feeling, Mr Merlyn?" Tim asked, but Malcolm was only able to shake his head and blink a few times in disbelief.

"What…? How…?" he managed to whisper hoarsely, looking at his trusted associates.

"Bring him some water." Kevin instructed Tim, then turned back to Malcolm. "I'm sorry it took us so long to get to you, but after you activated the tracking device, the signal kept bouncing all over Starling for days. Then it suddenly appeared in Central City, but as we were on our way there, it jumped to Chicago and then even LA. Someone must have hacked it and kept feeding us fake data. Tim says he's never seen anything like it."

Malcolm smiled bitterly. Felicity Smoak, of course. So Oliver and his team hadn't destroyed the tracker, but instead used their IT genius' talent to send his associates on a wild goose chase.

Timothy Kent was no mean hacker himself - he had been the one who found the Trojan in Merlyn Global's system and upped the security to such a level that the Markov Devices seemed beyond safe. However, as it turned out, his skills clearly could not compare to Miss Smoak's.

Tim returned with the water. Malcolm sat up and drank it gratefully; his mouth was parched. "How did you finally manage to locate me?" he asked in a clearer voice. And actually get me out, instead of getting yourselves shot, he added in his thoughts. Both Kevin and Tim were very skilled fighters. Kevin was former CIA, Tim former MI6. Even so, as Malcolm knew by now, they weren't even close to the Vigilante's level. The two of them might be able to overpower Diggle, but not Oliver.

"The signal stopped pinging around at some point last night and stayed in one place. So we decided to give it a try and went in to extract you," Kevin explained.

This did not sound right to Merlyn. Way too convenient. He held that thought and pressed on with the questioning.

"And where did you find me?" he asked, alarm bells starting to go off inside his head.

"It was an old ironworks in the Glades. The place seemed completely deserted, but there were signs someone had used it as a crash pad very recently. They left behind some computer cables and screens, lots of trash, syringes, bottles of drugs… We thought it was another set up, perhaps rigged with explosives, but then Tim discovered a side corridor and we finally found you in one of the rooms…" He paused for a second, his gaze growing distant, but then continued: "There was no one to offer any resistance."

Now the alarm bells in Malcolm's head turned into a cacophony. Oliver Queen would never have left him unguarded or let Felicity take the hack off of the tracker unless he wanted him to be found. All this had been carefully arranged and planned out.

His 'escape' was a sham.

But why?

Why release him at all, let alone make such a spectacle of it when all the boy seemed to want to do was kill him? Was this a part of some game Oliver had orchestrated?

Malcolm's gaze shot towards the entrance to the penthouse, half expecting the Vigilante and Diggle to barge in and claim him again, the entire rescue operation just a cruel joke, another stage of a twisted psychological torture.

"How long was I gone?" he asked sharply, eyes still on the door, his mind whirring.

"A month."

Malcolm looked at him in disbelief. Only a month? The torment seemed to have lasted so much longer.

"What happened to Merlyn Global while I was away?" he wondered out loud, thinking about all of his employees there, his responsibilities.

"Tim and I took care of it. As you know, I still have some friends from my time at the Agency. I hired a man with the necessary set of corporate skills, Carl Grayson. We planted him as a temporary COO to make sure everything kept running smoothly. He cannot be traced back to me, or Tim. As far as everybody else in the company is concerned, you went on a survival trip… A billionaire's whim, you know. Merlyn Global's stock price was not impacted by your absence."

Malcolm allowed himself a brief sigh of relief, but then his mind returned to the most pressing issue. "Tommy; is he alive?"

Kevin made a face. "Of course! Alive and well, why would you ask? Did someone try to harm him?"

Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief, then a one of the utmost guilt. "I did," he admitted. "I hurt him."

"What do you mean?"

"I hit him. He tried to stop me from proceeding with the Undertaking, pulled a gun on me, so I had to incapacitate him. I-It all happened so fast, I didn't want to.. "

"Malcolm, he is okay." Tim assured him.

Malcolm still looked uncertain. "Oliver implied that I had killed him."

"Fuck him and his sick taste for torturing someone psychologically, and otherwise!" Kevin exclaimed. "Your son is alive and well! Owning it as the frikking prince of Merlyn Global, kicking Grayson's ass! Oh fuck, I hate Oliver!"

"Me too," Tim echoed.

"No, no, don't," Malcolm exclaimed. "I forbid you to."

"So, what? You're protecting him, after all that he's done to you?!" Kevin shouted.

"No, Kev, you misunderstand me."

"How?!"

Malcolm stuggled for what to say. He had to protect his friends. He had precious few as it was and he wasn't about to let them get hurt if they decided to pursue a vendetta against the Vigilante.

Oliver should never learn Kevin and Tim's names. Malcolm had managed to avoid revealing their identities during his questioning and he intended for them to remain a secret. He wouldn't forgive himself if something happened to those two while they were helping him. Even if their names became known to Oliver, Malcolm had to come up with a way to prevent the Vigilante from attacking them.

Oliver had clearly let him go because he had some sort of an agenda. And whatever it was couldn't be good. For a moment, Malcolm entertained the thought of leaving the country, but quickly dismissed it as a fool's errand. He was in no shape to travel. Besides, for all he knew, the Vigilante might have injected him with some form of nano-tracking technology developed by Queen Consolidated's Applied Sciences Division and would find him wherever he'd go.

If this theory proved to be just a paranoid figment of his drug-infused imagination and by some miracle he avoided capture, he'd most likely end up being on the run forever. Oliver might reveal Malcolm's intentions towards the Glades and make him the target of every police force in the country. That was not a life he wanted. He'd never been the type to turn away from danger, but he'd learned to avoid it, and if not, then face it head on.

"What's wrong, boss?" Kevin asked, alarmed by the businessman's prolonged silence and faraway gaze.

"Don't you think it a little too convenient that after all those weeks of you hitting dead end after dead end, everything suddenly went so smoothly?" Merlyn queried, the barest hint of agitation audible in his voice.

Kevin looked away awkwardly. "Well yes, it seemed strange, but no one's attacked us since. We've been here almost twelve hours… The bodyguards outside the door and downstairs reported no suspicious activity; everyone's been checking in regularly." He noticed his boss wasn't convinced.

"Kevin. What are you not telling me?"

He'd hoped he'd manage to avoid mentioning this to Malcolm, but he should have known the businessman was too sharp for such tricks. He sighed and looked at Merlyn again, searching for the right words. "When Tim and I saw you in that warehouse…" He swallowed thickly and continued. "You lay there so still and pale… We checked your pulse, it was barely there. And when we found you, we thought there was no one guarding you because…"

"Because you assumed they'd left me there for dead, didn't you?" Malcolm finished in a quiet, subdued voice.

Kevin nodded slowly. It was beyond strange, seeing his boss like this. To him, the Dark Archer had always been the epitome of strength, control and emotionless precision. Whatever Oliver Queen, 'the Vigilante', had done besides dosing him full of drugs for weeks (which by itself would be enough to destroy even a very strong person), had clearly shaken this unbreakable warrior to the core.

Kevin was a supporter of the Undertaking from the start and shared Malcolm's reasons for choosing such an extreme course of action. His sister had been a victim of the Glades - killed during a convenience store robbery nearly a decade ago. The perpetrator was never caught. The police did nothing. Meeting Merlyn helped him channel the pain and anger he'd felt after losing Lana, gave his life a new purpose. He valued the trust the businessman put in him by eventually revealing his secret identity. Tim was his best fried, and after vetting him thoroughly, Malcolm accepted the man as his employee, and, eventually, friend. Tim didn't have an easy life either.

Throughout years of cooperation, Kevin learned there was also kindness hidden behind the Dark Archer's lethal wall of ice. The warmth he had shown to Tim... The boy could have been called 'broken', written off, Malcolm didn't do that, he gave him a chance.

Now Kevin felt a rising wave of fury at Queen for destroying their plans and doing whatever it was he'd done to the man he had come to respect and admire. Looking at Merlyn now, Kevin saw that his friend and mentor had been through a nightmare the former CIA agent couldn't even begin to imagine, and that he was fighting tooth and nail to hold it together.

"The only important thing is that you are home, safe and getting better. Please calm down, Malcolm," he said in a weak attempt at comfort and laid a hand on his shoulder gently. Although they'd known each other so long, he rarely used his boss' first name.

Merlyn only shook his head and took a deep, steadying breath.

"I am not safe," he said, matter-of-factly, all emotion absent from his voice again. "And neither are you. I do hope you were wearing masks the whole time during the rescue operation?"

"Of course."

"You should leave here as soon as possible. If they come for me…" He held up his hand to silence the men as they started protesting. "If they come for me, you will only get killed unnecessarily, or worse. I won't let that happen." Merlyn's suddenly steely tone and… something unidentifiable but deeply unsettling they saw in his gaze, fixed again on the entrance, kept them quiet.

"The Vigilante... He shouldn't find out who you are. This is nothing like what we've had to deal with before. My entire escape was a charade he arranged. Tim, Kevin... Oliver allowed you to rescue me, which means he has something planned. Whatever it is, I cannot subject you to this," Malcolm said firmly.

"But you will subject yourself to it?!" Kevin snapped.

Merlyn ignored the question. "I will not risk your lives to pay for the mistakes I've made. Oliver Queen and his associates must not see your faces and I will do my best not to let them know your names," he said in a tone that brooked no discussion.

"There is a burner phone in the top drawer of that cabinet by the armchair," he indicated. "My number has been programmed in. We will keep in touch this way. I'll let you know how things stand within a few hours from now. If you don't hear from me by then, do not come looking."

"Boss…," Tim started, but Malcolm's firm gaze kept him from finishing what he was about to say. He swallowed and continued, on a different note: "I've left you some meds in the kitchen. We don't know exactly what drugs they dosed you with when they..." He paused. "However, the stuff we brought should help with the withdrawal. Fridge is full too."

Malcolm nodded.

Kevin grabbed the phone from the cabinet drawer and threw it into his backpack, which he holstered onto his shoulder as he headed reluctantly for the door, Tim following.

Then he turned around suddenly, remembering something. "We also managed to retrieve your bow. It was stashed in a room a few doors away from your cell." He indicated a black duffel bag that lay next to the other corner of the couch and turned back towards the exit.

"Kevin, Tim…" Malcolm called after them and the steely firmness in his voice was replaced by warm, most heartfelt gratitude. "…Thank you."

"You're more than welcome, boss."

After the door closed behind his friends, Malcolm sat for a while in silence, not really sure what to do next. Being back at home so suddenly still felt unreal, but his sense of derealisation was rapidly giving way to foreboding.

The riddle of his unexpected release remained unanswered. Malcolm wracked his mind for what the Oliver's reasons might be. Suddenly, an idea hit him.

Perhaps… Perhaps now that Oliver had his drug-induced confession and knew almost every dirty detail of the Dark Archer's activities, he was going to turn him over to the authorities, after having exacted his own personal vengeance and leaving him practically incapacitated?

Perhaps it would not be the Vigilante barging in through the penthouse door, but a SWAT team? That would fit in with Oliver's MO towards him as of late. The boy had perfected this yo-yo tactic of yanking Malcolm up and down like a true sadist. First, torture his enemy to the brink of destruction, even make him belive he was about to die. Then release him, give him hope that the nightmare was over, only to later subject him to the humiliation of a public trial which would probably result in the death penalty. Malcolm Merlyn - Humanitarian of the Year- revealed to the world as the copycat of the Vigilante, the infamous Dark Archer; his name brought down to the level of scumbags like Deadshot or Count Vertigo. No, worse than that. A genocidal maniac who wanted to destroy half a city.

If Oliver and Moira decided to disclose what he'd planned for the Glades… The boy had been wrong in saying Malcolm could avoid punishment thanks to his 'army of lawyers'. With the Vigilante's help, the prosecution's case would be rock solid, the evidence unquestionable. His own son would probably testify against him. There were no extenuating circumstances. Even if he bought off the judge and the jury, his life would be over and everything he'd built and sacrificed so much for laid to ruin.

Malcolm felt his heart start to race and found that he couldn't sit still any longer. He rose from the couch abruptly and started pacing the room disregarding the dizziness caused by his sudden movement. He looked down at his hands and noticed they were shaking uncontrollably. He balled them into fists, but it did not help, the shaking only intensified and spread upwards. His heart was thumping inside his ears like a deafening drum, his breaths came in quick and shallow.

Withdrawal symptoms.

Malcolm made his way to the kitchen and started rifling through the packet of medications Tim and Kevin had left. There were a number of opiates and benzodiazepines, some anti-depressants and anti-psychotics. Malcolm decided he would not experiment with the pills he didn't know and just grabbed two clonazepams, one of the strongest anti-anxiety medications he'd heard of. He would get himself acquainted with the other drugs later, when he could focus and actually read the leaflets. He washed the pills down with a glass of water, then leaned against the counter and took several deep, steadying breaths.

Gradually, the shaking subsided. Malcolm grabbed a deli sandwich from the fridge, more out of reason than any real appetite and returned to the main room. He ate quickly, without even tasing the food. He couldn't chase away the gnawing unease that Oliver might choose to invade his home at any time. The medication did its work to numb the fear, push it under the surface, but it was only a temporary solution. And yet, the only one he had, a necessary evil.

Given the amounts of drugs Oliver had pumped into him during his captivity, he could not give up all medications cold-turkey. If he did not keep up his regimen for days, even weeks or months, gradually tapering off the dose, he risked going into a psychosis, delirium, even having a seizure or a heart attack.

The medications themselves weren't without their side-effects, either. Malcolm felt woozy, his reflexes were dulled and his thoughts disjointed.

He decided there was no use dwelling on why Oliver did what he had done or what he'd do in the future. He was getting nowhere with that anyway.

He lay down on the couch and fell asleep for a few hours. After he woke up, he forced himself to rise, despite the fact that all he longed for was to snuggle back into the pillow. The decisive movement and upright position made him feel more conscious. He turned his head briefly towards his desk, out of habit more than anything. He froze.

Right there, almost in the middle of the desktop, there was a green arrow, pinning a piece of paper to the cracked surface.

Merlyn just stood by the couch for a while, unable to move. So Oliver had been here after all, while Malcolm was asleep, completely oblivious. And he… left a note?

Malcolm approached the desk slowly, feeling as if his legs were made of cotton. He tore off the piece of paper. The message was curt.

"Hope you're enjoying your freedom. Cooperate, and it will remain so."

He stared at it for a moment as he allowed the words to sink in.

Freedom? Hah. He almost laughed out loud in bitterness. Some freedom it was. His escape a sham, the Vigilante coming and going as he pleased, regardless of all the security guards and systems that were supposed to protect Merlyn Global. Threatening his associates, friends.

And now Malcolm could do hell all against it, in this pathetic state, his physical and mental acuity stumped by drugs for whoever knew how long, with both shoulders damaged so thoroughly he wondered if he would ever be able to shoot a bow or fight with a sword to his full capability again, if at all. He felt a pang of sickening desperation as his memory brought back those agonizing moments when Oliver delivered each shot so precisely, so ruthlessly… Taking away yet another thing that mattered to his enemy the most.

Malcolm ground his teeth, then crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it angrily into the trash. Then he used his slightly less damaged left arm to pull the arrow out of the desk, ignoring the pain. Luckily, it wasn't lodged too deep. His first instinct was to throw it into the trash as well, but he reconsidered. The cleaning lady might get some funny ideas if she noticed a green arrow in one of Malcolm Merlyn's garbage bags. After a moment's hesitation, he tossed it into a drawer of one of the cabinets.

His mind moved on to contemplate the second part of the Vigilante's message. Cooperate? Cooperate how exactly? What more could Malcolm have to offer besides what had already been taken from him? Merlyn Global? Agree to a merger or a hostile takeover by Queen Consolidated? It was the first thing he could think of and his heart sank for a moment, but then he dismissed it as yet another symptom of post-traumatic paranoia. Queen Consolidated was in a tailspin now because of Moira and Walter's divorce battles, more likely to fall victim of a takeover itself rather than orchestrate one. Besides, if Oliver had wanted Merlyn Global, he could easily have gotten him to sign the papers under the influence of scopolamine or some other drug, then Ms. Smoak would smooth everything over by hacking into the appropriate legal entities' systems.

Clearly, the Vigilante must need something from him that he couldn't get while Merlyn was in captivity. And this demand for cooperation would probably come with its own set of threats.

Malcolm decided there was no use thinking about it now. The Vigilante would more than likely pay him a visit soon and explain his purpose.

He walked back towards the couch and noticed the black duffel bag Kevin had left lying nearby. Warmth mixed with bitterness washed over him. He opened it and took out his bow. He caressed the black surface with his thumb. The familiar weight of the weapon brought him a sense of comfort no pill ever could.

He reached into the bag again and pulled out what was left of his Dark Archer leathers. Stained with caked blood, holes where Oliver had shot him, damaged even further when Diggle had so brutally tore them off… He shoved them back into the bag and walked over to his lair.

He typed in the code, entered and stopped at the edge of the battlefield that was his armory, treasury and training space. Malcolm stood immobile, taking in the abysmal view before him. The floor was littered with green and black arrows, bullet casings, pieces of smashed priceless artwork. The walls were riddled with bullets; almost every piece of furniture bore marks of the vicious fight that had taken place there a month before. The enormous ventilation fan at the back kept spinning, the shadows it cast upon the place now merely enhancing the overwhelming aura of chaos.

Malcolm grimaced as the irony of the situation washed over him. He had meant to cause death and destruction in the Glades, but the only place the plan he'd concocted nearly brought to ruin was his most precious sanctuary.

He forced himself to walk further inside, dropped the duffel bag in a corner, then moved to put his bow in its rightful place. He looked at it with longing for a while, hoping desperately that one day, he would be able to use it again.

His gaze fell to the floor, and the green of Oliver's scattered arrows seemed to glow in the fluctuating half light like lethal poison. He found himself unable to bear their desecrating presence a second longer and started picking them up with almost frenzied determination, disregarding his weakened state and the pain each movement caused him. Once he'd gathered all of the arrows, he put the bunch aside on one of the tables and did the same with Diggle's bullet casings. He threw everything into an old, grey sack, then exited the lair as an idea entered his mind.

He took the arrow Oliver had used to pin the note to his desk from the cabinet drawer and added it to the sack. He walked over to a small broom closet near the entrance to the kitchen and dropped the sack there, slamming the door loudly as he exited. Despite the overwhelming exhaustion all this effort had caused him, he felt a sense of willful satisfaction.

Malcolm decided he needed a shower. He'd ruin the careful bandaging done by Kevin and Tim, but he had patched himself up after fights before. Never anything as serious as this, but somehow, he would have to manage on his own. He allowed the steam from the shower to fill the bathroom as he undressed, relishing the fresh scent of sea breeze shower gel. Funny how simple things one had come to take for granted suddenly became precious again after being snatched away for a while.

He stepped into the cabin and let the warm water wash away the sweat, dirt and memories of the miserable cold showers he had had while in captivity. When he finished, he re-bandaged the wounds and wrapped himself in a black terry cloth robe.

He was relieved the mirror in the bathroom was now steamed over; he'd caught a glimpse of his reflection walking in and almost didn't recognize himself. The pale, haggard and bruised face that looked back at him was not Malcolm Merlyn, but a pathetic shadow with a drug-addled gaze. He had lost weight, muscle mass, poise… Survival trip, hah! He looked rather as if he'd just spent a month method-acting the victim of a World War II concentration camp…

But Kevin had been right in choosing this excuse for Malcolm's absence. It would be the most plausible explanation for his… less than impeccable appearance when he finally returned to his usual routine. Still, he reckoned he'd have to take about ten more days of sabbatical before allowing himself to be seen. He'd work from the penthouse and focus on the most important thing – figuring out the extent of the damage to his shoulders and how soon it could be repaired, if at all. The only blessing in all this was that the bruises on his face were minimal and would heal in no time. His chest and back, on the other hand, looked like a mad expressionist's painting.

He went over to his wardrobe, changed quickly into a pair of black slacks and a light blue shirt, then returned to the main room and sat behind his desk. The cracks in the glass where Oliver's arrow had pinned the note were distracting him, so he moved a book to cover the spot. Malcolm took out his burner phone and dialed the number of his doctor.

Alan Chang was a world-class surgeon who also specialized in Tibetan medicine. He had helped Merlyn with complicated wounds before and the businessman paid him well enough to be discreet and do what he was told without asking unnecessary questions. Dr. Chang answered after the first ring, as usual, and Malcolm made the appointment for early morning the next day.

Immediately when he clicked off, his 'official' cell rang. He looked at the caller ID and his heart skipped a beat.

Tommy.

"Hello?" Merlyn tried to keep his voice neutral as he answered.

"Hi, 'dad'." Tommy's tone did not predict anything good. It was dripping with an amount of venomous sarcasm Malcolm couldn't believe his son was even capable of.

"Tommy… Are you o-" He started to say, but the boy cut him off.

"Shut up," came Tommy's violent response. "I don't want to hear whatever it is you want to say. Oliver's told me everything… Dark Archer. Murderer." Merlyn froze. "Let me be brief. I just wanted you to know you don't need to worry about your precious company. I will keep up appearances in public for the sake of Merlyn Global and its employees, but this is where our relationship ends. You are no longer my father."

Malcolm took a deep breath to counter this, but no words would come out. It felt as if his throat were constricted by the ice in Tommy's voice.

"Oh, and by the way, I hope your recent stay as Oliver's… guest wasn't too taxing. Take care, Malcolm." Tommy clicked off.

Merlyn started frantically calling him back. He had to convince his son to meet him in person and make him hear his side of things, make him understand, he had to… It was a fruitless, obsessive task, a defense mechanism against the collapsing reality around him.

Tommy not only disowned him as a father after he'd learned his true identity. Malcolm could partially understand this. This at least made sense in view of his son's well-known pacifist inclinations.

But the second part of their short conversation proved Tommy had also known about Malcolm's torture at the hands of Oliver Queen and did nothing to defend him. More than that – he rejoiced in it, gloated. Where was Tommy's abhorrence of violence of any kind then? Where was his filial loyalty? He knew who Oliver really was, yet he still chose the Vigilante over his own blood. It seemed the vehemence of Tommy's hatred for his father overshadowed his strongest principles.

Malcolm staggered over to the couch and sat down heavily, throwing the phone carelessly onto the cushions. He buried his head in his hands for a moment, then stared ahead and listened to the resounding silence.

Everything that surrounded him suddenly felt completely foreign and wrong, as if the very fabric of reality had been torn and distorted. People he'd thought of as harmless acquaintances turned out to be enemies; closest family members turned against him. Carefully laid out, seemingly foolproof plans had failed spectacularly. Even his own body was no longer reliable.

His mind was filled to the brim with things he couldn't even begin to contemplate, thoughts raced each other and no conclusions appeared.

Time ticked away slowly as Malcolm sat there, still as a statue. Shadows lengthened, the soft afternoon light gave way to twilight, and soon night fell over Starling. He looked down at his hands and noticed them shaking again. It was time for another dose of his medication. He stood up reluctantly, made his way to the kitchen and grabbed the packet of pills to bring back with him to the living room.

He swallowed another two clonazepams, picked up his burner cell and called Tim and Kevin. They'd checked into one of Starling's hotels under assumed names, an additional precaution he'd always insisted they take. Malcolm assured them the situation was stable for the moment, instructed them to be on standby and set up a time for another phone call in the morning. He hung up and hid the burner cell, then picked up his official phone again. He was tempted to redial Tommy's number, but then lowered his hand in resignation.

He paced over to the window and now found himself standing in the same spot as on the night of the Undertaking, when he had played Rebecca's tape to Tommy and revealed his plan. He looked out at the city spreading below; his gaze was immediately drawn to the Glades. The colorful twinkling lights gave an illusion of glamour to this roiling cesspool of crime.

It was supposed to be a dark, yawning hole in the ground by now. Instead, it goaded Malcolm with its cheerfulness. He turned to the bar and poured himself a quadruple whiskey with ice. Probably not a good idea to mix alcohol with the medication he'd just taken, but Malcolm was beyond caring. He downed half of the glass in a few gulps and kept staring out at the unwelcome cityscape. If only glares could topple buildings… Each twinkle of light from the Glades seemed like an insult to Rebecca's memory. And he could do absolutely nothing about it.

The last time he remembered feeling so helpless and guilty was after he'd found out about his wife's murder and thought of how he might have prevented it, how badly he wanted to turn back time. A quest to change the Glades, then ultimately to destroy and rebuild them had made him feel useful again. He would avenge Rebecca and fulfill her desire the same time.

A month ago, this dream had been erased with a few clicks on a computer keyboard and the stab of an arrow.

He was wrong, things were even worse than all those years before. He had let his love down again, and couldn't make up for it in any way. Not now, maybe not ever. He tore his gaze away from the spiteful lights and stared off into the horizon, far beyond Starling.

XxXxXxX

Several minutes later, his senses alerted him in their mysterious way to someone else's presence. Had he been free from all the drugs and the rather large amount of strong liquor he'd just consumed, he probably would have sensed it sooner, but still, he was glad that at least a vestige of his old abilities remained.

Malcolm didn't have to turn around and peer into the darkened room or call out to know who it was.

"Contemplating your failure?" Oliver Queen asked, stepping out of the shadows in his Vigilante clothing, but with voice changer switched off.

Malcolm saw the young archer's reflection in the window, merging with the lights from the Glades. He suddenly felt a fleeting, childish urge to spin around and throw the glass with the rest of the whiskey at the boy's head. He almost chuckled at the thought. The mix of alcohol and drugs was clearly influencing his mind. Not enough though, to make him lose control this way. Not yet, at least. Besides, the gesture would have been as useless as he was right now.

Instead of replying to the taunt, Malcolm took another sip of his drink. Mercifully, his left hand was perfectly steady as he lifted the glass to his lips. He swallowed a large gulp and focused on the warmth from the liquid spreading over his body as Oliver moved to stand right beside him. Merlyn did not stir or tear his gaze away from the view. He stiffened for a moment when he felt the brush of the Vigilante's leather glove on his right hand as the younger man reached for the phone he'd forgotten he was still clutching. Thanking himself silently for having hidden the burner cell he'd used to communicate with Kevin and Tim, Malcolm released his grip and stood quietly by as Oliver slid through the list of incoming and outgoing connections.

This was nothing but posturing and power-play, he realized, since Queen knew perfectly well he'd have other means of contacting his associates. However, the mere act of going through something as private as Merlyn's phone (be it even only one of many) and demonstrating the owner's inability to stop him was meaningful enough through the unspoken threat of further inspection it carried.

If he were to put it bluntly, Malcolm would say he felt like a dog being shown just how short his leash was going to be this time.

Oliver must have thought something along similar lines because he was smirking beneath his hood as he finally returned the phone. "I see Tommy has not been very eager to chat with you," he quipped in comment to all the unanswered outgoing calls he'd noticed.

Malcolm refused to partake in Oliver's suddenly favorite game of lavishing his opponents with sarcasm.

"I did not expect otherwise after all that you've told him." He tried to speak in a neutral tone, but couldn't stop a hint of annoyance from stealing into his voice. He moved to the desk to put away the glass, but also to have an excuse to increase the distance between himself and the Vigilante.

"He deserves to know what his father really is," Oliver said with sanctimonious conviction that rattled Merlyn's nerves.

"And now he knows what you think his father is," Malcolm countered rapidly, surprised and more than a little panicked that a desperate sadness was overcoming the anger he felt and that it might be beginning to show in his voice.

"Oh please, do not tell me you actually ever believed you'd manage to convince him to accept your sick philosophy and embrace you despite all the blood on your hands." Oliver advanced a few steps towards the desk.

"Says the man who's left a trail dripping with red all over Starling." Merlyn shook his head at the irony and reached for his drink, finishing it off in one gulp.

"I do not condone genocide," Oliver growled and strengthened the grip on his bow.

"And what do you call whatever it is that you do? Genocide in installments?" Malcolm surprised even himself as he chuckled at his own unexpected quip, but then his expression grew darker. "Tell me not one innocent life has been lost or destroyed because of your vigilante activities!"

Oliver hesitated for a second, clearly starting to feel a little out of his depth. Merlyn was getting dangerously close to his inner moral conflicts. "It was never intentional." The boy stated firmly, but the businessman brushed this argument aside like an annoying fly.

"Intentional or not, they are still dead or traumatised. Oh, and how many more unintentionally dead have ended up at the SC morgue in the past month? Either because they got into the crossfire of your crusade or you just weren't there in time to save them?"

Oliver couldn't find a reply, so Merlyn carried on. "The Glades are like a ruined castle infested with rats, defended only by one cat. And the infestation is spreading. When you count up all of its past, present and future victims, then compare this amount with the number of casualties the Undertaking would have brought while ending this once and for all, you may find there was a major mistake in your math."

Oliver didn't like where this was going, did not want to go down these avenues of thinking. He advanced a few more steps toward Merlyn, his intent for violence now unhidden, but the man did not back away, despite all his injuries and the knowledge he'd have no chance to win, should Oliver choose to strike. Only the desk separated them now.

"I did not come here to listen to your mad theories on how to make Starling a better place. This stops now." He pulled his hood off and stared Merlyn straight in the eye.

Malcolm took a breath to counter what Oliver was about to say but the boy was faster.

"Ra's Al Ghul." He drawled out the name, allowing himself a small smirk of triumph.

The Dark Archer had no time to even try to hide his shock.

"Oh, yes. Your master." Oliver's intense gaze was filled with mean satisfaction.

Malcolm had been careful not to mention Ra's during his scopolamine questioning, but clearly the Vigilante had done his homework. Learning about Nanda Parbat and the League of Assassins while Malcolm was under the influence of scopolamine had inevitably led him to finding out who stood behind the organization. Ra's Al Ghul.

Oliver allowed a dose of giddiness to enter his voice. "So I believe you realize, Malcolm, how our arrangement is going to proceed from now on. Despite being out of your cell, you are not free. You do what I require you to do. Cooperate." The Vigilante repeated what he had written in his note. "Or Ra's will know everything about your plans, your 'Undertaking'."

Oh, the contempt dripping from each syllable the boy pronounced... Contempt for the plans that took years to come alive, for the sacrifices that had to be made…

"I believe I do not have to specify what that would mean for you," Oliver finished, smiling.

Malcolm remembered a quote from a movie he'd seen years ago, "The Gladiator":

'People should know when they're conquered,' a Roman warrior had said to his general when facing a losing Barbarian army, wondering why their oppponents even put up a fight.

'Would you? Would I?' the general responded.

The Romans of course won the battle that followed, but ages later, the Barbarians were the ones who ultimately destroyed the Roman empire.

Malcolm did not know why this quote entered his memory at that exact moment; there was no time to think about it.

He closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, suppressing a sigh. He felt tired. Tired of this war that seemed to have no point and no winner, unlike the Romans and the Barbarians.

Oliver approached and stopped only inches away from Merlyn, staring him down. "In order to perform my missions more successfully, to save this city, I need a person able to provide me with information that only someone like you can get. Someone with your influence, your contacts… I need those. You will now be using them to help me." He paused briefly to emphasize the words that came next. "This is the price of your freedom. Your life."

Malcolm looked away for a beat from the boy's angry glare, knowing he had no choice but to comply. The Vigilante had the upper hand, the ultimate ace up his sleeve. There would be no mercy if The League learned that Malcolm had broken their code.

He nodded slowly, looking back at Oliver with steady determination.

"Good. I will let you know when I require your help." The boy drawled out the last word, giving it an ironic flavor. He turned to leave.

"Hang on a second," Malcolm called after him. "I have something that belongs to you."

Oliver turned swiftly, preparing for an ambush that might be hidden behind the Dark Archer's seeming compliance.

All he faced was Malcolm's back as the man slowly made his way to a broom closet. He came out with a grey sack and held it out to Oliver. "I thought you might want these back. I have no use for them."

The Vigilante looked inside and saw his arrows, mixed with Diggle's bullet casings.

His memory returned to the night of the Undertaking they'd managed to stop. The night they defeated the Dark Archer. He took out one arrow and put it on a side table. "Keep this one. As a memento." He smirked at Merlyn and walked towards the back exit.

"Wait."

Something in Malcolm's voice stopped him and made him turn around, confused.

Merlyn sat down on the couch as Oliver approached. "I…I don't feel well," he whispered. Malcolm was dizzy and the black dots that had suddenly started dancing in front of his eyes made it difficult to even see the boy.

Oliver noticed how pale Merlyn had become and couldn't help feeling concerned. They'd been dosing him full of drugs for weeks until a little over a day ago, and he clearly was suffering from the effects, not getting any better. Oliver saw the packets of pills on the sidetable, recalled the drink Malcolm had been indulging in when he arrived. He felt a tug of unease at the potential outcome of this situation. Merlyn would be of no use to Oliver and his missions if he dropped dead, either from withdrawal or overdose. Take too much, risk coma or worse, too little and risk a lethal seizure.

"I'll bring you some water," Oliver said as he made his way to the kitchen. He looked around, then grabbed a bottle and a glass from the counter.

Merlyn looked far from well. He'd gotten even paler and Oliver noticed his gaze was unfocused. His hand shook as he took the glass.

Oliver startled rifling through the stash of pills. "When did you last take any of these meds? And how much did you have to drink ?"

"Uh, I took two clonazepams, shortly before you arrived. And I only had one drink.," Malcolm's voice was barely a whisper now.

"You shouldn't have had any drinks," Oliver scolded. Shit, he swore inwardly. Malcolm's symptoms definietly seemed more like withdrawal. Two clonazepams were nothing compared to what he'd been dosed with for months. His system was out of whack and paradoxically, needed the meds to maintain equilibrium until it could be gradually weaned off them.

Oliver made an executive decision then.

"Here, take two more, but have plenty of water with them."

There was an awkward moment when he took Merlyn's hand to steady it and shook out the medication into his palm. Malcolm swallowed the pills, took a few gulps of water and put the glass back down on the table.

Oliver felt at a loss for what to do. He wasn't sure clonazepam would cut it when it came to withdrawal from the myriad of drugs that had been coursing through Merlyn's system for so long. If he left him alone now, he might get worse and there'd be no one to help.

"Umm, maybe I should stick around for a while, make sure the meds are working properly," he said uncertainly, already planning to call Diggle and ask him to bring the herbal mix he'd learned to prepare on the Island. It was supposed to work on almost any poison, so it might do the trick in Merlyn's case.

Malcolm leaned into the cushions and stretched on the couch, dropping any pretenses that he wasn't feeling as weak as he did. "Thank you,." hHe said simply, closing his eyes.

Oliver sat down in the nearby chair.

This felt weird. Several minutes ago, he'd threatened Malcolm with death if he did not comply with his demands and now he was wracking his brain for ways to make sure his arch enemy did not die.

Minutes, then an hour slid by.

"Merlyn?" he asked, uncertain if the archer was even still conscious.

"Mmm?" Came a weak, hoarse groan.

Oliver got seriously scared then, jumped up and grabbed the man, trying to shake him awake, his phone already out to call Diggle.

The blue, unfocused gaze met his. "Wh.. what?"

He kept his hand on Malcolm's arm as he dialed. "Diggs? Come to the Merlyn penthouse, bring my herbs. As soon as you can. I'll explain when you get here."

He then spoke to the to the half-conscious Malcolm next to him. "Have some more water." He practically man-handled Merlyn into a sitting position as he forced the glass into his hand. "Drink all of it… that's it," he encouraged, feeling even weirder than before as he sat down beside Malcolm on the couch and reached out with his arm to… hold someone he'd hated and tortured. Malcolm leaned into the offered embrace with a tired sigh.

"Some more water?"

"No, it's all right."

It seemed like hours before Diggle arrived, kicking in the back door.

"Whoa, Diggs, subtle much?" Oliver admonished him.

The military man only had to take one look at Merlyn to realize what was wrong. No explanations necessary. "Oh damn, man," he shook his head disapprovingly at Oliver as he handed him the satchet with the herbs.

"I'm dealing with this, okay?" Oliver said defensively. "Now, get back to Verdant, in case there is some emergency in the city tonight. I got this under control," he emphasised.

Diggle threw him a skeptical glance, then turned towards the exit. "Fine, if you say so. Just remember to give him another dose in two hours." He let the door slam shut behind him.

Oliver went over to the kitchen and brewed the tea. He waited for it to cool down enough for Malcolm to drink, then returned to the living room. He helped Merlyn into a sitting position and cupped his head as he made sure he drank all of the bitter concoction without choking.

"Alright, now try to get some sleep. I'll be here," he said in a reassuring voice, not certain if Malcolm even heard him; he seemed to have dozed off before his head hit the pillow. Oliver sat next to him and watched the Dark Archer like a hawk. The man's breathing seemed to even out and Oliver allowed himself a brief sigh of relief. Diggle's disapproving glare haunted him, but he stubbornly refused to delve into the doubts it threatened to awaken inside his mind and soften his resolve.

Two hours later, he brewed another batch of the herbs and nudged Merlyn awake. Malcolm sat up with a start, gasping a little, then took a deep steadying breath.

"Here, drink this, it'll help," Oliver said, handing him the cup with the tea. Malcolm sipped it slowly, cleary confused, glancing at Oliver in fear, as if he was back at the warehouse in his cell. The first dose of herbs seemed to have worked though. He was no longer so pale and his hands weren't shaking as much.

"Feeling better?" Oliver asked in a neutral tone.

Malcolm frowned briefly, clearly struggling against some mental haze. "Uh, y-yes. A little disoriented, perhaps."

Oliver leaned in closer. "You do remember what happened earlier this evening, though, right?" Despite his calm demeanor, there was still an undercurrent of threat in his tone.

Malcolm gulped down the rest of his tea and put the cup down on the table. His gaze grew distant for a moment as silence reigned in the room.

Finally, he turned back to Oliver.

"Yes, Oliver, I remember," he said firmly, clearly guessing which particular event of the evening the boy was most concerned about. "I promised to help you with your missions. I also remember what you intend to do if I ever reneged on that promise."

"Good." Oliver smiled, then his expression turned cold again. "But..." he clamped his hand on Malcolm's arm suddenly, causing him to wince in pain. "I must correct you a little on your vocabulary here. You won't be fulfilling a 'promise', Malcolm. We needn't look further than Tommy to prove how proficient you are at breaking those. What you'll be doing is paying off a debt, or rather debts. The ones you owe me for sparing your life, for giving you back your freedom. The debt you owe to society for all the crimes you've committed and intended to commit. The debt to your family and friends whom you have failed and hurt more times than can be counted."

Malcolm's eyes widened in shock and he tried to move back a little, but Oliver only gripped his arm harder. "Oh, you don't like the word 'debt', is that it? Well, I believe we can remedy that. Just think of what you will be doing as… your brand new purpose in life. Up until not so long ago, that purpose was the destruction of the Glades. Since it's no longer happening, you have a void in your life, one that needs filling. I'm providing you with the perfect opportunity to do just that. People without a purpose are usually very unhappy. You don't wan't to be unhappy, do you?"

Malcolm just stared at Oliver, completely at a loss for how to respond. What the boy said, the way he said it and the pain he reawakened in his injured arm worked better than any pill or herb ever could to bring his mind into a state of complete and terrible clarity. He made a vague nod of aquiescence and stood up from the couch the second the Vigilante released his arm, satisfied by the response.

He paced a little, gathering his thoughts. "Oliver, there's-" he started then paused, not sure if he should continue, but decided to plunge on. "There's something you need to know, a flaw in your plan, one might say."

"Oh? Do enlighten me."

"Ra's Al Ghul. The League of Assassins. If you ever revealed the truth about what I've done, no matter the reason, you wouldn't be signing only my death warrant. You'd be sealing the fate of everyone I care about. My relatives, my friends. That's the League's law. They'd kill anyone they suspect of having a connection to me. But first and foremost, Oliver, you'd be sealing Tommy's fate."

"Tommy had nothing to do with your sins," the Vigilante scoffed.

"They wouldn't give a damn about that! All they need to know is that killing him would hurt me. You think I would be the first to die? Oh no, quite the opposite. They would torture and kill everyone else first, force me to watch and only then deliver the final blow. I've seen it happen to others, for far lesser transgressions than mine." Malcolm's voice grew lower, his gaze haunted by memories.

Oliver seemed to hesitate for a second, but then his stubborn expression returned. "So what, now you are using your son as a bargaining chip to get out of the situation you're in? You're beyond despicable, Merlyn! And even if what you are saying is true, I'm sure I'd be able to negotiate a deal with your master that would be satisfactory both for him and me, without any collateral damage, however much more suffering it would bring you and only you. I could even offer my services as an advisor in that regard."

"Oliver, he… they cannot be negotiated with!" Malcolm exclaimed in frustration.

The boy scoffed again. "I've heard that said about many people over the past few years and found such claims not to be true ninety percent of the time."

"What about the other ten percent? Are you willing to bet Tommy's life on these odds?"

"Stop dangling Tommy's safety in front of me for your selfish purposes, or I swear-" Oliver took a few menacing steps towards Malcolm, hands balled in to fists.

The Dark Archer did not move an inch. He looked at his nemesis steadily.

"I'm not 'dangling' his or anyone else's safety and I certainly am not trying to get out of complying with your demands, Oliver. I'm simply trying to-" He sighed in exasperation. "Alright. I'll be blunt about it. You hate me, unlike you've ever hated anyone in your life, that's established. However, I don't know if you realize to what an extent this hatred has... changed you. I've known you since you were a child and I see it... What it made you capable of doing, how much it has blinded you. Everything I do or say, you see through the prism of that hatred. Simple, irrelevant things that don't bother you in other peope make you go ballistic when exhibited or done by me. Even if I fulfill all of your wishes, follow your instructions to a T, the prism you see me through might cloud your judgement and cause you to make a mistake, unleash the League Pandora's box upon everyone, including yourself."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "Wait, are you implying that I am somehow… unhinged?"

Malcolm let out a humorless chuckle. "Yes, when it comes to dealing with me, you most certainly are, as proven by the events of the past month. And it's the possible repercussions of this state of things that I am trying to avoid, nothing else."

A flicker of uncertainty flashed in Oliver's eyes. He digested Malcolm's words for a few moments, then a sudden smile spread on his lips.

"Well, that is a very noble sentiment, Malcolm," he said in a tone that managed to be both courteous and ominous at the same time. "And thank you for your candor in expressing your doubts. But you needn't worry. You are right, you do bring out the worst in me, cause me to do things I never thought I'd be capable of. And yet, I think I can still manage to rein myself in enough to hurt you without causing collateral damage. I do not have to involve Ra's Al Ghul to indulge my need to see you suffer or to make sure you perform your assigned tasks to my satisfaction.

"Let's say that you make a mistake or… annoy me in some way, perhaps even decide not to pay off your debt, despite all these touching reasurrances. What if then, one of the very influential relatives of the Dark Archer's victims learns the true identity of their killer? What if all of them do? What if someone offers to deliver that man to them on a silver platter? Hm?" Oliver closed the remaining distance between them slowly, relaxed and poised.

Malcolm had no response to this. Oliver continued. "You see, Malcolm I have many ways to make your life miserable. This was just one amongst many examples. It's only up to you if you find out about or... experience them. I'm glad to hear you're not trying to weasel your way out of cooperating with me. But, when it comes to Ra's Al Ghul and your concerns about my negotiation skills... Pardon me if I don't put much stock in your opinion. After all, you said the Undertaking was inevitable, that I could not prevent it... And yet, hm, well, here we are." He gestured at the distant landscape of the Glades.

Malcolm's gaze followed the movement and he stared at the relentlessly flickering lights. His vision became slightly blurry and he focused on his breathing, fighting through the knot tightening in his stomach.

Oliver chuckled briefly, then his voice took on a 'friendly business meeting' tone. "Now we got this out of the way, we can move on to the important stuff, yes?"

Malcolm nodded, not trusting himself enough to speak, unsure if his voice wouldn't fail him.

"So, it's pretty late, and I need to check up on the situation in the city, while you need to start focusing on your recovery. The sooner you regain the ability to function well enough for my purposes, the better. I've left you a sachet with the herbs in the kitchen. They seem to make you feel better. Now, why don't you try to relax and perhaps get a nap? I'll check up on you sometime tomorrow."

Malcolm just kept staring at the lights and each flash coincided with a thump of his rapidly accelerating heartbeat. What Oliver said, the way he behaved… From cruel to kind to cruel again. No, he couldn't dwell on that right now, he needed to focus, deal with the situation at hand. How? How does one deal with this level of unpredictability?

"Malcolm?" Oliver prompted.

The Dark Archer decided to follow his instincts. He swallowed thickly and turned back towards the boy. "Uh, um, yes, I… I agree. Oliver, about my recovery… There's something you need to know," Malcolm continued in a firmer tone.

"What is it?"

"Well, shortly before you arrived, I made an appointment with a doctor to assess my condition and come up wih a course of treament, first thing in the morning. You just said you'd come check on me… I want to make sure I'm back in time."

"Hm, how very considerate of you. I probably won't drop by until the afternoon, so it's fine, you'll update me then. I'm glad we had this talk." Oliver clapped Malcolm on the back in a mock-friendly manner, somehow managing to cause a violent wave of pain to radiate from the wound in his right shoulder and make him struggle for balance a little.

"See you soon," the Vigilante threw over his shoulder, then the back door slammed shut behind him.

Malcolm exhaled sharply and made his way to the couch. He sank into the cushions and buried his head in his hands. His mind was swirling, flashing between the various memories he had of Oliver. The carefree, trusting boy he knew before the Gambit's explosion, the unrelenting torturer he met during his imprisonment in the ironworks, the… twisted, volatile Vigilante he'd just talked to... Given all the things Malcolm had experienced and done in life, there was little that baffled or scared him, but this… This went beyond everything. Oliver was... Not himself, not any self.

'What happened?!' The question echoed in his thoughts.

'You happened.' A quiet, accusatory voice whispered inside Malcolm's mind. Quiet, but ever so insistent, demanding his attention.

The Island. Whatever Oliver had been through there… What he'd had to endure, what he'd had to do to survive… What he'd had to become… Whatever the consequences of that transformation everyone would have to face from now on…

'Oh, no. No, no, what have I done?!' Malcolm exclaimed into the empty room.

Silence and oblivious, flickering lights of the distant Glades were his only answer.

He did not sleep that night. He couldn't. Minute after minute went by as he contemplated what he could possibly do to fix the situation. Nothing coherent.

He tried a different question. What were the origins of this nightmare? Even in the midst of this guilt trip he had enough presence of mind to recognize it had not all had not started with him. Where, then? When Rebecca was killed? Or before, when whatever it was that drove the man who'd shot her to murder someone happened? Or was it someone before him, or the one before?! When?! Where?! Where did this sick, pointless analysis lead, when was this tragic domino effect triggered?

Malcolm hugged the blanket closer as another avalanche of thoughts hit him. No, he was not the one who started this nightmare, this domino downfall, but… Perhaps, he could have stopped it from continuing? If he had not pursued his vengeance… But how could he not pursue it?

Malcolm got up and approached one of the bookcases. He picked up a photograph of himself and Rebecca displayed lovingly in the middle of a shelf. It was taken just after they'd returned from their honeymoon: a spur-of-the-moment walk in the park.

He remembered each detail of that day as if it had happened minutes ago. The way she laughed, the way she pulled him into a kiss... He stared at the picture, at this moment of innocent happiness captured by the photographer in a fragment of a second that, back then, seemed as if it would last forever.

Oh, but it did not. It was torn away, unexpectedly, brutally, years later, for no reason. Replaced by horror that wreaked havoc on so many lives, that… tainted… so much, and it kept tainting everything he touched, everything he did…

His laughter was never the same afterwards. The colours became dull, the light lost its brightness. Warmth was never truly warm, even when it burned like fire.

Malcolm placed the picture back on the shelf and turned away with a sigh.

Oliver would not understand how he felt, despite the paradoxical fact that the two of them had so much in common. Both trying to fix the mistakes of the past, both suffering the same pain, yet still at odds. And it wasn't only Oliver that did not understand. Robert, Tommy, so many others... Despite the facts, they chose to see the world in black and white, rejecting its different hues, coloring away what they didn't like. And whenever Malcolm tried to make them see things differently, he found himself clashing against a wall, or worse. Well, time had come to finally admit the harsh truth. He was alone in all this. Completely and totally alone. No use to deny it any longer.

He turned back towards the window as the first rays of sunshine softly warmed up the room. He looked at his watch and saw he had little more than an hour to prepare for his appointment with Dr Chang.

He dialled the number of his driver and instructed the man to pick him up in the back alley behind the Merlyn Global building.

XxXxXxX

"Good Morning, Mr Merlyn," doctor Chang said and turned speachless for a minute when he looked up at his patient. "Oh! Wh-" He led Malcolm away from the chair, straight to the exam table. "Another one of those 'martial arts training sessions' as you call them?"

"Not quite," Malcolm said as he sat down and took off his clothes slowly.

"Oh dear Lord," Chang exclaimed when he saw the wounds on Malcolm's shoulders and the bruises on his chest. "What on earth happened?" He grimaced at his employers' silence. "I need to know the details if I'm to treat you successfully,"

"Arrow wounds. Cauterised by heated metal to stop the bleeding. Then bandaged, I-I don't know much else. There was some fighting too, I'm not sure about the rest of it...They.. they gave me drugs, all sorts. And herbs."

"Oh, that's just perfect." Chang sighed in exasperation. "Clearly 'the Hood''s work. He's upped his game since your last encounter. And you did not emerge a victor from that fight, from what I can see."

"Way to state the obvious, Doc."

"I'm not done yet, Mr Merlyn," Chang said as he gently probed the wound in Malcolm's right shoulder. "Geez, all this has been left practically untreated for weeks! And-" He noticed the whipping slashes on his patient's back. "Malcolm!" The shock of what he saw made him forego all formality. "He's- This was not just a fight, you've been tortured!"

"Sort of a new approach our Vigilante has taken towards his enemies," Malcolm chuckled.

"'Approach', Malcolm?! Really?!" The doctor took a few steps away from his patient. "Hell, I've tended to soldiers in Afghanistan with less serious injuries than yours!"

"Oh, no need to be so dramatic, Alan." Malcolm sat up a little.

"I'll be as dramatic as I wish, given the circumstances," Chang said and pushed Malcolm back onto the bed, then whipped out his phone.

"Evelyn, bring the MRI machine here, now." The doctor instructed his assistant and walked out of the room.

Then the tests started. MRI, CAT scan, RTG, blood draws, endless poking and prodding with needles and machines… Like a science fiction movie happening in real life.

Malcolm was on the verge on ripping the drip needle out of his vein when Dr Chang reentered his room after what felt like way too early to have another conversation.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Chang commented as he looked at the heartrate monitor.

"What else can I do?!" Malcolm exclaimed as he sat up.

"Calm down. Breathe. Slowly." He put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder.

The Chinese man placed a small sachet of herbs in a cup, then poured some liquid into the mix.

"Just so you know, my 'torturer' gave me herbs exactly like these when I felt unwell yesterday." Malcolm remarked as he took a sip.

"Well, then he clearly wants to keep you alive," Chang replied. "These herbs are the very definition of healing and rejuvenation."

"Hm. Cool. He said he needs me for something. Perhaps I'm in for another exciting adventure," Merlyn quipped.

"Malcolm. You need to treat this a little bit more seriously."

"And what, add a headache into the mix?"

"Well, a headache'd be the least of your problems, Mr Merlyn, since there's a major surgery in your calendar. Provided you want to survive, that is."

"What?!" Malcolm exclaimed.

"Keep up, would you?!" The doctor indicated the wound in Malcolm's right shoulder.

"Oh. THAT."

"Yeah, the elephant in the room. And the fact that your other wounds, especially the one from the arrow that just barely missed your heart, could cause unforseen complications later on."

"And there is no other option than surgery?" Malcolm queried.

"No. I will only know the full extent of the damage and how to repair it when I open you up," Chang said gloomily. "Malcolm, I'm not one to beat around the bush. The only good news here so far is that according to my tests, you're in a stable enough condition for the surgery to even be possible."

"Oh. When?"

"Today. As soon as I get my team ready. There is no time to dally, Malcolm. Inform everyone you need to. The procedure will take eight hours, at least."

Malcolm picked up his phone and dialed Oliver's number. No use in calling Tommy, he wouldn't answer anyway.

"What?" Oliver barked.

Malcolm filled him in briefly on the need for immediate surgery and upon the Vigilante's request gave him the address of doctor Chang's clinic.

"Thanks." Oliver said curtly, but there was a hint of shock in his voice, probably at the fact that the surgery had to be performed so urgently. "Um.. I'll contact you later, then."

"Agreed," Malcolm confirmed and clicked off.

"Really?!" Chang exclaimed. "That's all he needs?! Your son?"

"I wasn't calling my son. Oliver Queen. And yeah, this is all he needs," Malcolm sighed. "Trust me, Alan. He's the one who gave me ALL these wounds."

"Oh shit," Chang reeled a little at the sudden reveal of the Hood's true identity, but controlled himself quickly. He'd learned long ago that when dealing with Malcolm Merlyn, one had to expect the unexpected.

"Spare the 'oh shit' for when you meet him. Good luck with that, doctor." Malcolm laughed humorlessly and lay back down.

"Well, SHIT, anyway," Chang said as he exited the room to assemble his team.

XxXxXxX

He was flying above Starling City, the wind beneath his wings like a soft caress of a tender lover. He gazed down at the parks and plazas, then circled around Queen Consolidated tower before moving on to approach the Merlyn Global building. He lowered his altitude and noticed his own reflection in the glass.

A falcon, fierce and free looked back at him with a victorious gleam in his eyes. He flew on, his wings working faster, revelling in the rush of the speed and the untamed, life-giving force of the air around him. His element.

Suddenly, he found himself above a different part of town, away from the centre. It glimmered wih a multitude of joyful lights and radiated with energy. He felt confused for a moment. Something didn't seem right. He lowered his altitude further and his shock increased. He saw the street signs with familiar names, and it confirmed that he was indeed in the Glades, but everything looked different. The buildings were brand new and shiny. Tree-lined, well-lit streets, plazas filled with elegant cafes; neat, picturesque houses surrounded by manicured lawns; schools, clinics, offices, concert halls, thriving galleries and modern art museums - he stared at them all with awe as the realization hit him. They were not something unfamiliar. They were his plans for the Glades rebuilt, now finally a reality. No more filth, no more ugliness, crime and poverty.

He felt his heart soar with triumph and he soared with it into the starlit sky. Oh yes, this felt so right. He dove back down in a swift graceful movement, just above one of the now charming alleys. He saw couples emerging from restaurants, people taking their dogs out for a relaxing evening walk, students returning from classes to their dorms, groups of friends heading to a bar to celebrate a birthday or a promotion...

Sounds of cheerful music and people laughing reached him, banishing the sounds of screams and police sirence that had formerly reigned in this place. He smiled inwardly with contentment and kept on circling, enjoying the ambience.

The Undertaking had succeeded, the Glades were rebuilt, the people were happy, everything was perf-

BEEP BEEP

The unexpected sound disrupted his thoughts, made him swerve in the air as he looked around for its source. He tried to hover a little trying to locate it.

BEEP BEEP

The sounds of laughter and music were now quieter, more distant. The picture became distorted, flickered in and out of focus, darkness and impressionist-like haziness replacing the clarity.

BEEP BEEP

Suddenly, he couldn't feel his wings, he couldn't feel the air. His vision became increasingly blurry until it was a fog. He couldn't breathe.

BEEP BEEP

He was no longer flying, he was-

Malcolm gasped as his eyes fluttered open and he inhaled sharply, the rapid, uneven beeping of his heart monitor jolting him into consciousness. He looked around, vision still blurry, his mind still grasping for what he now knew had only been a dream. He tried to push the thought away, tried to return to the dream, but he couldn't. The cottony numbness was all that remained and even that faded after a while as he finally admitted to himself the truth of where he was. Not soaring, not free. He was in bed, connected to a multitude of machines, sore and weak. The events of the past month flashed inside his mind like yet another nightmarish kaleidoscope of memories, each hitting harder than any of the arrows Oliver had shot him with. He questioned yet again HOW he allowed things to go so wrong, HOW he found himself in a situation that was literally LIGHT YEARS away from everything he'd ever wanted? Was it his fault? Whose fault was it? How could he fix it? Could he?

His skin was crawling. He longed to tear the drip needle from his vein, tear off the cables and wires that connected him to the beeping monitors, the wheezing machines. He wanted to leap from the bed, forget it all had ever happened, turn back time, change reality, escape this nightmare, be free.

And yet, there he was. His hand twitched slightly and that was it. No escape, be it back to the dream or some miracle in the real world. All he could do was hug the coverlet closer and take several deep breaths. It was a strange feeling, this duality inside him. On the one side- wild horses, longing to be set free, and on the other - the harsh truth it wasn't possible now, maybe not ever. The chasm between what he wanted, what he needed and what actually was, it paralysed him. From conqueror to slave, from being the hunter to becoming the hunted... The comparisons were endless, and raced each other inside his head, while he remained immobile. He didn't even notice tears had started to stream down his face until they stung his cheeks. He wiped them away in one swift angry movement, took a deep breath which he refused to admit was actually a stifled sob.

He knew how to let the numbness in fully, so he focused his attention on it, setting up an imaginary fence around his battling emotions, coccooning them away, compartmentalizing the bruises they left, compiling them for further inspection, later, NOT NOW.

The door opened and doctor Chang entered.

"Ah, you're awake. Wonderful." He smiled at Malcolm. He chose to disregad the morose, haunted expresion on his patient's face. He couldn't even begin to imagine the demons that must be haunting this man. Demons he, unfortunately could not help him vanquish. Chang chose instead to delve into things he could control. He filled Malcolm in on the details of the operation and his plan for further treatment.

"To sum it up," Chang continued in a moderately cheerful tone, "The good news is, the procedure went well, although it took a little longer than I anticipated," he informed Malcolm, "And slightly less good news. You have a visitor. Oliver Queen is here. Very much the pain in the ass one could expect. Eager to have a conversation with you. I am against that, Malcolm. You need recovery, not stress." Doctor Chang's tone was very firm and somber.

"Let him in, Alan," Malcolm sighed.

"Against my better judgement, I will." The doctor turned reluctantly and opened the door. He exited the room, throwing Malcolm a supportive glance over his shoulder.

"So, what's the verdict?" Oliver asked as he sat at Malcolm's bedside.

Malcolm's mind flashed back to the dream, to the rush of wind beneath his wings he'd felt in that imaginary world. It contrasted so sharply with what he felt now, pinned to this bed. Oliver's presence only increased the sense of those imaginary wings being clipped, tied down. The VERDICT.

"I'll live," the Dark Archer said. "Lots of physical therapy coming my way though." Malcolm tried to keep his sentences as short and casual as possible.

"As should be expected," Oliver chuckled.

"So you can't even manage to be at least slightly less gleeful about this?" He asked the boy, unable to stop a hint of bitterness from leaking into his voice.

"No, I can't," Oliver replied flatly.

"Fair enough," Malcolm said and Oliver regarded him for a while in silence, surprised at the depth of resignation in Merlyn's tone.

"I trust you are still going to pay off your debts, after you return to that beautiful penthouse?" He kept his own reply cold and calculating.

"I always pay my debts, Oliver. And as it comes to the penthouse, you are welcome to come by at any time."

"Thank you, and I most definitely will, Malcolm," Oliver said in a slightly mock-polite tone. "So, just to be sure about our schedule here, the doctor told me you're returning home tonight? And the whatever therapy is starting in a few days?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay, then. Enjoy your freedom, Merlyn," Oliver said as he exited the room.

Malcolm just sat there for a while, contemplating the room. He felt a sudden urge to stay there, curl up, drift off, to forget.

No. It wouldn't work this way, he knew. It was just another battle to fight, something he had to face, no matter how tired he

rose up from the bed, changed from the hospital clothes and asked Dr Chang to drive him back to Merlyn Global. There was no use to wait for the evening.

Chang sighed as he started his car. "That boy, Oliver. He's all kinds of wrong."

"He's been through a lot. Much of it caused by me. Not my place to judge," Malcolm said in a flat tone.

"Perhaps not. Or perhaps you should. He tortured, tormented you."

Silence reigned when Malcolm didn't offer any response, decided to stare out the window instead. The drive was quiet. Malcolm observed the city life, feeling so far removed from everyone, as if a glass wall separated him from reality while at the same time seeping into his veins and infecting his blood with its venom, like a twisted filter. The bad parts of reality remained, hell-bent on attacking and destroying him, while the good ones remained ever so slightly out of reach.

"Oliver did nothing I did not deserve," Malcolm said finally, not really sure what exactly he meant, too tired to elaborate.

"I would disagree with that," Chang said as he parked his car in an alley behind the Merlyn Global building. "Malcolm, I've known you and Rebecca for years, I cannot begin to imagine the hell you went through after her loss. Whatever you did in reaction to it does not deserve the further torment I know Queen intends to unleash upon you now. Perhaps in a different form than physical abuse, but still-" He clasped Malcolm's hand in his. "I just want you to know I am here for you and I will make sure you get through this.

"See you tomorrow, Alan." Malcolm returned the handshake warmly and exited the vehicle.

"Yeah."

Malcolm climbed the steps to the back door, entered his 'beautiful penthouse' as Oliver called it. He went into the bathroom, splashed some water onto his face. He looked into the mirror. Pale. Uncertain. Weak. Pathetic. Afraid. A slave.

'Enjoy your freedom,' the boy's words echoed in his ears.

"Please, don't call it freedom, Oliver," Malcolm whispered.

XxXxXxX

Empress' note: Here it is the long awaited chapter 4. I recently have learned of some news that, to say the least, has caused me a lot of... unease.

However, this story lives on, and Malcolm kicks ass! Next chapter is majorly in the works. Introduced some OC's here, u will probably enjoy them. Have fun and review, please. I'm doing this for you and cause I adore the Dark Archer, just like you!

Enjoy!