To Be a Bird of Prey

Origins

I. The Hunter and the Prey

Chapter Eight

It was time.

Frank Bertinelli was coming back into town, by boat; he was expected by the river docks. And from their vantage point, Helena and Sara had the perfect view of his arrival.

Helena didn't let her eyes stray once, only blinking when it would become more of a nuisance than an advantage to keep her eyes open. She was waiting again, but now, she was nearly at the finish line; she practically taste the victory on her tongue.

Sara had told her – warned her, really – not to get comfortable until it was done. Getting comfortable was a rookie mistake; Helena had humored her by nodding.

There was a cluster of men waiting down below, too, and one of them was Johnny Sabatoni; of course he would welcome his old friend back. Well, he could die right along with him, too.

The night was quiet, as were the men, until the loud buzz of a speedboat disturbed that setting; Helena licked her lips in anticipation.

The roaring of the engine came and went, and soon, three men were exiting the boat; two enforcers and, right at their heels, the man of the hour. Hello, father dear, Helena thought, and adjusted her aim. And from beside her, so did Sara. Helena had lent her the spare crossbow again, so as to take the men out quickly and efficiently – well, all but one. Her father, after all, deserved a face-to-face.

"Now," she whispered, releasing her first arrow. Two men went down the next moment, and Helena had to admit, Sara's aim with a crossbow had improved – she'd still missed the heart, but well, the shot had done the job.

There was commotion now, as the men scrambled for their guns – but they were too slow, and they were at a disadvantage. Before their brains could catch up with what they were seeing, Helena had already reloaded and pulled the trigger again; so had Sara.

One by one they went, and Helena felt the mad urge to laugh at how they all crumbled to the ground, like puppets whose stings had suddenly been cut.

And then, there was one.

He broke off into a run, as Helena expected he would. Run, coward, run.

She turned to Sara for the briefest second, waiting for her to nod; when she did, they both bounded from their crouched positions and to their feet; Sara broke off into a run, following the line of low buildings in parallel to her father's trail. Helena, for her part, jumped off the edge, scraping the length of her arm as she rolled into a landing; she took a moment to keep to the ground, just watching her father's retreating back. She grinned as she broke off into a run of her own.

And for an aging sack of bones, her father certainly ran fast.

From the corner of her eye, she tracked Sara as she ran along the skyline, bounding across the gaps between the buildings. Helena had to admit; the Canary knew how to fly.

She was closing the distance that separated her from her prey, before he suddenly skidded to a halt; Sara rose from where she had landed before him, wielding her staff. He scrambled and turned to run away, then froze again. Helena smirked at him, raising her crossbow.

There was a gun pointed at her the next moment; she shot it out of his hand. "Not this time, father," she told him.

And then he just stood there, a caged rat with nowhere to run anymore; Helena wanted to savor that feeling.

"You little – " Whatever insult he wanted to throw her way was lost in a grunt, as Sara's staff connected with the back of his knees; she forced him to the ground the next moment. Then, she backed away, and nodded. "I'll leave you to it," she said, stepping backwards until she went out of sight.

As she retreated, Helena approached. Her father was right where she had wanted him for a long, long time; on his knees before her.

And she'd debated for a long, long time, too, how she wanted to put an end to him – a bullet to the head as Michael's fiancée, to end him the same way he had ended her love, or an arrow to the heart as the Huntress? Even as she had chased him moments earlier, she still hadn't known.

But now, as he panted at her feet, looking at her like she was the devil – like she was the monster here – she realized she hadn't been Michael's Helena in a really long while; and the justice she sought had changed, too. But either way, she wanted the scoundrel at her feet dead.

Still, for a moment, her hold on the crossbow faltered; this was all she had lived for, for a couple of years now. Just for a split-second, she thought about letting him get away – just not to let her hunt end. Once he was dead, it would be done – Michael would be avenged. Her father would have paid for his sins. And she –

When your purpose is over, what will you be then?

Helena raised her chin.

She was the Huntress.

"Well, get it over with, then," her father spat.

With a smile, she pointed her arrow at his chest. "Oh, I will," she said, and pulled the trigger.


The river still stank of sewage and dead bodies – and she had been the one to put the latest one in there.

Helena stood watching over the dark water, even after the shape that was her father's corpse had floated out of sight.

It was done. She had what she had come for. He was dead.

She closed her eyes, letting the stench fill her nose; it smelled of victory.

The soft sound of footfalls approaching her didn't faze her; she appreciated that Sara had given her privacy for this moment – that she had understood why she needed it.

"So," Sara spoke, "does it feel as good as you thought it would?"

Helena opened her eyes slowly, taking one long, deep breath of the smell in the air. "Better."

With a slight smile, she turned to Sara. "Thank you," she said. "For honoring our deal."

Sara nodded. "A deal's a deal," she dismissed the gratitude. She was quiet then, letting her eyes scan the river. "What now?" she asked after a moment. "Will you come with me? Or will you go after Oliver next?"

The funny thing was, just yesterday, she would have agreed to the former as means to get the latter; now, the desire to retaliate against the Hood – the Arrow – didn't burn so hot. In a way, Helena felt sated. "You know, you were right," she told Sara. "Now that my father is dead, I need something to fall back on – I want it. My father has paid his debt, and I've put Michael to rest. For good." She took a deep breath. "And," she added, "as much as it pains me to say it, I have grown fond of you, too."

Sara chuckled faintly next to her. "That's nice to hear," she said softly. "But if this is going where I think it is, I will ask you to leave Oliver be. You don't have to forgive him, but whatever he did to you, he is also my friend – and if you side with me, you can't go against him."

Helena had expected that clause; she nodded. "I was actually going to take you up on your offer, then do it anyway," she admitted, then cast the other woman a sidelong glance. "But I think you already knew that." Sara's expression was all the affirmative answer she needed.

"But you've changed your mind?"

Helena sighed. "I guess so," she said. "Turns out, I got all the revenge I needed." She shrugged. "It's time for something new." And there was better prey out there for a Huntress than Oliver Queen.

Sara hummed, and Helena caught sight of her turning towards her out of the corner of her; she matched her stance to face her.

"So, you'll come with me?" Sara asked.

Helena smiled down at Sara's proffered hand, and shook it.


Next Installment: The Coveted