Chapter Twenty One: Out of Luck

(Warning: this chapter could shock you....)

Oliver could smell it now.

The reddish haze of the gas had finally reached ground level, at last finding every corner of the large room that would be his tomb. It swirled around him like a silent killer, toying with him as it sought out his most vulnerable point so that it could fulfil its lethal mission. And now it had found it, the sickly sweet aroma of the gas teasing his nostrils and telling him that it would not be long now; it would not be long before this nightmare finally came to an end.

Oliver lay very still, trying to block out the terrible scenes that surrounded him. He understood that his best chance of clinging onto life until the last possible moment lay in remaining calm, not expending valuable energy and oxygen in futile attempts at escape. His would-be captors had no such grasp of their predicament. They ran from one side of the room to the other, desperately trying to find the way out that Oliver knew just wasn't there. They shouted and screamed, hoping against hope that someone would hear them, someone would come to their aid, but it was all to no avail. And now the shouts were becoming ever more desperate, some of the men hurling impotent obscenities into the air, others pleading for their lives. It was a gut wrenching sound, to hear grown men, men hardened by their service in the military, begging for mercy. Oliver tried to shut it out; if this was to be the end, he wanted to put his mind into a happy place, a mental paradise where only peace and serenity prevailed.

He closed his eyes and thought of Chloe. How he loved her! Her smiling face, so achingly beautiful, filled his mind's eye, offering him the succour and comfort he needed as his life force began slowly to ebb away. As he thought back over the months they had shared together a smile formed on his lips, a smile born of the knowledge that if this was to be where his journey ended, then at least he would die having known what it was to truly love. His life before Chloe didn't matter – not the wealth, not the mansions, the clothes, the rich boy's toys, not even his double life as the Green Arrow. Nothing mattered apart from the small young woman with the cutest smile in the world, the woman who had captured his heart so completely. Chloe Sullivan had given him the most perfect, the most beautiful, moments of his life – and nothing, not even death, could rob him of those most precious of memories.

There was silence in the room now. The shouting had stopped, and now all that could be heard was the sound of the gas which continued to be pumped in high above him. He opened his eyes. The gas was thick now, hanging heavily in the air and enveloping everything in its fatal embrace. It was difficult to make out anything in the haze, but just for a moment he caught a glimpse of Pierce, now lying just a few feet from where he lay. It was clear that he was dead; his body was not moving, and his eyes stared wildly into space, empty and fearful at the last. It couldn't be long now – not long at all....

Again he closed his eyes, conjuring once more Chloe's face into his mind. She was smiling that incredible smile, but now there was something more. Could he be dreaming – was that really her perfume that now filled his senses, driving out the smell of the gas that continued to silently steal away his life force? And more still - now he could taste her, the sweetness of her lips like nectar to his parched and beaten mouth. A voice inside him told him to stay alert, to fight for every moment of life, but as his mind at last began to lose consciousness he knew he did not want to fight. She was with him, and that was everything:

Goodbye, Chloe – I love you! I love you so much.....

And with those words echoing in his mind, Oliver Queen at last succumbed to the fumes that now wrapped around him like a shroud, slipping into the sleep from which he would not awaken.....

Within seconds of Chloe's call Clark had made it to the address on Queen Street. He knew he should feel positive; Chloe had cracked Schott's clue with ample time to spare, and rescuing Oliver should present few challenges. But, in the very short time he'd had to think about it, he could not drive the nagging sense of unease from his mind. It had been with him ever since Schott's transmission; a feeling that they were missing something, that everything was not quite as it seemed. Schott was an intelligent man; equally he was a man hell bent on taking Oliver's life. Why leave a clue? Why risk losing the game by giving your opponents an opportunity to win? It didn't add up – something just wasn't quite right, not quite right at all...

A rush of air heralded Bart's arrival, the teenager's energy showing that he shared none of Clark's concerns.

"Whoa, beat me again, Boy Scout! Dude, you just gotta tell me...."

"No!" gasped Clark, cutting off Bart mid-sentence.

"What is it, dude? What do you see?" said Bart, his trademark humour suddenly absent from his voice. He could see that Clark was using his x-ray vision to scan the warehouse, and the look on the older man's face spoke volumes; whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Stay here," said Clark simply, before he rushed forward, tearing the door to the warehouse from its hinges and disappearing inside. Usually Bart was not one to take orders, but on this occasion he did as he was told; there was something about Clark's manner, the ashen look on his face, that told him this was not the time to rock the boat.

Two seconds later Clark re-emerged, a cloud of reddish gas following him from the warehouse. In his arms he held Oliver's body, the young hero's limbs hanging limp and lifeless from Clark's powerful hold. With the care of a father laying down a baby in its cot, Clark gently lay Oliver down on the ground. For a few moments he stared at the face of his friend; battered and covered in blood, it nonetheless appeared the very picture of serenity and peace. Reluctantly he then turned and returned to the warehouse, conscious that there were other lives to save.

In less than a minute Clark had retrieved all the victims of Schott's trap, lining their bodies along the ground like the recovered victims of some natural disaster. His actions were in vain; all but Oliver were already dead. Bart and Clark huddled around Oliver's body, fearing the worst, but hoping for the best.

"He's gonna be okay, isn't he? He's breathing – that means he's gonna be okay, doesn't it?" said Bart, his youth showing in his words.

"I don't know, Bart – I just don't know. He's breathed in a lot of that gas, and that can't be good," replied Clark, not taking his eyes from his friend's apparently sleeping face. It was the best that he could find to say; whatever chemicals Schott had used, the concoction had already proved fatal for the other unfortunates who had breathed it in. Oliver was only human, and just at that moment he had never looked so weak, so utterly vulnerable.

Suddenly Oliver's body jerked into life, his back arching momentarily, before falling back to the ground.

"Clark...." It was Oliver's voice, barely more than the weakest of whispers.

"Oliver!" replied Clark, meeting the gaze of his friend, whose eyes had now opened.

"Hey dude, don't do that to us, man!" said Bart, his relief tangible.

Oliver mustered the thinnest of smiles, before reaching out and feeling for Clark's hand. Clark immediately took it, clasping it firmly to give Oliver the reassurance that he sensed he needed. He did not share Bart's relief. He could see the fear in Oliver's eyes, a look that said that this time it was not going to be okay – this time they had come too late...

"Oliver, hang on, okay? It's going to be fine – you're going to be fine," he said, trying to convince himself as much as the young man who lay stricken before him. He gripped Oliver's hand tightly, willing him to believe, to hang on to life.

"Nice try, Clark," whispered Oliver, his voice even fainter than before. "But not this time, yeah? I'm all outta luck, Clark – no coming back from this one."

"Don't say that!" urged Clark, clasping the other man's hand ever tighter. Somehow he felt that through pure exertion of his will he could keep his friend alive, but even as he spoke he could see Oliver's hold on life slipping away.

"Clark, do something for me, okay? Tell Chloe I love her – tell her that she means more to me than anything else in the world."

"Tell her yourself," whispered Clark, his voice cracking as tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Promise me you'll tell her, Clark – promise."

Clark paused, his eyes misting as he met the gaze of his dying friend.

"I promise."

Oliver's body appeared to relax for a moment, and a slight smile formed on his lips. His last mission complete, his eyelids flickered, before closing; silently his head rolled gently to one side.

"No!" sobbed Bart, not needing to be told what was obvious to both of them.

"He's gone, Bart," said Clark quietly, slowly pulling his hand from Oliver's. Tears flowed down both men's cheeks as they looked upon their fallen comrade, now still and silent.

Oliver Queen was dead.

Well, I did warn you that this chapter would shock you. Is Ollie dead? I'm not saying, but you know me - I like to push the boundaries, and nothing is off limits!

Thanks for reading, and please do review if you can - your feedback is so important to me, and is the reason I keep writing!