Title: Fear
Prompt #1 - "I'd rather die."
Episode Tag: (probably AU version) Season 2 finale
Word Count: 478
Summary: Fear has an uncanny way of making itself known.
Notes: This is a re-post, but it's really not the same story now that it was a month ago—especially with the direction the show is going now. Sorry about the delay in update; if you don't already follow some of my other stories, then it's because real-life has recently grabbed me by the horns and forced me back into the "important" things. :P Oh, well.
I had planned to have this up earlier today, but I didn't plan on having a migraine today. I actually woke up, like, five minutes before Arrow came on, and then migraine attacked again. I know I have some reviews to answer—so don't give up on me—but I thought I'd post this while I actually felt like posting it. Reviews are welcomed—and answered!—but thanks for reading anyway. :)
They lead her into the room in shackles—honest to God shackles, like from a pirate movie. She knows she should be scared, and she's tried to be. But mostly, she just finds it amusing how wrong the situation is: she's the one in shackles, when the men around her are the criminals.
Her captor—and often tormentor—is standing in the office in a building she doesn't recognize, just in front of the desk. He's tall and muscular, with a posture that screams some sort of military training. She supposes he means to be intimidating, with his muscles on display and his cold gaze settling upon her, but it just doesn't work. It's all because of the eyepatch, really; it serves to remind her that, though he might be stronger and faster, he's still human and he can still be injured.
It's laughable how he tries to intimidate her, really, since she knows who he is; she doesn't know much about him, but certainly more than he'd like her to know. Not that he knows that yet, of course—she's stayed quiet thus far.
"Miss Smoak," he says in that Australian accent, "you will tell me all you know of your green-clad friend's operations." He's demanded this day in and day out, all to no avail. He should know better by now; no matter how angry he gets, what he chooses to do to her, she knows that she won't tell Slade Wilson a damn thing.
She repeats the mantra in her head that she's come to depend upon. This time, it leaves her mouth in a clear, unafraid, "I'd rather die." Death first, she promises Oliver in her head—that promise she's been making to him for a very long time. She's always put his safety above her own, and this is no exception. She came to terms long ago that she would gladly die for him—among worse things.
He doesn't like that, but she doesn't care. He seems to ponder that idea for a moment before saying finally, "Well, that's always an option." It's meant to be threatening, but she's been threatened by men worse than him.
She managed to convey that idea by replying coolly, "You should be careful. The last man who threatened me ended up with three arrows in his chest—after he fell thirty stories."
He scoffs with confidence that, in Felicity's opinion, is completely unfounded. "I can almost guarantee he wouldn't compare with me," he retorts, arrogant in a way that she finds not only irritating, but false.
She smiles at him sweetly in response, thrilled to see the confusion and that tiny tendril of fear flicker across his face. "Perhaps not," she agrees. "He didn't have Mirakuru running through his veins. But Oliver has already put an arrow through your eye, Slade Wilson, and something tells me he won't be aiming so high this time."