Chapter 38: The End?

Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping its sides tightly as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him. Around him a variety of monitors and medical equipment stood silently, a reminder that his time in Metropolis General was coming to an end. They'd brought him here nine days earlier. Initially the doctors had said his chances were no better than 50:50, but after the first forty-eight hours his recovery had been little short of miraculous. Four hours earlier and they'd declared him fit to be released, and so here he was – dressed in a three thousand dollar Armani suit and ready to face the world. Not that he was thinking about that now, just as he wasn't thinking about the army of reporters who had besieged the hospital since his arrival and who were desperate to get their first shots of the billionaire vigilante whose remarkable story had made headlines around the world. Instead his head was filled with images of what had happened on that balcony in those final, fateful seconds, images that had haunted him since he'd first regained consciousness. He could still see Lex's finger on the trigger of the gun, how he'd smiled as he'd taken aim at his head. Then there had been that incredible flash of white light, so bright it had momentarily blinded him. Later he'd found out it had been a gas explosion, the force of the blast so strong it had blown him half way across the balcony. He'd blacked out, but just before he'd lost consciousness he'd caught sight of Lex. Somehow the explosion had set light to his clothes, engulfing him in flames. Screaming in agony, he was stumbling from one side of the balcony to the other, trying to extinguish the fire that was consuming him. For a split second the two men's eyes had met. It was a look that Oliver would never forget; the hate that blazed in Lex's eyes, the fury that once again he had been cheated of the victory he'd worked for for so long. He'd shouted something – Oliver hadn't been able to make out exactly what – and then he'd run forward and jumped off the edge of the balcony, his flaming body plummeting into the fires that raged below. Oliver had never seen anything like it; like a glimpse into hell itself, the sight of Lex being burnt alive had seared itself into his memory. But he had seen it – he had seen Lex on fire, he had seen him leap to his death. Surely, then, it was over – they may not have found Lex's body, but he was gone, dead, and this time he wasn't coming back…

Oliver owed his own survival to AC. He had no memory of what had happened, but he'd learnt later from Roy that his friend had insisted on going back for him, acting on some sixth sense that told him something was wrong. Oliver had told him not to put his life at risk, but not for the first time the big guy had ignored him. Like Bart, when he'd sensed Oliver was in danger he hadn't hesitated – that was why he was a hero, just like the kid whose loss they still all felt so keenly. Barely a minute had passed since he'd come to when he'd not thought of Bart. Mercifully, as the days had passed he'd found himself more and more remembering the good times, the laughs they'd shared together at Watchtower as they'd trained and prepared for yet another mission. Still he couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible for the boy's death, no matter how many times AC told him it wasn't his fault. He knew that the guilt he was feeling would never go away. It was something he was going to have to learn to live with, but that had been made immeasurably easier by the decision he'd taken back on that balcony, not to take Lex's life. At the critical moment, he'd made the right choice; Bart had not given his life for a murderer, but for a man who stood for a set of principles worth fighting for.

Voices outside in the corridor reminded him that the world was waiting, and that he couldn't hide from the glare of publicity any longer. So much had happened since they'd brought him in, but until now the hospital had shielded him from the worst of the media storm that had accompanied news of his return from the dead. With the death of its architect the elaborate house of cards that Lex had so meticulously created had come crashing down with breathtaking speed. Arrests had been followed by confessions, the full extent of Lex's conspiracy to destroy Oliver at last being exposed to a stunned public. The day before he'd been told officially that he'd been cleared of any involvement in Dean Caruso's death. Lex had framed him for the young detective's murder, and it was his arrest and subsequent trial that had catapulted him into the hell of Nemesis, and all that had happened since. The press had been his enemies then, delighting in broadcasting to the world images of the fallen hero, shackled like a common criminal. How times had changed; now he was the media's darling, the victim of a terrible miscarriage of justice and the man every journalist in the country wanted to interview.

His reputation had been restored, but there was one thing that no one could undo. The world now knew his secret, and nothing could change that. He was the Green Arrow, the billionaire who'd decided to don a leather costume and fight crime like some latter day Robin Hood. Now that his cover was blown, could he continue to lead a double life? Indeed, if Lex really was dead, was there any need for him to carry on? Perhaps the time had come to hang up his hood, settle down with Chloe and enjoy the quiet life. Part of him found the idea of retirement attractive, but deep down he knew it was never going to happen. His alter ego was a part of him now; he was as much Green Arrow as he was Oliver Queen. But he was entering unchartered waters, and living openly as a costumed vigilante would not be without risk. He'd made a lot of enemies since he'd first donned his leathers, and not all of them had died with Lex back at that facility; now they knew who he was they were certain to come after him, and those he cared about….

He wouldn't face these challenges alone, of course; he was part of a team, a team that had grown stronger since Bart's death. Not only had Emil's antidote cured Chloe and Clark, but they'd also found Victor. He'd been held in a building close to the perimeter of Lex's main facility, and once Emil had succeeded in penetrating the firewall that protected the LuthorCorp network he'd been able to upload the young cyborg's brain functions back into his body. Apart from having no memory of anything that had happened, he appeared to have come through his ordeal without so much as a scratch.

There was a knock at the door. AC entered, grinning reassuringly at his friend.

"Ready?" he asked simply.

"How many are there?" asked Oliver.

"Ohh, about a hundred and fifty crews," replied AC, his grin widening. "They've had to close the street - looks like the whole world wants a piece of you, bro."

Oliver swallowed hard. He'd faced the cameras a hundred times before, but never like this. As soon as he stepped foot outside the hospital he knew he would experience a media scrum the like of which Metropolis had never seen before.

"I guess you're not joining me," he said dryly, looking at what his friend was wearing. The faded jeans and battered leather jacket stood in marked contrast to Oliver's crisply laundered suit; AC looked just like any other guy in his twenties, only the orange bands around the arms of his jacket giving a clue as to his true identity.

"Dude, you know that if I could….." began AC, his grin suddenly disappearing. He looked worried, concerned that Oliver thought he was letting him down.

"Relax, AC," said Oliver, getting up from the bed. Now it was his turn to offer his friend reassurance. "I'm only joking – with Black Manta on your trail the last thing we need is for you to broadcast your location to every country on the planet!"

Relieved, AC smiled. "Thanks, bro – like you say, probably best if I slip out the back way."

AC turned towards the door. Oliver stopped him, eager to say something that he'd been meaning to say ever since he'd come round seven days earlier.

"AC."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what, dude?"

"For saving my life."

AC nodded in acknowledgement of Oliver's words. "Don't mention it, bro," he said quietly, suddenly serious. "I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done for me."

"Still, I mean it. You came back for me – without you I wouldn't be here now."

Oliver offered his hand. AC took it, the two then hugging each other like brothers. More than anyone, each knew what the other had been through, the torments they had endured. They were closer than they had ever been, their bond forged in the hell that Lex had subjected them to. AC was more than just a member of the team now; he was Oliver's right hand man, the unofficial second in command of the Justice League.

"Can I come in?"

The two men turned, to find Chloe standing in the doorway. She looked nervous, even frail; although cured of Lex's mind altering drugs, there was a long way to go before she would be fully recovered.

"Chloe!" said AC, moving over to where she stood. "I was just checking on Oliver before he meets his new fan club downstairs." He paused, aware of the awkward atmosphere that had suddenly descended on the room. "Ollie, I guess I'll see you back at Watchtower, yeah? And if any of those press guys get ugly let Chloe here loose on them – they won't stand a chance!"

He hurried from the room. Chloe and Oliver were left alone together, each eying the other apprehensively.

"You look well," said Oliver, making an effort to break the ice. Chloe had been to see him a couple of times since he'd regained consciousness, and each time conversation had been difficult. It was as if an invisible barrier had come down between them. Emil had told him that it would take time for Chloe to recover from the effects of Lex's drugs, but it was more than that. She had no memory of the time she'd spent under Lex's influence, and so mercifully she couldn't remember any of what she'd done. Despite this, it was as if somewhere deep down she knew something was wrong, that she'd done terrible things – unforgivable things…..

"I'm coming with you – facing the press, I mean," she said, stumbling a little over her words.

"Chloe, there's no need – after all you've been through….."

"I want to – I want to be with you, to stand by you."

He stepped forward, taking her in his arms and kissing her tenderly on the forehead. "Chloe Sullivan, my brave, brave Watchtower," he said, gently running his hand through her hair.

"Oliver."

"Yes?"

"If I ask you something, do you promise to answer me truthfully?"

Oliver looked at her. He could see the intensity in her eyes, the strain she was under.

"I promise," he answered solemnly.

"When I was under Lex's control…." She paused, as if she were feeling her way towards the right words.

"Yes?"

"Did I ….. Did I…. hurt you?"

She looked up at him, imploring him to tell her the truth but at the same time terrified of what that truth might be.

Unsure how to respond, Oliver played for time. "What makes you ask that?" he asked.

"It's something Emil said….. And I get flashbacks, images in my head," she replied. She was becoming more distressed now, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oliver, you must tell me – did I hurt you? I need to know – please, don't lie to me!"

Oliver hesitated. He'd promised to tell her the truth, but how could he? How could he tell her that she was the one who'd tortured him, cut into his flesh and laughed as he'd screamed for mercy?

"Oliver, please!"

"Yes, you hurt me," he said quietly, hugging her a little tighter. "But it doesn't matter, it…."

Chloe pulled away, tears flowing down her cheeks. "I knew it!" she sobbed. "I hurt you – how could I do that? How could I let myself do that to you? I'll never forgive myself – never!"

"Hey, stop this!" said Oliver, stepping forward and taking her firmly in his arms. He stared intently into her eyes, willing her to listen, to hear the words he was about to say. "You weren't yourself, Chloe – we all know that. What matters now is that I love you – I love you more than I have ever loved you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are what has kept me going through all of this – you, and the thought of the life we'd share together when it was all over. I love you, Chloe – I love you, and I'm going to marry you and make you the happiest woman on earth!"

He didn't allow her time to respond. Instead he leaned forward and kissed her, a kiss of such power and intensity that for a few blissful moments all their cares were forgotten, and they were back on that Caribbean beach before this whole nightmare had started. They hugged each other tightly, knowing that at last the barrier that had kept them apart had been shattered. They were together again – two people so very much in love.

At last they parted, Chloe wiping away her tears. She looked relieved, her face wreathed in a beautiful smile.

"Are you ready, Watchtower?" asked Oliver.

"Ready," she replied.

"Then let's do this."

Together they turned and made their way to the door, and the new life that awaited them.

A mile or so from Metropolis General a man sat in a high backed chair, watching. A large TV screen filled the wall in front of him, its modernity in stark contrast to the rest of the room. Lit only by candles, it looked like something straight out of the nineteenth century, gothic furniture and wallpaper combining to give it a dark, almost sinister air. A number of paintings hung on the walls, but these only added to the sense of foreboding; all showed images of men being tortured, their faces twisted in agony as they suffered what appeared to be unimaginable cruelties at the hands of their unseen captors. For most, the pictures would have appeared grotesque; images to be destroyed, not put on display like works of art. But the man who sat in the chair was not like other men – for him, the pictures were things of beauty. He was a man who revelled in pain, delighted in the suffering of others; it made him feel alive, empowered like nothing else on earth.

The man went by many names, taking and discarding them at will. For those who knew his true identity, his name was one that inspired fear and terror. He was a killer, a destroyer of men:

He was Desaad.

In front of him, the screen was filled with images of Oliver's impromptu press conference, carried live from the steps of the hospital. Surrounded by a sea of microphones, Oliver appeared confident, in control. Beside him stood Chloe, every inch the loving fiancé.

Desaad smiled. How strong you look, Mr Queen, he thought to himself. But we all know the truth, don't we? We all know how damaged you are inside…..

"Mr Queen, how does it feel to have your name cleared?" asked one of the reporters.

"Great," replied Oliver. "I'm only sad that Dean Caruso isn't here to share this moment with me – he was a great cop, and a good friend."

"And Green Arrow? Any chance we're going to see you back in the suit any time soon?"

"Look, I don't know guys," said Oliver, smiling. "All I want to do now is to take some time out with my beautiful fiancé – we've both been through a lot, and I think she deserves a break."

"So have we seen the last of the Green Arrow? Are you hanging up your leathers for good?"

"Ohh, he'll be back – you have my word on it. For so long as there are bad guys out there I'll be working to bring them to justice – whether that's in a costume or in a court room."

"Mr Queen, there are rumours that you don't work alone – that a team of people with special powers helped you bring down Lex Luthor."

"Really? That would be great, but I gotta tell you guys, you really need to get out more. People with special powers? Sounds like you've been reading too many comic books."

"So, Luthor failed – I told you we could not rely on him."

Desaad turned, to find an elderly woman standing at the door. She looked disapprovingly at him, like a schoolmistress about to tell off a child who had been naughty.

"Granny, I've been waiting for you," he said smoothly, turning back towards the screen. "Come, join me – this is quite entertaining."

"This is no joke, Desaad," said the woman, clearly irritated by his flippant tone. "Luthor's failure to destroy the Justice League places all our plans in jeopardy – we cannot prepare for our master's arrival if the Kryptonian is still a threat to us."

Desaad smiled, trying to hide his irritation. The woman was his ally, but there were times when her hectoring tone tried his patience.

"We face a delay – nothing more," he purred, his eyes still fixed firmly on the screen. "Queen and his team are weak now – they have lost one of their own, and that will make them vulnerable. Rest assured I have a plan to dispose of them – already our followers are making preparations."

The woman smiled knowingly. "And so you get what you wanted after all – an opportunity to tame the archer."

"Granny, I exist only to serve our master," replied Desaad, as if hurt by her insinuation. "But if in preparing the way for him I can indulge some of my own needs….. well, what harm is there in that?"

"My interest is in the kryptonian – what you do with Queen is your own affair," she replied disdainfully; she knew what Desaad's "needs" were, what he wanted to do with the handsome billionaire whose face filled the screen…

"Are the girls with you?"

"My furies are here, yes."

"Good – I suspect we may have need of their talents in the days ahead."

Desaad continued to stare intently at the screen, studying Oliver's every move as he faced the world's press. Granny Goodness was right, of course – secretly he was delighted that Lex had failed in his attempt to destroy the JLA. Now the way lay open for him to put his own plans into effect, plans that he had been working on for many months. Soon the wheels would begin to turn, and one by one the members of the League would fall, starting with the Green Arrow himself. He had something special planned for the leather-clad vigilante, something that would make what he had suffered at the hands of Lex pale into insignificance…

Enjoy this taste of freedom, Mr Queen, he thought to himself. Because soon I will make you mine, and then you will truly know the meaning of hell on earth.

THE END

It's finished!

I can't quite believe that we have finally reached the end. I started this story at the beginning of 2012, and it's been quite a journey to get to this point. Thank you so, so much for reading, and a special, special thank you to all my wonderful reviewers. Some of you have reviewed almost every chapter, and your support has been quite simply amazing - without you, I would never have reached this point.

I really hope you enjoyed this final chapter. I think I have managed to tie up all the loose ends, but forgive me if I have missed something. I couldn't resist setting up a sequel, and I do have some ideas about how it might develop - if you thought Lex put our heroes through hell, you have no idea what Desaad could do! Whether I write it is another matter. Part of me says it is time to stop - the show's finished, and I sense interest in what I'm doing is waning. Besides, after all I've put him through, maybe it's time to give poor Ollie a break! Let me know what you think in a review - if enough of you want another story, then maybe I'll do it.

If this is the end, a final thank you for reading my stories, and let me say one more thing. "Arrow" is a great show, but for me no one comes close to matching Justin's portrayal of Oliver on Smallville. As he said on the show, he is Green Arrow - the best hero on TV ever!