A crisp, brisk wind blows hastily into Oliver's face as he pursuits on his motorcycle throughout Star City. After nearly five years of living life as a masked vigilante, coursing through these streets was nothing short of habitual. The chilly breeze from the Pacific just west of him was never cumbersome. It was simply something that Oliver had adapted to.
Living the better part of five years on a near-inhospitable island had it's, well, benefits too. His body was not rejective of dealing with cold temperatures as that was all it knew for so long. As he told a good friend once, when asked why he decided to remove long sleeves from his night suit— he doesn't get cold. Of course, considering the risks of having his bare arms exposed to the ammunition and weaponry that he is around with the hood on, he covered his arms once again.
He takes a deep breath before stepping off his bike. He knew he needed to channel in all of the emotions he was feeling. He had to compartmentalize— or else he was going to find himself killed. He could not think about any of the stresses that were going on outside of now. It was the mentality that he found himself in on a nightly basis.
His bow was sat along with the handles of his bike, the drawstring clinging on to the rubber. He swiftly removes it and leans it to his side as he closely inched towards the target that he was chasing. It was a basic drug operation— a small one at that. After defeating the most prominent crime lord in Star City mere weeks ago, the drug scene was being kept at a minimum. Especially with the Green Arrow roaming the streets with a license to kill anyone trying to make more business selling narcotics illegally.
Oliver presses a hidden button on the left side of his chest, initiating contact with the woman who stood on the other side of the communications device. He heard the feedback coming from her end, cuing him to begin speaking. "How many am I dealing with, Felicity?"
"Looks like five in total, two of them being armed." She informs him, pausing before speaking her next sentence. "Are you sure you can take on this many at once?"
Oliver sighs, taking the not-so-subtle hint of Felicity's fear of him fighting by his lonesome. She had not really been trying to hide these sentiments lately, so the comment didn't take him by surprise.
"I took down Church and his men fine on my own. I can handle this in my sleep."
"Be careful."
"I always am."
Oliver runs towards the deal firing, shooting his first arrow at the block of drugs in the dealer's hand The next penetrates the gun of one of the armed men. They see him as he begins to charge closer and closer to where they stood, and the other gunman begins to fire, missing Oliver multiple times. He shoots another arrow, this time nailing the man firing at him square in the chest. Oliver was not only very skilled with a bow but highly trained in combat. He was too quick for their slow punches and in relation of the way he kicked and threw punches of his own, they were like flys trying to avoid the inevitable traps of honey. He felt the weight of his elbow against one of their foreheads, knocking them out cold. He pierced a loose arrow through the thigh of one of the dealers who had his arm tightly around his neck. He kicked the final one at an adequate distance to fire one final arrow at his chest.
He took a look around at the bodies around him, three unconscious, one in immense pain, and two on the brink of death. He wanted to claim self-defense— and he would probably have a lot of validation in that. But the sight of two men fighting for their last breath sent an empathetic shiver down his spine and a remorseful snapshot into the depths of his memories. Some "hero" he is— the mantra rings through his consciousness as he hears wailing sirens in the distance, cuing his departure from the scene.
As he trekked back to his bunker, he tried his best to keep the thoughts of the men he killed buried in the depths of his unwanted thoughts. He hated killing. He detested the resort to murder that had become such a common method that it was inveterate. He was all by himself out in the field, he couldn't risk giving anyone an opening for a cheap shot in a vulnerable area. The unfortunate truth was that he still felt the weight of every man he ever killed's death. He still saw the fatal blows that he gave, whether it be an arrow forced through the heart or shot through it.
He still felt remorse towards the man his who took everything from him and threatened to destroy the city that he loved. He heard the last breath of a man who was enriched in his wicked hubris and adamant on his evil ways. Even in Oliver's satisfaction, he felt every ounce of
this wretched excuse of a human being's demise.
And he hated it.
He enters the bunker through a garage door, taking his biking helmet off and setting it over the handles. He begins to unzip his jacket as he walks through the bunker, joining Felicity on the platform that rested in the center of the massive space that the two of them had been operating out of. They had only spent a year in this jazzed up lair, but it was slowly beginning to feel like home.
There was a certain vibe to Felicity that told Oliver to prepare for some kind of questioning. Whether it be on the mission or some kind of personal matter or observation she felt the need to comment on, he anticipated the inquisition as he stopped in his tracks behind her rolling chair.
"Oliver, you were uncharacteristically quiet on coms on your ride back," Felicity begins empathetically. She stares at her computer screen for a moment before turning around in her chair to face him. "Is everything okay?"
He raises his eyebrows and looks up at her quickly as if she had caught him off guard. He nods, initiating a knowing glare from Felicity as she sees through his facade. She stands up and places her hands over his crossed forearms. "It's just you and me down here. I need you to tell me when something's bothering you."
"It's nothing." He smiles at her assuringly, feeling his heart sink at the look of distrust on her face after he finishes. He places his hand tenderly on her shoulder as he takes a step to walk in the other direction. "I'll be back after this benefit dinner is finished."
She smiles faintly as he begins to walk away. "You'll be back to tell me what's bothering you or you'll be back to wait for a drug operation to magically appear?"
"Hopefully, the latter."
Oliver's hesitancy to share did not come as a surprise to Felicity. It always felt easier to allow his inner thoughts and feelings to stay circling around his conscience as opposed to actually letting someone in on his darkest sentiments. As unhealthy as it was, it was apart of him that the people he loved begrudgingly accepted— for now at least.
He trades his suit of green leather for a suit of navy-dyed wool with a United States flag pinned in the fabric above his heart. This was the suit he wore in the light of day, just as he had sought out to do when he started his mayoral campaign. Being the Green Arrow, hiding in the shadows wasn't enough, so he did what he could to become Mayor.
And along as a lot of the things that Oliver Queen sets his mind to do, it happened. But in the midst of swearing into office, he lost three limbs. Well, not literal limbs, but he lost three members of the team that was supposed to make the balance of being the Mayor as well as a vigilante easier, handicapping what he could accomplish in city hall as most of his focus went to the streets. The public did not take well to this apparent apathy and uncaring attitude that was primarily portrayed through the media as well as the constant missing of public appearances from the Mayor.
So, as with most of his Mayor appearances, he anticipated being bombarded with ludicrous claims and questions of his administration.
He pulls his suit together, fastening the top button on the bottom as he walks through the doors of City Hall. A familiar sight of flashing cameras blinds his vision as he tries to navigate through the press crowding his space. Microphones and recording devices smother his face before the men in his security detail surround and shield him from the ammunition that was the media. To say that this particular breed of Star City citizens wasn't gunning for his throat and trying to use his mayoral shortcomings as a means for clicks and views would be an astronomical distance from the truth. They are thirsty for the quenching satisfaction of demoralizing Oliver's leadership and his administration.
Even though his training had been to let them ramble and ask him pressing questions without an answer, he felt irrationally compelled to turn around and give an answer when asked about the growing issues in weapons deals on the street and why his administration did nothing about it. He gave the crowd a charming smile as if it was a cue for them to quiet down. He stood atop a flight of stairs as the awaited an answer at the bottom of the set.
"What am I going to do about it?" Oliver asks, condescension blaring from not only his tone but the expressions across his face. The dissonant harmony of fallible suggestions was untranslatable before a simple shrug of Oliver's shoulders quiets them down. "When I'm not having to personally weed out the corruption amongst the men and women supposed to protect our streets, I will be able to give each of you a better answer."
The crowd gets louder as he turns around and walks up the final flight of stairs, meeting a discerned and disappointed face from the woman he knows as his sister.
"You do realize that you just openly discredited the police force at a benefit dinner for the SCPD, right?" Thea whispers into his ear as they begin walking towards a calmer crowd. The appointed tone of voice struck Oliver's right mind as he realized he fucked up in his response.
He chuckles nervously, letting out a smug grin to begin an attempt to ease the mind of his sister moonlighting as his chief of staff. "That'll do great for my approval ratings, right?"
"God, I wish it would," Thea responds with a hint of desperation. She checks the time on her phone, looking back at Oliver with the same scorning dissatisfaction across her lips. "Being 30 minutes late definitely won't bode well either."
He glares at her knowingly, pressing his lips together tightly before opening up the corner to speak lowly. "I had a more pressing matter to attend to, Speedy."
"Maybe if you got a new team together like Felicity has been begging you to do for months, you would be able to spend more time here." She mimics his discrete way of speaking.
"I can't take that risk Thea," his words become icy as does his demeanor. "You know why."
Thea watches as the partial smile on his face drops with his eyes as his thoughts go to the one thing they've had trouble departing from over the last few months. Like always, she didn't fully know how to react. Sometimes he was accepting of her empathy and other times he became so cold that he turned into stone— just standing there, motionless as he fell back into the pits of his grieving despair. Looking like he was leaning towards the latter, she flashes him an assuring smile.
"I'll stop pressing for now," she begins. She places her hand gently over his bicep, asking him in desperation. "But please take it into consideration." He forces a smile and nods before leading Thea towards the awaiting guests.
Laurel Lance.
He felt her presence every time he was in city hall. His "why." She was the district attorney, so a lot of their visits began here. Whether it be to discuss their vigilante matters or to soar off on their various dates— they greeted each other in the building, in this very area to be exact. Often times he wonders how their life would've been with him as Mayor and her keeping criminals locked up as the city's top prosecutor. They already kept the city safe with one another as the Green Arrow and Black Canary, but if they both were high ranking city officials? They could save the city on multiple fronts, together.
And that was always the plan. They often talked about it when Oliver's initial mayoral campaign began. All of the ways that they could protect the city that they loved together— and boy, did they love this city. Almost as much as they loved each other. But a homicidal maniac plotting to level the world got in the way of these plans— he put an arrow through Laurel's side and she died. Oliver watched as the woman he loved took her last breath and left this world. She lost her life. He lost his world.
He avenged her death. Eventually putting an arrow through her killer's chest. This came with a cost, however— sending him spiraling down into a battle methodology that once again involved killing. He was so buried in his anger and darkness that he couldn't see the light— because, well, he lost the woman who shined that light for him. So here he found himself, lonely, broken, angry— damaged once again. Which was exactly how Laurel found him.
He shakes off the thought, forcing a smile as he goes to shake the hands of important city officials. The police captain, of course; a few city councilmen, the rich folk who were putting money into a corruption filled police force. The truth of the matter is that Oliver didn't want any of this night to happen, as he didn't believe in the necessity of funding cops who weren't doing their jobs. But his political strategists along with Thea thought that showing Star City some form of devotion in a public appearance may get more people on his side— because that number was very minimal these days.
He goes to grab a glass of champagne, his hand being met by a woman doing the same motion. They apologize in harmony, turning to look at one another as they do so. The woman was strong in stature. Her blonde hair was pulled back neatly and her emerald eyes touched with the blue sea hid behind a pair of glasses. A press badge hung from a lanyard around her neck, forcing a long sigh out of Oliver's system.
"I thought I had lost all of your kind back at the stairs." His words came out in the kindest way that he could manage but the expressions across his face yelled annoyance. The woman smiled, catching Oliver off guard as it gleamed along with her eyes. There was a tenderness to it that he was all but expecting. Her tone as she responded matched this demeanor.
"I'd like to think that being the editor-in-chief at the Inquirer gets me some kind of passage," she reaches her hand out as his eyes widen, realizing the woman that he was speaking to. Her grip was firm upon him grasping onto her palm, once again taking Oliver by surprise. She flashes her warm smile once again while saying, "I'm Kara Danvers."
Oliver forces a smile, knowing the facade that he had to put up for the woman who had been gunning at his administration since he took office. There was something, however, that led him to believe that putting up the front he typically put on while speaking with journalists wouldn't work on this woman. He shakes her hand and places his other softly around their enclasped hands. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name, Ms. Danvers."
"Glad to finally speak to you in person, Mr. Mayor."
Her fortitude cut right through the barrier he had set in an attempt to make himself seem more courteous. Yet, instead of feeling himself revert to the autonomous rigidity of his mannerisms, the cordial front became more genuine as he continued to converse with her. She had this gentle kindness about her that softened his demeanor.
"I was surprised by your comment about corruption in the force," she begins. He cocks an eyebrow as if he was caught off guard by her bringing up this topic. "I'd almost consider it ballsy if I knew you weren't going to retract that statement in a press conference tomorrow morning."
He chuckles. "And what makes you think that I would do that?"
"Everything you say is fed to you on a silver spoon. The moment you slip up and say how you really feel, it's written all over your face that you know you said something you weren't supposed to."
"Your point?"
She smiles with impatience, placing her glass of champagne on a table behind her. She folds her arms over her chest before responding. "Don't you think that the people of the city deserve better than a disingenuous leader who cares more about his public appearance than actually helping this city?"
Oliver purses his lips while he processes the words she spoke to him. His more impulsive habits told him to jump to his own defense. What else was he supposed to do? His approval ratings were way below what he needed them to be and the only way that he could get them up is the get the public and the city's organizations behind him.
Yet, it was the passion that exuded from this woman's voice that made him second guess his impulsions. There was an urgency, a dedication seeping through the poignance of her words that told him that what she said came from her heart. It seemed as if it stemmed from a genuine desire to make Star City better.
He looked to his feet before looking back into the woman's eye's, who were seeking an adequate response. He presses his lips together tightly while grimacing.
"I do want to help this city, Ms. Danvers." He tells her with deep honesty.
She smiles in response, an understanding radiating from eyes that should be discontent with what or who they saw in front of them. She steps closer to him. "And how are you going to show? Bailing on city council meetings and press conferences won't do it."
"Come by my office tomorrow morning," he begins, immediately thinking about the chastising that was to come from his sister from this decision. "And I will show you. On the record of course."
A satisfied grin slowly forms across her lips and she nods with content. She reaches her hand out once again. "I'll see you then, Mr. Mayor."
"I'll be looking forward to it."