Anatoly Knyazev
"HOME IS NOT WHERE YOU ARE FROM, IT IS WHERE YOU BELONG. SOME OF US TRAVEL THE WHOLE WORLD TO FIND IT. OTHERS FIND IT IN A PERSON." –Beau Taplin
"Thank You so much Mr. Knyazev." The ugly, bald man stutters in front of me and I dismiss him with a disgusted glare, watching as the pathetic excuse for a human being trips over his two feet as he exits the room.
"Shall we finish him off sir," Ivan asks me, his hands folded respectively behind his back, even though there is a slight tenseness to them, making me wonder how much of a request it really was.
I wave his suggestion off with a flick of my wrists, "No, men like him aren't worth killing for. All they'll do is waste space in the graveyard."
Ivan nods his head and leaves, but I see the small tick in his jaw, the same bloodthirsty hunger that I saw in a man over two years ago. A good man, a loyal man, but a monster nevertheless.
Oliver Queen was an enigma indeed.
But I am not ashamed to say that I do miss him. It has been so long, and Oliver was always the voice of reason in my head, despite what he may think of himself. He kept me check, prevented me from becoming the devil, and I often find myself assessing situations based on what Oliver Queen will do, although I will never publically announce that thought.
The last time I saw him, he and his two friends were in Russia trying to save his big friend's wife—or something. Although I met John Diggle, if I recall the man's name properly, I did not get to meet Felicity Smoak at all. Oliver purposely kept her far away from the Bratva, despite her being heavily involved in his Robin Hood activities.
Strange.
The new, sleek model of the new phone that was gifted to me by one of my fancier customers rings and shakes and I take a moment to ungracefully fumble around with the deathtrap before sliding the green button to the side and bringing the rectangle box to my ear.
"Hello?" I decide to speak English when the number calling me turns out to be unrecognizable.
"Anatoly," The familiar voice stops me from fiddling with my pen, and I remove the phone from my ear to stare at it, as if it actually read my thoughts and called Oliver for me.
But it is great to hear his voice again, "Kapiushon! What a pleasant surprise. Didn't think you'll be calling again so soon Kapitan. What is the matter?"
We could beat around the bush and prattle around false pretenses for a couple of minutes, but it would get us nowhere. Pleasantries weren't ever something we in the Bratva did; especially not Oliver and I. We knew what this call is about. He needs a favor. And for all that he did for me, and all that he is doing, I will happily oblige, as long as it doesn't interfere with the matters of my group.
"Vitaly Sokolov. My team has been after him for almost a month by now and we have good proof that he's somehow managed to flee to Russia."
His tone, as usual, is all business; rough, hard and straight to the point, his voice leaving no trace of vulnerability or weakness, something that is as distinctly familiar as Oliver is, I find myself at ease with the conversation.
"Oliver, I cannot let you go all Robin Hood in Russia all over again for a petty criminal. You know that's not how it works." As much as I would love to help him, I'm disappointed that the Bratva rules didn't occur to him before calling. I'm disappointed that he forgot the codes so fast.
"In the course of a month, he's managed to murder five wives in their homes, three children, and four young girls. Now, he's coming to Russia."
Shit. He knows he has me there. Seems like the boy hasn't forgotten the rules as much as I thought.
We the Bratva aren't sexist; we've found ourselves growing and modifying as time passes, willing to bend in order to blend into society. But in the Bratva, wives and children are always something to be respected and protected. The killing of innocent women and children is something we do not allow. And Oliver knows it.
"Come. Do what you need to do. Get rid of this bastard." I reconsider my sentence, remembering the things Oliver told me the last time he was here; something about trying something different, honoring his friend's memory and saving the city, "Or catch him and throw him in your little fancy prisons."
"Give me a week Anatoly. I need full terrain of the place."
I smile into the phone, knowing that both he and anyone else cannot see it (thankfully. Not the time to show weakness. Never is there a time to show weakness) "You're the Kapitan, Kapiushon. You may do whatever the hell you want to do. No one in your way."
I hear him relax and I make mental notes to have a drink with him during one day of that week; the boy seems too wound up. I guess that is the price for having an entire city on your shoulders.
"We'll only be causing trouble for a week, Anatoly. Then I'll be out of your hair and back home." It's his way of a 'goodbye, see you soon'. I'll take it.
"I cannot wait, Kapiushon." And I cut the phone. Or maybe he did; I have no idea how to use these anyway. Might need to call Ivan in and get him to replace this with my old one.
And after I have put the phone away, and get ready to make the necessary arrangements for his arrival, is when something Oliver said resonates through me.
Home.
It's a precarious word, one many don't know the true meaning to. As children, we associate home with a house, a place we live in, a place where we sleep. Then we grow and move, and change and realize that our perceptive of 'home' was an error in many ways.
By that time, we do not know what our home is anymore.
Oliver Queen went to Starling City, but it wasn't his home. It was never his home. If it was, then he would have gotten a plane and went back there the minute he got off the island, consequences be damned. Starling City may have been the city where he lived in all his life, the city where he threw parties every night, was arrested, had family pictures and picnics, but it never was his home.
(He had said it so himself before we parted, "I don't know where home is anymore.")
I sent the boy away to Starling City, homeless, hoping that he would find his lighthouse there, find an anchor, a place that would lure him home when he got lost, a place that would help him fight to come back, and place where he was always desperate to go back to.
I guess I'll see if he found it yet.
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"On your left." Felicity Smoak presses a series of buttons on the sleek, modern tablet of hers, and I get a full, clear, live view of the large warehouse Sokolov has managed to hide himself in.
The team appeared a week ago and this time, only Oliver came by secretly to visit, looking so happy and bright and free. Starling City (now Star City) apparently has a new set of heroes; Speedy, and The Black Canary included, allowing the man to not worry about his city while he's here.
I also finally got to meet Ms. Smoak formally for the first time when she came skipping into the bar a couple days later (she was like the sun and made the cold, dark place look colder and darker) her hands intertwined with Oliver's and a look of adoration on his face as he listened to her talk about something made me finally pinpoint the reason for Oliver's lightness.
She was ushered into the room almost immediately after, not before staring Oliver down for his caveman-like tendency (quite impressive actually, there's not many who have the guts to do that), and no one missed the way the Kapitan's eyes were stuck on the door Ms. Smoak went through to set up the various devices needed for the mission.
And we come to the present day. Vitaly Sokolov's address has been pinpointed, the blueprint of the warehouse pulled up, the cameras around the area displayed on the screen, Sokolov's car has been identified and traced, and I'm tiring my brain trying to think of ways I can keep here with me and with the Bratva (each method ends up with Oliver Queen holding my heart in his hands).
She's absolutely brilliant. She's been here for all of five days, and managed to get into files and decrypt locks and codes some of the best hackers in Russia have been trying to do for five years. Where in the world did Oliver find her?
"It's locked," Oliver's weird growly voice speaks over the comm that I have in my ear and I look at the screen that showcases the camera on his suit to see him and Mr. Diggle come across a large door bolted shut by some high-end technology.
"I'm on it." It takes Ms. Smoak all of ten seconds to unlock the door, and once the green light beeps, Oliver walks effortlessly into the room.
"Pull your bow up I said, make sure no one is there I said, maybe you should have installed those motion sensors I wanted on your suit I said. Does he listen? No." For a minute I think she's talking to herself, I find that she does that sometimes (it's quite amusing to watch), but her eyes are directed at me and I have no idea what to say.
Oliver fills the awkward tension, "Honey. You're doing it again."
She winces and I give her a small smile, "Sorry. Keep going."
Minutes later, Vitaly Sokolov is on the other end of an Arrow, rolling his eyes and complaining in a thick Russian accent, "What? You're going international now?"
Felicity turns off both her comms and mine so that we can take a minute and let out the snort of laughter that threatens to blow out before she turns her headpiece back on,
"And that's one point for Team Arrow. Come home, Oliver."
Home. Only this time, we're not in Starling City. We're in Russia. But Oliver doesn't hesitate in doing exactly what his woman tells him to do, taking his place by her side as soon as he enters the dingy bar. His hand automatically goes to her back, resting there, and she leans into his touch, tucking her head under his chin. I see the toughest women of our family swoon and adoringly gaze at them. The Kapitan and his women.
Home. There's that word again.
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I'm at the Russian airport only days later, on a runway that holds a great, big, fancy plane that apparently owns. I shake and kiss her hand as she comes out of the bathroom, and watch as she flusters and turns a shade of red before winding up on one of her odd rambling tangents,
"Not that I don't want you coming to Starling or anything, I'm not telling you how to live your life, I'm not telling you anything actually, I would never tell you what to do. I just thought that with the Bratva here...am I allowed to say that aloud? Is that like, a taboo subject or something, like we have to use code names and...Oliver, this is the part where you stop me!"
She glares up at the man who just came to stand beside her after helping the pilot load the bags (half of it was Felicity's technology) and is smiling at her as if she was the sun that his planet revolved around.
After noticing that her partner isn't going to do anything but smile at her like a lovesick fool (I still cannot believe that this is the same Oliver I befriended all those years ago), she gives me a little wave, wince, and sorry.
I refocus my attention on Oliver, who smiles at me, his face free of most of the darkness he was harboring the last time I saw him.
"It was good seeing you again my dear old friend." I pull him in for a hug.
"I should be saying that to you. Are those streaks of gray in your hair Anatoly?" I pull back in mock anger, to see him smile cheekily, traces of the boy that was shipwrecked on the island showing for the first time since I met him.
"I hope the next time I see you, you have reading glasses on, balancing on a cane as you read to your grandchildren, Oliver Queen, we'll see who the laughing stock is then."
He just laughs at the comment, showing me that the boy who got shipwrecked on the island (the boy who would have shuttered and closed himself off immediately,) is truly gone, and he looks at the women beside him (who has always been beside him) fondly, as if imagining my words before looking back to me and saying,
"I really hope that the next time I see you won't be that far along the line."
I nod, hoping the same even though there is no reason for our paths to cross that often anymore. The Bratva in Star City is not a good idea (despite a Kapitan already there) and the Green Arrow in Russia is a terrible idea. But maybe Anatoly Knyazev can come to Star City and Oliver Queen can make visits to Russia.
We stand in a comfortable silence after that, a silence that can't help but break, "Wow, is it always this cold here? I don't remember it being this cold the last time. Well, the last time we were helping Dig bust into a prison by being arrested and the adrenaline and fear that accompanied it were enough to keep me warm. Oh, and let's not forget all the anger about the Isabel thing. Which, I am still not over because, seriously Oliver, Isabel Rochev. She was a snake before she was a snake."
Oliver wraps his arms around Felicity's waist and pulls her closer, brushing a kiss on top her hair, murmuring the words so quietly no one else but she and I can hear.
"Let's go home."
And as I watch the plane fly off into the distance, to Star City (still not getting used to the name), I have to laugh at the fact that Oliver Queen still hasn't figured out what home really means yet.
Home isn't a place, or a building. It's a lighthouse. The aspect of feeling safe, comforted, cherished and loved is home. Smiling, laughing and dreaming are home. Home, is people, is emotions, is a feeling.
Oliver Queen didn't have a home to go to when we last parted on the island, because through the death of both him and his dad, and the Hood that he vowed to wear to protect the city, he gave up the home he once had. He gave up his mom and sister for the city, for the Hood. The man that came to Russia two years ago didn't think that he would ever get that feeling of home ever again. Little did he know that he was in the process of creating a whole new home for him in the form of John Diggle and Felicity Smoak.
He has that now. He has a home. He has his sister, Laurel Lance (was actually really surprised to hear about that one, especially with all the history that those two share), Sara Lance, John Diggle. They're all aspects of what makes his home safe, and happy.
His home itself lies in Felicity Smoak.
It doesn't matter whether he is in Russia, or Starling, or Bali, he is always going to be home as long as he has with him. She, in every way, makes him feel safe, loved, and proud. He goes out in the field every single day with the sole purpose of coming back home to Felicity in one piece. With her, there is no need for false pretenses, or hidden secrets. She's accepting of all of him, good and bad, and it's the reason why he always seems to gravitate towards her, always finding his place by her side. She's his home.
And by the way, she looks at him. The way she doesn't seem to breathe completely until she sees him again. The way she could be in Russia, or Starling or Bali and still smile, ramble and laugh comfortably.
Oliver Queen is Felicity Smoak's home too.
Here's to hoping that they realize it soon.
What a funny thing home is.
"TO ME, SHE WAS THOSE FINAL STEPS, THE TURN AROUND THE LAST BEND, THE HOUSE WITH A LIGHT ON, AND A FIRE LIT, AND A FAINT LAUGH IN THE DISTANCE ON THE WARM WIND. THAT WAS SHE. SHE WAS ALWAYS COMING HOME." –Atticus
Anatoly Knyazev is glad that Oliver Queen found his home in Felicity Smoak.