A/N: this part is merely the ending to an arc not the full story, just to clarify my last author's note.

Empty Merlyn Global Warehouse

He slipped and trudged through the mud and rain towards him. He heard a low moan emanating from Diggle's lips as he shifted in the dirt. The sheer relief that his best friend wasn't dead made him fall to his knees next to him.

"Digg…you're okay…" he panted, hovering over the soldier in the muddy puddle. Oliver lifted his head into the crook of his arm and pulled his shirt to look at bullet proof vest beneath.

Once a vest eats a bullet, it's done, the fibers unweave and it loses its integrity. On inspection, the second bullet's impact was absorbed but would've caused more damage than the first. To be murdered by your own gun. Digg's ghost would probably come back to haunt him and kick him the balls for letting that happen.

John groaned and tried to shift again, his breathing ragged. Oliver held him down before he induced more trauma to himself. "Don't move, man. You probably have internal bleeding." He imagined Digg's abdomen was abused with mottled red and purple flesh. He wasn't fatally shot but he was still grievously wounded as a vital organ may have burst.

He contemplated how he was going to carry his very-heavy, severely injured friend to the van, while he himself had fractured ribs and couldn't even remember what day it was.

He wiped the blood and rain that fell into his eye and stared at Diggle, psyching himself up to do it. Slowly, he bent and gingerly lifted his flaccid arm, maneuvered it around his shoulders. "C'mon Digg…we're getting out of here." He braced his legs and pulled him to his feet, both of them making a barrage of horrible noises. The slippery dirt and the hundred pounds of Digg's muscle nearly made his knees buckle. He ground his feet and forced himself to take a shaky step forward, and another.

"John!" He heard the rain calling. Oliver thought he dreamt it, given how heavy his head felt. Then there were the sounds of a vehicle, he saw it blundering towards them through the downpour. Oliver fumbled for an arrow with clumsy fingers. He doubted he would last five seconds against the weakest of henchmen, but if this was a threat no way was he letting them anywhere close to his best friend without getting a fight from him first.

"Johnny!"

There was only one person in the whole world who called Diggle by that name.

Lyla Michaels hopped out of the van and sprinted to them. Oliver muttered his gratitude; the wondrous sight of her almost had him collapsing on hands and knees with the surety that she was going to help him carry Digg.

They hobbled to the back of the van. "Digg called?" He shouted at her through the storm that was diminishing it's fury to a bearable pitter patter.

"Gave me a forewarning; told me to find you two if you didn't report in two hours. I came anyway." She said in that tone she used when she scolded him for the impulsive, borderline insane plans that Oliver normally dragged him into.

Diggle is lucky to have her. "Thank you, Lyla."

They laid Digg on a canvas. Lyla pushed his legs in. He stirred; his hand floating in the air, searching for something. Lyla knew to catch it and squeeze it to her chest affectionately.

His eyelids peeked a fraction, "I must be…seeing things. You must be angel…here to save me," he murmured.

She laughed under her breath and smiled with so much love and tenderness down at him that Oliver had to look away. "It's a good thing you fight better than you flirt, Johnny."

"You're still with me aren't you?"

"Always," she kissed his fingers. Then she glanced at Oliver, who had one foot in the van and the other hanging out in the rain.

She nudged her head to the passenger's seat; "Get in, we're going to the hospital."

"No," he shook his head stubbornly. Digg was in good hands, he had to re-group and finish what they started. "Take me to the foundry, the mission—"

"What mission?" She burst out angrily, "What more could you possibly do?"

"Fine. I'll go myself."

"You are not in fighting shape!"

"I need to—" he eased his other leg out the van; a spasm of pain rippled across his ribs and was mirrored down his spine. He bit down hard on his lip until he tasted blood. If he had intended to make a heroic exit, then he was failing miserably. "—Call Felicity," he rasped, "My sister, I have to know-"

What happened, he meant to say when he heaved against his bike in a fit of coughs, pain clawing at his chest.

Lyla was unconvinced by his woeful display of strength. "You have a concussion. You—"

Digg roused again and shook his head a little. "Let him go," he whispered, and lifted his head slightly to look at Oliver.

Even bleeding to death on the inside, Digg's conviction was stronger than his ever could be. "You…you get them. You make those bastards pay, all of them."

It sounded a lot like a swan song to him, but he knew John was going to make it through tonight. He has too. He wanted to tell him he loved him like a brother, and for goodness sake: thank him for enduring all his bullshit for the past two years. But it went unsaid; they both already knew that.

Oliver gave a tight nod and shut the van doors.

En route to Foundry

"Where's Thea?" He checked-in once the signal had less weather interference within the city limits.

"Do you have him?" Felicity asked eagerly, "Do you have Merlyn?"

"He wasn't there. But Talia was," he gripped the accelerator. The engine of the motorcycle throttled satisfyingly, the dial on the speed meter inching towards ninety miles. He could hear the wind whistling in his ears, the rain drops slide, and lick along the sides of his helmet. He was in no condition to drive, but he needed an outlet for this rage. He let the throbbing pain in his torso mingle with his simmering fury, but even then his chest hurt so much.

"He set her free, Felicity; he set her free," he grit his teeth. "She's gone. Lyla saved us; she took Digg to the hospital. Now, Thea."

Thankfully Felicity answered him this time; "Not at the loft. Roy's searching. Artemis went MIA on him."

"I'm almost there. Get the a first aid kit, I need it."

The doors to the foundry were opening the moment he arrived, his bike tipped over in the garage but he didn't have the energy to lift it.

Felicity's arms were waiting to catch him like a safety net. "Oh no, no, was this all Talia?" He knew he must have looked like he'd just been through a grinder. There was a cut on his hairline where the blood flooding into his eye originated from, another along his jawline, and dozens of scratches he'd received during the grueling tumble down the hill.

His breaths were shallow as he held onto her. Her neck muscles strained as they supported his weight. "Yeah. Good. Fast," it was the only explanation he could manage as a wave of nausea struck him. They stumbled further inside and she lowered him into a chair.

"Did you—did you drive all the way back here?" She said, aghast, her hands were all over him, her brow knitted with concern. She unzipped the top half of his suit and helped him undress.

He nodded listlessly. Then she winced upon seeing the state of his abs as if she was the one in pain. His eyes drooped down, and he saw that he was more bruise than skin. Dark red and angry, yellowing on the edges, they felt hot to the touch, brute evidence of splintered ribs. He tried to normalize his breathing but he felt like he was only causing the broken bones to grate against each other inside him.

Felicity pressed a cold pack to them, soothing the swelling. She bent over him, close enough that he could smell her floral perfume. She cupped his chin and started gently dabbing a wet cloth on the hairline wound. It stung yet felt so, so good because it was her. He wanted to lean back and let the sensations take over, and never have to worry about anything ever again.

But the loud stamp of feet on the steel staircase ruined the moment. Laurel rushed to them.

"Now is really not a good time," Felicity told her sharply, completely focused on bandaging him.

Laurel ignored him and spoke directly to her. "I need you to track Sara's comm, she isn't answering her phone." She looked at him and realized that whatever battle he'd survived, he plainly had not won.

"You didn't get him... Oh crap. This means Talia's going after her, isn't she?" A note of hysteria crept into her tone.

"Artemis…her comm," he murmured to Felicity. "Track it, she wants Talia and Talia wants Sara. Malcolm and Thea are…together I'm sure of it."

She nodded and retreated from him, coldness replaced the warmth in the space she vacated. "I've got nada on street cams, tracking the comms."

He shook his head, trying to shake off the effects of the concussion. "T-The League transponder, don't listen to it. It led us to Merlyn's warehouse, like he wanted, it was a distraction."

Felicity looked at him crossly, her lips tightened and pursed together, "I thought Little Miss Assassin was on our side," she rebuked, low and harsh.

The blame for anything and everything was likely to fall on Artemis, but he couldn't see how she had anything to do with it. Firstly; the transponder was Sara's. Secondly, she couldn't have known Talia would succeed in manipulating Merlyn to release her. And by now, her fellows would be asking why three assassins who had gone to threaten the Arrow had not returned from their task. Why did she even bother going to check on his sister? She could've just killed Roy en route if she wanted too. If she had tampered with the transponder and led them to Talia, wouldn't it have been far easier just to give them a fake address? No. This was all Merlyn.

"We were all fooled," he summarized.

Felicity's jaw dropped, "are you defending her? She totally skipped out on Roy, to do God knows what! She's a trained killer with ambiguous morals! I can't believe I let you go through with this hare-brained idea! What is wrong with me?" She tossed the bloodied towel onto a table with a little more force than was required. The protests she had suppressed before he went to seek Malcolm Merlyn were finally rising up.

His sister was being manipulated by his arch-nemesis, his city was under attack, and none of his friends were safe even in the foundry they had called home for years.

But as Oliver stared at the ceiling; a chuckle escaped his mouth. Because what could you do in such a fucked-up situation, but hopelessly laugh at it? "That's the Felicity I know. You must have been holding back before."

Felicity closed her fists against her glasses as she tried to quell her animosity.

Laurel shook her head at them both, probably thinking it was by pure luck they had managed to prevent the Undertaking and the Siege.

"Well, it wasn't a risk worth taking, since we're back to square one now."

He had been wrong several times over the past new nights. But he wasn't wrong about Artemis. He couldn't explain it, but it was an unshakeable gut feeling he had, that even the pain taking a bite out of his chest could not quash. "She meant it," he said to no one in particular. "She meant it when she said she made a mistake. She's on our side."

Felicity looked sideways at him, uncertain whether she could take his word for it. She exhaled, and got back to business. "Sara told me Artemis is an excellent tracker, better than her, if anyone can find Merlyn, its' her." The screen popped with the location. "She's somewhere near Ashville and—you should not be standing!"

She leapt out of her chair and caught him again, Laurel helping this time.

He grunted and tried to bat their arms away, "I'm coming," he growled.

"No, no mister," it took little effort on her part to force him to lie down on the couch with a pillow elevating his head. "The only place you should be is sitting here, recovering."

He felt strength returning to his legs but his skull was like a pressurized container moments from exploding.

He can't fall unconscious now, he can't.

"I have to find Merlyn. Thea…"

When he forced his eyes open, he knew he had nodded off for at least half a minute because she was already in a raincoat, snatching the keys to the van. Laurel was tagging along. "Roy is tracking her and we have ARGUS monitoring the air fields. The city is swarming with League; someone is bound to catch up to Malcolm. We'll find her."

He snatched her wrist before she could leave, he had to do something, warn her at least, he couldn't let anyone else get hurt. "Felicity, if Talia's there…"

She placed her soft, warm hand over his and gently removed it. She dragged a blanket over him. He latched onto her cool, calm, flat voice as darkness sat on the edges of his sight waiting for him to join it. "Then Artemis will know what to do with her; it's not up for discussion, you won't last another fight. I'll bring them home, I promise."

Starling Bridge

Thea closed her eyes. Random fragments of the killings flashed through her head. One day they'll be a memory she tried to tell herself, but now they were brutally, brutally real. She had flung her closet open in search for any kind of liquor she could drown herself in. It enraged her to her core when she found none. She took a shower, scrubbed the stranger's blood off, and cried. She had to leave the loft or she was going to lose her mind.

The traffic was heavy on the bridge to get into the East. She wasn't ready to leave Starling. Not when everything was turning around for her.

But could she even go back to Verdant? With its vast empty space, where ghosts of who she was before roamed? Before everything went to shit?

"You alright, m'am?" The taxi driver asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Not a ghost. Me. Myself. In a mirror. She had forced herself to look into one as she hurried to bandage herself. The dark circles under her eyes made her look as if she'd aged ten years. The wounds on her chest, arm and calf were shallow, and their pain was alleviated by painkillers. She mumbled a response that threatened to burst into a sob and he didn't speak with her for the rest of the journey.

She had chosen this. Chosen to be strong, not soft. She thought of her mother, her brother. She tried to remember her father's face, not Malcolm's. The father who'd raised her, and found that she couldn't remember and that made her more upset, leaving her with this hollow feeling in her chest.

She paid the taxi driver an absurd fare to get her into the Glades since all the services wanted to avoid the district and the gang violence. He dropped her off at the back of the club, at the part gated off and deemed hazardous. She would walk the rest of the distance to the meeting point.

She thought no one, other than homeless people or thrill seekers ever dared to climb over the gates—so it threw her to see a large black van barrage from that direction and onto the street, narrowly missing the taxi's bumper.

Thea blinked in confusion and turned back towards the barbed gates. NO ENTRY.

The person she was this morning would not have given into the thrill of sneaking into the abandoned, unsafe property of a steel mill— but the person she was now, had a sudden hunger for it. She licked her lips and took a running start. She climbed, and landed on the other side of the fencing, keeping her knees soft. She'd had experience with sneaking out of the mansion, sneaking in didn't seem too different from that.

She hesitated. What in the hell are you doing, Thea? You could get mugged, or beaten, or…

And then it hit home that she was probably the most dangerous person within a two mile radius.

She followed in the general direction of the van's skid marks, using the her phone's flashlight. When she reached the dark outline of the mill, towering over her like a behemoth, there were two garage doors at a ninety degree angle to each other. She tried to open the one on her right, but it wouldn't budge. She was panting with exertion and tried the door in front, and met the same result.

Someone's inside here. In a fit of rage she kicked the steel door, bang, bang, bang, alerting anyone on the other side that they had an angry visitor. The metal reverberated, but of course, nothing changed. Oliver said the basement was flooded. But maybe he was wrong. She had learnt a lot from Malcolm, and the skillset he gave her did not forgo B&E.

She tried not to think about what else she had used that skillset for.

She found the auto-lock at the bottom of the door. After tinkering with her switchblade she heard the mechanical cranks of gears turning and the doors started to lift open.

…

He was swimming in a dark ocean. The deeper he went, the less the pain was felt. He swam through levels of it. The bruising that would fade in a week and would be dull and sore whenever he tried to bend or move those limbs. Those he could control. The broken ribs he couldn't see were a deeper, more lasting pain. The throbbing in his head made him feel like a piece of meat someone had enjoyed tenderizing with a mallet. That was what kept him underwater the most.

"Oliver?"

He swam to the surface trying to locate the person who called his name. When he broke it, he moaned and tried to steady his breathing, digging his arm against his ribs. The pain made him lose focus.

"Oh my God…" Felicity? How long was he out for? Could she have returned this quickly?

"Oliver…" They inhaled sharply as if only just recognizing his injured state.

"Oliver!" Knees slapped on the ground near his head. They grabbed his shoulders and shook him. He wished they hadn't.

He screamed and groaned in one breath. He cracked open his eyes a centimeter. Saw his sister staring down at him.

"Thea?" But he could only sputter a choked version of her name. Was he still dreaming? Was this a nightmare? Another one of Malcolm's ceaseless tricks?

But her hands felt real as they removed the blanket and probed his wounds, the pain flared and he almost lost consciousness again. Her voice seemed far away, as if drifting to him through a dense fog. She apologized, then cursed, and then whispered something to herself. She sounded angry.

And then he knew he was definitely awake. And it was indeed, his little sister, kneeling over him in the foundry, the secret he had tried desperately for two years to hide from her, revealed.

…

Thea didn't have the volition to cry anymore. She ran her tear ducts dry crying over the people she'd killed. Their young faces were blurred in her memory and she didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But Oliver Queen, her big brother, was the Arrow.

The mother-fucking Arrow.

"Ollie." He was really out of it, taken a cruel beating that should have landed him in the hospital but instead he was here, all alone. In the basement… of my club. She slapped his face to rouse him; he couldn't sleep on her, not when a million things about him had become crystal clear.

His lashes fluttered. "T-Thea," at least that was what he tried to say.

"Shut up. Not now. What the hell were you thinking?" She lashed out at him for no identifiable reason.

His chest expanded as he let air in and out of his throat with controlled movements; each contraction and relaxation made the oxblood red welts change a shade.

"Yeah. You weren't," she said flatly even though he never answered her, because she realized she was mad at him for putting himself in a position that could cost him his life. "But you're not going to die on me. No fucking way. Not like this."

How many times had he stumbled into the Verdant basement, bleeding like this, constantly on the verge of death? While she was upstairs, ignorant, laughing and entertaining club guests? She skirted over the lair's details. It was somewhat comforting that he wasn't alone in this crusade. He looked out for Roy, and Roy looked out for him.

All those times he'd looked discomforted by something on his body, suppressed a moan when he sat down at dinner, the bullshit motorcycle accidents he kept having. All that pain he'd endured trying to save someone's life.

Saving her life.

She blew air out as she tried to calm her racing mind and the battling emotions tearing her up inside. Ollie didn't need her to be a crying mess, or a vengeful bitch. He didn't deserve that. The lies didn't matter in the end. Her brother was a hero and he needed her help.

She wished she was a better candidate though. She searched the basement, unsure of what she would need. It looked like his partners left in a hurry. She should at least be able to stabilize him long enough to remain alert.

When she had an armful of supplies she turned and saw him trying to prop himself into sitting position, putting an immense amount of strain on his torso, stretching and tearing the blotchy flesh further.

"Don't move!" She screeched, falling to her knees beside him.

"Thea," he whispered, finally getting her name right. "You…you shouldn't be here."

"I'm not leaving you, Ollie." She flattened another icepack on the swelling and fixed the blanket over him.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out like this. I swear," his words were thick and anguished, there was a wetness in his eye. "If-if you don't ever want to speak to me again. I'll understand."

No matter how she found out the truth, the earth-shattering shock of it would have remained the same. But she was glad their relationship was at a new level.

"I didn't want to find out like this either. But I understand— I'm trying too, just stay still." She adjusted his right hand on the couch, "I think you sprained your wrist, rest it at this angle and I'll put a brace on it. They're also a few scratches that need cleaning."

He smirked weakly but also a little confused, "Alright, Dr. Thea."

It was just the kind of lame joke he would make. Even when he was in agony he still had a shit sense of humor. This is Oliver, alright, if there was ever any doubt about it. He may be the Arrow, but he is still my brother, inside and out.

"I guess a hospital visit is out of the question?" She asked as she put a smaller ice pack on the inflamed joint.

"Yeah I don't do those." She moved his hand through the brace; he must have a high tolerance for pain because he didn't flinch when she did it, or when she dabbed at his hands with antiseptic cream.

"I know it means nothing now. But I kept this from you, to protect you," though his speech was slowed by the effects of head trauma, his previously dull-green eyes were brimming with remorse.

"I know you did." It hurt to see him in pain though, and maybe the harsh reality and life and death situations of his alter ego was what he'd tried to protect her from.

"I wanted to tell you sooner. But things haven't been going well for the city. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She sat by his legs on the couch. "Did mum know?"

"She figured it out, just before." They fell silent, he was staring at the ceiling, but they both felt similar pangs of grief in their hearts. "Are…are you okay?" He looked at her. "You're bleeding."

In the shocking fifteen minutes she'd just had she had not noticed her own injuries, much less remembered her reason for even being anywhere near Verdant. The cut on her arm had re-opened, blood trickled down. She tugged her coat sleeve to cover it, and pretended it was no big deal.

"Some people came after me. I should've listened to you when you told me to leave."

He started to shift with urgency, "Hold, hold on," he said hoarsely. "I… Roy he-he went to the loft, he said—", He eyes widened as it dawned on him what an ordeal she had been through. His breath came out in short gasps, "Wh—how did you fight them off? What happened?"

"Malcolm showed up," the lie came easily. She had seen who Oliver truly was, but she wasn't ready for him to see her. She loathed herself even more for lying to him when his secret was unveiled all around her. She clasped his arm to calm his shallow, fretful breaths. "I'm fine. I just needed to get out of there."

"So you came here, instead." A crooked, rueful smile embellished his lips.

"It's been a crazy night," she agreed half-heartedly, though she had made herself so upset it hurt to return the smile.

"I expected you to be angry."

"I was only angry when people kept secrets about my life from me. This is much better."

"I can't believe you're here. That you know."

She patted his hand, "I gave you so much crap for this."

He snorted, his shoulders shook a little in what was a chuckle, "Trust me, some of it was well-deserved. I'm just happy that you know the truth, and that you're safe."

"Does Malcolm know?"

His jaw was clenched as he nodded. She felt a ball of resentment growing in her stomach.

"I tried to kill him, during the Undertaking." Her eyes widened. She never knew who had done the deed, but the revelation that it was her brother AKA the Arrow put another dimension to Oliver she had never acknowledged could exist. The island really did a number on him.

"Now he's back and I-" he paused, his muscles stiffened. "I can't kill him. I should, but...I promised Tommy."

She gulped upon hearing that name uttered. She saw the assassin she killed in the forefront of her mind, his bloody throat smiling at her with its jagged teeth.

"Promised him that you would never kill again?"

Oliver nodded, from the look on his face; he was still grieving for that loss.

"Sometimes, I wished I killed Slade," he confessed, "but I can't be that kind of man, or hero. Not anymore. This city...you, you deserve better."

She chewed the inside of her cheek, she didn't know how to respond to that. She could still make it back to who she was, if she chose too. But she didn't know whether she should or not. "I should go," she said suddenly, standing. Afraid that if she stayed longer the guilt and shame would bubble up in her and spew out of her mouth like vomit.

Oliver's brow wrinkled at her abruptness. "You don't have too, Speedy."

"No," she wiped her sweaty palms against her coat. She had to leave. She didn't belong here. The history of the Arrow was her brother's history upon returning to Staring. He'd saved them, the city, from the brink. Twice. He had made it back from far more drastic circumstances, alive. Oliver was a hero.

"I don't want to get in the way."

"You won't," he pressed, discrediting her excuse, he started to sit upright.

She stopped him with upraised hands. "I just…I just—I need to be alone now. I-I can't explain it but, I've been given a lot to think about and-and I need to sort out my life," she said vehemently, shaking her fists, saying anything to get him to remain where he was.

It frightened her that she had taken two lives. The effort it took to reach that point was evident on the wounds she earned. But the killing…it had been easy. So easy. She felt like she was falling down a long dark tunnel, the chasm widening, had to claw herself from the edge or tumble down even further. And then I'll be lost forever.

Perhaps her initial outburst: "what the hell were you thinking?" Was not because she did not understand why he would risk his life for the many—but because…the world was no place for heroes. At least, not people who chose the likes of Malcolm Merlyn to run to for help and guidance and safety. She had never thought herself capable of the killing a person but she had done it. This world was gray and full of monsters, herself included. Anyone trying to separate the color into a black and white moral compass was wasting their time.

He blinked slowly, his mind still fatigued, he couldn't quite grasp the indefinite reason she gave. A less concussed Oliver would've been on his feet, demanding answers. After all, this was only the beginning, there was so much more to be said between them.

He licked his dry lips and jerked his head in assent, "Okay. The foundry isn't secure anyway." He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand, and pointed with his finger. "There's a burner phone in that cupboard, take it. And a tracker, wear it, no, no you have too—" he held up his index before she could protest; "I don't want to hear it. I'm not losing you out there again. In the phone is a list of safe houses I have, go to one of them and call Roy; he'll stay with you until daylight."

She didn't have a choice but to obey. She got the items and went to him, reached out and hugged him.

"Stay safe, I'll see you soon, Speedy," he murmured. The nickname reached into her heart and tugged in a manner that caused discomfort, and found that she could still form tears. It wanted to make her hold on longer. But bit by bit, she slowly opened her arms, the space between them growing and growing. She blinked away the tears before he could see them and mustered a smile.

"See you soon, Ollie."

East Starling

There had been too much blood in Thea Queen's loft for it to have been hers alone. Someone had died there, judging from the splatter pattern and the way the blood pooled on the floor. Red (she knew his name was Roy but using it felt too personal for her comfort. Codenames were acceptable. Real names were too familiar) could not interpret the evidence like she did. She ditched him because he would only slow her down.

She would have preferred to be paired with Oliver to apprehend Talia but he didn't trust her to be near her. He had solid reasons though. Likewise, she only trusted a person as far as she could throw them. Nevertheless, they settled for this plan and she had no choice but to agree to it.

Thea's connection to Merlyn was known only by a select few of Talia's most trusted lieutenants, which was once me. Talia had no interest in seeing Merlyn face justice; she relished in the chaos the bounty on his head brought. Anything to destabilize my father's reign, she had promised her in the year Sara had disappeared to Starling. Once his throne topples, you can kill him yourself for executing your mother without trial, you have my word.

That evil bitch.

Oliver's sister was likely to be with her father now. She was the best tracker in the League, (a title previously held by Sara.) She had been bestowed the name Al-Sayad for a reason. Al-Sayad meant 'The Hunter'.

If anyone was going to find Thea, it was her.

Ashville and 12th, East Starling

Talia was free. The transmissions going across the League transponder told her as much. Safety is an illusion. Sensei had taught her. He was right. She had to get back to Laurel ASAP and call her dad.

The arrow came out of nowhere.

Her bo-staff scarcely flicked it to the ground. She dropped her phone, senses amplifying as tried to locate where it hailed from. She was in a parking lot by an abandoned flat. Her heart skipped a little when the dumpster lid closed, but it was only an alley cat. No one rushed her, but she was doing herself no favors by remaining out in the open waiting to get skewered.

She dashed for the alley, when more arrows flew at her. She vaulted over one with her staff and whacked the next two before they came close.

A chilling thought came to light of what this was: an ambush.

She scanned the rooftops for them, whoever they were. Talia. She found me.

She gulped, for the first time in long while she was afraid for her own life. There was a certain coldness down her spine, a tightness to her throat. She didn't like the feeling.

Sara sensed a presence behind her and spun around, raising her staff. He wore a mask but she knew immediately who he was.

"Malcolm," she growled it venomously. There was plenty of unfinished business here. It was not the League that deserved justice, but Starling City, and she intended to collect it with blood.

"Taer-Al-Asfar." He raised his already nocked bow. She knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill her either.

They circled each other, "This confrontation feels long overdue," said Malcolm with glacier-like coldness.

A wry smirk accompanied a mocking chuckle from her; "I'll make sure it ends quickly."

She sprang forward and drove at him, the bo-staff alive in her hands. His arrows never touching her, he pressed his attack with his bow-stave. He turned one cut but she continued jabbing for his pressure points. The carbon bowstave sang against the steel of her staff, scratching and battering against it.

High, low, left, right backslash. Her staff caught in the fencing that he had backed into, and for a moment she thought she was done. His bow whammed her stomach and she coiled over. Sara detached the bo-staff into two parts; right hand pulling the stuck one whilst the other clubbed his neck. Once she freed it, she reassembled it as he shot at her, she vaulted over the broadhead and kicked his chest.

He stumbled on a crack on the cement, but he went to one knee instead of falling, and he never lost a beat, leaping up to block the downcut she meant to crush his skull with. He pushed her off him. He was a worthy opponent, with years of experience on me, she acknowledged. But she wouldn't shed a tear to see him six feet below ground. She had to keep fighting.

They battled on, yet she couldn't get close enough to deliver a blow worth a damn. He shot at her again and again fighting to regain his balance. She pinned him to the wall, cursed as he slipped away, she followed him around the parking lot.

...

Artemis zoned in on a trail for Merlyn somewhere near the edge of the Glades. I get his sister and he gives me Talia. She decided to leave out the detail where she had given his location to Adeline Kane. Queen would never have accepted the alliance if she knew how much danger she had put him in.

She bore the guilt for that, and she hated that she felt guilty at all.

"Are we bad people?" She had asked Sara, in the early days of their friendship. Just after her mother's execution-without-trial. Back when she was shorter than Sara and her archery technique had been mediocre. Back when she was a depressed, reclusive, quiet teen who hardly spoke to anyone.

"Yes," she had answered, truthfully. She always told me the truth. "But there are people worse than us, and we stop them."

"But I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill that man, even though he did terrible things," she confessed, speaking of a botched training mission to assassinate a drug lord. Her self-worth had declined rapidly after that. "I'm weak and everyone sees it."

"No you're not," and Sara had always refused to let her believe that. "You see value in a human life, even the most decrepit of them. That's the closest thing we have to innocence in this place, Arty. Don't ever let it go."

…

"Not bad, for a little bird," Merlyn panted, in a moment of respite. She circled to his right. He laughed a ragged, breathless laugh. "Truth is; neither of should be alive. Why are we even fighting? Both of us couldn't keep a vow to the League, even if you believe that you still deserve to be one of them. Why must we kill each other over them?"

"I'm not going kill you for the League. I'm going to kill you because you deserve to die." Grunting, she came at him, staff whirling, her arms ached but she charged on. He moved effortlessly away from her, always evasive. Then Merlyn aimed somewhere far above her, she looked up and moved out of the way as an electric cable snapped down, coiled and whipped like a cobra snake spitting sparks.

In the distraction Sara missed the uneven ground, it gave under her foot. As she felt herself falling, she twisted the mischance into a diving lunge. The point of the staff scraped past his parry and drove into his inner thigh, he stumbled and it was enough for Sara to ram her shoulder into his legs, bringing him down.

They rolled, kicking and punching until finally she was sitting astride him. He managed to jerk his dagger from its sheath, but before he could plunge it into her belly she caught his wrist. She twisted and slammed his hand down onto the ground, wrenching hard, aiming to dislocate his shoulder. His other fist darted out and decked her chin, her jaw cracked; blood filled her mouth when she bit her tongue. He tried to throw her off but she kept him pinned.

His eyes went round, because she had endured the jarring effects of the punch. She wasn't the defenseless college girl he had known seven years ago. She was an assassin. Her fingers itched to his throat, she was going to win.

This was the man who sabotaged the Gambit, who killed Sara Lance when she drowned in a watery grave in the sea. Who started this aching, painful, harrowing journey they had suffered for so long for, and she was going to end it.

Then something violently slammed into her back. Once…twice…

Malcolm and Sara looked down at her chest. Two arrow points stuck out of it, slick, dark and red on the razor tips.

Sara doesn't feel her fingers loosen on Merlyn's neck. Nor was she conscious of him flipping her over. He was standing; Malcolm almost smiled in triumph but looked disdainfully at her. She lied on her side on the ground, a dull throbbing growing in intensity inside her. She tried to move but was instantly immobilized as agony started to overtake her senses; she was deaf to every sound save for the desperate pounding of her heart in her ears struggling to clench blood to the rest of her body and keep her alive.

…

She came in from the west, towards the car park, running. The closer she ran; the more it came into view until there was nothing blocking her from her worst nightmare…

Artemis shrieked when she saw Sara with two arrows impaled in her chest, her knees weakened as she reached her. At the sound of bowstring drawn she drew her own sword. She whipped the first shaft out of the air but the next punched her in the stomach.

Groaning, Artemis fell to her knees, her abdomen burning. The beat of footsteps pulled her focus away from the pain. She held her sword high - it was kicked anticlimactically out of her hand. The League assassin grabbed her mask and pulled it off, exposing her to the world and then pointed an arrow between her eyes.

"NO!" Someone yelled, but it wasn't her. It was the assassin's partner, not someone she recognized. She was slim, tall; short light brown hair peeked out of her hood. "Don't…it's enough, please," the partner's voice had the unmistakable pitch inexperience. It wavered between a plea and a command.

Artemis shuddered, there was little fight left within her at this moment. Sara was dead. There is nothing left at all to fight for, she thought staring at the point of the arrow that was going to kill her.

She saw the glimmer in his dead eyes as he contemplated it. She couldn't see his face, but he saw hers, saw her aching, her pitiful grief, he had already won. He lowered his bow and bent down so close to her that she could see that his eyes were pale blue and translucent, they stared deeply into her own. The cold wash of fear thrashed against the red-hot scorch of the arrow.

"Aren't you relieved you don't have to die today?" He whispered menacingly and twisted the arrow inside her. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stifled a cry.

"My dear child. You can be my messenger. Send the Canary's body to Oliver Queen for me," he seized her chin.

"Tell him the Dark Archer sends his regards."

He pulled the arrow out of her. Half a heartbeat passed before the gruelling pain ensued. She was barely conscious that she fell to her hands. She screamed. She didn't know how long she remained there, keeling over the ground. When she looked up, the Dark Archer and his partner were gone. She tried to assess the arrow's damage. Her stomach wound would bleed out slowly, it needed medical attention or she would die here too.

Eventually she managed to move, and crawled to Taer-Al-Asfar's side, heart in her mouth.

There was a dark pool encircling her, and she saw that she was still alive.

Sara looked directly at her. And then, in the longest time she could recall, her pale, freckled, face spilt into a smile. "Arty…what are you doing here?"

"We're going to get you help," she whispered, half weeping half-wincing at her own injury.

Sara's lips frothed with red. She removed the mask off her face delicately as if it was wafer-thin and would crumble beneath her touch. Artemis held her underarms and groaned as she moved to get to her feet. Sara stopped her by gripping her hand with every ounce of strength she had left, and shook her head.

Deep down, she knew that the arrows in her were fatally close to her heart, and Sara knew it too.

"Go," she muttered; without so many words, telling Artemis to save herself, because even if she was dying, she still put others before herself.

She would rather die than leave her.

"I…" Artemis could not even think of any words to say, as the tears started to fall. She gently laid her hand on her cheek. She had lived in pain, taught to inflict it, been ruled by it. But none of that could even compare to this moment.

"I'm sorry," Sara rasped, and coughed, blood flecked her mouth.

But that's what I'm supposed to say. "What are you apologizing for?" She wondered if Sara was delirious, if death was closer than she thought, ushering her to it.

She gave a small, faint sigh. "I shouldn't…have…made you…stay. You deserved…to be free."

She shook her head. "Stop it." She was blind with tears. "It's my fault. All of this. I was mad and stupid…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she choked. It wasn't enough of an apology, nothing she said would ever be enough to atone for her sins.

"I taught you… to be good. I tried… I did."

She nodded. "You did." Sara's hair was like sheets of liquid golden sunshine, she brushed a strand behind her ear.

"You do right… by them," her breaths were coming out short and raw. "Fight for more…end this." She had no idea what Sara meant, or why it should matter considering her body's clock on this Earth was on borrowed time too. But if this was her last wish then she would fulfill it, die believing that she had tried to her last breath to be more than the expendable shadow soldier the demons wanted her to be.

"Sara." Her voice cracked. Her own head and body reeling in pain, so much pain; in her chest, in her heart, and in her bones, everywhere. She cradled her head, her fingers caked in dried blood. "Sara, please."

Her eyes, azure blue, were starting to dull. "It's okay. Arty. It's okay."

"No," she said fiercely. "No it's not."

The world fell away, she felt numb, and terribly alone. Artemis stayed unmoving, barely breathing, holding on. Sara gave one last long, racking sigh and turned her face to her shoulder, and the light went out behind her eyes.

A/N: I am truly, truly sorry. But I'd planned for this death even before Season 3 began. It hurt to even upload this chapter. And yes, Thea shot the arrows.

When she fights, she hears Malcolm's voice giving her instructions, but is that because of months of training or due to the effects of a certain drug?

I'll leave it for you to decide. The question will be thrown around by Team Arrow next, and I know the answer, but I'm not going to really explain it in the storyline.