To Be a Bird of Prey
Origins
II. The Coveted
Chapter Seven
"You really need to start asking me before offering my services to everyone."
Helena Bertinelli's annoyed voice reached her ears even before her eyes could make out her silhouette against the dim lighting of Verdant's back alley, and Felicity's stiff back tensed further where she stood next to Sara – whose willingness to make offers in both their names her new partner didn't seem to appreciate.
"A text telling me to come here doesn't really cut it," The Huntress added once she was out of the shadows, her eyes cutting over Felicity; the latter clutched her bag tighter.
There was a beat, where Sara spared Helena a look that appeared to carry some unspoken meaning, before she said, "We don't have much time. They've already begun killing people."
Helena pursed her lips. "So, tell me," she prompted dryly, "what exactly can I do for Starling City tonight?"
She didn't get her answer right away, and Felicity belatedly realized Sara had turned to her, expecting her to take over. And the words just got stuck in her throat.
She had done this a thousand times over, run point on missions, but her footing wasn't even anymore; she could cling to Sara for familiarity but Helena was the break in the pattern, the unknown variable, and Felicity fumbled, because this wasn't her team; these weren't John and Oliver, flanking her sides and falling in step with her as she talked about points of entry and contingency plans.
"Felicity?" Sara called to her, still waiting.
Just imagine they're Digg and Oliver, she told herself. Imagine it's the same as it used to be.
She closed her eyes, counted to three; John would stand right where Helena was, serious but expectant, waiting for her to run the situation by him so his strategist's mind could filter through it, and Oliver would probably be out of sight by now, reaching for the leather and the bow. Talk to me, Felicity.
"There are five of them," she spoke, blinking her eyes open, "from what I could see. They cut the camera feeds going in, but they weren't fast enough on one of them. There's five robbers, ten hostages – " She gulped, amending it to, "Well, nine now, including the bank's employees."
Helena's face was impassive, her eyes going to Sara for a moment. Eventually, she clucked her tongue. "So...what's the plan?"
It was unnerving, Felicity thought. She was unnerving.
She motioned for the two women to follow her, to the foundry's secondary entrance, and felt the pain in her still-healing wrist flare up. A year or so ago, it was Helena who had bound her wrists together, made them ache afterward; this time around, she had been the one to break the cuffs on her hand, and now, she was going to help her get nine strangers out of their own binds. And all of that, Felicity was pretty sure, was because of Sara.
She punched in the code, pulling the metal door open when the system beeped, and fumbled again when she was met with complete darkness. Even after they had clocked out for the night, there used to always be some light in the basement, be it the dim glow of her computers or the few energy-saving overhead lights they left on, even after they had shut down the ones in the main area; it was all dark now, though.
She'd forgotten about that.
Clearing her throat, she fished for her phone, all the while aware of the two leather-clad women at her back; she was fairly confident they were having some sort of silent conversation with their eyes again behind her.
She had her phone in hand and the flash on eventually, letting it provide the light they'd need to get to the main switch.
It was so quiet. Even her flats echoed against the floor in the silence.
Felicity sped up her steps, just to get to the switch faster, just to chase away the cold feeling in her chest at seeing her home as empty and as eerie as a ghost house.
She pushed the lever up, breathing in deeply when the lights blinked and flickered, before they were finally shining through the space; it made her feel warmer, safer, and she nearly skipped over to her computers, turning them on.
This was her home.
And as soon as she was in her chair, the words were just pouring out. "I uploaded everything I dug up before on a cloud, so we'll have it here in a minute, and now I can get heat signature readings and get into the PD's scanner to see what they're doing, and I'm pulling up the live feed from the scene right now – "
The trusty keyboard under her fingers felt so lovely she only barely refrained from taking a moment to just hug it to her chest, but that would mean she would have to pause in her keystrokes which was just not happening any time soon. Her monitors were filling with all the data she was pulling up; a few clicks and one was showing the news reports, the second an infrared streaming of her go-to NSA satellite alongside real-time transcripts of the police scanner – a nifty upgrade of her own design – and the third was displaying schematics.
She knew she was grinning when she whirled her chair around, and for a moment, just one, it was Diggle and Oliver who stood under the fluorescent lights, all serious frowns broken by proud smiles; she blinked, and it was two pairs of blue eyes behind black masks staring back at her.
"You okay?" Sara asked softly.
"Um, yeah." She cleared her throat. "So – " she spun back to her screens – "the heat signatures show there are three additional robbers, one on each point of entry. The hostages are all here – " she pointed to the stationary red-and-yellow blurbs – "and there are still nine of them, so that's good. This one here," she added more quietly, gesturing to the completely unmoving, fading signature, "is the one they killed."
"What sort of weapons do they have?" Sara prompted.
"Based on what the PD reported, they've got some major firepower. Military riffles, definitely black market stuff and – excuse me, what are you doing?"
She turned to Helena sharply, where the other woman was apparently perusing Diggle's gun collection at her leisure.
"Actually, I was looking for the ammo." Helena turned her back to her, lifting her coat away to show her the two holstered guns that rested neatly at her lower back, and grinned over her shoulder. "But," she added, letting the black leather fall back into place, "this is quite the collection you have here." She moved along the shelves, letting her gloved fingers skim the casings, until one particular label seemed to have caught her eye. "A rocket launcher?" she threw over her shoulder. "Really?"
Felicity gritted her teeth. "Don't touch that."
Helena's crooked grin slipped, eyes narrowing behind the mask. She raised her hands up and away next, as if to say she was complying with her orders.
"Anything about that SWAT team moving in?" she inquired dryly, trekking back to the computers. "I wouldn't want them to get in our way."
Pulling in a deep breath, Felicity turned to her second monitor. "They're still on standby," she said. "Mostly because they have no way of going in without being seen – downsides of pretty glass walls, I guess. The robbers have a lookout at all three entry points besides the main door," she reiterated, flicking her good wrist to gesture towards the blurbs of the men in question, "so they'd see a SWAT team coming from a mile away. And they've already made it clear that they mean business, so the PD doesn't want to risk it. They're still trying negotiations."
"I don't think it's working," Helena remarked.
"So, how do we get in?" it was Sara who asked, and Felicity was grateful she had joined the conversation again; as long as she focused on Sara, she could feel more like she was back where she belonged, and less like she was scraping together a poor imitation of her old team.
"The vents," she informed, bringing up the schematics for the location on full screen. "The ventilation shafts go all the way up to the roof, which is your point of entry." She shrugged. "I figured you'd manage the acrobatics."
Sara smiled at that. "Good," she said. "So, we take out the outliers, then move on to the other five?"
"That's the plan," Felicity agreed. "But," she stressed, "no killing them."
Sara's smile slipped at that clause, her eyes dropping down and away, but in the end, she was nodding her compliance.
Her partner, on the other hand, didn't seem eager to play ball.
"No killing them?" Helena echoed. "Why? They didn't have any problems with killing hostages."
Felicity whirled back on her. "We're not them."
Helena's eyes narrowed. "We?" she practically spat back. "I'm not part of your little clubhouse, and the only reason I'm here is because Oliver abandoned you and you need someone to play hero."
She definitely knew how to choose her words, Felicity thought. To make sure they hurt.
"No actually, I'm not sure why I'm here," Helena amended. "Why didn't you just call Diggle and leave me out of this?"
Felicity wanted to fire back, to put all of her heart into a comeback, but all that came out instead was a mumbled, "Digg's working."
"Helena," Sara issued a quiet warning, making her partner's eyes cut over to her. "We can take them on without killing them," she said, like it was final.
That didn't sit well with Helena, evidently, because her lip curled at the corner; she schooled her expression the next moment, leaving her features suitably blank. "Fine," she agreed flatly. "Anything else before we go?"
Felicity turned to her desk, grabbing for the box that held the earpieces while keeping her head down, because there were tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She grabbed the devices, handing two for Sara to take; she reached out to take them but held on to Felicity's hand for a moment. "Are you gonna be okay?" she asked quietly. "With your hand?"
Nodding quickly, Felicity said, "Yeah, I'll be fine."
"Okay." Sara looked like she might want to say something else, something comforting, but Felicity shook her head and motioned for her to go. With a light squeeze of her hand, she did, moving away to hand Helena her own piece. Felicity watched their retreating backs, letting her eyes linger even after the door had slammed back shut behind them.
She was home again, but it was all wrong. The hum of her computers and the static in her earpiece were there, drumming with familiarity, but John's untraceable Glock 17 he took out in the field was still tucked away on the shelf, and Oliver's green leather and the bow she'd had made for him still sat in their glass cases, untouched.
Her home was a ghost house anyway.
"We're here," Sara spoke into her comm. "Going in."
Helena gestured towards the open hatch with all the flourish she could muster. "After you."
The ride to Starling National Bank had been relatively short, what with Sara spurring the bike down the emptier roads and disregarding speed limits, though they'd had to cover the last block on foot, to avoid being noticed by the swarm of cops at the front. The overhead chopper was another impediment; scaling the building up to the roof and infiltrating the ventilation system without being noticed was a little tricky when helicopter lights were blaring over your head.
Sara spared her a glance before lowering herself into the square space, a low thump signaling her feet had hit the metal below. Helena waited a moment before following suit; flattening herself against the cold ducts took a moment, especially as she had to adjust the placement of her crossbow before rolling over on her stomach. She got herself in position, facing away from Sara's direction, blowing stray stands of hair out of her face as she asked, "Where to now?"
"Two of the entrances are on the east side, so Sara, you'll want to crawl right ahead then take two lefts," Felicity's voice sounded in her ear, slightly distorted, "and Helena, you're taking the south entrance so take your first right, and then the second left after that."
"Copy that," Helena muttered, using her elbows to prop herself forward in the cramped space.
"I'm monitoring the feeds," Felicity spoke again, "and your bad guys are right where they should be. After you take down your two, Sara, you'll be coming into the main lobby from the left. Helena, you'll be coming from the right."
Well, bright and peppy Felicity Smoak certainly knew how to play the hell out of the eye in the sky.
Helena followed the path she was given, maneuvering herself around the right corner then crawling past the first left shaft, stopping at the second; the duct stood at an angle, leading down to a sealed grate. Beyond it, Helena presumed, was her prey.
"I'm here," she informed, rolling around until she had pushed her lower body into the shaft legs-first and plastered her hands against the juncture between the ducts, keeping herself from slipping downward just long enough to add, "Going in."
She let go, sliding down until her boots had hit the grate, propelling it through the air as her body followed; she landed in a half-crouch, hand braced against the ground, and right there, just a few steps away, was her target.
She grinned up at him. "Hi."
He was quick to recover from his surprise, turning his rifle on her; he hadn't even secured the strap across his chest, which just made her job so much easier. She sprung forward, pushing the weapon out of his hands with a kick of her foot, and aiming a fist at his face in the same movement; he blocked her punch.
There was more to his strikes than just crude, brutish strength, and Helena surmised he'd had training – military, by the looks of it – prior to pursuing a career in bank heisting. He deflected her blows, tried a swing at her head which she ducked, and a roundhouse kick which she sidestepped; she tried to find an opening, for a sharp jab to the throat, but her blocked all her attempts. It was starting to annoy her.
He grabbed her hair, wrapping it around his fist tightly enough that she growled, and tried to push her face into the nearest wall; she brought her legs up, bracing her feet against the toneless wallpaper, using the shift in momentum to headbutt him from behind, smashing the back of her head against his face. His hands fell away and while he still reeled back, she swept at his shins, kicked his legs from under him, then grabbed his throat as he fell, going down with him until he hit the hard ground with a thud and a crack. She replaced her hand with her forearm, pushing down on his windpipe, just as she jabbed a knee into his gut.
"Don't pull a girl's hair," she told him. "We don't like it."
He gurgled something back, his hands coming up to paw at her but lacking the leverage to do any damage, and she kept her position even as his face reddened, hovering over him.
"Don't kill him!"
It was practically a shriek in her ear, and she gritted her teeth; bright and peppy Felicity Smoak was also annoying.
She didn't lessen the pressure though, even when Felicity repeated herself, watching the red on the man's face slowly turn blue.
Then, it was Sara's voice in her ear.
"Helena."
Just one word. Just saying her name. She did that a lot.
And it was amazing how much she managed to convey. Helena had never thought anyone would be capable of fitting 'let's pretend we didn't kill a hundred men between us and give Saint Felicity what she wants' just within the three syllables of her name.
Well.
Never let it be said she wasn't a good partner.
"Fine," she said, and punched the man to knock him out.
"Second one down, moving to the lobby."
About time, Helena thought, reaching behind for her guns. She'd been in position, lurking behind a corner, for a solid five minutes, just twiddling her thumbs.
"I'm here," Sara spoke again, quieter this time. "I've got eyes on them."
"Okay, so take them out quickly – preferably before they open fire," Felicity told them. After a beat, she added, "And no kill-shots."
That, Helena assumed, was for her benefit. Rolling her eyes, she said, "Don't worry, I'll go for the shoulder."
She peeked from around the corner, assessing the robbers' position; the nine hostages were huddled in a group on the ground, with three of the perps circling them, while the other two men stood in positions that offered them a clear view of the entire lobby, stationed at opposite ends. Definitely former military.
She could get clear shots on four of them, in a matter of seconds, but the fifth one would call for a shift in her position to take aim – which would give him time to pull on his own trigger, even with the distraction they had planned. So, he was all Sara's.
"The one behind the counter is for you, little bird," she said. "I've got the rest."
She knew Sara was rolling her eyes at the name, even as she muttered an affirmative, "Copy that."
And now for a little bird song.
Helena braced herself for it, even though she'd had its tune in her ears a dozen times over. A second later, they were ringing with the high-pitch again, and the sound of raining, breaking glass – and some howls of pain, too.
She moved from her hiding place, guns at the ready and taking her aim, fingers on the triggers.
One, two – three and four over the hostages' head, and –
The fifth one fell down, too, with what looked to Helena like a broken arm.
She kept her weapons up for a moment, taking in the place; it was oddly quiet now, without the noise and gunshots, while some of the robbers writhed on the ground and a few of the hostages whimpered. Helena looked them over, noting they appeared to be more frightened than injured – which could not also be said of the tenth hostage, of course, where he was sprawled lifelessly a little ways down from the rest of the group.
The bullet wound in his forehead told her his death had been quick and probably painless. Not that there were any good ways to die; some people just didn't get the courtesy of being spared from it – didn't deserve it either, sometimes. Helena couldn't say if the dead man had belonged to the former or the latter.
She looked over to Sara, whose eyes were scanning the space as well, in a similar assessment; Helena didn't know if her thoughts lingered more on the living or on the dead, as her own had.
There was no mistaking what Felicity's thoughts were on, though.
"Are the hostages okay?" her question echoed in both their earpieces.
"Yeah," Sara confirmed.
There was a little sound, like a sigh of relief, from Felicity before she said, "Okay, good. Also, you may want to get out of there. The PD are coming in."
Helena's eyes cut over to the front of the lobby, and the doors beyond it, which were now reflecting the bouncing spots of flashlights, while the absence of the glass barriers only made the sound of the SWAT team's thudding footsteps and shouted commands louder.
She turned to Sara again, nodding towards the blown-off glass panels to their right; holstering her guns again, she moved for Sara, grabbing her hand as she went, and kept running until they had both jumped through the hole in the wall and onto the street; it was an alleyway between the bank and the building next door, somewhat hidden from the main street and the PD's set-up command center.
Sara still paused, and Helena knew she was looking for her father even before the man in question spotted them, pausing in his progress towards the front doors; he didn't say anything but his eyes widened then narrowed, as soon as he saw them – saw her.
Not that she had expected different.
She reached for Sara's hand again, pulling her down the alley. She went willingly, only turning her eyes away from the street when she could no longer catch glimpse of her father.
"Felicity," she spoke into her comm a few moments later, "call my father, please. Tell him where he can find us."
Well, Helena thought as they made their way back to Sara's bike, with Felicity's assurances that she would get right on that call. This is going to be an interesting conversation.