The chapter goes a bit longer here... but I figured you'd be hunting me down for the next one if I chopped it where I wanted to.

Also, you might want to keep your eye out here. Italics are flashbacks, and there's a bit of a jump in the timeline halfway through. I've also rulered under to separate Chloe's view from Ollie's (that's pretty easy to spot... got a big greyish line to divide them...).

If you're feeling like you need to be emotional I suggest picking up some tissues, sticking on some sad music and reading this chapter. *Hands over box of tissues*

Hope you enjoy Xx

Chapter Forty Two; Tears, Rain and Memories

You can't explain it. It's not something people can feel and share. It's special, it's private and it's utterly consuming. She'd hardly woken with the thought that today would be her last, but as the wind whipped against her viciously; her hair lashes of ribbons cutting her face, she could not bring herself to regret.

Her insides were burning, the command in her blood aching to be obeyed. Nothing could save her though. Not his winning pride that battled with anger, not the cries of her longest friend, crippled by the miniature kryptonite on her bracelet as they plummeted. She should feel guilt for hurting Clark, but she knew it was the only way to guarantee the time she needed.

She had been turned to the shadow's puppet, his servant to obey without question. With the amount she knew it was a risk she had no intention of taking. So she felt no sorrow for the fall she had taken. For the team, for Oliver, for herself.

But you can't explain the feeling. At best you could liken it to standing alone and cold on a lifeless street, all the light of the moon your only guardian, then suddenly it goes and you're swallowed whole by the dark. But there's always something inviting about the darkness; the promises of secrecy, the hidden depths of life buried deep within.

Ironically, it was the darkness that had hunted her and claimed that very life. Robbed her soul, her will and yet handed her heart to the man she had always wanted.

Her mother had always said about the closed door opening windows; the good held tight in the embrace of the bad; the hand holding friendship of angels and demons. If Oliver was her god, she was happy to have spent such time before the devil took her.

If he was here, she'd be screaming her love for him, she'd make sure he'd never feel sorrow. If the opportunity had presented she would have loved him enough to wipe his memory clean of her entirely. To spare him the hurt he would undoubtedly feel.

It wasn't just her life she was taking.

Not with Oliver's heart latched so strongly to her own.

As she faded from reality, her head light and vision passing, she let him claim her last thought. Keep him safe, keep him whole, keep him sane.

Let him know she loved him so whole it devoured everything she had.

She didn't register the smashing of her body, didn't feel the cold wash of death poured over her body, didn't hear the pained screams of her best friend. She was taken, gone. At peace with her decision being the right one.

Stand up and say a prayer as another hero dies.

His feet stood on a grass too green. The sky was too clear, too blue; too wrong for the day it was. A breeze caught his cheek again, light and barely there, but that's what they were here for, the things that weren't there. Chloe.

He sunk his head, the red eyes hidden behind the darkest sunglasses he could find. Would a few moments over the closed casket stop the numbness? He doubted it would do anything. He'd never move on. They'd waited, for that chance she'd come back. She'd done it before. But he'd stood over her cold body for a month: she wasn't coming back. There was no miracle cure for her this time.

What would he do with himself now she was gone? What point was there to his life? He'd never be able to move on past her and find happiness again. He had one thing to do, to close the books, before he'd break his promise and join her. She'd sacrificed herself for their advantage and he wouldn't let her death mean nothing.

But if that was so, why did he feel so empty staring at the roses over her wooden box?

A hand rested on his shoulder. Would he ever stop turning and expecting it to be Chloe with her bubbly infectious smile?

Tess stepped beside him, her black dress looked just as grim as he presumed. She'd cleaned him from the alcohol death spiral for this day, yet all he could wish for was Chloe. His heart ached for her. Tess bent, lowering another rose to her resting place and slid her hand into Oliver's.

He hit the bottle. Hard. Lazed around slumped in the chair, against the cabinets, and when that had lost meaning he just crashed on the closest floor. The alcohol snuggled by his side, drops leaking to the carpet he couldn't care less about. Food was for those rare intervals where he felt too empty to wallow, alcohol was the hair of the dog that bit, the cure for the ever present hangover. His fist indent had shaped the majority of surfaces and was cracked open. He didn't care, he'd poured vodka over it, proving he still could feel. Proving the numbness was only in mind and soul. Not body.

In all honesty, he had no idea what to do. He'd lost people before, but Ch-

He stopped, taking another long swig. His heart burned even thinking her name. How much more fire could blaze in his body before he just gave in and died too? He hoped it would be soon. The lip of the bottle came back to him, the mother's milk for the incurable ill.

The doors stayed locked, the kryptonite kept away the unwelcome and he stayed in his apartment. He didn't remember the last day he was sober… well, he did, and that was the problem. The last day he was stupid enough to be sober had started his day picking up an empty sedative and ended it over Chloe's dead body.

The bottle returned only this time the liquid stopped before his oxygen supply did. Another bottle empty. He threw it.

The glass shattered against the wall, joining the other colours across his floor. His battered hands grabbed against the desk pulling him up after a few fruitless tries and he slumped against the wall, returning for the next poison.

Chloe.

His mind had never left her, his heart felt as dead as the cold blood frozen in her system, unwilling to animate her.

If these were the stages of guilt he wasn't moving very fast. Though denial had seen a short life. As soon as he'd seen her it had been wiped clean. Guilt was pretty predominant, anger was another go-to. Bargaining had seen the best efforts of the god cursing drunk.

Now all he had to look forward to was acceptance. Lucky him.

Accept and move on. It sounded great in theory. But Chloe wasn't the girl you moved on from, she was the one, he didn't want to move on.

His hand took the familiar trek from floor to mouth, only remembering the cap was still sealing in his death. His fingers rotated the tracks and the liquid flowed once more. Whiskey, but who cared, they all tasted the same now. As cliché as it was; everything had lost taste or purpose now she was gone.

Chloe.

His eyes burned, the whites already bleeding red from lack of sleep. The back of his hand swiped across his eyes and more drink poured down his throat.

Alcohol induced coma: one could only hope.

Hope came in a different form. One with heels and flaming red hair.

One that snatched the bottle from his hand and he watched from his stupor as his cabinet was thrown out and cleared.

"Hey! I need those." he protested, more slurred than he expected.

"Trust me Oliver; you don't." The tone wasn't Chloe, it wasn't soft and caring. It was harsh, demanding, controlling, and clearly belonging to Tess Mercer. Anger flared in him. How dare she come into his apartment and ruin his memory of Chloe.

"Get out" he hissed and dropped back against the wall. Tess rolled her eyes.

"How much did you drink?"

"Get. The. Fuck. OUT!" he screamed. Tess didn't care about the yelling. Didn't even flinch. He didn't mean it.

She'd given him this last week to do whatever he liked, to grieve as he saw fit. At first there was the thought she'd come back… like she had before, but two week with no change had led to a solid conclusion. Since then he'd been penned up alone. Clark had been on suicide watch the majority of the time. But now things were changing. She promised Chloe she would see him straight.

"Chloe's funeral is in two days. You're going, and you're going sober."

"I don't care. Leave me the-"

"You do care. And you will not miss it. If Chloe saw you now she'd be kicking your ass in-"

"You don't know what Chloe would want. You don't get to say-"

"I get to say whatever I want. Right now I'm telling you to get your ass out of your drunken haze and clean the fuck up." Oliver heard her, her set his eyes to her, but they dropped quickly. Dismissing her presence.

Footsteps came and went, sleep messing with him terribly.

Chloe.

Could he even go to the funeral? He'd seen more he cared too. He'd donned the black before, tried to put death behind him. But he couldn't see her go, couldn't let go of her like that. He needed her.

"Do you think she'll come back if you sit there long enough?" Tess hissed. She knew it was far from respectable, and not what he wanted right now. But she didn't care what he wanted. Only what he needed.

"Go away." He'd lost everything.

"If you stand up and get me through this door I promise I'll give you back all you can drink and never return."

"Go away."

"Make me."

"Tess. Go."

"Oliver. Get up." He didn't reply, just let himself slide over to fall on the ground. "Chloe wouldn't want you drunk. Get up." she repeated. He closed his tear filled eyes, meeting that darkness again, hoping it would be his last trip.

The dark went, returning the blinding light, splitting his head in two. Like it always did when he came back. He wept inside; another day without her. Another day of life in this pathetic way. How much longer would the agony be shredding into him? How much longer till he was back with her?

The good morning hangover was proof enough he was alive, and he wanted it gone. He set his hand to the floor, only finding for the first time in however many days, he wasn't in his office, crashed on the floor. Instead he lay on the sofa, a blanket covering him. Was Chloe here?

Had he made it over the line? Was she waiting him around the corner?

His hopes broke into tiny fragments as Tess re-appeared. So much for the dream or drunken hallucination theory. Yesterday was real.

"You're awake. Good. Tablets; take them." She handed him a glass and two small white pills. He grunted and rolled over. "Either take them yourself, or I'll give them you." she threatened. He turned back and made quick work of the job, hoping she would go. She did, but not for long. "Once you're able, you have decisions to make. The majority is done, but there are a few things left to go over."

"Do them yourself." he muttered, the sadness taking his vocal chords. Tess pulled back up her strong walls, not allowing her emotions to roam free and wallow with him.

"You'll want to say some words at the funeral tomor-"

"I'm not going." he dismissed, but she wasn't that easy to remove.

"Yes you are, and you'll want to put some words together."

"I'm not-"

"Yes. You are." she spoke, the tone ending the conversation.

"Do you not care about this? Chloe's dead, and you just want a few words to-"

"Trust me Oliver. I care. I care enough that I won't stand by to watch you kill yourself. I care enough that I know deep inside you will regret skipping out on your goodbye's to Chloe-"

"What will it help? She's dead!" Like the barrier had fallen he felt himself crack apart. No alcohol adhesive this time. Just the cold shoulder of Mercer to insult and mock his tears. "She's not coming back. She doesn't care if I go and see a wooden box sitting in mud. She can't care." Tess didn't reply, but he felt the tired arms wrap around him as he slipped back to his depression stage. She didn't say anything, just kept him close, her own tears slipping from her made-up eyes. She could feel him, broken and beyond repair. He surprised her when he responded, his own arms reaching out to hold her as he let himself feel.

"She cares." Tess whispered. The words soft over his head. She didn't know if he heard, but she knew he understood. "She loved you, and if that means nothing you can stay and be miserable. But if you felt even as much as an ache for her you will put on a suit, clean yourself up and show your respect at her funeral."

Tough love was how Tess was raised. All she knew. It didn't cure anything, but it pulled you up straight when you were falling. It was how Tess ran a business, and it was how Oliver stayed successful. It wasn't compassionate, but it was what they knew and it was how they worked. If it took her to pin on the badge of bad cop to get Oliver on his own feet, she would gladly play the villain for him.

He'd saved her before, and she would save him now.

Dinah shuffled in the black heels, her arms looped with Bruce, her fingers playing with the red rose she was to lay. But how did you leave all your wishes and love in one simple flower? It just didn't seem enough for all they had been through. Bruce drew her closer and she welcomed the contact for the first time in her life. As a rule she tried to escape the duty of attending funerals, she couldn't deal with them. But this was Chloe. Her head hung, her watery eyes on the soft fragile petals. She doubted she'd ever be able to forget the phone call.

Dinah pushed open the door of the office of Bruce Wayne, instantly scanning the décor and approving. Subtle and definitely masculine, yet with a touch of female order. Her back leant against the door, her fingers slipping the lock closed casually. He cast his eyes up from the laptop screen and grinned.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

She smiled and ran her fingers over the plush leather of his seats as she stepped further into his area.

"I just wanted to see where you work darling. Since this great revelation of your alter ego, I find myself fascinated by you. I just had to track you down."

"Fascinated huh? In the good way I hope." He pushed his chair further back from his desk. Delegation they called it. The effect of Dinah, he called it.

"What other way would there be?" she teased and settled on the edge of his desk, the paper weight in her hand.

"Any particular reason you wanted to see me?" he stood, his fingers lifting the paperweight from hers so he could take her free hands.

"What can I say? I missed your arrogant charm."

"That all?"

Dinah dithered, a sly grin dominating her features.

"Maybe I found myself wondering if you had a free lunch hour to entertain me."

"For you I'd make my entire day free." His hands slid from hers, stroking along her arm and down to rest on her beautiful hips.

"Sweet. But I think I'd get bored of you after all that time." He chuckled shrugging and slipped back onto the chair. She took the invite to slither from the desk and to straddle his lap. "Don't suppose you kept this room free of security camera's did ya?" she asked, her fingers lightly tugging at the top of his tie, her lips breathing whispers across his cheek.

"Unfortunately not. And believe me when I say I'm regretting that decision." His lips captured hers. He could feel her melting to him, handing over the power, but still keeping enough for herself so she wouldn't feel vulnerable. It would take time, but he knew he'd be knocking down all her walls soon enough. For now, he could hold some patience.

"Hmmm." she purred. She threw the tie across the other side of the room and began popping buttons. "Who happens to see these tapes?"

"For my office? Only me. Only ever me." She smiled and her lips took his, sucking sweetly on his bottom lip.

"I suppose I should give you something you can watch back then."

"We could do that." he agreed, sighing when she slapped his hands from her own clothing. "You're going to have to hand over that control sooner or later you know."

"Nope." she answered with a slightly giggle. Her lips pressed to his ear, taunting at his lobe. "Besides, you wouldn't know what you were doing." she teased. "Some men just can't-" she paused mid sentence and huffed. Sitting up against him she slipped a hand into her back pocket to see the screen of her vibrating phone. Clark. He'll wait. She declined the call and wrapped herself back to Bruce.

"Anything important?" he asked, pulling her closer after she set the phone on his desk.

"Wouldn't I have answered if it was?" she replied and had his shirt undone. "Now, where was I?"

"You were making me out to be useless in pleasing you. I was about to strongly disagree and then proceed in showing you." Dinah grinned, laughing lightly

"I see." she agreed. "Like I was saying. Some men just can't- Jesus Christ!" she cursed loudly and slapped a hand over her phone again as it kicked up another fuss.

Clark. Again. Best get rid of him now. "What? I'm busy!" she hissed, earning a chuckle from the man between her thighs. "No... What?" Her tone suddenly dropped all anger and something stirred, worrying Bruce deep in his gut. "No." She put a hand to her head, screwing up her eyes. "No." Her voice was wavering. "Oh God." Her breathing hitched and she crashed her head against Bruce's shoulder. His arms came around her, trying to soothe. He felt her body shake with sobs, the phone limp in her hands, not wanting to her anymore. One word spilled from her lips. "Chloe."

Bart fidgeted with himself. The tux was itchy, his hair was out of order, his tie was strangling him and he'd rather be anywhere but here. But he knew he had to. Chloe would want him here. The sun was up, frying them all with its rays. The weather shouldn't be good today, he reprimanded silently, it should be pissing down rain, covering the tears down his cheeks. He felt Victor stand next to him.

"You alright?" It was the major context of all questions today. Bart just nodded. He was far from alright. His finger traced over the rose. It was some sort of tradition to put roses on dead people's coffins, he hated it. His eyes fell to Oliver's back. They were both still suffering. Hannah came to his other side, cooling the warm air around him. Her hand came to his, her soft palm the wordless support. But he couldn't look at her, not without remembering the day.

Bart laid back, careless and free atop a hill overlooking Gotham. The sun was bathing over the sky, shining down on him. Not a sign of rain. Not with Hannah sitting beside him beaming like she did.

"How fast can you run?"

Bart shrugged, the thrill of being the star going straight to his head.

"Very fast." he simply answered and tilted his head, flashing her a smile. With a blink he was laid on her other side. She shot her head around and laughed admirably.

"It's amazing. I wish I could do that." she spoke, completely soaked in awe. "Hey, can you run over water?" Her eyes were wide, excited by the possibility.

"Not for very long." he admitted. She rolled only her front, arm to arm with him.

"What's it like? Don't you feel like everything else is really slow?"

"Nah. It's cool. I like it. I can be wherever I want. Whenever I want."

"Tell me something else." she asked, batting her eyelashes, the sun still warm on their skin. He chuckled at her enthusiasm.

"Ummm." He racked his brain for anything about him. Anything at all. It didn't matter; she'd love it. "I don't like flying." She tilted her head again. "Airplanes I mean. They scare the hell outa me." She giggled, so light and untroubled. It bubbled straight to him. "How about you?"

"Me? Ummm. Airplanes not so much a big issue. I'm terrified of heights though."

"But you like airplanes? You do realise they fly a lot higher than skyscrapers." he teased. She nudged him with her elbow, the smile still huge on her face.

"Don't look at me like that. You don't have to look down in an airplane, you're not even aware of how high up you are. But big buildings and looking over railings… it's terrifying. I always think I'm going to fall over somehow." She turned back to him. "Don't laugh at me!" she reprimanded and gave him another friendly shove. "I'll put you on a plane!" she threatened.

"Oh you're just a bundle of evil underneath that angel face, aren't you?" he mocked. A crazy song hit his mobile and he rolled over to fish in his back pocket for it. His happy greeting faded with the first few words. Hannah watched as Bart's face fell. She felt her own happiness fading away. Without a word he was gone. His feet pushing faster than he'd ever run before. Hannah pushed up, scanning the area for him. No explanation, no words, no look, just gone from her. The only thing that would- She stopped and felt the sun leave her skin, black clouds rolled into her morning view. She knew exactly what he'd heard. Chloe.

Bart squeezed her hand.

"Change it." he spoke. Hannah looked up to his sunglasses. "It shouldn't be sunny today." he answered. Hannah bit her lip, as much as she agreed, it was dangerous to play with the weather. "Hannah?" Bart looked down, meeting her misty eyes. Anything to please him, she told herself. She squeezed again on his hand and closed her eyes with a nod. The air warmed around her, shooting vibrations up his arm. The sun faded slowly, the black clouds more than welcome. The first drops of rain were peaceful and received with an open heart. Guests and friends dug out umbrellas. Some made a quick respectful word to her coffin and left in a hurry.

The last ones to stand around her final resting place were those who had stood by her through everything else. Even pelted under the rain, none wanted to turn back. A hero had fallen.

Oliver had shrugged off Tess's ever presence in favour of solitary misery. He knew better how to deal when alone. Granted, his approach could hardly be called 'dealing' as such, but god damn it, this was Chloe. He didn't want to deal. He didn't know how she'd done it, nor what she had done, nor why she made the jump. He didn't know anything, when he'd seen her laying still and cold, the only thought in his grieving head was revenge. He'd wasted no time.

He could see the glee in the shadows, even from the line of trees pulling the crossbow from his back and the arrows from the bike, he could swear he could feel it. His fingers expertly loaded the first shot and he stepped forward out from the cover of foliage. They'd see him, that much was clear to his mind. They'd see he was coming and the toxic anger in his system could pound out its rage on some low life scum before the real challenge began. Whatever Chloe's reason were, her actions were his fault. The eerie creepy darkness of the dead man's soul had messed with her head. Chloe hadn't jumped, he had forced her, twisted her hand, mingled with fate.

Chloe was meant to grow old with him!

Chloe was meant to be by his side!

Chloe loved him!

Her life was not meant to be cut short by some psychopath hiding behind a cloak of night!

"Care to share your kill?" Oliver turned his head. Bart. No humour in his tone, no life, no anything. Both of them having lost the only thing that mattered, both taking the role of avenger.

"No. Go home." Only one of them needed to risk their life and join Chloe in death. Bart was not it.

"No. You weren't the only one hurt today. And you won't be the last." Bart swore, his eyes focussed on the shadows seeping from the factory window.

"He made her." The words came through gritted teeth, but of course Bart had already made this conclusion himself. Bart tugged at his red hood, the sunglasses covering the burnt eyes in the dark clouded hour. Oliver stopped and turned to his fellow fighter. "I'm doing this alone." Bart scanned over the hate pouring from Oliver, spilling over the green leather. He truly did love her.

"Yeah. I know. I'm coming with you."

"Bart-"

"You can argue if you want, but it doesn't change the point that bastard killed her." It would be 'her' for a while. The word of her name too sour for speech, it was too fresh to say.

"Just stay out of my way." Oliver hissed in acceptance and turned back. Bart kept pace.

Oliver's boot kicked through the shitty wooden door, splintering the wood and taking off the bottom hinge from the solid panel. Bart tossed it no more than an eyebrow in care and followed Oliver down, his small child-like hands wrapped around the hilt of a silver blade. There came a point where you knew now matter what happened, fists wouldn't make him suffer enough. Slice him apart, stripe his arm with blood like Chloe's had been. He winced internally even thinking her name. To not have her around, to not joke with her, to not feel the rush she gave. Bart tightened his grip and swore the first cut would be his.

A brute stood in the doorway, Oliver didn't hesitate for the petty banter, just an arrow in the knee, he loaded another, still walking closer, firing it to his shoulder. Bart had the grenade from his hand, the pin still in and disposed off to one side out of reach. The brute fell to his knees, his body erupting with fire and the stench of sulphur pouring from his skin into the hallway. Oliver ducked into the next room adjacent to the hall, Bart followed suit. If one could bottle hell into a man, such man had been found.

"Blast. Calm yourself." That voice was the sound of the target, the bulls eye tauntingly hovering over him. Both Bart and Oliver shared a silent nod and re-emerged, guns a' blazing and tempers fuelled by an unspoken need to revenge the lost love.

Clark had pulled them both from the factory, battered in places, mentally bruised, but with the knowledge that something had changed. Shadows was tethered to the ground, Blast had a temper which could lead to his self destruction if provoked enough and the skill sucker enjoyed the feast of human organs in a steady diet of meteor abilities and blood. But even dragged kicking and screaming the only death still remained to be Chloe.

It was a month since that day.

A month since the bombs stopped appearing.

A month since Oliver had first learned grief had no limits.

A month since his heart refused to go on.

And a month since the words came to his ears that he was next.

"With Miss Sullivan's death I find myself without a target to play with. So, why not choice her lover? I believe your fans call you 'Green Arrow'. I needn't worry about that. I find it perfectly acceptable to call you 'Oliver Queen' and you Mr Queen, shall be next on my list. Give me time, and soon you'll be spilling all you're secrets."

He'd been waiting for the papers to un-mask him. Waiting for the surprise bomb in his home. Maybe a visit from some enhanced goons. But none had happened. He was still home, still kept secret and nothing more of shadows had been seen. They'd heard, heard of more runaway's targeted and organs stolen, heard of petty meteor powered criminals crediting 'the one ruler and master' in police statements. But they'd never seen any more of him.

It took another three months before any word emerged. By then Oliver was on his feet, donned in costume and protecting the streets again. Every hunt, he went out with the belief it would be the end, that he would find the shadows, kill him, and end his suffering to find Chloe again. Every night he returned covered in the blood of criminals who refused to share information. Every night he slept alone in an empty bed, trying to find a quality better than 4 hours of peace. Every night he hunted and returned unfinished with a hole in his heart still. Maybe he had the notion that killing shadow would bring Chloe back, but while his thoughts lay along that track he was less likely to turn the arrow on himself. So that was his secret belief, along with the note in the back pocket. The note.

Her words and feelings summarized into a side of A4, finished with the simple words of

'I love you. Remember your promise'

It hurt him that she had known her life would end that night. It hurt him, she had seen it before and made him swear to not join her in the after life. He'd gladly break the promise, but the thought of her knowing of her death hurt him deeply.

One night he felt his luck shift under his feet almost taking him clean from standing. One of the psycho's newer recruits had shared information from a fist to his stomach. Somehow it was less desirable than the looming promise of death Shadow had obviously incurred in all his weapons. The kid's eyes had been solidly fixed with fear, Oliver's temperament being terrifying at best, and Oliver had let him walk himself to the police station after handing over all the information he had.

It was four months since that day, and now he planted both feet on the initiation ground of the psycho's drug delivery. It was after his usual patrolling hours, but both Clark and Bart had taken it upon themselves to patrol with him, Victor always playing eye in the sky. He'd shucked them off for today after a few hours of running. Victor wanted to recharge and get some shut eye, Bart wanted back to Gotham and Lois had called three times. A month ago they would have seen him home, made sure the drastic wasn't being pulled out again, but now with the tragedy of Chloe four months behind them, they could let the Green Arrow walk himself home.

Home was not his intended direction. He followed the gps co-ordinates and cut out his bike's engine in a dark alley (was there nothing better?) a few streets over from the docks.

A pale moon shone its dull half through the scattered clouds above him, it shimmered mystically on the water, summoning puddles of light and patches of glowing gold. Oliver didn't bother to stop and admire the view, nothing seemed as lovely now. He supposed when you looked at the sun for too long, everything else did become black. Chloe had been his sun, and now she was gone he could either choose a new, lesser one or live his life in the dark abyss with only the memory of her angelic light.

He sighed and gripped tighter around the handle of the crossbow beside his thigh. As much as he hoped he could end this here, with his own hands, he knew in his soul shadows wouldn't be here, not now. It had been weeks since the kid first bought his stolen powers, he'd be out of the district long ago. But evidence lasted forever, just a scrap of paper with numbers on could lead him to victory, just an address. Possible targets, anything. More kid's names, more information.

No worries, no cares, he took a slow steady walk to the main doors of the shipyard, but voices pulled out the caution and he darted his body from sight. Had he got lucky? He peered his head through a broken window. No shadow man but Mr Brute Force, aka Blast was there. And some female, long brown hair, dressed head to toe in black. His eyes scanned her, searching in the face of every female he saw; not Chloe. There was too much carelessness in her stance. Too much anger in her gestures. Too much hate in the way she snapped her lips as she hissed at Blast. Maybe shadow had finally replaced the Kitty bitch Chloe had dealt with. Oliver had to hear what they were saying. Angling his left hand he reached through the broken window pulled a catch and let himself in behind the boxes. He scurried closer and the voices padded out into actual words.

"We had an agreement!" she snapped. Did she not understand she was nose to nose with a man who could end her in seconds? Either she was extremely naive and about to meet a grizzly end, or she was overly confident in whatever abilities she had. "I gave you the information. I gave you the times, the places, the dates. Everything you asked for!"

"And now the deal's changed." Blast countered and took a hefty step forward. Oliver naturally crept closer, to protect the female. But she wasn't stupid, she circled around in her small steps regaining her positional distance from him.

"God help me you will tell me where this guy is or-" The female was running low on patience, her gaze burning through the elegantly styled shades and leering into a man easily twice her size without an inch of fear.

"Or what Princess? You work for us remember. We're the only ones giving out demands. Besides, I think you'll like this condition."

"Fine. What is it?" Her brown curls shook out in defiance, angered by the submission.

"Star city has a gala in a few days as you're aware." She nodded in a short stroke, not bothered by the smaller details. "Master will meet you there, if… and only if, you bring him Green Arrow." She scoffed a laugh unfreezing Oliver with the unexpected response.

"Don't you read the papers? Oliver Queen is dead." She brushed a hand up to nudge up the sunglasses.

"I think I would know-"

"You know nothing then." she hissed back. "Green Arrow died 3 days ago. I buried him myself." Oliver considered another possibility… was she trying to protect him? A fellow hero trying to break the corruption from the inside. It would explain her desperation to find shadows.

"You killed him?" Blast asked in disbelief.

"I buried him." she repeated, offering no other explanation. "Now, where do I find Master?" Oliver watched as multiple responses crossed Blast's expression, finally he settled on a simple acceptance.

"You best be telling me the truth Princess." She remained as strongly stood as she was before. "Fine. Master will come to you. Be at the gala." She nodded and turned out, no fear in showing him her back. Oliver fought down the instinct to run and protect her. He had no idea who the hell she was, but if she was on their side, she would need them soon. He scurried along the back wall, pulling his arrow to aim at Blast. He was the only one here, un-guarded and free for the taking. He'd make quick work of the bastard and follow the female. He drew back his arm, his arrow lined direct to the huge heart of the great bear of a man.

"Actually. Blast…" The female turned, and Oliver paused his shot. "I did take a souvenir from the Jolly Green." Blast chuckled out a hollow laugh and faced her, a grin evident.

"Anything I would be interested in?" he joked and met her with an outstretched hand. She pulled the jacket to one side and lifted out a small green jewellery box from her pocket.

"For you, oh great one." she mocked in a bow. She took a few casual steps back toward the exit as he turned it in his fingers.

"I wonder what it is…" he breathed out another dark laugh and Oliver froze. If that was what he thought it was… Eyes clicked in his direction, the scuffle against the crates noticed by the brunette, yet she made no gesture against him. Her shade covered eyes met direct with his, and he could have sworn she relaxed her posture.

The brutes paw squeezed the catch and the woman took another step back, poised on her feet for a run. The box opened, the brunette turned and ran as fast as she could, Oliver ducked behind the boxes and within 2 long heavy seconds the air vibrated and threw out a pulse of an explosion, knocking the female across the floor and shredding through crates, splintering the flimsy wood.

The dust settled, the smell of explosives ripe in the once clean air. Oliver rose, hands gripping the crossbow like a lifeline. A scratch over his shoulder, clean cut across a bicep, nothing too severe. The female! He side-stepped from his hiding place, the empty skeletal carcass of the explosive expert discarded across the ground in a death that could only ever be ironic. There would be no putting him back together, he was gone for good. Shimmers of red kryptonite lay to waste, the potency of the small bomb explained in their sparkle. His head snapped up, where was the female?

Gone.

He scanned the debris before darting out the door. There he saw her, clutching the shipping crate for stability and dialling on a mobile.

"Hey! Wait." Oliver called, her limp not taking her any faster than he predicted.

"No." she hissed back at him. "You can't be here. You shouldn't be here." The voice was weak, lost and fading.

"You're hurt." But she dodged out from the arms he provided. "Hey, we're both on the same side, you want the shadow guy dead as well." She lifted her face the slightest bit.

"You shouldn't have been here." she repeated and sighed.

"But I am. At least let me help you." She straightened her steps, the limp suddenly seeming to fade from pain. Could she heal herself?

"You're here alone." she noted, surprise and shock in her tone. "They let you go alone?"

"You know about the others?" She didn't reply, just shoved a hand in her pocket and pulled out a gun, her arm a shake away from being strong as she pointed it to him. Oliver gulped… had he fell for some elaborate play?

"Are you here alone?" she repeated the question.

"No." He held up both hands, letting the voice distorter lie for him.

"Okay." she breathed and he could see the start of a great smile claiming her lush lips. Lush lips…which seemed to only remind him of Chloe. "Come with me."

"I'd really rather stay." he replied and her leg shot out, kicking him square, and yet still quite soft in his stomach. He gulped in air and reached for the crossbow. Her swift movements had it tossed from reach. Oliver was never one to bend to a woman's wishes… and the only exception to that rule was gone. He struck out to take out her legs, pin her and drag his answers from her. Instead, she gripped on his forearm and swung under his body neatly and put a knee to the back of him, having him at his knees. His temper flared, only one woman had the right to have him kneel for her and she was dead. He didn't waste time in getting even, in a matter of 4 movements he had her gun in his hands, a clean metre between them. Her limp was gone completely, was it all just fake? His hands unclipped the cartridge from the weapon and the bullets scattered, but something about them caught his eye.

"Blanks? You're firing blanks?" he rose an eyebrow under the hood, wondering just what game she was playing with him.

"More of a man's concern wouldn't you think?" she quipped, the fight bringing some fun to her tone. She rushed him again, the gun was dropped, his hands busy fighting hers.

She was experienced, he judged, probably taught by more than just the streets. But she made other errors, judgements wrong, not enough force into her hits, almost like she was scared she would actually hurt him. His trained eyes spotted tiny little things she did wrong, just small favouritisms and preferences. Things that were all pretty common of people who had learnt to fight quickly and without perfection drilled into them. For impact and effect rather than style or technique. She struck out, another punch aimed at him and the thought froze him, earning a knuckle in the ribs. She had dropped her shoulder… only…

"Chloe?" The ghostly words hit her and she felt the first real smile claim her since she left. To her left the brakes skidded on her dialled ride. It was too good to be true; Oliver, alone and unguarded. She lifted the gun from the floor, striking down on his temple as she sucked in oxygen and whistled loud to the transport, Oliver sagged unconscious in her awaiting arms. Tess stood from the pitch black limo, motioning for her hired men to pick up the two fighters.

Okay... so... yeah...