Hell Hath No Fury - Chapter 3: The Rebel

Roy Harper wasn’t a happy camper. Not by a long shot. He had superhuman strength, he healed faster than he got injured, and he couldn’t tell anyone. Though someone did know. Someone who’s gone through the same thing, was still going through the same thing. Which was good, because Roy could at least talk to that someone, that stranger.

However, Roy’s misery this cloudy morning stemmed from the fact Thea hasn’t spoken a word to him for the past three days. He must’ve done something, must have put a foot wrong somewhere. But he had no idea where. And since she wasn’t talking to him, he couldn’t ask. Or more specifically, he could ask—he had asked, in fact—but wouldn’t receive any answer.

Being utterly honest, he knew exactly what he’d done wrong. Or said wrong.

They had been having a romantic starlit picnic on the roof of his apartment building, and somehow the conversation strayed into forbidden territory. That of the vigilante. The vigilante Thea still hasn’t forgiven for trying to kill him. Although it was obvious Arrow hadn’t tried to kill him—he would’ve aimed higher than his leg—Thea screamed bloody murder. Quite literally. And he’d gone and defended the vigilante’s actions the way the stranger who knew all about his predicament had done all those months ago, and she’d gone all sulky and left.

In hindsight, he should’ve kept his mouth shut, Roy knew that, but he was fed up with Thea accusing the vigilante of wrongdoing. The guy was her brother, for fuck’s sake, though Roy would die before spilling out that secret. Not even Oliver knew Roy knew. He’d seen his face as Oliver brought him back. You just don’t forget the first thing you see after coming back from the dead. The guy had saved his life that day, and had been trying to save his ass in the alley when he shot him in the leg. Only Roy had been too stupid, too stubborn, and too blinded by anger and resentment to see it then.

Or after.

It had taken an independent third party kicking him in the face with the cold hard fact, with the truth, for Roy to see beyond the rage. The third party he didn’t know, the third party that has apparently been administered the same serum as Roy. The nameless, faceless third party that only contacted him via IM.

It had taken a lot of convincing, Roy was too stubborn to see the truth immediately, but his mysterious friend had persisted. And triumphed. And humbled Roy in the process. He’d thought he was all-knowing, so smart, cunning...Yet he’d known nothing. He’d been just a tiny piece of a greater puzzle. A pawn in a great game of chess someone was playing with Oliver Queen.

And they were winning.

The Arrow had no allies left, but Officer Quentin Lance. Although as a police officer, Lance was bound by law. And didn’t know the vigilante’s identity so his help was quite limited.

Oliver had managed to alienate John Diggle, his first and main sidekick, by being a complete prick. Felicity Smoak hated him with a passion for being a complete prick. He’d fucked and dumped her. Literally. Although the fucking had apparently lasted for almost a month, so it couldn’t be constituted as a one-night stand Oliver Queen had been so famous for. Roy could empathize with her only to a certain point. She had it coming. Sorry, sister. She’d fallen for the wrong guy. She knew what Oliver was like, knew whom his heart belonged to, yet she still managed to convince herself she could be the one to heal him, make him fall in love with her.

Tough. She wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last to fall for a guy who didn’t return the feelings.

And when she’d realized she’d been just the rebound fling...How does that saying go? ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ Roy couldn’t believe someone like Felicity, the sweet, perky blonde could hold so much resentment and rage inside her. She’d defamed him in the media, dragged him to court, sold the blueprints to an invention that would’ve brought Queen Consolidated millions of dollars in revenue to the competition...And left the company to go work for Kurumira International, a company that had its fingers in so many jars no one knew what the company did exactly. Or who really ran it.

At least she hadn’t told anyone Oliver was Arrow. No one has come knocking as of yet. Thank God for small blessings.

And has any of this made any impact on Oliver? Losing his friends and allies? The possibility of those friends revealing his secret? Not even close. The guy simply didn’t seem to care. To care that he hurt people, drove them away, that he was alone. Nothing. He obviously wanted to be alone. For the past eight months, Oliver Queen has only been a husk of the man he used to be. Ever since the news of Laurel Lance’s death. Ever since charred human remains have been found in the burnt down warehouse. Ever since her and Sebastian Blood’s bodies have been identified.

It had hit Roy, too. Harder than he thought it would. Laurel had always been nice to him, even when she’d been trying to catch the vigilante. And after, when she’d tried to find out how Max had died...They’d become good friends. So the news of her death, so violent and premature, hurt. It hurt everybody that knew her more than just in passing. It was amazing how many lives she’d touched, how many people she’d helped. The media had declared her funeral the event of the year, the vultures, with all the people that knew her, liked her, cared about her, and loved her in attendance.

With one glaring exception. Oliver Queen. He didn't go to her funeral. He didn't yet visit her grave, or so Roy’s been told. Something must have switched off in the man the day Laurel died. He’d pushed everybody away, destroyed whatever friendships and relationships he had...And took the anger, pain, and anguish out on the unsuspecting criminals of Starling City. A silver lining, there. Though Roy had no idea what Oliver would do once the city was free of crime and corruption. What he would do when there were no more demons to fight but those inside.

All he knew was that Oliver Queen hadn’t lost all his friends or allies. He still had one. And his name was Roy Harper. Whatever happened, he’d be there to guard his back. He promised that to himself the day he’d stopped being angry. And he promised it the next day as he stood over Laurel Lance’s grave. He had no idea why he’d done that, he’d just felt he had to.

His phone pinged, announcing a message, and he remembered yet another person who Oliver Queen could count as an ally. His mysterious friend. The guy who was determined that Roy forgive Oliver, the guy adamantly searching for some sort of cure to whatever ailed them both.

Which couldn’t come too soon for Roy. The superpowers were quite nifty when the occasion called for them, but otherwise a pain in the butt.

He read the message and grinned.

Train station. Barry Allen.

Make that three allies.

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