The Drug in Me is You

New

Oliver shoves the criminal against the wall before he can finish his pathetic excuse. The guy lets out a shrill cry as something snaps under the vigilante's hands, and it's only then that he realizes this wasn't a good idea. With the increased adrenaline in his system, it's hard enough to maintain control of his thirst, but now all he can see is the bruise on Felicity's face where this man hit her. His hands shake as he fights back on the urge to rip her assailant's throat out and leave him in the street for the world to see.

It's a primal instinct, but also a warning: this is what happens when you harm what is mine.

He has to shake his head to clear those baser instincts. Felicity is a person and not property. Hurting her and stealing her tablet isn't punishable by death. This man is going to walk away with his life tonight, and Oliver isn't going to sink his fangs into anyone but his donor. Maybe if he reminds himself enough, it will be true.

"I don't care why you did it," Oliver growls through his synthesizer. "I don't care about your excuses. That tablet has sensitive data on it that I want." In a darker voice, he hisses, "That puts you standing between me and what I need." The thief actually whimpers. "I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous that position is."

"I'm sorry!" the man screams again.

Oliver ignores him; there's only so much pleading he can take. "There are two ways this ends tonight," he continues. "You can give me the tablet and walk away, or I can use you for target practice and take from your cold hands. The first option is much less painful." Grabbing him by the throat, Oliver demands, "Choose wisely."

"Oliver," a voice says in his ear. Felicity. With one word, she grounds him. She's his voice of reason, and even now her tone is laced with warning. She might have only said his name, but he hears what she didn't say: Don't hurt him. Not for me. He wouldn't have hurt his target anyway, but Oliver can no longer deny her anything.

Or deny himself anything, he admits. If he had better control of his instincts, maybe this wouldn't have happened in the first place. He kissed her last night. It was foolish, but that... monster inside him wanted more than just flesh last night. It wanted her. It wanted to be loved and understood, and, in that single moment, it did. But if he hadn't slipped, he wouldn't have tried to avoid her—and he would have walked her to her car this evening. This sad, miserable thief would have thought twice before taking anything from her. Or, at the very least, Oliver would have dispatched him then.

And some idiot wouldn't have hit her.

The tablet is thrust against his chest. "Take it!" the thief screams. "Please! I'm sorry! I'll do anything you want! Just don't kill me!"

Slipping the device in the inside of his jacket, Oliver replies in a low voice that shakes with fury, "The woman you hurt earlier? She's important to me." There's a sharp intake of breath over the comms, and he wonders how that fact would surprise her. He's been telling her that for so long. Maybe not in words, but they've been written into every action he's made for the last year.

"And you hit her," Oliver continues. "You hurt her over a few credit cards and fifty dollars in cash." His grip on the thief's throat tightens, even though he doesn't mean to. His grip relaxes a few heartbeats later. He can't kill him—no, he needs this particular piece of slime to live. "The credit cards have been reported stolen, and she says you can keep the cash if you needed it that badly. But you should remember there are people in this city that I care about. Deeply. If you ever touch one of them again, I will come after you." He releases him. "And next time, you won't get a choice in what happens to you."

Before the man can even catch his breath, Oliver fires a grappling arrow into a nearby building and allows it to pull him up. It's quiet for a long moment as he travels across rooftops, but finally Felicity's voice breaks the silence: "Oliver, we seriously need to talk." The words make him wince, but he relaxes as she adds, "We're twenty-four hours overdue already, but we really need to have a conversation. Now more than ever."

There's no anger to her voice. It's gentle and soft, which he doesn't know how to read in this context. It's new. Then again, he's never hunted down a petty thief before. Maybe he's a little new, too. Maybe that works for them.

With a lilt to his step, he promises, "I'll meet you back at your apartment."