The Worst Shift Ever
The 15 Division locker room smelled like stale coffee and bad decisions. Andy McNally was just reaching for her duty belt when she heard the muffled giggling coming from the supply closet.
She pushed the door open, expecting to catch Miller or Epstein hiding from a paperwork mountain. Instead, she found Sam Swarek—her Sam—looking very much “not hers” with his arms wrapped around Marlo Cruz.
The silence that followed was louder than a gunshot.
“Andy,” Sam stammered, scrambling to adjust his uniform. “It’s not—I mean, it is, but—”
“Save it, Swarek,” Andy snapped. Her eyes were burning, but her voice was pure ice. “I hope she’s worth the dry-cleaning bill, because you’re officially out of my apartment.”
“Andy, wait!” Marlo started, looking actually sympathetic, which somehow made it ten times worse.
“Unless you’re giving me a statement on why my partner is a lying cheat, I don’t want to hear it!” Andy grabbed her gear and stormed out. She had exactly sixty minutes to cry before her shift started, and she planned to spend forty-five of them swearing at his favorite coffee mug.
One Hour Later: The “Ouch” Factor
The rain was back, because of course it was. Andy sat in her cruiser, aggressively eating a donut and glaring at the windshield.
“Stupid Sam. Stupid Marlo. Stupid rain,” she muttered. “I hope they both get—”
CRACK.
The driver’s side mirror disintegrated.
“Are you kidding me?!” Andy dove across the seats. “I am having a day, people! Give me a break!”
She scrambled out of the passenger door, staying low behind the car. She reached for her radio, but a second shot punched a hole right through the device on her shoulder.
“Oh, great! There goes my communication! Just fantastic!” She peeked over the hood, trying to spot the muzzle flash, when a sudden, sharp sting blossomed in her shoulder.
“Ow! Hey!” She looked down at the red stain spreading on her uniform. “He actually shot me! That’s... that’s incredibly rude!”
“You’re bleeding.”
Andy jumped, nearly hitting her head on the door frame. Leaning casually against the brick wall of the alley behind her was a man dressed like a very expensive, very grumpy forest ranger. He had a green hood pulled low and a bow in his hand.
“Oh, thank you, Captain Obvious,” Andy hissed, clutching her shoulder. “I thought I’d just spilled some very realistic strawberry jam. Who are you? Wait—are you the guy from the reports? The green archer?”
“I’m the guy trying to make sure you don’t get a second hole in your head,” Oliver Queen said, sounding remarkably bored for someone standing in a kill zone. “The sniper is on the clock tower. He’s a professional.”
“And I’m a professional police officer!” Andy retorted, wincing as she tried to pull her backup piece. “Ow. Okay, a professional police officer who is currently leaking. Do you have a bandage, or do you just carry sticks?”
Oliver sighed, a long, suffering sound. “They’re arrows. And yes, I have a field kit.”
“Good. Wrap me up, Robin Hood. I have a cheating boyfriend to yell at and a sniper to arrest, and I am not doing either in a blood-stained shirt.”
Oliver moved with a blur of speed, sliding down beside her. “You talk a lot for someone who just got hit by a high-velocity round.”
“It’s a nervous habit!” Andy barked. “And it’s been a very long hour! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good apartment in this city on a patrolman’s salary? And now I’m being shot at? This is a one-star night, Green. Zero stars!”
Oliver paused, a small, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m wounded!” she corrected, pointing at her shoulder. “Focus on the ‘not dying’ part, and then you can judge my personality.”
Another bullet sparked off the pavement. Oliver didn’t even flinch. He just finished tightening the bandage with a sharp tug.
“Ow! Watch the cargo!”
“Stay here,” Oliver commanded, rising to his feet. “I’ll handle the ‘rude’ guy on the roof.”
“Hey!” Andy called out as he vanished into the shadows. “If you see a guy in a leather jacket named Sam, feel free to shoot him too! Just a little bit! In the leg!”
Oliver reached the rooftop in a blur of green, but he was seconds too late.
CRACK. CRACK.
Two more shots echoed through the rainy abyss, aimed straight down at the street where Andy was pinned. By the time Oliver vaulted over the ledge, the sniper was a ghost, leaving behind nothing but a warm shell casing and a small, glossed piece of paper weighted down by a rock.
Oliver picked it up. It was a surveillance photo of Andy McNally leaving 15 Division, a red crosshair drawn crudely over her face. This wasn’t a random vigilante hunt; it was a hit.
“McNally!” he growled into the rain.
He dropped back down to the street, finding her slumped against the tire of her cruiser. She’d been hit twice more—one in the thigh and a grazing shot to her side. She was pale, leaking blood onto the asphalt, but her eyes were still open and remarkably annoyed.
“Seriously?” she rasped, looking at her leg. “Three times? I’m going to look like a piece of Swiss cheese. Do you have any idea how much this uniform costs?”
“Shut up, Andy,” Oliver said, his voice dropping the ‘Vigilante’ growl for a second out of pure concern. He scooped her up as sirens wailed just a block away. “You’re going into shock.”
“I’m not in shock,” she muttered, her head lolling against his shoulder. “I’m just... really, really over today. Can we go somewhere with better lighting? And maybe snacks?”
The Secret Hideout
Ten minutes later, Oliver kicked open the heavy steel doors of his high-tech lair.
“Oliver! Thank God, I was tracking the—” Felicity Smoak turned around, her blonde ponytail swinging, and immediately froze. Her eyes went from Oliver’s blood-stained suit to the semi-conscious police officer in his arms. “Oliver! There is a cop. You are holding a cop. Why is there a member of law enforcement in the Arrow-Cave? Is this a kidnapping? Are we kidnapping people now? Because I didn’t get the memo, and I’m pretty sure my ‘to-do’ list didn’t include ‘accessory to abduction!’”
“She was targeted, Felicity. It was a hit,” Oliver said, crossing the room to the medical table. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”
“A hit? On a beat cop?” Felicity scrambled for the medical supplies, her hands shaking. “And you brought her here? She has eyes, Oliver! Eyes that see things! Like your face! And my face! And all this very expensive, very illegal equipment!”
Andy blinked, looking around at the wall of computer monitors and the rack of green leather suits. She looked at Felicity, then up at Oliver, who had pulled back his hood, revealing his face.
“So,” Andy said, her voice weak but still dripping with sarcasm. “Oliver Queen. The billionaire playboy. I should have guessed. Only a rich guy would think a bow and arrow is a practical solution to crime.”
Felicity stopped mid-bandage. “Wait. You’re not... screaming? Or arresting us? Or having a massive existential crisis about the breakdown of the judicial system?”
Andy sighed, wincing as the pain in her leg flared. “Honey, an hour ago I found my boyfriend cheating on me in a supply closet. Then I got shot three times by a professional assassin. At this point, finding out the local billionaire is a secret ninja is literally the most normal thing that’s happened to me tonight.”
She looked at Oliver, who was staring at her with a mix of confusion and respect.
“Also,” Andy added, gesturing to the lair. “The decor is a bit ‘moody basement.’ You should really consider some throw pillows. Or maybe a rug? It’s very damp in here.”
Oliver looked at Felicity. Felicity looked at Oliver.
“I like her,” Felicity whispered. “Can we keep her?”
“No,” Oliver grunted, though his lips twitched. “We just need to make sure she doesn’t bleed out on the floor.”
