**I haven't written anything in years. I mean it. Years. This began as a writing exercise to warm up the near-petrified muscle, and in response to my frustration with "DC's The New 52." If anyone should read this, I would be so grateful for a few words, kind or otherwise. **

THE ARROW AND THE SONG

"I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight

Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For who has sight so keen and strong,

That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak

I found the arrow, still unbroke;

And the song, from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend."

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

ONE

The verdant pines towered like emerald giants, nearly obscuring the overcast sky. The Green Arrow stepped over a fallen tree, and noticed the chartreuse moss practically glowed upon the thick bark. The greens were unnaturally vibrant from the overnight rain, and the forest's perfume was overwhelming. This was how he most loved the forest, freshly scrubbed. All of the former day's imprint washed away by the rain. Ollie appreciated a fresh start, in all it's forms.

He was being followed. More a preternatural sense than an acquired skill that he realized, this time, his visitor was a friend.

"Hey Bats, if you're just about done skulking..." he called to the woods.

"Oliver," Batman said by way of greeting, stepping from behind a twisted juniper tree.

Ollie nodded his hooded head, "and what brings you to my neck of the literal woods?"

"Light."

To the point, as always.

"Dr. Light? As in, the resurrected-rapist-asshole-Light?"

"Yes."

"I thought Kimiyo smoked his ass."

"He's back. Again."

"Uh huh. He been the one tracking me?"

"Yes."

Ollie contained his giddiness, bubbling up inside him like a shaken soda. He hadn't seen Bruce since his resurrection-of-sorts, and his stony face, curt answers and threatening stance was a strangely welcome sight.

"I've caught a whiff of someone tailing me, besides you, of course. And you've been following him?"

"I've been...keeping an eye on him."

"Any idea why he's so interested in yours truly?"

"Not definitively, no."

"Want to float some theories past me?"

Batman was slow in answering, "no."

"All right then."

Oliver conceded the staring contest to his friend. He leaned against a tree, twitching his shoulder blade against the bark to scratch an itch.

"It's good to see you, you know. The fill-in did a good job, but he was sort of a Dick," Ollie laughed at his own pun and let his quiver slip from his shoulder, thudding to the softened ground.

He triumphantly noted Batman's smirk, and continued, "Wasn't really sure I would see you. I have had more visitors than you'd think, given my indiscretions. Conner's been stopping by a couple times a month. He doesn't say much, but he always leaves me a book. Transcendental Meditation, Zen Buddhism...various subjects he must feel will help me evolve into less of an asshole."

Batman settled in to a leonine squat, alert and listening. He seemed somehow lighter to Ollie - as though an Up-style balloon bunch was now tethered to his always granite countenance. Batman's time away appeared to allow him to hover above the reach of his usual vapor trail of ghosts.

Ollie caught a whiff of pine sap on a breeze, and his mind returned to Connor's visit. His face was suddenly weighted, and his eyes pressed to a squint.

"Bats, you familiar with synchronicity?"

Batman nodded, "Jungian. The only significance to coincidental events, Oliver, is the significance you yourself assign to them."

"Yeah, I used to think that too. Finding connections in random events, it just seemed like taking one step closer to delusional paranoia," Ollie raised his eyebrows, "so you might want to give the theory a wide berth."

"The point?"

"Not sure I have one. Just that I used to listen to Dinah read this children's book to Lian. I remember it specifically, because it was an illustrated version of this Robert Frost poem. Its all about this guy hanging out in the woods; beautiful illustrations... there was a massive snow covered tree and a quaint little horse-drawn sleigh on the cover. Anyway, one night Dinah tells me she finds it strange that a poem about a man contemplating suicide is masquerading as a kid's storybook."

Batman nodded, "The woods are lovely dark and deep, but I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep."

"Figures you'd know that one," Ollie smiled. "So I listen to her read it and from then on I can't hear anything but this guy thinking about offing himself. But there's a real beauty in it, you know, the guy deciding that he's got responsibilities and can't go sticking a gun in his mouth and let others take up the slack for him."

Ollie sucked in a breath, and blinked a few times. Then tentatively, "when I murdered him...Prometheus...when I killed him, there was a stack of books next to his feet. On the top of the pile was that same book. Great big snow covered tree on the cover and everything..."

Batman scowled, then grumbled, "Was it Lian's copy?"

"No. I checked. Dinah always kept the copy with her, so that wherever she was, she could call Lian and read her the story."

Ollie continued, "anyway, I was having quite a bad day yesterday. Full of self-loathing and regret, and I, uh, started, to think about these woods - " he gestured around him with a sweep of his arm.

Batman tilted his head slightly, "how they're lovely, dark and deep?"

"Something like that...and Conner shows up. Doesn't say but three words to me, drops a book at my feet and takes off. Well, I open up the book, it's about synchronicity and it's connection to Buddhism and quantum physics or some such shit, it's good, I'm only halfway through it...and there in the middle of this book is a faded grocery receipt, looks like a makeshift bookmark from whoever read this book last, and on it, scrawled out, word for word, is that same damn Robert Frost poem."

Batman stood as still as the tree next to him, "did it remind you that you have promises to keep?"

"Yep. And about a million miles to go before I sleep. But Bats, the thing is, I've never told a soul about that book being at Prometheus' place."

"Perhaps it isn't necessarily detrimental to assign importance to coincidental events."

"Could be. Or perhaps the coincidences are part of an underlying pattern."

Batman stared openly at him, when Ollie laughed in a huff, "or perhaps I am just finally going completely looney. Think you're going to have to drop me at Arkham?"

"Not quite yet. I still hold out hope for you, Oliver."

"Yeah, I noticed. What's that about? Where's the good old ghoul sitting in final judgement?"

"A jury took care of that."

Batman was different. He had been resurrected with an unmistakable tint of empathy. Ollie tried corking his envy of Bruce's fresh start. Ollie had squandered many a clean slate, and shook his head slowly, heavy with regret, "Bruce. I killed a man. In cold blood."

"I'm not saying I condone your actions, neither that you're trustworthy - "

Ollie turned his head suddenly, his ear following the noise. Twigs snapping. Up high. Something lacking grace was approaching.

"Think I've got another gentleman caller, Bats. Raincheck on the warm and fuzzies."

Dr. Light appeared in the small clearing, above them, a halo of incandescent light encircling his floating form. His lanky hunched form was clothed in his ridiculous black leotard, a silver fin capping his head. If Jaws were being interpreted balletically, Ollie figured Dr. Light a shoe-in.

"There you are!" Light laughed, effortlessly waving away the approaching batarang and arrow. "And the Batman too! I'm not here for a rumble, fellows. I've just brought you a gift."

"I hope you've brought a gift receipt," Ollie spat, nocking another three arrows; his peripheral simultaneously clocked Batman's changing stance and weaponry.

"As you well know," Light continued, "I've always had a certain affinity for helpless women, but I must tell you that I've discovered an new appetite for dead women. Less fuss. None of that annoying screaming and thrashing and such."

"Jesus, you're one sick puppy. Get to what you want or shut the hell up," Ollie growled as he let fly another two arrows, all dissipated instantly at a wave of Arthur Light's arm.

"What do I want?" Light smiled, and a hologram sprang from him, bathing the forest floor in a bright image.

Seconds stretched miles, as Ollie's eyes darted over the image, trying to process the vision of Black Canary. A gunshot wound hollowed out a bloodied space above her left eyebrow. Her blonde hair was matted with blood, her blue eyes open and clouded over in their sunken sockets. Her naked body was covered in haphazard cuts, inky bruises and bloodied fingerprints. Ollie's eyes raked over the image of Light's grip on her, the man's bony fingers sunk into her mottled hips, gleefully raping the dead woman. The dead woman. Black Canary was dead.

Ollie's conical vision collapsed into blindness. He knew he was firing arrows, his arms all muscle memory of fury, and he could hear himself screaming. It felt like a memory of screaming. His lungs squeezed shut like a bellows, all the air escaping.

He couldn't see.

He couldn't breathe.

Dinah.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

*I know, kinda icky there for a few lines. Not to worry, dear reader, all is not what it seems, as you'll see in Chapter 2.*