Focus

CONTENT:

Rating: Teen
Flavor: Drama
Language: no
Violence: no
Nudity: none
Sex: none
Other: none

Author's Note:

This story takes place between Arrow season 2 and season 3. These are my ideas of how Thea works out her issues with her weakness, her mourning and depression, and reaches a point where she embraces strength and the ability - and most importantly the will - to fight.

This story is not related to "Green & Black," but this is my version of Malcolm Merlyn, and he still has the scars I gave him there.

This can be seen as a continuation of "How I Met my Father" by Die Astra and myself, though it can also be read on its own.

Yes, I misquote Nightwish. It makes more sense to me that way.

Insights on depression from personal experience. Insights on archery training and mechanics thanks to Dark Empress V.

(My torment) has but one truth:
I weep to have what I fear to lose.

-Nightwish
"Gethsemane"

Focus

===#===

Thea faced the kyoshi, mirroring the fighting stance, but her shoulders were rounded, her head low. The kyoshi threw a slow punch, and Thea went through the motions of blocking and counter attack. Sloppy.

"Again."

The combatants reset and went through the drill once more. Thea's blocks were too soft; her strikes had no snap to them. Weak.

"Harder."

The kyoshi struck out, a bit faster. Thea threw an arm out barely in time, and was knocked off balance by the power of the blow. She staggered back.

"Thea-"

"This is stupid!" She turned and stomped off the mat. "I quit!"

Malcolm clenched his teeth at his daughter's disrespect. He moved to the edge of the mat. "Miyuki." The woman, twice Thea's age but the same height, turned to him. "That will be all for today. Thank you." He gave her a proper bow.

She returned it crisply, palms lightly slapping against her legs. Without a word, she turned and walked off, spine and shoulders straight. She was a woman of few words, but great patience - a perfect teacher for Thea.

Unlike her impatient father.

Malcolm sighed. She's in mourning. He couldn't blame her. Moira's loss still weighed heavily on him, and he wasn't even sure he was still in love with the woman. Why had she betrayed him? He'd been so angry, but more than revenge or retaliation, he wanted an explanation.

If only he had access to the Lazarus Pit, all this could be solved. But no. That thing was more of a curse than a blessing.

He found Thea outside, tossing crumbs into the koi in the pond. She slumped forward on the bench, elbows on her knees, her hair falling lankly around her face. She looked as if the weight of her sorrow was crushing her, and she'd lost the strength to bear it.

His first impulse was to snap her out of it. He'd mollycoddled Tommy for too long, and if he'd taken a firmer hand with his son sooner...

Malcolm shook his head. Thea was his daughter, not his son. If he pushed her too hard, too soon, she could break.

He crossed to her, took a seat on the bench beside her. "You'll make the fish fat."

"You gotta fatten them up to eat them, don't you?"

"You want to eat a carp?" He made a face, then smiled gently at her. "Not a good idea."

She didn't look up. "If you came here to lecture me, save it."

"No. Just to talk." He observed her a few moments as she rolled little bits of bread into balls, tossed them into the water, watched the ornamental fish break the surface with eager mouths. "Thea, I know how you feel."

"No you don't." She chucked a wad of bread to the far side of the pond.

He reached out and took her hand in his. She glared at him, but he met her eyes steadily. "When I lost my wife, Rebecca... That's what I felt: lost. It was as if a huge part of my life - the heart of it, the very meaning - was gone. Ripped away from me." He paused to swallow, to try to retain a grip on his emotion.

It wasn't as easy to let go around Thea, as it had been with Moira and Tommy. They weren't total strangers, but he didn't feel safe being so open and vulnerable to her. And she hated him.

He looked down at their joined hands. "I hurt so badly inside." He turned his hand so that if she looked, she could see the scars on his wrist shadowed within the sleeve. Through his lashes, he caught sight of her head lowering, her mouth opening slightly. "Everything seemed so difficult, so useless. Some days... it was an effort to just keep breathing."

She swallowed. He took a breath and looked up into her eyes once more. They were less guarded, now. "You've lost so much. Your mother. Your brother. Your... lover." Her eyes welled up with pain, but he went on. "You home. Your life. Everything."

Her tears spilled over, and he leaned to embrace her. She pulled away. She always did that; she clung to her hatred. But after a moment, the pain overwhelmed her, and she needed him.

He folded her in his arms and drew her to his chest. "I know how badly it hurts," he told her gently. "But you need to find something to focus on, some goal, some meaning to give your life."

"It's so hard," she sobbed against him.

"I know, baby."

"I just want to go to sleep for years and years, and make it all go away, but every time I close my eyes, all I can see is her. When he st-st-st-" She started shaking, and he held her more tightly. "Her face... Her grave..."

Malcolm tried to be strong for his daughter, but he felt the same pain, the same loss. "He's dead," he said huskily. Slade Wilson: the demon that had come from nowhere to destroy Oliver's life and the ones he loved. "They had to kill him; he was too dangerous to let live." He stroked Thea's hair, trying to quell his rage. Rage at the man who'd murdered Moira, and anger at the archer who didn't stop it.

"Your mother was a strong, proud woman." He took Thea by the arms, pushed her away a bit so he could look into her face. "She'd want you to be strong, just like she was."

Thea dropped her gaze, her shoulders rounding once more. "I don't know how."

"Come with me. I want to show you something."

===#===

Along one side of the villa was a wide hall. Racks of swords lined the walls, interspersed with armor of oriental design. Malcolm took Thea past all that, to the far end, where archery gear was stored.

Thea wiped her face on her sleeve, heedless of making a mess of her clothes. Or her face, though it didn't matter since she wasn't wearing makeup anyway. She hadn't bothered about her appearance for... days. Weeks? It was all she could do to get out of bed some mornings.

Malcolm selected a simple bowstave from the pegs on the wall and strung it with ease. "I'd like to teach you how to shoot a bow."

"I know how to shoot a bow."

He turned to her with a brow crooked in surprise. "You do?" A faint smile traced his lips.

"Yeah." At 14, she'd had a total Orlando Bloom/Legolas fixation, and her high school had an archery team. So she'd bought the gear and joined up. "I was on the team. We won state champs, twice."

His faint smile transformed into a full-on beam of pride. Thea blushed slightly. It wasn't as if she'd been anything special. Just the way he looked at her, exactly like a proud parent. She found it harder and harder to stay angry at him.

He didn't wear the stiff suits any more, or that hooded armor thing. He wore casual shirts, sneakers even. He wasn't that cold, distant stranger, not any more. They lived together now, and she saw him at his worst - padding around in pajama bottoms and t-shirt, unshaven with his hair in disarray, cursing when he dropped pieces of eggshell in the frying pan. It made him less perfect. More human.

He held out the bow. "Show me what you can do."

"What am I shooting at?" She took it and moved a bit away from the wall.

He pulled a free-standing quiver from the phalanx and placed it near to hand. He nodded towards the far end of the hall. There were wooden panels with targets chalked on them, hanging on the walls.

She pulled out an arrow and studied it a moment. It didn't have a smooth target head like she was used to, but a triple vane. She turned her attention to the fletching to identify the cock feather and place it to the outside of the bow as she nocked the arrow.

She took a breath and drew the bow. There was a bit of wobble; it had been a while since she'd done this. She sighted along the shaft, raised her aim slightly, and released.

The arrow thunked into the bottom of the target. She grimaced. Her father remained silent.

She grabbed another arrow and tried again. Better, but low and to the right. So she nocked another one. She could get a little obsessive, determined to do it right.

"Widen your stance. Stay evenly balanced," her father murmured, and she adjusted with barely a pause.

This chalk target sucked. With a modern bull's-eye, you at least got points for hitting different rings. This thing was a tiny point where two lines crossed.

"Keep your breathing calm, smooth."

Thea concentrated on her breathing. She tuned everything out but the bow, the arrow, the target. Breathe. Hold. Release.

===#===

Malcolm watched his daughter shoot. He didn't look at the target; he didn't want to be judgmental of her success or failure. Instead he watched her form. He could see she was a bit rusty, but with some gentle reminders, she fell back into her routine.

God, she was beautiful. Like a young Diana, goddess of the hunt. His heart swelled with pride and yes, love. His family was important to him; he'd wanted to protect and nurture her - his and Moira's child. But until this moment, he hadn't felt it: that bond.

In the next moment, he felt fear.

Fear of losing what he now had, this precious fragile thing.

He'd saved Thea from death in the madness of that riot. He'd taken her from the people that were lying to her, he'd brought her with him, to protect her. But he was a marked man. That made her a target.

Malcolm swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew what he had to do.

===#===

Thea reached for another arrow, but her fingers closed on empty air. She blinked and looked around, feeling as if she'd been asleep, or in a trance. How much time had passed?

She looked over at her father. His head was down, his eyes unfocused, a pensive frown on his face. "What's wrong?"

He looked up. "Nothing." He smiled slightly.

She set her jaw. "You said you wouldn't lie to me."

"You're right." He ducked his head sheepishly. "May I defer the question until another day?"

"I guess." The question really was: did she want to know? Right now, no. She was feeling down again, the reality of her loss, of her mother's murder, flooding back after her respite of no-thought while she was trying to shoot.

"Now for the fun part," Malcolm said, tipping his head as he started towards the target. Fetching the arrows. Yay. Thea set down the bow and followed.

Malcolm had already gathered a few of them in one hand. The wood of the target was hard; the bladed points hadn't sunk into it the way target arrows would with hay or styrofoam.

Thea grabbed a couple and wedged them loose. "I didn't score any hits," she said in self-deprecation. "Don't you have a bigger bull's-eye?"

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Unless you're planning to kill a fly with your arrows. Which would be a bit of overkill, don't you think?" He shot a quick grin at her.

"I don't want to kill anyone," she insisted.

He looked away; the smile vanished. "All right."

She exhaled in frustration. Just when you thought a guy had a bit of humanity, he had to go and remind you that he was a mass murderer at heart. She turned away in disgust.

"Thea!"

"What?"

"That's not what this is for."

She turned back to him, grudgingly listening to what he had to say.

"When everything overwhelms you, when you can't think clearly, when you can't control the thoughts and images that run through your mind... The archery will help you focus. Better than-" He broke off and looked down.

Thea reached out and grabbed his left wrist, pulled. At first, he resisted, and she could feel the steel core of his strength. Then he relented and let her see, let her push his sleeve back, though he looked embarrassed.

She touched the scar lines running across the inside of his forearm. "Better than this?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Yes."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I... I was young. I was hurting. I didn't have my training, then. I didn't know better." His blue eyes met hers. "I have traveled this same path you are on, Thea. I know there aren't any shortcuts; I know you have to work through this pain and loneliness. But maybe, just maybe, I can help you make the journey faster. Help you avoid the pitfalls and dead ends." He searched her face. "All I want is to help you."

She bit her lip. Then she released his arm and plucked the group of arrows from his hand. "I'd like to be alone for a while."

He nodded. "Of course."

He left, and Thea returned to the shooting area. She started over, not concerning herself with the targets, though she ended up clustering her arrows together anyway. She shot arrows until her fingers went numb from the drag of the bowstring. Then she shot until they hurt like hell. Her left arm ached from holding the bow, her elbow and forearm stung from the slap of the string. She didn't stop until the light grew dim.

Then she unstrung the bow, not as easily as her father had strung it, and she put it away.

She washed up and went into the kitchen. She was feeling numb, calm. Her mind had quieted, and she had a bit more of an appetite than usual.

Malcolm was there, sitting at the kitchen bar, eating his dinner. He set down his bowl. "Hungry?"

She nodded and slipped onto the stool across from him. He got up and went to the pot on the stove while Thea picked up a pair of chopsticks. She winced as she tried to hold them. "You cooked again?"

"Is that a tone of surprise, or just dismay?"

"I didn't say anything."

He glanced over his shoulder. "You know, once upon a time, when I was a successful, wealthy, well-respected businessman - also known as 'the good old days' - I never had time to cook. I had staff to prepare meals. Or I went out to dinner." He scooped some dumplings, rice, and vegetables into a bowl and brought it to her. "Now, I have nothing but time. Why shouldn't I learn to cook?" He resumed his seat.

"No reason, I guess." She started wondering if she could manage these chopsticks with her left hand.

"Let me see."

She looked up, startled by the firm command. "It's noth-"

He ignored her and pulled her hands across the bar. His touch was surprisingly gentle over her fingertips. "I have something that will help. But tomorrow, we'll get you a pair of shooting gloves." He pushed up her left sleeve, much as she'd done with his before, revealing the reddened skin. "And an arm guard."

"Shouldn't I just get tough and calloused?" she asked bitterly. "Like you?"

"I wear gloves. And armor that includes an arm guard."

She sighed and picked at her food. "But that's what you want, isn't it? That's why you keep pushing me to learn to fight."

"You said you wanted to be strong."

"Strong, not... I don't want to kill people. I'm not like you."

"You don't need to attack people," he said. "But you ought to know how to defend yourself."

She shook her head, not in a mood to argue. She ate her dumplings.

"Thea. I won't always be here to protect you."

She looked at him, but didn't want to see the sorrow in his eyes. She looked away.

She wasn't ready.

===X===