One of dozen or so of ideas I have for short mini-stories. Come to think of that Oliver had quite a lot of close shaves, especially in early seasons, and there was quite a number of women, who could bring about his demise. What If fic.

Many thanks to Perosha for beta. :)

The Story of Eight Women

aka

Another Way to Get Caught

Dear Mother

Moira lowers the gun. Her hands, so steady a moment ago, are now shaking terribly. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she is barely able to breathe, feeling weak at her knees. Did she succeed? Did she make that dreadful man go away?

The office is dead silent, plunged into deep darkness. A gust of cold wind falls through the broken window, shaking the ripped blinds so violently that they are beating against the frame with a loud clatter.

She peeks over her desk, then takes a casual step to side to take a better look at the hooded figure, lying on the floor motionless. She notices a dark pool of blood, which grows rapidly. And then she realizes that her shot hit its intended target. For a moment she feels a bit sorry for the man, seeing that he is bleeding out quickly. She never wanted to kill anyone...not with her own hands for sure. Not if she had any other choice...But she had to defend herself! What would happen to Oliver and Thea if that crazy man put an arrow through her heart? She knows that he hated one-percenters, and that he had killed before. He was unpredictable and dangerous, nobody will blame her for shooting him in self-defense...

She has no idea why she comes closer to the vigilante. He doesn't look dangerous anymore. His bow lies to the side, well out of his reach. Moira is not even sure if he is still conscious. He is not dead. At least not yet. She hears that he is gasping for breath, wheezing.

She bends down over him, to look upon the face of a man who wanted to hurt her, maybe even kill her. There is no conscious thought behind it, but deep down she feels as if something is...driving her to him. As if there is something...familiar in him. And absurd thought, nothing else. She hopes that the police will be here any moment and will take care of the matter...

Her heart misses a beat when the hooded vigilante catches her wrist in one swift move, leaving a bloody mark on the wristband of her pale jacket.

The vigilante tries to say something. Paralyzed with fear, Moira looks him straight in the eyes and then she recognizes him...Realizes with utter horror what she has done. Her blood turns to ice.

She has shot her own son.