Arrow, Batman Begins/Dark Knight What Happens in Gotham

**What Happens in Gotham**

**by Pippin Strange**

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><p><em>The Queen family &amp; Team Arrow react to the events of Dark Knight Rises, as they watch the emergency news broadcast. Canon relationships, friendship fluff, no OCs. Probably one-shot.<em>

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><p>...<p>

I opened the mansion doors, greeted by the smells of polished mahogany. I just wanted to get to my room as quickly and as quietly as possible and sleep off the pain of my latest gunshot graze that took off a square centimeter of my leg. I wondered if that black, acrid smell from the gunshot itself was just in my imagination, or if the wound was going to start smoking and give me away.

Almost to the stairs, breathing deeply. _Concentrate. _

"Oliver, will you come in here, please?"

My mother's voice, urgent, but trying to sound calm. _Something's wrong. _

"Yeah-uh-just let me grab..." _My poker face. _

"Have you seen the news?"

I paused, one hand on the banister, imagining my bed and an icepack. "No?"

Thea was at the doorway to the family room, eyes afraid. _Make that really, really worried. _"Oliver, you've got to come see this. It's all over the news. There's been uh- like a terrorist attack or something. In Gotham City."

"Gotham?" turning around, back across the hard floors, each step sending a spasm up my leg and a grimace that I could not indulge. Gotham was fondly nicknamed the nightmare city, a small island between New York and Jersey, with a seemingly rich history of the highest crime rate in the USA. It did not seem like a typical target for terrorists, as it didn't play an important part in the politics of the country. It didn't make sense for terrorists to attack a place already ravaged by crime, a greater impact would be made on purer, more important cities.

I followed Thea into the living room. Mom was standing, poised regally, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. Thea flopped onto the couch. I stood, uncomfortably, afraid that sitting would give me away. They would certainly know something was wrong if I sat down and then was unable to stand back up.

"Does 'Wayne Enterprises' ring a bell?" my mother asked. "They were at their prime in the mid 80s. Your father attempted to reach out to them, to finance part of their applied sciences division. To invest and see some of their profit."

"And how'd that go?" I asked, eyes on the television. They were showing a weather promo, with promise of full coverage of the terrorism 'soon'.

"Well, we ended up creating our own applied sciences division," she said, the only hint of bitterness betrayed by the chagrin in her tone. "They were not interest in partnering with our company."

"That's too bad. What about them?" _And yet another event someone forgot to tell me about while I was on the island... _

"A few years ago, The Wayne Tower was a target for a failed terrorist attack that launched a hallucination-inducing toxin over the city. Luckily it was contained and stopped before..."

"Okay, shh, they're back," Thea unmuted the tv and tossed the remote beside her. A blond reporter stood on an abandoned bridge, wearing a thick coat and beanie, gesturing wildly at the cityscape behind her.

"As you can see behind me," she said, "This bridge and every bridge connecting to Gotham City are abandoned and empty, the result of _army personnel _enforcing the terrorists' demands that no one is to be let in or out. We can't get close enough to get footage of what is really going on, the only thing working for us right now is people who are reckless enough to film what Bane's army is doing and posting them online. Its our only real connection to visualizing the horrors following the tragedy at the Gotham University Stadium."

The video cut to an anchorman behind his desk. "Chloe, can you tell us if there is any activity on the river? Boats, perhaps?"

"There aren't any boats, Jerry-with temperatures dropping, the bay is turning into a giant glacier. It won't be long, perhaps a few hours, until the ice builds up at the edges and leaves most of the bay frozen over except for the deep current in the very middle. We aren't seeing any movement from the army, either-though we did receive confirmation there are some sort of relief efforts being attempted, sending food and first aid supplies over the bridge. Whether or not these supplies are reaching the right people for equal distribution, we may never know until we have contact."

"And they've knocked out cell towers and cut power lines, that is correct?"

"Bane's army has been steadily working around the clock to sufficiently hold the entire city hostage-servers and message inboxes and voicemails were overloaded within the first hour of the Stadium incident, people calling loved ones or just dialing 911-but the numbers have gone down significantly and I'm afraid they'll cease altogether."

"Can you tell me anything about what the army might be using to try and communicate with the island?"

"From what we can tell, they are making use of radio-whether or not there is anyone answering on the other side is a different story. There are no ground forces in Gotham and police are not responding. Jerry, I cannot imagine what kind of brute force could incapacitate the entire GPD like that. Unlike terrorist attacks of America's past that focused on the numbers in a massacre, this seems to be calculated work in order to keep people alive but helpless."

"Chloe, we're going to transfer over to some live video footage taken from the stadium earlier today. Any last thoughts from you're standing?"

"The only thing we can do from here is send our good thoughts, positive energy, and prayers to those in Gotham."

"Thank-you, Chloe, stay safe out there."

"Thank-you, Jerry."

"Now, we're going to replay an amateur video taken from the upper level at the stadium-but this video comes with a warning, this was taken live and the images are highly disturbing. Watch at your own risk."

A shaky video began to play, everyone dressed in yellow and terribly silent. A child's voice was singing over the crappy phone speakers, high and angelic. "The kid is good," said a whisper in the background. Someone shushed him. After the last note, the stadium exploded in cheers and screams and arms waving-the kickoff proceeded quickly-and then the whole scene shook, like an earthquake. The man filming whispered, _Oh, shit, _before trying to zoom in over the heads of those in front of him.

Part of the ground on the field fell away, and then the cheers of encouragement turned into shouts of terror and horror. The field kept falling, by pieces, like dominos, bodies falling inside, limp with broken backs and burst skulls from the forces of the explosions that shook the camera-holder, over and over and over again. The camera fell down, sideways, on the cement, filming nothing but sneakers darting to and fro of people trying to leave their seats. Eventually the feet stopped moving, mesmerized.

I sat down.

The man picked up his camera again. His hands were shaking, but the sound was back. There were a lot of screams, and someone with a gun was moving down the aisle of the bleachers. People jostled each other, trying to kneel and duck behind the seats. Utter chaos.

"Jesus Christ," muttered the man holding the camera. He dropped down to seat level, balancing the camera on the back of the chair.

"Citizens," moaned a strange, deep, mechanical voice over the loudspeakers. There was a cluster of people standing on a portion of the field that was not blown up. "Take controool..." it droned, the shadow, the camera too far to see. "Take controool of your citeeey." The man turned his camera away from the action and focused on the live footage from the camera suspended on the cable running over the center of the field. Smart. It blew up the image to the right size, a man, bald, wearing some sort of breathing apparatus over his mouth, and a large winter coat with fur around the collar. "This is the instrument of your liberation," he said, sounding like an over eager voice actor pressing his mouth hard against a microphone. He was using the headset of some fallen referee to speak into. Two people rolled out a large globe-shaped machine from the hall through which the football teams would usually run through.

Yellow words scrolled by the banner on the bottom of the screen. _Ground forces are working to try and establish communication with the terrorist simply known as 'Bane'... Those with any information or tips are asked to call the tip-line for the federal bureau of investigation... sources confirm that the machine was originally fusion technology from Wayne Enterprises weaponized into a nuclear device... Doctor Leonard Pavel, nuclear physicist, is confirmed dead... _

There was a man with short silver hair forced to kneel before Bane. "Identify yourself to the world," said Bane.

"Doctor Leonard Pavel, nuclear physicist..."

"Didn't they just say he was dead?" Thea asked quickly.

"and what is this?" Bane gestured impatiently to the globe.

"It's a... primed... neutron bomb... with a blast radius of six miles..."

"And who is capable of disarming such a device?"

"Only me," said Dr. Pavel.

"Only you? Thank-you, good doctor," replied Bane slowly, putting his hands on either side of his head. The audience screamed in horrified unison as Bane twisted Pavel's head violently, breaking his neck and letting his body fall loosely to the ground.

Thea scrambled for the remote. "I don't want to see this," she exclaimed.

"Wait, hold on a second," I reached down and put a hand on her shoulder.

The camera footage ended, and Jerry the anchorman was back on the screen. "The amateur footage of the bloodshed at the stadium ends here, and fortunately, the young man holding the camera has had some online activity (sending us this video, for starters) and we can confirm that he made it out of the stadium safely, before phone lines started going down all over the city. Only those with wireless internet installed in their homes can tell us what is going on, but those who have wireless internet-the upper middle class and the wealthy-have made themselves targets for Bane's mercenaries. Now what we don't see at the end of the video is Bane announcing that the trigger man for the nuclear bomb is somewhere in that stadium, and any 'help' from the outside-presumably anyone not on the island-will force them to set off the bomb. And this is why, we've been told, the army has closed the bridges. Not only does the president seem to be complying with the wishes of the terrorist but we can't know for sure until his public address, which I'm told will be on in one hour."

Thea muted the tv. "That's so messed up," she said angrily. "What interest does a terrorist have in Gotham, anyway? It's like every 'bad' part of town from every major city all put together."

"I don't know," I said slowly, my mind racing uncontrollably. _What could I do? What could any of us do? Breaking and entering and saving the day has sort of been my speciality for the past year... but... _"Who the hell decided it'd be a good idea to put the city on an island, anyway?" I mumbled out loud. Thea and Mom glanced at me, unsure of what to say. I gave them a half smile. "Sorry," I said quickly. "Just thinking out loud. I guess, Thea, that Gotham's seclusion from the rest of the world makes it prey."

I glanced back at the tv. The words scrolled by on the bottom, _Local vigilante known only as 'the Bat-Man' has not been seen yet, and sources tell us there hasn't been a sighting for quite some time..._

"The Bat Man?" I repeated. "What the hell is that?"

Thea's eyes grew wide. "Oh, right, you sort of missed out on that," she said. "There's been some news coverage of this guy that dresses up like a bat and tries to fight crime in Gotham. They've kept is pretty hush hush, just local Gotham news, never national news. Of course the internet exploded once the guy seemed responsible for the death of some guy named Harvey Dent... this bank-robber turned psycho started wreaking havoc in Gotham and, supposedly, the Bat-Man was fighting him or something..."

"So there's _more _of these crazy masked people running around?" I asked, ironically.

Thea pulled her phone out and searched _The Joker _and handed it to me. A dozen news articles popped up in the results. I clicked the first one-about his escape and second incarceration-and the image that accompanied the article was gruesome. His face was plastered with white makeup, and black circles around his eyes painted with uncomfortable familiarity, and red lipstick smeared over his elongated smile that stretched too far on either side of his face.

"The scars are messed up, right?" Thea took her phone back. "He kept sending hostage videos to the local news and eventually it got national attention. But afterwards, the Bat-Man was accused of murdering Harvey Dent and disappeared. The internet seems to think he was sighted in a police-chase recently, but who the hell knows?"

"Is the Batman a good guy, or a bad guy?" I asked casually, trying to sound more like a Queen and less like an interested party.

"We know as much about him as we do The Hood," Thea answered with a sigh. "I'm sure the Hood knows more about him."

"Oh? Why? Do they team up and 'fight crime' at night?" I joked. "Sounds like a bad tv show."

"Well, let's just say, if I were going to dress up and play superhero at night," Thea answered, "I'd research what the other crack-pots are doing."

It had never occurred to me that there were others. Another kind of vigilante in another city. Starling did a good job of labeling anyone who donned a mask my 'copycat', and it led me to believe that I was being original.

"I need to call in to work," I said. "And find out if the city-hostage situation is going to affect our company in any way."

"That's sort of cold," Thea said.

"Yeah?" I said, with a glance at Mom. "I think it's better to find out now than later. I don't want an angry company to call us and ask why their shipment isn't here, only to find out that one of our supply trucks is stuck in Gotham. After all, it's my responsibility to communicate with supervisors and department heads, and if a family needs to be notified..."

Thea waved her hand. "Okay, okay, sorry. God. You're turning into such a workaholic."

"I think 'responsible' is the word I'd use," my mother said with a slight smile.

"Thanks, Mom," I said, standing as slowly as possible. I let out a forced breath through gritted teeth, turning my head so that they couldn't see me wince. Then I started to walk away.

"Are you _limping?_" Thea suddenly demanded. I blinked, and slowly turned around, a guilty smile on my face.

"Yes?"

"Why? What did you do?"

"Well, I wasn't home last night," I said.

My mother suddenly looked very suspicious. "Were you in some sort of trouble?" she asked. "You don't... look like yourself, actually. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Why are you limping?" Thea persisted.

"Let's just say the girl I was with last night was sort of a gymnast," I said guiltily. "But... very sexy."

"Oliver," Mom shook her head and put a palm to her forehead. "Just-next time-tell me it's none of my business. I'd almost prefer that."

"You're sort of disgusting," Thea curled her lip in disgust.

"Got to make some calls," I said quickly. "Bye."

I didn't have to disguise my limp poorly as I walked from the room. _That excuse had worked far better than I thought. Why didn't I use it more often? _

"I think you used the word 'responsible' too soon," Thea quipped.

"Oh?" said my mother's voice. "And where were you last night, young lady?"

"With the boyfriend I'm in a committed relationship with," she responded hotly. "I don't just sleep with anything that has hot, flexible legs."

I rolled my eyes and stumbled up the stairs sorely, letting myself groan slightly with the pain. I pulled out my phone and quickly dialed Felicity. No answer. I called Diggle.

"You saw the news?" I asked.

"Yes," Dig answered. "And there is no way in hell you can get to Gotham. Literally. You can't shimmy across the bridge on one of your arrow zip-lines and you can't swim or fly across without endangering everyone there. So, no, I won't help you."

"What a lovely vote of confidence," I said. "I realize that my physical presence is impossible. What I was hoping was that you could get a hold of Felicity and meet me back at the club. I don't know what sort of technological aid we can provide that the FBI hasn't already thought of, but I thought we could dig up some satellite imagery and see what's going on."

"And this has nothing to do with the Batman?"

"I admit, I am curious about that."

"He didn't rip-off your mojo, you know. If anything, you borrowed from him."

"Since I didn't know about his existence until today, that's slightly inaccurate."

"How did you not know about the-ah, right. My bad."

"It's not a problem. Just, try to get a hold of Felicity. I'll be on my bike, so..."

"See you there."

I hung up, and called Laurel. She answered on the first ring.

"Oliver," she greeted, a little formally.

"Hey. Uh- just calling to ask. Um. You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Humor me. You're all right? And your family?"

"As safe as can be in Starling, I guess. You?"

"Yeah, we're okay. I'll-uh, you sound busy. I'll call you later."

"All right... take care, Oliver."

...

"What have you got?" I asked, entering the basement. The lights over the desk cast an eerie glow over the computer screens and an empty chair. "Where's Felicity?" I asked, noting she wasn't in her usual place.

"Felicity isn't answering her phone."

"Perhaps she's in the shower."

"She puts a plastic cover over her phone and takes it in the shower with her," Diggle answered, leaning against the table with his arms over his chest. I cocked my head and raised my eyebrow at him. "I only know this because she blurted it out one day," Diggle said quickly.

"Maybe she's sleeping."

"She also informed me that she keeps her phone on her pillow next to her ear. If it goes off, she answers."

"Okay," I said slowly, sitting in her chair and looking blankly at the computer screens. "I guess I'll... search stuff myself."

Diggle looked over my shoulder. "Do you even know what to look for?"

I leaned back quickly. "No. No idea. I'll try calling her again." I pulled out my phone. "And is there anything new? Any communication from Gotham?"

"Unless you count Gotham teenagers updating their twitter feeds from their computers, nothing. They can't eliminate everything with wireless internet for obvious reasons, but the only ones that have communication are being met with radio silence."

"What do you mean?"

"The media says Gotham isn't calling for help. That's bullshit. They _are _calling." He pulled up a simple google search and typed in _Gotham _and _social media. _Hundreds of people were flocking to facebook, twitter, youtube, and other sites and posting their own coverage of giant army tanks rolling through the empty Gotham streets, looters breaking into mansions and shooting the occupants within, posting statuses about 'going dark' to hide from mercenaries, and friends tweeting each other to try and wait out the disaster in each other's basements. "But this country made a decision that they'd rather them stay hostage and alive, than try to fight back and trigger a nuclear explosion. So they are guarding the bridges to prevent people from escaping. They are not responding with the kind of help they want. Special forces are delivering food to the cops..."

"Sorry, and the cops are just knitting in their living rooms?"

"Did you not see that part on the news? About ninety percent of the cops all converged on an underground hideout believed to be Bane's place of residence, and they blew out the tunnels, trapping them all inside. Bane plans on keep them alive and play zookeeper. The citizens have no help from the cops-except for maybe the few of them that didn't go on that bust."

I stared at the screen, overwhelmed. "I wish there was a way we could find out where they were hiding the bomb. Do you think we could see where they took it after the stadium incident through their security cameras?"

Diggle glanced at me, and shut down the web search. "We'd need a certain blonde IT girl to help us with that. Know anyone?"

I had forgotten I was about to call again. I had her on speed dial.

_Ring. _

Straight to voice mail.

"Hi, you've reached Felicity Smoak, unfortunately if I'm not answering it probably means I'm dead, so just leave me a message if it makes you feel any better."

_Beep._

"Felicity," I instructed sternly, "Call me back. Please." I hung up and put my phone none-too-gently on the desk. "When did she change her voicemail?"

"I don't know-not recently." Diggle said. "Not long after she started working with us, I think."

"Hm," I adjusted my leg and hissed, the muscles spasming slightly. _I need to stop getting shot all the time. _"Did she say anything about her plans today?"

"Why?" Diggle asked. "Are you worried?"

"A little, yes. Why wouldn't I be, if she is so attached to her phone as you say?"

"Well, personally, it wouldn't be unlike you to just be a little out of sorts because she can't flock to your side in a heartbeat like she usually can."

I gave Dig a disappointed look. "This is not me being annoyed at an assistant. This is Oliver being concerned about his _partner_, Felicity. Is that all right with you?"

"Oh, it will be, if you stop talking about yourself in third person. And to answer your question-no, she didn't mention any plans to me."

My phone rang. _Felicity calling. _

I answered quickly, putting it on speakerphone and setting the phone on the desk. "Felicity!"

"Oliver," she responded in a strangely high-pitched voice. "One bar of service. You'd think with today's technology this wouldn't still happen. I could've hooked up my tablet and tried to email, but it seemed unlikely, since I forgot the cord, and I'm not really at home so I can't just ask some stranger if I can log into their internet and I don't really feel inclined to visit a hipster coffee joint with free wifi. While I could try hacking into something, I'm trying to keep my capital offenses down to three per day and I've met my quota. Sorry."

"You don't have to try and excuse yourself, 'I don't want to call' or 'I can't call' are acceptable answers," I said dryly. "But can you come to the club?"

"Not really, no." She took a deep breath as if she were about to launch into a highly-detailed explanation as to why she couldn't, and then seemed to be rethinking it. The pause lasted too long to be a natural one.

"Why can't you come in?" I asked, seriously.

"Please don't ask me. I'd rather not discuss my private life... or answer any direct questions... Maybe I just don't want to-you said that's an acceptable answer-or I can't."

"What's going on?" I persisted.

"Felicity, where are you?" Diggle asked.

"Nowhere special. Bad neighborhood. Good food, though. Nice view, nice transit system."

"_Shit,_" Diggle hit his hand agitatedly on the edge of the tabletop. "She's in Gotham."

"What?" I shouted.

"What?" Felicity repeated. "What? Um, no-did I say that? I didn't say that. I never said I was in Gotham. Why would I say it?"

"Felicity, what the hell are you doing there?" I asked. "And where are you EXACTLY?"

The same vulnerability she accidentally let show when she was acting as bait for the dollmaker came through her voice, shaking it up and leaving it shrill and frightened. "I just came into town. Thought I'd see an old friend from MIT. We got coffee and parted ways and then there were tanks and mercenaries and then there were explosions and breaking news of the stadium incident and next thing I know someone from _our _army is pointing a gun at my head and telling me to turn around and walk back across the bridge into the city..." she said all of this without taking a breath and let out something like a sob and a sigh. "I'm still standing by the bridge... it's really cold. I hate my life. I hate the guy still trying to sell hotdogs on the corner because he doesn't take card and I don't have any cash and he's basically laughing at me even though it's only a matter of time before the pirate-thugs patrol the streets and mug him."

"Okay, listen, Felicity, calm down. Take a deep breath. I know it's scary being in occupied territory, but what you need to do is get out of the open and lay low," Diggle reassured her. "I don't suppose you could rejoin your friend and wait for this thing to blow over?"

"Yeah, see, that's the thing, I don't plan on sitting here and waiting to be 'blown over'. I wanted to call you two first... but... if I leave this spot, I lose service, but I think I've found a place where I can hook up my laptop with an old ethernet cable and then communicate with you guys that way. We're going to work a little to bring this all down, aren't we? And I'm your man on the inside till the Arrow swoops in?"

"Felicity," I began carefully, "We can't... we can't get you out."

"I know," her answer was short, but there was a degree of hesitation that came with the belief that-maybe-she thought we were going to be able to rescue her within an hour. "I'll... I'll just track down my friend. We'll go back to her apartment. She'll let me stay with her, probably. I'll try to email old school."

Knowing that she would be unavailable for any communication until she initiated it, and that there was no way for her to call for help...

"Don't hang up just yet," I said quietly. "There has to be something else..."

"Oliver," Diggle said slowly. "We try to cross, they blow them all up. Six mile blast radius-that's what they said on the news. I don't want to sound insensitive, but we can save one person and sacrifice a city, or we can save them all by not interfering."

I tried not to glare at him. "I don't like this," I said, "Felicity-I don't care what it takes. I'm not leaving you there to wait to be blown up by a nuclear bomb."

"That sounds so final, doesn't it? A nuclear bomb? Maybe we just shouldn't use names... labels... labels are so damaging. Dontchya think?" her voice was traveling at 100 mph and every breath she took had a tell-tale squeak to it. She was trying not to cry. "We just shouldn't talk about it. Pretend it can't happen. I'll step away from my service hotspot and then... hopefully... I can find a place to squat-and-okay, not squat, like literally, like I'll be a 'squatter'-living in someone else's house-and we can email... like it's 1999."

"Hey, listen," I picked up the phone, and with an understanding look from Dig, he took a few steps back and sat in another chair. I put it off speakerphone. "Felicity?"

Silence. There was a sniff. Okay, she _was _crying.

"You're going to be okay," I said quietly. "_Trust me. _I don't know how yet, but we will do something. If I have to scuba across the damn glacier and crawl up through a sewer..."

"You can't do that," she said quickly, "There's too much ice, you'd have to surface and walk right into town-and from what I can see now, they're already beginning to patrol the shores..."

"I'm trying to make you feel better. You're going to be okay. I promise."

"They're patrolling the shores. The big scary body-armor guys with the giant ass guns. If I hang up now, I can hide..."

"Felicity!" I exclaimed, and then there was movement, and then nothing. Her name on the screen blinked, and the call was ended. "Dig," I turned around instantly. "We can't leave her in there. I don't care what it takes."

"We'll get her out."

"Today."

"It's-not-possible, Oliver."

"Jesus," I said, putting a hand to my forehead. I tried to stand up, and then fell back into the chair, my leg deciding abruptly that it didn't want to carry my weight. "Damn it," I muttered instinctively putting my hands over the wound. Wrapped in gauze, bandage, and soaked in herbs with uncanny healing powers, there was nothing more I could do for myself, and I would be unable to do any of my usual stunts till I could at least stand.

"You okay?" Diggle asked.

"Does it matter?" I said. "A member of our team is trapped and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't like feeling helpless-I shouldn't be helpless."

"Oddly enough, today you're human," Dig responded. "You're not used to being one."

I rolled my eyes. "I am not leaving this club until we hear from Felicity again."

Dig leaned away from the desk and stretched, heading towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"If we're waiting, I might as well order take out. We'll take shifts, and we'll keep trying her cellphone in case she's in a hotspot. I'll call some of my friends and see if they know anything about guarding the bridges and find out who will take a bribe."

I sighed and nodded. "Okay."

"Just think of it like this," Dig tried to sound comforting. "Today we just switched roles. We're the IT girls and Felicity is our man in the battlefield. She's resourceful and smart, and she can survive this."

"It's the bomb going off I'm worried about, Dig. You can't outsmart radiation burns."

"Maybe we just need to let the Bat Man clean up his own city," Diggle shrugged. "If he's like any vigilante I know, he'll probably be working with the cops to do some damage to the terrorists."

"Well," I said stiffly, "He's taking his sweet time."

Diggle smiled grimly and went up the stairs, the door clicking shut behind him. Our hub beneath the club felt too shiny and too silent without the full team there, full of babble and chatter and a grounded view in reality that often kept me from being a jackass.

And here, I thought Gotham City would never be the Arrow's problem.

...

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><p><strong>Let me know what you think! Should I continue? I am obsessed with this show and I only just discovered it a few weeks ago and I'm already all caught up to season 2. Any comic fans should watch it too... it's amazing! It's like LOST + Spiderman + Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy + Burn Notice + IronMan. So epic. <strong>

**So yeah, please review!**

**Love,**

**Pip**


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Arrow, Batman Begins/Dark Knight, Drama, Friendship