Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was standing on a street corner wearing navy blue go-go boots and a pleated plaid skirt so short it might as well have been a handkerchief. Her crisp white shirt was buttoned all the way to its Peter Pan collar, though, and her blond long hair was parted in the center and tied in loose braids. Felicity could have bought this outfit at Halloween City in the sexy-schoolgirl section, it was that cliché, but all of their research indicated it would be the most effective way to draw this creeper out from whatever basement he spent the rest of his life. When he wasn’t raping his way through his list of pre-selected girls.

“Felicity, I’m right here,” Oliver said through the comms, and she knew he was. They’d arrived early, before it got dark, and staked out the closest possible place for him so that this wouldn’t be another Dollmaker fracas. He wouldn’t need to zipline down from across the street this time; he was literally around the corner. She had a tracker in her boots and one sewn into her bra as well. They weren’t taking any chances that she would wake up the next morning, like the last girl, with ASK ME HOW MANY TIMES I CAME scrawled across her stomach in permanent black marker.

“I know,” she whispered, trying to sound confident, but the truth was this loser’s reddit posts had shaken her up. YouWAN2’s rants were full of grammatical errors and slurs against women, but he was smart enough to hide his electronic footprints. She hadn’t been able to determine his identity or his geographic location. Only his victim choices pointed to the fact that he was a Starling City native. All of the girls he targeted went to either one of the city’s three colleges or its university. Except for the high school girls - all of them went to private school.

From the police records it was clear what this guy’s method was: stalk his victim, show up where she partied, spray her in the face with his homemade Spanish fly, and take her to a cheap motel and let her do all the work until she lost consciousness. Then he’d whip out his marker and his camera for one last violation.

Whatever his concoction was, it also had a cloaking effect: his victims, to a one, couldn't remember what he looked like. They also didn’t want to press charges. He had audio and video, and he could release it unless they remained silent.

It was your textbook perfect crime, and Team Arrow wouldn’t have even been aware it was happening in Starling if YouWAN2’s latest victim, Kayla Whitestone, hadn’t refused to stay quiet. He’d released her video on reddit.com three days ago, it had gone viral, and Kayla had thrown herself off of her parents’ condo roof - twenty stories down into Star Plaza’s terraced cement garden.

The next morning 20 pictures of different women’s stomachs, markered with misogyny, were on reddit with the notation “Video coming (LOL) soon?” and an advertisement for his product, a sex elixir, guaranteed to make any girl a nymphomaniac or your money back. $10K per ounce.

Felicity was on the case.

Oliver didn’t like it. Diggle didn’t either, but Oliver really objected. “We’ll get this guy, Felicity; we will, but you’re getting too involved in this,” he said more than once.

Still, what was she supposed to do? Sit back and watch him post pictures of beautiful young women with captions like: “You’ll sleep with this guy,” under a pic of some ‘roided out football player, and then, “but not this one?” with a pic of Starling University’s Pure Chemistry 2012 award winner.

YouWAN2 spent a lot of time ranting about good-looking douchebags’ success with girls, posting pic after pic of these guys, all of them covered with that familiar red circle with its diagonal line. Oliver Queen showed up in one diatribe, and, as much as she hated this guy, Felicity had had to stifle a laugh. The serial killer look Oliver was sporting in the picture YouWAN2 had chosen was on point, and Oliver was a manwhore. It had to be said.

Not that he slept with every girl he knew. There was Felicity, for instance. Oliver wasn’t sleeping with her, even though everyone at Queen Consolidated believed he was. Felicity only wished that were true. Or did she? She couldn’t decide. His track record with women was terrible, and they had a solid working friendship with a surprising amount of trust. But his abs? When he worked out on the salmon ladder in front of her work station or hung down from the rafters one handed, she couldn’t help but think about licking that line of sweat that started in the center of his chest and ran lazily into that thickening line of hair low on his stomach. She thought about it a lot.

Felicity sighed. It was a moral dilemma she didn’t have to resolve, since he showed no interest in taking their relationship to the next level. Gag. She supposed if they did lose their minds one day, have a few too many in the lair or whatever, she might be out of a job on Team Arrow because Oliver’s relationships tended to burn hot and then burn out. How could you go from touching…and licking and sucking...all of that and then calmly discuss signal triangulation again?

“You’re sure this is the place, Felicity?” Diggle asked through the comms. He was across the street watching from the van.

“I created an algorithm that factored in the meeting places for all of these attacks,” she said. She insisted on calling them attacks; there were disturbing consent issues men tended to be quick to overlook when it came to aroused women, although she couldn’t fault either Dig or Oliver for any of their responses to these crimes. “There are three best possibilities for a Friday night. This one is the most likely since YouWAN2 likes to move around and it’s Sports Night at St. Elmo’s. We know how he feels about sports nights and jocks.”

“This guy’s a sick tool,” She heard Oliver grumble into the comms.

“That’s not a newsflash,” Dig said. “Aren’t you getting cold out there?”

As a matter of fact she was, and she felt utterly ridiculous in this get up at a bar on sports night. This was a popular place for college kids, and the line to get in was around the corner. It was getting awkward telling everyone to cut in front of her in line too. They kept giving her weird looks. She had to be outside, though. This guy always dosed his victims outside, probably because he wanted to lure them away without notice. Spraying a potent aphrodisiac inside a crowded club could result in a panic as well.

Felicity pulled at the hem of her dress, glad she was at least wearing generous underwear. Her thighs were freezing, though. A Starling City bus whooshed by, and she breathed in a noseful of frigid, diesel-scented air.

“Halloween is weeks away,” one girl said, bumping into her and laughing as she passed. Her boyfriend was built like a linebacker and had clearly already had a few, but he smiled down at his girlfriend anyway like she’d said something terribly witty.

“Ha ha,” Felicity said. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then why are you dressed like some Catholic jailbait? A cheerleader outfit would be better than that.” She rolled her eyes so hard her fake lashes nearly tangled.

Felicity opened her mouth to speak.

“Focus, Felicity,” Oliver said. “Keep scanning the crowd.”

Focus. Why did he always tell her to focus? She was focused. If she were any more focused she’d be a microscope. “But–” she said.

“Do you see anyone who might look like our guy?”

“A douche with an aerosol can?” Felicity asked. “No.” But just then a guy crossed the street and caught her attention. He was thin, with narrow shoulders and facial hair. “Wait,” she said, turning away to mask her interest. “There’s someone coming towards me.”

“I see him,” Dig said. “Short guy, brown hair. He’s making a beeline towards you.”

Felicity felt rather than saw Oliver move closer. “I don’t like this. Lance is right. This is dangling her like meat.”

“She’s making the choice to dangle herself,” Felicity said, forcing a smile in Oliver’s direction.

“The Dollmaker,” Oliver muttered.

“Didn’t get me,” Felicity said.

“Didn’t get her,” Dig said.

“That was lucky,” Oliver said. “He had you for a moment.”

“There were three guys on top of me,” Felicity said. “And now I’ve got two. I mean not on top of me on top of me-”

“We get it, Felicity,” Dig said. “He’s approaching from behind you. Remember, if for any reason you do get sprayed, close your eyes-”

“So I can’t imprint on him,” Felicity said. “I know, I know. I’m not going to get sprayed, though. I think I’ll know if he has a spray can on him.”

“Excuse me,” someone said from behind, and Felicity turned to see a man with reddish goatee and sideburns so long he looked like that Civil War general - what was his name? - Burnside. Were those real? What were guys thinking these days with their facial hair? In her super high heels their eyes were level.

The man held out a map, and she exhaled. He just wanted directions. “Yes?” she said and leaned forward, and then he pulled something out of his pocket and shoved it inside the map and towards her face. She felt rather than saw the spray hit her and shut her eyes tight.

“Felicity!” Oliver yelled through the comms. “Close your eyes.”

“They’re closed,” she said. Whatever the aerosol was, it was bitter on her lips, and she spat the residue out.

The man next to her asked, “Is something wrong? Here, let me look at you. Open your eyes.” She kept them tightly closed, though. She was absolutely not going to turn into a love slave for disgusting Major Perv here.

No one in the crowd a few steps away from her noticed anything, they were all arguing about the Patriots and something about Tom Brady, but the sound of footsteps hitting the pavement came from behind her. “Felicity!” Oliver said, out of breath, and she felt his rough hand palm her cheek. “Are you okay?” Before she stopped to think, she opened her eyes and looked him right in the face. His eyes were covered with sloppy green greasepaint, but those smudges couldn’t mask the beauty of his angular features: his high cheekbones, the broad bridge of his nose, his firm but soft-looking lips, or his gorgeous blue eyes. Eyes that were very anxious right now.

She gulped. “Fine,” she said. “I’m fine. Get him!”

Oliver turned towards the guy who had made a break down the sidewalk and was darting into the street. “Hey!” he yelled and sprinted after him, vaulting with one arm a concrete median barrier that was placed to route traffic around construction. Oliver soon caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him, but the man with the sideburns turned and sprayed Oliver directly in his face.

“Oliver!” Felicity yelled, but she saw that he had put his forearm up and was shielding his eyes. She ran over to help him, but she was awkward in her four-inch go-go boots, and the man escaped across the street towards a lot full of brush and old tires.

“Dig, he’s moving,” she said.

“I see him,” Dig said. “I can tail him and wait until he puts away his bottle of roofie juice before I grab him. Are you two okay? Maybe priority number one is getting you to a hospital.”

“Get him,” Oliver said, his voice a growl. Felicity could tell he was angry now. She reached him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Go, Diggle,” she said, fighting waves of nausea and panic. “Hunt this guy down. We can handle ourselves here.”

“Roger that,” Dig said, a little uncertainty in his voice, and the long blue van pulled away from the curb across the street and drove in the direction the man had run.

Oliver was still hunched over. She noticed the play of his muscles through the tight green leather. Were they usually so defined? And his pants were so tight. They were always tight, but were they always this tight? She’d always wondered who had made this outfit for him because it fit him like a glove. She slid her hand up his back to his shoulder and felt the tendons there clench.

“Don’t,” Oliver said, arm still over his eyes. “If I don’t look at anyone, I can tough this out on my own.”

“Tough this out?” Felicity said. “Tough out what? Oliver, I’m fine.” But really, the one who was fine was him. Something about him was on fire, in fact, tonight. It was still arctic out. She could see her breath form in little puffs in the air when she talked, but she wasn’t cold any longer. She was warm. Goosebumps broke out all over her exposed thighs. She had a sudden impulse to insert herself under his arm. Maybe the guy had punched him and she hadn’t noticed. He was still shielding his face. She wriggled into his chest. “Are you hurt? Here, I’ll help you.”

“Get away,” Oliver said.

Well, that was rude, but maybe he couldn’t help it. He was probably in pain. She touched his chest, feeling for sources of distress. The distressing thing was how firm his abs were, though. She was in a position - Ha! - to know how firm they truly were, but she’d never before felt those hard ridges, one right after the other, all the way down his stomach...

Felicity, no,” he said and pulled away from her, still keeping his eyes averted. She lost her balance as she stepped back and gasped as she tried to right herself on her teetering heels. She could feel herself toppling butt first toward the cement when he grabbed her and hauled her against him. She saw his expression change from concern to something like horror, as he took her in from her head to her toes and then his eyes moved back up to hers. He sighed heavily.

Again, rude. Maybe this wasn’t her best look, but she couldn’t help it. She was undercover. She grinned. Under cover. Suddenly those words seemed hysterically funny. She’d like to be under cover, oh, yes she would. Under the covers with him. She laughed out loud. This was turning into such a funny evening. God, it was hot out.

“Look,” Oliver said, “we’ve got to get out of here. You’re obviously beginning to hallucinate, and I won’t be far behind you. Where can we go? We need to talk about this.”

“Your place or mine?” She clamped her lips together so a giggle wouldn’t slip out.

“Yours,” Oliver said. “Mine is 15 miles away. Yours is about five minutes from here.” He grabbed her hand and jerked her toward the parking lot where his motorcycle was.

“Oh, we’re going to ride your motorcycle? I’ve always wanted to ride your hog,” she said. “Not in the dirty way. Or not exclusively.” There it went, that giggle, followed by another.

Oliver looked heavenward. “Yes. For two minutes. Tops.” He slung his leg over the seat and put the keys into the ignition. “Hop on.”

Felicity gingerly put a leg over the seat and wobbled a bit. Oliver reached back and jerked her against him. “Put your arms around my waist,” he said. “Hold on, and lean when I lean. Close your eyes and concentrate on that. I’ll go as slow as I can.”

She wound her arms around his waist. He wasn’t fat at all, but his body was solid, thick with muscle, even here at the waist. She shivered.

“Are your hands cold?” he asked. “You can stick them in my pockets if they are.” He jump started the bike, and she held on to him as tightly as she could. She stared up at the stars as he drove off into the night. They sparkled down at her, shining so brightly she had to close her eyes. They must be getting closer. Maybe that was why it was so warm all of a sudden.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Wait, she knew. She scrunched up her nose and thought hard. “Oh yeah, to my place,” she said. “To have sex.”

Chapter Text

“To have sex,” she said, right into his ear in a low voice, and Oliver fought hard to keep control of both the bike and himself. There was a trick to fighting off hallucinations, but he didn’t know if he could manage it against whatever that asshole had sprayed him with. He had some experience with using drugs recreationally, but he thought Felicity had said that the effects of this one were largely sexual in nature, not hallucinogenic. He concentrated on the cold air hitting his face as he maneuvered the bike through the curving streets of Felicity’s townhouse subdivision. He wasn’t cold now - he felt his skin wake up and start to throb and itch - but the wind pricked at his face, and he focused on the pain to keep himself lucid.

Oliver parked the bike in front of the steps to her doorway, and then helped ease Felicity off of it. Those heels she was wearing were sexy as hell, but they kept her off balance pretty much all of the time. He took her arm in his. “You’ve got your key?” he asked.

“My key?” She patted herself down. “Oh, yeah. I put it in my bra.” She unbuttoned her entire blouse and pulled it out. Oliver tried to hold his eyes away from her breasts, but her skin actually shone in the lamplight, and she was...she was sweating. He licked his lips, grabbed the key, and quickly opened the door. He put his hand in the hollow of her back and shoved her inside, then he followed and slammed the door behind him, flicking the lock into place. It made a loud click as it slid into place, and Oliver actually felt his pulse thud at the base of his neck.

“Felicity,” he said, flipping on a light. “We have to talk.”

“We don’t,” she said. “I know that seems unlike me, but surprisingly enough, I don’t feel like talking just now. I feel like climbing you like a tree.” Another burble of laughter came from her mouth. “Did I just say that? Oh. Well, it’s true. We talk all the time. Talk talk talk talk. Well, I talk, and you sort of brood and glower.”

Felicity walked her fingers down his arm. “You’ve got nice branches. Looks like you’re growing a new one down here.” She cupped him, and Oliver jerked away from her. He swallowed and went through his focusing routine in his head at warp speed, but her eyes were looking up at him, huge and electric with lust, pupils blown so hard the blue was just a rim. She wasn’t wearing her glasses. Why wasn’t she wearing her glasses? Oh, right. She’d been the bait for their serial rapist.

He blinked. Why had he let her do that? It seemed extra stupid now. Oliver reached into a side pocket and pulled out a matchbook. He opened it, ripped off a match, lit it and then breathed in the scent. It cleared his head a little. What was it he needed to do? Talk to Felicity. He lit another match and held it under her nose.

“Focus,” he said. “I’m starting to lose it, and I need to know you’re okay with this. Try to think of something you really don’t like.”

“Kangaroos!” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “They’re awful. They should be cute because they bounce everywhere, but they’re not.” She ripped off her blouse and he watched her firm breasts rise and fall with her breaths. He frowned. This wasn’t working. He put his hands on her shoulders.

“Felicity, I think we’re going to have sex. I’m not sure I can keep my hands off you much longer.”

“I hope so! I mean, I hope not.” She frowned too.

“That’s going to change things. When we wake up, you know...we’ll have slept together. You’ll have had sex with me. I know you’re not clear headed, but I need to know you’re okay with having sex with me. As a friend.” He shook her a little. He needed her eyes to be coherent for just a second; he wasn’t going to be her rapist.

And there she was, his Felicity. She surfaced like the die face in a Magic 8-Ball for just a second, and she nodded at him. “Yes,” she said. “I’m okay with it. If I have to go through this with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

He breathed out.

“Now let’s do this thing,” she said, and she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him.

>>--->

Felicity tasted Oliver’s lips, and they were so gorgeous. Soft and pliant, hot against hers. He was so hot. His skin felt like it was on fire, and she wanted to strip and lay down in front of it and fuck all night. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and licked at his teeth. His teeth were so straight and white. Could they be real? She’d always wondered. When he bit down lightly on her tongue, they felt real enough. Sexy teeth, sexy tongue. Sexy Oliver. He began unzipping his green leather jacket, and she put a hand over his to stop him. “Leave it on,” she said. “Don’t remove anything, just, uh, take out what you need to.”

He laughed into her mouth. “Take out what I need to? Felicity.’”

Felicity pulled away from him. “Look, the suit’s always turned me on, okay?” She ran her hands over the smooth leather covering his chest and down his front to the zipper holding the strained elastic mesh together. “And if you stay in it, then this is something that happened with the vigilante. That will make this easier, right?”

The blue of Oliver’s eyes went dark. Was this the hallucinogenic effect the drug had? Because his eyes seemed to actually hum. She felt the vibration run through her straight to her core. “Alright,” he said finally.

“Good,” she said, nodding firmly.

“So you’ve thought about this?” he asked.

Oops. People made jokes about Oliver’s intelligence, but he was highly observant. She’d always known that.

“I might have,” she said. “Once or twice.”

He smiled, and rotated her hips so she faced the couch. Down came the zipper. “Once or twice,” he said. He pushed her skirt down, and it fell at her feet. She tried to kick it off, but it got stuck on the heel of her boot. “I’ve thought about it countless times.” He licked the skin at the back of her neck, and his stubble brushed against her nape. She shivered.

“I mean,” Oliver said, reaching down and grabbing her calf, “every time you turned around and walked away from me, I had a flash of this. Or nearly. You’ve been my executive assistant for months now. How many times have you walked back to your desk?” He lifted her leg, dislodged the skirt, and then ran his palm up the inside of her thigh.

“Oh,” she said. “A lot.”

“Yeah, a lot,” he said. “Hmmm, these are some industrial-strength panties you’ve got on.”

Felicity glanced down and then closed her eyes. She’d forgotten about the Spanx she put on earlier as both another layer and a piece of armor. A woman didn’t face down a rapist clad in only a thong. But now...the company marketed this particular garment as “firm control,” and that was quite a bit more than she had over herself at this moment. “Have you got a knife?” she asked.

“A knife?” There was that laugh in his voice again.

“Somewhere in your outfit there. You must do this kind of thing all of the time.” She looked over her shoulder at him.

“Cut underwear off women?” Oliver said. “Daily.”

She huffed. “Remove things that are hard to remove,” she said. She tugged at her Spanx but they snapped back at her. Oliver’s lips twitched against her shoulder.

“I’m a vigilante, not a pirate,” Oliver said. “We’ve had this conversation.” He ran his hands over the nylon and spandex. “No zipper.”

“No zipper,” she said and turned back to him. God, he was huge. And absolutely delicious. Her embarrassment over this entire situation couldn’t mask that fact. He was looking at her hips, concentrating, and the skin over his nose and cheeks was slightly pink. He was sweating lightly, and his tongue came out to lick his lips. Suddenly she didn’t care what kind of measures they needed to employ - knives, crowbars, an atomic shrink ray - she was getting out this underwear.

“Okay, we can do this,” she said. “It’s just Spandex.” She dug her fingernails under the waistline and started to tug them down.

“Here, let me,” Oliver said. He put his hands over hers and pulled them away and down, his palms sliding over her hips, and his thumbs down the wedge between her thighs. His hands were large and the underwear put up a fight. As he bent over she saw the sweat bead on his forehead, and she stuck out her tongue and licked at it. Salty. She licked it again with the flat of her tongue.

He looked up at her, his eyes glazed, and she had only a moment to close her eyes and suck in a breath before he crushed her mouth to his. His hands were still buried in her panties. She bucked against him, and he forced her backward toward the couch. Its rough upholstery gripped her back while her breasts, still clad in her satin bra, slid over the leather of Oliver’s jacket. His tongue slipped in between her lips and she groaned loudly. Hot and cold, rough and smooth, in and out. It was so much. Almost too much.

“Wet,” he said, “so wet.” One of his thumbs was flat against her clit, pushing and circling. “And smooth. You’re very…”

She realized what he was talking about. “Oh, yeah. Well some of his victims...I wasn’t taking any chances.”

His hand stilled. She opened her eyes, and saw his face harden. “I wasn’t going to let that happen to you,” he said. “I would never let that happen to you.”

She gulped. He looked so serious in that moment, and there was something else in his eyes. “Well, I guess I didn’t waste a waxing,” she said brightly. “Since you’re down there. I never thought this would really happen, but considering it did, I’m just glad everything’s in decent shape.” Then she clamped both her mouth and her eyes shut. Had she really just said that? Did other women talk about their grooming when Oliver Queen was between their thighs? Was this the effect of the drug?

He gave her an intense look and kneeled before her as he pulled the fabric past her ass and down her legs. His face was level with her - that area they were discussing - and she hoped to God everything she’d just said was actually true. Sometimes things went wrong, sometimes you still got a rash or pimples--

She felt his tongue lick into her before she could finish the thought. “Oh. Oh!” she said and wobbled on her heels but he disentangled his hand from her underwear and put it on her stomach, pushing her back on the level rough surface of the couch back as he licked and sucked and then pushed his tongue all the way inside. He was good at this. Of course, he was. He was good at everything.

He lifted her feet, still in their boots, over his shoulders and got comfortable, and she thought, “If all I had to do to make this happen is be drugged out of my head, okay then,” as she laid back and closed her eyes. Stars began to shoot behind her lids. Red, white, and green.

>>--->

Oliver felt Felicity begin to break apart around his mouth. Her hips were jerking against his face, one leg was crooked up and pushing against the couch back, and the other was shaking against his neck. He was happy to get this going for her, but other things were going to have to go down soon. His cock felt like it was about to explode. He already had one hand down his pants just to ease things a tiny bit. Holding one of her smooth thighs in his hands and hearing her moans and grunts was driving him out of his mind. He thought about moving this to her bedroom, but he didn’t think he’d be able to prop himself up on his elbows and push into her slow and sweet without crossing a major boundary. The first time, the second time, any time tonight. If they had any hope of keeping things professional between them, this had to be fucking and nothing face to face.

Oliver didn’t have the same out Felicity was using to manage this situation because Felicity didn’t have a secret identity he could use to help compartmentalize this. What was he supposed to think of her as? His secretary? No. Even his pre-island self would have been repelled at the thought. Screwing your secretary was what middle-aged men did, after they lost the ability to pull. And she wasn’t just a secretary to him. She never had been.

He stood up and flipped her over so she faced away from him, bending her over the couch and pushing her legs apart with his knee. “Ready?” he said.

“Mmm, yes. More than ready.”

He unzipped his pants. His cock was at full attention, and it bobbed against his stomach. His fingers slipped up her labia and hit her clit, and she moaned and ground back against them. He pushed two fingers back inside her opening, curving them, searching for that spot. There it was, soft and spongy. She gasped and arched her back, opening wider for him.

His mind went fuzzy with lust. She was so unbelievably hot. And eager. She was keening as she rubbed against his hand. “Wait,” he said. “Just a sec.” There was something he wasn’t thinking about. The light from the single lamp was too loud. He could hear the sound it made; it was like a squeaky wheel, and he turned his face away from it. He tried to center himself again, but his mind had only one thing on it, and it wasn’t transcendental meditation. He breathed in through his nose. It was there, that thing, right there…what was it?

“Please, Oliver, hurry up,” she said and tried to wriggle around to face him, but he put his palm in the center of her back and pushed her back down. Felicity reached back and grabbed him in her hand and pulled him to her apex, rubbing and squeezing his cock, and the thought was gone. He was gone. He centered himself, pulled his fingers out, and pushed into her heat, inch by inch. She was very wet, but he was big, and he didn’t want to hurt her. He closed his eyes and breathed out his mouth. Slowly, slowly...sparks shot behind his eyelids. They sounded wind chimes in his head. Underneath him Felicity panted. When he was all the way in, he leaned forward, covering her skin with his body. He pulled her earlobe into his mouth and bit lightly on it. And then he began to move.

He needed to take her this way, from behind, and not just because the angle was better, although the angle was fantastic. He was able to go so deep. He slid in and out, harder and faster slamming his hips against the spread flesh of her ass. He knew he was hitting something right because he immediately felt her begin to flutter around him, clasping him in small motions from inside. He pounded harder, and she cried out.

“Oliver, whatever you do, don’t stop,” she said, grappling at the nubbly fabric of her couch with one hand. “Just keep on...yeah...mmhmm, like that. Ohhh, that’s so good. No stopping. Forget about that.”

Stop? He was never going to stop. He couldn’t stop; it would be physically impossible to separate himself from her. They were fusing together right now. If they ever stopped the worst would happen: she would know. In one glance she’d see what he wasn’t going to be able to hide from her anymore: how he felt about her.

She felt like hope in his arms. After Shado and Sara, after Slade had gone off the rails and Akio had died, after Tommy, Oliver had learned to quash hope. “Fuck hope,” he’d thought nearly every time his subconscious wanted to believe that this time things might be better, this time they might work out. He’d get it right. He’d never thought about actually fucking hope, though. Or that hope would feel like a warm, gasping, brilliant, babbling woman about to come her head off all around him.

He laughed out loud. It was funny. Hope was a woman’s name. Here was a woman, and - he grunted as he shoved himself fully inside her - no wonder she was a virtue. She felt like the best fucking thing he’d ever done.

If he could only keep going like this - in, out - IN - OUT - IN - forever, he might survive her. He yanked Felicity’s hips harder to his and she gasped, “OhmygodyesOliver, ohyesohyesOHYESSSS.” He bit down on her shoulder as he reached around with one hand and touched her clit lightly - just brushed it, really. She broke apart yelling his name, and he stilled, hard as steel inside her. His other hand slid up her side and over her left breast. He could feel her heart going. It was fast, so fast, and then it skipped a beat, and he panicked.

“Felicity, you okay?” he said into her neck, “Tell me what’s going on. What do you need?”

Her shuddering breaths slowed, and she lifted her head and turned to look up at him. He began to pull out, but she reached behind and grabbed his ass as she grinned sloppily and said, “More of that.”

Chapter Text

Felicity lay on her shoulder on the couch, her breathing coming out in shallow little puffs from between tensed lips. Oliver, on one knee, moved over and inside her, slowly but firmly, arms extended, holding his weight on his hands. She pushed back in time with the rhythm he was setting, clenching down as hard as she could, chasing the orgasm that was almost there...almost there…

Ohhhhh, she felt it come over her, first hesitantly and then insistently. She arched back against him, and he fucked her through it, pushing into her harder, and it went on and on and on until it felt like it might never stop and she would expire on this couch of sheer exploding relief, gripping his cock with every kegel muscle she had.

He groaned in her ear and went quiet.

She rode the pleasant aftershocks of her orgasm as she relaxed in increments against him, for the moment done. Every nerve ending in her body was holding up, but just barely. She’d witnessed how hard Oliver worked out and had seen him in action night after night, but watching him scale a building and scale her upper thigh with his teeth were two different things. Let alone letting him do what he’d just done to her.

The man had stamina. He didn’t even look tired. He did look sweaty, though - what she could see of him. Her cheek was pressed against the Arrow suit, and she could feel the zipper against her back. He’d pushed so hard against her that she probably had a long zigzag indentation running down her skin. She was grateful for the leather, though; it felt cool against her chafed face. She would have beard burn by morning, that was for sure. What would everyone think? What would Diggle say?

Diggle.

She froze, and Oliver, sensing her change of mood, froze as well. He lifted his head to look down at her.

“Something wrong?” he asked. His hips jerked slightly, and inside her his cock hit something sensitive. She closed her eyes. What was Diggle going to say about all of this? Well, not this. But, you know, this?

Felicity’s brain had come down from the crazy high of an hour ago. Everything no longer seemed absolutely hilarious, but she could still see the humor inherent in being so thoroughly vanquished by Starling City’s most feared vigilante and then patted down for damage. She opened her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she said. And she was fiiiiine. Oh yes, she was. “More than fine.” She laughed again. “Good job. Great job. I was just thinking about what Diggle’s going to say when he finds out about us.”

Oliver pulled out of her and rolled his body into the couch back. He sighed. “Yeah,” he said, and then he shook his head. “Have you got a glass of water? I’m thirsty.”

She laughed again. Well, he was right. There was no use crying over spilt milk, and she didn’t want to think about Dig’s disapproving face right now. It was like the least sexy thing she could imagine. She and Oliver weren’t children. They were adults who’d been sprayed with a weaponized sex chemical. You couldn’t possibly prepare for that kind of eventuality.

She slid off the couch carefully. The Scotchgard already had its work cut out for it. “In the kitchen,” she said. “Make yourself at home. I’m just gonna…” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the bathroom and wobble waddled off on her boots like the sex goddess she was. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Oliver as he smiled and shook his head.

>>--->

The bathroom was a welcome haven. Felicity sank down on the toilet and attempted to clear her thoughts and focus on something other than the prickling of her skin and the need between her legs. This was doable. It was. She’d just pull herself together, put on a - she glanced around the small room - towel, and salvage what dignity she had left with her boss. She was a strong, independent woman. With goals. She just needed to splash a little water on her face. She craned her neck to look in the mirror.

Oh. My. God.

The face that stared back at her looked like a hurricane survivor. Her hair, in its braids, had mostly survived, but mascara smeared all the way down both cheeks, and there was lipstick everywhere but her lips, even down her chin and neck. No. Felicity leaned closer. That was beard burn. There was beard burn absolutely everywhere. With effort, she kept herself from looking down too. She arched her shoulders in memory.

Oliver’s stubble abrading her skin had felt amazing, but her face now looked like it had been debrided. “Um, I’ll just be a minute,” she called out to Oliver as she grabbed a face cloth from a drawer and turned the water on. She ran it under the water and scrubbed her cheeks and lips. Some of the black and red there went down the drain. She pulled the ponytail holders out of her braids and brushed her hair out, and then she hopped up on the counter and gave herself a quick ho bath - which wasn’t at all humiliating. She sniffed her shoulder. It smelled like Oliver. She smelled like Oliver. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She smelled like she’d just had hours of orgasms with a sex god. Someone should bottle this and sell it because it was muskier than any scent any of the guys she’d ever dated had worn. If they’d worn this, they’d have had a better chance. Or, more honestly, she’d have stood no chance at all.

The bathroom door cracked open. “Are you okay in there?” Oliver asked. Her hand froze under her armpit as her eyes flew open. She propped a boot heel against the bathroom door and pushed back.

“Doing just fine,” she said in the chipperest voice she could manage. It came out sounding about two octaves lower than her usual one, probably due to all of the groaning she’d been doing only a little while ago.

The blue eye she could see through the door crack had lines that were deepening around the corners, damn him.

“Can I come in?” he asked. She nodded, and he opened the door wider. He looked exactly like he always did. Fantastic. Like he’d taken a light jog after a petty criminal. A jaywalker, perhaps. He was a little sweaty, that was all. He’d partially unzipped his Arrow jacket, and she could see the firm ridges of his abs as they disappeared into his now unbuttoned pants.

“I need to get out of this,” Oliver said. “My skin feels itchy, and it’s too hot in here.” He leaned one arm against the sink counter and lowered his head to kiss her.

It was a light brush, but the drug in her system kicked back into full gear at his touch, and she opened her mouth and groaned. He smiled into her lips. “Hey, beautiful,” he said.

It was such a playboy Oliver thing to say that she stiffened, but when he pulled away from her, his eyes were so soft and his smile was so genuine that her fratboy BS detector registered nothing. Then he sobered.

“I know you like the suit,” he said. “But it’s got to come off. You’re stuck with just Oliver, I’m afraid.”

She stared into his eyes, and through the dual haze of the lust and her embarrassment, she could still see pain. She’d hurt him with that remark. How could that be possible? Oliver had to have had dozens, hundreds even, of these encounters with women, women who just used him for his body like he used them. Yet here he was giving her this kicked puppy look.

She put her hands on the zipper and slid it down. “Let’s get you out of this,” she said. “The pants too. Do you need a shower?”

He shook his head as he shrugged out of his jacket. “I had one before we went out tonight.”

She turned on the warm water again and wet down the washcloth. “Maybe just a little ho bath, then. I already had mine.” She carefully patted him down. His penis was semi-erect, and this act felt, in a strange way, more intimate than anything they’d done in the previous two hours. He put his hand over hers on the cloth.

“Thanks,” he said, tossing it into the sink. He leaned on both hands and kissed her again. “My head’s a little clearer. How about yours?”

She wound her leg around his waist. “Yeah,” she said. “But I still need this. Want to take this to a more ergonomic location like my bedroom?”

“Mmhmm,” he said and cupped her from behind, lifting her and carrying out the door. “That sounds good.”

>>--->

Oliver knelt on the floor by the bed and helped Felicity unzip her boots, and then he tugged his pants down and yanked them off. He didn’t know how he was doing. The high he’d experienced from the drug was evaporating, but he still felt a prickly sensation inside of his skin along with a powerful lust for Felicity. He had this urge to be inside her that would not subside, like he had to be touching her or his hands might drop off.

That had to be the drug, right? It had been awhile since he’d had sex, but the intensity of this experience - how he felt unfocused when he wasn’t making skin-to-skin contact with Felicity? It wasn’t how these things usually went. He’d already come three times. That he had an erection at all now was surprising. Yeah, he had high T-levels, but he wasn’t a teenager anymore.

He pushed Felicity back on the bed and pulled her arms up along her sides and over her head, and then he kissed her softly, almost chastely on her mouth. She was so pretty. Her lips were unbelievably soft and full, and he pulled the lower one in his mouth and sucked on it. He’d take it easy on her this time. She had to be tired.

Felicity wriggled underneath him and wrapped her legs around his waist. She pulled her lip out of his mouth and nipped at his. Maybe not that tired then.

“Let me up for a minute,” she said, and, when he rolled to the side, she reached into her night-table drawer and pulled out a jar of something. She unscrewed it and dug her fingers inside. “Coconut oil. This will make everything better, and soften your skin too.” She held her hand closed for a moment, and then she reached out and started smoothing it on his lower abdomen. He jerked, but she splayed her fingers and pushed him down on the bed. His hair just touched the headboard.

“Shh,” she said. “Your body has already gone through a lot, and you probably never moisturize.” She began rubbing the oil over his Bratva tattoo, and the sweet aroma of the oil got stronger as her hand ran up his chest.

“I know I’m a mess,” Oliver said. “Mangled.”

“Mangled never looked this good,” she said. “You do scars with style, Oliver.”

“There probably isn’t an inch of my chest or back that isn’t wrecked.” He knew what he looked like. The frame was fine, but the leather on this suitcase needed replacing.

She cocked her head at him. “It certainly adds to your mystery, but if I had to guess, I’d say these are badges you’ve got.” She dug her hands again in the jar.

“Badges?”

“Did you get any of these from being careless, or are they all hero marks?” She smoothed the oil over the scar he’d gotten the night he’d told her who he was. “Like this one?” She leaned down and kissed it.

“The bullet my mother gave me? Yeah, all heroes get those.”

She lifted her head and smiled at him. “The Queens are not the average family, and your mother is unique.” She traced her fingers over the slash he had across his pec. “And this?”

He had a vision of a tent and a knife flashing. “Fyers tortured me.”

“What wouldn’t you tell him?”

How did she know that? He turned his head on the pillow.

“Come on, Oliver. What wouldn’t you tell him?” She traced the long jagged line with her tongue.

“About Yao Fei,” he said after a minute. “Not that it mattered in the end.”

“Did it matter in the middle?” she asked, slipping one leg over him and getting comfortable on his pelvis.

“In the middle?” It was hard to think when she squirmed that way.

“Did Yao Fei know that you helped him? Is that how you started to be friends?”

“We weren’t friends. He was...my mentor. He kept me alive and taught me to fend for myself.”

“After Fyers tortured you?”

“Yes,” Oliver said.

“You were friends, Oliver,” Felicity said. “He saved your life, and you still wear his hood.” She traced the rough patch on his right pec with her finger pads, and then moved on to his arm. “And this one?”

“That was Deadshot,” he said.

“Oh, yes, Deadshot,” she said. “That’s how we met. You brought me a laptop.” She lowered her voice and a dimple appeared in her cheek, “‘I spilled a latte on it.’”

Oliver leaned his head back on the pillow. “That wasn’t my best lie,” he admitted.

“All of your lies were bad,” she said with a laugh. “Although my favorite was the energy drink. An energy drink. Really? You thought I’d believe that?”

“That was my favorite too,” he said, remembering what she’d said and how cute her face had been. “It was the moment I knew you’d noticed me.”

She blew out her breath. “I noticed you. Of course I noticed you. You’re Oliver Queen, and I worked for Queen Consolidated. How could I not notice you?”

“I mean,” he said, reaching down to maneuver her hips so she was straddling his cock just perfectly. Yeah, there. Right there. “You thought I was hot.”

“I didn’t,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Okay,” she said, “Maybe I did. Maybe I do, but you shouldn’t get cocky.”

He flexed his cock against her, and she groaned and twisted against him. “You know what I mean.”

He smiled and scooched up to rest the back of his head against the headboard. “You think I’m hot. It’s not just the Arrow. How hot?”

The soft, luminous skin across her cheeks and nose flooded with color. “Moving on,” she said, smoothing coconut oil across the tattoo with the Chinese characters. “How did you get this?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said.

“Did it involve helping anyone, or did you just pick out Chinese characters to be deep?”

“I didn’t pick it out, and I guess you could say I did get it because I helped someone.”

She grinned smugly. “Another badge then. Bravery or kindness?”

“Stupidity,” he said. “All of these came in some way from some stupid thing I did.” He gasped as she trailed her hand across his lower abdomen. If she greased him up any more, he was going to slide off the sheets.

“Even this one?” She eased her body down his legs so that she could look more carefully at the bite mark on his hip. “It looks like an animal tried to eat you.” Her fingers traced the teeth marks.

“Shark,” he said.

“And he just let you go after he took a bite?”

“He must have thought I tasted bad,” Oliver said. “Spoiled.”

She put her mouth on his side and licked him. “You don’t,” she said. Her tongue moved slowly across the skin there. “You taste delicious. Hot and salty.” Her teeth scraped against him, and then she bit down. She scooped out more oil from the jar, dropped it off the bed, and reached for him. “I want to taste it all,” she said, dropping her head lower.

>>--->

Oliver’s skull knocked against the headboard rhythmically as Felicity’s mouth pulled and sucked on him. He kept his eyes tightly closed, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. Her small hand was clenched around the base of his cock, massaging up and down. The other tugged his sack lightly, and that, along with the liquid noises she was making, would normally have been more than enough to make him come. She was humming something quietly and off key, and it sounded like a fucking symphony, it was so beautiful.

It was so much. It was almost too much. Oliver loved oral sex as much as the next guy, but there was something about this situation with Felicity and her enthusiasm - maybe it was the way she took a little break and pressed a kiss against the inside of his thigh with her heart shaped mouth - it was too intimate. He knew she was watching him and his responses, judging what to do next or how much pressure pleased him. He was used to her watching him in the office, in the lair. He knew very little got by her. This current combination of heat and motion, the sucking and humming, with her big blue eyes looking up at his face, though. He couldn’t–

He couldn’t.

He sat up and pulled at her shoulders. She looked up in surprise. “Did I do something–”

“I need to be inside you,” he said. “Come here.” He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her up his body, glancing at the side of the bed where the coconut oil had dropped. “Do you need anything?” he asked.

“After watching you just now?” she asked with a laugh. “No, I think I can get by.” She leaned over his body with her arms, kissing him once, lightly. “Okay, here I go.”

She eased down on his cock slowly and he closed his eyes. Feeling her around him this way was like coming home, but to a real home and not an empty mansion. She began to bounce on top of him, all heat and friction, and he felt that familiar coil begin inside him. He put his hands on her waist and caressed his way down her to her hips. She ground against him and he sucked in his breath.

“Felicity, you should know…” he said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “If this doesn’t happen, it’s not because you’re not amazing. It’s just that I don’t know if I can again. It’s been a wild night, and–”

She put her finger to his lips, and then she laid down on his chest and kissed him full on the lips. Before he knew what was happening, she was writhing and groaning into his mouth.

“We should have done this sooner,” she said, pushing herself down again. “You feel so incredible.” She shivered on top of him as she began bouncing again. She was humming that off-key song again, and she looked like a goddess on top of him, light practically shining from her as she began breaking apart. Then she stopped and looked down at him.

“Come with me,” she said, her voice cracking.

He shook his head, but his body disagreed, and all of a sudden he realized that this position - entwined, eyes locked, in the throes of the strongest lust he’d ever felt - was exactly what he’d told himself he would avoid at any cost tonight.

She was still talking as she began to move again, switching up the rhythm and adding a little grind. “Oliver, please. Come for me. I want you to. I want you to have something good. Something that’s just good. Of all the people I know, you have suffered the most, and you have such a kind heart.”

As she spoke, he watched a tear pool in the corner of her eye, drop down to her cheek, and then fall to her breast. He shook his head.

“Felicity, I...I–”

But before any unforgivable words could escape, he felt the vibrations begin in his core, like a gunshot of pleasure, and ripple through him. He groaned and closed his eyes and gave in.

It was too late anyway.

Chapter Text

Felicity awoke with her mouth wide open on some guy’s broad chest. Before she snapped her eyes closed, she had a second to take in the ink at eye level. Apparently, last night had been wild.

She squinted in concentration as she took in her surroundings through her other senses. She reached behind her, grabbed the blanket that was draped across her knees, and pulled it up over her back. The wool felt scratchy across her skin, but at least she wasn’t completely exposed now. She recognized her own bed; this was her blanket, and she could smell the lavender scented laundry soap she used on her sheets.

And sex. She could smell that too. Lots of that.

Her fingers lightly patted down the man’s torso. It was very muscular, and there were a number of ridges and indentations. She stopped when she got to his hip. The ridges there formed a pattern she recognized, and she almost groaned aloud. Oliver. She was in bed with Oliver. How in the hell had that happened?

Her mind raced as she went over everything she could remember from last night. Her last clear recollection was of standing in front of the sports bar St. Elmo’s, trying to flush out the rapist. She had been cold, she’d seen someone crossing the street, and then...nothing. Well, not nothing, but just vague glimpses, like riding on the back of a motorcycle or tracing her tongue down ridge after ridge of clenched abdominal muscle.

Or the soft brush of bristly hair hitting her jawline as she arched her neck back and dragged herself up and then down again on his thick…

Okay, maybe she remembered a little bit of what happened. If it really happened and hadn’t been a dream - an hours-long, rated-X sex dream.

That couldn’t have really happened, right? She opened her eyes and then pulled her lips closed so she was no longer licking his pec like a creamsicle. How had she gotten in this situation? She could only think of one way: she must have been sprayed with the chemical the rapist was using on his victims.

Just as she thought that, Oliver’s eyes opened and met hers. His head was propped slightly against the headboard, so she could see the impressions as they formed in those bright blue pools. Surprise, confusion, and desire?

“Felicity?”

She licked her lips. “What? I mean, um, yeah. It’s me.” She felt something hard nudge her upper thigh, and she rolled sideways off his body, grabbing the rough blanket as she slid.

“What happened?” He blinked his eyes and began to sit up, and, yeah, there it was: an impressive morning erection. Wow. She pressed her thighs together, and pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

“You tell me,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I can remember us being at St. Elmo’s last night. Everything after that is fuzzy. I think I got sprayed with that sex chemical, and then maybe you took me back here?” And we had sex, obviously.

He frowned. “I remember chasing that red bearded guy across the road, and after that it’s less clear. Where’s Diggle?”

She looked over to her night table for her phone, but it wasn’t there. Okay. She tried not to panic. She was in her own apartment, which meant she’d gotten home safely, even if both of them had been sprayed. Her phone was probably somewhere here too and her keys.

“He’s not here, although I don’t know why we are. I mean, it’s my apartment so it makes sense why I’m here, but why–”

“Am I here?” he asked. She nodded. He hauled himself up to a sitting position and looked around. She noticed he had a red mark on his shoulder that looked like a bite pattern. And another on his bicep. That one had drawn blood. She wanted to tear her eyes away from those marks, but somehow she couldn’t. Sometime last night she had bitten him. Twice. At least twice.

Oliver reached down and grabbed something. “My Arrow pants are here,” he said, then turned his back to her and pulled them on. The muscles of his back and ass were fully illuminated by the cold fall sun coming through the window. What was the saying? I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave?

Why was she thinking this way? She had just slept with her boss. Her day and night boss. This was a code red emergency. She looked over to the other night table. Where was her phone?

She stood, keeping the wool blanket wrapped like a toga around her. “I’m going to check to see where, uh, where my clothes are,” she said and walked through the bedroom door and down the hall to the living room. Things here were a little chaotic. A lamp was knocked off the side table and lay broken on the floor. Its lampshade was across the room. The couch pillows were half off and half on, and the side table was tipped over. The shag rug that normally lay by the front door was almost in the kitchen, and Felicity’s shirt, skirt, and underwear were scattered by the entrance door. She reached down and picked up the skirt. It was heavy. Thank God her phone was still inside the pocket.

Felicity turned it on, saw about twenty messages from Diggle. Glancing through them she inferred that he had not caught their rapist last night and that he was worried about them. She turned it off. Dig was just going to have to wait. She was going to have to sort some of this stuff with Oliver out first. She was worried about them too.

She looked up from her phone and saw Oliver casing the joint. “It looks like we were, um, busy last night,” she said. He nodded distractedly.

“How many times do you thin–”

“Three,” Oliver said, picking up the remains of the lamp off the floor. “Definitely three out here.”

Felicity looked around again. “How do you figure?”

He walked over to the shag rug and flipped it over, and, yeah, that was going to have to be wet vac-ed. “Carpet,” he said, then pointed. “Couch and,” he walked over to the wall by the kitchen, “here too. There’s cracking at hip level.”

“Cracking?” Felicity’s voice rose. “We cracked the wall?”

“It can be fixed,” Oliver said. “A little spackle and some paint. It’ll be fine.”

She had cracked a wall with her sexcapades with Oliver, and she couldn’t even remember kissing him. How was this happening?

“Do you have a vacuum?” Oliver asked.

“Hmmm?”

“A vacuum? I can get started cleaning this up.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s in the kitchen closet.” Suddenly this was too much for her to handle. “Look, I think I’m going to take a shower. I need a minute to myself, okay?”

He just nodded and walked toward the kitchen. She pulled the blanket up a few inches off the floor so she wouldn’t trip on it and fled.

>>--->

Oliver heard the bathroom door shut as he opened the closet door. He scanned Felicity’s cleaning supplies. She had a wet/dry vac. That was good. He grabbed a spray bottle and some OxiClean and went to the sink. He filled the bottle up, poured some of the powder into it, screwed the spray cap back on, and shook it. If only he could clean up the relationship mess they’d made as easily as he could the shag rug.

As he scrubbed at the stain on the couch he wondered if Felicity was on the pill because they sure as hell hadn’t used a condom last night. What a clusterfuck. He’d now slept with a woman who was his employee - and not even technically. Felicity was directly underneath him. Were they going to have to disclose that to human resources? Ms. Hoye was the head of HR and had a distinctly Waller quality about her. He did not relish telling her the news. She would never believe a sprayed-with-sex-chemicals story, and no doubt it would be all over QC ten minutes later. And Diggle? He and Felicity were going to have to nail all of this down before they left her apartment, that was for sure. What a fun conversation that was going to be.

He dragged the rug into the kitchen where there was tile instead of hardwood, and poured soapy water over the mess. The wet vac was loud as it slurped up the moisture, so he didn’t hear Felicity come back into the kitchen until she was standing right in front of him. She’d washed her hair, and it was in wet curls down her back. She was wearing the least sexy outfit he’d ever seen on her: a purple fleece one piece that zipped all the way from her throat to her navel. Her face was bare of makeup. She looked adorable.

He turned the vac off, and raised an eyebrow at her. She blushed.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“This is a nice vacuum,” he said, wrapping the cord back around it.

“Thanks,” she said. “My mom gave it to me when I moved out here from Boston. She said it was a good gift for a fresh start. How do you know how to operate it?”

She was so smart that she made all of them seem dense in comparison, but she had to know he wasn’t stupid. “Felicity, my college transcripts may not be impressive, but it’s a vacuum.”

“It’s a complicated vacuum. I’ve never even used the wet function before.”

“You add soap and water,” he said. “And then you turn it on.”

“Still,” she said, “you’re a billionaire. I wouldn’t think you’d have to vacuum much.”

He sighed. “When I was in high school, and my parents were away one weekend, I threw a really wild party on the Gambit. My friends and I trashed it, and when my parents came back, they were not happy. My mom told me it was my responsibility to clean up everything by myself, and until I got everything back in order I was grounded. I got familiar with the functions of a wet vac.”

Felicity’s eyebrows raised. “Wow,” she said. “Good for Moira. That sounds like really solid parenting. I’m impressed.”

He remembered how the story finished and smiled. “It would have been, but after I’d worked for a few hours, my dad hired a cleaning crew to take over. He told me that a young man’s got to let loose once in a while.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Okay.”

“Yeah. This was during one of their rougher patches. Things were pretty tense between my parents for long stretches when I was in high school, and sometimes they’d compete with each other to see who I loved more. This was one of those times.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s awful. I’m sure you remained scrupulously fair and impartial.”

“I was seventeen,” Oliver said. “I didn’t really want to clean out bathtubs full of vomit.”

“Bathtubs?”

He laughed, remembering. “As parties go, this was one pretty unforgettable. Ask Tommy...” He trailed off as the familiar grief washed over him. No one would ever be able to ask Tommy about that party - or any of their parties - again. And he had loved telling that story, especially the part about the boa constrictor.

“Anyway, this rug is good to go now. Probably cleaner than it’s ever been,” he said.

Felicity put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s talk,” she said and led him over to the other couch. The red one with no arms, the partial back, and the spindly looking legs. He sat on it judiciously; it was as uncomfortable as it looked. He laid his arm awkwardly across its back and turned his attention to her. She had that look on her face, like she had a speech prepared.

“I don’t have any STDs,” he said.

She opened her mouth and then closed it. “How do you know?”

“Remember that whole ‘We don’t know where he’s been’ conversation you had with Dig when I got back from Lian Yu? The doctor tested me for everything and then put me on broad-spectrum antibiotics anyway. At your insistence. I’m clean.”

Felicity looked unconvinced. “You haven’t slept with anyone since then?”

“Just you,” he said.

“No one else?”

“Felicity, I spend every evening with you and Dig chasing criminals around the city. I’m not exactly carousing these days.”

“There were a bunch of women last year.”

He thought back. “Three,” he said. “But none this year.” Then, because he didn’t love this line of questioning, he turned it around. “What about you?”

“What about me?” she asked.

“How many guys have there been for you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Since when?”

“Since whenever. Since I’ve known you. Since the beginning.”

She compressed her lips. “That’s not really any of your business,” she said.

“It is now,” he said, injecting a note of righteousness into his voice. “Considering I just slept with you and, you know, all the other people you’ve slept with, as the pamphlets say.”

She didn’t appreciate the joke. “QC ran a comprehensive exam on me when you ‘promoted’ me to be your executive assistant,” she said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“And there hasn’t been anyone since that time?” He wasn’t judging, they were both adults, but he was tired of being the one in the hot seat. How had her little speech gone when she’d finally agreed to work for him? Oh, yeah: “Under no circumstances will I be your bimbo scheduler. I’m not doing cleanup either. Ever.” Like Laurel was a bimbo. Or McKenna or Helena.

Helena had other problems, but she wasn’t a bimbo.

“So neither of us has to worry about diseases,” Felicity said finally. “Good.”

He decided to ask the question that was nagging him. “Are you on the pill?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not in a relationship, Oliver, so I’m not on long-term birth control. Are you?”

“It’s not really an option for men,” he said.

“I’m assuming you’re not…” she trailed off and made a weird slashing movement with her hand.

“I’m not…”

“You haven’t had a vasectomy.” There was that motion again. He recognized now that it was supposed to be scissors, and he repressed a shudder.

“Definitely not,” he said.

She stood up, grabbed her phone from the table, and brought up her calendar to show him. “Given the rotten luck we’ve had so far, this is good news: it’s a pretty safe time of the month for me.”

“There’s a safe time of the month?”

Her pretty lips thinned. “Relatively speaking. Look, we can’t go back, but I’d guess this won’t be a problem in that way. Really.”

He let out a breath. “Good,” he said. “That’s good. I don’t want to deal with another pregnancy scare.”

“Another pregnancy scare?” She tilted her head at him and narrowed her eyes. “How many pregnancy scares have there been exactly?”

Well, he’d bungled that. “Two or three,” he said, mentally subtracting the confirmed pregnancy scare and miscarriage. “Not that many, considering…” Okay, he was going to close his mouth now and not say anything. She could take this conversation over, and he’d just nod.

“Considering...considering what?” she asked. “Considering how many women you’ve slept with?” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Oliver.”

“Okay,” he said. “I get it. I haven’t always been celibate, but it’s been awhile since there was a pregnancy scare. Years. And since the island I’ve always used a condom when it was possible, so you don’t have to worry.”

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and mumbled, “When it was possible? What does that even mean?”

“It means I’ve been in a lot of places, and condoms were scarce in some of them.”

“But having sex was imperative?” Her voice was high and raised now.

“I get it! You don't approve! But I would have used a condom last night if I’d not been sprayed with a sex chemical. Hell, I wouldn’t even have slept with you if I hadn’t been sprayed with a sex chemical, okay?”

She stood up and pointed a finger at herself. “And what’s wrong with me?” she yelled.

He shut his mouth - why wouldn’t it stay shut? - and took her in. Her face was pink and there was tension throughout her entire body. The purple fleece was pulled taut away from her body, making sort of a tent between her arm and her stomach. Was she offended? Did she really want to know?

“Are you asking me why I haven’t slept with you yet?” he said quietly.

She closed her mouth suddenly, and lowered her pointing hand. “No,” she said. “Of course not.”

“Felicity,” he said, “It’s not that you’re not gorgeous–”

“Stop,” she said. “Just stop.”

“You know I respect you.” The words spilled out. “I rely on you. I admire you. But because of the life I lead, I just think it’s better to not be with someone I could really care about.”

Her face flooded with color. “Don’t say anything else,” she said quickly. “I agree 100%. It’s not like you’re really boyfriend material anyway.”

Ouch. He’d been a decent boyfriend to McKenna. He’d tried anyway. “I’d do okay,” he said.

Felicity blew out her breath. “Please. My mother isn’t a member of MENSA, but she hammered one important lesson home to me, and that is: no matter how pretty you are, how kind you are, how loving you are, or how well you cook, if a man doesn’t want to stay faithful, he won’t.” She made a motion at herself with one hand. “There’s nothing magical about me that would make you want to be a one-woman man. I’m pretty average.”

The words were quiet, off-hand even, but her eyes were blazing. This was a challenge, and he was going to fail it. He knew it.

“You’re not average,” he said at last. “Not at all. But we should talk about what we’re going to tell Diggle and everyone else.”

She stared at him for a few seconds more, then sat again on the couch, leaving about a foot of space between them. “We’ll tell Diggle,” she said, “because we have to, but we’re not telling anyone else.”

“Not HR?”

“Definitely not them. There’s nothing I could say to Ms. Hoye that would make this okay. Besides, she already thinks we’re sleeping together.”

“She does?” Maybe that’s why she looked at him like he was milk that had gone bad.

“Everyone does, Oliver. Don’t be dense. Why else would you promote a blond IT girl to work directly underneath you?”

He frowned. He supposed that made sense, but no one had ever given him any grief over it or made any innuendos. From the look on her face, she couldn’t say the same. Crap. “Because you’re one of only two people I trust fully?” he said finally.

She gave a gentle, wistful smile, then said, “Then trust me now. This,” she waved a hand between them, “stays a secret. We go back to the way we were before. We hit the reset button. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? It’s not like we can remember what happened?” A look passed over her face. It was one he easily recognized: she was lying. Her face reddened when he didn’t say anything, and he had a fleeting memory of that same color climbing her neck slowly as he buried his face between her shoulder blades and pushed into her from behind.

She made an almost feral sound when she came, he remembered that now. A low groan. He never would have guessed she was such a wildcat in the sack. “Right,” he said, touching the bite mark on his shoulder. He kept his face straight. Because, unlike her, he had a lot of practice lying.

“Okay, then.” she said. “We should put this out of our heads and focus on being the best Team Arrow we can be. We’ll figure out how to break this to Diggle. He has to understand. It’s not like we could help ourselves. So one more awkward conversation, and we can get back on track. Start over.” She held out her hand to him in a businesslike way.

“Right,” he said again and shook it. It was comforting to know, in a way, that even very, very smart people weren’t immune to self-delusion.

Chapter Text

When Diggle finally heard the door at the top of the stairs open, he didn’t know whether to relax or tense up. Felicity had called an hour ago to let him know that she and Oliver were “okay” - which Dig took to mean that everything he worried had happened between them last night actually had.

Three minutes after he’d pulled the Arrow van away from the curb and attempted to follow that asshole with the spray can, he’d realized he’d made the wrong call. Part of that was because the guy had run underneath the underpass next to St. Elmo’s and not down a road he could drive. Diggle parked and ran after him, but by the time he’d hauled ass through the road construction and between the concrete pillars holding up I-195, the guy was long gone. St. Elmo’s was not a new location for him. He probably had a well planned getaway route. This was obviously not a dude who left a lot up to chance.

Back in the parking lot Dig traced his boot through the tracks Oliver’s Ducati had left in the thin layer of crusted snow. They trailed their way out of the parking lot and then went left. Chances were good Oliver had taken them both to Felicity’s apartment, but it was probably too late to intervene. What was he going to do anyway? Pound on Felicity’s door and yell, “I know what you’re doing in there! Stop having sex right now!” If her bra was off by now, it was too late. And her bra was definitely off.

You didn’t have to be a super genius to know that.

The trouble with these two is that they didn’t realize how close they teetered on the edge of making that bad call all the time. Their meaningful looks, all the times Felicity had stabbed Oliver in the chest to make a point, the many soft glances Oliver shot her way when she was busy clicking away at her keyboard - their relationship was already not platonic. It might not be romantic, but it was definitely not platonic.

Dig worried about them sometimes, and he worried about himself too. He’d seen enough close-quarters, in-the-heat-of-the-moment affairs crop up during his time in the military to know that, under the wrong circumstances, love could turn deadly. Marriages ended, the IG got called, leave ended with police visits and restraining orders, and soldiers got sloppy in the field and lost a limb or died.

Love was a distraction, and his team couldn’t afford to get sloppy. They were out there every night busting up drug deals and chasing down crazy psychopaths. He needed Oliver to keep his head in the game, and he needed Felicity not to route his Ducati off a bridge because she was pissed about some dumb thing Oliver had done. They were better off being whatever they were now, and not lovers.

If he was right - and Dig knew he was right - it was too late for that. He went over to the salmon ladder, grabbed the metal bar, and started working his way up the rungs. It felt good to grasp something solid. He might as well work off some of his nervous energy. Waiting for confirmation of his fears was taking too damn long, and what he’d learned digging through the police files on the YouWAN2 rapes did not make him feel any better.

The bar in his hands went clang, clang, and then cla-clang as he hit the last rung off balance. He dropped his body weight and hung there, his arms bearing his weight. This was his fault. The sex chemical hadn’t been his idea, but he’d backed Felicity against Oliver’s objections, and - even worse - he’d left them behind when they’d needed him to be responsible for them. Yes, they were adults, and he hadn’t been afraid they’d die, but you didn’t leave a couple of toddlers alone in a glass factory and not expect blood and panic.

God damn it. Usually he could rely on Felicity’s good judgment, but not in this case. She’d been sprayed first, and it had been dark and at a distance, but he’d seen the way she’d slid her hand across Oliver’s shoulder after he’d been sprayed. That had been a “Hey, baby” touch if he’d ever seen one. This stuff acted fast, and he’d made the wrong call.

The upstairs door wrenched open, and Dig heard Oliver’s heavy footsteps come down the stairs. Dig dropped to the ground and walked back over to Felicity’s workstation. A few seconds later he heard Felicity’s softer tread. Usually her heels made these staccato noises as she tip-tapped her way down the metal steps, but today the sound was a soft thud-thudding instead. Her lavender Keds came into view. The rest of her, clad in a gray tracksuit, then appeared. Oliver had a too-small M.I.T. sweatshirt on over his Arrow pants. He pulled that off as he cleared the last couple of steps, then went over and found a green hoodie in their spare clothing stash. He handed the shirt back to Felicity as he walked over to where Dig was standing.

“Thanks,” she said distractedly. She folded it up and put it back in the clothing box. “May as well keep this here. Sometimes I get cold.” She closed the lid of the box and stood leaning against it.

No one spoke.

Dig took them both in. They looked exhausted. Their eyes were tired and red lined. Felicity’s hair was still wet, she was wearing no makeup, and both Oliver and Felicity were apparently finding the concrete floor of the lair very interesting all of a sudden. Dig didn’t think this was the right time to whip out his Mama’s “Do you know how worried I was?” speech, although both of them clearly expected a good tongue lashing.

“So,” he finally said. “What’s new?”

Felicity’s shoulders slumped. “I think you have an idea,” she said. “YouWAN2 sprayed both of us - you saw that. Oliver drove us back to my apartment, and...stuff happened.”

“How much do you remember?” Diggle asked.

“Some–” Oliver said.

“Practically nothing,” Felicity said, glaring at Oliver. Oliver raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t otherwise respond.

“The police reports state that none of the girls could identify their attackers,” Diggle said. “But I’ve spent all night going through the records Felicity copied, and I have a few questions about that.”

“Like what?” Felicity asked.

“From what you do remember, did you notice any emotional changes occurring over time? Like did the drug give you a high or a low? Did you hallucinate? Other than the, uh, sexual component, do you remember how it made you feel?”

“I didn’t hallucinate,” Oliver said. “It wasn’t like doing mushrooms or dropping acid. It didn’t freak me out. I do remember feeling really warm. I think we were sweating a lot. ”

Felicity kept her eyes on the floor. “There was an initial euphoria, I think,” she said finally. “I remember everything seemed hilarious at first. Maybe later I came down? I think I remember crying, but maybe it was a dream? Why would that matter?”

Dig went over to Felicity’s computer and opened up a window. “We knew that this guy tried to keep Kayla Whitestone silent, and she called his bluff and then killed herself, but what about the other women? Were they paying him to keep their information secret?” He brought up several files and clicked between them. “From the police timeline, it looks like Kayla was the most recent victim. I wondered if his pattern was to blackmail them all up front, so I went through the statements. It looks like a number of these girls’ parents wanted to press charges, but the girls wouldn’t do it.”

“They didn’t want to get this guy?” Oliver asked.

“No. Many of them said they had a relationship with him. A couple of them even referred to him as their boyfriend. I think that the drug was intended to be a behavioral modifier and a longer acting aphrodisiac.”

Oliver frowned, but Felicity looked uneasy. “Longer acting?” she asked.

“A behavioral modifier?” Oliver asked. “What kind of behavior was he trying to modify?”

“Do you know about Pavlov’s dog?” Dig asked. He’d gotten some training in psychology in the military, enough to recognize classical conditioning, and the internet was full of information. “Pavlov was a Russian scientist who was doing research on the physiology of digestion in dogs. He was monitoring how dogs drooled in the presence of food because the drool, as a bodily fluid, could be measured and studied. He noticed over time that the dogs he worked with started to drool when they saw the white coats of the people who fed them, and he wondered what kind of physical response could be generated by something totally unrelated.

“He found that he could make the dogs drool to the sound of a metronome if the sound was followed by the appearance of food soon afterwards and this pattern was repeated over time.”

“So what does that have to do with this?” Oliver asked.

“I think he’s using the drug to put them into a state where they are more easily conditioned,” Dig said. “I think he wants more than just sex in the moment.”

“So he’s training them while he’s got them under the influence of the drug?” Felicity asked. “How would he do that?”

“God knows,” Dig said. He understood wanting to get laid, but this was just sick. “When I wasn’t looking up this Pavlov stuff, I went over some of YouWAN2’s old posts on reddit. Are you familiar with the term PUA?”

Oliver looked blank, but Felicity scowled. “Unfortunately,” she said. “It’s short for pick-up artist. Guys who are looking to figure out the right psychological cues so they can get laid whenever without the hassle of getting to know women at all.”

“Some of those guys are probably just lonely and socially awkward, looking to figure out how to meet girls,” Dig said.

“And some of them like to fantasize about the day when sex robots become a thing, women are made obsolete, and they will regret forever that they didn’t have sex with these guys now,” Felicity said.

“How do you know this?” Oliver asked.

“I was a woman in STEM?” Felicity said. “Unlike many colleges in America, M.I.T.’s ratio of men to women is still skewed.”

“The YouWAN2 username has been active in numerous forums where they discuss men’s ‘options,’” Dig said. “Instead of virtual reality sex or robots, this guy wants a girlfriend - and not just one who will give him what he wants, but one who wants to give him what he wants.”

“A submissive sex object,” Felicity said. “A possession. Like a mail-order bride fetish, but locally sourced. Gross.” She looked over the records on the monitors. “So you think that this guy’s spraying these women and then conditioning them during their time together to do what?”

This is where it got really bad. Felicity already looked pissed. Dig didn’t love getting into this guy’s head either. “I think he’s looking for the perfect girl,” he said. “But he doesn’t want to make his decision until he’s had the full experience. He sprays these girls, spends the night with them. So far he hasn’t found Miss Right. But if he conditions the rest of these women, he has a stable of girls to draw from.”

“A stable of girls?” Felicity said.

“Their words, not mine,” Dig said. “He’s picking a certain type of girl: young, very attractive, and socially popular. This is the type of girl who, generally speaking, doesn’t go for guys like him. So if one - or all of them - doesn’t turn out to be what he wants for a girlfriend, he still gets to have control. If this experiment works, he’ll be able to elicit the conditioned response in the future whenever it suits him.”

“Which means?” Oliver looked irritated.

“It means he’ll be able to crook his little finger, and they’ll drop their panties for him. Whenever,” Felicity said.

“I think that’s the goal,” Dig said. “But this isn’t exactly the scientific method, so who knows how this has all turned out for him.”

Felicity nodded slowly. “It's not like he can compare the physiology or psychology of his subjects before and after. There’s no control group. He can only do his thing and then see if it gets the result he wanted.” She clicked through a few more files. “I wonder if Kayla was less susceptible. Maybe she told him where he could go. He’s probably taking the pics and videos so he can get off later, but perhaps money isn’t the goal. Do we know if he’s actually blackmailed the other girls?”

“Kayla’s is the only file that mentions a blackmail attempt. The other ones are rape accusations filed by these girls’ - and some of them are minors - parents.”

“So we jumped to conclusions based on the reddit post,” Felicity said. “If Kayla’s the one he blackmailed, what does that say about her?”

“I’m more concerned about the bonding effect the drug seems to have,” Dig said because that was the immediate issue that neither Oliver nor Felicity seemed to be picking up on. “Since you were both sprayed and out of it, I’m sure you didn’t spend your time trying to train each other to respond to a specific stimulus.”

“I told you,” Felicity said, “We can’t remember it.”

Oliver opened his mouth and then closed it.

“Okay, but here’s the thing,” Dig said. “Regular sex has a bonding effect. People associate good experiences with good feelings about the people they experienced them with, so they often mistake sex for love. But if this drug messes with your head and there are multiple, uh, good experiences, then the whole Pavlov thing could maybe work. Sex and feelings and a specific person plus a heightened state of consciousness? See where I’m going with this?”

“You think we’re bonded now?” Oliver asked.

Dig sighed. “I’m afraid that might have happened. Who knows about the conditioning or how long the drug will remain in your system. We don’t understand how it works.”

“So the microwave dings, and we’ll drool,” Oliver said.

“He’s more worried about me jumping you when my cell phone goes off,” Felicity said with an annoyed look.

“I did call you all night,” Dig said with a shake of his head. Of course, that wasn’t what he was really worried about. Just because you were conditioned to react didn’t mean you didn’t have the ability to fight that conditioning. “I think we have to focus on how this could affect the team.”

“It’s not going to affect the team,” Felicity said.

“Look,” Dig said, “we can’t be good together if we don’t trust each other, so now is the time to be honest.”

“I am being honest,” Felicity said. “Oliver and I have already talked, and we’ve agreed that this will not be a problem.”

Dig looked at Oliver and his “What can you do, man?” look matched his light shrug perfectly.

Dig sighed and crossed his arms. Way to nut up, man. “I know this isn’t how things usually work,” he said, “but I’m the only one not compromised here. I’ll take responsibility for making the wrong call with regards to you two last night, but what happened happened. For now, though, I think we have to lay down some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” Oliver asked. “What kind of ground rules?”

“If this was Afghanistan, and you were under my leadership, I’d move one of you to another unit like that,” Dig said. “But we only have one unit and need both of you for it to work right. We need both of you. This is your mission, Oliver, but without Felicity we’re operating blind, so we’re just going to have to push through.”

Dig shifted on his feet. “I wish I had a blackboard so I’d have something to tap.” He looked down at the ground and then up again. “You two had sex. This was not a one-night stand. You have a relationship. There’s nothing wrong with you if what happened makes you feel things. Now or later.”

Oliver looked intently at the wall, and Felicity sucked in air. Dig held up a finger. “Just hear me out. I’m older than both of you.” He smiled in an attempt to lessen the tension. “I was fully prepared to let whatever this thing is between you guys take its own sweet time and play itself out. I hoped it’d take awhile. Workplace relationships have a tendency to distract from the work, but what can you do?”

“Diggle, what are you talking about?” Felicity asked, with an embarrassed laugh. “We don’t have a thing.”

“What’s your point, Dig?” Oliver took a step towards him.

Dig plowed on. “We count on each other. For this mission and everything else. What we’re doing? It’s not exactly normal. We spend our free time chasing criminals. Oliver has his mission, yeah, and it’s been a way for me to get my head around some of the shit I brought back with me stateside too. I don’t know what your reasons are, Felicity, but you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel. I’m not asking questions, but don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

She looked startled. “I’m not just a potted plant down here. I have eyes,” Dig said. “Look, neither of you are seeing anyone right now, are you?”

“No-o,” Felicity said.

“You’d know if I was,” Oliver said.

“Good,” Diggle said. “We dodged a bullet there. For now, let’s keep it that way.”

“I don’t see how that matters,” Felicity said. “What if I meet someone? You’re saying just because,” she jerked a hand towards Oliver, “this happened, I can’t date?”

“Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, Felicity. You see what I’m saying? You and Oliver having sex? You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. How will you feel when he escorts a supermodel to QC’s Christmas party?”

She opened her mouth, “I-I’d be fine with it,” she said, jerking her chin up. “Oliver can see who he wants. It doesn’t have anything to do with me.” Her eyes were a little too focused on Dig’s chest, though.

“If you run him into a bus because you’re angry at him for that, it’s gonna be a problem.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Felicity said.

“You know I don’t sleep with every woman I meet, right?” Oliver asked, scowling. “Felicity gave me the third degree about this before.”

“Only every other one,” Felicity mumbled.

“See!” Dig said. “That’s what I mean! If you’re going to be hurt by him seeing other people–”

“Seeing other people?” Oliver asked.

“Seeing people,” Dig said, “then we’ve got to keep a lid on it. For now.” When it came to his efforts with women, Oliver had the savoir faire of a 4th grader, but it didn’t seem to stop him from messing up his life or theirs. The thing is, he needed Felicity.

When Dig had met Oliver a year ago, he’d noticed the sense of aloneness the other man had dragged around with him. Oliver, even while he’d smiled and shaken hands and put on a show, had been keening on the inside, his loneliness so tangible it was like a third person in the room. The Oliver they’d retrieved a few months ago from Lian Yu was still removed - he still stood like a guard on watch - but some of his smiles were real now. Dig knew he’d been a part of that, but Felicity had been too.

Oliver only trusted a handful of people, but she was one of them. He softened when he was around her. His iron will gave way. Dig had beaten his head against Oliver’s brick wall of a will trying to get him to reevaluate his methods. Felicity, in the first week of their partnership had simply walked out when Oliver got pigheaded and didn’t listen. When she suggested he take on the Dodger, the man had automatically switched gears. Neither the team nor Oliver could afford to lose her.

He turned to Felicity. “And you can’t let your thoughts go down the ‘All men are pigs’ trail. You have to remember that Oliver didn’t sleep with you and dump you. That asshole,” he pointed to the computer monitor, “drugged you, and something bad happened.”

“It wasn’t really b–” Oliver said, but shut up when Dig shot him a look.

“Alright,” Felicity said.

“Alright?” Dig asked.

“I guess that’s fair. We don’t date, and we don’t blame. I can handle that. It won’t be that long anyway. We’ll forget this even happened and get back to doing our jobs.”

“One more thing, and I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Dig said. “If either of you need to talk about what happened or how you feel, you come to me. Like I said, I was the only one who wasn’t sprayed. We’ll get through this.”

He’d just finished saying that when one of Felicity’s monitors gave a beep. All three of them turned their attention to it. Felicity went to the keyboard and clicked a couple of keys.

“It looks like our chasing him down didn’t stop this guy from trolling for another victim last night,” Felicity said. “He just posted another pic - a new one.”

“We’ll get him,” Dig said.

“We’d better,” she said. “I’m 110% done with this piece of scum. I’m going to start going through the police database looking at headshots. I kind of remember what he looked like. At the very least I can rule a bunch of people out.”

“I’m going to hit the streets,” Oliver said.

“It’s broad daylight,” Felicity said.

“I can’t just sit here,” Oliver said. “I’ll go back to St. Elmo’s and look around. Ask if they know a short, skinny guy with reddish facial hair. Whatever.”

“Change your pants,” Dig said. “That leather look is for nighttime only, bar or no bar.”

Oliver gave him a rueful smile, and headed for the lair’s bathroom. Felicity clicked away at her station. And Dig worried about the pair of them.

Despite everything that just happened, it was good to know that some things stayed the same.

Chapter Text

Felicity avoided the lair for the next few days. The weekend was slow, so the team did research on Red Beard separately and, unfortunately, came up empty. Felicity ran facial recognition in numerous databases and found no matches. She checked school records for chemistry majors in Starling’s four institutions of higher learning. Nothing. Dig canvassed the bars the guy had trolled for women, and no one remembered him. Oliver whaled on a guy he caught assaulting a woman in the alley near Verdant and called the police to pick up the remains.

There were so few online footprints for Red Beard that Felicity began to wonder if he were working alone. Could he be both a chemistry whiz and a hacker? It seemed unlikely that the genius fairy would whack anyone twice like that.

Monday morning at the office was momentarily awkward until Felicity dug into the pile of work she had to do. Queen Consolidated had an important upcoming meeting to discuss a chemical research company they were planning to acquire, and she had to make sure she and Oliver were prepped with the info they needed before the board of directors came together.

Moira’s case was heating up as well, and Felicity knew that Oliver was distracted by concern for both his mother and his sister. They were finally talking but worried now about the district attorney seeking the death penalty for Moira’s role in the Undertaking. Felicity was more concerned with how Oliver would fare if the state found guilty and executed his mother. He wasn’t going to take her death lying down, that was for sure. Oliver didn’t react very well to his loved ones getting killed, and they’d just gotten him back from Lian Yu and on track.

For the first four or five days after being sprayed Felicity felt like she was coming out of her skin. Her temperature fluctuated wildly, and her skin itched so badly she had to clench her hands into fists. She was turned on all of the time too. Like all of the time. Watching Oliver stroll into QC wearing his tailored suits was torture, and working in their all-glass offices was like being in a fishbowl. She and Oliver swam about all day in their respective sections trying not to stare at each other. He was a betta fish with his multi-colored fins and tail, lurking about sexily, waiting for fight time to begin. She was a goldfish wondering why this fancy aquarium had no little castle in which to hide.

She continued to avoid the lair. It seemed safer. There was too much possibility that he might be working out half naked or doing some otherwise hyper macho thing guaranteed to set her off. She scheduled an appointment with his barber without asking him. His hair was growing out to a very tuggable length, and it was giving her ideas. His hair was giving her ideas. She was in so much trouble.

By Thursday, though, she felt a little better. Her pulse finally came down to a normal rate, and she didn’t have to put her hands in mittens at night to stop herself from scratching. She popped into the lair to update her computers and make sure everything was running fine. Oliver was sparring with Dig on the mats, but she kept her eyes to herself and got her work done.

Friday afternoon Isabel dropped by to see Oliver who was, of course, not there, although Dig was. There was a new female vigilante in town, and Oliver had gotten cagey about his whereabouts. Felicity and Diggle were in the habit of consulting each other about keeping Oliver under at least minimal supervision, but that didn’t stop him from going off like a lone wolf. Felicity wondered what he wasn’t telling them now. Oliver was Oliver, though, and her job was to protect and help him, so she straightened when Isabel entered their offices.

“Where is Mr. Queen?” Isabel asked without preamble. “Monday is the meeting with AEC Chemical, and I need to know where he’s at with that. Has he signed the papers I sent over?”

“Not as of yet,” Felicity said calmly. “I have them here for him when he returns.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Isabel asked. She was dressed in a scarlet kimono dress that should have looked ridiculous but instead looked like it had been designed for her. Her black hair hung straight and sleek down her back, and her fingernails were lacquered talons.

“He’s a very busy man,” Felicity said, noticing a chip in her own fuchsia manicure. She put her hand in the pocket of her pencil skirt.

“Busy,” Isabel said in the most condescending way possible. “Is it Sorority Week at Starling U?”

Felicity stared at her.

“I forgot, you wouldn’t think that was funny,” Isabel said. “Competition.”

“Would you like to leave Mr. Queen a message?” Felicity asked. “I will have him return it at his earliest possible convenience.” She worked her voice in an attempt to make those last words come out sounding like “Please die,” but couldn’t quite manage it. Politeness was an unfortunate habit. She crossed her arms instead, and over in the corner Dig smiled.

“Be sure to,” Isabel said. “He has to learn he can’t dodge me and that things aren’t going to be run in a slipshod way around here anymore. If he wants to helm Queen Consolidated, he’s going to have to put in the work.” She turned and walked into the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor in a sharp staccato. She punched the elevator button and then glared back at Felicity and Diggle as if it were their fault when it didn’t immediately arrive. Felicity debated the wisdom of raising an eyebrow at her, but before she could decide, the elevator finally came, and Isabel disappeared into it.

“I don’t like her,” Felicity said.

“No one does,” Dig said.

“I don’t trust her,” Felicity said.

Dig shifted on his weight. “No one does. She was probably hatched.”

Felicity laughed. “You mean like a lizard?” she asked. “That’s good. Her head digging itself out of the sand, her cold reptilian eyes wincing at the light.”

“I mean like a dragon bubbling up out of the magma,” Dig said, and Felicity giggled.

“I’m going to look into her. Oliver hasn’t done his due diligence. I don’t trust her, and not just because she’s trying to take over this company. It’s because she’s evil.”

It was Diggle’s turn to cross his arms.

“What?”

“It’s Oliver’s company.”

“And I’m Oliver’s executive assistant,” Felicity said. “I might need a name, though. We can’t use QC’s private detective to dig up dirt on her, obviously.”

Dig raised his eyebrows at her, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m also going to see Moira,” Felicity said.

“In Iron Heights?”

“That’s where she is,” Felicity said briskly and then, “Look, Oliver could use some help, and I think she should know her children are struggling a bit with what she did.”

“Dragons,” Dig said. “It’s not always wise to track them to their lairs.”

“She’s in prison,” Felicity said. “What can she do?”

“Well, sitting in the Queen mansion, she helped kill 503 people,” Dig said.

The elevator bell dinged again then, and Felicity looked up to see Oliver’s well polished shoe appear, lifted at its usual 15 degree angle as he strode forward. He turned the corner and tilted his head, and she watched his normal situational awareness flip on. He saw Dig and her and smiled as he walked toward them.

“All’s I know is Walter White would have been dead before season one was half over,” Dig said, switching topics. “Let alone five seasons. Give me a break.”

“But it’s the juxtaposition between the mundane and the horrible that makes it funny,” Felicity said. “If Walter and Jesse weren’t such bumblers, the show wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable. Plus, the point is to show Walter’s transition from everyday mensch to dead-eyed drug kingpin.”

“I get that, and I like the show,” Dig said. “It’s just that they’d be dead. They’d never make it five years in that world. White boys. I’m just sayin’.”

“Are you guys talking about Breaking Bad again?” Oliver asked.

“The Wire, actually,” Felicity said grinning at Diggle.

“I’m not discussing The Wire with you,” Dig said. “You know I didn’t grow up on the mean streets of Detroit, right? I grew up in–”

“Southfield,” Felicity said. “I know. In a subdivision.”

“My dad worked for GM,” Dig said.

Felicity rolled her eyes. “I know. Vegas is more interesting than Southfield sounds. How’d you get to be such a badass then?”

“How did Oliver get to be such a badass? How are you so tough?” Dig asked. “Life, man. Life. But I don’t want to talk about The Wire.”

“I don’t know why you two go on so much about this stuff,” Oliver said, and Felicity rolled her eyes - mentally, this time - again. Oliver could be surprisingly preachy on this topic, weaned as he’d been from all popular culture for five years. He said television was a distraction.

“You have to make time for good TV,” Felicity said. “We’re in a new golden age.”

Oliver gave her an impassive look. She didn’t care if he approved of her Netflix queue, though, she was a woman with both a day job and a night job. Sometimes you had to just sit and veg.

“Right now, though,” Felicity said, “I need you to go through some paperwork and sign off on a few things Isabel’s been expecting. And, no, they can’t wait. She made her demands clear.”

“Okay,” Oliver said.

Since he was both there and being so accommodating, Felicity got up immediately to get those folders. She walked over to the room’s only file cabinet. These open offices were minimalist in that high-end way, but to maintain the design, there were hardly any practical amenities.

She opened the third filing cabinet down and went through the folders. This paperwork had come in batches, but she’d kept it all together before it went through Oliver. It wasn’t under the AEC tab, though. Where was it? She pulled the cabinet out further and bent over to search further back. Her heel snagged in a shallow indentation in the tile, and she wobbled but recovered. Oh, there it was. She pulled it, backed up, and turned around to give it to Oliver.

He was standing there staring at her, and his forehead had broken out in a sweat. “Is there something wrong, Oliver?” she asked, stepping towards him. He looked like she could push him over with a finger, his body was that straight. He grabbed the folder out of her hand, turned around, and headed for the elevator.

“Oliver?" she asked again.

“I have to go,” he said. “Something just came up. I’ll get these to you as soon as I can.” He raised the folder over the top of his head and violently punched the elevator key. “Dig?”

“O-kay,” Dig said, frowning and moving to follow him out into the hallway.

“I’ll be out tonight,” Oliver said. “The mayor. Dig can help me. See you later!”

The elevator dinged, and he was gone.

>>--->

Felicity got home late after working for hours on all items related to the AEC deal. She got some Chinese take out and made it home by 8 PM. She pulled her key from the door, threw her purse and the take out on the kitchen counter, and started shedding her clothes. Her feet were killing her, and she was so glad to get out of that skirt. It was too tight, and she’d had to fuss with it all day. She never should have worn it to the office. As she made her way to the bedroom, she flipped on her television.

Three hours later, fed and mentally rested, she put herself through her pilates workout and ran a bath. She made the water as hot as she could stand in hopes that it would relax her, and she rinsed her whole body down with her detachable shower head. One way or another, she was going to get this tension out. Afterwards, she pulled on some sleep shorts and a tank top and went to make herself a cup of sleepytime tea.

It was nearing midnight, and she put the coffee maker on with the kettle. Oliver had included her apartment on his rotation after the Dollmaker fracas, and she had taken to leaving coffee out for him on her little back deck. She left that door unlocked until she went to sleep in case he needed to go to the bathroom or something. So far he’d never taken her up on the invitation - that she knew of - but it was hard to find a clean bathroom in Starling City at this time of night. This was knowledge she wished she didn’t have.

She pulled her Doctor Who mug and one of her QC travel mugs down from the cupboard, putting the tea bag in the first. When the coffee finished brewing, she unscrewed the blue top from the silver canister and filled it all the way up to the top with the hot liquid. She put in a heaping tablespoon full of sugar and stirred it in. Oliver took his coffee black, but she added sugar anyway because black coffee was disgusting and he could stand to indulge a little.

This was different than making him coffee at the office, she reminded herself. Completely different. If he fell asleep out there, he could get killed.

She fumbled with the lid of the travel mug, and coffee spilled over her hand. “Damn it!” she said as she screwed it on forcibly. The blue Q on the circular lid stared back at her like an eye. Unblinking.

Felicity took the mug and opened the door to the deck, meaning to put it on the glass table as usual, but as she stepped out, she saw him. He stood there staring at the door and now at her. His hood was low over his eyes, and his posture was guarded. In that moment, Felicity had an exquisitely detailed flash of him flinging her body against her living room wall. In it she was plastered as close as possible to that leather, kissing him desperately and coming to pieces around a cock she needed to keep fucking her more than she needed to keep breathing.

She dropped the mug.

He didn’t move, and she clenched her hands into fists rather than step toward him and what would happen if she got an inch closer. “Gotta go,” she said as she whirled back towards the door. “Stay safe.” Then she slammed the door and locked it firmly against any intruder.

She had to go to bed. Yes, sleep. Sleep was what she needed. She grabbed her mug of tea and headed for her bedroom.

>>--->

Felicity was typing. Her fingers felt heavier than usual on the keyboard, but she was tired. That must explain it. Something in her garter belt pressed painfully into her side, and her high heels felt teetery even firmly placed as they were on the floor beneath her chair. She felt hot, but that was probably just the light on her desk. It was like a high beam pointed right at her. She had to get this letter finished. It was important.

The “q” letter in Queen Consolidated did not want to press down, so she pushed her left pinky finger harder on the key. Still it wouldn’t move. She looked down. She was typing on a manual typewriter, an old fashioned one with circles for each letter and heavy strikers underneath. She craned her neck to peer underneath the key to look for any kind of obstruction when the buzzer rang. The light on the intercom blinked, and she pushed the button next to it down.

“Yes?” she said.

“Miss Smoak,” Oliver’s voice, a bit tinny through the metal mesh of the intercom, said, “I need you to come in here and take some dictation. And bring me a cup of coffee while you’re at it.”

Felicity narrowed her eyes, but said, “Yes, Mr. Queen.” She stood and found the coffee already in one hand and a small notebook in her other. As she walked toward Oliver’s office, she saw herself reflected in the glass: a small woman in a green polyester A-line dress with a tall blond beehive and cat glasses. She frowned and pulled the scooped neck of her dress higher and straightened her glasses. There, that was better.

When she reached Oliver’s office, she knocked on the glass. He nodded at her. “Come in.”

She pushed the door open, crossed the room, and put the coffee next to Oliver on his desk. It was the only piece of furniture in the room besides his chair, enormous and rectangular, a mahogany island with an inlaid leather surface and at least 7 drawers. “You wanted me to take dictation, Mr. Queen?”

“I did,” he said, “but later. First I need you to perform your other task.”

“My other task?” she asked, but she knew what he meant. Her heartbeat ticked up. She felt it beat against the delicate skin in the hollow of her throat.

“Yes,” he said, “the one everyone thinks you’re here for. You don’t need to undress, though, and leave those” he gestured to her heels, “on.”

“I don’t think–” she said.

“Good,” he said. “Since that won’t be necessary for this. Now,” he made a twirling motion with his finger, “turn around.”

She swallowed and faced the desk, and he ran a hand up her stocking. “Garter belt,” he said and made an approving sound in his throat. “Nice.”

“This wasn’t what I signed up for,” Felicity said in a faltering voice.

“Me neither,” Oliver said, “but we don’t have any choice.” She heard him unzip his pants as she felt his hand press her to the desk. Then his other hand was tugging her panties down inch by inch. When they slid down her calves, he squatted down and said, “Lift.” She did, with both feet, and he tossed the underwear on top of the desk. It was white with tiny green arrows shot through pink hearts. Felicity closed her eyes.

Oliver pressed a kiss against her thigh as he trailed his fingers up towards her center. “That’s not true,” he said. “You do have a choice: Would you like me to fuck you hard and fast or slow and even?”

She swallowed again. “Slow,” she said. “Until I tell you otherwise.”

He nodded and the soft, bristly hair on his chin scratched the vulnerable skin of her upper thigh and sent a shudder through her. She didn’t know why she was doing this, why she wasn’t scared, but she felt her own wetness against his hand as he reached up through her folds and slid his thumb inside her. Her face felt hot against the cool leather of the desk, and she arched her back and pushed towards his hand, grinding against his calloused fingertips.

He stood then and unzipped her dress part way, trailing his tongue up her back and neck. He lightly bit her where her shoulder met her neck. Then not so lightly.

“Why are we doing this?” she asked.

“Because it was inevitable,” he said. He pulled his thumb out and then widened the space between her legs with his thigh. He lifted the polyester skirt of her dress up and gently put it on her back. Felicity felt the cooler air of the room on her exposed ass and back. “Didn’t you realize?”

She hadn’t. Or had she?

“Now,” he said, “hold onto the desk.” And he prodded the thick head of his cock against her folds and, tilting his hips, thrust inside her.

She gasped and widened her legs to accommodate him, curling her fingers around the lip on the far side of the desk. His hand slid around to hold her neck, and she felt like she could barely move as he pushed all the way in until he was buried inside her. His thighs were like pillars around hers, his body loomed over her, and he groaned.

“You’re so tight,” he said in her ear. “You feel amazing.” He pulled out all the way to her opening, dragging her hips back with his, and then he pushed back in again. She felt the zipper on his wool trousers scrape against her ass, and his belt buckle slid with him across the surface of the desk.

He pulled her head up and back with his hand, leaning the other against the desk, and the buckle began to bang rhythmically on the mahogany. With her back arched and her head so far back, she could see people reflected in the glass of the office wall. There they were, fully dressed, clearly fucking on a large desk. Inside the woman’s gaping neckline, the tops of her breasts bounced with the force of the man’s thrusts.

“Still want it slow?” Oliver asked.

She shook her head. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Faster. Fuck me harder. Much harder, Mr. Queen.”

He laughed and kissed the side of her neck. The woman in the glass shoved back against the man, grinding back against him as he picked up the pace. She saw the man’s face disappear and felt Oliver drag the zipper of her dress down further with his teeth. The front of the woman’s dress collapsed and revealed a rather formidable looking bra that went limp in another moment and was replaced with the man’s hands. His lips returned to her neck. She saw and felt his teeth there, but she couldn’t touch him back because her arms were trapped in the lowered sleeves of her dress.

The buttons of his linen shirt pressed into her back in the same line his tongue had traced, and the feet of the desk made sharp squeals as the people in the glass, both of them grunting and panting, frantically mated. Inch by inch the desk moved across the tile.

“Stop,” she said, and the man looked up. Part of her brain registered that the man in the glass was Oliver and the woman was herself, but then waves of pleasure broke over her and she closed her eyes and sank back down on him, reveling in her impalement and giving over to the need to clench down on him. God, the man was endowed.

“What?” he asked. She opened her eyes after the last wave subsided. It took her a second to realize what he was asking, but then she gestured at her hands.

“I can’t move,” she said. “Can we…?”

He leaned away from her, and the dress fell all the way down her front. She slipped her hands out of the sleeves and pushed back into him and then away. His cock slipped out. She wiggled around and held him in her hands.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, caressing him slowly. She tried to remember why they were there. She was supposed to be getting papers signed? Taking dictation?

“Don’t you know?” A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “I’m doing this...and this…” he pushed her back and then lifted both of her legs up and open, pulling her ass to the edge of the desk and half climbing on it himself, “because you want me to. Because you need me to. Although you might like it better this way.” He waved a hand, and his shirt and suit coat were replaced by green leather. He put a hand on both of her legs and, in the Arrow voice, he said, “Good enough for you?” Then he plunged back inside of her.

She tilted her hips and matched him thrust for thrust, then leaned her face to the side on the leather and watched the muscles in his thighs flex as they went up and down, up and down. She felt like every spare space inside her body was filled with him. There wasn’t a molecule that didn’t feel like it was being thoroughly fucked and in the best possible way.

She nodded as the tempo picked up. “Yes,” she said, biting her lip and sucking air in and out through her nose and mouth rather desperately. “Yes. No. Yes, yes!” There it was, those waves coming again. She could feel them lapping against her center now. God, just a little more.

His free hand caught on the front pocket of her dress and pulled it down. Suddenly he stilled. “What’s this?” he asked, reaching for something in her garter belt. Felicity stiffened and then tried to jerk away from him. She saw a little black book tied with twine. She struggled against him, but her arms were pinned underneath her own legs.

Oliver held the book up where she could see it. It was only about three inches long, but across its cover, written in red, was the word SECRETS.

“Secrets?” Oliver asked. She squirmed, but he pushed hard into her again and something inside her blossomed. She groaned. He rocked into her four or five more times, and she panted open mouthed.

“What kind of secrets?” he asked.

She could think of a couple, but she shook her head. “I don’t...I can’t…” she said. Just a little closer, a little more, and she’d be done. Then she could grab her book from him and run.

“I’ll stop if you don’t tell me what’s in here,” Oliver said, slowing down. She moaned in disappointment as that delicious feeling receded.

“What do you want?” he asked. “Is it this?” He waved his hand again, “Or this?” Now he was lying on top of her covering her extended body, kissing her softly and then nuzzling her neck. He slowed his pace and split his rhythm into one hard thrust, then three slower ones. He pushed into her hard again and took her lower lip between his and lightly tugged on it. “Tell me now.”

“I don’t know,” she said, breathing heavily. He was overpowering her, overcoming her, taking her, leaving nothing behind. What would be left of her when this was over? “I don’t know what I want!” she said and pushed at him with all of her strength.

Felicity gasped as she sat up in bed. She sat there trying to catch her breath, taking in the darkness of her bedroom and its shadows, and she became very much afraid she’d screamed that aloud.

Because she wasn’t alone. Oliver was here with her, sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was there all the same. She could feel his energy. He had such an enormous presence, she didn’t know how other people could miss him, how he ever managed to sneak up on anyone.

“Oliver?” she said into the darkness.

He didn’t say anything. She forced herself to breathe slowly as she went over in her head what she might have said in her sleep. Could she have - oh my god - moaned his name? The sheets around her in the bed were in serious disarray, and she was sweating profusely.

“Oliver,” she said again.

“I remember, Felicity,” he said.

“Remember what?” she whispered.

“I remember what it feels like to be inside you,” Oliver said.

Chapter Text

Felicity sat there, breathing hard in the darkened room, and Oliver watched her become aware of herself and her surroundings. The moonlight shone in through the window and lit up her white tank top. He could see her nipples clearly; they were hard buds pressing up against the thin fabric. Her blond hair lay in wild disarray around her. He knew the second she sensed him there in the room.

“Oliver?” she said.

He sat very still. If he didn’t move, if he stayed right here in this chair, he could control himself. He still had his gloves on. He still had his hood on. Watching her writhe about on her bed panting his name was a new kind of torture for him, but he supposed he deserved it for coming in here in the first place. Even if he knew where the key was, even with her permission - what had he thought would happen?

This. Obviously this.

Still, he’d been drawn to her townhouse over and over this past week. He liked it. He liked the polka-dotted porch light she had by her back door and the little table-and-chairs setup in the corner of the deck. It was cozy. He’d worked this stop into his rounds more and more, and tonight he’d barely moved five blocks in any one direction from this spot. He now had a good bead on what crime was being committed in Felicity’s neighborhood. Fortunately, it wasn’t too concerning.

He’d been waiting for her when she’d stepped out onto her deck with the coffee. He knew her schedule. When she’d seen him and dropped the travel mug, he’d known she was having the same reaction he’d had earlier in the day at the office. A conditioned response is what she and Dig had called it. That seemed like a bland term for a flash of unbelievably erotic images and a sudden and fierce desire to have sex with her right then and there. But he wasn’t in charge of assigning words to things.

He guessed that was good.

“Oliver,” Felicity said again.

“I remember, Felicity,” he said because there was no point in denying it anymore.

“Remember what?” she whispered.

“I remember what it feels like to be inside you,” Oliver said as the images appeared again in his mind, some of them memories and some dreams and fantasies. Probably. He couldn’t remember everything about that night, but he sure as hell remembered some of it.

“How long have you been there?”

Was she talking about here in this chair or circling the blocks around her townhouse? “Awhile,” he said. “You said I could...What were you dreaming about?” As if he didn’t know. Like her breathed, “Mr. Queen,” hadn’t been a dead giveaway. Still, she was the one maintaining she didn’t remember, that the night between them hadn’t been seared into both of their minds, drugged or not.

She swallowed hard and straightened her back. “You,” she said. “Us.”

“You said you didn’t remember,” he said.

“It wasn’t a memory,” she said and bit her lip. “But I wasn’t completely honest about that either.”

Something in him flared to life at that admission, but it also made this situation more difficult because, despite the fact that he was here now in her room, he didn’t want to mess things up between them. His hands closed over the arms of the chair. “Tell me to leave,” he said.

She looked confused. “Tell me to get out of here, and I will,” he said. “Tell me this scares you - that I scare you - that this is a bad idea. Then close your eyes, and I’ll be gone.”

She tilted her head at him and stared for a good minute. She leaned forward, climbed off the bed, and crossed the room to him.

“I’m not,” she said, leaning forward and putting her hands over his gloved ones.

“Y-you’re not what?” he asked.

“Afraid of you,” Felicity said. “I never have been.”

He breathed out slowly. “What are we going to do?”

She put her knee between his thighs and eased into his lap. “I guess we’re going to see where this goes,” she said.

“It’s your choice.”

“I know,” she said.

“Dig said we shouldn’t have sex,” he said.

“Dig said we shouldn’t have sex with other people,” she said. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been going out of my skull thinking of this all week. I thought it would be easier on both of us if I didn’t remember, but I do.”

He sat up straight, feeling both relieved and triumphant at her admission. He wasn’t so forgettable after all, then. “You do? How much?”

“Some of it,” she said. “It was good.” She licked her lips. “It was really good. Right?”

“It was great,” he said.

“So if we do this, we don’t tell Dig,” she said. She put her hand on the zipper of his jacket and tugged it down.

He nodded.

“He doesn’t need to know,” she said. “We’ll get this out of our systems, and everything will be fine.” She slid her hand down his chest and began to tug his shirt out of his pants. He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it on the floor, then tugged his shirt over his head.

“How did you know I was dreaming about you?” she asked, working on the button on his pants.

“You said ‘Mr. Queen.’ Multiple times.”

“Oh,” she said. “I guess that would do it.”

She walked over to her bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out some condoms.

“You have condoms now?” he asked.

“I bought them the other day,” she said. “I didn’t know why. I just threw them in the cart with my milk and Mint Milanos.” She pulled out a handful and put them on the top of the table.

He almost laughed. “You have high expectations.”

She looked down. “Oh,” she said with a laugh. “Well, go big or go home, right?” She crossed back over to him and ran her hands up his abs. “Ready?”

“Okay, look,” he said, pulling off his boots, “We’ve got to start with you because, after seeing you there,” he gestured to her bed, “I’m not going to last too long once I get inside you. Listening to you moan my name in your sleep has to be the most erotic thing ever.” He scooped her up in his arms and then dropped her ass first in the middle of the bed. He put his thumbs into the elastic waistband of her sleep shorts and pulled them and her panties down at the same time. “There.” Then he knelt on the bed and crept up between the legs she was trying to close.

“You want to start with this?” Felicity said, scooching back a bit towards the headboard.

“Yeah?” he said. “Is that alright?”

“It’s just kind of ‘Here it all is,’” she said with an awkward laugh.

He frowned. “We’ve done this before.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding, “but I was hopped up on a weaponized aphrodisiac, so there wasn’t this ‘Did I shave?’ moment. Plus, I actually waxed last week. Not that that’s, you know, important. I mean, you are getting laid here, right? Even if you are Oliver Queen.” She clamped her lips together and looked away.

Ah, there it was: his sexual history popping up again to cockblock him. He hadn’t expected this from Felicity because she was so confident and she never took any of his shit, but here she was embarrassed because she thought he was comparing her to other people. Hmm.

He crept up her body slowly until he got to her lips, and he kissed them gently, but firmly. “Okay,” he said, “you tell me what you want.” He intertwined her fingers with his and raised them above her head. “We’ll do that.”

She laughed again, but the tension was easing from her shoulders and torso. “So what kind of kissing do you like?” he asked.

“Kind of kissing?” she asked.

“You know,” he said, “butterfly kissing?” He dragged his eyelashes up her cheeks and batted them, then moved to touch her nose with his. “Eskimo kissing?”

She smiled at him. “Cute,” she said. “Is this the Ollie Queen routine?”

He stiffened. “The Ollie Queen routine?”

“You know, how you warm up girls,” she said. “Does this work?”

He leaned away from her as he realized she was right. He was used to putting Ollie on when he needed him. Did he need to be Ollie with her?

“Don’t get offended,” Felicity said. “I can see how it would be effective. All of that,” she gestured to his face and chest, “coming at you all ‘Baby’-like. It’s a good thing I’m immune to Ollie’s charms, though. Since I have to work with you.”

He bent his head and kissed her, sucking her lower lip into his mouth. “Cherries,” he said and ran his thumbs down her side slowly.

She shuddered and then pulled her hands free so she could loop them around his neck. “Burt’s Bees,” she said. “It’s wintertime. If I don’t use it religiously, my lips get chapped.” She slid her tongue in his mouth, and he took a little time to enjoy the feel of her exploring his shoulders and mouth. When she came up for air, he moved to nuzzle her chin and the side of her neck.

“Mmm,” she said, “nice. Very nice. Your whiskers aren’t as bristly as I remember them being.”

“Hmm,” he said and pressed himself against her center. He trailed his lips down her long neck. It took awhile, but it was worth it. When she groaned and squirmed lightly against him, he kissed his way down her chest. He raised his eyebrows for permission, she nodded, and he pulled up her tank top and sucked one hard nipple in his mouth. “Pretty,” he said. She lifted her hands and brought them up to push through her hair.

“They’re small,” she said. “Not like my…” Then she blushed. He smiled into her skin and bit down lightly. Not entirely immune to him, then.

He slid further down. “Belly-button kisses,” he said, circling hers with his tongue. He trailed his way down to his original destination, and, this time, she was ready. He lightly licked her clit and then pushed between her folds and licked down to her center where she was very, very wet. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. Some kind of floral body wash and, underneath that, a very turned on woman. He kissed her hard there, leaning his chin within the hollow between her legs and pressing. She groaned louder.

He looked up the flat landscape of her belly and through the valley of her breasts. She was braced on her elbows, staring at him with blazing dark eyes. Her pupils were enormous, and she was breathing through her mouth.

“I promise you won’t forget this time,” he said, and he slipped his index finger inside of her. She jerked back, and he reached up and pressed his hand flat on her stomach and pushed down. “Tell me how you want me.”

“W-what?” she asked.

“Fast, hard, light, soft? Tongue, fingers, what?” he asked.

“I, um… Tongue,” she said and swallowed. “Inside’s not enough. It feels good, but it won’t…”

He nodded and slipped another finger inside her and curled them up to reach towards her abdomen. She jerked and panted a bit, and he pressed a kiss into her thigh, pleased at her reaction.

“Good,” she said, “That’s good. Oh, yeah, that’s nice.” His fingers went in and out, slipping on her wetness, and he took note of how her hips jerked as he dragged his fingertips over that spongy oval of flesh and scraped them down to the rim of her pelvic bone. He pressed his face back down to her clit and sucked it into his mouth. She bucked hard, and his lips curved into the flesh of her belly.

“Ohhh, like that. Just like that,” she said.

It took him a few minutes to get a really effective rhythm going, but he discovered that pushing up and pressing down while sucking and nipping her clit made Felicity very happy. She also liked to use the word “fuck,” which was, frankly, a surprise. When her calves trembled, he slipped them over his shoulders.

Oliver pushed three fingers inside of her then and began to piston them in and out while he pressed down hard on her clit with his tongue. Her hips started to buck irregularly, and her legs, over his shoulders, began to shake hard. “Uh, uh, uh,” she moaned. “Mmhmm…” He snaked a hand up to fondle her breast, and she put hers over it and pressed down as she arched her
back.

This was his favorite part of sex - when it got messy and loose. The point where release was inescapable, so you just threw yourself into the heat, the pressure, and the gasping. For that moment, the two of you just were, and there were no pretenses. The way Felicity was now, her fingers grasping at the sheets, her hair all around her, strands trailing through his stubble…fully alive with him. It was such a turn on. It might be more than he could handle to actually watch her come.

He recognized that she was almost there, though. He kept the pressure on her clit with his tongue but moved it around a bit to keep the sensation higher. She raked her fingers through his hair and pulled at it. It hurt a little, but he smiled.

“Glad you didn’t get this cut–” she said, sliding her fingers over the top of his head, trying to grab anything and missing. She braced her ass against his hand as she ground down on his fingers. “Oh, right there,” she said. “Right there right there right there. Don’t stop. Don’t stoppppppp–”

He felt her orgasm begin to roll through her, the inevitable climax, and she clenched hard against his fingers. “Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod,” she said. “Yes, yessss–” He pushed in, quick and steady up, up inside her, raking the pads of his fingers against the spongy flesh near her opening again and again, and she kept coming, pushing desperately against his face and grunting. Then she cried out, “Oliver!” and he felt a wetness against his chin as she squeezed her thighs against the sides of his head and then released them slowly.

Felicity relaxed into the mattress, boneless, sated, and impossibly beautiful. Her skin glowed in the moonlight from the window. Oliver laid his cheek against her lower belly and pressed a kiss there. After a minute, he sat up. His cock was fully erect and pushing against his stomach. He ran a hand through his stubble and traced his tongue over his lips, tasting her again. She watched him, and her eyes widened. “Oh my god,” she said. She lifted up her hips and looked underneath herself. “Did I? I’ve never done that with someone before.” She was too unwound to really tense up, but her mouth pulled into an embarrassed grimace. “Sorry.”

He ran a hand up her side and lay down next to her, kissing her soundly on her mouth. “You never have to apologize to me for coming that hard,” he said. “It was my pleasure.” Then he pressed his cock in between her legs and up against her center. She jerked once, craned her head to kiss him back, and wrapped her arms back around his torso and down to his ass. He felt her fingertips trace the scarring there.

“While I’ve got you here,” he said, lifting his head, “is this okay? Because I’d really, really like to fuck you now.”

>>--->

The next round went, as he expected, pretty damn fast. Oliver was so keyed up after all of that, he managed about a minute’s worth of thrusting, and then he was done. He removed the condom, and apologized. “Usually I last longer, it’s just… Well, special circumstances.” He rolled off her and pulled her head into the hollow of his neck. She scooted back against him, and he ran his fingers over the soft skin of her breasts as he willed himself to breathe normally.

“You don’t have to apologize for coming that fast,” she said, with a laugh. “I can’t exactly accuse you of being a selfish lover,” she said slowly.

“What?” he asked when she didn’t say anything for several minutes.

“It’s just, with your history… Well, the tabloids emphasized Ollie’s party-boy antics. They weren’t really your best advertising. Not that you probably had to worry about finding women.” She looked down.

He brushed his chin against the top of her head. “Ollie was a selfish dick,” he said. “And lousy in bed.” He closed his eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t know him.”

“He wouldn’t have liked me anyway,” Felicity said, and Oliver stiffened.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She sighed. “Most men don’t really like smart women. Particularly frat guys and party boys.”

Oliver frowned. “I’ve never understood that.”

Felicity rolled to her side away from him. “Oh, come on. I’m sure you had exactly zero deep conversations with all the women you slept with at your four colleges.”

“Is it the women that bother you, or the colleges?” Oliver asked. She seemed to have a list of grievances about his sex life.

“Both!” she said. “Neither. It’s your life. You can have sex with whoever you want.”

“So?” he said. “You can too. And it’s not like I raped any of those women. They wanted to have sex with me. I wasn’t like this asshole who sprayed us.”

“I’m sure they did,” Felicity said.

“I don’t know what his problem is, anyway,” Oliver said. “Why doesn’t he just find someone the old-fashioned way: at a party or a bar?”

Felicity rolled her eyes at him. “You would say that because you’ve always been able to take your pick. You come from a prominent family. You’re rich, you’re gorgeous–”

“You think I’m gorgeous?” He tilted his head at her.

She rolled her eyes again. “Oliver.”

He put a hand up. “Humor me,” he said, his lips turning up. “How gorgeous? On a scale of one to ten?” He moved in for a kiss.

“No,” she said, pulling away. “On a scale of one to ten. Like I would.”

“Seriously, though,” he said. “Why do you think this guy is doing this?”

She sighed. “Human beings are obsessed with fairness, but mostly how they can make things fairer for themselves, and not so much how good they already have it. Researchers have done plenty of studies. Did you know that children, when offered candy, will take less if they can still have more than what their friends or siblings have?”

“What?”

“They did an experiment where they offered kids the chance to have three pieces of candy or two - but the catch was that if they got three, the other person in the experiment got four. If they got two, the other person got one. Most of them picked the scenario where they got more candy than the other person, but less overall. Isn’t that crazy? We all want to get a better deal, apparently.”

“So he wants a better deal?” Oliver asked.

“He deeply resents that some men have more success with women than others,” Felicity said. “Obviously this guy hasn’t had as much success with women as he feels he deserves.”

“So he’s gassing them into having sex with him?”

“I think he thinks he’s leveling the playing field. From his reddit posts, he’s really angry about ‘nice guys’ not having access to women,” she said. “What’s really scary is not that he thinks this, it’s that he has such a large and receptive audience. All of these other assholes who think women should have to, I don’t know, rotate among all horny men. Do you know what these men call women who sleep with guys like you?”

“What?” Oliver asked. Guys like him - what was that supposed to mean?

“Cum dumpsters,” Felicity said and shuddered. “Like women are only good for one thing: satisfying guys like them. And if they choose not to, if women choose to sleep with whomever they want, they’re just objects, receptacles. Nothing.” She moved closer to him and ran a hand up his thigh. His cock twitched back to life. His refractory period had been minutes since he’d been sprayed by Red Beard.

Oliver frowned, but didn’t say anything. Felicity really loathed this guy, and with good reason, but it was safer for him to let her to supply the commentary.

“If I want to have sex with someone, I can,” Felicity said. She slipped a leg over his and pulled herself up on his chest. “There’s nothing wrong with sleeping with someone who’s rich. Or good looking.” She grabbed another condom from the bedside table and ripped open the package.

“I agree,” Oliver said. “Nothing.”

She put her mouth on his abs and kissed her way up his chest, then dug her thumbs into the ridges of his hips as she raised herself up on her knees. “You,” she said, “shhh.”

She rolled the condom on him and then lowered herself onto his cock. She was wet and warm, and he closed his eyes and savored the feeling of being encompassed by her. Controlled. She began to move on top of him, rolling her hips. He put his arms out to his sides and focused on her rhythm. He wasn’t in any hurry for her to work out this frustration.

“You know, I don’t really like being your secretary,” she said, riding harder. “Executive assistant - whatever.”

He opened his eyes. “You don’t,” he said.

Her jaw had a fierce set to it. “It’s not the job,” she said leaning forward. She bit his nipple hard, and he moved his hands up to hold her waist. “Well, it’s partly the job. I don’t have a business background, and I didn’t go to school for this. It’s challenging, I’ll give you that. There are always a lot of balls in the air at QC. I like tech, though, and I like working independently.”

“I didn’t mean for it to be forever,” Oliver said, gritting his teeth because closing his eyes might seem like he was ignoring what was clearly a sore point with her. “Obviously, you’re meant for great things.”

She raised her head and slowed her pace. “Obviously?”

“Felicity, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,” he said. He traced his thumb over one of her nipples. “You’re going to set this world on fire.”

“Everyone at QC thinks I’m your sex toy,” she said, grinning as she began moving again, faster this time.

“We could tell them I’m your sex toy,” he said, breathing harder. “No one thinks I’m the brains of QC.” He rolled onto his shoulder and pulled her to the side and underneath him, shoving into her once, hard. Her mouth formed an O shape, and her eyes went wide. She twined her legs around his back and squeezed her thighs tightly around his abdomen.

“Seriously, though,” Oliver said. “if you don’t want to do this, I can get HR to send someone else up. We can transfer you over to wherever you want. Applied Sciences. Back to IT. Whatever. You can help the team at night like you used to. We can figure it out somehow.”

She didn’t say anything, and he moved his hand down to her clit and rubbed it as he pushed her hips into the mattress. She bit down hard on her lip and closed her eyes, and he felt her muscles clenching him hard. She panted and then groaned deeply and went still. He pushed one of her knees to her chest and shifted the angle. Her eyes went wide, she came to life again, and he fucked her through another orgasm nice and slow.

“I don’t like people saying I got a choice position on my back,” she said. “That’s not fair.”
He thrust into her harder and faster until he felt the warmth and the pressure at the base of his cock building, and he knew he was going to go into freefall in just a second.

“All evidence to the contrary,” she said and smiled beatifically up at him. And there - there - it was, the bright spark of pleasure. It burst into being in his mind and his cock at the same time and he pushed into her again and again, chasing it rather desperately as it fled away.

He collapsed on his side, breathing heavily, thinking he must be losing his touch, because all he wanted to do now was pull her into him and cuddle her all night long. He nuzzled her neck. “You’re so smart,” he said. “And gorgeous. Scale of one to ten? Fifteen. Do what you want, Felicity. Don’t let me or anyone else’s judgments hold you back.”

She squeezed her legs around him one more time and ran her nails over his back. “Can you get HR to send you an old woman? Or maybe a guy?” Then she smiled. “Nevermind, for now I think this is where I’m needed,” she said. “For the team.”

She lifted her head up and kissed him slowly and thoroughly, exploring his mouth with her small tongue. He closed his eyes hard and savored her sweet cherry taste as he faded quickly into sleep.

Chapter Text

The new vigilante in town was Sara Lance. Of course it was, Felicity thought. It would have to be a beautiful woman who had a tragic, scandalous, emotionally fraught history with Oliver - because that is exactly what they needed to throw into the mix right now.

Felicity didn’t have a gripe with Sara Lance, but she was tired of the Lance sisters’ effect on Oliver. Laurel had only just stopped using all of Starling City’s resources to gun for the Hood. She’d blamed everyone but herself for Tommy’s death in the Glades the night of the Undertaking - the night Tommy had come to rescue Laurel because she’d been too stubborn to leave despite being warned of the danger. Felicity guessed she could understand staying in the Glades to help the city - she’d made the same call - although saving CNRI paperwork was not the same as saving lives.

It wasn’t that Tommy’s death was Laurel’s fault, but it certainly wasn’t the Arrow’s fault.

The uncomfortable truth was that Sara’s reappearance forced Felicity to think about what Ollie Queen had done and how gross it was. She knew he wasn’t that guy anymore. She knew that he spent night after night in Starling City trying to be the exact opposite of him, but the fact remained that he had been that guy - the guy who screwed his girlfriend’s sister behind her back. Felicity was sleeping with the guy who’d been that guy. It made a bunch of red flags fly up poles in her head and wave about.

Why was she sleeping with Oliver, again? She needed to stop sleeping with Oliver.

She didn’t have time to obsess about how this was all going to blow up in her face right now, though. She had to see Moira, and visiting hours were only between 1:30 and 3:45 PM. It would seem a little odd, her ducking out of Queen Consolidated in the middle of the morning, so she’d invented a doctor’s appointment and then sort of faked symptoms for an illness that was unpleasant but neither serious nor contagious. Oliver had just waved her off at the first mention of a doctor and had asked no questions.

The prison visit was necessary because she’d hit dead ends everywhere else. Isabel’s history didn’t seem suspicious at first glance. Felicity had prepared a dossier on her for Oliver to look at when he’d returned from the island, and it seemed straightforward: a successful university career behind her, an ambitious Isabel was taking a baseball bat to the corporate glass ceiling. The problem with it was that it was two dimensional. The story had no depth. Isabel had once worked for Queen Consolidated, even, but her HR files were more sterile than a surgical ward. Who was Isabel, and what was her personal agenda?

Walter had not been forthcoming either. “You must speak to Mrs. Queen,” he told Felicity over the phone. “She can choose whether to disclose the details or not. I once made the mistake of talking about family business to an associate - I told a story about the family dog. I’ll not chance it again.”

“But she’s in prison, Mr. Steele,” Felicity said, “and not likely to get out...any time soon.” Or ever, she thought. Moira had conspired to kill 503 people and confessed to it in front of a live audience and TV cameras. Surely the outcome was predetermined.

“Walter,” he said. “And this is Moira Dearden Queen we’re talking about. Don’t count her out of the game yet.”

So Felicity had no choice but to brave the dragon in her lair. She drove home and changed into her dove gray suit and pink silk blouse. Gray wasn’t her favorite color, but wool lent gravitas. The pink was lovely next to her skin, and the pussybow collar called attention to her long neck. That’s what the salesgirl had said, anyway, when Felicity had gone looking for an interview outfit in Boston.

She had already arranged her hair into a smooth French twist, but now she removed her industrial piercing and added the Tahitian pearl earrings her mother had given to her as a graduation present. No doubt Moira had entire caskets of natural pearls in the Queen mansion, but today she’d be wearing prison orange, so they’d be on more even footing. Felicity took out a pink matte lipstick and refreshed her makeup.

The drive to Iron Heights was long, and when she finally got there she felt disheveled again. Moira entered the room almost casually, as if the grim cement walls, the mesh screens, and the scrubbed metal table of the visiting room were beneath her notice. She wasn’t wearing orange either, but rather a gray jumpsuit that was only about two shades darker than Felicity’s suit. Felicity held Moira’s inquiring gaze, but she clutched her tablet and stylus tightly to her stomach.

“Ms. Smoak,” Moira said, gesturing to the chair. “Please sit down. Is anything wrong? How is Oliver?”

Felicity licked her lips and hung her purse on the back of the chair. “Oh, no - nothing’s wrong,” she said. The legs of the metal chair squeaked loudly against the concrete when she pulled it away from the table. “Well, not urgently anyway. I did come to see you about Oliver.”

A crease appeared between Moira’s eyebrows. “You are his executive assistant now, is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Felicity said. “I have been since he returned and began working at QC.”

“Your training is in technology,” Moira said, “if I remember correctly. Why would Oliver choose you for his secretary?” The look on her face said she had her suspicions, but she would wait for Felicity to confirm them.

Felicity weighed her words carefully. “Oliver needed some help putting himself back together last year,” she said, “and John Diggle and I were the ones he eventually accepted it from. He trusts me, so that’s why he transferred me to work for him directly when he became CEO.”

“He trusts you?”

“Yes, he does,” Felicity said. “We’re not together, of course. We’re just friends,” she rushed to clarify.

“Oliver doesn’t really have women friends,” Moira said. “He’s had girlfriends and more...transient women. None of those relationships have lasted. If I were you, I wouldn’t make long-term plans.”

Felicity felt her mouth drop open.

“My son has many good qualities, but long-term fidelity to women isn’t one of them,” Moira said. “He’s a complex person.”

Felicity swallowed. “Yes, he is,” she said. “He is complicated. He’s also intelligent, good hearted, and generous. And, no, I don’t mean generous in the gold-digging way. I mean, no matter what mistakes you make,” she paused to look around the room and then pointedly at Moira, “he forgives and moves on. Without you even asking for it, even.”

Moira looked taken aback, but Felicity plowed on. “When Mr. Diggle and I went to get him on the island, he was not in good shape–”

“Pardon me,” Moira said, raising an eyebrow. “You and Mr. Diggle went to get him on the island? What island?”

“Lian Yu,” Felicity said. “That’s where he went after the quake that destroyed the Glades. He was gone for five months. You didn’t know?”

“He told me he’d been in Europe,” Moira said. “I wasn’t sure exactly how long.”

Felicity released her grip on her tablet and set it carefully on the table in front of her. “I suppose you wouldn’t be in a position to keep tabs on him, given everything that...happened.”

A glint of amusement appeared in Moira’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Well, as you see, I’ve been distracted by other concerns.”

Felicity nodded. “He disappeared after Tommy’s funeral. It took me quite a while to track him down. Given all of the terrible things that happened on that island, I didn’t think he’d ever go back, but I suppose that’s where he’s most used to feeling grief and guilt.”

“Guilt?” Moira asked.

“Because of Tommy and everyone else who died. Because he couldn’t save them and because you–” She shut her mouth tightly and bit her lip.

“Because I was involved,” Moira said.

“Yes,” Felicity said. “I assumed he’d take a short break and then return, but after months went by, I realized he wasn’t going to. When the Queen Consolidated takeover rumors arose, we decided to track him down.” She folded her hands on the table. “I was also concerned about Thea and thought you might need Oliver during your trial.”

Moira stilled. “What about Thea?” she asked. “Is something wrong? She was here last week and seemed fine.”

“As far as I know, she’s managing,” Felicity said. “She’s busy. She’s running Verdant and doing a good job of it. But with her brother gone, her mother here, her family’s company failing, and the Queen name all over the news, I thought…”

Moira sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “You flew to the North China Sea? To bring back my son for his family and the company?”

“Mr. Diggle and I did.”

Moira gave her a speculative look that Felicity had a hard time reading. “And how is Oliver doing now?”

“Well, he’s struggling some,” Felicity said. The way Moira was tapping her fingertips against the table made her nervous. What was it Walter had said about outsiders’ access to information on the Queen family? She rolled the stylus in her hands. “He doesn’t really care about the money or the profit angle of Queen Consolidated. I’m not sure he’s really cutthroat enough for the job.”

She felt her lips pull at the irony of that. “Oliver is good at putting on a face and being who he has to be in the moment, but the day-to-day responsibilities of running a corporation? He’s very smart - don’t get me wrong - but he doesn’t care about those kinds of details.”

“I see,” Moira said. “If you don’t think he’s suited to running his family’s company, what would you like to see him doing?” She smiled coldly.

“I think...I think that his life has been hard enough, and it would be nice if he could do something that would give him some joy and satisfaction.” Felicity realized those words had actually tripped out of her mouth and right into this conversation, and she pressed her lips together. “I wouldn’t, of course, presume to advise him.” She stared at the malformations in the concrete behind Moira’s head. They made a little pattern that looked almost like a campfire.

“Since you have Oliver figured out,” Moira said, “why come to see me?”

“Because of Isabel Rochev,” Felicity said.

“Isabel Rochev?” Moira stiffened and froze. “Is she back in Starling City?”

“She’s behind the hostile takeover of Queen Consolidated,” Felicity said. “I thought you knew. Well, she’s the public face of it, anyway. She was Vice President of Acquisitions at Stellmoor International.”

Moira’s face paled. “I-I’m afraid I didn’t know. I’ve been too preoccupied with my own problems. No, that isn’t a good thing.”

“I’ve done my own research on Ms. Rochev,” Felicity said, “but I keep running into large gaps that seem suspicious. She also seems to really enjoy humiliating Oliver for some reason. I asked Mr. Steele, and he said I must talk to you. That it was Queen family business.”

“Walter would say that,” Moira said with a slight roll of her eyes. “Listen, Isabel hates this family. She has her reasons, but she cannot be allowed to attack it further. She’s brilliant, and she’s good at stealth attacks. You need to convince Oliver to be wary of her and to pay attention to what she does. There’s a private investigator I use sometimes. His name is Hank Dolworth. He’s rough, but he’ll run anything to ground. If Isabel is connected to anything larger and more powerful, he’ll be able to find out. I would assume this is a personal vendetta, but you never know.”

Moira put a hand out on the table. “I appreciate you coming to tell me this, Ms. Smoak. I want to keep my children safe. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Please continue to keep me apprised of what is happening. In fact,” she paused and lowered her gaze, “If you came back again, I would find that very...helpful. Oliver tells me about Thea and Thea tells me about Oliver, but neither of them tells me what is really going on.” She smiled ruefully. “I suppose I should be grateful they are still willing to talk to me at all.”

This an astonishing admission from Moira, Felicity knew. With her slumped shoulders, in the dim light of the prison room, she looked almost vulnerable. Then, before Felicity could fill the uncomfortable silence with whatever assurance came to mind, Moira rallied. She straightened and lifted her chin.

“Is that all you have for me today?” she asked. “I’m afraid my time is up. They have me on a tight schedule here. Please give my regards to Oliver and Thea - if you decide to tell them about this meeting.” With a brief nod and a satisfied smile, Moira stood and walked to the far door, and before Felicity could let out her held breath, she was gone.

>>--->

Oliver knocked on the door to Laurel’s apartment, holding the bag of Thai food in front of him like an offering. He hadn’t been able to get the sorrow he’d seen in Sara’s eyes out of his head for days now. What had she said when he asked her who she was? “Once you know, your life will never be the same.” That wasn’t precisely true. It wasn’t the knowledge that Sara was alive and in Starling City that bothered him. He was glad she hadn’t died - although he wasn’t sure who this Sara was. This was not the laughing, reckless Sara he’d known before the Gambit went down, and it wasn’t the sadder, but still hopeful Sara who’d been with him on the island. This was a different woman altogether.

This Sara was flirting with disaster by stalking her family, but never making contact. He couldn’t help but think she wanted them to find out who she was - again. This time, though, Oliver didn’t want to get caught knowing about Sara but not saying anything. It had taken him an entire year to get to the point where neither Lance nor Laurel despised him, either as himself or the Vigilante. This new turn of events with Sara felt like another inevitable crash course with the Lance family’s suffering, and he wanted to avoid as much of that as possible. He had hurt them enough already.

Laurel answered, obviously caught off guard to see him. He supposed he should have called first.

“Ollie,” she said. “What a surprise.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I was in the neighborhood picking up some food, and I remembered you liked this too.” He held up the bag.

A crease appeared in between her eyebrows, but Laurel stepped back to allow him inside. He put the food on the table in her dining area, and scanned her face again. “Are you sure this is okay? Because I could go, if you’d rather be alone.”

Laurel smiled. “No, it’s fine. As long as you’re not here to read me the riot act again about my drinking. I’m hungry, and that smells delicious. Thai?”

Oliver nodded. “Yep. I can’t order it in at work because Felicity is allergic to nuts, but she was gone today, so…”

Laurel pulled out a chair and gestured to him to do the same, and, out of habit, he took the chair that faced her door and began pulling out the little takeout boxes. “Do you have any plates?”

“Yes,” she said, and went into the kitchen. “Here, I’ll get some wine too.”

“Okay,” Oliver said, wondering how much booze she had stored away here. He kept his mouth shut, though, and she came back with plates, cutlery, and two wine glasses. She then pulled a bottle from a little cabinet, opened it and poured.

“So what really brings you here?” she asked as she raised her glass leisurely to her mouth and drank.

Busted. Laurel could always read his moods, at least the darker ones. She’d had enough practice. He picked up a fork and began unloading pad thai out onto his plate. “I saw my mom last Thursday at Iron Heights. She has a lot of regrets about what happened with the Undertaking, and I started thinking about my own.”

Laurel raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

“I wanted…” Oliver licked his lips. “I wanted to make sure you knew that Sara… Sara, she loved you.” He twirled the rice noodles around his fork and then let them drop back on the plate. “What we did - it was awful, but Sara didn’t go off with me because she hated you.”

Laurel crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why did she do it, then?”

“I think,” Oliver put a hand on his chin and rubbed. This was wading into dangerous territory. “I think she wanted me because I was your boyfriend. She felt she didn’t measure up to her older sister.”

Laurel looked thoughtful. “She slept with you to compete with me?” She gave a bitter laugh and took a deep drink of her wine. “Well, what’s the verdict?”

Oliver frowned and twirled his pad thai noodles again. “What’s the verdict on what?”

“Who was better in bed? Sara or me? Tell me the truth. Don’t worry about sparing my feelings. Wait, I don’t have to say that. This is you.”

“Laurel,” Oliver said.

“Don’t ‘Laurel’ me,” she said, slamming her glass down on the table. The wine sloshed out of it and splashed onto the white tablecloth. “I’ve waited six years for you to talk to me about my sister, so spill.”

Oliver held his fork out in front of him. “No.”

“No?”

He tilted his head and studied her. The color in her face was rising as the wine in her glass disappeared. “I’m not going there. It’s hardly appropriate.”

“It’s hardly appropriate.” Laurel laughed. “Appropriate. That’s rich. Okay, then, why did you do it?”

Oliver sat back in his chair and turned the fork over in his hand. He pushed the tines into the soft flesh of his palm. How had this conversation gone from being about Sara’s love for Laurel to them so quickly? “You remember how my parents were, right? With us, with each other?”

Laurel leaned forward and wrapped noodles around her fork. “Yeah, I remember.” She took a bite and closed her eyes.

“Dad was always the fun parent. He’d take us to baseball games and sailing, but Mom was the one who kept track of how we were doing in school and made us write thank you notes after birthdays and Christmas?” He put a hand on the table and ran his finger over the stain. “When I’d get into arguments with my mom, my dad would always tell me, ‘Don’t talk to your mother that way. You need to respect your mother.’ Which was something because, you know, if he’d respected her, he probably wouldn’t have been out sleeping around with other women.” Oliver realized what he’d just said and closed his eyes. “Sorry.”

“No, I agree,” Laurel said with a tiny smile. “It’s a good point.”

“I just… I didn’t want to get married,” he said. “The idea of settling down and getting a house, making a real commitment - when I thought about it I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I knew you wanted all of those things, and I didn’t know how to make you understand or accept that I didn’t.”

Laurel’s fingers tightened around her wine glass. “Didn’t want them, or didn’t want them with me?”

Oliver had a quick flash of just how suffocated he’d felt by Laurel’s excessive planning of their future, and he thought of how, even last year, he’d been working to restore that. It all seemed futile now, and not because of Tommy. He just didn’t want to be with Laurel, and deep down he never had.

“I’m sorry, Laurel,” he said. “You deserve better than me.” He traced the outline of the wine stain again and again with his thumb. “And maybe Sara and I didn’t or don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I know she loved you. That’s what I came here to tell you.”

“I don’t know what to do with that, Ollie,” Laurel said. “She’s dead, and you never really loved me.” Tears formed in her eyes, and she swiped at them. “The only thing I could do was hate what the two of you did, and now you want that too. Well, you can’t have it. Maybe I can’t hate you anymore, but I’m going to die hating that you screwed my sister behind my back, and that she picked that over us. It was horrible, and–” She grabbed for her glass. “Look, can you just go? I don’t want to pick the scabs off all of my emotional wounds tonight. I’ve got to deal with your mother’s case, and that’s bad enough. I sometimes wish I’d never met any of you Queens.”

Oliver got up from his. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I’m sorry, Laurel. I’m just...I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” Her face was now red, splotchy, and covered with tears, and the bottle was nearly empty. Why had he thought coming here was a good idea? Because he was an idiot.

He nodded at her and left.

>>--->

Felicity climbed the stairs to her apartment and put her key in the door. She was exhausted after her talk with Moira and the long drive back, and she hoped no one expected her at QC tonight. She was going to get out of these heels and this suit, take a hot shower, and go to bed early.

She pushed the door open, flipped on the light, and dropped her purse on the table by the couch. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Oliver sitting with his head down at her kitchen table. She gasped, and put a hand to her throat. “What are you doing here?” she asked when she’d gotten her breath back.

Oliver looked up, his gaze following the slow movement of his head, and Felicity saw Moira in his expression for the first time. They both wore regret so elegantly. She could see how heavy it weighed on him by how bent his shoulders were, though. What had happened today?

She cleared her throat. “I mean, why are you here? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Oliver said, sitting up straighter. “Nothing new, anyway. I talked to Sara again. She was at the hospital.”

“The hospital?”

“Didn’t you see the news? The mayor’s men opened fire on the people at the “Cash for Guns” buy-back, and one of Sara’s friends was shot. Sara helped me take down the Mayor. Where were you all day?”

“Out,” Felicity said. “I told you I had a doctor’s appointment.”

Oliver gave her a bland look. “Did you get my messages?”

“I did, yes,” she said, swallowing, “but it looked like you had this in hand. There weren’t any emergencies at QC today, right?”

“No, no emergencies. You can take a day off if you need one, Felicity.”

“I know,” she said. “I know I can.”

“You’re dressed very formally for the doctor,” he said. “Not that I’m complaining.” He stood, walked over to her, and put a hand on the top button of her suit, unbuttoning it. “Sexy librarian is one of my favorite looks.”

“Really?” she asked, swallowing again. “I wouldn’t have thought that.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “It’s much better than the schoolgirl outfit you wore to catch Red Beard.” He flicked another button undone with his finger.

Felicity frowned, “The schoolgirl look is gross. I burned those clothes.”

“You did?” He looked surprised.

“No, I don’t have a fireplace or anything. I just threw them out.” His fingers were on the fourth button by now, and she put her hand over his. “Do you think this is a good idea? You seem...upset.”

“I think this is going to be the best thing I do all day,” he said, “and I stopped a gang from getting an illegal shipment of grenade launchers earlier tonight.”

“But were you triggered?”

His gaze slid away. “In a way,” he said.

“In a way?”

He flipped the last button through its hole and tugged the suit coat off of her shoulders. “Let’s not talk,” he said and leaned down to kiss her.

His lips were much more persuasive kissing than talking. He had his hands on the button at the back of her skirt. She felt it loosen and slide to the floor, and his fingers raked her underwear down in one movement. By then the aphrodisiac in her blood stream must have kicked in because all she wanted was him naked and inside her now. “Bed,” she said.

He lifted her up with one arm, and she wrapped her legs around his waist so he could get them to her room faster. She bent her head to suck on the hollow in his throat. Her fingers tugged the ends of his shirt from his jeans, and she ran her hands up his back, and clutched his bulging muscles. There was something melancholy about his mood tonight; it gave her a moment of pause, but then she shrugged mentally. She might regret this, but she was going to do it, so she might as well enjoy it.

They fell on the bed together, and he pulled off his jeans and threw them on the floor. He slid his hand over her stomach and lower towards her clit, and she pushed it away. “Don’t need it. Just kiss my neck.” He complied and she groaned. “That’s good. That’s so good. Ohh, your stubble is–” She felt his cock in his boxer briefs wedge itself between her legs, and she pressed herself against it, flung a leg over him and rode it. She leaned back and stretched an arm towards the night table, opening it. “Get a condom. Hurry.”

“‘Got it,” he said, and she heard the foil packet rip. In another minute his underwear was off, and he was pushing inside her. She closed her eyes and let him do all the work. He sucked her nipple through the silk, and his hand wandered back over to caress her. This time she let him. He was good at it, and the room was so dark.

She heard their flesh slap together over and over again and the headboard tapping against the wall. He arched his hips higher, and his thrusts lifted her ass off the mattress and forced her legs further apart. “Yes, yes,” she panted as she felt his cock hit something inside her just right. There it was. She felt her release flow through her body as she clenched him tightly. It took its sweet time, and she reveled in it, grinding her hips into the mattress and forcing him to thrust down. She hoped he wouldn’t finish right away because she needed the exercise and in her present state she could probably come about five more times. Win-win.

“I like this,” she said, smiling and arching her back.

“Good,” he said. His angle inside her shifted in the best way, and she closed her eyes and left everything up to him. He knew how to complete a mission. He was, after all, a very capable man.

>>--->

“I went to see your mother.” The words were out of her mouth almost as Felicity thought them. Oliver’s weight pinned her to the mattress, so she reached up and pushed his shoulder, and he rolled on his back. She followed through on that movement, half climbing on his chest and easing a leg between his. “And I told her you were on Lian Yu again. This summer.”

“You did?” Oliver’s eyes were closed, and his body had been entirely relaxed, but she felt a bit of the tension return. “What for?”

“Isabel is a shark.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I knew that.” She heard the laugh buried in the words.

“I don’t think you’re taking her seriously enough because she’s so gorgeous,” Felicity said and then bit down on her tongue. Goddamn oxytocin.

Oliver opened one eye. “Because she’s so gorgeous?” he said. One corner of his lips quirked, and his hands moved to cup her waist.

“I’m not jealous,” Felicity said. “I’m concerned for Queen Consolidated and the Queens’ other holdings.”

“The Queens’ other holdings,” Oliver said and grinned. “Like what I’m holding now?”

Felicity buried her face in his chest. “No,” she said. “This isn’t about me. Look, I know you’re not going to take me seriously because of what we just did.”

“What we just did,” Oliver said. “Oh, you mean how I made you scream my name and pass out?”

“I didn’t pass out,” she said.

“Well,” he said, “the people in the apartment next door might have some suspicion that someone named Oliver is visiting.”

Felicity pulled her head up from his chest and poked his shoulder. “Stop.”

Oliver winced dramatically. “Stop?”

“Yes,” she said, “stop.”

“That’s not what you said before. I think it was more like ‘Don’t ever stop.’”

“Are you finished?” she asked. “I didn’t have to tell you about Moira.”

“Hmm,” he said, arranging his features in a more serious expression. “Why did you go see her?”

“I’m worried about you,” Felicity said. “I think she needs to know what’s going on with you too. She wasn’t so terrifying by the end.”

Oliver pressed a kiss against her temple. “You don’t have to worry about me, but you’re probably right about my mother. She needs to focus on something besides the D.A. seeking the death penalty.”

“I don’t need to worry about you?” she asked. “You didn’t see your own face when you were talking about Sara.”

Oliver’s smile collapsed. He turned his head away. “I went to see Laurel,” he said after a long moment.

“What?”

“I went to see Laurel before I came here. Sara feels so guilty over what we did, and she’s struggling because she can’t fix it. I went over there to tell Laurel that Sara...even though she...even though we...”

Felicity put a hand up to his cheek and gently brushed his stubble with her palm. And people thought this man was a heartless killer. “Oh, Oliver,” she said.

He kept his gaze on the ceiling long enough for Felicity to wonder if something had caught his attention there. Finally he asked, “Do you think we can ever make up for the things we did before?”

The question obviously came from a very troubled place inside him, and the answer was so complex and variable that she chose to let the silence stretch out between them. She rubbed his chest instead.

“Do you?” he asked again after another long moment had passed.

“I look at it differently than a lot of people do,” Felicity finally said. “Most people think that if you wrong someone and are truly sorry about it, you can be forgiven. That people have to forgive you. But for Jews it’s more about making things right again. That’s why murder is such a serious crime. You can return something you stole, but you can’t bring anyone back to life. Once it’s done, it’s done.

“I had to think this over before Dig and I went to bring you back from Lian Yu. The city has been up in arms over the actions of the Vigilante for a year now. Some people think he’s a hero and some think he’s just another killer. It’s an arrogant choice to become someone’s judge, jury, and executioner, and now I’m part of that too.”

Oliver shifted his weight beneath her. “Then why have you helped me?”

“Because you’ve never done this for yourself. It costs you. I’ve seen what it does to you. And because the people you are bringing down are outside the reach of justice. They won’t be punished for what they do, and the fact that they can’t be punished only makes them worse. They’re predators. They hurt innocent people all the time.

“I don’t care about the welfare of predators,” she said, clenching her jaw. “Look at the Dollmaker. He killed a lot of young women before Lance caught him, and the first thing he did when he escaped from prison was to kill more. If they’d executed him after they found him guilty, there would be women walking around with their whole lives ahead of them now and families who wouldn’t have to bear the grief of what he did to their daughters.”

She pulled herself up on his chest and looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t sad when Sara killed him. I was glad. No one else has to be afraid of being suffocated to death by hot plastic. You do the same thing with these other scumbags. And it’s not just taking these monsters down, it’s living with being the one who took them down. Those people you killed last year? Everyone’s glad they’re gone, but no one wanted to do the dirty work. You were willing to.”

“But I’m not killing anymore,” Oliver said. “I can’t. Tommy–”

“It doesn’t matter, Oliver,” Felicity said. “You’re still trying to make things better. I know you have things in your past that you regret, probably a number of things you can’t go back and make right. But you’re making things right for other people. All of us have to go to our deaths wondering whether the world is better or worse off because we lived. Your ledger has some higher level math, that’s all.”

He remained silent until her body had relaxed so deeply into him she was almost asleep. “So you don’t think we can find forgiveness?” he asked.

“We can always hope,” she said, reaching up to touch his face. Above the bristle of his chin, it was slightly damp, and as much as she wanted Laurel gone from his life, Felicity wished she were here to feel this. There was nothing sadder on this earth than this man’s remorse. In that moment she felt sure of that.

Oliver’s phone rang in his jeans’ pocket, and he eased himself out from underneath to grab it. “It’s Dig,” he said. “There’s been another rape. Two actually tonight. Which means we have a copycat?”

Felicity’s blood ran cold. This was what she’d been afraid of all along: the only way these crimes could get exponentially worse. “Not a copycat,” she said. “A buyer.” She sat up in bed, no longer tired. “No rest for the wicked,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

Oliver left her apartment immediately, and Felicity lingered only to space out their arrivals at the lair. She used the time to put herself back together, but she went with the more comfortable version of yoga pants and a long sleeved MGM Grand t-shirt rather than something more fashionable. She’d spent the entire day uncomfortable, and she wasn’t going to keep that going. She really needed a shower because she smelled like Oliver now, but she didn’t have time. Dig probably wouldn’t notice, and Oliver… Well, who knew with Oliver?

When she got to the lair, she found the two of them watching a news report online. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Two rapes were reported tonight, and there’s a vigil in front of the Starling City Police Department. The mother of the second victim organized it,” Dig said.

“Do we know who the victims are?” Felicity asked.

“Not the first one,” Oliver said. “Police aren’t releasing the names.”

Felicity nodded. “Like with the others. But the second?”

“The victim’s mother’s name is Shelley Ladd,” Dig said. “I put her name into your database, and she only has one daughter - Morgan Ladd. She’s 21 and goes to Starling University. She’s an art major set to graduate this spring.”

Felicity sat down at her computers to type, but the news reporter came on, diverting her attention.

“This is Merritt Davis with WEBG Starling City 7, and I’m live at the Starling City Metro with the mother of a girl who claims she was attacked by the Starling City Rapist. This is Shelley Ladd, the alleged victim’s mother.”

Mrs. Ladd looked like she did not appreciate the “alleged” descriptor very much. She was a tall woman with strawberry blond hair and pale eyebrows. She was wearing a puffy pink winter coat that brought out the blotchiness of her skin. She’d clearly been crying. “Thank you, Mr. Davis,” she said stiffly.

“We haven’t heard very much about the other victims from the police,” Merritt said. “The only information we have on them is what has been posted online. What made you come forward with your story?”

Mrs. Ladd sucked in a breath. “I think the women of this city are tired of walking on eggshells wondering if the next time they go out to socialize they’ll be sprayed and raped,” she said. “I respect the privacy of the other families, but so far 22 other girls have been raped, and we’ve had no assurances that anything at all is being done about it.

“My daughter was questioned for hours. She named her attacker, and the police have brought him in, but during that time another picture was posted to that reddit account.” She swiped her hand across her cheek. “This man, this sadist - the police are refusing to charge him, saying they don’t have enough evidence that a crime has been committed. How can that happen when there are so many other victims? Where is the justice for our girls?”

The crowd stirred behind her and a couple of people waved signs that said, “Don’t Tell Women Not To Get Raped, Tell Men Not To Rape” and “Real Men Don’t Rape.”

Something about Mrs. Ladd’s explanation felt off, so Felicity began hacking her way into the S.C.P.D. database. By now it was like opening a can of Diet Coke. She sorted through recent violent crimes.

“Anything?” Dig asked.

“Morgan Ladd’s rape is the only sexual assault reported in the past 24 hours.” She flipped over to the YouWAN2’s reddit page. “There are 21 different pictures now. This newest one has a dangling heart belly ring. Red Beard (or whoever) had marked her with: “BEG ME SOME MORE AND MAYBE I WILL.” Felicity tasted the granola bar she’d eaten in her car on the way over again. It was less delicious combined with her stomach acid.

“So the picture that was posted on reddit was not of your daughter?” Merritt asked Mrs. Ladd.

“No,” she said, “but she woke up alone in a hotel room like the other girls, not remembering what had happened. She didn’t have anything written on her, though.”

“New M.O.,” Oliver muttered.

Merritt Davis looked confused. “How does she know she’s one of this attacker’s victims, then?” he asked, frowning. “Couldn’t this be just another case of a girl being roofied?” He seemed to realize he was still on camera as his eyes widened and he followed up with, “Not that that’s not a serious crime. How did your daughter identify her attacker if she couldn’t remember anything?”

Mrs. Ladd glared at him. “Her friends saw her talking to a man a few minutes before she disappeared. He has been stalking my daughter for years, but she’s never given him any reason to think she liked him. He approached her tonight at a Pi Sigma Sigma party.” The camera made a lingering sweep over Shelley Ladd’s angry face, and WEBG went to a commercial break.

“A fraternity party,” Diggle said. “Not a bar.”

Oliver looked over at Felicity and raised his eyebrows. She clicked further into Morgan’s file. “Morgan stated that her attacker was a Seth Bomer.” She did a quick search for Bomer on another computer, came up with his social security number after a minute and went through the list of records available for him.

“Seth Bomer’s a graduate student in chemical engineering at Starling U. Morgan Ladd made a complaint about him to the university last semester. She said he’s been in the same classes as her every semester, and he sits and stares at her. She asked that he not be allowed to register for any of her scheduled classes.” She searched S.C.P.D. records. “He doesn’t have an arrest record or any restraining orders against him.”

“Taking the same classes?” Oliver asked. “Maybe they just have similar interests.”

“She’s an art major with a minor in dance,” Felicity said. “He’s in Chem E. Generally there’s not a lot of overlap between the two.”

“You said you thought one of these was a buyer?” Oliver asked.

“When did you say that?” Diggle asked.

Felicity thought fast. “I’ve been thinking that we’d see a buyer one of these days ever since I saw the reddit page advertising the ‘sex elixir,’” she said.

“She’s, uh, been ranting about it,” Oliver said. “At the office.”

Diggle looked skeptical. “Uh huh,” he said. “Well, it looks like you were right. Whoever Bomer is, he’s too sloppy to be the Starling City Rapist. He knew Morgan, has a history with her, and was seen with her before she disappeared.”

“He also didn’t write on her,” Oliver said.

“He didn’t use a condom either,” Felicity said, scrolling further down the police record. “All of the other girls who have come forward showed evidence of intercourse, but no semen was left behind in any of those cases. Not only that, but they’d all been wiped down with alcohol while they were asleep, so no other bodily fluids were present either. All of them were left in high traffic motels near the university. Likely so that hair and fiber evidence would be harder to find.

“Morgan woke up at the Starling City Plaza, and there were two empty champagne bottles in the suite with her.” She clicked through to the account of Bomer’s questioning. “Seth Bomer does not deny that he had sex with Morgan. He admitted it freely, but he says it was consensual. They met at Pi Sigma Sigma and the night ‘turned romantic.’ He paid for the hotel room.”

“It’s his semen?” Oliver asked.

“I think we can assume yes,” Diggle said. “Guy saw the reddit post and decided this was his chance to spend the night with the girl of his dreams.”

Felicity wrinkled her nose. “For $10K an ounce and a felony sexual assault conviction.”

“Only if they can prove it. What’s the case against him?” Diggle asked. “Did Morgan show signs of assault?”

Felicity froze. This was going to be another he said/she said case if there weren’t. Sex in an expensive plaza room with empty bottles of champagne left behind and… She went back to Morgan’s file again and groaned. “He left roses behind,” she said. “With a card. And by his admission they had sex, so there’s no point in testing the semen. The lab has nothing to compare it to anyway. The only evidence will be any traces of the chemical left behind in her bloodstream, but since that chemical is unknown and unclassified, can it be considered a weapon? Is there any way to prove he used it on her and that she didn’t take it herself as a stimulant?”

She threw her hands up. “He’s going to walk, and this doesn’t even help us get the other guy.”

Oliver put up a hand. “Not necessarily,” he said. “We can look for ties to other people in the Chemistry department. And I can interrogate Boman about his purchase.”

Felicity checked the computer again. “It looks like the police will hold him for tonight anyway. They probably think he’ll give something away if they question him long enough. Since the other girl hasn’t reported her rape yet, there’s nothing more to do on this tonight.” She checked the program she had monitoring the city generally. “It looks like it’s quiet. The police have finished taking in the Mayor’s men. I say we go home.”

“Home?” Dig said. “It’s early.”

“Yes, well, I’ve already had a long–” She caught Oliver’s eye as she looked up. “I mean, I’ve done a lot of…things. Today. I’ve done a lot.”

His eyes sparked, and his mouth twitched.

“I’m worn out,” She finished lamely while turning off two of the monitors. “I’m going to grab my stuff and head out.”

She took off for the bathroom and safety.

>>--->

The lair bathroom was one of the things Felicity felt truly satisfied with. Last summer she and Dig had combined some of their “severance” money and updated the basement of Verdant. Felicity had gone over and over in her mind about how she would accomplish this without revealing any Arrow secrets. Should they blindfold the workers they hired and ask them to sign confidentiality agreements? Maybe she and Dig should do all the work themselves just to be safe.

In the end, Dig had said, “We’ll just take out all of our equipment and hire the lowest bidder. Tell them we want to update Verdant’s basement for private parties. If you want, we can say it’s our own version of Fight Club. ‘The first rule of Fight Club is–”

“‘You do not talk about Fight Club,’” Felicity finished. “Very funny. Okay, but if we’re going to do this, I want a bathroom. A real bathroom. One with a shower and a long counter and storage. We spend too much time down here to traipse up to the bathrooms upstairs, and I always worry that one of these days I’ll have to pee when I’m covered in blood. That’s hard to explain to women who are clubbing.”

“A bathroom,” Dig said, his mouth twisting up in a smile. “I think we can do that.”

The result was a large room with a toilet, a counter with a double sink and boiling water on demand, a roomy shower with multiple heads, and - Felicity’s favorite - a row of lockers to keep their stuff in. She obviously didn’t have to lock anything out of the reach of these men, but she could put her feminine products away out of sight. She opened the door to her locker now and then she saw it.

Or, rather, them: two pregnancy tests she’d bought days ago when she had realized her period was late. The white sticks stared at her from the boxes’ packaging, four of them. She had grabbed two different brands in case she had to do a double check. It was humiliating enough to go to that aisle once with a big question mark in her mind, a woman who had slept with her boss and had maybe, accidentally, gotten knocked up by him.

How exactly had this happened to her?

Felicity hadn’t taken the tests because she was afraid she’d fail them, and then she would have to make a decision. Whatever that decision would be, it wouldn’t be fun. The last, last thing she ever wanted to be was Oliver Queen’s baby mama. The tabloids, the paparazzi digging up her Vegas background and her mother - everything she’d worked so hard to achieve academically and professionally would be flushed down the toilet in one announcement.

On the other hand, she would never have another opportunity to have a baby as apple cheeked, blond, and gorgeous as Oliver Queen’s. He was a ridiculously beautiful man, obscenely so. She knew his genes would overtake hers and force their baby to be a tiny supermodel ninja. How could she stand in the way of that?

Because she wasn’t ready to be a mother, that’s how, let alone a single mother like her mom, right now. She wasn’t. She had to not be pregnant. Oh God, please let her not be pregnant.

Was she ready to take a test now and find out? She could close the door to the bathroom and pee on the stick here. Get it over with. She picked one of the boxes up off the shelf and looked at it. It was pink with the words First Response in a large white oval. First response sounded like an emergency, but this wasn’t an emergency, really, was it? She was just late by five or six days. It had happened before, and this time it was probably caused by stress or whatever hormones or chemicals were in the aphrodisiac Red Beard had sprayed on her. She’d half expected facing down Moira at Iron Heights would cause her to bleed from all of her orifices, but it hadn’t, damn it.

Felicity had a quick flash to the last time she’d been in this situation. She’d been in college, barely nineteen, and a week late. She’d looked at her calendar and realized one day, that somewhere between midterm exams and writing endless code for her senior project, she’d neglected to get her period. How negligent of her. She’d told her boyfriend Cooper and expected that he’d be cool - “Babe, whatever, we’ll get through it” - but he hadn’t. Instead he’d gone white and said, “I’m too young for my life to be over like this. You have to take care of it.”

Standing here now, clutching this pink box, she realized she hadn’t forgiven Cooper for that. She’d loved him. He’d been dead four whole years, and yet she still resented the hell out of him dumping all of the responsibility for a pregnancy on her because she was the one with the uterus.

She wasn’t ready to take this test.

Just then Oliver walked in. “Hey, I’ll walk you to your ca–” he said and then saw what she was holding. He tensed.

She’d noticed his body language when he was with her had gotten progressively more relaxed, but he went ramrod straight now, and the smile on his lips faded back into the shadows of his face. In a very low voice, his Arrow voice, he asked, “Is there something you haven’t told me, Felicity?”

She tossed the box back into the locker and slammed it closed. “No,” she said. “I mean, I was just… I gotta go.” She snagged her purse from the floor and tried to brush past him, but he grabbed her upper arm. She stiffened. “Let go,” she said.

“Why were you holding a pregnancy test?” he asked, and she realized for the first time that this man she’d never been afraid of could be really scary when he wanted to be. Did he want to be? Because he was. His body hummed with tension, and his blue gaze beamed down at her like interrogation lights. The man who’d laughed when she’d licked his abs one by one a few hours ago was not this man. She tried to find a vulnerable spot to focus on, but there was nothing. His chin jutted, his shoulders were back, his legs were braced.

“That wasn’t… Um, I don’t think,” she said, her mind whirring. “Uh…”

“Do you have information I need to know?” Oliver asked. “If so, you should tell me right now.” He leaned into her and suddenly Cooper’s face was superimposed over his. She wrenched her arm away from his grasp.

“If I have something you need to know, I’ll tell you. Don’t worry,” she said. “Look, this is my problem, I know. So you can stop looming and glowering. I’ll handle it.”

And before Oliver could say or do anything else, she ran out of the bathroom, up the stairs to the outside exit, and slammed it behind her.

>>--->

Oliver used his peripheral vision to try and gauge Felicity’s mood. They’d been sitting in this meeting with Lawrence Westerby, the owner of QC’s targeted acquisition, and his lawyers for an hour, and she was getting progressively more fidgety. Normally he’d put a hand on her arm or something to reassure her the suffering was coming to an end, but she’d stiffened this morning when he’d touched her back as he’d held the door open for her to enter the office. Clearly today was a no touching day - which he should have been okay with since he was frustrated with her, but somehow he wasn’t. Even when he was angry, he still wanted to be touching her.

She was very touchable.

Mr. Westerby began his powerpoint presentation on AEC’s achievements in research. “There are exciting developments coming with further breakthroughs in water and soil remediation and other organic solvent initiatives,” he said. “If you’ll refer to page 18 in your packet.”

Beside him Felicity dutifully flipped through her packet.

“Westerby knows we intend to buy his company, right?” Oliver whispered.

Felicity nodded.

“Then why are we listening to this?”

“Because he built AEC with specific environmental goals in mind, and he doesn’t want to see those lost when QC buys it,” she said.

“He knows once you sell the house, you stop having a say in what color it’s painted?” Oliver stretched his arm out on the table until it was almost, but not quite, touching hers. Her hand was very small and pretty. Her fingernails were painted teal today, the color of the North China Sea in July.

“He’s telling us he doesn’t want it to be painted pink,” Felicity said, dropping her packet and crossing her arms against her chest. “Just listen.”

Pink. Oliver thought of the pink box Felicity had clutched in her hand last night and what exactly that meant for him and them.

Was she pregnant? He glanced at her out of the side of his eye again. She looked the same as yesterday and the day before, except more irritable. That was a side effect of pregnancy, wasn’t it? Irritability? Of course, women who got their periods could be moody too, he knew, but broaching that possibility was never a good idea.

He would have to wait until she was ready to tell him what was going on.

Why wasn’t she ready to tell him what was going on? Did she think he would fire her or dump her from whatever this was? Obviously she didn’t want to be pregnant. He understood that, and he wanted the same thing. They weren’t together, and his mother was in prison. Laurel was spiraling, Sara was out wandering the streets of Starling waiting to be found out, and Felicity was his executive assistant. He’d only been CEO of Queen Consolidated for a few months. It would look unbelievably bad if she showed up to the Christmas party in maternity wear. He'd never be able to look Walter in the face again.

Good Time Ollie strikes again is what everyone would be thinking, and would they be right? He hoped not.

Maybe it was his baby she didn’t want. The way she’d stormed out last night, it was like she was disgusted by him. “I’ll handle it,” she’d said. There were times when Oliver thought she was angry for being attracted to him. Angry at him or at herself? It was hard to say. Clearly, she thought he was a womanizer and a walking STD. He would really like to tell her to knock it off with that. The last woman he’d slept with before all of this had been Laurel. He’d been celibate while traveling and on the island, and he hadn’t hit the streets trying to round up women when he’d gotten back to Starling, either. It felt weird to admit it, but casual sex had completely lost its appeal. He wanted… Well, he didn’t know what he wanted now, but it wasn’t another awkward morning encounter with a stranger.

Despite the bizarre circumstances, he kind of enjoyed what he had with Felicity now. He liked coming around to her place at night. It was cozy and colorful like her. Her coffee was terrible - way too sweet - but he drank it anyway, all of it, because he liked that she thought of him when he was out at night. He made her come too, every time. He had the bite marks to prove it. Did she think Todd in Accounting was going to do that?

These were things that he’d like to tell her, but he couldn’t seem to make himself say. He was better at doing things than talking. He turned to her. “You’re getting all of this?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” she said. She’d doodled a rabbit with her pen in the margins of page 18.

“Good,” he said. “I’m going to pay Seth Bomer a visit tonight.”

He thought she would nod, but he hadn’t anticipated the satisfied look in her eyes. Maybe there was something he could do to make this better after all.

>>--->

Seth Bomer was easy to find. He had an apartment just off of Starling U’s campus, and he was home after 6 PM when Oliver finally had a chance to suit up. He was going to stay here until Bomer made a move.

“Just sit tight,” Felicity said over the comms. “According to his class schedule, he has a late lab tonight.”

“Is Dig there yet?”

“Not yet,” Felicity said. “He said he had something to do.”

Oliver crouched on a fire escape across the alley from Bomer’s building, and watched as the guy began throwing things into a backpack. “He’s leaving,” he said. He began his descent to the street.

After a couple of minutes Bomer opened the door and exited his building. Oliver followed him down the sidewalk, past a liquor store, and across the street to the bus stop, but before Seth reached it, Oliver pulled him aside and into the alley. A neon sign that read “Nick’s” offered the only light. He stood in a low-key threatening pose with one shoulder forward and asked, “Seth Bomer?”

“Y-yeah,” Seth said. “Who wants to know?” His eyes widened as he took in Oliver’s costume. “You’re...you’re that guy - the Hood Guy. What are you doing here?”

“Talking to you,” Oliver said. “I need to ask you some questions.”

Seth’s gaze held for a moment and then dropped. “Is this...is this about what happened with Morgan?”

“I know you raped her,” Oliver said. “I’ve seen the police interrogation records.”

“I didn’t rape her!” Seth said, and then, “You work with the police?”

“No,” Oliver said.

“They let me go,” Seth said. “They didn’t have anything to charge me with. Morgan was just confused.”

“Because of the drug you gave her,” Oliver said.

“I guess,” Seth said. “I mean, no. I didn’t give her anything. She’s been under a lot of stress. The dance routine she’s choreographing isn’t going very well. It’s hard to get quality people.”

“How does he know that?” Felicity asked in an appalled voice. “Oh, right. He’s still stalking her.”

“Morgan’s friends said they saw you talking to her just before Morgan disappeared that night,” Oliver backed Seth into the brick wall underneath the neon sign.

“Look,” Seth said, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but what happened wasn’t rape. It was beautiful. Morgan loved it. I’ve never been with a girl who wanted to have sex with me so much, and she was in such a great mood. Laughing. It was the best night of my life. I would never rape her. I love her.”

“You drugged her into having sex, you scumbag!” Felicity yelled through the comms. Oliver winced at the noise. “She had no idea what she was doing!”

Oliver frowned. That wasn’t right. The drug didn’t knock you out; it made you horny and giddy. You wanted to do something you might not want to do otherwise. That was the problem.

“She told you she wanted to have sex?” Oliver asked. “Did she seem like she wanted to go with you before you sprayed her?”

Seth frowned a little. “Well, no, not before,” he said and then straightened underneath Oliver’s fist. “I mean… Look, if someone sprayed you with this stuff, and the only result was that you had a night of great sex, I don’t think you’d be upset about it,” he said.

Oliver felt his face flush, knowing that Felicity was listening. What was a good comeback for that?

“She’s been with a lot of guys, and most of them have treated her like dirt. I treated her like a queen, and I’m prepared to overlook her sexual history.”

“Overlook her–” Felicity sputtered, and Oliver knew exactly what face she was making four miles away underground. “She doesn’t need you to save her and unsully her. She didn’t want you! Why can’t you just move on?” She made sputtering noises in her throat.

“It sounds like she told you no,” Oliver said. “You don’t get what no means?” He shook Seth a little for emphasis. “If she doesn’t want to be with you, you have to respect that.” Even if it wasn’t fair, even if he had actually been trying to make her happy. She had a say, and if she didn’t want you, those were the hard breaks. You got used to being alone after a while.

“I just wanted a chance with her!” Seth said, trying to pull himself away from Oliver. “We can’t all be rockstars or billionaire CEOs. I’d be good for her. I made it good for her. I made sure. She has nothing to complain about, even if I did have to use the aphrodisiac.”

“What if she gets pregnant?” Oliver asked. “Did you think of that?” He clamped his lips shut. Where had that question come from? The comms went silent.

“Then I’ll take care of her and the baby. I want to do that anyway. We’d just start a family a little earlier than I planned.” Seth’s face looked smug in the red flashing light.

“What if she doesn’t want your baby?” Oliver asked impatiently. “If she doesn’t want you, why would she want a child of yours? It would only remind her of how disgusted she is of you and how much she wishes she’d never even met you.”

Seth’s face crumpled, and Oliver pressed his advantage.

“What you’re going to do is get the chemical, and give me a sample, then turn the rest over to the police with your confession that you drugged Morgan Ladd into having sex with you,” Oliver said.

“I’m not,” Seth said, straightening. “They have nothing on me. Morgan’ll come around. The reddit guy said the drug will make her fall in love with me. After a few more times I won’t even need to give it to her.”

“You’re not going near her again,” Oliver said. He lifted Seth and threw him against the wall. He was suddenly really angry. “She has a right to live her life the way she wants it, and you’re not taking that from her!” He punched Seth in the stomach hard twice. The man groaned and sagged against the bricks.

“I told you I love her,” Seth groaned, trying to stand.

Oliver hit him again. “You raped her,” Oliver said. “That’s not love.” He hit him again. “Let me know when you’re ready to confess to the police.”

Seth held out for maybe five minutes, long enough for Oliver to feel like a beast, beating on a man who couldn’t defend himself. “I can do this all night,” Oliver said, punching him again in the chest.

Finally Seth gave in. “Alright,” he said through bruised lips. “I’ll tell them. I’ll give you the chemical and I’ll confess. Ju-just stop.”

Oliver hauled what was left of Seth up and over his shoulder. “We’ll get that, and then we’ll take a trip downtown.” He grunted as he hauled him out of the alley and back towards his apartment. The comms were still very quiet. At Seth’s building they negotiated opening his apartment door, and then Oliver let him slide to the floor.

“Oliver,” Felicity said finally in a soft voice, “I’m not disgusted by you. You know that, right? I might not like everything that’s happened, but I’m not sorry I met you. I’m glad. I’m glad I know you.”

Oliver closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

“Felicity,” he said into the comms, “Go take the pregnancy test. Positive or negative, we’ll do whatever you need to do. I’ll help you any way I can.”

She sucked in her breath, and then the comm in his ear went dead.

Oliver knew he had another long night ahead of him, so he nudged the asshole on the floor with his foot.

Chapter Text

Oliver spent a little extra time on Seth Bomer just seeing if he could shake anything else loose before SCPD took possession of him, but Bomer’s only noteworthy facet seemed to be his obsession with Morgan Ladd. He was nerdy but straightforward. His apartment was small; other than some Game of Thrones decor choices and a collection of action figure memorabilia, it was quite spartan. He told Oliver he’d paid for the aphrodisiac in Bitcoin. Bitcoin. The Starling City Rapist took Bitcoin? The transaction might be traceable, though, so Oliver made Bomer print off a copy of the transaction.

The drug itself was stored in a small glass bottle with a spray top next to a couple of condoms and about ten kinds of dental floss in the bathroom mirror cabinet. Oliver could see through the clear glass that the bottle was almost full. He decanted a sample into a laboratory vial Felicity had given him and hoped it would be enough for testing. He had to leave the rest for the police.

When he figured he’d pried what he could out of Bomer, he called Diggle to pick them up in the van. Dig arrived fifteen minutes later and guided them through hockey-game traffic all the way downtown. Oliver duck-taped Bomer’s mouth closed and his hands together behind his back and called Lance. The pass off went off without a hitch.

On the way back, Diggle was curiously silent, but Oliver wasn’t concerned until they got back to the Arrow Cave and found it empty.

“Where’s Felicity?” he asked Dig as he put his bow away.

Diggle slowly turned towards him. With the glare from the overhead lights his expression was clearly unfriendly. “She’s gone home to take a pregnancy test, I guess.”

Oliver froze in the act of unzipping his jacket. “Oh,” he said. “You heard.”

“Yeah, ‘Oh,’” Diggle said. “I'm on the comms too. Were you going to tell me about this? Is she pregnant?”

Oliver finished unzipping and pulled off his gloves. “I don’t know,” he said. “I found her in the bathroom today with one of those kits. She hadn’t told me either.”

Diggle grunted. “This keeps getting worse.”

“We don’t know she’s pregnant,” Oliver said. “She might not be. She probably isn’t.”

“Why? Because you don’t want her to be?” Dig asked. “That’s not how these things work.”

“She told me it was a safe time,” Oliver said. “Relatively safe, anyway.”

“And you believed that?” Dig asked. He narrowed his eyes at Oliver. “What kind of information do they give you about sex in prep school?”

Oliver rolled his eyes and pulled off his jacket. “What could I do about it? My options were limited.”

“What are you going to do about it now? You know if she’s pregnant, this changes everything.”

“I know,” Oliver said. “I’ll do whatever she wants. If she doesn’t want the baby, if she does want it...whatever.”

Diggle crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t see Felicity on the cover of the tabloids. At least I can’t see her reacting well to being labeled Oliver Queen’s side piece.”

Oliver straightened. The tabloids. He’d gotten used to being fodder for them when he was younger, but Felicity would be new to all that. He had a vision of a picture of her with a rounded belly in a bathing suit on a beach somewhere under the headline “Billionaire's Baby Mama Takes the Day Off” and felt sick.

“She wouldn’t be that,” he said. “I’d do the right thing.”

Diggle’s eyebrows raised. “Are you telling me--”

“I’m not telling you anything. Felicity’s probably not pregnant anyway, but she’s not getting smeared in all of this. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Oliver, this is not just a one-time thing, is it?” Diggle asked, edging into his space. “Are you guys still…”

Oliver pressed his lips together and stared at Dig who shook his head after a minute. Oliver braced himself for the lecture that was coming.

“You had three relationships last year,” Dig said, “and they all crashed and burned. I know you’re lonely, but–”

“I’m not lonely,” Oliver said. “I mean, I’m not that lonely. I just like her, okay? I like being with her.”

“Felicity said you didn’t remember what had happened,” Dig said.

That pang of annoyance returned, and Oliver breathed in deeply and let the breath out. “Felicity didn’t want to remember because it makes things more complicated. The drug messes with your recall, but it doesn’t give you amnesia.”

Diggle finally smiled. “Or you just weren’t that memorable,” he said.

Oliver gave him a bland look, and Dig relaxed. “I just don’t want to see her wounded, in exile, or gunning for the vigilante,” he said. “We need her on the team. I’ve seen you in action. You don’t have a problem meeting women.”

Oliver let the last remark slide. “She isn’t Helena, Laurel, or McKenna. It’s not the same. She’s not homicidal, she knows I’m the vigilante, and I would have stayed with McKenna.”

“I don’t think so,” Dig said. “Not long term.”

“I liked her,” Oliver said. “I wanted it to work out.”

“Like you want it to work out with Felicity,” Dig said.

“No! It’s not the same,” Oliver said. The two women, while both smart and tough, were not comparable. Felicity was more.

Dig eased up onto a work table and leaned his weight on his arms like some amateur psychologist. “Oh?”

“I don’t do therapy,” Oliver said. “This isn’t complicated. I like her. I like this. We work well together otherwise.”

“You’ve made up your mind,” Dig said.

“I have,” Oliver said.

“Then God help us all,” Dig said. “Don’t screw this up, or I’ll have to hurt you. She’s like a little sister to me. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Noted,” Oliver said. “I won’t screw this up. I promise.”

>>--->

Felicity sat on her bed passing the pregnancy test stick from hand to hand. In just another moment she would get up and go pee on it, and that would be that. Then she’d know what she was dealing with. She could do this. She wasn’t going to be pregnant. She couldn’t be. Not from one night of sex late in her cycle.

How many times had she gotten her period and thought, “Not now”? More times than she could count. There was never a good time to get your period, although right now she’d give her bank balance to see some blood or feel that telltale cramping start.

She remembered her very first period. She’d gotten it on the first day of high school. She’d skipped two grades and was half a foot shorter and considerably flatter chested than her classmates, and then that had happened. She remembered being scared to call her mother to pick her up from school because Donna worked hard and was always tired, but Felicity had bled through her underwear and into her jean skirt, so she’d had to. And, miracle of miracles, Donna had come with a change of clothes and a big fat maxi pad, and she’d taken Felicity out for ice cream to boot.

“There aren’t that many built-in advantages to being a woman, sweetie,” she’d said. “So you have to add them into your life yourself sometimes.”

Felicity looked at the bottle of wine and the Dove chocolates on her nightstand now. All she had to do to earn them was pee on this stick. She clutched it in her hand harder.

The doorbell rang. Felicity swallowed. She knew who that would be. She supposed she’d been waiting for him all along. She walked out of her bedroom, down the short hall, and through the living room to open the door. Oliver stood there in a pair of jeans and a navy blue henley. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she noticed again how round and pretty his eyes were under the ridge of his brow. “Come in,” she said. He ducked his head and walked past her.

“I-I haven’t taken it yet,” Felicity said when he was standing in front of the couch. He wasn’t in his Arrow costume, and it was weird to be having this conversation with him like he was her boyfriend or something.

Oliver licked his lips. “Why not?”

Felicity hugged her arms around herself and didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like her to avoid facing things. She was an eat-your-peas-first kind of girl, but this was Oliver and maybe a baby. Those were two overwhelming things tied together in one problem.

Finally Oliver said, “Come here.” He lifted his arm and she gravitated toward the space there like a magnet. “We’ll do it together,” he said. “You pee, and I’ll read it.”

She felt the strength in his shoulder and bicep, and it bolstered her. She pressed her face into his chest and breathed in his scent. He smelled like cold air and cedar. “Okay,” she said, and she went into the bathroom to accomplish this bit of business.

It was tricky making sure she peed on the stick right, she remembered that. She wiped off the stick afterwards with a washcloth and then washed her hands and dried them. She avoided looking at the window on the test. That was Oliver’s job. He said he would do it.

Felicity came out of the bathroom and held the stick out. Oliver took it and didn’t say anything.

“Wait another minute. You’re supposed to… If I’m... There will be two lines,” Felicity said.

Oliver just nodded and then looked down at the little window on the test stick. He frowned. Felicity could feel her breath build up inside her chest, and her heart beat faster. What if… She closed her eyes and started to count: 1, 2, 3… When she had reached 60, Oliver cleared his throat. She opened her eyes and took in his face. He looked relieved. “One line,” he said. “You’re not pregnant.”

Felicity took the stick from him and stared at it. Sure enough, there was only one line. “I’m not pregnant,” she said. “How’d you know about the lines?”

“Everybody knows about the two lines,” Oliver said. “From commercials.” Then he looked sheepish. “Also, this is not my first pregnancy scare.”

“You don’t have any kids, though?” The idea that he might was suddenly terrifying. Were there other women out there raising other little blond babies? Who were they?

“None that I know about,” he said. “One girl - her name was Samantha - she was pregnant, but she miscarried.”

Felicity didn’t know what to say to that. Congratulations? Such a near miss. “How long,” she started to say, and then the relief hit her and her shoulders slumped. She wasn’t pregnant. Oh, thank God she wasn’t pregnant. She felt tears form in her eyes, and she reached up to swipe at them. What her fingers found on her face were not tears but rivulets. She saw Oliver’s reaction immediately. He stiffened, and his eyes dropped to the floor. She reached for his hand and missed.

“Oliver,” she said. It came out as a croak. Somewhere in the back of her mind a picture of her pretty blond baby was fading quickly away. “It’s not–”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I should go.”

She grabbed for him again and this time she caught his bicep. She latched onto it like a drowning woman would a piece of flotsam. “I don’t,” she said as the feelings overtook her. “I’m sorry.” His face looked blurry through her tears. “Could you… Could you hold me?”

Oliver frowned and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders. He palmed her head and pressed her wet face into his side. She wrapped both arms around his broad chest and slumped against him. He felt so good, like a fortress that would never crumble. She could hold on to him. Time would pass, but the strength of his body - the strength of him - could, would never waiver. She looked up to see that his eyes were damp too and his jaw was taut. His arms were steel bands around her, but his face was ashen.

“Oliver,” she said. “Can we?” She tilted her head towards her bedroom, and he picked her up in one movement and walked in that direction. In a dozen paces, they were there. He laid her down on the bed and moved to step back, but she grabbed his shirt. “Stay with me,” she said.

He gave a jerky nod, and then seated himself gingerly next to her. She rolled and put her head into his lap, and he gently stroked her hair. The strands caught on the calluses of his hand. Felicity found that funny. Even her hair did not want him to leave. “It’s not you,” she said.

Oliver tensed. Felicity waited. Eventually he said in a deliberately light tone, “It’s not you, it’s me?”

“It’s not your baby I didn’t want,” she said. She couldn’t see the expression on his face, so she scooched up and then hauled herself up next to him. “It was any baby.”

He made a jerky nod but didn’t look convinced.

“I’m serious,” she said. “I’m not ready to be a mother yet. The fact that it would have been your baby was the only thing this situation had going for it at all. I mean, school would have been a breeze because it would be my kid, but he would never hate gym because…” She smiled up at him, and he relaxed fractionally.

“Also, given how you’re so ugly and everything,” she said, “I was guaranteed to have a hideously deformed monster baby. Not pretty at all.”

Oliver looked taken aback, and Felicity snorted through her tears.

“A little genius baby, you mean,” he said, his lips turning up at the end. “Coming out with tiny glasses on her face, raising her hand to answer a question.”

Oh, ouch. “I’m sure your vigilante genes would thrash any nerdiness out of our baby in the womb,” she said. She grimaced and touched her stomach. “Imagine the in-utero fetus parkour.” It was funny now that it wasn’t going to happen, but she felt a tiny twinge at that thought. She wasn’t going to have Oliver Queen’s baby.

“It wasn’t because of the Oliver Queen persona?” Oliver asked.

“The Oliver Queen persona?”

He made a face. “You know, billionaire playboy, fuckup. Womanizer.”

Felicity thought over what to say. She sensed this question wasn’t asked lightly, but Oliver could be very hard to read, and he was excellent at compartmentalizing and being who he had to be in the moment. Had it distressed him last year when he’d had to play the douchebag for everyone? Finally she said, “The press would have had a field day. ‘Golddigger Secretary Snares Billionaire CEO with Love Child.’”

Oliver’s eyebrows came down in a V. “You wouldn’t have had to worry about that,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

His eyes glanced left and then, quickly, right. “I mean, we would have figured out whatever it was you needed, whether you wanted to continue the pregnancy or… But you’re not pregnant.”

“Oliver,” she said, “How much thought did you give all of this?”

“Some,” he said. “It took awhile to get Seth Bomer downtown.” He brushed his hand down the sleeve of his henley. “You know I have money, so that’s not a problem, but I wouldn’t have embarrassed you.” He lowered his head and looked at her earnestly. “I had to put Ollie to rest anyway. He doesn’t fit the CEO image.”

Felicity felt confused. “But we’re not together,” she said, sitting up in bed. “I don’t know exactly what this is.” She gestured between them. His face was expressionless, and she decided to address the elephant in the room. “What do you think this is?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He leaned back on the headboard, and Felicity pressed her ear against his heart. It beat steadily, strongly inside his chest. She supposed he’d end this now. There was nothing less erotic than being handed a pregnancy test.

“All I know is that I want it, whatever it is.” He raised his hand and brushed her hair again gently with his fingers.

She swallowed. She looked up at him, but all she could see was the evidence of his beard on the underside of his chin.

“If you don’t,” he said finally, “I understand.” His throat worked as he swallowed.

“I do,” she said quickly, quicker than her brain could take it all in. Did he want this to be something? He must if he were saying this. She wrapped her arms around his chest one more time and squeezed. He was so solid, and she didn’t ever want to move from this spot.

“It’s what you said,” he said.

“What I said?”

“When we were...the first time we were together. I want to have something good. My mother and the company and Tommy, that’s all bad, but this...this isn’t. You know me, the real me, and I like you. I don’t want to give that up. I want this.”

“You want this?” she asked, raising her head to look at him.

“I do,” he said.

“So you want to be my...boyfriend?”

“I want to be your,” he paused, thinking. “Lover?”

“Lover sounds creepy,” Felicity said. “For a word that’s supposed to be sweet, it’s so sleazy sounding.”

“We’ll you’re already my friend and my actual partner in crime,” Oliver said.

“And your employee,” she said.

He wrinkled his nose. “This is going to have to be off the clock,” he said. “I already pay you enough overtime, and that pension plan you insisted on is expensive.”

She smacked his chest. “I get it,” she said. “We’re beyond titles. It’s already too messy.”

He grabbed her hand and held it. “Not for me,” he said. “I’m the mess. You’re the one who sorts things out.”

“Okay,” Felicity said.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“C’mere,” he said and hauled her up on his chest so he could kiss her. It was the softest, sweetest kiss, so gentle. He lifted his hands to cradle her head in them, and she felt her eyes begin to leak again. He was too much. Too much.

“Oliver,” she said. “Can you stay tonight?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

Chapter Text

Oliver was better boyfriend material than Felicity would have imagined. He spent nearly every evening at her apartment, taking to Netflix and sex on the couch like a native. He was tidy in the bathroom and made coffee for her every morning. She wasn’t sure when he got up, but it was way too early for her taste. Making coffee wasn’t exactly high end cooking, but she was grateful to wake up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He ground the beans himself.

About a week after Oliver started spending the night, he rented her a garage. Her unit came with a carport, but its northern exposure meant her rear windshield routinely got sprayed with ice when the wind whipped its way across the bay. Oliver secured a garage with a stall and a half right across the parking lot from her unit.

“What am I, a kept woman now?” she asked.

“I needed somewhere to store my bike.” When she didn’t comment, he smiled and said, “I guess I shouldn’t give you the other present, then.”

She paused in the middle of pouring her second cup of coffee. “Other present?”

He pulled a brown paper bag out of the pocket of his leather jacket, put it on the counter, and raised one eyebrow at her.

Felicity finished pouring the rest of her coffee and then carefully placed the French press back on the granite. This was a gift, Oliver’s first gift as her boyfriend. What could he have chosen to buy her?

“Is it a puppy?” she asked casually.

His lips twitched. “Did you want a puppy?”

“I’ve never had one,” she said. “Cats were better suited to our lifestyle in Vegas.”

“Noted,” Oliver said. “This is not a puppy.”

Her hand hovered over the bag uncertainly, and then she reached for it. “It’s light,” she said.

“Mmm,” he said.

She felt through the paper. The box inside was about six inches long and rectangular. “It’s not a tiara, is it? Because I have to say, I don’t think we’re at the jewelry stage yet, but if this is a tiara, I might have to make an exception - for my mom’s sake. She once ranked all of Princess Diana’s tiaras from glam to snooze. She was more of a Fergie fan, to be honest. Mom thought Diana needed to take more fashion risks.”

“Your mother sounds interesting. Are you going to open that?”

Felicity unrolled the top of the bag and put her hand inside. She pulled out...a remote car starter?

Her confusion must have shown on her face because Oliver said, “I tested it to see if it will work from your front door. It will as long as your car is within a 200-yard range.”

She frowned. “When did that particular garage become available? I asked about upgrading last year, and the manager said there was a wait list.”

Oliver folded his arms over his chest.

“I don’t want to know, do I?” Felicity asked. “Just tell me this wasn’t the vigilante’s doing.”

He looked offended. “I do have a few other resources, Felicity,” he said.

“Well, thank you,” she said, smiling. “I won’t deny this will make my mornings easier.” She walked over to him and pressed a kiss on the bit of his face she could reach barefooted. His stubble tickled her lips. He leaned over and grabbed her waist, lifting her up on the counter before she knew what was happening. He nipped at her lips, then opened his mouth wider and deepened the kiss. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and pressed her heels into his firm ass. God, he was so juicy, and it was breakfast time.

She would have thought that all of the sex they’d had in this apartment - in this kitchen - in the past week and a half would have muted some of that hunger, but he was just as sexy and nearly as mysterious as he’d ever been. Only now she knew exactly what he was capable of. She reached a hand down and cupped his cock.

“We’ve got a meeting at nine,” Oliver said inside her mouth.

“A quickie, then,” she said, inserting her thumb and forefinger into the flap of his jeans. “You only have to make me come three times.”

He laughed. “Three times,” he said. “You’re funny.”

“It will be hardly any work at all. Remote car starters are a well known aphrodisiac.” She sucked his tongue as her fingers worked the zipper down.

“Are they?” It was more of a groan than a sentence, but she knew what he meant. Who needed words anyway?

“Not that you need any assistance, what with this,” she slid her hand around his cock, “to help you.”

His hands were on the elastic of her sleep shorts, tugging them down, and she lifted her hips so he could pull them off of her. “C’mon, c’mon,” she said. “Stick it in.” She swallowed his stuttered laugh before it could leave his mouth.

He accommodated her request, homing in on her entrance and easing into her inch by inch. She spread her legs and hooked her feet behind his hips as he shoved home. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said, wiggling against him. The metal button of his jean flap was cold against the inside of her thigh, but she pressed harder against him anyway.

“Nice?”

“Mmm,” she said, “Hot. Very hot. Even better without the condom. Now kind of move it in and out. You know the way.” She leaned back and giggled. Was there anything better than this prelude to a great orgasm, surrounded by a gorgeous man who’d just done something thoughtful for her? Win-win-win. She was definitely winning here. He was so thick. It was fantastic, his cock. His face. His everything.

His eyes sparked at her. He broke the kiss and scooped up her ass in his hands. “I know the way,” he said, driving into her so forcefully she let out a little “Oof.”

He set a quick pace, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the amazing friction he was generating. “Oh, oh,” she said, “that’s good. Right there.”

He buried his face in her neck and sucked the skin underneath her ear. She began to pant. “No hickeys. We have that meeting with Isabel today. I know she’s watching us. She might suspect something.”

He trailed his lips down to her breast, pulled it into his mouth, and sucked the nipple hard through her thin tank top. By now he knew exactly which buttons to push. That combined with his rocking right into her g-spot made her clench around him hard. Her thighs tightened on his hips, and she cried out.

“That’s one,” he said, not slowing at all. “Two more to go.”

“I don’t know if that counts,” she said. “I suppose it depends on how you define an orgasm.”

“I define it as you coming,” he said. “So, yes, it counts.”

“If you want to be like th–” she said, but he swiveled his hips in the best way possible and drove in at a different angle. She began to breathe out in shallow breaths. “Oh, ooooh, yeah. Yeah. I swear to God you are ruining me for future sex.” She leaned back on her palms and focused on the way he was grinding against her clit. She fluttered and clenched again, that wave of intense feeling bumping up against her but not quite swamping her yet. Her leg began to shake against his back. “It’s good for you too, right?” she blurted out.

His fingers dug into her ass and he groaned. Instead of answering he kissed her mouth hard. Her thoughts split in two directions, one part of her concentrating on that wave lapping inside her, but the other waited to hear his answer. When he broke the kiss, she stared up in his eyes.

“Right?” she asked again. She needed to know.

His eyelids were half closed, but the look he gave her was nothing but a laser beam of plain desire. It pushed her over the edge, and she leaned back on her hands as the orgasm overwhelmed her. He kept fucking her, and she bore down hard, willing it not to end just yet. A little bit more. A little. Bit. Ooohmigod.

“Ahh,” he stiffened and gave a low grunt deep in his throat. “God. Felicity,” he said. “So good.”

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and pressed her hot face against the cool leather there. “Forget about work,” she said. “Let’s just do this all day long. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

He beamed down at her and kissed her on the forehead.

>>--->

“How did you manage to rent that garage?” she asked him after she’d pulled herself back together and could think again.

“I rented out the unit next to yours, paid three years’ in advance, and insisted on it as a condition of agreement.”

She stiffened. “But Stupid Ryan lives there.”

“Not anymore. His friends are bad company, and his taste in music was terrible. I didn’t survive the island to listen to Nickelback on loop.”

“You got rid of him?” She didn’t know how to feel about that.

“You’re upset?”

“Not upset exactly.” A thought occurred to her. “So no more all-weekend weed parties?”

He passed his thumbs over her nipples. “No more confrontational girlfriend.”

No more Carina. The idea felt almost as good as the little movements he was still making inside her. Better, if she were being brutally honest. “You know how many times she told me to stay away from Stupid Ryan? And how many times her dog made a mess on my doormat?”

“You’ve said.” He had the self-satisfied look on his face of a man who’s accomplished great deeds.

“You’re going to move in next door?”

“No,” he said. “I like it here.”

She decided to roll with it and savor the huge favor he’d just done her. “My hero,” she said and craned her neck to kiss him again.

>>--->

Ten days into whatever this relationship was, Oliver found her books, and Felicity knew it was over. The part where she kept her dignity in this relationship was finished.

He’d been vacuuming in the bedroom and apparently pulled the box out from under her bed. She heard his incredulous laugh from the bathroom.

“Billionaire without a Past?” he asked.

“Whaaat?” She hurried out to the bedroom and saw him kneeling on the floor and pulling book after book from a box with a big mailing label. She tried to wrench the box away from him, but he held her back with one arm and pulled another thin paperback out.

“Return of the Untamed Billionaire? Irresistible Russian Tycoons?” His wide grin split his face into segments. She blushed profusely, feeling the heat go all the way down into her chest.

“I didn’t buy them!” she said.

“Stranded with the Boss? Billionaires and Babies?” He squinted at the cover with the twin girls, then flipped it over, reading aloud:

“When Tessa Randall sues CEO Dragan Markovic's company for unfair termination, he insists on hearing her side of the story. But the billionaire known as The Dragon gets more than he bargained for when he's stranded at his snowy Alaskan lodge with Tessa and her twin toddlers. Now the flame-haired beauty wants to uncover his story. How can he tell her that her children remind him of his harrowing past and all that he lost? Or that the sweet family of three is slowly melting The Dragon's frozen heart…

She tried to grab it away from him, but he held the book out of her reach. “Is this a secret fetish? You don’t have to be afraid I’m going to fire you, by the way. You’re doing a credible job.”

For half a minute, Felicity considered throwing herself out the window and freezing to death in the cold. It seemed like a better end than dying of embarrassment. She balled her hands into fists instead. “My mom sent them after you made me your executive assistant,” she said. She pointed at the book he was holding. “I swear I didn’t tell her anything. I think she sent them to me as a joke.”

“The Dragon?” Then he did something she’d never seen him do: he guffawed. He sat back against the bed and laughed until tears came from his eyes.

She sank to the floor, narrowed her eyes, and waited. “Are you finished?” she asked when he’d finally subsided.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be finished with this,” he said. Then he must have noted her expression because he pulled her up against him. “Here, come and melt my frozen heart.”

His other words had finally sunk in. “And credible? I am the best thing that ever happened to you or QC, Mr. Queen.”

She elbowed him hard, but he just laughed again. “My mom likes the billionaire books,” she said. “They’re one of her escapes. For years she worked really long hours, getting treated like crap by the men she had to wait on.”

“Wait on?”

“She works in a casino. She doing okay now, but we really struggled when I was growing up. The heroes of these books used to be millionaires, I think, but then...well, inflation. How much fantasy money is enough, I guess?”

“So how many of these have you read?” he asked, picking out another from the box. The Billionaire’s Secret Mistress. Oh, God.

She sensed a trap. “A few,” she said, “when I was younger. Back then the guys weren’t Russians. They were nearly all Mediterranean types who would take their heroines to Tuscany and keep them in fancy villas.”

“They kept them in villas?”

“Yeah, like for sex and, at some point, marriage, but they were all virgins, so...awkward?”

“They were all virgins?”

She nodded. “Gorgeous virgins in their twenties. Very innocent, but often pretty dim. Headstrong, but never in it for the money. Their hair color varied.”

“And the billionaires? Were they virgins too?”

She scoffed. “No. They were walking testosterone, killers in the boardroom and the bedroom. Moody and misunderstood.”

“They really killed people?” He looked intrigued.

She shook her head. “Just imagine them as super rich, dark, and very sexy.”

“So like me, then,” he said.

“Well, generally they had more chest hair,” she said, patting him on the arm, “and you’re more of a dirty blonde than a brunette. They also knew what they were doing with their companies.”

He snaked an arm around her waist. “That’s low,” he said. “I have chest hair.”

“Barely.”

“You’ve never complained before.”

“All types of bodies can be beautiful,” she said.

He kissed her on the forehead. “Maybe I should read a couple of these for tips.”

She stuffed the books back into the box. “Maybe you shouldn’t. These guys are troglodytes, and I already have a hard time getting you to talk.”

“I want to meet your mom,” Oliver said. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll be fascinating.”

“Maybe someday - when you’re ready,” she said. “My mom is a force of nature. You may have been through a crucible, but you’re not prepared for that much Smoak.”

>>--->

Before Felicity’s warm, wet mouth closed around him, she asked, “What’s Lawrence Westerby’s wife’s name?” Her hushed voice bounced against the tiles of his Queen Consolidated bathroom and echoed.

He knew this. He knew all of these names, but he still let her think he struggled. “Uh,” he said, leaning his head back against the wall, “Tara?”

Felicity pulled her mouth away. “Taryn. She’s his third wife. I think she’s younger than I am.” She stuck her tongue out. It was short and pink. She couldn’t touch the tip of her nose with it like he could his. They’d figured that out a few days ago.

“Sure,” he said, “Taryn. I knew that.”

“This is why we have to work on this stuff. I know AEC is a done deal, but all of these company heads need to see you as a force to be reckoned with so the board knows you’re always on top of your game.”

Felicity had this theory that he was a kinesthetic learner - that he picked things up much more quickly and comprehensively by doing them. Oliver wasn’t sure how this translated into mid-day blow jobs, but if this is what she thought he needed to jog his memory, he wasn’t going to tell her no. That would be crazy. He might be a head case, but he definitely wasn’t crazy.

Besides, she wasn’t wrong. He had gotten to know Felicity quite a lot better by having sex with her. Like he knew right now - from the way her eyes were glazing over and her nipples were tightening through her gray silk blouse - he knew she was getting really turned on. She was going to keep coaching him, though, out of a sense of responsibility, if he didn’t mix it up a little.

“I think I’d learn these names better if you were wearing fewer clothes,” he said.

She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Which clothes?” she asked.

“Underwear,” he said. “For a start.” He pulled her to her feet and rucked up her polka dotted skirt.

“I don’t think we have time for that,” she said, slapping at his hands.

“There’s time,” he said. He put a finger around the thin elastic at her hips and pulled. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Her eyes went liquid but did not lose their suspicion, and he could tell she was doing the actual math. “Well, we do have that meeting with Isabel and the board in an hour, and you’re going to have to psych yourself up to confront her with that second inspection we did on Everlasting Medical. I can’t get too messy, but you can practice being firm. Sometimes you go too easy on women.”

He suppressed a smile. “You mean like with you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean like with your mother and with Isabel. She’s evil. I know you don’t think she is, but I’m telling you there’s something off about her. I don’t like the way she looks at you or talks to you, and I’m not going to allow her to ruin this company either.”

“My mother?”

She stabbed a finger into his breastbone. “Isabel. Here, I’ll be her, and you be you.”

“Felicity,” he said. “I’ve got this. I’ve put my foot down with people before.” If she knew the ways he’d gotten people to tell him things or do what he’d needed them to do, she wouldn’t be standing there with that schoolteacher look on her face. She’d detour directly out of his life forever. That’s why she wasn’t going to get to know that Oliver. Ever.

Felicity stared at him coldly, and he realized she was channeling her inner bitch. “The board did not authorize a second inspection, Mr. Queen,” she said. She waited a beat for him to respond.

Okay, what the hell. If this is what she wanted to do. “I remembered there was something I’d heard about Everlasting Medical before, so I doubled up on the diligence. The cost is a fraction of what we’d lose if we went ahead with this deal,” he said, moving closer to Felicity.

“This is just the first in a series of important deals we have the potential to do with Everlasting’s parent company,” Felicity said. “If we make this small acquisition, we have the opportunity for large expansion down the line in our construction and aerospace divisions. QC’s new applied sciences division will have access to their research. There’s no downside. You would know that if you had any business background at all.” She gave him a challenging look.

Oliver knew this was supposed to set his back up, but her posture and the challenging look in her eyes was so adorable, it was hard. And he was still very hard. Time to do something about that. He grabbed her by the hips, walked them over to the couch in the corner of the bathroom, and pulled her down on top of him. She levered her weight onto her knees and guided him inside her. As she settled herself on top of him, she shuddered.

“Everlasting has an abbreviated portfolio of projects,” he said. “There are only two devices ready for the FDA testing process, and one of them is designed for mass infusions which is of questionable value at best. Queen Consolidated would not benefit.” He put his hands on her hips and pulled her up off of him. When she came back down, he had to focus to remember their script. Her long, blond hair was in a smooth updo, her blouse was modestly buttoned to the base of her throat and her long skirt covered their laps, but underneath that was an enticing heat, moisture, and pressure. She was condescending, ferocious, erotic, and playful all at once, and it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Of questionable value!” Felicity was panting lightly. “I submitted a report from Brad Vincent, the head of Applied Sciences. He listed specific ways this technology might be of use.”

Oliver flipped Felicity on her back and pinned her hands above her with one of his. “And I’m telling you, Applied Sciences has almost no footprint in the medical sciences.” He drove into her, and she gasped and then moaned. Her hips were shaking under his. “Why would we want to start by acquiring some piece of equipment that seems straight out of science fiction?”

“Uh,” Felicity said. She fought against the strength of his arm, and he felt her inner muscles contract around him and pull. “I think that you’ll see, if you look at page 5 in the included report…” she began, but her gaze went indistinct. “You’ll see...Oh, God,” she said, “You know I can’t handle it when you get all–”

“Cocky?” He rocked in hard twice more, and she arched her back.

“Brilliant. You’re so brilliant,” she said. “Oh, oh. People don’t realize how smart you are. It’s so goddamn… It’s so damnnnnn…” And then she tensed and collapsed on the couch with a long groan.

Oliver released her hands and pumped into her with greater speed. “It’s your script,” he said under his breath before he let the feeling in the base of his spine and his balls swamp him. “If anyone’s brilliant…” He held her legs open wider, and lost himself in the feel of her until, with a shout, he finally let himself come. He buried his head in the space next to hers and kissed her temple. It was sweaty, but her hair wasn’t very messy. He wouldn’t be in too much trouble for this bit of business.

“We wrote it together,” Felicity said. She squeezed her legs around him and he felt her do the same to his cock inside. He pumped a few more times lazily.

“We wrote it, you’ll say it, and Isabel will get some of what’s coming to her,” she said, pressing her wide, gorgeous mouth against his. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” he said. “We do. Isabel won’t know what hit her.”

Chapter Text

Felicity pulled her Mini Cooper off of the long entrance road and onto a thinner, curved driveway that led, after a minute under a snow-covered canopy of branches, to a graveled yard fronting a porticoed entrance. She parked the car about a hundred feet from the door, careful not to block any potential traffic, and turned to see Oliver looking amused.

“You can park closer,” he said.

“What if there are deliveries?” she asked.

“It’s after five,” he said, although the digital clock on her dash read 4:57.

“Okay, Mr. Big Moneypants,” she said, “tell me where one parks when one visits a side entrance of the Queen Mansion.” In her mind the last two words were definitely capitalized. “Why aren’t we going in the main entrance, anyway? Are you ashamed of me?”

It was a joke, but it kind of wasn’t. The carved wooden door of the servants’ entrance was ornamented with side panels of beveled glass and was nicer than any door on any house she’d ever lived in. Or, rather, building. There had been a house once, when she was very little, but for years and years, the doors she’d opened and closed had been attached to apartments and dormitories, many of them downright seedy.

“We’re going in the back way because it’s the entrance I use most,” Oliver said. “You told me you wanted to know more about me, the ‘personal details,’” he said. He let his eyes slide to the door and then back to her. “I always use this door if I don’t expect to see my family, and given that my mother’s in prison…” He raised his eyebrows.

That was a good enough reason, she supposed. She turned the car off and put her keys in her purse. “I’m ready then. Let me know where the room with the ex-girlfriends’ bodies is, and I’ll avoid it.”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Nice.”

She grinned at him and reached for the door handle. “Let’s go.”

>>--->

The kitchen ceiling was at least fifteen feet high, and the wooden cupboards lining the walls went nearly all the way up. She’d half expected there to be a huge open hearth like in The Tudors, but of course there wasn’t. This house probably wasn’t more than a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty, years old. How long had there been very rich people in this part of the country?

“Did your family build this?” she blurted out.

Oliver frowned. “No, no, of course not,” he said. “The real money doesn’t go back that far. You didn’t research this?”

“I started to,” she said, “but it got too intimidating. I mean, I know your family’s net worth because of the reports that come across my desk, but I’ve only read Wikipedia articles on your predecessors.”

“Intimidating,” he repeated. “You stayed in the Glades during the Undertaking. You faced down the Dollmaker.”

“I wasn’t sleeping with the Dollmaker,” she said. “I only had to be young and female to lure him in.”

“And beautiful,” Oliver said. “And brave.” His smile kicked up. “It’s good to know that it never got serious between you.”

She elbowed him. “Stop it,” she said. “At some point tonight there’s going to be a flatware quiz, I know it.”

“Nope,” he said. “But if flatware etiquette is a turn on for you, I can arrange something. It’s usually worth the effort.”

“Worth the effort,” she repeated, smiling and shaking her head. Just then the door in the far corner opened, and a middle-aged woman entered carrying some take-out bags. She smiled at them.

“Mister Oliver,” she said and came over to kiss his cheek.

“Oliver,” he said. “My mom’s not here, remember?”

She put the bags on the counter behind them and then turned to Felicity. “And you must be Felicity,” she said. Her accent sounded Eastern European. “I am Raisa.”

“Yes,” Felicity said. “It’s very nice to meet you.” She shook Raisa’s hand.

“Raisa kept me alive during my teenage years,” Oliver said. “She was Mom and Dad’s housekeeper, but half her job then was making sure they didn’t kill me and I didn’t kill myself.”

“It was challenge,” Raisa said with a fond grin. “He and Tommy Merlyn were trouble. But who knows better that boys are trouble than a Russian woman?”

Felicity frowned trying to read the name on the bags. Cafe Munir. “Are we..?”

Raisa glanced at the bags. “Oliver told me you liked Lebanese? He did not want me to cook. ‘Too much work,’ he said.”

“I do like Lebanese,” Felicity said. “Did you have to drive all the way to Starling City to get it?”

Raisa shook her head. “They delivered to the front entrance,” Raisa said. “Only the regular delivery people know about the back door. And boys who sneak in the middle of night.” She grabbed the bags and took them over to a table surrounded by four chairs, and then she began unpacking them. Hummus, falafel, tabouli salad… There were a number of entrees as well. Raisa set one on a placemat. “Oliver said you liked grilled chicken.”

“I do,” Felicity said. “But if you’d prefer to have it…”

“I got myself the lamb,” Raisa said. She slid a sideways glance at Oliver. “He’s paying.”

Felicity laughed and pulled out her chair. “Good idea,” she said.

>>--->

Halfway through dinner, Felicity finally asked the burning question. “So how wild was Oliver, really?”

Raisa didn’t blink. “Depends,” she said. “Do you want to know about the girls or the problems?”

Felicity raised her eyebrows surprised at Raisa’s directness. She backtracked. “I don’t know,” she said. She wanted to hear that Oliver was going to be a good boyfriend. That’s what she wanted.

Raisa seemed to sense that. She put her fork down next to her plate. “When they kept Oliver on a schedule, he was fine most of the time. He went to school, he played soccer and basketball, baseball. He ran…” she stopped to think, “across the country? I can’t remember how you say it. There were many smelly socks.” She wrinkled up her nose.

Felicity laughed and looked at Oliver. “Cross country?” He shrugged.

“When he got older,” Raisa said, “he quit some of the sports and started with the girls. His mother thought if he was dating Laurel, he would be okay.” She looked dubious then took another small bite of her lamb kebab and swallowed. “The stuff with the cops was mostly just pranks or driving too fast. His parents should have made him get a job, buy his own car.” She wagged a finger at Oliver. “Boys that age need work. Tired people don’t get into so much trouble.”

She turned back to Felicity and put her hand over Felicity’s. “Always he was sweet. Maybe a little stubborn, but a good heart. When my Marina–” she stopped and looked away.

Felicity looked at Oliver and raised her eyebrows slightly.

“Marina was Raisa’s daughter,” Oliver said. “She died when she was sixteen. Of leukemia.”

Felicity put her other hand on top of Raisa’s. “I’m very sorry.”

Raisa shook her head. “I had her eight more years because of Mr. Queen.”

“Because of Oliver?” Felicity asked. How old had Oliver been when Marina died?

“No, his father, Robert Queen,” Raisa said. “He saved her. We were living in Moscow with my sister, Lara, when Marina got sick. It was after Soviet Union collapsed. Lara got a job as Mr. Queen’s translator. It was lucky break, but she is good with languages. When my Marina got sick, we couldn’t do... A lot of medicine wasn't available anymore. Mr. Queen told me that he would find a way to get my daughter treatment, and he did. He arranged for us to come here, he gave me a job, and he paid for her chemotherapy.”

“And she got better?” Felicity asked.

“She did, but it came back when she was in high school, and even with stem cell treatment, she was too sick.” She glanced at Oliver with a sad fondness. “This boy brought her to school every day.”

Felicity felt her mouth drop open. “Oliver did?”

“He did,” Raisa said. She patted her head. “Her hair was…”

“She lost her hair,” Oliver said, “and the other kids, some of them were being jerks. I drove her to school in my dad’s Jag.”

“You dad’s Jag?”

He shrugged again. “High school kids are easily impressed.”

“He took Marina to her junior dance too,” Raisa said. “I have pictures.”

Felicity frowned. “How much younger was she?”

Oliver looked embarrassed. “Five years. She was between Thea and me. Marina was family, okay? I grew up with her. It wasn’t weird. She needed a date. She spent most of her life at the doctor’s or in bed.”

“Mrs. Queen bought her a dress,” Raisa said.

Felicity felt her eyebrows rise. “Your mother bought her a dress?”

Oliver nodded. “My mom liked her. She was sweet and smart. Marina used to babysit Thea all the time, and Mom gave her the run of the house. She was great - you would have liked her.” Oliver looked wistful. “Everyone did.”

“Except for the kids at her school?”

“Marina didn’t go there that long. She went to the same school as Thea and me. Dad paid for it, but then when she got sick, it was too far to commute, so she transferred to the local school. They didn’t know her, and they didn’t give her much of a chance.” He looked angry.

“But then Oliver started taking her in the mornings, and they were better,” Raisa said.

“So you were like twenty-one?” Felicity asked. She’d barely started on her tabouli salad and had only picked at her chicken, but this was far more interesting than food.

“I had an unexpected break in my schedule,” Oliver said, his lips twitching. “And back then I was still something of a catch. I’d only been thrown out of two schools.”

Raisa smiled at Felicity. “Marina liked him, but he was always gentleman.”

Felicity grinned at her whatever-he-was. “That’s Oliver alright. Very proper and gentlemanly.”

“She was like my sister,” Oliver said. “And she was dying of leukemia. She needed someone to be nice to her.”

Raisa beamed at him. “And you were very nice. I will never forget.” She finished up her kebab and pulled out a small box. “Dessert. Do you like baklava?”

Felicity looked down at her full plate. “Maybe later,” she said. “I’ve got to catch up.”

Oliver stood up and started putting boxes back in the big take-out bag. He took it over to the counter and rummaged around under the sink.

Raisa touched Felicity’s shoulder and held her eyes. “One other thing: Laurel was not the perfect girl he lets everyone believe. Mrs. Queen always liked her, but she treated Mrs. Queen differently than others in this house. Even Oliver.”

Felicity felt her mouth drop open. Raisa gave her a meaningful look. “All is not gold that glitters,” she said. “He deserves better.” She stood and gathered her plate to take to the counter. “Don’t you do that, Oliver,” she said. “You leave that to me.”

>>--->

“I’m not sure she likes me,” Felicity said. They were making their way down the long hall of the east wing to Oliver’s suite.

“Raisa?” he said. “No, she does.”

“How do you know?”

Oliver shot her a quick look. “She told you the Marina story.”

“The Marina story? You mean it’s not true?” Felicity asked.

“It’s true,” he said. “She doesn’t tell it that often, though.”

Felicity found this explanation less than scientific. “That doesn’t mean she likes me.”

Oliver dimpled.

“What?” she asked.

“Raisa doesn’t mess around about women anymore,” Oliver said. “If she doesn’t like someone, she lets me know. She finds a hundred things she needs me to do right then or,” he laughed, “once, when I brought home Danielle Butterworth, she faked a stroke. She was very convincing. My mother called an ambulance.”

Felicity laughed out loud. “Really?”

“Really,” Oliver said. “Raisa’s great, but don’t underestimate her. She’s been the housekeeper here for over a decade. My mother always clashed with the housekeepers. We went through a number of them before Raisa. The two of them have an understanding now. Raisa even goes to see her every week in Iron Heights.”

“She does?”

“She does,” Oliver said. “It’s even more impressive when you know her sister was my dad’s mistress.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Lara wasn’t just my dad’s translator. I’m pretty sure I have a half-sister in Moscow.”

“You have a half-sister in Russia? And your mom knows that and still likes Raisa?”

“They should give her the Nobel Peace Prize. She’s that good,” Oliver said. “She didn’t like me seeing Laurel. She was right about Danielle Butterworth too.” He laughed and shook his head.

“Do I even want to know?” Felicity asked.

“No, but I’ll tell you,” he said. “She was eight weeks pregnant and looking for someone rich to pin it on.”

Felicity shuddered. “Is anyone in your social circle normal?”

“You are,” he said. “Sort of.”

Felicity whacked him in the chest. “Ow,” he said. He didn’t look like he was hurt.

“Oh, poor baby,” she said, but she slid her arm underneath his and kissed the spot where she’d hit him. “Here, I’ll kiss it better.”

He lowered his head and touched his mouth with his index finger.

“Oh, is that where it hurts?” she asked, smiling. “Okay.” She craned her neck up, but he leaned his shoulder against a closed doorway and pulled her against him. Their lips met, and he deepened the kiss, turning her body into the door. She felt its carved panels push into her back as he muscled his large body into hers. With one hand, he held her hip, stroking it with his thumb.

“I didn’t hit you that hard,” she said breathlessly after a minute.

“I have some older injuries,” he said, sucking her lower lip back into his mouth. His breath tasted like garlic from the hummus he’d eaten with dinner, but she still wanted to lick the entire cavity of his mouth, suck on his tongue. Bite him. Her nipples hardened against his chest.

“I’ve seen them,” she said after a full minute. “I think you need more than just kissing for those.”

“Better get to it, then,” he said. He reached with his other hand and turned the doorknob. The door fell open to reveal a dark chamber. The light from the hallway illuminated only the first few feet.

“This is your room?” she asked.

He grabbed her up in his arms, and she squawked in surprise. “This is where the bodies are buried. So to speak.”

>>--->

“Get back over here,” Oliver said. “I’m not done with you yet.” He was laying on his back with his arms folded behind his head trying to get his breath even again. Felicity could be surprisingly aerobic in bed for such a sedentary person.

She was sitting on the floor in front of his dresser, going through the drawers one by one. “Yeah? Well, I’m done with you,” she said, not looking up. “For now.” She lifted up some underwear and a couple of pressed handkerchiefs. “There’s nothing in here. Not a single body.” She sounded disgruntled, and he found it adorable.

There was nothing in this room he was afraid for her to see. There was nothing in this entire house, in fact. All of his worst secrets were in his head; they weren’t documented. He understood what she really wanted, though: a guarantee that he wasn’t going to run away with her nonexistent sister, break her heart, and leave her an object of public scorn. Since there was no way to prove he wouldn’t ever do that again, he’d have to give her something else.

“Cold,” he said.

She turned her head and looked at him. “Cold? I’m not cold. I know there aren’t any real bodies. It’s just an expression.” She put her weight on her hands, crawled a couple of feet, and gave a little smile.

He grinned at her. “Warmer.”

She got it then, in a second, his genius girl, and her awareness of the game changed her posture from languid to alert. She crawled closer to the bed.

“Cooler,” he said.

She stood up and came to him, sliding up onto the bed and between his legs. “If this is another sex game,” she said, “I’m not going to be amused.” But she kissed her way up his thigh anyway and pulled his cock into her mouth. She didn’t have to worry yet. He was still recovering from everything she’d done to him.

“Cool. Very cool,” he said, palming one of her breasts anyway because it was so pert and cute.

She got off the bed and walked in a slow circle around the room.

“Cool. Warmer,” he said as she moved closer to his desk. “Warm, very warm, hot.” She put a hand on it. “Scorching.”

Felicity looked intrigued. She reached for the first drawer and found it locked. Her lower lip shaped itself into a small pout - unconsciously, he thought.

“The key’s on the underside of the desk behind the front drawer.” He watched her feel for it, and then her face as she found it and pulled it out. “That will open all of them.”

She took the key and opened the upper right drawer where he’d placed the stack of photo albums earlier. “Ooh,” she said, her mouth forming a long oval. “Blackmail material.” She flipped open the first one, and her lips pressed together. “This is baby you,” she said.

He didn’t say anything, he just nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was tracing her finger down the page.

“I can tell because that’s obviously Moira,” she said. “Can I call her Moira? It feels weird saying ‘your mother’ or ‘your mom’ all the time.” She turned the page. “Oh, now this isn’t fair.” She held it up to show him. “These look like outtakes from a Gerber Baby photo session.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You left these here on purpose.”

He sat up, leaned back against the headboard, and put his hands up.

“There’s nothing in this desk that’s going to be even remotely shocking, is there?” she asked.

“Those photo albums go all the way through high school,” he said. “There are yearbooks too.”

“But no bodies.”

He shook his head slowly from side to side, and she sighed. She closed the photo album up and put it on the desk. “I’m going to examine this at length later, don’t worry.” Then she came and lay down beside him, putting her head on his chest.

“Tell me something - anything - about you that I can’t get online,” she said in a low, soft voice. “I know you. I know I know you, but sometimes you are so closed off and mysterious that it feels like there are big parts of you I don’t. Tell me something?”

He put his hand in her hair and stroked it all the way down, feeling the long strands catch in the tiny scratches in his hand. She was tugging on him; every part of her, inside and out, was. She didn’t understand her own pull, but he did, and it made him feel like bolting or at the very least, shutting down completely. He took a deep breath and counted back from five.

“I know why Raisa told you the story about Marina,” he said finally.

She looked intrigued. “Why?”

“Because she knows how much I like you,” he said.

“You like me,” she said, her voice flat. “That’s not exactly a state secret. I kind of guessed.”

“That’s not the secret,” he said. “The secret is how much. Raisa knows. She’s seen how much I haven’t been here lately, and she wants me to know she’s welcoming you.”

He felt her let out her breath. “You really like me,” she said.

“I really do,” he said. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I like you more than just about anything.”

She looked up at him, her eyes round and dark. Then she frowned at him. “Can’t she just say that? Does it have to be in code?”

He laughed. “No one just says anything in this house. You’ll see. Raisa keeps secrets, my mom keeps secrets, I keep them too. It’s the Queen way.”

She put a hand on his Bratva tattoo and fingered the design. He felt her breath whoosh as she blew it out. “You’re not going to break my heart, are you?” she asked. “Because I think you could. That’s my secret.”

He wrapped his arm around her and curled her against him. “I’ll do everything I can not to,” he said.

She smiled at him unsteadily. “Okay,” she said.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She pushed her lips out, and he leaned over to kiss them, knowing it was a promise, and hoping against everything that he could keep it.

>>--->

A heavy feeling woke Felicity up, and she blinked her eyes in the darkness trying to get her bearings. Oliver was laying half on top of her, and she wiggled out from under his weight. He reached out a hand in his sleep. She kissed it and eased away and off the bed. She had to pee. If she wasn’t careful she was going to get honeymoon cystitis from all this sex, and that would be a tragedy.

She could see the bathroom door now as her eyes adjusted, and she reached down and picked up the robe that had been laid out on a low table there for her. Raisa was putting out the welcome mat, she realized. Felicity wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Should you have sex in your boyfriend’s parents’ mansion when his mother was away in prison and his second mom was sleeping in another wing? Her Vegas girl’s social etiquette was inadequate for these moments.

After she finished in the bathroom, she realized she was hungry. With the revelations dropping fast and furiously at dinner, she’d barely eaten, but she knew there were leftovers in that enormous fridge in the kitchen. She carefully opened and closed the door so that Oliver wouldn’t be disturbed. He slept so poorly in general, she didn’t want him to lose any more sleep.

The house was enormous, but the layout wasn’t complicated, and she followed the same path they’d taken up here back to the kitchen. The hall lights were on, but dimmed now. She wondered if they were on a timer or if they were still on only because she was here.

At night and empty, the kitchen was spooky with its high, dark ceiling and its bank of dark glass overlooking the shadowed courtyard. Maybe she shouldn’t be nosing around here, even for leftovers. The fridge was large enough to hold several bodies in it after all. She shook her head and shored herself up. That chicken was calling her name, and they would be together soon. She opened the fridge door, blinking at the sudden high beam fluorescence, and scanned the shelves. There they were, the takeout bags. Pulling them out, she turned in the direction of the table they’d eaten at - only to find a woman staring at her. She gasped and dropped the bags.

The woman was thin, blond, and silent. She had the same stealthy energy and purpose Oliver possessed, and Felicity knew instantly who she was. “Sara?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

“Sara?” Felicity repeated. The kitchen was so dark and cavernous; it really did feel like an ancient castle in here, and the other woman looked like a specter in the glow from the refrigerator. Her face only, as the rest of her was clothed in black.

“Felicity,” Sara said, nodding. She knelt down to pick the takeout bags up and started to give them to Felicity, but then hesitated and took them over to the counter where she laid them down.

“Y-you know who I am?” Felicity asked. Her hand moved to her chest where she could feel her heart beating.

“Yes, I’ve been here a few weeks,” Sara said, as if that explained everything. She leaned a hip against the counter and then opened a cupboard and pulled out a plate. “Do you need utensils?”

Here? Did she mean in Starling or in this house? “Um,” Felicity said, “I think there are still some in the bag. I don’t want to mess up the kitchen.”

“Raisa won’t mind,” Sara said, “but we can clean up.”

We?

Sara peered into the bag and then pulled out the boxes. “Do you want these heated up?” She made a jabbing motion with her hand and the outline of the inside of a microwave was suddenly visible.

“I don’t know. Uh, maybe the wrap?” Felicity said.

“Okay,” Sara said. She put several sandwiches from the box on the plate and pushed a couple of buttons. The microwave came to life. “Get something to drink,” she said.

Felicity turned back to the fridge. There was a glass bottle of chocolate milk on the shelf in front of her, and she reached for it.

“Not the chocolate milk, though,” Sara said behind her. “Raisa buys that for Ollie.”

Ollie? “What if he’s not here?” He hadn’t been here for... a week. Was that right? She counted in her head. Yes, he’d spent every night at her apartment for at least a week.

“She tosses it,” Sara said. “The strawberry’s for Thea, but there should be bottled water and soda. Or I could make tea.” The microwave dinged, and Sara opened it, took out the plate, and brought it over to the table with the boxed salad. She flipped a light on, sat down, and gestured to the other chair.

Felicity grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, brought it to the table and took her first real look at the woman Oliver had run away with six years ago. She caught her breath. Felicity had seen pictures of Sara online, but she was unprepared for the woman up close. She was… Felicity supposed the word was ‘luminous.’ Sara’s blue eyes sparked, and her hair shone gold in the lamplight. Her cheeks were round and rosy, and there was a dimple in her chin.

After her senior year in college, Felicity had gone to Paris to congratulate herself for plowing through six years of college in three, and in the Louvre she’d seen a painting: The Loves of Paris and Helen by Jacques-Louis David. It had transfixed her. She’d adored Greek mythology since she was little. For a high school history class she’d once written a paper defending Helen of Troy, convinced there had to be more to her than “the face that launched a thousand ships.”

The Helen in the Louvre painting hadn’t been a war bringer, but soft and tender, leaning into her lover, Paris, the man who’d taken her away from everything she’d been forced to do or be. Helen, princess of Sparta, the product of Zeus’s rape of Leda. Helen the girl, kidnapped at age nine by Theseus and raped, then presented to Menelaus as wife. Helen the woman, taken by Paris and then hated by the Trojans who bled to keep her. This woman whom kings and warriors and rich men would destroy everything to possess: Helen.

The Sara sitting in front of Felicity was soft and lovely like the Helen in the painting, but her expression was sad and knowing, the queen after her lover was dead and the bodies at her feet had been counted. Felicity frowned. Oliver had said how heavily it weighed on her, what she and Oliver had done to Laurel.

“How did you know I was here?” Felicity asked.

Sara’s eyes flicked to the ceiling. “You and Ollie weren’t exactly silent.”

Felicity remembered the previous hour and felt her cheeks engulf with heat.

“And Raisa told me,” Sara finished. Her lips twitched in a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You know what I do?”

Sara nodded as she reached out for one of the sandwiches. “Ollie’s assistant - at Queen Consolidated…and his side gig. You’re the tech part of his team.” She peeled back the layer of paper and bit into the pita bread. “Mmm,” she said.

This was the most unexpected conversation Felicity had ever had. “His team?”

“His vigilante team,” Sara said. “He’s the Hood, the Vigilante. Whatever.”

“Oliver told you that?”

Sara tilted her head at Felicity. “No,” she said. “He didn’t have to. I met him while he was out on one of his nighttime excursions.” She put the wrap down. “Your secret’s safe with me. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I want to know how close you are to catching the Starling City Rapist.”

Felicity closed her mouth. How was this happening? Was Oliver okay with this? Would he even want her to talk to Sara? As she was thinking this, she heard a tread behind her, and there he was, big and solid, half-dressed, gliding in behind her and putting his hand on her shoulder. It was warm. He reached down and took a bite out of her wrap.

“Sara,” he said, after he’d swallowed. “What are you doing?”

“Talking to Felicity,” she said. “I want to be a part of your team for this. You’re taking too long to put this asshole down.”

>>--->

Felicity concentrated on her tabouli. She chewed slowly and let the tartness of the lemon juice and the sharp, bitter taste of the parsley explode in her mouth. It was good, this salad. She was going to focus on eating it and not get upset.

Beside her Oliver leaned back in his chair, one hand holding his bottle of chocolate milk. Sara was talking about how she had experience in a lab working with chemicals and experimental drugs, and part of Felicity’s mind was nodding along, appreciating that, but another part of her wanted to know just how long this other woman had been staying in Oliver’s house. He must be okay with it, right? If she was here late at night. Why hadn’t he told her Sara was living in his house?

“I need to know what you know about this guy and if you have any samples of the drug he’s using,” Sara finished. “You probably don’t have the right lab equipment, but I can figure something out, or Ollie can buy it.”

Felicity put her fork down and gave Oliver what she hoped was a meaningful look. He raised his eyebrows and held her gaze. His look was patient, understanding, and it gave her permission to decide whatever she wanted. That was when Felicity realized that she was in danger of prioritizing her position with Oliver and her place on the team over preventing more women from getting raped. She swallowed.

“We do have a sample of the chemical,” Felicity said. “Why did you decide to talk to me - to us - about it tonight?”

“There was a stampede at Uccello’s a few hours ago,” Sara said. “Some guy thought it would be a fun prank to spray a group of girls with water. In the resulting chaos one of them got crushed.” She looked angry. “Also, I can’t read anymore about what’s happening and not do anything.”

Felicity nodded. She understood that. She looked at Oliver again, and he nodded. “What do you know about him?”

“What’s online,” Sara said. “That he sprays women with a ‘weaponized aphrodisiac,’ rapes them, and posts their nude, marked up bodies online. The cops can’t trace him because he doesn’t leave digital fingerprints. Why can’t they trace his receipts from the motel rooms he uses?”

“He doesn’t pay for the rooms,” Felicity said. “He finds empty rooms and uses them. We’re not sure how. He must hack the individual databases of the hotels and motels in Starling.”

“And there isn’t any DNA evidence?” Sara asked.

“They have too much DNA evidence,” Felicity said. “He uses high traffic hotels. There’s so much hair and fiber that it’s meaningless. I don’t think his DNA is in a registry anyway.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not entirely true that he doesn’t leave a trail. He leaves them. They’re just fake. After the last rape, the FBI traced him to Jenna’s Valeri’s home.” Jenna was a vocal New York City feminist who had been discussing the implications of these rapes and the consent issues the use of an aphrodisiac raised online. Or at least she had been until the FBI brought her in for questioning.

Sara’s mouth nearly disappeared. “That’s sick.”

“There are several ways groups or movements get support,” Felicity said. “They can raise discourse about basic morals and rights, play up the good that their group does, or they can be attacked by another group. The last way is the quickest and most effective. But when Red Beard introduced the idea that these rapes might be a hoax, he undermined both the outrage and Valeri’s credibility. It was evil, but smart. Once you introduce doubt into the mind of the public, it’s hard to erase. That’s who we’re dealing with. We know the rapes have happened, though, and that at least one man is behind them. I’ve seen him.”

“Red Beard?” Sara asked.

“He doesn’t really have a beard,” Oliver said. “At the time he attacked Felicity, he had big, reddish sideburns. That’s what she’s been calling him.”

“He attacked you?” Sara looked angry.

“We tried to draw him out,” Felicity said, “but it went wrong, and we…” She looked at Oliver. “We got sprayed.”

Understanding dawned on Sara’s face. “Both of you, and you were together? That explains a lot.”

Felicity tried to keep her irritation off her face. That explained what? Why they were together?

Sara’s face became serious. “I’m sorry that happened. Was it awful? Do you remember anything? About the rapist, I mean.”

“It wasn’t awful,” Felicity said slowly. In her peripheral vision, she saw Oliver’s lips twitching, and she recalled a few memorable sensations of that first night together - the feel of cool leather smashed up against her thighs, the smell of the sweat that pooled in the middle of his chest when he was–

Felicity cleared her throat. “I remember a few details about what he looked like, but it was dark, and he was pretty average. Short. I was almost as tall as him in my heels. His hair was dark. I’m sure his sideburns are gone by now. Do you remember anything else, Oliver?”

The look he gave her made her cross her legs. “Not really,” he said. “I might recognize him in a line up, but he got me in the face with the spray as soon as I got close. He had kind of a high shriek.”

Sara looked thoughtful. “You said you thought it was at least one man?”

Oliver put the glass bottle on the table. “Felicity thinks one person couldn’t do both the chemistry and the hacking.”

“And you think she’s right?” Sara leaned her forearms on the table. The motion triggered a memory of movement in her head, and Felicity realized that Sara had the same lithe panther movements as Oliver and the same stillness. Her black clothes clashed with her baby doll looks in the same way Oliver’s did. The two of them belonged in a painting.

“She’s right,” Oliver said. “Always assume she’s right. She’s smarter than both of us combined.”

“Why hasn’t reddit been able to stop him?” Sara asked.

“They closed down his account, and the FBI examined it,” Felicity said, “but he’s still posting whenever he wants. Only for short periods of time, though. He puts up a post for five minutes and then takes it down.”

“How does anyone see it then?”

“Screen shots - the redditors take screen shots and they go viral on Twitter and elsewhere. Once they’ve gone viral, it’s impossible to tell who’s who - or who’s supporting his disgusting mission and who’s just outraged,” Felicity said. “I think he’s still selling the drug too. He has a presence on the dark web, but he’s careful there too.”

Sara nodded. “If he can synthesize the drug easily, there’s no limit to how much money he could make off of it.” She gave Oliver a long look. “Where do you operate?”

“In the basement of Verdant, my club,” he said. “Come tomorrow, and I’ll give you a sample of the drug to test.”

Sara pushed her chair back. “Why not now?”

Oliver looked at Felicity. “We have meetings in the morning and need more than four hours of sleep. I can’t get you access to any lab equipment until then anyway. It can wait that long. We’re going back to bed.” He stood up and put his hand on Felicity’s chair.

She felt simultaneously relieved and annoyed. Annoyed that he’d ended the conversation and then annoyed that she felt annoyed. “I should clean this up,” she said, picking up her plate and bringing it to the counter. She put the empty boxes back into the bag and then looked for the trash.

“Here,” Sara said. She opened a tall drawer that looked like a cupboard and threw it in the container inside, then she opened another cabinet that turned out to be the dishwasher and put the plate in there.

“Don’t run it with one plate,” Oliver said, smiling slightly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Sara said and laughed. “I learned that a long time ago.” Her wide smile showed bright white teeth, then she straightened. “See you in the morning,” she said and disappeared into the dark hallway.

Oliver walked over and put a hand on Felicity’s hip. “She can help,” he said.

Felicity stiffened. “I think we were doing fine on our own.”

“We haven’t gotten Red Beard yet,” he said.

“You don’t call him Red Beard,” Felicity said. “Don’t try to charm me. I didn’t sign on to expanding the team.”

“You didn’t?” He held her gaze, and she knew she was lying. She knew he knew as well.

“She heard us having sex,” she said and then clamped her mouth shut. Why had she said that?

Oliver nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“Is that all you’re going to say: ‘Mmhmm’?” She worked to keep her voice low and calm.

“It’s just sex. Sara’s had sex.”

Unspoken words tiptoed around in the space between them: Sara and Oliver had had sex.

“It’s just sex,” she repeated.

“Right.”

“That’s all it is, sex?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he tensed in recognition of the trap. She saw in his eyes when he realized the ground below him was no longer firm, but then the look sharpened.

“This is part of Sara’s crusade. It’s why she’s been taking down men in the Glades. Don’t take it personally. She’s not criticizing you. If you’d seen her on the Amazo…”

“The Amazo?” She straightened. Was he actually going to tell her something about his years away?

Oliver looked away and sighed. “The second year I was on the island, Slade and I encountered these people on a boat - the Amazo. Their leader was Professor Anthony Ivo. He was doing research on a bioweapon the Japanese had developed during World War II. He captured me, and that’s when I found out he had Sara.”

“I thought she died when the Gambit went down?”

Oliver nodded. “I did too. I was sure she was dead, but she told me that she crawled on a piece of the wreckage and floated until the crew of the Amazo found her.” He met Felicity’s eyes. “The crew of that ship were soldiers for hire. They tortured people, and I think they hurt her. She never told me, but she wasn’t the same as she’d been before.”

“You think they raped her.”

He gave a short nod. “I think so. Her relationship with Ivo wasn’t normal either.”

“Why didn’t you tell Laurel and her father that Sara was alive when you came back to Starling? They should have known she survived the shipwreck. They’ve blamed you for all these years for killing her, and she wasn’t even dead.” Sometimes it seemed like Oliver wanted people to hate him.

“I didn’t tell them because it was my fault that she went down on the Gambit and because she told me to tell them she died in the shipwreck. Then later I thought she had died again. I was positive that she couldn’t have survived the fight with Ivo, and I thought it was better that her family didn’t know about the other things she...went through.”

Felicity put a hand to her temple. “So this is the second time she came back from the dead?”

Oliver shrugged. “I should be dead too, but here I am. You and Diggle brought me back yourselves last year. Some of us are harder to kill, I guess.”

“How long are you going to wait until you tell them?”

“Tell them?”

“Laurel and Lance? That Sara’s alive?”

“I’m not,” Oliver said. “She can tell them when she’s ready.”

“And until then? You’re just going to let them think she’s still dead? You don’t think they deserve to know she’s alive? To see her again and talk to her?”

“It’s not my decision, Felicity,” Oliver said. “It’s Sara’s. I can’t make it for her. Lance and Laurel have already grieved for her. It doesn’t hurt them more to wait until she comes around.”

If she came around. “Why is she living here?” The question slipped out.

Oliver stepped back and dropped his hand. “She needed to be somewhere safe where no one would judge her. This seemed as good a place as any. I haven’t been here anyway, and Raisa doesn’t mind the company.”

“And you never thought about telling me?”

“It’s not permanent,” Oliver said, “and it doesn’t affect you.”

“It doesn’t affect me? Your former girlfriend is living in your house.”

Oliver rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Look, she has nightmares. She doesn’t sleep. She’s up and out at all hours. Raisa knows the drill on that, so this is a good place for her. Sara was never my girlfriend, and she isn’t now. She’s a friend who needs some help.”

And just like that, Felicity’s outrage dissipated. What was she doing? How could she think about making this thing with Sara about her? A rape survivor was trying to pull herself together, and she was jealous? Insecure? She wasn’t going to be that girl - the girl who fought another girl over a man, over Oliver Queen. Her life was not going to turn into this.

“The stampede at Uccello’s is a bad sign,” she said finally. “Things are only going to get worse until we catch this guy.”

“We’ll find him,” Oliver said. “Sara really can help us. Let’s go back to bed.” He gestured to the hall with his arm.

“I think I’ll go back to my apartment,” Felicity said. Despite her resolution, she didn’t want Sara hearing anything else she did, even if it were just snoring. She waited for Oliver to say he was coming with her, but he didn’t.

He gave her a long look and then finally nodded. “Do what you need to do,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

She pressed a hand against his face and his whiskers chafed both her palm and the skin near her mouth. She wanted to hold him there until he realized he was making the wrong call, but she let him go, and he straightened.

“I'll just grab my things,” she said and then headed for the door.

Chapter Text

It was still fully dark when her alarm went off the next morning. Felicity nudged Oliver to turn it off, and her elbow met nothing but air. She squinted in confusion, reached for her phone on the side table, slid the alarm off, and leaned back on her elbow. She was lying in the center of the bed with one leg flung over her big pillow.

Oliver wasn’t here. He wasn’t here. He’d been here every morning for the past two weeks, but today he wasn’t.

Oliver loved to have sex in the morning. It was kind of his thing. The alarm would go off, and he’d snake his arm around her waist, pulling her back against the firm muscles of his abdomen. Then he’d nuzzle her spine as he nestled himself against her backside and slid his cock inside. She didn’t have to move. She didn’t have to do anything except feel his warm breath and stubble in the hollow where her shoulder met her neck. He liked to cup her breasts as eased in. He’d bite her collarbone and pinch her nipples at the same time. It drove her crazy.

He wouldn’t be rushed. QC didn’t matter, and the city was still mostly asleep so he’d fuck her nice and slow, in and out, covering her body and pushing her firmly into the mattress as he got closer and closer to his release. “Felicity,” he’d whisper before that long groan. Then he’d kiss her shoulder, and run his fingernails up and down her spine gently.

She’d told him she wasn’t a morning person. The first couple of times she’d worried about her morning breath and her bed head. After the third or fourth morning, she’d realized it wasn’t the sex for him - it wasn’t just sex, at least. He was bringing himself - them - to life with touch and sensation. He wanted to feel good. He wanted her to feel good too. He was gathering his strength for the day. So she’d learned to set her alarm a half an hour earlier, but she couldn’t manage to get upset about the lost sleep.

She squeezed her thighs together and blew out a breath. There was no use torturing herself with this. She’d wanted to be alone last night. Or, rather, she’d wanted Oliver to beg her forgiveness for not telling her about Sara living with him and then try to make it up to her with chocolate, tech, and Farscape DVD sets.

He had not gotten that hint. The hint had flown way, way over his gorgeous head. He probably wasn’t the begging type, anyway. He was the obtuse type. What kind of guy set his ex-lover up in his own house when he was infamous for cheating on his girlfriend with said ex-lover?

She frowned. Turn that around: what kind of woman hooked up with a guy like that and expected him to change? An idiot. Not that she thought he was sleeping with Sara. She didn’t really think that. She didn’t.

She slid her legs over the side of the bed, unzipping Oliver’s gray hoodie with one hand. She did not think that. That did not mean she was going to give him a pass on this because it absolutely was not fine. She might be a modern, independent woman, but she was not sharing him with Sara. Or anyone else. Ever.

On the other hand, despite all of the great sex, did she really think she could really keep Oliver long term? He was a billionaire vigilante guy. She could hardly compete with supermodels. Underneath her new clothes and better makeup, she was a woman whose brain spun too fast if she didn’t keep it fully occupied all the time.

Maybe she should take this as a sign that it wasn’t meant to be. This was a man who had told her outright he only slept with her because he’d been drugged. How much of their feelings for each other were just experimental chemistry?

Oliver was so hot, though. Such a fantastic lover. And strong and brave and kind. He was also a man with dozens, probably hundreds, of secrets he was not interested in sharing.

Felicity stood up. She didn’t want to be late to work thinking about things she couldn’t hope to resolve right now. She showered quickly, blew out her hair and fastened it in a French twist, then found a long skirt and one of her old sweaters in the back of her closet. She zipped up her high leather boots, and grabbed her purse.

The knob on the front door was turning before her hand touched it, and, without thinking, she flipped the deadbolt to keep it closed.

“Felicity?” Oliver’s voice came through the door. “Can I come in? I brought you coffee.”

“Um, thanks,” Felicity said in an overly chirpy voice. “I’m just, uh… I’m still getting ready.”

“Uh...okay,” Oliver said, sounding confused. The doorknob stilled.

“Can you leave the drink there?” she asked. What was she doing? Why didn’t she just open the door? She could smell the coconut aroma of the coffee. Its strong scent invoked a memory of her hand sliding down Oliver’s six pack…

She wanted that coffee.

“Dig’s out in the car,” Oliver said. “We stopped to pick you up.”

Felicity glanced out the window and saw the black Mercedes parked at the curb. “I think–” she said, “I think I’m going to drive myself today. I have errands I need to do at lunch.”

“At lunch,” he repeated. Then, after a minute: “Is something wrong?”

Yes, something’s wrong, you sexy, coffee-delivering dolt, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She watched the doorknob instead and heard the slight rattle it made when his hand released it. Then she said, “I’ll talk to you about it later.”

“Felicity?” he asked after a long moment.

“Oh, there’s the microwave!” she said. “I gotta get that,” she said. “I’ll see you at QC. Don’t forget we have a meeting with the regulatory commission at 10.”

“A meeting at 10,” he repeated, “with the regulatory commission. Alright. I’ll see you there. You’re sure–”

“I’m sure,” she said. “I’ll be there soon.” And then she went to the kitchen and opened up the microwave, making a show of closing it loudly. Still he waited. A full minute passed before she saw the brushy tips of his expensive haircut make their way past her window and down her front sidewalk.

When he was gone, she walked to the door to get the coffee. She inhaled its smell deeply, put the cup to her lips, and took a long drink. Today was going to be a long day.

>>--->

In her office, Felicity went through her morning routine, brought up the minutes from the last meeting with the regulatory commission, and read a couple of articles about the stampede at Uccello’s. She printed all of it out for Oliver and put everything on his desk. Then she got herself more coffee and began a little light detective work into Sara Lance’s past.

Most of it was predictable. Sara had graduated in the middle of her class at St. Andrew’s Academy, the same school Oliver and Laurel had attended. She’d been on the cheerleading squad and had won some medals for gymnastics at the state level. She’d also run cross country. She’d had a scrape with the law in college and had gotten arrested for possession of a controlled substance at age 20. Before the Gambit, she’d done two years of general coursework at a state school, and had declared her major to be sports management. Her grades were again average. She’d been tagged in the spring break Facebook photos of a few friends years ago.

Felicity drew the line at snooping in Sara’s medical records, not that she expected much there. There was nothing in any of this information to indicate that, before her trip with Oliver, Sara had been anything other than a normal girl with a regular social life. She’d even done some volunteering at a women’s shelter in Starling City. She’d worked as a lifeguard during the summers.

Of course after the Gambit had gone down, there’d been an explosion of press interest in her life, but the worst the reporters could dig up was already in the headline: she’d died on a clandestine cruise with her sister’s boyfriend. After 2008, there was nothing more about Sara except the yearly In Memoriam her family had run in the Starling City Star. The same pretty young blonde looked out from all six photos.

None of that gave Felicity either peace of mind or leverage, and she tapped her pen on the desk in annoyance with herself. By now Oliver had arrived and was seated in his office, giving her surreptitious looks and, eventually, longer quizzical stares.

The 10 o’clock meeting with the official from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission dragged on until 1 PM, solving only half of QC’s current difficulties regarding the progress of their new gamma stereotactic device, an important development in the company’s embryonic medical device catalog.

While the head of R&D tried to play hardball on revisions to the prototype, Felicity made sure to keep her body language aloof. It was hard work. Oliver smelled of sandalwood, and he was wearing a navy wool pinstripe suit with that azure silk tie that made his eyes blaze a radioactive blue. He knew what the tie did to his eyes and to her too. He’d probably worn it on purpose. She crossed her legs under the table and cursed the drug they’d been sprayed with. You’d think it would have worn off by now.

After the meeting, while Oliver shook hands with the commissioner and his assistant, Felicity gathered up her files and ducked out. When she reached her office eight floors up, she saw Sara sitting in the chair opposite her desk. Sara stood and turned at the sound of Felicity’s footsteps. She was wearing a curly brown wig and an indigo pantsuit, but there was no disguising her intensity or focus. The light from the sconces in the vestibule created a reflection of Felicity superimposed over Sara’s silhouette in the glass door. As Felicity approached it, the image of herself in the glass got larger and larger, but before she could get to her full size, Sara pushed the door open. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

Felicity bypassed Sara and put her stuff down on her desk. She looked down and saw that her knit skirt had snagged, and there was a snarl of pulling thread above her knee now. She took a deep breath, and asked, “What can I do for you, Sara?”

“I have a list of the equipment I need to analyze the drug,” Sara said, handing Felicity a sheet of paper.

“Alright,” Felicity said, sliding into her office chair and pulling up a new window on her computer. “This is probably expensive.” She had a better idea of the costs they might be looking at, having just sat through that R&D meeting.

Sara didn’t blink. “Oliver can afford it.”

“Maybe,” Felicity said. “QC’s bottom line isn’t what it used to be.” She tapped some keys and then turned the monitor so that Sara could see. “See? They don’t even list prices for these on the manufacturer’s site. You have to request a quote, but it’s quite possible QC already has this equipment.” She closed that window and then opened up one for the QC server. It took her several minutes to find an up-to-date inventory, but eventually she did. “There are several GC-MS instruments in our laboratory. These others are there too.” She ran her finger down Sara’s list.

“I won’t be able to use them, though,” Sara said. “They don’t let people walk in and use a GC-MS instrument.”

Felicity checked the schedule. “I can get you clearance through the system. The lab closes at 9 PM. I’m sure there are people who stay late working on various projects, but I’ll send the department a memo about the entire floor being cleaned to make sure it’s cleared out.”

“No one will notice it wasn’t cleaned?” Sara asked.

“I can send a memo to housekeeping as well,” Felicity said. “It probably can’t be today, but I can schedule it this week, maybe even tomorrow. Is that soon enough?”

Sara shrugged. “It will have to be.” Then she smiled, and her face grew immediately softer. “I couldn’t have done it any sooner anyway. Thank you.”

The elevator in the lobby sounded again, and over Sara’s shoulder Felicity saw Oliver walk out into the open space. He opened the door of the outer office, gave them both a glance, and moved toward his office. “Sara,” he said.

Sara turned and raised an eyebrow. Oliver said nothing, but a brief flicker of communication passed over his face. Sara nodded and gave a tiny smile. Felicity worked to keep her stomach from turning all the way over.

Sara took a sticky note from Felicity’s desk and scribbled something on it. She passed it across the desk. “There’s my number. Please call me when you know anything else.” She turned on her heel and was gone.

Oliver gave Felicity a questioning look. “Anything else?”

“I told her I’d try to make the equipment she needs available to her tomorrow night. I have to send some memos. I’ll write them up and get your signature. I think I could figure out how to run the machine myself, but I don’t have the chemistry background to understand the results. You said Sara does?”

“Yes.” He put a hand through his beard. “At least I think so. Ivo had her working on stem-cell genetic research. They were trying to locate a chemical formulation the Japanese were working during World War II. It could transform people into superhuman fighters.”

Felicity gave an involuntary laugh. “Superhuman fighters?”

Oliver’s face was serious. “I wish I could say it was a joke, but the drug existed. It did what it was supposed to, but…”

“But…”

“It had a fatal flaw. Anyone injected with this drug - Mirakuru - died outright or became unstable and easily enraged. Basically an uncontrollable monster.”

An uncontrollable monster. She needed more information, but she knew the look on his face too well to think he’d tell her. “Sara analyzed the drug?”

“Probably not. Ivo didn’t have the formula until after she’d left him and joined us, but I think he trained her on how to use the equipment so she could help him analyze and recreate it. I saw part of the set up he had, and the soldiers he had working for him weren’t chemists.”

“You never talk about the island,” she said.

He straightened. “There’s not much to say except what I’ve told you. I thought Sara was dead, but a year after the Gambit sank I saw her again, and eventually I got her away from Ivo.”

“Who did they inject with the Mi-miraku…” she tried to pronounce the name.

“Mirakuru,” Oliver said. “It’s Japanese for ‘miracle.’ They didn’t inject anyone,” he said. “I did. I gave it to Slade Wilson to save his life, and that...ended badly.” He turned back to his office. “I’ve got some work to get through. Give Sara whatever she needs. She’ll crack it.”

“Oliver,” Felicity said and waited for him to turn around, “if she does crack it, then what? Does it matter if we know the exact chemical formulation? It’s not going to stop the rapist.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. We can send the formula to SCPD anonymously.”

“What are they going to do with it? They don’t have a chemist on staff who could work up an antidote. I suppose they might have other sources they can contact.”

“I’ll call them,” Oliver said. “I’ll tell them QC is very invested in keeping this community and its women safe and tell them to notify us if there’s anything we can assist them with.”

Felicity thought that over. “Or you could feed the idea to Isabel. She’d probably love getting the credit for that. Take her to lunch and talk it over with her. If QC’s research division gets involved, we’d know more about the drug and its side effects. As it is, we have no idea how long the drug even remains active.”

Oliver gave her an inscrutable look. “That’s a good idea,” he said finally. “I’ll see what she thinks of it.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone then walked back into his office.

>>--->

When Oliver returned from his lengthy lunch with Isabel, Felicity was sitting at her desk, looking composed. Her fingers, however, were tapping a pen against her keyboard in a rhythm that sounded like bullets firing. He smiled to himself. Felicity had a weakness, and she had to be feeling it just about now.

Felicity was a night person through and through. She didn’t fully come alive until afternoon. She was up and working much earlier, but creatively - and sexually - the middle of the afternoon was when she really warmed up. In the past weeks since the two of them had been sprayed, his corporate bathroom had gotten so much use in the pre-dinner hours that he now got a reflexive boner at around 3 o’clock every day. He slid one hand down the front of his pants. And there it was, right on schedule.

He slid his jacket off and leaned on his elbow, flexing his bicep through the thin fabric of his dress shirt. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. After a minute he saw her lick her lips, rub her calves together, and then force her attention back to her work.

Her long skirt and carefully constructed hairdo were obviously “Hands off” signs, meant to keep him at bay, but neither of them would hold up for a minute if he were really focused on breaching her defenses. Touch her in one or two vulnerable spots, and she would fold like a jackknife. Over the desk, over the couch in the bathroom… They both knew that. She was just mad at him for no real reason.

Sara had never been his girlfriend. She’d been both more and less than that. What they’d been to each other was still complicated. She’d been his weapon, his friend, his comrade, a fellow survivor, and source of guilt. Now she was a mystery. Oliver didn’t understand why Sara wasn’t telling her family she was alive. He didn’t know what she was running from, but he sensed that it was bad. If she needed his help, he’d give it to her. He owed her much more than that.

Felicity had to understand. He wasn’t going to force the issue, but he wasn’t going to ignore what Sara was going through for some kind of...dating etiquette? He glanced at Felicity out of his peripheral vision, but her back was to him now. His wristwatch read 3:15.

He pushed the intercom button on his phone. “Could you come in here?” He watched her narrow her eyes at him, swallow, and then stand up. She grabbed her tablet and made her way to him.

“Please have a seat,” he said. “I’d like you to take notes.”

She pulled up a program on her tablet and looked up suspiciously. This was the beginning of one of the games they’d play - one of her favorites. This time, though, he wasn’t playing. Exactly.

“Isabel will contact the SCPD and offer Queen Consolidated’s help. She agreed that it would be an excellent opportunity for the company. We’ll be making any resources we have available, including our lab personnel in R&D. Once the chemical has been analyzed, QC will offer a reward to any chemist who can produce an antidote to the spray and demonstrate its effectiveness. Any candidates will have to use our facilities and allow QC to claim and patent the antidote.”

Felicity finished typing and frowned. “That means we won’t need Sara for this.”

“I know, but Isabel didn’t know about her.”

“What’s to stop other chemists from coming up with an antidote independently?” Felicity asked.

“Besides the SCPD and the FBI, the QC lab will be the only outside entity with access to the drug.”

“Won’t anyone object to that?”

“Isabel doesn’t think so. The lab equipment, expertise, and time necessary will be expensive. Besides, the antidote won’t really solve the problem anyway.” He shrugged.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, the drug is a weapon. As with any new weapon technology, once it’s been invented, other people can replicate it.”

Felicity nodded slowly as she thought it through. “They’ll come up with better ways to control people for sex - cheaper, more efficient, faster acting, more targeted. There will have to be antidotes to any new formula, and women aren’t going to carry around 10 different ones in their purses. It’s like Rohypnol in that way - it’s much better if you can avoid contact with it, although once we know the chemistry, maybe some kind of generalized antidote could be created.”

“Exactly,” Oliver said.

Felicity’s face fell. “Then what’s the point?”

Oliver leaned against his desk. “It will lessen the public’s fear if women think there are actions that they can take to keep themselves safe.”

Felicity nodded. “And it’ll make this guy angry that he’s being thwarted. Lessen his sense of omnipotence. An antidote will help in the short run too - at least until we can catch this guy and educate the public on the threat.”

“Isabel thinks that the reward for the antidote might lure the Starling City Rapist out of hiding.”

“Isabel thinks that?” Felicity looked surprised.

“She’s a woman too,” Oliver said. “I don’t think she’s a fan of this guy. She’s discouraged most of my philanthropic ideas, but she agreed to the funding for this with no argument.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Felicity said. She tapped a few more times on her tablet and waited. “I’ll work this up for the PR department, and you can proof it.”

Oliver walked to the front of his desk so he was standing facing her. He saw the heat in her eyes flare before she forcefully tamped it down and crossed her legs at the ankles. “You’re mad at me,” he said.

She stared at him coolly. “You know why,” she said.

“Because of Sara.”

She touched the tip of her index finger to her nose twice. “Good guess.”

That annoyed him. “I’m not sleeping with her. The house is enormous. I don’t see what the problem is. She needs a place to stay where no one will ask questions.”

“And I understand that, Oliver,” Felicity said. “But this is Sara.”

“I know. She’s my friend.” He perched on the top of his desk and raised an eyebrow at her.

“So? Do I have to spell it out? Sara broke you and Laurel up.” Felicity stood up and smacked him in the knee. “Stop trying to manipulate me. I know what time it is. I’m not an animal, and you’re not irresistible.”

He almost went with something flip, but then he realized how mad she was. She stalked back toward her office. “Sara didn’t break us up,” he said instead.

She stopped.

“Sara was how I broke it off, but not why. She knew that. It was never serious.”

“Even if that’s true,” Felicity said, “it doesn’t make it better. They’re sisters, Oliver. Sisters.”

“I’m not talking about that,” he said, “and I don’t want to talk about Laurel either. But if you’re jealous of Sara, you have no reason to be. I’ve spent every night at your house since before she moved in. Every night but last night, and I wanted you to stay with me.”

“Jealous–” Felicity said. “If I’m…” She turned, crossed the distance between them, and poked that same index finger into his sternum with so much force her glasses danced on her nose. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Oliver felt the situation slipping entirely from his control. He put a hand on her arm. “Don’t be mad,” he said. “We don’t have to fight. I don’t want to fight. Look, I’ll make you feel really good, okay, and then we can forget about this. I’ll stay at your place until Sara leaves. Would that make it better?”

Felicity’s mouth dropped open. “No,” she said, “sex is not going to make this better.” She removed his hand from her body, then opened the glass door and walked back to her desk. Oliver frowned and then spent the rest of the afternoon working his way through the pile of QC business Felicity had laid out for him. He wished he could sort through his personal life as easily.

>>--->

Oliver met up with Dig at the lair around 6 o’clock to train, and the two of them did pull ups while listening to a recording of today’s news conference. Alderman Sebastian Blood was describing the city’s reaction: “We’ve been inundated with responses on our social media to Seth Bomer’s arrest, and the people of Starling City are relieved that he is in custody. In addition, Queen Consolidated announced today that it was working with the SCPD to analyze the chemical that was found in Bomer’s possession and determine how it works and if an antidote can be made. We’re very grateful for the assistance and pleased with the progress that has been made in this case.”

Dig turned to Oliver. “Too bad they don’t have the real rapist.”

“He is a real rapist,” Felicity said as she entered and walked to her workstation. “He’s just not the Starling City Rapist. It’s still a good thing they arrested him. Other men will think twice before buying that drug online.”

“True,” Diggle said. “But it might not be only men who want to buy it.”

Felicity scoffed. “You think women are going to pay $10,000 to have sex? No.”

“Not to have sex, necessarily, but men aren’t the only ones who would be interested in getting or keeping someone’s attention, right? It could be used as insurance. Or to hook someone out of your league.”

Oliver met Felicity’s gaze and saw a flush of color rise from her chest and spread up her neck. She turned back to her monitors quickly.

Oliver’s cell phone rang. “Yeah?” he answered.

It was Sara. “There’s something crazy going down on campus at the Gamma Delta sorority house. People are fighting each other on the lawn.”

“Are they frat guys?” Oliver asked.

“They’re younger. They look like high school guys,” Sara said. “And they’re fighting like they’re in battle. It’s almost like the Mirakuru.”

Something clicked in his brain, and he turned to Felicity. “Check if there’s a camera outside the Gamma Delta house at Starling University,” he said.

Felicity quickly tapped some keys. “It’s on the main drag, so probably,” she said. She pulled up a window, and it showed six or seven guys fighting, and a group of young women looking on. They looked scared. One of the guys was slamming another guy into the ground relentlessly. Out of the corner of the frame, another woman appeared, dressed in black. She kicked the assailant in the back of his knee, and he went down. The man on the ground jumped on him and started choking him.

“Get down there,” Felicity said. “But take your gas masks. That’s not a normal fight.” She pointed to the porch of the house. In the window they could see one of the sorority girls stripping the pants off a tall athlete. Thirty seconds later she had her legs around his waist.

“You think it’s the drug,” Oliver said, grabbing his suit.

“It has to be. These parties get wild, but it’s not even 7 o’clock. It’s too early in the evening for this, and anyway, that’s what people who’ve been sprayed look like.” She grimaced. “We should know.”

“And the fighting?” Diggle asked.

“Who knows?” Felicity said. “Whatever it is, use a gas mask, and try to stop them from killing each other. Make Sara wear one too. If she gets sprayed, it will be a complete disaster. I’ll be on the comms. Keep me updated.”

Chapter Text

It took Oliver and Diggle fifteen minutes to get to Starling U’s campus, and the fight on the front lawn was nearly under control by then. Sara had incapacitated two other brawlers, and the pair who had been fighting so fiercely were both lying in the grass, one of them unconscious. The other was being tended to by a couple of girls who were trying to staunch the bleeding coming from his broken arm. In the light from the street lamp, Oliver could see one of the girls trying not to hyperventilate about the bone poking through the guy’s wrist.

He tossed Sara a gas mask. “Felicity said to wear this,” he said, and then he and Dig headed for the back of the house. Police sirens were wailing in the distance as a fire truck pulled up to the curb.

The SU Gamma Delta house was a three-story Victorian that took up most of a deep lot enclosed by a tall, wooden privacy fence. The gravel driveway along the side of the house led to a two-story carriage house. It was pitted with half frozen puddles and lit by flood lights attached to the side of the house. They trotted back there, hugging the fence.

The back porch was a gingerbread lattice monstrosity. There was a snarl of bikes in a rack to one side, as well as an old-fashioned metal swing chair, a couple of recycling bins, and three kegs sitting by the back door. Before entering, Oliver slid his gas mask over his face, and checked to see that the military-grade air sampling monitor Felicity had given him was on and reading. Then he jostled open the back door. Dig followed.

This was an entrance to the kitchen. An overhead light was on, and the room was surprisingly tidy. On a long counter were a couple of trays filled with pigs in a blanket and other snacks next to two-liter bottles of punch and Sprite. Oliver checked his monitor. The air in here registered clear of contaminants. He heard a commotion behind a door he assumed to be the pantry, but when he stepped nearer, he realized exactly what was happening in there.

In his gas mask, Dig gave him an exaggerated head nod. “Should we try to break them up?”

Oliver thought about it and shook his head. “You can recover from sex. We’ve got to find out if anyone is in danger in the house.”

“What if whoever he’s got in there doesn’t want this?” Dig asked.

“He? The drug doesn’t discriminate, and, believe me, if they were sprayed, they do. This thing makes your brain hum and your skin itch if you’re not…” he heard Felicity clear her throat on the comms. “Unless we physically separate and handcuff them, we can’t stop this, and they’ll rip their cuffs off if we do.”

“It’s that powerful?”

“Yeah,” Oliver said, conscious of his audience. Inside the pantry a female voice laughed and then moaned, and Dig’s shoulders relaxed. “Come on. We don’t have much time before the cops get here.”

The kitchen led to a long dining room that was separated from the living room by a wide wooden door frame with open pocket doors. They entered the living room carefully, Dig with his gun drawn. Most of the furniture had been pushed against the walls, and the light came from the chandelier hanging in the center. The window nearest the front entryway was shattered. It was much colder here, despite the fire burning in the fireplace. A keg was wedged between a table and the wall. Broken glass and Solo cups were everywhere, and spilled beer was all over the wood floor.

“Ground zero. The worst damage is here,” Dig said, sniffing. “That’s not the cheap stuff, it’s some kind of craft beer.”

In the far corner, a couple of collapsible tables were on their sides, shielding another couple who had clearly been sprayed, a thin redhead and a beefy looking kid. Diggle went over and kicked the guy in his foot. “Dude, get out of here,” he said, his voice low and muffled through the mask. “The police are coming. Find a room at least.”

The pair of them looked up, confused, and the girl laughed and twisted her legs around the kid’s thigh. Her eyes were glassy, but, after another kick and a hand gesture from Diggle, the kid finally nodded and stood. He lifted the girl and pulled her up the flight of stairs.

On the comms Felicity said, “What’s the monitor reading?”

Oliver walked over to the chandelier and examined the small screen. “It’s picking up something, but not identifying it. It’s probably the spray, although doesn’t the rapist spray his victims outside? This is a lot riskier. Maybe people were smoking?”

“In the house? No. The device recognizes marijuana and nicotine anyway,” Felicity said.

Dig was staring at the keg. “I’m taking a sample of this beer,” he said, picking up a Solo cup. “I’ll see if I can find a container in the kitchen so it won’t spill.”

The sirens grew louder, and red and blue lights flashed on the edges of the broken window glass. “The cops are here,” Oliver said. “I’ll check upstairs to make sure no one’s hurt. It looks like the fight went outside, and everyone else followed. When you’ve got your beer sample, Dig, head out. I’ll meet you at the van.”

Dig nodded and moved away from the lights and back towards the kitchen.

Oliver took the steep stairway two steps at a time. Like most of the house, the upstairs seemed largely unaffected. This floor was a row of bedrooms off a long hall that paralleled the stair railing. He heard sounds coming from the first door on the right, and saw the couple from downstairs back at it. He closed the door quickly. Is that what he and Felicity had been like? If they hadn’t made it back to her apartment, would they have just...started on the sidewalk?

“Felicity, how long do you think it’s been since this broke out?” he asked into the comms, walking back towards the front of the house and searching the rooms one by one.

“Sara called 25 minutes ago,” Felicity said, “And it was already in progress then. Maybe 35 minutes?”

Most of the doors were at least cracked open, but the last one was closed. He turned the handle and found it locked, so he knocked on the door. “Is anyone in there?” he asked. “I’m just checking to make sure everyone in the house is alright.”

A whisper came through the heavy, wooden door. “Are you the police?”

“They’re still outside, but I’m sure they’ll be in the house in a minute.” Oliver said. He had to enunciate carefully to be heard through the mask and the heavy wooden door.

The door opened slowly, and a tall, dark-haired girl peeked out. Her eyes widened as she took in Oliver’s suit and mask. “You're the Hood Guy?” she asked.

Oliver nodded. He held a hand up and spoke slowly. “Yes, but you’re safe. We’re trying to figure out what happened. Are you okay?”

Behind her a blond girl began to cry. “It was horrible! One minute we were talking and laughing, and the next minute Sasha was tearing into this football player and the swimmers were trying to kill each other!”

“Did you see anyone spray those people?” Oliver asked. He gently pushed the door open further. There was another girl lying in bed. She looked like she’d been throwing up.

The tall girl stared at him. “You mean like the Starling City Rapist? Oh my God, was it him who did this to us?”

“I don’t know,” Oliver said. “But whatever happened wasn’t normal. Did you see anyone with an aerosol can?

“With a can? No,” the blonde said. “I was by the punch table. It was just the Gamma Delta sisters, a few SU guys, and the athletic scholarship kids we were asked to host. No one sprayed anyone. All of us were talking about Starling’s football lineup, and Alyssa and me, we were wondering how much longer before these kids would leave. Then the swimmers decided to open the keg.”

“The keg?” Oliver asked.

“There was a smaller keg just sitting there by the front door,” the blonde said. “The swimmers said they couldn’t go home without at least having a couple of drinks for ‘the authentic college experience.’”

“We didn’t want to open it. I’m not even sure why it was in there,” Alyssa said. “Our party’s not until tomorrow, and the beer Gamma Delta ordered is chilling on the porch. But the boys kept demanding to drink something, so we told them they could tap that mini one.”

“There was something wrong with it, though,” the other girl said. “It had a weird seal. The swimmers spent like ten minutes figuring it out. We hoped they’d give up because we didn’t really want them drinking in the house.”

“They were cute and all, but they’re not even freshmen,” Alyssa said. “Finally they got it open, and then it was complete chaos.”

“Chaos?”

“We hardly got any beer poured,” Alyssa said, “when the swimmers went nuts. They tipped over the tables. One of them picked up a bread knife from the table and stabbed another with it. Then someone else threw another swimmer through the front window. Everyone followed them outside to see what was happening. Only a few people even drank anything. It was so weird.”

“No one tried to stop the fight?” Oliver asked.

“Some of the guys who’d been in the kitchen came and pushed the other pair outside. I didn’t see what happened after that. I just heard the screams,” the blonde said. “I know a couple of girls called 911. They were yelling for the cops to come. We all thought those guys might start beating us up once they finished with each other!”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“There was a stampede for the door,” Alyssa said, “and we didn’t want to get crushed. Also, we thought we should stay to help. Megan was already up here sick. We didn’t feel good about leaving her, and by then Sasha and that football player were going at it.”

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” the blonde asked. “She didn’t even like him, and all of a sudden she’s stripping his clothes off? In the living room? That’s messed up.”

“Did you see Sasha?” Alyssa asked. “Is she okay?”

“Is she the redhead?” Oliver asked. Alyssa nodded. “She’s still…with the football player. You’re sure you didn’t see anyone sprayed?”

“I’m positive,” Alyssa said.

“What happened to her?” He inclined his head toward the girl in the bed.

“Megan got sick before the party even started,” Alyssa said. “We think she’s got food poisoning. Either that or some awful stomach flu.”

“So you both were downstairs the whole time, but nothing happened to you? You didn’t have any urge to fight or…”

“Fuck a high school student?” the blonde asked. “No, we were both completely freaked out. This,” she waved a hand at the window, “isn’t exactly my fetish.”

“And neither of you drank the beer?”

“No. None of the girls did, I don’t think. It’s hard to remember exactly. Everything happened so fast.”

Oliver heard the front door open and heavy footfalls downstairs. “Sasha’s in the bedroom at the top of the stairs,” he said. “If this is the same drug as the Starling City Rapist uses, you won’t be able to break that up. The drug has to run its course. Tell the police what you told me. Now that they’re here, you should be fine, but be careful where you party. Watch out for a short, dark haired guy with reddish facial hair.”

“A short, dark haired guy,” Alyssa said. “With reddish facial hair? That’s the rapist? How do you know?”

“Don’t worry about that. Focus on protecting yourselves and your friend.”

Footfalls sounded at the bottom of the stairs. “Starling City Police Department,” a familiar voice shouted above the din, “Check if anyone is upstairs.”

“I’ve got to go,” Oliver said.

The girls looked at each other. “What are you going to do? You have to come with us. That’s the only way out from here,” the blonde said.

Oliver crossed the bedroom and pried open the window. “Not the only way,” he said. He ducked his head under the lower sash, stepped out onto the narrow ledge and jumped.

>>--->

Oliver’s feet landed on the roof of the back porch. He peered over the edge to see if anyone was in the backyard, but it was deserted. “Did you get all of that, Felicity?”

“I think so,” Felicity said over the comms. “The sirens probably masked some of the finer details. The mini keg seems to be the source of the violence. Do you think it’s the same chemical as the spray?”

“I don’t know,” Oliver said.

“The cops are mopping up the front lawn, and at least one is headed your way,” Dig interrupted. “Was that Lance in the house?”

“Yeah,” Oliver said. “Where’s Sara?”

“I passed her in the hall,” Dig said.

“She’s in there now?” Felicity asked. “With Lance?”

Oliver slid down one of the pillars that held the porch up until his feet hit the railing and then jumped. He ran up the back steps and ducked into the kitchen again. He saw Sara making her way from the hall into the kitchen, and he gave an impatient wave at her. The two of them hustled out the back door together a few moments later.

As he hurried past the junk on the porch, Oliver noted that the kegs there were unopened.

It was hard to breathe in the mask and he was overheating, so Oliver pulled it off once his feet hit the grass. He was careful to not let his hood fall. The flood lights here were bright, and he was unsure if there were cameras monitoring the driveway. He headed toward the old carriage house at the back of the property, figuring it would be easier to hop the fence behind it than make their way through the mass of police and spectators at the front of the sorority house.

Sara slid the mask over her head, and her blond wig came off with it. The yellow hair sparkled in the light. Oliver saw her laugh in surprise and grab for it before it hit the ground. The back door slammed behind them, and they both turned at the same time to see Lance come stomping down the stairs.

“Stop!” he yelled. “You can’t leave! We need to talk to everyone!”

Sara froze, and Oliver saw the exact moment when Lance recognized her. His eyes widened, and he stopped abruptly. He grabbed the stair railing for support. A long moment passed.

“It can’t be. It can’t be,” he said at last in a broken voice, and then, “Sara, is that you?” His breath came out in puffs in the cold night air, and Oliver could see he was shaking.

Sara took an involuntary step towards her father, and Oliver heard her whisper, “Daddy?”

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a man wearing a Dark Archer costume grabbed her, and pulled her back against the boards of the fence.

“Merlyn?” Oliver breathed in confusion. Could Malcolm Merlyn still be…alive somehow?

“Ta-er al-Sahfer,” the man in the mask said, “the child of Ra’s al Ghul awaits your return.” His low voice was heavily accented, and he held one arm around her neck and the other around her stomach.

Not Merlyn, then. If he fought anything like Merlyn, they were in trouble, though.

Lance moved to help Sara, and Oliver ran back to him. Whoever this man was, he could see Sara was afraid of him. She would not want Lance to get hurt.

Sara struggled ineffectively against the warrior’s hold. “I’m not going back,” she said. “I won’t.”

“Back?” Lance said.

“That’s not your choice,” the man said. “I have orders to return you, alive or dead. Do not make this difficult.”

Sara jerked her head back, smacking his jaw with her skull, and instinctively he let go of her. She whirled to fight him, and Oliver joined her. He kicked the warrior in the chest while Sara looked around for a weapon and found one in a broken piece of porch railing. In response the warrior pulled out a curved sword.

Oliver ducked when the man swung at him, and pulled off his arrow quiver to use as a shield. Sara ran at the warrior with her makeshift bow staff, swinging up and hitting him in the abdomen. The man barely flinched. He brought the sword down towards her head.

A shot rang out, and the warrior stumbled back, hitting the fence. Oliver turned to see Lance holding his SIG-Sauer in both hands, the muscles of his face clenched in concentration. Oliver leaned over and ripped the mask off of the warrior’s face. Beneath the fabric, blood flowed out from a bullet wound in his forehead.

“Who are you?” he asked. Over the comms Felicity asked, “Oliver, are you okay? Is Sara okay?”

Lance ran forward and pulled Sara into his arms. He grasped her tightly and kissed her hair. “Sara,” he said. “Are you alright? How is this possible? Oh God.” Tears streamed from the corners of his closed eyes.

Sara hugged him back. “Daddy,” she whispered, but there was despair in her voice.

Oliver had no idea how to react to any of the unexpected events in this strange and violent chain, but he knew they had to leave.

“Get out of there,” Dig said in over the comms. “I’m in the back alley on the other side of the fence.”

“We need to go, Sara,” Oliver said.

She shook her head, and hugged her father again harder.

“Now, Sara!” he said. “We can’t stay here.”

Sara looked up at Lance. “I’ve got to go, Daddy,” she said. “But I will see you again. Soon. I promise. I love you!”

Oliver turned and headed in the direction of the carriage house again. It was still the best way out of this mess. He did not see the man standing there in the shadows wearing an antiquated gas mask until he was upon him.

The man stepped directly into his path. “This is for Seth Bomer,” he said. “You’ll regret your interference.” Then he raised a can up and sprayed Oliver directly in his face.

Chapter Text

The familiar acrid smell of the aphrodisiac filled Oliver’s nostrils before he realized what he was breathing in. A muffled cry of victory came from the gas mask, as the man fist pumped the hand not holding the aerosol can. Oliver grabbed the can from him and then punched him in the mask with the heel of his hand. He went down like a bowling pin, with absolutely no resistance. Pivoting on his heel, Oliver quickly skirted the edges of the carriage house until he was able to turn its corner and duck into the space there between the carriage house and the back fence.

“Oliver!” Felicity yelled in his ear. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I just got sprayed,” he said and yanked the comms out of his ear. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and brought up his photos, then he touched one he’d taken of Felicity last week to enlarge it. Her digital face stared up at him from the screen, smiling; her soft skin flushed and rosy, and her hair curling wildly around her naked shoulders. His eyes were sore and watery from exposure to the spray, but he returned that smile with a goofy one of his own. She was so pretty.

He’d jump the fence and find Dig in just a minute, but until then, he wasn’t taking any chances by looking at anything but her picture. They had a good thing going. He was not going to fuck this up.

>>--->

Diggle heard the commotion and Oliver’s voice on the comms and groaned. He closed his eyes and blew out his breath. They could not catch a break this month. Not a single goddamned break. And, if Red Beard was here and Oliver had truly been sprayed, it meant he was watching them as much as they’d been monitoring him. That was not a good sign for their future success. He was much smarter than he looked.

He ducked into the back of the van and rifled around for something to put over Oliver’s head. The hood wasn’t low enough, and he’d seen up close how well a sprayed Oliver could keep his eyes closed. If he imprinted on Sara, it would be a complete clusterfuck. Already the Lances took up too much of Oliver’s headspace. Dig was fed up with Oliver dropping everything for Laurel whenever she needed anything. The woman was trouble for them, and Sara could be more of the same.

He did not know much about Sara except that she’d gone off with Oliver six years ago behind her sister’s back. Clearly she’d been through some stuff in the intervening years. He wasn’t judging. None of it was his business, and he would very much like it to stay that way.

The only suitable item in the van turned out to be a cloth Target grocery bag. They’d had a gray blanket in here, but apparently it had been used and not returned. The bag was it then. He wondered if Oliver would vault the fence or if he should go and help him. The last time, Oliver had had no problem getting on his motorcycle and driving it away with Felicity riding behind him.

The drug didn’t seem to impair physical function. It just made you loopy and horny as hell. Ready to go for weeks. At least weeks. The pair of them were still sending off sparks every minute they were together.

He shook his head. Oliver was still pretty fragile and prone to mess making in his relationships. Had he learned anything from the Laurel debacle last spring? Dig prayed, for all of their sakes, he had.

On paper Oliver with Felicity was a complete non-starter. The playboy son of one of the richest men in the world with a Vegas girl? A QC employee from the IT department? In any universe Moira would pay her off if Oliver developed any feelings for her except for lust. But the reality was, Felicity was more, probably far more than any of them knew yet. She was smart, and she had a truckload of grit.

On the night of the Undertaking, he’d watched both women throw back their heads and ask Fate, “Is that all you’ve got?”

And Moira, Moira had stood there in front of the cameras, with the same poised resolve as if she were announcing QC layoffs, and told the entire world she’d conspired with Malcolm Merlyn to kill everyone in the Glades. Brass ones, that woman had. She was scary as hell, but she was tough. He wasn’t surprised she’d had the Queen’s Gambit retrieved from the bottom of the sea, just that she hadn’t also been able to track down Robert and reassemble him too. If only to murder him herself for leaving her and taking her son with him.

Felicity had the same tenacity. She was green and her nerves were a bit raw still, sure, but he recognized that strength in her. Oliver, for all of his personal power, charm, and resilience, needed someone as strong as him to stay on track, and she was that. “If you’re not leaving,” she’d said, staring him down. “I’m not leaving.” It took a lot of guts to say no to Oliver in Hood mode.

The two of them also shared a profound connection. They were bad at communicating their romantic feelings, but everything else they had down. They understood each other at a very basic level, and they were willing to sacrifice a lot for each other.

He wanted them to succeed, and not just for the sake of Team Arrow. Dig was a realist; he gave them a 60/40 chance. They were both stubborn, and Oliver could be clueless, but if they wanted it…if they really wanted it, they’d be unstoppable. The universe could shatter into a million pieces, and they’d still be standing side by side. They’d find a way.

>>--->

Oliver came bounding over the back fence a few minutes later, hood pulled low, and Diggle threw the Target bag at him. “Here, put this over your head.” Oliver did as he was told, and Dig shoved him in the back seat of the van. By then Sara had vaulted the fence too. She got into the passenger seat, and Dig started the engine up and peeled away from the curb. The entire neighborhood was lit up with siren lights, but this back alley in the older part of town was still quiet and empty.

Oliver was in good spirits, despite his bad luck. Dig had forgotten the drug had a temporary euphoric effect.

“The roads are pretty clear,” Dig said, to reassure him, “We’ll be at Felicity’s in 15 minutes.”

“She’s going to be so mad,” Oliver said. His laugh was muffled by the bag. “She told me to make sure my gas mask was on. And because of Sara.”

Sara’s head swiveled toward his voice. “Because of me?”

“He didn’t tell her you were staying at the house,” Dig said. He glanced back at Old Bag Head in the back seat. “I kept my peace about it, Oliver, but that was a dumb move.”

“There’s nothing going on with Sara and me,” Oliver said. “She knows that. I mean, she has to know that. I’ve spent practically every minute with her since we were sprayed. We’ve been attached at the hip.” He snickered.

Dig rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you gotta tell your girlfriend something like that. Women do not like those kinds of surprises.”

Sara nodded. “That’s Relationships 101.” Her mouth pulled into a grimace. “Plus, there’s the fact that you took me on the Gambit with you. We are never going to live that down, Ollie. Not really.” She looked out her window and went silent.

Dig drove the van through the side streets, avoiding the emergency vehicles clogging up South Boulevard. It was cold, and the drops on the windshield looked more like snow than water. He hoped there would not be any more attacks tonight because they were down two team members, and Sara was going to be busy explaining her return from the dead to her family.

“Your dad knows you’re alive now,” Dig said. “That must have been a shock.”

“It’s going to be a real bombshell when Laurel finds out,” Sara said. She picked at her black leather gloves. “I don’t think I’ll be able to persuade Dad to keep that a secret.”

“Don’t know why you’d want to,” Dig said, and he truly did not. Lance may have been a thorn in the side of Team Arrow, but the man loved his daughters.

“Thank you,” Oliver said. “I’ve tried to tell her that.”

“She’s gonna hate me,” Sara said.

“I think she saved most of her anger for me,” Oliver said, leaning forward into the space between the front seats, “but we’ve kind of worked it out in the past year. We’re good.”

Dig gave a sharp laugh.

“What?” The bag swiveled. “We’re okay now. Laurel understands.”

“Just because she doesn’t want you dead anymore, doesn’t mean things are okay.”

“We both agreed it was better if we stayed friends,” Oliver said. “After what happened with Tommy, it was just too much.”

That got Sara’s attention. “Tommy? Tommy Merlyn? What happened with him?”

Oh, here we go, Dig thought.

“She and Tommy were together after the Gambit,” Oliver said in a much more guarded tone. “He was killed during the Undertaking last spring when his dad tried to level the Glades with an earthquake machine.”

Sara’s eyebrows raised. “I heard about the earthquake machine, but I didn't know Laurel and Tommy were together. Who'd have guessed about Mr. Merlyn?”

“Yeah,” Oliver said. “He turned into some kind of supervillain. Like Lex Luthor but with good hair.” He snorted. “I guess you never know.”

“That’s the Reader’s Digest abridged version,” Dig said. “You left out all of the salacious details.”

“Dig,” There was a warning in Oliver’s voice.

Dig plowed ahead with an explanation. “Tommy broke it off with Laurel because he thought she was in love with Oliver. Laurel hooked up with Oliver, and Tommy found out, and right after that, he was killed trying to save her in the collapse. Then they hooked up again after Tommy’s funeral, and Oliver bailed and ran back to the island.” Dig cleared his throat. “Did I miss anything, boss?”

Oliver was silent for a bit and then fell back, with an audible exhale, against the back seat. Then, “No, that’s about it.”

“You went back to Lian Yu?” Sara said? “On purpose? Why?”

Good question, Dig thought. Forget Paris or even Miami. Who didn’t want to take a breather in a location where every square inch could be mined?

An uncomfortable silence spread from the back of the van to the front. Dig drove on. Sprayed or not, he didn’t particularly feel like making things easier for Oliver. It had been a real pain in the ass tracking him down and retrieving him from Lian Yu.

“So that’s another tragedy for Laurel,” Sara said finally, her head resting against the window, her eyes closed. “Love and guilt can make you do stupid things.”

Dig rolled his eyes. “Sleeping with Laurel when she was with Tommy…” He shook his head. “There’s stupid, and then there’s brain dead.”

“He broke up with her,” Oliver said. “Not that…any of that should have happened. You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Diggle didn’t think Oliver had been thinking, but that was enough rehashing of old failures for tonight. They were only a couple of blocks away from Felicity’s apartment now anyway. “We’re almost there.”

In the rearview mirror he saw the Target bag straighten. “She’s not going to be happy to see me,” Oliver said again.

“Well,” Dig said, as he parked parallel to the apartment building, “try not to screw this up any more.”

He got out of the van and went around to pull open the door for Oliver. “Felicity will sort you out,” he said, with a hearty dose of optimism he didn’t exactly feel. Then he walked him up the stairs to her door.

>>--->

“You’re here. Thanks, John.” Felicity’s voice was a welcome relief to Oliver. Her hand pulled him inside the apartment and the door closed behind him. Inside it was warm. He inhaled deeply, smelling the strong scent of cinnamon coming from somewhere. Erotic. He hoped she wasn’t baking.

He pulled the Target bag from his head. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, blinking. “Get it, sore eyes?” He grinned. “Because I was gassed?”

She didn’t laugh.

“Both Sara and Diggle were gloomy as hell in the van too.” He leaned down to kiss her and saw she had on her purple onesie again. She looked like a sexy Tinky Winky, and the thought made him giggle.

“Do we really need this?” he asked, sliding his hand up the length of her side, feeling the fuzzy material under his fingertips. “You look better without it.” This was objectively true, maybe even for the real Tinky.

Felicity dodged him and folded her arms protectively over her chest, giving him a clue to how this was going to go - which was unfortunate, considering how turned on he was even after all of Dig’s lecturing.

Her face was stern. “I told you to wear the gas mask,” she said.

“And I did,” he said. “Until I got out of the sorority house. How could I know he would be waiting for me? Or that Merlyn lookalike, for that matter.” He frowned. “I thought for a moment it really was him, but how could he have survived getting stabbed in the heart?” His hand rose to his shoulder, feeling for his own barely healed scar under the leather.

“We’ll talk about that later,” she said pointedly. “Right now–”

“Right now we should have sex,” he said.

“I don’t know,” she frowned.

“Felicity,” his voice sounded embarrassingly close to a low-pitched whine.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “We are the only case studies we have about how this drug immediately affects people, and we weren’t exactly objective or impartial in our observations last time. Maybe we can rectify that now. I’m not drugged, so I can study you.”

He stared at her, willing her to be fucking serious. There was an immediate crisis going on in his pants. She knew exactly what this was like.

“Fine,” he said, “you can study me. I’ll tell you everything I’m feeling, in detail, as long as…”

Her expression brightened. “As long as?”

“As long as we get to the sex. Like, now. I’ll give you the rundown on how itchy my skin is and how fast my heart is racing. You can take my temperature every 15 minutes, make notes of how much I sweat, all of it.”

She frowned. “That’s not very scientific. Having sex raises your core temperature and increases your heartbeat. Significantly.”

“I’ll be very restful,” Oliver said. “You can do all the work, if you’re worried about the data.”

“Oliver.” Her eyes narrowed. She was going to be stubborn, he could see.

“I mean, this shouldn’t be a problem for you,” she said pointedly. “It’s just sex, right? Not very important.” She crossed her arms again, and the purple fleece bunched up around her elbows.

And he got it. He should have seen that coming, and maybe he would have if he hadn’t just been gassed by a sex predator.

“Oh, not this,” Oliver said.

“Yes, this. We’ve barely talked about it.”

They’d talked entirely too much about it. What else was there to say? It was absurd that they were arguing about his throwaway comment from days ago now. Of all times. He would find her schoolmarmish expression cute in a way - if he didn’t want to fuck her so much his skin twitched.

Fine. He’d jump through this hoop. “Felicity, when I said that, I never meant that what we have is just sex. I just meant that there's nothing to be embarrassed about for having sex in your own home.”

“In the home you’re sharing with your ex-girlfriend.”

“Sara was never my girlfriend.”

“Fine,” she said. “Ex-lover. The home you’re sharing with your ex-lover.” She lifted up her hand. “And it’s not that I’m against you helping Sara out. I’m not. I just want you to let me know what’s happening when it’s something like this.”

“Sara didn’t want anyone to know she was there.”

“Oliver, you know I’m not going to tell anyone. I can keep a secret.”

He huffed out his breath. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I should have let you know. If any of my other ex-lovers come back from the dead and want to stay temporarily in my house, I will let you know. Ahead of time.” He knew he was being petulant, but these were not ideal conditions.

She pursed her mouth - her lush lips pushed out temptingly at him - and sighed. Her shoulders relaxed. “I guess that’s as good as I’m going to get from you.”

“I guess so.” Oliver decided to take a different tack. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t really mad anymore, so he was winning there. Except for the fact that his entire body was humming with need, and he was nowhere near close to being inside her. Time to turn the tables.

The thing about Felicity was, she had that nice little kink he could exploit here. She was an extremely capable woman, and she worked insanely hard. Between their two jobs, she was on 18 hours a day, with hardly any downtime at all. Oliver didn’t kid himself that he was running QC. She had access to all of his accounts. Every file that hit his desk, she perused first. They talked through everything and strategized constantly. Even Dig weighed in. None of them had a business background, but Felicity had a MENSA+ brain, he had a good understanding of human nature and incentives, and Dig heard all the QC scuttlebutt.

Isabel had thought Oliver was dumb and that Felicity was his bimbo. She had planned to steamroll over him and take the reins at Queen Consolidated. That might have worked - except she’d never planned on Felicity Smoak being his EA. Isabel was smart. Felicity was smarter. Felicity could guess Isabel’s plans and counter them ahead of time, moving Oliver as her chess piece across the QC board. Not every plan, but many. Yet Isabel still grossly underestimated her because, for the good of the company, Felicity let him take the credit. And she wore short skirts.

So Felicity subtly directed Oliver all day and not-so-subtly directed Oliver and Dig all night, and then very late at night - and sometimes in the mid-afternoon - Oliver directed Felicity in order to let off enough steam to keep that precisely calibrated engine she called a brain running trouble free.

Way in the back of her brain, behind the pattern recognition and the clever inventiveness, past her emotional intelligence, chugged her hindbrain, and it liked to be dominated. Sometimes.

He had to be bold about it because she really did not like being told what to do. Except under certain circumstances. He couldn’t waver because then the rational part of her mind would kick in again and start trying to outmaneuver him. Which she could - without much effort.

He straightened and moved into her personal space. Her eyes widened, and she backed up, so he kept pushing forward until her spine was against the wall, the same living room wall they’d fucked a hole into weeks ago. “You have five minutes to get all the data you need.” He raked his eyes dispassionately down her purple onesie. “And take that off. Get the heels.”

Her eyes sparked, and she swallowed. “The heels?”

“The red ones,” he said. “You know I like them. Now do it.” He set his watch. “Four minutes and forty seconds.”

She stared at him, and he could almost see the gears of her front brain and hindbrain turning - she was still dissatisfied about Sara, but that was really their only conflict right now. The hindbrain won out. “Okay.”

She hurried to the bedroom, and he heard the closet open and shoes get tossed about. He moved quickly to close any open blinds in the living room and the kitchen, and he stripped off his Arrow jacket and loosened the button of his pants.

When she ran back, she was in her black lace underwear and four-inch, scarlet fuck-me pumps, thin little stilettos that could probably kill a man. He half hoped she’d try. That’d be fun. She also had a notebook. And a stethoscope. Of course she did.

She was out of breath. “We have to get your heart rate and your pulse,” she said, “and your temperature. I’ve got a thermometer in the bathroom.” She ducked in and got it, then she teetered over to him as he stripped off his shirt. Her eyes sparked again. “Let me just,” she pointed to her ears and put the earpieces of the stethoscope in them.

“Two minutes,” he said. He pulled the chest piece of the stethoscope to his Bratva tattoo. She moved to hold it, and he put his hand over hers.

“Your heart is beating very fast,” she said.

“Write it down,” Oliver said.

She licked her lips and made a note of some kind in the notebook. This was very sloppy science, but she was going to carry it out.

Then she held up the thermometer. He opened his mouth, and she inserted it carefully. Up close he could see through her glasses that her pupils were completely blown. After a few seconds the thermometer beeped, and she pulled it out.

He saw the numbers on the tiny screen flash: 99.9.

“Feverish,” she said.

That was nothing. The alarm on his watch sounded, and her eyes widened.

“Okay, enough data logging,” he said. “Anything else you’ll have to earn.”

“Earn?” her voice squeaked.

“If you please me, I’ll answer your questions.”

Her blue eyes burned looking up at him. She was lucky he was committed to the bit. It was hard to stay focused enough for this game; the drug was still playing with his mind. He couldn’t laugh or relax in this role.

“Get the coconut oil,” he said.

She turned and opened a drawer in the side table. After the past few weeks, they had it stored all around her apartment. The smell of it was a raw turn-on for him; Pavlovian, like Dig had said, but right now he didn’t need to be harder.

“Now,” he said, “Slip those panties off, and apply the oil.”

“I don’t really need i–” she said, tugging at her underwear. Her long ponytail slid over her shoulder.

“I didn’t ask you,” Oliver said. “I like to smell it on you when I fuck you.” Her eyes widened, and he watched her dip her fingers in the oil and slowly slather it in between her legs. He swallowed and lowered his weight on the coffee table. “Come here.”

She came to stand in between his thighs. He nestled his face in her soft brown pubic hair and inhaled sharply. “Nice,” he said. “Now, on your knees.”

Felicity kneeled on the floor before him and undid the zipper on his fly. She reached for his cock, and he wavered for just a second between the rules of this game and getting what he needed. Then he slapped her hand lightly. “Don’t be greedy,” he said. “Touch yourself first.”

Her full lips pouted briefly, and she leaned her weight back on her legs and pressed her fingers against her clit. Her nipples hardened noticeably behind their lace cups. She groaned.

“Put two fingers inside,” he said. “That’s good.” He was hard as an iron rod watching her slide her fingers in and out of the space between her legs and begin to pant. Usually he would let this continue until she was nearly there, but this had already gone on days too long. Months. Years.

“That’s very good, Felicity,” he said again. “Do you want to ask me anything?” She opened her eyes and looked at him in confusion.

“About being sprayed?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Add a finger.”

Felicity complied. She arched her head back, closing her eyes again and resting on her ass and one hand. Her hair trailed on the floor. He could see her dark pink opening, wet for him. She wobbled a little as her fingers pistoned in and out of her opening, and she blew her breath out in short bursts. “Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think…”

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly.

She moaned and her eyes opened wide. She knew what was next, except, given the drug’s timetable, they were going to skip the oral. Most of it anyway. He laid back on the coffee table. “Remove my pants,” he said. She did so efficiently, pulling them down his legs and then taking off his boots and socks too.

“Can I?” she asked.

“Just for a minute,” he said, and his hips arched against her as she took his cock fully in her mouth.

Finally. Fucking finally. Oliver focused all of his attention on remaining as still as possible, but it was hard. It was so hard. He was so hard. He pulled his breath in through his teeth as quietly as he could as her tongue moved up his shaft, swirling under the head, and her full, pink lips pulled him back in and sucked on him hungrily like a lollipop.

She was incendiary when she was this turned on; it was a miracle he could still touch her. He could come right now. He thought about it. Then he could fuck her with his fingers or get the vibrator out of the table and pulse her g-spot until she came apart in a puddle of spent arousal. His refractory period on the drug was minutes. If she were patient, he could come again in ten. But this game required that he be patient, not her. And he wanted to be inside her.

“Mount me,” he said. She scrambled up on those heels as he slid his body further down the table with his feet on either side. She lifted one leg over him and then waited for permission.

He looked at her. “How much do you want this?”

“Oliver,” she said.

“How much?” he asked sharply.

“I want it,” she said. “I wish I didn’t want it so much. But I do.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “now.”

She slid down on him, taking him all the way in, and gave an animal grunt. He put his hands on either side of the curve of her waist and pulled her up and down on him once, twice. Then she began her own rhythm.

“Talk,” he said. “What does it feel like?” There was no real reason for all of this direction, but she liked it. It kept her focus on his penetration. He thumbed her breasts through the lace as his hips moved in sync with hers. She was very, very wet now.

“Good,” she said. “So good. God, you’re so thick. It feels…feels so…ah…ungh…oh God, oh God...” She blew her breath out in harsh pants and pressed his hands harder against her breasts, so hard it had to hurt. Up and down she moved, pushing her weight up on those heels a little awkwardly, but that didn’t affect her pleasure - or his. She closed her eyes and started to hum, and the coffee table wobbled a little underneath them.

He almost messed up and asked how close she was, but that was an Oliver thing to do. “Lean forward,” he said. “Take your bra off, and pinch your nipples. I want to see them pucker.”

She ground down on him instead, pressing her pelvis tightly against him and pushing him into the table and then lifting and grinding into him again. There was a sheen of sweat over her chest and face now, and the skin of her breasts and neck was flushed and rosy. Holy hell, she was something to see.

“Willful,” he said. He rose up and put an arm behind her back and flipped open her bra. He pressed her spine until he could pull a nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, and then he bit down on it until she cried out and bucked on him. “Just for that, I’m only going to do one.” Then he let her go. “Turn around.”

“What?” she said. “No. I’m almost there.” She rocked harder on him and her breathing grew more ragged. Inside he felt her flutter once, twice.

“Felicity, I said turn around,” he said and stilled. Her eyes grew huge. She shook her head. “Get off,” he said. Her head dropped petulantly, and she pulled off of him. His cock protested the loss of her warm, wet pressure. But the bit. The BIT. It demanded certain concessions, and they both understood there were rewards.

He sat up and ignored his ramrod cock. “Bend over,” he said. She obeyed and draped herself over his knees. Her slippery blond hair spilled over his left foot.

She had such an amazing ass. It was art made flesh, perfectly round and full, so full, and right now it was wet, soft, and reddened for him. By him. He reached down and slid two fingers in between her legs and into her tight opening, turning them to hit her g-spot. After all of the sex they’d had over the last month, he didn’t exactly need a roadmap. He felt the spongy flesh gently, and he began to stroke it like the little pussy it was, pushing his fingers around and around, up and down, past it, in and out.

He pulled his fingers out, reversed them and pushed his thumb in, pressing on her clit and her g-spot firmly at the same time, giving that hard little nub some attention. Felicity writhed on him and began to keen, “Oh, God, please, please,” repetitively. “Don’t stop. I’m there…I’m almost…” She covered his hand with one of hers and clutched for his cock with the other, wrapping her fingers around it and beginning to pull on the shaft.

He jerked in reaction, pulled his fingers away, and smacked her ass. “No touching unless I say you can touch. Turn around.” Then he lay back again on his elbows so she could do her thing. She pivoted her body and then eased herself down on him again, facing the other way, legs next to his on the floor. He held her hands behind her back. This position created a bit more tension, and she had to be a little more careful with him, but it let her be an absolute wild child. She controlled the speed, the force, everything. Because the angle was reversed, she could fuck herself into oblivion feeling the head of his cock drag up her g-spot with every single stroke.

For him, just for getting off, this view was better than any other position, bar none. The smooth, sexy curve of her back and hips, her ass undulating up and down right in front of him, the sight of her reddened flesh gripping his cock tightly as she lifted herself up…and grasping him again as she came down - it was beyond erotic. It blew his mind. Sight, sound, feel, smell…He closed his eyes, and counted to 10, breathing slowly and carefully in an attempt to get himself under control. It was too much.

By now Felicity was fully embracing the advantages of this position. He was meeting her stroke for stroke, but he wasn’t going to last long hearing her groans and pants. He pulled the drawer in the coffee table open with one hand, and grabbed the little vibrator and flicked it on. “Put this on yourself.” He pressed it into her hand.

She paused in mid lift, and then she came down again slowly. She put the vibrator on her clit, and threw back her head until the ends of her long hair teased his navel. He felt the buzzing go through her and all the way down his shaft into his balls. He arched his back on the table and pulled his breath in harshly through his teeth.

It was during this part of the game that things usually started to go a little sideways. Whatever they were doing, however he was improvising, after a few minutes of her sliding and moaning and clenching, he lost track, and he forgot to be Mr. Dominant Asshole or whoever this guy who turned her on so much was. But by then she wasn’t in the frame of mind to critique.

The buzzing…She was undulating again, gasping his name, his name, “Oh God, Oliver. Fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuucccckkkkkk, just like that, it’s so good it’s so good,” lifting and falling and grinding on him harder and harder. Her legs began to shake, and the stilettos rat-a-tat-tatted on the floor, sounding like gunfire. She grabbed his thigh and squeezed hard. The coffee table skidded around with their movements, scraping on the wood floor. He imagined it sounded like nails on a chalkboard, but he couldn’t really hear it over the noise she was making and the wet slap of their bodies.

Feeling swelled up from his scrotum, and into his cock, and he didn’t think he could wait any more, so he lifted his abdomen up, reached around her, and pressed that vibrator nice and hard against her clit.

Her back arched taut as a bowstring, and her inner muscles clenched him tightly then, tighter than she was grinding, and she sobbed, “Oliver, God, I’m coming! Don’t st– Never stop. Never stop fucking me, yes, there, therrrrrrrrrre.” He thrust his entire length up into her and felt the pressure in his cock release. He fell back on the table, and it crashed underneath them as he came violently and his vision receded.

>>--->

Felicity heard the crack as the table collapsed under them, and she fell forward on her hands and knees. Her orgasm continued to rip through her, clenching, clenching hard, as she struggled to slow her breath and balance herself. He was so good at this. How was Oliver so good at fucking?

He was good at many things. His body did everything he demanded of it without question. Jump off a building? Sure! Whip a knife across a room and slice through a thread? Okay! But this…this! He was like a sex wizard or a sex maestro or some other embarrassing, ridiculous sex title.

He paid so much attention to her body when they were having sex. She was still coming. She wanted to come again. She wanted to never stop coming. He was right, she was greedy.

Felicity wiped the stray hair from her ponytail that was caught in her eyebrows and looked back at him over her shoulder. He was grinning as he laid there, naked on the floor and his cock still standing at nearly full mast.

“That was something,” he said, dimpling at her. “I blacked out for a half second. You’re so gorgeous. Felicity, oh my God. Your ass!” He reached down and touched himself in memory, and closed his eyes. Then they opened again and he sat up and grabbed her around the waist. “C’mere,” he said laughing. “Come here, and tell me what a sex god I am. You squeezed me like a vice.”

His cockiness was endearing under the circumstances, so she let him spoon her.

“How’d you like that thing I did with my hands? Remember last time you said–?”

“It was fantastic.” She had no idea what thing he was talking about, but it had all been absolutely fucking fantastic. Every second. She rolled over to look at him, and found his eyes on the coffee table.

“I’ll replace that,” he said. “Order anything you like. Chippendale, Eames, gold plated, your choice. Don’t be mad. It was worth it.”

Her coffee table had been a very dated, 70s-style table that she’d gotten at a thrift shop during college. She’d painted it lilac to hide all of the cigarette burns it had suffered. “I’m not mad,” she said. She wove her hands up behind his neck, pulled his face down to hers, and gave him a full kiss. A gentle one, soft. “You don’t have to buy me a new coffee table.”

His eyes widened and he kissed her back gratefully. “I want to,” he said. “You never ask for anything.” He looked around and frowned. “Most of this stuff doesn’t look very sturdy. Maybe I should furnish the apartment next door with much tougher furniture, and we can just use that.”

She laughed. “You want to put together a sex cave so we don’t wreck my stuff? Okay.”

He beamed at her and kissed the top of her head. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be able to go again. You can put on some Coltrane or whatever you like, and we can do it nice and slow, romantic. You know what this drug does to me. I can go for hours.”

She knew. Oh yes, she knew. It wasn’t even bragging; the aphrodisiac was no joke. Then she remembered the notes she was taking. “My data! I should be taking your vitals.”

He groaned and laid back on the floor.

“It’s for science, Oliver,” she said, and then she scrambled up and got her things and brought them over. She took his temperature - 100.9 - and wrote that down in her notebook. Then she put the stethoscope on and held the piece up to his heart. It was beating double time and deep like a drum. The sound was so erotic that she had to take a deep breath. So much for restful sex.

She leaned over and kissed his mouth, sliding her tongue inside. “Thank you,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “For what?”

“That was honest-to-God amazing. I know it was probably a challenge for you…under the circumstances. So thank you. I was not in a good mood before you got here, and now…” She stretched out her body, feeling a glorious tug in all of the places that he’d touched and pulled and fucked, and kissed him again.

He slid his hand to the back of her neck and brought her face down to his and sucked her lower lip into his mouth, kissing her back ardently. She dropped the notebook and pen and straddled him with her thighs.

Sometimes it felt like she just never stopped wanting him.

He pressed his arms around her as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. Heat came off him, his mouth, his arms, his body beneath her, and she squirmed on top of him. She broke the kiss and began tracing his Bratva tattoo, the pinpointed location of his strong heartbeat, with her fingertip. Then she kissed her way down his abs, trailing her tongue down the line that bisected his chest. Already his cock was showing signs of recovery, and she caressed him with her fingers, bent over and kissed the tip. “I love this,” she said. “I love y–”

She stopped herself just in time before she made an oxytocin-inspired confession she might not be ready for. She glanced up at him. His eyes were on her face, sharp and transfixed. He cocked his head at her in a silent question.

Her non-drugged heart began to beat faster. Much faster. Was she ready for that confession? Was he? Did he want to hear it? Would he even remember this conversation? And what about Sara?

“I mean,” she said, “That was really great sex. It wasn’t just sex, of course. We’ve established that. But, for us, it was easily Top 3, I think. If you were ranking them. Which I am not. I mean, not with actual scores. Olympic scores, anyway.”

“Felicity,” Oliver said.

She closed her eyes, counted backwards from three, and then opened them again. “You didn’t tell me what happened tonight,” she said. “When you were sprayed.”

His gaze bore into her, dark and searing. He’d heard what she hadn’t said, alright. For a short eternity, it looked like he might force the question, but then he dropped his eyes and sighed.

“I’m here,” he said. “With you.”

She swallowed. He was. A large part of her had feared he would be spending tonight with Sara.

“How did you, uh, not imprint on Sara since she was right there?” There it was, the million-dollar question. Or maybe billion-dollar, in his case.

“I closed my eyes until I could run somewhere where there wasn’t anyone to look at. The guy who sprayed me, he was wearing a gas mask, so there was nothing to imprint on with him.”

“So you just stared at the ground and hoped for the best?”

Now he looked hesitant. Finally he said, “Your voice was the first one I heard. On the comms. I looked up imprinting online after the last attack, and it said that it can happen from either sound or sight. So that was one thing. I took my earpiece out after I heard your voice.” He swallowed. “And I pulled out my phone and looked at a picture of you.”

She opened his mouth and then closed it. She felt a rush of heat come up from her neck, and her heartbeat took off again. The back of her throat was suddenly full. She’d spent the past several days upset about him and Sara and her staying at the Queen mansion, accusing him and being - she winced - kind of a bitch about it. Not a total bitch. He should have told her about Sara. She was sticking to that. Yes. Line in the sand.

Still, somewhere on the spectrum of bitchy, she had to admit, at the far, barely-bitchy end. Certainly judgmental and, okay, jealous. And then he goes and does this. In an emergency, in the battlefield, he’d found a picture of her and looked at it to center himself.

It was such a small thing. Such an earnest gesture from this former playboy. He wanted to be with her, Felicity Smoak. He truly did. There was the proof she’d been looking for.

“Oliver,” she said. “that is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” She kissed him hard this time, passionately. Her romantic vigilante, Mr. Queen.

She felt his erection nudge her from behind, and she realized he’d recovered. She sat up and eased herself down over him, twisting until his cock was as deep as she could get him in this position. She moved her hips in a circle, appreciating the stretch. He gasped. She took his hands and, lacing her fingers with his, pulled them up over his head, kissing his mouth and then biting at his lower lip. She couldn’t move very well, laying on him, but that was okay. She closed her eyes and focused on how incredible the dual impalement of his tongue and cock felt.

This time he broke the kiss to look her in the eyes. He untangled their hands, then, with one arm around her back, he lifted them both up and dropped them on the couch. This was better. She leaned back against the nubby fabric of the back cushion. He took a second to realign himself with her opening and then drove into her. Hard.

“Oh,” she said, “oh yeah. God yes.” She spread her legs out so she could take him better, wrapping her feet around his ass. She could feel the muscles there clenching and unclenching as he pistoned into her. A wave of orgasm, leftover from the intensity of the last time, shot through her. “Yeah,” she panted, “yeah. Like that. Uh uhh uh...”

He looked down at her, her sex god, and smiled affectionately. “Like that, huh?” he asked. He rearranged their bodies on the couch lengthwise. “Not like this?” He lifted up both of legs and slung them over one shoulder, barely slowing his rhythm.

This was better. His cock was just - ungh - his cock was he was he his cock ohhh… She moved her head sideways on the couch pillow, grabbed one of her nipples, and closed her eyes as she began to pull and twist it. She bit into the soft flesh of her shoulder.

“You’re killing me,” he said above her, and she looked up to see his eyes blazing down at her with lust. “God, you’re so sexy, Felicity.” She clenched on him. Hard. But he didn’t stop. He just fucked her through that orgasm, and all she could do was gasp, bear down, and take the pleasure that rolled through her in waves.

He switched one leg to the other shoulder and leaned forward. The angle change made her gasp for breath, and by now he was grunting too, little animal noises in the back of his throat with every stroke. Her hands grabbed for anything to hold on the couch, but there was nothing, so she held her palms flat against the rough cushion and thrashed her head from side to side. “Oh my God oh my God, I’m coming. Gonna come again keep just keep...” She closed her eyes and focused completely on the feel of his cock filling her and the sound they made together.

There it was, another wave, stronger this time. Almost uncomfortable. She lifted her head off the couch and put an arm on his chest. “Slow down,” she said. “I’m gonna come too hard, and then it’s over.”

Oliver complied, slowing, but not stopping. He took the hand on his chest, grabbed the other, and, as she had, twined their fingers together and raised them above her head. With her legs on his shoulders and her arms extended above, she was completely exposed to him and could barely move.

“So beautiful,” he said. “Your pretty pink lips. Your pretty pink clit.” He kissed her mouth and ground his pubic bone against her clit at the same time. Her hips jerked and then jerked again, as another wave went through her.

“You want this, right?” he asked. “You want me?”

“Yeah, yeah, oh, oh,” she moaned. “So good you’re so…”

His rhythm increased. “Felicity, look at me,” he said.

She opened her eyes and stared into his, and the feeling in them overwhelmed her. It destroyed her. She clenched as hard as she could with her legs pressed together. “Oh, God, Oliverrrrrr,” she cried.

“I saw her,” Oliver said.

She almost didn’t hear him thrashing her head around so hard. But then his words sunk in. “Saw her?”

“Sara,” he said. “She jumped the fence before Diggle got the bag on my head,” he said, “and I saw her.” He thrust hard then and ground his hips into hers.

Felicity stilled. What did this mean?

“I didn’t feel anything,” he said. “Not for her. I just wanted this. I wanted you.” He leaned down and kissed her neck where it met the corner of her jaw, pistoning his hips into her hard and fast.

“What do you think that means?” he echoed her thoughts, lifting his head and looking at her.

It meant he’d just ended her entire current existence, Felicity thought. With a handful of words.

She slid her legs from his shoulders down to his elbows, breaking his grip on her hands and then wrapped them around his waist. She thrust upward as hard as she could into his stroke and pulled his face to her. She wanted to be kissing him this time when she came. “Oliver, Oliver,” she was gasping so hard she could barely say it. “You’re so…you’re too much for me. How?”

She tangled her tongue with his as she bucked her hips wildly and let the overwhelming wave of achingly teased lust for him rush over and obliterate her.

>>--->

Felicity sat up in bed. She fluffed the pillows out behind her, pulled her laptop from the side table, and fired it up. She looked over at Oliver, asleep next to her. She’d finally worn him out. She shouldn’t be proud of that, but she kind of was. He looked peaceful now, curled on his side towards her, a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

What he’d said about the man who’d attacked Sara had sparked something in her mind. She’d do a little recreational hacking just to satisfy her curiosity. It was probably nothing. Oliver was right - how can you survive an arrow through the heart? But they’d never buried the body of Malcolm Merlyn. There’d been no funeral, no observance of his death at all.

The stock price of Merlyn Global had tanked even worse than QC’s after Moira’s public confession about the Undertaking, but the company was still operating, and this quarter they might even turn a profit. Merlyn had had a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, and, like QC, it was an international corporation. Shareholders in Hong Kong didn’t care what happened in Starling City as long as the company continued to churn out profits.

They all had secret bank accounts, though, these billionaires. Switzerland, Cayman Islands, Bermuda. Robert Queen had a number of them that she’d managed to track down in her spare time. The Queen family had plenty of personal assets, more than they could possibly spend in a lifetime. That money was completely separate from Queen Consolidated. No doubt Moira knew all about each and every account and hadn’t said anything out of concern for the family’s financial well-being and the risk of asset forfeiture if she were convicted.

In the past several months Felicity had been quietly siphoning off money from one of the smallest accounts to purchase QC stock for a dummy corporation, Restitution Incorporated, that she’d set up. She got alerts when stock became available and streamlined a process for purchasing it, using those funds. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t legal. Oliver knew about it, though, and she felt Robert would have approved of using the hidden money to help clean up some of his mess.

The fight for Queen Consolidated was for control of the family legacy and name. For Felicity personally, it was about helping Oliver and putting that bitch Isabel down.

She made herself more comfortable, sitting cross legged on the bed as she nosed around into Merlyn Global’s financials. Not finding anything specific to Malcolm, say, miraculously surviving a mortal wound and faking his own death to avoid arrest and prosecution, she started searching for those bank accounts.

Forty-five minutes later, she found them. A couple of them, at least. One had been completely untouched since last spring, but the other had periodic transfers of sizable amounts going to what she could only assume was a shell company called Dux Bellorum, LLC. It was located somewhere called Corto Maltese. She googled it, and learned it was a small island off the coast of Brazil. Interesting.

Next to her Oliver stirred. He threaded an arm around her thigh. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, blinking up at her with a fond smile. “What’re you doing?”

“Just a little research,” she said. “It’s probably nothing. I’m just curious about something you said.”

He nodded, and his hand moved southeast. “Okay.”

Her fingers sped up on the keyboard. Should she? She wasn’t sure. Curiosity had killed the cat after all, and they had enough to worry about right now. Still, she hated mysteries.

Oliver’s fingers petted her soft hair, and his thumb began to rub her clit. “Wanna go again?” he asked. He slid a finger into her, and her hips bucked up on the laptop. The window she was in displayed a notice that she was about to be logged out. “Fuck it,” she said, under her breath. “God hates a coward.” She clicked a button and sent a tiny feeler out into cyberspace.

“What was that?” Oliver asked. He put his face into the place where her hip met her belly and kissed it. His scruff tickled her skin in the best possible way and sent a shiver up her spine.

She shut her laptop and tossed it on the side table. “Fuck me,” she said, smiling at him carnally. “I said, ‘Fuck me.’”

“Glad to,” Oliver said, and put his warm mouth directly on her clit. Felicity fell back into the pillows, pushed his head down onto her center, and waited for him to blow her mind.

>>--->

Sometime later, before morning dawned, Felicity’s cell phone rang, and she picked it up. It was Diggle. Oliver curled his arms around her waist and pulled her back into his embrace as she answered it.

“So, uh, how’s it going?” Dig asked.

“It’s going,” she said, suppressing a smile. John must be so uncomfortable. Imagine having to deal with two-thirds of your previously well-oiled team of vigilantes going off to have sex with each other at all hours. Just whenever. He was being exceptionally patient and circumspect about this, the poor guy.

“Oliver’s okay?”

“He’s going to be, I think…although, have you noticed any changes in him lately, John?”

Dig thought about it. “He’s been asking to listen to jazz in the car,” he said. “It’s unsettling.”

“I meant, physical changes,” Felicity said. “You know those thick ridges of scarring on his lower back? They’re almost gone now. All of his scars are lighter. And I think he’s gotten bigger somehow. Taller maybe?”

“You think the drug is doing that?” Dig asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. If the drug could transform Oliver’s body, she was more than a little nervous about what it might be doing to hers. “I’ll have to do some measurements and tests.”

Oliver was awake now, and he lifted his head in the direction of the phone. “Did they get him?”

Felicity relayed the message. “Did Lance get YouWAN2? Oliver says he punched him out, so the mop-up must have been simple.” Then she switched to speaker phone so Oliver could hear.

Diggle cleared his throat. “It’s not him.”

“What do you mean it’s not him?” Oliver said. He untangled himself from Felicity and sat up. “He was waiting for me. Lance and Sara saw him spray me. It was the same drug. It has to be him.”

“Well, it isn’t,” Dig said. “Lance interrogated him for four hours, and it turns out he’s just a student who was paid to spray you. He thought it was a prank.”

“A prank?” Oliver and Felicity said.

“I know, I know,” Dig said. “It seems like a lame excuse, but he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. He said he answered an ad on the SU online bulletin board. He got the aerosol can and the cash out of a locker with instructions to wait around the sorority house and spray some guy in a green hood if he showed up. He was promised another $200 if he succeeded. He was supposed to film your reaction, to show the prank worked.”

“I didn’t see a phone on him,” Oliver said.

“Maybe he forgot,” Dig said. “Like I said, he’s not the sharpest.”

“The Starling City Rapist story has been splashed all over the news,” Felicity said. “For weeks. How could he not know?”

“This is not the kind of dude who watches the news,” Dig said. “He said he needed the money.”

“Shit!” Oliver groaned. “I thought we got him.” He put his head in his hands.

“There’s more bad news,” Dig said. “ After Lance got done hauling him off, he came back for the body of the man who attacked Sara, and it was gone.”

“Gone,” Felicity said.

“Completely gone.”

“A body doesn’t just disappear. How does that happen?” Felicity said. “The place was wall to wall police. You should have heard the scanner.”

“So we’re dealing with professional killers of some kind,” Oliver said grimly. “And a serial rapist who’s watching all of our moves.”

Felicity balled a hand in frustration. “We’re not any better off than we were before. Worse off, even.”

“Look on the bright side,” Dig said, “You guys got a romantic evening together, and Oliver is halfway to becoming superhuman. That’s exciting.”

“Very funny,” Oliver said.

“Yeah, everything’s coming up roses,” Felicity said.

Dig’s tone changed. “Were you able to figure anything out about the drug itself?”

“I took some of Oliver’s vital signs,” Felicity said, “but there wasn’t much to find out that we didn’t already know - except that he didn’t imprint on Sara or anyone else who was there.”

“That’s interesting,” Dig said. “Do you think it failed to work?”

Felicity bit her lip, “I…uh, I don’t think so. He had all of the same, uh, reactions that he did last time.”

Oliver leaned into her and laughed into ear. “So discreet,” he whispered.

She elbowed him. “Maybe the imprinting only happens once. When I did research on animals, it said that once a bird has imprinted on something or someone, it’s permanent. It can’t be undone. Behavior influences biology, and then biology influences behavior.”

“Maybe it’s the same with this drug,” Dig said.

“The other thing is, I don’t think he’s as foggy as we were the first time. I can remember some things about that night we were sprayed, more like impressions than memories, but,” she turned to Oliver and asked, “How much do you remember about last night?”

“Everything,” he said, staring at her fixedly. “Every word.”

Her heart skipped. He remembered.

“Maybe the second dose is more like a booster after it alters your brain the first time. Oliver was pretty sharp last night, considering. A little loopy, but all there.” She huffed in frustration. “We’re never going to have any real data on this, so we can’t know.”

“Well, he’s your duckling now,” Dig said, a smile in his voice. “Imagine if he’d imprinted on Lance. That would have been funny.”

“Hilarious,” Oliver said, frowning.

Felicity suppressed a smile. It was kind of funny, the idea of Oliver sexually obsessed with Detective Lance. As long as it never happened, that is. “Speaking of Lance, how’s Sara?” she asked.

“No word,” Dig said.

Felicity didn’t envy her having to sort things out with Laurel. “I guess we’ll see.”

“I guess we will,” Dig said. “You guys coming in to work this morning?”

Oliver answered. “We’ll be there, but don’t expect us to be very productive. And stay out of–”

“Stay out of the executive bathroom,” Dig finished for him. “I know, I know. You don’t have to worry about that. I am never going in there again, not even a question. See you at 7:30.” He hung up.

Oliver turned to her with his eyebrows raised. “We’ve got a half an hour before we have to get ready. What do you want to do?”

“Sleep?” she said.

His face fell. “Really? It’s going to be such a long day.” He glanced at her closet. “Don’t wear anything you’d usually wear. I’ll barely be able to concentrate on work as it is.”

“Anything I usually wear?”

“Anything short. Or attractive. You could wear that purple thing. That’s reasonably safe, but I’m not sure how people would react.” Oliver said.

“Nothing is safe with you,” she said. “I could wear a NASA suit, and you’d still be turned on.”

“That’s because you’re too sexy,” he said. “And speaking of sex, we have a half an hour. Let me make you come a couple more times.” He put his lips to the nape of her neck and nuzzled it. “You know I’m good for it.”

She took a deep breath at his touch and slowly blew it out again. This man was going to be the death of her.

Chapter Text

Oliver was winding down his early morning routine when the phone rang. Felicity's forearms were pressed down firmly between her breasts and the mattress, but she had one knee up underneath her, so she was able to see it buzzing there on the night table. It was 8 AM. She grabbed it with one hand, trying to shift her weight under him mid-stroke. When saw the caller, she groaned and tossed it back on the table.

“Who’s that?” Oliver gasped out. He didn’t slow down. “Diggle?”

“Not Diggle,” Felicity said. “Keep going.” She closed her eyes and willed herself to focus again on Oliver’s perfect cock drilling her into the mattress, but she couldn’t ignore the ominous ping that signaled a voicemail left.

When the phone rang again five minutes later, Oliver had finished and was singling out the back of her neck a little more attention. Felicity’s mind, however, despite Oliver’s very best efforts, was still on how she was going to explain all of this to her mother.

>>--->

Donna Smoak no longer waited tables in Vegas. She didn’t tend bar either. Four years ago, she’d been promoted to hospitality management at The Royal Oaks, the casino she’d worked at for 15 years. There it was her job to oversee waitstaff, sort out customer complaints, and ensure the overall performance of her customer service team.

Unfortunately, her boss discovered in short order that Donna was better at mingling with customers, flirting with convention goers, and encouraging people to be happy while they lost their money than she was with paperwork. She was about to be demoted when Doug Wynn, the casino’s owner, walked in and got the full Donna Smoak experience.

That night he sat at the bar for hours, drinking cocktails, eating canapes, and watching her blow on casino goers’ dice for luck. She also, at the request of an accounting executive from Boise, serenaded the room and Mr. Wynn with her nearly professional rendition of “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me.”

“You should have been there,” Donna had told Felicity the next day. “Mr. Wynn pulled me aside to tell me it was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever heard. He’s a big Dusty fan. He’s so charming!” She sighed, “The sex we had in the elevator going up to the penthouse was–”

“Mom!” Felicity said. “Please!”

“Oh, don’t be a prude, Felicity,” Donna said. “It was so romantic.”

Romantic. Sex in an elevator with a married casino owner. That was her mother.

Shortly thereafter, Mr. Wynn moved Donna up to the top floor and made her his casino hostess. Officially, she was there to light up his arm at parties and events. She no longer had to file reports or deal with customers putting their hands on her. She only had one person to make happy now: Doug Wynn.

“His wife is a real bitch, Felicity,” she’d said when she told her daughter about her change in fortune. “Stone cold. It’s her father’s money that went into the casino and the restaurant chain, though, so he can’t leave her.”

Doug spent more than half of his nights at the casino suite now. Felicity had met him a year ago during the High Holidays. He and Donna liked watching HGTV together, and for her birthday he bought Donna a teacup Pomerian she named Gimlet.

In her heart, Donna Smoak had always been an optimist, she’d just had bad luck with men, and all of the hard work she’d had to do to stay afloat had given her a trick back and fallen arches. She was pragmatic now. “All things being equal, it’s just as easy to get dumped by a rich man as a poor one,” she told Felicity. “And he might buy you a nice goodbye gift. Or fund your 401K.”

>>--->

“Are you gonna get that?” Oliver asked. His lips were very close to her ear.

“Uh uh,” Felicity said. She wasn’t mentally or spiritually ready to have that conversation with Donna, and it was early early on a weekend. Her mother could wait.

“What aren’t you telling me, Felicity?” Oliver ran his hand up her back to the muscle underneath her shoulder blade and worked his thumb into it. “This wasn’t tense five minutes ago. I made sure of it.”

“It’s just an aggressive telemarketer,” Felicity said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Mmhmm,” Oliver said.

Her phone rang again, and before she could decide how to react, Oliver snagged it. He held it up so the Caller ID showed Donna’s chipper face. “It’s your mom,” he said.

Felicity reached for it, but he lifted the phone up over his head. “Are you embarrassed about this?” He gestured toward the tangle of sheets on the bed.

“God, no,” Felicity said. “This is incredible.”

The phone rang on. Felicity tried her best to ignore the sound.

“I guess it might be hard to tell your mother about our relationship since I am technically your boss. Maybe she wouldn’t understand,” Oliver said.

“That’s not it.” If anything, Donna would be thrilled. The incessant ringing of the telephone was bad enough, Felicity did not want to hear her mother’s squealing.

“You sure?” Oliver looked doubtful and, for the first time in days, uncertain.

“Oliver,” Felicity said, “it’s not you. It’s my mom. You just don’t know her. And you’re more than ‘technically’ my boss. You are my boss.” She put her hands on his cheeks and looked into his anxious eyes. “I’m happy with you. Really happy. Do you believe me?”

He stared into her face for a full moment and then nodded once.

“It’s just…” She sighed deeply. “No one is ever going to understand that I didn’t sleep with you to get ahead. Not even my mom.”

He opened his mouth and closed it. He swiveled on the bed and pulled her back against his chest. “I hate the Playboy Ollie persona too,” he said finally.

“I know you do,” she said, leaning the top of her head against his collarbone. “I know pretending you’re worse than you are - that I’m worse than I am - provides a certain cover. And it helps if Isabel underestimates us.”

“We could come clean,” Oliver’s voice rose. “Disclose our relationship to HR. I’d be able to take you out to dinner then. I could kiss you in public.” He kissed her temple. “No more sneaking around.”

“You’re the vigilante. We’re always going to be sneaking around.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. And, believe me, I’m tempted.” She tilted her head up so she could kiss his chin. “I would love to eat a big plate of lasagna at Russo’s with you and get tipsy over a bottle of wine. We could make out on a blanket in Avalon Park and think of silly names for all of the ducks on the river.”

Oliver smiled down at her. “Make up silly names for the ducks?”

“My mom and I used to do that when I was little,” Felicity said. “It was nice. She always started with the names Ert and Bernie to make me laugh.”

He shook his head. “That does sound nice. It’s not something my mother would have ever done.”

Felicity pictured Moira, pale but composed in her prison uniform, anticipating a slate of jurors reacting to the list of her crimes. “Her trial is about to begin, Oliver. So as wonderful as it would be to walk down the street holding your hand, this is the wrong time for more Queen family dirty laundry to get aired.”

He looked unconvinced. “Is it really dirty laundry for a CEO to get involved with his secretary? That’s practically a job requirement.”

“Executive assistant,” Felicity said. “You and Thea need to look like moral, upright citizens to the jurors right now. I’m just a girl from Vegas, and my mom–”

Before he could say anything else, the phone rang for the fourth time, and Felicity thought, Screw it, I can’t handle this harassment, and answered it.

“Good morning!” Donna chirped in her ear. “You better not be screening my calls again, Felicity. We talked about that. I was in labor for 34 hours with you, and my pelvic floor has never been the same. Not that it wasn’t worth it.”

“It’s early, Mom,” Felicity said. She curled her body away from Oliver, trying for a bit of privacy.

“Oh, you’re up, I know you’re up,” Donna said. “You work too many hours. Your boss has you going night and day. You know a salaried job isn’t worth it if you’re working all of the time, right? Although, I suppose there are advantages to seeing Oliver Queen at all hours. He is a hottie.”

Oliver’s bat ears heard that; His choked laughter vibrated the bed. Felicity closed her eyes. “A hottie? Mom.”

“What? I’m in my forties. I’m not dead.” She paused for effect and then went on, “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is that I have to confirm the dates with you before I book a flight to Starling City.”

“Book a flight?” Felicity’s heart sank. “You’re coming here? When?”

“Thanksgiving falls over Hanukkah this year, baby. Doug’s going to be busy doing family things with Aaron and Melanie, so I thought I’d spend the whole 8 with you.”

“Doug? Who’s Doug?” Oliver leaned over and whispered. Or kind-of-whispered - far too near the phone.

Felicity closed her eyes. Fuck.

“Felicity Megan Smoak,” Donna said without missing a single beat, “is there a man there with you? On a Saturday morning?” She sounded like her greatest dream had just come true. “Who is he?”

Goddamn it. “Uh,” Felicity said. “Um, it’s just the, uh…” There was no lie in the universe that she could come up with that her mother would believe in the face of evidence that her daughter might actually have a boyfriend in her life now.

Oliver took advantage of her hesitance and grabbed the phone from her. “Mrs. Smoak, hi,” he said with no embarrassment at all. “This is Oliver Queen.”

“Oliver Queen…” Felicity heard the hushed tone of her mother’s voice and knew that was it.

Donna recovered quickly. “Call me Donna,” she said warmly with a flirtatious little laugh. “Mrs. Smoak was my mother. She and I share a name, but not the same outlook on life.”

Felicity shut her eyes harder. Maybe she was still asleep. Please, God.

Oliver laughed. “It’s nice to finally ‘meet’ you, Donna,” he said. “Please do the same and call me Oliver.”

“Finally?” Donna said.

“Well, I’ve known Felicity for aw–” Oliver seemed to sense the quicksand beneath his feet. “I mean, she’s been my,” he swallowed, “um, executive assistant for some months, and I thought–”

“It seems like maybe the two of you are a little closer now,” Donna cut to the chase. “Unless you’re in her apartment at 8 AM on business?”

“Yes, well,” Oliver said.

“Not that I mind, exactly,” Donna said. “I’m not puritanical, ask Felicity. As long as your intentions–”

Felicity snatched the phone back from Oliver. “What day were you planning on arriving in Starling, Mom?” she asked.

“Don’t change the subject on me, baby girl,” Donna said. “This is huge news. That you neglected to tell me. On any of our calls. When were you going to let me know about this change in your relationship with your boss?”

Oliver put a hand around her waist and whispered, “Yes, when?”

“When you needed to know,” Felicity said.

“So this is just a fling?” Donna asked. “Does Oliver know that? From his friendliness, it seems like maybe he doesn’t.”

Oliver’s chest rumbled again. “Your mom doesn’t mess around,” he said. She elbowed him.

“No, it’s not just a fling. It just happened, and I,” Felicity blew out a breath, “I didn’t know exactly how to tell you.”

“How to tell me you’re dating a billionaire? Or your boss? Oh, Felicity.” Donna’s tone changed then. “You know, when this happened with Doug, you were less congratulatory. I’m just saying. But Oliver seems like he likes you very much, so I’m very happy for both of you. While I’m there visiting, you could introduce me to his people.”

That was not going to happen.

“Mom,” Felicity said. “Oliver’s mother is going to be on trial this month, so introductions might be tricky. And we are keeping this quiet until we inform HR, so please don’t go blabbing this around.” She had little hope that her mom wouldn’t inform everyone she knew that her daughter had bagged Oliver Queen.

“Oh, that’s right,” Donna said. “Well, some other time. Tell Oliver that I’m rooting for his mother. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding of some sort. Doug is always getting legal threats, and nothing ever comes of it. He tells me not to worry.”

Oh my God. “Mom, I have got to go, okay?” She searched her mind for any excuse that Donna would accept. There was nothing, except… “Oliver isn’t feeling very well.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Donna said with a note of real concern in her voice. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Not serious exactly,” Felicity said. “I have to go help him with his…with his…” She looked down at Oliver’s glowing, naked physique beside her. “His hemorrhoids!”

“Hemorrhoids?” Oliver and Donna asked.

“They can be very painful,” Felicity said. “Many people suffer in silence.” She gave Oliver a pointed look. “So I can’t talk now. Text me your travel dates, and I’ll make arrangements. You’re not planning to stay here?”

“Well, I was,” Donna said. “A hotel’s not the same for the holidays. But I understand you have a new relationship, and you probably need your alone time. So I’ll stay at the Plaza, I guess, for this visit. I hope I can take Gimlet. He doesn’t like to be boarded.”

“She could stay at the sex cave,” Oliver whispered. “I’ll rent furniture until we get the other stuff.”

Felicity smacked him in the chest. “Shut up,” she hissed.

“What was that?” Donna asked.

“Nothing!” Felicity said. “Okay, then. Bye, Mom. Talk to you soon!” She pressed end and then fled to the relative privacy of her bathroom.

>>--->

Oliver took a moment to absorb what just happened, then got up and knocked on the bathroom door. “I didn’t know I had hemorrhoids,” he said.

“Ha ha,” Felicity said through the door.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “That wasn’t so bad. Your mom seems nice.”

“Nice? She called you a hottie. Oh my God.”

Oliver didn’t think that was so terrible. “You call me hot.”

“Oliver. My mom is a cougar. Or a wannabe cougar, if she wasn’t with Doug.”

That was another thing. “Yeah, who’s Doug?”

He heard her groan. “Doug’s my mother’s married boyfriend. He owns the casino she works for.”

“Ah,” he said. That explained Donna’s more pointed remarks. Felicity clearly didn’t approve. “And you don’t like him?”

“He’s fine,” Felicity said grudgingly. “He treats her really well. Flowers every week, and he brings her dog little toys to rip up. Even Aaron and Melanie like her. But it’s just another dead-end relationship for her. Doug is never going to leave his wife, and he’s probably kind of a mobster.”

“Kind of?”

“I haven’t done in-depth research on his finances. At the surface level, his businesses look legitimate. He just has this intense vibe, like he knows people and he could have you killed in five different ways. My mom thinks it’s sexy. She teases him about it when she’s not fretting over his high blood pressure.”

“So like mother, like daughter.” It slipped out.

“It’s not the same!” Felicity said immediately. “You’re not a mobster.”

No, just a killer, a vigilante, an ex-assassin. Ex-Bratva. Not even really ex. Semi-retired Bratva. Of course, Felicity didn’t know about his time in the Bratva, and she wasn’t going to know, but she didn’t spend a whole lot of time fretting over the guys she saw Oliver put down either.

“Maybe you should give your mom a break,” he said.

“Don’t go soft on her. She’ll steamroll you. She’s way tougher than she looks.”

Oliver smiled and leaned against the door frame. “Also like you, then. Good to know.”

Felicity opened the bathroom door. “My mom’s relationship with Doug Wynn can only make me look like more of a career golddigger, Oliver. It’s not an asset, and it wouldn’t be good for your reputation as CEO if it were made public.”

“Hey,” Oliver said. “I don’t care about that. I know - at least I think I know - why you’re with me. God knows I’d be lost without you on the field or at QC. And you’re not just a ‘Vegas girl,’ whatever that means.” He placed his finger under her chin. “What you learned there made you who you are, and that’s amazing.”

It was a mouthful for him, but he needed her to know it.

She gave him a very fond look, and wrapped her hands around his waist. “How am I going to take 8 nights off for Hanukkah? It’s not like the city criminals are going to take a break so my mom and I can stuff ourselves on latkes and babka.”

“We’ll figure it out. Family is important.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “That reminds me. I wanted to ask you: Do you give gifts for Hanukkah?”

>>--->

The rest of that Saturday they spent at the lair. Oliver and Diggle worked out and sparred with each other while Felicity did a little shopping.

“What do you think, Dig?” Felicity asked. “Does he seem stronger to you?” She clicked Add to Cart for a Stationary X-Ray Machine with an Elevating Float Top Table. She wasn’t sure what a float-top table did, but she wanted one. It was past time they had some better diagnostic tools at their disposal down here, and, honestly, it sounded kind of sexy.

Oliver wandered over and peered at the medical equipment website. “Did you have a chance to look at that furniture catalog I gave you? I marked some pages.”

Felicity waved a hand at him and whispered, “I’m not ordering a 5-foot-wide, red-leather chaise lounge, no matter how sturdy it is, Oliver. That’s not bordello chic, it’s just tacky.”

He gave her a mini pout, and she rubbed his thigh. “I want to do some tests on you.”

“I’m still here,” Dig said in a loud voice from across the room.

“I meant medical tests,” Felicity said. She pointed to his hip bone. “You see how the shark bite scar is barely visible now? What if that same thing is happening on the inside?”

Diggle came over, frowning. “I wanted to ask you about that. Have you noticed any changes in your body?”

“I didn’t, until I realized Oliver’s was different.” She put a hand on her hip. “I used to have faded stretch marks on my hips and stomach from adolescence. They’re gone. And there are a few other changes.”

“Her hair is thicker,” Oliver said. “If you feel her scalp, she has a ton of new growth.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Diggle said.

Felicity ran her fingers through her hair and felt the prickle of hundreds of tiny spikes. He was right. “I think my vision might be getting better,” she said. She looked down at her fuschia peplum top. “Do my boobs look bigger to you–”

“Yes,” Oliver said.

“–This top doesn’t fit like it did a few weeks ago. And my bra's tight.”

“The Arrow pants are also tight,” Oliver said.

“They’ve always been very tight,” Felicity said, “not that that’s bad. It’s a feature, not a bug.” She bit her lip. “I mean, for moving about, jumping, catching bad guys, that sort of thing. Vigilante stuff.”

Oliver looked amused, while Diggle stared at them both without expression. “Maybe we should take some measurements. Do you have a tape measure?”

Felicity opened a drawer and rifled through it. “Here you go,” she said, tossing it to him

“Over there,” Diggle said, pointing to the pillar behind Oliver. “Back up against the pillar, and we’ll see.”

Felicity clicked a few keys and brought up his medical file from Starling Hospital. “If he’s taller than 186 centimeters, he’s grown. Well, technically 185.42.”

Diggle flipped the tape measure around. “187.3.” His eyebrows rose. “That’s over a half an inch taller. In less than a month. You come over here too,” he said to Felicity.

She stood with her back against the steel pillar while Diggle measured. “How tall are you?” he asked.

“Five foot five,” she said. “Or I was.”

Oliver pulled out his phone and jabbed at it. “So that’s 165.1 centimeters. What does it say, Dig?”

“166.1.”

Felicity took a deep breath. “You’d better measure everything,” she said. “So we can keep track. This is a little unsettling.” She waited for him to measure her waist, hips, shoulders, and bust and then went back to her computer station and hacked into the SCPD database while Dig measured Oliver.

“Hmmm,” she said. “They guy who sprayed you last night, his name is Tyler Stubbs. He has multiple arrests for drug possession and petty larceny, and his blood tested positive for cocaine on arrest.

“Lance noted that Stubbs was exhibiting signs of euphoria and restlessness during the interrogation. He bragged about how he was going to be rich and eventually confessed that he was paid to spray a man in a green hood, follow whoever he imprinted on, and film them having sex. He was too high to do anything but the spraying, apparently, because you never saw a phone?” She turned to Oliver.

“No, if he had one, he never showed it to me.”

“A sex tape of the Hood Guy? That’s solid leverage,” Diggle said. “YouWAN2 probably thought you’d be easy to control because the girls he’s sprayed have been.”

“He said I’d be sorry for interfering with Seth Bomer,” Oliver said.

“Unless Bomer’s a friend of his, he’s mad about the money,” Felicity said.

“Yeah, well, $10K a pop is a nice income stream,” Diggle said. “After Bomer, plenty of his potential customers have got to be rethinking it.”

“He thought he could blackmail the vigilante into leaving him alone,” Felicity said. “But the second dose didn’t make you as fuzzy as you were the first time.”

“Or imprint on anyone new,” Dig said.

“It definitely had an effect,” Oliver said, “but I could still focus. My main goal was getting out of there without looking at anyone.” He smiled at Felicity, and she felt a light blush crawl up her neck.

“What about the fight on the front lawn?” Diggle asked.

Felicity turned back to her computer and scrolled down the page. “Oh,” she said.

“What?” Oliver and Diggle said.

“The keg at the Gamma Delta house was spiked with a different drug. It has a chemical composition similar to alpha-PVP. The street name for that is Flakka, and it makes users act violent, agitated and paranoid. Death sometimes results from their organs overheating and breaking down.” Felicity shot a look at Oliver. “Melting organs. That’s just what we need.”

“Why the second drug?” Diggle asked.

“I don’t know,” Felicity said. “There were people who were sprayed with the aphrodisiac? You’re sure?”

“It was a party,” Diggle said, “but it was early on, and nothing wild was happening except for the couple in the pantry and the kids going at it in the living room. I’d say yes.”

“The girls I talked to upstairs said they didn’t know where the keg came from. This was a hospitality event for the swimmers, not a party exactly,” Oliver said.

“We know from YouWAN2’s online treatises, that he resents athletes and other guys who are successful with women,” Felicity said. “The whole thing seems like a set up, and clearly he thought there was a chance you would try to intervene.”

“Is there anything else?” Oliver asked.

She scrolled down to the bottom. “The only other thing here is that multiple people heard a gunshot in the backyard. But there was no body and they found no one injured in the back of the house. One of the athletes was critically injured, and several more were transported to Starling Hospital.”

“Like I said, Lance came back to find the body of the guy who attacked Sara gone,” Diggle said.

Felicity frowned. “Have either of you heard from Sara today?”

They both shook their heads.

“I texted her this morning, but no answer,” Oliver said. “She knew the attacker. I don’t know what he wanted with her, but it seems like she may be in serious trouble. Felicity, can you research his clothing? It looked exactly like Merlyn’s. A black leather tunic lined with kevlar. It has a hood.”

Felicity nodded slowly. “Sara fights in black leather.”

“It’s not the same,” Oliver said. “This looks more like military issue. Medieval military.”

“Yes, but the only one who was there who could possibly have removed his body was…”

“Sara,” Diggle said. “She moved it. She had to.”

“I think so,” Felicity said. “Gamma Delta might have surveillance footage.” She began the process trying to access their data. It took a little while, but finally she found their camera footage and began to examine the past 24 hours. “Yes, look there.”

The three of them stood watching a very grainy Lance handcuffing Stubbs and hauling him down the narrow, pitted driveway. Only a few seconds passed before Sara began dragging the body of her attacker up the short stairs of the porch. She pushed him over the railing and into one of the sorority house’s huge recycling bins. Then she took some recycling from the other bin, tossed it on top of him, closed the lid and sprinted towards the back fence.

“Shit,” Oliver said. 

“You got that right,” Diggle said.

"Delete the footage," Oliver said. "Without the wig, you can almost make out her face in profile." 

Felicity took care of the footage without a word. She’d already said more than enough about Sara to Oliver, so she would just have to wait for him to deal with this. The look on his face told her she would not have to wait very long.

>>--->

Shortly before Moira’s trial was scheduled to start, Felicity made another trip out to Iron Heights to visit her. At Raisa’s suggestion, she brought her some raspberry scones with lemon icing, and this time when Moira entered the visiting room, she smiled. Things must be even more dire with her case than Oliver was hearing from her lawyer, Felicity thought, because Moira actually looked pleased to see her.

“Oliver came yesterday,” Moira said, “and I have to congratulate you, Miss Smoak. He looks good - happy even. Given how much pressure he’s under at Queen Consolidated, in addition to this trial, I can only assume that has something to do with you.”

Felicity had no idea how to respond to that, so she smiled tentatively and slid her box of baked goods across the metal table. “These are for you.”

Moira lifted the top flap of the glossy gray box and closed her eyes. “You must have earned Raisa’s stamp of approval, if she told you my secret weakness” she said, taking a delicate bite from a scone. “Mmmm. Thank you. Now what can I do for you today?”

“Please call me Felicity, Mrs. Queen,” Felicity said.

Moira inclined her head.

“Oliver and I–”

“He certainly sings your praises,” Moira said. She swept Felicity with an appraising look.

Moira going off script made Felicity nervous.

“He’s very remarkable, my son,” Moira said. “Much smarter than most people give him credit for. More clever than even I realized.”

On that they could agree. Felicity smiled. “People drastically underestimate his capabilities. He’s obviously extremely athletic, but he learns by doing much better than from books, I think. I suspect he was bored in school.”

Moira’s look softened. “He was athletically gifted from the beginning. He wanted to play every sport he could. As soon as he could crawl, it was ‘Katie, bar the door.’ He was hard to keep up with.” She gave a fond laugh at the memory.

“Did you want to talk about Oliver?” Felicity asked. “I looked into Isabel Rochev for you.”

Moira cleared her throat. “The only thing that matters to me now is that Oliver and Thea are happy and thriving. And safe.”

Felicity nodded slowly.

“I can’t do much for them in here,” Moira said. “So I have to trust that both of them know what’s good for them and accept their decisions.”

This meeting was going differently than Felicity had expected. It felt a little like…was Moira giving her her blessing?

“Thea is still very young, but Oliver,” Moira paused. “Oliver has had to learn to survive. You don’t get through what he has without developing some self-preservation skills.” She leaned forward in her chair and whispered, “I know, Felicity.”

She knew? What exactly did she know?

Moira said, “I’ve had six months with nothing to do but think. Oliver’s behavior has been extremely irregular since he came back, and his return coincided with certain…dramatic events.”

Felicity’s breath left her. She looked around the room to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation and shook her head slowly. “The SCPD interrogated and cleared him of those accusations,” she said. “He passed a lie detector test.”

“Oliver likes to play the fool when it suits his purpose,” Moira said. “But he’s run rings around the SCPD. Not that that’s much of a challenge.”

“Mrs. Queen–”

“I am not a fool, Felicity,” Moira said sharply. “It’s likely that before Christmas I will be convicted of conspiracy to commit the murder of hundreds of people. If the state decides to execute me for it, I am resigned to that outcome. But Oliver,” she grasped Felicity’s hand, “If I can’t keep Oliver safe, then someone else has to. I believe that you are already watching over him and have been for some time.”

Felicity frowned. Oliver’s identity as the vigilante was his secret, and she could not reveal it to anyone without his permission. Not even to his mother.

“You went to the island to get him,” Moira said. “That’s what you said.”

“Not by myself,” Felicity said.

Moira nodded. “Yes. He has a team, and it includes John Diggle. And you, you run his technology. Someone has to, considering the things he’s pulled off. He found and rescued Walter from wherever Malcolm had stashed him. That could not have been easy.”

Felicity’s heart beat faster. Did Walter know about Oliver too? She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a girl from the IT department.”

Moira narrowed her eyes. “MIT graduate, 3-time Nevada state Mathletics champion, ranked 2nd in the National Information Technology Competition. I still have resources, even sitting here in prison, and I just told you I am not a fool.”

Felicity now knew what a cornered animal must feel like. She ran through her options in her head, but none of them were great. “I don’t know what to tell you,” she said finally.

“There is QC security footage of you and Oliver hanging from a curtain chain, crashing through the boardroom window and into the room directly below. You don’t even flinch when he breaks the glass.”

Moira leaned forward. “A woman doesn’t fling herself out of a window of a high rise building in the arms of a man she doesn’t trust absolutely. And she doesn’t spend her nights in a hole somewhere being the eyes and ears for a vigilante if she doesn’t love him - at least a little.”

“I–I,” Felicity said.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Moira said.

This conversation had quickly spiraled out of control. “You don’t even like me!” Felicity blurted out.

“You know, I find that I do,” Moira said. “You are not…polished, but you’re straightforward, hardworking, and clearly you’re incredibly brave. I suspect you’ve saved Oliver’s life more than once.” Moira’s face filled with guilt. “Someone had to after I shot him.”

Felicity instinctively reached out her hand to console, and Moira grabbed it.

“If that’s the case,” she said gravely, “I like you very much.”

Felicity’s throat filled, and she felt the start of tears in her eyes. She blinked hard. She did not want to care what Moira thought about her. She’d steeled herself against it, in fact.

“Oliver says he could not be running QC without you,” Moira said. She leaned forward and whispered. “He mentioned your stock buy-up plan using Robert’s off-shore funds. That was smart. I didn’t think of that.” She made a little hand wave at the room around them. “I was a bit distracted this summer. Have you been taking business courses?”

Oliver should’ve kept his mouth closed, Felicity thought. His mother was shockingly observant. “Just a few online ones,” she said. “I don’t have time for more.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Moira said. She patted Felicity’s hand, and leaned back in her chair as if everything was settled.

Felicity tried to recalibrate. How did you…how did one continue thinking and speaking after a series of bombshells like that? She looked down, saw her briefcase, and remembered. “I really do need to talk to you about Isabel Rochev,” she said, picking it up. “I think the threat she poses is considerable.”

“What did you find out about her?”

Felicity rifled through the briefcase and pulled a file from it. “Isabel was born in Moscow and was orphaned when her parents were killed by the Solntsevskaya Bratva when she was nine. After this she was adopted by an American couple. She was an excellent student. In business school she showed great promise, and she interned at Queen Consolidated where she was handpicked for mentorship by your late husband.”

“Ah, yes, Robert’s renowned mentoring program.” Moira looked amused. She took another scone from the box and licked a tiny piece of frosting from it.

“Apparently that relationship turned romantic, and at one point Isabel believed that he was going to marry her, but,” Felicity said, “obviously that did not occur.”

“Of course it didn’t,” Moira said, “Over the years Robert confided to a number of women he was on the verge of leaving me. They were naive enough to believe what they had with him was true love.” She sat up and gave Felicity a direct look.

“The unfortunate fact is that being married to a Queen comes with certain…risks and complications. Most women think it’s glamorous and exciting to be on the arm of a man like Robert.” She smiled coolly. “And it can be. However, they rarely consider the sacrifices required - privacy and dignity being two of the more obvious ones.

“Isabel made a ugly scene in the lobby of Queen Consolidated when Robert terminated her internship and the affair.” Her lips made a moue of disgust. “And later she came to see me in my own home. I disabused her of her fantasy. He was never going to leave me for a Russian orphan, no matter how nubile. I’m a Dearden. That name opened a lot of doors for Robert over the years.” She folded her hands. “And he did love me. In his way.”

Felicity swallowed and thumbed through the file. “After that she seems to have allied with Malcolm Merlyn to get revenge on Robert. When the Queen’s Gambit went down, she contributed funds to the Undertaking. She worked for Unidac Industries which, we now know, collaborated with Malcolm to develop the earthquake machine.”

Felicity’s mouth flattened. “Isabel was also Vice President of Acquisitions at Stellmoor International which attempted the hostile takeover of QC this summer. It’s unclear how she landed that position after she was summarily booted from her internship at QC. She probably did what she’s always accused me of doing. It’s hard to break the glass ceiling.” Not that she was bitter. Okay, she was.

Moira lifted an eyebrow.

“Essentially, for the past seven years or more, she’s been trying to destroy the Queen family however she can,” Felicity closed the file. “You’d think she’d find a hobby.”

To her surprise, Moira laughed and then nodded. “A good summary.”

“Mrs. Queen,” Felicity said, “Oliver doesn’t have all of this information yet, but he needs to. He has a tendency to underestimate female opponents. It’s a habit that he can’t afford with a soulless har–.” She stopped herself. “With a woman like Isabel.”

“You can be frank with me, Felicity,” Moira said. “I share your opinion of Isabel Rochev. And she will pay for what she’s done to my family.”

The arctic loathing in her voice sent a shiver through Felicity. It would definitely be unwise to get on the bad side of this woman. “There are rumors at QC that Isabel is currently involved with another shady entity, but no one knows who. They are very well funded.”

Moira looked thoughtful, so Felicity took a risk. “Mrs. Queen, is it possible…” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, “Do you think Malcolm Merlyn could still be alive?”

Moira’s eyes went wide, and the color left her face. “As far as I know, he died in the earthquake. He certainly has made no effort to contact me, if he is still alive, and I very much hope he is not. Why do you ask?”

Felicity chewed her lip in indecision. If Malcolm were alive, he posed a significant threat to this woman and to Oliver. Moira had thrown him under the bus publicly only hours before the earthquake machine detonated, and Oliver had done his level best to thwart his mass-murder project. There was more than enough material for multiple grudges there, and Malcolm was not a forgiving man.

“There was no burial,” she said. “I know…” she closed her eyes and made her decision. Given the past fifteen minutes of their conversation, she didn’t have that much of a choice. “I know he was mortally wounded. Stabbed through the heart with an arrow. But the SCPD did not find the body. I did some research into his off-shore accounts, and there are regular withdrawals going to what I believe is a shell company in Corto Maltese. Does that mean anything to you?”

Moira shook her head. “It’s an island in South America. I’ve never been there, but it’s possible Malcolm was. He was all over the world, and he talked very little about what he was doing.”

“If he is alive,” Felicity said. “He’s a much worse threat to Oliver and you than Isabel Rochev is.”

“And to you,” Moira said with a direct look. “What were you doing on the night of the Undertaking?”

Felicity hesitated and sighed, “Going through the schematics of the earthquake device so I could help Detective Lance disarm it.”

“You were in the Glades?”

“Yes.”

Moira’s mouth compressed. “As you know, I was giving a news conference.” Her hands twisted together on the table. “Well, we will have to hope Malcolm is well and truly dead, for all of our sakes.”

Felicity glanced at her phone. “I should be going. Oliver has a meeting at 4 with a small pharmaceutical company we are considering…”

“Felicity, let me be direct,” Moira said as if she hadn’t just laid waste to every secret they had. “I need two things from you. First, I want to be apprised of what is really happening with Oliver and Queen Consolidated. You may be very accomplished, but you do not have the history with QC that I do, and, unfortunately, neither does Oliver. I’m sorry to have put you in this position, but needs must.”

Felicity nodded. That had been the point of this visit.

“Second, I want to help you bring down Isabel. I will give this matter some thought. I feel confident we can come up with something. Destroying people is fairly simple, but we will have to step carefully for the sake of the company and the Queen name.” She gestured to the box on the table and smiled. “If you were to bring more scones the next time you visit, I would not be disappointed.”

“Yes, of course,” Felicity said. She got up to leave.

“And thank you,” Moira said.

“For what?”

“For your loyalty to Oliver. Too many people in his life have let him down, and I include myself in that number.”

Felicity just nodded awkwardly at Moira and moved toward the exit of the visiting room. What was Oliver going to say about all of this?

>>--->

Felicity returned from Iron Heights in the middle of the afternoon, a good hour before their next meeting was scheduled. She stalked across the marble floor of his office on those silvery heels he liked, and tossed a file in the middle of his desk. “Your mom knows,” she said.

He took a moment to appreciate how nice she looked in that gray and orange sweater dress. It was going to look even better on the floor of his bathroom in a few minutes. God, she was fierce. “Knows what?” he asked.

She put both hands on his desk and leaned in. “Everything, Oliver. She knows about our nighttime activities.”

He sat up in his chair. “She can’t know.”

“She does. I tried to do damage control. I really tried, Oliver, but she’s been sitting in that cell putting all of your ‘motorcycle accidents’ and every other terrible excuse you’ve ever concocted together with everything that’s been happening in the city. She knows.”

He stood up and swept a hand across his forehead. “You confirmed it?”

“I did my best not to confirm it because I know how important keeping your secrets is to you, but she gave specific examples of things that have no other explanation.”

“Like?”

“Like that Tarzan move you did from the boardroom when we were attacked by the Hoods.”

“What did she say? What does she think?” His mom knew. It was too much to think about.

“I think she’s proud of you,” Felicity said. “You know she’s kind of scary. She wasn’t upset. She told me she had underestimated you. She told me what you were like as a baby. It was surreal.”

“My mom told you baby stories about me?”

“Well, just one, and it wasn’t really a story. She just said you were a handful from day one. Which tracks.” She smiled at him. “And then I think she gave me her blessing.”

“She gave you her blessing?”

Felicity gave a little nod. “She said she had to trust that you know what’s good for you and accept your decisions. And I think she was talking about you and me. Your vigilante life, yes, but your personal decisions too. And Thea’s,” she added.

“My mom is proud of me?” Oliver said. It was something he hadn’t even considered, that she might understand why he’d done…all of the things he had done.

Felicity reached out and squeezed his arm. “She thinks you’re wonderful. Which,” she smiled, “you are, of course. But she thinks the vigilante is too. She mentioned Walter.”

“She knows about that?” Had she talked about it with Walter? Was that why he had so quickly arranged the emergency capital for him? Oliver didn’t know how to feel about any of this.

“She knows,” Felicity said. “And she feels terrible about shooting you.” She touched the spot on his chest where her bullet had struck him.

“Yeah,” he said. “That was not our best family moment. I suppose she must also know I interrogated her.”

“She doesn’t care about that. I think she’s been thinking about how the trial is likely to go and taking stock of her life. She said the only thing that matters to her now is that you and Thea are safe and happy.”

“Safe and happy,” he repeated. “Well, one of those is true.” He put his hand on her elbow, rubbing his thumb in the hollow there. “You can’t have everything.”

Felicity gave him a soft smile. “It was the last thing I was expecting to hear when I went to visit her. We were supposed to talk about Isabel. I put together a report on her that you need to read. Your mom and I agreed she’s dangerous.”

They’d had this conversation before. He was confident that Felicity would prevail with Isabel. The company was doing better, revenues were up. It was in Isabel’s best interest as CEO to work with him.

“Just read it, Oliver. She has a history with your father and Malcolm Merlyn. She wants to ruin you.”

“She has a history with my father?”

“Yes, they were lovers. He mentored her at QC when she was an intern. She thought they were going to run away to be together, but your mom says that was never going to happen.”

They were lovers. His father had been with Isabel. No wonder Moira hated her. This was information he could have lived his entire life without knowing. He understood his parents were complicated people, but did they have to be this complicated? Still, it was a relief knowing that he didn’t have to hide his identity from his mother anymore. And Felicity said she was proud of him. Not ashamed. Proud.

He perched on the desk and took Felicity’s hands in his. “Well, if you and my mom are working together on this, Isabel has no hope of success at all.”

Chapter Text

Thea’s boyfriend, Roy, was a hothead: rash and impulsive. Fighting was recreational for him; he enjoyed it. He also had a serious case of vigilante hero worship, Oliver knew. Personally, he thought Thea could do better, but she apparently needed the excitement that came with Roy’s frequent scrapes and arrests. He had a good heart, but he was really rough around the edges.

If things were normal, Mom would put an end to their relationship, or give it her very best effort. She’d once gotten a scholarship kid expelled for passing a love note to Thea. But prison changed everything. So now she was cool with him dating his secretary and Thea running around with a felon - as long as they were happy? On closer inspection, it seemed a little liberal for Moira, even facing Death Row, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? 2013 hadn’t exactly been his year.

Oliver didn’t mind taking Roy under his wing a little to guide him away from petty theft and towards something more productive. The thing was, Thea was impulsive and reckless too. The pair of them could get in some serious trouble together. He had to keep a better eye out.

He dropped by Verdant on his way to the lair after work, and she was in her office going over inventory. “The place looks good,” he said. “You’re a natural. Of course, you’re not old enough to legally sample any of this.”

Thea rolled her eyes at him. “What’s up?” she asked.

“How’s Roy?” he asked. “Still into crime?”

“Funny,” Thea said. “Are you still banging your secretary, what’s her name? The blonde?”

Oliver clenched his jaw. “Felicity,” he said. “Her name is Felicity. How did you know about that?”

“Everyone knows about that, Ollie,” Thea said. “It’s in the dictionary now. Just don’t get sued for sexual harassment.”

Oliver closed his eyes and used Felicity’s counting trick so he wouldn’t say anything dumb. “It’s not like that,” he said. “It was…is completely consensual.”

“I’ll bet,” Thea said.

“I know this sounds lame, coming from me, but I never intended for this to happen. I know how it looks. I only made her my secretary in the first place because she’s one of the few people I trust, and I need the help. Running QC is not a cakewalk.”

Thea crossed her arms. “Use a condom,” she said. “Every time.”

“She’s a really good person,” Oliver said. “You’d like her. You would. Mom does,” he added, a little desperately.

“Mom does?” Thea said. “Did she tell you that?”

“She told Felicity that.”

“Well, if she told Felicity that, I guess–”

“I confirmed it - I went to see her myself.” They’d had this odd, abbreviated conversation in front of an overly familiar guard. The D.A. was there too, out in the hall, waiting to see his mother. Moira had seemed softer, even warm, and she’d told him she loved him and to please be careful. “I think she’s okay with Roy too.”

“She is?”

“She said our happiness is the only thing that matters.” Moira was probably doing mental makeovers of both Roy and Felicity, but the only way that would ever happen would be if the jury miraculously found her innocent of all charges, and the Queen family’s luck had never been that good even before everything had gone to shit.

“Anyway, I know you met briefly before, but I’d like you to get to know her,” he said. “We are keeping everything quiet for now because of Mom’s trial, but we’re together.”

“Together? As in, it’s serious?” Thea asked.

“Yes. I mean, we’re not living together,” Oliver said. “I guess I am over at her place most nights, but it’s not official or anything. If she asked, though, I would.” Did she have to ask? Should he ask? Was that how these things worked?

Thea stared at him and then tilted her head. “Oh my God,” she said, grinning. “You’re in love with her.”

“No,” Oliver said. “Well, I-I mean, obviously I really like her. I care about her. So much–”

“You are!” Thea said. “Don’t bother denying it. ‘If she asked…’ You live in a mansion, Ollie. It has twenty bedrooms. She probably has a one-bedroom walk-up, and you’re dreaming of her asking you to move in. Look at your soft little face.”

“It’s not a walk-up,” Oliver said. “It’s decent size.”

“Okay,” Thea chuckled. “Introduce us.”

“Really?

“Really,” she said. “Any woman who can make my broody recluse of a brother turn into this much of a goofball is someone I’d like to know. I never thought I’d see that happen.”

>>--->

Tonight’s roster of criminal offenders did not provide much of a challenge for Oliver or Diggle. Roy had left a red flechette outside of Verdant to let them know that a group of counterfeiters was making a deal tonight, but it only took about an hour or so to mop up that mess, and then Oliver was back at the foundry.

Felicity looked up when he came out of the bathroom. “Roy managed to get himself arrested,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?” Oliver said. He went to hang his Arrow costume up in its case. Sometimes he wondered how much potential was really there.

“But it’s okay now. Lance let him go. He called a little while ago to confirm Roy really is doing recon for the Hood.”

“You know I don’t like that name,” Oliver said.

“I know,” Felicity said. “It’s just really hard to rebrand your killer alter-ego persona when you remain hidden from the public or the police.”

She had a point. It was going to take time.

“Anyway, I told him that, yes, Roy is helping the Arrow.” She emphasized the new name. “Do you think we could leave early tonight? I need to clean the apartment for my mom’s visit.”

He walked over to her computer station and put his hand on the back of her chair, resisting the urge to twirl her around. “I want to introduce you to my sister,” he said.

“I’ve met Thea,” Felicity frowned.

He leaned against the table. “I mean, really introduce you to her. As my girlfriend. We could meet at Verdant or have dinner at the house. I want you to get to know her. What do you think?”

Her face softened and she put a hand on his forearm. “I think–”

The door upstairs banged open, and Diggle came bounding down the stairs. “I’m going to need to take a few personal days,” he said, putting his gun case on the table.

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked.

“I have to help a friend,” Diggle said, almost defensively. “Lyla Michaels.”

“It’s his spy girlfriend who works for A.R.G.U.S.,” Felicity said. Unfortunately, that clarified very little for Oliver. He hadn’t realized Dig was dating anyone.

“She went to Russia looking for Deadshot,” Diggle’s jaw clenched. “For me. And now she’s missing.”

Oliver saw immediately how important this was to Diggle even if he didn’t know why. He made a quick decision. “Felicity,” he said. “I think it’s time we visited our Queen Consolidated subsidiaries in Moscow.”

Felicity nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Diggle straightened. “Oliver, you don’t need to do that,” he said.

“I do,” Oliver said. Here was a second chance for him to make it up to Diggle for his failure last year with Lawton, when he’d chosen to go after Rasmus instead of keeping his promise to Dig. Oliver was grateful for it. You didn’t always get them.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Diggle said.

“You didn’t,” Oliver said. “We’ll make the arrangements tomorrow. I’ll grease some palms, and Felicity can do a little of her magic to get us there faster. It will be good to get out of town for a little while.”

Diggle looked at him straight in the eye and, after a moment, gave a small smile.

>>--->

Despite their best efforts as a team, including offering a number of very large bribes and hacking the Russian visa system, their flight to Russia could not be arranged until Monday. They arrived at the tarmac at 9 AM. It was a gorgeous day to travel, and Felicity had finally convinced her mother that her holiday plans were, very unfortunately, scuttled.

“Maybe we could stop by in Vegas on the way back to make it up to her,” Oliver leaned over in the car to say.

She looked at him in horror. “Absolutely not. We are already going to be gone for more than a week, and if we go there, she will insist on introducing you to Doug and the rest of Las Vegas. No.”

Another vehicle pulled up next to the QC company jet just as they were getting ready to board it.

“Are we forgetting something?” Diggle asked.

They all turned around to find Isabel exiting the limo. She was dressed all in black with big, clunky black-and-gold jewelry around her neck. She looked about as jolly as a ringwraith. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.

“Tahiti,” Felicity said. It just popped out, although Tahiti did sound nice this time of year.

“That’s funny. The flight manifest says you’re going to Moscow,” Isabel said.

“Well, we’re going to stop there, you know, after Tahiti,” Felicity said.

“What kind of partner decides to interact with our overseas holdings behind the other one’s back?” Isabel asked Oliver.

“It was an oversight,” Oliver said with his tight bullshitter’s smile. Felicity could tell he was mentally calculating how much this was going to ruin things, and the answer was the same as hers: SO MUCH.

“Oh,” Isabel said lightly, “Well, lucky for our partnership, I’m a fast packer.” She walked past them and ascended the steps to the plane.

Felicity held back long enough to touch Oliver’s arm, and she heard Diggle say, “Oliver, Isabel tagging along doesn’t help matters any.”

“I will take care of her,” Oliver said. “John, we’re going to bring Lyla back, wherever she is.”

>>--->

Felicity had been anticipating getting some rest on the plane, maybe having a few drinks, and catching up on a couple of movies she’d downloaded onto her tablet. She’d never been on a private plane before. She’d never even flown first class.

Instead, while Diggle sat in the back of the plane stewing, Felicity took notes on her laptop for all the business Isabel insisted on conducting on route to Russia. As she typed, she mentally calculated how many calories being this much of a bitch burned. It must be a lot because Isabel didn’t have an ounce of fat on her. Maybe she should try it.

They waded through three hours of an agenda Isabel had put together, one that neither she nor Oliver was remotely prepared for. Finally, Isabel closed her laptop, and took out a thin folder. “I only have one other matter to discuss,” she said.

“Great,” Oliver said. He’d taken off his leather jacket and his navy v-neck, and he was tugging on the collar of his gray t-shirt. She could tell he was tired.

Isabel opened the folder and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “I had to retire Marcia,” she said. Marcia was her secretary. “Her work was getting sloppy.”

Felicity sat up straight, sensing a trap.

“So I thought we’d go over the qualifications you should have in order to be considered for the position of an executive assistant to the CEO of Queen Consolidated.” She held up the piece of paper. “I printed a copy of our last job opening announcement. That was two years ago. Walter Steele posted it on LinkedIn. Over 500 candidates applied, but most of them failed the vetting process and did not get an interview.”

Oliver gave her a hard look. “Isabel, I don’t think–”

“That’s very clear,” Isabel said. “At least not with your head. Now let’s just go through some of the required skills and qualifications listed on this job posting, shall we?” She looked down at the paper she was holding and cleared her throat.

“‘Prior experience,’” she read. “‘Proven track record as an executive assistant supporting C-level executives or senior management.’ Hmmm. Exactly how many years’ experience do you have in the secretarial field, Felicity?”

Felicity swallowed. Diggle looked up from his brooding session in the back of the plane, and narrowed his eyes.

“‘Impeccable professionalism’,” Isabel said. “‘The ability to maintain a polished and composed demeanor in all interactions.’ I’m not sure crashing through a glass window in a thigh-high skirt is what Walter was thinking of here when he stipulated ‘all interactions’.”

“That was not a normal situation,” Oliver said. “And we–we got you to safety first. That’s the only reason she had to go through that window!”

“None of this is normal,” Isabel said. She raised an eyebrow at him and continued reading. “‘Proficiency in managing a dynamic executive calendar, including scheduling, prioritizing appointments, and coordinating meeting logistics.’ It’s hard to evaluate her performance on this one. Is she the reason you miss multiple meetings a week? Or are you just not taking your position seriously?”

“I missed one meeting!” Oliver said.

“This week!” Isabel said. “Last week it was two. Either way, every meeting you miss is an indictment of her abilities.”

Diggle rose and came to stand behind Felicity.

“Here’s one she’s got down,” Isabel said. “‘Demonstrated experience handling sensitive information with the utmost confidentiality.’” Isabel raked Felicity with her gaze. “She keeps all of your secrets, doesn’t she?”

Oliver grabbed the paper out of her hand and skimmed it. “Most of these she is doing great with. ‘High level of initiative, strong communication skills, flexibility and adaptability, multitasking, tech savvy’!”

“We don’t hire executive assistants to reboot our computers, Oliver,” Isabel said.

That broke Felicity’s silence. “I have extensive skills in a wide variety of technical fields and a dual master’s degree from M.I.T.,” she said.

“And that was appropriate for your work in the IT department,” Isabel said.

“I think she’s doing great,” Oliver repeated. “There’s no one else who could keep me half so much on target.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “I wish you would get to your point.”

“My point,” Isabel said, “is that you made her your secretary because it gave you easy access to your slut and not because she was in any way qualified for the position. Everyone at QC knows you’re sleeping with her! Is that clear enough for you?”

Felicity closed her laptop, stood, and walked to the back of the plane where the bathroom was. She was done hearing this. They might need to lay low and keep up appearances - Oliver did it too, and he soldiered on - for the sake of their mission and for Lyla’s rescue, but she did not have to hear another word drip from the mouth of that…that…

All of the words she could think of were too awful to even say. So she locked herself in the bathroom, put her face in her hands, and hoped the plane would fly very, very fast.

>>--->

Eight hours later, their airplane taxied into Moscow’s Domodedovo Airport at noon the next day Moscow time, and they all disembarked. Oliver had a contact named Anatoly Knyazev in the Russian mafia - because of course he did - who apparently had some pull. After they had gone through passport control and registered their visas, Oliver and Diggle went to meet Anatoly, abandoning her to take a cab with Isabel to the hotel she had booked ahead of time, The Four Seasons Moscow. Neither of them spoke a word to each other in the taxi.

Due to some sort of backup in traffic around the hotel entrance, the cab driver dumped their luggage off at the curb at Manezhnaya Square, and Felicity looked at the pile in some consternation. Oliver and Dig were light packers, but both of them had needed to bring business suits and multiple coats, and Felicity…well, Felicity’s packing motto was Be Prepared. She’d really expected Diggle to handle the luggage. This would be nothing for him.

She sorted through the money she had exchanged at the airport and gave some bills to the driver. “Is there any way you could help me with…” She pointed to the luggage, but the man cut her off with an abrupt, “Нет!” There were already people signaling down the block for the cab, and he got back in and drove to pick them up.

“Good luck with that,” Isabel said as she strolled towards the hotel’s imposing stone facade, wheeling her one suitcase.

With her purse straps hitched awkwardly over her shoulder, Felicity wrestled her heavy suitcase up the stone stairs and then went back for the rest. She tried carrying the garment bags while wheeling her suitcase, but it was impossible in her stiletto heels, so she settled for carrying everything in loads for short distances and then going back for the rest in trips. She was halfway across the wide courtyard when a man approached.

“Позвольте мне помочь вам,” he said.

She looked up from lifting the carry-on bags, and saw a man dressed in a black Four Seasons uniform. He was young and fit with thick, reddish-brown hair that cascaded over his forehead in careless waves. He looked, in fact, a great deal like Dimitri from the movie Anastasia which, for a short period in her childhood, Felicity had watched on loop until the VCR tape had broken.

“I–I,” Felicity said, a little breathlessly. “I don’t speak Russian. Only English.” And a little Hebrew, but that was unlikely to be helpful here.

He smiled. “Let me help you,” he said in Russian-accented English. “Here.” He reached for the garment bags. He smoothly lifted two of them over his shoulder and then took several carry-on bags from her as well. “Can you get the rest, or should I call for more help?” he asked.

She felt a flush rise up from her neck. His nose was not crooked, but otherwise he was a dead ringer for her cartoon crush, the only person, fictional or otherwise, who could have ever made her hope for the restoration of the Romanov monarchy. “I think I can manage,” she finally said.

“Good,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” He nodded his head in the direction of the front door. “After you.”

A few minutes later they were at the front desk, and Felicity noted with some satisfaction that Isabel was still waiting for a room. “Unfortunately, miss,” the concierge was saying, “we do not have any suites at the moment. They are all full. There are international talks going on in Moscow at this exact moment, and so we’ve had to accommodate a number of members of state rather unexpectedly.”

Isabel’s mouth pursed in irritation. “What do you have available?”

The concierge, an older man with white hair, looked at his computer monitor and frowned. “There’s a single on the 8th floor that we can get you into in about an hour. If you would like to wait.”

Felicity’s Dimitri lookalike set the luggage down on the marble floor next to Felicity. He addressed another man at the desk. “Ruslan Borisovich, can we help this lovely young lady?” He turned to Felicity. “You have a reservation, yes?”

He had beautiful eyes, her Dimitri, wide and brown under dark brows. He probably looked fantastic in an opera tuxedo. She shook her head to clear it and then realized he would take that as a no. “Yes,” she said. “I have reservations for a suite as well as a room under the name Oliver Queen.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows raised. “The billionaire,” he said. “And you are his…”

Isabel laughed, and Felicity shot her a glare.

“His secretary,” Felicity said. Did they use the title “executive assistant” in Russia?

“Yes, of course,” Dimitri said. Ruslan will get you your key cards. Let me find you a luggage cart. We’ll get you to your room in no time. And…”

“Yes?” Felicity said.

Dimitri gave her a crooked smile. “Moscow, like you, she is very beautiful,” he said. “If you should need a guide to explore her, that can be arranged.”

Felicity’s hand lifted to her mouth. She couldn’t help it; she almost giggled. “You’re very welcoming,” she said, smiling, “but my boss has me on a tight schedule, so I’m afraid I will not need a guide.”

“Yes, he needs her day and night,” Isabel said. Then she slapped the counter. “Excuse me, I’m waiting.”

Dimitri gave her a lingering stare and then wandered off to find the luggage cart. Felicity pulled her passport and her reservation information out and slid them across the counter to Ruslan.

“Did you want the room, then?” The concierge asked Isabel. “I will send the maid up to clean it.”

>>--->

Four hours later, Diggle and Oliver finally arrived at the hotel and let her know what the plan was.

“Are we sure this is the best we can come up with?” Felicity asked. “It seems really, really terrible. No offense.”

“I agree,” Oliver said. Thank God he was backing her up here. “I know Anatoly already agreed to supply the drugs, but we can brainstorm something better. This seems like a suicide plan.”

“Yes!” she said. “I know Lyla’s your friend, but getting arrested and thrown into the worst prison in Russia seems like an unreasonable risk for you to take, John.”

Diggle crossed his arms over his chest. “Felicity, Lyla isn’t my friend,” he said with a deep sigh. “She was my wife.”

Felicity was caught off guard, which was not something that happened very often. She should have done more research on Lyla Michaels. A marriage and divorce were not exactly state secrets. But she hadn’t expected that Diggle would keep very relevant information like this to himself.

“Still,” Oliver was saying, “it’s worth it to take our time and do things right, rather than you getting trapped in the Russian prison system. At least let me go. I can speak Russian, and I’ve dealt with guys like this before.”

“No,” John said. “If something goes wrong, you have to be on the outside to take care of Felicity and me, and even Isabel. It has to be me.” He sighed. “Lyla’s not safe in Koshmar, and I can’t leave here without her. I just can’t. I’ve got this.”

Oliver’s phone rang. It was Anatoly saying he had acquired the drugs and was arranging for them to be delivered tomorrow morning. She wanted to beg Diggle not to do this, but she knew from the expression on his face that it was hopeless. So she nodded her head at him, hoping all the warning bells ringing inside her head were wrong.

>>--->

The next day Oliver sat on the couch in the hotel room, palming the keys to his new Russian police vehicle. They’d just gotten the news that Dig was in police custody and would be arraigned tomorrow.

This impromptu trip to Moscow had brought up some old feelings for him. It would be hard to say that his time in Russia had been the low point in five years of one horrible clusterfuck after another. But it was in Russia that his homesickness had finally overwhelmed him, and he’d decided to come home. He’d believed his mother and Thea were better off without this person he’d become, but he’d needed them just the same. He’d needed them so much.

Russia had been something of a fresh start for him: a new setting, a new nearly incomprehensible language, new unfriendly faces. He could have stayed there with Anatoly and the Bratva and built an entirely different life for himself. Without family, though, it would have been meaningless. And if he had to throw himself into a violent, suicidal crusade, it was always going to be the one his father had grimly assigned him before he shot himself in the head.

Yet, little more than a year later, here he was, back in Russia tempting судьба again. The irony.

The plan they had cobbled together really was shit; Anatoly was right. They had a snowball’s chance of pulling it off, even with the help of a Bratva pakhan and an inside man in the system. He should have tried harder to talk Dig out of it. Oliver was not prepared to lose another friend, this one a brother in arms.

A curse from the bedroom brought him back to the present.

Felicity was not sitting. She’d been pacing, from the couch in the sitting room to the bedroom and back again, clomping around in her high black boots. On one of these trips she’d bumped her elbow on the door frame, and given it a solid smack in return. He wanted to ask her to please just calm down and breathe a little, but he sensed this advice would not be taken well.

He heard her searching through her suitcase now for something - and mumbling under her breath in an irritated voice. Maybe she would be better off alone for a while. His assurances that Diggle was okay were clearly falling short.

“I think I’ll go down to the hotel bar,” Oliver called out. “People talk when they drink. I might learn something useful.”

She leaned her head out from the bedroom, and an expression passed over her face. He couldn’t decide if that was…annoyance? But then she gave a wave of her hand. “Sure, fine,” she said. “I’ve got something I need to do here anyway. You go.”

>>--->

The Silk Lounge at The Four Seasons was already decorated for the season. Two white New Year елки had been wrestled into submission by strings of white lights. The marble mantlepiece was topped with a matching garland and more white lights and gold ornaments. Flanking the fireplace were two windows with a nice view of Manezhnaya Square. Oliver could see the sun was low in the sky.

He walked up to the bar and ordered a vodka. Just one. He had a good tolerance for hard liquor, but he needed to stay sharp in case something happened with Diggle. When he turned around to find a place to sit, he saw Isabel watching him from one of the room’s settees.

“You missed the tour,” she said. “What happened to you?”

“I saw a Russian vehicle that I simply had to have,” he said. The waiter brought two shots of vodka over. He frowned, but Isabel took one. He drank his.

Isabel all but rolled her eyes and asked the waiter for another shot. After that plane ride, Oliver honestly did not have the patience right now to do the…whatever this thing they were doing was. He cut to the chase and asked something he’d been wondering about since he’d read the dossier Felicity had put together on Isabel. “Why does saving my family’s company mean so much to you anyway?”

Isabel hedged a bit and then finally said, with an arachnid intensity, “I’ve given up a lot, which means that if I don’t succeed at everything, then what was the point?” Then she turned the tables and asked, “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Others have tried and failed.” Playboy Ollie had a bunch of these glib responses ready in case anyone decided to get close, so it was easy to pull one out.

“Why do you try so hard to make me think you’re a lazy idiot?” Isabel asked. “I know you’re not. Underneath that swagger, I see you pretty clearly.”

He wondered what she saw. The bad boyfriend? The castaway? The killer? “Really? And what do you see?”

“You’re intelligent, driven,” she said, “and lonely.”

He wasn’t so lonely anymore, but for the moment he detected something truthful in her. “And how do you see that?”

“Because it’s what I see when I look in the mirror,” she said. Her dark eyes glinted at him. She leaned into his space and lifted her face to his. Long, black hair slid over her shoulder, and a strand attached itself to his arm. “We don’t have to be lonely tonight, though,” she said and slid her hand up his thigh. “Come up to my room.”

Oliver held his breath as her hand crept up. It took all of his effort not to openly recoil from her. She was ugly inside, she was horrible to Felicity, and she’d slept with his father.

What was she thinking? She didn’t even like him. She believed he was sleeping with Felicity. Was this about the company? He put his hand on her wrist and lifted her hand from his thigh. He would rather put his dick in a blender than fuck her. “I think it’s best, for the good of Queen Consolidated, if we keep this relationship professional,” he said, “as tempting as it would be to get to know you better.”

Her eyes widened and then narrowed. Clearly she did not like being told no.

Isabel recovered and hauled herself to her feet. “Good evening, Oliver,” she said. She glared at him and tossed her hair back.

He nodded. “Felicity and I will see you tomorrow, Isabel,” he said. “Bright and early for our next meeting. I’ll be sure to be there on time.”

She turned and stalked off in the direction of the lobby.

He grimaced inside. That could have gone better. Well, it wasn’t as if Isabel could complain. She was the one who had crossed the line. He shrugged and asked the waiter if he could see a menu.

>>--->

Oliver wandered around the square outside the hotel for a few minutes to clear his head. It was nearly dinner time now. Would Felicity want to get room service? He decided enough time had passed that she might have settled down a bit. The Silk Lounge’s menu actually looked pretty good and included some traditional Russian dishes she might want to try. They were still on Starling City time, but maybe she was hungry. He was always hungry now - ever since they’d been sprayed.

Their room was on the 6th floor, and he ran up the stairs rather than use the elevator. He held up his keycard, and the door clicked. He pushed it open quietly. The large room was now mostly in shadow; only the lamp in the far corner was on, and the last of the day’s light was fading from the room’s large windows. He could see a thin line of pinkish light behind the tall brick spires of Kazan Cathedral, but dark had overtaken the night sky.

Felicity stood at the middle window holding a thin white candle. On the window ledge in front of her was a small brass candelabra - a menorah. She was singing something low in a language he did not recognize. She lit another candle with the candle she was holding and then placed it in a spot in the middle of the menorah. Then she glanced over towards the door and froze.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

He nodded. “What’s going on?”

She rubbed her wrist with her thumb for a moment. “It’s the first night of Hanukkah,” she said with a gesture at the menorah. “We always light the candles at dusk, facing the street so that everyone can see the light. And the hope.”

“The hope?” he said.

“The hope that we have for the future, that we can make a difference,” she lifted her chin. “Hanukkah is about the survival of the Jews and their miraculous defense of the faith. Lighting the menorah reminds us that we should not be afraid to stand up for what’s right and bring our light into the world.”

“That’s really beautiful,” he said softly. “I didn’t know that.” He couldn’t imagine anything more true of Felicity herself than this stated mission of stubborn goodness. Then he remembered her frantic rummaging about earlier and gestured to the menorah. “I’m not sure why you didn't want to share this with me?”

She turned and looked out the window. “I don’t know, Oliver,” she said finally. “It’s a family holiday, but it’s more than that. It’s really about the survival of a people - my people.” She put a hand to the side of her neck and rubbed. “The events the holiday originated with happened thousands of years ago, but…”

He walked over to her and put his hand in the middle of her back. “But?”

She reached out toward the menorah and slowly dragged her index finger through the flame of the candle in the middle. “My grandmother - my mother’s mother - she had aunts and uncles and cousins who were all shot in Ukraine and tossed in a ravine. We have pictures of them before the war. They look like regular people in old-fashioned clothes, like my grandparents did in their childhood pictures. That only happened fifty years before I was born.”

Oliver reached out to her and pulled her into a hug. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

She gave him a squeeze and then turned back to the window. “This is a happy holiday. It really is. My mom and I, and sometimes my grandparents, get together and eat great food and goof around and play games, but there’s a serious aspect to it too - the need to remember, to show light to the world, and to survive. Not everyone is invested in our survival. That’s just true.”

He thought about it. His family history held nothing like what she’d just described, but he knew too well what it was like to be personally targeted for destruction - by evil people and, seemingly, Fate. And he knew how hard it was to scrape yourself off of the hard ground, spit the blood out of your mouth, and tell Fate to go fuck herself. Not today. And not tomorrow either.

“I’m invested in your survival,” Oliver said, tightening his hold on her. “I can’t even imagine how hopeless Diggle and I would be without you.” He pulled her close again and kissed the top of her head. “Happy Hanukkah.”

>>--->

They learned that Diggle had been indicted for drug possession early the next morning right after yet another meeting with Isabel and Kirill Lebedev, the COO of QC Moscow, wrapped. He would soon be on his way to Koshmar prison to await his trial.

“Usually I’m good at waiting,” Felicity said, punching the 6th floor button in the elevator over and over, “but somehow the stakes seem higher. I don’t know how everything works in Russia.”

“The bureaucracy here grinds slowly,” Oliver said. “We have some things to do, but even those will take time to arrange. It will be days before we can extract Diggle - with or without Lyla.” He slid an arm around her waist. “So I think we should go out and distract ourselves. Diggle wouldn’t want you to waste this time worrying when you can’t do anything to help him yet.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Okay.”

“Okay? Good.” The elevator door opened, and he gestured toward their suite. “Put on something warm. It’s much colder here in November than it is in Starling City.”

>>--->

Ulitsa Kuznetsky Most, a short walk away from their hotel, was a beautiful European avenue full of stylish, upscale shops. They passed one elegantly dressed Russian supermodel after another in the street. Felicity’s wool trousers and long black overcoat seemed a little frumpy in comparison, but it felt wonderful to stroll with Oliver this way in the open.

Snowflakes drifted gently from the sky. They melted on the pavement but settled on the wooden benches and the needles of the potted fir trees decorating the street. She stuck out her tongue and caught one, and Oliver smiled affectionately down at her, dimples creasing his cheeks.

In one boutique she let him buy her a silky-soft ermine ushanka. When he placed it on her head, he touched her nose with the round ball at the end of the flap. “Should we get a scarf too?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said, but that was a lie. She was worried. Still, Oliver looked so tall and handsome in his dark wool greatcoat, his cheeks rosy from the cold, and he was trying so hard to take her mind off of her worry.

When he paid the young shopgirl for the hat, she gazed at him with her huge dark eyes, unblinking, and Felicity was seized with a feeling of proud possessiveness. She threaded one arm around Oliver’s bicep and squeezed it. He looked down with a questioning smile, and she took his hand and kissed it, grateful for him and his thoughtfulness.

In the picture window of a rather nondescript jeweler’s shop, a ruby ring caught her eye - her birthstone. A ray of late November sun shone through the window and set the center stone glowing while clusters of diamonds shaped like leaves on either side sparkled. Oliver lifted an eyebrow at her in question.

“No, no,” she shook her head. “Where would I wear it? The ruby has to be at least three carats. It would raise so many questions.” She pictured the vile expression on Isabel’s face if she saw anything remotely expensive on Felicity’s finger. And Felicity knew herself too well; if she owned that ruby ring, she would wear the hell out of it. Every day. Every night. In the shower. At work. It was too pretty to hide in a drawer or a jewelry box.

They drove to La Bottega Siciliana where Oliver had made a lunch reservation. Before they entered the restaurant, he spoke at some length with their driver in Russian.

When he finally drove away, Felicity asked, “What were you talking about with Andrei?”

“He said he should stay to protect us.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I finally persuaded him it wasn’t necessary. There will be other bodyguards here, and the restaurant will have its own security.”

“He has no idea you could take down six men at the same time.”

“Only six?” Oliver said, mock frowning. “I’m almost offended.”

“Ten men,” Felicity corrected herself. “Twenty.” She looked at him from under her lashes. “But only one woman.”

“Definitely only one woman,” Oliver said, and offered her his arm as the waitress led them to their table.

>>--->

“Отвезите нас в парк Горького и припаркуйтесь,” Oliver told the driver. Gorky Park had plenty of ducks for Felicity to name, and there was still enough daylight for them to enjoy the outdoors.

When they arrived at the park, he took the basket of things he’d arranged for Andrei to get for them and pulled Felicity from the car.

“Mr. Queen!” Andrei said.

Oliver sighed. Andrei obviously did not want them walking unattended, but his presence would absolutely kill the mood. He turned to him and asked him in Russian where the ducks were.

Andrei frowned “Утки?”

“Где кормят уток? Моя подруга хочет их увидеть.” Oliver shrugged his shoulders to communicate the universal “Who can understand what women want?” sign.

Andrei smiled then and relaxed a little. He pointed to a pathway. “Идете налево. Пруды там.”

“Вы можете следовать за нами, но держите дистанцию,” Oliver said. “Я не хочу, чтобы она нервничала.” Andrei took the hint and let them walk quite a way toward the duck pond before he followed.

“What did you say to him?” Felicity asked.

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Oliver said. He winked at her. “You don’t get enough good surprises, so I have arranged a few.”

They walked along a trail that led to a series of connected ponds. Parallel to the smaller pond ran a new wooden boardwalk. On the other side of the pond people clustered around tables at a cafe, happy to drink and gossip in the cold. A few people played chess. There was even a brand new swan house for the waterfowl.

Here was the wildlife he’d been seeking: ducks, geese, and swans swam and milled about, waiting to be fed by visitors. Oliver pulled a package of grechka from his basket, and handed it to Felicity. “Here,” he said. “It’s better for them than bread, and it’s easier to throw.”

Sunlight glinted on the curls escaping from the downy white halo on her head, and his breath hitched in his throat for a raw second. She opened the bright red packet and poured some grechka into her hand. A fat mallard waddled closer, and she bent toward him and tossed it on the ground. “What is this?” she asked.

“It’s buckwheat. Grechka, they call it here,” Oliver said. “Tastes awful.”

Her blue eyes sparkled up at him. Other ducks were approaching. “They seem to disagree.”

“Well, they’re Russian ducks,” Oliver said.

Felicity laughed. She flung some buckwheat around and stepped off the boardwalk. There was grass on the embankment all the way to its edge where it was a short drop into the water. In warmer weather, this would be a nice place to sunbathe. Felicity squatted in the grass and tossed buckwheat into the pond. Ducks came swimming up to her, quacking loudly.

Oliver placed his basket on the grass, pulled a blue wool blanket from it, and spread it out behind her. He sat down on the blanket and pulled her into his lap, digging his fingers into her sides and tickling his way up to her breasts.

“Oliver!” She squealed and dropped the packet of buckwheat into the grass, spilling it. A quackfest ensued, but she was laughing too hard to be upset about it. “Not fair!”

He rolled them both on their sides and started on the sensitive places under her ribs, tickling her until she was gasping with laughter and holding her stomach. Then he rested his head on the heel of his hand and watched her pull herself together. Her ushanka had fallen down over her eyes and covered all but the pink tip of her nose.

He took her hand from where it was resting on her stomach and pressed a kiss into her palm, tracing the lines of life and love there from memory with his tongue. She groaned, and her hips squirmed on the wool blanket. “Stop,” she said, with no real conviction.

“Okay,” he said. She lifted her head off the blanket, and he went for the basket again. He pulled out two champagne flutes and a bottle of Sovetskoye Shampanskoye. “This isn’t the fancy stuff,” he said, “but it’s what everyone drinks whenever anything good happens here.” He popped the cork and poured some into the flutes. He offered one to her.

She took it and sipped. “Mmm,” she said. “It’s good.” She lay on her side on the soft wool, and asked lightly, “So how exactly is it that you can command a favor from the Russian mafia?”

He topped up her flute again and then carefully poured some champagne for himself. This conversation was not on the itinerary for today. Or any day, preferably. “We can talk about the Russian mafia, or we can get a little drunk and name all of Ert and Bernie’s friends here. Which would you prefer?”

She stared at him for a full minute. He raised an eyebrow at her. The November sun was already low in the sky, but the champagne bubbled cool and sweet over the tongue, and the birds here had his back. They quacked encouragingly, hoping for more food.

She sighed. “Boris and Natasha,” she said.

“Uninspired,” he said, relaxing. “You can do better. I like the Russian theme, though.”

“Olga,” she said, pointing. “That aggressive one with the white head and the black beak.”

“Sasha, Pasha, and Tatiasha,” he said. “Those three swimming away.”

She frowned and sat up. “I don’t know too many Russian names. Kirill and Maria. Raisa!” She picked up the fallen package and tossed some grechka farther away towards a few of the more nervous birds.

“The swans are Onegin and Tatiana, a perfect pair, beautiful and full of regret,” Oliver says.

Felicity gave him a double take. “You’ve read Eugene Onegin?”

Oliver shook his head, “Seen it. I am not entirely uncultured,” he said, laying down next to her. “My mother is an opera aficionado.”

“Of course she is.”

His mother had dragged him to the opera so many times growing up, trying unsuccessfully to convey to him what she loved about the experience. He and Thea had given her so much crap about it. What a pair of ungrateful brats they’d been. He’d happily accompany her to any performance of her choice if he could now. Even Wozzeck.

“The best we can probably hope for is that she’ll be sentenced to life in prison,” he found himself saying. He tamped down the images of worse possibilities that arose in his mind. “She doesn’t seem to be fighting against that outcome too hard either.”

Felicity bit her lip and reached out a hand. “I’m sorry, Oliver.”

He shook his head to dispel the melancholy. That was not for today. The daylight was fading fast now, and the birds, deprived of more treats, had dispersed. Oliver reached into the basket one last time and pulled out a small velvet box. He presented it to Felicity. She sat up. “What is it?”

“Open it, and find out,” he said.

She levered the top of the black box open with her thumb. When she saw the ruby ring, her eyes widened. “Oliver,” she said, “I thought we decided…” She shook her head and held it out, “No. It’s too much.”

It was far too little to give a woman who had saved his life, hauled him back from Purgatory, and thrown herself headlong into his insane crusade.

“Souvenirs are customary for travelers,” he said.

She barked a laugh. “A ring like this is not a souvenir.”

“A Hanukkah gift, then.”

“Hanukkah gifts are small and homey. Books, games, food,” she said. “Money.”

“This is small,” Oliver said. “Your eyes lit up when you saw it. I know you like it.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, clearly tempted. “What would Isabel say if she saw it?”

The ring was a tangible memento of this perfect afternoon. When he saw it, he would think of her sticking out her tongue to catch a Russian snowflake. He would remember the fluff of her ushanka tickling the underside of his chin and their hands swinging together as they walked through the park. The ring was friendly quacking and sweet proletariat champagne and the sound of her laughing at his terrible jokes.

“It doesn’t matter what she would say. The ring is yours. I want you to have it,” he said. “I don’t care if you only wear it in bed. Please wear it in bed. Tonight. Every night.”

He took in her recalcitrant expression, the stubborn set of her mouth. In his experience, giving gifts to women didn’t usually require much persuasion, but this was Felicity, not just any woman. He tugged the ring from its velvet nest within the box. “Of course, if you really don’t want it, I could toss it into the fountain over there for good luck. We could use some of that.” He got to his feet.

“No,” she said quickly. “No!” She put her hand on his and snatched the ring back. “I guess it would be alright. As long as–”

“Excellent,” he said before she could come up with any ridiculous conditions for wearing his ring. “If we hurry back to the store, we can get it sized correctly for your finger today.” He looked over his shoulder. “We should go before we give Andrei an ulcer. He fusses like a babushka, and it’s getting late.”

>>--->

Ring sizing turned out to be something of an erotic experience for Felicity because by the time they returned to The Four Seasons, she could not keep her hands off of him. She loosened his belt in the elevator and had his coat off before he could even close the door to his suite. Not that he minded.

He pushed her up against the wall of the entryway, bracing the impact of their bodies with his hand. She kissed him hungrily, open mouthed, grabbing the tie around his neck to pull his face down to hers. “So sexy,” she said, throwing her head back. Her ushanka fell to the floor, and the hair tucked underneath spilled out over her shoulders. He sucked the hollow at the base of her neck while she strangled him into an erotic stupor with his tie.

The living room was shadowed except for a lamp that was on between the windows, and he looked around for a flat surface to get them to. The bed was very far away in another room, so he hefted her up against the wall. She twisted her legs around his waist without hesitation, and he ground into her center through her pants. She groaned and pushed her fingers into his hair, tugging on it.

“You have too many clothes on,” he said. “Let’s just…” He unfastened the buttons of her coat so that he could at least see the tops of her breasts over the neckline of her wine colored blouse. They were definitely bigger now, and they strained against the slippery fabric.

She let go of his tie so she could wriggle out of her coat sleeves. He pulled her towards him and the coat fell to the floor. She slid down him and put her feet on the floor and then reached for the flap of his pants.

He tested the pile of the carpet with his feet. It was soft and inviting so he toed off his shoes, and in the process of twisting them off, something caught his eye. His intuition chose this moment to kick in.

Felicity had her hands all over his zipper, and he put his hand down hard over hers. “Stop,” he said. “Something’s not right.”

That lamp had not been on when they’d left. Or, rather, a different one had - the hand painted one in the far corner. That lamp was off now, and there was something small on the dining room table now. Small and black with a tiny pinprick of green shining right at them.

“We’re being videotaped,” he said. He put his body between her and the table and pushed her towards the door. He grabbed his coat from the floor and put it over her shoulders protectively. She looked momentarily confused, but then she straightened.

His cellphone rang. He frowned for a moment and then remembered it was in his coat. Felicity scrambled to find the pocket it was in, and pulled it out. They stared at the face of the caller together: Isabel Rochev.

>>--->

“Isabel,” Felicity said, coming back to herself. The expression on Oliver’s face was not reassuring. “What does she want?”

Oliver took the phone from Felicity and answered it brusquely. “What is it, Isabel?”

“Open the door, Oliver,” Isabel’s voice came from the phone and the other side of the door at the same time.

Felicity’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. She was absolutely not supposed to be here in Oliver’s suite.

“I can see you both,” Isabel said. “You can’t avoid me. Open the door.”

Felicity took a second to process, but then she nodded at Oliver, and he cracked the door to peer out. Isabel pushed her way in the room, and Felicity could tell by her erect posture and the way she whipped hair back that she was excited. She raked them over with her eyes, taking in their dishevelment, and her lip curled in a facsimile of a smile.

“This is a direct violation of HR code 206.13, QC’s policy on fraternization with subordinates,” she said. “Oliver, you are her immediate supervisor, and I know you’re sleeping with her. Your behavior reflects terribly on the company your family has already put in jeopardy with their endless scandals.”

“It’s not–” Felicity said. “I mean…” But what was there to say?

Oliver was looking at Isabel in disbelief. “You’re scolding me for this? Isabel, last night you put your hand on my thigh and asked me to join you in your room.”

What? This was brand new information. “She came on to you?” Felicity asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Oliver waved a hand in disgust. “I turned her down flat - wasn’t even tempted. You didn’t need to know.”

It would have given her a head’s up that this was coming, she thought, but she quickly did the math in her head. Given the angry color suffusing Isabel’s face right now, nothing she could have done would have prevented this outcome, and, if Felicity had known, they wouldn’t have had their lovely day together.

Isabel’s eyes narrowed. “First of all, I categorically deny that such a thing happened, but if it had, I am not your subordinate, and I’ve never suggested that we have a relationship,” she said.

Oliver’s mouth opened, and it looked like he would say something. Then he looked at Felicity and seemed to realize they were trapped.

“As to the matter at hand,” Isabel continued, gesturing toward the side table, “I now have the proof I need.”

It was then that Felicity saw the green light of the small camera. It was apparently still taping them. Images of the past ten minutes flashed through her mind, and she blushed hard.

“You set up a camera in our–in Oliver’s hotel room?” she said. This was crossing a huge line, one she herself had refused to cross in researching Isabel. Felicity went over the past few minutes in her head to determine exactly how explicit their sex tape might be.

Isabel held up her cell phone. “I’ve sent a copy of this proof - video as well as the photographs I had taken of the two of you ‘fraternizing’ all over Moscow today - to a secure account.” She pointed a finger at Felicity. “Fire her now, or I will share it with every member of the QC board.”

There were pictures too. Felicity closed her eyes and tried to focus. Well, she couldn’t be too sorry about that. It was super creepy that Isabel had had them followed. Maybe that had been what Andrei had been picking up on all afternoon. But at least she’d have high quality photos of Kuznetsky Most and Gorky Park.

Isabel was still standing there, waiting expectantly for her little treat, Felicity’s complete humiliation.

“I won’t do it,” Oliver ground out. “This barely qualifies as any sort of scandal. You said yourself that everyone at QC already thinks I’m sleeping with my secretary.”

“Executive assistant.” Felicity corrected reflexively.

“So they have a little proof,” he said. “Big deal. It’s one thing. We didn’t even take our clothes off.” That was a good point, and a real relief.

“It’s one more thing,” Isabel said. “This is about reputation management. The QC stock price is finally recovering. It cannot take another hit. Your mother’s trial is already creating too many problems to address. She’s likely to get the chair, we both know it. And then what are we going to do?”

Oliver flinched, and his face went pale.

Isabel swiped at her phone, and held it up so he could see it. There was Donna in a tiny silver sequined cocktail dress on the arm of Doug Wynn. “Did you know that her mother is the mistress of a Las Vegas casino owner?” She stabbed her finger at Felicity again. “This is in her blood, picking out a rich sugar daddy. She may be pretty, but don’t think you’re special, Oliver.”

Felicity slapped Isabel’s bitchy face, and the phone fell to the floor.

Isabel put a hand to her cheek, but her eyes sparkled in triumph. “You have until tomorrow to give Miss Short Skirts here her notice that her services are no longer necessary, or your days as co-CEO of Queen Consolidated are over.” She laughed. “They should have been months ago. You’re not cut out for this, Oliver.”

“I will not do it.” His jaw tightened.

“You know I’ve won,” Isabel said. “She doesn’t want her mother’s picture slapped all over the tabloids or her sex tape on the internet.” She gave Felicity one last look of dismissal. “Get rid of her, or I’m getting rid of you.” She leaned over and retrieved her phone from the floor and then swept out of the room, smiling in pure satisfaction. The door latch clicked quietly behind her.

>>--->

As soon as Isabel was gone, Felicity scrambled for her laptop in the bedside table drawer, and attempted a digital search and rescue mission. She tossed the camera in the wastebasket. “Take that somewhere will you?”

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked. He took the camera out of the wastebasket and snapped it in half. The plastic made a satisfying crunch, and the green light went out.

“Hacking her phone,” she said.” I need to know what she has on us. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ve hacked it before.” After a few minutes, she was able to call up Isabel’s email, and she knew the mission was a failure. “There is a video, and she’s already sent it, along with the photos from today, to another email account. And it’s been opened. And downloaded.” She ran the base of her palms across her temples. “What are we going to do, Oliver?”

“How bad is the video?”

Felicity downloaded it as well as the photos. Then she opened the video up, and they watched a digital Oliver slam a digital Felicity against the wall. She swallowed. “I don’t see how anyone could interpret that as platonic.”

“No, clearly we’re about to have sex.” Oliver said. “She got us.” He crossed the room and stared grimly out at the Moscow skyline. He leaned his forehead against the glass. “What she said about my mom…”

“She crossed seven different lines,” Felicity said. “Obviously she loathes both of us. All of us.”

In a way, Isabel’s open hostility was freeing, though. When she’d done her due diligence on Isabel, there were things Felicity had not been willing to do. Now, though? That bitch wanted to play hardball? She could play hardball. That wasn’t even factoring in what the vigilante could do.

Oliver abruptly turned to her. “We should get married,” he said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched the screen. She heard the tinny sound of a call initiating.

“Anatoly,” he spoke into the phone. “I need to ask one more favor of you. How soon can you arrange a wedding?”

Chapter Text

“Oliver!”

He glanced over at her and had the audacity to lift his index finger as if signaling to her, as he had a hundred times before in his office: “Can’t talk now; I’m on a call.”

“So you think Anton can arrange it? I know it’s outside the usual process,” he was saying. “I need it to be as soon as possible. I know I’ll have to дать на лапу. Whatever it takes.” He nodded at whatever Anatoly was saying.

He really was going to plan their wedding out with his Russian friend when he hadn’t even proposed to her. Or, more specifically, even asked her if she wanted to marry him. He’d thrown it out there and assumed she would just agree.

Agree to be his wife. Oliver Queen’s wife. Felicity’s mind reeled a little. She stared at the screen on her laptop, willing herself to track down Isabel’s ugly trail, to hunt and destroy those files, whatever she had on them, but she couldn’t focus on it. Too many things had happened in such quick succession, and her brain was trying to make sense of how they fit together so it could decide what she should do.

Her romantic afternoon with Oliver, his gorgeous gift weighing down her ring finger, the videotaped spying, Isabel’s threats to expose them, and now…a marriage proposal? Her brain was good at pattern recognition, but this was not a sequence of events it would have ever predicted when she’d stepped off the QC plane and onto Russian soil two days ago.

Oliver was still rattling on in the background. “Yes, yes. Zhenya? That’s a good idea. She understands English and speaks a little. Enough, anyway. Can you ask her to...”

Felicity stood and went to the window where her menorah stood, unlit. It was fully dark now, well past dusk. She picked up a match from the box she had left on the window sill, lit the shamash, and started to say the blessing. She lit two candles, and stared into the twin flames, willing the candles, her ancestors, and any benevolent force out in the universe who might be paying attention to tell her what she should do right now. Did she want to marry Oliver?

“Thank you, Anatoly,” Oliver said. “I appreciate it. Felicity and I are ecstatic, and we would love nothing more than to be married in your beautiful city.” And then finally, mercifully, he hung up.

He came over and put his hand on her back at the base of her spine. “I missed it again,” he said. “I’m sorry. Tomorrow we can do it together, okay?”

She stared at him in the reflection of the glass and said nothing. The candle flames flickered and danced joyfully, fearlessly.

Oliver removed his hand from her back and cleared his throat. “I know that this,” he wiggled the phone in his other hand, “is a bit…sudden…”

“Sudden,” Felicity said, turning. “That’s what you're going with?”

“It’s just,” Oliver said, “there are so many good reasons for us to get married. It makes perfect sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” she repeated. “What exactly makes sense about an impromptu elopement in Moscow? We are here to help John out,” Felicity said, “not get married.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, “And we will do that. Anatoly said that he’s arrived and doing as well as can be expected inside of the prison, so that’s good news.” He looked at Felicity hopefully.

“At what point did the idea of marriage enter your head?” she asked. “We’ve only been together a month.”

Oliver opened his mouth. “I–”

“And did it ever occur to you, when you were contemplating making lifetime commitments, that I might want to be asked to marry you, not told?”

Oliver looked down at the carpet, almost bashful, “I’m sorry,” he said. “I love this, what we have. We’re really good together, I think. Don’t you?”

We’re good together. That was his rationale. “You just don’t want Isabel to win,” she blurted out. “You hate it when you’re backed into a corner, and you don’t want to lose to her.”

Oliver clasped his hands behind his back. “No!” he said. “It’s not that. Well, it’s not only that. It’s true, I’m not going to fire you. That’s not going to happen. But there are other benefits too. Isabel couldn’t make you miserable at work anymore, and it would nullify her threats against both of us. Even the most conservative board member - even Evelyn McLeod - can’t complain about what I choose to do with my wife.” He emphasized the word with a tight nod.

“A marriage would also signify an investment in the future of the family company and will give us some much needed good press. We could work together openly. We won’t have to sneak around after hours anymore – which you told me you wanted. I can take you to Table Salt and wine and dine you in public whenever you like.” He took the hand with the ring on it and kissed it.

“Oliver, I–” Felicity said.

“And if we were to ever get caught during our nighttime adventures,” he continued, “they could not make you testify against me or vice versa, so there’s some legal protection for you.

“Most importantly,” he paused, and his face became serious, “it could help my mother.”

What? Felicity frowned. “I’m not following you there. How is our getting married going to help Moira?”

He caressed a curl at her temple with his fingers. “Felicity, If I walk into that courtroom every day with you on my arm, the press is going to run out of ink. My beautiful new wife standing by my side, looking like an angel, showing everyone that the Queen family is not down for the count. Someone believes in us, in our future. In my mom’s innocence.”

“She’s not innocent,” Felicity said. Did he really think she looked like an angel?

“I don’t care!” Oliver said, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “I don’t want her in prison or dead. I need her.”

He took her hand and placed it on her stomach, clasping it there with his. “If you’re photographed a handful of times with just a suggestion of a bump, Felicity, the D.A.’s office is going to need a bloodhound to find an impartial juror.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she whispered. “That’s almost tampering.”

He shrugged. “The press is lazy. They’ll take a pre-packaged story and run with it if it’s tempting enough. And, if my mom is not going to try to save herself…well, I’m fine with making Laurel work a little harder for her salary.”

She knew he was smart, but sometimes she forgot how good he could be at playing people for his own ends. He had run rings around the SCPD last year without even breaking a sweat. She swallowed. “That’s Machiavellian.”

“She’s my mom,” he said. “I will not lose her. Not after my dad…and Tommy. I’ll do whatever it takes. If needs must.”

“Moira used the same phrase,” Felicity said.

“Well, she is my mother,” Oliver said. He bent his knees just a little so he could meet her eyes better, and he gave her that look. Earnest blue eyes, the barest hint of a dimple, the one she knew was a play but she still had a hard time resisting. “Will you help me?”

Felicity closed her eyes. Everything he was saying was true. A Queen wedding would generate a ton of press, and they could manipulate that press to benefit the company and Moira. And it would mean that they could spend all of the time they already spent together without having to make up increasingly ridiculous excuses. Oliver marrying her instead of firing her? Isabel would absolutely choke on the sour grapes.

It was almost worth it for that alone. There was only one problem.

She opened her eyes. The words perched on her tongue, waiting for her to speak and release them. Not one of the reasons he’d just given her was about love.

She wanted to ask him, but she was afraid to know.

He cared for her, that was obvious, and he was right: in so many ways they were better together. Could she marry a man who didn’t love her, though? Even if that man was Oliver Queen?

>>--->

She was wavering. He could tell she was wavering.

The Queen family name had been dragged through the mud in the past year. The company was doing better after months of triage, but the threat of takeover or bankruptcy was still real. He himself was damaged goods; he had no intention of revealing to her exactly how damaged those goods were, but she knew some of it. At best, by marrying him, Felicity would be taking on an enormous project with an uncertain outcome.

She didn’t care about the money, and she didn’t care about his position, so neither of those were useful to him at this moment.

But, as a man with some experience with women, he could tell when one of them was willing - if not exactly wanting - to be persuaded. She just needed a little push.

“We’ll get you an office,” he said. “Next to mine. I’ll hire an actual secretary for you, and you can be…whatever title you want, as long as you keep helping me like you have. I don’t think I can do it without you.” He shook his head. “I know I can’t.”

Her eyes widened.

“And when the company has stabilized, you can transfer to any division. I’ll give you the resources you need to create something. I know you have your own tech projects in mind. We’ll get them funded.”

Felicity looked intrigued at this offer, but not enough to seal the deal.

What did she want? Whatever she wanted, he’d find a way to give it to her. Maybe it was just a matter of asking, like she’d said.

He picked up her hand again and stroked the ring on her finger with his thumb slowly. “Felicity,” he said, using his low voice, the one that pushed her into her not-thinking space, “whatever I have - my name, my money, my body, my time…children some day, whatever you want, if it’s in my power to give it to you, I will. I promise. Will you marry me?”

Her eyes flashed and then filled with tears, and she bit her lip, hesitating.

“Please?”

Finally, she nodded, once. “I won’t share you with anyone else,” she said in a rough voice. “Not like your mother did. I won’t, Oliver.”

“You won’t have to,” he said, euphoric as he leaned in to kiss her unsmiling mouth. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want you.”

>>--->

“We should get a pre-nup,” Felicity said, a few minutes later. They were half lying on the couch, and Oliver was nuzzling her neck, pushing her into the cushions with his considerable weight. The idea of a legal loophole, a way that things could be undone, put back, returned to normal, if necessary, was oddly appealing right now. And it was easier to think about paperwork and technicalities than the risk she was taking.

“We don’t have time for a pre-nup,” Oliver said, his hand sliding up under her blouse. “It’s not on the schedule.”

“Without one, everyone will think I’m marrying you for your money,” Felicity said. She wiggled underneath him and tried to sit up.

“Most people are going to think that anyway,” Oliver said, removing his hand. “Who cares what they think?”

“It’s for your family’s protection,” she said.

He gave her a disbelieving look and lifted himself off of her. “Felicity, I’m well aware that if I piss you off enough, you can hack all of my accounts, take off for Bali, and program my phone to laugh at me every hour on the hour.

“You know where all of my money is,” he continued. “Better than I do. C’mon now.” He put his arm around her waist. “If you tell me to jump off a building because the police are coming, I don’t even think about it, I jump. We don’t need a pre-nup.”

“What is your mom going to think?” she asked, scooting back towards the cushion. “I hate that I want her to like me, but I do, and she’s kind of scary.”

“Let me handle my mom,” Oliver said. “She’s not the only scary person in the family.”

The way he said “the family” looking at her like he was including her in that group made her stomach flip over. She hoped like hell she was doing the right thing here.

“What should we do about Isabel?” she asked. She got up from the couch, retrieved her laptop, and opened it up on the dining room table.

Oliver pouted. “So we’re not celebrating?”

“We’re in crisis mode,” Felicity said. At least she was. He looked pretty pleased with himself.

He came behind her and nibbled her earlobe while he slid his hand across her abdomen. “We’re only going to get engaged once. I think it calls for a little sex.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “You think waking up calls for a little sex. And going to bed. And watching television.”

“Sex is good for you,” Oliver said. “It gets your heart rate up–”

Her heart rate was already up, way up.

“–It clears your brain, makes you happy.” His hand slid down her stomach towards her center. “You should be happy,” he said. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Oliver, be serious.”

“I am completely serious.” He straightened and put his hands on his hips.

She looked at him, smiling at her, and realized that, incredibly, he was already over this crisis. In his mind, everything was settled. While she was still grappling with the choice she was making, doubting the advisability of her decision, he had already moved on to whatever he had up his sleeve next.

Felicity possessed the inner fortitude to reject his offer of marriage. She did. She was happy with their relationship, mostly. Oliver was exasperating, unpredictable, larger than life, impossible to fully pin down, but when she was with him, she felt more alive. Her body thrummed with electricity, while her mind stopped whirring and focused. He grounded her in the moment and gave her mental challenges that pushed her to do what she did best: solve puzzles. He was not embarrassed by her brain. He was proud of what she could do.

Without him, she would feel…she didn’t want to think about how she would feel. But they could keep on as they were. Things were good. Better than good.

Felicity knew that with hard work, she could earn her own money. She had ideas, and some of them had real possibilities. She could succeed in the world on her own merits.

She was already with Oliver most of his waking hours, and she had plenty of access to his body. You couldn’t offer someone what they already had and expect them to bite. No, it was the last thing that he’d mentioned that had been too tempting to refuse: children. Those blond, apple-cheeked, ninja babies she’d imagined weeks ago. She didn’t want them now, but she did want them. She wanted this man’s children.

And - if she were being brutally honest with herself, and now was the time for that - she didn’t just want his children. She wanted the entire package: toddlers that crawled into bed with them, snowball fights on the lawn, playing I Spy on long car rides, band concerts at school, watching him walk their daughter down the aisle someday far into the future. She wanted to trace the lines of his dimples in the faces of her sleeping babies. She wanted to make a family with him.

She’d never had that kind of family. She’d had a mother who’d worked 60 hour-weeks and a father who’d been out the door before she’d gotten her permanent teeth. Not a group of people who spent time together hanging out, helping each other, who had in-jokes and laughed together.

That was her fantasy, and he’d placed it on a silver platter and presented it to her: Take it, please, Felicity. So she would - and damn the consequences. She would make it work. The heart wants what it wants. No one could deny the truth of that.

>>--->

“What should we do about Isabel?” Felicity repeated firmly.

Okay, so she wasn’t in the mood. That was disappointing, but maybe he’d pushed her a little too hard with the proposal. He hadn’t intended to propose marriage to her today, of course, but the idea had come to him as the perfect solution in that moment of enraged frustration with Isabel, and the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. She would like it too, eventually. He would make sure of it.

She looked up from her laptop and gave him a small smile. “Isabel was right about one thing,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want my sex tape on the interwebs. We haven’t checked these rooms for other cameras or listening devices yet.”

His spirits lifted. That was a problem he could solve. “Where’s Diggle’s stuff?”

“In the other room,” she said. “I know he brought a detector. He likes to be prepared.”

Oliver walked across the long room and opened the door in the corner. It was an additional bedroom, and there were a couple of bags on the bed. “You had this brought over from his room?”

“You guys dumped luggage duty on me at the airport,” she said. “I had the porter put it in there when we checked in. Dig only took his carry-on to his room, I think.”

There was a garment bag and a small suitcase. He opened the suitcase. In one of the side pockets was a listening device detector. He flipped it on and started walking around the perimeter of the bedroom. “This room’s clean,” he called out.

“Good to know,” Felicity said. “There isn’t anything else on Isabel’s phone, just the original video and the photos. I’m going to hack her laptop if it’s on the hotel’s network.” He heard her clicking away. “Yep, here it is.”

Oliver stepped back into the living area of the suite, and began to slowly and thoroughly scan the room.

“She’s got a lot of files here, mostly QC business,” Felicity said. “Someone should tell her not to expose that to risk on a public wifi.” She hummed to herself. “No additional video. Isabel must have pulled it and stored it on a different device. Here are the photos. Take a look, Oliver.”

He walked across the room and peered over her shoulder at the screen. Felicity clicked through the blackmail photos. There were a lot of them, and they were in reverse chronological order.

There was Felicity feeding the ducks and the two of them holding hands in Gorky Park. Andrei hovered on the edge of some of the photos, his posture straight and alert, like the reliable Bratva member he was. Some of these photos were quite good and could be useful. The ring photos were romantic enough to prove to the press that his relationship with Felicity was not just a cheap fling.

Whoever the photographer was, he had been following them since the airport. There were pictures of them in the airport lobby, and then a few of Oliver and Dig in front of Anatoly’s bar.

“This is your friend?” Felicity pointed to Anatoly.

“Yes, that’s Anatoly Knyazev,” Oliver said. “You’ll meet him tomorrow.” He was going to love Felicity.

“Where was this?”

“It’s Anatoly’s property, a bar he runs.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t realize you’d picked up a tail,” she said.

“All of the areas we were in were filled with tourists taking photographs,” Oliver said. He’d been distracted by Dig’s problem, and…well, the photographer couldn’t have been Russian, or at least not a native of Moscow. Otherwise he would have known not to take pictures of Bratva headquarters or members. That was suicidal.

Oliver hadn’t been in Russia for well over a year, but he was known in Moscow as Anatoly’s man. For this guy to have followed them around all day, snapping pictures like this… He was good; he’d give him that. If he was still alive, he was very good.

Felicity clicked on the next photo, but nothing came up. Isabel’s laptop was offline. “I’ll have to try again later,” she said, turning to Oliver. “So what’s next?”

Next was calling his mother’s crisis management team in Starling City and having them take care of any legal arrangements state-side. Anton was going to take care of anything involving the Russian government, but he wanted to make sure the legalities of both countries were covered. His mom’s team could also strategize about the media and what to tell them.

Oliver waved the detector around the door frames. “I have to make a few phone calls. Normally, we’d have to wait a month after we apply at the Civil Registry Office, but Anatoly will arrange it and find an official to perform the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Her voice squeaked. “Does it have to be tomorrow?”

“Yes, the sooner, the better.” He scanned the sofa and chairs. Nothing there. He wandered into their bedroom, and the detector went off. He slowed his scanning, waving it slowly over the bed and then the other furniture until he found the bug in the corner of the room. “There’s one in here.”

She entered the bedroom, her face flushed and her mouth tight. “Good thing we had jet lag last night,” she said.

“Yeah.” He crushed the bug between his fingers and tossed it in the trash. Then he scanned the rest of the room. He was getting pretty fucking sick of Isabel’s bullshit.

“Do you think she could hear us in the other room?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Oliver said. “The rest of this room is clear. Let me check the bathroom.”

Thankfully, the bathroom was not bugged. “I can’t call my mom’s team for at least another hour. It’s not even 8 AM there, but they can figure out the details while we’re asleep here.” He walked over to Felicity and put a hand on her sleeve. “One of Anatoly’s associates, Zhenya, will be choosing your clothes for the ceremony with input from them.”

“Why can’t I just wear something I brought with me?” Felicity asked. “Or we could go buy something now.”

“Because our photos are going to be splashed all over the tabloids and every other news outlet,” Oliver said. He didn’t care what she wore, he liked her eclectic style, but people all around the world would be picking apart her appearance, and he didn’t want to give them any ammunition.

“Zhenya is putting together a beauty team. She owns a clothing boutique and can find or supply what you’ll need.” It was a nice place. He should know; he’d paid for it.

“A beauty team,” Felicity said.

“To do your hair and nails.” He lifted her hand in his. “I’m getting a haircut too. They’re coming tonight in a few hours.”

“I don’t know,” Felicity said. “That seems like a lot.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t done a hundred times,” Oliver said. “There probably won't be much press at the Civil Registry Office, but we’ll need to give them photos. Anatoly is finding a photographer.”

Felicity bit her lip.

“It’ll be fine. We just have to look like newlyweds,” Oliver said, kissing her on the nose. “Pretend you’re madly in love with me. I’ll take care of everything else. In the meantime, let’s get some dinner sent up. I’m starving.”

>>--->

At 7 AM on Felicity’s wedding morning, Zhenya, a tall, elegant woman with curly dark hair and enormous green eyes, arrived at The Four Seasons with a small team of helpers and a photographer. She smiled at Felicity warmly. “We will get you ready. Sasha is here to take pictures.” She turned to him. “Mr. Queen said no boudoir photos.”

“Um, okay,” Felicity said. “That sounds good.”

Felicity’s wedding dress turned out to be a women’s suit made of worsted merino wool in pale blush. It fit as if it had been tailored to her measurements. Her wedding shoes were nude Saint Laurent stilettos with pointed toes. Oliver’s eyes sparked when he saw them.

“Nice,” he said.

“No gloves?” Felicity asked. It seemed like this outfit should have white gloves.

“Too Jackie Kennedy,” Oliver shook his head. “We’re pushing it as it is.”

“There are gloves with the coat,” Zhenya said. “The coat is very nice.”

It was. They had selected a double-breasted, camel-colored cashmere coat with a silk lining. When she touched it, Felicity thought she would cry, it was so soft. She had to stop herself from rolling it through her fingers like a blankie. The matching gloves were tan leather, buttery smooth.

“They’re really to hold,” Zhenya said. “We want ring to show.” She held up Felicity’s left hand with its French manicure. “Sasha, please?” She said to the photographer.

Oliver asked Zhenya, “Did you get the…” he waved his hand over his head, “hair thing?”

“Коронка для волос,” Zhenya said. “Yes. And these.” She handed him a square, velvet box. Oliver opened it and presented it to Felicity.

“Akoya pearls,” Zhenya said, “Very fine.” Nestled in the velvet of the box was a single-strand choker of lustrous rose-tinted pearls, and there were earrings to match. Felicity loved her Tahitian pearl graduation earrings. She would feel bad for them when they had to occupy the same drawer as these. They were country cousins at best to this jewelry.

“It’s too much,” she murmured.

“It’s an investment,” Oliver said. “Do you like them?”

Did she like them? They were the most gorgeous things she’d ever seen, outside of her ruby ring. “Yes,” she finally said. “I do like them.”

“Good,” he said, and turned to Zhenya. “Let’s see what you can do with her hair. I’m going downstairs to talk to Anatoly. Call me if you need me back here for any photos.”

>>--->

Zhenya’s beauty team assembled her freshly dyed, highlighted hair in a complicated, loosely braided updo. At the very top, they wove in a hair coronet constructed of pearl flowers and abalone shell leaves. When it was done, Zhenya handed her a mirror. “What do you think?” she asked.

Felicity stared at herself in the hand mirror, taking in the hair and the jewelry, the professional makeup, this renovated, upscale version of herself. “You did a wonderful job,” she said. “I barely look like myself.”

“You look exactly like yourself,” Zhenya said. “With beautiful decorations. Very lovely. Oliver will be greatly satisfied.” She looked very satisfied herself.

Her casual tone made Felicity stop. How well did Oliver know her? “Were you and Oliver…friends?” she asked. How did he know so many people in this country?

Zhenya looked like she was choosing her words carefully. “He was my friend when I needed help. He is good man. I am glad to be able to help him now.”

Another gorgeous, enigmatic ex, then. “You were involved?”

Zhenya looked over at Andrei and Sasha, the photographer. “Men are not my…how to say? Choice. I have known many bad ones.” She sighed. “But life does not care what you want. Oliver helped me to stand up on legs. He protected me from powerful men, and I helped him learn Russian.” She leaned forward and whispered with a smile, “Do not blame me for his mistakes.”

That was clear as mud. But Felicity would not blame her for Oliver’s mistakes. “So you were just friends.”

“Yes, friends,” Zhenya said. She put a hand on Felicity’s arm. “You don’t have to worry about him. He will take care of you. He does not drink too much, and he does not like to hit women.”

Felicity made a mental note to unpack this later, when she wasn’t about to get married. She put her hand over Zhenya’s. “Thank you for making me look beautiful,” she said.

“You were already beautiful,” Zhenya said, smiling. “Happiness and health. To both of you.”

The door opened, and Oliver came in. “We leave in a few minutes,” he said. “Can you get a few photos of the bride standing here?” he asked Sasha. He smoothed his gray wool suit and put a hand on his blue silk tie.

“How do I look?” he asked.

The suit was a little tight in the chest now, but it looked amazing on him, just like every piece of clothing he ever wore. “Great,” she said. “Very handsome.”

Zhenya went over and fussed with his tie to straighten it. She said to Sasha,” Сделайте несколько фотографий их двоих вместе.” And then she pushed him behind Felicity and backed away. Sasha’s camera snapped as Felicity tried to give him a calm, happy smile on this, her wedding day.

>>--->

A half an hour later, they drove to Wedding Palace No. 4 in a limousine, and Anatoly met them at the door, smiling. In his fur-collared black leather coat, he had a decided gangster look to him. Oliver wished he’d toned it down a little.

“Anatoly,” he said, “this is Felicity, my fiancée.”

Felicity smiled and held out her hand to shake his. Anatoly took it and clasped it in both of his. “Oliver is like brother to me, Felicity. I am glad to see him so happy.” He gave her a direct look. “Whatever I can do for you, I am always at your service.”

Felicity’s brow furrowed, and Oliver almost elbowed Anatoly, but instead he opened the door to the building and waved them inside.

The interior of this Central Registry Office had obviously been recently renovated. It had a high ceiling, cream marbled floors and pillars, and a wide central staircase that had clearly been designed for photos. The staff ushered them into a waiting room on the second floor where there were multiple sofas and mirrors.

Anatoly pulled him to the side as soon as Sasha began snapping more pictures of Felicity. “The man who followed you yesterday? We took care of him.”

Oliver tensed. “How did you know about that?”

“Andrei,” Anatoly said.

Of course. The watchful Andrei.

“I didn’t want him killed,” Oliver whispered.

“We didn’t kill him; we only made him very unhappy,” Anatoly said. “He said he sent the pictures to Isabel Rochev, your colleague. Why did she want them? Not for sentimental reasons, I’m sure.”

“I’m handling Isabel,” Oliver said.

“Apparently, you’re handling her badly,” Anatoly said. “What does she want?”

“She wanted me to fire Felicity.”

“Your fiancée?”

“She is also my secretary,” Oliver said. “Look, it’s complicated. Felicity has been helping me with Queen Consolidated since Isabel tried to engineer a hostile takeover this fall.”

“Isabel is trying to take your company?”

“The company she worked for bought out half of QC’s stock this summer after my mother was arrested for criminal conspiracy. That’s why I’ve been acting as CEO. Co-CEO, with Isabel.”

“Yes, I read about your mother. Your family is also complicated, yes? My mother only likes to shop too much and light candles for my soul in church.” He looked annoyed. “I am not even dead yet.”

“You could say that,” Oliver said. “Isabel hates us because of my father. They had an affair. He ended things, and she’s been targeting my family’s business. But I don’t want her dead. She’s hostile and difficult, but with my mother about to go on trial, we can’t handle the murder of our CEO by the Russian mafia.”

Anatoly gave a slow nod. “And she wants Felicity gone, why?”

“She thinks I’d be easier to oust if Felicity is out of the way. And she’s right. So she wanted proof that I…that Felicity and I…that we’re sleeping together. Because then she could show the board, and they might remove me for making a scandal.”

Anatoly shook his head slowly. “Fu,” he said. “Only in America is it scandal for boss to sleep with secretary.” He put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were in trouble?” he asked.

“You can’t help me with the struggle for control of Queen Consolidated,” Oliver said. “Or with my mother’s trial.”

“We can simplify your problem with Isabel. Very easy solution.” He gave Oliver a stern look. “No one threatens Bratva. No one.”

“I can handle it,” Oliver said. “This has nothing to do with the Bratva or you.”

“So you’re marrying your secretary to keep control of your company?” Anatoly looked skeptical.

“It solves a number of problems,” Oliver said.

Anatoly looked across the long room at Felicity. She was seated on an ornamented chair, and Sasha had a finger underneath her chin, positioning her for the next shot. Sunlight shone through the windows and gilded her hair. “She is very beautiful,” he said.

“She is,” Oliver said. The abalone shell ornaments in Felicity’s hair glinted in the light. She caught his gaze and widened her eyes at him comically. He smiled.

“Ah,” Anatoly grinned. “I see why you need her. Okay. You always make everything so complicated, Oliver.”

Oliver opened his mouth, and then closed it. There was no point in arguing. To Anatoly everything was simple.

“We told the registry office that she was pregnant,” Anatoly said.

“What?” Oliver said.

“For a rush job like this, even with generous donation, you have to have reason. One of the specified ones is a pregnancy. They will not have problem believing this, if you keep looking at her that way,” Anatoly said, smiling.

That wasn’t actually bad, Oliver thought. If the Russian press leaked a pregnancy story, that suited their purposes. They just had to get through this wedding without incident.

“Try to tone down the gangster persona, okay?” he said to Anatoly. “I don’t want Felicity to know about my life here in Russia.”

Anatoly’s eyebrows raised. “She doesn’t know?”

“She knows about the hood, but not the Bratva, although she’s probably put two and two together. She’s very smart. She’s part of my team in Starling City.”

Anatoly sighed. “About the hood,” he said, “you know you cannot keep them separate. They are both you, Oliver - lover and fighter.”

“The hood is only temporary, until I can save my city from what my father helped do to it.”

Anatoly gave him a disbelieving look. “You are ashamed of the fighter, but that is what has kept you - and me - alive. It’s not good to begin marriage with too many secrets.”

“She knows a lot. More than anyone back home.”

“So what is problem? Tell her the rest. Women can be surprisingly understanding about violence.” Anatoly grinned again.

“I’ll tell her,” Oliver said. Someday. When they were old and gray, after a long, successful marriage and ten children.

“Tell her,” Anatoly said. Then he looked out the window. The sun was gone, and the sky was now leaden. He smiled. “It looks like rain. A good sign!”

“Don’t touch Isabel,” Oliver said.

“We will leave her, for now,” Anatoly said. “Anyway, blood shed on wedding day is bad luck.”

The door to the waiting room opened, and the woman from the Wedding Palace staff said, in quite fluent English, “Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak? They are ready for you now.”

>>--->

Their marriage officiant was a balding man in his thirties who looked a little like Ed Harris. He stood behind a white marble table at the end of a long room that was illuminated by tall clerestory windows and a modern, glass chandelier.

Felicity walked across the oriental rug, carrying her bouquet of white gardenias and leaning on Oliver’s arm for support. She heard the sound of rain splattering against the windows as Mendelssohn’s Wedding March began to play over the sound system. “Here Comes the Bride” wasn’t music she had expected would be played at a Russian wedding.

“Good morning,” the officiant said, when they reached the end of the carpet. “I am Arkadi Denisovich, and I will be officiating your marriage today.” He indicated where they should stand. He then launched into a little speech about the responsibilities of marriage and what it entailed, and Felicity couldn’t help it, she tuned out a little. It was unlikely this man understood exactly what her marriage to Oliver was going to entail. She herself didn’t understand what it would entail, but she thought she had a leg up on Arkadi, at least.

He began reading from the marriage contract. Zhenya had explained that marriage ceremonies in Russia were formal and legal, using their full names, and not as ceremonial or sentimental as the ones in the West often were. She had coached her on the required responses.

“Today,” Arkadi began, “here in the presence of witnesses and honored guests,” he looked directly at Anatoly and swallowed, “you, Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak, have expressed your voluntary and mutual consent to become husband and wife.”

Husband and wife. She looked up at Oliver, and he nodded at her and then at Arkadi. She slid her hand down his arm and intertwined her fingers with his. He squeezed back, and her throat filled looking at him. It was hard to believe this was actually happening.

“Marriage is a mutual agreement between equal partners. As you enter into yours, you are declaring your commitment to share your lives together, to support and respect each other in joy and in sorrow, in success and in failure, to care for and trust each other, to be faithful and honest, and to uphold the principles of kindness and integrity in your union,” Arkadi Denisovich read.

Equal partners. That was a unique description to lead into their vows with, she thought. The odd thing was, she felt in her heart this was true. She and Oliver did not have the same upbringing, and they came from very different socio-economic realities, but he had always treated her as an equal in his successes. His failures he considered completely his own.

Arkadi was addressing them now. “Do you, Oliver Queen, and you, Felicity Smoak,” - he pronounced “Queen” like “Kveen” - “accept these conditions and responsibilities that come with the state of marriage?"

She wobbled a little on her heels, and Oliver put his hand on her elbow to steady her. They both said, “Yes, we accept."

“Oliver Queen, do you take Felicity Smoak as your wife, and do you promise to love her, respect her, support her, and care for her in sorrow and in joy until the end of your days?"

Да, обещаю,” Oliver said. He reached down and squeezed her hand again.

Arkadi turned to her. "Felicity Smoak, do you take Oliver Queen as your husband, and do you promise to love him, respect him, support him, and care for him in sorrow and in joy until the end of your days?"

"Yes, I promise,” Felicity said.

Arkadi nodded. “Do you have the rings?”

Oliver reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out two rings. His was a thick gold band, and hers was thinner, with diamonds inlaid in the gold.

“The rings you are about to exchange are an ancient and powerful symbol,” Arkadi said. “They are round, like eternity, reminding you that your love and commitments should be endless. May they be a reminder to you that, despite all obstacles, you should always support and respect each other.” He motioned to the rings. “Now, exchange your rings as a sign of that love.”

Felicity held out her hand, and Oliver slid the ring on her right hand, as was the custom in Russia. She took his ring from him and pushed the heavy band over the knuckle and firmly onto his ring finger. There. She had just made a long list of promises she prayed she could keep, but he was hers now. For good. Until the end of her days.

There were two chairs at the table in front of Arkadi, and he waved them forward to sign the marriage certificate. When they had written their names in black, indelible ink, he said, Arkadi nodded at them. "Based on your declarations, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. Congratulations!"

The handful of people in the room, Anatoly, his bodyguard, Zhenya, Andrei, Sasha, and a few staff members in the back of the room, clapped. The noise bounced off the ceiling and echoed in the empty room. Oliver and Felicity turned to face them, and a string quartet began to play Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.” Somehow she had missed their presence there when she and Oliver had entered the room.

Anatoly stepped forward with a bottle of champagne, and a staff member wheeled out a cart with champagne flutes on it. She took the bottle and poured it and then began to distribute the glasses.

Anatoly took one and said, “To my brother, Oliver, with whom I have been through so much, and to his new bride who I have only just met. May love warm your hearts through long winters. May your home be filled with laughter and understanding. And may your journey together encounter only happiness and joy! We raise our glasses to you for a life together that is long, happy, and full of beautiful moments. Горько!”

The rest of the room yelled, "Горько! Горько!” The strings struck up something loud and jaunty.

Felicity’s new husband leaned over and said, “That means ‘bitter.’ They want us to kiss, to make things sweet.” He dimpled down at her.

She lifted her face to his and smiled back at him. “Kiss me, then, Mr. Queen,” she said. “Let’s give the people what they want.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows at that, and his gaze turned warmer. “My pleasure, Mrs. Queen,” he said. Putting his hands gently on both sides of her face, he leaned down and kissed her senseless.

>>--->

They all drank a few more toasts and were presented with their marriage certificate by Arkadi. Sasha insisted on recreating a number of moments from the ceremony, even though he had discreetly snapped some photos while they were saying their vows. Then they exited the ceremony hall and took a few more photos on the wide staircase. Oliver finally let out the breath he’d been holding. They were married. It was official.

The champagne toasts must have gone straight to Felicity’s head because, after being solemn and nervous all morning, suddenly she was giddy. She smiled widely in the photos, and she actually goosed him on the stairs going down.

Anatoly laughed. “She is going to keep you in good shape,” he said. “You should take her back to your hotel and celebrate. We only have little more time before we have to be at Koshmar.” He pulled on Oliver’s sleeve and leaned in to whisper. “There is new problem. Anton sent me text. Isabel took your family jet and flew out of Moscow an hour ago.”

Oliver felt his jaw clenching. He was beginning to regret not choosing violence with Isabel. How were they going to get Lyla out of Russia now?

“You still think you have this woman under control?” Anatoly asked.

Which one, Oliver thought. Isabel? Felicity? His mother? No, he didn’t think he had any of them under control. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. Felicity would help him. And that reminded him - he moved back to her side. “Andrei said there are reporters outside. Ready to run the gauntlet?”

She straightened and nodded. “I think so.”

She looked nervous, so he offered his arm to her, and she laced hers with his. “Okay, wife,” he said. He traced her jaw with his finger and held her cheek for a moment. She looked so lovely, and he was so grateful to her for being willing to throw in her lot with his perpetually cursed one. He leaned in and tasted her lips. They were soft, but her hand was cold. “Now, let’s see your madly-in-love face,” he said.

A fleeting emotion passed over her features, but that passed. She squared her shoulders and then looked up at him with round eyes. She put a palm on his lapel. “Kiss me again, Oliver,” she said, “for luck.” So he did. This kiss held a fierceness and urgency. When their lips had parted, her eyes were so full of emotion - tenderness, excitement, possessiveness, arousal - that he caught his breath.

“Perfect,” he said. She was perfect. She really was. How did she always know exactly what to do?

They approached the exit of Wedding Palace No. 4, and Andrei and Anatoly’s bodyguard opened the double doors before them. Oliver and Felicity stepped through the doorframe into the cold mist of a rainy Russian morning and met the frenzied flashes of at least a dozen cameras.

Chapter Text

Image shows a copy of the front page of the Star City Star, November 29, 2013 edition. It features a photograph of Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak being photographed exiting Wedding Palace No. 4 and the headline “BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY MARRIES SECRETARY!” 

The text of the article reads: 

STARLING CITY’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR OFF THE MARKET: OLIVER QUEEN TIES THE KNOT WITH EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT FELICITY SMOAK IN IMPROMPTU MOSCOW WEDDING! 

by David McLean

In a stunning surprise that has everyone talking, notorious playboy and famous castaway Oliver Queen, CEO of Queen Consolidated, married his executive assistant, Felicity Smoak, today in Russia’s capital.

Felicity Smoak, an MIT graduate and tech wunderkind who quickly rose through the ranks at Queen Consolidated, only recently began working closely with Queen, leaving many to wonder about the story behind this unexpected partnership and romance.

Their nuptials took place in Moscow this morning in a private ceremony performed by a government official. The Russian press covered the modest event and was on hand when the newly married couple made their first appearance.  

Queen is known for his playboy lifestyle and his recent attempts as CEO to return Queen Consolidated to profitability after the company’s stock price plummeted this spring. His mother and former Queen Consolidated CEO, Moira Queen, shocked the nation when she admitted culpability in Malcolm Merlyn’s plan to destroy The Glades immediately before parts of that section of the city were leveled on May 15, 2013. 

The Starling City Star reached out to the Queen family and Queen Consolidated for comment but has received no new information.

Chapter Text

Oliver called his sister when they got back to the hotel room. “I’ve got to tell Thea immediately,” he said to Felicity, “or I’ll be paying for it for the rest of my life.”

“It’s after midnight there,” Felicity said.

“She’ll be up.”

He dialed Thea’s number and thought quickly about what he should say. Thea had a highly attuned bullshit meter. She didn’t always know what was going on, but she could sense a lie before you even opened your mouth.

“Yeah,” Thea answered. Her voice was flat, the slightest bit annoyed, and he felt a wave of affection for her swamp him.

“Speedy,” Oliver said, “This is going to break any minute online, so I wanted to let you know first. Felicity and I got married in Moscow today.”

There was a pause. “You got–what?” Thea asked.

“The tabloids are going to make a big deal out of this,” Oliver said, “but whatever they say, it’ll be wrong, okay? I proposed to Felicity. I had to convince her that getting married was a good idea. She thought it was,” he struggled a second finding the right word, “premature.”

“You think?” Thea asked. “How long have you even been dating?”

“Long enough to know,” Oliver said.

“So, like, two weeks?” Thea asked. He could feel her rolling her eyes at him.

“Look,” he said, “I will visit Mom when I get back to Starling City, but if you could go to Iron Heights and tell her I said this was necessary and will help her, I would appreciate it,” Oliver said.

“What does that mean?” Thea asked. “What have you gotten yourself into, Ollie? You’re…you’re not happy about this?”

“I am happy,” Oliver said. He glanced up at Felicity. She was on the phone too, talking animatedly to her mother. Their suite was overly warm, and she’d taken off her suit and was walking around the room in her underwear, yanking hard on a strand of hair she’d pulled out of her hairdo.

“Look, Thea,” Oliver said, “you told me last year that I needed to find someone I could let in. You said that was important.” He paused. “Felicity is that person. I can be myself with her. I trust her. I know you think that’s stupid, but give me some credit here. I know what I’m doing.”

“I doubt that,” Thea said tartly, “but far be it for me to stand in the way of you being happy for once.”

“So you’ll do it? You’ll let Mom know?”

“I’ll do it,” Thea said. Her voice softened. “If Felicity is really your person, you need to treat her right, okay? We have to keep her around. You could stand to smile a little more often.”

“I will,” Oliver said, sobering. This quick promise he was making seemed oddly heavier than all of the ones he had spoken aloud to the civil servant an hour earlier. “That’s all I want, for us to be happy.”

“Good,” Thea said. “Then I can’t wait to meet the woman who stole my brother’s heart.”

“You’re gonna love her,” Oliver said. “She’s great.”

“You said that before,” Thea said. “Now go enjoy your honeymoon. Bring me back a souvenir. Not a hozen this time.”

>>--->

Felicity held the phone away from her ear as Donna screamed into it. “Ahhhh! Oh my God, oh my God, I knew there was something up with you, Felicity. And you weren’t telling me anything. Not a single thing.”

“Mom–” Felicity said.

“‘Necessary business trip.’ Couldn’t you think of anything better than that, if you were going to elope?”

“We weren’t going to elope,” Felicity said. “It just–”

“How did he ask you?” Donna asked.

Felicity sighed. She might as well tell Donna the romance novel version of what happened. It wouldn’t really hurt, and it would make her so happy. “We were in Gorky Park–”

“Gorky Park! How exciting!” Donna said. “Just like in the movies.”

“I told Oliver about how we used to go to the park and name the ducks, and so he took me there to feed them.”

“You told him that?”

“Yes,” Felicity said. “It was a nice memory. I always liked doing that with you. Anyway, he brought champagne and glasses in a basket–”

A gutteral squeaking noise rose over the line.

“–and he gave me a ring–”

“A ring!” Donna’s voice grew hushed. “What kind of ring?”

Felicity gave her the pertinent details Donna really wanted to know. “It’s a 3-carat, pigeon-blood ruby ring with diamonds flanking on either side.”

“Text me the picture!” Donna said. “Right now.”

Felicity took her phone and snapped a picture of the ring and then texted it to her mom.

“Get out!” Donna said. “That is so beautiful! Three carats.” She paused for a moment and then added, “Doug needs to step it up a little.”

Felicity waited.

“And then he asked you?” Donna asked.

More or less, give or take four hours and a blackmail threat from Isabel, Felicity thought. “And then he asked me to marry him.”

“And he couldn’t even wait to get home,” Donna said. “He had to make you his wife immediately.” Her voice grew teary. “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Felicity said, “It was very romantic,” because it had been. She realized now how much effort Oliver had put into creating the perfect afternoon. All of the things that she’d told him she wished she could do with him in Starling City, he’d made them happen in Moscow for her. There was something unutterably sweet about that.

She made a note to herself to be clearer with him. The man could follow directions.

Felicity continued, “It’s going to be in the press, so be prepared. Just ignore anything salacious, Mom. I’m not pregnant. They’ll rehash all of Oliver’s relationships, though.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Donna said. “Reformed rakes make the best husbands. Everyone always says that. But I definitely need to meet Oliver now that you’re married.”

“We’ll arrange something,” Felicity said, “when we get back to the states.”

“I need to tell Doug right away,” Donna said. “He’s always going on about how Aaron is a neurosurgeon and Melanie is second violin in the San Francisco Symphony, but neither of them are married to a billionaire CEO, are they?”

That annoyed Felicity. “I have my own accomplishments, Mom.”

“Oh, I know, honey, your computer stuff. I’ve told him all about your awards and your degrees, but computers are so unsexy unless there’s money involved. Oliver Queen, though - even Doug can’t hand wave that away,” she said with satisfaction.

>>--->

The next phone call Oliver made was to the flight managementment company. He yanked his tie out of his collar and used his Arrow voice. “I want that plane back in Moscow by tonight. Do you hear me? By midnight tonight!”

The flight management company’s representative said, “Y-yes, sir, I understand. I-I’m looking through the records, and it says here the pilot tried to contact you repeatedly, but you were not answering your phone. He thought since Isabel Rochev was the CEO of Queen Consolidated, it had to be alright with you if she used the jet.”

“It’s the Queen family’s private plane. Ms. Rochev had no right to take it without my express permission,” Oliver said. “If the pilot doesn’t land at the nearest airport and return to Moscow, I’ll report it stolen.” Could you report an airplane stolen? It wasn’t like there was an air police. He didn’t care; it sounded good.

“I will make sure it’s returned,” the man said. “By tonight.”

“Good,” Oliver said. “Where is it now?”

“Hmm,” the man said, “from what I can see from the flight plan the pilot filed, they should be flying in range of the Stuttgart Airport very soon.”

“Fine,” Oliver said. “Isabel can either return with the plane or sit in the Stuttgart Airport until she can get another flight. Her choice.”

“Yes, sir,” the representative said. “What about the other passenger?”

“There was another passenger?”

“Yes, the pilot noted that Ms. Rochev had hired a bodyguard, but that his papers were in order. He has an American passport, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

That was interesting. It seemed Isabel had a weakness.

“I’m not concerned about him. He can fly back or make his arrangements from there. I only care that the airplane is returned to me quickly. I’ll need it on standby over the next several days. My travel plans are rather fluid.”

“I understand,” the man said. “We will make it happen. I’m so sorry for any inconvenience this has caused you.”

Oliver let out the breath that he’d been holding and collapsed on the sofa. “Tell the pilot that as long as the Queen jet is available for my use tomorrow, I will not hold this incident against him. I know how insistent Ms. Rochev can be, and I understand the confusion about the ownership of the airplane.” He hung up the phone.

Felicity came over and sat on his lap. “I didn’t realize it wasn’t the QC jet,” she said. She started unbuttoning his shirt.

“I ordered the family jet so no one on the board could complain about me using company resources inappropriately,” Oliver said. “In case we had to stay longer than we thought.”

“That was smart,” Felicity said. “So they’re landing in Stuttgart? And there was someone with Isabel?” She stroked down his chest with her hand.

Oh, she was going to like this. Oliver smiled. “She hired a bodyguard to fly with her. I think she saw those photos of Anatoly and me and got scared, so she got out as soon as she could. I would say that was wise of her, but she took my plane.”

Felicity looked intrigued. “Her parents - they were killed by the Bratva.”

“Yes, I wonder what for,” Oliver said. He didn’t really care about that right now, though. Felicity’s warm hand was low on his abdomen, and she was wearing almost nothing except his ring. The plane was taken care of, Thea was happy for him, and he had a solid couple of hours of honeymoon in front of him. He could not wait to lick champagne from the shallow bowl of her belly. Why bother about Isabel? She was in Germany.

Felicity sat up straight and looked thoughtful. He looped a finger through the elastic on her underwear and tugged. She swatted his hand. “Just a minute,” she said. She went to get her laptop. That was a bad sign.

“Felicity, let it go,” he groaned. “It can wait. Let’s order up a bottle of champagne, and we’ll see how married sex compares.” He raised his eyebrows at her hopefully.

She held up a hand. “Oliver, if you give me an hour - one hour - I’ll be so hot, you’ll have to wear gloves to touch me.”

She could not be serious. “I don’t want to wear gloves to touch you,” he said. “You’re hot enough now. Let me show you how hot I think you are.” He reached out to cup her ass.

She dodged him, though, and plopped down on the sofa next to him. “One hour. I’ve just got a tiny bit of hacking to do.”

>>--->

Felicity figured she had a narrow window of time to create a few unpleasant little problems for Isabel who, she was betting, would not be accompanying the Queen jet back to Moscow. She hacked into the familiar A.R.G.U.S. server and quickly made a profile for a nonexistent employee, and then she had that employee submit a formal report to Interpol. It seemed that there was some suspicion that Isabel was a Putin asset. Be on the lookout. She laced her fingers together, and flexed them.

She didn’t bother to build a file on Isabel’s supposed espionage, but she made a note that the matter was highly classified. She wanted Interpol to keep Isabel nice and busy so she could not make any more trouble for them until they got John and Lyla back in the U.S., but she didn’t want Queen Consolidated to have to answer any difficult questions about their CEO.

Then she remembered that Isabel had presented a Russian passport in the Domodedovo Airport. Oliver’s hand was snaking over her thigh, and she smacked at it. “You’re going to like this, I promise,” she said. “I promise.”

He gave her a sad look and wandered over to the dining room table to browse the hotel menu.

On a hunch, Felicity hacked the USCIS server and found Isabel’s file. She quickly read the highlights. “Yes!” she said. “It’s too good. This is too good.”

Oliver wandered back over and sat down on the sofa arm. “What is?”

“She’s not a U.S. citizen,” Felicity said. “Isabel was adopted by American citizens, but she was never naturalized. She’s in the U.S. on a green card.”

“Adopted children don’t get citizenship?” Oliver asked.

She quickly looked that up. “They do. Now,” she said. “But Isabel was adopted in the 1990s, and because she was already 18, she missed the cutoff date for the Child Citizenship Act of 2000. So she would have had to apply for citizenship, and it doesn’t look like she ever did. Maybe she is a spy.” She laughed at her own joke.

She wondered what the odds were that Isabel had taken her green card with her on the Queen jet when she thought she was not going to have to go through entry processing on return. Felicity weighed Isabel’s arrogance against her need for control, and then she shrugged. She downloaded and then deleted Isabel’s entire file from the USCIS server. Now she didn’t exist to Immigration except on paper, and that paperwork was not going to be available to the immigration control officers of whatever U.S. airport she flew into.

“What did you just do?” Oliver said.

“I just made it a little difficult for Isabel to reenter the U.S. unless she has her green card on her,” Felicity said. “Okay, maybe very difficult. She might be refused entry, but, given that she’s an ironclad bitch and the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, probably not. It should tie her up for days. Days! Let’s see how she likes being subjected to endless scrutiny.”

“Nice,” Oliver said. “I bet that feels good.”

“So good,” Felicity said. She stretched her arms out over her head. “She wanted to play. Well, what goes around comes around.” This should give Isabel an inkling of who she was really up against.

“You know what else feels good?” Oliver said. He reached for her laptop.

“One more thing,” Felicity said. “Just one tiny, little thing. I can track down the rest of this when we get back, but you said she came on to you in the lounge downstairs?”

“Hmm?” Oliver said, leaning forward. “Oh, yeah. The first night we were here. She put her hand on my leg and said we should go to her room.” He shuddered.

“The Four Seasons should have footage of that.” Felicity said. “The place is full of international dignitaries right now, and I’m sure security is tighter than a drum. I want to be able to show that to the board if it ever comes to that.”

She spent a handful of minutes getting around hotel security and then sorted through the files of surveillance footage until she got to the afternoon of the 27th. And there they were, a little black-and-white Oliver and Isabel sitting on a narrow couch in the Silk Lounge. And there Isabel was, leaning into him and sliding her hand almost to Oliver’s crotch. Felicity narrowed her eyes. She was going to regret that. Oliver’s thighs were now Property of Felicity Smoak officially, thanks to Isabel’s blackmail attempt, and she was not allowed to touch.

Felicity copied the footage to her laptop and leaned back against the sofa. She felt the familiar satisfaction of outwitting a terrible person, and she let herself relish it for a minute. Then she nudged Oliver’s knee with her hand.

“What does a girl have to do to get some sex around here?” she asked.

Oliver perked up. “Oh, now you’re interested,” he said.

“Yes, now I’m interested,” Felicity said. She walked her fingers up his leg into that territory that no other woman was going to touch ever again.

“I’m not sure I can fit you in,” Oliver said, shifting his weight away from her hand. “Anatoly said we had to leave by this afternoon.”

Felicity got up from the couch and inserted herself into the space between his knees. She leaned in and put her forehead up against his. “It’s early afternoon,” she said. “Fit me in.”

“We need to get ready,” Oliver said in a righteous tone.

“I’m ready,” she said. “I’m so ready.” She took his hand and put it on her breast. “Feel.”

“I don’t know,” Oliver said slowly, but his thumb moved over her nipple, circling it as it stiffened. “They say after marriage, the sex goes downhill.”

Felicity climbed onto his thigh and slid her hands over his muscled biceps. “Oh, really? Who’s ‘they’?”

He shrugged. “The experts, I guess.”

She tilted her face and kissed him, sucking his lower lip into her mouth while she pressed herself into the warmth of his body. “Experts can be wrong,” she said. “Let’s run some tests.”

He grinned at her. “Okay.” He snatched her up in his arms and carried her, laughing, into the bedroom to show her exactly how good he was at keeping every part of her warm in the cold Russian winter.

>>--->

Oliver’s head hit the pillow as his heart hammered nearly through his chest. Felicity slumped down across him, her breathing fast and rough. It took a full minute for him to get his own breathing under control.

She lifted her head off his chest to look at him. Her hair had come loose from her careful updo and was curling wildly around her face. “That wasn’t too bad,” she said cheekily. “Maybe not our all-time best, but…”

He rolled her over onto her back, cupped her cheek with his palm, and kissed her - long and hard at first and then lingeringly. As he explored her mouth, it occurred to him that, when they returned from extracting Diggle, they would come back to this room, and he would sleep next to this woman tonight, and tomorrow night, and every night into the future. He wouldn’t even have to ask her if he could move in now because they were married. They were married.

He opened his eyes, and gave her one last kiss. “It was the best,” he said, staring into the blue-gray mosaic of her eyes. “You’re the best.” He traced a blond curl at her temple slowly, watching as it straightened under the pressure of his fingers and then sprang back into place when he lifted them away.

She blinked, opened her mouth, and then closed it again. “Oliver, I–” she said.

The cellphone on the bedside table rang. He shot an annoyed glance at it, but the afternoon daylight was already fading, and they would be on the clock soon, if they weren’t already. He levered himself up on the mattress and grabbed the phone. “Yes,” he answered.

“We leave after one hour,” Anatoly said. “Let’s hope your friend knows where he must be.”

“He will,” Oliver said, praying that was the truth. Diggle was good, but there was so much that could go wrong here.

“You are all over the news,” Anatoly said. “The Russian press seems to like your new wife.” He hung up.

Felicity was looking at him. “We made the news?” She snagged her tablet from her side of the bed and did a quick search. “I can’t find anything.”

“Check ria.ru,” Oliver said. “There should be some kind of society page. Yes.” He tapped a section of the news site, and their picture came up next to a news article. It was not very flattering of him, but Felicity looked amazing.

“What does it say?” she asked. “I can run it through an online translator.”

He took the tablet and skimmed the article. “They’re already reporting the pregnancy angle. The rest is what we told them.” He handed the tablet back to her. “Check the Starling City Star.”

Felicity brought up The Star. “It’s there!” she said. “Isn’t it like 2 o’clock in the morning in Starling?”

“My mom’s team told them what to write,” Oliver said.

Felicity frowned. “It says, ‘STARLING CITY’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR OFF THE MARKET: OLIVER QUEEN TIES THE KNOT WITH EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT FELICITY SMOAK IN IMPROMPTU MOSCOW WEDDING!”

“Well, they got your title right,” Oliver said. “Although I don’t think anyone will be calling you that anymore.”

“It says, ‘IMPROMPTU,’” Felicity said. “Doesn’t that make it seem like it was a sudden decision?”

“Who wrote the piece?” Oliver said. “It was probably that jackass McLean–”

“David McLean,” Felicity said. Her brow wrinkled. “You know him?”

“I went to school with him,” Oliver said. “We didn’t get along.” He saw her wary expression. “I didn’t do anything to him. We just didn’t like each other very much. It probably irritated him to write that ‘eligible bachelor’ crap, so he threw in the suggestion that we had to get married.” He glanced at the tablet again. “Is there anything more?”

Felicity pulled her index finger down the screen. “Yes, when you click on the article, there’s the statement you gave.” She read it aloud.

We are happy to share the Queen family’s good news with the world. Felicity and I thank you for your good wishes. We are excited to begin this new chapter of our lives together and are optimistic about the future of our family and Queen Consolidated.

“You planted the suggestion,” she said.

“Anything else would be too much,” Oliver said. “No pregnancy rumors in The Star?”

Felicity shook her head. “I hope when that bleeds over to the American tabloids that it’s not going to be a problem for the board members.”

“Only if you’re really pregnant,” Oliver said. “You’re not, are you?”

Felicity shook her head.

“Then we deny it. It’s not true, and time will tell. My mom’s team is going to send the photos from today to TMZ, and arrange for a press blitz - People Magazine, television interviews, the whole thing. We can share Isabel’s photos with them in batches. By the time all of the wedding PR is over, they won’t care about baby rumors.”

“Television interviews?” Felicity looked alarmed.

“I’ll do everything,” Oliver said. “It’ll be fine.” He slid his legs to the side of the bed and sat up. “It’s 3:30. Anatoly’s going to be here soon. Let’s go break Diggle out of Koshmar prison.”

>--->

Sara was sitting in the living room of the Queen mansion eating cereal and making notes about the Starling City Rapist on her laptop. Since the attack on the Gamma Delta house, Starling University’s female students had been scared to go anywhere, many even to class. Attendance at the city’s hospitality venues had plummeted too. Thea had tripled security at Verdant, and most other club owners had done the same, but every woman in the city flinched when the news flashed a picture of yet another victim. None of them wanted to be next.

Complicating things, two more girls had been attacked in the past week, one of them with ties to the Bratva. Alexi Leonov’s daughter was rumored to have been in the club where one girl had been targeted, and now he was out for blood. Likewise, the Chinese Triad had put a price on the SCR’s head. They were opposed, on principle, to anyone but the Triad controlling distribution of drugs in Starling, but they wanted their women safe too.

With nothing to do but wonder when the League of Assassins might make the next move against her or her family, Sara had stepped up her patrolling of the city, “kicking the crap,” as her father said, out of anyone who looked at a woman sideways in the Glades. The problem was, she had no idea how to identify the SCR from all of the other garden-variety creeps who preyed on the vulnerable.

She needed Oliver and Felicity to return from their trip so she could get Felicity to hunt him down digitally. Then Sara could put him in the ground where he belonged. Oliver might not like that, but she didn’t share his squeamishness about killing when it came to men like this rapist. No woman should have to wake up to pictures of her violated mind and body online, with the knowledge she’d done everything her rapist had dreamed of - and more.

She was wondering if she should text Ollie and tell him to get his ass back home pronto when Raisa came barreling into the room with a very intent look on her face. She grabbed the remote control and flipped the television on.

The Starling City News reporter on WEBG was saying, “Unofficial sources at Queen Consolidated suggest an affair that has been going on for some time, with the couple avoiding being seen together socially to evade the ever-watchful eyes of Starling City's gossip columns.”

A series of photos of Oliver and Felicity at various work functions flashed across the screen.

“What is this?” Sara asked.

“My friend called me,” Raisa said. “She told me they got married!”

The reporter continued, “Walter Steele, President of Starling National Bank and Oliver Queen’s step-father, gave a statement for the family this morning.”

Walter appeared, standing in front of QC, looking formal and authoritative, but when the camera zoomed in on his face, it revealed a fond smile. “I would like to extend my heartfelt congratulations to Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak on their recent marriage,” he said. “As a long-time friend and now member of the Queen family, it brings me immense joy to see Oliver begin his life with Felicity, a very talented young woman whom I have had the privilege of working with directly. I am confident the two of them will combine their considerable talents to shape Queen Consolidated and make Starling City’s future brighter for all of us.”

“I thought he and Moira were getting divorced?” Sara said.

“They are,” Raisa said. “It’s not finalized yet, though. He doesn’t want the family to have more to deal with before her trial. He’s a nice man.”

“I can’t believe they got married,” Sara said. You could barely convince the old Ollie to commit to dinner plans.

“He loves her,” Raisa said with a firm nod. “You can tell. His face, it’s very soft when he talks about her.”

It was? Sara had known they’d been fooling around, yeah, but– “Why the rush, though? I mean, marriage.” she said.

Raisa pursed her mouth. “That is interesting. It’s not easy to get married in Russia so fast.” She shrugged. “Whatever the reason, we’ll find out.”

The reporter, whose name, it turned out, was Merritt Davis, finished his segment with, “As the world watches, one question remains on everyone's lips: What's next for this new power couple? Will the new Mrs. Queen take a more prominent role in the Queen business empire? And how will married life change Starling City's former most sought-after bachelor? Stay tuned for more from News 7 WEBG!”

Sara collapsed into the cushions of the couch. “Walter seemed genuinely excited for them,” she said. “Are they so close?”

“It’s because he knows,” Raisa said.

Sara stilled, aware that the topic of the discussion had shifted. “He knows what?” she said lightly.

Raisa gave a very long, very Russian sigh. “He knows what Oliver does at night,” she said slowly, enunciating the words.

“What he does at night?” Sara asked carefully.

“Sara, I know,” Raisa said. “Just as I know about you. I do Oliver’s laundry. I know how much blood is normal amount to get out of clothes. Both of you,” She shrugged her shoulders, “it’s so much blood and dirt. I figured Oliver out long time ago.”

“You don’t do my laundry,” Sara said.

“I get blood out of carpet too - and tile.” Raisa said. She tapped her temple with her index finger. “The housekeeper knows all the secrets.” She leaned forward. “Mr. Steele got much friendlier with Oliver and very cold with Mrs. Queen after he was rescued last year. He knows Oliver is the Hood.”

“Oliver rescued him?”

“Malcolm Merlyn kidnapped him because he was asking questions,” Raisa said. “Mrs. Queen, she was very upset. And then one day in the spring, Walter came home. She was so surprised. But Oliver was not surprised. Because he was the one who found him. And Felicity helped him. That must be why Mr. Steele likes her so much.”

“You know about Felicity too?”

“I told you,” Raisa said, “the housekeeper knows everything. No one told me. I put together.”

Not everything, Sara thought. You don’t know everything I’ve done, thank God. But clearly they had been underestimating Raisa.

“Police have to know, right?” Raisa asked. “The sketch they show on the news of The Hood looks just like him.”

“Except for the chin,” Sara said. “Ollie’s chin is not that chiseled.” She shook her head. “I don’t think my dad knows, though.”

“If they don’t know, it’s because they don’t want to know,” Raisa said with a grim smile. “I can see why not, since he so much does their job for them.”

She’s proud of him, Sara thought. Her son who was not a son - she’s really proud of him. Did Ollie know that? “What do you think of Felicity?” she asked.

“I like her,” Raisa said. “She is smart and loyal. And she does not let Oliver push her over. That’s good. He needs someone to push back, or he gets into trouble.”

That was true enough. She and Laurel had always gone along with his crazy, terrible, exciting, spur-of-the-moment plans, and look what happened with that. Her train of thought came to a screeching halt then, and she bit the side of her cheek as she wondered how her sister would take this news. One thing she was sure of: Laurel wasn’t going to be happy to hear about the new Mrs. Queen.

>>--->

On the Friday after Thanksgiving, Laurel Lance came to visit Iron Heights. Moira was a bit confused as to why she came alone, or at all, since Assistant District Attorney Adam Donner had been primary on the prosecution and so eager in every one of their interactions to make his malice towards her known. It was dull in prison, however, and Laurel’s visit promised to reveal something new about her case. That was better than sitting in her cell contemplating her abbreviated future.

When she stepped into the visitors’ room, she saw Laurel standing there in a plain, single-breasted tan suit. Her long hair was carefully curled. “Laurel,” she said, nodding her head.

“Hello, Moira,” Laurel said, a tad aggressively.

Moira noted the familiar address. She must be nervous. Well, Laurel could call her whatever she wanted, she could stand there with her rather pointed chin held aloft; she was never going to outlive that Christmas Break incident with Oliver and Tommy in Palm Springs. Moira might be on trial for murder, but at least she’d never drunkenly serenaded a pool full of people topless.

“Why have you come to see me today?” Moira asked.

“I thought that I would give you one more chance to reconsider ADA Donner’s plea offer.”

“And why would I do that?”

Laurel put her briefcase on the metal table but didn’t open it. “Adam Donner has been sifting through the phone and email files he subpoenaed,” she leaned forward and continued in a hushed voice, “and he’s found something quite personal between you and Malcolm Merlyn.”

Moira forced herself to let out her breath slowly. “Our families were friends for years, Laurel. Robert and Malcolm were best friends before Malcolm began his insane vendetta.”

“From the evidence, it seems like you and Malcolm were more than just friends, at least at one point in time.”

And there it was, laid bare: one half of her worst secret. Moira did not give Laurel the satisfaction of reacting, however. “You’re reaching,” she said.

“I’m not.” Laurel opened her briefcase and took out a piece of paper, and slid it across the table. It was a printed copy of an email in which Malcolm talked about one of their weekends together.

“That proves nothing,” Moira said.

“There’s a reply,” Laurel said, and took out another paper. Moira knew exactly what it would say. She had a good memory for her errors in judgment, especially the most egregious ones. And this one was at the top of the list. She raised an eyebrow at Laurel.

“Donner will submit this as evidence of your emotional involvement and Merlyn’s feelings for you, and that will undermine your claim of coercion, which is the lynchpin of your defense.”

“Look at the date,” Moira said. “It’s decades ago.” Or nearly. “It doesn’t change the fact that Malcolm had my husband killed and almost killed my son as well. After the Queen’s Gambit went down, I knew he was capable of anything. I took his threats seriously. Very seriously.” That was the absolute truth.

“This is not the only correspondence,” Laurel said. She took out another paper. “What does he call you here? Birdie?”

Moira winced. “Birdie was what Robert called me.” She had a flash of a memory from long ago.

“Birdie,” he said. “I…”

“Don’t you Birdie me, Robert.”

“Moira,” he said, sighing. “I wouldn’t have even told you about this. I wouldn’t. I try to keep these things discreet. But this woman, she won’t cooperate. She won’t be sensible. She wants the baby, and she wants money. A lot of money. She’s threatening to go to the media and a lawyer if I don’t give her what she wants, and I’ve just...lost control of the situation.” He paused. “If you want Oliver to have Queen Consolidated some day, I’m gonna need your help with this one.”

“I guess they both did,” Laurel said.

Moira shook her head to clear it. “It was just a nickname. It’s hard to shorten ‘Moira’.”

“The fact is, you’re going to have a hard time convincing a jury that he was a threat to you with these letters.” She rifled through her file folder. “There are some erotic lines that he wrote to you in here somewhere.”

Moira winced at the memory of Malcolm quoting Bonaparte to her: "Un baiser sur ton cœur, et bien plus bas encore, bien plus bas!" She’d forgotten about that, or, rather, worked very hard to forget it.

“You raised his son for several years,” Laurel said. “Clearly, he trusted you.”

“Yes, Tommy came to live with us after Rebecca died. We were all close friends once.”

“The jury isn’t going to care about the friendship between your families. Hundreds of Starling citizens died, and the public wants someone to suffer for it. Moira, take the plea deal. I’m trying to help you.” She blinked her big eyes at Moira. “I don’t want Oliver to have to attend your execution.”

“If this is how you offer to ‘help’ a long-time family friend, I’d hate to see your enmity,” Moira said.

Laurel’s mouth contracted. “It’s time to face facts. Robert was charismatic and well liked. He had established a good relationship with the press on behalf of Queen Consolidated. But he’s been gone for six years now. While you… Well, since Malcolm Merlyn is dead, you’re now the public face of the Undertaking. And Thea last year was arrested for driving under the influence of Vertigo.”

“I’m aware of my family’s recent history, Laurel.”

Laurel folded her hands in front of her on the table. “And Oliver has hardly been the poster child for responsibility.”

Moira had had about enough of this woman. How could she say that when she’d made a complete fool of herself over Oliver repeatedly, even recently? She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought Laurel might be a good influence on her son. “Oliver is now CEO of Queen Consolidated–”

“I know,” Laurel said, “but–”

Laurel’s phone chirped, but she ignored it to complete her thought. “Last year he was arrested–”

“And exonerated, as you well know,” Moira said.

Laurel’s phone chirped again several times. “But in terms of public perception, exonerations don’t get the same press coverage. In the past six months, the best we can say about him is that he’s managed to mostly keep himself out of the tabloids.”

“I don’t think that’s all we can say,” Moria said. “He opened a new, successful business before he had to step in at QC.”

“No one cares about Verdan–” Laurel’s phone rang, and she looked at the screen. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s Donner. I have to take this.” She answered the call. “Yes, what is it?”

Moira heard a tinny voice say, “Where are you? Why aren’t you at the office?”

“I’ll be there soon,” Laurel said. “I had to meet with someone about a case.”

The voice on the other end of the phone rose sharply, and Moira had a harder time understanding what they were saying. Laurel frowned and pushed several buttons on the screen of her smartphone. “Oh my God,” she said. Her phone chirped again three more times. “I can’t believe it.”

Moira leaned forward to see what was on the screen.

“I have to go,” Laurel said to Donner. “I’ll be there in a half an hour, and we can talk this through.” She hung up.

“Is something wrong?” Moira asked.

“You don’t know?” Laurel said. “No, of course you wouldn’t know. It just happened.” She held her phone up so that Moira could see the headline of the Star City Star: BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY MARRIES SECRETARY!

Underneath the headline was a picture of Oliver and Felicity coming out of a large building. Felicity looked thin and a little pale. Her gaze was up and over the photographer in front of her, but Oliver–Oliver was looking right into the camera with a small smile on his lips. He looked more than a little satisfied with himself.

Moira flattened both of her hands on the metal table in front of her as she took in this news, and she realized - she understood in her mother’s heart - that the timing of this wedding, if not the reason for it, was Oliver’s attempt to help her. He’d undone what Laurel had just accused him of: he had, with one act, rebranded himself as Oliver Queen, family man, the face of a new generation of Queen leadership.

That person was someone the public could root for and would. Everyone liked a redemption story, a happy ending. The press had been hungering for that story last year with his miraculous return from the island, but for his own reasons, Oliver hadn’t been able to give it to them. Now he could.

Moira wondered how he’d talked Felicity into it. The woman who had visited her two weeks ago had not worn a ring and had not presumed a relationship. She’d simply asked if Moira would call her Felicity and given her the intel she had gathered on Isabel.

She glanced at Laurel’s phone again. So this was Oliver’s plan. Laurel was still staring at the headline in shock, as well she should. Her job had just gotten considerably more challenging. Moira leaned back and allowed herself to savor the smallest bit of schadenfreude. Prison food was terrible; this was so much better.

“You were saying,” she said to Laurel.

“I–I,” Laurel said. “I didn’t even know they were dating. How could this happen? Oliver is allergic to commitment.”

Moira watched the emotions chase each other across Laurel’s face: shock, disbelief, anger. Surely, after everything that happened with Tommy, she could not still have been holding out hope for her and Oliver? Against all odds, it seemed she had.

“Oliver told me he loved Felicity before he left for Russia,” Moira said. That was a truth wrapped in a lie, but she knew instinctively this was the message to convey. “I’ve never seen my son so ecstatic.”

“I thought,” Laurel began. “I thought… Never mind what I thought.” She slipped her phone in her pocket and picked up her folders and briefcase. “I need to go. Think about what I said. Your lawyer will not be able to convince a jury of your innocence, given all of the evidence of your long relationship with Mr. Merlyn. The records say you had an affair.”

“Won’t she?” Moira asked, smiling. “You focus on your jury selection, Laurel, and leave Jean to do her job.” If Oliver went the Us Weekly, entertainment-news-cycle route, as she suspected he was going to, when people talked about the Queen family in the coming weeks, they were going to be talking about love and babies, not mass murder, and with a lot more interest and excitement.

Then she took pity on the woman in front of her, for the sake of the history their families had once shared. “Why don’t you resign from this job, Laurel? You were better suited for public advocacy.”

Laurel glared at her and stalked out of the visitors’ room. Moira turned to look at the guard and began to rise from her chair, but he shook his head at her. “Your lawyer is on her way to see you now. I think you might have a busy morning.” He barked a laugh. “Should I offer congratulations?”

Moira settled back onto her chair. “Yes, I think that would be appropriate,” she said.

Oliver had finally done what she’d been urging him to do since he returned from the island: he’d made an investment in his future. While she still had her doubts about the trial and her own guilt in the Undertaking disaster, it would be selfish of her not to reciprocate that investment and try to fight for her life.

Moira wondered if she could get someone from her crisis management team to visit soon. She had some ideas for her new daughter-in-law’s wardrobe. With a little fine tuning, Felicity could be a PR powerhouse for the Queen family’s image. She was sure of it.

>>--->

John Diggle watched the man he’d been dreaming of killing for three years walk away into the darkness of the empty Russian highway. He was reeling from Lawton’s admission that his brother Andy had been the one Lawton had been hired to kill. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would put a contract hit out on Andy, but it was hard to believe that Deadshot was lying to him. He was known worldwide for the precision of his kills.

It was, indeed, food for thought. A whole banquet. A feast for thought.

He turned and got back into the Russian police vehicle Oliver had purchased, sliding across the seat to sit next to Lyla. She looked tired and dirty, and she smelled worse, but he’d never been so glad to see anyone as he was to see her now, alive and safe. He leaned over and kissed her head. Then he turned to Oliver and Felicity. “So what have you two been up to?”

Oliver bit down on his lip hard enough to make his dimples appear. Felicity put her gloved hand on top of Oliver’s and leaned forward on the seat, smiling. “We got married, John.”

“You what now?” Diggle said.

Felicity’s smile widened. She exchanged a surreptitious look with Oliver, and his smile broke through the barriers of his hesitation. He grinned. “We got married.”

“Is true,” Anatoly Knyazev said from the front seat. “This morning. Whole world knows, and now you do too.” He laughed.

Dig forced himself to take a deep breath. The last few hours had felt beyond surreal as he had been forced to team up with the man he loathed most in the world to pull Lyla out of Koshmar, and now somehow, for some reason, Oliver and Felicity had eloped? What in the hell was happening?

“I leave you two alone for three days - three days,” he said, “and this…this is what you do?”

Felicity’s eyes widened, and Oliver frowned. He put his hand over Felicity’s in a protective gesture. That pissed Dig off. He felt like slugging him. He knew that Oliver was the architect of this insanity. He knew it. He didn’t know why, but whatever had happened in the 80 or so hours he’d been gone, this was on Oliver. It was going to backfire on both of them and probably break Felicity’s heart.

“Do the two of you have any idea what you’re doing?” Dig asked. “Ever since you were sprayed, it’s been one huge snafu after another. What’s next?” He ran his hand over the top of his head. “What’s next?”

Lyla put her hand over his arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Look at them, Johnny,” she said. “They’re happy. You of all people should know you can’t stop people doing crazy things for love. Just congratulate them.”

Dig opened his mouth, and then he shut it. He took another, more comprehensive, look at the pair opposite him. Felicity had her hand wrapped around Oliver’s arm now, and he was stroking the knuckles of her hand through her glove and beaming down at her. They did look happy. How had he missed that?

“I’m sorry,” Dig said, with a heavy sigh. “You guys know I want this to work out, right? It’s just that marriage is complicated, and you haven’t really–”

“Say, ‘Congratulations,’ Johnny,” Lyla said quietly. “It’s only one word. You can do it.”

Dig took a breath and forced the word past his lips. “Congratulations,” he said. “I wish you both the best.”

“There now,” Lyla said. “That wasn’t so hard. Congratulations!” she repeated. She reached out and put her hand on Felicity’s coat. “And thank you for helping Johnny pull me out of Koshmar. I know it was impossible, but somehow you guys did it. I won’t forget it.”

“You’re welcome,” Anatoly said loudly from the front seat. “I can’t believe you succeeded either. You Americans with your optimism. Russian prison 0, Americans 1.” He shook his head. “Oliver has nine lives like cat. You know, right? How many times have you come back now, my old friend?”

Dig laughed because it was funny, but it was also true. Oliver did always manage to come back. If you had to bet on someone, maybe you should put your money on him. He leaned over and kissed Felicity softly on the cheek. “Mazel tov,” he said.

“Thank you, John,” she said. “I’m so glad you got Lyla out.”

“Me too,” Dig said, wrapping his arm around the small woman beside him. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Oliver was late getting to the Domodedovo Airport. He’d told Diggle to take Felicity and Lyla. Andrei would drive them all, and Oliver would meet them on the tarmac, but minutes before they were scheduled to take off, everyone was settled in their seats, and he still wasn’t there.

“Do you think something happened?” Felicity asked Diggle.

“Unlikely,” Dig said. “He’d call, unless there was an accident or the police–,” he stopped, seeing Felicity’s face. “But Oliver’s very good at getting himself out of trouble. Even in Russia. And it’s not like he’s alone here. He’s got the Br–” he stopped himself again.

“He’s got the Bratva,” Felicity finished for him. Really, did they think she was dumb? After all of this time watching her uncover and decipher hundreds of secrets. “He was stranded on an island for five years. How exactly did he make Bratva connections?”

Diggle gave her a steady look. “That’s none of my business,” he said.

“That’s what you’re going with?” she said. “Not my circus, not my monkeys?”

“Exactly,” he said. “You married him. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

“Johnny,” Lyla said.

“Yes, I did,” she said. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

The door to the jet opened, and Oliver lurched in carrying an enormous trunk on his shoulder. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “It took awhile for me to get through Customs.” He maneuvered the black leather box through the narrow passage and then wheeled it to the back of the passenger area.

“What’s in the box?” Diggle asked.

Oliver’s lips quirked. “A surprise for later,” he said cryptically.

Felicity stared at the trunk. It was very wide with steel latches and hinges and a large lock. She slanted a look at Oliver. “Is it a puppy?”

Oliver’s eyes sparked in memory. “It is not a puppy,” he said, smiling. “We’ll open it when we get home.”

Lyla looked curious, but Diggle merely sighed and asked, “What’s next, then?”

Oliver sat down in one of the open seats and pulled off his gloves. “Well, if Felicity’s trap works and we get a bit of luck, Isabel will not make the Tuesday night board meeting.”

Diggle looked at Felicity with interest. “What did you do?”

“I might have erased her digital Immigration record,” Felicity said.

“I didn’t hear that,” Lyla said.

“She’s not a citizen, if you can believe it,” Felicity said. “So she may experience some trouble reentering the country.”

Diggle smiled widely. “Good for you. She has it coming.”

“That and so much more,” Felicity said. “And she’s going to get it.”

“We’re going to present the evidence we have that Isabel was spying on us in Moscow to the board,” Oliver said. “We’ve put together a few other things to show them as well.”

“She came on to Oliver in the hotel lounge,” Felicity said.

Diggle’s eyes went to Oliver’s, and he nodded. “We have the hotel security footage.”

“And after she called you a slut on the plane ride over,” Diggle said, shaking his head.

“She called you a slut?” Lyla asked. “That’s so…gross and unprofessional. She’s the CEO. It seems like she would be smarter about workplace harassment, since she’s gotten so far in her career in such a short time.”

Felicity could see she and Lyla were on the same page about Isabel’s rapid professional advancement. She darted a glance at Oliver. “Isabel started her career at QC sleeping with Oliver’s father,” she said with a grimace. “Unfortunately, hypocrisy is not her worst trait. And she hates Oliver, so I don’t know what that pass was about.” She flashed a smile at him. “Not that you’re not cute, honey.”

He gave her an amused look, the soft one she was coming to like so much.

“Keep your enemies closer,” Lyla said. “She wanted him under her thumb and unsuspecting.”

“Unsuspecting of what?” Diggle asked.

“Whatever she has planned. She’s already attempted a hostile takeover. Clearly she has revenge fantasies.”

“But she’s CEO now,” Oliver said. “What else does she want?”

Lyla looked thoughtful. “When she left Queen Consolidated before, how ugly was it?”

Felicity exchanged a look with Oliver. They’d both reviewed the old footage that had somehow, inexplicably, survived for almost a decade. Someone in IT must have hated Isabel back in the day. “Pretty ugly. I dug up the security video a few weeks ago. Apparently, Robert had Walter engineer their breakup by ejecting her from the building with her belongings. She made a huge scene in the lobby crying and screaming.”

Lyla wrinkled her nose. “That’s…not good. She has a justified grudge, then, and it looks like she’s spent years planning her revenge. If she hates Oliver and she still tried to seduce him, she’s got plans beyond taking over QC.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “What else are you planning for the board meeting?” Diggle finally asked.

“We haven’t decided if we are going to ask the board to censure Isabel or remove her,” Oliver said. “We’ll have to see how receptive they are. She’s probably been bribing them for their votes. Almost half of them are Stellmoor appointees now.”

Lyla’s eyebrows rose.

“I did some research into her financials,” Felicity said. “They’re pretty clean, but there was one transaction between Isabel and a company called Stroke of Fortune, Ltd. in May. They deposited $100,000 in an off-shore account. Most of that money was transferred out in smaller amounts right before Isabel was made CEO.”

“And you know this how?” Lyla asked. She shook her head. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I’m going to focus on being grateful you pulled me out of Koshmar.”

“Obviously, we can’t tell the board that we have this information,” Felicity said, “since we did not exactly acquire it legally and it implicates numerous board members past and present.”

“How many board members do you think are untouched and will vote in QC’s best interest?” Lyla asked.

“There are twelve of them total,” Oliver said. “Five are new and have previous connections to Stellmoor.”

“But having your co-CEO followed and photographed and videotaping him without his knowledge or consent in his private hotel room are pretty egregious ethics violations,” Felicity said. “Not to mention the seduction attempt. That should mean something to the rest of them.”

“How bad is the video? Can you show it to the board?” Lyla asked.

Felicity felt warmth creep into her cheeks. “Not too ba–”

“It’s kinda hot,” Oliver said. “There’s this part where Felicity grabs my tie…”

“But no clothes come off,” Felicity interrupted him. “You could air it on primetime. NOT that I want that to happen.” She glanced at Oliver. “We just look like we’re…going to have a romantic evening.”

“The tie thing might be too hot for primetime,” Oliver said. “You were all over me.” He winked at her.

“Okay,” Diggle said. “We get the picture.”

“Well, you’d better be ready for anything. Isabel sounds unstable,” Lyla said briskly. “You don’t want to attack and then give her an entire month still sitting as CEO to make her countermove.”

“I agree,” Oliver said.

“‘You come at the king, you best not miss,’” Diggle said.

Felicity chuckled. “That’s from The Wire. You said you didn’t watch it.”

“I said I’m not talking about The Wire with you,” Diggle said. “Not that I never watched it. Of course I watched it. It’s classic television.”

“Well, it’s good advice,” she said. “We’ll just have to be careful with our aim, so Isabel never sees it coming. Good thing I’m married to an archer now.”

Felicity grinned at both of them, and Oliver and Diggle simultaneously groaned.

>>--->

Reporters were camped outside of Felicity’s apartment building even in the middle of the night, so they drove to the Queen mansion, and Oliver carried in their luggage. Felicity wiped the slush off of her shoes on the mat in the cavernous front hall and followed him up the stairs, watching the muscles in his back strain against the navy wool fabric of his peacoat. He always looked so good carrying things that she almost wished she had packed more, but her luggage already made a decent size pile in the middle of his bedroom.

“This,” he said, hefting the trunk down off his shoulder, “is for you. From Zhenya.”

“From Zhenya?”

“Yes. She thought that since you’d be stepping into the public eye, you might need a few new wardrobe pieces, so she put these together.”

New clothes. That sounded very promising. Felicity liked clothes. She knelt down on the oriental rug and turned the trunk so it was front facing. She unfastened both of the large metal latches, opened the box, and drew in a sizable breath.

The inside of the trunk was divided into two sections: six canvas drawers on one side, and a compartment for hanging clothes on the other. Six hangers of beautifully made clothing hung from a short pole, including two suits in cobalt and magenta, two dresses, and what looked like a dark red, floor-length evening gown. The bottom of the gown was carefully rolled so that it would not crease.

It was hard to take it all in, there was so much to look at. “This is all for me?” she asked.

Oliver nodded. “For you. Who else?” He smiled. “Do you like it?”

Did she like it? It was amazing. Like a matryoshka doll, the trunk delivered new surprises with every part she opened. The canvas drawers held silk blouses in white, blush, and periwinkle, a long black pencil skirt, a belted flared maxi skirt in emerald green, a black boat-neck sweater with belled sleeves, a silk shawl with a Russian print, an ivory lace peignoir set, and biscuit colored knee-high Christian Louboutin boots. In the last drawer, there was a tan Hermes Birkin bag with a gold clasp and a tiny lock and key.

“Ooh,” Felicity said, “That is a very nice bag. It’s maybe large enough for a laptop.”

Felicity caressed the front of the bag tentatively, tracing her fingers over the fine-grained leather and the coolness of the gold turn-lock closure. It was extravagantly fine.

Oliver knelt down beside her. “Look inside,” he said.

Tucked in the bag was a small jewelry box with the name of the store that her ring had come from: Kalina. She opened the box, and pulled out a smaller, hinged box and levered that open. Resting there on the black velvet were a pair of ruby-and-diamond hooped earrings. The color of the rubies matched her ring exactly. She held out her hand to check.

“Zhenya didn’t buy this,” Felicity said, tabulating the lavish expense of this gift in her head. There was no way Zhenya had paid for even a fraction of what was in this trunk. Felicity was sadly unfamiliar with very high-end shopping, but the price tag for all of these beautiful clothes - let alone the jewelry - had to be astronomical.

“Well, no,” Oliver said. “I told her to choose a few things for you to wear to do press in when we got back. Her boutique has a number of important clients. I knew she would understand what you’ll need.”

He nodded at the earrings. “And I went back for those. They’re a wedding gift.” His lips twitched. “Happy wedding.”

A hollow sort of feeling bloomed in the pit of her stomach. She thought of her mother and hoped he didn’t think… “You know you don’t have to buy me all of this, right?” she asked. “I realize you have a lot of money. A lot of money.” She swallowed. “But that’s not why…that’s not why I married you.”

Oliver cocked his head at her. “Why did you marry me?” he asked in a tone that was light but did not match his intent gaze.

Because I love you. The thought came to her unbidden, insistent, and Felicity knew it was true and had been true for a long time. She’d forbidden it to herself, dismissed it, but no matter how much she hadn’t wanted to be that girl, the one in love with her boss, the gorgeous billionaire vigilante, she did love him. Rather desperately.

Her love had been absurd, cliché, impossible, so she had denied it any encouragement, but it had lived anyway, somehow, and grown and blossomed deep inside her. Like a stupid, stubborn weed.

Oliver’s eyes were round and questioning, his gaze soft. She wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know how much he had come to mean to her. How he inspired her and how knowing him and working with him had brought meaning to her life that she hadn’t known she needed.

But she was afraid. If she told him how she felt, would he pity her? She was only one of probably hundreds of girls who had fallen for Oliver in his short lifetime. Sara, Laurel, the woman he always dropped everything to help. They kept cropping up too, like this Zhenya who had put together such a carefully curated wedding gift for her - out of love for Oliver?

She smiled at him and deflected. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

He snorted. “You say no a hundred times a day. ‘Oliver, I’m not making you coffee. Make it yourself.’ ‘I refuse to put that in this report. Come up with something better.’ ‘Don’t even think about wearing those boots without getting them resoled. You’ll kill yourself jumping off a building.’” He raised both eyebrows comically. “Do any of these sound familiar?”

“Yes, well,” she said, “I guess because your proposal was so romantic - ‘It will help my mom, Felicity, if you pretend to be knocked up’ - I got swept off my feet.”

“Oh,” he said, laughing, leaning his weight back on both arms, “so now we’re judging my proposal technique.”

“It was pretty bad,” Felicity echoed his laugh. “Not exactly: ‘You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.’” Then she realized she had veered hard into dangerous territory with her Mr. Darcy reference.

He stilled, and she felt his focus sharpen to a point. “If I’d said, ‘I love you,’ you would have wanted to hear that?” he asked softly.

“I mean,” she tittered, “only if…” She bit her lip. “I know this is new, and I don’t expect…I guess every girl just wants the movie proposal,” she finished lamely. “Or in this case, the book. Pride and Prejudice was a book first, you know.”

His lips quirked. “I know,” he said, “That one I do know. Every girl loves it. My mom loves it. Thea was obsessed with the movie. Although I don’t really get the appeal of Mr. Darcy.”

She took the out he was offering gratefully. “He’s amazing. The hand flex scene is so romantic. It’s because Darcy is completely closed off, grim and utterly controlled, but he’s powerless against his feelings for Lizzie because she’s so smart, independent, funny, and kind.”

“Smart, independent, funny, and kind,” he repeated with a thoughtful look. “That’s a powerful combination. No wonder he’s a goner.”

He reached across her and thumbed through the hangers in the trunk. “Zhenya did make the dress,” he said. “She worked on it for months, doing the embroidery. She’s been sewing knock-off couture for extra money for years, but this is her own creation. She said she was waiting for the right client to offer it to. I guess that’s you.”

Felicity carefully pulled out the garments on their hangers: the suits, a black cocktail dress and a green dress trimmed in gold and black that would be appropriate for day or night.

Behind those, hanging elegantly on its wooden hanger, was a wine red, off-the-shoulder, floor-length velvet evening gown. Detailed silk embroidery of leaves and flowers covered the neckline and the abbreviated sleeves. The craftsmanship of the stitching alone was breathtaking. A work of art.

It was the crowning piece of what Felicity realized amounted to a trousseau. “How do you know Zhenya?” she heard herself ask.

Oliver opened his mouth and then closed it, seeming to realize the risk. “She’s a friend.” He looked directly at Felicity. “Really. It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” Felicity said. “We don’t have to be at work for another,” she picked up her phone, “six hours.”

Oliver looked a bit mulish, as he often did when anyone pressed him about his lost five years. Felicity wondered if she would ever know anything close to the true story of his long ordeal.

“You were in Russia for part of the time you were away,” she said. “Obviously. And that’s when you met her.”

That surprised him. He raised one eyebrow, the slightly crooked one. “Well,” he said slowly, “yes.”

“I’m not stupid, Oliver,” Felicity said. “You speak Russian. You have a Russian mobster friend who is willing to do very large favors for you. And this woman, Zhenya, also seems to be available to help when called upon.”

“She’s just a friend,” he said quickly. “Things never got romantic between us. She doesn’t even like men.”

“She likes women?” Felicity asked.

“Not really,” Oliver said. “We never talked about it. I think she just wants to be left alone.”

She waited for him to continue, and he sighed. “When I met Zhenya, she was involved with an abusive asshole named Pavel Petrovich. He’s a fairly successful biznessman in Krasnoyarsk. Unfortunately, when Pavel Petrovich tires of a woman, he likes to humiliate her on the way out. I stepped in and protected her a little. If I hadn’t, she would have been fair game for any of his associates. Like I said, we’re friends. I helped her out, and she was happy to return the favor when we were in Moscow.”

Felicity had about fourteen more questions she would have liked to ask about Zhenya and their relationship, but she could tell that’s all she’d get out of Oliver. It did not sound like they’d been lovers, though. Zhenya had included that peignoir in the trunk which was not something a lovelorn ex would usually do.

“That’s all I wanted to know,” she lied. “Thank you for telling me.”

Oliver looked relieved. “Why don’t you try it on?” he asked. “I know Zhenya was excited to give it to you. I’ll take a photo and send it to her. Wear the earrings too. They’ll match the dress.”

She shook her head. “Oliver, after sixteen hours of travel, I look like a sack of potatoes. I’ll try it on in the morning, and you can take pictures then. I’ll put on the earrings, though. They’re beautiful. The red of the rubies is so striking.” She removed the hoops from the small box, and threaded the gold rods through the holes in her earlobes. “There,” she said. “How do I look?”

“Not like a sack of potatoes,” Oliver said. He glanced over his shoulder. “I think we need to test out this bed.”

Felicity smiled. “We’ve had sex in your bed. Multiple times. Plenty of times.”

“Who’s counting?” Oliver said. “Besides, we’re on our honeymoon. There’s a rule that you have to have sex every eight hours for the first week, and it’s been a whole day at least now, with the travel.” He stuck his lower lip out the tiniest fraction.

He was so ridiculous. “There’s a rule,” she said.

“I can’t believe you don’t know about it,” he said. “You’re usually so up to date on everything.”

She leaned forward on her arms and kissed him, a soft kiss that turned into a smile. “That was a pretty romantic gesture,” she said, nodding at the trunk. “A bridal trousseau, just like Elizabeth Bennet would have, only nicer. I love those boots.”

“You like it, huh?”

“I like it,” she said. Her smile widened. “I like it a lot.”

He stood up and extended his arm to her on the floor. With a rather haughty expression, he said, “‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire you.”

She took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “You do know Mr. Darcy.”

He relaxed his features and shrugged. “My mom is a huge fan of Jane Austen. There have been marathons that I have been forced to watch.” He put his finger up to his mouth in the universal shhh hand sign. “She prefers the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice, though; the one with the guy from The King’s Speech. Anyway, yes, I do know Mr. Darcy.”

“I love Mr. Darcy,” Felicity said.

“All the Queen women do,” he said. “It must be the brooding. I hear that’s very sexy.”

>>--->

The next day was a blur of activity. They had so much work that had piled up during their trip that Oliver felt like all he did for eight straight hours was read and sign his name wherever Felicity pointed. Fortunately, Isabel was still conspicuously absent. He hoped that she was locked up somewhere in Stuttgart or that she’d dropped off the face of the earth.

Late in the day, Diggle brought their attention to another breaking news report on the Starling City Rapist. “There’s a new victim, not like the others,” he said. Felicity brought up the WEBG website. In the Breaking News section there was a video with a female reporter standing in front of the Coleson Chemistry Building on Starling University’s campus. Felicity pushed play.

“This is Ashley Andrews with WEBG Starling City 7,” the woman said, “and I’m reporting from Starling University where another woman was attacked by the Starling City Rapist at tonight’s award ceremony.” She turned to the man standing beside her. He was wearing coveralls with the university’s insignia on them. “This is Tim Hoyt, an SU employee who works in the Chemistry Building. He was present during the attack. What did you see?”

“Nothing of the attacker, unfortunately,” Hoyt said. “He sprayed Ellen Phillips, the wife of the head of the Chemistry Department. She had received a text that her car was being towed for being illegally parked, and ran out to intervene. I was outside fixing one of the steps when I heard her scream and went over to help.”

“It was the Starling City Rapist?” Ashley asked him.

“I think so. She started acting very oddly right away. Very aggressive.” He looked uncomfortable. “I had to call security, and they subdued her and took her to the hospital in an ambulance.”

“The hospital won’t know what to do with her, poor woman,” Felicity said.

On the screen Ashley Andrews looked confused. “The rapist didn’t leave with her?”

“No, he sprayed her and left, that’s all,” Tim said.

“That doesn’t sound like YouWAN2’s M.O.,” Diggle said. “Unless…the only person that we know who he’s sprayed and left behind is…” He looked at Oliver. “You.”

“Revenge,” Felicity said. “He wanted revenge against Oliver for putting a crimp in his plans. If this is YouWAN2, then this is another emotionally motivated attack and has nothing to do with sex. Maybe the Rapist has ties to the chemistry department at SU. Or the victim.” She paused to consider it and shook her head. “I’ll have to do some research.”

“You do that,” Oliver said, “but right now we need to get back to the house for our family meeting with Walter and Thea.”

Felicity snapped her fingers. “I’d forgotten about that. Today has been such a whirlwind. Alright, let’s go.”

>>--->

The news was on when they arrived in the living room of the Queen mansion, and Thea was pacing on the Aubusson carpet. “I hate this guy!” she said. “Why can’t the police catch him? Every woman in Starling is scared, Verdant is a ghost town, and the chuds online are treating this like it’s a sick joke. It’s disgusting!”

Roy was sitting in an armchair watching Thea pace. “You’re gonna wear a hole in that rug,” he said.

Oliver walked over and put a hand on Thea’s arm. “I’m sure they will find him soon. He’s escalating, so he’s going to make mistakes.”

Thea didn’t look comforted. “And how many more women will be sprayed before that happens? Someone has to do something!”

Raisa entered from the hall carrying a tray of baked goods and a pot of tea. “Mr. Steele called. He said to tell you he’s very sorry, but an emergency has come up at the bank, and he won’t be able to leave.” She perched on the edge of the couch near where Felicity was standing.

Thea looked over at her and noticed Felicity standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” she said, pulling a face. “I haven’t even said hello or welcomed you to the family, such as it is.” She walked over and touched Felicity’s hand. “Welcome to the family! It might not be the best time to be a Queen with Mom in prison and the company under attack, but,” she pointed to the tray Raisa had brought in, “we’ve got snacks.” She gave Felicity a bright smile.

“Thank you,” Felicity said. It wasn’t hard to like Thea. She was a whirlwind of a person, and unlike her brother, she held nothing back. “I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you better. I know this marriage was very sudden and unexpected.”

“Well, that’s Oliver for you,” Thea said. “Ghosting us for months last summer, moping around gloomily day in and day out when he returned, and then calling from Moscow to say, ‘By the way, I’m married!’” She turned to him. “Did it not occur to you that I would have liked to have been present at your wedding? What was the all-fire hurry?”

“It just…It just seemed like the perfect time,” Oliver said, turning to Felicity. “Right, honey?”

“There were some extenuating circumstances,” Felicity said, “but yes. It was the perfect time.”

“Extenuating circumstances?” Both Raisa and Thea chimed in at the same time.

“Isabel caught us on a date,” Felicity said. “Or, rather, the private investigator she hired to follow us did. She helpfully pointed out that QC has a no fraternization policy.” She picked up her new bag and pulled out the envelope of evidence they had on Isabel, took out a handful of the snapshots, and handed them to Thea.

Raisa came over to look over Thea’s shoulder. “Oh, Gorky Park! I’ve been there many times. It looks like they’ve renovated it,” she said. “This is when Mr. Oliver proposed?”

“Yes,” Oliver said. He gave Felicity a hard look.

“No,” Felicity said. She didn’t feel the need to keep secrets about this particular matter with his family. “She also put a video camera in Oliver’s suite and taped us without our knowledge.”

Raisa gasped.

“A sex tape, Ollie?” Thea said. “Great. That’s all we need now with Mom, for your sex tape to hit the internet right before her trial. Jean already tried to get me to break it off with Roy.”

“It’s not that bad,” Oliver said. “No clothes came off before we realized it was there.”

“But Isabel told Oliver she would release the tape and show the pictures to the QC board, if he didn’t fire me,” Felicity said. “So we got married.”

Thea looked briefly confused and then a little alarmed, so Felicity added, “But we were thinking of getting married anyway. Right, ducky?”

“Ducky?” Roy said, a laugh in his voice.

“Right,” Oliver said, shooting him a glare. “I gave her the ring. I just didn’t have the guts to ask her then.”

“That bitch,” Thea said. “It wasn’t enough that she tried to take our company? Why can’t she just leave our family alone?”

Felicity was not going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. She’d dropped enough truth on Thea for one day.

“Well, I’m glad,” Raisa said. “Already he looks happier. And calmer.” She reached out and touched Oliver’s arm.

Felicity smiled at her. “The press are sitting outside my apartment, so I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with me around the house a little more,” she said, settling herself on the couch.

“Such good news,” Raisa said. “It’s too large, this house, to have so few people living in it.”

“You should think about moving back here,” Oliver said to Thea. “Roy too. We’ve got plenty of room. I’m going to hire more security. The press will not be able to bother you here during Mom’s trial. I’d feel better about you staying here with the Starling City Rapist at large.”

Thea looked at Roy, and he shrugged. “Maybe we will,” she said. “But what about all the other women in the city? He’s even targeting older women now. No one is safe.”

“I had a thought,” Felicity said. “If Verdant isn’t busy…”

“It’s totally empty,” Thea said. “I had to lay off half of my staff. Even guys don’t want to go clubbing if there are no women. If we didn’t own the property, we’d be looking at closing, maybe for good.”

“Then you might consider offering the space as a place where the victims can get group counseling.” Felicity glanced at Oliver. “Queen Consolidated could sponsor it and spearhead the public defense of these victims.”

Thea’s eyes sparked. “That’s a good idea!” she said. “And it will also be good PR for QC during the trial, which can’t hurt Mom’s case.”

“I was thinking we could pay for self-defense instructors to train people to better protect themselves. Roy could even be the face of that.” Felicity said.

“Me?” Roy asked. “Why me?”

“You know how to fight already, right?” Felicity asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re very good looking.”

“How am I going to take that the wrong way?” Roy looked confused.

“Some women would show up for that,” Felicity continued, “even scared women, especially if we had tight security for these events.”

“I don’t think–” Oliver said.

“You know you’re gorgeous, Oliver,” Felicity said, “but Roy looks like he belongs on a runway. Have you ever thought about modeling?” she asked him. “It probably pays better than–” She bit down on her tongue before it could spit out the word, “crime.”

“Better than doing security,” she finished.

Thea laughed at Oliver’s expression. “Ollie, I like her! Don’t be jealous. You had your day; you’re just over the hill now.”

Oliver gave her a bland look. “Ha ha,” he said. “Are you finished?”

“I’m just saying we should leverage all of that,” Felicity said, “to create a more positive perception of the Queen family. Thea could even start a campaign to destigmatize what has happened to these women and help them feel strong again - as a group. It could have a catchphrase, something like, We are not scared of you.”

Thea nodded. “I like it.”

“The thing is,” Felicity said, “the rapes are terrible, but the women probably don’t remember that much of what happened, so the worst part is that this rapist takes away their consent. He mind rapes them and then he physically rapes them. Even if it’s not violent, it’s a violation.”

Thea nodded. “That one guy who paid for the drug and used it on the girl he’d been stalking? Seth Bomer?” She shuddered.

“That was Morgan Ladd,” Felicity said. “She never would have slept with him. And now she has to live with the fact that she gave her stalker the best night of his life.”

“It’s not just sex,” Thea said. “It’s the humiliation.”

“And the whole world talks about them,” Raisa said. “They are looking down at them for something they never wanted to do.”

“Yes,” Felicity said, “but it’s even worse. Because the drug makes you want to have sex, you’re left wondering: Did I want this to happen? Meanwhile, the public now looks at you like a sex toy. Your privacy and sense of self respect have been destroyed.”

Raisa nodded.

“And the physical side effects don’t go away,” Felicity said. “Not for weeks and weeks. The arousal and your skin itching. The weird sweating…”

Thea leaned forward, frowning. “How do you know that?”

Felicity realized she’d said too much. “I think it was in one of the news reports.”

“No, I don’t think I’ve seen those details,” Thea said. “And I’ve had plenty of time to watch and read updates on the rapes. The news mostly focuses on the more salacious aspects of the rapes, not what the victims are feeling or experiencing after the fact. Since that’s what sells.” She looked disgusted. “Vultures.”

“Well, I…” Felicity said. She looked to Oliver for help, but he widened his eyes and gave a tiny shake of his head.

Thea caught that look and narrowed her eyes. “Felicity,” she said, “you didn’t…” She hesitated. “You weren’t sprayed, were you?”

Felicity swallowed. How had they gotten here from her idea of QC offering support to the victims? Oh, yeah. Her stupid runaway mouth. “I…uh,” she said. “I…” Then she took a deep breath. “Okay, yes, he did spray me. But he didn’t rape me because…because Oliver was there.”

Thea, Roy, and Raisa all straightened at the same time. Raisa leaned over to touch Felicity’s shoulders. “How are you?” she asked.

“What happened?” Thea asked.

“We were…” Felicity said, mentally modifying the details of the attack so they would make sense to them. She certainly couldn’t tell Thea she’d been the bait for the Arrow to catch YouWAN2. “We were going to dinner. This was back in October. We were waiting in line outside, and a man came up to me with a map, like he wanted directions. I didn’t see the aerosol can until it was too late.

“I closed my eyes because the news had said not to look at him. He tried to get me to open them, but I didn’t.” She felt her breathing begin to quicken as she remembered the bitter taste of the spray and that creep caressing her arm and saying, “Is something wrong? Here, let me look at you. Open your eyes.”

Oliver crossed the room, sat down beside her, and picked up her hand. “It’s okay,” he said.

“You saw this happen?” Thea asked.

“He went after him. When he realized I’d been sprayed, Oliver tried to chase him down,” Felicity said. It seemed so long ago now. So much had happened in the past few months. Her life was entirely different now.

“And what happened then?” Thea asked impatiently. Then she caught on. “He sprayed you too, didn’t he? You both got sprayed.”

Raisa’s eyes widened, and she and Roy both said, “Ohh,” at the same time.

Felicity leaned her head into Oliver’s shoulder. She felt his arm encircle and pull her into his chest.

How strange. All of this time, she’d been mostly focusing on how to deal with how her relationship with Oliver was changing because of the drug. She’d been angry about YouWAN2, but on behalf of the other women who had been raped. She hadn’t realized how scared she’d been by the attack until now. Hers could have been one of those marked up bodies on the news. ASK ME HOW MANY TIMES I CAME.

“That was never going to happen to you,” Oliver said in a low voice near her ear. “I would never have let that happen to you. Alright?”

Felicity nodded.

Thea was still grappling with the revelation. “This explains a lot,” she said. “How do you feel now?”

“Okay, I guess,” Oliver said. “The drug has some odd side effects. Look, do we have to talk about this now? It’s upsetting her.”

“No, it’s okay,” Felicity said. “I don’t know why I’m being like this. It was months ago, and he didn’t rape me.”

“He still violated you, though,” Thea said. “Like you said. You know, you could have told me this, Ollie. Family help goes both ways. I wouldn’t have judged you for it. None of us would.”

Raisa shook her head solemnly. “I don’t understand why you have to keep all of this to yourself.”

“That is the question of the hour, isn’t it?” Thea asked. She started pacing again. “Okay, so we use Verdant for counseling and self-defense lessons. Roy can lure them in with his hotness. And maybe we have a rally where we use Felicity’s catchphrase, We are not scared of you. I like that a lot. We let this guy know that we are still strong, and he can’t control us. We still have agency, and the victims have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Are you okay with that, Roy?” Oliver asked. “We can get you some more defense training. It would probably be good for you to have anyway.”

“If it will help Thea, I’ll do it,” Roy said.

“This gives me something useful to do. I feel better already,” Thea said. “Sitting around waiting for the Rapist to strike again and for Mom’s trial to start has been driving me crazy.”

“That reminds me,” Oliver said. “I know we can’t have a full strategy session without Walter, but Mom should have a legal team. Jean is doing a credible job defending her, but we need to look more intimidating. If I have to see that dipstick Donner smirk knowingly at Mom one more time, I’m going to feed him his teeth.”

>>--->

“If it were up to me, I would ignore the press,” Oliver said later, after they’d gone to bed. “Let them think what they want. People will anyway. I don’t care,” he said emphatically.

Too emphatically, Felicity thought. There was a part of him, a maimed part of his psyche, still tender, that very much did care what people thought and wished they thought better of him. Alderman Sebastian Blood’s repeated savaging in the press had hurt and frustrated him, she knew. It was so unfair when he worked so hard to save the city. She traced the tattoo over his heart with her fingertip. It seemed to be fading. The dragon tattoo on his back was much lighter now.

“But this is for my mom,” Oliver continued, “so we have to ‘shape the narrative,’ as the crisis team says. They already sent out talking points. We’re on the cover of The Star this morning, and we’ll be in People and Us Weekly later this week. I’ll do press by myself, like I promised, but there’s one interview that I’d like you to do with me.” Oliver looked at her expectantly.

“I don’t want to do national press,” Felicity said. She did not. Donna Smoak and her life choices were a subject she was not going to discuss with the world at large. No, thank you.

“It’s not national,” Oliver said. “It’s local. There’s one independent reporter, Rachel Woodhouse. She covered my return last year, and, even if her coverage wasn’t what I was going for in terms of shaping the narrative, it was always generous.” He paused and then shrugged. “No matter how outrageous I was, she was never vicious like some of the other outlets. There was a whole post that she wrote on her blog about how processing trauma can result in acting out.”

There was something in his face; it looked almost like longing. This reporter had given him something valuable: understanding. “You like her,” Felicity said.

“I appreciated her coverage, that was all,” Oliver said, running a hand through her hair. “She has a soft spot for me, I think, for whatever reason. We can use that. And this interview, because it will be an exclusive, has the ability to make her career.”

“She won’t ambush us?” Felicity asked.

“I’d be very surprised if she did. There’s a piece on her website called 5 Times Oliver Queen Surprised Us about some of my more public philanthropic endeavors.” He looked away towards the darkened panes of the room’s large mullioned windows, and his cheeks pinkened.

Ah, so Rachel Woodhouse had a crush. Well, who wouldn’t? Felicity looked at the small smile tugging on his lips. Her throat tightened. This man was too much. He was too much for anyone to process except with numbered lists. 5 Times Oliver Queen Made You Want to Cry in the Best Way.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” he smiled. “Great! I’ll set it up. You won’t regret it.” He kissed the top of her head. “Wear something nice and put together a couple of other outfits. We’ll do a quick photoshoot after, and she can have some exclusive photos too.”

>>--->

Felicity wore her new cobalt suit with her Tahitian pearl earrings and her tan Christian Louboutin knee-high boots to the interview with Rachel Woodhouse. Moira’s personal stylist, Pamela, met them at Queen Consolidated and fussed over her makeup and hair in the executive bathroom, finally deciding to arrange it in a loose chignon with curls at her temples.

“You have a lovely, long neck,” she said. “Which makes this kind of style very flattering. Did you bring her jewelry box?” she asked Oliver.

Oliver pointed to a large mahogany box on the granite counter which Felicity had somehow missed in the flurry of preparations. Pamela walked over, lifted the lid, and began to sort through its contents.

“Are you sure about those earrings?” she asked Felicity.

“I’m sure,” Felicity said. “They’re good luck. I got them for graduation.”

Pamela looked unconvinced. “Hmm. That cobalt color is very bright. And we don’t want to make you look too flashy. People will already wonder because of the Las Vegas connection. So diamonds are out.”

Oliver frowned at her. “I don’t see how–”

“I know Moira has a sapphire necklace here, but the stones are rather large, and they’d blend rather than stand out. And you’ll wear your engagement ring, of course. Everyone will want to see that.” She rummaged a bit more through the box.

“I’m afraid that leaves us with more pearls,” she said as she pulled a luminous three-strand choker from the box. “Try these on. They look fantastic on Moira.” She unclasped them and then arranged them on Felicity’s neck. “Yes, very fine. That will do. She will approve.”

>>--->

As an independent outlet, Rachel didn’t have a studio to film in, so they filmed the interview at QC, in Oliver’s office. Oliver had the furniture arranged in a cozy setting, and had the couch from the executive bathroom brought in for them to sit on. Felicity wasn’t sure about that choice. A lot of things had happened on this couch that she didn’t want to share with Rachel Woodhouse, even subconsciously. When she sat down, she pressed her legs together, thinking about some of them.

“Don’t be nervous,” Diggle said. “You’re going to do great.”

“I’m not nervous!” Felicity said and then dialed it back. “Okay, I am nervous. But Oliver’s going to be here, and he’s used to doing these things, so it’s going to be fine. Right? It’s going to be fine.”

Rachel came into the room with Oliver and a camera crew. She was a small woman with straight, nut-brown hair and hazel eyes wearing a burgundy suit with black heels and tasteful gold jewelry.

Felicity stood to shake her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. “I know Oliver appreciates your work, so I’m sure we are in very capable hands.”

Rachel gave her hand a solid handshake, but her gaze drifted to Oliver, just the tiniest bit wistful. “I’m very glad to meet you as well, Mrs. Queen,” she said.

“Felicity,” Felicity said. “I don’t want to stand on ceremony. Felicity is fine.”

Rachel smiled. “Very well,” she said, “although during the interview I will probably use the other.”

Felicity nodded. The cameraman looked through the lens of one of the cameras on its tripod and adjusted it slightly, and another man moved some of the lighting equipment around and flipped on a light. Felicity blinked hard at the brightness. The round shape of the bulb burned a halo in the darkness behind her eyelids.

“I’ll put together the intro and the outro later, so you don’t have to worry about that,” Rachel was saying, “and I’ll send you a copy before I post anything. You won’t have editing privileges, but I want to make sure everything I say or write is accurate.”

Oliver nodded. “We appreciate it.”

“This is a fantastic opportunity for me, as I’m sure you know,” Rachel said. “So thank you.”

“I like your work,” Oliver said simply.

Rachel looked at him, wide eyed, and then jerked her chin down in a sharp nod. “Thank you. Now, should we get started?” She motioned for them to sit.

Oliver sat down next to Felicity and patted her knee which Felicity appreciated, but she wasn’t sure Rachel would.

“The two of you have certainly gotten people talking,” Rachel began, “with your unexpected wedding in Moscow. I’ll ask what everyone is wondering: Did you plan it?”

Oliver smiled. “First, I’d like to say that it’s a pleasure to talk with you today.” The bright lighting burnished his hair and brought out the gold hidden in the brown. His lips had the slightest rosy cast, the tiniest residue of her lipstick that Moira’s stylist had been either unable or unwilling to erase. “As to your question, no and yes.”

“No and yes?” Rachel repeated, frowning slightly. Felicity was also not sure of what he meant, but she knew it would be convincing. Oliver was in full-on charm mode, relaxed in his new, slightly larger, emergency-tailored wool suit and blue-green silk tie. He dropped her hand and put his arm on the back of the sofa behind her.

“We didn’t plan to get married in Moscow,” he said. “That was spur-of-the-moment. But Felicity and I have known each other since I returned to Starling City–”

“From the island on which you were rescued last year,” Rachel interjected.

“Yes,” Oliver said, pressing his lips together briefly. “From Lian Yu. Felicity was working in the IT department of Queen Consolidated, and I went there for help with a technical problem. As you can imagine, I was behind a bit in terms of technology.” He gave a short laugh.

“Anyone would be,” Rachel smiled indulgently.

“We had a connection from the beginning,” Oliver said. “And, of course, this year, when I became CEO of QC, I looked to her for help because I knew I could trust her implicitly.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Things developed from there, and when we were in Russia on a business trip, I proposed.”

Rachel turned to Felicity, “Were you surprised? Did it seem very sudden?”

Felicity thought. “I was surprised. Oliver has a way of keeping you on your toes, as you can imagine.” She smiled as brightly as she could, and her hand fluttered to her chest. “He certainly turned our Moscow trip into something memorable.”

“Is that the ring?” Rachel asked.

Felicity held out her hand. “Yes, it’s beautiful isn’t it? A ruby - my birthstone.”

Rachel nodded and looked blatantly envious. “Very lovely. You chose it?” she asked Oliver.

“Felicity picked it out!” he laughed. “I just noticed that she liked it. She has good taste, doesn’t she?” He picked up her hand again and held it out. One of the cameras tilted slightly.

“Marriage is a big step, though,” Rachel said. “Your relationship seems quite new. Last year much of the press was speculating that you might reconcile with Laurel Lance.”

Felicity inwardly grimaced. They were married now, and Oliver still couldn’t shake his association with Laurel.

“Laurel and I are friends,” Oliver said. “We have a long history together, but Felicity is my future.”

“But–” Rachel began.

“Rachel,” Oliver lowered his voice. “I’ve read some of your work, so I think you will understand. When I was gone,” he stopped abruptly and swallowed. “I don't wait for the future or make elaborate plans anymore. After five years of living only for survival, when I see something I want, I don’t sleep on it. With Felicity, I saw a chance for real happiness, so I took it. That’s what’s important to me now.” He lifted Felicity’s hand from where it was resting on the couch and kissed it.

“Well, that’s…incredibly romantic,” Rachel said and then cleared her throat. “But some people are skeptical and feel this is all too sudden. What would you say to them?”

Oliver sat up. “I understand their skepticism. The Queen family is always in the public eye, and I haven’t always made the best decisions in the past. But they should know that Felicity is a remarkable woman, and our relationship has evolved naturally over time.”

“How do you respond to the rumors of an office affair?” Rachel asked, leaning forward. “She was your secretary.”

Felicity tensed, but Oliver laughed. “Does it matter? She’s my wife now. I trust her with my life.” He emphasized the last two words with an odd finality. “I’m not the only one who has met their significant other at the office.”

Rachel’s posture relaxed, and she rearranged herself in her chair. “I see. Well, congratulations to the two of you. I hope you will be very happy. Now, let's talk about the future. Will we see Felicity stepping into more of a public role alongside you at Queen Consolidated?

Oliver leaned back into the cushions of the couch. “That’s entirely up to her. She has my full support, whatever role she wants to take. She has so much talent. Did you know she was a child prodigy? QC is lucky to have her. I’m lucky to have her.” He squeezed her hand.

“You have something of a battle in front of you with your mother’s trial,” Rachel said.

“Yes, and we intend to win it,” Oliver said. “We are putting all of our resources into it.”

“What do you think will happen, Mrs. Queen?” Rachel turned her attention to Felicity. “You’ve been visiting Moira Queen in prison?”

“Yes, this is a difficult time for Mrs–” Felicity stopped herself. “For my mother-in-law, but we have every confidence that the jury will see that Moira’s actions happened under extreme coercion. Malcolm terrorized her for years. Oliver’s parents - and Oliver himself - were actually the first victims of Malcolm Merlyn’s Undertaking. I don’t think that’s been made clear in all of the press coverage.”

Rachel’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Felicity leaned forward and delivered the narrative they’d created together last night in one tidy package. “The Queen’s Gambit didn’t sink because of a storm. Robert Queen was taking measures to prevent the Undertaking, so Malcolm Merlyn planted a bomb and sank it. Moira had the Gambit recovered. We have photos of the damage. It was clearly sabotaged.”

Felicity continued, “And last year, when Oliver miraculously returned, Mr. Merlyn ordered a hit on him which he was fortunate to survive. Mr. Steele, Moira’s second husband, was kidnapped and held for six months. Moira Queen knew what would happen to her family members if she opposed Malcolm Merlyn again because it was still happening.”

Rachel’s mouth fell open even as her eyes darted from Felicity to Oliver. “You said you have proof of this?” she asked.

“We do,” Oliver said, and then he turned toward the camera and looked straight into it. “There’s nothing on Earth that is stronger than a mother’s love,” he said. “Not even romantic love, as wonderful as it is. My mother was traumatized by the loss of my father and me and desperate to keep my sister, Thea, and me safe from Malcolm Merlyn. In the end, she tried to save the people of Starling City because she genuinely cares about the people of this city. She’s not a monster. She’s a mother, and we think when you know all of the facts, you’ll agree.”

Rachel tried to recover control of the interview, but then she seemed to realize it was futile. Finally, she turned to the camera as well. “Thank you, everyone, for tuning in! We will have more coverage in the coming days, both on Oliver and Felicity’s sudden marriage and on the startling revelations that Oliver has just made about his mother and Malcolm Merlyn. So please stay tuned!”

In the corner of the room Felicity saw Diggle give her a smile and a thumbs-up sign, and she let out the huge breath she’d been holding in.

>>--->

The “quick photoshoot” that Oliver had mentioned in actuality involved three changes of clothing, repeated ministrations from Pamela, and moving heavy camera and light equipment around the QC building so they could use the lobby as a backdrop - in addition to Oliver’s office and the IT Department. By the time they were done, Felicity knew she looked as droopy as she felt, but Oliver still looked fresh as a daisy.

“Ready?” he asked.

The board meeting started in twenty minutes, so the three of them took the elevator back up twenty floors and Felicity tried to freshen her makeup in the mirrored panels of the elevator.

“You look great,” Oliver said. “Don’t worry about that. We just have to keep our fingers crossed that Isabel is still tied up in an airport somewhere. Did you ping her phone?”

“It’s still in Stuttgart,” Felicity said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Interpol confiscated it, though. We’re probably not that lucky.”

“Doubt it,” Diggle said. “We’ve never been that lucky.”

Three board members were already in the meeting room when they arrived, including Evelyn McLeod, one of Oliver’s more vocal critics. When she saw them enter, she made a beeline for Oliver. “Congratulations are in order, I hear,” she said, extending her hand. When Oliver thanked her and shook it, she laid her other hand on top of his. “I’m always glad to see a young man settle down. In my experience, marriage, and especially children, have a stabilizing effect on even the most impulsive of bachelors.” She scanned the curve of Felicity’s stomach in her suit. “I suppose you are thinking of children?”

“Baby Watch 2013 has begun,” Diggle said under his breath.

Oliver had been right. “Probably later rather than sooner, Mrs. McLeod,” Felicity said, forcing a smile. “Thank you for your kind wishes.”

The other board members began to file in along with Lawrence Westerby. Mrs. Christoffersen and Ms. Mendelsohn stopped to chat with Oliver and offer their congratulations, and Felicity went to put the laptop she had brought with her at the head of the table along with her bag. She pulled a large envelope from it and placed it next to her laptop.

Jim Schramm, the chairman of the board, opened the meeting promptly at 7 PM. “Before we begin,” he said, “I have an email from our co-CEO, Isabel Rochev, saying that she’s been delayed but she hopes to be here before the meeting adjourns.”

Oliver shot Felicity a look that she knew meant, “Don’t panic,” but Felicity felt dread begin to squeeze her stomach. They needed to present their evidence before Isabel arrived.

Mrs. Christoffersen looked confused. “She’s never late.”

Mr. Schramm lowered his bifocals to squint at his phone. “She says she has had travel problems.”

“She didn’t return with you?” Ms. Mendelsohn asked Oliver.

“No, she took a different flight,” he said.

“Well, she should be here soon,” Mr. Schramm said, “so let’s get started. The first order of business is the finalized acquisition of AEC Chemical. Mr. Westerby would like to say a few words.”

Lawrence Westerby got to his feet, and everyone in the room clapped. He looked both pleased and then, momentarily uncertain.

“I hated to let AEC go, I’ll be honest,” he said, lightly wringing his hands. “It’s my life’s work. It’s not just water and soil remediation, as I’m sure you know from your diligence. We have been doing breakthrough work with hyper-efficient fuel formulations and there’s a deep shelf of research projects, including some intriguing, if incomplete, work with human infertility.” His voice rose in excitement, and then he paused and gave a rueful laugh. “But I also have two new grandchildren and a wife who says she can’t remember what I look like, so it’s time.”

Several of the board members laughed.

“I won’t bore you with the baby photos,” Mr. Westerby said, “But please take care of my company. I’m handing off an enormous amount of potential for human and environmental development. Take advantage of it, and use it wisely.”

Oliver stood and extended his hand to Mr. Westerby across the table. “Thank you for your trust, Lawrence. I know that all of us here have the greatest respect for the company you built, and I assure you that AEC is in good hands with Queen Consolidated going forward.”

Mr. Westerby clasped his hand and gave a nod of his head. “Seriously, son. You’ve got more time than I have. You may see some miracle discoveries from our research department get through the regulatory process yet. I hope so.”

While the rest of the room exchanged final pleasantries with Mr. Westerby, Felicity surreptitiously clicked through the AEC acquisition folder on her laptop until she found the due diligence subfolder. AEC was doing research on infertility? She must have missed that somehow in all of the meetings she’d sat in on. She mainly recalled a lot of talk about PFAS and soil.

Having spoken his piece, Lawrence Westerby then said his goodbyes and left. Felicity put her hand on Oliver’s arm and squeezed. Now would be the time to make their case.

“The next item on the agenda is–” Jim Schramm said.

Oliver raised his finger. “Jim, I hate to interrupt, but Felicity and I would like to share with you something that happened on our trip to Moscow.”

Mr. Schramm frowned, “It’s not on the agenda.” He was a real stickler for business formalities.

Mrs. Mendelsohn smiled, “Oh, Jim. Let them talk. It’s not every day that people get married. I’m sure I speak for everyone,” her face clouded briefly as she took in Jim’s expression, “when I say we are pleased and happy for both of you. It was certainly a surprise, though!”

“What a surprise!” Mrs. Christoffersen said. “I agree with Rebecca. We’re happy for you, and this can only be good for the company. QC’s stock price was up 10% over the weekend!”

Oliver straightened in his chair. “Thank you. Several of you have already extended congratulations to us personally, and we are grateful for your well wishes, but that’s not what we need to discuss.”

Evelyn McLeod frowned. “There’s something else?” She gave another speculative look at Felicity.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Oliver said. “As you may know, Isabel traveled to Moscow with us. While we were there, she hired a private investigator to take pictures of Felicity and me together. Without our knowledge.”

The room went silent. It was so quiet Felicity could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and Diggle shifting his weight from one foot to the other behind her.

Oliver picked up the manila envelope from the table and pulled out some of the photographs from their champagne picnic at the duck pond. “These were taken of the two of us in Gorky Park on the day I proposed to Felicity.” He passed them around the table. Mrs. McLeod actually clucked in approval when they reached her.

“While we didn’t realize the photographer was following us, the security team Oliver used in Moscow spotted and questioned him,” Felicity said. “Isabel paid him using a QC account, so we think it can be assumed that you were meant to see them.”

Ms. Mendelsohn began to fiddle with her wedding ring. She looked uncomfortable, as she should. Hers was one of Isabel’s hand-picked seats.

“So you’re saying that Isabel…” Mr. Schramm began.

“She confronted us later in Oliver’s hotel room and told us that she would share these photos if Oliver did not fire me,” Felicity said.

Several voices rose in question as the twelve board members present processed this information. Mr. Schramm’s phone gave a little ding, and he looked down at it. “It looks like we will have the opportunity to ask Ms. Rochev what her intentions were,” he said. “She’s arrived in the building.”

“We also discovered a video camera and a listening device in my suite,” Oliver said quickly. “She was recording our private, uh, activities. She threatened to release that video as well.”

“These are very serious accusations,” Mr. Patel said, half standing. Felicity opened a window and ran her finger down a column of numbers on her laptop screen. Rajesh Patel had received $10,000 from Isabel’s off-shore account in May and another $5,000 in September.

“There’s more,” Felicity said. She hurriedly synced her laptop with the large screen at the front of the room, and brought up her security footage from the Silk Lounge. “The night before we found the video camera, Isabel… Well, you can see what she does here.” She hit the play button on the video, and the whole room watched as Isabel slid her palm up Oliver’s thigh almost to his crotch. Mrs. McLeod gasped in outrage.

“Oliver has tried his best to work cooperatively with Isabel for the good of Queen Consolidated,” Felicity said, “but we believe that her behavior indicates she has a deep-seated resentment of the entire Queen family.” She called up another file. “Many people at QC are aware that Isabel was involved with Robert Queen some years ago, and the affair ended badly.”

On the large screen a younger version of Isabel appeared, visibly distraught and crying in the QC lobby as Walter Steele led her by the arm towards the exit. “I don’t care what you say!” she screamed. “Everyone needs to know that Robert Queen is a liar!” Two security guards approached her, and she took a potted plant from the reception desk and threw it at them. “You tell him that one day he will be sorry he ever did this. I can promise you that–he’ll regret it! He will learn how it feels to lose everything!”

The room grew quiet again, and her words echoed in the space.

“Isabel’s name also appears in a book of names associated with Malcolm Merlyn’s Undertaking,” Oliver said. Felicity brought the image up on the screen. “This will be presented as evidence in my mother’s trial.”

“That’s just her name,” Ms. Mendelsohn said. “It’s not evidence of any wrongdoing on her part.”

“She was also Vice President of Acquisitions at Unidac Industries when the earthquake machine prototype was developed and worked directly with Malcolm Merlyn,” Oliver said.

“This will be on the news tomorrow, if not tonight,” Felicity said. She opened the “Queen’s Gambit” folder on her laptop and brought up photos of the salvage, clicking through them one by one. “Robert Queen’s yacht did not sink because of a storm. It was sabotaged with explosives. He was going to oppose the Undertaking, so Malcolm had him killed - and stranded Oliver on Lian Yu.”

Everyone in the room looked at Oliver, and Felicity watched the expressions on their faces as their perception of him shifted from feckless trust-funder to sole survivor of an assassination. They had six or more years’ worth of assumptions to sift through for their picture of Oliver to fit the man in front of them, but she didn’t have time for that right now. She heard the elevator ding in the hall and the sharp tap of a high-heeled shoe on the marble of the floor.

“We do not know definitively if Isabel had anything to do with the Undertaking or my father’s death,” Oliver rushed to say. “However, given her attempt at a hostile takeover of QC as Vice President of Acquisitions at Stellmoor, along with her aggressive behavior towards me and her blackmail attempt, we believe that Isabel’s actions at Queen Consolidated have been motivated primarily by a desire for revenge.”

The door opened, and Isabel stalked into the boardroom. Her hair was pulled back tightly in a ponytail, and the skirt she was wearing was crumpled. She looked harassed but determined, as always.

Oliver looked directly at her and said, “For the good of the company, you must vote to remove Isabel Rochev from her position as CEO. Effective immediately.”

Chapter Text

“For the good of the company, you must vote to remove Isabel Rochev from her position as CEO. Effective immediately.”

The words hung suspended in the overheated air of the board room, and Oliver stared down a furious Isabel as she took in what he had just said. She openly struggled to maintain her usual cool equanimity and failed. The door to the room clicked shut behind her as she dropped her bag and briefcase on the floor.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Oliver?” she demanded in that condescending hall-monitor tone she preferred to use with him. As her gaze swept over the room and the faces of the board members, she saw what had been playing on the large television monitor. A still frame of the younger Isabel being dragged out of the QC lobby kicking and screaming was still displayed. “What is the meaning of this?”

Oliver hesitated for a moment, and Felicity jumped in. “We’re discussing your illegal and unethical video surveillance of Oliver’s hotel suite and the photographs you paid a private detective in Moscow to take of us,” she said. “Among other things.”

Compared to Isabel’s disheveled appearance, Felicity looked like she’d just come from a photoshoot because, of course, she had. Her blond hair had been swept up in a carefully constructed hairdo, but little curls had escaped around her ears. The bright blue of her suit brought out the blue of her eyes, and she looked like an avenging angel as she fixed her furious gaze on Isabel. The effect was both intimidating and more than a little erotic.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Isabel said, lifting her chin.

“Oh, don’t you?” Felicity asked. “Well, fortunately, I have the footage I was able to pull off of the video camera you left behind. Let me call it up.” She clicked a few keys on her laptop.

This was something of a bluff, Oliver knew. He’d broken the camera, and Felicity hadn’t been able to pull anything off of it, but she had snagged the additional footage from Isabel’s phone, and she had it ready to go.

“Wait!” Isabel said.

But the footage was already rolling. There was the digital Isabel saying “I now have the proof I need,” and the digital Oliver and Felicity turning to stare in surprise and shock at the video camera.

The digital Isabel held up her cell phone. “I’ve sent a copy of this proof - video as well as the photographs I had taken of the two of you ‘fraternizing’ all over Moscow today - to a secure account.” She pointed a finger at Felicity. “Fire her now, or I will share it with every member of the QC board.”

Felicity hit pause on the video. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she surveyed Isabel. “You were saying?”

“I can explain,” Isabel said, looking from Jim to Rebecca to Rajesh. “I only had the photos taken to show all of you that they were flagrantly breaking QC’s policy on fraternization and setting up the company for a potential sexual harassment lawsuit.”

“And the videotape?” Jim Schramm asked. Clearly Jim was not on board with the surveillance or anything else.

“I had…I had to have proof,” Isabel said. “Obviously.”

“So you could blackmail them?” Evelyn McLeod asked. If Oliver had known that all it would take to flip Evelyn was getting married, he might have proposed months ago. She was turning out to be an unexpected asset. A doberman in an aqua pantsuit and diamond studs.

“I don’t think Felicity is a good influence on Oliver,” Isabel said. “And she does not have the qualifications for an executive assistant at this level. In fact, I have notes about this in my…” She glanced down at her briefcase.

Even Rebecca Mendelsohn looked shocked at this. “We’re not discussing Felicity’s qualifications, which are, quite frankly, a mute point now that Oliver has married her.”

Isabel’s head swung to look at them, and her mouth dropped open. “Since Oliver has…he what?”

“You didn’t know, dear?” Mrs. McLeod said. “They were married in Moscow four days ago. It was all over the news.”

Isabel continued to gape at her as this information sank in. Finally, she closed her mouth and said, “No, I didn’t know. I was held by Interpol in Germany while they questioned me, and then had problems re-entering the US.” She looked accusingly at Felicity. “Which I’m sure was not coincidental. Oliver did not let me use the company jet to fly back.”

Oliver bristled at that. “You mean you commandeered my personal jet and bullied the pilot to fly out of Moscow after you threatened to send the video you’d taken, illegally, of us in my private suite. I had to call the jet back.”

Mrs. Christoffersen finally caught on. “Oh, it’s a private video.” Her fingers fluttered around her short gray hair. “That’s not good. That would not be good for PR at all.” She looked at Rajesh Patel, and he shook his head.

“She,” Isabel stabbed a finger at Felicity, “she was behind my travel problems!”

Felicity’s oval, angelic face was the perfect camouflage. Her eyes widened. “I have no idea what you are talking about. What happened to you, Isabel?”

“We were forced to land the airplane in Stuttgart–” Isabel said.

“Because you took my private plane–” Oliver said.

“And when we disembarked, Interpol was waiting to question me,” Isabel said, “about international espionage. They somehow had the idea that I was a Russian spy, and they kept me there, badgering me with accusations, for over 24 hours before they realized it was just a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t know why you’d think I was behind that. I have nothing to do with Interpol. I’m just Oliver’s secretary.” Felicity smiled fondly at him. “Well, his wife now.”

“I know you were behind it!” Isabel said. “You have computer skills, and it happened right after I…Right after I,” she trailed off, realizing she was about to admit her guilt.

“After you what, Isabel? After you tried to blackmail Oliver into firing me, and left us stranded in Moscow?”

Isabel refused to say anything more.

“I don’t know why you would think Felicity has anything to do with Interpol or any of your other travel problems,” Jim said. “But it sounds like you’re admitting that you did take photos and video footage of them without their permission and attempt to coerce them with it. That’s a very serious ethics violation.” He waved a hand at Felicity’s laptop. “Additionally, if what Ms. Smoak - pardon me, Mrs. Queen - said is correct, your name is going to come up very shortly in the public eye during Moira Queen’s trial. We should know if you had any ties to Malcolm Merlyn. I’m surprised you did not disclose this earlier. It certainly would have been the professional thing to do.”

“I-I what? Isabel asked.

Today was apparently not Isabel’s day to follow along. Oliver knew he’d enjoy this a lot more if the fate of his family’s company was not at stake.

“Felicity said you worked directly with Malcolm Merlyn at Unidac Industries, developing the earthquake machine,” Mr. Patel said, a panicked undertone to his voice. “That’s not true, is it?”

Isabel tried her best to compose herself. She picked up her briefcase and walked to the table and sat down. Then she took a deep breath. “I worked with many people at Unidac. Malcolm Merlyn was only one of them.”

“On the earthquake machine?” Mrs. Mendelsohn asked.

“On a number of projects, yes,” Isabel said.

“On the earthquake machine - yes or no?” Jim was not amused.

Isabel looked cornered, but she finally copped to it. “Yes, I worked with him on the earthquake machine.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Jim said. “When the public learns that, we are going to have a PR disaster. Two QC CEOs have had direct ties with that man and the destruction of the Glades. We have a fiduciary duty to Queen Consolidated to limit our liability here. And the ethics violations are extremely disturbing. We must vote to remove Ms. Rochev. I don’t see that we have any other choice.”

Isabel glared desperately at Rajesh Patel. “Now, wait, just a minute,” he said in response. “Don’t you think we’re being a little hasty?”

“No, I do not,” Jim said. “Mrs. Mendelsohn, do you have a copy of our bylaws? We’re going to have to have an emergency call with the company’s lawyers.” He looked at Oliver and Felicity. “I’m afraid that I have to ask anyone who is not a sitting board member to leave the room.”

Oliver looked at Felicity and raised his eyebrows. How close would this vote be? Should they use their additional ammo?

Felicity nodded. “Before you do that,” she said, “you should know that Stellmoor International no longer holds 50% of QC stock. After the failed hostile takeover this fall, they released some of it back on the market, and the Queen family has acquired it. We now own 54% of Queen Consolidated stock, which is, as you know, the majority share.”

Isabel began to sputter. “That can’t be true. I’ve been monitoring the stock distribution, and I know the Queen family does not have that much stock.”

“Oliver acquired it privately,” Felicity said, giving him the credit for her little shell company maneuver. “I’m sure you understand the need for discretion in these situations. Nevertheless, we can prove ownership and will.”

“If we need to see proof of ownership of that stock, we’ll let you know,” Jim said in a firm voice. “Now, it’s time for the board to have its private session.” He nodded his head at the door, and Oliver and Felicity gathered up their materials and left the room with Diggle following close behind.

>>--->

The lobby outside, with its glass walls, high ceiling, and marble floor, was arctic this time of night, even for Oliver who was used to standing around in all temperatures in leather pants. Felicity shivered in one of the two available armchairs, Diggle positioned himself like a sentry near the boardroom door, and Isabel paced in front of the elevators, making a racket in her spiked heels.

“You can go home, Diggle,” Oliver said. “It might be hours before we find anything out.”

Diggle crossed his arms and gave Isabel a wide, malignant smile. “I don’t mind staying.”

“You won’t get away with this, you know,” Isabel spat out. “I’ve pulled this company out of a severe financial slump, and there are board members who are very loyal to me.”

“We know you’ve been bribing them,” Felicity said. “Not Jim Schramm, though, and he has an inkling of the danger you pose to this company. I don’t think he knows you mean to destroy it.”

Isabel did a double take. “How did…” Understanding dawned on her face. “Your little computer skills.”

“Yes, my little computer skills,” Felicity said. “Sometimes they come in handy.”

Isabel gave her a long look. “I underestimated you. I never thought Oliver would have anyone at all resourceful - or loyal - helping him out.”

“Yes. Well, he does,” Felicity said, sitting up straight. “And I’m not letting you take down Queen Consolidated for whatever twisted revenge fantasy you have. It’s my family’s company now too. You’re just mad because Robert never followed through.”

Isabel recoiled. “Well, you think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

“I am smart,” Felicity said. “Objectively speaking.”

“Unfortunately for you, Oliver only married you because you can help him with the company,” Isabel said. “He’d never look at somebody like you otherwise.”

“I was already helping him with the company, Isabel,” Felicity corrected. “He didn’t need to marry me for that.”

“If he married you after what happened in Moscow, it’s because he saw the advantage in it, not because he loves you. Queen men, they like to use women and discard them.” Isabel tugged her hair out of the ponytail impatiently, and shook it out.

Ouch. Isabel was clearly not done lashing out. “He’d already given me the ring,” Felicity said. But Oliver saw her flinch at Isabel’s words.

Since the beginning of this, since the first night when they were sprayed, she’d been the one to try to maintain a distance between them, an objectivity about their relationship, clarifying that she was sleeping with the vigilante, that this was temporary, that they’d “get this out of our systems,” and then everything would be fine.

Months later, they hadn’t managed to get anything out of their systems, and they’d married for reasons that - Isabel was right - were mostly practical, but it was working between them. He saw the vulnerability on her face. What did she want? Did she want more from him? Should he tell her how he felt?

Right now she wanted Isabel to shut up. Clearly. “What’s your point, Isabel?” Oliver said.

“You know she just married you for your money,” Isabel turned to him. “Like I told you, it runs in her family. Her mother’s a golddigger too.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Oliver said. “You’re wrong about all of the other stuff too, but I know Felicity didn’t marry me for the money. So you can just stop with your little attacks.” He gave her a long once over. “Felicity was right about you. She saw through you from the beginning. I should have listened because you turned out to be a lot of trouble. We’re done here.”

He turned to Felicity. “We should go home. They’ll have to call us when they make their decision about Isabel.” He smiled grimly. “Our name is on the building.”

Isabel wasn’t done yet, though. “Your father promised me this company!” she hissed. “He promised he would marry me, and he promised that I’d run Queen Consolidated company one day.”

“And you have, but I think that’s over now,” Oliver said. “Don’t take it so hard. You’re not the only one disappointed in him. He was a complicated man, and he made some pretty terrible calls.” He let his gaze slide over her. She was repulsive, pathetic. He didn’t understand what his father had ever seen in her.

Isabel shot him a withering look. “You have no idea what’s really happening,” she said with a touch of defiance.

The door to the boardroom opened, and Jim Schramm entered the lobby followed by the other board members. “I’m afraid we are going to have to ask you to leave the premises, Ms. Rochev,” he said. “The board of directors has just voted to remove you from your position as CEO of Queen Consolidated. We are terminating your contract, effective immediately. I’ve called security, and they will escort you from the building. If you have anything personal you would like to take with you, they will oversee its removal. I’m sorry that it has come to this, but we have to do what is in the best interest of the company.”

The elevator dinged its arrival, and two burly looking security guards stepped out from it. Isabel looked around wildly. “But…but,” she said, “you can’t do this!”

“We can and we are, dear,” Evelyn McLeod said. “You really should have disclosed your relationship with Malcolm Merlyn. We’re going to have quite a mess to clean up here. And right before Christmas.” She looked at Isabel with open disgust.

“Oliver,” Jim said. “The board has drafted our formal resolution, and QC will have to make an official announcement tomorrow to the company and to the public. You’re going to have to be the face of that.”

“Of course,” Oliver said. He glanced at Felicity and Diggle. He couldn’t believe they’d actually managed it. They’d unseated Isabel, and she was on her way out. An actual win for once! Felicity smiled at him and nodded, and Diggle barely suppressed his grin.

The security guards moved toward Isabel, reaching for her arms, and she jerked away from them. “Don’t touch me!” She snatched up her purse and her briefcase from the floor.

“Isabel, I’m afraid we’ll have to confiscate any QC files or other information you have on your person,” Jim said. “That means your phone too. Security will want to go through it.”

“It’s just a disposable phone,” Isabel said. “They took my other one in the airport. There’s nothing on this one!”

“Then I’m sure they’ll return it to you right away,” Jim said. He nodded at the guards. “Escort her out please.”

“You’ll regret this!” Isabel screamed. “You don't know who you’re dealing with!” The guards muscled her into the elevator.

“That’s been made abundantly clear, unfortunately,” Jim said. “It’s the reason for your termination. Good night, Ms. Rochev.” He turned to Oliver as the elevator doors closed. “Now, if I could have your attention, we have some important details to go over before tomorrow morning.”

Oliver nodded. “Felicity,” he motioned to her. “She’ll want to be present. In the capacity of my executive assistant.”

“That’s fine,” Jim said. He nodded at Felicity. “I appreciate the thoroughness of your presentation, Mrs. Queen,” he said. “I think the two of you have saved us a great deal of trouble.”

“I’m just happy that you were willing to listen, Mr. Schramm,” Felicity said. She beamed up at him, and Oliver watched Jim Schramm return her smile with a warm one of his own. He wondered if he wore that dazzled expression on his own face when he looked at her. Probably.

“Go home, Diggle,” he said. “I think the excitement is over, and I can drive Felicity back in one of the company cars.”

“Very good, sir,” Diggle said. “I will come for you early tomorrow morning for the press conference.”

>>--->

When the board meeting finally ended hours later, the elevator in the lobby had a sign on it that read “Out of Order.” Felicity hoped that Isabel hadn’t managed to damage the building infrastructure with what had to have been an epic tantrum. She’d look up the security footage later. It ought to be entertaining.

They were all stuck taking the stairs to get out of the building, but Oliver and Felicity had to go up first, not down, so they said goodbye to Jim and Mrs. McLeod and the remaining board members and began their climb to Oliver’s office five stories up.

Footfalls and chatter rang in the hollow spaces of the stairwell, but eventually, after they’d trudged three or four stories up, the noise became fainter. Like the lobby, this space was cold, surrounded by glass and cement-block walls, but here it smelled like someone had just been smoking.

She was rounding the corner to the final flight up when the last of the voices faded away. She felt Oliver’s hand on her waist, turning her toward him, and she lifted up one heel and let him pivot her weight on the other. He was down one step, so, facing him, she looked him straight in the eye for once. He was smiling at her.

“You were amazing back there, Felicity,” he said, moving in for a kiss. “I can’t believe how well you handled all of that.”

“Me?” She put her arms around his shoulders and ran her fingers through the back of his hair. “When you said, ‘You must vote to remove Isabel Rochev from her position as CEO…’ You’ve done some extremely sexy things as the Arrow, but tonight you cranked it up a notch. So authoritative.” She shivered and began peppering his lips with small kisses.

“You liked that, huh?” he asked, sliding his hand up to cup her breast.

“It was hot,” she said. “You destroyed her without a single arrow. Not even a punch.”

“We destroyed her,” Oliver said. “I never could have done it without you. I can’t believe we pulled it off.”

“We did,” Felicity said. “A Queen is back in charge of Queen Consolidated. It’s about time.”

“Two Queens,” Oliver said. Then he hustled her up the last flight of stairs and into the lobby outside his office.

“Did you see Mrs. McLeod?” Felicity asked, as he unlocked his office door. “You’ve got her in the palm of your hand now. She touched her hair tonight whenever you looked at her, the hussy.”

He grinned at her. “Like Jim Schramm didn’t spend the last hour staring at you.”

Felicity giggled. “It was our night.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “We make a good team. A team within a team.”

“We do,” Oliver said. “I wanted to talk to you about that.” He pulled her by the hand into his office and led her to the arrangement of leather chairs in front of his desk. Some of the lighting equipment was still here from the interview with Rachel Woodhouse, but the couch had been removed. He lightly pushed her into one of the chairs and dragged another one close to it and sat down. “About what Isabel said,” he began.

Felicity scowled. “It doesn’t matter what she said. She’s a terrible person.”

“She’s a terrible person,” Oliver agreed, “but it does matter.” He took her hands and held them in his. “I know that we got married because of what Isabel did and for my mom, but I–”

“It’s fine, Oliver,” Felicity said. She didn’t want to think too hard about this. She hoped he wasn’t already regretting their hasty wedding. “I know why we got married.”

He gave her a direct look, a piercing one, and she fell silent.

“I want you to know,” he said slowly, deliberately, “I might have married you for practical reasons, but I’m not with you because of that.”

He stared at her for a long moment, hunching his shoulders forward. “The people closest to me…they tend to get hurt. Sometimes I think it would have been better if I hadn’t come back from Lian Yu. Tommy–”

“The Undertaking would have happened anyway,” Felicity interrupted him. “It just would have been worse for the Glades.”

“That may be true,” he said, “but I don’t think Laurel or Sara are better off for having known me.”

Felicity leaned forward in her chair. She hated it when he strolled down this path of recrimination. “I’m better for having known you,” she said. “I know that. You’re not putting me in danger. I chose to help you, knowing that it is sometimes dangerous.” She traced a finger over the smooth surface of his thumbnail. “I know that you have a lot of guilt about the Lance family, but we had a big win tonight, and I think you should try to enjoy it.”

Oliver gave her a little smile. “I’m getting to my point, I promise.”

She took a breath and nodded.

“When I came back from the island, I was on a crusade to right my father’s wrongs. I really didn’t expect to survive it. I didn’t think about the future. I only thought about how I could cross people off of the List. I wasn’t connecting with my mother or my sister or Tommy or Laurel because I didn’t think I would be around very long.” He paused. “And then I walked into your office.”

His eyes were round, serious, and thoughtful. “There was just something about you,” he said quietly. “I felt like I recognized who you were. Like we knew each other already, even though we’d never really met before. You saw me as a person, and that’s who you were to me. A person. Not a target, not an asset, a person.”

His thumbs were rubbing slow circles in her palms. “I guess that’s why I kept coming back to you for help. I needed to feel like what I was doing, what I was living, was real. So much of what has happened to me in the past six years has felt like a nightmare. How can I have gone through all that and still be walking around back in Starling? But you looked at me, in that no-bullshit way of yours, and I knew you could see clearly.”

That was a lot to digest all at once. “Oliver, I–” Felicity said.

“If we hadn’t been sprayed, I probably wouldn’t have done anything about it. I needed you too much as a partner,” Oliver said. “And you were working for me. But we did get sprayed, and now I rely on you. Not just to tell me where to go or who to fight on the comms. Your hope and your belief in me make me feel like I might have a future, and it might be okay.” He looked down at the floor. “That’s not a very romantic way of saying it.”

He swallowed and looked into her eyes. “When I wake up in the morning holding you, I think ‘This is real.’ And when I touch you and push myself inside of you, I know it must be because I never imagined anything this good would happen to me again.”

Felicity felt a tear run down her cheek. She lifted his hand up to her mouth and kissed it.

“You ground me, and you inspire me, Felicity. Your resourcefulness, your loyalty, your courage…I didn’t marry you because I had to. I married you because I wanted to.” He leaned forward until he was almost kneeling before her. “I love you. I don’t know if that’s what you want from me, but it’s true, and I thought you should know. Isabel’s wrong about all of it.”

Felicity unclamped her teeth from her lower lip and swiped the tears on her cheeks with her fingertips. “You’re too much for me sometimes, Oliver.” she said shakily. “You really are. I think I’ve loved you from the day that I met you, but I never thought that you would want to be with me that way.”

His eyes widened.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” she said. “I do. It would do you good. Everything about you is so…” she trailed off, at a loss for how to describe him. “After all that you’ve been through, you’re still determined to help people. You keep trying. You don’t give up.”

“I went back to the island last summer,” he said.

“You were grieving,” she said, threading her fingers through his again. “And not just for Tommy. For everyone you’ve lost. For the city, even.”

He frowned but did not take his eyes away from hers.

“You don’t even complain. You just get up in the morning with enough in you to take down another bad guy. It’s heroic.”

“I’m not a hero,” Oliver said.

“Maybe not in your own eyes,” she said. “But in mine you are, and you always will be. I love you.”

His eyes moistened. “You love me,” he said.

She laughed. “Yes, I love you! You can be so observant. I don’t know how you missed that.”

“Well, I knew you were…” he grinned, “kind of hot for me. You positioned your workspace right in front of the salmon ladder, after all. But I get that a lot.”

“You get that a lot?” she laughed. She levered herself from the leather chair and went to sit in his lap.

“It’s a burden, but I work out, so I can bear it,” Oliver said.

She caressed his face, feeling the scrape of his scruff on her palms. “You do work out a lot. And it’s been a long day. You’re probably too tired to make any use of the executive bathroom,” she said.

“You know, it’s funny,” he said. He shifted his weight underneath her, and she felt his arousal. “I don’t feel too tired. I think that I have just the right amount of energy to make you very happy, Mrs. Queen.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” She touched her nose to his.

“I do. I’ve done it before.”

“Don’t brag. It’s not attractive,” she said, but she could feel her lips stretching into a wide smile as she looked down at his beautiful face. “Tell me again.”

“I think I have enough energy for sex,” he said.

“No,” she said, slapping his shoulder. “Not that. Tell me you love me. I want to hear it again. And again.”

“Oh, that,” he said. “I’m afraid that’s true. I love you, Felicity Smoak. I love you. And if you love me, I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

“I guess we are,” Felicity said. “For better or worse.”

He stroked her hair with the back of his hand. “For better or worse,” he said. Then he focused all of his attention on her lips, and she forgot about QC and Isabel Rochev and everything except the feel of his body and the thudding of his beating heart under her hands for a good, long while.

>>--->

Jury selection for Moira’s trial was scheduled to begin the following Monday, December 9th, so on Wednesday, Team Arrow had Chinese takeout, and on Thursday Felicity wore a tight, striped yellow knit dress to work. It was an eye-catching dress, a little obvious, and it made the natural curve of her stomach look more convex than usual.

Oliver took her to Table Salt for lunch, and Felicity “slipped” on the bare sidewalk in front of the restaurant while Oliver made a show of being overly solicitous about her welfare, lightly patting her stomach. She had a large helping of lasagna and a salad, conspicuously skipping wine and drinking only water.

Their photos were already splashed all over national magazines and newspapers with headlines like “CEO's Secretary Steals His Heart and the Spotlight” and “Billionaire's Baby Bombshell?” The National Enquirer had featured Donna Smoak in this morning’s edition. While Felicity knew her mother would be eating up the attention, Doug’s wife was probably ordering a hit right now. She winced inwardly. She probably shouldn’t joke about that even to herself. Monica Wynn was apparently quite vindictive.

After consulting with Walter, Oliver had gone ahead and retained additional counsel for Moira’s defense, including celebrity lawyer Jonny Monaghan and the faintly notorious Levi Scheibel. They were there primarily to add color and rattle the prosecution, not do the heavy legal legwork, though. Jean would still be handling that. Moira would meet with them for the first time tomorrow.

With so few people venturing out at night, the city was unsettlingly quiet. Diggle drove them home after work. They dodged the paparazzi waiting outside of QC and piled in the car. The leather of the seat was cold against the back of her legs, so Felicity arranged her coat as a protective layer underneath her and then let out her breath.

“Tired?” Oliver asked. He reached over and flipped on the seat warmer.

“It’s exhausting being the focus of this much attention,” Felicity said, “and bizarre to see your own face everywhere - on TV, on magazine covers. I don’t know how you do it all of the time.”

“You get used to it,” Oliver said. “I don’t even remember what it’s like to be anonymous in a public setting.”

“I almost picked up a few of the tabloids out of curiosity,” Felicity said. The press was absurdly comparing her to Princess Diana.

“Don’t. My dad always said, ‘Good or bad, you shouldn’t believe your own press,’” Oliver said. “It’s almost all lies or speculation, anyway. You’re better off not knowing.”

“You’re probably right,” Felicity said. She laid her head against the coolness of the window. “No Isabel sighting today. I don’t know if we should be happy or nervous.”

“Happy,” Diggle said from the front seat.

“Happy,” Oliver agreed. “Definitely happy.”

“But the last time she got booted from Queen Consolidated, she plotted to kill your dad and take over your company, and I don’t think she’s gotten more stable over time. This is not the last we’re going to see of her.”

Oliver waved a hand. “I’ve got extra security at the house starting today, and if she comes after us directly, you know we can handle it.”

“I’ll be watching,” Diggle said. “I talked to Security at QC, and they will be too. It’ll be okay.”

Felicity nodded. That would have to be enough. “I doubt they’ll take her back at Stellmoor after this.”

“She always seems to land on her feet,” Oliver said. “What my dad did to her was pretty terrible, but you can’t go around killing everyone who’s mean to you. And she knew he was married. What did she think would happen?”

“I guess she thought she’d live happily ever after with your dad and run QC.”

They both fell silent. She thought about the alternate timeline that might have been and how it could have changed everything.

“Thea would have been a nightmare for her,” Oliver said finally. “I wonder if that’s why Dad didn’t go through with it.”

“You could have had several more siblings by now,” Felicity said. “It’s hard to imagine Isabel giving birth, though. She probably can’t bear live young.”

Diggle snorted.

They drove through the quiet back roads that lead home, and Felicity shifted away from the window and leaned her head up against Oliver’s chest. Last night had been so wonderful, and she still hadn’t fully absorbed the idea that Oliver loved her. He loved her. She was so lucky. Who could have imagined this would happen?

As he maneuvered the car up the long driveway to the Queen mansion, Diggle said, “Heads up. Laurel’s here. She’s camped out on your front step. Should I pull the car around the front?”

Oliver sighed heavily and leaned his head back against the seat cushion. “I guess you’d better.”

“She’s not going to be pleased with you after that interview we did,” Felicity said.

“Yeah. I can’t say I’m very pleased with her either,” he said. “What’s she doing prosecuting my mother for mass murder? Mom was her sponsor in high school for Model United Nations. She took Laurel to all of these conferences and helped her with her public speaking and negotiation skills. And this is how she pays her back? The whole thing is ridiculous. Unless she’s acting as some Trojan horse, she should ask to be recused.”

Diggle slowly pulled the car into the circular driveway and under the porte cochere. Oliver exited the car on the passenger side and then extended his hand to help Felicity out.

“I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Diggle said.

Felicity made a face at him. “Coward.”

Diggle just grinned at her. “Good luck. Laurel looks pissed.”

Before Felicity could get on her feet and fully straighten herself outside the vehicle, Laurel had stomped over to them in her high-heeled boots. “There you are! I don’t know why the doors are locked. Doesn’t Raisa work for you anymore?”

Oliver frowned but pulled out his keys, walked to the front door, and inserted the house key in. The lock clicked, and he opened the door, then extended his arm. “After you,” he said.

Throwing her hair back, Laurel entered the house, and then Felicity followed with Oliver behind her. Inside, the warmth of the house hit her like a wall, and Felicity began to remove her winter coat.

Laurel caught sight of Felicity’s lasagna belly in her tight dress, and she sucked in her breath. “Is she pregnant?” she asked Oliver in a horrified voice.

Up until this point, Felicity had had some sympathy for Laurel in all of this. Her history with Oliver was complicated. He had publicly humiliated her and broken her heart, and she still wasn’t aware that Sara had survived the sinking of the Gambit. Laurel had experienced a great deal of grief and loss, and her second attempt to start something with Oliver had gone down in almost literal flames during the Undertaking. That had to be hard.

Felicity knew instinctively that getting over Oliver would take a lot more than ice cream and late-night tearful phone calls to a friend, and she prayed that at no point in her future would she be knocking hard on the locked front door of the Queen mansion, demanding to be let in.

But Oliver was right, this thing with Moira was ugly, and you didn’t just blurt out questions about someone else’s pregnancy, fictional or not. “That’s not really your business,” Felicity told her, trying for a gentle tone.

“Does Donner know you’re here?” Oliver asked.

“No,” Laurel said. “I thought it would be better if we talked this over informally since we’re friends.”

“Talked what over?” Oliver said. His posture was erect, defensive.

“The interview you did with Rachel Woodhouse. Donner is furious about it!”

“Good,” Oliver said. “That prick could stand to feel something besides self-satisfaction once in a while.”

Laurel looked taken aback. “I can’t say I appreciated it either. I didn’t realize you were going to use the press as part of your defense strategy. Your blushing newlywed tabloid push is tantamount to tampering. I don’t know how we’re going to get an impartial jury together now.”

Oliver stared at her in disbelief. “Laurel, if you never considered that I will do whatever it takes to save my mother from the death penalty, then you don’t know me at all. And we’re going to win. This isn’t a game to me.”

“And this…this sudden marriage,” Laurel said, crossing her arms. “Is that part of your strategy too?”

Oliver ignored that. “Why are you assigned to this case, anyway? You’ve known my mother for years. Your boss is either an idiot or a psychopath if he thinks forcing his employee to prosecute a family friend is a good legal move.”

“I just lost my other job, Oliver,” Laurel said. “CNRI is defunct now, and the city is in ruins. I was lucky to get this position, and I don’t have a lot of pull. I have to do what they assign me.”

“Is your plan to sabotage the prosecution?” he asked.

“Of course not!” Laurel said. “That would be unethical!”

“Then quit,” Oliver said. “It’s not like you don’t have resources. I can pull some strings at QC and get them to find you something in our legal department.”

“I’m not a charity case,” Laurel said. “I made it through law school on my own two feet.”

With average grades from a third-tier law school, graduating in the top half of her class, Felicity knew. She guessed that was a catty thing to think, but working legal compliance at a Fortune 500 company would be a great entry-level job for a new lawyer. Felicity had taken the equivalent in QC’s IT department right out of M.I.T. herself.

“So you’re saying your pride is more important to you than my mom’s life,” Oliver said. “It’s good to know what your priorities are.”

Laurel blanched, and then her face looked pained as she stole a glance at Felicity. “Why did you marry her, Ollie?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

Oliver looked up at the woodwork on the ceiling and took a breath. “She has a name, Laurel. It’s Felicity. And I married her because I wanted to, alright? I love her.”

“You love her?” Laurel said. “How long have you been dating her? A few weeks? You barely know her.”

He reached out and touched Laurel’s arm gently. “I know her,” he said, “and I know what I’m doing. You don’t have to understand it, but we’re good together. I’m sorry if that hurts you.”

She put her hand over his and looked up at him with her big, sad eyes. “I can’t believe you did this. I guess in the end, despite everything, I always thought it would be you and me.” A tear rolled down Laurel’s cheek, and she reached up to wipe it away.

“I am sorry,” Oliver said again, “but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Laurel laughed bitterly. “I thought we could have something amazing, do something amazing together, but maybe I dodged a bullet, huh? Maybe it’s better,” she said, looking at Felicity. “After all, a cheater is always a cheater, right? Enjoy it for however long it lasts!” Then she turned and walked to the front door.

She wobbled on her heel as she pulled the heavy oak door open. “I don’t know what your game is, but Donner’s watching you. He’s prepared a rock solid case against your mother. I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen either!” Then she left, slamming the door behind her.

>>--->

Felicity looked at Oliver’s face. It was bright red, and the vein in his forehead was pulsing. “I’ve got…I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ll be back later, I promise.” He took off towards the back of the house.

She stood there in the middle of the foyer for a moment, absorbing what had just happened. She set her purse down on the carved table, careful not to disturb any of the pictures there. Oliver and Thea. Moira and Robert. Oliver and Laurel.

“Wow, sour grapes much?” Thea said from the archway to the living room. “That was embarrassing.”

Felicity jumped at the sound of her voice. She tried to smile at Thea but found she couldn’t quite manage it. “You heard all of that?”

“Everybody heard it,” Thea said. “These halls echo, unfortunately.” She motioned with her head for Felicity to come into the living area beyond, and Felicity reluctantly followed her there.

“Laurel’s got some issues,” Thea said, plopping down on the couch. “Obviously.”

Felicity perched on the edge of one of the armchairs. “I’m not sure how I should react to that.” She gestured toward the foyer.

“Oh, ignore it,” Thea said. “She’s got some nerve coming here since she’s prosecuting Mom for murder. Banging on the door and yelling to be let in after I locked it.”

“You locked it?” Felicity asked.

“The front one, yeah,” Thea said. “But Raisa locked the servants’ entrance. She’s not pleased with Laurel either. If it wasn’t for Laurel stupidly staying at CNRI during the earthquake, Tommy would still be alive.”

As much as she wasn’t a fan of Laurel right now or at all, that didn’t seem right. “The earthquake was Malcolm Merlyn’s fault,” Felicity said. “Although I’m really sorry about Tommy. I didn’t know him very well, but he seemed like a great guy, and I know Oliver misses him a lot.” An understatement, but Oliver’s feelings about Tommy were beyond complicated and far more than simple grief.

“He was a great guy,” Thea said. “He was always there for me. Always.” She looked sad for a moment and then pulled herself together. “Laurel’s not a bad person. She’s done some good things. But she still thinks Ollie is hers to command. She put a lot of effort into trying to bag him, and she never did. She never came close.” She waved her hand at Felicity. “And you were dating only a short while, and you’ve–”

“Already bagged him?” Felicity laughed despite herself.

“You’re already married,” Thea corrected herself.

“I don’t think…” Felicity said.

Thea held up a hand. “I know there were some extenuating circumstances with QC and Ollie’s trying to leverage the press to help Mom’s case, but my brother…is actually smiling now? I heard him whistling in the foyer on his way out the door this morning. He used to do that before the island. He wasn’t this grim, brooding guy then. He had a goofy sense of humor. He would laugh a lot. He was fun.”

Again, Felicity didn’t know what to say to that. She only knew a little of what had happened to Oliver on that island, and that was considerably more than what he’d told Thea, she guessed.

“None of us knew what to do when he came back totally different,” Thea finished.

“I think that Oliver…” Felicity began.

“You seem to be able to roll with it, though,” Thea said, “and you must care about him or you’d never have accepted the thankless task of being his secretary.”

“Executive assistant,” Felicity said reflexively.

“Executive assistant and wife,” Thea said. She stood up and walked over to the large model ship by the window. “The thing is, Laurel and Ollie? They’re bad together. There was always so much drama between them. She doesn't want to admit it, but it’s true.” She dragged her finger across the ship’s yarn rigging and tugged on it lightly. “Laurel makes him worse, but I think you? You make him better.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Felicity said, although she certainly agreed with Thea that Laurel did not bring out the best in Oliver.

“I watched that interview with Rachel Woodhouse,” Thea said, turning back towards Felicity. “Oliver was fantastic! You might have a real chance at helping Mom’s case. And now Isabel is out at QC! You seem to know how to help focus him.” She returned to the couch and sat down. “But more than that, he doesn’t seem so alone now that he has you.”

Felicity blinked hard at this acknowledgment. “I really do love him,” she said. “He’s so impressive. He has so much to give.” It sounded funny when she said it out loud to Oliver’s sister, but it was true.

Thea smiled at her. “Just ignore Laurel. Ollie will figure it out someday, but even if he doesn’t, he’s way better off without her. I think you’re going to be really great together.”

>>--->

Oliver ran down the trail that led through the extensive woods on their property. It was getting dark out, but he knew this path like the back of his hand from training for cross country in high school. He needed to get his head on straight, and running was the fastest way for him to accomplish that. Standing still, he’d be barraged by all of his guilt, regret, and anger at Laurel, but he could think when he was running.

He did not have time to brood about this for days like he would have last year. He was married now, and his mom’s trial was about to start. What he wanted was to go home and make love to his wife and then lay there and look at her pretty face afterwards until he fell asleep. To do that, he had to sort this shit out in his mind.

He picked up the pace a little, dodging the lower branches of the cedars and pines that lined this part of the trail.

Laurel offered him a chance at something no other living woman could: absolution. He knew that; it was something he’d wanted more than anything, he’d thought. For years she had been the symbol to him of potential, if unlikely, forgiveness and restitution. When he’d returned to Starling, he’d somehow mixed up love and this longing together and convinced himself that if he made things right with Laurel, he could be forgiven for everything.

But that had been wrong. All wrong. He wasn’t sure why he’d jumped at being with her when Tommy had backed away and given them the opportunity. He’d screwed that up, and now Tommy was dead because of it.

When he thought about Laurel now, he just felt guilty and pessimistic. He couldn’t fix things between them, and he didn’t even want to anymore. If she gave him absolution, would he accept it? Would he allow himself to feel forgiven? He didn’t know. He deserved Laurel’s anger and resentment. He didn’t deserve to be happy, but, unexpectedly, he was. He wanted to be with Felicity. He wanted to be happy, and he wasn’t going to throw that away. Not for Laurel, not for anyone.

It was like Felicity had said. The important thing was to make things better moving forward. He couldn’t fix what happened with Laurel, so he had to try to fix other things and hope the math worked out alright in the end.

That idea comforted him, so he decided to go with it. The past was the past. He hadn’t been able to expiate his father’s sins. He hadn’t been able to prevent the Undertaking. But the future? The future could be better. He’d been wrong to exile himself back on the island. He could move on. He could. With Felicity.

With that decided, he took the fork in the path that he knew led back to the house.

>>--->

Oliver didn’t return right away, so Felicity decided to change into something more comfortable and do a little recreational hacking to take her mind off of things. She brought her better laptop down from the bedroom to the living room and powered it up while Thea watched the news.

On Channel 52, Bethany Snow was talking about the rapist again. “Tonight we’re here with experienced FBI profiler Jack Reid to discuss the ongoing investigation into the serial rapist case that has gripped our city. He’s going to discuss any forensic evidence the Starling City Rapist has left behind. What do we know about this predator, Jack?”

Jack Reid cleared his throat. “Thank you for having me. It's important that the public stays informed about this case.”

“Every woman in the city is on edge,” Ashley said, “We need him to be apprehended. We hear even the Chinese Triad has a price on his head now. How is the FBI approaching this?”

“It's a challenging situation because the forensic evidence is scarce,” Jack Reid said. “We rely heavily on behavioral analysis in these instances. We study the patterns of the crimes, the locations, the times they occur, and any interactions the rapist may have had with the victims. These things can offer us insights into his psychology and motives.
“Based on what we’ve seen,” he continued, “we’re very likely dealing with a young male, caucasian, probably of average height. It’s statistically likely that he has brown hair. He probably has a background in chemistry and a tie to one of the colleges or universities in Starling City.”
“That's fascinating,” Ashley said, “but the public is understandably nervous. What can people do to protect themselves while the rapist is still at large?”

“Be aware of your surroundings,” Jack Reid said. “That’s crucial, especially at night or in isolated areas. If you see something suspicious, report it to the police immediately. And, most importantly, do not hesitate to seek help if you feel threatened.”

Felicity tuned Ashley and Jack out. Be aware of your surroundings? That was the equivalent of blah blah blah - and, yes, now Jack was ending the interview confidently, “With the combined efforts of the FBI, local law enforcement, and the community, we have a high chance of apprehending this individual. We are committed to bringing justice to the victims and restoring a sense of safety to the public.”

In other words, they had bupkis on the rapist. Maybe this interview was an attempt to spook him or flush him out. Felicity sighed. At least there didn’t seem to be any new victims to report.

“Did you get the support group started?” she asked Thea.

Thea looked over her shoulder at her. “Yeah, but we had to change the venue. The women didn’t want to go to a club, so we moved it to the Dearden Center on the West Side. That should be fine. It’s right off the freeway and has plenty of parking, all of it open and visible from the security cameras.”

Felicity supposed she should have thought of that. She’d been sprayed outside a bar, not a club, and she worked in the basement of Verdant, so maybe she didn’t have the same triggers. “That’s a good idea,” she said.

“If we get enough people interested, I’m going to set a date for the rally,” Thea said. “Hopefully before Christmas.”

On the couch, Felicity opened up the folder of AEC’s research projects they’d submitted during the merger proceedings. Something Lawrence Westerby had said had gotten her thinking. What was it? Oh, yes, their work with human fertility.

All of the information was here. AEC Chemical had made their money doing remediation work on Superfund sites, money that had funded their other projects. One of these was the development of a new chemical treatment for human infertility. This project was out of line with the other type of research they were doing, mostly with soil and energy. Felicity remembered Lawrence Westerby’s two new grandchildren and wondered if someone in his family had suffered from infertility.

Vivafertilis, the drug AEC had developed, was intended to be used in a clinical setting to moderate and/or enhance hormone levels for couples trying to get pregnant as well as repair cellular damage caused by sexually transmitted diseases like gonorrhea and chlamydia.

Felicity skimmed through the documentation of the development process of the drug. The success of the project had been limited, and AEC never did any clinical trials in humans. Early animal trials in monkeys had been fraught with side effects like hysteria, psychological issues such as intense pair bonding, and extreme sexual arousal. The researchers had noted that the animals gained weight on the drug and that it reactivated growth even in adult animals.

By now alarm bells were going off in Felicity’s head. Intense pair bonding, extreme sexual arousal, reactivated growth. She read through all of the researchers’ notes. Yes, here it was: tissue regrowth and healing. The test monkeys had gotten bigger, stronger, and faster, although not necessarily more fertile. Numbers of live births in the group of test monkeys matched those in the control group. However, the live young born to the monkeys that had been given the drug were larger, healthier, and more developed than those born to monkeys in the control group.

Felicity’s heart beat faster as she searched for the long-term outcomes of the test monkeys, but the drug did not seem to cause poor health outcomes or increased mortality, at least during the years when the experiment had been active.

She needed an update on those test monkeys. Like right now.

Technically, she had access to all of AEC’s research because it and Vivafertilis were the sole intellectual property of Queen Consolidated as of two days ago. It was easier to hack into AEC’s mainframe than to go looking for passwords in the QC labyrinth, though. With a little work, Felicity was able to access all of AEC’s records database. And, fortunately, it looked like the test monkeys were all still alive and doing okay. From what she could tell from the updated records.

Breathe in, she thought. Breathe in, breathe out. It did not seem that exposure to the drug was in any way fatal. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Okay, then, the next conclusion could be drawn. Someone at AEC had aerosolized this drug and was using it on young female test subjects across Starling City. Who?

The names of the primary researchers attached to the project were Glenn Hopwood, Christine Fosatti, and Brian Westerby. Christine could likely be eliminated from suspicion, so Felicity did an online search for the other two. Brian was in his mid-to-late 40s and worked for Dow Chemical in Michigan presently, and Glenn Hopwood had passed away a year ago.

So who else had access to this research who would have the skill to formulate an old experimental drug and repurpose it as a rape drug?

Felicity downloaded AEC’s employee records and created a spreadsheet. She sorted them by sex, and filtered out the female employees. Then she filtered out the older men. She’d seen Red Beard up close and personal, and he was not a 60-year-old man. She couldn’t remember exactly what his face looked like, but he’d been young. Certainly not over 40 years old.

Filtering out men over 40 gave her a list of about 50 names to work with, and she went through and crossed out the ones who worked in departments like accounting or janitorial. Red Beard had some kind of background in chemistry. She knew it.

Then she remembered the most recent SCR victim, Ellen Phillips, the woman who had not fit the profile of his usual victims and who had not been taken or raped. Ellen’s husband, Dean, was the head of the chemistry department at SU. If she could make a connection between Dean Phillips and an employee at AEC, she would have a real lead.

She went to work in earnest. She had this guy in her sights now, and she was going to take him down.

>>--->

Fifteen minutes later, Thea dropped down next to her on the couch. “What’re you doing?” she asked.

By now Felicity had a list of all of the students attached to the chemistry department at SU and was beginning to organize the data the same way she had the employee list from AEC. “I’m trying to figure out who the Starling City Rapist is,” she said. She didn’t want to get distracted.

“You’ve seen him, right?” Thea asked. “What did he look like?”

“I’ve seen him,” Felicity said, “but the spray messes with your perception. You begin to hallucinate right away. It also affects your memory; you can remember things, but it’s more like impressions or feelings or maybe glimpses of things you saw - like a dream.” She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on her memory of that night. She’d done this a thousand times before without success. “All I remember is that he was youngish, kind of short, and had brown hair and a reddish beard.”

“That could be a lot of people,” Thea said, “even Roy.”

Felicity grunted. “It wasn’t Roy, but, yes, it doesn’t help to narrow it down that much. Oliver and I both saw him up close, so this should be easy, but that spray works fast. Also, I closed my eyes immediately so I wouldn’t imprint on him.”

“You did the right thing,” Thea said. “The FBI profiler said he is likely to be a white man between the ages of 20 and 40, antisocial, with a family history of abuse or neglect.”

“That’s also way too broad to be useful,” Felicity said. “I’ve thought about this a lot. He has to be smart, or he would have gotten caught by now. He has an understanding of forensics, but I suppose he could get that from watching enough Cold Case Files. All of the victims have been raped in high-traffic motel rooms, but he - or they, I think there might be two people working together–”

“Two rapists?” Thea asked.

“Yes, another person who’s good with computers. Because of the way the photos are posted online without leaving a trail behind. It’s not likely that the rapist is good at both chemistry and computers, but you never know.”

She saw Thea’s curiosity and tried to soft pedal her interest a little. “Normally, I’d leave this to the police, of course. But this is personal for me, and they don’t seem to have gotten very far, so I’ve followed the news reports closely. Many of the victims have been college girls, most but not all from Starling University. There were two from Brown College, three from Hawthorne College, and even one from Bluewater Polytechnic Institute. With the attack on the chemistry department’s wife, though, I think now we can speculate a tie to SU. The Gamma Delta house is also in SU’s Greek system.”

“The Gamma Delta riot - that was him?” Thea asked.

“I’m not sure,” Felicity said, although of course she knew he’d been there. “The drug the swimmers were dosed with was not the same, but we know from his online rants that the SCR hates athletes. So, from this list of Starling University chemistry students for the past ten years–”

“How did you get that list?” Thea asked.

“If you have good enough computer skills, you can get your hands on a lot of information,” Felicity said carefully. “And my computer skills are very good.”

“Cool,” Thea said.

“Don’t worry,” Felicity said. “I know what I’m doing. None of this will be traceable back to the Queens.”

“I’m not worried,” Thea said. “You seem…extremely capable.”

Felicity smiled at that, pleased to have made a good impression on Oliver’s sister despite her awkward start with her. She turned her attention back to the data. “I would usually sort this list of thousands of names, remove the duplicates and the women and take out any foreign students because we know this guy is white and American. Or Canadian, I guess that’s a possibility. I’d cross-check this list against the state’s database of licensed drivers too. But in this case, I already have a much shorter list I want to use. From AEC.” She started to cross-check the two lists when she heard the sound of the front door opening.

“AEC?” Thea asked.

Oliver loped into the living room looking sweaty but much less distressed than he had before with Laurel. “Hey,” he said, smiling at her and Thea. “What are you guys up to? Is this Christmas related?” he asked with a suspicious frown.

Thea laughed. “Ollie loves Christmas,” she said. “But, no, you dork, this isn’t Christmas related. Felicity is figuring out who the Starling City Rapist is.”

“Really?” Oliver asked. He gave Felicity a questioning look and kissed her on the top of her head.

“Really,” Thea said. “She got these two lists…”

Felicity looked down at her computer. The cross check had revealed that three of the 50 men on AEC’s list had gone through SU’s chemistry department in the past 10 years. Now she had names to work with: Gene Craig, Michael Wysocki, and Jace Allendale. And they probably all had LinkedIn profiles with updated photos.

Oliver peered over her shoulder as she brought up Gene Craig’s. “Not him,” he said. “He was not blond.” He watched as she typed in Michael Wysocki. “I don’t think so,” he said, squinting at the tiny profile picture. “His face was not that wide or flat.”

Felicity typed “Jace Allendale” into the search bar, and it brought up a couple of profiles, including some race-car driver from Alabama. There was a local Jace Allendale, though, and she clicked on his profile. Both she and Oliver drew in their breath. The profile photo showed a thin, dark-haired guy with a carefully sculpted beard. “That’s him,” she said. “That’s Red Beard.”

“I think you’re right,” Oliver said. “That’s the Starling City Rapist.”

“Gotcha,” Thea said.

Chapter Text

Oliver leaned in to have another look at the screen on Felicity’s laptop. Jace Allendale. Junior Chemist at AEC Chemical. He searched the image of the dark haired man in the profile photo again for recognition. His memory of YouWAN2’s face was hazy and unreliable, but he trusted that Felicity had done her due diligence and hadn’t just picked a random wimpy-looking chemist to pin a long series of ugly rapes and other crimes on.

Thea looked up at them expectantly. “Well?” she said. “What are we going to do about him?”

Felicity shifted her weight on the couch, uncertain. Clearly she hadn’t intended to actually figure out the identity of the Starling City Rapist with Thea sitting right next to her.

“I’m not sure what the next step should be,” she said. “I can’t exactly present this evidence to the police when I obtained it by hacking Starling University’s student files.”

She could give it all to Lance who was already well aware of her hacking “hobby,” but since Lance was no longer a detective, he might have some uncomfortable questions to answer when he passed it onto others in the SCPD.

Regardless of what action the SCPD decided to take, getting this guy off the streets before he could attack more people was obviously priority number one. That meant the Arrow had work to do. He straightened.

“Roy could help!” Thea said suddenly. A cagey look passed over her face. “I didn’t want to tell you this, Ollie, because you’d go all big brother on him and me, but Roy has been helping the vigilante sometimes.”

Helping was a generous way to phrase what Roy had been doing, but Oliver appreciated the kid’s enthusiasm and desire to stop crime in what was left of the Glades. It was certainly more than he’d ever done at Roy’s age. He had a fleeting memory of puking in a cop car and shook his head to dislodge it. Not his best era.

“I told you to stay away from the vigilante,” Oliver said. “He’s a dangerous criminal. A murderer.” And there was the memory of Tommy, saying the same things to him, to join the puking one. Good times.

“Before you say no,” Thea said, “think about it. The police can’t just hunt this guy down without sifting through evidence, and we can’t give them most of it without incriminating Felicity. But the vigilante can just go ham on this sicko. Stick an arrow into him or at least tie him off and dump him in a public place so that people have to go looking into his background. Roy can get a message to the vigilante! He’s done it before.” She stood up and crossed to the foyer where she yelled, “Roy!” up the stairs. “Roy, come down here! We need you!”

Oliver glanced at Felicity. “Go ham?” he mouthed.

Felicity just shrugged. Above him he heard thudding steps through the ceiling, and Roy ran down the steps and into the living room. “What’s up?” he asked Thea.

“Felicity hunted down the Star City Rapist!” Thea said. She gestured at the laptop. “She did some computer hacking thing, and we have a name now. Jace Allendale.” She shuddered. “Loser. We need to get him, but we have to do it carefully to protect Felicity.”

Roy looked confused. “You want me to go look for him?”

Thea shook her head. “We need to let the vigilante know. I’m sure he’d want to find this guy. It’s all everyone’s been talking about for months! Can you get him a message?”

After a wary glance at Oliver, Roy said. “I think I could do that. I just have to leave a marker outside of Verdant to let him know I want to talk to him.”

Felicity said, “That sounds good. I should still get this info to Lance, even if he can’t use it directly, it might be valuable.” She looked at Oliver. “Can you drive me into the city? You can do that thing then. That thing we talked about.” She raised her eyebrows at him.

Rounding up Jace Allendale was obviously the thing, but how was she going to cover for that with Thea and Roy?

“You know,” Felicity said. “Get me some pickles and ice cream.”

Thea’s attention swung back to them. “They featured you online, falling in front of Table Salt today. You’re not really pregnant, are you?”

“No,” Felicity said. “We’re just raising speculation because it’s better for the trial for the public to think of your mother as a grandmother-to-be instead of how the prosecution will paint her.”

Thea nodded. “Good. I’m not sure I’m ready to be an aunt yet, and Ollie…Ollie’s got a lot on his plate right now. Not that he won’t be a good dad someday.” She gave him a fond smile.

“I’m not ready to be a mother yet either,” Felicity said. “We just got married last week.” She turned to Roy. “This won’t be too dangerous for you?”

Roy shook his head. “He doesn’t let me do anything dangerous,” he said with a dissatisfied frown. “I’ll just pass the information on.”

“Good,” Oliver said. “You shouldn’t be working with him anyway, especially with your background. There’s only so many times Lance can give you a pass if you get arrested, and we don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Roy looked unconvinced, but he nodded. “I should go.”

>>--->

Jace Allendale lived in a three-bedroom brick ranch on a cul-de-sac in the back of a meandering 1960s subdivision called Griffiths Park. It was over by where the Starling City Rockets played their home games. Felicity called Diggle en route to the Arrowcave to give him the address.

“Both of you are going to be extremely careful with this guy,” she told Oliver when they’d grabbed their stuff. “He’s already sprayed you twice. Wear the gas mask the entire time. I don’t want you taking any more chances. Ideally, I’d like to come along.”

He stared at the road in front of them. “I’m not letting you anywhere near this guy.”

“I can make my own decisions, Oliver.”

He took Exit 26 for Papp Stadium. “We already used you as bait, and look how that turned out.” He was done with that. He was not going to watch Felicity choking on liquid polymer, her mouth stuffed full of tubing, and her naked abdomen was not going to make the Channel 52 news either.

“We got married,” Felicity said. “That’s how it turned out.”

A few other things had happened in the interim, but he didn’t want her to think he regretted them. “You know what I mean. He’s been raping women all over the city. I’m not going to let you be next.” He turned left and drove past the baseball stadium and its enormous Christmas tree covered in baseballs.

“I helped you infiltrate Merlyn Global and that mafia casino last spring,” she said.

“Cut me a break, Felicity. I can only handle having so many of my loved ones in the crosshairs right now. I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do, but I want you far away from Jace Allendale. He’s already gotten me twice. You have your laptop. Hack someone’s wifi, and stay in the car. If we get him, you can follow us in the van.”

He turned into the Griffiths Park subdivision, found Allendale’s street, circled the cul-de-sac once and then parked a few blocks away.

Felicity affixed a camera on the forehead of the gas mask so that he could at least get footage of Allendale’s house if they were unable to capture him. “Don’t disturb the house too much because the police have to get whatever they can in order for him to be arrested and convicted, but try to get photos of everything.” She raised herself up on tiptoe and kissed Oliver on the cheek. “I worry too, you know.”

“I always come back,” Oliver said.

“Except when we have to track you down on an island in the South China Sea,” she said.

“That’s not going to happen again,” he said, kissing her swiftly on the mouth. “I have something to live for now.” He patted her belly and smiled.

“Okay, go,” Felicity said. “Diggle’s already there.”

>>--->

“This is a pretty nice set up he’s got,” Diggle said when Oliver found the van. “AEC Chemical must be paying him well.”

“Real estate’s cheap since the mortgage meltdown,” Felicity said through the comms.

“Still,” Diggle said. “He’s only a couple of years out of college, right?”

“$10,000 an ounce goes a long way,” Felicity said. “I wonder how much he sold.”

Griffiths Park apparently had some kind of Christmas lights competition going on because half the houses on this block were fully and garishly illuminated and cars were driving slowly around taking in the sights. To avoid being spotted skulking about, they cut through his neighbors’ backyards, avoiding an intense little Shih Tzu first and then, even worse, a family of skunks.

“Why can’t this asshole live in an apartment complex like everybody else?” Dig groused.

“Diggle, focus,” Oliver said.

“I am very focused on not getting skunked,” Dig said. “My dog got sprayed once back when I was 10, and we almost had to move.”

Felicity giggled.

Allendale’s house was dark as they approached the back door. Oliver peered through the window of the exterior door to the garage. “No car,” he said. “He’s either not home or pretending not to be.”

“You boys have your gas masks on, right?” Felicity said. “We don’t want a repeat of the Gamma Delta house.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dig said.

“Oliver?”

“It’s on,” he said. He opened the door to the breezeway between the garage and the house. Inside, on the painted concrete floor, were a couple of cases of craft beer and a bag of kitty litter. The door to the house was locked, but Oliver made short work of opening it. “Security isn’t tight,” he noted.

He and Diggle went through the rooms on the first floor quickly and silently: kitchen, dinette, living room. “I don’t think anyone’s here,” Oliver said.

The house reeked of women’s perfume, something both musky and floral. “This is worse than the skunk,” Dig said.

“Flip on your headlamp, and let me see what the camera picks up,” Felicity said. Oliver did as she asked and then began walking slowly through each room.

There was nothing in the house that was out of the ordinary, but in the back bedroom things were in disarray. There was a discarded piece of carry-on luggage on the floor, and several of the doors and the closet were open. “He left in a hurry,” Felicity said. “The fact that there’s no alarm system probably means he doesn’t keep the real incriminating evidence here. But look around for any photos of women, any mementos or trophies he might have collected, or evidence of a chemistry lab. Is there a computer?”

“Nope, just a PlayStation,” Dig said. “A new one.”

“He probably has a laptop and took it with him when he bolted,” Felicity said. “Maybe he got spooked by the interview with the FBI profiler. That’s just great timing.”

Oliver and Diggle left the bedroom, and Diggle jerked his head in the direction of a door that was either a closet or the entrance to the basement. He opened it silently with his gun extended, but the stairs it revealed were empty. They moved carefully down with Oliver gripping his bow in case he needed to use it.

“Alright, so now we’re looking for evidence as to where he might have gone,” Felicity said. “We don’t have to prove he’s the rapist,” Felicity said, “but if you see anything suspicious, make sure you document it on camera.”

“Suspicious like a creepy gas mask collection?” Dig asked.

Oliver turned his head and saw a series of mannequin heads displayed on top of a wide bookcase. Each of them wore a different kind of gas mask.

“Well, that’s disturbing,” Felicity said. “Can you flip a light on?”

“Let me just make sure the rest of the basement is empty,” Dig said. He quickly moved beyond what appeared to be a den/bar area, and searched the next rooms. In a minute he was back, shaking his head. “He’s not here.”

Oliver reached for the lightswitch at the bottom of the stairs and flipped it on. Three spotlights shone on the bookcase and the mask collection.

“Holy knotty pine paneling, Batman,” Felicity breathed through the comms.

The entire room was paneled in warm pine from floor to ceiling. In the corner of the room was a bar, also made of knotty pine, and three barstools, and in the farthest corner there was some dusty exercise equipment, including a rowing machine and some free weights.

But the centerpiece of the room was the large bookcase, the masks, and the six-foot long map of Starling City displayed behind them. As the headlamp shone across the map, it sparkled.

“What is that? What did the lamp flash on?” Felicity asked.

Oliver moved closer to inspect the map. “They’re silver flat-head pins, like nails,” he said.

“Okay, okay,” Felicity said. “Scan over the map very slowly so that I can see the location of the pins. I’m recording this, of course, but, Diggle, can you take some photos with your phone?”

Diggle pulled out his cell phone and began to take close ups of the map. The pins were grouped in clusters on the map, with the majority of the map having no pins at all. “That’s Starling University there,” Felicity said when Oliver paused his scanning in an area that was heavily pinned. “And there’s the Gamma Delta house and Greek Row.”

“Every pin is a rape,” Oliver said.

“Yep,” Dig said.

“How many are there?” Felicity asked.

Oliver began to count under his breath, “1, 2…” After a few minutes, he said, “64.”

“I counted 65,” Dig said. “Did you count this one over here?” He pointed to the bottom of the map.

“I missed that one,” Oliver admitted. “And it’s hard to count the ones that are so close together. The heads are so small.”

“That’s a lot of women who are not revealing they were raped,” Felicity said. “We can get a more accurate count tomorrow.”

“Maybe he started off just drugging them without photographing them and posting the photos online,” Oliver said. “Who knows how long this has been going on? It’s clear he’s been testing the capabilities of the drug and maybe altering it to get a more efficient result.”

“Check out the bookcase,” Felicity said. “What do you see?”

Dig and Oliver bent down and began to read the spines. “Comic books,” Dig said. “Lots of classic comic books. Chemistry and biology textbooks. Some pick-up-artist garbage. And the Complete Time Life Civil War set.” He paused. “I always kind of wanted those.”

“There’s a whole section of college yearbooks from 2009-2012,” Oliver said. “And sorority yearbooks for Gamma Delta, Kappa Kappa Gamma, and Phi Mu.” He pulled one of these from the shelf and flipped through it. “Oh.”

Inside the book there were color-coded tabs over the women’s faces. Some of the tabs had check marks on them.

“Get pictures,” Felicity said. Her voice had lost its inflection. Oliver and Diggle both started flipping through the yearbooks and taking photos of the membership sections.

“Is there anything in the most recent SU yearbook?” Felicity asked. Diggle opened up the 2011-2012 Starling University yearbook. It was mostly untouched, but when he got to the Natural Sciences section, the pages were damaged. Dean Phillips, the head of the Chemistry Department, had his picture completely defaced. The pressure from the pen had torn the paper.

“Take a slow scan of the entire bookcase,” Felicity said.

“There’s one more thing,” Dig said. He pointed to the section of the basement beyond the door, and he and Oliver moved toward it. This part of the basement was unfinished and open. To the right was the furnace, and past that, a washing machine and dryer. To the left there was a wide table with chemistry equipment and a large array of glass bottles. Everything was neat and tidy, and there was no evidence of the rape drug in cannisters or spray bottles.

“Look in the cupboards,” Oliver said.

Diggle moved to the metal frame cupboards attached to the concrete block. He opened cupboard after cupboard, but if this is where Allendale had stored his rape drug, it was no longer here.

“Well, I don’t think we misidentified the rapist,” Felicity said

“This is him,” Oliver said. “We should probably get out of here.”

“Okay,” Felicity said. “On Monday we should have a forensics team go over the AEC labs and look for traces of the rape drug there. Maybe he used their facilities and left something behind? We can cross our fingers.”

>>--->

At the Arrowcave, Oliver started to change back into his blazer and dress pants, while Felicity uploaded all of the photos and the video to her computer so she could go over everything image by image. “Before you take that off,” she said, pointing to the Arrow suit, “go up and talk to Roy. He’s been waiting in the alley behind Verdant for at least an hour.”

Oliver sprinted up the stairs and made his way to the rendezvous spot. Roy had dutifully placed his red flechette in the wood, but he stepped out of the shadows as soon as he saw him.

“I think I know the identity of the Star City Rapist,” he said. “His name is Jace Allendale.”

Oliver played along, pressing the button on his suit to mask his voice. “How’d you get the information?”

“I have a friend who has some computer skills, and she tracked him down,” Roy said. “I’m pretty sure this is the guy. We can’t go directly to the police, but you can find him, right?”

“Probably,” Oliver said.

“I want in on this one,” Roy said, squaring his shoulders. “My girlfriend, she hates this guy, and I want to help bring him to justice.”

Oliver crossed his arms. The suit was really tight. He was going to have to have a new one made soon. “This drug doesn’t just affect women, and it’s super potent and fast acting.” He heard a rustling noise by the dumpsters. “It could probably make you want to have sex with that raccoon back there.”

“Hey!” Felicity said through the comms.

“That doesn’t seem…that doesn’t seem right,” Roy said.

Oliver relented. “Look, there’s going to be a city-wide attempt to lynch this guy whenever his name is released. Husbands, fathers, boyfriends, brothers, sisters - they’re all going to want a pound of his flesh. Try to stay out of the crossfire. Finding out his name is a huge help.”

“That wasn’t me,” Roy said. “My job was to get the name to you.”

“And you have. I’ll take it from here.”

>>--->

On the way back to the Queen mansion they stopped for pickles and ice cream at an upscale grocery store near QC. The paparazzi spotted them right away, and their flashbulbs went off.

“Do you think Roy is going to take your advice?” Felicity asked as they drove away.

“No,” Oliver said. “He wants to be Thea’s hero.”

“Heroism is a well-known aphrodisiac,” Felicity said.

“Is that right?” Oliver said, glancing over at her. “What kind of heroism?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Chasing down serial rapists, beating up mafia scumbags. Making midnight ice cream runs…”

He grinned at her. “Hold that thought. We’re almost home.”

>>--->

On Saturday morning Oliver drove down the too-familiar road to Iron Heights, carefully navigating the icy highway. The sky was leaden, and snow filled the air. He whistled as he took the exit to the prison. He didn’t want to jinx anything, but WAZY-FM currently had a poll for listeners to cast their vote on the Moira Queen case. A full two-thirds of those opining were saying she had been coerced and could not be considered truly guilty of murder. The host was interviewing a man who stated emphatically, “I’d shoot anyone who even looked at my kids funny! You don’t mess with my kids.”

Oliver couldn’t help but agree.

Levi Schiebel and Jonny Monaghan had been out there earning their money peacocking for the media, and Donner seemed on the defensive now, no longer acting in press conferences like executing his mother was a foregone conclusion. He hadn’t heard anything at all from Laurel.

The non-stop media coverage of his marriage to Felicity had completely overshadowed the hit pieces that the press had been running on his mother. All fall they’d been calling her the bloodsoaked Ice Queen, but in the past days at least two Starling City organizations that worked with abused women had come out swinging for Moira as the victim of years of terror and violence at the hands of Malcolm Merlyn.

Safe Harbor Sisters had started asking questions about why, of all of Malcolm’s many associates and partners, only Moira was being prosecuted for her part in the Undertaking. She had, after all, lost two husbands and a son - at least temporarily - to Merlyn’s terrible vision, and it was a miracle she still had her sanity after living with direct threats to her family’s safety for years.

He turned the Lexus down the long drive to the prison. He had taken a company car rather than one of the more ostentatious family vehicles. He was trying to maintain a more modest profile when possible. The tabloids loved to do “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” spreads about the Queen family wealth, but he and Jean wanted to position Moira as less of an heiress in the billionaire class and more of a frightened mother, one who anyone would have sympathy for.

He’d left Diggle with Felicity in case Isabel tried something. Oliver didn’t think she would attempt a direct attack; her style was much more cunning and cutting. Still, he did not want to take any chances with her safety, and he knew Diggle would guard her like family because, in a very real way, she was now. The three of them were more than a team. Sometime in the past year they’d gotten in the habit of taking risks and making sacrifices for each other.

Oliver parked the car, and walked toward the prison entrance. The wind was harsh, and snow kept falling. He went through the tedious process of Iron Heights’ visitor registration and was taken to the visitation room to wait for his mother.

The guard smiled when he saw Oliver. He was middle aged and had a puckered scar across his left cheek that looked like it came from a burn. His name tag read Bill. “Her trial starts next week?” he asked.

Everyone was friendlier to him since he’d married, Oliver had noticed. With all of the interviews he’d done, people were starting to think they knew him. He was no longer the disappointing Queen scion or the castaway acting out in embarrassing ways. Now he was a devoted son fighting for his mother’s life.

“Jury selection only,” Oliver said.

“That should be interesting,” Bill nodded. “Your mother’s been in better spirits lately.”

“Yeah?” Oliver said.

“She’s had so many visitors,” Bill said. “EmpowHer Starling came out yesterday and wanted to do a video interview, but the warden put them off. There’s a process they need to follow. I think they might picket next week. Clarice Brower said she wasn’t going to let Moira’s story go untold because of a handful of patriarchal rules meant to silence and disempower women.’”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Sounds dramatic.”

Bill laughed. “You stirred up a hornet’s nest with that interview with Rachel Woodhouse. And, I tell you what, my girlfriend appreciated the reward Queen Consolidated offered for an antidote to the rape drug. She thinks your new wife is a hottie.” He looked embarrassed at that.

“Your girlfriend’s right,” Oliver said, smiling. “I’m a lucky guy.”

“Well, she’s always been fine for me, your mother,” Bill said, shuffling his feet a little. “Never given me a moment’s trouble, and always very polite. If I had someone threatening my family all the time, I’d be hard pressed not to do what they wanted either. I hope for your family’s sake you get a good outcome.”

“Me too,” Oliver said. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He reached out to shake Bill’s hand, but Bill stepped back.

“Sorry, I’m not allowed,” he said. “But good luck.”

>>--->

The painted concrete block of the prison walls reminded Oliver of the basement of the Starling Hospital.

When Oliver had been young, the family had employed a nanny, Miss Finch. Miss Finch’s job had been to make sure that Oliver - and later Tommy, Thea, and even Marina - was presentable and prepared for school or other responsibilities. Miss Finch drilled him on manners and etiquette. She taught Oliver how to write thank-you notes and which clothes were appropriate for different occasions. She arranged outings and generally kept him busy. She’d only left the Queens’ employ when Oliver was 13 because her long-time boyfriend had finally proposed. After her came a young woman named Katrina whose focus was solely on Thea. This left Oliver much more time to get into trouble.

Miss Finch had had an important hand in raising him, but Oliver had always known exactly who his mother was. Moira had never been a hands-off parent. She went to parent-teacher conferences and read him books before bedtime. She took him to the theater and shared her love of opera with him. She’d kept a gimlet eye on his school progress, at least until he’d gotten to middle school. After that she’d been busier. She’d had Tommy to worry about and a new baby to care for by then.

In the fall of second grade, Oliver developed a kidney infection and had to be hospitalized for two weeks. He’d been scared to go to the hospital and frightened of all of the needles they poked him with there.

His mother had not let him down. She arranged for a private room and stayed there at night, sleeping on a cot. She’d refused to leave the hospital. Oliver could remember his father saying, with exasperation, “Moira, let the nurses do their job.”

“He’s scared, Robert. I’m not leaving him by himself here,” she’d said. “They can work around me.”

And afterwards, when he came home, he’d had nightmares about the tests and treatments he’d undergone. His mom had never once complained when in the middle of the night, he’d crawled next to her in bed, needing comfort.

She’d found the time for Model United Nations when he was in high school, and she’d cheered for him at his soccer games and cross-country meets. She’d chaperoned a somewhat disastrous senior trip to Palm Springs too.

Oliver knew that most people thought of Moira as cool and controlled, but he’d had plenty of evidence of her warmer, maternal side. She’d been softer when he was younger, happier. She’d laughed often. The events of recent years - first, Marina’s death, and then his father’s and his own - had hardened her and made her pricklier and more defensive. The mother he’d waved goodbye to on the dock in 2007 had not been the same woman who’d desperately embraced him in the hospital after his return.

The boy he’d been had wanted his father’s respect and his mother’s love. In retrospect, given what he knew now, maybe he should have valued her loyalty, support, and resolve far more.

Oliver supposed that’s why he was here in Iron Heights now. She needed him, and he was not going to let her down.

Moira entered the visitation room escorted by a female guard. She gave him a big smile as she took a seat. “I hear you got married,” she said. “Congratulations.”

“Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a heads up,” Oliver said. “It was kind of a sudden decision.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Moira said. “If I weren’t on trial for murder, I’m sure I would have enjoyed the ceremony.”

“It was very quick and not especially elaborate,” Oliver said. “But you have to believe I had important reasons.”

She took his hand. “Oliver, I know that in some way you…you did it to help me.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “I just hope that you are happy - both of you.”

He released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and smiled. “We are, Mom. We’re very happy. Felicity’s wonderful, and I know you will like her too.” He didn’t actually know that. She’d treated most of his other girlfriends with a sort of dignified reserve, but he hoped like hell she would eventually warm to Felicity. It would make things a lot easier.

“I also hear you’ve been busy at Queen Consolidated,” Moira said.

Oliver moved his chair closer to the table for privacy. Its legs made a harsh scraping noise on the tile floor. “I know that you don’t know Felicity very well yet,” he said, “but you’d have enjoyed seeing her take Isabel down. She put together all this proof of what she had done–”

“Isabel is out for good?” Moira asked.

“Yes,” Oliver said. “She spied on us in The Four Seasons in Moscow and tried to blackmail me with the video in order to get rid of Felicity.” He stopped for a moment, remembering. “We also think she was involved in the sinking of the Queen’s Gambit.”

“Nothing would surprise me about that woman,” Moira said. “I’m so sorry about that. I know those years away were terrible.”

“They weren’t good years,” Oliver said. The understatement of a lifetime.

“Your father made some pretty catastrophic errors in judgment,” she said, “but he loved you and your sister. You need to remember that.” She relaxed a little in her chair. “You seem to be doing better now. With the company and with Felicity,” Moira said.

“I love her,” Oliver said simply.

“I know,” Moira said. “Jean showed me the interview with Rachel Woodhouse. Thank Felicity for me for all of her help.”

He was suddenly so grateful to Felicity for going along with all of this. She really hadn’t had to go along with any of his plans. She barely knew his mother, and yet she’d never said no, not to the crazy, sudden wedding or the television interview, not to faking a pregnancy in public. She didn’t even complain much about the paparazzi, and he knew how intrusive they were. He’d have to think of a way to thank her once this was all over. Maybe he’d take her to Bali for an actual honeymoon. He’d heard it was beautiful.

“She’s been a lifesaver,” he said.

“You’re more capable than you give yourself credit for,” Moira said.

Oliver shifted in his chair. “I talked to Jean, Mom. She says she thinks there’s something you’re not telling her. Laurel told me that Donner has a solid case against you. She threw that at me when she came out to yell at me for marrying Felicity.”

Moira’s eyebrows raised. “I know Laurel was quite surprised. I was here when she got the news of your wedding. I think she thought you would eventually marry her.”

“That wasn’t going to happen.”

“No, I guess it wasn’t,” she said.

Oliver leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I don’t know how we can help you win this if you have secrets that Donner can use against you.”

“He can’t use them against me if I don’t testify,” Moira said. “As long as I’m not put on the stand, he can’t ask me anything.” She lowered her voice too, “There are things that cannot be brought up under any circumstances.”

“I can testify on your behalf, Mom,” Oliver said, “Malcolm tried to kill me at least twice that we know of. I’ll be happy to tell Donner that. But I would feel better knowing there aren’t going to be any surprises.”

Moira gave him a long assessing look. “The first thing is not likely to come out during the trial, but it’s been on my mind for a long time, and,” she paused, “I think you may now understand why I had to do it.” She took a deep breath and said, “I paid the people who interrogated you right after you came back to Starling.”

Oliver thought back to those early days and remembered the alley. “Those guys who took Tommy and me?”

“I didn’t think they would take Tommy,” his mother looked horrified at the memory. “They were just supposed to find out what you knew so I could tell Malcolm you didn’t know anything and he wouldn’t become paranoid and try to have you taken out again.” She steepled her hands in front of her on the table. “But then the vigilante saved you both and took out those men.”

Nobody can know my secret. The guy in the red skull mask. Oliver remembered the feel of his neck snapping under his fingers.

“Yes,” he said carefully. “We got lucky.”

“Very lucky,” Moira said. “The second thing - and I really do not want to have to tell you this, but I think this is what Donner looks at as his trump card. A long time ago…” She looked uncomfortable. “A long time ago, I had an affair - a brief affair - with Malcolm. It should have never happened, but things with your father were particularly difficult. He was having another one of his extramarital adventures, and Malcolm had just lost Rebecca in that terrible way. I made a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

Oliver took in this information. He could see why Donner would be so excited to use this against his mom. It made her look much more like a co-conspirator of Malcolm’s than a victim if they’d been lovers. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“Obviously, this would not be good for my case if it came out.”

“But you and Malcolm weren’t–”

“No! Not for years and years. I hated him. He destroyed our family! But what could I do?” A shadow passed over her face, and she grew very still. The hairs on Oliver’s neck began to stand up as his intuition kicked in.

“There’s something else,” he said. “What is it?”

Moira chewed her lower lip as she considered, obviously torn.

“What is it, Mom?”

She took a breath. “I wasn’t entirely passive where Malcolm was concerned.”

“What does that mean?”

“The night that Malcolm received his humanitarian award,” her mouth twisted in bitterness, “there was an event. Remember?”

Oh, he remembered. Deadshot and the curare poison. He’d had to reveal to Tommy that he was the vigilante in order to save Merlyn’s life.

In order to save Merlyn’s life.

“That was you?” Oliver said.

She nodded slowly. “I was trying to remove the threat to our family.”

“But Tommy was there! Malcolm killed a couple of guys to protect him. He was trying to get him to his safe room.”

“Tommy wasn’t supposed to be there,” Moira said. “They were estranged, not talking at all. He was finally standing up to Malcolm. He called to tell me he wasn’t going. I thought that was healthy.”

“So you… You…” Oliver’s mind reeled at the implications. He’d saved Merlyn who’d killed his father and shipwrecked him and tormented his mother for years. He’d been planning on destroying the Glades even then. He did destroy half of the Glades and Tommy in the process.

“I just wanted it to end,” Moira whispered fiercely. “He was going to kill all of those people!”

“I saved him,” Oliver said softly.

“I know,” Moira said. “I figured that out later on. But you couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.” She wrung her hands. “Maybe I should have told you. I think now I should have told you, but I didn’t want you to overreact and do something dangerous.”

Something dangerous. There was a rich irony there, and he was dark enough to appreciate it. Like stabbing himself through the chest with an arrow to put Merlyn down once and for all?

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. His mother needed something from him, or she never would have told him this. He reached out again and touched her arm gently. “We’re going to make it through this, Mom,” he said. “You only did what you had to do. To protect us.”

Moira slumped in her chair, and tears ran down her face. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Is that it?” Oliver asked. “That’s everything? There’s nothing else Donner could have on you? No other secrets?”

“That’s all of it,” she sighed.

“Are you sure, Mom? You know my secret, and I know I can trust you with it.”

“You can,” she said. “And, yes, that’s everything.”

He nodded his head solemnly and held her hand for a few minutes until her tears stopped. She smiled at him in relief and love. He kissed her goodbye on the cheek and left the visitation room, nodding to Bill on the way out.

But he left with a heavy heart. He had interrogated hundreds of people before, including his mother. And she was lying to him.

>>--->

Felicity adjusted her weight under Oliver’s hips as he worked out some of his frustration on her body in probably the most healthy way he had of coping with it. She was done. Sated. Obliterated. He’d made sure of that with his tongue and his hands and his boundless appreciation for her skin. But he was still pumping into her, fighting whatever ghost was trying to possess him now.

Finally, with a groan, he slowed, then stilled and dropped his weight on her. After a minute he propped himself up on his elbows. “Sorry,” he said.

“Sorry for what?” she asked. “All the orgasms?”

“I’m just not…” he trailed off. “My mind isn’t exactly here. You might have noticed.”

“A little,” she admitted. “Is this about your mother? I know you went to see her today. Is she worried about her trial?” She wiggled underneath him, and he rolled his body off hers. That was unfortunately necessary, or his weight would cut off the blood supply to her legs.

“It’s just…She’s not telling me everything,” he said. “I think she’s holding something back. I agreed that I should be the one on the stand during the trial, not her or Thea. But she still doesn’t trust me with something.”

She lifted her head to look at him and put a hand up to his cheek. “It’s frustrating, isn’t it, when someone you love doesn’t share what’s bothering them?”

A look of irritation passed over his face, but he pulled her closer to him. “That’s different.”

“How is it different?” She inched herself up on the pillow. “You’re never going to tell me what happened on that island.”

“It’s not a happy story,” he said finally. “You wouldn’t like it. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t think that I would,” Felicity said softly. “But it might do you some good to get it out of you.”

He shook his head. “I…I–”

She nodded. “I know. You can’t. Yet. Maybe someday.” She changed topics. “What did your mom tell you?”

He rolled over on his back and looked at the ceiling. There was some truly stunning plaster crown molding work up there, but she knew that’s not what he was looking at. Finally he said, “She said years ago she had an affair with Merlyn, and that’s Donner’s trump card.”

“Years ago?”

“After Tommy’s mom died, so that’s almost two decades ago.”

“You can’t really blame her, what with your dad–” She clamped her lips together.

“I don’t,” Oliver said. “I don’t blame her. My dad probably has a few stray kids here and there. He had an affair with Isabel. He was not a faithful husband. If she had a ‘moment of weakness,’ that’s her business.”

“So there’s something else,” Felicity said.

Oliver folded his hands and put them behind his head. “She said she paid someone to take out Merlyn.”

Felicity sat up in bed. “Deadshot, the assassination attempt, that was your mom?” Moira was truly terrifying, but, seriously, good for her.

“Yes.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “And if I had just done nothing, nothing at all, Tommy would still be alive, my mom would be free, and the Glades would still be standing.”

“It’s not your fault, Oliver,” Felicity said. “There’s no way you could have known that Malcolm Merlyn was planning mass murder. Or that he was forcing your mother to take part in it. You burned your relationship with Tommy trying to save him.”

“I know, and for nothing.” His voice was full of self-contempt.

“No,” she put her hand under his chin. “Not for nothing. Because you loved Tommy and you wanted to spare him from seeing his father killed in front of him - like you had to. It was an act of sacrifice and compassion. That’s never wasted, even if it wasn’t appreciated.”

“I don’t know how you can believe that,” Oliver said.

“So you’re saying,” she argued, “that if I see someone in the street about to get run over, I should ignore them because someday they might do something awful? You’ve saved a lot of people.”

“I wish I hadn’t saved Merlyn,” he said.

“If grandmothers had wheels, they would be streetcars,” Felicity said.

Oliver gave her a confused look. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, smiling. “It’s just something my bubbe used to say. It means there’s no point in wishing for something that’s not going to happen. I wish your father had never met Malcolm. I wish his wife hadn’t been murdered or that Malcolm would have found a different way to cope with his grief and rage. But here we are.”

“Here we are,” Oliver said. He pulled her to his chest again, and she tasted the salty dampness of his skin with the tip of her tongue.

“She did say to thank you for working so hard on her behalf,” Oliver said.

“That’s something,” Felicity said. “I’m going to put that into the win column. You think she’s still holding something back, though?”

“I do, and I’m sure it has to do with Merlyn, but I also think she hated him and has no reason to protect him now, so I can’t imagine what it could be. I don’t think she intends to tell Thea any of this, and Thea hates being left in the dark.”

“Let’s hope we don’t find out what it is during the trial.”

“Let’s hope.”

She snuggled her face into his sternum and put her arm around his waist. “I love you, Mr. Queen.”

“I love you, Mrs. Queen,” Oliver said tenderly, sliding his work-roughened fingertips down her spine. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

>>--->

An hour later, Thea banged hard on the bedroom door. “Bro, your sex tape dropped online! Wake up and do something about it.”

Felicity groaned and kept her eyes closed. She’d known this was going to happen. There’d been no chance Isabel would take her ouster from QC with grace. But Isabel was just the bitch who kept on bitching. Where did she get the energy?

Oliver sat up in bed and reached for his phone. “Don’t panic,” he said. “I’ll call my mother’s crisis management team again and see what they recommend.”

Don’t panic. There was a slogan for you. “Okay,” she said. “You call them. We’ll do what we have to do to fix this.”

>>--->

The set of Wake Up, Starling City was bustling at 6AM the next morning. Sitting in the off-stage prep area in a horribly uncomfortable chair, Felicity chugged her second cup of coffee and willed herself to stay calm. She focused on the chipped and scuffed linoleum floor and thought, “You can do this. You can do this.”

She was wearing her new magenta suit. It was a power color. Pamela had been unable to help out on this occasion because of the early hour, but over the phone she’d told Felicity to wear her engagement ring and the matching ruby-and-diamond earrings and to have the show stylist leave her hair down. She didn’t want to look like she was on the defensive, did she? Felicity didn’t see the point of denying the obvious. They were going on TV mere hours after Isabel released their video into the wild.

Oliver stopped his pacing in the hallway and came to sit down in the chair next to her. He put his hand on her bouncing leg. “It’s going to be fine,” he said. “I guess we always knew what Isabel would do.”

There were about fifteen very painful things she would like to do to Isabel right now, and most of them would leave a scar. Felicity closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. When she released the air slowly through her lips, she saw Oliver’s blue eyes looking at her in concern.

“What if I mess this up?” Felicity asked. “Your mom’s trial starts this week.”

“You won’t,” Oliver said. “They’re going to love you. Who wouldn’t love you?”

“Plenty of people,” Felicity said. “Anyone who might be resentful that you married me, for starters.”

“It’s going to be okay. Whatever you say, I’ll back you up,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what it is. You could say, ‘Oliver beats me every night,’ and I’ll agree. We’re a team. If they see that we’re a team and they can’t play us off each other, they’ll back off eventually.”

Danielle Givens, the host of Wake Up, Starling City, put her head inside the door. “You two lovebirds are up first,” she said. “The early bird gets the worm!” She fluffed her red hair with her aqua talons.

Felicity had a bad feeling about Danielle. She could tell that behind her bubbly persona, Danielle was a barracuda. And, after skipping multiple grades in school repeatedly, she was never wrong about things like this. She recognized a bully, and everything about Danielle was fake. Predator camouflage. This was no Rachel Woodhouse.

Don’t panic.

After a few minutes, a production assistant led them to the set, and Danielle introduced them on camera and invited them to take a seat.

When they were comfortable on the couch, she turned to them. “So much is happening for you, your family, and Queen Consolidated this week, I hardly know which question to begin with,” she said breathlessly.

“I guess we should start with the newly released footage,” Oliver said.

“Ah, yes, the sex tape,” Danielle said.

“It’s not really a ‘sex tape,’” Oliver said. “It’s tamer than most of television.”

Behind them on a screen a three-second cut of the tape played. Whoever edited it got the juiciest moment of the whole video, with Oliver hefting Felicity up and shoving her firmly against the wall.

“It doesn’t seem that tame,” Danielle said with a gleam in her big, brown doe eyes.

“It’s nothing more than what you see there. We realized we were being videotaped without our knowledge or consent early on,” Felicity said.

“It’s not very long,” Danielle agreed. “Many people are saying that Isabel Rochev took the video and released it after she was fired this week from her position as CEO of Queen Consolidated. Did you have anything to do with that?”

“QC’s Legal Department would rather I not answer that question,” Oliver said, “but I think if you’ve been following the news about the company, you can imagine what happened. It’s too bad. Felicity and I have the right to privacy and bodily autonomy. After these terrible rapes that have been committed against so many innocent victims in this city, I think most people can appreciate that.”

Danielle frowned. “Yes, of course” she said slowly. Then she pivoted. “So you’re now the sole CEO of Queen Consolidated, is that correct?”

Oliver smiled and put a hand on the front of his suit. “Yes, I’m happy to say that the company is once again under family control.”

Danielle tilted her head at him. “Tell me, why should we trust you now that you’re helming Queen Consolidated instead of last year at the groundbreaking of the new Applied Sciences Center when you were drunkenly telling the public not to expect anything of you?”

Felicity narrowed her eyes and studied the smug expression of her new opponent. Having outed herself as no friend of theirs, Danielle had them trapped now before a live audience on the most popular morning show in the state.

“I, uh,” Oliver faltered. “That was just, uh, a few weeks after I returned to Starling City. I wasn’t exactly at my best.”

“Yes, your return from being shipwrecked on the island,” Danielle said. “Which you have never discussed publicly. Is there anything you’d like to tell us about that experience? How it changed you?”

Felicity watched Oliver freeze like he always did when people asked him anything about his years away. Danielle was not going to be able to pry anything out of him, but she had him pinned like an insect in front of - Felicity counted - four cameras that would catch every reaction.

“Oliver doesn’t like to talk about Lian Yu,” she said, placing a firm hand on his knee. “I’m sure you can understand.”

“But his experience is so mysterious,” Danielle said. “Five years of silence and then his grand Prodigal Son return. Perhaps you could shed some light on what he did when he was away, Felicity?”

Felicity stared at Danielle hard, and the woman raised an eyebrow at her and crossed her legs.

Felicity cleared her throat. “The reality is, hardly anyone would have survived what my husband went through. I know you wouldn’t have.” She laughed. “I wouldn’t have either. Not even the first day. How can you live without coffee or television?” She nudged Oliver with her elbow, and he somehow pulled himself out of his temporary catatonia.

“It’s hard,” he said. “No fast food, no wifi…” The audience laughed, and Danielle looked annoyed.

She addressed Oliver. “The scuttlebutt from QC employees in the IT department is that Felicity managed to attach herself to you almost as soon as you returned and has been on the rise in the company ever since.”

Well, that was nasty. Felicity knew the gossip at QC had to be out of control, but she wondered why Danielle was going scorched earth on them. Her malice seemed to be personal.

Oliver straightened, fingering the silver button on his suit. “Apparently you’ve been talking to a handful of malcontents, Danielle,” Oliver said. “Which is unfortunate because I believe most of our workforce is professional enough to be unconcerned with company gossip and smart enough not to insult the wife of the CEO.”

“Is that a threat?” Danielle asked.

“A threat? No.” Oliver leaned back against the couch cushions, but she could feel all of the tension in his body. He was taut as a bowstring. “I went to Felicity last year for help with a private project. Her name was recommended to me as someone who could do tech miracles. They were not wrong. I was impressed with her from our first meeting, and my appreciation of her abilities has,” he put his arm around her shoulder “only gotten stronger over time.”

He indicated the still frame behind him of Felicity grabbing his tie. “This video should dispel any rumors that Felicity married me for my money.” He traced his finger and thumb down the edges of his mouth in a self-deprecating gesture and chuckled. “Clearly, she married me for my body.”

Someone in the back of the audience tittered, and Felicity blushed and elbowed him good-naturedly. The rest of the audience joined in the laughter.

“Why did you marry Oliver, Felicity?” Danielle asked, turning to her. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Because I love him,” she said honestly. Then she addressed the studio audience directly. “He’s a stronger person than most people could imagine. He gave me a gorgeous ring and asked me to be his wife. How many girls would say no to that?”

“Not me!” some woman called out. A couple of other women hooted, and someone wolf whistled at Oliver.

“Not many, I’m sure,” Danielle said with a little cough. “Speaking of newlywed life, the paparazzi caught you on a midnight run last night to the grocery store.” A picture of Oliver carrying a container of ice cream replaced the video still on the screen behind them. “Is there any truth to the rumors that your family might be increasing in size?” She looked pointedly at Felicity’s lap.

“Mum’s the word on that, Danielle,” Oliver said with a grin. The audience groaned.

“Pun intended?” Danielle retorted, still looking irritated. She folded her hands in a way that indicated that, since she’d failed to get what she wanted out of them, she would be closing the interview now.

Oliver rushed in with, “Speaking of mothers, from what we’re hearing on the radio and in the press, the majority of Starling City now agrees that mine was being regularly terrorized for years and only kept silent because she was terrified for our lives. That’s true. If you think you know what Malcolm Merlyn was capable of, I promise you, you don’t.”

Danielle looked at him in surprise. “I, uh,” She hesitated and looked off screen to a man in a gray suit holding a clipboard. He gave her a movement of his hand to let her know to allow it. “It seems your mother’s trial is going to be quite eye opening,” she said.

“You don’t know that half of it,” Oliver said. “But you will. Thanks for having us on Wake Up, Starling City this morning, Danielle. It’s been an experience I won’t forget.

Danielle’s eyes widened, but she collected herself and finished out the interview with a few benign comments. And then - finally - they were off camera.

Felicity collapsed against the couch cushions. Thank God the ordeal was over.

>>--->

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we were walking into all that,” Oliver said with a rueful smile on their way out of the studio. “I think I might have dated Danielle’s sister once.”

“Oh, Oliver,” Felicity sighed. Of course. Of course he had. “All of this would be so much easier if you’d just played video games when you were younger like all of the other kids.”

“I know,” he said, pulling her in for a kiss on her temple. “I know it would be. I’m sorry.”

“We got through it; that’s the main thing,” she said.

“You were an absolute trouper.”

“That thing with your mom at the end was inspired,” she said as they exited the building. “Do you think it will help?”

“We’ll find out very soon,” he said. “Too soon for comfort.”

Chapter Text

Felicity set the plate of Christmas cookies down carefully on what was left of the space on the desk. “Raisa said, ‘Get them away. God has tested me enough!’” She grinned at Thea. “What are you working on?”

Thea gave her a heavy smile and let the thick leather cover of the photo album drop close. “Sister Celeste asked me if I could give her some photos of Mom. The Safe Harbor Sisters are putting together a short video on her life for their Facebook page. They already have tons of footage, but almost all of it’s public appearances and professional photography. She asked if I could give her something more ‘human.’” 

“Ah,” Felicity said, picking up the nearest album. They were identical and numbered consecutively, and this labeled #11. “This is part of your work at The Dearden Center?” 

“Kind of. The SHS started at the Dearden Center. Actually, it first started at St. Hedwig’s with the sisters in residence. They were doing work with at-risk families in the neighborhood. After the parish closed, Mom bought the campus, including the school and the convent. She renovated it into an organization that housed and funded a number of nonprofits centered around women and children. But Safe Harbor Sisters outgrew their space years ago. They just want to help now because Mom was such an important part of their history.” 

Felicity turned the cellophane enclosed pages. This album was apparently from the Tommy years. “I guess I didn’t realize your mom had so much philanthropic experience.”

“Me neither,” Thea said. “I mean, I knew about the Dearden Center, but only because when I was really little, Mom was always busy with it. But after Dad and Oliver die–” Thea picked up a cookie and bit into it. “After the Gambit sank , she stopped. She stopped doing a lot of stuff.” 

A photo of Oliver and Tommy riding bikes down the main floor hall made Felicity smile, and she turned the book to show Thea.

“Yeah,” Thea laughed. “They were always doing stuff like that. It drove my mom crazy. Even after Tommy’s dad came back, he liked being here better. You’d be shocked by how full this house used to be. There were people here all of the time.” 

Pool party photos filled the next several pages. A tiny smiling Thea bobbed in the water with her wet pigtails next to a blond girl with water wings. 

“That’s Marina,” Thea said. “Raisa’s daughter. She didn’t know how to swim when she first came. I had to show her.” 

Gathered around the pool were a host of kids dressed in sheets and costumes who looked middle-school age. Felicity raised an eyebrow at Thea.

“Mom threw Oliver a party at the end of eighth grade. It was Roman themed. See?” She pointed to girls in bathing suits wearing laurel wreaths in their hair and a boy dressed like a satyr. Thea took the album and flipped a couple of pages and laughed. “A toga party.” 

And there was Oliver and Tommy draped in sheets with two other boys. Oliver’s toga had a Snoopy print. His wide grin flashed a full set of braces. He was giving Tommy a noogie, and boys behind them crowned them both with rabbit ears.

“What a bunch of goofs,” Thea said, but she traced the cellophane over the photo gently. 

Felicity lingered over the snapshot for a moment longer. Oliver’s laurel wreath was plopped crookedly on hair streaked by the sun, and his posture was loose and easy. There was nothing of the vigilante here. She’d never seen a version of her husband who was not weighted down with responsibility. Or covered with the sticky residue of guilt, grief, and self-loathing.  

She recognized the deep creases in Oliver’s cheeks. She knew his smile well by now. It could be soft and sweet, tender, even mischievous sometimes. But it was never this carefree, this confident. He hadn’t smiled like that in the entire time she’d known him. Not once.

This golden boy, he took for granted a bright future ahead–one that unfortunately would not materialize for him. Instead he would be shipwrecked and left alone on an island to survive by any means necessary. 

“He looks so happy there,” Felicity said, pulling back the cellophane. “You should scan these.”

“He was happy,” Thea said. “He was always smiling and trying to make us laugh. Mom said Oliver was the easy one. All she had to do was keep him fed and busy. Not like me.” 

“Not like you?” Felicity opened the scanner and placed the photo of Oliver and Tommy face down on it. She should blow this picture up into a poster. “You don’t seem that hard. I thought you and your mom were close? At least before all of this.” 

Thea pulled a photo of Moira from the album and gave it to Felicity to scan. In it Moira was holding a wiggling Thea and trying to smile for the camera. “I was always fighting her. ‘You’d argue about water being wet.’ That was her saying, and she was right about that. I fought her about going to dance class. I never wanted to wear my uniform. I smoked in the school bathrooms, did a little recreational shoplifting.”

“That doesn’t sound that rebellious.” 

Thea shrugged. “That’s because I’m not your daughter. Things got even more crazy last year...with the drugs–you know about that. Mom wanted me to go to college, and I decided to run Oliver’s club. There were a couple years when all we did was fight. Walter says that we’re too much alike.” She looked wistful. “I wish we could Parent Trap them back together. He was so good for her.” She reached for another cookie. “These are yummy.” 

Felicity nodded. “Raisa was feeling festive. What other photos can we give to the Safe Harbor Sisters?” 

Thea pulled out another album and began to scan it carefully. “Hmm.” She frowned in concentration as she flipped through the pages, searching. “You know, the Dearden Center is really nice. When I asked them if the SCR survivors could use the facilities, or at least a couple of rooms for meetings, they led me to Mom’s old office and told me I could use anything I wanted.” 

“ Anything ?”

“That’s what they said, but I only needed a few rooms in the school and an office space for Kristen Klein to work out of. She’s doing really important work. I hired her to organize support and offer resources to anyone coming forward. She’s a social worker.” Thea looked up at Felicity. “You might stop by and see what they’re doing. You could go to one of the group sessions. ” 

That would not be happening. Not on any day of the week that ended with a Y. “Um…” Felicity said. 

“The survivors’ group,” Thea said. “It’s completely confidential. I’m not allowed in the room during the counseling sessions, even. You should go.” 

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Felicity said carefully. She didn’t want to be the story yet again. Not another tabloid headline or a lesson about the vulnerability of women. They could make up stories about her fake pregnancy, fine. She’d made her peace with being micro-dissected as Oliver’s woman. Kind of. But this was real. The acrid taste of the drug was still in her mouth if she thought about it too hard.

“Why not? You were sprayed too.” 

Felicity shook her head. “No matter how confidential the group sessions are, the fact that I was sprayed–especially with everything that’s going on now in the media right now with your mom and Oliver–it’s too good a story to stay a secret for long. I shouldn’t have told anyone. It was a lapse on my part.” A huge lapse. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Thea said quickly. “And neither will Raisa. You’re family now, and if there’s anything we know how to do, it’s keep secrets about family.”

“Besides,” Felicity said with a sigh, “I’ve been to counseling when I was a kid–when I was skipping grades in school. It didn’t really help me that much.”

Thea looked disappointed. “Well, you’re not alone. My brother would rather be shot than go to counseling. Literally shot. He froze when Danielle Givens asked him about what happened on the island.” 

Felicity put her hand on Thea’s arm. “He can’t talk about it. He just can’t. It has nothing to do with you, though. He loves you.”

“I know,” Thea said. “It’s just that he’s so sad sometimes…He never slows down either. I wish I knew what happened to him. Maybe I could help.”

Felicity gave her a side hug. “You do help. Just by being in his life. It’s good for him to have someone who doesn’t take him too seriously.” 

Thea nodded, and pulled out more photos. “This was a good party, though. I was really young, but I remember it.” She flashed snapshots of Robert and a few friends. Malcolm stood next to Moira in another one. “Obviously we won’t be using that one,” Thea said. She pulled it out of the album and pushed it to the far end of the desk.

“Malcolm was there?” Felicity asked. 

“ Everyone was there,” Thea said. “But this was after he’d returned to Starling City. That’s why I remember this party. Because of Pegasus.” She turned the page, and the next whole section was photos of a gorgeous light gray horse with a silken white-blond mane taken from all angles and in multiple locations. There were several with a tiny Thea propped up on top of it with Robert standing next to her, holding her hand. 

“Pegasus? That’s your horse?”

“Yes,” Thea perked up and smiled. “He’s down in the stables still with the others. I haven’t ridden him as often as I should lately, but we’ve had some good times. Some great times.” 

“What does Pegasus have to do with the toga party?” Felicity was confused.

“Mr. Merlyn gave him to me,” Thea said. “He said it was a thank you gift to the family. Because we’d welcomed Tommy and taken such good care of him while he was gone.”

“He’s a very beautiful horse,” Felicity said. She knew hardly anything about horses, but this one was a stunner and clearly in the peak of health and virility. 

“He’s an Andalusian stallion, and his grand-sire was a dressage world champion,” Thea clarified. “His registered name was Luz del Alba , but I always called him Pegasus. We won the Young Riders Grand Prix together when I was 16.” She beamed at photos with pride. 

Felicity looked closer at the photos. This time she saw the uneasiness in Moira’s expression in the photo of Malcolm presenting Luz del Alba to Thea. Robert was laughing and clapping Malcolm on the back. Oliver had Marina on his shoulders so she could reach out and stroke Pegasus’s mane. Thea looked over the moon. Only Tommy stood to the side, looking sullen. 

What an odd gift, she thought. Such an expensive horse for a four-year-old, when Tommy was right there and nearly in high school. 

“I think I need about twenty more photos to give to Sister Celeste,” Thea said. “Can you go through this one?” She handed Felicity another album, a thick one. Number 16. 

“Sure,” Felicity said and returned her attention to the scanner and the task at hand. 

>>--->

Roy pulled the Range Rover up to the curb in front of the Dearden Center, and Thea leaned over to kiss him goodbye. “You don’t have to wait for me,” she said.

“I don’t mind,” Roy said. “There’s nothing to do at Verdant, and it will be dark soon. Don’t let Imani give you grief.” He gave her a pointed look. 

“I won’t,” Thea said more confidently than she felt. It seemed like with every suggestion she made, Imani was right there with the criticism.

She walked up the stairs to the old rectory where the central office was. Every time she came here, she felt exactly why her mother had been drawn to this old campus. The buildings, with their thick plaster walls, crown moldings, dark wood paneling, and tall windows were straight-up Moira Queen vibes. Elegant, turn-of-the-century architecture, now with updated electrical and plumbing and a clean coat of paint. 

Inside she nodded to Sheila at the front desk and turned left towards Moira’s office. Next to the enormous mahogany desk in the middle of the room was a whiteboard with specifics. 

• Media Relations
• Rally Speakers
• Hospitality
• Vigil Site Setup (Kayla)
• Parking Escorts

The rally prep was a ton of work. Thea kept a number of plates spinning managing Verdant, but if one of the plates dropped at the club, it meant comping a disgruntled customer or maybe a visit from a city inspector. With this project, she was dealing with keeping a curious and intrusive media from hurting the women who were brave enough to come forward and tell their stories. 

Everyone was also very attuned to the danger of the SCR, especially now that he was on the run. Many of the women in the therapy group were skittish, uncommitted to even attending the rally. And yet, some of them were ready to fight. Hard. Thea felt strongly that this was the necessary move.

Kristen Klein leaned in the doorway from the hall. “You’re here!” she said, smiling. Her arms were full of manila folders.

“I’m here,” Thea said. “Ready to work.” 

“That’s great,” Kristen said. She nodded at the whiteboard, and her brown curls bounced with the movement. “This is good. If we don't have a clear chain of responsibility on the day-of, it's going to be madness."

Thea took a yellow note pad from the desk, and ran her finger down it. “We now have 4 women willing to speak at the rally?” 

Kristen nodded. “Imani, Morgan, Jules, and me.” 

“You’re sure Jules is a definite?” Thea asked. She was the youngest of all of the victims, still in high school and very quiet.

“I think so,” Kristen said. “She really wants to, and her parents are supporting her, at her therapist’s recommendation.” 

Thea nodded and flipped through the notepad. “We have written statements from each of them. I’m having each of them read through their speech three times beforehand. We don’t want any panicking.”

“Morgan’s going to be great,” Kristen said quietly. “You’re giving her one of the front slots?”

“Second,” Thea said. “After Imani starts us off.”

Kristen grinned. “Imani will make an impression for sure .”

“She will.” Thea leaned up against the desk. “She doesn’t want me to speak. She said the rally should be for ‘survivors only.’” She looked down at the notes scribbled next to Imani’s name: Imani Connors – 22. One of SCR’s earliest victims, targeted on campus. “ I’m not going quietly.” The notes didn’t make mention of her clear and stated resentment of Thea’s “privilege.”  

Kristen leaned forward and put her hand on Thea’s, a counselor’s gesture. “You’re trying to do something good, Thea. Everyone knows that. But this isn’t PR. It’s not even community organizing. It’s trauma work. Everyone’s going to react differently to what we’re doing.” 

“It’s not like I haven’t experienced trauma,” Thea said, her voice rising. “She knows that, right? My dad died in a shipwreck. My brother came back from the dead. My mother was terrorized by a madman. For years . She’s on trial for her life. I’ve been through stuff.” 

Kristen nodded sympathetically. “I know. But the rally is about the Starling City Rapist.” She took the notepad and circled Imani’s name. “Put her up first. Her story will make a big impact. You can introduce everyone and make your comments at the end. We do need you up there. It’s you the media will come to see.” 

Thea knew that. “Because I’m a Queen.” 

“The Queens are in the news right now. ‘If it bleeds, it leads,’” Kristen said. “We’d be foolish not to use that, Imani knows. We need all of the eyes we can get on this issue and every pocketbook open if we’re going to fund therapy for the survivors. You can use your privilege for good here.” 

“Despite what Imani says, I’m not trying to ‘center myself.’” Thea shifted her feet. “The police still haven’t caught him. The women of this city can’t wait forever!”

“We can’t do anything about that,” Kristen said, “but we can help the survivors to use their stories to help each other.”  

A quiet knock came at the door. Sheila leaned in. “There’s another girl here to talk to you. She said she had questions about the resources the Dearden Center was offering.”

Kristen straightened. “I’ll talk to her.” She grabbed the Kleenex box from Thea’s desk. “Give us the smaller conference room, okay?”

She turned back to Thea. “We’re almost there,” she said. “This is going to make a difference. Have patience with Imani. She can’t help how she feels.”

Thea stared at the antique carpet on the floor in front of the desk. “Okay,” she said finally. “Okay. I hear you.”

Kristen smiled, but there was no condescension in it. “You’re doing a good thing, Thea. It’s our job to listen and to amplify these voices. That’s important. That’s the point.”

Thea gave a short nod. “Right,” she said. “I know you’re right.” 

>>--->

From his office chair, Oliver watched Felicity bump her fake belly into the desk again and mouth the word, “Frak.” His lips quirked, and he hit the button of his speakerphone. “Can you come in here?” he asked. She gave him a questioning look, but rose, gathered up a few papers from her desk, and walked towards his office. 

Her low, cork wedges made a slightly hollow sound on the marble floor as she crossed the room. They were a concession to practicality for the new maternity wardrobe she and Thea had picked out together, but he missed the heels and the tight skirts. The blue sweater thing she had on–well, sacrifices had to be made. 

When she reached his desk she lifted an eyebrow. “You rang?”

He huffed a laugh. “Diggle wants to know if we’re going to get dinner after work.” 

She frowned at him. “You called me in here to ask me that?” 

“Not really,” he said. He stood and walked over to one of the chairs, then he grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap as he sat down. “You look cute.” 

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “This thing’s like a girdle,” she said, tugging at the fabric covering her abdomen and wrinkling her nose. “My boobs are smashed against this blouse. None of the dresses Thea ordered have arrived yet, so I look like a trussed turkey.”  

“A pretty turkey.” 

“You’re a little partial,” she said, patting his chest. 

He put his hand on her belly and gently rubbed it. “When this thing with my mom is finally over… maybe we could think about a real baby,” he said.

She hoisted herself out of his lap, sputtering a laugh. “Oliver, no.” 

He shrugged. “I don’t think it’s such a bad idea.” He reached for her again. “You said you liked the idea of a ninja baby before.”

She sidled away, her wedges squeaking on the tile. “Even if I were ready to have a baby—which I’m not—we’ll put that aside for now,” she said firmly. “Your home’s been broken into three times in a year. Three , that I know of. It’s basically a murderer Motel 6. If I didn’t sleep right next to you, I wouldn’t sleep at all. It’s not safe for a child.” She crossed her arms. “Besides, I don’t think your mother is ready to be a grandmother.”

“You’re wrong,” Oliver said. “She likes kids.”

She made a face at him. “Moira likes kids.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s true. That’s why Tommy stayed with us. He had an aunt in Missouri who was willing to take him. Mom insisted.” 

Felicity plopped herself in the chair next to him, and grabbed his hand. “Your nesting instinct is…incredibly sweet, duck, but it’s not in the cards for us for the foreseeable future.” 

Oliver sighed. He glanced at the paperwork in her hands. “What’s that?”

“Thea sent this over. It’s a rental contract for the Hadley Memorial Hall at Starling University. She wants to reserve it for the 17th for her rally. She said she was going to bring the paperwork herself, but the crowd of protesters outside is too big. It’s spilling into the street now.” 

“How much?” Oliver asked.

“$2,000. We get a reduced fee because QC has donated money in the past, but Thea’s going to put together a memorial for Kayla Whitestone and that will cost something.” 

“Why isn’t she holding it at the Dearden Center?” 

“Thea said Starling University is better since it’s where Red Beard found so many of his victims.” Felicity frowned. “Also, the Dearden Center’s hall can be a little overwhelming. It used to be St. Hedwig’s sanctuary. Too church-y. Her words.” 

She pointed at the paper. “I just need your signature here…” she rifled through the papers and brought another one to the top. “And here.” She handed him a pen, and he scrawled his name where she indicated. 

“Anything else?”

“Isabel slapped us with a nuisance lawsuit for wrongful termination,” Felicity said. “But if that’s all she does, we’ll be lucky. I sent it down to Legal. They can handle it.” She slipped off her wedgies and put her feet in his lap, and he absently began to rub them. “Sebastian Blood returned your call. Do you think we could just crash at home tonight? I’m whipped.” 

The elevator in the lobby dinged, and Diggle appeared. “There’s a situation out front with those Glades nuts,” he said. “They’ve been out there since Monday. This morning they pitched tents. Now they’re blocking traffic and chanting for the death penalty. It’s turning.” 

Oliver stood. “Did you call the cops?” 

Diggle shook his head. “Security is handling it, but we should get out of here. They won’t settle down for the night until you’re both gone. We’ll take the back way out.  I’ll go get the car. Meet me downstairs.

>>--->

“A baby,” Oliver whispered in her ear in the elevator on the way down. His stubble tickled her earlobe. “One. Just a small one”

Felicity twisted her neck to look at him. He was smiling to himself. “She’d be cute–curly blond hair and big blue eyes.”

“She?”

“Or he,” Oliver said. “I’m not picky.”

“You’re going soft,” she teased. “It’s adorable, but no.” 

“I thought you couldn’t say no to me.” He slid his hand down her arm.

“When it comes to babies, I can say no,” Felicity said, pulling away. The executive elevator was reserved for the use of the top floors only, but the ride down was a long one, 28 stories, and she was trapped in here with Mr. Mom, apparently. 

“Come on,” he said. “It’s not a terrible idea.” 

She wasn’t going to go there. If she let herself imagine what their baby would look like… She shook her head.

He did not look convinced. “Why not?”

“Aside from the general chaos of our lives and the fact that we’ve only been married for two weeks,” she said, “We still don’t know how the spray’s affecting us on the cellular level.” She took off her glasses. “I barely even need these anymore, and you can’t button the top button on your shirt. We don’t need a mutant baby.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “The monkeys in the trials are doing fine.”

“They’re still alive,” she clarified. “And that doesn’t tell us anything about how the drug affects a human fetus.” She sighed and put a hand on her belly. “I should never have gone along with this. It’s giving you ideas.” 

“I just want a family with you,” Oliver said. 

She couldn’t easily answer that in the time the elevator had to descend the last four floors, so she stared at the buttons as they flashed white and went gray again. When the elevator finally reached garage level, she took his hand and squeezed it. “It’s not the right time.” The elevator doors rolled open slowly, and the cold from the outside made her shiver. 

In the dim light of QC’s private parking garage, Felicity saw a crowd of people with signs marching in a circle. So much for QC security having the protest under control. 

She shot a questioning glance up at Oliver. He squared his shoulders, put his hand in the small of her back, and nudged her through the doors and into the garage. Once they were out of the elevator, he flanked her and attempted to thread a way through the crowd to where the car should be. “Step aside,” he said to an unstable looking woman holding a sign that read “WHAT ABOUT THE GLADES?!?” when she refused to move.

They had a momentary stare down before she conceded and stepped back, but as Felicity passed, the woman spat at her. The warm spittle hit her on the cheek and slid down Felicity’s neck and into the collar of her coat. Oliver tensed beside her, raising his hand, but before he could confront the woman, a thin, gray-haired man forced his way through and lunged at Felicity, pointing a large pistol at her stomach. “No more Queens!” the man screamed. “Your bloodline ends now!” 

The metal slammed into her ribs. Felicity gasped—but before she could move, Oliver grabbed the gun by the barrel and ejected the magazine in one smooth motion. He smashed the base of his hand into the assailant’s face, and he crumpled to the ground. Undeterred, another wild-looking man sprang forward towards Felicity, and she shrank towards Oliver. 

“Touch her and die ,” Oliver growled. He kicked the second man in the stomach and pulled Felicity completely behind him. He scanned the crowd for any other threats. His posture was fully erect, his shoulders squared, and the blood rose in his face and neck. “Anyone else?” he barked. 

Around them in the crowd a number of hands with phones had emerged, and Felicity realized they were filming everything including Oliver’s rage face. Her knees went weak, and she grabbed Oliver’s arm. “Please,” she said. 

Suddenly their car appeared and screeched to a halt. Diggle slammed open the door, and moved to protect both of them. Oliver yanked open the rear passenger door and practically threw her inside. A second later, he and Diggle were in, and the car peeled away.

>>--->

The leather headrest was cold against his neck but he pressed against it as he pulled a shaking Felicity against him in the car.

“Dig, that was–” Oliver said. 

“Too close,” Diggle said. “They came out of nowhere. Where did they even come from? When I got out of the elevator, there were only a couple of women standing around.” 

“I don’t know, but one of them pulled a gun on Felicity,” Oliver said. 

“A gun ? He tried to shoot you?” Diggle asked. “Just her–or both of you?”

“He shoved it in my stomach and yelled something about no more Queens,” Felicity said. 

“He said some crazy thing about ‘ending the bloodline’,” Oliver said. He could feel his anger rising again, and he tightened his grip on Felicity’s hand.

“She spit on me,” Felicity said. She shuddered and grabbed a tissue from the space between the seats to wipe her neck. 

“This is getting serious,” Diggle said. “The entire city’s in an uproar. You shouldn’t go back to QC until the trial’s over.”

“They had cameras,” Felicity said. “This is going to be all over the news in no time.” 

>>--->

“Get in here, Ollie,” Thea yelled. “The news is covering Mom’s interview with Clarice Brower. She killed it!” 

The three of them walked into the living room where Merritt Davis was covering updates on the upcoming trial for WEBG. “...and Jonny Monaghan indicated today that jury selection for the Queen trial would be finished soon. As we know from the T.J. Mathews murder trial, he has a sixth sense for picking a sympathetic group–and getting an acquittal.” A video snippet showed Monaghan, never camera shy, in front of the courthouse, smiling in front of a sea of reporters. The wet snow falling hadn’t dampened his mood at all. 

“Yes!” Thea fist pumped the air, and then she saw their faces. “What’s wrong?” She said, rising from the couch. Roy stood up beside her. 

“We were attacked leaving QC,” Oliver said. 

“Attacked?” Roy said. “What happened?” 

The segment on Monaghan ended, and Merritt cut in:

“We interrupt our coverage of Moira Queen’s trial to bring you a breaking update from downtown Starling City. At approximately 5:30 PM, Oliver Queen, CEO of Queen Consolidated, and his wife, Felicity, were attacked outside the QC building as they left for the evening. Sources confirm two assailants ambushed the couple. One man threatened Ms. Smoak with a gun, while a second attacked Mr. Queen. In a stunning turn, Oliver Queen subdued both attackers, allowing the couple to escape unharmed.”

Shaky camerawork featured Oliver from two different angles, grabbing the gun by the barrel, bludgeoning the first assailant and then kicking the second, and finally delivering his threat, “Touch her and die!” He looked murderous as his body corralled Felicity away from the rest of the crowd. There was another blurrier shot of spit dripping from Felicity’s face. Then came a live shot of the QC building, police lights flashing across the crowd.  

Davis continued, “Police are on the scene, and both men have been arrested. No word yet on a motive, though this follows heightened tensions around Moira Queen’s defense and the EmpowHer Starling sit-in in the lobby of Iron Heights Prison Tuesday. We’ll bring you more as this story develops.” He looked shaken but excited. 

“Not really my bravest moment,” Felicity gave a forced laugh. Thea stepped forward and hugged her hard, and Roy put a hand on her back.

“We’ll need to change the plan. Some security upgrades. Immediate ones,” Oliver said. “Verdant closes for the remainder of the trial. I’ll cover your staff’s wages.”

“Hey!” Thea “That’s my decision!” 

“And we close the third floor of the house and most of the second. I want to know where everyone here is at all times. Dig, we need to do a complete security sweep, and Iron Heights needs to be made aware of this attack.” 

>>--->

In the study Diggle clicked through the QC security footage frame by frame. Clearly, the company’s security team had dropped the ball. The question of the hour was: had that been deliberate? That back exit should not have been accessible to the public. 

Oliver stalked the perimeter of the room and then disappeared onto the outside terrace via the side door. The number of porches, patios, side doors, bay windows, and enclosed balconies this place had to number in the dozens. Anyone even moderately capable could wander in any time they liked. 

“Who designed this place, anyway?” he called to Oliver. 

“James Hadley,” Oliver said, tucking his head back in the door. “Coal baron. He had a Scottish architect, but the whole estate was constructed with Chinese labor.” 

There you go. Cursed. Literally built with slave labor. And now Diggle had the task of securing this property against a direct terrorist threat to the family. This was going to be like sealing a screen door from the wind. A screen door sitting on 750 acres of forest and meadowland, most of which was not enclosed or gated in any way. There was a low stone wall that bordered the area of the house and gardens, but that was decorative. Some of the back acreage was fenced around the stables. Again, no help to him. 

The mansion itself was impressive in its architecture, but it had been designed and built before widespread electricity and was not currently wired for high surveillance. Obviously, it was never intended to be a stronghold, but it would have to be transformed into some semblance of one, at least temporarily. 

He clicked away from the surveillance footage and brought up the house’s schematics. The third floor contained numerous bedrooms to accommodate staff they no longer needed, and the lower floor contained rooms the family rarely used: the library, a smoking room that  was now a music room, this study. There were already pocket steel doors that sealed the wings off. 

The floorplans revealed both an underground tunnel leading away from the house and a hidden staircase?

“There’s a hidden staircase?” Dig asked.  

“Don’t worry about it,” Oliver said. “It’s a dead end. Not a security risk.” 

“You’ve got a Batcave in the basement?” Dig joked.

“Not exactly, but it does go down to the sublevel,” Oliver said. “We used to play hide and seek in the basement, and there are two hidden passageways on the second floor, but they’re kept locked now behind reinforced doors. What do you think about this terrace?” 

Diggle stood and walked through the side door to the small terrace and stepped outside into the cold to evaluate it. “All of these side entrances will need the doors with ballistic-grade cores and steel locking frames and should have keypad access installed,” he said. “It’s always been a concern to me how lax security is around here.” He leaned back inside to see if Oliver was paying attention.

“We’ll need to install bulletproof glass sheeting or shuttering on all ground-floor windows and French doors and temporary metal shutters or internal locking bars for the terrace wall of windows. It’s not going to be cheap–or pretty.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Oliver said. He walked across the grass to stand under his bedroom window. “What about the upstairs?” He walked backward and then took a run at the stone wall of the building, managing to scale it 10 feet up in one fluid movement. 

Not good. 

“Since the bedrooms are laid out mostly in a straight line, with the master bedroom suite surrounded by your bedroom suite and Thea’s, we should temporarily lock off corridor access. I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom next to yours until the trial is over.”

Oliver nodded. 

“These guys that went after Felicity today,” Diggle said, “they’re not exactly the best and brightest. She can easily access what they’ve been planning. It’s probably all over Reddit. They’re sloppy, so that’s not our biggest problem.”

“We shouldn’t dismiss them out of hand,” Oliver said. 

“A bigger problem is any more capable enemies you might have. Like Isabel. Or the professional-grade killers following Sara around. Malcolm, if he’s still alive.”

Oliver looked up sharply. “He has to be dead.”

“You left his body on the roof.”

“I put an arrow through his chest. I didn’t stop to check for a pulse, though. He seemed dead. My focus was on stopping the earthquake machine. But Merlyn Global put out a press release, and there was a funeral.”

Diggle remembered. He and Felicity had watched all of the Glades aftermath coverage together. “Not a public one.” 

“They buried Malcolm and Tommy together. I was at Tommy’s funeral.” 

Was that good enough proof? But if Malcolm wasn’t dead, they couldn’t rectify that now anyway. “You got any other nemeses?”

Oliver was silent, which probably meant the list was long. 

Something else occurred to Diggle. “Where’s Sara staying?”

“In the stables,” Oliver said. “She moved there when Thea came home.” 

Diggle figured that was 50/50 good/bad. Sara could provide more protection if she were situated in the house itself, but she had dangerous people coming after her, and they didn’t need that either. 

“Look,” Diggle said, “We were going to have to set up a gate and driveway security anyway in advance of the trial. I hired additional personnel. The press is getting intrusive.

“I think the best option, given that there’s no real perimeter fencing, is to deploy military-grade surveillance drones. They can monitor the exterior windows and driveway, and Felicity can patch them into the security system without a lot of difficulty.” 

Oliver took another run at wall climbing. This time he was able to grasp the window ledge before he dropped to the ground. “Did you know Felicity doesn’t feel safe here?” he asked. 

“She doesn’t?” 

“She said she can hardly sleep.”

Diggle doubted that. That was Oliver’s guilt talking. Diggle had watched her fall asleep in her chair last night after the late-night investigative report on what the SCPD was doing to catch the SCR. He side-eyed Oliver. “She said that.” 

Oliver dragged his gaze away from his examination of the stone masonry and looked him in the eye. “She said that.”

Oliver was the most lethal man Diggle had ever encountered, and he’d served with some real berserkers in Kandahar. “What did she say exactly ?”

“She said,” Oliver frowned in concentration. “She said, ‘If I didn’t sleep right next to you, I wouldn’t sleep at all.’” 

That wasn’t the same thing. “I think we all knew there would be pushback when you decided to work to save your mom,” Diggle said. “That doesn’t mean Felicity’s backing down. Or afraid all of the time.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“So am I,” Diggle said. “Moira isn’t on trial for jaywalking. There have been protests all fall. You just ignored them. She’s gotten plenty of hate online from people who want someone to pay for this. It’s just up close and personal now.”

“They tried to kill my wife today.”   

“Felicity is not a damsel,” Diggle said. “She’s taken risks before. The Dodger, the Dollmaker. She jumped out of a plane for you. The last time we dangled her as bait was only two months ago.”

“I didn’t want that,” Oliver said sharply. “You and Felicity insisted. I never thought letting the YouWAN2 near her was a good idea.” He kicked the base of the raised patio. “And I was right about that.”  

Diggle sighed. “Okay, but you said, “We can keep her safe,” Diggle pointed out. “When we started all of this.”

“That was before,” Oliver said. 

Before. Before Felicity became Oliver’s tether to an actual life and a real reason to live.

“We can train her–and Thea,” Diggle offered. “We’ll conduct drills for sheltering in place and evacuating the house or using the panic rooms. We can also train Felicity in active self defense. Sara could help with that.”

“I don’t want her to have to learn how to fight,” Oliver said. “She’s very small.”

“You shouldn’t have chosen this life, then,” Diggle said. 

“I didn’t choose it,” Oliver said.

“Yeah, well, Felicity did.” 

Oliver crossed his arms. 

Diggle rephrased. “ You might trust your gut instinct, but Felicity…I guarantee you she’s done the math, and she decided this was worth the risk. Ask her.”  

Oliver looked mulish. “You didn’t see her when that guy shoved a gun at her stomach. She was scared.”

“Of course she was,” Diggle said. “But, more than that, surprised. No one expected that to happen.”

“I should have expected it,” Oliver said, his voice grim. “She’s a target now for these insane fucks.” 

“Felicity put on the Moonbump herself,” Diggle said. “She and Thea sat on the couch and picked it out together.” Thea was another adrenaline junkie, and right now she had that twitchy excited energy, the energy of someone who thought she was getting away with something. It probably had to do with the rally. There was another complication he didn’t need.

He sighed, looked around at the mansion walls, then back at Oliver.

“You’re all reckless. The whole damn family. Felicity included.” He shook his head. “Ask her. She’ll tell you. She’s not a damsel in distress.”

He looked around the darkness of the gardens and the century-old trees looming over the house once more with uneasiness. This place was never meant to hold in a war.

>>--->

Felicity put her phone down on the enormous dresser and kicked off her heels. The long, carved, gilt-framed mirror on the bedroom wall showed a pale woman who looked…exhausted. Her hair was snarling out in pieces from its French twist. The woman unbuttoned her long cornflower cardigan and then worked, with some difficulty, the tiny buttons through the buttonholes of the white silk blouse beneath it. Her skirt came off next, and finally she peeled off the Moonbump, running the tips of her fingers up the deep indentations in her skin. She let out a long sigh. 

Just under her sternum there was a dark bruise. Felicity pushed her fingers into it until the pain became unpleasant. She held them there.

Why had they thought faking a pregnancy was a good idea? Online at least three Twitter accounts were calling the pregnancy a PR stunt and even questioning the validity of their marriage. An account called @Justice4Glades said that the attack was the best thing that could have happened in terms of turning public opinion towards the Queen family, implying they had staged it themselves.   

From the top right drawer Felicity removed a pair of aubergine satin pajamas. The cool fabric slid through her fingers like water as she pulled them on. She settled herself crossed legged on Oliver’s enormous bed and leaned back against the cushions, closing her eyes. 

There: the chill air of the parking lot, the dense wool of Oliver’s greatcoat clenched in her fist, and the jutting pressure of that gun against her ribs. 

Something scraped against the glass of the window, and she opened her eyes. She heard Diggle call out and the sound of scrambling against stone. Oliver was climbing the walls. Of course he was. In a crisis he was always in motion.

She should be proactive–monitoring the situation online or discovering the identity of their attackers–but Felicity didn’t particularly want to see either of their faces again so soon. Or that horrible woman who had spat in her face either. Her pedicure kit was in the middle drawer of the side table. She took the pumice stone and began to scrape it against the heel of her left foot, watching as tiny pieces of skin and stone fell on the expensive silk counterpane. 

The news had reported that the attackers were steel workers from the Glades who had been laid off from Queen Industrial and then made homeless by the Undertaking. Not terrorists. Actual victims. Twice over. 

Your bloodline ends now.  

The door opened, and Oliver entered, carrying some kind of detector. He began scanning the room, moving toward the windows and, after a minute, towards her. As he neared, he waved the scanner over the bedside table and then the bed. Felicity turned her body and put her feet on the floor. 

Oliver knelt and passed the detector under the bed. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Oliver, there’s nothing under the bed.”  

He ignored her and gave another thorough pass. The device hummed steadily. 

“I’m safe,” she said. “There’s nothing here.” 

He looked up at her, and the vein in his neck pulsed. She reached out and touched it gently. “I’m okay.” 

Oliver dropped the scanner on the bed and slid his hands around her waist, laying his head in her lap, and pulling her to him roughly. The top of his head nudged against her bruise. She ran her fingers down his neck and over the scars there. “I’m fine.” 

She felt his heavy swallow against her thigh. He raised his head, but his eyes were shrouded. “They tried to kill you.” 

“People try to kill you all of the time,” Felicity said. 

“That’s not…” He swallowed again and met her eyes. “I never thought they’d come after you . My mother, maybe. Or me. Not you.” 

“They have a lot of hate for what happened to them. They lost their jobs and their homes.” 

Oliver fisted the fabric of her pajama pants. “I don’t care. If anything happened to you…”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do more damage,” Felicity said. Both men had walked away from QC. Escorted by the police, yes, but on their own two legs. 

“I had an audience.” 

“Ah,” she said. “It seemed for a moment like you forgot about that, ‘Touch her and die.’” She smiled. “Very dramatic. And sexy. You’re going viral online.” 

He pulled her hands into his, and his mouth tightened. “Diggle says you’re not a damsel.” 

“I’m not,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “I chose this. I chose you. You know that.” 

“I know. But I don’t want…What happened today can’t happen again.”

There was no way of ensuring that. He had to know that. 

“There was a moment,” Oliver swallowed, “when I understood why Malcolm did what he did. To the Glades. I don’t like it, but I understood it. Clearly. For the first time.” He glanced around the room. “We’re going to seal this place up nice and tight. And then I want you to stay here in this room forever, okay?” He attempted a smile. 

“Oliver,” she said. 

“I know,” he said.

She pulled her hands from his, and put her right hand over his heart. “You’re not Malcolm. You’re stronger than he was.”

“I barely beat him.” 

God help her. “In combat . You’re ten times the man he was. A hundred times.” 

“I don’t know that,” he said. “You don’t know that.” 

“This is bigger than us,” Felicity said. “I won’t be the person who brought you down. That’s not what I want. It’s not what your father would have wanted.”

“I don’t care!” Oliver said, rising to his feet. “He left me with enough of a mess.” He ran his hands through his hair. “You dying? That can’t happen.” 

Felicity backtracked. “Maybe we shouldn’t have pushed the fake pregnancy angle, done all the press. It seems to have pushed them over the edge. It’s all over the internet now. They’re dissecting your mother, you, me, even Thea.” 

“No,” Oliver said. “They’d do that anyway. They’ve talked about Thea and me since we were born. You can’t stop speculation, you can only channel it. We decide what they talk about.”

“I don’t think we’re deciding,” she said. 

“Close enough,” he said. His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” He sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. 

“I’m not,” Felicity said. “We’re partners, right?” 

He took his time answering and finally nodded. “Partners.” Then he rubbed the scruff on his chin. “You were right about the baby.”

She sure as hell had been right about having a baby in the middle of this insanity, but she wouldn’t press a sore point. She kissed his chin. “It won’t always be like this.” She hoped that was true. 

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but his expression lightened a fraction. “Maybe we can get Thea to postpone her rally.” 

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. She’s like you when she gets her teeth into something. Stubborn.” 

He gestured toward her phone on the dresser. “What are they saying?” 

Felicity exhaled. “Lie detector test or not, you’re never beating those vigilante allegations. You looked good in that footage, though.” She reached her arms around him and squeezed. “You always do when you’re protecting someone.”

>>--->

At her desk, Laurel forced herself to stop doom-scrolling Twitter with difficulty. She leaned back in her ergonomic chair and slid her feet out of her heels with a wince. She’d braced them so hard against the floor that the leather had left circular imprints on her skin. 

Laurel massaged her right foot. Everything about the legal case they were building was painful. Why did she have to be assigned to it? 

It was late. She’d been almost out the door when the 6 o’clock news reported on the attack at Queen Consolidated and Adam Donner had immediately texted: Figure out what this means for us.

So Laurel had been dutifully sitting at her computer refreshing the #OliverQueen tag every five minutes for an hour, carefully sorting through the data to determine the damage. Which was considerable and getting worse by the minute.

Oliver had pulled it off again, somehow, snatching victory from defeat, the same guy who had spent his adult life failing upward. Twitter was chock full of posts featuring clips of him and his rebound girl from all angles. And in the past half hour gifs had appeared–of Oliver’s grabbing and dismantling the gun one handed. Of Oliver stepping in front of Felicity, corralling her like a blinking doe behind him. Hashtags like #TouchHerAndDie #pantydropper #Sir and #QueenShit were actually trending. Trending . 

Laurel had to admit, grudgingly, that Oliver’s takedown of these lunatics had been impressive. When had he turned into a guy who could take apart a gun? What had happened to the guy who had laughed when a mugger had stolen her purse in Cabo San Lucas right in front of him? That guy hadn’t even bothered to chase the mugger down, he’d just paid for her to get a new passport and wallet.

This guy growled “Touch her and die” and chopped the attacker in the throat. This guy looked like he could take the entire crowd down. Like he actually wanted to. 

Wifey had her admirers too. She was being tagged #DamselinThatDress even though she’d been wearing a coat, and hadn’t done much besides cower behind Oliver. Laurel frowned and clicked rewatch on the YouTube embedded footage in this tweet from @QueenWatch. She squinted at the screen. Was that…? Yes, when the second attacker had come at her, Felicity had flinched and covered her belly with her hand. 

There it was, the protective gesture. Confirmation. She was pregnant. 

In the past week, Laurel had read or watched every bit of press Oliver had generated since he’d returned from Moscow–every interview, every article, even the puff piece in People that featured Oliver posing, with his arm around Felicity, like a titan of industry in front of the granite fountain in the QC lobby.

The US Weekly issue that dropped on the newstand this morning had him on the cover. There was even a “Christmas with the Queens” featurette in the article showing a picture of stockings hanging from the fireplace in the conservatory: Moira, Thea, Oliver, and Felicity. Once, Laurel had imagined her stocking hanging there. Back when she thought she'd be the one marrying Oliver. 

This morning’s jaw-dropping piece of news was that Felicity’s trashy, gold-digging mother announced that she was developing her own shoe line, Smoak Signals. Unbelievable. The chutzpah. 

It was all so bad for Oliver and his future. He was regressing. Oliver needed to be with someone with a firmer grip on what the responsibilities of his role required. His position as CEO was very challenging. He would need someone who understood his background and knew all of his foibles and supported him in spite of them. Someone loyal. Someone who could appear on his arm not looking like a cheap Vegas bimbo. 

Laurel had not believed the pregnancy rumors. She’d refused to. They didn’t make sense. Yes, the tabloids were full of speculation featuring close-ups of Felicity and her tummy pooch. But Laurel knew that Oliver was smarter than he looked. He’d said he’d do anything to get his mother off, and a full-court press in the press certainly counted. 

But if Felicity really was pregnant and this wasn’t a cheap attempt to get public sympathy for Moira, it would be so much harder for Oliver to understand that they belonged together. A baby made things much worse. 

The door opened across the room, and Adam strode towards her desk. He looked annoyed. “How bad is it?” 

“It’s not…good,” Laurel said. She began stacking the tabloids and magazines on her desk into a neat pile. “The public is tired of reading about mass murder. This is much more exciting. #OliverQueen is trending, and they’re making hero memes out of this. 

Adam frowned, but Laurel couldn't tell if it was over the PR war or something else entirely, so she asked, “How’s jury selection going?”

“Monaghan is making it tough, but I think we have a chance to get at least one Glades-adjacent juror. An older Italian lady. She hasn’t lived there for decades, but she grew up there. There are a few middle-aged women we might be able to work with.” 

“I’m not sure we can keep all of this–” Laurel gestured at her computer screen, “–from them, even if they are sequestered. It’s everywhere .” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Adam said. “We’ll get her. She’s guilty.”

“Is she?” Laurel thought it was more complicated than that. Moira wasn’t a monster. She and Laurel’s mother had been on numerous committees together, and Moira had personally mentored her in public speaking. Queen Consolidated also regularly donated funds to add to or upgrade SCPD equipment. They weren’t exactly anti-law and order. 

And Tommy had loved Moira. And hated how controlling and obsessive his father had been. If anything the press said about Malcolm after his death was true, maybe Moira had been backed into a corner. Tommy wouldn’t have supported any of this.

“You didn’t see her when the Gambit went down,” Laurel said. “She was distraught. Inconsolable. Before that she had her fingers in everything in Starling. Afterwards? She barely left the house.” 

“All that matters is that we prove she conspired with Merlyn, and we can,” Adam said. 

“I’m not sure we have enough,” Laurel said. “The evidence of her affair with Malcolm Merlyn is damning, but losing two husbands and a son? Who couldn’t be coerced into silence to save their remaining family?” 

“She didn’t lose Steele,” Adam said. “At least not until after he returned. I hear they’re getting divorced.” His jaw tightened in satisfaction. He looked pleased. 

“This is personal to you,” Laurel said. She didn’t hide the question in her voice. Adam Donner had spent nearly all of his time on this case centering the victims, but… “It’s not about the Glades at all.”

“Of course it is,” Adam dismissed her concern with a hand wave. “This is my home now, and that woman did an almost irreparable amount of damage to it. That earthquake machine research she financed leveled an entire area and killed 503 of our citizens. The state represents them, and it’s our responsibility to see that they get justice.

“We don’t have aristocrats in America,” he continued. “Billionaires are a parasite class.” 

“Well, Moira seems to have resurrected her will to fight,” Laurel said. “And between Thea’s recent activism on behalf of the Starling City Rapist’s victims, Baby Watch 2013, the slew of interviews Oliver has given about his mother, and the interview Moira did with EmpowerHer Starling, they’ve laid the groundwork of a successful PR campaign. The public’s focus is being pulled towards the Romance of the Year or whatever the tabloids are calling it.” 

“You need to lay off the tabloids,” Adam said, gesturing towards Laurel’s research. “They’re trash propaganda. I put you on this case because you already know all the dirt on the Queen family, and you won’t be swayed by this.” 

Laurel sighed and turned off her computer. “Okay, boss.” 

Maybe she should take that out Oliver had offered in the QC legal department. It would free her from the moral ambiguities of this case. But she resented it too–his big, empty gesture. Did he think he could buy her off? Pay for his mother’s exoneration? What was she even going to do there? Filing work while Felicity swanned in and out the door on Oliver’s arm?

No, she was better off here. Even if they didn’t get a conviction for Moira–and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted one–she’d be doing real work. Meaningful work. And maybe, eventually, everyone would remember who Laurel Lance was supposed to be–a fighter for justice in Starling City

She could use a stiff drink, though, after today’s work.