Author's Note – Spoilers possible! Takes place after season 3's mid-season finale and uses some information from previews thus far released.
Separate Threads
In Starling City, California…
"Oliver Queen is dead."
The words echoed in her mind, over and over, day and night, waking or sleeping. She knew she'd lost weights – her friends remarked on it, pulling themselves out of their own grief to notice hers. It almost made her feel guilty; she shouldn't be adding to their difficulties, but she couldn't seem to keep much down. Coffee, soup, tea…she could manage those. Beyond that? A whole different story came into play.
"Oliver Queen is dead."
Malcolm Merlyn delivered the news, bringing a bloody sword as his proof. There may have been a hint of smugness in his voice, but for the most part he sounded…detached, clinical even. It made her shiver. She ran tests, of course, getting in touch with Caitlyn Snow to double check and verify, but in the end she'd had to accept the truth – the blood on the sword belonged to Oliver. The days that followed ran together – breaking down, having to tell the others, having to tell his sister, forcing herself to keep moving. She couldn't decide what had been worse – the talking or the silence afterwards.
"Oliver Queen is dead."
Felicity Smoak pushed away from her desk. The work day might not end for another few hours, but she couldn't stay one more minute. Striding out of her office, she locked the door and looked to her assistant. "I'm going home," she told him, her voice short, almost to the point of curtness.
"Of course, Miss Smoak," he nodded. "Are you-?"
"I'm fine," she interrupted, cutting him off. "I'll see you on Monday."
The ride to the parking garage felt interminable. She just wanted to go home. The team intended on meeting in the lair that evening, all of them determined to carry on Oliver's work, protecting the city, but right this moment she wanted to have a glass of red wine and to sit back and close her eyes without any burdens or expectations beyond her own grief. It would only be the one glass too – she had no intention of falling into the trap of using alcohol to cope, no matter how tempting. It would be the coward's way out…and it would have disappointed Oliver as well. He would have expected her to stay strong for the others – so she would stay strong.
No matter how much it hurt.
She unlocked her door and walked in, closing and relocking it behind her. "Wine," she murmured to herself. Right now that was all she wanted – along with a couple hours of quiet time where she didn't have to pretend. Her mind replayed the last image she held of Oliver as he walked away from her to go and save his sister. She wanted to hold onto his voice despite the pain; she didn't want to forget, but his last words haunted her – not as much as Merlyn's, but Oliver's words tore at her.
"I love you."
Felicity closed her eyes, remembering how she had been unable to speak, unable to say the words back to him no matter how fiercely they burnt in her heart and soul. She'd been scared, frightened that if she repeated them…it would be the last thing she ever said to him. Somehow, in some foolish corner of her mind, she'd hoped that not saying them meant he had to come back to her.
And now tears clogged her throat as she could wish for that one moment back, just the one minute that would allow her to tell him, to share her own heart in the same honest and simple way.
"I love you."
Her eyes went wide with surprise as the bedroom door across the way opened and three hooded figures stepped through, spreading out to face her. Her body began moving for the front door before her mind fully processed the image. A black arrow embedded itself in the wood before her and she came to an abrupt stop. For a moment she paused, taking the time to compose her features. She needed to be calm, as collected as possible. When she felt ready she began a slow, deliberate turn to face the invaders.
The middle figure, a female stepped forward. A familiar voice came from the shadows of the hood. "Felicity Smoak."
"Nyssa al Ghul." Felicity's voice held an edge sharp enough to cut glass.
Nyssa put back her hood. "Please come with us."
"You have got to be kidding me."
The flat tone of Felicity's comment seemed to startle the other woman. Her dark eyes stared at the blonde for a long stretch of silence before her lips thinned. "I do not wish to harm you, Miss Smoak-," she began.
"Little late for that," Felicity muttered, her heart wrenching within her.
"He chose his own path," Nyssa pointed out,
Felicity lifted a brow. "So did Sara."
"Sara did not choose to die!" The assassin's voice snapped out, cold and precise in her denial.
"Neither did Oliver," Felicity riposted. "Your father's inability to control his minions forced him into it."
The two heretofore silent assassins stirred, only to stop as Nyssa raised a hand. "You will be accompanying us, Miss Smoak," she informed her. "It will be easier if you move of your own volition, but one way or another, you will be leaving this day."
Felicity folded her arms over her chest and remained silent. She knew she couldn't fight one of them, let alone three, but she would not contribute to her own abduction by the organization responsible for Oliver's death. The two men, still hidden behind their hoods, moved towards her and began to put her in restraints. She didn't fight, but she remained as still as possible, letting them fight with her deadweight.
Nyssa stepped in front of her, her voice turning formal. "I am sorry necessity has forced this upon us."
Burying her fear as far down as she could, Felicity looked at her with eyes iced over in cool contempt. "Sara would be ashamed of you."
Doubt and pain slashed through Nyssa's eyes. That image followed Felicity into darkness as something struck her just behind the ear.
In New York City, New York…
"We can't, Darcy. It's too dangerous."
Darcy Lewis repressed a growl as the words rang in her mind yet again. Clint Barton could piss her off faster than any man she'd ever met. His life was dangerous…? Gee, take out an ad in the paper! She knew that – it's not like it was a secret – and she even understood his concern, but that didn't change the most important facts in her mind. First off – danger tended to me a constant companion anyway. Her best friend-slash-boss happened to be a genius who attracted trouble all on her lonesome. Even without that, the woman came with a six-foot-plus alien boyfriend who had enemies both on and off planet. Second – Darcy lived in danger central. The Avengers drew attacks from all corners and the bad guys really enjoyed focusing on the tower as the perfect target. Third? She could get hit by a bus tomorrow, for goodness' sake!
And now the jerk started hid or took off with Natasha.
"Jane!" Darcy called out as she stood up and moved away from her computer. An indistinct mumble from the back of the lab replied and she went with it. Her boss and friend, Jane Foster, might be one of, if not the most brilliant astrophysicists in this generation, but communication wasn't always her forte. She'd acknowledged hearing Darcy which meant she had at least a portion of her attention on the real world. "I'm headed out to run some errands," Darcy shouted, gathering up her purse and keys. "Are we still on for Italian tonight?"
Jane's reply came faster than she'd expected. "Yes! Thor says most of the team will be there."
"Sounds good! See you there!"
Darcy escaped before her friend decided to come out from whatever corner she was working in today. Jane might constantly have her head in the stars, but the woman used her eyes too…and Darcy didn't want to deal with what Jane might see in her face today.
"We can't, Darcy. It's too dangerous."
Alone in the elevator, she gave in and growled, her anger surging to the forefront. "JARVIS?"
"Yes, Miss Lewis?" replied the voice of the ever-present AI.
"Do me a favor and expedite me to the ground, would you?" She didn't want to deal with anyone right now. At the moment she wanted to get lost in some mindless shopping and maybe a trip to the park. Anything and everything to get her mind off the one man who managed to piss her off and break her heart in two short sentences. He might be the Avengers' world-class sniper, known to the public as Hawkeye, but for now he embodied her definition of the term 'jackass'.
"Of course, Miss Lewis," JARVIS agreed. "Is everything satisfactory?"
"I'm fine, JARVIS," She replied, waving a hand at the wall in lieu of having an actual person to wave down. "I just…need some time to myself."
"Very good, Miss Lewis."
She stepped out of the tower and into an overcast, gloomy New York afternoon. "So much for the park," she muttered. No matter how much the weather fit her mood, she didn't plan to get caught in the rain in the middle of Central Park. "Shopping it is." She walked with confidence, knowing that perception would drive off some of the local pickpockets and petty thugs. They hung around to mess with tourists, not the citizens. She may have only been in New York for a year or so, but Mama Lewis didn't raise an idiot.
Well…not an idiot in most things. Her current crush on the Avengers' annoying archer might prove to be the record breaker.
"We can't, Darcy. It's too dangerous."
Someone bumped into her and she felt the prick in her arm at almost the same moment.
"Aw, shit!" She went to pull away from the person, but a hand caught her arm. "Hey, what the hell?"
"Now, now, Miss Lewis," came a soft feminine voice. "I know someone who wants to talk to you."
Darcy caught a glimpse of blonde hair and black leather before the drug caught up with her. Her vision began to blur and she could feel herself wavering. Strong arms caught her as she stumbled.
"No, no, we've got her." The soft voice sounded certain, strong and reassuring. "She's overdone the all-night studying again. We'll get her home to bed."
She couldn't determine where the voice came from, but it didn't come from the strong arms guiding her towards a van. This wasn't right. "No," Darcy muttered, the word coming out in a slur. "No."
"Yes, you did," the other woman replied before giving a small laugh. "You and your worry over the GPA."
The next thing she knew, the van door closed and she was laid out in the back. Her eyes slid closed even as she tried to do something, anything. Her heartrate slowed despite the attempting to build in the back of her mind.
"Make sure she stays out," the feminine voice ordered. It had grown hard now, the softness wiped away like chalk in the rain. "He wants her alive and unmarked."
"What's so special about her?"
A rough voice asked the question floating in her head and she would have been grateful if she wasn't having to fight so hard to stay awake.
The woman laughed. "It's who she knows that he's interested in," she sneered. "There's nothing special about this girl. He wants Romanoff."
Don't they all? Darcy's last bitter thought followed her into darkness as her mind gave up the fight and spiraled down into unconsciousness.
