A/N: I've been re-watching Arrow, Season 1, with my son and I noticed something that bugged me the first time around, but the second time around is annoying the heck out of me. So I decided to deal with my complaint against a writer in my usual way, fixing it with my own writing. ;)
I hope you enjoy. :)
Oliver sat in the darkness of the new Team Arrow lair, as Felicity liked to call it, slowly trying to unwind from the chaos of his most recent battle. He was relieved, again, that Laurel's father had insisted his daughters be well-versed in self-defense, but something tugged at the corner of his mind, something troubling that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
The lights came on suddenly, surprising Oliver and jerking him out of his reverie. The steps on the stairs were light and he recognized them without having to turn to see the owner.
"Evening Felicity," he said, and almost smiled at her startled reaction.
"Oh, Oliver, I didn't realize you were down here," she made her way to her computer as she talked.
Flipping a switch, the equipment sprang to life for her and she settled into her chair, swiveling to see him as she waited.
"Rough night?" she asked.
He simply nodded, then walked over to the table where he worked on his arrows. He picked one up and gazed at the pointed head as he turned the shaft slowly in his hand.
"Laurel was attacked," he told Felicity.
When he noticed she had no reaction to the news, he looked up at her and found her chewing her bottom lip the way she did when she wanted to say something she was certain he didn't want to hear.
Raising his eyebrows, he tilted his head in question, inviting her to be open with him.
She sighed and flattened the wrinkles in her skirt, tugging at the hem as she finished.
"Laurel is always being attacked," she said.
Oliver returned his trademark grimace and added a slight nod.
"Was she in her apartment, again?" Felicity turned back to her computer.
"Yes, yes she was," he said, then he stood and walked over to stand beside his IT genius.
It was a good thing he did, Oliver thought later, because he'd never have heard what Felicity mumbled and, he was sure, he'd never have persuaded her to say it aloud again.
"Doesn't she know what the peep hole is for?"
Oliver stared at her for a moment, his earlier thoughts finding foothold and order in Felicity's words.
Putting his hand on Felicity's shoulder, he gave it a squeeze, then walked over to his table to take up his bow and quiver.
"I'm going back out," he announced.
At the foot of the stairs he paused and turned back.
"And Felicity?" he called.
She turned back to him and he smiled slightly at the sight of her, pencil in her mouth, head tilted, brows raised in question.
"You are truly, truly remarkable," he told her, then turned back to bound up the steps.
Outside, he mounted his bike and pulled on his helmet, then headed back out into the night. It was high time someone taught Laurel about peep holes. It certainly would make his life easier.