Oliver Queen had spent a good portion of his life avoiding routines.

When he was on the cusp of adulthood, entering college, he was certain routines were things that belonged to older, duller people. Get up, attend class, do homework…all of that seemed the first step in a slippery slope that would eventually lead to spending ten hours a day in an office and the rest of your life with just one woman. Not an attractive thought.

On the island, after the Gambit went down, routines took on a more menacing tone - they were things that could get you killed. Be predictable, be at the same place at the same time, react the same way to the same threat, and they would know where to find you and how to get past your defenses. It just wasn't smart.

And when he'd returned to Starling City – well, having a secret identity didn't mesh well with having a routine. If he made it too easy to line up Oliver Queen's patterns with those of the Arrow, then even the dull-witted SCPD (Captain Lance excluded) would eventually figure things out. And the criminals – they'd have a field day.

No…for more than ten years Oliver Queen had been convinced that routines were not his friend and he had become very adept at avoiding them. In fact, he had become pretty sure that his life and routines were mutually exclusive things. So, it came as a something of a surprise that, after little more than two months away from Starling City, he had developed several. And even more surprising; that they felt easy, natural, and fundamentally good.

It had started with the bungalow on the beach. They had only intended to stay there a couple of nights – a week tops. The bungalow itself was tiny – he was pretty sure it packed a so-called kitchen, bedroom and sitting area into less square footage than his former bedroom at the Queen mansion. The little town just south of Coast City didn't offer much by way of excitement. There was no Wifi for Felicity, and how much time could one really spend listening to the surf and the gulls? After five years on and off a deserted and very dangerous island he shouldn't have any desire to be near the ocean.

But somehow that week had extended into two, and then six. And he wasn't going crazy with boredom and Felicity was managing to both stay off the grid and retain her sanity. There were picnics, books, and occasional trips into the small town to see a movie at the single-screen theater.

And before he knew it, he'd developed routines. There was watching the sunset every evening, talking on the beach and enjoying the way Felicity's agile mind went in unexpected directions when encouraged by a couple of glasses of a good Cabernet. There was waking at sunrise and listening to her gently breathing beside him, her lips slightly parted and an almost-smile on her face. There was the weekly trip into town for groceries, supplemented by the twice-a-week visit from Mr. Farrell, the kindly property manager, with fresh towels, newspapers, and milk for the coffee.

And there was going for the morning run.

Oliver was not at all sure where his journey of self-discovery was going to take him. This was the first breather he'd had in eight years and he'd been so singularly focused on saving Starling City that he'd never given much thought to what he'd do when the city was in the hands of others. One thing he'd settled on shortly after leaving Starling, however, was that no matter who Oliver Queen turned out to be, he was not going to be fat or soft. If for no other reason than to keep seeing the hungry look in Felicity's eyes when he shed his clothes to step into the shower, he'd decided that the new Oliver Queen still liked working out. And the morning run on the beach was part of that.

Some days Felicity ran with him. He'd been surprised by her speed and endurance. If he wasn't pushing hard, she could both keep up and maintain a steady stream of chatter. When he thought a little more about it, he realized it made sense. Legs like that didn't come without some effort.

Some mornings, he ran alone. Felicity, with her uncanny ability to read his moods as accurately as she could read a wiring diagram, would sense when he needed time to himself and announce that she planned to sleep in that morning. Typically, when he returned from his run he would find her wading in the shallow pools on the beach created by the evening's high tide, examining starfish, minnows and the polished stones left behind. The collection of shells on their bedroom windowsill kept growing as a result of her morning explorations. He was fascinated by the fact that a woman who was smart enough to break through ARGUS encryption could also be entertained by something as simple as seashells on the beach. When he'd teased her about it, she had given him her patented look of exasperation and mumbled something about "elegance in simplicity" and "don't you have pushups to do?" Oliver didn't press. For one, she was happy. And for two, it wasn't a bad way to end his run, watching her hike her sundress up to mid-thigh as she waded in the pools.

Perhaps the oddest routine of all was that Oliver Queen found the number of times he wanted to be alone to be shrinking. Even in his party days he'd always craved moments of solitude, times when he could shut out the world and just be himself. The Queen mansion, with its dozens of barely used rooms, had afforded him the opportunity. It was one of the few things he remembered fondly about his old home.

Now he seldom felt the urge to disappear, despite the fact that they were living in a place the size of a postage stamp and Felicity was a very clingy sleeper. When they'd first left Starling, he would wake several times during the night, always to find her holding onto some part of him – a bicep, his thigh, his hip. If he moved away from her, her forehead would crease, her breathing would quicken, and she'd shift around until she found him again. Once contact was re-established, her breathing would return to its slow and steady rhythm. It was understandable, he supposed. He'd taken off enough in the past for her to worry if she woke to an empty bed. Most nights now he slept straight through to morning, but he assumed she was maintaining her habit of holding onto him throughout the night. The thought filled him with warmth.

This morning was definitely not a morning that he wanted to spend alone. He'd awoken feeling refreshed. Two months away from fighting had allowed numerous nagging injuries to heal and he was pain-free for the first time in a long time. He felt as peppy as a teenager. When Felicity didn't rouse immediately, he simply picked her up bodily from bed and carried her over his shoulder for the short walk to the kitchen so they could get the coffee started together. The early morning light filtered through the windows, Felicity looked beautiful wearing his tee shirt and a mass of tumbled blonde hair, and he felt a lightness that he would never have believed possible a few weeks ago.

He couldn't help grinning at her. "What do you think we should do for our run this morning? The long route? It looks really nice out there. We could burn off enough calories to have some of those fresh donuts Mr. Farrell usually gets."

To his surprise, she didn't return the smile, even with the promise of her favorite donuts. "I'm not so sure. I think I'll pass this morning. You're looking awfully energetic. I don't think I'll be able to keep up."

"Felicity, you keep up just fine."

"Yeah," she agreed, "normally I do. But you look like you're jumping out of your skin. It might be better to let you take this one alone. Of course," she paused, and this time she did smile, "there are other ways we could expend that energy."

He laughed. The fact that they could finally talk like this – and do this – was one thing that had not become routine and maybe never would. "Felicity, believe me, I'm pretty sure I've got enough energy for both."

"Well, if that's the case, then I definitely think I should pass on this run. Maybe not on the donuts, though. I'll be out on the beach. I think the tide was really high last night, so there should be some good finds in the pools."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure." And she smiled again, her dimples showing so mischievously that he was tempted to cancel the run and take her up on her offer for expending energy. He reminded himself that, Arrow or not, it would be a bad habit to throw discipline totally out the window. He really should keep up the exercise routine.

He pulled on a tee shirt and shorts and started lacing up his running shoes. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Sounds good."

And Oliver left the bungalow and began his run on the packed sand near the water. It was a glorious morning, the barely risen sunlight bouncing brightly off the waves. Without Felicity he ran hard, alternating an already brisk pace with occasional sprints. Before he knew it, he'd covered three miles and made the turn to head back home. He was less than a quarter mile away when he spotted her in her usual place on the beach. Unlike most mornings, however, she wasn't alone.

There were two men standing near her and, even this far away, he could tell something was wrong. She stood stiffly in a defensive posture, the bucket she normally carried to gather her shells clutched in front of her. Despite the sweat running down his body from six hard miles, he felt a sudden chill. Felicity had seen enough over the last couple of years to have a good sense for danger, and she clearly was sensing it now. He picked up his cadence, trying to close the distance and get to her as quickly as possible.

Suddenly he saw her swing the bucket, hitting one of the men across the side of the face before spinning away and running toward the bungalow. The man she'd hit paused, clutching one hand to his face. The other man ran after her.

Oliver yelled, hoping to distract the man who was chasing her. It didn't work. "Felicity!" he yelled again, transitioning into a full-blown sprint.

She didn't look up and she didn't make it to the bungalow. The second man caught her, grabbing her arm above the elbow, yanking her back and slapping her hard across the face when she turned. The blow was severe enough to make her stagger.

Oliver was only about a hundred yards away now, pulling air into his burning lungs and pushing harder with every stride.

The man who had hit Felicity seemed to notice him for the first time. He quickly picked her up – she was still obviously dazed from his blow – and began to run himself, yelling something to the other man. Oliver could see they were headed for the path that led from the beach to the street. It became a race to see who could get to the street first.

Oliver didn't win.

He heard a car door slam just as he found the path, and reached the street only to see it speed off, with a squeal of its tires.

And in the space of less than two minutes, one of the best mornings of Oliver's life had just become one of the worst.

John Diggle sometimes found it hard to believe that he and his wife had both served in the same army. It seemed reasonable to think that years of similar training and service would foster similar habits. For example, after basic training, Special Forces training, and numerous years of sleeping in makeshift quarters in the deserts of Afghanistan, Diggle rarely slept past sunrise. Despite his best efforts, his body would instantly transition from oblivion to full alertness as soon as there was a hint of light in the room. Lyla, on the other hand, with years of identical service, seemed able to sleep until well past nine, ignoring both light and sound. This included any sounds their infant daughter might make - no matter how loud or persistent. It was, Diggle decided, one of Lyla's gifts.

Still, he really didn't mind. While Lyla slept, early morning had become his and Sara's special time. He'd pick her up, change her, then talk to her in the kitchen as he prepared her breakfast and his coffee. Diggle didn't have a lot of experience for comparison, but she seemed an easy baby. She smiled often and talked back constantly, a mixture of baby sounds that one of these days might become words. Every time she babbled she looked at him as if she expected him to understand. It made him laugh.

This morning was a typical morning. He'd been up with her for nearly an hour, with Lyla still sleeping soundly. Seated in her high chair, Sara was covered in cereal and pureed apricots and was grinning widely at him, gesticulating with her tiny hands. It was hard not to smile back.

His cell phone vibrated on the table.

It was early for a phone call. He looked away from his daughter and at the caller ID.

Felicity.

She'd been calling about once a week, just to let him know things were fine and to check up on any news in Starling City. She always asked about Lyla and Sara and occasionally about Laurel and Captain Lance as well. She talked about her recent activities but managed to stay carefully away from the subject of Oliver, and Diggle made sure to do the same. It made their conversations a little strained but it seemed the safest course. Diggle might not feel the white-hot fury he'd felt toward Oliver when Lyla was kidnapped, but that anger wasn't gone. It had settled into a steady, simmering burn accompanied by a strong sense of betrayal, and Felicity had long stopped trying to mend it. Her own happiness was apparent every time they talked and, regardless of his feelings toward Oliver, Diggle couldn't be more delighted. If anyone deserved love and happiness, it was Felicity.

He answered his phone, "Felicity. It's a little early for a call. Sara and I are just finishing breakfast."

The voice that responded, however, didn't belong to Felicity. "It's Oliver."

Diggle froze. His first reaction, other than shock, was to tell Oliver to go to hell. Using Felicity's phone to reach him because he knew Diggle wouldn't take his call was a cheap tactic.

But then he paused. Oliver's voice had sounded odd, terse but with an undercurrent of what Digg could only think of as panic. Panic was not normally in Oliver's vocabulary, and there was only one thing that could make him sound like this. John Diggle felt a prickling at the back of his neck.

He swallowed hard. "Has something happened to Felicity?"

Oliver exhaled in a short, sharp burst. "They took her, John. Two guys on the beach. They…they hit her then grabbed her. I was out running. I saw them, but I couldn't get there in time. They've taken her somewhere in a car and I haven't got the least idea where."

"Anyone you recognized?"

"No. Their car had California plates and I got the last three digits, though."

"Have the police been able to do anything with the info?"

There was a long silence on the phone.

"Oliver, are you telling me you didn't call the police?"

"No. You're the first person I thought of. We usually figure these things out on our own. I didn't even think to call the cops. I'm still not sure what they can do."

Diggle tried to keep his voice reasonable. "Normally I might agree. But normally we have a foundry full of computing equipment and Felicity to run a search. Now, everything in the foundry's been confiscated and Felicity is the one that's missing. I know you may not like the idea, but the police have access to cameras and databases and can communicate from city to city. I think you should call them."

The fact that Oliver didn't argue told Diggle how frightened he really was. He sounded defeated when he said, "You're right. I'll do that right now. But, John?"

"Yes?"

"Will you come anyway? I know things aren't good between us, but this is for Felicity."

"Of course I'll come, Oliver. I'm just thinking about what else we might do to find her. Maybe we should ask Waller to help. Lyla can call her."

To Digg's surprise, Oliver did not jump all over the offer. Instead, he said very slowly, "John, I'm not sure we should bring Waller into this."

"Because?"

"Because Waller could be behind it."

"You think Waller might have kidnapped Felicity? Why?"

"She has skills that could be very useful to ARGUS and Amanda's not above grabbing resources when she needs them. Believe me, I know. Is there anyone else we can ask to help with the tech?"

"Palmer's still MIA since the explosion. Cisco might be able to do something but Waller would really be our best bet."

There was another long pause. "Try Cisco. If he thinks he can't do anything, we can ask Waller."

Diggle sighed. "Okay. I'll call Cisco and then I'll see what I can arrange for transport. You're still on the beach south of Coast City?"

"Yes. And John?"

"Yeah?"

"Did they confiscate my bow?"

"No, we got it out of there before the police tore the place apart. It's in my apartment."

"Good. Can you bring it?"