"There has to be another way," Laurel said. "Another way to save Lyla without turning Nyssa over to the League. And if there isn't, even if you get Lyla back safe and sound, Oliver won't be the only one who lost his soul."
Felicity closed her eyes. Laurel was right – whatever anyone's feelings towards Nyssa, it wasn't fair to exchange her life for Lyla's. Part of her was surprised at how close Laurel and Nyssa seemed to have gotten the last few weeks. But then, Felicity figured it made sense – she knew Nyssa was training Laurel, and she knew from experience the closeness gained from being in the same foxhole as someone.
"John," she said, her hand gently on his arm, "she's right. We're basically sentencing Nyssa to death."
John turned away from her, his head in his hands. She was so used to John being the one to keep a cool head in tough situations. He was a soldier, after all – he was trained for that. But she understood things were different now… after all, his (brainwashed) best friend had just kidnapped the mother of his child. Of course he wouldn't be able to think straight.
"Dig," Laurel began to say, at one last attempt to reason with him, but at that moment, John turned towards her, sighing, and Felicity could see some of the anger had left him.
"Okay," he said. "There might be a way. But it's not going to be easy."
"It wouldn't be us if it wasn't," Felicity said, shrugging.
John reached behind him and pulled out his Glock, taking out the clip and inspecting it quickly before loading it once more. Then, to Felicity's surprise, he handed it to her.
"And what am I supposed to do with that?" she asked, nonplussed.
"I have to agree with Miss Smoak here," Nyssa added. "What good is she supposed to be in the field? Unless, of course," she said, meeting Felicity's eyes, "they taught you how to use firearms at MIT."
But John ignored her. "Oliver's smart," he said. "He'll have us searched, which means we won't be able to use any weapons on our person."
"And you think Oliver will treat me as the exception?" Felicity asked, raising her eyebrows.
"He loves you," John said simply.
She tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "Have you seen him lately?" she said bitterly.
"Doesn't matter," he said firmly. "That is one thing that even brainwashing can't change in him."
"Dig's got a point," said Laurel, and she seemed relieved they were finally on the same page. "He'll be expecting it from all of us, but not you."
"You just need to carry it," John assured her. "I'll give my signal to Lyla and she'll take it from there." For a moment, he hesitated. "Felicity, I know you're not one for going out into the field –"
"It's Lyla," she interrupted firmly. "Whatever it takes, I'll do it, John."
She outstretched her hand for the gun, and he handed it over. Then, after a few moments of consideration, John reached behind him and pulled out a second gun, inspecting the clip in the same way as before.
"God, you're practically a poster boy for the NRA," she said before she could stop herself, and she was relieved when something approaching a smile crossed his face.
"Just in case," he said. He looked up at Nyssa and Laurel. "Be ready to leave in five. I've got to go down and get some more ammo from the van."
With that, he patted Felicity's shoulder and went down the stairs.
Nyssa had said very little since John had confronted her, and Felicity watched as she put on her cloak and raised her hood to cover her head in silence. Laurel had her back to both of them, getting changed into her outfit.
Felicity was surprised, therefore, when Nyssa spoke quietly. "You know, Sara spoke very fondly of you. She said you saved her life."
"Yeah," said Felicity. It occurred to her that they had never exchanged more than a few words with each other. "What are friends for, right?"
"I know it must be difficult for you to see Oliver like this," she said.
"I'm fine," Felicity lied.
"I highly doubt that. I'm sorry for your loss."
"He's not dead," Felicity said immediately.
Nyssa looked truly apologetic. "His body and mind may be functioning perfectly, but - and I really am sorry to be the one to tell you this - your beloved is dead, to all intents and purposes. All that is left is al-Saheem."
The pain of unshed tears stung in her eyes and Felicity looked away from Nyssa. Felicity wished with all her heart that she could deny Nyssa's words, but she knew they were true. Oliver Queen was dead. There was no way the man she knew, the man for whom she had finally professed her love, would do any of this.
"I… remember when we found Sara's body," Felicity said. "I remember thinking, how it seemed so – impossible, for someone as strong as she was, to just… all of a sudden be… gone. And before, when you were saying Oliver had been brainwashed, I kept thinking, kept telling myself that he was stronger than that. But I realise now that… that I only wanted to think that because that way, I could at least think, hope to myself that he'll come back."
"I wish I could tell you he could come back to you," Nyssa said honestly. "That he could come back from this. But he is gone."
In silence, Felicity digested this, trying her best to will away the rush of emotion she could feel rising in her chest.
"Does it get easier?" Felicity found herself asking.
"Not at first," Nyssa admitted. "At first, all you feel like doing is raging at whoever was responsible for your loss, but while that is no doubt satisfying, it doesn't fill the hole in your heart where your beloved should be. No… it only – as you put it – gets easier when you remember your beloved. This," she said, gesturing around her, "is one of Sara's hideouts when she was in Starling. Coming here reminds me of her. Being around Laurel reminds me of her, too. And it's in these moments that I realise that her memory will always be alive in my heart. That, for me, is when it gets better."
And when Nyssa met Felicity's eyes, they found themselves exchanging a smile.
"Thank you," said Felicity quietly.
"Felicity," Laurel called from her corner. Mask on, she was holding a mirror up, applying dark lipstick on her lips with speed and precision that would make Felicity's mother proud.
"Yeah?" she said, going over.
"If this goes sideways," Laurel said, pressing her lips together and examining her face in her mirror one final time before snapping it shut and pointing at the gun lying on the table, "do you know how to use that?"
"Yeah," said Felicity, and she picked it up, unloading the clip and sliding it back in, before clicking the safety off.
"Huh," said Laurel, trying not to sound too surprised. "And here I was ready to give you Glock 101."
Felicity shrugged. "John showed me," she explained. "Last year, before all that stuff happened with Slade, he insisted I knew how to use one." She raised the gun, steadying her right hand with her left. "And then all I do is pull the trigger, right?"
"I hope it does not have to come to that," said Nyssa, watching as Felicity's hand shook a little as she lowered the weapon.
"You're preaching to the choir there," Felicity agreed, turning the safety back on and stowing the gun in her coat. "The only time I ever used one of these is at targets. And that was nearly a year ago."
"You'll be fine," Laurel assured her.
"I agree," said Nyssa, and Felicity knew when the other woman met her eyes that she was not just talking about the fight they were about to face.