Felicity kinda hated Halloween.
OK, so maybe "hate" was a strong word. It was more like she felt severe annoyance toward its popularity as a holiday.
She knew she was in the minority with her opinion. Growing up, her childhood peers considered it the second best day of the year (after Christmas, but don't get her Jewish tuchus started on that) because getting to dress up like superheroes and princesses in exchange for free candy was just about the coolest thing in the world. In high school and college, she hung around in a crowd that practically worshipped darkness and embraced the macabre, and Halloween was the culmination of it all. As an adult, all her coworkers looked forward to the kitschy holiday with enthusiasm as they draped their houses with cottony spider webs and happily traipsed through pumpkin patches to find their perfect carving squash.
She found the hype around it all rather ridiculous, but she at least had a good reason.
Felicity walked through the door of her apartment and let out a long, tired sigh as she toed off her heels. She had only been working as an IT gremlin at Queen Consolidated for a few months now, but it was long enough for her to come to the conclusion that she was not paid nearly enough to deal with her incompetent supervisor.
"Long day?" a masculine voice asked her from the couch.
"You can say that again," she muttered as she kicked her shoes aside and stumbled toward the source of the voice. Once she reached the couch, she collapsed on top of the bright teal cushions, her eyes falling closed as she leaned her head back against the couch.
Even with her eyes shut, she could hear the smile in his voice. "It's over now, at least. And it's Halloween! You've got all those adorable trick-or-treaters to look forward to."
Felicity groaned when she realized what he was saying. "Oh, crap."
"You forgot to get candy, didn't you?" The disapprovement was palpable.
She sighed. "Yeah…"
He tisked at her. "How could you forget? I reminded you before you left the apartment this morning."
She opened her eyes to shoot him a dirty look. "I kinda had other things on my mind, which included preventing a debilitating virus from bringing down the entire QC digital system. Forgive me for having priorities that did not include celebrating a stupid holiday."
He let out a scandalized gasp. "You did not just say that!"
Felicity just rolled her eyes and closed them again, not bothering to take in his offended expression. It wasn't like she didn't already have it memorized at this point — it was the same look practically everyone gave her when she admitted how much she disliked Halloween.
"Is there a version of a Halloween Grinch? Or a Halloween Scrooge? Because that's what you are. A Halloween Scrooge. A spooky killjoy. Boo humbug!"
She chuckled in spite of herself, her eyes still shut. "Give it up, Tommy. If my mom couldn't get me into the Halloween spirit then you're definitely not going to succeed."
"How can you be so against Halloween?"
"I'm not against it," she argued. "It's not like I slam doors in trick-or-treaters' faces or smash jack-o-lanterns every time I see one. I just don't get the hype. I don't get into the spirit of spooky stuff."
"And why not?" Tommy demanded. "Halloween is the best! Free candy! Scary movies! Ghost stories!"
Felicity's eyes finally flew open and she glared at the figure sitting on the other end of the couch from her. Tommy was a handsome guy, with thick, dark hair, deep blue eyes and a hint of stubble. But it wasn't his good looks that first drew her eye when she met him — no, it was the massive, open wound embedded in his shoulder.
"You're kidding me, right?" she said in a deadpan voice.
"No," he continued in an earnest voice. "I would have thought that you of all people would appreciate a good ghost story."
She shook her head with a bit of irony. "First of all, people who tell ghost stories never tell them right. Second of all, the spooky stories are nothing like the real thing. Third of all, there's nothing spooky about ghosts."
"That's only because you can see them and talk to them."
"Yeah, and I wasn't nearly as dramatic about it as that annoying kid from the Sixth Sense."
Tommy stuck his tongue out at her. "Like I said — a Halloween Scrooge."
That was the crux of it. People used Halloween as an excuse to explore their creepy fascination with death, but Felicity knew better. Death wasn't as scary or terrifying or weird or mysterious as other people thought it was. Most of the time when people died, they moved on to the next part of their soul journey. She liked to think of dying like being at an airport: Most people passed through the invasive TSA screening process to get to their flight and move on to the next phase.
But every so often, she'd come across someone who couldn't get past security because they had unfinished business which set off the spiritual metal detectors. Until they unloaded that unfinished business, they couldn't get on the plane.
"It's probably a good thing in the end that I didn't get any candy," Felicity mused aloud. "I don't really get a lot of trick-or-treaters in this neighborhood, and then I would have been stuck with a bag of Reese's Cups, which my waistline really doesn't need."
Tommy frowned at her, which wasn't a very common expression on his perpetually bright and mischievous face. "You don't get any trick-or-treaters because you live on the edge of the Glades," he said.
Felicity noted the edge in his voice. It was the same tone he took on every time they got close to the subject of the circumstances surrounding his death.
Tommy had yet to tell her exactly how it happened, but Felicity Smoak was one of the least stupid people in the world, and she could make a very educated guess.
She knew, of course, all about the massive earthquake that happened two months before she moved to Starling. It took down half the Glades and more than 500 people with it. Judging from the massive wound Tommy's disembodied spirit sported and his general distaste of the Glades, he had been one of those casualties.
But there obviously had to be more to it. Most people who died in mass casualty events like that one just boarded the plane because their deaths were so sudden that they had no time to build up resentment or unfinished business. Tommy's stubborn spirit, however, was still holding on for some reason, and he refused to tell her what that reason was.
Knowing that how she handled this juncture of their conversation was key to avoiding a serious argument, she carefully sidestepped the landmine. "You're starting to sound like my mother," she informed him.
She was successful. Tommy let out a laugh. "Smoaky, I have been described as many things in my life, but an overbearing Jewish mother was never one of them."
The first ghost Felicity could remember seeing was a confused old woman she met when she was just five years old. The woman looked just as real and solid as anyone else walking around her, but Felicity knew immediately that something was wrong by the lost expression on the woman's face, and the fact that everyone milling around her ignored her presence.
Without thinking twice, she walked up to the woman and said in her chirpy, helpful little voice, "Are you lost?"
The woman's grateful eyes landed on Felicity and her face broke into a smile. "I'm looking for my daughter. She's a bus driver, but I can't find my way to the bus stop."
"Oh, I know where that is," Felicity said. "Here, I'll take you."
She reached forward to try and take the woman's hand, but her tiny fingers kept grasping over nothing, like she wasn't even there. That was when Felicity started to get an inkling of what was really going on.
"Are you excited to see your daughter?" Felicity asked on the way to the bus stop.
The woman got a sad look in her eyes. "I haven't seen my daughter in years. This will be the first time I've seen her in a long time."
Felicity cocked her head to the side in a questioning gesture. "How come?"
The woman tried to smile, but it did nothing to lift the sadness from her expression. "Sometimes parents and children get into fights. Sometimes you'll say things you regret. And sometimes you'll hurt each other's feelings and you won't talk for a long time."
Felicity's heart ached for the woman. If it had been anyone else, she would have tried to hug her, but she couldn't even touch her. So Felicity settled on the next best thing.
"I bet your daughter misses you as much as you miss her," she said in a soothing voice. "And whatever you said, as long as you say sorry, I'm sure she'll forgive you. That's what my mom always told me. If you feel really sorry, then people will forgive you."
"Your mom is a very smart woman, and you're a very smart young girl," the woman told her with a slightly happier smile. "Thank you for taking the time to help me."
A few blocks later, Felicity successfully led the woman to the bus stop. The schedule taped on the wall of the shelter said the next bus would come in ten minutes, so the two of them spent the wait chattering about meaningless things.
When the bus came, it jerked to a halt in front of them. The doors swung open to reveal a severe-looking driver sitting behind the wheel.
"That's her," the woman whispered next to Felicity. "Thank you, sweetie."
And with that, she moved forward and climbed up the steps, but the driver didn't react at all to the fact that her estranged mother was boarding her bus.
"Are you getting on, or what?" the driver snapped at Felicity.
Felicity jumped in surprise, but the woman simply walked up to her daughter and placed her hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, baby," the woman whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I love you."
It was the most curious thing. Felicity had long suspected that she was the only person who could see the woman, but even though the bus driver didn't seem to see her mother, her eyes still clouded over and a single tear escaped.
Without saying another word, the driver swung the lever forward to close the doors, but just as she did, the woman dissolved until she completely disappeared into thin air.
The bus drove away, and Felicity felt a deep sense of peace wash over her tiny, five-year-old body. Being the precocious little girl she was, she had a pretty good idea of what just happened.
She also was smart enough to know to keep it all to herself.
Though Felicity predicted that there would be no trick-or-treaters in her neighborhood, Tommy wouldn't stop bugging her about the fact that she had no candy. And it was with a very put-upon attitude that she donned her panda flats and a coat to venture out of her little townhouse in search of some candy with the sole purpose of getting her dead roommate to shut up.
Of course, at six-thirty at night on Halloween, there wasn't a single bag of candy to be found. She visited every grocery store and every convenience store within a ten-mile radius, and all of them had been wiped clean.
In a last-ditch effort to not come home empty-handed, she paid a visit to the sketchy bodega down the street from her townhouse. Felicity had always made a point to avoid this particular store because the flickering neon, the grumpy cashier and the grime embedded in every nook and cranny gave her a really skeevy feeling. In fact, the minute she stepped out of her car, she almost immediately slid back in.
But she swallowed her reservations and stepped through the crooked door, ignoring the foreboding bars on the windows.
"Hello," Felicity chirped nervously at the sullen shop owner. He grunted in response, though his gaze never left the tiny television he had propped up behind the till.
Keeping her purse close to her and her elbows tucked in to avoid having to touch the filthy shelves, she navigated to the back where the candy was. A single bag of Smarties sat on the lonely display, and Felicity couldn't help but let out a sigh. She already knew she'd barely get any trick-or-treaters, and then she'd be stuck with a bag of chalk, masquerading as a candy.
Whatever. Beggars couldn't be choosers.
She grabbed the bag and made her way back up the dingy aisles toward the cash register. But just as she was about to put the bag on the counter, the bodega door burst open and two people wearing all black with black balaclavas covering their faces stormed in.
They were holding rifles.
"Hands up!" they shouted at her and the shop owner. "Get your fucking hands in the air right now!"
Felicity didn't think twice. Both of her hands shot up, and the bag of Smarties fell to the floor.
Unfortunately, the shop owner was less compliant, and Felicity watched in horror as he whipped out his own gun out from underneath the counter.
"Get the fuck out of my store!" he screamed at the masked robbers. "Get out, or I'll blow your fucking heads off!"
She didn't see who shot first, but the minute she heard the gunfire, her survival instincts kicked in. She dove behind the nearest aisle and curled up into as tight a ball as she could manage.
For the next five minutes, all she could register were the horrible sounds and the debris exploding all around her. When the shooting still didn't let up, she desperately scanned the ruined store for any possible escape path.
Then the shelf above her head exploded and rained gum packets all over her, and that forced her to flee to the far corner of the store, behind the ancient slushy machines.
Just when she was coming to grips with the idea that she might soon have to board the spirit plane, she heard someone up front exclaim, "What the fuck!" Moments later, the gunfire stopped.
The ringing silence was deafening. The sounds of explosions still echoed in her ears, and she hardly dared to think that she was in the clear. With her knees still pressed to her chest, she buried her face behind the collar of her coat, her eyes screwed tight.
Then a rough, computerized voice cut through the ringing.
"Are you all right?"
Felicity slowly turned her head and peeked over her collar. For a second, she was almost certain she had died and boarded that spirit plane.
Because there was just no freaking way that a dude dressed up in a green leather hoodie with a bow and arrow staring down at her was part of the real world.
"Hey," the voice prompted. He crouched down next to her, and peered at her from under his hood. "Can you hear me? Are you OK?"
Felicity spoke in spite of herself. "Well that depends," she said in a wavering voice. "Are you real or just part of the whole death thing? Because right now I'm having trouble distinguishing between the two."
The man didn't answer. Instead, he reached a gloved hand toward her and gently helped her up. The back of her mind registered the fact that his touch was very solid.
"You need to get out of here," he said in a steely voice. "There might be more coming."
Felicity didn't need to be told twice. She picked her way over the debris scattered all over the floor and bolted out of the door, which now hung crookedly on its hinges. The hooded man followed her to her car.
Once she was inside, he stopped her before she could close the door. "Go straight home," he warned her in his computerized voice. "Do not look back. When you get home, lock your doors and turn off all the lights."
The part of her brain that was not paralyzed with fear wanted to roll her eyes at him and say something along the lines of, "Nah, I think I'm going to hang out here for a little while, cuz you know, getting shot at was so much fun."
But the much more rational part of her brain had come to the conclusion that if this guy took out three armed guys with nothing more than a bow and arrow, then he was probably just as dangerous as anyone else.
"What if someone does follow me?" she asked.
"I'm going to make sure no one does," he said. And with that, he slammed the door shut and disappeared into the shadows.
Felicity only had a second for shock. But then the fear jump started her system and she turned her car engine and zippd out of the parking lot.
She did as the mystery archer told her: She drove straight home without looking back. Once she was in her driveway, she bolted out of her car and ran to the door and locked it immediately behind her.
"Felicity?"
She let out a shrill scream at the sound of her name and grabbed the umbrella from out of the holder next to the door. But it was only Tommy's disembodied spirit, and he was holding up his hands in a placating gesture.
"Whoa there," he said with a titch of nervousness in his voice. "You of all people should know that that umbrella isn't going to do much to me."
Knowing that he was right did something to her on the inside. It was probably just a delayed stress reaction from all the bullets and destruction, but seeing Tommy there in front of her made her knees buckle until she was on the floor, with the umbrella sliding out of her grasp.
"Hey," Tommy said soothingly. He can't touch her, but he settles for sitting next to her, as close as he can. "Felicity, what's wrong? What happened?"
Her eyes start swimming with tears and she struggles with shaking hands to wipe them away. "There was a shooting," she whispered. "At the corner store, there was a robbery and there was shooting and I was there and...I thought I was going to die."
Tommy made a humming noise, like he was trying to convey that he understood and that he was sympathetic at the same time. "How did you escape?"
Felicity sniffed and grabbed onto her shaking shoulders, like somehow she could contain her reaction if she could just keep herself together. "There was a guy in a green leather hood and a bow and arrow," she answered. "He got me out of there and told me to go straight home and lock all the doors."
She didn't know what reaction she expected out of Tommy. Shock, probably. Maybe fear.
Certainly not tight-lipped anger.
"A guy in a green leather hood and a bow and arrow," he repeated flatly. "He rescued you?"
She nodded, as she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her head in her arms.
Tommy didn't say anything for a long while, which allowed Felicity to work through the worst of her shock. When she had finally stopped shaking, she raised her head to see Tommy staring at her with an intensity she had never seen in him before.
"I think you should get to bed and get some sleep," he said in a gentle, but firm voice. "You've been through a lot tonight."
That sounded like the best idea in the world. Slowly, she unfolded herself from the floor and with deliberate slowness, she went about her evening routine. By the time she walked into her bedroom in her pajamas, Tommy was sitting in the chair next to her bed.
"Get some sleep, Liss," he said encouragingly. "I'll keep watch. Make sure no monsters try to get you in your sleep."
She shot him a tired but grateful smile and climbed into her bed. "You're the best, Tommy."
It took her a little while for her to turn off her brain, because the gunshots and the shouts of masked men kept invading her thoughts. But when the sounds started to fade away, she could feel herself drifting in that space between wakefulness and sleep.
And in that in between, she heard Tommy whispering.
"Oliver Queen, you bastard."