Midnight, you come and pick me up, no headlights
Long drive, could end in burning flames or paradise

Felicity

The moon shone bright over Starling City, illuminating the puddles and glinting metal of the warehouse. Felicity woke with a gasp to the strange surreal world around her - where was she? Chinks in the ceiling let slim beams of moonlight onto the gloomy floor of what had once been a factory, but the giant industrial room around her was shrouded in dim shadows, making it impossible to see if anybody was around her. The last memory she had was escaping awkwardly to the bar at another one of Oliver's parties she'd been dragged to. But this silent building wasn't even in earshot of the club - which was saying something. Felicity shivered in her party dress, dimly aware of the short skirt and low back that compromised her self-defense fighting, not to mention the stilettos. Her mind, blurry and groggy from waking up, could barely register sight - everything was blurry shapes - but she could definitely hear the aggressive conversation growing louder somewhere outside the building. Was that... Oliver's voice?

All of a sudden a booming crash blew open the doors across the room from her, and a whirling green blur she recognized as Oliver threw two guards onto their backs in the explosion. A streetlamp outside the building illuminated the room in bright light, and Oliver stalked towards Felicity as the two men groaned in twisted positions on the floor. With the deft flick of a knife he snapped the bonds holding her to her chair, and she stumbled to her feet, dizzy and still barely conscious. What in the world was happening? Oliver walked slowly over to the men, then stood with his bow pointing an arrow straight between one's eyes.
"I'll give you one more chance," he growled, and Felicity took a step back, shocked that his voice was so terrifyingly angry. "Who. Are. You. Working. For." The man attempted a smirk, then winced, as his cheek had a deep cut from the metal edge of the door. "I told you already, Robin Hood, his name doesn't matter. He's invisible."

Oliver made a guttural noise of disgust and buried an arrow deep into his shooting arm, leaving him howling in desperate pain. Felicity stumbled back another step, her mind still embarrassingly foggy from waking up. One thing was for sure - Oliver didn't shoot arrows for petty crime. Somehow, she had gotten caught up in something big... without remembering a single detail. He turned to the other man, who was in considerably worse shape after the door incident. "The next time you don't tell me, the arrow's headed for your heart," he spat.

The man flinched away. "Look, look, look, man, don't shoot, we honestly don't know. Dude sends messages telling us what to do, then wires money when we do them. You know, cleanup crew. Yesterday morning we're told to get rid of the blonde chick. Some sort of message. Never uses a username, never the same bank account, nothin. Guy's untraceable."

He had undoubtedly been telling the truth - the fear in his voice was real - but Oliver snarled in rage and planted an arrow into each of their hearts, killing them instantly. Felicity's head was spinning uncontrollably, and she had to lean against the wall to keep from falling to the ground. "Get rid of the blonde chick" - but before she could register anything, Oliver's hands were planted on her waist, rubbing small circles with his thumbs onto her hipbones. Without thinking, she let out a light gasp - the zap of heat that shot her to the core cut through her groggy consciousness.

Oliver

His chest was heaving with impossible anger and fear. All the callus he had built up to crime and violence had been rubbed raw again once he had realized that Felicity was missing - messing with people close to him was a mistake nobody made twice. The second he checked the security feeds, he had begun sprinting to the rooftop only to watch the van screech away, his heart pumping uncontrollably. And now - with Felicity safe, if heavily drugged, and the hit men disposed of - his pulse was doing the same thing for some reason, thumping like sneakers in a clothes dryer. Perhaps it was the way his hands felt grasping her waist, or the way she still smelled like fresh soap, even after going clubbing and getting kidnapped. Ridiculous, how well-kept somebody could be after spending twelve hours a day in a nest of computers. Still, though, Felicity's hygiene didn't come close to explaining the electricity that had turned his stomach into a rollercoaster ride the second he made contact with her.

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