A/N: Ok guys. It's been a LONG time, but I'm finally starting to post this! It is a sequel to The Storm After the Calm, so read that one first or you will be confused!
As I've progressed through writing the first few chapters, I've discovered a few things about this sequel. First, Felicity's chapters are focused more on the flashbacks, while Oliver's are focused more on the present day. Also, because of the style of this installment in the We'll Fall But We'll Grow series, the Olicity relationship will be slow going. The flashbacks take up quite a few more words than I expected them to, so the relationship mending is taking a bit longer than I initially anticipated. I don't want to sweep anything under the rug, and Felicity's betrayal won't be something gotten over within a day of her return. So, just a fair warning to all you readers left out there.
Chapter 1
It's been one year, two months, four days, seventeen hours, and twelve minutes.
Not that he'd admit to knowing that. He's tried unsuccessfully to forget, to stop the clock that's been running in his head ever since he opened his eyes on the morning that simultaneously feels like yesterday and a decade prior. No matter what he's doing or where he is; he could be at home, suffering through yet another family dinner, or at QC, pretending to pay attention during a meeting. It's constantly running.
The only thing that brings him any semblance of peace, of calm, is putting on the hood. As the Arrow, all thoughts not directly related to the mission at hand disappear, leaving his mind blissfully blank. Unfortunately, the second he lowers the green fabric and pulls off the mask, the clock resumes its ever-present ticking as though it never stopped. It's unavoidable.
It's been one year, two months, four days, seventeen hours, and fourteen minutes.
The city has been quiet lately. Too quiet. Some might revel in the calm, but it unsettles Oliver. His life isn't calm. It will never be calm. This life he's chosen, cloaked in the shadows, is one continuous storm after another. There is no light peeking through the clouds, no respite from the downpour. He thought there was, once, but he was wrong.
The sun streaming across his face brings him slowly back to awareness. It takes him a moment to clear the fuzzy, warm feeling of sleep from his brain and recognize the slide of the sheets across his bare skin. It brings back the memories of the night before, a grin stretching his lips even before his eyes fully open.
His blissful ignorance doesn't last much longer, as the next thing he becomes aware of is the lack of familiar weight on his chest. They fell asleep with Felicity cradled to his chest, as usual, but she's notably absent. It isn't enough to draw worry just yet; sometimes they shift during the night. Rolling to his side and finally peeling his eyes open, his eyebrows draw together at the empty space beside him.
His stomach is already sinking as he sits up and tugs on his underwear, padding to the bathroom and closet to check for her.
"Felicity?" He calls out, thumb and forefinger rubbing together anxiously at each passing second. "Are you here?"
The silence is answer enough.
It's been one year, two months, four days, seventeen hours and twenty minutes.
"Oliver, we've got a location on Bailey."
Sighing in relief, he pulls the mask down over his face and snaps the hood up. The incessant ticking of the clock recedes to the background.
"Take a left on Merchant."
Oliver complies without question, leaning to the left to turn the bike when he nears the appropriate intersection. A car blares its horn at him, surprised and angry at his sudden move, but he ignores it, already thinking ahead to his next target.
Donovan Bailey. Forty-five. Looks innocent enough on the outside with his 2.5 kids and a dog, but the money he uses to provide for his family is where the intrigue lies. He's been using his moderately successful chain of dry cleaners to funnel profits from his very successful side business in drug smuggling. It's a rather intricate operation, part of the reason it took them so long to work out the details. The other part…
He pounds down the stairs into the foundry, his last hope. Maybe she thought of something, maybe she came straight here and by the time he gets downstairs…
He knows he's kidding himself, unable to stomach the reality of what she's done until it's staring him in the face. After all her talk of 'finding another way' and 'never giving up'…
No. He isn't going there. He has a job to do, and dwelling on the past won't help. The hood is up, his mind needs to be blank.
Pulling the bike up to the apartment complex Bailey's GPS brought up, he dismounts and automatically scans the area. No obvious threats on the outside, but he can see two guards posted at the third window from the left on the second floor. That must be where Bailey is.
"Thermal is showing about five men on the west end of the second floor. That's probably where the action is."
Oliver nods, pressing the comm link to reply. "Affirmative. I see two guards from the ground. I'm going in."
"Oliver, shouldn't you-"
"There's no sense waiting around. Let's do this."
He receives no further argument from the other end of the comm, but pauses nonetheless before taking his next step toward the building. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle, almost as though someone is watching him. Snapping his head around to survey his surroundings reveals nothing out of the ordinary, however. There's no one there, just like there was no one there last night, either. Clearly, the long nights and lack of sleep are starting to catch up to him. It was bound to happen eventually.
He needs to get his head back in the game. It takes a physical shake of his head to clear the remnants of the feeling before he's pulling an arrow from his quiver and advancing on the building.
The bodyguards are dispatched too quickly, and Donovan Bailey barely puts up a fight. The middle-aged businessman throws only a couple of half-hearted punches before dropping to the ground and folding in on himself. It's disappointing and leaves Oliver itching for a larger fight. He has too much pent up tension lately, and none of the criminals they've gone after have been worthy opponents. He can feel it coiling in his gut, waiting to explode at the least opportune moment, like the next time Thea suggests he try going out on a date. He's done dating.
"Call Lance for a pick-up." His command is short and to the point, and he wastes no time disconnecting the comm afterward. He isn't in the mood for chitchat.
The ride back to the foundry is too short, and he briefly checks in to relay his intentions to take a few laps around the surrounding blocks to cool his buzzing adrenaline. It's better for everyone if he takes the edge off.
It's been one year, two months, four days, eighteen hours, and thirty-three minutes.
Needing to move, Oliver takes a running start, leaping to the closest rooftop effortlessly. He gets lost in the rhythm of his feet pounding the asphalt, occasionally interrupted by trickier manoeuvres requiring the use of his hands to pivot or launch his body forward. He's so absorbed in the physicality of it all that his body stops before his brain can understand why. It's the hairs on the back of his neck standing up once more that trigger his awareness. Turning to his right, he catches a glimpse of a shadow slipping behind the outlet for a set of stairs on the same rooftop. Someone is following him.
Squaring his jaw, he reaches back for an arrow, glad he hadn't decided to abandon his weapons with his bike. It isn't until he's got the bow pointed in the direction of the stairwell entrance that he speaks. "Show yourself."
He isn't sure what he was expecting, but it isn't a repeat of a scene that played out so long ago. The masked woman clad in black leather and a blonde wig is enough to get him to lower his bow as she steps into view. Her strides are shorter and less confident this time, but it still reminds him of the last time they were in this position. That time, it was to warn them against pursuing the Ghost. This time…
What is she doing here? He hasn't seen her in over a year, and suddenly she pops back up and follows him around? It's disorienting, the odd sense of déjà vu coupled with the dread growing in the pit of his stomach. She's here alone, and despite his attempts to remain unaffected by that, it worries him.
It's been one year, two months, four days, eighteen hours, and forty-five minutes.
His voice is hoarse from disuse when he finally manages to speak. "Sara."
The familiar bite of the lip and shift of her weight gives her away a split second before she brings her hand up to tug the mask and wig off in one smooth motion. "Not exactly."
The clock stops ticking at one year, two months, four days, eighteen hours, and forty-six minutes.
"Felicity?"
To say he's once again floored is an understatement. His brain short-circuits as she stands before him, dressed in Sara's leathers, her eyes shifting to land on everything except him. Upon closer inspection, though, he realizes it isn't solely a product of nerves as he initially assumed. She's cataloguing their surroundings, calculating the quickest entry and exit points the way he does when approaching a new area. The way Sara does. It bothers him more than he expected.
When her eyes finally find his face, she gives him a tremulous smile, wringing the wig in her hands. "Hi."
For some reason, the word irritates him, and Oliver gladly latches on to the feeling. In the hurricane of emotions now crowding his mind, anger is the easiest. "That's all you have to say?"
Felicity cringes, fingers tightening their grip on the false blonde strands. "Look, I know it's been a while…"
"A while?" He snaps, incredulous. "You were supposed to be gone a year, Felicity. It's two months past that. Where the hell have you been?"
"You're upset. I get it. You should be." Her voice is too calm, too measured, but her eyes darting around betray the unruffled manner she is trying to project. She's nervous, but also afraid. "Look, I know there's probably a lot you want to say to me, and there's a lot I need to say to you, but right now isn't the time for that."
"Then why are you here?" He demands, his brain working overtime trying to puzzle it all out.
She casts her eyes around one final time before locking them on his and Oliver has to force himself not to recoil at what he sees. The eyes he remembers, the ones he falls asleep picturing and wakes up wishing for, are bright and captivating, infectious with their joy. They sparkle. These… These aren't Felicity's eyes. New horrors have taken root within them, things he can only guess at. Things he wishes she didn't have to carry with her. Things far worse than her father's apparent suicide.
When she answers his question, her voice is wrong, too, more than it already was. It reminds him of the Felicity who methodically dismantled Diggle's gun and fired it at the target with no hesitation, the Felicity who spoke of her father with no emotion. It reminds him of the Felicity he thought she'd let go.
"My mother is missing. So is Sara. Ra's took them. I need your help to get them back."
A/N: And there you have it! This is shorter than the other chapters will be. Thank you to those who stuck around long enough to see this finally posted. Thoughts are always welcome!