Author's Notes:
This story started out as a couple of chapters in The Physics of Lies. Someone was nice enough to remind me that the theme might be a bit...mature...for the "T" rating, and rather than move that entire collection to "M," I've broken this out, polished it up a bit, and made it a stand-alone story. It doesn't really fit with the rest of "Physics" anyway.
I began this story before Arrow S5 started but have worked on it since then. There are a few elements of S5 included, but it's not compliant. I watch "Arrow" regularly, "The Flash" sporadically, and "Legends" rarely, so I'm not fully up to speed on the alternate timelines. To be honest, I don't care much for them. They feel like a lazy way of escaping when the writers have boxed themselves into corners.
As for S5 noncompliances; there is no Susan Williams or Detective Malone as alternate love interests in this story. And as much as I'm starting to like them in mid-season 5, no Rory or Rene either.
Thanks for taking time to read and apologies to "Physics" fans for moving content. I've smoothed it out and added to it, so I'm cautiously optimistic that it's a better story now.
William Dennis stared out the wide expanse of windows on the 35th floor of the Palmer Technologies building. Like most recent meetings of the Palmer Board of Directors, tonight's meeting had not gone well. They had adjourned over an hour ago and the other directors had left, but he couldn't bring himself to head home to the missus just yet. Instead, he stood looking at the twinkling lights of the Star City skyline and thought about the last five months. They'd begun with so much promise but had rapidly deteriorated into a…well, into a shithole. No one had said anything explicitly to him this evening but he had felt the accusation in the directors' eyes every time they discussed another company failure.
Dennis, those eyes said, you fucked up.
He wanted to remind the wusses calling themselves Palmer Directors that it wasn't just on him; the entire Board had voted for the decision. But that would sound like he was acknowledging a mistake and he wasn't ready to admit anything yet. It was only five months after all, and it took a while to get a big company back on track. He hadn't been appointed Chairman for making mistakes. In fact, he liked to think that he had done a pretty damn good job steering the company since Ray Palmer's death. Still, it had been the elephant in the room tonight every time the new CEO had opened his mouth and had nothing useful to say.
Dennis – you really fucked up when you fired Felicity Smoak.
Hands in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. The last five months had stunk – big time. First, there had been the negative press. He'd expected a blurb in the local papers about Smoak and maybe even a short clip in the Wall Street Journal. Any time the CEO of a Fortune 100 company is dismissed the business world makes note of it. But Felicity Smoak had been CEO for less than a year and hadn't had time to create a strategy, let alone a legacy; she wasn't fucking Bill Gates, for chrissake. So he'd been totally unprepared for the media storm that had been unleashed when he let her go. Within days, every major business magazine had had a photo of Felicity on its cover – looking beautiful, young and intelligent. Jim Cramer had even devoted a full 20 minutes to her on his Mad Money show. All in all, the story may not have been as big as when the Apple Board replaced Steve Jobs, but it had to be a close second.
For several weeks following her dismissal Dennis had been bombarded with interview requests asking him to explain the Board's decision to remove what appeared to be a highly successful CEO. Two breakthrough products in less than a year, the reporters reminded him. Ray Palmer's chosen successor, they said. Stock price up 40%. What the hell was the Board thinking? Dennis had had to work overtime with the Communications department to come up with answers that didn't sound totally inane.
Almost as bad as the barrage from the media was the reaction from all those fucking women's organizations. Not only was the business world weighing in on his decision to fire Smoak, but he now had at least five local feminist groups on his back as well. The whole, tired story about pay inequity and the lack of women in the C-suite was raised again, and he'd become the latest poster boy for gender bias in the corporate world. The female employees at Palmer had formed a support group that met twice a month and he was greeted by baleful looks from everyone who didn't have a penis, including his own secretary (excuse me, administrative assistant). Christ, even his daughter had called from college to say that girls on campus were organizing rallies in support of Felicity Smoak. Dennis had upped the security on his home just in case he woke one morning to find a sign-waving bitch on the front lawn.
Still…he might have been able to weather it all if it weren't for the ugly, sneaking suspicion that he really had screwed up. In reviewing Palmer's staffing numbers tonight, it was apparent that not only was Felicity Smoak a technical genius, but she had also inspired tremendous loyalty. People were quitting Palmer in droves, including many of the brains behind the company's latest and greatest inventions. Dennis had personally reached out to Curtis Holt and offered him an obscene amount of money to stay on as Palmer's Chief Technology Officer. Holt had thanked Dennis politely but then firmly declined the offer, saying only that he was taking time to assess his next career move. Holt hadn't said that he was still working with Felicity Smoak, but Dennis was certain that the two of them met regularly. Private detectives he'd hired to follow her reported that Holt visited her frequently in her loft. It was one of the few social interactions Felicity seemed to have. Other than going to see Oliver Queen in the mayor's office - more often than was appropriate for a couple who had broken up publicly – Felicity was keeping a low profile.
He needed to find a way to fix to fix this mess or he suspected he wasn't going to be Chairman much longer. The company's annual meeting was coming up in two months and it was conceivable that the shareholders would vote him out. In a desperate move a few weeks ago he'd sent a letter to Palmer's investors explaining Felicity Smoak's unwillingness to capitalize on the world-beating invention that was the microchip in her spine. She was sitting on a near-miracle, he'd written, worth literally hundreds of billions of dollars. The stock price up 40% was nothing; it could easily increase 400% - hell, 4000% if they marketed the chip well and sold it at the right price! Anyone holding a decent number of shares would be able to retire a wealthy person. By wanting to find a way to make the chip affordable, Felicity Smoak was literally taking millions out of each of their portfolios.
Even that move had backfired. The letter was leaked on the internet within a day, and in an era where people were up in arms over price gouging for Epipens, Felicity Smoak became a hero – a modern-day Robin Hood. The blasted woman was Teflon.
Gazing out the window, Dennis wondered what the bitch was up to now. There had to be some way to neutralize her without actually making her disappear. What he needed was to discredit her – to make the world see that she wasn't the altruistic, brilliant woman she appeared to be.
Her association with Oliver Queen gave him an idea. He'd always been surprised by that relationship; an intelligent, ambitious young woman hooked up with a reformed and no longer wealthy playboy. It had made him wonder whether there was another side to Felicity Smoak – a wilder, more dangerous side that few people ever saw. He could use that, he decided, to his advantage. The beginnings of a plan were forming in his brain.
Feeling better about the evening, William Dennis headed for the elevator. On his way, he called his wife and asked her to have a whiskey on the rocks waiting for him at home.
Two days later….
Felicity hurriedly locked the door to her car and tried not to run to the entrance of Oliver's campaign headquarters. It wouldn't do to look too eager. She was aware that there were two PIs tailing her and she was pretty sure they had been hired by Mr. Dennis. She couldn't have them figuring out what really went on with the Green Arrow all those floors below HQ, so she tried to maintain the ruse of being there to crunch data in support of Oliver's bid to transition from interim to permanent mayor in the upcoming special election.
Over the last two months she'd perfected a series of activities designed to convince the detectives that she'd be hunkered down for hours, slogging away tediously on the computer. In the beginning, they'd watched her intently from their parked car; lately, however, boredom had taken over and they'd make their way to the bar down the street, popping their heads out occasionally to check that her car was still there. Tonight was no different. She waited until the two men walked toward Joey's Saloon and then sprinted for the elevator, anxious to see if Oliver had arrived early.
It was a strange how their positions had reversed, she thought. Six months ago, Oliver had been jobless and her days had been fully occupied with running Palmer Tech. Now he was in his office from morning til night and she was the one with time to spare. Maybe it was her idleness that made her eager to see him in the evenings. Maybe it was the knowledge that she and Curtis were his only support when he went out as the Green Arrow. With Digg out of town, Thea out of the action, and Laurel – sadly - passed away, he needed her more than ever. Whatever the reason, she found she couldn't wait to see him most nights. She felt drawn to the lair as if she were the south pole of a magnet, inexorably pulled to his north
Of course she'd made it clear to Oliver that helping him did not mean she wanted to resume their romantic relationship. Those things she had said months ago about him not knowing how to lean on his partner still held. But that also didn't mean, she'd explained, that she wanted to see him get hurt. She was in the lair because she had his back - and would always have his back, no matter what. And he'd responded by telling her that he would respect her wishes.
Lately there were times she thought he respected her wishes a little too much. After a particularly successful evening fighting crime, for example, there was nothing wrong with a congratulatory hug or even a short peck on the lips. Two colleagues who had been through thick and thin together for four years could celebrate that way without giving rise to an expectation of more. They were mature adults; she was certain they both could handle brief moments of physical contact. But Oliver carefully kept his distance. The most she ever got was a warm smile and a heartfelt "thank you, Felicity."
She sometimes wished she hadn't made her position on reconciling quite so clear.
She stepped out of the elevator and was disappointed to find the lair empty; no Oliver, no Curtis. Still, it was early. Seating herself in front her of computer, she was just about to scan local video footage for possible crimes when her cell phone began vibrating in her purse. She was surprised to see that the call was from Mr. Dennis. She hadn't heard a word from the ass since the night he'd fired her; anything to do with Palmer Tech subsequent to that – the severance package and the non-compete agreement – had all been handled by Palmer's lawyers. It seemed strange that he would call her now; she couldn't imagine what he might have to say. Of course there were the detectives he had following her, but she was confident she hadn't given them anything interesting to report.
She stared at the phone for a good ten seconds. Dennis could go fuck himself, she thought. She'd done a good job at Palmer and he'd thrown her out on her ear. Whatever he had to say, she didn't want to hear it.
Then curiosity got the better of her. She tapped her phone to answer.
"Hello?" she said neutrally, as if she had no idea who was calling. There was no point in letting Dennis know she still had his number in her contacts. It would make her look desperate.
"Felicity Smoak?"
"Yes, this is Felicity." Her voice was bland, giving nothing away. She waited.
There was an awkward pause while the Palmer Tech Chairman realized that Felicity Smoak appeared to have forgotten all about him, or at least was refusing to acknowledge him. Finally he said, "This is William Dennis. From the Palmer Board of Directors? I realize it's been a while since we talked."
"Oh, Mr. Dennis. What a surprise. It certainly has been a while – about five months, I think." Despite her efforts, she could hear a little bitterness creeping into her tone. "I believe our last conversation was you firing me and having the guards escort me out of my office at Palmer Tech."
Another awkward pause. "Well, er, yes, I suppose it was," Dennis said slowly. He cleared his throat. "Would it help this conversation now if I told you I think I could have handled that situation better?"
Felicity frowned, caught off guard. She wanted to say "not at all" in her loud voice, except she thought she could detect some contrition in the man's tone and she believed him to be sincere. She'd read enough about the media's response to her dismissal to assume Dennis might indeed wish he'd handled things differently. He'd been called a lot of names in the business blogs, with Complete Idiot being one of the kinder ones. No matter how thick-skinned you were, that had to get to you.
On the other hand, she thought, he really was an ass and leopards didn't change their spots. She shook her head. "I don't know if there's anything you can say to help this conversation, Mr. Dennis," she replied firmly. "No matter how you guild the lily, a firing is still a firing." She glanced at the clock; 6:45. Oliver would be arriving in no more than 45 minutes. "Look, I really need to get to work on Oliver's campaign. Is there a reason you're calling? If it's about the non-compete agreement, I can assure you I'm honoring it."
Dennis cleared his throat again. "Felicity, I'm not calling about the non-compete agreement. The reason I'm calling is that I…that is, The Board…thinks we may have been a little hasty with your dismissal. Looking at our results over the last five months, it's clear you were more effective as CEO than we gave you credit for. I was hoping you might be willing to talk – to explore options for returning to Palmer Tech."
She nearly fell out of her chair. She certainly wasn't expecting that. She'd tapped Dennis as the kind of man who would swallow a hand grenade rather than admit he'd made a mistake.
She smiled cautiously. "I'm sorry. Did you just say you'd be interested in me returning to Palmer Tech? In what role, exactly? As CEO again?"
Dennis hesitated, and then said, "Felicity, I'd rather not discuss this on the phone. This is the kind of talk we should have face to face. If you don't mind, I'd like to meet with you at Palmer Tech, in your old office. I can tell you then the options the Board is considering."
Felicity's smile faded and she was right back to Dennis is an ass. Rather than tell her over the phone, he was going to make her stew on it for a couple of days and then go in as if it were a job interview. He was going to expect her to apologize for something or concede something, and there was no way in hell she was going to concede anything to that man. She was ready to tell him "no" when she paused.
Because…on the other hand…what did she have to lose, really? She didn't have anything pressing on her calendar. If the meeting turned out to be a mistake – well, she could tell Dennis he was an ass to his face and get out of there. And if there was a tiny chance she might actually get her job back…she had to take it.
"Fine," she agreed. "I'll be there. What day did you want me to come in?"
"Actually," Dennis's voice was cautious. "I was hoping you could stop by tonight…now, in fact."
"Now?" That didn't feel right. A tiny alarm bell started going off in her head. Most of the people at Palmer would have left for the day. She would be meeting with Dennis alone.
"I don't think…" she began.
Dennis interrupted her. "Look, Felicity," he said with a sigh, "You may not believe it, but this is as uncomfortable for me as it is for you. I was hoping for a chance for the two of us to talk without giving rise to office gossip and speculation. If you come in now, it will save us both embarrassment. If you like what I have to say, we can make our meetings more official in the future."
Felicity looked at the clock again; 6:50. If she left now, she could probably get to Palmer Tech, talk with Dennis, and be back to the lair by 7:45. Hell, some nights Oliver didn't even get there until 8:00. As for the tiny alarm bell; Dennis was a jerk, but he was also Chairman of Palmer's Board of Directors. He wasn't Malcolm Merlyn or Damien Darhk. She might be annoyed by the meeting, but she wouldn't be physically threatened.
"Okay," she said reluctantly. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."
She could hear the relief in his voice. "Thank you, Felicity. I'll see you in your office."
"You mean, what used to be my office."
He chuckled softly. "Who knows? Maybe it could be your office again." Before she could say anything further, he hung up.
Picking up her purse, Felicity took the elevator back upstairs and walked out of headquarters. At least she was going to make the private detectives earn their pay tonight, she thought. With a wicked grin, she got into her car and revved the engine, peeling away from the curb with a respectable screech. She glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see the two detectives staring open-mouthed from the door of the bar.
As soon as she arrived at her old office at Palmer Tech, Felicity knew that meeting Dennis was a mistake. His effort at reconciliation might have been halfway convincing on the phone, but seeing him in person made it clear that the man had lied through his teeth. He looked both furtive and a little smug, and she could tell immediately that he had not asked her there to talk about coming back as CEO. So why the hell had he called her?
The tiny alarm bell in her brain resumed ringing.
It didn't take long for him to get to the point. When he was a dozen feet away, Dennis pulled a pistol out from under his jacket and aimed it at her. She was surprised; as much as she'd thought him an ass, she'd never figured him to be the type to threaten violence. Now she had to reconsider her assumption about not being physically harmed. "Your cell phone please, Felicity," he said coldly.
She did her best to look confused. It really wasn't that hard – Dennis had caught her off balance. "I'm sorry?"
He snorted impatiently. "Don't play dumb. Give me your cell phone. I can't have you calling someone to your rescue while we have our conversation. I'd like to make sure no one interrupts us." He held out his empty hand, keeping the gun trained on her with the other.
Felicity glanced toward the elevator. She thought briefly about making a run for it but Dennis looked deadly serious. She sighed in resignation and walked over to hand her phone to him.
He stuffed it into his suit coat pocket. "Thank you."
The phone started vibrating almost immediately. Dennis looked at her suspiciously, then pulled it out of his pocket to stare at it. His brow furrowed for a few seconds but then his confusion appeared to clear. "Ah," he said. "It's a call from Mr. Holt. I had a feeling the two of you were staying close. Whatever he wants to talk about, I'm sure you can get back to him later." He tapped the phone with his thumb to end the call and grinned at her. "Well," he added slyly, "almost sure. I suppose that depends on how cooperative you are." He slid the phone into his pocket once more.
Almost sure didn't bode well, Felicity thought. She studied Dennis, trying to control her nerves and think logically. As much as she hated to give him the satisfaction of doing anything he said, she wanted first and foremost to walk out of there alive. Buying time by talking seemed like a good start.
"So how exactly do you want me to cooperate?" she asked conversationally. "The fact that you're pointing a gun at me suggests you don't think I'll like what you're going to say."
Dennis grinned again. "Unfortunately, I don't think you will." He paused and added, "But you're a smart woman, even if you are a stubborn one. You'll see you don't have many options."
Well that wasn't terribly illuminating. "Suppose I don't agree," Felicity asked, even though she had no idea what those limited options might be. "What's your backup plan? Killing me?" Damn. She hadn't meant to jump to the part about killing that quickly. Way to keep the conversation going, Felicity.
Dennis laughed harshly. "Ms. Smoak, I certainly don't want to kill you. This is business, not personal. There's nothing to be gained by your death. The gun is just…motivation."
"Motivation for what?"
The smile left Dennis's face and he said almost menacingly, "In case you haven't noticed, Felicity, you've got a real following. Consensus in the business world is that you were a very promising CEO and the employees at Palmer all respect you. In fact, many of them have quit since you left. Profits are down and the shareholders are getting nervous. It's become a problem for me – it makes me look like I made a bad decision when I fired you."
That's because you did, you ass. "And you think I can fix that?" she asked. "What is it that you want me to do? You want me to tell the business world that I deserved to be fired – that you made a good decision? Or maybe you want me to pretend that I left voluntarily."
He shrugged. "In a way, a little of both." He walked over to her former desk and leaned casually against it. "I want you to help me discredit you… to damage your reputation in way that will make the firing make sense."
"Huh?" She didn't have to pretend to be confused by that one.
Dennis laid the gun down on the desk, keeping it within reach. After a moment, he sighed. "There's a short list of reasons for a Board to fire a CEO," he explained patiently, as if he were teaching class at a business school. "CEOs are let go for poor company performance, a major ethical breach, or some kind of personal issue that makes it difficult for him or her to carry out his duties." He stared at her thoughtfully. "In your case," he continued, "company performance was strong and I doubt the employees or the public will believe there was an ethics violation. Your position on keeping the spinal chip affordable has made you a saint in everyone's eyes." He shrugged his shoulders. "Which leaves us with the personal issue."
He reached for the gun again, and with his other hand picked up a syringe off the desk. Felicity wondered why she hadn't noticed it before; it was a pretty big syringe.
"If the public were to learn that you had, say, a drug problem," Dennis continued, "people would understand why the Board needed to dismiss you. Many people are successful at hiding substance abuse issues for a while, but they eventually become known. And they make it impossible to carry out the duties of a CEO."
Felicity shook her head. "I don't think people are going to buy that I have a substance abuse problem. I met a lot of people when I was CEO and I was clearly not drugged at the time. And, as you say, I was pretty successful at my job."
Dennis smiled wickedly. "Oh, you'd be surprised how effective one public slip up and a well-timed rumor can be. I'm confident my plan," he waved the syringe, "will get people to believe it. After all, you were engaged to the ultimate party boy, Oliver Queen. You were bound to pick up some bad habits."
"No one thinks of Oliver that way anymore. The city even asked him to be mayor."
Dennis nodded. "True. And if that point comes up, then we'll spin the story to say that he cleaned up his act but you couldn't do the same. It's the reason he broke off your engagement." He straightened up from the desk and started walking toward her, gun in one hand and the syringe in the other. "We've talked about this long enough, Felicity. What's it going to be? Shall we do this the easy way or the hard way? One little injection and a well-meaning stranger can find you drugged out somewhere in the Glades. It will be embarrassing, of course, but you'll still be alive. The shareholders will think I made a good decision, and in a couple of years you can claim to have gone through rehab and restart your career. We both win."
Felicity stared at the bright yellow-green liquid in the syringe. She was pretty sure it was Vertigo. "Suppose you're wrong?" she asked sharply. "Suppose I die from that stuff?"
Dennis sighed. "Then unfortunately you'll be another addict who overdosed. It happens sometimes."
She glanced at the clock. She had managed to keep Dennis talking for fifteen minutes. She had hoped that would be enough time, but evidently she needed to buy a little more. "I think," she said, backing away from him and looking for something to throw, "that we'll have to do this the hard way. I'm not too crazy about needles."
Dennis shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Oliver left the mayor's office with a spring in his step and a grin on his face. He'd managed to leave 20 minutes early, which would get him to the lair before 7:30 for a change. He was looking forward to seeing the surprised expression on Felicity's face when he got off the elevator.
Working with her these last couple of months had been both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he'd had the chance to see her smiling face almost every night and she was looking at him with more congeniality than she'd shown in a long time. A curse because it was getting harder and harder to walk away from her at the end of the evening. Most nights he wanted nothing more than to sweep her up in his arms and kiss the bejesus out of her, despite agreeing to her words about not resuming a romantic relationship. He was sure he would have made a move already if it weren't for the presence of Curtis in the lair. The attraction he felt toward her - both physical and emotional – was stronger than ever.
He noticed this evening that Felicity's car wasn't in its usual spot by campaign headquarters. The street looked busy, though, so maybe she'd been forced to park further away. That wasn't necessarily bad; it would give him the chance to tell her he was worried about her walking alone at night followed by the suggestion that he walk with her. A few more minutes of Felicity-time before going home.
He had to rethink that plan, however, when the elevator doors opened and he was greeted only by Curtis in the lair. His disappointment was acute.
"Where's Felicity?" Oliver asked, striding over to the computers.
"Well, good evening, Oliver," Curtis responded with a grin. "It's nice to see you, too."
Oliver shook his head, no longer in a mood for humor. He'd been so looking forward to seeing her. "Where's Felicity?" he repeated.
Curtis shrugged. "Obviously, not here yet."
Oliver frowned. "She's usually the first one to arrive. Did she tell you she was going to be late? She didn't call me." A list of unattractive possibilities ran through his head, including a car accident, a kidnapping, and a meeting with an attractive man who asked her out for a drink.
Curtis shook his head. "No, I didn't hear from her. She probably just got held up in traffic."
"Try calling her."
Curtis laughed dryly. "I believe you have a phone, too, Oliver. You call her."
Oliver hesitated. He preferred the call to come from Curtis. "It's better if you phone her," he explained. "I don't want her to think I'm keeping tabs on her whereabouts. As her ex-boyfriend, it seems stalker-ish. She might not like it."
Curtis stared at Oliver for a few seconds, then rolled his eyes and exhaled heavily. "God help me, the two of you drive me crazy." He picked up his phone but then paused. "Why can't you guys just make up already? The whole atmosphere in the lair these days is so charged with sexual tension that we could transmit electricity, and it's getting worse, not better. You love her, she loves you…figure it out. Hell, if this is what Diggle had to put up with for four years, I can see why he re-enlisted."
Oliver gave him his best Green Arrow stare. "Just call Felicity, Curtis."
"Fine. I'm calling."
After a few seconds Curtis put his phone down. "She didn't take the call," he said, puzzled.
"You mean she didn't answer?"
"No, I mean she cut the call off after a couple of rings. You know, tapped the red don't answer button."
Oliver felt a twinge of anxiety. That didn't sound like Felicity. If she were busy, she typically answered just to say that she'd call back later. And in this case, she would have known that the call had come from Curtis - which made it doubly likely that she would answer. "Can you trace her phone?" he asked.
Curtis rolled his eyes again. "Oh, that's not stalker-ish at all," he said, giving Oliver an amused grin. He turned to the computer and tapped a few keys. After a moment he added more soberly, "That's odd. She's at the Palmer Tech building."
"Why would she go there?"
Curtis shook his head. "I have no idea." He glanced at Oliver, all the teasing gone from his expression. "Hang on, I'm going to try something." He tapped the computer keys once more and frowned. "I think someone else might have Felicity's phone," he said worriedly. "We've been testing some biometric recognition code that she wrote a few weeks ago. The phone is programmed to recognize her palm and finger prints, as well as yours and mine. If any of us picks up the phone – fine. If someone else picks it up, it sends an alarm back here." He pointed to a red, blinking icon in a corner of his computer screen. "As you can see, the alarm is going off right now."
"So someone else has her phone?"
"Most likely, yes."
It was enough for Oliver. Felicity never handed her phone to anyone. "I'm going to Palmer," he said shortly.
Oliver weaved anxiously through the traffic on his bike. He'd hated taking the extra three minutes to suit-up in his Arrow gear when Felicity could be in danger, but given that he might need to fight, it seemed the safer choice. It wouldn't be a good idea to have the mayor caught on a security camera punching someone out. Fortunately, Palmer Tech was not far from his campaign headquarters and he managed to get there in 10 minutes, his heart pounding the entire time.
"Do you know where she is in the Palmer building?" he asked Curtis over the com-link.
"It looks like she's in her old office."
Oliver groaned. Her office was on the 40th floor – a lot of stairs to run. He opted for the elevator, sprinting past an astonished security guard and smashing the Up button. The door opened almost immediately and the ride up couldn't have lasted more than 30 seconds, but it seemed an eternity. He felt his stomach churn with anxiety and was reminded of a similar elevator ride years ago, when this was still the Queen Consolidated building and Felicity had been abducted by Count Vertigo. He hoped she wasn't in as much danger this time.
It turned out that she was. Oliver stepped out of the elevator to see Felicity in her office, facing a man holding both a gun and a syringe. She looked frightened and a little angry, and she was dodging and throwing things with surprising dexterity given the height of her heels. The man was vaguely familiar, although Oliver could not immediately recall his name or his association with Felicity. He was dressed in a business suit and, apart from the gun, looked respectable enough. Oliver had no idea why he would be threatening her, but at the moment the why didn't really matter. Explanations could come later, when Felicity was safe. Neither of them appeared to notice his arrival.
Without hesitating, he nocked two arrows and shot the man in both forearms simultaneously. The gun and syringe fell to the floor, and the man howled in pain. He turned toward Oliver with an anguished expression, which transformed into bewilderment as he recognized the Green Arrow.
"You?" the man spat out. "You're a friend of hers, too?" He shook his head. "Hell, that would have been as good as Vertigo, if I'd known. Felicity Smoak is an ally of the Green Arrow. I could have used that as the excuse for firing her – the shareholders wouldn't have been happy about the CEO associating with the city's vigilante."
Oliver felt his brow crease. The reason the man had been pointing a gun at Felicity had something to do with her being fired from her job as CEO of Palmer? Oliver had automatically assumed it was related to her Arrow duties, but that was clearly not the case. Suddenly, he recognized the man; William Dennis, Chairman of Palmer's Board of Directors. Why would the Chairman be threatening Felicity with a gun and Vertigo? Confident that the man had been neutralized, he turned toward her, hoping for an explanation.
And then he nearly dropped his bow. Because the expression on Felicity's face was one he hadn't seen in a very long time. It was the look she used to give him years ago, when she trusted and believed in him completely; before he'd lied to her about his son, before they'd even become a couple. She was staring at him with gratitude and hope and confidence, and he felt a warmth flow through his body as if he'd swallowed a shot of whiskey. He forgot to care about the explanation. He almost forgot about Dennis. The urge to pull her to his chest and kiss her was overwhelming.
He basked in her expression for a few seconds before recalling that they had company. He'd always taken precautions to never let the world to know that The Arrow cared for a woman, and he didn't want Dennis to see that caring now. Besides, the man had been waving around a gun and a syringe and needed to be contained. The smart thing would be to wait here until the police came to arrest Dennis, and then go back to the lair with Felicity to talk about it.
He didn't feel like being smart. He felt like seizing the moment.
He walked over to Dennis, and with a hard fist to the jaw, knocked the man unconscious. Then he went to Felicity and gently rested his hands on her shoulders.
"You're all right?" he asked.
"Fine," she answered. She hesitated, and then added softly, "I knew you'd get here. Thank you."
He shook his head. "You know you never need to thank me for this. I'll always come for you."
To his surprise, that last sentence caused her eyes to fill with tears, luminous behind her glasses. She was silent, and he wondered if she were feeling the same whirlwind of emotions that he was. There was only one way to find out. Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his face to hers, watching her reaction. She didn't move to meet him, but she didn't move away either. It was enough encouragement for Oliver.
He kissed her – gently at first, the barest whisper of a touch. Even with the light contact, he felt a jolt through his body, like an electric current coursing through his veins. Her hand came up, and for a moment Oliver was afraid she was going to push him away. But instead she clutched his hood, pulling him closer, making sure his face remained hidden from the security camera. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving more forcefully over hers until they were both breathless and he could feel Felicity trembling slightly.
Reluctantly, he broke contact. "This probably isn't a good idea," he said quietly. "I'm sure this is being caught on video somewhere."
Felicity smiled. "Actually, I'm guessing Dennis turned the security cameras off so there'd be no evidence of him threatening me. When we get back to the lair, though, I'll hack them just to make sure."
Her smile – the smile she saved only for him - was too much for Oliver. Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and kissed her again. He kissed her because she was beautiful and smart, and because he now knew he could. He could feel the electricity flowing between them, lighting up his nerve endings, making him feel more alive than he had in months. After a few, too short minutes, they broke apart.
"I'll call Lance about him," Oliver gestured to the unconscious Dennis. "Then we can head back to the lair and you can check the cameras."
"Okay."
Oliver pulled out his phone, but was startled by a short crackle in his ear before he made the call. He had forgotten all about Curtis on the coms. "I have a better idea," Curtis's voice said dryly. "Why don't I hack the security footage since I'm already in the lair? Call Lance and then - for the sake of my sanity - you two go find a room."
Donna Smoak was seething as she took the elevator to Felicity's loft. Her visit had been planned for a month and she'd texted her daughter multiple times over the past week with a reminder to pick her up at the airport. Each text had generated the same response: Got it, mom, I'll be there. People said it wasn't possible to pick up nuances in a text, but Donna was fairly sure there had been an element of sarcasm in Felicity's response. The girl had a habit of telling her mother that, between the two of them, she was the far more reliable Smoak. Got it mom was her way of saying I'm the responsible one, of course I'll be there.
So where the hell was she this morning? After getting up at an ungodly hour for the short flight from Vegas to Star City, Donna had expected to see Felicity waiting outside the baggage claim area, preferably wearing a smile and holding a large, caramel macchiato. Instead, her daughter had been nowhere in sight and Donna had watched her fellow passengers accept hugs from loved ones for nearly an hour while she repeatedly called and texted – and received absolutely no response. Eventually, she'd given up and taken a cab ride with an exorbitant fare into the city. She planned to give her daughter a piece of her mind when the two of them finally connected. The girl was unemployed and separated from a perfectly good boyfriend; she had plenty of time to pick up her mother.
Donna's anger lessened once she was actually standing outside the door to the loft. When no one answered the bell after a dozen rings, it occurred to her that there was a chance Felicity hadn't shown up at the airport because she was in some kind of trouble, not because she had forgotten. Her daughter had revealed a few months ago that she worked with the Green Arrow - a recipe for danger if ever there was one. Donna had been upset, to say the least. To know that her usually sensible daughter was putting herself at risk by helping a masked crusader was bound to add wrinkles to a mother's face and grey hairs to her head (although the hairdresser could help with that). Donna had even wondered whether the vigilante was a factor in Felicity's breakup with Oliver Queen. Felicity had insisted she and Oliver had separated over a lie, but Donna had a feeling it was more complicated than that. After all, what couple didn't occasionally fib to each other? Anyone could see that Oliver and Felicity were meant to be. It had to have been something significant to tear them apart, and the Green Arrow fit that bill.
She decided to enter the loft. If Felicity wasn't there, she'd call Oliver and tell him about her concerns. She punched the code into the security system and cautiously opened the door.
To her relief, everything looked perfectly normal on the first floor. There didn't seem to be anything out of place; no furniture turned over, no sign of a break-in. The sun beamed cheerfully through the windows and the loft was quiet, almost sleepy. Donna felt a little foolish for thinking the worst and decided to call Felicity one more time before trying Oliver. She tapped her daughter's name in her contacts list and was surprised to hear the muffled tone of a cell phone ringing somewhere inside the loft. Following the sound, she located the phone in Felicity's purse, lying at the bottom of the stairs to the second floor.
Donna frowned. It wasn't like Felicity to drop her purse just anywhere.
Far more disturbing, however, was the quiver of arrows lying next to it. The Green Arrow was here.
Her fears returned in a rush and Donna began to call Oliver…but then stopped. She needed to think this through carefully because there was a chance she could make things worse between him and her daughter. If the Green Arrow really did play a role in their separation, telling Oliver that Felicity was holed up with the vigilante now might kill any chance of them reconciling. She needed to be really certain that Felicity was in some kind of danger. Thus far, she'd seen a quiver of arrows; she hadn't seen the man himself. Knowing Felicity's love for technology, she might have brought the arrows home to add some kind of tracking device to them. There could be a perfectly logical explanation.
Donna slowly began climbing the stairs, holding her breath and listening carefully for voices. She heard nothing. About halfway up she was startled to see a few red drops splattered on one of the steps. It looked for all the world like blood, and she started to climb faster. Was this a sign that Felicity was hurt? Or was The Arrow hurt and Felicity had brought him home to nurse a wound? Donna reached the top of the stairs and raised her phone.
And then stopped.
The second floor hallway was littered with a trail of clothing. It began at the top of the stairs and continued all the way to Felicity's bedroom – with items scattered at regular intervals along the way. First, there was a pair of black, high-heeled pumps lying adjacent to a green, hooded jacket. A few yards farther, there was a red, sleeveless dress (Felicity always looked good in red), tangled up with a black, long-sleeved tee shirt and an eye-mask. Farther still, Donna came across a bra and pair of panties (Felicity's taste in lingerie had improved), and a pair of men's boots. She couldn't help noticing that the man's feet were not at all small.
Donna bit her lip angrily; she may not have earned a degree from MIT, but she had a pretty good idea of what this yard sale added up to. It added up to her daughter making a huge mistake with the Green Arrow. She kept going.
And nearly tripped over the green leather pants lying in the doorway to the bedroom. For a few seconds she believed The Arrow went commando before she spied a pair of black, boxer briefs lying at the foot of the bed. The boxer-briefs made sense because, really, what else could you wear under pants that tight and not have lines? The final kicker was when Donna discovered that what she'd assumed to be blood on the stairs was actually a few drops of a very nice pinot noir. The empty wine bottle and two glasses were on the bedside table.
The bed itself was empty – thankfully. As much as Donna was ready to chew out her daughter and The Arrow, finding them in flagrante delicto was something she preferred to avoid. She could hear the shower running energetically in the master bathroom and noticed the steam billowing out from under the door. That explained them not hearing the doorbell. They must have been in there quite a while, she thought, because condensation was beginning to form on the bedroom mirror.
Donna stood in the bedroom, bewildered and angry. It was her heart's desire that Felicity reunite with Oliver Queen. The two of them belonged together and she had always believed they would find their way back to each other. To find her daughter with another man – and the Green Arrow at that – was a huge disappointment. One thing was for certain; when she got her daughter alone, she was going to tell her the enormity of her mistake. But for the moment, there was nothing she could do and the smartest move seemed to be a hasty retreat before she was discovered.
Donna started to leave the bedroom, but was brought up short by sound she hadn't heard in a long time. It came from the bathroom, and it was Felicity giggling – a carefree, happy laugh that Donna hadn't heard in months.
She shook her head. Getting Felicity back with Oliver was going to be tougher than she'd thought.