The human resources manager gave the young woman sitting in front of her a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, Felicity, but they decided to give the position to Roger Harris. Don't worry, I'm sure it's just a question of time before another interesting position opens up for you."

"Thank you, Mrs Sherman."

Felicity stood up, giving the other woman a smile she hoped concealed her deep disappointment. It was the second time in 9 months she was supplanted by a man for a higher position. Not that she disputed their qualifications, she just felt she deserved the chance as much as they did. She had really thought this was her shot .

Queen Consolidated had been founded by Thea Queen about 60 years ago, and the company prided itself in maintaining equality between its male and female employees both for career opportunities and salaries.

But Thea had died two years ago, and her grandson Jonas was now the CEO. He had made it clear since the beginning that he would keep the legacy of his grandmother alive and well, and Felicity was pretty sure he meant it. It wasn't a very comforting thought when she was the one passed over for a promotion. But who knows? Maybe she didn't get it because a more exciting one was waiting for her in the wings. She preferred to see things that way. Petty thoughts against her management were human, but not exactly her style.

Felicity took her time going back to the 12th floor where the IT department was located. By the time she reached her cubicle, she noticed it was lunch time and everybody had left the office. Se went to the kitchen to get her sandwich before coming back to sit at her desk. She might as well get on with her work.

When her alarm went off the next morning, Felicity let out a deep sigh. For a minute she considered calling in sick, but her professional ethics were stronger than that. She wasn't going to let the disappointment over her lack of promotion dampen her usually good spirits. Still, she allowed herself a few more minutes by pushing the snooze button 2 more times.

The weather was in accordance with her mood - ominous grey skies and a light drizzle. Although it was already the end of April, spring was playing hard to get this year. So she put on one of her brighter pink dresses as a middle finger both to the forecast and her mood.

As soon as she arrived to work she called her friend Caitlin, she knew she could count on her to always lend a sympathetic ear. They had met years ago in Cambridge when Felicity was at MIT and Caitlin was a pediatric med student at Harvard. She was now an intern at Starling General.

"What about a girl's night on Saturday? Table Salt, then ditching the calories at Verdant. How does that sound?" Caitlin offered in her usual smooth voice, the one that made her very popular with her little patients.

Felicity sighed. "Since I didn't get the promotion I don't think I can afford Table Salt...so how about Big Belly Burger and Verdant?"

Caitlin chuckled softly. "It's a date.".

After a few more minutes of small talk Felicity hung up with a smile on her face. At least her weekend sounded promising now.

The silence in the office made Felicity raise her head from her computer.

The office was empty. Everybody had left.

Glancing at the clock on her computer, Felicity understood why. It was well past six in the evening and once again she had been so absorbed in her work she hadn't paid attention to the time. And none of her colleague had deemed necessary to let her know, apparently.

She stretched her aching neck before turning off her computer, grabbing her purse and coat, groaning as a sudden fatigue seeped through her bones and muscles. A hot bath was definitely in order.

As she was walking towards the elevator she ran into Henry Diggle, QC's head of security.

"You work too much, Felicity," he greeted her with a teasing smile.

"Look who's talking. You're still here too," she replied with an affectionate look.

Henry had been one of the first people she'd met when she started at the company 3 years ago. He had been so kind and welcoming, making sure she got everything she needed and knew her way around during her first few weeks. He was a handsome man in his forties, married with two kids.

"Did you hear the news?" He asked as she pressed the button to call the elevator.

"What?"

"Oliver Queen is dead."

There was a brief moment of confusion because she placed the name. "Oh! Thea Queen's brother, right? He was still alive? How old was he?"

"At least 97 or 98."

"Wow. Did you know him?"

"I met him a few times. He was rather reclusive, especially these last few years. He's the one who got me this job twelve years ago, actually. My grandfather and him were close friends."

Felicity nodded. She couldn't say that the news particularly affected her, since she had never met Oliver Queen, had barely even heard of him.

"I'm on my way to see Mr Harper," Henry told her. "They're doing a small commemoration tomorrow at lunch time. I'll see you there?"

"Sure! Have a good evening, Henry."

When she arrived home she shed her clothes and deciding a bath would take too long, stayed a good ten minutes under the hot spray of the shower, letting the warm water wash off the weariness in her bones.

She wasn't in the mood to cook anything, so she just heated some pizza and settled on her couch in front of the TV with her plate and a glass of wine. Since nothing really held her attention she grabbed her tablet, curious to see if she could find anything interesting about Oliver Queen.

As it turned out, there wasn't much.

She tried Google first but only came up with a few old photos. She couldn't help the little whistle that passed her lips. The man had been gorgeous. There was a picture of him and Thea at a formal event in the fifties wearing a tuxedo, a smile on his handsome face. His strong jaw was covered in a light stubble and his eyes were clear, but since the picture was in black and white she couldn't tell their color.

She wondered why he looked sad.

There was another picture of him leaning against an old car, wearing jeans with his muscular arms crossed over his chest covered in a white t-shirt. Felicity smiled, picturing those old movies with James Dean.

Oliver Queen definitely was movie star material.

Instead, it looked like he had not done much with his life. He had been a war photographer during WW2 and had been discharged a few weeks after D-Day for a serious knee wound.

There was a mention of him working at his sister's company for a few years in the mid-fifties, but no explanation of what he was doing exactly. Then it seemed like he had lived mostly like a recluse in Starling City, and had died peacefully in his sleep a few days ago.

She finished her glass of wine, wondering why she got so melancholic all of a sudden.

He seemed to have lived a sad and lonely life. How come he had never married? The Queens had been a good, wealthy family. He was moving in circles where he should have met lots of single women.

Unless something had been very wrong with him and he had some hidden, unmentionable flaws. But then his sister would probably not have let him work at Queen Consolidated, right?

She was surprised by a yawn and noticed the time. She had wasted almost an hour and a half researching a guy who was old enough to be her great- grandfather - worse, who was dead.

She turned off her tablet and the TV, put her plate and glass back in the sink and went to bed.

When she stepped into the elevator the next morning, she found none other than her CEO, Jonas Harper.

"Good morning, Miss Smoak," he greeted her with a smile.

He didn't know all of his employees by their name, but she had helped him a few times with computer issues and they were on rather amicable terms. Not to mention how attractive he was, although that was rather forbidden territory. Inter office relationships were frowned upon, so an IT girl dating the CEO would be a big no-no.

"Sorry about the missed promotion." he said, surprising her. She didn't even know he knew about it. "I know there's an interesting spot in Applied Sciences that will be available soon and would be perfect for you. It's not open yet, but it's a matter of days...keep an eye on it."

"I will. Thank you for the heads up."

"And we never had this conversation, of course."

She smiled and blushed. She didn't want to read too much in his words, and showing any kind of favoritism towards her could lead to some problematic situations, and Felicity generally avoided office gossip like the plague, so being involved in one of them would be a real nightmare.

She eyed him discreetly, both because he was extremely pleasant to look at, and because it struck her how much he bore a striking resemblance to his great uncle.

Which reminded her…

"Oh, Mr Diggle told me the news. I'm sorry for your loss."

He smiled softly. "Thank you. I didn't see him much over the last year, he was mostly keeping to himself, especially since my grandmother died...He lived like a recluse," Jonas said, echoing Henry's words from the night before.

"He must have had a lonely life," Felicity said, even though she didn't want to pry. . She couldn't exactly tell him that she had figured that out by the extensive research she had done online the night before.

Jonas leaned against the rail. "My grandmother told me once that there had been a woman but for some reason it didn't last. One day she was there, the next moment she was gone. Apparently he never got over it."

Something tugged at Felicity's heart upon hearing these words. Oliver Queen's life seemed even more sad than she had thought.

The ping of the elevator alerted her that she had arrived at her floor.

"I'll see you at the commemoration. Good day, Mr Harper."

He gave her a warm smile. "You too, Felicity."

She walked to her cubicle, lost in thought, wondering why, since yesterday, the death and apparent lonesome life of a complete stranger could put such a damper on her spirits.

Felicity was about to take her lunch break (after a little detour via the commemoration) when her phone rang. The little blinking light on the left indicated it was an external call and she frowned. Most of the calls she received came from within the company, except for Caitlin. And she didn't recognize the number as one belonging to her friend.

"Felicity Smoak."

"Good morning, Miss Smoak. I'm calling you on behalf of the Steele & Palmer Attorneys office. Mr Steele would like to set up an appointment with you at your earliest convenience."

Se raised her eyebrow. An Attorney's office?

"Yes...What is this about ?"

"An inheritance, Miss. I can't say more over the phone, I'm sorry."

Before she could utter another 'what' and sound really rude, or stupid, she cleared her throat.

"I...yes, ok. Is he available tomorrow afternoon?"

They settled on a time and Felicity calculated she would have to leave work a bit earlier to be on time, but she was too curious to have it rescheduled at a further date.

She stared pensively at her phone before her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her initial plans. An inheritance ? She giggled and let herself daydream about the inheritance could be. Maybe she had a long lost great uncle who had left her a few million dollars. Not that it was going to happen, but if it did, she would leave QC and start her own business. But with her luck, it was probably some decrepit piece of furniture or a stamp collection she would have no use for.

Felicity put her hand on her leg for the umpteenth time to stop the nervous jitter. She was sitting in Mr Steele's waiting room, and there wasn't even a decent gossip magazine to pass the time.

Since the call the day before, she had been digging her brain to try and figure out who on earth had left her an inheritance. Both her parents were dead. They were both only children, so no aunt, uncle or cousin. Unless they were far removed, but then she had no idea who they were, how they would know of her existence and most of all why she would have been put on their will.

This was a true mystery, and she couldn't wait to find out.

The door to Mr Steele's office opened, signaling the end of her wait. After introducing himself, the attorney offered her a comfortable chair as well as some refreshments. He was a man in his early fifties, rather handsome, with a charming british accent.

He sat behind his big mahogany desk, opened an envelope and pulled out some documents.

"You must be wondering why you're here," he started with a kind smile. "Since you work at Queen Consolidated, you must be aware that Oliver Queen passed away a few days ago."

She narrowed her eyes. "I am, yes. But I never met him."

"Nevertheless, Oliver Queen has included you in his will."

She blinked. What? "I'm sorry...what?"

"He has left you his house."

"His house? But...I don't…" She chuckled incredulously. "This makes no sense. As I said, I've never met Oliver Queen, not even once."

Walter Steele made a helpless gesture . "I'm afraid I'm not privy to the reasons of this legacy. There is an envelope addressed to you which might explain his motive," he informed her, showing her an envelope with her name elegantly written on it. "The house is on the borders of the Glades, on the corner of Arrow Street and 6th Avenue."

Felicity winced at the location. Not exactly the finest neighborhood in Starling City.

"It's in good condition, both outside and inside. It hasn't been occupied for a little more than two years though, when Mr Queen had to be moved to a retirement home."

He went on to explain a few more legalities and in the end handed her the envelope.

"Here is a copy of the documents, as well as the keys. I suggest you go visit the house. If you wish to keep it, call my assistant to make another appointment to sign all the legal documents. If you don't, the house will go back to the heirs."

"Does the Queen family, or the Harpers know about it?"

"No. Mr Queen insisted on it being anonymous. They were told it was given away for charity."

Felicity felt a bit better at that. She couldn't imagine crossing paths with Jonas Harper at Queen Consolidated and having to explain why his great uncle had left her his house. Especially since it was still a puzzling thought to her as well.

She took the envelope and left the office in a bit of a daze. She walked back to her car with a million questions wandering her brain. The biggest one, of course, being...why?

She sat in her car and dropped her key in her lap. She opened the envelope, hoping for at least a semblance of an explanation. She took the documents out, finding a smaller envelope with her name on it.

If she had expected a long letter, she was disappointed. Instead, it was just a single sentence.

Please come back.

O.

A rush of air escaped her throat and she gasped. A shiver ran down her spine as a strong feeling of deja vu struck her. Unfortunately, it went as fast as it came and she was just left with a frustrating, empty void.

First she needed to go home, take a nice hot shower, and then try to make sense of what was happening. Her hands shook and it took her two attempts to put the key in the ignition, so she leaned back against her seat and took a deep breath. Only when she felt a bit calmer did she start the car and pulled away.

It was too late to go see the house now, especially in such an unsavory part of town. But she would go tomorrow. Hopefully she would find some answers there.

The dark grey sky looked rather ominous, and really didn't help to make the neighborhood look welcoming, quite the contrary. It must have been a nice residential area a few years ago, but now it was just a bunch of decrepit buildings and vacant lots, barely protected by fences.

Definitely not the kind of place you would want to hang out for longer than strictly necessary, so Felicity wondered why she was still sitting in her car in front of Oliver Queen's house - the reason she was here in the first place. She couldn't call it her house yet, and it wasn't anyway, not as long as she hadn't signed the legal documents. And her first impression tended to make her think that would never happen.

Especially since the 'house' was actually a freakin' Victorian mansion, with a small tower, and everything. The faded red color of the facade must have been a deep burgundy at some point, and there was a porch surrounding half the house. The garden in front of it had been clearly abandoned for years. Walter Steele had been a bit optimistic when saying it was in good condition. While it didn't look like it was going to fall apart any minute, it still gave a creepy haunted house impression.

She should just pull away and go home and forget about all this nonsense.

And yet she didn't. She got out of her car, opened the little gate surrounding the garden and walked to the porch. A broken swing was hanging on by only one chain, and the view filled her with a painful nostalgia. But she had never been here before, so how come she was overwhelmed with all those familiar feelings?

She walked unhurriedly, trying to sort out and make sense of the emotions. She put the key in the lock and opened the front door.

A musty smell invaded her nostrils as she walked into the foyer, closing the door slowly behind her. She locked it just in case.

She was in the main hall, facing a staircase. On her left was the doorway to a big living room, where the sparse furniture was covered by sheets.

She looked up towards the staircase, noticing the lighter square shapes in the wall betraying the former presence of frames or pictures.

"It beats photographing dead bodies."

Instead of freaking her out, the male voice in her head soothed her. There was a sudden and clear certainty invading her heart and mind.

I've been here before. I belong here.

She just knew it, same as she was sure the color of the couch covered by a yellowish sheet used to be a deep forest green. With a trembling hand, she raised the sheet and let out a shaky exhale upon seeing the faded green color.

How did she know this? How did she know that the door on the other side of the hall led to the kitchen? She walked towards it, and a half-incredulous, half-frightened laugh passed her lips when she opened the door. It was indeed a huge, beautiful kitchen with an island and a mantel under which a big, antiquated stove stood.

The calm she had felt a few minutes ago disappeared, replaced with a growing feverishness.

Her heart hammering in her chest, she slowly started to climb the stairs leading to the first floor. That's where the bedroom and bathroom were. But that's a logical thing to know, right? It was the usual layout of a house. Nothing surprising there.

The upstairs floor was as dark and gloomy as the ground floor. A half-open door gave her a glimpse into the master bedroom with its double bed, covered by a sheet, as was the rest of the furniture. Felicity stayed in the threshold, a hand on her stomach.

"This was the best 4th of July in a very, very long time."

She let out a squeak and turned around, as if someone was whispering in her ear with a husky, seductive voice. She stumbled back, overwhelmed by memories, except there was no image in her head. More of a myriad of sensations, a warm feeling at the pit of her stomach, a comforting familiarity.

Happiness. Love. Anguish. Loss.

The tears surprised her, as well as the acute pain piercing her heart. She closed her eyes for a minute, waiting for it to pass. Her every instinct told her to leave, but a stronger feeling made her stay.

There was a reason she was here. And she had to find out.

Continuing her exploration, she climbed another set of stairs, the one leading to the attic. There were actually two rooms and Felicity assumed this must have been the chambermaid's room at the beginning of the century. But now one was empty; so she walked into the other one.

The oddest thing in the room was a big mirror resting against the wall. It was not covered like the rest of the furniture. It had a white, intricated frame, and intact, even if the mirror was a bit dusty.

"This thing is killing you, Felicity!"

There was the voice again. And her name. And that tone...full of anger and despair. She shivered, assaulted again by these pictureless memories, of a less pleasant nature this time.

Against the wall under the skylight window she noticed two trunks. Curiosity got the best of her, and she kneeled in front of the first one. With a slightly trembling hand, she lifted the lid. A few boxes and envelopes were piled, each of them labeled with names she remembered from some of her history classes when they were studying the second World War.

Pearl Harbor. Bastogne. Le Havre. Omaha Beach. And a few other she had never heard of.

She took the Pearl Harbor one and opened it, finding a stack of pictures in it. There was some group photos, of young smiling men posing together on the beach, or next to a plane, or inside what seemed to be a military mess. There were a few pictures of women, some of them nurses, other secretaries or military employees.

One of the photographs featured 5 young soldiers and she recognized Oliver Queen amongst them. Turning the photo around, she read, "John, Roy, Adrian, Quentin. December 2, 1941."

Just a few days before the attack then. With a knot in her stomach, she wondered how many of them, besides Oliver, had survived.

A few of the pictures had been taken after the attack, and some of them were seriously gruesome, so she put them back.

Another envelope was labeled Omaha Beach, June 6 1944, but she wasn't sure she wanted to see that right now, so she closed the lid. It was a shame though that these pictures were forgotten in this trunk and not out there for people to see. It was a testament of history, and as far as she knew, Oliver had never published anything, although the magazine he was working for back then might have done it. She made a mental note to do some more digging online about it.

She crouched and opened the second trunk, expecting to find pictures of the same kind but smiled when she saw the labels. These were obviously of more mundane events as well as family photos.

Queen Metropolitan Gala, 1946. Thea's birthday, 1951. 4th of July, 1948.

She picked up that one and let out a little sigh. It was Oliver with one of the guys from the Pearl Harbor picture, meaning at least one of them had survived. The back of the photo read 'John, Oliver, July 4 1948'

The next one was the same guy - John - with a pretty brunette nestled against his broad chest. Felicity couldn't blame her. John seemed like a pretty good hugger. The back of the photo identified her as Lyla.

She skimmed through the rest of the pictures of what seemed to be a barbeque amongst friends, 1940's style. Felicity was happy to see Oliver hadn't lived exclusively as a hermit after the war, he'd had friends and did ordinary activities with people who obviously meant the world to him. She browsed through the rest of the pictures before one grabbed her attention.

Woah. Wait...What?

"That's impossible," she muttered as she squinted at the photo.

Oliver Queen was in the photo she held along with a woman. And that woman was her.

She stiffened, her breath hitching in her throat. Her heart started galloping in her chest, and even though she knew the gesture was ridiculous, she rubbed her eyes. Because this photo could not exist.

She...no, not she, the woman who looked like her exact clone….was smiling brightly at the camera, dressed in a romper in a red vichy print. Oliver had his arm around her shoulders and was looking at her with such a loving, intimate look that she almost felt like a a trembling hand, she turned the picture around.

Felicity, Oliver. July 4 1948.

Her legs wobbled and she sat on the wooden floor, not caring about the transfer of dust onto her clothes.

There had to be an explanation , right? This couldn't be either of her grandmothers, because she had seen pictures of them when they were younger and even if there was definitely a family resemblance, they were not an exact carbon copy of herself. And none of them had sisters, so it could not be a great aunt either. So the only - totally illogical, crazy - explanation was Oliver Queen had known a woman named Felicity 70 years ago who happened to look exactly like her. Which is why he had left her the house, in memory of that woman.

Except that scenario had more plotholes than some of the worst TV shows she had seen. It made absolutely no sense.

She put the pictures back in the trunk. What the frak was going on here ? She put her head in her hands, closing her eyes and trying to put some order to her thoughts.

That's when she heard it. The music. A very old tune she had heard it in a movie once, it was a Billie Holliday song.

She grabbed her bag, searching for the pepper spray she kept inside. She was positive she had locked the front door, and she doubted that a potential thug would break in and casually listen to that kind of music. Also, the living room downstairs was devoid of most of its furniture except for the couch and a table, and she had not noticed any old record player, or whatever it was called back then. A gramophone?

She looked at the skylight window. It must be coming from outside. But where ? She tilted her head, listening carefully.

The music was coming from the mirror.

She stood up and grabbed her bag, feeling scared for the first time since entering the house. She was going to go home, take a nice hot bath with a big glass of wine and forget all about this weird house and the disturbing feelings it evoked in her and her possibly having a clone in the 1940's. Tomorrow she would send back the papers to the lawyer with a 'No, thank you,' note. She really did not need this crap in her life right now.

But an impulse made her walk towards the mirror, wanting to make sure she was not mistaken.

Which she hoped she was. Maybe the music was in her head too, like the voice. Even if it made her look deranged, anything was preferable to the almost paranormal vibe she'd gotten since she walked into the house.

She leaned slightly toward it, putting her hand on the surface.

Then everything went black.

She regained consciousness with a groan, bringing a hand to her pounding head. What had happened? Had someone struck her from behind ?

"Ow," She moaned as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Her vision was a little blurry, but she noticed quickly her handbag was missing. Had the music been a distraction to rob her, leaving her with a nice headache in the process? She had been stupidly ambushed.

With a sigh she got back on her feet, fighting a bout of nausea. She touched the back of her neck but felt no bulge or pain.

Weird.

Then she noticed her surroundings. The mirror was still there. But the trunks were gone. Instead there was a few things she was pretty sure had not been there a few minutes ago. An old bird cage. Two chairs without upholstery. An empty bin. And many boxes, all with various photographic material like tripods, films and cameras, although old fashioned ones.

Also, there was no skylight window.

The freaking skylight window had vanished.

She let out a laugh which turned into a sob. Why, why was this happening to her? Was it an elaborate prank? Who would do something like this?

"What are you doing here?"

She let out a little shriek at the sudden appearance of a man at the threshold. A tall, well built man, wearing black slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up his muscular arms. Watching her with a scowl on his face.

The first thing that registered with her, though, was that man...was Oliver Queen. He didn't look one day over 30. And he was looking at her with a scowl on his face.

"Wait, you're not supposed to be here? How…What..." she stuttered, still fighting dizziness.

"I'm not supposed to be here? Young lady, this is my house. You, on the other hand, are trespassing." The tone was not pleasant, bordering on threatening. But that voice...that exact same voice that had been whispering in her head only a few minutes ago.

"No, no, no, this is impossible. You're supposed to be old, and...dead!"

This was turning into a nightmare. Surely she was dreaming, right? She was actually still passed out on the floor and was having the weirdest dream of her entire life. Frantically she pinched her arm, but nothing happened.

Oliver Queen still stood there. Even more so, he seemed to quickly lose patience.

"Alright, you and me are going to have a little chat with the police."

Panic rose in her throat. "No, wait! What...I don't…"She looked around, assessing the completely different state of the attic, the lack of window, the very not dead and young Oliver Queen and the clothes he was wearing. "What year is this?" she whispered, a horrible, sinking feeling invading her chest, making her stomach churn.

Exasperation crossed his face. "1948. I don't see how…"

Frak.

That was her last coherent thought before she bent over the empty bin and threw up.