Title: Verbose
Word Count: 1688

Notes: Guys, I've officially lost it. Not only am I writing speculation fic for the season finale, I also woke up at three this morning thinking about this. I claim too much Phantom of the Opera, and, well finals week sleep deprivation.

Clearly I have a problem that is Olicity related, but I think I'll have the cure by about seven tonight. ;) This fic was written in about an hour, so it's quick, dirty, and unedited. I needed to get it up before the finale tonight, though, just to say I did. :) Oh, and I don't know if this Sun Tzu quote is correct because I got it from another source. Either way, it fit and apparently I dream about Slade and The Art of War. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Reviews are always appreciated, even if just to tell me how horrible this is. Thanks for reading! :)

Felicity watches from her position as Oliver makes his way into the condemned factory building, in full Arrow gear. For not the first time, she thinks of what a presence he brings when he enters the room as the Arrow. The Vigilante has become the symbol of justice and hope in Starling City, and Felicity finds it to be true today as she sees him appear. Of course, that has mostly to do with the sword pressed against her neck, with the fact that she is trapped on all sides by the brute strength that is Slade Wilson. In the low light, she can only see his jawline, but she knows that set of his mouth and she can tell he's absolutely furious.

"Let. Her. Go," is Oliver's instant demand, his voice even more frightening now without the voice modulator, as it dips an octave below even dark, avenging Arrow tones. It seems he doesn't see that Laurel is being held by another guard in a similar position, or that she's not the only one in danger. Oliver's eyes are focused on hers, not Slade's, and she knows what he's silently trying to ask her but she can't answer him with a single glance.

She jams her stiletto heel into Slade's foot by accident, which causes him to let out a startled breath in surprise. While it probably doesn't hurt him, he doesn't expect the gesture, which shuts him up before he can spout the usual psycho-babble. "Hey, Oliver," she says casually, waving her right hand in greeting, which results in the blade pressing deeper into her throat.

She frowns, though she can't quite shoot the glance at Slade due to the position they're in. "Seriously?" she asks her captor. "You're going to put that blade in my neck for that? I'm not a fighter—and besides, what's the point? You're, like, eleventy billion times stronger than me, anyway. I'm the brains, not the brawn." She waves her hands again, this time with less reaction. "I talk with my hands, but that doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to go up against you. You don't have to read The Art of War to figure that out." She watches Oliver carefully for any flicker of recognition, and he frowns because apparently the message is too vague. And here she thought every guy ever to fight read that.

The psychopath with the swords ignores her as he says to Oliver, "One more choice has to be made, Oliver. One more person has to die, so you get to choose—which one do you love more?" It's a ridiculous question, and Felicity can see the anguish in Oliver's eyes as he's faced with the impossible decision again. His eyes dart between the two women, and she can only imagine that this is how he must have felt when he saw his mother and sister on their knees in front of him.

"Oliver," she calls, and his eyes focus on her, again asking the silent question, "it's okay." She's trying to be discreet, but she's too vague. He thinks she means she's going to sacrifice herself, and she can see the impossibility of that in his eyes. He doesn't want anyone to die tonight, and Felicity thinks, well, that's pretty fair. He objects, but she cuts him off, thinking of a way to phrase things so that he can understand. "I know two things, Oliver," she repeats for the second time that night, and this time she gets a reaction. "The second one is always important—because it's true—but right now, the first one is the most important right now." This time recognition flickers again, and she flashes the item in her right hand again. There's an almost imperceptible nod in response. Felicity carefully gives him directions with her left hand, and Oliver's expression is confused. Do it, she signs left handed after a moment, and she turns her mouth down into an irritated frown. Reluctantly this time, he dares to nod slightly.

The blade presses into her neck again. "No codes," Slade snaps at her, that raspy voice making him more intimidating. For a moment she thinks he's seen her hands, but then he continues, "What did you tell him? Tell me now. I want to know what you said."

"That I believe in him," she forces out quickly. "That's all I was saying—well, that and something else I don't think is any of your business." She tries to say it shyly, as if she made some sort of confession to Oliver hours earlier. "That's all, I swear."

Slade chuckles, surprisingly. "Of course you do," he replies ironically, snidely. "They always do, but they always die for it. Shado died because she put her faith in this man, and he betrayed her for another. You're no different."

"You're wrong," she snaps at him, watching Oliver all the while. "I don't have faith in him—that's the wrong word. Faith is hope—believing in something with no proof or conviction whatsoever. Faith is like jumping off a building and hoping one of those big stunt mattress used in movies is there to catch you at the bottom." She directs her attention elsewhere. "Oliver, I take that back—I don't believe in you. I trust you. I know you'll be there for me." She takes a moment as she's speaking to sign On three, to him in rudimentary sign language, and another slight nod lets her know he understands.

She musters a deep breath and prepares for the risky move she's about to perform, making sure to wave her hands about while speaking. "You know, Slade, there's probably something you should have realized before you picked to capture me." She doesn't wait for him to ask before continuing. "First of all, while I'm not strong enough to fight you, I'm a hacker. I fight with my brain. And I think and I plan." She focuses her attention on Oliver. "And how could you possibly have gone your entire life—two years of fighting as the Vigilante—without reading The Art of War? Seriously, it's the first book I picked up after we saved Walter and I officially joined your crusade."

She speaks to Slade now. "It's a really good book, actually. It's the basis for most of my planning now, too. And, as Oliver can attest, I'm actually pretty good at preparing plans." She takes a moment as she's speaking to sign, On three, to him in rudimentary sign language with her left hand, and another slight nod lets her know he understands. "But there are a lot of good lines in it that help me think like the tactician I have to be sometimes." She takes a deep breath, dropping a finger of her left fist with each emphasized word. "But I think my favorite line is probably, 'If your enemy is far, let him think that you are near.'"

On the last word, she takes the small syringe from her palm and shoves it into the inside of Slade's thigh, and, by the time he realizes what she's done, it's far too late. With the coordination of an ARGUS operation, Oliver, at the same time, puts an arrow laced with snake venom through the Mirakuru soldier guarding Laurel, and he drops immediately.

Slade, however, isn't so lucky. He releases Felicity as soon as the injection completes, and he struggles against the support beam to stay upright. "What have you done to me?" he asks Felicity. The words are sluggish and slurred, as if speaking takes more energy than he has.

Felicity smiles at him—a little vindictively, but, hey, he did just threaten to kill her—crossing her arms as she watches him try to keep his balance. "Well, that injection is made of two substances—one in a larger portion than the other. The one you're fighting against right now is probably the Tibetan pit viper venom." She shrugs. "We didn't have enough to your buddy over there and you, so you got the smaller dose. Which is really quite fortunate because it's not enough to kill you now." She sees Oliver making his way toward her, now that he's ensured that Laurel is all right. "And, though it won't kill your buddy, that's because he didn't receive that special second half we added just for you. What you're now feeling in your veins is the Mirakuru cure, courtesy of friends at STAR Labs." He collapses then, and only then, as he realizes he's lost the battle he's been planning for five years.

Forgetting their mostly unconscious psychopath, Oliver gently reaches toward Felicity, hand cupping one side of her face, his arm completely outstretched so that the gesture isn't really intimate. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, frowning as his eyes flit across her exposed skin for injuries.

Felicity puts her hand over his. "Fine," she assures him. "A little traumatized, maybe, from having a sword at my neck all night, but I think I'll get over it." She frowns. "I think I've probably earned a hug, though, for taking down the guy trying to ruin your life."

He doesn't hesitate to gather her up in his arms. "Thank you," he says softly, and she knows he means it. They just stand there like that for a moment, as it sets in for both of them that her death was a very real possibility tonight. There's always a very real possibility that one of them won't come back, of course, but it's never like this. The moment passes soon enough, and it ends as he puts his hand on her shoulder, in that touch she's come to know quite well. There's something new in his eyes this time, though—something that Felicity isn't quite ready to deal with, in light of recent events.

So she does what she does best: she ruins the mood. "The big, bad monster in the Arrow's closet just met defeat at the hands of a little blonde girl who doesn't know when to shut up. You're never going to live this one down, Oliver."