Part: 3 - Truth Will Set You Free
Word Count: 8452
Notes: This chapter has been… complicated to write, but I think it ended okay. The first ending was kind of rough, but I think I fixed it. Either way, it brings this story to a close—but not this universe. I'll be back to it soon enough, but right now, I'm trying to work through another plot bunny that attacked me last night, of all times. I have a quiz or test every day of the week for the foreseeable future, but hey, plot bunny. ;) Gotta love it.
Anyhow, thank you for reading along with the insanity. I hope you enjoy! :)
Growling obscenities at the damn woodpecker that has been driving her crazy for the past week, Felicity rises from her bed to scare it off so that she can actually sleep. However, when she finally stumbles to her window to squint at its normal perch on the tree, no red-headed woodpecker sits there. Which would be totally fine, if the tapping didn't persist.
It takes her a moment through a sleep-filled fog to realize the sound is too faint to be coming from her window, and finally it dawns on her that it's someone knocking on her front door. Scurrying to catch him before he leaves—because Felicity knows it's Oliver—she rushes down the hall to the door, stopping only to grab her phone and slip it into the pocket of her pajama pants. She stumbles a few times on the stairs, catching her toes and potentially cracking her nail polish. Damn it, she should have put on her glasses before attempting anything as irksome as this. Too bad the whole vampire thing didn't correct her nearsightedness. She wishes it would have fixed her present problems, instead of the lame night vision thing.
If she needed that, she could get a pair of those goggles.
Finally she manages to scramble to the door, unlocking it just as her cell phone starts ringing, the singer going on about a beautiful disaster and wanting to hold on through the tears and the laughter. Felicity's cheeks burn because she knows he can probably hear the ringtone, and she lunges for the door.
She opens the door to find Oliver with his phone to his ear, his mouth slowly turning up at the corners as his eyes drink her in with a level of observance that no one would attribute to him. Felicity smiles back until she realizes he's probably quietly laughing at her appearance. Today was not the day to wear her Cheshire Cat pajamas, the shirt proclaiming, "We're all mad here," with the Cat himself sitting in the tree above. And she honestly doesn't want to think about what her hair looks like right now.
Ending the obviously useless call, Oliver greets her with a simple, "Hey." That smile makes her aware of three things, the first two being that he's unfairly attractive and that he should probably be smiling at a model—or even Laurel—like that. The second is that her fangs are partially elongated and she's going to need blood before she can form a coherent thought.
"Kitchen now," she declares, skipping all formality, "then business." He chuckles at her, but doesn't argue; they've done this enough now that he understands she's not a morning person. (Or a day person, really—she wasn't kidding about direct sunlight melting off her skin.) He's even caught her on the days when he hasn't awoken her from a sound sleep, and Felicity knows she's been a little snippy with him, even then.
It still stuns her a little that she's been so involved in their little crusade for a few weeks. After the setup of the computer system, he had her manufacture a few bugs that she delivered during his I'm-going-to-jail party because he was on house arrest. Then both he and Diggle had come by to find the Royal Flush Gang, followed by two incidents that had involved the mention of a woman named Helena (which always caused Diggle to roll his eyes).
Once she reaches the refrigerator, Felicity pulls out the silver thermos full of blood (the bags are in one of the drawers, but this way means fewer questions). Then she grabs a mug out of her cabinet, filling it. After taking a long, healthy drink, her fangs start to retract almost immediately. "What can I do for you, Oliver?" she asks as she turns back around, only to find he isn't there.
Eyebrows narrowing together in confusion, she follows the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs. Suspicious now, Felicity meets him at the bottom of the stairs with something under his arm, but it's too far away for him to see. "What are you doing?" She frowns. "Not that I don't like you or anything, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't snoop around my house. I would have thought I didn't have to tell you that."
With his free hand, he ushers her back to the island in her kitchen. "I wasn't snooping," the snoop answers, but he doesn't offer any further explanation for his actions. Instead, he drops a black rod on her bar as he stands next to her. (He's both too close for comfort and too far away at the same time, which creates quite a paradox for her blood-deprived brain.) She squints at it for a moment to try and determine what the hell it is, but then Oliver pulls something away from the pocket on his plaid shirt, offering it to her. It takes Felicity a moment to realize they're her glasses, and she melts a little on the inside. "I need you to tell me what you can about that, please."
Felicity doesn't understand why he's dropping as few words as possible; that makes her uncomfortable because she doesn't know what's going on in his head. Not to mention, he seems to be studying her—and her mug—a little too intently for her comfort. When she situates her glasses on her face, she's no less mystified. "It's an arrow," she answers blankly, "and it's black." She blinks at him owlishly for a moment. "Archery is your thing, not mine—you probably know more about this than I do." A thought comes back to her. "This is the copycat archer's arrow, isn't it?"
The sound of his breathy laugh is absolutely lovely, and the thought makes Felicity wonder when she started sounding like a lovestruck fool. (Not that she's in love with him, of course; it's just an expression.) Suddenly a laptop slides across the bar in front of her, and it takes her a moment to recognize the skin on the lid, of Flynn Rider standing next to a tree covered with all of his wanted posters. "It is," Oliver affirms. "I was hoping you could tell me where they were made. It's the only way I have to track him."
She drops down onto one of the barstools, powering up her laptop before picking up the arrow. "It looks like the composite in the shaft is patented." Tilting to look up at the man standing beside her, Felicity thinks of another important question. "My friend Barry is kind of obsessed with studying the Vigilante, and he says you use a carbon shaft." After Oliver confirms the fact with a nod and a slight lift of his mouth, she continues, "He also says that, if you used an aluminum-carbon composite, you'd penetrate better."
By the time she realizes that could be construed as an innuendo, it's already out of her mouth and there's nothing Felicity can do to stop it. At first, Oliver didn't seem to mind her somewhat inappropriate babbling, but now he has a tendency to shift uncomfortably and promptly change the subject whenever her words come out completely wrong. It usually makes things awkward between them for a few minutes, and with no Diggle there to smooth things over, she's not looking forward to the rest of his visit.
So, of course, it completely throws her when he replies in a flat tone, "I've never had any problem penetrating before, Felicity."
Felicity can't help it; she actually has to look at him after that line. His expression is either stoic or he has the world's best poker face, meeting her eyes with an innocence she'd believe if not for the slight twinkle in his eyes. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was flirting with her, but Oliver doesn't flirt. And, if he did, it would be a waste of time and effort to do so with her. The blonde is eternally unavailable to humans, and she doesn't hold out much hope for vampires, either. Trying to find the right guy was hard enough when she was human and didn't have to search within a limited number of undead prospects.
That, and her last boyfriend left her like this. Once bitten, twice shy and all that.
She opens her mouth to ask just as her computer starts up, and Felicity takes it as a sign to keep her mouth shut, just this once. After bringing up the patent database and typing it in, she's able to tell him, "It looks like it's registered to a company called Sagittarius." She has no idea why she's telling Oliver this; he's leaning over her shoulder again, his breath fanning against her cheek. The blonde vampire has not had enough blood for this, and she wonders if he just likes inviting danger into his life. Again her fangs start to descend, and she clamps down on her jaw to prevent them from going too far. While the teeth might be first, the hunger is second and that's what she's trying to avoid.
"Like the astrology sign?" Oliver asks, confused by the name and oblivious to her dilemma. One of these days, Felicity is going to stop being astonished by the random knowledge that comes out of his mouth. How the hell Oliver Queen—billionaire, vigilante, and former castaway—knows that is beyond her.
Trying to fight her smile, Felicity answers, "Exactly like. Technically, it's Latin for 'the archer.'" She pulls up a new window to search for more on the company, and finally, she's able to write down a location on a pink sticky note with the pad and pen sitting on the counter. Without looking back, she slaps the address against his chest. "That should be your location." She reaches for her mug, deciding that she needs more blood before his close proximity awakens the monster. The last time that happened, it wasn't pretty, and she does not want a repeat with a close friend.
She places the mug back on the counter as she rises, expecting to show Oliver out and try to sleep between intervals of annoying woodpeckers. Instead, he surprises her by leaning in to press his lips to her temple. Honestly, Felicity keeps forgetting this became a thing with them because it's so surreal. The first time, it was probably part of an act because it was in front of Laurel, but he just keeps doing it. "You're remarkable, Felicity," he says, his tone colored by a tone she doesn't know how to read (yet; she's getting better with Oliver's tones).
Confused by the sudden change in his voice, she answers, "Well, thank you for remarking on it, Oliver." She already feels like an idiot afterward, but something is going on here that Felicity can't see yet. And, like kangaroos and VIKI, she absolutely hates mysteries.
Oliver takes a few steps toward the door before turning back around to face her with a knowing look that scares the hell out of her. "I don't know where you get your supply," he starts slowly, "but I draw blood for transfusions every week—just in case anything happens. If you ever run out, it's in the bottom drawer of the toolbox at base."
By the time the weight of realization drops into her stomach, he's already turned back to the front door as though this is the most natural conversation in the world. "You know," she breathes in a small voice. Felicity can't leave this hanging between them. "Wait," she calls out, louder, and it pulls Oliver's attention back to her. "How do you know? Are you telling me you figured this out?"
"You figured out that I'm the Vigilante," he reminds her.
Felicity dismisses it by waving a hand. "Yeah, but that was a plausible, rational conclusion," she points out. "And I have some abilities that you don't. This is not a plausible, rational conclusion, Oliver." Then it dawns on her that all of the touches before—even the kiss to her temple—occurred after he knew. He knew, but he let himself get close to her anyway. No one does that—not even Barry.
The way he hesitates, the way he licks his lip makes Felicity think he's going to talk about something from the past five years. "On the island," Oliver explains carefully, "there were things that happened—things that I saw—that just… defy explanation." His mouth turns into a firm line, and the blonde vampire nods once, understanding that he can't say more on the subject.
"You drink too much of that for it to be juice," he declares suddenly, working through his reasoning with a wary tone. "You don't seem to mind being touched, but you don't want people close to you. When Digg cut his arm a few weeks ago, you nearly threw yourself across the room to get away from him. Your eye teeth are a little too large, and you try not to show them when you smile. You can see better in the dark than you should be able to." He smiles, but the gesture seems unconscious. "And then you make jokes at your own expense, alluding to your situation."
He shifts his feet, saying to the wall more than to her, "I also looked into you before I decided to ask you for help." He quickly adds, "I did the same thing for Diggle—I don't like unknown quantities." His head tilts to the side. "You graduated from MIT, but you work at a small electronics store, doing a job that you're overqualified for. But you had a better job before, in Cambridge, at a large software development firm, and you left suddenly for no reason." Felicity's stomach drops; already she knows where this is going, and she'd really like for this train of thought to throw on the brakes. It doesn't. "And that's when I found the police report for an unsolved murder case. When I put those together—"
She cuts him off, waving her hands wildly. "I know what you must be thinking right now," Felicity starts, and the air of desperation to her tone makes her furious with herself. The tears welling in her eyes only make it worse, and she has to close her eyes because she does not want to see his expression. "And God knows I probably deserve every word of it. But before you say anything, I want you to know that it was an accident. It's the only time I've ever slipped. I swear to you, Oliver, that there isn't a day that goes by that I don't hate myself for it. I promise you that I never meant to hurt—"
He cuts her off with a quiet, "Hey." She stops immediately because, if he's speaking, that means he isn't walking away. Yet. He squeezes her arm, just above her elbow, and only then does Felicity dare to open her eyes. When she does, it's to find Oliver studying her with sympathy, instead of the disgust she expected. "I know," he assures her. He studies her for a long moment, a smile starting to form. "I know you better than that, Felicity."
With a feeling of being overwhelmed, she shakes her head wildly. "This is so weird—I've never had to talk to anyone about this before," she comments. Then she pokes him in the chest. "You should not be okay with this, Oliver. I'm dangerous. I'm scary." He chuckles, but she doesn't find his good humor contagious at the moment. "I'm poisonous, too, so I'd recommend not laughing at me if you'd like to remain un-paralyzed."
That does the trick, removing all but an amused smile from his face. "You're poisonous?" he asks.
"Only if I bite and inject you," Felicity assures him. "But you should be scared—or at least respectfully cautious. Barry isn't scared, either, but he doesn't linger in my personal space." She gives him a pointed glance, but he seems to ignore it. "You do, but I kind of like it, actually. It makes me feel human again. But my point is that it's not good for your health."
Oliver takes something far different out of her speech than what she intends. "Barry knows?"
She rolls her eyes. "Barry knew me…" Felicity lets the sentence trail off; saying when I was human makes her feel like some sort of demon, and before I was a vampire makes the situation feel a little too real. Finally she settles on, "Before." Then she frowns. "But I meant what I said before—you're playing with fire, Oliver. From experience, it sucks when you get burned." She hesitates. "Pun intended." Something about his expression makes Felicity think that, if he were the kind of person to do so, he'd be rolling his eyes.
"I've been burned before, Felicity," he answers before kissing her temple again. "It wasn't that bad."
Before the vehicles even park, Felicity can smell them outside, dropping her book on the coffee table in confusion. It's just after five in the morning; Oliver and John typically visit her during the day, but it is a Saturday—albeit very early in one. (Apparently vigilantes work weekends, which is news to her.) With a huff, she lifts herself off the sofa, padding across in her bare feet to the front door. Just as she's about to swing it open, she notices that Oliver's smell is a little funny—not bad, just different. It's not uncommon; when he came out of Verdant as it burned down a few weeks ago, he smelled like a briquette. God only knows what he's gotten himself into this time.
As she throws open the door, she notices that Oliver is still dressed in his Vigilante gear, and Felicity hasn't seen him decked out in full gear since he "rescued" her in that alley. He's been in the leathers a few times, sure, but never with the bow in his hand, the quiver at his back, and the mask over his eyes.
And he's certainly never entered through the front door in his gear.
Before she can snap at him for parking in the front where the neighbors can see him, she notices it. His gait is wrong, he's moving too slow, and he's actually slouching. Instead of yelling at him, Felicity rushes out across the grass to throw an arm over her shoulder, helping him toward the door. (She's long since given up on keeping distance from him; Oliver blatantly ignores her personal space on a regular basis, despite her warnings.) He stumbles a few times along the way—nearly taking her down with him on one occasion—before they make it in.
Ignoring the open door, she somehow manages to help him onto the couch. "What the hell happened to you?" Felicity demands. Without asking for permission, she sweeps his hood back, pulling the mask off and throwing it in the general direction of the coffee table. He's covered in perspiration that's smearing the additional grease paint around his eyes, and if she didn't know better, she'd think he was unconscious. Concerned now, she places a hand to his cheek to check for fever, but then she remembers that she wouldn't be able to tell anyway. Her loss of ability to regulate her body temperature is a bitch sometimes.
"I'm fine," Oliver assures her in a voice that belies the opposite. Felicity huffs, about to argue, but the words stop cold as he covers her hand with his own, leaning into her touch. Oh, boy, she's in trouble. "I'm fine, Felicity," he insists, as if saying it again will make her believe it.
Because he's obviously not up to an interrogation and she can smell John at the door, she walks away from him, going back to the bodyguard. A black duffel bag sits at his feet and she studies it before deciding she doesn't care. Instead, she rushes to lock up behind her boys, saying, "I'll rephrase. What the hell happened to him, John?"
He doesn't look any happier about it than she feels. "After Thea wrecked her car, our boy has been hitting Vertigo dealers pretty hard," he answers slowly. "He got one of them to set up a meeting with a Count—the guy manufacturing the stuff." He glances over to Oliver before turning back to Felicity. "The Count got the jump on him, dosed him with some of the stuff. I don't even know how he managed to drive the bike here. I guess I could have taken him home, but you were closer." John frowns. "I don't think we should leave him alone—he doesn't look good."
Felicity pats his arm. "I'll watch over him tonight," she insists. Because he already looks like he's going to argue, she adds, "I was already going to be up—I have my days and nights reversed, remember? And, besides, you watch over him most nights, anyway. It's the least I could do, John."
"Could you try not to talk about me like I'm not here?" Oliver cuts in, his voice weak. "It's a light overdose. I'll be fine on my own." When they ignore him, he continues, "I'm just high—I spent most of my college years like this." Coming from anyone else, Felicity would think it was a joke but a) Oliver doesn't joke and b) she thinks he might actually be telling the truth.
Still, that doesn't mean she's going to listen to him. "You do realize that your argument was invalid the moment you said, 'light overdose,' right?" she snaps at him. "If you even attempt to leave this house tonight, I'm going to tie you to the bed." Felicity winces immediately after the words are spoken, followed by a stream of obscenities in her head. "My brain thinks of the absolute worst way to say things."
"If it makes you feel any better," John starts with a conspiratorial smile, and Felicity is sorely tempted to murder him, "it's probably not the first time a woman has said that to him." The sad part about it is that it's probably true; she's heard the stories of Oliver's misspent youth, and she honestly thinks nothing would surprise her anymore.
"It's not," Oliver interjects helpfully from the couch.
Felicity decides to ignore him because he looks blitzed out of his mind at the moment. "Go home, John," she insists with a shooing motion. "I can take care of him on my own. You just go see Carly, check in on your nephew. I can take care of him." He raises an eyebrow in doubt. "I even promise not to bite," she teases, smiling wide enough to flash him her fangs. She figures he was the first one Oliver told about her whole I-vant-to-suck-your-blood thing after he talked to her.
"I've heard that one before, too," Oliver calls out.
John actually smiles at that, shaking his head. "I gathered up his street clothes after things went south," he tells her, nudging the duffel with his foot. "Didn't figure you wanted the Vigilante walking around your place during the day." Then he holds out a syringe. "Found this next to Oliver—it's probably Vertigo. If you know someone who can run that, it would probably help our case." Felicity decides she'll call Barry in a few hours. He offers her a nod and a pat on the arm before unlocking the door. "See you soon, Felicity."
She wishes him a good morning before turning back to Oliver. Whatever look crosses her face, it causes him to frown. "It's almost morning—you're probably tired," he notes. "I'll stay here."
"No, you won't," Felicity insists, making a motion with her hand. "I'm taking you to bed." She winces, glad he leaves that one alone. "Not in the fun way. My bedroom is upstairs, and I sleep too deeply to hear you if you need anything. This way, I'll know." He rises, albeit a little awkwardly, and she throws Oliver's arm back over her shoulder again. "Besides, it would be nice if someone fell asleep in my bed on occasion."
"You don't have a spare bedroom up here?" he asks, and, for the first time, Felicity thinks he might sound a little worried. The idea is almost laughable; she doubts Oliver has ever had reason to be concerned about being in a woman's bed. Maybe good sense is finally starting to kick in and he's realizing that she's a vampire. Part of that thought makes her sad, and she wonders why.
Felicity nods, stumbling over a stair as Oliver nearly topples them both. "I do," she answers, "but I never furnished it. If you're going to make a habit of this, we'll have to put a bed in it. For the time being, we can both take my bed." When he doesn't respond immediately, she adds, "Despite the whole vampire thing, I don't actually bite, Oliver."
He moves to kiss her cheek, but between the walking motion and his probably blurred vision, he hits a little too close to the corner of her mouth for Felicity's comfort. "Thank you, Felicity."
She turns her head away as they reach the top of the stairs, depositing him on her bed. It's a little surreal, actually—Oliver Queen in his vigilante gear, on her bed. Then she maneuvers the stairs again, returning to his room with the bag. "John said your street clothes are here," Felicity informs him. "You can change in here." Then she moves over to her dresser, pulling out the first pair of pajamas she finds.
The lawn gnome pants, while a little odd, are perfectly acceptable, so she changes into them in the bathroom, along with the blue tank top. By the time she returns to her bedroom, Oliver is in a pair of sweatpants—she did not know he owned something so… peasant-y—and he's stripping out of his shirt, exposing a heartbreaking amount of scars down his back and an absolutely lovely amount of muscle. Against her better judgment, Felicity stares—maybe even ogles a little. Especially that tattoo on the top of his shoulder.
She expects him to put on another shirt, but he doesn't, turning back to her and flashing a few more scars—and two more tattoos. For someone who proclaimed himself high, Oliver looks surprisingly sober as he studies her. "Aren't you cold?" he asks suddenly, nodding to the fair amount of skin exposed by the tank top.
Felicity ignores him, circling around the bed to her side. "I'm kind of like a reptile—I can't regulate my body temperature anymore." She shrugs. "You know, I'm dead-ish and all that. So my temperature is ambient temperature. At least I don't get chills anymore, but a really warm day could kill me—not that I'm going to be out in the sun to enjoy it." As she nestles herself under the comforter and places her glasses on the nightstand, she continues, "I also have this weird tendency to seek out warm things. Had to get rid of my space heater because I nearly burned myself."
Oliver chuckles from the other side of the bed, and, though she's facing away from him, her hand is already seeking him out. It lands on his for a moment, but then he threads his fingers through hers before he starts edging closer. By the time he stops moving, Felicity's back is pressed against his chest and his arm is draped across her middle, his hand over hers with his fingers still laced with hers. "I wouldn't mind keeping you warm," he decides in a quiet voice.
"That's what you say now," Felicity answers conversationally, deciding it's the only way to stop freaking out about this experience. After all, Oliver is mostly high and he probably won't remember this when he wakes up later tonight. "I have a tendency to tangle up in people."
As though he does this every night of his life, Oliver pulls the elastic out of her hair with his other hand. She can feel his chest fall and rise at her back, and it's kind of peaceful. "I think it's the other way around," he murmurs, mostly to himself. Before she has the chance to decipher that, he states louder, "Thank you for letting me stay here."
Felicity smiles sleepily before answering truthfully, "Right now, I wouldn't dream of anything else."
Making a mental note to thank Oliver for pulling her out of the Tech Village dungeon, Felicity smiles as she leaves for lunch on her third day of work at Queen Consolidated. Apparently Mr. Steele, the CEO, had wanted to hire an employee to take care of late shift duties, and working from five to two in the IT department by herself definitely works better for her schedule. Now, at least, she has most of the night free to enjoy. Not to mention that she can go out to eat lunch because most of the restaurants are still open. Maybe things are starting to look up.
Of course that thought is blindsided when she catches the smell of blood on the air. It hits her like a battering ram, so strong and potent that she doesn't catch the human's subtle scent until after her fangs are protruding out of her mouth. Whoever it is, they're as good as dead with that much blood on the air; if she can't hear them yet, they have to be several yards away, and that means a lot of blood loss. Taking a few steps forward, she finally manages to discern the identifiers, and the haze of thirst fades away as panic sets in.
It's Oliver.
Ignoring the thirst clawing at her stomach, she breaks out in a run, using her sense of smell to guide her. At the same time, she pulls out her cell phone, speed dialing John. He'll know what's going on. He should know what's going on, anyway. He watches out for Oliver on school nights, but the vigilante has become her charge on weekends, it seems; she came home to find him asleep on the guest bedroom floor so many times that she outfitted the room with a bed.
Diggle seems to understand her urgency when he answers. "Felicity, is something wrong?" John asks carefully. "You're at QC, right?"
"Yes to both of the above," she answers, her voice coming out an octave higher than normal. "I haven't found him yet, but I know Oliver is bleeding." Felicity swallows some of her emotion so that she can speak, and it burns her raw throat. Damn it, she's going to need a lot of blood to make it through this one. "John, it's bad. If you have any medical supplies, get them out. I'll get him to you somehow."
Finally she can see a figure slumped against the wall, and she says to Diggle, "Hold on, I think I've got him." She swallows again, trying to coat her dry mouth. "Oliver?" she whispers, and the blood smell is so strong that her hand starts to shake as she covers her mouth and nose. For a painfully long moment, he doesn't move, but then finally he shifts in place, just enough for Felicity to see that his hand is over his heart, and both the jacket and his glove are saturated with blood. Her throat tightens up. "Oh my God," she somehow manages to breathe around it. "Make that all the medical supplies, John," she corrects before she hangs up.
Somehow he manages to rise to his feet, stumbling with gritted teeth. "Base," he manages to demand between pained breaths. "No hospital." He studies her for a moment, probably noting the way her hand is clamped over her mouth. "Can you drive me?"
Felicity knows what he's really asking: Can she handle this? Felicity isn't sure, but she knows she doesn't have a choice. "If you can walk to the car, I can get you to the lair," she promises. "I'm either going to drain you dry or throw up—or both—if I get any closer." Even now, the perspiration makes her hair slick and she has never hated her vampiric biology more.
If Oliver takes offense, he doesn't say it, instead following her back to the car. Somehow he manages to heave himself into the backseat of her Mini. She doesn't look back, instead focusing on making the journey between the parking garage and the lair. Because of that, she's surprised to hear his voice an octave higher as he states, "Walter." A look through the rearview mirror informs Felicity that he's on the phone, which explains why he's using what she thinks of as his Fake Oliver voice. "I'm sorry to bother you this late, but I have a disaster at the club right now. I can't get the security and the cameras and the cash registers working, and I wondered if I could borrow Felicity for the rest of her shift."
The gesture makes her melt a little on the inside. He doesn't try to tell her to go back to work or insist that he'll be fine; instead, Oliver knows that she'll want to be there for this tonight. "I appreciate it, Walter," he continues. There's a long pause before he answers the next time. "I can't think of anyone else I'd call in a crisis," he states in an agreeing tone, just before saying goodbyes and hanging up.
"You didn't call me about this, Oliver," she chides him a little. "I'd like to know if you're bleed—"
He cuts her off. "I was trying to get to my phone when you found me," he explains in a quiet voice. She waits for him to say more, but when she turns back to look at him, Oliver is unconscious, slumped against the side of the car. Something stings in her eyes as she turns her attention back to the road, and she forces it down. The last thing she needs in this mix of bleeding and fangs rubbing against her lips is a good crying jag.
When she finally gets to the lair, Diggle is standing outside of Verdant with a grim expression. It only gets darker when Felicity steps out of the car; he must see something in her expression that declares just how bad it is. "It's not good, John," she warns him quietly as she opens the door. "He's unconscious and I know I can't carry him. Not just because of the whole size issue here, either. I'm already in the shakes and I think I might actually throw up at some point. Which is weird because I've had plenty of bl—"
"Felicity, he's going to be fine," John assures her. Though he means it to be comforting, Felicity can't see how; there's no way for him to know that. He rests a hand on a metal gurney next to him. "If you can help me get him onto the gurney, I can take it from there."
It's an awkward tangle of limbs trying to move him, but somehow they manage to get Oliver onto the gurney and into the building. As soon as they do, though, Felicity finds herself heaving into a trash can in the basement. As she does so, she can't help but wonder why she had to be the weird vampire who gets sick every time her body gears up for a live feed. Cooper didn't have this problem. What the hell is she doing wrong? Then she rolls her eyes. Leave it to her to suck at being a vampire.
(Pun not intended. Felicity doesn't appreciate her thoughts unconsciously making vampire puns.)
"I'm going to need some help over here," Diggle notes as soon as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. The blood there would be unnerving to anyone else, but she just ignores it, turning back to the gurney. At some point in the five minutes she tossed her cookies, he managed to pull the green jacket away from Oliver's torso and start inspecting the wound over his heart. Or, what Felicity thinks is a wound. It could be a fountain of blood, based on what it looks like.
Knowing there's nothing else to do, Felicity seizes a pair of latex gloves from the table. As she pulls them on, she asks, "Do you have a mask of some sort? Because I'm going to need one." He points to a box on the table, and she pulls one out of it, fixing it on her face. Then she winces as her canines rub against the outside of her lip; they're going to make a sores if she can't retract them soon. That's yet another thing she never picked up from Cooper.
The two of them somehow manage to patch the wound together, mostly because of John. Felicity occasionally hands him supplies, mostly while facing the other way and trying not to have another out-of-stomach experience. "I'd say, 'good job, team,' but I think you did most of the work, John," she notes idly, talking about something just to keep from thinking about Oliver and his whole possible-dying situation. (Not to mention her own thirst, which still hasn't gone away.) "I just kept from liquidating my assets—again." As he turns to throw something in the trash can, Felicity adds, "You probably don't want to look in there—it's not pretty."
John's eyebrows knit together as he does precisely the opposite of her suggestion. "Felicity," he says slowly, "this looks like blood. And a lot of it." After a moment, he looks up at her. "Is something wrong?"
Felicity looks down at the trash, and, sure enough, the blood is starting to clot, identifying it easily. "The anticoagulants are the first to break down," she explains with a shrug, after pulling off the face mask. "I don't really know why it happens, but it does." When he studies her blankly for a moment longer, a nauseous feeling comes back to her stomach that has nothing to do with singing lunch. "Oh, God," she realizes in a quiet voice. "He didn't tell you."
The look she earns in return is enough to make her think it's the right conclusion. "I'm sorry, John," she blurts after a long breath. "Oliver figured it out a few weeks ago, and I thought he'd tell you. If I thought he'd keep it to himself, I would have said something. You deserve to know. It's not like Oliver to—"
"Keep secrets?" Diggle finishes with a raised eyebrow. They both laugh before he leans on the computer desk with a heavy sigh. "I don't know if you've noticed or not, but Oliver…" He trails off, and Felicity immediately tenses; it's never good when John Diggle is at a loss for words. "He's… protective when it comes to you, Felicity. He's careful when he talks about you—even with me. So if he knows something about you, he's not going to tell anyone. Not even me."
Felicity takes a deep breath. "I don't know how the hell he figured it out," she tells him. "No one ever figures it out. It doesn't even make sense to me—and it's my life." She licks her lip, wincing at the sting in the tender spots where her fangs rubbed. That's going to be a pain to cover up. "I'm a vampire—and no jokes, please. I think I've heard them all from Barry."
He blinks at her twice, the proper, rational response to the fact. When he chuckles, her expression doesn't change, and he slowly sobers. "What's the punch line?" he asks her dryly.
After dropping down in the desk chair, she swivels it across to the gurney, to sit by Oliver. "Don't know," Felicity responds as she turns back to John. "I've been waiting to hear it for the last three years." Absently, she laces her fingers through Oliver's, only now noticing the calluses on his fingers. If anyone cared to notice, the evidence that he isn't just a partying billionaire is in plain sight. Like most things, someone only has to look.
She frowns at herself; usually the philosophical mood doesn't hit her until after the muscle aches.
Licking at her enlarged teeth again (they're awkward in her mouth and sore against her lips), Felicity studies Diggle for a long moment. She doesn't know what he sees in her expression, but she can see the first flickers of doubt in his expression. Finally he decides to believe it, as he asks her, "Do you actually bite people?"
"No," she insists in a firm tone. "Bad things happen when vampires feed from humans, John. Usually that means nasty scars, arterial bleeding, and, in certain instances, waking up to find your vampire boyfriend gone and a burn in your throat." He raises an eyebrow and she frowns in surprise at herself. "Huh, I thought I was over that. Either that or I'm getting irritable again. It's one of the symptoms of my little withdrawal thing." Before he can answer, Felicity groans as her left calf seizes up. "And there are the cramps—I was wondering when that would happen." She stretches her leg, extending all of her muscles to ease the ache. It doesn't work as well as she'd hoped.
Continuing her earlier train of thought, she continues, "Actually, I'd like to rephrase that. Bad things happen when vampires mix with humans." She sighs, absently drawing patterns on the back of Oliver's hand with her thumb. "I usually try to stay away, but it's tough being the only vampire in Starling City."
"For what it's worth," John starts in a low voice, "I don't think Oliver ever had any intention of letting you go, Felicity." He chuckles at something she doesn't quite understand. "I don't know what he was like the first time you met him, but when he came home, Oliver was…" He shakes his head, as if he isn't sure how to finish that sentence. "He wasn't like the man we both know today. Oliver was angry, wouldn't listen to reason." Shaking his head again, he continues, "I followed him when he went after Adam Hunt, kept him from getting his head blown off. Never really saw him smile, though, until that night we went to see you about Deadshot's laptop. You provide a lot more to this team than just technical support, Felicity—whether or not you know it." He laughs once more. "And you shouldn't let Oliver forget it."
Felicity smiles. "I'll try not to, John."
"I wouldn't anyway," a third voice adds, raspy with disuse and fatigue. The blonde vampire is so relieved to hear his voice that she forgets to breathe for a moment, clenching his hand in relief. He returns the gesture before his head lolls over to look at her, blue eyes opening slowly. After studying her for a long, very awake moment, he asks her, "Are you all right?"
She can't help but scoff at that. "You were shot, bled all over my car, and nearly died, Oliver." She ignores the way her voice cracks on the word; reading into that might be her undoing. "I think I should be asking you if you're all right," Felicity corrects. "So, more importantly, are you okay?"
He gives her one of those looks, the ones he throws her when normal people would roll their eyes. "I survived again," Oliver says instead, slowly starting to lift himself into a standing position. Felicity rushes to help him up, frowning when he winces as he jars his injured shoulder. Maybe she hovers a little bit over him, but it's only because he practically died. And, maybe with enough repetition, she can convince herself of that. "Cool."
With a frown, he looks down at the wound on his shoulder, attempting to study it. "How are we going to explain this one, Digg?" he asks the other man with a sense of amusement, as though this is a question that needs to be answered often—probably more often than Felicity would like to know about.
It surprises her that John is quick to answer. "How about a hickey gone wrong?" he offers with a smile, earning himself a look from Oliver in return.
Scoffing, Felicity blurts, "Maybe if you made out with a vampire." Both men turn instantly to her, and she winces at the looks they throw her. "Which was not an offer. For the record, I have never left a mark like that on a human. Mainly because I've never had sex with a human since I've been a vampire. But that looks a lot like some of the marks that Cooper left when he—" Suddenly her mind catches up to her words. "And you do not need to know how that sentence supposed to end."
Oliver manages a smile as he pulls on the gray hoodie draped over the back of her chair. "Diggle," he starts with a groan. "Will you pull the car around, please? I need to get home before my mother suspects anything more."
Diggle flashes them a knowing look, as though he suspects Oliver is wanting to talk to Felicity alone for some reason. Why that would be, she doesn't know, but she also knows that Diggle is rarely wrong about anything. Even though he knows that, he still turns to Felicity. "You sure you're all right, Felicity?" he asks slowly. "You didn't look good when we brought him in—even threw up."
She nods once, appreciates the older man's concern because she knows she needs someone to be a little leary of her. "I'm fine, John," Felicity assures him. "I told you, it's just a normal response—it's not unusual." He flashes her a look, but, even as he does so, he also turns for the door, heading up the stairs with a shake of his head.
After the door shuts, Oliver immediately turns to her with a curious expression on his face, studying her with way too much intensity. In slow, stilted movements, he lifts a hand to cup Felicity's cheek, his thumb carefully brushing along the edge of the protruding canine on the left side of her mouth. She's too afraid to move, knowing that one brisk movement could cause problems for both of them. "You've never showed me these before," he breathes quietly, as though he's afraid of breaking the spell by speaking at a normal volume.
When she flexes her jaw, Oliver moves his hand away. "I didn't want to show you them now," Felicity admits slowly. "I… can't control it. Sometimes they extend and I can't get them to retract. It's kind of a pain, actually. They rub sores against my lip and—"
"And they're retracted," he notes, that curious tone in his voice again.
Felicity has to check for herself to be sure, licking a line across her teeth. And, sure enough, they are. "I have no idea how I did that," she admits slowly. "I've never been able to do that before." Now that she has, though, she finds it easy to retract and extend again, when she tests them. Apparently she does have control over it, but it's all a matter of finding it. That thought gives her a surprising amount of hope.
Oliver studies her for a moment longer before finally stating, "Thank you." When her eyebrows knit together in confusion, he elaborates, "For bringing me back to the base after this. It must have been difficult for you to stay around all that blood. Thank you for doing it." He tilts his head to the side. "Even though it made you sick."
Little does he know it was excruciating. Still, it was worth the burn in her throat to watch him wake up again. "I'm just glad to see you alive," she answers honestly. To his unasked question, she responds, "I have a thing—an adrenaline response, Barry thinks. It's weird, but my hands shake and I break out into a cold sweat any time I'm around a lot of blood. Sometimes I even yodel groceries—like Diggle told you about."
"And you're okay now?" he confirms, and, though it's a question, there isn't much inflection to it. Oliver has made the fact clear over and over again: he trusts her—even when he shouldn't, when trusting her would be a mistake. Like right now, for instance; because, while Felicity would never want to hurt him, sometimes she can't control it.
Cambridge should have taught him that.
"I'm okay," she answers after a long moment, even as his hand drops to her shoulder. "For now, anyway. I don't know how long it will last—or why I'm not shaking anymore. Not that I'm complaining. I don't like being the monster that goes bump in the night, but I also know that bad things happen to the humans around me." Felicity frowns, shaking her head. "I'm not safe, Oliver."
"Maybe not," he agrees slowly, "but I haven't been safe in a very long time, Felicity." He takes a deep breath, studying her for a long moment. Then, in his very laconic way, he states, "I want you to come on board and be a full part of this team." Surely he knows she'll say no, but yet he seems to be asking her anyway.
Except, she decides as Diggle walks back in, it really isn't a request. Oliver doesn't wait for a response, ushering Felicity up the stairs with him. It's almost agonizing as she realizes that the stitches in his wound are tearing slightly, but she manages to keep her wits about her, even as the beast begs to be let out of her cage. But, this time, she won't let it; it's too important that he stay safe, especially after all of this. He lets her go with a kiss to her temple and a promise: "I'll see you tomorrow night."
It stirs something awake in her that she long thought was dead, and it confirms something Felicity has been thinking since the very first time she met him. Oliver Queen is trouble wrapped up in a pretty package—but, then again, Felicity is a little troublesome, too. The warning bells in her head beg her to walk away before this ends badly, but another thought—one more powerful—makes her think that this could be worth it.
Because maybe, just maybe, they might be able to make a little mischief together.
Playlist:
"Beautiful Disaster" - Kelly Clarkson (also Felicity's ringtone for Oliver)
"Ghost" - Darling Parade
"Frankenstein" - Stitched Up Heart
"Living Dangerously" - Fools for Rowan
"Don't Feel Right" - The Dirty Youth
"Love Isn't Always Fair" - Black Veil Brides
"This is Gonna Hurt" - Sixx:A.M.
"All Together" - Stars in Stereo
"Bird Without Wings" - The Material
"The Middle" - Jimmy Eat World
