Author's Note - The next chapter will be up this coming weekend and after that I will aim to post about every other week. Thank you to everyone who is taking the time to read and review! Comments are like coffee... they fuel my muse. :-)
She's wearing a bold green dress because it makes a statement. A questionable choice, surely, but if she has to deny her involvement with the Arrow verbally then she's damned well going to declare it in other ways.
"You're gonna drive the press crazy wearin' that thing, you know? His color," Captain Lance told her as his police cruiser pulled up in front of the station to find stupid amounts of reporters hanging around with cameras at the ready.
"Probably," she admits, biting back the urge to point out that the Arrow does not actually have ownership over the color green. "But I'm not wearing it for them."
"Course not. It's way more personal than that. I'd have thought you were too smart to get involved with the likes of him," Lance says in a way that instantly makes Felicity feel defensive.
"Maybe you're looking at it backwards," she tells him. "Maybe I'm smart enough to know a good man when I see one and I'm strong enough not to be intimidated by circumstance. Maybe I know that 'safe' and 'easy' are overrated and unrewarding. Again, I feel the need to underscore the word 'maybe' because this is entirely hypothetical. Of course."
"Of course."
The gauntlet of reporters to get through between the police car and the station is a little daunting. She's never dealt with anything like this before. It's foreign ground to her. But she's seen it dealt with, hasn't she? She'd watched Moira Queen walk into a courtroom in shackles and an orange jumpsuit looking every bit as regal as she had hosting a dinner party at the manor. She'd seen Thea breeze through reporters and their invasive questions about drug use and car crashes like they weren't even there. So, she knows how to handle this.
Like a pro.
Like a Queen.
She'll be fine. As long as she doesn't think about the presumptuous implications of her recent train of thought, anyhow.
"You ready, kid?" Lance asks her, glancing askance at her as he turns off the car. "This is gonna be rough."
"This?" She scoffs, jerking a thumb toward the media outside the car. "I've been held at gunpoint and swordpoint and crossbow-point - or is that bolt-point, technically? Whatever. What I'm saying is that this? This isn't going to break me."
And it doesn't.
Captain Lance had intended to block off the media as much as he could for her, she's sure of that, but ultimately she exits the car before him, channels her inner Moira and pushes her way through the sea of reporters to the police headquarters with Lance hot on her heels.
It feels like a victory. It feels triumphant.
The effect is somewhat dimmed when she trips over the rug inside the police station and is only saved from a face-full of the cheapest carpet Starling CIty could find by the surprisingly quick reflexes of Captain Lance. But, thankfully, the media doesn't get that part on camera.
The room they lead her to looks like the interrogation room in every procedural drama ever. There's a one-way mirror and a shiny metal table with two cheap chairs and absolutely nothing else.
"Cheery place you've got here," she says as she takes a seat. "You could at least add some motivational posters or something. That cat holding on to a rope by its claws that says 'Hang in there' maybe. Or is that a mixed message? I suppose you don't want people in this room to 'hang in there,' do you? But you could paint or something. Make it look less like a prison cell."
"That, also, would defeat part of the purpose, Ms. Smoak," says a man who follows Lance into the room with an air of superiority. "When I have people in this room, I want them to be reminded of what a cold, dismal place prison would be for them."
"And you are…?" She asks as the man rounds the table but doesn't sit.
"Orrin Bryce, Assistant Chief of Police," he says, dropping a rather thick looking file onto the table before placing his palms on either side of it and staring her down.
If he's trying to look intimidating - and, let's be real here; he is - then he's totally succeeding. He's older but tall and clean-cut and carries himself in a way that screams ex-military and his focus is wholly unnerving.
"I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you Mister Bryce, but honestly I'd really much prefer my bed right now," she says before wincing. "To sleep, I mean. Alone. Not with anyone, hooded or otherwise, just for sleeping."
He blinks, clearly surprised by her mini-ramble but she can see him filtering what she says, categorizing it into little boxes somewhere in his head that somehow lead to him figuring her out. Figuring the Arrow out by extension. She has to remind herself not to panic.
"You know why you're here, I presume?" He asks, finally sitting and flipping through the file in front of him with false disinterest.
"Oh. Yes, sir. I've been lead to believe that kissing has been criminalized," she tells him.
"Cute," he says with a sneer that says it really isn't.
"I thought so," she shrugs. "Gotta keep a sense of humor, you know? Or, well, maybe you don't, but I do."
"Kissing isn't the problem, Ms. Smoak," he tells her, pulling a few photos out of the file and tossing them in front of her.
God, they're good shots. She wants to frame them and hang them in the lair. Or use one as wallpaper on her computer. She can't actually stop herself from reaching out to touch one of the photos, fingers skirting along the edge of Oliver's hood before Lance coughs behind her and she realizes what she's doing. She snatches her hand back quickly, but nowhere near quickly enough.
"Funny, that's all I'm seeing here," she says, clearing her throat.
"That lunatic in Gotham is photographed kissing someone at least once a month and no one gives a damn. Know why, Ms. Smoak?"
"Because… kissing is legal?" She ventures hopefully.
"Because grateful girls who've just been saved by lunatics in masks toss their panties at these guys all the time," he tells her.
"God I hope you're recording this because that's a level of sexism that I'm pretty sure could win me a court case," she responds.
He ignores her and presses on.
"The problem, Ms. Smoak. Is that these pictures aren't that. These pictures have your hands on his mask. They reek of intimacy and trust," he says accusingly.
"Anything but that!" she mock-gasps. "Clearly you're doing your job as a public servant by thwarting things like intimacy and trust! Starling City is so very much in your debt, Mr. Bryce."
"How did you meet him?" Bryce demands, ignoring her snark and watching her in a way that makes her squirm.
"Did we miss a step where you tell me I'm entitled to a lawyer?" She sidesteps.
"You aren't being charged with anything," he tells her.
The 'yet' part of that goes unsaid. For now.
"He saved you from the Count. That's well documented," Bryce says, going back to flipping through papers as though he doesn't have them memorized. Which he does. She's sure. "Did you know him before that?"
"I'm not entirely sure I can say I know him now," she gives up.
And… hey. That's true. At least in the biblical sense. Every other way, she'd say she knows him pretty damn well, but that's not getting disclosed.
"But you know who he really is," Bryce says matter-of-factly.
"Can't say as I've ever taken his mask off," she shrugs.
It's true, but now that that's been brought up, it's totally getting added to her bucket list.
"Do you know how many people he's killed, Ms. Smoak?" Bryce asks, changing tactics on her.
"Nope. Do you know how many he's saved?" She counters. "Cause, man, that's a number I'd be interested in. Gotta say, if we're weighing my life against the Count's death, I can totally tell you which one matters more in my book. But, hey, I'll admit it; I'm biased."
"Was that when you met him?" Bryce questions.
"What if it was?" she counters with frustration leaking through her voice. "Does that matter?"
"Yes," Bryce answers.
"Why?" she demands.
"Because if it is, then that means you aren't the one running his computer systems," Bryce says.
"...what?" She asks, sounding smaller and more cautious than she'd like.
"There's ample evidence that the Hood has at least one partner. You have the technical know-how to fill at least part of that role and you've managed to link yourself to him pretty definitively," Bryce says, sitting back with a look of satisfaction.
"I thought you said I wasn't being charged with anything?" Felicity asks warily.
"You're not. Yet," Bryce tells her.
"But you're building a case. You think I'm his accomplice," she insists.
"We're…. exploring the possibility," he allows.
"Well, luckily for you, given the newfound interest in my life by the media, I'm pretty sure you're going to have a very easy time of keeping tabs on me, anyhow," she grits out.
"Tell me about Oliver Queen," Bryce says out of the blue and Felicity is pretty sure her eyes bug out at the statement.
"He's… my boss. Who the media also document with alarming frequency. I really think I should have a lawyer. Should I have a lawyer? I feel like this is a point where I get legal representation and they tell me to stop talking."
"It is," says Laurel Lance breezing into the room like she owns it.
Felicity has literally never been so happy to see Laurel in her entire life. Captain Lance seems like he feels much the same way, if the breath of relief that breezes through his lips is any indication. Bryce, however, clearly doesn't share the sentiment.
"You shouldn't be here. You're with the District Attorney's office," Bryce points out with great amounts of annoyance.
"And therefore obviously a qualified lawyer," Laurel smiles fakely. "And Ms. Smoak is a friend. So I'm here to offer her my guidance and legal expertise."
Laurel might be stretching the definition of the word 'friend' but Felicity is very much not complaining about that at the moment.
"It's a conflict of interest," Bryce argues.
"How about you leave the legalities to me and you worry about dragging a woman down to the station for questioning about who she kisses, okay?" Laurel asks. "Because, Major Bryce, you're on some seriously shaky ground here."
"You want to talk about shaky ground? How about the fact that the daughter of the police captain who brought this woman in for questioning is the lawyer defending her?" Bryce challenges.
"I'm sorry. Are you questioning my work ethic right now? Or are you questioning my father's?" Laurel asks with dry annoyance, her head tilted to the side as she folds her arms and levels a glare at Bryce.
"There's something very fishy about this," Bryce says, shaking his finger at Laurel. "And I will figure out what. How is it that you two even know each other?"
"That's irrelevant. And not your business," Laurel tells him. "I'm taking my client for now. If you have any further questions for her, you'll have to run it by me first. And if you have a problem with my ethics, take it up with the Bar."
"Don't leave town, Ms. Smoak. This isn't over," Bryce warns.
"Looks like it is for now," Felicity tells him with a shrug before standing and moving to Laurel's side.
"We need somewhere to talk," Laurel says to her father, who nods.
"I'll give you the room," Bryce says, standing with his file in hand.
"Somewhere without a one-way mirror and microphones everywhere?" Laurel asks, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.
"You can use my office," Captain Lance says.
Bryce protests and Lance says something back to him, his tone short and clipped but Felicity isn't paying much attention to them at this point. On the list of things preoccupying her mind this morning, Orrin Bryce's objections to her sitting in Captain Lance's office doesn't even rank noticing. Laurel - Oliver's Laurel - coming to her rescue, though. Well, that's vaulted near the top of the list.
"Did you come down here on your own or did-" Felicity starts, glancing sideways at Laurel.
"Not yet," Laurel replies tersely.
"Right…" Felicity breathes, taking note of all of the eyes on them as they walk through the police department.
It's vaguely reminiscent of the first week at QC after Oliver promoted her to his executive assistant. She can feel the gazes on her, judging her, watching her every move. It's disconcerting, but she knows how to deal with it by now. How to ignore it with her head held high. And, honestly? Screw them. They can judge all they want. They don't know Oliver or why he does what he does or what a good man he really is. They don't know that she loves both him and their mission in nearly equal measure. And even if they did, if they wanted to pass judgement on her for that, it would say more about them than it would about her.
Laurel enters her father's office first, Felicity trailing on her heels but they aren't alone in the room. There's one very blonde, leather-clad woman sitting in Lance's chair with her feet propped up on the desk and her hands folded behind her head, looking oddly like she fully belongs there.
Then again, maybe that shouldn't be so surprising. Sara Lance is better at adapting to her circumstances than anyone else Felicity has ever met.
"What's up, buttercup?" Sara says by way of greeting, far too much joy coloring her voice given the circumstances. "You've had an exciting morning."
"I had an exciting night. I've had a miserable morning," she corrects automatically before blushing fiercely because God that sounds so much worse than it did in her head.
The Lance sisters are both familiar with her brain-to-mouth-filter malfunction by now though, so Sara just laughs and Laurel shakes her head with none of Sara's amusement on her face.
"God you're just adorable," Sara pronounces, swinging her boots off of her dad's desk and landing them on the floor with a solid thud. "Isn't she adorable? No wonder he likes her so much. Who wouldn't fall head-over-heels for her?"
"Get the door," Laurel instructs Felicity briskly instead of answering.
She does, but only because she's closer to it than either of the Lance sisters and she definitely owes Laurel one at this point, but if Laurel Lance thinks she's going to let herself be pushed around, she's very wrong. That doesn't mean that she doesn't owe Laurel one hell of a thank you right now, though.
"I appreciate your help back there, Laurel," Felicity tells her after the door clicks shut. "Thank you for coming to my rescue."
"We all need a little help sometimes," Laurel responds, somehow sounding simultaneously gracious and condescending in a way that is almost certainly unintentional. "And besides, I have a very fundamental problem with the idea of anyone being treated the way you have been this morning because of who they choose to kiss."
"Absolutely," Sara chimes in wholeheartedly.
"I hate to think about suing the department because, honestly, they need all of the funding they can get, but if this gets bad enough I can think of a few cases with enough precedent that we might want to consider it," Laurel says.
"Yeah, um, that sounds a lot like a newsworthy story and while I'm a little outraged at the treatment of me right now, I'd really like to avoid more situations that end up with my face plastered across the fronts of newspapers please," Felicity says.
"I'll just rattle some cages for now," Laurel says, waving the concern off loftily. "A few quiet threats won't grab the media's attention and it might be enough to get the cops to rethink their position. But that's behind the scenes stuff and you don't need to worry about that right now."
"You have enough on your plate," Sara agrees with a solid nod.
The strangeness of her situation hits Felicity all of the sudden. Which… okay, that's happened a few times today if we're being honest, but this is strange on a whole new level. A very personal level. Somehow she's ended up in a room with just the Lance sisters with everyone having full knowledge of this fledgling, repressed thing between her and Oliver and the awkwardness hits her full on.
She knows she's one of the most important people in Oliver's life. She has zero doubt of that. He relies on her and he likes her and he has feelings for her and despite what emotions they may or may not be acting on, she knows she means a tremendous amount to him. But so does Laurel. So does Sara. Not in the same way, probably, but there it is. Somehow, the three most important women in Oliver's life that he's not related to have ended up in this room dealing with the very uncomfortable fallout of his very muted love life.
"Did he ask you to come?" Felicity finds herself asking Laurel.
"He wanted to barge in in full Arrow mode and grab you himself," Sara answers with a sharp laugh.
Felicity feels a flush work its way up her cheeks as something warms inside her chest at that idea. Its a ridiculous, foolhardy idea, but a girl can be flattered by it anyhow, okay? Totally flattering.
"Thank you for talking him out of that plan," she says to Sara.
"Thank Digg," Sara responds with a short laugh. "He bodily held Ollie back while we came up with Plan B."
"Once we talked him down, he wanted to send in all of QC's lawyers. Convincing him to scale it back to just me wasn't exactly easy," Laurel tells her.
"That would have been… a lot of lawyers," Felicity blinks, imagining the entire legal department filing into the police station.
"It would practically be a giant sign proclaiming he's the Arrow, too," Sara points out.
"This is a house of cards and its very close to falling down," Laurel says seriously. "The leap from you and the Arrow being involved to Oliver being the Arrow is a short one. And once that connection is made, the rest of us fall with Ollie. No one would believe that Sara or I didn't know what was going on. There's no possible way Diggle couldn't know. Identifying Roy wouldn't be hard and considering his relationship history with Thea, people would think she was in on it, too. Probably my father would take the fall even though he genuinely doesn't know who the Arrow is. We would all be going to jail for a very long time."
Felicity gulps.
"Yeah, um, prison doesn't fit well with my five-year-plan. Not that I have an actual five-year-plan, but if I did, that wouldn't be on it. Should I have a five-year-plan? Is that a thing people actually do? Do you have one?" Felicity asks.
"I think I'm pretty fair evidence that five-year-plans are pointless," Sara smirks.
And… yeah. Okay, fair point. Sara Lance's life has been anything but predictable.
"So do we have a plan to avoid prison? Because I know orange is the new black and all and, frankly, I can rock that color like no one's business, but I really don't know how to make a shank out of a bar of soap or anything and my computer skills would probably be less than helpful in the big house," Felicity rambles.
"It's a shiv," Sara corrects.
"What?" Felicity blinks.
"Shank is a verb. Shiv is the weapon. And you can't make one out of a bar of soap. At least, not effectively," Sara tells her.
"See? This is why I can't go to prison. I don't even know these things," she says before realizing how judgemental that sounds. "Not that I'm implying you should go to prison because you do know those things, but I'm pretty sure you'd fair way better than me. You're all assassiny and everything."
"Don't worry. If we go to prison, I'll look out for you. You can hold onto my pocket and everything," Sara winks with a toothy grin.
"I… what does that even mean?" Felicity asks bewildered while Laurel rolls her eyes.
"You'll just flirt with anyone, won't you?" Laurel asks Sara in astonishment.
"That was flirting?" Felicity questions.
"No wonder you and Oliver can't get your act together," Sara sighs. "It's like the blind leading the blind."
"Sara," Laurel barks.
"What? It's true," Sara shrugs.
"Can we get back to the part where we need to find a way to stay out of prison? And also breathing? Because I like breathing and there's like a lot of people who'd love to see the Arrow taken out," Felicity says because even though the topic is uncomfortable, it's both necessary and less uncomfortable than discussing her relationship with Oliver with the Lance sisters.
"We're… working on a plan," Laurel allows.
"That's less than comforting," Felicity points out.
"Yeah, I'm not much for empty reassurances, in case you hadn't noticed," Laurel tells her bluntly.
"That had, in fact, not escaped my notice," Felicity responds, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
"For now, we're dealing with the immediate," Sara tells her. "That means extraction. You've got half of the press corp out there just waiting for you to walk back out and we need to ditch them."
"Right," Felicity agrees, brow furrowing. "So how do we do that?"
"Easily," Sara grins. "It's just a little sleight of hand."
"Meaning…" Felicity starts, her voice trailing off.
"Meaning Laurel made a big show of coming to your defense. Everyone is expecting you to leave with her and no one noticed me coming in," Sara explains.
"And you're both blondes," Laurel extrapolates.
"You want us to switch places?" Felicity asks warily.
"Swap jackets and hand over your hair tie and we're set," Laurel confirms. "Sara's got dark sunglasses. They'll figure out its not you fairly quickly, but the initial attention on us should be enough for you to slip out the back and head over to QC on your own."
As plans go, it's simple but better than her total lack of a plan, so Felicity nods and shrugs out of her long gray coat, handing it over to Sara.
"We're all meeting back at QC?" She asks, tugging the hair tie out of her hair.
"Yes. The lair and your apartment are completely out of the question, obviously, but there's nothing inherently suspicious about both you and Oliver being at work, even on a weekend, and we have a great deal of control over security there. I think we're all going to be spending a lot of time there in the near future," Sara tells her as she hands Felicity her leather jacket.
Felicity winces at that. She loves the lair. She loves her computer set-up and the sense of security and the salmon ladder and Oliver on the salmon ladder. But she can't lead the media or the police back there without endangering the team and it makes her feel helpless in a way that nothing else about this ordeal has so far. She hates it.
"QC it is, then," she agrees, more glumly than usual.
"Hey. This will all fade away soon, okay? We'll deal with it," Sara tells her reassuringly, bright eyes boring into her as she lays a hand on her shoulder.
Felicity nods, a little bit of hope seeping back in because its really hard not to believe Sara.
"Yeah. Okay," she says. "But no one had better mess with my computers while I'm gone."
"We wouldn't dare," Sara smiles, pulling her hair back into a high haphazard ponytail as she talks.
They don't look alike by any means. Sara's muscle definition puts Felicity's to shame, Felicity's face is longer, more angular, and Sara's cleft chin is something of a dead giveaway. But, at first glance they're passable as each other. They're about the same height, same age, same hair color. It could work. It will work. Because it has to.
"You'll have my bike and you won't have to push through the media, so you'll get there well before us. QC security is tight. There shouldn't be any reporters by the time you get into the parking garage. We'll all meet back up in Ollie's office," Sara tells her. "Just drive straight there. No stops. You'll be out in the open on your own for a short window. We don't like it, but it's necessary. If you aren't on QC's security camera feed within fifteen minutes of leaving here, no force in the world is going to keep Oliver in his office instead of out looking for you and I don't think I have to tell you what that could mean for all of us."
"Yeah… No, I've got it," Felicity says, biting her lip as she nods and picks up Sara's helmet.
"Can I ask you something?" Laurel questions suddenly.
"Shoot," Felicity responds, which is pretty funny in her head because arrows.
"Forget about the rest of us for a moment and what it could mean if we get discovered. Just for you… was it worth it?" Laurel questions. "I mean, Ollie's a great kisser. No doubt. And obviously there's something between the two of you. But all of this - the media, the police, the intrusion on your life - was it really worth it?"
"Living life on my own terms is always worth it. So, yes," Felicity says immediately.
"Still… it was just a kiss."
It could never be just a kiss with her and Oliver. There was always going to be more to it than that. But Laurel doesn't need to hear that so Felicity doesn't say it.
"It's not about the kiss. Although I don't regret that either. It's about not letting other people tell me who I should be and what I should want. So, yes, it was worth it. Because it was honest and no matter what the fallout is, I want to live my life on my own terms," she responds.
Laurel studies her like she's seeing her for the first time. And, in some ways, maybe she is. Felicity knows she's overlooked a lot. She's the assistant, the sidekick, the tech support. And that's okay. She's secure enough in who she is that she doesn't need to be noticed by people like Laurel. She doesn't need their acknowledgement of her worth.
"I think I underestimated you, Felicity," Laurel says after a moment.
"That's okay. I get that a lot," Felicity smiles back before pulling Sara's bike helmet over her head. "Now let's go pull a fast one on some reporters, shall we? It just might be the highlight of my day."