Originally posted on 6/6/2015. REVISED: 10/1/2015.
Felicitas by Jess S.
Chapter 3: Real Near-Death Experience Number...what?
Oliver Queen's P.O.V.
Bam! Bam-Bam! Bam-Bam!
Oliver was almost smiling as he moved full-speed through one of his harder training regimens against the Wing-Chun dummy with fists and an eskrima. It was amazing how much of a relief it was: that moment when he'd proven to himself that he really was recovered from a major injury.
Bam-Bam-Crack! Crack-Crack! Crack!
This time it was even more surprising, since it'd seemed to happen a lot faster than he would've expected.
A lot faster than his teammates thought, too. Neither Felicity or Diggle liked watching him force himself to get going; to fight himself back into shape. And while Felicity's worries had been based entirely in her concern for his well-being after she'd helped saved his life, Digg's had been more based in experience.
Bam-Bam! Bam-Bam! Crack! Bam-Crack!
But recovery time was over. Unbelievably, even to Oliver, the new scar in his torso didn't even hurt anymore. And after the last time he'd worn the Hood had ended so badly, he knew he needed to make himself get back out there.
Bam-Bam! Crack! Crack!
"You might want to take it easy if you plan on taking someone off that list tonight," Diggle suggested calmly. His version of nodding off on the fact that Oliver really was ready to go back in action; an ongoing debate of the last few weeks that'd ended in Oliver still needing time to recuperate.
Those first few weeks were the hardest. He'd known he'd needed the time, but hadn't wanted to go back to the mansion anymore than he had to, at least not until the stitches had come out. And avoiding his mother, at least until the wound was mostly mended, was a lot easier if he spent as little time as the mansion as possible.
Oliver set the stick against the dummy's ulna, then to prove he could; deliberately twisting his torso—right through his latest scar—to snap the stick in two.
CRACK!
And amazingly enough even that specific strain didn't make the scar tissue ache anymore.
"This is me taking it easy," Oliver reminded his friend with a mild tone that wasn't hard to muster now that he was fully mended. And mindful of the I.T girl whose eyes had been locked on him more than her computers as he practiced.
Felicity had been down here, on her computer system—her computers, not his, he'd learned very quickly—a lot more than he'd expected these past few weeks.
Initially he'd suspected it was just to keep an eye on him, but he hadn't really been able to be annoyed by it. She wasn't overbearing about it as long as no one else was touching her computers or changing the settings on her chair. And the few times she'd actually spoken up to caution him against anything—trying to climb up the salmon ladder again much too soon, turning to spar with the dummy when Diggle told him they had to stop because Oliver himself should rest—she had been right.
From what Oliver had seen each time he'd glanced at her computer screens, she was diligently working on the search for his stepfather. Combing through various media sources he would've used, and plenty of classified material in agencies he would have had much more difficulty obtaining. No luck yet though.
And Oliver was glad.
He knew he shouldn't be. And he did want to find Walter. For his mother. And Thea. He'd been looking ever since the man went missing; almost two months ago now.
But he was already used to the sound of the keyboard clicking away in the background, Felicity's fast typing occasionally joined by the soft sound of her humming a tune that'd gotten caught in her head. If finding Walter meant losing her back to 'her boring life' as an I.T girl... which probably didn't include occasionally continuing to help him unless he came up with much better cover stories.
"So who's our lucky guy tonight?" Digg asked as the vigilante started to get ready for his first night out in too many weeks.
"Ken Williams," Oliver answered, going on to explain on the off-chance that it could keep his new tech-expert from fearing him. "His pyramid scheme stole millions. People didn't just lose their homes. Their lives were ruined."
Although he wasn't entirely sure why Felicity didn't fear him as it was. Her attractions to him notwithstanding, it seemed odd that clear proof of his lethal skills—even though he was only training in front of her, it—hadn't seemed to remind her of the lives he'd taken. Or the lives he'd already taken. But, like training, and even talking of his intentions, didn't seem to faze her at all.
Felicity just kept working, typing and clicking away like he hadn't just told them the next name on The List—the first one he'd being hooded up for with her down here. He knew she wasn't that wrapped up in her work though; he'd yet to really startle the I.T girl without meaning to. Something he couldn't always manage at home with his family, even before his mother had unknowingly shot him. In fact, Oliver could think of a whole handful of times where he'd realized he should have made more noise as he approached his I.T girl, but the flinch, or gasp, or yell had never come. He had yet to decide if she was that good at not reacting, or if she'd just known he was there. He couldn't even decide which one he'd prefer, since neither one made much sense for a 'boring I.T girl.'
Not that that word fit her anyway. Brilliant. Bold. Bright. Beautiful. And braver than he ever could've expected. But not boring. Never.
Oliver decided not to question her lack of reaction—again—as he pulled on the thermal shirt that he wore under his leathers (at least when the wind-chill guaranteed frost-bite to the unwary), then he grabbed the coat along with his bow and already ready quiver. "Why don't you two call it in early tonight? I'm not expecting much trouble."
He still half-expected an objection of some kind from Felicity. This was, after all, the first time he'd admitted in front of her that he was headed out with the intention of pointing an arrow at somebody. But when no objection came, he didn't wait for it, heading briskly towards the door out into the alley instead.
Which may have been why the surprise of his code not working, either the first time or then when he tried again, just to make sure he hadn't accidentally hit in the wrong code (even though he knew he hadn't), irritated him so much.
"Felicity!" he shouted her name as he turned, forcing his volume down after that even as he stormed back towards her. "Did you just—"
"Computer override your lock?" the girl winced through a nod. "Maybe a little." She held her hand up to indicate a small amount of space to emphasize the smallness of her confessed transgression.
Oliver shook his head, "What are you doing?" he growled out, though it sounded more like a sigh than the growl he'd give pretty much anybody else. Maybe because he'd expected a protest from her, been surprised it hadn't come, and then surprised all over again when it had.
"I pulled up some information on Mister Williams. Did you know he's a widowed father of a ten year old boy?" she asked as she gestured to one of her monitors, where what looked like a dating site profile was pulled up.
Oliver half shook his head before giving her a 'so what?' look, waiting for her to elaborate. Because he couldn't shoot down her doubts without more information than that. Even if he had some idea of where said doubts were without elaboration. The memory of his mother's pleas ringing out of memory again didn't help. After all, she'd claimed her children were why the vigilante shouldn't kill her, too. And that only made him more uncomfortable as the blonde he was frowning at now gazed up at him.
"I told you," Felicity obligingly went on. "I'm only in this to help Walter. Not to be an accessory to orphaning little kids."
Okay, so he probably could've picked a slightly less objectionable first target to ease her into this with.
From the slight-smile Digg was wearing as he shook his head on the other side of Felicity's desk, that was more than obvious.
But The List didn't come with profiles, and Oliver had had no reason to research Ken Williams past the obvious. Definitely not to the point where he'd look at an online dating website profile... he'd probably never do that anyway, but that wasn't the point. The man's offense against the city were strictly white-collar crimes. He had no ties to organized crime. Not even a personal security force like Adam Hunt to suggest a justification for some paranoia might exist. So it was very likely that Williams' would just return the money he'd stolen, rather than risk an arrow through the heart when confronted with the city's already infamous vigilante.
"I'm just giving him a warning," Oliver assured the girl, hoping—what with how his training didn't seem to bother her before now—that that'd be enough for her.
"Has it ever occurred to you; you could do some real good in the city?" Felicity asked him, her big blue eyes earnest, edged with hopeful. "Beyond just recovering people's stock portfolios and their saving accounts?"
There wasn't really much he could say to that.
Yes, Oliver still believed what he'd told Diggle about curing the cancer infecting Starling City by treating the illness itself, rather than just the symptoms. But that'd gotten a resigned eye-roll from the ex-soldier, and he knew that argument hadn't yet come up again only because he'd previously given into Digg's insistence and gone after the Royal Flush Gang after only a little prodding. And he had been shot after finally giving in and admitting his bodyguard might have a point about his own mother... something Oliver still wasn't going to think about.
It was a safe bet that Felicity wouldn't just roll her eyes as she decided to wait for another time or scenario in which she could convince him to see her side of the argument. She wasn't a soldier, wasn't used to taking orders outside of who's computer needed fixing. Nothing had prepared her to back down from an argument of right and wrong until what she saw as 'right' was acknowledged. No, she'd keep arguing till he agreed.
And Oliver knew she was right, at least to some degree.
But so was he.
That was why he stepped to the side of her chair and leaned down over her to hit the correct keys on her keyboard, waiting till he heard the audio signal of the command going through before he looked back at her, not moving from the intentionally intimidating posture as he pointed out, "You're not the only one who knows how to reboot my system."
Felicity gulped slowly as she looked up at him, but her gaze was steady. Fearless.
It bothered him, that total lack of fear. Not that he wanted her to be afraid of him, but he found it strange that she wasn't.
Women being attracted to him wasn't something new. Still, in this instance it was strange. Especially since a crush shouldn't be enough to keep her from fearing him at least a little bit. Not with the publicized body-count he—as the Hood—was racking up.
After a moment, Felicity looked down, slowly shaking her head as she said, "I made a mistake."
"Getting in my way? I don't disagree." Oliver nodded, his tone harsh from his annoyance mixing with both his adrenaline high and his confusion at not really being able to read this brilliant woman well.
"No." Felicity surprised him, again, by standing up. She even looked and held eye contact with him as he leaned back to avoid a collision. "Signing on with you. Even provisionally." She snapped each word out like a whip. Then she turned, snatched her coat and purse, and walked away.
Oliver turned to watch her leave, her heels clicking unhurriedly on the concrete, each click-clack its own disquieting criticism.
The amused snort her departure—and possibly his reaction—got from the still half-smiling John Diggle, brought his eyes to the older man for only a moment before he could hear her stopping at the door.
Oliver almost wanted to go after her. To try to make her come back. But he knew better.
With the amount of adrenaline burning through his veins right now—and the aggravation her expected-and-unexpected attack had incited—it was all too likely that trying to talk her into coming back right now might end with him picking her up and carrying her back to her seat... Which wouldn't help here at all.
So Oliver finished getting ready even as he heard the code beep, then the door open and slam shut. He pulled his coat on while he watched her to the same outside as she walked the short distance between the door and where he made her park her car within sight of one of the two security cameras currently operational.
"You sure you want to do that, man?" Diggle asked as he watched the vigilante pull up his Hood and reach for his quiver.
Oliver waited till she was in her car, then safely driving away, before he finally picked up his bow and glanced at his friend. "This won't take long," he told him with a nod. Then he headed out to aim an arrow at a man who, widowed father or not, did deserve a visit from the Starling City Vigilante.
Ken Williams might not deserve all the aggression that was sizzling inside him right now, but as long as he did the right thing there'd be no reason for Oliver to forget his restraint.
XXX.
John Diggle's P.O.V.
The I.T department of Queen Consolidated was almost deserted when they walked through it the next day, headed for the server room that was apparently their I.T expert's office. The number of empty desks didn't surprise John though. After all, the company wouldn't employ so many people—enough to fill every desk on the floor—if it didn't have numerous (and regular) uses for their skills.
And there were still a few people around. Like the guy who'd stuttered through an offer to help 'Mister Queen, sir,' so star-struck his eyes his eyes looked bigger than his gigantic glasses. There were the by now familiar sounds of steady typing coming from a few different directions—different cubicles—around the floor, too. And a supervisor in one of the corner offices, who'd closed his door but forgotten to draw the blinds while he was watching the ballgame.
Starling's home team, the Rocket's, against the Knights from Gotham was always a good match. But it wasn't exactly something you expected to find someone watching at work. But they weren't here to stare stupid supervisor into actually supervising—even though the man happening to turn and see Oliver Queen on his floor would probably do that, at least momentarily.
John shook his head at the sight of two employees shooting the supervisor's window disapproving looks as they went by, even as he led the way into the server room. Which was also empty when they got there. And so was Felicity's desk.
"Well," Oliver spoke into the empty room. "Maybe we should come back later."
It was almost amusing; how much the former playboy-turned castaway-turned-vigilante didn't want to talk to this woman. How much he didn't know how to argue with someone who knew who he really was. Now that he couldn't resort to either charming her—or just the fact that his name was on the building—to win any argument or override any problem, Oliver was at something of a loss.
Because he knew Felicity was right.
Just like he knew John was right.
And that was why John wasn't going to let this slide. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to bring this topic up again, and even if they couldn't convince Felicity back to her offer of helping them until Walter was found—which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing anyway—at the very least, they had to try this talk again.
"No, maybe we should wait, Oliver." John looked back at his employer-by-day, vigilante-partner-by night. "This is really serious." He resorted to an argument that'd get the vigilante to stay, despite not personally thinking it was an issue. "What if her next attack of conscience leads her right to the police?"
"Oh, she won't say anything," Oliver shot that down even as he walked closer to Felicity's empty desk. "I know. I had to make the same calculation when you found out about me."
"Uh-hum." John nodded, not particularly surprised by the other man's confidence. Even though he wasn't sure why Felicity was a bit too blasé about their nightly activities, her reaction to last night's target notwithstanding. "And what would you have done if you were wrong? And I'd decided to make a call to Detective Lance?"
"I would have put an arrow in you," the other man answered evenly.
"Ha!" John snorted, only to blink as the billionaire turned around with a serious expression on his face. "Really? You really would have done that? Really?"
Whatever Oliver's answer would've been had to be put on hold as the woman they were waiting for walked into the room, pausing between them—rather than in the open doorway as self-preservation should've demanded—to glance from one to the other.
"Hum. I had a bet going with myself on how quickly you two would visit. Tell me not to reveal your secret," Felicity commented as she walked towards her desk, closing the file she'd been reading and setting it down as she walked around to the other side. Once there, she favored them with an amused smile that looked only half sincere. "Looks like I won."
"Actually, Felicity," Oliver corrected her with the gentle tone of voice John had only heard him use on his mother or his sister, though there was some of that charm he was used to using on the genius in her habitat, too. "I was hoping that I could get you to change your mind."
Felicity watched him close the distance, but sat down in her chair even before he'd stopped on the other side of her desk. As soon as he'd finished, she tapped a key on her keyboard, which seemed to start a news story that'd been paused on her computer in her absence. Then, in a further display of confidence and authority that really seemed out of place with a mere tech-girl, the blonde simply raised her eyebrows a little as she silently gave the billionaire her deliberately divided attention.
Oliver gave the monitor a half-glance before his gaze (also deliberately) went back to the unimpressed woman. "I was worked up on adrenaline last night, and I didn't exactly put my best foot forward."
"How about you start with Ken Williams?" Felicity suggested, glancing towards the news story again as it continued to play, but looking back at Oliver a second later as she finished with no small amount of sarcasm in her tone. "Did he also get to enjoy your 'adrenaline' last night?"
"No, he returned the money that he stole just in time to put his son to bed," Oliver answered evenly.
It worked for the vigilante's argument of 'some people only need the warning.' And it got the girl to look down from her confrontational glare, adjusting her glasses even as she cocked her head towards the still playing news story.
Which Diggle was starting to suspect she'd started in their presence for some reason: beyond just not giving Oliver Queen her full focus—on principle or just to avoid any embarrassing babbles or innuendoes that might devalue her reasonable anger with the man. It wasn't just background noise, either. And wouldn't serve much use as a cover for anyone walking into the room to find them there.
No, John realized as he recognized the reporters—the Civil Dispatch crew that handled almost all of the reports on crime in Starling City. Though they'd reported on the Glades a lot less before the hooded vigilante showed up. It took him a few moments, but then he recognized the ongoing story, too. It'd been circulating through Starling's media for a few days now. And, obviously, it had to be Felicity's Smoak's Royal Flush Gang.
"Like I said, Felicity," Oliver continued gently, "just a warning..." he trailed off, however, as a familiar voice came out of the playing computer speakers.
It took John a few seconds longer to recognize her, but then he didn't have Oliver's personal history or direct contact with her outside of standing on the sidelines as the not really needed bodyguard.
"At this time, we'd like to remind the public that we are coordinating our efforts with Interpol," the statement was coming from the pretty detective that'd worked the Vertigo case and has some sort of history with Queen and the club scene years back. "As the Dodger operates primarily in Europe, and they have advised us to warn the public that he is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous."
"You know, I heard about this guy," John spoke up, deciding to not draw attention to the fact that Oliver's old flame—and therefore the same S.C.P.D Major Case team in charge of the Vigilante Taskforce—was working the case that'd caught Felicity's eye. After all, it was a case just as worthy of intervention as the bank-robbing family had been. "They call him the Dodger because he avoids getting his hands dirty. He uses hostages to do his stealing for him."
Oliver frowned back at him, "How?"
And John could see that the other man had made the same connection he had—that this was something Felicity thought was actually worth the vigilante's time—even as the I.T girl took the answer right out of his mouth.
"He puts these collars on them—bombs," Felicity actually mimed the act, gesturing around her neck with both hands then throwing her hands wide to indicate an explosion.
Oliver blinked at her, at first too amused to be horrified by what she was implying right away.
But John was, too, so it took him half a second to finish off more seriously. "Last year, a guy in Madrid didn't steal what the Dodger told him to," he met his employer's gaze to make sure he was realizing just how bad for Starling this guy was. "And it took his head off. Literally."
"And now the psycho's in Starling City," the I.T girl observed dryly, disapproval clear in her voice even as her eyes remained on her computer. "It's too bad his name's not in your notebook."
John almost grinned as the girl's tone flavored her mention of Oliver's vaunted List; somehow making it sound like the all-important list of name was like a little black book, but didn't say anything as the other man spoke up seriously.
"You know, not all the people I target are on The List," Oliver met their new teammate's expectant eyes as she looked up again. "Every once in a while, I make an exception. A hostage-taking jewel thief, for example." He nodded, acknowledging her not entirely subtle suggestion, even as he paused to glance towards his bodyguard—waiting just a second to see if Diggle had any objection, which he didn't—before he went on. "So why don't you help us take him down?"
That earned a small smile from the blonde as she nodded her approval right away; with not even a second of hesitation. "Okay," she hit a key to the news again before it could move onto the next story the media thought was important.
Another keystroke somehow made the door to the room swing shut of its own accord—startling both John and Oliver, since said door hadn't looked like it could be automated in anyway. Maybe it was held open by something magnetic?
"So how do we do this?" Felicity asked them once the door had clicked shut.
Oliver looked back from the closed door with a small smile. "You can come to lunch at Big Belly Burger."
John almost groaned; knowing exactly why his employer had picked that particular restaurant. For some reason, the other man seemed set on getting him to ask Carly—Andy's widow and his ex-sister-in-law—out. But he also knew better than to try and object, especially when the woman they were here to win back was already innocently approving the suggestion.
Felicity had hesitated for just a moment at that, but then she nodded. "Okay," she agreed. "Twelve-thirty okay?"
"Twelve-thirty's perfect," Oliver nodded, before leading the way out of the room without a backward glance. Probably because it was really dawning on him just how neatly the tech-genius had kind-of played him.
Even though this was probably a criminal the vigilante would've agreed to go after anyway, it wouldn't surprise Diggle if this man who had so many secrets—and obviously had more than a little experience with espionage of some kind, which would indicate that he was not by himself on any island for the five years he claimed to have been—would not like the idea that this girl who seemed to lead such a normal life would be so at ease with trying to play them. No matter how open she was about it, or how high her intelligence obviously was even without the I.Q test results in her Q.C file.
But Oliver wouldn't object. Yet. He played too close to the chest for that. And he wouldn't want to risk driving her away again so soon. He'd wait for Felicity to do something similar again, maybe even a few times, before he tried to warn her off it.
Diggle hoped he wouldn't succeed.
At least not until Oliver realized both his—still fairly new—partners had a few points he should consider regarding how to save Starling City.
XXX.
Felicity Smoak's P.O.V.
Felicity wasn't really surprised that part of her plan hadn't worked out. This would've been too easy if it had. And since when was her life ever easy?
Oh, she didn't doubt that it'd play out fine on finding out whatever the police knew about the Dodger. That was a given. The detective's phone was bugged, and even if Oliver hadn't been able to pull that off, the S.C.P.D was not hard to hack.
The part that hadn't worked was her recommending Oliver flirt with his supposed 'crush object with a badge' while he planted the tech. Because he'd planted it, and it was working; she'd listened to several near-useless conversations already.
But part of her plan to have Oliver flirt, instead of sneaking into the detective's house to bug her cell while it was charging or something like that, was him hopefully ending up with a date. And, after a few of those, maybe a girlfriend. A girlfriend who was unknowingly hunting him, yes, so issues would abound, but it could've made all of this somewhat easier for her. Maybe.
Because Methos was going to be mad enough with Felicity for her having anything to do with trying to catch the mortal psycho he'd called to warn her away from. Leading to her looking the thief up on the Watcher's Database and being more than a little impressed by how much info she found therein.
The Watchers apparently investigated anyone known to kill by decapitation, so they'd found the Dodger. Winnick Norton was the real name that no law enforcement agency had yet. Like many Immortals, he'd undoubtedly had no idea he was being watched until a meeting with a known Immortal had garnered no reaction—recognition, wariness, anything—from either. Now he was only noted in the Database as a violent non-Immortal, and per the Watchers twisted code of ethics everything they had about him had never been shared with Scotland Yard, Interpol, anyone.
Which had Felicity wondering if she shouldn't leak enough of that information to see the madman caught. It was tempting—to use her 'powers' for good. Except none of that information was obtained legally, by the Watcher or by her hacking them, so even if the S.C.P.D used it to arrest him it might not hold up in court if they moved to soon. Like they had with the evidence that Oliver had created for them to 'clear him of suspicion' as the Hood. The same could be said for the Vigilante, in a way, but at least she had a little control over him.
Which brought her back to Methos, and his very pointed bringing up of 'the Vigilante' that'd started becoming news in the city she lived in... well, Felicity hadn't missed the hint. She'd just chosen to ignore it. Yet again.
It wasn't that she tended to become involved with every warrior she met. Though guys of particularly superior martial skills could never be called 'common,' it wasn't all that long ago that such skills were considered a matter of course for all who could afford the time and expense of training.
But guys who were not only skilled-warriors but also on a heroic mission? Yeah, that was kind of her type.
Or at least it was before that last betrayal.
Not every and any mission, of course, and Felicity didn't really know enough about Oliver's crusade to know how closely he fit her type. If she didn't approve of the mission, her libido wasn't all that hard to keep in check... usually. A few of her former lovers had eventually talked her around, or she'd helped them see the error of their ways.
The circumstances had differed each time, of course. She had differed each time. And so had each man.
But that was what was already starting to happen here? Despite her insisting she was only there to help find Oliver's stepfather, he'd already talked her into accepting another case—even if it was one she'd clued him in on and she'd kind of wanted him to handle. Wanting to prove that there was more wrong with Starling City than just the uncaring rich. He'd even gotten her to all but forgive his unexplained mission.
Mostly because of what she did know; what Diggle had told her as they waited for their leader to confirm he'd planted the tech, was that the all-important 'List' was left to him by his dad. A purpose to fulfill as said father's last request. It was hard not to have compassion towards that, no matter what said purpose in need of fulfilling was. In the Age that Felicity had been born into, those circumstances would justify just about anything. Even in the 21st century, it wasn't something many people would sneer at.
Thus Felicity suggesting Oliver flirt with his 'crush object with a badge' to plant the bug, instead of just admitting she was more than capable of hacking into both Interpol and the S.C.P.D.
Perhaps she probably shouldn't be too surprised that the infamous playboy was capable of flirting with a woman without asking her out on a date. No matter how many women he'd slept with before the Island, he couldn't have slept with every pretty woman he met. Probably.
Anymore than he could really expect himself to get information out of a woman he'd probably slept with in the past by 'putting the fear of God into her' as he claimed was how he typically got information. Especially since Detective Hall wasn't a criminal. And even if she was, it was apparent that Oliver Queen had a bit of a chivalrous side. So maybe it wasn't dead.
The sound of Hall dialing her phone again drew Felicity's attention back to the program she'd left open as she continued both her fruitless research into where Walter Steele might be now, and combing through all the information she already had on the notorious jewel thief that the Hood had agreed to take down.
"Lance," a man's voice answered the call after a few rings.
And Felicity sensed more than heard Diggle and Oliver come up behind her to listen to the conversation between the two detectives; because 'Lance' could only be the lead-investigator of the S.C.P.D Major Case Squad, who was responsible for both the Dodger case and the hunt for 'the Hood.'
Also, he was the father of Sara Lance, who'd died when The Queen's Gambit went down because her sister's boyfriend was cheating with her at the time. Felicity couldn't decide if that was lucky or not. The man had more reasons to hate Oliver Queen than his remaining daughter did, so he'd undoubtedly be happy to arrest him for anything—but that bias had probably had even more to do with the earlier charges being dropped than the Hood sighting or the detective's daughter defending him did... however Oliver had managed that.
"Sergeant, it's Detective Hall," the woman that hadn't managed to hook Oliver's interest as Felicity had hoped replied professionally. "I have an update on the Dodger case. A body was found in an art gallery, shot point blank. There were three other men there, all rendered unconscious by a highly focused electric current to the heart."
"Same M.O as the guard at the museum." Lance sighed. "Got an I.D on the vic?"
Hall answered immediately; "His name's Cass Derenick."
"Pause," Oliver ordered, waiting till Felicity complied with a keystroke before he demanded; "Who's Cass Derenick?"
Felicity didn't make any effort to hide the fact that she was more than capable of getting into the S.C.P.D's computers; she had the information he needed up on her screen only a second later. Just to see if he'd react in anyway—since the odds were they'd need her less legal technical skills as some point in the not so distant future. "Arrest, possession of stolen goods. Arrest, conspiracy. Conviction, attempted sale of stolen goods..."
Diggle spoke up as Felicity finished reading the report aloud. "This guy's a fence," the former solider sighed. "The Dodger's looking to unload the Sherwood Ruby."
"Which means he'll be in the market for a new fence. One he hasn't, you know, killed." Felicity followed along, a little surprised—though she probably shouldn't be—at how automatic it was for her.
Despite her long, long history, she'd never dabbled far outside of what society-at-the time considered alright. Save for her hacking, of course, and her more ancient resistance movements... Did it count as 'illegal' when you were part of an entire nation fighting against the armies of an empire that's only right to rule the area was won by brutally cruel conquest?
Whether it did or not though, this was new. And exciting even without being new. Something she should probably see a shrink about... if, you know, said shrink wouldn't want her in a straight jacket not long into their first meeting if said meeting involved any actual honesty on her part whatsoever.
"So we find the fence," Oliver's agreement forced her full attention back to the problem at hand rather than her internal (and eternal) debate about her own sanity or lack thereof. "And we find the Dodger."
XXX.
Oliver Queen's P.O.V.
Oliver didn't let himself shake his head as he set his bow and quiver down with a wince. His eardrums were still ringing ever so slightly from being so close to the explosive that the Dodger had thrown at him to get away.
It wasn't a grenade. The explosion wasn't right.
Grenades were meant to kill or maim as many enemies as possible. To that end, not unlike many other bombs, they were designed to explode outward—shooting shrapnel and dangerous debris every which way. There'd been no debris, no shrapnel shot towards him or hitting anything nearby. He'd checked, in the few seconds he'd had before the S.C.P.D started to come out, and he hadn't seen any substantial piece of solid metal. So the explosion was focused and power enough to completely disintegrate the collar—and probably the hostage's whole head and torso—but wouldn't do much more than knock anyone else nearby off their feet as long as they avoided being burned by the explosion itself. Small mercies.
He'd only gotten a quick glance before instinct had had him throwing himself away, but it'd looked like a thick ring of metal with blinking lights and ominous beeps warning of the imminent explosion. One of his bomb collars, most likely. So either he risked keeping spares on hand or he prepared at least one for any occasion in which he might need it.
Oliver really should've put an arrow in the guy. It would've pissed off Lance, and the entire Major Case squad (A.K.A the Vigilante Task Force), but that'd never bothered Oliver before.
What had bothered him was the thought of Felicity walking away for good... And in retrospect, he wasn't even sure his tech genius would have minded if he had ended the Dodger with an arrow. After all, she'd set his sights on the hostage-taking jewel thief.
From the looks of it, Diggle hadn't had a great night either. Before Oliver could decide to ask or not, though, the alarm system beeped as the side door's code was entered and triggered an authorized entry. Both of them glanced towards said door, watching as the third member of their team came in from the alley way.
"I heard on the news the Dodger got away," Felicity told them as she took her coat off. "Hopefully the night wasn't a complete waste?" she raised an eyebrow at Diggle.
Oliver really thought the answer to her coming question should be obvious from the other man's stance, but wasn't about to tell either of them that.
"Your date? How'd it go?"
"Awesome," Diggle replied flatly.
Felicity sighed, her shoulder's sagging with disappointment as she told him, "You suck at lying."
Deciding that was more than enough social chit-chat (since she might go back to trying to set him up with McKenna next), Oliver spoke up. "The police and I busted it up before the Dodger could get himself paid."
"Don't change the subject," the I.T expert frowned at him, though he could see amusement in her eyes.
Oliver ignored her teasing objection without any qualm, "Is your, uh, hacker chip, still working?" Despite knowing that the chip he'd planted wasn't how she was getting into the S.C.P.D's files, it wasn't worth arguing with her about, so he went with it.
Felicity sighed as she dropped into her chair. "You two are no fun." She continued after a glance at her computer. "Yup. Still getting a strong signal."
"You should pull up the police records," Oliver told her, walking closer to watch as she did so—much too promptly to be just hacking her way into them now. That was her skill set though: why she was here, so he just accepted it and moved on. "Everything the Dodger's stolen so far."
"What are you thinking?" Digg asked as he moved over to watch Felicity work, clearly more than happy to have the matchmaker's attention turned from his less than successful evening.
"We know the Dodger has a taste for a very specific type of antiquity," Oliver observed. He didn't recognize the commonality himself, but he'd bought enough jewelry (and been forced on enough tours of the vault containing the impressive Queen Family Collection) to recognize that there was a specific similarity in the pieces stolen. Even if he didn't, the fact that the Dodger had his hostages steal only single pieces, even out of jewelry stores, would clue him into that fact.
"Yeah," Felicity agreed at once, folding her fingers together as she studied the images in the stolen property reports straight from not just the S.C.P.D, but Interpol, too. Which she'd brought up on her monitors with far too much ease. Further proof, again, that she wasn't even trying to hide the fact that she could. That she really hadn't needed the chip he'd planted on McKenna Hall's phone to get into the S.C.P.D's computers. "These all look like they're from the Ominous Decade."
The ex-soldier who'd attended S.F.Q.C to get into the U.S Special Forces and the billionaire that'd dropped out of half of the Ivy League colleges both blinked at her uncomprehendingly.
"The last ten years of King Ferdinand's reign," the blonde clarified with a sigh. "After he was restored to the throne and had Calomarde start suppressing the opposition? Till he finally keeled over in 1823?"
"And she says we have no lives," Diggle scoffed lightly, clearly wondering if she had an encyclopedia stored inside her head along with the genius-level I.Q.
Oliver was just relieved he wasn't the only one who drew a complete blank at both the reference and every part of the explanation. "Are there any other places that sell or display items from the... ominous thing?"
"Decade," Felicity corrected, shaking her head even as she did so. "Not really. I guess people in Starling City prefer the Elizabethan Era."
But Oliver's attention had been caught by the monitor that she'd had a program finding potential targets on. Specifically on the website it'd brought up.
"The Starling City Cancer Society." He nodded as she glanced at it then back at him. "It says right there they're holding a fundraising auction tomorrow night."
"There's nothing that's even Spanish listed here," Felicity told him, making him wonder how she knew that—but it was probably indicated right in front of him in computer code or something like that, her skill, not his.
"We could lure him out into the open," Oliver finished like she hadn't said anything, already thinking about where, exactly, he might be able to quickly acquire the right rare—and apparently antique Spanish—jewel.
"With what?" Felicity turned to frown at him, even though he could see her thinking through the problem, her brilliant brain at work behind equally brilliant blue eyes. "A fake?"
"No," Oliver nixed that at once. "The Dodger clearly has a trained eye from this sort of thing. He's not going to fall for anything less than the genuine article."
Felicity chuckled uncertainly, "Where are you going to get your hands on a rare Spanish antiquity by tomorrow night?"
"You really have no idea how rich his family is, do you?" Digg asked her before Oliver could think of a less direct way of pointing it out.
Oliver tried not to think that her surprised look came a second too late when she turned to blink at him. But he knew it did, even as he shrugged agreement at his bodyguard's statement.
To both their surprises though, Felicity shook her head a moment later. "You can't buy a piece to donate," she said with a frown, her tone very unmistakably indicating she thought they were crazy for even considering it.
And that made Oliver blink at her, "Why not?"
"He really does have more than enough money, Felicity," Diggle tried to point out, not yet realizing that that wasn't the issue she had with it.
"It doesn't matter if he has more than enough money!" the I.T girl snapped, glaring at Diggle. "And yes, I know the Queens are multi-billionaires, so I know Oliver Queen has more than enough money! Everyone in Starling City, at least, knows that!"
"Than what's the problem?" Oliver asked, more to direct the conversation off of his family's fortune than anything else. Even when he'd been almost nothing more than a bad-boy playboy, talking specifically about how much money he had that most people didn't hadn't been comfortable for him.
Felicity sighed, "Oliver, you got a pass from the police on getting caught talking to the Count because of your sister." She shook her head. "I doubt the S.C.P.D appreciated your involvement, but there wasn't much they could do about it, other than warning you off. If that. Not when they were still worried about your family suing for your arrest getting a hit man sent after you."
"Yeah," Diggle confirmed her assessment of the prior case in one word, before pressing, "So?"
"So, he's not even dating Detective Hall!" Felicity pointed out, getting blinks from both of them again.
Oliver wasn't sure how she'd gotten back to that at all, but he said nothing as she sped on agitatedly.
"If he was, he might—might—be able get away with saying that's why he was interested in this case, but he's not! So what reason would you have—other than, you know, vigilantism—to personally investigate the Dodger enough to know how to set up a trap for him?"
Oliver could see the point she was making, but he also didn't think the police would come anywhere near him just for donating something that the Dodger ended up stealing. Whether the thief was then caught, or killed, by the Hood or not.
After a second of scowling at him, Felicity released an annoyed noise that was somewhere between a snarl and a sigh. "What was the point of getting yourself accused of being 'the Hood,' and cleared, if you're just going to keep drawing the S.C.P.D's attention back to you?"
"Why would the police care?" Diggle spoke up again, uncrossing his arms to gesture at the file she'd hacked on her monitor. "This isn't the only place that talks about pieces the Dodger's stolen, is it? Is there any reason he couldn't have found out from Google after he saw the news?"
Their hacker's sigh still sounded a lot like a snarl as she glared at the big man. "Go ahead. Try Googling the Dodger; the family of the poor guy in Madrid probably doesn't need any more donations, but they'd appreciate it anyway. You might, eventually, find something about the piece he wanted stolen in Spain being from La Década Ominosa. Maybe. If a reporter was interested enough to actually talk to a jeweler or an art historian. Then they might include a bit about Ferdinand's last few tyrannical years for comparison or something similar. But that's about the only way someone who hasn't taken classes in art history at all, or even visited Spain, might recognize the style, I'm sure. Or—"
"Then what do you think we should do?" Oliver cut her off pointedly, not really wanting to see how long she could babble so scathingly. Her ability to just keeping talking, on and on, was amusing most of the time, but when she was angry it took on a whole new edge. "You just said nowhere in Starling City has it. So we can't stake somewhere out without planting the bait!"
At that the blonde's anger seemed to deflate right out of her. "I have something," she told them as she spun around in her computer chair as she finished, while they both blinked at her back. "You can just include it in whatever set you want to donate. I assume your family has some jewelry they wouldn't mind getting rid of for this sort of thing?" she gestured to the still open announcement for the auction.
"Yeah, we do," Oliver confirmed, before demanding, "But how are you going to get a 'rare Spanish antiquity?'"
"I already have one."
That made Oliver blink at her again. Though, given the fact that she'd recognized the pieces at glance, maybe he shouldn't have been too surprised.
"An expensive one?" Digg asked, the doubt in his eyes only just not making it into his voice. "Cause that ruby was almost as big as my fist; the Dodger's not gonna—"
"He'll want it," the I.T girl insisted without letting him finish. When they just kept waiting for her to explain, both equally bothered by the strange turn of events, she sighed. "A lot of family heirlooms probably cost a lot less when they were bought than they do today," she told them flatly. "It's called inflation."
Oliver turned that over in his head for a few seconds, before asking, "Your mom's from Spain?"
Because 'Smoak' didn't sound Spanish.
But Oliver hadn't really researched the tech girl much beyond a quick check of her Q.C file to confirm she had no criminal record. Despite what he told Digg, he'd learned to trust his gut above all else; and it was his gut that told him he could trust John Diggle and Felicity Smoak with his dangerous secret.
Well, in Felicity's case; his gut and the smiles she'd been surprising out of him since that first time he'd seen her. Back when his face had almost forgotten how to smile. She'd been a light in the dark. She still was...
Yes, Oliver hadn't actually involved Felicity outside of poorly covered requests for odd jobs until he'd had no choice; it was either turn himself in at Q.C to get the medical help he needed or get help to get out of there. But that was because he didn't want to put her in danger. Yes, he and Digg would do everything they could to protect her; but the more involved she became with Oliver's crusade, the more at risk she'd be. It was a given.
So beyond knowing that her next of kin, her mother, lived in Las Vegas. And that Donna Smoak still worked long hours at the Cosmopolitan, and had for years, despite the considerable portion of her daughter's paycheck she received regularly. No, Oliver didn't know much about Felicity Smoak's family at all.
"No," Felicity answered flatly. "Donna Smoak was born in Las Vegas." She continued before either man could decide on another question. "And before you ask; not everyone knows exactly where every heirloom in their family comes from. Sometimes you just know that it was grama's favorite, or that granddad wore it every day until he died."
Oliver winced; while sentiment over objects wasn't something he was prone to—pre or post Island—he recognized the point she was making.
Felicity Smoak was sentimental, but she was willing to risk something with sentimental value because she believed in him... and while she'd probably forgive him if the Dodger got away with this bait, that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt her.
So obviously he was not only donating the pieces, he'd also be the highest blind bid on them. A trick the Queens used occasionally, usually when one of them donated something another didn't want donated, but not something he otherwise would've planned while trying to catch a notorious jewel-thief. Still, he didn't have to donate everything to be auctioned by set; then a high bid on the piece that belonged to Felicity would do.
But there wasn't much he could say to that now, so Oliver focused on the forming plan instead. "I'll need to get some pieces from the bank to donate with it. Anything in particular it should go with?"
Felicity glanced back at him, her look considering—undoubtedly remembering that he and Digg hadn't had any idea what she was talking about when she brought up the ominous-thing before—then she looked away with a shrug. "It's a necklace. Gold, with emeralds and diamonds, designed like a flower. The pendant's about this big," she showed the size with her hand, before her attention went back to typing what looked like a notice from him—from his email?—offering to make a late entry into the auction the next day.
Oliver blinked at her, too thrown by the description to really pay much attention to the fact that she'd hacked his email. Mostly because he hadn't been expecting the I.T girl's family heirloom to actually be worth much, but what she'd described was exactly the sort of piece his family might decide to donate if neither his mother or sister wanted it. Though he'd have to make sure neither of them saw it; it sounded like the sort of thing Thea might actually like.
"I can have it delivered by tomorrow morning," Felicity offered. "Stop by Starling National on my way to work?"
Oliver nodded at that, "We have some pieces there that'll work. We can drive you in," he volunteered, remembering her car was still in the shop; because Felicity had made him promise he wouldn't put a rush on it or anything like that.
The blonde visibly debated it for a second, then sighed. "Okay."
Except then what she'd said actually clicked.
"Wait," Oliver frowned. "Where are you having it delivered from?"
"Out of state."
"It has to be here by—"
"Tomorrow, I know. I just said that, didn't I?" the blonde shook her head as she stood up and started putting her coat back on. "So I should make this call sooner, rather than later," she shot them a strained smile as she picked up her purse. "I'll see you two in the morning."
Oliver ignored the cautioning look Diggle sent him, well aware that their I.T girl was trying to not talk about this. But this had nothing to do with computers and everything to do with whether or not they could lay a successful trap for the man that'd thrown a bomb at him not too long ago and might be planning on snapping another one around someone else's neck soon. "Felicity," he gently caught her arm as she tried to step around him. "It's late. Most banks aren't going to be open, or overnighting anything, unless a lot of money's involved. I can—"
"Good thing I just need to call an old friend then," Felicity interrupted him with a sigh, tugging arm free as she finished. "It'll probably be a very long phone call, and I'd like to get some sleep tonight."
"And your 'friend' will have it here tomorrow morning?" Oliver clarified, trying not to frown as an emotion the same color as his Hood swirled in his gut. "Just like that?"
"Yes, she will," his I.T girl confirmed, then pointed towards her computers. "I sent an email telling the auction you'd meet their staff at the bank in the morning. Since the auction's tomorrow, they'll probably get back to you tonight. Okay?"
Oliver was honestly still more than a little confused. What she was saying hadn't made complete sense to him a second ago when he'd thought she might be calling some guy—maybe an ex that'd still drop everything if she asked him to. The feminine pronoun ruled that out (and he wasn't letting himself think that this female 'old friend' could still be an ex; but her interested glances at him didn't mean she didn't swing the other way, too). But this still didn't make much sense.
The only 'friends' he might think of for this sort of favor were the Bratva. And even if his I.T girl having any of those kinds of connections made sense—which it didn't—that, too, would cost her more than she made in months.
"No, Felicity—"
"Oliver," she cut him off firmly. "I will have the necklace by tomorrow morning. Promise." She shook her head sharply, her golden ponytail swishing with the motion. "When I call, first thing she's gonna say is it's been too long. So I'm probably gonna be talking to her her whole trip here, so it's a good thing she'll be flying. Because I really do want to sleep sometimes tonight. The sooner I call—"
"The sooner that''ll happen," Oliver cut in with a nod. "Fine. We'll meet you at your house then."
"Oliver, I have to work—"
"We'll be there early." He insisted. Because her house was too close to the Glades for him to be comfortable with her moving a piece that an international jewel thief would be interested in.
"Fine," Felicity sighed. "See you then. Have a good night."
"You too," Oliver returned, trying not to frown as he watched her go."
"Goodnight, Digg."
"Goodnight, Felicity."
XXX.
John Diggle's P.O.V.
John glanced back at the billionaire, still a little surprised to see the younger man wide awake this early. He probably shouldn't be, considering he kept almost the same hours as his employer, but somehow surprise had snuck in there with that incorrect assumption that even a never really idle rich man would have no reason to get up early when he was frequently up all night.
For the Oliver Queen of five years ago—before those five years that'd turned him into what he was now—that assumption probably would've been accurate. Back then, he was as well known for partying hard as he was for playing around. But the man that he knew wasn't that man.
And that man had told Felicity they'd be here early. So they were waiting outside her house at five of seven, because neither one of them were sure they wanted to risk waking her up or interrupting her morning routine if by 'early' she just meant before work, in which case she wouldn't even need to leave before 8:30 to reach Queen Consolidated well before 9 A.M.
"So what are you going to tell her if it won't work?" Digg finally asked.
Oliver's gaze immediately met his in the rearview mirror. "What?"
"Her necklace," John shrugged. "You think she's right and the Dodger will want it?"
Oliver sighed, "She's the one that recognized the specific type. Not sure what the draw is, but if she's right it should work."
"Oliver the Sherwood Ruby's worth, what? Least ten grand?"
"Twice that," the billionaire shrugged. "Maybe closer thirty."
John shook his head, "And you really think our I.T girl has a necklace worth that much just laying around somewhere?"
Oliver sighed, and took a sip of his coffee, before admitting, "I don't know."
John frowned, considering, then asked, "She come from money?"
"I don't know," Oliver admitted again, frowning out the window at the modest house they were parked in front of. "I didn't think so."
John finally turned around in his seat to look at him, "And here I thought you actually did your homework on both of us."
"I did." Oliver met his eyes steadily. "She doesn't have a criminal record. Her mom's a cocktail waitress." Another sip of coffee, then he admitted, "But she has a two graduate degrees and a doctorate from M.I.T."
John blinked at that. "Doctorate?"
"In computer science." Oliver nodded. "And her credit report says she doesn't owe anything." He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe her dad left her money?"
"Who was he?"
"Couldn't find that." The vigilante admitted with another abrupt grimace. "No mention of him anyway; don't think he's in the picture." He paused, then added. "Last name might be Pearson, though. That's her brother's—maybe half-brother's."
"Brother, huh?" John asked with an eyebrow that the younger man ignored.
"He's a doctor, too. Works with ancient languages, I guess, over in Europe." Oliver shrugged. "Not much on him either." He shook his head. "Might be where she the necklace. From some archaeology dig?"
"Thought she said it was a family heirloom?"
"I think that was just examples," Oliver shook his head. "To emphasize it's sentimental value."
John considered that. "More or less than her computers?"
"I have no idea," Oliver admitted ignorance again, then looked at his watch and put his barely-touched coffee down. "It's after eight. Let's go."
John was trying not to smirk as he silently complied, scanning their surroundings as he got out because the habit was too trained into him not to, even when they'd been sitting here, looking around while they waited, for the last twenty minutes. He followed his employer up the brick walkway and then the front steps.
Felicity's front door opened before either of them could knock. "I was wondering when you were finally going to get up here," she greeted them with a smile, then gestured them inside. "Good morning, by the way."
"Good morning," both of them returned, glancing around living space with interest.
She was clearly a morning person, but the heady aroma of coffee was still rich in the air. It was coming from the practically-sized kitchenette on the other side of her living room. Comfortable furniture dominated that space, all of it lighter colors than Digg could be entirely at ease with himself—owed to how his Mama bemoaning stains or dust showing too easily on such surfaces all through his childhood. All of the light furniture faced a closed hutch, which undoubtedly contained her television—making her one of those rare people that didn't want it mounted on a wall. On either side of that hutch were bookcases neatly packed with hardcover books, though they weren't the only ones: there was another tall, thin one by the entryway and a low one running along the size of the counter that separated living room and kitchenette. Each wall space that wasn't blocked by furniture boasted paintings of all different kinds; all of them places, though he only recognized a few of the close ones—the others he couldn't really see because none of them were that big. There were no lights on, but it didn't take his eyes too long to adjust either; the curtains were pulled closed over the windows looking out front, which they'd been able to see from outside, but from the other the windows and the sliding door to her little porch were letting early morning light flooding in through her kitchen to fill the entire area.
"Coffee?" Felicity offered them as she headed into the kitchen, already pulling out two large mugs in preparation for an affirmative.
"Sure, thanks," John found himself saying right away, because her fresh brew sure smelled a lot better than the stuff they'd picked up from Starbucks on the way over.
Oliver clearly thought so, too, because he was nodding. "Yeah, thanks."
"Cream? Milk? Sugar?" she queried as she poured, and the appealing aroma was actually stronger just from that. They answered, and moments later she brought the mugs over and pressed them into their palms.
John almost moaned when the taste touched his tongue, just as good as it smelled. "Damn, girl. You should open a coffee shop."
Felicity laughed, "I'd get bored pretty fast with that, Digg." She gestured to the living room furniture in a silent offer as she herself sat down. Then she was reaching for the ornate box on the center table.
It looked a lot like a treasure chest. Like a smaller version of the kinds you'd see in movies about gold-crazy pirates and the like. The wood wasn't worn, but the gilding that looked like real gold framing each panel in still reminded him of that.
She turned it to face them as she open it. "Here it is."
Inside wasn't big gold coins, but crushed velvet padding that made the already impressive necklace on top of it almost shine. The elegantly knotting cord of gold was almost as thick as his pinky, and the size of each sparkling flower made of gems was nothing to scoff at either, the big pendant she'd mentioned especially. The former Special Forces soldier didn't know much about jewelry, but he was still impressed; especially since their billionaire friend couldn't hide his surprise either.
"Felicity," Oliver shook his head. "How—"
"It was a gift," Felicity cut him off, closing the boxes she pushed it towards him with a sigh.
John didn't miss that she wanted the subject closed with the box, and he doubted Oliver missed it either, but the archer wasn't willing to drop it just yet.
"A gift from?"
All of her cheery morning-person outlook seemed to have vanished as Felicity shot the vigilante a scathing look. "Gee, I don't know, Oliver. Who usually would give a girl a necklace like this?"
John decided to take another long, slow sip of his delicious coffee. And then another.
Oliver's face was carefully blank, but he couldn't quite keep his tone completely neutral. "Your boyfriend?"
"Ex." Felicity corrected sharply, her face twisting oddly—with all the anger in her tone almost hidden by the pain. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head. "It was a long time ago," she sighed, opening her eyes to lock gazes with the vigilante again. "It'll work, won't it?"
Oliver held her gaze for a long moment, but then nodded. "Yeah. It'll work. Thank you." He finally took a sip from his own cup—the man obviously didn't have a good sense of smell—and blinked at it. "This is good."
John decided to ignore the implication this his own honest taste hadn't told his employer that, instead taking another sip of the heavenly stuff, savoring each drop as it slid over his tongue.
Felicity laughed at that, "Why thank you."
Oliver nodded, taking another sip of coffee himself, before setting the mug back down on the nearest coaster. "He won't be a problem?"
The blonde blinked at that. "Who? The Dodger?"
"No. Your ex-boyfriend," Oliver shook his head as she winced. "This'll be on public record at the auction, Felicity. If he—"
"He's dead," she cut in, looking down into her own coffee like she wanted to hide in it.
John winced at the same time as Oliver, but took another deliberate sip while the billionaire tried to apologize.
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't be," Felicity cut him off again, still not looking up from her coffee. "I didn't really know him anyway."
Oliver eyebrows drew together as he considered that, frowning. "What'd you mean?"
"It was a long time ago." She sighed, finally looking up from her coffee to glance at the clock at the center of her wall of little paintings. "I have to get ready for work."
Oliver clearly didn't want to let it go.
John couldn't blame him, but he didn't think anything good would come from pushing more, so he finished off his coffee with a long gulp then raised an eyebrow at the hostess. "Don't suppose I could get some to go?" he asked with a grin.
The smile Felicity returned it with was smaller than usual, but it was a smile. "Sure," she agreed, standing up to accept his empty mug. "Do you want some more, Oliver?"
John was contemplating kicking the younger man next to him as he stood up in the long pause before his answer, but finally he nodded.
"Sure," Oliver agreed, also standing. "Thank you."
Felicity headed for the kitchenette with just John's empty mug and her own, setting her the empty cup in the sink and hers on the counter before she opened a cupboard over the coffee machine and pulled out two paper to-go cups, preparing their coffees without a question or a pause.
When Oliver did open his mouth, John did finally kick him.
Shaking his head when the billionaire glanced at him, he mouthed, 'Drop it.'
Oliver stared at him for a moment, his eyes narrowed, but nodded his head.
Knock-Knock.
The crisp, light and polite knock made them all look at the front door.
Felicity sighed, then called, "It's open, Diana."
The door opened, and a tall woman stepped inside, pausing as she saw them standing there, blue eyes studying them just as they did her.
John looked back, trying not to react to the unexpected, unhidden scrutiny. It wasn't easy. The blue eyes that were studying him and Oliver both were somehow both blatantly obvious and oddly unreadable. The sensation of being evaluated made it an effort not to automatically snap-to like he was back in boot camp. That, and the curiosity on the startlingly gorgeous face made it hard not to ask what she was thinking.
"Did you have a good run?" Felicity asked with her again smiling voice as she broke into the stare-off, coming back into the living room to hand both men their second coffees. (Well, third, but by comparison the Starbucks one didn't really count.)
Finally, the raven-haired woman came all the way in and closed the door, her eyes going to the smaller woman. "Málista, Megaleiótate," she said with a nod that looked more like a bow. "Kanei kryo semera."
A glance at Oliver told John that he hadn't understood the phrase either—so it wasn't Russian or Chinese, and John knew it wasn't Arabic.
"It is a little cold," Felicity agreed, then reminded her friend lightly, "Speak English for my friends, please, Diana."
"Oh, yes," the newcomer nodded to them. "My apologies."
"Diana, this is Oliver and Digg. Oliver, Digg, this is Diana," Felicity introduced them quickly, then went on before any of them could say anything. "I really do have to get ready for work."
John almost chuckled as he took the hint and picked the box up before making his way to the door to wait for his employer.
Oliver hesitated for a noticeably long moment even as Felicity's friend opened said door again for them. Finally, though, he sighed and also obeyed, stopping in the doorway to look back at Felicity—not even seeming to notice her friend—he asked. "We'll need to meet again before the auction. To—"
"We can meet there," Felicity shot that down. "You have my number, I'll be wearing a bluetooth, make sure you are, too." She cocked her head to the side. "Did you talk to anyone from the auction yet?"
Oliver glanced at the other woman that was just watching their conversation curiously, as silent as John was, but then looked back at Felicity with a nod. "Yeah. They called last night. We're meeting their representative at Starling National this morning."
"Good," Felicity nodded. "Then I'll see you at there."
If her friend wasn't standing there, not even pretending she wasn't watching them and listening to every word with interest, John had no doubt that Oliver would have kept at it. Would have wanted to plan more—and he'd probably prefer a plan that didn't involve Felicity being anywhere near where the Dodger was going to be tonight, which John couldn't blame him for. Though he had the sneaking suspicion that the obliviously jealous vigilante would focus just as much on the dead ex-boyfriend that'd given her a necklace that was probably worth more than the entire block her house was on. Which, if it was practicality and need-to-know directing his questions would be understandable, but the bodyguard thought it'd have a lot more to do with the realization that yes, Felicity had had a life before Oliver Queen came back from the dead and into her office.
"Farewell," Diana bid them both, with that accent that John couldn't place—though it sounded distinctly like the language Felicity apparently knew too.
"Have a nice day," John bowed his head, making himself hold her gaze even though that intense scrutiny was still there.
Oliver only nodded at the woman.
Which made the older man wonder just how many beautiful women you had to meet before that beauty wasn't something you noticed. Until he realized that there was another reason he might not be looking, and if that was a combination of a lot of character growth over the last five years and respect for the other woman that was watching them leave, John couldn't fault him at all.
XXX.
Felicity Smoak's P.O.V.
Felicity would never be able to say what exactly possessed her. Maybe it was because she'd just been talking to Diana about how much better that world had become—rendering the obvious ways it hadn't all the more glaring. Or maybe it was a bit of madness taking hold, remnants of the personal tragedy the offered bait was innately tied to. But when she saw that man taking her necklace—their bait—out of the display case she paused only long enough to note that there was no bomb-collar around his neck. So he wasn't the Dodger's hostage; he was just another thief that was going to mess everything up.
Nonetheless, the mild-mannered I.T girl she was supposed to be in this lifetime should tell her two teammates that the tracker was moving and they had to go fetch the necklace back before their prey noticed it'd already been poached. She wasn't an Amazon—Queen or warrior—here and now, and she shouldn't be acting even a little like one. She shouldn't be confronting any criminals herself, new sidekick to the local vigilante or not. But she'd never been good at asking anyone else to risk themselves for her, and so she'd never been good at not taking personal action either.
So she stormed after him only just sedately enough to not draw any unwanted attention. "Hey!" she snapped at him, scowling as he turned around to face her with a politely surprised look fixed on his face even with the hated jewels right there in the palm of his hand. "That necklace was donated by the Queen family. If you want it, you're going to have to bid." She didn't say the words all that loudly; not wanting to scare off the criminal they were after tonight.
The thief only smiled at her. "Actually, love, I thought I'd just take it." His English accent surprised her—but she didn't recognize it for the warning it was in time to dodge.
The weapon—that looked like a baton—hit her center mass, right between her breasts at her heart. It was just a tap. Barely hard enough to push her back or even knock the wind out of her. Not enough to phase anybody. If it wasn't serving as the conduit for an electric jolt that made her whole body go rigid even as her Quickening quickly absorbed it.
Felicity forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to make her body move as sensation came back far faster than ever could for a mortal. That jolt would knock a mortal her size out, at least, but it couldn't make it through an Immortal's body to their brain. After all, if electric-shock was able to really harm an Immortal, they'd die every time they took another Immortal's Quickening.
But the man—the Dodger; he had to be, that electric-baton was his secondary weapon-of-choice, bomb-collars being number one—was moving before she could. He pulled something out of his pocket, then reached up around her throat.
'Click.'
Felicity froze again, this time from even more unforeseen fear, as she felt the cool ring of metal locked audibly around her neck.
Apparently it'd been too much to hope for that the Dodger wouldn't have one of his bombs with him because he was out or something like that. Why he'd come himself instead of collaring a hostage if he had the collar to spare was anyone's guess.
"Well, love, my tazer's settings seem to be a bit off, but since you clearly knew what I was here for, you know who I am, and what's now around your neck," the professional criminal wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to the side of the room as he whispered in her ear. "Now, I am not an unreasonable man. You need only enjoy the auction, without calling the police, and once I'm safely on my way I shall be quite happy to spare your lovely neck."
Felicity shuddered as he stroked the skin where her neck met her shoulder, just under where his collar was resting; waiting to decapitate her with an explosion that probably wouldn't hide her massive Quickening as it was unleashed from her body by the one injury it couldn't save her from.
"Now, be a good girl," the Dodger turned to take a glass of champagne from one of the waiters, and pressed it into her clammy palm. He held her terrified eyes as he forced her to raise her hand and take a sip, before going on. "Enjoy the bubbly. And soon enough we shall both be home in one piece."
Felicity flinched as the madman actually pressed a kiss to her cheek before he finally left. She stayed frozen in place, shaking in sheer terror, as she stared after his retreating form for several long seconds.
You'd think that given how many times her life had been threatened—and how many times she'd died—that she'd be used to this. She'd accepted challenges from headhunters with more aplomb than this.
But that was the norm that this wasn't. She hadn't expected a real risk tonight, even though she should have.
So she stayed frozen in place until he was out of the room. And she probably would've stayed there longer, if she hadn't seen Oliver's non-crush object with a badge working the room in a gorgeous purple dress.
The sight of the undercover cop had her quickly setting the unwanted champagne glass down on the nearest surface and exiting the room in search of the two men that might be able to save her from certain death. Because no matter what they'd tell her as they got her away from everyone else, the S.C.P.D probably wouldn't be able to save her life anymore than the Policía Municipal de Madrid had been able to save Sergio Medina from the Dodger last year.
"—any problems," she heard Digg saying, her ears only just picking up the words as she hurried as inconspicuously as possible through the undercover-cop-filled crowd because she was listening for either of them as hard as she was looking.
"That's a good idea," was Oliver's reply just as she finally spotted them. "I'm going to go check on the bait."
The billionaire stopped abruptly as he turned towards the auction room, because that was when he'd seen her... her, and her new, not pretty, accessory around her neck.
"I-I think I have a problem," Felicity admitted shakily as she came to a stop between the two of them, one hand going up towards the device without thought as she looked up at them, glancing between both men for any sign of reassurance she could get.
Part of her quaked when all she saw was their surprised seriousness as they recognized the obvious predicament.
Then the realization that they hadn't planned for this scenario anymore than she had her moving again. It was, of course, something she'd already known, because if they'd wanted tech to save a hostage from a bomb collar they would've asked her for it. Still, a part of her had hoped... and that part was left to tremble in terror as her honor alone had her moving quickly through the hallway then, looking for the way out. Away from all these innocent people...
"Felicity," Oliver caught her arm as she started away, but she yanked out of his gentle hold and kept hurrying down the crowded hallway, barely noticing all the people she was weaving through even as she heard the two men storming after her.
She'd barely rounded the corner when the billionaire was in front of her again, his longer legs easily outpacing her inconspicuous hurry in high-heels. So instead of continuing to the nearest exit she ducked around his reaching hand again and into the empty room she'd passed before her last conversation with them. Leaving the building was surely a better idea—getting the explosive device away from all the innocent people that it could get by probably collapsing the building, and that was only assuming the explosion itself (followed by her own likely very explosive Quickening) wasn't big enough to kill everyone here. But she couldn't out run the vigilante and his bodyguard-turned-sort-of-partner in high heels, so she had to let them herd her. The Immortal wasn't surprised when the Oliver and Diggle followed her into said room, the ex-soldier closing the door while the tuxedoed vigilante easily kept pace with her into the room, where he finally managed to corner her, his hand on her shoulder gentle but firm as he caught her against the wall.
"Get a-away from me!" Felicity tried to order, her words too shaky to really be called a command as she spun around and backed into the wall, trying to gesture the concerned men away. Even with her recent interactions with Diana, here and now—with a weapon that could explode at any moment around her neck—those times when issuing orders to warriors had been normal seem a very long time ago. But not long enough for her to want either of them near her when the bomb was triggered. "If this thing blows—"
"Not going to happen," Oliver cut her off, the determination in his voice—like willpower alone could make it so—almost enough to make her feel better.
Almost.
But any Immortal with a bomb under their chin—a bomb meant to decapitate them—would probably be just as hard to reassure as she was right now.
It didn't make Felicity feel better that if these two mortals couldn't save her tonight she'd still be avenged. That, even if the Hood didn't track the Dodger down, her teacher would. That the man who'd been her 'big brother' for nearly all of her long existence would become Death again and track the man to the ends of world. If anything, that only made her feel worse.
Diggle drew her out of thoughts of that morbid future—where her unexpected, permanent death might very well destroy her dearest friend—by coming towards her with what looked like part of a pen... how could that ever help?
Felicity swallowed, trying not to think about the probably futile attempt at saving her neck, she made herself take a deep breath and meet Oliver's eyes. "The-The Dodger said if I called the police, he'd..." she couldn't keep the desperation out of her voice as she finished; "I'm going to get decapitated, aren't I?"
To think, she was one of the Immortals smart enough to leave France when the revolutionaries declared the guillotine the only 'humane' means of execution for all...
Oliver held her gaze as she looked up at him, somehow radiating calm despite the ferocity she could see in his irises. "The tracker's on the move." He reminded her, his voice also forcibly calm. "If I find him, I can get him to disarm it. Talk me in. Stay calm."
"Too late," Felicity couldn't help but gasp the admission as his eyes finally left hers, going to Digg instead.
"Go, just go," the ex-soldier told him, still fiddling with the dangerous device around her neck. "Go, go, go!"
Felicity's eyes followed the tuxedo-clad vigilante as he ran from the room, even as Digg kept trying to find a flaw in a design that an uncomfortable number of experts was flawless. But as soon as the door slammed shut behind the him, she realized what he was expecting from her as he tried to save her life. And, almost without thought, she was reaching for first her phone.
She checked that the tracker app she'd created was, in fact, still active as Oliver had assumed. It was, thank God! Then she dialed his phone even as she started digging her tablet out of her purse. She'd just pulled it out when Oliver's voice came commandingly through the comm in her ear.
"Talk to me, Felicity!"
It was somehow a relief to look at the working app on her tablet's larger screen. At least that part of the plan was working... sort of.
And Oliver's calm, determined voice in her ear was a reassurance all its own.
"Ahem," She glanced at the app even as she opened another app she'd prepared for her first outing into 'the field.' "Heading towards Adams and O'Neil. At the clip he's going, he's gotta be in a vehicle."
The comm beeped off immediately, making Felicity wince as she wondered just how badly Oliver was going to need to hurt a nearby bystander to quickly acquire a vehicle of his own. Because that was really the only reason he might've turned the link off just then; he didn't want her to hear that.
Oliver's voice came back only a few seconds later, "I'm mobile. Where is he?"
Felicity didn't answer right away, forcibly fully focused on hacking the nearby traffic cameras that downtown Starling City was fortunately littered with because it was the only way she could keep functioning. That app was working, too. Thankfully.
"Talk to me, Felicity!" the vigilante's voice was rough—whether it was more with worry or just adrenaline she couldn't say. "Come on."
"First time anyone's ever been grateful for traffic cameras," Felicity muttered as she linked her hack into the tracking app and reported. "He's one block from your position. If you cut through Harris Plaza, you'll end up right behind him."
The motorcycle that immediately turned off the road to drive straight down the stairs through the plaza—rather than going a little further and cutting through the parking lot like she'd expected—told her which vehicle Oliver had snatched so quickly.
She supposed she could be glad, at least, that he probably didn't steal that big bike from a little old couple. Even if 'old' really was a very relative adjective to her.
The tracker pinged again, drawing Felicity's attention back to it. "Got it! I got him, I got him! Grey sedan, driving north." She watched as the motorcycle sped up to catch the car. "At the light ahead of you."
The Dodger turned at said light, and she immediately clarified.
"Okay, hard right."
A cacophony of honking horns and squealing tires blared through the comm as Oliver complied, but she just kept staring at the real-life chase that might very well determine how much longer she was alive.
Digg's hands had gone still on her shoulders, no longer really trying to find an exploitable flaw in the collars design since they already knew it didn't have any. He tensed and she bit her lip as they watched the car drive Oliver off the road, then saw the motorcycle speed back onto it, nearly colliding with another car in his haste, before giving chase again.
Felicity's eyes flew wide as Oliver threw something at the sedan—at its tire, maybe?—that made it swerve and crash into a parked car, before flipping onto its side and sliding just out of the camera's view, with the motorcycle slowing as it went out of sight, too.
"Hey! Don't do anything stupid!" the Dodger's polished voice warned a moment later, a little rougher now than it'd been minutes ago when he'd threatened her. But he had just been in a car crash caused by the man he was now confronting, and the Hood—even if he was dressed differently—was a good bit more intimidating then an irate I.T girl in a cocktail dress could be. "I had the foresight to collar up a particularly inquisitive blonde. I assume she's a friend of yours. Touch one hair on my head, and she loses hers."
The Immortal swallowed, then did something she should have done a lot sooner; deliberately stepped away from her new friend. Or tried to.
Digg's big hand on her shoulder stopped her, but it was his steady stare that kept her from really trying to get away.
She should... but then she wouldn't want to step back and watch him die either. If she had to pick one thing she hated the most about Immortality, it'd be all the times she'd come back from the dead to find that someone she cared for—or any mortal nearby—had died with her and would stay that way. That, or the times she'd been dying with them, knowing she'd come back and they wouldn't. So she tried not to hate herself for appreciating John Diggle's stubborn presence as she closed her eyes and just listened.
After a noticeable pause, the Dodger chided with an audible smirk, "You've got quite the choice to make, don't you?"
"Not this time," Oliver answered evenly.
The faint whistle of a projectile weapon made her flinch.
Then her vigilante finished, "Your median nerve's been severed. You couldn't push that button if you tried."
A moment later she stayed statue still as the collar started sounding off: Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep—Clank.
"Oh, thank God," Felicity gasped, her free hand flying up to her now safe neck.
Digg snatched the dangerous device off of her before she could decide to do anything with it, and only then did he step away.
Felicity really didn't care what he was going to do with it now that it was no longer around her neck, so all her attention stayed on the banter she could still hear in her ear.
"Why are you doing this?" the Dodger asked the vigilante, some of that initial polish back as he pleaded politely. "I'm exactly like you. I only steal from the rich."
Then there was the sudden sound of a scuffle and Felicity stiffened as her ears registered the now recognizable sound of the thief's secondary weapon discharging. But Oliver was speaking again before she could ask if he was alright.
"I'm not Robin Hood."
The way he said it, as approaching sirens could be heard over the comm, made Felicity wonder how many people had brought up that comparison.
But she didn't ask, instead sticking to her part in all of this and using the wide-array of traffic cameras she'd taken over to figure out an escape route. "The cops are all coming from the south, the same way you got there. If you head the other way and come back around, they won't see you."
"Thanks," not-Robin-Hood replied, before ordering, "Digg, take her home. We're done for the night."
"Got it," the pseudo-bodyguard agreed, placing the hand that wasn't still holding the deactivated bomb on her upper back to guide her out of the room as soon as she'd tucked her own devices away in her barely big enough purse.
All the while wondering what place this not-quite-death would take in her nightmares. Perhaps she should've expected it though. That necklace was already tainted by memories of betrayal and heartbreak in flames. How fitting that she could now relate her close encounter with a bomb collar to it, too.
XXX.
Oliver Queen's P.O.V.
Oliver wasn't entirely sure why he was here.
Well, he was here because he was worried.
What he really wasn't so sure about was why he was so worried.
Felicity Smoak shouldn't be anything to him, really. She wasn't a part of his life before Lian Yu, and it was only her considerable skill with computers that'd brought her into his life since his return to Starling City. Those skills weren't reason enough for him to be knocking on her door at quarter to one in the morning.
Maybe it was her sweet, sincere personality—as he'd witnessed it the first time he'd seen her; when ARGUS had brought him back to Starling City for a mission against the Triad and the nameless blonde girl working late at Q.C's had been a breath of fresh air amongst all the madness his life had become then.
And now, actually knowing her, it was even more so. With the at times tactless, babbling blonde whose name meant "happiness" was still able to bring smiles to his face with remarkable ease.
But he knocked anyway.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
And he somehow wasn't surprised when her door opened only a few seconds later.
Her puffy eyes weren't a shock, either, though they tugged at his heart, wherever it was hidden when he wasn't with his family.
"Hi," Felicity greeted him softly, almost too softly for him to hear from just a step away.
"Hi," Oliver replied, almost as softly, looking her up and down.
She'd changed out of the golden dress that'd turned her into a knockout. He had thought she would've turned his head five years ago anyway, but seeing her in that dress had made it a definite, despite his fondness for brunettes and his somewhat steady relationship with Laurel Lance back then.
Now she was wearing a light violet tank top over pajama pants with pink and purple flowers on them. The ensemble made her adorable, and yet it somehow didn't move her in his mind to the sisterly 'female friend' category that so few women had ever made it into, even though it was probably where he should be placing the I.T girl in his mind.
And she still wasn't wearing her glasses, or squinting at him as though she couldn't see him very clearly, despite the fact that she had to have cried her contacts out judging by just how puffy her eyes were. If she was wearing contacts?
Oliver shoved all those thoughts aside, deciding to ask about the last at a later time. "Can't sleep?" he asked, his voice still soft.
Felicity shrugged silently, standing to the side to gesture him into her modest home. She didn't say anything as he walked in and looked around the brightly decorated living room that shared the space with a kitchenette, but her eyes did go to the box he placed on her coffee table.
"Your necklace," he told her before she could ask.
Felicity's eyes immediately went back to him, the box and its costly contents clearly unimportant to her. "Thank you," she answered, still soft, though loud enough now for him to hear she at least hadn't cried herself hoarse.
And as Oliver looked at her in the clearer light of the living room lamp that she'd obviously been reading from her e-reader by, he could see her eyes weren't quite as strained from crying as he' first thought. Clearly his I.T girl was a lot stronger than he could have expected, but that didn't mean this night wouldn't have been harrowing for her.
If there was anyone who wouldn't be shaken by becoming a jewel thief's hostage by a bomb around their neck, they had to be very few and far between. And more than a little crazy, which Felicity Smoak wasn't; even though she actually wanted to help him. To keep helping him... while looking for Walter, which she could do from the safety of just about any computer screen anywhere, not just the three she'd setup in his basement.
Oliver shook his head, glancing around the room as he sat down on the long couch. Then his eyes went back to her automatically, and he gestured to the returned box as he asked her, "Want to talk about it?"
"About what?" Felicity snorted. "My nearly losing my head, you mean?"
Oliver nodded, but didn't otherwise respond.
Though the emphasis on 'losing my head'—so similar to the terrified way she'd seemed to twist the word 'decapitated' into a phrase hours ago—made him wonder if it might be a peculiar phobia of hers. But it didn't really make sense. There was no reason his tech expert would be specifically particularly afraid of her head being separated from her body, any more than she might be specifically afraid of dying by gun or arrow or knife, or by any other means.
Maybe this narrowed focus was just her way of processing it? Even after the fact?
"I'm sorry," she sighed then, her shoulders sagging as she dropped onto the couch next to him, in the center seat right next to him rather than the farther spot he'd kind of expected her to choose. "I should be thanking you."
"No, you shouldn't," Oliver immediately shot that down, shaking his head when she frowned at him. "That shouldn't have happened. We shouldn't have had you in there. Digg and I—"
"Oliver," she started to interrupt, but he kept going before she could say anything more.
"—could've kept an eye on the tracker on-site. There was no reason for you to be there."
Felicity was still frowning at him as he finished, "No." She shook her head. "Leaving aside whether or not I needed to be there, which I did, but that's not important now. What's important is that I chose to be there, Oliver."
"You—"
"Me," she cut him off firmly. "I chose to risk my neck. Because that's my choice to make."
Oliver raised his hands, not because he thought he was being over-protective or domineering. But because she clearly thought so, and she was reacting the way he'd expect Laurel or Thea to, not the way he'd expect his 'you can't shoot a little boy's dad' I.T girl to react. "It's your choice to help us, yes," he agreed soothingly. "But we could've had you helping remotely, from outside—"
"Outside? You mean with the S.C.P.D's support unit?" Felicity snorted, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. "You're lucky I know how to secure communication channels, Oliver, otherwise they would've recorded the whole chase—with you saying my name more than once and never once using the voice modulator you weren't wearing with your tuxedo."
He immediately nodded in agreement. "Because that's what we really need you for, Felicity. Computers and communications are what Diggle and I can't do. Staking out a trap and confronting a jewel-thief, though, we're both trained for."
That only seemed to irritate her more.
"I didn't think he was the Dodger," Felicity grumbled, looking away. "He wasn't wearing a collar, so I knew he wasn't a hostage. I thought he was just another thief... that just happened to pick my necklace out of the case." She grimaced. "The Dodger's never risked himself before."
"That's... true." Oliver offered, trying not to frown as he added. "But you should've just told us, Felicity. Even if he'd gotten away with the necklace, the tracker was working—"
"But I thought he wasn't The Dodger. And if he took the bait and he wasn't working for the Dodger, we wouldn't catch the Dodger!" the girl actually growled, then heaved a frustrated sigh as she brushed her long bangs back from her face. Which, of course, drew his eyes to her long, luscious mane again; still glinting in the lamplight like soft spun gold.
Oliver forced his eyes to meet hers instead of following the shimmering flow of her hair as she turned her gaze back to him again. "It wasn't worth risking yourself over, Felicity," he told her firmly. "Even if he got away. Even if he hadn't been our target. Even though he was. Catching him wasn't worth your life."
She pressed her lips together in a disapproving line, shaking her head adamantly again. "That's my choice to make, Oliver." Then she arched a golden eyebrow at him, clearly challenging him. "It's not like you can arrow me to keep me from risking myself, you know—it'd be kind of counter-productive. Actually, no, not kind of. It'd be completely self-defeating."
Oliver blinked at her, then frowned at the specifically wrong part. "I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity." He shook his head. "You could say you're done, right now. And I'd never hurt a hair on your head."
That got a longer, slower blink out of her, then a headshake. "Even if I made an appointment with Detective Lance?"
"You wouldn't," Oliver answered immediately, then continued honestly. "But yes; even then."
Truthfully, he couldn't imagine ever trying to hurt this woman. Anymore then he'd harm his mother or Thea or Laurel... and considering he'd only known her for a few months now, and spent more time with her in the last few weeks then he had in all other meetings with her combined, that was a little unnerving.
Or maybe not. He'd known Yao Fei for less time when he'd chosen torture over turning the older man in to Fyers. If those five years had taught him anything it was that length of time and exactly what facts you knew about someone didn't determine anything. Not really. Deep down, it was just who they were to you.
Felicity swallowed, then said; "Thank you, Oliver."
Oliver didn't really think not being willing to hurt her—or kill her—was something she should feel the need to thank him for, but he nodded anyway. Then he indicated the e-reader he'd set the necklace next to on the coffee table. "How long have you been reading?"
"A while," she admitted without pause, but then she was frowning on the box he'd brought her. "Are you sure I should—"
"It's yours, Felicity," Oliver insisted, studying her.
It almost seemed like she didn't really want it back.
"But the Dodger stole it. The auction must know—"
"I told them I took it out," Oliver clarified as he realized where her mind was going, he finished; "Said I couldn't risk someone else buying it because it wasn't something I was supposed to donate. Gave them a check to compensate for it. Trust me, they're more than happy with the outcome."
And yet again, she was demonstrating just how much better she was at thinking everything through then he was. As though she was the one with experience involving secret identities, espionage and the like, rather than him. Or maybe she was just that much brighter than him.
The computer genius rolled her eyes. "But the cops—"
"Were probably staking out the auction because it was a possibility, not because they recognized the ominous thing and that that was the one piece from it there." He smirked at her. "I read the files you got from the S.C.P.D and Interpol; there wasn't anything about King Ferdinand noted in it. They've noticed that he has a taste for Spanish jewelry, yeah, but there was more than one piece from Spain at the auction."
He didn't put any more emphasis on his observation. Not that she was able to hack both the police and Interpol with ease. Or that he knew enough about the type of bug she'd had him hide on McKenna Hall's phone to know that it only eavesdropped on phone calls. That wasn't why he was here anymore than her apparent choice to wear glasses as an accessory—like her earrings or nail polish, rather than a tool she actually needed—was.
"...Good. That's good," the I.T girl nodded slowly, then her lips twisted into a little frown again. "Is it weird that I don't think I'll want to wear anything around my neck for a while?"
"No. Not weird at all," Oliver answered easily, frowning himself as he watched her bring one hand up to rub as the back of her neck uncomfortably. "Do you want me to hang onto it?"
"No," she shook her head. "No, I'll send it back tomorrow. Or sometime next week. Just in case the police—well, just in case."
Oliver considered that for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at her. "Back with your friend? Diana, right?"
"Yes."
"Who brought it here personally, just because you asked her too."
"Um-hum."
"Pretty good friend," he commented, relaxing a little when that made some of the pain in her eyes go away.
"That's what friends do, Oliver. Help each other." There wasn't any real reproach in her tone though, then she sighed. "She wanted to come anyway. I'm a bit surprised her mother let her, but..."
"Why?" Oliver wondered aloud when she trailed off.
"They..." Felicity shook her head, finishing with a strange grin that was somewhere between a smirk and a smile. "They don't get out much." The smile fell away as quickly as it'd appeared. "At least she'll appreciate the excuse to stay longer."
"Where is she?" he asked, wondering if waiting up for her friend was another reason she wasn't asleep when he got here.
"Guest room. Sleeping."
Oliver blinked. "Not out clubbing?" he couldn't put a precise finger on the strange girl's exact age, but he'd guess early to mid twenties. Add in the 'happy to be out from the parents' thumb' and he'd expect her to be out partying till dawn. Apparently not.
Felicity snorted—it was surprisingly adorable. "I'm sure the only kind of club Diana knows is the kind you swing at someone you don't like. Though she'd probably just punch them."
Oliver absorbed that, then nodded. "She knows some self-defense?"
Other than her classical beauty and calm consideration, what's stood out the most about Felicity's friend turned courtier was that she could obviously handle herself.
"Her mom started teaching her almost as soon as she'd started walking," Felicity confirmed.
He nodded.
Like Digg he'd noticed that mixed in with the general strangeness of the girl. It was in the way she stood—proud and at ease, but always ready. Actually, she'd reminded him a lot of Shado: just a lot less world weary. Maybe even a bit naive, though they hadn't spoken enough for him to be sure of that. Weird when it was combined with her ready-for-anything bearing, but that was the impression he'd gotten. That and something about her reminded him of Felicity...
"She's a strange girl," Oliver finally tried, just to see what it turned up.
"Woman," Felicity corrected immediately.
Oliver blinked, "What?"
"She's not a child, Oliver. I know you didn't mean it that way, but it's demeaning."
"Okay," he nodded, wondering what he was missing. He hadn't missed the fact that the tall young woman had all the assets of a swimsuit model and a flawless face to match. It didn't really surprise him that Felicity didn't hold any of that against her friend—they were friends, and she didn't seem like the jealous type. Still, he tried, "She's a strange woman?"
Felicity laughed. "Not sure that's much better. But yeah, she's outside the norm. Is that a bad thing?"
"No." He knew the answered to that one right away. Because the beautiful, quirky genius sitting next to him shone so brightly that he couldn't miss her, not even from the depths of darkness he'd sunken into when The Queens' Gambit went down.
The genius sighed. "I'm not sure how long she'll want to stay. Or how long her mother will let her."
"Will that be a problem?"
"No. Just remember to always be polite and treat her like an equal, not a little girl, and she shouldn't feel the need to punch you."
"Noted." Oliver raised an eyebrow. "So she's what, a super-feminist or something?"
Felicity chuckled. "You could say something like that." Her small smile was strange again, then she shook her head. "Anyway, you're probably right about the necklace. But I've asked Diana to stay to the end of the week just in case."
The billionaire shook his head, really not sure what the 'in case' her brilliant brain was contemplating now could be, but he didn't ask. "You should try to get some sleep yourself."
Felicity immediately shook her head, the hand at her throat clutching a little tighter. "I... can't." Her voice was so small, just thinking about it.
It made him regret not coming to check on her sooner. Secrets and strange house guest or not.
"Come here," Oliver told her, leaning over to wrap one arm around her without waiting for a response, gently pulling her against his side as he leaned back against her surprisingly very comfortable couch.
The blonde hesitated a long, tense moment, then leaned into him more, resting her head against his shoulder as he used his free hand to tug the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over her. "You don't have to—"
"Shh," he shushed her, not wanting to talk about why he was here or what any of this meant. Talking about it would only make ignoring it once she was okay that much harder.
Still, it really surprised him that this inquisitive girl who was scared-for-her life only hours ago was actually able to relax against him, trusting him so much after their short acquaintance and this brief exchange of questions and answers, that she was actually asleep only a few minutes later.
But Oliver wasn't going to question it, deliberately choosing to close his eyes as he leaned a little further back into the couch cushions—which were thankfully just tall enough for him to not worry about the state his neck might be in come morning—and sought a few hours of sleep himself.
He was almost asleep when he heard the nearby door of Felicity's guest room creak open, and the soft padding of bare feet on the floor. The near-silent footsteps paused after only a few steps, and he could feel the stranger's gaze on them.
And even though he could clearly picture that inquisitive, somehow both innocent and wary stare, Oliver didn't let himself react to it. Waking up to talk to Felicity's friend would mean waking Felicity, and she needed to rest. And so did he. So he feigned sleeping while the strange woman studied them, wondering what exactly she was looking for but not about to ask.
Maybe it was only along minute, but it could've been hours before Diana stopped watching them. Instead of leaving after that, though, she came closer, and he heard her snag the other blanket off the back of the nearby chair a moment before she draped it over the two of them. Then she went back to bed.
Oliver still didn't open his eyes as she walked away.
Strange woman. A good friend. But strange.
Not, as Felicity had pointed out, that that was a bad thing.
End of Chapter 3:
Real Near-Death Experience Number...what?
Originally posted on 6/6/2015. REVISED: 10/1/2015.
Author's Revision Note: Okay. So we're almost caught up!
Not sure how much I'll change in Deadly Dances just yet - in fact, I might skip it (and the interlude) for now, seeing as the two changes I've made don't really impact it. Well, more than two changes, obviously. There's almost twice as many words. But there were only two significant changes here: one a bit more emphasis on something that was already there, and the other obviously the sort of introduction of a major character in the DC-verse. Before anyone asks: I haven't completely decided on how much of the DC-verse I'm going to involve in this crossover. But with Arrow S4 and everything else making it look like the Justice League is a very real possibility, I couldn't resist. And, to be fair, I'd mentioned the Amazons before now anyway.
Let me know what you think!
Author's Note: It may interest my readers on to know that I am posting this fanfic as an ongoing series on Archive of Our Own. Each chapter here (at least the longer ones) is its own story there, posted with each scene/point-of-view as a chapter, and therefore updated much more regularly. The chapters I post here will be the same, but the wait will be longer because I plan to complete each segment, and proof-read some more, before reposting here. Up to you how you want to follow it.
Reviews/Comments are always helpful and very much appreciated!
P.S: A thousand thanks to everyone has commented: Boycottlove, nazibah, AerynSun75, avidreader, fanoffic, sparkysmomma09, kay, respboot, Carly2118, & Faith-Kiamn. And thanks to everyone who has kudo'd. Hope you like the rest of the series, too! :-D