It must have been a hell of a party. There was a dull but persistent pounding in her head, as if someone were tapping on her forehead with a mallet…from inside her skull. Her mouth and throat were parched. It was a feeling that she hadn't had in a long time - not since she'd gone to work at Queen Consolidated and certainly not since she'd joined Team Arrow. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd really let loose at a party. Those stuffy do's at the Queen Mansion definitely didn't count; everyone was always uptight and she was afraid to have more than one sip of anything lest she embarrass herself or, by association, Oliver. Even sober, her mouth ran away from her. She couldn't imagine being tipsy in front of the dragon lady, Moira Queen. Instead, she had become adept at holding a glass of very expensive wine but never actually taking a drink. It felt like a metaphor for her relationship with Oliver.

Felicity shifted slightly in bed, but didn't open her eyes. The movement brought a searing pain to her back. She could understand the hangover, but she couldn't conceive of what she might have done at the party to cause her back to hurt. But then, come to think of it, she really couldn't remember much about a party. She did her best to ignore her headache and tried to recollect recent events. Oh yes - she had left Starling for a hacking convention in NYC. Oliver had made it clear that he didn't want her help getting Queen Consolidated back and that he was turning to Gorgeous Laurel for assistance. With Digg's encouragement, she had decided to take a week away, to think and to put some distance between her and Oliver. She had met some guy named J.T. at the convention and had agreed to help him out. She was walking back to her hotel.

In none of those actions did she recall having a drink.

Then it hit her. On the way back to the hotel there had been a guy who had jabbed a needle in her arm and another who had tried to grab her. The second guy had picked up J.T. and thrown him twenty yards down the sidewalk with the strength of a Mirakuru soldier in Slade's army. Had Mirakuru found its way to New York? Or was she having one of the PTSD flashbacks that Digg had said might occur? It would be just her luck to travel thousands of miles to get away from Arrow business only to be confronted with it again – either physically or mentally. Damn and damn again. Even when she tried, she couldn't get away from Oliver Queen.

Still, she had to focus on the here and now. There were more immediate problems, like figuring out where she was and who she was with. She remembered backing into an alley and playing a twisted game of tag around a truck with the Mirakuru guy. She had tried to make a run for it and then…and then…nothing. Had he gotten her? She doubted she was back in her hotel room and any other possibility her mind came up with wasn't reassuring.

She decided to risk opening her eyes. The lids felt glued together and gritty, but they obeyed her command and the dull throbbing in her head turned into a sharp pain as the light hit her. She gasped.

Whatever she'd been expecting to see, it wasn't this. As she'd feared, she wasn't in her hotel room - that was the bad news. The good news was that she didn't appear to be in any kind of diabolical bad guy's prison cell either. She was in a bedroom – someone's bedroom – lying on her stomach in a large and comfortable bed, her head gently placed on its side on a soft, plump pillow. There was no madman with Mirakuru crazed eyes staring at her. There wasn't even a normal looking bad guy. Instead there was a woman; a very beautiful woman sitting on a chair next to the bed, observing her quietly.

She had shoulder length dark hair and wide-set green eyes that suggested some kind of Asian ancestry. Those eyes were focused on Felicity's face, and they expressed nothing but kindness and concern. Felicity gazed back and wondered if perhaps she were dead - maybe the Mirakuru guy had indeed gotten her. Judaism wasn't as specific about the afterlife as Christianity, but if there were such a thing as heaven and such beings as angels, she wouldn't be at all surprised if they looked like this. Of all the words used to describe an attractive woman – glamorous, hot, stunning, pretty – the only one that fit this woman was beautiful. She didn't appear to be wearing makeup, at least not like the glammed-up socialites Felicity was used to seeing in Starling, and yet her face was arresting. And it wasn't her features alone - it was her entire being that contributed to her beauty. She projected intelligence, strength, serenity and integrity. Felicity felt a small surge of pride. She must have done something right in her short life to be greeted by a being like this in the afterlife.

And then the woman spoke, "I think she's coming to."

Hmmm. Not exactly what you'd expect to hear when entering the pearly gates. Felicity shifted in the bed and felt the sharp pain across her back again. She didn't think you were supposed to hurt like this in the next world either. Maybe she needed to rethink her died and gone to heaven hypothesis. She grimaced.

The woman leaned forward. "Don't worry, Felicity," she said softly, "you're safe now." She turned to look over her shoulder just as a man joined her. He was tall, with dark hair and warm, brown eyes. Felicity felt a brief flash of recognition, but decided quickly that she must be mistaken. Other than J.T., she knew no one in New York, and she certainly would have remembered if she'd met this guy at the hacking convention. He would have stood out.

He bent over the bed. "Do you think you can sit up?" he asked quietly.

She frowned, but started to push herself up, gritting her teeth when her back protested. Noticing her expression, the man swiftly assisted her, placing his hands on her upper arms and gently turning her until she was sitting on the side of the bed, her feet dangling toward the floor. The room lurched for a few seconds, but then righted itself and stayed put.

The man pulled a penlight out of his pocket and flicked it on, the movement practiced and professional. "I want you to keep your head still and follow the light with your eyes," he instructed. He held the light up and slowly moved it, first right and then left. She did her best to comply, hoping she wasn't blushing at his steady observation.

He seemed pleased, "Good. Now, do you know what day it is?"

She thought a moment, "Tuesday? Or maybe Wednesday morning? I don't know how long I was out." Her voice was creaky, her dry mouth struggling to form words.

The man smiled, "We'll get you some water in a minute. And it's still Tuesday night. Do you know where you are?"

"New York City." Her voice sounded a little stronger.

"Very good." He leaned close, his face inches from hers, and shone the light into her eyes - first one and then the other. He nodded and then straightened up.

"Pupils are responding and she doesn't seem disoriented," he said to the beautiful woman.

So apparently she wasn't dead, or even close to dying. That was good. It also appeared that doctors still made house calls in New York, doctors who were quite attractive and wore a subtle but sexy aftershave. She studied the man's face, figuring her wooziness could serve as an excuse for any perceived rudeness. It was a nice face; he had handsome features and a bit of scruff, just like Oliver, only darker. When he smiled, he looked unexpectedly boyish.

His eyes met hers and crinkled slightly, and she realized he'd been studying her just as closely as she was studying him. "Well, Felicity, you've certainly livened up our evening," he said with humor.

Okay, so everyone seemed to know her name. They'd clearly had time to find out something about her. Now that her wits were returning, Felicity wanted a little more information about them. For example, what were their names? Where exactly was she? Why did her back hurt? And what on earth was she wearing? It looked like a man's tee shirt and, other than panties, she was pretty sure she didn't have anything on underneath it. She didn't like to think about any of the ways it might have ended up on her.

Looking over the brown-eyed man's shoulder, she noticed two figures standing a short distance away. Things were blurry without her glasses, but she was pretty sure she recognized one of them. Maybe he could provide an explanation.

"J.T.?"

The taller figure raised one hand in greeting. "Hey Felicity," J.T. acknowledged, taking a few steps closer to the bed. The second figure didn't move, but appeared to be an olive-skinned woman with the figure of a supermodel. J.T. certainly hung out with a good-looking crowd.

"Where am I? And who are these people?" The minute she said it, she felt embarrassed. It had sounded childish and little rude.

The beautiful woman seated next to the bed didn't seem to mind. "I'm sorry, Felicity, where are our manners? You know J.T. but you haven't met the rest of us." She leaned a little closer, "My name is Catherine, Catherine Chandler. I'm a detective with the NYPD, as well as a friend of J.T.'s. This," she gestured to the man standing next to her, "is Vincent. You've probably figured out that he's a doctor." Vincent grinned briefly. "And back there," Catherine continued, pointing toward the other woman, "is my partner, Tess."

Tess waved a hand, "Hi, Felicity." She paused and then added quickly, "We're all dying to hear more about how you know Oliv-"

"I think Felicity could use some water," Vincent interrupted, "before we start the interrogation. Maybe something to eat as well." He turned to her, "How's your stomach? Think you can keep something down? It might help with the headache."

She nodded. She'd try anything to make this throbbing go away.

"Good." Vincent looked over at J.T., "Have you got anything to eat around here besides your usual gummy worms? Crackers or a banana, something easy on the stomach?"

J.T. chuckled. "Pretty sure I have bananas," he replied, "maybe even crackers or toast."

"Great. Let's go with the banana…get a little potassium into her."

"Banana and a glass of water coming up."

So she must be at J.T.'s place - at J.T.'s place, sitting in J.T.'s bed, and probably wearing J.T.'s tee shirt. She wondered why they hadn't taken her to a hospital. Even if she wasn't at death's door, she'd clearly been injured. Vincent might be a doctor, but he didn't have access to a ton of medical equipment here and it all felt a bit makeshift. It made her think about Team Arrow and their reasons for avoiding hospitals. Did these four have secrets to keep as well? She suddenly remembered J.T.'s story about needing hacking help for a friend who clandestinely came to people's aid. Was one of these people the friend he had been talking about? It would explain the decision to circumvent official channels. On the other hand, the two women had introduced themselves as police detectives - surely they would object to any kind of vigilantism. It all didn't make sense, but then her faculties hadn't fully returned yet. Maybe water and food were a good idea.

As if on cue, J.T. was in front of her, handing her a glass of water. She took a sip. It felt marvelous, soothing her throat and adding cool moisture to her parched mouth. The sip turned into a couple of gulps.

"Easy," Vincent stilled the glass by placing a hand on her forearm. "Let's give it a minute to see whether it stays down."

There was an expectant silence, while everyone studied Felicity's face and she studied the sensations in her stomach, all of them waiting for signs of nausea. She noticed Tess, still in the back of the room, pick up a plastic trash can and start to move closer to the bed.

It was not necessary - her stomach seemed fine with the water. At Vincent's nod, she took a few more swallows. All good. The banana soon followed.

"Here," J.T. produced her glasses from his front pocket, "you'll probably want these." She slid them on her face, taking a moment to look around as the things came into sharper focus. J.T.'s bedroom was slightly cluttered and very masculine. He must live here alone, she thought, because there were no female touches anywhere. She noticed the four of them watching her intently, with oddly similar expressions. It was more than just concern for her health – it was as if they were waiting for her to say something special or unusual. It was the same look people had when anticipating a storm warning or an emergency news bulletin. She wondered exactly what J.T. had told them.

"I feel okay," she said, happy that her voice sounded clearer and stronger. "But I think I'd like to know what happened. How did I end up here? And why does my back hurt so much?"

Catherine looked at both Vincent and J.T. and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should start by telling us what you remember," she said cautiously.

So it was up to her to go first. What Felicity remembered was going to sound strange, yet based on their expectant faces she didn't think it was going to be a complete surprise. Still, she wasn't sure how much she should reveal. They seemed to be a tight-knit group. In fact, they reminded her a little of Oliver, Digg and herself - or at least Oliver, Digg and herself when it had just been the three of them, before Kick-ass Sara and before Gorgeous Laurel. These four were clearly a team, bound together by something. She wondered just what that something was, and whether it had anything to do with them bringing her to J.T.'s place instead of a hospital.

There was only one way to find out. As odd as her story might sound, J.T. had been there, too. Hell, he'd been the one who had been thrown down the sidewalk. If he didn't corroborate her account, if he denied what had happened, then she probably needed to get out of here because he wasn't the good guy she had taken him to be and his friends probably weren't as well-intentioned as they appeared.

Watching his face, she said slowly, "I remember leaving the hacking convention and walking back to the Hilton. Two guys came up to me and one of them stuck in a needle in my arm." She paused and turned toward Vincent, "Is that why I feel like I have a hangover?"

He nodded and said, "Yup. They shot you up with some kind of sedative - we're not sure what it is yet. We drew a little of your blood, but J.T. hasn't had time to test it."

Okay - so far, so good. They hadn't tried to pretend that she'd just passed out. She returned her gaze to J.T. and continued, "I tried to get away, but the second guy kept following me. I don't know how you got there, but I remember seeing you try to stop him. You grabbed his arm and then…then…" she fell silent. The next part was really the test – once she said it, there could be no feigning that this was a garden-variety kidnapping attempt.

"And then?" Catherine prompted.

Felicity took a deep breath, "And then the guy picked J.T. up and threw him down the sidewalk. Threw him like he weighed nothing." She stared him in the eye, daring him to contradict her.

To her immense relief, he didn't. He looked at Vincent, raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Yeah, he threw me," J.T. confirmed.

Not one of them questioned it. Apparently, super-human strength was a regular phenomenon in NYC because these four were taking it in their stride. It was enough encouragement for her to keep going. "And I could also swear that the guy's eyes changed. That's new - I've never seen that before. I mean the guys in Starling were just as strong, but they didn't-"

"Wait," Catherine interrupted, "you've seen this before? In Starling City?" That part had caught them by surprise. The four of them exchanged significant looks.

Felicity nodded, "Yeah, we had a huge problem a couple of months ago – you may have seen it on the news? A lunatic put together an army and tried to take over Starling."

J.T. said thoughtfully, "I remember hearing something about rioting in the city. I thought the police called in the National Guard and got it under control quickly. It only made the news for a day or two, and never really made the headlines."

Felicity scoffed, "That's because the story was sanitized. What the news didn't tell you was that the rioters were really soldiers charged up on a drug – Mirakuru – that gave them super-strength and made them just about indestructible. They looked an awful lot like our guy on the sidewalk this evening. The only way we… I mean the police," she corrected quickly, "were able to regain control was by getting an antidote into them. It took their strength and aggression away, made them vulnerable again."

"An antidote?" Catherine asked quickly. "You mean there was a cure? Was it permanent and who developed it?" She was looking at Vincent with a strangely hopeful expression.

"It was developed in Central City by S.T.A.R. Labs," Felicity explained.

Vincent's voice was more measured than Catherine's. "Did you hear anything about who developed Mirakuru itself? You mentioned an army – did any kind of military agency create the drug?"

Felicity shook her head, "Not the US military. I was told the Japanese first created the drug in World War II. Some doctor named Anthony Ivo managed to get a hold of it a few years ago and figured out how to start manufacturing it again." She noticed Catherine's buoyant expression fall a little.

Tess spoke up for the first time, "You seem to know a lot about something that you say the powers-that-be covered up. How exactly did you find out about Mirakuru, if it wasn't in the press?" Her tone reminded Felicity sharply that Tess, along with Catherine, was a cop. Detective Lance used that same tone when he was suspicious. Felicity wondered if they taught it at the police academy.

She pursed her lips. She really couldn't divulge more about Slade Wilson's army of super-soldiers without telling them that he had brought it to Starling in order to get revenge on Oliver. It would sound fantastical and, more importantly, wasn't her secret to tell. She needed some other plausible explanation.

Fortunately, J.T. supplied it. "I told you she's an expert hacker," he said to Tess. "If something strange were going on in your neighborhood wouldn't you do whatever you could to find out what it was? Felicity probably hacked into a few law enforcement databases." He turned to her for confirmation.

"Maybe," Tess said skeptically, before Felicity could respond. The tall police detective exchanged a doubtful look with her more petite partner before turning her cop-stare back on Felicity, "So who exactly did you hack, then, to find out about the Mirakuru – the local police? The Feds?"

Felicity hesitated, and then decided what the hell. She couldn't tell them about Oliver, but she could stick to the facts as much as possible. "I hacked ARGUS, mainly," she replied. "I also had access to a couple of …local sources…who knew what was really going on." She made herself stop there.

There was a lengthy silence, and then Catherine said slowly, "You're telling us you can hack into ARGUS? Their security is tighter than the CIA's. J.T. said you were good, but still…" Her voice wasn't as distrustful as Tess's, but she clearly had her misgivings.

Felicity looked at the four of them and said carefully, "If it's on a network, I can usually find it."

There was another silence, during which J.T. and Tess appeared to be having some kind of staring contest. Felicity figured they were questioning whether she was the type to brag or make up stories – well, Tess was questioning, anyhow. J.T. was looking a little smug. She could tell he believed her.

Catherine broke the stalemate. "Well, if you really are that good of a hacker, we have a motive for why someone might want to kidnap you," she said practically. "They're probably desperate to find some information and figure you can do it for them. However, it doesn't get us any closer to whom. Did you recognize either of the two men?"

Felicity shook her head, "No, although everything happened pretty fast." She looked toward J.T., "You thought they followed me from the convention?"

He nodded.

"Then I was thinking I could get the list of the conference attendees and bump the names up against a few intelligence databases. Maybe something will pop."

Tess arched her eyebrows. "You realize that people preparing to commit a crime aren't likely to use their real names, right?" she asked sarcastically. Damn - the woman was tough. Felicity wondered whether she was like this all the time, or only when blonde hackers from Starling came to town. Maybe in a quieter moment she could ask J.T.

Still, even with Tess's sharpness, Felicity was feeling better. With a mission to accomplish and databases to hack, she was on familiar turf. She smiled for the first time since she'd awoken. "Yes, I understand that," she agreed. "That's why I thought I'd also look for footage from the hotel security cameras. We could run any photos we find through facial recognition."

"How long do you think it will take to do all that?" J.T. asked.

Felicity sighed, "My head still feels a little fuzzy from the drug. Fifteen minutes maybe? Depends on your internet speed."

J.T. laughed, "Seriously, how long."

Felicity gave him a puzzled look, "Seriously - fifteen minutes to set up the searches, and then we let them run overnight. If you take me to your computer we can get started now." She slid off the bed and grimaced as she felt the familiar, sharp pain in her back. Vincent reached out quickly and took her elbow to steady her. She noticed him glance briefly at her legs and was reminded that she was wearing nothing but a man's tee shirt. She decided to ignore that fact for the moment - after all, it hung down to mid-thigh and she'd worn skirts that were shorter. Not that Oliver had ever noticed.

"What happened to my back, anyway?" Felicity asked.

J.T. looked briefly toward Vincent as if to ask permission. When Vincent nodded, J.T. continued, "The guy who threw me down the sidewalk?"

Felicity nodded.

"Well, he kind of clawed your back when you tried to run past him. You don't remember?"

She shook her head, "No I don't. Clawed?"

"Yeah. Your Mirakuru guys in Starling didn't grow claws?"

"No."

J.T. looked at Vincent again, "Maybe these aren't the same guys."

Vincent looked thoughtful, but it was Catherine who spoke, "Well, I'd like to find out. Let's get Felicity to your computer so she can get those searches running."

His hand still on her elbow, Vincent gently guided Felicity forward toward the bedroom door. "I almost forgot to mention," he said as they left the room, "but you and I have a friend in common."

"We do?" Felicity had never heard any of her friends mention a good-looking doctor named Vincent.

"John Diggle." The name was said with respect.

"Digg? You know Digg?" She felt her heart lift a little. If Digg liked Vincent, then the doctor had to be a good man.

"We served together in Afghanistan."

"Oh." Another thought struck her. "How do you know that I know Digg?"

Vincent looked slightly embarrassed, "He called while you were still unconscious. I may have answered your phone and talked with him."

"Did you tell him what happened?"

"Yes." They were entering what must be J.T.'s living room. It was unusual to say the least – the ceiling had to be at least fifteen feet high and the walls were a beautiful, white stone. With a dark, wooden bar situated against one wall, the place felt like a cross between a museum and a stately, old men's club. Felicity wondered how on earth J.T. came to make this his home.

"He's on his way here," Vincent's voice broke into her thoughts.

"What?"

"Digg – he's on his way here. He clearly cares about you – had nothing but good things to say."

Felicity felt both a warm spark and a twinge of guilt. She loved that Digg was concerned enough to come all the way to New York, but felt bad about taking him away from his pregnant girlfriend. Vincent hadn't mentioned Oliver. She figured Oliver was probably hunkered down with Laurel, working to reinstate himself as Queen Consolidated's CEO and too busy to worry about her present predicament. No, Felicity reminded herself - that was childish and unfair. Oliver had killed the Count when her life had been at risk; if he thought she were in physical danger, he would be here in an instant. He was only indifferent when it came to her heart.

She sat down at J.T.'s computer. She was pleased to see that although it was an off-the-shelf model, he had maxed out on memory and storage. She should be able to work with this. J.T. and his three friends gathered around her. She could almost feel them thinking: Let's see how good she really is.

It took her about thirty seconds to hack the convention registration website and pull up the list of attendees. It looked to be about two hundred people, almost all men. She sneaked a glance at Tess. If the woman was impressed, she didn't show it.

"Do you see any names that you recognize?" Catherine asked.

Felicity shook her head, "No." She typed quickly to create her program, some of the urls and IP addresses committed to memory after doing this so many times. "I just set up code to bump the names and addresses against DMV databases in the fifty states. Assuming they have drivers' licenses, we should have pictures in the morning."

Tess and Catherine exchanged looks. Felicity wondered if they were thinking about the laws controlling access to DMV records that she had just broken. Fortunately, they didn't say anything.

"Now for the hotel security cameras."

It took her closer to a minute to pull up footage from the convention. There was a lot of it; cameras had recorded people entering and leaving the main lecture room and had also captured a couple of views looking down on the cocktail hour. She bent her head and typed steadily for five minutes.

"This program will compare faces from the hotel footage to a few databases," she explained. "I picked NYPD's criminal database, as well as FBI and ARGUS. Any others you think I should include? I assumed this was likely to be domestic. If we don't find anything in the morning I could try adding Interpol." She glanced up at Catherine and Tess.

At least now they looked a little impressed. J.T. appeared stunned, "It would have taken me half a day to do that, and I still wouldn't have been able to include ARGUS." He grinned like a kid at her, "What's next?"

She wished she could share his enthusiasm but as suddenly as it had come, her energy left her. She felt tired, events from the past few hours catching up with her. "Now, if you don't mind, I think I'd like to go back to my hotel and sleep. We can review the results in the morning."

Catherine shook her head firmly, "You can't go back to your hotel. There's a good chance they're still watching it." The other three nodded. "I think," she continued, "that you should stay here. You can sleep in Vincent's old room – Vincent and I can share the couch."

Vincent and I. So those two were a couple? Felicity hadn't picked up on that before. Now that the words were out, however, she wondered how she'd missed it. They gazed at each other an awful lot, and there was a unique warmth in their eyes every time they did so. It was nice, but also a little depressing. She had believed, months ago, that Oliver sometimes looked at her with a similar warmth; now she knew it was all in her imagination.

She turned toward J.T., "I really don't want to impose…"

"No," J.T. affirmed, "Cat's right. You'll be safer here. Besides, I'm looking forward to seeing what you can do with your searches in the morning." Sounding like any host he added, "I'll show you where the bathroom is and get you some towels. I think I might have an extra toothbrush, too." Felicity smiled gratefully and started to rise.

"Wait," Tess's voice was sharp, "I have a couple more questions."

Felicity sat back down. She looked up nervously and was surprised to see Tess grinning. It transformed her entirely – the serious cop had been replaced by a younger, more fun-loving woman. Seeing her like this, Felicity realized that they probably weren't that far apart in age.

"Now that we've got the hacking out of the way," Tess said, "I want to hear about Oliver Queen." At Felicity's surprised face she added, "He tried to call you several times. Well, more than several times, actually." She leaned forward conspiratorially, "How do you know him? Are you two dating? And is he as hot in person as he is in his pictures?" J.T. frowned.

Felicity shook her head, "No…"

"No, he's not hot, or no you're not dating?"

"No," Felicity said slowly, "we're not dating. He is…was…my boss. I was his executive assistant at Queen Consolidated when he was CEO." She couldn't think how else to describe their relationship.

"And he still calls you?"

Felicity smiled a little sadly, "Yes. He's used to me helping him with computer stuff. And he's a little impatient - he likes people being available when he needs help." That certainly was a true statement. Hoping she hadn't been too transparent and trying to lighten the mood, she joked, "You know how the wealthy can be. They're used to having people at their beck and call."

"I wouldn't know – I don't exactly hang around with a rich crowd," Tess grinned at her friends. They all chuckled.

Felicity prayed they wouldn't ask anything more about Oliver. With all that had happened over the last few months – his relationship with Sara, the fake I love you, and Laurel becoming part of the team - she really didn't know where the two of them stood anymore. She thought about the time he had called her his partner. Back then the word had made her happy, but for the life of her she couldn't remember why. "Partner" was such a nebulous word; business partner, partner in crime, life partner, bed partner…She was at best one of the four, his partner in crime - batting .250. She noticed that Catherine was watching her carefully, her eyes thoughtful and compassionate. None of the others seemed to have picked up on it, but she had the feeling that Catherine had sensed some of her melancholy.

She was grateful when Vincent said, "Enough questions. As Felicity's doctor," he grinned at her, "I'm ordering her to get some sleep. We can take this up in the morning."

Oliver Queen didn't last more than 30 minutes in the coach section of the airplane, although to be fair, it really wasn't his fault. Sometimes it was just good to be Oliver Queen.

Given that Oliver had rarely flown commercial, let alone economy, Diggle had done his best to educate him about the benefits of the exit row during their drive to the airport. For two men over six feet tall, a few extra inches of leg room on a cross-country flight could be the difference between mere discomfort and complete misery. Digg suggested that Oliver do his best to resurrect his pre-island Ollie-charm and persuade the check-in attendant to switch their seats. For the most part, Oliver had been silent and brooding on the way to the airport, but he had agreed to Digg's request.

And lo and behold, it had worked. Oliver had lowered his voice and blinked those baby-blues, and now he and Digg were sitting on the two aisle seats of the exit row. Given that it was a night flight, Digg anticipated stretching out his legs after takeoff and maybe catching a few z's. They were due to land early in NYC and it would be a good idea to be somewhat rested. He was really looking forward to seeing Vincent Keller again.

The flight attendants and his fellow passengers had other ideas.

It started while folks were still boarding. Diggle never actually heard anything – not a whisper, not a question – but somehow word that the Oliver Queen was on the plane had spread quickly. While 172 passengers in economy received the terse "that bag has to be stowed for takeoff," the 173rd - Oliver Queen - ended up with a pillow, a blanket, a can of soda and five bags of peanuts from a flight attendant who seemed more than willing to arrange the blanket on his lap for him. It earned Oliver a few glares from the men seated in the area, but he regained a little goodwill by handing out the peanuts.

It only got worse when they were airborne. Once the seatbelt light was off, at least a third of the female passengers decided they needed to use the restroom. Digg was treated to a steady stream of women, ages ranging from twenty to fifty, standing in the aisle and hovering over Oliver. He gave extra credit to the thirty-something redhead who faked turbulence and ended up in Oliver's lap. She did her best to give him the opportunity for a good grope, but Oliver simply smiled politely and set her back on her feet. Digg almost felt sorry for her. Once Oliver had a good brooding session going it was tough to shake him out of his funk. In fact, the only woman he knew with the power to do it was in NYC with his army buddy, Vincent, at this very moment.

It didn't take long for the flight crew to decide that this was a safety hazard. After four requests from the captain for folks to stay in their seats as well as a brusque reminder of TSA safety rules, a flight attendant from the front of the aircraft came down the aisle and politely asked Oliver if he'd like to sit in first class. When Oliver queried whether they had a second seat available for his bodyguard, she gently but firmly said no. With an apologetic shrug at Diggle, Oliver followed her up the aisle to no doubt find champagne, a hot meal and the chance for a decent night's sleep. Digg was left to pull over Oliver's blanket, tuck it around himself, and try to sleep in the miniscule seat that didn't recline. He was marginally successful.

The plane landed five hours later in New York, with the morning sun still below the horizon. Digg patiently waited his turn to deplane, trying to stretch the kinks out of his back and shoulders. He felt irritable and in need of a shower and a toothbrush. When he got to the front of the aircraft, Oliver was waiting for him in first class looking groomed and rested, although still a little wound up. Digg guessed that would last until he saw Felicity for himself. Right before stepping out of the aircraft onto the jetway, Digg watched the petite brunette flight attendant push a napkin into Oliver's hand.

"It was a pleasure serving you, Mr. Queen," she said suggestively. "I hope you have a very good time in New York."

Oliver merely smiled and said, "Thank you."

As they emerged into the terminal, Digg couldn't help but ask, "She give you her phone number?"

Oliver paused to look at the napkin. He frowned, "Her phone number and her three favorite things to do with whipped cream, apparently."

"Anything interesting?"

Oliver shrugged, "Not really. Been there, done that."

Smug bastard.

As they passed a trash can, Oliver crumpled up the napkin and threw it away without a second look. Twenty yards later, when they reached another trash can, he said to Digg, "Hang on a second."

He pulled at least four more napkins out of his pocket and tossed those into the garbage as well.

"Okay," he said crisply, "let's go see Felicity."