Unbeknownst to Felicity, Oliver Queen was sitting on a red motorcycle across the street. Unlike her, he had actually formulated a plan of action. A patient man, he had decided not to confront her immediately. He had parked his bike on the corner and had been waiting for her to give up waiting for him and go home.
He knew immediately that it was her. Even though she'd been covered in color when he last saw her, he'd recognized her long blond hair, currently hanging loosely over shoulders, anywhere.
Keeping a safe distance, he followed her back to what he assumed was her apartment. He stopped his bike on the opposite side of the street, and walked to the door she had just vanished into moments before. Looking up at the building, he waited, noting when the lights went on in one of the third floor apartments. The name on the doorbell tag for that particular apartment was F. Smoak.
Now the mystery girl had a name.
He returned back to his Ducati Monster 1200 and rushed back to his place, needing to be in his private environment to think clearly.
He spent a sleepless night debating his next course of action. He decided that his best move was to sneak into her apartment while she was out, to find out what she knew, and retrieve any evidence she might have that could prove he was in the area of the Bertinelli mansion two nights ago.
Felicity wasn't able to sleep either. What had happened today? Had she misinterpreted his messages? Had he shown? Had she missed him? If not, why had he scheduled this appointment only to never show up? Had something happened to him? She knew she was probably overthinking this, but something deep down in her belly told her she wasn't.
The next morning, right after Felicity had left for what he assumed was work, Oliver made a preliminary pass through her place, figuring it would be safer to return after dark, as the Arrow, for a more thorough search.
Which is exactly what he did.
He was back there again for the third time in the past 24 hours, having watched her leaving her apartment before taking the opportunity to sneak in. Picking the lock, he stepped into her very girly living room, moving silently through the small apartment and into the bedroom located on the right. The decor in her bedroom was nothing like the living room, as if a completely different person lived behind those closed doors.
The vibes were more heavy and serious, and judging from the size of the desk and the extent of the computer hardware on it, it was safe to assume that she was spent a lot of her time there. Maybe that's where he would find what he was looking for.
After only a few minutes in her private space, he heard a key turning in the lock, and the apartment door opened. Since there was no way out except for the window on the other side of the room, which he didn't want to risk without scoping it out first, he decided to stay there to confront her. He straightened himself to his fullest height and waited for her to enter the room.
When she stepped in the room and saw him, she froze, speaking her mind before she could stop herself. "So. You crawled out of your hole."
"Don't push it." His modulated voice echoed off the walls, dark and deep.
If that was what he was counting on, it worked. She was scared. So, she used the only defense she could think of using right now. She started to speak.
"I didn't mean...I meant that you didn't appear at the library yesterday. The meeting was yesterday, right? Wasn't it?" She waited for him to say something, but he didn't so she continued. "You're kind of scaring me with that grumpy, mysterious thing you have going on there. I can assure you I won't tell anyone anything."
He just stood there, preternaturally still. "What do you want?"
"You want to know my intentions?" She slammed her eyes shut at her own words, wiping away a drop of sweat on her forehead. Why did she always find exactly the wrong way to say things? He didn't seem like the kind of guy who would find her slips of the tongue funny.
Oliver was in no mood for humor, at least not until he figured out if she was a threat to him.
"The worst thing about humor is that usually targeted the person that had no intension to giggle." He answered and then he just pinned her with an icy stare until she started fidgeting uncomfortably.
"Sorry," she said as innocently as she could manage. "I babble when I'm nervous. Seriously though..." She extended her hand. "Hi, I'm Felicity."
Taken by surprise, he blinked. This was an unexpected development. He was standing there as the Arrow, an accused criminal who had invaded her private space and who was a potential threat to her, and she was introducing herself. This girl must be fierce, or completely out of her mind, he thought to himself.
He took her small hand in his, and shoot it. "Arrow."
"No, not your stage name," she blurted out. 'Oh crap, I have to shut up,' she though after the words tumbled out.
He didn't react. "Just don't mess with my business," he threatened.
"Queen Industries, or the criminal one?" The words flew out before she could think about what they could mean for her. Yes, she knew it had to be Oliver Queen, but did he know that she knew?
He took a step toward her. "How are you even sure I am Oliver Queen?"
"I hacked your account," she casually confessed, taking a corresponding step back.
"Oh, really?" His lips curved up a little, in what she thought might have been a teasing smile, except it was difficult to tell given that his hood kept most of his face hidden in shadows.
She was flustered. "I mean…uh..." Had she just confessed to a crime herself?
He took another step closer, hoping to disorient her. "How did you come to that conclusion? I mean, you saw me out there. Those weren't exactly the moves of a fancy playboy." He already knew that he wouldn't be able to change her mind about his identity, but he had nothing to lose by trying.
"Come on, Mr. Queen, I wasn't born yesterday. I have your palm print colorful like the Lascaux cave drawings on my shirt. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to run a recognition program and connect the dots."
"But I'm wearing gloves, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Yes that archery gloves. You are probably the one who haven't noticed that they are partially cover only some of your fingers."
"Unfortunately for you they aren't." Oliver was done with the verbal sparring. "Give me the shirt, Felicity," he ordered her, making his voice as threatening ask he could as he closed the space between them.
She went pale, and she backed away from him, shaking her head, until she hit the wall behind her. The closer he got, the more she had to look up to keep her eyes on his.
"Then you leave me no choice." He loomed menacingly over her, invading her personal space, and before she even had a chance to react, he had grabbed her, spun her around, and with an arm banded around her rib cage, trapped her against his chest and pressed a wadded up cloth over her mouth and nose.
Felicity struggled harder than she ever had in her life, and never had her struggles been so fruitless. She tried to move her head, but it was trapped between his rock-solid shoulder, and the hand covering her mouth. She was no match for his incredible strength, but she continued to fight him. She would have screamed, but to do that, she would have to inhale, and she was pretty sure she knew what was on the cloth he held pressed to her face.
He removed the cloth of her face just for a moment to check in what condition she was, when her pointless efforts of escaping from him started to faint a little.
"Oh man you have to change your cologne, it's sooo heavy." Even in that state of mind she continued to make fun of him.
"It's chloroform, to be accurate." he whispered from behind her, confirming her suspicions.
"Shhh... Relax… Just breathe in… I'm holding you. I won't let you fall."