Felicity

CONTENT:

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Drama

Language: maybe

Violence: none

Nudity: none

Sex: none

Other: none

Author's Note:

And how hard could it be to get Felicity on board? ...grumble... First a flashback that had a former life as a deleted scene. That should be fun! Plus an extra scene too short to fit anywhere else.


Felicity

===#===

On that Fateful Night

Felicity didn't know what to do. Don't panic, she kept telling herself, but she couldn't think of a good reason not to. Diggle was trapped in the warehouse, surrounded by police, and Oliver... Oliver hadn't answered the comms in way too long. Where was he?

A familiar electronically enhanced voice rumbled from the darkness of the basement. "Felicity."

"Oliver!" She turned around, leapt up and froze, her breath catching in her throat so hard it almost choked her. That... that was not Oliver. The archer in black had an arrow pointed straight at her. It was that copycat, the Dark Archer, the man who'd put Oliver in the hospital, his greatest nemesis! And... she'd just revealed Oliver's secret identity. Do something! her mind screamed at her. "Oliver... drabber... suited you better," she faked lamely. "Archer person whose real name I do not know," she added, in case there were any doubts left.

"I don't want to hurt you," the hooded man said. "But if you do not do exactly as I say, I will kill you. Do you understand me?"

Felicity swallowed, fear making her throat tight. "Um..." She tried again. "Perfectly."

"Take two steps towards me. Keep your hands where I can see them."

She had to remember how to move her arms and legs, first. She stared at the black-tipped arrow. It was difficult to see, black against black. It was so sharp, it was barely more than a thin line when seen head-on. Slowly, hands out to her sides, she took a step... two.

"Turn around. Put your hands behind your back, thumbs together."

Now she imagined she'd see the arrow quite clearly as it punched out through her chest, and she really wished she didn't have such a vivid imagination! She put her hands behind her back while she tried to control her breathing. The police said things like this, when they wanted to handcuff someone. Was he a policeman? She filed this piece of information away.

A moment later, she felt him at her back, looming threateningly. He secured her wrists together with a zip-tie. No police handcuffs then, she noted. She flinched and let out a little squeak as he put a hood over her head. Not a hooded-archer hood, but a South-American-execution-victim hood. A you're-being-kidnapped hood. Oh, that sounded better. She didn't stop shaking, though.

Until a few moments later. There was a sharp sting in her neck, and the strength went right out of her legs. The last thing she knew before everything went black, she was falling back against the Dark Archer, and he caught her in his arms.

===#===

She'd woken up in a bed, in a room. It had been dark. Her shoes were gone, her glasses she found later on a rickety desk in the room. Morning light revealed an oblong room painted in industrial beige. There was a flimsy plastic chair to go with the desk, and the single bed was bolted into the corner. The door looked like industrial-grade iron, like something off a submarine or, she supposed, a dungeon. It had no window or slots. If her captors wanted to see in, they'd have to rely on a small camera up in the corner. The ceilings were high; it wasn't easily reachable, plus it was protected by its own little cage.

She wondered if this was where Walter was held. For six months. Her heart sank. But if it were the same place, Oliver knew where it was and how to get in and out. That made her feel better. The cell did look like it could have had a former life as a really small tenement apartment. There was an adjacent bathroom with a shower stall, sink, and commode that had all seen better days. The bathroom door had been removed, and she felt quite odd doing her business where anyone could just walk in and see her.

Daylight came from a tiny window in the bathroom. It was nailed shut, and the glass was frosted so she couldn't see out. What she could see, though, were the shadows of bars over the window.

It could be worse, she supposed. But there was no way she was going to be able to stay here a week let alone a month or more. The boredom alone would kill her!

===#===

The intercom buzzed. "Felicity? It's Malcolm Merlyn. I'd like to talk to you. May I come in?"

She jumped. You know, she'd really like to have a camera on the hall outside her door. She shot an evil look at the one up in the corner of the cell. "It's your prison; what's stopping you?"

"I thought some common courtesy would be appreciated."

"Oh, yes! Make the captive feel right at home, shall we? Did you bring me some chintz curtains, too? That would make my cell ever so homey."

Even without a camera to see, she could sense Merlyn's sigh in the pause before his words. "I'd really prefer to be verbally harassed to my face."

"Oh, well, if you're game, come on in." She spun out of the desk chair and stood up facing the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

She expected snub-nosed machine guns leveled at her, a pair of slavering guard dogs on tight leashes. But no, it was only Malcolm Merlyn, who walked in and quickly- but certainly not in any rush- closed the door behind him. Didn't they give her any respect as a dangerous prisoner? Not that she has a violent bone in her body. Nor any martial arts training whatsoever. (Barring getting tossed on the mat by Diggle a couple of times.) But they could respect her ire! She could be a desperate woman!

"I'm not your enemy," Merlyn tried to soft-sell her.

She wasn't buying. "Oh? We must not be using the same dictionary. Because in mine, someone who kidnaps you and locks you up is, by definition, an enemy."

"I don't want to keep you here."

"And I don't want to stay. What a coincidence! Yet," she lifted her arms and let them drop to slap against her legs, "I'm still here."

"You're only making this difficult for yourself," he said, an edge of annoyance tingeing his voice.

"If that translates as difficult for you, then good!" She recrossed her arms.

Merlyn took a slow, steady breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Suppose I do let you go. What are you going to do?"

"Hopefully save a lot of people from dying."

"You can see how that conflicts with my own interests."

"You're a murderer and a kidnapper, and I know enough about the Undertaking to convince the police, the FBI, everybody, what a homicidal lunatic you really are."

"That's really not helping your case," he said icily.

"Well, then you'll have to kill me," she said, hoping her bravado held up under scrutiny. "Oh, but you can't; because then you won't have any leverage against the Vigilante, will you?"

"Oliver and I have a deal."

Felicity blinked. For a moment, her mind raced. Merlyn knew Oliver's identity? This was bad, very bad. And it was, perhaps, leverage enough. Her blood ran cold as she realized she might not be as necessary as she thought.

"Oliver and I want the same things, Felicity. To make this city a better place, a safer place."

She shook her head; she turned away. With one hand, she tugged nervously at her necklace. "He'd never consent to leveling the Glades. He's nothing like you."

"The Undertaking is on hold while we discuss our other options," Merlyn told her. Just as if it were another workaday business deal. What had he done to Oliver to make him agree to all this?

"I want to see him! I want to look into his eyes and hear it from his own lips."

"That's going to be difficult."

She whirled on him. "Why?"

"Because you're making it difficult." He held up a hand when she snarled at him. "I'll see what I can arrange."

After that, he left, and Felicity could only wonder what was going on outside the four walls of her cage.

===#===

Queen Mansion

Oliver tried to recall what he ever found attractive about the idea of vegging out on the couch. Sometimes, on the island, when he'd been bruised and battered, exhausted, sleeping on the rocky ground, he might have fantasized about it. That had been when actually doing it had been well out of reach. Now that he was here... he had too many responsibilities, too many worries. He had a city to protect, criminals to bust, his friends to save, and evil to stop. He didn't want to sit still.

Maybe someday... Someday when all was at peace, he could sit and relax. That was not today. Today it just reminded him of what he couldn't do. He hit the mute on the TV remote for the millionth time.

Thea bounced in and flopped on the other end of the couch. "You look like death warmed over."

"Gee, thanks, Speedy."

"Don't breathe on me. I have a social life to maintain."

Moira came in. "Oh, Oliver; you're up. How are you feeling?"

"Better, Mom. Getting better."

"Thea, are you going to change before dinner?"

The teenager rolled her eyes to look back over the couch. "Why?" she asked sharply. "We're not having guests over, are we?"

"No, not tonight."

"Oh, good." Thea slouched down further and muttered, "At least Mr. Merlyn didn't worm his way in here again."

Oliver grimace and looked to his mother. She mirrored his concern and started to say, "There's nothing going on between-"

"Hey, turn it up," Thea said, ignoring her mother. She grabbed the remote and unmuted the TV.

"...tonight's special report on the effect of vigilante activity in the Glades..." They flashed up that stupid 'Hood Guy' drawing again. They could at least colorize it, you'd think.

"Oh, turn that off," Moira said.

Oliver grabbed the remote.

"Hey! I wanted to see that!" Thea wrestled him for it, and he let go before he hurt her.

Moira said, "I don't want to hear any more about that criminal in this house."

"He's not a criminal; he's a vigilante," Thea argued. "Roy wants to meet him."

"Who's Roy?" her mother wanted to know.

"Thea's new boyfriend," Oliver said. "From the Glades."

Moira frowned in disapproval. "I don't know as that's-"

"Oh, you just had to bring that up, didn't you?" Thea shot a glare at him. "Just because he's from the Glades doesn't mean he's a criminal."

"He does have a record," Oliver said.

"He also has a job," Thea emphasized. "At your club!"

Oliver snagged the remote while she was getting all righteous, and turned off the TV. "I thought I told you and Roy to stay away from that guy. You can't trust him."

"You don't even know him!"

"Neither do you!"

"Thea," Moira interrupted; "that man is a dangerous criminal. He's a killer. You stay away from him, and from the Glades!"

"I can't stay away; I work there!" Thea snapped. She stood up, facing her brother and mother. "He's not a killer- not... not all the time," she faltered. "He doesn't kill good people. He saved Roy's life! He even saved Mr. Humanitarian of the Year. Didn't he even save you, Oliver? He's a hero!"

"He's not a hero," Oliver growled. "You don't know what you're getting into."

"And you two have no idea what's going on in the Glades!" Her eyes glittered in anger. "The police won't do anything; someone has to!" She whirled to go.

"Thea," Moira called.

"No, you just sit here in your big mansion, watching your big TV, eating your big dinner, and not giving a damn about anyone else! I'm going out!"

"Thea!" Moira chased her, to no avail. The stubborn girl was going, even if she had to tramp into town on foot.

When Moira came back, Oliver shared another worried look with her. "I'm sorry, Mom. I don't know what else we can do."

She shook her head. "I tried to convince her to go to Paris for the summer. But she won't hear of it." She sighed. "She cited her community service work at CNRI as a reason not to go, can you believe it? I would think she'd jump at any excuse to get out of that."

Oliver chuckled morbidly. "I guess you raised her to be more responsible after all."

"This is such a mess," she said, running a hand over her hair.

"Mom, it'll be all right. At least we know the Vigilante would never let anything happen to her."

"That's not what I'm worried about, and you know it," she replied darkly. It was Merlyn. With him tangled up in the Vigilante's business, Thea could end up crossing paths with the Dark Archer.

"I will protect her, Mom; you have my word."

"You're not the only one. I'll do what I have to, to protect her, as well."

===X===