Chapter Seven - Reaching out for something you've got to feel… (74 hours before the gala…)

Thank you for the awesome responses to this story! I have to cover a few bases in this chapter, please bear with me. :)


The ride back to the foundry was… tense.

Oliver had disappeared into stoic mode - he hadn't spoken to her unless one counted the really intense glare he'd thrown at her before they stepped onto the elevator - John's jaw was doing the ticking thing, and her eyes were starting to get scratchy. She blinked rapidly, but it only made them drier, which made the headache she'd been sporting since the night before start to throb again.

And to top it all off, she still smelled like stale coffee with a hint of Oliver's woodsy soap - which was not that endearing on a woman, if anyone asked her opinion.

A few weeks ago, the thought of using Oliver's soap and shampoo - he didn't have conditioner, she could only imagine their looks if she suggested they stop off at her place for something that didn't make her hair feel like sandpaper - would have left her feeling a little more breathless than she was right now. So at least there was one thing going her way: she was annoyed enough not to let the fact that she was using Oliver's soap - which saw places she really refused to think about - get to her. In fact, right now, it was only reminding her of the last few days, which were the opposite of anything happy where Oliver was concerned.

For the first time that day, she couldn't wait to get to the foundry, because she could not wait to take a shower. Why hadn't she thought to install an actual bathtub when she'd had that bathroom put in? What was her past-self thinking? Well, her past-self was actually pretty smart to assume that nobody would need to take an actual bath in the foundry. Even if there was a tub, would she actually be alright sitting completely naked with only bubbles to cover her in the foundry, with Oliver and Diggle standing only a couple feet away?

She snorted under her breath.

She caught Oliver glancing over at her from the corner of her eye, and she ignored him.

The tiny flit of joy she'd felt when she'd informed him - informed him, because that was exactly what she had done, she had informed him, not suggested or requested; if he was going to inform her about how things were going to be, he deserved a taste of his own medicine - that he had basically given her the ticket to the gala was slowly melting into a growing ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach as the entire conversation caught up with her.

She tapped her fingers against her knee rapidly.

Felicity wasn't stupid. She had a pretty good idea about the realities and the dangers of human trafficking, and that was before the research she had done on her own…

Oliver's words kept ringing in her head.

"Would you rather I left you alone? Let someone take you and shove you into a box and ship you off to god knows where?"

Felicity shivered. It wasn't just the 'what if' that had lingered in the air after his words, it was the certainty in his voice catching up with her… the mere possibility of someone taking her, of her disappearing before anyone could help her?

It was completely terrifying.

Oliver's assertion that doing something as innocuous as getting coffee could lead to being stuffed into a box with other girls… their combined fright thick enough to taste, nobody knowing where they were going, or what would happen when they got there; clinging to each other as they thought about the people they were leaving behind, the loved ones they would never see again, wondering if maybe - just maybe - they would be the ones who were lucky enough to be found before…

Before…

The images she'd seen in the police reports she'd dug up flashed through mind's eye - the boxes that had been used, the bloody scratches on the inside, the broken nails littering the bottoms from all the clawing… and then the bodies…

Felicity took a sharp breath, closing her eyes.

But sitting back and doing nothing about it, the possibility of someone else taking her place when she could have done something to help?

While no less terrifying, it was equally unacceptable.

And that Oliver was the one asking her to do that? Even more unacceptable.

Felicity's phone jumped to life in her pocket and she jumped right along with it, closing her eyes when she realized a tiny, "Eep," had slipped out. She pulled it from her pocket, not needing to see who was calling to know who it was.

Her mother's overly eager smile flashed at her. Felicity's earlier text - 'Not a good time to talk. Huge project at work. I'll call you this weekend. Love you.' - had obviously gone nowhere, although to be honest, Felicity wasn't sure her mother knew how to operate a phone past hitting the green and red buttons.

Hitting ignore, Felicity slid her phone back into her pocket. The last time she'd called this many times was to tell her that her middle school boyfriend had been around to ask for her and one time to inform her that her psychic had predicated Felicity would be drinking too much red wine one night.

She looked over in time to see Oliver glancing at her phone before his eyes found hers, and she lifted her eyebrows in question to his silent question. Displeasure immediately colored his face and he looked away again. Felicity resumed the rapid drumbeat she had been conducting on her knee, only stopping when she hit a sticky spot. Rubbing her fingers in disgust, Felicity kept her gaze directed on the city slowly moving by as they made their way into the Glades. Oliver shifted next to her, like he wanted nothing more than to get up and move, do something, and it was her turn to shoot him an irritated glance.

He met her eyes again for a split second before stilling, looking out his own window again.

They were back to not talking, and Felicity was almost willing to let it go this time. As irrational as it seemed, she felt like she had the upper hand, and it felt good. It wasn't a healthy kind of good, or a smart kind of good, or any kind of good really, but that didn't matter at the moment.

She was going to the gala.

At least her original plan - her very good original plan - was about sixty-seven percent less dangerous than the current one. Because her plan included having the Arrow standing outside with an actual scary arrow pointed at anyone who did anything untoward… and while Oliver was scary in his own right, it seemed a little less… reassuring that they would be going together.

Together.

She really hadn't thought this through.

Felicity took a deep breath, thinking about what he would have to do, the way he would have to treat her, if she attended as his… date? Is that what it would be? He'd sounded horrified at the prospect, which was sort of freaking her out, because she wasn't sure if he was horrified that he'd have to bring her at all, or that there would have to be… more. But what kind of more?

She wanted to ask, but his idea of sharing details about anything was staring at her until she stopped asking, which wasn't helpful because her brain - an amazing tool on any other day that ended in y - was slowly morphing into a horrifying black hole of what could happen.

Oliver had claimed her.

Claimed her.

She wasn't sure if her heart was hammering away at her chest plate because it was the only way the Bratva would leave her alone, or because she was thinking about what exactly those words entailed.

The creepy Russian guy had insinuated she belonged to Oliver, and because he'd claimed her, he now needed to show her off… like a couch; no, like she was a piece of meat, something to be paraded around and ogled.

So, less date and more… what? Thing?

"No, Felicity, you have no idea what… what I will have to do to… to make sure it's clear that you are off limits. What others will have to see me doing - you are not going."

Felicity shivered, sparing him a quick glance. His face was set in stone as he glowered at the passing cityscape, his lips curled in a permanent scowl. The way Alexi had said it made it sound like they were doing Oliver a favor by agreeing to this, like they were letting him bring a… party favor.

Felicity next shiver was sharper, making her shoulders jerk. That sounded… ominous, and that wasn't even counting the sporadic bursts of nerves going off in her chest at the thought of belonging to Oliver in any way, shape or form.

No wonder he was upset.

Would he have to touch her? Felicity looked at his hands. Like, a lot of touching? Or… kiss her - no way, that was too much, right? Maybe pet her? Did one pet couches? Oliver didn't seem like someone who petted. No, that was a lie; he had always struck her as the kind of guy that was more hands-on than hands-off. He could say a hundred and four things with his eyes alone…

Imagine what the man could do with his hands.

What was she even thinking?

Maybe this was a defense mechanism.

Instead of focusing on what would happen at the gala, what she would be seeing, how she would be looked at, how she would have to act… she was wondering how many callouses his right hand had compared to his left. What each of the tiny scars on his knuckles and fingers were from.

Whether she'd feel them if he did touch her, the way she had in The Dream.

Felicity averted her eyes, groaning inwardly. That stupid, awful, surround-sound, high-definition, completely-aware-of-every-single-thing-ever dream…

If it had only been a wet dream, she would have been dandy, because most people probably had wet dreams about Oliver Queen, but that hadn't been all. She could still hear - hear as in perfectly remember; it was more of a snapshot in her mind of Oliver's face pressed into her neck - oh god, she needed to stop thinking about this - as he whispered sweet endearments, brushing his stubble against her ear, holding her against him, cuddling… His hands had rested over her chest… -al region, but not in a sexy way, in a… different way.

She'd actually dreamed about taking the time to count the scars on his fingers - thirty-seven in all, according to her dream consciousness - and asking him where each came from, and he'd told her…

She'd dreamt about snuggling.

She'd dreamt about pillow talk with Oliver.

For a long time after that she was far too aware of the way her fingers twitched when he touched her shoulder, or how her stomach got really hot when he gave her that little Oliver smile, or how she wanted to show him the way she saw him - as a hero, someone saving the city and its people…

But she'd stowed it away as quickly as possible because he was off limits. He was beyond off limits, not just because of how they spent their time, but because she knew he didn't reciprocate those feelings. She had a crush, it was as simple as that, and it was mostly based on the fact that he walked around shirtless most of the time.

Oh yes, this was definitely a defense mechanism. It was easier to think about The Dream, something that wasn't real, than… real stuff. Because the idea of being in such close proximity to him, having to do… real stuff, was not good.

Oliver might have to touch her with those hands.

She needed to get it together.

Like right now.

Felicity took a breath.

She was a couch. She would have to be a couch at the gala. So, she would have to be complacent. Easy enough.

She wondered what Oliver would be like in Bratva-mode, if he even had a Bratva-mode. She was still fuzzy on the 'how Oliver is involved with the Russian mob at all' information, but he'd have to a mob mode, right? Any kind of mob was nothing to mess around with; he couldn't just be Oliver Queen in there.

If he was anything similar to how he acted when he put the hood on, well…

Then worrying about his hands on top of him acting like a domineering, growly Oliver was just…

Felicity's stomach clenched at the thought, for an entirely different reason than it had thinking about anything mob-related a moment ago, and Felicity whispered, "Oh my god," under her breath, pulling her jacket in tighter, wanting to pinch herself because she should not find the idea of Oliver in Bratva Mode as attractive as she was in that moment.

Right, like she hadn't before - she was really taking this defense mechanism thing to another level, wasn't she?

"What is it?" Oliver asked and Felicity whipped her head around, eyes widening.

"What?" She shook her head quickly. "I didn't say anything."

He frowned at her for a heavy tense second before he licked his lips. "Felicity, if this is about Saturday-"

The tiny high she'd been riding since they left QC took a dive.

"Oliver, stop," Felicity interrupted, holding her hand up. "I was not thinking about the gala. Well, I was thinking about the gala, but I wasn't thinking about the gala." His eyes narrowed at her, waiting for elaboration and her mouth went on without her permission, "I was just… thinking, about the way you reacted when you said you'd have to do stuff." She waved at his hands where they sat on his knees. "Which made me think about… stuff, and hands; your hands to be specific, and your scars… Not in a bad way, because there's nothing bad about scars, especially yours, they're… you, they make you you, and…"

Her eyes trailed up to his again, and his look of barely-restrained agitation froze the flow of words.

Oliver just stared at her, and it took the sound of Diggle's quiet snort from the front for her to realize what she'd just said to him.

"Not that your hands are a deal-breaker. If anything, they're kind of a deal-sealer… which is a wildly inappropriate thing to say, because I haven't spent a weird amount of time thinking about your hands or…" She closed her eyes, silently counting backwards from five. "I know your hands aren't-"

"Felicity…" Oliver let out huffed chuckle that was the opposite of amused as he made tight fists. "I cannot… stress enough how little of a joke this is."

Felicity paused. "I'm not trying to joke, Oliver."

"Really? Because you could've fooled me."

Felicity flinched, hurt slicing through her chest. "Oliver…"

"No. You're not… you're treating this entire thing like it's nothing, but it's not. It's not nothing, Felicity, not where you're concerned."

"I am aware of that, thank you. You're talking to the one person who cares about her own safety more than anyone in the car." Oliver snorted. "You think I don't care about my own safety?"

"I think you want to go the gala to prove a point," Oliver retorted. "This isn't a game, this isn't a normal job, there's absolutely nothing about this that is normal, and… and you're not going, it's as simple as that."

"You really should have thought about that before you 'claimed' me." Oliver's jaw snapped shut, and he clenched his teeth as he turned a hard glare on her. "No, you don't get to look at me like that, Oliver. You can't swoop in with all the answers according to Oliver Queen." Felicity shook her head in exasperation they both swayed with the car as they pulled into the back parking lot of Verdant. "This whole 'assume everything is the way I see it' thing is getting really old; you're acting like I want something bad to happen to me, which is the farthest thing from the truth."

"Then start acting like it," Oliver snapped. The car barely pulled to a stop before he had his door open and he was gone without another word, stalking towards the club.

Felicity watched him go, barely feeling John slip the car into park and shut it off.

The throbbing in her head steadily grew worse, echoing the emotional storm growing in her chest as Oliver's words grew so big in the silence she felt like they were suffocating her.

"Then start acting like it."

"You want me to go in there and beat him up for you?" Diggle asked from the front seat and Felicity gave him a short laugh, more out of surprise than anything.

Felicity swallowed down the burn in the back of her throat. "As awesome as that sounds, I don't think it'd make much of a difference."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," he said, his tone holding so much more than a simple acquiescence as they got out of the car, heading towards the club, but he didn't say anything else.

"That's it? Really?" Felicity asked him. "No lecture? No 'Felicity, you're being twelve shades of stupid right now'." Diggle smirked, not looking at her. "No 'you blew right past irrational and you're headed straight for insanity, Felicity'? I'm not gonna lie, I expected it from you more than him."

"Oh trust me, I want to say a lot of things," Diggle said, "Like yes, you are being reckless and stupid, you are playing with fire; that you're in way of your head for reasons that are as thin as tissue paper…"

They reached the door, but Diggle paused before opening it, leveling her with a steady look and she felt like he was indeed seeing right through her.

"You know, when I first met Oliver, I never thought I'd ever find someone else who was as thickheaded as he can be; as obstinate."

Felicity blinked, not sure how to take that.

"I know anything I say right now won't change your mind." He sighed and turned, punching in the code for the door. "But for the record, I think you're both being idiots."

Felicity stared at his back, listening to the beeping keypad, the sound of the lock sliding open, before Diggle motioned for her to walk through it.

She didn't move, staring at the dark entryway.

"You guys think I don't know what I'm signing on for," she said softly and Diggle cocked his head at her. "I know I don't do the 'act first, ask questions later' thing these days. Like… ever. But this is…" She looked at him, letting him see how helpless the entire thing was making her feel. Whatever he saw in her face had him letting the door fall shut again, and she watched it slowly close, unable to escape the thought that the steel door was very much like Oliver, shutting her out, throwing the lock in place and throwing the key away. "Part of it is because I can't sit on the sidelines while other people might get hurt, but… it's also… I can't stand that he's just… shutting down."

"He just wants you safe, Felicity. I know he has an ass-backwards way of doing it, but…"

"And I know that's what he's doing, and I get it. It's a point that I've gotten very well the last few days. What I don't get is… why." Diggle furrowed his brow. "Not why he wants to protect me, I'm pretty sure he'd be freaking out just as much if someone wanted to kidnap you," Felicity missed Diggle's subtle sarcastic eyebrow raise at that, "But… more why this has him so on edge."

"He's freaked, Felicity. And I can't lie, it's got me freaked too; anything mob-related isn't good, especially when it hits home like this."

Diggle typed in the code to the alley entrance again, opening the door for her and Felicity grabbed his arm, stopping him before they made it too far into the foundry.

"But that's just it, John, he's acting like he's alone, when he's not." She waved in Oliver's general direction. "He didn't come back to take seventy steps backwards. I know Tommy dying hit him really hard, and having to come back to his mom in jail and on trial for murder, the Glades falling apart because of Merlyn's machine and everyone blaming his entire family for that, someone trying to steal the company from him, and on top of that the Russian mob is moving in, and…" She paused. "Okay, so he might have a lot on his plate. But still, it's all the more reason for him to not have to do it all alone."

"You know who'd probably benefit more from hearing this?"

"Oh, I've tried," Felicity said. "It's annoyingly similar to holding a conversation with a brick wall. He's very 'Oliver's way, or the Arrow highway.' And considering a large part of this entire thing kind of involves me, I'm the last person he seems to want to talk to."

"Keep trying," Diggle said, gripping her shoulder reassuringly. "Even if you have to hit him over the head with something, keep trying." She finally cracked a smile. "I want to talk to both of you anyway. I think we need to do a refresher course on your training."

Felicity's eyes widened. "Oh?"

The thought of moving - of action, of something proactive and having a plan for something that was far more in her control than anything else at the moment - sent a flood of adrenaline surging through her veins. Felicity could count on one hand the amount of times she actually wanted to punch someone, and these last few days was starting to count as one of those times.

"I don't know what's going to happen this Saturday," Diggle said. "But I'll be damned your stubborn ass isn't going in there at least slightly more prepared than it was yesterday."

Felicity pinched her lips to stop herself from saying, 'So you agree with me going, huh?' Instead, she said, "I think that is a smart idea."

Diggle scoffed, rolling his eyes, seeing right through her words. "I'm sure you do."

The sound of something heavy hitting another something heavy floated up to them, followed by what sounded like a growled grunt, and Felicity looked down the stairs.

"He might not think so."


Something was vibrating.

Felicity felt a whisper of awareness in the back of her mind, but she didn't move.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, or when the training staffs had stopped colliding with each other, or how long she'd been sitting with her head propped on her hand, staring at a plume of steam, her mind a thousand miles away.

The ride with Oliver had been tense.

Everything since had just made it all… tenser.

Felicity had taken her shower, missing every inch of her bathtub with each passing minute, before getting out and missing every inch of her apartment even more when she saw Diggle had only thought to grab actual pajamas and work clothes. Nothing loungy, so she'd slipped on her black skirt again, a black t-shirt, and had come out to find Oliver and Diggle pounding each other into the ground - literally.

One of the staffs had slammed into the mats and Diggle had gasped, "Damn it, Oliver, you're gonna take my head off here."

Oliver hadn't responded, instead glancing at her as she'd made her way to her computers, rolling his head to crack his neck. His eyes had caught hers, and her heart had stopped at the dark swirl of emotions there before he'd looked away, shutting her out again.

Slowly but surely the tension release she'd felt earlier faded the longer he didn't speak to her.

Diggle called her stubborn; next to Oliver's black kettle, she was a slightly dusty gray pot.

The vibrating again.

"Felicity!"

"What?" she said, Oliver's voice carving through the fog in her head, making her jump. She spun her chair around to see him standing next to her, holding her phone. A mixture of concern and aggravation battled for dominance on his face before he settled on concern and she blinked up at him, before looking at her phone where he held it out to her. "Was it ringing?"

"Yeah," he said. "It's been ringing." He wiggled the phone for her to take. "Your mom."

"Oh," Felicity replied. She took it, but didn't look at the screen. "Thanks." She set it down and turned back to her computers, noticing that they had had a chance to do well over a half hour's-worth of searches. She frowned, barely remembering looking away from the screen, much less an entire thirty minutes slipping by.

It took her a second to realize that Oliver hadn't moved and when she looked back at him, he was frowning.

"What?" she asked, agitation making the word come out in a snippy jerk.

"You're not going to call her back?" he asked, nodding his head to her phone.

"No. It's probably nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing."

Felicity slid him an irritated look. "Well, that's because you don't know my mother. The last time she called me this many times in a row, it was because a psychic told her I was taking a 'red bath.' The only thing I could come up with was a wine reference, like maybe the psychic was telling her I had a drinking problem. Which, for the record, I do not. Although I know that's what people with drinking problems usually say, but I think someone asking me if I'm taking a red bath would be more related to The Shining than anything red wine-ish… and I don't live by elevators full of blood, so…"

She turned back to her computer screens.

Oliver still didn't move.

"Was there something else?" she asked, her tone bordering on testy as she spun to face him again.

He gave her a loaded look, pinching his lips before nodding over his shoulder. His words were clipped as he said, "Diggle had an idea."

Felicity narrowed her eyes. "Which you obviously don't like judging by the pinchy thing your eyes are doing."

Oliver stared at her. "My eyes are not pinchy."

"They are right now." He inhaled quickly, shoving the air out in a harsh breath as he turned away from her. She got up, looking at Diggle behind him. "What's up?"

"Training," Diggle replied.

"Oh. Training. Right."

Her eyes flew to Oliver whose face had melted into a stoic passivity.

"I think it is seventeen pounds of stupid going to the gala - at all," Diggle said, directing the comment at Felicity and then Oliver, before looking at her again. "Either way this goes down, I want you prepared."

Despite herself, her eyes flew to Oliver. He stood to the side, his jaw clenched so hard she could practically hear his teeth grinding as he glared holes into Diggle's forehead.

She could see his thoughts stamped all over his face though: he thought John was encouraging her.

"Training, huh," Felicity said loudly, and Oliver's eyes flew to her as she looked back at Diggle. She wiggled her fists at him. "Like… fisticuffs?"

Diggle chuckled. "Let's save that for a less life or death situation. No, this will be the basic offensive and defensive maneuvers, like what we did before. Enough to get you out of a tight spot."

"If I remember correctly, you mostly just tossed me around like I was a ragdoll."

"Time for that ragdoll to put me on my ass then."

"This ragdoll walked away with lots of bruises, which are not easy to cover up."

He chuckled. "I'll try to take it easy this time."

"You should show me that…" Felicity started, moving her arms. "Disarm move again." She paused. "Will I be carrying a weapon? Not a gun. Guns are… no. But like one of those handy little purse knives that folds up and looks like a credit card. No, that sort of has disaster written all over it, doesn't it? What if I tripped while trying to open it and I impaled myself? I don't think that's a good story, being impaled by a credit card knife. Although I highly doubt that has the ability to really 'impale' anything."

"No," Oliver answered before Diggle could. "No weapons."

Felicity raised an eyebrow. "It sounds like you're actually agreeing with the gala plan."

Oliver shot her a sharp look. "No, I am not… but it's not a terrible idea for you to start training. In general," he added quickly. "I don't even know if we're going to the gala."

"You mean you don't know if you're going to the gala."

Oliver closed his eyes. "Felicity…"

She turned to Diggle, ignoring the tired look Oliver gave her, and forced a smile to her lips. "When do we start? Now, right now?"

"We can tonight, if you're up for it," Diggle replied.

She didn't dare look at Oliver.

She would need to change - while she would need to go and find a dress that would equal at least a full year's salary before Saturday, she knew that whatever she found would be gown-like, and by that she meant she couldn't very well start training in her black pencil skirt and panda flats - at least with the gown she'd have some leg room to move with. Maybe she should train in heels, although she'd probably crack her head open before she even got to go to the gala.

So pencil skirt and flats needed to go.

She paused when she realized what that meant.

"What is it?" Oliver asked and her eyes strayed to him, but understanding already lit his face as his eyes danced over her clinically. "You need workout clothes."

She nodded. "Yep," her lips popping the 'p' loud enough that it echoed.

Oliver closed his eyes and rubbed them with his cut hand. The wounds were still uncovered, open to whatever disgusting germ-infested holes he could find; if it was possible, they looked worse than yesterday.

"Fine," he said, checking his watch. "It's dark enough to suit up-"

"Uh, no," Felicity interrupted with a humorless smile. "No, I'll go. Because I'm an adult, last time I checked, and I don't need yet another man traipsing through my stuff."

"Absolutely not," Oliver said. Neither noticed Diggle rolling his eyes, tilting his head back as if preparing for the onslaught. "Just tell me where the clothes are. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

Felicity snorted. "No."

"Would you rather I tried to find them myself?" Oliver asked, and she didn't like the dark sarcasm dripping from every word one bit.

"I'm already going to the gala, Oliver," she said. Her phone start ringing again and she huffed at it. "What could possibly happen if I went into my apartment to get my own clothes?"

Oliver inhaled quickly, shaking his head. He held up a hand, like he wanted to point at her and say, 'Bad girl,' before the Felicity's phone stopped ringing abruptly.

They both glanced back at it as it gave three quick successive vibrations that alerted her to a text message.

"Oliver-"

And then it started ringing again.

"Oh my god, mom," Felicity breathed, walking - alright, maybe stomping was a more accurate way to describe the way she made her way to her phone and snatched it up, answering it with a loud, "Mom?"

"Oh, Felicity, finally! Why haven't you been picking up your phone?"

Felicity closed her eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing her forehead as she turned away from Oliver's intense gaze. "I've just been really… busy. Listen, now isn't a great time-"

"I've been calling you all day though."

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry." She waved a hand, walking in a tight circle and immediately regretting it when she looked up and saw Oliver's eyes still on her, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, making his arms and shoulders look huge. It was doing nothing to make him look less fearsome as he stared at her like he was just waiting for her to get off the phone so he could continue to berate her. She rolled her eyes. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that's all. You're okay, right? Everything's alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine. It's just been busy around here. With… work," she finished.

"Oh good, good, keeping busy is good."

"Yeah." Felicity waited for more, but Donna remained silent. "Are you okay, mom? You've been calling enough times."

"Yes, honey, I'm sorry. I just… I'm so happy to hear your voice, that's all." She took a deep breath from the other side of the line. "You'd tell me though, right, if things weren't okay?"

Now that she was paying attention, Felicity could hear a fine tremble in Donna's voice.

She sounded… nervous.

Felicity tensed, a thin thread of dread seeping into her stomach, a million and one scenarios running through her head at Donna's odd question. She more felt than saw Oliver step closer to her and she glanced at him, all the animosity melting away as she unconsciously stepped closer.

He frowned, his hand reaching out to touch her elbow before he changed his mind, but he did move closer, his eyes watching her face closely.

"Mom, is everything okay? Nothing weird's been happening or-"

"Oh no, it's fine, it's fine, I'm fine. I just wanted to hear your voice, that's all, nothing to worry about."

Donna Smoak always pulled out the constant 'that's all' talk when she was uncomfortable, or upset, and hearing the words for the third time was starting to put Felicity on edge.

"Mom-"

"Well, there is one thing, but…"

"What? What is it?"

"It's silly, it's just… I was just…"

"Mom, spit it out, what's wrong?"

"You haven't gotten any… odd calls, have you?" Ice filled Felicity's stomach at that. "From anyone with a…" Donna let out a nervous laugh. "Oh, this is just silly…"

The word 'silly' came out sounding weird and heavy, like Donna was forcing the joviality to hide the real emotion underneath her words.

"Mom."

Donna sighed. "You haven't… talked to any Russians recently, have you?"

Felicity's heart dropped.

"What?"


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