FNF#11: Strategic Withdraw – Day Seven
Flash Fic Prompt #11: Who Are You?
It had taken her more than four years... and then six days of pure hell, but, finally, Felicity Smoak was on a yacht owned by the Queen family.
Okay, so maybe she wasn't on a yacht, but she was near one. And maybe said yacht wasn't exactly seaworthy, but perhaps that was a good thing. She wasn't the strongest swimmer, and, when Oliver and water mixed, things tended to sink... like all of her beloved tech equipment (which he still hadn't replaced yet) and the Queen's Gambit itself. Only... for a boat that was supposed to be on the bottom of the ocean, she was currently staring at it, mouth hanging open much like the fish it was supposed to be living with. Of all the things she had expected to find in Moira's illegally purloined warehouse, the Queen's Gambit hadn't even crossed her mind, and, judging by Oliver's even more stoic (and silent) presence by her side, Felicity didn't have to ask to know that the shock was mutual.
Really, she'd been expecting something... well, sexier – either a love shack in the very last place someone would expect to find a tin roof, rusted! or a super secret lair... which, hello, those were sexy, too (as she'd just recently learned) – all dim lighting, and cool metal, and salmon ladders...
Back to the point, however, there was no reason for Moira to go to such lengths to hide her purchasing of a warehouse unless it was being used for something illicit, and what screamed more illicit than an affair? The Queens were discreet... or, more accurately, they had enough money to buy other people's discretion, but Felicity wasn't an idiot. She knew that, despite the image Robert and Moira Queen had presented to the world and, more importantly, their stock holders, their marriage had been fraught with infidelity. Given how quickly Moira had remarried, it didn't inspire much hope that the leopardess had changed her spots, so it stood to reason that, if Moira had been willing to cheat on her first husband – the father of her children, that she would be willing to make a cuckold of Walter as well, and nothing could make a good woman go bad faster than a bad man. Yes, Moira had lost a son, and, yes, she had been devastated by that loss, but she also got him back. If it was the loss of Oliver that had driven her towards mass murder, then that killer bus would have been turned around months ago. Oliver wouldn't still be trying to stop something sinister called The Undertaking, his mother wouldn't be involved, and Felicity wouldn't be staring up at a yacht that was split down the middle.
Unable to stand the quiet any longer, Felicity found herself asking Oliver, "what are you thinking?" It was either that or say something wildly inappropriate about what she was thinking, and she didn't believe either of them wanted her to go there.
"I'm thinking that no storm did that," he answered, gesturing towards the fractured ship. "The Queen's Gambit was sabotaged."
Which meant its sinking wasn't an accident. Which meant that someone had tried to kill him... or, more likely, his father. And succeeded. And it also meant that, since Moira had gone to such great lengths to find, remove, and return the Queen's Gambit from where it sank to the bottom of the ocean, then she must have known that its destruction was more than just an act of nature.
Felicity wanted to comfort Oliver, to offer apologies that were empty but yet necessary nonetheless, but, before she could even open her mouth, a door opened behind them... the very same door she had hacked their way into mere minutes before. In fact, that had been her whole reason for coming along with Oliver on his mission that evening. After calling his partner – oddly and embarrassingly enough named John – and leaving the retreat from hell behind them, she had spilled the Tempest beans to both men, Oliver eventually deciding that he needed to check out the warehouse for himself. By himself. Felicity had protested, however, arguing that the last thing they needed was for Moira to realize that the Hood was onto her and her nefarious ways. If they wanted answers while still maintaining their anonymity, then Oliver couldn't just break in; she'd hack them in. He argued, she persisted, and John just seemed to be amused by the entire exchange. Felicity had won the fight, of course – not that she ever had any doubts about who would come out a victor between her and Oliver in a verbal sparring match, but, now, as she stood in a dank, dark warehouse – alone with a vigilante and his villainess of a mother, she wasn't feeling so triumphant anymore.
"Hello," Moira called out. The other woman's voice was controlled, steady. Her tail feathers didn't sound ruffled at all. "Who's there?" Neither Felicity nor Oliver moved, and they certainly didn't respond to the question either. "Malcolm, is that you?"
At the mention of the man's name – Felicity could only assume Moira was speaking of Malcolm Merlyn, she felt Oliver become rigid beside her. Then the sound of high heeled shoes against concrete almost masked the tell-tale click of a gun's hammer being lowered, and Felicity started to panic. Latching her hands around Oliver's right forearm, she clutched his green leather tightly. Squeezed. "Do something," she hissed. But Oliver was frozen. In the face of his mother's ultimate betrayal, all of his survival skills had disappeared, and Felicity quickly realized that, if she was going to survive the night and if they were going to avoid true detection, then she was going to have to think fast and loose.
Oddly enough, that gave her an idea.
"Quick, take off your clothes." Apparently, that was enough to break through the haze of hurt clouding Oliver's mind, because he turned to look at her, perplexed. "What," Felicity defended, whispering. "Don't look at me like that. Stripping is your greatest talent." When Oliver still didn't move, she decided to take matters into her own hands – literally, reaching for the waistband of his leather pants and making Oliver jump practically out of his skin.
"What are you doing," he snapped. Luckily, Oliver at least had the frame of mind to snap quietly.
"I'm saving your hide and my hair," she remarked. "I don't know about you, but I do not want to be the next scalp hanging from your mother's belt."
Oliver didn't respond, but he followed her directions and started to strip. Because leather pants weren't exactly conducive to speed stripping, however, she was down to her bra and underwear before Oliver even had his shirt off, so, while he continued to toil away, Felicity slapped her own black shirt against his face, rubbing his eye makeup away as well as she could under the circumstances. What she wouldn't do for an Aveeno face wipe in that moment.
Oliver was hopping on his feet as he took off his boots, hastily piling their combined clothes on top of his quiver and bow. By the time he stood back up, Felicity had her glasses off and tossed aside – she really hoped they survived such mistreatment, her hair down and tousled, and her makeup smeared. If they were going to pull this off, it had to look believable, and, while she was still unconquered by the great Oliver Queen, she had imagined how thorough he was in bed.
Could!
She could imagine how thorough he was. She hadn't already thought about what it would be like to sleep with...
"What," she questioned for the second time in less than two minutes. Oliver was staring at her, and she was pretty sure she hadn't said anything mortifying out loud. She was stressed, but she wasn't that stressed. She hoped. But then she noticed that he wasn't actually looking at her face. Instead, his eyes were steadily, unblinkingly trained upon her chest. "Huh," Felicity remarked – pleased as punch. "What do you know."
Oliver Queen was attracted to her... which meant her plan was going to work.
Just as she could hear Moira's steps rounding the corner of the yacht which would bring her around the giant vessel and in sight of them, Felicity threw herself into Oliver's arms, taking his mouth under her own like she had kissed him a thousand times before. He responded immediately – one arm wrapping low around her waist to palm her only partially covered ass, while his other wound itself into and through her hair... so as to better control their embrace.
Surprised and aghast, Moira exclaimed, "Oliver!"
It should have astonished Felicity that Oliver didn't seem in any hurry to end their kiss after his mother's outburst, after what Moira would assume was the moment she caught them together in dishabille, but it didn't. Perhaps he was just grateful to get lost in something other than his pain in reaction to his mother's betrayals, but she didn't feel used when he finally pulled away, and their kiss felt far more real than what the situation and circumstances should have allowed for.
By the time Felicity disentangled herself from Oliver's arms, she glanced over her shoulder to find one of Moira's hands suspiciously hidden behind her purse. The other woman was hiding her gun. She couldn't react to that, though. Instead, to go along with the ruse, Felicity just giggled, forced a blush which wasn't hard considering that she was standing in front of Oliver's mother, her boss, in her underwear, and hid her face in Oliver's neck.
"Mom, what are you doing here," Oliver asked, infusing far more innocence and exasperation than he should have been able to if just feigning those feelings.
"I could say the same to you," Moira returned. She, on the other hand, sounded both angry and resigned. "How did you even find... No," the other woman interrupted herself, held up a halting hand. "I don't even want to know. Just get dressed, please. We're leaving."
"Actually, we weren't quite done yet... if you know what I mean," Oliver replied impishly.
"God damn it, Oliver," Moira swore, pivoting around to face the other direction. After a moment, she ran a slightly quivering hand through her hair. "I thought you had finally grown up, that you were out of this... phase of yours."
Oliver chuckled. "Since when is getting laid a phase, mom?"
Moira whirled back around to glare at her son. "Your father died on that yacht," she spat out, glaring. "And you're using it to... what, get sympathy sex?"
At the mention of his father, Oliver tensed, so Felicity took over. Raising her voice several octaves and injecting as much blonde ditz into her words as she could, Felicity said, "it's just like the Titanic, which is so romantic... only he's Jack, and he didn't die, and I have much better taste in jewelry."
"I would think that someone with such vaulted ambition as yourself, dear, would have an affinity for large, ostentatious diamonds."
Felicity scoffed, rolled her eyes. "Heart shaped stones are so tacky."
Moira narrowed her eyes, zeroed in on Felicity. "Do I know you? You look familiar..."
Oliver laughed uncomfortably. "What exactly are you admitting here, mom? Does Walter know?"
Apparently, his step-father's name was the wrong thing to say, because it seemed to trigger Moira's recognition. "You were at Queen Consolidated," she accused Felicity. Turning towards her son, the other woman said, "so, that's why you had the sudden interest in the company? You lied to and tricked me just so that you could take this girl out of town for a week to have sex with her?"
Oliver shrugged, feigned unapologetic amusement. "I just thought you'd be impressed that it's the same girl. Seven nights might be my record."
"Well, then, since it's apparently serious," Moira returned, smirking triumphantly. "I'll expect to see you and your date tomorrow night for dinner at the house. And Oliver," she stressed, sneering at Felicity. "Make sure she's actually dressed."
Without waiting for a response, Moira spun around and walked away, leaving them alone once more. Neither Oliver nor Felicity moved until they heard the door to the warehouse slam behind his mother. Once that happened, however, they slowly turned to face one another. Felicity in her own panic, in her own shame, expected to find Oliver in a similar state... albeit with a solid portion of ire tossed in for good measure as well, but, instead, she once more found him staring at her nearly naked body. The goosebumps that immediately erupted across her skin had nothing to do with the coolness of the warehouse and everything to do with the heat of Oliver's gaze. If the way he was looking at her was supposed to be a challenge, Oliver was in for a world of surprise, because, while he might be one to surrender the battle to live and fight the war another day, Felicity Smoak never backed down.
"Go home for the night, John," Felicity suddenly spoke up, utilizing the comm she was wearing. "Oliver and I have some... negotiating to do this evening. If I'm going to join the team, we're going to have to work out some... partnership ground rules first." Without a word in response, Digg turned off the line, Oliver smirked, and Felicity smiled while taking off her bra. "My company retreat just turned out far better than even I anticipated."
Talk about unexpected perks.
