The outside of Merlyn's old building was a mass of cameras and reporters dressed in evening wear, as the movers and shakers rolled up to the party which would precede the meeting. The press weren't allowed inside the meeting itself, so they had to content themselves with a kind of red carpet event, though the sober businessmen and women arriving were hardly as exciting as the kind of celebrities attending movie premieres. Oliver was watching all this without sound, on a tablet rigged up and hacked into the security feeds in front of the building. He was hidden in one of the huge vents running through the building, and their size might have seemed weird at first, until Merlyn explained he had designed the building in such a way on purpose. He had also given them all the information about the secret entrances, false walls and areas of weakness where anyone could burst through in a dramatic fashion. You love that, don't you, Oliver thought sourly at the time.
The press outside the building were being cleared away by police, who then put barriers up some distance from the building, at first making sure that no tv cameras were recording. After long discussion they'd decided to tell Captain Lance that something big was going down after the gala. According to Laurel, he'd sighed tiredly, saying something to the effect that he'd had a bad feeling about Damianos from the start.
Oliver looked at his watch. Felicity and Diggle should be sneaking out of the restrooms where they'd hidden to wait out all the staff leaving at the end of the business day. Merlyn was using one of his secret entrances to make his way to the boardroom, while Thea and Laurel had snuck in with a cleaning staff who worked on the offices late at night. Thea had grumbled until Oliver had pointed out that it was much easier to hide weapons under a jumpsuit, and she could hide her jacket in a fake trashcan. And Felicity should be breaking into the servers and network right about now, he decided. On cue, there was her voice in his ear. Of course, it wasn't saying anything they'd agreed on.
"Breaker, breaker for the Green Arrow." She couldn't have sounded more bored if she tried.
He winced. She really didn't like her code name. And she'd thought of one for him that he wasn't sure he liked. Though the trucker jargon was new and unexpected.
"Control, what's your status?"
"Bored out of my skull," she answered sulkily, "but otherwise ready to rock and roll, sir!"
There was a strange sound on the shared comms, like several people trying to stifle their sniggering.
"Red Arrow, here, checking in." He'd given in to Thea, and she used her new vigilante name all the time. Though he was going to keep calling her Speedy at every opportunity.
There was a sigh on the comms. Diggle had protested against any and all code names, and had finally settled on the plainest, and, in Oliver's opinion, least covert of all.
"Soldier here, checking in."
"Black Canary, in position."
There was a pause of a few seconds. He always had to make an entrance, Oliver thought uncharitably.
"Al Saher, in position."
Felicity was the one who had to coordinate their attack, as she could see everything from the server room. By now all the remaining security guards should have been knocked out and deposited in one of two vans they'd be using for their getaway. The only people still in the building were the ones attending Damianos's meeting, and their bodyguards. And, Oliver thought, gritting his teeth, Team Arrow. Felicity's voice interrupted his worries about his team being in danger.
"Green Arrow, break through the ceiling in three . . .two . . . one."
He smashed through the weakened ceiling tiles, landing in a crouch in the boardroom of the repurposed office building. Time seemed to slow down as the others burst in from different entrances (Merlyn, of course, burst through a wall, never one to miss an opportunity to show off), quickly disabling and disarming the bodyguards, and throwing flechettes containing miniature projectors at the table, angled so that they would project the images Felicity sent. He rose to his full height, nocking an arrow with what he knew was impressive speed, and aimed it at the man sitting at the head of the table.
"Richard Damianos. You have failed this city!"
So this was Damien Darhk. He'd seen him on tv, of course, and the man looked much the same. Prematurely white hair and piercing blue eyes, leading Felicity to wonder why he'd chosen a Greek-sounding alias. Oliver ignored the gasps and screams from the other people around the table. Felicity hurriedly recited their names, ending with the new mayor, a woman whose name sounded familiar. Too familiar. He realised to his horror that she'd been a friend of his mother's, and had been invited to many dinners with his family. Oh, great. Irving Weissmann, the senior partner of the law firm Felicity had sent to help him, was there too. Great, just great. Yes, Oliver was wearing a mask and a hood. Was it enough though? Damien Darhk hadn't said a word, just sat and smirked at him. That was fairly worrying, Oliver thought. Thankfully, the mayor took over.
"What is the meaning of this?"
If he had less control, Oliver would have winced. Yep, that was the woman he remembered, who never had time for any of his teenage bullshit.
"Mr Damianos is not one of your white collar criminals! How dare you attack us like this?"
Oliver did not clear his throat nervously, though he dearly wanted to.
"No one here is under attack, except for Richard. Damianos."
He paused deliberately, making sure Darhk heard the stress he was putting on the fake names.
Oliver started summing up the gang warfare Darhk had caused. Each time, Felicity brought up crime scene photos, which caused gasps, and in one case a security camera feed, which caught the exact moment when one of Darhk's goons started firing. He could see that they were going to ask what this had to do with their good friend Damianos, so he continued.
"In each case, the catalyst was traced back to this man," he continued, his arrow never wavering from its position pointed at Darhk's chest. The pictures started flashing up – a murderer in the morgue, then his file traced back to an obscure company owned by 'Damianos'. By the fifth one, someone'd had enough, and said as much, holding his hand up dramatically. Oliver knew this guy, too, even suspected him of taking part in the Undertaking in some way, but could never prove it.
"How is this anything to do with us, and our plan to revitalise the city?"
Oliver allowed himself a humourless smile, as different projections started climbing the walls – showing that all the businessmen and women in the room were being targeted for hostile takeovers, land was being bought from under their feet, they were being made bankrupt and powerless, and they didn't even know it. The only people who weren't targeted were Weissmann and the mayor – he hadn't known the lawyer was going to be there, and he was going to break the bad news to the mayor using anonymous tipoffs. Darhk had made it look like her electoral campaign had been financed by the Triads. Oliver was sure she didn't want that made public, even though it was all made up.
"I've seen enough."
It was Weissmann. Was this good or bad? Had he recognized Oliver's voice?
"Madame Mayor, I think this is our cue to get out of here."
Clever old coot, Oliver thought. The mayor wasn't completely buying it, though and wanted to stand her ground. Oliver tuned out the argument, as a horrifying thought started growing in his mind. Felicity seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because suddenly he heard a worried voice in his ear.
"Why isn't he saying anything? Uh, Green Arrow?"
He knew she'd almost said his name, which showed how worried she was. The man in question had not moved from his position at the head of the table. He was smirking slightly. Where had he seen that expression before? Oh yes, he remembered – that chamber in Nanda Parbat. He could still feel his breath burning in his lungs as he fought R'as al Ghul and smashed his sword out of his hand. The look of contempt in his eyes as Oliver realised he couldn't kill the guy. Oh, shit.
"Everybody except Mr Damianos needs to get out."
His mechanically amplified voice cut through the argument the mayor was having with Weissmannn. Everyone froze, including his sister and the rest of his team.
"I mean, everyone. "
Oliver allowed himself a flick of his eyes sideways to his team, and they got the message. They started chivvying the businessmen and women out, dragging the slightly woozy bodyguards along. Irving Weissmann and the mayor were the last to leave, the latter still protesting, as she aimed a contemptuous look at Oliver, which he felt in his toes.
"I suppose you're hoping for a five minute head start before we call the cops?"
Oliver winced, inwardly, as she made it clear that she would do no such thing. Darhk laughed, and shook his head.
"Oh, dear. I think five minutes is pushing it, don't you?"
It was the first thing he'd said all evening, and it confirmed what he'd started to suspect. Oliver hissed at Merlyn, who'd been the last of them to leave.
"Get her out of here!"
Then he turned to Darhk, who hadn't moved a muscle.
"What did you do?"
He tried to inject some of his rage into the question.
"Contingency plans, my dear boy. Or should I call you . . . Oliver?"
Was his identity a secret to anyone anymore?
"Congratulations! You've destroyed the work of five years in a few minutes. I'd be impressed if I wasn't so enraged. R'as al Ghul must be so proud of you."
"Careful, Oliver. He's just trying to piss you off."
Why was Felicity's voice still in his ear? Was she still in the building? She must have rigged his suit with a heart monitor of some kind, because her next words were reassuring, as if she noticed that his blood pressure had just spiked.
"We're out, Oliver, don't worry. We're in the vans, just waiting for you. Everyone's here, except for Merlyn."
He knew very well that Darhk was stalling.
"What. Did. You. Do?"
He repeated the question, louder this time. Darhk smirked even wider, and the huge plate glass windows at the end of the conference room shattered. A helicopter hovered at the level of their floor, and Darhk ran to the window, launching himself into the air towards a harness hanging from it. The last Oliver saw of him was the ever present smirk as he was airlifted out of Starling City. In the dazed moments when Oliver felt like the air turned into glue, he had the ridiculous thought that the guy didn't look like he could move that fast. He managed to let fly a few arrows, but they missed, and he stood in the opening for a few moments more, wondering what he should do now. He hadn't expected it to go like this; that was clear. There was a sudden noise, and the building rocked slightly, followed by Digg's worried voice in his ear.
"Something just blew up on one of the lower floors, Oliver! Get out of there now!"
Oliver scanned the area frantically, and realised that the building opposite was yet another abandoned office block. He shot an arrow at the roof, and managed to launch himself out of the window and swing towards it, just as more explosions went off behind him. He managed to curl up as he crashed through the windows of the building he'd been aiming at, and rolled to a halt, hitting his shoulder painfully on the wall. That was when things turned weird. Weirder, Felicity would have said. The fact was, he couldn't move. He kept willing himself to uncurl and get up, but nothing happened. What was happening to him? Had Darhk gassed the room? But no, everyone else had been moving fine.
"Oliver! Oliver, are you ok?"
He felt like he was in a fog. He heard and felt everything at a distance – the building collapsing behind him as he jumped into the sky, the broken glass embedded in his jacket, Felicity's frantic voice in his ear. But he felt detached from all that. He just wanted to lie there for a while.
"I'm fine."
He managed to get the words out, and hoped she'd be satisfied with that, because that was all he had to offer. But apparently she wasn't. Digg tried too.
"Oliver, get up. You have to get up now."
How did they know he was lying down? He wanted to move, he really did. But everything seemed like an impossible effort.
"Oliver, get out of there! There's cops going through every floor on that building, you'll get arrested!"
Felicity sounded frantic, on the verge of tears. He was really sorry. But he couldn't move. He could hear the cops going from floor to floor, yelling "Clear!" as they went, but he couldn't bring himself to stir. It was too late now, anyway. Footsteps approached the entry to his floor, and a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
"The hell?" The voice became more hushed. "C'mon Queen, get up! You gotta get out of here!"
That was different – Lance didn't usually want him to get away. Heavy police boots appeared in his eye-line, and a hand reached down to grab his shoulder, and shake it. Oliver willed himself to get up, yelled at himself. Nothing. Lance bent down to speak into Oliver's throat mike.
"Whoever's there – I do NOT want to know. Just go home. I'll take care of it. But there'll be cops all over the streets, for hours. A building just collapsed, for Christ's sake. Just go home."
He heard Lance striding towards the entry to the stairwell, yelling "Clear!" as he went. There was some protesting, followed by Lance giving some poor rookie a dressing down. Better him than me, Oliver thought. He'd spent enough time on the sharp end of Lance's tongue. He wasn't sure of how much time passed before he started feeling ridiculous lying down, curled up on the floor. He sat up and started picking the glass out of his pants. His hood felt like it was suffocating him, and he pushed it off, taking the mask off too, and giving his face a good rubbing. He knew he should get up and walk out of there, but he still couldn't bring himself to do it. Footsteps sounded in the stairwell, and Lance came back through the door, carrying a big duffel bag, which he dropped by his side.
Lance studied him for a few seconds, and then carefully sat beside him, groaning theatrically.
"When you get to my age, sitting on the floor isn't an option anymore." He looked sideways at Oliver. "Not trying for secret identity anymore, I see."
Oliver shrugged.
"It's not like you didn't know."
Lance nodded. Oliver tried again to get up, but it was too much of an effort.
"What's happening to me?"
The frustration must have been apparent in his voice. Lance gave him an exasperated look.
"Do you even know what the word 'therapy' means, Queen?"
Oliver was on the verge of spluttering that he didn't need therapy, when it struck him how massively ironic the situation was.
"Wait a minute, you hate my guts! Why are you being . . . like this?"
Lance winced.
"After that case, it may have been brought to my attention that you could be very helpful if used right."
Which case did he – oh, of course. The human trafficking ring.
"What the hell happened to you anyway, after you were released? I mean, the first time. You disappeared, and then you turn up dressed like an assassin, and then you vanish again."
Oliver tried to hold everything back, to be noncommittal, but he was tired of this. He wanted to talk. If Lance really didn't want him arrested, then he was the only objective listener he could think of.
"R'as al Ghul-"
"The guy who told me about you? Who I then find turned my baby girl into a murderer?"
"Yeah, him." Oliver sighed.
Maybe confiding in Lance wasn't the best idea after all. But the man was looking at him expectantly. Oliver opened his mouth, and closed it again. What was the point, really? What good had secrets been in his life? He leaned back against the cracked concrete and thought. And then he started talking, and told Quentin Lance . . . everything. His voice became hoarse with talking, and a couple of times he heard an indrawn breath at his side, but he forged on, unwilling to leave anything unsaid. The only thing he left out was Merlyn's involvement in Sara's death, as well as how Thea had been used. He felt like he was vomiting poison out, trying to get clean again, and felt sorry that he had to put it all on Lance, who was, in spite of everything between them, a good man. He ended the story when R'as al Ghul died, trying to sound convincing when he said he was the one who killed the man, but when he glanced at Lance, the expression on his face was sceptical.
It was strange. Oliver did feel better. Talking does work. Who knew, right? He cleared his throat, risking another quick glance at Lance, whose face was difficult to read. Was there sympathy there? It couldn't be, could it?
"So, is this when you bring out the cuffs?" Oliver was trying for a casual tone, but a look from the man at his side showed that it wasn't working.
"If I wanted to arrest you for being a vigilante, I kind of missed the boat when I hid you from my fellow officers. We call that aiding and abetting around here."
"No, not for . . ." Didn't he understand anything? "For rape."
The word resounded in the empty room. Oliver hardly dared raise his head to look at Lance, which was why the hand on his shoulder came as a shock. When he looked up, startled, and saw the compassion in Lance's eyes, he had to look away. He suddenly missed his father with a pain that was almost physical.
"You know I'm homicide, not sex crimes, but I'm pretty sure they don't arrest the victims," Lance answered mildly.
"How can you call me a victim?" Oliver's voice was getting louder, and he could hear it, but couldn't control himself, couldn't calm down.
"I did this! I . . . physically . . . "
Oliver couldn't go on. He realised he was shaking, and gripped his knees, trying to stop. He'd never described that night explicitly, not even to Felicity – especially not to Felicity – but he wished he could put it into words, the way he felt betrayed by his own body. How could he have done it? What was wrong with him?
Lance sighed, and leaned back. He seemed to be considering his words carefully before he started talking.
"I never considered working in sex crimes, you know? Sure, a big case means all hands on deck. But day to day, dealing with that all the time – nah. Never had the stomach for it. But my partner when we were beat cops, she joined that division. A couple years into it, she needs to talk out a case. Some kid in his twenties, smashing up his office, gets arrested. Talks to a detective, and this . . . shitstorm comes out. Office party, everyone's pretty happy, his female supervisor comes on to him, and tells him he's gonna fuck her. Right there. Or she'll scream, say he tried to rape her. Turns out she'd already been harassing him, he feels powerless, all that great stuff. So the kid does his best, thinks of his girlfriend, manages something, but it eats at him, you know. Gets angry all the time, loses it at work, and we arrest him!"
Lance shook his head. Oliver was curious, despite himself.
"It all comes out in the interrogation – kid is lucky, he had an email in which she said he'd always be her bitch. So she gets fired for sexual harassment, and he gets to keep his job."
Oliver swallowed.
"Did he . . . press charges?"
"Nah. He didn't want to face a courtroom, and we didn't blame him for that. But it was still rape, Oliver, even though he had an erection. That's just physical – come on, Oliver. You know this."
Oliver was unwilling to concede the point, even though he knew Lance was right.
"I should have found another way. I should have taken Felicity and – "
And what, he thought. He hadn't seen another way out at the time. Lance seemed to be reading his thoughts.
"There was no other way, not at the time. Look, if they'd been holding a gun to her head to make you do it, would you still be blaming yourself?"
Oliver shook his head, still reluctant to accept what Lance was saying.
"When I saw that security video of you on the rooftop, fighting Nyssa, and yes, I recognised her, I'm not a moron . . . Anyway, I just thought, you know, finally! I can get him locked up!"
Oliver gave Lance a half-smile – this was the Lance he knew.
"But when it all fell apart, I watched the video again. And there was something wrong about the way you moved, the way you looked. And most of all, the way you just looked into the camera like a goddam amateur. For three years, all we had of the vigilante was an artist's impression which could have been any handsome bastard, and then you just give it up like that? So I believe you when you tell me about the brainwashing. And the guy you were then, he didn't see any other way out."
Lance looked at him, sternly, not finished with his lecture.
"And you have to accept that you were raped, too."
Oliver sighed, leaning back against the wall. It was a hard thing to acknowledge. A sudden beeping startled him out of his thoughts. Lance looked at his phone.
"Huh. That's weird."
Oliver looked at him, worried, but he'd already called whoever texted him, and Oliver couldn't get much out of the one-sided conversation.
"So, lay it out for me again . . . uh huh . . . ok. What did it say on the note? I see. Do you need me to come in? Ok, then. Keep me posted."
Lance looked at Oliver, speculatively.
"So get this. That alley where we usually have our chats – patrolman goes out for a smoke and finds it full of pimps and madams chained together. All known to us, all working for the Triads. At the same time, the front desk gets a flood of sex workers, many of them offering to testify that they were being held against their will."
He looked at another text message on his phone and spoke through gritted teeth.
"Some of them are . . . really young."
Oliver didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Was this Chien Na Wei? What was her game?
"One of the pimps had a note pinned to his shirt. It said, "To the Arrow, with thanks".
Oliver buried his face in his hands and groaned.
"Oh, fuck me."
Lance raised an eyebrow, and folded his arms, expectantly.
"Oliver Queen was asked to look into this gang war that's been going on between the Triads and the Bratva. I found out it was Damianos behind it all, as well as other crap that's been going down."
"So? What am I not getting- oh, shit."
Lance finally understood.
"Whoever it was, and please don't tell me, knows. About . . . this."
He waved his hands up and down to encompass the suit and weaponry. Oliver nodded. He sighed, and started getting up.
"One consolation is that if Ch- if this person keeps messing with the Triads like that, she or he won't live for very long."
He caught Lance's raised eyebrow.
"This isn't a good person, Captain."
Lance looked away, and nodded. Then he brightened, levering himself off the floor with a groan. He opened the duffel bag he'd brought with him, and took out an SCPD patrolman's uniform, complete with peaked cap.
"Pretty sure this is your size," Lance said. "Get changed – you never know who's watching, and if anyone asks, I needed to talk down a rookie."
Oliver stared at Lance, on the verge of asking him who he was and what he'd done with Quentin Lance, president of the Oliver Queen Hatred Organisation. Lance rolled his eyes and shoved the uniform at him. He took off his suit and weapons quickly, and Lance turned away, but not before he caught a glimpse of his back.
"Jesus tapdancing Christ!"
Oliver glanced behind him. Lance wasn't looking at the brand, but at the place where R'as al Ghul's sword had come out.
"How the hell did you survive that? And on your shoulder, is that a . . . that's a fucking brand!"
Oliver shrugged.
"Courtesy of R'as al Ghul."
Lance shook his head.
"Have I ever said how glad I am that maniac is dead? So tired of goddam assassins, messing with my city."
Oliver smiled as he pulled the t-shirt on and put the patrolman's shirt on top of it. They had something in common at least – they were both possessive over Starling. Once he'd changed into the full uniform, and packed the suit and his weapons into the duffle bag, they headed out. It was still dark outside, though the sun would be coming up soon. Lance drove him to the loft in an unmarked police car, and Oliver texted Diggle that he was ok, not wanting to phone, for fear of waking up the baby. Sitting in the car in front on the loft, Oliver hesitated. He wasn't sure how Lance wanted to play this. He came to a decision, and turned to Lance, who was staring straight ahead. He didn't want to make Lance regret his kindness.
"Thank you . . . I . . ."
Lance looked embarrassed, and waved him off.
"Just make sure I get that uniform back as soon as possible. Give it to Laurel." He hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully. "You know you really need some kind of therapy. Yeah, yeah – this sounds strange coming from a cop, and if you tell Laurel I said this, I'll come after you."
Lance pointed at him, glaring, and Oliver tried to suppress a smile, while promising this would be their secret. Lance sagged in his seat, and continued.
"I've seen too many cops messed up by the job, marriages wrecked, all that crap. I was headed that way myself, crawling into a bottle every night. I'm sober now, but the meetings are what keep me that way. I know there isn't a support group for traumatised vigilantes, but maybe if you find a counsellor you can trust, it would help."
Oliver agreed, and got out of the car, yawning, and Lance sped away. When he let himself into the loft, he was surprised to find the lights on, and Thea asleep on the couch. He didn't want to wake her, but the way she was lying couldn't be comfortable. After hesitating, he shook her shoulder gently, and she opened her eyes, at first squinting at the light, then wide in shock.
"Ollie? Why are you dressed like a cop?"
Oliver looked down at himself, surprised. He'd forgotten he was still wearing the uniform.
"It's a long story. But I'm ok." She looked at him, still half-asleep. "I'm sorry I made you worry about me."
Thea launched herself at him in one of those hug offensives she hadn't done since she was a little girl, and he hugged her back in reflex. He wanted to say something, and instead had to yawn, and she giggled.
"I'm going to sleep all day, Ollie – and so should you."
She walked to the stairs as he sat heavily on the couch.
"First I have to phone Felicity."
She laughed again.
"You are in so much trouble, there. Good luck!"
Oliver agreed that Felicity was going to be livid. Maybe she'd fallen asleep, and he wouldn't be yelled at tonight. As soon as he dialled, she answered – so, not asleep.
"Oliver? Are you in jail? Is this your phone call? No, wait, it's your mobile. Should I call a lawyer? All the lawyers?"
"Felicity, breathe!" Oliver should have known she'd be worried, more than angry. "I'm at the loft, everything's ok."
She was silent for a few seconds.
"But Lance . . . a few months ago he wanted you in prison. What . . . what did he do?"
"He, um, told the other cops the building was empty. Then he came back, and, uh, listened. While I told him . . . everything."
Even as he said it, he realised how crazy it sounded. There was a pause. Then Felicity spoke cautiously.
"Oliver – did you by any chance see any strange pods lying around?"
Oliver couldn't help laughing.
"He also lent me a police uniform as a disguise."
"That's it, pod person. They're here already. You're next."
Oliver couldn't stop smiling – what was it about her, that she always managed to cheer him up? Oh, wait. Love, right?
"Are you ok, though?" Felicity sounded like she didn't know how to broach his meltdown.
"Talking about everything helped. It just caught me at the wrong time, that's all."
Felicity sighed. He bet she wanted to give him a lecture about mental health, and how it needed to be worked at, and so on. But she didn't say anything, waiting for him to come out with it. And he was grateful.
"I know I need . . . to talk more."
He heard her huff of exasperation over the phone.
"Understatement of the year, Oliver."
He smiled again, wanting nothing more than to beg her to come over, but it wasn't the right time.
"See you tonight, at the," he closed his eyes and grimaced, "Arrow cave?"
"Ha ha, we got you, right?" Felicity crowed. Actually, he just loved hearing her like this, and if it made her happy, he'd call their HQ whatever she wanted, even though it made no sense, on any level.
"Yes, you got me," he said, grinning.
"I'm taking the day off, and so are you," Felicity continued. "No training, no workout, just sleep. I've set my phone to alert for three very specific things," she added, yawning.
"Oh?"
"Natural disaster; Skynet attacks, and I mean old skool Skynet, not reboot Skynet that can't spell; and your own personal favourite-"
"Felicity-"
"Zombie apocalypse!"
Oliver sighed.
"You're never going to let me forget about that, are you?"
She was smiling, he could hear it in her voice.
"Just remember," she whispered theatrically, "remove the head, or destroy the brain!"
He tried to suppress his own grin but couldn't. He was so exhausted, he wished he could just sleep there on the couch, but he had to take the uniform off first. Felicity was still talking.
"Hey, we should watch Shaun of the Dead together! Have you seen it already? No wait, bad idea. We'll watch Hot Fuzz instead, even better. For the greater gooooood," she giggled.
She babbled even more when she was tired, he realized, or maybe it was the relief that they'd succeeded, and Darhk, if not dead or in prison, at least wasn't their problem anymore.
"Did you fall asleep?" she asked, after a long, one-sided discussion about how Edgar Wright, whoever that was, should have been kept on to direct some movie about ants. That couldn't be right, could it?
"Oliver?"
"Still here, Felicity."
"I kind of got lost in the babble, there."
"I like it," he said, quietly. He could practically feel her smiling at the other end of the line.
He said good night, and he knew she was biting her tongue not to point out that it was already morning, but she managed to stop herself in time. He looked at the phone for a few seconds, and then got himself out of the couch by force of will alone. They hadn't talked about their relationship and where it was going, but surely that could wait until the evening, or even the next day. Now that they had a reprieve from all the craziness that usually dogged them, they could really focus on each other.
