Chapter: 9
Word Count: 5235
Notes: As per usual, I'm running behind on review replies this week. I'm working on some other things outside of work, and so I haven't been writing or online as much. Anyway, thank you all for your lovely reviews and for reading. I plan to start answering as soon as I get home from work tonight.
Also, we're staring to really get the ball rolling in this fic. ;) This is definitely one of the longer chapters, and I think you guys have been waiting for this for several weeks now. Anyway, there's a lot of character interaction going on. :D
Special thanks again to Elsie B for proofing this chapter. :)
As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated. :)
Chapter 9
(Or: "That Time Laurel was Abducted by Mercenaries")
Laurel jumps at the sound of a car alarm in the distance, stopping in the middle of the parking garage. The sound lasts only for a second, but she takes a breath before continuing toward her car with a shake of her head while rolling her eyes at herself. Ever since she left that apartment in Starling Heights, she's been like this, expecting the A-Team to pop out at any moment.
Maybe she should cancel this. Sure, Iris hasn't turned up yet, but she's hiring mercenaries. Admittedly, it would cut through all the red tape, but Laurel is currently carrying forty thousand dollars in cash in her trunk, and she doesn't always spend her days in safe neighborhoods—not when she's hunting down the next story. It feels like she's risking her life, too.
As if to give merit to her thoughts, a black panel van suddenly pulls into the parking lot. It pulls into a space just down from hers, but it's nothing like Linda Park's sleek Mercedes. Two men hop out, but Laurel focuses on the boy in the red hoodie. Despite being smaller in stature this partner, he carries himself with intent, as though this isn't his first rodeo.
Knowing what comes next, Laurel says to them, "You can take my purse if you want. I don't have any money on me." It's true; every penny she has is in the trunk, saved up to go after Iris and hire her mercenaries.
The boy snorts as he stops, crossing his arms. "You better if you wanna hire the A-Team," he retorts, seemingly unimpressed by her answer.
"I can handle this," the other man assures him as he steps forward, and only then does Laurel really glance over at hm. He's wearing a gray hoodie over a black v-neck shirt with jeans, a black baseball cap on his head that proudly displays the Marine Corps emblem in gold with the lettering USMC underneath. The bill shades his eyes, but she doesn't really need to see all of Oliver Queen's face to recognize him at this point. "I don't think we've been properly introduced, Miss Lance. I'm Oliver Queen. This is Roy Harper. You wanted to hire us?" She nods, and he asks, "Do you have the money?"
She winces. Laurel thought she'd have a few more days to liquidate some things and get the remainder of the money. "I have forty thousand," she admits to him slowly. "Thea said I'd have the week to get the rest of the money, and I don't have everything in cash yet."
The boy in the red hoodie snorts. "That's it? Forty grand?" he demands, incredulous. "Lady, forty grand won't keep us in jet fuel ."
"Take it easy, Private," Oliver warns over his shoulder in a sharp tone. As he turns back to Laurel, he corrects, "Thea said you'd be contacted within the week, Miss Lance." He sighs, glancing back at his partner. The two of them exchange a set of glances that she can't read. After a moment, he offers, "I can scam what we need and you can steal the rest." Laurel's eyebrows shoot up; he's gruff and terse, not at all the kind of person who could gain someone's confidence.
"You and your strays," is Roy's remark, shoving his hands in his pockets and rolling his eyes. "For a hard ass, you have a soft heart." Oliver barely even glances in his partner's direction. "Sometimes I think you forget this is a business."
The major doesn't even acknowledge the boy's comment, his expression neutral. "Roy's a little rough around the edges," he offers with a hint of apology. A hint of a smile graces his lips. "He might be difficult to get along with now, but after he saves your life in a few aerial bombings, he starts to grow on you." He motions to the van. "If you still want to hire us, we're going now."
She stops, biting her lip as she looks between her car and the two of them. Oliver must sense her hesitation because he offers a tentative smile. "You're either with us or you're not, Laurel," he warns her in a gentle tone. "If you're with us, grab your bag and leave your cell phone in the trunk. If not, we're gone." He crosses his arms over his chest. "You won't get the chance to hire us again. I need to know now: are you in or out?"
Ultimately, the choice is made for her because of Iris. Her friend's father put money in on this venture, as did her boyfriend, and Laurel owes it to them to attempt it now. Instead of answering, she unlocks the trunk of her car, simultaneously pulling her cell phone out of her purse. She grabs her bag next, pulling it over her shoulder, but she hesitates before dropping her phone. "I'm in," she assures him. "But I need to make a call to my dad and—"
Oliver doesn't let her finish the thought, shaking his head. "You can do that when we get to Russia," he insists. "I'll get a burner phone. I'm not traveling with a traceable cell phone." Sighing, Laurel locks her phone up in the trunk as well. When she turns, it's to find him pulling the sliding door open for her.
Following behind her, he slides between the front two seats to take the passenger side, as Roy starts the van again. He huffs. "Is this another one of your projects, Major?" he demands of his CO. "Your bleeding heart might be the only thing keeping you from being a complete dick, but it won't keep us in cash." He jabs a finger in his partner's arm while taking a curve way too fast for Laurel's liking. "A few more jobs like this, and we'll be out on the streets."
"That's why we estimate high," Oliver retorts, hanging onto the handle over the door. Somehow he manages to look completely unfazed in the process. Meanwhile, Laurel fumbles with the seat belt while trying to remain in her seat. "Gives us some wiggle room. The jet fuel is going to be the biggest cost. You could steal a ring off a mark's finger without them noticing, and I can con the rest of the major expenses. And I have some contacts in Russia—Anatoly still owes me from when I saved his life." He offers a full smile this time; both corners of his mouth turn up, even if his lips are still pressed together. "The Bratva can get us just about anything."
The name brings dread to her gut instantly, but she supposes that's the point. How Oliver ended up running around with the Bratva is tale enough, but she's not sure she wants to know why the Russian mob owes him a favor. "We need to find a way to fly under the radar," Roy notes. "We don't want anyone asking questions. I guess we should be glad we have our own pilot." That's news to Laurel; the only pilot they have isn't mentally healthy enough to fly. "Most pilots get a little touchy when their wings are on the line." He nudges Oliver with his elbow. "You know that better than anyone."
Laurel's eyebrows narrow for a moment before she realizes he's referencing their former pilot. The major, however, doesn't bite. "That's why we have our own pilot," he answers in a reserved tone.
The two men share a long look that she can't read. "No, we have her because she needs us," Roy corrects. "And because you won't let her go. While it's great we have someone to fly us, I'd like to find someone else. Batty's a great girl, but I'm not sure if I can fly with her anymore. She's reckless. Do you not remember the last time ? She did a barrel roll . In a helicopter , Oliver." The major releases a short, silent laugh while Roy shakes his head. "There weren't any side panels. I had to hold on to keep from skydiving—and if Digg hadn't caught your arm, you would have been a splat on the highway!"
"But he did ," Oliver answers in an even tone, "and I lived to tell the tale."
"Well good for you," Roy retorts, his tone biting. "My nerves didn't ." He hangs a sharp right, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Laurel thinks he might have a point; the way the corner of his eye is twitching lends credibility to his statement. "She's great at what she does, don't get me wrong. But no sane man would ever get in a lawn dart with that crazy b—"
"Did you see the sunrise this morning?" Oliver asks conversationally, cutting through his subordinate's swearing without raising his voice. Somehow that makes it all the more ominous to Laurel; even without yelling, his tone is hard enough to cut through rock. "I hope so. Because if you finish that sentence the way I think you were going to, you won't live to see another one." It would probably be less chilling threat if he'd yelled. His voice is ice—or maybe the calm before the storm.
It must have the same chilling effect on the private because he swallows audibly. "Permission to speak freely, Major?" he offers in a low voice, his tone almost gentle this time.
With a breathy laugh, the major replies, "We're not in the Corps, Roy." Just as quickly as his dark mood came, it seems to have passed, his tone just as free and easy as it had been before. Laurel decides that it was a warning, not a statement made in anger. "You don't have to ask permission to say anything."
"Well, sometimes I feel like I do," Roy retorts as they pull into a private airfield, "especially when it comes to her ." He takes a deep breath, as though mentally preparing himself for what comes next. "What you two do in your spare time has nothing to do with me. If you get off knocking boots with crazy chicks, that's your business. You're both adults, and Digg and I are cool with it." He points at Oliver. "But what I'm not cool with is when you put us in danger because of it."
As the vehicle pulls to a halt, Oliver throws open his door. "I know you don't always agree with my choices," he answers, "but if you can pull off a better plan, you let me know." The teenager remains silent, and Laurel hesitates before throwing open the door. A huge passenger plane sits in front of her, and she glances at it before turning back to the two men. "There's only one pilot in the world who will fly us without taking a cut into our limited funds. If you have any other ideas, I'm open to suggestions."
"Oh, I have suggestions," Roy retorts as he hops out of the van. Despite his protests, he still picks up Laurel's bag and his own and marches toward a plane in the distance. "But none of them are going to change your mind. So I might as well stop arguing."
"That's the smartest thing you've said all day," Oliver remarks as he gathers up two more bags from the back.
Roy drops a bag to respond with a one-fingered salute as his partner starts toward the plane. "I'm actually glad we've got a mission," he grumbles to Laurel as he gathers the duffels again. "He's a mean son of a bitch after he's been cooped up in the van for a few weeks."
Laurel can do nothing but stare for a moment; she thought a team that had worked together for so long would be a well-oiled machine by now. Instead, she's coming to the opinion that the A-Team manages to thrive in spite of the way they get along. "Then why do you stay?"
For the look on his face, she might as well have suggested he go bear hunting with a slingshot. After a moment, he shrugs. "You learn to love him, lady," Roy answers finally. "Sure, he's a pain in the ass, but he's like my brother ." The first hint of a smile touches one corner of his mouth. "The first time we went on leave, I didn't have anything." He nods toward the plane. "Oliver paid for my plane ticket and let me crash with him. He didn't ask—he just did it and never said anything about it."
Before she can reply, he carries the bags to the plane, throwing them up to Oliver. Laurel means to grab the last duffel, the one printed with various comic book covers. "What are you doing?" Roy yells, causing her to jump. She turns to him with wide eyes. "Don't touch that." He slips the bag from her hands. "I don't want to spend the rest of the trip talking about how someone slipped something into or out of this thing." He throws it over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. "Which is what will happen if anyone else touches it."
"I can't help it if you don't realize the military is trying to track me," a voice answers from behind her. It sounds familiar, but yet she can't quite place it. "They're after you. So of course they'd be tracking your known associates. Which would be me ."
When Laurel turns, a blonde is staring back at her. It takes her a moment to recognize the pilot without her glasses and with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. She wears a black leather jacket over a navy blue graphic tee. A superhero in red and black is printed on it, wearing a pink tutu and ballet shoes over his costume while firing two automatic weapons. The words that circle it read, I'm not weird. I'm limited edition.
She's on the arm of a man easily twice her size, but Laurel recognizes him from the picture on Felicity's coffee table. No question that he's the last remaining member of the group, the one Roy called Digg . While most of his body weight seems to be made from muscle, he fails to be threatening with that indulgent smile trained on Felicity. "Laurel, this is Sergeant John Diggle, the finest munitions expert you'll ever meet," Felicity introduces. "John, this is Laurel Lance, our client."
Before she can respond, Roy drops her bag and calls, "Long time no see, Batshit."
Felicity pulls out of John's arm immediately, throwing herself at Roy in a hug. Surprisingly, he even returns it, arms weaving around her as though she's a lifeline. "Oh, Roy, I missed you so much!" she declares, pulling back to kiss his cheek.
He turns about the same color as his hoodie before pulling away. He rolls his eyes as he answers, "You just saw me last week." He pokes her in the middle of her forehead. "Must've had one too many shocks to the head, Batshit." Laurel sucks in a breath in surprise, wondering how a member of Felicity's own team could be so cruel. But she rethinks that when he adds in a fragile voice, "Your memory's slipping again."
Felicity huffs. "My memory doesn't like me. It gets mad and won't talk to me. We're fighting right now." She crosses her arms. "And my brain takes sides, too. Right now, it seems to like me best."
A furrow appears between Roy's brows. Maybe, Laurel decides, his words are out of concern instead of malice. "Just as long as you don't forget us again," he mutters to the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Looping her arm through one of his, Felicity assures him with a smile, "I could never forget you, my dear Roy." He doesn't look convinced. "You're practically family." Her eyes go wide, lighting up with a sudden burst of inspiration. "That's it, I've decided! You're my brother now. I've adopted you."
In response, the boy just shakes his head, though his eyes look a little glassy. "Batshit, don't take this the wrong way," he starts with a sniff, "but you're nuttier than squirrel shit." He wipes a sleeve at the corner of his eye.
She winks, that sunny smile never faltering. "It'll be our secret."
"He's a hard one to read, isn't he?" a quiet baritone asks Laurel. She turns to find John Diggle standing beside her, watching the two of them with a knowing smile on his face. "Roy has a good heart, but he doesn't exactly wear it on his sleeve." He nods in the distance. "We might be his family, but Felicity is probably his only friend." John extends a large hand. "Nice to meet you, Laurel. Most people just call me Digg. You can, too, if you like."
Laurel takes it, though her eyebrows shoot up. It's nice to meet a member of the team who is traditionally cordial for a change. "It's great to finally meet you," she answers. "I've been staring at everyone's files on my desk for weeks. It's nice to put faces and names to them."
Digg nods, his expression impassive. "Just as long as you don't believe everything you read," he finally answers.
Before she can ask, Felicity's voice draws her attention. Low and quiet—the way it had been when she told Laurel about Verdant—the captain asks, "How is he?"
Snorting, Roy replies, "His usual charming self." He crosses his arms, his expression softening. "It's… it's been tough. In the last week or so, he's been hard to get along with." His eyes dart toward the plane, his frown deeper this time. "He's not eating again. I don't think he's sleeping, either."
For the first time since Laurel has known her, Felicity scowls. "I'll talk to him," she promises.
"Hey!" Oliver's voice calls across the distance. "Roy, what's taking you so long with that bag?" His head pokes out of the plane. "Double time, Private. Let's—"
His voice cuts off as Felicity turns, that blissful smile returning to her lips again. Oliver is down the stairs and on the ground in a flash, moving to join them. Felicity takes a few steps forward, too, her black jacket rippling slightly in the wind. There's a purple dragon wrapped around a dreamcatcher on the back of it, and Laurel can just make out the set of blue, feathered wings tattooed below her hairline.
While she expects Felicity to say something, to continue chatting at Oliver, she goes quiet. Without warning, she breaks into a run, moving as fast as her pink Converses can carry her. She charges into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and Oliver staggers back with a grunt to keep his balance. His arms wrap around her waist, catching her so that her feet are off the ground.
Oliver smiles into her shoulder, eyes falling shut for a moment. When she hugged Roy, it was friendly, but now Laurel averts her eyes slightly because of the intimacy of their private reunion. A tension she didn't realize was there leaves Oliver's shoulders. His voice is muffled as he breathes into Felicity's shoulder, "I missed you, zoomie."
Her feet touch the ground again, but Felicity doesn't release him. "It's been too long," she declares. "I can't leave you for three weeks—you can't go that long without someone looking after you." She cups his face after pulling away a little. "You look so tired. Maybe you should come visit more often—you always seemed to sleep well at home. I'd even let you have the bed. I'd take the couch."
Threading her arm through his, she bites her bottom lip for a moment. "I know I have Billy," Felicity says suddenly, as though the words are bursting from her, "but I do get lonely sometimes. Cait is nice and all, but it's not the same." She drops her head onto his arm. "There's no replacement for my boys."
While Oliver still manages to smile, it doesn't quite reach his eyes. They droop with the weight of his sadness. "I know," he replies in a low, shaky tone. His lips press together before he adds in a steadier voice, "And I would come see you if we weren't on the run from the military police." His smile turns indulgent, though Laurel has no idea why.
Felicity's brow furrows a moment before she breathes out, " Oh ." Her eyes widen, as though this is a novel thought and they haven't been on the run for a year. She studies Oliver's expression for a moment before asking slowly, "I should know that, shouldn't I?" He doesn't answer, instead letting her put the pieces together herself with a smile on his face. "That's something big. How did I forget that?"
A light, breathy sound comes from low in Oliver's throat before he answers, "You have intermittent memory loss, Felicity." His tone is even and neutral, as though reminding her.
"Oh, I always forget that," she comments absently, tilting her head up to stare at him. "But I always remember the important things. Like I remember that you make amazing chocolate chip pancakes and that we need to fly to Russia." She hugs him around the middle this time, and Oliver doesn't hesitate to return it. "And I remember how much I miss my boys. All the other things are just details."
Without warning, she pulls Oliver's hat from his head. "And what have I told you about hats, Oliver?" she demands in a huff. "Your face is too pretty to be hidden under a hat." Laurel smiles at her antics as the captain puts the cap on her own head, threading her ponytail through the hole in the back. "And don't tell me it's because you're on the run. That's no excuse." Like the whirlwind she is, Felicity suddenly points behind him. "Is that my plane?"
Nodding once, the major turns, motioning to the plane behind them. "It was the best I could get under short notice," he tells her with a smile, his hand going to the small of her back as he turns her toward it. "Do you think you can fly that?"
In response, Felicity walks up to it slowly. Laurel isn't sure what she's going to do, but then the blonde walks up to it, holding her hands out as if she's about to hug it. Unable to stop herself, Laurel takes steps forward so that she stands even with Oliver. No one has addressed the issue of Felicity's sanity, but the reporter can't help but wonder if their pilot is even competent enough to fly. Tentatively, she asks, "Should Felicity even be flying?"
Genuine confusion flickers across his face as he turns to her, brow furrowing as he frowns. "Well, yeah," he answers, his tone screaming duh . "Digg and Roy can't fly. I've taken a few birds up, but always with a licensed pilot and nothing this size. Felicity is the only one of us with that kind of flight experience."
Her mouth opens, but no words come out. Laurel blinks several times before opening mouth to try again, but Roy cuts her off. "Lady, you're gonna want to drop this," he warns her in a low voice. "The major doesn't get it."
Deciding that Roy probably knows the team best, she changes tacks, asking Oliver, "Is she going to hug the plane?"
"Probably," he answers, smiling so wide he shows teeth. "She does have a tendency to hug inanimate objects." His smile softens slightly, and Laurel is a little overwhelmed by the pure adoration in it as he watches Felicity babble at the plane. "She sings, too. Only when she's happy, though."
That one Laurel knows about. Nodding, she agrees, "I heard her when we met. Apparently she had a song in her head."
"No, you heard her humming ," Oliver corrects, never taking his eyes off his pilot. "Felicity hums all the time, but she only sings when she's with us." His smile falls a little as he watches her. "Every time she comes with us, she's a little worse than we left her. And when we put her back in the psychiatric ward, she's better than when we pulled her out. I thought her mom would take care of her. Something darkens his expression, flickering through before it clears again. "Maybe we should have taken her with us—at least we would have watched over her." Before Laurel can ask about it, he calls to the blonde, "So do you want to fly it?"
She turns to him, grinning. " Fly it? " Felicity repeats loudly, as though insulted by the idea. "Oliver, I want to breed it with another one and have a bunch of little baby planes. It's beautiful ." Laurel bites back a smile at her antics as Oliver chuckles; no question that she's the personality on the team. "Maybe I'll just join the Mile High Club in it."
The blonde takes a few steps forward motioning with her hands as she corrects, "Well, renew my membership, anyway." Winking at Laurel, the blonde explains in an aside, "It's kind of a pilot thing. We're not happy unless we're in the air."
Turning back to the major, Felicity asks, "What do you say, Oliver? Do you want to take a ride?" Laurel glances between the two of them, hoping she misread the intent in her tone. Because it almost sounds like… Judging by the way he freezes in place, she's not the only one. Felicity's eyes widen as her cheeks turn pink, and she waves her hands wildly. "On the plane ," she clarifies. "Not me. You'd have to put in more work for that—at least buy a girl a drink first."
Before anyone can recover from her verbal gaffe, tires screech across the pavement, a military vehicle pulling into the lot. "Oh, that was what I was going to tell you," Felicity says suddenly. All three men turn their attention on her. "We have company. I've been monitoring the Colonel's communications. Apparently someone told him you were in Starling. When Laurel used her dad to get my file, One-Eyed Wonder started snooping again. He's getting better at hide-and-seek, don't you think?"
"Who's the Colonel?" Laurel can't help asking.
"File it under 'old business,'" Oliver answers, the good humor vanishing from his face as his brows knit together. "It looks like we've outstayed our welcome in Starling City. Laurel, go with Felicity. She'll get you strapped in, and she may need someone to help her with the gauges since she's never flown a Gulf Stream before." Felicity scoffs. "Roy, grab that bag. You and Digg both need to strap in and hold on." He turns to the blonde, serious now. "Captain, get us ready for wheels up in two."
Felicity salutes him with a smile on her face. "Anything for you, Major," she replies with a salute, her tone part promise and something else entirely. Studying the exchange of glances that follows, Laurel can't help but wonder just what their relationship is.
The blonde pulls on her arm and the two of them make a mad dash toward the plane. Behind her, she hears Oliver call, "Good afternoon, Colonel Wilson! It's been a while." Laurel turns to glance over her shoulder, but Felicity pulls her on before they can hear the response.
The two of them stumble into the plane's cockpit. Laurel drops into the right chair, and then Felicity is over her, fastening her harness before doing the same to her own. With one hand, she flips on the radio, while the other secures the headset, tucking one of the noise-cancelling coverings behind her right ear.
From there, she starts flipping switches that Laurel doesn't understand. "Good afternoon, lady and gentlemen," she starts in a clipped, professional voice, her tone warm and friendly. "This is your captain speaking. I've just turned on the 'no smoking' and 'fasten your seatbelts' sign for taxiing and takeoff. We ask that you please make sure your seats are in the upright position and that your trays are secured in front of you. Please sit back and enjoy your flight." She winks at Laurel. "As always, thank you for flying Miracle Airlines. If you have a great flight, it's a Miracle."
Over her giggling, Roy yells, "Damn it, Batshit! Now's not the time!"
From her seat, Laurel turns just enough to watch Oliver climb the stairs, tapping frame. "Take us up, Captain," he commands in a low voice.
Her answer comes in the form of a salute he can't see and, "Lima charlie!"
Felicity pushes a switch forward, and the engines start to roar. Oliver, however, continues with a formal bow that somehow manages to be insulting instead of polite. "We hate to leave you like this," he yells over the engines, "but on behalf of the team I'd like to tell you one thing." Louder, he calls out, "Alpha mike foxtrot!"
Their pilot flips another switch on the console before cackling again, this time throwing her head back as she does so. "That's not very nice, Major," she says to him as he seals the door.
Before he can answer, she pats the console, cooing at the plane, "Let's see what you can do, baby. Time to test those pretty wings. In a lovely soprano, she starts to sing, " Starships were meant to flyyyy… " As the plane lifts into the air, Oliver releases a startled laugh, grinning from ear to ear as he slides toward the passenger seating. "Hands up, and touch the skyyy. Can't stop, 'cause we're so hiiiiigh. Let's do this one more time. " She even does her own background before launching into the next verse.
After she finishes, she assures Laurel, "You're free to walk around, if you want. We're in the air, and I have plenty of voices in my head to keep me company." Felicity taps her (well, Oliver's) hat and winks, and the reporter can't tell if she means it or not. "If you want to talk to me, I'd appreciate it, but I figured after spending so much time finding the A-Team—" She winces, covering her mouth for a moment. "I mean, Task Force Alpha, you might actually want to meet them."
Laurel unfastens her harness before asking, "What Oliver said before… about 'alpha mike foxtrot'…?" she leads in.
Felicity cackles again. "Oliver is usually too nice to say things like that." Waving a hand, the blonde explains, "It's phonetics—you know, how we transmit the alphabet across the radio. Alpha, bravo, charlie, delta… Well, you get the picture." She laughs again. "So it's the initials 'A.M.F.' But the not-nice part is what it stands for. It's a phrase Colonel Wilson said a lot when we worked with him: adios , mother…" She trails off, and after a moment Laurel's eyes widen with recognition. Oh .
"And 'lima charlie'?" Laurel asks.
The blonde grins again. "Not as interesting. Phonetics again, but it stands for 'loud and clear.'" She pushes her glasses up on her nose. "I picked it up from Oliver—he used to say it all the time over the radio. Roy prefers the other version, 'lickin' chicken,' but if there's no actual chicken involved, what's the point?"
"I'm going into the passenger area," Laurel warns her, "but if you need to talk to someone, let me know."
Felicity just winks at her. "Trust me, there's a party in my head."
