A/N: It found plot!

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about me and a regular-updating routine. (I do have the next chapter all written, too, so just this once, the wait won't be long).

In any case, my apologies for the late update as always, and also my apologies for not having replied to reviews for the last chapter - but thank you all so so much for the amazing comments, and I can't even tell you how glad I am that you're not only enjoying the Olicity, but also Sara, Diggle the Sass Master of Our Hearts, and everything else about this story. Thank you!

P.S. For quisinart4: Fixed the typo. Thanks for the heads up :)

XI. The Great Unknown

She'd fallen asleep about halfway through the ride to her apartment.

Even as he parked the car on the sidewalk by her building and shut down the engine, Oliver didn't wake her. She was half-curled in the passenger seat, a few strands of hair plastered to her cheeks and she was, by the looks of it, drooling on the headrest.

Oliver let his own head hit the expensive leather, and sighed.

What you need is a leap.

She was right – rationally, he knew that. Living in limbo was not really living at all. He felt it every day, the push-and-pull of each side, and he knew that, someday, it would probably drive him insane. More than he arguably already was. Even Sara was trying to get out of her own limbo; she didn't know how, but she had every intention of trying. He, on the other hand, couldn't bring himself to believe the benefits would be worth the risks; what if he failed this time, too?

Because he'd tried before. He'd spent year after year dreaming of the past, nursing the delusion that, once his crusade was over, once every name on his father's list had been crossed, he would fall back into the life that was familiar, the life he'd promised himself he would cherish this time around. He'd had every intention of picking a side, and it was that of his past. Except it hadn't worked out that way.

He'd tried. When he believed his crusade would be over, that Malcolm Merlyn would be stopped, he'd decided to take what Felicity called a leap; he'd gone to Laurel, made what had turned out to be empty promises, and meant to start again. And then the Glades fell. Tommy died. His mother went to prison. And he went back to Lian Yu.

Leaps were dangerous.

If he left his past behind for good and embraced the present, it would mean truly accepting his role as good-doer for his city as more than a temporary arrangement. It would mean letting go of the near insurmountable guilt he carried around at all times, and believing he deserved another chance despite all he had done. It would mean making his lies to his family a thing of strategic routine indefinitely. It would mean letting his partners in the way he wanted to; the way he was afraid to. It would mean letting Laurel go for good.

Laurel.

Tonight wasn't the first night Felicity had given him good advice. It was months ago now, but she'd told him, on the night their team was officially put back together, that he needed to figure out what Laurel meant to him. Make their complicated situation less complicated.

Is she your goat herder?

He smiled to himself in the darkness of the car. Goat herder, honestly.

But the thing was, he still didn't know. He couldn't quite figure out how much of what he felt for Laurel was love, the kind Felicity had been talking about, and how much of it was him being stuck in the past, as Sara had said. Figuring it out could be liberating. It was also not a little frightening.

There'd been a thought, creeping at the edges of his mind for a while now, and taking the proverbial leap would mean acknowledging it. The truth was, he did have a connection with someone – the kind of connection he'd dreamed of having with Laurel, the kind that surpassed those dreams in a way he had never thought of but that he found suited him. And that someone was currently all but passed out in his car.

So, yes. Leaps were dangerous. Limbo was easier and, in its own way, safer.

And he was pretty sure that, if Felicity could hear his thoughts right now, she would call him chicken.

He also decided that he'd spent entirely too much time staring at the steady rise and fall of her chest, and moved to wake her.

His first attempt at doing so was met with a clumsy swat of her hand and a mumbled, "Sleepin', ask Digg to do it."

Waking up in the middle of the afternoon was a long-forgotten feeling for Felicity.

It was, much like a night off all to her lonesome, weird.

Still, she was in her PJs, digging her spoon into ice-cream and watching bad sitcoms. Weird was actually kinda nice.

That was, as long as she didn't think of the embarrassment of having drooled all over Oliver's car last night. By his account, it had taken five attempts and as many different strategies to get her to wake, and when she did wake, it was to the telltale sensation of a drying trail of drool running from the corner of her mouth. Embarrassing.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that he'd probably seen worse in his lifetime.

But of course, that wasn't all. Previous to the drool incident, they'd had a…moment. A heartfelt, honest, beautiful moment that had somehow become oddly sexually-charged at some point. Which wasn't actually without precedent; they'd had, during the time they'd known each other, had many a moment. The moments seemed to be gaining in frequency lately, though. She didn't quite know what to make of that.

Best not to think about it too much. They had enough to think about as it was.

Not the least of which was Deadshot's latest hit. Felicity had squeezed in some digging here and there, and somehow, her objective had shifted from Lawton to figuring out why exactly Dr. Elijah Haze had received a curare-laced bullet to the heart. She liked to think she'd sharpened her instincts since joining the vigilante business, and her instincts were telling her the real story didn't lie with Floyd Lawton, but with Elijah Haze. There was more to it than just another hit. Deadshot was an elite assassin, and if someone hired him to take out Haze, then they not only had means but also strong motivation. And one of the greatest motivations to seek out a gun for hire was to bury secrets.

As far as Felicity could tell, Haze had been a withdrawn man, both personally and professionally. No spouse, not even a partner for at least ten years, no children, no real friends. In his lab, he only had one assistant he let in close quarters, and even he didn't have the clearance to access some of the files Haze held in his computer, from what Felicity gathered when she hacked into the assistant's computer and found a list of passwords for various folders. She'd shaken her head in pity at the assistant – because, honestly, just leaving all those passwords there? – but one folder name in particular had drawn her attention. Phobos. And while listed on the document, there was no password to go along.

Now, if Felicity remembered her mythology correctly, Phobos was the god of fear, which really didn't inspire confidence about the folder's contents. Contents she'd tried to access but still hadn't managed to hack; Haze had no background in computers, so he had to have paid good money to get myself that kind of grade A encryption. Which only cemented Felicity's belief that secrets were being kept – bad, dangerous secrets. Because, god of fear, hello? That couldn't possibly be good.

What confused her, though, was that there was no indication that Haze had ever, in his entire life, fallen in with the proverbial wrong crowd. He had been a renowned scientist and researcher; all of his published projects had been on brain chemistry, and Felicity had to admit she'd been very impressed by his innovative approach to neurobiology and subsequent experiment protocols. She'd gotten so engrossed in one of his published works that she'd forgotten she was supposed to be researching him.

Still, she had also found regular payments to his account, very large anonymous donations that she couldn't trace back to the senders. Her best guess was that the money went into the funding of project Phobos, whatever the hell that may be. So, she supposed, Haze could have been a wolf in sheep's clothing, despite appearances. But he'd also been taken out, which meant there was an even bigger big bad from the heap of big bads that had funded his project out there with all sorts of unholy plans, probably.

A spoonful of ice-cream hit her square in-between her breasts, and after a yelp, she realized she'd been so engrossed in her musings about Haze that she'd forgotten about the spoon she had to her mouth. She sighed. She couldn't even make her brain quit the crime-fighting business long enough to down some quality ice-cream. All work and no play….

Scrunching her nose in distaste, she hopped off the couch to get rid of the chunk of ice-cream that was currently making its way down to the waistband of her shorts.

"Still no assistant?"

Oliver looked up from the progress reports Felicity's department had sent over, to see Laurel standing in his office's doorway; he leaned back and spread his arms out. "My approach to the CEO thing is still working out," he said. "Why mess with a good thing?"

She raised an eyebrow. "That's a little ironic, coming from you."

The jab was more teasing than biting, and in hindsight, he probably should have seen it coming; he nodded. "So, what brings you by again?" he asked, gesturing for her to take a seat. "I thought you didn't want us to be seen together until my mother's trial was over?"

"I didn't want us to be seen too often," Laurel corrected as she settled in. "Besides, I think this merits a face-to-face. Closing arguments for Moira's trial are on Wednesday." She shrugged. "So, however it goes…it's coming to an end."

Oliver nodded; he hadn't been able to get that date out of his head ever since it was announced. Jean felt confident that even with a guilty verdict, the jury would not be in favor of the death penalty, but the final call would still be made by the judge, so until it was all done with, the possibility still hung over his family's heads. "Yeah," he agreed, "so I'd like to thank you again…for what you've done for us."

Laurel smiled, though something about it felt off; Oliver couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Hopefully, it'll have been for something." She licked her lips, then looked away.

Oliver frowned. "Laurel, what's going on?"

"Would you like that in alphabetical or chronological order?"

Well, she had a point there. "It's just…you still look like you haven't had a good night's sleep in months," he observed quietly.

She seemed to have focused all of her attention to a stray pencil on his desk. He was almost surprised when she spoke. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you ever – " She sighed, then tried again. "Do you ever feel like, however hard to try, you always…fail? In everything. Every time you try, you always lose? You just…never get it right."

Almost every day, he thought. "I know the feeling," he admitted.

She looked up at that, eyes slightly wet, and nodded. "Well, maybe this time, with your mom," she said, "I'll actually get something right."

So, that was why she couldn't sleep. No matter what she tried, it ended in disaster and a broken heart. With Tommy, with himself, with her family, with CNRI…it always fell through, and the one common denominator was her. Always her.

"You know," he began, "a really good friend told me that not everything was my fault, no matter how much I made it out to be."

"Some things still are."

"Which is exactly what I said," he went on, "but according to her, it doesn't mean I have to keep dragging that load around."

Laurel gave him a long, studying look, before her mouth quirked into a faint smirk. "Was that friend Felicity?"

He pursed his lips. "Maybe," he allowed.

She spared him a look at the admission, one that reminded him eerily of the one Sara had given him, before nodding. "Still," she said, "I…I need to know I can get it right. I…I want to get it right, just this once." Before he could interject, she added, "But I'm not here to talk about me. I wanted go over what we'll be putting in our closing arguments, so you can see if you need to adjust yours accordingly."

It was all business from then on, though things did get very awkward when the subject of his testimony arose. Laurel tried to present how the DA would spin it without turning the matter personal, except it was personal, which in turn made them both dance around the intricacies of his testimony, which just made it plain awkward. Oliver felt his eyes wander to the door on more than one occasion, balling his hands into fists to keep himself from making a beeline for it.

By the time Laurel bid her goodbyes and wished his mother luck for Wednesday, he'd lost all and any will go keep working. But one of the benefits of being CEO was that he didn't strictly speaking have fixed work hours. Which meant he could pack up and head to the lair, and punch inanimate objects while he was at it.

He made it to the club in record time, pulling at his tie as he clambered down the stairs, only to pause in his tracks as he reached the bottom. "You're supposed to be at home."

"And you're supposed to be at QC," Felicity retorted, not even sparing him a glance. "Guess we both live to break the rules. We're rebels like that."

His mouth twitched as he approached her, feeling his urge to hit things get pushed to the backburner. "If I didn't know how you spent your nights, I'd never have pegged you for the rebellious kind," he remarked.

"Just part of my civilian disguise," she played along. "It's how I fool the other mortals into thinking I'm just an average computer geek."

"Well, you're anything but average."

"Actually, I do have average height and built – well, more average height than built, since recent polls have shown that the average American woman is a size fourteen rather than a size six as the media and society would have you believe, and – "

He cleared his throat.

"Right." She nodded. "Thanks for the compliment."

Shaking his head, he took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of her chair without thought. "So, why aren't you at home?" he asked as rolled up his shirt sleeves.

"Turns out, I can't get my brain out of the gutter long enough to finish a bucket of ice cream." She paused, blinked, then specified, "Not that gutter."

If you asked him, her mind was in that gutter often enough, but in any case… "Anything in particular that wouldn't let you relax?"

"Oh, this and that. Our super-secret snooping mission we've been keeping on the hush-hush from Digg. My in-progress pride and joy for QC. Isabel. Disturbing new crime trends. You know, stuff."

While her delivery was lighthearted, it still made him frown. It was a lot to worry about. To think about constantly. There was a balance that existed, one that he could never reach, but that he certainly wanted for her to have. "That's a lot of worry about," he voiced his thought out loud.

She must have noticed the undercurrent in his tone, because she peeked up at him, then sighed. "I guess it's true that I get carried away sometimes," she admitted, shaking her head. "When you were away on Lian Yu," she added, lowering her voice, "I kind of got really caught up in…trying to do everything. Fix the Glades, bust the drug cartels – and that obviously didn't work out – upgrade the lair, keep an eye on your family to make sure they were okay…and then I'd get really worked up when things fell through, and…" She sighed deeply. "It took Digg to remind me that we didn't need another you around, just because you were AWOL. You're like my cautionary tale – " she cringed – "and that sounded better in my head. The point is, I'm good," she told him, confident smile in place. "I can handle multitasking. Mentally and otherwise."

He'd believe her, if that weren't what he always said.

"Well, if it ever gets too much, you can always tell me," he reminded her. She smiled and nodded to acknowledge his words, but then turned the focus right back on him with a, "Speaking of things getting too much, what drove you away from the office?"

He frowned, which in turn made her scrunch her nose. "Sore subject?" she guessed. She was right, of course.

Fortunately, he was saved from speaking by Diggle, who came in clattering down the stairs. "And I thought I'd be the early comer for once," he commented. "Did I miss a memo?"

There was a beat before Felicity turned to him. "Nah," she said. "I just can't get my brain to shut up, and Oliver got a visit from Laurel."

Oliver started. "I didn't say that," he let out, to which Felicity gave him what he could only describe as a pitying yet all-knowing look. "You have your Laurel-face on," she said.

"I don't have a…Laurel-face," he defended indignantly, which only earned him a flat, "yeah, you do" from Diggle.

Fine, maybe he did.

"So, what did Laurel have to say?" Diggle asked next, crossing his arms.

"The trial's closing arguments are two days away," Oliver said, which was no news to either of his teammates, "so she just came by to run point on things."

"And…?"

"There's no 'and'."

"There's always an 'and'."

Dammit. "And it got really awkward at one point," he admitted. "What with…things, and well…she's going through some rough times, has been for a while, and…" He shrugged. "I think she needs a friend, but I'm also pretty sure I don't meet the criteria after…everything."

"It might help if Sara talked to her," Diggle suggested.

"But Sara's not ready for that," Felicity pointed out. When both men gave her looks, she shrugged. "What? We talked."

"Well, in any case," Diggle said, "Laurel's personal affairs aren't our" – he pointed to himself and Felicity – "business, so if you think she needs a friend or help, Oliver, you're gonna have to figure it out on your own. Not our place to meddle – at least not until she starts gunning for your leather ass again. Speaking of," he reverted back to business, "Carly's been telling me about this new gang of low-lives dealing from behind the diner. May want to check it out tonight."

Oliver nodded. "Sure. I'll just get a few hours of workout before heading out." He turned to Diggle. "Wanna join?"

His partner agreed, and a few hours later, Oliver was suited up and ready to take down the drug dealers stupid enough to take residence next to the Big Belly Burger. Felicity craned her head around to wish him good luck, and the last thing he saw before stepping out was her frowning and rapidly blinking at the suit jacket he'd left on the back of her chair.

"What am I missing here, Digg?" Felicity lamented, gesturing in a wide circle to her screens.

Oliver's patrol was in full swing, and after having rid the diner of its pests, he'd taken to seeking out whichever scum he could find, which had led him to running into Sara, and they had, according to the latest reports, decided to start bringing down bad guys together. And hey, who were she and Digg to take leather-clad vigilantes' fun away? Oliver had initiated radio silence, as he had Sara to direct him to criminal hotspots she'd observed, which meant Felicity was left with enough time to finally rope Diggle into helping her take a second look at what she liked to call The Isabel Rochev Files.

But even with Diggle's hawk-like set of fresh eyes, they were no closer to figuring out Isabel's motivations for looking into Oliver, or her motivations for quitting on looking into Oliver.

Diggle sighed. "Okay, let's take it from the top one more time," he said. "When did the searches start?"

Felicity pulled up the logs. "October 11th, 2012," she recited. "Just after Oliver returned from Lian Yu."

"Which would mean she had an interest in him, or in what he might have to say."

"I considered she might have wanted to figure out if he was a threat to the Undertaking," Felicity said, "but then, there's nothing to suggest she was directly involved with the Undertaking, or that she'd have an interest in it, and also…how would any of these searches help answer that question?" She gestured to all the different search results she had at her disposal. "I mean, footage of reporters chasing him for questions he didn't answer, and looking up his history? Why would she look up that video of him peeing on a cop – and, really, did she have to look up that video, because down the line, that meant I had to see it, and – " She scrunched her nose and shook her head. "Some of it wasn't even blurred out," she whined, grieving for her long-suffering memory bank, because there was no brain bleach available that could erase that image.

Besides her, Diggle shuddered in distaste. "Damn, that boy was a nasty piece of work back then."

"It's a good thing we didn't know him before the island, I guess."

"I don't think we would have liked him," Diggle agreed. "But you're right, this isn't the kind of search you run when you're trying to get specific info, it's…I'd say you do it when you try to get a sense of what a person is like. Which would fit with our assumption that this is where she got the idea that Oliver was just an airheaded pretty boy."

"Okay," Felicity allowed, "but why look into him in the first place. There's gotta be something we're missing here."

Diggle blew out a breath. "Maybe we should see if she has history with – wait a minute!" He straightened in his chair. "When did you say the searches started?"

"October 11th."

"Which would be a day after Oliver returned," Diggle pointed out. "The story broke on October 10th. So, if we assume she was really invested in this and your logs show unrelated computer activity for the 10th, why would she wait a whole day before she started to dig?"

"Maybe she only learned about it a day later?" Felicity suggested, but Diggle was shaking his head.

"No way," he said. "It was all over the news. Every channel, every hour – even some of my buddies overseas heard about it in a matter of hours. I'm sure you did, too, right?" When she nodded, he added, "And Isabel strikes me as the kind of woman who follows the news closely, if only for the stock market segments. There's no way she would have missed it."

"You're right!" How had she not seen that? It's always in the little things, Smoak. She hit the keyboard with renewed enthusiasm, pulling up news footage from both days of interest. She turned on closed captioning, muted the sound, and let all the videos play side-by-side on the screens. "Okay, spot the differences," she said. "What changed between the 10th and 11th that made her go full psycho-stalker on Oliver?"

They both fell silent as they skimmed each screen. Come on, come on, she thought. There has to be something. Her eyes flickered over each line, which all looked just about the same; they were rehashing the same thing, the same story, the same tired scandal, so what was it that had drawn Isabel's attention?

And then, two innocuous little words caught her eye. She was so used to them that they had just passed her by, but they were it; they were the difference. "Lian Yu," she let out.

Diggle perked up. "What?"

"Lian Yu," Felicity repeated, hitting pause. She pointed to the screens, tapping her finger against the tiny little words. "They reported the name of the island on the 11th. They'd only mentioned it was in the North China Sea when the story broke out." She turned to Diggle. "That's gotta be it. Lian Yu."

Diggle frowned heavily, his expression growing dark. "She only got interested in him when she learned he'd been on Lian Yu."