A/N: safelycapricious asked: "[text] "So...are we close enough friends that you're willing to bail me out?" Jemma and Felicity brotp"


Felicity's about three lines of code away from completing the program she's writing (call it an insurance policy; their lair's been compromised about five times too many for her taste, and it's about time she did something about it) when her phone beeps with an incoming text message.

She doesn't want to stop, not when she's on a roll, so close to finishing after spending nearly two full days working on this, but in their line of work (or, well, line of extracurricular activities, really, but whatever), it's never a good idea to ignore your phone.

So she compromises. "Roy, could you check my phone, please?"

"Seriously?" Roy grumbles, but he's already setting down his bow and abandoning target practice to join her at her desk. "It's literally right next to you."

"I'm busy," she says mildly. Two lines to go, and she's definitely going to have to treat herself to something nice once she gets this done. She'll still need to implement it, test it, and then make whatever changes are necessary, but it's innovative and creative and, to be blunt, really freaking pretty code. She deserves a reward for being so awesome.

"And I wasn't?" he counters, even as he picks up her phone. He frowns skeptically at the screen. "Uh, someone named Jemma wants to know if you're good enough friends to bail her out."

Felicity's so shocked that she actually hits three keys at once, and has to hurriedly backspace. Oliver pauses half-way up the salmon ladder.

"Felicity?" he asks.

"Give me that," she says, and snatches her phone out of Roy's hands.

Sure enough, the text is from Jemma, and it says So…are we close enough friends that you're willing to bail me out?

They've been best friends for years, since they were just kids and Felicity's well-meaning mother enrolled her in what was, essentially, a child prodigy pen-pal club. (That was not at all the point of the whole exercise, but Felicity's long since forgotten what was—if she ever even knew it. What mattered at the time was that Felicity got a long-distance best friend out of it and her mom stopped talking about making her skip a few grades.) The idea that Felicity might not bail Jemma out—might not do anything for Jemma's sake—is ridiculous.

Or it would've been, maybe. Before.

She's pretty sure there's a silent still tacked in there, between we and close. The vague-yet-menacing government agency Jemma works for recently came crashing down in a super public and super terrifying way; words like treason and duplicity have been tossed around like candy, and every single person who's ever so much as spoken to a SHIELD agent is being looked at with suspicion.

This is the first time she's heard from Jemma since the truth came out. Maybe Jemma thinks Felicity thinks she's a traitor, a secret member of HYDRA. Maybe she thinks Felicity suspects her.

So…yeah, no, it's still a ridiculous idea.

She went looking, but there was nothing about Jemma in the flood of SHIELD files that appeared on the internet after the HYDRA bomb (figuratively speaking, and wow, that's a turn of phrase she's not gonna be using ever again; way to be insensitive, Felicity) dropped, and Felicity detected the touch of another hacker—another really talented hacker—there. So she doesn't know conclusively, one hundred percent for sure that Jemma's not HYDRA.

But come on. It's Jemma. Of course she's not HYDRA.

I'm gonna pretend you didn't ask me that, she texts back. Where are you?

Downtown Los Angeles, Jemma replies quickly. Perhaps five minutes away from being arrested.

On my way, she types. You can use your one phone call to explain yourself. She hits send, considers her message, and then adds, It had better be a really great explanation. Including such details as WHY it took you so long to contact me.

Yes, ma'am, is the response, followed a second later by, All right, I have to go get arrested. Please bring me a change of clothes.

Felicity has so many questions, but they'll have to wait. Right now, she's apparently needed in LA.

She saves her code and shuts the computers down hurriedly, and has already collected her coat and purse before she realizes that Oliver is standing on the other side of her desk, watching her expectantly.

"I have to go," she says. "I'll be back…" She hesitates. Who knows what kind of trouble Jemma is in or how long it'll take to fix? "Eventually."

"Eventually?" Roy echoes, clearly unimpressed.

Oliver is doing that worried thing with his eyebrows. "Felicity, what's going on?"

"Friend in need," she says shortly. She doesn't really have time for explanations; it'll take a while to get to LA, especially if she needs to make a stop for clothes, and she doesn't want Jemma to have to spend any longer in jail than totally necessary. "I'll be in touch."

She pecks Oliver on the cheek as she passes him, which—in addition to serving as a semi-intimate goodbye (necessary because they're still in a very murky more-than-friends, less-than-lovers territory)—has the benefit of freezing him in place long enough for her to make it to the top of the stairs unimpeded.

"Later, be safe, call me if you need anything!" she throws over her shoulder, and then she's out the door.

Jemma had better have a really good explanation for all this.