A/N: So, uh...hello! How's life been treating you all this...past month or so?

Terrible at updating, I know. My apologies. But this chapter's done, and I'm not going to make promises about future ones, 'cause I only end up breaking said promises. But I will try.

Also, in the spirit of full disclosure - a part of this story that was supposed to be handled in this chapter got axed. I tried and tried to make it happen (which actually kinda explains the month of radio silence), but the flow was all wrong, I'm not the kind of fangirl that could make it work. I actually feel kinda terrible about it, since it touched upon Felicity's backstory and also feel terrible as a writer, since I was all about dropping hints about her family in one of the earlier chapters and that's just gonna lead nowhere now. But it was either axing it or giving up altogether, so...yeah. As a result, I rearranged some stuff, which probably sped up the timetable on events somewhat, so I hope it doesn't all feel like a massive failure. (if it does, I'm sorry)

Anyway, my apologies again. Carry on, please.

XIV. History Repeating

It was like a war zone. Except only one side actually knew a war was being fought – well, not much of a war, really. More of a battle of wills.

And in Oliver's case, Felicity surmised, a battle for self-control. These days, she counted any conversation that didn't end with Isabel Rochev getting arrowed as a victory.

Ms. Rochev had, obviously, not been pleased to hear that a crucial product for the company was being rushed so that Mrs. Queen could pay her dues – not the company's concern, she had said. Naturally, Oliver had responded to that by stating that it was a family concern, and that Queen Consolidated was a family business, and bottom line – he'd made the call and she would have to play along. Of course, that didn't sit well with Isabel, who had issued a rather biting reminder that she owned half of that 'family business' and that she was to be consulted – to which Oliver had said that he'd already made the decision anyway and she would just have to accept it.

And in that moment, Felicity swore she could see all the ways in which Isabel was killing him in he r mind.

Also, if you asked her, pissing off the lady who was almost certainly planning your demise and had no qualms about blowing up commercial airliners full of people was not exactly the wisest road to take, but here they all were.

In the boardroom. Two weeks into the Queen vs. Rochev ice war, and she was presenting the final stages of her program to the board. Her notes were at her fingertips, though she didn't need them much, Cheryl was by her side, and most importantly, her coffee thermos was right within reach.

"The last of the coding should be done by the end of next week," she spoke. "Then comes the beta testing, which we will also put a rush on, so everything should be about ninety-nine percent done by the time the first public presentation comes knocking." She reached for her coffee, taking a hearty swig. "The first sales pitches have already been made, and have garnered the desired hype and anticipation – congrats on that marketing, by the way – " she turned to the two representatives of the PR Department; they gave her grateful nods in return – "so we already have some big names signing on as potential buyers and investors, which I think is a really good start." She paused for a breath, then glanced down at her notes – what else had she been supposed to talk about? Oh right, a conclusion and a subtle reminder that she and her minions had been busting their asses off for this. "In any case, the program should be ready for mass ripping and downloads in roughly two months, by which time we will, hopefully, have the funds to start investing in technologies we aren't developing ourselves. And speaking of that, my department has been working overtime on this for weeks, so I'm not saying 'raise our paychecks', but a nice Christmas bonus would still be in order."

She look pointedly at Oliver, whose lips looked like they might be in the process of twitching into a smile; he nodded. "You should expect nothing less," he agreed, then turned to Isabel with a look that simply dared her to defy him. Felicity reached for her coffee again.

"Provided we are not bled dry before we are even rehabilitated," Isabel fired back – very coldly, if Felicity said so herself, "and the funds we do earn don't get spent on outside matters, the bonuses this year should be very generous. Especially for your department, Ms. Smoak."

And so the ice war continues, Felicity thought; Oliver and Isabel were giving each other death-stares again, but hey, at least she had a promise of additional cash for her hardworking minions.

She made to take another sip of her coffee, only to find the cup empty; she grabbed the thermos for a refill, only to find that it too had been drained. She frowned; well, that was one entire thermos gone before lunchtime.

She'd worry about it, except she was too tired to do so.

And now the excess of coffee was making her stomach gurgle painfully. Not to mention pushing her for an emergency bathroom pee-break – when would they be wrapping this shindig up anyway?

As it turned out, it took another half hour.

Felicity dashed for the bathroom the first chance she got, and when she made it back to her office, she expected to find Cheryl there, ready to ask what she wanted for lunch; as she spent most, if not all, of her lunch breaks at her desk, Cheryl had taken to asking her what she wanted brought back from the place most of the employees liked to frequent. But instead of Cheryl, she found Oliver.

She froze in her tracks. "What happened?"

He actually looked confused for a moment. "Nothing," he said, which just made her confused.

"So, this is a...social call?" she let out. "Which doesn't make any sense, since you just saw me – actually, you see me all day, every day. I mean, at this point, the three of us might as well be living together – it's like this weird ménage à trois – no, wait, 'cause that would be – " She blew out a long, long breath; what was the point of trying to dig her way out of sexually-laden innuendos these days, anyway? "So, social call?" she prompted instead.

"Uh...sort of." Oliver scratched the back of his head, then took a step closer to her; she realized she was still standing in the doorway. Oh well, he was already making his way to her, why move now?

"I was thinking, maybe you'd like to have lunch," he offered, and she was just about to inform him that yes, she would like food and very much so, but that she was just waiting for Cheryl to swing by, before realizing he probably meant lunch with him.

She frowned. "What's the occasion?"

"Why does there have to be an occasion?"

"Because this is literally the first time ever that you've asked me to lunch with you."

He opened his mouth as if to protest that, then immediately closed it; the ensuing little tilt of his head let her know that he had conceded to her point.

"I just...thought you might enjoy a change of lunch break scenery," he said, his voice dropping to the softer, more sincere note it adopted every now and then; she really did appreciate it when it happened. He stepped all the way up to her now, so that she had to look up to meet his eye. "I've been asking a lot from you," he added, "and I – " his gaze wandered over the top of her head while he searched for the words he wanted to say – "I don't want you to think I'm unaware of that."

She couldn't help her small, weary smile. So, he was trying to do something nice for her. It was sweet. "Didn't think you were," she told him, watching as the few small words made his own mouth lift into a smile – just a tiny, little one. "But I'll have to pass," she declined the offer. "There's still stuff I need to do here – and before you say, 'gee, Felicity, you can still afford to put your feet up for just an hour', I'll remind you that we have a lot planned for our nighttime job later, so I won't be able to do this stuff after-hours, which means I have to do them during office hours – sort of."

Though she made complete sense and they both knew it, he still got that face he made when he knew she was right but was still unhappy about it. "Felicity – "

"Oliver, no offense," she said, "but I really, really need to get back to work."

He seemed to understand this put an end to it. "See you later, then," he said, letting his hand brush over her shoulder on his way out. Felicity remained in her spot for a moment longer, closing her eyes to savor a deep, steadying breath, before striding to her desk with purpose.

She really did have stuff to do.

Felicity watched Oliver and Diggle get ready for the night's mission, scraping her teeth over her lip; after some weeks of gathering intel and tracking patterns, they were finally gearing to take down the Starling branch of an international human trafficking ring. The plan, in itself, wasn't anything extraordinary – they knew where the local leaders' den was, so Oliver and Diggle would go in, subdue them, which would then leave Felicity to alert the authorities and send them to the site via anonymous tip. And they had Roy on standby, just in case. Simple enough.

Except, and according to an earlier call from Mr. Lance, Laurel was also gearing up. To take down the vigilante. Again.

So, naturally, Felicity worried about Oliver. When she'd announced this, he hadn't really said much other than they had to get ready – so, again, she worried. Making an executive decision, she rose from her seat and marched over to where he was stashing arrows in his quiver.

"Because we're friends and partners and all that," she began, "I have to ask: are you okay?"

He looked up at her and frowned; she decided it looked more like a frown of confusion than intense emotional distress. Which was further confirmed when his features cleared in understanding a moment later.

"I'm fine, Felicity," he said.

"Are you sure?" she prodded. "I mean, this is kind of a history repeating itself, what with Laurel – "

" – gunning for your leather ass again," Diggle joined the conversation, taking a stand at Felicity's side. "Which effectively makes her our problem – again."

Never let it be said John Diggle didn't keep to his word – he had said Laurel would only be their business again when she resumed her hunt for the vigilante. And she had.

In the wake of Mrs. Queen's trial, Laurel had picked up where she'd left off – or so her father reported.

Oliver sighed. "We'll stay under the radar," seemed to be his everlasting solution, though the delivery carried much less angst than any of its predecessors, as far as Felicity could remember. "Like before."

Felicity narrowed her eyes a fraction; either he was getting really good at hiding the pain in his soul or something else was up. "And you're...not going to try and change her mind?" she asked tentatively.

He gave her a look she couldn't quite place, then moved his eyes to Diggle; eventually, he simply said, "No."

There was a mutual understanding that this was all they would get from him on the matter. Still, Felicity had hoped that, maybe, after even the press had started calling Oliver the Green Arrow and painting him as more of a good-doer, Laurel would have changed lanes, too. Evidently not. Which was why anything and everything they took on made her worry and think back on the set-up that had been waiting for Oliver on his first night back as the vigilante – it was, coincidentally, also why she had checked and took apart all the intel they had on the human trafficking ring more times than she could count.

Had she mentioned that she worried?

On this one occasion, though, it turned out that she had worried about nothing. The mission went according to plan – barring a slight hitch or two about extra muscle to take down they hadn't foreseen and some hidden barbed wire that Oliver's rear end hadn't appreciated, but still nothing they couldn't take in stride – and Felicity managed to clock out of her night job and still get home in time to get a solid four hours of sleep. Yippie.

It would help if they didn't actively try to create a tense atmosphere.

Not that she didn't understand where Oliver was coming from – or that she didn't see why Isabel would fight him every step of the way, being who she was; it was just that her head was seconds away from exploding.

Her solid four hours of sleep had turned more into two hours of shuteye, as she'd kept waking up, jolted awake every half-hour or so – sometimes from disturbing dreams, sometimes because her brain wouldn't shut up about all the things she had to do.

So yes, Oliver and Isabel's back-and-forth really didn't help her case.

Felicity was still obligated to sit through it, of course, which she did – and she took it like a trooper, if she said so herself.

That day and all those that followed; even through the sleep deprivation, and the unforeseen problem in her program's coding that she just couldn't figure out how to fix, and playing the eye in the sky for a brooding archer, and taking calls from Sara over encrypted communication lines to keep her updated while she stayed in Coast City, and not being able to figure out Isabel Rochev's masterplan, and not having time to decrypt Elijah Haze's files on Phobos, and keeping that whole mess from Diggle – and had she mentioned that she just couldn't figure out a way to fix the damned bug in the damned coding for the damned program?

She pushed her keyboard away in frustration, bringing her hands up to rub her temples; her head hurt like a mother. And her stupid brain wouldn't work! She was so close to finishing everything and being done with this whole program, and she just couldn't get past one small, stupid little glitch! And now she would miss the deadline, and Isabel would probably gloat and Oliver would brood, and then she would probably organize a coup and overthrow him and crown herself the Queen – provided that she didn't just kill him, but hey, he'd probably be dead long before that since Laurel Lance was hunting him again, but did he worry about that? – No! But she worried – she worried about him, and their heroics, and whatever lurked behind codename Phobos that she wasn't getting to, and Isabel Rochev, and the stupid glitch!

Felicity bent to open her bottom drawer, deciding an aspirin would be a good thing right about now. She pulled and the wood rattled but the drawer wouldn't budge. She pulled again and again, but it stayed jammed, only banging in tandem with her pounding head, until she felt her eyes prickle with tears and kicked the drawer with her foot.

A sob bubbled from her throat next while angry tears slipped down her cheeks; her lungs felt too tight, and her face felt like it was on fire, and her throat felt clogged with tears. She'd been down this road before, and she knew that even as she cried harder. For five months, it had been just her and Digg. And in those five months, she had cried and lost sleep over things that she couldn't fix, couldn't control, time and again – and sometimes, Digg heard her, and sometimes he didn't, and he'd given her a painting of the Glades for solace.

She tried to stop herself, shake it off, but only ended up curling into a ball in her chair, throwing off her glasses, and burying her face in her hands.

"Felicity?"

Of course he would choose this moment to barge into her office – and why didn't he ever knock?

She moved her fingers away from her eyes just enough to be able to see, hiccuping into her cupped hands, and though his shape was blurry, she knew his eyes were going over the place in threat assessment, even as he moved closer to her.

"Felicity, what's wrong? What happened?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes as she wiped her cheeks. She tried to say that it was nothing, that people just cried sometimes, and it was no big deal – it was nothing, really – but all that came out was a stuttering, "M-my drawer i-is jammed."

Oliver didn't respond to that, and she didn't look up to try and make out the features of his face, but eventually, she felt more than saw him move away – her eyes snapped up to track his progress to the door, where he quietly shut it, then made his way to back, only to bypass her desk and head for the windows, cracking one open.

He strode back to her next, and offered her his hand. "Come on," he coaxed softly.

Part of her just wanted to shoo him away. Still, she took his hand and let herself be led over to the open window; the slight breeze washed over her face and she took a deep breath to clear her lungs. The fresh air did help.

She noticed the blur that was Oliver's hand rise, thumb facing upwards, and for a moment, she thought he was actually going to brush away the tearstains on her cheeks; it fell to her shoulder instead, and his thumb rubbed circles against her collarbone. It calmed her somewhat

Oliver didn't speak for a while, keeping quiet as she worked on her breathing, but when he did speak, it was only to ask, "Do you want me to call Digg?"

Felicity snapped her eyes from where they were focused on the knot of his tie to the features of his face she could vaguely make out, and frowned. One of his shoulders rose and fell in the barest of shrugs.

"You used to tell me a lot about what was bothering you," he said softly. "Well, it was mostly about your incompetent supervisor at IT and stuff like that, but then I left, and – " He cleared his throat. "And you don't tell me much about anything anymore – and I may not be the most perceptive guy, but I do notice some things." His eyes dropped to where he was still drawing circles against her shirt, and he blew out a quiet breath. "And I know that if there's anyone you'd tell about what's bothering you, it'd be Digg. So...do you want me to call him?"

Felicity was halfway through shaking her head before she stopped herself, because he did have a point. For five months, she'd only had Digg. And Oliver – well, she didn't deal well with people leaving. Even if they'd never actually promised to stay.

And he was right, she didn't tell him much these days – in fact, he told her more as of late, which, when she took a moment to think about it, was all sorts of weird. She hadn't been doing it on purpose – at least, she didn't think so. And it wasn't that she didn't trust him, it was just –

Well, she knew what she could and could not expect when it came to his 'people skills'.

She tried again, and managed to give him a firm shake of her head this time. "No, it's – it's fine," she said, running a hand over her eyes. "I'm fine, the – " she gestured to the window – "getting some air helped."

She promptly looked anywhere but at him after that.

"Hey..."

And just like that, there were tears in her eyes again. She didn't know when it had become a habit, or when it had garnered so much meaning, but him uttering that one little word had come to carry more weight than a thousand speeches he could give. Which was why she was crying again.

"You know how – how I said that while you were away, I – I got way too caught up in things?" she found herself talking; she hadn't been telling him much about anything, but she knew she'd told him that. "And that – " she sniffled – "that I got really worked up when it all fell through?" She watched the blur that was his head bob up and down in a careful nod, and admitted, "Well, I think it might be happening again."

Next thing she knew, his arms were winding around her like they had in the courthouse – gently but strongly, and her cheek pressed against his chest while his hand came to rest at the back of her neck. "I thought I was past all of that," she mumbled into his shirt – one she was probably leaving mascara stains on, "and I – I didn't know how to deal with any of it, and you were gone, so I – so I lost it sometimes, but it's different now, you're back and we're a team and –" And I shouldn't be feeling like this now.

Oliver was quiet for a while, only rubbing soothing circles against the skin below her ear; for someone with such poor people skills, he sure knew how to lull her into comfort. "Things like that never really go away," he whispered into her hair. "You think you're good, that you're over it, but then something happens that just...brings it all back."

"I take it you have a lot of experience with that."

She'd cringe at being tactless, but he was probably used to it by now. "Yeah," he said, in a way that made her think he might be smiling a little. She burrowed deeper into him.

"There's a bug in the program," she admitted. "And I don't know to fix it. And I don't – I don't remember the last time I actually slept well, and...and then there's Isabel, and who knows what she's up to – and it doesn't help that you've basically declared war on each other. But of course, then there's also Laurel, and Haze and whatever godawful things he hid behind Phobos, which I don't have time to decrypt, and I just – "

Oliver tightened his hold on her, and she thought it might actually be grounding her. "Why didn't you say anything?" he asked softly. "You don't have to carry everything around on your own."

"Says the pot to the kettle."

"True, but I'm your cautionary tale, remember?" he reminded.

That might have made her smile a little, too. "In my defense, I thought I was handling it," she said, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Though his face was still out-of-focus, she could tell his eyes were going over her own features, just as she felt the warmth of his hand move from her nape to her face and his fingers start to lightly comb through her hair. She let herself lean into the touch.

"You know, it never occurred to me to say this," he spoke after a moment, "but...I'm sorry, Felicity." At her frown, he added, "For leaving, after the quake – leaving you and Digg. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "That's – it's fine, you don't have to apologize for that. I mean, it's not like we'd signed binding contracts in blood or anything."

"But you thought we had," he remarked.

"What, no – okay, maybe a little," she admitted. "I just...I guess I expected you'd stick around. I didn't...consider that you wouldn't. No big deal."

Except it kind of was – in all truth, there'd been a few weeks, in the beginning, when she had cursed his name for running away instead staying to brave through the aftermath. She'd stayed. So had John. His sister had stayed. Laurel. Just not him.

And she hadn't understood it, at the start, not the way Digg had. And yes, she might have perceived it as him breaching a nonexistent team contract, which she evidently hadn't understood wasn't even in place – again, not the way Digg had. But she was fine with all of it now.

Except she was falling into the same pattern of keeping all strings controlled like she had when he wasn't there, so one might say she was gearing up for the inevitability of him leaving again when or if everything crashed and burned.

Okay, so maybe she still had some unresolved issues.

Either she had said it all out loud or Oliver was a mind-reader, because the next words out of his mouth were, "I'm not leaving again. No matter what happens. I promise."

She thought about empty promises again, but decided that, just this once, maybe she would take his word for it. With a smile, she brought her hand up to curl her fingers around his wrist and said, "I am holding you to that."

He let out a quiet huff of a chuckle, which in turn made her grin up at him, and next thing she knew, his stubble was scratching the bridge of her nose, and his lips were brushing her forehead. Her breath hitched in surprise and he froze like a statue, with one arm around her waist, a hand in her hair and his lips warm against her skin.

They'd had awkward, not-quite-as-platonic-as-they-should-be situations before, one not a couple of weeks back in the courthouse, but this – this took the cake.

Oliver backed away from her the next second, dropping his arms to his sides, clenching his hands into fists, and standing very rigidly a foot away from her. He had a few false starts before he cleared his throat. "Right. Uh..." Another bout of throat-clearing. "Well, since we are a team, and we should...discuss...things, maybe we should talk about...everything that's been weighing on you." He looked like he wanted to reach for her again, but then thought the better of it. "So, uh...we should sit down and talk about all of that, since we're a team, and teams work together and share the load and – " The stilted, awkward edge to his tone grew softer as he added, "And the fact that we are a team means that none of us have to be alone in anything – which is something you and Digg went to great lengths to show me. And I'd hate for you to think that the same doesn't go for you."

Felicity honestly didn't know how to respond to that. So, she hoped her resulting smile said it all. "Okay, so...team lunch?" she proposed.

Oliver nodded. "I'll have Digg bring the car. And uh...you may want to...fix your make-up."

Her eyes widened. "How bad is it?" she dared ask as she brought her hands to feel around her eyes; the whole general area felt very sticky under her fingertips.

Oliver said nothing – which was all the answer she needed, really.

"Okay, give me ten minutes," she said, moving back to her desk and slipped her glasses back so she could see what she was digging for in her purse – but not before taking a moment to revel in the bliss of having the world in-focus again.

Just as Oliver was moving to the door, she remembered what had brought on this entire situation in the first place. "Wait!" she called out, and when he whirled back immediately, asked, "Could you maybe...help me with the drawer? It's jammed."

He looked like her request amused him but he complied nevertheless, grabbing a letter opener from her desk before crouching at her side. The drawer was forced open with a click bare moments later, and Felicity couldn't help but grin. "My hero," she mused.

Of course, the h-word was out of her mouth already before she thought it might not have been the wisest choice, considering his aversion to it and their conversation on the matter, but while he did still at its utterance, she also swore she saw the corner of his mouth quirk into a smile.

Oliver unceremoniously dropped into the foyer's armchair, unbuttoning his suit as he waited for his mother. Raisa had told him she was on the phone with the soup kitchen she was volunteering in as part of her community service.

There was something he wanted to discuss with her, and get an full, honest answer out of her, as it had been decided during his, Felicity and Diggle's earlier 'team lunch'. It had been a little awkward at first, as Felicity wasn't all that comfortable talking about her issues so openly – which was something he could relate to all too well – but having John there had put her ease. They'd gotten so engrossed in references to past events Oliver couldn't understand, but he wasn't so childish as to butt in and demand explanations. He was fully aware that Felicity and Diggle had spent five months with no one but each other for support, and that it had made them grow closer – and if the feeling of being left out made a somewhat bitter taste settle in his mouth, he didn't show it. Well, he was pretty sure Felicity had noticed at one point, which had made her include him back into the conversation. The fact remained that it hadn't been the first time he felt like an outsider looking in – in fact, that feeling had been there ever since he had returned from Lian Yu.

Slade's warning about staying away from attachments had rung in his ears even as he worked to strengthen those he had with his team, especially while he put together the pieces of how difficult it had been for both of them while he was away. Still, it had never been clearer to him that he wanted the attachment. He wanted his team.

And gradually, Slade's voice had faded into a buzz in the back of his mind while Felicity's had grown louder, telling him he needed to take a leap, and pick a side.

Which, he decided, was a commitment and a struggle for another day.

Though Felicity worried, there wasn't much they could do about Laurel. She was in the opposite camp, so to speak, and Oliver felt like trying and convince her otherwise was a battle he'd fought and lost already. And everyone made their own choices.

Sort of how he and Felicity had made the choice not to tell Diggle about Elijah Haze, which Felicity had remedied through a lot of babbling and hand gestures. I thought we said 'no lies', had been John's solemn response, but after Felicity's apologies and a very longwinded account of everything she had dug up so far, he'd seemed placated. He'd also reminded that there was a reason why he'd said not to look into Deadshot's hit, but faced with the new information, he agreed that it was worth looking into – and Felicity vowed to give it her all after she was done with, and he quoted, the program from Hell, and she didn't even believe in Hell, so that's how bad that thing was. And while Oliver was telling her to extend the deadline and that no money was more important than her, her wellbeing or her sanity, she'd suddenly lit up, clapped and announced she'd had a Eureka moment about the 'stupid bug'.

Oliver had, however, insisted that she take it easy with now many hours she put in – both in the office and in the lair – and after some debate, it was settled that she would take some nights off from aiding and abetting a criminal in green leather, just until her work schedule returned to normal after the release of the program. He and Diggle could handle a few nights on their own – and yes, they had both solemnly sworn that they would call her if they got in over their heads.

Which left the matter of one Isabel Rochev.

It was what he had come to speak with his mother about. She'd told him, the first time Isabel had sauntered onto the scene, not to trust her. She'd kept it vague and succinct, which, if he knew anything about his mother, meant that she wished to keep the reasons behind her distrust secret. Oliver had played along, but as both Felicity and Diggle had pointed out, maybe this was the time to get some answers.

"Oliver?" his mother's voice echoed in sync with the clacks of her heels. "You're home early," she remarked as she joined him in the foyer. "I'm usually already fast asleep by the time you're here. Raisa said you were looking for me?"

He nodded. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Well, this sounds serious," she said, taking a seat on the couch. "Is something the matter, sweetheart?"

"Not exactly." He shifted in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "I have to ask you something. About Isabel Rochev."

He could see the warning in his mother's eyes, cautioning him to tread carefully on the matter. But he was all about throwing caution to the wind, as it happened. "When I first told you about her, you said I couldn't trust her, that she was dangerous. Why?"

His mother was quiet for a while, then looked away. "Why does it matter, Oliver?" she deflected. "You saved the company. She may be your equal in ownership, but – "

"Mom," he interrupted. "Just tell me what you know about her."

After a quiet sigh, his mother ran a hand over her hair to smooth it, then rose to her feet. She had her back turned to him when she said, "It involves your father."

Given the last time she had been this evasive and used this tone when in relation to his father, Oliver felt his stomach churning at the mere prospect of – "Please tell me they weren't..."

"No," came her mother's answer, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "At least, I don't believe so," she added. "But in a way, it was actually...worse. Your father met Isabel in Russia, actually – she was interning at the Merlyn Global subsidiary in Moscow and your father was there with Malcolm. And they sort of – connected, I suppose would be a good word for it."

Oliver frowned, watching his mother make a beeline for the liquor cabinet and pour herself a scotch. "It became more and more obvious, as time went by," she resumed. "I don't believe they were...involved, if only for the reason that Robert never spoke of any of his mistresses with me, much less in such high regard. He certainly never introduced them to me. She had a difficult upbringing, if I remember it correctly. And Robert admired her...perseverance." She tipped back her glass, lingering for a moment before she faced him again. "And she admired him, too. Then, she got her degree and came here. She wanted a job at QC. It all seemed...harmless enough, I guess. But the more I saw of her..." She shook her head. "It was the look on her face when Robert walked her through the offices. She just looked at it like...like it was hers. And I remember one time, when we were at a benefit and Robert spoke of you – of you as the heir to his company, the look she got in her eyes." She closed her own eyes shut, looking like she might shudder at the mere memory. "It was like she hated you. Just the idea of you at the head of Queen Consolidated."

Slowly, she made her way back to the couch and lowered herself onto it, staring at the depths of her glass. "Robert didn't notice, but I did," she said. "And I told him to end it. Whatever it was he had with her. I wanted it to end. And...he listened. Isabel didn't get a place at the company, and she was out of Robert's life, as far as I knew." With a deep breath, she finally met his eyes. "I believe she wanted Queen Consolidated for herself then, and it might be the same now. I do know that, if that's the case, you are what stands in her way. And that's why you can't trust her, Oliver. That's what makes her dangerous."

Oliver sat in silence for a long time. Of all the possible things, he had not been expecting this.

But, he supposed, they had an answer to Felicity's months-old question about the reasons behind Isabel Rochev's adamant desire to acquire QC now.