AN: Five more weeks until the semester is over and more regular updates can resume. Hang in there with me.
By the time they disembarked from the leer jet it was already well into the evening. Felicity was thankful for the darkness because she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open and there was less to see without the influence of daylight; also, she didn't want anyone's first impression of her to be a dead-on-her-feet zombie rather than … well, whatever first impression she usually gave off. Assuming that it was a good one, anyway.
Felicity, Diggle, and Oliver all climbed into the backseat of the limo that was waiting for them in the hangar. Oliver gave their driver the name of their hotel and settled deeper into the leather seat as his eyes traveled over an obviously exhausted Felicity. He hated international travel, but he at least knew what to expect; Felicity looked as though it was all she could do to keep her chin from drooping against her chest. Oliver hadn't thought to ask if she'd ever been out of the country before.
He hesitated for a breath before lifting the arm closest to Felicity in invitation. His wife noticed the motion and gave him a confused look until it occurred to her what he was doing. Her confusion melted into consternation and uncertainty. Oliver was about to put his arm down and curse himself for acting like a fool when the petite blonde slid over and tucked herself into his side without a word. He felt Felicity sigh, and then the car began to move.
When Oliver had draped his arm over her shoulders and his hand had come to rest on her upper thigh – and he hadn't considered where it would be until he felt the warmth of her leg under his hand – he lifted his eyes to find Diggle staring at him. Oliver stared back and willed his expression not to give anything away.
Tired as he was, Oliver couldn't stop his thoughts from moving at a million miles a minute. As the lights of Moscow sped by out the window, the Queen family patriarch found himself wondering what new dangers awaited him in the city. Awaited them, he corrected himself, because Felicity was with him and he did not doubt that his enemies would target her. They would try to use her, and Oliver would be damned if he let that happen. He was a smart man and he knew it, but there was no getting around the fact that he would have to tell his wife why they were really in Russia. He could sidestep the truth, and even if she thought to ask he knew enough of her to know that she wouldn't push, but that would only endanger her further. Felicity wasn't a fighter but she was a genius, and the best armor he could give her was knowledge. Besides, they were already in the trenches together, what with their fake marriage and hidden ties to separate mafia families … he could trust her with another secret.
Oliver turned his head to gaze down at the woman asleep against him. All the pain and horror that she had lived through, and it had only made her kind; yes, he could trust her with another secret, and with every secret after that, because he could trust Felicity with everything. One of the things he was quickly coming to understand was that the less that she asked for the more he was willing to give her; the more he wanted to give her.
He nudged her gently when their car pulled up outside the hotel. Felicity sighed heavily and murmured something that sounded like an emphatic no, so he rubbed his hand over her thigh thoughtlessly. She turned her nose into his neck.
Oliver caught Diggle's expression out of the corner of his eye. He chose to ignore it.
"We're here," Oliver murmured.
"I'll sleep in the car," Felicity groused.
Oliver hadn't anticipated that Felicity might be one of those people who woke up like a bear, all angry growls and sour expressions, but it made him smile. He scooted slightly toward the door, and the movement pushed his hip into hers and jarred her. Felicity grumbled; Oliver's smile widened.
"Get out of the car," he instructed with little heat.
She finally peeled her eyes open and glared at him as though he'd just instituted a lifetime ban on coffee drinking. Oliver was struck with the knowledge that he wanted to kiss her again, right there in front of John and with her hair mussed on one side from being pressed into his shoulder. Instead, he tipped his head toward the door that was being opened for them.
"There's a real bed waiting for you on the other side," Oliver said encouragingly.
"Unless I can fall out of that door and straight into it, then I don't care."
Oliver laughed. Felicity's glare could have melted steel and she muttered darkly to herself about something that sounded like "door side bed service", but she unfolded herself from the seat and stepped out.
Before the island, he would have given Felicity a run for her money in the department of grumpy to wake. Now it wasn't so much that Oliver woke happily, but that he'd lost the ability to wake slowly. He didn't have time to be grumpy: he went straight from being asleep to wide awake and on alert. Although Thea had told him more than once that his usual sour mood upon waking had transferred to his default mood for everything. She was generally miffed at him when she said it, though, so he ignored the barb.
When he had climbed out of the limo and done a cursory glance of the area, Oliver laid a hand against the small of Felicity's back and moved them into the lobby. The room was big and lavishly furnished, but more importantly it was largely vacant. Oliver hadn't expected to be accosted upon arrival, per se, but being in Russia always put him on edge. This was not his country and he had made some powerful enemies over the years. Whatever he told the public, he would never consider time here as a vacation.
The concierge at the desk was expecting them. He started smiling before they reached the counter, and addressed Oliver before he had a chance to open his mouth.
"Mr. Queen? Good evening and welcome back to Moscow, sir."
The muscles of Felicity's back tensed and shifted under Oliver's hand as if to turn, but he arrested the motion with a press of his fingers.
"Thank you," Oliver answered.
The concierge handed two room keys to Oliver and made sure to make a point of mentioning that they were staying in two of their best suites. From the corner of her eye Felicity saw Diggle shake his head minutely. She wondered if his reaction was a result of the obsequious manner of the man behind the counter, or the fact that Oliver had put him up in a suite. Diggle had never given any indication that he cared one whit about wealth, and for all the time he spent around Oliver he didn't seem like the suite type of person. Everything about John Diggle was understated.
Diggle was in bodyguard mode as they moved through the lobby and into the elevator. Only when the doors had closed and the three of them were alone did he turn a wry expression on Oliver.
"Man, how many times have I told you I don't want a suite?"
Felicity smothered a smile.
"How many times have I ignored you?" Oliver returned.
This time Felicity smiled openly. She was becoming more adept at interpreting Oliver and the way he interacted with people, and so she heard the faint tease lurking beneath the dry surface of his words. Oliver's relationship with Diggle was actually one of Felicity's favorite things to observe because there was such familiarity and ease between them.
When the elevator dropped them at their floor Diggle insisted on stepping off first and surveying the hallway before waving Oliver and Felicity forward. The same happened when they reached their suite: Diggle went in first and cased the rooms (which didn't stop Oliver from doing the same thing when they entered). A part of Felicity wanted to call their cautiousness overkill, but her experiences in her father's company stayed her tongue.
"Stay here," Oliver told her when they satisfied that the room was safe. "We're going across the hall to clear Digg's room. We should be back before the bellhop gets up here without luggage, but if we aren't, ask him to wait outside."
Okay, Felicity thought, this is starting to get weird. Checking the rooms she could understand – she still had nightmares about her father's lackeys jumping out at her around corners with their guns cocked – but not letting the bellhop in? Wasn't that going a bit far? Then again, she'd seen enough crime shows to know that the hitman dressed as hotel staff was apparently a recurring theme, so maybe it was going just far enough.
Partly out of habit and partly because of Oliver's warning, Felicity locked the door before kicking off her heels and stumbling into the bedroom. She barely noticed the rich linens and chic decorations; her eyes found the king size bed in the middle of the room and her feet carried her just far enough to fall onto it. The mattress was so soft and welcoming after the trans-continental flight that she groaned into the duvet.
"Traveling with beds," she muttered into the bedding. "That's the future."
Oliver found her not five minutes later, passed out in the middle of the bed and with her face turned toward the bedroom door. He panicked for half of a heartbeat until she sighed and pulled one of her arms against her chest.
A quiet knock alerted him to the arrival of the bellhop. Oliver closed the bedroom door behind him as he left and asked the man pushing the luggage cart to leave their suitcases in the foyer. They could rearrange them tomorrow.
He tipped the young man and then locked the room's main door. His unease at being in Russia and years of being on alert made it impossible for Oliver to consider returning to the bedroom until he had done a final check of the windows and doors.
He considered taking a shower to wash off the grime of travel until he opened the bedroom door again. All at once he felt run down and exhausted, as though his body weighed twice what it should. Felicity appeared so relaxed and comfortable on the big mattress, and all Oliver wanted to do was lay down next to her and pass out.
Oliver was halfway through pulling off his pants to do just that when it occurred to him that it wouldn't be smart to sleep next to her in just his boxers. As quietly as he could with dragging feet, he made his way back into the foyer to retrieve a pair of sweatpants from his suitcase.
Felicity hadn't moved when he returned. Her glasses were lying discarded on the duvet above her head, so Oliver retrieved them and set them carefully on the nightstand nearest her.
"Felicity," he called gently. She didn't answer so he tried again, and had the same result.
Oliver pulled the duvet back from the pillows on the side of the bed nearest the bathroom. When he was satisfied that it was out of the way he gently rolled Felicity onto her back and scooped her up into his arms.
"You sleep like the dead," he whispered as he stepped to the head of the bed. The words didn't sound as irritated as he'd meant them to.
Felicity made a sound that would have been silly at any other time and turned her head in against his shoulder.
"Beds," she murmured. Oliver glanced down at her, but she hadn't woken.
He lowered her onto the mattress and watched her curl onto her side as he pulled the duvet up around her shoulders. Felicity sighed.
Tomorrow Oliver would worry about what Russia had in store for them; tomorrow he would tell Felicity why they were here and what to expect, but tonight he was going to get some sleep.