Must admit, I was stuck until this chapter all weekend because I didn't do a thorough enough job with the story mapping, but I think I kind of have it on track now. Hence the four chapters in one go because I just couldn't stop.

Teaming Up

Felicity clung to the shadows behind a wooden column, and tried to look like she belonged there. Her glasses not being on her face, today of all days, made her feel oddly naked, especially with her hair braided off her face (at Nyssa's suggestion, because apparently servants weren't allowed to have easy hair days).

There was a constant nagging feeling at the back of her skull, like she was being watched, even though — to her knowledge, at least — no one had paid her any attention today, which was a good thing. There were other assassins standing on the balcony as well, all looking down. Still, their presence meant that she had to control her expression of horror, especially at what was going on in the arena below her.

She clutched Nyssa's folded cloak close to her like a pillow as she looked below, at the blurred figures engaging in fierce hand-to-hand combat. The one with shining black curls was Nyssa, her skin a whorl of tan and bronze as she took on lower-level assassins like it was just another day.

Felicity winced as Nyssa sent an assassin flying across the arena with a two-footed kick to the chest, and threw the other one into the sand. She looked away as Nyssa talked to them in a low murmur, at the others waiting outside the arena. Oliver…Oliver…

She couldn't find him until the arena abruptly emptied, and he was suddenly walking in with the others – and Nyssa, without so much as a glance in his direction, withdrew. Felicity was momentarily confused at what was happening, at why Oliver had a) lost his shirt and b) his bandages from the night before. Then they all raised their weapons and Battle Royale-style mayhem broke loose. Oliver (questionably) used a staff where the others had swords and knives and — holy crap — claws. The crazy one with the claws was an Asian woman who stalked Oliver like Carrie Cutter stalked the Arrow, always to the side, even while he was fighting someone else.

Felicity bit her lip, painfully, when Claws finally struck, with a graceful leap and a downward slash of steel. Oliver blocked and forced her back with the end of the staff, moving smoothly to engage her. She had the potential to be another Isabel Rochev, what with the leggy-model look and homicidal killing skills.

"Calm yourself, Sa'Ida," said Nyssa, appearing suddenly behind her, all bronzed skin and glittering black eyes – terrifyingly Amazonian. It took all her self-control not to yelp, but she managed it.

Felicity tasted blood in her mouth as she handed Nyssa her cloak and robes. Nyssa declined, since her skin still glistened with sweat from training. She'd stripped down to a kind of black sleeveless undershirt and deep red trousers tucked into black boots, paramilitary style. But she did take some time to consider her cloak before handing it back to Felicity, who felt a small hard shape pass over her hand, a bug.

There was a faint click as it went to its spot, and Nyssa's hands withdrew from the cloak.

"Anyone of interest?" Nyssa asked, casually, as though she was aware of the spectators, the eyes on the Demon's Heir.

Felicity shook her head mutely, turning back to look at the fighting. She could smell the sweat flying off the moving bodies, the adrenaline spiking to an impossible crescendo, the viciousness of the attacks. For day-to-day training, it looked very much like a fight to the death.

Felicity's fingers dug into the wooden railing when the claws opened up a slash on Oliver's back. But Oliver didn't make a sound. He rolled instinctively out of the way, picking up a thin coat of sand with his blood and sweat, and fought on.

One year of this.

Felicity turned her face away from Nyssa's curious stare, and tried to remember that she'd watched Oliver fight successfully for his life before, and today wouldn't be any different.

Oliver's cuts had opened again, a score of them leaving red tracks down his back and chest. He hesitated briefly at the hot pools, remembering Felicity's advice, but poured water on the cuts anyway. Since they were bleeding already, what was the difference?

His injuries were on the light side because Ra's hadn't come today, probably because Nyssa had returned to take up her responsibilities as the Heir. It was a relief, because if Nyssa was there, it meant that Felicity was too, and regardless of what she'd seen before, he wanted to put it off as long as possible.

He'd been the last to leave the arena, keen to avoid Cheshire and the others. The bugs were still in the inner pocket of his armor, just waiting for an opportunity to be used. As soon as he'd done his share of the bugging, he could stop by Nyssa's chambers to check in on Felicity, even though he'd just seen her that morning. Now that he knew Felicity was in Nanda Parbat, he was in an odd paradoxical position of unjustified anxiety.

Thinking of Nyssa and Felicity alone in the same room filled him with an odd sense of discomfort, a little like leaving Thea with Roy while they were dating. It was completely unfounded, but Oliver couldn't really help it. He was in a paradoxical position: he didn't trust Nyssa, but he trusted that she was the safest option now that Felicity was within Nanda Parbat.

But he didn't have time for that.

Oliver looked over his shoulder, his gaze slow and careful. The back of the arena was silent, except for the faint gurgling of the water. There was another fight going on in the arena, and he was aware that it was the odd in-between time when no one had come to wait in the wings yet. He grabbed the bugs and climbed high to plant them, all the while on the lookout for watchers. The putty did a decent job of camouflaging the cameras, and from his spot on the ground, he almost forgot where he'd planted them. Two on either ends of the room, ready to pick up the wireless commands.

Oliver tucked the pouch back into his armor as a fresh group of fighters entered, and bent to wash the blood and grime from his hands.

Felicity kept her head down, eyes fixed on her shoes, trying to ignore the ALERT-ALERT-ALERT lights flickering madly inside her head. Basically every person walking by her was an assassin who probably knew eight different ways to decapitate her and make it look like she'd done it herself.

She'd radically overestimated Nyssa's altruistic tendencies. Barely four hours into her first day undercover, and she'd already been left on her own. While Oliver was still fighting (thirty minutes in, by the way), Nyssa had been approached by some sketchy-looking League members, all looking old enough to be her parents, and they'd left after Nyssa had given her the standard speech to go straight back and not talk to anyone. Apparently – the meeting was important. And private, so bringing a servant would draw unnecessary questions. So, there she was, on her own, watching Oliver fight for his life in the arena.

Speaking of — she still didn't see Oliver. She hoped that she'd chosen the right place to wait, and she wasn't lurking outside the League equivalent of the changing rooms, just being creepy.

Felicity glanced briefly up, and looked back down just as quickly. She'd caught a glimpse of the woman Oliver had been fighting, Crazy Claw Lady. There was no way she couldn't recognize Claws, the way she padded silently like a feline, those insane scissor-kicking legs…Felicity suppressed a shudder as Claws passed her. She smelled the acrid scent of something smoky coming off her clothes, the thick, papery smell of charred wood.

But the stairwell emptied, and she was alone again.

"What are you doing here?"

"Claws!" Felicity shouted, and realized that she was about a foot away from where she'd started out.

Oliver's expression was of the you're-in-trouble-angry-face variety, and he was seemingly unconcerned by the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

"Jesus, Oliver, you all right?" Felicity asked, running a brief mental checklist for his injuries. No fresh ones except for those she'd seen inflicted on him, cut on the back and bruises near the ribs.

"Don't change the subject," he said.

"I'm serious," she answered back, slightly insulted that he thought she'd use his injuries as a distraction. "Are you okay?"

Oliver's face lost some of its tension. "Sorry," he said, touching her arm lightly. "It's nothing."

Felicity looked down and noticed — belatedly — he hadn't completely done up the front of his armor and she could see a nice bit of his chest through the gap.

"What part of sticking with Nyssa did you forget?"

"Uh —" she said, and shook her head to clear it. "Nyssa got pulled away, and I thought we could do some bugging for the afternoon."

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he didn't believe that Nyssa had left her alone, that Felicity had somehow managed to sneak away from the master spy. Which was flattering, to be honest, but not exactly conducive to neutralizing angry-face.

She knew he was fighting the urge to send her back to the Foundry, or the Nanda Parbat equivalent of it, anyway. "Roy and Dig aren't here," she said. "Like it or not, I'm your partner for this little undercover shebang."

Angry-face was seeing reason. Yes. Throat working, conscience fighting, just one more push —

"I thought you wanted me out of here ASAP?" Felicity added, innocently. "We do this, and things go that much faster." As if to demonstrate, she pulled out the mapping device she'd brought with her, ready to link up the bugs to her computer.

"Put something over your hair," he said, finally. "We're heading into the city."

Bwahahahaha - plot. Oliver and Felicity going into Nanda Parbat central. Also - noticing each other's skin. Bwahahaha - this might really be sleep deprivation, I don't know.