Chapter: 20 - Password Removal
Word Count: 3552

Ugh, this chapter makes me feel all the things. I didn't mean for it to be an angst fest, but somehow it turned out that way. :/ I hope you think it fits right, though. ;) Reviews and comments are awesome, but so are you all for sticking by me thus far. :)

And I'm sorry for being a ghost over the past two days. An essay for real life is calling. Funny—I can write ten pages of fic in a few hours, but it takes me a week to write a six-page essay. :P

Felicity frowns as she waits at Big Belly Burger for him, shaking her knee and drumming a rhythm with her fingers against the table top. She hasn't been this nervous since her freshman year of high school when Damon Wallace, the star lacrosse player of the college team, asked her out. And with how that turned out—a very nasty restraining order—how can she be blamed for being nervous?

Of course, that was a lifetime ago, and she doesn't think Oliver Queen is the kind to stalk her obsessively. She's always a little wary of the Arrow, though, and she has a feeling that's going to be an interesting conversation. But it's also a conversation that causes her stomach to turn, so she ignores it for now, willing herself to focus on the present. Honestly, she shouldn't be so nervous about it.

She looks out the window, thinking of ways to get out of this mess. She could fake an illness, say something came up at work—even that Barry needed her in Central City for a while. But, well, she's always been a horrible liar, and each lie would end much the same way: with Oliver asking her what was so important that she called him up at three a.m. And something tells her that he won't buy, "I had a nightmare and needed to talk to someone," as an excuse. Especially since she's led him on this impossible wild goose chase.

The moment of truth passes, though, as she meets eyes with Oliver through the window. She waves cheerily before realizing she looks like a total dork, but it brings a dazzlingly brilliant smile to Oliver's face before he waves back. Part of her fills with dread as she realizes how this conversation is going to go, but part of her is glad because now there's no escape from it, and at least she won't have to second guess herself about her decision.

Then her eyes meet Mr. Diggle's, always at Oliver's side, and she shares a glance with him. The two have only met a handful of times, but it changes things now that she knows he's working with the Arrow. Before, he was simply a stoic figure by her friend's side who rarely spoke, but now he's more than that. He's a colleague, a co-worker, a member of whatever cause it is that they're working toward. And she would like him to know that, but there's never a time or place.

Oliver slides into the booth across from her, and something is exchanged in glances between the two men. Then Mr. Diggle breaks into an all-knowing, enigmatic smile to end all enigmatic smiles before shaking his head and taking a seat at the other end of the small diner, at the bar. Oliver flashes her a smile that has probably made at least one girl faint before saying simply, "Hi."

Felicity means to attempt something somewhat smooth, but of course that never works out for her. "I'm sorry," she blurts, clasping her hands and rubbing one thumb with the other on top of the table. "I didn't want to talk about this at work or home, and I'm too nervous to go to your house. Because that place intimidates me on a normal day, and with this level of the jitters, I just can't handle—"

His hand falls over hers, and she doesn't expect it to be so calloused and rough. She doesn't know how she didn't notice that before, and it makes her wonder before deciding it's absolutely none of her business. And then she realizes the more important thing—he reached out to comfort her. Usually it's the other way around, and she likes the idea that she can count on him, too. Because with one glance through her eyelashes at his face, and she knows that's exactly what his expression is trying to communicate with her. "Felicity," he says gently, and how can he possibly say so much with one word? People have been saying her name all her life, but no one says it the way he does.

She takes a deep breath, and something about the soft smile on his face encourages her to keep going with this. Why did she have to be the honest friend who never lets him down? It's suddenly more responsibility than she can bear. "I have something to show you," she admits finally in a whisper. She watches as his eyebrows knit together in confusion before deciding it's best if she pulls out the book.

She hesitates to pull her hands from under his, but she eventually slides them loose. Surprisingly, he doesn't withdraw his own, but allows the other to join it, his hands clasped expectantly as his arms stretch across the length of the table. She reaches into her bag to pull out the little book, and she wonders how one, seemingly innocent, leather-bound journal could cause so much conflict in her life. She holds it out to him without a word, waiting to gauge his reaction to it.

With trepidation, he takes it, but it's almost as if he already knows what he'll find when he pulls it from her fingertips, drawing his arms back toward himself. She stares at her emerald green nails and wondered when that became her go-to color, but she likes showing her loyalty lies. It's her own inside joke, one that sometimes gives her strength to do what she thinks she can't. Just like now.

He examines it slowly, his shoulders tensing as he sees the names that have taken her so long to ferret out of the secretive little book. She still feels a little triumph as she sees them, thinking of how she conquered whoever-it-is with a hairdryer. But it fades when Oliver frowns, and he studies the names with confusion. Finally, he looks at her again, quirking an eyebrow as he asks, "Felicity, where did you get this?" His voice is measured and calm, but the firm set of his jaw betrays something that looks almost like anger. And she doesn't know what she's done to make him so upset—she hasn't even given him the bad news yet.

She mirrors his confusion because his question certainly isn't the one she'd ask. Her first question would have been something along the lines of, "What is this?" and the only reason she can think of for him not to ask is because he already knows.

So she doesn't answer, instead returning his question with her own. "You know what this is?" she asks, leaning over the table and resting her elbows on it.

There's a quirk, a small second of hesitation before he says, "No." It's enough to make her question if he's lying to her, and she doesn't like this feeling. A few months ago, she never questioned anyone in her life because she trusted them all. But the deeper she gets into business with the Arrow, the more she's learned that the only certainty is not knowing who to trust. "What is it?" he asks this time, but it's clear his heart isn't in the question. Actually, it seems to be more of a test for her than a desire to seek information.

"I don't know," she admits with a shrug, and he relaxes ever so slightly. "God knows I've tried enough things that I probably should know, but I don't." It's frustrating not to have all the answers; she's been deciphering this damn book for Walter for at least a month, and still there are more things left to be asked. "What I do know," she says finally, slowly, "is that twenty of the names in that book received visits from the Arrow, Oliver." His head snaps up from the book—a very intense reaction—and he questions her further with his eyes. "I think he might be using a book like this to mark his targets," she whispers as he places it on the table.

He doesn't say anything for an impossibly long moment before finally asking again, "Where did you get this, Felicity?" This time the edge is gone, and it's simply a question without a biased need for information.

She has to put her hands under the table so he doesn't see them shaking. The last thing she wants is for Oliver to get involved with this, and she's recognizing the faint odor of bad idea material around this entire idea. She should have just gone with her first instinct and moved on to her backup plan. But she thought he deserved to know. Clearly, though, he already did, and now it's just creating more questions that she can't answer. "From—" she starts, but then she knows she can't look at him for this one. "From Walter." She swallows, and God, this is her worst idea ever.

She's surprised when a very rough hand tilts her chin upward, and she finds a very open, dark-eyed Oliver staring at her with an expression she can't quite decipher. It reminds her of all those nights working with the Arrow, the way he won't let her avoid his eyes just because she's about to say something difficult. "And where did he get it?" Oliver asks evenly, and it's as though he knows that she hasn't told him the full story yet.

She tries to look away, but he still has her chin in his hand, and he refuses to let her go. She closes her eyes before she whispers, "From your mother." She just can't watch the expressions that play across his face, the inevitable look of betrayal that he'll finally decide upon. Theirs is a complicated web of lies and secrets, even though she can say there's very few people she trusts more than Oliver. But she's starting to think she's just destined to lie to everyone for the rest of her life. And never has she felt more alone in the world—even after all the moments of being a pariah in her life.

He recoils as soon as it sets in, and he looks almost as though she's slapped him. And it destroys her. The last thing she wants to do is cause Oliver pain, but she has to let some of these secrets and lies go before they destroy her, too. "I'm sorry," she blurts, and she feels her words rushing together and hears her voice rise about two octaves like it does when she's about to cry. But she will not cry, damn it. "I don't know anything about why she had it, but that's what Walter told me. If he knew anything else, he didn't tell me about it." She takes a deep breath, trying not to focus on the expression on Oliver's face. "But Walter warned me to be careful about this because he sent his head of security to investigate."

Oliver's eyebrows pull together and he frowns. "Didn't Walter's head of security die in a car accident?" he asks slowly, and she realizes he's coming to the same conclusions that Walter did.

"Yeah," is all Felicity can manage, but then her voice wavers as she realizes how much trouble she's really put herself in. She is an absolute idiot for letting this happen—she should have turned Walter down the very first time they met. Her voice barely audible, she adds, "Walter didn't think it was an accident, and now..." She doesn't finish the thought because she doesn't have to.

Oliver's eyes go wide while hers land on the book. That damn book has caused too much damage already, and this was a mistake. She should have followed her first instinct and asked someone who is more equipped to help her with something like this. Without a shred of hesitation, she grabs it, putting it back in her bag. "I showed you," she starts slowly, "because I figured it out and I can't hide these secrets anymore, Oliver. And because you're my friend. I care about you, and I can't hide this from you. But I know you'll start digging if you have this book in your hands. So I'm taking it back." She hesitates, her voice soft and slow. "I know someone," she admits, "who can help with this." She rises from her seat before leaving. It may anger him, he might never forgive him for this, but it's a small price to pay for saving his life.

"Felicity," he growls this time, and she feels like she knows that tone. It evokes some sort of memory in her, but she can't understand why. He rises with her, his hand reaching for her elbow. She turns back to him, and she gets lost in his eyes for a moment. He studies her carefully before motioning back to their table. "Please." He doesn't say anything else, just stands there and stares her down. And she's a sucker, so of course she slides right back into place. She lets out a frustrated groan before putting her head down in her hands. She regrets telling him, but if she didn't, she knows she'd regret that, too.

His hands cover hers, and he gently pries them from her forehead. She can't do much more than stare at him as he takes both of her hands, and he offers her a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and she's never felt more affection for him than in this moment. Because, this time, when he's smiling, it's not because he thinks he has to put on a face for the rest of the world, but because he's trying to comfort her. "Thank you," he says quietly, and she knows any anger he has isn't aimed at her. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't really have to. They both understand that he appreciates her telling him, that he knows just how damn difficult it was for her to do so, that he appreciates her trying to save him from his own curiosity.

He doesn't leave her an opportunity to respond before squeezing her hands, releasing them, and rising from the booth. He doesn't wait for Mr. Diggle, doesn't look back. But he does take a brief second to drop a hand on her shoulder. Felicity takes a moment to herself before rising, and her bag dumps half its contents when she drops it, mostly because of frayed nerves. She gathers up most of her things, and she turns to find the brown book that's caused so much trouble held out to her. She rises as she takes it, and she finds John Diggle smiling at her. "You dropped this," he offers quietly, and Felicity knows he must understand what it is—could have ran out with it and given it to Oliver—but he instead gives it back to her.

"I see why he chose you," she blurts, then colors as she realizes what she's said. She shakes her head. "Never mind," she immediately corrects. She takes the book from his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Diggle." She hurries to stuff the book down in her bag, then turns to scurry out of this building before she screws one more thing up. After all, she thinks twice is enough for one day.

He stops her with one look, and she swears the man must have the secrets of the universe hidden away in that brain. Because that's the way he looks at everyone—like he understands them in a single instant. "Why who chose me?" he asks, but they both know he really doesn't have to ask.

"Our friend," she clarifies, then realizes that's just not good enough. "Our friend who's into archery." He doesn't seem to be surprised that she's figured it out because he only smiles.

"I can see why he chose you, too," is all he says, again with that knowing expression, and Felicity isn't smart enough to figure that one out. Finally, with a "Have a good day, Miss Smoak," he follows Oliver out the door.

John Diggle has seen his share of frightening things, but he thinks that Oliver in one of his self-loathing moods is one of the scariest things he's ever seen. Oliver doesn't yell, he doesn't take his anger out on anyone other than himself. And, all the while, he appears and acts perfectly calm, except for the tension in his jaw. And, in Diggle's experience, it's the people who can stay perfectly calm are the ones who are the most terrifying, the ones capable of the worst crimes.

They enter their base of operations, and he's almost surprised when Oliver walks past the table that houses his computer and flips it. It's almost like he doesn't focus on it; one hand darts out, catches the table by the edge, and tilts the top backward. There's a satisfying crash as everything litters to the floor, and it's only then that Oliver takes a deep breath, facing away from his partner for a long moment. Diggle winces as he notices the corner of Oliver's laptop lying amid the rubble, knowing that it's probably damaged beyond repair.

When he turns back, the expression on his face is murderous, and Digg knows it's aimed at nobody but Oliver himself. "You were right," he says finally, his voice low enough to almost reach his deep Arrow tones. "I shouldn't have involved Felicity in this." He runs a hand over his face. "She's going to get herself killed if she keeps digging into things she should leave alone."

"You really think that she wouldn't have eventually contacted you with the book anyway?" Diggle responds, hoping that Oliver will understand the question. "This isn't on you, man. Walter gave her the book, not you. And she tore into it because that's what she does." He wonders for a moment when he became Felicity's advocate. At first, he thought she was just another pretty face Oliver planned to use, but now he knows better. He knows Oliver better, and he's beginning to understand this mysterious Felicity Smoak.

Before Oliver can respond, Diggle, knowing it's best to get it out of the way, continues, "And that's not the worst of it." He crosses his arms as Oliver throws him that questioning glance. "She knows I work for the Arrow. I don't know how she figured it out, but she told me as much today."

Oliver turns away, again running that hand over his face. He doesn't say anything for a very long moment, but Diggle knows what thoughts are flying around in his head. He's blaming himself for involving her, berating himself for allowing himself to get too close, throwing a barrage of words around because he's a human being who couldn't resist the draw of companionship.

Oliver may not see it yet, but Diggle does. He sees it every time Oliver pulls that hood over his head, speaks to his family, draws that bow back. There's something different about Oliver now that Felicity Smoak is in his life. By simply agreeing to help him with a laptop all those months ago, she rocked the man's entire world. When he started this crusade, Diggle thought that Oliver Queen was a walking time bomb, just a few casualties away from falling into a homicidal spiral. But he likes this version of Oliver he sees now. More importantly, Diggle thinks Oliver likes himself better now that Felicity Smoak has firmly cemented her presence in his life.

Diggle can't help the small smile that graces his face, despite the grave nature of things today. He can't help but wonder when Oliver will finally realize the depth of his feelings for her. Because if there's one thing Diggle knows, it's that women like Felicity Smoak don't come around all that often, and, even when they do, they don't wait around forever.

Oliver's Arrow phone rings, and he doesn't even look at the caller ID before demanding, "What?" into the speaker. Diggle thinks the possibility of Felicity in danger has rattled the billionaire more that he's probably admitting to himself. Because Diggle knows, just as Oliver does, that if she has a copy of the list and a connection to Walter, it's simply a matter of when she finds herself into more than she can handle.

Oliver is silent for a very long moment, but Diggle can already tell by the lack of tension in his features that it's Felicity. "I didn't mean to yell," he says quietly, then turns to Digg. The vigilante throws Diggle a questioning expression, but it only makes the older man chuckle. He never thought he'd describe Oliver Queen as "gentle," but there doesn't seem to be a better word when he's with Felicity.

Another long pause before, "I'll be there." It isn't a simple statement. It's a promise, a vow that doesn't end after whatever favor she's called in this time. It's a commitment with no expiration date.

Unsurprisingly, the moment Oliver terminates the call, he grabs the suit. Diggle shakes his head again before saying, "Tell Felicity I said hello."

Oliver studies him for a moment. "I didn't say it was Felicity," he says slowly, his eyebrows narrowed together in confusion. And Diggle finds it incredibly amusing that the only person who doesn't see it is Felicity.

Diggle only shakes his head. "You didn't have to, man."

Playlist:

01. "Liar Liar" - Christina Grimmie
02. "Disenchanted" - My Chemical Romance
03. "Snow White Queen" - Evanescence
04. "No Boundaries" - Adam Lambert
05. "The Only Hope for Me is You" - My Chemical Romance
06. "Bound to You" - Christina Aguilera