I know, I know... The last chapter ended rather abruptly. So let me thank you whole-heartedly for cliff-hanging with me. It's been a pleasure [maybe only for me, but… ;) ] Your amazing reactions made me grin with glee. I'm grateful. And I must admit that I'm very excited to post this chapter, I've been looking forward to doing so and I really hope that you enjoy it. *fingers crossed*

The biggest thank you to Albiona. She hurried to beta the chapter, so I could update quickly. She's amazing like that.

As always an excited shout-out to the wonderful people who took the time to leave me a message. I really appreciate it: larsonae, Sylviecake231, KylieCullenSummers, mel1804, dearg amadan, Mali chorky, lateLVlover, HotHybridSex, livingthefictionallife, bellabaige88, ChiefPam, babyshan211, Lightly Salted Pringles, seetheskyaboveus, Sunny2006, Galatea Black, foxxandbeanz, supercode, THE Nick' Amaral, FaberryBRA, BlueJean452, CaRiNeSs, Gaialy, Punknatch, Jen, lady, keelsxoxo, CealSR, scorpio38457, farahsbc (times five!), onetreefan, schrooten5, LuluDancing, thekiller00, nrdhrd3, OnkelJo, SmoakingQueen, Isabella, Tammywammy, Luv2Live, valery88, horsegirl75, Diiiamond93, Strata's Stargazer, sanrio76, Torza1305, NorthernLights25, katmiles77, luzanima, and the guests. Thank you.

January 5th 2013

Oliver Queen had signed a dotted line and now he was the semi-proud owner of his very own skyscraper.

It wasn't the stupidest thing he had ever bought. There had been the old racehorse he had saved from the butcher to get that girl to put out when he was sixteen, and the nose job for that other girl when he was eighteen—boy, had her mother been furious... and his mother, too. He had been twenty when he had bought that strip club to throw Tommy a noteworthy twenty-first birthday party.

Of course, nothing had been as expensive as buying that building, but all those other things had been for the heck of it, for fun. This purchase was necessary. Oliver didn't have the patience to explain his actions—in general, but especially not to people who had the time to join a house committee in a building that wasn't even theirs. He wanted to do what he knew was best and now he could.

Walter had set the whole thing up in one day, which was impressive. His stepfather had called Oliver from New York late last night to tell him that the contract could be signed today if he still wanted to go through with the purchase. Walter had also dodged all of Oliver's questions regarding his trip to the warehouse with Felicity. Instead, Walter had only said that he approved of Oliver's choice to tighten security and that the agreement he had come to with the current owner was reasonable.

The fact that Walter Steele was concerned enough to call a purchase "reasonable" that even Oliver knew was ridiculously overpriced was extremely worrying.

He needed to have a talk with that man—maybe even without his hood.

After buying a skyscraper right after breakfast, Oliver had driven to the Foundry to check the computer programs Felicity had started last night, in hopes to find a trace of the wreck. They had all come up empty. He had taken the next two hours to train his frustrations away, but it hadn't helped him relax.

Oliver didn't know why he was so tense today – more tense than normal – but he had a strange feeling of foreboding. Felicity not answering her cellphone when he had called to tell her that she could tell Mrs. Schumaker about setting up her fertility-thing had caused his worries to spike. He had even called the landline, only for Valentina to tell him that Felicity was taking a bath—without her phone in reach.

He felt like a fool. He was seeing things, blowing his worries out of proportion when all she was doing was following his request and relaxing. He needed to do the same, relax and calm down or he would only end up scaring Felicity over nothing. He didn't want to do that, he didn't want to cause her unnecessary fear.

Instead, he wanted to do a normal thing for once and take her out to dinner. In the midst of everything that was happening, they needed one evening away from the Foundry, from training, from computers, from The Hood. Oliver needed to show her that he could do that, too, be normal—before the weekend was over and he'd hood up to threaten his stepfather into stopping his investigations.

Contemplating if he needed to reserve a table at Bertinelli's or if he was fine with his name miraculously emptying a table, Oliver steered his bike onto the street where his new twenty-one storied purchase towered. All dinner plans vanished as he was suddenly faced with uncounted uniformed policemen. They were about to block the road, set up barriers, but Oliver had passed them before they could even think about telling him to stop. His dark suspicion was confirmed in the next moment: his building was the center of whatever was going on here. The barrier, the people gathering behind it, curious spectators and the first people with cameras – photo and TV alike – all of them concentrated around the place he and Felicity lived in.

The foreboding was back instantly, stronger than ever. Oliver stopped his bike on the sidewalk in front of his home with squeaking breaks. An officer in uniform headed toward him, probably to tell him that he couldn't park there, but as Oliver took the helmet off, the other man backed off instantly. Signaling his colleagues that everything was okay, he nodded. "Mr. Queen."

There was something in this policeman's eyes that caused a shiver to run through Oliver. There was recognition in them, but it wasn't the usual recognition of money and power that came with the Queen-name. That Oliver was used to. This was different, darker with a hint of pity, and it made Oliver head into the building with quick, forceful steps that bordered on running.

The state of the lobby turned his bad feeling to dread.

The normally spotless white surfaces were splattered with red. Blood was collecting in a puddle, dripping down from the body draped over the gloss-polished white counter. Rafid Khouri. Oliver knew him—casually from walking past him for months and a little bit more closely from his background checks. Normally, Rafid took the nightshifts, because those were the highest paid. The concierge had two children and a third on the way, money was tight in the family, so he took any extra shifts he could get.

Not slowing down, Oliver walked past the gruesome crime scene where men in white plastic suits started to place evidence tags. He headed toward the elevators and a woman, also wearing white and making notes on a clipboard. Coming closer Oliver saw that the elevator doors were open and a man lay inside, slumped against the back wall. Mr. Bernhard. Oliver didn't know much about him, apart from the fact that he was on the house committee and very much against spending money on security.

The woman looked up from her writing. There it was again—that look. "You can take the other elevator," she told him and pressed the button with her gloved finger. The doors opened instantly with a pling. "Oh," was the woman's only reaction.

Oliver only gave himself a short second to look at the dead body spread out in a lake of blood. This corpse was wearing a ski mask.

His face twisting at the sight, Oliver shot around and ripped the door to the stairwell open. He ran up the fourteen floors, taking two steps at a time, never slowing down. Fear for the worst propelled him upward. Nearly aggressively he opened the door to their hall.

Once he stepped onto the plush carpet his worst fear was confirmed.

His breathing heavy, he walked toward the apartment he shared with Felicity, past the black body bag that a coroner was zipping shut, covering the unmoving, empty face of Vitali Tschenko. He had spilled his blood in the hall, the thick carpet had soaked the red up greedily. Oliver took a huge step over the spot that resembled spilled life and onto his front door lying flat on the ground. Another bloody spot welcomed him in the hall, collecting on the wooden floor.

"Mr. Queen," Detective Lance was standing in the main room, talking to his partner.

"Where is she?"

It was all Oliver could say, all he could think, all he needed to know.

"We don't know." Lance walked toward Oliver and in his eyes traces of compassion were visible. That really rattled Oliver: if even Lance was compassionate, things must be really bad.

"You don't know?" Oliver repeated dangerously slowly.

"We think she tried to lock herself in the bathroom," the detective answered. "We think they took her."

Without another word, Oliver turned around. His back was straight, his movements were calculated, his body was filled with tension as he walked down the hall, into their room, past their still rumpled bed. His index finger connected with his thumb in a subconscious action as he took in the state of the bathroom: the cracked mirror, the shower enclosure in shards everywhere, Felicity's glasses laying on the ground.

Her glasses. He stared as them, unmoving, for quite a few seconds.

Carefully, he stepped into the room, the glass scratching under his brown shoes, and picked the glasses up. Turning around, he noticed a smear of blood on the inside of the door.

Oliver had left any angry state far behind and was also way past being furious as his piercing blue eyes glided over the destruction around him.

"Did anybody try to contact you for ransom?"

Quentin Lance's voice demanded Oliver's attention.

"No." Oliver answered and walked out of his trashed bathroom into the bedroom where the detective stood. "When did this happen?"

"Somebody called in a complaint about disorderly conduct almost one hour ago."

Disorderly conduct—that was one way to describe gunshots and shattering glass, Oliver thought as he slowly descended from the highs of paralyzed rage down to utter fury. His thumb started to brush over his index finger.

"They took my wife."

It wasn't a question, but Lance answered anyway. "It looks like it. Witnesses reported a white van speeding away. We're searching for it. I requested the support of a kidnapping negotiator. I'm sure whatever sum they're asking for won't be a problem, will it?"

The last sentence was spoken with so much passive aggression that Oliver couldn't help but inwardly wonder if the detective enjoyed seeing him like this, at the verge of losing somebody important, when he blamed Oliver for the loss of his youngest daughter. Pressing his lips together, Oliver kept the accusation in. After a second of mental calming, Oliver forced words past his lips. "It won't be."

Brushing past the detective, he moved to leave the bedroom. He felt his cell vibrate and took it out of his pocket. Seven missed calls: two by Kristina, one by Thea, one by his mother, and three by a number he knew belonged to Lance.

"Anything important?" Lance asked, following him into the hall.

"No kidnappers, if that's what you mean." Oliver kept walking.

"Mr. Queen," a uniformed young girl called from the hall. "There's a Mr. Diggle downstairs who claims to be your bodyguard. Is he allowed to come up?"

"No," Oliver looked at the girl. "Tell him to wait in the garage, I'm on my way down." There was no need for Diggle to walk up fourteen floors when they were about to leave for the Glades.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lance asked.

"Out."

"Hey," Lance dared to step in front of Oliver, blocking his way to the front door. "Your wife's been kidnapped."

"I don't need to be told that," Oliver snarled, barely keeping his rage in check.

"Your place is here."

"To do what?" Oliver spat. "Look at my trashed bathroom? At the puddle of blood on the floor?"

Lance motioned to the red spot on the floor. "That's from your housekeeper. She was shot in the chest. She was brought to Starling City General." Lance crossed his arms over his chest. "By the way, why does your housekeeper carry a Smith & Wesson? Nine millimeter? Pro series?"

And that man seriously wondered why Oliver had to get out of here! He took a step toward the detective and nearly got into his face. "You can ask her that if she survives."

Oliver brushed past him and walked out, ignoring Lance calling behind him, "Queen! QUEEN!"

With force Oliver walked away from the detective and hurried down the stairs as fast as he could. When he ripped the door to the underground garage open, he saw John Diggle next to the Bentley.

"They have Felicity," he informed the soldier, his voice hard but heated with poorly suppressed rage. He motioned to the car, pressing the key for it to unlock. "Get in."

Diggle was already moving toward the passenger's seat when he asked, "What's your plan?"

"To get my wife back!"

John Diggle had heard the news about police presence at the Queen home, followed by unconfirmed reports that Felicity Queen had been kidnapped. He had instantly come down to help.

That was all Oliver needed to know.

Standing in front of the security door leading to the Foundry, Oliver punched in the code and didn't think twice about revealing what lay behind to the man next to him.

"I figured that your secret base was here after I followed Felicity here, twice."

His hand on a button, Oliver turned to look at the other man.

"Don't be mad at her," Diggle added. "I also followed you here once."

"I know." Oliver said and finally pushed the door open. And really, he had known. Even though, he had to admit that he had nearly reached the factory before he had noticed the tail. John Diggle was seriously good.

Together they walked down the stairs. Curiously, John Diggle let his eyes sweep over the surroundings – the workbench, the workout area, the displayed equipment – while Oliver walked to Felicity's desk. Diggle positioned next to him as Oliver typed in the password, banging his fingers down to the keys.

"What are you doing?" Diggle asked.

The vibration in his voice showed how much Oliver was pulling himself together. His answer was less actually formulated words and more pressed out sounds. "Finding Felicity."

"You put a tracer on her?"

"I did." One she hadn't taken off since he had given it to her. He just hoped it was still in place and working and within reach.

His hands flexing and clenching, Oliver waited for the map to load, tautness surrounding him. He couldn't sit and wait, he had to get up. Forcefully, he shoved against the back-friendly chair he had gotten Felicity and walked around the table in a wide circle. He was strained and jumpy and with each second that passed, a certain amount with fear mixed with the anger and tore at his insides.

What if he was too late? What if he had lost her now, when he finally had her? What if he had failed her?

"She's in Bludhaven," Diggle, taken position in front of the keyboard, observed as the map finally appeared on the screen. "Looks like a tenement complex," he added as Oliver rushed to stand behind him.

"Pull up the satellite view," Oliver ordered.

Diggle needed a moment to familiarize himself with the programs before he clicked on one and typed in an address. Then he snorted. "That's a lot of security for low-income housing. There are two guards at each access point." He turned to look at Oliver. "That means they're watching over somebody. That's good news."

Oliver nodded, but his eyes were glued to the image on screen, trying to decide on the smartest way to enter the premises.

"There's only one guard on the roof," the soldier observed.

That was true. It would be a good way to enter, but, "There're no other buildings in this area. If I want to get on the roof, I need to jump off of something."

John Diggle turned to look at him. "I can get you something."

"Quickly?"

"Yes."

Oliver nodded. "Do it." He had no time to waste.

His body was vibrating with anger, but his movements were precise. Finally, he could work off some of his fury, he could do something, snap into action, make somebody pay. After he jumped out of the stealth plane John Diggle had organized – the A.R.G.U.S. logo on the side had caught Oliver by surprise – and quietly entered the run-down building, Oliver hadn't cared about being noticed. Much the opposite: he wanted them to notice, he wanted them all to come, so that he could bash their head in, take them all down, lure them to him and away from wherever Felicity was.

The actual fight was a blur of well-trained actions: bones were broken, arrows were shot, heads were crashed into concrete walls, gunshots were evaded, and after only two minutes the hallway was filled with enemies taken out.

Only then did it hit him that that had been his first fight since he had lost to the other archer. Seems like he had simply needed the right motivation to get back into the fight.

He continued through the building carefully, expecting an enemy to pop up at any moment. But none came, instead he suddenly found himself in front of a metal door. He couldn't help but be uneasy about what might await him behind that door, what he might find. The idea that Felicity wasn't here and the image of the state she might be in were equally uncomfortable. He pushed the old-fashioned lock back and opened the heavy door.

Relief flooded him instantly. She was sitting on a dirty cot, her comfy clothes stained by the blood from her burst open lip and the nasty split in her eyebrow. Her face was bloody, her jaw was starting to bruise. But, as her eyes settled on him, slightly squinting without her glasses, he could see the fear vanish and be replaced by relief.

He saw that she was about to shake off the surprise, get off the cot, and rush into his arms, so he quickly reached to activate the voice modulator she had gotten him. "Mrs. Queen." There was a slight quiver in his voice, he could hear it despite the changes the computer program made. He couldn't help it. All he could do was hope that nobody else noticed, because Oliver knew that there were cameras everywhere.

He saw understanding cross her face and how much it strained her to keep her composure. It tore at Oliver, but The Hood was firmly rooted a few steps away from her by the door. "SCPD is on the way," he said. Diggle had called them when The Hood had entered the building. "It's time to go home. I'm sure your husband's worried."

He was saying too much, but he couldn't help it.

Felicity nodded. "Thank you."

Oliver wished he could hug her to him, but The Hood simply gave her one sharp nod; it was time to get out of here.

Twenty-five missed called waited for him when he climbed into the backseat of the Bentley. He had already changed and stored his secret suit in a duffle bag. Diggle had come as close to the tenement as he had dared. There was no way that a car like the Bentley would go unnoticed in a neighborhood like that.

Kristina, Thea, his mother, Walter, and Yongtak had all tried to reach him multiple times. Even Tommy had called once. He debated calling them back – calling at least Thea back – when his phone rang again. He knew that number: Detective Lance wanted to inform him that they had found Felicity. She was on her way to Starling City General.

Diggle was already driving there when Oliver hung up and decided that, with that destination, Kristina should be the first person he called.

Twenty too long minutes later, he hurried down the brightly lit hospital hall toward the room number the nurse had given him. It was hard to miss, with the two policemen positioned in front of it, but they quickly stepped out of the way and one of them even opened the door for Oliver. He entered the huge hospital room, fit for a Queen, followed by John Diggle.

Instantly, Oliver's eyes connected with Felicity's. She sat on the bed, her legs dangling down the side, still dressed in her bloodstained clothes. Her whole jaw was turning purple, Oliver believed he could even see the spots where the knuckles had connected with her skin. The nasty cuts in her eyebrow and her lip had already been cleaned. A woman in green scrubs was getting ready to sow the split in her eyebrow, but she let the needle drop as she saw who entered. Stepping back, she made way for Oliver.

"Oliver," Felicity breathed and that word seemed to be the one to break her resolve.

He saw her face crumble as the first tears fell. He crossed the room in two huge steps and pulled her to his chest, hugging her to him, while her arms closed around him and her tears wetted his sweater. "I got you," was all he whispered, while he held on to her, tightly. His right hand tangled in her hair, holding the back of her head, enjoying the feeling of having her close and safe in his arms, of finally being able to comfort her. An unbearable weight was lifted. He felt like he could breathe again for the first time in hours. His relief made him feel lighter, but his hold of her didn't loosen. He placed a kiss on top of her head and heard the door open and close behind him. He was alone with Felicity.

"Hey," he said softly, letting go the barest bit to look at her. He watched her wipe tears away before blinking up at him with red eyes. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushed her skin. "Are you okay?"

It was a stupid question, but he needed to know. "Yeah," Felicity's voice was weak. "I'm fine. But I lost my glasses, I think."

Hearing that, Oliver reached into his jacket pocket and got her glasses out. He had picked them up from the floor of the bathroom and pocketed them without thinking. "They're fine," he assured her. "I'll keep them safe for you until you're all stitched up, okay?"

Felicity nodded and more tears fell, because, of course, she wasn't okay. How could she be? Oliver cradled her to him again and held her until he heard her ask against his chest. "How did you find me so quickly?"

The possibility that she would freak wasn't small, he knew, but he had to tell her. He let go, sat down next to her on the bed, and cradled her right hand in both of his. "The ring," he said and left it at that.

As he dared to meet her eyes he saw understanding in them—and traces of disappointment.

He let go of her hand and slipped the ring off her finger. "You wanted to know what it means. It's a promise; my promise to always be there when you need me, to protect you, to honor and cherish you, only you." He met her gaze. "It's also my peace of mind." He smiled softly. "Do you understand?"

"I do."

His smile turned a little stronger, his eyes softened in his emotion ridden face, and he slipped the ring into place on her left hand—where it belonged.

Flexing his hand, Oliver left the hospital room. More things he had learned about Felicity tonight: she had a steel grip and, apparently, strongly disliked needles or, as she had told him, "all pointy things," which indeed was kind of ironic. Now that her wounds were sown up and bandaged she could leave, she only had to sign some paperwork and Oliver wanted to get a nurse so that they could be done with that. He was eager to get out of here, even though he knew that their apartment was a mess. Maybe they could stay at a hotel for one night, just so that he could organize somebody to clean up and remove all reminders of what had happened in their home.

If he was honest, that would be for his sake as much as for Felicity's. Because he really didn't need to be reminded that he had failed to keep her safe. He had broken his promise a few days after giving it.

That reminded him: he needed to call Alexi Leonov and show his respect. Vitali Tschenko died protecting Felicity this afternoon and Valentina Asimov was somewhere between life and death. Oliver had already talked to the Asimov family and, more importantly, to a doctor, waving his name and a possible donation in front of his face, making sure that Valentina got the best care possible.

A hotel was a better option than Queen Mansion. Neither Thea nor his mother were happy with him right now. Both of them, as well as Kristina, had told him off for disappearing when Felicity had been kidnapped. His excuse that he had needed to be alone hadn't been well-received—especially Tina had given him a piece of her mind, which could be summed up to the single threat against going MIA when times got rough and Felicity needed him to be there. He had nodded and promised never to do that.

Sighing, he walked toward the main counter when he passed a waiting area. John Diggle got up from an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair.

"Digg." Oliver walked toward the man who had helped without being asked. "Thank you." It was all he could think of saying, but it needed to be said.

Slowly, John Diggle nodded. "Of course. Is she okay?"

"Yes, they patched her up, we can leave as soon as I find somebody for the paperwork."

Thoughtfully, the soldier looked at him. "I thought about what you said. And you might have a point: this city needs saving. Fighting for this city needs to be done, and you're gonna do this with or without me."

Slowly, Oliver nodded.

"Just to be clear, I'm not signing on to be a sidekick." Crossing his arms over his chest, Diggle settled a tight look on Oliver. "But with me there'll be fewer casualties, including Felicity—and you."

"Diggle," Oliver said calmly, meeting the other man's eyes. "I'm not looking for anybody to save me."

"Maybe not, but you need help. From somebody other than your wife who's too close to you to see some things." Diggle moved closer to him. "You are fighting a war, Queen, except you have no idea what war does to you, how it scrapes off little pieces of your soul."

"I thought you said I wasn't a soldier," Oliver cut in.

"That's the problem, Queen. You're not. You're not following orders, you're making up your own rules and you have to live with everything you do." The men looked at each other for a second before Diggle continued talking. "But I've been in the field. That's why I'm not your sidekick, but I'll help you fight for this city and find out whatever's going on with your family that's getting your wife kidnapped."

John Diggle held his hand out.

Oliver knew that shaking it meant agreeing the other man's terms. He knew he would get very capable help, but it came in the form of a very opinionated man who would challenge Oliver and his actions. A man who had organized a stealth plane in twenty minutes from a top secret military organization that very few people even knew about. A man who had snapped into action to help him get to Felicity as quickly as possible.

Meeting John Diggle eyes, Oliver clasped his hand and nodded. Those were things Oliver could more than live with.

PS. I'm ready for all your "I knew it"s regarding the tracker in the ring. ;)