Chapter: 21
Word Count: 3874
Notes: I'm behind times again, sadly. I've spent most of this week sleeping after hard days at work, and this chapter did not want to come out right. Hemingway once said that sometimes writing comes easy, but other times it's like drilling through rock. This one was definitely the latter.
That being said, I think this chapter answers some questions y'all have had thus far. On the other hand, you should probably prepare yourselves for a lot of angst before you start.
If you haven't read "Change of Plans," I'd suggest it. This chapter references the events in that one-shot a few times.
As always, thank you so much for reading. I appreciate it if you choose to leave a comment. Thank you!
Sara stares down at the thin material of the dress she's wearing. Black material covers her chest and her waist, but the sleeves are lace, as is the material between the top and bottom. The back is all lace down to her waist, and she's already chilly while in the hangar. "I'm going to murder Oliver," she declares.
"No, you aren't," Felicity replies absently, sliding the zipper up the side and trying not to snag the lace. "I know the feeling, but if you kill him, we're down a planner and we still have to rescue Iris." She pats Sara's shoulder sympathetically before holding up the shoes—black deathtraps. "You can have your revenge afterward." After a moment of thought, she adds, "But I'd prefer you didn't kill him." With a wink, she whispers, "I only have a few friends, you know."
As she takes the shoes and sits on the bed to put them on, Sara stares at the blonde in front of her. Felicity has been the only one on the team she can't quite read. While she might be an Air Force pilot and mechanic, a soldier Felicity Smoak is not. Honestly, Sara can't understand how she made it to Captain; career soldiers are rigid, linear thinkers, and Felicity is as wild and unpredictable as Oliver in her own way. High-ranking officers don't appreciate that kind of creativity and impulsiveness.
Even now she stands in a pair of standard-issue prison transport pants, cargo and army green, wearing only a black sports bra with them. After taking a minute to appreciate the view, she noticed the multiple tattoos inked across her skin. While she's used to seeing tattoos as a part of military life, Felicity's are… interesting. Instead of Air Force wings, she has a beautiful set of blue wings under her hairline. Instead of a large tattoo with her unit name, there's a single green arrow with an alpha on her arm. The only words about flying are she flies with her own wings, on the back of her shoulder.
It's the other two that are unique, one on each side of her ribcage. One is entirely black and white, with the words I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions. A line of stitches goes through them, making the words meet at odd angles that don't line up quite right. The other is the more interesting, in Sara's opinion. In cursive are two quotes: "Have I gone mad?" "I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret: all the best people are." A gold pocket watch and the symbols from a suit of playing cards dance around it.
Unable to resist, Sara asks, "Do you like Alice in Wonderland?" Felicity turns, eyes wide and bright, reaching up to adjust glasses that aren't there. Sara motions to the tattoo on the pilot's side. "That's from Alice in Wonderland, right?"
The smile she earns in reply is cryptic. "No, not especially," Felicity answers. "It's more of a reminder to myself."
"About Ollie?" Sara asks with a smile.
It earns her a laugh from the pilot, along with a warm smile that accompanies his name alone. She's starting to decide that Laurel had them pegged correctly—a pleasant conclusion. It took her all of five minutes to realize Felicity is good for Ollie. "No, not about Oliver," Felicity answers. "Though Oliver's kind of crazy is my favorite." Her cheeks warm, and Sara laughs. Just when she thought Felicity couldn't get more adorable. "That's a secret, by the way," she rushes to add. "Can you keep a secret?" Her eyes turn bright with mischief, looking a bit like she stuck a fork in an electrical socket.
"Of course," Sara answers, though she doubts that's a secret at this point. With a wink, she adds, "Military girls have to stick together, right?"
Felicity nearly drops in her lap, wrapping an arm through Sara's. "Right," she agrees with a wide smile. "I thought you could—you seem like the kind of person to keep a secret." She nods once to herself. "I'm a good judge of character."
A moment later, Felicity is on her feet, pulling on a white tank top and buttoning up a stern-looking uniform shirt that does nothing to dampen her sunny personality. "My tattoos are about me, Sara," Felicity finally answers. "They're reminders. I never forget the important things about my boys, but sometimes I forget the important things about me." She shrugs. "It was Oliver's idea."
It's not the first time, but Sara wonders what she's missing about Felicity. There's something the others don't really talk about. Even Laurel seemed tentative to mention some things, only saying it wasn't her place. If it was her guess, it has something to do with the nasty scar Felicity took care to hide when she pulled her hair into a ponytail. Pilots get shot down all the time, and she has those familiar, glassy eyes of one who took a hard hit. But whatever it is, Sara figures it's none of her business. If Ollie thought Felicity wasn't qualified to be here, she wouldn't be.
But, then again, Ollie seems to have a blind spot where Felicity is concerned.
Before Sara can ask further, there's a knock on the door. "We need to be in place in forty minutes," Ollie's voice calls from the other side. "Are you two almost ready?"
Felicity practically skips to the door to open it. The moment she does, it's to wrap her arms around Ollie's neck as though they haven't seen each other in lifetimes. "Ready, willing, and able, Major," she declares as he staggers back a few steps. "I think Sara might want to murder you, though," she confesses as she releases him. Her arm wraps around his as she leans into him. "I convinced her to wait until the mission is over."
Rising to her feet on the too-tall heels, she takes long, though slow, strides to Ollie, crossing her arms. "I can't believe you're making me play a prostitute, Ollie. Or that you think a woman has to be qualified to play that role."
"Don't worry, Sara," a deep voice calls out. She can just barely see Diggle roll his eyes in the other room. "You'll be purchasing your drugs from a person of color."
Laurel sits on a rickety chair, tapping her fingers as she snorts. "Well, at least you aren't the useless woman who sits and does nothing the entire time," she adds.
Ollie turns to throw him a dark look, but Diggle has already turned away. "It's not about what I think," he replies. "It's about what works. I need a woman to get close to Iris and let her know we're coming. Sara is the ideal choice because of her connection to Laurel. It just so happens that the police won't question a woman in a tight dress buying cocaine."
Eyes falling on Laurel, he adds, "You aren't trained to defend yourself, Laurel. You haven't been taught how to survive a black op." An ironic smile plays on his lips. "And, unlike most of the journalism classes you've taken, spec ops training is more like a pass-fail situation. And instead of an F, failing means death." Laurel looks away, but Ollie isn't done. "I'm not sending you in to get killed."
He turns back toward Digg. "And John, you were the seller by process of elimination. I need Felicity as our helicopter pilot. Roy's age makes him questionable as someone who can get his hands on that much cocaine, and I have ties to the Bratva." His expression hardens. "If I go in as a prisoner, there are too many rival gangs in prison and too many guards who won't care. I won't come out alive, and I'm not one for suicide missions."
"What about that one time in—?" Felicity starts to ask, a furrow appearing between her eyebrows.
"That was different," Ollie answers before she can finish. He glances around his team. "I needed you as the pilot, John on the missile launcher, and Roy driving. That was process of elimination, too." He winks down at her. "It didn't matter that I was captured. I wasn't the one who could get us out of that soup sandwich, anyway." Nudging her shoulder, he concludes, "Sometimes my plan is you having a plan."
"Wait a minute," Roy calls, rising to his feet, pointing a finger at Ollie. "You planned to get yourself captured? And you planned to have Batshit"—he waves a hand toward Felicity—"get us out of it?" He shakes his head. "We almost died on that mission!"
"Almost, almost, almost," Felicity mimics, crossing her eyes. Sara bites down on a laugh, but Ollie doesn't manage the same control. "You're always talking about all the times we almost died. It's very negative." She shrugs. "Besides, almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."
"They had hand grenades!" Roy sputters.
Finally Felicity releases Ollie, charging down the stairs to poke a finger in Roy's chest. "You almost died. So what?" she spits. Roy shrinks under her glare, and Sara wishes she had popcorn. "You didn't. Do you really think I'd ever let anything happen to you?" When Felicity lunges for him, Roy flinches, but she only wraps him in a hug. He returns it reluctantly, face coloring. "You're my special Roy. Nothing is gonna happen to you while I'm breathing." She pokes his shoulder when she releases him. "Except when you're mean to me. Then I'm gonna break your nose. But no one else can break your nose—not without answering to me."
With a wink, she adds, "Don't pretend you didn't like that mission. You got to steal an elephant. An elephant, Roy." She holds out her hands. "How many thieves have stolen an elephant? That's a huge feather in your cap."
"Yeah, I'm sure they're telling legends right now about how I stole an elephant," Roy deadpans.
Felicity beams, oblivious to the sarcasm. "Exactly, my dear Roy." She kisses his cheek before bouncing back up the stairs. "Come on, Oliver," she calls, tugging on his arm. Ollie lets her lead him down the stairs with nothing more than an indulgent smile. Sara smiles, though part of her is trying to resist the urge to gag. "You need to put on your guard uniform. I'm excited you have a uniform. You've always looked great in uniform. Remember the first time we met?"
"That would be impossible to forget," he replies.
"If you hadn't been such a lying liar face, I wouldn't have been able to speak," Felicity continues. "I mean, you're always nice to look at, but you're very nice to look at in uniform." When Ollie shakes his head, the pilot turns to Sara for confirmation. Sara nods, but she can't help to admit to herself that he looks even better without a uniform. Or anything else, for that matter. "It's a shame there's a hat," Felicity continues, leading him toward the bathroom. "You aren't allowed to put on the hat until it's mission time, okay?"
When she starts to lead him into the room, Ollie stops her. "Felicity, honey, I'm perfectly capable of changing clothes on my own," he says in a gentle tone.
Whatever Felicity says next is too low for Sara to hear. All she knows is that Felicity crosses her arms while her bottom lip juts out, and Ollie disappears into the bathroom with pink cheeks. The corporal resists the urge to laugh; she doesn't think she's seen anyone else embarrass Ollie before. In fact, she thought Ollie was shameless.
Felicity Smoak might be her new hero.
As if she read Sara's mind, Felicity rounds on her. "Well, if Oliver is going to be a stick in the mud," she starts, "I can do your hair and makeup." She turns to call over her shoulder, "Laurel, do you want to help me finish Sara's look?"
Laurel is on her feet in an instant, but Sara takes two steps back—not an easy trick in the too-high heels she's wearing. Suddenly Felicity is the object of her nightmares. "No way," she declares. "I don't wear makeup."
"Sara Lance might not wear makeup," Felicity agrees slowly, "but the Russian physicist Valentina Vostok does." Sara frowns at the unfamiliar name, but the pilot just winks at her with a brilliant smile. "Especially when she's going to go clubbing after buying cocaine from her dealer."
When Sara opens her mouth, nothing comes out. Finally, she manages to ask, "Did you just give my role in the con a name?" She frowns. "And a background that doesn't make me a prostitute?"
Felicity shrugs with a smile. "My gift to you," she replies with a wink. "Military girls have to stick together, right?" She loops her arm through Sara's. "Now sit on the bed and I'll finish the look." She winks. "Dr. Vostok." When Sara hesitates, Felicity adds with a pout and wide, glassy eyes, "Please?"
"You might as well give in," Diggle adds from his chair. Traitor. "If you don't, you'll pay for it later." He grins over at Sara. "She might be cute, but she's devious." He nods toward her. "She'll just tell Oliver on you."
Before Sara can point out she isn't afraid of Ollie, Roy adds, "And if she gets even the smallest bit teary-eyed when she's telling him about it, Oliver will shit bricks." He shudders, as if reliving an incident. "There's no living with him when he thinks Felicity is upset. You think he's a pain in the ass now? Watch what happens when he thinks you upset her." Roy lifts an eyebrow. "A general said a lot of awful things about Felicity to her face one time. Oliver found her crying. So what does he do? He haunts the guy like a goddamn ghost for a year. He finds out the guy is stealing and he turns over evidence, so the general gets dishonorably discharged." Roy crosses his arms. "And that was back when Oliver was nice."
"Oliver is always nice," Felicity replies.
He scoffs as Digg snorts. "Maybe to you," Roy retorts. "But you're Felicity. You're cute and blonde and happy almost all the time. You flirt with him and compliment him. You're kind and sweet and sincere. And when he's being unreasonable, you rip him to shreds with a hug and a kiss on the cheek." He scowls, rolling his eyes. "And somewhere in that big, dumb brain of his, he knows you're the best thing that ever happened to him, so he treats you like it."
Felicity flushes crimson, staring down at her pink Converse that are so not standard-issue prison transport pilot gear. Before anyone else can say anything, she drags Sara back into the room, making her sit on the bed. Both Felicity and Laurel round on her with an array of makeup, curling irons, and nail polish.
After what feels like an eternity of getting poked and prodded, Felicity finally releases Sara with a satisfied smile as Laurel tosses over a black, faux-fur coat. "I already hate this mission," Sara declares with a sigh as she pulls on the coat.
"Just think," Felicity replies cheerfully, "it could have been a mission in Kazakhstan and we could be sweating to death in the desert." Winking, she adds, "It can always be worse, Sara." She skips a few steps away before turning back to shrug. "And it usually is, so that's a win." With that, she bounds down the rest of the stairs.
Sara turns to share a look with her sister. Laurel has dark circles under her eyes, but otherwise, she looks bright and ready. Good; she'll need to be. "I can't figure out if that level of happy is good or just annoying," the corporal says with tilt of her head.
Shaking her head, Laurel admits, "Probably a little of both." She nods. "But I can't think of anyone else I'd want to fly a helicopter." The two of them start down the stairs together. "I read her full file, you know." Sara snorts; of course she did. Laurel has always been good about doing her research. "Felicity had a Master's from MIT by the time we were starting college. Her IQ is through the roof and she has a Mensa membership. Oliver thinks she's the best pilot the Air Force ever trained."
"Oliver thinks the sun rises and sets in her ass," Sara replies with a grin. Laurel returns it, and they both roll their eyes. Even as much as he's changed, one thing is constant with Ollie: he's a complete idiot when it comes to relationships. Still, it's cute to see him in love for a change. Not that he knows what to do with a romantic relationship.
By the time they catch up to the others, Roy is behind the wheel of the convoy truck, yawning as he slouches down in it. Diggle is leaning against the Porsche's sleek frame, but Oliver and Felicity stand next to one another. Though Felicity was right and Ollie looks great in the uniform, the furrow between his eyebrows and the frown on his face detracts from it.
"No, honey," Sara barely hears him say. "You fly north by northwest, okay? That's how you'll get us out of there. We'll have a car waiting." Though he's trying to stay calm, she can hear the stress in his voice: the higher pitch, the rushed words. Even the way he drums his fingers on Felicity's arm belies that nervous energy. "If you come back here, they'll find us. We'll be done in seconds."
For the first time since Sara has met her, Felicity frowns. "I fly… north," she repeats, blankly, pointing west. Ollie points her a counter turn clockwise. "North," she tries again. "Not here. Here is bad." He nods once. "So I fly north by northwest and keep the bad guys off our tail."
"Exactly," Ollie assures her.
Just when Sara thinks the conversation is over, she watches Felicity take a few steps toward the helicopter before stopping to kick the sports car's tires. Ollie is with her in an instant as she yells, "Damn it!" Though he tries to calm her with gentle words, she pushes him away and kicks the tire again. "What did I tell you three years ago, Oliver?" She pokes him in the chest. "I'm all… busted! Bringing me back was a mistake." She motions toward the convoy. "These are my boys! You're my Oliver! When my head gets all scramble-y, I put you in danger!" She turns suddenly, and her face becomes obscured behind Ollie's shoulder when he reaches for her. "I can't… I can't do this, Oliver. If something happens to you… If I lose you…" Her voice cracks. "I can't let my thoughts all twisted and—"
Sara gapes at the sudden change, even as Ollie pulls Felicity close. His thumb brushes under her eyes as she sniffs. "Hey," he tells her, so low Sara can barely hear it. "You're not gonna lose me, okay?" Felicity tries to look away, but he holds her head firm. "I made you a promise back in Iraq. Do you remember it?" Closing her eyes, she nods once. "Good. I've broken a lot of promises, but not that one." He kisses her forehead. "Felicity, this is your team, and we need you. That will never change. No matter what."
Wiping at her eyes, she declares with a watery sob, "That was beautiful of you to say, Major. Thank you."
When he pulls her in for a hug, Felicity clings to Ollie's shirt like a lifeline. Sara nods to herself; she was right. There's more to Felicity Smoak than meets the eye. Suddenly she and Ollie don't seem so different: both of them hiding a part of themselves back behind walls and smiles.
"I know you can do this," Ollie declares, eyes only for the helicopter pilot. "But do you know you can do this?" Slowly, she nods, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "North by northwest, Captain," he says. "Do you need me to write it down for you? Would that help?"
"No, I think I got it," she assures him, nodding to herself several times. "North by northwest," she mutters to herself, repeating it multiple times. "But thank you, Oliver."
He cups her face, and Felicity leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. Her hand covers his, and the two of them share a moment not meant for Sara to understand. Even so, she does, all too well; it's the kind of quiet moment that she's only ever shared with Nyssa. "You don't have to thank me, Felicity," Ollie insists, his thumb brushing against her cheek.
With that, he pulls away, making a line for the convoy truck as Felicity goes for the helo. Ollie runs a hand through his hair as he breezes past Sara, but she catches her arm. He turns on her with wide eyes, and she asks in a low voice, "Do you think she's up to this, Ollie?"
The full force of his glare is bearing down on her a moment later. "You can question me all you want, Corporal," he answers with an eerie calm. "You can question my plans or your orders or your role in this con. You can question my abilities to lead this team, but don't you ever ask that question again." He starts to walk away, but turns. "If you're still going to help, you can go with Digg." Glancing over his shoulder, he calls, "Laurel, you're with me."
With a huff, she marches toward the Porsche. Digg opens the door for her, but it isn't until he pulls into the driver's seat that he says in that quiet, rich voice, "Roy isn't always eloquent," Diggle says as he starts the engine, "but what he told you today wasn't wrong." He nods toward the convoy in front of them, toward Ollie. "If she's upset, he's unsettled."
"What's wrong with Felicity?" Sara finally asks. The question feels good on her tongue after holding it back for so long. Before he can answer, she adds, "I saw the scar on her head, Digg. She was shot down, wasn't she?"
"About five years ago," Digg replies with a nod, watching the truck pull out ahead of him. "We didn't know her back then." He sighs, and the expression reminds her of Ollie's. Maybe he isn't the only one who carries that weight. "It… messed with her head." Sara's eyes widen, but Diggle waves a hand. "She's still sharp as a tack, but sometimes the travel and the strange surroundings affect her short-term memory. Especially with directions."
Sara's brow furrows, but she hesitates this time. "I'm not trying to say anything, Sergeant, but I don't know your team the way you do." His expression never wavers. Sara starts to wonder if it ever does; maybe John Diggle is the team's calm in the chaos. "Do you think she'll be able to do this?"
He meets her eyes with all the certainty in the world. "She's never let us down before."