Coming Home

CONTENT:

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Drama

Language: some

Violence: none

Nudity: none

Sex: none

Other: none

Author's Note:

It's all coming together, now! :)

Props to the Scorpions fans! Uh, and the harpsichord & string fans, but I couldn't find the name of the piece that I was trying to describe, or the CD I have with it on there. Now it will drive me nuts.

Coming Home

===#===

Club Verdant

Oliver took the steps two at a time, up to his office. Diggle was in there, starting up the coffee maker in preparation for a long night. He looked around. "Aren't you supposed to be leaving for your dinner with Laurel?"

"Merlyn just called me," Oliver blurted. His bodyguard quirked a brow. "He's releasing Felicity tomorrow."

"Just like that?"

Oliver felt the same surprise. He shrugged.

Diggle tossed down the stack of filters he was trying to separate and turned to face Oliver fully. A rare smile crept onto his face. "This is great news! Now we can finally move forward in the search for the Markov device. Take Merlyn down."

"I don't think so."

"What do you mean you don't think so? I thought the only reason you agreed to partner up with this guy is because he had you over a barrel."

"I did, but..."

Diggle frowned. "Look man, you're the last person I would ever accuse of being a coward. But you can't get entrenched in your comfort zone. Oliver, you need to fight this guy."

"No, I don't." He'd been so wrong about Malcolm Merlyn. He hadn't murdered Oliver's father. Oliver didn't want to discredit his mother, but it was entirely possible it was her own fear and paranoia that had created the monster she thought Merlyn to be.

"Oliver, that's your fear talking."

"No, it isn't!" Why was Diggle so stubborn? "This is me, being rational, and considering the idea that we may have been wrong. Malcolm Merlyn is not the man we thought he was."

"Really? Because I think he's still the same guy with the plan to nuke the Glades unless we stop him."

"That plan is on hold." How many times did they have to go over this?

"You seriously believe that?"

"This discussion is over." He was going to have to wind down before he saw Laurel.

"We'll see what Felicity has to say on the subject," Diggle agreed darkly. "But just remember who it is that kidnapped her and threatened to kill her." Oliver was opening the door, but Diggle wasn't finished. "Ask yourself this: would you have kidnapped Tommy, and threatened to harm him if you wanted to convince Merlyn that he was wrong and you were right?"

Oliver scraped his teeth over his lip. He took a breath to center himself and said, "He said he'd bring Felicity by around noon. Make sure I'm up in time to be here." He pushed out the door without waiting for a response, but before it closed, he could hear Diggle's cold reply.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Queen."

===#===

A Private Holding Facility

Felicity packed her things in the carryall the guards had dropped off. With a strange sense of a sleepwalker awakening, she realized they were indeed her things. Her clothes, her face wash, her shampoo. They must have taken them from her apartment. She didn't know how she felt about that - angry at the intrusion, or grateful to have the comforts of home. The jury was still out. Wait until she saw the state her apartment was in. If they'd left things strewn about... she would be righteously peeved!

Finally, Mr. Merlyn appeared. Felicity held her breath, overwhelmed with the fear that he'd changed his mind, that his talk with Oliver had ended in a fight or something that would come back on her. But no. With an apologetic smile, the businessman produced the execut- er, the kidnapping hood.

She submitted to having it put on. It brought back the memory of that night, her kidnapping, and she was so glad that tall, dark, and hooded figure was not here. A guard took her carryall, and Mr. Merlyn took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "Don't worry," he said softly; "I won't let you fall."

She clasped her right hand with her left and leaned slightly on his own like... well, like a blind date. Literally. He was surprisingly solid under the jacket, and wow, that was some really nice cologne. Probably French. Maybe Italian. Hideously expensive.

Mr. Merlyn put his hand over hers to steady her, and set out. Blind and leaning on him as she was, she could feel every subtle shift of his weight and motion. She almost didn't need his murmured instructions to navigate the turns and stairs. It was like a waltz; she followed his lead naturally. She was sure she was blushing.

The hood didn't completely block her vision. It was just sheer enough that she could make out blobs of light and dark. It helped her navigate her way into the back of the limousine, Mr. Merlyn's hand to guide her and keep her from bumping her head.

She sank into the plush leather seat and folded her hands in her lap, repressing the urge to fiddle with the hood. The door closed with a quiet whump, hermetically sealing the car like the cabin of a commercial airliner, or a space capsule. The limo interior smelled of new leather.

The other door opened, and Mr. Merlyn got in. Her ears could feel the change in 'cabin pressure' as the door closed and cut off all external sound. Soundproof, climate-controlled - it was probably bulletproof, too. She couldn't even tell if the engine was running. This was some serious class. She imagined this might be what it would feel like if she'd dated a rich boy like Oliver at the prom, whisked away in a personal limo. Of course, probably not with a hood over her head. Unless it was a really kinky prom. The kind with black silk hoods and fur-lined cuffs. Whoa, Felicity! Get your mind out of the gutter! She gulped and was once more thankful that the hood hid her blush.

"Well, let's go," Mr. Merlyn said.

Felicity felt the car move, just a gentle nudge. She still didn't hear the engines, but there was a faint whir of fans, keeping the air of the space capsule fresh. Then the bright, brassy tones of a harpsichord filled the air, dripping slowly over her, washing the tension right out of her body. A string quartet joined in the stately progression of notes, gliding smoothly through the movement, like skaters on ice. She didn't usually care for classical, but it suited the situation. She now felt like a fairytale princess riding in a magical coach.

After the music faded to a close, Mr. Merlyn told her she could take the hood off. She shook herself out of the trance and took it off, then smoothed her hair down. She glanced out the window, casually; they were in the city.

"Would you like some water?" he asked as another cello piece began.

"Please."

"Plain or sparkling?"

Ooh. "Sparkling."

He closed the dossier he'd been reading, then reached forward to the mini-fridge and produced a bottle of Perrier.

"Thank you." Felicity made note that if she ever got kidnapped, to make sure it was by some filthy rich millionaire. At least she'd be abducted in style!

"Straw?" Malcolm offered.

"Don't mind if I do." She took it. "Do you have any Grey Poupon?"

He laughed. "There might be some left, but I am sure that we're out of Ball Park Franks."

"Oh, well, I'll have to deduct a star for that, I'm afraid," she teased.

"Felicity." He turned in the seat to face her, his expression becoming solemn. "I am sorry about all this. I'm sorry things had to go this way."

She looked down, unsure of what to say. 'That's alright' wasn't even an option, and 'Things didn't have to go this way' would just be impolitic. So she just nodded in acknowledgement and sipped her sparkling water. He returned to his dossier.

The limo turned a corner and Felicity could see they were only a few minutes away from the club. She tingled in anticipation.

===#===

The limousine pulled smoothly up to the curb. Felicity noticed her carryall on the floor in front of her seat. She bent to grab it.

"Would you take this to Oliver for me, please?" Malcolm gave her the dossier.

She realized it was the manuscript, bound into a folder. "You're not coming in?"

He looked past her, out the tinted window, towards the club entrance. "No, it's better if I don't." He looked to her. "Don't worry, I told them to expect you."

Then the limo door opened, and Felicity got out. She blinked at the uniformed driver, whom she recognized as one of the guards at... wherever it was. "Thank you," she said automatically. The woman nodded and waited for her to clear the door before closing it.

Felicity walked towards the entrance, her pulse loud in her ears. She hoped she didn't wake up. This was rather sedate for one of her homecoming dreams, but you never knew. Or worse, this was some kind of crazy mind trick. She turned to look back towards the limo, but it was already pulling away.

She puffed out her cheeks with a breath, and forged ahead into the club.

===#===

Felicity raced headlong down the stairs, her heart in her mouth, still fearing some trick, some twist, some cruel joke. Oliver ran over to meet her at the bottom, calling her name, and she jumped him. Well, you know, on him, into his arms, and it's a good thing he's such a buff guy, or she might have flattened him with her enthusiasm. He spun around while she clung to him, her feet not touching the ground, and the stuff she was carrying scattered who knows where.

Oliver set her down gently but firmly, though his hands lingered on her arms. John came over, now that there was no danger of being kicked. With a big warm smile he said, "We're glad you're safe."

"Me, too!" She beamed at him.

"Felicity," Oliver said, more seriously. "Did he hurt you?" She shook her head, but he pressed. "Did he - or any of his people - do anything to you?"

Her mind went back to that dark basement. We don't need to play these games. You know how this works. If you cooperate, you earn privileges. Eventually, you earn your freedom. If you resist, if you rebel, if you try to escape... you lose privileges. She shivered, recalling the isolation, the humiliation, the black nightmares.

"Felicity." Oliver shook her gently, his calloused hands gripping her. "You don't have to tell me anything else," he said softly, his grey eyes steady on her. "Just yes or no. Do I need to go after him?"

She realized that if anybody messed with Felicity Smoak, the predator that had returned from the wilds of that island would be there to defend her. "No," she managed. "No, it was all... mostly... civilized."

Oliver's look softened, his grip relaxed; he no longer looked about to pounce.

Tears welled up in Felicity's eyes. He'd do anything and everything in his power to keep her safe. And she'd betrayed him. "I'm sorry!" She collapsed against his chest, the tears flowing over.

"What? Why?"

"I told him," she sobbed. "I told him about the message. I'm so sorry; I was afraid you'd get hurt; I just didn't want that to happen."

He gripped her arms and pushed her back so he could look down into her eyes. "Told him what?"

"About the rescue plan!"

Oliver looked over at Diggle, his brow creased in confusion. Felicity followed his glance, but John's look was as blank as Oliver's.

"You didn't try to rescue me?" And that hurt. It was the safe thing to do, the smart thing, but dammit, it still hurt.

He saw the look in her eyes, and guilt painted his face. "I'm sorry, Felicity. It just wasn't safe-"

"I know!" It wasn't his fault; she mustn't blame him. Then the bottom dropped out of her stomach. "Oh, my God." Her knees started shaking, threatening to drop her right on the floor. Oliver guided her around, and she landed in a chair. "It was him. Oh, my God." Realizations poured in faster than she could process them.

Oliver sat in the chair next to hers, still anchoring her with his hand on her arm, for which she was grateful. John came over, hovering in concern. "Just breathe," he reminded her. "What message?"

"It was in the emails. They were printed out, so they didn't have headers, so I couldn't authenticate the sender - augh!" She reared back and slapped her forehead. "I'm so stupid!" Oliver started to gently remonstrate with her, but she rode roughshod right over that. "He planted that message and... oh my God, that's why he let me go! It was a test! And I fell for it!" This time, she slapped both hands to her face and left them there. She shoved her glasses up onto her brow. "He let me go because I betrayed you."

"No, Felicity, you didn't," Oliver insisted.

John added, "You did the right thing."

"No... no, I didn't."

"All that matters is you're home now," said Oliver.

She shook her head; they didn't understand. If she had betrayed her plans to Merlyn once, what was to stop her from doing it again? Well, she hadn't, really, but she thought she had. It felt as if she had. What if Merlyn tricked her again? "That bastard!" She started trembling.

"Whoa, easy." Oliver leaned in and rubbed her shoulder. "You're all right, now. Everything is fine." He looked up and nodded to Diggle, asked him to fetch some 'medicine.'

John returned with a shot glass full of amber liquid. Felicity took it in both hands and sipped. And then wheezed. Whoa, good stuff.

Oliver kept rubbing her shoulder. "It's all right; it's all over."

"How do you even deal with that guy?"

"You'd have to ask my mother. She's been dealing with him for years."

"Your mom's got some stones," she blurted. "I never thought I'd say that about another woman, but she has got some serious stones." She made a little toast and took another sip of the medicine. It went down a little easier. You can do this. Women are strong. Just like Moira Queen. She sucked in a long breath. The alcohol hit her bloodstream and made her feel steadier. She took another sip. "At least we don't have to deal with him any more, right?" She looked at Oliver. "Well, you do, I guess. However this deal thingy works." She glanced at John, who had a concerned look on his face. "We don't. Right?" Now Oliver showed that same look. "What?"

"Felicity, Malcolm's been helping us on some of the missions."

"Yeah, he said. But, like, help how?"

"You didn't tell her?" Diggle asked Oliver.

"Tell me what?"

"I didn't think it would be a good idea," Oliver said to his bodyguard. He cut off and looked back at Felicity. "I was looking for the right time to break it to you."

Now her anxiety went into overdrive. "Break what to me?"

Oliver grimaced and John stepped up, laying it out for her. "Malcolm Merlyn is the Dark Archer. And he comes down here to go with Oliver as a backup archer."

She blinked owlishly at him. "You mean, he comes here...?" She pointed to the floor at their feet. John nodded. "And he...?" She mimed flipping a hood up over her head. John and Oliver nodded. "And you two...?" Oliver winced guiltily as she made little running legs with her fingers and added, "...And shoot people."

"Yeah."

Her face felt suddenly cold as all the blood drained from it. "Oh, my God."

"Get another shot," Oliver told John, and to her: "Just put your head down if you feel faint."

"No... not, I'm fine," she managed. She jittered her fingertips against her lips. "I'm just trying to remember how many times I called the Dark Archer a vicious, maddog lackey in front of Mr. Merlyn, and how many times I told the Dark Archer that he was just a tool for a cowardly rich bastard." Her voice ended on a squeak. She gulped the last of the medicine, and wheezed out, "He took it surprisingly well."

"Sorry," Oliver said sheepishly.

"Oh no, that's fine." Water under the bridge, right? "But I will take that other shot."

===#===

Felicity hadn't had any lunch yet, so the liquor went straight to her head. She felt much better. Perhaps too much better, but what the hell!

John picked up her bag and set it on the table, and the folder. "What's this?"

"Oh! I'm supposed to give that to you. It's the manuscript," she said. "Well, it doesn't have a name, I mean a title, so I just call it 'the manuscript.'"

"What is it, exactly?" Oliver asked, sidling up to Diggle so they could both look over it.

"Mr. Merlyn said you wanted to know about the stuff he and that group of his... which also doesn't have a name... Odd, that. Um, about what they do. Or did. So it's like part of a journal. About stuff."

Oliver took it from Diggle and flipped through the pages. "Yes, I'm very interested. Did you read this?" he asked her, looking up a moment.

"I typed it," she said proudly. "So, yes. Reading. And typing. At the same time."

John frowned at her. "I think you've had too much medicine."

"You can tell?"

Oliver shushed them. "What is this symbol here?" He turned the pages so she could see and pointed out a capital letter in parentheses.

"Oh! There weren't any names," she explained. "Like just initials in a circle. So I typed them like that. On a real typewriter," she added for Diggle's benefit.

Oliver said, "I wonder if 'F' is Frank Chen."

"Who's Frank Chen?" Diggle asked.

Oliver chewed his lip a moment. "He's the one who killed my father. And he tried to have Merlyn killed."

"How did you-?" Diggle started.

"My mother had 'The Queen's Gambit' salvaged. Merlyn showed it to me at his warehouse- Yes, Diggle, I know. But he said I could have my people double-check everything. Felicity-" he turned to her. "Can you do a trace on some serial numbers? Find the manufacturers, then trace back the owners of those companies?" He paced swiftly, almost as manic as she tended to get. "And maybe you can hack into the police database. There was some activity at one of my visitations that never got explained."

"Whoa," she said, putting her hands out. "Oliver, you know I'd love to. But I haven't even been home yet, and I haven't eaten, and I was kinda not going to start work until tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, of course," he said abashedly. "Diggle, could you go bring the car around to take Felicity home?"

"Sure."

"I'm sorry, Felicity," Oliver said when they were alone.

"No, it's fine." She waved it off.

"No, it isn't." He looked down at his shoes. "I'm truly sorry, for everything. None of it... was fair to you. I just want you to know..." He glanced up at her. "And I mean this. If you don't want to come back... If you want to go back to being an ordinary IT girl, and leave all this behind... I'll understand."

She actually thought about it for a minute.

Then she said, "Point number one: I was never an 'ordinary' IT girl." He smiled in agreement. "And Point number two..." She took a breath and paced. How to explain Point number two? "When I signed on - not that I had much of a choice - but when I did, I said I only wanted to help you find Walter. He was kind to me. And, well, of course the research I did for him is what landed him all missing and kidnapped."

She took another breath, remembering her captivity, imagining Walter in the same straits. Would he have fought? It was so futile. She shook herself. "But... when I worked for you while we tried to do that, I learned a lot about myself. I learned to stand up for what I believed in. Even against a dangerous vigilante." She smiled to take the sting out of her words. "I learned I was - wow - a heck of a lot braver than I ever imagined. Walking into a den of heavily-armed crooks, almost getting my head exploded..."

She paced the length of the work tables, looking over the row of computers, the rows of arrows. "I told Mr. Steele I hated unsolved mysteries. Well, I hate not knowing how any story ends, really. Everything I've learned... about the crime that goes on in this city, about the corruption that goes on, unchecked." She turned around to face him. "And what about the Markov device? I can't just go back to doing my mundane... stuff! Knowing all this is out there? That I could do something about it?"

"Just not today, huh?" He gave her a sad, crooked smile.

"Yeah. As long as it's not today."

"If you ever change your mind... or need a break - a day off, a vacation - just say the word."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she warned. He nodded. "I mean it! I'm going to write it down! And then when I say, 'Oh-ho, no! I've had enough; I'm going to the Bahamas,' and you say-" and here, she did a whiny Oliver voice- "'But Felicity, I neeeeeed you!' I'm going to say, 'Oh no, buster! I have it in writing!'"

Finally, he chuckled. "All right, you win." He shooed her towards the door. "Now go home. And if you need anything, call me."

===#===

Felicity sat in the passenger seat, her bagged lunch of turkey sandwich and diet soda sitting in her lap. She stared out the window, just daydreaming. It was good to see a view, open sky, and people going bout their lives.

As they got closer to Felicity's apartment building, John broke the silence. "I have to tell you something. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or upset, but..."

"But...? Well, that already makes me feel uncomfortable and upset."

John sighed. "Sorry. Just... Felicity, be careful what you say to anyone when you're at home, or on the phone."

Her spine prickled. "Why?"

"When I got home from the detention center... I dunno, I got the feeling that someone had been in my apartment."

"It's bugged?"

"Yeah."

"They bugged my apartment?" Felicity yelled. "And my phone?"

"Most likely. I'm sorry, but I had to tell you."

"Well, can't we sweep my place for bugs?"

"I don't have that kind of gear," he told her. "We can do a visual search, but we'll never know if we found them all. It's better not to tip them off. As long as we're careful-"

"What if I don't care about tipping them off? They've already been in my apartment, stealing my clothes!" Home was her sanctuary. She wanted it to be sacrosanct!

"Stealing your clothes?" John echoed, confused and understandably dubious about this pronouncement.

"They brought me my own clothes to wear," she explained. When they let her wear clothes. She slammed a lid on that thought.

"Okay, so we know they had access to your apartment," he said with calm analysis. "Merlyn also had ahold of your tablet, so you'll want to check that out as well."

He pulled into a space in front of her apartment, then got out and carried her bag upstairs for her.

She unlocked the door and went inside. She knew instantly what John had meant about the eerie feeling that people had been there. The ambience of the air felt off. Violated. John stuck around patiently while she checked behind each door and in every closet.

No one jumped out. Nothing seemed out of place. It was maddening.

She followed John to the door when it was time for him to leave. "John," she said softly as he was halfway out. He turned and she moved closer, kept her voice low. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way... because I entirely don't mean it like that, but... would you... could you... stay over tonight?" A bodyguard would feel so good. Er, not in that way, of course!

"Sure, Felicity. What time should I come by?"

"Uh... whatever's convenient?" She realized she didn't have a place for him to sleep. Just the couch. Ugh, she was a terrible hostess.

"How about ten? Or I can ditch Oliver earlier, if that would be better?"

"No, no. Yeah, that's good. Ten, I mean." She bit her lip. "I'm so sorry, this is stupid."

"No, it isn't." He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm here for you, Felicity. It'll be all right."

===X===