HELLO LOVELY READERS! I know I said I would post weekly and I have been TERRIBLE about it. A thousand apologies for delaying this chapter. It's one of my favorite and I hope you love this twist as much as I do! Let me know what you think!

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PART II

Chapter 28

Numb.

All Felicity feels is paralyzing numbness. It's funny. She remembers getting shot hurting more. With vivid clarity she remembers the shooting pains (no pun intended). It was piercing. And it hurt like hell.

Now, she just feels empty.

She can't feel her toes, her fingers, even her face.

It's bad.

Felicity's eyes flutter open, sound finally piercing her ears. There's screams and her name repeated over and over again by John Diggle as he presses his hands to the wound she knows she should feel. She should be in excruciating pain right now. But she's not.

"William?" Her voice is a croak, a whisper. All she can manage.

John's crying over her as he nods. "He's fine, Felicity. You did it. You saved him."

Relief floods her system as she fights to stay conscious for this. "Good. Tell Oliver...tell...him..." she has to get this out. "I...love...him..."

Darkness takes over. She can still hear them, desperately calling for her to stay awake, to open her eyes, but it's too much. She can't.

And the last thing she hears is Oliver's voice, her name a strangled cry of desperation ripped from his throat.

...

The numbness is replaced with cold, a damp chill slowly seeping into her bones. Without opening her eyes she waits for the pain of her injury, of the bullet she took to protect Oliver's son. She must be the hospital now. It explains the flimsy gown she feels covering her.

God, she remembers the gown all too well after the weeks spent there after the limo incident. But she's sitting upright in a chair so that can't be all that's happening.

A drop of frigid liquid lands on the bare back of her neck and slides slowly down her spine, leaving chills in its path and Felicity jerks at the sensation. Her eyes fly open to a startlingly dark room. Her first reaction is jump and run away, to place herself facing the only door with her back against the wall. It's what Oliver and Digg would do in that situation, right?

But her wrists and ankles, instead of moving freely, dig painfully into metal cuffs. The sensation draws a cry of surprised pain from the back of her throat. Her skin is already raw at the points of contact, like she's been pulling at them for a while.

How is she here? How did she get here? And where is here for that matter?

John and Oliver wouldn't let her be taken. They would make sure she was safe and then they would hunt down the bastard who hurt her. Even with her and Oliver on the outs, she never doubted he would come for her.

You couldn't just change your feelings because a trust had been broken. She may have handed back the ring, but Oliver still owned her heart. And his feelings were clear in every longing gaze he tried to hide since the incident.

Felicity glances down with a frown. She's unharmed.

Sure, her head hurts, but her body itself is fine. There's no gushing blood…

Wait. That's not true.

Felicity shifts in her seat. There's some lingering pain that reminds her of the healing wound after she took that bullet for Sara. It seems she has a habit of protecting people with her body.

She pushes it aside, forgetting her thoughts to focus on the current problem: figuring out where she is.

The room is made of grey concrete, damp with condensation and probably cold to the touch. Her toes on the floor are chilly enough. Speaking of, why is she barefoot?

And in a hospital gown?

Her first thought based on her surroundings is that she was kidnapped. The only logical conclusion to follow is that she was kidnapped from the hospital where she was being treated. Ergo...she survived.

Which shouldn't be all that surprising. She did wake up, didn't she? She certainly hadn't been expecting that as her body slowly started losing sensation. She's picked up a little medical training during her time with Team Arrow. That numbness she felt: that was her dying. She was sure of it.

So being alive - even if she's kidnapped - is a miracle.

"Oh, good. You're awake." Her head jerks up to find a man in all black stepping through the door to her jail cell. "He'll be happy to hear that."

She means to ask who, but the man slams the solid, metal door before she can get the words out. From the look of him, Felicity would call him a goon, a henchman for the evil guy, which would narrow it down to Damien Darhk or Malcolm Merlyn.

Probably Malcolm knowing her luck.

She would have thought that Oliver cutting off his hand would be enough to dissuade him. Or maybe the dramatic failure of having William kidnapped.

Felicity leans back into the chair to wait. She has nothing to pick the locks with - if she even knew how to pick locks, which is a valuable skill. She should probably learn how to do that.

So she waits, like a freaking damsel in distress, Felicity's forced to wait for her boys to rescue her.

She sighs. This is the part she hates: the minutes ticking by as she waits for something to happen.

Anything.

Minutes drag on, or it feels like they do. Felicity's terrible when it comes to gauging time without a clock. Sometimes five minutes passed in the blink of an eye, but other times it felt like an eternity. So yeah, she sucks at this waiting thing.

The interruption is welcome.

She doesn't hear the footsteps coming down the hall or muffled voices through the door. Her only clue that something - anything - is happening is when the metal handle twists on the door. It strikes Felicity as odd. If the room was meant to be a prison, why would you leave a handle on the inside?

Felicity sits up straighter, affecting her most disinteresting face.

The Malcolm who walks in the room looks off from what she remembers, but she can't place it. Only the fact that she expected him to come in keeps the surprise from her face. It encourages her to stare back blankly. She refuses to show this overgrown bully fear.

"There won't be a rescue coming," he tells her. He sounds like gloating villain who knows something she doesn't."The Green Arrow can't save you now."

What's his game? Why's he acting like he doesn't know about Oliver?

"I have to admit, I didn't see that twist coming. I thought you were just some little minx who Walter dragged into my trap. But no, you're working with the Green Arrow. It's a pity I killed him."

Now, that's not right.

She tilts her head, looking him over again. Clearly this has to be some delusion of her injured brain. Malcolm doesn't know about Oliver, and killing Oliver? That's…

His hand.

More specifically, both his hands. There. On his person.

"Since when do you have both hands?" It slips out. This isn't the man she knows. Whether it's a trick of her brain or some sort of hell she's being forced to live, and probably relive again and again.

He frowns at her. "What?"

Malcolm Merlyn caught off guard?

That's a new one.

"Is that a new trick? Re-growing hands?"

He glances downwards with a frown and back up. "I wouldn't know. I've never lost a hand," he whispers slowly.

She blinks, not understanding what's happening, so she tries another route. "And why have you brought me here as your prisoner, huh? Was it for my witty conversation?"

Her dry tone throws him for a loop.

"I just told you, Miss Smoak: because you're working for the vigilante. And I want to know how much you know."

Yeah, she has no idea where this is going, except that she's not going to tell Malcolm a damn thing. He must see the defiance in her eyes because just smirks.

"I want to know where you get your targets."

She raises an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by the direction. "Targets?"

"Adam Hunt, Martin Somers..."

Felicity's heart starts to race in her chest. Those names...they're from the notebook, back when Oliver started his whole crusade.

"So you do know who I'm talking about." Malcolm looks pleased. "So, where did you get your targets?"

Unable to form a cohesive sentence with the realization that the man in front of her is living some sort of warped version of Oliver's first year trying to stop the Undertaking. The question is who does Felicity Smoak – nobody IT girl – end up in a warehouse with him?

"Don't make me ask again, Miss Smoak. I have ways of making people talk."

She snorts. She doesn't mean to. No, Felicity should be taking this whole thing very seriously since she's locked up with a mass murderer and assassin. But instead she can't help but laugh at the insanity of the thing.

Malcolm's response is to pull out a knife and stab it into the flesh of her arm, pinning her to the chair.

Her laugh morphs grotesquely into a scream of pain.

"Where?" He growls, getting in her face.

Felicity sneers through the pain. She had to walk away from the man she loves and yet still interact with him on a daily basis. She can face down Malcolm. "Where do you think he got them? Your precious Undertaking isn't as well-concealed as you thought."

He twists the knife and a whimper escapes Felicity. She glares at him through the tears.

"How do you know that name?"

She breathes out through her nose. "Can't we just talk like adults? You don't need to keep stabbing me. It hurts and I don't exactly have a high pain tolerance." Why does he want to know about the Undertaking anyway? It makes no sense. Did someone wipe his memory?

"Answer the question."

"You want to use the Markov device to level the Glades."

Malcolm freezes in surprise. He was not expecting that answer.

So Felicity has a beat to get ahead of him. "It won't work. And you'll just make yourself a target for the League." She might as well play into his delusion. She still has no idea what's going on, but she does know about the Undertaking and Malcolm.

Malcolm steps back, releasing the knife in her arm. "How do you know..."

"About the League?" She leans back with a smirk. She likes this. She likes being ahead of Malcolm for once instead of feeling like a pawn in his game. Even chained up, she has the upperhand.

He rips the knife from her arm and presses the blood-soaked tip to her neck. "Explain."

"I've stared down Ra's Al Ghul without flinching. You don't scare me." She's an excellent bluffer. "I mean, sure the bloody knife at the throat is intimidating, but you want information from me, information you won't get if you slit my throat open."

"I can cause you more pain," he threatens.

"And here I thought you were more the shoot-me-with-an-arrow-from-a-distance kind of man. Or the train-your-underlings-so-that-pain-no-longer-effects-them kind." Felicity watches him carefully for a reaction. She learned some of that from Thea. Does he know Thea's his daughter? Because honestly, she has no idea what's going on beyond that she appears to be talking to a 2011 version of Malcolm Merlyn.

"I have no underlings."

Felicity rolls her eyes. "Of course not. There's just people you blackmail into doing your bidding. How's that working out for you?"

"How do you know about the Markov device?"

"You mean the invention you had Queen Consolidated purchase for you?" She leans back from the blade as much as possible. "The one you're going to steal and then kill everyone working on it. I mean, sure it's a decent plan. No one can connect it directly back to you. But really? I don't think anyone has to look that hard either to make the connection."

That makes him pause. "If you know that much, then why do you still have the Applied Sciences Division working on it."

"Me-?" Felicity's mouth slams shut. She's lost here. Her advantage is disappearing, and like a shark around blood, Malcolm can sense it.

"I know all about you, Miss Smoak. Intriguing history: you graduated high school at fifteen, MIT with a Masters at 19, but something happened your senior year, right? Your boyfriend got into some trouble with the law. It's all been sealed and marked confidential, but after that you took a low paying job, until a couple months ago when Walter Steele promoted you to Head of Applied Sciences, quite out of the blue.

"What I can't figure out is how you got involved with the vigilante." Malcolm runs the blade up and down her arm lazily, leaving a smear of drying blood on her pale skin.

Malcolm's finally succeeded at knocking her off-balance. Most of that story is right...up until the director Applied Sciences part. That didn't happen until Ray Palmer offered her a job. And yet, somehow she guesses he's right.

Must be some weird dream world that she would really prefer not to be in.

Why would she conjure Malcolm of all people into her dream world? For heaven's sake, she has far more terrifying people in her life if this is supposed to be her personal hell.

For starters, she could be forced to relive every moment Oliver broke her heart.

"How does a brilliant young woman with her whole life before her get mixed up with a good-for-nothing thug on his hopeless mission?" Malcolm wonders aloud.

Felicity tilts her head. He knows about the Green Arrow and all about her, but he doesn't know Oliver's identity. He has no idea how they met. "I guess you don't know everything about me."

"There is very little I can't find out."

"Only that your son is my best friend. Seems like a big thing to leave out." Unless that didn't happen in this bizarre dream world either...

Malcolm blinks.

"Or maybe you just still think I'm a bottle blonde gold digger." That hadn't been a pleasant meeting. It wasn't even a meeting really. He saw her in the background of one of Tommy's video chats and made assumptions.

She just needs to keep him talking, to keep Malcolm's attention focused on her instead of the people on their way to rescue her. God, what is taking Digg and Oliver so long? Sure, she's better with the Lair's computers, but honestly she set up the tracking program for just this reason.

All they need to do is call in Curtis. He's smart enough to figure it out.

Malcolm purses his lips as he stares at her, clearly unsure what to say next. Felicity decides to take what she learned from this conversation and use it to her favor: She's head of QC's Applied Science Department. She's literally overseeing the creation of the device that's going to level half the city according to Malcolm. But she's also helping Oliver on his crusade...

Maybe this is Earth 2 or whatever Barry was dealing with in Central City because this was definitely not her universe. Or maybe she's in a coma.

Either way, she can make it out of this situation...probably...

...

Today could not get any worse.

John would happily give his left arm not to be in this situation right now. Because how do you explain to Moira Queen that 'yes, your son was hurt and I know I said he was mugged, but really it wasn't my fault he rushed into Merlyn Global and Malcolm stabbed him'. Instead, he's getting the stink eye from the Queen matriarch.

He really should have expected that when he had to cut Oliver's suit off him just to get him to the hospital before he died of an abdominal wound. If the blood loss didn't kill him, the stomach acid probably would.

Oliver undoubtedly has nine lives. John doesn't know anyone else who would be able to stab a grappling arrow into the top floor of a skyscraper and then hold on as he fell thirteen stories with an abdominal wound.

He's almost inclined to believe that Oliver Queen has some sort of superpower, if that weren't completely ludicrous.

And tonight was miracle after miracle: Oliver had survived, Digg had gotten in and out of Merlyn Global undetected, Oliver had made it to the hospital. He was still in surgery but the man had high hopes.

"Care to explain what happened, Mr. Diggle?" Moira finally asks from across the private waiting room. "Last I heard you and my son were headed to this hospital."

"Miss Smoak appeared to be missing," John filled in tersely, reminding himself that this woman paid his bills even if Oliver didn't really need a bodyguard. "Mr. Queen decided to find her himself since certain staff members were under the impression she checked herself out. He slipped my watch. I'm lucky he called me when he did."

Moira doesn't seem to buy the story, raising her eyebrows. "And Miss Smoak?"

He grimaces. "We still haven't located her."

"And you're sure she's missing?"

"Yes, Ma'am. The other person in the room was drugged, but he saw her taken. Her apartment is also empty." If Oliver's already talked to her about Malcolm, then telling her the truth seems like the best course of action. All that's really clear to John is that he needs help.

"And this wild goose chase was good enough reason to leave my son's side?!"

Digg's spine stiffens. "All due respect, Mrs, Queen, but your son made that decision on his own."

"I hired you to protect him."

"And I can't protect him if he refuses to keep himself safe." John's had enough of her BS. Oliver is fully capable of making his own decisions and stubborn enough to follow through with stupid ones. He's a grown ass man with superior fighting ability. If he didn't have a penchant for jumping into dangerous situations, this would be John's easiest job ever.

"Well, if you can't do your job, you're fired!"

John nods abruptly and walks from the room with a straight back. It's her prerogative to fire him as his boss, but Oliver's become closer than that in the last couple months. And Felicity...she wormed her way into his friendship in even shorter time. He has no choice but to attempt her rescue.

He makes his way to Roy's room, where the teen angrily stabs at the green jello on his hospital tray.

"What happened? Did you find Blondie?" He asks immediately, moving as if to climb from the bed.

Digg pulls out his phone and places it on the table next to Roy's tray. "I've got a friend looking into it. She'll call when she-"

The phone sputters to life in a blaze of noise and colorful lights. Roy gapes at it and Digg fumbles for it, recognizing Lyla's picture.

"You got something?" he asks, breathless with anticipation.

"I know where she is."

...

She's walking through a dark, cold, Starling night, shivering even through her jacket. She walks through a maze to a warehouse, one she's been looking for. Hacking into the security system is a breeze, she's prepared for it.

When the door swings open, her breath catches in her throat: she doesn't expect to see the Queen's Gambit.

Then she's not alone. She has company: men in black that she barely avoids. Yet she makes it home only to collapse, woken seconds later by Oliver shaking her.

His eyes bore into her as he asks questions, the worry clearly written on his face. He's so much younger than she remembers, younger even then he looked in Bali. And her apartment looks different, like she's living alone.

Digg and Oliver follow her to the hospital and she talks John through what happened. About a warehouse owned by Moira, and Roy in the hospital.

There are tests to check her higher functions, to make sure she's okay. Until she's left alone with Roy until they're content to release her. The interactions are awkward at first, stilted as they try to figure out where they stand, but it soon relaxes into teasing banter.

And then the men in black are back and

Felicity comes back to consciousness with a gasp. It's like a dream, but it feels too real, like a memory. Except it's not, it can't be. She remembers finding the address for Moira's warehouse, but she never visited it. And she certainly didn't know about Oliver's little green secret then.

What in the world is going on with this whole scenario?

She takes a deep breath and brushes the hair from her eyes. She frowns and glances down.

She's still in the uncomfortable wooden chair, but the manacles holding her in place are gone and her arm is stitched up and wrapped. That's more care than she would expect from a mass murderer.

The man in question watches her from across the room, idly playing with a knife. It looks less intimidating now that it's not sticking out of her arm.

"You stitched me up. Why?"

"Because you intrigue me, Miss Smoak," Malcolm drones, stepping away from the wall. "You've got a fighting spirit, but it doesn't seem like you have any actual martial training. I can't decide if your brazen attitude is brave or foolish."

"Probably a bit of both," she confesses honestly. She knows he can kill her easily and yet that's not what she's scared of, not right now. Malcolm always walked a fine line between enemy and friend. He would never hurt her because it would alienate Oliver. She's not so sure that applies any more if this is some altered version of 2011.

"Either way, I'm curious as to what you'll do without your hero." He pulls the door open. "I considered killing you – you know too much – but it would be a pity to waste a mind as unique as yours."

Felicity scoots to the edge of the chair. "So, you don't plan on killing me? Or kidnapping me - continuing to hold me, I mean? I could go right to the authorities."

"But you won't. You would only incriminate yourself." He walks up to her. "And if you disrupt the construction of the Markov Device or my plan in any way, I will rethink my position on letting you live. Are we clear, Miss Smoak?"

She stands. She won't do that. She won't compromise her morals for this man. "Then you might as well kill me now, because I will find a way to stop you."

Malcolm pushes off the door, face turning serious in an instant. "You will do as I say, Miss Smoak, or your mother will be the first to feel my wrath. Then I'll destroy everything that matters to you before finally drawing out your final demise. Your choice."

Felicity grits her teeth, knowing he has her backed into a corner...for now. Her leverage of outing him to the world won't do her any good here, and his threat of physical violence far outweighs her threats of destroying him electronically. He's won this battle, and they both know it.

"I think we're done here." Malcolm announces, sliding his knife into his waistband. "You can go out that way."

She gulps and shuffles past him, becoming aware of her bandaged feet as the cloth snags on the uneven concrete floors. Step after step, she moves slowly down the hall, glancing back to see Malcolm watching her with a menacing air. It weirds her out even more when she thinks about how the back of the gown must be gaping.

The stairs are a bit trickier to navigate, and her feet are aching profoundly before she makes it up the first step. The slow pace allows her time to think.

Malcolm has her dead to rights, and he knows it. He said he killed the vigilante, and if this is another world, she needs to figure out if he's telling the truth. Her Oliver is more resilient than that. And if he's dead, she'll have to figure this out on her own. Preferably with Diggle's help and without Malcolm finding out.

"This would so much easier if I actually knew where I was," she mutters reaching for the large metal door at the top of the stairs. The early morning light blinds her as she emerges at street level, thankful it's at least not freezing out even if she is freezing in just the hospital gown.

"Felicity!"

She spins around, hands curling into fists before she recognizes the couple in front of her. "Digg! Lyla!"

Heedless of her battered feet, she races over the pavement to wrap Digg in a hug. "Thank God! You would not believe the day I'm having."

"Felicity? How did you get here? What about your kidnappers?"

She pulls away. "It's a long story, involving Malcolm Merlyn and a bunch of threats. Where's Oliver?"

"In the hospital. Are you sure you're okay?" His eyes land on the freshly wrapped wound around her wrist.

Felicity pulls away, wrapping her arms around herself, wondering just how much Digg knows, if she's the only one aware that this isn't the way things actually went down. Should she bring it up? Or should she just go with it?

"Aside from needing a change of clothes? I'm peachy. So he's alive?"

Digg shrugs off his jacket and Felicity gladly takes it. "Oliver's alive. Moira kicked me out of the room before I heard anything."

Well, at least now she won't be surprised when she picks up a newspaper and looks at the date. If Moira's alive, it has to be in the early years of Oliver's return. It really must be some alternate version of his first year back. So the Undertaking really is happening, and somehow she's more involved in it.

"Let's get you home so you can change, and then we'll check in on Oliver," Lyla says, directing Felicity to their car.

Felicity nods in agreement, but the entire way back to her apartment, she makes a mental list of what to research, how to stop the Undertaking while under Malcolm's thumb, and things she need to stop.

Not to mention the giant elephant of how this happened.

Since when did her life get more complicated than helping a green-leather-wearing, ex-fiance of a vigilante protect a city while ruling over a multi-billion dollar tech company by day?

Felicity closes her eyes against the killer headache forming between her eyebrows. God, she needs a good night's sleep. Maybe then this will make a little more sense.

Or maybe she's going crazy.

The big question is: what does she do now?