Girls, I know I keep saying the same thing over and over, but I really mean it: I am very, very grateful for all of your support, your feedback, and your love for this story. Thank you! You're everything.
My wonderful reviewers, I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to share your thoughts with me: thekiller00, scorpio38457, belairdesi, Lkay09, BlueJean452, supercode, ChiefPam, SharkGurl, RandomFandoming, LoisLane2012, CaRiNeSs, Gaialy, SassyReaderGirl, onetreefan, bellapaige88, misspsycho24, KylieCullenSummers, zvc56, livingthefictionallife, foxxandbeanz, FaberryBRA, valery88, farahsbc, schrooten5, jackiemack916, Jen, and our guests. Thank you so much!
Albiona: only you could see the big difference switching red with white makes. You're a genius [which is why I trust your prediction on the "fantastic fun"]. Thank you!
I don't feel like saying much this time, because I think we should simply get on this with story. Please know that I expect words from you after this chapter, serious words. I am ready. Bring it on. Love, Jules.
February 26th, 2013
It was official: Felicity's genius was finite.
Felicity Queen had graduated top of her class. She could code and hack basically everything, she was literate, understood politics and financial necessities; she grasped the basics of stock exchange, and she could hold her own in the shark infested waters that was the business world of Starling City. She had mastered all that.
But she failed at cooking.
A disappointed form of desperation filled Felicity as she looked at the casserole dish that was supposed to be filled with lasagna. Kristina had given her the recipe that was supposed to be 'fool-proved'—proof that Felicity was too foolish for fool-proof cooking. The cheese on top was black (she might have lost track of time when she had snuggled onto her couch with a book for the first time in weeks), the layer of pasta beneath that was more crispy that it should be. Felicity could read blueprints of every electronic device known to modern (and ancient) man. But she couldn't read a cookbook. Now that she scanned the typed instructions Tina had sent her via email, Felicity's eyes lingered on the line that started with the note 'important' (all-caps and underlined) and continued with the instruction to make sure that the last layer of the lasagna was sauce.
Apparently, Felicity also failed at reading.
Making a casserole had been a very deliberate decision—by Kristina. Her best friend had claimed that putting a dish into the oven would avoid Felicity's main cooking-problem: frying. It was the reason why Felicity was good with steak—that was supposed to be bloody. Chicken, apparently, wasn't. She had managed to give Tina light food poisoning that way once.
Sadly, Kristina's plan hadn't been entirely thought through: the ruined pot Felicity had used to make the sauce was proof of that.
Why hadn't she just gone with steak again? That had worked perfectly last time. Whatever demon had possessed Felicity to try and improve her cooking-skills had been thoroughly exorcised. All ambition had burnt along with the lasagna.
The plan had been to surprise Oliver with his favorite food. Other than that Russian dish that Felicity hadn't even dared to try, he loved Italian. Serving a difficult conversation with comfort food was a route Felicity habitually went—and since she especially dreaded this conversation, she had wanted especially fine food.
Talk about an epic fail.
Apparently, failure smelled like burnt cheese.
Ironically, an apartment smelling like epic fail was a very fitting atmosphere to talk about all the things that happened at the auction that hadn't been mentioned in the previous five days. The list of topics wasn't overly long, but uncomfortable: Thea, Moira, and Ray.
It got more dreadful with each name.
Felicity hadn't dared to mention Ray since the awkward run-in at the auction. She had been awfully tense, she knew. Ray was a sore spot for her, because he had fooled her. He had been the first man since Oliver – but mainly since Jonas – she had let into her life. Ray had been carefree, easy-going, and so funny. He had also been tall, handsome, and the CEO of his own company.
Back then, Kristina had agreed that he had been exactly what Felicity needed.
They had just clicked and sped ahead and Ray's proposal after six months of dating had fit them perfectly. That was when Kristina started uttering careful warnings—like pointing out the fact that they weren't even living together yet. Felicity had chosen to ignore them. Until Ray had dumped the prenup in her lap. It had come with memories of negotiating a contract with Moira Queen's lawyers. The familiarity of it had let Felicity acknowledge the uneasy feeling she had suppressed before.
That night the trouble sleeping had started.
The uneasiness was strong enough for her to contact Walter Steele and Moira Queen-Steele, who Felicity figured had a right to know that Felicity would finally be distancing herself from their family. That plan had gone out of the window right after the first consultation with the lawyers and the dreadful fight with Ray that had immediately followed. All Felicity'd needed was for Ray to give her one believable reason she why those footnotes were there. Just one, nothing more: one good reason. His failure ripped her heart apart while she ripped the engagement ring off her finger. It had been over right then and right there.
Looking back, Felicity knew that Kristina had been right: Ray had been what Felicity needed at the time. The word 'rebound' didn't fit entirely, but it held hints of the truth. Ray had also been another betrayal to harden Felicity Queen's resolve. His actions had hurt, left her feeling vulnerable, but she had been honest when she'd told Oliver that she was over Ray.
Ray was the past. Oliver was her future.
Turns out Oliver Queen, who couldn't be more different from Ray Palmer, was exactly what she needed, what she wanted. She needed to tell Oliver that again, because she knew the run-in with her ex-fiancée had shaken her husband. He'd been tense and helpless during the meeting. Feeling helpless often resulted in Oliver lashing out, and he had kept from doing that at the auction, instead falling quiet. Felicity had appreciated Oliver's decision to go with silent support and let her handle Ray. But since that evening there was something on Oliver's mind—and she needed him to tell her what that was. She wouldn't let Oliver blow Ray out of proportion. Just like Felicity wouldn't let herself turn Laurel Lance apparently having a crush on Oliver's alter-ego into a big deal.
What was a big deal was the fact that Oliver still hadn't confronted Moira about her copy of the list. He was pushing it back and Felicity was very close to putting her foot down. Very close but not entirely there yet. It would have to wait a little bit longer, because tonight she had to get all strict with Oliver regarding Thea.
Moira finally started acting like a mother in a way that didn't involve bribing the principal with a new gymnasium, but by talking with him to find a solution that was in Thea's best interest. She was trying to comfort her daughter, being maternal in a way Felicity had rarely seen the Queen-matriarch act. It came just in time. Thea needed maternal right now. The poor girl was a wreck. Flunking out of school, having to repeat her senior year, really tore at her self-confidence.
It was the worst time imaginable for Oliver to distance himself from his sister—which was what he had been doing ever since the auction.
Felicity knew Oliver felt guilty, using some twisted, self-loathing logic that he was at fault for taking Thea to the auction. Felicity knew that he believed he was acting in Thea's best interest; he believed he was doing the right thing when he kept his distance.
Felicity planned on telling him that he was being an idiot and doing more harm than good.
That should be easier to swallow with his favorite food. But not with that horrible thing that stood on her counter.
"Mrs. Felicity, what did you do?"
Felicity jumped at the unexpected voice from the doorway. She brought her hand to her chest. "Valentina. I'm sorry, I forgot you're still here."
Her housekeeper was pulling a night-shift. Her daughter, Ekaterina, was sick and Valentina didn't want to leave the teenage girl alone this morning (a courtesy Thea Queen had probably never experienced). Felicity had told her housekeeper to take the day off – her apartment wasn't that dirty – but Valentina had showed up in the evening, after her husband Maxim had gotten home from work (it baffled Felicity that being a Russian mobster turned out to be a nine-to-five job).
Great. Now that amazing cook had to witness Felicity's utter defeat. "I wanted to cook for Oliver, but..." She gestured toward the casserole which said more than words could.
"It's good that you cook for Mr. Queen. He's a strong man, he needs to eat good, home-cooked meals." Valentina showed her approval of the basic idea with an empathic nod. "You're a good wife, caring for your man."
Felicity didn't really know how to react to that. Valentina spared her from having to say anything when she continued talking. "I'll come by tomorrow evening and teach you."
"Teach me?"
"To cook."
"Oh." That was an unexpected development—and not an entirely welcome one. "Thanks for the offer, but that's really not necessary." She forced one of her patented fake smiles onto her face. "Please don't feel like you have to help me."
"No, no. I want to help you." Valentina was still smiling. "I'll be here at six tomorrow."
"I can't tomorrow," Felicity hurried to say. And she was speaking the truth: tomorrow was Tommy Merlyn's birthday and she had agreed to go with Oliver to the birthday dinner. Now that she thought about it, Felicity would actually prefer cooking lessons by her favorite Russian woman.
"Then I come by the day after tomorrow. Six o'clock."
The happy look on Valentina's face made it impossible for Felicity to decline. She kept from sighing. "Make that seven-thirty, I won't be home from work earlier."
"Okay," Valentina smiled. "Goodnight, Mrs. Felicity."
"Night, Valentina. We'll see each other Thursday."
With one last honest smile, the Russian woman disappeared down the hall as the sound of a key being turned announced Oliver's arrival.
"Valentina." His surprised voice floated from the hall into the main room. "How are you?"
"I am good, Mr. Queen." Valentina hurried to say, using that slightly submissive voice she deemed necessary to address a Captain. "Thank you. I was just about to leave."
A few more polite set phrases followed until the front door closed behind Valentina and Oliver, finally, entered the main room. "Hey." His nose wrinkled. "What happened here?"
"Don't worry, our housekeeper already forced cooking lessons on me so that I can serve home-cooked meals to my strong Captain of a husband." That had been snappier than necessary, Felicity realized. She deflated a little and pointed at the casserole. "I messed up the lasagna and we need to talk about stuff that needs to be softened by carbs and melted cheese. I should have known. Really, there's so much previous evidence that I'm the worst cook ever." She looked at Oliver, coming to a stop next to her. "That probably makes me a bad wife."
A dim smile played around Oliver's lips. "Good thing I didn't marry you for your cooking skills."
"I don't even want to know what you married me for. It's probably offensive."
He chuckled. His arms closed around her, pulling her closer to his body. His teeth nibbled her lower lip for a second before he kissed her. It had been meant to be a little peck, but when his lips left hers again, she could practically see something spark in his eyes.
"Yeah," he admitted. "It's a little offensive, but I don't think you'd really mind." He captured her mouth with his again. The kiss was deep and demanding as he pressed her against his body. Passion leaked from him, there was an air of urgency around him, and it lit something inside Felicity, who felt a sudden and entirely unexpected heat crash through her. Her arms were on his back, her hands fisting his plaid shirt as she returned his hungry kiss.
His breathing was heavy when his lips finally left hers. She could feel his breath brush over her skin as he kept his face close to hers and whispered, "You said to come home ASAP—thanks for adding that nobody was hurt or kidnapped."
Felicity knew that Oliver hurrying home from the Foundry meant he might have taken the time to shower, but not to come down from his Hood-adrenaline. She could feel the energy running through him, felt his tense muscles under his shirt, his heavy breathing. The blue in his eyes had turned darker, his lips were slightly parted as he stared at her with intent. "I'm not complaining," she smirked up at him. "All that energy's—"
He cut her off right there. All impatience and barely restrained energy, he kissed her again. His hands travelled down her back to cup her behind. He lifted her up onto the counter (thank God not the one the lasagna rested on). Impatiently, he tugged at her shirt (stained with lasagna sauce, which was beside the point but also not sexy). Breaking the kiss, she gave him room to pull her shirt over her head and toss it behind him carelessly. Instantly, his mouth was on her skin again, his teeth nibbling her neck, his lips closing around her pulse point only to dip lower. His beard was scratchy against his skin, but she didn't mind. His hands reached to her back to open her bra with well-practiced expertise. He tore the black cloth away to cup her breast, his tongue trailed down to flick her nipple. A moan escaped her lips as she leaned her head back, closing her eyes, enjoying the overall sensation that was his wet lips and his skilled tongue, his hot breath and his strong hands. The latter slipped under her printed yellow skirt, caressing her thigh until his fingers slid past her underwear.
Heat claimed her, making her cheeks burn, her stomach flutter, and her breath hitch in her throat. Finally, she forced her eyes open again, reaching for his head, pulling him to her. Their mouths crashed together again, tongues dueling in a fight of passion, desire building rapidly inside them.
Felicity was the one to break the kiss. She started unbuttoning his shirt, but Oliver simply pulled the plaid thing over his head along with the shirt he had underneath. Felicity brought her lips to his chest. Now it was her exploring, sucking, licking, biting his skin, but she could feel that he was too impatient for that. Making him step back, she hopped off the counter and fumbled with the buttons of his jeans. She pushed his pants and his underwear down and sank to her knees before him. Looking up at him, she saw his chest rising and falling. His eyes turned even darker as they silently urged her on. She trailed her hand up the inside his leg to finally close her hand around him. She brought her mouth closer, meeting his eyes above the rim of her glasses. An expletive turning into a grunt escaped his lips and he involuntarily pushed his hips forward.
She couldn't help but smirk before closing her lips around him. His hand flew to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as her mouth worked around him, her eyes still on him. Desire was softening his face, opening him up, making him look vulnerable in a way that came with pure need. It grew with each movement of her mouth, of her hands, with each flick of her tongue. She continued to pleasure him, speeding her movements up as the pressure of his hand on her head increased. A groan escaped him from deep in his throat as she twisted her tongue around him and he couldn't keep eye-contact any longer. He tilted his head back slightly, enjoying her attention. She knew he was close, but then his hand left her head. He stepped back, freeing himself from her gently, pulling her up. "I wasn't done," she playfully objected, watching him slip his shoes off and step out of his pants.
"Neither am I." He reached for her and kissed her again, directing her away from the kitchen (that might as well be used for pleasure since it was obviously never used for decent cooking) and to the couch. She opened the zipper of her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Her panties followed.
Turning her around, Oliver placed her on the couch, her knees on the soft cushions, and positioned himself behind her, dragging himself up and down her center, finding her ready for him. He entered her in one slow push, burring himself deeply, only to draw out again. His movements were forceful instantly, while his hands rested on her waist, pulling her to him. He was close already, she could feel it in his nearly desperate rhythm. Bending forward, he molded his body against hers, bringing his arm around her. He cupped her breast, played with her nipple. His staccato breathing was next to her ear as his hand traveled down and between them onto to press down on exactly the spot she needed it. "Yes," she hissed and pushed back against him. Wrapped up in her own desire now, she closed her eyes and bit her lip, needing this, needing him.
Following her unspoken order, he moved harder against her while his hand worked faster. She could feel that he was close, she could feel that he was desperate, fighting to hold back to not speed ahead without her, but he couldn't hold back long. He peaked and the sensation of him breaking inside her, against her, with a groan of ecstatic excitement made her follow. Pure pleasure ripped through her, a cascade of bliss whitening her vision and shrinking her world to the sensation inside her caused by the man she loved.
Snapping for air, she tried to come down from her high, craning her head so that she could look at Oliver. An expression of utter relaxation she had come to know as post-orgasmic bliss lit up his face. She couldn't help but smile at him, feeling spent but relaxed. He bent forward and placed sloppy kisses on her back, upward until his nose nuzzled her neck. "You're remarkable," he whispered.
She just smiled and brought her hand to his cheek, caressing it, feeling so relaxed that all words escaped her. After a moment of silence, he finally pulled out of her. Felicity sank down on the couch, stretching out on it, motioning for Oliver to come join her. A content sigh left her lips as she snuggled against him, her head resting on his chest. She kissed his chest and closed her eyes, enjoying the familiar sound of his heartbeat under her ear. His fingers ghosted up and down her spine.
"You're lucky," Felicity mumbled against his chest. "Now I don't feel like discussing all the stuff I needed you to come home ASAP for. And all because I fail at cooking."
She heard a smile in his voice. "You excel when it matters."
"I take pride in my work, getting the job— Nope, I won't go there and ruin the mood."
He chuckled and kissed the top of her head.
"What did you do to have so much energy to vent?"
He answered quietly, "You said you didn't want to ruin the mood."
That didn't exactly ruin the mood but it did make her tense the barest bit. She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. "Why? What happened? Are you hurt? No, that's a stupid question. I just took a thorough look at you and I didn't see one scratch. You're unscratched."
"I am." He sighed, his fingertips trailing her back. "I scratched a name of the list. Guillermo Barrera, an assassin. World class. He kills high profile targets."
"There are a lot of assassins on your list," Felicity observed. "And arms dealers. I wonder what that's about." She sighed. "You didn't simply tie him up and leave him for the police to find, did you?"
"No. He left me no choice—and now I have no clue who his target was and if he or she's still in danger." Tilting his head, he looked at her. "I took his phone," he said. "Could you have a look at it?"
"Now I know why you married me: my technical skills."
Showing her that he understood her teasing, he winked. "No, they're just a bonus." He kissed her. "One of many, actually."
February 27th, 2013
Oliver could blame nobody but himself, nothing but his own single-mindedness.
When he pulled up the hood it was killed or be killed. The island and everything that came after rushed back to him in those moments, the fight for survival, the desperation to come out swinging. Five years of hard-earned lessons egged him on to fulfill his mission and every time he drew his bow, his mission was to kill.
Last night there had never been the option to let Guillermo Barrera live. The Hood had gone to that heliport to cross a name off his list. Because that was his mission, it was his atonement as much as it was honoring his father. He had confronted an assassin with an affinity for knives—a detail he had omitted when talking to Felicity, because it wasn't necessary for her to know about that. There had been no way in hell that that guy could be allowed to leave the heliport.
He had been short-sighted. Oliver could admit that now. He hadn't contemplated the reason why Barrera was in Starling City, hadn't wasted one thought on a possible target and the fact that his revenge might endanger somebody else. Taking the assassin's phone had been his attempt to correct this oversight.
That try had gone up in smoke.
When Felicity had hooked up the cell to a secure laptop (it was absolutely offline, Felicity had promised him that or he would have forced her to go to the Foundry with him; there was no more hacking from home), the chip card had spiked and been fried instantly, leaving Felicity nothing to do but mutter, "Geez, that's one paranoid assassin. But look who's talking. Lately, paranoia is my middle name."
Actually, it was Megan.
And her maiden name was Smoak. He had asked, because... he felt like should know that.
Even though that girl, Felicity Smoak, was nowhere to be found. In fact, his Felicity was nowhere to be found either. Felicity Queen was climbing the stairs next to him, all tension and a serious expression. Oliver knew that he didn't have any right to judge, but he couldn't help but dislike the company for this occasion.
The sign on the wall marked this as the second floor. Their destination lay on the third and Oliver brought his hand to Felicity's arm, causing her to halt next to him. "Felicity, it's going to be fine. Please, relax."
"No. To both things you just said: it won't be fine and I can't relax."
Oliver sighed. "It's a birthday dinner, not an execution."
"It's Tommy's birthday dinner. With Laurel. And Detective Lance. And Laurel's best friend. Oh, and Tommy, of course." She tilted her head to the side. "So, why don't you just kill me now?"
"You don't even know Laurel's best friend."
Felicity looked at him like he had must have lost his mind. He liked seeing that look, because it was quite expressive. Her Queen-mask had slipped, which he appreciated. "Oliver," she said, strictly, "she's Laurel's best friend. Do you have any idea how my best friend would act toward Laurel if the roles were reversed?"
Okay, she did have a point there, but that colorful mental image she painted had a flaw. "I don't think there's another best friend like your best friend out there."
"Ya! 'Course my best friend is awesome." Felicity smirked, but the lightness left her face almost instantly. She sighed. "I'm nervous about this, okay? And I need to be—"
"Yourself," he cut in. "I want them to meet you." In a comforting gesture, he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Tommy especially invited you; he promised everybody'd be on their best behavior. And you forgot somebody else who's gonna be there."
She frowned. "Who?"
"Me, Felicity. I'm right there with you."
Her internal struggle was visible on her face—and he saw that her insecurities won.
"I—" she started, but he simply closed his hand on her arm, wordlessly signaling her that he understood. Too much had happened with the people who were waiting for them one floor above. She needed to feel in control and hide her vulnerability. How could he, of all people, not understand and accept that? Especially since he knew that she was only here for him, because he had asked her to come. He knew he was asking for a lot and that her doing this showed how much she loved him. He sent her one last nod, which was understanding and encouragement at the same time.
Together, they climbed the last flight of stairs and walked down the hall toward number 305. It didn't take long for Tommy to answer Oliver's knock. His friend greeted him with a smile, the width of which Oliver couldn't match. Hugging his best friend and thumping his back, Oliver said, "Happy birthday, buddy."
"Thanks!" Tommy smiled and stepped to the side. "Come on in."
"Happy birthday," Felicity offered as she entered the apartment with Oliver.
"Thank you." Tommy answered, took the bag Oliver held out to him, and smirked. "This feels like a Châteauneuf-du-Pape."
"It's going to taste like one, too." Oliver closed the door.
"You're a true friend." Tommy led them into the dining room where Laurel sat at a table with her father and a woman whose eyes traveled up and down Felicity instantly. Everybody shook hands awkwardly. Felicity and Joanna, Laurel's friend, introduced each other. Oliver and Felicity told Quentin Lance to, please, call them Oliver and Felicity, but the Detective simply huffed, leaving them all standing next to the table in uneasy silence.
Nothing of that could drag the birthday boy's mood down. All smiles, Tommy handed them glasses filled with white wine and lifted his own. "A toast." The others followed suit, Detective Lance raising a glass that looked like it was filled with soda. "To the first birthday I've enjoyed in a long time. I got my best friend back, and I know why poets have been in business all these years."
"Cheers!" They all clicked glasses and drank.
Joanna ended the silence. "He's getting worse," she commented, winking at her best friend. "Ever since you accepted his proposal he's been on cloud nine."
"Make that nine billion," Tommy winked. "I have a reputation to live up to."
Laurel playfully rolled her eyes at him, placing her hand on his stomach while her father looked honestly unimpressed. Oliver could see that Lance kept himself from adding something to the conversation.
Luckily, the doorbell rang. Laurel set her glass on the table. "That should be the food."
She went toward the door and the eyes of the men met. "Thank God she didn't cook," Oliver whispered.
Tommy nodded. "Amen."
"She got that from her mother," Lance added and Oliver could see that he'd even surprised himself. "That woman couldn't crack open an egg without injuring herself."
Is there one woman in Starling City that can cook, Oliver wondered. It honestly, honestly didn't feel like it.
Tommy was about to add a comment when Laurel returned—accompanied by Malcolm Merlyn. The words got stuck in Tommy's throat. Instead, he gawked at his father. "What are you doing here?"
"It's your birthday," Merlyn offered. "I've been trying to get in touch with you." He handed Tommy a small blue box with a big white bow. "Happy birthday."
The ringing of a phone cut into the following silence, causing Quentin Lance to curse under his breath, set his glass down, and reach for his cell. Oliver could see that his friend was torn between wanting to kick his father out – the man who had cut him off emotionally when he had been only a kid and financially about three months ago – and inviting him to stay. That had been Tommy's primal struggle all his life: the constant shifting between wanting to please his father and accepting that he couldn't be pleased, wanting the man closer and wanting him gone. But Oliver knew firsthand that your dad stayed your dad, no matter what. For this reason Tommy's next words didn't surprise his best friend, at all.
"Thank you," Tommy said and tried a weak smile.
Quentin Lance ended his call. "I'm sorry, Tommy. There was a bank robbery downtown and I'm on call tonight."
Oliver tensed involuntarily. And, instantaneously, Felicity's hand rested on his arm in a silent reminder that he had promised not to rush out and leave her alone tonight. A bank robbery that had already happened most definitely wasn't worth breaking this promise. He forced himself to relax a little.
"That's fine," Tommy said, giving his future father-in-law a smile. "It was nice of you to come and thanks for the tickets. The game will be epic."
Lance simply huffed, but Oliver couldn't shake off the feeling that it was mostly for show. The detective said his good-bye and Laurel accompanied him to the door.
Malcolm Merlyn smiled at the people around him, revealing perfectly white teeth. "Since you're one man down, can I invite myself for dinner?"
Again Tommy struggled with the answer for a moment, before ultimately giving into hope with a serious expression. "Sure, Dad. It would be nice if you stayed."
Another doorbell and when Laurel returned this time she brought the food with her. Minutes later everybody was seated around the table. The atmosphere wasn't exactly tense, but there was a certain stiffness. Tommy's light and easy mood had darkened as it did every time his father was present. Sitting at the head of the table, he busied himself filling his plate with mass amounts of tapas. Oliver could practically see his friend thinking, debating if his father's appearance was a peace-offering, signaling the complete acceptance of all his decisions. Oliver knew that's what he was hoping for. Laurel and her friend sat opposite each other, left and right to Tommy, sending each other not-exactly-subtle glances across the table. Both were uneasy. Laurel was digging her brain for something to say, but she obviously came up empty.
Reaching for his wine glass, Malcolm Merlyn, who sat next to Laurel, ended the silence. "Mrs. Queen, I was shocked when I heard the news. Jeff Clearwater always was a good friend, I never would have expected such deceit from him."
Oliver sat between Joanna and Felicity. Glancing to his right he saw his wife nod. "Yes, neither did I."
"Are you sure that it was Jeff?" Malcolm Merlyn inquired.
"All evidence suggests it."
Oliver noticed that this answer was perfectly vague. Of course, Oliver knew of Felicity's suspicions and her doubts. He knew that she wasn't sure so he also knew what Felicity wasn't saying. But as he looked at Malcolm Merlyn directly opposite him, he saw something in the older man's eyes. Oliver couldn't really name it, couldn't define what he found there, but it triggered unease in him. Something was going on underneath the surface, something to be wary of.
Felicity Queen sent Merlyn a small smile. "And I gathered the evidence myself. Who can I trust if I don't trust myself?"
"That's a very smart question," Tommy's father complimented earnestly, then focused his attention on Oliver. "You have a very smart wife, Oliver."
"I know." Oliver said matter-of-factly. He held Merlyn's glance for a second, before he reached for the bowl with olives, hoping this was enough dismissal to end the conversation—and that the olives weren't drenched in garlic, Oliver hated that.
He could sense that Joanna had thought of something she wanted to say, but before she could actually do it, Malcolm Merlyn was talking again. "The fact that Jeff hired a Tibetan hacker seems outrageous to me."
"Chinese." Felicity corrected. "The hacker was from China."
"Makes sense," Tommy chimed in. "Tibet, isn't that full of monks living in castles on the top of mountains? Getting wifi up there must be a bitch." This comment was answered with laughter—from everybody but his father.
"Mrs. Queen," Merlyn said, "I just realized that we never got around to formally discussing Merlyn Global switching to Firestorm software."
Felicity returned the billionaire's gaze calmly. "No," she confirmed and reached for her glass, "we didn't."
Oliver looked at his wife while chewing on his olive – too much garlic, as he had feared – and took in her professional smile, the calm way she looked at the older man through her glasses, how her high ponytail moved as she slightly tipped her head. She was still wearing the red dress she had worn to work because she hadn't found the time to go home and change and... sudden realization hit Oliver. Suddenly, he understood.
Felicity Queen was the only person at this table able to keep up with Malcolm Merlyn.
Unfazed, she met the man's challenging gaze while sending the challenge right back. Oliver knew that she wasn't perfectly relaxed, she couldn't be, but she seemed unfazed, letting Merlyn bounce right off her shell, her public mask. She was used to dealing with members of Starling City's elite, with the "old men club," as she called it. This dinner, or at least this part of it, was just another day at the office for Felicity Queen.
It shocked Oliver that he had never fully grasped how good she truly was at this—as evidenced by the fact that she had never asked Merlyn to address her as Felicity. He was calling her Mrs. Queen. There was a distance between them, a certain form of respect that Merlyn didn't grant anybody else in this room. Felicity Queen was power-playing the CEO of Merlyn Global and more than keeping up.
Pride rushed through Oliver as his eyes travelled over the woman he loved, the only person in this room that Malcolm Merlyn considered an equal, the only person he had addressed, started a conversation with while completely ignoring his son. The latter was an observation to take note of, even if it didn't make sense to Oliver. He filed it away for later analysis as he had done with the gleam he had seen in Merlyn's eyes.
The man curved his lips into a smile that lacked all warmth. "Then we should catch up on that."
"We should. But you should give us another month to ready our new software." Felicity gave him another one of her fake polite smiles. "Then I can charge you more."
Laughter fell from Malcolm Merlyn's lips. "Oh, I sense negotiating with you will be a pleasure."
Felicity's smile changed a little, but otherwise she left that statement uncommented.
Joanna used the chance to switch topics. "Oh. I've been meaning to tell you," she looked at Laurel, "the florist you wanted to use for the wedding decorations foreclosed last week."
Acting as if he was following the exchange, Oliver subtly brought his hand to Felicity's leg, squeezing it slightly in silent praise and support.
"But," Laurel let her fork sink as she stared at her best friend. "I already ordered all the flowers there. I mean, the wedding's in two months. Are you sure?"
"Very sure," Joanna nodded. Laurel let the fork drop and leaned back in her chair.
"There's a cute flower shop downtown, on the corner of Harris and Jameson." Felicity entering the conversation, surprising everyone present. Their heads turned to her as Felicity continued. "It's called Flower Power. The name is bad, but their arrangements are beautiful. It belongs to my bodyguard's fiancée. He sometimes brings arrangements too old for her to sell anymore." She shrugged. "Just a suggestion."
Laurel obviously needed a moment to catch herself. Laurel and Felicity's eyes met across the table. For a few heartbeats the looked at each other. Then Laurel nodded. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
"Okay," Tommy cut in, looking suspiciously between the brunette and the blonde. "What's happening here?"
Laurel held Felicity's gaze. "Just two adults talking. Being civil."
Felicity didn't take her eyes off Laurel either. "I agree, our last conversations were a bit too Desperate Housewives of Starling City—minus the drink throwing."
Laurel stared at Felicity for a few long seconds, then the decision was made. "Oh God," she said, faking embarrassment, "you watch that show, too?"
"Sure."
Felicity's answer was a lie, Oliver knew. He had witnessed a long and heated rant about Felicity's dislike of said show when the producers had called and asked if Felicity Queen wanted to star in the next season. She didn't; she'd rather go back to Lian Yu with Oliver to face torturing soldiers—her words, not his, very much not his words. So, Oliver knew that her lie was Felicity Queen's way of accepting the cease-fire Laurel Lance offered. It was the best that either women could do right now.
"Well, since we're all so friendly..." Tommy cleared his throat and settled his eyes on Oliver, who knew what was coming. "Ollie, I'm still one man short for the wedding. One best man, actually. And I thought, maybe you're up for the job."
Since he had expected this question, Oliver didn't need to think about it. He knew what he had to do and did it without hesitation. "Definitely." He smiled. "More than up for it."
Happiness shone from Tommy's eyes, moved and joyous. Oliver saw Laurel place her hand on her fiancé's cheek, smiling with the knowledge of what this meant to the man she loved. Witnessing the scene left Oliver strangely emotional, too. He lifted his glass and winked at his childhood buddy. "Your bachelor party will be epic. I promise."
Instantly, Laurel's hand fell from Tommy's face as she glared at Oliver who raised his hands. "Just kidding."
"Oh," Malcolm Merlyn spoke up. "I remember some very epic parties. One caused me to have to renovate the back lawns."
Tommy smirked boyishly. "Yeah, but that Quad-race was epic."
No, it had been stupid and childish, and it had somehow involved girls undressing. But Oliver simply nodded. Like Felicity, keeping her true feelings about Desperate Housewives of SC to herself, he wouldn't reveal how his evaluation of the past varied very much from his friend's.
"Tommy," Malcolm said now. "I have a request, too."
Oliver couldn't help but think that Tommy looked a little suspicious, but he kept his tone light. "Well, ask away. As evidenced by this day, none of us are getting any younger."
"I am being honored by the Starling City Chamber Municipal Group. They are bestowing me with their annual humanitarian award. I would like you to be at the awards gala."
"You would?" Tommy asked and Oliver could hear the positive surprise.
"I would."
Tommy's smile said it all. It was a wonderful sight, Oliver thought. Turns out, Tommy Merlyn got all he wished for on his birthday.
March 2nd, 2013
The Hood was desperate—desperate enough to call Detective Lance for help.
Of course, Lance hadn't been helpful at all, leaving Oliver with a whole lot of nothing.
Oliver didn't have direct proof, but he knew that the killer he had scratched off his list had been replaced by a new one. There was somebody out there with a price on his head and Oliver was helpless to help him. If Oliver had showed more restraint during his fight with Barrera, he might have gotten an answer from him.
Now he was paying the price for his actions.
No, in truth, somebody else was in danger of paying.
Diggle had agreed to stay in the Foundry to check the police scanner and all of Felicity's computer searches. He'd contact Oliver as soon as anything suspicious happened. Felicity had promised to cover for him if he had to rush out of this gala, but until then he had to keep his promise and accompany her to the gala of Starling City Municipal Group. She had gone to Tommy's birthday with him, after all.
A waiter walked past and Oliver used the opportunity to take two glasses off his tray. He handed one to Felicity, who thanked him with a nod and clicked glasses with him. Taking a small sip for appearances, he let his eyes sweep the huge room.
The event celebrating the humanitarian of the year had just begun. People were engaged in friendly chatter, their voices filling up the high room, bouncing off the marble floor and walls, seemingly multiplying. The unpleasant effect fit this whole unpleasant affair.
"Your mother's already here," Felicity observed.
Oliver had noticed her. "Who's the man she's talking to?"
"Frank Chen. CEO of..." Felicity frowned, thinking, "...something."
Oliver sighed. "Isn't everybody here CEO of something?"
"Everybody but you!" Thea suddenly appeared next to her brother, all smiles and cheery good mood. "Long time no see, bitches."
"Thea," Oliver said and that word alone made the instant annoyance he felt perfectly clear, "what are you doing here?"
"Polishing up my image. Humanitarian stuff should trump charity-stuff, right? Worst way to spend a Saturday, though. Apart from nearly getting blown up, of course." She giggled.
Oliver didn't share her amusement. Nothing of this was funny. He hadn't seen his sister since the bomb-collar-fiasco—despite Felicity's insistence. When he had returned after stopping The Dodger, Thea had been a teary mess of run mascara. Oliver had used the after-shocks of panic and adrenaline as an excuse to get his shaking sister home without informing the police. Thea had blindly let him lead the way and never asked for an explanation of what had happened. Oliver had decided that he wouldn't offer her one if she didn't ask because he didn't have an explanation, not a good one that could count as a believable lie.
He couldn't deal with the mess that had been the auction, couldn't deal with her right now. Every day for a week Felicity had chided him for that. She was probably glad that Thea had popped up unexpectedly.
To Oliver's surprise, though, there wasn't any happiness on Felicity's face. Instead, there was suspicion. Carefully, she eyed the younger girl, tilting her head. It was Felicity's analytical glance, Oliver knew. He had seen it quite a few times—but then Felicity had always been looking at a computer screen. He frowned and turned to Thea completely, trying to see what had peaked Felicity's suspicion.
As soon as Oliver stopped avoiding eye-contact with his sister, he knew. His lips pressed together as his face twisted, sending Thea a death-glare.
The younger girl looked unaffected and feigned confusion. "What?"
Oliver fought against the urge to shake her when Felicity reached for the glass of water in Thea's hand. Taking it from her, she took a sip—and coughed, her eyes watering. Oliver had seen Felicity react like that once before: at a Russian funeral.
The glare Oliver pinned his sister down with turned even deadlier but Thea only shrugged. "What? I'm keeping up appearances."
"Only until the glass is empty," Felicity shot back. "This is pure Vodka."
"I know." Thea grinned.
Breathing deliberately, Oliver concentrated on bringing air into his lungs and out again. He needed to focus on that, on inhaling and exhaling, because that was a good thing to do, a necessary thing to do, a harmless and unsuspicious thing to do. Unlike grabbing his sister and telling her in unmistakable terms and most likely a very loud voice what he thought about her and her behavior—which was what he really wanted to do.
Felicity's eyes snapped to him for a second before she reached for Thea's arm and turned her toward her and away from her brother—as if that would help calm Oliver down. He kept breathing and let Felicity do the talking for now.
"I thought flunking might have given you a hint that you can't go on like this."
"What?" Thea looked at her sister-in-law. "It's Saturday."
"Thea," Felicity sighed while slightly raising the glass, "you're drinking Vodka as if it were water. And if you're a not Russian mobster that isn't acceptable behavior."
Thea smirked. "Man, I gotta get to Warsaw."
"That's in Poland. Which proves that you need to keep going to school."
The smirk fell from Thea's face. Instantly, her defenses kicked in and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I've spent four hours at CNRI today—on a Saturday. Don't I deserve a little fun?"
"Not like this," Oliver growled.
"The Queens! Fancy meeting you here, all fancy." Tommy appeared next to Oliver but the happy expression vanished when he realized that nobody reacted to him. Noticing the tension and the angry staring, Tommy asked, his voice careful, "What's going on here?"
Ignoring Tommy but fixating on Thea, Felicity said, her voice leaving no room for objection, "Come on, we'll get you a glass of water."
Of course, Thea objected anyway. "You're not my mother. So stop acting like it," she snarled.
"Well, somebody has to do it." Handing the glass to Oliver (who automatically took it, only to then wonder what the hell he was supposed to do with the Vodka), Felicity reached for Thea's arm and pulled her away.
Tommy frowned and motioned to the glass in Oliver's hand. "What's wrong with the water you've got there?"
"It's Vodka."
"Ahh," Tommy nodded, understanding. He smirked. "Remember when we did that at your—" Noticing the glare his best friend sent him, Tommy changed mental gears instantly. "Nope, me neither. Absolutely no memory of my first Vodka encounter."
Oliver decided that breathing was his best option. He concentrated on that.
The chairman of the Starling City Municipal Group mounting the stage spared Oliver from having to say anything. Oliver's eyes were on the man taking position behind the microphone, but his mind came to the conclusion that tonight most definitely wasn't Thea's first Vodka encounter. The image of Thea standing by the bar stocked by the Starling City Cancer Society before the bomb collar replayed in front of Oliver's inner eye and suddenly the smile and wink the bartender had given his little sister in her short golden dress came with very different connotations.
Mechanically following the lead of the people around him, Oliver brought his hands together to clap as Malcolm Merlyn appeared onstage. Too late Oliver remembered that he was holding a nearly full glass. Some of the see-through liquid spilled, splashing over his hand, straining his suit.
Oliver couldn't bring himself to care; he was too busy cursing himself for being so blind before. He hadn't noticed anything at the auction because Ray Palmer had stepped into Felicity's path. He had been distracted and rushed away from Thea, who had disappeared and came back with a bomb around her neck.
In retrospect, the incident had probably kept his baby sister from getting hammered at the auction. That didn't make the whole thing better, exactly.
Tommy shifting next to him brought Oliver back to the here and now. He glanced at his friend whose eyes looked a little watery, and in that moment Malcolm Merlyn's words weren't only reaching his ears but also his brain.
"The true humanitarian in the Merlyn family was my wife Rebecca. Many of you here knew her. She tirelessly devoted herself to helping those less fortunate in the Glades. I like to think that if the man who murdered her knew, knew the work that she did, knew the person that she was... he would have helped her to her car, made sure she was safe, instead of stealing her purse and shooting her. The truth is, I haven't done enough for this city. My city."
Something tugged on the edges of Oliver's awareness. Slowly, he turned his head to the left and the huge glass windows stretching from floor to ceiling. His eyes moved over the surface for a second. A tiny, barely visible red dot made his muscles flex and propelled him toward the stage. The glass fell from his hand and clashed to the ground. The crash was drowned out by the massive glass window shattering inward. Pushing people out of the way, Oliver forced his way through the screaming crowd. Jumping to the podium wasn't a conscious action; autopilot was driving Oliver forward. An instinct that couldn't be denied made him tackle his best friend's father and throw him to the ground just as another bang ripped through the air. Both men landed on the floor behind the stage. Two more shots followed, hitting the stage directly above him.
Suddenly security guards swarmed the room. With their guns drawn they spread out, all aiming at the destroyed window. No shots followed and after a few heartbeats Oliver dared to lift his head and look at Merlyn. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"No." Malcolm Merlyn's voice was strong, full of determination.
Oliver got off the floor. Tommy was beside him in second. He was strangely breathless. He looked at his father getting up and then at his best friend, already standing. Tommy's eyes grew big. "You're hurt."
Looking where Tommy pointed, Oliver saw a blood stain on his right arm. He hadn't even noticed that. "It's nothing," he dismissed. "Just a graze."
"Oliver!" That was his mother. Moira looked terrified, running toward him. He had never seen her like that, looking close to self-destruction.
"It's nothing," he assured her. "It's ju—" The sentence got stuck in his mouth as his tongue suddenly felt too heavy. His vision blurred. His body felt heavy. His knees grew weak. He crashed to the floor.
"OLIVER!" His mother fell to her knees next to him. He stared at her, meeting her eyes, willing his lips to move and tell her that he was poisoned. He wanted to tell her one word, 'Curare', but he barely managed to keep his eyes open. All sounds dimmed suddenly, muted as nothing was left but the blood rushing in his ears. Suddenly Felicity's face appeared in his line of sight, her lips were moving but he couldn't hear her, couldn't understand her, couldn't make her understand. He stared at her, he needed to tell her, he needed to—
