A/N: You know that moment when your husband says he thinks maybe he forgot to tell you he invited people over for dinner? And then it's the weekend and you live in a house full of boys hellbent on conquering the world? Yeah, that's my glamorous life, gentle readers. Please accept my apologies for the delay in posting this expanded Felicity POV from "Streets of Fire" (2.22). Again, this is an internal scene because the episode ended quite abruptly. Also, as usual, I lifted and altered episode dialogue 'cause I'm sneaky like that. Special thanks to my lovely Guest Reviewer Jen: seriously, lady, you are awesome. And to all my kind reviewers: thank you! I try to respond. Admittedly, sometimes I do better than others. But I love hearing your thoughts. It makes my day. My week. Longer than that, really. Feedback truly feeds the writer's soul. I hope y'all enjoy!
Up In Flames
Sound tempts me away from the dark quiet of sleep. Not the screeching and shouting and crashing of metal I remember last, but something soft and rhythmic and beautiful.
Music. A song.
I smell leather and the distinctive scent of Oliver's soap, and I feel the song rumbling in my cheek more than I hear it with my ears. I want to keep my eyes closed and listen because my head really hurts and it sounds beautiful and sweet and sad. I don't recognize it, but it sounds like coming home for the first time and only then realizing you've been homesick all along for a place you've never seen.
Oh God. The van. We flipped the van and Slade's men were after us and we need to get the cure to stop this before the entire city goes up in flames.
I open my eyes and groan and immediately close them again because of the blinding pain that shoots through my head and makes me feel dizzy and nauseous. I think this is exactly what a concussion feels like.
"Felicity?"
The singing stops. Because Oliver was singing while he carried me. Singing in Russian? I didn't know he sang, let alone in Russian. Sometimes singing, sometimes humming, probably because he doesn't know all the words because how could he know all the words to Russian songs?
"I'm dying, aren't I?" I ask, my voice painfully banging around inside my head.
"No," he says, sounding alarmed and confused.
"You're singing." I can't imagine Oliver singing to me unless something is seriously wrong.
"I'm worried about your head."
"I'm worried about my head too," I admit. "It's some kind of cosmic payback for all the times I fussed at you for checking for a concussion when I insisted I was fine. Or karma for running over Isabel. I didn't kill her," I tell him. "But I wanted to. I always said I never wanted to kill anyone, but I really wish I'd killed her. For being so mean and beautiful. For hurting Digg. For you. For Russia."
Oh God. Is he singing in Russian because he's thinking of her?
"I'm sorry I missed it," Oliver says, his voice brimming with pride and maybe even a little bit of glee. It's nice to hear him quietly happy even though this has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad month. "You could have sold tickets for that. The business world is full of people who would've paid big bucks to see her smashed with a van. And we could use the money."
"I don't believe you," I say. He doesn't answer, but I add, "There's no way your family's fortune is only invested in Queen Consolidated. Not to mention you own 49% of the company. You may not be CEO at the moment, but it's not like they took your stock away. You're just letting Slade think he's beating you more than he is."
Once more, Oliver is silent, which is enough of an affirmation for me.
"Running over someone's not quite the same as shooting people with arrows and leaping across rooftops and performing daring, Tarzan-esque rescues," I point out to change the subject.
"It's your version of that," he says. "Your own way of fighting our enemies. You're amazing, Felicity. You dropped Tockman and stole his magic key. You drained Sebastian Blood's guy's bank account. Now you're saving Diggle by running over Isabel. You don't need to get your hands bloody or use brute strength when you have that enormous and magnificent brain." He quietly laughs. "That's what we should call you. We'll be the Arrow and his Brain."
"That's a terrible name," I tell him. "And why am I the side-kick?"
"Speaking from experience, you don't get a say in what they call you."
"Well, this brain can walk."
I'm not actually convinced that I can at the moment, but I'm suddenly self-conscious because I know I weigh too much. His carrying me seems effortless from up here in his arms, his gait smooth and his breathing even, but I hate that he had to rescue me because I'm weak and a girl, and now he's carrying me when surely I'm too heavy. I never want to be a burden.
"I'm good," he says.
I open one eye, the right one that doesn't hurt as much as the left, and see Digg just ahead of us. His gun is drawn and ready, his eyes sweeping the ground in front of us, Oliver's bow slung across his back.
"Digg pulled me from the van?" I ask. Oliver nods. "While you found a way to get rid of the scary bad guys even though they're practically indestructible and we were outnumbered?" Oliver nods again. "Why isn't Digg carrying me?"
"Do you want him to?" Oliver quietly asks.
"No. I just mean he's stronger. Not that you aren't strong, because obviously you are, but Digg's strong in a different way. I mean, his arms..." My voice trails off because I realize I sound like I'm complaining and don't want Oliver to carry me. Because I don't.
"I'm carrying you," he says, as if that explanation makes sense and ends the discussion.
"Okay," I reluctantly agree because my head really does hurt. "But just for another minute."
I curl my face towards his green leather and breathe in the smell of him and close my eyes and concentrate on the gentle rocking motion of his steps. I can't remember the last time someone carried me. The last time I felt so small but so safe, which is strange because the city is on fire all around us, being terrorized by super-strong thugs in masks.
"What was that?" I quietly ask. "Before." He doesn't answer, but I know he heard me. I know he knows exactly what I mean.
"It's an old Russian lullaby," he finally says. "A father speaking to his son when he's old enough to become a warrior too. Anatoli didn't remember all the words, so I have to hum the parts he hummed to me."
I wonder what possible circumstance led to Anatoli Knyazev, leader of the Bratva, singing a lullaby often enough that Oliver remembers it. Was Oliver hurt or scared? Were they just bored and passing the time?
I can't picture Mrs. Queen taking time away from her diabolic scheming and illicit affairs and world-domination to sing to Oliver. Maybe he had a nice nanny. Or maybe a Russian mobster was probably the first, maybe only, person to ever sing a lullaby to Oliver.
Maybe he's singing to me because he wishes someone would sing to him right now. Maybe he's more than a little bit scared too. For some reason, that makes me feel better, knowing that maybe he's comforting himself too because it's completely reasonable and sane to be terrified right now.
"Will you translate a little for me?" I ask. "Please."
"Thoughts of you when we are parted," Oliver finally says, not quite singing, but not exactly speaking either. Something soft and in between. "All my days will fill. In the nighttime, anxious-hearted, pray for you I will."
"That's really beautiful," I say. "We can find the rest of the words. If you want."
"Yeah," he says, nodding. "We should do that. When this is over."
I look around and realize we're finally on the bridge.
"I'll walk," I say. He tightens his hold and presses me closer to his chest.
"It's no trouble," he says.
"Oliver. Really. I can. I should. You need your hands. You need your bow. Just in case. I can walk."
He gently sets me on my feet and keeps a hand on my arm to make sure I'm steady. I have to swallow a couple of times and get my bearings, but I'm going to be okay. He carefully uses his sleeve to dab away the blood that's dripping into my left eye.
"We need a first aid kit," he laments. "I should have grabbed it out of the van."
"Yeah, while you were fighting off indestructible madmen and Digg was hauling me unconscious out of the wreckage. I'm okay," I assure him again, taking his free hand and squeezing it. "It's just a scratch."
"It's really not," he says.
"Felicity's tough," Digg says, handing Oliver back his bow.
"Where is he?" Oliver asks me as he adjusts the quiver over his shoulder. "I don't like being this exposed."
I swipe on my phone. "GPS says he should be within a 500-foot radius."
I look around at all the dark, abandoned wrecked cars littering the bridge and realize how insane it is that all our hopes rest in the hands of strangers. Caitlin and Cicso are nice enough, but they aren't on our team. And all their hard work, our only way out of this mess, is literally chained to a stranger in one of these crashed cars.
Jesus. We're doomed.
"I'll call him and narrow it down." I bring up my phone history and call the courier back, grateful that Barry's friends aren't the ones here in harm's way. Not that I want anyone in harm's way, not even a stranger, but still. Times like these, small fortunes are good to keep in mind.
"Where are you?" I ask the courier. "Can you honk your horn."
The sudden burst of sound comes from ahead.
"I can see your feet," he says, sighing with relief. "You're right outside my car."
"That's not us," I say as I run towards the sound of the horn.
Oliver quickly overtakes me, and Digg stays on my heels, the two of them allowing me to set the pace and keeping me sandwiched safely between them. When we hear the scream, Digg grabs a hold of my arm and tucks me securely into his left side.
"Stay close," he growls as the scream suddenly stops, as if I were thinking of setting out on my own.
There's the sound of rapidly retreating boots, feet hitting the concrete far too fast to be normal or human. We find the courier's halfway out of his flipped car. His neck is broken, his hand pulled free from his wrist, the metallic reflection of the still-locked handcuff winking in the darkness.
"It's gone," Oliver moans. "It was our only hope, and it's gone."
"We gotta get gone, man," Digg says. His eyes move around and he pulls me tightly against him. "We're sitting ducks out here."
"How did he know it was here?" he shouts. "How did he fucking know?"
"Slade must've intercepted our cells," I say. "It's frighteningly easy to do."
"She has an app that taps our calls," Digg tells him. I elbow him in the ribs, but Oliver doesn't seem to care at the moment.
"We need to move, Oliver," I say, repeating Digg's advice. The dead courier makes me want to throw up and with the light of all the burning cars and no where to hide, I realize how visible and vulnerable we are standing out here. "Should we go to your other lair to regroup?"
It happens really fast, but I swear Oliver flinches when I mention it even though he's kept it a secret all this time and spent the past days hiding in it alone.
I think Digg noticed too because he immediately says, "Unless there's a back entrance I didn't see, we'd be trapped if our position was compromised."
"Sarah's tower," Oliver says. "Good vantage point. Reasonably defensible. Unless they all come at us at once, we should be able to pick them off. She hasn't used it in a while, so it's less likely Slade knows about it."
"Let's move out," Digg says, sounding every bit the military man as he takes my arm and starts the long walk back into town.
"Caitlin!" I gasp, still out of breath from the long hike up to the top of the tower. Thank goodness Digg hotwired that car for us, or I'd probably need to be carried again.
"OhmygoshIsawthenewsareyouokay?"
"Caitlin, the courier." I touch a ginger hand to my head, which is still bleeding and throbbing to the accelerated beat of my heart.
"He didn't make it?"
"No." I pause, trying to decide how much to tell her. So many of our problems in the past have resulted from lies of omission, but Caitlin is just a kid. A smart but innocent kid safely ensconced in Star Labs in Central City. "We don't have it."
"The news, Felicity!" She sounds as out of breath as I am and on the verge of tears. "Is that? Is that what you had us? Were we supposed to stop those men in the masks?"
"Please tell me you have more, Caitlin."
Her gasp sinks like a weight in my stomach and I know the answer even though she doesn't speak.
"Please tell me you saved a sample of the serum," I say.
"Felicity," she begins. "We didn't know. You never said."
"It's okay," I assure her even though it's not. It is not okay. It is definitely the opposite of okay. "Thank you for all your help."
"Felicity," she says again.
"I have to go, Caitlin."
"Will you be okay?"
"Please give Barry's hand a pat for me the next time you see him," I say instead of answering. I hang up and pocket my phone, dreading the moment I have to tell Oliver our last long-shot is gone-gone and they can't make any more.
"Well?" Digg asks. I turn to face him and don't know what to say, but my face must say it for me because he says, "They sent us all the cure they had." It's not a question because he knows his guess is exactly right. "And they used all the Mirakuru so they can't make anymore."
"We can't stop Slade with the cure," Oliver says, quietly and defeated.
"We'll find another way," Digg tells him.
"There is no other way!" Oliver angrily snaps.
"There's always another way," I say. "You're the one who taught us that, Oliver. There is always another way."
"Diggle," he says, ignoring me. "The foundry's been compromised. We need to get Roy out of there."
"I'm on it," Digg says, immediately turning to leave.
"Be safe." I grasp his hand and give it a squeeze.
"Be back before you know it," he assures me with a grin.
"Somehow I doubt that."
"I'll be fast," he amends.
"Call when you get there," I say. "Call when you're leaving. Call if there's any sign of trouble."
"Look around, Felicity," he say, waving his hand towards Starling City. "There's trouble."
"You know what I mean."
He drops a kiss on the top of my head and heads back down the stairs.
"Maybe we should go too," I say to Oliver. The torn plastic sheeting snaps in the breeze, bringing a fresh blast of smoke with the chilly air. "Maybe we shouldn't split up."
"You're staying here," Oliver says, his voice tight. "You're not going back out there, and I'm not leaving you."
"Oliver," I soothe.
"So help me," bursts out of him as he glares down at his clenched fists. "If you say you're fine one more time." He breathes so hard he sounds like a the dragon on his shoulder has come to life and is trying to escape his skin. "You're bleeding." Panting and snuffing and snorting. At any moment, smoke will pour from his nose. "You are not fine."
"Oliver," I say again.
He crosses the room and stands before me. His fingers ghost over my head, not quite touching the aching, bleeding bump.
"I didn't know," he whispers. "Five years ago, I was a completely different person. When I chose not to cure him, I couldn't have imagined something like this was even possible." He turns and looks out over Starling City. There are too many fires and not enough sirens. The city is ablaze, and even from this height and in the dark, it looks bad.
"You thought you took care of it," I gently tell his back. "You thought he was gone. Of course you didn't see this coming. How could you?"
"I love this city."
"I know you do."
"When you and Diggle brought me back, I made a vow to myself. I swore I would never let anything like the Undertaking happen again." He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "This is even worse, and Slade is doing it to punish me. This is my fault."
"Oliver, no. What's happening now? It is not your fault."
"Yes it is."
I open my mouth to argue with him, gingerly shaking my head in disagreement, but for once, his words are faster than mine.
"I have failed my city, Felicity. I've failed. My father. Yao Fei. Shado. Tommy. My mother. All I want is to honor them."
"You honor the dead by fighting," I remind him. "And you are not done fighting!" I hold my head to try and make it stop throbbing because I am not going to lower my voice. I'm done being reasonable with Oliver. I have a list of names too. "Malcolm Merlyn, Oliver. The Count. The Clock King. The Triad. Your list of people. Everyone who is trying to hurt this city and the people who live here. You stopped them."
I take his hands in mine.
"You stop them," I amend, correcting my past tense. "And you will stop Slade. You will."
"I can't," he whispers, squeezing my hands. "I don't know how."
"Neither do I," I admit. "We'll have to think of something. But I do know two things with absolute certainty. You are not alone, Oliver." I squeeze his hands back. "You are never alone. Not even when you run. Not even when you hide. I am with you always, Oliver. And I believe in you."
Oliver blinks, but not before the tear escapes and makes its solitary way down his cheek. Before he can be embarrassed and pull away from me, I throw my arms around him and hug him. I'm not strong like he is. Like Digg or Sarah. But I hug him as hard as I can, with every bit of strength I possess and some I have to borrow because he needs this. He needs me.
I hug him for all the times there wasn't anyone to hug him when he so desperately needed it. I hug him for all the times I've been too much of an idiot to hug him, when I was afraid of being close to him even when I was standing right in front of him. I hug the boy who was lost so many years ago and the man he had to become and the man he is now because I know Oliver Queen. He likes to think I don't. That I only see what I want to see. But I see all of him. And I hug him because he is beautiful, even when he doesn't realize it. Especially when he doesn't.
There is a long moment where he just stands there, stiff and awkward, but then he relaxes against me. His weight is warm and heavy as he slumps against me. For this moment, he trusts me to keep him standing. He trusts me to not let him fall. He trusts me enough to let his guard down and allow me to support him.
Oliver raises his hands and wraps them around me and hugs me back. He holds me so tightly I have to struggle to breathe, but I'm not about to tell him to let up or let go. Pressed against me, his scruff rough against my cheek, I tentatively raise my lips and hold them against his forehead.
"I believe in you," I whisper into his skin. "You are an amazing man, Oliver Queen. I am with you, and together, we will do this. Because that's what we do. That's who we are."
"I believe in us," he whispers back.
A/N: The song Oliver is singing/humming is called "Bayushki Bayu," a Russian lullaby. Y'all should go look it up on YouTube. Full disclosure: I know nothing about Russian folk music. I spent a few hours online researching what Oliver would be humming to Felicity. I chose the song that sounded like what I wanted, and then the translated lyrics ended up being sort of perfect. But all the music was amazing. I was overwhelmed with how achingly, hauntingly beautiful it all is. Many thanks to my exquisitely talented friend JWAB for her assistance.