Guys and girls, I apologize for making you wait longer than usual. Life's simply been very busy, but I hope to make it up to you with a chapter that's also a little longer than usual. Thank you for your patience and your general awesomeness. I am grateful you're on this journey with me.
Thank you to: 11-Dino, ChiefPam, BlueJean452, belairdesi, supercode, thekiller00, lateVMlover, ItsLiz, orthang1, FaberryBRA, foxxandbeanz, OnkelJo, Megth, Gaialy, scorpio38457, schrooten5, SassyReaderGirl, madman-with-an-impala, Abatemarca, Jen, JustThisGurl, PKteach, and the guest.
A special shout-out to MellieTheAmazing who's attempting to translate this whole story. The Spanish version can be found at her profile. You're crazy to do this, but I love it. Thank you.
Albiona, my unicorn-muse in rainbow colors, thank you for hanging in here with me. (I love the reverse 'verse. And I love you!)
April 6th, 2013
Oliver had many habits Felicity didn't exactly approve of.
Regularly getting injected with Vertigo and nearly dying was very high on that list. Very. High.
Last night, after The Hood confronted Dr. Webb, the psychiatrist who had hidden The Count in his quasi-basement (this city just spawned the crazy like… well, crazy), Oliver had swayed back into the Foundry, seeing double or probably triple. After all, he had aimed three arrows at the psychiatrist taking over The Count's drug making business to ensure that at least one of them hit the bad guy. Felicity didn't know how many hands Oliver believed her to have, but he had missed all of them and had instead reached for thin air in his attempt to assure her that he was perfectly okay. That had been an epic failure—as had the kiss he had aimed for her lips but planted on her nose.
The only thing Felicity could to do then was get him home and into bed. God, she kind of wished she'd use the latter expression under different circumstances. Much less platonic circumstances.
Oliver had been sleeping for eight hours now, a personal Oliver Queen record since he had returned to Starling City. And, yes, he was sleeping. She had checked.
Making sure your husband was still breathing must be the worst way to start the day.
It rattled her so much that she had practically jumped out of the bed and onto her treadmill. Now, one hour later, she was on the homestretch of her morning run.
The sun had risen and casted glistening highlights on the skyscrapers outside her windows. Her feet drumming down in a steady rhythm, the grogginess had slowly left her sleepy body, and Felicity had made a decision: John Diggle was right.
The wise man that looked after her like the big brother she had never known she wanted had told her she needed to find a way to deal with the things Oliver did—and he hadn't just been referring to the frequent arrow-ing. Felicity didn't exactly know when it had happened (probably somewhere between getting shot at by a sniper, helping Oliver stopping murderous bank robbers, getting kidnapped, and seeing her sister-in-law's boyfriend in mortal danger), but by now she was strangely unfazed by that aspect of vigilante-work.
For all the fuzz she had made during her first visit to the Foundry, she had come around rather quickly. Somehow she had been sucked in, forgetting about ethical questions that should be asked.
That had been a very worrying realization left to analyze for another morning.
Today she had been busy accepting that she had to trust Oliver and in his abilities. She had seen enough of what he was capable of. He knew what he was doing when he put on his hood: he could fight, aim, and all that.
The only thing he apparently sucked at was avoiding needles.
He believed in his mission and he wouldn't stop it. He would go and target Deadshot, he would confront Merlyn, he would probably end up fighting the other archer again, and Felicity couldn't turn into a worried wreck over any of that. Oliver needed to do all that feeling fully confident and at ease. Her worrying over him wasn't helping him, her, or the situation.
Especially since he trusted her abilities perfectly. He never doubted her when she sat down in front of a computer. He'd never even considered that Major Badass might best her. When Felicity faced off with that other hacker, Oliver stayed quiet so she could concentrate and kick major ass. Afterward, he gave her a nod and a smile that told her he had never expected another outcome because he knew she knew what she was doing.
This undoubting trust, the unwavering support, his unquestioning confidence, this unmatched pride was an unspoken compliment making Felicity feel light-headed and loved.
Her own worries held her back from making him feel like that, too. And she hated it. All this wifely concern wasn't working—neither for her nor for him.
With the press of a button, she slowed the quickly rotating conveyer. Her running turned into a quick walk.
Inhaling through the nose and exhaling through her mouth, she tried to steady her breathing and bring her heart-rate down.
"Hey."
The hoarse voice startled her. She turned around and couldn't help but smile. Sleep was still visible in Oliver's slightly puffy face, imprinted by his pillow. His eyes were small, and the hair on the left side was stuck to his head. "Morning, sleepyhead," she said.
Only in his boxer briefs, Oliver scratched his chest and yawned.
The smile glued itself to her face as she studied him for another moment, memorizing this unfamiliar sight. Deciding she had cooled down enough, she turned off her treadmill. She walked toward him. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay," he answered, meeting her eyes. "I'm good."
"Really? No lingering effects from Vertigo?"
"No, really, I'm fine."
Slowly, Felicity nodded. "Good." She placed her hand flat against his naked chest and looked up at him, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I want you to know that I trust your abilities. As The Hood, I mean. You know what you're doing, and I'm done going mother-hen on you."
"You're done?"
"I'm done," she confirmed. "I will not be the overly worried wife to your overprotective husband. So, I've come up with a new way to vent some frustrations."
"You did?"
"I did." She smirked. "Do you want me to show you?"
"I do."
The smirk stayed in place, her hand slid over his chest—only to leave his skin and curl into a first. Forcefully, she brought her hand down onto his upper arm, hitting him hard and quickly. Her expression completely serious, her tone made it clear that she meant business. "Stop getting injected with Vertigo!"
He blinked and stared at her for a second before giving her a nod. "Okay."
"Good. Then that's settled." She got on her tiptoes, her hand settling back on his chest, and placed a kiss on his lips. "I'm glad you're fine."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "The only current injury was inflicted by you." He moved his shoulder, rotating his arm, his lips moving in an unvoiced 'ouch.' He looked down at her. "Your punching technique really sucks, but you hit the muscle perfectly."
She peered sternly at him. "Good. Don't give me reasons to improve my technique."
He placed his hand over hers, still resting on his chest. "I'll give it my all."
April 10th, 2013
John Diggle was one of the calmest men Oliver had ever met. It was a genuine calm that was more than just surface, that stretched out to the very core of John Diggle. At least it normally did.
But his normal had vanished and been replaced with a tautness that increased with every passing day that brought Floyd Lawton closer to Starling City. Seeing Diggle come down the stairs this morning, his eyes red from lacking sleep, his face tired with worry, his body twisted into knots, Oliver had taken a page out of his partner's book, thrown the boxing gloves at him, and put boxing punch mitts on himself. The force with which Digg delivered each punch, the way Oliver had to flex his muscles against each connection proved that the soldier had some frustrations to vent. Sadly, it hadn't helped Diggle ease up much. After an hour, both men were drenched in sweat, but Diggle still seemed ready to climb up the walls as he forcefully ripped the Velcro fastener of his gloves open.
"Digg," Oliver said, the punching mitts still on, "you don't have to go through with A.R.G.U.S.'s plan."
"It's a solid plan," Diggle said. "Lyla's in charge of the operation and she knows what she's doing."
Lyla Michaels was Diggle's contact in A.R.G.U.S. Felicity was convinced that there was some history of the romantic kind involved. Oliver trusted his wife's assertion when it came to such things, but he also didn't particularly care—at least not enough to actually ask. If Felicity wanted to know, she could ask herself. Knowing her, she'd probably do so pretty soon.
Until now John Diggle hadn't been very forthcoming about their shared history, but he had told them that Lyla found out Deadshot had killed Digg's brother—a fact he had omitted to Lyla before. As far as Oliver understood, that hadn't been received well, using the agency and his… friend/potential ex for his own vendetta.
Ultimately, Felicity had been forced to hack the A.R.G.U.S. network—while muttering the whole time that it was outrageous that a government agency had worse security than Merlyn Global. At the end of this tirade had been figuring out the mission profile that involved setting a trap for Floyd Lawton at the plaza.
"Deadshot thinks he's meeting with his employer to get details about his next hit, but the employer will be an A.R.G.U.S.-agent," Diggle repeated facts Oliver had already heard multiple times. "Lyla and her team will swoop in and arrest Lawton."
Oliver looked at his partner. "Do you want Lawton arrested?" He knew the honest answer to this, but needed to give Diggle the choice of lying.
He went for the truth. "No." It was a simple statement leaving Diggle's lips with difficulty. He practically breathed it out, the inner turmoil destroying his usual calm visible and audible.
"Then we will cross Floyd Lawton off your list tonight." Oliver gave a nod full of confidence. Because there was nothing that would keep him from helping his partner – his friend – getting the closure he himself craved so badly and that was still out of reach. "It ends tonight."
Things were looking good. The sentence felt like a miracle to Felicity. After weeks, no, months of setbacks and technological disasters of various kinds, everything seemed to be going smoothly. The field test they started two weeks ago at Queen Consolidated had managed to exceed expectations so far. It was all working perfectly and as she looked at the people assembled around the table in the conference room, she knew they knew it, too.
But nobody dared to voice it.
Yongtak Chan was beyond superstitious. Firestorm's lead programmer had once had a freak-out after his car broke down in the morning and he spilled his latte over his laptop at noon—because everybody knew that bad things came in threes. The fact that he had watched the racist disaster that was the second Sex and the City movie that very evening had done nothing to ease his superstitions.
So, if anybody said anything along the lines of 'things are looking perfect,' Yongtak would start a long rant about jinxing it. That would take a while and Felicity needed to get out of here. It was past six already and the A.R.G.U.S. trap was scheduled to snap shut at eight. She wanted to get to the Foundry and hack the cameras of the plaza—while making sure that John stayed in that damp cellar with her. He needed to be away from the scene or everything else would end up in disaster, Felicity was sure of it.
"Okay, sounds like we're on track." Felicity hesitated for a second, but apparently her phrasing was adequate to not count as a jinx to Yongtak. She continued, "I want to publish the software as soon as possible, but I need it to run flawlessly. I'd rather add another month of working out kinks than face another publicity disaster."
"About that." All eyes traveled to Ben Walters, the newly appointed CFO. He looked so much like the clichéd accountant that during the first minute of his job interview Felicity had wondered if he was messing with her. There was the white dress shirt, the sweater vest, the sensible shoes letting his feet breathe and move soundlessly, the side-parted hair, and the paleness that spoke of days spent tucked away from any sunlight looking at numbers (Felicity could hardly be judgmental about the latter as she did the same, and often spent her nights tucked away in a damp basement). The fact that Ben was short for Benedict was kind of the cherry on top of this huge cliché.
But Felicity never hired (or not hired) people because of how they looked and acted—she had way too much self-awareness for that.
Even though Ben Walters didn't have any experience in leadership in corporate business, Felicity had a feeling about him. Ben had worked in one of the Starling City's top accounting firms and he knew numbers. He knew taxes, he knew business necessities, and when he had answered Tak's random question if he knew the square of 465.87 with a shrug and "217034.857," Felicity hadn't needed to hear any more. When Yongtak asked how Ben felt about mandatory annual Halloween parties, Felicity knew that her number one had come to the same conclusion.
The CFO shifted a little under the eyes settling on him and did that awkward hand gesture he always did when he felt uneasy. It involved wiggling his fingers before tightening and spreading them. When he was done with that he continued, "I'd like to suggest hiring somebody to take over PR and marketing. I believe that it will be a very beneficiary investment for us. Our finances allow adding one more person in a leading position. In my opinion, it would be wise to combine the release of the software with a solid marketing campaign."
A somewhat triumphant smile showed on Felicity's face. Here was more proof that her feeling about this man had been right. "I share your opinion." She looked at Jerry, already bringing his pen to his notebook. "Place an ad. Many somebody'll apply now that our reputation's improved a little."
Tak sighed. "I never thought I'd dislike having a bad rep."
Ignoring the bad joke, Felicity glanced around the table. "Does anybody have anything else that needs to be discussed?" Collectively head-shaking was the answer to this. "Great, then let's call it a night. See you tomorrow."
Quickly gathering her phone and her tablet, Felicity walked up the stairs to the third floor. She would just quickly grab her purse and head to the Foundry.
A strange sense of nervousness claimed her. This was the first time a mission wasn't about Oliver and his list or the Queens and their family drama. It wasn't about the Undertaking or saving a random somebody. It was about John and his peace of mind, about the fact that he had distanced himself from Carly and his nephew. It brought a sense of importance hard to define or analyze and added a new kind of pressure. If things went as planned today and Oliver snipered the sniper (which was kind of ironic if you thought about it), one person in their deranged little trio could find closure.
Nothing could be more important than that.
The third floor was nearly empty. She was about to tell Katie, who was still busy trying to add some style to their newest software, to call it a night, too, when she saw Brad Foster head toward her. The expression on her bodyguard's face was serious. He motioned toward her office, "You have a visitor." His eyes told her of a certain urgency and Felicity quickened her steps.
Entering her office, Felicity realized that she had been wrong before—there could be something more important than John Diggle's vendetta.
"Thea." Surprised, Felicity looked at the young girl sitting on the purple chair. The fact that her sister-in-law was in her office, a place she had never been before, caused all alarms to go off inside Felicity. "What's going on? Are you okay?" The alarms turned even louder when Thea lifted her head to meet her eyes.
Thea looked pale, paler than usual, and somewhat haunted. The younger Queen jumped up from her seat as if Felicity entering the room was the go-signal she needed. "Felicity, hi, sorry. You said I could come by to talk. About whatever. I'd like to talk. About whatever."
The hectically forced-out words made Felicity blink. It was unusual to be the one being rambled at. Her first instinct was to ask Thea if she had taken anything, but those words got stuck in her throat. The way Thea brought her hand up to shakily to move it through her long, brunette hair showed Felicity that the opposite was the case.
Thea was completely sober—and that was the problem.
"Sure," Felicity carefully closed her office door. "We can talk about whatever."
"I'm sorry. I promised Roy I wouldn't…." She left the sentence hanging, but it was easy to fill in the gaps.
Felicity spared the girl the need to continue. Instead, she nodded and dared a small, encouraging smile. "I think it's great that you want to keep your promise."
"Roy's working tonight. At Verdant. Humpday Party. Oliver asked Tommy and Tommy gave him a job."
"Yes, Oliver told me."
Restless, Thea picked at a strand of her hair, twirling it around her finger. "God, you two've got that communication thing down, haven't you?"
"We're trying." Felicity closed the small gap separating them. "Hey, what can I do? Tell me what you need."
Thea thought about that for a second. "I need some company. I need you to keep an eye on me. Please."
Positivity raced through Felicity. This was a miracle, this was a break-through, this was amazing, this was nothing that she could say 'no' to.
Of course, it had to happen on the day Felicity felt like she desperately needed to be at the Foundry.
But the feeling that she needed to be there for Thea was stronger. After months of offering it over and over again and being rejected, the young woman had finally asked for her help. She was opening up and Felicity knew without a shadow of a doubt that rejecting her now would be the final blow to this damaged teenager. Oliver should go and be there for John, she'd stay and be here for Thea.
Hoping it radiated the encouragement she was going for, Felicity brought a small smile to her face. "Of course. Do you want to go back to our place?"
"I'd like to get French fries. At that burger joint Ollie always goes to. I'd like to just go and eat the world's best fries. Please."
"Okay," Felicity kept the smile on her face. "Then let's do it."
Talking about whatever sounded like a doable task. Actually, it should come naturally to Felicity, who had once spent an hour discussing time-travel with her best friend. (At the time, Tina would have given anything to go back five hours and stop herself from getting bangs.) But as Felicity sat in a booth in Big Belly Burger, she couldn't think of a way to start a casual conversation.
Watching Thea stuff her face with fries as if she was sick and could only be cured by salt and grease made Felicity realize that there wasn't any use pretending anything about this was remotely casual. She cupped the coffee mug with both hands. "I think it's great that you want to keep your promise to Roy."
Thea's hand stilled on its way to her mouth, a couple of fries between her fingers. "He said his mom was a drunk and… he doesn't need all that again."
Slowly, Felicity nodded, letting her fingers trail around the rim of the mug. "So, you're doing this for him?"
"Yes. No. I don't know." Thea let the fries drop back into the red basket in front of her. "I like Roy and he says he worries. And I don't want him to. And…. Mostly I want to prove to myself that I can do it."
"That's a good reason," Felicity smiled. "A very good reason."
She kept from saying more as Carly stepped next to the table with a coffee pot in hand. "Everything okay?" Carly asked with the hint of a smile on her face. "Can I get you anything else?"
"I'm good, thanks. Enough coffee for me—especially of this coffee. It's so strong I'm sure it could wake up the dead," Felicity answered.
Carly chuckled politely. "I know, but that's how most customers prefer it. I could get you a decaf if you want."
"Thanks, but I'm really good." Felicity glanced at Thea, who was back to stuffing her face with fries. She motioned to the nearly empty basket. "You want more after that?"
For a second Thea hesitated and Felicity bet her mother's words were ringing in her ears, the same words that kept Felicity from ordering any food, because she'd already had a big work-lunch. But unlike Felicity, Thea felt rebellious. "You know what? Yes. I want more fries. Thank you."
Carly smirked. "Coming right up." She turned to head back to the counter but froze and faced Felicity again. "Felicity, I don't mean to make this uncomfortable, but… I'm worried about Johnny. He's been very distant and I haven't seen much of him lately. I…. Is Johnny okay?"
The question wasn't exactly surprising. Felicity had sensed Carly's unease when entering the restaurant thirty minutes ago. She had expected that Carly wouldn't miss the opportunity to gain some insight. But that didn't make this any less uncomfortable. The truth of that statement, the fact that Felicity had seen John more often than his girlfriend had, and that she knew things about him that the other woman probably couldn't even imagine, left Felicity highly uneasy. Carly wasn't stupid, she was a perceptive woman and she must sense that John was keeping something from her.
Felicity knew that sensation. She knew what it was like when your common sense was tingling, telling you somebody was hiding something and that you weren't shown the whole picture, only carefully selected parts.
Before Felicity had found out Oliver's secret, she had felt that way.
It had been horrible. Felicity knew without the shadow of a doubt that, if he hadn't filled her in (or, rather, if she hadn't found out), she wouldn't be with him right now. Lingering suspicions destroyed trust. Felicity wouldn't have been able to ignore that, the vague feeling of betrayal. She knew and could imagine what Carly must feel like if she was asking Felicity, a woman she had only met a handful of times.
But Felicity still didn't know how to answer. She looked up at the other woman standing next to the table, coffee pot in hand, and decided to simply feign ignorance. "Lately, he's mostly been with Oliver." She motioned across the room where Brad Foster sat by the counter. "I have my own bodyguard and don't see much of John."
"And Oliver hasn't mentioned anything? That Johnny's acting weird?"
A mocking huff came from Thea that sounded like 'please, as if Oliver noticed anything like that. He's acting weird himself'. (It was a lot of information to cram into one small sound, but Thea pulled that off flawlessly.)
Ignoring that, Felicity answered, "He didn't. It's probably nothing."
"I don't know…." Carly sighed. "Forget I said anything."
Seeing the utter defeat on Carly's face, guilt crept over Felicity. "Carly," she kept her from leaving, "if you're worried about him, why don't you talk to him?"
"Don't you think I've tried? He's never been like this. So closed off. He's not acting like himself."
"Maybe he's working through some stuff," Felicity offered. "I'm sure it'll be over soon." If things went as planned, it would be over tonight. Involuntarily, she glanced at her cellphone resting on the table. Oliver would send a text as soon as it was done. God, Felicity so hoped that things worked out as planned.
Oliver's heart was in it—but his head wasn't.
That had never happened to him before. Never. He could pull himself together, focus on the task at hand, put the mission first. Never had he failed to do what he needed to do, concentrated and calculated. Even in the last months with everything that had happened, he had never failed to push his emotions aside and get his head in the game.
Standing in position, the one John Diggle had deemed perfect using what Felicity summed up as "a lot of military jargon", Oliver glanced down at the plaza and the spot where they believed Deadshot would appear in approximately twenty minutes. The Hood had arrived early, because in his heart Oliver felt that he needed to get this right. Oliver knew that he needed to give his partner the revenge he craved. There was nothing Oliver wanted more right now than end this for Diggle. He wanted to take this burden off his friend. He wanted to keep his promise.
But his thoughts continued to wander to Felicity and Thea. One hour ago Felicity had called him and told him she'd take Thea to Big Belly Burger. The text Felicity had sent after hanging up (Thea asked for help to stay sober. Gotta do this. Please explain to John.) added further explanation stirring undisclosed emotions within Oliver: he was horrified that his sister needed help to stay sober. At the same time he was relieved that his sister obviously realized she needed help. It was a ray of light in the darkness that was Thea's undeniable addiction. And Oliver knew that if there was one person out there to turn this ray of light into a beam of brightness, it was Felicity. His sister was in the best hands.
He knew. But that didn't keep him from wishing he could have a hand in helping his sister, too.
Instead, he had to keep hidden behind a pillar, observing the plaza below.
Not a cloud was blocking the moon hanging nearly full and huge in the sky, adding cold white light to the warm yellow illumination the plaza provided. These were perfect conditions. He couldn't mess this up. This was what he was good at—he was good at taking lives. The fact that tonight, for the first time ever, he wished he weren't didn't change that.
Breathing deliberately, Oliver tried to regain his calm, tried to clear his head, get rid of thoughts of Thea and what state she might be in. This was important. The air filled his lungs, causing his chest to rise, before he blew it out through his nose, visualizing himself forcing all distractions out and away.
"A.R.G.U.S.'s agents are in position." The strain Oliver heard in Diggle's voice alone was enough to make him regain his focus.
He let his eyes sweep over the plaza and saw Diggle was right—that was a problem. The man cleaning the floor, the guy holding a newspaper without reading it, the man sitting on a bench, the fake security guard—it was like they held signs up saying 'we're agents and this is a trap.' This was very sloppy work. "They're too obvious, Digg. I could take out four agents right now."
Letting his eyes travel over the plaza for a sign of Deadshot, Oliver saw his partner cross the plaza to sit down at a table opposite a brunette. Oliver had noticed her, but her cover had been solid. Good to know that Diggle knew how to choose his contacts… friends… lovers. Whatever she was to John Diggle, she knew what she was doing. The way her body tensed told Oliver that she wasn't happy with Diggle's sudden appearance, but only twenty seconds later the four agents Oliver had made with one glance were pulling back. Which meant there were still others in cover. Good.
Everything was prepared. Now all that was missing was a target for The Hood to aim at. He went back to observing the plaza and waited for Floyd Lawton to show up.
Thea had emptied another plate of fries and seemed a bit calmer. Even though her left leg constantly wiggling underneath the table told Felicity that she was far from really calm.
"So," Felicity asked, "you and Roy are serious?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"You guess?"
"It's complicated."
Slightly amused, Felicity reached for her freshly ordered soda. "Seriously? Why?"
"Because of The Hood."
Nearly choking on the sip she had taken, Felicity coughed while her eyes watered.
Thea frowned. "You okay?"
"Yes, sorry. I just didn't expect that. Why would The Hood complicate you and Roy?"
"Because ever since The Hood saved him in that subway wagon, Roy kind of worships him."
"Worships the vigilante?"
"Yeah, wants to meet him. I told Roy he doesn't need him to be somebody, but he's stubborn."
"I know the type," Felicity sighed. This indeed sounded like a complication. It also sounded like something that she shouldn't approve of. Not to mention that it sounded like something that might make Oliver freak out. With their whole not-keeping-anything-from-each-other-vow, she could hardly keep this under wraps. The thought that she had managed to tell him about the wreck of the Queen's Gambit and that Malcolm Merlyn was the devil reincarnated didn't help her at all. Instead, it made her wonder why she constantly had to give him news that held freaking-out potential?
Thea's voice was soft when she said, "But I like Roy. Really, he's a good guy. He stopped robbing liquor stores for me."
"Well, if that isn't love I don't know what is." Seeing the look that crossed her sister-in-law's face, Felicity hurried to add, "Sorry, I always forget that sarcasm mostly isn't helpful. It's just—"
The sentence died on her tongue as the front door was kicked open so forcefully that the bells above it were ripped off and propelled through the room. The next thing Felicity saw was a gun. Her eyes zoomed in on it, blocking all other visual stimuli out. For a few seconds the barrel of the gun became her whole universe. Then her surroundings crashed in on her again. With it came the realization that a man wearing a blue hoodie was stalking through the restaurant, aiming his gun at Carly, telling her to "hand over the fuckin' money." He was holding his gun sideways—which Felicity had learned might look gangsta, but didn't do your aim any favors. The shaking of his hands probably reduced his aiming abilities even more. His eyes jumped through the room, his whole demeanor spoke of nervousness. It also vibrated in his voice when he added a yelled "NOW!", jerking the weapon at Carly.
She hurried toward the cash register as the robber took another step toward the counter—and with that he was within reach of Brad Foster. Felicity's bodyguard moved quickly and efficiently. Felicity knew that he had a black belt in Aikido, but now she saw that that meant hands moving precisely and quickly. In barely five seconds the robber lay on the floor of the diner, gasping for air.
The veteran with the missing thumb towered over the man, keeping his eyes on him, and said, "Somebody call 9—"
"Watch out!" Felicity's cry of warning came a second too late. The second man, who'd been sitting two seats further down by the counter, was with Brad before he could even turn around. Felicity's shout was still hanging in the air when the stranger rammed a knife into Brad's side.
"NO!" The cry of utter dread fled from Felicity's lips. She was on her feet and rushing to her bodyguard – the third bodyguard who had been hurt while protecting her – when suddenly she was faced with a gun.
The man who had stabbed Brad was aiming at her. "Sit down!"
Slowly, Felicity retreated and slid back into the booth. The stabber was older than the guy in the blue hoodie, who was still on the floor, gasping for air. The standing man wore torn jeans, a stained football jersey, and a threatening expression. He looked serious and calm where his partner had appeared jumpy and inexperienced.
Felicity glanced at Thea, frozen to her seat, but quickly placed her attention back on the two robbers.
The hoodied man was breathing more evenly. Brad Foster lay between them on the floor, bleeding heavily. Though his breathing was shallow, he was conscious, but after the first yell of pain he had fallen quiet, focusing all his energy on breathing. It was a wild guess, but Felicity thought the knife might've hit a lung. How much time did that leave Brad? The man planning to marry his high school sweetheart in two months, the man who had survived a bombing in Jalalabad only to get taken out protecting her in a burger restaurant in Starling City?
"Just take the money," Carly said. Her voice was higher than usual, vibrating with the terror claiming her. She pressed a few buttons and the drawer of the cashier rolled out, "Here! Take it!"
Knife-guy, whose carrot red hair was accompanied with pale and freckled skin, aimed his gun at her. "Dee," he addressed hoodie-guy, who got up from the floor, "give her the bag and keep your eyes on her."
Dee threw a plastic bag at Carly, who failed to catch it in her panic, and raised his firearm again, aiming it at the woman's chest.
"Pick up the bag and fill it!" knife-guy told her and turned around to face the assembled customers. Next to Felicity and Thea, there was a group of five teenagers, three boys and two girls, occupying the booth farthest away from the Queen women. "You better don't try anything stupid if you want to get out of here alive." He waved the gun around. "Since one of you caused us problems and the stakes just got upped, I say we better make this worth it." A dirty grin showed on his face. "And I think you two Queens are worth a lot." He turned to their booth, motioning to the cellphone resting on the table with the gun. "Call your billionaire of a husband. I want to know how much he's willing to pay for you."
"Max," Dee breathed the name out in utter shock. "That was never part of the plan."
"I'm improvising," Max said and sounded way too pleased with himself.
"You're an idiot."
Felicity couldn't believe Thea was actually talking right now. Even though she did have a point, it was questionable if she had to make that in this exact moment.
"Oh?" Max taunted dangerously. "Am I? I'm also the one with the gun. So, shut up!"
"If you want to do this," Thea shrugged, "fine with me. It's your funeral." She turned to Felicity. "Call Ollie." There was something in Thea's voice that Felicity couldn't quite place.
The gurgling sounds coming from Brad told Felicity she didn't have a choice: she had to call Oliver, praying that she wasn't destroying one of their most important missions and that he had already sniped the sniper.
She reached for her phone and dialed a number she had never called before.
Lawton was there, Oliver knew. He had seen him for the blink of an eye before he had disappeared again. It had happened too quickly for Oliver to react: Deadshot had been standing next to another man on one of the upper levels of the plaza, giving him a hat, before he had sunk into the crowd again. Damn it, this guy was seriously good.
Scanning the people underneath him, Oliver suddenly saw that exact hat again. Quickly, he opened the com, "Digg, the guy heading your way's a decoy."
Oliver had been right before, Deadshot was really, really good. Sending in somebody that resembled him to lure potential threats out, to make sure that this wasn't a trap—that was smart. It also meant Lawton had a good view on the plaza, too. Raising his bow, Oliver scanned the upper level when he felt a vibration against his chest. He lost his focus and his concentration instantly. Because this was his "work phone" as Felicity called it. Only two people had this number. One of them was sitting at a table opposite a brunette A.R.G.U.S. agent, looking tense and close to self-combustion. The other was supposed to be eating French fries with his sister. This was the emergency number, this was a phone he'd carried with him every second of the day for four months and it hadn't rang once. Quickly, he pulled the zipper of his jacket down, got the tiny phone stored in the inside pocket out, and answered, "Felicity, what happened?"
"I'm in a little bit of a situation at Big Belly Burger." She was talking quickly and Oliver could hear the tension in her voice, the suppressed fear as she continued, "There are two guys with guns here who originally planned a little robbery, but after they stabbed Brad they decided to turn this into a hostage situation and ask you for money. Oh, one of them wants to talk to you."
Fury collected inside him as Diggle's voice hit Oliver's other ear. "What's going on?"
The com line was still open, Oliver realized, already turning his back to the plaza, running. "Tell them to abort the mission. I have to go."
"GO?" Pure shock was audible in Diggle's voice. "Go where?"
"Hostage situation at Big Belly," Oliver forced out, adding, "Don't engage Lawton!"
Oliver cut the communication off and connected his cellphone with the system. He had barely managed to do so when a different, unfamiliar male voice came out of his ear plug. "Mr. Queen, your wife already filled you in."
"Yes," Oliver grumbled heading to his bike. She had, she had kept it together and had informed him perfectly. She had told him where to go, how many opponents were waiting for him with what weaponry, and that Brad was hurt. She hadn't managed to include the number of hostages, but her tale gave him the impression that the two guys asking for ransom were hardly professional. That was bad, actually. It was a variable that could end up tipping the situation either way. With a forceful flick of his wrist, he started his bike. "You want money? How much?"
"Oh, I have your wife, your sister, the beauty running this joint – she's a friend of your wife, I think – and five innocent bystanders. How much do you think that's worth?"
There it was, the whole number of people threatened: eight, including two people he loved and his partner's girlfriend. Along with it came the information that this guy was really cocky and really stupid. Oliver's face tightened with the worry. He twisted the gas handle as far as it would go, his bike jumping forward with screeching tires. The guy on the other end of the conversation probably heard it, but Oliver didn't care.
"Tell me how much you want and I'll pay." Oliver didn't even try to sound like a terrified husband and brother. He was too furious to make an act even remotely believable.
"Already on your way to the bank, I hear."
There was a smirk in the asshole's voice. Oh, Oliver would so enjoy wiping it off. He tightened his grip on the handle and couldn't help but think that at least Felicity knew he was on his way. "Yes," he pressed out, forcing himself not to sound as murderous as he felt. He needed to keep this guy engaged in conversation, distracted. "How much to you want and where do you want me to transfer it?"
"We want one billion per hostage, two for the wife."
"You want nine billion dollars?" Oliver asked and heard somebody mutter something in the background and he was nearly one hundred percent sure that it was Felicity, who would never understand that sarcasm generally wasn't helpful.
"Shut UP!" The guy Oliver would end tonight snapped at somebody—probably Felicity. His next words were clearly directed at Oliver. "You're right, let's make that an even sum." Oliver was speeding through a red light when he heard, "Let's make it ten billion. I'll text you the account number. You have one hour." With that the line went dead. Biting back a curse, Oliver barely managed to avoid colliding with a truck and steered around the corner. This guy would get what he deserved.
Max, the guy seriously overestimating his own intelligence, pressed the send-button and threw the phone on the table between Felicity and Thea. He looked so pleased with himself, a smug smile on his face, and Felicity knew that, inwardly, he was already counting his billions.
Thea was right. He was an idiot.
A strange relief had taken over Felicity during the minutes Max had spent on the phone. The knowledge that Oliver was on his way calmed her. She didn't even have to wish for him to hurry. There wasn't the slightest doubt within her that Oliver was hurrying—which probably meant he was speeding recklessly on his bike.
Maybe she should hope that he'd get here in one piece.
She looked at Brad in time to see his eyes flutter shut. He lost conscious, a gurgling coming from within his chest. Felicity feared for his life more than she did for her own. Moving her gaze away from the man lying on the floor by the counter, she met Carly's. The other woman breathed heavily as she stood next to the open cash register, visibly shaken, but pulling herself together.
"You really are an idiot."
That was Thea. Felicity's eyes snapped to the girl, who had a strangely wild expression in her eyes. She seemed jumpier than before, unable to sit still, her hands shaking slightly. The realization that she had seriously underestimated Thea's condition (and she had already feared for much, much worse than Oliver ever had) hit Felicity hard and unprepared. Thea was unstable, in need of whatever she was on, and she was reckless enough in this state to taunt a guy who was unpredictable and in possession of a firearm. "Thea," Felicity warned.
Thea either didn't hear the warning or deliberately ignored it. "Come on," she said instead. "Ten billion dollars? If you had asked for ten million—okay. But ten billion?" She glared at Max, her eyes shooting daggers at him, "For a guy that doesn't know what he's doing! You're in way over your head." She informed him casually.
Felicity half-admired her sister-in-law's gut while the other half worried that Max would spill Thea's gut across the seat.
But the robber kept from shooting Thea. Instead, he slapped her, splitting her lip. Felicity only managed to flex her muscles in an attempt to get up before she was faced with the gun again.
"Max, man," Dee urged, sounding terrified. He stood by the teenagers, keeping them in check. "She has a point. That's is too much. Let's just go and forget about this."
"NO!" Max yelled. "Everybody just SHUT UP!" He stared at Dee. "I got this."
"You got nothing!" Thea practically spat the words at him. Blood was running down her chin, dripping onto the fashionable white shirt she was wearing, leaving bright stains that grew steadily.
Max swung the gun back at her. "I SAID SHUT UP!"
"Okay." Shaking the shock off, Felicity found her voice back. "Everybody calm down." For lack of anything better, she reached for the dispenser and held some napkins out to Thea, "Here, press that on the wound. We don't taunt guys with guns." She focused on Max. "My husband's on his way to get the money. I know he is, just don't do anything stupid." She added what she hoped was a calming gesture. "We'll just sit here and shut up until you have the money in your account, okay?"
"No, not okay," Max shot back. "I think I deserve a little extra for putting up with you both." He pointed at Felicity's left hand. "Give me your ring."
"My ring?"
Stunned Felicity stared at the guy for a long second before letting her gaze drop to the only ring she wore: the platinum band with the embedded emerald, the ring Oliver had slipped on her finger with a promise. It was a token of their love. There might by a tracer in there that gave Oliver some peace of mind, but that wasn't what she saw when looking at her left hand. She saw their own version of a wedding band that fit their own version of a marriage and there was no way in hell that she'd simply give that jackass her ring.
Her eyes snapped back up. "I have my credit card on me. Take that instead."
"No," Max said, sounding strangely pleased. "I want the ring. It looks flashy and expensive."
"Flashy?!" Felicity gasped in awe. "Are you crazy? There nothing flashy about it."
"But it's expensive and I want it."
"It has sentimental value," Felicity argued and kind of expected the man to grab her hand and tear the ring off her finger.
Max didn't. Instead, he turned, swinging his outstretched arm with the gun in hand 180 degrees. His eyes were on Felicity, but the gun aimed at Carly. His voice mocking, he said, "It's fine. Keep your ring. I'll simply shoot her."
"What was it about not taunting guys with guns?" Thea piped up.
"Okay, okay, okay." Felicity quickly pulled the ring off. "Here." Letting the ring drop into Max' outstretched hand, Felicity couldn't help but really, really despise him. She longed to wipe that smug smile off his face, and her stomach turned when she saw his fist close around the stupid ring that wasn't worth letting anybody get hurt over while letting go of it still tore her heart apart.
"You enjoy this!" Thea spat, a bundle of blood-soaked napkins in hand. "You only want the ring because it means something to her. You're sick! You'll pay for this."
"Really?!" Max laughed at his own private joke. Nobody else found anything funny. The other people stayed deadly quiet, staring or glaring at him. His eyes were set on Thea. "No, babe, you'll pay. Or should we say: your family will pay. Because, honestly, what do you have to offer apart from a pretty face and a nice ass?"
"HEY!" Felicity shouted, hating this guy more with each word he said. "That's enough. You don't get to talk to her like that."
"I don't?" he mocked.
"You don't!" Felicity clarified. "And all this makes me wonder what is it you have to offer. Can't be a lot of comm—"
"Shut up, bitch!" Max face was getting red, the gun swayed right back to her and the way it was vibrating right in front of her nose told Felicity that she better followed that order. "You bitch, you don't—"
The lights went out. The full moon outside sent its cold light through the huge windows. Together with the streetlamp on the sidewalk and the passing cars it provided more than enough light to make everybody out, but the sudden change in lighting stunned the gun-wielding robber into momentary silence. The teenagers gasped in shock, but Felicity's body flooded with relief.
Oliver. He was here.
"What that FUCK!" Max shouted, his grasp on the situation slipping more and more with each passing second. Hectically he turned around, glanced left, right, left again. "What happened to the lights?" he asked in a demanding voice, as if that made the answer magically come to him.
"I don't know," Dee wined in response. "We should get out of here."
"Too late!" The electronically changed voice of The Hood froze everybody into place just as the swing door leading to the kitchen was kicked open. The sound of the bowstring being released could be heard. A soft 'plock' followed almost instantly as the arrow hit Dee's gun, knocking it to the floor. A second arrow followed instantly, piercing the boy's thigh, slicing through the leg, causing him to fall to the floor with a whimper.
Carly was already ducking behind the counter. The Hood jumped over it and went straight for Max, connecting the sole of his foot with the robber's stomach, causing him to double over and stumble back, the gun falling to the floor. Aggression was leaking from The Hood, Felicity could feel it. She could sense the state of mind the man underneath the hood was in, the man she knew and loved, and she knew what he had come here to do.
Barely keeping from crashing to the ground, Max caught himself. Theatrically he spat a mouthful of blood to the floor. Turning his head slowly, he looked at The Hood. "I thought you only attacked the rich."
"I'm not Robin Hood."
It was the wrong moment to roll her eyes, Felicity knew. Still, she only barely managed to keep from doing it. That was such a typical Oliver-thing to say.
"You attacked innocent people." The Hood continued. "I won't allow that in my city."
"Your city?" Max sounded disbelieving. "Who made you major?"
Despite her better judgment, Felicity couldn't help but admire Max's gut. The Hood obviously didn't agree. He jumped at the man. His fists rained down on the robber, who wasn't a worthy opponent and simply took the hits. Seeing The Hood reach toward his quiver and for an arrow, Felicity knew that was next.
"Don't!" The word flew from her lips before she could stop it. The Hood froze mid-movement, his fist closed around an arrow. Its very tip grazed the skin of Max's neck. A sudden silence followed that seemed deafening to Felicity. "He's unarmed." Her voice sounded slightly shaky in her own ears. "He isn't a threat anymore."
Two more seconds of utter quiet followed. It was the barest pause, but it was filled with the air of a decision being made, with a deliberate change of direction. Quick movement ended this moment and an arrow was thrust into skin, tearing a cry filled with pain from Max's lips. The robber crashed to the ground, the arrow The Hood rammed into a muscle of his leg. Another well-calculated punch and Max lost consciousness.
Once again, the assembled people reacted with nothing. A forceful gurgling cut into the silence and Felicity tore her eyes away from her husband's alter-ego and hurried to get out of the booth. Sinking down to the floor, she checked Brad Foster's pulse. It was faint, but it was there.
"I'm calling 911," Carly declared.
Felicity hoped that Oliver had already done that on his way over. Brad needed help ASAP. Staring down at her bleeding bodyguard, her eyes were drawn to the knife sticking out of his side.
"Leave it," The Hood said from behind her, his electronically changed voice deep and distorted. "Press on the wound."
She looked up and saw that he was moving toward her. Their eyes met. She was about to say something when Thea spoke up first. "I knew you'd come." There was a certain softness in her voice. "Thank you."
The Hood froze for a second. He stood in the middle of Big Belly Burger, his head lowered so that his hood covered more than half of his face.
"Yeah," one of the teenage boys said. "That was so badass, dude. Thanks!"
Felicity didn't know if anybody had ever thanked The Hood, but she could sense Oliver's unease. After another moment of hesitation he gave a jerk of his head that could count as a nod before he jumped over the counter, passed Carly, and headed toward the kitchen, back to where he had come from. He disappeared just in time: the swing door was still moving, its hinges squeaking, when blue and red lights flash from the outside. The ambulance arrived, along with SCPD.
News had spread. The way the officer lifted the yellow tape as Oliver walked toward the police line proved that. The uniformed man recognized him and knew that the billionaire had reasons to pass: on the other side of the barrier keeping the onlookers in bay were his wife and his sister—and, apparently, his mother.
Moira Queen stood in the midst of the emergency lights flashing red and blue, holding on to Thea, who appeared to be unsteady on her legs. Oliver walked forcefully toward them. "Mom," he called and rushed to her.
His mother's eyes met his and the expression that greeted him there stunned him: she looked worried, more worried than he had ever seen her. "Oliver," she said, tiredly. "It appears that our family can't catch a break."
Carefully, Oliver let his eyes slide over his sister whose eyes appeared to be glassy and unfocussed. "Thea, are you okay?"
"Peachy," she slurred the word. Her tongue was heavy as she continued, "I was a little worried before because, you know, the whole life-and-death thing. But now I'm awesome." She frowned up at him with huge pupils, "Do you know that your nose is huge? Like gigantic."
"She was very shaken after the whole horrible ordeal," Moira explained, "The paramedics gave her something to help her calm down."
Oliver frowned. That must be one hell of a pill, if it ended like that.
An angry glare on her face, his mother shook her head. "Detective Lance told us to wait so he could get Thea's statement, but this is plain ridiculous. I'm taking Thea home. She needs sleep. Tell the detective if he wants your sister's statement, he can come by the mansion tomorrow."
"I will." Letting his eyes scan the scenery, over policemen and officers, over cop cars and ambulances, he asked, "Where's Felicity?"
The moment that question left his lips was the moment he saw the answer: Felicity climbed out of a police van, followed by Detective Lance.
"She was giving her statement." Moira added unnecessarily.
"Take Thea home," Oliver urged, "I'll take care of Lance and call tomorrow."
After one last glance shared with his mother and a quick goodbye, he walked across the street toward Felicity. She headed toward Big Belly Burger, but only managed two steps before Detective Lance blocked her way, addressing her. She didn't like whatever Lance was telling her, Oliver could see it in the straightening of her back, in her defiantly raised chin, and as he came close enough he could also hear it in the way she said, "I won't touch anything…. Okay, I won't touch anything else."
"Felicity." Hearing him say her name caught her attention. She looked at him. "Oliver, Detective Lance won't let me go back in." She motioned to the diner.
"It's a crime scene." Lance was annoyed—he always was, but this time the annoyance was stronger, Oliver realized. "I cannot let you contaminate it."
Stepping next to her, Oliver ignored everything either of them had said and instead pulled Felicity into a hug. "Are you okay?" Keeping up appearances wasn't the only reason for asking. Oliver knew she was unharmed – he had made sure of that – but what he had seen of the situation inside the diner had been intense. It was another horrible experience she had to live through, another fuel for nightmares that caused her to scream in terror in the middle of the night, ripping him from his sleep with a sound that was nutrition for his own bad dreams.
She hugged him back for a second, but her grip loosened too quickly for his liking. Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he looked at her. Meeting her beautiful blue eyes confirmed his worst fears. She looked honestly shaken, her voice sounded small when she said, "I gave him my ring."
Oliver had expected Felicity to say a lot of things—this wasn't one of them. Her statement was so unexpected that he did a visible double take. "What?"
"My ring," she repeated, lifting up her left hand. "I tried to offer him money instead, but he threatened to shoot Carly and I had to give it to him. I'm sorry." His eyes had fallen to her hand, to her bare ring finger. "The ring's in there," she continued, speaking with more emphasis, sounding honestly upset. "I only need a second to go in and get it." She turned so that Oliver's hands fell from her shoulders. She gestured toward Lance. "But he won't let me."
Her reaction, her insistence to get the ring, and the importance it obviously had for her, made his heart flutter. A smile he couldn't help showed on his face. Gently, he cradled her ring-less hand in his. "Felicity, it's okay. It's just a ring."
"It isn't," she said sternly. "And you know that it isn't."
The smile was still on his lips. "Okay, you're right. But we'll get it back." After all, there was a tracer in the ring. It was one piece of jewelry that was basically impossible to lose. But Lance didn't know that and he didn't need to, so Oliver continued. "I'm sure Detective Lance will make sure you get it back. Now that he knows how much it means to you." He looked at the detective. "Right?"
Taking a deep breath full of annoyance, Lance said, "Sure." He sent a pointed glance Oliver's way. "You should get your wife home. I've seen it plenty of times: victims of traumatic situations fretting over meaningless, small things. She's clearly in shock."
The detective's diagnosis was wrong but Oliver couldn't blame him. After all, he was a cop, not a doctor. And he didn't know Felicity as well as Oliver did. In fact, Lance didn't know her at all. But his mistake was the perfect way to get out of here quickly. Oliver's hand closed around Felicity's, keeping her from informing Lance that her ring wasn't a small thing. "You're right. She needs some rest. As does my sister. My mother took her home. You can get her statement tomorrow."
The look on Lance's face spoke volumes. It told Oliver clearly what he thought of the Queens, their arbitrary decision making, and their belief that they could order him around. Despite all that, he nodded. "Fine." He turned around and headed back toward the SUV.
Oliver let the other man have the satisfaction of getting the last word. Instead, he placed his sole attention on his wife, searching her face. She looked shaken but mostly fine. "Don't worry about the ring. It's not a big deal." He gave her a quick kiss. "I'm just glad you're okay."
She smiled weakly. "All thanks to you. So, again, thank you." The smile vanished. "I need to check on Brad."
"I already did. He's in surgery. I made sure he gets the Queen-treatment." It was a petty thing to say, but the advantages that came with his family name and his family's money were something he didn't hesitate to use for a good cause.
"Oh God, his poor fiancée." Felicity paled. "Do you think I should call her?" Oliver was about to answer when he realized that Felicity's attention shifted away from him. Her eyes settled on something behind him, making her frown. "Carly?" she asked and stepped around him.
Turning, Oliver saw the woman quite a few steps away on the sidewalk. She looked lost, not reacting to Felicity's call but simply staring down at the cell phone in her hand.
Following his wife, Oliver headed over and saw Carly startle as Felicity stepped to her. "Carly, are you okay?"
"Johnny can't come." It was a short, matter-of-fact statement that was uttered with complete confusion. Hearing the hurt in her voice, Oliver tensed up. He stopped a few steps behind Felicity, keeping his distance but listening closely.
Felicity's hand reached for Carly's arm as the woman continued talking quietly, as if to herself. "He called to check if I was okay. I asked him to come, stay at my place tonight, but he said he couldn't. He said he was sorry." Now she looked up and at Felicity. "He's sorry."
Seeing the look in Carly's eyes, the hurt gathering there, Oliver took another step toward her and said, "It's my fault." He was perfectly fine with taking the blame, directing Carly's anger at him. So many people were angry with and disappointed in him, he didn't mind dealing with more anger if it was for a good cause. "I asked Digg to do something for me. I'm sure he'd rather be here."
A raised eyebrow was Carly's first reaction. "You asked him to do something?" She huffed. "Let me guess, it was this really important thing." Her eyes drilled into him. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Johnny's job protecting you? And you're here, checking on Felicity, making sure she's okay. So, what could be more important for Johnny than being here? With you? Checking on me?"
Helplessly, Oliver pressed his lips together. Because he didn't have an answer that would do.
Felicity's hand tightened in a comforting squeezing around Carly's arm. "I'm really sorry."
Hollowly, Carly nodded. "I should get home."
"Let us take you."
"No," Carly took a step away from Felicity, causing her arm to fall from her shoulder. "I think I'd rather walk. Clear my head." She gave them a curt nod. "Goodnight."
Oliver watched her walk away. Felicity was the one to speak up first. "Okay, that's it. I need you to take me to the Foundry."
"Why?"
"Because John's acting like an ass. And we both know that it really isn't like him." The way she said that told Oliver clearly that objecting was nothing but a waste of time and energy. Not bothering to even try to change her mind, he simply gestured for her to lead the way.
It was a strange realization that giving the police a statement (which was the truth with selected details left unsaid) could become a routine. Felicity realized that while giving Detective Lance her version of what happened. (And while wondering if Quentin Lance was the only policeman actually working in Starling City. He honestly seemed to be in charge of everything.)
Climbing out of the SUV, all Felicity had wanted to do was to get her ring back and head home. But seeing the expression on Carly Diggle's face chased away all thoughts of ending this horrible day. The young woman looked so broken—and not because of robbers pointing a gun at her, but because the man she cared about didn't show her how much he cared about her. Felicity had seen in on Carly's face: the shattering disappointment. Carly wasn't even angry. She was hurt, emotionally. She was confused. It didn't make any sense to her why John was acting this way, why all she got was a lousy phone call. Carly's question about what could be more important to John than being with her was right on point.
Felicity wanted to ask John exactly that. She was way too hopped up on adrenaline to find rest anyway and she wasn't in the mood for a jog. Originally, she had been in the mood for venting some energy with Oliver, but that had dissipated. Now, she was in need of some answers. She hadn't found them at the Foundry, which had been empty, but they would find them here.
It was close to midnight when Felicity knocked on the door to John Diggle's apartment. It took him quite some time to answer. The expression he greeted them with made it clear that he had checked the peephole and wasn't exactly happy with what he'd seen.
He looked at Oliver. "So, you do know where I live?"
"I've always known." It was a simple statement, as if considering anything else was just unreasonable.
Not moving, blocking the way, John looked at the couple standing next to each other in the hall. His eyes travelled to Felicity. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Yes," she said, "I am. But you're not." She gestured to his forehead where a bad, sloppily cleaned cut was visible. "What happened there?"
"I appreciate your concern, but I'm not it the mood tonight."
John's statement was casual, spoken without much emotion, but it sent the clear message of 'get lost.' Felicity blinked at the huge man suddenly appearing much smaller than he really was. She didn't know what she had expected, but it hadn't been clear dismissal and open rejection. Neither did anything to waver Felicity's resolution, though. Much the opposite: it cemented her belief that something was very wrong with John.
Next to her, Oliver squared his shoulders and glared at his partner. "I told you to abort the mission!"
Hearing the aggressive accusation in Oliver's voice, Felicity slapped his chest. They weren't here for a lecture; they were here to check on their friend and offer help—but it seemed as if this mission was doomed to fail. The way things were going, they wouldn't even make it out of the hall and into the apartment.
But, strangely, Oliver's accusation achieved the exact opposite: with a heavy sigh, John stepped to the side and gestured for them to enter.
The door had barely shut with a soft click when Oliver turned to the other man, stating with certainty. "You engaged him."
"Had to."
"No," Oliver said forcefully, "you really didn't!"
"He tried to take out Lyla."
Oliver tensed, pressing his lips together. Felicity decided to step in. Trying to take the edge out of the conversation, she said, "Let me have a look at that cut. I've gotten really good with first aid lately."
But John ignored her offer. Instead, he took a step toward Oliver. "You, of all people, should understand that I couldn't just let him go. After he tried to kill another person I care about!"
Felicity watched the two men standing opposite each other. Once again, there was a silent communication going on between them, a deeper understanding that was rooted in similar experiences Felicity didn't share. Taking in the scene, the intense staring going on between the man she loved and her trusted friend, she realized that John didn't need her right now. He didn't need her to clean his wound and comfort him. He didn't need comfort. He needed to vent some frustrations, he needed to get what had happened off his chest, and he needed to do so with somebody he didn't have to tread lightly around, somebody who could relate to what he was going through. Right in this moment, John needed Oliver. Instinctively, she took a step back.
Ending the short break in conversation, Oliver asked, "Was Lyla hurt?"
"No, I got her out of the way in time."
"What happened then?"
"I saw him, Lawton. Deadshot. I saw him head into the stairwell to the parking garage."
"You followed him." Again, certainty was audible in Oliver's statement. It mixed with annoyance vibrating in his voice, growing stronger as he continued talking, "I told you not to engage him."
"That wasn't your call to make! You abandoned me there! After you promised me—"
"Don't!" The word was a clear order mixing with a threat, even though Oliver didn't shout it. If anything, the lack of volume made it more forceful. Oliver's eyes were fixed on John, whose chest was heaving, proving his agitation. "I will not apologize for leaving," Oliver glared at his partner, his voice stronger, louder, but not losing the threatening effect. "I will not apologize for putting people I love first! People you love! Carly was in that diner, Digg. Are you honestly accusing me of abandoning you?!"
John backed away from Oliver. Felicity could see how distressed he was, could practically sense the emotions rioting inside him, tearing at him and at his peace of mind. She wanted to comfort him, to make him feel better, to take the emotional pain away, but before she could think of anything to say, John found his voice again.
"I followed him into that staircase. We fought, he took my gun from me, but he didn't kill me, didn't shoot me. Instead he pulled down his shirt." Diggle motioned to his collar bone. "Right there, he has a tattoo. Andy's name, permanently inked into his skin, like he does with everybody he kills. Told me there was room left underneath for my name. Then he knocked me out." He looked at Oliver. "I messed up, man. I could have ended it right there if I had played it a little smarter. Instead, he bested me, mocked me. That bastard!"
"He's playing mind-games, Digg. You can't—"
"I can't get the sight out of my head!" John shouted, but fought to quiet down immediately. "Andy's name, turned into some sick trophy."
Her friend was struggling, Felicity could see it, fighting not to fall apart, to riot, scream, or cry—maybe, even do all three at the same time. There was so much pain inside John and he was keeping a heavy lid on it. But the collective calm that was trademark John Diggle was cracking while he gave his all not to break completely.
Maybe that was the reason John hadn't gone to the Foundry where he could have vented his emotions, where there weren't any neighbors preventing him from letting it all out, where he knew Oliver and Felicity were likely to confront him. John Diggle couldn't give up control.
"We'll get him." Oliver urged. "We'll take him down. I know you wanted it to be tonight, but—"
"But WHEN?!" John threw his hands up. "How much longer am I supposed to live with the knowledge that my brother's killer's out there? Taking pride in the pain he caused me."
Oliver stared at his partner, needing a moment until he asked in disbelief, "You're honestly mad that I left?" Oliver shook his head. "When I arrived at the diner a man was pointing a gun at your girlfriend! And my wife! My sister! Who of them would you have traded for the death of Deadshot?" He took a step toward John and asked, forcefully, "Huh!? Who?!"
"You don't get to lecture me about needing revenge. Not YOU!" John shot back.
"Maybe you should worry about that fact that even I know that saving a life always trumps taking one!"
"Okay," Felicity stepped closer, drawing the attention if not the gazes of the two men. "That's enough. Take a deep breath, both of you." Moving next to Oliver, she addressed John. "Nobody here honestly thinks that you'd condone Carly getting hurt over your very understandable vendetta." She sent Oliver a quick glance. "I know that you're in pain and that you want to put an end to it. I know that you're looking for your peace of mind, but you won't get it like this. You're about to lose everything."
John's eyes were sad and empty as they met Felicity's. There was a sense of finality in his voice as he said, "I think I already have." He gestured to the door. "Thanks for stopping by."