Chapter: 43 - Registry Repair
Word Count: 3978

Notes: Holy wow, this chapter was insane. I knew what I wanted to do with it, but getting it on paper was a chore. Sometimes it just goes like that. Anyway, I hope you enjoy watching where this one goes! :) Reviews and comments are awesome, but you're already awesome just for being you. ;)

Also, just an early note that there will not be an update on March 5. I have a vet school interview that week, so that's all I'm thinking about for that. I'll remind you a little closer to time, but I just wanted to let you guys think about it. ;)


Felicity sinks down into the chair after Oliver leaves, keeping up with the route he takes to the psychiatric ward that has become the Count's permanent address. There's nothing much to do but wait, and the first part—before Oliver confronts his target and while travel is still involved—always seems to make her throat tighten a little. The anticipation seems to make her jittery every time.

The first thing she does is slide the Bluetooth headset, keeping herself in contact with Oliver if he needs her. Her fingers drum against the desk to dispel some of the nervous energy, and a voice calls behind her, "Need something to do?" Felicity turns to smile to Diggle, only to find him flipping through some sort of case file at the other end of the lair.

"Actually," she answers, "it would help me think about something than Oliver going after the same guy that tried to make him overdose on Vertigo a few months ago." She frowns at the folder, realizing that it's not one of the case reports Oliver picked up from Laurel or Detective Lance. She mutes her end of the phone connection with Oliver before asking, "What are you working on?" Diggle hesitates slightly, and she quickly tacks on, "If you don't mind me asking."

He offers her a slight smile before laying the open file on the desk beside her and handing her a flash drive. "I'm looking into Deadshot." Her brow furrows in question, and he continues, "Floyd Lawton killed my brother. We thought Oliver killed Lawton, but then he took that hit on Malcolm Merlyn, and I'm not okay with Deadshot being out there and free. The drive has everything I know about Lawton on it." His expression is haunted, and she knows it's probably eating him up inside. "I've called one of my contacts in ARGUS, and they agreed to meet me tonight. I just wanted to make sure all the information was there."

Felicity nods once, knowing that he probably wouldn't appreciate any questions. Instead, she plugs in the drive and pulls up the software she designed to pull information from multiple government databases. With a quick type the assassin's name, she's able to tell Digg, "Don't get me wrong, I hate this guy for what he did to your brother, but his forger is brilliant—this identity is spot on, down to elementary school discipline records and they have him down as serving jury duty twice." Diggle clears his throat, and Felicity gets the point. "But it looks like he's made a series of calls to someone named Alberto Garcia."

Curious, she types it into the program, too, then pulls up the ping from the NSA—one that rarely pings in their searches. "Oh, wow. Apparently the NSA thinks the guy is some sort of agent-slash-broker for nasty criminals like Lawton. I bet he's the guy who books the hits." She frowns. "It's not much to go on, Digg."

"Maybe not," he agrees, "but it's something. And it's definitely more than what I'lve got." He drops a hand on her shoulder as she downloads the information to the drive, handing it to him when she finishes. "Thanks, Felicity."

"No problem," she assures him, and then she hesitates. "You know," she starts slowly, "I can't do much more than track his digital trail, but Oliver wouldn't hesitate to help you with this if you needed it. He'd be a lot more useful than I would."

"I know that," Diggle answers, "but this is personal, Felicity. Lawton is my problem, and I want to be the one to put him away." Something in her face must show the concern she feels for Diggle going after a highly-trained assassin because he adds, "And I'll be careful. I'm just going to meet a friend." He scoffs. "Besides, you have more on your plate to worry about than me—I'm not the one who takes on the city's worst with a bow." He offers a smile, then waves over his shoulder as he turns to leave. "My cell is on if you two need me."

Absently murmuring a goodbye, Felicity turns back to the screen, watching Oliver zoom through the streets via security cameras on one monitor and looking deeper into Floyd Lawton on the other. She'd like to have something to report to Digg, but the guy apparently covers his tracks well. Still, if there's a lose end hanging somewhere, it might be all it takes to unravel the mystery that is Deadshot. Lawton has to be an alias—she's not buying that he sang in the high school choir for a moment—so she starts digging, trying to see what other names the man might have used.

She's so deep in her search that she nearly jumps out of her chair when her cell phone rings—a generic tone used to indicate that the caller isn't in her contacts list. She pulls it out of her pocket with a frown, vowing that any telemarketer is going to get an earful for startling her. A quick glance at the number shows her it's the local area code. "Hello?" she offers, a little sharper than normal.

"Felicity?" is the tentative answer, the voice male and distorted slightly by poor reception. "This is Roy." His voice is wrong somehow, and not just the speaker distortion—his voice is quiet and his words are sluggish.

Her demeanor changes instantly, and she sets the phone on speaker so that she can continue her research into Floyd Lawton. "Is something wrong?" she asks immediately. "I'm in the middle of something that I probably shouldn't leave, but if this is an emergency, I'll leave right now. What's happening?"

"I ran into someone tonight that might be a friend of yours," he answers cryptically. "A blonde in black leather and a mask ring any bells? Carries some sort of stick or staff thing that she uses to beat the shit out of guys with?"

Felicity can feel the blood drain from her face, and her throat feels tight. "Oh God, are you hurt? She didn't hurt you, did she?" Then she realizes what he said about a friend of hers. "Roy, I don't know of any blonde vigilante running around, and she certainly doesn't work with the Arrow. What happened?"

There's a sigh through the line. "I was going to get food for me and Thea when I saw some guys try to jump a girl." Felicity lets a breath loose at the implication of that, and she can't stop the shudder up her spine. "I tried to get them to back off and there was a fight. I was losing pretty badly when she showed up and wiped the floor with them." She can hear him attempt to start the question twice before he finally asks, "Can you patch me up again? I don't want to deal with hospitals—they'll report this to the police."

She doesn't answer immediately, mulling it over. She can't leave the lair because Oliver's in the field and someone needs to be his eyes—and Diggle isn't an option since he's meeting his ARGUS contact. Tommy doesn't know enough to help with this, either, and she doesn't want Roy to know Tommy is in on this. On the other hand, Oliver will want to know more about the new vigilante, and Roy will remember more with the memory still fresh.

"Hold on for a minute," she says finally. "I need to talk to someone." Before he can answer, she mutes the line and unmutes her connection with Oliver, noting that his signal puts him in the psychiatric ward where the Count is staying. "We have an interesting development, Oliver—can you talk?"

His voice is low and soft when he answers under the synthesizer, but he does answer at least. "Go ahead," he assures her, the comm barely picking up the sound.

"Roy just called me, and apparently there's another vigilante running around Starling—blonde woman with a staff of some sort. It's a long story, but he got in a fightand needs to be patched up. Diggle left, though, and I can't aim you in the right direction if I'm not here."

"I'm not a hose," he answers dryly, the sarcasm sounding odd in his soft tone. On a more serious note, he continues, "If there's a new player in town, we need to know about them as soon as possible. I don't like the idea of someone dangerous running around my city." Felicity raises an eyebrow but somehow manages not to say that there is someone dangerous in town—and he wears a green hood. Almost as though he senses her response, he corrects himself. "Someone else dangerous. Ask him to come down to the lair." It's such an unexpected suggestion that Felicity falters over her answer, but Oliver cuts her off. "You trust Roy," he explains simply, "and I trust your judgment."

Even though Oliver has proven time and time again how much he trusts her, the declaration takes Felicity's breath away. She knows that trust isn't something he gives away easily, and blind trust is completely unheard of. Though she doesn't know the full story of what happened to Oliver on that island, she does know that it made the ideas of trust and faith synonymous with foolish to him. By simply letting her make a decision of such magnitude so easily, he proves that she's pushed through all of his defenses, that he's let her in completely. It feels like power—and far too much of it.

Felicity swallows, nodding even though she knows he can't see her. I'll ask him to meet me here," she replies after a long moment. Finally, she mutes his connection again before going back to her conversation with one of the many other frustrating men in her life. "Roy?" she calls to get his attention. "I'm at Verdant. Can you meet me here?"

"I'm only a few blocks away," he answers. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"No, Roy," she answers, "listen to me. Tommy thinks I've gone home for the night—it's complicated." She waves a hand. "It will make sense once you get here. Take that side entrance in from the alleyway—the one that leads in by the offices. Hang a right through the first hall, and you'll see a door locked with a keypad. Knock on it five times, and I'll let you in."

"Are you freelancing for a spy now?" Roy quips dryly, and the good humor in the tone makes her think he might be smiling.

With a laugh, Felicity answers, "Close enough. Just do it, Roy. Since it's your night off, just try to keep from being seen. It would probably look a little suspicious." They exchange goodbyes and she hangs up before any more ribbing can take place.

With a new mission in mind, she sets to work, texting Tommy, Diggle, and Oliver to warn them about staying away (or staying in uniform, in Oliver's case) for tonight. Then she turns to her computer wired to the federal databases and searches for instances of a blonde, female vigilante with a staff. Surprisingly, Felicity finds a few hits, all cases where the witnesses were hysterical or otherwise unreliable. Each case has similar elements, all mentioning that the women were about to be attacked when the vigilante showed up. In each case, the would-be attackers ended up in the hospital, showing that the blonde vigilante likes taking down misogynist criminals.

Felicity can work with that.

Truth be told, Felicity kind of wants to find this woman so she can send flowers to her address. Sure, Oliver will stop a crime when it's right in front of his nose—if he's on his way elsewhere, he'll stop to help—but he's never gone after a certain type of criminal like the blonde. She genuinely hopes that the blonde turns out to be an ally—the last thing Felicity wants is to take down a girl like this who seems to be doing good things.

A knock on the lair's door breaks Felicity out of her focus, and she realizes that there's chatter in her ear—Oliver going all Arrow-y on the Count. It doesn't sound like it's going well, but the knock is her priority until she hears the word "Oracle." Just to be sure, she checks the discrete video surveillance feed in the corridor, and Roy seems to be standing there with a nasty gash across his cheekbone, a split lip, and what looks like the beginnings of a very sore black eye.

Certain of his identity, she enters the string of data to unlock the door from the computer desk, watching on the screen as he enters. As soon as he's in, she locks it, turning to watch an open-mouthed Roy take in the lair with wide eyes. "Really?" he asks finally. "This is under Verdant? Did you guys get a discount on rent?"

Felicity rolls her eyes, not bothering to look up from her computers. "Technically, we were here before Oliver and Tommy turned it into a club. They still don't know we're down here. We're trying to keep it quiet." She turns to him, motioning to the ancient, decrepit chair Tommy sometimes uses when he visits. "Have a seat, and I'll see what I can do about that cut on your face."

He ignores her, though it seems to be more because of curiosity than anything else, immediately going over to the arrows on the table and running his index finger along the end of one of them. From the toolbox full of medical equipment, Felicity calls to him, "Don't do that."

Roy scoffs, still ignoring her direction. "What," he challenges, "does the Arrow get pissy when people touch his arrows?" It's a joke, and, truthfully, Felicity understands the need to touch something around here to be sure it's not just an elaborate dream. The lair is a little surreal at times, even though she's been working in it for a few months now.

"No, it's not that," she answers as she draws up lidocaine for more suturing. "It's just that if you cut yourself on one of those, it hurts worse than a paper cut." She feels his eyes on her even as she fills the syringe, and she shrugs. "I had to learn that the hard way, and I think you have enough injuries for one night."

Roy studies her a moment gesturing to the arrows and the station where Oliver makes them. "He makes these?" Before Felicity can answer, Roy holds up a package of tennis balls. "And why are these here?"

"All arrows used in the pursuit of bad guys are made right there where you're standing," Felicity answers dryly as she gathers the rest of the supplies she needs. "And the tennis balls are for target practice—he throws them up in the air or lets them bounce while putting arrows in them." She waves a hand toward her desk and the second chair. "Sit down, and I'll patch you up."

He does as she asks, and Felicity watches Roy close his eyes before even attempting to inject the lidocaine into the cut on his cheek. Despite all dislike for needles, he takes the procedure very well. His eyes immediately open when she finishes, as if he's trying to take in the lair as much as possible before he leaves. "You've done this a few times, haven't you?" he asks, curiosity burning in his voice.

She's about to tell him that it's part of the job description when you sign on to help a vigilante, but a flicker of movement on one of her computer screens draws her attention away. Felicity would recognize that figure anywhere—Detective Lance, talking to one of the doctors in the corridors. It's easy enough to figure out that he's there for the same reason Oliver is: to talk to the Count about the recent shipments of Vertigo wreaking havoc in the city.

Felicity instead holds up an index finger in warning for Roy to be quiet before pressing the unmute button on her comm. "Arrow," she starts, careful to keep Oliver's identity a secret, "you have company. It looks like Detective Lance is on his way to your location."

She can hear bits and pieces of the Count's ramblings in her ear when Oliver replies, "I'm on my way back to you." There's a deep sigh. "He's of no use, anyway." He doesn't offer any further explanation, but Felicity isn't sure she wants to ask for the details right now anyway. Muting her comm seems like the best option for the moment, and the rest can wait until Oliver returns.

Turning back to Roy to show him that the previous conversation is over, Felicity smiles at him. "We'll give the lidocaine a few moments to kick in, and then I'll suture that up," she informs him.

"One condition," Roy responds immediately, and then a hint of a smile plays at his features. "No lighters this time." He crosses his arms and waits, letting her know that he trusts her actions completely, lighter or no.

With a smile and a dry tone, she responds, "I make no promises."


Roy closes his eyes before the suture needle goes in even though he can't feel it, deciding that it's a whole lot easier to pretend it's not a needle if he can't see it. Felicity is careful and methodical, stopping at times to adjust his head at a tilt in order to properly run the needle through. It's a slower process this time—probably because of the location—but he's just grateful he didn't have to go to a hospital.

"I thought I told you to stay out of trouble," a voice that is not Felicity's calls across the room. Roy jumps at the Arrow's synthesized voice, not having heard him walk in. The needle in Felicity's hand feels cold as it misses its mark, but she pulls back before she can stab him with it.

"For the record," Roy starts slowly, "I was trying to stay out of trouble. I can't help it if trouble finds me." By the end, his tone is defensive, and he realizes too late that he probably shouldn't take his authority issues out on the guy who puts arrows in people every night. While Felicity seems confident about the Arrow, Roy doesn't know him well enough to decide if the guy would put an arrow in Roy if he became too much of a problem.

A scoff comes from in front of him, even as she continues stitching up the wound on Roy's cheekbone. "Sounds like someone else I know," Felicity responds dryly, the insinuation clear. Apparently the Arrow has used a similar line himself a time or two, and it sounds like she doesn't buy it, either. Clearly trying to change the subject, she asks, "How did things go with the Count?" Then she pats Roy on the shoulder. "You're done.

This time a sigh echoes through the synthesizer. Roy swivels in the chair to find the Arrow at the table where the weaponry lies, placing his bow on it. Then he walks over to the steel gurney in the middle of the room, pulling himself up to sit on it. "The Count isn't responsible for the new version of Vertigo running around the streets," is his answer, confident and definitive. "He's—" The Arrow breaks off into a rush of a language Roy doesn't recognize, the words running together into sounds for lack of comprehension.

Nor does Felicity know, judging by her reaction. "My understanding of Mandarin is limited to five words and three of those are numbers," she replies dryly, crossing her arms. Roy files the information away for later, curious as to how he learned the language so well.

"His mind is gone," the Arrow clarifies. Then, with something that looks like a smile, he circles a hand around his head with a long, drawn out bah sound. "We'll have to find another way to get to the producer." He turns to Roy. "What happened with this vigilante you met?"

"She attacked the guys with a giant stick," Roy answers dryly. "She must have known I was trying to help because she made sure I was okay before leaving." He frowns as he pieces together old information, shining new light on it. "The girl that she was saving sent out a text—possibly to the vigilante. She called her the Canary, if that helps." The Arrow doesn't respond, so Roy continues. "The girl—I've seen her around before, and I think she lives in the Glades." He hesitates. "I could… reach out to some of my old contacts, see if anyone can lead me to her." The Arrow nods once, and it gives Roy the courage to try again. "And the drugs you're trying to stop, I can find where they're dealing out of." He shrugs. "It's not much, but it's a start."

It seems to give the Arrow an idea. "Felicity," he says suddenly, and Roy watches as she immediately goes alert, switching into a business mode. "Could you put a tracer on some cash?"

"Yeah," she answers slowly after a long moment, running it through. "It shouldn't be too much of a problem." She lifts an eyebrow. "What are you thinking now?" The concern is buried in her voice, but Roy can hear it, making him wonder how he didn't put it together earlier about Felicity and the Arrow dating.

"If we can get someone to buy Vertigo," he starts carefully, "we can get a lab sample for your friend"—it's said with weight, as to indicate to Felicity without telling Roy—"to analyze the sample's components. We got a lock on him before that way. But, if we could trace the cash, we could follow the money back to its source." He studies Felicity for a long moment, communicating something to her via expression that Roy can't follow. "I'm out of the question, and our… associate will stand out—even these guys will be able to spot military posture."

With a shrug, Felicity replies, "I could go."

At the same time as the Arrow, Roy firmly snaps, "No." They study each other for a moment in surprise, and Roy earns himself another nod of approval—and possibly a few points with the Arrow. "Let me go in," Roy insists. "They won't think twice about some kid from the Glades showing up to score."

The Arrow doesn't answer, and Roy finally adds, "Look, you saved me. Not just from the guy who was going to kill me. I'm turning my life around, trying to be something better than what I was. I owe you for that—and I don't like owing people. So let me try to pay it back."

A long moment of indecision plays out between them, and finally the vigilante nods, albeit a little reluctantly this time. Felicity's expression mirrors his—deep hesitation and distaste—but she finally says, "Call me when you have the information about the Vertigo operation, and I'll get you the bugged cash. We can do it on a night when you're working—I'll tell Tommy I need your help to move stuff around down here to setup the wireless network."

Roy nods once. "Thanks for patching me up, Blondie," he says with a dry smile. "I'll call you when I know something. But I should probably get back home—Thea is waiting for me to bring back food."

Felicity's eyes flick to the Arrow for a moment, then back to Roy with a smile. "Just do me a favor and stay out of the back alleys this time."


Playlist:

"Untouched" - The Veronicas
"21st Century Breakdown" - Green Day
"Show Me the Way" - Peter Frampton
"Superstition" - Stevie Wonder
"Crazy on You" - Heart
"Crutch" - Matchbox Twenty