Heeeeeeeey, so this update is super late. Even later than AO3 because my Wifi sucked for a brief period but it seems fixed now.
On the bright side, the word count on Legacies has officially passed You're His Hope. Good times.
Uncomplicated
"Ow," Roy said, sprawled flat on his stomach.
"Sorry." Oliver offered a hand to help him back to his feet, but Roy shot him a suspicious glare instead, like his apology sounded too unconvincing.
"Was that for this morning?" he said. "Because I swear — I had no idea what you guys were doing when I knocked."
Thea tapped her Bo staff against the flagstones, looking intrigued. "What about this morning?" she asked.
Oliver cleared his throat, not answering the question. The three of them had been sparring in one of the open courtyards in Nanda Parbat, overlooked by arched windows of the surrounding buildings and the open blue sky. The air was as fresh as rain, clear and cold enough to sting every time he breathed in.
"Let's just say they were — busy," Roy explained, making quotation marks in the air.
Thea snorted. "You mean…in their bedroom, in a place that looks like an Arabian palace, with a breathtaking view of the mountains and the moonlight?" She patted Oliver on the shoulder. "Knocking him over was justified."
"Hey," said Roy. "Whose side are you on?"
Thea gave them both a look. "Felicity's, of course."
"Can we get back to training, please?" Oliver said, trying (and failing) at not sounding irritated. "Speedy — maneuver seven."
"Sheesh, big brother," said Thea. "Where's the fire? Felicity's going to be busy setting up with Team Flash and Supersuit anyway, so what's the rush?"
"Speedy!" Oliver said, in exasperation. "What goes on between Felicity and me…is private." Seeing her expression, he kissed her on the forehead to soften his words. "But I love you for being concerned."
"My," Nyssa remarked, and Oliver looked over his shoulder in mild surprise, even though he should have expected a trained assassin of her capabilities to appear soundlessly from nowhere.
Her arms were folded behind her back as she advanced, wearing light black robes instead of heavy armor.
"Nyssa," he said, shifting the Bo staff behind his back to match her pose. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I gathered as much." Her eyes traveled to Roy and Thea. "We traditionally use another courtyard for sparring — did you not want your charges tested by the League's might?"
Oliver gave the two of them a warning look not to take it personally. "We're used to training by ourselves," he said. "No offense — but I've seen the League's sparring methods, and they've left me with my fair share of scars."
Nyssa made a dismissive noise. "You're too soft on them," she said, and revealed what she'd been holding behind her back.
Three League swords, which she slid over to them before drawing her own. "Malcolm Merlyn — as traitorous to the League's beliefs as he turned out to be — still remembers his training from his time in Nanda Parbat. Al Sa-Her is a name to which he is well-suited. Skill, trickery, and a ruthless ease to his deception — in these three strengths, he has you outmatched."
"How is beating the crap out of us going to help, exactly?" Roy said, examining one of the blades she'd given them. Sharp enough to draw blood.
Nyssa twirled her sword. "Perhaps I wish for Oliver to accustom himself…to having less skilled comrades distract him in combat."
"Or maybe you want to train the three of us to outnumber Malcolm — and win," Thea observed, her arms crossed in front of her.
"Your sister has a quick mind," Nyssa said, appreciatively. It quickly evaporated as she shared her ruthless assessment of their skills, as she'd been trained from birth to do. "You are disorganized, your combined technique is nonexistent, and through some misguided familial affection all three of you are fighting as if you have one hand tied behind your back."
"Holding back?" Roy repeated. "I'm not sure you've seen Oliver train us."
"I just did," Nyssa said, with a knowing gleam. "And compared to what I have seen him do against the League, he is fighting you and his little sister with his hands tied. While it may be a comfort in training, it does nothing to prepare you for the ruthlessness of the enemy."
Oliver sighed. "Nyssa," he said. "I don't —"
He saw Nyssa move in the corner of his eye, and threw up the Bo staff just in time to stop her sword swing from cleaving him in two. The muscles in his injured shoulder ached under her strength, but he glared at her across the narrow distance. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked.
"I promise you that Al Sa-Her is well aware of your weaknesses — all of you. In battle, your numbers will become his advantage." Nyssa forced him back with an effortless shove. "Now," she said, with a flick of her weapon. "Pick up your sword, and show them what it looks like when Oliver Queen does not hold back."
"It's not that I don't think of you as good company, Barry," Felicity said, reaching around him to check that the length of blue cable was connected to her tablet, "but shouldn't you be — I don't know — doing something vaguely Karate Kid-like with Nyssa and the others?"
Barry shot a look at Cisco, Caitlin and Ray — poring over various computers and an armored super suit — as if to check that they were safely out of earshot. Seemingly satisfied that no one was about to send him down to the sparring yard, he cleared his throat and continued to wind up a coil of black wire, sitting cross-legged opposite Felicity on the dusty floor of the makeshift lab they were in the process of setting up. "Come on, it's been ages since we've worked on something together. Setting up a computer lab is totally something I could help with. Totally."
Felicity looked up from her tablet. "Barry Allen," she said, her eyes jokingly narrowed. "Are you afraid of Nyssa al Ghul?"
Barry scratched at his back like he was remembering an old itch. "Not afraid, per se, just…cautious. Wary. Unwilling to be shot at. The usual stuff."
"Oh, come on." Felicity patted his knee. "You're being a little dramatic. Oliver totally took back the two arrows he shot at you."
"By yanking them out of my back!" Barry said, indignantly. "I'll be pulling arrows out of places where the sun doesn't shine if Nyssa gets her hands on me. That is so not happening."
Felicity made a face. "Thank you, Barry, for that unnecessarily graphic image," she said. "Besides, Nyssa likes you. She thinks you're funny."
"Funny as in cute, or funny as in 'hm, let's see if he'll make a good porcupine'?"
Felicity rolled her eyes and keyed in the last command. At once, she heard the hopeful mechanical whir of machines coming to life. All around them, the computers lit up like Christmas, and the ATOM suit was like the angel at the top of the tree.
Cisco darted up from behind the suit, his arms raised above his head. "It's alive," he boomed, and began to cackle maniacally. "It's alive, it's alive, it's…what?" He blinked at the blank stares he was getting in return, looking slightly hurt. "Frankenstein. Black and white classic."
Ray patted him on the shoulder in apparent condolence. "Normally, I'd start a whole movie-reference-face-off, but —" He grinned at Felicity "—we're apparently pressed for time, what with the whole mind-controlled army thing."
"Which we still haven't figured out how to beat, by the way," Felicity added, for optimistic reasons she couldn't quite remember.
"I've been thinking about that," said Ray, rooting inside the arm of his suit with a pair of precision tools. "The nanites in your Smartwatch managed to bridge directly into Sara's implant, and you fried the programming with time to spare. So why don't we do that, just…"
He made a triumphant noise and held up a small canister in with his tongs, no larger than an AA battery. "On a slightly larger scale?"
Cisco took the cartridge from Ray, using both hands despite its tiny size, his mouth a round O."Lightweight titanium casing," he breathed, "leakage-proof sealing, conductible nodes for easy charging —"
Caitlin plucked it from his grasp. "Cisco, focus," she admonished, before turning to Ray. "Were you thinking injectors?"
Felicity snapped her fingers. "Like with Slade's Mirakuru men."
Ray looked around. "Wait, that was STAR Labs?"
"Long, long story, dude," Barry said.
Felicity was on her feet and reaching for the canister, turning it over in her hands. "We could deliver nanites intravenously to the mind-controlled agents when they attack us. If I manage to code them with an override hack, they'll counter the nano-implants, and…" She made a little poof with her hand, problem solved.
"That," said Cisco, making a finger gun, "we can do. Easy."
Felicity looked at Ray. "How many units do you have with you, and can you mass-produce?"
Ray drummed his fingers on the ATOM suit's leg as he thought. His fingers were long and pale, squared off at the edges and just about as fidgety as Oliver's were still. "Probably not enough to cover Darhk's army, but we could run tests on what we have, and once we have the right fit, my lab back at Starling can do that in hours — also easy. Wouldn't be hard to sneak in and run production, seeing as — you know — I'm not wanted as a criminal by the SCPD."
Felicity gave him a look. "Thanks for the reminder," she said, before turning to the rest of the group. They were all on their feet now, standing around the whirring ATOM suit. "Is it just me — or did we just come up with an actual plan to stop our super villain?"
Ray glanced at his watch. "And it's only day one," he said, and raised his hand to the group. "High five for team-ups!"
Maybe it was all her time working with Oliver and Diggle, but Felicity almost stopped herself from high-fiving Ray, as though her default association for vigilantism was good-looking men standing around with their arms folded and excessively broody foreheads.
Hence, the limp and (frankly) embarrassing attempt at a high-five. She flinched. "That was really lame, wasn't it?" she said.
"Well…yeah, but we can work on that," Ray said, with an airy wave. "Oh, and BTW, I could really use your help on my suit. I know it's asking a lot, but could you —"
"—take a look at the targeting systems —"
"—and maybe the deductive processing functionality, yes." Ray bowed his head over his clasped hands in relief that she'd understood. "Bearing in mind the total inadequacy of the offer, I solemnly promise to trade you some exercises to loosen up your wrists. Palmer-patented."
"I mean, anything to help a friend not get blown up, but my wrist has been doing this thing that's been bugging me…" Felicity held out her arm while he prodded at the appendage with concern. "I'm not sure if it has something to do with my shoulder —"
"— Felicity," Barry said abruptly, like he'd started out wanting to say something else but his brain had sidetracked him with other plans (boy, did she know the feeling). "Can I talk to you — over there? About…stuff?"
Sometimes it was harder to tell who was worse at the excuses, Barry or Oliver. Felicity raised her eyebrows at Caitlin, who looked just as weirded out as she did. No idea, she mouthed.
"Be right back," she said, patting Ray on the shoulder in a signal for him to join Cisco in the nanite test runs. "Try not to blow anything up while I'm gone."
He jokingly saluted her. "Will do."
Barry all but towed Felicity straight out the room and into the hallway, marching her there while he shot glances over his shoulder at Ray, like he was worried about being overheard.
"Barry Allen," Felicity said, tugging her sore arm out of his grasp. "What is going on? First you avoid training with the others, and then you look at Ray like he's — I don't know — trying to electrocute you for science, or something…what is it? Do you not like him?"
"I'm sure he is —"
"—is it the babbling? Because I've seen him shirtless — don't ask — and I can tell you, he's basically me in Oliver's body." She winced. "A sentence you will never repeat to anyone."
"I like Ray just fine," Barry insisted. "Anyway — no — it's not about that. What are you doing?"
Felicity blinked at him. "What do you mean, what am I doing? I'm trying to set up Wi-Fi inside a remote Tibetan monastery. What are you doing?"
Barry shook his head vigorously like she was missing the point. "Not…that," he said, and folded his arms, looking concerned. "Are things…okay — with you and Oliver?"
Felicity was utterly taken aback by the question. "They were this morning," she said. "Unless you know something that I don't. What — did Oliver marry Nyssa while I was setting up the Internet?"
Barry didn't seem to appreciate her sense of humor. Ouch. "And Ray knows, right? He knows that you and Oliver are…" He made a vague twisty gesture with his hands, probably shadow-puppet language for couple.
Felicity pointed at his hands. "Okay…not sure what species of sign language that is, but yes — Ray knows. I mean, he walked in on Oliver and me once at the office, and I'm pretty sure what we were up to left very little room for interpretation. Then again, I did tell him to call me a few months after the wedding, in case things did go south…" She trailed off at Barry's stricken expression. "Joke — joke. Barry, of course Ray knows that I'm engaged to Oliver. We're not exactly discreet about it, if you know what I mean — which of course, you do, you called us nauseating back at STAR Labs."
Barry shot a dubious glance at the open doorway. "He's not acting like he knows."
"What makes you say that?"
"I mean…" Barry lifted his shoulders, searching for the words. "It's the way he acts around you. It's all banter, and finishing your sentences, and — and he offered to teach you…wrist exercises!"
He said it like a brief how-to on orthopedic hand exercises was a euphemism for something unspeakable, and Felicity immediately clapped a hand to her mouth. "I know," she breathed, her eyes wide. "I was shocked too."
Barry frowned at her. "I'm serious, Felicity. Ray's a nice guy, but I've known Oliver longer and Ray's acting like he thinks he still has a chance with you. It's not fair for Oliver —"
Felicity stopped him because she was laughing. "Barry, first of all — Ray doesn't have feelings for me. We're friends, and the whole finishing-each-other's-sentences-thing? It just means we're so similar that dating Ray would basically be dating myself — which is weird, and not happening. Second of all — did Oliver say something to you? About Ray? You really need to tell me if that's a yes, because unlike you, Ray doesn't exactly know that Oliver has a tendency to shoot arrows at his friends."
Barry raised his eyebrows. "They're friends? For real?"
Felicity almost shook him. Not the point. "Barry…" she began, dangerously.
"Okay, okay." Barry raised his hands in surrender. "He didn't say anything, okay? But we both know Oliver isn't exactly…in touch with his feelings. I can't tell you how I know this, but Oliver thought that telling me not to go after Iris over coffee was a better idea than telling you how he felt. With that shining example in mind, I just thought I'd help him out a little. You know —"
"Barry Allen," said Felicity. "Are you actually being jealous for Oliver?"
Barry's only response was a cough, and Felicity started to laugh again. "You are such a lovable dummy," she said, patting his face. "Oliver's very lucky to have you as his wingman. But I am not a prize you need to stand guard over, and I'm pretty sure you're late for some super assassin training."
Barry's expression shifted from concern to alarm. "Uh…pass."
"No passing," Felicity said, sternly. "I'll walk you over after lunch, and I promise that as soon as I see something pointy, I'll come and save you. Deal?"
Barry sighed, as if acknowledging that arguing with her was a lost cause (smart guy). "Deal," he said, and they shook on it.
"Pitiful," Nyssa said, blocking Oliver's swing with effortless ease. "Marriage has softened you, Oliver Queen."
"It hasn't," Oliver rolled his shoulder, flexing the injured muscles despite the sting, "because we're not married. Not yet."
Nyssa raised an eyebrow. "I'd always thought of you as an uncomplicated creature — marrying Sa'ida and being a reckless fool in battle always seemed to be the only two thoughts in your thick head."
Oliver shrugged off the unflattering observation and parried her swing. "No time."
Is that so?" Their blades crossed and Nyssa leaned close in scrutiny. "You certainly loved her enough to oppose my father, to defy death itself. A reason as mundane as time cannot be the reason."
"Is this sparring session just a way for you to ask why I haven't married Felicity yet?" Oliver said. "Because it's none of your business."
"Perhaps." Nyssa's eyes flashed with amusement and she abruptly twisted her blade, disarming Oliver with a slap of metal.
Oliver tilted his head away from the cold edge of her sword, leveled against his throat. "Or perhaps I simply wished to see how far your technique had lapsed since you left the League," she said, seemingly oblivious to his stony glare.
Oliver nudged her weapon aside and bent to retrieve his sword. "You've made your point," he said. "I need to train, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."
"No," Nyssa corrected him. "Malcolm Merlyn may be the weaker archer, but when you face him in battle he will use his sword to compensate for what skills he lacks with a bow."
Oliver was taken aback at her uncanny ability to tell what he was thinking.
Nyssa smirked. "You have forgotten many things from your time with the League. Your thoughts show plainly on your face — and I can see that Malcolm Merlyn is on your mind as ever."
Oliver's fingers shifted their grip around his sword, flexing in the memory of closing around Malcolm's throat. "He's a threat," he said, shortly. "It's not the first time he's gone after Felicity."
And Connor, came the surprisingly reflexive thought. His son, threatened by Malcolm as well.
Even if he'd never met his son, Oliver was capable of fighting for him — so that he wouldn't have to.
"Then fight for them," Nyssa said, reading him like an open book. "Your beloved makes you strong, and Malcolm is a fool if he thinks he can use that against you."
It was one of the kindest things Nyssa had ever said to Oliver, and they exchanged smiles over their drawn blades.
"Now," she said, rapidly businesslike again. "It's time you remembered what it means to face a member of the League, and win."
"Wow, that's heavy," Felicity said through her teeth, adjusting her grip on the handgun.
"That's what a gun loaded with bullets feels like," Diggle answered, and tapped her elbow. "Remember to keep that bent."
Felicity shot him a look over her shoulder. "Don't sass me," she said, trying not to smile because it made her look like a psycho when she had a gun in her hands. "It's unflattering."
Diggle chuckled and stood back, seemingly satisfied with her shooting stance. They were in one of the many weapon rooms in Nanda Parbat, one stocked with racks of swords, blades, and spears, stands draped with dark waterfalls of silk (for strangling or for ceiling-to-floor transfers — Felicity had seen them used both ways), and a plenty of straw dummies to line up along the far wall.
And privacy, which was a polite euphemism for the fact that their Firearm Refresher was strictly hush-hush (i.e. Oliver didn't know, and Felicity didn't plan on letting him know, not for the time being, anyway).
"That's not bad," Diggle remarked. "I'm glad you still remember how to hold a gun."
Felicity was fighting the ridiculous urge to fidget, which meant that her babble-o-meter was on full blast. "Oh, holding — I'm good with. I can hold the hell out of a gun. It's just the actual hitting things part I'm not too great at, but don't sweat the small stuff, right?"
"Sure," he deadpanned. "I've never heard anyone call hitting the target minor, but why not?"
"Again with the sass." Felicity shook her head in mock weariness and turned back to face the line of faceless straw men. "I don't know where you picked that up, really, I don't."
"Same place I picked up the know-how on setting up the Wi-Fi at my house," Diggle said, and she saw him take a step back in her peripheral vision. "Absolutely nowhere."
Felicity grinned at the row of targets, unable to stop herself. "You're welcome," she said, and fired.
It was the first shot, and the sound of it reverberated along the stone walls, ringing in her ears until she drew her second breath, to replace the one she'd held at the exact moment she squeezed the trigger.
There was a small ragged hole in the corner of a straw dummy's torso, charred black, as small as an inkblot from where she was standing. Dismal aim, and it was only her first try.
"That's not important." Diggle sounded almost concerned. "How do you feel?"
Felicity flexed her fingers one by one, feeling them hum with adrenaline coursing through her veins, a confusing clash of thought and instinct, moving forward and standing still, good and bad.
Good, because she didn't feel like a girl behind a computer screen. Not now.
Bad, because having a gun in her hands meant that she wasn't a girl behind a computer screen, not anymore.
Maybe she didn't want to be.
The girl with the glasses, sitting behind the computer screen, she would never have even considered the possibility of picking up a gun and defending herself against someone, much less a someone who had 50% to do with her genetic identity. Revenge of the Nerds-style payback, probably. But not an actual live gun.
Then again, the girl with the glasses working eighteen floors down from the (admittedly cute) CEO of Queen Consolidated would never have gotten involved with a vigilante, fought a war with some very deadly assassins, or decimated the mainframe of a secret spy organization using a destructive computer virus.
Talking to Diggle had made her forget that the target was meant to be Damien Darhk, and she was weirdly grateful for it, even if she had truly terrible aim. Because at least she knew it was hers, not a weakness from imagining her own father at the other end of the barrel.
"I feel…like myself," she said, firmly. "This is me now."
Diggle nodded. "Good," he said.
The bells (who knew the assassin monastery had bells?) tolled four times, signaling that they'd been practicing for an hour. Felicity puffed a loose strand of hair off her face and scrutinized the line of targets across the room. She'd graduated from nicks and grazes to actual body hits, albeit in the arms, mostly.
Still, that was progress, considering the fact that she'd gone from causing minor annoyances to wounding.
But Felicity's arms were shot through (pun intended) with stray twitches, her muscles aching in protest from the weight of the gun.
"Nice work," said Diggle, taking the gun from her before she let her stiff arms sag onto a table. "You're a quick learner."
"You're a better teacher," she corrected, trying to massage the life back into her arms.
In hindsight, she really should have thought this one through. Oliver was admittedly a terrible liar, but that didn't mean he wasn't good at seeing through all kinds of excuses, and she'd have to come up with a pretty convincing one to explain away the lack of arm usage at dinner.
Maybe she could tell him that feeding her was the thing to do for couples.
"Or," Diggle said, obviously sensing where her train of thought was headed, "you could just tell him."
It wasn't a suggestion they both took seriously, given their knowledge of Oliver's stance when it came to Felicity taking the risks he felt he was entitled first dibs on. Heck, if anyone knew about spheres of influence in a marriage, it was Diggle. Lyla ran a secret spy organization, and he was responsible for half of the inmates in Iron Heights.
That was quite the record for a few secrets safely kept, or — if she was feeling especially literal — omitted from the conversation.
Felicity shook her head. "I am not telling Oliver —"
"Tell me what?"
With all the guns and twenty-first century computer equipment she'd been setting up all day, Felicity had almost forgotten some of the timeless elements to the League of Assassins.
Namely, their ability to crop up without a sound, utterly without warning.
A skill Oliver was well capable of exercising in full, whatever his disagreements with the previous leadership.
Oliver stepped inside the room and shut the door with a careful, controlled grace.
"Tell me what?" he repeated, even though Felicity was sure he already knew.
First off, incredibly sorry that the chapters are so late. Apparently I had more time to write when I was in school. 'Tis also awkward to write fan fiction with family at my elbow, but whatever. That's what the screen dimmer button on my laptop is for. Pshhh saving battery, it's to stop my family from reading the weird things I make Oliver and Felicity do to each other.
TBC...when you click the next page.
