Oliver pushed the bike as fast as he dared, hanging onto the edge of control in his haste to get to Nuddy's. He had always liked riding motorcycles. They were an old-fashioned, primal form of transportation, a world away from the monotony of modern cars. Automobiles had become so automated in the last decades that you were no longer required to even drive them. You could conduct business or take a nap as you traveled. But a bike demanded your immediate attention; you had to be a part of it. You had to shift your weight in the turns and you could feel the vibration of the engine in your gut.

None of which meant a damn thing as he raced to the Glades to reach Felicity. Weaving between and around cars, sometimes moving nearly twice the speed limit, he tried to convince himself that she would be fine. She was meeting Anatoly in a public place, McKenna's guy was watching, and Felicity was a cop, for Chrissake. She dealt with thugs all the time.

But he didn't think she'd ever dealt with a thug like Anatoly. She chased murderers after the fact; wives who had poisoned husbands or burglars who had panicked in the middle of a robbery. Her suspects often acted alone and didn't necessarily have a plan. Anatoly, in comparison, was an organized thug, with a calculating mind and plenty of resources. He ate cops for breakfast if he couldn't find a way to get them in his pocket.

Oliver believed Felicity wasn't taking the Bratva seriously enough. Hell, she had gone out last night without her weapon even though she knew they were following her. And now she was meeting Anatoly in a bar - alone.

He made it to Nuddy's in twenty-five minutes, rolling up onto the sidewalk and skidding to a stop by the door. Ignoring the angry hand gestures from the pedestrians, he shoved his helmet onto the seat and left the bike there. Then he raced inside.

The bar was hopping with Saturday afternoon energy. The place was clean, well-lit and cheerful, not at all what he expected from a bar in the Glades. People were smiling as they watched sports on the flat screens, the service staff was hustling between tables, and a large portion of the patrons sat or stood around a long bar as they talked. There was no sign that any kind of confrontation had taken place.

He spotted McKenna's security man almost immediately. The guy was seated at the end of the bar nursing a glass of what was probably club soda. The man gave Oliver the faintest of nods. It took him longer to locate Felicity. For a few, fearful seconds, he thought she might have left with Anatoly; then he saw her and his breathing eased. She was sitting at the bar, chatting with the bartender - a large, forty-ish man with an eyepatch and arms big enough to lift a compact car. She was dressed in jeans and a Star City Community College sweatshirt, and she wasn't wearing her glasses, which might explain why he hadn't recognized her more quickly. Her hair was loose and tumbling over her shoulders and she appeared entirely at ease, smiling at the bartender with that lovely, sexy mouth. The bartender smiled back, clearly enjoying the conversation.

Anatoly was nowhere to be seen.

Oliver's relief was physical. His hands, which had been clenched in fists, eased open. It felt as though his blood began flowing again, after being frozen in his veins for the entire ride over. She was fine. Felicity was fine, smiling at the bartender and drinking a beer.

In fact, she was so fine that he was beginning to feel a little foolish. He had worked himself into a frenzy over something that had evidently been a non-event. Anatoly was gone, there was no other sign of the Bratva, and - judging from the expression on Felicity's face - whatever had transpired between her and the Russian had been resolved to her satisfaction.

Which put him in a quandary. It was one thing to follow her and arrive in time to bail her out of a sticky situation. It was another thing to barge in without a viable excuse. She would be furious if she knew he'd hired men to keep tabs on her - that was for certain. It was a little, to use Tommy's words, like being a stalker. And even if he could convince her that his motives were good, she wasn't going to appreciate him thinking she couldn't handle the situation herself. She'd gotten angry before when she thought he was questioning her abilities.

Retreat was beginning to feel like the wisest option. McKenna's guys would make certain she got home safely and he could call her later, as if he knew nothing about her meeting with Anatoly. He might even find a way to sneak into the conversation that he hadn't gone home with Susan. He hadn't liked the way Felicity had looked at him when Susan had taken hold of his arm at the hockey game. She had looked...disappointed.

He headed toward the door of Nuddy's, pulling out his phone to call the security man from the sidewalk.

And realized Felicity was watching him.

Not just watching; she was glaring at him, an angry, confused expression on her face. She stared at him, then at the security man at the end of the bar, and then back to him again. There could be no doubt that she had figured it out. Her cheeks were flushed and her mouth was in a tight, straight line.

Shit.

I can't leave things like this, he thought. This was one of those situations that wasn't going to improve with time.

He turned and walked over to her. Felicity said nothing as he approached.

"Hey." His voice was light, but he didn't try to smile at her. He didn't think that was going to fly.

She picked her beer back up. "Hey."

His hey had been friendly. Her's had been terse.

"So, how much trouble am I in, exactly?" Oliver asked. He eyed her beer warily, wondering if he was going to be wearing it shortly.

As if she'd had the same thought, Felicity placed the glass carefully back on the bar. She swallowed a couple of times, then shook her head. "I don't know where to start, Oliver. You had me followed? Followed?" she repeated, pointing at the security man. She spoke the word with disgust, as if having her followed was akin to peeping at her in the women's locker room.

He went with honesty. "Yes, I did. You didn't seem to be taking the Bratva seriously. You went out last night without your weapon when you knew they were watching you. I was afraid they were eventually going to escalate things."

"So you decided to put a different set of thugs on my tail."

"Not thugs. The guys I hired work for a private security firm."

She gave a short laugh. "I'm not sure that's any better. In the SCPD, we say people go into private security because they don't have the brains or ethics to cut it in the department."

Oliver doubted McKenna Hall would agree with that statement. He shook his head. "I don't think that's entirely fair."

"Maybe. It doesn't really matter. I still don't understand why you thought it necessary to have people follow me."

"I needed to know you were safe."

"Why?"

Why? That was the million dollar question. He slid his hands into his pockets and shifted on his feet. This felt like one of those pivotal moments where his future rested on his reply. He inhaled quietly. "I think you know why."

Her flush deepened. "I don't."

Yes, you do, he thought, looking at her red cheeks, but you want me to spell it out for you. Fine. He could do that...maybe.

"I'm...attracted to you," he stated. "I have been from the moment we met. I think you've sensed that. And I care about what happens to you." It was as much as he dared say.

And more than she was expecting, apparently. She swallowed and turned away, lowering her gaze to the bar. She looked less angry now and more uncomfortable.

"Didn't see that one coming, did you?" he added, feeling a little bolder. It was a relief to have gotten the words out - even if they were a little watered-down.

She shook her head and didn't reply. Her eyes were quite blue, he noted, now that he could see them without her glasses. Almost a violet-blue. Very pretty, although they appeared confused at the moment. He reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder and realized that the big bartender was watching every move he made. The man was pretending to be busy, rinsing out glasses in the sink, but Oliver was certain he was paying close attention. Oliver brought his hand back to his side.

Felicity straightened in her seat, regaining some of her composure. "No, I didn't see it coming, but then I'm not even sure what attracted and care about mean. Judging by the photos in the gossip blogs, it's probably a regular line for you. Hell, you probably keep an entire security firm busy having women you care about followed."

"You don't really believe that."

She gave a helpless shrug. "Maybe not. I don't know."

He stepped closer to her, still wanting to touch her, but resisting the impulse. "But you understand my motives for putting security on you, right? You may not like it, but you understand that I did it out of concern for your safety."

"I can take care of myself." The reply was automatic.

"Can you? Even cops use backup. You came here alone. And you're still not armed," he said more assertively. "You went to meet a Bratva captain and you didn't bring a weapon."

She pressed her lips together. "So it would seem," was all she said.

He waited a beat. "Felicity-"

"I don't know how many times I have to say this to you," she interrupted, suddenly sounding tired, "but I am a cop, Oliver. I went to the academy and I spent more than a year on street patrol. I've faced violent criminals, and when I do need help, I'm smart enough to ask for it. I came here today with a plan." She glanced at the bartender and received a grin in return. "I don't need," she hesitated, "billionaires asserting themselves into my life."

Billionaires? So that was how she thought of him? Oliver noted that the bartender's grin had grown wider. He had dropped the pretense of not listening and was openly watching them. It annoyed Oliver to no end.

"Can I have a beer?" he snapped at the man.

The bartender's smile didn't waver. "Certainly, mate. What kind?"

"Whatever kind you have on tap at the other end of the bar." Oliver pointed to the second set of taps, fifteen feet away.

The bartender shook his head. "The beer selection is the same, regardless of the tap." His accent sounded Australian.

"Then can you give us a little privacy?"

The bartender looked at Felicity. "Are you okay with that, Blondie? Or is the rich boy bothering you?"

She nodded. "Yes, it's fine, Slade."

"All right, then."

The man moved down the bar, but only a short distance. Oliver suspected he could still hear them.

Felicity retrieved her beer and took a sip. "You know, Oliver, if I were to tell my fellow officers about this, they might consider it interfering with a cop in the course of her investigation. Every time I think I've cleared you from the suspect list, you do something to make me want to put you back on it."

He shook his head. "You don't mean that."

"No? You don't think there's anything about your behavior that's suspicious?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Felicity, I respect your experience, believe me, but there's criminals and then there's criminals. The Bratva are organized and powerful. They're not your average Star City bad guy. And you seem to want to go up against them on your own."

Her expression didn't soften. "What makes you such an expert on the Bratva, Oliver? They don't exactly advertise. Most people have never heard of them."

He felt a flush creep over his face. "I told you, as a businessman-"

"You like to be aware of anything that threatens your city," she finished. "Yeah, you said that before, but I'm having a hard time buying it. Most CEOs worry about things like corporate tax rates and share prices. A Russian crime syndicate doesn't figure into their strategic planning process."

He pressed his lips together and didn't reply. He thought about Tommy's words. Your life isn't exactly cop-friendly. He rooted around for a plausible explanation.

Fortunately, she spoke again before he needed to come up with one. "Look, will you call your guys off?"

It should have been easy to agree, but he didn't want to lie to her. He hesitated.

"I got Anatoly to agree to pull his guys off me," she went on.

Oliver felt his jaw go slack. "Really?"

"Swear to God."

"And you think he was telling you the truth?"

She smiled for the first time since he'd started talking to her - a grim, satisfied smile. "In this situation, yes. It's in his best interest to do what he said he would do. He'll stick to his word." She sounded confident.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me how you managed that one."

"No, I'm not."

Oliver shook his head, but didn't press further. He seemed a little worn down by their argument, Felicity thought, and felt herself softening toward him...just a little. After all, it was flattering, albeit in a weird way, to have a guy go to such lengths for her. Presumptuous on his part...and a little insulting because he seemed to doubt her abilities, but flattering nonetheless. She could continue to quarrel with him but she didn't think it was going to accomplish a lot. She had other things she needed to do, like return to Ramirez to see if her backtrace program had completed. And maybe he had drawn the sketch of the woman who had come to see him.

She pushed her beer glass away and slid off the stool.

"Oliver, I need to get back to work. As you can see, I'm fine, and the Bratva won't be following me any longer. I'm certain of it. So you will please agree to call off your security team so I don't have to worry about them, too?"

He gave her an unhappy look. She thought he might make one more stab at persuading her, but then he nodded. "Okay."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Now, why don't you tell your guy that he can go home." She pointed to the man seated at the end of the bar.

"Now?" His brow furrowed.

"Yes, now. No time like the present."

He sighed. It was a defeated sound. "Fine." Catching the security man's eye, he gestured toward the door. The man raised an eyebrow and Oliver shook his head, then pointed at the door once more. The man rose from his seat and left.

And just like that, Felicity was on her own again.

She smiled, then bent down and retrieved her backpack. "Thanks," she said again. Slinging the pack over one shoulder, she added, "I've got to get going." She gave Slade a small wave and began heading out.

Oliver fell in step next to her. "Do you have any new leads?"

"I'm not going to discuss the case with you, Oliver."

He gave a short, dry laugh. "Well, can you at least tell me if you've made any progress? I don't think that would be a huge breach of protocol."

She nodded. "I think we've made progress."

"You're just not going to tell me what it is."

"No, I'm not."

They stepped out of Nuddy's together. Felicity began to turn in the direction of Ramirez's apartment, but was surprised when Oliver stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and stared. She watched his hands rise and fall.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

He gestured at the air. "My bike," he said. "It's gone."

"Your bike?"

He noted her confused expression and understood. "Not bicycle," he explained. "Motorcycle. I rode a motorcycle here because it seemed like the quickest way to get through traffic. I left it on the sidewalk - right here."

"What kind of motorcycle?"

"New model BMW."

"Did you lock it?"

"I- " He paused, and then frowned. "No, I guess not." When she raised her eyebrows, he shrugged. "I was in a hurry. Like I said, I was worried."

Felicity felt a laugh beginning to grow somewhere inside her. "Let me get this straight. You drove a new, luxury-brand motorcycle to the Glades, and left it unlocked on the sidewalk."

"I-"

"In the Glades," she repeated.

"I was only in the bar for ten minutes." His shock was fading and he was beginning to sound annoyed.

"An unlocked BMW in the Glades." Felicity let the laugh come. "And you think I'm naive, Oliver?"

He said nothing; just stood there, looking frustrated and a little forlorn. To her surprise, Felicity felt a measure of pity for the guy. He'd rushed to Nuddy's with the aim of protecting her. It was a misguided (and a little patronizing) thing to do, but his motives had been good. Plus, the fact that he hadn't bothered to lock the bike reassured her that the act wasn't part of some larger Oliver Queen plan. He'd been responding to the moment.

She allowed herself to chuckle a little longer before taking his arm. "C'mon, Oliver. I live near here. We can walk to my apartment and get my car, then I can drive you home. We'll report your bike as stolen but I wouldn't hold out a lot of hope for recovering it. My guess is someone is going to have a lot of fun for an hour or two and then the bike is going to end up in a chop shop."

He sighed as they resumed walking. "At least it wasn't my Buell."

"Your what?"

"I have a couple of antique bikes, including a Buell racing bike. The company went out of business in the early 2000's and they only made a limited number of machines. They're amazing, even by today's standards - light, agile and really quick. It would have been hard to replace."

"Oh." Felicity frowned. "Just how many bikes do you have, Oliver?"

"Five or six, I think."

"You think?" She shook her head. "Normal people know how many vehicles they own. I'm officially no longer feeling sorry for you. Apparently you have motorcycles lying around the way most of us have pens."

He laughed. "It's not quite that bad. I just happen to like motorcycles."

Her hand was still on his elbow, steering him down the sidewalk. It felt good, not at all like Susan's proprietary grasp. Oliver wondered what he could do to have her keep it there. Carefully, trying not to call attention to it, he pulled his arm closer, tucking her hand against his side. He slowed his pace, hoping to prolong the walk.

"Why do you live in the Glades?" he asked. "It seems an odd choice for a cop."

Felicity's brow furrowed. She'd heard this question so often that she had a number of responses saved for the occasion. But for some reason, she didn't want to use them with Oliver. He'd posed the question out of genuine interest. It hadn't been a judgment.

"Why do you think it's odd?" she asked.

He glanced at a bodega as they walked past it. The door was open to the warm spring weather, but there were bars on the window and the proprietor inside looked tired and wary.

"There's so much crime here," he explained. "I would think for a cop, it would be the equivalent of a doctor living in an emergency room. You're surrounded by work. Don't you want to get away from it when you come home?"

Felicity shrugged. "There's crime everywhere so I really can't get away from it. It just depends on the kind of crime. In your world, it might be white collar, like fraud or embezzling. In the Glades, it's more raw - it's holdups and knife fights. But there are good people here, too. That guy back in the bar with the eyepatch - Slade? He's a good guy and Nuddy's is a special place."

Ah, yes. The big man who had stood guard over Felicity while she and Oliver had talked. "The two of you seemed friendly," Oliver remarked, hoping he sounded matter-of-fact.

"I can count on him."

Which implied the bartender could count on her too, he thought. He wondered what they counted on each other for. "Have you known him long?"

"Since I moved here. I eat at Nuddy's a lot."

"I see." He decided to drop the subject of the bartender. "But you didn't really answer my question. Of all the places you could live, why here?"

She smiled. "The truth? It's nothing very noble. I live here because I can afford a bigger apartment. I've got two bedrooms and a reserved space in the parking garage. There's no way I could swing that in a fancier section of the city. And my building isn't bad, although the management doesn't take the best care of it."

"Really?" Oliver recalled the out-of-order elevator when he'd checked out her apartment. Apparently it wasn't a rare occurrence. He made a mental note to follow up with the maintenance company. He owned the building, after all.

"Yeah," Felicity was saying. "The elevator goes out sometimes and the hot water goes on the fritz. Once in a while I have to go to Slade's place to shower. He doesn't mind."

I'll bet, Oliver thought. He pictured Felicity stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, her skin rosy and glowing. He added an asterisk to his mental note: Buy new hot water system for building.

"We can cut through here," she said, pointing at a side street.

The street was narrow and bordered on both sides by the backs of buildings - more like an alley than a road. Without the storefronts, there was little pedestrian traffic; just two beater cars parked on one side that appeared to have been there for a long time. To Oliver's mind, it felt like a good place for a mugging, but Felicity seemed okay with it. It was mid-afternoon, after all, so there was plenty of light. And she lives here, he reminded himself.

"Okay." He stayed next to her as they turned onto the street, hoping the route wasn't going to shorten their walk appreciably. It was a nice afternoon. The sunlight was filtering between the buildings, warm on his back. Felicity's hand still grasped the crook of his elbow, warm on his arm. It was as if the two of them were in their own world.

At least it was until the figure in black appeared, stepping out from behind one of the cars. Oliver's immediate reaction was that anyone dressed like that could not be up to anything good. The person had gone to considerable lengths to hide his identity. He wore a long black coat with a large hood that kept his face shadowed and hidden.

And things got even worse when the figure lifted his arm and Oliver saw that he was holding a bow.