Thankfully, Felicity's apartment wasn't far. Even sticking to the main streets, Oliver caught sight of her building within ten minutes - which was a relief, because his shoulder was hurting more than he wanted to let on. He was confident the arrow hadn't splintered any bones but that didn't mean it hadn't penetrated muscle and found a few nerve endings.

"We're almost there," Felicity said, pointing at the building.

Oliver nodded, thinking it best not to volunteer that he knew where she lived. She was already unhappy that he'd had a security team following her. If she ever found out that he'd examined her apartment...well, he had a feeling that might make her angry enough to drive the arrow deeper into his shoulder. They had reached a fragile accord. He wanted to preserve it.

He allowed her to guide him into the building and onto the elevator. As they began their ascent, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He resisted the urge to pull it out and stomp on it. Whoever you are, I'm kind of busy, so leave me the fuck alone. The phone went still as Felicity led him out of the elevator and down the short hall to her apartment. She opened the door and gestured toward the back of the living room.

"The bathroom is that way," she said. "I've got a few medical supplies and a bottle of pain blockers somewhere in the cabinet below the sink."

"I'll skip the blockers."

"That arrow is going to hurt coming out."

"Only for a second."

She shook her head. "You're nuts. I don't know what you're trying to prove with all of this."

"I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm just not a big fan of drugs. Let's skip the blocker, Felicity."

"Fine."

She released her holster and dropped her weapon and her phone onto the living room sofa. Then, to his surprise, she took the hand on his non-wounded side and walked him to the bathroom. Her hand was small in his and felt slightly damp, as if she were nervous about what they were going to do. She let go when they reached the door, then stepped inside and crouched in front of the cabinet. She opened the door and examined its contents.

"Antiseptic," she said, and reached up to hand him a spray bottle.

He took it. "Check."

"Wound sealant and applicator." She slid out a plastic box.

He switched the antiseptic cautiously to his left hand and took the sealant box in his good hand. "Check."

She looked up at him. "You're sure you don't want a blocker? It won't put you out, it'll just take the edge off."

"I'm sure."

She rose to her feet, shaking her head, but didn't push. He watched her turn on the water and scrub her hands, thinking the movements were as much about dealing with nerves as they were about getting rid of germs. Pursing her lips thoughtfully, she reached behind the bathroom door and gathered a stack of towels from a shelf. "In case you bleed a lot," she explained. Then she paused and looked around. "It's too cramped in here. Let's go to the bedroom."

"I get that from a lot of women."

She rolled her eyes. "Very funny. I wonder if you'll still feel like joking when I pull that arrow out of your shoulder."

"Well, if you would stop talking and just do it, we'll find out."

She took a deep breath. "Right." She steered him from the bathroom into the bedroom. As they stepped closer to the bed, she took a long look at his bloody hoodie and then at her clean comforter. She pushed the comforter to one side.

"In case you bleed a lot," she repeated. "I don't want to have to wash the comforter. Now, sit."

Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, placing the medical supplies on the floor at his feet. Felicity kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed so that she was kneeling behind him, the stack of towels at her side.

She studied the shoulder blade with the arrow still projecting from it, pinning Oliver's hoodie to his back. She winced when she saw that the tip had penetrated a good inch into his flesh. The blood was oozing from the wound and the sodden patch on his hoodie had increased from cantaloupe-sized to the dimensions of a respectable watermelon. It was a lot of blood. She wondered if still more would spurt when she pulled out the arrow. Then she wondered how hard it was going to be to pull it out. It seemed like there could be resistance.

She closed her eyes.

"I don't think I can do this, Oliver."

"Sure you can. Just grab the arrow and pull."

"Ah…no. There's got to be a more precise way to take it out."

"There isn't. They'd do the same thing at the hospital."

"Really? It could be next to an artery or something."

He sighed. "Okay, Felicity. You're probably right. Before we try to remove it, let's figure out what we're dealing with. Take hold of the arrow, but don't pull. I'm going to rotate my shoulder a little to feel where the point is resting. Okay?"

"Okay." She didn't sound happy.

"Just grasp it."

He knew that she'd done so when he felt a small jolt of pain.

"Got it," she confirmed.

"Good. Now, keep a firm hold. I'm just going to move my shoulder a tiny bit."

"Okay."

"You have a firm hold?"

"Yes."

Oliver took a deep breath, then threw the upper half of his body forward until his chest rested on his knees and his hands were on the floor. The arrow came out of his shoulder and remained in Felicity's hand.

He groaned, "Son of a bitch, that hurts." More than he'd been expecting. The wound burned as if he'd been prodded by a hot branding iron and electric shocks were traveling up and down his arm.

She stared at the arrow, still in her grasp. "That was sneaky, Oliver. If you're in pain right now...well...you deserve it."

He straightened up. "It had to come out, Felicity. Sitting here arguing wasn't going to help. Now that it has, can you clean the wound? I can't reach behind there myself."

She was silent, and for a moment he thought she would refuse again. But then she tossed the arrow to the floor and said, "Take off the hoodie."

He unzipped it and gingerly slid the left side off his arm, leaving the right side in place. She sucked in her breath as she looked at the wound, then carefully placed a towel over it. The towel turned red almost immediately.

"How does it look?" he asked.

"Bloody. I can't see much. Can you hand me the antiseptic?"

He retrieved the bottle from the floor with his good arm and held it out to her. She took the antiseptic, lifted the towel, and sprayed the wound liberally. The liquid hurt, but nowhere near as badly as the arrow removal had. She threw the bloody towel to the floor, picked up a clean one, and dabbed some more.

"Well?" he said.

She lifted the towel. "The wound is neater than I was expecting...less than three inches long, with clean edges. I think the sealant might hold it together if you keep your shoulder still for a few days. But I repeat — I'm not a doctor."

"Well, I like your prognosis, so we're going to go with it. Get to work with the sealer." He pushed the kit back next to her.

Felicity opened the lid and removed the tube of wound sealant and the application wand. "You're probably going to end up with a scar."

"It won't be the first."

That was true. Now that he'd mentioned it, Felicity looked down at the exposed section of his back and saw that there were a number of white lines crossing it. She also saw that he had a pretty incredible back. The skin was smooth and taut. She was certain an anatomy student could make out most of the major muscle groups.

She traced a finger lightly across one of the lines and felt the ripple of muscle beneath it. "From the plane crash?"

Oliver hesitated, his back tingling under her hand despite his pain. "Yes."

"Well, I'll try to be as neat as I can."

She spread sealant over the wound, her touch gentle. Then she turned on the applicator and held it against his flesh. Oliver felt heat and tiny vibrations on his shoulder blade as the wand went to work. He felt deeper and altogether different vibrations from Felicity's other hand, resting lightly on his spine as she kept herself steady. He wondered if she was aware of what she was doing to him as that hand slid along his skin - up, down, left, then right. It was a strange combination of pleasure and pain, so sensual that he began to worry he was going to develop an erection. He arranged the ends of his hoodie, still hanging off his right side, to cover his lap.

"I owe you an apology," he said, partly to distract himself from the sensations in his body but mostly because it was true.

Her hand stopped moving and he heard her inhale. "What for?"

He sighed, "You name it. Having you followed. Grabbing your weapon. Hauling you out of that alley. I was out of line in all of them."

She reached for the tube of wound sealant. "You were," she agreed, and dabbed more gel on his shoulder blade. "Although I'm surprised to hear you acknowledge it. If I'd known an arrow in the back would make you come to your senses, I might have shot you myself by now."

He chuckled. "It wasn't the arrow."

"No?" Her fingers resumed moving, tracing over his skin to smear the sealant. Tiny goosebumps emerged on the back of his neck.

He shook his head. "No. It was seeing the way you reacted. You never panicked and you never stopped thinking about how you were going to get the guy. I guess it drove home for me that you're a trained cop, as committed to your job as I am to mine."

"I see." She fell silent and appeared to be concentrating on her work. Oliver felt her knuckles brush lightly under his hairline.

"I'm sorry if I screwed up your arrest," he added, as his dick gave a sudden twitch. Oh shit.

She moved the wand lower on his back. "Well, since we're going for honesty here, Oliver, I have to confess that the chances of me getting the archer were fifty-fifty at best, without the patrol units. As you pointed out, I was out-gunned...or out-arrowed. So, even though you acted like a patronizing jerk, I really can't hold you responsible for losing the suspect."

He felt a surprising amount of relief at that statement. "I'm glad to hear it."

She lifted the wand and leaned forward to examine her handiwork. He could feel her soft, warm breath on the back of his neck. Christ. He made sure the hoodie was still secured over his lap.

"Did you always want to be a cop?" he asked, a little desperately.

"Hmmm?"

"I asked..." He swallowed, feeling his heart rate increase, "I asked if you always wanted to be a cop."

"Oh. Not really." When she spoke, her breath came out in little staccato puffs, causing his neck hairs to rise. "But I knew I wanted to do something that would make people's lives better."

Make people's lives better. It was a statement he could debate, which was good because it would take his mind off her hands and her breath. "And you think police work makes people's lives better?"

"I think it can," she replied slowly. "Giving people a place to live that feels safe, letting them know they can report threats and knowing that those threats will be addressed — that improves lives."

"Maybe. It hasn't exactly been my personal experience."

Felicity recalled the way Diggle had spoken of Oliver when she'd first filled her commander in on Isabel's murder. He'd used words like slippery, and told her that the department took every opportunity to investigate Oliver because they didn't believe his story of the plane crash. So, she supposed she could understand why Oliver wasn't a huge fan of the SCPD. On the other hand, he had a history of not cooperating, which tended fuel suspicions. If he would be more transparent, she thought, the SCPD might back off.

None of which changed the fact that the man smelled good, especially now that she had cleaned up the blood. With her face near his neck, Felicity couldn't help noticing that he had a clean, masculine scent, a little spicy but not drowning in cologne. Between the chiseled back, those blue eyes and his scent, she understood why the man had no trouble finding bed partners. With her fingers pressed against his skin and his warmth flowing into her hand, she was feeling something akin to arousal herself. Hell, even his voice was attractive; low, smooth and intelligent.

Then she gave herself a mental shake and forced herself to focus on her work. Lifting the wand, she blotted the wound with a towel and examined it. The sealant was working better than she had anticipated. She considered Oliver's view of the police.

"The SCPD has made my life better," she offered. "They made sure I had the chance to go to college, which would never have happened in the foster system."

"The foster system," he repeated. "Your parents are gone?" Laurel had told him that, but he was interested in hearing the story from her.

"Yes."

To his disappointment, she didn't explain further. After a moment, he said, "And so now you feel you owe the SCPD for giving you an education."

She saw a small spot of blood ooze from the top of the wound and returned the wand to his shoulder. "No. They never made me feel that I owed them. The man who is currently my commander is responsible for getting me the scholarship. I met him when I was in high school and he cared enough to mentor me. He didn't have to, but he did - beyond the requirements of some SCPD public relations program. I felt the department couldn't be a bad place to work if it had people like him in it. I still feel that way."

"With a college degree and your computer skills, you could make more money elsewhere," Oliver pointed out.

"Probably," she agreed. "But that's just money. There are other things that matter more. I want to come home at the end of the day feeling like I've done something good." She blotted his shoulder once more and then sat back on her heels. "I think I got it. This stuff is really meant for shallow cuts, but it looks like it will hold if you're careful. How does it feel?"

He rotated his shoulder cautiously and was pleased to find that the pain had eased from a sharp stab to a dull ache. "It's sore," he admitted, "but it's not too bad. I'll manage."

Felicity put the sealant back into the plastic box and slid across the bed until she was sitting beside him. For a moment, she gazed at her bloody hands. Then she stood. "I think I have whiskey in the kitchen. I'm going to get the bottle."

"I don't need-"

"Not for you, pal," she interrupted. "For me. I'm not going to pretend to be as stoic as you. I could use a shot of something." And without waiting for a reply, she padded out of the room in her stocking feet. Oliver heard the sounds of water running in the bathroom and then the clink of glass from someplace farther away. He took the opportunity to pull out his phone and check the call history. Susan. Not important. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

Felicity returned with a bottle of amber liquid and a shot glass. He noted that she was wearing her eyeglasses and wondered why she had taken the time to retrieve them. Her eyes were a little red - not teary, but definitely frazzled. It occurred to Oliver that between Anatoly and the archer, this day couldn't been a walk in the park for her, either.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She sat beside him. "Yeah." Her voice sounded uncertain. "I think it's just catching up with me...how close that really was. We're lucky things didn't turn out worse. I wonder how the killer knew where to find us."

He frowned. "So, you believe this wasn't an accident. You think that we were his intended targets?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I think you were his intended target." When he didn't reply, she added, "Look, Oliver, the New Archer, whoever he is, went after Isabel. You're connected to her pretty publicly, so I have to think that him shooting at you isn't a coincidence."

"He shot at both of us."

"I don't think so. You're the one who ended up with an arrow in his back. And you're the one who dated Isabel."

Why does everyone keep calling it a date? "Maybe." Oliver replied, aloud. "But you're the one investigating her murder. It could be that the killer wants to shut you down."

"I doubt that. First of all, how would he know I'm the lead detective? My name hasn't been in the news. And second - what would be the point? If the New Archer kills me, there'll be another detective waiting to take my place." She shook her head. "I made sure to look for tails today and didn't spot anyone - not until Anatoly arrived at Nuddy's and brought your security guy with him. It's far more likely that you're the intended target and the killer followed you."

"Maybe," he said again. It was true that someone could have followed him from his house to Nuddy's and he wouldn't have noticed. His thoughts had been filled with Felicity. That someone would had to have been fast, though. Oliver hadn't wasted any time.

Felicity opened the bottle of whiskey and filled the shot glass. Then she raised the glass and drank its contents in one gulp.

Oliver watched a flush spread over her cheeks, turning her creamy complexion a soft pink.

"Better?" he asked.

"A little."

"Maybe I'll try a shot after all, then."

She filled the glass and handed it to him. He swallowed the whiskey, feeling it warm his throat and dull the ache in his shoulder.

"Better?" she echoed.

He looked at her; those soft pink cheeks and the full, kissable mouth. The sensations he'd felt as she'd worked on his shoulder came flooding back, even without her touching him. Just the recollection of her hand on his skin and soft breath on his neck was enough. He noticed that there was a faint sheen on her lower lip, as if a coating of whiskey remained. She must have noticed it too, because she ran her tongue along it.

And something inside Oliver lurched.

Giving in to the desire he felt ever since he'd met her, he turned and lowered his mouth to hers. Gently, very gently, he began to move his lips, capturing her full, lower lip between his own. Her mouth was every bit as soft as he'd imagined and the kiss felt new, a little unpracticed, and incredibly exciting. It was as if he were back in school, kissing for the first time. He tasted whiskey and something else that could only be Felicity.

She wasn't kissing him back, though, so with enormous will he forced himself to stop and back away. He looked into her eyes. Felicity wore an expression that was similar to the one she'd worn when she'd sampled the foie gras at his home. It was a questioning, testing look, but not an angry one. She looked up at him as if weighing something in her mind, and ran her tongue around her lips once more.

It was enough encouragement for him. He leaned in and kissed her again, more strongly this time. And after a moment, she began to return the kiss, closing her eyes as she explored his lips.

Sweet Jesus. He felt the embers of passion ignite inside him in a way he hadn't experienced for a long time. It was a little frightening because he was usually more in control, but it was also exhilarating because it was so damned honest. As they continued to kiss, Felicity's response grew more enthusiastic. She put her hand up to his cheek and ran her tongue along his lips. He heard a soft moan, somewhere in the back of her throat.

And the embers grew into full-fledged flames. Oliver reached out with his good arm and cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer, tightening their contact. He felt himself go hard — urgently hard — and the pain in his shoulder receded until it was a mere annoyance, overshadowed by his need. His breath was coming faster, his nerves were on fire, and he knew the remnants of his control were slipping. He tried to hold on, to sense any reluctance on her part, but he was certain she was meeting him, not backing away.

Somewhere in Felicity's head was a voice that said this wasn't like her, and it wasn't a good idea. She didn't make out with men simply because they were attractive, and she especially didn't make out with men who were involved in her murder investigations. Even if she'd assured herself Oliver wasn't a suspect in Isabel's murder, there were still ethical issues. Besides, she wanted a connection with a man that was more than hormonal. She wanted trust, she wanted security...

She wanted to feel Oliver Queen pounding into her, that lean, sculpted body flowing over hers.

And holy fuck, the man knew how to kiss. He was strong but gentle, his mouth firm and fluid. If she were honest, she knew the moment she'd put her hands on his back that she wanted him. And it was clear he wanted her. Oliver's ragged breathing - the uncertainty in his eyes when he'd looked at her - told her this wasn't a practiced seduction. This was raw need...for her. She found that incredibly erotic.

When she moaned again, his other hand reached down, and fumbling slightly, unbuttoned the top of her jeans. Then his fingers reached inside her panties and began to stroke her, those long, deft fingers making her gasp as they moved along her center. The tension built even higher and she knew she was lost.

"Oliver- I need..."

"I do, too." He eased her down on the bed, onto her back, his hand continuing its motion, his mouth still on hers. She was wet...so damn wet and warm and he was rock hard and throbbing. He slid her jeans and underpants off her hips, down to her ankles, and then freed one of her legs so that she could open her thighs. He stretched out, half next to her and half over her, resting his weight on his good shoulder. His mouth left hers long enough to look into her eyes and make certain she was all right; then he resumed kissing her.

She reached up and traced her hands over his abs and then his back, feeling the hard twitch of his muscles. In an imitation of him, she unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them past his hips. When she ran her fingers along his length, Oliver shuddered. He wanted so badly to be inside her, but he also didn't want to end this too quickly. It had been a long time since he'd experienced this kind of passion and things were moving fast.

She misunderstood his hesitation. "It's okay, Oliver."

"What?" The word was nearly lost in his breathing.

"I get the shot. I won't get pregnant."

"That's not..."

She didn't wait to hear the rest. She grasped him and pulled him to her entrance so that he had no choice but to slide inside her. She was tight and warm, and once he was there he couldn't force himself to be slow. He thrust hard, driven by her gasps and by his own pleasure.

Felicity stopped trying to separate the sensations in her body - the feel of his mouth, of his hands, of him, deep inside her. They blended together into a liquid tension that ran from her head to her toes, and built to an impossible height. When she climaxed, it wasn't a moment of release. It was a wave that ran through her, ebbing and cresting. She clutched Oliver, riding the wave until it eventually stopped.

He came just as she was finishing, gasping and pulling her tightly against him.

Neither of them said a word.