Oliver started by putting his jeans back on, because he couldn't imagine telling her his story without them. He felt naked enough as it was; he didn't need to actually be naked in front of her. He contemplated putting the hoodie on as well, but now that he could see the size of the blood stain he decided it was better left on the floor. Then, half-dressed, he paced Felicity's bedroom. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and turned it off without looking at it. Once he got the nerve to begin, he didn't think he could handle any interruptions.

Felicity had partially dressed also. She'd pulled her sweatshirt and her underpants back on, and she sat in the bed, her back against the headboard with the covers drawn protectively up to her waist. She did her own form of pacing, which consisted of clutching and releasing the blanket.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Oliver covered the length of her bedroom in six long strides, back and forth, and Felicity's knuckles grew whiter as she grasped the covers.

Eventually, she drew in her breath. "Say something, Oliver."

"I don't know where to start."

"Start anywhere. I'm smart enough to put the pieces in the right order. Just make it the truth."

He strode to the window and stopped. Felicity's bedroom overlooked little - only the brick wall of the building next to hers, growing dimmer in the fading daylight. The view was tired and a little dirty, typical inner city. Still, it was easier than looking her in the eye so he kept his gaze outside.

"You mentioned the Star City Archer last night at the hockey game," he began. "Obviously, he's come up in your investigation."

"What?" She was startled. "What on earth does the Archer have to do with you having a Bratva tattoo?"

He put his hands in his pockets. "You said start anywhere, Felicity. That's what I'm doing. I'll connect the dots for you eventually, I promise."

There was a long pause. "Okay," she finally said. But from the sound of her voice he could tell she was already skeptical.

Oliver watched a pigeon perch on her fire escape. It hunkered down, fluffing out its feathers. "The Star City Archer," he repeated. "You looked into him because Isabel was killed by an arrow in the chest."

"Yes."

He forced himself to turn and face her. "What did you find out?"

She smoothed the blanket with her hand. It was a nervous gesture. "The Star City Archer appeared after the Ninety-six earthquake demolished much of the city's infrastructure. Gangs were warring for control and making life miserable for the residents, and the police were spread too thin to do much about it. So the Archer went after gang members on his own, killing them with an arrow to the heart. He basically kept going, taking them out until order was restored."

Oliver nodded. "And his identity?"

"His identity remains unknown...if he existed at all. No one found out who he was and my impression is that no one tried very hard. Both the cops and the citizens were happy to see their gang problem taken care of so they didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. He even became something of a hero."

Oliver nodded again. "Did you try to find his name, Felicity? With your...research skills, did you dig into his background?" It was as close as he dared get to saying hacking skills. Hacking might sound accusatory and they were on shaky ground at the moment.

She flushed and he knew that she understood. "I dug up some archived news broadcasts that mentioned him but I didn't pursue finding his name. I was more interested in the legend than I was in the facts. In terms of my investigation, he's important because he's a symbol that the killer may be imitating. I was looking for anything that would give me a clue to motives or next steps. "

Oliver shook his head. "The Star City Archer isn't just a symbol; he was a real man."

"Maybe he was." She shrugged. "Maybe he was really a group of men, since he was apparently able to take out a couple of dozen gang members. What does it matter? If he - or they - are still alive, he's a very senior citizen by now. There's no way he could have killed Isabel. And I don't understand what he could possibly have to do with you and a Bratva tattoo."

She was sitting up straight in the bed, her mouth in a flat line. They had barely begun and she was growing impatient; he could feel her slipping away, what was left of her trust receding. May as well just say it, he thought.

"The Archer was one, very real man, Felicity. I know this, because my grandfather was the Archer."

Her mouth opened. Then she blinked. "That's not funny."

"It's not a joke. Jonas Queen, founder of Queen Consolidated, joined an archery club when he was twelve and became pretty damn good with a bow and arrow. He won a number of tournaments at the national level when he was in college. That's something you can look up. I also have the bow he used locked away in my basement, if you need further evidence."

She retrieved her glasses from the bedside table, put them on and gaped at him. "Why?"

"Why do I have the bow, or why did Jonas become the Archer?"

"Oliver-"

He waved a hand. "Yeah, I'm stalling, I know it. This isn't easy for me, Felicity, and I'm not sure what you're going to think of me after I've told you the story. So forgive me if I'm a little reluctant."

He was being honest about that, Felicity thought. They way he kept shifting from side to side - she could see that he was almost in physical discomfort. So, she swallowed her impatience and waited.

"Jonas became the Archer," Oliver continued, "because he saw an opportunity and seized upon it. The Queens have always been good at seizing opportunities."

His tone was derisive and she frowned. "What opportunity did he seize, exactly? The chance to help clean up the city?

He smiled grimly. "I see you heard the altruistic version of the story. The Star City Archer saved the city by taking out bad guys."

"Didn't he?"

"Yeah, he took out bad guys. A lot of them. The question nobody asks, though, is what did he replace them with?"

A chill settled over her. "Why would he replace them with anything?"

"The city was a mess after the earthquake, Felicity, and all kinds of institutions were in disarray. A lot of the checks and balances were missing. For an enterprising person, there were opportunities - to gain influence, to gain power, to avoid regulations."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm still not sure I understand. You're saying Jonas seized power?"

"Of a sort. When he'd gotten rid of the gangs that were extorting the local businesses for protection money or stealing food and medicines, Jonas took over. He found a way to extort money for himself."

"Why?"

Oliver's lip curled. "Why does anyone take money? Because they want it. In Jonas's case, he used the money as capital to start Queen Consolidated. If you research the early days of the company, you'll find he took out very few loans and had almost no investors. The money to buy equipment and grow the business just seemed to magically appear."

Well, that's something I can verify, she thought. But it didn't make sense, not given the things she'd heard about the Archer or Jonas Queen. "Why doesn't anybody talk about this then, when they talk about the earthquake?" she asked. "Everyone makes it sound as if the troubles went away when the Archer took out the gangs. And if Jonas was, for all intents and purposes, stealing, why is he remembered mainly as being a good businessman?"

Oliver exhaled. "Because Jonas was smart enough to not be a petty thug. He didn't imitate the gangs by walking into local businesses and threatening people. He did things at arm's length. In particular, he took control of the docks. A flooded cargo ship, a warehouse fire of unknown origin...and Jonas was ready to help store owners replace their losses by selling to them himself - often with the goods they had already paid for." His voice was dry on the word, help. "He built a web of contacts and put layers between himself and the people he was stealing from."

"And nobody figured it out?"

"No. Jonas was careful. He made things look like accidents. There were a few rumors among the more astute business people. What he was able to do with Queen Consolidated didn't make sense without another source of cash. But the average citizen - the people who create legends - they never had a clue. All they saw was a man who built a company from the ground up and offered them jobs."

She fell silent. Oliver watched her face as she processed the information, both wishing and fearing to hear her thoughts.

Eventually, she sighed. "I get that this isn't good, Oliver, that your grandfather wasn't an upstanding guy. But why the secrecy - why are you personally so ashamed about it? This happened decades before you were born. You're not responsible."

"I'm running a company that was built on stolen funds. It's not exactly something to be proud of."

She pressed her lips together. "No, it's not. But history is full of corporate magnates with questionable ethics. Carnegie, Rockefeller, Ford...hell, even Joseph Kennedy was a bootlegger. Over time they turned it around, through philanthropy or public service. You seem like you're trying to do the same for Star City."

He felt a small weight lift from his shoulders, relieved that she was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

But then she continued more sharply, "And none of this tells me why you have a Bratva tattoo. You're supposed to be explaining that."

No benefit of the doubt there. Oliver could feel the butterflies taking flight in his stomach. Telling her about Jonas had been the easy part; the Bratva wasn't going to be nearly so easy.

"No, it doesn't explain the tattoo," he said wearily. "And that's because I haven't finished the story. There's more to it."

"Well, keep going. I'm trying to be patient, but patience isn't exactly my strong suit."

Tell me about it. She isn't a woman who likes sitting and waiting. But then patience is not my strong suit either. He glanced out the window. The daylight was almost gone and the room was growing dark. He was tempted to leave it that way. If he couldn't make out her features, he didn't have to see her disappointment. But that would be cheating. If this thing between them was going to be real, he had to be able to look her in the eye.

"Lights on," he ordered and the room brightened. Then he came over and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough to watch the small changes in her expression. He was also close enough to take her hand, but he didn't. He didn't think she would welcome it.

"When my grandfather became the Archer, there wasn't a whole lot of risk for him, personally," he said, "at least not in the beginning. The street gangs he took out were small potatoes - a few dozen locals who stole property or money. When their members started showing up with arrows in the chest, they grew frightened and stopped on their own." He paused. "But when Jonas took control of the docks, it was another story entirely. He disrupted the operations of much bigger players - more like organized crime."

"Organized crime," Felicity repeated. "Is this where the Bratva comes in?"

"They're one syndicate, yes."

She frowned. "You mean there's another organized crime syndicate operating in Star City?"

Oliver nodded, not surprised that she didn't know. The organization he was talking about flew well under the radar.

He shifted on the edge of the bed. "Star City is an interesting place, Felicity. Did you know we're among the top five shipping ports in the U.S.? More than a hundred billion dollars of goods arrive or leave here every year. Yet, by population, we're not as big as New York, Los Angeles or even Seattle, so we only get a fraction of the scrutiny those cities get. The Port Authorities, Customs Border Protection or the FBI - they don't have the resources to fully monitor us. That makes us an ideal location for smuggling things in and out of the country."

Her brow furrowed. "What things?"

He shrugged. "You name it. People, drugs, weapons - just about anything illegal or even just highly regulated. Jonas didn't know it in the beginning, but when he screwed around with the ports, he messed with some big black market businesses."

"The Bratva," Felicity stated again. "It's how they bring in drugs."

Oliver began to shake his head, but then paused. "Yes, he disrupted the Bratva. But Jonas had an even greater impact on another organization. They call themselves the League of Assassins."

Felicity's eyebrows rose as she snorted, "The League of Assassins? Seriously? That's a comic book name, Oliver. I'm starting to think you're making this up."

He gave her a wry smile. "I know it sounds unbelievable. But the League is very real. They're an international organization that specializes in weapons smuggling, extortion, and — yes — assassinations."

She narrowed her eyes. "I've never heard anyone in the department mention them. Ever."

"That's how good the League is. They cover their tracks."

She gave him a doubtful look. "Then how do you know about them?"

"We're getting there, Felicity."

"Get there a little faster."

If there wasn't so much riding on this discussion, he would have laughed. She could be incredibly single-minded. He suspected it was one of the reasons she was so good at her job. Aloud, he said, "Star City has been a favorite port of entry and exit for the League for decades. Ever since the U.S. got serious about gun control, there's been a big black market for weapons. Internationally, there's also demand for U.S. military technology. The League specializes in moving both. Jonas didn't know it in the beginning, but he grabbed a tiger by the tail when he took control of the docks and diverted cargo. He figured it out, of course, when he stumbled across a cache of smuggled weapons - but by then he was in the middle of something really scary."

Oliver paused. His mouth was dry, whether from talking or nerves, he wasn't certain.

"And?" Felicity prompted. She was leaning forward, still clutching the blanket.

He attempted to wet his lips. "It took The League a little longer to find out that Jonas was behind their lost shipments. He had insulated himself well and the League had to peel back a lot of layers before they got to they guy who was calling the shots. Once they did, Jonas was a marked man."

Felicity tried to recall how Jonas Queen had died and came up blank. Her research on Oliver hadn't extended two generations back.

"Did they kill him?" she whispered.

"They tried. But he was a crafty SOB and managed to stay alive — barely."

"So, what did he do?"

"He decided to find an ally. And that's where the Bratva comes in." When she looked up quickly he gave her a rueful smile. "See, we're finally getting around to the Bratva."

She didn't return the smile. "You're saying your grandfather went to the Bratva...for help?"

"Yes."

"And they agreed to help him?"

Oliver cleared his throat. "Not for free, of course. He made a deal. The Bratva kept the League from killing him and got five percent of Queen Consolidated's revenues in return, plus Jonas's agreement to turn over any Bratva smuggled goods he came across."

"Oh."

She fell silent and Oliver studied her face as she worked through the information. When she gave him a questioning look, he added, "The Bratva probably had other motives, too. They compete with the League in certain sectors of the black market and there isn't a great deal of love between the two organizations. Anything that hurts the League is a bonus to them."

Felicity bit her lip. "Wouldn't it have been simpler for Jonas to stop interfering at the docks - to walk away?"

Oliver nodded. "Maybe. But Jonas had come to depend on the money. His business plans for Queen Consolidated's growth relied on it. If he had to sell shares to investors he would no longer be in complete control of the company, and control meant a lot to him. Plus - even if he did stop interfering - there was no guarantee the League wouldn't kill him anyway, just to make a lesson out of him and be certain their problem was solved once and for all."

He licked his lips once more. God, his mouth was dry. Felicity was staring at him as if she didn't know what to believe and he was certain she was assembling a list of questions. He reached to the floor, where the whiskey bottle and shot glass still sat, and picked them up.

"Go on," he said to her. "Ask. I can tell you have a bunch of questions."

She took her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't know where to start."

"Start anywhere. You're smart enough to put the pieces in the right order." He said it without sarcasm.

She nodded. "Fine. Let's start with the fact that all of this happened sixty years ago. Your grandfather is gone. Why do you have the tattoo?"

He smiled as he poured whiskey into the glass. No matter where the story went, she wasn't going to forget about that damned star. "There's a number of ways to answer that. First of all, both the Bratva and the League are old organizations. The Bratva got their start in the early days of the Russian revolution and the League dates back centuries. So to them, sixty years is nothing - a drop in the bucket. Memories are long and things change slowly."

"That's not an answer."

He lifted the glass to his lips and drank. The whiskey brought some moisture to his mouth, but not nearly enough. "No," he sighed, "I suppose it's not."

"So?" She was just about glaring at him.

"So, to speak more plainly, the arrangement with the Bratva didn't go away when Jonas died. When my father Robert inherited Queen Consolidated, he also inherited the agreement and the payments. By then, QC was big enough to stand on its own and Robert didn't need to interfere at the docks for infusions of capital. But he was fearful enough of the League to continue paying protection money. And by this time, five percent of revenues was a big number - close to a hundred million. It gave the Bratva really deep coffers...and made them very powerful."

"I see." Felicity was silent. After a moment, she slid her glasses back on her face and whispered, "And you?"

He didn't need to ask what she meant. She wanted to know whether he was continuing the family tradition of payments to the Bratva.

He didn't answer right away. He wanted to explain more first. "I knew nothing about Jonas's deal," he said. "My father never told me and I had planned to get away from the family and work in New York City for another company. I never wanted to run Queen Consolidated. But then the League decided to try again."

Try again. Felicity sat up. "The plane crash."

He nodded. She was definitely smart enough to put the pieces together. "Yes. The plane crash." He poured another shot of whiskey. "The League was getting tired of being one step behind the Bratva and decided their best bet for regaining footing in Star City was to wipe out all the Queens in one fell swoop. No more Queen Consolidated, no more five percent to the Bratva, and the two organizations would be on equal footing once again. So they put a bomb on our aircraft, set to detonate when the plane was over the middle of the ocean. They didn't figure on there being any survivors."

"You're sure it was a bomb?"

"It blew a hole in the fuselage, Felicity. I'm sure it was a bomb."

"But you survived."

"Yes. Thanks largely to a pilot who managed to regain control of the plane before we hit the water. The poor man was killed for his heroics."

"And the rest of your family?"

Oliver swallowed the whiskey. "As far as I know," he said quietly, "they didn't make it. I was unconscious for a while after we crashed, kept afloat by my life vest. When I came to, it was just me and Tommy. I know your bosses at the SCPD don't like that story, but it's the truth."

His hands trembled a little and Felicity felt a pang of sympathy. She'd been so focused on making sure he was truthful that she hadn't thought about what he'd been through. The crash must have been terrifying. And whatever his opinion of his father, Oliver had lost his entire family that day. Like her, he'd become an orphan.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Me, too. My sister was just a kid. She sure as hell didn't deserve it."

He conspicuously didn't say anything about his parents. Apparently his feelings for them were more conflicted.

Felicity cleared her throat. "So, you survived the crash and made it to an island for a couple of years. How did you find out about the deal with the Bratva? When you took over the company and saw QC's books? That five percent had to be disguised as some kind of legitimate expense."

Oliver shook his head. "No, I found out earlier, before I came back to Star City. I found out when the Bratva pulled me and Tommy out of the ocean after the crash."

Felicity pushed the blankets away. "What?" Her voice came out as a hoarse croak.

Oliver filled the shot glass and handed it to her. "The Bratva had been tracking my father's movements - protecting their investment, I guess. Like I said, five percent had gotten to mean a lot of cash for them. They knew exactly when and where the plane went down and got to us in less than twenty-four hours."

She drank the whiskey. "So the whole story about being on a deserted island for a couple of years?"

He looked embarrassed. "Was only a story, yes. In the end, we were on an island, but for a couple of months, not a couple of years. Long enough to make it look real, that's all."

"So where were you, then?"

"For most of the time, we were held in Russia while the Bratva educated me on their deal with the Queens and my obligations to hold up the Queen end of it."

"And by 'educated,' you mean-"

"Beat the shit out of me, yeah. Or else threatened to beat the shit out of Tommy if I didn't do what they asked."

Felicity flinched. "Is that where you got the scars?"

He nodded tiredly. "Most of them."

"Why didn't you agree to pay the five percent right away, so they'd let you go?"

Oliver sat for a moment, looking at the whiskey bottle. He raised it to his lips and drank, not bothering to retrieve the glass from Felicity. "You have to know who I was back then. I was young. I'd just graduated college and didn't want anything to do with my father or his business - even before I knew about any of this. He wasn't a very loving parent, Felicity. He was self-centered and manipulative, and he seemed to enjoy destroying my confidence. The deal with the Bratva only confirmed my worst opinions. It made me happy to think I was doing something he wouldn't have liked."

Felicity said nothing. She understood not feeling what a child should for a parent. But her father had merely abandoned her; he hadn't gotten into bed with organized crime - at least she didn't think he had.

"Anyway," Oliver continued, "I don't think the Bratva would have believed me if I'd capitulated right away. They had their methods and they wanted to make their point. And once they had, things got a little easier."

"How?"

"Anatoly got involved."

"Anatoly Knyazev?"

"Yes."

Felicity frowned. "So, your connection to him is not only through Isabel."

"No. I met Anatoly before I met her. And, in a weird way, he was good to me. Rather than beat the snot out of me, he offered to have men train me in defensive maneuvers so I wouldn't be such an easy target for the League. He told me I wasn't any good to the Bratva dead...which I guess is true."

"And that's how you got the tattoo?"

He smiled grimly. "Yes, we're finally getting around to the tattoo. After more than a year of brutal, exhausting training in everything from evasive moves, to hand-to-hand, to old-fashioned firearms, I was given my star. I think it's supposed to be a compliment — for surviving the training and not quitting...or dying. I also think they intended it as a reminder of my responsibilities. It's there every time I get out of the shower or undress for bed - I can't escape it."

Felicity slumped back against the headboard and pulled the blanket back up over her lap. Her thoughts were whirling. Oliver was Bratva - well, Bratva trained, anyway - but only because he'd been forced into it by the actions of his father and grandfather. He had chosen none of it. So, what did that make him - a criminal or a survivor?

She badly wanted him not to be a criminal. His intelligence, his warmth, the way he looked at her...all of it made her feel things for him that she hadn't felt in any of her other relationships. She wanted to believe that the Bratva was history so that they could move forward. But there were things in his story that continued to bother her.

"I don't understand why the Bratva felt they had to convince you at all," she said, "or why they trained you to survive the League. Not to be callous or anything, but why didn't they leave you in the ocean to die and then take control of Queen Consolidated themselves? They'd get more than five percent. They'd get the whole pie."

Oliver pressed his lips together. "Good question. The primary reason is that QC is a private company, with the family holding eighty percent of the shares. Its charter is written so that it has to be run by a Queen, or else broken up and sold. The pieces are worth less than the whole - a lot less. So it's more lucrative for the Bratva to have it continue as it is, with a Queen running it. And you're looking at the last Queen."

"And the second reason?"

Oliver shrugged. "The Bratva are a force to be reckoned with on the black market but they're not very good at managing a legitimate business. If they did get their hands on QC, they'd run it into the ground. I'm a good businessman. I've been in charge for seven years and I've grown the company to nearly three times the revenue my father produced. The Bratva are profiting well from my work."

Felicity felt the dull throb of disappointment. "Which means you're paying them, like your grandfather and your father." It hadn't escaped her that he'd avoided answering the question earlier.

Oliver's gaze was steady. "Does that upset you? I am, although they're not getting five percent anymore. I negotiated it down to three - told them that if they'd been holding up their end, the League couldn't have gotten a bomb on our plane. I guess I had the makings of a businessman even back then."

Felicity lifted an eyebrow. "I don't think the percentage matters. You're still supporting a criminal organization."

He sighed. "That's a very...cop...thing to say, Felicity." When she frowned, he added, "Look, I run Queen Consolidated as a legitimate company - one hundred percent. I don't steal, I don't cheat. But the payments to the Bratva...that's not such an easy thing to undo. If I stop, they'll make damn sure the League knows I'm no longer under their protection. Even with my training, I figure I'd last three months at best under those circumstances."

"Did you ever consider getting a bodyguard?"

"A bodyguard?" He gave a short, harsh laugh. "Do you really think one bodyguard, or a dozen bodyguards are going to make a difference? The League is smoke. They pass through places unseen. They got a fucking bomb on our plane even though it went through two safety checks. Do I start having every vehicle I use guarded and inspected? Do I have someone taste my food? Check the ventilation system of every building I go into to make sure there are no sources of poisonous gas?" He shook his head. "If someone wants to kill you badly enough, Felicity, and if they're as good as the League, they're going to do it. The only thing that's stopping them is the threat of retaliation from the Bratva."

She could feel his desperation. Oliver didn't like the alliance but believed he had no choice. She wasn't so certain she agreed with that. "But if you're running QC as a legitimate business and you're not trying to control the docks the way Jonas did, shouldn't the League be okay with leaving you alone?" she asked. "Why do you still need protection?"

Oliver slumped on the bed. "Strictly speaking, you're right. I'm not going near the League's operations. But you have to remember that this is an old, ingrained war. My grandfather began it sixty years ago and the Queens are now among the list of the League's enemies. And as far as the Bratva is concerned, it's in their best interest to perpetuate the situation. They've gotten used to the income from Queen Consolidated. It's a lot of money to give up."

"Can't you just talk to the League?"

He gave another harsh laugh. "How? Pick up my phone? Who exactly am I supposed to call?" He ran his hand over his cropped hair and exhaled. "I know you're trying to help, Felicity, but I've given this a lot of thought over the last seven years. I'm between a rock and a hard place."

She sat silently for a moment, biting her lip. Then she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her knees. "Oh, Oliver."

He frowned. "What does that mean, oh Oliver?"

She didn't look up. "It means, what a fucking mess. I've got a pretty good imagination, but I could never have imagined something like this, not in a million years. When I saw the tattoo, I just figured you were in the Bratva's pocket."

"Strictly speaking, I am. Or they're in mine, I'm not sure which."

"But it's a whole lot more complicated than that."

He nodded. "It sure is."

She remained silent, her head still down. He watched her anxiously.

Eventually, he had to ask, "Can I interpret your reaction as you believing me?"

Felicity lifted her head and gave him a weary look. "Yes. It's too crazy a story to make up. And, as weird as it sounds, it fits with the data. I keep looking for holes and haven't found any." She remembered Tommy's words from the security video. You're paying a debt that was never yours to pay in the first place. They made sense now, as did Anatoly's reaction when he saw Oliver at SCPD HQ.

And then she recalled her conversation with Rory when they were driving back from interviewing Ramirez, and for a second the room went dark.

Searching for a motive for Oliver to be the murderer, Rory had said, what about something between Queen and Anatoly? Maybe Queen killed Isabel to get back at Anatoly. And Felicity had dismissed the idea because there wasn't enough of a connection between the two men.

Except now she knew that there was. There was a mother-fucking huge connection. The Bratva - and Anatoly - had kidnapped Oliver and were essentially blackmailing him for a piece of Queen Consolidated. Give us the money or we'll let the League know they can kill you.

Was that enough reason for Oliver to murder Isabel? Her mind began churning.

No, she decided - at least not for an intelligent, rational Oliver who looked at the situation logically. Killing Isabel would do nothing to make Anatoly back off. But what about an angry, cornered Oliver? What about a man who felt like he'd had a target on his back for the last seven years? Would killing Isabel give him a sense of power, a feeling of regaining control? Was she sitting here, half naked in her bedroom, with Isabel's murderer?

Shit. She didn't know what to think. Oliver couldn't have fired the arrow, she knew that. But she was willing to bet that if she fed this new data into her computer, it would come back with a high probability that Oliver was somehow involved - higher than the 77 percent it had given her last time. Was that what her instincts were telling her too?

Felicity was silent and Oliver wanted to feel relief at her response. She believed him. She believed him, and she wasn't running out of the room to call her commander - at least not at this moment. But she didn't appear sympathetic, either. There was a crease in her forehead that he had come to recognize as a sign that she was wrestling with something.

"Are you going to tell me what you're thinking?" he asked. "I can hear the wheels turning from over here."

She didn't smile. "I'm wondering how far you would go to break free from the Bratva."

"What?"

"You heard me."

He stared at her, his mouth open slightly. Then the pieces clicked and he frowned. "You're trying to tie Isabel's murder to my story - tie her murder back to me."

She grimaced. "I don't have to try very hard. There's a disagreement between the League and the Bratva, with your ancestor being the person who started it. Now you're stuck in the middle. You'd like to break free, but the Bratva won't let you. It's fair to think you'd want to strike back at them."

"Through Isabel? What would that accomplish? Logic says it would only make Anatoly hate me more."

It was the same thing she had considered only moments earlier. She shrugged. "Maybe. But people aren't always logical. They react out of fear or anger."

Oliver's chest felt tight. An hour ago he had been making love to this woman. Now she was calling him a murderer. "C'mon, Felicity. Use those brains of yours. Someone shot at us with a bow. Do you think I set this whole thing up to have someone shoot me in the back?"

She studied him, the furrow in her brow growing deeper. "No," she admitted, "I don't. But you withheld information that is germane to a murder investigation - which doesn't put you high on my list of people to trust."

"Excuse me?"

"Isabel was killed by someone who is imitating your grandfather, Oliver. Your grandfather. And you knew it. You had information that was relevant to the case and you said nothing. You still wouldn't have said anything if I hadn't recognized the Bratva tattoo."

He leaned away from her and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a defensive gesture and he knew it. She was right about the tattoo - he could admit that. It didn't mean she was right about everything else, though.

He shook his head. "I didn't tell you because I didn't see my story as relevant. I'm still not sure that I do."

"Seriously?"

"I've been home for seven years. Isabel's been in Star City for six. If this is in any way about my grandfather's deal, why wait that long?"

Felicity lifted her hands. "I don't know - yet. But I'm only just hearing about this. I haven't had time to pull the story together. If you'd told me when I interviewed you at your house, I'd have had a couple of days to work on it."

Oliver eyed the whiskey bottle but decided he'd had enough. He ran a hand tiredly over his face. "What other theories were you working with - before I told you about all of this?

She narrowed her eyes at him and didn't answer.

"C'mon, Felicity. I showed you mine. The least you can do is show me yours."

She shook her head stubbornly. "You're not a cop, and you've given me a very good reason not to trust you. Why the hell should I tell you anything?"

But he could be stubborn too. "Whether or not you trust me, you think I could be a target. Earlier this afternoon you were certain the New Archer was trying to kill me. So, I have a right to know what's going on with the investigation. I have a right to defend myself."

It was a good thing to say, to call on her sense of fairness. He watched her hand flutter over the blanket and become still. For a moment, he didn't think she would tell him. Then she nodded grudgingly. "Fine. But you have to keep this to yourself - completely to yourself. Don't tell Tommy, and for God's sake, please don't even hint that you know anything about the investigation to your reporter girlfriend. There have been enough leaks already. If this shows up on the news, I'll lose my job."

He clenched his jaw. "Didn't we settle this a while ago? I'm interested in you, not Susan. She's not my girlfriend."

Felicity shook her head but didn't argue the point. "The theory we were working with," she said, "is that the killer knows about the Archer's legend and was imitating him to make a point about Isabel. The Archer was known for taking out bad guys, and we thought the killer wanted to make sure people knew that Isabel wasn't a model citizen. So he killed her with the arrow and planted evidence."

"What kind of evidence?"

She paused, then thought, what the hell? If Oliver had something to do with her death, I'm not telling him anything he doesn't already know. "A vial of drugs in her apartment and calls from a dealer on her phone," she said.

"So she wasn't using drugs?"

"Oh, she was using them, all right. An opioid and an amphetamine. But we believe the stuff we found in her apartment was planted because it didn't match the substances we found in her blood. We think her killer wasn't confident we'd run a tox screen, so he did something to make sure we'd check." Felicity paused, thinking over the day's events. "Or she planted something," she added slowly.

"What?"

Felicity pressed her face into both of her hands. "She planted the evidence. Oh fuck. I got so distracted with your shoulder wound and then...other things...that I forgot about my witness. The New Archer must have a partner - a woman who helped plant the evidence. And we have someone who might be able to identify that woman. The witness was going to draw a sketch of her while I was meeting with Anatoly and I was supposed to go back and pick it up." She couldn't believe she'd forgotten about Ramirez, the drawing, and the programs she'd left running on his computer.

She sounded less angry, but Oliver didn't think that meant she was over what she considered as his betrayal. It simply meant that her attention was focused on her case. That little crease was back in her forehead.

"I'm sorry to muddy the waters," he said, "but there's something that doesn't make sense to me, especially if you assume the New Archer is imitating my grandfather."

Felicity lifted her head from her hands. "What's that?"

"He missed."

"You call that a miss?" She pointed at his shoulder.

"Yes, I do. I heard on the news that Isabel was struck in the heart. That's a precision shot. The arrow in my back could hardly be called precise shooting, especially if the intent was to kill me."

Felicity shrugged. "You'd turned and you were running. All our evidence says Isabel was standing still, expecting to meet with her dealer."

"I suppose." But Oliver wasn't certain that explained it.

He watched Felicity lower her head into her hands once again. She looked so incredibly frustrated that he wanted to take her in his arms and stroke her back. But he knew that wasn't a good idea.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked instead.

It was a stupid thing to say - almost as stupid as taking her in his arms. He watched her cheeks redden as her anger flooded back. "You can help me by telling me everything you know, and allowing me to decide whether it's relevant. Otherwise, you need to stay out of it."

"I've told you everything."

"Maybe," she snapped. "Or maybe you have another piece of the puzzle that puts everything into context but you don't think it's significant. Let's start with who else knows your story."

He shook his head. "Not many people. Tommy, of course. And Anatoly - and I suppose some of the senior members of the Bratva."

"Would Tommy have told his family? I believe his father lives in Star City."

"No." Oliver was certain of that. "Tommy's relationship with his father is strained. The two of them don't talk much."

"What about your board of directors? They get financial updates regularly. Do they know about the payout?"

"Hell, no. My grandfather kept his board in the dark and the tradition has continued ever since."

Felicity's cheeks remained flushed. She opened her mouth a couple of times before getting out the words. "What about Isabel?"

"Isabel," he repeated. "Good question. I'm honestly not sure. I never talked about it with her, so how much she knows depends on what Anatoly told her."

"You never talked about it with her?" Felicity repeated. "You honestly expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth."

"Anatoly is her uncle, for Chrissake. And you're telling me she never raised the subject?"

Oliver shook his head. "I never saw her when I was in Russia, and when I first met her in the U.S., I didn't know she was related to Anatoly. She had a different last name, after all. I didn't find out until he came to visit her."

"Because it occurs to me," Felicity continued, as if he hadn't spoken,"that Anatoly might have sent her here to keep an eye on you. You know, make sure you were keeping up your end of the bargain? She came to Star City less than a year after your miraculous return."

There were a few beats of silence.

"That thought occurred to me too," Oliver admitted slowly, "some time ago. But if that's what Anatoly expected," he added resolutely, "then he was disappointed. Isabel didn't get close enough to me to find out anything about my businesses."

"Are you sure?" Felicity asked dryly. "You slept with her."

Oliver waved a hand. "Just because I slept with her doesn't mean I blabbed my secrets. I'm very good at keeping my mouth shut."

You slept with me, Felicity thought, and now you're singing like a bird. She didn't say the words aloud, but Oliver read her expression accurately.

"This is not normal," he said defensively. "You and me. It's an exception. You're the exception."

She felt her cheeks grow warm. Even though Oliver had withheld information about the case, she believed him when he spoke of his feelings for her - mostly because he seemed almost as stunned by them as she was. It didn't mean that she trusted him though.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" he said abruptly.

She raised an eyebrow. "About the case?"

"Only peripherally. I want to know how you got Anatoly to back off."

"I'm sorry?"

He leaned toward her. "How did you get Anatoly to stop having you followed? I can't figure out what you said to get him to agree and it's been bugging me all afternoon. It's not as if he's afraid of the police."

She pressed her lips together.

"C'mon, Felicity. I showed you mine—"

"Oh, all right," she snapped, before he could finish. "I'll tell you, but it's another one of those things that you can't share - with anyone." She paused and took a breath. "I did a little research on Anatoly. You know, looking for vulnerabilities I could leverage?"

He rolled his eyes. "You may as well just say it, Felicity. You hacked him. The same way you hacked me. And?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "I did research," she reiterated, "and I found that he has several offshore accounts under a fictitious name, each with a considerable sum of money. I was able to retrieve quite a bit of detail on them; account numbers, exact totals, that sort of thing. I suggested to him that if he continued to interfere with my police investigation those sums of money would disappear."

Oliver's jaw fell. "You threatened to drain his bank accounts?"

"The offshore, illegal ones, yes. And before you hit the ceiling, I made sure that if anything happens to me, the accounts will still be drained. He knows this. I'm guessing they're accounts that the rest of the Bratva doesn't know about. In fact, I think Anatoly may be doing a little skimming."

He stared at her. "Christ, you're scary. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

He sounded as if he meant it. She grinned but didn't reply. She was wondering if it was too late to go see Ramirez.

Oliver followed her glance when she looked at the clock. "Is there someplace you need to be?"

Felicity slid to the edge of the bed, then stood and picked up her jeans. "I need to go see my witness and pick up that sketch. I still can't believe I forgot about it."

Alarm bells instantly went off in Oliver's head. He reached out and grasped her arm, ignoring the fact that she wasn't happy with him. When she tried to jerk her arm away, he held on tighter. "Felicity, it's almost nine and it's dark. For all we know, the New Archer followed us here and is waiting somewhere outside. We already have proof that he has more range with that bow than you have with your weapon. At least in daylight we were able to see him coming. At night we'll be sitting ducks."

She noted that he'd said we'll, not you'll, as if it was given that he would go with her. That presumption brought her out her anger once more. "First of all, it's me, Oliver, not we. And second, I'll...I'll...take the car," she finished lamely.

He glowered at her. "Are you going to take the car right to your witness's living room? You're going to have to get in and out of it a couple of times. That's enough opportunity for an arrow to hit you."

"I'm not the target - you are. I should be fine."

In theory, she was right, but Oliver still didn't like it. He searched for another argument and found one that was embarrassing, but possibly effective. "Then you're going to - what?" he asked. "Leave me alone here? You've just told me that I'm a target."

"I-" she stopped.

"Would leaving me unprotected be proper procedure?"

Felicity stared at him. Common sense told her that he had a point, both about procedure and the limitations of her weapon. It was her duty to pursue leads, but it wasn't her duty to act stupidly. Her commander and any one of her colleagues would agree with that.

She pulled her arm out of his grasp, but didn't put on her jeans. After a moment, she sat on the bed. "Okay," she admitted reluctantly. "But if it's too risky to go see my witness in the dark, then it's too risky to drive you home. We'll wait til daylight." She stopped abruptly, realizing the implications of what she'd just said.

Oliver was staying the night.

A/N: Sorry for the long chapter. I tried several ways to break this up, but in the end thought it was better for Oliver to tell his story all at once. How Felicity reacts to it? More to come.