John Diggle figured it would take Oliver Queen about a day to realize that he needed Felicity Smoak to help him get his company back. In reality, it only required about 12 hours. Unfortunately for Diggle, Oliver's epiphany came early in the morning, before Digg had even gotten out of bed. He was still lying on his back drowsily pondering the ceiling, when he heard his phone vibrate on the bedside table.

"'Lo?" Digg muttered groggily, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position and propping his shoulders against the headboard.

Unlike Digg, Oliver had clearly been awake for some time. His voice was alert and businesslike, and he wasted no time getting to his point. "Have you talked to Felicity today? Is she with you?"

Digg sighed regretfully, feeling his muscles began to transition from sleepy relaxation to Queen-induced tension, his hopes for a leisurely morning disappearing. Glancing at the empty pillow beside him, he took a moment to give thanks that Lyla was away on assignment. She had never been a morning person and was doubly cranky in her second trimester of pregnancy. Waking up this early to an Oliver emergency would not have been high on her priority list.

He cleared the morning fogginess out of his throat. "Good morning to you, too, Oliver. What a surprise to hear your voice this early in the day. To what do I owe the honor?" He swung his legs to side of the bed and slowly made his way to standing. Given Oliver's tone, Digg was fairly certain that going back to sleep was not going to be an option.

There was a loud, impatient snort on the other end of the line. "Don't screw around with me, Digg. Have you talked to Felicity? She's not answering her phone and her apartment is dark."

Digg located his tee shirt on the floor and quickly pulled it over his head. "Of course her apartment is dark. The sun's not up yet. Pretty much everything is dark and many folks are still in bed. I was still in bed up until a few seconds ago. Maybe she's asleep, Oliver." He looked around for a pair of sweatpants he was certain he had been wearing the night before, but gave up when he decided they must have disappeared down the same black hole known to claim errant socks. Lyla didn't like it when he "paraded around the apartment in his underwear" (her words), but she wasn't here right now so the hell with it. He needed coffee, ASAP.

In shirt and boxers, he padded barefoot to his kitchen, clutching the phone to his ear. He hoped desperately that they had coffee on hand. He hadn't had much time recently to attend to the more mundane aspects of life, like grocery shopping. Fighting Mirakuru-amped soldiers could really wreak havoc on your domestic routine.

"Digg…," Oliver's demanding voice rang in his ear, causing him to shake his head in frustration. For a guy who was Mr. Cool in a crisis, Oliver often seemed to lose perspective when their IT expert was involved. Digg and Lyla had chuckled over it for a while, but it was getting a little tiresome. Frankly, Digg thought, it was time Oliver either faced up to his feelings or let her go; and after his insensitive dismissal of Felicity's offer to help yesterday, Digg was leaning toward the "let her go" side of the equation. He opened a cupboard door and began searching behind cereal boxes, hoping to locate Lyla's emergency coffee stash.

"Digg! What the fuck are you doing? Talk to me. I'm asking you about Felicity!" Clearly, this was one of those times when Oliver's perspective was in question.

Despite the early hour and his growing sense of irritation, Digg couldn't help but feel a small spark of mischief as he heard Oliver's exasperated voice. Oliver was typically so in control, so certain, that Digg rarely had the opportunity to yank his chain. It made him sorely tempted to take advantage of the present situation.

Keeping his voice bland, he replied, "I'm sorry, Oliver, I missed what you just said. Did you have a question?"

"Dammit, Digg! I asked five times if you'd talked to Felicity this morning. She's not answering her phone." His tone was sharp enough to cut a steak.

Digg answered pleasantly, "No, Oliver, I haven't talked to her today. The last time I saw her was when we were walking out yesterday afternoon. Everything was fine, although she might have been a little upset with you." At last - Digg located coffee and filters behind the Cheerios, pleased to see both present and accounted for.

"She said last night that she found a trail showing a QC director receiving a large payment from Stelmoor. We didn't give her a chance to explain further. You know what she's like - she probably kept investigating it on her own. Now she's not picking up." Oliver paused, then queried tersely, "Aren't you even a little bit worried?"

Digg didn't bother to stifle his yawn. "First of all – 'we' – Oliver? I assume 'we' means you and Laurel, not you and me. You didn't give her the chance to explain. I would have been happy to listen. And no, Oliver, I'm not worried. She said something about a computer conference that starts today – a hacking convention, I think she called it. My guess is she's there and just turned her phone off."

Felicity had actually shared a great deal more about her convention plans with Diggle, but given Oliver's behavior yesterday Digg did not feel inclined to supply the details. He recalled the hurt look on Felicity's face when Oliver had essentially called her a "distraction" and decided that his friend needed to sweat this one out a little more.

As Oliver digested the intel about the convention, Digg filled the coffee filter with a dark Columbian blend, poured water into the machine, and hit the ON button. There was a hiss and puff of steam as the water began to work its way through the grounds.

When Oliver spoke again, his tone was a little more moderate. "A conference, Digg? It's not even 6:30 in the morning. Any conference wouldn't start for at least another couple of hours." He added reasonably, "And since when does Felicity ever turn her phone off?"

"You know how she gets about computer talk, Oliver. She wouldn't want to miss a word. And as for the time – well - given the time zone difference, they've probably started morning sessions by now."

There was another pause. "Time zone difference?" Oliver asked. His voice didn't sound so reasonable any longer. "Just where the hell is this conference?"

The smell of coffee was beginning to waft through Digg's kitchen, the aroma alone enough to perk him up. He smiled. "I'm pretty sure she said it was in New York City."

There was no sound at all on the other end of the phone. Digg silently counted to a full 30 seconds before Oliver spoke again.

"New York City." Oliver's voice was flat.

"Yep. New York City. Pretty nice in the fall. It's a little early, but I think the leaves may be changing color in Central Park."

"New York City," Oliver repeated. "With everything that's going on, with me trying to get my company back, Felicity decided it was a good time to leave Starling and head across country to New York." His voice oozed sarcasm.

"As I recall, Oliver, you told her last night that you needed a lawyer to help you get your company back, not an IT specialist. You seemed pretty definite about it. You can't blame her if she took that as an opportunity for some time off. God knows, the girl's given you just about every waking minute of her life for the last couple of years." And because he couldn't resist, Digg added, "It's not as if she's run off to Lian Yu."

The coffee was almost finished brewing. Digg reached for a mug.

There was a sharp click on the other end of the phone which Diggle took to be Oliver's teeth clashing together as he clenched his jaw. "Fine, Digg. I get that she's entitled to some time on her own. But she should at least let us know that she's okay. She has a bad habit of finding trouble."

Digg poured coffee into the mug, then added milk and a healthy spoonful of sugar. Much as he was enjoying hearing Oliver squirm, it was probably time to let the guy out of his misery. He was an idiot when it came to Felicity, but Digg didn't really want to be responsible for causing a stroke in someone so young. It would be such an ignominious way for the Arrow to go.

"She's fine, Oliver. She sent me her itinerary before she left and I have a text telling me she checked into her hotel. She arrived safely and she can handle a few days by herself in New York City. You may not think of her that way, but she is a grown woman."

And in typical fashion, Oliver ignored the intent and zeroed in on the least significant detail – the detail that annoyed him the most. "She told you last night she was going to New York? You knew all this time and you've been letting me worry?"

"Pretty much, Oliver."

"And you encouraged her to go, I imagine." It wasn't a question this time.

"I did. She's been through hell and she deserves a little fun. I'm guessing she's knee-deep in hacking techniques with her buddies from Cambridge as we speak." Diggle took a first sip of coffee and felt the delicious, bitter-sweet warmth slide down his throat. He raised his mug in a silent toast to Felicity – the only person in the world who could discompose Oliver this badly.

"Cambridge?"

"Yeah, you remember she went to MIT, right?"

"MIT is in Boston."

"BU is in Boston. MIT and Harvard are in Cambridge, Mass, Oliver."

"Which hotel?"

"Huh?"

"Which hotel in New York is she in, Digg?"

"The Hilton – or maybe it was the Hyatt. One of those names starting with an H."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"No, I'm not, Oliver. Let her enjoy her computers, catch up with her friends and forget about Starling for a few days. She's earned it."

Meeting Felicity Smoak might not be as difficult as meeting the Pope or the President, but it had to be a close third. J.T. followed her to every conference break-out session, trailed her to the coffee and snack tables, and even waited outside the ladies' room, but each time he was about to make contact another attendee would swoop in and capture her attention. It may have been his imagination, but it seemed like she was trying to avoid too many one-on-one discussions, preferring to surround herself with groups of people and doing her best to fade into the background when the opportunity presented itself. For such a young woman, there was a wariness about her that belied her years. In the decade J.T. had been hiding his best friend, Vincent, he'd developed a watchfulness that often bordered on paranoia; he was quick to recognize that same hyper-vigilance in someone else now. Seeing such guardedness in the lovely Ms. Smoak made J.T. wonder whether the rumors about her working for one of the country's security agencies were true.

If they were, it probably was a good reason to stay away. If they weren't, on the other hand, it only convinced him further that she was the right person to approach for help. J.T. was willing to bet she could appreciate keeping secrets. The question was whether she would understand grey areas, too.

The conference ended its first day with a cocktail and finger foods mixer where, as usual, she was surrounded by a group of men vying for her attention by telling ever more outrageous hacking stories. J.T found the situation mildly amusing; only at a hacking convention would a beautiful blonde be pursued solely for her mind. He wondered if she found pleasure in that or frustration – neither was apparent on her face. She sipped her wine, smiled politely and even complimented a few, but J.T. got the sense that she was looking for an opportunity to bolt when no one was looking. Acting on a hunch, he positioned himself near the exit so that he could catch her on her way out.

Sure enough, after about ten minutes she disengaged herself with a few polite nods and walked quietly toward the door. She could move surprisingly quickly on those high heels. Before he could second guess himself, J.T. grabbed his opportunity.

"Ms. Smoak?"

She looked up at him, startled and - if he was reading her correctly - also slightly annoyed. Her blue eyes traveled from his toes up to the top of his head before settling on his face. To her, he must appear as yet another geek seeking her attention, about to deliver one more long-winded tale of hacking prowess.

"Do I know you?"

He shook his head. "No, we've never met. I was hoping you could help me."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Help you?" Apparently none of the geeks had used that as an opening line. "Help you with what?"

"A computer problem."

The second he said it he realized how ridiculous it sounded. He was at a convention where people were discussing anonymous open proxies and packet sniffing. He was supposed to know something about computers.

She gave him an incredulous look, but didn't call him on his stupidity. "Look, Mister..."

"Forbes."

"Mr. Forbes, normally I love to dive into a good IT problem, but I just flew in this morning from the west and I'm kind of beat. There's a couple of hundred guys back there," she nodded toward the conference attendees, "who I'm sure can solve your problem. You should ask one of them. That is," she added dryly, "if you can tear them away from the free shrimp."

J.T. grimaced. "Those guys? Seriously? I already spent time talking with some of them and not too many seemed willing to help. Or," he couldn't help adding, "in some cases, to bathe."

A smile appeared for a nanosecond on her face before she resumed a look of fatigued patience.

It was enough encouragement for J.T. "Look, Ms. Smoak, I realize you don't know me from Adam, but people were talking about your skills and there's some information I need to find...discretely. I promise it's for a good cause." He had been about to add that it was nothing illegal, but decided it was best to stick to the truth. In a flash of inspiration, he pulled out his college ID. There had to be some credibility associated with being a professor. "I really am a good guy. My name is J.T. Forbes and I teach biochemistry at the local university. I'm good with molecules, not so great with computers - although I'm trying to learn."

Felicity Smoak frowned. "The local university? Can't you get one of the students to help?"

J.T. shook his head. "No, this is well beyond internet searching and Hacking 101, and I'm not sure I'd trust their discretion. Plus," he added generously, "I wouldn't want to get any of the students into trouble."

She was all over that in a second. "Trouble? Just what kind of information are you looking for? I don't know what people have been telling you, but I don't do anything illegal." She amended quickly, "Well, not anything really illegal. Sometimes the information's just out there. I can't help it if it's not well protected." She paused, then added almost defiantly, "Anyway, I don't hack for monetary gain and I'm not going to help you get back at an ex-girlfriend, if that's what you're about to ask me."

J.T almost laughed. He couldn't help but notice that she had a pleasant voice – low pitched and a little on the quick side, as if her mouth were racing to keep up with her brain. He had a hard time believing she was with a security or law enforcement agency; she'd pretty much just told him she was willing to bend the rules on occasion. He wondered whether he should just put all his cards on the table – well, as many as he could without actually naming names. It was not something he was used to doing, but his instinct was telling him it might be the right approach here.

He lowered his voice. "I promise you I'm not trying to steal anything or hurt anyone." He hesitated, then plunged ahead before he could think better of it. "I have a friend who, for various reasons, needs to keep a low profile. He's had kind of an unusual life and it's left him with some unusual…skills. He's only trying to help people, but not everyone sees it that way because his methods are…unorthodox. He wants to keep helping people and I'd like to watch his back."

Something he'd said must have rung a bell. She muttered a few words under her breath which he swore sounded like Oh God, not another one, before shaking her head in resignation. Then her frown was replaced by a reluctant smile, revealing white teeth and a couple of dimples. She nodded and said, "Okay, fair enough. Lucky for you, I can never seem to resist a guy who wants to be a hero. I'm staying at the Hilton a few blocks down the street and I'm going back there now because I really am tired. If you're coming to the conference tomorrow, maybe we can hook up then and talk more about what you want to do. " She grimaced. "Well, not hook up, hook up. Just…get together and talk. You know what I mean."

J.T. laughed, relieved. "Yes, that would be great. I really appreciate it." He was struck by another thought. "Do you need me to walk you to your hotel?"

She considered it briefly. "Thanks, but it's early and it really is only about five or six blocks from here." She stuck out her hand. "I appreciate the offer, though. It was nice meeting you, J.T., and I'll see you tomorrow. I promise I'll be one of the geeks who bothered to bathe."

He chuckled and shook her hand. "Thank you."

After giving him another quick smile she headed out toward the hotel lobby. J.T. was about to return to the reception to see if there was any free beer left, if not shrimp, when he noticed something that struck him as odd.

Two of the conference attendees were making their way quickly toward the lobby, right on the heels of Felicity Smoak. One of them certainly looked like he belonged – he was thin and wearing a tee shirt that said: Any fool can use a computer. Many do. The other attendee, however, looked totally out of place. He appeared athletic – very athletic – with broad shoulders and biceps that strained the sleeves of his Henley. He moved with an easy grace, stealth almost, that reminded J.T. of a wide receiver at the line of scrimmage or a basketball player cutting to the hoop. He reminded J.T., in fact, of his best friend, Vincent.

J.T. wanted to shrug it off. Just about every guy at the conference had tried to meet Felicity Smoak and these were probably just two more. He should head home and see if his girlfriend, Tess, wanted to have a bite to eat when she got off work. As Felicity had said, it was early, and the sidewalks were filled with people. What could happen? Still…something about those two just didn't seem right - and J.T. was a big believer in trusting his instincts. He decided to follow.

It was a beautiful evening. Fall had had been slow to arrive in New York and it was warm enough to walk without a jacket. Felicity was moving briskly down the sidewalk, weaving in and out of the groups of people who had adopted a leisurely pace better suited to chatting and window shopping. J.T. could see the bright sign of the Hilton that was obviously her destination. As she'd said, it was only five blocks away. The two guys, however, were closing in on her. J.T. picked up his pace.

The men caught up with her when she was still three blocks from her hotel. For a second J.T. thought they really did just want to talk until he saw the skinny one in the tee shirt pull a syringe out of the back pocket of his jeans. He quickly jabbed it into Felicity's upper arm.

She didn't immediately crumple. In fact, J.T. thought maybe he should reconsider his notion that she didn't work for a security agency, because she speedily turned to face her attacker and kneed him hard in the groin. He dropped like a sack of potatoes while she pulled the syringe out of her arm. Then she swiftly moved away from the two men, trying to put distance as well as people between herself and them.

J.T. was suitably impressed. She wasn't at the skill level of his female cop friends – Catherine, no doubt, would have broken the guy's nose – but she'd gotten herself away. Still, she was clearly going to need help. Some of whatever was in that syringe must have gotten into her system and, depending on what it was, she was either going to be sick or unconscious. He hurried to catch up with her.

Unfortunately, the athletic looking man from the conference did the same. After saying a couple of words to his buddy - now lying in a fetal position on the sidewalk – he continued to follow. J.T. intercepted him when they were both about ten yards away from Felicity.

"Hey!" he said, grabbing the man's arm, "I don't know what the hell you're up to, but you need to leave her alone."

The man turned to stare at him. To J.T.'s horror there was a yellow-ish tint to his eyes and his hands took on a claw-like appearance as he clenched and unclenched his fists. In the blink of a eye, he picked J.T. up as if he weighed no more than a pillow and threw him down the sidewalk. J.T. landed on his backside amid the crowd of pedestrians.

And no one blinked. This was NYC, after all.

Holy crap, J.T. thought, the man is Beasting out. He was still in the early stages, but when he achieved full transformation in a few minutes things were going to get incredibly ugly. There was only one thing J.T. could think to do. He went for his phone.

Vincent answered on the second ring, "Hey, J.T., what's up?"

"I got a little bit of a Beast problem," J.T. replied, not bothering to keep the hysteria out of his voice. "I could really use your help…NOW."

His tone must have been enough, because Vincent didn't ask for an explanation. "Where?"

"Near the Hilton on 6th, out on the sidewalk."

"On my way."

J.T. shoved his phone in his pocket and searched for Felicity. She had reached a corner where 6th Avenue intersected an alley containing dumpsters and a couple of parked cars. He figured the drug must be kicking in because she stumbled as she stepped off the sidewalk, although she managed to stay upright and keep walking. Unfortunately, instead of moving back into the crowd, her unsteady legs took her into the empty alley. He saw her shake her head a few times as if trying to clear it. Her eyes were glued on the Beast – well, still semi-Beast at this point - closing in on her. The guy was growling as he advanced and his claws were in full view, but he seemed to have some semblance of control.

And no one near the alley appeared to notice. New Yorkers.

To her credit, Felicity was not giving up without a fight. She stood behind a parked truck, placing it between herself and the Beast. Like a scene in a sick cartoon, she and the Beast kept circling around the vehicle, with her feinting one way and then another in an effort to clear enough space to run back to the street. J.T. knew she didn't stand a chance under the current circumstances. Her wobbly legs were no match for the Beast's speed and she was probably only minutes away from passing out.

J.T. decided to try distracting him. If he could pull the Beast a few feet away from the truck, she might be able to make it to the street. "Hey, Asshole!" he yelled, entering the alley.

The Beast turned to look at him and in that instant, Felicity made a break for it. She sprinted around the truck and headed back toward 6th Avenue. The Beast pivoted abruptly away from J.T. and reached for her.

J.T. knew exactly when the Beast made contact because he could see her eyes widen in pain as she felt his claws on her back. She didn't stop running though, and the Beast didn't have enough of a hold to stop her. Before he could gather himself for a second attempt a man stepped in front of the Beast and answered his growl with one of his own.

Vincent had arrived.

To J.T.'s relief, there was no Beast battle. After close to a minute of angry stares and snarls, the Beast from the hacking convention ran down the alley, sprung up onto a fire escape and disappeared over the roof of a building. Vincent took a minute to pull himself together, then turned to look at J.T with the mild brown eyes of his best friend.

And Felicity Smoak – she reached him just in time to collapse at his feet.