It was a good thing they'd had plenty of practice managing bizarre crises, Vincent thought, because this marked two nights in a row where everything had gone to hell. Once again they found themselves at J.T.'s place, sans dinner, the room nearly crackling with adrenaline. J.T. was hovering anxiously over his new friend, Felicity, a position Oliver Queen looked like he very much wanted to occupy, and Tess and Catherine were off to one side debating whether the attempted kidnapping should be reported to the police. At least Diggle and Queen hadn't been exposed to the Beast. Having to explain that would have been one thing too many. When things calmed down a little, Vincent decided he was going to suggest they call for take-out. This was the second consecutive night where the evening meal had been preempted by an abduction bid. They needed to think clearly, and everyone was going to function better if they got a little sustenance.
Not that their visitors appeared incredibly frightened. Queen looked more angry than disturbed, and Digg had his game face on – the same face Vincent had seen numerous times in Afghanistan. And Felicity – well, despite someone's best efforts at pulling her into a car and driving away with her – she seemed surprisingly calm. A little shaken to be sure, but not exactly swooning with fear. She kept watching Digg and Queen carefully, as if trying to take her cue from them. It felt like those three were sharing some kind of silent communication, not unlike the communications he sometimes shared with Catherine and J.T. Whatever their relationship, it obviously went well beyond that of mere co-workers.
Vincent glanced over at Catherine and saw that she was eyeing Queen speculatively. He was pretty sure he could guess her thoughts. That kick and those punches were not the product of anger and an adrenaline surge. They had been calculated, almost surgical in their precision. Queen had been confident that he could throw his kick dangerously close to Felicity's head and still miss her to connect with her assailant. They were the moves of a trained fighter, not a CEO, no matter what kind of physical shape he was in. And Digg hadn't seemed the least bit surprised.
Vincent mulled over the news Digg had shared about himself earlier in the day. After his third tour in Afghanistan he'd returned to Starling City to join his brother, Andy, in private security. Andy had been killed, but Digg had stuck with the security gig. He'd gone to work for the Queen's at the request of Oliver's mother, shortly after Oliver's miraculous return from the dead and an almost-successful attempt to kidnap him and his friend. In addition to being Oliver's personal bodyguard, Digg eventually went on to manage security for Queen Consolidated when Oliver had taken over as CEO. And somewhere along the way, John Diggle had reconnected with his ex-wife, Lyla, and now the two of them were expecting. All of it sounded fine, except that Queen evidently didn't need a bodyguard and Digg had failed to mention how he came to feel so close to Felicity Smoak, or why he had respectfully referred to her as a "fellow soldier." And now that Queen was no longer CEO, he had no need for a head of security – or an executive assistant for that matter. Digg and Felicity should be working elsewhere. Yet the three of them appeared joined at the hip.
He was fairly certain that Tess spoke for Catherine when she said, "Well, Mr. Queen, that was some show you put on in the street. Did you moonlight as an MMA fighter when you were CEO of Queen Consolidated, or is that just how you dealt with your CFO when you didn't like the quarterly results?"
Queen shrugged. "Digg may have taught me a few moves," he said mildly. "That," he added, "and a lot of adrenaline." He smiled at Tess, and for the first time Vincent understood what Catherine's partner might have been referring to when she had talked about Queen's panty-dropping charm. Not that Vincent was into guys, of course, but he could appreciate how a woman might fall prey to that soft voice, square jaw and blue eyes. The man had a disarming smile.
And, in fact, Tess looked like she was going to succumb. She smiled back at Queen, blinked her eyes, and involuntarily brought her hand up to touch her hair. She appeared a tad giddy. But in the end, Tess was made of sterner stuff. "That was more than a few moves, Mr. Queen," she said sharply.
"Call me Oliver."
"That was more than a few moves, Oliver. I don't know a cop on the force who can deliver a kick like that. It usually takes years of training."
Queen glanced at Diggle and then smiled once again at Tess, but said nothing. It appeared no further explanation was going to be forthcoming. Catherine looked at her partner as if to say, this isn't over – we'll try again with Oliver Queen later. There was a thoughtful silence.
Vincent's eye was drawn back to Felicity. She was watching Queen closely but without surprise - as if she'd seen him answer these kinds of questions before. He would have sworn she was amused until he saw her shift uneasily on her feet; that made him notice her posture. Something wasn't right.
She was in pain.
It was subtle, but as a doctor he'd seen the signs often enough before – the stiffness of her shoulders, the careful way she moved her arms. She looked pale and there was a small crease in her normally smooth forehead. He recalled that she'd been grabbed pretty hard by the kidnapper and then flung equally as hard by Queen when he'd pulled her to safety. She must have been knocked about quite a bit. Vincent kicked himself for not seeing it sooner.
"Everything okay, Felicity?" Both Queen's and Digg's heads snapped in her direction when Vincent asked the question.
Felicity nodded carefully. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired." She gave a weak imitation of a smile.
Vincent wasn't buying it. He walked over and, standing behind her, gently lifted the back of the loose shirt she was wearing. As he'd suspected, she'd torn a number of her stitches and there were a few trickles of blood oozing down her back. Now that he was close he could see that her posture was almost rigid. From his vantage point across the room, Queen could see none of this; nevertheless he looked at her with worried eyes before turning a hard stare on Vincent, still holding up Felicity's shirt. Vincent chose to ignore Queen.
"Felicity," Vincent said softly, "you've torn some of your stitches…well, my stitches, really." Trying to keep it light he added, "And I spent so much time on them. You're going to need to be more careful."
"Stitches?" Queen asked sharply. "Felicity - why did you need stitches?"
She looked up at Vincent almost helplessly. He could tell that, in that moment, she didn't have the energy or inclination to give her former boss an explanation. He understood perfectly. Once she used the word "claws," Queen and Diggle were going to be demanding more information. It wasn't a good time. She needed to have her pain eased, and she needed to rest. Crazy stories could come later.
"Felicity required a few stitches after the first kidnapping attempt," he said to Queen shortly. "It looks like she's torn some of them. Let me fix her up and then we can talk more about how it happened." And without waiting for agreement, he very gently clasped Felicity's forearm and led her away toward the bedrooms. Queen made no protest.
When they were out of sight of the others he said to her, "You probably don't remember the drill because you were unconscious last night, but I need you to lie face down on the bed with your shirt off. Here," he added, grabbing a large towel from J.T.'s closet. "You can lie on this. I'm going to clean up and fetch my medical bag."
Felicity gave him a weak smile and nodded.
As soon as Vincent left J.T.'s bedroom, Felicity arranged the towel on the bed. Then – gingerly – she pulled Catherine's shirt over her head, wincing as she felt a few sharp stings, and carefully lowered herself to lay face down as requested. She probably should mention to Vincent that Cat's shirt might be saved if they soaked it immediately in cold water. She'd had some practice removing blood stains over the last couple of years and the trick was to take care of it quickly.
She turned her head away from the door and closed her eyes. The pain was persistent but bearable – the cool air was lessening the burn and it felt good to be free of the shirt. She hoped Vincent didn't hurry gathering his medical gear. After a day of talking to strangers at the convention it was nice to have a few minutes to herself, to lie quietly and not have to look interested when some annoying guy was spouting utter crap or to worry that the next person she ran into was going to try to grab her. She did her best to loosen her tense muscles and tried to stop the thoughts from swirling around in her brain.
There was a sharp intake of breath. She carefully turned her head to find Oliver staring at her from the doorway, his eyes taking in the criss-cross of slashes on her back. She said nothing, just watched his expression transition from shock to anger to…something else…she wasn't quite sure what. It was an unusually intimate moment for them. The closest Oliver had ever come to seeing her unclothed was when the Clock King had shot her. Back then, he and Digg had turned their backs discreetly while Sara had sewn up the wound, despite the fact that she'd been wearing a very utilitarian, unsexy bra and had draped Oliver's shirt over most of her torso. Her head had been spinning on oxycodone at the time, but she remembered thinking it funny that two grown men had been uncomfortable seeing her in a brassiere – as if they were afraid to think of her as a grown woman. Oliver had never been shy about exposing his own body, of course. He often ran around the foundry half-dressed and she'd had her hands on him multiple times to treat wounds on his back, chest and thigh, trying not to think about what it would be like to have her hands on those places under different circumstances. But when it came to Felicity, other than his favorite shoulder-touches, Oliver had maintained a respectful physical distance. Seeing her topless - even lying face down with the interesting parts hidden – well, this was uncharted territory.
She figured she was going to receive a lecture – about being careful, about not putting herself in danger – but later, not now. Now, Oliver was going to head back to Digg in the other room because being around a half-naked Felicity was just a little too personal for his comfort. She looked at him, still standing in the doorframe, and waited.
To her surprise, he didn't leave. After a long moment, he walked into the room and slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, next to her. His eyes never left her back.
"Oh, Felicity." His voice was heavy, and she realized now what that other expression on his face had been. It had been guilt. He was going to find a way to make this his fault.
She closed her eyes and said tiredly, "Oliver…don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't blame yourself for this. It had nothing to do with you."
"You said the guy who attacked you was a Mirakuru soldier."
"I said he had strength like a Mirakuru soldier. I don't know that he was one. I'm pretty sure J.T. thinks it was something else, although he hasn't told me exactly what."
"Still…"
She interrupted him. "Oliver, even if it was a Mirakuru guy, you're not responsible for all the Mirakuru in the world. You didn't create it and you tried to destroy it. If you hadn't been on the island it could have been a whole lot worse. Ivo could be mass-producing the stuff and selling it to the highest bidder."
He didn't respond, but she doubted that she'd convinced him. She was torn between wanting to ease his guilt and wanting to puncture an ego that believed anything that happened to Felicity Smoak was the result of her association with Oliver Queen. She went with the latter. "Oliver - there's nothing in New York that ties me back to you or The Arrow. Whoever is trying to take me wants me for me – for what I can do or for something I have done. As much as you want to take on the whole world, you didn't cause this. Not everything is about you."
Oliver exhaled. As he so often did when the conversation wasn't going his way, he changed the subject. His fingers went to the back of her neck and lightly clasped the fine gold chain she was wearing. She shivered a little at his touch and hoped he didn't notice.
"I wish you wouldn't wear this, Felicity."
"I like it."
The chain and its pendant had been a gift from Nyssa al Ghul after Slade Wilson had been captured and his army defeated. Sara had told Nyssa how Felicity had managed to weaken Slade by allowing herself to be taken so that she could inject him with the Mirakuru cure. Before she'd left for Nanda Parbat, Nyssa had presented Felicity with the necklace, saying, "The mark of a true warrior is not in his strength or skill with the sword, but in his willingness to go into battle when the outcome is uncertain. You, Felicity Smoak, MIT class of '09, are a warrior." The pendant contained the small likeness of a lion – well, a lioness, really. Despite her misgivings about Nyssa, Felicity had been touched. She had donned the necklace and seldom taken it off. On days when she doubted herself – and there had been a few of them – she would look at the lioness and feel better.
Oliver didn't care for the necklace. He worried that the pendant would somehow tie her to the League of Assassins and stared pointedly at it any time he noticed her wearing it. For some contrary reason, that only made her want to wear it more.
"Unless your hands are sterile, you should be staying away from those cuts." Vincent sounded very much like a doctor as he strode into the room. His tone left no opportunity for discussion.
Oliver stood up quickly and moved away from the bed to let Vincent take his place by Felicity's side. The doctor perched carefully on the mattress as he donned a pair of surgical gloves, then gently examined the areas that were bleeding. He looked up at Oliver. "Maybe you can ask Digg to come in to assist. It helps to have a second pair of hands and he and I worked together in Afghanistan."
"I can do it." Oliver's response was instantaneous.
Vincent frowned. "It might be better to ask Digg. He has some medical trai-"
"I can do it."
Vincent studied Oliver. After a moment he said, "Fine. Go wash up in the bathroom and when you come back, put a pair of these on. He waved a blue surgical glove at Oliver. As Oliver left the room Vincent leaned over and said to Felicity, "I'm going to use a topical and then maybe a little Novocain. You'll feel a burning sensation for a minute, but then things should go numb."
"Okay." She tried not to wince as he dabbed a liquid-soaked cotton ball on various locations on her back, and tried even harder not to look at the large syringe he pulled out of his bag. Despite two years with The Arrow, her tolerance for sharp, pointy things hadn't really improved. Oliver returned just as Vincent began injecting the Novocain.
"What's that?" Oliver asked sharply.
"Just Novocain," Vincent replied. When Oliver looked at him inquiringly, he added, "I know Felicity's tough, but I can do a better job if she doesn't feel the stitches and is able to keep perfectly still. I'm aiming for zero scars, unlike that hack job someone did on her shoulder." Felicity felt his gloved finger tap lightly on the scar Sara had left her. "Whoever sutured there - it looks like they used a sewing needle. What happened, anyway?"
Felicity didn't respond, curious to hear the excuse Oliver would come up with. She nearly rolled off the bed when he said matter-of-factly, "Bullet wound."
Vincent's hands stilled. "You're joking, right?"
Oliver shook his head. "I'm not. Felicity was helping the city catch a hacker who was embezzling funds. There was a confrontation and…she got shot."
"O…kay." Vincent sounded like he didn't know how to react to that one. Clearly he didn't consider taking a bullet to be part of an executive assistant's standard job responsibilities. He must have decided that now was not the time to probe, however, because he merely asked, "And you don't have doctors who know how to suture in Starling? A first-year intern could have done a better job."
This time, Oliver did opt to evade the question, saying only, "Well, I'm glad she has a doctor now who won't leave her such an obvious scar."
Vincent stared at him a moment. "Right. Well…let's get started." And, out of the corner of her eye, Felicity saw him lower the curved needle toward her back and held her breath.
And God bless Novocain. She wondered why they had never bothered to stock it in the foundry. She felt a few gentle tugs and the pressure of Vincent's fingers, but nothing else. Maybe Oliver and Digg were too macho to think they needed it, but she decided that it was going to be part of the foundry medicine cabinet going forward.
For the next half hour, the only sounds were of sutures being snipped and Vincent occasionally directing Oliver to clean blood away so that he could examine a particular area. The silence felt companionable, not awkward, and Felicity closed her eyes as the men continued to work. It would have been a logical time for Oliver to ask how the slashes got there but he held his questions, allowing Vincent to focus on his sutures. Given how hazy her memory was of the night before, Felicity was interested in hearing an explanation herself – assuming it wasn't too gruesome. But then Vincent really wasn't the person to ask. It had been J.T. who had said something about her attacker having claws. Vincent hadn't even been there. Tomorrow, after a good night's sleep, she was going to have a talk with J.T.
"There," Vincent's voice was kind. "I think we're all set. Felicity, let's try to keep these stitches in place this time."
She smiled, but didn't open her eyes, "I'll do my best, doctor. It will help a lot if no one tries to grab me again."
She heard a chuckle and felt a hand briefly stroke the back of her head. She was surprised that Vincent would make such a gesture and opened her eyes, only to see him headed toward the doorway and Oliver seated next to her on the bed. He smiled briefly at her, but said nothing.
"It looks like it's time for another one of J.T.'s tee shirts," Vincent said from the doorway. "I'll see what I can find."
John Diggle was reconsidering his opinion of Vincent's girlfriend, Catherine Chandler.
Vincent had told him a little about her as they updated each other on their lives during the fruitless search for Jeffrey Martin at the convention. Any mention of Detective Chandler seemed to bring a smile to his army buddy's face; however, the man had been a little sketchy on the details. Vincent had only said that he'd met Catherine a couple of years ago, during a dark time in his life. He'd been back in NYC for a while, but had let no one other than his best friend, J.T., know that he was even alive. It wasn't clear to Digg why Vincent had wanted to stay hidden, but apparently he hadn't felt ready to face the world. Vincent had encountered Catherine when she was working a case and it had been her, he said, who coaxed him back into having a life and resuming his career as a doctor. They had been together ever since.
Diggle definitely appreciated what Detective Chandler had done for Felicity. Hearing the two of them laugh that morning had been music to his ears. It had been weeks since Slade Wilson had taken her, and Felicity still wasn't herself. There was something preying on her – something that happened with Oliver, he was certain. He'd tried numerous times to get her to talk, but she just kept telling him that everything was fine. For a while he thought it might have been Laurel. Oliver had been spending a lot of time with her, and Diggle hoped to God that Felicity wasn't going to have to watch her ex-boss fall for another woman the same way she'd been forced to watch his relationship with Sara unfold. But, at some point, Digg decided Laurel wasn't the issue. This was about Oliver - and Oliver alone. He'd known for more than a year that Felicity loved the man – really loved him, not just held some girlish crush – and there had been a few moments when he thought that Oliver might actually return that love. But for the most part, Oliver's feelings had remained nebulous, and Digg didn't think Felicity could carry on forever in the present situation. If Catherine Chandler was able to get her to talk, that would be a very healthy thing.
In some ways, Catherine reminded him of Felicity. Both women had a kind of purity about them – as though their spirits couldn't be tarnished, no matter what darkness or evil they were exposed to. Neither was naïve, however. They were intelligent and optimistic, and he suspected Catherine might share Felicity's stubborn streak. But there were differences as well. Felicity was youth and exuberance – or at least she was when she was herself. Catherine – despite her lack of years – was an old soul. There was an inner tranquility to her, a certainty that Felicity lacked. Diggle thought that hanging around Catherine Chandler would be good for Felicity.
Or he did until he realized that the woman could be a real hard-ass, at least when she was in cop-mode.
When Oliver followed Vincent to check on Felicity, Diggle had been left alone with J.T. and the two detectives. He hadn't been surprised when Tess Vargas began to question him about Oliver's fighting skills. She hadn't been at all satisfied with Oliver's answers (or lack of them) earlier, and she seemed determined to get more information now. Her interrogation style was exactly what he would have expected from a New York City cop – aggressive and direct. He was confident he could handle it. What he wasn't expecting, however, was for her petite and angelic-looking partner to join in the grilling.
In a disarmingly beautiful rendition of Bad Cop/Bad Cop, the women fired questions at him in rapid succession, trying to trick him into revealing a few secrets about Oliver. If he'd ever doubted that Tess and Cat were good cops, those doubts were erased now because they were clearly skilled and seasoned. Diggle had had fairly extensive covert ops training, but this scenario was not one for which he was prepared; getting tag-teamed by two stunning women was more in Oliver's wheelhouse, he thought. It was fortunate that he was able to recall at least some of his lessons on interrogation techniques, otherwise the story of The Arrow would have been exposed within the first ten minutes. To his annoyance, J.T. Forbes did nothing to intervene. In fact, the man settled himself in the chair in front of the computer with a grin (Digg was already thinking of it as Felicity's chair), clearly enjoying his visitor's discomfort.
"When did you say you met Oliver Queen?"
"How long had he been back in Starling City before he hired you?"
"When did you start training him?"
"Did he have any kind of martial arts skills when you met him?"
"He was alone on an island for five years, how could he have taught himself hand-to-hand combat?"
"What exactly is his relationship with Felicity Smoak?"
"Huh?" That last question caught him by surprise. He stopped avoiding the detectives' eyes and stared at Catherine Chandler. Her partner did the same.
"I asked," she repeated calmly, "about his relationship with Felicity Smoak."
Tess Vargas frowned. "Cat, I don't see what that has to do with -"
"Oh come on, Tess, you see the way he looks at her. It's certainly not the way a boss looks at his employee. Whatever secrets he's keeping, I'm pretty sure she's aware of them. In fact, the only other boss I ever saw stare at an employee like that was Captain Bishop - when he was looking at you in the station."
"Cat, that doesn't count. You know Joe and I were having an aff-," Tess stopped and then said, "Oh." She glanced nervously at J.T. Digg was happy to see the smirk disappear from the man's face instantly.
"You had an affair with your precinct captain?" J.T. asked her.
Tess rubbed her forehead. "It started before I met you, J.T., and it's been over for a long time now."
"Still," J.T. said slowly, "you've always been so by-the-book. I've seen you bust on Cat a few times for bending the rules. And you had an affair with your captain? That's gotta be breaking one of the biggest rules there is." Diggle couldn't tell whether J.T.'s voice contained awe or worry. All he knew was that he was happy to have the questions directed at someone else. After a moment, J.T. added – more to Cat than to Tess. "What was he like? Was he good-looking?"
Catherine looked at her partner for a moment and then turned to J.T. "I think it's something for you and Tess to talk about at another time. We were asking Mr. Diggle here about his boss."
Damn. The woman was back on point. He was right - she had a stubborn streak.
As the two detectives turned toward him expectantly, Diggle decided to go with honesty on this one. "If you're asking me about Oliver's relationship with Felicity, you're going to have to ask him yourselves. I've been working with both of them for more than two years and I haven't been able to figure it out. I can tell you," he added, "that they're not in a romantic relationship."
Catherine sighed, "Yeah, that's what she said, too. I thought she might have been keeping it a secret."
"Keeping what a secret?" Oliver asked as he and Vincent returned to the main room. The two men looked more at ease with each other, Diggle thought. Taking care of Felicity had given them a common purpose.
Cat looked at Oliver carefully and Diggle held his breath. Despite her interrogation skills, however, even she didn't have the chutzpah to ask Oliver about his intentions toward Felicity. All she said was, "It's a woman thing…not important right now. How's Felicity?"
"She's fine," Vincent said. "Just getting dressed – she'll be out in a second."
"Great," J.T. said enthusiastically. After a second he added, "So what are we doing about dinner? I'm starving."
Vincent stripped down to his underwear and slid into bed next to Catherine. Her apartment felt especially quiet after spending twenty-four continuous hours with relative strangers.
"Thank God Queen insisted on keeping an eye on Felicity all night," he said cheerfully. "I don't think my back would appreciate another evening sleeping on J.T.'s couch."
Catherine smiled at him brightly – a smile that always made her look like she was sixteen years old. He loved the fact that it seemed reserved only for him, and he began thinking of ways he might make her smile in a more adult fashion. He would start with removing her night shirt, he decided.
She turned on her side to face him, the shirt sliding enticingly off one shoulder. "What did you think of Oliver Queen?"
Vincent frowned, unhappy with the turn in the conversation. Talking about a young, complicated and attractive man who wasn't him was not what he wanted to be doing at this moment. Still, he knew better than to say so to Catherine. "I think whatever happened to Queen on that island left him with a few issues," he said shortly.
"You think?" Catherine asked dryly. "The man has nearly as many secrets as you. And whatever they are, I'm certain both John Diggle and Felicity Smoak are in on at least some of them. They definitely weren't surprised when he took down the kidnapper. Tess and I tried to get Digg to talk, but he didn't spill anything." After a moment, she added, "Did Oliver say anything to you? The two of you were together for almost an hour."
Vincent sighed. Catherine just couldn't leave a mystery alone. It was one of her endearing traits and probably why she was a good cop, but it could be inconvenient at times. "We really didn't talk much," he said. "Queen was clearly upset over Felicity's condition and we focused on getting her stitched up. I agree that there's a lot more going on there, though. I asked about an old scar on her shoulder and he told me she'd been shot going after an embezzler. Did she say anything about that to you?"
Catherine rolled onto her back. "No. I saw the scar when I was helping her get dressed but it never occurred to me that it might be from a bullet. It doesn't exactly gibe with her job descriptions – either in IT or as an executive assistant. What explanation did Oliver give?"
"I didn't ask."
"Why on earth not?"
"He was worried and he's in love with her. It didn't seem like a good time for an interrogation."
"What?" Catherine sat upright in bed.
"I said, it didn't seem like a good time for an interrogation. I figured tomorrow, when everyone's had a good night's sleep.."
"No – not that. The in love part. You think he loves her?"
Vincent snorted, "Yeah...don't you? You usually spot this stuff a mile away."
Catherine lay back down. "He's something about her, but I'm not sure it's love. Protective, maybe. They're certainly close."
"Oh please. The man flew cross-country to be with her and he's keeping watch over her tonight. He held his breath every time I put a suture in her. You'd think I was stitching him up."
"Still…"
"Look, he may not know it himself, but he loves her. Trust me, as a man who spent months trying to deny his feelings for you, I know the symptoms."
She smiled at him once more. "Well, look at you – the romantic advice expert. Maybe you can give J.T. and Tess a little guidance."
He gazed at her dark hair tumbled on the pillow and her gorgeous green eyes. "Maybe. But right now, I have other romantic ideas that I want to explore."
He lifted her night shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor.