Felicity awoke with a jolt, startled by dreams of snarling men with yellow eyes and claws reaching for her from passing cars. She guessed it must be a little before dawn; the bedroom was not pitch dark but not exactly light either. She never used to be a morning person (that 8:00 C++ class at MIT had been a killer) but over the last couple of years her body clock had been thrown out of whack by their Arrow missions and waking before sunrise was no longer rare. She stretched tentatively, not wanting to tug open any of Vincent's second round of stitches. He was terrific with the needle, not to mention kind and gentle, but she didn't want to go for round 3 if she could help it. She was pleased to find that her back felt better than it had the day before and, despite the crappy dreams, she'd had a decent amount of sleep. She considered briefly trying to snooze off again, but she was itching to find footage of yesterday's kidnapping attempt to see if she could identify the man, or at a minimum, the car. She slid slowly toward the side of the bed. And then she stopped.

Oliver was there, slumped over in a chair with his arms folded on the bed and his head resting on his forearms. He was sound asleep. She remembered him telling Vincent sometime after pizza last night that he and Digg would stay at J.T.'s as a precaution. She had felt a flicker of warmth when he'd spoken because he had sounded a little like the old, protective Oliver from the pre-I love you era. Still, she hadn't thought it had meant he would stay with her in the bedroom. He certainly hadn't been there when she'd fallen asleep.

Felicity couldn't help but stare. Despite their two years working together, seeing Oliver in a peaceful state that wasn't unconscious was not something she'd had the chance to do very often. She knew he slept in the foundry now, but she'd never actually caught him at it beyond an occasional catnap and she always felt like he did that with his usual restless energy. In contrast, his body at this moment looked entirely relaxed, his breathing slow and regular - almost like a child's. It dawned on her that between evenings studying QC contracts with Laurel and his recent overnight flight to NYC, he'd probably had almost no sleep over the last few days. That he was out so soundly now, sitting in a chair, was indicative of how tired he must be. She did not want to wake him.

As quietly as she could, she inched her way toward the side of the bed opposite Oliver. The mattress made a few creaks, but thankfully he didn't stir. Encouraged, she silently climbed out and tiptoed toward the door in her bare feet. She was wearing another one of J.T.'s tee shirts, the fabric loose and comfortable against her back, and she decided she didn't need to get dressed. The noise might wake Oliver and – hell - they'd all seen her like this yesterday anyway. She was just passing through the doorway, congratulating herself on letting him sleep when…

"Felicity?"

His voice was groggy. She turned toward him as he slowly sat up, his eyes half open. She couldn't help but think how unfair it was. Most people looked like crap when they first got up, but Oliver Queen looked like…well, Oliver Queen. His tee shirt was a little rumpled, but his hair was in place and a few extra hours away from a razor hadn't hurt him in the least. Even the sleepy eyes thing worked for him; she was once again aware of the depth of those blue irises and the length of his lashes. She doubted she presented such an enticing picture. She was quite certain her hair looked like she'd just stepped out of a wind tunnel.

"Oliver, it's early. Why don't you stretch out on the bed and go back to sleep? You must be beat."

He didn't acknowledge her suggestion. "Where are you going?"

"To see if I can find footage from yesterday. It happened right outside the hotel, so I'm thinking their security cameras might have caught something."

"Good idea." He stood up out of the chair.

"Oliver, you don't have to come with me. I'll just be in the other room and I'll come get you if I find anything. You really should catch up on your sleep."

"No, I'm awake now. I'll check the footage with you. I got a better look at the guy than you did so I can help you figure out if you find a match." He stretched, and she did her best not to notice how his biceps flexed with the motion. It did her no good to focus on things she couldn't have.

"Okay, Oliver. We should probably be quiet, though. I'm pretty sure everyone else is still asleep."

He nodded and followed her silently out of the bedroom.

Oliver glanced down at Felicity's bright blonde head as they huddled over the footage she had pulled up on the computer. It wasn't 6:00 yet and, as Felicity had predicted, the other occupants in J.T.'s place were sleeping soundly. Tess and J.T. were behind closed doors in his bed, but Digg was awkwardly perched on the sofa across the room. Oliver hoped Digg's military training had given him the ability to sleep anywhere. The night before he had been forced to catch his forty winks in an economy airline seat and now he was stuck on a sofa clearly not meant to accommodate a six-foot-three man. His face looked peaceful though, and Oliver thought he might be dreaming of his bed with Lyla in it. He certainly deserved good dreams. Sitting side by side, Oliver and Felicity spoke in whispers, doing their best not to wake him.

As usual, it didn't take her long to find the video from the hotel security cameras. Even half-awake, her fingers tapped a rapid rhythm on the keyboard and they were soon looking at a view of the street from the lobby. The camera didn't cover all the lanes of traffic, but it had caught the car as it pulled up to the curb. Unfortunately, the man had done a pretty good job of keeping his face turned away from the hotel's surveillance – deliberately, Oliver guessed. Felicity tried zooming in as well as looking for reflections in other cars, but the best they were able to do was verify that he was Caucasian, with dark eyes and dark hair – all of which Oliver already knew from getting close enough to punch him. They agreed it couldn't be Jeffrey Martin – he was too robustly built – but that was about it. Age was indeterminate; although Oliver's recollection was that the fellow was on the young side.

"Any ideas?" he murmured softly to Felicity.

She sighed. "I wrote code back home that can enhance photo images, but it would take me a long time to recreate that code here."

"You can't just access it over the internet?"

The moment he suggested it he knew he'd made a mistake. She turned and gave him the look that she often gave him when he made recommendations about her tech; the look that said I don't tell you how to sharpen your arrows. It was odd, but for some peculiar reason this morning he liked seeing that expression on her face. Bickering over the computer search felt natural - like the old days, before the Slade Wilson/I love you thing, when they could tease each other and not worry about hitting sensitive spots. It reminded him of when it had just been the three of them – before Roy, Sara and now Laurel - when they had been a cohesive unit, with no awkwardness. He hadn't realized how much he had missed those days.

"Oliver, what on earth are you smiling at?" She looked perplexed.

There was no way he was going to explain. Reminding her of the awkwardness would only serve to bring it back. So instead he said, "Nothing, really. Just forgot my place there, for a moment. Sorry."

She grinned at him, a little shyly. "You're forgiven - just don't do it again. Now, what I was about to tell you is that I might not be able to enhance his picture, but I was able to grab a partial on the license plate on the car – the last four digits. Given the make and model, we should be able to trace it."

"Now?"

"Yes, Oliver, now."

"Good."

He watched her fingers dance once more, and various windows popped up on the monitor scrolling through gibberish he knew was code. Every now and then her arm would brush his as she typed and the sensation was surprisingly pleasant, not a caress but not an accident either. He almost began to hope that she didn't ID the car too quickly because he was enjoying sitting here with her, feeling once again like they were partners. Her bare thighs peeped out from under her tee shirt and the thought of resting his hand on one of them flitted briefly though his mind. He squelched the idea, however, when he concluded that it might startle her and ruin the mood. As it was, a document appeared on the screen all too soon, with New York Department of Motor Vehicles at the top. She frowned as she studied it. "It's registered to a lease company, not an individual," she said flatly.

"So it's another dead end?"

She shook her head. "The lease company should have records of who is using the car. It just means one more search. Really, Oliver, I sometimes wonder how you were able to find any of the bad guys before I signed on." She typed a bit more and he found himself staring at another document. He leaned in toward the screen, squinting to make out the tiny font.

"It looks like the car was leased to Velograph?"

She nodded. "William Martin's company – well, his company before he sold it." She sat back abruptly in her chair, taking her hands off the keyboard to twist them nervously in her lap. Her efficient calm of a few moments ago was replaced by evident frustration. "It seems like everything just keeps pointing back toward the Martin family," she said in exasperation. "Why? What on earth could they want with me?" There was a tiny tremor in her voice.

Oliver turned toward her. He was as bothered by their inability to make sense of this as she was, but he didn't think it would help to show it. He tried to sound logical and soothing. "Felicity, you're sure you never had anything to do with them? Other than the MIT association there's nothing?" He reached out and took one of the hands she was wringing, as if the connection might draw the information out of her, might help her to remember.

She shook her head. "No, Oliver, I'm sorry, but I don't recall ever meeting Jeff Martin." Her hand stilled in his, but she made no effort to withdraw it.

"What about his older brother, or the father?"

"I would have remembered if I'd met the founder of Velograph. You know me and computers – William Martin is one of my heroes. And as for Billy Martin – I don't think so. Even if I had, would it matter? He's dead." She sounded confused and disappointed with herself.

He squeezed her hand encouragingly. "We'll figure it out, Felicity. We always do." After a moment, she gave him a hint of a smile and glanced hopefully up at him. He'd certainly had missed that look. After weeks of studiously avoiding eye contact, it felt good that she seemed willing to lean on him once more – comfortable and right. He thought about saying so, but then decided it was better to let the two of them just sit here quietly. Her hand was warm and soft in his and he was happy to just keep holding it.

There was the sound of a throat clearing behind them. Oliver quickly dropped Felicity's hand and they both turned to look over their shoulders. Diggle stood there, looking very much awake and vaguely amused. For a big man, Oliver thought, he sure as hell could move quietly.

"How long have you been there?" he asked, more sharply than he'd intended. He glanced regretfully at the hand that Felicity had returned to her lap. He was pretty sure that something had just happened, even if he didn't know exactly what it was.

Diggle ignored the lack of friendliness and replied mildly, "Enough to know that we're back to talking about the Martins. It seems like all roads keep leading to Jeff Martin."

Felicity sighed. "They do, don't they. And I still don't have a clue why."

Digg shrugged his shoulders. "I'm thinking it's time that we just asked him."

The three of them went quiet and thought about that for a few seconds. Digg had a small smile on his face and Felicity looked intrigued. Oliver, on the other hand, was just confused.

"What exactly do you mean by ask him?" he queried. Who knew – maybe in Digg's vocabulary ask him was a euphemism for pull him off the streets and put an arrow in his shoulder?

But, no, apparently not. "What does anyone mean when they use the work ask" Digg snorted. "Ask him the damn question – ask him why he keeps coming after Felicity. Maybe he'll answer if he thinks it will get him what he wants."

"I thought that's what we were trying to do yesterday when we went looking for him at the convention?"

Digg nodded impatiently. "It was, but we didn't find him. So I'm thinking we go to his home. Didn't Tess say the Martins live somewhere on the Upper East Side? We could be at the house in 30 minutes."

"Yeah, she did say that," Oliver agreed slowly. "I think she also said they live behind five layers of security. We didn't exactly bring our gear."

Digg chuckled. "This isn't Starling, Oliver. I'm not suggesting we break in and have The Arrow put the fear of God into him."

Really? "Then what are you suggesting, Digg?"

"I'm suggesting we go ring the doorbell like normal people and ask to speak with Jeff Martin." Ignoring Oliver's incredulous expression, he added, "Felicity can use the MIT connection as an excuse. Say that there's an event for the local alumni and she was hoping Jeff would be able to join. That might get her in the door."

"And then?" So far, Oliver didn't think this idea was very promising. Felicity in the home of her probable abductor seemed like a recipe for disaster to him.

"And then she tells Marin ever so nicely that she's aware that he's the guy who tried to grab her…twice. And she lets him know that she's told a number of her close friends and if anything were to happen to her…well, he'll be number one on the list of suspects. And then she asks why he wants her."

"Seriously?"

"Do I look like I'm trying to make a joke, Oliver?"

He stared at Diggle, not bothering to hide his disdain. This was a bone-headed plan. Jeff Martin was involved in two attempts to kidnap Felicity and now Digg was suggesting she walk into his house and not worry because she was going to tell him they were on to him? What the hell was Digg thinking? He was about to give the man a piece of his mind when he heard Felicity say slowly, "I like it."

He spun back around in his seat to face her, transferring his annoyance from Diggle to her. "Felicity!" he snapped, more loudly than he'd intended. "How can you say that? It's an idiotic idea. The guy's tried to grab you twice, and now you're just going to serve yourself up on a silver platter?" Felicity didn't respond, just glanced at Diggle with her eyebrows raised. Oliver shook his head in disgust. "I don't understand either one of you. You're usually both smarter than this." He glared at the two of them for good measure.

Felicity and Diggle said nothing – just continued to look at each other with their patented expression that said, there goes Oliver again, you know he always has to be in charge. Oliver had seen that expresion in the foundry plenty of times; it annoyed him then, and it was really annoying him now.

Felicity seemed to understand that. She turned away from Digg and put her hand on Oliver's wrist, giving him a winning smile. "Think about it, Oliver," she said gently. "If it really is Jeff Martin, he's not going to commit a crime in his own home in front of his family – not unless they're all in on it, which I highly doubt. His father is a billionaire with access to any kind of tech he wants; he certainly has no interest in me. We'll stay just long enough to let Jeff know that we're onto him and then suggest that we meet some other place to discuss it, like civilized people."

"What if he pretends he has no idea what you're talking about?"

She shrugged. "We'll be no worse off. And it still might make him think twice, knowing that we can ID him." Her optimistic smile didn't waver.

Oliver hated the idea – really hated it. It was naïve and impulsive and unlikely to yield results. And yet – dammit - despite all that he knew he was going to have to agree to it, for one reason and one reason alone. Neither Felicity nor Digg had raised the subject…yet…but they all knew that the danger of her going to the Martin's was less than the danger she'd faced when she was taken by Slade Wilson. It was the elephant in the room. Both Oliver and Digg could go with her to the Martin's and protect her. With Slade, she'd been alone. The Martin's were successful, presumably sane people. Slade had been deranged. Felicity was all in on going to the Martin house. Oliver had set the whole Slade thing up without her knowledge or agreement. For all those reasons he was screwed now – he didn't have a leg to stand on.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Fine," he said reluctantly, "you go to Martin's house. But you don't go in there alone - I go with you."

Felicity frowned and glanced up once more at Diggle. "Actually, I think it might be better if Digg went with me. You're pretty recognizable, even in New York, and I don't have a good explanation for why Oliver Queen would be accompanying me on an alumni visit. Depending on who greets us, they might be more interested in talking to you and we'll never get to our real purpose for going there. I'll be forgotten."

"I could go in as your boyfriend," he suggested quickly.

The minute he'd said it, he was sorry. The awkwardness they'd avoided so well up until now returned in a rush. She stared at him and her face flushed.

"Oliver…" she began slowly. She paused, clearly searching for words.

Fortunately, Digg intervened. "I'm happy to go in with Felicity. You can walk there with us and be right outside."

"We don't have the comms."

"We can use our cell phones. I'll dial you before we get in, and just keep the phone on in my pocket. I doubt anything is going to happen. As Felicity says, it's unlikely Jeff Martin is going to try anything in his family's home."

Oliver frowned. He knew when he was beat. "Fine," he agreed shortly.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and the three of them turned to see Tess and J.T. shuffle in, still looking mostly asleep. Tess gave them a puzzled stare. "Are the three of you always this loud in the morning?"