Happy New Year, you wonderfully amazing people. I know I'm late. Real life managed to knock me out, starting 2016 off just great. Despite the delay, I wish you nothing but the best for the upcoming months. Thank you so much for the wonderful comments you sent my way. They were ten out of ten on my personal scale of awesomeness and really mean a lot to me.

Talking about meaning a lot to me: Albiona does, too. She also gets full awesomeness-marks.

Now it's time for Felicity Smoak to listen to Oliver Queen's advice on how to handle emotions. Sounds ridiculous, I know. I hope it'll work for you anyway. ;) Happy reading.


'I need some air' means 'I don't want to talk'

The alley next to the old Smoak International steel factory lay abandoned. The loaded silence of a place once filled with life, now deserted, was only disturbed by the faint sounds of traffic, carried over by the wind. The security panel was perfectly hidden, its cover blending in with the rest of the wall seamlessly. Everything was how it was supposed to be, nothing was out of place.

So there was no explainable reason for the alarm sounding within Felicity.

That didn't silence the mental bells ringing. At all.

Wariness claimed Felicity. A certain sense for danger she had acquired in the previous five years told her that something was up, different, potentially wrong, without the slightest hint at what that something might be.

Felicity trusted her instincts—they had kept her alive multiple times—but standing in the alley for another minute wouldn't reveal anything new. Positioning herself right in front of it, she slid the cover hiding the panel away and punched in the three numbers of her security code.

Entering her hideout proved that Felicity was right to trust her instincts: something was really off, but that something wasn't outside—somebody had entered her cellar.

On autopilot Felicity's muscles flexed but relaxed nearly instantly as the familiar 'clank' of metal hitting metal gave her a very good idea who had entered her secret space. Again, senses she couldn't define told her that if a fight was ahead, it would be verbal.

Felicity walked toward the sound. Rounding a corner, her suspicions were confirmed: Sara Lance was going up the salmon ladder. Wearing only a black sports bra and black yoga pants, the other woman showed off her flexing abs as she worked out, not giving any indication that she noticed the company. Felicity walked around the desk and leaned against it, crossing her arms in front of her chest, watching Sara bring the metal rod down from the top row and back up, all the way to the top.

Holding on to the rod with both hands, hanging there, Sara finally met Felicity's eyes. "So," she said, "we're really doing this? Power-playing each other, waiting to see who craves and speaks up first?"

"Seems like it," Felicity answered. "Seems like you gave up first. But since you made sure you're looking down on me, I guess we're even."

The women stared at each other for another moment. This time it was Felicity breaking eye-contact with an audible sigh. It prompted Sara to flex her muscles again. Rod in hand, she landed on the concrete ground with a loud 'thud' and said, "I know that your 'I need some air' means 'I don't want to talk,' but I hoped you'd cooled down enough for us to… figure some things out."

Felicity knew Sara was right. They had to talk, clear some things up. The advice Oliver had given her during lunch resonated within her: there was an invisible connection between Sara and herself created by ten years of pre-island friendship, one year of shared horror on Lian Yu, and returning from the dead. Seeing Sara salmon-laddering was more than enough proof that her friend had, like Felicity, come home changed.

Straightening, letting her hands fall to her sides, Felicity gave up her defensive stance. "Yes, consider me as cooled down as possible." She gestured around the room. "It seems like you know everything about me already, so why don't you go first?"

"Fe," Sara's voice was tired and small. Standing under the metal bars of the salmon ladder, she looked at the other woman, unmoving. The gap between them could be crossed in four, five steps, but it felt like a canyon separated them.

"Where were you?" Felicity knew her slightly raised voice vibrating with anger did nothing to ease the mood, to lift the tension and make this easier, but she couldn't help it. The feeling of betrayal that had forced her to rush out of the kitchen this morning returned. All the negativity that lunch with Oliver chased away was back and it was an emotional onslaught Felicity wasn't used to anymore.

Sara took a deep breath and said, calmly, "I spent the last three years working for A.R.G.U.S."

"Never heard of it."

"Originally, I was told it was a secret government agency, but I think it's so secret that most of the government doesn't know about it. It does the dirty work for those who do the dirty work." Silence followed. Each moment it lingered, it filled with unspoken dirty baggage. The surprise of it knocked some of the anger out of Felicity. Maybe Sara noticed her friend's minimal softening because she continued, her voice timid, "I was sure Slade killed you, Fe. I was sure I was the only one who'd gotten off that damn freighter alive. So, yeah, I was surprised to find you in Hong Kong, a member of the Chinese Triad."

"That—" Felicity swallowed, heavily. "Wasn't my best decision." Another weighted silence followed, and this time Sara seemed to grasp the magnitude of everything left unsaid.

"Believe me, I understand signing on with the wrong people in dire situations."

Without thinking about it, Felicity took a step toward Sara. "How did you end up with them?"

"The torpedo that China White used to blow a hole into the Amazo… it…." Sara's voice died, the sentence dissolved into nothing and ended in another deafening silence. It lasted for a heartbeat and another. Sara ended it by bending down abruptly, pulling her pants up, revealing her left leg and burnt skin, badly scarred from her ankle to way above the knee. A cold sensation rushed through Felicity. In her uneasiness, her tongue darted out, wetting her upper lip.

"I was lucky I was pulled out of the hole into the ocean. The water prevented me from burning, but there was the downside of nearly drowning."

Felicity's eyes snapped up to meet Sara's. "Wow, that must've hurt." Felicity heard the sentence leaving her lips and hated it. Somebody who had her own impressive collection of scars should have a better reaction to other people's. It wasn't a very calming or compassionate thing to say, but it was the result of Felicity's own experiences, because the scars covering her torso and her back were memories of immense pain, torture, battle wounds—of failure.

A snort escaped Sara. "Yeah! It hurt like hell. The right leg's not as bad, but bad enough. There was a time I wished I was dead." She let go of the black cloth in her hand, letting it fall down again, covering her leg.

"I can imagine." And, really, Felicity could.

"An A.R.G.U.S. ship fished me out of the water. One of their medics nursed me back to health. I was off my legs for months. Somehow physical therapy turned into training and somehow I ended up with Task Force X." Sara tightened her grip around the metal rod of the salmon ladder she was still holding in her right. "It's nicknamed the 'Suicide Squad.'"

"Because they're sent when a mission's most likely deadly?" Felicity guessed.

"Yes, and because the members have bombs in their spines that will be detonated if they don't obey."

"You…." Felicity had to swallow again, even though her throat was dry. "You have a bomb in your spine?"

"No. I was messed up enough to sign on freely." All Felicity was capable of doing was stare at the other woman, who added, her voice hoarse, "I looked into the eyes of a she-devil and I gave her my soul for the feeling of being part of something, for not being alone. I spent two years killing without remorse."

"So did I."

"No, Felicity, you didn't." A sad smile showed on Sara's face. "I discovered you were alive when you disarmed a bomb in a Casino."

Felicity knew what her friend was talking about immediately. That had been a very memorable night—in the worst way possible. Still, Felicity couldn't just accept Sara's words, she had to remind her. "An illegally run Triad casino."

"That doesn't change the fact that you kept people alive whose only crime was being in an illegal casino. You kept them from being killed by a bomb I helped putting there."

"What?!"

"The woman in charge of A.R.G.U.S., Amanda Waller, wanted China White dead—she didn't care if fifty others had to die along with her. She's never been bothered by the body count."

"Why didn't you reach out after that? We—"

"We what, Felicity?" Sara cut in and looked at her challengingly. "Could meet for a pizza? Catch up? Compare scars and killing techniques?" She took an angry step toward her friend. "I was protecting you. It was important to keep you off Waller's radar. If she saw talent in you, you would've ended up with a bomb in your spine. It was best if you thought I was dead."

"Oh?" Felicity mocked, feeling an angry irritation. "Who are you to decide what's best for me? And if it's best everybody believes you're dead, why are you here?!"

"Because you're selfish enough to come back home, to our parents who went on with their lives. They found happiness with each other. You're complicating their lives, endangering them. And don't even let me get started on the bullshit that's this Arrow business."

"And what?" Felicity snapped, voice rising. "That made you want to be selfish, too?"

"Made me want to strangle you!"

The women glared at each other, but Sara broke eye-contact quickly, her hand closing around the rod so tightly that her knuckles protruded. All fight left her in the blink on an eye and she suddenly looked tired. "But, yeah: it made me want to be selfish, too. It made me homesick and it made me jealous. Waller noticed that something was up and that's why I ran, before she decided that I needed to be motivated by a bomb implant."

As Felicity stared at the other woman only one truth filled her: she couldn't be judgmental about any of this. Not her, not with her own body count, her own list of horrible decisions. Not when Sara was right: coming home was selfish. Lying to everybody about being on the island for five years was selfish. Putting on the hood of a dead woman was selfish. All of that was founded in what Felicity wanted, needed to do. And suddenly another truth filled Felicity. "I'm glad you decided to come home before you couldn't make that choice anymore."

Sara smiled sadly. "I feel like it was a mistake." Seeing the unspoken question, she shrugged, uneasy. "My dad'll ask questions. He won't let this go. Do you honestly think he'll still love me when he finds out what I did? How I broke into people's homes and killed them in their sleep, because an obscure organization labeled them dangerous?"

"Yes." There wasn't the slightest doubt within Felicity. "I honestly believe that. You're his daughter, he's your dad. He will always love you." Felicity took another step toward her friend. "I think he wouldn't like me much anymore if he found out about my Triad-past—or that I'm the vigilante his chief wants him to catch."

Sara looked at her friend shortly. "I even get why you're doing it."

Felicity noticed the sudden subject-change but played along. "I have the skills, I need to use them for something useful for once."

"I said, I get it."

The eyes of the two women connected once again and Felicity saw real understanding in her friend's eyes. She also saw pain and vulnerability she recognized too well. It was that recognition that made Felicity take the last step to her friend and pull her into a hug. Sara actually stiffened before relaxing into her friend's embrace and returning it. "I'm glad you're not dead," Felicity whispered before she could stop herself.

Sara huffed out a laugh. "I'm glad you're not dead, too."

Both tightened their grip for a moment, sending silent encouragement. Finally, they let go. Felicity's eyes were swimming with tears, just like Sara's. Felicity cleared her throat. "You know," she said and motioned to the empty space on the other side of the room, "for now we could just be selfish together. It's a little lonely down here and I wouldn't mind some company."

The hint of a smirk showed on Sara's face. "You didn't seem lonely to me during lunch. What's the deal with Tubby?"

"Tubby?"

"The dude you had lunch with."

"Oliver? He's not tubby. He's perfectly fine and c—" Felicity's brain caught up with her mouth as her ears told her what that sounded like. "He's just a friend. We're just friends," she concluded and moved around the table. "Let's spar." Felicity could practically see the smirk on Sara's face even though she had her back to her. Keeping her face deliberately even, Felicity turned, challenging, "If you dare."

"Oh," Sara said, letting go of the rod in a cocky gesture, causing it to clatter on the ground, "I dare. Because if there's one thing I actually know how to do right, it's this."

Felicity nodded and mumbled, "That makes two of us."


Oliver Queen never paid much attention to the SI's rumor mill.

Sadly, the rumor mill had started to pay attention to him.

Passing the employee checkpoint this morning, scanning his badge and walking through the metal detector had brought his first clue: the way the security guard looked at Oliver had been strange. Normally, security only spared you a glance if the scanner was acting up again. (It did regularly, but Carrie was usually sent to fix it because she knew its coding in her sleep.) So, getting an once-over, a curious stare, and an amused smirk had been so unusual that Oliver couldn't help but notice. The elevator ride had been even worse. The cabin was crammed with people trying to get to their desks on time, but nobody had said a thing.

Dead silence in an overly crowded elevator housing the always-talking Mills twins?

Oliver's common sense had been tingling by the time they reached the tenth floor.

Carrie Cuttler had been the one to reveal the reason behind the staring, the silence, and the awkwardness as soon as he sat down at his desk. Leaning against his doorframe, she had looked down at him and drawn out a "Sooooooo…." That was enough to annoy Oliver, because it was Carrie's way of starting conversations that never held much appeal to Oliver (mostly along this lines of: 'Sooooo, how about dinner on Friday?'). This time the question following the introduction was equally unpleasant but entirely unexpected. "What's the deal with you and little Smoak?"

Apparently, somebody had seen Oliver and Felicity at that Thai restaurant yesterday.

Apparently, they had looked "very familiar with each other"—Carrie's words, not his. Very much not his words.

Oliver had tried to dismiss it with a, "What? Felicity? No, we're just friends."

He had made it worse.

The way Carrie's face crumpled had showed him that instantly. She, obviously, hadn't believed the rumor to be true and his dismissal had somehow, kind of, confirmed it. Carrie, the redhead pestering him for a date for six months, lost the smile instantly and exchanged it with a glare. "I'm disappointed in you," she huffed, in hurt exaggeration, "that's what you're into: rich, blonde bitch?!"

The retort "She's not a bitch" had left his mouth without thought.

That made it even worse.

Carrie had shot around with something resembling a growl while Oliver pressed his lips into a small line.

Oliver was sure Carrie sent the rumor mill into overdrive after that. The words "boy toy" and "sugar mama" hit his ears before noon and all of that made Oliver want to never leave his cubicle again. He had to, of course, because Jimmy from PR somehow lost server access.

The looks the marketing dude sent Oliver were way too judgmental for a guy who'd been caught fucking in the storage closet, if you asked Oliver.

But the absolute worst was the way the head of the IT department, Eugene Hill, put his hand on Oliver's shoulder and told him he had made it clear to everybody that Oliver's transfer to ACSD had nothing to do with his friendship with Miss Smoak—something nobody had discussed before his boss brought it up. By the time Hill had left, Oliver was shaking with anger and helplessness.

Never in his life had Oliver felt the need to hit something. Today he did.

Or maybe he could shoot something. Something not-alive, of course. Maybe virtual violence would release some very real anger—and worry, because he was honestly afraid of what would happen if the rumors reached the top floor and a certain glassy office. Oliver didn't have the slightest idea if rumors travelled that far up, but he didn't want to find out how Mrs. Smoak-Lance would react to hearing about her daughter's alleged boy toy. (God, that was so offensive. To everybody involved.) What would the CEO say about her daughter becoming friends with one of her employees? And—sadly, this was what had Oliver especially worried—was it okay to call himself Felicity's friend?

They had started lunch as not-yet-friends—that had been thoroughly established by Felicity. But something within Oliver told him they had scratched the 'not yet' by the time their entrees had arrived. Sharing with him that her best friend had come back from the dead was friendship-worthy information. She had confided in him.

The lunch non-date-date had been amazing, Oliver had come back to work yesterday happy and in a very good mood. He hated that today gossip had tainted that.

He honestly needed to go to Clan War tonight. Deciding to message Diggle and Myron to tell them duty was calling, he reached for his smartphone in time for a message pop up on the small screen. Seeing the name, he hurried to unlock his phone with forceful swipes. (He hadn't dared asking to take a picture for his contact list during their shared lunch. Offering her his number in case she wanted to talk had used up all of Oliver's bravery.) He read the displayed message. "Hey, Oliver. How are you? (I decided to go with a classic opening, I think that's ten out of ten small-talk wise.) I took your advice. You were right, talking helped. Thank you."

A smile played around his lips before he even finished reading. It was a very wordy message and it had the air of being carefully crafted. That, plus the words used, made Oliver's heart do an extra pump. His thumbs moved quickly as he answered. "Of course, anytime. Glad you had a good talk. But that opening's too cliché to get you full marks. Sorry."

She got the message instantly, he saw the two ticks indicating that she had read it. The app told him she started writing, but it took a long time for her message to actually show up on his screen. "I can never win with you! But challenge accepted: I'll get you to give me full marks."

A snort escaped him. He could practically see her do that cute little head-shake, noticing the way the last part could be read. He saw she was typing again and sensed an absolutely unnecessary apology in the works. It was that thought, this confident prediction of her reaction and next action that told him what he wanted to do next. Not letting himself think about it too much, he quickly typed, "How's your catching up on pop culture coming? The movie invitation still stands."

He felt his heartbeat turn heavier with each second he waited for her answer. He had just invited a woman to the movies (via text message!). Seeing a movie was something that could be considered a date-date. All that was a very daring move for Oliver Queen—in general, but especially in this special situation. His heart seemed to stop when he saw her answer.

"Tonight?"

The smile on his face was pure joyous happiness.

"Tonight," he typed, the smile still on his face. The need to go to Clan War with his friends was completely forgotten. Instead, confidence took over. He was starting to form a friendship with Felicity Smoak, and if people wanted to gossip about that and turn it into something bad—let them. He wouldn't let the rumor mill influence or bother him—not when the alternative meant not going to the movies with Felicity.