You wonderful people, I'm sorry for making you wait so long. I haven't been well and life's all over the place at the moment. Please know that your positive feedback means a lot to me and it's greatly appreciated. Thank you very much.

A big hug of thankfulness to Albi for being an amazing friend.

Okay, we've all waited long enough! Let's do this. I hope you enjoy this chapter.


Talk to me, Felicity

Felicity hasn't answered his text.

After a day of constant ups and downs, his phone staying silent had been the lowest low point.

Usually, Felicity was really good about answering his messages. It took her some time to type, but she always started typing fairly quickly. That morning when he had returned from the shower to his locker in the gym, her answer had been waiting for him. It had been simple but perfect: "tonight." They had set up dinner without much fanfare and it had been enough to let Oliver float out of the gym and to his desk in Smoak Tower. The planned dinner had given him something to look forward to, and the curious glances, the whispering, and the meaningful looks directed at him had bounced off his happy shell.

Until James Cliffort happened.

Oliver and his two colleagues from IT, Hunter Livingston and Bob McDeary, had tried for three hours to save the data threatened by the weirdest server malfunction he'd ever seen, somehow caused by James Cliffort, when somebody had tried to breach the firewall.

That had been… curious. An attack like that when the system was already vulnerable seemed like too big a coincidence. Oliver and Hunter had shared a look full of suspicion and Bob had tried to get the head of the IT department, Eugene Hill, to assign more people to the threat, because with only the three of them they had to choose between saving data and saving the firewall. Their boss had been a dickwad, as usual.

That had been the moment Oliver had to accept that he wouldn't make it to dinner on time. And after making Felicity wait twice, he knew cancelling was the best, fairest option.

He hadn't wanted to cancel via text, and Felicity had seemed understanding on the phone. But then half of Oliver's brain had been on his computer screen, keeping the intruders out with Hunter's help, while his cell was trapped between his ear and his shoulder. (Bob had worked to back up Accounting's files.) Oliver had been a little preoccupied, but he had noticed a certain edge in her voice.

Back in the server room, he hadn't given it much thought, but now that the crisis was averted and he was riding down the elevator to the parking garage, that strange tone in her voice sounded really important. Had Felicity been angry because he cancelled the date? Oliver couldn't shake that nagging feeling, because he had sent her a text five minutes ago, apologizing again, telling her the threat was handled and that he never had a chance to really eat anything….

Felicity hadn't answered.

And now he was way too much in his own head.

But not even Felicity needed five minutes to type an answer.

Maybe she didn't want to answer. Maybe she didn't want to hear from him anymore.

Oliver sighed just as the elevator came to a stop. Maybe, she simply hadn't seen the message yet. Not everybody had Oliver's habit of never stepping more than five feet from his phone.

Telling himself that he was overreacting, freaking out over nothing, he exited. The neon lights of the parking garage flickered to life as he walked over the gray concrete. Most of the marked parking spots were deserted. It was around nine on a Friday night; most people had started their weekend at least four hours ago.

How Oliver envied most people.

He was disappointed. He had to admit that. He had been looking forward to seeing Felicity. He had been hoping she'd still be up to a spontaneous late dinner. The idea of a cup noodles in front of his TV didn't seem very appealing—in general, but especially considering the alternative.

Pulling the key out of his black pants, he stepped to his Mustang. It was a classic built 1966 without power lock doors, air conditioning, or airbags. It was very anti-technology, actually, but Oliver loved it anyway. He loved that car despite the fact that it had belonged to his deadbeat father. The Mustang was the only thing Robert Queen had left behind (apart from a wife and two children). It had been broken down and beat-up and Oliver had fixed it himself, because his mother couldn't afford to buy a second car and because he had been able to turn it into an engineering project, which had looked good on his MIT application.

Oliver sank down onto the driver's seat and pulled the door shut with a loud, metallic bang.

"Oliver."

He flinched so violently that his head hit the roof. His heart hammering in his chest, he shot around in his seat, eyes landing on the figure curled in the backseat. Green leather captured his sole attention. The trademark of Starling City's very own vigilante didn't leave any question as to who was lying on his small backseat, but it raised another question, "How do you know my name?" (Later Oliver would be both confused and content that that was his official first reaction to finding the Arrow in his car.)

The figure moved, raised her upper body, and pulled the hood back. "Because you know my name."

"Felicity." Her name fell from his lips in an awed whisper. All Oliver was capable of doing was stare at her as everything he knew clicked into place: his rescue at the warehouse, the screwdriver, her reflexes, the USB drive, the…. "You weren't kidding about those archery lessons, huh?" (Later Oliver would be awed and awkward that that was his official first reaction to finding out the girl he was crushing on was the Arrow.)

Hints of a smile ghosted around her lips, but vanished as she sank down on the seat again, crumbling, as if propping herself up on her forearm took too much effort.

Suddenly he saw it: the red on the green.

His heartbeat spiked, really this time. "You're bleeding," he realized. His eyes glued to the spot turning darker below her left shoulder, he instinctively pushed up and leaned between the seats. His hand reached out, but he stopped, kept himself from pressing his hand to the bloody spot. His eyes traveled to hers. Pain and strain were visible in them, and a certain kind of urgency. It was this combination that snapped him back into motion. He sat back up, already turning in his seat. "I'll take you to the hospital."

"No." Her voice sounded really weak, but there was a pleading demand that made him face her again. She was struggling to rise again, stretching her hand toward him. "Please, you need to take me to the old SI factory in the Glades."

"Felicity," Oliver chided. "We don't have time to talk about this. You need a doctor." Seeing the blood seeping from her, seeing the strength vanishing from her body really drove the point home. They were running out of time.

But she was still reaching for him, her eyes pleading with him. "Sara's at the factory." Her voice was so small, so strained. "Take me to her, please." Her heavy-lidded eyes were glued to his. "Promise me, you won't take me anywhere else."

He hated this, he really did, his lips pressed together, forming a small line.

"Promise me," Felicity urged, somewhat desperately.

"Fine."

Appearing relieved, she collapsed onto the backseat, spurring Oliver into action. He fumbled the keys into the ignition. Quickly, he backed out of the parking spot, the engine roaring.

"Don't speed." Her voice was barely audible over the sound of the engine. She sounded even weaker than before. "Don't attract attention. If the cops stop you, you'll be in trouble." Her voice was losing volume with each word. "I don't wanna get you in trouble."

If anybody was in trouble, it was her—and that was a very troubling thought. He shook his head, aggravated, and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, pressing the gas pedal down gently.

It took all of Oliver's will power to slowly leave the parking garage, ignoring all the security cameras he knew were on him as he swiped his keycard at the security station. Pulling onto the street, his hands were sweaty and his heart was beating up in his throat. He glanced in the rearview mirror, but he could barely see out the back and could see nothing at all in the backseat. He adjusted the mirror so he could make out the collapsed shape he knew was Felicity. As if feeling his gaze on her, she moved slightly to glance up at the mirror.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, meeting his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

His heart turned heavy and it showed in his voice. "Just hold on," he half-urged, half-pleaded, placing his attention back on the road. A moment of silence followed, only filled by the rumbling of the engine and Oliver's increasingly worried thoughts. He couldn't deal with this void and the panic coming to fill it.

"Felicity?" He asked, his voice shaking. She groaned. It was the barest signal that she was still conscious, still alive, but it made Oliver feel a little better. "You need to stay awake," he urged her. "Talk to me, Felicity. Do I take Adams to the factory? Or Rosmond?"

"Adams."

She was still processing, that was good, even if her voice gave away what a struggle it was to speak.

"Okay," Oliver said, forcing himself not to press the gas pedal down. "Good. And at the factory. Where do I go there?"

"Alley on the left." She was mumbling more than talking. "Through main… In the back… door..." It was getting hard to make out what she was saying, her words jumbling together, her voice dropping out, then rallying slightly, "Code 141."

"Seriously? That's the code to your super-secret lair? 141? Three digits?"

Her answered sounded something like "Flubgup" to Oliver and it made his eyes jump to the mirror again. "Felicity?"

Nothing.

Desperation claimed him as he tried again. "Felicity."

More nothing.

"Stay with me." His voice turned louder. "Don't you dare lose consciousness! Stay with me!" It was an order he practically barked at her, his voice low, an unfamiliar growl. "Felicity!"

She didn't answer. Panic welled up inside him and he pressed the gas pedal down, not too much, but the car surged all the same. "Hold on," he pleaded. "You need to hold on. Please. We're nearly there."

That was a lie. It took him five more minutes to reach the factory. With screeching bouncing of the rusty metal of the abandoned industrial building, Oliver stopped the car in the alley Felicity had told him about. Getting her out of the backseat wasn't easy, but seeing the blood made him stop being overcautious. He needed to be quick. He needed to get her help and stop worrying about where and how he touched her. Once she slipped through the gap behind his seat, he cradled her in his arms and hurried into the building.

It was too dark to see properly, the floor was uneven, and he didn't have the slightest idea where to go. He made it past rusty pipes and obsolete machinery to the back of the huge hall without stumbling or running into anything. Felicity was getting heavier and heavier in his arms, the fear collecting inside him made him even more breathless, but it also kept him going, made him push forward and hold on, hold her up. Finally, he found a metal door with a keypad next to it and somehow managed to punch in the three digits. The door clicked and swung open, away from him, revealing stairs leading down. Carefully maneuvering Felicity past the door frame, he hurried down the steps as fast as he dared, barely able to see the step in front of him. The metal rattled under his feet, his breath came out in puffs, the muscles in his arms shook. But he didn't really notice. He simply rushed toward a cushion of light amidst the darkness below him.

"Hello?" he called, reaching the bottom of the stairs. "Miss Lance?"

He stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly faced with a gun. But that didn't manage to surprise or scare him—every bit of fear he could muster was already consumed by something else entirely. "She's lost so much blood. Please, you need to help her."

Immediately, the gun lowered and a blonde woman stepped from behind a pillar. Her blue eyes roamed over Felicity in his arms, taking in the situation.

She snapped into action. "Come," she ordered, and he followed.

They hurried to the brightly lit area. "Put her down here." Miss Lance's tone was all business. It calmed Oliver. She gave him the impression that she knew what she was doing, and he needed that impression to know he had made the right decision bringing her here instead of the hospital. As gently as he could, he placed Felicity on the metal table, his arms shaking. Miss Lance moved to the other side and pulled the zipper of Felicity's green leather jacket, pushing her tank top and the strap of her bra out of the way. The blonde's face twisted instantly. "Fuck. It's bad."

"She asked me to bring her here and not a hospital."

"That's the thing with vigilantism—you can't just go and flaunt your secret identity." Miss Lance reached for a rolling cabinet and slid it up the table. "Here," she threw a box of plastic glows at Oliver. He pulled two out, fumbling to put them on, his hands shaking. He felt so frantic suddenly, like everything was taking too long.

"Hey." Miss Lance's hand covered his, stopping his somewhat hectic struggle, making him look at her. "We got this, Oliver." It surprised him that she said his name, that she knew his name. Combined with her firm tone, it was comforting. Her eyes were still meeting his, but she let go of his hand, throwing a pad of gauze onto Felicity's left shoulder. "We've got everything we need," she informed him. "I just need you to take a deep breath, put the gloves on, and then press down on the bandage, okay?"

"Okay." Both hands covered in purple plastic, he pressed the pad to the wound below Felicity's left collarbone, adding more pressure when Miss Lance told him to. Oliver had known he was bad with pain. Now he knew he was equally bad with blood. And it was a lot of blood, soaking the gauze in Oliver's hands, the white cotton blooming with red, while Miss Lance produced a blood bag and hooked Felicity up on it. A heart monitor appeared and a clip was placed on Felicity's finger. Miss Lance hadn't lied: they had everything here they needed, a tiny, private hospital.

She worked quietly and methodically until she pushed a rolling cabinet to the head of the table behind Felicity's head. She met Oliver's eyes. "Here's what we're going to do: the bullet's still in there. We need to get it out without damaging the carotid because the wound is really, fucking close. We clean everything and sew her up. No biggie."

Oliver nodded, not trusting his voice. Because that sounded like a biggie to him, like a big biggie.

"Let's do this," Sara said. "I'll talk you through it."

And she did. With a strong and clear voice she told him what to do, gave him direct orders to hand her this, hold that, pull that, check the pulse or the blood pressure. Oliver didn't know how long they worked, it felt like seconds and like hours at the same time, but he knew he felt desperately relieved when Miss Lance finally cut a thread and straightened up, "That's it."

"That's it?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, looking at Oliver, a smear of red on her forehead. "Now it's up to her." Oliver felt his breath hitch in his throat, because his 'that's it' and hers obviously meant slightly different things. "Hey," she said, her voice softer than it had been before. "She's tough. She'll pull through." He saw nothing but confidence in Miss Lance's features. That and her next sentence soothed him, "You really kept your head on. Couldn't have done it without you."

Oliver nodded, it was acceptance as much as it was a thank you.

Miss Lance motioned behind her. "You should wash up a little. Bathroom's over there."

That was a good suggestion. Standing in the washroom, he realized that he needed a moment to himself—and that he really needed to clean up. His white dress shirt had big red spots on it, Felicity's blood. His hands were covered with it, too, despite the gloves he had worn. There was a blot on the left lens of his glasses. Getting the blood off his hands, from under his fingernails, took him some time, but when he returned to the main room, he felt somewhat more collected.

He moved to the table Felicity rested on, her chest rising and falling, her breathing even. It was the first thing he noticed with unbelievable relief—strangely only after that did it register with him that Felicity wore nothing but her sports bra, one strap cut. The leather jacket and the black tank top were gone and suddenly Oliver noticed the marks covering Felicity's body. Scars and burn marks spread out over her torso; some scars were long slashes, others were round. Oliver felt his breath hitch in his throat. Seeing all that on Felicity's body made her look even smaller in her unconscious state.

"Are you staring at her scars or her breasts?"

Startled, Oliver's eyes snapped up, away from Felicity and to the other blonde sitting on a desk a few steps away. "There isn't a good way to answer, is there?"

She snorted. "Guess not." Her eyes were fixed on him. "You don't have to stay. You can leave if you want."

"I'd like to stay if that's okay, Miss Lance."

For the first time since he had met her she looked surprised. She motioned behind him. "There's a seat. And, please, call me Sara."

"I'm Oliver."

"I know." With that Sara turned around and pulled her black shirt over her head.

Avoiding the sight of another woman in a sport's bra, Oliver pulled a chair next to the table Felicity rested on and sat down. He hesitated for a second, but then he gave in to the longing deep inside him and reached for Felicity's hand, cradling it. It vanished beneath his hands.

A sudden sound startled him, he looked up, to Sara Lance hanging from a metal bar. He watched her flex her muscles and bring her body and the bar up, as if climbing a ladder with the step in her hands. It was intimidating and impressive at the same time. Ignoring the constant clanking, Oliver looked at Felicity again. She looked so pale, so fragile. He couldn't believe that the woman who had saved him from his kidnappers in that warehouse weeks ago was the same woman he had lunch with and coffee after a movie.

At the same time, it made sense.

Everything made so much sense.

Now he knew that hacking that security fob had been for a good cause. Because ever since the Arrow had saved him and his kneecaps, he had kept an eye on her actions—and she had done a lot of good. Thinking back to everything he had read about her with the knowledge that he had probably helped her felt rewarding, like he was part of something bigger, better. But at the same time it made him wonder: would she have told him her secret if she hadn't been forced? Oliver didn't know the answer to that, but he knew that she had shown him a lot of trust tonight. She had trusted him enough to turn to him when she needed help. She had come to him and trusted him to save her, or to get her to the person who could save her, when usually she was the one saving people.

His grip on Felicity's hand tightened. She was still wearing her black gloves. Gently, he pulled them off her right hand, the one he held in his, revealing perfectly colored nails. Bright pink caught his eyes and made him smile. That was very much Felicity, that color and that… pop. Tracing his fingers over the pink, he found that bringing those two sides of Felicity together was fairly easy. Because he had seen them both. He had glimpsed the vigilante when she had taken the screwdriver from him so effortlessly, when she had scanned the movie theater with calculating eyes, when she had asked to sit so that she could see the whole café. But he had also met a different Felicity, a teasing, smiling, joking, caring Felicity. It had been the combination of both that had fascinated him. He had always thought of her as interesting, challenging, charming. Seeing her in green leather did nothing to change his mind.

Loud beeping ripped him out of his thoughts. The sound rang like danger in his ears, stirring panic. His eyes snapped to the monitor, seeing a flat line. "Her heart," was all Oliver managed to say. Jumping up, he stared at her, hesitating for a heartbeat or two. Panic started to bubble up but instead his mind zapped back to Smoak International's mandatory company first aid lessons. Following instinct more than anything, he brought his hands to her chest and pressed down.

Sara was already with him, the metallic bar rolling over the floor.

Continuing the chest compression, he looked up at her, "Am I doing this right?"

"Yes. Keep doing it." She studied the monitor. "We need to zap her!" Oliver focused on his task until he heard the clear order of "Step back!"

Sara had a paddle in each hand and brought them to Felicity's chest, pressing a button. Nothing happened. She pressed a second time. "Fuck it," she cursed, aggravated.

Oliver was already opening the side of the defibrillator to check the wires, instantly seeing one that had come loose. Seconds later he said, "Try again."

This time a shock raced through Felicity, causing her body to spasm. Two more shocks later, the heart line returned to a steady up and down.

Oliver blinked, noticing his eyes filling with tears of pure relief. Sara's fingers rested on Felicity's neck, checking her pulse again. The blonde with the dimpled chin nodded, satisfied. She put the paddles down. "That was good work."

Nodding, Oliver ripped his eyes away from Felicity and placed them on Sara again. "Do you have any idea what happened? She was in my car at Smoak International."

"She was there to confront a guy called James Cliffort. We think he might've sold company secrets. I don't have the slightest idea how it ended like this." She gestured to the unconscious woman.

"Cliffort?" Oliver frowned. "He's from Accounting."

"Yeah. Apparently our skilled vigilante was nearly taken out by an accountant."

Oliver's voice was coated. "That's not funny."

"No," Sara stated, seriously, "it really isn't." She looked at her friend. "But it's a lesson learned: never get too cocky."

"Cliffort being dirty would actually explain a lot of what happened today at SI."

"You can discuss that with Fe," Sara said stepping away from the table. "I'm not involved in her family's business."

Oliver watched the woman put her shirt back on (he had been too worked up by Felicity's heart stopping to be awkward about being in a room with two women in their bras—probably meant he had his priorities right). Dressed again, Sara walked to a desk filled with computer screens. Part of him was curious to check out what the Arrow's computer system looked like (part of him dreaded what he would find. The three digit security code indicated the worst!), but the longing to stay next to Felicity was stronger. He sat down again.

"You're handling all of this really well."

Sara was sitting on the desk, both hands resting on the tabletop. She was observing him, studying him with curious but calculating eyes. She was as small as Felicity was, but she was strangely intimidating in a way Felicity wasn't. "It was a shock, finding her in my car." Oliver dared a small shrug. "But all of this makes sense in a very strange way."

"You think this makes sense?"

Oliver heard the challenge in her voice. He didn't know how to react to it. He chose honesty. "She was gone for five years—and whatever happened during that time… scarred her."

"We all have our scars," Sara stated. The words hung in the air, filling the space and turning the atmosphere strangely heavy. She ended the silence with a sigh. "But, yeah, somehow all of this seems like the logical conclusion to everything that happened since we boarded that damn boat." She jumped down from the table, her heavy black boots hitting the concrete. "Do you like Chinese?"

Oliver blinked, surprised. "I don't really feel like eating."

As if he hadn't spoken, she went to what he believed to be a rag crumpled in the corner. "I bought dumplings for Felicity and me." She unwrapped it and presented a plastic bag filled with Chinese take-out. "It's still warm-ish."

"I'm rea—"

"Oliver," she cut him off. "We're in for a long night. We will eat."

Sara was right: the night felt never-ending. Hour after hour passed without any change. Felicity lay on the med table, sleeping, the heart monitor beeping. Sara and he talked a little, but most of the time was spent in silence. Sara started training around two in the morning, a training dummy rattling under her heavy blows. All this time Oliver sat in his chair next to Felicity, keeping his eyes on her unmoving frame, studying her face, her closed eyes with the long lashes, her fair skin, her full but pale lips, the piercing spreading across her ear shell.

A hand on his shoulder startled him into awareness. His eyes snapping open, turning huge, he looked up to find Sara standing next to him, a half-smile on her face. Reflexively, he brought his hand up to wipe his lips, feeling caught. He had fallen asleep when he had wanted to watch over Felicity. Sitting on the uncomfortable chair, his head had sagged onto his chest; he had drooled (probably also snored) when he should have stayed awake to be able to act if Felicity's condition changed. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat.

"Here." Sara held a mug out to him, adding, "Coffee."

"Thanks," he took the mug and a sip. The coffee was strong, warm, and exactly what he needed. "What time is it?"

"Nearly eight."

Oliver huffed in unhappiness. He had slept for hours—and he had slept for hours in the worst position possible. Arching his back, rolling his shoulders, he tried to sooth his aching muscles, but it didn't help at all. Ignoring the pain in his back, Oliver placed his eyes on Felicity.

"She's coming to." Sara said, holding on to her own mug with her left. "I thought you might want to be awake for that."

Thankful, he glanced at the blonde woman standing next to him, giving her a nod, but he quickly placed his attention back on Felicity. Sara was right: Felicity's eyes were moving behind her closed eyelids. Oliver put the mug down to the ground and stood up. Now that she was closer to consciousness, he didn't dare touch her, but he watched her closely. Sara moved to the other side of the table.

It took nearly five minutes for Felicity to finally, slowly open her eyes.

They met Oliver's instantly. His heart jerked with a happy spark. A small smile showed on his face, his voice lost in a sea of relief.

"Hey." Felicity's voice was weak and hoarse, but it sounded like music in his ears.

"Hey," he managed to answer, still smiling.

"You really scared us," Sara stated, not sounding as collected as Oliver expected.

"Sorry," was all Felicity got out, her eyes still hooked with Oliver's.

Sara's hand came to rest on Felicity's arm, drawing her friend's attention. "Get some more rest. And when you wake up again you can tell me that you were right about him." She nodded at Oliver.

Felicity's eyelids were drooping again but the hint of a smile showed on her face, mumbling. "'ill do."

Sara shook her head, fondly. "Of course you will."

Seeing Felicity slip into sleep again. Oliver looked at Sara, "She was right about me? How?"

"You're not like her other men."

"And that's a good thing?"

She huffed. "Yeah, Oliver. That's the best thing."