It's been way too long, I know. I'm really sorry for the long wait; life snug up on me. Despite the month-long silence on my end, I won't abandon this story. Albi and I are determined to finish it—and I hope you're still interested [because I, personally, feel like we're finally getting to the good part. ;) ]
Thank you all very much for your comments. I really appreciate the time you took to send me a message. Thank you!
Love, Jules
PS. Albiona is forever my unicorn of awesome.
And you love her
Felicity hated the salmon ladder.
Sure, it was an effective workout, engaging practically every upper body muscle at the same time. Going up and down basically meant doing push-ups and sit-ups and planks and side planks and bridge marches all at once. It was efficient, but strangely monotone. Felicity was at it for fifteen minutes—and she had had enough. With one last jerk of her muscles, she ripped the rod out of the top holdings. Her feet hit the ground with a dull thud. As the sound dissolved in the underground room, Felicity wondered how Sara could do this exercise for an hour.
As if on cue Felicity heard Oliver's security system click, the signal that somebody had entered the security code. It had to be Sara. (Her mother would never memorize the twenty-four digits and Oliver and Quentin were at work.) Slowly, still holding the metal rod of the salmon ladder, she walked past Oliver's desk and the med table toward the training area.
Sara's black heavy boots didn't make the slightest sound as she rounded the stacked training targets. She stopped as soon as she was fully in view. "Hey," she greeted quietly.
"Hi." Felicity stood next to the training mats, arms hanging by her sides, her back straight, her head held high. "You're alone."
"I didn't think you'd approve of me bringing Nyssa."
"Good thought," Felicity complimented flatly. She tilted her chin upward a little. "Even though she probably knows everything anyway." She wasn't kidding herself into a false sense of secrecy or security. The A.R.G.U.S. agent had been upstairs yesterday, right above their secret hideout.
"Not from me," Sara stressed, seemingly aware of her friend's thoughts.
That was good to know, and Felicity didn't doubt her stepsister for one second, but that didn't change the basic facts. "She's a handler from a super-shady organization that specializes on fact-gathering. I'm absolutely sure she knows that I have a dinner date to eat reheated pasta with Oliver tonight."
"Felicity," Sara sighed. "I should've told you I'm dating a girl. I'm sorry I didn't. That just isn't a very easy thing to tell your family. Coming ou—"
"Stop!" Felicity needed Sara to shut up immediately. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Felicity could only gawk at her friend in disbelief. Disappointment and confusion and compassion and anger (because when was that ever not in the mix) swirled into a strange emotional cocktail. The expression in Sara's eyes betraying her uncertainty, while she visibly steeled herself to defend her lifestyle choices, made Felicity find her voice back.
"I don't care about Nyssa's gender—and you should know that," Felicity knew her reproachful tone wasn't helping the situation but couldn't stop it. "This isn't about you being in a relationship with a female—this is about you being in a relationship without telling me. And I wonder why you didn't tell me. Just because she's a she or because she's from A.R.G.U.S.? How healthy can it be, dating your handler? And you did leave her without saying goodbye. That's hardly—"
"I didn't say goodbye because I love her."
That shut Felicity up. Perfectly.
She blinked, feeling strangely chided and called out, and slightly embarrassed for not even considering that possibility. Her mouth closed, the tension in her shoulders easing. Her hand loosened its grip on the salmon ladder rod. Her eyes studied her childhood friend closely.
Sara avoided the searching gaze by looking down, once again shielding herself with a curtain of hair. She shifted her weight, confessing, "Saying goodbye would've been too hard."
Felicity blinked and then cleared her throat, successfully chasing all hints of accusation out of her voice. "You love her?"
"I do. I never expected that to happen. But it did."
Her shoulders slumping with a sudden disappointment, Felicity asked, "Then, seriously: why didn't you tell me? She means so much to you and you just… never mentioned her."
Finally, Sara dared to look up again. "Because you're right. She's from A.R.G.U.S., she was my handler. She was the one who told me that Waller was thinking about implanting a bomb in my spine—and I just ran. I ran away from there—and from her. I'm not good with caring that much. I'm not like you. And you and I had so much heavy stuff to talk about already that I didn't want to add something that's irrelevant to our situation."
"How can your girlfriend by irrelevant?"
"I thought she was my ex."
"I think that's an excuse."
The women glared at each other for a few seconds until Sara faltered. "I don't know if I'm… worthy of love. And seeing you with Oliver…. I kept my doubts about being with somebody that way to myself. I feel like I don't deserve love."
"Oh, Sara." It was all that came to Felicity. Her mind was empty, void of any fittingly encouraging thing to tell her stepsister. Her mother would know what to say. She had told Felicity and Sara so many times that they deserved good things, that they were good, lovable people.
Donna Smoak-Lance could make that believable because she believed it.
Felicity didn't know if she could say all that with the same conviction because she didn't know if she was convinced herself.
So she just chose to go for honesty and a shrug. "Well, I love you. Whether you deserve it or not, I can't help it."
Sara swallowed heavily but said nothing.
Felicity gestured toward her friend. "And Nyssa. She came to check on you. Seems like she believes you're worthy of her attention." Felicity smiled gently. "And you love her."
"I do." A smile of joy and sadness danced around Sara's lips. "I'm sorry for not telling you about Nyssa sooner. I didn't mean to hurt you. You know I… love you, too."
A smile broke across Felicity's face. Then she nodded, forcing her smile to dim. "I know this whole honesty-vow is my thing, not yours. But you're my best friend and you're my family now. I'd like to believe that you trust me with your personal stuff."
"I do." Slowly, Sara walked to the training mats, crossing the distance to her stepsister. "We've been through so much together. We've saved each other's lives many times. There's nobody I trust more than you—okay, maybe my dad…. But apart from meeting Nyssa, nothing good happened in the last five years. Working for A.R.G.U.S. was…. It made me…." She searched for words and failed to find the right ones.
Felicity spared her, because, "I know." She pointed at herself. "Triad member, remember? Believe me, I know about dysfunctional working environments."
"Yeah." The weakest smile danced around Sara's lips. "Of course you do."
Felicity stepped onto the mats. "Up to spar?"
Thankfulness and relief wavered around Sara. "Sure," she shrugged off her leather jacket, and Felicity finally let go of the salmon ladder rod, dropping it in the basket with the Escrima sticks and the jump ropes.
"You know," Felicity said, moving into position opposite the woman she'd known since kindergarten, "I should've known you're into girls, after what happened with that exchange student from France."
"Colette," Sara sighed, a sound of happy reminiscence. "Yeah, I had the biggest crush."
"Makes your kissing practice with Helena feel very different in hindsight, too." Felicity smirked. "Apparently, you have a thing for brunettes."
"Apparently." Sara took a fighting stance and motioned for her friend to come at her. "Why aren't you more freaked out?"
"Why should I be?" Felicity moved quickly, spun on her left leg, and brought her right foot toward her stepsister's head. "Love's love."
Sara redirected the kick coming at her. "Yeah, it is."
Felicity caught herself before stumbling. "Plus: I'm with a guy who's into π-jokes. Tell that to my twenty-year-old self."
Sara frowned, going back into a fighting stance. "Pie?"
"π. The math thing. You know with the… circle? Or… something?" She groaned. "God, I feel like I should know that."
Sara smirked. "Luckily, geometry isn't a basic skill needed for vigilantism. Plus," within the blink of an eye she threw a punch at Felicity. "Oliver's a good guy."
Felicity ducked. "He is." Crouching, stretching her leg out, she twirled, trying to sweep Sara's legs from under her. "I bought a shirt today that reads 'Talk nerdy to me.' Love makes you do crazy things."
Sara jumped up, avoiding Felicity's leg. "So, you love Oliver?"
"I…." Felicity froze. Her eyes snapped up to Sara from her crouching position. All words escaped her, she straightened up again.
Knowingly, Sara nodded. "Could be worse. You could be in love with a trained killer whose knife-throwing technique is flawless and who still works for the organization you left without permission."
Bringing her arms up in the last second, Felicity shielded herself from Sara's punches. "Okay, you should really think of a different way to introduce her tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, during the family dinner my mother planned." Felicity scissor-kicked with a jump toward Sara. "With our partners. To introduce Nyssa to your dad."
The sole of Felicity's foot connected with Sara's chest, throwing her back and onto the mat. In shock, Sara stared up at her friend. "Oh my God. That's the worst idea ever."
Felicity smirked. "My mom very much disagrees."
The Chinese, Russian, and Italian mafia had an Arrow-free Wednesday night because Felicity Smoak had to be on time for a family dinner.
She had promised to be at the mansion at seven, sharp. Sara was nervous about the first meeting between Quentin Lance and Nyssa Raatko.
Felicity had swallowed all hints that Sara had every chance in the past two days to introduce those two in a less formal setting but chose not to take it. Such commentary wasn't exactly helpful (or smart considering Sara's state of mind) and Felicity knew that, for once, she had to be the supportive one, the calming influence. After all, her boyfriend had already met the family and been accepted.
Felicity Smoak—whose track record of failing small talk was epic—was determined to help her stepsister through the evening without self-destructing. (That sentence was ambiguous but correct either way: both Sara and Felicity were in great danger of self-destructing due to nervous emotional overload.)
Punctuality felt like the first but easiest hurdle to giving the evening a smooth start. Felicity had every intention of keeping her promise to be on time.
Of course, today had to be one of those days when Oliver lost himself in his work.
Whatever the breakthrough keeping him from noticing the time was, Oliver and his ACSD colleagues were in the middle of a heated discussion bordering on overexcited celebration when Felicity entered the department. She hadn't planned on going up there, but after waiting for fifteen minutes (five minutes longer than the obligatory ten-minute delay Oliver Queen always came with), she decided to dare something she had avoided before: enter her boyfriend's workplace.
Felicity Smoak was the daughter of the founding CEO, the daughter of the current CEO. Her last name was spelled out in gigantic red letters across the side of the skyscraper. Bringing all that to Oliver's department had always felt like… not the best idea.
Tonight Felicity had to bring herself and everything that came with her—and Oliver didn't have anybody to blame but himself (and his tendency to zone out entirely when hacking… coding… doing his computer stuff. As much as Felicity envied his ability to focus like that, mostly she wished he wouldn't forget about his surroundings completely. It just wasn't safe to get that much into his own head). Debating whether to introduce herself with or without her last name and the information that she was Oliver's girlfriend (normally, she'd assume that people knew, but she was familiar with the effects of the computer sciences bubble), Felicity Smoak rang at the door of the locked department on the twenty-fifth floor. (It had a security panel that made the words '256-bit encryption' flash in front of her inner eye.)
Her worries of leaving Oliver, his supervisor, or his colleagues uncomfortable had been unfounded. Apparently, the breakthrough was so big that everything else paled in comparison.
Was Felicity relieved that her entrance left everybody cold? Very much so. Was she also a little disappointed that her entrance left everybody cold? Just a little. The littlest little.
The only one reacting heatedly to her sudden appearance at the ACSD was Oliver, scrambling to move, suddenly noticing time, the pointed look his girlfriend sent him, and the tone in her voice when she told him they couldn't be late.
Felicity spent the next five minutes talking…. No. Felicity spent the next five minutes listening to Oliver's supervisor. Harold Adler used a lot of words she had never heard before to explain why his team was so excited while Oliver disappeared into the restroom to change. Oliver had insisted that this family dinner called for him to wear the tailor-made suit her mother had gotten for him. He had also insisted they'd take his Mustang to Smoak Mansion.
In the garage, Felicity insisted that he break some speed limits, because they really needed to be on time.
They arrived at Smoak Mansion five minutes late.
Sara and Nyssa were already waiting in front of the house when Oliver steered his car up the driveway. The glare Sara pinned them down with seemed to burn through the glass of the windshield. It definitely had an effect on Oliver, who stepped on the brakes hard, moving quickly to turn off the engine and unfasten his seatbelt. "I'll take the blame," Oliver hurried to say. "I'll tell Sara it's my fault," he promised and sent Felicity an apologetic glance while opening the door.
The realization that even a very smart man could have very stupid ideas washed through Felicity as she reached for the handle of the passenger's door. The wind had barely time to ruffle her styled hair before Sara's voice carried over, filled with accusation, "You promised to be on time!"
Sara's eyes drilled into Felicity as she walked with Oliver by her side toward the couple waiting at the foot of the steps. The glare lost its impact with each step Felicity took toward her stepsister. The closer she got, the more insecurity became visible. Sara's anger was rooted in nerves, not in fury. The snappiness was her attempt to mask her unease, to release some of the tension inside her. Attacking as a defensive tactic felt very Sara.
Knowing what it was like to be out of your comfort zone and dreading the results, Felicity swallowed the comment that the door was right there; nobody had forced Sara to wait for them. Instead, she raised her hands, calming, apologetic, "I know. I'm sorry." Sensing that Oliver was about to keep his promise and in the process poke the bear that Sara could become in her current state of mind, she hurried to add, "Traffic."
Taking the last steps, she held her hand out to Sara's girlfriend. Knowing how important the woman was to her childhood friend, Felicity needed to make up for their first horrible meeting. "Hello," she greeted with a smile she hoped was polite, even warm. "I'm Felicity."
Nyssa shook her hand. "I know," she spoke measuredly, her tone friendly, open and welcoming, as if she, like Felicity, was giving everything to make this go well. "I'm Nyssa. It's nice to finally meet you. Sara told me a lot about you."
"Yes. It's nice to meet you. I've heard about you, too." Seeing Nyssa quirk an eyebrow at the last comment, a jerk went through Felicity. "All good, of course," she hurried to specify and somehow her mouth kept moving. "Knife-throwing—that's a special skill. I never quite got the hang of it myself. Knives. Shouldn't play with those…." She closed her eyes, horrified at herself. Oliver's hand settled on her lower back, its weight and warmth calming and centering her. She made herself face the other woman again. "Sorry. I'm a little out of my element."
"Yes," Nyssa agreed, staying ramrod straight. "So am I. Sara told me I couldn't bring my knives."
An amused snort escaped Oliver but didn't register with Felicity. She was busy staring at the black-haired woman, trying to figure out with that sentence meant. Oh, she understood the words, but not their intention. Nyssa had said them casually, there wasn't any hostility, aggression, or accusation. In fact, there was so little emotion in her voice that Felicity wondered if she had maybe offended Nyssa. She couldn't really decipher what was happening here. Was this passive-aggressiveness directed at her? Had she managed to mess the evening up in the first minute? The safest thing, Felicity decided, was to simply apologize.
Before she could, Sara exaggerated rolling her eyes. "Nyssa, nobody gets your jokes." She looked at Felicity. "She was joking. I've warned her about your mouth getting away from you."
"You did?" Felicity's eyes snapped from Sara to Nyssa. "You were?"
"I was," the black-haired woman confirmed. "Sarcasm. A lot people don't get it."
"Only your sarcasm," Sara softened the sentence by taking her girlfriend's hand, an affectionate smile playing around her lips.
Warmth spread within Felicity. Seeing her stepsister like this was unfamiliar but wonderful, hopeful. The thought made Felicity seek Oliver's hand. Plucking his right hand from her back, she placed her left in his. He stood next to her, tall, silent, and calming in his grounded presence, giving her hand a slight squeeze. "Okay," he said addressing the females around him. "Are we ready to do this?"
Only in that moment did Sara seem to fully register him. She blinked. "You're wearing a suit." Her observation sounded strangely accusing. "Why are you wearing a suit?"
"Because this is a 'meet the parents' situation," Oliver stated calmly.
"You've already met the parents," Sara shot back. "You met Donna before Felicity."
"Yes, but…." Oliver trailed off and with that his calm slipped. Felicity could feel insecurities take over in a flash just from the way his body tensed. His eyes landed on her. "Am I overdressed?"
Felicity might not be the most socially adept person, but she was pretty sure that Sara's complaint wasn't about anybody's outfit but her own. Sara was dressed as she always was—jeans, shirt, leather-jacket, and boots—when everybody else had taken time to dress up a little bit. Felicity wore another colorful dress (purple this time) and Nyssa looked effortlessly stunning in a simple, black dress. Felicity knew that worrying about clothing was better than worrying about everything else, but it felt strange, coming from Sara. Still, right now Felicity's main concern was her boyfriend.
"No," Felicity stated with emphasis, leaving no room for doubt. Now it was her tightening her hand around his in a comforting gesture. "You look very handsome. Don't worry." Felicity brought her free, right hand up to his chest, smoothing the soft fabric with gentle fingers, her turquoise nail polish popping against the gray cloth. "As my mom always says: a man can never go wrong with a good suit. And that's a good suit." Oliver's answer was a thankful smile. Felicity returned it.
During the exchange Sara and Nyssa shared a long and loaded look, Felicity noticed. Deciding that they had stalled enough, Felicity stated, "Okay, time to go in." Her hand tightly around Oliver's, she looked at Sara, digging her brain for something resembling a pep talk. "We've already had the worst-case-scenario dinner. Comparatively, this is a piece of cake."
"Right," Sara said, not sounding entirely sure, but she straightened up, giving up her uneasy stance. "Lead the way."
Once Felicity opened the door of Smoak Mansion, the smell of food welcomed them. Entering first, Felicity called out, "Hey! Sorry we're late."
"It's fine." To Felicity's surprise, her mother's voice came softly from the left. The kitchen with its casual atmosphere and the huge dining table was straight head; to the left lay official rooms with a more representative and somewhat stiff air. Her suspicion was confirmed when Donna added, "We're in the sitting room."
"God," Sara whispered, "they want to do 'the talk.' If they overdo it, we're out of here." She gestured to herself and the woman by her side.
"Calm down," Felicity whispered back, needing her level-headed partner to keep her head levelled. "It's gonna be fine." She reached for Oliver's hand and led the way through the hall.
"I'm sorry," she stated, passing the threshold of the sitting room, "traffic wa—"
Her voice died with a pathetic whimper. Her blood froze along with her body. Two steps inside the room, her mouth still opened to form a word never completed, her eyes locked on a sight that couldn't be real. Her brain told her so in a panicked mantra, chanting relentlessly: He can't be here. He can't be here. He can't be here. He can't be here.
"There's the miracle we were just talking about," Donna said in her perfectly measured official CEO voice, tightening her eyes slightly at her daughter and her weird reaction. "My daughter Felicity. And my husband's daughter Sara. They have their own plan to support the Glades." Donna winked and gestured to the man sitting on the huge couch opposite to her and Quentin. "Felicity, Sara, meet the newest supporter of our Glades Foundation. Mr. Slade Wilson."
He was here.
Slade Wilson was here, sitting on the huge couch with the floral décor, smiling at her in pleased confidence, when he should be dead, taken out by an arrow she had driven into his eye—plus an explosion and being stuck underwater.
Apparently, all she had taken was his eye—if the eyepatch was any indication.
He placed his one eye on her and if Felicity hadn't been frozen by shock she would have shuddered under his gaze. "Miss Smoak, Miss Lance. It's a pleasure to meet you—finally."
The voice, its dark rich tone sounding like cigarettes and tequila: the accent, the vowels chewed out between barely parted teeth, the barely there intonation—it all drove the realization home: he was here, feeling superior and in-charge.
Coming back to her senses, shaking the shock off, Felicity let go of Oliver's hand and took another step forward, positioning herself in front of the others, shielding Oliver's body, even though she knew she didn't stand a chance if Slade Wilson wanted her out of the way. Feeling Sara move next to her, Felicity found her voice back. She was relieved to hear it wasn't wavering when she demanded, hard, "What are you doing here?"
Her eyes were glued to the man sitting on the couch, observing his every move, expecting him to strike any second. Instead, she saw something flash in his eyes. It came and went with the blink of an eye, but Felicity recognized surprise. She took another step forward. "You don't belong here!"
"Felicity," Donna half-asked, half-chided while her husband got up from the couch.
Warily, Quentin spared the standing women a short glance before focusing back on the bulky Australian on his sofa. "How do you know each other?"
"We met on the island." Felicity pressed the last word out through tight lips, hoping the information was enough for everybody to understand the seriousness of the situation. Breaths hitched collectively all over the room.
"Dad," Sara said carefully, taking position next to Felicity. "Donna, you need to come over here."
With a sigh sounding like inconvenience, Slade Wilson brought his hands to his knees and pushed himself off the couch. Tension crowded the room, created an atmosphere of a silent countdown, of a room filling with gasoline—and everybody knew, if anybody would be lighting a match, it was Slade Wilson. The man was a predator, a weapon that was part tank part nuke, and he terrified Felicity. Slade Wilson was in the same room as everyone she held dear and he could wipe them all out with one hand, without breaking a sweat, and there wasn't anything she could do to stop him.
"This isn't the reunion I pictured," Slade confessed. He didn't seem too unhappy about the change of plans. "But if you insist on turning this ugly immediately, I am happy to comply."
Quentin reached for Donna's arm, slowly pulling her up to him, making her get off the couch.
"Please," Slade said, looking at the spouses, "stay seated. I'm only here to talk." Quentin's pull on Donna's arm didn't loosen. "Okay," Slade stated, calmly. "This calls for a demonstration." He bent his knees and reached for the couch behind him. Lifting it up as if it weighed nothing, balancing the sofa on his flat hand, he smiled a humorless smile and pinned the parents down with a cold stare. "I said, sit."
Slowly, holding on to each other, Donna and Quentin sank back down.
"Slade," Felicity dared to take another step forward, needing to be his first target to give the others time to escape—or at least to try. "They have nothing to do with this. Let them go."
His eye snapped to her, a fire burning in it that reminded her of the madness that had taken root in the man. A sudden yell ripped from Slade's lips. The heavy sofa flew through the air, hitting the wall to their left—and crashing through it. Felicity didn't even spare it a glance. Her sole focus was on the man, the scientific experiment gone wrong. He met her gaze, spitting, "They have everything to do with this! I'm here to keep my promise, kiddo."
Felicity's blood turned cold while her heart drummed in her chest. Regret started to fill her as she realized that she had given Slade Wilson the upper hand. She should have played along, should have acted as if she didn't know him, made sure the people she loved got out, got to safety. The need to protect those she cared about had made her act too impulsively—again.
Fighting to keep the doubt hidden, she held Slade's gaze, taking comfort in Sara's presence next to her, in the fact that Nyssa had moved, too. Behind her back, she had felt the A.R.G.U.S. agent step in front of Oliver. But her parents were out in the open, nearly in arm's reach of an inhumanly strong madman. It was better to play along, Felicity realized, to keep Slade talking in hopes that an opportunity presented itself.
"So, you told your parents about the island," Slade observed, sounding calm again. "I didn't expect that. But, obviously, you didn't tell them about me."
"There was no need," Felicity said, harshly. "You were dead."
"What? Because of that toothpick you rammed into my eye?" He shook his head at her apparently disappointing gullibility. "Kiddo, I always told you: I'm not that easy to kill."
He had told her that—back then it had been a comforting quip. Back then Felicity had been glad that Slade had survived the confrontation with Fryers. Back then Slade Wilson had oozed safety and protection in a dangerous environment. He had been a person to look up to, to turn to, to follow. He had been the first to teach her basic survival. Him not being easy to kill had been a good thing. Now it was nothing but a threat.
"That's okay. Because so are we."
Sara's statement, deadly calm, hung in the air. It was a bold move, a clear challenge. Felicity was surprised, but she knew that Sara had never been one to back down. She was also way better at bluffing and keeping her emotions at bay. She was stepping up, stepping in, because she was in the middle of this confrontation, even though Slade's hatred had found its focus on Felicity. A deep, unbridgeable rift separated the women from Slade, and Sara speaking up sent a clear message: she wouldn't stand by idle this time. It was them against him. Felicity appreciated Sara's support, but she wished she'd be mindful of Slade's temper and the mortal danger he posed to those around him.
The corners of Slade's mouth ticked upward. The gesture didn't hold any humor. "Good thing I'm not here to kill you."
Felicity felt the threat in her bones. It sent a thrill through her, but she forced herself stay in position, willed her voice to stay calm. "Slade, don't—"
"I take it you didn't tell them about Yao either," Slade cut her off in a nearly conversational tone. "Or Shado. When you still wear her hood."
"I'm honoring their memory."
"No. You're shitting on their memory."
It would've been better if he had yelled. Felicity was pretty sure that Slade letting his rage out would've been easier to handle than his calm way of talking. She made herself stay just as calm, but only barely managed. "I don't think you're—"
"Does your boyfriend know?" Slade's gaze wandered past Felicity, heating her previously cold blood. "Did you tell him that you killed your last boyfriend?"
"You know that's not what happened," Felicity pressed out. "You know Ivo killed Yao."
"Ivo might've pulled the trigger, but you chose. You chose to save her." He spat the last word, glaring at Sara. His hateful eye turned to Felicity again. "Admit it. Admit that you had him killed."
"No," Felicity snapped. "I didn't want either of them to die. That's why I jumped in front of the gun. I wanted to take that bullet."
"Lies!" Slade snarled. "You never loved him. You used him for your own pleasure, for your archery lessons. He cared for you to honor his mother, continuing what Shado started. You took him from me. He was like my own son."
There wasn't anything she could say that would made Slade see reason. He was way past rationality. Showing compassion, explaining, asking for forgiveness—nothing would work with this man. He wanted nothing but his revenge. She made himself meet his eye. "Fine. What do you want to do now?"
"I told you, kiddo. I'm here to fulfill the promise I gave you." He smirked humorlessly. "Not right now, of course. But I want you to know that it's coming. You ripped my family away from me—and I'll return the favor. Mommy and Daddy, boyfriend, girlfriend. I'll take them from you, one by one, until only you two are left."
"You don't—" Quentin shot up from the couch, but Slade's hand shoved him back. It looked like a tiny motion, but it made the detective practically fly backward, crash against the couch with such force that it tipped over, making Donna tumble back and onto the floor, too.
Felicity and Sara both took a step forward, but one wave of Slade's hand halted them. "There's nothing you can do to stop me," he told them. "And you know it. Not one of you is on par with my power. Knives won't hurt me." He huffed, sparing one glance at Oliver, "And I'm not afraid of a messily thrown jab. Take the next few days to say goodbye." He straightened the impeccable suit he wore. Donna and Quentin held onto each other as they got off the floor.
With casual, confident steps he headed toward the door. Nyssa pushed Oliver backward with one arm, guiding him out of harm's way so Sara and Felicity could let the man pass. Slade Wilson stopped next to Felicity, turning his head to stare at her with his one, dark eye. "I'll show you true devastation," her confided. Then, to the others, he said, "It's been a pleasure to meet all of you." He turned around and locked his gaze with Nyssa and Oliver. "We'll see each other soon."
