Again, I'm sorry for the long wait. I blame life—again. But I'm delighted that I managed to surprise you with Slade and that it was a positive surprise. I hope you'll enjoy this next chapter, too.
As always a loving shout-out to Albiona, because she's helping me to see this through.
Happy reading!
Where are we going?
The cold wind felt soothing on her heated face. Standing in front of Smoak Mansion, Sara next to her, watching Slade Wilson steer his black sports car down the driveway, Felicity concentrated on the breeze floating around her, brushing past her naked legs, billowing the skirt of her purple dress, making her long blonde hair, styled for an evening of family bonding, flow around her. She focused on the silence of the evening, a moment of eerie calm that she knew was just an illusion.
Slade's car passed the gate, pulled out into the street, and disappeared from her view. He was gone but the tension, fear, and paranoia he had brought with him were still there. The weight that had settled in Felicity's chest and slowed her thinking made breathing seem harder, like a constant threat ready to overwhelm her any second. But she couldn't let that happen; she wouldn't.
Slade had come to her home to get into her head.
His mission hadn't failed.
Felicity couldn't deny it; he was in there, taking over her thoughts. He had planted a desponding fear deep within her, but she'd be damned if she just rolled over and took it.
She turned to Sara. Her stepsister had kept the calm façade up much better than she had, but now Sara's hands were shaking visibly. Felicity heard movement from her right. The others were coming, most likely bringing questions, along with demands for explanation. But Felicity couldn't do that right now, she couldn't dive into all of that, face the people who were in danger because of her. She couldn't even begin to imagine what they were thinking after everything they'd heard, how they were thinking and feeling about her. All of that might make her crack. She couldn't; she wouldn't. She needed to do something, take charge. She needed to get them somewhere safe. She needed time to finally think.
"The Factory's compromised," Sara stated, as if following Felicity's line of thought.
"I know." Slade's hint at Oliver's messy jab had told Felicity the same thing. But she wasn't sure if that had been a slip-up or deliberate. Did he want them to stay away from the Factory? Did he want them to get somewhere where they didn't have access to all of their equipment?
"Sweetie…." Something was shaking her mother's voice. Felicity didn't know what that was, what kind of emotion, but she knew she couldn't acknowledge it. Not now, when she needed to keep her own emotions in check.
Ignoring Donna, ignoring all the people coming down the stairs to group around Sara and her, Felicity focused on her partner, "We need to regroup."
"Yes," Sara's eyes were glued to her stepsister. "My safehouse's out of town."
"Mine's in Starling."
"'Kay. We split up. We do this like we did Monaco."
Goosebumps broke out along Felicity's arms, the visible reaction to the shiver racing down her spine. A whole new set of worries gripped her alongside understanding. "Like Monaco," Felicity repeated.
"What are you talking about?" Quentin tried to gain the women's attention—and failed.
The stepsisters continued to acknowledge only each other. Felicity took comfort in the shared connection, in their planning, in knowing that she and Sara understood one another perfectly. "We split up. Don't look back." Felicity's eyes drilled into Sara. "Like Monaco, but without the 'schrooms."
"Yeah," Sara said carefully, narrowing her eyes slightly before something flashed in them. "There's only one place perfect for 'schrooming anyway."
"Exactly," Felicity dared the barest smile, relieved. It only lasted a second. "We got this," she urged, emphasizing each word.
"We got this," Sara repeated in the same tone.
They spent another long moment cementing their silent understanding and turned to the others.
"Oliver, Mom, you're with me."
"Dad, Nyss—"
"What?" Quentin's question cut his daughter off. He looked flabbergasted. "No!" His eyes ping-ponged between his daughter and his stepdaughter. "You two stop it this instant and tell me what's going on here!"
"We'll get you someplace safe," Sara said. "Dad, let us handle this."
Quentin's arm circled around Donna. "I won't—"
"Yes, you will," Sara took a step toward her father, her strained nerves, about to snap.
Felicity's hand closed around Sara's wrist, stopping her from saying anything else (and maybe rendering her dad unconscious to end the debate). "Quentin," she pleaded with her stepdad, "please, you have to trust us. We will keep you safe."
A loaded silence followed. Quentin stared at Felicity, at Sara, at Donna. The spouses exchanged a long look. Finally, Quentin nodded, ended it. He reached for his wife and kissed her, an air of desperation around him.
Only then did Felicity dare to look at Oliver. Since letting go of Oliver's hand and positioning herself in front of him, she had placed her sole attention on Slade Wilson, pointedly ignoring her boyfriend, the feelings and fears he brought. He was in danger, more than anybody else, because he was with her. The thought held the potential to make Felicity spontaneously self-destruct. She couldn't go there or she'd be useless. She couldn't acknowledge that Oliver had heard every single one of Slade's accusations. She knew Oliver better than to believe he'd place blame on her without hearing her side of the story, but the idea of telling the story made her insides turn. There was so much danger and darkness in his life—and she was the sole origin of it all.
She swallowed heavily, unable to hide from him the emotional turmoil raging inside her, and met his eyes. They were serious, questioning, but filled with so much warmth that she had to swallow again. "I'll keep you safe," she promised, repeating the one thing that echoed through her, the one purpose she had reduced her actions to.
He nodded. "I know."
She swallowed again, his calm trust a bit overwhelming. She held her hand out. "I'll drive."
Wordlessly, Oliver dug in his pocket and let the keys to his Mustang drop into her palm.
Quentin and Donna finally let go of each other. Donna took another moment to hug Sara tightly. Quentin placed his hand on Felicity's shoulder. She gave him a nod that was equal parts promise and gratitude.
Walking backward toward the garage, her eyes connected with Felicity's, Sara ordered, "Let's move, people."
Felicity nodded once more, then she turned around and headed to the Mustang. Oliver climbed into the back, folding his legs to his chest to get into it. Donna slid into the passenger's seat. She had barely closed the door when Felicity stepped on the gas. She was already past the gate when Sara backed Quentin's Ford out of the garage.
Felicity turned the corner and focused on the street ahead, accelerating quickly. A heavy silence filled the car. Oliver staying quiet didn't surprise Felicity. He always knew when she needed time to think, time to order her thoughts and strategize. He was amazing like that. But her mother wasn't the type to just sit back and wait. From her, silence was worrying.
Taking her eyes of the road to glance at her mother, she asked, "Are you okay?"
"No," Donna huffed in fake amusement. "I'm really not okay. Thanks for asking." She shifted in the leather seat. "I don't understand what's going on—and I don't know the best thing to do. But I believe that you do so, I'll follow your lead. But… please, tell me what we're doing next, because I need to know to prepare myself."
"Okay," Felicity breathed, accepting her mother's request, relieved that Donna was successfully keeping her composure. Inhaling, steeling herself, Felicity tried to exude nothing but confidence and competence. "First, we'll ditch all our electronics. Everything that can be used to track us needs to go." Her eyes met Oliver's in the rear-view mirror. "I'm sorry." She exhaled measuredly. "It's also possible that the car is bugged and there might be a tracking-device. I'm not sure."
"Bugged as in…." Donna's mouth snapped shut. She dug into the pocket of her red jacket, got out her phone, and glanced back at Oliver. "Is it enough to turn it off?"
"No," Oliver scooted forward, his elbows on the backs of the front seats. "Turn it off and toss it out of the window. Here," he held his phone out to her, "this, too. Felicity, where's yours?"
Taking one hand off the steering wheel, she dug into the pocket of her coat and gave her phone to her mother.
The faint sound of expensive smartphones hitting hard cement was nearly drowned out by the wind speeding past. Being inconspicuous with a black Mustang wasn't really an option anyway, so Felicity had decided she'd rather be fast than careful. She was racing through an intersection when Oliver said, "Donna, could you open the glove box, please?"
The hatch flapped down to reveal a tablet. Without asking any further, Donna handed it to him. He sank back and started tapping away.
Felicity glanced at her mother once more and placed her right hand on Donna's arm. "Five minutes, okay?"
Donna nodded, silently, glancing around as if she might spot trackers or listening devices. Once more, silence fell over them, only disturbed by Oliver's fingers flying over the tablet. Seven minutes later, Donna straightened up, rising a questioning eyebrow at her daughter. Felicity nodded, confirming that that was indeed their destination. "Do you have your keycard?"
"No. It's at home, in my purse." She gestured to the glove compartment. "But Oliver has his." She turned back to glare at him. "Which is against company regulations, by the way. What if your car got stolen?"
Oliver blinked, looking up from his tablet. "I'm… sorry?"
"You should be," Donna chided, opening the glove compartment again, handing the plastic card with Oliver's picture on it to Felicity. They pulled to a stop in front of the yellow bar marking the entrance to Smoak International's underground garage. One card-swipe later, Felicity steered the Mustang into the next free parking spot and signaled for everybody to get out. She locked the car and handed the keys back to Oliver, noticing that he was still holding on to his tablet. "I'm sorry, but you need to—"
"I disabled the GPS chip. It can't be tracked. I promise you."
Felicity wanted to believe him, but, "Somebody bugged the Factory." Her safe place had never been safe, despite all the security protocols he had installed.
He stared at her, first dumbfounded, then guiltily. "I never checked for bugs. But they must've been there before I upgraded the system. They couldn't have entered after. They…. I…." His voice held a certain hurt. "I'll leave the tablet if you want, but I am one hundred percent certain that it's safe."
Slade Wilson brought out the worst in Felicity Smoak, the absolute worst. She trusted Oliver; she believed in Oliver; he had never given her a reason to doubt her, and she couldn't start now, when she needed to focus. Oliver was her boyfriend, but he was also her partner, her confidant, an expert in his own field. She needed to trust he did his part so that she could concentrate on hers. She stepped to him and kissed him. A quick, soft peck was all she allowed herself, but she needed that brief connection. Meeting his eyes, she said, "You got this."
He nodded, relieved and thankful. He visibly gathered himself. "Okay. What now? Want me to disable the cameras?"
She blinked up at him. "Yes," she said, stunned. "That'd be great." She stepped back and he placed his attention on his tablet. Not even one minute later he said, "Done."
"Perfect. That spared us a walk through the sewer. Okay, let's get a new car. One whose GPS and stuff you can disable."
"My Mustang doesn't have GPS," Oliver reminded. Felicity ignored him and looked around.
"Oh," Donna gushed from beside her, "that one's cute."
Five minutes later, a red Mini left the underground garage of Smoak International.
"You were right," Oliver said. "My car was bugged. I hacked into the frequency. I'm running a trace on it now, but it's not active anymore." He glanced up from the tablet and turned in his seat to face Felicity.
Donna had insisted that Oliver sat in the front, claiming that he, with his long legs, couldn't cram into the back. So, instead, Donna Smoak-Lance sat with her legs folded awkwardly across the seat behind Felicity, a look of worry on her face. "Do you think he also bugged Quentin's Ford?"
"Most likely," Felicity mumbled.
"I just hope they're okay."
"We'll know soon. They'll come to my safe house."
"What?" Donna leaned forward in her seat. "But you said…."
"We weren't sure if there were cameras at the Mansion, too. Maybe he accessed the security system," Felicity explained. "Slade mentioned Oliver's training and Nyssa's knife-thing so we knew he'd been spying on us."
That information was answered with silence, hanging heavy in the small car. Oliver ended it, "So," he asked, "where are we going?"
"The abandoned clock tower downtown." Uncomfortable, Felicity's hand tightened on the steering wheel. "It has pretty mosaic windows. They're nice to look at."
"Let me guess, they are especially nice to look at while 'shrooming." Donna barely kept from rolling her eyes. "Never thought that phase of your life would ever come in handy."
Oliver ignored them, asking, "And what did you two do in Monaco? I thought you didn't meet again after the island."
"Monaco was before that. We… bought coke from an undercover cop and had to make a run for it."
"Felicity!" Donna gasped.
"I know."
"Well, you must've outrun him, because this is the first I'm hearing about it."
"Yeah, Sara and I ran, but got separated somehow. By accident. The cop couldn't chase us both and he had to divide his attention and… we lost him and met in our suite later."
"That's the plan?" Oliver asked. "Split, distract Wilson, and meet at the clock tower?"
"Yes," Felicity confirmed, fighting against the urge to drive faster and attract unwanted attention. "We need time, someplace safe to regroup. We have to make sure he doesn't know where we are. Where you are."
"Who is that man?" Donna asked, placing her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "What—"
"Fuck it." The curse came from deep within Felicity. "Fasten your seatbelts."
Oliver and Donna ignored the order, busy twisting in their seats to look out the rear window. Five men on motorcycles were behind them, the roaring of their engines turning louder as they came closer and closer.
"I said: fasten. Your. Seatbelts!" Felicity ordered, shifting down. The engine protested with a whine, but then the Mini jerked forward, her passengers thrown back in their seats, fumbling to finally strap in.
"How did they find us?" Oliver asked in a half-shout over the sound of the engine accelerating. Felicity ignored him and placed her whole attention on shifting through the gears, using the Mini's full potential. She sped down a street, but the men on their bikes drew closer. Scanning the road ahead, Felicity shifted down again, hands and feet working quickly. The engine complained with an aggressive screech, but the car slowed down instantly as Felicity tore the wheel around. The car drifted to the right and shot forward again with one press of Felicity's foot, speeding down a narrow alley between two buildings, only wide enough for the Mini Cooper.
"The frequency is active again," Oliver informed them, sounding angry. "We must have a tracking device on us." He pressed his lips together. "I was sure I disabled the GPS. I'll toss it." He was already lowering his window, when Felicity stopped him. "No. Mom," she said, quickly, not looking anywhere but through the windshield, holding on to the steering wheel as the car shot across a bigger street and into another alley. "Did Slade touch you? Maybe your shoulder or your arm when he greeted you?"
"Oh, that's how you ninja-spies do that?" Donna was already opening the zipper of her red jacket, handing it to Oliver who patted the cloth. He groaned nearly instantly. "Underneath the lapel." He glanced at Donna quickly, muttered a "sorry," and threw the jacket of the window. He checked the tablet. "The frequency is offline again. The GPS of the Mini is thoroughly dead." Felicity felt him look at her while she dared to glance into the rearview mirror. "Do you have a computer at your safe house?"
"Yes," she forced out, annoyed that the bikes had once again caught up with her.
"57.21," he said. "Memorize those numbers: 57.21." Not waiting for her reaction, Oliver chucked the tablet through the gap in the window. It crashed against the wall next to them. "Better safe than sorry," he stated, closing the window.
"Sweetie," Donna said, carefully. "I don't think we can drive faster than motorcycles."
"Yeah," Felicity said, "good point." She shifted gears again and pulled the car right, around a tight corner. The back of the Mini swerved. Felicity steadied it and sped up once more. As planned, she was on Pucket Street. One lane in each direction, minimal traffic, perfect.
"Felicity," Oliver sounded strained, "they're catching up."
"I know," Felicity confirmed calmly, checking the rearview mirror. Two bikes were right behind her, plus one on each side. "Like mom said; bikes are faster than we are." Next to her side window, a black helmet became visible. "But they're still just bikes. Hold on!" With that, Felicity threw the steering wheel around, pulling the handbrake. Another angry roar sounded as the back of the Mini jerked. Felicity steered against it and, in the next moment, they were spinning, screeching, turning in a near-perfect circle marked by the black trails of their wheels.
The front of the Mini hit the first bike, sending the driver crashing to the ground. The other four followed. Spinning 360 degrees, the Mini knocked them down one by one. Each collision vibrated through the car. The sound of metal scratching was all around, accompanied by red sparks as the bikes slid over the asphalt. Once the car completed its turn, Felicity slammed her foot down on the breaks, bringing it to a full stop, sending Oliver and her mom forward to be caught by their seatbelts. Her action surprised the one remaining biker, who acted instinctively to avoid crashing into the trunk. He threw the handlebars around—and slammed into a huge metal dumpster with a nearly deafening thud.
Felicity slammed into first gear and pressed the gas pedal to the floor, drifting around the next corner, her tires leaving dark lines behind. Pulling into the traffic of Main Street, she slowed the car back down to the speed limit.
"Wow," Donna breathed. "Just… wow."
Felicity loosed her grip on the steering wheel, daring a quick glance at both her passengers. "Are you okay?"
Oliver rubbed his chest where the seatbelt had hit but nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"I think I'm a little car sick," Donna said, leaning her head back.
"I think we lost them." Felicity glanced at the rearview mirror and noticed that her comment hadn't done much to calm the two people on the run with her. Digging her brain for something light to say, she turned to her boyfriend. "Aren't you glad your Mustang's safe at SI?" Oliver's only answer was a nod and Felicity's mouth kept moving, "I must say, I like the Mini. It handles well. Turns out size…." She bit her lip, willing herself to stop talking, keeping in all her words and the proof that she wasn't as cool as she needed the others to believe her to be. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel as she caught herself and her wandering thoughts. "We'll leave the car and walk the rest," she decided. "I'll park at the opera. The car will blend in there." She glanced into the rearview mirror. "Are we sure all tracking devices are gone?"
"I checked my clothes," Donna said. "I think I'm good."
"I'm…." Patting down the cloth of his suit, Oliver's hands moved carefully. "I think I'm good. He didn't touch me."
The huge white building with the decadent pillars and show-off-y stucco appeared on their right. Felicity steered the red Mini onto the adjoining parking lot and chose a spot between two other cars. The Mini was pretty roughed up, dented front and back, scratched all over. All of that was suspicious and noticeable—as if the car being bright red wasn't flashy enough. They had to get away from here, quick.
"Come on," Felicity urged and started walking across the parking lot. "The first rule of being on the run is: don't run." She motioned for the others to follow her lead, walking quickly, but not too hurriedly. "There are cameras in front of the opera. Look at me, I'm telling you something important. You're interested in what I'm saying. We're just three normal people walking, talking, and not looking at the security camera in the process. Good. You're doing really good."
"Felicity," Donna stated, dead-serious. "I know we're in danger and that's bad. But this is really exciting." A huge grin split her face and made her look slightly crazy, given the circumstances.
"Glad you're enjoying yourself, Mom." Felicity reached for Oliver's hand, needing the contact. "We'll go right and cross the street. Don't hurry. Check the traffic."
Oliver cradled her hand in his; it was cold and clammy. Felicity gave it a slight squeeze, trying to send him silent reassurance while scanning her surroundings. Her mouth moved on its own, giving her mother and her boyfriend instructions as if it were casual conversation. Nobody seemed to be following them. Nobody seemed to pay overly close attention to them. Felicity knew where every security camera was—and she knew their blind spots, because this was her escape route, this was the way to her safe house and she had trained for a quick getaway. Of course, she had always been alone then. She had never considered a worse case than her worst case scenario.
Pushing those thoughts back, Felicity kept moving, directing the others, observing her surroundings. She had to ignore the knowledge that Sara was making her way here, too, because it brought nothing but worry. Sara didn't know the safest way to the clock tower. Maybe she hadn't found all the tracking devices. Maybe all their escape was doing was cramming them into one tiny place for Slade to target at once. Felicity wished she had a better plan, but she didn't. She had nothing but the obligation to make sure the people she loved didn't pay for her sins.
The old church, abandoned when some rich guy paid for a bigger, better one to be built in Starling's most prestigious neighborhood, came into view. "We cross the street here and go into that alley over there," she told the others, who had fallen quiet. Felicity led them to a timber fence and went to a specific board, unremarkable next to all the other boards. Reaching for its bottom, she lifted. The adjoining boards lifted as well, creating an entrance. "Move," she ordered. Her mother climbed in first, a little awkward in her pencil skirt and stilettos. Oliver followed. Looking around one last time, Felicity made sure nobody was paying attention. The wood didn't make the slightest sound when she re-placed the boards behind herself.
"Does Sara know about that entrance?" Donna whispered as she walked next to Felicity toward the door that looked like it was thoroughly boarded up.
"She'll figure something out," her daughter assured her.
"I'm just asking because I don't think Quentin can climb that fence. I love him, but he isn't the fittest. The doctor said his blood pressure was a little high and his heart—"
Felicity slid the panel in front of the entrance to the side. "Mom, Quentin's fine. Sara's looking after him…. And Nyssa. I don't know her, but she's an A.R.G.U.S. agent—and apparently good with knives. He has two very capable people looking after him. They're gonna make sure he gets here. Safe. I'm absolutely sure of that."
Donna nodded, accepting the words without seeming much calmed by them.
Her daughter couldn't blame her, but she didn't have any more comfort to offer. Felicity kept her voice soft, trying to show her mother that she shared her worries and felt sympathetic, but couldn't act on them. "Maybe they're here already." She motioned for the others to get in. "Watch your step. There isn't a light. Take the stairs to the top."
Felicity waited until first Oliver, then her mother reached the steps. She slid the board back into position. Darkness surrounded her. Using the wall, she made her way to the stairs. The sounds of three people—two of them wearing heels—heading up old wooden stairs plus Donna's increasingly heavy breathing were the only sounds. Felicity noticed that Oliver's fitness had really improved, his breathing didn't become labored until they were nearly to the top.
Once there, Felicity slammed the hatch shut, sliding a swiveling hook into place, locking the entrance. She turned to look at her mother and her boyfriend, standing next to each other, watching her. Nobody else was in the room.
"They're not here yet," Donna observed, unnecessarily.
"They will be," Felicity answered, not daring to consider any other possibility. She took a deep breath and repeated, not knowing whom she wanted to convince more, her mother or herself. "They will be."
They had to be.
