My updating-schedule was awful lately, I know, but I really want to get back to weekly updates to bring this to a good end. The wonderful Albiona's helping me and I'm grateful she's still willing to work on this fic. 3

The biggest THANK YOU to all you wonderful people interested and invested my writing. Thanks to everybody who took the time to review! :)

Okay, enough said. I hope you enjoy this chapter 21. I know it's cliché, but I hope you understand why it just had to happen. ;) Love, Jules


I've made my decision

The only thing Felicity's and Nyssa's safe houses had in common was the safety part.

Where the clock tower was bare and minimalistic, Nyssa's was opulent, even downright luxurious. The outside of the building looked abandoned, close to collapsing, but below lay a stylish apartment, fully furnished, stocked, and equipped. To get there you had to use the secret elevator that appeared to be the fireplace. That weird mixture, part James Bond and part Harry Potter, secretly blew Oliver's mind because… she had a secret fireplace/elevator. Bless her! Seriously, Oliver wanted one.

Not that he'd told anybody. He actually hadn't said much. Nobody had, really.

An eerie silence had fallen over the Smoak-Lances and Oliver in the four hours since Sara and Nyssa had left. They had called the head of A.R.G.U.S., Amanda Waler, to set up a meeting. Oliver had re-routed the call, making it appear to have originated in Norway. Oliver had focused on his task, everybody else had done similarly, keeping themselves busy. Now Sara and Nyssa were gone—still doing things—but the others were reduced to waiting.

Quentin had turned on the TV. Some baseball game was playing, but nobody paid attention. Even Quentin Lance was looking through the TV, lost in his own head, sitting with both arms on the back of the couch, frozen into position.

Donna was cooking whatever she had found in the freezer and the supply cabinet. A delicious smell wavered from the kitchen to the living room that was all dark wood, blood red accents, and scented candles. At least one decorative candle holder stood on every flat surface, complete with a white candle, looking and smelling elegant (or decadent—Oliver couldn't decide).

One was placed right next to Oliver's laptop on the long table next to fireplace/elevator. The excited voice of the commentator came from the TV to Oliver's left. The sounds drew Oliver's attention, but what he saw on the screen didn't make any sense to him, especially since half of it was blocked by the back of Quentin's head.

As if pulled by an invisible force, Oliver's eyes wandered back to the door opposite him. Since Felicity had walked through it four hours ago, it had yet to open. She had asked him to give her "a moment to figure this out."

In Oliver's opinion, a moment didn't last four hours.

He couldn't define the time span of "a moment" precisely, but it was shorter than four hours. Four hours was half a workday. And a workday felt longer than two moments.

Frustration tore at Oliver. That closed door and Felicity's lack of reaction when he had softly knocked two hours ago left him feeling rejected, helpless, and just so very confused. Why did she keep her distance from him? She had never done that before. They had their bubble—and a lot was in there with them: her partying past and his various insecurities, her island and their shared fear to not be enough, sex (they had very much inserted sex into their bubble, thank God). There was room for her dead ex-boyfriend in there, Oliver was sure of that. If Felicity wanted, he could also bring his ex-girlfriend—even though Isabel really had no business being there. His life that had improved greatly as soon as Isabel was no longer in it.

Oliver longed to knock again—or, alternatively, kick the damn door in and force her to talk to him. (Yeah, Queen, because that'd go over well.) He wanted to be respectful of Felicity's needs, but he had his own needs—and he needed to be there for her when she was obviously dealing with a lot.

He wanted to be a supportive boyfriend, but he preferred supporting her by actually being in the same room as her.

"Glowering at the door won't make it open." Donna sank down on the chair next to him. "But I swear, I'm close to kicking that thing in. But I won't, of course. I'm wearing Louboutins."

Ripping his gaze away from the door, he placed them on the woman next to him. She looked pale and tired, her normally impeccable blonde hair a little ruffled. There was so much Oliver longed to say and so much he didn't want to say to her. Gathering all his small-talk skills, he gestured toward the kitchen. "It smells really nice."

"Cooking relaxes me," Donna confessed. "I need relaxing right now."

Oliver nodded and focused back on his laptop. He had spent the last few hours hacking into public security feeds to keep himself busy. But now his work was done, leaving him increasingly anxious.

"How are you?"

Donna's soft question made him look at her again. "I…." he started, but trailed off, only to settle for a "Fine."

"Okay, you are a bad liar," Donna huffed.

"I…." He pressed his lips together, annoyed. His girlfriend's mother was right: he wasn't fine. He was far from fine. "I wish she'd talk to me." The words burst from his lips. "I don't know where her head's at and that's freaking me out."

"I know." Donna sounded like she really did know. "I'm as freaked out as you are. When Felicity gets like that—it's bad. Last time she locked herself in her room, she only came out to board a yacht with Sara and her father."

"Oh," Oliver mocked. "Great."

"Back then she had just slept with Ray, her friend Helena's fiancé."

"I know." He didn't need to hear it. He didn't want to hear it. Everybody knew; it had been all over the gossip pages. Not even Oliver Queen, who had been at MIT at the time and very much not into gossip that wasn't about the Star Trek remake, had been able to escape it. "I don't care about that."

A smile brushed around the corners of Donna's mouth. It vanished when she continued as if Oliver hadn't spoken. "Back then Felicity felt ashamed and guilty, because she'd hurt people she cared about. And despite what the media wrote, she cared about Ray. Probably more than Helena ever did."

"Well, if she would open the damn door I could tell her that she's being an idiot!" The sentence ripped from his lips in an angry half-shout, the frustration and anger spilling over. He slammed his mouth shut again, pressing his lips together. He only opened them to say, quieter again, "I apologize."

"Don't," Quentin said, "you're right. She's being an idiot." Oliver hadn't noticed the detective had gotten off the couch and moved over to the table. Quentin Lance stood opposite him looking at his wife and the younger man. "But I've come to realize that being with a successful strong-willed woman means you have to let them figure things out on their own."

"What?!" Offended, Donna looked up at her husband. "I'm never like that!"

"Remember the negotiations with Palmer Tech? You locked yourself in your office for three days."

"That was…. I was strategizing!"

"I'm pretty sure that's what Felicity's doing," Quentin reasoned, a half-smile on his face. "She is your daughter, after all."

Donna huffed, not sounding angry exactly. More like caught. After a moment of hesitation, she turned to Oliver, "Did you know about… what they told us earlier?"

"No." Oliver leaned back in his plush red velvet chair. "She told me some things about her time with the Triad. I think that's eating her up most, because… she joined them willingly. We didn't talk much about the island."

"Can you imagine?" Her eyes traveled from Oliver to her husband. "Being forced to choose between two people, decide who gets to live? Living with what that man did?" She shook her head. "I keep picturing it."

Oliver didn't know what to say, because he, too, had pictured it and it had horrified him so much that he had banned himself from going there again.

"She saved my baby girl," Quentin's voice broke saying the last word. When Oliver looked up at him, he found that the detective's eyes were moist. "I know it's wrong to be thankful another person died, but I'm grateful I have my Sara back."

Getting up from her seat, Donna hugged her husband. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, holding her close. Feeling uncomfortable and needing to give them a moment of privacy, Oliver placed his attention back on his laptop. Finally, Donna let go, wiping tears away. "God, if we're this torn up, I can't even imagine what Felicity's thinking. That's it, I'm—"

The door opened behind her and Donna Smoak-Lance instantly fell quiet. All eyes turned to Felicity, not looking torn up at all, but perfectly collected. Determination shone from her eyes, her head held high. She looked battle-ready—an impression that was heightened by her Arrow suit. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, the only thing left before she pulled up her hood (or Shado's hood as Oliver had learned tonight) was to darken her eyes.

"Sara and Nyssa are on their way down," she informed them casually, as if she hadn't gone MIA for hours.

On cue the doors of the elevator opened, revealing the two women. They stepped into the room, Sara carrying a briefcase.

"You have it?" Felicity demanded to know.

"Yes," Sara placed the briefcase onto the dinner table and opened its lid. Vials full of blue liquid, secured in perfectly matching foam cutouts, emanated a strange glow.

"Wow, that's flashy." The sentence fell from Felicity's lips and it soothed something inside Oliver. It was such a Felicity thing to say.

"That's Waller for you. She always took cheap effects over old-fashioned clear."

"Did that woman give you any trouble?" Quentin, the protective father, asked.

"No. She wants Slade dealt with, too." Sara nearly rolled her eyes. "Can't have a super-human that's not under her thumb running around."

"And the cure works?" Felicity's eyes drilled into Sara. "Are we sure it works?"

"I've seen it," Nyssa stated, calmly. "It works."

"Okay." Sara looked around. "What plan did you come up with?"

"The plan," Felicity spoke up a little louder than necessary, "is that I'll go inject Slade while you two keep those three safe."

A gasp from Donna mixed with Quentin's angry "No!"

Sara simply raised an eyebrow at her friend. "That's a crappy plan."

Felicity ignored her and fixed upon Nyssa. "How long until the cure takes effect?"

"It needs to spread in the system. So, one minute, maybe two."

With a satisfied nod, Felicity took two vials out of the foam casing, placed them onto the table, and snapped the suitcase shut. "Backup," she told Sara, taking the suitcase off the table.

"I'm serious," Sara stressed, "that's a bad idea, taking on Slade on your own."

As if she hadn't spoken, Felicity turned to Oliver. "I'll need some injection arrows. Did you check the Factory for bugs and cameras?"

Oliver stared at her for a moment, annoyance flaring within him. The urge to grab her and shake some sense into her overwhelming, because she couldn't be serious. This wasn't like her, and part of him didn't recognize his girlfriend. He make himself answer, pressing his words through gritted teeth. "I did."

"And?"

"And I think Sara's right that your idea's stupid. You said you can't fight Slade."

"I said that before I knew about the cure." She waved her hand dismissively, "I'll be fine."

"No." Donna took a step toward her daughter, index finger raised. "We said we'd do this together. Whatever misguided guilt makes you feel like you have to do this obviously messes with your head. I won't let you do it."

"I'd like to see you try and stop me." The ice in Felicity's voice sent a chill through Oliver.

"We could." Sara stated calmly, gesturing to Nyssa and herself. The stepsisters glared at each other, until Sara sighed. "Believe me, Fe, I get it. I really, really do. You think if Slade kills you we're off the hook, but you know him. He's not here for your death."

"That's why he won't fight to kill. But I will. I'll be able to inject him."

"Felicity," Quentin spoke up in a voice filled with reason, "that's not—"

"It's the plan!" Felicity spoke over him. "It's the plan I made and it's what I'll do. You can help me or not," her eyes trailed over Oliver for the barest second. "Disable the bugs in the Factory or not. Either way, it won't change the fact that I've made my decision."

"It's a stupid-ass decision," Donna snapped. Felicity simply walked toward the elevator, pressing the button, while her mother was still talking to her. "I lost you before, Felicity, and I can't believe you'd just walk out on me again like this. When you promised me! You promised me to not shut me out again."

"I'm sorry you're disappointed," Felicity said, calmly. "I'm sorry I disappointed you. But I'd rather have you alive and mad at me than dead. All of you."

The elevator arrived and Felicity stepped into it, her back to the others. Oliver couldn't believe that the woman he loved was being so stupid. He couldn't believe that this might be the last moment he shared with her. He was so furious at her, at her being so self-righteous, so ignorant, and…. She made him so mad. And he felt utterly helpless, because he knew there was nothing he could do to change her mind. Because she obviously didn't care—

He couldn't finish the thought, it got stuck in his brain as Felicity dared to turn around. Their eyes met, and in hers he saw every answer to every question he'd ever had about her behavior. He should have known. Actually, he had known, but his own fear and fury had drowned the knowledge out.

She didn't care too little; she cared too much.

She had told him before: she'd never stand by again while other people got hurt. She'd never let anybody die without a fight. But he could also see that she would fight. She wanted to live, she wanted to come back. She wanted to come back to him.

"I'll disable the cameras and bugs in the Factory," he told her. "And I tracked down Slade's headquarters." The elevator doors started to close. "8 Rosmond Street. The penthouse."

A small smile ghosted over her face and when she spoke up, her voice was void of all its previous steel. "Thank you."

The doors closed and all he could do was… hope.


Felicity was in do-mode. She was ready to get things done and be done with it.

Action didn't require much thinking. She was following trained instincts, strategies. She was relying more on muscle memory than on actual higher brain functions. Her focus was solely on the upcoming fight, because if she dared to let even one stray thought wander to what she was about to do, she'd have to consciously recognize that she was being stupid and that everything the others had said to her was true.

But she was doing this for them.

She was being an idiot for them.

She could live with that.

Or not.

She could live with that, too: not living, for them.

Catching herself, reining in her thoughts, she tightened her grip on her bow. Enough. Just do it. Just like a Nike ad. She jumped off the roof and sent an arrow on its way. It rooted itself into the façade of the building, the jerk of safety went through Felicity's body, then she swung through the air and crashed through a window, shards flying everywhere.

Felicity was good at crashing through windows, at using the element of surprise that provided. Her feet had barely touched the ground, she hadn't even given herself time to take proper aiming position, when the first injection arrow was already speeding toward Slade.

He wiped it away with a wave of his hand.

The sword in his tight grip sliced through the carbon fiber of her green arrow, cutting it in half, splinters and pieces of the hard metal bursting and the blue liquid of the cure splashing anywhere. She shot another arrow at him, another, and one more. All three were stopped with a flick of Slade's wrist.

Felicity had failed to capitalize on the element of surprise—spectacularly.

Her sudden appearance didn't rattle Slade in the slightest. He had expected her. It was obvious. He was armed (with a katana) and he was in full protection gear—including a mask. If Felicity hadn't been in do-mode, the fact that Slade Wilson obviously sat around in full body armor would have amused her. But this wasn't funny. The mask reducing his face to sharp contours—one half red, the other black—brought back way too many horrible memories. Seeing it rattled Felicity in a way she hadn't expected but that Slade had definitely intended.

He stood by a desk. It was the only furniture in the huge room. "I knew you'd come," Slade rasped and even though Felicity couldn't see it, she could hear the smile in his voice.

She couldn't acknowledge it, couldn't react. Instead, she crossed the distance separating them. Long ranged attacks hadn't worked, she had to go in, inject him up close. She came at him and dodged Slade's first punch. In one swift movement, switching from avoiding to attacking, the sole of Felicity's foot connected with Slade's stomach. The kick came with all the power, all the strength she could muster, with all her frustrations and fears, forcing Slade backward.

He caught his balance with half a step back—and that was it. It was the barest movement, resembling an adult reacting to the shove of an aggravated child. He was humoring her and mocking her at the same time.

That was all she could give—and it did nothing to him.

A chuckle sounded from behind the black and red mask. His hand closed around her head and Felicity knew that if he closed his fist he'd crack her skull. His grip was tight, painful, but not enough to do actual damage. He simply pushed her backward, making her stumble and fall to the ground. He was playing with her, humiliating her, showing her exactly what he thought of her as an opponent.

"Kiddo, you're predictable," he said and spat the next word at her, "Pathetic."

Picking herself off the floor, Felicity stood tall, pushing her chin up. "I won't let you hurt innocent people."

"You won't let me?" He shook his head, the mask rattling on his face. "You don't have any say. It will happen on my terms! Mine." He reached back, took something off the desk, mumbled, "Yes, let's remind her." Suddenly, the lights in the room dimmed. A projector came to life, casting its picture against a bare white wall on Felicity's left. Her eyes were drawn to it. Even though she should focus on her enemy, she couldn't look away.

It was a home video. She watched Yao Fei laugh, hug his mother Shado, both speaking inaudible words. Felicity didn't know when it had been filmed, or where, but she knew that having to watch it was part of Slade's punishment.

He's big and bulky, Felicity's brain reasoned. He can't move freely in that show-y armor. Use that.

"That's enough," Felicity said, surprising herself with the strength in her voice.

"It's enough when I say it's enough!" Slade hollered and something within him snapped. He came for her.

She evaded him easily, stepping around him, reaching back for another injection arrow, and jumped at him, aiming for the unprotected spot on his neck where his skin was visible.

He swatted her hand away.

The arrow flew, crashing against the wall. He kicked his foot back at her, hitting her right thigh, making her stumble and fall to the floor. He reached for her and threw her against the wall, right at the laughing face of Yao Fei. The connection knocked all air out of Felicity and sent her teeth biting into her lip, drawing blood.

Slade was all brute force, but his way worked. He might not consider her a real threat, but he expected her to fight back, to come at him. He was on high alert and the fact that his face was hidden, that she couldn't see the expression on it and what his eyes were looking at, threw her.

She didn't stand a chance and if he kept her at arm's length, if his guard stayed up like that, she'd never be able to inject him. Defeat washed over her. Again, she struggled to her feet, her left side hurting, her right thigh throbbing, her lip bleeding.

"Just take me," she said, not bothering to wipe the blood. "Leave them alone and just… do whatever you want with me."

"I told you, kiddo, whoever was responsible for Yao's death would suffer. And you'll suffer. I'll teach you complete despair—and that doesn't equal death. I have no interest in killing you."

"I won't let you do this."

He laughed humorlessly. "What'cha gonna do? Keep coming at me with those darts?!" He stepped toward her with a wild swipe of his sword. Felicity jumped back, mostly avoiding the blade, but the edge still touched her, sliced through her suit, into her upper arm. The burning ran through her and made her twirl around. Ducking, avoiding the blade once more, she moved around him in one flowing movement. There, the naked patch of skin, right in front of her! She reached for another injection arrow, fisting it tightly, bringing her hand down to jam it into his neck. But Slade moved, shifted his weight sideways swinging his sword down. The edge of the weapon connected with her forehead, splitting her open, making her see stars. The blood gushed, clouding her vision. She blinked, but that only made it worse.

Slade chuckled once more. His hands grabbed her and picked her up, holding her over his head. She flew across the room, landing hard on the ground and sliding over the polished tiles.

Suddenly, a high-pitched bell sounded. Trying to orientate, wiping the blood out of her eyes, Felicity sat up and found that an elevator leading right into the penthouse had arrived and opened. Sara stood in it, aiming a gun at Slade. "Let her go, Slade!" she called.

"Please," Slade waved his hand, "take her. I was done with her anyway."

Felicity was unsteady on her feet, much more unsteady than she wanted to be. Not taking her eyes off Slade, she moved backward, toward the elevator, taking position next to Sara.

Slade stood in the empty room, his sword in his hand, his bulky frame emanating threat, his posture radiating self-assuredness. The home video was still projected against the wall. The tiles were freckled with Felicity's blood. Felicity couldn't remember ever feeling more defeated as she pressed the button for the ground floor.

"Enjoy the time you have left with your loved ones," Slade stated, addressing both women as the elevator's doors closed. "It's not much. You can't hide them. You can't beat me. You can't do anything but accept that you deserve what's coming to you."