Guys, we're getting closer to the end. It's about time, don't you agree? I'm excited so many of you are still with me. Thank you so, so much! I hope you'll enjoy the extended Smoak-Lance bonding by battle. ;)

Albiona, the force is strong with you. Thank you for being on my side [where it's light, of course].

*Hugs* and happy reading!


Hold on to me tight

Rumor had it that waiting for a battle was worse than the battle itself.

To Oliver, of course, that had always been hearsay, but it had made a lot of sense. The nerves building, the tension rising, too much time to think too much—Oliver could imagine the strain of all that.

Turns out, it was worse than Oliver had imagined.

They had finalized their plan and their preparations an hour ago. Quentin had left and come back, and since then Oliver had been reduced to staring at his laptop, watching a never-changing image. There was nothing he could do but wait for the green light.

Even though the laptop was on the cushion next to him, not in his direct line of view, Oliver's eyes wandered back to the screen time and time again. He knew it was futile. A loud alarm—impossible to miss—would sound if anything changed. But, still, he couldn't stop checking every few seconds… in case. It was his only outlet for his nerves.

Felicity's hand falling to his knee gave Oliver pause. Though he hadn't noticed, his leg had been wiggling apparently another outlet for his nerves. Felicity's touch made him aware; it also calmed him. She sat next to him on the couch, appearing much more relaxed than he knew she was. Her hand closed around his knee gently, sending him silent comfort without looking away from Nyssa. The black-haired woman sitting on their right in a huge armchair appeared entirely serene as she told Felicity (and Oliver, but he wasn't really paying attention) about the Mirakuru experiments conducted by A.R.G.U.S.

Not a topic to improve the situation.

Felicity shifted her hand so that her index finger traced the outline of his kneecap. It was the smallest touch, but it came with such gentleness that Oliver zoomed in on it. Her touch was a great thing to focus on, a thing to keep him calm in this underground bunker—unlike that gaping hole leading down to the sewer right in front of him. The opened hatch and the blackness waiting beneath it triggered thoughts that could shatter the fragile aplomb Oliver was clinging to. It made him inwardly recite their plan and contemplate the many things that could go wrong—and there were lots of possibilities for disaster. Like—

A shrill ringing came from his left. Somebody had triggered the proximity alarm he had whipped together. Somebody was in the building above.

"Showtime," Sara got up from her seat by the dinner table, ushering Donna and Quentin to get up, too. "Let's move, people."

His heart beating heavily, Oliver still sat on the couch while everybody else had snapped into action—everybody but him. He reached for the laptop to check the screen before getting up, too.

Nyssa was already climbing down into the sewer, her upper half quickly disappearing from view. Felicity stood next to the hatch to their escape route and reached for her mother's hand, directing her to follow Nyssa. "Watch your step," she requested. Oliver saw her give Donna's hand a quick squeeze and could imagine everything that small gesture transmitted. Steadied by Felicity, the CEO of Smoak International put her foot on the first metal rod. (The other women had made her wear jeans and bulky black boots, stressing intently that she really didn't want to walk through sewers in high heels.)

Quentin was next. Felicity sent him a nod and placed her attention on Oliver. "How many?" she asked.

"I'm counting ten."

Felicity looked at him for a few intense seconds. Love shone in her eyes, giving him a silent promise he accepted with a soft smile. Determination flashed in her gaze and she broke eye contact to ready her bow, stating, "Sara, you're next."

"No," Sara positioned herself next to her stepsister, gun aimed at the fireplace, and ordered, "Oliver, get down there now."

Oliver hesitated only for the barest moment. The longing for a proper goodbye didn't let him react instantly. There were ten guys coming for them and there was so much that could go wrong from here on out. He wished he could leave with his lips tingling with the memory of Felicity's kiss.

The thought vanished as quickly as it appeared, chased away by the image of Felicity and Sara standing next to each other, postures perfect, battle ready, aiming at the elevator doors, humming as the car lowered toward them. Seeing them so calm and in charge reassured Oliver's belief that there wasn't any need to say goodbye. He would share kisses with Felicity in the future.

The elevator doors opened just as Oliver moved to the hole in the ground. Gunshots sounded, drowning out the resonating of the bowstring, mixing with grunts of pain. Reflexively ducking his head, Oliver nearly missed the first step but caught himself. He held the laptop in one hand, cradling it to his chest, which made climbing down the ladder awkward. He wasn't as quick as he would have liked. The shooting increased. Flickering in the lit hole above him told him of movement close to the hatch, maybe hand-to-hand combat. Oliver made himself focus on the stupid ladder so he wouldn't fall, hurt himself, and turn into a liability.

"Move!" Felicity's shout rang down the tube just as Oliver reached the bottom, leaving him to wonder who she was talking to, Sara or the four people in the black hole.

"Follow me," Nyssa ordered and—anticipating the thoughts of the mother, the father, and the boyfriend—added, "They will catch up with us."

The water splashed as they hurried through the sewer as quickly as they could while making sure not to slip, trip, or fall. Donna and Quentin had flashlights. Nyssa held a gun and Oliver his laptop. In tense silence disturbed only by the echoes of the battle reverberating through the tube and the sloshing from their own footsteps, they walked in the imposing darkness cut by the two cones of white light.

"Go right," Nyssa instructed, directing the spouses with the flashlights to lead the way. Only a few meters away, the barest illumination shone in the dark. It was their exit.

"Up," Nyssa ordered and positioned herself with her back to another set of metal rods protruding from a wall. She gave them cover, aiming into the darkness. "Mr. Lance," Nyssa said the name in a way that was both an order and a request, indicating that she wanted her girlfriend's father to head up the ladder first.

Quentin reacted instantly, putting the flashlight in the waistband of his pants.

"Nyssa," said Donna as her husband ascended, "I really think, after all we've been through, it's fine to call him Quentin."

Donna Smoak-Lance's statement didn't even surprise Oliver. Saying that sentence in this situation was very much Donna. Just like her daughter, she always held on to the core of what made her unique. A certain… Donna-ness that not even the pitch black sewer could dim. The corners of Oliver's mouth ticked upward at the thought, even though his heart was drumming in his chest and he was a little winded from their fast, difficult walk away from the battle his girlfriend and his friend were fighting.

"Yes," Quentin huffed in that mocking seriousness of his, never stopping his upward climb, "it is fine. But this is not the best moment to discuss it."

His wife's retort died on her lips when Nyssa spoke up, saying, "Donna, you're next."

Donna's eyes flickered to the side, down the tunnel in the direction of her daughter and stepdaughter. But the objection Oliver expected never came. Instead, she stepped to the ladder.

Oliver knew that leaving the sewers, climbing up there without Felicity and Sara, was hard for the mother. He, too, felt like he was leaving them behind, but he knew he wasn't—that they weren't. Neither of them was any use in a physical fight, and them getting out of the sewers as quickly as possible was the most helpful thing they could do. Donna had promised Felicity to do as she was told tonight. ("Tonight you have to follow our orders. Just tonight, Mom.") Keeping that promise, Donna's hands closed around the metal rod by her head.

Knowing that Nyssa wanted the two unarmed people sandwiched between her and Quentin, Oliver moved into position. His heartbeat rang loudly in his own ears, increased by a mixture of adrenaline and aggravation. It took over his whole conscious and, when Nyssa tensed by his side, he needed a moment to hear the splashing of water. Somebody was heading toward them. Please, let it be Felicity and Sara, he thought in what was half plea and half prayer.

Everything inside him longed to wait and see who was coming, but he fought the urge down. Spurred on by Nyssa's pressed out "Oliver," he followed Donna upward.

"It's us. Don't worry."

Felicity's assurance made Oliver falter, stop and look down to where his girlfriend and her stepsister headed toward Nyssa. Relief swooshed through him; the first part of their plan could be successfully checked off. Even though he knew it that was probably the easiest part, it felt like a good start. It felt like at least something.

"Keep moving," Sara ordered in her strictest tone, and Oliver hurried to do as she said.

An alley waited for him. The tiny passage between brick buildings was dirty and quiet, only disturbed by the sound of traffic from their right. Oliver couldn't see the street or the cars driving past because the view was blocked by a huge dumpster, strategically placed in front of this exit that, according to every available blueprint, shouldn't exist. The distant fluorescent light of the streetlamps barely disturbed the darkness in the alley.

Donna's worried eyes greeted him as he pushed himself out of the hole in the ground. "They caught up," he assured her. Donna exhaled loudly.

Stepping to the side, he offered his hand to help whoever climbed up next. It was Felicity. Their eyes met as she placed her hand in his. She didn't need his steadying, her movements were assured and elegant as always. Their touch was mainly reassuring, wordlessly transporting all the things neither of them could say right now.

For the first time, Oliver grasped what it meant to go into the field, to be in the middle of a fight and not on its outskirts. A special mindset and focus were needed for this. The resulting single-mindedness was the purest form of concentration and maybe the difference between life and death.

Keep your head in the game. John Diggle, Oliver's war-experienced best friend, used that term a lot while playing CoD. It gained new meaning, new heaviness in that abandoned alley. A quick squeeze of their joined hands was all Oliver and Felicity could grant themselves.

Felicity sent her mother a quick glance before pulling her hood up. Felicity hiding her face from him like this was unfamiliar to Oliver, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Sara was already leading the way with quick steps toward the black van parked nearby.

In the next ten minutes, Oliver discovered that riding in the back of a van without seats, seatbelts, or anything to hold on to was a horrible way to travel. He also found out that a break during a mission, a moment to think and realize what was happening and what was supposed to happen, was worse than the waiting beforehand. The reality of the situation crashed in on Oliver, driven home by being bumped around the van.

Gathered around the dinner table in Nyssa's hideout, all of this had felt different, less real, easier, less messy, and more heroic.

With every (literal) bump in the road, nerves grew within Oliver, but it didn't shake his resolve. He wanted to be here and do this, he wanted to play his part in their plan. He'd stick to the course of action they had all agreed on, fully convinced everybody else would, too.

His need to see this through made him push down the longing to touch Felicity, to seek eye-contact despite her hood. (She was using it like a shield to hide from the others. Maybe that was her way of keeping up her resolve.) Oliver knew that, if she grasped how nervous he really was, she'd jump on the opportunity to bring him someplace safe and take him out of the plan. She loathed that he was part of it, that her mother was, and loathed the decision she'd have to make.

That last thought tightened Oliver's drumming chest. With everything that had happened and led to Slade Wilson coming for revenge, that decision might be the burden to break Felicity's determination. He was sure of it. Actually, Felicity hiding her face the way she did took the uncertainty out of the sentence, turned all the possibilities into definites. She was dreading the next events as much as he was, dreading having to choose. Oliver dreaded not being her choice.

Strangely, that steeled his own resolve. He made himself ignore the agitation and focus on his laptop, using the time to check on the programs running. It was futile; he was being bumped around too much. He managed to hand his computer off to Donna in the passenger seat, asking her to tell him the status of the searches and surveillance.

Listening closely, Oliver held on to the back of Donna's seat as Sara steered the van around a corner with screeching tires. Translating the data and summing its meaning up for the others, he said, "Everything seems to be going as planned."

"Good," Sara stated and stressed her words by hitting the breaks heavily. "We're here." She turned around and urged with serious eyes, also sparing Donna a drilling glance, "Stick to the plan! Do as we agreed and… we got this."

Since laying out the seventy percent of a plan she had, Sara had taken point. It was an unfamiliar dynamic, a shift of power within their Team Arrow that had always looked to Felicity to lead. Sara taking charge didn't feel wrong or off, though, just different.

Tonight, it was the right kind of difference.

Felicity had handed the reigns over without hesitation or debate—actually, the leadership change happened without one spoken word. It was her way of admitting that she wasn't in the right state of mind to lead tonight, that the plan to let the others make the decisions and to do as she was told was the best course of action. The reasons for that weren't only mental but physical, too. Felicity didn't wince, didn't complain, but Oliver knew that the bruises all over her body were aggravating her. She had asked for something against the pain—it must be bad if his deliberately sober girlfriend took something willingly.

"Cameras?" Sara asked.

Oliver held his hands out and took the laptop from Donna. Only a few commands were necessary. "Done."

Wordlessly, Felicity opened the back door, jumped out of the van, and hurried away from them, disappearing into the darkness, following their agreement to make sure the others wouldn't be seen with the hooded woman. Oliver snapped the lid of the laptop shut just as Sara ordered, "Let's move."

Across the street towered the thirty-nine stories of Smoak International's headquarters. The red logo shone far above in the night sky. The lobby was only dimly illuminated, showing that office hours were over. Donna Smoak-Lance strutted toward the skyscraper like she owned it (which she did), Quentin and Oliver right behind her. The detective gave him a reassuring nod. Oliver appreciated the gesture. Now that Felicity wasn't close to them anymore, it was harder to hide his spiking nerves. His hands tightened around his laptop, needing something solid and familiar to hold on to, and he returned the nod, somewhat shakily.

Only then did he notice that neither Sara nor Nyssa were following. Donna and Quentin did, too. Stopping on the steps leading up the entrance, all three turned back nearly in sync and found the missing couple still by the van, close to each other, having what looked like a heated discussion.

"I thought they were professionals," Quentin quipped in his trademark annoyance. Standing in the middle of the street (by a suspicious-looking black van, no less), arguing, had to draw attention.

Oliver envied his coolness. The detective made it seem so easy. He had been handling all of this surprisingly well, appearing so normal, so natural. Oliver wished he could do that, but he had enough self-awareness to know he couldn't. He couldn't pretend like that. It was best if he kept his mouth shut—best not to say the wrong thing and give it all away.

"You two coming, or what?!" Donna called over.

Shouting definitely drew attention.

In a dramatic gesture of huffiness including a sassy hair-flip, Nyssa shot around and marched away from her girlfriend, away from the waiting group.

"Nyssa," Sara called after her, pleading, "don't do this."

"No!" A few meters separating them, Nyssa twisted to face her partner again. "I told you: allowing your father to contact SCPD was a mistake. Now look where it got you! Us! You burnt my safe house with your stupidity!"

"It's just a safe house!" Sara argued back.

"Girls," Donna tried to gain their attention. "You can argue inside."

"I'm not going in there," Nyssa objected, "it's the most obvious place we could go."

"It has security, only one access point. It's the best we have right now."

"Your best sucks!"

Sara blinked, obviously caught by surprise. She straightened up. "You don't have to go in there."

"I won't." With that snappy reply Nyssa shot back around and marched down the street.

Sara stared after her for one second before her eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips, further proving she was her father's daughter. Steps heavy, she stomped toward the others, who just stared at her. "Not one word," she warned, marching past them toward the glass door, taking the lead once more.

Oliver followed the other three people up the rest of the stairs where Sara was already holding the door open for Donna Smoak-Lance, wordlessly telling her to take it from here.

Donna did without hesitation; this was her domain. Her steps radiating confidence as she entered the dimly lit lobby. The heavy boots, jeans, and black hoodie gave her appearance a different air than usual. The lack of the distinctively clicking heels took some of the intensity out of her movements, made them appear less sharp—and it made the security guards sitting behind the counter recognize her a few seconds later than they normally would have.

They pulled their feet off the counter and jumped up, one of them hurrying to switch off the basketball game playing on a nearby TV. Caught, they straightened their uniforms, uneasy eyes darting from their CEO to the three people entering the lobby behind her. "Good evening," Donna greeted and the two men hurried to answer politely as Donna stepped to their desk.

The others walked right past without slowing, Sara leading the way. Oliver followed her, trying to appear casual, unable to shake the feeling that he wasn't doing a very good job. His hands were starting to get sweaty now that two people had separated from their group of six. He jammed his left hand into the pocket of his suit pants, his right continued to grip the laptop, hoping he looked relaxed despite the way his palms were sweating all over the metal casing. He just wasn't good at pretending, not like the others.

He was so focused on not being suspicious that none of what Donna said to the guards reached his ears. He just followed Sara through the lobby to the metal detector. For the first time since he had worked at SI, he heard the detector's beeping alarm sound through the huge hall. Luckily, tonight this building didn't feel like his workplace. Everything was so different and surreal that Oliver could perfectly separate that from his daily routine. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Donna Smoak-Lance talk more insistently to the guards, accompanying her words with a raised index finger, while a second beeping identified Quentin Lance's gun.

The men behind the counter in their blue uniforms nodded to everything their CEO told them. The apparent acceptance did nothing to settle Oliver. A buzzing in his ears, he walked toward the executive elevator. Its doors opened as they neared it, another sign of the guards' acceptance. (The elevator was only accessible by the swipe of a keycard or the press of the button from the front desk.) The Lances and Oliver entered the cabin, turned, and stood next to each other without saying a word while Quentin held a hand in front of the doors to keep them from closing. Tension surrounded them as they waited for Donna to follow. She joined them quickly.

"All good?" Sara asked her when the elevator started moving.

"I think so."

That wasn't a yes, but this was the part that wasn't definite. The security guards, their actions and reactions were the one variable they couldn't plan. Oliver wished he was cooler, less affected, but the buzzing in his ears had grown louder than the buzzing of the elevator. He longed to check his laptop again, make sure he had disabled only the cameras meant to be offline. There wasn't any logical reason why he shouldn't have (he had written the program, after all), but he found it more and more difficult to trust that logic. He took a deep breath. He needed to get it together. This was the worst moment to act irrationally (and doubting logic, doubting his own skills, most definitely was not rational).

Sara caught his attention. She'd been glancing at him and, when their eyes met, understanding shone in hers. But the compassion didn't diminish the determination and concentration edged into her features. There wasn't any doubt in her gaze, not one bit of unsureness directed at him. Seeing her so collected—and confident in him—calmed Oliver a little.

They arrived at the thirty-ninth floor. The opening doors revealed Felicity waiting for them, her hood up. Before Oliver could marvel at the fact that she was there already, she crooked her head. "Where's Nyssa?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Sara brushed past her stepsister. "And you don't need to stay hooded, Oliver disabled the security cameras."

One sharp tug and Felicity's face became visible, the frown and the questioning eyes in the midst of black paint. "What happened?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," Felicity followed Sara down the hall, past Gerry's empty desk into her mother's glass cube. "Then, let's talk about the fact that Nyssa was supposed to be here, so that we'd have three people guarding three people."

"We don't need one-on-one security." Stopping in front of Donna's desk, Sara gestured around the room. "Didn't you say this was the safest place we could find?"

"I said this is the safest place we can find in our current situation." Felicity corrected. "There's a difference."

"My girlfriend just took off and you're getting nitpicky." The near-shout made Felicity step right into Sara's personal space, glaring. "It's not my fault your girlfriend obviously doesn't care about what's happening here!"

"You don't—"

"ENOUGH!" Hands on her hips, Donna Smoak-Lance glowered at the two women. "This is not the time to act like teenagers! Get it together or I'll give you both a timeout!"

Oliver stood on the threshold of the office, trying not to shuffle his feet or clasp his laptop with both hands or look too directly at the scene in front of him. He knew that both Felicity Smoak and Sara Lance had tempers—but they had never aimed them at one another in his presence. He had never witnessed them arguing like that and, despite everything, it was uncomfortable. Apparently, it had happened from time to time pre-island. Earlier, during their brainstorming in Nyssa's hideout, Donna had called it their "annual argument over something minor and stupid." From what Felicity and Sara had told them, their first weeks reconnecting on the island had been defined by fighting as their situation, their fears, and their tempers had gotten the better of them. They had moved past it entirely during their last months on Lian Yu and never fallen back into that habit, despite their rocky reunion in Starling. But they obviously still knew how to tap into that anger when necessary. Not even Donna's words could make them stop glaring at each other.

"That's it," Donna decided. "Time out. Felicity," she pointed to the black leather couch to her left, "Take a seat. Sara," she motioned to the right, "conference room. Take five minutes. This isn't the right moment to fall apart, girls!"

The staring contest continued for a short but intense moment before both took a step backward and went to their respective proverbial corners.

Heavily, Felicity flopped down on the couch and the image shook Oliver out of his frozen state. He crossed the gap to the sitting area while Donna gestured to the private bathroom adjoining her office. "Excuse me for a second. I've had to pee since we escaped through the sewers."

Oliver put his laptop onto the small glass table in front of his girlfriend while sinking down on the black leather. He turned to her, sitting with her eyes closed, breathing deeply. Placing his arm onto the back of the couch, he managed to quasi-hug her. It was a connection without real touch, and Felicity angling her body toward him told him he had guessed her mindset correctly. Slowly, she tilted her head upwards to face him, meeting his eyes. "We'll get through this," she told him, determination that had been lacking last night and this morning adding steel to her voice.

"We will," he confirmed with a smile he knew was weak.

Her hand fell to his thigh. "It's too late to call it off," she said, a sad air around her, of course picking up on his shaken resolve. "You're stuck with me."

"There's nowhere else I want to be." The truth of his words turned his voice stronger. He might not be as cool as he wanted to be, knowing that danger was heading their way, but that didn't change the fact that he wanted this. He believed in this, believed in her.

The corners of her mouth tugged upward, her eyes softened, and she closed the tiny gap between them to kiss him. It was a connection full of softness and confidence, telling him everything she couldn't say at the moment. He brought his right hand up to cup her cheek, keeping it there when they ended the kiss. He gazed into her eyes for a second before pulling her into a hug, cradling her to his body, bringing his lips to her ear to whisper, "It has to be me, Felicity." His voice was quiet but filled with urgency. "I know we agreed you'd decide what was best once Slade shows up, but it has to be me. Promise me."

She stiffened in his arms, flexing her muscles in what he knew was a reflex. The tension stayed within her for a heartbeat and left her with a deep breath. Her hands on his back added pressure and, curling her fists into his shirt, she clung to him and whispered back, "I promise."

He tightened his arms around her for an intense squeeze, hearing the unspoken 'I love you' coming with her promise, feeling her trust in him, the thankfulness for his trust in her, and both of their resolves, their connection strengthening.

"Do you really think it's the right time for that?!" Sara's snap brought Oliver back to the here and now, reminding him that—oh, yeah—Sara was still acting out of control.

Felicity and Oliver let go of each other and got up.

"What else should we be doing?" Felicity challenged, heading toward her stepsister, who had only taken a few steps out of the conference room and into the CEO's office.

"We should get them all out of town," Sara suggested, just as Donna opened the bathroom door. "Or better, out of the country."

"I thought we agreed that it's best if we stay together and protect them."

"How do you want to do that?" Sara shot back. "You're still in bad shape from the last fight."

Oliver noticed Quentin, who stood a little behind his daughter, check his watch as inconspicuously as possible. Oliver didn't know what time it was, but he knew their not-at-all-unsuspicious race across town had brought them to Smoak International twenty-two minutes after armed men had stormed their hideout. How much time had passed since then? Five, ten minutes? It couldn't be longer than that, even though it felt like it.

"Yes, the last fight."

The deep voice, all gravel, made Oliver flinch. His eyes snapped past the detective to the conference room and landed on Slade Wilson.

The man had seemingly appeared out of thin air, and looked as intimidating as Felicity and Sara claimed he would. The man had radiated danger standing in Smoak Mansion, wearing a suit. He looked even more threatening now that he wore black armor emphasizing his muscles. The red and black mask hiding his features made him look truly terrifying. And the sword (katana, he corrected himself) in his hand made it even worse.

Oliver didn't know where Slade Wilson had come from, hadn't heard him approach. Donna and Quentin were as startled as he was. But their battle-hardened leaders weren't: Sara had already drawn her gun and Felicity was sending an arrow his way.

Slade Wilson sliced the arrow in half before it could connect and evaded Felicity's second arrow with a step to the side. It pierced the wall behind him instead.

"Kiddo, didn't you learn your lesson?" Wilson gestured at Sara, using the hand with the sword. "Listen to her. You can't beat me."

Sara squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit Slade's armor, denting it and making the man angry. He flipped the massive conference table to the side and ran toward them. Oliver could feel the ground shake with each step that madman took.

Felicity and Sara launched into action.

Felicity ran toward her mother, ordering her to "Hold on to me tight!" She practically crashed into Donna, whose arms went around her daughter as an arrow rooted into the ceiling. Using Felicity's momentum, both women burst through the window on the thirty-ninth floor, secured by a cable connected to the arrow. Sara and Quentin followed their example a moment later, Sara needing more time to pull a grappling hook gun from beneath her leather jacket.

The crashing of two floor-to-ceiling windows rang in Oliver's ears. A heavy wind entered through the two gaping holes, making his fancy black dress pants flutter around his legs. Laughter came from behind him. Slowly, he turned around. The man who wanted to destroy the spirit of the woman Oliver loved pointed the katana at him. His deep voice vibrated with pleasure and self-assuredness, "Now you know what it feels like not to be chosen by the one you love."

Oliver Queen was alone with Slade Wilson.


Felicity Smoak was a practiced window-crasher. Still, swinging hundreds of feet above ground while her mother clung to her sent a wave of slightly panicked adrenaline through her. The sudden dread only spiked for a second, though, before Felicity fell back into well-trained actions. She flexed her muscles, brought her feet forward, and burst through another huge pane of glass. Shards spraying everywhere, Felicity Smoak and Donna Smoak-Lance tumbled onto the tiles of the thirty-eighth floor. The impact knocked all the air out of Felicity, her mother on top of her. Felicity held on to her mother, cradling her mother's head with both hands to keep her down and shield her from the following downpour of glass as Quentin and Sara landed heavily on the floor next to them.

"Are you okay?" Felicity brushed her mother's hair back.

Donna's blonde locks were unfamiliarly messy, wild around her face. It fit the impression of untamed fierceness that swam in her eyes. She was riding a mixture of adrenaline, panic, and relief. Felicity had been high on that cocktail quite a few times and she knew that Donna's next words originated there.

"Why did you pick me? Oliver was much closer to you. We agreed that you'd do what was best in the situation."

Felicity didn't have time, patience, or the right state of mind for that discussion. Infusing finality into her tone, she stated, "I did."

She waited for her to move off her, staying quiet, because Felicity really didn't want to debate the promise she had given her boyfriend. The promise which left him alone and in danger one floor above them—a floor she had to go to… now.

Donna Smoak-Lance finally came to her senses and slid off her daughter, who pushed herself up. Getting to her feet reminded Felicity of yesterday's lost fight; the painkillers were starting to wear off. A steady ache gathered in her torso, spreading from her ribs and taking over from there. Ignoring the pain, she addressed the Lances still lying on the floor. "You good?"

"Peachy," was Quentin's reply. "Let's never do that again."

"Fine with me," Sara agreed and got up, offering her hand to her dad. Father and daughter looked at each other for a second. Felicity had a pretty good idea what topic their silent communication revolved around and knew that she had to face her mother, too.

One floor above them, a fight was waiting, a battle with a super-strong super-lunatic who wanted to destroy them psychologically through physical destruction. One floor above them, lethal danger was waiting—lethal danger the man Felicity loved was already facing. The last and most dangerous part of their plan was still ahead and she needed to acknowledge it in some way. She needed to find some form of closure with her mother—without actually saying goodbye. Addressing the possibility of defeat was the opposite of facing Slade Wilson collected and confident. But Felicity could let her mother know that she loved her and that she'd give it her all to win this fight and keep all of them unharmed.

Meeting her mother eyes, Felicity realized she didn't need to say anything.

Donna Smoak-Lance knew.

Calm had taken over the older woman. Gone was the wild look, replaced by understanding, the knowledge of everything her daughter wanted her to know before parting.

Felicity Smoak understood, too, reading her mother's gaze. She knew her mother had faith in her. Donna didn't like what her daughter had to do next, wished Felicity didn't have to do it, but she supported her decision and believed in her daughter's abilities. The intensity of Donna's eyes was a silent pep-talk.

Felicity straightened her back, squared her shoulders, tightened her grip on the bow, and turned to her stepsister.

Sara gave one sharp nod, gun ready. "Time to get Oliver out of there."

Leading the way, Felicity headed down the hall toward the elevator. Hand in hand, Donna and Quentin fell into step behind them. The detective had his gun ready, too. Felicity knew that he'd protect her mother if necessary.

Sara next to her, Felicity stopped by to the door to the staircase, facing the spouses once again.

"Stick to the plan," Sara demanded, earning another huff from her father, who pressed the button of the elevator.

"Will do," Donna promised, not breaking eye-contact with her daughter. "Go save your guy."

"Will do."

With a jerk of her head, Felicity pushed the door open and stepped into the stairway. Sara followed. Taking two stairs at a time, the women ran upward, their heavy stomping echoing through the cold staircase. A metal door secured the executive floor, but a perfectly aimed explosive arrow worked as well as the swipe of a keycard (which was at Smoak Mansion in Donna Smoak-Lance's purse).

Bow raised, Felicity entered first, Sara one step behind her with her gun up. They moved soundlessly down the hall and toward the CEO's office. Turning the corner, Felicity fought to keep her face from slipping. The sight greeting her was fuel for the worst kind of nightmare.

Oliver stood with his back pressed against Slade's chest, the edge of a blade against his throat.

Felicity's blood ran cold. Oliver might be slightly taller than Slade, but everybody knew Oliver was at Slade's mercy. The odds were against them. They would have to change them. Felicity gripped her bow tighter.

"Ahh," Slade greeted them with a smile. He had taken his mask off, probably to taunt them, to show off the eyepatch he wore because of Felicity. "I knew you'd come back. To make up for leaving him behind." He fixed upon Sara. "And you brought company."

Felicity cast a quick glance at Oliver, trying to send him reassurance. That one glance had to be enough in this situation, she had to keep her focus on Slade—to be ready to act, not to be distracted, to keep her cool. At the same time, there had to be that one glance, for both their sakes. Felicity could feel the fear coming off Oliver, his eyes drilling into her. Despite that, he kept quiet, alert for his window to strike. But he was terrified and so was Felicity. Her insides were turning, her body was aching, her heart was heavy, but she had to ignore it, bury it deep, not make any mistakes.

Slade kept his attention on Sara. "It's good that you're here, witnessing her lose the man she loves after your beloved already walked out on you." There was an unfamiliar mocking quality to his voice, but the things he said reassured Felicity in the oddest way.

"Nyssa has nothing to do with this," Sara retorted. "And neither does Oliver."

"He has everything to do with this!" Slade snapped, repeating what he had told Felicity last night. His grip on Oliver tightened visibly. "He's proving a pattern. Felicity always leaves her man behind."

A cold shiver raced through Felicity and the grin splitting Slade's face showed that he noticed. He faced Sara again. "You're alive because of that."

Sara's face twisted in genuine fury. "I'm so sick of you. I'm sick of playing your games." She hesitated and let the gun sink. "Actually, I'm done with jumping through hoops for you. I'm done!"

"Sara," Felicity warned, eyes flickering to her stepsister.

"You're surprised?" Slade tilted his head, addressing Felicity. "Did you honestly think she'd be dependable just because you're family now?!" He spat the word. "You're not family, you're still the bickering airheads you were back on Lian Yu."

"This isn't about family," Sara shot back. "It's about Felicity's shit always fucking things up!"

Slade studied Sara for a second before shaking his head. "Still overly melodramatic, I see. You don't matter anyway." He placed his sole attention on Felicity.

If there was one word that didn't describe Sara Lance, it was 'melodramatic'. Not anymore, not after everything that had happened in the previous years, after everything she had lived through. But hearing that word gave Felicity even more hope, because it had been fitting for the Sara of four years ago. Their enemy was underestimating Sara, and that was everything they had wanted. The plan was working.

"Slade," Felicity said, "my family—"

"What do you know about family? YOU TOOK MINE FROM ME." In his rage, his grip on the katana loosened, but it was still nearly digging into Oliver's throat. Moving now would most definitely end with spilled blood. They needed more, more slipping control.

"They were never your family!" Felicity shot back.

That was the wrong thing to say. Slade reached for Oliver's head, pulled it back, and bared more of the younger man's throat. The blade edged Oliver's Adam's apple. Her boyfriend closed his eyes, blocking out his surroundings in an action of helplessness that tore at Felicity.

"THEY WERE," Slade shouted. "Yao was like my son! He looked up to me until you came along. You corrupted him. I'm doing this for him!"

"You don't honestly think Yao would've wanted this?" Felicity was genuinely taken aback. "He would be appalled by what you're doing in his name."

"Don't act like you knew him better than me! He wants this, I know."

Felicity couldn't help but gasp in consternation. "This isn't about what Yao would've wanted! It's want you want. Don't turn this into anything else. This is all you."

"NO," Slade roared, and the hatred burning in his eye made Felicity falter. Seeing his twisting features, his grip tightening on Oliver, she feared that she had pushed too far and achieved the opposite of what she wanted. "This is right," Slade insisted. "It's righteous!"

"Why do you think Yao wants this?" Sara's calm voice brought the others' attention, including Oliver's, to her. Understanding flickered over her face and, sounding sure even though her next words ended in a question, "You see him, don't you?"

Startled, Felicity felt her breath hitch in her throat. "You see him?"

A pained expression crossed Slade's features. It was all Felicity needed. She let her bow sink, knowing that if this didn't work, nothing would. "Tell me, Slade. What does Yao look like in your madness? What does he tell you? How did your poisoned mind twist his memory?"

"Shut up," Slade demanded, nearly shouting.

Felicity saw his grip loosen and pressed on, "Because the Yao I remember had a good heart. He believed in forgiveness."

"Shut up!" Slade repeated.

"The Yao I was with knew what our nights together were about. Comfort. Distraction. Human contact that wasn't hurtful. You say I corrupted him? How? By giving him what he needed and taking it from him?"

"I said SHUT UP!" The furious yell ripped from Slade Wilson's lips, his temper flaring, his control finally slipping. "LIES!" he cried. "You're spreading LIES!" He pointed the katana at Felicity, who managed not let the excited flash shooting to her chest show on her face. "My son wasn't anything like that! He lov— AHH!"

Oliver Queen had rammed an injection arrow into Slade's skin in one swift movement, acting without hesitation, without question, using the first good opportunity to do what he was here to do.

The cry tearing from Slade was part shock, part anger. His hand snapped up to his neck.

Felicity felt a jolt of pride, immediately smothered by the adrenaline propelling her toward the two men.

Oliver ducked to the side, only barely escaping Slade's reach as the Australian yanked out the arrow and tried to grab Oliver's neck. Felicity slammed the sole of her foot against Slade's chest, forcing him back, making him stumble, and giving her boyfriend the chance to slip out of range.

A heavy thud came from Felicity's right and she knew the rescue squad had arrived. (If one person could be a squad.) Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nyssa reach Oliver and pull him out of the office, to safety.

Sara had moved already, stepping to Slade's right. Using his limited vision, she hit him once. He blocked her second punch, catching her fist and crushing it in his. A yell of agony escaped Sara, sending a chill through Felicity.

Knowing the cure wasn't working yet, Felicity kept her distance and aimed an arrow at him. He swiped away one, a second, and a third before the fourth, a rope arrow, managed to bind him. His arms stuck to his sides as the metal rope wrapped around his body—and burst as Slade flexed his muscles. Metal fibers flew everywhere, making Felicity duck and shield her face, but she felt one cut her chin.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME?" Slade had shed the last traces of sanity. His eyepatch had slipped, revealing part of the empty eyehole that lay behind. His remaining eye was wide and wild, darting from Felicity to Sara and back as if unable to focus. A delighted baring of teeth twisted his features. It turned even bigger when he concluded, "YOU CAN'T!" He reached for the couch, lifting it above his head. (Quentin was right, the guy really had a thing for throwing stuff.) In her mind, Felicity could already see the thing fly through the room toward the glass wall, destroying it in an explosion of shards, but the mental image never became reality. Instead, the couch fell from Slade's grip, a dull banging followed.

The cure had worked.

Felicity charged him, jumped, twisted herself around him, and used her weight to pull him to the ground. She rolled over her shoulder and back onto her feet.

A lot could be said about Slade Wilson, but he knew how to fight. He had always known, even pre-Mirakuru. He kicked and twisted his body, slamming Felicity's legs from under her and sending her to the ground. He jumped, lifting the katana above his head in a showy gesture to drive it through Felicity, but Sara was there before he could. She kicked his hands, giving her stepsister time to roll out of reach.

Since Sara's left hand was broken (shattered, most likely), she aimed a series of kicks at Slade, avoiding the blade he still hadn't let go of, and drove Slade back. He wobbled under the blows until he managed to redirect one of her kicks. Sara nearly lost her balance.

Back on her feet, Felicity took over, not giving Slade time to use his katana, forcing him to keep reacting. Slade Wilson might remember Felicity Smoak and Sara Lance as two bickering airheads who knew very little about fighting (and they had made sure he forgot anything else he might have seen while spying on them), but they had gotten their shit together on Lian Yu—and the bond connecting them had definitely strengthened over the last months.

Felicity and Sara were fighting together, as partners, forcing Slade to defend himself. At least one of them was always attacking, but they also acted at the same time. Precisely timed kicks from both of them sent Slade to the ground. He slid backward over the floor toward the gaping hole thirty-nine floors above the sidewalk. The momentum wasn't enough to send him out, though.

"It's over, Slade," Felicity declared. "Give up."

The huge man cowered on the ground, blood gushing from a broken nose.

"Fe," Sara said, holding the gun with her left hand, aiming at their enemy, "he'll never give up. We have to end this."

"I won't break my vow for him. Not for him. I won't."

Sara hesitated. She shifted her weight, her grip closing around her weapon. She gave the smallest nod and, with it, her agreement.

They weren't killers anymore. They wouldn't become killers again for Slade Wilson. They had found themselves. They couldn't lose that for this man. Their progress was important. But they would defend themselves against him, they would do what was necessary to protect themselves. There was a difference, a distinction between those two things that mattered to Felicity.

Watching Slade pick himself up from the floor, she lifted her bow and notched another arrow. "Slade," she said in a clear warning. "Don't make me do this."

"Make you do what?" he spat. "Do to me what you did to Yao?"

There wasn't any reasoning with Slade Wilson. There wasn't anything she could say or do to change a belief he had held onto for years. It was futile to try, a fool's crusade. Felicity spared herself any attempt to achieve the impossible, but she couldn't keep one thought from popping up: the man in front of her had never been entirely stable, but what had ultimately driven him to madness was the drug injected into his system. Slade Wilson was the perpetrator—but he also was a victim. Seeing him bloody and beaten made that fact impossible to ignore.

Still, her voice was steel and the aimed arrow steady as she ordered, "Stand down. We've got a nice prison cell waiting for you."

"HA! You want to lock me up? How do you plan to keep me in your cell?"

"How do you plan to get out of it without your Mirakuru strength?" Sara shot back.

That question gave Slade pause. He gawked at them. The grip on his katana tightened, his jaw clenched, his eye burned with hatred—until his gaze fixed a spot next to the two women. He seemed to stare into nothingness until he gave a short nod. "Yes. We'll be together."

Felicity took one second too long to make sense of what was happening. Her call for "Slade" not entirely past her lips, she watched the man who had first taught her to fight jump of the window.

Frozen, Felicity stared at the spot where Slade Wilson had disappeared, listening for... Felicity didn't know what. A shout maybe, an impact, screams. Nothing came. Instead, reality crashed in on her. She noticed the wind swooshing around them, the buzzing in her ears, the painful throbbing in her thigh and ribcage and face. She felt empty, but awfully relieved at the same time. She felt alive.

"He jumped," Sara whispered, stunned. "I never took him for a jumper." With quick steps she crossed to the hole in the glass and looked down. (Felicity's stomach turned just to see Sara look buse, you know, heights.) Sharing Sara's need to check, knowing that jumping out of windows didn't equal plummeting to one's death, she watched at her sister expectantly, waiting for Sara's confirmation that Slade was, indeed, dead.

A loaded glance told her so.

Felicity let the bow sink. "It's over," Felicity breathed. "We're still alive. Everybody's alive." She took a shaky breath. "Okay… everybody's alive but Slade." Sara walked back to her as more words tumbled out of Felicity's lips. "Your crazy plan worked. I can't believe it. He failed and everybody's safe." A hot wave rushed through Felicity, the weight of the last words hitting her, their truth. Felicity smiled brightly. "Everybody's safe."