Chapter: 5 - Repercussions
Word Count: 6298
Notes: I know I'm a day late, and I'm sorry. I had a terrible migraine yesterday and I didn't do anything but sleep, go to work, and sleep some more. We'll get back on Friday schedule next week. I also have a ton of reviews to answer, I know, so I'll try to get to all of those today after I get home from work.
You guys are awesome, and thanks for taking the time to read. If you feel so inclined to leave a comment, I appreciate it! :)
Leaning against the wall across from the Marshal's office, Oliver closes his eyes in an attempt to block out the yelling coming from inside. Both Diggle and most of the other pilots are at it, and he knows he'll likely be the next to receive an earful. Today might have been a disaster to them, but not to the veteran Jaeger pilot. Felicity and he made history forty minutes ago. Never before have two pilots with so little background together linked so completely and successfully. Hell, no two pilots, period, have ever been in alignment as high as they have today.
Felicity reaches for his arm, and, though it should surprise him, the action is completely familiar. It's an odd sensation, Ghosting after two years with only himself in his head. Though an unexpected side-effect of the Drift, Ghost-Drifting—or Ghosting—is one of his favorite things about being a pilot. He can feel her nervousness and concern at the back of his mind even now, even as faint as it is. He's never heard of anyone Ghosting after just one Drift, but, then again, the two of them have proven far from normal thus far.
She probably doesn't recognize the bleed between their minds because she's never experienced it, but when Felicity voices his thoughts aloud, Oliver knows she's feeling it, too. "I'm going to get my ass reamed today, aren't I?" she asks him, though she seems resigned to her fate.
The righteous anger that takes over is an unfamiliar sensation, though not unpleasant. "I won't let anyone yell at you," Oliver promises her. "This was my fault. You did fine, but I threw you out of alignment." It hits him again, harder than any violent metaphor he knows. "I nearly killed you today, Felicity."
Before she can argue—and he has no doubt she was about to argue—heels click along the floor, and a blonde in a yellow dress comes spiraling toward them. She wraps Felicity up in a huge hug. "I saw what happened, and they wouldn't let me see you until you were out of the armor-suit-thing and I just…" She hugs her again, and it makes Oliver feel like even more of a disaster. "I'm so glad you're all right."
Rolling her eyes over her mother's shoulder, Felicity insists, "I'm fine, Mom. I went out of alignment, and Oliver knew what he was doing." He scoffs at that description, and it puts him at the business end of a nasty glare. Slowly it turns to a soft smile. "It was just everyone else who was freaking out."
Donna pulls back, examining her daughter and her tired smile. "I'm glad you're okay, Felicity." She turns to Oliver, but her expression changes to alarm suddenly. "Oh my God! Your eye is bleeding! I think you should see the doctor, Oliver. That's—"
He holds his hands up to placate her. His own mother hadn't been so upset about the ocular hemorrhage spreading out at the bottom of his iris. "It's okay, Donna," he assures her. "I solo-piloted and I have a low neural tolerance. It's nothing serious." Before she can worry over him, he adds, "Felicity did well today—you should be proud of her."
The blonde frowns. "I heard that Felicity was the one who went… out of the thing first," she points out, confused. "And that you were the one who saved her. So thank you, Oliver, for saving my baby girl."
"It was my—" he starts.
Felicity doesn't let him finish. "Mom," she calls with a smile, "we have to talk to Marshal Diggle in a minute to determine what happens next." She points to the closed door in front of them. Thankfully, the yelling has quieted for a moment. "Why don't you go back to the mess hall, and I'll catch you when we're finished? I can show you J-Tech and let you meet some of my other friends. Okay?"
"Of course, baby!" she answers, with a glance toward the door. "I''ll see you in a little while, then." She shakes Oliver's hand again. "It was so nice meeting you, Oliver. You two moving that robot together… that was pretty neat." He laughs at her words and they say their goodbyes, both pilots watching her disappear down the hallway.
After she leaves, Felicity slides her hand down his arm to take his. Their fingers lock together, and there's something beautiful about her purple nail polish—she must have re-painted last night—against the back of his hand. "Going back in a Jaeger was traumatic for you," she answers, dismissing it as if she couldn't have died today. "I understand that now more than ever." Felicity laughs, and the sound startles him, causing him to tense. "We're a recipe for disaster, Oliver. You've had four Drift partnerships that have ended badly, and I've never Drifted before. Not to mention, we defy a decade's worth of proven Drift science." She waves her free hand. "This is like trying the first Drifts all over again. There was bound to be a screw-up somewhere."
Another laugh leaves her as she adds, "You know what our ability to Drift makes me think of?" Oliver does, of course, but he doesn't understand the connection. Instead of answering, he treats it like a rhetorical question. "Bumblebees," the blonde declares with a sunny smile. "It's a quote that goes something like 'Aerodynamically speaking, the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly. But the bumblebee doesn't know that, so it keeps flying anyway.'" Waving her free hand again, she adds, "Of course, physics explains why it can fly, but that's not important right now. It's a metaphor."
"Some things just defy explanation," Oliver finishes for her. Felicity's smile widens immediately and she nods several times. It may be her rubbing off on him already, but he understands where she's going with the declaration. "It doesn't make them impossible or unnatural, just outside of our current understanding." He grins before repeating her words from this morning: "The universe is a mysterious place."
She nods. "We shouldn't be able to Drift," she concludes, "but we are. So I say we keep Drifting anyway."
"Felicity…" Perhaps they haven't Ghosted long enough because Oliver still finds himself lacking the words to explain. It shouldn't be hard to say that she's one of the most important things in his world—and that losing her would be the last thing it took to completely destroy him. Somehow, it is. "There was a real danger in there." Again he sees her unconscious body in his arms, and the panic he felt when she wouldn't respond. "You should find a Drift-compatible partner and take over the Green Arrow. She'd be in good hands with you."
That familiar fire returns to her eyes again, and he prepares himself for the onslaught of words. Felicity's tongue is just as merciless and sharp as her attacks in the combat ring. "You can't be serious about this," she declares in a dark voice. He meets her eyes, trying to convey just how serious he is. "One bad run is enough to make you re-think this whole partner thing?" He opens his mouth to protest, but she jerks her hand from his to put her fingers over his lips. "I'm sorry I scared you. It's the last thing I wanted to do. But we are good together, Oliver." She waves her other hand wildly. "Even if I wanted to go with your ridiculous idea—and, for the record, I don't—do you think I could possibly Drift as well with anyone else as I just did with you?"
Oliver's eyes widen. Of course he's been thinking it all along, but she's brave enough to say it aloud. After four co-pilots, he's never felt as familiar or natural in the Drift with anyone as he did with Felicity. As much as he loves the idea of them piloting the Green Arrow together, it terrifies him. He's a liability now.
"In ten years of Drift experiments, over forty Jaegers worldwide, and over a hundred pilots, there has never been a partnership like the one we had today," she declares. "There has never been anything like the two of us before. Men and women who aren't related aren't supposed to be Drift-compatible. Pilots without a shared history aren't supposed to be Drift-compatible. No one has ever heard of an alignment of ninety-seven percent." She removes her hand from his mouth. "I'm not saying we'll be a singular event in the history of the universe, but there's no denying that this is special." She pokes his shoulder. "And we are not giving that up for a single mishap. If for no other reason, we owe it to that neural bridge to see this through."
Somehow Felicity's passion overwhelms him, leaking out from the edges of his mind and bleeding into his own thoughts. They can do this. He's a little broken and scarred, but she's… well, Felicity: so strong, vibrant, and hopeful. Part of him wonders what it must be like for her, to love a world and a life with so much intensity when it isn't always requited. "You're right," Oliver agrees, nodding once. "I'm just not sure the Marshal is going to see it that way."
Before she can answer, the yelling grows even more pronounced, and he can hear Lance saying, "…understand, John! There's no denying that Queen was one hell of a Ranger back in the day!" The backhanded compliment is unexpected. "And I know what it's like to want back in the field, but the kid is past his prime! And Felicity's a good kid, but she's not cut out to be a Ranger! This is what happens when you start pulling pilots out of J-Tech!" Oliver watches Felicity's face fall before hardening into an impassive mask, and never before has he wanted to punch something so badly. "I'm not going to work with those two—they're a liability in the field!"
The door cracks open slightly, enough for him to hear Sara say in a firm tone, "Ollie and Felicity are both good Rangers, Dad. At one point, they would have been good together, but they're at different points in their careers." Her voice hardens as she continues, "Ollie has been through a lot—more than anyone should have to face. God only knows what it must have felt like to lose his co-pilot and still be linked. He may not want to admit it, but it's time for him to hang up the Drivesuit. But Felicity's just getting started with her career. If they had met two years ago, they would have been unstoppable."
"There was nothing happening to that Jaeger!" Lance retorts. "If they can't hold it together for a trial run, what makes you think they'll be able to keep it together when they're battling a Kaiju?! Those two are are gonna get us all killed if you put them in the field. I will not work with those two, John—they're a nightmare waiting to happen! Queen should have been booted after he botched things with his second partner."
Oliver tenses at the words and their implications, deciding his shoes are more interesting. Things with Slade went to hell because of Oliver's short relationship with Shado, and it's one of those many things he wishes he could take back. But, as much as he hates what it did to Slade, part of that path lead him here to Felicity, and he can't be sorry about that.
While he gets lost in his thoughts, Felicity charges forward, rolling her shoulders. Before he can attempt to stop her (or at least slow her down somewhat), she pushes the door open. The only face Oliver can see is Lance's, and his expression is priceless. "Excuse me, Marshal," she starts, turning her attention to Digg, "but I thought we could at least be allowed to defend ourselves before you made any decisions." She turns, smiling sweetly at Lance in a way that manages to turn Oliver's blood cold. "I'd hate to think that a few vocal Rangers made your decisions for you."
Before anyone else can speak, she rounds on Lance, the older man paling a little. "While I appreciate your opinion as a former Marshal, Mr. Lance," the blonde allows, "your opinions happen to be based on facts that aren't true." She waves a hand out wildly. "What we did in there defies the laws of everything we know about the Drift! And, with respect, you and Hilton have been piloting a Jaeger for the better part of the last decade, and you two have maxed your alignment at ninety-one-nine. Oliver and I just pulled a ninety-seven-two on a first Drift." She crosses her arms. "I might have been"—she makes air quotes—"'pulled out of J-Tech,' but I think that makes me as much a Ranger as you."
Lance opens his mouth—probably to backtrack, based on his fondness for her—but Felicity doesn't let him. "And Oliver is a fantastic Ranger—he has the medals and accolades to prove it. What happened today is between us and the Marshal." She turns on the group of Rangers. "I'm sorry every one of you is more concerned about a single Jaeger than an entire swarm of Kaiju coming through the Rift, but I don't think that gives you the right to pass judgment about what happened out there today. Everyone in this room has made a drastic mistake in a Jaeger, and yet you're still piloting."
A hush falls over the room. Rochev is the first to leave, storming out. Nyssa follows her, as does Laurel. At least Sara has the decency of murmuring an apology—to both Felicity and Oliver—but Lance just grumbles and cuts them both dark looks.
Deciding it's probably safe, Oliver enters the Marshal's office, stopping to squeeze Felicity's wrist in a gesture of thanks. She returns it, and Diggle's eyes fly to the motion with an enigmatic look on his face. "I went out of alignment first," Oliver offers before Diggle can even begin speaking. "This was my fault—Felicity did everything she was supposed to." He sighs. "I… I saw what happened the last time I was in a Jaeger, and I threw us. You shouldn't punish her for this."
"I have no intention to," Diggle declares. Oliver's eyebrows rise. Turning to Felicity, he continues, "You did well for your first Drift, Miss Smoak." His eyes narrow ever so slightly. "Your sudden outburst notwithstanding." If he expects her to look repentant, he's sorely disappointed.
Digg turns back to Oliver. "But you, Mr. Queen…" Oliver's stomach plummets. He knows where this is going. "Your insubordination today saved Miss Smoak's life, but it does raise some issues about putting you in the field. In addition, your anxiety attack last week coupled with today's flashback tells me that a Jaeger is the last place you need to be." He sighs. "I've watched the Drift take a mental toll on a lot of pilots, and I think that your skills aren't worth the cost of your sanity."
"With respect, Marshal," Oliver interjects, "I disagree."
Diggle snorts. "I know you do, Oliver. You're a good Ranger, but you need to get your head on straight before you get back in a Jaeger again. I'm not saying your piloting days are over, but I think you need some time with a therapist before I clear you to pilot again. I won't lose any more Rangers than I have to, and sending you out there with a rookie like this would be suicide for both of you." He nods toward Felicity. "And while you might be willing to risk your life, are you really prepared to risk hers?"
It's an argument Oliver can't fight. If he goes into a spiral when faced with a Kaiju, it could put her in more danger than ever. Again, the brief moment of thinking she might be dead goes through his mind, and he knows that he could never forgive himself for doing it now.
"So that's it?" Felicity demands. Unlike him, she doesn't try to stand on ceremony when she lashes out at the Marshal. Somehow it makes her twice as intimidating, though Diggle doesn't flinch. "One amazing Drift with a bad ending, and you're giving up?" She steps forward. "John, we did the impossible out there today! Do you not realize what we could be capable of out there? But it didn't go according to plan, so now you're done. You're grounding us, just like that?"
"Not you," Digg corrects. He crosses his arms. "I held you back for so many years when all you wanted was to pilot. Today, you got your chance, and you showed me what a mistake it was to stop you. The Green Arrow is yours—you know it better than anyone. We will hold a combat trial and you'll be able to find a new Drift partner."
As happy as he is for her, Oliver still feels that overwhelming need to hit, throw, kick, or otherwise do violent things to inanimate objects. At this point, he's no longer sure if it's her anger fueling his own, or if the reverse is true. All he knows is that, if he waits much longer, the Marshal's mahogany desk might be forfeit, or he might break his hand against the steel walls of the bunker. "Permission to be dismissed, Marshal?"
Digg softens ever so slightly. "Oliver—"
"Permission to be dismissed, sir?" he asks again, this time gritting his teeth. The room is suddenly too small and standing in place does nothing for the furious energy. If he doesn't leave soon, there's no telling what he'll say or do. They already see him as unstable and wild, and throwing a few things won't help him get back into a Jaeger.
This time, Diggle seems to understand. "Permission granted, Ranger," he agrees with a nod.
He practically runs for the door, weaving his way through the hallways to the lower level and the abandoned rooms down there. It's a maze of rusty steel walls with peeling paint, even more so than the levels above. It's as though it's been forgotten by the Shatterdome's staff, but Oliver remembers. It used to be an important place to him.
The doors haven't even been outfitted with electronic locks like the upper level, and so he has to turn the wheel to unlock it. With trepidation, he opens the door and flips the switch. The lights flicker to life but then stay alight, and everything appears to be where he left it. Oliver breathes a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding as the targets on the back wall are illuminated. This feels like coming home.
Though part of him itches to go to the cabinet and start taking out his frustrations on the paper targets on the back wall, a larger part of him needs to release some energy fast. Though he knows he should wrap his knuckles, he makes a run at the punching back in one corner, hitting it as hard as he can. It swings violently, the chains holding it to the ceiling groaning in protest. A yell rips from his throat in sheer frustration as he hits the bag again—over and over.
He knew this would happen. Another punch hits the bag. This was why he didn't want back in a Jaeger: he's a disaster that takes down everything in his path. When he hits the bag this time, it leaves blood on the dingy, white burlap. He doesn't care. So many co-pilots have died by his side that a part of him—admittedly, the irrational part—thinks he's cursed or unlucky. This time the contact with the bag stings, but he doesn't let up. Nearly everyone he's ever cared for has died by his side—or in his head. His knuckles burn, but Oliver made his peace with pain long ago.
He almost killed her today.
This time he doesn't punctuate the thought with another swing, stopping to catch his breath and studying the grimy concrete floor beneath his feet. Sweat drips off his forehead and chin, and he can do nothing more than watch it hit the floor as his thoughts cut straight to the chase—as usual. This isn't about being benched from the one damn thing he's ever been good at, nor is it about the fact that he'd sell what little is left of his soul to fight a Kaiju again. This is about Felicity, about the fact that he knew this would happen and put his selfish desire above her life.
His father once said that Oliver knew how to pilot a Jaeger, but that he never really understood the camaraderie of the Drift. Before, he argued the fact, but now, he isn't so sure. His father died for him. He took everything from Slade but his life. Maseo died for Oliver's own pursuit of glory, and Tommy lost his life because of his partner's insubordination. Now, that volatile hope that makes him so dangerous nearly claimed Felicity, too.
With a nod to himself, Oliver decides that he is done watching people die for him.
Now armed with a sense of calm and a set of bloodied knuckles, he turns to one of the few locked cabinets in the room. Inside, he finds the array of bows and handmade arrows he left here two years ago, the ones he didn't bother to retrieve when he took his bag and walked out of the hospital ward. Today, more than ever, he's glad he left them; he can think of no better way to release the last of his pent-up frustration.
Knowing part of the irritation lingering in his calm is Felicity's doesn't seem to make it any easier to handle. He realized she was passionate, of course, but he never knew how much fury and irritation she let build within herself before she decided to release it. Whatever she's doing now—probably still arguing with Digg—makes him twitchy and he finds a new desire to hit the punching bag again.
Instead, he fills the quiver full of arrows and grabs the old yet familiar bow, moving to the white line with the 100 mark, drawing first to feel the familiar pull of muscles in his arm. Releasing the string, he reaches for an arrow, nocks it and fires within a few heartbeats. He can barely see the center of the target from one hundred yards, but it's definitely close to center. Oliver can't stop the smile that forms slowly on his lips; two years away, and it's like no time has passed at all.
In some ways, it's more comfortable than getting back in a Jaeger.
Time seems to stand still as he takes shots at the back wall. At first, he has to stay in motion to work off some of the fury, but then the archery seems to calm him with its repetitive nature. Eventually he stands in place, taking slow, methodical shots. Nock, draw, inhale, aim, release, exhale. It's an easy, natural set of motions, just like breathing. Draw, inhale. Release, exhale. After so many years, it's a mindless activity, one that allows him to act without thinking or trying. He just does it, and it makes little difference to him if he hits the target every time—even though he does.
He has no idea how long he's been there when he feels someone behind him, nor does he know how long she's been there. Felicity must be as content and at peace as he is, though, because she doesn't try to interrupt his routine. After using two quivers' worth of arrows on the targets, he stops, turning back to her with sweat trickling down his throat.
"I had no idea this place was down here," she admits, filling the silence. Her eyes flit around the space, taking in the room. "In fact, I'm not even sure how I knew to come here."
"We're Ghosting," is Oliver's explanation. It causes her eyebrows to knit together, so he explains more clearly, "It's what we call Ghost-Drifting."
"One of the side effects of Drifting," Felicity mutters, nodding as though she's speaking to herself. "A connection that lasts after the Drift, right?" She frowns at him. "I didn't see this memory when we were in the Drift. I guess we aren't fully linked yet—or Ghosting, for that matter." She waves a hand. "Although… we shouldn't be Ghosting at all, not after one Drift." With a laugh, she adds, "Not that we've ever followed the rules before." Her head tilts to the side. "It's weird that you can feel me—in your head, I mean. Not in any other way. I can't really feel you—mentally feel you. I hope that doesn't mean I'm not Ghosting and you are. My thoughts are always scrambled, and it would probably be distracting."
Placing the bow on one of the tables, Oliver walks up to her with a partial smile. "You just don't know how to recognize it yet," he assures her. "There's no such thing as a one-way street in the Drift, and I could feel you feeding off my anger in Digg's office." Standing in front of her, he suggests, "Close your eyes." She does, even if she does study him with a bemused expression first. "Quiet your mind and tell me what you feel."
"Cold," she answers, rubbing her arms. "Seriously, you could hang meat in here. Not that meat is a common commodity anymore. It's like a giant freezer or something." He chuckles, and she uses her hands to explain, "This part of the Shatterdome has been sealed off for the last two years. I'm surprised they even have electricity down here anymore. I guess they shut off the heat. That would make sense—"
When he catches her hands in the air, Felicity cuts off abruptly. Slowly, he returns her hands to her sides, perhaps lingering a moment too long in her touch. "It's a different kind of feel, Felicity," is Oliver's explanation. Cradling her head in his hands, he lets his thumbs graze her temples with a feather-light set of touches. "Tell me what you feel in here."
Closing his own eyes, Oliver concentrates on nothing but the feel of Felicity's hair under his fingertips, letting all else fade away. He's Drifted before and he's more susceptible to the Ghost-Drift now, so it doesn't take long before he can feel her growing impatience against the back of his mind. A flicker of amusement goes through him. "You've excelled at too many things, Felicity," he decides in a low voice, feeling her jolt of surprise and then familiar comfort at his voice. "Now that you can't feel the Ghost at the back of your mind, you're impatient."
She shakes her head, probably forgetting that his hands are still on her. "Maybe you're more familiar with the Drift and you're more susceptible to it," she suggests aloud, unknowingly snatching the thought from his mind. That sentence alone proves her one-way-street theory wrong. "I might just need a few more Drifts before I recognize what's going on in my head. I should—"
Though Felicity moves to leave, Oliver doesn't let her. "What did I tell you today?" he asks her in a quiet voice. Even without looking, he knows her eyes are on him and that her mouth is slightly parted. The quieter it is, the further his mind slides into hers. It's an interesting side-effect of the Drift; in some ways, the two pilots become one—even without a Drivesuit or a neural handshake. "The Drift is silence, remember? The Ghost is the same way. Try again."
This time the flare of irritation at the back of his mind is aimed at him, and he smiles anyway. He can feel Felicity square her shoulders, preparIng herself as if she's going into battle. It makes him laugh before pressing his forehead against hers. "It isn't a war, Felicity," he breathes with a laugh. She doesn't respond, but he can feel her irritation and impatience start to fade.
He can feel it the moment she latches onto his consciousness. Her reach is tentative and subtle, as if it could disappear at any moment. Despite the soft touch, it sends a spark into his mind that wasn't there before, a jolt of… something passing between them. "There you are," Felicity breathes out with a laugh, her voice just above a whisper. "No wonder I couldn't feel you—you're so quiet. I don't know how you can stand me—I must be so loud in your head."
And in my ears, too, he teases her, allowing their Ghost-Drift to speak for him. She slaps his shoulder in response, and he laughs. But I prefer it that way. It's nice having someone in my head again. When you lose the Drift, it's like losing a part of yourself.
Her thoughts rush into a chaotic jumble that would surprise Oliver if she could decipher them. The ability to transmit lines of clear thought is one that comes with time and experience—the only two things he has on her. "I can't imagine doing this with anyone else," she confesses in a whisper. "It's so deeply personal to have someone inside your head." He feels her wave a hand, unsurprised when it lands between his neck and his jaw.
She rubs circles into his jaw with her thumb, the action both foreign and familiar. The deeper the bond, the better you fight, he recites to Felicity. It's an old adage of the Drift, something they've both heard a thousand times. It's why they've insisted that siblings make the best pilots. Today, though, he adds something to it, one of the best kept secrets of the Ranger Corps: To let someone in and really connect, you have to trust them. That's why the Drift was so strong: the deeper the bond, the better you fight.
I guess that means we'd be unstoppable, she responds. The rest of her thoughts follow, even though the last thing she means to do is add them: But I guess we'll never find out. There's so much sorrow in that phrase, so much longing. It hits him twice as hard as it would have before, his longing mixing with hers as they mourn for something that will never be.
"I requested to go back to J-Tech," she declares, her voice loud in the otherwise quiet room. As if she can't say the words aloud, she adds, John wanted to throw me in the ring with another partner—anyone I wanted to Drift with. Though her right hand stays in place on his neck, her left brushes across his face, following the line of his cheekbone with the reverence of an artist sculpting clay. I told him the one I want just walked out the door. She snorts. And he had the audacity to tell me to think about it.
Don't throw away your career because of me, Felicity, Oliver answers. He only hopes she can feel how serious he is about this. They're finally starting to give you the attention you deserve. He can feel her obstinance building, can tell by the tone of her mind that she's going to argue. You've worked so hard to get to the point. And, God, has she; he watched Felicity's struggles, just as clearly as she watched his. I want you to at least consider going back.
She pulls back and opens her eyes, and Oliver can feel that complete yet fragile link between them shatter. Because he doesn't have the luxury of knowing her innermost thoughts any longer, it surprises him when her lips brush against his forehead. "I hate it when you're reasonable," she declares, breaking what little remained of their link. He doesn't know what to say to her now; words always fail him. How can he carry on a mundane conversation with someone who knows every part of him? Their eyes lock, and for a moment, nothing at all is said.
After Drifting with someone, no words are needed.
Felicity leaves him to his contemplative mood, walking over to the table where he placed his bow. She pulls on the string a little, but with his draw weight, it doesn't go far. "So, archery?" she asks. Oliver nods, though there isn't any reason to. "No offense, but it's always seemed really ridiculous to me. I don't understand the point."
He walks up to her, taking the bow from her hands. "There isn't one," he assures her. "It helps me think, helps me relax."
"It looked like you're pretty good at it," she declares. Her eyes narrow as they focus on the locker, and she reaches in to pull out a few tennis balls in a plastic container. "I haven't seen any of these since my mom signed up for lessons with a tennis instructor." She rolls her eyes. "Not that my mom cared about tennis—she thought the instructor was hot." Holding them up, she tilts her head to the side. "Don't tell me you're a tennis guy."
Picking his bow up from the table, he nods to the container. "Throw one and find out," he suggests with a smirk. She does so, and, easy as breathing, he nocks an arrow and fires into the tennis ball. Felicity already has another one in hand, her eyes wide as she stares at the ball with the arrow in it. Unable to resist, he fires another arrow, this time into the tennis ball in her hand.
She jumps and drops it, but her mouth slowly turns into a smile in response to his own grin. "I can do that every time," he promises her, perhaps a little too cocky for his own good.
"Show-off," she accuses with a teasing smile. "But you are pretty impressive with that—even if you almost took my hand off." Her eyes drop to his own hands, and she frowns. When Oliver follows her gaze, he catches sight of his own bloodied knuckles for the first time. Because the skin is raw and they're starting to bruise, they probably look worse to her than they are.
Her eyes narrow as she takes in the punching bag in the corner, and for the moment, the best thing about being in her head is that he can anticipate the coming onslaught. Scrambling for anything to say to stop it, he somehow manages to get out, "I forgot to wrap my hands."
The look Felicity gives him is the kind that makes him think that, even if they weren't Ghosting, she'd still be able to see right through him. She tilts her head to the side as she sighs, crossing her arms. In the back of his mind, Oliver can feel her trying to calm her irritation, but the hint of amusement at the corners gives him hope that he won't be on the receiving end of her ire today.
They stare at each other for a moment, but finally she sighs and unfreezes, dropping the rest of the tennis balls on the table as she walks up to him. With slow motions, Felicity peels his fingers from the bow, placing it on the table as well. She pulls his hand into both of hers, running her thumbs along his bloodied knuckles. "I think I have a first-aid kit up in J-Tech for emergencies," she says with an air of defeat. "I know how you hate med teams—I can patch you up, if you want." She pokes Oliver's shoulder. "But just this once."
Her gaze flickers back to the bow on the table, and his eyes widen slightly as she picks it up, staring at it with studious eyes. Slowly she grips it in her hands as if she's preparing to use it, pulling back tentatively on the string. Her stance is all wrong and she seems to hesitate with it. Something about the sight gives him the image of a kitten discovering its claws for the first time.
"I always thought these things would seem more dangerous than they are," she muses aloud, and Oliver isn't sure if she's talking to him or herself. "That pistol Lance carries always seems so ominous, and the only reason I picked up the staff was because it was the only way to be a pilot."
Unable to resist, Oliver replies with a smile, "It's not dangerous when you hold it like that." As she shoots him a withering glance, he pulls her left arm out to full length, pulling the bow further away from her body. It makes her eyes focus on him instead of the bow, mouth parting slightly. He dismisses the observation by pushing her right elbow up higher, his left hand wrapping around Felicity's so that she grips it a fraction tighter before stepping back to admire his handiwork. "That's better."
Her face flushes slightly for reasons he doesn't understand, and her thoughts are a chaotic tangle of emotion that he can't decipher for clarification. She pulls the draw back a little again, this time testing the new stance. She even keeps her elbow up, Oliver can't help but notice. Finally she asks, "So am I dangerous now?"
He grins. "I don't think you ever needed a bow for that."
Playlist:
"Goodbye Agony" - Black Veil Brides
"The Show Must Go On" - Queen
"Dark Nights" - Dorothy
"Lost in Paradise" - Evanescence
"The Arena" - Lindsey Stirling
"Something Wild" - Lindsey Stirling feat. Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness
