Three
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
Frank Herbert, Dune[1]
The door of her office opens and closes and Laurel huffs - she knows its Felicity. Nobody else dares to come into her office without knocking; not even her boss. But then again, nobody else is Felicity Smoak: most things that for other people seem outlandish, make perfects sense if Felicity is the context.
The no-knocking policy though is less of a Felicity-quirk and more of a habit grown from affection. (Though it is just as true that, if Felicity has something important that she feels needs to be said, she will barrage through fucking walls too, if she has to.) Somehow, somewhere between Sara drowning in the North China Sea and Laurel realizing that she and her dad would have never been able to pull through even half as well as they had, if Felicity and Donna hadn't been there to break their fall, Felicity had become such a permanent fixture in Laurel's life, that being comfortable with each other enough to just walk into each-others office, or rooms, or general space, without warning became almost a comfort. It became their way of showing each other that they welcomed each other. Laurel still felt herself cringe with lingering shame, knowing that it had been her fault it hadn't always been that way, so it was pretty damn important to her that they were now so close that they could simply assume acceptance, because it was a given.
(Laurel would rather not count the times that knowing this had saved her from the brick to complete despair. Or the times Felicity had just shown up at her door with only ice-cream and wine, needing silent company, only seconds away from falling apart.)
There could be down sides, obviously. Usually both Felicity and Laurel had assistants informing people whether or not their bosses were busy, but there had been that one debacle with Alice gone from her desk and Felicity walking in to Laurel and Tommy making out like teenagers. Laurel had been intensely embarrassed – mostly because she had been a second away from jumping Tommy's bones all the while having forgotten to actually close the door! - and then intensely relieved that it was Felicity, and not one of her co-workers who had interrupted. Talk about the lesser evil. This opinion had only lived the length of a blink, though, because that was how long Felicity's surprise lasted. Then, the cheekiest grin Laurel had ever seen and had lit her up from the inside out and she'd snapped a picture with that stupid phone she always had glued to her hand!
Laurel still hadn't gotten her to delete that picture. Nor would she ever, probably…
So, when Felicity comes into her office in the middle of the day carrying food, Laurels isn't that surprised. They both know that with Tommy in Gotham for a week, the most Laurel would have for lunch would be a sandwich as she went over Mrs. Fernandez's the legal history.
Laurel glances at the name on the take-out boxes.
"Antonio's, huh? So this is a work thing, then. And here I thought you'd missed me."
"Yes, your sunny disposition is a sorely needed balm." Felicity deadpans, and it makes Laurel smile. They settle on the small table by the corner of her office as Felicity opens the cartoons. The smell of actual home-made past and carbonara sauce makes Laurel's stomach growl, and Felicity doesn't even have the decency to hide her cocky smirk.
"You and Tommy are spending way too much time together." Laurel says, pointing an accusing fork at her.
Felicity shrugs, her usual 'deal with it' reaction. She plants the salad in front of Laurel who groans even as she stabs the tiny tomatoes.
"What is it with you and having salad as a first course?" She mumbles around the mouthful, glad that she doesn't have to be her classy self at the moment; she's too tired for it anyway, her back is killing her, a nice reminded that she fell asleep on her desk for a couple of hours last night.
"It's healthier apparently. Or so Digg says."
Laurel rolls her eyes but can't bring herself to object much. She is too hungry and the salad is really working for her, even if she hasn't ever been the biggest fan of the squishy white cheese thing; mozarella something.
"How is Jon by the way?"
"He's alright. I think he's been getting closer to his ex-wife recently, but he's really tight lipped about it. Not that I blame him."
Laurel nods absentmindedly, more focused on the food than the talk.
"Still training with him then?" Laurel asks after a few more bites.
"Yup. Though not as often as Digg would like." Felicity huffs. "The man wants to kill me."
"He's right."
"Gee thanks." Felicity says dryly.
"You know what I mean.
"Yeah. But neither of us has time really. Where other people catch up over a cup of coffee on weekends, Digg and I arrange rough-and-tumble playdates. Ugh, I'm still sore from last week."
Felicity stills and then winces at her own words. She catches Laurel's knowing eyes as they dance with silent laughter and points the fork at her in warning.
'Not a word!'
Laurel flaunts an innocent look, but Felicity just rolls her eyes and goes back to her food. They eat and talk about their day and their jobs and the spa weekend they had planned, but all the time Laurel had the feeling Felicity is… stalling, perhaps? There is just something about her manner: she is a bit subdued, her eyes keep straying, as if she goes somewhere else for moments at a time. Had it been anyone else Laurel would have pushed, but if there is one thing she knows about Felicity, is that she doesn't ever hold out on you. You will get a piece of whatever was on her mind, but you will get it at her own time, not yours and pushing will probably just earn you a shove and nothing more.
In the end, it's only once they are done with the food that Felicity drops the real news.
"So… I found this in my office last night." Felicity says as she puts a thick folder on the table, in her 'I am very calm and I need you to be aware of it' voice. Laurel frowns, opens the thing gingerly, because there is a cut on the papers, as if the folder has been stabbed through with a tiny blade. She is only five pages in when her eyes widen in comprehension, a small 'oh my god…' escaping before she looks up, wide-eyed and a little panicky. In her head, Laurel is already building a defense for Felicity in case this goes sideways, thinking of all the favors she would have to call in.
"… You found this in your office?" Laurel repeats cautiously, looking Felicity in the eye. "I'm going to go ahead and assume that you have a very casual relationship with the retrieval of this data, 'cause, correct me if I'm wrong here, but there is no way that this kind of information can come from any other source other than Adam Hunt's personal computer… or that of his many layers."
"You're not wrong. And I have no relationship at all with the retrieval of that data." Felicity says flatly, knowing what Laurel is getting at.
Laurel relaxes back into her chair, only then realizing just how much she had freaked out there for a moment. Giving the assistant DA a file full of sensitive information is one thing, but if you hack that information illegally and pass it to the Assistant DA, who also happens to be your sister, things could get complicated for Laurel and Felicity both really fast. Laurel would get off with a warning for conflict of interests, but Felicity could get 10 years in a Federal prison!
"Ok. Explain." Laurel sighs. "And use more words this time." She adds more firmly and then returns to the perusing of that file because admittedly, now that the safety her immediate family is not on the line, Laurel can multitask.
"Well… when I say that I found it, I actually mean that it was nailed to my wall?" Felicity says hesitantly… and Laurel starts to understand why she had been stuffed with A-class food before they came to this part of the conversation.
"What?" she asks slowly.
"… With an arrow."
"What?!"
Laurel gaps for maybe a couple of seconds, and then sags against her chair, her mind a whirlwind.
"Oh, fuck…" the word is little more than a whisper, but Felicity hears it.
"My sentiments exactly." She says, though she sounds a lot more composed than Laurel is feeling.
Laure orders her brain to think.
"Ok. So… the Starling City Vigilante, a guy who has eight confirmed kills, got past Palmer Tech's security system, sneaked into your office and… wait, were you there?"
"No." Felicity says without hesitation.
"Ok, he sneaks into your office and leaves a file there with very sensitive and private information about one of Starling's dirtiest businessmen."
"Arrowed to the wall – let's not forget that little detail." Felicity points out again – and there is an edge there that speaks of a really bad freak-out Felicity has already worked through. "I mean, he could have made it less freaky by, I dunno, leaving an arrow on top of the folder on my desk; leaving a note, or… anything, really, rather than putting a hole in the wall with a sharp pointy objet. You know how I feel about those. And maybe he wants to help but seriously, the guy needs some serious PR lessons on how not to freak people out!"
"Felicity." Laurel calls gently.
Felicity takes a deep breath, releases it slowly. Laurel sees her lips move silently and knows she is counting backwards, reaching for composure like it's the threads of a rope.
3…2…1…
"Can you use that stuff, at least?" Felicity asks finally.
Laurel snorts. "I'll butterfly Adam Hunt like a shrimp with this – and it looks like he won't even be alone on the wall cause this stuff…" Laurel shakes herself, getting back on track. "Yeah ok that's not the point. The point is that out of roughly 25 million people in Starling City, the Hood, a probably psychotic serial killer - because calling him anything else is sugar-coating it, Felicity - chose to give this file to you." Laurel says and the full meaning of her own words settles a moment after she has said them, heavy and cold in her gut, unsettling her lunch. "This is… 'dangerous' doesn't even cover this!"
"I already reached that conclusion sometime around 2 a.m. last night." Felicity admits with a resigned smile. "But the guys he hunts down tend to turn up a bit more on the dead side, and not with leverage on corrupt businessmen on their hands. …I don't think he means me harm, Laurel."
"You don't know that! And you can't risk your life on a hunch about a man who has already killed 8 people and severely injured a dozen more! And let's not forget you are a prominent figure at Palmer Tech, which is one of the fastest rising companies in the last 50 years and the Hood doesn't really like those, if his record is anything to go by." Laurel snaps, reacting to fear and uncertainty with anger, because it as a kneejerk reaction that she still hadn't gotten under control. Then she takes a deep breath, and starts doing damage control. "I'm telling dad. You're going under protection, right now!"
She's already got hold of the phone and dialing, when she feels Felicity's hand on her own, gentle, steady. Laurel meets those storm-blue eyes and the sureness in them rattles her to the core – because, Laurel realizes with sharp trepidation, her little rant has not told Felicity anything new, has it? Of course not. Felicity is the kind of person that doesn't need to be told things: she's the kind of person that has already considered all the angles before a normal person gets halfway through them.
"Tell dad we're coming over tonight." Felicity says calmly. "Both of us. I'll tell him then, when he can see my face and know I'm fine."
It's not an order, it's a statement.
"Felicity…"
But Laurel's insistence only causes the spark of annoyance in Felicity's eyes.
"SCPD won't matter and you'll just scare him into overreacting." Felicity fixes her with a firm look. "You know what I'm talking about Laurel."
Laurel flinches and then throws Felicity a sharp glare. Of course she knows. They've both seen Quentin Lance almost spiral completely out of control over Sara. They know how he gets when it comes to their safety.
"Be that as it may, you still need protection!" Laurel persists, because Quentin Lance's issues with loss aside, that's still true.
"Jon Diggle is on the other side of that door – he is my protection for now."
"Felicity…"
"Laurel! The Hood got to men that could afford - and had actually hired - their own private armies for protection. SCPD has exactly zero chance of keeping me safe if the Hood wants me dead, you and I both know that. And our father and my mother deserve to be looking at me in the face when I tell them that I might be target for one of the most efficient killers in the history of Starling."
The ring stops and suddenly her father's voice is in Laurel's ear, gruff as ever.
"Better make it quick Laurel, I'm heading out." he grunts without preamble.
Laurel considers for only half a moment: she knows Felicity has an excellent survivalist instinct and her deduction skills are better than anyone's Laurel has ever met. Hell, the woman is a veritable genius. Laurel knows she can trust her… and in the end, it's that trust that wins over her own stubbornness.
"Hey dad. Just called to let you know that Felicity and I will be coming over for dinner tonight, so you better be there."
Her father chuckles warmly on the other side of the line and Laurel lets out a tired breath. She really hopes she's doing the right thing here. Felicity's hand squeezes her wrist, as if she heard exactly where her thoughts headed.
"I can hear you grumbling pops. Be there. Don't make us come get you." Felicity says from over the desk.
"Fine, fine. Slave drives. You're both gonna have to explain to my captain why I'm not filling in tonight."
"Tell him you have a life." Laurel says with a small smile. "And vengeful daughters."
"That'll help." her dad grunts.
"Tell him we're the cutest cupcakes ever." Felicity adds making her father bark a laugh.
Laurel rolls her eyes. "Speak for yourself."
Felicity winks at her, and it's almost a thank you.
"It might work if I promise some pro-bono services from either of you, next time the department needs it." her father says and Laurel can't help the small smile.
Felicity pumps a fist in the air. "Sold!" …and despite all the tension gathering between her shoulder blades, it still makes Laurel smile. Her dad chuckles in her ear – he heard it too. (it used to make Laurel jealous once, that Felicity was able to make her father laugh, but after Sara died, and Felicity was the only person that could coax Quentin Lance into anything even resembling a smile, Laurel learned to feel gratitude… and to love Felicity for it.)
"We'll see you tonight dad."
"See you tonight baby."
Laurel hangs up… and pins Felicity with a hard stare. Silence settles between them and she decides to lay it all out.
"He could be out there right now, stalking you." She says, leaning forward. "He could be planning to kidnap you, hurt you. I could wake up tomorrow and find out on the morning news that one of my closest friends has three arrows in her chest."
The thought turns laurel's blood to cold lead. She can't help but think of Sara, a shiver shaking her bones. And it's ironic that with those unapologetically blunt words Laurel wanted to shake Felicity into taking this as seriously as possibly, but all she manages is to make herself shudder. It's then that Laurel imagines Felicity in her polka-dots pajamas and bunny slippers, huddled on her couch, alone, and contemplating how a murderer may be out to get her… and every ounce of harshness drains out of Laurel fast, leaving behind only guilt and sharp worry.
She groans. "Why you? I keep wondering that. You've done nothing shady recently have you?"
"Nothing that would warrant me being on the kill list of a guy that hunts one-percent-ers, no." Felicity says as she leans back on the chair and starts spinning it around. Laurel takes the time to just... stare for a moment.
Her stepsister, her good friend for three years, is facing the possibility of being the Hood's target - she is facing it in Laurel's office, an unapologetically-red dress with strategically placed cut-outs and strappy heels (that Laurel is seriously going to borrow some time), looking both veritably hot… and somehow still managing to seem like a child playing with the rotating chair in her parents office.
"You know what I think Laurel?" Felicity contemplates as she eyes the ceiling, so deep in thought that her tone sounds almost absent-minded. "I think he knows me."
Laurel bites back a curse.
"…Or knows about me – which sounds a lot more possible. Except, the only thing I'm known for is running Applied Sciences at Palmer Tech – which is one of the few businesses that are actually helping this city. And as much as I despise the man, Adam Hunt is none of my business, nor is any of my business persecuting him, so handing me the file makes no sense… unless he knew I'd give it to you, which, let's face it, is not that much of a stretch. I mean you are my stepsister and Quentin freaking Lance is my stepfather. But it also implies that he either knows me, or has been stalking me recently… and I'm really not sure which one is scarier right now."
Felicity covered all the bases there, but there is only one point over which Laurel disagrees. Laurel had dealt with enough criminals to be able to extract a certain type from a series of patters, so when one looked the Hood over, it was pretty easy to see that randomness was not part of his profile. A guy who kills by shooting arrows through people's hearts and eyes, is not a guy that makes mistakes of precision. When he singled someone out like he had done with Felicity, there was always a purpose, and Laurel was convinced that it was not because of anyone Felicity was related. The connection was not between Felicity and her family… but rather between Felicity and the Hood himself. Whether real, or imagined in the head of a killer, Laurel did not know, but in the end it did not matter, so long as it was real to the Hood. To him, it was probably personal… and there were very few things more dangerous than ending up on the line of sight of someone so unbalanced.
Laurel voiced none of this to Felicity (no reason to go in depths with the scales of the danger she was in, no reason to spook her more) , but the moment Felicity gets out of her office, she grabs her phone and calls Tommy. He picks up at the second ring.
"Hey babe, whasup? I can't be long, I'm in a lunch meeting, so be quick, or I'm ditching and then you'll ha..."
"Tommy..."
There's a moment of silence, just a beat as Tommy absorbs the exact note of worry in Laurel's voice, the fear she is withholding.
"What's wrong."
Laurel closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She lets herself be reassured by the tone of his voice, deeper and more intent than his playfulness just a second before. She can imagine him frowning then, tense as a live wire and looking blankly at the space in front of him where her eyes would be if she were standing there.
"I'm ok." She says quickly. "But I think Felicity is in big trouble. No scratch that, I know she is."
"Tell me."
And she does. She tells him everything, knowing that he ditches that lunch meeting without a second thought and not even sorry that she makes him do it, because though Laurel has always been the one to push him into applying himself, this trumps everything else in her books.
By the time she is done, Tommy calmly tells her that he will be on the first flight out of Gotham.
Laurel sighs. "Tommy, I'm sorry for asking this…"
"Don't be. Felicity is my friend too; I want her safe as much as you do."
Laurel bites her lip. The 'I love you' stays trapped behind her teeth. She has been doing that more and more lately, and it's getting increasingly difficult to not just blurt it out.
"Thank you Tommy. I'll book you a flight right now, so..."
"Oh don't worry about that. I booked one about three seconds after you said my name."
Laurel closes her eyes and rests her head on the back of her chair, gripping the phone a bit tighter.
"Tommy…" And she doesn't even care anymore how breathy her voice comes out, how needy she might sound to him. Tommy has always been the one person she was willing to be weak for.
"Yeah?"
"I miss you."
Laurel can practically see that small smile that curves his lips, the warmth that fills his eyes, making them glint the way they used to before he disappeared for two years to the edges of the earth.
"…I miss you too."
oo
Tommy closes the door of the foundry behind him and then, instead of walking down the stairs he simply vaults over the rail, landing with a soft thud. The repetitive clang-ing sound of a bar hitting steel told him Oliver was on the salmon ladder.
"I go out of town for two days - two days!" he says, biting off each word. "Literally not even forty two hours - and this is what you do?!"
He can't see Oliver's face but he is sure he was heard, even though Oliver barely stopps his climbing, and then down again, when he reached the top. Well, that wasn't going to work, but Tommy knows something else that will get under Oliver's skin like a disease.
"You scared the hell out of her, you moron."
He probably could not have said it at a better time: Oliver was in the process of another downwards jump on that thing and apparently the shock of the words didn't make for the right amount of strength, or maybe he hesitates at the wrong moment – it didn't matter; what mattered was that one moment Oliver was on the salmon ladder, the next he was falling and landing on his feet, the bar clanking loudly two inches from his head.
He turns around to give Tommy a glare full of sharp annoyance – except Tommy is far beyond caring for Oliver's weird way of balancing things. He wants answers.
"Save that for the tourists and explain to me why you would go and do something that doesn't make the smallest amount of sense whatsoever."
Oliver narrows his eyes at Tommy, but then turns away, grabbing a towel.
"Adam Hunt was on the list." Oliver says succinctly before strapping on his quiver and starting his routine with the tennis balls. "And just because I didn't feel the need to kill him for what he's done to this city, that doesn't mean he gets to keep his freedom." He adds as he calmly lets loose triple arrows, spearing the balls to the concrete.
"So you arrow a folder full of confidential information on Felicity Smoak's wall?!"
"Tommy…"
That growl is a warning if Tommy had ever heard one but, alas, he is still very much out of fucks to give! Instead, he takes a deep breath, exhales and repeats a couple of times, unconsciously using the meditative techniques Malcolm had taught him. Tommy doesn't have to reach for clarity now though - things are already clear enough. So Tommy opens his eyes, looking at the furious way Oliver is loosening one arrow after another, littering the wall with tiny yellow balls. His skill with that bow, shot after shot, seems as effortless as breathing; his precision born of a total mastery of the bow and an intimate knowledge of what it means to shoot it. Tommy is willing to bet Oliver can do this while barely looking – in fact, there is a strange unfocused quality to his friend's eyes as he keeps shooting, as if he isn't fully there.
What had he been thinking, really? Oliver from before may have done things impulsively, but not this Oliver… right? Everything Tommy knows and perceives of this Oliver is methodical, calculated. He is so focused on his mission that he can barely see anything else: he is literally pretending to still be dead to the world for fuck's sake, just so that when he did publicly come back to the living, nobody would be able to tie the vigilante to him. So how can someone who possesses that amount of clarity, that sureness of purpose, be so stupidly blind at the same time?
…But maybe that was just it: Oliver has always been stubborn, but this Oliver, he redefines tunnel vision! And maybe that's not just because of the focus on the mission and all that. maybe it's also because, once you get out of the darkness and you have layers and layers of trauma to deal with, the only way to survive daily life is through narrowing it down to manageable levels. And Tommy can sense that about Oliver: the nervous energy, the constant tension. How even the smallest things seem to set him on edge and the only time he seems comfortable in his skin is when he is in action. Tommy can understand that, he truly can, because he'd experienced it himself… but Tommy had never had Oliver's capacity for compartmentalization and he is sure that, in his own mind, Oliver is keeping his 'vigilante' drawer and his 'Felicity' drawer so very fucking far apart that he honestly can't see how unbalancing one is going to completely unsettle the other.
Tommy takes a deep breath and tries to explain – slowly, as if he was talking to a toddler.
"Oliver… you just put yourself – put the Hood – in Felicity Smoak's line of sight!" How the hell does he hope to keep his identity a secret if he dangles it in front of someone like her? Oliver has been away a while, maybe he doesn't know what Felicity is truly capable of after so many years, but he does know how she gets when she sees something that challenges her intellect. "You don't give someone with Felicity's brainpower and resources a reason to be curious, ever! That girl's favorite hobby is dismantling mysteries and it's not like you can put an arrow through her if… "
Oliver turns, gives Tommy a glare that could curdle blood, daring him to finish that sentence while he still has an arrow notched on his bow… and just like that, Oliver wins Tommy's argument for him.
"My point exactly! So what the hell were you thinking? …Were you thinking?" but just as he says the words, a suspicion creeps in Tommy's brain. An illumination really, so perfectly obvious that Tommy calls himself an idiot for not having thought of it sooner. There are only two things at this point in time that can make Oliver act irrationally or go against his own plans: Thea …and Felicity. The truth is that Oliver didn't cared anything about Adam Hunt as an individual: the Hood had taken back the money that Hunt owed to the city – plus 100% interest, thank you very much - put it back where it belonged and called his mission complete (with a side of fatal threats if Adam Hunt ever thought of repeating his dealings again). But Felicity had cared. She called Adam a criminal and a thief – she had been willing to stand up in a court of law to see him behind bars. That's why that file had ended up on her desk: because she had cared. It was something Felicity had wanted and that made the difference to Oliver in a way little else could. Because he can't be with her, can he, so giving her something so small, something she wants, hadn't been something Oliver could really avoid doing. It probably hadn't even registered as a threat - and if it had, it hadn't mattered.
Tommy knows how that feels. After all, he had thrown a whole gala just to give Laurel something she wanted a couple of years ago…
"Do you want her to find out?" Tommy asks cautiously.
"No!" the answer is so immediate, the spike of panic in Oliver's voice so real and unexpected that Tommy doesn't doubt him for a second. Which makes the Hood having any kind of contact with Felicity all-kinds of stupid…
Tommy plants his ass on a chair, thoroughly tired of this argument. "You just can't leave her alone, can you?"
Oliver pauses, his hand stopping mid-reach for his next arrow. His answer is a long, exhausted sigh. The words though, they come after such a long moment of silence that Tommy has almost given up on Oliver saying anything.
"No, I guess not."
Tommy runs a hand through his hair, as if pulling it out by the roots will solve him anything. It doesn't, of course. The guilt he hears in Oliver's voice, that almost undetectable layer of anguish that seems to taint his every Felicity-centered thought, knocks Tommy out of his anger and frustration and not for the first time, he finds himself wishing he could tell Laurel that this idiot was back in town. She would know what to do here… or maybe not. Laurel would probably hit Oliver over the head with something heavy, but Oliver's rock-hard head could take that. It wouldn't even budge him. No, the one who had the highest chances of getting through to Oliver is be Felicity and coincidentally, she is the core of the problem here…
Or the solution to it…
Tommy flinches from that thought as if it burns him. He hates that he can't seem to shake Malcolm off, that the man lingers on him like a bad stench, his voice slithering its way into Tommy's thoughts like the hiss of a snake. In moments like these Tommy feels especially tainted by the Magician's influence… but his lessons are branded on Tommy's skin and he can no more forget them than he can forget his own name. He cannot escape his own history, because it has shaped him into the man he is today. So yes, it probably is the lowest of low to use the people a broken man loves against him… but maybe it will be forgiven, if it is done to help him… right?
The problem – the real problem, is not Felicity, but the fact that Oliver, though back from that Island, is still dead to the world in all the ways that matter, and nothing Tommy had tried had been able to change that… but admittedly, Tommy has played (mainly) fair until now. He hasn't used the Thea/Felicity-card for a couple of reasons; the main one being that, in all honesty, Tommy doesn't trust Oliver to be balanced enough to handle it safely. And also because Tommy recognizes a simple truth: that no matter what Oliver feels - for Felicity, or Thea or his mother - no matter how much he misses them, they are not the reason Oliver has come back to Starling. Oliver came back as a man with a mission and that mission is the first of his priorities. Or at least that's what Tommy had thought, until Laurel called him 7 hours ago. Now he is starting to think that maybe Oliver has overestimated his own endurance: being close to the people he loved, and staying a world apart from them at the same time is starting to chink his armor.
And all Tommy needs is that chink. He might hate himself for thinking so predatorily, but he is willing to do whatever it takes to bring his friend back – truly, this time.
In the interest of fully disclosure (so it's easier to hamper on the guilt later, if this goes sideways) Tommy admits to himself that he still thinks Oliver is unbalanced as fuck, and probably suffering from some kind of compound-trauma. It would still be safer to keep Felicity out of it, but Oliver broke that rule himself first by making contact with her, so in Tommy's mind, Felicity is fair game now.
oo
They spar for a couple of hours, going at each other hard, practicing off each other's forms and style. It is its own kind of dialogue – with Ollie, this was actually way more fluid: he talks more with his fists than he does with his mouth anyway. They have been trained by different people and with different techniques but the similarities are there: neither Tommy nor Oliver know how to hold back. All out and just a breath short of lethal is the only way they know how to train. Malcolm used to like throwing Tommy in fighting pits with ten different opponents, all against one another; Oliver was used to being hyper-aware of his surroundings because he was probably used to being attacked from all sides, with anything at hand. So yeah, half the exercise is trying to control the hits, so they don't break each other's bones when a blow lands.
But it's not because he is tired that Tommy is still lying on the mats 20 minutes after they have called it a day. Laying there spread eagle, he is trying to come up with a way of starting the conversation. After a long while of coming up blank Tommy asks himself what would Felicity do… and the answer comes to him easily: she'd just blurt it out, no games, no pretenses.
And just as Tommy realizes that, he knows it will work. Her candid nature had been (is?) the reason Oliver likes her so much in the first place.
"Do you remember the first time you saw her, Ollie?"
Oliver doesn't answer, but Tommy knows he'd been heard even though the only sign of it is a layer of tension settling on his shoulders. Of course Oliver heard him – Oliver hears everything, even if it is over the sound of a sharpening a knife in his hands.
"We were with Laurel and Sara in that coffee-shop Laurel liked, remember? Summer had just started. And you weren't bored exactly, but there was this 'I-could-care-less' air of general douchebagery about you that day." Tommy chuckles, Felicity's face floating before him, pale and cute and hiding beneath dark hair and dark makeup, with guarded eyes and full lips that rarely smiled.
He has to admit, he likes the new Felicity a lot better.
"But then Sara brings Felicity over and you take one look at her and I swear, the way you snapped out of it was so absurdly obvious, I wonder how the hell everyone else missed it."
Oliver exhales a slow breath. Controlled, forcefully calm.
"No one else is you, Tommy." Oliver finally says, voice steady, but pitched lower because there are some things even Oliver can't control and one of those are his own emotions. Before, they always used to creep up on him and hit him over the head when he least expected it, because Ollie never knew how to deal with them. 5 years of various degrees of hell have not changed that; now he's just better at compartmentalizing them.
Tommy scoffs. "Yeah, I'm pretty special, but that has nothing to do with it. The only reason the girls missed it was because they weren't paying attention to you."
They had been too busy glaring: Laurel at Felicity, Sara at Laurel. God, how they had resented each other back then! Tommy is infinitely glad that had changed.
Oliver shakes his head with a sigh. "Even if they had been paying attention, it wouldn't have mattered. My noticing a beautiful girl wasn't exactly new."
Tommy begs to differ on that account. He knows how Ollie used to react to women he was interested in: all smooth and charming - a real player. It had been a practiced act, like muscle memory. It hadn't been less real only because it was superficial, because Oliver before the island used to love keeping himself shallow and uncomplicated - and that pattern extended to every aspect of his life. (Never let it be said that Oliver Queen half-assed anything!) Felicity though, she had deviated from his pattern in every way, and shocked the hell out of Oliver, while she was at it. Tommy still has it in him to chuckle when he remembers how Ollie had floundered at the sight of tiny Felicity Smoak. He can just imagine Oliver's brain flailing: the honest part if it completely alight in interests, while the part where habits were registered wondered, panicking, 'what the fuck is happening?!'
But the truly extraordinary thing had not been the initial reaction, as much as the fact that it kept happening, over and over. Even now, Oliver isn't immune to it – to her (if anything, he is worse): the two times Tommy has been with him when Oliver has caught sight of her have proved that. He followed her with the minimal amount of blinking, shoulders rigid and the tips of his fingers rubbing together absentmindedly. Personally, Tommy finds it borderline obscene and he is willing to beat some sense into his friend to get Ollie to see that... but let's try it with actual words first.
"Yeah, you reacting to a pretty girl wasn't that special, but it really surprised me that you reacted that way about her, specifically." Tommy continues, giving Oliver's profile a small smirk. "Goth and edgy was never your type."
Tommy knows he's playing with fire here: Oliver's jaw clenches, his shoulders roll with tightly contained aggression and the way he is gripping that knife is not reassuring at all. But what Oliver murmurs, almost to himself, is still as honest as ever.
"I never had a type."
For so few words, Oliver really manages to cram an impressive amount of guilt and shame in there, as well as a healthy dose of threat to drop the subject. Tommy barely keeps from rolling his eyes.
'Ollie, why do you even try?'
"Huh. If you say so." Tommy says with a shrug.
The silence between them lays heavy, sliced only by the sound of the knife grinding against the whetstone. The action irritates Tommy a little bit because he knows Oliver is doing this out of sheer stubbornness. 'Put the fucking knife down' he wants to growl. 'We're talking about the woman you love here; show some respect.' But of course Oliver won't. The person he is trying to convince himself he is wouldn't do that. The Hood, the vigilante, he doesn't care about things like that. He doesn't love either. It a load of bullshit, in Tommy's opinion, and not only because it's obviously a lie: the fine tremor of Oliver's right hand is proof of it.
Tommy takes a deep breath and steels himself for what he's about to say. He keeps his voice soft, gentle almost, approaching Oliver with the subject like one would a wounded vicious predator trapped in a corner: really fucking carefully.
"You still love her… don't you?"
Oliver goes unnaturally still, his shoulders tense, his whole stance shifts without him even realizing – physically preparing to be attacked. The tension feels so thick in the air between them that Tommy knows, if he so much as twitches the wrong way, something really bad will happen, so he keeps utterly still. There are rules against pulling this sort of bullshit and they are simple: you don't! You don't say shit like that out loud; and if you're stupid enough to say it anyway, don't you dare be flippant about it because it might land you with broken bones. In comparison to Oliver right now, Tommy is a pillar of stability and cool-headedness, so no, it isn't terribly smart poking him like this. But the point here is precisely to damage Oliver's ever-so-tiny comfort zone (and yes, Tommy does feel guilty about doing it, cause he isn't fucking heartless, but it is for a good cause). So Tommy holds Oliver's glare without wincing, without blinking. Unapologetic.
It's not really a question, anyway. They both know the answer, but Oliver probably hasn't heard the truth of his feelings spoken aloud in a long time. Tommy doubts it is even a conscious thought in his head. Oliver is so hell-bent on this crusade of his that he doesn't allow himself room for anything else. And in all fairness, Tommy can see the pint of it; it's self-defense, because there's something unbelievably vulnerable about the way those words hang in the air, even if they're only in your head – and vulnerability is intolerable when you feel like you'll unravel the second you stop having everything under tight wraps. When you're made of broken pieces and missing pieces, and none of the parts you have left fit together anymore, the only thing holding you together is the will not to fall apart – lose that, and you're fucked. Tommy knows that feeling. It really hasn't been that long ago when, if he but dared to imagine saying 'I love Laurel', even if only to himself, something in him shriveled in instant anxiety. The emotion those words encompassed was too big for him. Even in his good days, his skin used to feel like it was stretched too tightly over his bones; admitting to love would have undone him, send him running. Tommy has no doubt as he watches his best friend go still as rock, that it feels exactly like that to Oliver right now.
To Tommy's surprise though, Oliver looks away and sighs deeply, his shoulders sagging and one hand comes to rub his eyelids, as if every moment of this conversation is actually physically hurting him.
"It doesn't matter how I feel." Oliver finally admits, sounding drained. "You know that Tommy. You should understand that better than anyone. Because of what I do, what I intend to keep doing, I can never be with her."
"You won't be the green-leather Robin Hood forever, Oliver. Your father's list is not infinite."
Oliver gets up from his seat so fast that his movements are a blur.
"I can't afford to think that way right now." He snaps, for the first time unraveling his temper. "I can't afford to think that way, period! I could die tonight in that warehouse, or tomorrow in some dark alley. I don't know anything beyond this!"
And by now he was outright yelling, and Tommy knows that he has pushed too far, even though this is exactly what he'd wanted.
"How is she going to feel about me dropping bodies left and right, Tommy? Or about making everyone believe I was dead when I could have just gone home! If she cares even the tiniest bit for me, how do you think that will make her feel?"
Tommy flinches. Ok, so maybe he hasn't thought that far. It very well was possible that Felicity might never forgive Oliver for a lot of things (and knowing Felicity, she probably never would forgive the whole 'I wasn't dead, sorry I didn't tell you' thing, which is… problematic, to say the least). But that was not the point.
"I don't know. I don't know how she would feel or what she will do, and neither do you. That's exactly my point." Tommy insists… and strangely enough, that brings a small sad smile on Oliver's face.
"I do know." Oliver murmured, looking at the arrowhead. "There are some things that don't change in people, and the one thing that will never change about Felicity is that there is nothing she values more than trust. I was right there when she gave up everything for the sake of it. And this – me hiding in this hole… There are a lot of things I've done that are unforgivable, but this I am sure she will never…"
Oliver's voice breaks and he purses his lips to hold the words in. For a moment he looks well and truly pissed and Tommy think he's going to march over and start hitting him again. But instead Oliver goes for the training dummy in the corner, attaching it with such viciousness that Tommy flinches. He feels the shame well in himself for hurting one of the people he holds dearest when he's already feeling down, but he is not sorry. This has to work, he tells himself. It has to.
It will!
oo
In the end, Felicity needn't have seated the news of her new connection in green leather, because Laurel took care of it for her.
Within the five hours window from the moment Felicity had dropped that file on Laurel's metaphorical doorstep to when she showed up for the impromptu dinner, Laurel freaking Lance has managed to file a suit against Adam Hunt, Jason Brodeur and Martin Sommers, using the information Felicity handed her. And of course, since all one had to do at the DA's office to get information was shake a few greens at the right person, the news was out about one hour after the suit was filed and now it was all over the new channels.
"…Miss Lance, who earlier this year tried to bring Martin Sommers to court to answer, among many other of the allegations, for ties with organize crime, seems not to have learned from her experience. Or maybe she has. …Sources within the District Attorney's Office say that Miss Lance now is now chargesAdam Hunt, Jason Brodeur and Martin Sommers of criminal activities on a national scale - backing it up with internal financial reports, bank records and emails - annotations almost as long as the suit itself…"
"He'll call it a personal vendetta but it won't work." Laurel says calmly, sipping at her glass of wine while Felicity, Tommy – ever the improvised guest, Donna and Quentin all stare a little bit disbelieving at the screen. "DA can't ignore banking and securities fraud like this. The police can't ignore the organized crime stuff. They'll both have to investigate. We'll be back in court, but this time it'll cost him."
"It's not just Hunt you're after though." Tommy points out, and Laurel shrugs.
"I'll take whatever I can get. And there was enough evidence in that file to take all three of them down, not just Hunt."
And that gets Quentin's attention. By the time he is asking about where she got her evidence, Felicity has steeled herself to tell the whole story… and by the time she is done with it, Quentin Lance is in state. And Felicity can't tell if he is angry, or scared or frantic. Emotions just come and go on his face… but the predominant one seems to be anger.
That's how Lances deal with stuff, isn't it?
But instead of Felicity, he turns it on Laurel.
"So let me get this straight, now that that idiot in green leather has involved Felicity in his stupidity, you go and drag some of the most dangerous men in the city to court?! Are you nuts!"
Laurel frown immediately. "I have evidence to put them behind bars for consecutive lifetimes! I am a layer, this is what I do. This has nothing to do with the Hood, or Felicity for that matter!"
Quentin slaps his hand on the table hard. "Martin Sommers is Triad, Laurel! If you think this starts and ends in a courtroom, you're delusional! Just the right bribe and everyone will know where you got your information and what do you think is gonna happen next?!"
Laurel snorts. "The Hood can take care of himself, clearly."
"I'm not talking about the god dammed Hood, Laurel!"
But they never got to know what exactly Quentin Lance was talking about because someone crashes through the window right in front of them, and before Felicity knows what's happening, shots are being fired and the tables is overturned and she ends up on the floor. Everything happens so fast that she barely registers. There is shouting and then not, and then sounds of a fight. Tommy drags her to a corner and then he disappears to the kitchen and Felicity thinks she imagines the silver flash of a knife in his hands but she can't be sure of anything in those moments. She sits in front of her mother and tries to grab Laurel, but Laurel's hands slips through her fingers like water and then she's gone.
Everything ends just about as fast as it begun and Felicity is still reeling when she finds herself face to face with Digg, his eyebrow split and bleeding, his knuckles ripped open.
"Are you ok? Felicity, look at me: Are you ok? Are you hurt anywhere?"
It's his urgency that grounds her, his steady hands that touch her looking for an injury that isn't there.
"I'm fine. I'm fine, really." She says, but tis a breathy sound. "Mom! Laurel!"
"I'm fine baby. Laurel is fine too." Donna says from right beside her, and finally Felicity has the presence of mind to get up.
The whole living room is in pieces, its like a tornado passed through. Tommy is holding Laurel close, a look so fierce on his face that it makes him look almost like a different person. Quentin hugs her tight, telling her everything would be fine but Felicity registers it distantly. Over her stepfathers shoulder thought, she sees Tommy and Digg exchange a strange, charged glance. She cant really think of what it means, can't possibly know.
"What happened? Who was that?"
For a horrible moment, she thinks it really was the Hood and that he really meant to hurt her. The possibility that he would go after her family too had never glanced her before, but now she is truly afraid… and there is anger gathering in the pit of her stomach. How dare he!
"That was China White's assassin." Quentin says calmly as he steps back from her. "That, was the Triad."
By the time the night is over, both Laurel and Felicity are under police protection and there is not a dag damned thing any of them can do about it.
[1] Because this quote is so utterly Felicity to me. It reminded me of an interview EBR gave, when she said that Felicity is very brave and she faces her fears, and they don't go away either, she just keeps facing them, because she is that kind of brave.