The week following her nut allergy attack, Felicity sat at her console in the foundry. She had the place to herself by design. It was the middle of the night and she'd insisted the boys take the evening off. She'd told them she would need to upgrade the system so their tech support would be unavailable. Her raiding routine was leaving work a little early, taking a long nap and waking to get started at seven in the evening. She used a remote access point in Switzerland to enter the bank's mainframe. She had spent the last few weeks compiling data on Merlyn's accounts. She'd found several offshore accounts holding several million apiece. Other than monthly account balances, none had been accessed in months. She went after those first.

Felicity directed the majority of the funds directly into a single account from which she directed them to multiple destinations. She preferred to send the money in smaller, benign-looking transactions to keep it from raising suspicion. She'd found charities in sixteen states that benefited women and children in crisis that she could access by computer. The trick, she'd discovered, to making charitable contributions look normal was to follow the patterns that usually preceded an influx of donations. Public awareness campaigns, fund-raisers, holidays and media coverage.

Felicity had three separate accounts from which she would disperse millions of dollars. The web of dummy accounts had taken her nearly a week to set up under different names. The three larger ones would automatically send their balances to accounts in all fifty states in random, smaller transactions. Those accounts would remain active until they needed to be used to make charitable donations within that state. There were a few things she couldn't do, like go in person to empty the safe deposit boxes she'd discovered in Delaware. She'd emptied all off-shore accounts before starting on the domestic ones under aliases. She'd set up one account in Switzerland for Arrow-related expenses…like arrows, she paid vendors for their specialized equipment from this account.

It was after four in the morning when Felicity finished covering her tracks. She would continue, on the next quiet night, to find and empty all of his remaining coffers. She was curious about the real estate she'd tracked down. She drove home, took a three-hour nap and drank a large cup of coffee. She called Barry Allen and made arrangements to meet him for dinner over the weekend. She wanted a chance to talk to him about the last few weeks.

Oliver and Diggle sat down, sweaty and winded from sparring. After emptying a water bottle each, Diggle asked about Felicity.

"She seems to be okay most of the time. The anxiety sneaks up on her." He shrugged, "I think she had a panic attack the other night, but she does seem to be getting better."

"It's important that she wants to get better," the older man said. "I've seen people who went through some heavy stuff; they try to push their emotions away and pretend nothing happened, they're afraid to deal with it. It's like, if they try to get better, it means admitting that they're not okay."

"I told you what happened in her bedroom."

"The night you had Barry take blood samples?" he asked. Oliver nodded.

"Right." He rubbed his face and looked at the plastic bottle in his hand.

"What is it?" Diggle asked, prodding gently.

"She was so afraid and she said 'Let me go, Oliver. You need to let me go, now.' I saw how scared she was, then."

"She knows it wasn't your fault," Diggle said.

"When we were being held by Merlyn, and I was…holding her against the wall, she said the same thing. I think that's what made me see her."

"The same words?"

"The exact same words.

"It worked, that's what's important."

"I just think about…what if she said something else? What if she'd tried to fight me? Would I have even been aware of what she was saying?"

"I think so," Diggle said. "I think her fear made you pay attention in her bedroom. Your instincts were driving you then, and it's not your nature to hurt her. That's what you responded to in captivity as well."

"I wish I could remember what happened."

"Why?"

"I want to believe, like Felicity does, that I was pretty far gone." He pressed his lips together, brows knit with tension.

"What's this really about?" Diggle stood and clasped Oliver's shoulder. "Something's on your mind, just tell me. I'm not going to judge you."

"I feel like she shouldn't forgive me so easily," he let out a long breath with his admission. He caught Diggle's expression out of the corner of his eye. "She's letting me off too easily."

"Not very original, Oliver."

"What?" He looked at his big friend.

"You wouldn't let yourself be with Felicity, but not because you're distracted by her, Hell, I'm distracted by some of her dresses."

"Not funny."

"With Laurel, you'd always feel guilty because of Sara, and you pursued that guilt with her. It's no wonder she's pissed at you all the time." He shook his head in disbelief. "There's no guilt with Felicity, no inner turmoil, and no pain. If you hadn't backed off before, you'd have no excuse not to be happy, and you can't stand that idea."

"I don't want to be miserable."

"Your father made the ultimate sacrifice for a worthless son." He looked Oliver in the eye when he said it. "You didn't deserve to live when he died. Now you seek out suffering because you can't make yourself believe it was worth it."

"You really know how to cheer a guy up."

"I'm only saying what you've been shouting since you got back."

"I don't deserve forgiveness," he said, looking away.

"You do."

"I hurt her in that room, I hurt her before that, too." He snapped. "She's got no business forgiving someone who-" He pressed his trembling lips together and turned away. Diggle's large hand landed on his shoulder.

"Someone who, what?"

"Someone who enjoyed it!" He turned and faced his friend. "I started sleeping with Felicity the night she got trapped at the warehouse," he said, pacing back and forth. "I wanted her every second after that. Even when I was angry and jealous," he said, wiping his grimy hand across his mouth, feeling the grit of dust and metal against his lips. "I wanted her so much, even when she was pushing me away."

"That wasn't you."

"I was enjoying it when we were locked in together," he said, softly. "I could see it in the video," he buried his face in his hands for a moment. "I was enjoying it when I-she told me she didn't try to fight me until…until it started to hurt." He choked on his words. "She shouldn't forgive me."

"You were responding to the hormone when you were in her bedroom, and you were sedated and exposed to a bigger dose while locked in with her."

"That's what Felicity said," he shook his head.

"Do you resent her for forgiving you?" Diggle asked, incredulous. "Man, she needs you right now." He gave Oliver's head a smart smack. "You've got no business trying to tell her how to feel about what happened." He gave his friend a rough shake. "You were a victim too, Oliver, let her help you."

"I brought Merlyn in and let him get close to her."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this." Diggle forced Oliver to look him in the eye. "I never thought I'd have to say this to you, but regardless of your agreement to work with Merlyn and try to train with him, you didn't deserve what happened." Oliver looked away, slightly. "I hate to sound like an after school special, but you weren't asking for it."

"Maybe if I didn't take my shirt off so much-" Diggle's big hand went in for another smack but he ducked.

"Hey, it's melodramatic, but the sentiment is the same."

"How do I move forward from this?"

"Let her forgive you, and forgive yourself." He gave him a scornful look. "You make a really whiny martyr." Diggle leaned back against one of the steel tables.

"Thanks," Oliver said, dryly.

"You love her, so find your happy place and live there."

"Is that your idea of deep wisdom?"

"There's this spot on Lyla's neck," he said, letting one corner of his mouth lift in amusement, "just where it starts to curve into her shoulder." He licked his lips and nodded to himself. "If I had to pick a single spot on the planet where I'd have to live for the rest of my life, it would be there."

"Not a little farther down?" Oliver and Diggle shared a laugh that was purely male.

"I love holding her and resting my chin there. Or my lips," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Think of a place, somewhere, that makes you feel uncomplicated."

"Her hair," Oliver said, looking at nothing.

"Felicity's?"

"No, Lyla's."

"Hey!"

"Kidding!" He held his hands up in surrender. "My hands are callused, rough, usually dirty and pretty cold." He glanced at his palms, studying them for a moment. "When I had my hands in her hair, I was happy." He looked up at his friend who waited, patiently. "We were arguing a lot when I came back."

"Really?" Diggle said, sarcastically.

"When we weren't arguing, she barely smiled at me, she just seemed like she was done with me." He crossed his arms over his bare chest. "I went to her apartment after getting her out of the warehouse, her lights were off and, being the healthy, well-adjusted, man I am, I picked the locks and stood in her bedroom."

"Glad I didn't know that before now."

"At first I just wanted to make sure she was okay. I didn't want to ring the doorbell and start another fight, but one of those men had smacked her and I couldn't stop thinking about it." He closed his eyes. "She woke up, naturally I started scolding her and she told me to go take a piss."

"Really?"

"More or less, yeah." He smiled to himself. "I told her how I felt, bluntly."

"How did that go over?"

"Like a pregnant pole-vaulter." They both chuckled. "I think I said something to the effect of wanting to either give her a spanking, or bend her over a handy piece of furniture and get her out of my system.

"Very eloquent."

"She gave me her side of events; I'd been picking fights with her in order to see some kind of emotional response, and when I told her I hated thinking about her when I couldn't have her, she got out of bed and held me."

"Hmm."

"She was completely disagreeing with my choices, but acknowledging how tough it was for me to live with those decisions." He closed his eyes and inhaled, gently. "She seemed so small; barefoot, wearing her pajamas, and she tucked her head under my chin. She was soft and warm from sleeping, and my fingers were stiff and cold from riding over. I just remember that moment, I had my hands in her hair and her warmth chased away the cold." He looked at his hands again. "She asked me to stay." He scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "She told me she'd been feeling the same way. It just made everything seem okay."

"That's your happy place."

"The feeling of my hands in her hair, when she'd reached out to comfort me, I'd live in that moment."

"Keep that moment, and that place, in your mind."

"My happy place," he said, with a reluctant smile. "I never thought I'd have one of those again."

"Oliver," Diggle said, calling his attention. Oliver looked up at his friend. "The fuck you still doing here, Man?"

Oliver took the hint and grabbed his shirt, heading for the secret exit. He got on his bike with almost a smile.

Felicity wrapped herself in her fluffy robe and poured herself a glass of red wine. It would make her cheeks as red as cherries but it was better than the vodka she'd been drinking too much of lately. She'd rubbed her hair mostly dry but hadn't bothered to comb it. Sometimes she liked the 'Jungle Jane' look. She picked up her phone, preparing to plug it in. She heard her doorbell and took a quick sip of her wine before walking to the door. She noticed several missed calls and texts. The calls were from Lyla Michaels and another, unknown number. The text was from the unknown number. She opened her door as she read the message.

Merlyn escaped. The text was wholly unnecessary since Malcolm Merlyn stood on her doorstep. Felicity's mind worked far faster than the rest of her. Her thoughts were on escape and the safety of her bedroom and her closed door. It occurred to her, as her feet started to move backwards and her hand tried to slam the door, that bedroom doors rarely had locks strong enough to keep assassins out. The door and her feet had barely moved a few inches before he was over her threshold.

"Uh-" Felicity managed the one syllable before the broad hand covered her mouth. Malcolm Merlyn went from standing completely still to full speed in a blink. His momentum lifted her off her feet; she dropped her phone and clutched his shoulders. He had an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her feet went around his leg, and she was reminded of when she was small and had been getting her hug and kiss from her mother before she went to work. Knowing she'd be gone until morning, five-year-old Felicity would wrap her skinny arms around her mother's neck when she'd picked her up. Her bony feet and legs would wrap, squid-like, around her mother's leg; clinging pitifully to the closeness she would miss when her mother's friend would put her to bed. Her mother, in four-inch-heels, would stand as steady as marble, holding a little girl who was too big to be picked up.

Merlyn took the weight of a grown woman as if it were nothing. He moved into the apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. His blue eyes stayed on hers and she saw nothing else except the damp strands of her hair flying into her face. Then her back hit the wall and her head bounced off it making her cry out into his palm. He pressed his middle and third fingers into her mouth, pushing her lips back, painfully against her teeth. She tasted salt, dusty grit and the rough calluses on his fingers.

Felicity desperately wanted her mother to hold her. The fleeting thought was replaced by a survival instinct. She tried to bite down, but her own lips were between her teeth and Malcolm Merlyn's fingers. Tears blurred her vision and ran, hotly down her cheeks. He held her, suspended off the floor, pressing his body against hers. They stared at each other; Merlyn slowly removed his hand from her mouth. His other hand remained at her waist and his face was barely an inch away.