Oliver was late for the party.
He'd been late when he left city hall an hour ago and now, after fifteen minutes of sitting in his car in the Diggles' driveway, he was even later.
At least he could be sure that no one had expected him to be on time. There was something to be said for consistency.
Get out of the car, Queen.
For fuck's sake he had survived five years in hell, one which was spent embedded in the Russian mafia— he could survive a five year old's birthday party.
Only the party wasn't really the problem.
She was.
If you don't want me to come, I won't,she'd texted him.
Oliver Queen had a lot of talents— most of them relating to different ways to incapacitate people— saying no to Felicity Smoak was not one of them.
It's fine, he sent back. See you there.
She hadn't responded. He assumed that meant she was coming. That she was inside the house right now, probably wondering what he was doing sitting in his car in the dark.
Sighing, Oliver reached for his seatbelt.
Dig opened the door wearing a My Little Pony party hat. "Hey, man, glad you made it. Come on in."
Oliver stepped into the bright foyer, which was festooned with pink and yellow streamers. A pack of five years old shrieked by, whacking each other over the head with Styrofoam swords. Oliver glanced past Dig into the living room, where the adults were standing around in groups of twos and threes.
"You casing the place?" Dig asked, eyebrow raised as he pulled the door shut behind them.
"What? No, I, uh—" Oliver cleared his throat "is she—?"
Dig clapped Oliver on the shoulder. "She's here, yeah. She and Lyla went off to stack the presents in our bedroom. Although between you and me, they also had a bottle of wine and the entire cheese plate so I'm pretty sure 'stacking the presents' is code for hiding from the neighborhood association ladies."
Oliver nodded stiffly. "Speaking of presents." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in silver paper. "It's a bracelet. To go with the necklace."
Dig took the box. "She's gonna love it. Thank you."
Oliver shifted uncomfortably. His tie felt inexplicably tight around his neck. He tugged on the knot but the feeling didn't go away.
Dig was watching him with an amused expression. "You know what you need? Some of Lyla's adult punch. That woman does not play around when it comes to booze. Yeah?"
Booze. Yes. Best idea he'd heard all day. "Please."
"Two seconds," Dig said, pointing at him. "Don't you run off while I'm gone."
No promises.
Dig disappeared into the kitchen and Oliver loitered in the doorway for a moment, not quite ready to join the party yet, then turned and headed for the hallway bathroom. He'd splash some cold water on his face and then he'd be fine. He wasn't hiding. Definitely not hiding.
The bathroom door swung open from the inside just as Oliver reached for the knob.
An invisible vacuum sucked all the air out of the room. It must have, because suddenly Oliver couldn't breathe.
For a second they just stared at each other, her bright pink lips an 'oh' of surprise.
Then Felicity said, "Oliver?"
"Hi," he blurted.
At the same time she said, "How are you?"
They both flushed and looked away.
"You look good," Felicity said, glancing back at him tentatively. "I was a little worried." She blushed a shade darker and Oliver raised his eyebrows, a flash of dark pleasure streaking through him at the knowledge he could still make her squirm. "Not worried that you wouldn't look good," she said, backpedaling. "I mean, you always look good. You're very good looking. I just meant that I saw you on the news— at the ribbon cutting for the new SCPD headquarters—and you looked tired. But you look good...is all I'm trying to say..." She grimaced. "Please feel free to stop me at any time."
Oliver's lips curled into a smile entirely without his permission. "I'm fine," he said. "How are you?"
She nodded. "Oh, good, yeah. I—" whatever she was about to say was lost as the lights dimmed. Lyla emerged from the kitchen carrying a large pink and blue frosted birthday cake topped with five candles, flames dancing cheerily in the darkness.
Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sara...
Felicity bit her lip, nodding to the living room. "We should probably—"
Oliver nodded and followed her to the back of the throng circled around cake.
Everyone else was looking at Sara.
Oliver looked at Felicity.
Her hair was a bit longer than the last time he'd seen her but other than that she looked the same, he realized with a flash of disappointment. So maybe he'd hoped she'd look different. Dyed her hair. Different glasses. Something. Maybe he'd thought it would be easier to see her again if she didn't look so much like...herself.
But she didn't.
And it wasn't.
She was smiling slightly, her gold hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. The candlelight softened her features, curving across the apple of her cheek, and catching in the dip at the base of her throat.
Over the past two years Oliver had grown accustomed to longing. Regret was his constant companion, as ever present as his shadow. But standing there beside her in the darkness he realized that those feelings had just been phantoms. The yawning, hollow ache he felt now, standing closer to Felicity than he had been in years, and yet farther apart from her than he'd ever been...that was the real thing.
And fuck, if it wasn't painful.
He forced himself to look away as the song ended. Someone turned up the lights and Dig appeared at Oliver's side, worry lines etched into his brow.
"John?" Felicity said, placing her hand on his arm as he stopped in front of them. "What's wrong?"
"I just got a call from Lance. He's at a crime scene downtown. Asked us to come by."
"What happened?" Oliver asked.
"He wouldn't say over the phone."
Lyla pushed her way toward them through the throng, holding a large cake spatula in one hand. "Go," she said. "I can hold down the fort here."
Dig looked over his shoulder at Sara who was sitting on the floor happily eating her way through a piece of cake the size as her head.
Lyla turned his cheek away. "Johnny, our daughter has forty-seven presents to get through and fifteen sugar-hyped five years olds to help her do it. No offense, but she's not even going to notice you're gone."
Dig dropped a kiss on her forehead. "You know you're my hero, right?"
"I know." She patted his chest. "Now go be a hero for someone else."
Oliver was almost to the door when he realized Felicity was on his heels. He stopped short and she almost walked straight into him. "What are you doing?"
"Coming with you," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
The ache in Oliver's chest ebbed, morphing into something else. Something angrier. "No. No way."
Felicity scowled. "Why not? You don't know what Lance wants. You might need my help."
"We won't," Oliver said.
"How do you know?"
He didn't have a good answer for why he didn't want her to come. Something inside of him just rejected the idea, not only rejected it, shoved it away with two hands.
"It's not a good idea," he said stiffly. He looked at Dig who held up his hands in a way that clearly said leave me out of it.
Felicity's eyes flashed. "Why are you so stubborn?"
"I'm stubborn? You're the one who—"
"Guys," Dig interrupted, "I know have some stuff to work through but now is maybe not the best time."
Felicity crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised. "I'm coming."
Oliver recognized that look. It was her 'I waited in line for ten hours for the Stars Wars Episode VII preimiere and I can out wait you look'.
"Fine," he growled. "But you're riding with Dig."
Felicity rolled her eyes as she followed him out the door. "My pleasure."
The address Lance had given Dig turned out to be a crumbling apartment complex in East Gary, right on the border of the Triangle.
There was no elevator.
"Just take them off," Oliver said to Felicity, glancing at her four inch stilettos as he and Dig waited on the fourth floor landing for her to catch up.
Felicity wrinkled her nose. "And get a tetanus infection, if not worse? No thanks."
Oliver ground his teeth together. "Maybe you shouldn't have come then."
She glared at him. "Maybe you should quit being an ass."
"I did not miss this," Diggle muttered, earning a dark look from both of them.
Lance was waiting for them in the dim hallway outside apartment 614.
His eyebrows rose when he saw Felicity. "Ms. Smoak. I didn't know you were back."
"I'm not," Felicity said, still slightly breathless from the trek up the stairs. "Just in town for forty-eight hours." She pushed a lock of hair out her face. "Congratulations on your commissionership, by the way."
"Enough small talk," Oliver said. "What are we doing here?"
"See for yourself." Lance pushed open the door to 614 and waved them inside. There was hardly any furniture in the decrepit apartment. Just an overstuffed couch and a TV that looked like it had been on its last legs back in the 90s. Grayish wallpaper peeled away from the baseboards like sunburnt skin.
"The owner of this place is not winning any interior design awards any time soon," Felicity muttered as she stepped around an empty pizza box on the floor.
"I don't think he's going to be doing much of anything any time soon," Lance said. He led them to the back of the apartment and pushed open the door to the small bedroom.
"Oh," Felicity said in a small voice.
The room was tiny, just wide enough to fit the twin size bed in the middle of it. The body of an older man lay face up on the bed. If Oliver had ever met him before, he wouldn't have been able to say. Someone had shot him in the head at point black range, caving in his left eye socket and blasting off part of his nose. A bloody Rorschach decorated the wall behind him. Neon light from the flickering motel sign next door poured through the window, illuminating the mattress like some kind of perverse shrine. Oliver couldn't decide which was worse- the sight or the stench that snuck up on him and then went straight for the KO. Stale urine, blood, and a musty scent leaching from the walls. Delightful.
Oliver stopped at the end of the bed. One of the man's shoes was missing. The toe of his sock was stiff with dried blood.
"Darren Max," Lance said from the corner of the room. "63. Retired cop. Gambled away most of his pension over the last few years. The forensics team's been in and out already. Didn't find much. No fingerprints. No sign of forced entry—door was locked from the inside." He looked at Oliver. "I could really use your help on this one."
Oliver raised an eyebrow, crouching down to look at the body from another angle. "In a mayoral capacity, of course."
"Course," Lance said wryly.
Dig ran his hands over the back of his head. "You think Max racked up debts to the wrong people?"
"I don't know," Lance said. "But whoever offed him left a message."
Oliver turned to look where Lance was pointing.
There was a sharp intake of breath. "Is that—?" Felicity asked.
"Blood," Lance confirmed. "Yeah. We've got some sickos on our hands."
"Fiat justitia ruat caelum," Dig read. He glanced at Oliver. "Sounds Latin."
"Don't look at me," Oliver said. "I failed Latin. Twice."
"It is Latin," Felicity said. Her heels clacked against the floor as she crossed the room to stand beside Oliver. The urge to pull her into the safety of his arms reared up inside him, overwhelming in its insistence. Oliver shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's a legal phrase. A maxim of sorts. Let justice be done, though the heavens fall."
Dig raised an eyebrow. "Dramatic."
"Justice," Lance said, from the shadows in the corner of the room, "no matter the cost."
As if on cue, wind howled by the window, rattling the glass in its frame.
Oliver sighed.
He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.