Felicity and Dig stood on the cracked sidewalk outside Darren Max's apartment building waiting while Oliver and Lance talked by Lance's car, their heads bowed together, voices low.

Felicity's teeth were chattering. Star City wasn't quite as cold as Gotham—it was more known for endless rain than deep freezes—but at ten o'clock on an October evening it was still cold, and Felicity's embroidered coat was a lot prettier than it was warm.

"What do you think they're talking about?" she asked, tucking her hands into her armpits to keep them warm.

"Hell if I know," Dig said idly. "I'm just the man's bodyguard."

"At least you're not his driver anymore." Felicity elbowed him playfully. "You're moving up in the world, John Diggle."

Dig snorted. His breath formed small ghosts in the air. Felicity couldn't feel her toes. If her toes fell off would she still be able to stand up? She thought she remembered reading that all five toes were required for standing up. Or maybe it was just the pinky toes you needed, she couldn't remember. Her attention drifted back to Oliver and Lance. Oliver nodded tersely at something Lance said and two of them shook hands, then Lance got into his squad car and drove away.

"You two seem pretty buddy-buddy," Felicity said as Oliver rejoined them.

Oliver nodded to Dig. "There's not much else we can do tonight. Go home to your family. Thea and I can handle patrols alone."

Felicity felt a sting of rejection. Oliver had hardly looked at her after their tiff in the stairwell, much less talked to her. Felicity hadn't expected him to be happy to see her but with every passing moment she grew more certain that he was actually counting down the seconds until she boarded a plane back to Gotham.

Oliver started to turn away. Felicity grabbed his arm and he started as though she'd touched him with a live wire.

That stung too.

"Sorry." She shoved her hands back into her jacket pockets. "I just thought you'd want to hear what I dug up on that list."

Oliver stared at her blankly. "What list?"

"Um." Felicity looked from Oliver to Diggle, and back. Dig's face was inscrutable. "The list of names Dig gave me. Of people who have died in suspiciously unsuspicious accidents in Star City over the past few weeks?"

Oliver's face darkened. He glanced at Dig, who shrugged. "We needed help, man. The city comes first."

"Fine," Oliver said. "Meet me at the lair in half an hour. We'll go over whatever you found."

Felicity danced from foot to foot, trying to keep warm. "Um actually can we just go back to Dig's? Lyla promised to save me a piece of cake and I haven't eaten anything since the pretzels on the airplane." Her stomach made a noise that sounded like a bullfrog getting sat on. She grimaced. "That was a really long time ago."

At the house Felicity excused herself to the guest room to change out of her party clothes. She grabbed her tablet from her suitcase and was straightening when up she caught sight of herself in the mirror over the bureau and froze.

Without thinking she'd pulled on her Star City Rockets tee. The cotton was worn soft from use; the letters beginning to peel away from the fabric. She fingered the hem unconsciously, remembering.

She'd gotten the shirt the day Oliver was inducted as Mayor. After the ceremony and the press conference that followed, they had taken his entire campaign staff to Pap Stadium for the Rockets' season opener against the Coast City Angels: a small thank you for all their hard work.

During the seventh inning stretch the two of them had slipped away to the concessions. Oliver kept kissing her while they waited in line. Usually she pushed him away when he tried to kiss her in public but that day she'd been drunk on victory and spring sunshine and she leaned hungrily into every kiss.

They were heading back to their seats when Felicity noticed Oliver staring at her.

"What?" Her hand flew to her face. "Is there something in my teeth?"

Oliver shook his head. He was golden in the late afternoon sunshine. "I'm just thinking how I never could have done this without you."

"Carried all this food? I agree. You have an impressive wingspan, but not that impressive."

"No." Oliver smiled. God, she loved his smile. She'd do anything to see that man smile. "I meant the mayoral campaign. I honestly don't know if I would have believed I could do it if you hadn't believed it first." He took a deep breath. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Felicity."

Her heart stuttered. "You're getting down on one knee, why are you getting down on one knee?"

"Felicity Smoak, will you marry me?"

She'd said yes, of course she'd said yes.

He beamed. Then his smile faded. "Fuck."

Felicity blanched. "Are you reconsidering? Jesus Christ, it's been like two seconds."

"No. Of course not." Oliver scowled, patting his pockets. "I don't have the ring. I've been carrying it around for months and...fuck. I don't have it."

Felicity laughed from relief. "Is that all?" She tugged a pull 'n' peel Twizzler out of the package and wound it around her finger. "Would you look at that? A ring. How convenient." She pulled him to his feet. "Come here, you idiot."

He tasted like sunshine and licorice. "I love you," he insisted against her lips.

"Love you," she echoed. "I love you. So much."

There was a loud cheer and they looked up to find themselves projected on the giant Kiss Cam screens. Felicity flushed and hid her face in Oliver's collar. He laughed and waved to the camera, eliciting hoots from the crowd.

Congratulations to Mayor Queen and the future first lady. We now ask everyone to please stand for the national anthem...

There was a sharp rap on the bedroom door.

"Felicity?" Dig called through the door. "You okay in there?"

"Yes!" She grabbed a sweatshirt from her suitcase and tugged it on over the t-shirt. "Sorry, I'm coming. Coming."

The boys were waiting for her on the couch in the living room.

Felicity dropped onto an overstuffed armchair arm chair and turned on her tablet. "Okay. So do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Oliver and Dig glanced at each other. "Good news," Oliver said.

"Huh," Felicity said, idly tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair as she waited for the tablet to power on. "I really thought you were gonna go with the bad news." The screen glowed to life and she pulled up the file she'd put together on the case. "Alright. The good news is I found a connection. Every name on this list was brought in by SCPD during the period 2005-2010. Not just for any crime either— manslaughter, most of them."

"That can't be right," Oliver said. "That would have come up when we ran the initial background checks."

Felicity tucked her legs under herself and burrowed her chin into the collar of her sweatshirt. "It would have, if any of them had ever been formally charged. But none of them were. They were all released without charges filed. Remember Mike Daley?"

"Our dead warehouse foreman," Dig said.

"Right. In 2008 he was working his usual night shift, had a few too many beers. Ended up beating a homeless man to death after finding him sleeping in the warehouse. He was never charged for it."

Dig raised his eyebrows. "And how'd he get away with that?"

"It took me a while to fit all the pieces together. Turns out Farley Pharmaceutical, the company that owns the warehouse, paid off the then police commissioner to let Daley go, avoid the bad publicity. The arresting detective was so pissed he punched a hole in the break room wall. Got a week of unpaid leave for his trouble."

Oliver folded his arms and leaned back into the couch. "2008 was right in the middle of SCPD's run for most corrupt Police Department in the country. Half the force was on the Triad's payroll. Apparently the other half worked for the highest bidder."

"Made it hard for the few honest cops on the payroll at the time." Felicity said. "The detective in the Daley case is the same one that brought in all the others on our list. Mark Wilcox." Felicity turned her tablet around to show them a photo of Wilcox: nondescript Caucasian male, mid-thirties at the time the photo was taken, with a dark widow's peak and soft brown eyes. "He kept trying to do his job only to get undercut by corrupt higher-ups. Eventually it came to a head. He had a huge blow up with the Captain. Called him out for all the underhanded stuff that was going on. A month later he was transferred to Gotham PD."

Dig ran his hand down the side of his face. "So maybe something sets Wilcox off— he decides to take justice into his own hands by killing all the people who got off back when SCPD was more criminal than the people they were bringing in."

"Can you pull up his travel records?" Oliver said sharply. "See if he's made any trips to Star City recently?"

Felicity forced herself to look at him. It hurt, looking at him. She used to be able to read him so well but now looking at him was like looking at a mask. She had no idea what he was thinking and it was driving her slightly nuts. "I don't think there's any point."

Dig raised an eyebrow. "Felicity, you just made a very compelling argument that this is our guy."

She sighed. "Yeah, well, I haven't given you the bad news yet. A few months after Wilcox transferred to Gotham he was shot by one of the Joker's goons during a holdup at Gotham National. Mark Wilcox is dead."

There was a moment of silence. Oliver held her gaze, his face unreadable. Diggle slumped back into the couch. "So our only lead is dead. And we're right back where we started."

"I'll keep digging." Felicity grimaced. "But for now...yeah."

Oliver swore under his breath.

They sat around for a while after that, throwing out different theories but none of them seemed plausible. Oliver left soon after and Dig headed off to bed, yawning.

Felicity sat up in bed searching through the Gotham Globe archives on her laptop. She couldn't sleep. Darren Max's face—what was left of it anyway—was seared into the backs of her eyelids. Every time she closed her eyes it swum back into focus, all blood and fragments of lily white bone.

She clicked on a short article about Mark Wilcox's funeral: 'Joker Captured, City Mourns Fallen Officer'.

A photo accompanied the article. It seemed all of Gotham's upper crust had turned out for the funeral. The police commissioner, the mayor—he'd still been with his second wife then, Felicity noted—and other city leaders were all there. They formed a long row of black clad figures around the grave, shoulder hunched against a sideways rain. Felicity's mouse hovered over the second to last figure in the first row. Was that—? She enlarged the photo. There was no mistaking those dark eyes and knifelike jaw.

Bruce Wayne.

What was he doing there?

Felicity's eyelids felt like lead. She shut her laptop and shoved it onto the bedside table. She shot off a quick text to Wayne asking him to call her in the morning. Not that she expected him to have anything. He had probably just attended the funeral as a show of support for Gotham PD. Rolling onto her side, she shut her eyes.

The dream started the same way it always did.

Felicity stood outside the door to the loft, fist posed to knock. Before she could, the door opened. Oliver stood on the other side. He was holding a chubby cheeked child on his hip.
"Finally," he said, ushering her into the apartment and shutting the door behind her. "Meeting run long?"

Felicity's eyes were trained on the baby. Was she imagining things or did it have her lips? And Oliver's eyes? "Oliver, whose kid is that?" she asked warily as he led her into the kitchen. A pan of garlic, onions, and peppers sizzled on the stove. The smell curled softly around her. Her mouth watered.

"Haha, very funny," Oliver said. "Here take her so I can finish dinner." He handed the baby to her and oh god nothing had ever felt so right in her life as having that warm weight in her arms. She was being silly. Of course this was her child, of course.

"Hi, sheina meidel." She kissed her daughter's downy head. She smelled of talcum powder and vanilla. "Hey there. Did you miss me? I missed you."

"Gah," said the baby, waving her chubby arms.

Felicity grinned. Her heart was bursting. "That means yes, right? Yes, mommy, I missed you and I love you so much more than daddy."

"Oh no," Oliver said, glancing up from the stove. "Gah' means daddy is the best and by far my favorite parent. It's common knowledge, ask anyone."

Felicity moved to stand beside him. "Oh, really?"

"Mhm." He smiled and bent down from a kiss. "Hand me the cutting board?"

A shriek ricocheted through the kitchen. The smell of cooking receded and the child was fading, Oliver was disappearing too, and Felicity recognized that it had just been a dream but oh god she didn't want to wake up.

Too late.

Felicity opened her eyes.

She was lying flat on her back in bed in the Diggles' guest room, the sheets a tangle around her legs. Pale morning light bled through the blinds and seeped across the bed. Her phone was grousing loudly by her head, threatening to vibrate itself right off the nightstand. Her fingers scrabbled blindly for a moment before they found the snooze button. The alarm died mid-shriek, leaving her in a bubble of silence.

Felicity let her eyes drift shut. It was only 7 am. Maybe she could doze off again. Maybe she'd even have the same dream...

A bird began to peck rhythmically at the windowsill.

Felicity threw off the covers and sat up. Who was she kidding; there was no way she was going back to sleep. Besides, the smell of was coffee drifted under the door, tickling her nose. Felicity pushed herself out of bed, grabbed her STAR LABS sweatshirt from her suitcase, and padded down the hall.

Lyla was sitting at the kitchen table in her work clothes, sipping from a large mug. She looked up as Felicity appeared and smiled. "Hey there."

"Coffee?" Felicity said hopefully.

Lyla looked apologetic. "It's decaff."

Felicity made a face.

"I know," Lyla sighed. "Trust me, I'm not happy about it either." She ran her hand unconsciously over her stomach. "It was doctor's orders actually."

Felicity's eyebrows shot up. "Are you—?"

Lyla smiled into her coffee. "We wanted to wait until after Sara's party to tell everyone. Didn't want to steal her thunder, you know?"

Felicity slid into the seat across the table. "Oh my god, Lyla, congratulations!"

"Thank you. We're pretty excited about it." She nodded to the cupboard. "There's some regular coffee above the toaster if you wanna make a pot. I'm sure John would appreciate it."

Felicity poured out the grounds and flipped on the machine before plopping back into her chair. "You threw a great party, by the way. Sorry we, um...bailed halfway through."

Lyla raised her eyebrows. "Oliver seemed happy to see you."

Felicity watched wisps of steam curl up from Lyla's cup. "I'm not sure happy is the right word."

Lyla hesitated.

"What?" Felicity asked.

"Do you mind if I ask what happened? You two seemed so solid." Lyla sat back, grimacing. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that. It's just, when Oliver got back from Gotham and said you guys broke up we were so shocked—"

Suddenly Felicity was sitting bolt upright. "Oliver came to Gotham?" she interrupted. "When?"

"Oh." Lyla faltered. "Um. A few months after you left. He was gone for a couple days and when he got back he said you two talked and decided to end it. Long distance was too hard..." She looked uneasy. "I probably shouldn't have said anything."

Oliver had come to Gotham? He had lied then, when he told her he wasn't coming. But why would he travel all the way across the country and then leave without seeing her? Or was Lyla simply misinformed?

Felicity's phone buzzed loudly, tearing her out of her thoughts. It was Wayne. He must have seen her message. She hadn't expected a call back so soon. "Um, I should take this," she said, glancing up at Lyla. "It's my boss."

"Right," Lyla said. "Felicity, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything about Oliver. It's not my business."

"No, it's okay." Felicity stood up and started backing out of the room. "Really. Um. Don't worry about it. I'll be right back!" She let herself out the front door and immediately regretted that decision when her bare feet hit the cold stone stoop. "Bruce," she said breathlessly, tugging at the zipper on her sweatshirt. "You got my message?"

"Hello to you too," Wayne said wryly. "Couldn't go two days without talking to me?"

"Hardly. I'm actually calling on the Arrow's behalf. Five years ago, you went to the funeral of a police detective name Mark Wilcox. I was just wondering why. Did you know him?"

There was silence on the other line. "Hello?"

His voice was low, urgent. "Does the Arrow have Wilcox?"

Felicity pinched the bridge of her nose. "What? No. Mark Wilcox dead. You went to his funeral, that's why I called you."

"He's not dead."

"Excuse me?"

"He's not dead. And if he's in your city you have a much bigger problem than you realize."

Felicity took a moment to wrap her head around this new piece of information. Not dead? Of course he wasn't dead. No one stayed dead anymore. It was passé. Like Bermuda shorts and renting dvds from Netflix.

"Felicity, are you still there?"

She licked her lips once. "Yes."

"I'm coming out there. Can you pick me up from the airport?"

"You're—what now?"

"I'll be in Star City by—"there was a pause "—2:30. Pick me up from the airport. Don't be late."

"Wait—" The line cut off. He'd hung up. Felicity stared down at her phone. What the hell had just happened? Next door someone turned on a leaf blower. "Well, motherfucker," she said.