Far From Paradise
We Defy Destiny
. . .
Note: Thanks again to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I'm amazed that I actually got this one finished a day earlier than I actually expected (insert fist pump here) and I'm hoping to get Chapter 4 up by Saturday, Sunday at the latest (so I'll be crossing my fingers for that).
. . .
"Well, that's a bust." Roy said with a groan, as the elevator dinged for them to get off before the penthouse. "How are we supposed to get up there—"
Triumphantly, Thea held up a key and smiled, feeling good about something for the first time in weeks.
"Without a key…" Roy finished lamely. "You have a key to the guy's apartment?"
He raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend, then shook his head. Why did he even bother sometimes?
"What am I even saying, of course you'd have a key to his apartment."
As small part of him considered that their might have been something, sometime between Thea and him…not that it mattered now. Roy felt a twinge of guilt at the thought. Tommy had been good to him, better than a lot of other people had.
"No." Thea shook her head, feeling a twinge of remorse and sadness wash over her as she thought of Tommy again.
Sometimes it felt unbelievable that he could actually be gone. Then again, pretty much everything was hard to believe sometimes—if she stepped back and looked at the whole situation, it felt like she'd landed through a rabbit hole. She still didn't understand how they could both be gone—in any other world, if she was missing her brother, Tommy would be first person she went to.
She bit down on her lip to keep from crying, Thea had realized that as long as she didn't think about anyone for too long, it was easier to stay strong. As long as she kept moving, and doing; as long as she had something to do other than listen to people talk about the way her brother was destroying the company, and how her mother should fry for her part in the genocide of hundreds….just as long as she didn't think about these things, or the friend that she lost, then she could make it through.
"Sorry." Roy said softly, as the hurt look spread across her face. "You guys were pretty close, huh?"
Thea shrugged, pulling the key free from the panel as the elevator opened into the penthouse. In a rush, she was hit with a sense of loss that she hadn't exactly expected.
She'd forgotten how many memories she had in this place.
Roy took her hand, and pulled her into the penthouse. The elevator doors closed behind them, and Thea looked around the place with a sigh. Six years, and nothing had really changed, it looked exactly the same. Tommy had always been comfortable like that, even as he matured and grew up into this man she admired more than she was always willing to admit—at his very foundation, everything was the same.
"I guess it's a good thing that he's not a change the locks kind of guy." Roy remarked.
No, Thea thought. He wasn't.
She'd told him more than a few times that with the number of women who had come through (not that she was jealous) that he should consider it, but he just laughed and ruffled her hair.
But if I did that, Tommy said with a playful wink, they could never come back.
Sometimes, the ache that she felt over everyone she missed was unbearable. Roy's hand squeezed hers, and she was drawn back to reality again. He was her rock, she really didn't know how she would be getting through this without him.
No Oliver, though. She should have known better than to think that he would be camped out in Tommy's apartment. He had a little more finesse than that.
"You know," She turned, and lingered in the hall, glancing at the pictures in the hall; flicking the light on. "Tommy was always…just around. It was sort of like having a second brother, just always around with Oliver."
She smiled, as she came across a picture of him and her brother with what looked like a whole ballet. Tommy and Oliver both looked so happy.
Stop thinking about it, she told herself, it'll just make it worse.
Thea set the picture back as it was.
"He was my first crush, which was…completely crazy and unreasonable, I know—and completely one sided, just for the record. Never mind the most ridiculous cliché known to man."
Thea sighed, her life was easier when it was a cliché.
Roy nodded his head, "He was a great guy. Not many people would have given someone like me a chance, never mind a second chance."
"Thea said that you would be here." Roy said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked into the club and found Tommy at the bar, pouring over the club's books.
He looked up at from the ledger, and nodded his head.
"Thea was right." He said, turning back to his work.
"I'm sorry." Roy blurted out awkwardly, "Look, I know that you took a big chance in hiring me—most people wouldn't do it. And I blew it."
Tommy snapped the accounts book closed, and looked Roy over.
"You did blow it." Tommy said, "I gave you an opportunity, a chance that most people wouldn't ever get to have and you threw it away."
Roy shook his head, "I knew this was stupid…"
He bit down on his mouth, frustrated that he ever did this. As much as he wanted to show Thea that he could change, that he could be this guy who was somehow worthy of having been saved by The Hood—that he could be the better guy that she insisted she saw in him…he didn't know how to do it.
He didn't know how to be the guy who was worthy of her.
Roy turned his back, and started to leave.
"Stop." Tommy said, gesturing for him to come back to the bar. "You know, my father thinks that forgiveness, that apologies are weaknesses—that they come from men who don't have enough conviction in their actions."
Roy nodded his head once, confused. He wasn't entirely sure where Tommy was going with this.
"I'm not my father." Tommy told him, "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, and threw away a lot of chances, blew a lot of opportunities."
Tommy pulled out a bag from behind the bar and set it on top.
"This is your uniform."
"Thanks…" Roy stood there, stunned for a moment. "You—I mean, you're actually going to let me come back…have the job?"
"Let's just look at it as a fresh slate." Tommy told him, pushing the bag across the bar. "You start Friday."
"Thank you. I won't let you down." Roy said after a pause, taking the bag from the counter. "I'm not that guy anymore—the one who screws up. I want to do better than that—be a better guy."
"Smart move." Tommy told him, "Because, and I mean this in the most threatening way possible—if you hurt that girl, I will come for you."
Roy stifled a laugh, "So you're going to give me the protective big brother speech?"
"Oh, no—I wouldn't impinge on Oliver's place there. He's the disapproving older brother." Tommy told him, "I'm telling you that if you do anything to hurt that girl, you'll answer to me."
"Yes…sir." Roy said, "I've got it."
"Put that away too," Tommy told him. "Just Tommy."
"Yeah, well…" Roy held the bag up in a gesture of thanks, "Thanks then, Tommy."
"He and Ollie got a bad rap…" Thea said, as they walked through the hall; picking up a picture of the three of them on her dad's yacht, and slipping it into her purse. "They aren't bad people—you have to know…it was never easy for either one of them."
She turned on her heel, and looked up at Roy, who was taking in the immensity of the apartment. Thea realized it probably seemed incredible excessive to him, it was probably twice the size of his house, easy.
Or what his house had been, Thea corrected herself with a wave of guilt. She'd seen the crumbled mess that it was now.
"I'm getting that." Roy said.
He started to remark that it couldn't be easy for anyone to grow up with a parent that could be so far off the mark that they could do this…when he choked it down just in time. The last thing that he wanted to do was hurt Thea, he could see the pain that she was feeling in her eyes—worse, he heard it when she cried at night, long after she thought he was asleep.
Roy didn't know exactly how he was going to fix things for her, but he figured that the first step was to go with it—if finding her brother would give her even a modicum of relief, than that's what they would do. As much as he thought that Oliver was basically a self-centered jerk for abandoning her when she needed him the most.
"I took it really hard when my dad and Ollie were lost. When they stopped searching for them, my mom was so broken up, she just went to bed and it was like she decided she wasn't ever going to get back up. I felt forgotten, and I was angry. She wasn't the only one who lost them."
Thea shook her head,
"Tommy was there when I needed someone. I could talk to him, he'd let me talk to him for hours about Oliver and my dad, and he just…" Thea's eyebrows crinkled together as she thought of him. "He always understood. He made me feel like I wasn't alone. I could count on him when there was no one else, it was like still having a piece of Oliver when he wasn't there."
"Thea, hey…" Roy wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her to his chest. "You're not alone now. I'm not going anywhere. And we're going to find your brother."
"You hate my brother." Thea said, with a little twinge of a smile at the corner of her mouth.
"Well, I think the feeling is a little mutual. And…he started it." Roy said with a little shrug, and a grin.
Thea laughed, "Okay, okay…" she sighed, "C'mon, there might be something here."
"Voicemail." Roy pointed to the phone stand on an end table, with a red light blinking.
"Four messages." Thea said, pressing play.
Tommy, I'm calling back to confirm breakfast…
As Malcom Merlyn's voice came through the speaker, Thea felt a little twitch of rage.
"When we find The Hood," Thea said, angrily punching the button to get to the next message. "First step is to have him put some arrows in Malcolm. A lot of them."
Roy nodded his head, "You're not getting any argument from me."
And he thought he had father issues. Whatever conspired between the Merlyns took it to a whole other level.
Tommy, you're not taking my calls…
"Laurel." Thea said, skipping forward. "And you know what, I know the feeling because I've been calling her for a week, and she hasn't answered once."
"Well, you said that she and Oliver had been arguing. Maybe she just wants to get away from it." Roy suggested. "If she knew where he was, I'm sure she'd tell you."
I know you aren't in any place to listen right now, but Tommy, just stay away from the Glades. No matter how mad you are with me right now, you know that I wouldn't lie about this. It's happening tonight, and I don't want anything to happen to you…please—just stay away…
"Ollie…" Thea said, squeezing her eyes shut. "Oh god…I'm so worried about him. You didn't see him at the funeral, Roy. He was such a mess."
"Look, this isn't the end of the line, okay?" Roy took her firmly by the shoulders. "I told you that we'll find him, and we will. All we're doing now, is narrowing down where he isn't."
It might not be one hundred percent true, Roy thought, but if it would make her feel better, he'd run with it. After all, they said things like that on those missing people shows, didn't they? Besides, it wasn't a huge city—a billionaire playboy couldn't stay hidden away forever.'
Roy pulled her down the hall, and into Tommy's living room. Sunlight poured in the room through gigantic glass windows. The iron and glass décor gleamed, and he sat her down on the huge leather couch that was opposite a long glass coffee table. Roy moved some magazines and mail to the side, and looked back to her.
"What about his other friends?" Roy asked, "Old girlfriends, guys from school…anyone, Thea?"
"Friends?" Thea almost laughed out loud, "Even before the island, Oliver didn't have a lot of friends. I mean, everyone likes him, but…"
She shook her head, "It was him, and Tommy, and Laurel. That's it."
Roy furrowed his eyebrows together.
"There's got to be someone else." He said, "Hey, the black guy. What about him?"
"That's Diggle, his bodyguard." Thea frowned, "If Oliver wanted to go off the map, that's the first person he'd shake."
"Let's not count anything out." Roy said, "Do you know where he lives?"
"I don't really know him that well." Thea said, "He was just with Oliver…like all the time."
Thea sighed, trying to think hard. They hung out sometimes, at Verdant together…but no one would be there. It was a mess. She'd gone by after the funeral to try and find Oliver…even the liquor bottles were there, so she didn't think he'd even been around.
"Oh my god!" Thea exclaimed, "He's got a girlfriend, I remember seeing him and Oliver with her at Verdant. She runs some burger place in the Glades."
"Here's hoping it's still in one piece." Roy said.
Thea pulled her phone free from her purse, and did a search for burger restaurants in and around the Glades.
"A lot of fast food places…." Thea flipped through the list, until she found a place that wasn't a chain restaurant and in the Glades. "Here…Belly Buster Burgers?"
"They're still standing." Roy said.
Finally, he thought. They had earned something good—at the very least, it was a lead in the right direction.
Thea's nose crinkled, "You eat there?"
She slipped her phone back into her purse.
"They're…" Roy groaned, and shook his head. Now wasn't the time to remind Thea that she'd also eaten there on multiple occasions, and swore that their fries were like crack. "We'll do that some other time, little Miss Gourmet."
Thea didn't hear the remark, as she looked past Roy on the coffee table and saw Tommy's tablet. I am so sorry, she thought, but I know you wouldn't be angry with me.
She slipped it into her bag, hoping that it might have something remotely helpful on it.
. . .
Thea had been trying to put this off, but the calls from the Metro Police had made it startlingly clear that this was not a problem that she could push under the rug. Oliver hadn't shown up to testify, and from the way they were talking about it; well, the DA's office didn't sound very happy about it.
On the other hand, she figured that her mom's lawyers were over the moon. As glad as she was that it was good for her mom…she didn't like thinking that the same was probably true for Malcom Merlyn.
She had bigger problems though. Somehow, she needed to cover up Oliver's disappearance—under strict orders from the board of directors—and try and persuade some cop not to arrest her brother for being in contempt of court.
Then again, good luck with that. Thea didn't think they'd have any better luck tracking down Oliver than she was.
"You know," Thea said, breaching the subject slowly to Roy as she slipped into her jacket. "Maybe it would be for the best if I take care of this on my own and you…"
Thea shrugged, "Get a little more sleep, actually. You look exhausted. Maybe play around with the tablet."
She took Roy's face between her hands, and looked at him. He still looked a little beaten up, and though he didn't really tell her much about the three days between The Undertaking and when he came back to her…she knew that something had happened.
"Nice try." Roy told her, pulling her close to him for a kiss. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. Besides, I'm definitely no hacker—you might have better luck with that. You've seen me struggle to access my voicemail."
Thea laughed.
"Even if it involves what is bound to be an incredibly unpleasant meeting with the cop who—I'm pretty sure—hates you just marginally less than he hates my brother?" Thea raised an eyebrow at him.
Roy rolled his eyes, "I'm not worried about the detective. I don't get what he thinks you can do though—and really, are there any other cops in the Metro division aside from Lance?"
"I don't know." Thea shrugged, "Oliver was supposed to testify at the trial, and since he was a no show, he's probably hoping that I can tell him where he can go and arrest him at."
She sighed, "I'm sure that would make his week."
"You never told me what his problem with your brother was." Roy said.
"Because that could fill a book." Thea informed him. "Honestly, if he found Oliver at least I'd feel a little relieved. In a jail cell…well, at least he's not getting hurt. Much."
Thea tossed him the keys to the SUV.
"Security has the cars on lock down, so I stole these from our driver. Just a little trick I learned from my brother."
Roy laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they headed down to the garage.
"You know, for a spoiled little rich girl—you're sort of a decent criminal."
"Tell me about it." Thea said with a laugh.
. . .
Felicity had been in interrogation for forty minutes when Detective Lance walked in.
"You know, when I woke up this morning I wasn't really picturing spending a day in the police station." She told him, "I thought that maybe we were past that, given the givens…"
"The cameras are off." Lance told her, sitting down at the table across from her. "I'm not here to arrest you for…for what you do. Whatever it is you do."
Lance seemed to be struggling with actually saying it, and Felicity decided that it was probably for the best to let him go with it.
"What do you want me here for then?" Felicity asked him, leaning against the table, and watching him.
She wouldn't put it past him to try and get her to blow in The Hood, or even Oliver. This double identity thing could be exhausting, and it wasn't even her identity.
"Our um…mutual friend…" Lance cleared his throat, nervously handling the files that he'd carried into the room with him. "I didn't—I mean, I don't know how to get in touch with him. I was hoping that you could relay a message to him."
Felicity nodded her head, "I can…try."
If by try, I mean that I can pretend that I have the vaguest idea until my database hopefully uplinks to the lo-jack that may or may not ever work.
"Try? What do you mean?" Lance asked, "Isn't this guy your boss?"
For a moment, she felt a little flicker of trepidation in her demeanor. This was not going well.
"It's not really a boss/employee type of relationship." Felicity said, reminding herself to stay cool, take her responses calmly and with certainty.
If she couldn't keep his secret concealed, there would be nothing to come back to.
"Then what kind of relationship is it?" He asked with a sort of grimly uncomfortable look.
"Not that kind either." Felicity said with a roll of her eyes, then smiled. "It's a partnership."
She'd earned the promotion.
"Uh huh." Lance nodded his head once. "And your partner…?"
"We all took some hits after The Undertaking." Felicity said with a vagueness to her words that the detective didn't seem happy with.
C'mon, she told herself. You can do this. You practiced it a hundred times. You're prepared, you knew this was coming. You have the story, you have the upper hand. He is coming to you for help. That's a good thing.
"No one got out unscathed," Felicity said, realizing it might be the truest thing she told him. "He's not some kind of superhuman."
. . .
Thea shrugged as Detective Lucas and Assistant District Attorney Sam Crawford asked for the hundredth time, barely even bothering to try and ask differently any more, where her brother was, and why he didn't show up to court.
"She didn't know the first ten times you asked." Roy said, "You think anything's changed in the last thirty minutes when we've been sitting here."
"You, I don't like you." Detective Lucas said, pointing his finger at Roy. "You might want to try and stay out of trouble for five minutes."
"Look," Thea said, spreading her arms out on the table, trying to get back on track before she had a missing brother and a boyfriend in a jail cell. "I don't know if you guys got the memo, but my brother just got back from five years of being stranded on a desert island, tortured, watched our dad and his friend die…"
She looked them over, "Maybe you could say it's been a rough year for him between that, and now this. His best friend—best friend—just died, and our mom is going to prison until about…the end of time. It's a stressful time for him."
"Yeah, yeah…" DA Crawford said with a heavy sigh, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "You know, I'm really sorry to inconvenience your little life; with the shopping and clubbing, Miss. Queen, but I'm actually trying to bring to justice the people who masterminded a plot to create a genocide."
"And you think I'm not on board with that?" Thea shot back, "I lost people I loved too!"
Detective Lucas snorted, and tried to cover it up.
"That's novel, really." Crawford said, "But—"
"You think that's funny?" Thea said, angrily turning to Detective Lucas.
As he shook his head, rolling his eyes, Thea jumped up from her chair, ready to show him how serious she was when Roy grabbed her.
"Trust me, not a good idea." He turned to the cop with narrowed eyes once Thea was back in her seat.
"No one," Thea said, furious now with them, "Wants to see justice more than I do."
"Then why don't you start helping us." Crawford told her. "Your brother is valuable to us. He admitted in depositions to seeing heinous acts go on under the knowing eyes of Merlyn and your mother. For true justice to happen, we need him on the stand."
"Then you better hope he pulls his head out of the liquor bottle long enough to stand up." Thea told them, realizing it probably wasn't far from the truth. "The last time I saw my brother—"
"Last night." Roy supplied. "He caught me in Thea's room, and was threatening to throw me out, but she persuaded him to let me stay—since my house doesn't really exist anymore."
"Well, maybe next time you see him you can let him know that our case needs him." Crawford said, slamming his notebook shut angrily.
. . .
"Yeah, yeah…" Lance scratched his head, seemingly exhausted with her vague answers, and sighed, "Here's the thing…"
He slid a few files across the table to her.
"We're understaffed, and we're overwhelmed right now. The city is falling apart at the seams, and we're doing everything that we can do—but we need help. Our missing persons cases have skyrocketed, murders are on the rise, and don't even talk to me about the drug overdoses. The city is literally falling apart."
"I've noticed." Felicity said; she lived in one of the nicer high rises in Starling City and it was noticeable even there.
She glanced down at the files, skimming them. "But what's so special about these three?
"Glad you asked." Lance said, "These three…"
He tapped his fingers on the files.
"I don't like it. There's something not right there, but I don't have the resources to take it on. I believe that if something doesn't happen though, people are going to keep disappearing. What's happening out there…I think he's the person to stop it. Right now, I think he's the only person."
The Hood could, Felicity thought, if The Hood was willing to do anything.
She bit down on her lip, flipping through the files.
There weren't any noticeable connection between the people. Two men, one woman. They were all different ages, from different socio-economic backgrounds…
"I don't get it," Felicity said, "It looks like the only thing they have in common is that they're dead."
"Which is exactly why I can't look into it. My captain wants to write it off as three more lost to the earthquake." Lance told her, "But I don't think it's that easy."
"They weren't even found in that part of the city." Felicity said in confusion, as she perused the files. "This one on the Upper West, here at the border of the Glades and the city…this one in a lake towards the north…"
She shook her head, not liking this any better than he did. It didn't even make sense.
"Who would find a victim like this, and move their body?" Felicity asked.
"Uh huh." Lance nodded his head, relieved that she seemed to see the problem herself. "You can keep those."
"I'll see what I can do." Felicity said, gathering up the files.
At the very least, she could run them through her databases. Detective Lance didn't have access to the same…questionable methods that she did.
"You know," Lance said, pushing open the door and looking her over. "He's not the only one missing, Ms. Smoak."
"I know." She said, "I hear the numbers are in the hundreds."
"That's not what I meant." Lance told her, "I hear Oliver Queen was a no show at court. He's supposed to testify against his mother and Malcom Merlyn."
Felicity shrugged, trying to take a slow, calming breath.
"Wow, I had no idea." She frowned, "You know, I guess if I had to testify against my mother I might take a sabbatical too."
Felicity slipped past him into the hallway,
"But you know, I'm not all that worried. I'm sure he'll show up in some strip club somewhere in a couple days and remember that he forgot."
Lance nodded his head, making a grunt of agreement.
Felicity felt a pang of guilt as she turned around, shoving the files into her purse as she walked along—nearly fumbling them as she walked into someone.
"I'm sorry." Felicity said, quickly shoving them away before looking up. "I—"
Oh boy. She froze as she realized that it was Thea Queen.
"My fault." Thea said, glancing at her boyfriend and nodding her head. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
Felicity took a calming breath after Oliver's sister walked past, her hand entwined with her boyfriend's, just thankful she hadn't recognized her.
"Thea Queen," Lance said, glancing at her. "I take it you haven't met?"
"Lowly IT techs aren't exactly invited to the family Christmas party." Felicity told him, "But uh…I'll get on this, and when I know anything you'll hear from me."
"What about him?" Lance asked.
"You'll hear from me." Felicity stressed. "Good afternoon, Detective."
Oh wow. Felicity felt a shiver as she stalked off, after pulling out the icy retort. She'd done it.
. . .
The club was not the sort of place that Oliver Queen would ever be seen in. As a matter of fact, Oliver thought, feeling the small twinge with each ball that he sunk with a thump into the corner pocket, no.
Oliver shook away these thoughts as he had for a week now. Not his place. Not his problem. Not his responsibility.
Irina , the pretty eastern European beauty cuddled up next to him pouring him another fifth of whiskey.
Oliver Queen didn't have any responsibilities anymore.
"It's good for your game." She said in Russian, wrapping her arm around his waist and holding the glass to his lips.
She brushed her lips against his jaw, and ran her hand over his chest.
"And what about you?" he asked her, ignoring the impatient sounds that Maksim was making as he waited for Oliver to take his turn.
Oliver supposed he'd be upset as well if he was on the losing end of a thousand dollar bet…but then again, probably not. He'd lost far more than that this week, and he would continue to lose more. It was just that right now, the idea of beating the excessively arrogant, low level racketeer amused him.
"I'm good for everything." Irina assured him in a low purr, slipping one of her legs between his. "After you win…I will demonstrate."
Easily, Oliver called the ball, sinking it in the right corner pocket—Maksim punched his fist down against the table, letting loose a stream of obscenities. Abruptly though, he stopped, looking nervous as he looked somewhere past Oliver.
Oliver knew that it was the same Russian—or one of them at least, Alexi should still be convalescing in a hospital somewhere—Vitaly Zhliniv, the low ranking pit boss for the Bratva's gambling ring in Starling City. A bit player, at best.
At worst, a Russian with a bad temper and a predilection for afflicting pain on anyone who owed him money, and/or had the bad luck of crossing him. Oliver supposed that kicking his ass, and nearly severing his number one's carotid artery counted as thus.
This was good, he'd needed something to burn off the rage that had been building.
"Vitaly, back so soon," Oliver turned from the pool table, a chuckle escaping as he watched Vitaly coming up on him with a friend he didn't recognize. "And you've brought a friend..."
He tapped the side of his neck with the pool stick. "Is Alexi still feeling a little under the weather?"
Oliver took a long swig from the bottle of whiskey.
"Because, you know—I'm feeling great."
The new one, of medium build, and thick cord-like muscles that trembled in his neck, balked at his joke, and was held back by Vitaly who wore a grim look.
"You have to forgive Yuri's rush," Vitaly said, "after all that was his wife in the bar. You've insulted him, and the marriage bed. He's a traditional man. Catholic."
"I'd be offended too if my wife was a whore."
A smirk crossed Oliver's face as Vitaly held Yuri back still. These low ranking mobsters...if they knew he was a Captian...well, then there would be no fun to have. All this foreplay though, this was boring him.
"Ah," Oliver nodded his head, twisting the pool stick around in his hands like a baton. "Your wife you say?"
Yuri was trembling with anger, and Vitaly tipped his head curtly.
"His wife. You see the trouble you've caused now…the mother of his children, and you insult her, treating her like a common street walker."
"I'm sorry, really...I'm so sorry." Oliver played with the pole in his hands, shaking his head, and waiting for them to take the first strike. "There have been so many, and my memory, I mean, I forget—was your wife the one who takes it for free, or the fat one?
Oliver raised an eyebrow, and grinned as Yuri came at him. Dove at him, really. This could hardly be a fair fight.
He bowed out of reach easily, and Yuri stumbled, landing against the pool table.
There was no finesse to Yuri.
"It's no wonder she gives it up for free if you make love the way you fight." Oliver ducked a punch, using the pole to repel him easily. "Slovenly, sporadic...no follow through...at all."
He ducked the hits as they came, repelling Yuri without much effort. Quickly, Oliver adjusted his defense as Yuri yanked two knives from his boots, after Oliver sent him sprawling onto the floor.
"If I was a Freudian sort of guy," Oliver said, darting between slices of the knife in the air—roughly, jabbing the stick onto his chest, and hearing the snap of a bone that caused Yuri to howl in pain. "I'd say that you're overcompensating, Yuri."
Yuri retorted with a string of angry obscenities. He whipped the knives with a studied certainty; one of which Oliver repelled easily with the stick, the other he caught in his free hand, with a flash of pain when his fist closed over the blade hard, slicing deep into the flesh.
He'd slipped slightly. The knife clattered to the floor as his hand fell open, and he made a tight fist trying to stop the bleeding. With his other hand, he gripped the stick tightly.
"Mr. Orlav is concerned about the damage we do to this fine establishment." Vitaly chuckled, "We should continue this conversation outside like gentlemen, Mr. Hawke."
The girl who had been flirting with him-Irina —brushed her body up against his with a sweet smile as she yanked the stick from his hand.
"I do hope you've enjoyed your drink Mr. Hawke." She smiled, smoothly taking the bottle of whiskey from the table as he wavered slightly.
It wasn't every day that the upper hand was yanked from him.
It hit his bloodstream, and he realized it wasn't the liquor that caused him to fumble. She had slipped him something, and while he tried to fight against the fog that clouded his mind; his vision still was fuzzy, and he felt lethargic.
"We'll carry this on outside." Irina told him, turning to Yuri. "You've had your moment. He is now our concern."
She jerked her head in Vitaly's direction, and he grabbed Oliver, yanking him toward the door.
"Don't bother fighting…" Vitaly chuckled, "Yet."
Vitaly pulled him along, Irina kicking the door open and glancing into the street before nodding her head for Vitaly to continue on. With his arms twisted precariously behind his back, Oliver struggled, realizing that he might have underestimated the pit boss.
. . .
Felicity had always though that it would be a long shot.
Tagging Oliver's motorcycle with a hidden piece of tech to lo-jack him seemed like an important pre-emptive strike after Malcolm Merlyn had grabbed him. She'd been unable to think about anything else, except how much more badly that could have gone; how incredibly lucky Oliver had been.
In reality, slipping the device on the bike had been a lot more like peace of mind for her. She could not sit in a basement for a second longer, listening to him jump across buildings, and whiz down packed highways with this awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. For the love of god, she knew the statistics. Not that the fact that motorcyclists were that much more prone to injury was even the biggest problem…but at least she could pretend that it put her mind a little bit at ease.
Felicity had also decided that after she did it, it was probably a secret best kept between her and her computer. She didn't doubt that Oliver would be anything less than incredibly annoyed with her if he found out that she'd decided to track him.
Watching the steady blip on her phone, Felicity had plenty of time to consider all of this, never mind the most important consideration of all. She was so far outside of her comfort zone as she waited outside the Golden Dolls club, a small part of herself hoping that the name was a misnomer and it was more than just a very dirty looking strip club.
He was so particular about what he put in his body—
"Oh no." Felicity shook the thought away, turning her focus back to scouting out the club.
There had been a resounding sense of relief when she'd finally been able to get this program running. There was, of course, a chance that he had merely stashed his motorcycle outside of the club; or somehow unearthed the device—but she was confident that she'd hidden it well enough that without, well…her, he hadn't a chance of knowing the difference.
Felicity had always suspected that her neuroticism would one day serve her well.
As would, Felicity hoped, this.
She yanked the zipper on the oversize leather bag that lay in the passenger seat down. Felicity had two-fold expectations for his fancy, billionaire vigilante toys. If all went well, she would firstly figure out a way to deal with Oliver and his plan to run away and blame himself because the psychosis of Malcolm Merlyn had succeeded. The other half of her plan, sort of a plan 1.5, was to desperately leave some sort of evidence to at least make it appear like The Hood was alive and trying to protect the city.
Evidence like a nice green arrow in some dark alley.
Given, she wasn't so sure how well she'd thought out this plan, but she also hadn't thought that she'd be able to track down Oliver with marginal success. All was good so far.
For a few hours now, she had been loitering, watching the blinking dot with obsessive detail; sitting in the nondescript black Honda Accord that she had borrowed from her neighbor.
Borrowed…
Felicity bit down on her lip nervously, having to use the term incredibly loosely.
Somehow, when Emily had left her with the keys to her apartment while she was overseas for a month for work, well…she didn't suppose 'stealing' her car and using it to do something of this ilk had really been a part of the arrangement at all. However, her bright blue Yaris would be bound to stick out noticeably; not only to Oliver, but to anyone. Emily's car was a little more subtle, and blended into the street easier. She'd never imagined that she'd have to go as far as stealing a car though. So, that was new to her.
Please, Felicity said, consoling herself with a simple thought, it's hardly grand theft auto. It's a loan, and it will be back on level four, spot 17 C, before anyone—least of all Emily was any the wiser.
God knew, if she was really going to sit back and take stock of her life, and the things that she'd done in the time since she'd met Oliver, it wasn't even really like this scratched at the surface of the illegal things she'd done.
Felicity sighed, leaning back in the car and looking out the window at the front door of the club and continuing to watch the comings and goings, trying to hold onto her faith that he would be here. She was more than willing to spend the night.
All she knew was that she couldn't give up on him. It wasn't going to be easy, and it wasn't going to be pleasant, but she knew that if she could get to him—she could reason with him, make him see sense. If she could just get him to listen to her, maybe she could save him.
Felicity was wrenched brutally from these thoughts, her elbows slipping from the wheel, when she watched as a tall and slender brunette opened the door and was followed quickly by a hulking, bald guy dragged Oliver out the door with him, his arms pinned behind his back.
"Oh…that can't possibly be good." Felicity swallowed nervously, realizing that maybe she had overestimated her ability to handle this on her own, probably.
Too late to turn back now, she thought, watching as they dragged him into the alley next to the club. Felicity yanked the black bag free, and slid out of the car once the three slipped into the backstreet.
She ran across the street, the back slung across her shoulders. Felicity felt her heart thumping against her chest anxiously, and stomached the growing sense of nausea as she followed them.
Two options, she realized, glancing down the alleyway and considering running in head on and hoping they were so distracted by Oliver that they wouldn't see her coming—but something in the way Oliver looked, told her he wasn't exactly at his peak fighting condition—or slipping along the fence, and trying to get the upper hand sight unseen.
She ran along the fence, pushing herself as she listened, and stopping when she reached a large blue dumpster pushed up against the fence.
"And we could have had such an erotically good time," Irina tut-tutted as she grabbed Oliver's face between her thumb and forefinger while Vitaly held his arms down, shaking her head sadly. "Such a face. Such a face…it is going to break my heart to ruin it."
She turned to Vitaly, "It will break my heart, won't it?"
Vitaly grunted something similar to a confirmation.
Oliver struggled against the grip, trying to figure out some way out of this mess as Irina dug her nails into his face. If he made it out of this, he was really going to think twice before taking a drink from a pretty girl.
Another part of him thought, his head snapping backwards as Irina backhanded him with more force than a five-ten slip of a woman should have been capable off, maybe this was going to be the easiest out of all. There weren't any decisions to make any longer.
The island was calling to collect on his life after all. It would be what he deserved after all, he'd returned to fulfill this one mission and he'd failed.
Irina's hits came sharply, fiercely, each seeming to connect harder than the one before. So obviously it was not big mouthed—big everything—Vitaly who ran the show.
Felicity hadn't expected to have to actually hit anything. After scrambling on top of the dumpster, mildly impressed for a moment in her current success so far, she peered over the fence to see that Oliver wasn't doing so well.
As she tugged the crossbow free of the bag; swallowing down the fear, and trying to steady her hands, she struggled to remind herself that she had practiced this.
Of course, she'd been aiming at a punching bag and not moving human beings that were currently trying to kill the man whose life she was trying to dig out of the gutter, but these were all minor details, right?
Pull yourself together, she ordered. You've got one shot, one shot at getting this right.
If that brown haired bimbo could use one of these things, Felicity told herself, you can master it. You have an IQ of a hundred and seventy!
As she watched the woman who had seemed intent on merely beating Oliver to death flip open a knife, her heart skipped a beat. Felicity flipped the safety on the crossbow, her blood racing through her veins.
Point and aim. Point and aim. Point and aim. He's shown you a dozen times, Felicity. You've watched him do these things a thousand and one times.
Stifling a cry, Felicity squeezed both hands on the trigger and shot. She was almost afraid to look until she heard the clearly feminine snarl of pain, followed by a lot of yelling in Russian. The big guy threw Oliver to the side as the woman collapsed to the ground, a fact that relieved Felicity as she quickly reloaded the crossbow and shot again.
She cringed as she missed this time, hitting a spot in the building ten feet away from him.
Oh crap.
The woman laid on the ground, writhing enough to give Felicity the impression she hadn't killed her. Which was, you know, good.
As she reloaded, looking back up at them she saw that she'd been made. The man who'd thrown Oliver to the ground to check on his friend was looking up her way and pointing.
For a moment, Oliver had been stunned, the drugged lethargy and assault on his skull, making him too confused to totally sort out what had happened. He'd seen the bolt pierce Irina's arm and throw her to the ground, and Vitaly shoved him into the ground as he checked on her; both of them uttering something about The Hood.
No such luck, he thought, trying to pull himself together enough to reach for the knife Irina had dropped. He gathered it up in his hand, and hid it before falling back against the ground again. Whatever he'd been dosed with not only made moving a struggle, but all of his movements felt so incredible heavy and his sight was fuzzy….unfocused.
Attacking before they got close would not be in his favor.
He looked up in the direction Irina was yelling, sending Vitaly off to take care of the mark and gritted his teeth. No matter how he tried to shake the image, the long blonde ponytail and glasses didn't disappear.
Felicity?—what did she think she was doing, trying to get herself killed?
Uh oh.
As the woman yelled at him, and he took off running down the alleyway, Felicity realized that she had about forty-five seconds to come up with something—some kind of genius back up plan. Feeling a slight spark of nerves as she looked over the fence and saw Oliver lying on the ground, eyes squinting up at her; she realized she was probably in over her head.
Make that definitely, she decided as she saw the guy running up the alley she was in.
On the bright side, if they both survived this, maybe he'd be angry enough to come back and berate her.
Trying to forget the twelve foot drop, she climbed over the fence, struggling as the wooden posts cut into her hands; fighting to pull herself over and let out a little cry as she hung for a moment; squeezing her eyes shut and dropping down on the rough ground.
When she scrambled up to her feet, she wiped her bleeding hands on her pants, feeling the sting as she ran over to Oliver's side. He was struggling to his feet, and as appreciated as it would be, she didn't think that it was a thank you on his tongue.
"What in the hell are you doing?" Oliver barked at her.
She ignored him, trying to steady her hands enough to reload the crossbow, when Oliver saw that Irina was stumbling up from the ground, blood dripping down her arm as she came their way, gripping in her hands a knife that she pulled free from her waist.
"Felicity!" Oliver yelled, grabbing her wrist and yanking her body behind him roughly.
For the second time that night, she landed roughly on the ground, the crossbow falling from her hands. The knife missed them both, Oliver swung his head back to see Felicity picking herself up from the ground, yanking the broken glasses from her face.
He struggled to get a handle on the crossbow when he realized he'd lost the knife in the scuffle.
As Irina came at them, bellowing for Vitaly, Felicity yanked the bag off of her shoulder, closing her fist around the taser gun and dashing out of Oliver's shadow; pulling the trigger when they were feet apart, letting out a sound of relief as she sort of spazzed out and collapsed to the ground.
"It worked." She turned and looked at Oliver, her voice filled with skepticism; shocked as she held up the gun. "That really worked."
Oh wow, Felicity thought. She actually had this.
No, it wouldn't be that easy. Oliver knew, feeling the fuzz in his head start to clear barely as Vitaly jumped over the fence, bellowing obscenities and threats toward the both of them.
With a grunt, Oliver jumped up from the ground, seeing the silver flash of a gun in Vitaly's hand and dove toward Felicity as the gun went off with a crack.
"Oliver!" Felicity cried in terror as he fell next to her, eclipsed just barely from Vitaly by some aluminum garbage bins.
"I'm fine." He said through gritted teeth, feeling where the bullet tore through his shoulder.
He pressed the crossbow into her hands.
"It's loaded. He looked her over, realizing that she did grasp the seriousness of her situation. "You've got to do it Felicity. I can't…"
He shook his head as his vision started to cloud up, still seeing Vitaly coming for them.
Oh god, Felicity thought, feeling a twinge of panic as she took the bow. It was a lot different up this close and personal.
"I don't have my glasses!"
"Felicity!" Oliver yelled, gesticulating angrily with his hand. "Point and shoot, or you're going to die!"
With something approaching a squeak of fear escaping her mouth, she did what he said, jumping up and pulling the trigger.
The bolt passed through Vitaly's stomach, and Felicity watched with wide eyes as he collapsed to the ground, making guttural type sounds.
"Get the gun." Oliver told her, "Go, now."
Felicity listened to him, unable to shake the thought that she'd probably killed someone—as much as a little place in her mind reminded her that if she hadn't, he'd have killed her and Oliver. She tried to avert her eyes as she did so, feeling a small sense of relief as Oliver followed, seeming to struggle along behind her.
She highly doubted that he'd let her take him to a hospital, and she only hoped that she could handle what was wrong with him. He really, really didn't look good.
Felicity crouched down near the still body to grab the gun, and picked it up. She turned back to Oliver, glad that this was over.
Before she took a step, Vitaly's hand shot out, grabbing her around the ankle and the gun sailed from her hand. Felicity let out a cry as she fell to the ground, his hand tight around her ankle, leering at her like an animal ready to attack.
Pushing through the haze and pain, Oliver dove for the gun, picking it up and double tapping him in the chest.
"I-I thought I killed him." Felicity said, her voice trembling as she scrambled away from the dead gangster.
A shiver passed through her as she yanked the black leather bag from the ground, trying to pull herself together.
"No." Oliver said, eyebrows furrowed together, wavering slightly as he handed her the gun, flicking the safety on. "Your fingerprints are all over this. Put it…"
He gestured toward the bag, grimacing in pain. Oliver pressed his hand against his side, feeling the warm gumminess of the blood sticking his shirt to flesh.
Felicity took it, shoving it into the bag.
"I thought I killed him," Felicity said, glancing back the way of the man once.
"No." Oliver said, knowing that this was for the best this way.
He'd have had to kill him anyways, the last thing Felicity would need to live with was thinking that she'd killed a man. Innocent or not.
Oliver wasn't going to let her live out her life with such a thought hanging over her head.
"I did." He told her.
This was why—this right here was exactly why he pushed her and Thea away—of all people, he could not pull them into this kind of danger. They were both too close to him, and close to him was close to getting killed.
He couldn't always keep the people he loved safe.
"Oliver…" Felicity felt him falter as his hand brushed against her shoulder. "Oliver!"
Before she could grab him, he collapsed.
"Oliver!" Felicity brushed her hand over the leather jacket, pushing it to the side and seeing the bleeding wound below his shoulder blade.
She had to get him out of here, and preferably before the knife wielding brunette woke up.
"Oliver, c'mon Oliver!" Felicity shook him, "Oliver, wake up!"
It didn't seem to do anything, and she bit her lip, apologizing in advance.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She recoiled, curving her hand over his shoulder and pressing her thumb against the wound.
With a growl of pain, Oliver was conscious again, with Felicity hovering over him her blonde hair wildly hanging out of the ponytail, eyes studying him carefully.
"Oh thank god." She breathed, running her hand over her hair. "I thought I would have to call Digg."
"No." Oliver shook his head roughly, grabbing her wrist as she pulled him up, throwing her arm around his waist to help him. "You can't call anyone—no one, Felicity."
A little shiver of déjà vu ran up her spine.
"Okay." Felicity said nervously, nodding her head. "I promise."
Oliver lurched along, Felicity tightening her arm around him as they made the precarious trip to the car.
Car. Felicity cringed.
Not remotely the most illegal thing you've done. Today.
Maybe the same people who reupholstered her car would be able to get the blood stains out of Emily's leather.
. . .