Emma Whitmore grimaced as she gingerly moved her arm. Then she frowned at Nicholas.

"Why does Queen have to come on the Mothership?" she demanded.

It was a protest, not a question. It was clear she didn't want Oliver anywhere near their time machine and wasn't keen about travelling to 1884 to investigate, either. She looked angry, but then Oliver was beginning to think the woman only had two facial expressions; angry and sly. It was hard to imagine her wearing a genuine smile.

"You need Oliver's help," Nicholas replied. "You're wounded, Emma. And given that you haven't been able to deal with Lucy all the times you had two good arms, I very much doubt you'll be able to manage her and her friends with one."

Emma gave him a disgusted look. "My pistol arm is fine. I can still shoot."

Nicholas shrugged. "Not well, evidently, or we wouldn't still be worried about the Lifeboat team. They'd be taken care of by now." He glanced at Oliver and then raised an eyebrow pointedly at Emma. "From what I've read, The Green Arrow never misses."

Emma's mouth flattened into an unattractive, straight line. She didn't argue, but Oliver told himself that it would be a good idea not to turn his back on her anytime soon. His cooperation strategy may have convinced Nicholas to give him a ride on the Mothership, but it hadn't won him points with Emma.

"I'll be there too," Carol offered to Nicholas. "I can help Emma with Christopher's people."

It was Oliver's turn to raise an eyebrow. Five minutes ago the two women had been each other's throats. Now Carol was proffering assistance? He found it hard to believe that she could be on Emma's side in any situation. They were oil and water.

Apparently Emma wasn't buying it either. She gave a bitter laugh. "You won't convince Nicholas or me that you could ever harm Lucy, Carol. You've had multiple chances to deal with your daughter and you've never done a damn thing."

Daughter? Lucy was Carol's daughter?

"I haven't killed Lucy because she will eventually embrace her heritage," Carol replied calmly. "She's tough and she's smart. She just needs to understand that Rittenhouse is what this country needs – and her birthright."

"Ah, yes," Emma said, "here we go again. The Princess is entitled to her inheritance, even if she doesn't want it, so we let her get away with everything. Blood always wins out." She glanced at Oliver and assumed her sly face. "Who knows? Maybe if Lucy and Oliver take a shine to one another they can produce a Rittenhouse baby so the next generation takes its rightful place."

She said it sarcastically, but Carol and Nicholas looked at each other with thoughtful expressions, as if they were actually considering it.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Oh for God's sake, it was a joke. They're cousins."

Carol pursed her lips. "Second cousins," she corrected primly. "And you have to go back three generations to get to the common family member – which is Nicholas. Their relationship wouldn't be a problem."

Jiya smothered a cough and Oliver decided he was going to nip the idea of being a Rittenhouse daddy in the bud. "Let's just focus on the mission," he said. "I want to get my guy back from 1884. That's my priority. Leaving him in the past risks changing history in ways that neither of us may want." When they said nothing, he continued, "And just to be clear - I don't plan to kill anyone, unless it's absolutely necessary. I sure as hell don't think I'll be creating Rittenhouse babies."

Nicholas smiled, although his expression was nearly as sly as Emma's. "No, of course not," he said. "But I assume you will be agreeable to dealing with Lucy and her friends if they're interfering with history?"

Oliver nodded. "Yes – if they're interfering with history."

He hoped to hell they weren't, because then he'd be faced with a difficult decision. He'd met two groups of people in the last twelve hours who were screwing around with time and he didn't know either of them well. It was obvious the Rittenhouse team was unhinged. There was no way he was going to further their agenda unless Felicity's life hung in the balance. The story was muddier when it came to Agent Christopher and her team. Christopher was Homeland Security, which implied she was one of the good guys. And Jiya definitely struck him as a decent person, so the fact that she cared about Rufus and Lucy suggested they were decent people too. The truth, however, was that he'd only met them a few hours ago and really didn't know. The best-case scenario would be if he could find Felicity and return immediately to the present, without getting caught up in whatever was going on between these organizations.

He glanced at Jiya and saw that she was regarding him nervously. She was a smart woman and he had a feeling she could guess his thoughts. He wished he could get her alone to explain, but there was no chance of that happening right now.

He avoided her gaze and turned to Nicholas. "So what happens next?" he asked. "Do you have to fuel the Mothership or something? How soon before we can leave?"

Nicholas shrugged. "You can leave now. The Mothership is charged and ready to go."

"Really?" Oliver resisted the urge to pump his fist. After nearly a day of fear and frustration, he was finally on his way to Felicity. "Great." This time he allowed himself to meet Jiya's eyes. "Are you ready, Jiya?"

She nodded just as Emma shook her head. "What do you mean? She's not going. I'm piloting the Mothership – we don't need her."

Oliver had anticipated this objection. Fortunately, Carol and her gun had provided him with a solution.

He regarded Emma steadily. "No offense, Emma, but you look terrible. You're pale and you've probably lost three pints of blood. There's a chance you could pass out. I'm not trusting my life to a pilot who might crash – or leave us stranded in 1884 because she's not well enough to fly home. Jiya knows how to pilot the Mothership. She's coming as your backup."

Emma glared at him before turning to Nicholas. "Nicholas-"

The man shook his head. "Oliver has a point, Emma. You don't look well. And you know the Mothership is vital to our strategy. I can't risk losing it in another century if you become incapacitated. Oliver wants to come back to the present. He'll make sure Jiya brings the ship home if you can't."

You callous bastard, Oliver thought. I may not like Emma, but that's a shitty way to treat a teammate.

Carol frowned. "It sounds like you don't intend to come on this trip, Nicholas?" She appeared puzzled but not upset.

Nicholas hesitated and then said, "I don't. There's nothing I can do to help and I think it's best that one of us stay behind…just in case."

Emma wrinkled her nose. "Just in case The Green Arrow decides to shoot us again, you mean. You don't want to risk your own neck."

Nicholas shrugged. "As I said, there's no need for me on this trip. Carol is an outstanding historian. If history is being meddled with, she'll figure it out. And Oliver is certainly more useful than me when it comes to shooting – more useful than any of us, I'll wager."

Emma's back stiffened at the implied rebuke, but Carol didn't give her the chance to launch into another argument. "Very well," she replied to Nicholas. "We'll take care of this." She turned to Oliver. "Come," she said, reaching out and touching him lightly on his hand. "Let's get you settled on the Mothership."

It was a strangely nurturing gesture for a woman who had waved a gun at him half an hour ago – not to mention after the general acrimony of the last few minutes. Her voice was cool and collected; very Moira Queen-like.

She's not Mom, he reminded himself. Nevertheless, he allowed her to guide him to the time machine with her hand on the small of his back. After a short hesitation, Jiya followed.

The interior of the Mothership resembled a space capsule far more than it resembled the cockpit of an airplane. Oliver stared at the console and knew immediately that his flying skills were useless. There was no way on earth he could figure this thing out. He gave Jiya a weak smile as she walked through the door, relieved she was coming with him.

She didn't smile back.

"I'll help you with your harness," she said, pointing to one of the seats.

"Harness?"

She nodded. "Yup. The ride can get a little bumpy so we fasten ourselves down. Bending space-time will do that."

Oliver looked at the complicated arrangement of straps and buckles. "Fine," he replied, as he sat in the cramped, bucket seat. Then he added, "I can't remember the last time I ate, so at least I won't puke – probably."

She still didn't smile. She leaned close to him and pulled one of the straps snugly across his shoulders. As she did so, she whispered in his ear, "I know you're playing along with Rittenhouse to get back to 1884 and find your wife, but so help me God, if you do anything to hurt Rufus…or Lucy or Wyatt…I'm going to leave you stranded there. And that's the best scenario. You do not want to cross me."

It wasn't an idle threat. Oliver could see that she meant it and he believed she had the resolve to carry out that threat. Once again, he wished he could talk with her, but he saw Carol watching them so he smiled and nodded at Jiya, as if she were a flight attendant who had just offered him a beverage.

"Thanks," he said to Jiya. Then he turned to Carol. "Was that true what Emma and Nicholas were talking about earlier?" he asked. "Would Rittenhouse really expect you to kill your own daughter?"

Carol looked at him and after a moment said, "In a war, you sometimes have to make sacrifices. From what I've read about The Green Arrow, I would think you would understand that." Her face gave nothing away.

Oliver shook his head. "I understand sacrifice, but I would question the truth of any fight that asks me to kill someone I love – especially someone who is not doing evil, who just happens to disagree with me."

Carol frowned. "In a war, being on the other side is being evil," she replied. "That's the definition - it's enough."

"But who decided this is a war? You? Nicholas? That's convenient." There was more he wanted to say, but Emma stomped onto the Mothership and slumped into the pilot's seat.

"Everyone ready?" she asked, pulling her own harness into place awkwardly with one hand.

Oliver noticed that she had a pistol holstered to her hip. He reminded himself once again not to turn his back on her.

Jiya sat in one of the empty seats and buckled herself in. "Yes," she replied. "Ready."

"Ready," Carol added.

"Okay." Emma began flicking switches.

"You should probably aim for June 7, 1884," Jiya suggested, "since you encountered the landing problem on the sixth."

Emma made an angry snort. "I know that, Jiya."

The Mothership was beginning to vibrate.

"And we should try to land in Central Park," Oliver added. "That's where my guy went missing."

Emma didn't reply, but she typed something onto a keyboard.

The Mothership was shaking now.

"Okay," Emma said. "We'll be taking off in three...two…"

Oliver never heard one. There was a roar in his ears and his surroundings went dark - and then light, and then dark again. For a few, long seconds, he had no idea which way was up. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists as his chair shook violently. He thought about a short piece of dialogue from one of the few books he'd voluntarily read in his youth, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy:

"It's unpleasantly like being drunk."

"What's so unpleasant about being drunk?"

"You ask a glass of water."*

This must be what the water feels like, he thought. His stomach flipped multiple times, making him glad it was empty.

And then the shaking stopped and the Mothership was silent. For a moment, no one said a word.

Emma checked the console and grinned. "Well, here we are: New York City, Central Park, June 7, 1884. And I think it's early afternoon – somewhere around two o'clock – if that matters."

She pressed a button and the door to the Mothership opened with a soft hiss. Sunlight wafted inside and Oliver heard birds chirping. It felt amazingly normal after the violent ride he had just taken. He released the buckles that held him in his chair and stood, his legs trembling a little.

"You okay?" Jiya asked as she expertly unclipped her own harness. Her dark hair was a little disheveled, but she looked comfortable and far more at ease than he felt.

"I think so." He retrieved his bow and quiver and moved to the doorway. Then he jumped to the ground, his legs buckling slightly as he landed. It was a strange sensation, to jump into the past, and he was curious to find out what a hundred years ago felt like. Would New York be fresher and more youthful without a century of history pressing down in it? Would it be more innocent? Glancing around, he honestly couldn't tell. The Mothership had landed on the edge of a wooded area, a few yards away from a grassy expanse. There were no people in sight; just the trees and the grass and the birds. It could be a nice June day in any century.

Jiya appeared in the doorway and he reached up to help her. She put her hands on his shoulders as he placed his around her waist and then lifted her down.

She studied him. "You're sure you're okay? You look a little pale."

"As pale as Emma?"

She smiled. "No. She and Carol are changing her bandage, by the way, so we may actually have a few minutes to ourselves."

"Good. Let's get our bearings."

They walked through the trees and into the open field to look around.

"Do you think we're in the right place?" Oliver asked.

Jiya shrugged. "Well, it certainly looks like a park."

Oliver sighed. "Pretty much anything with grass and trees looks like a park." He peered into the distance, using his hand to shade his eyes. "I think the time period is right, anyway," he eventually said. "I see horse-drawn carriages."

Jiya stared. "Yup – I see them, too." After a moment, she added, "I'm pretty sure this is Central Park. See those buildings? They look like brownstones."

"I see them."

He studied the horizon for another minute before turning to her. "Jiya…look…I don't want to hurt anyone – not Rufus or your team – and not Carol or Emma either; although I admit, in Emma's case, it's a little tempting. She doesn't strike me as a very good person."

Jiya smiled but didn't say anything.

"I met all of you a few hours ago," he continued. "I don't know what's going on here and I don't know what's right. My first impression is that history isn't something you meddle with and everyone should leave it alone."

She reached out and rested her hand on his forearm. "That's exactly what my team is about, Oliver; keeping history intact. Rittenhouse is the organization that's trying to change it."

"Then why is your team still in 1884? Why didn't they come back when Rittenhouse didn't stay?"

She bit her lip. "I think Rufus may be in trouble. He's the only one who can pilot the Lifeboat. If he's hurt, the rest of the team is stuck."

He searched her face for signs of deceit and saw none. He nodded slowly. "I see."

She kept her hand on his arm. "So, what now? Will you help?"

He turned away from her and gazed once more at the vague shape of buildings past the trees. "My first priority is Felicity," he replied honestly. "After that, I'm going to play it by ear." He watched a horse-drawn carriage move at a leisurely pace a quarter of a mile away. If he tried to go that slowly on his Ducati, he thought, he would fall over. "You know, I really think this is 1884 New York City. We made it."

Jiya chuckled. "Emma isn't a very good person, but she is a decent pilot."

There was a short bark of laughter. Oliver turned to find Emma and Carol approaching them from the trees. "Damn right on both counts, Jiya," Emma said.

Oliver studied the women in surprise. Emma had changed more than just her bandage. She and Carol were wearing long, full skirts and had coiled their hair up on their heads, presumably in keeping with 1880's fashion. He thought Carol looked like she had stepped out of the pages of a history book, but found Emma less convincing. Maybe it was because he knew she was carrying a Glock somewhere under that skirt.

Emma grinned at Oliver. "Welcome to the 1880s, Mister Queen. No television, no radio, no cell phones. Any idea how you're going to find your guy? Or did you forget to think about that?"

Actually, Oliver had thought about it – quite a bit. He'd picked Central Park as their landing place because he figured Felicity would remain in the location where she'd last seen Barry. The question now was how to narrow it down further. Central Park was pretty damn big.

"There are newspapers and signs," he said slowly, "which might be a way to get his attention. I've got something else I want to try first, though. Something that might be quicker."

The three women looked at him and waited.

"I need to find a tall landmark in the park," he continued. "Something isolated, like a single tree or a flagpole. Probably toward the center of the park, where it will see a lot of traffic."

The four of them stepped further into the field and studied their surroundings.

"We're fairly near the center of the park now," Carol said. "I can see the reservoir over there." She pointed. "See the water and the walking paths? That hasn't changed in a hundred years."

Oliver followed her gestures and saw the edge of the water about a half a mile away.

"Good. Hopefully there's something tall near one of the paths." He began walking toward the reservoir.

"Wait a moment," Carol said. "You can't go like that. You're not appropriately dressed."

Oliver looked down at himself and choked back a laugh. Not appropriately dressed was an understatement. He was still in his Arrow suit, with the hood off and the mask stuffed in one of the jacket pockets. He considered his options for all of two seconds before deciding that he didn't care. Protecting his identity and not standing out weren't important when Felicity could be somewhere in the park at this very moment.

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"But there are people over there," Carol persisted. "When they see you, they're going to wonder…and have questions."

It was true they were beginning to see a few people walking near the reservoir. Oliver could make out women strolling with parasols and men in bowler hats. He shrugged again. "I won't talk to anyone and I won't be long. And I'll get back into the woods as soon as I can."

Carol stared at him indecisively and then sighed. "All right," she conceded. "But Emma and I are coming with you to keep the damage to a minimum. Jiya should probably stay here, since she's not dressed correctly either."

"And give her a chance to steal the Mothership?" Emma snorted. "Hell, no! We're all going."

Carol looked at Emma and her mouth straightened into a prim line. "Fine," she said. "But we need to be quick."

Oliver nodded. "We will be." And without waiting for further discussion, he strode off toward the reservoir. The three women followed on his heels, almost jogging to keep up.

When he got closer to the water he saw several trees that fit the bill, with one standing out above the others. It was tall and very straight, and its trunk was largely free of branches until the top.

He stopped and pulled an arrow out of his quiver.

"What do you plan to do with that?" Emma asked, as the women caught up to him. They were all a little breathless.

"You'll see."

He retrieved the mask from his jacket pocket and threaded the arrow through the eyeholes. Then he fired the arrow at the tree, placing it about thirty feet above the ground. A few of the pedestrians stared, but no one approached him.

Oliver and the women studied the arrow.

"The mask looks pretty small from down here," Emma eventually said. "And it doesn't exactly wave in the breeze. Do you think your guy will see it?"

Oliver continued to look up at it. "Maybe not," he admitted. He thought for a moment. "I'll try something bigger."

He shrugged out of his green leather jacket; then pulled his long-sleeved tee shirt over his head. The shirt was made of the same material used by professional athletes – a black polypropylene that wicked moisture and was very twenty-first century. He shoved an arrow through the armholes and shot it at the tree. The second arrow landed near the first one; but this time the shirt fluttered and danced in the wind.

"There," he said. "Better?"

He lowered his gaze from the tree to find the three women gaping at him. "Well?" he prompted them again. "What do you think? Will he see it?"

Emma's eyes didn't move from his bare torso. "I think Lucy might not be opposed to making Rittenhouse babies with you after all," she said. "Hell, I think I'd be willing to give it a try and I don't even like you."

He frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Never mind, Oliver," Jiya sighed. She picked his jacket up from the ground and handed it to him. "Better put this back on. Even the nineteenth century women are drooling."

Oliver slipped his arms into the jacket and zipped it up.

"What now?" Jiya asked.

He took one more look at his arrow. "Now we go into the trees and wait."

For a man who didn't know anyone in New York City, Nikola Tesla was in no hurry to meet people and make friends. Felicity and the time travelers wandered Central Park for over four hours with no sign of the scientist. Her feet were sore and her bustle and skirt felt like they weighed twenty pounds.

"I'm going to need to sit soon," she said to Lucy.

Lucy frowned. "Let's just take one more pass around the reservoir. If we don't see Tesla, we can take a break."

Felicity sighed. "I don't suppose Tavern on the Green exists yet," she joked, referring the iconic Central Park restaurant. "I could use something to eat and drink."

"Tavern on the Green exists, but it's a sheep fold," Lucy replied seriously. "It doesn't become a restaurant until 1934."

"Crap."

Felicity heard Rufus laugh. He and Wyatt were walking a few paces behind her and Lucy. The team had considered splitting up to search for Tesla, but abandoned that idea when they realized there was no way to contact each other if any of them found him. Felicity had left her useless cell phone in the pocket of her jeans, back in the Lifeboat.

They continued walking toward the reservoir, examining every face they saw. The sun was warm, but not hot, and the air was soft and only slightly humid.

At least it's a nice day, she thought.

A man walking the path in the opposite direction smiled at her and tipped his hat. The gesture felt polite and respectful and Felicity smiled in return. She decided that there were some things about the nineteenth century that weren't so bad. If this were modern-day Star City, the man would have leered at her.

"What the hell do you think that is?" she heard Rufus ask Wyatt. He sounded confused.

She turned to look at the men. Rufus was pointing up at a tree, his brow furrowed. Wyatt was gazing up, too, and shaking his head. "It sure doesn't look nineteenth century," Wyatt said.

Felicity followed the direction of Rufus's finger.

And her heart started beating faster.

There was an arrow sticking out of the tree. Hanging from the arrow and fluttering in the breeze was a black, long-sleeved tee shirt. It looked like something an Olympic sprinter would wear, or maybe an NFL player during a training session. There was nothing remotely old-fashioned about it.

Felicity would know that shirt anywhere. She had seen it - or some version of it – countless nights, sometimes with bullet holes and blood. She had run her hands over it, buried her nose in it, and – more than once – yanked it over the head of the man wearing it. And if for some reason she still had doubts, there was a second arrow next to it in the tree, threaded through the eyeholes of a black mask.

Her heart was pounding now.

"He's here," she said, breaking away from the group and anxiously scanning the faces around her. A dozen questions raced through her mind. How did he manage to get to the nineteenth century? Was he safe? And where was he at this very moment?

Lucy caught up to her and grasped her arm. "Who's here?" she asked. "Tesla?"

"No. My husband."

Lucy shook her head. "That's not possible, Felicity. I know you want to return to him, but there's no way your husband could travel back in time."

Felicity pointed at the tree. "That's his shirt. And his mask."

"His mask?"

Felicity nodded. "His mask," she repeated. "And, believe me; he can do anything he wants when he puts his mind to it. He's here."

Oliver tried to tell himself to be patient and remain hopeful. He'd put the shirt up less than two hours ago and it was a big park. Felicity could be resting on a bench; she could be trying to remain inconspicuous in her modern clothes. There was any number of good reasons why she hadn't yet seen his signal.

There were a few bad reasons, too, but he refused to think about those.

"How long do you want to wait here?" Emma asked Carol. "I mean, we're supposed to be finding out what Lucy and her team is up to, not cooling our heels in the woods."

Carol nodded reluctantly, as if it pained her to agree with Emma. "We'll give it another hour. Then we need to leave the park and get some newspapers so I can see if there are any recent events that don't align with history."

Oliver thought about telling both women that they would stay as long as he wanted, but decided not to waste his breath. He'd fight that battle if there was still no sign of Felicity in sixty minutes. Looking at Emma, he thought there was a chance there might not even be a battle. She was sitting on the ground, with her back against a tree and her face pale and drawn. Oliver had enough personal experience with gunshot wounds and blood loss to know that it required at least twenty-four hours to replace plasma, and far longer to replenish red cells. She had to be exhausted.

Jiya looked tired, too; although not ill, like Emma. She was also sitting, but couldn't seem to stop fidgeting - anxious to find Rufus, Oliver guessed. He understood but wasn't going to bend to her fears. Finding Felicity was his first priority.

He remained on his feet, despite his fatigue. He stood just inside the wooded area and studied the pedestrians around the reservoir, his senses attuned to any woman who was on her own or looked out of place. From the cover of the trees, he had good view of the people coming and going a few hundred yards away. A large number of them paused to look up at the shirt, but they were all distinctly nineteenth century. The women wore long dresses and the men were in woolen suits – and they were all paired up in some way or another; no one was alone. Many of them examined his arrows for a minute or two but then resumed walking.

Oliver didn't think his jaw could get any tighter.

A pair of men stopped and stared up the tree and Oliver saw two women turn and join them in conversation. Two couples, he thought, out for a stroll. From his position, he could see that one of the women was blonde and the other was dark-haired, but couldn't quite make out their faces. Both were wearing long, full skirts, and appeared to be friends. The dark-haired woman was tugging on the arm of the blonde and the blonde was shaking her head.

He shifted his gaze to other pedestrians. Felicity would be alone.

He returned his attention to the couples, though, when he realized they were lingering around the tree longer than the others. The blonde was animated and he watched her break away from the dark-haired woman and start examining the area around her, spinning in a slow circle as she scanned her surroundings. The dark-haired woman followed, still talking to the blonde.

Oliver stepped out of the trees and into the open to get a better look.

When the blonde woman reached the point in her circle where she was facing him, she stopped and stared. He still couldn't see her features, but he could tell that she was wearing glasses with dark frames.

Dark frames, not nineteenth century wire frames.

His heart skipped a beat and for an instant, he froze; afraid to even think it - afraid his mind was filling in gaps that weren't there. After all this time, after all the obstacles, he was prepared for something else to go wrong and not for how to react when he actually found her. He knew that if he closed the distance between them only to learn he was mistaken, it was going to kill him.

He took a few more tentative steps toward her.

"Oliver?" Jiya called from the trees.

He didn't answer - just kept walking, every muscle in his body tight.

The blonde stared at him for only a second or two longer before she suddenly started running; running toward him as fast as that ridiculous big bell of a skirt would allow her. Her hair came loose from whatever had been holding it up on her head, falling onto her shoulders in a very familiar way.

His doubts disappeared and he couldn't stay still a second longer. He also began running, but then saw that the two men she'd been with were chasing after her.

What the hell?

He stopped and lifted his bow, nocking an arrow and aiming at the men – planning to disable, not kill. He was a millisecond away from releasing the bowstring when Jiya caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

"Don't!" she cried. "Don't shoot."

He lowered his bow arm. "Why? What the hell is going on?"

"I don't-"

Felicity made it to him before Jiya could finish her answer and before the men could catch her. When she was two feet away, she launched herself at him, crashing into his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Oliver!"

He dropped the bow and put his own arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him, lifting her feet off the ground. Relief flooded his body as he held her, like a shot of morphine easing terrible pain. He lowered his head to press his lips against her hair. It was warm from the sun and smelled exactly the way it always did – clean and a little like her watermelon shampoo. A hundred years hadn't changed that.

"Felicity," he whispered, not putting her down. "I can't believe it."

She tucked her face into his neck. "Me either. For a few seconds, I thought I was imagining things. I was so worried I might never see you again."

"I know – me too."

He tightened his arms, not wanting to break contact. Her grip was vise-like on his neck and it felt wonderful.

So they stayed that way. Stayed that way as the strength and life flowed back into his body; stayed that way as the men and the dark-haired woman caught up to them; stayed that way as he was dimly aware of the voices and the questions bubbling up around them.

"Jiya, how did you get here?"

"Oh, Rufus, you're all right. Why didn't you come home?"

"What are you doing with The Green Arrow?"

"What do you mean, he's her husband?"

Then Oliver heard a click - a soft, familiar sound he'd heard far too many times before. It was the click of a safety being removed from a gun.

He put Felicity down, but kept her pressed tightly against him. One of the men who had chased her was pointing a pistol, alternating his aim between Oliver and the woods behind him. Oliver turned to see Emma and Carol walking out of the trees. Emma had her Glock in her hand.

The man eyed Oliver suspiciously. "What's Rittenhouse doing here?"

Crap!

A/N: Thank you very much for the continuing to read. There's not a huge audience for this story (one of the risks of crossovers), so it's kind of a labor of love. I'm very appreciative to the folks who have commented, though.