Slade Wilson had spent five years plotting the complete and total destruction of Oliver Queen. Despite his plan's perfection, he found that it had the capacity to be improved. Before he'd gotten his hands on that slimy, squalling newborn, he'd had no insurance policy. Now, even if anything were to go wrong, Slade could still hold tightly to the fact that Oliver's firstborn was slowly but surely being turned into a monster. The thought always made him feel warm inside.

As if that weren't wonderful enough, Oliver's fragile wife had turned against him. He'd seen her on his screen, weeping as she packed her things and telling Moira why she was leaving. Involving Oliver's heartbroken wife in the scheming was an ideal adjustment to his plan.

Mapleville was such a charming little town, he noted on his cab ride to the Smoaks' house. He wondered if the quiet was doing anything to help the grieving woman recover. The cab stopped at 7 Violet Lane, a house at the far end of a cul-de-sac. Slade stepped out of the cab and took a second to survey the pale blue colonial, with its white picket fence and precious little lawn gnomes in the manicured front yard. Once he paid the driver, he sauntered up the footpath made of colorful mosaic tiles and rang the doorbell.

The door opened slowly, creaking softly as it revealed a disheveled young woman with gray in her hair. A stretched-out brown sweater hung on her small frame and her baggy sweatpants were almost big enough to hide her bare feet. She chewed on her thumbnail absentmindedly while she studied him with lifeless, red-rimmed blue eyes. The poor thing must've been crying all day.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asked, her voice hollow and muffled by her fist. "It's about time."

This was going to be so fucking easy.

"I haven't come here to harm you," he said gently. "You've clearly suffered enough. I was hoping you and I could talk. Perhaps you and I could figure out what to do about your husband."

Her lips curled into a fleeting smile, her fist obscuring it. But the sudden light in her eyes was obvious. "Really?" she said quietly with a hint of excitement. "You want my help?"

He nodded, smirking. There was a subtle determination in her expression, as if she'd finally found something to give her strength.

"Would you like to come in?"

The house was quaint but dated, very grandma-living-in-a-cottage-esque. The floral wallpaper was a different print in every room and the sofa had a quilt hung over the back. He didn't notice the doilies on the arms until he sat down. Felicity took a seat across from him, balling herself up in the overstuffed old armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then she winced as if she just remembered something. "Um, would you like something to drink? I should've asked before sitting down. Or snickerdoodles. My mom made snickerdoodles. They're supposed to be for after dinner, but I'm sure it's—"

"I'm fine, thank you," It was almost embarrassing how easy of a target she was. "I'm eager to get down to business. I'm glad to find someone who understands what kind of man Oliver Queen is. Why he deserves to suffer."

"I wish I'd known before I married him," she remarked bitterly. "Or better yet, before he knocked me up." Then her brow furrowed. "Have you been doing all of this alone? Is that why you want me?"

"I have associates with their own reasons, but neither of theirs truly aligns with mine. Neither of them have your level of empathy. Though I suppose Isabel Rochev understands my loss to some degree. She blames the Queen family for Robert leaving her."

Comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh… I already knew about the affair, but… that makes sense."

"Sebastian Blood, on the other hand, wants to destroy Starling so that he may rebuild it, make it stronger than it was."

Felicity nodded, her face scrunched in deep thought. "The Mirakuru soldiers. I get it now."

"And you," Slade rose from his seat to kneel at her side. "Look at what Oliver Queen has done to you. He deserves to suffer in every way possible."

Tears brimmed Felicity's eyes, and she whimpered. "Mr. Wilson?"

"Slade, please,"

"Did you, um… was it you?" she sobbed. "Did you have anything to do with what happened to my baby?"

He put his hand on hers. "I assure you, I was not involved." he said with practiced conviction. "Had I ever targeted your son, I wouldn't have simply taken him. I admit I wouldn't have restricted myself to that level of subtlety." His grip on her tightened consolingly. "I simply would've left his body for your husband to find."

She cried a bit more, but she definitely bought it. Seconds later, her parents walked into the living room, looking confused and worried.

"Flick?" said her father, startling her. "Honey, why is this man in the house?"

Felicity frantically wiped her eyes and nose with her sweater sleeve. "It's okay. Really. He's a friend."

"Well maybe your friend should leave now. You seem very upset." fretted her mother.

"Excuse me for a second." she mumbled to Slade before getting up and herding her parents out of the room, her pleas for them to go back to cleaning the garage fading as she ushered them down the hallway.

Slade went back to the couch and waited. A smile crept on his face as he imagined all the potential in having Oliver's wife on his side. Everything was falling into place.

"Is there a problem?" Slade called as he heard her footsteps. "Perhaps we should have this conversation elsewhere."

She appeared in the doorway. "Hmm? Oh, no, we won't be interrupted again."

Slade gazed at her face, pleased to see she looked stronger already. His offer must've given her hope. He hadn't even noticed that her hands were behind her back.

A bullet was buried in Slade's kneecap before he could even process what was going on. He stared dumbly at the enormous Desert Eagle in Felicity's hands as the pain overtook him. She shot his other kneecap just as a scream rose in his throat.

Slade sat there in unexpected agony; his hands shaking as he gingerly touched his wounds. He wasn't used to bullets hurting so much.

"I have five bullets left," stated Felicity, a fierce glint in her eye. "I bet you're wondering if I can make them count."

"I offered to help you," he hissed, his voice quiet and hoarse.

"No," she rebutted angrily, "you tried to take advantage of my vulnerability and desperation, just like everyone else. The con artists, the media… You're all trying to turn my tragedy into an opportunity. You thought I would actually want to be on your side because Oliver hurt me and it's fucking insulting." She fired another shot, then another, one for each shoulder. He fell to his side, screaming.

"I know about Shado, and it's fucking ridiculous. Even with Oliver's everything-is-always-my-fault angle it was pretty clear that Ivo planned to kill Shado and make it look like Oliver had a choice in it. Even if that weren't the case, you're still a petty old bastard who can't get over losing his woman. Doesn't make it okay to wipe out an entire city."

"You ungrateful bitch," Slade croaked, unable to move except for his involuntary shaking. Why did the bullets fucking hurt so much? "He betrayed you. All he'll ever do is betray you. He's the reason you lost your son—"

A bullet in the gut. Another scream. "Do you honestly think I'm stupid enough to believe that? By the way, the last two are going in your head."

"No!" he roared, trying to move. "I will not die at the hands of Oliver Queen's broken little wife! I will gut you in front of him and watch as he weeps over your mangled corpse! This is not how I will die! This is not—"

Felicity put his misogynistic bullshit to rest with the two remaining bullets. After making sure he was dead (she poked him repeatedly with a broom handle), she called for her parents, who helped her roll him onto the couch quilt and drag him into the garage.

She was gone for four days. Four whole days that the team had probably spent worrying about her. That probably should've made her feel guilty, but she was too angry to care. It wasn't like they weren't always worrying about her anyway.

Thankfully, Moira was the only one home when she arrived. When Felicity told her she needed to go see Oliver, her mother-in-law refused to let her leave without cleaning up a bit.

Red. She needed to wear red, Moira insisted. She'd bought her a dress to suit the occasion, when and if she came back. The violent shade and fitted style certainly made it appropriate. It was odd to wear color after such a long time, especially the bold red lipstick.

The outfit, right down to the hazardous stilettos, was helpfully empowering as she clicked down the stairs carrying her purse and picnic basket. Oliver, Sara, and Diggle were sparring and Roy was practicing archery, so no one saw her until she sat down in her chair, the basket in her lap.

She didn't know a double take could be done collectively, but that's what happened.

"Hello," she greeted brightly. Was it wrong of her to like that Oliver and Sara were scared?

"You look like you're feeling better," Roy said, beaming as he walked over to her. She stood up to hug him. "So… what's with the dress? And the wicker suitcase… tiny trunk… thing?"

"It's a picnic basket." Felicity grabbed his face and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. "And I'm going to need you to keep your Mirakuru temper under control because shit's about to go down." Roy looked at Diggle questioningly as she sashayed over to Oliver with the picnic basket in hand.

"Felicity, I'm so sorry," he said earnestly, taking her gently by the shoulders. "I was so afraid you'd never come back."

"Which is surprising because you've been avoiding me ever since we lost our son." she responded caustically, her eyes boring into his. Her words sucked the oxygen out of the room; it had been an unspoken rule that no one ever brought up Robbie. "And from what I can tell, you don't even love me anymore."

Oliver crumbled a little. "That's not—"

"It's understandable, of course. I mean, look at me." She took a step back. "I'm not the woman you married. I'm just her empty, graying husk. Your Felicity died on October 9th and I don't think she is ever coming back." Her vision blurred behind her glasses and she blinked them away. She didn't want to cry in front of him.

But Oliver had slightly less pride. She could see the tears forming. "No, I still love you. I love you so much—"

"Then why did you cheat on me?" she shouted, backhanding him. He stared at her in shock. "I am trying so hard! I promise I am! But I am stuck in a fucking briar patch because of all the shit that's going on! The media is still spreading rumors about me and con artists keeping showing up with their changeling babies and psychos send us ransom notes claiming they have our son and you won't talk to me." She couldn't stop the tears now. Then she said in a small, broken voice, "It would've been so much easier if it had been me."

Oliver wiped at her tears. "What are you talking about?" he asked in a frightened tone. Roy stared daggers at a guilty Sara while Diggle listened intently to the quieted conversation.

"If you had saved Robbie instead of me, it would've been easier for everyone."

"Don't talk like that," Oliver begged, hugging her close to his bare chest. "I never want to lose you."

"Then why do you keep pushing me away, you fucktard?" she asked, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Why don't you blame me for losing Robbie?"

"What?" Felicity looked up at him in annoyance. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Seriously? I don't blame you because it's not your fault, you fucking imbecile!"

"Told you," Diggle voiced.

"I'm the reason they went after you in the first place," Oliver argued, ignoring his bodyguard.

"That snitch is the reason they went after me. You're the reason I didn't die of blood loss. Diggle, can you believe how dumb he is? He's so dumb. Oliver, a heartless, vindictive piece of shit is to blame for us losing Robbie. They cut his umbilical cord and took him from my arms as I sat on a dirty concrete floor in an expanding pool of my own blood. That is who I resent. And when I find who did it I'm going to make what I did to Slade look humane."

"Wait, what?" Oliver said with a blink.

"By the way, you cheated on me. I know you've been vulnerable and dealing with a lot but that is unacceptable."

"He's not totally to blame," Sara chimed in, taking a few steps closer.

"Fuck off, Sara. I'll deal with you in a minute." Felicity snarled, still holding Oliver's waist. Sara took a step back. Roy looked on proudly.

"The security footage showed that you made out with her." she said, returning her attention to her husband. "Then you two moved to a blind spot. Did you do anything more?"

"No," Oliver and Sara insisted simultaneously.

"We realized it was wrong and then we stopped," Oliver elaborated. "I promise."

"And while we're in the general vicinity of the subject, did you bring Jensen to Moscow instead of me so you could get away with screwing Isabel?"

"Uh…Isabel and I got very friendly…" Oliver admitted. Felicity leaned back and eyed him suspiciously. "Then Jensen cock-blocked me so hard that the shock wave forced all of the sexual tension out of the room."

"It's true," Diggle confirmed with a smirk.

"Thank goodness," Felicity said, sighing. "Because Rochev's evil and working for Slade."

Oliver gawked at her.

"I have a feeling you're burying the lead here," noted Diggle.

"And I'm beginning to think that we're not going on a picnic," Roy mumbled.

"Anyway," said Felicity sternly, trying to stay on topic. "Don't you ever cheat on me again, is that understood? Because I will not put up with it."

"I understand."

"Good." She gave him a clap on the pec and nodded. "I expect very excellent make-up sex tonight."

"I promise you'll get it."

"Great." Then she marched across the room to Sara. "Now it's your turn."

"I am so, so sorry—"

"I took a fucking bullet for you, bitch." Felicity snapped. "And we bonded. Even though you made me feel insecure, I still allowed myself to get attached to you. Do you only find him attractive when he's with someone else?"

Ouch. "It was right after Laurel blew up at me."

"She had a lot of justified unresolved anger towards you. You should've taken it like an adult instead of fooling around with my husband."

"We regretted it immediately," Sara said with sincerity. "I never wanted to hurt you. Please don't hate me."

Felicity crossed her arms and eyed her. "Promise to keep your slutty little hands off Oliver?"

"Absolutely,"

"Apology accepted." Then she gestured for her to come closer. "Let's hug it out."

But Sara was reluctant. "Really?"

"Give me a fucking hug, Sara."

When she did, Felicity whispered in her ear: "You seriously better not touch him again, Sara. You're an assassin and I'm a fourth-generation Fury and I will put you down."

"Oh, shit," She didn't know about the Smoak family business. "Okay."

Felicity let go. "Now that that's settled, I should get going. Thea insists we go get mani-pedis." She rushed back to her husband to give him a firm goodbye kiss.

"Felicity, what's in the basket?" demanded Diggle as he crossed his big meaty arms.

"Slade's head in a jar." Despite her serious tone, they all smirked in disbelief. She shrugged it off of course, their shared reaction being completely understandable. Then she pulled the massive Desert Eagle from her purse and handed it to Diggle. "For you. Loaded with .60 caliber bullets laced with cyanide, curare, and a few different venoms. Works great against mirakuru soldiers."

"…Thanks." he responded, his brow furrowed. As she ascended the steps, the team slowly turned to look at the picnic basket.

"Up Past the Nursery" by Suuns.

The flashbacks don't end here! There should be a couple more coming up.