Had anyone been looking up they would have seen a figure slide from roof to roof across the sky.
Unbeknownst to the shadows above, Quentin Lance had been looking - and if a smile graced his lips, watching the familiar form make one of his notorious escapes, who was Quentin to question it?
Had anyone continued to watch, they would have seen what appeared to be the Arrow, standing on the edge of the Lavish Hotel, with a partner - kissing that partner. The latter half of that observation wouldn't exactly be clear to the naked eye.
However, Quentin's weren't the only set of eyes pointed upwards.
An eager, learned photographer set on finding any sign of the Arrow had captured the moment, and while the pictures might not have been perfectly clear, they had something Lance didn't - zoom. The outline that was the Arrow was quite discernible and it was easy to see that he was intimately embracing a petite figure in an awfully large sweatshirt.
While Lance had expected the photo to spread through the media, which it did, he hadn't expected that the media would then turn to him looking for answers. But in hindsight, it made sense. Who would know more about the Arrow than the detective who was assigned to his case?
Quentin wasn't a foolish or unobservant man. He knew how Felicity looked at the Arrow. It was the same look of blinding faith that he had only seen her aim at one other man... And that man had an uncanny amount of similarities to the hooded vigilante. Quentin had had his suspicions all along of course - the timing of it all, the similar physiques, the protecting of Laurel. But all doubt had been removed the night the Count plummeted from Queen Consolidated with three arrows fatally piercing his chest.
Besides the obvious - the Count's ultimate death and tumble originating in Oliver Queen's office, there was the fact that the Arrow had been trying to refrain from taking lives and the Count had most definitely met his end at the hands of the Vigilante; Felicity was enough to kill for. Then the fact that the epitome of self-control and precision, the man who stopped shooting after a fatal wound had been inflicted, left the Count crashing to the street below with not one, but three arrows buried in his heart.
In the end Lance had granted Andrew Ryan, a reporter from the Starling Sun, the interview. If he turned down Cynthia Miller along with other countless reporters solely because they wrote for strictly digital publications, well let's just say it probably wasn't a coincidence. Felicity could control what was digital, what she couldn't control were the thousands of newspapers that currently sat on lawns, porches, and on magazine racks throughout the city. Quentin couldn't help but smile, because for some reason seeing the two of them together had felt right and revealing their relationship to the world seemed like something the Arrow needed.
Back at the breakfast table, he waited for his phone to ring, rereading the article for the third time.
While Starling City slept, the Arrow watched over the quietly slumbering city, much like he does every night. He selflessly sought out crime, he stopped criminals and enemies that would harm this city and her citizens, and he kept all of us safe. While we've become acclimated to these heroic acts, last night sent out a resounding reminder.
The Arrow is human.
What he sacrifices for this city, for our families, for you, for me - it shouldn't be something we expect from him. It shouldn't be something we take lightly. What he does is real. What he does has dire consequences. What he does goes without receiving anything in return - no paycheck or tax breaks, zero recognition in his everyday life. And yet he patrols this city with seemingly no greater purpose than to protect it.
Last night the Arrow stopped a heist that would have crippled Star Bank, the effects eventually trickling down to everyone in this city. He subdued Timothy McMahon and his accomplices, even suffering wounded in the process. As the police entered the bank to take the would be criminals into custody, the Arrow tried to sneak away via the roof. He would have succeeded with his stealthy exit had it not been for one photographer. He caught the Arrow doing something we don't know him for. He caught the Arrow being something other than a shadow. This captured moment should make each of us all the more thankful for the entity we know as the Arrow. Believing in his sacrifices and seeing them are two different animals.
We got a glimpse of that last night. We saw, however little, the woman he leaves every night to prowl the city in protection of you and I. We saw the woman he risks never returning to. We saw just a small piece of the life he has sacrificed.
But who is this mystery woman? After speaking with Detective Lance, the detective who has been on the vigilante's case for the past two years, very little can be said. Detective Lance claims that she is most definitely not the Black Canary, but does claim that "the department has had reason to suspect, far before tonight, that the Arrow had a behind-the-scenes type of accomplice." Lance explained further that he believes that this partner "has had a significant influence on the Arrow's motives and his targets."
Just as we assigned the Arrow his moniker when 'the vigilante' sounded far too harsh, 'accomplice' and 'partner' don't seem strong enough of words to define the impact this woman has on the Arrow's - and thus our lives. She's his "bow." She is vital to the mission. An arrow is useless without its bow. She is the implementation by which he aims. And then he fires. The Bow and Arrow - seems so very fitting.
It doesn't matter who the Bow is, just as knowing the Arrow's identity would serve no purpose beyond satisfying curiosity. What the Arrow had sacrificed in order to do good for this city is an ever growing list. Knowing that the Bow stands beside him and that he is not alone is only a small solace, but it is a consolation none the less.
Prying his mouth from hers, Oliver fired an Arrow around a metal structure that sat on the roof of the neighboring building. He scooped Felicity into his arms, chuckling when she muttered "hold onto me tight" under her breath and slid over the streets below before landing smoothly on the roof of Queen Consolidated.
Felicity wasn't sure if her breathlessness was an effect of hurdling through the dark sky or because she had - or maybe was still 'having' a very non-platonic moment in Oliver's arms.
Oliver punched in the code to the rooftop door while Felicity disabled the building's surveillance. The dimly lit lobby, that served to welcome VIPs that arrived via the helipad, was rather welcoming. It had been quite the night, and Felicity was starting to feel the adrenaline that had coursed through her body finally wearing off. The bad guys were caught. They both had survived. Oliver had kissed her. All was well with the world, maybe not normal, but well.
The doors to the executive elevator opened and she took a deep sigh, readying herself for the ride. She could feel Oliver's eyes on her back as she stepped into the small space. It was unnerving. She didn't know where they stood. She couldn't arrange her emotions or even begin to guess at his. But most importantly, she didn't know what all this meant - was any of it even real?
The metal doors slid smoothly closed, but Oliver was the one who reached forward this time, directing the elevator to their floor. Luckily it would only be a short ride in the 8' by 8' cube that suddenly seemed void of oxygen and uncomfortably warm.
Felicity was nervously playing with her hands, counting the floors. The doors dinged and glided open but neither of them moved. Lifting her chin slightly, her eyes locked onto Oliver's piercing stare, while her lungs refused to expel the breath they had just taken. He closed the distance between them in one stride. And with another he had her pinned to the wall. Fuck it.
After the initial shock that was Oliver's mouth devouring hers – his hands perusing her entire body, Felicity pushed her palms up his chest, enjoying every inch of his abs and pecks before clasping her hands behind his neck.
When the doors slid shut again, Oliver shifted so that his thigh was pushing against the apex of hers, making her whole body shiver. She'd have to remember to thank whatever God had forced her to skip laundry, resulting in her having to wear yoga pants instead of jeans on their little expedition tonight; she could feel everything through the black cotton. Even the slightest slip of leather had her squirming with need.
She could feel the not-so-discrete bulge that was being pressed into her hip, and as far as Felicity was concerned, pressing into the absolute wrong part of her body. She let out a surprised moan when his roaming hands settled on each of her hips, pulling them down, forcing her to grind against him. The motion succeeded only in confirming just how wet she was, craving his touch, his skin against hers.
"Oliver," she gasped into his ear as he ran his teeth across her jaw and down her neck finally stopping to suck at her pulse point.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
He didn't pull away from her. He simply moved his lips from her neck and seductively whispered in her ear. "Good ideas are relative. Breaking up a heist. Zip lining 30 stories high... this? This is a great idea."
It was only when Felicity tried to push him away that Oliver pulled back far enough to look into her face, though his body never lessened the pressure holding her to the elevator wall. Shocked by her reaction, he didn't even know what to say. He just stared down at her, silently fumbling through words that wouldn't voice themselves.
The sharp feeling in her chest was something like walking out of a 103° hot tub and, because everyone was once young and foolish (some people don't ever really get over the foolish part), diving into the snow, clad in only a bikini, to make a snow angel. She couldn't even look up at him. The more futile pushes against his chest she attempted, the quicker tears filled her eyes. "That's not good enough Oliver!" she finally managed to gasp out.
The words struggling to leave his mouth, succeeded in escaping then. He growled, grabbed her wrists and slammed them into the wall above her head. It wasn't from fear that Felicity froze - she knew Oliver would break her heart seven ways to Sunday, but he would never physically hurt her. It was intrigue, rather, that stilled her. Of all the reactions, aggression was not the response she was expecting.
"I barely survived kissing you. I didn't know how I was going to make it living my life separate from you. And that was a god damn kiss Felicity!" He paused and dropping his voice much lower, "I know exactly what I'm doing." With his hands still trapping hers above her head, they stared - blue locked on blue - before she finally relaxed back into him.
Needing to feel her, his hands slowly skimmed down her arms and slipped under her sweatshirt while his mouth desperately sought hers. She let his lips glide across hers, but she never gave them a chance to lock. Lips barely touching, she whispered against them in a tone filled with both seduction and doubt that only Felicity could manage. "And what exactly is it, Oliver, that you are doing?"
He almost lost it hearing her say his name, but if she wanted to play this game, he'd be a very willing competitor. A devilish grin spread over his face when he looked down at her. Only pausing a moment, he began the act of reclaiming his sweatshirt and pulled it back over her head, dropped it to the floor, and landed a chaste kiss to her mouth.
"Well...," Oliver smirked. "I plan on taking the woman I love against the wall of this elevator – ravishing every inch of her body until her screams turn into whimpers of pure exhaustion." He found her mouth before pulling back again. "That's the abridged, PG-13 version anyway."
Felicity's face heated, and from the smug smirk on his face she knew she was blushing profusely. He wasn't going to win this game of seduction - at least not without a fight. "I never cared much for abridged editions. Come to think of it," she said thoughtfully tapping her lip, "I never cared for PG-13 either."
He closed his eyes for just a second, but when he opened them an almost predatory look manifested itself. "Hmm," he smirked. "I'll see what I can do to bump the rating up."
The hands that had snuck under her long sleeve tee, began slowly removing it. "First," he paused taking in the sight of her upper body covered by only a bra. "I'm going to strip every piece of clothing from your body until you're standing before me naked," he softly cooed. His hands skimmed up her exposed sides before coming to settle on her breasts. His head dipped, kissing and sucking his way across her neck while his hands dove under the cups of her bra, pushing the silken fabric down. Her breasts were exposed, her bra succeeding only in seductively holding those mounds of flesh at an easier access angle for hip.
She let out a soft moan when his tongue roamed south, finding and flicking at each of her nipples. His fingers soon replaced his tongue, rolling and teasing, while his mouth went back to nipping her ear. "Of course, I intend to draw out disposing you of your clothes for as long as possible." Abandoning her pleading nipples, his hands continued exploring. One snuck under the hem of her yoga pants, teased her lace panties out of his way, and tantalizingly stroked his index and middle finger across her slit. "I intend to have you dripping wet with need for me," his lips smirked against her neck." She was panting, her hands digging into Oliver's shoulders.
His fingers spread her slickness up over her clit, her garbled moan consumed by his mouth as he circled her slippery nub. "Mmm" he groaned after freeing her lips, "God, Felicity you're already so wet."
Felicity pulled back again. "Jesus, Oliver..." she trailed off, holding up her left hand that was now sticky with his blood.
Oliver started to speak but Felicity cut him off before he even managed to finish one syllable.
"Just as a warning, if the words 'I'm fine' come out of your mouth right now, you're finding your own ride." Felicity's attention had shifted to the wound on Oliver's side, but as her thought process caught up with her words she refocused on his darkened eyes.
"Home! You can find your own ride home. I didn't mean ride... like as in me. As in my car. Fuck..., she groaned pinching the bridge of her nose, pulling her gaze from Oliver's. "You know what I mean. Urgggg... your blood loss is apparently manifesting itself in me."
"Felicity. I'm... good," Oliver whispered as he pulled the blond back into his arms that had felt all too empty in her 30-second absence from them.
"Seriously? Did I really need to specify that by 'fine', I was also including all its synonyms?"
"That might have been helpful," he smirked.
Felicity rolled her eyes, pressing the open door button and sauntering out into the darkened hallway.
"Wait. What? Where are you going," he called after her receding form before finally relenting and following after.
He caught up much quicker than Felicity had anticipated. Exasperation covered her face. "Would you like me to draw you a diagram? Never mind. I'm not trying to inspire the next vampire sex scene - just not my thing. Sweat... sweat I can handle. Blood? Not my cup of tea. Hah. Blood - both the substance and the disgrace of a human being."
Oliver smiled and shook his head. He'd appease her and let her patch him up, but then he was taking her up on that ride. The literal and figurative one...