Author's Note: so this chapter is shorter than the last few. I blame it on a few things, not the least of which is that end of semester crunch. Also, I felt like the ending to this chapter was pretty organic - it just feels like it should end where it does. Be happy - I almost ended it on a cliffhanger. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. Sorry for any mistakes, this is un-beta'd and my brain is absolutely fried.
Oliver stepped out of the bathroom freshly showered. He'd left Felicity to her computers more than two hours ago and, unable to contain his energy and the slight caffeine buzz from the coffee, decided to get in a late work out. Digg and Roy had already gone home and without the sound of his blood rushing through his ears or his grunts of exertion, Oliver noticed how quiet the lair was.
He started toward the computers and opened his mouth to ask Felicity something, but he closed it quickly when he realized that she was slouched over the computer desk. The closer he got, the more certain he was that Felicity had fallen asleep in front of the monitors – again. Digg had been right, she was definitely working herself too hard. Felicity needed several hours of uninterrupted sleep in a real bed.
Oliver had stopped walking a foot or two away from her. He had taken a single step forward when one of the monitors let out a harsh pinging sound.
Felicity was startled awake. She flung one arm out and the back of her hand cracked loudly against the bottom edge of one of the monitors just as her kneecaps drilled the underside of the table. The mix of unpleasant sensations made her yelp, but she was already too busy frantically looking over her computer screens to do anything else.
"Felicity?"
Even in her befuddled state, Felicity recognized that particular inflection of her name. In that single word she knew that Oliver was asking her if she was okay. And, since she was clearly fine even though her hand might sting a little, she ignored the implied question completely.
"I got a hit," she said instead. Her fingers almost smashed out a rhythm against the keyboard. "Well, I mean, I've gotten lots of hits from the DMV search, but I think I've finally gotten a useful one. Remember that shot I showed you from the store security footage, when I asked if that dark mark on the thief's neck looked like part of a tattoo?"
Oliver hummed an agreement. He caught Felicity rolling her shoulders out of the corner of his eye and then watched her frown without apparently knowing that she was doing so. Oliver suddenly found himself stepping forward and reaching out with the hand closest to her. He found the spot under her shoulder blade by memory and started rubbing away the soreness.
"Well, I was right," Felicity continued. "I went back and changed the search parameters to look for anyone with the approximate height and build from … whatever, you get it. The point is, neck tattoos aren't really a common thing - I mean, I don't know much about tattoo culture, but …"
"Felicity."
"Right. Four hits came back as possibilities." She pulled up four DMV photos. They were all men, and all had some form of tattoo visible on their neck at the bottom of the photo. Felicity pulled up the still image that she had taken from the security footage and told the computer to superimpose that over the license photos. "This program will give us the most likely match."
"How accurate is it?"
"Accurate." The search program flashed green around the edges. The other three pictures dissolved, leaving only one in the center of the screen: a man with a thin face and dark hair who didn't look much older than Roy. Felicity read his stats. "Andrew Goodman, twenty-four, 3230 Missouri Avenue."
Oliver's hand dragging across her back and falling away as he turned was what made her actively realize that he had been giving her a one handed massage for the last few minutes. Felicity's mind threatened to get stuck on that fact until she forcefully shoved it away and turned her chair around to watch Oliver. He was pulling his suit off the mannequin.
"What are you doing?" Felicity questioned. "Shouldn't we wait for everyone else?"
"We will. I'm just going to do a little recon, see if there's any activity at that address."
"Ok, first of all, wow. That sounded like something Digg would say. Secondly, I really think we should wait for him."
Oliver had his leather jacket in hand when he turned to face her. Her eyes looked so tired behind her glasses, but her expression was firm as she approached.
"Felicity, I'm not going after him. I just want to scope out the house. I won't even need the comm link, so you can go home and get some real sleep."
Felicity cocked her head to the side and glared at him. "Yeah, nope. That's not happening. Oliver, you can't just show up outside the home of a terrorist, without back up. This guy has killed three people. With bombs. What if he does live there and he sees you? What if he's smart enough to have rigged the place to blow? You can't just go waltzing in there, okay, especially not alone. And if you think that I'd just leave you to do something so incredibly stupid to go home and sleep, or anything actually -."
"Hey."
Oliver stepped right up to her and Felicity had to lift her chin so that she was looking into his eyes again, and not at a spot on his chest. She took a deep breath and closed her mouth, then compressed her lips into a thin line. This was like the time she'd freaked out after that phone call from Sara, only she was running on inconsistent snatches of restless sleep, and too much coffee, and she knew exactly what was going on. Unlike that time, Felicity knew exactly what was at stake here.
Oliver itched to reach for her but forced himself not to. He'd already done that once tonight. In fact, he was walking a fine line these days where Felicity was concerned. He was apparently losing the ability to resist touching her, or flirting with her, or remaining distant in damn near any way.
"You're right," he said then. "We'll wait until tomorrow, when Digg and Roy are here and we have a plan."
Oliver turned around to put his jacket back on the mannequin. Felicity furrowed her brows as she watched him, unsure of what to think.
"What?" Oliver asked when he saw her expression.
"Well now I'm afraid to go home," she admitted dryly. "You didn't even put up a fight."
He sighed. She thought that he was just waiting for her to leave so he could go out alone. "Felicity. I'm not going anywhere. Now go home and get some sleep."
Felicity didn't say anything as she moved away to gather her personal effects. She kept casting what she hoped were covert glances at Oliver as she did so. He was always so determined to do whatever it was he'd decided to do, and yet he hadn't tried to fight her on this. He wasn't prowling the lair angrily, or glowering at her in that scary way he'd perfected. Instead, he was just … getting ready for bed.
"You can stop looking at me like that."
Felicity narrowed her eyes at him. Oliver was turned away from her and facing his bed.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm going to run out the door as soon as you're gone."
"Are you?"
Oliver grabbed the bottom hem of his shirt and pulled it off over his head before turning to give her his most bland expression.
"No."
Felicity believed him. He didn't look as exhausted as she felt, but he did seem tired, and that was saying something. Out of everyone on Team Arrow, Oliver needed the least amount of sleep. She was willing to bet that she needed the most.
"Good. I'll call Digg and Roy in the morning, let them know what we found."
"Don't you have to work?"
Felicity shook her head. "The owner is still trying to do the inventory for the insurance claim for the robbery. The store won't be open until next week."
"Okay." Oliver punctuated the word with a nod. Another thought occurred to him then. "Are you going to be okay to drive home?" When she hesitated a little longer than he was comfortable with he said, "If you're too tired to drive, you can take the bed again."
Felicity took on that determined expression he knew so well. "No. I'm not taking your bed again. I'll be fine, the drive isn't that far."
"Felicity, you were passed out at your desk not ten minutes ago."
"I wasn't -."
"Passed. Out."
"Oliver. I bought that bed for you, not so that I could steal it from you whenever I was too tired to drive home."
"So you are too tired to drive," he countered.
Felicity snorted in exasperation and made for the stairs. "Go to bed."
Oliver intercepted her before she'd gone a dozen steps. He caught her carefully around the wrist, arresting her motion. Surprised, Felicity glanced from where his hand held her up into his face. He was looking at her earnestly.
"I'm serious, Felicity," he said. "You're tired. You've been working too hard and sleeping too little, and I don't want to worry about you falling asleep behind the wheel."
Felicity intended to argue, but when she opened her mouth no sound came out. She was tired. Like, down to her bones, this-is-not-a-nap-it's-a-small-coma tired. Despite that, there was just no way she could take Oliver's bed (again) and relegate him to sleeping on dirty training mats with a clear conscience. She refused to do that.
"I can make it home."
His expression clearly told her that she'd have a better chance of convincing him that she was Elvis.
"I promise, Oliver. I'll be fine. I'll even text you when I get home, if you want."
Not the best middle ground to meet in, but if she was really determined to go home then he wasn't doing her any favors by delaying her. Oliver released her wrist.
"I'm not going to sleep until I get that text." He knew that the comment bordered on manipulation, because he was using the fact that Felicity cared about his well being as leverage so that she wouldn't forget her offer.
Felicity knew that, but it didn't anger her. Instead, she rolled her eyes at him. "I'm the worrier, remember?"
"I'm older," Oliver retorted quickly. "I've had more practice."
She smiled a little even as she shook her head in mock irritation. She started to walk away and then, over her shoulder, said, "Don't be such a drama Queen."
In his defense, Oliver waited until Felicity was at the top of the stairs to smile.
The chill air woke her up a little more when she stepped out into the alley. There might have been a small amount of irresponsibility in her decision to drive home, but Felicity found that she suddenly craved the softness of her bed. Her bed was wonderful; she loved her bed.
When she got into her car, Felicity took the time to choose one of the more upbeat playlists on her iPod and then cranked the volume up a little louder than she generally would at such a late hour. She reversed carefully out of the garage and onto the main street.
She tried to formulate a plan as she drove to keep herself awake. Was it possible to sneak up on a bomber? Did Andrew Goodman even live at that address anymore? Digg had been a soldier; maybe he had some useful knowledge about bombs. That wasn't to say that Oliver didn't know about bombs, because really, he knew a lot about a lot of things that surprised her. Which was weird, really, but whatever, because it was just a part of Oliver and that man was … well, weird.
Felicity was so glad that he'd agreed not to go to that house tonight. She was exhausted and her brain wasn't firing on all cylinders. Even when she was thoroughly rested and at the top of her game Oliver still managed to get into some situations that she could barely keep ahead of; she didn't want to think of all the things that could go wrong in a situation where she felt as she did now. They all took enough chances as it was, there was no reason to add going off half-cocked to that list.
By the time she got home, Felicity's feet were dragging. Her whole body was dragging. She kicked her shoes off in the mudroom, slipped out of her coat and left it in a heap on the kitchen floor, dropped her purse onto the couch and practically crawled into bed. She had enough clarity of mind to pull her hair out of the ponytail holder and haphazardly half-toss her glasses onto her night stand. She had just closed her eyes and taken a deep breath against her pillow when she remembered that she'd promised to text Oliver.
With a loud groan she pulled herself out of bed. Felicity was certain that she'd turned into a zombie as she shuffled her way down the hall to retrieve her phone from her purse. She found Oliver's name and typed out a text on autopilot.
Her phone pinged with a reply less than a minute later. She pulled it closer to her nose to read.
I'm going to assume that's supposed to say "home".
What? Felicity concentrated on reading what she had typed to him. In the spirit of brevity, she'd typed only one word: home. Instead, there was no "M"; she had seriously just texted the word "Hoe" to Oliver. She groaned again.
It is. Auto-correct is the bane of my existence. I was not calling you a hoe.
In the morning, Felicity would feel really bad about not being able to keep her eyes open long enough to read his reply.