(A/N: I know this isn't the most exciting chapter, but I have a lot to cover from these episodes, and it just felt like a good place to end the chapter. Do not despair. Chapter 10 is already underway.)

Chapter 9-To Hack or Not to Hack

When she arrived at police headquarters the next morning, Felicity went straight to the break room for coffee. She filled her TARDIS mug to the brim, dumped in a mess of cream and sugar without bothering to measure or even let her eyes focus properly, and stumbled to her desk. She was surprised to find Laurel Lance standing next to it.

"Um, hi," Felicity said to her. "Can I h—" She let loose a yawn so big that it felt like her face split in half. "Sorry. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Just waiting for my father to show up," the woman said. "Is that a square mug?"

"Yeah, it is," said Felicity. "It's the TARDIS, and the TARDIS appears as a police box, so . . . square mug."

"What you just said made no sense, Smoak. You better drink down that coffee. You need it."

Felicity turned around to see Detective Lance approaching. He was carrying a tall Starbucks cup, and there was a spring in his step that made her feel like snarling. He had to have gotten less sleep than she did, but he was freshly shaven and his hair was tamed and he was grinning. Felicity wasn't sure she could walk a straight line just then, let alone smile.

"So how much sleep did you not get last night, Dad?" Laurel asked. "And how much coffee have you already had?"

"So much coffee," said Lance. "If you cut me right now, I would bleed coffee. Detective Smoak here is clearly running behind."

"But it's a square mug," Laurel said, frowning. "How do you drink from it?"

"Very carefully," Felicity replied. She maneuvered around them and sank into her chair. Her stomach rumbled, and she took a big gulp of coffee to cover up the sound. Too much ice cream at the crack of dawn.

"So what brings you to my workplace, daughter?" Lance asked.

"I wanted to ask you about the Declan case."

Felicity's ears perked up. She sipped at her coffee and pulled out her tablet. She knew about the Declan case—everyone did. She'd seen the story on the news about five times while she was getting ready for work. Peter Declan was scheduled to be executed soon. He'd been sentenced to death for killing his wife in their daughter's bedroom.

"Peter Declan? It wasn't my case, but everyone knew about it. What can I tell you?"

"I heard his wife was about to blow the whistle on her boss before she died," Laurel said. "Was that angle ever pursued in the case?"

"Yeah, Declan told the cops that his wife met with her supervisor and raised her concerns, but the detectives talked to her supervisor." Lance squinted. "Istook. Matt Istook was his name. Anyway, he said that meeting never took place. And the evidence against Declan was solid."

Laurel seemed satisfied with that information. She said goodbye to her father and left.

The day was a blur of paperwork on the attempted assassination of Walter Steele and the murders they'd pinned on Deadshot. Felicity drank so much coffee that her hands started to shake, and she still felt as if she was barely functioning. Then Detective Lance got a phone call, and she watched his eyes go from tired to blazing with anger. He mumbled a "thanks" and ended the call.

Felicity arched her eyebrow in a silent inquiry.

"I need to pay my daughter a visit," he said. "I'll be back in a few." He practically ran from the squad room.

For the next ten minutes, Felicity debated whether or not to hack Detective Lance's phone to find out who'd called him. Did her concern outweigh what was a massive betrayal of trust? Did her concern outweigh illegal activity? She juggled these questions while pacing behind her desk, while buying a sugary soda from the vending machine, and while visiting the ladies' room. In the end, she'd taken too much time thinking over. Detective Lance returned after twenty minutes, looking more furious than when he'd left.

"I take it that didn't go well," she ventured.

"No, it did not." He dropped into his chair. "My daughter is lying to me. She walked in here this morning, and she lied to my face. We weren't—" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "We weren't supposed to do that. When her mother left, when it was just us, we agreed to be honest with each other. But she lied to me. She's neck-deep in the Peter Declan case."

Felicity frowned. "But . . . isn't that case closed? Isn't he the one who's going to be executed at the end of the week?"

"That's the one," Lance said. "But Laurel's got it in her head that he's innocent, and she's on a mission now. She won't let it go."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Felicity asked. She gulped down some more coffee while she waited for an answer.

"It's . . . if he's truly innocent, that's good. But this whole thing is bad. So bad."

She had a feeling there was more to the story than what he'd told her. She was starting to wish she'd gone ahead and hacked his phone.

Felicity spent the rest of the day on paperwork. Lance made an effort, but it was pretty clear his thoughts were elsewhere. Eventually he gave up all pretense of trying to help and went down to the records room to look at the Peter Declan files. By six o'clock, Felicity was pretty sure she'd finished everything and was clearing off her desk when the squad room began to buzz. She went to the break room to rinse out her mug and pulled aside the first person she saw, some vice detective.

"What's going on?" she asked him.

He must have just come off an undercover assignment because he badly needed a shave and he smelled like he'd been hiding behind a Dumpster. He swiped a sleeve across his nose and sniffed.

"Riot," he said. "Iron Heights."

"The prison?" she said like an idiot. Of course the prison. There was nothing else in Starling City called Iron Heights.

"Yeah," the detective said. "Chances are, someone from your squad will be called out before this is over."

Meaning, someone will be murdered before this is over. Felicity couldn't suppress an involuntary shiver. She forgot all about rinsing her coffee mug and returned to her desk. She gathered up her things, not really knowing what else to do. It wasn't like she could hang around, waiting for an inmate to shiv another. Was it shiv? Or was it shank?

As she pondered the prison lingo, Detective Lance stalked into the squad room. She couldn't tell if he was furious or terrified, or both. He strode right up to her desk and snapped his fingers. They were definitely going to have a conversation about that later, when he wasn't looking so scary.

"Smoak," he said like it was a command. "Let's go."

She grabbed her purse and dropped her mug into it. "Where to?" she asked.

"Iron Heights. Laurel's there."