(A/N: Thank you to everyone who continues to read and review. I just checked my hits on AO3 today, and there are almost 5000. That's pretty freaking awesome! This chapter is dedicated to all you lovely people who've hung in there so far. This contains a little more of AU Felicity's backstory. Have a little Olicity. :D)

Chapter 11-Comrades With Arms

Felicity drove the SUV back to police headquarters. Detective Lance rode in the passenger seat and went over his notes, mumbling to himself. There would only be a small window of time before the Queen family attorneys showed up, and Lance wasn't going to waste one second.

While they returned their vehicle to the motor pool, Oliver Queen went through booking, a process he was intimately familiar with. Lance practically skipped to the interview room. Felicity tried dragging her feet, but her excuses fell flat. She wasn't getting out of this. Lance, so sure he'd gotten his man, was determined to turn every part of this into a teachable moment for his new young partner.

"I'll do all the talking," said Lance, stopping just outside the room. "Your job is to observe. Watch his face, his body language. See how he reacts to my questions."

He was basically giving her permission to stare at a hot guy, but Felicity took little joy in that thought. How could she focus on anything other than the secret she was keeping? How could she look at Oliver—Mr. Queen—and not wonder if he was going to speak up and turn her entire world upside-down? Okay, maybe that was a little overdramatic, but at the very least it would mean the end of this partnership and her career as a detective. And she couldn't go back to Internal Affairs or Cybercrimes. She just couldn't.

"Smoak."

She glanced up. Way up. It was a bad day to wear flats.

"After you," said Lance. He pushed open the door and held it so she could go in ahead of him.

Felicity kept her gaze trained on the opposite wall, so she was able to take things in without making eye contact. She stood off to one side of the door as Lance took a seat at the table. Oliver Queen sat across from him, his hands folded in front of him, an irritated expression on his face. Felicity chewed on the cap of her pen, trying to figure out how to observe him without looking him in the eye. She chose to stare at the mole below the right corner of his mouth.

"This is a mistake," he said to Lance as the detective clicked his pen and opened a folder.

"I'll be asking you a few questions, standard stuff for the report," said Lance. "Have you been arrested before?" He glanced up. "That's okay. I know the answer to that one. Plenty of times."

Oliver's jaw tightened. "Like I said, this is a mistake."

"Far as I can tell, the only mistake I made was not shooting you down at the docks when I had a chance."

"I am not who you think I am," said Oliver.

"Oh, you're exactly who I think you are," Lance snapped, throwing down his pen. "You're a dangerous menace who doesn't care about who he hurts, except now you're doing it with bows and arrows instead of trust funds and yachts."

This was a bad idea. When she'd walked into the room, Felicity's biggest fear had been that Oliver would give her up. Now she wondered if she was going to have to hold Detective Lance back from jumping on the table and throttling him.

Oliver didn't seem worried, though. He leaned forward. "Detective, you hate me. I get it. But that doesn't make me a vigilante."

"No," said Lance. "The security camera footage of you at the UNIDAC auction with the green hood does that pretty well."

"And as I said again—" Oliver's tone turned condescending. "I ran into the stairwell once I heard the shooting, I saw a duffel that I thought maybe belonged to the shooter, I grabbed it, looked inside, and saw a hood."

"And what? You took it out with you?" Lance scoffed. "Because we can't find it. And what about harassing Adam Hunt? That just happened to take place right across the street from your little homecoming bash."

Oliver leaned back, with a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Pure coincidences," he said. Felicity was inclined to agree.

"No," Lance said, leaning back as well. "When they pile up like that, it becomes evidence."

Felicity looked at the back of her partner's head, unable to keep a neutral expression on her face.

"That's two coincidences," she said. "The security footage and the Adam Hunt thing. Does two of something constitute a pile?"

A uniformed officer opened the door and poked his head in. "His parents are here," he said in Lance's direction.

"Tell 'em to wait."

Oliver was an adult. He could be questioned alone, but if the formidable Moira Queen had brought a lawyer . . .

"I want to see my son," the Queen matriarch demanded, pushing past the officer to enter the room. Felicity moved farther to the side, hoping to stay invisible.

"I'm in the middle of an interrogation here." Lance stood.

Moira Queen was smartly and elegantly dressed, her ash blonde hair coiffed in controlled waves. Felicity smoothed a hand over her own unruly ponytail.

"Detective Lance, I know you hate my family, but I had no idea that you'd go so far as to arrest my son without any grounds whatsoever." Her eyes flashed. Anyone else would have been intimidated by her presence and the wealth and influence behind it, but Lance's eyes flashed in response. Felicity was back to worrying about how she could hold him back.

"I have solid grounds, and I have evidence," Lance said through gritted teeth.

"Which you will present to Mr. Queen's attorney when he gets here." Walter Steele strode into the room. He was as tall as Detective Lance, but he somehow seemed less scary than Mrs. Queen. Felicity stood a little straighter. "Until then, this interrogation is over, Detective."

Lance sighed through his nose. "Sure. You have fifteen minutes." He nodded at Felicity. She approached the door he held open for her, but she risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Oliver was still leaning back in his chair, almost smiling. He caught her eye and winked, then turned back to his mother.

Felicity followed Lance into the hallway. Lucky for her, he was too angry to notice her blushing.

"Damn!" he said, slapping his fist into his palm. "He'll be lawyered up now, and there goes our chance of getting anything out of him."

"What now?" Felicity asked.

"I'm sure they'll push for a quick arraignment, since they won't want their precious darling to spend a night in jail," Lance said.

"Do you really think this will go to trial?"

He shrugged. "It's a crap shoot, but if the D. A. can just get him on the stand, we might get some answers."

It turned out that the D.A. was extremely pissed. She demanded that Detective Lance meet her at her office immediately. Felicity was left to hang around until Moira Queen and Walter Steele walked out of the interview room, arguing quietly.

"You know this is a terrible idea," said Mrs. Queen.

"He's a grown man, Moira." Steele took her elbow and guided her down the hallway, giving Felicity a brief nod as he passed. "It's what he wants."

"I'm sorry, but I don't trust his judgment right now."

"I agree the choice is problematic at best, but consider the alternative," Mr. Steele said. "Arguing his own case?"

"That's something. At least Laurel finished school." Her voice trailed off as they moved out of earshot.

Laurel? Oliver Queen wanted Laurel Lance, his ex, to defend him in court? Felicity didn't trust his judgment either. It took a special kind of stupid to pick a lawyer who knew him in the biblical sense, but she probably hated him too for cheating on her with her sister and getting her killed. Ridiculous.

Felicity went back into the interview room.

Oliver arched an eyebrow. "I thought my family made it clear that I'm done talking without my lawyer."

"I'm not here to ask you questions, Mr. Queen," she said, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "I'm here to take you to your cell."

"Great." He got to his feet.

She'd dealt with plenty of guys in handcuffs before. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of her arrests in Cybercrimes.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asked. "You just went completely pale."

"I'm fine," Felicity replied.

She swallowed hard. He was just another suspect. A murder suspect, not a pervert. It should have made her nervous, but it was actually a comforting thought. Like she would with any other perp, she put her hand on his arm to steer him toward the door.

"Holy crap! Are you freaking kidding me?" The bicep under her fingers was big and rock-hard. And his sweater, which fit him really well, was deceptively soft. But that arm—wow. Was the rest of his body like that?

"Excuse me?" Oliver glanced down at her small hand with its blue-painted nails.

"Crap. Did I say that out loud?" she asked.

"Say what out loud?"

"Um. Nothing. Let's go to your cell now, shall we?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she was mentally berating herself. It had sounded as if she was asking his permission. "I have to cuff you again," she said. "Standard procedure."

"No problem," he said, putting his hands together behind his back. "It's not like it's the first time."

Felicity's super-cute polka-dotted blazer had big pockets, plenty of space for her shiny new detective's shield and her handcuffs. They were a new pair. Once she left Cybercrimes for Internal Affairs, she ended up tossing the old ones in a Dumpster near her apartment. In her eyes, they were contaminated, and she didn't want them anywhere near her. She would have melted them down if she knew how.

She handcuffed him, making sure they were tight. Detective Lance's evidence was flimsy and circumstantial, but if Oliver really was the hooded vigilante, she wasn't taking any chances.

"After you," she said, gesturing toward the open door. He went out, and she followed. Once they were side by side in the hallway, she took his arm again.

It felt . . . well, his arm felt amazing, but this whole routine was all too familiar. She thought she'd gotten past it, but instead she found herself checking around for the nearest bathroom or trash can.

"Are you going to be sick?" Oliver asked.

"Maybe," she said, gritting her teeth.

"Can you wait until I'm not standing next to you?"

"I'll be fine," Felicity replied. "Just give me a minute."

In a moment, the nausea passed. She'd have to get over this, or she wouldn't be able to do her job. Felicity steered Oliver in the direction of the elevator, and shook her head at the patrol officer who was waiting there, jabbing at the "up" button like it would bring the elevator up to their floor sooner. He stepped aside, and when the door slid open, Felicity gave Oliver a little shove forward into the elevator. As she followed, he turned around and gave her a smirk.

Felicity jabbed a button. "It's six floors down to the holding cells," she said.

"I know." He watched the numbers counting down, still smirking.

"And this is a slow elevator."

"I know. As your partner so eloquently stated, I've made this trip a few times," said Oliver.

"You're going to make it as awkward as possible, aren't you?" Felicity's arms were crossed, and she was staring straight ahead, but he was making eye contact with her reflection in the shiny door. And genuinely smiling.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. "I don't feel awkward at all."