(A/N: Here's a nice long chapter to keep you going between episodes. Thanks to all my new followers/favoriters/reviewers, and all the old ones too. And a shout-out to thatmasquedgirl for talking out the structure of this chapter with me.)

Chapter 12—Truth Be Told

Felicity had been in court many times over the course of her three years with the Starling City Police Department. Arraignments were boring but usually quick, a chance for the defendant to hear the charges and enter a plea, and for the judge to set bail. But this was a murder case, and with his recently-back-from-the-dead status, Oliver Queen had double the star power.

The courtroom was crowded, but after a scowl from Detective Lance, a local reporter gave up his seat and went to stand in the back. There was just enough room for Felicity and Lance to squeeze into the first row behind the prosecution's table. Kate Spencer, the district attorney herself, was taking the lead on what was sure to be a high-profile case.

Oliver sat alone at the defense table. His posture seemed indignant yet relaxed, and he was all dressed up for court in a dark suit. His family sat behind him in the first row, Mr. Steele, Mrs. Queen, and Thea. No Laurel Lance in sight, which Felicity thought was just as well.

The bailiff called court to order, and everyone rose as the judge swept in. Felicity liked her. She wasn't a pushover, and she knew the law better than most of the attorneys who passed through her courtroom.

"Docket number 1941, People vs. Oliver Queen," the bailiff read. "Murder, aggravated assault with intent, menacing, and trespassing."

Felicity had always thought menacing was a weird charge. Basically it was the law's equivalent of "he looked shifty."

"Where's your attorney, Mr. Queen?" asked the judge.

Oliver stood up and smoothed down his tie. "I'm representing myself, Judge."

Felicity cringed at his informal address. Had he not even seen one episode of Law & Order?

"I'm not sure that's the wisest course, Mr. Queen," the judge replied.

"I think it is," said Oliver. "I'm innocent."

The judge nodded. "Then we'll consider that your plea."

"Thank you." Oliver sat down.

"Now as to bail—"

Kate Spencer rose to her feet. "Your Honor, Mr. Queen's family owns a pair of private jets, and while on the subject of their wealth, I would point out that there is virtually no bail amount that could guarantee his presence at trial."

Felicity heard some murmuring from the back of the courtroom. Detective Lance grumbled something under his breath as Laurel swept up the aisle.

"So then I guess it's a good thing that the People's case is so circumstantial." She went over to stand next to Oliver. "Dinah Laurel Lance, Your Honor. I'd like to file my appearance on behalf of the defendant." She opened a file on the table in front of her. "Mr. Queen's wealth should not deprive him of the right to be released on bail under the presumption of innocence."

"He is a flight risk," said Spencer, sounding a little petulant.

"Then minimize the risk," Laurel said to the D.A. She turned back to the judge. "The defendant is willing to submit to home confinement and electronic monitoring through the wearing of a UKG45 administered ankle device."

Oliver half-rose from his seat, glaring at Laurel. "No, he wouldn't."

"Sold," said the judge.

"Your Honor—" Spencer said.

"Bail is set at fifty million dollars, five million dollars bond," the judge declared. "Defendant to see Probation for the fitting of a GPS device." She banged her gavel.

Detective Lance leaned over and spoke in Felicity's ear. "Got any friends in Probation?"

She shrugged. She'd just come out of Internal Affairs. She didn't really have friends anywhere.

"I need the frequency for that device."

"Oh, that's easy. I can hack it for you," Felicity whispered.

Lance's eyebrows went up.

"I don't mean 'hack' in the sense of breaking the law," she said, backpedaling. "The frequency will be listed on the department's servers. But I can set up a ha—a shortcut to piggyback on the original signal so it won't look like anything untoward is happening. Not that it is untoward. Because it's not, right?" She looked to him for help.

"It's not untoward. It's surveillance," Lance said. "I want to know every move my suspect makes once he's out of police custody." He stood up. "You go back to your desk and find that frequency. I'm gonna go try to talk some sense into my daughter."

What Felicity had proposed wasn't illegal, strictly speaking, but it was definitely on the gray side of ethical. Dark gray. Charcoal, even. So she took an early lunch break. After a quick stop at a Mediterranean café, she went to the park across the street from the courthouse. She'd never made a bus there, and it was frequented by runners and dog walkers at all hours of the day, so it didn't have a creepy vibe. Felicity settled on a bench with her tablet, but first things first. She ate her lamb shawermah and her crispy fries and then used a liberal amount of hand sanitizer to get the grease off her fingers.

Accessing the SCPD servers from her tablet was easy. She'd been doing it since she was twelve and had tried to find out about a rash of home invasions in her neighborhood. She'd even altered a couple of files in order to change the direction of the investigation, and an arrest was eventually made.

An ankle monitor had already been signed out, its registration number assigned to Oliver Queen. Felicity looked up the frequency, memorized it, and then covered her tracks. She wouldn't be able to piggyback on the signal until the device was turned on. She slipped off her heels and shrugged out of her blazer. She didn't like her court suit—the muted blue was kind of blah.

Felicity sat on her bench for a long time, thinking about what she'd seen that morning. The Oliver Queen in that courtroom and the one whose arrest she'd witnessed seemed so different from the guy who'd presented her with a shot-up laptop and smiled when she started rambling. This other Oliver seemed indignant and arrogant and pretty much everything she'd imagined him to be when she first saw his picture. It begged the question: which one was the real Oliver, and which one was the mask? How did the Hood factor in, if at all? Or were they all masks, and she had yet to see his true face?

Back at the police department, Lance was stomping around in a huff again. Obviously his talk with Laurel had not gone well. Felicity was beginning to be able to measure his stress level by his hair. The more agitated he was, the more he'd scrub at it. Right now his was as crazy as she'd ever seen it, so she resolved to steer clear of him. But when he saw her, he marched right up to her desk.

"Where are we at on the frequency?" he asked.

"I have it," Felicity replied. "I was just waiting for them to turn it on so I could—" She glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. "So I could do the other thing," she finished.

"You need to work on your poker face, Smoak," Lance replied.

"Yes, I do."

"Do your thing," said Lance. "I want to know where he is at all times. He always was a slippery one. I have a meeting with the D.A."

"Another one? Should I go with you?" Felicity asked.

"No, no need to draw her attention to you. It'd just make you a target. I can handle her. She just wants to chew me out a little more. You stay here and work on the thing."

Felicity thought presenting a united front to the D.A. would have been the right thing to do, but if her partner wanted her to keep track of Oliver Queen and fly under the radar instead, then that's what she'd do.

But electronically following someone under house arrest was actually really boring. Felicity set up an alert to notify her if Oliver left the property and then she got to work on other things.

Detective Lance had several meetings at the D.A.'s office over the next two days. He would come back fuming too much to speak coherently or he wouldn't come back at all, so Felicity had no opportunity to find out anything from him. She had no idea what was going on until Kate Spencer herself strode through Major Crimes, glaring at Lance as she passed him.

"We have a meeting," Lance mumbled to Felicity.

"Okay. I'll just be here."

"No, Smoak, we have a meeting," said her partner. "You'll be present at this one."

Her eyes widened. "Um. Okay."

"Relax. You don't have to say anything. You were involved in Queen's arrest, so you have to be there." He straightened a stack of papers and set them aside. "Let's go."

Felicity followed Detective Lance to one of the interview rooms. It was the same one where the "interrogation" of Oliver Queen had taken place. The D.A. was already seated at the table, somehow looking as intimidating as if she had been towering over Felicity. Lance took a seat to one side and Felicity drew up a chair next to him, leaving open the two seats across from Spencer. Felicity had no idea what was going on, but she had to assume they were waiting for Oliver and Laurel.

Sure enough, Laurel entered the room, followed closely by Oliver. Felicity couldn't help but think how wrong it all was, Laurel working on a case opposite her father, defending the ex who cheated on her with her sister. How had it even gotten this far?

"Thank you both for coming," said Spencer as they were seated.

"Thank you," Oliver said. "It's nice to get out of the house."

Felicity could see Lance roll his eyes. So they were dealing with Smartass Oliver today.

Spencer closed the file in front of her and folded her hands on top of it. "I'll cut right to it," she began, looking directly at Laurel. "Detective Lance arrested your client without consulting my office first. So congratulations. I am willing to accept a plea in this case."

Oliver arched an eyebrow. "Absolutely not."

Kate Spencer frowned at him but continued to speak to Laurel. "Mr. Queen spent five years in seclusion on a deserted island, cut off from civilization. It is quite possible he's suffering from some form of post-traumatic stress. Given that, we would support a plea of insanity conditional on a period of indeterminate incarceration at a psychiatric facility."

"No, thank you," Oliver said, with that stupid playboy smile Felicity was really starting to dislike. "I'm not crazy."

"Finally, something we agree on," Lance interjected. "He's not a nut—he's a killing machine."

"Actually, I'm neither," said Oliver.

Lance leaned forward. "There is nothing you can say to me that I would believe."

"I'll take a polygraph," Oliver replied, his posture mirroring Lance's.

"Polygraphs are inadmissible," Laurel said to him.

"In front of a jury," Oliver corrected her. "I'll take a polygraph in front of him." He gave Lance a pointed look. "He's the one I need to convince."

Laurel looked at Spencer. "I'm gonna need a minute."

Spencer, Lance, and Felicity rose from their seats and went out into the hall. Kate Spencer backed Detective Lance up to the wall and got right in his face.

"You better get yourself under control right now," she said. "You have screwed up every aspect of this case because you can't set aside your anger. And I get it," she added, backing up. "I get it. He's a spoiled brat who broke your daughter's heart and got your other daughter killed. You have every reason to hate him. But I will not let your hate compromise this case. Got it?"

Lance nodded sharply. It was kind of amazing seeing the redheaded lawyer totally intimidate a man twice her size who had plenty of presence himself. Felicity was very, very glad she had not been included in the scolding.

Laurel came out of the interview room. "He'll take the polygraph. If he fails it, he'll consider the deal."

The whole thing sounded stupid and risky to Felicity and, judging by the look on her face, Laurel felt the same way.

"Fine," said Spencer. "But I'm not holding out the olive branch indefinitely." She turned to Detective Lance. "Set up the poly for this afternoon." She stalked off down the hall.

"You sure you want to do this?" Lance asked his daughter. "There's nowhere to hide during a polygraph."

"It's a terrible idea, but he's determined," Laurel replied. "And if there's a chance to shut this down before it goes to trial, then I'm going to take it."

Detective Lance contacted a polygraph operator and set up an appointment for later that afternoon. "I want you there for this," he said to Felicity. "I kept you out of the meetings with Spencer in case there were consequences. I'm the one who should face those consequences, not you. But you should be involved in everything else, and I want you in there observing like you did during the interrogation."

Felicity busied herself at her desk as Lance gathered files and scribbled notes. They took a brief, awkwardly silent late lunch break together at the deli across the street. Later, the polygraph technician set up the machine in the interview room. For all of technology's advances in the last thirty years or so, polygraph machines had pretty much stayed the same.

Laurel and Oliver came in, arguing.

"It's ridiculous, Ollie," said Laurel. "It's frivolous when you are looking at life in prison, not to mention in incredibly poor taste."

"Of course it's ridiculous. This entire thing is ridiculous. That's the point."

"God, it's been five years but it feels just like old times," Laurel snapped. "And I don't mean that in a good way." She turned away from him and approached the table. Oliver smirked at her back.

"Have a seat, Mr. Queen," Detective Lance said. "Eric here will get you set up."

Eric, the polygraph tech, waited for Oliver to sit before attaching the blood pressure cuff and sensors that would measure his pulse and respiration, among other things. Felicity had originally agreed with Laurel that this was a bad move for Oliver, but now she was starting to wonder if maybe this one test could tear down the prosecution's shaky case. Eric nodded to Detective Lance that he was ready, and Felicity tried to focus her gaze on a spot just to the left of Oliver's head.

"Is your name Oliver Queen?" Detective Lance asked.

"You don't know who I am, Detective?" Oliver was back in full smartass mode.

"The questions are to calibrate the polygraph," said Lance. "Is your name Oliver Queen?"

"Yes." Oliver appeared to relax a little bit.

"Were you born in Starling City May 16th, 1985?"

"Yes."

He was six years older than Felicity. Not that she cared, or that it was important or anything. Not at all.

"Is your hair blue?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "No."

"Ever been to Iron Heights prison?" Lance asked. All of his questions sounded like statements.

"No."

Laurel's eyes widened in surprise, not at the question, Felicity was sure, but at the answer.

Lance held up the police sketch of the Hood. "Are you the man in this picture?"

"No," said Oliver.

The detective glanced at Eric, who nodded. Lance sucked at his teeth and blew out a breath. "You steal forty million dollars off Adam Hunt?"

"No, I didn't," Oliver replied.

"Were you marooned on an island called Lian Yu for five years?"

"Yes."

Laurel frowned. "How is that even relevant?" Felicity was wondering the same thing.

"I don't need to show relevance," Lance said, "but since you asked, whatever happened on that island turned him into a cold-blooded killer."

Oliver flinched.

"The physician that examined you reported that twenty percent of your body is covered in scar tissue," said Lance.

"The machine won't work unless you ask a question," Laurel said to her father, but she was looking at Oliver, and she'd gone pale. Felicity guessed she hadn't known about the scars.

"Did that happen to you there?" Detective Lance asked.

"Yes," said Oliver. The cocky posture was gone.

"When you came back, you told everyone that you were alone on that island. Are you claiming that your scars were self-inflicted?"

Felicity drew in a sharp breath.

"No," Oliver answered. "I wasn't alone. I didn't want to talk about what happened to me on the island."

"Why not?" asked Lance.

"Because the people that were there tortured me."

Laurel's eyes were wet. She stared at her father. Felicity was sure she was trying to get him to stop, but he wasn't finished.

"Have you killed anyone?" he asked Oliver.

Oliver swallowed, collecting himself, but Felicity could see his lower lip quiver a bit, and that was when her own eyes filled with tears.

"Yes," said Oliver. He looked at Detective Lance. "When I asked your daughter, Sara, to come on my father's yacht with me. I killed your daughter." He stripped off the sensors, ripped away the Velcro cuffs, and left.

Eric looked at the machine's readout. "I'd have to study the date, but just eyeballing it, he's telling the truth."

Lance made a skeptical mmhmm noise.

Laurel stood up and somehow blinked away the tears that she hadn't let fall. "Can I assume that you'll be recommending Ms. Spencer to drop all charges against my client?"

"No," Lance said. "I know a guilty man when I see one. He is guilty, whether you can see it or not."