(A/N: This is a little overdue-and that is why I've never made public what my new posting schedule is, because I knew I'd have to break it at least once. It's a little cliffhanger-y, but it was a good spot length-wise to end the chapter. And it was a fun one to write, even though it took ages. Thanks for continuing to hang in there wtih me! Note: The chapter title is a somewhat obscure reference-ALL the virtual cookies to anyone who figures it out!)
Chapter 19—Somewhere Else, Not Here
Christmas was coming. Felicity was excited. Even though she was Jewish, she loved the lights, the food, and the cheesy Hallmark movies. Since Christmas was a busy time in Vegas, her mom always had to work when she was a kid, so instead they'd go all out for Hanukkah.
Felicity had a small menorah at home. She'd lit the candles and said her prayers. She'd used Amazon to send her mom a gift each day, and then laughed when Mom sent her a box with all eight presents at once. Now Hanukkah was over, and Christmas approached. She bought a tiny tree made of purple tinsel, just because she could, bedecked it with lights, and set it on the kitchen counter.
For a few days, she tried to put thoughts of the Hood and Oliver Queen out of her head. She ate peppermint ice cream. She left handfuls of red- and green-wrapped chocolates on every desk in the squad room. She hummed Christmas carols at home while she baked snickerdoodles and pumpkin bread. On a stakeout, she plugged her iPod into the SUV's speakers and played her extensive Christmas playlist at a low volume until Detective Lance declared he couldn't be held responsible for his actions if he heard one more version of "Winter Wonderland."
Then Walter Steele called, wanting to know what kind of progress she'd made on researching the names in the book. Felicity confessed she'd put it off while she got into the Christmas spirit.
So, as December wound down, she spent her evenings on the couch with her tablet, looking up the list of names one by one while movies with titles like A New Mommy for Christmas and Silver Belle of the Yule Ball played on TV in the background.
Felicity began to see a trend in her research, an interesting point of commonality. When she had enough evidence to be sure, she picked up her phone and called Mr. Steele's cell number. She could hear voices in the background as he answered.
"I'm in the middle of a dinner party, Miss Smoak, so I hope this is of some importance."
Wow, that was kind of frosty. She checked the clock. Who has a dinner party on a Wednesday night?
"I guess that depends on how you define 'important,'" Felicity snarked back. "See, most people would consider finding a list of names written in ultraviolet invisible ink important."
"But I already know that, don't I?" said Mr. Steele.
"Did you know seven names on the list are guys the vigilante's had in his crosshairs? That is, if bows had crosshairs. Which they don't."
"But it is a rather long list, Felicity, so I would expect there to be some overlap." His accent was so crisp, like celery.
She glanced at the list of seven names on her tablet. "Like Doug Miller."
"Head of Applied Sciences at Queen Consolidated. What of him?"
"Mr. Miller may end up getting an arrow in his stocking because he's on the list," said Felicity. "So . . . important or not?"
Mr. Steele thanked her for the information and ended the call. He gave no indication of what he'd do with that information, which led her to wonder . . . Should she say something to Oliver? No, she'd be breaking Walter's confidence by telling Oliver about the list.
Her phone buzzed, indicating that someone had left a voice mail while she was on the call with Walter. She let it play.
"Lance here."
If Mr. Steele's voice was like caramel, Detective Lance's was like sandpaper.
"On my way to a scene. You need to meet me there." He recited an address, which she memorized. "It's Adam Hunt."
Of course she recognized the name. Adam Hunt was on the list.
The list. It seemed to merit capitalization now. The List.
Felicity put on a sweater over her pajama top and traded the bottoms for a pair of jeans. She shoved her feet into canvas sneakers, grabbed her keys, and headed out.
She arrived at the crime scene right after the police commissioner. Which was weird. A, because he got there first, and B, because there was no reason she knew of for him to be there. She flashed her badge at the officer guarding the door and then followed the entourage into the house.
If Detective Lance was surprised to see the commissioner, he didn't show it. When Commissioner Nudocerdo demanded a report, Felicity stepped closer so she could hear.
"Well, the daughter came over, used her key, found Dad," said Lance, indicating the body bristling with arrows that weren't green. "Hat trick to the chest."
"The hood guy," the commissioner said.
"That's what I thought at first, but these black arrows aren't consistent with his M.O. And neither is the fact that the Hood took Hunt for forty million a few months ago. Doesn't make sense to kill him now. Something doesn't add up. We're dealing with a copycat."
That's what Felicity thought too. The commissioner grumbled and stomped around for a bit and then left. Felicity worked the scene with Detective Lance, but there was little physical evidence other than the black arrows protruding from Hunt's chest.
In the squad room the next morning, Felicity pushed back from her desk and rolled her head from side to side, trying to work out the kink in her neck. She'd been digging through Adam Hunt's financial records for hours, and the first twinges of a migraine were pricking behind her eyes. The Christmas decorations caught her gaze, swags of red and silver tinsel hung high on the wall.
"Quentin Lance?"
Felicity looked up. A delivery driver stood between their desks, holding a small box. His face was red from the cold, and he smelled like fresh winter air.
"Yeah," said Lance, getting up from his seat.
He signed for the package, then set the box on his desk and stared at it, hands in his pockets. She got up and joined him.
"It's been through X-ray," she pointed out. Lance said nothing, so she went on. "Nothing raised any red flags, or else it wouldn't be here. But I guess we could call the bomb squad just to be safe."
Quentin Lance was not an eye-roller, but he did have a very specific look that Felicity had begun to recognize, a look that said, That is so ridiculous, it doesn't even deserve a response. He gave her the look and then tore open the box.
It was a phone. Felicity recognized the model—low-end, probably a burner phone. Lance just stared at it.
"Who sent it?" she asked. "Do you have an informant who's really paranoid or something?"
The phone buzzed, causing them both to jump. Lance glanced at Felicity, then swiped the screen to accept the call and put it on speaker.
"Lance," he said.
"I didn't kill Adam Hunt." The voice on the other end was growly and electronically disguised, and she recognized it immediately.
So did Lance. "You."
"You call me 'the Hood.' It's not a great nickname."
Felicity bit her lip to keep from letting Oliver's name slip out.
"You told Commissioner Nudocerdo that you might be dealing with a copycat, another archer, which makes me your best bet to take him down. But I need your help. I need one of the arrows from his murder."
Lance looked at Felicity and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, we're pretty good at pulling down leads off our own evidence. It's kind of our thing."
"Not like I am," said the Hood. "I can do things the police can't, go places they won't."
Lance shook his head. "Like I said, I don't even know who—"
"If this archer doesn't stop with Adam Hunt, we both have a problem. Think about it. Then call me. The number's programmed in."
When the call ended, Detective Lance used a pen to push the phone toward Felicity. "Do your thing," he said. "Take it apart if you have to."
She pulled a tissue from the box on his desk and used it to pick up the phone. "What are you going to do?"
"Figure out how the hell the Hood was close enough to overhear our conversation last night without being detected."
"Oh . . . How creative do you want me to get with this?" she asked, holding up the phone in the tissue.
"Find out whatever you can," said Lance. "I don't want to know how you do it."
A few days later, the Dark Archer struck again. Felicity stomped up the sidewalk to the scene, grumbling the whole way.
"Why can't this ever happen during regular working hours when I'm dressed like a grown-up? Why does it always have to ruin my evening? Doesn't anyone get murdered in broad daylight anymore?"
This time she arrived before the commissioner. Detective Lance had warned her that the big boss would probably show up again, so she hurried even more than usual. What was his deal anyway, suddenly visiting crime scenes? She had half a mind to hack his computer for answers, but she had her hands full with the phone from the Hood.
Under orders from Detective Lance, she kept her mouth shut and tried to fade into the background. Not an easy feat, considering her less than professional ensemble of dark gray yoga pants and a blue hoodie with frayed, ratty cuffs. At least she had it mostly covered up by her cute red coat.
"Commissioner, this is Nelson Ravich," said Lance, indicating the arrow-studded body.
Déjà vu, Felicity thought.
"The Hood hit him earlier this week. Ravich wired back the money he embezzled less than five minutes later."
Felicity's phone buzzed in the front pocket of her hoodie, vibrating against her stomach. She slipped it out just far enough to read the incoming text.
Queen family Xmas party, it read. You're invited.
She fought down a smile, turning her attention back to the conversation in front of her.
"All right," the commissioner began, "we tell the press the Hood did this. Hunt's murder is a page-ten story at best, but Ravich makes this a serial murder case. We can't let the public get wind of the idea that there are two of these nutjobs running around."
Of course all he'd think about was how things would look to the media. Of course. Felicity took a step forward and opened her mouth, but her partner silenced her with a look.
"You want me to ignore a serial killer?" he asked the commissioner.
Nudocerdo shook his head. "Just catch one of these psychos. I don't care which one."
Lance scoffed. He had it down to an art form.
"That is a direct order from your commanding officer," said the commissioner, his voice hard.
"Well, you can forget it, then."
"Fine, it's forgotten," Nudocerdo snapped.
He looked Felicity up and down, taking in her unprofessional attire. His gaze turned from scorn to hunger as it roved over her body. Bile rose in her throat. She hated how a man could make her feel like a piece of meat even when she was wearing her shlubbiest clothes.
"And you are both off this case, effective immediately."
Detective Lance waited to speak to her until after the commissioner left.
"I could punch him if you want," he said. "That's gotta be sexual harassment."
"Nah," Felicity replied, shaking her head. "I have better ways to deal with that, ways that don't involve either of us losing our jobs."
"Let's go. I have a call to make."
As they drove back to the station in their separate vehicles, Lance filled her in on his plan over the phone.
"We'll be going behind the commissioner's back in a big way, so I understand if you don't want to be involved," he said. "You're young, and you've got your whole career ahead of you."
"We're partners," Felicity replied. "I'm in."
Lance had decided that Felicity would handle the evidence while he called the Hood. He didn't want her on the vigilante's radar at all, but Felicity pointed out that it was probably moot. If the Hood had been close enough to the Adam Hunt crime scene to hear their conversation, he had to know Felicity was Detective Lance's partner. Lance held firm, though, insisting that she'd look less likely to be up to something shady than he would. He let her listen while he made the call.
When the Hood's weirdly distorted voice rose from the speaker, Felicity felt another pang of guilt for continuing to keep his identity secret.
"Don't bother trying to trace this back to me. You'll never break the encryption."
"I wouldn't say 'never,'" Lance replied.
Felicity shook her head violently, motioning for him to shut up. The Hood didn't need to know that Detective Lance had a tech expert in his corner, the same one that was in Oliver Queen's corner. She was playing both sides, and she knew it would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.
"There's a heating vent on the corner of O'Neil and Adams," said Lance. "You'll find what you're after there."
"It'd be a mistake to set a trap for me, Detective."
"I'm trading away just about everything I believe in because it's the only way I've got to get this bastard," Lance snapped. "You've got till Christmas, and then, copycat or not, I'm coming after you."
After the call ended, Felicity stood at the desk, clutching her purse. "You know I could find out more than he can," she said to Lance.
"Yeah, probably," Lance agreed. "But we need to keep our hands clean. Relatively," he said with a pointed look at her purse. "You better run if you want to get in and out before he shows up."
Felicity left a black arrow enclosed in an unmarked evidence bag inside the heating vent. Her face was hot, as if I am up to something was emblazoned across her forehead. Used to hiding her illegal activity behind a computer screen, she felt exposed.
When Felicity returned to the squad room, Detective Lance informed her that Lieutenant Pike had taken them out of the rotation for incoming cases, effectively benching them for the time being.
"Probably orders from high up," said Lance. He raised his coffee cup. "Here's to a few days of doing everyone else's busywork."
By lunchtime the next day, Felicity was bored out of her mind. When everyone else around her seemed occupied and Lance had gone on some errand, she slipped her tablet from her purse. She might be off the Dark Archer case officially, but she wasn't going to let the Hood beat her to the evidence. After a few quick searches, she had what she wanted.
The Hood's phone was in her purse. She hadn't bothered breaking the encryption because it was about as secure as public bathroom, and because she already knew who the man under the hood was. Felicity sat in her car in the parking lot to make the call.
"Getting impatient, aren't we, Detective?"
"Really impatient," said Felicity. "I got tired of waiting for you to learn something I could figure out myself in less than ten minutes."
"Then why bother giving me the arrow at all, Detective Smoak?" asked the Hood.
Felicity struggled to hear anything familiar of Oliver's voice, but the device disguising it worked too well.
"My partner and I both want this guy caught," she said. "But he has this thing about us not jeopardizing our careers, which I understand. He likes his job, he's been doing it his whole life, and he wants to keep it. I, on the other hand, get calls and e-mails from recruiters for big tech companies every other week, and though I love putting criminals away, I'm not overly attached to this job. I have nothing to lose by getting more involved than Lance would like me to be."
"So what do you have for me?"
"A few little tidbits about those arrows. Why is archery suddenly all the rage, anyway?" she asked. "It looks utterly ridiculous to me."
The Hood made a noise that feel somewhere between a cough and a bark. Felicity chose not to comment and moved on.
"The arrowhead itself is homemade. Or home-ground. Is that what it's called? It sounds like a coffee thing. Anyway, the shaft is custom-made but not homemade. The composite it's made of is patented, and that patent is registered to a company called Sagittarius. That's Latin for 'the archer,' which is so on-the-nose that I'd be rolling my eyes if you could see me."
"Could you find out where and when the arrow was purchased?" asked the Hood.
"Could and did. That particular arrow was part of a bundle shipment. Two hundred units sent to a Starling City warehouse. The address is 10245 Wharf."
"Detective Smoak, you are remarkable."
Felicity pushed her glasses up on her nose. "Thank you for remarking on it."
She returned to her desk in the squad room and opened the list she'd made on her tablet, names from the book that'd already been paid a visit by the Hood. Frank Bertinelli was in Iron Heights awaiting trial. So who might the Dark Archer target next?
"Hey."
Felicity jumped. Oliver Queen stood at her desk.
"Don't you knock?" she asked.
Oliver looked down at her with a bemused smile. "Felicity, this is the police department. It's not the ladies' room."
"Right." She forced a laugh, swiping at her tablet to close the current screen. "What can I do for you?"
He put his hands in his pockets. "I was in the area, and I wondered if you got my text last night."
"Oh!" Felicity flipped the cover on her tablet closed and set it aside. "I couldn't answer. I was at a crime scene. And then I've just been busy." She put her head in her hand. "That sounds like such a lame excuse. It's not typical behavior for me, I promise."
His smile returned. "You don't have to apologize."
"It was a Christmas party invite, wasn't it?"
Oliver nodded once. "It's a family tradition that fell out of practice while I was away. And unfortunately my ex will be my best friend's plus-once."
"Ouch," Felicity said with a wince.
"So I hoped I could talk you into coming."
"As your plus-one?" she squeaked.
"As a favor. As my friend, I hope. Maybe as a buffer between me and . . . well, everyone else."
His fingers drummed on her desk as she kept her eyes downcast, trying to get her blush under control. It wasn't the first time she'd assumed something was a date when it really wasn't.
Felicity studied him for a moment. If she suddenly started avoiding Oliver, he might begin to suspect her.
"Okay," she said. "There's a dress in my closet I haven't had a chance to wear yet. And you'll be wearing a tux, which is just . . ."
Her voice trailed off as she pictured it, his black sweater replaced by a dinner jacket, his gray shirt instead white with a black bow tied. Oh, God, was she drooling? Their eyes met and her face flamed again as Oliver's smile widened.
"So . . . yes, I'd love to go to your party," she said.
"Great! Here are the details." He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and set it on top of her tablet. "I'm looking forward to seeing your dress."
Felicity picked up the invitation. "And I'm really looking forward to seeing your arms—I mean your tux." Neither of those sounded right, and she couldn't think of a way to verbally dig herself out of that hole.
Oliver shook his head a little. His eyes said, You are an adorable creature. But all his mouth said was, "Merry Christmas."
"I'm Jewish," she blurted out, immediately wishing she could take it back. Could she be any more awkward?
"Happy Hanukkah, Felicity. See you tomorrow night."