(A/N: As promised, Olicity dancing! I did write most of this while hopped up on cold meds. Just saying.)

Chapter 20—Cute But Lethal

With no active cases, it was easy for Felicity to leave work early. Even so, she knew she'd still be pressed for time. She hadn't been to a black-tie event since an awards banquet when she was nineteen.

The dress hung on the back of the bedroom door. She tried not to look at it, heading straight through to the bathroom to get in the shower. While she got ready, she drank nearly a liter of ginger ale to try to calm the nervous flutters in her stomach. And then she kept having to pee, so by the time she threw on her black coat and hustled out to her car, she'd be hard pressed to get to the Queen mansion on time.

It wasn't a big, flashy party. There wasn't a phalanx of security, just two guys in dark suits checking invitations, one of whom she recognized as Mr. Diggle. He smiled at her as she dug the invitation out of her purse and handed it to the other big guy with the scary arms.

"He's looking for you," said Mr. Diggle. "He just told me if you weren't here in ten minutes, he was going to bolt."

Felicity's eyes lit up. "Well, if Oliver's leaving, there's no reason for me to stay."

But as she spoke, Diggle's hand was on her arm, and he was ushering her into the house, and a woman in a gray and white uniform was offering to take her coat while simultaneously peeling it off her shoulders. And then Diggle was whisking her past Walter Steele and Moira Queen (thank God), and she found herself standing in front of Oliver. Who was wearing a suit. A really well-tailored suit.

He wasn't saying anything. Why wasn't he saying anything? He was just looking at her, and suddenly she felt exposed, like she was living that recurring dream where she stood in front of a crowd without her clothes on.

"Hi," Felicity said.

"Hey."

His voice sounded weird, but she was immediately distracted from it by a handful of people standing off to the right. The women had on cocktail dresses, and the men wore suits. Not a tux in sight, and definitely no floor-length gowns.

"Oh, God, I'm overdressed. How am I overdressed? I thought—"

Oliver grasped her elbow. "You look amazing, Felicity."

It was a great dress. It was one-shouldered, navy blue, and full-skirted. It swished when she walked. She loved it.

"Hey," he said again, and she realized she'd been looking down. "It's not just the dress."

She couldn't meet his eyes. "How's it going so far?" She raised her hand to push up her glasses before remembering she was wearing contacts.

He let go of her elbow. "Well, my sister's friend—" He emphasized the word with finger quotes. "—showed up with flowers for my mother, and then he and Thea disappeared. There's some kind of tension between my mother and Walter, which made the family photo really awkward."

"Sounds like you've gotten most of the rough stuff out of the way," Felicity said.

"I wish. Tommy and Laurel aren't even here yet."

"Hey, man. Some party, huh?"

Felicity recognized Tommy's voice before she turned around. He and Oliver did that bro hug where they slapped each other's backs, and then Laurel and Oliver exchanged a stilted embrace, made even more awkward by Laurel's boobs, which were very va-va-voomy in her red cocktail dress. Felicity had never before seen people try to hug without upper body contact, but they sure made an effort.

"So!" Tommy said, clapping his hands together. "How long do you think it'll be till this isn't weird?"

Oliver flashed a pained smile and then cupped her elbow, turning her away from them. She was about to blurt out something ridiculous about him having an elbow fetish when he murmured in her ear, his breath tickling her neck.

"Let's dance."

"To 'Little Drummer Boy'?" she asked as he steered her to the middle of the room. "Is that even possible?"

"Consider it a challenge."

And then his left hand was at her waist, and his right was clasping hers, and she stared at her other hand, not sure what to do with it. He huffed out a laugh, letting go of her waist for a moment to place her unoccupied hand on his shoulder.

"I get the feeling you don't do this often," said Oliver.

"Pretty much never," Felicity admitted. "My kind of dancing involves closed blinds and pajamas, not Christmas music and formal wear."

"Ah. Dance party for one?"

"Yeah. Unless you count Madonna. She's usually in attendance. Musically, not actually. Classic black-lace-gloves Madonna, not fake-British-accent, leotard-cut-up-to-here Madonna. Are you just moving us in a circle?"

His lips curved up at her conversational whiplash. "Basically, yeah. There's not much else you can do with 'Little Drummer Boy.'"

They drifted past Tommy and Laurel, and he whipped around so fast, headed in the other direction, that she felt a little dizzy.

Felicity bit her lip. "You're avoiding them."

He drew her closer, tucking her head under his chin. "I told you I needed a buffer," he murmured into her hair.

"There's that, and then there's running." She could feel his heart beating under her ear. Was it just her imagination, or was it speeding up?

"Was it that obvious?"

"Announcing it on a Jumbotron would have been more subtle." She drew back a little glanced past his shoulder to see Tommy whispering to Laurel, who was staring daggers at Oliver. "Look, I'm not an expert on your life or anything, but I think you should just get it over with. Talk to her. She obviously has something to get off her not-inconsiderable chest."

He was smiling again. "You're very smart."

"Oh, please, I'm a freaking genius."

He squeezed her hand in his, and that's when she remembered. Those were killer hands. They'd shot arrows into hearts, stopping them instantly. She let go of him and stepped back.

Oliver looked like a confused puppy. A confused puppy who'd murdered in cold blood, Felicity reminded herself. A killer puppy.

"You mean I should go talk to her right now?" he asked.

"What?" She was rubbing her palms on her dress. It felt tainted now. "Oh. Yeah, go. I'll just—" She looked around frantically. "I'll just go make awkward small talk with Tommy."

Oliver approached Laurel and asked if they could speak alone for a minute. Tommy said, "I'll just go get us a couple of drinks. And drink them both."

Felicity followed Tommy to the bar. True to his word, he asked for two vodka shots and downed them both. Felicity ordered a cocktail, and while it was being mixed, he tapped her bare shoulder.

"You clean up really well for a cop," he said.

"And you clean up all right for a billionaire."

He grinned. "That was a terrible comeback."

"It was," she agreed. "I'm off my game."

He took her hand and spun her around in a quick pirouette. "If this is you off your game, I think every guy in this room is in trouble. But especially Oliver. He can't stop talking about you."

Felicity took a huge sip of her cocktail and then coughed. "What?"

"I mean, he doesn't chatter on nonstop, because this is Ollie we're talking about. Even before he was shipwrecked, he made brooding an art form," Tommy continued. "But he drops your name into conversations oh-so-casually, but the whole time he's making heart eyes. Kind of like right now."

She sneaked a peek at Oliver and Laurel over the rim of her glass. Laurel was talking, and Oliver was nodding, but his focus was laser-trained on Felicity. When he caught her eye, he smiled. Her knees went all jibbly. Stupid knees.

Felicity set down her glass a little too hard, and bright liquid sloshed over the side. "I'm just going to go . . . check on Thea. She and her guy friend disappeared a while ago."

Tommy laughed. "Three guesses what they're up to. But you're only going to need one."

"Right. Where's her room?"

"Third floor, second on the right. And that sounds really creepy that I know that, but I practically grew up here. It's totally innocent, I promise," he said, holding his hands up.

"Sure." Felicity pushed past him and headed for the stairs, digging her fingernails into her palm to keep herself from turning to see if Oliver was watching her leave.

"Killer puppy," she reminded herself under her breath. "Killer puppy. Cute but lethal. Don't be stupid, Felicity."

Because bursting in on Thea Queen with her dress bunched up at her waist and her half-naked friend with lipstick on his neck was such a brilliant idea.

"What the hell are you doing?" Thea demanded, setting her dress to rights.

"Your brother's looking for you," said Felicity, though it was total b.s. "He's kind of upset that you ditched the party."

"This whole thing was his stupid idea." She threw the boy's shirt at him, then pushed Felicity into the hall. "I didn't want this. I told him it was a bad idea, but he didn't care. He just wants to pretend like we're a perfect little family, like the last five years didn't happen."

"I really doubt that."

"Why am I even explaining this to you? You arrested him for murder. I don't owe you anything." She went back into the bedroom and slammed the door.

"It was—it was a mistake," Felicity said feebly to the closed door. "Except it wasn't, because he's a killer puppy."

Her phone buzzed. "Please be a case," she muttered as she dug into her purse. "Please be a case. I have to get out of here."

"Smoak. Get down here," Lance growled.

"Where's here?"

"An abandoned building in the Glades." He rattled off an address. "This Dark Archer is pissed that the Hood's getting credit for his kills. He's taken hostages."

"I'm—um—I'm not exactly dressed for hostage negotiation. And aren't we supposed to be off this case?"

"You've showed up at crime scenes in your pajamas more times than I can count, and the commissioner called for all hands."

"I'll be there in fifteen," Felicity replied, already pulling out her keys.

It took her almost half an hour to reach the building in the Glades because she wasted valuable time trying to find a way out of the Queen mansion that didn't involve returning to the ballroom. In her blundering, she nearly stumbled onto Oliver and his ever-present bodyguard in a study or library or something, staring at a TV. She flattened herself against the wall near the half-open door, straining to hear.

The shaky voice of one of the hostages was reading a statement saying that a hostage would be killed every hour until the vigilante surrendered himself to the Dark Archer. Oliver and Diggle started to argue—confirmation that Mr. Diggle knew all about Oliver's extracurricular activities.

"The killer puppy and the scary guy holding his leash," she muttered, creeping away down the hall.

She'd left her coat at the Queens' and it was freezing at the command site two blocks from the abandoned building. Someone handed her a windbreaker that said POLICE on it in huge letters. It didn't do much to keep her warm, but it was better than nothing, and it made her look marginally more professional. Though she wasn't going to last long in her four-inch heels.

"Bad news," said Lance, wisely not commenting on her evening wear. "There are explosives all around the building. This guy doesn't care if people get killed. It's all about drawing in the Hood."

"That should tell us something, shouldn't it?" asked a junior officer. "That this copycat creep thinks the best way to draw out the Hood is to threaten innocent lives?"

"He's a killer," the commissioner barked. "They both are."

The bomb tech cleared his throat, and everyone turned to him. "I count three thresholds, each wired via mercury switches to Semtex charges."

"Can you defuse one for HRT to use as a breach point?" asked the commissioner.

"That's going to take a while," said Lance, "and then he's gonna know which way we're coming."

"You got a better idea? Now would be a lovely time."

Felicity's gasp caused everyone to look up. She'd heard the zzzingg before anyone else, but they all watched, mouths agape, as the Hood ziplined down to the building and crashed through a window.

"Well, that—that changes things somewhat," said the commissioner.

No one seemed to know what to do. After a few minutes, Lance snatched the radio right out of the bomb tech's hands.

"Hostages. You got five hostages on the roof!" he shouted. "Repeat, five hostages on the roof!"

Break

Oliver curled in on himself, his shoulder screaming in agony. He'd broken off the shafts, but the arrows were still in there, and they hurt like hell. It was getting hard to breathe. Where was Dig? The squeal of tires was the last thing he heard before he passed out.

"Don't you look like hell."

Oliver blinked. Dig stood over him. He slowly took in the softly beeping monitor, the hospital gown, the sight of his mother and Walter entering the room behind Dig. There was no time to talk about what had really happened. The cover story was a motorcycle accident. No one questioned why Oliver would leave the Christmas party that he'd insisted on in order to go joyriding on a freezing night.

He apologized to Thea, and then, when he and Dig were alone again, he asked about Felicity.

"She's a cop, man. She got called to the hostage crisis. But not before I overheard her talking to herself."

"So?" said Oliver. "She does that a lot. Talking is kind of her thing."

"She called you a killer puppy. Cute but lethal."

Oliver smiled.

"It's not funny, Oliver," Dig said. "I think she knows."

"There's no way." But even as the words came out, they didn't ring true. Everything she'd looked into for him . . . She was smart. Of course she'd make the connection.

"Really? She is a genius. If anyone could figure it out, I'd lay money on her."

He sighed. It hurt—hell, just breathing normally hurt—but he pushed it aside for the moment. "I think we can trust her."

"You think?"

"Dig, she could have turned me in by now. She could have told someone about the things I've asked her to do. But she hasn't."

"Because she could be named as an accomplice."

The impact of what he'd done began to hit him. Oliver had thought he could just get Felicity to pass him information on the sly because of his good looks and charm. (He hadn't missed the way she blushed to the roots of her hair whenever he caught her staring.) But if she was caught . . .

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of her image when she'd walked into the ballroom tonight. Stunning, outshining everyone else in the room. And then the look on her face when he'd squeezed her hand while they were dancing. It was like a switch had been flipped.

"Yeah, you're right. I think she knows," he said. "She can't turn me in without implicating herself. And we have bigger problems. I think whoever compiled the list is a greater danger than the other archer."

Break

"Thank you, Felicity. It was good of you to call, but Oliver's going to be fine. He's already on the mend."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it, sir."

"I'm stepping into an elevator, so I'll probably lose you. I'll call you straight back."

Felicity ended the call. Straight back. It was so British.

She tossed her phone on the couch. She shouldn't care how Oliver was doing. He'd tangled with the Dark Archer and lost. It was everything he deserved for the people he killed.

But what about all the hostages he saved? her traitorous mind responded.

It wasn't fair. Why couldn't everything just be black and white? Either people were all good, or they were all bad. That's the way it should be. Could someone come back from being a killer? Had Oliver?

"Officer Smoak, you really should upgrade your alarm system. Anybody with half a brain could waltz right in."

Felicity's heart seized in her chest. That voice didn't just make her skin crawl—it crept across the room and then shrieked in terror. It was a voice she'd hoped fervently that she'd never hear again.

She looked up. "Captain."