Just a quick note: I wrote this BEFORE we saw inside of Felicity's apartment, and I try to stay as spoiler free as possible, so I didn't look at pictures of her place before 3x05 either. Because of this, the description of her flat will differ from what we saw on screen. I debated over whether or not I should change this, but I elected to keep it the way it is in honor of the flash fic structure. I hope this won't be too distracting. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

~Charlynn~

FF#13: Deputy Mommy

Part Two

Flash Fic Prompt #13: Silent as the Grave

Well, it was official.

She did it.

Felicity had signed up for a print newspaper subscription.

She was now an adult... a very unprogressive, old adult.

That thought should have been more frightening than it was.

Practically rolling out of bed because the sun wasn't up yet, and because she was exhausted from yet another late-night strategizing session – why they had to strategize when they were running uncontested – and, yes, she was running with Oliver – Felicity had no idea, and because rolling was easier on her old-lady back, Felicity eventually maneuvered her body into a standing position... only to immediately slouch forward and fold her arms over her chest. She was too sleepy to stand up straight; she was too chilly to not try and burrow into her own lingering from slumber body warmth. Quickly sliding her feet into a pair of carefully placed slippers (for optimal and immediate use), she set off towards the main living parts of her apartment, shuffling along.

Felicity took her time... and she took a detour to the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee that had been brewed according to her pre-settings. She'd finish the rest of the pot while she consumed her very first edition of a print newspaper, but, in the meantime, she needed to brace herself for going outside... even if it was only to retrieve said first edition of a print newspaper off of her front stoop. Eyes open only to slit level, she sipped at her mug of java, grumbling under her breath.

This! This was exactly why she had always relied upon online media for her breaking headlines (and gossip). Online came to her; she didn't have to go to it. For someone who, quite frankly, made the internet her bitch (she did, Felicity could not deny it), physically seeking out information felt alien, but there was just something about seeing your name in print, your face on the front page – real, tangible proof of her own importance, of her own accomplishments – that meant something to Felicity... enough so that she broke down and subscribed to the local paper.

It wasn't like she was going to clip the articles about her run for Deputy Mayor and send them to her mother. She wasn't even going to save them for herself. Felicity wasn't that type of girl – the sentimental, scrap-booking type. She had ego, but it wasn't the size of Texas. It was more like... Washington – liberal in view and average in size. But that didn't mean that she wasn't excited either. Because she was.

Ever since she was fourteen and in the ninth grade, she had craved power... not in the 'I'm going to rule the world and make you all my minions – insert evil laugh here' kind of power, but in that it would be nice to have a voice. Growing up, her mother's word had always been law. Donna Smoak didn't have the patience to entertain her daughter's opinion, let alone the time or energy. It was only once Felicity entered high school and her class started voting on officers and student council representatives that she realized she could have an actual say in her own life. Felicity had been too shy to run for anything all those years before, but that wasn't the case now.

Perhaps more importantly, she had ideas, too – ideas about how Starling should be run, ideas about how to make it a better place for all and not just for the 1%. Not only did she come to the table with her insights from being a self-made woman in what was still a man's world, but she also knew what the city was like at night. She knew its darkness, its seedy underbelly, its nightmares, and, for two years now, she had been working to fix it, one bad guy at a time. Now, she had a platform to do good outside of the shadows, and that wasn't an opportunity Felicity planned on wasting.

Practically licking the last drags of coffee from her mug, she set the cup down on her kitchen island and then stood up from the stool on which she had been sitting. "I'll be back for you later," she promised the life-giving liquid, leaving the room and heading towards her front door with more pep in her step than she'd possessed five minutes earlier. As soon as Felicity walked out into the lobby of her building, she shivered, already anticipating her next cup of coffee upon re-entering her home.

There was a gust of wind that seemed to push the door of the brownstone open even further, faster. It whistled down the eaves, and it sent a chill up Felicity's spine... which was ridiculous, because it was just wind. She was running for Deputy Mayor, not running for her life in a scary movie. There wasn't a full moon, her street was quiet, and she had absolutely no reason to fear... well, anything besides an unflattering picture being used to announce their run for office. Disregarding the sudden wave of dread that washed over her, Felicity bent to retrieve her newspaper... only for her body to stop mid-movement, her gaze landing upon booted – tiny booted – feet instead of ink and paper.

"Unless I've suddenly been transported into a production of The Newsies, you're too young to be my paperboy... not to mention the fact that you're not Christian Bale. Or would it be paper-person... you know, to be PC and everything?"

No response.

So, Felicity allowed her gaze to move up from the little (okay, she could admit it), adorable green rain boots (that was a coincidence, right?) to find equally little legs encased in khaki pants, a small torso and arms housed inside a long, blue rain coat, and a face that just wanted to be pinched hidden behind the cowl of the attached blue hood. (Well, at least that wasn't green, too.) As she observed the child standing before her, Felicity also noticed that he wore a backpack and was holding something in his hands.

"Are you lost," she tried, glancing up and then down her street, but, like she had noted before, it was empty. At this time of morning, there wasn't any traffic, and everyone else was sleeping blissfully unaware in their beds – oblivious to her foray into politics and, in that moment, oblivious to her surprise guest as well. "Did you run away from home? Do you need to use my phone to call your parents?"

Rather than reply, the child simply pushed an envelope towards her. What was even stranger than the situation Felicity found herself in, including the little boy's silence, was the fact that the envelope was addressed to her – a formal Felicity Smoak scrawled across the cream paper in black ink and written with a feminine touch. Not knowing what else to do, she took the note from the unknown child, sliding her finger under its seal, and removing the missive... only she didn't find a letter inside. Instead, it was just a single sheet of paper, five life-changing words written across the center. She read them out loud.

"He should have been yours."

"What," Felicity instantly responded, looking from the unsuspecting... or so she assumed... child and then back towards the note, her head bobbing up and down as she searched for some clue as to what was going on. "I don't... This has to be some kind of joke. Right?" But the piece of paper she held in her hands couldn't tell her anything else, and the boy seemed absolutely unwilling to talk to her. Not that she could blame him. He was probably traumatized – dropped off on some stranger's stoop in the middle of night, left alone without a clue as to what was going on. Plus, not to mention, how long had he been standing out there, waiting for her? Minutes? Hours? The wind gusted again, and Felicity's teeth started chattering.

"Oh, god," she moaned in realization, in worry. The poor kid was probably freezing. "We have to get you inside." But she couldn't... could she? He wasn't her child. She had no idea who he was. What if... would it be illegal for her to take him into her home? Illegal or not, Felicity knew that it would be inhumane to leave him outside while she waited for... someone to come and help her sort through this mess.

Decision made, she reached out to usher the child indoors but then stopped herself, holding her hands out in front of her to display innocence. "I'm not kidnapping him," she proclaimed just in case someone was watching. And she was announcing that day to the world that she was running for public office, so it wasn't just paranoia that made her think hidden eyes could be trained upon her – upon them – that very moment. "He's free to go whenever he wants, whenever a responsible adult arrives to take him back to where he belongs. But, in the meantime, I can't just leave him out here." Dropping her voice to talk to the little boy, Felicity added, "come on, let's get you inside where it's warm. Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?"

The child didn't answer her, but he did slowly... as if testing the waters, so to speak, step inside of her building and then, once she indicated where he should go, walk into her apartment. After they were inside, he followed her to the kitchen where Felicity watched in part shock and part amusement as the kid pushed his hood away from his face and off of his head before climbing up onto one of her stools. He still didn't say anything, and he certainly looked like someone had dropkicked his puppy... which, since it seemed like he had been abandoned, was a fair expression for the kid to take up, but, apparently, the offering of food was the universal welcome she needed to use to make him feel comfortable enough around her to let down at least some of his guards.

Reflexively, Felicity went to her coffee pot. She was just about to pour the child a cup when she realized who – well, not who, because she had no idea who the kid was but at least how old the person was that she was currently... entertaining. Perhaps they'd save coffee for when he reached double digits, because, if the boy was a day over eight, she'd eat her very own first print newspaper edition... once she actually brought it inside. Haltingly, she put the pot back on its warmer and then moved towards her fridge, pulling it open and blanching at its contents. Because of her busy schedule, plans to go grocery shopping often got pushed back... if not forgotten. Basically, she had no business offering a child breakfast unless she was going to serve him condiments.

Closing the appliance, Felicity moved towards her cabinets, opening and shutting them at random in agitation, in desperation. Finally, however, she landed upon some hot chocolate mix and an unopened container of oatmeal – something she had picked up months before when she had promised herself, yet again, that she'd start to eat healthier. Given that the container still had its seal, obviously she... hadn't quite gotten around to that goal yet. She didn't have milk, and she only had granulated sugar, not brown, but starving orphans couldn't be choosers, so, when she placed the less than appetizing bowl of oatmeal before the boy along with his made from water and not milk hot chocolate, he dove in like Kobayashi.

"You just... enjoy," Felicity told the child, backing away from him. He wasn't a grenade – she had stepped on a landmine once, so she should know, but the little boy, nevertheless, felt just as dangerous. "I'm going to," and she gestured vaguely behind her. "Yeah." Without further being said, Felicity disappeared, leaving the kid alone in her kitchen. Practically diving across her living room, she grabbed her cell phone off of her coffee table, zeroing in on and calling one of her most often dialed contacts.

If a situation had ever called for back up, this was it.