FF#14: Deputy Mommy – Part Three
Flash Fic Prompt #14: Oops!
"Did you drug him?"
"What," Felicity exclaimed, caught off guard and completely shocked by the inquiry.
The man beside her shrugged. "It's a legitimate question." She was already sputtering in protest when he continued, "I mean, it wouldn't be the first time."
The only thing she could think to say in response... wasn't actually words. Which... was probably a first for her, but there was a first time for everything, right? Balling up her right fist, Felicity slugged Roy in the shoulder as hard as she could, purposefully aiming for tendons, and ligaments, and nerves, hoping to give him a dead arm. It was the least he deserved for that crack.
"Ow!" Rubbing his shoulder and glowering at her – also, apparently, unconcerned about waking the sleeping little boy they were both watching like he was a poisonous snake, coiled up and just waiting to strike, Roy asked, "what was that for?"
"You accused me of drugging a child."
Like it was the most obvious connection, like the two situations were even remotely alike, Roy argued, "you drugged me."
"What the hell, Roy! You were an adult who was pumped up on mira-kill-you. That," she gestured vaguely towards the slumbering child. "That's an innocent kid who was just abandoned on my front doorstep. I cannot believe you would accuse me of that."
"Well, if the syringe fits."
Felicity's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "A needle reference? Now? When I'm already freaking freaking out here? Nice. Really nice, Roy," she scoffed.
His eyes became wide with feigned innocence. "Hey, it's not my fault I jumped to that conclusion. You're the one who's always telling me that I act like an overgrown child, a five year old." Roy's brow furrowed as if he just realized something else. "And watch your damn potty mouth already. You're a mom now."
Felicity reared back as if struck, jabbing an accusing finger towards her friend's – okay, so she might have to rethink the status of their relationship given how this visit was progressing – face. "You take that back. I am not a mother – his, yours, or anyone else's for that matter."
Roy snickered. "You kind of are." Before she could fight him on that, he pressed onward. "I saw the note, remember? Someone with girly handwriting, so I'm assuming it was his first-string mother, just bequeathed their kid to you."
"Since when do you use words like 'bequeathed?'"
"Since when are you so twisted up by a seven year old that you can't even properly debate with me anymore?"
Roy was right. She really was losing her grip. Sighing so harshly that the pieces of her messy, tangled hair closest to her face lifted with the exhalation, Felicity flopped down onto her couch, Roy taking a seat next to her seconds later in a much calmer manner. After a moment, he hesitantly reached out to grab her hand, Felicity latching onto his fingers like they were her only life-line... and maybe they were. Her feet felt numb. She could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet, and breathing was less than instinctual at that point. Her chest felt exactly like that time she'd had a bomb collar wrapped around her neck. And like the time she'd been held at gunpoint by a gangster after counting cards in his underground casino. And like the time she stepped on a landmine after jumping out of a plane... if that rust bucket they'd taken to Lian Yu could even be considered an actual piece of aircraft. And like that time some creepy guy had wanted to turn her into a dead, life-sized, did she mention dead? doll. And then there was that time when the Count almost shot her up with vertigo, the time she had been shot... with a bullet, the time she'd been in a pirouetting van, the time...
"So, who do you think he is?"
Roy's query thankfully pulled her out of her trip down 'the times I almost died' memory lane. Without blinking, Felicity studied the he in question. "I have no idea."
"Could he be... related to you?"
Roy didn't know much (as in anything) about her family, so it was a legitimate thought. Plus, the little boy was blonde. His eyes were brown, though, and his face still had that roundness of childhood, his features soft and unfinished like most kids his age. "Perhaps a distant cousin," Felicity allowed, nibbling on her bottom lip. "I'm not... My parents split when I was little." More like her dad split when he abandoned them. "And my mom wasn't close with her relatives, so I didn't really grow up with that whole extended family thing that most kids have."
"Hey, you're talking to someone raised in the Glades. Trust me, you don't have to explain."
"Well, for me, it was Vegas, and it was lonely, and, if I have aunts or cousins out there capable of doing this, then, yeah, maybe we're related."
"You were raised by your mom, right," Roy stated for clarity. "Could your dad have had another kid you didn't know about? Maybe you have a little sister out there, and this is her little boy?"
For all Felicity knew, Jack Doe (because John was just too old for the child asleep at her kitchen island – his right hand still holding his spoon and resting in his half-eaten bowl of oatmeal, a pile of drool forming under his pursed, slightly open mouth) could be her father's son. Or, hell, even her mother's, and, surprising herself, she actually said as much out loud. "I haven't seen my mom since I left for MIT right after high school. It's been... eight years. We barely talk." She laughed, but there was no joy behind the gesture, no humor. "Maybe he's even hers." Then snorting in derision, Felicity added, "trust me, it wouldn't be the first time she picked some married man up at work for a one night stand and did something stupid... like have a kid at her age and then just dump him off on her estranged, adult daughter."
Whether he had no idea how to handle a bitter, emotional Felicity, bored with her woe-is-me family tale, or just distracted because he had the attention span of a fruit fly, Roy suddenly changed the subject. "So, what's in his backpack?"
She was slightly caught off guard by the shift. "Huh?"
"His bag," Roy emphasized, gesturing to the knapsack still strapped to the child's shoulders. "What's in it?"
"How should I know?"
He stood, already moving towards the kitchen, causing Felicity to scramble up after him. "You mean, you haven't gone through it? Maybe there's another letter inside – an explanation, directions."
"Roy, children don't come with directions."
"Well, this one sure as hell should," he grumbled. She hated to admit it, but she kind of agreed with him. Roy then lowered his voice even more. "Plus, you're running for deputy mayor and you're dating the Arrow."
"Oliver and I are not dating," she hissed, glaring at him.
She could tell he wanted to argue that point further, but they had more pressing issues at hand. "Fine. You're his sidekick."
"No, you're his sidekick; I'm his partner."
"Yeah, like I said," Roy snickered, smirked. "You're dating." Frustrated and unwilling to engage the infuriating imbecile further, Felicity just stepped up to the sleeping little boy and slowly, hesitantly, carefully unzipped his book-bag. Roy kept talking, his voice once more returning to its normal level, because, apparently, he no longer cared if he woke the kid, because she was already invading his privacy, so his curiosity could be satisfied, and she'd be the only one who looked like an insensitive, nosy... adult. "Given all that, I would have thought the first thing you did when you saw that the kid was carrying something with him was search him."
"For what," she scoffed, pulling out several books, a small container of Legos, and coloring supplies. "A bomb? You're an idiot."
"I don't know," Roy excused – his shoulder practically lifting to his ears as his eyes widened with a complete lack of guile. Or gumption, evidently. "He could be like a kamikaze... or something."
Felicity stopped what she was doing, looking up to meet her friend's wide gaze. "Like I said, idiot." Then, without further ado, she returned to her task, removing a change of clothes and a pair of sneakers. "Here," she thrust the clothes at Roy, already moving towards the smaller side pockets. "Look at the tags." The side pockets only produced matchbox cars and small army figurines. As she held the little toys in her hands, Felicity found a grin tugging up the corners of her mouth. It was just... so sweet. And sad. She found herself wondering whether or not the child realized, when he packed his bag, that he wouldn't be going home again, that the trip he was going on would be permanent, because, no matter what she said or did, Felicity knew that what was happening wasn't an accident. It wasn't a mistake. And the child's mother wasn't going to show up in a few hours, frantic to take her son home. He didn't run away, and this wasn't some random coincidence. He was there – on her doorstep and, now, inside of her home – for a reason, and that was perhaps the most frightening thing Felicity had faced in the two years since she had joined Oliver on his mission.
The most frightening thing she had ever faced.
Putting the toys back away, she turned to Roy and found him cluelessly holding the kid's clothes. "Why are you just standing there? Why aren't you looking?"
Slowly, he asked, "at the tags?" Why?"
"Because," Felicity huffed, taking the things from him and doing it herself. First she checked the shoes, then the jeans, then the sweater, and then finally she even looked at the miniature underwear, all the while explaining her actions. "When there are kids with the same things in schools, or when there are siblings close in age, parents will sometimes write their kids' names on the tags of their clothes... to tell them apart."
"As far as you know, you're an only child, right, and I've seen the way you dress. I have no doubt that no other kid wore clothes like you did to school, so how do you know parents do this?"
"Because I saw in on TV," she mumbled.
Roy started laughing, so she went with her instincts; she slapped him upside the back of the head.
"Hey," he yelled, shooting daggers at her with his eyes and gingerly patting the base of his skull, the moment eerily similar to when he had first arrived and accused her of drugging a child. "What the hell was that for?"
"Because you deserved it." When he didn't protest, she knew he saw the merit in her argument. "And watch your mouth... Uncle Roy."
Felicity didn't quite know yet what was going to happen, what she was going to do, or even what she could do, but Roy's suddenly paling face was all the reason she needed to dub him an uncle. As for everything else, well...? Dumping the kid's clothes on the counter, she spun around in her slippers and went back into her living room, picking up her cell. Once again, the number she dialed was a frequent flyer on her iPhone. For once in her life, Felicity wasn't going to solve a problem. Instead, she was going to dump it off into someone else's lap.
As the phone rang, she realized that she really was good at this whole politics thing.