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This wasn't happening. Oliver knew he should do something, keep moving, fix this somehow. But instead, the ridiculous thought kept running through his brain. This wasn't happening.

"Felicity! Talk to me!"

Oliver was standing just outside the warehouse they'd just cleared of gun-runners, who were tied up, in various states of consciousness. The sound of sirens was getting louder, but his feet were nailed to the ground as he said her name, over and over. He was shaken out of his fugue as a van screeched to a halt inches from him. Diggle kicked open the passenger door.

"Come on, Oliver! Let's not get arrested today!"

Diggle drove like a maniac until they reached a darkened alley a few streets away, then he stopped, abruptly. He was saying something about Felicity, but Oliver couldn't focus on it.

There's someone here.

Her last words to him kept echoing in his head.

"Hey! Oliver! C'mon, man, snap out of it!"

Oliver managed to focus, just as a buzzing sound came from the back of the van. That was his mobile, he realised, and vaulted to the back, suddenly desperate. When he grabbed it, and saw her texts, he lost hope again. He had no idea what she meant. Diggle snorted impatiently.

"Gimme that," he said, as he grabbed the phone out of Oliver's nerveless fingers.

"So. Three texts."

Then Diggle hesitated. Oliver gave him a sardonic look. Not so easy, huh?

9 1 1

"That's pretty straightforward-" Diggle began.

"Yes, I know that," Oliver interrupted. "It's the others I'm having problems with."

verdant

"No, I get this," Diggle said. "She means, go in the club, not down to the foundry."

"And the third one?" Oliver wondered.

Oliver Queen

"I know my name," he continued.

"No, no, you're not getting it." Diggle sounded excited, and Oliver couldn't blame him. If Felicity was setting puzzles for them, she wasn't hurt. Or kidnapped. Or . . . worse.

"She means, you have to go to Verdant as Oliver Queen – not the Arrow."

Oliver nodded in agreement.

"I have a suit here. And I'm sure there's one of yours here too."

Diggle grinned.

"And I'm back to being your bodyguard. Man. Black driver never gets a break."

Oliver rolled his eyes. He knew what Diggle was doing. He just couldn't compartmentalize like that anymore. It was Felicity.

They arrived in front of Verdant twenty minutes later, and parked in an alley. Just as they were about to walk up the stairs, Diggle put a hand on his arm.

"Didn't Felicity put an app on your phone to access the security cams inside Verdant?"

Oliver groaned internally. Of course. He'd been about to walk into a potentially deadly situation completely blind. He got out his phone and tapped impatiently on the icon Felicity had installed, and immediately the cameras started cycling. As soon as the one above the bar came up, he knew. His veins filled with ice-cold water as the man drinking vodka – what else could it be – grinned up at the hidden security camera like he knew it was there. His face must have shown something, because Diggle reacted immediately.

"Who's that guy, Oliver? Is that who she meant?"

Oliver could feel himself growing colder as he spoke.

"That's Anatoli Knyazev. He was my boss when I was a Captain in the Bratva."

Diggle was nodding, slowly.

"So. What now?"

Now he had to become someone else, Oliver thought. He had to get back there, the way he was in Russia. It wasn't going to be easy.

"Now you have to follow my lead, Digg. Completely. No matter what I say or do, you can't argue or even say anything."

Diggle looked mutinous, at first. Oliver wished he could explain everything to Diggle, that there were rules in the Bratva, and that he couldn't have someone who Anatoli'd see as an underling arguing and second-guessing him. It seemed to dawn on Diggle, though.

"This organisation – it's kind of like being in the Army," he said. "Right?"

Oliver nodded, pleased that Diggle was getting it. At least they were on the same page. Now, if only he could be sure that this would work. He just hoped that Thea wasn't working the bar, or that she'd taken the night off. He couldn't talk to her when he was like this.

Oliver stalked into Verdant, and it was like people sensed him before he arrived, as they unconsciously moved out of his way. He aimed for the man sitting at the bar, his back to the exit, and he sensed two other men moving out of the shadows and flanking him. Of course Anatoli had his men with him. No wonder he was sitting casually as if he had nothing to fear. And it was within his interests to keep him thinking that, for now.

As he approached, Anatoli turned around, and grinned, throwing his arms open.

"Oliver! My favourite American!"

Oh. So this was how they were playing it. Well, he could keep his shit together, at least until they got to his office.

"Anatoli," he answered, trying to inject some enthusiasm in it. He tried to keep it to a handshake, but Anatoli pulled him in for a full hug. For a moment, Oliver had a panicky thought that Anatoli was going for the full three kisses greeting, but he kept it at a hug and bone-crushing handshake.

"Let's go up to my office," Oliver yelled over the music, and Anatoli agreed. He gestured to his men to follow them, and Diggle made up the group.

As soon as they all walked in his office, Oliver grabbed Anatoli in a headlock, and Diggle pulled out his gun, holding it on Anatoli's men.

"You come here, to my city? After what you did to me? I swore, on my friend's grave, that I'd never kill again, but I'm ready to make an exception for you!"

Anatoli was gesturing at his men, telling them to stand down, and Oliver was amazed. What was going on?

"Oliver, please. I am sorry for that. I come with a gift, a peace offering, as you say."

Diggle was still holding his gun on the two bodyguards, and gave Oliver a panicky look. Oliver sighed, and let Anatoli go. He straightened, and pulled at his cuffs, getting himself to rights.

"Wait for me outside. We have business matters to discuss."

The two men left the room, and Anatoli gave Oliver a rueful look.

"You know I will have to kill them now, don't you?"

Oliver shrugged, like he didn't give a shit. But Anatoli was right – he couldn't let some low-level thugs go back saying that he'd been humiliated by some punk American.

"So, what are you now, Anatoli? In the Bratva."

He went to the drinks cabinet and took out a bottle of scotch and three glasses. Anatoli raised an eyebrow.

"No vodka?"

"I don't drink that anymore."

Anatoli just shook his head, and Oliver gave him the whiskey, which he knocked down in one gulp. Diggle was staring at both of them, probably wondering why Oliver was taking so long to get information out of the Russian. Diggle didn't understand. This was Bratva business now, and it couldn't be rushed. And there would be nothing more dangerous than Anatoli guessing that Oliver was angry about something besides having been thrown off a plane. He refilled Anatoli's glass, and beckoned towards the armchairs at one end of the room. Diggle had put his gun away, but shook his head when Oliver nodded towards a chair. When Anatoli spoke, it broke the tense silence that had fallen.

"I am Sovietnik now."

He spoke simply, without a hint of the pride he must be feeling.

Oliver's eyebrows rose, impressed in spite of himself.

"That's like a Consigliere," he said, half to himself, and half to Diggle. "Second in command. Congratulations," he added.

Anatoli thanked him, and sipped at his whiskey.

"I was not lying, before. I really mean to make peace between us. I hope you will forgive me, once you hear what I have to say."

Oh, Anatoli, Oliver wanted to say. Throwing me off a plane was doing me a favour, compared to what I will never forgive you for. He'd been turned into this thing, this killer, and he'd almost destroyed the one person he loved more than life itself. But externally he just raised an eyebrow, and Anatoli continued.

"Perhaps you know that we had a small contingent, here in Starling City."

"Yeah, in that auto-shop . . . forgot the name."

Internally he wondered why Anatoli was using the past tense.

"I had a trusted Brigadier there – Alexi Leonov. He was . . . how do you say. Of the old school?"

Oliver nodded again.

"Well." Anatoli sighed, and put the glass down. "Some time ago, Leonov contacts me. There is this drug dealer, the Count, he calls himself. He comes with a business proposition, a new drug, a miracle drug, he calls it. We would have distribution rights, and we would be given sixty percent of the profits. Are we interested, he asks Alexi."

Oliver is starting to feel chills gathering at the base of his spine. A miracle drug? Surely a coincidence. Just some blustering from a smalltime loser who'd found a cause.

"Alexi asks me, and I go to the Pakhan. In the end, he says no – there is something strange about this offer. So that is the instruction I gave Alexi – to refuse, with thanks."

Anatoli sighs.

"Last week, I get a phone call from a policeman, here in the city. My number must have been among some of Leonov's papers. In the auto-shop, everyone is dead. Alexi, his men, everyone. Even young Misha, who had only been in the Brotherhood for a month."

"How did they die?"

Oliver was trying hard to keep his voice under control, but it wasn't easy. There must be some kind of turf war, with the Triads, or the Italians.

"Some were beaten to death. Others were stabbed, but not with a knife. The wound went all the way through, like-"

"Like a sword," Oliver said. His voice was turning into a croak. "Anatoli-"

He shook his head.

"Let me finish. There were security cameras, of course. With . . . disks, and such. Everything wiped clean, destroyed. Then I remembered – Alexi, he was old guard, I told you. Often, when he was in Moscow, he would sit down with us, and if you poured enough vodka in him, he would talk about what he called the good old days. He liked to boast about the wonderful advances of the Soviet Union, especially in surveillance. He set up a system in Starling City – a camera, which took pictures every three seconds, and would send them to a computer in his home. In Moscow. We scoffed at him, asked him how it worked, how it was possible."

Anatoli smiled, remembering happier days, it looked like.

"He always shrugged. But he assured us that it worked. And it did," Anatoli concluded, almost sadly. "It did, old friend," he whispered.

He pulled a manila envelope out of his breast pocket and handed it to Oliver.

"Every three seconds, a picture. And in one of them, this image. Your luck is holding, Oliver."

Oliver opened the envelope with shaking fingers, pulling out the printed photo. It was in black and white, but sharp and detailed. There was no possibility of a mistake being made. And that face was one he thought he'd never see again. Oliver had to clear his throat before he could speak.

"Slade Wilson."

"Yes," Anatoli answered, his voice flat.

"I killed him."

Anatoli shook his head.

"No, Oliver."

He wanted to keep calm, keep up his poker face in front of Anatoli, but how could he? This was Slade Wilson, the man who hated him more than anyone. He was alive. Sure, he looked older, and he wore an eye-patch now, but it was unmistakably him.

"I stabbed him in the eye. The Mirakuru . . . "

"It must have revived him. He did not come to us so that we would sell his drugs. He came to build an army."

Oliver could sense that Digg was close to exploding. He had to wrap this up quickly, because he had to warn them that they were all in terrible danger. His fault, always. He stood up, abruptly, and Anatoli followed him.

"Thank you."

Anatoli's face brightened.

"We are, as you say, square now?"

Oliver smiled back, trying hard to hold on to his composure.

"Yes, Anatoli."

Anatoli turned towards the door, then turned back, his expression speculative.

"If you need our help . . ."

Oliver pretended to consider it, knowing that a quick refusal would only sound suspicious. Eventually he shook his head, slowly.

"No. It's my city. I will handle it. "

Anatoli nodded, and clasped Oliver's hand. Then he really went for the three kisses, and Oliver ignored Diggle's sardonic look. Leonov wasn't the only one who was old school, he thought. And he was going to have to set up something to make sure that Anatoli really left the city – maybe he could put Roy onto that. Yeah, and get him killed too, his mind jeered. He watched Anatoli on the security cameras, not trusting himself to speak or even move until he'd left the club with his men. Diggle opened his mouth and Oliver held a hand up.

"Just- give me a second, Digg. I only want to tell this story once. Felicity needs to hear it, too."

He headed for the door, but Diggle's hand on his arm stopped him.

"I know that, Oliver. But you can't go down there like this."

Oliver frowned, puzzled.

"I don't-"

"Oliver, ever since you saw Anatoli, you've been acting weird. You walk into the foundry, she's expecting her boyfriend, and in comes the Terminator."

Oliver stared at him. He thought he'd been losing control so badly – instead he'd gone back to Bratva mode?

"Felicity likes the Terminator," he mumbled, unwilling to concede the point.

Diggle rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean," he said. "Right now you're so cold you're just gonna scare her. And she's scared enough already."

"I don't even know if she's still downstairs."

"I'm pretty sure I saw her car when we came in," Diggle said. "And we'd better warn her. What if she still has that gun?"

Oliver winced. He pulled out his mobile and texted her.

Everything's ok

And that was pretty much a lie right there.

we're coming down

Diggle poured another glass of whiskey, this time to the brim.

"Drink up, Oliver. Maybe you'll loosen up some."

As he was obediently downing the scotch, his phone vibrated.

how do I know it's really you

maybe your bratva buddy has your phone

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard not to let it affect him. But his world was falling apart. No, no, he had to get it together. Because they had to be united if they were going to face off with Slade Wilson. So. He had to tell her something only they knew. His mind immediately went to the obvious, and he wanted nothing more than to remind her of last night, when they'd tried to go out for dinner, but hadn't gotten further than the front door, where he'd fucked her up against the wall. Or the time when she'd teased him all day, brushing up against him in the elevator, pretending to trip and fall into his lap in the foundry. Then, when Diggle went home, she'd pounced on him, riding him hard and fast until he lost control completely. When he could see again, she was smirking at him, looking smug, until he lifted her up onto the table and buried his face between her legs, licking her until she whimpered and nearly broke his nose when she came.

But this wasn't the time. He rubbed his head, and came to a decision.

in Moscow you hid your apartment key in that tub of wipes in the bathroom

He'd found it the next morning, after his shower, and it had made him glad. She was making plans to survive. He held his breath until his phone buzzed again.

ok

Oliver and Diggle checked all the security feeds one more time, and headed towards the door to the foundry. As they came down the stairs, Oliver saw that she wasn't in her usual place in front of the monitors. Then Diggle tapped his arm and pointed to a shadowy corner at the far end. She was sitting on the floor, her arms around her knees.

He crouched down next to her, but she wouldn't look at him. And yes, her gun was in her lap. He took it away gently, checking the safety, and put it behind him. He wanted to touch her so badly, to reassure her, but he wasn't sure she even wanted him there.

"Hey."

She smiled at that, and it was a shaky, terrified smile, but it was still there. Diggle came up behind him, holding a mug.

"Got some hot chocolate here. But you gotta get off the floor."

Oliver smirked. Diggle was starting to sound almost paternal. And Felicity thought so too.

"What are you, my Jewish grandma?"

She let Oliver help her up. Good one, he thought. Let's keep it light.

"I thought you'd call her 'Bubbe'," he mused, exchanging a wink with Diggle.

There'd be time enough to talk about the wave of destruction that was headed their way. For now, they had to become a team again. Felicity snorted.

"I never met her, so I couldn't say. My mom always said they'd lost touch because her parents didn't like my dad. Turns out they were right," she mumbled. "Wait a second, how do you know about that?"

"I've been doing some research," he said, aware that he was probably blushing.

She gave him a quick smile, but her lips trembled slightly, and she started sipping her hot chocolate, probably so that she wouldn't have to answer him. They sat in front of the monitors, and Oliver started thinking of ways to tell the whole story.

"Why was Anatoli here, Oliver?"

There was some more colour in her face now.

"Not for you," he added quickly. "Felicity, as far as he's concerned, you died years ago. And that's the only part of this that's good," he went on, his mood darkening.

Diggle was impatient.

"Oliver, what's going on? Who's Slade Wilson? And why is he here?"

Felicity looked at both of them, puzzled now. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head.

"Both of you have to hear this. But it's a long story. And it's so hard for me to go back there . . . "

Felicity gave him an encouraging look, even though he could see it was costing her. She probably still wasn't convinced that Anatoli hadn't come for her, and he could hardly blame her for that. He sighed, and started.

"When I was first on the island, I didn't know it, but I wasn't alone."

Notes:

As before, dialogue in italics is in Russian.

I started getting increasingly worried about being scooped by other fics or by the show, so that's why this chapter is shorter.

Pakhan is the leader of the Bratva, kind of like the Godfather. I know the show made Anatoli that, but I needed him to come to Starling City, which he wouldn't have done if he was so high up.

Leonov's setup with the photos etc is something I have completely made up, though I was inspired by The Assets (2014), which was a really good spy show set in the 80s. The Soviets are shown to have some kind of remote surveillance in place, and I thought, why not stretch it a bit?