Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Felicity stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the loft. She wondered, once again, if this was a good idea.

Well, she told herself, it was your idea. She winced, remembering happier times. Then she could have slapped herself – had she really come that far, that sitting in a van with Oliver, preparing to blow up the Applied Sciences building, counted as happier times? Kind of. At least he wasn’t actively lying to her face, then.

No. Stop. She'd suggested this, even though Oliver had, technically, made the first move. As much as it was possible, for him.

Doing her best to ignore passers-by, who were giving her curious glances, she tried to figure out how it had all started, conscious that she was standing on the sidewalk like she was collecting for charity or something. It all came back to her, like a bad dream she’d blocked out. Though it hadn’t started that way. Oliver had finally given her that magnificent ring her mother had found in the holiday decorations, and everything had been wonderful. He’d even gotten down on one knee to propose, the big doof.

She’d been on top of the world – the campaign was going great, they were getting married, and Damien Darhk seemed to be on vacation.

Then another candidate had come out of nowhere – who was apparently Damien Darhk’s wife. That was a mindfuck in itself. Along with the candidate's name, which obviously wasn't Darhk, but Adams. Felicity had really thought the blindsiding was over, at that point. She couldn't have been more wrong.

Felicity had spent the first part of Oliver's first debate on her tablet, trying to find out more information about this Ruvé Adams, and was only giving the debate half her attention. The candidates seemed to be softballing each other, with talk about families and such - Ms Adams had mentioned her husband and daughter, which had sent Felicity on yet another rabbit hole of internet searches, ultimately fruitless. She was so caught up in trying to find out anything about this woman, that she almost missed hearing the question which destroyed their relationship; or at least, dented it a little.

“Mr Queen, why are you keeping your son a secret from your constituents? How can you marry Ms Smoak, if you’re already married to Samantha Clayton, in Central City?”

There had been a weird sound in the auditorium, like a collective intake of breath, followed by a barrage of shouted questions. Felicity had felt as though someone had hit her on the head with a two-by-four. Worse was when she looked at Thea – the expression on her face was not shock. It was guilt. At least Diggle and Alex looked as stunned as she felt. She hoped she was hiding it better, though. Felicity had managed to hold it together through Oliver’s flustered explanation of a past affair, and that he’d only recently found out about his son, and that he was not married to Samantha Clayton, the boy’s mother. She put what she hoped was a calm and knowing expression on her face, which wouldn’t fool anyone who knew her, but which would do for the gathered voters and press.

When it was all over, they’d travelled to the campaign office in silence, except when Oliver had tried to explain the whole chain of events which had resulted in him having a ten-year-old son. When Alex had started talking about damage control, Oliver had immediately shut him down.

“I need to call Samantha – she and William have to move, for now. I don’t know why Darhk hasn’t moved against them yet, but he will.” Oliver couldn’t meet her eyes as he spoke.

Felicity had felt as though she was moving through water. She remembered one day in Bali, the day the rains had started, and how they’d tried to leave their hotel, against the staff’s advice. They’d gone back to the room, soaked and laughing, after having fought the rain for a few minutes.

“Felicity?” Oliver must have said her name a few times. He was standing in front of her, biting his lip nervously, and he’d started rubbing his fingers together. It was a nervous tic she used to find endearing. Not now, though. She sighed.

“Can we have some privacy, please?” She'd been irrationally proud of how steady her voice sounded, even as she felt she was being torn apart.

The room emptied as if by magic. Before Diggle left, he’d aimed a glare in Oliver’s direction. Thea had opened her mouth, and closed it again, and Felicity was glad. She didn’t want to hear any excuses – not if they were going to sound like ‘William’s his family, and you’re not’.

Oliver started talking before the door closed.

“Samantha made me promise not to tell anyone. Not even you.”

Felicity nodded. Of course. He had to keep a promise, didn’t he? A promise to a woman who’d kept his son from him for years. In the limo ride, Oliver’d explained about the girl who’d told him she was pregnant, and who’d then told him she’d miscarried. There’d been something about Moira, and how she paid the girl off, but Felicity had stopped listening by then.

“When did you find out?” She tried to keep her voice steady. Crying was pointless, just like yelling. None of those things had ever worked on him.

Oliver looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train.

“When we went after Vandal Savage?”

She closed her eyes, wishing this moment could be over and done with, that she could already be walking out the door. Months, he’d been lying to her. For months he’d been going over to Central City to play with his son, and what else . . . to play house with Samantha?

“No! Please, Felicity,” he begged.

She realized that she’d said the last part out loud. Good. He tried to reach for her hands and she leaned back, away from him. The hurt on his face was a knife in her heart, but it wasn’t enough. She was going to have to make it worse. Because what Diggle had said to him was true – he couldn’t trust anyone. How could he love anyone if he couldn’t trust them? What was she to him, really? She wanted to say all that, but her mouth was too dry, and her lips were stiff. She needed to think, too. She realized she’d been twisting and turning the ring on her finger, and she looked down at it, and sighed again. Her mom was going to be pissed.

“Oliver . . . I need to. I need some space.” She finally managed to take the ring off, and tried to give it to him, but he refused to take it.

“Felicity . . . I’m sorry I lied . . . I didn’t know what else to do.” His eyes looked shiny as he pleaded, and for a moment she was tempted to give in. Then she remembered all the times he was ‘visiting Barry’ in Central City, and she’d hardened her heart. She left the ring on one of the desks and had walked out, leaving Oliver alone in the middle of his campaign office.

So why was she standing there on the sidewalk, months later, looking up at what had been their second home together? It wasn’t like she’d walked away from everything, after they broke up. She’d still been part of the mission, in their new lair, under the campaign office, doing whatever Overwatch was supposed to do. It was weird though – while everyone treated her like always, she was frequently walking into conversations where Laurel or Diggle were trying to talk sense into Oliver. She wished they would stop. Oliver needed to find this out on his own.

One sparring session between Oliver and Laurel got especially heated. As soon as she heard what they were discussing, Felicity found herself trying to tiptoe back out of the lair, which was difficult, seeing as they had an elevator.

“Do something, Oliver! Talk to her – do not fucking tell me you talk already, I don’t mean Green Arrow stuff, and you know that – beg on your knees, do other stuff on your knees . . . what?” Laurel was trying to sound innocent, and failing.

“C’mon, Laurel.” Oliver sounded tired, and Felicity’s heart broke for him. Then she got angry. Laurel was right. Not about the . . . knees stuff, though Felicity could use a bit of that right now. About making a move, any move. He’d messed up.

“Don’t you do that! Don’t act like you don’t know what to do! You made this mess, Oliver! Now fix it!” Laurel was punctuating each sentence with punches aimed at Oliver’s face and stomach. Miraculously, one went through, and Oliver bent over, winded. “Wow, Ollie. You’re off your game.”

Oliver held one hand up, and squinted up at Laurel.

“I don’t know how to fix it, Laurel. I don’t know how to get her to trust me again.”

“You start by talking, Oliver. Don’t wait for her to come to you. Go to her, and tell the truth, this time.” Laurel walked off towards the shower they’d installed, and Felicity tried to squeeze herself into a corner. Though she was sure that Oliver knew she was there. She let a few seconds pass, and moved towards the computers with a confident stride, ignoring Oliver’s raised eyebrow.

The day after, Oliver had turned up at her office with her favourite coffee and some bagels. He’d begged her for a second chance, had begged for forgiveness, and she’d agreed to talk. Just that. He’d come regularly after that – though only to the office. She wanted to keep all this out of the lair – it was bad enough that she hadn’t been able to go back to the loft after she’d packed her bags that day.

The conversations had been halting at first, and there were times when she’d asked him to leave, because she couldn’t bear it anymore. More than anything, she felt betrayed and lied to, and it was unbelievably hard to get past that.

She’d had a few conversations with her mother, who’d delayed her return to Vegas after the proposal, and then again when Dahrk’s bombshell went off. Her mother, while angry with Oliver, tried to keep out of it – though she couldn’t resist asking Felicity whether her pride was hurt, more than anything else. Maybe it was, Felicity thought. Still, did she have to give up everything, to be with the man she loved?

The man she loved. Oh, God. She still loved him. Even though he’d consistently lied to her, even though she’d vowed that she wouldn’t be lied to again, he was still the only one for her.

She’d suggested meeting at the loft, and his face had lit up. She remembered telling him this didn’t mean anything, that she was tired of being interrupted by phone calls and Curtis on a winning streak, but the joy in his eyes didn’t lessen.

So here she still was, staring up at the loft. Maybe she should just turn around and leave, text Oliver that it was too soon. Which would be a lie – one of her own, this time. The truth was that she was afraid of giving in too quickly, the way she’d been afraid of losing herself in Oliver.

Felicity walked up the stairs, slowly, wishing for the millionth time that the loft conversion had included an elevator. When she reached the front door, she didn’t hesitate anymore, and turned the key in the lock. Oliver wasn’t there, of course. She hadn’t seen his car parked outside.

The loft didn’t feel empty, though. She felt a sudden chill around her, like a voice was telling her ‘get out. Get out now.’ She shook her head, feeling stupid. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she thought, as she put her purse down on the counter, where she’d always put it. This was the loft, where she’d always felt safe.

When Felicity first saw the woman who looked exactly like her, standing in front of the fireplace, she had the ridiculous thought that Oliver could have asked before installing a full length mirror in the living room.

Then the woman moved, and Felicity realised that it wasn’t her own reflection. Her breathing sounded very loud in her ears, and the loft seemed to be spinning around her. She was looking at herself – the exact same hair, same eyes, same lips, even. She was pretty sure she had that shade of lipstick, even though she wasn’t wearing it at the moment.

She wanted to run, to hide, but she was rooted to the spot. Doppelganger, she thought faintly, her stomach rising even as she desperately tried to keep it down. The arm sliding around her neck was hardly a surprise, after that.

“What do you think, Ms Smoak?” Damien Darhk hissed in her ear. “Pretty convincing, don’t you think? Tell me, has your friend Barry Allen told you about Earth Two? Or is it another of the many things he’s been keeping from you?”

Felicity struggled like a feral cat, trying to scratch him, trying to kick back at him. His arms were like steel bands, though, and even more than that, it was like the air was holding her in place, and it was getting hard to breathe.

“Oliver will know it isn’t me the moment she opens her mouth,” Felicity gasped, trying to make her last breaths count. Darhk was going to kill her, she was sure of it. Oh, God. Oliver, I’m so sorry.

Darhk laughed.

“Oh, no, my dear. Our alternate Ms. Smoak isn’t going to do much talking.”

The other Felicity’s eyes widened, and she held out her hand, opening her mouth to say . . . what? Felicity would never know. She felt Darhk nod to someone in the darkened corners of the loft, and gunshots shattered the silence, each one hitting the other Felicity in the chest, causing her to stagger back until she collapsed onto the low table they’d put in front of the fireplace. The room was quiet except for the woman’s bubbling gasps, fighting for air, while she drowned in her own blood.

Darhk moved away from Felicity, but she was still frozen, like a fly in amber. He waved something in front of her eyes, enjoying her shocked gasp, and the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. It was the ring, which Oliver had probably put on the table to wait for her arrival.

“The finishing touch,” Darhk said, as he slid the ring on the dead woman’s finger.

“Now, as you go to sleep,” he continued, turning to her, “I’d like you to imagine the look on your beloved’s face when he comes in and finds you here, dead, wearing his ring.”

Felicity wanted to hiss her defiance at him, to spit at him, to open his face with her nails. But the room was slowly revolving around her, and the ground was rising to meet her, and the suffocating darkness swallowed her whole.

Chapter Text

Oliver sat on the floor, Felicity’s lifeless body in his arms. The smell of her blood surrounded him as he stroked her hair. He knew he had to get up, get moving, call Diggle. What good would it do, though? She was dead.

Felicity was gone. His Felicity. Nothing made sense. He tried to work out what was happening, put his thoughts in order, but nothing made sense. He begged her to open her eyes, to speak to him. She would never do that again. How had this happened? Who had done this?

His phone rang and he stared at it, unable to bring himself to answer. He’d taken it out when he’d first seen her there, lying still, when he’d first thought there was something he could do, someone he could call.

“Oliver? Oliver, are you there?” Oliver jumped, startled. When had he answered it? The phone was in his hand. His other arm was still holding her.

“Lance just called, said there was a report of shots fired . . . from the loft!” Diggle’s voice was fading in and out, like he was using a handset, not an earpiece. “He managed to make it go away, don’t worry- Oliver?”

Oliver cleared his throat. His tongue felt too thick to form words. His lips were stiff, but he forced them to move.

“You have to come, Dig.” His voice was hoarse, like he’d been screaming for hours. Maybe he had been. His memory had blanks in it. He wasn’t sure what he’d done when he’d first seen her lying there, broken.

“I’m on the way, man – pulling up to the loft now. Don’t move.” Diggle hung up before Oliver could tell him how ridiculous his words were. He was pretty sure he was never moving again.

Diggle burst through the door minutes later – or was it hours, or years. Time had stopped making sense when he found her body.

“Oliver, what – “

Diggle broke off and froze, a hand covering his mouth. He carefully knelt next to Oliver and put a hand on Felicity’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Oliver wanted to scream and laugh – like he hadn’t done that a million times, like he hadn’t tried to listen for breathing coming from her shattered chest. He heard a strange sound and looked up. Diggle was crying. He’d never seen the man cry before. After a few seconds, Dig wiped his face roughly and looked at him, determined. Oliver knew what he was going to say. He shook his head.

“No. No! I can’t let her go, I can’t!” They’d have to kill him too, he thought fiercely.

Diggle nodded, got up, and started making phone calls. Oliver didn’t bother to listen. Nothing mattered anymore.

More hours passed, or days, as he sat on the floor, holding her in his arms. He became conscious of more people in the loft. One of them was Lyla, so he ignored them, which he regretted when they tried to take her body away from him. There were five of them, and he fought them like a maniac, until they had him pinned against the wall. Diggle put his hands on Oliver’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, man. Listen!”

Oliver stopped fighting and glared at him. “You can’t bury her. I won’t. I can’t!” He knew it was irrational. He knew that. It didn’t change anything.

Lyla was looking at him, sorrow in her eyes.

“We’ll keep her at ARGUS, Oliver, until you’re ready. But she can’t stay here.”

Oliver relaxed. Yes, of course. They had a morgue at ARGUS. They could keep her . . . body there. The thought drove him to his knees. Her body. She was dead. He had lost her.

People moved in the loft like shadows. Afterwards he could never remember how they took her away, cleaned up, even replaced the table. At one point, Diggle said something to him and he jumped. He looked up and his sister was crouched in front of him, her eyes full of tears.

“Oliver . . . you have to tell her mom.” He was already shaking his head when Diggle answered her.

“I’ll do that – you stay here with him, Thea.”

Oliver felt like he’d forgotten how to move and followed his sister obediently as she led him to the bathroom, and helped him wash Felicity’s blood off his face and hands. Thea brought him clean clothes and he put them on, wondering when he was going to start thinking again. His head was a fog. Thoughts were appearing but not connecting.

Nothing new there, huh, a merry voice asked, and he turned around, sure he would see her standing in the doorway, head cocked, a smirk on her face. But there was no-one. He was alone.

Thea drove them to the campaign office, saying that Diggle would meet them there. When they walked in, the office was full. Laurel’s eyes were red, and her father looked shaken. Curtis Holt was there too, and Oliver wondered why. By the look on his face, Holt was wondering that too. Just as Oliver was about to ask, Donna burst through the door, followed by Diggle. He braced himself for hysterics, but Donna didn’t look hysterical. Her face was closed off, icy. Diggle was in the middle of saying something.

“Mrs Smoak . . . Donna . . . you have to accept-“

“I don’t have to accept anything. I don’t know who that poor woman is, but she’s not my daughter.”

It took a few seconds for Oliver to understand what he’d just heard. He felt like he’d just got a brick to the head.

“Donna, Felicity’s dead!” He choked on the words – it was the first time he’d said them. They seemed to echo in his head, deafening him.

Donna’s icy glare turned to rage. “Don’t you dare say that to me! You’ve known her for a couple of years! She was in my body! She was a part of me, and I’m saying that’s not her!”

“Listen, honey . . . you’re in shock – it’s a normal reaction.” Lance was trying, but Donna was . . . she was something else, Oliver thought, half-admiring her.

She glared around the room. Oliver met her eyes – strangely, he didn’t see madness in them, or a disconnect from reality. She looked as sane as she ever had. Granted, she was no longer the bubbly joyous woman he’d met a year ago. That woman had died along with Felicity. His admiration turned to hatred in a second. Why couldn’t he live in denial? Why couldn’t he find refuge in thoughts of Felicity being alive somewhere, instead of reliving those hours with her cold body in his arms?

“John said you aren’t having a funeral – why are you covering it up if you really all think she’s dead?” Oh. So she was clutching at straws, Oliver thought. She didn’t really know anything.

Diggle rubbed his face and sighed.

“Because we can’t afford a murder investigation right now, what with the campaign . . . and other . . . stuff.” He ran out of steam, just in time to see a look of pure fury come over Donna’s face.

“The campaign?” Oliver saw Curtis jump when she shrieked. “You’re trying to convince me my baby girl is dead, and you care about the campaign?”

Donna closed her eyes, visibly trying to control herself. She shook her head, like she was trying to shake off annoying thoughts, and like a lightning bolt out of the blue, it struck him. He’d seen Felicity make that gesture a hundred times. Now she never would, ever again.

“Is this why she was killed? Because of your fucking campaign?” Donna’s rage was both terrifying and, paradoxically, almost endearing. Now he knew where Felicity got her temper from. “What made you think you could do this, Oliver, when all the other candidates died, or ran away?”

Oliver winced. He looked at the others. There was Curtis here, but he was starting to get an idea why. They needed someone . . . someone like her. He swallowed, trying to control the rising bile. He looked at Donna again. He remembered Felicity telling him how she hated lies most of all. If he hadn’t lied to Felicity, he’d have been there when they came for her. He’d have saved her.

“I’m the Green Arrow.” It sounded weird without the voice modulator, like he was playacting.

To his left, Oliver heard Curtis gasp, but his focus was on Donna, whose eyes widened for a second. Then her face reached a new level of rage. He knew, a second before, that she was going to slap him, and he didn’t even try to flinch. He deserved that, and more.

“Then you should have protected her better.” She hissed the words under her breath – he was the only one who heard them. He nodded. She was right.

Donna turned around to face the others. “So, none of you believe me.” She looked at them, in turn. Only Diggle met her eyes, and he shook his head. Curtis, though – he nodded, and then cringed slightly when everyone else glared at him.

“Hey – she’s known Ms. Smoak a hell of a lot longer than any of you. And in my few months in Star City I’ve seen weirder shit than this.” Curtis was looking apologetic but defiant as he spoke, and Oliver couldn’t help but envy him.

Donna walked up to Curtis and squeezed his arm. “Thank you.” She turned to the rest of them, her expression colder.

“I’ll go along with this idea you came up with,” she continued, gesturing around herself vaguely. “That Felicity’s spending some time with me in Vegas after your breakup . . . “ She trailed off, as if wistful for the time when their biggest problem was his bullshit and lies. “But if you know about anything, you call me right away, d’you hear?”

Oliver wanted to beat his brains out against the wall. There was nothing to know. There would never be. She was dead. In the end, Diggle answered for them all.

“Of course.”

Donna strode out without another word, and Lance followed her.

They all wordlessly trooped into the elevator. Oliver could sense that Curtis was looking around him curiously, and felt a pang when he remembered how much Felicity had enjoyed all the trappings of their secret lair. As soon as they arrived, Oliver headed for his suit, and bow, only to find Diggle in front of him.

“Oliver, no. Think about it. Darhk doesn’t know about . . . all this.” Diggle gestured around him, and Oliver followed his hand, looking at the suits, the monitors, his bow. What was it all for, in the long run? She was gone. He tried to focus on what Diggle was saying. It was either that or start screaming.

“Then he kills Oliver Queen’s girlfriend-” Diggle’s voice broke on the last word, and Oliver could only stare at him, feeling betrayed. Dig blinked a couple of times, and continued. “And the Green Arrow starts a vendetta against him? It’s going to be really obvious.”

Oliver shook his head, and went to the weapons cabinet instead, loading two handguns. He strapped a knife to his forearm, and put one gun in an ankle holster, the other in the small of his back.

“You keep forgetting, Dig. I don’t need the bow.” Oliver walked back to the elevator, ignoring the others’ worried looks.

He knew who was behind this. It could only be Darhk. That monster . . . and his ghosts. They had taken her from him. They were all going to pay.

Chapter Text

It took five days of captivity for Felicity to accept the fact that no-one was coming for her.

Her cell was stark and featureless, for the most part. There was a mattress on the floor, a toilet which she hated using, especially considering the camera high up in the corner, and a flat tv screen bolted to a wall. The screen was too high for her to smash.

It was always on, and always tuned to the local 24-hour news station. It was silent most of the time, except when Oliver was the subject of the broadcast.

One time, he was being interviewed about the so-called scandal involving his secret love-child, and he had to explain the entire thing again, from the beginning. When the subject changed to Felicity herself, she couldn’t help a feeling of resentment, mixed in with missing him so much she could hardly breathe. As he patiently repeated that Ms Smoak was taking a break from Star City, along with her mother, the anchor astutely asked if the break was from their relationship, too. Oliver changed the subject.

Felicity was amazed – when had Oliver gotten so good at acting? He didn’t look like a man who was grieving anything – whether it was the end of a relationship, or even a pause in it. She wished she could freeze the picture somehow, and study his eyes. His face told her nothing. It was a smiling mask, and nothing but platitudes and empty words came out of it.

Didn’t he care about her at all? She wasn’t even sure that it had been five days – what if it was more, and Oliver was over her already? Even though she told herself that it was ridiculous, she couldn’t help some doubt. Here she was, watching local news 24/7, and there was no mention of a certain vigilante tearing the town apart. Then she could have kicked herself – of course Oliver, or the Arrow, couldn’t do anything of the sort. Then it would be obvious to Damien Darhk that Oliver and the Green Arrow were one and the same.

Yes, it made sense. Yes, it was the logical thing to do. No, it didn’t make her feel any better. Try as she might, she couldn’t suppress a tiny sigh. When she’d woken up in the cell, she’d spent the first hour or so begging and screaming to be let out. It had only taken one show of force, one line of blank-faced men with guns, one promise of her being shot in the head and thrown in the harbour, for her to quiet down. Watching Oliver, though, knowing that he thought she was dead, should have made her scream even louder, but that was precisely what kept her silent. Hey, Kübler-Ross was wrong! Depression was the second stage, after screaming.

“Looks like you’ve been forgotten, Ms Smoak.” Felicity jumped, and then swore. Damien Darhk was standing outside her cell, arms folded, and she hadn’t even heard him walk up.

She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, even as she wondered what he wanted. There hadn’t been any torture sessions, any beatings, not even the usual intimidation. She’d just been locked up and forced to watch the news. Maybe that was torture.

“It’s only been, what . . . a few weeks?” Darhk smirked, relishing what was surely a look of shock on her face, even as she yelled at herself for not hiding her feelings better.

Felicity had read that somewhere, she was sure – one of the staples of torture was disorientation, and here she was. She already had no idea where they were keeping her – now she didn’t even know how much time had passed. What was the purpose of this? What was his endgame? What was he going to do to her? She almost screamed the last question out loud. She had to bite her lip till it bled to keep it in.

“I’d like you to work for me, Felicity. I can call you Felicity, can’t I?” Could this guy read minds, or what? It dawned on her that he didn’t need to, that her face was probably an open book, by now.

She had to clear her throat before speaking, and her voice, when it emerged, sounded hoarse from disuse. “What makes you think I’d do anything for you, let alone work?”

“Well, I was hoping you’d see how quickly they’ve all forgotten about you, how they’ve gotten over you. What do you suppose they’ve done with your body?” Darhk was relishing this, she could see. His eyes were brighter than usual, and his face was creased in a gleeful smile.

“That wasn’t my body! They’ll know that it isn’t me . . .” Felicity wished she sounded like she actually believed what she was saying.

“Oh, my dear child . . .” Darhk shook his head, the false sympathy radiating from him. “At least, when Sara Lance died, they had an empty coffin to put her in, some modicum of dignity. Where do you think they buried you? In someone’s backyard, like a dead pet?”

Felicity tried to be consoled by the fact that he didn’t know Sara was alive, and off travelling in time, having awesome adventures. It didn’t work. And he wasn’t finished.

“No-one’s coming for you, my dear. There will be no, ah, heroic rescue.” Darhk said the last phrase as if he was relishing it, rolling the words in his mouth like he could taste them. “Consider my offer, Felicity.”

“Can’t you just brainwash me with your weird pills like you do with all your ghosts?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to kick herself. Yes, Felicity, that’s right – remind the criminal mastermind that he can drug you.

Darhk gave her a pitying smile. “It’s perfect loyalty that I expect from my army, Ms. Smoak. And I will have it from you, too. Perhaps not today, though.”

From that moment on, all of her meals came with a yellow capsule, which she always returned untouched. Meals, though. That was overstating it. Some pre-packaged crackers and water, enough to keep her alive.

At first she wasn’t going to drink the water either, but then she gave in. She still had hope in the team – they couldn’t all have believed Earth 2 Felicity was her, could they? Someone must have asked Barry something, or maybe he volunteered the information himself, once they’d told him. If they’d told him. No, they must have. She held onto that hope with both hands, not giving up, even as more time passed.

Until the morning Felicity woke up, and she was naked.

She’d opened her eyes in the middle of a shiver, not understanding why her cell was colder than usual, until she looked down and realised she could see her legs, rather than the pants she’d been kidnapped in. She could only thank God that she still had a bra and panties on, even as her flesh crawled at the thought of one of Darhk’s goons undressing her.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. She repeated a mantra in her head: ‘it’s just a tactic, it’s intimidation, the subject is made to feel powerless, helpless, it doesn’t mean anything else.’ That wasn’t the problem – the problem was that it was working. She wanted to curl herself in a ball, but knew she had to face reality. She’d held out long enough.

Felicity sat up, resisting the urge to cover herself with her hands. She wouldn’t be any more covered in swimwear, she thought, and she had no problem with that. Yes, at the beach, she griped. Not in a cell with Darhk and all of his henchmen watching her. This was like a recurring nightmare from high school – being in class, and realising you’d forgotten your pants.

At least Darhk was making eye-contact, and the men he had with him were staring a foot above her head, faces blank. Except for one guy, the one holding what looked like the clothes they were all wearing; he was staring at her breasts. She clenched her hands into fists at her side. The door to her cell was open, and she wondered how long they’d been standing there. God, this was a nightmare.

“So, how is sexual assault supposed to make me want to work for you?” Immediately as she said it, Felicity knew she’d made a mistake. But she’d been seriously thrown off her game, here.

Darhk smirked. “Do you really think you’re that alluring, Felicity?”

She bristled, and again blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Rape isn’t about sex. It’s about power- and fantasies of control . . .”

She ended the sentence much slower than she’d started it. It was just like when Darhk had paralysed her in the loft, but this time, her own foolish tongue was the culprit. What was she saying?

“So. You don’t think I crave power, Felicity?”

The whole room seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for her to answer. She thought for a few seconds, conscious of Darhk’s eyes fixed on her like lasers. When she spoke, she weighed every word, feeling like she was navigating a minefield.

“I think you would consider rape to be . . . crass.” Her fists were clenched so tight that she could feel her fingernails cutting into her palms. She fought for self-control, as she waited for his next move. Begging was useless, she knew that.

Of course, Darhk always did the unexpected, she thought, as the sound of slow clapping reverberated in her cell. Not the slow clap, she thought in disgust, amazed that her brain still functioned enough to care.

“Well done, Felicity. You can get dressed now.” But the guy holding a bundle of clothes was in a world of his own, it looked like. He was transfixed by her body, and couldn’t see that Darhk was becoming ever more enraged.

Before she could do anything, like shout a warning (though why she’d want to warn Mr. I’ve-never-seen-breasts-before, she didn’t know), Darhk pulled a gun out of the man’s own holster, and put it to his head, taking the clothes bundle out of his hands at the same time.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the closed space. Darhk ignored the blood spatter and the body crumpled at his feet, and threw the bundle at Felicity, who caught it with some relief. She was trying hard not to breathe through her nose, though. She wasn’t sure what was worse – the smell of blood or the stench of cordite.

Darhk turned to walk away, aiming a “Clean this mess up” over his shoulder at the goons, who were staring at Felicity with resentment. Darhk didn’t see it – he was too busy tearing his second in command a new one. “I thought I reminded you to regulate the hormone suppressant. This is very unsatisfactory.”

When they moved out of range, Felicity couldn’t hear any more, something she was happy about. She was pretty sure that Darhk was running out of patience with her too, and that the next time she saw the little yellow pill, she wouldn’t be given much of a choice.

The next morning, or evening, or a week later – she had no sense of time any longer, and it was pointless pretending she had – Felicity was proven right, though it gave her no satisfaction. One ghost was holding her arms behind her back, while the other forced her mouth open and pushed the capsule down her throat, following it with water, making her swallow. They let her go and her knees turned to jelly as she did her best to suppress her gag reflex, pretty sure that he’d make her eat anything she threw up.

She glared up at Darhk. “You know, most people would just give me a shot.”

He shook his head. “Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all. Don’t worry, Felicity. This is when it all gets much easier.”

They stayed with Felicity until they were sure that she was feeling the effect of the drug. Darhk had been leaning against the wall of her cell the whole time, arms folded, face impassive.

“Now, Felicity, you mustn’t try to make yourself vomit. We’ll just give you another one, and this time it’ll be much more painful.” With that he left, and his soldiers left with him.

Felicity didn’t understand why she should try to make herself vomit, though. It was strange – even though they’d just locked her in a cell, she’d never felt better.

Chapter Text

When Felicity woke up the next morning, she felt reborn.

She smiled at Mr Darhk when he accompanied the man who delivered her food, and he smiled back at her. He watched, unblinking, as she happily downed the yellow capsule, and he seemed almost reluctant to ask the soldier to check her mouth, to see if she’d really swallowed it. She understood why it was necessary, though.

“I think tomorrow, don’t you?” Mr Darhk was speaking to his second-in-command, who didn’t seem as cheerful as his boss. “Just to make sure.”

The man nodded, what looked like a permanent frown on his face. He gave Felicity a disgusted glare, and stalked away, leaving her alone with Mr Darhk. She didn’t mind, though, and couldn’t believe that she’d ever hated him, or feared him. When she looked at his benevolent face, all she felt was a deep and abiding love, and a desire to do everything she could to serve him.

There was a niggling feeling in her mind, though. A voice which was almost out of earshot, but which was, perhaps, protesting. Maybe even screaming? She shook it off. Mr Darhk was looking at her, an eyebrow raised.

“Anything wrong, Felicity?” His eyes were hypnotic, dizzying. She would happily lose herself in them.

No, there was nothing wrong, she thought. When he looked at her, she felt like she could accomplish anything.

“No, Mr Darhk. I was just wondering what kind of work you want me to do for you.”

He beamed at her, and she was lost. “Let’s wait another day, shall we? You need time to acclimatize. I’m going on a business trip for a week or two, and Murray over there will explain everything you need to do.”

“He doesn’t seem to like me very much.” Felicity couldn’t help pouting as she spoke.

“That’s irrelevant, my dear. Regardless of personal idiosyncrasies, we’re all working together for the greater good. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Mr Darhk!” She couldn’t help the feeling of joy that was blossoming in her, like a flower which had been kept in the dark till now.

After her breakfast, she started making a list of all the ways in which she could be useful to Mr Darhk’s work. It was a mental list, as she hadn’t been provided with any type of writing tool. But she was sure that the next day would be different. There was still a worry in her – a patch of darkness in the bright light that was her new life in Mr Darhk’s organization. She knew something, and she hadn’t told Mr Darhk about it.

It came to her once the lights were turned off, and she was trying to get to sleep. The Green Arrow had a secret identity, and she knew who it was. She’d even been engaged to him, one time, though it seemed ridiculous to her now. How could she have any feelings for someone who was Mr Darhk’s enemy? Still, she knew. She knew the truth about Oliver Queen. But surely Mr Darhk knew all this?

Felicity chewed on her lower lip distractedly, trying to come to a decision. Mr Darhk would be gone in the morning, so she couldn’t tell him personally. She didn’t trust his soldiers, either. Even if they hadn’t glared at her all the time, she didn’t trust them not to scoop her on this information.

She wanted Mr Darhk to praise her, to love her as much as she loved him. Not in a romantic way, of course. Mr Darhk was a happily married man! No, she wanted to be loved and praised for her abilities and her skills, anything she could contribute to the cause. So she resolved to keep the information to herself, until she could speak to Mr Darhk in person.

The next morning, she was given a small metal pill-box, and while she was watched as she swallowed the capsule, it was clear that she was being trusted to work more or less independently. She even got bathroom privileges – even though it meant she had to get up earlier than the rest of the men so that she could shower on her own.

Breakfast was different, too. After her shower, she was led to a large cafeteria type room, with about fifty men in grey overalls eating something which looked like an oatmeal coloured brick. She took hers and sat down. Even though she was the only woman in the room, everyone ignored her, which was fine by her.

Afterwards, Murray, Mr Darhk’s second, showed her to the terminals where she’d be working. She was supposed to be hacking into the databases and networks of various companies, as well as of law enforcement agencies, all of them based in Star City. When she asked what the endgame was, Murray glared at her.

“Information will be given out on a need-to-know basis, Smoak. Right now, you don’t need to know. Just make sure we can get in and out of their systems whenever we need to, without leaving a trace.”

That was nothing, she wanted to protest. She could do that in half a day, and still have time to play a couple of rounds of Call of Duty at the same time. But she knew she was in danger from these guys. Even though they were all supposed to be working together, for Mr Darhk, they didn’t like her much.

So she spent about a week working on the databases, pretending that it was taking her longer to crack them, leaving some tasks undone for the next day. There was one where she needed to be onsite, though: ARGUS. However, she was saving that for when Mr Darhk returned. She wanted to impress him with her skills in the field.

The days passed without incident, lulling her into a sweet monotony, which she filled with thoughts of becoming Mr Darhk’s best soldier, of rising in the ranks, so that he’d smile at her, and praise her. Every day was like the previous, especially once she’d broken into all the networks she’d been assigned.

The food added to the monotony. It was always very similar, and mostly tasteless – an undefinable block, which was, she was told, full of the necessary proteins, vitamins, and minerals which would keep her healthy.

One morning though, there was a strange flavor in it – one she couldn’t ever remember tasting before. She was so preoccupied with trying to figure out what the taste was, that she didn’t notice her lips and tongue going numb. When her throat started closing, though, was when she started to panic.

Felicity sobbed for breath, her hands clawing at her throat. She tried to swallow, tried to inhale, tried to speak. Nothing. The light was fading in the room, leaving a dark halo around her vision, and she collapsed off the bench to the ground, trying to curl in on herself. She knew she was going to pass out very soon, but couldn’t even explain what was wrong.

Men’s voices reverberated over her head, sounding increasingly faint and faraway, even as a buzzing increased in volume, threatening to drown them out.

“What the fuck is wrong with her?”

“Her clothes, dammit! Where are the clothes she was in when she came here? Did she have a purse?”

“Epipen, you asshole!”

Her entire stomach felt like it was trying to come out of her mouth as she vomited up everything she’d eaten, but it still didn’t help her airway open. The final straw was when someone punched her in the thigh, and stabbed her, too. She’d have protested if she could get a word out.

The next few minutes, or hours, went by in flashes, like slides on an old-fashioned projector.

She was being carried back to her cell.

She was dumped on her mattress like a sack of potatoes.

Someone clumsily scrubbed her face and neck clean.

“Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me.” The voice was hoarse, with fear or rage, or both.

Felicity managed a jerky nod, still not sure what was going on.

“You tell him about any of this, and we will hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine. Do you understand?”

For a second, Felicity was in another place, another time, and Oliver was asking her the same question. He’d told her he loved her, though.

The man speaking to her now clearly didn’t share Oliver’s feelings. He shook her, and she moaned. Everything hurt. Everything. Why hadn’t she noticed whatever kind of nut there must have been in her food? What had she been thinking? He shook her again, and this time she got angry. She managed to open her eyes fully, grabbed some strength from somewhere and shoved him away with both hands.

“If any of you guys touch me again, you bet I’ll be telling him!” Her voice was a mess, low and hoarse.

The man looked outraged. “We saved your life!”

“After putting poison in my food.” She was amazed he understood a word of her sullen croaking.

“You never told anyone about any allergies!” he protested, sounding strangely self-righteous.

Did you even ask, she wanted to gripe. Why was she so angry, though? She was acting like she was a prisoner there, which she wasn’t. Was she? She went back to the morning, which had been perfect, just like every morning that week. She’d gone for a shower, and then for breakfast. Which was where it all started to go wrong. What, though?

The guy was still hovering over her – she had to get rid of him first. She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her with this asshole studying her every facial expression. She waved him away.

“If he asks, just tell him I get bad period pains or something.”

The guy didn’t look convinced. “The pills are supposed to regulate that.”

Felicity shrugged, and he went away. Good thing, as she was about to remind him that they hadn’t regulated much when his buddy had stared at her boobs for an hour, and got his head blown off for his trouble.

It occurred to her that the haze of joy she’d been floating through had vanished, completely. Well, yes. She’d just gone into anaphylactic shock, she’d thrown up all over herself, and then had been threatened by some brainwashed maniac. There was something she was missing, though.

She went through the morning yet again, looking for . . . something, anything, which would explain how she was feeling. She’d gone for her shower, sat down to eat, and taken the pill with that horrible oatmeal loaf they served every morning. Except this time, the cook must have decided to add some hazelnut flour, and – oh, shit. She’d vomited up her little yellow pill. She immediately patted herself down – and breathed a sigh of relief. The pill-box was still there. She could immediately take her dose, no harm done.

Yes, of course. She’d take her dose. But first she needed to rest. She felt like someone had punched her in the stomach, she was afraid the anaphylaxis would return, she was feeling generally battered and bruised, and she was done with the day. She’d take a nap, and then she’d see what to do about the pill. She still felt loyal enough to Damien Darhk, so what was the problem? Anyway, her throat hurt. She just wanted some sleep.

A few hours later, she woke with a start, drenched in sweat. She’d just had a bizarre nightmare in which she’d been drugged and brainwashed by Damien Darhk, was practically worshiping him, and almost told him that Oliver Queen was the Green Arrow.

As she looked around her, taking in the bare walls, the stripped mattress, the bucket next to her head, and the guard standing at the cell door, she realized the truth. She was Darhk’s prisoner. What was she going to do? No one knew she was still alive, that she was here. Wherever ‘here’ was. No one was coming for her. If she hadn’t known about the security cameras all over Darhk’s base, she’d have allowed herself a sobbing screaming breakdown. No one was coming.

At least she wasn’t moving in a happy haze of drugs anymore, she told herself, firmly suppressing the little voice in her head which pointed out that it had been much better when she didn’t know how much danger she was in. Also, now she had to act happy and joyful. Ha, they all said she couldn’t act, in high school. Too short to play Lady Macbeth, they said. Well, she’d show them. She’d show them all.

She moved her head too fast, and the bed she was lying on started rocking and swinging like she was on a boat. Steady on, Felicity, she told herself, as she waited for the whole room to stop moving around her. Deep breaths, keep calm, and act happy. Maybe then she’d live to see her friends and family again.

Chapter Text

Oliver centred the transmitter arrow exactly where Curtis had instructed, and waited. Before long, Curtis gave him the go ahead, and he signalled the team. Thea and Laurel were moving in from the back, while Diggle joined him in breaking through the front door. Well, easing in through the front door, past the deactivated alarm.

Sometimes Oliver missed the times when he just kicked in the door in on his own, loosing a dozen arrows in as many seconds, and damn the consequences. Sometimes Oliver missed a lot of things.

His rage-fuelled plan for revenge on Darhk had gone just as well as everything in his life lately – a complete failure. He’d taken down ghost after ghost, had captured and tortured and yes, murdered the men working for Darhk, and nothing. It was like his actions were being swallowed by a void, along with the bodies. Nothing had even been reported in the news.

He went back, every morning, to an empty loft, full of memories of Felicity, but nothing of substance remained. He didn’t even have anything of hers to remember her by – she’d taken all of her possessions to the Palmer Incorporated apartment she’d been living in. Anything which didn’t fit was put into storage. In his most desperate moment, he’d gone to Donna to beg her for something, anything of Felicity’s, but Lance wouldn’t even let him see her. He didn’t blame the man.

Thea tried to gently remind him that he had photos of them together, but she didn’t understand. Oliver couldn’t even look at those. All they did was remind him of happier times, and how he’d wasted the time they had together – how he’d lied to her, and kept things from her, and caused her to believe that he valued others above her. And now she was dead.

Sometimes hours passed with him sitting on his bed, staring into space, trying not to think about the last time he’d seen her. It was impossible. Every few days he had to control himself and not call Waller and make sure that her body was still being kept at the morgue, and hadn’t already been disposed of. Every few days he called Lyla instead. He knew he was losing it.

Somehow he managed to keep the mask on – the competent Green Arrow, getting work done. Except they still didn’t know Darhk’s endgame, they didn’t know where he got his powers from, and they didn’t know how to defeat him. They were just playing catch-up.

Like with this mission. ARGUS had told them about ghost activity in the area, centred around this nondescript office building. So they’d decided to break in, and were currently wandering around in the dark, Oliver thought, glad no one could read his thoughts. What the hell were they doing here? Just as the thought came to him, he rounded a corner and was stopped in his tracks by Curtis. The panic in his voice was tangible.

“Green Arrow, Spartan, everybody get out! Get out get out it’s rigged-“

Oliver turned and practically flew out the way he’d come, tapping his earpiece. “Speedy, Canary, tell me you’re almost outside.”

“We’re out, Oliver, don’t worry-“ Whatever his sister said was cut off by the explosion which tossed him and Diggle around like rag dolls.

They managed to stagger to the van, and Dig drove like a madman to the back, scooping up Thea and Laurel before heading back to base.

“Dig, don’t take a direct route. If there was someone watching us-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

Oliver was preoccupied with the ringing in his ears, so he wasn’t really listening to Laurel and Thea’s conversation. Then a word caught his attention.

“What do you mean, how did Curtis know?”

Thea started. “Ollie, were you that close to the blast?” He raised his eyebrows and gave her what he hoped was an enquiring look. “You’re taking kinda loud.”

“I’ll have a look at his ears once we get back to base.” Oliver could barely hear Dig, over the ringing. Dammit. He could not afford any fuck ups right now.

“Thea.” He tried to speak normally. “What did you mean, about Curtis?”

Thea and Laurel exchanged a nervous look. “I couldn’t see any lights showing silent alarms, nothing flashing or beeping, no countdown or anything. How did he know there was a bomb?”

Oliver leaned back against a panel, fighting the temptation to rub his ears. That was a good question.

An hour later, Curtis was doing his best not to answer it. As soon as they’d arrived back in the base, Dig had insisted on checking Oliver’s ears for damage. There wasn’t any, which Oliver felt he could have diagnosed – his hearing was already much better, and the ringing was almost gone. They were ranged in a semi-circle around Curtis, most of them seemingly trying to appear reassuring. Oliver wasn’t. He stood with his arms folded, giving Curtis his best glare.

“It’s an easy enough question, Curtis. How did you know?”

Curtis fiddled with his glasses, and Oliver felt a deep pang in his chest, almost like he’d been stabbed. He knew that gesture. That was what Felicity always did, to play for time. No. That was what Felicity had done. She wasn’t doing anything, now. Because she was dead.

“I . . . uh . . . picked up a cellphone transmission – a call, or a text. Figured since the place was empty-“

Oliver narrowed his eyes. This guy. Did he think they were stupid?

“No.” The others turned to look at him, and Curtis’s eyes bulged. “If you’d picked up a transmission, we’d all be dead. There was no time for us to get out.” He walked slowly towards Curtis, trying to project an air of menace. Curtis leaned back in his chair, gripping the arm-rests. “The truth, Curtis. What’s going on?”

“I have a source. Inside Darhk’s organization.”

“A source?” Thea sounded outraged. “Curtis, we almost died in there!”

Curtis winced. “I told you as soon as she told me! I’m sorry!”

Oliver felt a stabbing pain in his head, unrelated to his recent near-death experience. “She.”

Curtis was chewing on his lower lip and picking at the arm-rest of his chair. He nodded.

“She says she’s . . . Felicity.” Curtis mumbled the name, almost unwilling to say it out loud.

Oliver shook his head, and kept shaking it, even as he turned away and punched one of the metal panels which housed their server. Everyone jumped.

“Felicity. Is. Dead.” Oliver tried to keep it together. His hand hurt like hell. “Why won’t you accept it?” His voice got louder and louder, until he was practically yelling in Curtis’s face.

This time, Curtis wouldn’t back down.

“She knows things, ok? Things only Felicity would know. Things I haven’t told anyone else, not even Paul.”

He looked around, his eyes pleading for them to believe him.

Dig sighed, and folded his arms.

“Who knows how long they were in the apartment before they shot her? They could have got it out of her . . . somehow.”

Curtis’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it only got more stubborn.

“Look, she wants to get out of there – there might be a window soon. Would she do that if she wasn’t Felicity?”

“Yes!” Oliver and Dig spoke at the same time, while Thea nodded, and Laurel added a sottovoce ‘sure, why not’.

“It’ll just be another trap,” Thea said.

“Yes,” Oliver agreed. “Or we’ll see someone we think is Felicity, and she’ll be one of his brainwashed goons.”

The others turned to stare at him, while Curtis gave him a knowing look. “You never told them about Earth Two?”

“Who told you about it?” Oliver asked, trying hard to keep his temper under control.

“I want to know what’s going on, and I want to know right now!” Laurel’d had enough.

Dig was close to losing his patience, too. “Yeah, Oliver. What the hell is Earth Two?”

Oliver rubbed his forehead, wishing he could be far away from here.

“When I told Barry about Felicity . . . I don’t know why, I mentioned what Donna said.” Oh, he knew why. He’d still been clinging onto some pathetic hope that she was right, and he was wrong. “Barry told me about a parallel Earth which he found out about a couple of months ago. We all have counterparts there, but their lives went in different directions.”

Dig’s face turned incredulous, and Oliver shrugged. He was still finding it hard to cope with the idea of metahumans – the multiverse theory was this close to breaking his brain completely.

The others, though. They had a different reaction, and he couldn’t bear to see the hope grow on their faces, so he hurried on.

“But he also said that they monitor all the breaches, and they’d know if Darhk was taking trips to Earth Two and bringing people back with him. I asked him to look into Earth Two Felicity, to see if she’d vanished or something.” He paused, remembering. “I never got back to him on that.”

Curtis jumped on his last words. “See, you don’t know for sure. Anyway, we have to be there when this whole thing goes down, because Darhk is going to attack ARGUS, and my source has to be onsite to hack into their network.”

Curtis cringed at the incredulous glares that came his way.

“Fine. Fine!” Oliver had their attention, again. “We’ll inform ARGUS that Darhk’s men are on their way, and then we’ll pick up your source, whoever it is.”

“The ARGUS people can’t spring the trap too early though,” Curtis said, “otherwise her cover will be blown. They think she’s still brainwashed,” he concluded. “It’s gonna be bad enough when Darhk finds out you didn’t die in the explosion.” He’d stopped gnawing on his lower lip and was now considering his fingernails.

Oliver restrained himself from rolling his eyes. When all this was over, he was going to suggest Curtis tell his husband everything. Things were really bad if he was being catfished by one of Darhk’s drones – he needed someone to talk to about this stuff. Felicity . . . she’d always had him, Oliver thought with a sudden pang.

A week later, Oliver waited, hidden, near the server room at ARGUS. It had taken a whole lot of promises to Amanda Waller, and a lot of fast talking on his and Diggle’s part, to get her to agree that they’d take custody of whoever they’d find hacking into ARGUS. They hadn’t mentioned what Curtis believed. All the ARGUS personnel were forewarned of the attack, and they knew that they’d have to let it succeed – up to a certain point.

“Now.” Curtis was whispering even though he was in a van a couple of blocks away.

Oliver nodded, and nocked an arrow as one of Darhk’s ghosts dropped to the ground in front of him, a few feet away. The second ghost was considerably shorter than the first, and was lowered much slower, using a rope harness. Oliver automatically started comparing the height to Felicity’s, as well as the general weight class, and then stopped himself. Was he really falling for this? No. He wasn’t. A third ghost dropped to the ground, and Oliver watched as they turned towards the server room. But he wasn’t going to let it go any further.

His first arrow buried itself in the first ghost’s back, and before the third man even reacted, Oliver launched a second bolt. They weren’t tranquilizer arrows. He’d stopped using the tranq arrows a while ago. Ever since finding Felicity’s dead body in the loft, in fact. He nocked a third arrow, and pointed it steadily at the middle figure, who was gripping a tablet with both hands, holding it in front of . . . her? The figure put it down carefully, holding its hands out, showing that they were empty. Then the figure quickly pulled off its mask.

It was Felicity. It was Felicity. But it couldn’t be. She was dead. He couldn’t have made such a mistake. His fingers tightened on the bowstring, and a sweat-drop made its way down his forehead, but he barely noticed.

“Oliver?” Her voice snapped him out of his fugue. It even sounded like her. But they had to leave. This meant nothing, if what Barry had told him was true. He carefully disengaged the arrow and put it back in his quiver, and holstered his bow. He stalked up to . . . whoever that was, ignoring the hopeful expression on her face.

In the last second, she saw his fist coming towards her, and tried to duck, but she was too slow. He caught her as she collapsed, and put her in a fireman’s carry, moving as quietly as he could towards the back door which had been designated his exit point.

“Oliver!” Too late he remembered the streaming webcams Felicity had installed in all their suits. Before she died.

“What? What did he do?” That was Diggle. Oliver tried to get a word out before Thea and Laurel could chime in.

“He punched her! In the face!” Curtis sounded outraged. Oliver winced.

“Look,” he whispered, conscious that he didn’t even know if ARGUS had audio recording enabled, along with its video surveillance, “we’ll regroup back at the base. I’ll explain everything there.” He took out his earpiece as soon as he finished speaking. He’d insisted on using another van, with the others getting there on bikes, so no-one saw him as he gently put Fe- put the ghost on the floor and strapped her to it. He didn’t want her rolling around, after all.

They’d set up a cage in one of the sub-basements, the same kind they’d used for Nyssa, and Oliver was grateful that he was the first to get back. He'd just manged to enter the locking code, when the elevator sounded behind him.

“What the fuck, Oliver?” Oliver had never heard Diggle sound that angry before, not even when he was accusing him of being soulless.

The others glared at him, while Curtis shouldered past them and ran to the cage, staring at the woman inside it.

“See, I told you! It is her!”

“Look, Dig . . . everyone . . .” Oliver searched for words. “It looks like her, yeah. But so does the body ARGUS has in the morgue.”

Thea looked away, and Diggle’s lips tightened.

“We don’t know who this is, and until we really know, she has to be kept locked up.” Even as he spoke, Oliver realised that he didn’t have their attention anymore. They were all looking at something behind him. Or someone.

“You could just ask me, Oliver.” Her voice was full of barely suppressed fury.

He turned around slowly to see the same emotion in her face, as she sat up and massaged her jaw.

“Not the kind of homecoming a girl expects, after being held prisoner by a supervillain.”

It looked like Felicity. Sounded like her, too. Though she was angry with him in a way he’d never seen before. Granted, he’d never punched her in the face and locked her in a cage before.

Oliver shook off the thought – this was ridiculous. Felicity was dead. He would know. He’d held her body in his arms for hours. This was just some brainwashed clone, sent here to finish what Darhk had started – to destroy Star City and all who defended it.

He could feel a muscle jumping in his jaw, and tried to control it. He couldn’t let his face give anything away. They’d find out who this woman was, and if he even suspected that she was involved in Felicity’s death, he would make her pay.

Chapter Text

Felicity turned around slowly, as if in a dream. Or nightmare.

She’d finally got through to Curtis, which was harder than she’d expected. Also, weirder. She’d never thought that reminiscing about an evening spent drinking margaritas and non-stop Adele karaoke would be the thing to prove her identity, but giving him an exact tracklist did the trick. She’d told him when she was supposed to join in on the attack on ARGUS, and he’d promised her he’d get the team on it.

Curtis promised! So why was Oliver in full Hood mode? He’d just killed both of Darhk’s ghosts and was preparing to shoot her, and Felicity really wanted to pinch herself, except she was sure that any sudden moves would get her an arrow to the gut. Where was the hope-filled Green Arrow who wanted to help the city in the daylight, too? It occurred to her that maybe she’d underestimated the effect finding her dead body would have on Oliver.

She turned around slowly, and carefully put her tablet on the ground, holding her hands out to show how empty they were. She could feel a sweat drop trickling down her back, and wished they hadn’t made her wear that stupid ski mask thing. Oliver hadn’t moved. He was still standing in front of her, arrow ready. She swallowed, and made her move, carefully taking the ski mask off, and hoped that when he saw her face, he’d believe it was her. But his expression didn’t change, not until she said his name.

Then he lowered his bow, and put the arrow back in the quiver. She couldn’t hold back the relief she felt at that, and when he started walking towards her, really thought that it was over, that she was safe, at last. She really wasn’t expecting the punch to the jaw. Her last thought was regret that she’d asked Curtis to involve the team at all. Clearly they’d all gone insane since she’d been gone.

Waking up in a cage, Felicity didn’t know what hurt more – her aching jaw or the memory of the look of hatred on Oliver’s face, which she’d never seen directed at her. That’s ridiculous, she thought. That’s just bad movie dialogue. Of course my jaw hurts more.

She moved her mouth carefully, and regretted it. Diggle and the others had noticed she was awake, and she sat up, just as Oliver turned towards her. She wasn’t even sure what she said, through the screaming rage in her head. He’d hit her! He couldn’t tell it was really her! She’d never once doubted him, and it took one little event for him to completely give up on her.

Now, that’s not fair, she thought. She had doubted him, in Nanda Parbat, when they’d all been infected with the Alpha/Omega virus. Also, Oliver had been confronted with her doppelganger’s dead body, which was undoubtedly traumatizing and – she was doing it again. So pathetic, she thought. You see him for a few seconds and you’re his little pet, all over again. Well, this is where you lose, Felicity. Because he clearly doesn’t want you.

She tossed her head, refusing to even look like she was begging, and his eyes narrowed. “What do I have to do to persuade you that I’m me? That I’m Felicity?”

It wasn’t fair to say only Oliver thought she wasn’t the real thing. Of the team, only Curtis seemed convinced. Laurel wanted to be convinced, she could tell. Thea wouldn’t meet her eyes, Diggle wasn’t buying it, and Oliver . . . oh, lord. Oliver’s eyes were dead.

“You’re not going to persuade us.” Oliver’s voice wasn’t much warmer than the look in his eyes. “I held my Felicity’s dead body for hours. I know who’s dead and who isn’t.”

Felicity couldn’t decide whether she felt terrified or angry. She decided to pick one. So, anger, right? Anger was good. “Why the hell didn’t you kill me then, back at ARGUS? Why am I here?”

“You have information that we need. You’re going to give it to us, one way or another.” Even though Oliver’s words were horrifying, Felicity was reassured by the way the others turned to look at him, in various expressions of denial.

“That wasn’t part of the plan, Ollie!” Laurel sounded disgusted.

Oliver ignored her. “How about you start by telling us what Darhk’s endgame is, and where he gets his power from?” He walked closer to the cage, exuding an air of menace which she’d never seen aimed at her, never.

Felicity just wanted to ask him if he remembered that morning in Bali, which they’d spent in their hotel room – morning had turned to evening and night, and they hadn’t even felt the time passing. She wanted to remind him of their first kiss, when he’d dumped her, and their first date, when their restaurant exploded. She thought of all of these things, and opened her mouth to say them, when a wave of exhaustion passed over her. She closed her mouth again, and folded her arms. Screw them all.

Why were they making her do this? Didn’t they know what she’d been through? The weeks after she’d lost the brainwashing had been the hardest of her life. She slept rigidly, hardly daring to move, for fear even her stance would give her away. Every morning, she’d palm the capsule, and then flush it, hoping that Darhk didn’t have men in the sewers, or checking the septic tank, whatever kind of plumbing setup the bunker had. She had to replicate her happy, cult-like demeanour with men who hated her, and were just waiting for her to slip up. This was not the reception she’d expected.

Someone’s phone buzzed, almost simultaneously with a red streak of lightning which resolved itself into Barry, who, uncharacteristically almost careened into the wall.

“Oh my God!” Barry’s face split into an enormous smile. “You found her! You got her out!”

Oliver just shook his head, and prepared to walk away. The others all glared at Barry, and Digg’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know when we were doing this?”

Barry turned to look at Curtis, and the others did the same. Curtis didn’t see them, though. He was talking to someone on the phone.

“Look, this isn’t Felicity!” Oliver’d had enough, she could tell. “This is some copy Darhk got through a breach, and who he’s using to destroy us, to turn us against each other! Can’t you see that?”

Barry shook his head. “No, that can’t be, and I’ll tell you why-“

“Everybody be quiet!” Curtis was brandishing his tablet like a weapon. He then turned it towards the cage, and Felicity’s heart skipped a beat. Her mother was looking at her, eyes full of tears, trying to smile with trembling lips.

“Sweetie? I’m going to need you to tell me something, alright, honey? Remember when I couldn’t afford to send you to space camp, and I said we could go shopping instead, and you said-“

Felicity blinked hard, trying to stop the tears which were gathering. She ended up knuckling the corner of her eye, hurriedly.

“I asked you who’d take fashion advice from someone who dresses like a color-blind Vegas hooker. And that your corner on Fremont was probably taken by now, better hurry.”

Donna shrieked and everyone jumped. They heard the sound of heels clacking to the elevator.

Felicity looked up. Oliver’s face was grey. “She tried to wash your mouth out with soap, but couldn’t catch you – her heels were too high.”

He whispered the words, like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Felicity just nodded. She remembered them giggling about the story when she’d first told him about it, and Oliver trying to imagine what would have happened if he’d tried something like that with Moira.

Thea and the others, who’d first stared at Felicity like she’d lost her mind, already looked happier, like they’d only been waiting for a good reason to believe her. Diggle still looked sceptical, though.

“Didn’t we say they might have got all this stuff out of her in the loft?”

Oliver shook his head. “When I found her – when I found the other Felicity – she hadn’t been dead for long. And I know when you,” he continued, pointing at Felicity, “left Palmer Tech. There wasn’t time to extract obscure details from your childhood.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you all,” Barry interrupted, clearly having had enough. “And this is just more proof! ‘Cause Earth Two Felicity wasn’t from Vegas! And her parents . . . uh . . .” Barry chewed on his lower lip before continuing. “They died in a car wreck when she was still a baby. So . . .”

The others turned towards her, clearly wanting to start with the welcoming party, though Felicity wasn’t sure she wanted to let go of her resentment just then. They’d punched her – ok, just Oliver – had locked her in a cage (Oliver, again – man, the guy had trust issues out the wazoo), and were talking of torturing her for information. Except – yeah, that was Oliver again. Strike three, buddy. She tried to look at Oliver more closely, but he was refusing to meet her eyes. She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell was wrong with him, when the elevator dinged.

“ . . . and then I told her I was going to wash out her mouth with soap, and you know what she said? ‘Good luck catching me in those heels, mom!’”

Donna raced out of the elevator, followed by Captain Lance. Oh mom, she thought. Still teetering on ridiculous high heels after all these years. She slammed into the cage, trying to hug Felicity through the bars.

“My baby! I knew you were alive, all along, I knew it! You can ask them, I told them! None of them believed me, only Curtis here!” She waved behind her to indicate Curtis, who wasn’t trying very hard to avoid looking smug.

Then she turned to Oliver and the others. “You open this cage right now, mister. This is my daughter in here, and you have no right to lock her up. God knows what she’s been through in all this time, she looks terrible.”

Felicity sighed. “Mom, they don’t provide hair and make-up for drones of supervillains.”

“How come that monster’s wife always looks like some kind of old-time movie star, then?” Donna sounded like she’d been building up quite a bit of resentment.

Felicity, on the other hand, realised something which had been nagging at her for a while. Her mom was in the lair. Her mom. Oliver was still in his Green Arrow suit, Laurel and Thea were suited up too, and her mom had ignored them and was still ignoring them.

“Mom . . . how? How are you down here?”

Her mother tossed her head and aimed a glare at Oliver. “He told me! And he tried to convince me that you were dead. I never believed it, sweetie, never!”

No-one seemed to want to meet Donna’s eyes, except Oliver, who just shook his head.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean the make-up, though a little eye-liner would do you a world of good, honey.” God, she’d missed her mother so much. “No, your face is all bruised, baby! What have they been doing to you, that horrible Darhk guy?”

Oh, shit. Felicity exchanged a panicked glance with Oliver, or at least tried to. Oliver was doing the hand to forehead thing which was a sign of incipient nervous breakdown on his part, and which she usually found endearing. Right now, it just pissed her off. Fine. She was on her own.

“It’s nothing, mom. When they realised I was just faking being brainwashed, they tried to take me back. It doesn’t matter. They’re dead now.” She stared straight at Oliver, stressing the word ‘dead’ just a little.

Diggle looked at Oliver, raising an eyebrow and Oliver waved him off, in a ‘not now’ kind of gesture. Donna’s face hardened and she nodded.

“Good.” Now it was Felicity’s turn to raise her eyebrows, and Donna noticed. “They took my baby. They tried to make me believe you were dead, killing some poor woman who didn’t deserve to go out like that, no matter what she did.”

Oliver took the opportunity to reach around Donna and punch in the code, and the door locks on the cage disengaged. Felicity couldn’t help a sigh of relief. She’d really thought Oliver was going to keep her there for a while. Donna pulled the door open and enveloped her in a hug, and once again Felicity had to hold back tears.

“Now we’re going to a hotel for a full make-over, sweetie, and that thing with the hot rocks, you know what I mean-“

Felicity grabbed her shoulders to stop her. “Mom. Mom!” Once Donna got started like this, nothing would stop her, short of a nuke. “I have to stay here. Darhk can’t know that I’m not a prisoner. They’ll be looking for me – hopefully not in the street outside. As long as Oliver used the van with the Faraday cage built in, and took the bugs out of this jumpsuit, I’ll be safe here.”

Oliver nodded to everything – she hoped he’d been thorough. Donna’s eyes filled with tears, but she seemed to understand, and squeezed her again. Felicity managed to signal the others, and they sprang to life, with Lance urging her mother upstairs, Thea telling her she was going to get an icepack, Barry giving her a quick hug and speeding out, and Laurel trooping off to get changed.

Diggle came up to her, and to her delighted surprise, wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug. “I am so, so sorry, Felicity. I’ll never forgive myself for giving up on you like that.”

“Come on, Dig,” she said, nestling into his chest. Diggle gave the best hugs. He should do it more often. “Finding a body is usually pretty definitive.”

He blinked rapidly and nodded, though she wasn’t sure he really accepted it. “I need to go and tell Lyla. You’ll be ok here?” he asked, not adding ‘with Oliver’, though his eyes said it for him, shifting to Oliver as he stood aside, arms folded, face blank.

“I’ll be fine, Dig.”

Diggle walked out, though not before giving Oliver a look which she couldn’t decipher. Thea gave her a hug and an icepack, then left too. In a matter of minutes, she was alone with Oliver, who hadn’t moved or said a word since he’d opened her cage.

Felicity tried hard to control it, but her rage was still coming out of every pore. Why couldn’t he say something? Why was it always up to her?

“Well? Do you believe me now? Or is there still some more proof you need?” She pointed to the empty cage behind her. “Do you want to lock me up again? Maybe you think I’m gonna go all Manchurian candidate on your ass, as soon as you say ‘island’ or ‘five years’, or ‘darkness’, or-“

“I believe you.” Oliver’s voice was quiet, toneless.

In a way she was glad that he’d interrupted her. She might have gone on forever, otherwise. On the other hand, she was still angry. “Oh really? Now, you believe me?”

He nodded, lips twitching. “Only the real Felicity could be so mad at me.”

“For good reason, Oliver.” Really? Was there a reason? Sure, he’d punched her, but what – he wasn’t supposed to fight the bad guys anymore, when they were women? He should have known it was me, a deep down part of Felicity insisted. Yeah, in the movies, maybe. This is real life. No, the voice insisted mulishly. He should have known.

Felicity walked up to him, getting really close, almost relishing the look of apprehension in his eyes. “Maybe you need proof, Oliver. Real proof.”

She got up on tiptoes and pulled his head down to hers and kissed him, nibbling on his lips until he opened his mouth and responded. She knew she had him when he unfolded his arms and grabbed her waist, pulling her up to him, plunging his tongue in her mouth. Then she pulled back, putting both hands on his chest and pushing him away. She’d never admit it out loud, but she relished the hurt look on his face, a look which quickly turned into acceptance.

Oliver seemed to know what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth.

“I’m staying as long as it takes to deal with Darhk, Oliver. After that, I’m done – with the team, with everything. We’re done.”

Oliver nodded, resigned, even as the rage inside her grew. Do something, Oliver! Fight, for once! But he didn’t respond, and she walked away, leaving him next to the empty cage. As she entered the elevator, punching in the number for a higher floor, she listened for any reaction on his part, but there was only silence.

Chapter Text

Oliver still couldn’t believe that he’d actually hit her. What had he been thinking?

He kept rewinding those moments, and wishing he could go back and stop himself. But he’d really thought that she was a clone, a copy – that she’d been involved, somehow, in Felicity’s death.

Then came that moment, with Felicity in a cage (a fucking cage, which he’d put her in), talking to her mom, and he remembered the exact moment Felicity had told him that story. They’d been somewhere far away from Starling – Thailand, Italy, sometimes it was just a succession of sunlit landscapes in which her smile warmed him better than the sun could – and they’d decided to spend the day in bed. In the middle of his many stories about messing up so bad that law enforcement was involved, came this one, in which he immediately recognized his sharp-tongued Felicity. And the horror washed over him. What had he done?

After that, any bit of doubt that remained had been wiped away by the kiss. In his mind, it had been centuries since he’d had her in his arms, and that kiss had almost killed him. Because he’d known, the minute she’d put her lips to his, that it was over. That this was goodbye. How could he have fucked this up so badly? What was wrong with him?

“Oliver?”

He looked up, and saw the team looking back at him with various degrees of impatience and annoyance. They were in the tech part of the lair, and it wasn’t the first time he’d zoned out since they got Felicity back. He thought back to what they were discussing; how to get to Darhk’s totem.

When Felicity had told them about the source of Darhk’s powers she’d obviously expected them to disbelieve her – but once she found out that Lance had told them about the idol, and Oliver’d shared his knowledge of the kind of mysticism he’d seen on the island, she was relieved.

“It’s obviously going to be in a secure location,” he started, hoping he wasn’t too far off from their discussion.

Felicity interrupted him. “Before anyone asks, I never saw it in Darhk’s lair, or bunker, or whatever we’re calling it. What are we calling it, anyway?”

Oliver couldn’t help smiling, and he noticed that even Diggle cheered up.

“What?” Felicity sounded put out, but before Oliver could answer, Diggle chimed in.

“Do you have any idea how much we missed you?”

Felicity brightened. “Even my inane babble?”

“Especially your not at all inane babble,” Thea answered, and Felicity practically glowed with joy.

Oliver wished the team’s obvious happiness at having her back would at least change her mind about staying on, if not with him, with the team. But he couldn’t afford to get distracted, not now that they had a trump card Darhk didn’t know about. He wondered how much Felicity’s absence would change Darhk’s plans, if at all.

“What is Darhk’s endgame, anyway? Will it be affected by you not being there to do . . . whatever it is you did? For him.” He finished slowly, conscious that his words had taken him to a place he didn’t want to go. Laurel was shaking her head, and Thea sighed. “I know you had no choice, I wasn’t implying that-“

Oliver tried to make things better, even as he realised he was making them worse. Felicity’s interruption was a godsend.

“At first, he wanted me to want to be brainwashed, or whatever those pills do to his ghosts.” Felicity hadn’t told them anything about her imprisonment, and none of them had wanted to pry. Oliver was glad she was talking about it now – nothing worse than keeping everything bottled up. If he knew anything, he knew that.

“Then he got impatient, and his men forced one down my throat.” She rubbed her throat reflexively, and Oliver felt a wave of rage wash over him. He hadn’t killed enough of that bastard’s men, obviously.

“How did he try to persuade you, at first?” Laurel asked, and Felicity winced.

Oliver realised he was gripping the chair so tight his hand hurt. If those bastards had laid a hand on her, he’d-

“Hey.” Felicity was looking at him with a gentle smile on her face. She’d noticed, she always did.

“It was nothing like that, what you’re thinking. He just kept showing me news footage of your interviews and your campaign – trying to tell me that you’d moved on, that no-one gave a damn about me. Like I’d believe that for a second,” she scoffed, looking at him through her eyelashes. It struck him: she had believed it, or had doubts, something like that.

Thea and Laurel were looking at her in amazement, though, and Diggle’s eyebrows were raised further than Oliver had ever seen.

“Felicity, Oliver went through those ghosts like they were made of paper! If we’d been in the mood for joking, we’d have said that Darhk was recruiting every night, to replace the ones Oliver . . . uh . . . incapacitated.” Diggle stressed the last word, looking straight at Oliver as he did. Yeah, yeah. Maybe Oliver should have left one or two alive.

“Oh.” Felicity looked surprised. “Anyway, after the whole ‘giving your cat a pill’ incident,” she continued breezily, “I was his little groupie for a week.” She shuddered. “I did a lot of work for him – breaking into networks, that sort of thing.”

“Which networks?” Oliver asked.

“All of them, pretty much,” Felicity answered, shrugging. “Private companies, including Palmer Tech, the police, fire department, city hall – everything he needed to take control of the city.”

Diggle whistled. “He wants to have more than just a bunker for his plans – he wants the whole city! That’s why he’s been creating this crime wave, to get more and more ordinary people to leave.”

“Or join him,” Felicity agreed. “I’ve been doing some work on closing up the networks I opened, but I don’t know if I want to show our hand with Darhk before we have an idea where that stupid totem is.”

“And how to destroy it,” Oliver continued. “It’s not going to be as easy as throwing it off the roof – there’s so much power in an item like that.”

“How about a hydraulic press?” Felicity sounded almost chirpy. “What?”, she asked as the others turned to look at her. “It worked for the Terminator. Just the first one, though. Hey, the totem isn’t made of liquid metal, is it?” she asked, affecting a heavy accent which sounded nothing like Arnold Schwarzenegger, though Oliver wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that. “’Cause then we might have a problem.”

Diggle looked happier than he’d ever seen the man look, and Laurel was grinning widely. Oliver wanted to smile too – Felicity was back. He wished he could be less selfish about it – that she was back for him, not just the team.

“So, a hydraulic press,” he said gently, trying to get back to the point before Felicity suggested looking for a steelworks so that they could throw the totem in a vat of molten steel. “Where are we going to find one of those?”

“Oh, I’ve already got one – Palmer Tech just got a new factory, for . . . reasons, and guess what they have?” Felicity beamed, and everyone grinned along with her. It was hard to resist, and Oliver didn’t want to. He was going to cherish every last minute he had with her.

In the end, the plan worked – better than any of their other plans ever did.

As Felicity often said, it was the guy’s own fault for keeping the totem in his own fancy house – sure, it had security. That was when Felicity’s smile turned wicked, and she tried to crack her knuckles, unsuccessfully. Oliver always pretended he didn’t hear the pained whimpers of ‘how does anyone even do that?’

Everyone was involved on the assault on Damien Darhk’s mansion – except Laurel, who had her own part to play, after the fighting was done. She’d protested, of course. But this time, Oliver knew he was right.

“Laurel – you’re the D.A. You cannot afford to be there when we’re all breaking the law. Besides, you need to prepare an arrest warrant for Ruvé Adams, and get it signed by a judge. Then once the fighting is over, you come in with the cops, and the warrant. Make sure everything is above board.”

Laurel folded her arms and glared at him. “What about Darhk, doesn’t he get an arrest warrant?”

Oliver exchanged a glance with Felicity, who was at her favourite computer station in the lair. She shrugged. Oliver cleared his throat.

“He won’t need one.”

Laurel’s eyes widened. “I see. You’re not going to tell dad about this, are you?”

Oliver shook his head, while Felicity shook hers harder. “No, that would be the worst idea. So bad. Really, really bad.” Felicity’s eyes widened as she repeated ‘bad’ a few more times.

“Laurel, I – “ Oliver wanted explain their reasoning, but she raised a hand.

“No, I get it. Darhk’s much too dangerous to leave alive. It’s bad enough we’re going to have to send pieces of that idol thingy all over the world so it can’t be reassembled. Leaving Darhk alive would be the dumbest idea ever.” Laurel sighed and stretched. “Gotta go. That arrest warrant won’t write itself.”

After she left, Oliver stared at Felicity for a very long time. “Are you sure you’re ok with this? With killing Darhk?”

Felicity gave him a look he’d never seen on her face before. “I’m more than ok with it, Oliver. He took . . . he took something from me.” Her lips thinned as she clearly remembered her time as Darhk’s prisoner, then she visibly pulled herself together. “The only thing I regret is that I can’t come with you and do it myself – oh, the look on his face. I don’t suppose you could tell him ‘Felicity Smoak sends her regards,’ could you? Nah, he wouldn’t get the reference and then it would be ruined.”

Every time Felicity rambled on like this, Oliver felt like his insides were being torn out and reassembled. She was alive. She was with him. And she was leaving. He managed to plaster on a little smile, hoping that it didn’t look as fake as it felt, and she smiled back, before she seemed to remember that they didn’t do that anymore. Then she turned back to her screen, and he went to work out.

They attacked Darhk as soon as the arrest warrant for Ruvé Adams was ready.

Felicity disabled the security system, while Oliver, Diggle and Thea hit the mansion, and Laurel waited nearby, with her father, a S.W.A.T. team and assorted uniformed cops.

Oliver, Diggle and Thea led the assault on the mansion. As Oliver punched and kicked his way through Darhk’s henchmen, he felt invigorated – he was finally doing something effective to hit out at Darhk. Diggle and Thea grabbed the idol and got out of there, with Thea, as instructed, firing a harmless smoke canister into the upper level of the house just as they were speeding away on the same motorbike.

Oliver felt the familiar tightening in his chest and airways and turned to see an infuriated Damien Darhk, hand outstretched, fingers curled like he was squeezing Oliver’s heart in his chest. Black spots swam before Oliver’s eyes, but he didn’t care. Diggle and Thea had the idol. That was the important thing.

“Did you seriously think you could just take something from me, and get away?” Darhk was practically snarling. Oliver had never seen him so angry.

Not that Oliver could do much about it, right then. But just when he thought that the smoke canister had been a dud, he heard a child’s scream above him. Darhk looked up, and the hold on Oliver loosened. On with the plan, Oliver thought, as he raced to his own motorbike, hoping that Darhk would follow him. The plan hinged on it.

He was a few minutes away from Darhk’s mansion, when Felicity’s voice came over his earpiece.

“You’ve picked up a tail, buddy. Heh, I always wanted to say that!”

Oliver smiled, but kept his voice serious. “What about Speedy and Spartan? Are they done?”

“They’re pulling up in front of the factory now – not sure if they’ve been followed too- oh crap. Frack, frack frack!” Her tone turned urgent, but she wasn’t talking to him. “Laurel, you guys have to move in right now! I can see the security video in the mansion and Ruvé is packing the kid into a car – she’s trying to get out of there! Oliver, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Overwatch.”

“Sorry, sorry. Listen, you’re going to have to stall Darhk somehow – let him catch up to you. He can’t guess what we’re doing to his ugly-ass statue.”

Oliver nodded. He knew Darhk was following him in a car, and there were a couple of motorbikes on his tail too. He’d been leading them a chase away from the factory – he was going to have to pretend to lose his way, and box himself in. Luckily, a railway crossing was coming up, and he slowed down just as the barrier came down. He got off the bike, and unholstered his bow, nocking a couple of arrows. As the first motorbike sped up, he didn’t even wait for them to get their weapons lined up – he shot, and shot, and shot. None of those guys would be getting up again, he thought. The car pulled up, too – men came pouring out, and he took them down.

The last one was Darhk, and as soon as he got out, Oliver was once again frozen in place. The sound of a slow clap would have made him roll his eyes, if he’d been able to move a muscle.

“Is he slow clapping again?” Felicity hissed in his ear. “That man is a monster . . . Green Arrow, Spartan says he just switched on the hydraulic press. Just a few seconds more.”

Oliver hoped he had a few seconds.

“What’s the matter, Mr Queen? Cat got your tongue? Oh yes, I know who you are. That mask doesn’t cover much.” Darhk was trying to hide his anger now, Oliver could tell. “Did you really think just taking my idol away would stop me from accessing its power?”

Oliver cleared his throat, glad to find he could. “We thought it was worth a shot,” he croaked. Come on, come on Diggle. I can’t stall for much longer.

“I suppose this is goodbye, now, Oliver.” Darhk had his hand outstretched, and, even though he was some feet away, Oliver could practically feel Darhk’s fingers digging into his chest.

Oliver could hear his loud, ragged breaths as the life left him and he couldn’t move a muscle. He felt stuck, immobile, and incredibly frustrated – the plan hinged on dealing with Darhk here and now, not letting him go to recoup his powers. For a long, long second, he couldn’t even draw breath. Then, suddenly, he could. He sucked air into his lungs in loud desperate breaths, while Darhk gestured futilely in front of him with a puzzled look on his face.

Darhk finally resigned himself to his power being gone, and shrugged.

“You win some, you lose some. So, am I under arrest? Or are there going to be fisticuffs?” he asked, bringing up his fists in a parody of a boxing stance.

Oliver shook his head. “Neither.”

He nocked two arrows and let them fly as soon as he finished the word. Darhk stared at him, a faintly puzzled look on his face, and then looked down at the two feathered shafts sticking out of his chest.

“Impressive,” he gurgled, as he finally collapsed on his back, eyes staring at nothing.

Three hours later, Oliver let himself into the campaign office. The remains of the idol had been given to Barry, who was going to spread them all over the globe, in secure locations. Sure it had been smashed to powder, practically, but who knew with this magic crap. Diggle had joined him to help bury Darhk’s body in the woods – Oliver wouldn’t have minded cutting that in pieces and spreading them all over the world too, but he was pretty sure Dig would have balked. Laurel reported that the arrest had gone well. The arraignment too – what with her husband having vanished and being accused of profiteering and terrorist activities, no bail would be set for her. When Oliver had asked about Darhk’s daughter, Laurel told him that Child Protective Services would take care of her.

Oliver could hardly believe it. They’d done it. They’d beaten Darhk. So why wasn’t he happier? Stupid question, Oliver. He lingered in the campaign office, almost scared to go down to his own headquarters. He knew she wouldn’t be there. As he got into the elevator, though, he still hoped against hope that she’d changed her mind, that she’d stay to yell at him some more. He wouldn’t mind. He kind of deserved it.

He’d been right the first time, though. The lair was empty. He staggered onto the platform and sat down in her chair, wishing he could at least cry, or yell, and throw things. But it wouldn’t change anything. Felicity was gone.

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Re: Hey

Hi Oliver, just wanted to check in see how

Save to drafts?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Re: Hi

Hey Oliver, it’s been a while and you look pretty busy!

The Green Arrow’s in the news a lot, and I was wondering if

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From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Re:

Look, I know I said we were done, but why did you listen to me? You never listen to me, and what’s with the emails, anyway, you were texting my mom so

Save to drafts?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Re:

Hey Oliver, I was just listening to the radio; no I wasn’t, who listens to the radio anymore, I just queued up the song we kept hearing at the hotel bar, was it in Bali or Ko Samui, remember it got in our heads and you sang it to me all night

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From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Re:

Save to drafts?

Felicity closed her browser and sighed. Another day, another draft email. Or five.

It was three weeks after Ruvé Adams had been arrested and Damien Darhk had mysteriously vanished. Oh, yes – it was also three weeks to the day she’d just walked out of the lair without a backward glance. She’d been so angry, so full of righteous rage at Oliver; now she wasn’t even sure why. Maybe she'd still been angry about Oliver lying to her for months, going to see his son in secret, like she didn't matter at all to him. But that had been resolved before she’d been kidnapped. Had it, though? Had it really?

Had she resented Oliver for not magically knowing it wasn’t her whose dead body he’d found? Maybe.

Felicity leaned back in her chair, trying to find the knots in her back and massage them away. The anger and resolution she felt had lasted about a week, only to be succeeded by a growing feeling of dismay. She’d fucked up. She’d done the same thing she kept accusing him of – walking away, not trying to fix things. Fine, so Oliver could make the first move this time – but could he, really?

Anyway, it wasn’t like he’d become a hermit after she’d left Team Arrow, and their relationship. Sure, the mayoral campaign was apparently a bust. Then, what with Ruvé in jail, awaiting trial, and Oliver taking a step back to ‘spend time with his family’, another candidate had stepped up to the plate.

According to Laurel, who told Curtis, who told Felicity, Quentin Lance had been as surprised as anyone when the representatives of the city council approached him. What with the confusion surrounding the last candidate and the chaos left in the city following Darhk’s attempts to destabilize it, everyone had been more than happy to elect a known quantity, someone who’d spent his life protecting the public at the expense of his own personal life.

So Oliver hadn’t been politically active, no. But the Green Arrow was always in the news – foiling petty crimes and stopping major incidents alike. Every few days, bloggers would put up blurry cellphone pictures, interviews with people who’d been rescued by the Green Arrow, updates by fans, and so on. Sure, there had been a shortage of speeches about hope and such, given to the media, but Felicity had never thought that was the best idea – especially not when trying to keep a secret identity secret.

She herself had been kept pretty busy fixing the mess at Palmer Tech. She’d finally decided to play hardball with the board of governors, and had asked for advice from someone who she was planning to offer the post of CEO. Walter Steele had been relatively easy to persuade. She wanted to focus on Research and Development, together with Curtis.

Everything should have been wonderful. She was doing the work she’d always dreamed of. So why wasn’t she happy? Or rather, why was she so bored? She’d always blamed the horrors of suburbia for driving her back to the adrenaline rush that was Star City – what if the problem was in her? Was she addicted to the crime-fighting, the . . . uh . . . vigilante lifestyle? Now she sounded like some moral majority blogger, looking down their noses at what Oliver and the team accomplished. She found she itched to hack into networks, break into security systems, make security-camera networks her bit- her willing slaves.

Felicity was just trying to decide whether she should write another email and not send it, or go for coffee and a bagel, when security buzzed her from the main entrance.

“Ms. Smoak, there’s a Thea Queen here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment-“

“That’s fine! Tell her to come on up!” One thing which had annoyed Felicity and which she’d been determined to solve – people bursting in on her without advance warning.

A few seconds later, Thea emerged from the elevator on Felicity’s floor, and enveloped her in a big hug. Thea looked the same as always – maybe a bit tense around the eyes. The next few minutes were taken up by showing her around the office, and telling her about all the new projects she’d started. Felicity was just getting deep into a product which needed funding and which she desperately wanted to get in on – temporary tattoos which would be used to control smartphones and other devices – when she realised that Thea wasn’t really listening to a word she said. She was chewing on her lip, lost in thought, and Felicity felt a sudden pang of worry. What was going on?

“Thea? Is something wrong?”

She smiled at Felicity, shaking her head, but didn’t lose the faint aura of nerves which she’d brought in with her. “This is going to sound awful, like I just came here because I needed your help, but-“

Felicity sighed, pressing her thinning lips together. “But Oliver needs my help. Why couldn’t he come and ask me himself?”

“That’s just it, Felicity. It’s Oliver we need help with. I was hoping you’d been in touch with him since the whole idol-smashing thing, but I guess not.”

“But that’s the last time I saw him, too,” Felicity muttered, trying and failing to suppress the guilt at just walking away and not even leaving a note for them. “Wait, I’ve been texting Diggle, and he never said a word!”

Thea rubbed her eyebrows tiredly. “Oliver’s orders. When we came back to the lair to get changed, Oliver had been and gone – he left a note, saying he was taking a few days, and not to contact you, that you wanted out. But then he never came back. I went to the loft and he didn’t let me in. Diggle got all pissy and refused to try to get through to him – men! Worse than teenage girls.”

Felicity nodded, in full agreement. But then a thought struck her. “Wait a second! The Green Arrow didn’t drop out of sight – he’s been . . . doing stuff! Kicking ass, taking names,” she added, waving her hands around to indicate the said kicking of ass.

Thea gave her a tired smile. “Good thing the Arrow suit has optional sleeves. No-one noticed that the Green Arrow is black, now.”

“African American,” Felicity corrected automatically, and then she really heard what Thea’d said. “Diggle’s wearing the suit?” Thea nodded. “And Lyla?”

Thea chewed on her lip. “Lyla is not happy. She keeps making “jokes” about how much alimony Diggle would need in case of a divorce.” Thea didn’t have to add the finger quotes to show how much of a not-joke this was. “I know we’re asking for a lot, that you wanted out, and away from Oliver, but we’re begging.”

Felicity sighed. “I wanted out, right?” She tried not to smile, and bit her lip hard. Thea’s eyebrows rose into her hairline.

“So why am I so bored?” Felicity asked, leaning back into her chair. And sad, she wanted to add. This wasn’t like Oliver pushing her away last year, or becoming an Assassin. This had been her choice, all of it. Not a good plan.

Thea hid a smile. Not very well, though. “You just love the rush!”

Felicity gave her a mock glare. “How do you know he’ll even listen to me? Or that he hasn’t gone to Lian Yu? Wasn’t that his go-to hiding place before?”

“We’ve been watching the loft, Felicity. Lots of liquor deliveries. Some fast food, too.” Thea caught Felicity’s look of horror and smiled. “Guess it’s no fun cooking for one, right?”

Felicity rolled her eyes. She sat for a few seconds, thoughts racing through her head, then sighed and slumped back into her chair. “You know, one day Oliver will chase me when I walk away.”

Thea grinned. “But not this day, right? Right?”

“Fine! I’ll be the bigger person and . . . and do this. It’s not like I haven’t been writing a million emails and not sending them, anyway. And mom keeps sending me Facebook memes about forgiveness and second chances.” Felicity grimaced. “How many different forgiveness memes can there be?”

“Your mom wants you to forgive Oliver?” Thea’s eyebrows rose again, and she bit her lip to suppress a grin.

“Why, what did she do?” Thea smirked, and Felicity got worried. “Thea? What did she do?”

“She hit him! Oliver was all, ‘I am the Green Arrow’, and your mom went whack!” Thea mimed a slap with evident glee. “It was beautiful! I would’ve enjoyed it more if I’d known you weren’t dead.” She broke off and flung her arms about Felicity, her next words coming out muffled. “Never do that again, ok? Promise?”

“I promise not to be kidnapped by the bad guy ever again.” Felicity spoke as solemnly as she could, and Thea snorted.

After Thea left, Felicity found it almost impossible to concentrate on anything resembling work. Even so, she waited till business hours were over before heading towards the loft. Just when she’d come to a decision, she started doubting it. Maybe Dig and Thea had overstated Oliver’s situation – maybe he was just having an epic party to celebrate being single again. Or he’d found someone else – yeah, her inner voice said, just like he did when you were knocking boots with Ray and Oliver became an urban monk. Knocking boots, seriously? Anyway, that was different. That was his decision. This time he didn’t even have the Green Arrow as an excuse.

So there she was, standing in the street, looking up at the loft. Again. It was almost déjà vu, except this time, she had mace, pepper spray, and a stun gun in her purse. She wasn’t ready to get a real gun, though. She didn’t spend as much time staring, this time, and before she knew it, she was at the front door. She’d expected piles of garbage on the stairs, but she remembered that the apartment building had a cleaning service. They would have cleaned the inside of the loft, except Oliver had forbidden it – it would take only one clever reporter to get a temp job as a cleaner to take pictures of Oliver Queen’s apartment, and find stuff about the Green Arrow instead.

Felicity tentatively put her key in the lock – what if he’d changed it? But it worked fine, though there was some resistance when she pushed the door open. Once she managed to open the door a crack, she looked around it. In the dim light of the loft, she saw a pile of empty pizza boxes. A rumbling sound told her that there were bottles scattered around, too, so she’d have to watch her step.

She strained her eyes to look around her, and then stopped short. Why couldn’t she see anything? It was bright daylight outside. She looked at the window and realised that someone had taped up garbage bags to the glass. Who would do that?

A snore answered her question. In the dim light filtering through tears in the plastic, she saw Oliver, fast asleep on the couch. He looked terrible, unshaven, and wearing his oldest pair of track pants. Had he lost weight? How could he spend three weeks eating pizza and lose weight, she thought, and then shook her head. Stupid question.

She walked around the loft, watching carefully for beer and wine bottles, and then came to a decision. She’d always been someone who pulled the Band-aid off in a quick jerk. So here goes, she thought, and grabbed hold of one of the garbage bags, tearing it away from the window. Light flooded the room, illuminating the dust motes in the air, and she suppressed a cough.

“What’s goin’ on?” Oliver was looking around blearily, trying to make sense of his surroundings, it looked like. “I thought I told you to give me all your keys, Thea.”

Felicity stalked over to the couch, angry now. How could he let himself go like this? Well, the pity party was over.

“What’s going on?” She bulldozed over his awed whisper of her name. “What’s going on is that you’re pulling yourself together and getting over yourself, right now, Oliver!” His eyes were wide open now, staring into hers, still that same shade of blue which made her weak at the knees. Not now, libido! “Get up!”

He obeyed, and she pointed to the windows. “Get those garbage bags off!” She stalked to the closet where she hoped there was still some cleaning stuff, and grabbed everything she found, practically throwing it at Oliver. “Start cleaning this mess up, Oliver! I can’t believe you did this to the loft, Oliver! Our home!” Her voice cracked on the last word and she blinked fiercely to stop the tear from falling.

He stood in front of her, his arms full of mops, brooms, a bucket and some floor soap. “You left, Felicity.” His voice sounded broken. Oh god.

“That doesn’t mean you fall apart, Oliver!”

“I think that’s exactly what it means.” He blinked at her, looking more pathetic than she’d ever seen – wait a second. Was he trying the puppy-dog eyes on her?

She walked up to him, trying to figure out how to handle this. “I’m back now.” She chanced a hand on his cheek, and his eyes fluttered closed. She pulled it away, quickly. No time for touch-feely. “You deal with all this,” she said, waving her hands around to indicate the scattered garbage and the filthy windows, “and I’ll clear out your refrigerator.”

Once she got a glimpse of the actual contents of said refrigerator, she wished she’d yelled at Oliver some more. There was stuff in there developing sentience! She tried to get all of it out with her eyes closed, though that did nothing for her nose; then tied the garbage bag shut and dragged it to the door. Then she opened the app she and Oliver had used to get their groceries delivered. There was even an old shopping list, from the good old days. Once she’d set that up, she turned around to find that Oliver had snuck up on her. Sometimes she really thought he needed a bell. Like a cat.

“Oh, you’re ready? “ She looked around, and nodded in satisfaction. Much better. Oliver, on the other hand . . . “Go upstairs and shower. I don’t want to know the last time you did that.”

He was still staring at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes, and he turned around without a word and went to the bathroom.

Something else occurred to her. “Shave that crap off your face once you’re there! You’re not on Duck Dynasty!”

There was a sound, like a half snort, and she noticed his shoulders shaking. She let out a breath of relief. Oliver was laughing. If she could still make him laugh, he hadn’t completely reverted to island hermit mode.

Oliver spent a long time in the bathroom – long enough for the groceries to be delivered, with some additions. It wasn’t like she knew much about nutrition, but one thing she did know – someone who’d survived mainly on alcohol for a while wasn’t going to be able to digest rich meals. So she’d added some instant oatmeal to the list. Usually Oliver would have turned his nose up at anything which could be prepared in the microwave, but he’d lost the high ground once he’d substituted all the food groups with pizza and beer.

She’d just mixed the oatmeal and put the bowl in the microwave, and was punching in the cooking time, when a voice behind her made her jump.

“I’d make a joke how even you can’t burn microwave oatmeal, but I’m scared of what you’ll do with that mop.” Oliver was looking much better – almost clean-shaven, hair washed, awake and sober. Only wearing a towel, though.

Felicity cleared her throat, which was suddenly really tight, and tried to speak normally. “You’re really naked. I mean, nearly naked. I mean, you look much hotter- better! Much better. Why are you naked?”

“I have no more clean clothes left, somehow.” There was a pink tinge on his cheekbones. For someone who worked out as much he used to, he sure was embarrassed when people pointed out that he was jacked.

“So, do I need to order some clothes for you, too?” She smirked, and he laughed. She felt a weight being lifted off her chest. He was going to be ok.

“I’ll work it out, Felicity.” He walked up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. She was so overwhelmed by how close he was, how long it had been since she’d been surrounded by him, that she almost missed what he said next. “Thank you.”

The microwave dinged and she jumped, again. She turned to get his oatmeal, unwilling to let him see her expression, for now. “You don’t need to thank me, Oliver.” She managed to get the bowl out without burning herself, and put it on the table. “Now you’re going to eat all of it.”

He nodded, and sat down. “Are you leaving?” He sounded tentative.

Felicity shook her head. “I think we need to talk. Don’t you?” He lowered his head to his food and pretended to be blowing on the oatmeal to cool it down. “Oh, don’t worry, Oliver. I know talking is your kryptonite.”

Oliver grinned, and for a second she was dazzled by his smile. “I’m Superman, now?”

She raised her eyebrows. “So, every time you look blank whenever I mention pop culture, that’s just you messing with me?”

“C’mon, Felicity. Everyone knows kryptonite.” He started eating, and swallowed a yawn.

Oliver didn’t manage to finish much, and she had to bite back the impulse to tell him to eat more. I’m too young to be a Jewish mother stereotype, she thought. He didn’t seem that hungry, though, and gave up after a few spoons. She’d promised herself she was going to let him do the talking, though, and so she waited, remembering Quentin Lance talking about the best interrogations, which involved letting the perp dig himself in a hole, by not asking any questions at all. Not that Oliver was a criminal. Well, technically he was; they all were. Lance had said they could all get twenty-five to life, but hadn’t he been joking?

“Felicity?”

“Hmm?” She looked up to see Oliver smiling at her.

“You’re very quiet.”

She shrugged, and his smile grew. “So, this is me getting some of my own medicine?” he asked, and she nodded vigorously. This was hard!

“Felicity, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while,” he continued, his smile fading away. “I’m so, so sorry. About William, about not telling you. I should never have lied to you – it was wrong, and stupid.”

His eyes seemed to grow bigger by the second. God, she could really lose herself in them. Anyway, hadn’t they gone into all this before she’d been kidnapped? Though she wasn’t sure anymore – so much had happened since then, it felt like centuries ago.

“I just never understood why, Oliver- oh, frack it! I wanted to hold out for longer!” How did he do this? “I mean, I know she told you to keep it a secret from everyone, but that was bullshit, you know it was, right?” Now she was gabbling, the words were coming out on their own, and if that was the result of trying to be a big dumb oak tree, they could keep it.

Oliver grinned now, and reached for her hand across the table.

“Yes, I know it was stupid. I know. I’ve always trusted you, and I’ve always known I could trust you.” He squeezed her hand, and she tried to ignore the way it made her feel very warm inside, inappropriately so. Not now, ok?

“But then Barry said that in another timeline you broke up with me over William, so I-“

She let go of his hand, and made a series of flailing gestures, ending with the one which signaled ‘stop’. “Barry.”

He nodded.

“I’m not even going into the whole timeline crap, because I am so over Barry messing around with time, but you listened to Barry’s relationship advice. Barry Allen, we’re talking about.” Felicity tried to keep the sharp tone out of her voice, but seriously? Barry?

Oliver nodded again. “It wasn’t exactly relationship advice, it was just that Barry heard us talking and –“

“That’s even worse!” Felicity couldn’t believe it. “So what if we were arguing, or even having a fight? That’s what happens in relationships! It doesn’t mean they’re over! And it doesn’t mean you lie to someone you love.”

“I realise that now,” he said, reaching for her hand again.

She took it, but then she remembered something else. “Oh, and I’d still like to know what all this is about.” She tried to wave around at the loft, but he wasn’t letting go of her hand this time.

Oliver sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? I fucked up. I gave up on you, Felicity. You were his prisoner, suffering God knows what, and I didn’t save you. I gave up.”

Felicity’s eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them back with an effort. “You didn’t know it wasn’t me, Oliver. How could you have? She looked just like me.”

“Your mom knew,” he answered, looking down.

“My mom was in denial, Oliver.” She squeezed his hand, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “And you carried me back to safety, didn’t you?” She wanted to add that she was quite capable of saving herself without having her knight in green leather come riding up on his trusty motorbike, but she didn’t think that was what Oliver needed to hear.

He snorted, and his lips twitched into an unwilling smile. “Yeah. After knocking you out. Not sure that counts.”

Felicity smiled back. “That’s what you have to do when you’re facing a criminal mastermind, right? I’m sure you never pulled your punches with Chien Na Wei.”

“Criminal mastermind, huh?”

She nodded vigorously, making her ponytail bounce in a way she knew he loved.

“Was that how you got over the brainwashing pills?” Oliver’s question sounded innocent enough, and she opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it. She shook her head, he raised an eyebrow, and added a heartfelt “Felicity?”

She never could resist the way he said her name. Still. “I don’t want to tell you. It’ll only make you mad.” Now he broke out the puppy-dog eyes. “Fine. Fine! I always took this yellow capsule in the morning, with breakfast. You remember the yellow capsules, right?”

Oliver nodded. “Stop stalling, Felicity.”

“Ok, ok." How could he be so sharp? Wasn't he hung over? "They didn’t know about my nut allergy, ok, and one morning I had an allergic reaction to that disgusting block of something they used to give us, and I threw up, and- Ooh, you’re going all scary quiet, now. There’s that clenched jaw thing going on.”

“They almost killed you. By accident.” Oliver’s words were clipped and calm, but she knew that tone. That was Oliver’s red alert. His fingers tightened on hers, and she tried to calm him down.

“Oliver, I’m fine! Look, I’m here! And every one of Darhk’s people is either dead or in jail. Or prison, I guess. Wait, which is the permanent one, and which is the ‘awaiting trial’ one? I always get them mixed up.” She was determined to ramble for as long as possible, until that pinched look disappeared from Oliver’s face. After a few seconds, he relaxed, which was good. She was starting to lose feeling in her hand.

He sighed and cocked his head slightly. “And then, when you finally got out, I punched you in the face and threatened to torture you. Wonderful.”

“Oliver, I thought we were over that.” She was never going to admit that she'd had a couple of nightmares which involved the scary look on his face, back at ARGUS. Never.

“Over it? I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself, let alone get over it.”

“How about I forgive you, and you forgive me for walking away, and we start from there? By walking away I mean after the Darhk thing, not anything before that, I hope you realise.”

Oliver smiled at her – that was a good sign, that he hadn’t grown tired of her babbling ways. “There’s nothing to forgive, Felicity- I- “

“Ah ah ah! What did I say?” Felicity tried to look stern, even though his expression was making her melt inside.

Oliver sighed. “I forgive you, even though-“

“Done! I forgive you, Oliver. And I love you. Oh my god, I didn’t say it, did I? How could I forget to say it?”

He got up, came around the table and wrapped his arms round her, squeezing her and burying his face in her hair. All she could make out was a mumble, but it was the best mumble in the world. “I love you so much.”

“That’s great, but I kind of need to breathe!” Felicity giggled as he let her get some air, and she cradled his cheek, feeling like she was floating.

Oliver started to say something, but then he yawned. He yawned again, and frowned, looking annoyed with himself, and Felicity couldn’t hold back a giggle.

“Ooh, the great Oliver Queen, occasionally gets tired like us mere mortals!” Felicity looked at him through her lashes, wondering if they were up to the teasing each other stage, yet. His happy grin showed her that they were. “I think you need to get some rest.”

“I’ve been doing nothing but resting,” he protested and she rolled her eyes.

“Drinking yourself into a coma isn’t resting, Oliver.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” he said, and grabbed her head, pulling her towards him for a deep kiss, and she felt herself melting into him. “I’m feeling so much better now.”

Felicity giggled. “Slow your roll, Oliver. You’re not strong enough yet.” She gave him a little kiss, and a flirty look.

He laughed, and nodded.

“Get some sleep, Oliver. You’ll need it, because tomorrow you are going to speak to Diggle.” She said the last with raised eyebrows, and he winced.

“I’m going to have to do so much grovelling,” he said, and bit his lip.

“Yeah, me too,” she answered, eyes wide. “But I’m determined to get Team Green Arrow back on track. Yes, that’s what we’re calling it,” she insisted.

Oliver only smiled at her. “I like it.”

“So, tomorrow? Lunch?” she asked, turning to leave. He nodded, and she walked out, though not before giving him a little kiss, which would have turned into a big kiss, except she escaped his wandering hands with a laugh. “Tomorrow,” she repeated as she left, and he grinned.

The next morning, every minute seemed to pass like an hour, every hour like a century, until she couldn’t take it anymore. At around eleven, she messaged Curtis to tell him she was meeting Oliver for lunch (uh huh and a sceptical emoji was his only answer) and rushed off to the loft. She raced up the stairs for the first time in her life, and crashed into Oliver, who was walking out the door with a paper bag in his hand. He was fully dressed, and already looked much better than yesterday, as the look of surprise faded away into a joyous grin.

“I was coming to – “

“I couldn’t wait any longer-“

For a few seconds they stared at each other, until Felicity threw herself at him, and he picked her up and carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind him. She wound her arms round his neck and kissed him, plunging her tongue into his mouth and relishing his response. It had been so long, she thought and wrapped her legs round his waist as he walked them to the couch. He broke off the kiss and looked at her, worried.

“We can go upstairs – I mean, if you want to- I’m taking a lot for granted, here – “ He broke off abruptly as he realised that she was unbuttoning her blouse.

“No, I don’t want to go upstairs, Oliver, take off your shirt!”

She looked up and he’d already done it, and she launched herself at his chest, and kissed him again. Then she pulled back. Maybe he wanted to talk before . . . well. Before.

“Do you want to stop? And talk, or something.”

Oliver gave her one of his intense looks, which always made her heat up inside, and shook his head. He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her towards him, plunging his tongue into her mouth, and pulling her whole body on top of his. She could feel that he wanted her; even as she kissed him back, she unzipped his pants and grabbed his hardening cock. He managed to pull down her panties, making her glad she’d chosen a skirt for today, and she quickly slid down on him, impaling herself on him with a speed that took him by surprise.

“Wait, wait,” he gasped, and she looked at him, slightly dazed.

“What’s wrong?” she moaned, conscious that she was feeling no pain, just the usual stretch, which was turning into a wonderful ache which she’d missed so badly.

“Going too fast,” he gritted out, trying to control himself. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“Could never hurt me, Oliver,” she moaned. She rode him, and he finally got with the program, his big hands on her waist, supporting her as she held onto his shoulders and swiveled her hips. He loved that, she knew he did.

Oliver wasn’t going to last long, she could tell, and she’d just resigned herself to doing without (for the greater good, she giggled in her head), when his wicked, wicked fingers started circling her clit, and she came with a loud whimper, shuddering as she dropped her head onto his shoulder. She could feel her inner walls clenching rhythmically around his hard cock as he let go with a deep groan, and gripped hard onto her hips as he pumped into her.

Felicity collapsed happily onto his chest and curled up next to him on the couch. Then she raised her head to look at him.

“Are you going to fall asleep now? Don’t you dare, Oliver!”

Oliver just gave her a grin which looked smug, rather than sleepy. “No dozing off, Felicity, I promise. “

“Good. Because we’ve got a lot to do today.” She snuggled into his chest and he curled an arm round her. “We need to talk to Diggle, get you a new job . . . “ She trailed off, conscious of his hand stroking her thigh. “Mmm, that’s nice, don’t stop.”

“New job?” She looked up and saw his forehead crinkling. “What new job?”

“Well,” she answered, rubbing his chest, “I know you gave up the campaign, and Quentin’s the mayor now. But what about Deputy Mayor?” She waggled her eyebrows until he laughed.

“Does Lance know he’s getting a Deputy Mayor?”

“Oh, he will,” she said confidently, and then squeaked when he turned them around so that he was on top.

He started kissing her face, dropping little kisses all over, and she felt her skin heat up again as he kissed his way down her neck. “Later; job talk later,” he murmured, in between kisses.

“Later,” she sighed, as she wound her arms round his neck.

Oliver was right. There would be time for talking, time for reconciling with Diggle, time for getting themselves back on track. They were together again, and they were home. As long as they had that, nothing else mattered.