At the same time a knock sounds on the basement door in the lair, Felicity's cell phone rings. Frowning at the dilemma, she first checks the security camera to ensure that it is, in fact, Roy Harper before using the computer control to let him in. Then her cell phone comes next, the tone indicating the caller so that she doesn't have to look. "I told you we have something going down tonight. Not that I don't love you platonically, but make it quick, Merlyn," she rushes out.
Of course Tommy would choose the worst time to call; he knows that Roy has spent the last two days trying to find where they're dealing Vertigo, and that they finally have a location. Tonight Roy is going to be the one to make the purchase, which worked out because Diggle is contacting his friend at ARGUS again about Deadshot. Vertigo has been Roy's priority, so they still have nothing on the Canary—except that she's stopped three more attempted rape cases since Roy caught up with her.
"I hate to interrupt Robin Hood and his merry band of thieves," he replies cheerfully, his tone telling her that he doesn't take offense at her rush, "but we have some other problems to think about right now. I tried to call Oliver, but he's not picking up." As Tommy clears his throat, Felicity thinks wryly that it's probably because he's in the bathroom changing into his vigilante gear. "Mr. Lance came by Laurel's place last night to see me. The girl who died? She texted me wanting into the club, and Lance's partner dug up the fact that Ollie paid off the inspector not to check the basement. I told him to get a warrant to stall things, but he'll have one by tomorrow afternoon, and he wants into that basement."
Felicity sighs deeply, wondering when all of her problems started to involve evading the police or nasty criminals. Roy walks in at the same time, frowning in confusion when he sees her on the phone. "When we get back from this errand, we'll help you clean things up," she assures him as calmly as possible. "And I'll relay the message right now—it's going to be fine."
After saying their goodbyes, she hangs up, intending to speak to Roy. He beats her to the punch, staring at the overturned wooden table in the corner. “Whoa, did you to have a fight?” he asks.
“Actually,” she corrects, “the Count ended up escaping from the mental institution—after the Arrow spoke to him.” Roy doesn’t seem to understand the significance, so she continues, “The Arrow doesn’t like being played, and he seems to have a tendency for overturning tables when he’s pissed.” Truthfully, it was a little scary; Diggle had announced the information he’d heard on the news, and then Oliver had turned to the table, flipping it without a second glance. Even when he’s furious, he somehow manages to control the anger.
"Not that it’s not good to see you," she continues with a frazzled smile, “but we kind of have an unexpected development we need to discuss, so just wait here for a moment. Don't touch my computers or cut yourself on those arrowheads." Without waiting for a response, she turns toward the bathroom.
Behind her, she hears Roy call, "I'm not five, Blondie." Felicity smiles at his dry tone, biting back the urge to tell him that he acts like a kid in a candy shop when he's down in the lair. Still, Roy actually looks happy to be helping them, and she doesn't think he's had much to be happy about in his life. She can't blame him—helping Oliver on his crusade has been an unexpected bright spot in her life, too.
She slides through the doorway into the bathroom just in case Roy is looking in the direction of the bathroom, ready to immediately start relaying the information. She manages part of a word before it finally catches up to her that he's pulling the leather pants up over his hips, shirtless and facing away from her.
Some sort of choking of her mouth instead, and he turns enough to note her presence, a slow smile turning his lips upward. "Sorry—I didn't come in here to ogle you," she manages finally, in a high-pitched rush of words. "It's just that I didn't expect to walk in on that." She waves her hand to aid the explanation and to work off some of the nervous energy. "And now I can't remember what I walked in here for. Not that I'm complaining—feel free to distract me like this anytime." She cringes as her words catch up to her, but she's not even going to try to salvage that one.
He finishes pulling his pants on before turning around—something that she's grateful for because one verbal gaffe is enough for one situation. The smile he gives her makes Felicity think he doesn't quite mind her staring, and he walks up to her, letting his hands drop on her waist. "You don't have to apologize, Felicity," he answers, and the quirk to his mouth can only be described as a smirk.
"I'm only sorry I got caught," she admits truthfully, and Oliver smiles but turns his attention downward. It's only when she follows his gaze that Felicity realizes her right index finger has decided to trace the Bratva tattoo on his pectoral of its own volition.
All it takes is one look at Oliver’s face, clear with intent, to realize that he’s done with words now, opting to forgo speech in favor of kissing. Felicity, of course, is perfectly okay with that, her hands sliding up to cup his face while his stay firmly planted on her hips. Somehow she ends up backed against the door, but she can't bring herself to give a damn that the door handle is pressing painfully against the small of her back.
That pain is remedied, though, when he lifts her onto the countertop without breaking the kiss, stepping between her legs. They immediately lock around his waist when he draws her bottom lip into his mouth, and she realizes that her hands seem to have wandered to his chest again, then around to press against his shoulder blades.
Remembering that they have other things to do, she groans before breaking away from him. Oliver seems to be more reluctant to do so, pressing his lips to the junction between her shoulder and neck with a sigh. "As much as I'd love to continue this, we need to go buy drugs. Which sounded less criminal in my head, but you know what I mean." He chuckles in response, and she can feel his breath against her skin. “You confuse my thoughts when you kiss me like that—and always in the most inconvenient times, too.”
“It gives me a reason to stop,” he answers, an unreadable expression on his face. It takes her a moment to understand his words, but then she realizes that their impromptu make-out sessions are starting to come at more awkward times. This isn’t her first time sitting on the bathroom counter after being kissed senseless, and Felicity is starting to think that this is Oliver’s subtle way of telling her that he’s ready to stop taking things slow without trying to pressure her.
Part of her wants to ask about it, but Felicity decides they have more important things to do, especially as she remembers the point of coming into the bathroom. "Oh, and Tommy called—that's what I was going to tell you. Lance has to investigate the club because of the way the evidence is leading, and apparently he's going to get a warrant in the morning to search all of it, including the basement." Oliver looks up at her then, and she drops her index finger over his mouth before he can speak. "But I have a plan. We're going to be here all night getting things changed around, though—but Tommy will help, too."
"And Roy?" Oliver asks as he grabs his jacket from the other side of the counter. He doesn't seem to mind the fact that Felicity's legs are still locked around him, not bothering to pull away from her. "I’m not sure if he’s ready for this."
Felicity grabs the mask from the counter, pulling it over his head while he slides his arms into the jacket. "I think he wants to help you," she answers as she situates the mask and stops to admire her handiwork. "And I think he knows this is the best way to do that. Speaking from my own experience, it's nice to feel like you belong to something, especially after spending your childhood being an outsider."
Oliver shoots her a glance because it isn't really an answer, and she reaches down to fasten the zipper on his jacket, sliding it up as she continues, "But if he isn't up for this, you'll be right outside to save him." She pulls his hood up over his head. “I have a spare comm that he can use.” Finally, Felicity picks up the voice synthesizer from the counter, clipping it to the inside of his jacket and switching it on as Oliver pulls on the green leather gloves.
Now fully dressed, he lifts Felicity from the counter with hands on her waist, one of his hands taking hers before walking out into the lair. His eyes immediately focus in on Roy, who has apparently decided that handling Oliver’s bow is a good idea. Felicity cringes when she sees it, hoping that Oliver doesn’t decide that the teenager is more trouble than he’s worth.
“That bow has a one hundred and fifty-pound draw,” he calls out to Roy, who jumps slightly at the approach. “If you snap it, you’ll be blinded by fiber shrapnel. I’d have to find another bow.” Felicity watches the corners of Oliver’s mouth tick up, his eyes flicking toward her before going back to Roy. “And another partner—I think Felicity would quit if you were hurt on my watch. At least the bow is easy to replace.”
Unable to stop the smile that forms, Felicity picks up two of the comm devices, slipping one into Oliver’s ear, dipping one hand under the hood. “While I appreciate the flattery,” she replies dryly, “I’m not mad at you and I don’t accept credit for when you do screw up.” Then she turns to Roy, handing him the other comm. “This is an earpiece, and it will keep you in contact with us. If things go wrong, we’ll know. Consider it your own vigilante protection service.” She takes the bow from his hands, picking it up by the ornate section of metal in the center. “Just be careful—and don’t pick up anyone else’s weapons.”
Felicity doesn’t expect Roy to be apologetic, and she isn’t disappointed. “That bow has put arrows in a lot of criminals running around Starling,” he answers with a shrug as she hands the bow back to Oliver. “I’m not the only one who would pick it up if they saw it sitting here.”
She takes the set of flechettes from the table, fastening the cuff around Oliver’s forearm as he uses his free hand to select arrows for his quiver. “Actually,” she corrects slowly, “most people would be daunted by the growly vigilante, but I understand the curiosity—I think it was the first thing I picked up when I was down here.” Felicity pauses, correcting herself. “Well, technically, the first thing I picked up when I came here was a screwdriver to remove the front panel of the defibrillator, but there were extenuating circumstances.”
Roy doesn’t quite seem to know what to say to that, but Oliver, at least, appreciates her correction with a chuckle. She grabs the boy in the red hoodie by the arm, pulling him for a few steps. “We’ll meet you at the van,” she calls over her shoulder, knowing that Oliver can’t use the front entrance while wearing the suit.
It’s a short walk up the stairs, and Oliver is already waiting for the two of them in the back of the van by the time they reach the top. Felicity crawls in the driver’s seat, since Oliver probably shouldn’t be seen in his hood gear, and Roy decides to sit in the back with Oliver. “Can I ask you a question?” he says to the vigilante as Felicity turns the ignition. She can practically hear Oliver’s reluctance, and Roy must see something because he rushes on, “It’s not about your identity.”
There’s a long pause, as if waiting for Oliver’s permission. “What made you decide to do this? To try and save this city like this?” He scoffs. “I mean, no offense, but I don’t think you just woke up one morning and thought, ‘This city has gone to hell—I think I’ll dress up in a green hood and put arrows in the guys screwing everything up.’”
Felicity coughs to cover the urge to chuckle, and Oliver lets out a breathy sound through the synthesizer she recognizes as a laugh. “It wasn’t that simple,” he admits slowly. “And I never would have thought of this on my own.” He sighs before answering carefully, “I lost someone I cared about—someone who felt they contributed to the destruction of this city. I wanted to honor them by righting those wrongs.” He chuckles humorlessly. “I didn’t know how at first—all I’ve ever been good at is inflicting pain. But I found a way to make that work to my advantage, and I’m trying to save this city in the only way I can.”
It’s quiet for several minutes of the drive, but then Roy asks abruptly, “Does anyone know what you do?” He goes quiet for a moment. “Your family—they have to know about this, right? That their son or brother is out risking their life for a city that’s only trying to lock him up with the criminals he’s helped put away?”
Oliver chooses not to answer that one, and Felicity decides to take up the silence before they drown in it. “The fewer people that know, the better,” she answers cryptically on Oliver’s behalf, trying to distract Roy. “We’ve seen what happens when people try to exploit his identity, and so he makes sure that he can trust the person first.” She can’t resist a parting shot. “And then he still doesn’t tell them even though he should have, and lets them figure it out on their own.”
A hand drops on her shoulder, and then Oliver’s synthesized voice says into her ear, “Pull up against the curb here—we’ll hang back and wait.” She thinks she’s in the clear for her comment, but then he leans in again, and this time she can feel his lips moving when he adds, “And I always trusted you, Felicity—even if I didn’t tell you when I should have.” Then, as though he never spoke, he turns back toward Roy. “Get in, get the drugs, and get out. Don’t try anything else. If things take an unexpected turn, let us know through the comm, but don’t do anything stupid. Wait for me, and I’ll take care of the situation.”
Felicity turns as she shuts off the van’s engine, just in time to watch Roy nod once, swallowing nervously. “I won’t let you down,” he promises firmly. Felicity has to bite back a retort, the desire to tell him that what matters is that he walks out of there safely.
The opportunity is lost, though, as Roy leaves the van and steps into the night. She watches him weave down a back alley, and then he’s out of sight, the only sound his breathing on the comm. His is the only one active; Oliver and Felicity muted their ends to keep from distracting him. Felicity drops down next to him on the bench seating with a sigh, and Oliver wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his shoulder so that she can rest her head
Her thoughts twisting in an entirely different direction now that she has time to think about it, she blurts her conclusion to him only seconds after she reaches it: “You don’t have to stop, you know.” His head immediately snaps to hers in response, and she hopes her look conveys exactly what she feels.
If not for the way his lips press against her forehead, she’d think he didn’t hear her at all, choosing not to use words in favor of actions for the second time that night. Even if he wanted to, though, he doesn’t get the chance, as Roy’s voice crackles across the comms, purchasing the drugs. The exchange seems to go well and quickly, ending as Roy pops back into the van with a small bag of green-and-purple pills.
Felicity takes them from him immediately, staring at the pills that have caused so much damn trouble in the past few months. She murmurs thanks, but she doubts he hears because Oliver extends his hand to Roy. “This could save a lot of lives, Roy,” he says quietly through the synthesizer. “Thank you.”
Looking incredibly pleased with himself, Roy shakes hands again with the man who is undoubtedly his idol. But the expression on his face turns blank, and he shrugs. “You saved me,” he explains simply. “I owe you for that—even after this.” He hesitates. “And if you need something other than information on the Canary, let me know.”
“I will,” Oliver promises, and Felicity thinks that Roy Harper might have just earned the trust of one of the most distrustful people on the planet.
***
The woman who was once known as Sara Lance stares down at the unconscious boy in the red hoodie, waiting for him to awaken. While she was more than grateful for his attempt to save Sin, she can’t exactly have him snooping into her business—harmless or not. Everyone aware of her presence is a threat, another step closer to bringing the League down on everyone who tries to help her.
And while the Canary shows mercy to her enemies, the League takes no prisoners.
“What do you think?” Sin asks slowly, the one person Sara trusts. Even she, however, doesn’t know the name of the Canary, and it’s only fair. Sara Lance died five years ago, the Canary taking her place. Her reflection in the mirror might be the same, but Sara Lance could never have survived. “Do you think he’s with the dudes that are after you? He’s been kind of persistent—chased me for six blocks.”
While this boy might be persistent and particularly nosy, Sara scoffs a little at the idea of him being part of the League. Even Sin doesn’t know the details of the League of Assassins, and it’s far better that way. “No,” she answers firmly, “but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trouble.” He groans, and she nudges him with her boot as she switches on the synthesizer on her belt. “I didn’t expect to see you again. While I’m sure my friend is grateful for your help before, you’re not welcome here.” She regrips the bo staff in her hand, using it as leverage to sink down until she’s perched on the balls of her feet in front of the teenager. “Why are you here?”
“I don’t want any trouble,” he starts slowly, holding up his hands as he pulls himself into a sitting position. “A friend of mine wants to talk to you—that’s all.” He winces slightly, frowning as he motions to the staff. “Look, if you want to hit me with that thing, fine, but just avoid the face. My girlfriend is still pissed about this.” He motions to the puckered injury over his cheek.
For the first time, Sara notices the stitches in the wound, and she grabs his head to tilt it up, examining the stitches against the boy’s protests. With her experience with wounds—both inflicting and repairing her own—she can tell that they aren’t hospital-grade, but still administered by someone who knew what they were doing. Suddenly the boy is a more interesting mystery, one that she’s determined to solve.
“Who is your friend?” Sara asks firmly, watching as he flinches slightly. This time, though, instead of an answer, she’s met with defiance. Though it only makes her interrogation more difficult—she won’t torture him, despite how good she is at it—she admires the loyalty. It’s a rare trait in her world, and she knows to respect it.
Rising to her feet, Sara flicks the end of the bo staff in front of his throat in a swift movement, a not-so-subtle threat that she’ll stab it through his trachea if he tries something. “Take the cell phone,” she directs Sin, knowing her gloves will hamper her work with the touchscreen. “I want to know who he’s been talking to.”
With a quick pat of his pockets, Sin pulls out a newer model touchscreen phone, flicking through it more quickly than Sara could have managed herself. Her eyes widen at the screen, and she lets out a low whistle. “Last text was from Thea Queen—damn, Abercrombie, you’re mixing with royalty.” Frowning at the name, the Canary can’t help but think that it’s quite a small world—the last name she’d expect to hear after so many years would be a Queen’s. A moment later, Sin adds, “Wait, there’s a text with the word Canary. ‘Let me know what you hear about the Canary—do not engage,’” she reads slowly, before looking up at the boy with a quirked eyebrow. “Do you screw up everything you do, Abercrombie?” She turns to Sara. “It looks like we have a name, though—Felicity Smoak.” Sin scoffs at the name. “Can’t be too many of those running around Starling.”
“Look,” the boy starts, “Felicity isn’t anyone you should worry about. She’s just an innocent civilian—she’s never even gotten a parking ticket.” His mouth purses ever so slightly in another show of defiance, and Sara knows that they’re looking in the right direction. “But if you hurt her, she has friends who would tear this city apart to find you.” Surprisingly, he doesn’t mean it as a threat—it’s a warning, one issued even after he’s seen Sara’s ability in a fight. There are very few people that give her trouble, and apparently the boy thinks the Smoak girl knows one of them. Or perhaps more.
With a quick twirl of the bo staff, Sara knocks the boy unconscious, again delivering the blow to the back of his skull before turning to Sin. “Grab your things,” she orders quietly. “This safe house is compromised—we’re going to Friday. Leave him here—we’ll find another Tuesday house later.”
Sin does as she asks, then turns with a frown. “But what are we gonna do about the chick looking into you?” she questions as Sara holds out her hand for the phone. Sin drops it in her hand, and then the Canary pockets it in the inside of her jacket. “She knows your nickname—the one your enemies gave you. If she knows it, they could, too.”
“Now,” Sara responds simply, “we find Felicity Smoak.”