As Saphira sniffs the ground in front of her with a wagging tail, Felicity wonders when she's had a Sunday this relaxing. She hasn't had a chance to read that book on new firewall encryption procedures since she bought it months ago, and the chill in the air has subsided enough to venture outside for the warmer weather. Of course the Queens have expensive patio furniture in the garden, but she has to admit it's the nicest lounge chair she's ever draped herself across.
Because Saphira isn't on a leash (there's no point—she never wanders too far), Felicity keeps an eye on her, watching with mild amusement as the little dog wanders over to the pond. Felicity had noticed earlier that it's stocked with brightly-colored fish, and apparently Saphira is making the same realization, staring into the water with her head tilted to the side while pawing at the water.
With a smile, she shakes her head and turns her attention back to the book, only to find coding no longer at the forefront of her mind. Instead, she wonders how things are going with Oliver and Diggle in their reconnaissance mission. Sometime between last night and early this morning, Felicity decoded the logs to find that the plaza complex in the downtown area was the arranged meeting location. With the meeting tonight and time of the essence, they had decided to scope out the building in broad daylight to find the best locations for stopping Deadshot. Mostly it involved a lot of military jargon that she didn't understand, and she knew that she'd only slow them down, so she decided to get some sleep while she could manage it.
Yet here she is at eight a.m., already up two hours, rising as though she's had more than three hours of sleep. She's starting to think that Oliver's insomniac tendencies are rubbing off on her. As far as Felicity knows, he hasn't slept in thirty-six hours. She thought it was getting better since he was managing four hours a night at her apartment, but now he's back down to two or three—if he even sleeps at all. Felicity can't help but think being home has something to do with it; the Queen mansion seems to bring out the worst in him. It's obvious in the lack of personality in his room and the way he spends as much time away from it as he can.
A soft bark brings Felicity out of her thoughts, her eyes snapping up. It isn't a growl and Saphira isn't tense like there's a threat, but it's simply a warning that something else is out there in the shrubbery. She scans the scene around her, but she doesn't see anything. Still, the hair on the back of her neck prickles like a bad horror novel—which is followed by the reminder that she really needs to stop reading those before bed.
Just when she's convinced it's her overactive imagination, a soft female voice calls out, "It's just me, Felicity." It takes her a moment to place the subtle familiarity of it, but then she realizes she's never heard it without a synthesizer. Before Felicity can respond, a woman in a Starling Rockets cap and baggy, non-descript clothes steps out from behind a particularly tall tree.
When she can finally find her voice again, Felicity wonders aloud, "Is there a secret, let's-scare-Felicity club I'm not aware of? Because, if there is, you, Oliver, and Tommy are honorary lifetime members." The corner of Sara's mouth turns up, and it's only then that Felicity realizes she's spoken. Another thought crosses her mind. "You don't need to be here—Laurel and Tommy are supposed to be here today."
"That's exactly why I'm here," Sara corrects, stepping closer, but still keeping some of the foliage between her and the house. "Someone tried to hurt my sister. Dead to the world or not, I'm not going to let something happen to her." She crosses her arms, and Felicity knows better than to try and talk Sara out of this. It wouldn't work, anyway. "I know Oliver is out of the house right now, so I'm going to keep watch while he's gone. You won't even know I'm here."
Felicity's thoughts fly out of her mouth. "Well, if this guy is as bad as they say, it might be nice to have someone around who can actually fight. Somehow I think even Saphira would take down Tommy, and I'd rather not have a repeat of the last time I tried to fight an assassin." She bites back a grimace. "I don't mean to make this an awkward, current-girlfriend-versus-the-ex thing, but if you need anything, I'm staying in the room across from Oliver's. Feel free to drop in if anything comes up."
Sara actually laughs at that, for reasons Felicity doesn't quite understand. "I'll keep that in mind," she assures her. She turns to disappear back into the shrubs trees, but then she stops. "And thank you, Felicity." When the woman in question turns her head to the side, Sara continues, "Everyone wants answers and feels the need to ask questions. It's nice to meet someone who doesn't."
Before Felicity can respond, Sara is gone. It's an impressive trick, Felicity can't help but think; one minute, Sara is there, but with the blink of an eye, she disappears like she was never there in the first place. "Note to self: Apparating is a thing," she mutters under her breath. Wherever the hell Sara spent the last three years since she fake-died the second time, it must have involved badass ninjas who practice magic.
With a sigh, Felicity rises to her feet, knowing she won't be able to stay out in the garden any longer. Now that Sara was able to sneak up on her so easily, it feels vulnerable instead of peaceful. She calls out to Saphira after grabbing her book, and the dog runs toward her, trying to catch up. They trudge up to the patio together, and she picks up Saphira before entering the house. Though Mrs. Queen already said it was okay for the little dog to run around the mansion, no way is Felicity going to test that theory. She still isn't convinced that Moira Queen can't burn the world down with a snap of her fingers.
She sighs at the convoluted hallways she has to take through the mansion, hoping she can at least find her way back to the den. If she can find it, the staircase back to her room is easy enough to find. She really never should have tried to explore the house without Oliver, but she was trying to find the library again. Somehow she ended up near the garden instead, and she decided the sunshine would do her some good. Judging by the wet paws on her shoulder, Saphira had enjoyed it, too—even if the poor fish hadn't.
When she finally turns into the den again, she stops short before entering. Tommy is draped across one of the armchairs with a sleeping Taylor across him, smiling while Laurel and Moira seem to be staring at a photo album. She doesn't feel like she should be a part of this moment. For the first time, she understands everything Moira feels she lost when the boat went down: Tommy and Laurel, in their own ways, were part of her family, and Oliver was the link that joined them all together. Without him, it probably fell apart, didn't feel the same without him.
At the same time, though, she understands why Oliver can't spend any time here. He's not the same person as he was before the island, and Tommy and Laurel remind him of the old Oliver. Though he's never said it, Felicity thinks he doesn't particularly like the man he was, and she's not sure she would have liked him, either. She knows he doesn't like the person he's become, either, but he doesn't want to be reminded of the version of himself he hated. Maybe, Felicity thinks, all of his memories here are tainted by that. Now she understands Oliver's dilemma: he can't stand to be at home, but nowhere else feels familiar.
Tommy's eyes flick over to her, and Felicity realizes too late that she needs to move. "How did I not know you had a dog, Smoaky?" he asks her, his voice quiet to prevent waking Taylor. Before she can answer, he continues, "I had a dog when I was a kid. His name was Arthur."
She can't help but roll her eyes. "Arthur and Merlyn—how very original of you," she replies dryly, deciding to sit down now that all eyes are on her. "This is Saphira. She likes baby carrots, goldfish, and Oliver." She waves a hand before placing it back on the dog in her lap. "Not necessarily in that order."
Then she turns to Laurel. "I heard about what happened last night—are you okay?" She motions to her own temple as a way to point out the stitches there. "Those stitches had to hurt. Not to mention the whole..." She trails off, waving her hands around as she realizes she probably shouldn't know all the details. "Thing," she finishes lamely.
Laurel breaks into a genuine smile. "Well, he knocked me into a table and I passed out," she explains, "but the Vigilante was there." The way she drops it makes Felicity wonder if she's supposed to ask for more details, but she'll address them to the Arrow herself. "Tommy said he ran the guy off."
"It sounds like a terrifying experience," Moira cuts in smoothly. "Attacked by one killer, only to be saved by another." Felicity manages to keep her expression neutral, but Tommy isn't so practiced; fortunately, no one else seems to notice. "But thank goodness he was there last night."
Surprisingly, it's Laurel who speaks up. "He isn't a killer, Mrs. Queen," she insists vehemently, in an impressive display of bravery. Felicity wouldn't talk to Moira like that unless she wanted to come home to a waiting assassin. (She's also convinced that Moira Queen knows a good hitman or two, in addition to that burning-the-world-down-with-her-mind theory.) "He may be dangerous," Laurel admits, "but he's trying to protect this city. And he's helped me on several cases before. The Vigilante might be fearsome, but I've never worried about him hurting me."
Felicity has to bite back a snort because the last word she would use to describe Oliver is fearsome. Even before she knew who he was, he lost all scary factor when he flinched while she yelled at him. Though she isn't blind and she knows that Oliver is capable of violence, it never even occurred to her that he could lash out against anyone who didn't try to harm him first. The idea is almost laughable.
Clearly unsatisfied with the turn of the subject, Moira chooses to turn the page of the photo album instead. Felicity can barely see the photograph from her place in the chair, but she'd guess it was taken before prom or a college formal night. "This is one of my favorite pictures of you two," she says with a note of affection in her tone. "You looked so happy here." Felicity wryly thinks that maybe Oliver did inherit something from his mother other than the grr-don't-cross-me vibe because he isn't very subtle, either. (In addition to the flair for the dramatic—she doesn't think he would dress up in a green hood and fight crime with his archery skills if he didn't have some fondness for drama.)
Then Moira places the finishing touches: "I think Oliver liked who he was when he was with you. He told me once that spending time at your house made him feel more like himself and less like Robert Queen's son."
To Felicity, it's a heartbreaking turn on her theory why Oliver stays away from home, something that apparently started long before the island. There must have been a million expectations within these walls, rules and expectations and demands to behave properly. No wonder he and Thea both lashed out in any way they could; growing up under a microscope makes her own childhood look uncomplicated.
She may have grown up in a foster home with four unruly boys, but at least she always knew she was loved.
Some of it must show on her face because Tommy replies, "I think Ollie and I were always trying to run from something as kids." His voice is soft and thoughtful, displaying a side of Tommy that Felicity rarely has the opportunity to see. "Things like responsibility and expectations and adulthood." He glances over at Felicity before turning back to Laurel. "But I think we should have tried running to something instead. I've found what I'm running toward."
Then he glances back at Felicity again before saying, "And I can only hope Ollie has found something to run toward, too."
***
With a sigh, Oliver pulls the chair out from the dining table, taking a seat next to Felicity. Something about the dinner makes him think about the first one after her returned home—and the disaster it was. At least this time things are different—Tommy knows the truth of what Oliver does every night now, and somehow has managed to accept that. And, of course, Felicity is by his side—Felicity, who knows more than anyone else about the island, who accepts him without any judgments or questions.
As if to punctuate that thought, Felicity reaches under the table to place her hand on his leg in comfort. Without a word, she understands how difficult this is for him to be in the dining room with all of these people to lie to, and it's a nice comfort he doesn't expect. He covers her hand with his own in thanks, which earns him a secretive smile in return.
Thea seems to notice from the other side of the table, but she doesn't seem to understand the gesture and dismisses it. Tommy, Laurel, and Roy don't seem to pay any attention, the former two talking with Moira. His mother's watchful eyes miss not a thing, though, but she seems wary of the gesture. Originally he had dismissed Felicity's concerns because Moira has a tendency to be aloof, but he thinks that she might just have a point this time.
Though he lost the vein of the conversation earlier, he tries to pick it up now, listening to his mother's voice. "...and so you decided to try your hand at parenting?" she asks with a smile clearly aimed at Laurel. No doubt she's referring to Taylor—the boy who is playing upstairs with a full stomach after Raisa cooking for him all day. Oliver thinks that Raisa needs a child around the house to spoil all the time.
Laurel shakes her head. "It wasn't about wanting to parent," she answers. "I love children, but I have no idea how to take care of a boy who just watched his parents' murders." She smiles slightly, turning to look at Tommy. Oliver knows that he should probably feel something toward his ex-girlfriend, but all he can bring himself to feel is happiness—she's happy with Tommy, and that's good enough for him. "But Tommy has been amazing with Taylor." Turning back to Moira, she finally admits, "With his grandparents in Melbourne and this assassin out there, we just couldn't watch him go to child services. Sometimes I wonder if he would have been better off with them than us."
"You made the right choice," Felicity interjects quietly, and all eyes turn to her. Oliver touches her knee under the table, where her hand rests, and laces his fingers through hers. He may not understand much about her time in foster care, but he knows she doesn't talk about her time. In his experience with the usually verbose woman, that usually means it hurts to talk about it. "The tragic thing about child services is that it's all about finding a home with no regard for the home or the child's happiness." She looks down at the place setting before adding with feeling, "No one is better off in the system. Oliver can only imagine what sorts of hell she found there—it's one of the things that keep him up at night. He can't help but squeeze her hand under the table.
Tommy's eyebrows narrow for a moment at the passion in her voice, and then his face relaxes in realization. "You were in the system," he breathes. It isn't a question—or worse, an accusation—but instead a statement of fact. Oliver appreciates the fact that Tommy's voice is neutral despite the thoughts that must be rolling around in his head. Finally he goes with a flippant, "That must have sucked."
Felicity pulls her hand from Oliver's to pick up the fork on the table, twirling it around in her hand. "I don't like to talk about it," she answers slowly. "The first two years were rough—I mostly bounced around from home to home until I made it to Starling City." Then a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Then Mrs. Nagorski decided to take me in, and it wasn't so bad anymore." Finally she looks up at Tommy, her face serious. "But I was lucky. Not many of us are."
Leaning his elbow on the table in a way that makes Oliver cringe due to years of table etiquette with his mother, Roy faces the rest of them with raised eyebrows. "She's not kidding," he agrees. "I bounced around for five years before I found Mrs. N. I was trouble, sure, but so were most of the homes I lived in." With his hoodie draped across the back of the chair and the short-sleeved shirt, Roy's hand gesture draws Oliver's attention to his arm. For the first time, he notices the small, circular scars on the top of his forearm, and Oliver can't help but wonder who put them there.
Laurel's brow creases for a moment. "You mean Enid Nagorski, right?" she asks Felicity suddenly. "My dad worked Juvenile Division for one shift when he was doing double-shifts three years ago. He said that she was always there taking care of her boys—getting them out of trouble or giving them more, depending on the case." Her eyebrows narrow. "I thought he said that Mrs. Nagorski only took troubled boys."
It causes Felicity to wave a hand. "She did. She was very specific about that," she agrees. "She only wanted problem cases and boys—because most of the time, she could straighten them up." Felicity throws a wry look at Roy, and the corners of his mouth turn up as he admits nothing. "But, I guess she saw something that made her want to make exceptions on two occasions." She shrugs. "If you knew Mrs. Nagorski, you'd understand—she was a very private person. But I was the only girl—obviously—and Barry was the only one who wasn't a problem case."
Oliver wonders for a moment if anyone hears the implication in her words. It doesn't last long before he finds himself coming up with reasons why Felicity would be designated as a problem case. Apart from a sense of justice that surpasses legality—a quality he rather likes about her, for obvious reasons—he can't come up with anything. But, then again, he didn't know her then, and part of him will always be glad he didn't. The man he'd been before the island wouldn't have recognized anything as unique as Felicity Smoak, let alone appreciated her.
Before he can transition the subject away to better dinner conversation, Raisa carries in the main course. As always, she remains silent as the grave through the service, and no one even seems to pay attention to the service. Thea chatters to Roy about the meal and which fork to use. Moira, Tommy, and Laurel continue to talk about Taylor. It's a common practice that Raisa is seen as invisible—one that never has sat well with Oliver.
If he thinks about it, Raisa was probably more of a mother to him than his own ever was. Moira often dismissed her motherly duties onto the woman, and it was Raisa who filled that role. Raisa was the one who read to him as a child, the one who helped him with his homework, who was always proud of him despite his shortcomings. Because of that, he never thinks of her as the invisible fixture in the household that everyone else seems to ignore.
When she places a plate in front of Felicity, he finds that maybe he isn't the only one who isn't content to let her hard work go unnoticed. "This smells amazing," she says immediately, and Raisa seems genuinely surprised. It only increases when she asks, "Did you make this, Raisa?" Rarely does anyone even think to ask for her name, much less remember it afterward. When the woman nods, Felicity continues, "Well, it looks and smells amazing—thank you so much."
Raisa only smiles, and when she moves to place Oliver's plate, she speaks to him in Russian. Ever since his first slip, she's embraced his knowledge of the language without question, and Moira and Thea seem to think Raisa was the one who taught him. Neither he nor Raisa has bothered to correct them. "She is a nice girl," Raisa approves in her native tongue, in the same tone she often spoke of the other women he's brought back to the house over the years. With a little more weight, she adds, "One worth keeping."
His answer is a smile and a simple declaration in Russian. "I intend to."