Felicity decides, for not the first time, that she's an idiot. She should not be here—she doesn't fit in, she doesn't want to be here, and she's about a million dollars short of being able to hang with this crowd. Seriously, if she sees one more vintage Chanel in the room, she's going to scream. But then she reminds herself that Oliver specifically asked her to be here, and she thinks it's more because he wants to show her that he's finally realizing his goals and following her advice. It's a nice gesture, but that still doesn't mean that it's her scene.
Don't get her wrong, Verdant is pretty spectacular—not that she expected anything else. She doesn't know a lot about what's considered cool in the club scene, but Oliver's opted for an industrial theme, with steel support beams and columns. It's low-lit interior mostly relies on the moon for what little light is available; a few metalwork designs are suspended from the ceiling, wired with lightbulbs, but there aren't enough to really light the place up. It's truly a nice place, and she reminds herself to congratulate him when she sees him.
But the fundraiser for the Starling City Fire Department has brought in a crowd of the rich and fabulous—mainly because it's Oliver and Tommy hosting, and everyone wants a look at Verdant—and Felicity has already made her two-hundred-dollar deposit. The guy taking checks looked a little unimpressed by the amount, probably because it was the smallest he'd seen all night. In response, Felicity had said, "Hey, I'm a working stiff with a Masters degree to pay for. I have to eat at some point this week." The guy had seemed a little awkward after that, and Felicity didn't feel sorry for him. That's what happens when you make assumptions.
She honestly couldn't spare so much, but it's for a pretty good cause. She's developed the habit of watching the news to keep up with the Arrow's whereabouts, so she's heard about the two firemen's deaths in the past week. Because she's curious and good at getting herself into trouble, she digs into the SCPD server and finds the coroner's report for one Danny de la Vega. After some further investigation into the arson report, lo and behold, he apparently was burned at a hotter temperature than the fire actually reached. Coincidence, she thinks not.
Through a break in the crowd, she's actually able to see Oliver talking to another guest. She doesn't exactly want to charge across the room to say hello—and risk being drawn into conversation with some random rich billionaire with a god complex—so she instead stands by the refreshment table and enjoys the nice red sitting there. She watches him for a while, and is surprised to find his eyes finally land on her. She offers a little wave, which he returns. She's so lost in her people (well, Oliver) watching that she nearly jumps out of her skin when a very familiar voice says, "I told Tommy you wouldn't bail out on Ollie. Remind me to rub it in his face later."
Felicity turns to find herself tackled, or possibly hugged, by Thea Queen. "Good to see you, too, Thea," she replies, chuckling. Then she remembers the last time they talked. "How mad was Oliver when he realized you told me about the accident?" Felicity asks as Thea releases her.
Thea waves a hand easily, still smiling, indicating it can't be that bad. "He attempted to grumble something at me," she replies easily, "but it was really half-hearted." She winks. "I think it was more for the sake of saying he did yell at me than actually doing it." Leaning in, she adds, "That's the best mood he's been in since he came home." Her voice turns suggestive as she continues, "And I know he spent the night at your place."
Felicity turns crimson at the accusation, and she waves her hands violently. "What? No!" she replies quickly. "He didn't spend the night. He brought me food and stayed long enough to tolerate me watching The Princess Bride. And then he left. I haven't seen or talked to him since." Somehow her voice turns almost disappointed at the end, and she wonders when it decided to do that on its own.
Felicity isn't the only one who sounds disappointed. "Oh," is Thea's eloquent response, a frown forming over her features. "He's been really busy with the club," she offers kindly. It's sweet but unnecessary; Felicity knows that Oliver has other things in his life beside her, and she respects that.
Before the conversation can continue, a voice from behind Felicity says, "Hey, Smoaky, we went on a couple of dates—you could at least say hello."
Turning around with a wry smile on her face, she replies, "One date, Merlyn—I don't make the same mistake twice." She finds herself actually grateful for Tommy Merlyn's warm presence, already starting to smile as he laughs at her response. "This place looks amazing, by the way," she continues. "You two did an amazing job with it."
Tommy shrugs off the praise easily. "Well, it was mostly Ollie," he allows, "but I did some yelling to get contractors to work from time to time." Frowning, he adds, "Laurel's friend Johanna buried her brother this week, and I thought a fundraiser would help them out. Her parents are retired now, and she's not exactly pulling down six figures with a job at the CNRI. I'm not sure if Danny had anything saved."
"Well, I did contribute," Felicity says, "but it wasn't as much as I'd like." She hesitates before adding, "Barry isn't my brother by blood, but he's the closest thing to family I have. I'd be devastated if anything happened to him. Johanna has my sympathy."
Before the conversation can progress further, the drop of a glass and an audible gasp from one of the women in the crowd. Felicity understands instantly what has caused it—a man in a firefighter's uniform with a lighter. Before Felicity can react, the entire club bursts in to flame, and the wet spots along the wall tell her he's somehow doused the place with gasoline or some such.
Everything happens at once. People scream, yell, run, and head for the exits. It's complete and total chaos, and Felicity knows that it's only going to get worse. Tommy and Thea are pretty much frozen in place, so Felicity gives them both a push toward the red "EXIT" lamp over the nearest door. "Come on, we have to go!" she yells over the clamor.
Tommy doesn't budge. "Laurel," he says simply. "She and Oliver were talking to the fire chief. I won't leave without her." It's clear that he means it, and Felicity isn't exactly in the mood for heroics.
"Look, Merlyn," she says flatly, "I'm glad that you love her and all, but now isn't the time to start playing superhero." She catches sight of something moving around in the corner of her eye, and she points to it, already knowing that green hood anywhere. "Leave that to him—he's a professional." When it's clear Tommy doesn't care who is running around saving lives, she huffs, leaning closer as she starts to play dirty. "Look, if you want to risk your life, that's your business—I'll go with you. But do you want something to happen to Thea?" Tommy's expression changes as he looks back at the girl. "Let me go after Laurel—you watch out for Thea."
Reluctantly, he does as she suggests, turning toward the nearest exit, and she turns the other way, thankful she wore her panda flats for this instead of heels. She rushes toward the center of the building, careful to avoid the flames. Ahead of her, she sees the Arrow pushing people toward the exits and ushering them out. One of them, she can tell, is Laurel, so she figures that Oliver is ahead of her. Felicity breathes a deep sigh of relief before heading for the exit herself.
Before she can take two, steps, though, one of those pretty light fixtures drops down beside her, one of the extensions without a lightbulb scraping down her bare arm. It hurts, and the gash covers her arm vertically from shoulder to elbow. She frowns when she sees it's already oozing blood. Remembering that she needs to leave—preferably now—she heads again toward the exit.
One of those steel beams she thought added character drops down in front of her, catching on fire almost immediately. Frowning, she turns to go the other way—back toward Tommy and Thea's exit—but the fire has already spread through her last pathway. She manages to make her way over to one of the walls, but she doesn't know how safe that is because it's made of glass. Soon, the fire spreads, and she realizes her only way out is through the glass paneling behind her. And, as her rotten luck would have it, it's apparently plexiglas.
She's not stupid and she knows exactly what will happen next. She frowns, wishing her death would have been a little less tragic-damsel-in-an-action-movie and more, well, not painful. She doesn't dare turn to see the flames approaching, only staring off into the background of Starling City. She closes her eyes for a long moment, still not wanting to give up hope in the middle of what she knows is perfect this-will-not-end-well material.
A tap on the glass causes her to muffle a scream, and she breathes a sigh of relief as she sees the Arrow on the other side. She sees his mouth move more than she hears him, but she can tell he's saying, "Get away from the window and duck."
She backs as far away as she can without becoming barbeque, squatting on the floor and covering her head. Something explodes glass all over the place, and then she sees the remnants of the wall and the nice-sized hole now serving as her escape. Her ears start to ring a little from the close proximity to the device. Without waiting for her to move, the Arrow lifts her to her feet by the elbow that's not bleeding all over the place, then grabs her about the waist—firmly but not painfully—and half-drags her out until the shock kicks out, when she keeps stride with him. They pass a lick of flame at just the right angle, and it lights up their immediate surroundings, and she can see the exact color of the Arrow's eyes for the first time.
Blue. They're as blue as the sky on a sunny, cloudless day, and she thinks for a moment she's seen him before—but without the mask.
Blaming her delusions on the near-death experience and the explosions that saved her life, she shakes her head, but finds that's not a good idea—the motion makes her vision swim, and suddenly that wine she drank doesn't sit as well. She groans at the sensation, and the Arrow, against Felicity's protests, picks her up and carries her through the opening caused by the explosion.
He carries her as if she weighs little more than a rag doll, setting her down as soon as they're clear of the building, with eyes hidden by the dark and a worried frown, he asks her, "Are you all right?" Before she can answer, he touches her arm where it's bleeding. He studies it, gentler than she'd ever expect, and frowns.
Belatedly, she answers, "I'm fine, I think. Just a scratch. And my ears are ringing a little. How did you do that—" She breaks off into explosion sound effects.
He chuckles as he pulls out that butterfly knife without a word, unzipping his jacket and cutting a strip of cloth away from the shirt underneath. Doing so exposes a couple of nasty scars and part of a tattoo in Chinese that she knows better than to ask about. As he zips his jacket back up, he replies tersely, "Explosive arrow." He takes her arm again, wrapping the cloth around it tightly in a makeshift bandage. "That should help the bleeding," he comments.
"Thank you," she says, a little breathlessly. As she speaks, he reaches out a tentative hand, brushing some of the loose strands from her ponytail from her face. A few glass shards fall away, and she realizes he's trying to clear the glass and debris from her hair. It reminds her of the way Oliver wiped the blood from her face after that incident at the Queen mansion, and she thinks both he and the Arrow are more gentle than anyone suspects. Trying to seem calmer than she is, she adds, "I mean, not just for tearing your shirt to make a bandage. I mean, I'm sorry you had to ruin your shirt, and I'm grateful but—"
"Felicity," he says gently, pulling her out of the babble. Somewhere behind them, sirens sound, but the Arrow doesn't seem unduly concerned by it.
She shakes her head, and it still doesn't agree with her. She wobbles in place, and the Arrow steadies her by her elbow. "Anyway," she says, fighting the wave of nausea that follows, "thank you for the rescue."
His expression changes as he tilts her chin up, studying her expression. "What were you still doing in there?" he asks, an edge to his voice. Instead of responding, she means to turn her head away, but the gentle touch on her chin tightens, refusing to let her escape. When she doesn't answer quick enough, he almost growls, "Felicity."
She bites her lip before finally saying, "I needed to make sure that Oliver and Laurel were safe." A confused frown covers his expression, and she explains, "Merlyn said they were together, and I wasn't going to leave them in there while the place burned." She knows better than to mention it was to appease Tommy and to get him out of there safely because she knows how that will end. After all, she doesn't want to be the reason why the Merlyns get a visit from the Arrow.
There's a long pause as he studies her before he releases her and finally says, slowly as if weighing his words, "Better them than you." After another intense moment where something other than words is exchanged, he chuckles, the sound ominous in the synthesizer. "I can't decide if you're reckless or fearless."
She laughs, feeling giddy all of the sudden. Then the realization catches up to her. "I just ran into a burning building after my friends. Dear God, what was I thinking?" She shakes her head. "If it's a question of brave or foolish, I'd go with foolish."
"I think brave," he corrects softly, and it's so sincere that Felicity has a hard time believing he's humoring her. With more weight, he says louder, "I always think brave."
"Funny," is her reply, her expression pointed, "me, too." It's her turn to hesitate before finally saying, "Actually, I always think hero."
They fall into a moment of loaded looks and quiet understanding of one another. Neither one of them can really agree with the other—Felicity is not brave, and she knows the Arrow doesn't see himself as heroic—but it gives them both something to achieve. It would be nice, Felicity thinks, to be the person he sees her as. All the while, she knows similar thoughts are running through his mind, too.
The sirens are closer now, but that doesn't seem to bother him, as it's deafening but he still pays no mind to the police presence. Finally, he says what's on his mind: "You should be more careful." He has to yell over the sirens, but that doesn't stop him from standing there. The moment is a little weighted by the things they're not brave enough to put into words, but he lightens it with a partial smile and, "Good IT help is hard to find."
Before she can respond, the Arrow looks to the alleyway around them, and Felicity follows his gaze to the figure of their favorite cop. "Give Detective Lance my regards," he says to her softly.
She snorts. "Is that a nice way of instructing me to give the one-finger salute for you, or do you actually mean 'regards'?" she asks with a wry smile.
She earns a chuckle for her trouble. "Either would be appropriate," he says with an almost smile. He places a hand on her shoulder, watching Lance closely now, and Felicity is starting to get nervous; she's able to make out the barrel of a drawn gun. "I'll check on you tonight," he adds quickly, causing her attention to snap back to him.
Before she can protest, Lance is identifying his status as a cop, and, with what she thinks is a wink, he draws his bow and fires an arrow in seconds flat. She crouches down immediately, the action partly reactionary and partly dramatic for Lance. It must have some sort of rappelling action, because it pulls him up on top of the building next door, and the Arrow disappears into the night.
Felicity tries to look like she's in shock for Detective Lance's benefit, but she thinks that buzz of adrenalin in her veins and the flush of color to her skin have nothing to do with fear.
***
Detective Lance arrives to the scene more quickly than some of the other officers, due to other circumstances. He doesn't expect to find the Queen kid's club torched, the flames already sky-high. It gives him a little glee to think that Queen will be upset about the building's turnout, but he soon finds he has bigger problems.
An eyewitness tells him the Hood is running around, and, well, Lance can't exactly pass up an opportunity like that. He knows about the back alley behind the former factory-slash-almost club, and he thinks it would be the best escape route. So, naturally, he isn't surprised to see the terror of Starling City standing there.
He is surprised to find him standing next to Felicity Smoak.
Sure, he isn't surprised to confirm they're working together, but he always thought it would be carried out in secret—with emails, burner phones, and no direct contact. But, judging by how close the two of them are standing, this isn't their first face-to-face meeting. In fact, if it had been any other two people in the world, he'd say they looked moony-eyed over one another. Kind of like that look Laurel gets over that Merlyn kid every now and again, much to Lance's chagrin.
Unexpectedly, the Arrow's head swivels in Lance's direction, which leads to a general identification and some gun swinging. Seconds later, the Hood puts a hand on Felicity's shoulder, says something, and then swings off into the night, like some freaky mix between Tarzan and Robin Hood. Generally he'd be more upset about losing the Hood, but Felicity isn't exactly going anywhere.
He's not surprised that she doesn't try to run, just simply walks up to Lance. As she does so, he notices a black strip of cloth—with a wet spot—covering her upper right arm, and he kicks immediately out of interrogation mode and into protect-and-serve mode. "You hurt, kid?" he asks her.
She shakes her head, looking more than a little frazzled, and Lance thinks he might have read that situation wrong. With a motion to her arm, she says, "One of those spiky light fixtures caught on my arm. I fought bravely, but, sadly, I'm no match for gravity." Her voice almost sounds normal, but she seems a little... off somehow.
He puts his hand between her shoulder blades, leading her out of the alleyway. "I have some questions," he says, "but we can get you all fixed up first."
The walk is short, and, while the EMTs are examining her, he pulls a random one aside and says, "Hey, I want that strip of cloth for evidence." He doesn't explain to the tech why, and he doesn't seem to care, but Lance has a few ideas. After all, it didn't come from her outfit, and it was at the wrong angle for her to have tied it. If he had to guess, he'd say it was the Hood's, and, well, everything he gathers earns Lance one step toward Starling City's "savior."
When they're done sewing up the eight-inch-long gash in her arm and she's gathered safely under a shock blanket with a bottle of water, Lance says to her, "I have a few questions for you."
She puts a hand to her forehead, looking a little weary. "I figured you would," she says, sounding very much like the adrenalin buzz has worn off. She looks at him then. "What would you like to know about first, the fire or the Vigilante? Because I don't know what happened with the fire. Everything was calm, and then whoosh. Flame."
Her all-business tone causes his eyebrows to rise, but he asks anyway. "Actually, I'd like to know about Walter Steele first."
It's a curveball, and it actually gets a rise out of her for a change. It's only then that Lance realizes she's been playing him like a violin during their previous interactions; he's always figured that she's in check of her emotions, but it seems that the opposite is true. "Mr. Steele?" she asks slowly, her eyebrows knitting together. "What happened to him?" The cold dread in her voice and the phrasing of her question lets Lance know immediately that he was right to ask her; she doesn't ask if something happened, but assumed that something horrible occurred.
Lance is starting to realize that anyone who has ever buried a proverbial body in Starling City seems to confide in the blonde, innocent-looking IT girl.
"He's missing," Lance answers her, earning a gasp, "and presumed kidnapped. We're trying to figure out if he had any enemies." His eyebrows knit together. "Was he working on anything that would be related to this?"
Lance only sees the quick flash of hesitation because he's actually looking for it this time. Finally, she answers quietly, "A few weeks ago, he asked me to do some research for him." She looks up at him through her eyelashes, biting her lip before continuing, "He was looking into a warehouse in the Glades, but didn't give me any details." There's a quaver in her voice as she adds, so softly Lance almost doesn't hear her, "He said he thought his head of security was killed because Mr. Steele asked him to investigate." She takes a few deep breaths before finally saying, "I couldn't find any more about it than he did, so I turned in my results, and he never talked to me about it again."
Lance raises an eyebrow. "Did he tell you why he was looking into this warehouse?"
Felicity shakes her head, though her eyes tell a different story this time. "He didn't say a word," she lies pretty convincingly, but it's just not good enough. He knows she's not going to answer anymore; in his experience, once a suspect starts lying about something, they don't stop.
Accepting his fate, he changes tacks. "What about the Hood?"
This time, her facial expression changes, and it seems more honest this time. It's not the best sign in the world, since she lies like a Persian rug in the Queen mansion, but he'll take what he can get. "I managed to get myself trapped in the building," she says instantly. "The Vigilante did some sort of exploding arrow trick and blew the glass there. He saw my injured arm and bandaged it." She frowns. "He knew my name—which is weird because I've never met him before." Lance isn't buying the bullshit she's selling, but he doesn't say anything. A blind man could have seen those two had history, with one glance into that alley tonight. "He asked me if I was all right, I told him yes, and then"—she chuckles, setting Lance's nerves on edge—"he said to give you his regards."
"What the hell does that even mean?" flies out of his mouth before he has a moment to think about it. Normally he would be upset about speaking before thinking, but, well, he's talking to Felicity Smoak. Based on limited experience, he can already tell that, if putting one's foot in their mouth was an Olympic sport, she'd have the gold medal.
She shrugs. "Don't know," she says finally. "He said, 'Give Detective Lance my regards.' No explanation." She hesitates before adding softly, "Maybe he sees you two as allies in the fight against crime?"
That's enough to stir up all of Lance's pent-up frustration. Pointing a finger at her, he growls, "Thinking like that is exactly what gets pretty little things like you in trouble." He runs a hand over his face, thinking about Laurel—about the cell phone she left lying on his desk by accident, the one with the Hood's phone number programmed into it. He still doesn't know what he's going to do about it. "Miss Smoak," he continues finally, "that man—whoever the hell he is—has a habit of involving hard-working civilians in his work, and they all pay for it eventually. My daughter is of the same mind right now because she won't listen to reason, and, God help me, I'm not going to watch anyone else make the same mistakes."
Felicity raises her hands in defeat. "Whoa," she says, drawing out the word, "that was not what I meant. I was trying to see things from his perspective—that doesn't mean that I agree with his methods." It sounds suspiciously like the truth, and so Lance listens to her intently. "He's committed crime to fight crime. That's not the way it works in an ideal world." Lance may not be as smart as her, but even he catches the qualifier at the end. "The bad guys commit crime, and the police stop them using less severe methods." She hesitates. "At the risk of being yelled at again, I understand what he's trying to do—I even respect it on some levels. But violence will always only beget more violence. The only way to stop it is to break the cycle, Detective." She looks at him with a loaded glance that he doesn't try to interpret. "But, sometimes, when the law can't keep up with the criminals, someone has to step in and make the crime levels more manageable. And that's what Starling's Vigilante is doing.
"Black and white, Detective," she continues. "The cops are good, the criminals are bad. But the Vigilante is in an entirely different place. He's does illegal things and gets positive results. Not exactly good, but not all bad, either. He's the gray line that separates the two of you, and you could use that to your advantage—if you'd let the Vigilante's presence work for you." Lance honestly doesn't know what to say to that, so instead of answering, he turns on his heel and makes his way back to his squad car. He tells himself he isn't running away, but he knows better. Felicity Smoak made perfect sense, loath as he is to admit it.
But what scares the hell out of him is that he's starting to agree with her.