Felicity wakes to a hand shaking her shoulder, and it pulls her out of her dreams too quickly. She flails, startled as her bleary eyes try to focus, and a hand grabs her wrist. She's surprised to find she's holding her alarm clock, ready to hit her intruder with it. "It's just me, Felicity," he says gently through the synthesizer, letting a glove fall on her face. At the same time, her eyes focus on the blurry outline of the Arrow, and she takes a few deep, calming breaths as she sets her alarm clock back on the table. He's crouched in front of her bed, his opposite hand still on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry that I tried to hit you with my alarm clock," she blurts, then winces. "You startled me." She sits upright then, reaching across him for her glasses case, then slides them on her face as Saphira makes her way toward him. Felicity is surprised to find that he doesn't pass her a treat this time.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he says in some semblance of apology, still crouching in front of her. She pats the bed, and he joins her. Felicity gets a kick out of watching Saphira paw at his back for his attention as he turns away from her, but she tries to contain her sleep-deprived giggles. "But, if you say yes, we need to move as fast as possible."
If she says yes? With maybe a little more hostility than necessary, she replies, "Well, I've never turned you down before." Then she bites her lip, thinking that she might have overreacted. Generally, there's a reason when he says things like that, and she shouldn't doubt him now. "Sorry—I'm moody when I first wake up."
He sidesteps her apology as he uses his thumb to guide her lip out from between her teeth. "No, you've always helped me," he agrees quietly, "but this time is different." He looks away for a moment before saying, "This time, it's a personal favor." She can't help to sit a little straighter at that; Arrow business is generally impersonal, so, if he's asking, it's probably going to be interesting. "And I want you to say no if it makes you uncomfortable."
She doesn't say anything, and he finally continues, "Laurel Lance has been helping me investigate some of my targets recently. She brought Cyrus Vanch to my attention a few nights ago—he murdered his lawyer and he's not going to stop killing." He sighs. "During the... incident a few nights ago"—she knows the one he means; it was the one where the police used Laurel as bait to catch him—"she was handing me information. Vanch has a cop on his payroll, and he passed the information that we were working together on to Vanch. They've taken her hostage, and Detective Lance and I are going to be working together since he can't trust anyone in the department."
He frowns. "Vanch is in his lawyer's house, and the wiring is controlled by computer circuitry." He hesitates. "If you agreed"—she appreciates the way he emphasizes that she has a choice—"to help me, lighting control would assure I had the advantage against Vanch's guards." He frowns. "You'd be out in the field, but I can position you in a location out of harm's way."
She doesn't even flinch. "You've done plenty of favors for me over the past few months. It would be the least I could do." She turns away as his eyes take on that dark, intense look again, even though she sees his mouth start to turn up at the corners in a rare smile.
His fingers use her chin to turn her head back to his direction, and he says quietly, "Felicity, you don't owe me anything." He says it so confidently, so assuredly, that she thinks he might actually believe it. But how can he, when he's given her so much that she'll never repay? For once in her life, she feels like she belongs to something, and that she feels like it's an important cause is all the better. He must see the doubt in her eyes because he rephrases it and she understands this time when he says, "I don't want you to do this because you feel like you owe me something. You'll be in the field tonight, and I can't promise your safety." His hand falls one of hers, the one that rests on her leg. "But I won't put you in danger—and I'll do my best to keep you safe." When he says it, she knows it's a promise he intends to keep.
But even before he finishes speaking, she already knows what she's going to say: "Of course." Even taking the Arrow out of the equation—something that is now nearly impossible in her life—she’s not going to let anyone die because she won’t flip a few switches on her computer. Especially not Laurel Lance, who is important to Oliver and Tommy’s entire world.
The Arrow immediately rises from his place by her side. "I'm parked behind your car," he states calmly. "Meet me downstairs." And then he's headed back to her window, as if that's all he needs to say. Felicity is amused by how quickly he switches between talkative and time for action; one minute, he's teasing her, and the next he's all business.
"Hey, wait," she calls, and he turns immediately. "What do I need to wear?" she blurts, and then she's glad it's dark in the room so he can't watch her go crimson. "Well, that came out wrong. I didn't mean to sound like I'm about to go on a first date or anything. But I've never exactly gone on a rescue mission, and I'm not exactly sure what attire is considered appropriate." She motions to her pajamas, decorated with smiley faces with moustaches. "But I'm pretty sure this isn't it."
He chuckles, shaking his head at her rant. "Dark clothing," he replies with a faint hint of an indulgent smile, "and shoes you can run in. Make sure to grab a laptop to take with you—you'll need it."
She nods. "Meet you downstairs in five," she assures him, watching him disappear out the window before ransacking her closet for the proper attire. She manages to pull on a very warm, long-sleeved shirt made like the one he gave her, but this one fits her much better. She couples it with a long-forgotten pair of black jeans, and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail as she slips her feet into a pair of black boots.
It takes her all of five seconds to pack up her most reliable laptop in its bag, and she practically jogs down the stairs after locking Saphira in the spare bedroom. As promised, the Arrow is waiting for her, leaning against the sleek motorcycle parked behind her car. She swallows hard as she realizes she has to ride on that… deathtrap again, but this is bigger than her fear.
And she knows he’ll make sure nothing happens to her—either on his motorcycle or in the field.
She shivers in the night air; it’s colder than she expects, colder than it’s been in weeks. The Arrow notices immediately (of course he does), and he picks up a cloth draped over his motorcycle. When he holds it out, she finally realizes that it’s an average zip-up hoodie in black. “Your hair will stand out,” he explains, “and I knew you wouldn’t bring a hat.”
“Thanks,” she mutters as she drops her bag to the concrete of the parking garage so she can pull it on. To her surprise, it’s just a size bigger than what she usually wears, allowing the hood to fully cover her hair and face. He must have bought it specifically for her for tonight, and she thinks it’s a surprisingly generous offer. “Good fit,” she adds after she zips it up over her shirt, and she can’t keep the questioning expression from her face as she slides her messenger bag across her body to hold it in place for the ride to come.
He doesn’t look at her, but instead focuses on throwing a leg over the motorcycle while replying, “I knew you’d say yes, even if I hoped you wouldn’t.” The sentence causes her to smile at him, and he finally looks at her as he offers her his helmet again. “But I wanted to give you the chance to say no.”
“You know me too well,” she counters with a smile before pulling the helmet over her head. This time she knows what she’s doing, so it’s only seconds before she’s sliding onto the motorcycle behind him.
“I could say the same to you,” he answers after a long moment. He stumbles over the word “same,” and Felicity doesn’t think it’s coincidence that she takes the same moment to wrap her arms around his ribcage in preparation for the ride. He revs the bike once before commenting on it: “I think you’re a little eager to hold on tight.”
Before she can answer, he tears off into the night. The ride is longer this time, and the first one is nothing compared to this one in speed. The sense of urgency is present, and she presses herself against his back to help protect her from the biting chill in the air. She closes her eyes this time, not wanting to see how many near-death experiences result from his driving. All she knows is that it’s accompanied by honking horns for a very long time.
Finally he slows, and she opens her eyes to see a section of the forest in front of her. He’s still driving, but slower now as he creeps up on the target. When he stops, she can only just see the house between the trees, and she thinks it might actually be a good place to be during the firefight sure to follow.
He watches as she sits on the ground next to the motorcycle, pulling out the laptop and starting in. With a few keystrokes and a good signal, she’s able to connect to the mansion’s computerized system. She tests it with a power surge, and she watches in triumph as the outside lights flicker in the distance. Felicity looks up at the Arrow as she says, “I think we’re set.”
He pulls an object out of his pocket before crouching in front of her, and she watches those dark eyes bore into hers. He reaches out to her, gently fixing the comm from his pocket over her ear. “This will keep us in direct contact,” he says quietly. “You shouldn't get into trouble out here, but if you do, keys are in the ignition. Your handle is Oracle.”
She swallows, and she looks down at her shaking fingers. His hand falls on hers, causing her to look up at him. “I can take you home,” he says gently, reminding her that this is always her choice, and that she can still say no. There’s no judgment in his expression, no disappointment. He knows he’s testing her comfort zone, and he respects that this isn’t her life.
“No, I’m with you,” she insists, and her voice only shakes a little. Nothing has prepared her for this, and she knows the only way to find her balance in this mission is to jump right in. But that doesn't mean she isn't scared.
"You always are," he answers with a smile, and there's something buried in her tone that makes Felicity's mouth turn up in an involuntary smile, in spite of the circumstances. He takes a moment to cup her jaw in a gesture of gratitude, and then he's gone, disappearing into the forest.
All is eerily quiet as she waits for her next cue. It feels like every nerve ending is on fire, and she doesn’t think she’s been this tense in her entire life. She jumps when he calls, “Oracle, cut the exterior lights.” His voice is different somehow—darker even under that synthesizer—and she realizes his mind is in a different place now. He’s of the mindset of a soldier, and she finally understands why the citizens of Starling City check their closets every night for the Arrow.
She sighs before she makes the right keystrokes, taking a few calming breaths. If she keeps up this level of intensity, she’s going to give herself a heart attack. And she’ll be of no use to the Arrow then.
Darkness falls in the courtyard, and then she hears nothing again for a very long time. Finally, she’s able to hear him take a long, steady breath, and she hears him exhale underneath the thwip of a bowstring being released. It’s a new experience for her, hearing it; she’s never been on the scene for his missions before, and it provides her with an insight no one else has ever had.
Gunfire erupts, but, through the chaos, she’s able to hear his breaths and the steady release of the bowstring. He’s oddly calm amongst the chaos, and she realizes after a few shots that he’s timing his releases with his exhales.
“I’m in the house now,” he says quietly to her after a long round of fighting. His voice is barely above a whisper, but, with the silence in the forest, it’s as if he’s yelling in her ear. “Lights off.in the southern half of the house.”
She complies, though she asks, “Are you sure you don’t need some light on the subject?” She bites her lip afterward, not knowing if she should be speaking or not. He didn’t give her any direction on that, and she doesn’t want to distract him.
“Negative,” he answers quickly, and he doesn't seem irritated by her interruption. “It’s easier for me to blend in the darkness.” He releases another set of arrows, and she hears his sigh through the speaker.
“That sounds like something is wrong,” she comments, and she knows she’s right when he doesn’t answer. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” she asks when he doesn’t answer.
“I’m out of arrows,” he whispers to her. Moving right along, as if he hasn’t just said that he’s defenseless, he says, “I’ve searched the bottom floor, and I know where they are. Keep the lights on in the northern part of the house. Be prepared for my signal to cut the light.”
She types the code into her screen, waiting to press the button that will shut everything down. “So, for the sake of clarification, we’re not freaking out about the fact that your bow is useless right now?” she asks, trying to play it off as casual. She doesn’t think she succeeds, judging by the sigh she receives in response.
So low she barely hears him, he answers, “I don’t need the bow, Felicity.” There’s something different about his voice, and the dark quality to it sends a chill down her spine, even though she pretends it’s the night air.
He takes a deep breath, and then she hears a new voice say, “Lose the bow, Merida.” She groans—this guy should seriously not know Disney movies. She bites her tongue to prevent herself from saying it’s a ridiculous comparison because he’s not Scottish. “You made a mistake by coming here alone,” the guy says, and Felicity can only assume it’s Vanch.
“You made a mistake,” the Arrow counters, “if you think I came alone.” There’s silence for a long moment before he adds, “And my friends are more reliable than yours.” Felicity can’t suppress a smile and a swell of pride at that comment because she knows he’s talking about her.
She hears a few long breaths before the Arrow barks, “Oracle, now.” She hits the one button left to shut down the lights. All that follows is a cacophony of sound; she can’t distinguish one voice from another in the chaos. There’s yelling, gunfire, grunting, and they all blend together.
“What’s going on?” she asks into the comm, and her voice is about two octaves too high.
She hears a new noise of something twirling through the air, and then the Arrow says, “I’m the vigilante. You’re the cop.” Softer, he says into the comm, “Everything’s fine, Oracle. Mission complete.”
“Get out of here before I change my mind and turn you in,” she hears the unmistakable voice of Detective Lance say in the background. “And thank your girlfriend for me." It makes Felicity blush, and she's grateful the Arrow isn't with her to see.
"You don't give her enough credit, Detective," the Arrow answers after a long moment. "She's too smart to get involved any further with me." Felicity holds her breath, knowing him well enough to read between the lines. Detective Lance may not hear what he's not saying, but Felicity does, loud and clear.
And, for the first time, she realizes what a fool she was for turning him down all those weeks ago.
Her thoughts reel out of control as she packs up her laptop, as she gathers her things and puts them back into her messenger bag. She hears a rustle in the trees, and she freezes, waiting to hear back from the Arrow.
He seemingly appears out of the trees, walks out of the still forest behind him. He immediately walks up to her, placing his hand on her face. "Are you all right?" he asks quietly, his eyes roaming over her, as if to make sure she's still safe and uninjured. It's all she can do to manage a nod; the intensity is just too strong for her to speak. His hand falls on her shoulder, and he breathes a sigh of relief. "Good. Let's get you home."
Nothing more is said until they climb up on the motorcycle, and she seizes the opportunity. With his back to her, she doesn't have to worry about another too intense moment between them. It gives her a shield from the power of what she's about to say. "Oh, and one other thing?" she asks quietly as she pulls the helmet over her head again, her voice high and fluttery in preparation for what comes next. He makes a noise of acknowledgment, seeming to understand that this is Felicity's turn to speak. It takes her a few deep breaths to work up the courage, and she wraps her arms around him again, murmuring the words against his back. Her face flushes in anticipation of her words. Finally, she musters up the courage to say, "Maybe I'm not as smart as you think."
He doesn't say anything, but, when he turns toward her, she sees a glorious smile on his face.
***
After he drops Felicity home, Oliver goes directly to the precinct, waiting for an opportunity to speak to Laurel. He doesn’t think he should go to her home—too many memories in such a small place—but he thinks it’s time he stops running from her. Now, though, he finally has the courage to move forward, to firmly settle Laurel into her place in his past.
He has to admit, it tears at him. Part of him isn’t willing to let go, to allow Laurel to fade into the past. But he knows it’s only familiarity that draws him to her, and the Oliver that Laurel was in love with is long gone. He understands that now, and he doesn’t even feel that pang of sadness when he sees her with Tommy anymore. The message is finally clear to him: she’s moved on.
And, surprisingly, he has, too.
It’s difficult for him to admit, even to himself, that Felicity is starting to hover in a place that is much more than friendship. He can’t really deny it anymore, though, since he tried to kiss her. It was a foolish, impulsive move, and he was almost grateful when she stopped him. With that moment in mind, he had told Detective Lance that she was too smart to fall for him, and he had believed it. But then she’d changed the game after saying those words to him tonight: Maybe I’m not as smart as you think. That phrase has dual meanings, Oliver thinks; not only is she telling him that she’s willing to give him another opportunity, but that he’s not the only one who felt foolish after the almost-kiss.
He’s pulled out of his thoughts as Laurel strides out of the precinct, and he slides out of his hiding place to face her. Her eyes widen and she takes a step back, surprised by his sudden appearance. He forgets sometimes that not everyone is familiar with his ability to appear out of thin air; Felicity doesn’t even seem to notice anymore, except for when he wakes her out of a sound sleep. “Good evening, Laurel,” he says, making sure to switch on the synthesizer first. “Are you all right?”
She frowns at that, and it bothers him a little to watch her wipe at the lines of mascara under her eyes. Clearly that’s from earlier, when she was at Vanch’s mercy. But then Oliver reminds himself that’s why he wanted to rescue her in the first place. She takes a long, deep breath before saying in a breathy voice, “What would you think if I said I didn’t know?”
“That you were being honest,” he replies immediately, and they’re the most honest words he’s said to her in over five years. He’s lied to her, manipulated her, cheated on her, and now that they’re finished, he’s finally learning how to be honest with her.
“Thank you,” she says finally, her voice more solid this time. “You risked a lot by coming to save me.” She hesitates before adding, “As did your girlfriend.” He tilts his head to the side. “I heard my father mention it,” she explains simply. He knows that look, and he knows she’s fishing for information.
He doesn’t bite because he knows that fisherman’s bait when he sees it. “I have enough friends to call in favors when I need them,” he replies evenly. “But I think you’ve exhausted yours.” He holds out his hand. “I want the phone back, Laurel.” Her eyes widen in surprise. “Now that someone knows that we work together, it makes you a target. I can’t put you in danger.”
She frowns, but she throws the phone into his hand, her lips pursed in anger. Maybe her fear of him is still strong enough to manipulate her into doing as he asks. “I’m a big girl,” she still argues. “This doesn’t change anything. I knew the risks.”
“I did, too,” he counters, “but I’m no longer willing to take them with you.” He can’t deny the truth in it; once upon a time, it might have been because he was in love with her. But now, it’s because he knows he couldn’t face Tommy if anything happened to Laurel and it was his fault.
He’s so preoccupied with Laurel that he doesn’t hear the footsteps before he sees the flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He knows the man has probably seen him, but hopefully he can get out quick enough that it doesn’t end in a confrontation—for Oliver, anyway. “Goodbye, Laurel,” he says, and it’s final.
Because all is as it should be—Oliver is walking out of Laurel’s life as Tommy is walking in.