Felicity can’t do much more than watch as the footage on television continues, the camera focused on Roy’s face. She even forgets Oliver’s arm snaking around her waist in a way that might not be entirely appropriate for friends, pulling her against him in support. She knows she should excuse herself and make a run straight down for the lair to get everything ready, but for right now, she needs to see what’s happening.
“Who’s that?” she faintly hears Laurel ask in the background, but she doesn’t hear Tommy’s answer over the sound of Falk’s voice through the television’s speakers.
“Meet Roy Harper,” Falk says in a synthesized voice. It’s not unlike the one Oliver uses as the Arrow, but, for some reason, this one sends a chill down her spine. Maybe it’s because she knows Oliver wouldn’t do this—to Roy or anyone else. Killing to stay alive is one thing, but execution and exhibitionism are something cruel and entirely out of his repertoire. “He has arrests for larceny, robbery, and aggravated assault.” She can feel Oliver’s eyes land on her, waiting for her to deny it, but she doesn’t because she knows it’s true. “And yet he’s out on the street—another gangster in the Glades running free.”
A thought suddenly occurs to Felicity, and it springs her into action as it leaves her mouth in a single word: “Thea.” It takes a moment longer for it to dawn on Oliver, but by then she already has her phone in hand, flipping through her contacts until she finds it. Every moment between rings feels like hours, and the call itself an eternity.
Just when she’s about to panic and demand Oliver get down to the lair and hood up, Laurel or no Laurel, she hears the distinct sound of a phone ringing and heels across Verdant’s floor. As soon as she sees the curly brown hair, Felicity says to Tommy with a hand toward the TV, “Turn that off.” The last thing Thea needs is to see what she already knows about displayed across the TV, and Felicity isn’t going to subject her to that kind of torture.
Felicity notices the long streaks of black mascara down Thea’s cheeks just before she launches herself into her brother’s arms. “I didn’t know where else to go,” Thea starts in a watery voice, words tumbling over one another frantically. “I went to see Roy—we had a fight and I wouldn’t let it go—and then some guy just came out of nowhere and attacked us!” Her voice breaks once toward the end. “I don’t know what to do, Ollie—the cops won’t get to him in time.”
Felicity watches Oliver whisper something to her—probably the same promise he made earlier—and then Tommy gently pries Thea away, wrapping his arms around her. “Come on,” he says gently, with a loaded look at Oliver, “let me take you home—you can watch the news from there.” Then he turns back to Laurel. “I could use your help,” he mouths to her, and Felicity knows it’s a ploy to get everyone away so that Team Arrow can move into action.
Laurel immediately takes over, pulling Thea toward her. “We’ll let Tommy finish up here,” she states gently, “and we’ll stay with you.” Then she starts leading Thea back toward the front entrance with comforting words.
When she’s suitably out of earshot, Oliver starts, “Tommy—”
Tommy is already waving a hand. “Thea is practically my sister, too,” he answers the thought, even though he doesn’t give the opportunity to say it. “And even if she wasn’t, that’s what this team is about, right?” he asks carefully. “You pick up the slack when you need to—do whatever it takes to make sure that the people of this city don’t have to worry about guys like him.” He swallows hard, nodding a few times. “I didn’t get it before, but now I do. But you can’t be with Thea and save Roy.” He turns back toward Felicity, letting his hand fall on her upper arm. “And you will save him.” With that, he turns and follows Laurel and Thea out.
Felicity nods once, trying to get over the initial shock and focus on the facts. Falk has another victim, but Felicity knows how to fix this. She immediately starts toward the basement, Oliver on her heels as she states a little loudly, “Digg helped me solve the puzzle—Falk is working out of the old subway system that was shut down about twenty-five years ago.” She turns around, continuing to walk backward as she points at him. “I gave you the right locations, but he was underground.” It’s said more for her benefit than his—a reminder that Carnahan’s death is not her fault.
“No one doubted you,” Oliver answers, unlocking the basement entrance with the keycode, reaching around her to do so. She realizes that he means it; he didn’t doubt the location she gave him even after the first one failed. It sends and odd jolt of emotion through her.
They both take the staircase down into the lair, Felicity going to her computers while Oliver grabs his suit and bow. “Felicity, you’re with us,” he states tersely, clearly kicked into Arrow-mode already. “I want you nearby.” She can read the translation: I don’t want you to sit here and wonder what’s happening out there.
“I take it you’ve seen the news?” Diggle asks her after Oliver ducks into the bathroom. Digg is already grabbing guns from the toolbox in the corner, preparing to charge in after Oliver. “I thought I’d have to come up to get you two.”
Felicity doesn’t look up from her computer. “Roy is my friend, John,” she answers quietly. “Falk isn’t a savior—he’s an executioner, and he has my friend.” A bubble of near-hysterical laughter leaves her. “I just talked to him last night after everything happened—he made some smart-ass comment about me leaving a tip because I was bugging him at work.”
Diggle places a hand on her shoulder, a frown on his face and concern in his eyes as he says to her slowly, “No one would blame you for sitting this one out if it hits too close to home, Felicity.”
“I would blame me,” she answers immediately, transferring all of her information from the desktop computer to Oliver’s laptop—the one she built for him. “I can’t just sit here and wait for this to play out. There’s a reason I joined this team, and it’s because I don’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore. I want to do something.”
He nods once. “Then you should come,” he answers firmly. With a smirk, he adds, “And you should remind Falk that the only vigilante in this city wears a green hood. And that he has a tech genius standing right behind him.”
Felicity stops long enough to offer him a grateful smile, intending to say more when Oliver steps out of the bathroom. “Ready?” he asks them, already standing near the outside exit. Felicity nods once before closing the laptop, gathering it under her arm. When she catches up to him, he adds, “I thought Roy might need a familiar face when this is over.” As they head up the stairs, he turns to ask her, “Where is Falk now?”
“He’ll be at the Spring Street stop in fifteen minutes,” she answers following him and Diggle up the stairs. It takes her a moment to register the rest of what he’s saying about Roy. “You wouldn’t care if he knew that I worked with you?”
Oliver chuckles, an action that makes her head turn because it seems aimed at what he says afterward: “I’m not exactly concerned that he’ll call the police.” It takes her a moment to realize that it’s a joke, and it startles her into a smile. She savors the rare moments of humor because they’re always few and far between. Then he sobers ever so slightly. “You could have told me he had a criminal record,” he adds gently, not reproach but fact. “Tommy does, too. So do I.” But she hears what he doesn’t say: I’m in no position to judge.
They step out into the night air for a brief moment before loading up into the back of the van, Diggle taking the wheel. Felicity situates the laptop next to her, Oliver sitting across from her. She waves a hand as she answers absently, “Yeah, but Roy has a real arrest record. We’re talking armed robbery, not peeing on a cop.”
The laptop’s screen is the only source of light in the van and her vision is limited because of that, but she can see Oliver’s eyes lock onto her in some mixture of surprise and… something else she doesn’t quite recognize. It takes her a moment to decide that it might be embarrassment. “I told you before—if it’s on the Internet, I can find it.”
He doesn’t have time to ask because Diggle pulls into a nearly-hidden alleyway practically invisible from the road. “If we’re going to save this kid, we need to move now,” Diggle reminds them, and Oliver rises to his feet, pulling the mask and hood into place.
“Wait!” Felicity calls, catching his arm. Then she makes sure the synthesizer is clipped to his jacket and presses the button to turn his comm on. “This stays on at all costs,” she commands him, frustrated that she won’t have eyes on him. It’s the worst part—the sitting in the van and not knowing. “And if you don’t answer me or Digg, we’re going in after you.”
He doesn’t answer her with words, only kisses her before leaving. She immediately turns to the laptop, pulling up the local news and Falk’s website side-by-side, turning the volume off on the latter. Roy still seems to be alive—thank God—with Falk still delivering his rambling speech about delivering salvation to the Glades. Her attention flickers back and forth between it and the comms, Oliver and Diggle coordinating movement on the subway—Digg in the shadows and Oliver out in the spotlight.
Finally, Falk says something relevant that makes Felicity’s chest tighten: “I’ll give you ten minutes to state your case, Roy. Tell us, why should you get to live?”
Roy stares into the camera, the anger on his face fading after a moment. “I shouldn’t,” he answers, and Felicity feels her stomach drop. “I’ve never killed anyone and I’m not part of a gang, but I’m everything else you say I am. I’m guilty of all of those crimes on my record.” He looks away from the camera, up to where Felicity assumes Falk is standing. “But you grew up in the Glades—you know what it’s like. You either get out early, or you stay around long enough for them to turn you into a criminal.”
He studies Falk a moment. “You say that they didn’t turn you into a criminal, but they did. Those guys who killed your wife? When you started killing people in revenge for her, they destroyed you, too.” Even though his wrists are duct-taped to a set of bars, he throws his hands out in some semblance of a shrug. “But if killing me makes you feel better, fine. I’m a waste of life—no one’s gonna miss me for too long. So just kill me and get it over with.”
“Roy,” Felicity growls at the video feed, “reverse psychology doesn’t work on gun-toting lone-wolf types.” She’s sorely tempted to charge in after Oliver just to yell at Roy for his stupidity. She would miss him—and so would Thea. He knows that, and she understands what he’s doing, even if she doesn’t like it; he thinks there’s no way out of this situation, so he’s not going to prolong his suffering.
“Then we seem to agree on something,” Falk answers. “This world would be better off without you in it.” Felicity closes her eyes, prepared to hear the gunshot, but all the time begging Oliver to make his move.
The sound that comes is a crash, and Felicity watches the camera swing off its stand and drop onto the ground, casting a nice shot of everyone’s feet as the newscaster informs everyone that picture isn’t good but that they still have audio. “I can’t see you, Oliver,” she informs him, “but we can hear you on local news. Be careful what you say.”
“Let the kid go,” Oliver demands in his deep, growly Arrow voice, and Felicity is seriously impressed that Falk isn’t peeing his pants and surrendering. She’s not afraid of him—he spent months flirting with her under that synthesizer—but it’s still impressively dark and powerful. “Joseph, if you kill Roy now, he’ll never have the opportunity to change. You can give him a second chance.”
Falk’s voice is clear when he speaks this time; his synthesizer must have been damaged in Oliver’s entrance. “Emma never got her second chance,” he retorts. “They killed her because they could—for no other reason. And you have no idea how lonely it is without her.” His voice breaks before it strengthens again. “Tell me why I shouldn’t do the same to him. He seems willing to die. Tell us why he shouldn’t.”
“I understand being alone,” Oliver answers quietly, ignoring the demand. It makes Felicity bite her lip because she knows he’s talking about the island. “And I understand grief. I’ve lost people important to me, too, Joseph—I know what it’s like to watch them die, to be responsible for their deaths.” He pauses a moment, as if bracing himself for what comes next. “And I know what it’s like to love. I have someone important in my life, and if she was taken from me, I would want justice for her, too.” Some sort of emotion makes Felicity’s throat tighten—one that she couldn’t put a name to if she tried. “But I wouldn’t kill for her. She would be horrified if I committed murder in her name.” Quietly, he finishes with, “And I think Emma wouldn’t want you to, either. Especially not when the person you intend to kill is only a teenager, when you don’t understand what murder does to you. Your grief doesn’t give you the right to kill him in cold blood.”
Unsurprisingly, Falk takes exception to it. “You’ve killed for this city!” he yells. “So have I! I won’t lose sleep over this… gangbanger’s death—just like you don’t care about the people you killed. What’s the difference between you and me?”
“We are not the same!” Oliver yells adamantly, and Felicity jumps at the dangerous edge to his tone. She’s seen Oliver in all sorts of situations, but she’s never heard him raise his voice before. "I know how many men I've killed," he admits suddenly. "I don't know all of their names, but I remember their faces. Not because I want to remember them, but because I can't forget. I know they had people who cared about them. I can tell you which ones deserved it—and the ones who didn't. And I deserve to live with that because I'm the reason they're dead." Felicity hears the distinct sound of the bow in her calm—drawing it or slowly releasing it, she doesn’t know. "You deserve to live with that, too."
"I'll go to jail for what I've done," Falk answers, "and I accept that. Or you can kill me—it doesn't matter now. But I'm going to finish my mission first."
A gunshot pierces both sets of audio, followed by Roy's scream. Felicity tenses, then realizes that screaming in this case is good—if Falk had punctured a lung or delivered a fatal shot, he wouldn't be able to scream. His cry of pain mingles with another, and suddenly the Savior’s face appears in front of the camera, contorted in pain. He rolls away from the camera slightly, clutching his hand in a way that shows the tip of the arrow sticking through it.
"What's going on, Oliver?" she asks. "You have to be my eyes—all I can see is an arrow through Falk's hand. Is Roy okay? Are you hurt? Where's the gun Falk used? Do you have it? Because you shouldn't just leave it laying there by him. That's—"
"I'm outside the car, Felicity," Diggle answers calmly for Oliver, "but from what I can see, he's fine. Falk's gun was tossed out the window in the fight. Roy was shot through the right shoulder—looks like it could have hit bone. It probably did, based on the way he was screaming. But it's minor—you and me have patched up worse."
She takes a moment to take a deep breath of relief before realizing the camera is still on. "Oliver, get the camera," she calls into her headset. "You don't want it filming you and Diggle when you leave." She knows they'll try to get Falk to a hospital or the police station, and she doesn't want the camera accidentally catching Oliver or Diggle on live television. Computer images can be enhanced for better detail, and the last thing they need is for facial recognition to get the two of them into trouble.
"I'm a little busy right now, Oracle," he answers shortly, and she hears it picked up on both sets of audio. She's about to ask what he means when he continues, "I'm not going to hurt you, Roy. But if you want to stay here all night, feel free to keep struggling." A rush of static goes through the line—probably a deep, long-suffering sigh. "He's unconscious—probably the shock and the blood loss."
"Digg, you're a sensible person—you shut off the camera," she tries. "The lens is pointed at Falk, so if you stay behind it, you'll be fine. I figure you two don't want your pictures plastered all over the ten o'clock news." After a long moment, the picture goes off, and Felicity sighs in relief before closing the laptop when both feeds go dark. "And we're shut down."
"Falk is out cold," Diggle informs her. "We're about to head up with both of them." Something between a laugh and a chuckle follows. "I guess that means mission complete, Felicity."
A giddy laugh escapes her. "You have no idea how good it is to hear that all of my boys are okay," she sighs. "When that gun went off, I wasn't so sure." Then she winces as she realizes she actually said my boys aloud. "Not that you three belong to me or anything." She doesn't expect a response to her babbling; in fact, she hopes they'll ignore her.
She's pleasantly surprised when Oliver's response breaks through the silence: "If I belong to anyone, it's you." It makes her breath catch because it’s a declaration and a promise all at once—one she never expected from him.
“We still have two unconscious men to haul off a subway,” Digg reminds them. Then with a smile in his voice, he adds, “You two can get your flirt on when we get back to the van.”
***
Quentin Lance sighs as he stares at his computer screen, going through the video of the Vigilante’s latest appearance a second time. He knows there isn’t anything visually after the Vigilante appears—he conveniently knocked over the camera—but the audio there is… enlightening, to say the least.
The first time, there had been a flurry of motion through the police station to track the kid and the killer down, but now he’s seeing it through different eyes, listening to the Vigilante’s speech a second time. If nothing else, it gives him a few more suspicions and facts to write down in the case file—every word reveals something new about the man that could be the Vigilante. The Vigilante has probably spent time in isolation of some sort. He’s watched people he cared about die, blames himself for their deaths.
Then he mentions the girl. He doesn’t say they’re together, but that she’s important—a very clear distinction in Lance’s mind. The words the Vigilante said to him come rushing back: She’s too smart to get involved any further with me. Then during the phone call after the Vigilante had stopped the Dodger, he had been particularly protective of the girl—protective in a way that, coupled with his previous words, suggests he has a soft spot for her. Maybe the feelings are one-sided, maybe they’re platonic—Lance doesn’t know. But either way, he’d bet his entire pension that the Vigilante is talking about Felicity Smoak.
And then it was after the killer compared the two that it really earned a rise out of the Vigilante. Lance has to admit that the guy laid down one hell of a speech—one that makes Lance wonder a bit. He’d thought the Vigilante was some sort of sociopath, but that’s one theory he’s marked off the list since listening to him speak—it was too sincere to be a lie. His lack of hesitance to kill in the first place and the way he spoke tonight makes Lance underline his previous theory about the Vigilante being ex-military. He has less information and more speculation than ever, but Lance is starting to understand why accusing Oliver Queen was a mistake.
The last note is one he nearly misses making, barely catching it at the last minute: the Vigilante speaks to someone he calls Oracle. It’s the same name he used the night he took down Vanch, the one that went with a whole lot of technical support. That means Felicity was there—or at least in communication. He’s honestly not too surprised about that; he’s seen her file, and she and Roy Harper grew up in the same foster home. No doubt that this one was personal for her.
Lance is so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the cell phone ring the first time. He nearly picks up the wrong one, but then he realizes that it’s the phone the Vigilante gave him, the one that usually signals some sort of trouble. Sighing, he answers it, anyway. “Saw your stunt on the news tonight,” he answers, not bothering with a greeting. “I don’t know who your PR man is, but they’re doing one hell of a job.”
“Good evening, Detective,” the unnatural voice on the other end answers, the same way he always does, ignoring Lance’s previous statement. “Would you like to make an arrest tonight?”
“Why, you offering to give yourself up?” Lance retorts dryly.
He doesn’t know what he expects, but it sure as hell isn’t to hear the Vigilante chuckle under that voice-masking device. “Not tonight,” he answers. “But I am offering to give you the Savior, also known as Joseph Falk. He’s responsible for the deaths of John Nickel and ADA Gavin Carnahan, as well as the attempted murder of Roy Harper tonight. I’m sure your department is trying to arrest the man who killed one of their own.”
Damn right they are. It’s all Lance has heard about since it happened—they nearly took him off the Vigilante case over it. But there’s a more important question brewing. “He’s still alive?” Lance hears himself ask, surprise coloring his tone.
“After Falk’s wife was murdered,” the Vigilante answers, “he only cared about revenge against the the people who wouldn’t do what they should have. He wanted to die after he was finished. It’s a far worse punishment to let him live with it.” Lance thinks he might be speaking from experience, especially after that speech tonight. “He’ll need medical assistance, but he’ll live.”
Lance picks up a pen, preparing to write down another address. “Seventy-Eighth and Oak again, or do you have a different parking garage in mind?” he asks dryly, expecting another no-nonsense answer in return.
“How about the alleyway behind the precinct?” the Vigilante answers. It takes Lance a moment, but he realizes what’s being said—their most wanted criminal is less than five hundred feet away. If Lance wasn’t so angry about it, he’d be impressed by the particularly bold move. “I’m only here for the next two minutes. After that, Falk will be here, but the evidence I have against him will leave with me.” With that, he ends the call.
Lance rises from his desk, deciding to put aside his feelings on the Vigilante just this once to put the guy who killed an assistant DA behind bars. If he told anyone about the Vigilante’s presence outside, he’d have to explain why, and working with the Robin Hood wannabe had gotten him into more than enough trouble the last time. So he’ll take the win, just this once.
It’s a short walk to the alleyway exit, and, sure as the world, the Arrow is leaning against the wall with a man in zip-cuffs sitting next to him. Based on the way he’s slumped there, Lance thinks he’s probably unconscious. Lance expects him to gloat or something, but instead he steps away from the wall, holding out what looks like a flash drive. “I’m told that this will seal the case against Falk,” the Arrow states.
Lance hesitates before taking it from him, waiting for some sort of attack when the opportunity is there. It doesn’t come, and Lance decides that maybe—God forbid he even thinks it—Felicity Smoak was right about the Arrow. He holds up the drive. “Tell Felicity thank you for this. Or Oracle, if that’s what she’s calling herself now.”
“Oracle,” he answers slowly, as though he’s trying to keep from incriminating her, “was going to send it to you if you didn’t show up. We have particular interest in seeing Falk serve time for those murders.” Lance scoffs because he saw that coming a mile away—Roy Harper’s involvement assured that. “Thank you, Detective,” he says, and then he turns, starting to walk out of the alley.
“I let this one go for the guy who killed a DA, but the next time I see you, it’s going to end with you in a cell,” Lance calls after him. It’s important that the Arrow know he’s choosing the lesser of two evils this time and that it’s not likely to happen again. “Don’t think this changes anything.”
He doesn’t even miss a step, calling over his shoulder, “Until next time, then, Detective.”