Title: Raining Pitchforks
Word Count: 6613

Notes: Happy birthday to tangaloor on AO3, my vet-med buddy. It's technically two days late, but it's the thought that counts, right? ;) Anyway, I hope it was a happy one!

You're definitely going to see a change in the numbering system for this series at some point. I need to go back and add a fic to the series, but that will make more sense after you've read this one. That's all I'll say for right now—I'll let you read it. Comments and reviews are appreciated, but so is you taking the time to read this. :)

The sound of water hitting the windows and the tin roof keeps Felicity's eyes open long into the night, and she lies in her bed even though she knows sleep won't come to her. The rain reminds her of the weather during her seven-month stay in Japan, of hours spent in a dark room with only the sound of raindrops her only company until she could hear them even when it wasn't raining—in her dreams and nightmares, too. There were many times where she thought she had finally succumbed to insanity, only to realize that the rain she heard falling wasn't just inside her head. As a result, Felicity hates very little as much as she hates the rain.

She's so much on edge that, when a thunderclap echoes through the house and rattles the windows, she bolts upright in bed. She can feel her heartbeat in her throat so distinctly that she almost misses the way her hands shake against the blanket balled up in her hands. At first, Felicity thinks it's because her hands are clenched so tightly that her knuckles are white, but when she relaxes them, it doesn't ease up any. She growls in frustration at the adrenaline surge; it just confirms that tonight is going to be another sleepless night spent timing her breaths for something to do. Maybe this time it will be boring enough that it will put her to sleep.

It could be that she's imagining things—she has a tendency to do that when she's sleep-deprived—but Felicity thinks Roy is starting to notice her troubles. She managed to hide it well enough when she was living at home and had her own bathroom full of cosmetics, but now that she and Roy are sharing a bathroom, it's becoming increasingly harder to cover the dark circles under her eyes before he notices them each morning. He's not asking many questions right now, but it's only a matter of time. While she's more likely to tell Roy than anyone else in the world, there are some stories of her hostage experience that Felicity simply isn't ready to share with anyone.

Lights streak across her windows, so Felicity braces herself for the inevitable thunderclap that will follow. It doesn't come, and it takes her a moment to realize that the light is too uniform for a bolt of lightning. Curious, she throws herself out of the bed, pulling the blinds apart to peek through the window. The dark shape amongst the shadows is of a bike she's all too familiar with, one she's seen countless times. More importantly, though, is its driver, and the large puddle in her yard he managed to drive into. Lightning drops from the sky, and it illuminates the driver's gray hoodie and jeans, both soaked through from the downpour. He turns the ignition several times, but nothing happens and she realizes he's stuck.

Felicity is so distracted by his presence that she almost doesn't hear the thunder this time.

As soon as her heart restarts after the thunderclap, she shoves her glasses onto her face as she scrambles out of bed. Felicity scrounges around in the dark for the clothes strewn across her floor, picking up the first shirt, bra, and pair of jeans she finds and exchanging them for her pointless pajamas. Then she makes a run for the door, sliding on her black rain boots—the ones with multicolored polka-dots all over them. Her hair is still in its usual ponytail, so she grabs one of Roy's hoodies from the coat rack without thinking, zipping it up and pulling the hood up over her head.

She wades out into the partial lake her yard has become, meeting the man with the motorcycle. Without even bothering to exchange a hello, she grabs the handlebar on her side of the bike with one hand, the other hand pushing on the seat with her fingers overlapping his. Oliver looks up for long enough to register her presence, and then starts pushing forward.

It's an almost Herculean effort to move it, especially when the rain picks up to a torrent. The wind is horrible, her glasses so spotted by the rain that she stops to tuck them into the hoodie because her vision is less blurry without them. Her muscles strain with the effort, but, finally, slowly, the bike pushes forward out of the mud and water. They manage to get it back on grass and out of the mudhole, pushing it under the awning and next to her seventies-model Beetle and leaning it against the house.

Cursing her lack of foresight to open the back door, she turns to Oliver with a frown that explains their situation over the thunder. They both make a mad dash for the front door, flying just as fast as their feet will carry them. Felicity stumbles in the clunky footwear and her hurry to keep up with Oliver, but he catches her hand easily, lacing his fingers through hers. She tries to ignore the surge of emotion and fondness that hits her, and she's mostly successful.

When they reach the front porch, both stop to catch their breath. The rain is so cold that Felicity's teeth are already chattering, hating the way it soaks through her clothes. Even through her rain boots, her feet are soaked and freezing, and she notes that her hands are shaking from the chill. She pulls the red hood back, only to discover that her hair is dripping, too.

Oliver isn't in much better shape, his most-likely-expensive shoes caked in enough mud to fill a pig pen. He leans forward to place his hands on his knees to catch his breath, and water drips off the end of his nose, from his hair, and down his chin. If her heart hadn't shriveled up and died three years ago, it might have skipped a beat at the sight of him looking like a scene straight out of The Notebook.

Even still, it makes her catch her breath for a moment so small she thinks she imagines it.

She muses with a note of humor that Oliver is on her porch yet again, and apparently has no intention of letting her go. When he saved her life, Felicity had insisted that they were done, other than the favors she owed him. But it's been a little over a month, and he's already firmly entrenched in her life. Two favors turned into him bringing her a computer with an, "I'll owe you one," and they both know he'll ask for another one when he needs it. He's yet to figure out that when they refer to her crusade as a suicide mission, they aren't exactly exaggerating. Her story is only going to end one way, and she will not carry anyone's death on her conscience when she goes—not even Oliver Queen's.

It frustrates her that she needs to let him go and that she needs him at the same time. Felicity spends most of her time grumbling to Roy about Oliver charming favors out of her, but she knows that if he was the most hateful, miserable person on the planet, she'd still help him. Somehow, though, her own one show only has become a working translation of giving him a key to her place, Oliver giving her the passcode to the basement and the mansion, saving him from death by poison bullet, and a joint outing to take down an assassin wanted by Interpol. Obviously she needs to work on her definition of one show only, but maybe he reminds her of herself when she came home from Japan. And maybe she's still a little lonely.

He stares at her for a long moment, with those expressive eyes that make her remember just how isolated he must feel, how broken he must see himself. "I didn't mean to wake you," Oliver offers finally. "I was going to use the key and stay on your couch. I didn't want to go home tonight, but if I stayed at the base…" He trails off, but she doesn't need him to explain; sometimes when she's surrounded by only her swords and mask, Felicity realizes the monster she's been forced to become.

The time she tried to tell Roy that, he insisted that her story could still have a happy ending, but it was up to her to make it happen. He said it with so much conviction that she didn't have the heart to tell him that she wouldn't recognize happiness now if she felt it. That part of her had died when they finally broke her, in that time between realizing that no one was going to help her and Slade's mercy. Either way, monsters don't get happy endings. They get coffins.

A hand cups her shoulder with a feather-light touch, and her eyes snap up to Oliver's her mind immediately shifting out of her musings—a far better place for it to be. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly. The concern in his eyes is legitimate, and she thinks she'll never get used to the idea of someone other than her family giving a damn. Truthfully, the idea of letting someone in scares her a little, but a lot of things used to scare her before Japan. She's faced a lot of fears, and one more won't hurt her. Hopefully.

She swallows a bitter laugh and the urge to tell him that she hasn't been okay in three years. Felicity makes it a habit not to lie to the people she trusts, so she elects not to answer that question, opting instead to respond to his previous statement. "You didn't wake me," she assures him. Then she motions between them to their very wet clothes before turning for the door. "Let's get out of these clothes." It takes her a second to realize the innuendo in her tone and she cringes as she turns back to Oliver, watching her with an amused smile that lightens his usually stony expression. "And that was not a come on."

Before he can answer, Felicity steps into the house, flipping the light switch with a shiver as the hot air meets her wet clothes. She immediately starts stripping out of the wet clothing to prevent trailing water all over the house. While kicking off her shoes, Felicity unzips the borrowed hoodie and lets it fall to the ground. The jeans and shirt follow suit, and then she's standing in her underwear.

She turns back to Oliver to say something, only to find him pulling off his hoodie and shoes with eyes focused intently on the floor. The words die on her lips as she realizes that he's trying to avoid looking at her and her state of undress. It's been a long time since Felicity thought of her body as anything sacred or special. Ever since Japan, she's only seen herself as another weapon toward a cause, no different than the swords stored under her bed or the bow and arrows Oliver uses as the Arrow. Despite the fact that she wouldn't feel uncomfortable if he wanted to look, she appreciates the respect and privacy.

"I'm going to get into some dry clothes," she informs him, already walking away. "Just stay here and drip on the tile—I'll bring that bag you brought the last time." After the last mission together went astray, Oliver suggested that—even if they didn't work together all the time—it would be easier if they both had access to the other's base. Felicity had reluctantly added to the idea, suggesting that they needed to keep a spare change of clothes just in case. Now she's very grateful she did.

A fresh set of pajamas and a few minutes of scrounging for the bag in her closet later, Felicity carries the bag back to Oliver. She expects to find him still fully dressed, but instead he's pulling his shirt over his head, exposing a myriad of old wounds, new tattoos, and defined muscles. Unlike Oliver, she isn't so polite and respectful, staring blatantly at him. Even when he catches her, she can't bring herself to stop—or to feel ashamed about it. It's been a very long time since she's felt a spark of attraction for anyone—not since her last boyfriend, Cooper. And with the way that turned out—after she turned him in for hacking the student loan database—she can't say that attraction has been high on her list of things she's ready to experience again.

It's somewhere between being stabbed and having her ribs broken.

Dropping the bag at her feet, Felicity turns away, remembering the state of her bedroom—in a crazy disarray of clothing because she never has time to do laundry. She picks up her wet clothes, piling them into her arms before walking back to the dryer. After they're situated, she returns to her room and moves the clothes into the bin next to the dryer.

On an indulgent whim, she stands in the doorway of Roy's room, unsuccessful in fighting the irrational need to check on him. It's something she does every night, though she knows that he's always fine. Sure enough, he's sleeping peacefully through the commotion of Oliver's entrance, causing Felicity to smile.

When she had returned from Japan, Roy Harper had been sixteen and experiencing typical teen rebellion—stealing anything that he could slip under his jacket or hotwiring any car that he liked. Even more frustrating had been the fact that her mother was reluctant to do anything about it, citing the excuse that she isn't his mother. Never mind the fact that she'd been raising him for seven years, Donna Smoak had felt that she had no control over him simply because another woman gave birth to him.

Felicity, on the other hand, had no such qualms when she came home. The first (and thankfully the last) time she had to pick him up at the police station, he had been caught trying to hotwire a car. She tore into him before Detective Lance could even get his handcuffs off, and then she'd taught him how to properly hotwire a car and lift a wallet—with the warning that, if he was caught doing it again, she wouldn't bail him out of jail the next time. Unsurprisingly, he hasn't used either skill since.

The sound of the dryer starting pulls her attention away from her thoughts, and she sighs before turning reluctantly back toward the washer and dryer. When Felicity is satisfied that Oliver hasn't broken her appliances—she doubts he knows anything about laundry—she turns toward the entrance. One look tells her that it's empty; the light is off again and there's no sign of her guest.

After taking a few steps forward in confusion and curiosity, Felicity catches movement out of the right side of her vision. She spares a haphazard glance in the direction of her room, but stops short at the sight of Oliver standing in front of her closet, lifting his duffle bag back into place on the top shelf. Though she isn't able to put a name to the type of longing that hits her, she doubts she'd want to name it anyway. It's the kind of feeling that consumes her and makes her feel hollow at the same time, an ache that makes her think of the things she can never have because of the choices she's made.

Companionship is one of them.

Most of the time, the desire is absent, but small things like this remind her of what she's given up. Felicity Smoak is under no illusions that she'll spend the remainder of what is going to be a short life alone—but she knew that when she made her choices. Most days, that's enough for her, but sometimes the bitterness creeps into her mind uninvited. She may have found many things in those seven months alone in a cell, but none of them were an immunity to loneliness.

Deciding that it's the best course of action, she drops onto the bed, crossing her legs as she sits. So many thing run through her mind, but she can't bring herself to ruin the amiable silence between them. Even with the storm playing outside, it seems peaceful, allowing both of them to reflect quietly on their various thoughts.

Finally Oliver joins her, not bothering to ask for permission before sitting down on the bed. Already they understand each other too well; if she has issues, Oliver simply expects her to give voice to them, knowing that he doesn't have a reason to ask. He stares at her for a moment before the stony mask of his usual expression falls away, and the emotion that lies beneath betrays just how lost he feels. "Tommy knows," is all he offers as explanation for her presence, his tone soft and raw with something like despair. That his best friend didn't take it well doesn't need to be said; she can hear it in his voice, and once again finds herself grateful for Roy's understanding.

"I'm sorry," is all she can think of to say, and it's just simply not enough. Instead of trying to stumble over a series of words that don't make sense and detract from his situation, Felicity opts to stop with those two simple words, hoping that she can voice enough of her sadness in them. "Give him some time—maybe he'll come around," she offers, and it's not a hollow condolence to make him feel better. She genuinely means it. "It's a lot to take in. I didn't even know you, and I processed my way through a pint of mint chocolate chip that night." It manages to turn the corners of his mouth up, and she feels the need to add defensively, "I stress eat."

A light breath escapes him, something almost resembling a chuckle, before he sobers again. "Thank you, Felicity," is the simple answer. Then the damnedest thing happens: with a turn of emotion flickering through his features, Oliver slowly leans over, placing his hand over her forearm at the same time his lips press against her temple.

It causes a conflict of emotions similar to the ones that plagued her after she kissed him the night they met. As much as the action makes her want to tense, to react negatively to the unexpected contact, she wants to finally kiss him senseless in the hopes it will get this rush of emotion out of her system so that she can focus again. But something tells her it would only feed the addiction, that it would take more than one particularly amazing kiss to push Oliver Queen out of her mind. That's more than she's willing to contribute to this particular venture—no way is she going to allow herself to develop… feelings for him—so for now, it will have to be enough.

So instead of following her instincts, Felicity shoves his chest, pushing him back until he's lying on the bed. "Get some sleep, Oliver," she insists as she curls onto her side, facing away from him. Her left hand places her glasses on the table, while the right gropes for the blankets, pulling them over both of them. "I have to get up at six for work—you can't keep me up all night." A huff leaves him, and she has to take a deep breath to stop herself from swearing at the accidental innuendo. "By continuing to talk to me," she clarifies.

Though it surprises her when an arm drapes across the bottom of her ribcage, she doesn't question the development. It's been a long time since she's shared a bed with anyone, and she's forgotten how much she misses it. "Tomorrow is Saturday, Felicity," he reminds her, his breath fanning against her neck as he speaks. "You don't work weekends."

She makes a sound of frustration, finally giving up and turning over to face him. Oliver allows the action, only pulling her further into him. For the first time since entering the house, she doesn't feel cold. Except for her toes, which she happily wedges between his ankles, again without any resistance. "You're lucky you're warm," she warns him with a smile, the fabric of his shirt rough against her mouth. Not that she minds.

In a dry tone, he replies, "Glad to be of service."

It's a very rare day when Roy wakes up before Felicity; between her waking up early for work and difficulty sleeping, it seems like she's always awake. He decides to take the opportunity to grab breakfast from the little shop down the street—mainly because she seems to like it so much, but also because he's a hopeless cook.

House keys in hand, he walks toward the door, only to realize that his hoodie isn't on the coat rack where he left it. (He doesn't leave his hoodies anywhere but the coat rack—Felicity would probably kick him out if he left his shit lying around the house.) Confused, he comes to the conclusion that maybe she washed it for him, and turns toward the washer and dryer in the back.

Occasionally she'll do nice things for him like that; the last time she worked late, she brought dinner from the Mexican place over on Eighth that he loves and she absolutely hates. Then she'd fixed up his computer one day after he complained about it being slow. There's no balance scale between them, but he likes to think that they take turns doing favors for one another.

The dryer is full of an assortment of clothes, but he shoves the ninja T-shirt he bought her for Hanukkah one year to the side (they'd both had a laugh at the caption of, "If you can read this, it's too late," that isn't exactly ironic in her case), and the sleeve peeks out in the mess. It takes a moment, but his red hoodie finally pulls loose, attached to a gray hoodie that is decidedly not his.

He stares at it a moment in confusion, but a glance at the tag tells him it's a men's hoodie way too large for someone the size of Felicity. Then he remembers Oliver's increasingly common visits and Felicity's tendency to grab the first jacket she can find when she gets cold. Maybe he left it and she wore it—and God knows Felicity wouldn't return anything without washing it first.

One mystery solved this morning, he shrugs on his hoodie as he turns toward the front of the house, stopping only to grab his wallet from his room. It's still in his hand as he zips the hoodie up, and it drops out of his right hand. Sighing, he stops even with Felicity's room to pick it up, turning to the side. When he raises up and looks into her room, he can feel his eyebrows shoot up as far as they can.

It's sort of an unspoken rule that Felicity doesn't date now, since the whole Japan thing, and she wasn't too big on it before, either. God knows Donna badgers her about it—the typical when-are-you-going-to-give-me-grandchildren stuff—but it's one of the few things she refuses to change. Roy doesn't know why she feels that way because he is not going to talk to her about her love life, but he thought one of the safeties of living with her instead of Donna was that he'd never have to worry about an awkward morning-after thing.

He also thought that his surrogate sister had a type—nerdy and good-intentioned, but inevitably wrong for her. Apparently Japan changed more than he realized because Oliver Queen doesn't even come close to meeting that type. Oliver is the last person on the planet Roy would classify as a nerd, and his intentions are dubious at best.

Never let it be said that Roy Harper does things by half-measures; when he's wrong, he's not even in the same ballpark as right. Hell, he doesn't even seem to be playing the same sport.

To say it's a shock to his system is an understatement. Though he knows that if anything… that would make him puke to think about happened between them her door wouldn't be open, Roy isn't sure what he thinks about this development. He doesn't really know Oliver because he keeps his emotions close to the vest, projecting whatever the hell he thinks he should be feeling. The obvious faking used to be transparent at the beginning, but now that he's starting to get comfortable with Felicity and Roy, they're slowly starting to see him instead of a mask.

Despite the barriers he constructed between himself and the outside world, Roy has to admit, Felicity latched onto Oliver immediately. He reminds Roy a lot of the person Felicity was when she came home, subdued and haunted as though something broke deep within. Whatever happened to him on that island was probably similar to what happened to Felicity: nothing good. Though he can try, Roy can never fully understand what happened to her in those seven months, but Oliver knows because he lived it, too.

When she came back from Japan, Roy realized that the old Felicity was gone and he mourned her passing. Though the Felicity he knows now is very different, he likes her just as much—not worse or better, but different from the girl he knew before. But since she's met Oliver, Roy can see parts of the old Felicity peeking through now and again. Though he's not a head-shrinking quack, he thinks that means she's healing. Oliver has something to do with that, Roy knows, and he appreciates that—even if he doesn't appreciate the scene laid out in front of him.

Still, once he gets past the whole scarred-for-life thing, he has to admit it's nice to see Felicity actually sleeping for a change, especially with the smile across her face in sleep. He thought the loneliness was going to eat away at her, if her particular brands of grief and suffering didn't get her first. Now that Oliver is in her life, though, he doesn't see that as much. With a shake of his head and a sense of acceptance, he whispers into the space, "Good for you, Blondie." Then he heads toward the door, deciding that he'll even grab breakfast for Oliver.

Unlike Felicity, though, he'll have to pay Roy back for his food.

Felicity is on her way home from work Monday when she drives by Verdant on a whim and sees the silver Mercedes in the parking lot. She has to cut across two lanes of traffic to make the turn, but it's worth the horn-honking for the opportunity. Her 1972 Volkswagen Beetle isn't subtle in the parking lot with the newer-model cars, especially with its garish, sunrise orange paint, but she likes that quality about it.

And, on the bright side, she can always find her car in the parking lot.

A few of the early employees stare at her when she walks toward the building with her computer bag, probably wondering what the hell she's doing there, especially in jeans and the black t-shirt she wore to work under her uniform shirt. It's emblazoned with a gold emblem of crossed swords and Japanese characters, advertising Hanzo Steel with a slogan beneath it of, "Got vermin to kill, need Japanese steel." Maybe it's a little on the nose, but she can't resist the temptation.

Despite the odd looks, she steps into the club, pleased to find the man in question behind the bar. A brunette stands in front of it, leaning over the bar as her body language suggests she's flirting with Tommy. With the information Oliver has mentioned in passing, she can only assume the woman is Laurel Lance, Oliver's ex and Tommy's girlfriend.

He's in the middle of flirting back at Laurel when he notices Felicity walking toward him, and he breaks of mid-sentence. "Can I help you?" he calls to her, and she's surprised to learn that apparently Tommy Merlyn is too polite to tell her that she doesn't exactly fit the club scene.

Waiting until she reaches the bar to speak to him, Felicity answers in the best imitation of her old self she can muster, "Actually, I think I'm here to help you. My name is Felicity Smoak. I'm a friend of Oliver's, and he asked me if I could help set up your Internet and computer systems here." The best part is that she doesn't have to lie; she talked to Oliver about it Saturday, and he told her that he could use her help at the club. He just doesn't know she's helping out today.

A flicker of irritation crosses his features at the mention of Oliver, but it's quickly replaced by curiosity, as expected. No doubt he'd already be asking if Laurel wasn't there. She has Tommy right where she wants him: thirsting to know more about her. Slade Wilson taught her many things along the way, but the most important was that conversations on difficult subjects go much more smoothly if your target wants to talk. The bait is there now and all she has to do is wait. Fortunately, Tommy seems willing enough to press her further.

Before he can reply, Laurel takes up the conversation. "I'm Laurel Lance," she offers with a curiosity in her expression that Felicity knows to be nothing but trouble. "Your name sounds familiar—have we met before?"

No way is Felicity going to bring up Japan—especially not since people have stopped associating it with her. "No, I don't think so," she responds with a positively fake smile. "If I'm not at work, I'm usually at home." She waves a hand. "I'm not exactly a social butterfly."

"Oliver hired you to do some computer work?" Tommy repeats, and she can't tell if he's surprised or emphasizing that she didn't use his nickname that everyone else seems to call him. It's where she draws the line—she respects Oliver Queen a whole lot more than to call him a childish nickname. "He's never mentioned you before." It isn't meant in malice, but as a statement of fact.

She shrugs it off easily, pleased to see that Oliver has kept her name out of things so far. "If I were a billionaire, I probably wouldn't mention me, either," Felicity answers truthfully, for reasons other than the ones she cites. "I've actually never been in a club before today, and I think my fluency in Klingon would be lost on this crowd. So…" She holds up the purple bag, pulling her tablet out of it. "Where should I set up?"

If possible, Tommy looks more baffled now than before. "Wherever you need to for now," he answers after a long moment. "We open at ten, so if you're not finished by then, you'll have to set up in the back."

With a nod, Felicity drops her tablet on the bar, her bag falling into place next to it. Then she walks behind the bar to the computer at the back, pulling up the specs for compatibility's sake. The router she brought will work, so, fortunately for her, she can set up the router without a hitch.

A text message tone interrupts her, and she checks it immediately because of the alert tone: the lyrics proclaim over the heavy guitar that the singer has lost himself and that no one can help him. Working late tonight at the garage, it reads. Can I get a ride? She rolls her eyes because he still feels like he has to ask, quickly typing back, I'm at Verdant. Meet me here? The quick affirmative answer makes her nod, and she pushes the phone back in her pocket.

They have building-wide wi-fi with private and guest options in two hours, and all of the club's computers are now connected wirelessly to minimize cord clutter. She decides to check the signal strength with her tablet, and she's on the upper level when Tommy finally catches up to her. She hears him come up behind her, and somehow she manages to ignore the instinct to punch him in the throat and throw him over the railing.

Felicity does not like people sneaking up behind her.

"So…" he starts casually, drawing out the word as he leans against the railing next to her. "How well do you know Ollie?" There's an allusion in his tone, and it's one she can't quite decipher. But, judging by the smile laid on thick, apparently he thinks it's offensive and is trying to soften the blow.

Not known for her subtlety, Felicity decides to ask him. "Are you trying to ask me if I'm having sex with him or if I know he's the Arrow?" His eyes go wide, and he makes a strangled noise in surprise. "We're not sleeping together, and I know how he spends his nights."

Finally Tommy seems to gain some coherent thought. "And you don't care?" he asks, the question seeming to burst from him. "He is a murderer, Felicity. He kills people." He shakes his head. "But that Deathstroke guy he works with sometimes is worse."

It should bother her to hear what people think of her, but Felicity doesn't flinch. She doesn't expect anyone to understand her goals or purpose; that both Roy and Oliver do is more than enough. "He's bringing justice back to this city," she corrects. "Starling has forgotten that the one-percenters aren't excluded to the law, that they can't do whatever the hell they want without repercussions."

She's surprised by the rare heat of anger rising within her, causing her to gain momentum and volume. "The Arrow reminds them of that—reminds the city of that. He goes out and fights a war every night for this city, but no one seems to notice that the white-collar crime rate has dropped because of him. Each and every one of you should be thanking him, but instead you call him a killer." She crosses her arms in defiance. "But what you don't understand is that there are always casualties when you're fighting a war—and he doesn't kill anyone who doesn't try to kill him first."

Something shifts in Tommy's expression, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickle a moment before a hand drops on Felicity's shoulder. She can't decide if it's wrong or not that she knows his touch already. "If I knew you were coming tonight to set up the computers," Oliver states, situated at her eight o'clock, "I would have met you here." The tone in his voice is slightly chastising, probably because he caught the last of her speech and didn't think he was worth defending.

Felicity knows that feeling: she felt like that when she came back, too.

"I know," she answers with a lilt to her voice, letting him know without words that it's precisely why she did it. "I had a slow night at work, so I decided to come by and fix up your Internet router—especially since you need it for the grand opening next week." She turns to him, her lower back resting against the railing. "I hope you didn't mind me dropping in."

He offers her his version of a smile, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "I don't think I have the right to complain about anyone dropping in," comes the answer, and she smiles as she realizes that he's talking about Friday night. Biting her lip seems like the only option that prevents her from reminding him that no one is dropping in if they have a key.

Oliver eyes Tommy closely before turning to her with, "The Royal Flush Gang has decided to make Starling their next stop, but I think we should make it their last." Though his tone is strong, a question is left hanging in the air between them. "They use automatic weapons and nearly killed a police officer during today's robbery, Felicity." His mention of her two target types—weapons and cop killers—isn't subtle or necessary, since she's already interested. Tommy Merlyn's presence confirms that for her—she's not going to turn Oliver down after a speech like that.

"Give me the details and I'll see what I can do," she agrees easily, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. It's the least resistance Felicity has ever offered, and his expression turns to something resembling worry. "There are three of these guys, right? I think we should even the odds a little."

Even though his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, he offers her a wary smile. He studies Tommy for a second before finally saying in Mandarin, "Deathstroke and the Arrow only make two. We need one more to even things out." He seemed surprised when she mentioned her fluency in the language one night, but now Felicity thinks that it has more to do with recognition of more common ground between them.

Felicity can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of her lips. "You seem to forget, Oliver," she answers in the same language, "that I'm easily worth two men."

She means to go on, but Oliver doesn't let her before he answers in English, "I've never forgotten that, Felicity." His tone is so sincere that she can't even begin to doubt it, and it almost makes her want to kiss him again—almost. Then she sighs internally at herself for being such a pushover.

"While I'm glad you two speak Chinese," Tommy cuts in with a hint of frustration, "I'd appreciate it if you two would act like I can be trusted." He turns to Oliver. "I may not agree, but we have too many years between us for me to do something stupid and turn you in."

"It has nothing to do with trust," Felicity assures him so Oliver won't have to. "Oliver isn't the only one with secrets, and I don't give mine away as easily. If you want to know, you have to earn it." She turns to Oliver, placing a hand over his bicep. "I should probably get back to the car—Roy is…" She trails off as she sees the red hoodie below. "Here," she finishes flatly.

Turning back to Oliver, she continues, "See you at eight tonight. Your place, not mine." Then she balks at her phrasing. "And that sounded like I was asking you to have sex with me, but—"

Oliver, already familiar with her verbal gaffes, cuts her off. "That wasn't a come on," he finishes for her, repeating her words from Friday night with a smile. It always seems to surprise her how much attention he pays to her; it isn't the first time he's quoted her, and it makes her think that Oliver observes more than anyone would guess. "Take Roy home and try not to get into any trouble before eight."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I don't actively seek trouble, Oliver," she states dryly, but somehow the start of a smile peeks through. "I'm not the one who charges into an office building with a bow and takes on an army every night." It's not really fair because she takes on weapons dealers, but he won't say as much in front of Tommy when she isn't ready to reveal her identity to him.

He delivers his counterargument with a shrug. "It's better than using a sword."

Playlist:

"Hear the Sound" - Mayday Parade
"Canals" - All Time Low
"Sleep" - My Chemical Romance
"Hold Onto Me" - Mayday Parade
"The Drug in Me is You" - Falling in Reverse (bridge serves as the text alert tone)
"Worth a Thousand Words" - Mayday Parade
"It's All Your Fault" - P!nk
"Kids in the Dark" - All Time Low
"Feel Again" - Taio Cruz
"Fly" - Sleeping With Sirens