A/N: Hey, guys. I've had MASSIVE computer problems the last few weeks, which is why I'm so behind on everything, including thank yous and posting and such. But I have a few chapters of this written (I got lots of "please don't end it there" requests after posting The Days That Never Came, and was browbeaten into listening to them) so that should be lovely. I hope you like it.

Ch 1: When it all came crashing down

They should all die like she died.

His father's crazed voice rang in his ears over and over. He'd had his moments of doubt as to his father's character, but never of his sanity. Not until today. He'd never forget the look in Malcolm Merlyn's eyes. It had been absolute surety that this destruction was right and just, and the expectation that Tommy would agree.

Get to safety, Oliver had said, as he left to try to do with force what Tommy had been unable to do with words.

He'd meant to. This wasn't his fight, there wasn't anything he could do. He'd herded his father's employees downstairs, away from the danger and told them to close up and go home. And then he'd stood on the street corner and realized that he didn't know where to go.

Home? To sit and wait for his crazed father to come home with the blood of the city and his best friend on his hands?

He wished, for a moment, that he'd snagged Felicity's phone number. She seemed like a good person to have in a crisis. And if he couldn't have Laurel, her shotgun, and her 3-inch stilettos... Tommy could see her in his mind, wind blowing her hair and classic superhero stance: Laurel Lance, defender of the Glades.

The Glades. Laurel.

Tommy couldn't breathe for a moment as the realization hit. When he finally managed a gasping, panicked breath, he dug desperately in his pocket for his phone and dialed her number.

It rang, but with a beep at the end that suggested she was on the other line. After three rings, he got her voicemail.

…you've reached Laurel Lance. Please leave me a message with your name and contact information and I'll return it as soon as possible. Have a nice day.

"Laurel! God, you never check these damn messages. You're not in the Glades right now, are you? You need to – didn't you see the news? Please get out of there. Please." His voice cracked and he jabbed at the button to end the call. Laurel saw herself as a captain of her little pro-bono legal aid center, and Tommy knew she'd never leave without making sure all employees, and as many case files as possible, were safe.

He shot a glance up at the imposing height of Merlyn Global. Somewhere up there, Oliver and his father were fighting over the fate of them all.

Setting his jaw, he turned in the direction of the Glades. He wouldn't let Laurel be collateral damage.

When it all came crashing down, she was utterly alone.

She could hear Oliver through the comm, but it was scratchy, and she knew the connection wasn't going to hold for long.

"Felicity, are you ok?"

"Yeah," she said as the Foundry shook around her. It wasn't exactly a lie, more of a half-truth. She wasn't physically injured, and she planned on hiding under the steel table if the shaking got worse.

But she was terrified.

"The damage seems to be contained on the east side," she said, doing her best to read the flickering computer screens, "past Wall Street."

There was silence for a minute and then she heard Oliver's voice again, just a breathy whisper.

"Laurel."

Felicity ripped the comm out of her ear and flung it into her purse. And even though she should know better, even though Tommy Merlyn had just reminded her that this was the only way it would end, she felt the tears falling.

Tommy was, well, he was good and truly fucked.

It had been panic and adrenaline and love that had given him the strength to life the column off of Laurel. With her safely out the door, he didn't know how to put it down without crushing his own leg.

So he was standing, his body shaking with effort, tears streaming down his face, and contemplating the end. Another rumble brought more of the building down around him and he could feel the concrete slipping from his bloody hands.

He shut his eyes, trying to prepare for the pain that was coming when his grip finally failed and he didn't move quickly enough to get out of the way. And then the weight disappeared.

His eyes snapped open to see a grimacing, green-clad Oliver heaving the column to the side. It landed with a crash and a few pieces of rebar protruded menacingly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Oliver's voice was distorted, lower than usual, but the overbearing growl was recognizable.

"Just thought I'd go for a stroll, see what Daddy wrought in Starling City," Tommy snapped, glaring across the destroyed office into the darkness of the Hood.

"Jesus, Tommy," Oliver sighed, pushing his hood back and hitting something on his chest to cancel out the voice modifier, "I'm just glad you're ok." He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Oliver's blue eyes so serious.

The ground shook again, the never-ending aftershocks leaving nowhere in the Glades safe. Tommy felt curiously invincible, standing there with Oliver in his superhero getup. There was no logic to it since Oliver couldn't exactly shoot arrows at falling debris. He wiped his raw, bloody hands on his suit pants and looked around for a clear exit.

"Someone had to be the hero, right?" he joked half-heartedly, because Oliver had come too. For Laurel. Would he have come if he'd known it was Tommy he'd be saving?

Oliver didn't crack a smile, but answered the unasked question. "Laurel's clear. I saw her when I pulled up. Tommy, you need to get out of here," Oliver's gaze was fixed on the ceiling, which was… Tommy stared. Was it rippling? Should concrete be able to do that?

"Point the way, arrow-boy," he agreed. Screw invincible. He'd prefer to see sky above his head right about now.

She eventually put the damn comm back in, of course. She'd just needed a few minutes to herself, to come to terms with her relative importance in the grand scheme of things. Felicity retrieved it from her bag, shielding herself and her tablet under the arrow table that held Oliver's gear.

When she slipped it into her ear, it exploded into noise.

"..can't get an answer. Did you try her phone?"

"Towers are down or overloaded. Can you get there, Oliver?"

"On my way."

Their obvious concern made her feel guilty for her moment of selfish heartbreak.

"Guys? It's ok, I'm ok," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Can you hear me? Oliver? Digg?"

Static was her only answer. She pulled the little device off and peered through the dim dusty air at the wires. Fiddling with the red one that should connect the transmitter, she tried again.

"Can you hear me?"

"Felicity," Oliver's voice was unmistakably relieved. "What happened? I'm almost to Verdant."

"I'm ok, must have squished the wires when I dove for cover, but it's fine. It's a nice strong table. You can save other people, I'm good," she hurried to reassure him. Really, it wasn't that far to the door. The stairs made her a little nervous, because she'd seen them sway a few times already. But she could do it.

"Digg's orders," she could hear the smile in his voice. It wasn't fair really, how was she supposed to avoid feelings when she could hear the smile in his voice? "You're next on the saving list."

"Oh, well if it's for Digg." She swallowed a gasp when the floor shook and the lights finally went out. She heard a few bulbs shatter as they hit the floor, and then something heavy landed above her head, denting the table she was under. The comm was dead, its power source a casualty of the surge that had just knocked out the club's electricity.

The darkness was full of sharp edges and choking concrete dust. She huddled in place, afraid to leave the relative safety of the table for the actual safety of the outdoors. For just a moment, she wondered how her death would be explained, if she was found in the basement of the club. Would she be the IT girl who took months to set up a network for a dance club?

Well, if I'm going to die, at least I got to kiss one of the billionaire boys first. The thought surprised her, and she grimaced at its triteness.

"That was just melodramatic, Smoak."

The sound of her own voice seemed to unfreeze her. Felicity wiped the dust off her glasses and peered through the darkness. The backup generator was rumbling on, but it was meant for the club itself. Clearly they had neglected to hook the comms up to it. One or two flickering bulbs were the extent of its reach down here. She could just make out enough to attempt a run for it.

Slipping her tablet into her purse to protect it as much as possible from the dust, she waited until the latest aftershock ran its course and then darted out into the open. Her open-toed flats didn't offer much protection and she tripped twice over shadowy debris, skinning her knees and hands. She had just reached the stairs when the door was flung open.

Illuminated in the emergency lighting from the club's hallway, his hood up and bow in hand, Oliver looked every inch the hero. Felicity stopped, just for a moment, to appreciate the view.

Then the shaking started again. She dashed up the swaying stairs, feeling small pieces of concrete rain down on her.

"Time to go, Felicity," he growled, reaching out to haul her up the last few steps. He glanced at her shoes and then at the amount of broken glass on the floor in Verdant. Before she could process what was happening, he'd swung her up into his arms and was striding through the club, shattered liquor bottles crunching beneath his boots.

Her very own rescue. Flowy dress not required.

Sparks arced from a downed wire and another aftershock slammed them into a wall. She felt something dig into her cheek as Oliver cursed and fought to regain his footing.

When they got outside, Felicity knew their world had changed forever. The damage had looked bad from satellite view, through the safety of a computer screen. Standing in the Verdant parking lot, she could hear the screams of the people running through the streets, and the fires that so often follow earthquakes were already casting a ghostly glow over the ruined buildings.

Oliver was grim and silent on the way to her apartment. He was also bleeding from the shoulder, something she realized when she put her arms around him in order to stay on the back of his motorcycle. He shrugged off her protestations that he should be in a hospital, but came inside long enough to check that her security was still up. Felicity convinced him to let her clean and bandage the wound before he left again.

Then she was alone.

So this was what being rescued felt like? It was better as a fantasy.

For a week, Starling City held its breath. The list of the missing and dead grew into the hundreds, and everyone who had survived hunkered down with their friends and loved ones. The police and newspapers had no time for the vigilante. Rumors flew in coffee shops and chatrooms, ranging from those who believed that he was in league with Merlyn or to those who claimed he was wandering the Glades and rescuing survivors. All stories seemed to be second hand.

City officials and business leaders came together to denounce the Undertaking and pronounce in solemn tones that they would never forget, that justice would be served, that all efforts were underway to help those affected.

Those who believed them breathed easier. Those who had felt abandoned by their city for years found it harder to trust that this time would be different. They waited for a champion of their own.

A/N: Whew. So what did you think? Sticking with the super happy feel of the original, as you can see. There will be some actual Flommy (Felicity and Tommy! It's the only ship name I will ever accept) interaction in the next chapter, just need to edit it and make it pretty.