The Dark Hours

"Do you understand?" Oliver Queen's words still hung in the air, even though he was gone now.

Moments earlier he had spoken them, inches away from Felicity Smoak's face, with a desperate tone. She responded with a nod, but in truth, she was still processing everything that had happened in the previous five minutes.

Dressed in his Arrow gear, he had brought her to the Queen Mansion and adopted a protective tone. He insisted that she could not participate in the team's upcoming assault on Slade Wilson's army. Oliver completely dismantled her brain when he announced that Slade Wilson was mistaken when he kidnapped Laurel, that she was not the woman he loved, because he actually loved her. He looked right at her and said "I love you," there in the moonlight-drenched foyer. Then, he discreetly pressed a syringe into her small hand.

As Felicity recovered from nearly drowning in his cornflower blue eyes and the overwhelming shock of his words, the young woman with the genius IQ realized that she had unwittingly been taking part in a drama for Slade's benefit. She remembered the recording devices that had been placed around the house. Damn. Before she could even process the events, Oliver disappeared out the door.

"Make him outthink you," she muttered internally as she paced the floor. That had been her brilliant advice to him when he was feeling overwhelmed by their adversary. Apparently, he had listened to her…again, and while she should have felt some satisfaction from that, instead she felt pretty terrible.

Oliver had left her there as bait. Now, a psychopath with Mirakuru coursing through his veins was coming for her, possibly a whole army of them. What if he freaked out and snapped her neck in a fit of rage? What if one of his men frisked her and found the drug? She wondered if Oliver had even considered these possibilities. In a small way she was flattered that he believed in her enough to trust her with this role, but it might prove too much for her to handle.

Oddly enough, Felicity tried to focus on Slade and the myriad possibilities for danger. It was preferable to obsessing over the other thing. The words he had said that he didn't mean. He didn't mean them, right? They were a part of the ruse. How could he look her in the eye and say them? Why hadn't he warned her about his plan on the way over? She feared she would never know the answer to these questions because in a little while she would probably be dead with the antidote still in her coat pocket.

Alone in the mansion now, surrounded by evidence of the Queen family's wealth and former status, she couldn't help but feel it was haunted. Felicity recalled awkward parties, withering glances and terse words with Moira. Felicity smirked. Now, she was about to play a part in avenging the death of a woman who did not like her at all. For a moment she considered what a hellish mother-in-law she might have been and assured herself that there had never been a chance of that happening. "I'm doing it for Oliver, not you anyway," she thought, driving the ghost of Oliver's mother from her thoughts.

She didn't know how long it would take for her abduction to occur. What a strange idea it was…expecting to be kidnapped. Felicity decided to wander the house. After all, it would seem strange if she just waited in the foyer for someone to show up, wouldn't it? She used her phone as a flashlight, traipsing up the stairs like a modern-day Nancy Drew.

This was not the biggest house she had ever been inside. When she lived in Las Vegas, Felicity had occasion to visit school friends whose parents were loaded. Back then, it was hard leaving the tiny apartment she shared with her mother to venture to the outskirts of town where the rich built their desert estates. Even though their places reflected new money and the décor was either tasteless or devoid of personality, she coveted the space they offered. Oh, to spread out. The first time she ever saw a room in a house dedicated to gift wrapping she nearly wept. The Queen Mansion was a showplace. Every space was perfectly appointed, but not in a cynical way. The furniture was of the highest quality and the touches were personal and unique. In this place, Moira Queen used her superpowers of highly-defined taste and control-freakishness to stunning effect.

Eventually, Felicity found herself in what was most certainly Oliver's room. Her first impressions of it were that it was gigantic and that a man definitely inhabited the space. She wondered how many forests had been sacrificed to keep the Queens flush in richly-stained paneling. The IT Girl roamed the perimeter, examining his boy-things. Sports trophies. Mementos. Photos. She huffed and shook her head when it became apparent that he had no laptop in the room.

Felicity flopped down on the large bed and chided herself. How could she have feelings for such a Luddite? Oh yeah. The blue eyes and delicate lashes that decorated a perfectly arranged face. The voice, sometimes warm and comforting, like a soft blanket, other times low and sandpaper-rough. The tantalizing muscle and masculine flesh that filled out fortunate clothes when it wasn't teasing her in nakedness. But his enormous heart was the thing that stole her breath, nearly every day. His generous spirit risking his life to help total strangers. His soul, heavy with brooding, struggling against darkness. Get a hold of yourself, Felicity.

Feelings. A strange wave of relief settled over her. Two things hadn't happened. First, he hadn't kissed her. She thought for a minute he might. He looked like he was going to. Thankfully he didn't because if he had tand their first kiss had been part of some trick, she would have been devastated. She did allow a tiny part of her to be disappointed because Oliver Queen was probably as exceptional at kissing as he was shooting arrows into tennis balls. He didn't do anything half way. The other thing that didn't happen was much more significant. She hadn't said, "I love you, too." Holy crap. Imagine if her impossibly inappropriate mouth had blurted that out in the split second between the time he told her he loved her and the time he slipped the syringe in her hand? She might have been compelled to stab herself with it just to end the mortification.

Felicity took in the view of the ceiling. How many times had he surveyed it and what did he dream about as a boy? Sadly, Laurel Lance crept into her thoughts as well. She had probably been here. Invited. Inviting. Touching. Being touched. Laurel had seen the ceiling, except in much better light. Life was not fair.

Felicity tried not to consider the reality of her situation. One of the reasons Oliver was currently dangling her in front of a drug-fueled lunatic was to save his old girlfriend. If the situation was reversed, she doubted he would conscript Laurel into this kind of service to save her. In a weird way, she was pleased about this. He relied on her. He knew she was capable of doing things, not just sitting in front of a monitor and hacking a satellite. People underestimated her ability to do non-technical things. But he wasn't doing that.

For all of his faults, and there were quite a few, Oliver Queen was someone she had instinctively trusted from the early days of their relationship. It was strange really, because she didn't usually trust so easily. But there was something about his earnestness that assuaged her doubts. Not that he didn't have poor judgement from time to time. But usually, he did things from a good place. He meant to do good. Now, given that Oliver understood their enemy so much better than she ever would, she had to trust that he had a plan, that she was part of it and that together they would be able to get the job done.

It wasn't easy. Felicity grabbed a pillow and pulled it to her chest for reassurance. With a deep breath, she inhaled Oliver without risk of being caught by his gaze or embarrassed in a public verbal snafu. "This smells like the best Saturday night and Sunday morning I will never have." She giggled. "I should get to keep it, as some kind of reward for loyalty, at least," and she pressed her face against the Egyptian cotton.

Then she heard the noise downstairs. Felicity bolted up and perched on the edge of the bed. "Frack." Beginning to pant with fear, she looked down and saw her lipstick print on the pillowcase. Frack. A moment later, the door burst open and two masked Mirakuru soldiers advanced toward her. "Frack!"

Suddenly, she wasn't sure what to do. Resistance seemed natural, but given that these were not normal assailants, she thought better of it. "You don't belong here. You are trespassing!" she hollered. A moment later, one of the men relieved her of her cell phone. A black bag was thrown over her head, she was lifted effortlessly and thrown over the shoulder of a goon. Felicity felt disoriented as her body descended the stairs through someone else's immense power and was then spirited through the front door of the mansion. She chanted to herself, "Keep calm, don't barf," over and over. It continued until she felt a sharp pain when her shoulder connected with something hard.

Riding in complete darkness, prone on the floor of a rumbling van, Felicity choked back tears and the smell of gasoline. She was really afraid. Not being able to see anything stimulated her imagination and her remarkable brain cultivated a range of deadly scenarios about what might happen next. The van drove recklessly and there was nothing for her to grip for stability. She covertly protected the syringe in her pocket with one hand, allowing her to support herself with the other. It wasn't enough. Yet another bump in the road jostled her body and Felicity cursed aloud. It was then she realized that she was seriously angry at Oliver.

Of course he didn't mean them. The words. The love words. He couldn't mean them and then serve her up like this. A million terrible things might happen to her this night and Oliver was on the other side of town, likely facing down Slade's army with their small crew. He was in danger too, but it was different. He wasn't alone. Being mad was working for her right now, distracting her from the rattling fear that threatened to take over. Then, the van stopped and Felicity heard the doors opening.

One of the Mirakuru men carried her into the bowels of the warehouse like she was a bag of flour. It was a completely inappropriate time for Felicity to wonder to herself if Oliver was capable of actually loving anyone. He had said something to that effect after they returned from Russia. Russia where he slept with horrible Isabel Rochev. Oh god she hated that bitch. In the past. She was dead now thanks to Nyssa. Ding dong and all that. Still, she hoped that Oliver had been wrong. Even though he had engineered her abduction by a madman, she hoped he would find love. Embrace happiness one day. Unfortunately, that might never happen as long as he wore a mask. So many masks, really.

When they finally stopped moving, one of the men removed the bag. Felicity's glasses were askew and she squinted in the light of the industrial space. Her main goal at this point was to stay cool. She would bide her time until it she could get the upper hand on Slade.

A commotion nearby drew her attention and she made eye contact with Laurel, who looked surprised to see her. Ms. Lance was fighting against restraints and pulling away from the masked thug who had the misfortune of being her personal guard. Felicity gave her credit for courage. She didn't seem to be as afraid as she was. But then, she was no longer in Slade's cross hairs.

Felicity couldn't look at her captor at first. He was a huge presence, and everything about him communicated danger and violence. At first she thought it was because, well, he was scary, but she knew the other reason was because she was afraid he might see through the entire ruse. How could she possibly be the object of Oliver's affection?

"You must be her," Slade said, dragging a gloved finger through Felicity's pony tail, like he had never seen one before. "Felicity." He studied her hard. She wasn't beautiful like Shado, but she was a bright little thing with fine features.

"Do you know why you are here?" Slade's voice sounded like thunder in her ears. "I must admit, you aren't what I was expecting."

She forced herself to turn her face toward his. Her jaw tightened. "He used to be attracted to the athletic, dangerous types."

"I-I guess he's changed from when you knew him on the island." Felicity bit her bottom lip immediately and hoped that mentioning the past wouldn't set him off.

"The kid told you about the island, huh?" Felicity nodded, causing her pony tail to bob up and down.

"Yes. I-I've been there, you know. Lian Yu."

Slade cocked his head and sized her up a little differently. The pretty genius's hands were sunk in her pockets and she rubbed the syringe. In her imagination, she pulled it out and stuck it into his arm, but she knew it wasn't time yet. She had to wait for Oliver to arrive. He would be able to deal with Slade's men.

"Oliver took you to Lian Yu? Purgatory's no place for a delicate flower like you."

"Well," Felicity wound up carefully and willed her unmanageable tongue to do its thing. "It's kind of romantic if you're there with the right person, don't you think? Like Club Med with landmines. Well, I don't have to tell you, the beach is nice and it's hot and sweaty. But that's okay because Oliver doesn't like shirts much, which is okay by me." She ended her babble and blinked at him.

There was a long pause and then Slade threw his head back and laughed. This surprised Felicity. It really shocked Laurel, who had heard the whole thing and realized at that moment she didn't understand Oliver's relationship with his Executive Assistant as well as she thought she did. Felicity looked at her and smirked, just a little. If she was going to die, probably very soon, at least she could have little internal fist pump first.

One of his masked goons approached Slade. He moved toward the man, who seemed to be relaying information. Felicity saw the villain draw his hand closed, tight. It wasn't a good report. This made Felicity very pleased and very nervous. Then, Slade motioned for the messenger to grab her. The thug urged her along and they followed Slade, who pulled out his cell phone while walking through the corridors. A few moments later, he was speaking.

"You've been busy, kid." She listened to the rest of the conversation, which continued with Slade revealing that she was his captive. He even called her "lovely," which freaked her out as much as it did when her Calculus professor said the same thing in her freshman year at MIT. He was crazy too, but he didn't pull out a sword and wave it at her like Slade did next.

Even though she was more frightened than ever, Felicity swallowed hard and tried to maintain her composure. As she listened to Slade's ranting, the IT girl knew she needed to focus. She needed to steady herself. Oliver was coming. And when he arrived he would give her some kind of signal and she would have to produce the syringe from its hiding place and inject the serum into Slade.

So, she decided to lock it away, at least for now – the memory of Oliver Queen gazing into her eyes and telling her he loved her several hours earlier was too distracting. She would have to work through it later, with copious amounts of red wine and intermittent sobbing. Right now she couldn't falter. She couldn't miss. Their lives depended on her and she needed be a hero.