Chapter Text
Felicity chews on her thumbnail, spitting out the flakes of pale blue polish that come off as she does so, her eyes bouncing around the office as she takes in the sheer clutter. Stacked boxes of files are pressed against every wall and there's papers and candid snapshots covering every available surface.
Everyone around the precinct knows that Detective Lance is obsessed with Oliver Queen and his merry band of street racers. Just like everyone, including Felicity, who only transferred a few months ago to the SCPD, knows that it's personal. Rumor has it that both of Lance's daughters are somehow caught up in Oliver Queen's web.
"All right, c’mere, Smoak," Lance says, waving her over to the pinboard where he’s laid out a detailed hierarchy with candid shots of each person in Queen’s inner circle, as well as each of their names. "I’m gonna go over this quick, but apparently you’re some sort of genius," He eyes her skeptically, "So I’m sure you can keep up…"
Felicity nods, crossing her arms over her chest, straightening her back.
"First things first," Lance says, "We’ve had four hijackings in two months, and we have nothing. The stolen tablets and fancy watches from Palmer Tech were worth 1.2 million dollars, which bring the grand total to six-million plus. We’re in the political cross-hairs now, kid."
There’s talk that, if they don’t make headway soon, ARGUS will be brought in.
"That’s why we’re sending you in undercover," Lance explains unnecessarily.
She tilts her head to the side, lips pursed. "What did the truck driver say?"
"He gave us the same M.O. as the others." Lance says with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his two-day stubble. "Three Honda Civics, precision driving, the same green glow from under the chassis. That kid from Lab, the one that looks twelve? Bart Allen or whatever his name is? He says the skid marks came back the same: Mashamoto ZX tires. So, we know it’s somebody in the street-racing world."
"Okay," Felicity nods, "What do we know?"
"We know the street-racing world resolves around Queen, right? I’m not saying he’s the one that’s popping these trucks," Lance’s jaw ticks even as the words leave his mouth and it’s obvious that he doesn’t believe that Oliver Queen can possibly be innocent, "But I can guarantee he knows who is."
Felicity’s eyes move to the picture of the man at the top of the pyramid, scanning the details, trying to commit everything to memory. Oliver Queen is thirty, four years her senior, and the only son of the late Moira and Robert Queen. He has a younger sister; Thea. He served a five-year sentence at Iron Heights after he nearly beat Malcolm Merlyn to death with a wrench after Robert Queen crashed his car and subsequently died.
"I need more than just a hunch and a few pictures to bring down Queen. I need you to bring me something I can use," Lance orders, stabbing the pinboard with a finger. "From the outside, these people are solid. They're tightly knit; they're family. They rely on each other to keep one another safe, so the only way to bring them down is from the inside." He inhales deeply, then exhales. "You have to make yourself a part of their group if we have any hope of finding out who's hijacking the trucks," Lance admits.
Felicity dips her chin in a curt nod and looks back to the board as Lance starts to review the people that make up Queen's inner circle. "So, look—This here is Tommy Merlyn. He's been best friends with Queen since they were in diapers. As teenagers they’d boost cars for fun, take them on joyrides, and then leave them in ditches. People have tried to turn him before; they thought he'd be an easy sell after what Queen did to his old man, but he's loyal." Lance clicks his tongue. "Stupid, but loyal."
Lance's picture of Tommy Merlyn catches him mid-laugh, smile wide, his impossibly blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Beside Tommy is a pretty blonde woman with sparkling green eyes and Felicity knows without asking that she's one of Lance's daughters. They have the same nose, the same jawline.
Lance moves on while she’s still staring at the picture of Tommy Merlyn. "Next, we got John Diggle," Lance says. "He and his younger brother, Andy, grew up here in Starling but they both seemingly went straight after his brother did time in juvie for grand theft auto."
Felicity shuffles on the spot because that lands a little close to home.
She did two years in juvie for boosting cars back in Nevada.
Juvie had been her mother’s version of tough love.
"Diggle is retired ARMY Special Forces," Lance continues, "He did two tours and was set to do a third but he came home after Andy Diggle was reported Missing in Action. Now he works at Queen’s garage as Queen’s right-hand man.” John Diggle has expressive brown eyes and arms built like tree trunks. He looks about as a harmless as a guy built like a bulldozer can, Felicity thinks.
"This here is Thea Queen, Queen's little sister," Lance says as he points to the picture of a pretty young woman walking towards the cemetery, a colorful arrangement of flowers in her hands. "She's Queen's entire world and there is nothing he wouldn't do for his sister." Lance hikes his eyebrows meaningfully, then emphasizes, "Nothing."
Felicity takes a step closer and looks carefully at the pictures, her brows furrowing in the middle of her forehead when she spots another picture of Thea Queen, except this time she has her arms wrapped around someone who's definitely not her brother. "Who's Abercrombie?" She asks, amused.
"Roy William Harper Junior." Lance sighs, looking decidedly uncomfortable as he reaches for the kid's file, reading aloud as he flips through the pages. "He's compiled quite the, uh, resume over the years. Petty theft, B&E, robbery, petty theft, stolen car— got to keep things interesting, right? —and petty theft. He's had a rough go of it. Father skipped town when he was still in diapers; Mother's a junkie. She got hooked on Vertigo there a few years back and she supposedly kicked the habit, but it messed her up, right? Medical bills started piling in, so the kid resorted to crime trying to help her get out from under all that debt, that is until Queen swooped in and offered him a job at the garage. His mother has since skipped town, but Harper stuck around. Now he's dating Thea Queen, to Queen's chagrin, I hope."
Lances tosses the file to the side then points to the last man on the pinboard. "That there is Rene Ramirez, Queen’s other stray from the Glades. I caught him tagging buildings back when I was a beat cop. He’s childhood friends with John Diggle and he has a daughter in foster care that he never sees. She’s thirteen and her name is Zoe."
Felicity takes a step back from the pinboard and cast her eyes around the larger picture, and then she pauses when her gaze falls on a photo of a blonde woman just a few years older than herself, with freckles and a dimpled chin. "Who's the blonde?" Felicity asks, head tilted to the side.
Lance stiffens, face morphing into a scowl when he growls, "Sara Lance."
She purses her lips and avoids his gaze, fiddling with her fingers when she hears him sigh, but there's a small part of the old, angry Felicity that still lives inside of her that wants to draw her lips back over her teeth in a snarl. But Felicity hasn't been that girl in a long, long time. Not since she lost Cooper.
Lance tiredly rubs his eyes before he looks over at Felicity, worriedly squinting at her when he wonders, "Are you sure you can do this, Smoak?" He asks the question like she actually has a choice; like they haven't already had this conversation a thousand times before; as if there's someone else in the precinct who could successfully infiltrate Oliver Queen's family of street racers.
Felicity knows she can do this job. She has been building car engines since she was seven and she did a two-year stint in juvie for boosting cars when she was a teenager, and that was only what they could pin on her. Boosting cars wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. But Felicity gave it all up when her first love, Cooper, was arrested for harboring stolen cars, only to hang himself before sentencing.
Felicity knows she can do this job, there’s no one better suited.
She’s just scared of what it will do to her in return.
What Felicity says is: “Yes, sir. I’m sure.”
Felicity spends her childhood dangling over her father's shoulders, underfoot as he teaches her everything she could ever need to know about engines, often handing him the required tool before he even asks.
"A car is nothing but parts you switch out until you get it right. It's efficient," Noah tells her with a fond smile and, from the moment he lets her back his old Impala convertible out of the driveway when she's six, Felicity's hooked.
Even after Noah leaves when she's ten, Felicity spends her days out in their garage, her head under the hood of her father's old convertible. She doesn't know how to stop her mother's crying, but she knows how to fix the coffee maker, how to repair her mother's old record player that belonged to her Bubbe Smoak, and she knows how to replace the water pump in her mother's Jeep.
Felicity's twelve, the first time she drives.
Her mother is working nights at the casino and Curtis (he's her best friend, has been since they met at an after-school computer club when they were nine, and he stayed on the phone with her every night until she fell asleep the first two weeks after Noah left) has the brilliant idea to take her father's old convertible for a joyride when they're home alone.
Felicity's mouth curves into a smile because she remembers the sheer happiness she felt the first time she backed the convertible out of the driveway when she was six and then she throws her arms around Curtis' shoulder before she darts over to take the key off the hook it's hung on since the last time her father took her out for mint-chip ice cream.
(It was the night before he left and, sometimes, Felicity wonders if that's why he let her have the extra scoop of ice cream that night, if he had already known then that he was going to leave her).
Curtis rolls his eyes and pushes her away, tells her to stop acting like such a girly-girl, and then they’re climbing into the pale blue Impala. "C’mon, Fee, I’m taller than you are," He protests, pushing his coke bottle glasses up his nose, looking at her from beneath his bangs when she stops him from climbing in the driver’s seat. "Are you sure you'd even reach the gas?" Curtis asks, smile wide, eyes impossibly wide in mock innocence.
Felicity thinks she’s totally vindicated when she punches him in the arm with all of her strength (Curtis is her best friend in life, the person she’d trust enough to call if she ever murdered someone and needed help to hide the body, but sometimes he’s such a jerk-face) but she lets him drive first. If only so she doesn’t have to watch him sulk.
She snorts when they barely make it to the end of the street before he loses control, jerking the car off the road, the convertible coasting to a stop in the ditch outside Ms. Sheppard's two-bedroom trailer.
Ms. Sheppard comes to the window to inspect the ruckus and Curtis turns to Felicity, wide-eyed, because there's zero chance Ms. Sheppard won't tell their mothers about this.
Felicity rolls her eyes in annoyance and reaches across him to open the door, shooing him out of the driver's seat as she scoots over, sitting as close to the wheel as possible so her nearly too-short legs can reach the gas pedal while Curtis moves around to sit shotgun.
He's complaining loudly as he settles into his seat because, "Sweet Christmas, Fee, my mother is going to murder me dead," and she sends him her best withering glare.
He's smart, her best friend because he shuts up immediately.
Felicity waves at Ms. Sheppard as she backs the car up like Noah taught her, and then she’s driving.
Driving around the trailer park is the first bit of freedom Felicity finds and it's like a drug, she craves it, and before she knows it she's fourteen.
Donna wants her to take home economics because they're both hopeless in the kitchen and could probably burn water, but she opts out and decides to join shop class, and it soon becomes her sanctuary. It feels like home and freedom and, after she helps another group of students when they can't seem to get their engine to work, they kinda-sorta seem to warm up to her.
For the first time in her life, Felicity has friends other than Curtis.
It's during shop class that she learns about a race that's happening that weekend (in the future, that will be the moment she looks back to; the moment that set the course for the rest of her life) and it becomes the thing to do on the weekend. Felicity starts wearing her attitude like armor and, clad in combat boots and a weathered leather jacket she found in a thrift store, Felicity rebels against everything and everyone.
A far cry from the happy little girl she used to be, she's all hard lines and practiced insolence with a smart mouth that never fails to get her into fights.
When Felicity's fifteen she's picked up by the police for stealing a car (it's not the first time she's been picked up by the police, it's whatever, just another day in the town she's stuck in until she turns 18) but her luck has run out when her mother claims enough is enough.
"We can't keep doing this, baby girl, you can't keep doing this. The stealing, the fights, it has to stop." Donna's voice holds an edge of desperation Felicity hasn't heard since she listened as her mother begged her father to stay. "I'm not posting your bail this time, Felicity," Donna says.
Her eyes widen as she stalks up to the bars. "Mom," Felicity exclaims, "You can't do that."
"Yes, actually, I can." Her mother says firmly, her red-painted mouth curved into a frown, and she can't help but think that expression looks wrong etched into her mother's face. "I am," Donna adds," You've left me no choice, baby girl."
"You’re just going to leave me here?" Felicity snaps, eyes narrowed into slits, her mother’s patented loud voice escaping her mouth as she draws her purple lips back over her teeth and snarls, "You’re going to abandon me?" It’s the wrong thing to say, Felicity knows that even as the words escape her mouth, but she’s fifteen and her mouth is always running and sometimes she just cannot help herself.
"I have never, and will never, abandon you, Felicity." Her mother snaps right back, panting in anger, but during the long silence between them the fight seems to drain out of her mother and then she runs a hand over her tired face, smudging her usually immaculate make-up. "Maybe I haven’t always been the mother you wanted, but I have always been there. I stayed, and I tried. Noah left me, he left us, but when I look at you, all I see is what he gave you and that scares the Holy Hell out of me, Felicity Megan. Because life is precious and I want so much more out of life for you than this." Donna presses a hand to her trembling mouth. "You know, it's so funny. I was always so, so afraid that one day you were going to leave me too. But now I realize you already have."
Felicity turns away from the bars and stalks off, as far as she can get in her holding cell, and crosses her arms over her chest and snarls without looking back at Donna, "Have you ever stopped to think that maybe you drove us away?" Her words are like poison on her tongue and it’s not until she hears the click-clack of her mother’s heels on the concrete floor that she looks back over her shoulder, but it’s too late.
Donna’s already gone.
Felicity starts working at an automotive speciality store that sells high-performance parts for cars in Starling City (it’s owned by Cyrus Gold, a city native and a rat. He hires her because he’s in the SCPD’s pocket and he’s agreed to help their investigation so long as he receives total immunity) and starts to integrate herself into the community as she tries to figure out the best way to become a trusted member of Queen’s inner circle.
Queen’s always liked to play the bad boy and used to spend his time dicking around before he served a five-year sentence in Iron Heights (Felicity knows he used to date McKenna Hall, a vice cop who left the force with a fractured femur after a run-in with one of Bertinelli’s men, and she’s heard a rumor that he used to date one of Lance’s daughters and now he’s sleeping with the other one) but he isn’t the same man he used to be. It would be a mistake to think that he is.
Besides, even if he was, Oliver Queen wouldn’t give her a second look.
Felicity rules out Laurel Lance (who she later learns works at a free clinic in the Glades that used to belong to Rebecca Merlyn. Rebecca left the clinic to her son after her death and now Tommy does all the administrative work for the clinic and he’s also dating Laurel) and Sara Lance (who looks like the kind of woman that could kill a man using just her pinky finger) as her way in because Felicity doesn’t want to involve Lance’s daughters any more than necessary.
John Diggle looks like someone she would get along with in real life (he also has a wife and an eight-month-old daughter, and she did not sign up to take an actual loving father away from his daughter) but he’s also quiet and can see bullshit from a mile away. He may appear calm and collected but, from his file, Felicity knows he would kill anyone that threatened his family. And to Diggle, Oliver Queen is family.
Tommy Merlyn is charming and easy-going and flashes Felicity an honest smile void of any suspicion the first time he meets Felicity, but she knows he’s not her way in. People have made the mistake before of trying to use Tommy to get close to Queen, a mistake she’s not going to repeat, because, after five seconds of watching them interact, Felicity sees what everyone else has missed.
Queen may have nearly beaten Tommy’s father to death, but it’s been a long time since Malcolm Merlyn was any sort of father to Tommy. He checked out after his wife died and it was the Queens that stepped up and practically raised Tommy. There is no force on this earth that could make him turn on Oliver Queen.
At first, Felicity has no idea what to make of Roy Harper and Rene Ramirez. Roy is a damn good mechanic (and probably a decent driver and street racer) and he’s loyal to the point of being stupid. He’s also completely ass-backward in love with Thea Queen. Rene is cocky, and he’s mouthy, and he has trust issues coming out the wazoo. Eventually, Felicity sees that they’re both the kind of street-smart only someone who grew up in a place like the Glades can be and she knows they’re not her way in. Aside from Queen, Felicity suspects it’ll be the hardest to earn their trust.
Felicity decides, after a lot of debate and processing her way through a pint of mint-chip, that Queen’s sister is her best way in. Thea’s close enough to Queen that Felicity may overhear something useful while she works to infiltrate the family of racers, but she’s far enough removed from the actual street racing that it isn’t suspicious when she tries to befriend the young brunette.
The first time Felicity walks into Speedy’s, the small café owned by Thea, Felicity’s mouth curves into a wide smile when she says, “Hey, I just started working over at Gold’s and I heard you make a pretty mean grilled cheese. Oh! It’s Thea, right? I’m Felicity.”
Befriending Thea turns out to be easier than she thought it would be and, despite having practically nothing in common with the younger woman, Felicity likes Thea. She’s incredibly smart, fashionable, and has a dry sense of humour that Felicity loves.
She quickly becomes a regular at the café and opts to take her lunchbreak when the lunch rush has died down, and spends an hour every day chatting with the brunette as she wipes down the tables.
Felicity talks to Roy, too, when he’s there.
Roy doesn’t trust her, not by a long shot, not that she thought he would, but he banters with her when Thea’s busy. It’s far from instant friendship, but it’s something.
Then, one day, Thea walks over to stand in front of Felicity, towel thrown over her shoulder. “Okay, listen, you have been coming in here every day for like, a month, ordering the same grilled cheese and it hurts me, in my soul.” Thea says playfully, and then she leans in close. “Now, I don’t like to brag, but we make a pretty mean turkey and pesto sandwich. There’s also the option of the crappy tuna, but Rene’s the only one that actually likes the crappy tuna.”
Felicity takes a deliberate bite out of her grilled cheese sandwich, her eyebrows hiked, and her mouth curves into a wide, amused smile when she hears the younger woman sigh in exasperation. “I like the grilled cheese,” She defends, and her smile widens when Thea scoffs in disbelief, and then Felicity’s smile turns a little nostalgic when she says, “It reminds me of my mom. She’s a terrible cook, which is probably the only thing we have in common, to be honest, but she’s always made a decent grilled cheese.”
Felicity can’t remember the last time she talked to Donna, because, the truth is, something broke between the two of them a long time ago, back in Las Vegas. Back when her mother voiced her disapproval over her daughter’s relationship with Cooper. Back when her mother refused to post her bail that last time. (She’s never told her mom this, but juvie ended up being one of the best things she could have ever done for Felicity).
Thea’s gaze softens, and Felicity’s reminded that the young woman in front of her has lost both her mother and her father, and then went on to lose her brother for five years when he was incarcerated in Iron Heights (she was only twelve at the time and stayed with Tommy and Laurel; Felicity’s still not entirely sure how Thea’s pseudo-brother managed to pull that one off).
“Whenever I was sick,” Felicity continues after clearing her throat, tapping a blue nail against her glass of iced tea, “She’d always take the day off work to take care of me. She’d make me a grilled cheese and then we would watch old sitcoms together while she painted my nails the brightest shade of pink she owned.”
When Thea reaches out to hold her hand, Felicity startles, but after that, it’s almost like they’re friends.
Rene Ramirez is the next member of Queen’s crew to approach Felicity. It’s his turn to pick up the lunch order for the guys working over at the garage (Felicity intentionally drives past Queen’s garage every day on her way home from Gold’s and something akin to longing always pierces her heart when she hears them laughing and bantering as they work on cars, living the dream) and he sits next to Felicity while he waits for the order.
“Here again, Barbie?” Rene asks, suspicion shining in his eyes. “You sandwich crazy or what?”
It’s not the first time he’s made noise about her coming into the diner every day for a grilled cheese and if she wasn’t 100% sure Thea and Roy are solid, she’d think it’s because Rene has a thing for Thea. “Thea’s good company, that’s all,” Felicity shrugs, swallowing a bite of her sandwich.
Rene growls, leaning forward, and sneers, “You should try Big Belly from now on.”
Felicity’s mouth waters at the mention of Big Belly because she loves their strawberry milkshakes and Belly Buster Burger, all salt, and grease, but she can’t pass on the opportunity of possibly learning something useful by spending her lunch with Thea.
It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she likes Thea.
“You can get yourself a Belly Buster and fries for $5.95, Barbie,” Rene adds.
Felicity’s mouth twitches because he throws Barbie at her like it’s an insult and it makes her want to gouge his eyes out (after Cooper, she dyed her hair because everyone underestimates a blonde in a short skirt, but inside her still lives the angry brunette that was always running her mouth and getting into fights) but all she says is, “I like the grilled cheeses.”
“No one likes the grilled cheese here that much,” Rene snorts.
Felicity opens her mouth to unleash the attitude she’s buried deep under bright lipsticks and colorful dresses and short skirts since she was 20, but at the last minute she says, “It’s better than having my kitchen declared a toxic waste because I attempted to cook.” She aims her smile at Rene and it’s all teeth. “I’m pretty sure that’s not covered under my lease,” She muses, winking at Thea, who just walked up to the counter with Rene’s order in hand.
Thea chokes on a laugh behind the counter, not even bothering to hide her laugh when Rene snatches the bag from her hands, snarling, “I’m watching you, Barbie,” as he stalks away, muttering curses under his breath.
Thea invites her to the street races that weekend (it’s not a secret, the races, not to the people that live in Starling) and Felicity sits on the hood of the car while she talks to Thea. The roar of the engines is Felicity’s very own siren song and she watches the races with a longing she doesn’t have to fake and Roy notices, recognizing it for what it is, because it isn’t a question when he says, “You used to race.”
Felicity doesn’t deny it. “Used to do a lot more than race,” She says.
Roy turns his head to stare at her profile and she forces herself to relax, to not flinch under the heavy weight of his stare, but then he nods and says, “Yeah, me too.” He’s talking about the petty theft, the assault, the stolen car; all the things in Lance’s file on Roy Harper. “You should take her out some night,” Roy adds, tapping the hood of the ugly green car Lance got out of the impound for her, “See if you still got it.”
Felicity’s mouth curves into a small smirk, “Yeah, maybe.”
After that night, Felicity’s interactions with Roy seem a little more sincere, and he seems a little less suspicious of her. He still doesn’t trust her, but he pauses to talk to her when he sees her around, and in turn she tells him bits and pieces about her past. She tells him about the racing, about the first time she drove her father’s blue Impala, about the first time the police picked her up, about how much she misses the thrill that comes with seeing the needle edge into the red as she tears down the highway.
When the races roll around again Felicity tells him that she’s thought about what he said and maybe he’s right, maybe she should see if she still got it, because, while her racing isn’t up to what it used to be when it was all she knew, it’s decent enough for a near win against Queen.
Felicity spends the next couple of days planning and thinking and wrestling over if it would be a better introduction if she wins or loses against Queen. She knows from watching the races that Oliver Queen simply doesn’t lose, and he might run her out of town on principle alone if she kicks his ass, and in the end, Felicity decides to lose because she knows from experience that she’ll be accepted a lot quicker as a decent loser than a winner.
She plans the entire race down to the last detail. Felicity plans how best to approach Queen, how to play him into thinking she’s just another blonde with a love of bright lipsticks, and she plans exactly how she’s going to put herself in his debt. Racers have a habit of betting car for car when they don’t have cash on hand and that’s exactly what she plans to do. She’ll bet Queen her papers and lose, then she’ll make a deal for her car, and then she will be in.
Felicity climbs into her car (she hates the ugly green car, would rather the familiar feel of her father’s old blue Impala, but she needs a ten-second car to have a chance of almost beating Queen) and Queen’s engine rumbles next to hers and the world shrinks down to them and the next quarter mile. Her heart pounds in her chest and her blood thrums in her veins as she shifts the gears, the needle edge pushing into the red.
It’s the most alive she’s felt since she lost Cooper.
And Felicity knows then, in that moment, she’s in trouble.
Felicity is seventeen and she’s just won her first race since getting out of juvie when a guy she knows from seeing him around walks up to her, introduces himself as Cooper, and then he congratulates her on her win and she falls for him on the spot. She’s always had a bad habit of babbling, and not even two years in juvie has managed to rid her of it, but she flirts back awkwardly and when he laughs at her it isn’t cruel or vicious.
“You absolutely smoak’ed him,” Cooper says, winking at her, “Get it? Smoak’ed.”
It’s far from the first time Felicity’s heard that joke, but it’s the first time it hasn’t resulted in her wanting to tear a guy’s throat out with her teeth. Progress.
“Let me buy you a drink,” Cooper says as he throws his arm around her shoulders, and then he leads her towards his car, and her mouth waters a little when she sees the 1982 Chevy Corvette. “You deserve it after that win, babe,” He winks.
Felicity’s had a fake ID since before she went to juvie, so she nods, a smirk tugging at her mouth, but then Cooper’s driving through Big Belly Burger’s drive-thru and ordering them milkshakes and Belly Busters (her heart flutters in her chest in a way it hasn’t since she first met Ed Raymond in Kindergarten) before he drives them to what he calls his favourite view of the city.
“You know,” Felicity says before she takes a long sip of her strawberry milkshake, stretched out on the hood of his car as she stares up at the night sky, “This isn’t what I had in mind when you asked to buy me a drink.” It’s better than anything she could have pictured, actually, but she’s not about to tell him that because she has a reputation to uphold.
Cooper’s grin is unbearably attractive when he says, “Yeah, and what’d you have in mind, Smoak?”
Felicity finishes her milkshake before she throws the empty cup to the side and then she leans into his space, moving to straddle him, pressing into him as she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. His hands settle on her thigh and then, almost painfully slow, edge up to her waistband and then one hand slips into her jeans to palm her ass.
She gasps against his mouth, grinds down on his lap, and then licks her way into his mouth, hot and hungry. Felicity’s heart pounds in her chest and her blood thrums through her veins and the rush she feels, kissing Cooper, is akin to the rush she feels when she’s tearing down the highway, the needle edging into the red.
And she knows then, in that moment, Cooper’s trouble.
But Felicity learned a long time ago that she likes trouble.
Felicity loses the race against Queen, but it’s a near thing until she remembers her intention is to lose, and once they’re out of their cars she walks right up in his face. “Dude,” She grin, all teeth, adrenaline coursing through her veins, “I almost had you.”
“You’re cute,” Sara Lance, Queen’s something, says, mouth curved into a small smile.
Felicity blinks and pauses because even she, who has never been adept at picking up social cues, can tell the other blonde is flirting with her, but then Queen’s talking, “Almost had me?” He repeats, amused. “You never had me. You never had your car.” His impossibly blue eyes scorch her skin as he stares at her, his arm draped over Sara Lance’s shoulders. “You ask any racer, it doesn’t matter if you win by an inch, or if you win by a mile.” Queen’s mouth curves into what can only be described as a panty-dropping smile and Felicity’s heart gives a worrying thump. “Winning’s winning,” Queen adds.
Felicity opens her mouth and Queen arches an eyebrow, waiting when the call goes up.
“Oh, shit! Cops,” Rene says, honking his horn to get their attention, then he’s shouting, “We got cops!”
Felicity rushes to her car (well, Queen’s car now, she supposes, but she’ll bring it by the garage later because there’s no way she’s getting picked up by a cop that isn’t Lance because she’s worked too hard and too long to let some idiot with a badge ruin her cover) and she’s taking the long way to her apartment when she notices the cops tailing Queen.
“Queen, stop right there!”
Felicity burns rubber when she slams on her breaks, nearly clipping Queen with her car, but then she’s leaning across the console and scowling at him. “Get in,” She orders and she’s speeding away from the curb even before he has the door closed and, when he says that she’s the last person he expected to come to his rescue, she says, “I thought if I got in your good graces, you might let me keep my car.”
Queen huffs a laugh, almost like she surprised it out of him, and her heart gives another worrying thump as he says, “You are in my good graces.” She blinks, surprised, but then he ruins it, mouth curved into a smirk when he adds, “But there’s no way you’re keeping your car.”
Felicity’s mouth curves into a wide smile because this is what she’s been waiting for and she’s just about to ask for directions to his house (she already knows where it is, of course, but undercover) when they’re hijacked by Bertinelli. “Follow us,” Frank Bertinelli orders before he leads them to an industrial part of the city and Felicity makes note of the building that says Bertinelli Construction. “I thought we had an agreement, Queen,” Frank tuts. “I stay away, you stay away, everybody stays happy.”
“We got lost,” Queen dismisses and, when Bertinelli’s goons bring attention to Felicity, his jaw twitches and he introduces her to Franco “Frank” Bertinelli. He’s the leader of the Bertinelli crime family here in Starling, she knows, just like she knows the two men with him, Pino Bertinelli and Nick Salvati, are his top muscle. Word on the street is that Pino’s set to become the leader after his uncle steps down.
Pino walks closer and Felicity struggles to hold onto the persona of a dumb blonde when she feels the heavy weight of his leer, fighting to stand still as he mentally undresses her with his eyes, and when he asks her if she owns the car and if she would like to give him a ride, an artificial smile etches into her face when she says, “It was. But it belongs to him now,” Felicity says with a playful pout, almost like she’s disappointed.
“No, it doesn’t,” Queen says, just to piss her off, “I haven’t taken delivery yet.”
Frank calls Pino to heel and then continues to throw smack back and forth with Queen, Salvati chiming in every now and then, while Felicity stays quiet and resists the urge to tell them to whip out their dicks and measure, because it’d sure be a hell of a lot faster, not that she generally believes in hell, but then Bertinelli and his men drive away.
Felicity exhales carefully, adrenaline pumping through her system as she tries to calm down, and she’s just about to ask Queen what the fuck was that when Pino comes back and shoots up the ugly green car from impound.
Lance will be pissed, Felicity thinks, oddly detached, when the car blows.
Suddenly, before she can blink, Queen’s there, his impossibly blue eyes scanning her as if he’s trying to x-ray her for injuries, one of his hands reaching out to hover over her shoulder. “You okay?” Queen asks, brows furrowed, and she feels resists the urge to lick her lips when he gaze drops to her mouth.
“Yeah,” She breathes, but it comes out shaky, then she asks, “What was that?”
“Long story,” Queen says simply, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tan leather jacket.
“Well, we’ve got at least a twenty-mile hike ahead of us,” Felicity huffs as they fall into step beside each other. It’s twenty-miles to the two-storey house he shares with his family on the edge of the Glades and an additional three to the crappy one-bedroom apartment provided to her by the SCPD. “Humour me,” She snarks.
Queen shrugs. “A business deal that went sour,” He explains (Felicity was unware there was a connection between Queen and Bertinelli, so she files that information away for later) then an expression that’s half shame, half arrogance etches into his face. “And I made the mistake of sleeping with his daughter,” He glances at Felicity from the corner of his eyes, then asks, “How about you?”
Felicity’s brows furrow. “What about me?”
“You drive like you’ve done that before,” Queen notes.
He’s talking about her driving, about how she skillfully lost the cops chasing them, and her mind whirls. It’s on the tip of her tongue to deny it, to say no, but she knows how protective Queen is when it comes to Thea. She figures he probably had one of the guys (her money is on John Diggle and the contacts he and his wife have from their time in the ARMY) run a profile on her the moment she started hanging around Speedy’s.
“Yeah,” Felicity says with a shrug, mirroring him, “I did two years in juvie for boosting cars.”
If she’s surprised him with her honesty, Queen doesn’t say anything, simply nods, and they walk in silence for nearly ten minutes before he speaks again. “Speaking of cars,” Queen muses and the grin he aims her way is almost boyish. It softens his face dramatically. “You owe me another car,” He points out.
Felicity sputters because he cannot be serious and crosses her arms over her chest as she slows to a stop, all her weight resting on one leg, and the way he laughs at her ire only angers her more. “Oh, no, I don’t.” Felicity argues because, “Your deal gone sour is the reason your car was barbequed. I don’t owe you shit,” Felicity insists.
Queen’s mouth twitches in amusement and Felicity knows it’s because no one, no even his inner circle, has the nerve to tell him no. “Oh, yes, you do,” Queen smirks, brow arching and nearly meeting his hairline, “You owe me a ten-second car, Fel-ic-ity.”
Felicity stumbles, briefly, mumbling something about the crack in the road as her stomach tightens because no one has ever said her name the way he does. Fel-ic-ity. Her heart gives a sudden, inconvenient, and very troubling thump because respect, exasperation, and amusement, is all rolled together into one word, one name, Felicity.
Playing it off, she says, “And where the frak am I supposed to get another ten-second car?”
“I don’t know,” His smirk is so different from the boyish grin he flashed her a few minutes ago but it causes the same reaction, and Felicity casually notes that she may be in trouble. “But I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Queen says dryly.
Felicity bites back a smile. “Challenge accepted, Mr. Queen.”
“No,” Queen protests, steel in his tone, “Mr. Queen was my father.”
Right, but he’s dead,” Felicity babbles and then her eyes widen in horror. “I mean, he crashed his car.” Well, that was better. “But you didn’t,” She continues, powering through the word vomit leaving her lips, “Which means you can stand here, and listens to me babble. Which will end, in 3…2…1.”
He’s staring at her, and there’s a slight crinkling around his eyes now, almost like he’s fighting a smile, and it makes him look even more devastatingly attractive, which she didn’t think was possible, and at some point, during their hike he stops being Queen and becomes Oliver. It’s probably a bad sign, because seeing him as a person instead of a target is trouble, but when he invites her in for a beer, his hand hovering over the small of her back when he leads her into the house, it occurs to her that she might not be the only one in trouble, here.
Felicity hides her unease behind a smile as she follows Oliver into the crowded living room where loud rock music is blaring from the speakers while Rene and Sara bicker back and forth, playing Mario Kart, and her heart twinges in sympathy when she hears Roy murmur, “Oh, shit,” from where he’s sitting on the couch, Thea in his lap.
“Oliver,” Roy says, using the remote to turn off the music before he lifts his girlfriend out of his lap, cautiously moving towards Oliver. “We were just about to go out looking for you,” He says, like a vow.
Oliver’s eyes track to Roy, the humor that had been etched there fading from his face, replaced with the sudden tension she can see in his jaw. “Yeah, sure,” He huffs as he marches into the crowd ahead of Felicity, accepting the beer Tommy hands to him silently, his brow arched in challenge when he looks back at Roy. “Where were you?” He asks, voice lethal, and yeah someone’s pissed.
Never one to back down, Roy says, “There were mass cops out there tonight, Oliver!” He defends, squaring his shoulders, and its only Thea’s gentle grip on his arm that keeps him from marching up to Oliver. An action that would surely get him punched, considering the way Oliver’s fuming. “They came at us from every direction,” Roy snaps.
“Roy, back down,” Sara warns as she climbs to her feet before she shares a look with Thea (the problem with infiltrating this group of racers is that it comes with severe limitations because this is a family, there’s history here, and all of the snooping in the world can’t fill in the blanks of what isn’t said) and then, while Thea all but drags Roy into the kitchen, Sara turns to face Oliver, reaching up to cup his face when she asks, “You alright?”
Oliver refocuses on Sara as he removes her hands from his face, "Am I alright?"
Sara doesn’t back down, which is why other races call her Ms. Alpha, and says, “It was just a question, Ollie.”
Felicity has no interest in watching this lover’s spat between Oliver and Sara, and tries to move past them into the kitchen where she knows she’ll be able to find a beer and Thea, a friendly face among these shark-infested water, but she’s cut off by Rene. “What are you doing here, Barbie?” He asks, suspicion shining in his eyes like always as he blocks her path, and then he turns to Oliver. “Yo, Hoss,” He calls, “Why’d you bring Barbie?”
Oliver rounds on Rene so fast he actually takes a step back, knowing he’s crossed the line. “Because Barbie kept me out of handcuffs tonight! She didn’t just run for the fort,” Oliver spins again, arms wide, gesturing to the room at large with the hand that’s holding his beer, his impossibly blue eyes boring in Rene and Sara and Tommy. “She brought me back,” He says, softer this time, and then he walks up to Rene, plucking his beer from his hands before handing it to Felicity, telling her to enjoy.
“Thanks, Oliver.” Felicity murmurs, a little more quietly than she means to, then Oliver raises his beer in a silent toast and she meets his bottle with her own and they drink (this is it, the in she has been waiting for, but her heart feels like lead in her chest because, dammit, now she likes Oliver) and Rene stalks off somewhere muttering under his breath while Sara tugs on Oliver’s arms, leading him towards the stairs.
Tommy catcalls. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Ollie,” He teases, patented dimpled grin carved into his face, “And definitely don’t do anything I would do.”
Felicity’s red lips curve into an amused smile at his antics but, the moment Sara and Oliver are out of sight, Tommy descends on her and she’s once again reminded that blood doesn’t make you family and, in all the ways that matter, Oliver is Tommy’s brother. “You really kept Ollie out of cuffs tonight, Felicity?” Tommy asks.
Felicity shrugs, taking a sip of her beer before she answers, "Just right place, right time."
Tommy eyes her carefully, but she must pass his test because he nods gravely before his face breaks out into a brilliant smile that almost hurts to look at. “Well, all right then,” Tommy says, draping an arm over her should before leading her towards the kitchen, “How about we get you a real drink then? Don’t tell Ollie, but beer tastes like shit.” He winks and she laughs, “Do you trust me?”
“Not in the slightest,” Felicity tilts her head to the side, lips pursed, “But don’t take it personally.”
“Hmm,” Tommy hums, eyeing her thoughtfully, then playfully he asks, “So, if I told you that I make the best caipirinha ever, you’d think I was lying?” It’s easy to see why people like Tommy because she already feels at ease, despite the way people are watching her carefully.
“Well, I could try it,” Felicity teases when they reach the kitchen, hoisting herself up onto the counter beside Thea, who promptly leans against Felicity, her head resting on her shoulder while Roy continues to devour some one (two? Three?) day old nachos. “But I should warn you,” Felicity warns, smile wide as she runs her fingers through Thea’s hair, “I’ve had a lot of awesome caipirinhas in my life.”
“Felicity,” Tommy grins just as the back door opens, and his smile widens when his dark blue eyes land on Laurel Lance. “I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” He continues as he gathers the supplies, pausing long enough to press a chaste kiss to Laurel’s lips, “Hi.”
“Hey, babe,” Laurel murmurs, hand resting on his cheek, unintentionally flashing an engagement ring at Felicity (she hadn’t known Laurel was engaged to Tommy; there had been no mention of it in Lance’s files, and she wonders if the detective even knows) and she’s clearly just come from the clinic, she’s dressed more professionally than necessary for a party and she looks exhausted, but her smile is sincere when she turns to Felicity. “Hi,” She says, holding out her hand, “I’m Laurel.”
“Felicity,” Felicity nods, reaching out and shaking the woman’s hand, because her mother had raised her to have manners despite what her teachers said all through middle school and high school. Her heart hammers in her chest because she hadn’t been prepared to meet Laurel, but then the older woman simply joins Roy at the table and starts munching on the nachos, telling Tommy she’ll have a drink too when she realizes what he’s making.
I’m in, Felicity thinks, fighting back a wave of nausea, not nearly as happy about that as she should be.
She’s not surprised when she’s picked up by the SCPD three days later on her way to Gold’s (Detective Malone is the one that picks her up, and she complains that the cuffs are too fucking tight, but Billy laughs, says, “I like realism, Smoak.”) and brought to the house they confiscated for this op where she comes face to face with Lance, who looks tired and drawn in a way she’s never seen, and an unknown woman that looks a little like the Devil that wears Prada.
“Amanda Waller, Director of ARGUS.” Waller introduces, eyes narrows when she says, “That was an $80,000.00 car, Officer Smoak.”
Felicity scowls at Waller, rubbing her wrists when the cuffs are removed, side-eyeing Lance. “You told her what happened?” She asks, because she already submitted her report for the week.
“Yeah,” Lance sighs as he rubs his hands over his face before rubbing the back of his head with one, the other falling to his side. “She knows,” He nods.
Felicity crosses her arms over her chest, her weight resting on one hip, then she juts out her chin in an impossibly brave way as she trains her cool gaze on Amanda Waller. “Then you know you can send the bill to Frank Bertinelli,” Felicity dismisses because she doesn’t have time for this; doesn’t want to imagine the shitstorm that will reign down on her life if someone saw her being picked up by the SCPD.
“Your officer is giving me attitude,” Waller notes, displeased. “That doesn’t speak well for SCPD/ARGUS relations, Detective Lance.”
Felicity straightens her back. “Excuse me,” She snaps, teeth drawn back over her teeth in something akin to a snarl, “I walk in the door and you’re–“
“Alright, alright,” Lance soothes as he steps between the two women, his eyes boring into Felicity. “We can talk about it later, Smoak.”
Felicity backs down and listens as Lance briefs Waller on everything they know, adding her own two-cents worth, voicing that she doesn’t believe that Oliver is the one hijacking the trucks. “He’s too controlled for that,” She says, frowning when Waller’s mouth curves into a shark-like grin, and that’s when she realizes that she called him Oliver.
“Don’t fall for your own masquerade, Officer Smoak.” Waller warns and Felicity bristles with the implication because it’s not like that. “You want that detective badge fast? ARGUS can help,” Waller continues, and she frowns at the non-sequitur, but then Waller continues, “But only if you get us something we can use.”
Felicity eyes Waller, mouth pursed, and then she looks at Lance. “Okay,” She shrugs, “Then I’m going to need another car.”
“What the fuck is that,” Oliver huffs in amusement, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Laughing, Felicity jumps out of the tow-truck she borrowed from Gold’s, her mouth curved into a wide smile when she says, “This is your new car.” Oliver’s head snaps in her direction, and her smile turns smug when she reminds him, “You said I owed you another car.”
Oliver blinks at Felicity, then blinks again, shaking his head as he walks closer to the Supra, eyeing the car like he expects it to turn to dust at any moment. “I said a ten-second car,” Felicity,” He reminds her, but he’s amused, she can tell, his eyes are crinkled at the corners and his dimples indent his cheeks, “Not a ten-minute car.”
Sara’s laughter sounds like music when she brushes past Oliver to inspect the Supra, drumming her nails against the hood. “I don’t know, you could always push it across the finish line, Ollie,” She teases, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulder like a waterfall when she looks back at Oliver. “Or tow it,” Sara adds.
“Nah, Hoss,” Rene says as he walks out of the garage with Diggle, eyes trained on Felicity, “You couldn’t even tow it.”
“No faith,” Felicity bemoans, and she hates the way her heart sings when Oliver laughs, saying, “I have faith in you, Felicity, but this is a garage. Not a junkyard.”
Felicity turns to Sara, tells the other blonde to pop the hood, and she beams when she hears Sara swear under her breath, because the car’s engine really is a work of art. She leans back against the tow truck when Diggle joins Sara, giving the car a once-over, trying to bite back her smile when Oliver meets her eyes, the two of them listening to Diggle list the work that needs to be done to the Supra.
“Ten-grand, at least,” Diggle announces, “Maybe fifteen.”
“Okay,” Oliver shrugs, “We’ll put it on my tab at Gold’s.
“Yes,” Sara breaths in excitement as she jumps down from the tow truck, moving to kiss Felicity on the corner of her mouth, causing her to startle, her cheeks staining pink, but Sara’s delighted. “You’re still cute,” Sara teases, Felicity’s flush deepening at those words, then Sara hops into the tow truck to move the car onto the lot so they can move it into the garage.
The Supra needs a lot of work but, with an engine like that, there’s really no way Oliver could turn it down, which is exactly what Felicity had been betting on.
Oliver walks up to Felicity, standing so close that the two of them are almost breathing the same air when he says, “When you’re not working at Gold’s, you’re here working on the car. We need to get you racing again if I’m going to make any money off you,” Felicity’s heart sings at those words because he wants her to race. “If you can’t find the right tool in this garage, Nevada,” he’s just confirmed what she suspected all along; he’s looked into her, “You don’t belong near a car.”
“Oliver, man, can I talk to you a minute,” Rene requests in a tone that makes it sound more like an order, leading Oliver away from Felicity, then he starts snarling and hissing words like blonde bitch and rat before he blows up at Oliver. “Man, Barbie’s got no right being up in here,” Rene snarls, “You don’t know her for shit.”
“There was a time I didn’t know you, Rene,” Oliver says, walking away, and that’s the end of it.
Felicity looks away when Rene looks towards her, glowering, and she startles when she realizes that Diggle is still there and has been watching her the entire time. “He owns you now,” Diggle tells Felicity, a knowing look etched into his face, then he brushes past her to head into the garage before she can respond.
TBC.