Work Text:
Felicity yelped as someone slid behind her.
“It’s me!” she heard him whisper. “Felicity, it’s me.”
“Oliver!” She lowered her gun and turned to face him. The encroaching twilight cast everything in dark greys and shadow. “What happened? Where’s Roy?”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Sara turned on us. She took out Roy.”
“What?!” she cried, then winced at the loud volume. “What?” she asked again, quieter this time. “Why?”
“They must have gotten to her somehow.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“We keep going.” He peaked over the over-turned lawn bench they were huddled behind. “The objective is in the pool house. Thea saw them hide it there before they took her out. Digg’s going to create a distraction on the other side of the house. How’s your gun?”
Felicity held it up and squinted in the fading light. “Almost out. You?”
Oliver cursed. “Same. Okay, give it to me.” He shifted to look again at the pool house. “As soon as one of us gets it, it’s all over. I’m going to cover you, and you run. Don’t look back –”
“Oliver –”
“Don’t look back, just run. Okay?”
“Okay.” She squeezed his shoulder and was shocked to find it wet. “You’re hit!”
“It’s a graze. Doesn’t count.” She glared at him. “It doesn’t!”
Felicity rolled her eyes. “Someone’s going to have a discussion about what does and doesn’t count when this is all over.”
He ignored her. “Ready? On three.”
She was off and running, sprinting across the yard. Behind her she could hear the enemies’ shouts and the pounding of feet. She didn’t turn back, kept running, kept going. Five yards. Four. She grabbed the door to the pool house –
“Freeze, Smoak,” a voice commanded. “Turn around. Hands up!”
Felicity obeyed, turning slowly.
“No weapon? What happened to your gun?” he taunted.
“It’s right here,” Oliver announced, firing both weapons and hitting his target square in the back.
“Uncle Oliver!” Michael Diggle cried, cringing at the cold water now coating his back “No fair! I shot you already.”
“You grazed me.”
“That still counts!”
“Uncle Oliver doesn’t know how to play by the rules,” Sara said, rounding the corner, Lily Queen riding piggyback.
Oliver brandished his water pistol at her. “You’re one to talk! You changed sides!”
“I always had a soft-spot for the underdogs.”
“Underdogs?” Felicity scoffed. “They out-numbered us!”
“Only because you Queens breed like rabbits.”
“What does that mean?” asked Lily, all six-year-old innocence.
“Nothing,” her parents said in unison.
“I got it!” Ben Harper yelled, skidding to a stop in front of Michael and waving the flag. The rest of the players trailed along behind him. “They hid it in the garage. I had to shoot your dad, though.”
“I shot your mom, so I guess we’re even,” Michael said.
“Nice!” The two exchanged high-fives.
“Benjamin Harper, are you celebrating the fact that your mother got shot?” Thea yelled from kitchen window.
“Busted.” Tommy Queen laughed at his cousin.
“Come on, everyone,” Lyla called. “We got dessert ready.”
The kids cheered.
“Wait,” said Sara. “Has anyone seen Nyssa?”
“She said she was going to take up a sniper position, but that was at the start of the game,” said Diggle.
“And that’s exactly what she did.”
They all looked up to find the master assassin perched on the roof of the pool house, two full Super Soakers in her hands.
“Nyssa, come down. The kids won.”
“I don’t play well on teams, Sara. I play for myself.”
And then, Nyssa opened fire.