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His first memories, the vague ones that had come to him after he awoken on the rough-neck crewed fishing boat, were more sensations than anything else; bitter, wet coldness with the taste of salt surrounded by inky darkness, followed by rough touches and an uncomfortable tugging. He knew now what those flashes were – the ocean he’d been pulled from, the manner of his rescue, and patchwork medical treatment he received on the boat that saved his life.
His life of which he knew nothing – not his name or his age, not one damn thing that could not be known without looking in the mirror. The cracked mirror in small bathroom that the crew shared gave him no answers, only questions. His eyes were blue; his short hair sandy, his skin tanned and his muscle-toned body was covered in scars and tattoos, along with a bandage covering the newest mar to his body, a bullet wound that the ship’s first-mate and medic Anatoly Knyazev treated.
Anatoly was the only member of the ship’s skeleton crew that he felt remotely comfortable around. Initially the aging Russian called him “American” as his deep voice held no accent and the other crew members had jested about his movie star looks. When he discovered his quick and often violent reflexes the older man began jokingly calling him “Speedy.” He liked that about Anatoly, the man’s straight-forward no-nonsense way mixed with a sly humor. It was also helpful that Anatoly kept the metal object he found in his hip from the rest of the crew. As well as the knowledge that it displayed an account number and the name of a bank, Starling City Trust. He supposed that made them friends, but with so little to offer, he felt it impossible to label their relationship.
He did, however, feel a sliver of sadness as he parted from the only person he knew two weeks after he’d been hauled from the sea. Anatoly had saved his life, kept what secrets he had, fed and clothed him, given him money to travel to Starling City, and wished him well even as he offered, “Not all mysteries need to be solved.”
“Maybe,” he replied, flashing a smile, “but I can’t go by Speedy for the rest of my life.” Anatoly laughed and slapped him on the back. “Good journey my friend.”
During the trip to Starling he found himself noticing things. When the bus stopped at one of rest areas he always scanned for potential threats. When he settled in a table at one of the greasy spoon diners with his fellow passengers he made sure he had line of sight. He assessed the other patrons and seemed to know instinctively which ones would know how to handle themselves in fight and what vehicle in the lot he would be most likely to find a weapon in.
He could focus in on others conversations even at a significant distance, read lips and body language, and once he was back on the bus he found himself able to recount what the diners who were not his fellow travelers looked like, wore, and even the food they’d ordered.
He’d been observant on the boat, but it surprised him that he almost unconsciously took this information in and could recall it. It made him wonder about himself. Who was he?
Considering how he was found – floating, near dead with bullets and a metal chip imbedded in him, how effortlessly he manhandled Anatoly and how strategically he viewed his surroundings he also found himself asking what he was; and did he really want to discover the answer?
Casing Starling City Trust came naturally. He knew how to stay unobserved, out of the line of cameras and when that wasn’t an option, how to angle himself so defining features would not be caught. The bank was in an older building and nestled between the glass and steel of newer skyscrapers in the sleek business district of city. Here the streets were busy, clogged with cars and pedestrians. The fall weather had yet to turn cool, so the little cafes and trendy coffee shops still had tables dotting the sidewalks. People moved with purpose, oftentimes with heads down focused on their phones, so getting lost the crowd was easy. Being an anonymous face made him feel better. His time on the ship had not allowed that and getting away from inquisitive gazes and overly-chatty seatmates from his bus ride relaxed him.
It was strange learning about himself, but at the same time it was comforting to have certainties when so much was an empty slate. He was not a talker, but he did not mind listening. Even so he preferred to be alone. He liked coffee strong with a dollop of cream. Other than bacon he was not a fan of traditional breakfast food. He liked mayonnaise and mustard on his burger, ketchup on his fries, though preferred onion rings if he could get them.
When he’d shaved the scruff off his face it made him look boyish and he hated it, so he hadn’t shaved since. Of the two shirts he’d been given he was partial to the green and he decided it was probably his favorite color. The icy chill of the ship did not bother him as he ran naturally hot. While he could be still, all but statue like, he much preferred to be moving.
He cataloged these things about himself, much like he did with the surveillance of the bank; putting together the pieces to see the whole and make a plan. He knew figuring out the bank would be much easier than making heads or tails of himself.
The picture he’d begun to form shifted radically when the account number turned out to be a safety deposit box. Luckily, the key had been his fingerprint, one of the few things that had not been lost to him. What he found inside the box only served to confound him. Numerous passports, all from different countries with different names; similarly there was cash. There was also an unmarked gun.
Anatoly had called him American so he honed in on that passport, which had a driver’s license with a Starling City address tucked in with it. Oliver Jonas Queen. There was no way for him to truly know if that was who he really was – not that a name could give him his identity. Oliver Queen, whoever that had been, was only a name he found along with five others in a safety deposit box. Still it was a starting point.
And being called Oliver was certainly better than Speedy.
Watching the bank surveillance Lyla could not help the relief she felt swim through her. The Arrow was alive. For weeks since Frank Bertinelli returned alive and well from his yachting trip she’d been living with dread, her own, as well as, her husband Johnny’s. Through years of working together at ARUGS, the three of them had formed a strong friendship. Their superior Amanda Waller had hated it, but she’d also been the one to recruit her husband from Army Special Forces into ARGUS, so they tended to ignore her strongly word advice to not become friendly with other agents.
When you trusted your life, and the life of your significant other, to another a bond formed. Granted she and Johnny were the closest with – Lyla paused the surveillance feed and forced herself to think of him as the possibly rouge operative, Arrow.
Though she doubted with every fiber of her being that he’d turned against his country, she knew the protocol. Because she hated it, and because she valued their friendship, she sent Johnny a heads-up text. If anyone was going to be assigned to tracking the Arrow down and bring him in for debrief it was going to be one of them.
Knowing she could not wait for his response to report in, Lyla called Waller. Upon the second ring her boss answered the called with, “Agent Michaels, report.”
“Operative Arrow is alive. He emptied his safety deposit box at Starling City Trust of his IDs and a fair amount of cash. He disassembled the weapon and threw out on his way out of the bank.”
“Our man inside?”
“Knocked unconscious when he tried to detain the Arrow inside the bank; surveillance showed him exiting the building and running into short, brunette. He stayed with her until he was out of frame. I’m working getting additional feeds from the area to find out if he stuck with her not.”
“Good. Provide updates as necessary,” Waller ordered before ending the call abruptly. Then again everything about the Head of ARGUS was rather brusque.
Though it was not essential to the pursuit, Lyla decided to watch the bank feed again. There was something about the hesitancy in the way he moved that was concerning her. As if being radio silent for weeks after a botched assignment wasn’t worrisome enough. She was just finishing up the viewing when her cell phone chirped its message tone. It was from Johnny and the content made her heart drop. Kill order out. Deadshot on point.
There was a gentle tug as she watched shorn tangles of her hair fall to the floor. It had been ages since she had anything but a trim and as she lost the length of her dark tresses Felicity could not help but wonder how her life came to this point. She was hiding in dingy hotel, deep in the heart of the Glades, the not so sunny slums of Starling City with a gorgeous man who was as much a stranger to her as he was to himself.
She zoned out to the sound of the scissors and the feel of his big hands in her hair. Her day had started out like any other. A mad dash out of her apartment, steaming coffee in hand, to make an early department meeting at Merlyn Global were she had to listen to her department head take the credit for the all work she did. See typical.
Afterwards she spent the morning working on updating the company’s firewall, before her friend Iris, who was interning in company’s marketing and PR department dragged her out for their weekly lunch. They chatted about Iris’s relationship dilemma – her ever growing feelings for childhood friend Barry Allen versus her attraction and very serious in-like feelings for the cop she’d been seeing, Eddie Thawne. Followed by Iris hounding her about her lack of social life; “You have more than enough of one for both of us,” she quipped, before begging off early because she had to run an errand before getting back to work.
She had been heading in to Starling City Trust as simple Felicity Smoak, IT genius and all-around sweetheart with a tenancy to babble, if she went by what her friends said about her. She would not have considered her life simple or uncomplicated – a childhood that saw her father abandon her and collage years that gifted her with a stalker and a disastrous relationship at MIT could attest to that – but compared to what came after bumping into a handsome stranger outside the bank, she could.
His good looks had actually startled her. He was just so pretty. Felicity knew that wasn’t a term usually associated with men, especially such a physically fit specimen, but it was the word her mind froze on taking in the combination of his stubbled jaw and crystal eyes. She supposed she could have felt intimidated by his height and breadth of his shoulders, which made her feel small and delicate in comparison, but she hadn’t, instead she’d been awed and when he spoke her, his voice rich and velvet smooth asking for help she’d agreed.
It hadn’t mattered that she’d be leaving her errand unfinished or that it would make her late returning from her lunch hour. She’d beamed up at him and when he moved away from the bank she went with him, locked in step. She knew she made some inappropriate comment – at the moment she could not recall what she said, only that it made him huff out a laugh and offer his name. “Oliver.”
When his hands went from gripping her hair to running through it, Felicity opened her eyes and focused on the present again. “A brush would work better.”
His eyes collided with hers in the mirror. She could make out tenderness and amusement in them, but the other swirling emotions were harder to decipher. Oliver’s lips quirked as he reached around her to grab the brush from the sink. She could feel the heat of his bare chest against her nearly naked back. If she leaned back just a bit their skin would be touching. The thought of it made her breath catch.
She fought the urge by biting her lower lip and dropping her gaze from his. She studied her chipped nails – she hated seeing her usually perfectly sculpted and painted nails look so rough – as Oliver worked to remove the knots from her hair.
The next step would be to dye it, as Oliver wanted to change her appearance as much as possible. Meaning her long, dark tresses would be shoulder-length and blonde when they were done. And when they left for Blüdhaven in the morning she’d trade her contacts for the glasses she had tucked away in her purse. She’d also be trading her plum two-piece dress and sensible wedge heels for the jeans, long-sleeved henley and tennis shoes he procured for her.
Oliver pulled in chair from the hotel room so she could sit while he applied the dye to her hair. She again found herself drifting as his fingers massaged her scalp. He’d been visiting Starling and gotten lost on his way to his friend’s place. That’s what he told her, that’s why she’d driven in the opposite direction of Merlyn Global, to the urban neighbor situated around the cultural district of Starling. Had he invited her in to the apartment building or had she just followed?
The building security had greeted him and given him a key, and she remembered teasing him about forgetting how to get to a place he visited before. He’d flushed uncomfortable at that and she’d rambled over any response he might have given in the hopes that it had been an excuse to spend more time with her.
They had been exploring the apartment together, talking – at least she’d been filling the silence – when a muted thud hit the one of the many windows. They’d both turned towards the noise, but Felicity had not understood what the cracks forming in the glass meant. Oliver must have, because he pushed her out of the way as the glass finally gave away and bullets streamed in.
Everything blurred for her after that, she remembered terse instructions and warm hands steering her. Pleading eyes and soulful a statement, “You're a target now; the only way I can keep you safe is if you stay with me.”
The rational part of her wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. To call Iris and have her send Eddie to get her. Her silence must have concerned him, and he filled it with halting words, explaining how he’d been found, how he did not remember, and how he was searching for himself. He was lost and Felicity felt the overwhelming need to help him, and knew in fact that she could. She’d said in her job interview with Merlyn Global that if it was online she could find it and as insane as it might be she wanted to help him find Oliver Queen.
The alarm on the burner phone he purchased filled the quiet of the bathroom. The first thing Felicity did after agreeing to stay with Oliver was remove and pocket the sim card from her phone before tossing the rest of it. Having Oliver crush her tablet had actually hurt, but if the person who shot at them figured out who she was, she didn’t want to give them away to track her with her electronics. Though she didn’t like the idea of changing her appearance, she understood Oliver’s reasoning for it. They’d seen professional brunette with him. In scouring surveillance feeds they wouldn’t be looking for a dressed-down blonde in an Army crew jacket and ball-cap.
Leaning over the tub, Oliver rinsed the dye from her hair, and Felicity hoped his own shorter hair, neatly trimmed stubble and hipster clothes would be enough to throw their pursuers off.
Once the water ran clear, he turned it off and gave her hair a solid twist to draw out the dampness. In his silent and efficient way he backed away from her, giving her space, before offering a towel to more thoroughly dry her hair. “Thank you,” she whispered. Oliver nodded before easing out of the bathroom, leaving her by herself for the first time since they met.
Even though the bathroom door was ajar and he could hear the rustle of Felicity’s movements Oliver felt anxious at not being able to see her. The edge he’d been teetering on continued to narrow. He couldn’t say what had driven him to seek assistance from Felicity, but when he looked into her eyes earlier that afternoon something about her registered differently to him. Since waking up he assessed everyone and thing as a possible danger. But when he’d run into Felicity, he felt softness and seen such curious kindness; she been colorful and real in a way no one else had been before. In short, he saw a person and he craved to maintain feeling she invoked in him.
That’s why he so foolishly kept her with him and he’d been cursing himself since the first bullet hadn’t managed to shatter the window at his apartment. His body spoke of things no one should have to endure. Even knowing that, he risked inviting her into his unknown world. It hadn’t been fair of him, or smart.
And yet, he had a hard time regretting it as he recalled the feel of her hand in his as they zigged and zagged around Starling City. He knew they had to get lost in the city, before getting out of it. Just as he knew laying low and changing their appearance before leaving Starling was the best course of action.
Blüdhaven was a calculated risk. Felicity needed access to encrypted computers to safely research him. Her sort-of step-brother as she called him lived and worked out of his mechanic shop on the outskirts there and she’d setup his system. If the man who shot at them had identified her going there could be dicey, but since she placed her trust him, Oliver found it impossible not to do the same.
The door between them creaked open and Felicity stood in the doorway, offering him a small smile. Oliver couldn’t help but think that the lighter hair suited her. The golden hue made her look like living sunshine and caused his heart to clench.
Cutting and dying her hair had been torturous. Being so close to her pale, smooth skin and not stroking it had physically hurt; and though that skin was covered now by his green shirt he had to bite back a groan as it covered less of her stellar legs than her skirt did. Again that edge narrowed, it was down to near nothingness.
Oliver reminded himself that he turned her world upside down and put her in danger, he had no right to want her. Let alone to take her. “We should get some sleep,” he told her, his voice sounding gruff to his own ears.
Felicity’s eyes darted to the single bed in the room, and she wrapped her arms around herself, before they drifted back to him. When their gazes met she tilted her head. The picture she made had the edge crumbling into dust. He prowled across the room to her, his speed made her eyes widen, but she did not retreat from him. He clasped her head in his hands and drew her up on her toes as he brought her mouth to his.
Her lips were smooth and soft, he reveled in how they moved against his, allowing his tongue to sweep into her mouth and tangle with hers. He felt her hands slide across his abdomen as she unwrapped her arms from around herself, only for her to clench them around the waist of his pants. The feel of her knuckles against his skin had electric sparks shooting through him.
His hand slid down her neck, past her arms and came to rest on her hips. He held them there for a moment, taking in their curve, as he continued to slant his mouth over hers, before he pulled her body into his. Her nails dragged around his sides as he did so. Her palms opened on his back and began to slide up and down his spine.
With a groan, he eased out the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. He sighed her name as her hands continued to roam over his back, “Fe-lic-i-ty.” His own hands flexed on her hips as he ground his pelvis against her center.
Breathlessly she moaned his name, “Oliver.” He loved the way it sounded coming from her lips like that and desperately wanted to hear it again. Need throbbed, but cool logic fought back, reminding him that he didn’t deserve her. He stilled his actions, causing Felicity to frown.
“Hey,” she breathed, bringing one of her hands up to cup his jaw. Her blue eyes were dark and reflected the passion he felt back at him. “Stay here with me,” she asked before brushing her lips against his un-cupped cheek. He felt her stretch her legs to kiss his forehead, then his nose, before her lips once again met his. This kiss was gentle and washed away all the doubt he felt.
When he pulled back this time, it was to lift her up into his arms. Felicity let out an excited "Eep" as he nestled her into his embrace. He felt her lips on his neck as he carried her towards the bed.
Felicity had enjoyed the feel of waking up in the Oliver’s arm the next morning, even as she groaned at the early morning wake up call. Getting up before the sun was not natural for her, but Oliver insisted on getting out of the city as soon as possible.
The early morning darkness allowed him the cover he wanted to steal them a car. The plan they put together the day before crisscrossing Starling was to drive to the little town about twenty miles north of city where the train to Blüdhaven stopped. They’d park the stolen vehicle on the other side of town and hoof it over to the station.
She had dozed during the drive, and done her best to complain as little as possible during their trek through awakening streets, even though the new shoes were a little tight causing her feet to ache. Once the train got going, Felicity pulled the shoes off and rubbed her feet. Oliver, however, had trouble relaxing on the train. His gaze was constantly scanning the car and the landscape they traveled passed.
After about ten tense minutes, with her feet no longer screaming and her shoes back on Felicity started up a fairly steady stream of chatter to ease her own nerves. It started off with her explaining how Roy Harper was her kind-of step-brother. “We would have been siblings if our parents – my mother, his father – would have gone through with the wedding. It was probably best they called if off, but Roy and I, well, we decided to keep each other.” That had drawn Oliver’s attention enough to make him look her with a mixture of awe and amusement, and it warmed her insides. “Anyway,” she said quickly as she felt the blush dusting her cheeks, “that’s how I got my sort-of step-brother.”
Oliver tangled his fingers with hers and lifted her hand to his lips, giving it a quick kiss, before he brought their cupped hands to his lap. He’d continued his reconnaissance, but asked her what made her want to keep Roy. That’s how the gentle-rocking train ride continued, with Oliver on guard, but spurring on the discussion between them with questions whenever she fell silent. His hand never letting go of hers.
From the train station they’d taken a bus, circling through half of Blüdhaven, after a quick a visit to a food truck for lunch, there was more walking before hailing a taxi out to Roy’s shop/home. Though she was tired from Oliver’s constant vigilance and all the walking, the excitement at seeing Roy again had Felicity perking up.
Since the weather was still nice, the door into the garage was open and rock music poured out of it. Roy’s scarred boots and grime smeared coverall clad legs were sticking out from under the vintage car he was working on. “Sorry about this.” Oliver had barely gotten out, “About what?” when she blew out a piercing whistle.
Besides her Oliver flinched. A tool thudded against the ground, Roy pushed himself out from under the car, cursing. “Dammit –” he started to chew out, but stopped in mid-tirade as he took in her changed appearance. “What the hell Felicity?” he grounded out, jumping to his feet and snapping off the music.
Just shy of six feet with a lithe, but muscular frame the younger man’s sky blue eyes zeroed in on her companion. Felicity could tell that the two men were sizing each other up. “Seriously?” she scoffed in exasperation.
That brought a grin to her brother’s face. He tugged a cloth from his back pocket and started rubbing his hands in an attempt to clean them. “Guess I can start calling you Blondie now, huh?” he teased walking towards them. Felicity narrowed her eyes at him, “Only if I get to call you Abercrombie.”
His face corkscrewed in derision. “Okay, okay,” he acquiesced. “We’ll stick with Sis,” he added, pulling her into a bone crushing hug.
He lost count of the number of times he scrubbed the blood from his hands. Standing at the sink, water running with a lye soap bar in his hands, Oliver considered washing them yet again. Getting clean, feeling clean, was his only safe thought. He could still hear Felicity’s fearful cry when Roy had fallen, his living room filling with pops like they experienced two days before at his apartment.
He’d managed to pull the younger man to cover with Felicity on his heels. After a few quick words of instruction to stem the bleeding, he raced out of the building to confront the shooter with Felicity’s “Be careful,” ringing in his ears. He struggled with how she could still care about him with Roy injured and herself in danger. But then again that was his Felicity. The evening before he’d gotten to see her feisty side as she exchanged playful barbs with her brother making introductions and explaining in broad strokes why they were there. The nonchalant attitude of man had surprised Oliver. Though there was clearly more to the story, he accepted his sister’s words and opened his home to them, with the only caveat of not being responsible for cooking dinner.
They’d ended up ordering pizza, and he watched amazed as Felicity drilled into the life of Oliver Queen and the five other names he’d given her. None of the early information she pulled up seemed to fit who his body hinted he might be. Around 3 AM she set deeper searches to run, before insisting they get some sleep. Earlier Roy had started playing Xbox with a flippant, “Seen her hack,” Felicity batted at him annoyed with the term “one database, you’ve seen her hack them all,” and had fallen asleep on the couch; so they crawled into his bed. A few hours later Roy woke them up by jumping on the mattress and he learned first-hand of Oliver’s reflexes.
Instead of questioning his abilities, Roy looked duly impressed. “You’ve got to teach me that move,” he said before nudging Felicity again. “Coffee is hot. Drink up and get back to your computering.”
“I hate you,” she grumbled good-naturally before rubbing the sleep from her eyes and getting out of bed. The next few hours followed as the evening before. Oliver watched, impressed by Felicity’s skill, as she worked to peel back the layers of his names. Roy had come up to harass them about lunch, “Food has always been the most important thing to him,” Felicity teased before all broke loose.
Even as he stalked the shooter, Oliver remembered wanting to be with Felicity. He hated leaving her on her own, unprotected. What if the shooter was working with someone else? What if Roy was more seriously injured than his quick assessment allowed him to ascertain? What if he failed and the shooter killed him, would he go after Felicity so there were no witnesses?
His fear for her, his rage at the thought of anyone harming him drove him forward. He’d been relentless in his pursuit of the shooter, and when he managed to find and disarm him; he was ruthless in the physical battle that waged between them. The bruises and gashes he received barely registered. Though now that he was standing in Roy’s bathroom, cleaned up from the altercation that left a man dead, he could feel the damage inflicted on is body.
Felicity had managed to patch Roy up by the time he returned. “You’re hurt,” had been her first words to him, as she hurried over to examine his bloody form.
“It’s nothing,” he assured her. She’d huffed at him, “Men,” as she towed him into the bathroom. Roy had been sitting on the toilet, leaning the upper half of his body against the wall so Felicity guided him to the edge of the tub so that she could look him over.
He could see pain in the younger man’s eyes. “The other guy?” Roy asked softly.
“Dead,” Oliver replied flatly. Felicity paused in her ministrations, her eyes fluttered over to Roy, and he witnessed the silent communication between the siblings. “Good,” Roy finally said as Felicity went back to scrutinizing his wounds.
Oliver hadn’t been sure what to expect when he’d gotten back to them. He’d been relieved to find Felicity unharmed and Roy seemingly well, but he sort of expected Felicity to have called 911 to get an ambulance for Roy and police presence to protect them. Their acceptance of his actions and willingness to preclude the authorities floored him. He was about to protest, to tell them that they couldn’t take this risk for him, when Roy stated, “And it’s a good thing chicks dig scars or I’d be piss.”
Humbled by the two people in front him, Oliver sat quietly while Felicity patched him up. When she was finished, she sat next him on the tub ledge and leaned her head on his shoulder, before reaching across the room to take Roy’s hand. He took a moment, basking the comfort she offered, before filling them on the information the shooter had given him: their mutual employer, ARGUS, and his codename, Arrow.
It had been hours, and many hand washes, since he’d given Felicity that information. Oliver had seen to it that Roy was fed and resting, while Felicity worked to break into the shadowy government agency. From what little he’d gleaned from Felicity’s muttering while she worked, the ARUGS connection explained the perfectly ordinary and clean lives of the names he’d found and the abuse his body had suffered.
“I think we’ve run up Roy’s water bill enough,” Felicity said, turning the spout off. Oliver tensed and felt off-kilter. He’d been so deep in his own jumbled thoughts that he hadn’t picked up on Felicity entering the bathroom and he should have. Pushing past his discomfort, she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled her head into his back.
Oliver took a breath to center himself and focus on present. He brought his hands over Felicity’s and squeezed. Sensing his need she loosened her hold so he could turn and face her. The stress of the last few days showed on her face, but she still looked beautiful to him. “How goes the hacking?”
Her nose scrunched up, “Hacking is such an ugly word, but yeah, I totally hacked into AGRUS. I gained access to every dirty little secret they have along with your file,” she said proudly. When he winced, she ran a soothing hand down is arm. “I didn't read it. It being your file, because I totally read about some of their super skeevy secret missions that didn’t include you. Amanda Waller, the head of ARGUS and I guess technically your boss is evil. Like capital E, Evil.”
At his gruff, shallow chuckle she smiled up at him. “I don't care who you were, only who you are.”
“Felicity,” he breathed out, overwhelmed by her, “you’re remarkable.”
There wasn’t a word that could clearly capture the astonishment Amanda Waller felt upon receiving a call from a blocked number. It shouldn’t have been possible. The fact that it had been the Arrow on the other end of the line had simultaneously pleased and annoyed her. She’d had handpicked the man herself, recruited him to ARGUS and he’d proven to be one of the best – if not best – assets they had. That her judgement of him had proven correct pleased her, that he was still alive did not.
She’d known for months that he’d been trying to find a way to leave field duty and perhaps even ARGUS completely. And it didn’t matter the reason why he failed his mission, intentional or not, he’d left a smear on her record and that needed correction. It’s why she agreed to the meet with him at all. He thought he was controlling the environment of their meeting, making it safe for himself and the woman with him, but he could not be more wrong. In fact, the foolishness he was showing only proved to her that she was right in giving the kill order. The Arrow was no longer a valuable asset, but a liability.
The only reason she was giving him this chance, other than drawing him into the open to take him out, was so that her decision to do so could not be called into question later.
The exchange she allowed to play out was pointless, she knew, as this encounter was only going to end one way. Still she played her part threatening him with a “This isn’t a life you get to walk away from” speech. His counter, promising to leaking information obtained by his companion had stung. That someone had been able to breach their system without notice angered her. Part of her wanted to keep the blonde alive, fold her into ARGUS – willingly or not – and use her knowledge to better safe guard their system.
Personal satisfaction won out, however.
When Waller ordered, “Freelancer take the shot.” Fear, not for himself, but Felicity flooded him; if she got hurt or worse for simply trying to help him, Oliver would not be able to live with it. Fighting his ingrained survival instincts, he reached for the blonde that had become his world, and curled himself protectively around her. He heard the shot and braced himself for the feel of hot metal tearing through flesh.
It took him a moment to realize that it did not come. Instead, there was gurgle and hiss, followed by a thud. Looking towards the sound, he felt surprise course through him, Waller was down.
Before he could fully grasp what that meant a fit, suited woman appeared to their left, sunlight glinting off her russet tresses.
Coming into his line of sight, Lyla held out her hands, showing him that she was unarmed. “I’m a friendly,” she said moving towards them. By his weary, intense gaze she could tell he was battling with himself – stay focused on her or figure out where the sniper shot came from to better protect the woman in his arms.
Based on how stiff his stance had gotten Lyla knew she’d gotten as close as he felt comfortable with and stopped. “I just want to talk, Arrow,” she said, her voice smooth and monotone. He flinched at the codename. Lyla knew Waller had used it, but since it was uncertain how much he remembered and she needed to call him something, she went with it.
It was clear to her that he had no idea who she was – she’d seen no reaction when Waller had ordered Johnny to shoot. She’d hoped his codename would be familiar or would have sparked something, but clearly it hadn’t. “I’m Lyla, but on missions you called me Harbinger. That ring any bells?”
He offered a terse shake of his head. Silently cursing the situation, Lyla took a deep breath and exhaled. She felt like she was trying to disarm a complex bomb and in many ways that was an apt comparison. Hoping that his skill for reading people was still intact, she went for honesty and prayed that he could see the truth. “We’ve worked together in the past. Me, you, Freelancer.” He shifted at the mention of the sniper, doing his best to provide a complete protective shield for the woman with him. “Off mission we’re friends and Johnny won’t take another shot unless it’s to protect me.”
Lyla could feel the weight of his gaze as it bore into her, studying her, looking for tells so that he could determine the truth of her words. He must have found in her favor because he straightened from his protective curl and met her head-on. “Your last assignment was solo,” she continued. “A hit on Frank Bertinelli.”
Blue eyes shuttered and his jaw clenched. “Mob boss, drug king pin, with a little murder for hire and human-trafficking on the side; your basic humanitarian,” she deadpanned. For his own peace of mind she wanted to make it clear to him that man he’d been sent to eliminate was not a person the world would miss.
“You chose his yacht for the kill. I’m not sure what happened, all we know is that Bertinelli made it back to shore alive and you were gone. We received none of the standard check-ins which is why when you showed up at Starling City Trust and emptied your box Waller sent out the kill order.”
“That didn’t work out so well for her,” he replied.
“Lyla,” she heard Johnny’s warning hiss in her ear. He understood the message as well as she did, but it had the opposite effect on her that it did on him. She quirked her brow and replied, "Sometimes bravery isn't enough; sometimes the world requires us to be bold. You believed that once, but after Hong Kong things changed.” She left out any mention of Shado. If he did not recall that messy and heartbreaking chapter of life, Lyla could not help but think it was for the better. Still beyond being an ARUGS asset, a personal partner on a number of operations, he’d been—was a friend; she had to ask: “Do you want to know who you are?”
His ridged, prone stance which had relaxed ever so slightly tightened again at the question. The blonde who was still tucked protectively in his arms ran soothing strokes across his wrist. Entranced by their interplay Lyla watched as their gazes met, though nothing was said aloud, she was a keen enough agent to understand that they were silently communicating with each other. A gentle smile touched the young woman’s face, causing his lips to tip upwards ever so briefly before his cool gaze once again met hers. The haunted look that had been overtaking those depths had cleared some and Lyla could not remember the last time he looked so light. “I'm Oliver Queen,” he stated with surety, “whatever I was before, that’s not who I am now.”
The words caused a personal pang. Part of her wanted to protest, but Johnny’s “Good for him,” over the coms unit stopped her. Instead she forced herself to think of him as Oliver. That man had a skill-set that was highly coveted by AGRUS but none of the control or training of the Arrow, and absolutely no intention of being that lethal weapon again. Lyla could accept that though she had little faith that the organization would. “No, it’s not,” she agreed. “Take the files, you’ll need the leverage, and lay low. If you stay off of AGRUS’s radar I might,” she stressed the word hard, “be able to convince them to accept your … retirement.”
Gratitude flashed in his eyes, followed swiftly by steely determination. “We,” he said, his grip on the girl flexing, “just want to be left alone.” Lyla could hear the implied threat behind the words. Leave us be or else. The amount of damage Oliver and the IT wiz he managed to hook up with could do to ARGUS was clear to her, and would be to the higher ups. They’d be extremely uncomfortable leaving themselves open like that, but underestimating them would lead to the agency’s downfall, of that she was certain.
“I’ll do my best,” she promised. She signaled Johnny that she was leaving. Catching the other woman’s attention, she instructed her to, “Watch his six,” before going against every bit of her training by offering the duo her back and walking away from one of the most skilled and dangerous operatives in the world.