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Oliver answers the phone with the smile that automatically takes hold of his face every time her picture pops up on the screen, holding up a finger to the political consultants and turning away, saying in that warm tone that he only uses with her, “Hey.”
“Hi,” she says back, and her voice is full of relief and slightly breathless.
He frowns, taking a few steps away from the others. “Felicity?”
“Okay, please don’t freak out.”
A voice in the background, right beside her, says, “Shouldn’t we be calling the pol-”
“Automatic security system,” she answers the voice, and Oliver is already striding out of the office, ignoring the questions and complaints of the consultants.
“Felicity,” he says tightly, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. He’s half-jogging down the hall.
“First, I’m okay—like, I’m kind of even kicking ass over here, I mean, I fired a machine gun, it was a lot harder than it looks, actually—I’m not sure I hit anything, but still-”
“You fired a what?” Oliver’s torn between the fear stuttering through his heart and certain… other things that mental image provokes. For now, focus on the fear, save the rest for later. “Felicity, where are you?”
The voice sounds again. “Look, I know your boyfriend’s stupidly hot, but maybe we should-”
“Shush, Curtis,” she tells the voice, and Oliver is going out of his goddamned mind. He’s reached the car and this is one time he misses having a driver, because he’s not sure he can drive with his mind going blank with fury and fear.
“We’re in the elevator at QI,” she’s saying now, and he puts the phone on bluetooth as he tears out of the parking spot, ignoring the blaring honks of the rest of traffic. “We were in the R&D department, and they… I don’t know who they are yet—tattoos! Remember tattoos; Curtis, did you see the details?”
“Felicity,” he growls, saying her name because it always summons her back to the moment… and it’s his favorite word.
“And that kick you showed me—kicking out the knee—it worked! He just, like, went down—I think my pointy-toed heel helped.”
Oliver curses as the traffic thickens near QI, but then he sees the flashing lights and hears the sirens, and his thoughts race. If this is a hostage situation, they aren’t going to let him in—and he needs to see her right. Now. Maybe he should use the underground entrance.
“Okay, we’re at the lobby,” she says, and he grips the wheel tighter.
“Stay in the elevator,” he’s saying loudly as he gives up strategizing and just jumps out of his car, weaving through the stopped traffic towards the plaza. They’re not organized enough yet for barricades, but a young woman in a patrol uniform stops him with a hand against his chest, shouting, “Sir!”
It takes a breath and closing his eyes to remind himself not to shove her out of the way.
“I’m not staying in this elevator, Oliver—what if they, like, cut the cable or something? Oh, God, can they do that?”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” the voice beside her is nearly shrieking. “And I thought my last job had a hostile work environment…”
Oliver is still hovering in front of the policewoman, trying to peer around through the plate glass windows, when he sees the lobby is full of uniforms as well. He feels relief flooding sharp and warm through his veins, expelling a breath as he says, “You can come out into the lobby, Felicity.”
“What—how do you know?” she asks, but he hears the ding of the elevator doors in the background, and then shouting voices. He can’t help the renewed pang of worry at the sight of the uniforms converging on the elevator bay, but Felicity knows how to deal with police in emergency situations.
He, on the other hand, is looming over this poor policewoman, who is staring up at him and possibly calling for backup in her shoulder radio.
“Let him through, let him through,” Captain Lance shouts as he jogs across the plaza, and with a puzzled look, the policewoman is letting her hand drop. Oliver is already striding past, seeing the flash of red and gold being hustled through the lobby by the cops, as he hears Lance tell the woman, “You don’t want to get in his way right now.”
Felicity is pushing through the glass doors, the young man he remembers he’s met trotting beside her, eyes wide behind his glasses, and he sees when she notices him because their gazes lock and everything else has fallen away. In what feels like one step, she’s there in front of him. He lifts one hand to curl around the side of her neck, the other gripping her waist tightly.
“You okay?” he murmurs, and she nods, ponytail brushing across the back of his knuckles.
For a brief moment, he presses his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath. Then he pulls reluctantly away, because she’s fine, she’s fine—and he has to go make whoever did this decidedly un-fine.
But for now he squeezes her hand tightly while he imagines he never has to let her out of his sight again, even when he knows they came back to this life, together. As she stands beside him, pressed up against the side of his arm while they wait for the police to clear the building, he can keep her safe and he can breathe again.
Curtis stands a foot away, eyes flickering between their entwined hands and Oliver’s broad shoulders. “Okay, now I see why you called him.”