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When Felicity had said that she had a type she had had no idea how true those words were. After Oliver had 'made his choices' Felicity had tried to move on. Dating Ray had been... painfully normal. He was sweet and charming. He was solicitous of her needs. He was kind. Felicity had tried. She had tried so hard that she almost believed that she might make it work. Then something changed. Ray became secretive. He would have to leave at sudden, strange times. Then came 'the talk'. Felicity, of course, knew before the talk, but she had tried to deny it. This couldn't be happening again. It couldn't.
"I'm sorry, Felicity, but with everything that's going on I don't feel that I can do this right now. It isn't fair to you," Ray spoke earnestly his dark eyes on her face.
Felicity blinked slowly. "This is not happening," she muttered.
Ray paused and frowned. "What?"
"You're a superhero," Felicity breathed.
"What? No! Of course not," Ray laughed weakly. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"God, why does this keep happening to me?" Felicity moaned and put her head in her hands. She looked up at Ray with a pathetic expression. "It's like I'm superhero bait."
"I am not a superhero," Ray insisted.
Felicity rolled her eyes. "Keep telling yourself that."
"Felicity," Ray tried again.
"What is it about me?" Felicity muttered under her breath. "Do I emit freaky superhero pheromones? Is it my hair? Maybe I should go back to black. I never had this problem in college."
"What?" Ray frowned. "Never mind," Felicity sighed. She stood up and turned to face Ray. "I get it, okay? I'm doomed to date men who 'vant to be alone'."
"I'm truly sorry, Felicity," Ray murmured sadly.
"Yeah," Felicity agreed. A single tear slid down her cheek. "That's the problem. You superhero-types are always sorry."
Maybe it was cowardly to run away. The guilt was almost overwhelming. She knew that Ray would worry. She knew that Barry would worry. She knew that team Arrow would worry. She knew that Oli—that he would worry. She knew all of that, but she fled anyway. There wasn't a day that passed that she didn't think of her adopted family. There were too many nights that passed that she cried herself to sleep. Finally Felicity decided that she had had enough feeling sorry for herself. She missed the Foundry and helping team Arrow. She missed... well; she missed a lot of things. A few key strokes, a bit of code, an algorithm or two, and Felicity Smoak disappeared. In her place, Megan Kasmo appeared. It was slightly more difficult for Felicity to forge the paper trail that would hold up to people probing her new identity. Slightly more difficult, but hey—she was a genius. She applied for a few jobs, and she was called for several interviews.
"Kasmo, Megan?" A slender, dark-haired woman with a clipboard called with a hint of impatience in her voice.
Felicity jumped to her feet when she realized that the woman had already called her name twice. "That's me," she blurted out. "Megan Kasmo. That's my name. Yup. Good old Megan Kasmo."
The dark-haired woman watched her warily for a moment. "Follow me please," she told her in a curt, business-like tone.
Then she turned sharply on her heel and walked down a hallway. The interview room was larger than Felicity had expected, and there was a small group of people sitting at a long conference table. The dark-haired woman pointed at a seat at the end of the table and Felicity sank into it.
"Miss Kasmo," one of the interviewers murmured. "You have an amazing resume."
"I know," Felicity agreed immediately. It ought to be amazing—she had written it. She could feel her cheeks flush and she bit her lip. "I mean, um, thank you."
One of the interviewers, a slim, beautiful woman with strawberry-blonde hair (Ms. Virginia Potts, Felicity’s brain supplied helpfully) sent the dark-haired woman a meaningful look before she turned back to Felicity.
“Megan,” Ms. Potts spoke slowly and Felicity could see the sharp intelligence in her eyes. She glanced down at Felicity’s paperwork again and one slender brow quirked. “Mr. Steele speaks very highly of you.”
A dull flush rose up Felicity’s cheeks. Walter knew. Somehow, some way, Walter had become her friend, and he was willing to help her run away from Oli—from him. He might not understand all of the details, but he understood enough.
“I speak very highly of him as well,” Felicity replied quietly. “He was a wonderful boss—a man of integrity and honor, which is sort of rare considering that he was in business.” Felicity paused in horror when she realized what she’d said, and even worse, to whom she had said it. “Um, not that you are lacking in integrity or honor,” she babbled helplessly. “I’m sure you’re chock-full of it. I mean… you were even kidnapped, and they’re always doing that to the good ones. I mean, oh crap, please forget I said that.” The dark-haired woman was staring at her with a blank expression that vaguely reminded Felicity of Moira Queen. Felicity suppressed a reflexive shudder and gathered her things. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “Thank you for the interview, by the way. I’ll just let myself out.”
“Wait.” Ms. Potts’ voice held a note of command that Felicity obeyed. She peered into Felicity’s face. “Why us? Why Stark Industries? Is it because of the Avengers?”
Felicity could not quite conceal the automatic flinch at the mention of you-know-whats. “God no,” she blurted out. Then she flushed again. “Sorry,” she offered helplessly.
Ms. Potts shot another meaningful look at the dark-haired woman before she focused on Felicity again. “Then why?”
“I like helping,” Felicity admitted and flushed again. “I used to work in the IT department, and it was what it was, but my degree was meant for so much more than that. I can be useful,” Felicity promised. She paused and bit her lip delicately. “Shadowy governmental organizations give me the heebie-jeebies. Working for a billionaire I’ve done before.”
The dark-haired woman scowled at her and Ms. Potts hid a smile behind her hand.
“Yes, what is it?” Felicity demanded distractedly.
A throat cleared and she glanced up to see a huge blond man taking up far too much of her office with a bashful expression.
“I have been sent to you by Lady Darcy,” the huge blond man (Thor, her brain offered) informed her. He held out a twisted sheet of plastic. “She decreed that since I have broken her communication device I must come to you and grovel for your forgiveness.”
A surreal moment of familiarity swept over Felicity and her heart spasmed in her chest. She scowled up at him for reminding her of everything she could never have and then shifted her attention to the twisted plastic in his hand. No. No, it wasn’t possible.
“Oh my god!” She shrieked. She snatched the plastic from him and turned it over in her hands.
“I am Asgardian,” he corrected her with a polite smile.
“You murdered it!” She ranted. She thrust the destroyed tablet in her hand up into the vicinity of his face—or as close as she could get to it. “This is not a coaster, or a Frisbee, or whatever the hell you thought it was! It is a delicate machine! I don’t care if Stark can replace it every 10 seconds you do not,” and here she paused to glare up at him meaningfully, “treat computers like this.”
He flushed a dark red. “I am truly sorry,” he apologized stiffly. “Lady Darcy is most displeased with me.”
“I’m sure she is,” Felicity snapped. She turned and grabbed a tablet out of her cabinet. She paused and frowned up at Thor. “She’s the one that works for Dr. Foster, right?”
“Yes,” Thor agreed.
Felicity put down that tablet and selected another one. She had been working on several different computer programs to help Stark’s Avenging Scientists (or whatever) track the skies above them. She hadn’t yet had the nerve to approach any of them because she didn’t want to have anything to do with heroes. She liked helping them just fine—she just didn’t want to have to look at them.
“Here. Take this one to Lady Darcy,” she handed the tablet to Thor.
“Thank you, my lady.” A chastened Thor left her office and Felicity breathed a sigh of relief.
“I think you broke Thor,” A cheerful brunette announced right before she plopped down across from Felicity.
Felicity snorted. “I highly doubt that,” she protested.
“He whispers when he talks about you,” the brunette informed her. “It’s kind of funny.” She grinned and held out her hand. “Darcy Lewis.”
“Ah. Lady Darcy.” Felicity nodded. She took Darcy’s hand. “Felic—itations,” Felicity stumbled. “Um, Megan Kasmo.”
“Felicitations?” Darcy snickered. “Shouldn’t it be salutations?”
Felicity shrugged and hoped her blush wasn’t too bad. “Oops,” Felicity murmured.
“So how do you like Stark Tower, so far?” Darcy asked eagerly. She put her chin in her hands and watched Felicity eat.
“Fine.” Felicity sipped at her coffee.
Darcy watched her for several more minutes. “You’re not really chatty, are you?”
Felicity looked up from her food. “It’s not you, it’s me?” She offered.
Darcy laughed. “I like you, Megan Kasmo.”
Felicity woke up in the middle of the night and for the longest time she couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then, all of a sudden, it hit her. It was the anniversary of Sara’s death. One choked sob made it out past the lump in her throat and the ache in her chest. Sara. All of her emotions about Sara were tangled up in Oli—him. She couldn’t help that even if she wanted to do. Still, Sara had been her friend. Sara, who thought she was ‘cute’, and who helped to train her when the rest of team Arrow wasn’t around.
A bleary glance at the clock told her that it was 2:53 in the morning. She pulled on her training clothes, packed a bag with her work clothes, and went to work. There was a training room down in the sub-basement. She had checked and double checked that Stark employees could use it—and that Avenger-y types steered clear of it. That made it perfect for her. She slipped into the room, but didn’t turn on the lights. There was dim lighting that reminded her vaguely of the Foundry, and another choked sob made it out of her throat.
Prowling around the training rooms led her to a small room with a wing chun practice dummy in one corner. Another sob escaped her lips as she moved toward the dummy. Her fingers traced over the ‘arms’ that projected out and she let tears slip down her cheeks. Sara… who believed in Felicity. Sara… who tried to convince Oli—him to take a chance on his heart. She sniffled and scrubbed at her cheeks. She could cry later. It was better to train now while there was no one here.
After months of not practicing her muscles screeched in protest, but she went through the forms that Sara had taught her slowly, carefully. She made sure that her form was perfect. Sara always said that form came first, speed came later. She went through the forms until she was dripping with sweat. Then she dragged herself off to the showers and got dressed for work. From that point on, if there was a night when Felicity couldn’t sleep—when her memories pressed down on her so that she couldn’t breathe—she would train. She liked to think that Sara was looking down on her and smiling.
So… Felicity loved old movies. She blamed Vegas. One of her babysitters had been a former chorus dancer who smoked straights with no filters and introduced Felicity to her first crush—Tyrone Power.
“Ain’t he a dreamboat?” Viv asked with a sigh.
Five year-old Felicity nodded. “A dreamboat,” she repeated dutifully her eyes fixed on the screen.
“You got good taste, kid,” Viv cackled.
Viv liked to play old music, too, and Felicity had developed an eclectic musical taste that vacillated easily between standards from the golden age of Vegas, to Lady Gaga, to blues, to French rap, to Benny Goodman. So… it wasn’t Felicity’s fault. She was just cursed like that. Another sleepless night. Another round of training in the sub-basement training room. Felicity knew she was completely alone… so she sang in the shower.
“You gotta eat your spinach baby,” she belted out at the top of her lungs, “to give you lots of TNT, for whenever you’re caressing me, you’re gonna to need every vitamin from A to Z.”
She hopped out of the shower, dressed, blew out her hair and pulled it back into a high ponytail, and applied bright red lipstick. She was still humming as she strode out of the showers and walked right into a thick wall of muscle. She looked up to meet haunted blue eyes filled with so much pain that she almost thought that he had found her.
“Sorry,” the wall of muscle muttered. “I just… I haven’t heard that in a while. It was nice.”
“I’ll have to send you an invite to my next shower,” Felicity’s lips answered before her brain could stop them. Then she blushed and sputtered. “I mean, um, not an invite to my next shower!” She gave a hysterical giggle and waved her hands around. “Because I never invite men into my shower. Except that one time, and I… I mean, oh god.”
"I’m sorry,” The wall of muscle repeated and his eyes became distant.
“Oh crap,” Felicity huffed. She smacked the wall of muscle on the chest. “Look, buddy, it’s okay that you heard me sing, all right? You didn’t come into the shower, which, to be honest, a lot of jerks would have done. You waited outside like a nice, respectful sort of guy, okay? I’m embarrassed because I never sing in front of anybody.”
“You should,” the wall of muscle blurted out. Then he bit his lips and looked like he regretted saying anything. He frowned down at her. “Do you live in the tower?”
“No,” Felicity admitted freely. “I work for Stark Industries and these training rooms are for employee use.”
“There are training rooms on the 30th floor,” he pointed out with a frown.
Felicity’s nose crinkled. “Yeah, but there are Avengers there,” she retorted.
“What’s wrong with the Avengers?” He asked slowly.
“I can only handle so much in one day,” Felicity explained. “I like it here. It’s quiet.”
“It’s better to train with someone else,” he told her. “What do you do?”
“Wing chun,” she admitted. Her mind flitted to Sara and her heart ached dully. “I was told that it was better for me… because I’m small.” She scowled up at the wall of muscle. “We can’t all be giant walls of muscle.”
The giant wall of muscle’s lips twitched. “No, we can’t,” he agreed. “Meet me here at 4:00 a.m. I will work with you.”
“Are you an Avenger?” She demanded suspiciously.
“I ain’t nobody’s hero, sweetheart,” he retorted in a voice that was thick with bitterness.
Felicity pulled back and frowned at him. Silvery, gleaming metal peeked out from his shirtsleeves. He had a metal arm. That sounded awfully familiar, but she couldn’t remember why. Maybe he was working with Mr. Stark?
“Okay,” she said at last.
Some people thought that Darcy was flighty, or thoughtless, or a really unattractive combination of the two. Darcy wasn’t. The computer genius that reamed Thor and had him cowering at the mere mention of her wrath had up more defensive walls that anyone she’d ever met. She practically radiated ‘leave me alone’. Darcy scoffed at ‘leave me alone’ signals. If she listened to those she never would have gotten Clint and Natasha, and that thought made her insides cold.
When Darcy, in one of her many overtures of friendship, had dragged along Natasha and Clint (or maybe they—being the overprotective types that they were—had invited themselves) to meet Megan Kasmo she had actually flinched at the sight of them. There was a brief flicker of pain in her blue eyes when her gaze had flicked over Natasha and Clint with his quiver strapped to his back. She hadn’t shaken their hands, and she sat very, very still whenever they were around.
“So did she pass your test?” Darcy had asked later in bed.
Natasha had pressed a light kiss to her shoulder. “She is harmless.”
Clint had toyed with a lock of her hair. “I think you’ll be good for her, baby.”
“Good.” Darcy’s smile had been wide and bright. “I like her.”
“Don’t push her,” Natasha cautioned her. “She is… fragile. Let her come to you in her own time.”
“What do you know?” Darcy demanded.
Natasha gave a careless shrug that never failed to infuriate Darcy. “She… hurts,” Natasha explained carefully. She shared a brief glance with Clint. “She lost her Natasha and her Clint.”
Darcy’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “For real?”
Natasha made a vague gesture. “I think so.”
“You think so?” Darcy sputtered.
“There is more sadness and regret when she looks at me,” Natasha mused aloud. “Her Natasha is dead, I think. There is anger and hurt when she sees Clint. He must be alive.”
“Wait… when you say her Natasha and her Clint you mean that, like, for real? Like assassins and everything?” Darcy demanded.
Clint trailed his fingers down her ribcage. “I think so,” he murmured. “When she saw my quiver I thought she was going to start crying. And she knows not to startle us. She behaves as though she has been around people who have our… reflexes.”
“Huh.” Darcy contemplated that for several long moments until Clint got bored and buried his face between her thighs. Then she couldn’t think of anything at all because, hello? Clint’s face was buried between her thighs.
It wasn’t as though his early morning training sessions were a secret, but they were his, and there were very few things that belonged to Bucky Barnes at the moment. The tiny blonde who liked to belt out ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’ in the shower, and usually put her foot in her mouth at least once was something special. She never flinched or cringed around him. She never watched him as though she expected him to go ballistic at any moment and try to kill everyone. In fact, he had the strangest feeling that she understood him, and trusted him anyway. Bucky wasn’t an idiot. He could see that she was wounded, and that she wanted to be alone. They were two of a kind—kindred spirits. He liked working with her, and he liked talking to her, except for the fact that the dame was perceptive.
“What’s wrong?” She asked him one session.
“Nothing,” he muttered.
A loud snort erupted from her lips. “Right. Let me guess? Somebody out there cares an awful lot about you, but you can’t be with them. Maybe you’re too broken? You’ve done bad things? You don’t deserve them—you don’t deserve to be happy?” As the tiny blonde continued to speak her voice got louder and louder. She crowded his space and jabbed him sharply in the chest with her pointy little fingers.
He stared open-mouthed at her. “How did you know?”
She threw her hands up in the air. “What about her?” The blonde demanded. “Doesn’t she have a right to be happy? Doesn’t she deserve… stuff? She probably isn’t Mother Teresa, you know. Maybe she’s done bad stuff. Maybe she accidentally hacked into the FBI database or something.” The blonde was yelling at him now.
“He,” Bucky corrected her.
The blonde paused and blinked up at him. She waved a hand at him angrily. “Same difference,” she retorted. She scowled up at him furiously. “If this guy loves you then you can’t do this to him. You can’t.”
“He deserves better,” Bucky mumbled.
“He doesn’t want better!” The blonde bellowed at him. “He just wants you,” she whispered. Tears sparkled on her lashes and Bucky had the feeling that the dame wasn’t exactly talking about him and Steve. Then she turned and ran from the room.
“The loud dame is right.” Steve’s soft voice drifted out from the shadows.
Bucky’s shoulders slumped. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to see why Thor lives in fear of Lady Megan of the Computers,” Steve replied. He moved out of the shadows and came to stand within several feet of Bucky.
“What if I screw this up,” Bucky asked in a plaintive whisper.
“What if you don’t?” Steve countered.
“So, the scuttlebutt is that you yelled at the Winter Soldier, and now Captain America speaks about you in hushed, reverential tones,” Darcy observed with a cheerful, winning smile. She plopped down in the small chair across from Megan Kasmo’s desk. “For that you deserve coffee.” Darcy carefully placed a large cup of coffee on Megan’s desk.
“I used my loud voice,” Megan admitted with a guilty expression. “He’s not mad is he?"
"I think Captain America wants to build you a shrine.” Darcy sipped at her own coffee and smirked.
“Not him,” Megan waived a hand as though Captain America didn’t matter. “Muscles. I didn’t hurt his feelings did I?”
“I don’t think so,” Darcy replied with a shake of her dark curls. “He seems… happy. I think. He doesn’t scowl as much.”
Megan nodded with a slight smile. “Then he’s happy.”
“Seriously, Meg, you should come hang out with me upstairs sometime. It would be a hoot,” Darcy suggested brightly.
Megan flinched. “No.”
“Come on, it would be fun,” Darcy cajoled. (She was really, really good at cajoling. Her cajoling skills were top-notch.)
“I don’t think so,” Megan countered coolly.
“Don’t say I never offered,” Darcy told her and then breezed out of her office.
“I won’t,” Megan agreed in a soft voice.
If Felicity were to describe Darcy Lewis she would probably use words like ‘battering ram’, or maybe ‘oblivious to anyone else’s lack of enthusiasm’.
“We should go grab coffee together!” Darcy crowed cheerfully.
Felicity looked up from her computers and frowned. “Aren’t you the scientist wrangler? Why aren’t you upstairs with Dr. Foster and… the others?”
“Huge conference here in town,” Darcy informed her with a little sniff. “Sitting around listening to people present papers called ‘ON THE KINEMATICS OF THE DAMPED Ly PROTOGALAXIES’ is certainly not my idea of fun.”
Felicity pursed her lips. “Actually,” she began, but Darcy cut her off.
“No!” Darcy put her palm in Felicity’s face. “Absolutely not. No, we are going to have a girl’s day!”
Through no fault of her own Felicity found herself at a small independent coffee shop just a few blocks from Stark’s Tower. Felicity hummed to herself and sipped at her mocha latte.
“And then Natasha threw a knife at the ceiling and Clint dropped down and tackled her,” Darcy was burbling happily.
“Sounds like fun,” Felicity murmured.
A stricken expression crossed Darcy’s face. “Oh. You probably don’t want to hear about that, do you,” Darcy replied. She patted Felicity’s hand and tried to give her an encouraging look. “You want me to buy you a scone?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a scone,” Felicity admitted.
When they were through Darcy dragged Felicity back to Stark Tower. Felicity’s steps slowed until she was standing still. She stared at the tall, dark-haired man walking into Stark Tower with a polite smile at the security guards who checked his ID and then let him in.
“Megan? Hey, Megan? What’s going on?” Darcy was tugging on Felicity’s arm and waving her hand in Felicity’s face.
Felicity struggled to focus on Darcy’s face. “Malcolm Merlyn,” she whispered through numb lips. “He… he… you should warn your girlfriend… and your boyfriend.”
“Malcom Merlyn? The billionaire?” Darcy blinked at her in surprise.
Felicity nodded. “Tell them. Now.”
“Um… okay.” Darcy blinked at her. “Megan, he’s a billionaire. You work for a billionaire. It isn’t exactly a crime.”
“Tell them that the Magician is loose in the same city as their beloved,” Felicity retorted.
Darcy blinked. “Okay, you do realize that I’m going to make you explain that, right?”
Felicity shook her head. “I’ve got to go,” she muttered. She turned to Darcy with an apologetic expression. “I’ve got to start running security protocols. I don’t know why he’s here, but this can’t be good.”
As Felicity turned and hurried toward Stark Tower she could hear Darcy sigh behind her and mutter “Well, crap” under her breath.
The hang out area for the Avengers was the best place to find them at any given time. That or in the training rooms, but Darcy had already checked there because her assassins—they were crazy insane with the working out. She raced into the common room and saw the Avengers lolling over most available surfaces. She put her hands on her knees and her head down so that she could gasp for air. The relief at finding them safe and unharmed was overwhelming. Megan had seemed so frightened that it had bled over to Darcy without her even realizing it.
“Darcy?” Natasha’s voice was sharp with concern and she moved to stand closer to her.
“I—I’m supposed to tell you that the Magician is here,” Darcy gasped out.
The sudden change from Natasha and Clint was almost funny. They both sort of snapped to attention and their faces became cold, controlled.
Natasha crouched down by her and frowned. “Who told you that?” Natasha demanded.
“Megan,” Darcy panted. “Tash, she saw this guy and started freaking out. She said that it was Malcom Merlyn and that I had to come find you. When I told her it wasn’t a crime to be a billionaire she said that I had to tell you that the Magician was loose in the same city that… that I was.”
“The IT girl?” Tony demanded. He scowled at Darcy.
Natasha snorted. “Actually, she works in your computer sciences department writing code for everything you consider boring and not worth your time. Technically, she’s a genius and could give you a serious run for your money.”
Tony snorted. “How do you know that?”
Natasha smirked at him. “If you think I don’t check out the people that come in contact with Darcy…”
“Point,” Tony grumbled.
“JARVIS, what is Kasmo doing?” Clint asked with a worried frown.
“At the moment Miss Kasmo is running security protocols asking me to run through all of the security tapes for the last month looking for anything out of the ordinary. She is also simultaneously running facial recognition software and combing through all of the cameras on all the entry and exit points. She is also muttering rather heatedly under her breath,” JARVIS reported dutifully.
“Play it,” Tony commanded.
“Where are you, you sadistic jerk,” came through the speakers in the ceiling. “I don’t know why you’re here, but it had better not be for any assassin-y reasons. I don’t care if you are Thea’s father. I hope Natasha and Clint find you and skewer you to the nearest wall. And if you even think about doing anything to Darcy, or that nice Ms. Potts, I will find a way to take you down myself. I don’t know how exactly since I’m not assassin-y, but let’s just say that all of your electronics playing porcupine farts would be the least of your worries.”
Clint snorted. “I like her,” he told Natasha.
Natasha frowned. “She knows him,” she muttered to Clint.
“What?” Clint narrowed his gaze toward the ceiling and then looked back at Natasha.
“You are so lucky that I don’t have R’as al Ghul’s phone number,” the speakers continued in an angry voice. Megan paused for a moment and they could hear the click of her keys as she typed furiously. “If he has a phone,” she amended. More clicking ensued. “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be off plotting bad guy stuff?”
“Curious,” Natasha murmured. She glanced at Clint, and he nodded.
“Curious?” Tony barked out. “My IT girl knows assassins and you think that’s curious?”
Darcy glared at Tony. “Megan is totally a computer genius, you asshat. Also, it’s not like they’re besties, or anything. That Magician guy scares the crap out of her.”
“I don’t think she actually knows him,” Natasha clarified after she gave a soothing pat to Darcy’s arm. “I think she knows of him, and just enough for him to frighten her. She is not like us. She is…”
“She’s like me,” Darcy decided. “That’s what you said, right? That she lost her Clint and Natasha?”
Natasha sighed and gave Darcy a firm look, but she inclined her head in her girlfriend’s direction. “I did.”
“So we keep an eye on this Magician,” Steve suggested with a shrug.
“And that IT girl,” Tony added.
At the very least Felicity had expected some screaming and some yelling—a furious Natasha threatening her with knives and demanding to know how she knew Malcom Merlyn, or a coldly calculating Clint leaping out at her from air ducts and disemboweling her with sharpened ceiling tiles. Instead she had a strangely uncomfortable meeting with Ms. Hill and Ms. Potts.
“Ms. Kasmo, we want to thank you for your dedication to Stark Industries, and your timely activation of security protocols,” Ms. Potts said smoothly with a smile and a nod.
Felicity stared at her for a moment. “I… oh. Um, you’re welcome?”
“Initiative like that in the fie-I mean, we appreciate the initiative. Keep it up,” Ms. Hill added.
Felicity blinked. “Okay. I promise to keep on keepin’ on.”
Ms. Potts smiled. “That sounds perfect."
Everyone shook hands and Felicity was shown out. She rode the elevator back to her department with a slight frown.
“So, how did you convince the Winter Soldier to work out with you?” Darcy asked curiously. “Some people would give their left nut to have him all half-naked and sweaty and up in their personal space.” Darcy paused and gave a suspicious glance toward the ceiling. “Not that I would,” she continued in a slightly louder voice. “Because I prefer lean, muscly archer-types.”
Felicity blinked at that. The archer-types that she knew certainly weren’t lean. Oli—he was built like a brick shithouse—as wide as he was tall and every ounce of it muscle. Even Roy, who was a bit shorter, was covered in muscle. Even Clint, from the few brief glimpses she had caught of him, wasn’t all that lean, unless you compared him to Sargent Barnes.
“I sing songs from old movies in the shower,” Felicity admitted.
“You showered with him?” Darcy’s voice wasn’t quite a screech, but it was a close thing.
“What? No! I—he has a boyfriend!” Felicity was so scandalized she was almost incoherent and her mouth open and closed for several moments. “I would never do that to anyone,” she finished firmly.
“But you said--,” Darcy protested.
Felicity huffed. “He heard me singing,” she explained.
“Huh. It’s all so ‘music soothes the savage beast,’” Darcy mused aloud.
Felicity frowned. “He’s not a beast. He’s just been through a lot.”
Darcy held up her hands. “Whoa, calm down there Megan. I wasn’t trying to start anything.” She grinned at Felicity. “Who knew that the Winter Soldier would have his own personal protector?”
Felicity grimaced at her. “You make it sound naughty.”
“Yeah. It’s kind of my superpower.” Darcy grinned at her and took a sip of her coffee.
When the two of them left the coffee shop with cups in hand Darcy was making some kind of risqué joke about the Hulk and the Jolly Green Giant, and Felicity was doing her very best to not be as shocked as she was. Then everything went black.
Since S.H.I.E.L.D.’s rather embarrassing snafu, and its painful attempts at reconnoitering, A.R.G.U.S. had been called in to help out on more than one occasion. Apparently, soft targets associated with the Avengers counted as A.R.G.U.S.-worthy so here Lyla was in the middle of Stark Tower listening to the briefing patiently.
“Two women were kidnapped. Darcy Lewis, assistant to Dr. Jane Foster, and Megan Kasmo who works in our Computer Sciences department,” Maria Hill spoke firmly and her cool gaze swept over the assembled team. “Ms. Lewis is… an important person to the Avengers as a whole. We aren’t certain why Ms. Kasmo was also taken, but we suspect that it was a mistake. This is a picture of the two of them leaving Stark Tower earlier today.”
A still from the security footage was put up and Lyla broke all of her training by gasping in shock her eyes trained on the picture.
“Something to add, Agent Michaels?” Hill demanded.
“I don’t think that she was taken by accident,” Lyla replied immediately.
“What makes you say that,” Hill asked with a frown.
“That woman, the one next to Ms. Lewis? Her name is Felicity Smoak, and she is very, very important to a group of people I know,” Lyla explained. She grimaced slightly. “And to me.”
Hill blinked. “Clear the room,” she snapped to the assembled team. Then she turned to glare at Lyla. “Come with me.”
It was possible that to some people Maria Hill and the assembled Avengers would be somewhat intimidating. Lyla was willing to admit that, yes, they were a little scary, but so were the people she dealt with on a regular basis.
“What the hell do you mean, her name is Felicity Smoak? Good God, is she some sort of A.R.G.U.S. plant?” Tony was ranting and waving his arms about as he yelled at Maria Hill. “Jesus, Hill do you even do a background check?”
Maria Hill stood there silently and accepted all of the abuse that Tony heaped on her.
“Um, excuse me, but Felicity’s kind of amazing when it comes to computers,” Lyla offered when he paused for breath.
“Who the hell are you and how do you know my IT girl?” Tony demanded.
Lyla shrugged. “We used to fight crime together?”
Tony blinked. “I… you what?”
“We used to fight crime together,” Lyla repeated. “Is it okay if I call my boyfriend?”
“Sure, fine, no problem,” Tony began to rant again. “It isn’t as though anyone’s been kidnapped or anything.”
Lyla ignored the attitude and started punching buttons on her phone.
“Lyla?” The surprise in John’s voice was thick. “Babe, I thought you were on a mission.”
“Yeah, about that…” Lyla sighed. “There’s good news and there’s bad news.”
“Okay.” John drew out the word slowly. “Lyla, what’s going on?”
“I found Felicity,” Lyla told him gently. Thick silence was her only answer.
“Is she…” John’s voice was ragged.
“She was taken,” Lyla explained. “She’s actually part of the mission.”
“Jesus,” John breathed.
“Yeah… um, can you let Oliver know?” Lyla half-winced as she asked the question. “And maybe Barry? Also… maybe Palmer.”
A loud derisive snort came through the phone. “Yes, because having Oliver and Palmer in the same room would be a good idea,” John retorted.
“And John… you might want to hurry,” Lyla added before she hung up.
“Civilians won’t be able to help,” Hill informed her with a severe frown.
Lyla smirked. “They aren’t exactly civilians, ma’am. That was my boyfriend—he was Special Forces. He’s going to call the Arrow, Arsenal, the Flash, and maybe the Atom if we don’t think that the Arrow will pound him and then fling him out of the plane.” Lyla paused and then shrugged. “And the Black Canary, too, probably.”
Hill’s eyes widened. “Well, that would be different.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lyla agreed.
The moment they walked into the room, Natasha knew that the one in green was Meg—Felicity’s Clint. The tension in every muscle of his body, the tightly controlled way he held himself, the cold, flat look in his eyes as he assessed all of them as he tried to decide if he would need to kill them all to protect his Darcy. He hung toward the back and listened carefully to everyone while his eyes scanned everything around him. Natasha approved.
“Ready to get our girl, love?” Clint breathed softly by her ear.
“Definitely,” Natasha agreed.
“When my assassins come for me, boy will you guys be sorry!”
Felicity blinked her eyes slowly. Judging from the window placement and the lighting she was in some sort of warehouse. Her right shoulder, the one touching the cold concrete, ached dully, but she wasn’t certain as to why.
“Megan! You’re awake,” Darcy crowed. She glanced around worriedly and then she leaned closer to Felicity. “I think we’re alone. At least, there’s nobody here at the moment.”
“Who took us?” Felicity asked calmly while she tried to move so that her back was facing Darcy.
Darcy blinked. “You seem awfully calm for somebody who’s been kidnapped,” Darcy observed. She frowned. “Did you get kidnapped before? Is that how you lost your Clint and your Natasha?”
“It wasn’t exactly the same,” Felicity admitted in a hollow voice after several long minutes. “Sara and I… we weren’t like you and Natasha.” Maybe we could have been, but it’s too late for that now was left unsaid. She wriggled a little. “Can you untie me?”
Darcy leaned down to peer at Felicity’s hands. She could feel the ends of Darcy’s hair brush against her wrists. “Huh. Actually, I think I can. Let me scooch around.” Fingers clutched hers and then slid toward the ropes wrapped around her wrists.
“Guess we should be grateful they didn’t use zip ties,” Felicity muttered as Darcy tried to work the knots free.
“Handcuffs would’ve been okay,” Darcy replied absently. “Clint’s taught me how to pick those.”
“That would have been handy,” Felicity agreed. She tried to stay calm even as she could feel the ropes loosen.
“There,” Darcy whispered. “You’ve got it.”
Quickly, Felicity shook her hands trying to get the blood flowing, and with numb, tingling fingers she fumbled with Darcy’s ropes.
“Now what?” Darcy demanded.
“Well, we try to figure out how to get out of here,” Felicity pointed out. She paused for a moment. “Um, we’ll have to be careful. They probably have guards posted.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a Taser,” Darcy murmured as she sidled up behind Felicity.
The two women hugged the wall and tried to hide behind pallets of… stuff. Felicity wasn’t sure what was on the pallets. Who knew? Maybe it was stolen merchandise, or maybe it was smuggled in or something. It took a lot less time than Felicity had been banking on for the bad guys to discover that Felicity and Darcy had slipped their bindings, and even less time for them to actually find the two of them huddled behind a pallet. They tried to grab Darcy because she was the closest, but Darcy used the training that Clint and Natasha had given her to kick the gun out of his hand and shove him out of the way. She grabbed Felicity’s hand and pulled her after her.
Unfortunately, someone else had a gun as the ‘pop’ noise and the searing pain in Felicity’s thigh attested. She stumbled slightly, but Darcy’s iron grip didn’t waver and she kept pulling Felicity behind her. More gunshots sounded around them, but thankfully none of them hit either Darcy or Felicity. Working quickly, Darcy found a small supply closet and pulled Felicity in with her. She shut the door and crouched down on the ground next to Felicity.
“Where did you get shot, Megan?” Darcy asked worriedly.
“Thigh,” Felicity bit out between her teeth.
“Oh good,” Darcy whispered. “That’s better than your torso, right?”
“Yeah,” Felicity agreed.
“Now would be a really good time for the Avengers to show up,” Darcy muttered.
“Yeah.” Felicity was starting to feel cold, and she was pretty sure that was a ‘bad thing’. “Darcy?”
“Yeah?” The worry in Darcy’s voice was almost palpable.
“Now might not be the best time, or anything, but… my name’s not Megan,” Felicity confessed. The sudden stillness made Felicity feel both guilty and nervous.
“You… you’re not Hydra, are you?” Darcy squeaked.
“No.” Felicity sighed. “No, just running away from a crap situation.”
The silence grew thick between them. “Your Clint… he didn’t, like, beat you or anything did he?” Darcy asked.
“What? No!” Felicity huffed indignantly. Then she gave a sad sigh. “No, it was more like Bucky and Steve. Only my Bucky didn’t have somebody to help him pull his head out of his ass,” she added tartly.
“Oooh.” Darcy fidgeted next to her for a moment. “So what’s your name then?”
“Felicity. Smoak.”
“Nice to meet you Felicity.” Darcy groped for her hand. “I’d be mad at you and all, but I kind of get it.”
“I know that I have no right to do this, but will you do me a favor?” Felicity hated how small her voice sounded, but this was important, damn it.
“What kind of favor?” Darcy asked suspiciously.
“If I don’t… make it... will you please contact Oliver Queen, and let him know?” Felicity whispered.
Darcy gasped and then poked her in the side. “Don’t you dare die on me,” Darcy hissed at her.
“’S not like I want to,” Felicity mumbled. The feeling of being cold was growing stronger, and Felicity was starting to feel kind of floaty—like she did that one time that Dig gave her those funny aspirins. She fumbled to grab Darcy’s hand. “Liked you,” she managed to get out before everything went black.
“Felicity?” Darcy whispered fiercely. “Felicity! Crap crap crap! You can’t die on me! You were finally starting to tell me stuff!”
Clutching at the cold hand of the girl who might (or might not) be dead would have seemed sort of gross to Darcy, but in the heat of the moment she wasn’t really thinking about that. Instead she was concentrating on spontaneously developing telepathy so that she could tell her assassins where she was and they could come get her and help save Felicity. When the sounds of explosions and gunshots reached her ears—along with the tell-tale whistle of arrows—Darcy totally took credit for her assassins arrival, and mentally added ‘telepathy in times of crisis’ to her list of skills. When someone finally opened the door to her closet she took one squinty look at them—blinking in the suddenly too-bright light—and scowled. Whoever it was was wearing a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, which meant they were the good guys, but not her good guys.
“Go away,” she snapped and clutched Felicity in her arms. “I want Clint or Natasha, but preferably both.”
“I found them,” the agent spoke calmly into his comm link.
A herd of people pounded up the stairs, and Darcy only recognized some of them. Clint and Natasha were in the front, but there was a guy in green who was practically sprinting up the stairs. He crouched down in front of Darcy and his hands hovered over Felicity.
“Is she?” He rasped at her.
“I don’t know. She got shot in the thigh when we were trying to get away,” Darcy told him. She scowled at him. “Are you Oliver?”
His fingers spasmed and he stared at her through his mask’s eye holes. “Yes.”
“You better make sure she doesn’t die, Oliver,” Darcy said fiercely.
He nodded and scooped Felicity up in his arms, cradling her against his chest. He turned around and Darcy took a tiny second to admire the way the leather clung to his ass before her assassins had her sandwiched between them. Natasha’s fingers danced over her looking for injuries. Clint had her wrists in his hands and he was pressing gentle kisses to the abraded skin there.
“Did you get shot?” Clint asked.
Darcy shook her head. “No.”
“Good,” Natasha said firmly.
Awareness came slowly. The dull beep-beep of machines, the feel of thin sheets and the weird blankets that only hospitals had, the smell of antiseptic, all clued Felicity in to her current location. Then she heard the voices—low, quiet, and very much male.
“She doesn’t care, you know.” Bucky spoke quietly. He took a deep breath, held it, and then sighed. “You can’t even begin to know all of the things I’ve done—the people that I’ve hurt and killed—and she doesn’t care. She thinks I’m... she thinks that I’m worthy of being loved,” he broke off here to give a bitter laugh.
“I really don’t need to hear this.” An extremely familiar voice growled.
Bucky snorted. “It ain’t like that,” he retorted. “I’m with Steve. But… for a long time I wouldn’t let myself be with him. She… she yelled at me.”
Without even looking she knew that he was smiling. “She does that sometimes.”
“So you need to take her advice. She doesn’t want you to be a good man—she just wants you to be her man,” Bucky told him.
“I am,” he whispered. “Until the day I die I’ll be hers.”
“You just won’t touch her, or allow her in,” Bucky guessed. He sighed again. “You’ll lose her that way. You’ve already lost her. How’s that working out for you?”
“Shut up.”
“You hate it, right?” Bucky observed. “You hate her bein’ so far away. You hate that you can’t just check up on her and make sure she’s okay. Obviously, bein’ away from you ain’t gonna keep her out of the line of fire. Your girl? She likes helping people. She ain’t gonna stop just because you say so.”
“She doesn’t want me anymore,” he admitted in a forlorn voice that ripped Felicity’s heart apart. “I had my chance and I blew it.”
“You’re an idiot,” Felicity rasped at him with her too-dry throat.
Blue eyes burned into hers for a moment before he swooped down on her to clutch her to his chest. “Felicity,” he chanted against her skin.
“Oliver,” she squeaked. “I need to breathe.”
He relaxed his hold on her infinitesimally, and she took a deep breath inhaling the scent of his skin and… rubbing alcohol? She jerked back and glared up at him.
“You were hurt?” she demanded, and her fingers slid down his arms carefully. She pressed her fingers lightly to the hard muscles of his chest and ribs looking for the flinch or the wince that would show her where he’d been hurt.
“I’m fine,” he told her gruffly.
“Then why do you smell like rubbing alcohol?” Felicity demanded.
He shrugged. “A graze on the back of my shoulder. I’m fine,” he repeated.
“Hmm.” Felicity frowned up at him and he hugged her again.
“It’s good to see you awake, Meg—er, Felicity,” Bucky told her with one of his solemn almost-smiles. “I’m gonna go check on Steve now. He gets antsy when he can’t find me.”
“Thank you,” Felicity replied solemnly. She glanced up at Oliver and then smiled at Bucky. “For everything.”
“Anytime Felicity.” Bucky gave her one of his quiet nods and slipped out of the room.
Once he was gone Felicity turned her attention back to Oliver. He was still holding her against his chest. She took the opportunity to study him. He was thinner—his face gaunt—and his eyes were tired and sad. When he looked at her it was as though he couldn’t believe that she was there in his arms.
“So… the Avengers.”
Felicity smirked up at him. “Are you… are you jealous?”
“What?” Oliver’s voice rose. “Don’t be silly. You have every right to do whatever you want to do.”
“I do,” Felicity agreed. She paused. “Bucky’s right, you know. I never cared about the things that you did in the past—the things you had to do to survive. What did you tell me? They shaped the person that you are, and you know how I feel about him.”
Oliver’s arms tightened around her. “Felicity.”
“Oliver.” She smiled against his neck.
“What if…,” he stopped and made a growl of frustration.
“What if I get hurt? Well, as you can see I’m completely capable of doing that all on my own,” Felicity informed him. She pulled his head down so that she could look him in the eyes. “Don’t play it safe, Oliver. Be brave. Choose me.”
“I always choose you,” he muttered. “That’s the problem.”
“Fine. Choose being with me,” she amended.
Oliver closed his eyes and his jaw tightened, and Felicity could feel her heart race in her chest. He was going to say no, again. He was going to leave her here and go back to Star City. Tears prickled on her lashes. Why? Why wouldn’t he choose to be with her?
“If I do, will you come home with me?” He asked with his eyes still closed. “Will you come back to Star City?”
“Yes,” Felicity whispered.
Oliver opened his eyes and stared at her. His thumbs brushed away the tears that had escaped and he leaned down to press kisses along her cheekbones. His stubble rubbed her skin and made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. “I’ve missed you so much,” he muttered.
“Me too,” Felicity replied. “Just… don’t do it again.”
“No,” he agreed.