Many Hats to Wear

Chapter 8: Intelligence Gathering Agent

The eighth time she visits him, he doesn't realize it's her.

He manages to work up the courage, but, at the time, he doesn't know that Felicity Smoak is the Starling City Vigilante, the Green Arrow who's been asking for his help at least bimonthly since she made a name for herself.  He calls Felicity Smoak, though, not because he trusts her or, hell, even knows her, but because he thinks she's the only person he can talk to about the matter.

It's the night after the Vigilante visited him, and he thinks, in hindsight, it might have been a little ballsy to call Felicity freaking Smoak and demand a meeting with her, outside of Smoak offices and work hours.  He asks her to meet him at the Big Belly Burger on the edge of the Glades, just a few blocks from his apartment.  She's about thirty minutes late—surprise, surprise—but she does wave at him and offer a little smile when she walks by his window seat.  He doesn't know how in the world she knows him, but she does, and that makes his life a little easier.

To say Felicity is pretty is an understatement, with her excellent figure and gorgeous looks.  She's a bottle blonde with dark roots,  and she wears plastic-framed glasses that somewhat obscure her blue eyes.  Her full lips are painted a vibrant fuchsia, and her hair is pulled in an elegant ponytail draped over one shoulder  She seems to like four-inch designer heels, as obvious by her choice tonight, in an emerald green color, with a black, sleeveless dress that falls just above her knees.  Five years ago, she would have worn something flashy, exposing cleavage, most of her legs, and possibly her back, but after the island, she's more conservative, with the most daring exposure being to her collarbone.  He instantly understands why when she stands in front of him; her arms are littered with scars he knows better than to ask about.

"You're Oliver Queen?" she asks him, her voice layered with Valley Girl tones that speak of old money and getting everything she's ever wanted.  Even still, he feels as though he's heard her voice before, though he can't place it.

"Yeah," he says instantly.  "Nice to meet you, Ms. Smoak."

She smiles sweetly at him.  "Please, Oliver," she says, dismissing all formality, "call me Felicity."  There's something familiar in the way she says his name, but again, he can't quite place it.

He launches right into his dilemma.  "The thing is... Felicity, I've been debating whether or not to share this with you for weeks.  Can I trust you?"

Something flickers across her features that he can't read, before she settles into that smile again.  When it's clear she isn't going to speak yet, he continues, "Look, I'm not an idiot, but there's no one else I can go to about this.  No offense, but you're not exactly the most trustworthy person I know."  He sighs.  "But, for some reason, I feel like I can trust you.  Why is that?"

"I've just got one of those faces," she says dismissively, still with that same persona of nonchalance.  This time, however, Oliver sees beneath it, and when he frowns, she winces and adds, "Sorry."

"At the risk of being fired," he continues, "cut the crap.  We both know the ditsy blonde act is just an act.  I'm not asking for your innermost secrets, but at least try to be honest with me here."

She sighs heavily, and the expression falls from her face like a mask being removed.  "I'm sorry," she says, her tone far different than the one she was using before.  "I'm used to having to pretend for everyone.  But, yes, Oliver, you can trust me.  I promise whatever is said here is between you and me."  Her voice is sincere, and though he probably shouldn't, he trusts her in that single moment.

"Then I have something to show you," he says quietly, before pulling out of his jacket pocket the book that has caused him so much grief over the past few weeks.  Such a small book shouldn't be so troublesome, he thinks as he looks at its innocently brown, bound cover.

She takes it from him slowly, as if with dread, and opens it to reveal all the names inside.  "What is this?" she asks him, eyes wide.

"I don't know," he admits.  "But you should know that some of the names in there?  They've been visited by the Vigilante in the past few months—both the copycat and the original."  Her head tilts to the side as she regards his word choice.

"Where did you get it?" she tries again, still flipping through pages, not looking at him.

"From your stepfather," he answers, and that causes her to look up at him.  "Walter, he said he found it in your house, and that it belongs to your mother.  I don't want to get caught up in some sort of Hamlet-type thing here, but when he gave it to me to analyze, he did warn me that someone had already been killed over this information, and that it is incredibly dangerous."  He sighs heavily again, collecting his thoughts.  "Walter thought that Mrs. Smoak was hiding something—more than the two-point-six million dollars she invested in a start-up venture that didn't really exist.  He wanted me to look into it, but then he vanished, and I think this might have cost him his life."

Her expression is unreadable then, and after a long moment, she finally says, "Thank you for this, Oliver," dropping her hand lightly over his.  He notices that two of her fingernails on her right hand are acrylic, while the others are natural.  "I don't know if you can ever trust me, but this is enough to make me trust you."

"Just let me know if you need any help with this," he replies easily.

Something akin to a smile crosses her face unexpectedly, as though she's laughing at something he doesn't understand.  "Believe me, Oliver, if I need help, you'll be the first person I'll call on."