Sunshine in the Rain

Tommy groans as Felicity grabs his arm abruptly, limping down the stairs into the lair. "He's going to kill me," he groans flatly, at which Felicity rolls her eyes. She's more focused on actually walking down the stairs than Tommy's inner dialogue, and she's pretty sure she's torn ligaments in her ankle or worse. "Will you please let me carry you down the stairs?" he asks for what must be the millionth time, and Felicity rounds on him, despite the pain that courses through her leg.

"Thomas Merlyn," she growls in a tone that could rival Oliver's Arrow voice, "if you ask me that question one. More. Time, I am going to limp down to my tablet and rain digital Hell down upon your entire life. I can upend your entire world with one swipe of my finger, so you do not want to make me angry." She puts her hands on her hips. "And you, sir, are about five seconds away from making me angry. Do you understand?"

She gets a little thrill of excitement from seeing Tommy swallow once before nodding. He wisely doesn't say another word, and motions for her to go ahead. She does so, and limps her way back to her computer desk proudly, with her head held high, and props her ankle up on an stool in the corner. Diggle watches her with a raised eyebrow, eyes falling on her ankle. "What happened to you, Felicity?"

Tommy groans. "Do us all a favor and don't ask." He stops and gathers the keys to his car. "And, if you two will excuse me, I'm going to run out of her like a little girl with a monster in her closet, before our fearless leader gets back." He makes a slicing motion across his throat. "Because, well, you know, Ollie is going to be thoroughly pissed when he finds out what happened."

"What happened?" a new voice asks from behind them, and Felicity sees the wince on Tommy's face. Oliver Queen is a man who does not need pointers on being intimidating; his expression is completely neutral, but his voice is Arrow-growly—the same voice that would proclaim that someone "failed this city." Roy walks in behind the man in question, and even I-don't-feel-fear Roy looks a little grateful that Oliver's tone isn't focused on him.

Before anyone can respond, he spots Felicity's ankle on the stool, already turning a nice shade of purple, and the poker face is gone immediately. He rounds on Tommy, his expression resembling a thundercloud. "I told you," he starts quietly, and she already knows it's his scary voice, the one he uses when he's perfectly furious, "to watch out for her tonight."

Tommy swallows twice. "Look, man," he replies with a nervous chuckle, "I did the best I could. I'm not Rambo, in case you haven't noticed, and they just opened fire on us." He motions to Felicity. "We're lucky she's not sporting new bullet holes right now. It's just a twisted ankle. I don't understand—"

Roy groans at the "just a twisted ankle" line, and Diggle chuckles; Felicity wonders what joke she's missing because she doesn't understand why this would be amusing at all. Oliver clenches his fist, and Felicity scrambles to her feet while the two aren't focusing on her. "You told me you wanted to help this team," he continues, his voice rising in volume, the real level of anger starting to kick in, "and I trusted you to keep her safe." He holds a hand out toward Felicity. "She's not like Diggle and I." Felicity, under different circumstances, would feel insulted, but he says it like it's a compliment. "We knew from the beginning that she didn't sign up for this violence, and we promised to keep her safe." With more volume, he says, "You promised to keep her safe, and you're the only one has broken that promise."

Tommy frowns, clearly getting agitated, too. "What am I supposed to do when the guards open fire on our location? I let her go first, I stood behind her. I nearly got shot. And she twists her ankle, and I'm the bad guy in all of this? I'm sorry, Ollie. I did the best I could. And I'm not going to stand here and let you yell at me"—he's nearly shouting now—"because you weren't there to play hero. I mean, you let her be bait for a serial killer, for God's sake, but she twists her ankle and I'm—"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence before Oliver grabs him by the collar of his shirt. Felicity stumbles over to them, putting her hand on Oliver's arm. "That's enough, Oliver," she says quietly. He opens his mouth to argue, but she stops him by holding up her index finger. "I'm not done yet," she insists, and he closes his mouth. "Look, this one didn't go well. We're all tired, we're all frustrated, and this is no time to have this conversation when so much has happened tonight. Let him go." To her surprise, he does as she asks, and Tommy makes a big show out of straightening his shirt and glaring. "If you wanted to do something useful," she tries this time, I could use some ice on this ankle."

She turns to walk back to her chair, but she doesn't expect the shooting pain that courses through her ankle. She picks it up before she's ready to balance on her other foot, and she stumbles. An arm steadies her by wrapping around her waist, and she's somehow able to tell that it's Oliver before she even looks at him. Without a word, he releases her the moment he's sure she's steady, before rolling her chair over to her, helping her ease down in it with a hand on her elbow.

He attempts to move away, presumably to get an ice pack, but she stops him. "I want to know why you're acting like this," she demands firmly. "You've never treated Tommy like this before."

He doesn't answer immediately, first turning away and going to their toolbox full of medical supplies before he speaks. His answer is simple, but it still hits Felicity like a battering ram: "He's never been responsible for you before."

She decides to let the argument slide—just this once.