Technical Assistance

Side Story #4: Peer-to-Peer Networking

As soon as Detective Lance leaves, Felicity leans against the door, slowly sinking down it with her head in her hands.  Now she remembers her hesitance to help the Arrow—she believes that he's the good guy, so she's forgotten that the rest of the world is convinced he's the bad guy.  And—oh yeah—she's breaking the law by helping him.  She's forgotten that, too—she's always been helping people in her mind, and it's easy to believe that, because she's doing good things, she's also legally correct.

But she's not.  And Detective Lance is highly convinced that she's helping the Arrow.  Which she is.

Taking a deep breath, she tries to clear her head.  As if sensing trouble, Saphira pushes her head into Felicity's lap, tail wagging.  Felicity gathers most of the dog into her lap, stroking her and thinking solely about the facts.  Lance suspects she's helping the Arrow.  He hinted at his suspicion because he's hoping she'll panic—so that's the last thing she needs to do.  She knows her hacks are clean, so it's only suspicion.  And then the important thought hits her.

The Arrow knows none of this.

Springing into action, she leaps to her feet and runs to her bedroom, digging into the bottom shelf for the burner phone she purchased for backup when she started working with the Arrow.  She knows her phone is encrypted, but, if Detective Lance decided to put in a request for a wiretap, well, her cell phone is under her name.  She could check, but time is of the essence, so she'd rather take excessive measures and warn her early.

She dials the number—which she memorized, just in case she needed to—and she's not surprised when it goes directly to voicemail.  She doesn't hesitate to leave a message.  "Hey, it's Felicity.  Call me back at this number as soon as you get this—it's urgent."  She almost hangs up, but then remembers to add, "Don't drop in without talking to me first."

She has to wait just long enough for him to listen to the voicemail before he calls.  He doesn't wait for her to answer after she picks up before asking, "What's wrong?"  She's never been so glad to hear that synthesized voice in her life, and she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Everything's fine," she replies, frowning when her voice goes higher than normal, and decides to elaborate a little.  "Well, fine-ish.  I'm just a little paranoid, and I think I'm too rattled to do this over the phone."

"I'll be there," he promises instantly, and she's grateful that he doesn't ask her any more questions about it.

She's about to agree when she remembers.  "No!" she yells, a little to forcefully, and winces.  "Sorry.  No, don't come through the fire escape like usual."  It's exposed to the street, and she doesn't think it would help for some onlooker to confirm the detective's hunch.  After a little bit of thought, she says, "There's an alleyway behind my building.  Meet me there in about five minutes."

"It won't take me that long," he assures her, then hangs up.  She throws the phone on her bed, then picks a random pair of jeans to replace her pajama pants.  After she pulls them on, she slips her feet into a pair of slip—on tennis shoes and her phone into her jeans pocket.  As she turns to leave, she sees a black, floppy hat and, with a burst of inspiration, tucks her hair up into it.  A glance in the mirror informs her that she looks like trouble—but in the form of a sixteen-year-old boy, not a blonde IT girl.

She grabs her keys from the table and locks up after herself before flying down the stairs.  On the ground floor, she uses the back exit she always thought was shady, and she's glad she didn't call that wrong.  There's a chill in the air, but the thermal shirt that was once the Arrow's helps block it.  As a side note, she reminds herself to look into that label and get a few for herself—she's incredibly cold-natured, and it's the warmest thing she owns.