Technical Assistance

Chapter 19: File Transfer

Felicity jumps when she hears the fateful knock at her window, the one that signifies the Arrow has arrived.  She frowns, hauling herself out of bed and toward her window.  The time is later than usual—three a.m. is early in her world, not late.  And the Arrow doesn't usually risk visiting her so close to sunrise.  Still, she somehow manages not to fall on her face while navigating a still-very-asleep Saphira, and she flicks her bedroom light on out of habit, forgetting for a moment that the Arrow doesn't seem to like light.  She figures it out about halfway to the window, but then she decides she'll go back for it later.  With a couple careful twists of the lock, the window is open, and the Arrow is stumbling in.

She knows immediately that something is very, very wrong with him the moment she opens her window.  He basically drags himself in, and he falls into a crouch as soon as he enters, stopping himself from falling on his face with a hand.  She should probably ask, but she's not sure what kind of shape he's in, so the last thing she wants to do is pressure him further.  Instead, she crouches down, throws one of his arms over her shoulder, and hauls him up into a standing position.

And she's even more certain this time that something is horribly wrong with him because he's leaning more weight on her than the time he was injured in the fight with the Dark Archer.  She watches him walk as she leads him over to her bed, and she doesn't notice a limp.  The problem seems to be that he's unsteady on his own feet, as though the ground is rolling under him.

Even though the room is bathed in the main light that she rarely uses, Felicity hasn't dared to try and look under his hood in the lighter-than-usual conditions.  She decided several weeks ago that, if the Arrow wants her to know who he is, he'll have to tell her.  She may to snoop around clues in her free time, but she knows that's never going to solve the mystery for her, so she'll wait until he's ready to give her the opportunity.

He more falls than sits on the bed, and he immediately says, very quietly, "Turn off the light."  His voice is off—almost weak—as he makes the demand.  Even the synthesizer can't hide that, and she wonders how injured or exhausted he'd have to be to show that weakness to her.

The motion of the bed wakes Saphira.  While her tail starts wagging as she crawls up to the Arrow, she isn't her usual self.  Subdued, she lays her head in his lap and whines loudly.  With what looks like a concerted effort, he raises his hand and lets it fall across the shiba's withers, which quiets her somewhat.  "Saphira, leave him alone," Felicity calls, knowing that something is terribly wrong, but the dog just looks at her, not moving.  Felicity rolls her eyes; clearly she's going to lose yet another argument to her dog.

She turns off the main light, allowing the lamp in the corner to be their sole light in the darkness.  "What's wrong?" she asks, not sure what to do.  Then she sees the moisture dripping from his face, and decides to change tacks.  "Hold that thought," she says before running to the bathroom, grabbing a hand towel before coming back.  Hesitantly, she cups his chin, frowning as she realizes how warm he is.  "God, you're hot," she comments as she starts wiping away some of the perspiration, then she can feel her face heat in embarrassment as she realizes what she said.  "I didn't mean it like that.  As in, you have a fever, not like, you're attractive—though a girl can dream.  I mean, it may not be me dreaming, but I don't know because I've never seen your face.  I just meant that I'm probably not the only girl in this city who dreams about you crawling into their window, all gorgeous and muscular, and waking them up in the middle of the night to—"  She groans, and she thinks her face might actually be on fire now, as that sentence wasn't exactly going to end with, "to ask them for help with technical problems."  She really needs to find a way to stop making innuendos every time she speaks.  "Of all the times to let me ramble on," she mutters, "that should have been the one to use my name as a signal to shut up."