Technical Assistance

Chapter 33: Malware Removal

Frowning at her cell phone as she tries the number again, Felicity slides the key into her door absently and lets herself in, dragging her suitcase with her. The three days in Central City have been good for her, allowing her to unwind and help Barry forget his grief in his darkest hour. In Central City, there are no vigilantes, no computers demanding attention, no unhinged women who may or may not use Felicity in their plot for revenge. But now the vacation is over, and it’s time for reality to set in.

Which would be aided if the Arrow would answer his cell phone.

They’ve talked at least once a day—sometimes more than once—since he’s been gone, and she knows he’s having trouble tracking down Helena. She’s been leaving a very small digital footprint, and, with Felicity six hundred miles away and without her prized computers, it’s been like fighting a minotaur with one hand tied behind her back.

Still, more troubling is the fact that the Arrow isn’t answering his phone. Since transitioning to her burner phone, he’s answered in the first three rings. It’s gone to voicemail twice already tonight, and, as it plays the generic message once again, she can’t help but wonder if something horrible happened while her train was in that tunnel and she couldn’t get cell reception. Part of her wants to try the other number she has for him, but she thinks that would be an awkward conversation she’s not yet prepared to have.

She stops to lock her door before trying again, opting for safety first. She drops her purse on the table and drops her suitcase next to it, focusing only on her cell phone’s contacts list. She struggles for a moment as she thinks about pulling up the GPS tracker, but then decides that it’s not time to panic yet. Just as she’s about to call Diggle for her own peace of mind, the Arrow’s number shows up on her screen and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she sighs when she answers. “I was starting to get panicked—it’s not like you to ignore your cell phone.” She runs a hand over the top of her head. “Are you hurt? Is everything all right? How have things—?”

“Felicity,” he cuts her off gently, reminding her that he actually has to have time to answer those questions. “We’re fine—we haven’t engaged.” A rush of static that’s probably a sigh comes through the speakers. “She’s keeping a low profile, only showing up when she knows we can’t touch her without revealing ourselves.” He hesitates before saying, “She’s been sneaking around your apartment”—a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold works its way down Felicity’s spine—”but we can’t keep watch on her with your police tail sitting outside. They would have noticed if we had the van parked outside for three days while they knew you were gone. Lock yourself in your apartment,” he demands now, and she knows that’s something akin to panic in his voice, “and wait for me to come get you.”

“I told you—” she starts to remind him, to tell him that she doesn’t need all of this protection, though she knows his heart is in the right place. They’ve had this conversation before—multiple times—and every time he ignores her and insists this is the right choice. Part of her wonders if she’s missing something, if he knows something about Helena Bertinelli that she doesn’t.

“I told you,” he insists firmly, “that I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” There's a chuckle before he continues, “Even if it meant camping out on your fire escape for three weeks.” She has to bite back a sound of surprise as she realizes he’s quoted her word for word, from a conversation they had months ago. At first she's surprised, but then she decides that he might have a better eye for detail than she'd previously thought. "I'm bringing you here, and you're staying until Helena is no longer an issue."

She frowns, trying to find anything to convince him otherwise. "What about Saphira?" she asks finally. "I mean, she's boarding right now, but I'm supposed to pick her up tomorrow. She can't stay there indefinitely." A note of sadness enters her tone as she continues, "I don't want her to think I've abandoned her." With a heaving sigh, she rolls her suitcase into her room, preparing to stock it with clean clothes, just in case. As an afterthought, she throws her purse over her arm again; she's learned from the last break-in not to keep anything so important near the door.