Technical Assistance

Chapter 37: Hard Drive Defragmentation

After a long moment of studying her, Detective Lance says to Felicity, "You're free to go, Miss Smoak." He waves a hand tiredly as he says it, as though he's the one who just faced a psychopathic killer. "If you remember anything that might help, give me a call."

She sighs deeply, mind still reeling from her encounter with Helena Bertinelli. She has to admit, she feels a little better now that Oliver is within sight and apparently not suffering any injuries too severe for him to show up. No matter what happened out there, at least he's back. And it only increases her relief that Detective Lance is here, instead of facing down a psychotic Helena Bertinelli.

Felicity offers him a smile in return that she doesn't feel before replying, "Always, Detective."

It causes him to give her a humorless, silent chuckle in return, but she doesn't stay to analyze it. She walks out of the room, directly for Oliver. His indecipherable expression before had been... troubling, to say the least, and she needs to know what happened. Her bet is that Helena is dead, but she hopes not. The Oliver she first met—the one who was used to fighting for survival and killing at any cost—was tormented by the deaths he caused, and she doesn't want that for him again. Felicity has no doubt that this time, Helena's death would weigh more heavily on his conscience, and he's already endured so much.

She takes his hand the moment she walks up to him, watching Oliver's expression carefully. He doesn't seem to be tormented, but she can see his calm outward appearance for the façade that it is. "What happened tonight?" she asks before he can find a way to change the subject. "Are you okay?"

His expression immediately turns grave, and it makes a tendril of dread slide down her spine. "Helena got away," he answers, running a hand over his face. "I couldn't—" He stops himself from finishing that thought, but Felicity understands; he can't send her to jail without fear of having his own identity compromised, and he can't kill her, either. He sighs. "But she shot McKenna. She's alive, but her detective days are over—at least for a while."

He pulls her toward the elevator bay as she responds, "It's not your fault, Oliver. You know that, right?" She doesn't even know McKenna Hall, but Felicity does sympathize with the circumstance. Mostly, though, she's hurting for everyone else involved—for Oliver, whose friend is injured, and for Lance, who has lost a partner. He doesn't answer for a very long moment as they board the elevator, and she continues, "You did everything you could do to stop her."

She hesitates for a moment before deciding that something else needs to be said. "That's one of the things I learned from you two when I joined this crusade, Oliver: you can't always win." She thinks about that first night in the lair, about how he nearly died when they lost that time. Then all the times before come rushing back to her in vivid detail—the dose of Vertigo that the Count intended to be lethal, how he lost to the Dark Archer and she had to half-carry him into her car. "But we're playing with higher stakes. When we lose, we lose big." She sighs deeply, suddenly wondering if this is how Atlas felt, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "It doesn't make things any easier, but it's true."

Diggle clears his throat, and the look he gives Felicity before speaking lets her know he's going to reinforce her points. "Maybe you should go see McKenna," he suggests. "I don't think she blames you, and maybe that will help ease your conscience, too." He claps Oliver on the shoulder. "But Felicity is right, Oliver. People in McKenna's line of work get injured on the job—and if it wasn't Helena tonight, it could have been a drug dealer tomorrow. And it could have been worse." He makes sure Oliver is looking at him before adding, "And if you weren't out there doing what you do, it would be."

Oliver nods once, and, sensing that he needs a change in subject, Felicity tries for a lighter note. "You can decide what to do later," she assures him, "but for now, everyone needs a break. Let's go get something to eat—all of us." She looks at Diggle, wanting to include him, too. They haven't had many opportunities to talk since Oliver was nearly dying on a table in front of them, and she'd like to remedy that. It almost seems surreal, the thought of her and her boys actually sitting down to eat at a restaurant, instead of in bites between programming computers and beating each other senseless with sticks. "We never get to meet up unless there's a crisis in the city, so let's take a rare opportunity to get away from the gloom and doom."