Their walk to the jewelry store doesn't take long at all - it's in the same row of shops she'd been to with Thea - but it barely feels like a store at all. There are no display windows, no artfully arranged strands of pearls on black velvet to show off their wares. No, there's just a name above a solid wood door and a doorbell, which Oliver rings.

It's not more than a moment before a short older man with a beak-like nose and sharp rectangular glasses opens the door. Or, at least, he opens part of the door. The shopkeeper is still behind an ornately gilded set of bars that are clearly meant to distract from the obviously bullet-proof glass that remains between them and the shop.

"Oh… Mister Queen," the man notes in surprise, hurrying to undo several locks. "We weren't expecting you, sir."

"You know him?" Felicity asks in a low murmur.

"No," Oliver counters with a tiny smile before looking back toward the man loftily. "I didn't call ahead," he informs him. "But I wanted to pick out something special for my fiancée."

"But of course, sir," the man says, finally getting the door open and nodding deferentially as he gestures for them to come in. "We are most pleased to welcome you, today."

The 'we' in question seems to be just him as the shop itself has no other occupants nor does it look much like any jewelry shop Felicity has ever been in. Oh, there are a couple of display cases around, each sparsely populated with what are undoubtedly priceless pieces, but it becomes evident the moment the door is locked behind them that this isn't the room they're staying in.

"My name is Claude Singleton, sir. And it is my honor to have you and your lovely fiancée as our guests today."

"Thank you, Claude. I'm looking to start Felicity's collection in earnest," he replies, stroking his thumb along the curve of her waist and not even sparing a look around the shop. "I'm thinking something of heirloom quality."

The word 'heirloom' sends a bit of a jolt through Felicity, because even if this is sort of for show, it's also sort of not and she knows Oliver means this part. He means to buy her things they'll pass down to their children. He means for them to have children. The very thought of that makes excitement surge through her and her pulse race, even if it also makes her kind of want to laugh in hysteria. She wants that with him, but it's also so mind-blowingly real, so intensely realized right in front of her, and a big part of her had thought for a very long time that they'd never get anywhere near here in their relationship.

Claude's excitement runs on a different level entirely to hers, of course. He surely makes commission and this will be a windfall for him.

"Well… let's have a bit of a tour, shall we?" he asks, leading them toward yet another door.

"Shouldn't we…" Felicity starts, nodding her head toward one of the cases. There isn't much there, really, but from where she stands it all looks lovely. And, if they're going to be buying something, she'd kind of like to take a look.

Oliver smiles, looking more amused by her than she understands at first glance. "Not those, honey," he tells her.

"Oh," she says, glancing back toward a necklace with a pendant that looks like a daisy made out of some kind of gemstones. She'd actually sort of liked that one.

"Those are more… everyday," he clarifies, kissing her temple and holding her close. "We can look at those too, if you want."

Claude waits patiently nearby, unobtrusive in a way that salespeople for luxury products seem to have mastered. Felicity notices him anyhow. She grew up firmly on his side of the register.

"No," she tells Oliver, looking up at him and leaning in a bit as she rests a hand on his chest. "I know why you want to buy me this one thing, but I don't need… all of this. I just need you. That's all."

The soft crinkling around his eyes, the way he stares at her in quiet adoration, it makes the rest of the 'verse fade away, leaves just them locked in a connection to the exclusion of everything and everyone else.

"You've got me," he tells her in a voice meant for her ears alone. "Always. Forever."

"Good," she smiles, pressing up on her toes to kiss him softly. As it so often does, the kiss takes on a life of its own. It's gentle, but genuine, rife with affection and a heat that simmers beneath the surface. They linger, maybe a beat longer than is really appropriate, but they're newly engaged and Felicity figures if ever there's a time to shuck concerns over appropriate levels of semi-public affection, this is probably it.

"Come on," he says when they part, taking a small step back and grabbing hold of her hand gently. "Let's see if we can find something suitable for the future Mrs. Felicity Queen."

If her heart jumps at hearing those words leave his lips as she follows him toward the back room of the shop, she feels like that's wholly understandable.

She and Oliver sit side-by-side in plush, oversized wingback chairs. She waves off the offer of champagne - she's simply had enough today; it seems like she's been offered alcohol everywhere she's gone - and there's a flicker of understanding in the salesman's eye that makes her choke on air.

"No, that's… We aren't… I'm not," Felicity sputters in denial to the unspoken assumption. But she can already see all of her arguments to the counter will be met with genial but unconvinced agreement. "You know what? Give me the champagne. I'm starting to think I might need it."

That, if nothing else, looks like it sways the salesman and he gives a deferential little nod before heading through another door to fetch them drinks.

"Breathe, honey," Oliver says, his hand settling over hers on the armrest. He sounds amused and that's absurd because she's so on edge right now that it's out of this world. The amount of money they're about to spend is mind-boggling. The fact that her mother is missing - taken - is gut-wrenching. The notion that people are apparently going to assume she's pregnant whenever she turns down a drink is nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it's more-or-less the straw that breaks the camel's back and she has to take a moment, gripping his fingers and shutting her eyes as she sucks in a deep breath, forcing herself to center.

It works. Somehow.

As always, Oliver is something like a lifeline. The warmth of his hand against hers is more than physical and his grip is strength of several sorts. She lets it suffuse her, ground her, settle the riot of nerves welling up within her gut.

"You okay?" he murmurs quietly, after a moment.

"Yes," she nods. "Yes, I'm just… There's a lot going on."

It feels a little like a cop-out, but it's true. They've been running on empty for months now, it seems, and the memory of their little cave in the wilderness is suddenly so clear in her head. That walk they'd taken just before finding the hot springs, that moment when he'd paused, looked over the landscape and talked about the vacations of his childhood, the kind they'd one day take together… it seems like they could use that about now.

And maybe they'll do that soon. They deserve it. But not yet.

There's a glass of champagne in her hand before she even recognizes the salesman is back and she takes a slightly-more-than-healthy-sized swig immediately. The bubbles tickle at her throat but they also manage to root her even further in the moment, hone her in to what's happening.

Claude brings out pieces one by one, presenting them all with knowledge and flare. Oliver seems to know what the other man is saying and guides him some toward what exactly he has in mind. To their credit, they both keep looking to her for input. She's never once left feeling like a used ship salesman is overlooking her in favor of the man at her side, but she also has very little contribution to make to the whole conversation.

Carats and clarity were always her mother's forte, not hers, and she's still a bit overwhelmed by all of this.

But then, of course, a piece catches her eye. She sort of has to pretend the gemstones are fake because there's a lot of them and she can't begin to calculate the amount of credits the necklace would cost, but it's unique and something about it appeals to her greatly.

Oliver notices immediately. Of course he does, he notices everything about her.

"Try it on," he suggests. It's silly, but she hesitates. Oliver, however, is clearly excited to have found something she likes and he's anything but hesitant. "Here," he says, picking up the piece and rounding the chair to stand behind her. Claude just smiles. He's well aware he's made this sale, even if Felicity hasn't quite acknowledged that yet.

She shivers slightly as Oliver brushes her hair to the side, letting his fingers linger against her skin as he puts the necklace on her. There's not a clasp to fasten. It's more of an incomplete choker than anything else, a wrap of green gemstones that's open against one clavicle, dangling slightly like a question mark at the hollow of her throat. The weight of it is oddly comfortable and the look in Oliver's eyes when he rounds the chair to soak in the sight of her in the necklace utterly steals her breath away.

She doesn't even need to look in a mirror. The look in his eyes is reflection enough for her.

"I thought you wanted diamonds?" she asks. If her voice is a bit airy, she feels like that's situationally appropriate.

"They are," Oliver tells her, dragging his eyes from her neck to her face.

"But they're green?" she questions, looking to Claude.

"Green diamonds, ma'am," Claude tells her. "And, if I may say so, they suit you beautifully."

"We'll take it," Oliver announces as she touches her fingers to the hollow of her throat.

"Oliver…" Nerves rush over her again. No one has so much as hinted at the cost behind this.

"It's perfect," Oliver tells her, leaning in and cupping her jaw as he kisses her. "It's perfect and I want you to have it. I want to see you wear it."

This is for her mother, she tells herself. This is for their mission. And it is. That's what gets her to nod at him in agreement, but she knows it's also more than that. She doesn't need things and she's going to have to reiterate that to him a few times before it sinks it, she thinks. That's okay. She has time and it's not like she's going to allow this to become a habit.

It's a bit over the top, but she's not exactly wearing the same outfit now that she was last night, so Felicity wears the necklace out into the casino after Oliver charges it to his room. She still doesn't know how much it costs - they've carefully avoided discussing that, because they both seem aware of how likely she is to balk at the price tag - but Claude slips Oliver his business card, which is probably very smart on his part.

Were she with anyone else in the 'verse, Felicity would probably feel incredibly uneasy wearing untold riches in public. How much of a target does that make her? Security is good at a place like this but nowhere is perfect. Yeah, she'll be most comfortable wearing this and only this in the privacy of their own room. But… Oliver at her side is security enough for now. In spite of how often they're in danger together, she always feels safe with him.

Felicity knows this casino well, remembers its layout and where the more well-to-do crowd tends to gather. But, she's still surprised when Oliver steers her toward the high roller rooms rather than the general floor of the casino. The need to be seen does not, apparently, extend to the general public. They need to be visible as a ritzy, unreachable pair. It doesn't suit her well, but Oliver wears the persona like a mask he's donned for years. She supposes, in a lot of ways, he has.

"How much do you want me to win?" she mutters quietly to him as he cashes in some credits for chips.

Even asking that leaves her feeling antsy, but she sort of needs to know and they haven't discussed it.

The look he gives her is equal parts confusion and amusement. "Just play for a bit," he tells her, like she's being ridiculous, like he doesn't care if she wins or loses or how much. Which… he probably doesn't when she thinks about it.

"You sure about that?" she asks, eyeing the chips. It's not a small pile.

"Have fun," he smiles, kissing her temple. "I'll be your good luck charm."

She scoffs a little at that, but smiles happily as they take a spot at the table. There are only three in the room and everyone there is absurdly noteworthy. She recognizes a few faces from her days as an adolescent waiting for her mom. She recognizes others from Oliver's life, both targets and allies, old acquaintances and family friends. He navigates them with ease, equal parts casually catching up and proudly showing her off. He makes a point to introduce her to a few people and they're the ones she knows to take note of - an old friend of his mother's, a business associate of his father's, a politician he seems to actually like. It's dizzying being a part of this side of his life, but it's made easier by watching him, how easily he handles it all, how exceptional he is in this way, like in so many others.

But Oliver and his charms aren't the biggest distraction in the room, for once. Neither are the games of Blackjack themselves - she can do that in her sleep.

No, the most distracting thing is the Earth That Was artifact on display.

It's in the middle of the table, sunk beneath the glass that's flush with the felt tabletop, ostentatiously on display for the richest of the rich. She can't even begin to guess at the security measures for it. They have to be substantial, but they're also well hidden.

The artifact itself, though… it makes her breath catch in her throat and she's sure Oliver knows why because he chuckles lowly and rubs a hand across her back. But… yeah, it's pretty wow.

It's a motherboard, a slice of technology from before and oh what she wouldn't do to get her hands on that thing. It's archaic, of course, but just to look it over, play with it a bit… the very idea makes giddiness bubble up inside her.

Or it does until she pays a bit closer attention to the details of it.

She loses that hand of blackjack, even though she shouldn't have because the reality of what she's seeing is just too big.

Blinking hard, she wonders for a moment if she's seeing things. But she knows she's not and her whole body tenses up, something Oliver notices immediately.

"Last hand?" he suggests. "We need to see about arrangements for securing your jewelry before we meet with my sister later."

"Yes," she agrees quickly. She loses the hand nearly as fast before tipping the dealer and smiling tightly at the woman to her right who Oliver had purposefully introduced her to. The ramifications of what she's seen are heavy, but alarming anyone around her or being rude to an old friend of her deceased soon-to-be mother-in-law would be poor form.

Oliver, too, takes a moment to say his goodbyes, making plans to have drinks with one contact, if time allows, and promising to wave another. But it isn't long before he's leading her from the room again and the second they're in the hall out of earshot he pulls her close, looking down at her with concern.

"What is it?" he asks. "What did you see?"

She hesitates before answering, searching his face and finding the connection she needs to soldier on.

"The artifact," she tells him after a beat. "Oliver… it's a fake."

It's like her words don't make sense to him. His brow furrows and he blinks at her as he tries to process what she's saying. She can't blame him for that. It barely makes sense to her and she can't even begin to fathom the implications of her words.

"What do you mean?" he asks, searching her eyes for clarification.

She swallows hard, looking to the sides to make sure there's no one nearby and leaning in further toward him. It's unnecessary, really. But she craves the sense of security he offers her, the steadying force of his presence. And he's so ready and willing to give it, so she soaks in the way his hands rub against her upper arms, the way he barely moves, barely angles toward her, but still leaves her feeling like he's enveloping her in his warmth.

"It's a good fake," she tells him. "Don't get me wrong. It took me a few minutes to notice, but it's wrong. The power connector is a pre-war prototype from ASC that was developed at the New Burbank facility. It didn't work right and it was never mass produced, but I had a professor who worked on the project and he used it as an example of what not to do. Style over substance is a bad plan anywhere, but it's worst in technology."

"You're sure?" he asks. His fingers curl around her arms, thumbs stroking at the whisper-thin material of her blouse. The heat of his palms bleeds right through the fabric and drives away the chill that's been living beneath her skin since she realized what it was she'd seen back in that room.

She nods. "What does it mean? Was it always fake? Are we too late? Did they already steal it? What about my mom? Is she okay? Is she-" Felicity can't even finish that thought, can't begin to contemplate anything happening to her mother.

They aren't terribly close, haven't been in many years - her late teens had left her chafing to escape New Vegas, her mom, and the very casino she's standing in now. They haven't had much at all to relate to each other about and Felicity hasn't shared much of her life with her mother. Some of that is due to necessity - she can't tell her mom about her Team Arrow work - and some of it is just that her mom isn't capable of understanding the intricacies of the work she does. They love each other, but it's in a distant way… which is something that Felicity is fast starting to regret.

Does her mom know? Does she have any idea how much she respects her? How many of the sacrifices she'd made as a single mom Felicity can see more clearly now, given space and the time to grow up? It's a strange thing to bring up, to acknowledge her own biases and childhood selfishness, and Felicity had always figured she'd have more time to have those hard conversations with her mom because she deserved to know… She does deserve to know. God, she can't start thinking about her mom in the past tense. She can't.

"Hey, don't jump to conclusions," Oliver counsels her, his hands abandoning her arms to pull her close. His lips find her forehead easily as one of his hands spans nearly the whole of her back. It settles her some immediately, as much as anything can anyhow, and she finds she doesn't know what she'd do in this situation without Oliver at her side. She's not sure she could cope at all. "We need to get a look at the security tapes and we've got to find out what kind of protections they have in place for the fake artifacts. All we've learned today is that we need more information, but we know where to get it, okay? Can you hack their security?"

"Yes," she nods hesitantly, looking up at him, but not backing up in the least. Distance from him is the last thing she wants right now. "I can… I have actually. High school prank just to prove I could. It was dumb. I got caught, though, and they upgraded their security because of it. I poked around a few more times in college just to see what they'd done. And I did get some surveillance when we were on our way, trying to figure out a timeline on my mom but that was all easily accessible stuff. What we need is going to be more secured than that. The high roller rooms are kept on a different server with a lot more protections in place. I'm pretty sure I can still get in, but… Oliver, I don't think I can do it without them noticing and that's a problem all on its own."

There's no question that he's aware of that. The Bratva detecting a hack at their casino is not something that would work in their favor and might well get them all killed. Hell, this entire thing is riddled with problems that could have dire consequences at every turn. It's overwhelming. She's overwhelmed. But she's also not alone.

"What if you had direct access?" he asks, licking his lips as he thinks. "What if we could get you to the security computers instead of having to do it remotely? Could you lift the information without getting caught then?"

She pauses to think that over. Long story short, she's not sure and that's kind of an issue unto itself.

"Maybe?" she ventures. "I'll need to get access to know for sure."

"Well…" Oliver tells her with a pensive, raised eyebrow and a long breath of air blown through his thinned lips. "Let's get you access then."

Hesitance and terror must be obvious on her face because Oliver abandons his hold on her to cup her face. The sense of peace he gives her so easily is absolutely incredible and she finds her eyes slipping shut at the gentle touch of his calloused fingers to her skin.

"I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and bring your mother home," he vows, his voice heavy and rich with depth that resonates intensely. "And we will figure this out. I promise you that. Do you understand?"

She bites her lips together and nods, not trusting her voice. She hears him clearly, though.

There's more than one way to say 'I love you.'

Sliding her arms up around his neck, she tugs him down slightly to meet her lips. His hands never leave her face as they both find themselves in each other, a quiet moment of intense affection that feels like it breathes hope and life right into her. They have done the impossible together so many times before, beat unbeatable odds, and this might be daunting but they'll be fine. Because they are so much better together than either one of them is on their own. They are so much more than the sum of their parts.

"Okay," she agrees, unable to resist pressing another fast kiss to his lips after they part. "Okay, let's go find out what we're up against."

His hand falls away from her face and settles against the small of her back. He's meant every word he's said, about his confidence in their success and his determination to protect her, but he still seems like he needs to maintain contact with her at every opportunity. Some of that is the freedom to revel in their newly forged commitment to each other, but a lot of it is protectiveness and she knows it. There is nothing about this situation that he likes and he'd much prefer to have them both far away from the Bratva right now.

As it turns out, he'd already talked to the hotel management - probably Maxim himself - about needing to store some valuables in the hotel vault and security is expecting their visit.

This kind of thing isn't exactly common, but it's not unheard of either. Felicity's well aware that the well-to-do often demand the very highest security for their valuables. And, the more money that person has, the more they're likely to get what they want. Add to that Oliver's last name and his ties to the Bratva and… well, it's really not surprising in the least that security all but falls over themselves to assure him that their protections are the best in the 'verse.

For once, it plays to their advantage that the Bratva is essentially an old boys' club. Little attention is paid to Felicity. She's as much an ornament to be protected and locked away as the the gems around her neck to these goons. And they are Bratva goons. She hadn't really seen that growing up, but it's so terribly obvious now. It makes her wonder what else she missed.

But there's no time to dwell on that. Not now. Not when they're in the security headquarters and she can actually get an eyeful of their systems while Oliver commands the room.

You'd think after what happened on Solntsevskaya, Maxim would know better than to underestimate her, but it seems like he's just not that bright.

He is, apparently, bright enough to make his higher end systems fully inaccessible without a whole lot of time or a series of passwords she doesn't have. There's no way she's getting into these records right now. Not without detection and she's got no idea how to go about it without getting busted from elsewhere later.

Which is why her mother was taken, she realizes. If she's right and it's her dad who kidnapped her, he's at least as good a hacker as Felicity is. He wouldn't have taken his ex-wife and engaged in a far more complex plan for a bunch of technological antiques if he'd been able to hack his way in.

So, Felicity tries another tactic, thinks on her feet and adjusts her strategy.

"Honey, I'm just not sure I'm comfortable with this," she says loudly, grabbing Oliver's sleeve and earning his surprised glance. He recovers quickly, though, schooling his face to hide his reaction. "I mean, it sounds great and all, but how secure is it really? I need more proof than a manual about the safe, you know?"

"Miss…" the head of security starts. When he doesn't say her name, she realizes he never even stopped to learn it. He'd been too honed in on Oliver to take note of a woman as anything more than a lovely accessory. The jerk. "I assure you, your valuables will be absolutely untouchable here."

She sighs dramatically. "I need more than words. If I'm going to trust you to protect my heirlooms, I need to see it. What's the most valuable thing you've had to safeguard lately? Cash deposits? Because that's a different thing entirely and incredibly routine for you, I'd think."

"No," the security chief counters. Pridefulness tinges his faint Russian accent, bringing it out more and he raises his chin to look down on her as he speaks. "The displays would be a better comparison and much more difficult. They are protected in plain sight."

"Then tell me about that," she demands. "Show me how you protect them."

The security chief laughs nervously and looks from her to Oliver like surely he knows she's being ridiculous, but Oliver, of course, simply stares back at the man with raised eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

"I cannot possibly show you that," he elaborates, his smile falling away. "You've got to be aware that's an impossibility."

"Honey, maybe we should just go to another hotel," Felicity says, turning fully to face Oliver and tugging at his arm as she blinks up at him with big eyes that he knows are a ploy but Security Jerk does not. "I need to feel like our things are safe and so does everyone else on our ship. Your sister said most of the top floor at the New York is available. She wanted to stay there anyhow."

"Wait," Security Jerk says quickly. She's made him nervous. Good. "I can't show you the protections in place for the artifacts, but I can show you everything we did to secure them as we brought them in. It should give you an idea of the measure we'll go to. How does that sound?"

Ideal, in Felicity's head. It sounds ideal.

It takes actual effort to suppress an instinctive fist pump of triumph.

"That should work," she says with a blasé shrug instead.

Oliver squeezes her shoulder in some sort of show of solidarity or congratulations as the security chief accesses the system records. Watching him do that is a lesson on their security unto itself. It's even more complex than she'd thought and there's no way she'd have had time to break through all those levels of encryption and firewalls. Not with her mom missing and the time table they're dealing with.

They're down to a day and a half until Anatoly gets here, after all… give or take.

"Here," Security Jerk tells her, turning the monitor and standing back up, crossing his arms in triumphant haughtiness. "Watch what we did. My men are well-trained and our systems are state of the art. If we can be trusted with priceless antiques we can absolutely safeguard the necklace of a Bratva woman."

His words barely register, though, because she's too busy taking in the action on the screen in front of her. There's a flurry of armed guards swarming the area and multiple trucks with fake payloads. There's a dampening system killing any wireless electronics and she can see a jammer in place, too. It's impressive. Their security is solid, which is going to be a problem for them on several levels, but that's not actually the thing that captures her attention right now.

"Can you zoom in?" she requests. "On the artifacts. I want a closer look at boxes you used for them. They're armed, right?"

"Rigged electronically," Security Jerk agrees as he zooms in. "They give a big jolt to anyone not meant to be touching them."

Because the handlers for the artifacts were wearing gloves meant to absorb the electric shock, she realizes. More to the point, she also realizes that the clear boxes these artifacts were transported in are likely the same ones they're stored in within the viewing windows of the blackjack and poker tables.

A motherboard, a calculator, a car engine, a radio and an intact drone with its controls.

The artifacts might not look like much to most people out on the rim planets where she spends most of her time these days, but technological artifacts are amongst the most sought after by the well-to-do and Felicity knows - knows - that if these were real they'd be worth enough money to make her head spin.

But she's seen them.

They're not.

"I'm satisfied by this," she tells the security chief, brushing her hair to the side as Oliver's hands go to her neck in an instant to help her remove the jewelry. "Thank you for taking my concerns so seriously."

"Of course," he replies. Man, she hates the smug look on his face, but she ignores that distaste as Oliver hands over the jewelry. They watch the security chief lock it away in a box similar to those used for the artifacts, before stowing it in a complex and impressively-sized safe in the office.

Felicity frankly can't get out of there fast enough after that. Her head is spinning with possibilities and the question of what to do next.

"Hey," Oliver says practically right against her ear as they leave the room and stop a few dozen feet down the hall with no one in sight. "What happened? What did you see?"

"They've been fakes the whole time, Oliver," she tells him. "From the very beginning. The Italian mob is paying off a Bratva captain to kill the Pakhan using counterfeit antiques being guarded like the crown jewels and someone who clearly doesn't know they're fake has kidnapped my mom to try and get access to steal them."

The implications are staggering. They can't go to Maxim, even if he believed them about the antiques being forged, he'd kill them for figuring out his gambit. They can't leave it alone because the minute Anatoly gets here he's going to have a target on his back. And they can't let the kidnappers figure out the artifacts aren't real because then what will they do with her mom? She's increasingly questioning her guess that the kidnapper is her father. After all, he has an even keener eye for technology than her.

"Oliver… what do we do?" she asks, looking up at him in desperate hope for an answer. "How do we fix this?"

He hesitates before answering, but when he does, she knows he's right. She knows it's the only route they can take. But she also knows that it's even more dangerous than their usual brand of missions.

"We're going to have to steal it first," he tells her. "We're going to have to take it before anyone else tries to and we've got no more than 36 hours to do it."