Golden tendrils danced before her eye as a swift breeze blew in from the northwest. She roped them in, twisting them up into a ponytail and out of her way. The last thing she needed tonight was to make a stupid mistake because her hair got in her eyes.

Off in the tree line, nearly invisible in the shadows, stood fifteen year old Felicity Smoak. The Queen Mansion, tall and imposing, rose up before her, but she wasn't afraid. She'd worked this plan a million times in her head. She knew the timing, the technique. It was, in all honesty, a fairly simple job.

It just so happened to also be her very first.

Sure, her father had taken her out as his wingman a few times, used her to distract a mark or security if needed. And her mother had taught her to pick pockets when she was just six years old. But this job was her first. The first she'd conceived, planned, and was about to execute all on her own.

Pulling her laptop from her backpack, she quickly used the backdoor she'd created in the Queen's security to give herself a window of opportunity. Literally, a window. Specifically, a second story window in the east wing. The son's room.

Felicity had done her homework on the Queens as soon as she'd realized they had something she wanted to steal. Robert Queen, CEO of the multi-billion dollar Queen Consolidated, was rarely home, spending most of his time either at the office or off jet setting on ski trips and European vacations. His wife, Moira, spent her days giving back to the less fortunate by attending fundraising brunches with her wealthy friends. Their son, Oliver, was your average eighteen year old. He had a D in algebra, which told Felicity pretty much all she needed to know about him. Then there was Thea Queen, just eleven years old. Felicity hadn't been able to gather much about her other than she seemed to enjoy the attention the paparazzi gave her, always smiling into the camera as her parents ushered her away.

Besides the security team, Thea and her nanny were the only ones home tonight. According to Robert and Moira's flight manifest, they'd left for Italy the day before for an undetermined amount of time. And Oliver was at a party. She'd been tracking his social media all night to keep an eye on him.

Even at fifteen, Felicity was nothing if not thorough, and she'd spent the last two weeks staking out the mansion. She'd watched the security guards, tracked their movements, hacked their phones. It's how she knew the guard patrolling the perimeter of the east wing was very big into Candy Crush. It wasn't difficult to hack his phone and send him a notification from the game, reminding him to play. She'd already looped the cameras and shut down the alarm system, so she tucked her laptop back into her bag and waited. The guard called in his all clear signal, then pulled out his phone, tapping on the notification and losing himself in the glowing phone screen.

Breaking from the tree line, Felicity cut across the manicured lawn, heading for a very lovely and very convenient trellis. It was easy enough to climb, but Felicity had never been very athletic, preferring computers to most physical activity, so she took her time, making sure not to make too much noise. Soon enough she was ducking across the roof outside Oliver's window.

She'd chosen his room as her way in because, convenient trellising aside, her target was on the second floor of the east wing and it provided the fastest way in and out.

Crouching near the window, she shifted her bag around, pulling out the tools she'd need. She'd already shut down the alarms, so now it was just a simple matter of breaking and entering. The window lock was easy enough to pick and in less than thirty seconds she was slipping inside.

It was a large room, probably the same size as her mother's entire apartment, and it too came with expensive looking art on the walls. Other than that, it looked like a typical teenage boy's room. A pile of clothes sat outside the closet, a desk with a laptop and some school books with barely cracked spines. Felicity was pretty sure she could score a tidy sum just ransacking this room, but that wasn't what she was here for.

When your dad is a world class art thief and your mom is a legendary con woman, it sort of sets the bar a little higher than petty theft. Which was why she'd chosen this specific job to be her first. She had to prove that she could handle a real job, a real crew, and what better way then stealing a Jackson Pollock out from under the noses of the richest family in the city.

Felicity crept through the room, pulling her phone out and tapping open an app she'd created just for this job. She'd scanned in the mansion's blueprints, creating a perfect 3D rendering, and synced it with her hacked GPS data, allowing her to watch where security was in real time. Right now most of the security team was outside, but one lone guard did a loop of the main floor every twenty minutes. As long as she didn't do anything to garner attention, he would never even know she was there. Slipping her phone into her back pocket, Felicity took a deep breath then turned the door knob.

And came face to face with Oliver Queen.

Well, face to chest, anyway. It actually took her a moment to realize that it was Oliver and not the guards coming to apprehend her. A moment where fear and confusion and disappointment all battled it out to be the dominant emotion. She'd done everything right! How could they have known she was here? How did she miss a guard on the second floor?

"Who are you?" a male voice, just as confused, asked, and that's when she finally realized who was standing in front of her.

Not that it made anything better. Oliver wasn't a guard, but he could shout for the guy downstairs easily enough. There wasn't anything she could do to stop him. She'd never believed in using weapons. A good thief doesn't need 'em, her dad always said. And if you get nabbed the sentence is longer, was her mother's take on the subject. She'd never had a reason to think otherwise. But right then a strong taser would have really come in handy.

"You know, I can't say I mind finding a strange girl in my bedroom, but seriously. Who are you and what are doing here?" he asked again, eyeing her up and down.

She could see it in his eyes the moment he started to put the pieces together, but still she couldn't find the words to thwart the idea. She was normally so good with words. Well, not good. Very rarely good, but words, for better or worse, never failed her. Until she needed them most, of course.

"Um…"

"Are you robbing me?" The question came out more bewildered than angry. In fact, he seemed almost amused by the idea. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he took a good look at her. "How old are you?"

Funny how a simple question like that could be the thing that knocked Felicity's brain back into action. Something about the disbelief, the almost condescension, in the way he'd formed the sentence turned Felicity's fear into steel-willed teenage girl rage.

"I'm fifteen," she announced, head held high as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to make herself look taller. Quite a feat when she was a good ten inches shorter than him. "What are you doing home anyway? You were supposed to be at a party tonight."

Oliver blinked, his head cocking to the side. "How do you know that?"

"Uh…" Felicity floundered for a moment, then figured she might as well tell him. It's not like she could get anymore caught, after all. "I may have set up facial recognition software to stalk your social media accounts. And your friends' accounts. To track you." She huffed, dropping her arms back to her sides. "Which clearly didn't work. Next time I'll just have to hack everyone's GPS as a backup." She looked back at him. "My data clearly said you'd be at the party until at least midnight."

He raised one incredulous eyebrow. "Your data?"

"Yeah. I ran an algorithm that took into account the number of photos and videos of you taken at every party you've been to in the last year and the course of time over which they were posted. According to that result you're usually at parties for about five hours on average. But it's only ten thirty and… here you are."

"Ruining your plans," he said with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. For someone who'd come home to find a thief in his house, he was taking this rather well. Almost annoyingly well. Felicity couldn't help but think it was because she was a girl. He thought she was nothing but a joke, an anecdote to tell his friends.

"So…" he said, crossing his arms and casually leaning against the door jam. "What were you trying to steal?"

Gritting her teeth, she took a step back. "A painting."

"Well, there's certainly plenty of them. Mom's decorator convinced her they 'make a statement' but nobody but us ever even sees half of them."

Heaving a sigh, she asked, "Are you gonna call security or what?"

"Haven't decided yet. Which one did you come for?" he asked watching her curiously. His smirk grew, along with Felicity's irritation.

"Does it make a difference?"

He shrugged.

After a moment's hesitation she nodded past him where he still stood in the doorway and he took the hint, letting her scoot passed into the hall. Following the route she'd memorized over the past few weeks, Felicity moved quickly and quietly to the right. She couldn't say the same about the boy following behind her. She winced with every heavy footfall, but reminded herself that she'd already been caught. Just from their interaction so far she was pretty sure Oliver wasn't going to turn her in. Besides even if he did, she had an escape plan in place for just this reason. Pity her brain had fried before she'd been able to use it earlier.

Coming to a stop at the midway point of the hallway, she pointed towards the painting hanging there. It should have been her prize. Instead, it was a sign that her dad had been right. She wasn't ready for her own jobs. Couldn't handle the responsibility or the pressure.

Glancing at the painting on the wall, Oliver said, "This one? It's not even the nicest one in the house. My little sister's paintings are nicer than this."

She gave him an incredulous look. "This is a Jackson Pollock." When he didn't respond other than a casually raised eyebrow, she shook her head. "You know nothing about art for someone with millions of dollars of it hanging on his walls."

"And what are you, like, an art collector or something?"

"No. I'm a thief," she said confidently, crossing her arms.

If he was impressed she couldn't tell. "Well, if you're such a thief, how come you got caught then?"

"You didn't catch me. I can leave any time I want."

"I could always tell the police some kid broke in to steal my Jackson… whatever."

She seethed at being called a kid in that tone. She wasn't a kid, and some idiot rich boy getting the jump on her didn't mean she wasn't a thief.

"You could." Felicity shrugged, going for nonchalance even though her shoulders were stiff with anxiety. "But who would believe you? I could just start screaming that you lured me up here and suddenly you're the one the cops are investigating."

He smirked again, but this time it spread wider, transforming into a real smile. A smile so bright that even in the dark it was a little blinding. "So what was the plan?"

"What?" She blinked.

"The plan," he said, nodding towards the painting. "How did you plan to steal it?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"Because I have a proposition for you."

Felicity gave him a skeptical look. He was only a few years older than her, but his history with women was well documented in the tabloids and online gossip blogs. "What kind of proposition?"

"You show me how to steal this painting, and I won't tell anyone about the girl who snuck in through my window and made off with it."

"I don't believe you. Why would you want to help me steal your own painting?"

"Because my parents went off to Europe without me and I'm resentful." He shrugged, then hooked a thumb towards the painting. "And also that painting is really ugly. It looks like someone threw up on the canvas. I wouldn't mind never having to see it again."

Felicity's lips twitched against her will. "So you want to help me in order to get back at your parents?"

"I want to get back at my parents and I want to help you," he said, head tilting as he took her in. "You're the most interesting thing that's ever happened to me."

Despite common sense telling her this was a mistake, something in his eyes—those blue, blue eyes—told her she could trust him. And that's how she ended up doing the stupidest thing she'd ever done in her life.

She showed him how to steal a painting.

###

"Hey."

Felicity's head snapped up to see Oliver sitting across from her, a worried expression contorting his face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she said with a small shake of her head. "Just dozed off a little."

That was mostly true. The moment they'd stepped foot on the plane, Felicity had been overcome with a wave of exhaustion. Probably something to do with the emotional weight of packing up most of her life and heading back across the country to help the father she hadn't seen in almost three years. Oliver had settled in and ordered a drink from the flight attendant, and John Diggle, after a very warm reception, had moved to the back of the private plane to call his wife.

"We're almost there," Oliver commented casually, sipping his scotch.

She nodded, glancing out the window. Miles and miles of nothing but patchwork farmland stretched out below them, seeming like it would go on forever. But it wouldn't. Soon enough it would give way to mountains, then thick green forests, and then they'd be home. To Starling City. Both dread and excitement coursed through her at the thought.

"For what it's worth," Oliver said, stealing her attention. "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm not back."

It was a steely-voiced denial. A promise to herself not to get sucked back in. Not to let him suck her back in.

Oliver sighed, taking another sip of his scotch. "Yeah. I know."