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ain't it fun? (to be on your own)

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Felicity flopped down to one of the many exercise mats that were laid down in the giant concrete cell referred to as the 'Training Centre.' She was going to die, and whatever doctor got stuck with her cooling corpse would have to put boredom as her cause of death.

Ok, that was an exaggeration. She couldn't really die of boredom, surely, she'd have been dead for months or years if that was possible. The most interesting thing that ever happened in the heavily guarded, top secret, underground facility out of which Task Force X was based was when one of her more sanity challenged team mates inevitably decided to try and take a shot at anyone who happened to be in the vicinity - usually one of the really quite imposing guards with semiautomatic assault rifles always present but she still had a scar from where Harley had tried to take a chunk out of her before the assault rifles actually came into play. She really didn't know why Harley was here, the bombs weren't exactly going to keep her in checka nd she never went on any actual missions but hell, what did she know? She was just a hacker, a babbling hacker no less.

At least she only did it in her head, these days. She didn't exactly have a lot of opportunities for conversation, which dramatically reduced her opportunities for embarrassing herself.

Which brought her back to boredom.

She didn't exactly spend a lot of time in the Training Centre, mostly because whatever intention ARGUS had had in providing the space, it was primarily a place for the 'operatives' to show off in hopes of intimidating the others. Felicity was not only not interested, but her skills lay elsewhere, so she couldn't even do something useful and actually train as some of the less annoying fighters did.

Or, at least, she didn't intend to. Waller apparently wanted her to 'expand her skill set.' Yeah right.

She thought about what she would be doing if she wasn't in this hellhole. All the places she could be other than a small, dank hole. Somewhere with a reliable, unmonitored internet connection. So many networks, so little time. But no, she was here.

She scowled, shoved herself up and looked around.

Ben was throwing knives at targets with a facial expression that suggested he wouldn't mind a moving target. Lawton was spectating a sparring match, trash talking the both of them with a shit-eating grin. No Harley, unsurprisingly, and no Cutter, which was surprising but welcome.

In the corner, sitting with his back to the wall, head tipped back and knees pulled half up, seemingly asleep except for the lines of tension in his neck and arms, was one person she had not expected to see.

She hadn't seen the newest recruit more than a couple of times and hadn't worked with him at all. She had seen him being marched in on his first day looking like hell, and passed each other in the corridors once or twice. He hadn't been in the cafeteria yet, so he either didn't eat or had somehow managed to wrangle meals in his cell, in which case, she wanted in on that. The guards referred to him as 'Archer,' 'Arrow' and even 'Robin Hood' once or twice, which probably explained the new training equipment and the shiny, deadly looking weapons in the 'Prep Room' - different types of bows, arrows and various accompanying equipment. He had once asked her to move out of his way so he could fetch some kind of power tool that had bugged her the whole time she was finishing her updates and debugs for the week, and his accent had been Russian, marking him as the only non-American on the team.

This was the sum total of her knowledge of him.

In other words, he was a mystery. She hated mysteries.

She made an impulsive decision, rising to her feet and wandered in his direction, like she was watching the fighters, testing him. His eyes flew open for a split second, focusing on her before he resumed feigning sleep and she smiled, inwardly. Trying to avoid being noticed or seen as a threat. It was a smart move, considering the company.

She walked over to him and sat down opposite. He opened his eyes slowly, watching her from underneath lowered lids. He was almost feline, the lazy way he shifted his head to track her movements, somehow threatening without having to make an actual threat. It was probably a useful skill, but Felicity had stopped allowing herself to be intimidated a long time ago.

She stared back at him, waiting for him to react. Everyone had a reaction. Short, blond, wearing bright lipstick and nail polish with her standard issue jumpsuit generally engendered two reactions in a place like this - they dismissed her, either because they thought she was crazy or they thought she was weak.

He didn't take her eyes off her.

"Hi." She said brightly.

"Hi." He said. Even with her admittedly limited knowledge of social cues she could tell that the last thing he wanted to do was interact with her in any way.

She grinned even wider.

"Is there a reason you're bugging me, in particular, in a room full of people?" He said, low and threatening. The last word was actually something close to a growl, which she hadn't realised was in the human vocal range, and would have thought would sound ridiculous anyway. She would have been wrong.

She looked around exaggeratedly. Yes, the squad had expanded, but it still couldn't exactly be called large.

"I don't exactly have a huge number of conversational partners, and you're probably the most interesting."

She realised she probably shouldn't have told him that at the exact moment he did. He leant forward, smiling what probably would have been a great smile if it didn't look disconcertingly like the shark from Jaws.

"And what is it that makes me interesting, Oracle?" He said, sitting up and leaning forwards slowly. His accent wasn't as strong as she had thought, she realised distractedly, and his English was grammatically perfect.

"They're old news and you're not. For now, Arrow." She said, completely detached as she eyed him, leaning back to maintain the distance between them.

He grinned again, all fake charm, all the earlier menace gone and asked, "You got a name other than Oracle, Oracle? You got any family back wherever you call home?"

She considered it. It wasn't like her identity was a secret. "Felicity. Born and raised in Las Vegas, no family. How about you?"

"Got a lot of names." But his apparently was.

"But only one of them can be real." She countered.

"A man cannot live by two names," He quoted, slightly nostalgic and slightly bitter. "Arrow is probably the most real."

"Depressing." She commented thoughtlessly, the word slipping out before she could filter it. She froze as he looked at her, obviously knocked off guard.

"Born and raised in Moscow. No family." He finished, quietly.

She glanced away, suddenly uncomfortable, and looked at the door and saw more guards entering, led by a short, dark haired woman she'd seen once or twice from a distance.

She startled when she beckoned to Felicity, then realised that it wasn't at her at all. Arrow rose and strode towards them and was lead out. She thought he had been tense when she first saw him, when the conversation had veered out of comfortable territory but it was nothing on what she saw as the doors swung shut.

"Welcome to the Suicide Squad," she murmured mockingly as she brushed herself off and went back to her cell.