Chapter Text
“So it’s over, huh?”
“Yep, Oliver and Chuck and everybody got them,” Felicity exclaims with satisfaction, twirling around in her swivel chair to face Tommy.
“How? I thought you said this guy was some kind of huge ‘roids junkie or something,” he contradicts casually.
Felicity rolls her eyes and ignores his comment as she responds, “I think he had a little more motivation… knowing how everyone was really believing in him.”
“You didn’t.”
“Guess you’ll have to stop screening his calls from now on…”
“Felicity!!!”
~
“So, are you going to explain the ‘Piranha’ thing to me now?” Sarah asks in a teasing, yet honestly curious tone.
She’s gazing up at Chuck with that gorgeous Sarah smile as they walk towards the car, shoulder-to-shoulder. He feels a grin tug at his lips, and he can’t help smiling back.
“You heard that, huh?” he confirmed, only slightly able to swallow the humiliation he feels as his cheeks begin to redden.
“Hmm,” is her only response, but when he fails to answer her after several steps, she repeats it with a little more steely undertone.
“Not a chance,” He says, mirth evident in his mock serious voice.
She gasps at him in fun, reaching out to hit him playfully with her purse. She exclaims, “What? Come on! You owe me that, at least!”
He doesn’t bother holding back a pleased laugh as he stares happily at the road in front of him. He glances up at her from where his head is still bent slightly toward the ground, the sun shining through his lashes, and unwittingly, making her gasp at the color of his eyes at that angle. “I really don’t see how! You have my whole life filed away somewhere in a manila envelope!”
“And you have every last one of the CIA’s best kept secrets locked away in your head,” Sarah argues smoothly, a playful glint in her eyes, and a confident smirk on her mouth.
“Fair,” Chuck concedes with a tilt of his head, grinning back down at her with an easy surety in his step.
He had almost forgotten how weightless he could feel with her sometimes, when their guards were down. Now, however, staring into her crisp blue-gold eyes and wide, full lips all smiley and fond, he can recall with perfect clarity why he had confessed his feelings to this girl about thirty times since that first fake(ish) date. He loved her so fully that it made his stomach dip in the sudden recognition; like coming inside to a warm fire after standing out in the pouring rain for hours, during a Hurricane.
Oh, yeah.
“Idiot,” a familiar grunt reaches from behind Chuck, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that it’s Casey, but he does anyway.
He watches the older man overtake the couple easily, striding ahead to place the bags of equipment into the open back of the van, a small half-smirk playing on his face. He can’t even be annoyed with him right now. Not when he’s got this much happiness in him. Sarah reaches up and tugs on his arm to regain his attention.
“I’m serious, Chuck,” she murmurs articulately. “What was all that talk about ‘The Piranha’?”
He shakes his head, feeling a flutter in his gut at her touch. He relents, “The next time I tell someone that story, it will be to the woman I marry. That way she’s already legally bound to stay with me no matter how nerdy she finds out I am.”
“So, never?” Casey asks snidely, as Chuck and Sarah halt before him.
“Ha Ha, Casey, you’re a comedian.”
“Well,” he says with a sigh, “You morons ready to get the hell out of that wack-job’s city?”
~
“Well, that was nice. That was a nice visit. I think we’ve made life-long friends in those guys, eh?”
Digg snorts absently as Felicity rants, putting his earpiece and gun away. Felicity is standing by her desk, eyes on Oliver as he heads to the room in the back where he changes out of the suit.
“Sure, Felicity. As if we’ll ever see them again.”
“What?” she exclaims, head jerking up. “Why do you say that?”
“Gee, I don’t know, maybe because they came here looking for a thief and instead found the Arrow, a Mirakuru soldier, and their match in emotional constipated crime-fighting couples? Is that sufficient enough reasoning?”
“Yeah, yeah, I get your point, John,” Felicity responds dejectedly before adding, fervently, “But you can’t say you didn’t like Casey! Don’t even bother because I know the truth! You and Casey are BFFs for life, I know it!!”
Digg hides an amused smirk behind a grunt of annoyance, grabs his jacket, and stands. “Well. I’m going home. G’night, Felicity.”
“Night, John.”
He turns to her to see that her hands are held behind her back, holding her up against the desk. Behind her glasses, blue eyes are unfocused, staring blindly on something he can’t see. The tension rippling in her shoulders is a presence all its own in the room, and he sighs.
“You’ll be fine, Felicity.”
“I know.”
“So stop doubting yourself,” he retorts softly. “And him.”
Then, without waiting for an answer, he turns and strides up the stairs and out into the breezy night. The rain has picked up, dulling the sights and sounds of nightlife in the bad side of town. He pulls at his collar and heads quickly to his car. John Diggle doesn’t rush for anyone, but when he catches the headlights of a familiar red convertible pulling up to the club’s back entrance, he remembers a conversation he had with Tommy a few days ago down in the Foundry, and darts swiftly out of his parking space and into the road.
“…Then, I told her to go home and work off some steam, because I would handle Ollie.”
“And by handle…”
“I mean, handle.”
~
Oliver walks back towards her under the light of the Foundry in a clean white shirt and blue jeans. Felicity watches him with a gnawing ache in her belly. His eyes rove over her face, catching on whatever she so desperately hoped to hide. She watches his hands slip self-consciously into the pockets of his pants as his shoulders hunch anticipatorily.
“What?” he asks in greeting.
She sighs, hating that she can’t have a better poker-face. “Nothing, nothing. Just tired after a long interrupted period of what is now scarily becoming my actual job.”
“Felicity…” Oliver cuts in quietly, dragging her name out in that way that says he is not at all fooled.
“Which is weird, right? I mean, when did Queen Consolidated stop being my main job, and saving vigilantes from behind a computer make top priority—wow, my life out of context sounds really, really freaking strange—“
“Felicity. Tell me what’s wrong,” Oliver murmurs softly, before rushing on in a flurry of tension, “Is it about… us? Because I want you to know that I would never presume—I mean, I don’t mind taking things slow, or if—if you’re changing your mind. That. That is okay.”
“No, no, Oliver. Of course not,” Felicity hastily insists, stepping forward without a thought. Her hand moves to rest on his bicep and she can feel the heat radiating from it. It is, to say the least, intoxicating.
“Then what’s the matter?” he asks, and her heart breaks at his worried expression, but when he reaches forward to pull her in, she can’t help taking a step back.
The look on his face at that moment is simply uncontested. she feels like weeping at the hurt she sees there, but she knows that there is no way she can hope to get through this with him touching her like that, like she’s the most important thing in the world.
“It’s just that… you say you want to be with me—“
“Yes,” he professes immediately, voice breaking with overwhelming emotion, but she doesn’t let it stop her.
“And I get that you mean that—“
“Absolutely.”
“Now,” she finishes, heart breaking as the truest and darkest of her fears slips out. She can’t look up, too afraid of what she might see—or not see—on his face. “But who’s to say that, when Laurel gets kidnapped again, or another beautiful mysterious woman from your past shows up in town—who’s to say you will keep wanting this? Wanting me?”
There’s silence and it rings in her ears, injecting a strain of anxiety and dread that she’s never felt before shooting through her limbs. She continues, if only to strip away that silence.
“Who’s to say I’m good enough for someone like you, a hero? Who’s to say I even can keep you satisfied—and not in the sexy times way—in the L-word way? Oliver, where would we be then? No longer partners, no longer lovers… no longer friends? I just don’t know if I can handle that, losing you and Diggle. I mean, it’s one thing to have to watch you gallivanting around in love with Gorgeous Laurel and Feisty Mckenna, but to not have you in my life? To not get to hang out with you every night? You’re one of my best friends. I can’t risk losing you if this ends up not being what you want.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. And that is the moment in which Felicity Smoak dies a thousand deaths.
“Felicity, look at me.”
Hearing the tone of his voice she can’t help but gaze back into his eyes. There’s sparkling with something she isn’t sure she’s seen in him before.
“Where could you even come up with something like that? You mean so much more to me than just that, someone to get tired of, that the idea is ridiculous. I can’t even imagine trying to pull myself away from you. How could you think that I would—“
“But who’s to say—“
“Me!” A voice interrupts, emanating from the top of the stairs. Felicity and Oliver both jerk up in surprise, feeling their faces burn. “I am to say: that you’re being a baby. Ollie, go wait outside.”
“But—“
“Go.”
The two men stare each other down for an infinite moment, before Oliver reluctantly glances at Felicity and then very grudgingly heads up the stairs and out of the door. Tommy moves to stand beside her, taking his place with a conveniently cavalier expression.
“Tommy, what are you doing? Oliver and I were talking...” She asks grudgingly. Her heartrate is still spiked from the terror of their conversation, and she can’t seem to dredge up the usual feelings of annoyance at her beloved friend.
“Eh—“ He interrupts again, with a finger. “I just wanted to give you something. In case it changed anything.” Behind his hand, he stage whispers, “It will.”
He bends over her computers, and she’s just about to complain about him touching things, when he pulls away and she sees that he has plugged in a USB drive. A little screen pops up and he clicks a file labeled “Idiots.”
“What—“
“Shh…”
On the screen, a video has appeared, what looks like a surveillance video. The longer it plays, the more Felicity realizes that it is in fact the surveillance video of the foundry. She bends closer to the monitor in surprise.
“Man, that whole casual relationship thing was a lot more charming before you left on that damn boat. Really? ‘Pleasantries’, Oliver? What were you thinking?”
Tommy’s voice coming from the video startles Felicity, and, as they sink in, she finds herself settling into her chair. Her mind jumps to her hurt conversation with Tommy, and now felt like years ago.
“It wasn’t like that, Tommy.”
Oliver’s gruff, broken voice catches her attention and she leans in closer, analyzing the framed image as the man stands hunched forward and defensively. She feels a small stab of satisfaction to see firsthand that he had not taken her silence in stride. However, a quick reminder of how that night of silence ended stanches the feeling once and for all.
“You don’t understand. It was more complicated than that. She misinterpreted my words!” Oliver’s pleas yank at her heart, and suddenly nothing about this is okay, seeing this private moment, being privy to this fight of brothers—of best friends.
Felicity turns back to Tommy to ask him what his deal was, why he was showing her this. But a frantic glance around the foundry reveals to her that he is nowhere in sight. She turns back to the video with what is definitely not curiosity burning beneath her skin, because that would be totally rude and ugly. She leans forward with an expectant expression.
“So then, explain it to me slowly.”
On the screen, Oliver is staring back and forth between his two best friends, hands unwittingly wringing in front of him. Felicity feels her heart lurch in anticipation.
“She didn’t let me get out what I really wanted to say!”
“Which was?”
“That I love her! Obviously. That I couldn’t do any of this without her. And that I was so wrapped up in my crusade that I didn’t even stop to examine these feelings that I started having… And I wrote it off as being protective instead of jealous, or being proud of a friend rather than feeling—love…I just. I was so scared of what showing that would do. Because I want to be with her… more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But I can’t lose her, and I can’t allow her to get hurt because of being close to me. That whole first year I was back in Starling there was a bullseye on Laurel’s back and that was because she was the woman I loved. If anything ever happened to Felicity…
“I care about her safety too much to allow myself the pleasure of indulging in her love.”
And, just like that, Felicity Smoak is revived with a rush of contentment a thousand and one times over. Her world settles back into place as the words ring true in his strong, steady voice. This is the moment when she knows that no matter what, they will always be okay.
“It’s less fun when he gets all sincere.”
She doesn’t bother with turning off the video before grabbing her jacket and purse, and racing up the stairs two at a time. Her thoughts center around one thing, and it just so happens that they are spread wide open on the other side of the door, waiting for her to propel herself forward, to be wrapped up in him; in the man she believes in, in the man she loves.
~
— 5 — 4 — 3 —
The bomb is ticking, and there isn’t any time, but she’s screaming for him to go—to leave her—but he can’t. He’s looking into her eyes, and he just can’t.
“Go Chuck, I’m ordering you to go!”
“No, Sarah, I’m not going to leave you here!”
A moment of piercing silence, a gun held unyieldingly at his head; corn-flower blonde hair laying gracefully against her fair skin where it has begun to unravel at the nape of her neck; the twitching wrinkle between her eyebrows that speaks of strength and resolve, of shattered willpower and indecision; full, bright lips, shiny from her teeth worrying on them; thick, dark lashes that frame those amazing blue-gold eyes.
A moment, a second in time, one little heartbeat of hesitation, before she’s rushing forward. When their lips meet, it isn’t anything like he thought it would be. Not soft, gentle, and attentive, no. In fact, he doesn’t think at all. The kiss is brass, rough, physical. It is all fumbling nips and careless traces of the tongue. And then suddenly it’s hitting him. She’s here, standing in front of me, with her lips pressed desperately against mine—
The world rushes into the forefront of his mind, and he’s grappling onto her thin, yet unyielding shoulders, grabbing her up into his chest. Her hands are clutched on either side of his face, nails digging for purchase. The slight twinge of discomfort only spurs him further on, to pull her in closer, dip his face more fully into her space. He tilts for a better angle, a deeper entry into her mouth, and she responds with a dancing of tongues that means all the things he’s been craving, the physical and emotional void filling.
He throws himself into it, and it is not the kiss he’s been waiting for, god no; it’s the kiss no one ever knows to wait for, it’s the kiss that makes the whole world halt on its hinges, and all the records scratch in this one brief moment, and all the people and all the noise of the world fall silent for that moment. Because, this moment—this deafeningly silent moment—is their entire forever.
—2 — 1
And, with another fevered kiss, and one more wilting kiss… Forever is over. Her eyes gingerly open, lifting to up to see his still pressed firm shut at the lingering feeling. Then his are prying themselves open as well, desperately look at her, to gauge what she’s feeling and thinking. His eyes first rest on her swollen, bruised lips, before inching up to his eyes. Her unresolved eyes. She’s confused. However, he can’t seem to catch up to whatever thought has befuddled her, not with her body pressed into his the way they are. Not with his hands still pressed into her skin.
He watches her turn and stare at something. The bomb, his mind supplies. His gazes down her face in total awe. It feels like his mind has a thin layer of frost lain over it, making all thoughts and deduction less sharp, and more primal. His thoughts are more emotions and sensations than actual solid thou—The bomb.
Chucks head whips to the side in time to see that the little countdown has seized and is now blinking mockingly up at them. And, with a churning feeling in his gut—as if he can sense what will come next, as if by instinct—their moment shatters, and Sarah is peeling herself off of him like an embarrassing sticker. She stands rigidly with fingers tugging on her lips. He stands, cold and empty, waiting for what he can almost already hear. The words that end this… thing once and for all. Ironically, he doesn’t have to wait nearly as long as he did for that kiss.
“Well, the good news is we’re alive…and the bad news is that this is a little bit awkward right now.”