Chapter Text
Three weeks later
“Seeing you is a nice surprise, Iris,” said Oliver. “I know you're busy with the new gig,”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, about that . . . me getting the business and tech beat at the Star City News wouldn’t have anything to do with you, would it?”
“Me?” Oliver pointed at his chest and tried to look innocent. At Iris’s head tllt, he caved. “All right, the editor is my godfather, and when I heard you applied, I might have mentioned that you’re the kind of writer I would trust with the inside scoop. But it was only a foot in the door,” he said, holding out a hand in supplication as she opened her mouth. “The rest was up to you.”
Iris shook her head. “Well, given that I lost my last job because of you . . . I can be OK with that.”
“Good. At least I’m doing something right.” His mouth twisted in a small smile.
“You mean Felicity?”
“Yeah,” he said. “How can I show her I’ve changed if she won’t have anything to do with me? If I knew whether she was reading the interviews . . .” he looked up at Iris hopefully. “Do you know if she is?”
Iris hesitated.
“No, don’t answer that; I don’t want you to tell me something she wouldn’t want me to know. But I’m just—” he sighed. “You know, baring my soul and admitting my mistakes to a series of reporters in various media formats isn’t my idea of a good time, and interest in the story is dying down now anyway. Luckily it’s been great for the company, for some reason, or I’m sure I would have had pressure from the higher-ups to shut it down. Although my executive assistant is complaining about the extra correspondence.”
Iris wasn’t surprised—the paper was having the same issue. There were plenty of women in Star City who had been touched by Oliver’s admissions and were ready to heal his broken heart. Unfortunately, there was only one woman who could do that.
Iris pursed her lips. “Look, Oliver, here’s the thing—those articles, well, you’re doing a great job being honest about your past mistakes with Felicity, and taking responsibility for the breakup with Laurel. But even if Felicity is reading them, I haven’t seen one that comes out and says how you feel about her now.”
Oliver frowned. “I know. I wanted to, but . . . I couldn’t trust those reporters with that. I’d be opening Laurel up to all kinds of gossip, or snarky headlines, just like what happened with Felicity. Even for Felicity, I can’t do that. And I don’t think she’d want me to.” He rubbed his neck, laughing a little. “I guess I really have changed.”
Iris studied him with narrowed eyes. “You know, I think you have. And I might have changed my mind about something, too.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said Iris slowly, still turning this epiphany over in her mind, “that tell-all expose that I was sent there to write could be the best thing that ever happened to you. Get someone to tell the true story of the wedding. Minus the drunken sing-along, and with the reveal of your feelings for Felicity.”
“What about Laurel?”
Iris waved a hand. “That’s easy. She saw how you were feeling and stepped back. Gracious, perceptive, etc, etc.”
Oliver tilted his head. “I guess that’s not exactly *not* true . . . but can I really start this with a lie?”
Iris rolled her eyes. “It’s not a lie, it’s spin. You’re protecting Laurel, and I guarantee you Felicity will know why you’re doing it and respect you more for it. You just need a sympathetic reporter, one who will help you tell the story you’re wanting to tell, and be as honest as possible while protecting all parties involved.”
A grin split his face. “Well, then, it’s lucky you stopped by.”
One week later
“You really should talk to him, you know,” said Barry, taking the last bite of his Big Belly Burger.
Felicity gave him a look, and stole one of his sweet potato fries. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Barry rolled his eyes. “Oliver, is who I’m talking about.”
Felicity chewed the purloined fry, wishing for just a moment that she could feel something for Barry other than friendship. He was sweet, handsome as a Disney prince, and a good friend. And also, hopelessly in love with Iris. Which made him just as unthinkable as Oliver. . . .
Barry cleared his throat, reminding her he was waiting for a response.
Felicity swallowed the fry. “OK, I knew that,” she said. “But Barry, I—I mean, is it really a good idea? He wanted to try again, but it’s been so long. And true, it’s been two years and I haven’t been able to forget about him, but does that mean it’s true love, or just an unhealthy obsession? I mean, if the next step is boiling bunnies, or building a creepy shrine, I don’t want that to become my life.”
Barry just looked at her. After several lunches, happy hours and dinners over the last few weeks, with and without Iris, they had expanded enough on the bond they had forged for him to wordlessly call her on her bullshit. This was both fortunate and unfortunate.
Felicity groaned and tipped her head toward the wall at the side of the booth, where it connected with a soft thud . She closed her eyes. “Okay, you’re right. I’m scared. It went down in flames last time. I can’t do that again.”
Barry’s voice was gentle. “I know, Felicity. And I know I’m not really the best qualified person to give advice here, but I do know what real love looks like. And sorry if you don’t want to hear this, but I see it when I look at you and Oliver.”
Unable to meet his eyes, Felicity dragged one of her own, regular fries through her pile of ketchup, absently tracing a pattern on her plate. “Do you remember me telling you about my dad?”
Barry wrinkled his forehead. “You said that all you remembered about him the first time around was how it hurt when he left, and how much your life changed when he came back.”
Felicity nodded. “It did, and it didn’t. I was so happy when he came back—I had this idea of what it would be like to have a father. But it wasn’t like that at all. He didn’t care about a real relationship with me or my mother, only what we could do for him—for his casinos, his image. What I learned from that mistake,” she said softly, “is that heartbreak hurts worse the second time around.”
“So you’re sure, 100%, that trying again means heartbreak.” Barry’s gaze was piercing enough that Felicity had to look away again.
Barry slid a paper across the table. “You have seen these stories, haven’t you?”
Truth was, she hadn’t. She had been afraid—afraid that Oliver wouldn’t make it right, and also afraid that he would. She narrowed her eyes. “How long have you been carrying this around?”
Barry laughed. “If you’d pick it up, instead of staring at it like it was carrying typhus, you’d see that it’s yesterday’s. Page 1D might interest you.”
Felicity folded the paper and jammed it into her purse. “Fine. I’ll look.” She caught a glimpse of her phone and frowned. “I’ve got to get back to work—one of my freelance clients is expecting a progress report. Catch you and Iris for drinks this weekend?” she asked as she stood up.
“Sure,” said Barry easily, standing to press a kiss to her cheek. “Look, Felicity,” he said, “I’m not going to tell you what’s right for you. I know you don’t want to get hurt.” He paused. “But I also think you’re already hurting. Is taking a chance on something that might change that such a bad idea?”
The advice sent a pang to Felicity’s battered heart, but she mustered up a smile. “Message received. Next time we go to lunch, though, it’s your turn to face the painful truths.”
Barry grinned. “I’ll consider myself warned.”
“He’s a mess,” announced Iris as she slung her purse onto the chair in Barry’s entryway.
Barry turned his head to look at her over the back of the sofa, where he had been reading a book. “Hello to you, too. I didn’t realize you were coming by tonight.”
Iris swept into the kitchen, her voice echoing a bit as she rummaged through the fridge. “Didn’t you want to debrief on our cupid scheme? I hope you managed to get her to read my article, because it’s been 24 hours and he’s about to try skywriting. Hey, do you have any beer in here?”
“Bottom shelf. Grab me one?” He marked his page and tossed the novel onto the coffee table as the fridge slammed shut and he heard the hiss of bottles opening.
Iris sank onto the other end of the couch and kicked off her shoes as she handed him a beer. Tucking her feet up under her, she took a long swig of her own. Barry took a guilty moment to admire the graceful line of her throat.
“She’s going to read it,” Barry said. “I think.”
“These two idiots,” said Iris, shaking her head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he owed her this and more. But it’s been four weeks, and he’s done everything except jump on Oprah’s couch. And she won’t even talk to him?”
Barry had been just as exasperated by Felicity’s behavior earlier that afternoon, but somehow he found himself coming to her defense. “She’s scared, Iris. It’s not easy to tell someone how you feel, risk being hurt. And he’s already broken her trust once.”
“I know, you’re right. She deserves a quality grovel and then some.” Iris took another long sip of her beer. “But it’s not like she’s happy without him, either. God, Bar, spare me from ever falling in love, will you?”
“Sure,” said Barry, in a voice that cracked. He cleared his throat. “What are friends for?”
Felicity succeeded in putting the article out of her mind for the rest of the afternoon as she settled into her usual corner at her favorite coffee shop. Losing herself in lines of code had always been something she was able to do, and this current client’s project was certainly complicated enough. But when she closed the laptop and slipped it into her bag, she heard the rustle of the newspaper, and she thought about it the whole drive home.
Once back in her house, she slowly drew the paper from the bag, smoothing it out on the table. She skimmed an article about the local college sports team beating their archrival, and another about the rising housing market, but she couldn’t concentrate for thinking what might be waiting on 1D. She got up, poured a glass of wine, sat back down. Stared at the paper for another 30 seconds, before abruptly peeling back the first three sections . . . to find herself looking into Oliver’s eyes under Iris’s byline. “The true story of Star City’s wedding of the year,” the headline promised.
“Oh frack,” Felicity muttered, taking a long sip of her wine. Ten minutes later, she was muttering to herself as she turned the page to continue the story. Five minutes after that, she folded the paper, pushed it aside, and drained her wine glass. Then she pulled out her computer again and started searching Oliver’s name. Headlines blared out at her, just like before, but instead of referring to her or Laurel, they were all centered on Oliver. (QUEEN COMES CLEAN had been used more than once.)
In every one, Oliver had taken responsibility for the breakup with Laurel, and expressed his regret at allowing the press to savage Felicity during their divorce. But yesterday’s article had revealed something more. She closed the computer and spread the article back out in front of her, scanning for the quotes that had burned into her mind.
“I never stopped loving her,” Oliver had admitted.
“Could have fooled me,” Felicity said with a moue, taking a sip from the wine glass she had refilled. Twice.
“The connection between them was still there—that was clear from the first moment I saw them together.” Iris had written. “The air was electric.”
“Was that what that was,” Felicity muttered, although she could feel the crackle now, thinking about their confrontation at the pool.
“I don’t know if she can forgive me,” Oliver had said. “I don’t know if I have the right to ask her to. But she has always believed in me, even when no one else did. She’s always seen the best in me, and that has made me a better person.”
“You’re welcome,” said Felicity. “What’s my prize?” But she immediately felt guilty. Yes, Oliver had made a mistake. But she was the one who had let her fear tell him to go, when he was grieving Tommy. Fear had silenced her belief in him, which he claimed had always been there. And it had been—she just hadn’t been able to listen to it.
Was that what she was doing now?
She thought she knew the answer to that. And she didn’t want to be afraid anymore. It was time to take a chance. Resolved, Felicity stood up . . . and stumbled over the table leg.
Well, tomorrow, she amended, looking at the nearly empty bottle of wine and rubbing eyes blurry from reading. Tomorrow she would go talk to him.
Oliver sat in his office. It was only 9 am but he had been behind his desk for hours, coming in early after an almost sleepless night. He had been drafting the same email for the last hour, unable to concentrate despite the extra cup of coffee his assistant had brought him. He was trying not to think about how his last-ditch effort to win Felicity back had failed.
But did it have to be the last ditch, he thought wildly. Maybe he could go to her house—say something—at least see her face and know it was over. Even a definite rejection had to be better than this feeling, and he had nothing to lose at this point. The thought drove him from his chair just as the buzzer sounded on his phone. “Mr. Queen? You have a visitor.”
Oliver put his finger on the buzzer to respond that he was going out, and he had no appointments—but then he caught a glimpse of blonde hair through the glass walls and his heart stopped. Felicity.
“Send her in,” he said, voice rough. He pushed the button on his desk to fog the glass panels.
Felicity steeled herself as she entered of Oliver’s office. It was still early but it looked as if he hadn't gotten any more sleep than she had. His eyes were a bit bloodshot, and she noticed a small drop of coffee on the front of his shirt. “Felicity,” he said simply, breathing it out like a prayer. “Hey.” He rounded the desk, but paused just in front of it, giving her space.
“I finally read your article,” she said softly, taking a step toward him. “Well, the most recent article, and then all the articles. You’ve become quite the media star.”
“I told you, I’m not letting anyone clean up my messes anymore,” he said, leaning back against the desk. “That includes our PR person, much to her chagrin when I wouldn’t let her be present at the interviews.” He lowered his head. “Although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you didn’t believe I meant it.”
“I wanted to,” she said simply.
“I know it takes more than words,” he replied. “Or even public words . . . But it was the only way I could think of to show you, since you didn’t want to see me or speak to me. I understand that,” he said hastily, as she opened her mouth. “I just had to do something that might be enough for you to give me a chance.”
The look in his eyes was so loving and sincere, it almost took Felicity’s breath away. And she wasn’t really one to lose her breath. He did still love her. And she was going to let him—and love him right back. A rush of hope and excitement—and yes, confidence—filled her. She took a step forward.
“So, I noticed a few things left out of that article,” Felicity began. “That ‘true story.’”
Oh no, Oliver had been afraid of this. “Felicity, I—” he began, but she put up a hand to cut him off.
“I mean, the hillside karaoke is one of my favorite parts,” she said, and he swore he saw a glint in her eye that made him want to clap his hands. If she were teasing him . . . that meant . . .
“It was pretty good,” he agreed. “But I didn’t want to embarrass Laurel too much. Or me,” he admitted, under her quizzical gaze. He leaned back on the desk and crossed his arms. “What else did I leave out?”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, tapping a finger to her cheek and gazing skyward. “Now that I think about it, it was a fact you didn’t know.”
He was certain he saw the teasing glint in her eyes now. “Are you planning to enlighten me?”
“Well,” she said, suddenly serious, “the whole truth is, I never stopped loving you, either.”
Oliver was speechless.
“People leaving,” she swallowed visibly before bravely meeting his eyes, “it isn’t something easy for me to get over. Yes, I told you to go, but you weren’t supposed to,” she waved her hands, “you know, go. You were supposed to fight back.”
Oliver instinctively started to reach out to her, but almost instantly dropped his arms back to his sides. This was on her terms, not his, and she had to decide—but even as he finished reminding himself of that, he saw her step forward. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe as she reached out and grabbed his right hand in both of hers.
“If I had been thinking straight when we had that fight, maybe I would have realized that,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Felicity. It’s not enough—but I can tell you I won’t make that mistake again.”
“It’s not all your fault,” she said softly, tracing her thumb over his skin and looking into his eyes. “I saw you turning away from me and I got so scared. I didn’t know what to do. Instead of trying to pull you back, I pushed you away. I can tell you I won’t make that mistake again.” She smiled. “Seriously, just try to run from me this time. I dare you.”
Oliver’s heart skipped a beat at her words, and his hand twisted to grasp hers more tightly. He had thought he was exercising restraint before, but now that he was touching her, he couldn’t stop thinking about how she was just a tug away from being in his arms.
He settled for placing his other hand over hers, strengthening their clasp. “Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me tonight?”
Her face broke into the sunny smile he loved more than anything, eyes bright behind her glasses. “Yes,” she said, squeezing his hands. “Yes, Oliver Queen, I will have dinner with you.”
He wasn't sure he could smile any wider. "Felicity. Are you sure?"
"Not in the least, but I'll risk it," said Felicity, with a toss of her ponytail. "Will you?"
"You bet."
Now, finally, he opened his arms, and she took the final step into them. He held her tight and felt the joy of second chances.