Chapter Text
The air was thick with the scent of sweat, decay and smoke; Captain Oliver Queen had become all too accustomed to the smell - all the men and women had. This had become the new normal. Death and destruction were now part of his daily life. Knowing the sounds enemy planes made so that one knew when to bunker down was instinctual now, the same could be said when the sound of bullets cut through the air or when an explosion went off. Then a second later it would pass, he’d stand to his full height again, and continue on with his duties without giving it all a second thought. This was his normal.
There was an absent ringing in his ears that had been present since an explosion some two months back, it was a reminder to always be vigilant. His uniform felt too tight as he took in a long breath. He was surrounded by boys, barely able to drink, who this war had forced to become men in their youth. Faces set grim, each day was a day they fought for their own survival. Their lives, their futures, were in his hands. The piles of papers stared back at him on the crowded table, his own hand shook as he dragged it over the stubble lining his jaw and his mouth was as dry as a desert, the data staring back at him was grave. Long ago he had made peace with his own mortality. This war had taken better men than him, and death didn’t worry him the way it once had. He walked with death every day and although he didn’t embrace it with open arms, he didn’t pay it much mind that it might take him either. Not on his own account at any rate, but he did mind it for the men under his command.
They deserved to feel the sun again. To breathe in clean air. To live. It was his job to see to that.
The men didn’t need to like him and he didn’t need them to be his friends - to say he was a man of few words, would have been an exaggeration. Oliver didn’t waste his time and energy on idle talk. If he spoke, the men surrounding him knew that they had better listen. He wasn’t much older than some of them men under his command and he was younger than others – their lives counted on him coming up with the best plan and every death under his command was a mark that he carried. His soul had grown heavy and dark in these past couple of years, he was a shell of the man he once was, and now he wasn’t sure if he’d consider himself human.
The paper surrounded him mocked him. No matter which way he looked at them, all he could see was death of his men. There was no staying in their current location without a heavy body count. They had been there for too long as it was - there was no way to retreat without great loss, there was no way to push forward without even more. Every scenario ended in death. He could easily survive if he wished it. Perks of being an officer, of having a title that meant nothing and everything in the same breath. Oliver didn’t care one way or the other about his title, he cared that his men lived, and he did what was required to see that they would be able to make it home to their families. His life didn’t mean any more than any one of theirs, and so in whatever he decided to do, one thing was certain – he would be there fighting with his men. Dying with them.
---
Standing precariously on her well-worn chair, Felicity Smoak cranked open the upper widow to air out the office which had become stuffy with the smell of parchment and ink. There were far worst smells in the world, but at the moment the scent was giving her a headache. She wished she could just open the large window behind her desk, but the wind would dance with the papers she was pouring over and she needed them to stay exactly where they were so that she could figure out the correct equation needed to calculate the trajectory that was needed for an upcoming attack.
The information was that of higher clearance level than she ever thought she’d receive as a woman and a civilian. She held the fate of thousands in her hands and she knew that she had a part in many deaths. It was something that she had a hard time grasping in the beginning, that her ability with numbers and science was actually affecting the war across the ocean. She had blood on her hands -- even if not directly, they were still bloody.
Bending to place her hands on the top of the chair’s back, Felicity eased her bare-feet to the wooded flooring. Then proceeded in dragging the chair the several feet back to her desk. The task took all of several seconds, and then she occupied herself for several more by fitting her well-loved pumps back on to her feet. She could be clumsy on her best days, and didn’t wish to risk her neck by wearing them while trying to get the upper window opened.
Who would have thought that brilliant and babbling Felicity Smoak would be working with classified information in an office on the campus of her University? She knew how she came across upon first meeting, she spoke far too much and was not as polished as young women were expected to be. Nerves where want caused the flow of words to bubble from her lips and in the current times she had a hard time keeping up to date with the latest fashion trends. It was simply more effective to put her hair in a high ponytail when she was going to spend her days pouring over documents and numbers. Make-up was a luxury that she didn’t indulge in, except for the tube of victory red lipstick that she always had on hand. Her dresses where several seasons behind, but she couldn’t bring herself to spend money on frivolous things; many couldn’t. She remembered far too well how it had been growing up in the depression and would not just use the money she earned willy-nilly.
Settling at her desk, she pulled a file from the stack and opened it to survey the data with in it. Her pencil scratched out a rhythmic tune as she reworked the numbers, checking the information that had already been check probably twice before it ever landed before her.
She’d just been promoted to first lead for the mathematics division, which meant that she’d being doing the same work she had already been doing for the same pay, but she now had an office to call her own. At just past twenty-two, she had (at first) felt far too young to be given such a heavy responsibility; one miscalculation could put their men in jeopardy or land a strike on innocents. The numbers ended with her, she gave the final say on if they were correct, gave the stamp of approval before the information was sent out. If this had been the time before the war, no one would had even thought that a woman, especially one as young as she was, would be able to handle such a position of authority. Then she remembered Barry and all the other men that were far too young fighting in this war, many giving their lives, and she knew she couldn’t fret about feeling too young. No one was young anymore. No one was clean from this war.
Janie came in to her office, an erratic energy rating from around her, the woman’s eye were bright and mouth was firm. Felicity knew the look. Urgent. She took the file that Janie extended to her, and together they solved the necessary equation needed to save the lives of men who were all but dead. Not all would die if Felicity could help it.
---
Blackness blurred on the edge of his vision as he attempted to open her eyes -- the room was both far too bright and far too dim at the same time. He bit back a groan and shut his eyes, while attempting to push himself up to a seat position. He couldn’t just lay in bed all day, even if a voice told him it could all end now, he could go home. Was he even deserving of going home? No. The answer was a simple one. He didn’t need to expand on it.
He needed to see this war through till the end or die trying. It had taken far too much of him for Oliver to go back to his family, they didn’t know the man he was now.
Pushing himself up, he felt a searing pain course through his leg. It was total and complete agony, causing his vision to implode while he fought back physical nausea from the pain, a noise of distress escaped him before he could clamp it down. Though his arms shook with the exertion and his whole being wished for him to just lay back down, Oliver pushed through it till he was seated upright, his jaw clenched tight and mouth a thin line to prevent further sounds of weakness to escape from him. Weakness wasn’t a luxury he was allowed himself to have.
There had been smoke and bodies everywhere, the sky rumbled and screeched with planes overhead, and he had had an image of a young cluster of soldiers, dirt covering their faces and uniforms, they had looked desperate and resigned -- they all had accepted their fates. That had angered Oliver. He needed to save them, to protect them. He’d led them here, this was the best plan he had managed to scrape together, and although he was certain these would be his last moments on Earth, he was going to save at least some of his men. He’d push his body forward, the added weight from his weapon and pack did little to slow his movement. Oliver paid no mind to the taste and smell of iron, decay and dirt nor the sting of the grazed bullet wound on his upper bicep, which warm blood was steadily flowing from -- he moved to take the position in front of the young men whom he was responsible for. He was ready to use his body as a shield if need be.
Then there the sound of hope, a sound of death, and that was all he could piece together.
“Captain, please. You mustn’t move.” Delicate hand tried to ease him back down and he flinched from the contact, a low animalistic growl rumbled in his throat. It was a fitting noise as he hadn’t felt all that human for some time now.
What had become of his men? His wellbeing didn’t matter. Theirs did.
“Captain. You’ve been badly injured. Lucky to be alive.” The young English lilt grated on his ears as he opened his eyes, fighting through the pain and nausea he cut a glare in her direction where she flitted next to his cot. The nurse radiated nerves, she was green, and part of him felt bad at ignoring her words, she looked helpless.
“You caught the brunt force of an explosion, you have burns covering most of the lower half of your body, and your right leg was badly mangled.” She spoke quickly and he gave her a grunt, “You need time to recover, your men gave you the best treatment they could, and the doctors were able to save the limb, but you’re still at risk of losing it. Please, please Captain, please lay back down.”
Pushing aside the thin blanket he let himself gaze at the damage that he would have to repair. His right leg looked grotesque even under the bandages, bile rose in his throat, and his jaw ticked. All he could feel was pain. He barely could concentrate on her words, the pain was so sharp and consuming that he wondered if he would have been better just losing the limb all together. How long till he could get out of bed?
“My men?” The question came out without a trace of the pain he felt. The two word held all his authority and commanded the lithe nurse to respond. She looked unsure if she should give him the information; she was far too thin, a wisp of a girl, who didn’t look old enough to be out of school age. Everyone was too young.
“I don’t know.” she fluttered nervously again, he felt the motion, but didn’t add the strain of keeping his gaze on here, “Four Privates were with you. They had helped as much as they could. Claimed you saved their lives.”
She prattled on and Oliver tuned her out, choosing instead to embrace the pain and let his mind wander to all the men whose lives had been cut short. Yet here he still was. He just couldn’t seem to die. Would he still be of use to the Army? They would expect him to take leave. But even if he was injured psychically, as long as he his brain still operated the same, he was of use, he could make command see as such. He was one of the best strategist they had. He just had to prove his worth. He would see this war end. He would honor those men who could not.
---
Standing from her work station, Felicity’s vision blackened for a moment causing her hands to bracket themselves on the smooth wooded desk to keep her upright. The darkness soon turned to spots and then her vision righted.
Her diet that day had been that of watered down black coffee and little else, and had been for the better part of the week, the lack of proper nutrition was catching up with her. She’d be no good to the war effort if she didn’t keep her health up and her mind sharp. But she had little time to pick up groceries and tended to forget food entirely when she was wrapped up in her work.
Still, these were just excuses and she needed to take better care or she was certain that they would replace her if they felt she wasn’t up to the task. She’d go now and do a quick bit of shopping to hold her over till her designated day off. A loaf of bread, three apples, a helping of root vegetables and half a dozen eggs should do. It wouldn’t be much, but she did have milk and other assorted item in her apartment, she just needed to put them to better use in planning out her days. Make a pot of stew for a meal when she got in, boil the eggs as quick things to grab in the morning, and have a simple sandwich and an apple during the day. She needed to create a routine. But it was hard to tear herself away from the work.
Felicity, refused to get sick. She needed to keep her health up. So many people were counting on her and she couldn’t let the down. She couldn’t let down the men risking their lives each day, couldn’t let her mind slip and make a miscalculation. Yes, she could keep up her strength and find the time to eat. There would be no more waning vision in her future. Pushing her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose with the back of a knuckle, she grabbed her purse and popped in to let the girls and then Dr. Wells know that she would be back shortly.
Even with the world at war, a girl needed to find time to eat, she needed to stay on top of skill set to help the American forces. The boys needed her, even if they didn’t know it.
---
It had been just over 3 months since Oliver was cleared for duty, even that duty kept him firmly at a desk. His body was healed as well as it could be, he couldn’t walk without assistance of some sort, and his skin would forever be coated in scars, but what he lacked in physical he made up with in his mental sharpness. He was back in Europe, just on the outskirts of the fighting doing all he could for the Allied forces, but before he had gotten on the plan to take him back to the war he had to get a meeting to see where the numbers came from that he based so much of his plans on. He hadn’t expected much when he’d walked on to the campus in the manner he’d become accustomed to – stoic, surly, commanding, and wanting to be done with it before it had even began. But he had left feeling better than he had in ages, and he wondered if Ms. Felicity Smoak could do more for his recovery than all the doctors and nurses had.
The recovery had been long, far too long, and was a stark reminder that he no longer lived in this world. People had wanted to small talk with him -- ask him about his day, talk about the weather, the basic pleasantries that were the norm in social decorum – and his response were stilted at best. Even Thea, his younger sister, had a hard time eliciting responses from him. All he wanted to focus on was healing and aiding the war effort. Speaking of plans and going over information was familiar, made him feel useful. He was uncomfortable with talk that didn’t pertain to the war, it had become all he knew.
The field hospital was ran by a mix of allied forces, and he knew there was a plan to transport him to a location that was better equipped to deal with his injuries. A Sergeant had come in on the day that they were to move him (Oliver wasn’t a small man by any means but this man had him beat in both height and width of muscles), one of his arms was in a sling and wore a scowl that Oliver identified with immediately.
Several of the people around him were casting sidelong glances and some even wore looks of distaste. Oliver’s hackles rose. He wasn’t blind to the Sergeant’s coloring, but he really didn’t see how it mattered to people, especially in these times, in this war. Lives were on the line and skin color didn’t mean anything, they all bled red.
Giving a lift of his head in greeting, then casted his eyes to the empty seat to the left of his cot. It tended to be occupied by a hovering nurse. He had been deemed a flight risk and the nurses rarely let him even take a breath without one of them taking note of it. He was being suffocated.
There was a moment of pause, the Sergeant’s face remained tight and neutral as he took the seat all the while maintaining ramrod posture with his gaze set forward. They sat in silence for some time, one of the American nurses came to check on Oliver’s wrappings and he felt the man’s eye skim over his injury, and he could feel the man tense. There a dark smile that played in the back of Oliver’s mind, it held no joy, he watched as the nurse moved quickly away from the pair of them to tend to another patient. The kid didn’t look barely a day over eighteen and the reaper hung close waiting to take him -- this place reeked of antiseptic and death.
“One of yours?” The graveled question came from his left and Oliver gave the barest shake of his head, the muscle in his jaw gave a tick. “Just a kid,” the Sergeant said in a hollow tone.
Then the silence blanketed them. It was a welcomed reprieve -- one soldier to another. The Sergeant had lent a hand when they had come about to transport him and then without a sound, they said their goodbyes.
Oliver had been transported to England and then to the States where he finished his recovery. His new role had forced him to socialize before setting back out to Europe -- meetings with civilian contractors that had clearance levels that nearly rivaled his own; meetings that led him to meeting the woman who he was currently reading a letter from.
She could pull a smile from him without even trying to with her quick words and brilliant mind. All of the recovery, the push to be put to use was worth it, and the forced meets had been worth it. He had found a light in all the darkness.
---
Felicity sat with an apple in hand as she imputed the numbers into her calculator, the printed numbers were stark on the white sheet of paper, the numbers firmly divided into two columns. Death numbers. Savior numbers. She guessed it all depend on which side of the coin you found yourself. The clicking of the keys, and then the smooth motion of the paper sliding through as she found a rhythm to the work. The numbers were good and now they were being put through for the latest command. Coming to the end, she gave a last stoke before pulling the papers toward her and giving them one last critical once over, before taking them to the publishing station.
This was her last job of the night, Dr. Wells had popped in not ten minutes for and had nearly thrown her out.
“Between Ms. Snow and yourself, I’m certain that if I didn’t watch over you, neither of you would get any rest.” He wasn’t wrong. The hours she was putting in were long, and judging by the grim set of Dr. Wells jaw, he thought them to be too long. But the work, even with it being work for the war, helped ease her thoughts of General Oliver Queen. Even though nearly year had passed, he still invaded her mind constantly. The brilliant, handsome Officer who was set on saving the world. She didn’t know if he was even aware that he did so, it didn’t seem that way from his letter. He was just so matter of fact about the job, as if it was the norm to care as deeply about the outcome of others and to take each life on his shoulders.
Stepping into the chilled early December air, she saw Caitlin Snow sitting on one of the steps that lead up to the building. She was bundled in her coat with her face turned skyward. Felicity sat herself next to the other woman without a second thought.
There was a comfortable silence for several heartbeats, then Felicity let out a soft sigh, and reclined herself back, “Did Dr. Wells give you an earful as well? The man can be worse type of mother hen when he sets his mind to it.” She spoke the words with a smile. He was a good man to work for.
Caitlin was nodding her head, “And yet the light in his office is still on.”
“Pretty sure he has taken to living here. I have thought of doing the same, but I wouldn’t put it past him to write to my mom. Then I’d have to deal with her coming across the country to keep an eye on me.”
Words were always there for Felicity, an ever present companion that she could count on to never fail her. Often times they got away from her: nerves caused her to speak at a rapid fire pace about all manner of things, excitement had her prattling on about the subject at hand, anger had her using them as a weapon. They were a comfort, even if her own babbling had cause her to flush in embarrassment too many times to even count, talking helped her cope with the state of the world.
She knew Caitlin could get too much in her own head, withdrawal into her own skin and come across as icy in those moments, but the woman was also one of the brightest people Felicity had ever met. Befriending her had been natural, they had gravitated together within the first day of working which had been the starting point for their commanding work relationship and friendship. Caitlin’s thoughts must have wandered to Ronnie, her fiancé who was serving in one of the combat engineer battalions, because in times of silence Felicity’s own thoughts went to Oliver and they were just writing companions.
“Best to appease the man then.” Caitlin’s tone was light as she finally turned to face Felicity. She always looked exceedingly professional and in control, a hair never out of place -- sometimes having control of just one thing, allowed you to feel like you had a semblance of control in life.
“Have you eaten yet? I actually made a casserole just the other night and have a fair few portion leftover.”
The smile Caitlin wore was small, but growing, “Felicity, do not take this the wrong way, but you aren’t meant to cook.”
“Yes, but a girl has to eat. Though it is a good thing my livelihood does not hinge on my ability to put together a meal. It shouldn’t be that difficult. There is a recipe, I follow it. I can do complex calculations without a second thought, but the culinary arts completely allude me.” Felicity lightly grumbled, before giving Caitlin a bright smile, “Big Belly Burger then?”
“That sounds heavenly.” Caitlin gave her a laugh as they both pushed up to their feet to make the walk to the diner. “Oh, would you have time Saturday to go out for a quick bit of holiday shopping.”
Felicity gave a bob of her head. “I need to find a box, I swear Oliver’s letters are taking over my vanity. Which definitely not something I’m complaining about, but I’d like for them to have a proper home in my apartment.” She could feel the light flush coloring her cheeks, but Caitlin just gave her a look of understanding before looping their arms together and making their way into the night.
---
There was a light smattering of rain against the window pane, though the morning sky outside was a vibrant blue that nearly rivaled Felicity’s eyes, at the moment her eyes were closed and she was curled beside him, her left hand resting idly on the center of his chest as if she could anchor him to where they sat on the too small couch that came fitted with the apartment that he had rented earlier in the week.
Felicity had come over late the night before nearly bursting with energy, she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, with her lips pulled in and pressed tight as if she was trying to hold words in. However the moment the door had closed behind her, she had let loose and the smile she’d given him had nearly taken his legs out from under him. Then she was in his arms, her arms twining themselves around his neck, her small frame vibrating with her excitement.
She never seemed to give his injury a second thought, never wanted to ‘fix’ the broken man, she just treated him like he was hers and that always caused a flood of emotions it rise high in his throat and warm his chest. It was a heat of having her in his arms that caused him to still and stiffen. It wasn’t proper to have her alone in his apartment, and although he cared little how the world might see him, he would go to war for Felicity’s reputation.
“I got offered a job. A life changing job Oliver. When I say life changing, I mean I am one of a handful who has been offered a role to be trained to be a programmer. It’s all very hush hush as to what we are working on but Oliver, they want me to work with an electronic digital computer, to help program it. Me, Oliver. I didn’t even know that it was a possibility, the DoD approached me, and mum is the word on my involvement, but I had to tell you. There are programs that will be operating in Philadelphia, Cape Canaveral, Pasadena, and Seattle – so they asked me to relocate to one of them if I chose to take on the position.
Oliver heard the way she said Seattle, watched as the color worked high in her cheeks and the silent unasked question that was poised to him. Could it all be that simple?
“Did you give them a response?” His voice was a low rasp as his eye tracked over her features and felt his breathing stop as she gave him a slow nod of her head.
“Yes, they needed my response almost immediately. They approached Caitlin as well. She’s going to be in California, which I’m told is a short enough travel, a full day’s drive, but surely I could grab a train and visit for a long weekend. It’s where she and Ronnie are from, well the state of California, not from Pasadena, but she’s excited to be going back.”
Oliver knew what the woman in his arms was saying as she continued on talking at an increasingly high rate of speed. She had told them Seattle.
The apartment that he was currently living in was temporary until he decided what the best next move was. His family was on the opposite coast and her work was here. He would not be selfish and ask her to give up work that she loved to come and live with him in Washington state. He knew just how important her career was for her and he felt that it would be too sudden to ask her to move for him. Though they had written for nearly two years, they had barely spent time together, and although he wanted to make her his wife, he hadn’t wanted to push for too much to fast and risk losing her.
“You’re moving to Seattle.”
“Well. Yes.” She said it like there had been no other option and his heart swelled.
After all the hell the war had been, after all it had ripped him of, it had given him her. He wanted to be able to get on one knee and ask this woman to spend the rest of her life with him, if she would have him. The ring in his pocket burned.
He had bought it while on his way to her apartment on his second day back in the States. The simple ring had called to him -- it consisted of round diamond in a square gold setting, with two small round diamonds bracketing it on either side – and before he knew it he was in the shop and had bought it. Ever since he wondered how and when would be the best time to ask. It weighed heavy on his mind even when Felicity had settled next to him and fallen asleep.
He should have taken her back to her apartment, but couldn’t bring himself to wake her and he wasn’t in the position where he’d be able to move her while she slept. So, he stayed where he was and allowed himself a few hours of sleep with the woman he loved in his arms.
Now, however, in the morning light, as Oliver stared down at the bare ring finger of her hand that was placed protectively over his heart, he felt a growl catch in his throat. Oliver knew of the struggles he would face having to adapt back to living and not just surviving -- he was dark and damaged, and Felicity Smoak was brilliant and bright, and he would go through the war all over again if it meant that he would spend the rest of his life with the woman now sleeping in his arms.
With slow movements so as not to jostle Felicity from her sleep, Oliver slipped the ring free from the pocket of his trousers. The stones sparkled bright in sun that streaked in through the windows and a sense of complete contentedness swept through him as he guided the ring where it was meant to be.
Felicity stirred drowsily and Oliver ran a large calloused hand along her back in soothing circles, but he could tell the moment she came awake when her body stiffened for a beat with awareness only to melt back into his a second later. Fire flood Oliver’s system, but he maintained the light caresses along her back and waited till she saw the ring. He wasn’t the best when it came to words, the past four years had stripped him of being at ease with them, but he was comfortable expressing himself through actions.
She paused, he felt as her chin dipped down and the muscles in her body tense, and then he felt her smile, the press of her hand firmly against his chest before she slid it up to rest on his cheek as she tilted her head back so their eyes could meet. He never wanted to be without this woman.
Tears pooled in her eyes as her head bobbed up and down in a silent answer of yes, and then she was kissing him. Her soft lips felt like heaven and hearing the crack in her voice as she repeated the word yes into his lips, filled him as he pulled her flush against him. She was taking him as her husband. She wanted him forever. The truth of it made his head spin and her heart pound with overwhelming joy.
The war had taken so much from him but it had given him her.
He was home.