Chapter Text
Oliver’s on his fifth rep when he decides it’s gone too far and he should probably save her from herself.
It’s almost eight in the evening and they’re in the bunker, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. In the meantime, Felicity had started working on a couple of algorithms while he had opted to train, practicing with the escrima sticks against the training dummy. For half an hour, they’d been studiously working on their respective tasks - him building up a sweat while she enhanced the security system. And then Rene had walked into the bunker.
Oliver noticed it immediately. He’s gotten so attuned to the sound of his wife working over the years that the moment it changes – her consistent typing suddenly becoming stilted - he looks up to check up on her. Oliver watches as every now and then, Felicity would cast glances to her left, her typing faltering before picking back up when she averts her attention back to her monitors. Frowning, Oliver had followed her line of sight to where the conference table was, trying to figure out what was going on. It’s usually near impossible to tear her attention away when she’s coding and with how distracted Felicity was? It had to be something significant.
But Oliver didn’t immediately see anything out of the ordinary. He lets his gaze sweep over the area one, two, three times and is just about to ask her what’s going on when it finally clicks, the laughter bubbling out of him before he could stop it.
Felicity was staring at Rene. Or, more specifically, she couldn’t seem to stop staring at the large to-go Jitters coffee cup that Rene had brought in with him and had been taking intermittent sips from as he scrolled through his phone, oblivious to the audience he had.
Oliver had found it amusing at first. He elected to watch his wife, leaning against the dummy as he waited to see just how long it’ll take her to shake herself out of it. But as the seconds turned to minutes and Felicity seemed completely entranced - her gaze lingering on the coffee for longer periods of time up until she finally gave up all pretense of working and opted to blatantly stare instead - it became evident that Felicity’s coffee craving has taken precedence over everything else.
It’s been a week since Oliver had woken up to find Spock - their coffee maker - missing. On that very same night, he’d realised that the coffee maker in the bunker - affectionately named McCoy - had suffered the same fate when Dinah had emerged from the pantry, asking what had happened to it. He’d turned to Digg - thinking he might’ve had something to do with it - to find the man already staring at him questioningly. The two men had switched tracks and focused on Felicity where she sat at her workstation, her typing never faltering and her face remaining impassive as she simply declared, “It broke.”
Felicity had been adamant about not consuming coffee for the next seven months that in addition to the missing coffee makers, she’d even given away the stash of her favourite coffee beans, handed over her Jitters membership card over to Oliver for safekeeping and stored away her favourite mug.
Oliver had inadvertently given up on coffee because of Felicity and while she might’ve insisted that he’s still free to drink the beverage if he wanted to, Oliver wanted to support his wife. Well that and because he wasn’t entirely sure if she’d meant the sentiment. Even Digg has stopped drinking coffee whenever Felicity was around, knowing better than to tempt her. Unfortunately for them, they’ve apparently forgotten to consider the fact that the remaining members of their team were painfully oblivious and could just bring coffee into the bunker.
While Felicity has extraordinarily managed to go an entire week without caffeine, Oliver knows the littlest of temptation could break her resolve at this point. Her craving for coffee has gotten so much worse that she’s almost constantly thinking of it. And while she might’ve said that he didn’t have to give up coffee with her, Oliver knows he’d made the right call from the intensity of the stare she’s directing at Rene.
Unable to help himself though, Oliver had dropped the escrima sticks in favour of the salmon ladder purely to see what it would take to catch his wife’s attention. It’s right in her view - something she’d made sure of when they’d first set up the bunker - and even though it’s been years, him on the salmon ladder has never failed to catch her attention. He’d even made a spectacle out of the workout, letting the bar clang against the hooks loudly and going harder than necessary - moving through the reps quicker until he’s breathing harder than usual and has a sheen of sweat over him. He’d even stripped off his shirt and yet, Felicity hasn’t so much as glanced in his direction.
Now, Oliver laughs quietly to himself, dropping to the floor with a quiet thud. He pauses just long enough to grab a towel to wipe the sweat away from his face as he walks over to his wife. Despite knowing it’s pointless, he makes an effort to make his steps audible as he climbed the three steps up to the raised platform to warn her of his approach.
He says her name just as he reaches her, stepping right up to her as he slings the towel over his left shoulder. When it doesn’t work, he repeats her name louder and shifts even closer, brushing his fingers lightly against her arm. She startles slightly at the movement but doesn’t immediately pays attention to him.
He waits patiently for a couple more seconds before she acknowledges his presence. Even then, she responds with an absentminded hum, turning her body and chair slightly in his direction although her gaze remains transfixed, her eyes tracking the cup as Rene picked it up and brought it to his lips. Regardless, Oliver counts it as a win that she even heard him at all.
He huddles closer to her, leaning forward so he could speak directly into her ear to avoid the risk of Rene overhearing him. “You’re staring,” he says, the amusement bleeding into his tone.
“Hmm? Wha-” When what he’s said finally catches up to her, the rebuttal comes swiftly. “No, I'm not.” Her voice is a little too loud and Rene looks up at them questioningly. Felicity is quickly to avert her eyes back to her computer, pressing a string of keys as though she hasn’t just been caught staring. She can’t hide the blush that spreads across her cheeks and down to her collarbone though and Oliver chuckles quietly.
Rene eyes them suspiciously for a moment before reverting his attention back to his phone with a shrug while Felicity continues tinkering with her computer. Oliver might not know anything about coding but even he could tell that she's just keying in gibberish.
She’s written three full lines before she notices that he still hasn’t moved away from her side. “Oliver, wh- Oh.” She’d been turning to him but stops speaking abruptly when she comes face to face with his torso. He watches in amusement as her eyes widen and her hand unconsciously reaches out for his abs. He’s slick with sweat but she evidently doesn’t care from the way she firmly presses her palm to his skin, just above the waistband of his pants.
He grins. “My face is up here, Felicity.”
Clearing her throat, she straightens in her chair as she tilts her head up to look at him. When she speaks, he doesn’t miss the way she’s slightly breathless. “Hi. Shirtless. Why are you shirtless? And you’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”
His grin widens at the surge of words even as she winces. He tilts his head in the direction of the salmon ladder and her gaze follows the movement. She blinks repeatedly, her eyes darting from him to the salmon ladder and back to him for a couple of times before it finally settles on him. "The salmon ladder?" At his nod, she opens her mouth although no sound comes out. Her eyes dart to the salmon ladder one more time before she whimpers, her face contorting to one of grief and regret. "You went on the salmon ladder for the first time in 32 days and I missed it?"
A breathy laugh escapes him. Of course she would remember how long it’s been since he’s trained on the salmon ladder. "You've been too busy staring at Rene's coffee to notice."
If possible, she looks even more forlorn and he laughs, leaning closer to press a kiss to her forehead. He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, dropping his voice. "If you stare any longer, he's going to notice, Felicity.”
She opens her mouth as though ready to argue but seems to think better of it. “I wasn’t being that obvious.” At his quirked eyebrow, she grumbles under her breath. “Well, it’s not my fault Rene’s flaunting his coffee.” Her gaze darts back to the man in question and her expression turns contemplative and slightly wistful. “What do you think he’s having, though? A latte? Wait, no. He doesn’t seem like a latte kind of guy. Maybe an americano or just a plain black coffee. Or, oh! He could be having a mocha! Have you seen his chocolate stash in the fridge? It almost rivals mine.” She focuses back on Oliver to find him smiling indulgently at her. “How could we not know what type of coffee Rene drinks anyway? He has coffee in the bunker all the time. Doesn’t that seem like basic information we should know about our teammates?”
“Felicity.”
She groans, flopping back into her chair and Oliver has to grip the armrest to prevent her from skidding away. “I don’t know why I thought getting rid of the coffee maker would mean no one would tempt me in here. Everyone in this bunker consumes coffee daily. I should’ve known taking McCoy away wouldn't have been enough.” She pauses and purses her lips. “Do you think we could have a coffee ban?”
He can’t help but laugh outrightly this time. “I think that’ll be a little suspicious, hon.”
She pouts at him and he simply smiles at her, brushing his hand up her arm to rest on her left shoulder. She reaches up and squeezes his hand, offering him a small, sad smile before turning back to her monitors.
“I really should get back to work. I need the systems to be up before you go an- oh, it looks like Rene’s done with her coffee.” Oliver follows her gaze to see that while Rene is still sitting at the conference table, the coffee cup is absent. Felicity sighs. “Bye, Jitters. Till we meet again.”
He smothers his laughter by pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she resumes typing. This time, she has absolutely no problem focusing back on her work and Oliver lingers around her for a while longer, content to just be around her.
When he finally heads back to the salmon ladder almost an hour later after he’d sparred with Digg, Felicity can’t stop sneaking glances at him, much to his delight and the chagrin of their teammates.
&&&
When they finally make it home almost seven hours later, they’re both exhausted. What should’ve been a straightforward takedown of one of the Ninth Circle’s weapons suppliers had turned out to be a trap instead. While the team had made it out mostly unscathed, it’d been more work than they had anticipated.
The moment the door to their apartment clicks open, Felicity beelines straight for the couch, pausing only long enough to tug off her heels and dropping them haphazardly on the floor as she went. Oliver takes his time, shutting the door before tugging off his own shoes and placing it neatly on the shoe rack next to the door.
Felicity flops onto the couch unceremoniously, moaning in contentment. “Oh, thank god.” Oliver watches with a small, affectionate smile as his wife maneuvers herself into a more comfortable position, stretching herself across the entire length of the coach as she uses the armrest as a makeshift pillow. With a sigh, she closes her eyes and sinks into the couch, completely boneless.
In a newfound habit, she reaches up to caress her stomach even though there isn’t a bump yet and the surge of emotions it brings about leaves him slightly breathless. He knows the move is probably unconscious on her part and he should probably point it out to her. It’s a dangerous habit - one that could give them away easily considering they're not planning on telling anyone else just yet - but he just really couldn't care less. Every time she goes to touch her belly absentmindedly, it overwhelms him with such joy, awe and utter disbelief that this is real that he never wants her to stop. She's absolutely stunning like this and he's powerless to do anything except to just soak her in.
"Are you just going to stare all night?" He startles slightly at the sound of her voice. He doesn’t know how long he’s been looking at her but when he looks up at her, she’s smirking with a knowing look on her face at having caught him in the act.
Something in his face must’ve betrayed the depth of his emotions though because she immediately softens, her smile widening as her eyes shine with affection. She holds out a hand towards him, wiggling her fingers to urge him closer. “C’mere.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He makes quick work of grabbing her shoes and placing them neatly next to his before he crosses over to her in three strides. He takes her outstretched hand once he's close enough and intertwines their fingers together. He leans down to kiss her just as he reaches to her side and Felicity immediately arches up to meet him halfway.
She sighs against his lips, tilting her head upwards as her right hand reaches up to the back of his neck, keeping him there. What he intended as a quick peck quickly escalates and when they finally pull apart, they’re both panting slightly. She hums happily, keeping her eyes closed even as a serene smile settles on her lips. Oliver can’t resist pressing another chaste kiss to her lips before he straightens. “Are you hungry? Any cravings?”
She scrunches her nose as she considers his question before shaking her head. “Mm, no.”
“Okay. Do you want to go straight to bed then?”
“No,” she moans. “Don’t wanna move.”
Oliver smiles as he squeezes her hand. “I can carry you to bed.”
She pauses to consider it. “No.” She tugs on his hand. “Later. Stay wit’me.” She starts to scoot down the couch, her movement slow as exhaustion wears her down. Oliver immediately understands what she wants him to do but he hesitates. He considers protesting for half a second; With how tired they are, they should just head to bed because they’ll probably just fall asleep on the couch. But when she opens one eye just enough to look at him, it spurs him into action. He moves to sit down on the spot she’s just made for him, lifting her head just enough to slide beneath her. He cushions her head on his thighs and Felicity sighs, sinking back into the couch.
He brings his hands to her head, pressing his fingers into her temple. “How’s the headache?”
"It's a little better now." She makes a happy noise at the back of her throat as she tilts her head further into his hands. He presses his thumb a little harder into her temple and the moan she releases is almost sinful.
Felicity’s been having nearly constant headaches due to the caffeine withdrawal. She’s been nothing short of amazing though and have powered through them. They’ve since realised that Felicity trying to work while having those headaches only seem to exacerbate them, but she refuses to take paracetamol unless it was absolutely necessary.
Today had been the second time she’d given in. The stress of an ambush coupled with the sound of continuous gunshots had worsened the pounding in her head to the point that she was wincing when the team had made it back into the bunker. He’d approached her quietly with the pill in hand as the team was getting ready to leave for the night and she’d paused to consider it before she’d grudgingly downed it with a glass of water.
Regardless of how difficult it's proving to be to remove caffeine from her diet though, Felicity remains determined to stick to it throughout her pregnancy. While Oliver admires her tenacity and wants nothing more than to wholly support her, he hates the idea of her in any sort of pain. It didn’t help matters that it’s avoidable, a fact that even Dr Schwartz had pointed out, gently reminding her that it wasn’t necessary for her to completely restrict when they’d called the doctor asking about caffeine withdrawals.
On the second day she’d gone without caffeine, Oliver had reached his limit of not doing anything to help her. It’d been when he’d tried suggesting she eased off on her workload at least until the headaches subsided but that - unsurprisingly - hadn’t gone over very well. While he knows there really isn’t anything he could do and the decision is ultimately Felicity’s, he can’t quite get over the need to at least try to help his wife.
One particular suggestion Dr Schwartz had made had stuck with him and he’d spent the entire week mulling it over. Felicity had just gone past it as though she hadn’t heard the doctor and Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if she genuinely hadn’t. He knows it’s something that Felicity wouldn’t even begin to consider as an option, but he couldn’t stop thinking that it’ll make a viable compromise.
"I know you don’t like it," he starts cautiously, pressing a little harder into her temple with elicits a contented sigh from her. "But maybe having decaf coul-”
Her response to the mention of decaf is immediate. Her eyes fly open and she jerks sideways, displacing his hands from her head. She stares at him with such horror and disbelief that the corner of his mouth twitches. "Wha- Decaf? Did you just say decaf? Are you insane, Oliver?"
“Okay.” He huffs a laugh and reaches for her, gently coaxing her to lie back down in his lap. She resists him for a while, staring at him as though she doesn’t recognize him anymore, but eventually gives in. “It’s just a suggestion, Felicity.”
“No, it’s not. Decaf is disgusting, Oliver. It’s- It’s- It’s sacrilege, is what it is. An abomination.” She grimaces and shudders. “I can’t believe you’d even consider bringing it up.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Can’t be that-?” She pushes herself up into a sitting position and maneuvers herself on the couch so that she’s facing him. “Ugh. How could you betray me like this? Decaf is the absolute worst, Oliver. It's just gross sludge that's hoping it could be even one hundredth as amazing as the authentic thing. It's a sham and it doesn't deserve to call itself coffee."
She’s genuinely upset with him and she has worked herself up into a frenzy but she’s being utterly adorable and he has to bite back a smile, knowing it’ll just aggravate her further.
"Do you remember the time that horrible barista at Jitters who kept insisting I ordered a decaf instead of admitting that he got my order wrong?"
"I remember," he chuckles.
And did he ever. It happened about four years ago and it was one of those moments that had solidified the notion of just how seriously Felicity took her coffee. It’d been during the lull after Slade had wreaked havoc in Starling and he was just coming to terms with the fact that his supposed fabricated declaration of love to Felicity might not have entirely been a lie. He'd been hyperaware of her, noticing every single detail and greedily storing every piece of information she’d divulged like a man starved.
She’d been determined to help him get Queen Consolidated back that summer and they’d developed a habit of meeting almost weekly to brainstorm. It’d been both torturous and possibly the best way to spend the excess free time he suddenly had.
On that particular day, they’d planned to meet at Jitters after her shift at Tech Village and Felicity had been running late. She’d rushed into the coffee shop a little over half an hour after they were meant to meet, shooting him an apologetic look as she went straight to the cashier to order her coffee.
She’d been exhausted and cranky, hair falling out of her ponytail and the anger making her eyes shine brightly. She’d apologized once she’d been close enough for him to hear her, immediately launching into the story of how she was late because a misogynistic man had held her back simply because he didn’t trust her ability to handle his phone. When she had to pause to catch her breath, she’d glanced down at the large mug of latte that she’d been cradling like it was her salvation, murmuring a loaded thank god before taking a huge gulp of it. She’d barely swallowed it when her face twisted into a grimace, her disgust and agitation clearly visible. For a split second, it looked like she considered spitting it back out but swallowed it with a shudder that wrecked her whole body.
Oliver didn’t have the opportunity to even begin asking her what was wrong before she was already halfway across the coffeeshop, stalking for the cashier. By the time Oliver moved to catch up with her, her voice was dangerously bordering on her loud voice territory. The oblivious barista remained impassive, adamant she had ordered a decaf.
It’d been a sight to behold; This petite woman furiously gesturing with her hands as her voice grew louder and louder. Oliver had tried stepping in to deescalate the situation, but Felicity had barrelled right over him.
Eventually, the manager had apologized and given Felicity a replacement coffee and a muffin for free but she’d spent a good thirty minutes afterwards explaining to him how blasphemous decaffeinated coffee is. Even Digg and Roy had received a crash course on why decaffeinated coffee isn’t coffee when they’d gone to the bunker later that day.
“I still can’t believe he’d think I'd order decaf. Me. It’s ridiculous.” She’s never forgiven that barista, consistently shooting him scathing looks whenever she went to Jitters and he was there. It’d gone on until a year ago when the barista stopped working there.
“It’s been four years, hon.” He reminds her, smiling.
“Yeah, well, it’s still stupid.” She directs her glare towards him. “You remember that and yet you still suggested decaf? You should’ve known better.”
“I thought that it might be able to help with the headaches.” He shrugs, suddenly having doubts about making the entire suggestion. He never wants her to think that he doubts her or didn’t support her in this, especially considering she’s doing it for their baby. He knows pregnancy had its share of difficulties that he had no power over but he can’t help feeling helpless watching her go through it all without being able to really help.
Felicity surprises him by softening, her eyes lightening with understanding as a small affectionate smile covers her face. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it reassuringly.
“I know it doesn’t begin to measure up to the real thing-” Her eyes flashes and she opens her mouth, the rebuke on the tip of her tongue but catches herself. She presses her lips together and gestures at him to continue. “And since you don’t want to risk having caffeinated coffee because you think you’ll lose control - although I think you're severely underestimating yourself - I thought decaf could be a good compromise. It only has about 7mg of caffeine per cup so even if you were to lapse, it won’t be as bad.
I figured the headaches are pretty much inevitable considering how much coffee you drank daily.” She huffs. “But I thought some caffeine would probably be better than none. I love you for trying but pregnancy is a feat as it is and I don’t want you pushing yourself too hard.”
She lets go of his hand in favour of cupping his jaw, thumb stroking his stubble. She leans forward and kisses him softly. “I love you. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Always.” He pauses. “You know you’d just have to say the word and I’d grab your vanilla latte from Jitters, right?”
She beams at him. “I know. But I think I want to keep trying for now, okay?”
He nods. “So, that’s a firm no on the pregnancy tea and decaf coffee, then.”
“Ugh, no. They’re prohibited from our household. That was a bold move bringing them up, mister. You’re lucky I love you enough to forgive you instead of banishing you to sleep on the couch like you deserve.”
He grins. “I’m sorry for making such a grave error.”
“You can make it up to me with blueberry pancakes for breakfast.”
“Oh, can I?”
“Yep,” she says, popping the P sound. “I’ll even pretend this entire conversation never happened if you bake me chocolate chip cookies.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She’s drifting now that she’s no longer worked up over decaf coffee. Her eyes flutter to a close as she pitches forward and Oliver guides her so that she rests her head against his shoulder. “The one with those chocolate chunks. You’ve ruined the good old chocolate chip cookies for me.”
“I’m sorry,” he replies dutifully although he doesn’t sound apologetic at all.
“You should be.” She’s beginning to mumble, her voice dropping to almost a whisper as though even talking is taking too much effort.
Oliver reaches up to comb his fingers through her hair and she sighs in approval, turning her head to press her nose against his neck. “Shall we head to bed now?”
“Mm, later.” He knows they’ll probably regret it later but he can’t bring himself to move either. He rests his cheek against her head and closes his eyes just as she curls closer to him. “Ol’ver?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll lock you out of all your sports channels if you ever mention decaf to me ever again.”