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You can starve me for affection
‘Till my soul’s just skin and bone
And make the words “I’m sorry”
Feel the same as throwing stones
In a room full of you,
I might be standing all alone
But love don’t die easy
“In a thousand lifetimes, down a thousand roads, I always find you.”
Felicity is sitting at her desk when Oliver Queen is found alive - this doesn’t, of course, means she’s aware of the news. She doesn’t, in fact, hear about his return until hours after work has ended and she is staring at the television, his weathered face blurry on the global newscast. Her heart stops, and then the feeling passes. Oliver Queen is a man she met once, in the shady backroom of a bar and he hasn’t mattered since then and doesn’t matter now - miraculously coming back from the dead aside.
Oliver Queen has never lived up to Felicity Smoak’s expectations though. So, he stands outside her cubicle at 10 a.m. on a Wednesday morning.
What Felicity remembers of that night is a boy-man with blonde hair stumbling into the wall near the entrance of the room, blatantly hitting his face on the wooden paneling. She watches him rub the injury and thanks god that the only drink she had ingested was a tonic water at the beginning of the night. The drunk guy fumbles his way to the pungent black couch in the corner, tripping and cursing, before flopping down on it. When he notices her not-so-subtle stareing the guy manages to lift his hand and twitch a crooked finger, beckoning her over. His eyes are slightly crossed and his lips are twisted in an-almost smile. If his face weren’t half numb from alcohol it probably would have been a very nice smile. Felicity kind of wants to run away at the moment but her brain is also unsure as to whether he’s asking for her or asking for help. On the off chance this guy aspirates on his own vomit should she choose to leave Felicity hesitantly decides to be a good samaritan and inches towards the couch. Looking closer, she recognizes him as the one who had been running atop the bar counter shirtless with several girls earlier in the night - it was a scene she would naught soon forget.
Felicity finds herself with a lap full of drunk college guy, head lolling over her legs, as soon ash sits down. For a second she’s tempted to run her fingers through the soft strands of hair, but resist the inappropriate gesture - with good reason as the inebriated body before her jerks back into a sitting position. They are face to face now and a look of apologetic shame covers this stranger’s face - he looks positively ill with regret.
“I’m sorry. Really Sorry. You’re pretty. Sorry. I - I’m Oliver. Oliver Queen.” Felicity smiles at him, trying to pass along the sentiment of no harm, no foul and everything’s cool. She makes the first move and extends her hand, introducing herself.
“Felicity Smoak. Hello, Oliver Oliver Queen.”
Oliver keeps apologizing and complimenting her in the same breath and Felicity would have been a little less generous towards the man who fell into her lap were she not so amused by his obvious fluster. It’s nice not to be the one awkwardly stammering.
“A - a - a pretty girl like you. Um. Shouldn’t be all alone in the back room.” He is slurring a little, but the words are intelligible now at least.
“I lost the people I was here with. Or they lost me. Which is really rude either way because they invited me and I really shouldn’t listen to people from the biology department. It’s not like they have any better idea on how to socialize than me. I’m good at it. I go out.” As per her typical conversation etiquette, Felicity forgets where the line between personal and personable conversation is drawn - but Oliver doesn’t look at her strange, instead his eyes widen and, if she didn’t know any better, Felicity would say he looks enamored.
“Department? Like college?” Oliver questions, sitting up straighter to listen.
“Mmmmhmm. MIT. Computer Science. Sophomore.” Felicity waits, expecting him to pull away out of disinterest
“That’s amazing. You must be incredibly smart.” There’s admiration in his voice and Felicity is suddenly shy. There’s a now conscious, extremely hot boy sitting in front of her telling her she’s intelligent like it’s the most wonderful thing ever.
“Yeah. I mean, I’m good with computers. The different parts and pieces and writing programs - they make sense to me. It’s like, when I have a monitor in front of me, processing what I wrote there’s no chance of misunderstandings or saying the wrong things. When I write the commands the processor does what I tell it too, it doesn’t ask questions or - Sorry. I’m sorry. Computers are boring.” Her glasses have slipped and she reaches to push them back up on her nose. Felicity’s face is flushed with embarrassment - she hadn’t been prepared to have an actual conversation with the drunk guy on the couch.
“Not when you talk about them.” When Felicity looks up Oliver’s smiling at her, not a teasing, flirty, fake one, but a true, endearing grin. It’s captivating and she has to remind herself that he was making an ass of himself not five minutes earlier.
They talk and it’s strange how easy it is, Oliver opens up about how pressured he feels to make something of himself and how much he doubts he can do anything well. Felicity likes to think maybe she helped, just letting him talk. She laughed at Oliver’s excitement when he shared anecdotes about his sister - like she was the whole world and everything she did or said was pure gold. It shouldn’t be this easy. They were strangers less than an hour ago and now it feels like they’re so much more. Felicity hasn’t stopped smiling since they shook hands.
The alarm on her phone goes off unexpectedly and she is broken from the trance of Oliver’s good company. It’s when Felicity looks up from her phone that she realizes how close they’ve gotten. She almost wishes he would go ahead erase the space between them and kiss her, but the ringing says it’s one in the morning and, like Cinderella, her time is up. Felicity had promised to stay until one and a friend would be waiting outside to take her home. They stand up together, him extending a hand for assistance. Unable to leave yet, Felicity leans up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. When her lips brush across his cheek, there’s static and they both lean back, shocked.
Any reluctance to leave disappeared abruptly. It’s time to go, Felicity decides, right now.
The crowd is still vibrating together, hours remaining until the club closes, as Felicity begins to make her way dubiously towards it, preparing to fight her way through. A hand wraps around her arm and she spins to see Oliver looking at her plaintively.
“Wait. Felicity.” The lights bounce off his face and there’s a glow to him as he stands there, “We should… I want to - Um. Coffee?” Oliver runs his hand through his hair, frustratingly disheveled, and then releases a big breath.
“Would you like to go get coffee? Tomorrow? With me?” A silly smile makes it’s way to Felicity’s lips as she realizes she wants to see Oliver again.
“Sure.” His ecstatic face is a promise if there ever was one.
“7:30! Beethoven’s on Sixth!” Oliver is shouting across the jerking horde and Felicity makes sure she nods her head emphatically so that he can see her. It won’t be the last time though, tomorrow she’ll see him again. It’s nice not to say goodbye.
He walks in wearing a blue sweater and appears impossibly large looming over her desk. Oliver hadn't seemed this big sitting on that grungy couch five years ago and it’s still completely unfair how good he looks.
“Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.”
Oh. So, that’s the route he’s going - the I’ve-never-seen-you-or-met-you-or-broke-your-heart-ever-before route.
“Of course. I know who you are. You own the building.” Felicity smiles wryly and snorts a little, “Mr. Queen.”
“Noooo. Mr. Queen was my father.” Oliver stands there uncomfortably. This is not really a conversation he wants to have.
“Right, but he’s dead.” Felicity freezes and then shakes her head repeatedly, completely flustered. “I mean he drowned.”
That isn’t any better.
“But you didn’t, which means you could come down to the IT department and listen to me babble.” she taps her pen on the table in time with her words, nervous habit. “Which will end. In 3… 2… 1.”
As Felicity closes her eyes and counts down from three, Oliver is reminded of how he fell so far and fast all those years ago. She's adorable.
Felicity still can’t look at him, her face burning in embarrassment. Oliver feels his lips stretch involuntarily into a smile. He thinks it might be the first time he’s felt something close to amusement since Starling city welcomed him back. A small sigh escapes his lips and, god, Oliver really missed having this easy connection with someone. He has been alone for so long at this point - fighting, distrusting and watching everyone and everything he cares about die or go mad - that the simplicity at which butterflies return to his stomach around Felicity is a miracle.
“I’m having some trouble with my computer and I was told that you were the person to come and see.” There’s still a small little smile on his face as he lays the damaged laptop on her plastic desk. “I was at my coffeeshop.”
It’s a little late to take back the words. He’d had this story prepared before they’d sent him to the one person in the building he had wanted to avoid wholeheartedly. Oliver watches her face flinch and fall. It’s disheartening and he’s not smiling anymore. He’d never wanted to hurt her, not then and not now - Oliver had always recognized the poison he was.
“... and I spilled a latte on it.” Oliver is kicking himself again because goddammit he was such a better liar than this. The plan was for no one to get involved and lies like that will have someone knocking on his door with an arrest warrant within the week.
“Really?” She fires at him.
“Yeah.”
“Because these looks like bullet holes.” She points to the easily identifiable marks. An idiot would recognize what they were, but most people wouldn’t question their boss’ son. Oliver regrets coming to her. A final visit with Felicity Smoak was not worth the headache or the heartache this was going to cause them both.
“My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood.” Oliver’s arms are crossed in a defensive position that Felicity recognizes so, she merely quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head at him, letting him know that this bullshit had not passed her test. He gives a thin smile.
“If there’s anything that you can salvage from it, I would really appreciate it.”
A beat of silence passes between them where Felicity is surely evaluating Oliver and his request. There is an urgency to his request that makes Felicity back down and acquiesce, turning to the extremely damaged laptop. Oliver comes to sit way too close to her as Felicity hooks up the salvaged hard drive to her own equipment, already beginning to pull documents. He’s so close she can feel his breath on her cheek everytime he speaks, and Oliver is fairly sure she’s using the same shampoo she did five years ago - something delicious and calming. Felicity wants to scream at him to back up because it isn’t fair that he walks in here and all of her bitter anger disappears. It may be easy for Oliver Queen to talk to strangers and discard them, but kindness came in small packages for Felicity and that meant they mattered. Trust was not an easy thing to gain back once lost.
It’s something she’s always known. People lie. Computers don't.
“Look, I don’t want to get in the middle of some Shakespearean family drama thing.” She remembers that Moira Queen had remarried during Oliver’s castaway years. Mr. Steele was a nice man, and extremely British - which actually added to his charm in Felicity’s eyes.
“What?” Judging by the way his eyes are flicking there is a miscommunication occurring.
“Mr. Steele marrying your mom.” He still looks confused. Adorably confused.
Bad Felicity.
“Claudius. Gertrude. Hamlet.” She makes hand movements as if that will help him understand the very obvious metaphor she’s painting for him.
“I didn’t study Shakespeare at any of the four schools I dropped out of.” He discloses, expression blank.
And Felicity is not judging him at all, right now. Not one bit.
Abandoning the metaphor explanation, Felicity lays out the link between Mr. Steele, Unidec industries, and the laptop he currently has in his possession (which is totally not his - whatever, Oliver Queen.) By the end of it, she feels as if their positions have switched and Oliver walks away understanding more than her. It doesn’t matter though, Felicity is determined to ignore all matters concerning Oliver Queen.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
Felicity is at the coffee shop waiting for Oliver, the blustering billionaire who asked her out (googling goes a long way in vetting potential dates). It was a request she had agreed to last night, despite every neuron in her brain firing off warning shots, but her blood warmed around him and her heart beat faster - like gravity she couldn’t resist him.
It is 9:00 though. An hour and a half past their meeting time
Felicity is not a fool. Half of her expected this, but the other half, the part that enjoyed how he laughed at her jokes and accepted her strange conversational quirks, wishes she had been wrong. Her heart breaks a little, maybe a lot, that night.
She gets up, throws away her coffee cup, and walks out the door likes it's the easiest thing in the world to do. It's not. The small bell above the entryway echoes after her, the only acknowledgement that Felicity was ever there.
The weeks pass and after that first meeting (or is it reunion?) Felicity recognizes the cues that Oliver (Mr. Queen?) is sending and follows his lead. Either he really doesn’t remember her or he doesn’t want to. Either one works fine for Felicity and if only her innuendo laden brain would comply things would be perfectly professional between them. They have multiple run ins and Felicity wonders briefly if she’s becoming his assistant or friend or whatever by default, answering questions and performing tasks far outside of her pay grade and her sphere of personal comfort. It’s Oliver though, and she is quickly learning that saying No just doesn’t appear in her vocabulary around him.
Felicity can’t help let a tiny part of her resent him for not remembering. Oliver keeps coming to her, asking for assistance and help, and it pisses her off. His lies get shittier and shittier as each week goes by, which just pushes Felicity totally past her self-established Oliver Queen tolerance point.
I ran out of sports bottles?
That’s called bullshit. Something Oliver Queen is completely fluent in.
So, she decides it’s time to actually talk to him, as in, try and have a real conversation with words and sentences that don’t involve requests and favors and skirting around unasked questions. If Oliver wants her to keep being the errand IT girl then some of her unaddressed animosity needs to be hashed out. She needs him to give her something.
There’s another complication of the matter, Felicity thinks hard as she stares at the small brown notebook and considers it’s connection to the unknown fate of Oliver’s stepfather. Both talks need to happen immediately and neither really takes precedence over the other.
So, the email goes like this:
Subject: Sports Drink
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Mr. Queen,
The reports you request are completed. Beethoven’s on 6th at 7:30.
Sincerely,
Felicity Smoak
Information Technology Support Department
Queen Consolidated
214-342-8214
Fax: 972-431-4721
Subject: Re: Sports Drink
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
ill be there
He recognizes the coffee shop, knows it’s name like it’s one of the scars carved into his body. Oliver wonders if she chose this place out of habit or anger. The years he spent away, years spent in terrible pain and misery, guaranteed that he went over all the moments he gave up happiness. His unresolved date with Felicity was a time Oliver revisited frequently.
He finds a seat at the raised table near the window, hands folded into his lap and lets himself remember. His head pounds, the Vertigo hangover still surging through his system, and it pains him to think of that night, to think of her.
She’s standing against a wall in one of the back rooms, music muffled by the thick walls of the house. Her hair is a halo of light in his otherwise darkened tunnel vision - she looks like a god damn angel and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Of course, Oliver is fairly drunk and he also kissed the entire bar staff - male and female - for letting him, Tommy, and several girls dance atop the counter, commandeering the space for several grinding dances. At this point, a glass of water may be mistaken for liquid diamonds. His approach is supposed to be smooth, but this girl looks over as soon as he enters, probably because he missed the doorway and ran into the wall. Not the best first impression, but he’s dealt with worse. There’s a plush couch in one corner and Oliver flops down onto it, enticing her with a single finger and a sloppy smile. The blonde creeps slowly over to him and he considers putting the Queen Charm on his resume (if he had one) because, really, it’s a god-given gift. Compliment her dress, he thinks. She sits down and Oliver moves to leer at her, about to speak, but instead finds himself tipping over into her lap. When he manages to lift his head she’s staring at him, lips curled in disgust, and shame overcomes his entire body. It’s a sobering emotion.
“I’m sorry. I’m a little… unsteady. That isn’t a good reason, but I - and you’re uh really, really pretty. Like an angel. Sorry.” Oliver has officially lost the ability to shut up, but it’s worth it because she’ s not running away. “I’m Oliver. Oliver Queen.” He holds out his hand, albeit shakily.
“Hi Oliver Oliver Queen. I’m Felicity Smoak. Must be weird having the same first and middle name.” Felicity arches an amused eyebrow at the sloshed man who had been face down in between her thighs only moments before.
“You’re funny. I’m sorry. That’s not - I wanted to say how nice your dress was. Sorry.” Oliver’s slowly coming around, realizing he’s making a complete ass of himself and Felicity isn’t particularly captivated by it.
“You keep apologizing. It’s very entertaining.” She’s smiling and that just about makes all of his embarrassment worth it.
“So, did you come here alone?” He asks, trying to salvage his first impression with Felicity.
“Wow. That doesn’t sound sleazy at all. Not that you’re sleazy, I don’t even know you. I just don’t understand how me being alone or with someone makes a difference. Will people stop hitting on you if you’re here with friends? or does it have to be a significant other? It’s a little creepy because if you are alone what is this person going to do to you? Why are they asking? Not that I think you’re planning anything, you barely look like you can sit up.”
“Huh?” Oliver understood the first part - he was being a creep, but his brain was still slower than usual, unable to keep up with her words.
“Sorry. Now I’m apologizing. I’m here with people but I lost them.” She pauses a beat. “Or they lost me. Although if that’s the case this sucks because they’re the ones that made me come.” He watches Felicity’s glasses slip down her nose as she keeps talking, her eyes flashing behind them. “This isn’t really my scene if you haven’t noticed.”
Oliver stares at her, enjoying how much she talks. It’s cute, he thinks, and wonders if there’s an on/off switch somewhere under her dress. He’d really like to be under her dress.
“Well, I’m a professional partier so, if you have any questions let me know.” Oliver winks at her and she relaxes, that might have been the perfect thing to say and it thrills him that he got something right.
“Thanks.” Felicity tucks a piece of blonde hair behind her ear, suddenly shy.
“No problem. The club scene is the one thing I’m good at, might as well use it.”
“That’s impossible. You have to be good at more than that.” There’s laughter in her voice and Oliver likes it, likes her.
“Ha, not if you asked my family, or my friends, or, anyone really.” Oliver’s laughing but it’s not really funny anymore and he wonders why he just told her that. Felicity doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t want her to see the baggage hidden underneath his confident exterior. Baggage isn’t charming, it’s just something that weighs you down. Oliver had figured out long ago that no one actually wants to help you carry that burden.
“Hmmm. Well, the easiest way to find what you’re good at it, is normally to see what you enjoy. People tend not to like things they’re bad at.” She isn’t even looking at him, instead her finger taps her chin like this is a puzzle and they are just missing a piece. Felicity has never been one to dwell on problems, she focuses more on solutions.
“Um. Okay.” He considers her positivity for a second and then answers, “That’s a no brainer, Parties. I like parties and I’m amazing at them.” Oliver spreads his arms to show just how amazing at partying he is.
“Okay, but have you ever planned one? Like put one together and invited people?”
“Oh sure! Tommy and I just threw an Adam and Eve themed party and everyone showed up with just, like, just little leafs covering the important bits - some didn’t even do that. It was awesome.” His hands wave towards the seam of his zipper and chest and Felicity’s eyebrows raise a little dubiously.
“Ooookay. Well then there’s your answer.”
“What - I should throw more parties with naked people” Felicity playfully slaps his shoulder and Oliver flinches back, grinning as he catches her hand midair.
“Where are we right now?” She asks him.
“A club?” Oliver’s still not sure where she’s going with this.
“Club owners are basically glorified party planners. Seems to me like there’s a career path there - that is - if you’re interested? I mean, look, if no one thinks you can do anything right, then I think proving them wrong with the exact thing that they all seem to assume makes you a failure - partying - would be kind of awesome!” Oliver looks at her, painfully aware of the logic in her thought, eyes wide and sad. He is caught in a wave of adoration for her, Felicity with the impassioned speeches and uncommon faith in a drunk stranger.
“You’ve only known me ten minutes and you probably have said more encouraging things than the rest of the world combined. It’s… nice. Thank you for thinking I have something to contribute.” She lays a hand over his and Oliver relishes the calming effect it has, centering him until there’s seems to be nothing else but the two of them here.
“I know none of it’s my business, so tell me if I cross a line. People say I talk too much.”
Oliver reaches across with his free hand to tuck a fallen piece of blonde hair behind her hair, pleased when she visibly blushes.
“I think you talk just enough.” He finds that they’ve gone from ten inches of space to two without either of them noticing. Being close to her feels natural, it feels right. They sit there for a moment and enjoy the feeling of her hand on his. It’s not meant to last though, as Felicity’s bag vibrates, breaking the mood, and she hurriedly reaches in to grab it.
“Well, that’s my cue. I only had to stay out until one.”
Oliver stands up first and offers Felicity a hand. She takes it and pulls on him, using the offered leverage. He still isn’t very solid and ends up with his arms full of a beautiful girl, a fairly normal occurrence for him, yet it feels so different this time. Felicity is malleable against him, soft under his large hands that are wrapped around her waist - he could kiss her now. Oliver could close the distance between them and have his lips on hers in seconds, lick off the bright pink lipstick, knock her glasses with his nose, and muss up her hair with the passion between his fingertips. Oliver doesn’t move. The thought of touching her leaves him empty, much like he thinks the kiss would be if he initiated it now. When he kisses her (and he will, someday), Oliver realizes, he wants it to mean something. Felicity thanks him, firing off some crack about high heels and high expectations for her to actually walk in them. Balance regained, she prepares to leave.
“It was nice meeting you Oliver Oliver Queen. Thank you for putting up with my strange idea of a conversation.” She leans up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.
Felicity’s lips are soft and cool, resting against his skin, and she’s telling him goodbye. Oliver is gripped with the fear that he might never see her again, this girl with the glasses and the colorful dress who makes him laugh with her awkward smile and run away words, this amazing, remarkable girl.
“Wait. Felicity.” His hand is wrapped around her forearm and he’s not sure when touching her made his heart skip a beat. Felicity turns to look at him, questioning.
“Uh.” He’s never had to think about this - asking a girl out. They have always just come along, one on each arm, wherever he goes. “We should - . I should - . Do you…? Drinks? Coffee?”
Her eyes are a little wider now and Felicity may think Oliver has lost his mind at this point, but he’s a persistent bastard if nothing else. Oliver runs his hands through his hair in a frustrated manner, shaking his head and blowing out a deep breath.
“Would you like to grab some coffee tomorrow?” Oliver focuses on the curl of her lips, the shape they take wrapped around words, and it’s like everyone else around them could disappear and he wouldn’t care.
“Sure.” Her smile is intoxicating and he’s beaming back at her, bright and boyish. She begins to back away, her hand slipping out of his.
“7:30! Beethoven’s on Sixth!” he shouts over the noise and her head nods in acknowledgement before disappearing from view.
Here’s the sad truth, the honest story Oliver will probably never share with Felicity. He went to the coffee shop that night. Sat in his car, watched Felicity for the hour and a half it took for her to give up on him, and, then, left a half hour after she did. He wondered that night if she was wishing she’d never met him. Probably not, Felicity didn’t strike him as the vengeful type. She is probably re-evaluating all the kind words she had handed out, the ones that said Oliver was more than a walking douche bag with a bank account. Oliver will never defend himself to Felicity. He will never deserve this girl and that thought keeps his feet firmly planted to the floor of his car. Later, he gets very, very drunk. The next day, he disappears with another girl half way around the world and dies.
The barista at Beethoven’s greets Felicity by name, like she’s a regular, as she walks through the door towards him.
“Come here often?” Oliver inquires easily from his seat near the door, his tone taking on a certain amount of easy charisma. She stands across from him, not coming any closer.
Space, Oliver thinks, Space is okay. I can give her space.
Felicity looks at him, eyes narrowed and apprehensive. “Yeah actually.” her shoulders shrug uneasily, “ I guess it was some weird morbid ritual thing, and, well, the coffee was always worth coming back for.”
“Oh.” There’s not much else he can say to that. Oliver’s learned that the past will always haunt him and there’s not much he feels he can do to make it better. The idea though, that maybe Felicity mourned their lost connection as much as he had, enough to repeatedly return to their meeting spot, gave him hope - hope was something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Yeah.” She whispers, small and shrinking away from him. Oliver resists the urge to drag her back towards him, engulf her in his arms and never let go - keep her safe and happy. “Thanks for meeting me here. I was nervous to come here.”
“Okay.” He answers softly, attempting not to spook her. There’s no pretending now that they didn’t know each other. Felicity forced it out the moment she asked him to meet her at Beethoven’s.
“The thing is I’ve been debating whether or not to share this with you for weeks.” Felicity is fidgety and on edge - he can tell. “Can I trust you?”
Oliver’s head jerks and his brow furrows - the question throws him because no one has ever asked him that. Before the island, it was an unsaid rule that Oliver was not to be trusted with anything. On the island, trust got you killed. Now, Oliver’s been so busy lying, so busy not trusting anyone, that he’s really not sure how to answer - he’s stopped trusting people and hadn’t considered that maybe people still trusted him.
“I’m not an idiot.” Felicity appeals to him, slightly defensive. “You’ve dropped some fairly ridiculous lies and, well, other stuff, yet, I still feel like i can trust you.” She scoffs and looks down. “Why is that?”
“I must have one of those faces.” he teases, but when Felicity’s face falls in disappointment, he can’t help but falter. Felicity looks at him again, really looks, and this time Oliver makes sure it’s him that’s she sees. The him that hadn’t broken her heart yet, the one that was honest and shared how much he loved his baby sister, how much he resented his father, and how scared he was of the future - the him that told her she beautiful and smart and wanted to see her again, everyday.
“Sorry. Yes. You can trust me.” Here he pauses and his eyes flutter half closed, lashes brushing his cheek, “Like I trust you.” Felicity knows that Oliver has lied to her, that there are things he’s not telling her, but here’s the a truth - Oliver is a fantastic liar and Felicity is extremely astute, and painfully perceptive. She reads between the lines, follows the bread crumbs he leaves, and knows that this is him reaching out. That this - crappy lies and half-truths - is as close as he can get to trust for now. Felicity’s has her doubts, but he’s given her something and that’s all she really wanted.
“Then I have something to show you.” She pulls out a small brown notebook from the bag looped over her shoulder and places it within Oliver’s reach. He picks it out of her hand and flips it open, recognition flashes through him as he turns page after page of inked names, names that he’s crossed out and names he hasn’t.
“Have you ever seen this before?”
Oliver stops for a moment, considers telling her everything, but thinks of Sara and Slade, Yao Fei and Shado, and lets the feeling pass as quickly as it came. Felicity speaks to him, touches him, like he is not a monster, haunted by the ghosts of people he has failed. She smiles at him like it’s okay that he’s missing pieces of his soul. The truth is Oliver is more scared of himself than anyone else is.
“No.” His eyes continue to trace the names, exact replicas of the ones in his own tiny ledger. “Where’d you get it?”
Felicity analyzes him, watching his reactions, “From your stepfather.”
Oliver’s head bobs up and down a bit, connecting the dots - Walter’s disappearance, his possession of the book - they are linked. “From Walter. Where did he get it?”
Now Felicity looks guilty, like she’s pried into something private, “He said he found it in your house, that it belonged to your mother. Walter thought she was hiding something. Something more. And he wanted me to look into it. I think… I think this list might have cost Walter his life.”
Walter was basically a stranger to Oliver, a man he remembers more as an associate to his father than any sort of parental figure. But Oliver is not blind, he saw how Thea and his mother looked at him and thinks that Walter was the rock that kept his family together while his father died and he broke a thousand miles away.
“I’m sorry, Oliver.” Felicity’s voice brings him back to the present, away from the Island.
“No. Thank you. For telling me.” He swallows and stutters. Felicity still focuses him in a way no one else has.
“I’ll keep looking into the book and all the - “
“No.” Oliver stops her because he’s still imagining Walter’s dead body, buried in the ground, sunk in the harbor, strung up, bleeding with blank eyes. If Walter is dead, he died for a cause that wasn’t his responsibility - Felicity won’t be the next victim in Oliver’s war. “Thank you, but if this is as dangerous as it seems, then I would rather no one else get involved.”
Felicity wants to fight for her right to help, wants to yell that she’s already involved. But Walter is not her family. He’s her boss who was nice to her, who trusted her with something important, and who treated her well. That still doesn’t make this her battle.
“Well, then, I will see you at work.” She pats the table nervously, rocking on her heels, before turning to go. Felicity may not be willing to push Oliver on the matter of Walter yet, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to give up. Tomorrow, there will be a lot of work to do and a good night’s sleep away from the Queen family baggage will help her prepare for this investigation. Before she can walk away, though, a hand stops her.
Oliver’s fingers rest on her elbow lightly, not keeping her from leaving but simply asking her to wait. She stares at the top of his bowed head in consternation.
“Felicity. For what it's worth, which, I know, isn’t a lot.” Oliver is becoming an expert at self-deprecation, a new talent to add to his repertoire of acquired skills. “Standing you up that night was probably the second biggest mistake of my life.”
The wrinkles in her forehead unfurl, not quite disappearing, and she watches the way his fingers wrap themselves around her arm and the way he gazes at her, hesitant and pleading. It is a poor imitation of that night five years ago and Oliver wonders if she is remembering it now like he is.
Felicity, instead, is considering how much that statement cost him. Emotionally, she’s noticed, Oliver doesn’t seem to like sharing. He’s changed. Anyone could see that, but it’s only now that she thinks fragments of him have disappeared, that he’s a little more broken than everyone thinks. It’s the first time Felicity understands that Oliver will continue breaking her heart, no matter the extent of which he is in her life - friend, acquaintance, passing thought, something more - her heart will ache for him all the same.
"And what's your first?" Felicity is trying to extend an olive branch. She’s relieved when he visibly relaxes and grins lightly at her. The demons behind his eyes fade and Oliver reveals a part of the old him to her, the part that could be happy.
"Getting on that boat, of course." He’s joking and she recognizes the easy tilt to his voice.
Felicity leans into him, smiling sweetly, and puts her hand, the one he isn't holding, on his shoulder. What is meant to be a comforting gesture instead shoots a hot arrow of want through his body and leaves a hollowness in his heart at the repeating thought that he will never deserve her - not one inch of Oliver Queen deserves to touch Felicity Smoak. She is an enthralling entity, one he can’t seem to avoid, but maybe that is just the manifestation of his selfishness. He’s unwilling to let her go.
Felicity leans up onto her tiptoes and lays a tender kiss on his cheek. It feels like fire against his skin. It feels like a promise. When she comes back to level ground, Oliver reaches forward framing her face with his hands. Felicity doesn’t move away and Oliver leans forward, pressing their lips chastely together. He isn’t looking for anyone to save him, but the idea of Felicity staying makes him feel more whole than he has in a long, long time. One of his hands wanders into her hair and Felicity reaches up with a hand to cup his face and draw them further together.
Like gravity. She remembers, before pulling away.
The warmth that came with being near her drifts away suddenly and the bell of the coffee shop rings again, signaling her departure. Felicity is gone before he can even process being close to her again. He’s left a little empty and his eyes linger on her dark form, passing in front of the shop window.
Oliver is still looking at her, honest eyes clouded with an almost sad desperation, when she walks past the windows towards her car. Eventually, he can no longer track her movements. It’s dark and Felicity is now just another dark shadow on the street, but Oliver still appears bright against the night, illuminated in the coffee shop. Felicity pauses a moment at the door to her car and watches him sit on the barstool, staring at the notebook like it’s an answer he will never understand or maybe a question he has never asked. She knows that this is not the Oliver Queen who stood her up, the one who skipped town - this is the one that came back to her. One that may deserve a second chance and one she might be able to forgive.
This isn’t really a beginning. This isn’t her pressing reset.
But this is them finally restarting.
A week later, Oliver’s dying in the back of Felicity’s car and everything makes so much more sense, but holy shit he’s dying and what will she do if he dies again. Felicity panics that night because the thought of losing Oliver again terrifies her. That feeling becomes the reason she stays. Many long nights and hard conversations follow, and death seems to always walk in their shadow like a friend. For years, Oliver and Felicity manage to dance slowly around their feelings - too afraid to become something more, but unable to leave each other. Times go by and they evolve and mature (employee, friend, partner, lover, spouse) until together is no longer a decision, merely a state of being. When the world manages to give them a moment to breathe, Oliver and Felicity find their way, discovering how easily they fit despite the difficulties - like pieces from two different puzzles. They connect at the seams, hearts repairing bit by bit, healing. Eventually, they choose happiness, and, finally, they choose forever.
“It’s not about whether you can imagine living the rest of your life with someone,
it’s whether you can imagine your life without them.”