Chapter Text
She noticed the smell of aftershave before she even realized she was beginning to wake. Her first thought was to wonder if she’d somehow fallen asleep using Oliver’s shoulder as a pillow again. She really should stop doing that, even though he never complained and—
Her second thought was that everything hurt way worse than her hangovers usually did.
She was used to head-pain. A combination of awesome genetics and a memorable time during sophomore year ensured she could handle hangovers. Stress headaches were part and parcel of her life these days. But this was worse: deeper and sharper, stabbing into her temples and throbbing along to the rhythm of her heartbeat. She groaned and scrunched her eyes shut tighter as though that would ward away the pain. She had one fleeting hope that sleep might claim her again, but the dull ache spreading from the base of her skull quickly dashed that to pieces.
Resigned to the fact that she had no choice but to accept this, Felicity opened her eyes.
Her own instinctive shriek made her wince.
This was not her bedroom. Not her bedroom at home, not her bedroom in Oliver’s house, not even her bedroom in Vegas. She’d been in here a couple times only—once when Oliver had given her the grand tour, once to steal some Q-tips from his bathroom—but she knew instantly where she was. In Oliver’s room.
In Oliver’s bed.
She sat up fast enough to make her head spin. How the hell had had she gotten here? What was she doing in Oliver’s bed? Surely, this had to be some kind of mistake. They’d probably just had a late night at the Foundry or…she stopped, a wave of cold crashing over her entire body.
She couldn’t remember a thing.
Sure, she knew her name, her sign, the serial numbers for every computer she’d ever owned. She could remember her grades and her phone number, but she had absolutely no memory of how she’d gotten here. She looked around in a panic and spotted the white sheet of paper on the nightstand, held down by one of those hand-carved arrowheads that she should probably tell him not to leave out in plain sight. A glass of water with condensation gathered in a ring at the base sat next to the note.
“Please don’t be a note telling me I’ve got tragic soap opera memory loss,” she said, diving for the paper even though it hurt her throbbing head. She heard something clatter to the ground when she picked up the page, but she was too busy pulling on her glasses to care.
Felicity—
If the past three times I’ve woken you up are anything to go by, you’ve got questions. I’ll do my best to answer them in order:
You’re not suffering from a daytime TV disease. The doctor said some memory loss is normal. You’ve got a concussion. Take the pills. They’ll help.
“Oh. A concussion. That makes sense—wait, what?”
You’re in here because you insisted and I couldn’t stop you. I took your heels out of the hallway and put them in your room, but the shirt was all you (I turned around and didn’t peek).
“The shirt?” Felicity asked aloud, squinting at that line to make sure she’d read it right. “What shirt?”
And with a growing sense of horror, she looked down. A quick breath later, she yanked the covers off, and groaned.
On Oliver, she knew, the shirt was soft and fit well in that effortless T-shirt way some guys just had. On her, it was mercifully a little bigger and longer but…
She was wearing Oliver’s shirt, in his bed, with no memory of how she’d gotten there—and she didn’t have any pants on. She’d never tasted social embarrassment quite this acutely in the back of her throat before. Felicity stared down at her bare legs with almost a disaffected interest, wondering exactly how much they’d betrayed her last night. She could only hope that maybe Oliver had slept on the couch and there had just been some kind of mix-up. She looked back at the note.
And no, I don’t mind sharing the bed.
Nope. Which meant she’d probably drooled on him, hogged his bed, and had flashed him several times with—she lifted the hem of the shirt a little to check—okay, at least that was some of her good underwear and not something with Hello Kitty or anything like that. But still. This was…this was…that was way too many boundaries crossed way too quickly, fake-married or not. She rubbed a hand down her face and looked around. Where was her phone? She needed to check stock prices and her various alerts and why did she have a concussion? Oliver really needed to not bury the lead like this.
I took away your phone and your tablet and you can have them back after the painkillers kick in. We’re out in the kitchen. – Oliver
“We’re?” Felicity asked aloud, setting the letter aside. She looked around for the painkillers since those did sound like an excellent idea, finding one on the floor and the other wedged behind Oliver’s little bamboo lamp (why did he have that? Was it actually soothing to remember the island?). She swallowed both and drank as much of the water as she could without throwing it back up.
It was as she was putting the glass back on the nightstand that the haze finally lifted and she remembered. The art opening, Isabel’s snooty remarks, the terrible artwork. Laughing with Oliver. A man standing on the other side of the street, something off about the way that he stood and the way that he looked at her. The bright flames of the bottle as it arced toward her.
Holding Oliver’s hand at the hospital. The grin on his face as she burrowed into the blankets and told him to go shoot himself in the foot with an arrow or something, and why couldn’t he just let her sleep? She distinctly remembered a twenty-minute soliloquy about just how soft his pillows were and how she was never leaving and they would simply have to change her address to this bed. And when Oliver had proposed that that might not be possible with the post-office, she remembered offering to hack it for him.
Felicity’s groan had nothing to do with the headache. “Well, that’s not mortifying at all,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. She debated her options: she could risk running into Oliver and this mysterious ‘we’ in the dining room on the way to pick up pants in her room, or she could just borrow some of Oliver’s. That was practically a no-brainer. She crossed to Oliver’s dresser, digging through until she found a pair of sweatpants. She had to roll up the waist several times to make them short enough to fit her, but there was no way in hell she was wandering around Oliver’s apartment without pants.
And it turned out that was a good thing, for she opened his bedroom door and found herself face to face with an assassin.
“Good morning,” Nyssa al Ghul, Heir to the Demon, said. The scion of the world’s deadliest league crossed her arms over the chest of what was obviously one of Sara’s old high school shirts. She leaned against the wall opposite the door, one brow arched.
Felicity barely had the energy to gawk properly, so she just squinted. “You’re not here to kill me, are you? If you are, make it quick.”
“It would inconvenience me to murder my landlady,” Nyssa said.
“Your…right. That’s right. My place, you’re staying at it. Got it.” Very belatedly, it occurred to her that if Nyssa wasn’t there to kill her—and she wasn’t entirely sure she was out of the woods there, actually—then it was pretty strange to find the woman standing in Oliver’s hallway, considering the way the two felt about each other. “Good morning?”
Nyssa nodded, like she’d expected Felicity to remember basic etiquette the entire time. “How does your head feel?”
“Like I let Sara play target practice with her bo staff on my forehead.”
“Hey,” came Sara’s voice from down the hallway.
“That was actually a compliment, if you think about it,” she called back. “You never miss. What are you doing here? If it’s to check on me, really, I’m fine.”
“Oliver assured us you would make a full recovery,” Nyssa said. “Sara did wish to check in on you, but that’s not why we’re here.”
“It’s not?” Felicity asked.
Nyssa removed her hand from behind her back and held out a copy of The Daily Star toward her. Felicity registered the date in the corner before the headline, and more importantly, the front-page picture, leaked through.
LOCAL MAN ATTEMPTS TO BLOW UP THE NEW MRS. QUEEN.
And right beneath it, in that muddy color the cheap papers preferred, was a very clear shot of Oliver leaning over a stretcher with a frantic look on her face. Felicity felt her bile rise.
“I really, really never look good unconscious,” she said.
“Very few of us do.” This time Sara actually appeared around the corner. She leaned a shoulder against the wall and studied Felicity. “News media’s going crazy. They got a lot of footage of Oliver shouting at them to keep back and harassing some poor EMTs.”
“He did what?”
“Your Cinderella story just got a new chapter.” Sara’s grin was crooked and only partially humorless. “I had to turn off your phone because it kept buzzing with Google alerts.”
Felicity only closed her eyes. “This is a nightmare.”
“The media thinks you’ve got a young, hot heir to millions—”
Nyssa scowled.
“—completely head over heels in love with you,” Sara said, ignoring her girlfriend and taking the paper from Felicity. She folded it in half and held the photo up to the light. “He certainly looks the part in this picture, doesn’t he?”
“He’s worried because I’m knocked out. He’d look like that for anybody on the team.”
“Even Roy?” Sara asked.
Felicity ran her hand down her face in hopes of staving off some of the pounding from her headache. “Sara, if you’re trying to imply something here, you should just spell it out. I’ve got a concussion and I find I’m at a disadvantage cognitively. Just what are you trying to say?”
“I’m just saying that—”
Nyssa murmured Sara’s Arabic name. Instantly, all mischievousness vanished from Sara’s face. She said something back that had Nyssa actually shrugging.
“Sorry. I was just having a bit of fun at your expense,” Sara said. “Is a peace offering in the form of coffee okay?”
“More than okay.” Felicity’s stomach had dropped; she knew exactly what Sara was implying, but Sara was also crazy. The marriage was a fake, Oliver was pretending for the cameras, and there wasn’t anything between Oliver and her but friendship. Anything more than that would be crazy. He went for sophisticated and collected women, and right now she was a mess in borrowed clothes. Her head hurt too much, this renewed media coverage was an absolute nightmare, and her fingers positively itched without her tablet or her phone around. And she had more important things to focus on. “Where’s Oliver?”
“He ran out to the bakery. Nyssa and I offered to stay and watch over you.” Sara led the way to the kitchen and padded over to the coffeemaker, where she poured Felicity a mug. “Me because I’m just that nice and Nyssa because it’s her job now.”
“What?”
Nyssa folded her arms over her chest. “I have been seeking temporary employment in Starling City. I no longer have to look. Oliver has hired me as your head of security.”
“My what?” Just how hard had she hit her head?
“I’ll be working with Digg, as you call him, to ensure that you are safe and that last night does not happen again.”
“Do I get any say in this?” Felicity asked.
Sara and Nyssa shook their heads in tandem.
“Why not?”
“Well, because of this.” Sara set the coffee cup in front of Felicity and pulled her tablet out of a drawer. With surprising ease, she called up a screen and slid the tablet to Felicity. “Look. Somebody drew you and Oliver.”
“Why is he carrying me in his arms like that? And why am I unconscious? Couldn’t they have at least made me conscious?” As much as she wanted to put her head down on the counter, she forced herself to scroll through the gathering of drawings, photographs, and tweets Sara had apparently been collecting on her behalf. “None of this really explains why I need a head of security.”
“Because the eyes of the world are on the Queen family,” Nyssa said. “And if obvious, public steps are not made against the group who has attacked you, will people not find it peculiar?”
“So you’re willing to be an obvious, public step?” Felicity asked. She raised her eyebrows before the concussion reminded her that this was a bad idea.
Nyssa only smiled. “Nobody ever pays attention to the bodyguard.”
“I won’t be the Whitney to your Kevin. Just putting that out there.”
“I do not understand the reference,” Nyssa said.
“I do, and I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. You’re certainly not getting my blessing.” Sara knocked her knuckles lightly against Felicity’s shoulder as she passed. “Dad arrested the guy who did this to you, but the other 503 Freaks are out there. It makes sense you’d have security.”
“And my security is going to be one of the top assassins in the world?” Felicity asked.
“I mean, if you’re going to hire somebody for the job, might as well get the best.”
There wasn’t a way out of this without arguing against logic, Felicity realized. Even with her head hurting—though the pain was starting to dissolve—she could see that Sara and Nyssa had a point. She’d been attacked publicly the night before. If it had been attached to the Arrow, they would have handled it privately, with Oliver whisking her away before the press could get involved. But now she was trending again, Isabel still had the private investigators following them, and Nyssa appeared to be in on their secret. So really, it was easier overall.
She still sighed, though. “The guy that did this is in jail?”
“And we convinced Oliver to leave him alone for now. Speaking of Oliver…”
Sara must have ears like a cat, Felicity decided. Two seconds later, she heard the key in the front door and Oliver stepped inside with a tray of coffees and a paper bag under his arm. His entire face seemed to light up when he spotted her sitting at the kitchen island. “Oh, hey, you’re up.”
“You make it sound like I was going to sleep all day,” Felicity said, abruptly aware that she was still wearing the sweatpants.
He only grinned as he came around the couch. “You were holding onto the pillow kind of tightly.”
“Oh, god,” Felicity said, burying her face in her hands once more.
To her surprise, she felt Oliver’s hands pull them away a second later and he crouched a little, studying her face. His fingers brushed under her chin as he looked at the bump on her forehead. “Your eyes look a lot clearer. You look like the sleep helped.”
“Yes, I’m coherent now,” Felicity said. “And I am fully aware of which bed is my own now, so you’re safe.”
Oliver’s grin only broadened. “You said mine was better. Want a bagel? I went out to that bakery you told me about, the one on Fourth. You were singing a song about lox last night—”
“I was not,” Felicity said, and paused. She didn’t remember that, but… “Was I?”
“No. That one, I can safely say you didn’t do,” Oliver said.
Sara cleared her throat. Felicity jumped and Oliver jerked back as though he’d been burned. They turned as one to look at Sara. “Just making sure you didn’t forget we were here,” Sara said.
Behind her, Nyssa rubbed her chin with her thumb and Felicity got the feeling she was actually covering a smile.
Oliver gave her a tight smile and picked up one of the cups. “Of course not. Your chai latte. And hot water.”
Nyssa inclined her head, just once.
Oliver began unloading quite a spread from the bakery bag, nearly covering half of the island with bagels and possible toppings. “You never said how you were feeling,” he said as he set a little plastic tub of lox by Felicity. “How’s your head? I left you some painkillers. Did you see them?”
Nyssa muttered something to Sara under her breath as she drowned a tea bag she’d pulled from her pocket.
“What?” Sara asked back in a louder whisper. “I think it’s cute.”
Felicity gave them both a look. “Yes, I took them. Thank you,” she told Oliver. “You hired Nyssa as my bodyguard without asking me about it?”
“It was Digg’s idea. He stopped by earlier on his way to talk to Thea about taking on some additional security, and said to tell you he hopes you feel better quickly.”
Felicity nodded. “You’re getting Thea a bodyguard? She’s not going to like that very much.”
“Well, until this situation with those terrorists is under control, she’ll just have to deal. Digg’s calling in some favors and has already got a team for my mother. Now we just have to get Thea set up.” Oliver licked cream cheese off of his thumb and picked up his buzzing phone. “This should be Digg, telling me he’s got it all set up now.”
This time it was Felicity, Sara, and even Nyssa that exchanged a look as Oliver hit the talk button on his phone. “Digg, what’s up?”
A long pause followed. Then: “She said what?”
“Technically what you’re talking about is sororicide. I think. Wait, that actually might be when one sister kills another. I should Google that. I mean, I know fratricide is killing your brother and I think that killer can be gender-neutral in that case…”
Oliver tapped his earwig with a gloved finger. “Felicity, I am not actually going to kill my sister.”
“Really? Because you’ve said so...” On the other end of the line, there was a pause. “Seven times.”
“It’s just a thing that—were you counting?”
“I got curious. It’s not like there’s not much else to do unless you find a guy to beat up.”
Felicity had a point. She’d hacked into the police database—which she claimed wasn’t really hacking because technically, she’d already built that back door and the crime was committed—and had discovered that the chief of police had requested extra units on patrol. The 503 Freaks had officially stepped up their game and there were concerns that the group might view any affluent citizens of Starling City as targets rather than the Queens and anybody involved in the Undertaking. And, as Felicity had put it, they couldn’t have their biggest donors in danger. It was bad for morale.
So Oliver was mostly relegated to a few patrols of the Glades and searching for any of his usual informants. They’d all scattered, no doubt afraid to be connected to the group that had targeted a society darling. It was almost, Oliver thought as he made a rolling jump from one rooftop to the next, as if they understood that Felicity Smoak was somehow important to the Hood, and that heads were going to roll.
And they were.
Starting with his sister’s.
“I am not trying to smother her,” he said now, propping one foot up on the lip running around the edge of the roof. “But how does she not see that there are very dangerous individuals targeting all of us? I am trying to protect her. She’s being far too stubborn about this. I don’t like it.”
“Gee, a stubborn Queen,” Felicity said. “I am shocked, I tell you. Shocked.”
Oliver bit his tongue before he could call her a smartass. That was more a reply he saved for Diggle.
“You can stop worrying, you know. She’s upstairs. I’m keeping an eye on her and you know Roy wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”
“He’d better not, if he knows what’s good for him.”
“He’d better not, if he knows what’s good for him,” Felicity said back to him in her mimicking Oliver voice, which was frankly a terrible impression. “You know that’s what you sound like, right?”
“I’m actually sure it’s not,” Oliver said.
“That’s for me to decide.” He could all but hear her turn up her nose at him, and some humor finally broke through his bad mood. He’d spent most of the day arguing with Thea about her need for a security detail. At least until these terrorists were under control. But Thea remained adamant: she was not uprooting her life for some ambiguous threat when Felicity’s attacker might have just been a drunken solo act. Between trying to convince Thea to take on extra security and attempting to coerce Felicity into taking a night off and resting up after her injury, it had been a very trying day.
He’d won neither argument, which was why he was prowling the Glades looking for his sources and why he had Felicity in his ear. At least she’d promised to stay in the Foundry and call Diggle or Roy for backup if anything happened.
At this point, if minor victories were all that he could win, he’d very well accept that—until he could find something better, at any rate.
“You know I’m just giving you a hard time, right?” Felicity’s voice cut through his reverie. “I’m actually with you on this one. I wish she would take on some security, too. At least until we get to the bottom of this.”
Oliver straightened and ignored the warm feeling that had settled behind his sternum. “Any leads, by the way?”
“Trust me, I’ll shout ‘Eureka’ if I find any. You’ll probably be the first to know, and likely at the worst moment possible.”
He had to smile at that. “Thanks.”
“We believe in going the extra mile here at Arrow Enterprises—”
“No,” Oliver said.
Felicity chuckled once and the line went quiet, save for the familiar and welcome tap of her fingertips against the keyboard. Oliver popped his neck and shoulders, stretched out his troublesome hamstring, and ran, easily making the leap between buildings and rolling to a stop on the roof next door. He moved over to the opposite side of the building and performed a visual sweep of the area, noting the police car patrolling a couple blocks away. The reinforced police presence seemed to be doing its job. Now, if only he could find any of his informants and start getting to the bottom of this. Felicity hadn’t been seriously injured, but…
He looked down and carefully unclenched his fist. Maybe he should call it a night and let Felicity do her work. Once she had some fresh leads for him, he could start kicking in doors. And, he decided as he pulled out a grappling arrow, he should pick up some Big Belly Burger on the way. Felicity had to be getting hungry.
It was as he was nocking the arrow that the world and the building beneath him rumbled. Instantly, he dropped to a knee, but it was only a sharp tremor and a muffled bang in the distance. Not an earthquake, but an explosion.
“Felicity?” he said, activating his earpiece in alarm. He could already see smoke rising in a messy column, four or five blocks away.
“Yeah, I heard it.” The typing had turned frantic. “911 calls are rolling in now. Where are you—”
“On my way to it.” He abseiled down the building and raced for the motorcycle, already kicking it into gear mid-jump. Rocks pelted the brick wall behind him as he peeled out. Around him, he heard the cacophony of sirens, but he pushed the bike harder. If somebody was trapped in that building, wherever it was, the fire department would never get there in time.
Two blocks from the fire, his entire body went cold. No, he thought.
“Oliver!” Felicity’s voice was panicked now. “They just said the address on the police scanner, it’s—”
“Yeah, I know,” Oliver said, swerving the bike to a stop and flipping up the visor on his helmet to get a good look at the flames engulfing the first floor of a two-story building. A quick scan showed him that most of the residents were standing in the street in their pajamas, looking baffled and upset. “She’s still upstairs?”
“Yeah, she doesn’t even know.”
“Tell Roy. I’m going to sweep the rest of the building.”
He hit the kickstand on the bike and ran for the building while on the first floor, Thea and Roy’s apartment burned on, the flames licking up in the darkness above.
“You can stop treating me like I’m going to break any time now.” Thea rolled her eyes for what felt like the thirtieth time as they finally stepped into the lobby of Oliver’s apartment building, past the crowd of reporters that had absolutely swarmed the door. “I wasn’t even anywhere near it when it blew, I was at work—”
“Just getting you past security, Miss Queen. We don’t know who’s out there that might want to cause you harm.” Diggle, in his usual crime fighting black tee and dark jeans, had a hold of Thea’s arm, with Oliver close behind. They’d formed what Felicity had once called a meat shield to protect Thea from the media. Oliver suddenly found the term quite fitting. The press had seemed even more like jackals than ever.
“They’re journalists,” Thea said. “I’ve been dealing with them practically my whole life. Why are you two hovering?”
“Brother’s privilege,” Oliver said, and Thea scowled.
She looked tired and far more shaken than Oliver suspected she cared to. Even with most of her things still at the mansion, the loss of that crummy apartment she shared with Roy was a hard hit. Underneath Diggle’s jacket, she seemed impossibly frail. It made Oliver’s stomach churn. He didn’t like seeing his sister that way, reduced by her shock and the brutal crime.
And since she had absolutely refused to go stay so far out of the city—“I have to be here for work, Ollie, I can’t just drive an hour each way!”—they had come up with Plan B.
Which was his apartment.
His and Felicity’s apartment now, to the world.
Oliver kept his jaw tight as he pressed the button for the elevator. “From now on, you don’t go anywhere without one of Digg’s associates,” he said.
“They didn’t attack me, they blew up my apartment, and—”
“They nearly killed Felicity, and given that their MO seems to be fire, I’d rather not take chances.”
Thea sighed—and sniffled a tiny bit, which Oliver pretended not to hear. It would only spell trouble for both of them if he acknowledged it. “Fine,” Thea said, ice dripping from the word. She sniffled again. “But I’m only going along with it because I happen to value my face and I’m not a fan of third degree burns.”
Diggle gave Oliver a slight smile over her head as they all stepped onto the elevator together.
“You realize it’s totally lame that I’m staying with you. You’re a newlywed. I can stay with Roy—”
“In the Glades?” Oliver asked.
“I’m going to be there, every day, duh. How does your new wife feel about la familia crashing her fairy tale life already?”
“Actually,” Felicity said, as the elevator doors opened to reveal her standing in the hallway, “I’m okay with it, I promise. You’re not crashing. You’re—you’re family.” She pushed her glasses up, one of her many nervous tics, and gave Thea a hesitant smile.
Oliver merely swiveled on one heel to give Thea a “See?” look. She rolled her eyes back at him.
“How are you doing? Oliver said you weren’t anywhere near, but wow, if my apartment blew up, I’d be a wreck. Can I get you anything? We’ve got cocoa and coffee, and some of those awful muscle milk drinks Oliver likes or…”
Thea shook her head and stepped forward to put her hands on Felicity’s shoulders. “Breathe. I’m just the sister-in-law, not a fire-breathing dragon. You don’t have to play hostess. Just point me to my cell.”
“Cell?” Felicity turned her confused look on Diggle and Oliver as Thea squeezed her shoulders and brushed past her into the open apartment door.
“Thea is convinced that she’s being held against her will. When really all we’re trying to do is protect her,” Oliver said, raising his voice at the end. Thea, stomping away to the room, just flipped him off, which made Oliver breathe through his teeth for a few seconds. He worked his hand until he could keep his voice level. “You’re getting a sister, they said. You’ll love having a sister, they said. She’ll be the light of your life, they said.”
“Aw.” Felicity wrapped her arms around his arm and hugged it, resting her head against his shoulder for a second. “Her apartment blew up. She’s processing. You just have to give her some time.”
“Personally, I’ve processed all I can tonight, so I’m going to head out. My buddy will be here in the morning to escort Thea around.”
“Is this an Army buddy?” Felicity asked, perking up.
“Nope. Mossad. She might be a match for Thea.”
“I doubt it,” Oliver said under his breath.
Diggle made it all the way back to the elevator before a thought evidently occurred to him. “How many bedrooms did you say this place had, again?”
“I see what you’re getting at, John Diggle,” Felicity said.
Oliver looked between them, confused.
“Thea doesn’t know,” Felicity said. “That we’re not really married, remember? That’s why I rushed home. I had to get all of my stuff out of the guest bedroom.”
It hit Oliver at once. “So your stuff is…”
“In our bedroom.” Felicity looked considerably paler as she said this. “Which will be...interesting. I mean, I’ve already slept with you once. Not that I remember it or anything because, hey, concussion or—wow, not slept with you slept with you like that. Diggle, stop laughing, this is not funny. We were just sleeping!”
“Sure you were.” Diggle folded his arms over his chest and gave them such a smug look that Oliver swore on the spot to make their next training session as miserable as humanly possible. “Well, good luck being bedfellows on top of everything else.”
“On that note: good night, John,” Oliver said through clenched teeth.
“I mean, one of us could sleep on the floor if you’re really uncomfortable with it,” Felicity said after Diggle had stepped into the elevator. “I’ve slept in far stranger places.”
Oliver only shook his head. “Thea’s not always that big on knocking.”
“Well, that would end badly for her if we were, you know, actually married for real. Not saying that we’d screw like bunnies or anything, but she’d be bound to walk in on—I mean—” She stopped and sighed. “Did I really just say we’d screw like bunnies? I’m going to go somewhere else and not be part of this conversation before I dig myself any deeper.”
“I knew what you meant, if that helps,” Oliver said.
Felicity just gave him the tight-lipped, embarrassed smile that he knew well (and kind of found adorable), and ducked into the apartment. Oliver took another moment to compose himself in the hallway. Why hadn’t it crossed his mind that by having Thea around, he’d have to pretend to be married? Felicity had told him about her conversation with his mother, where Moira had asked them to keep up appearances for Thea’s sake. And that was a tolerable request when they were seeing Thea for a few hours a week, usually at her club.
But now, until she and Roy found a new place and Oliver took out the 503 Freaks, she was staying with them. They’d have to keep up the masquerade all the time. Affectionate touching, conversations in double-speak. Bed-sharing.
Bed-sharing in the same bed where he’d been dreaming of Felicity in various states of undress for several nights. And the worst part was that thanks to last night, when she’d been loopy on the concussion meds, a combined lack of sleep, and residual adrenaline, he knew several new things about Felicity. She talked in her sleep (which surprised him). She liked to burrow for any warm spot on the bed (which...had been him). And she was a cuddler (which was going to be his undoing), and he really wanted nothing more than to cuddle right back.
And she didn’t think of him as anything more than a business partner and a friend.
Felicity popped her head out the door. “Um, we kind of have early meetings tomorrow, so I can’t believe I’m asking this, but...are you coming to bed? Or even inside?”
Oliver gave her the best neutral smile he could muster. “Be right there,” he said.
This was going to be such a disaster.