Chapter Text
She asks Dig before she asks Oliver.
First, because he’s a good judge of these things, and will tell her if she’s crazy. Also because she wants a test run at this conversation. But if she's honest, maybe the biggest reason is that she doesn't want to see the Dig Face if he finds out after the fact.
So on a Wednesday night, while Oliver is still out on recon and John is packing his duffel to head home, Felicity blurts out, “So I’m thinking about asking Oliver to move in with me.” Dig slowly turns from his position at the opposite table, eyebrows raised, and she clarifies, “Um, no, I mean, for the next few weeks? Until his lease starts.”
Since Oliver moved out of the mansion months earlier, he’d spent his nights at the Foundry or the Clock Tower, or recently, at the Four Seasons. The hotel is fine; great, actually, if you’re in Starling for a conference or a wedding. But Oliver has been there for four weeks now.
When they got back from Lian Yu, Felicity started gently bringing up the idea of finding something more permanent. She worried it might hurt him to think about that, but he actually didn't seem emotional about it. Just...uninterested, but eventually—when she started sending him real estate listings—he became resigned to the idea, though not particularly concerned about making it happen.
She got him to define his needs, so she could help narrow things down. With his privacy and security requirements, and his desire to be close to the Foundry, it actually didn't leave much to choose from. Luckily, Oliver wasn't very choosy. Felicity and Dig had to convince him not to just sign the papers on the first place he checked out, or any of the other disasters that followed. “I've had worse,” he would say, in the face of water stains and peeling paint and slanted floors, and they would remind him that he didn't have to put up with One Step Above a Deserted Island forever.
So, they found a nice loft in a multi-purpose building, with a private elevator, and he signed the lease. He’s in on July 15.
But it’s currently the middle of June, is the problem. Oliver, apparently, is going to spend the rest of that time at the hotel. Which is fine, she should let it go, but she can’t seem to do that, which is why she's talking to John.
He looks at her, appraisingly. He does not have Dig Face, which is encouraging, but he does purse his lips and ask, “Why?”
She sighs, “It’s been bugging me for awhile—him staying in the hotel. And I just feel like...he’s struggling. I catch him sometimes, with this look on his face, like...like I can tell he's reliving something—and oh God, take your pick of what horror show that could be—but then if you try to talk to him, it's like nothing...ugh—I don’t know what I’m trying to say—”
Dig’s face has cleared, and he cuts her off, “It’s okay, Felicity. I’m worried about him too.”
She relaxes then, and knows she was right to talk to him first. He makes his way over to her desk and says, “I've been trying to get him to come to the apartment with Lyla and me, at least to have dinner with us, hang out, but he brushes it off. And he’s too quiet—even for him. Maybe everything is just starting to really sink in. His mom, Slade, Thea…”
“Exactly," Felicity nods. "He’s kind of...withdrawing. And I don’t blame him. Honestly, most of the time, I’m not sure how he keeps himself upright. I’d probably just take to my bed with a bottle of booze and a can of frosting and become a hermit, if I had his life.”
Dig smiles, “Nah, you wouldn't. But we all deal with things in our own way, and those ways aren't always healthy. Look at me: I ended up with a divorce and a side-gig aiding and abetting a vigilante.”
Felicity smiles back at him, "Well, on the balance, things did turn out all right."
He gives her hand a quick squeeze and continues, “Look, Oliver has been through things that neither of us can comprehend, and I only have guesses as to how he gets by. But right now...yeah, I’m worried.”
Her eyebrows knit together and she says, “Okay, so do you think it’s a terrible idea? Seeing if he would stay with me?”
Dig thinks for a minute, then says, “No, but Felicity—” he inclines his head at her and his voice gets softer, “I assume you've really thought about this? And you’ll take care of yourself?”
They don’t talk about it explicitly, not ever, but they also do talk about it, all the time. It’s in the background of every conversation they have that involves Oliver, and it threatens to come into the foreground more and more lately. So she doesn't have to deny or pretend not to understand or do anything but to say, “Yeah, John. I’m always careful. It’s practically my middle name. Well, actually—”
“—'It’s Meghan,’ yeah, I know. You need new jokes,” he laughs. “All right, I’m going home to provide foot rubs and snacks and whatever else my lady might require.”
“Good man. Give her a little extra ice cream for me, please. Heck, give yourself some too."
He smirks, lifting his duffel bag to his shoulder, “Will do.” He pats her arm as he walks out and says, “Hey. I hope he says yes.”
Felicity waits, futzing around on some of her feeds, while Oliver disappears into the shower stall. When he comes out, back in his jeans and henley, she catches a look—one that disappears almost as quickly as it appeared—that clearly reads that he was hoping she might have left. Squashing whatever hurt she might feel at that, she takes it as one more indication that she needs to go through with this. So she continues to wait while he restocks his gear, replaces the suit, moves some training equipment. But when he sits down to sharpen arrows, she’s had enough.
“Oliver?” she starts.
His face is a little tight, but he turns to her with a smile, “Yeah?”
She bites her lip. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Do you…have a minute?” she asks, looking toward his pile of arrows.
He looks like a trapped animal, for, again, just the briefest of moments, but then nods, a concerned but warm look painted over his features, and says, “Of course. What’s going on?”
He’s working so hard just to be normal, to be kind to her. A little shot of pain forks in her heart. She looks at him warily for a minute, then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I want you to move out of the hotel and stay with me for the rest of the month until your lease starts.”
She cracks her eyes back open, peering at him sideways. She can’t read the look on his face yet, but she feels it might be taking a turn toward the bad, so she plunges ahead. “Okay, before you say anything, just let me sell you on it. First: I have a bed. No! I mean, I have an extra bed, in that spare bedroom, which is basically just storage for old computer parts right now and it seems extravagant and I have total stereotypical Jewish guilt about it, so if you used it, for any amount of time, you’d really be doing me a favor. Second: I don’t actually understand your financial situation right now, but I bet you could stand to save a few thousand dollars, and that is exactly what would happen if you stopped throwing money at the Four Seasons. Third—”
“Felicity.”
She tries to plow on, “Third—”
He puts a hand on her forearm and she stops. He squints and says, “Where is this coming from?”
“Truth?”
He makes an impatient face, and she blows out a breath and says, “Just, you know, feeling like this might all be a bit much, even for you. And like maybe you’re retreating a little, back to your island like last summer, only you didn't actually go this time. Or I mean, I guess you did—we all did—but then we came back and now you’re going again...metaphorically.” Oliver's face is impassive. She puts a hand to her forehead and mutters, “Coulda used another run-through.”
Shaking her head, she pushes on, her voice softer, “Look, Oliver, I know I don’t understand what you’re going through, not exactly, and you can totally tell me to mind my own business, and I will try. I swear I will try. But I...thought maybe it might be...nice, if you weren't alone, all the time, right now. It might be nice for me, too.”
He keeps his eyes on her, but doesn't respond, his face still unreadable. She feels a strong urge to babble, to list every reason, up to and including that she is terrified that she's losing him. But with great effort, she keeps herself quiet and waits for him.
Finally, he looks at a point somewhere to her left for a few seconds, and when his gaze returns to her, it is slightly nervous but more open than she's seen it lately. “Okay,” he says.
Felicity’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wh-what?” she chokes.
“Okay," he says again, his mouth curving up on one side.
She blinks, repeatedly. “Sorry—what?”
Now Oliver lets out an actual laugh, the first Felicity can recall in weeks, and says, “Okay, I’ll stay at your place. As far as your plans go...it’s not the worst I've ever heard.”
“Oh, wow," she stammers. "Good. Okay, huh, I really thought this was going to be more of a fight.”
Oliver looks a little distressed at that, and says, “I do have a few conditions, which I know is rude, as a guest, but...” he shrugs and she nods for him to continue. “I get to pay rent. Include utilities and whatever other expenses you can think of and let me know what it is—I want to pay my share. Also: you let me upgrade your windows and doors like I've been...suggesting for months.”
She gives a nearly imperceptible nod, still stunned they've gotten to this point in the conversation, and half-convinced he will change his mind. “Fine, done.”
“And: if anything happens, gossip-wise, you’ll let me handle it.”
Felicity’s eyebrows furrow for a minute. She hasn't given a single thought to that. Oliver has been lying low since Lian Yu, and with Queen Consolidated in flux, he isn't exactly the hottest bachelor in town anymore. But still, Oliver Queen will probably always be of interest to the people of Starling, and the whole country. It’s easy to forget when he doesn't have to wear that particular mask so often anymore. She recovers and nods, “Happily. I don’t want any part of that. But I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”
“Mm-hmm,” he assents, though he seems less sure. “Last thing: I am not...easy to be around right now. You need to be upfront with me if I.... And I reserve the right to remove myself from the situation, too, if necessary. Okay?”
“Oh, I have no problem telling you when you’re being a pain." She reaches out a hand to shake his. “Deal.”
He holds onto her hand a beat longer, then asks, a little shyly, “So, when were you thinking?”
“Anytime, really. Tonight? Or, I guess that wouldn't be ideal since it's like midnight and I'm pretty sure there's laundry strewn all over my house. Tomorrow?”
Oliver smiles, looking at the floor, then up at her. “Checkout is noon, I think. After that?”
She smiles too, big and broad and ridiculous-feeling, but she finds she doesn't care to stifle it. “Um, I guess I’ll probably just stick around home tomorrow then, and clean up a bit. Unless you need some help?”
He shakes his head. “No, I can handle it. I’ll bring lunch when I come over.” He’s struggling to maintain eye contact with her. It makes her heart flip.
They look at each other a minute longer—Oliver at the soft smile flickering across Felicity's face; she at the hint of light returning to his eyes—before Felicity picks up her bag and makes a quick exit, as though afraid to give Oliver the chance to change his mind. She texts Dig as soon as she sits down in her car.
He said yes
12:11 amReally doing this I guess.
12:11 amOh shit
12:12 amI didn't really think he'd say yes.
12:12 am