Chapter Text
When Felicity was in the middle of a project on her computer, she wasn’t always aware of her surroundings. Takeout from Big Belly Burger would sit half eaten at the edge of her desk, the espresso at the top of her keyboard half drunk and cold, at least until she would lift the mug up to her lips and grimace in disgust at the cold liquid, taking a small break to the coffee machine and back. People would come and go, and she would later have no recollection of their conversations at all.
Her cell ringing had been background noise, a disturbance in the back of her brain until just before the tune faded off and her voicemail picked it up; something connected in her brain, and she lifted the screen to her ear. " This is Felicity Smoak,” she answered the unfamiliar number, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder, and continued typing determined to not lose her concentration.
“This is Jennifer Page, I’m calling from Starling General. Oliver Queen was admitted last night…”
“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number.” She hadn’t thought about Oliver Queen in years, hadn’t seen him in even longer, not since she graduated MIT and moved to Central City.
"I’m sorry Ms Smoak, you’re listed as his emergency contact, there’s obviously been a misund…”
“I have’t spoken to Oliver Queen in over five years Ms Page,” Felicity leant back in her chair, finally turning her whole attention to the conversation. “Why would he have me listed as his emergency contact?”
There was a pause on the other end, and Felicity heard the sound of paper rustling and a nervous coughing, as if the woman didn’t want to keep talking.
“Well, it says you’re his wife.”
Felicity closed her eyes and counted down silently to calm herself down again. After she hung up the phone, thought of her project were long abandoned, the files saved and her computer shut down as she walked out the office in a daze.
Once the initial shock had worn off, anger settled in; she remembered being Oliver’s wife, when she was living in Massachusetts and fueling herself on caffeine to get through the final year of her degree. She had been in love, admittedly crazy, and they’d married in Las Vegas after one long sleepless weekend.
Six weeks after her graduation she’d left the divorce paper on the kitchen counter as she walked out, their final fight her breaking point. She had been determined to move on with her life that she hadn’t followed up to make sure that she was actually divorced.
Why hadn’t she followed up on her freaking divorce?
That evening she was on the overnight train to Starling City, her computer bag and one small weekend bag thrown over a shoulder. She hadn’t told her friends that she was leaving town, let alone the reason why; only her boss knew that she needed a week off work to go out of town on a personal matter.
She didn’t know what Oliver had done to wind up in the hospital, he had always been a little reckless and loved riding around Boston on his bike, so she could make some guesses, but for the nurse to call her, it had to have been pretty bad. Did his family even know what had happened? She couldn’t be the one to call them and explain that a complete stranger from out of town had been informed of their sons accident before them. She had only met his sister, once, when she had come out to visit with Oliver for a week during her summer holidays; that was pre-Vegas trip.
Would she had to explain this to a girlfriend as well? Felicity burrowed her head into her hands and groaned, barely stifling the urge to scream. Why was she even on her way to Stirling, when she could have sealed with this situation with a phone call and her lawyer? (her friends kept telling her she was too nice)
It was a long, monotonous ride into the city, Felicity unable to sleep upright, especially between the quiet humming on the train and her mind trying to process her situation. The early morning sun was glaring right into the window as Felicity blearily gathered up her belongings as the pa system crackled to life announcing their imminent arrival into Starling City.
*
Foregoing the appeal of the hotel, with it’s soft bed and hot shower, she made a direct line to the hospital before she could lose the last of the drive that had compelled her 600 miles away from home. She followed the directions a nurse at the main desk had provided her with, and knocked softly on the partially opened door, before stepping into the private room, a quick gasp escaping through her lips. Oliver was lying there in the middle of the bed, one side of his face bruised, and his left in a cast. His eyes were closed and she took a couple of steps closer towards the bed, noticing that even in sleep he looked in pain.
“Who are you?” A voice behind Felicity startled her, and she spun around, remembering her bags were still over her shoulder as they knocked against her back, to stare in shocker at the older, immaculately dressed woman, glaring at her. “What are you doing in my son’s room?” She demanded.
Felicity’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
“Security!” The woman called back through the open door. “Security!”
“I’m…I’m Felicity,” She managed to keep her voice calm and steady. “The hospital called me yesterday afternoon.”
“That’s ridiculous, who would…”
“I’m his wife.”
The words still sounded ridiculous.
It was Mrs. Queen’s turn to stare at her in shock, obviously Oliver hadn’t explained all he had gotten up to while he was at Harvard.
The stare off between the two woman was disrupted by the sounds of movement behind Felicity, and she turned back to the bed just in time to see Oliver open his eyes slightly, wincing in pain.
“‘Licity?”
“You know her?” His mother still sounded dubious.
The tilt of his head was all he could manage of a nod. “What’re you doing here?”
“She claim she’s your wife,” Mrs Queen answered before Felicity could even open her mouth.
“I left you the divorce papers, Oliver.” Felicity reminded him as his eyes fell closed again.
The doctor chose that opportunity to come and check on Oliver, Moira taking the opportunity to unceremoniously throw Felicity from the room, who gladly take the chance to race back to her hotel.
She stood under the pressure of the shower she’d started fantasising about hours ago, the hot water cascading down her back as she tried to relax after the last fourteen odd hours. She pressed her forehead against the wall and reminded herself for the dozenth time that she was completely crazy.
She needed to go back to the hospital, and talk to Oliver. She needed the divorce she’d asked for five years ago, she needed to make sure that he was okay.
She should have known that nothing with Oliver was easy.
Her wardrobe was emptied on the bed in the middle of their small bedroom, and Felicity was slowly and methodically folding everything up and packing them into the two suitcases that lay on the floor behind her. Her vision was blurry, and her eyes bloodshot and red, but she refused to again give into the tears. She had watched her mother cry over men her whole childhood, and she refused to break the promise her thirteen year old self had sworn about never crying because of a man.
Her eyes flickered to her phone she’d left on the nightstand table, and she fought the urge to pick it up again to check the time or for messages. The last time she had looked it had been quarter to midnight, and after two voicemails left on Oliver’s phone she wasn’t leaving another one. She had left all she wanted to stay.
Their arguments all sounded the same, the repetitiveness of it like running around in circles. They’d made a mistake, marrying too young, and now it was obvious that they wanted two very different things in life. Felicity wasn’t going to wait around for Oliver, if all he wanted to do was party and drink.