Work Text:
"Are you sure about this?" Felicity asks, heart pounding in the base of her throat. "Like, really, really sure?”
She feels like she’s going to choke on it, but Oliver just smiles benignly at her, his expression far too calm for what they’ve been through in the last three days; for what they’re going to do next.
"You’re about to marry a Captain, Felicity," Oliver reminds her, his tone teasing, "shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? Better yet, shouldn’t you be asking yourself that?”
Felicity swallows, throat clicking with it. She wants to tell him she’s been married to him inside her head since they were six, but thinks that’s probably not what he’s asking.
"I trust you, Oliver." she says instead, hoping he can hear the honesty in that even through the quake in her voice. "If you think this is the best way to protect me from Velichko, I’m one hundred percent on board."
There’s something shuttered about Oliver’s gaze then, but Felicity doesn’t have time to ask.
The wedding march is playing them in and they’re walking down the aisle in a quickie chapel in the middle of Vegas faster than she can think “Mrs. Queen”.
*
No honor among thieves turns out to extend to Russian mobsters as well. Or, some of them anyway. Marrying Oliver was supposed to protect Felicity, give her the backing of Oliver’s organization and his title to keep her alive.
Valichko, a badass Russian “business man” straight out of Moscow who Felicity witnessed murder a Federal Prosecutor, doesn’t seem to care that Felicity is the wife of a Bratva Captain. He also doesn’t seem to care that the entirety of Oliver’s rage is going to come down on his head with the full weight of the Bratva at his back when Oliver finds out Valichko made a move against his wife.
Oliver not finding out isn’t even a remote possibility, not when three of his men are dead, two more severely injured, and Felicity herself has managed to gain a brand-spanking new bullet hole in her shoulder.
She hears him the moment he steps foot on her floor, can hear the commotion outside and the roar of his voice calling her name. Diggle -Oliver’s personal body man and head of security - is out of his chair beside her bed and heading for the door before Felicity can ask him to go get Oliver before he tears the whole hospital apart.
Digg just steps out into the hallway, unwilling to let Felicity out of his sight, and lifts his chin. Felicity assumes that means Oliver spotted him, because in the next second Oliver is skidding into the room, eyes wild and jaw set hard.
"Felicity." he breathes as he moves closer, puts himself right at her bedside.
"I’m okay." she assures, voice croaky and weak from pain. All the medication in her system makes her head feel overstuffed and fuzzy, but Oliver’s looking at her like she’s a vision of Heaven itself, and she’s so relieved to see him that her eyes brim with tears.
"You’re not okay." he admonishes quietly, eyes going soft around the corners. He reaches out and swipes gently at a stray tear trickling down her cheek. "You were shot, Felicity, and I wasn’t here to protect you. How could any of this possibly be okay?"
"Because you’re here now." she whispers, leaning into his touch.
Oliver’s mouth is curved delicately when he leans down to brush his lips against hers. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”