Chapter Text
It was a quiet evening in the foundry. With Oliver and Sara running a routine patrol and Diggle monitoring a potential target, the only sounds to punctuate the silence were Felicity’s fingers over the keyboard and Roy’s even breaths as he dozed off on the couch (that Felicity had insisted they buy).
Felicity glanced back at Roy and smiled. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but Roy was fiercely loyal and he had a passion for helping the people of this city. He looked up to Oliver, and, while it had taken a while to find his rhythm and place in the team dynamic, he had warmed up to Felicity and Diggle as well. Although he still wasn’t used to Felicity’s famous rambles. Felicity blushed as she recalled a particularly suggestive innuendo she had accidently made while briefing him on their target the other night.
Resuming her work, Felicity focused on compiling information on the target Diggle was monitoring to relay to Oliver later. If it wasn’t for the low groan she heard from Roy’s general direction, she probably wouldn’t have turned around and seen him appear agitated.
Rising from her seat, Felicity’s face was marred by a worried frown. Slowly approaching Roy with her arm half-outstretched, she registered that he seemed to be having a nightmare. Reaching his side, Felicity bit her lower lip as she went through the pros and cons of waking him up. On one hand, startling him awake would be dangerous, especially with his super-strength. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to be plagued by nightmares.
Reaching a decision, Felicity leaned in close. “Roy, wake up. You’re having a bad dream. At least, I think you’re having a bad dream. You were groaning and now your eyeballs look like they’re having a party behind your eyelids. Oh God, you’re not having a sex dream are you? You better not be ‘cause that’s just weird. And awkward, totally awkward. Never mind, you’re scrunching up your face like you’re in pain. It’s definitely a bad dream.”
He didn’t seem to be registering her voice, so Felicity firmly reached out and laid a hand on Roy’s bicep, squeezing slightly.
She couldn’t have possibly imagined what happened next.
Before she could blink, Roy had jumped up from the couch, gripping her wrist in a painful grasp as he flipped her to the ground and straddled her, his other hand wrapping around her throat. The hand on her wrist moved to painfully grip her upper arm.
Felicity’s eyes flew to Roy’s, seeing the wild look in them. She couldn’t breathe, let alone use her voice to jar him out of whatever trance he was in. Looking into his eyes, she didn’t see the Roy who laughed with Sin, or the Roy who smiled fondly at Thea, or the Roy who listened carefully as Oliver gave him tips about his fighting stance. She saw a scared Roy, a hunted one, a Roy who saw others as threats. Who saw her as a threat.
She was starting to panic as her body demanded air. “Roy,” she managed to wheeze out. Her voice seemed to do the trick.
As fast as he had pinned her down, he staggered away from her, his face morphing into a horrified expression. He looked down at his hands in disgust, as if he couldn’t believe what they had done. Felicity’s hand automatically went up to soothe her throat, gulping in deep breaths of air; he only had her pinned down for a few seconds, but she knew that her throat, along with her wrist and upper arm, would bruise.
“Roy.” She tried to say it softly, but her voice came out scratchy.
His head whipped up to look at her; the fog she had glimpsed earlier cleared from his eyes. Now they were filled with self-loathing.
“Felicity, oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His voice broke on the last word, breaking her heart along with it.
Taking a step forward, she winced as she saw him take two steps back, away from her. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I’m the one who startled you. I’m okay, no harm done.”
He looked at her throat – which she was still clutching – pointedly. Her hand dropped and she took two quick steps forward, not allowing him to retreat this time as she gripped his arm. “It’s nothing. I’m okay. Seriously, it could’ve been worse. I mean like, thank God you didn’t break my arm or something, because that would have seriously sucked. And you know what they say: no blood, no foul. Seriously about the blood, though, you know I don’t like it. Which is ironic considering who we work with, right? I think the number of times I’ve stitched up Oliver has helped build up an immunity against my reluctance at seeing blood, but still, better safe than sorry.” Felicity knew she was rambling and for once she didn’t mind, because she could feel Roy’s muscles relax slightly under her fingers.
She smiled gently. “I’m okay, Roy. Next time you’re having a bad dream though, I’m poking you with a stick,” her smile turned cheeky as she delivered her words and the faint returning smile on Roy’s face made her want to fist pump the air.
“I might have to borrow your stick though,” she continued thoughtfully. Her eyes widened at her words and she rushed to explain herself. “Not your stick, ugh, God, I meant those Eskrima sticks you guys use for training. Not your stick stick. I wouldn’t borrow that. You’re like a brother to me and I think Thea would probably murder me if I touched your stick and ugh God why am I still talking?” Felicity’s voice trailed off at Roy’s full-throated laugh.
“Shut up,” she grumbled, “you know I can’t help it.”
“Oh, Blondie, you sure do know how to make a guy feel better,” Roy said, still chuckling.
Sauntering back to her station, she looked at him over her shoulder and said with a pout, “I wouldn’t laugh at you if you didn’t have a brain-to-mouth filter.”
He grinned and replied, “Yeah you would.”
Felicity grinned back. “Yeah, I would.”