Work Text:
1.
In the first five minutes after, in Nanda Parbat, as they’re still catching their breath, Felicity runs her fingers over Oliver’s chest, up to his jaw and back, her brow furrowed, slick with sweat.
She catches his smile. “What?”
“I’ve never seen you so quiet before.”
Felicity shrugs, lips quirking. “Don’t have much to say right now.”
“No?”
“No.”
She’s running her fingers along the fault lines in his skin, tracing the outline of a burn scar, then the ridge left by a serrated knife, then the nick by a sword –
“What’re you thinking about?”
“I’m not thinking.”
“You’re always thinking,” he nudges her and she smiles, her mouth soft.
“I’m memorizing.”
“Memorizing what?”
“You.” She plants a little kiss in the centre of his chest and he wonders how the hell he’s got lucky enough to have this moment with her.
**
2.
As she begins to dose, he wraps his arms around her from behind, and lays his mouth against the furrow of the old bullet wound in her shoulder.
“Mm – what’re you doing?”
“Looking at your scar.”
“You wanna see my impacted wisdom teeth, too?”
Oliver laughs, kisses the bullet wound again. “Just that time you took a bullet for Sara.”
“Lot of good that did her,” she exhales, softly, and Oliver holds her a little tighter.
“You’re extraordinary, Felicity Smoak.”
**
3.
An hour or so after that, they lie nose to nose for a little while, watching each other. Oliver has been searching for something – anything – to say so they can stay in bed. If they’re still talking, trailing haphazardly from one lazy post-coital discussion to the next, then it’s not over yet.
“Can you see much? Without your glasses?”
“Mm, I do okay, as long as I don’t have to read anything,” Felicity shrugs, “and as long as you stay within about two feet of my face you stay mostly in focus. Though you’ve got kind of a halo going on right now. I don’t do so well with bright lights.”
She makes an arching gesture over his head to indicate the halo, and Oliver smiles, craning his head to catch her hand and kiss the palm.
“Halo, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s fitting.”
He snorts, but Felicity’s smile only widens, huddling closer to him.
**
4.
The first morning they get to wake up together they are back home, in Starling.
Oliver feels her stir as the light in the room turns blue, then grey, birds outside beginning to call for dawn. Felicity is huddled against his chest, because he’s been holding onto her like he’s scared someone’s going to come in and try to take her away from him (again).
She yawns and is still for a moment. Her fingers twitch, and start to trace a familiar pattern over one of his scars. He kisses the top of her head.
And then he hears her say, very softly, her voice still thick with sleep: “Modeh anee lefanecha melech chai vekayam, she-he-chezarta bee nishmatee b’chemla, raba emunatecha.”*
He knows enough to recognise Hebrew when he hears it, though he can’t translate it. She yawns again and presses her face to his neck – Oliver rolls a finger in a circle just beneath her ear. “What was that?”
“Modeh ani.”
“Mm?”
“The morning prayer.” She snuffles a sleepy sigh, and he feels her eyelashes flutter. “You’re supposed to say it every morning, when you wake up. I only usually manage to break it out on special occasions. My bubbe would disapprove.”
“We’d best not tell her about all those bacon cheese burgers.”
She giggles into his neck. Oliver lets himself breath her in for a moment – lets the world slowly settle into focus before he speaks again. “What’s it mean?”
“That I’m grateful.”
Oliver tightens his grip on her for a moment. “Good. So am I.”