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A/N: Welp. I guess this is a series now. If I’m now canon-divergent from both the movie and the show, does that make this an AU AU?
Check-Out
The best part about getting breakfast so ungodly early is that there’s time for a nap afterwards, before they have to check out of her comped hotel room. And they do try to nap at first, lulled drowsy under the covers by bellies full of breakfast food and residual exhaustion.
But then he reaches for her, or maybe she reaches for him. It’s hard to tell and it really doesn’t matter once they’re wrapped up in each other.
He bands an arm around her waist and tugs her flush against him, but she’s grateful when he doesn’t pull her on top or move to roll her underneath. She’s still so sore between her legs, though each straining muscle sends a heated memory flashing through her brain. If all she can do right now is kiss him, she’s going to kiss him good.
She presses her tongue into his mouth, fingernails scratching lightly at the top of his neck, and he immediately begins to harden against her thigh. But when she reaches down to touch him, he snatches her hand away.
“You sure?” she breathes against his lips. “We were pretty good at the bump and grind the other night. Or, I could...”
“Felicity,” he interrupts, solemnly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll wait for you.”
He kisses her deep once more, and pecks her a few times before pulling her against his chest. It’s the softest things have been since the keycard reader on the hotel door flashed green last night. From the moment they’d crossed the threshold until maybe 5 a.m., everything had been dramatic and fraught with passion and impatience. Up against the door, on the floor, on the armchair, on the desk chair, in the shower.
They had dozed occasionally throughout the last couple rounds on the bed, but it was fitful rest. Now, in the warming light of the late morning, she’s sleepy and content and so is he, and it feels so good, being held against his chest.
“We should just stay here for the week,” he murmurs into her hair and it sounds romantic and escapist but also sets off an anxiety alarm in her head, something that’s been eating at her since her spontaneous purchase after breakfast.
She pulls back in his arms, enough to look him in the eye, and that’s all it takes to know something’s up. He’s still shining at her, but there’s worry underneath it, something big even he can’t mask.
“Oliver,” she whispers, and his eyes fall closed for just a second. “Should I not have bought those tickets?”
She’s not totally sure what compelled her to do it in the first place, really, only that once the thought had entered her head, she knew there was no choice to make. But when he doesn’t answer her worried question right away, she starts in on a babble.
“When you talked about Gotham the other day, it sounded like you was talking about going to Mars,” she rambles. “Like the idea of a fresh start was so unattainable. But I have some, uh, experience in that area and I…”
She trails off and heaves a deep, frustrated breath.
“You wanted to go,” she exhales, finally finding the concentrated version of the truth amidst her verbocity. “I wanted to take you.”
“Felicity,” he voice cracks as he lays a hand on her cheek. “You are...amazing, and not just for buying those tickets. I just...it’s complicated.”
“You can tell me if you want,” she breathes against his palm. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but…”
“I do,” he cuts her off and he hearts soars. “I really do, and I want to tell you. But it’s a little crazy, isn’t it? Do you feel a little crazy? Do you feel like this is...”
“I do.” It’s not until his eyes widen that she realizes she’s echoed him. He kisses her, soft and slow, and when he pulls back, his gaze is cast down and he pulls his hand from her cheek to hold hers where it’s tucked up between them.
“My little sister,” he starts, taking a deep breath. He does trust her, she realizes. But that’s a mystery for a later time. “When she was eight or nine, my parents found out that my dad was not...he wasn’t her father.”
“Your mother had an affair?” It’s the easiest guess, but she still regrets it when she’s right, if only for the way his face falls.
“With one of my dad’s business partners,” he nods, gritting his teeth. “Tommy’s dad, actually.”
Pretty Boy, she remembers. “Jesus.”
“He’s never been a good man,” he tells her. “He’s mostly a monster. Tommy’d be the first to tell you that. And, when he found out that Thea was his, he...he killed my parents and he took her away to Gotham.”
“He...what?” Felicity sputters. “How is that possible?”
“I was only 16,” Oliver shakes his head, looking down, dejected. “And I was a fuckup, I was in no shape to take care of her.”
It’s then that she starts to fully realize how much he carries with him. How the light-hearted party boy she met briefly on Friday night was his most stifling costume of all. She puts a hand on either side of his face and forces him to meet her eyes.
“No Oliver, I meant how is he not in jail?”
“They can’t prove it,” he tells her, drilling through her defenses with the sharp blue of his watery eyes. “It’s not like he walked in and shot them. He just...sunk their boat into the South China Sea.”
Her eyes go wide, and he visibly recoils when he knows she’s put the pieces together, even though she tries her hardest not to gasp.
“Oh my god, you’re Ollie Queen.” She remembers the reports from when she was in junior high. She was still a few years from moving to Starling City herself, but it was national news, the Fortune 500 CEO and his wife, lost at sea.
“Please don’t call me that,” he pleads.
“But you are, aren’t you?” It’s an extraneous question but she’s scrambling for language. He just nods once.
“And the man who killed your parents...”
“Malcolm Merlyn,” he interjects, spitting out the name like it tastes bad.
“He has your sister.”
“Legally, he’s her guardian. I haven’t seen her in years,” he admits. “He took her to Gotham right after the custody case settled, and cut both me and Tommy off financially. That’s when we became the Fuck Up Kings of Metropolis.”
“Oh, Oliver.” Her heart aches at how anguished he sounds, how much sadness there is in his eyes.
“She was left with a monster, Felicity.” His voice cracks and she bites her lip, trying to keep it together, for his sake. “And that’s my fault. Because I wasn’t better for her.”
She scoots herself up so she’s slightly above him on the pillows, and wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him to her chest.
“You know we can just stay here all week if you want to,” she whispers. “Whatever you want.”
He tucks his face into her neck and lets a deep sigh warm the top of her chest. “I think I want to see her.”
She presses a sad smile against his hair. “Okay, then. Nap first. Train later.”
Felicity wakes before he does and sneaks into the hotel bathroom to call Sara. She has to muffle the receiver against her bathrobe for nearly a full minute, but once her friend stops shrieking, she’s equal parts understanding and intrigued. Felicity is only a little surprised to find herself painting things with a wide brush, making it seem like this is a meaningless fling, even as her heart pounds Morse code in her chest, spelling out how wrong she is. She’s not sure if she actually pulls off her attempts at nonchalance, but she knows doesn’t want to share this with anyone but him just yet.
When she hangs up with a promise to check in from Gotham, she returns to the bedroom to find Oliver awake too, rubbing at his eyes. His sleepy smile makes her heart flutter but he also looks curious.
“Somebody missing you?” Not curious, apparently. Jealous.
“Just Sara,” she says, wondering if he’ll remember. Men always remember the Lance girls. “My friend from the other night.”
“The bachelorette?” he frowns. “No, that was Cait, right?”
“Caitlin, yeah.” Felicity nods. “No, Sara was the one who came to the bridge with us.”
“Ah, the bridge,” he muses, eyes sparkling all of a sudden. “I remember The Kid being annoying and someone shutting him up…”
“That was Sara,” she interrupts, but he pays her no mind.
“Mostly, I remember you holding my hand.”
“Sara’s a badass,” she swallows the lump in her throat and musters up her most serious voice. “She wanted me to tell you that.”
“She doesn’t like me?”
“She’s just...protective,” Felicity curbs. “It’s sort of what she does for a living.”
“Well, I think I owe Sara a thank you card at least,” he muses, still sparkly. “Maybe a fruit basket, too.”
“For what?”
“For ditching you in my room the other night,” he smirks.
“You’re kind of a sap. I like it.” She smacks his arm, but he’s quicker, grabbing her wrist and pulling her down for a kiss. “Now come on, we’ve got a train to catch.”