Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her heart was full and her soul was touched. Felicity smiled in pure delight.

She had been smiling for the last few hours. This delicious floating sensation that filled her was a high unlike any she had felt before. She hugged herself, feeling dreamy and strangely unfocused, bubbling inside with happiness. It was a lovely feeling. 

She was really -  no, really! - a worthy part of the team. Uhuh. They needed her. 

Well, she kinda knew that, of course … had always known that … she practically ran Team Arrow for goodness sake. But somewhere at the back of her mind, a faint small voice within her had laughed incredulously and called her delusional. She had never been able to stifle it before, and that self-depreciating, mocking voice stayed with her. It whispered in her ear during her lowest moments, insisting that she didn’t belong in the world of heroes, that she only took care of the paperwork and the computer stuff - stuff anyone could do. If she didn’t show up one day, they would find it inconvenient, sure, but nothing more. She didn’t make a difference in the real world like Oliver and John who courageously put their lives on the line every single day. Like Roy. Like Sara. 

Her smile widened.

Then tonight … good god, she had saved Sara’s life! You know, that extremely badass, scary-assassin Sara who needed nobody’s help at all. It felt surreal. She had jumped in the way of a bullet and, despite the terror of that moment, they had both lived to tell the tale. She was fine. Sara was fine. And if you saved a badass, it made you a badass by proxy. Those were the rules. Yep. 

Badass Felicity Smoak . 

She liked the sound of that. She had even managed to take the stitches without being a baby about it. Yes, that had felt good. Not ‘ good’ good, cause it had been painful and involved yucky needles … but ‘worth it’ good. 

She tilted her head back on the sofa, gazing contentedly at the ceiling.

She had been aware of Oliver carrying her to safety and of him hovering in the background the entire evening. Nothing unusual there. He always hovered and according to the tacit unspoken agreement between them, she always pretended not to notice. Wasn’t it nice how well they understood each other?

And then … Oliver had broken the script tonight. He had stepped close in front of her as she sat on the medical table, the vitality of his presence surrounding her and making her senses tingle in a way he would never - could never, should never - know. His quiet, low voice when he talked to her … his hand on her cheek. It had anchored her. It had reassured her in a way that she had sorely missed the last few months. His hand on her cheek … hours later, now back in her apartment, she could feel it still. She shut her eyes, re-living that touch. 

Those rough, strong, callused fingers cradling her face with such aching gentleness. 

His quiet ‘Hey’

She had opened her eyes and looked straight into his blue ones - and it was the look in his eyes that had really done it. His eyes held soft understanding and a strange apology. Why? He had nothing to apologize for … but there was something in that openly affectionate, wistful look that had made her heartbeat instantly double in tempo. She could still feel the rapid-fire thump and the drugging, euphoric feeling that had shot through her then … and that feeling stayed with her still. 

Was just a simple look allowed to do this to you?

She smiled again and grabbed one of the squishy couch cushions to snuggle into as she sat curled up in her dimly lit living room. She was lucky. Sooooo lucky to have that one unguarded moment from him. 

Because that one eloquent look would last her a lifetime. She knew it would. It was enough. It would have to be enough. He may belong to … well, many others,... but she was his girl. He’d said so and she believed him. There had been something in the soft huskiness of his voice that left no room for doubt. True, she was just his girl, not his girl … but she was his girl in the sense that mattered most. 

He depended on her and it warmed her heart. 

He trusted her implicitly and you couldn’t buy that with all the money in the world. No way, no how.

He considered her a close friend … a real friend … and that was next to unthinkable. Oliver could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who fell under all three of those elusive categories - and he would still have most of his fingers left over. 

The floating feeling intensified. 

She replayed that scene for the hundredth time in her mind, vaguely noticing something odd … with each successive replay, her perspective widened and panned around. She was watching it all from outside herself, almost as if she was another observer in the bunker. Wait … was she morphing into Digg? He’d been the only other person there … and speaking of John, she’d have to ask him about those darn aspirins again. There was something about them she couldn’t quite put a finger on at the moment.

But it could wait. She was too happy right now. 

She caught things now that she hadn’t before … watched his head tilt, mirroring hers as she had tried to nuzzle into his palm … the way he leaned in with his entire body, almost as if he wanted to … no, … no, not that surely … she was getting carried away. It was she who had leaned into his hand. And that hand had lingered on her skin even when he reluctantly dropped it down to his side, surreptitiously skimming his fingertips down from her cheekbone to her chin before losing contact. Hmm. Interesting. Did he know he had done that? It looked almost subconscious.

The scene dissolved and reformed. Only this hundred and first time it was a completely different scene. 

She frowned slightly. They were not in the bunker anymore, but somewhere in the streets of Starling. Chaos reigned all around them with people running and unrestrained fires burning. She looked like she was knocked out cold and Oliver, in full Arrow mode, was carrying her through the hellscape. She was cradled close in his arms … safe … she felt safe … he was holding on tight to her, being very careful not to jostle her … which was absurd when he was limping so badly. He was obviously wounded. Knowing him, such a show of physical weakness meant he was seriously hurt and in horrible pain. Her smile drooped and her heart squeezed at the thought of it … he needed to take  care of himself. 

But he ignored his leg, didn’t once look where he put his foot down on the debris. His attention was on her.

She could see his face now beneath the hood, smudged with soot and blood. Could see the desperation and worry written so plainly there, and the hard determination in the way his jaw clenched. He was hurting more than just physically. She watched herself open her own eyes and blink groggily at him - and her breath caught at the transformation of his face. He gazed down at her, all the pain of just moments ago wiped away in an instant. 

It was that exact same look he had just given her tonight - soft and melting and vulnerable with so, so, much affection there. 

He looked at her as if she was the most precious thing he had ever seen. As if his sanity was tied to her being alright. The slightest glimmer of moisture in his eyes. The groggy version of her obviously couldn’t focus and missed most of that … but her hand came up to lightly touch the scruff on his jaw, her eyes fluttering shut again. He leaned into her touch, closing his own eyes and coming to a halt as he processed whatever he was feeling at that moment.

Digg caught up to them then, appearing suddenly out of the surrounding smoke, Oliver’s bow clutched in his hand. She could see the concern on John’s face that Oliver had stopped, taking note of his labored breathing. Oliver gave one harsh shake of his head, obviously refusing to take his bow and hand her over, and they moved on. The scene dissolved. 

But the feeling within her did not. Had she thought her heart was full before? Oh, it was close to bursting now. She would never again question if she mattered to him. Despite all the odds, he cared. 

About her, of all people. 

Anything more than that was absolutely unthinkable, of course, but she didn’t have to be jealous of anyone else anymore. She was his girl. No question about that.

 - - -

Another scene floated in front of her, again very different from the others. Was she dreaming? Or hallucinating maybe? Whichever one it was, she wasn’t going to fight it. This was lovely.

A bright cozy apartment. A young boy was leaving the room in great excitement. Oliver watched him walk away before turning to look at her accusingly, somehow both amused and exasperated at the same time. She grinned to herself - she was very familiar with that response from him! And while she blabbered on about the nuts in Rocky Road ice cream, he stalked toward her with panther-like grace. A predator’s stride … but it was camouflaged by the almost bashful way he looked at his feet as he approached her. Her heartbeat accelerated even further … there was something endearingly playful about him. There was a relaxed, dare she say, happy side of him that she didn’t know existed anymore. Not after the island. And she realized that seeing a happy Oliver made her ridiculously happy.

He came right up to her and two hands cradled her face, a delighted smile curving his lips. She in turn pouted up at him and his eyes twinkled. She felt wonder sweep through her at the easy familiarity between them, understood the happiness in her own eyes as she raised on her toes to get closer to him. 

His voice was a low and intimate murmur. “I’m so glad you’re here” 

She tilted her head and smiled shyly up at him, not needing to hide her love in the slightest. She whispered back “Yeah. so am I”

Oh yes she was. She was extremely glad that she was there. How could she not be when he was looking down at her with that look again? She lost herself in it. There was so much tenderness in that expression … open, abundant love … love? … and desire … and belonging. His huge hands spanned her face, keeping her gently captive as he bent down and captured her lips in a searing kiss … and lord help her, she kissed him back with all her heart. She gasped as she huddled here on the couch, her body zinging with the emotion and sheer pleasure that tore through her body. 

The picture dissolved but her mind still clung to it, not wanting to let it go. That … that there was everything she wanted, wanted but didn't dare dream about… something that was so out of reach that it was unthinkable … and yet …

What happened to the unthinkable once you actually thought it? 

When you saw it flash through your mind's eye? When the thought crystalized? When it was so convincing, that the new unthinkable was it NOT happening?

She drew in a shaky breath, all her laughter gone as her feelings swamped her. Overwhelmed her. The intensity of her emotions was nothing new where he was concerned … but for the first time she let herself acknowledge them. She didn’t try to tamp them down like a dirty little secret … she didn’t call herself a fool for wanting so much more … fool …

 - - -

A scream distracted her. She was screaming. She was falling … swinging above a dark shaft with dangerous fan blades whirling beneath her. So this was how she died. The stark terror was real.

No, she wasn’t really falling, not yet, but she would be anytime now. She was suspended above the void, nothing between her and certain death but Oliver’s firm grasp of her arm with one of his hands. She felt the sweat roll down her brow, the dizzying pain radiating from her shoulder as that one arm took her entire weight. She whimpered and she felt his icy fingers desperately dig into her skin. She couldn’t feel her back or legs, oddly enough. What she could feel was her own paralyzing fear.

Oliver was holding on to her, but he shouldn’t be. Oh no. Something was very wrong with him. He looked in way worse shape than she did. Blood caked his back and saturated his clothes. Sweat dripped off him and his entire body shook with tremors that told her he was on the last reserves of his energy. 

Vaguely above him she saw John somehow holding them both up, his feet braced against a broken ladder. Oliver was swinging free just as she was. And any minute now, he was going to lose consciousness and fall to his death along with her. She could see the despair in his red-rimmed eyes as he looked down into hers. He blinked, desperately pushing back against the crowding darkness, those beautiful eyes filled with more terror than she had ever seen… he was terrified for her.

In a way that he was never terrified for himself.

She tried telling him to save himself. To let her go and use the last of his energy to climb out. Better at least one of them survived. He could live … he had to live … 

“You have to let me go”

“Never”. There was that look again as his face scrunched up with effort and emotion. “Ever”

The words echoed around her as the scene faded

 She trembled at the utter conviction in them. She didn’t doubt that he would fight death itself for her. Didn’t doubt that he would walk through hell for her. That she meant the world to him … and more. She felt a sob shake her. Her heart hurt as it swelled with more emotion than it could hold. 

God, she loved him. And as fantastical as these visions … dreams … prophecies .. were, she instinctively believed them… just as she had believed him a few hours ago when he had told her she was his girl. 

Had she just said that his one touch on her cheek tonight was enough for her?

It would never again be enough. Never. Ever.

But it didn’t change the fact that in real life, that would be all she could have. ‘ You will always be my girl, Felicity .’ She was his girl and that was all that was allowed. She was a fool for opening herself up to more pain, for letting her heart and her imagination run away with her. If she could only be content with what she had … if only she could reclaim her mindset from a half hour ago … but that feeling was gone.

She was crying into her hands now, curled into herself on the couch. The room was dark and eerily quiet, the only light coming from the muted tv playing aimlessly in the background. 

 A distant logical voice tried telling her that this was the crash after her high, that it was inevitable. But this pain is too raw to dismiss with logic.

She felt more alone than she ever had before. Self pity was rare for her, but darn if she could shake this pathetic feeling. She should have agreed to go with John to his apartment, should have let him keep an eye on her. Insisting on being dropped at home had been a mistake. She was not coping well tonight …

How long she lay curled up, sniffing occasionally she had no idea. But suddenly, he was there. 

She was aware of his presence as she always was. Without having to be told that he had entered the room, without a word being said. This time not a vision. He was real. She heard a muttered exclamation from near the door, then quick strong strides bringing him to her the next instant. He crouched beside the sofa, trying to see her face.

“Felicity?” A gentle hand smoothed her hair, at striking odds with the tension in his voice. “Hey! What’s wrong?” 

Chapter Text

That gentle caress on her hair, when her mind was still full of him and a future that could never be, restarted her tears. It was well past midnight, surely. What was he doing here? 

She must have said that out aloud.

“Digg and I have been calling for hours to check on you - is your phone off? … You never have your phone off.” His hand continued to stroke her hair as she kept her face hidden against the cushion. “I don’t think you heard me knocking either, so I hope you don’t mind that I used my key.” His voice softened. “Is your shoulder hurting?”

Mortified that he should see her like this, she shook her head into the couch cushions. 

His hand swept down her hair and on to her back, still being excruciatingly gentle as he moved the spaghetti strap of her tank top aside. You’d never in a million years think those same fingers could snap bone without trying too hard. She shivered. He was such a contradiction of traits. 

“Liar. Your entire shoulder feels hot to the touch and it's inflamed around the dressing.” She could hear the distress in his voice. “Felicity. Look at me …” 

She shook her head again. Her sobs had quietened down now and … well, she felt like an idiot as awareness returned. 

“I’m so sorry.” his voice cracked. “It’s my fault. We should have taken you to the hospital right away.” His hand found hers, squeezing lightly. “I’m going to grab you some water and then we’ll head out to Starling General, okay?”

That made her sit up in a hurry. “Oh. No … nope, don’t need to do that! … Ouch!” Her shoulder really was hurting, now that she finally paid it attention. Pretty badly too. But not as badly as all that. Hospitals meant questions and that was the last thing they needed with gunshot wounds. “Not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Felicity!” That was a definite warning growl, accompanied by narrowed eyes and frowny face. That’s all he seemed to do these days; growl or snap at her. It wasn’t fair.

“No!” She sat up straighter, frowning back just as fiercely. “And you do NOT get to come to my home and yell at me, Mister. I’m fine!” 

“I wasn’t yelling” 

“Well, growling then!”

He closed his eyes in brief, silent acknowledgement, before opening them and trapping her gaze with his. The worry was evident in his eyes as he studied her face … which must be a tear-streaked mess. Great. She bit her lip, belatedly trying to rub her face clean.

It was better to be thought she was a wuss crying about her shoulder, than for him to know she was a chump crying over him in the most absurd way possible.

His hand came up to absently tuck a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “Don’t fight me on this … please? We’re going to get you checked out anyway. Just in case.” 

She dashed her arm across her eyes one final time and managed a wobbly smile at him. He worried too much. “I’m fine. Really. I just forgot to take the next dose of aspirin like John told me to.” 

He blinked at her, then looked over to her kitchen counter where John had left a little kit of stuff with instructions. He stared at it for a few seconds before looking back blankly at her again. “You didn’t take any of the painkillers or anti-inflammatories?”

“I … miiight have…?” she scrunched up her nose, trying to remember.

He tilted his head at her incredulously. “You haven't even checked to see what he left you. Felicity, it’s been hours!”

“Ummm” she pressed her lips together, betraying her guilt. She’d been happily lost in another world. Maybe making puppy eyes at him would help? It did sometimes.

Exasperation tinged with amusement flitted across his handsome face, a very familiar reaction. It was another thing about him that was uniquely hers … he never had quite that same reaction with anyone else. Her puppy dog eyes intensified.

He shook his head at her, amusement finally overriding the exasperation. He stood up in one graceful movement, striding wordlessly over to her kitchen and returning with a glass of water and the medication. He held it out to her and she took it with somewhat shaky fingers. She felt weaker than she had expected and his observant eyes didn’t miss anything.

Thankfully, he kept quiet.

She leaned sideways against the couch when she was done, still looking sheepishly up at him. 

“What next?”

“If you’re not going to let a doctor look that over, you’re going to have to put up with my quack skills.” He paused, then glanced down at his toes, seeming oddly hesitant. “I …erm, brought some of the island herbs” he looked up to gauge her reaction, unsure of how she’d take it. “A poultice usually helps better than modern medicine …”

Her eyes widened. “Woah. I get to try the precious magic herbs?”

“Only if you want to …”

“Are you kidding? Yeah! That would absolutely, totally, one hundred percent confirm that I’m a badass!” She grinned at his confusion. Had she really said that? Those aspirins must be kicking in again. She was not in his league of kick-ass, but then, how many were? “I don’t care what you say -  I’m officially a don’t-mess-with-me, you-don’t know-what you’re-tangling-with, badass. Betcha didn’t know that!”

He got the oddest expression on his face.

“I always knew that, Felicity.” 

Those softly whispered words took her breath away. She stared up at him, trying to recover her composure.

“Not fair, going all serious on me. You’re supposed to joke about it.”

He studied her solemnly before pulling out the supplies and dropping to the sofa next to her. “Stay still for a moment.” 

He stayed silent and serious as he tended to her shoulder, very much as he’d been the last few weeks around her in the bunker. Side-eyeing him through her lashes, she observed him. He hadn’t stayed this close to her in a while, choosing to bark commands at her and pace away. She could see the fine lines of tension and weariness etched on his face. She still felt irrationally guilty about the mess with his mother for she knew it was weighing on him. And everything with this mirakuru stuff had him deeply haunted in a way she had never seen before. She’d heard of the blowout with Laurel; Sara herself had drunk a fatal vial of venom not too long ago, ready to die … 

And now, here she was, shot and needing attention. 

He looked up from concentrating on his work with the poultice and his eyes caught hers on him. She flushed. Damn. Busted … and then that thing happened. She watched in wonder as almost instantly, the grim expression in his eyes changed from exhausted worry to … to something lighter, affectionate and wistful. It reminded her so much of her recent hallucination, it was uncanny.

Her presence brought him comfort … even if he never acknowledged it.

Her heartbeat sped up. Oh. 

He had been punishing himself by staying away from her, hadn’t he? How like him. 

She gave him a little smile, no longer bothering to hide the fact that she had been watching him. His eyes softened further. He drew in a deep breath and let it out, his tense posture visibility relaxing. Yep, their connection was a real thing.

He cleared his throat. “How does it feel now?”

“Huh?”

“Your shoulder”

She tested her shoulder by moving it a little. “A bit stiff, but so much better!”

“Sometimes, the muscles locking up near the wound can be almost as painful as the gunshot. Especially when it's been a shock. Here, turn around …”

She presented her back to him and hugged her cushion to her, chin burrowing down into it. The pain was gone and his warm fingers felt so good where they massaged her back and neck. Forget magic herbs, he had the magic touch, his fingers both gentle and firm as they carefully loosened the knots of tension at her nape. She sighed with contentment. The lightly floating sensation was back.

“Umm. That feels so good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice was gruff. “Keep that poultice on at least till the morning, every hour it stays on helps. Even a clean flesh wound like that needs care.”

“You ARE caring for me ... Verrrry sweetly.” She leaned back into his hands and tilted her head back, starting to feel drowsy. “I just hate to be an inconvenience.”

“I’m not doing anything you haven’t done for me a hundred times.”

“Only a hundred times?” With a teasing smile, she turned halfway around so she could see him properly. His hand was on her shoulder and the action naturally put her within the crook of his arm. He left it draped around her, his biceps bunching to hold her steady when she swayed. 

He smiled back - that small fractional upward movement of just the corner of his lips, so precious in its rareness. 

“Only. Not an instance more.”

She rested her forehead against his collar bone, feeling just a little dizzy. His arm around her tightened a little bit more, his little smile slipping back into a frown of concern. She remembered clearly the all too casual conversation between him and Digg and Sara a few weeks ago, comparing horrific scars and injuries as if they were cute bunny tattoos.

“I’m truly sorry to make such a fuss. It’s just a tiny scratch compared to all that you’ve put up with.”

“You are not making a fuss. I wish you would, really. Getting shot is a big deal”

“Is it?” She nibbled on her lower lip pensively. “Bet you were not a crying mess when you were first shot.”

“You’d be surprised.” His voice held wry humor, that self-depreciating, self-mocking tone that told her he wasn’t lying. Just covering up.

She looked up at him from her comfortable spot nestled against his chest. When had she gotten so comfortable? So warm? “I almost believe you.”

“I was a sniveling, pampered, wimp with no concept of how much pain existed in the world. I promise you it was as pathetic as it gets. I didn’t take it nearly as well as you have.” There was that underlying strain in his voice again, the one that no one seemed to hear. That flat, controlled tone that marked anything he let slip about the past.

She shuddered at the thought of a younger him in such pain, shot and bleeding profusely, eyes terrified, panicked … dealing with it all alone. Far from home and away from anyone who cared. 

Her hand came up to touch his chest, exactly where she knew there was a bullet scar beneath his Henley. One of many. She had no idea which one was the first.

He stiffened and seemed to freeze at her touch.

“I’m so sorry.” her voice was slightly slurred but her fingers were steady as she focused on what she felt under her fingertips. She slid them down a little to where she knew another scar was, stroking absently. “Bet you didn’t have any painkillers. Not even aspirin.”

He didn’t say anything, just sat there as still and as hard as a statue, barely breathing. 

Her hand smoothed his shirt, tracing around to his side where her fingers felt another raised scar. “I wish I could have been there to care for each one of them”. She was barely whispering now.

Still silence from him, but his head dropped down till his chin nuzzled the top of her head. She could feel his shallow breathing under her hand, the slight tremor that went through him. The careful way he held her close, always making sure he didn’t press against the bandage on her shoulder.

Those visions were blending into her reality now, this feeling of being in his arms familiar and safe. Her hand wandered over his abs, knowing exactly where each of the many bullet scars were, stopping to acknowledge each.

Till … his hand came to cover hers. To hold her fingers still where they lay against him. 

“Felicity.” It was a choked whisper, something desperate hidden within it. 

She looked up at him, trying to decipher it. Trying to decipher the slow loud thudding of her own heart that accompanied it. But he had his eyes closed, refusing to let her see. 

She stretched up toward him and he bent until his forehead rested against hers. She was the one trembling now as they stayed that way for a minute … or two … or three. She breathed in his familiar scent, reveled in being in his arms like this. It felt right. It felt like home.

He was the first to move. He shifted so his lips brushed across her forehead ever so lightly before pulling back a little. She could have almost imagined it. He was withdrawing, and she wanted to protest. His eyes looked into hers, … so intense … and echoing everything she felt.

“Felicity, … I would never hurt you.’ He still sounded choked up.

“I know” Of course she did.

“I’m a cad for taking advantage of you in your condition. I’m so sorry.”

“Excuse me, I believe I was taking advantage of you!” she protested faintly. “Besides, I’m not in any ‘condition’ ”

That small smile was back, this time a mere twist of his lips. “Sure. In no condition to be left alone.”

“All I’ve had are aspirins!” She watched his smile widen with an almost infinite gentleness, and realization dawned on her. “Oh… Oh!…” Her eyes went wide.

His hand came up to cradle her cheek just like it had earlier in the bunker, thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “Trust me, I’m going to have a couple of strong words with Digg about his medication strategy’.” 

“Line forms behind me, mister.” She nuzzled into his palm like before, but a sadness was nipping at her. No wonder she felt floaty … and sleepy … no wonder he had let down his guard around her. “I’m not going to remember any of this in the morning, am I?”

“No, probably not.” He sounded sadder than she did.

“But I want to remember this! Everything that I’ve seen and felt … and …” tears pricked and she blinked them back. “... I don’t want you to leave …”

“I won’t. I promise. I’ll spend what’s left of the night on this couch after I get you settled in bed.”

“I meant, don’t ‘leave’ leave…” she had a suspicion that it didn’t make sense outside her head. Drowsiness crept around the edges of her consciousness, and her eyes fluttered shut.

An intimate silence settled around them. She floated on the cusp of falling asleep, her consciousness refusing to let go, hanging on for as long as she could to relish his presence.

“I won’t ever leave you, Felicity.”

It was breathed so quietly that if her entire being hadn’t been tuned for it, she would have missed it. 

Her eyes surged wide open in response, and she caught the unguarded look on his face as he gazed down at her, thumb still caressing her cheek. It awed her. So much fondness, such intense … love. Yes, she knew what it meant now, this deep, soft, unconditional affection in his eyes. It was the exact same look from her visions. From earlier this evening in the bunker. From so many times before now, only she hadn’t let herself truly see. She had been willfully blind.

She gazed back at him, enthralled. How had she never seen that before?

The happy floaty feeling turned into a soaring, gliding, cartwheeling thing and she smiled a dazzling smile up at him, her own eyes soft and not hiding anything. His breath caught.

Her hand went up to brush back his hair back from his forehead, feeling bold enough to do so for the first time. He drew in a shuddering breath and she loved having this effect on him. This rich, melty, gooey feeling in her heart was amazing.

A little giggle of delight escaped her.

“What?”

“Remember the very first time we met? How your latte caused all those lovely, lovely bullet holes on that appalling laptop? 

“Umhum.”

“And you were shot and bleeding out in my car when you revealed your identity ... that was awful by the way - you nearly died a half dozen times that night.” She sighed dreamily. “And now my shoulder … see! Gunshots are totally our thing!”

“Apparently” Both his arms went around her, holding her closer.

“Bullets are so romantic.” She snuggled further into him, closing her eyes as she felt sleep tug relentlessly at her.

“If you say so” she could hear the smile in his voice.

“I do say so.” 

He brushed a tender kiss on her forehead in response.

She drifted off into a deep, healing sleep, no longer trying to hold on to this moment. No longer afraid of forgetting everything that happened tonight. It didn’t matter if she forgot every one of those beautiful visions of the future, or hallucinations, or whatever they had been. Because now that she had learned to recognize it, every look on his face would remind her deep down of how much he loved her. How much she loved him. 

Some things are forever and this was one of them. It was an irrefutable, indisputable fact that she was his girl. In every damn sense of the word. 

Every. Single. Blasted. One.