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i.
Felicity is sixteen and at a party that’s almost exclusively full of seniors from her school. No one really knows her, and vice versa, except she knows the co-hosts, Oliver Queen and Tommy Merlyn. For the past thirty minutes she’s been trying to find them—unsuccessfully, and she’s debating whether to just leave or not.
It’s the “End of High School!” party that’s been the talk of everyone at school for weeks. Underclassmen are jealous of the graduating class, and some were even drawing up plans of breaking into the Queen mansion just to see what it’s like.
Felicity, though only a junior, is at the party because her two best friends are annoying idiots who don’t know the meaning of “no.” Oliver and Tommy double-teamed her at lunch the day before and all but got a promise set in stone that she would show.
She has showed, albeit for only half an hour, but it still counts. She’s pulling her phone out of her clutch when a hand grabs her arm.
“Felicity!” Tommy says, bright smile and oozing charm—and the smell of alcohol. He’s dressed sharply in a suit, as always, and Felicity can’t help but smile back as she tugs him into a half-hug.
“Tommy,” she parrots, and then, “where’s Oliver?”
“Right here,” comes the answer and the man himself appears behind Tommy. Oliver’s grinning, and she smiles back at him, because both of her annoying and idiotic best friends are contagious when it comes to happiness.
“I’ve been looking for you two for, like, thirty minutes,” she says—whines, really, but she’ll never admit that to anyone, ever.
Tommy grins, lecherous, and says, “Anna West had something she ‘absolutely’ need to show me, ‘this very minute.’” He shows the quotation marks with his fingers, and Felicity laughs a little. It’s not her fault Anna West is known for making up the most bullshit stories.
“And?” Felicity prompts, expecting a the end to the story, even if it is some sex act.
“And,” Tommy mocks, “she wanted to show me this painting. As if I’ve never seen it before. And then she attempted to drag me into this room which was already occupied.” Oliver laughs at that, and Felicity outright snorts because all three of them have heard that line before—and all three of them had that line used on them before.
“Anna West never ceases to underwhelm me,” Oliver muses. His hand comes up to cup Felicity’s elbow, and he ushers her forward. “Anyways, we have a toast to make, so come with us so we can bequeath to you the heavily guarded secret all seniors know.”
Felicity laughs, but allows them to walk her to the living room/parlour/ballroom. Oliver and Tommy climb on a table (Felicity hopes it’s not an antique.) and motions for the DJ to cut the music.
“Alright, everybody,” Tommy yells, and the crowd cheers around them. Used to this routine, Felicity begins to try and dig her phone out of her clutch, again.
“We want to remind you all that there’s only five more days left!” Oliver adds, and more cheers erupt. Felicity makes her way through the crowd so she can lean against a wall. Tommy and Oliver wait for the noise to die down, standing with their shoulders pressed together.
“And,” Tommy begins, “I want to tell you that we, the class of 2005, are going to smash college next year!” The crowd yells and the DJ begins another upbeat song. Felicity smiles at Oliver and Tommy as they approach her.
“Nice speech,” she comments. Her phone, neglected in favor of watching the two of them, is stuffed back into her clutch. “How long have you been practicing that one?”
Tommy grins, and Oliver replies, “About a month.” Felicity can never tell if he’s joking or not, but she laughs all the same.
“C’mon, Flick, time to party!” Tommy says, and she laughs as they drag her into the throng of people.
Tommy is derailed by Marie Williams and Oliver has to go and break up a keg stand before beer is spilled on his mother’s expensive, very-hard-to-clean carpet. Felicity ends up drinking a few screwdrivers, and even though the orange juice was poured 3:1 to vodka, she’s extremely lightweight despite her family history, and has no hope of driving herself home.
Oliver and Tommy reappear while most of the guests leaves, and Felicity finishes up her conversation with a very weepy girl with several Ivy League offers but no clue where to go, and walks up to them, stumbling a little.
“I can’t drive home, is it okay if I crash here?” She asks, despite having done so hundreds of times before.
“Of course,” Oliver replies. “Tommy and I are just going to put away the drinks first.”
“Alright,” Felicity says, and leans forward to peck Tommy and then Oliver on the lips before making her way upstairs. She definitely does not look behind her to see two dumbfounded best friends.
(In the morning, Felicity learns the secret of the seniors is a set of keys to every door in the school, passed down to her.)
ii.
Felicity shields her eyes as she walks outside. The airport was dark compared to the bright, midday sun outside. She digs her phone out of her pocket to call a cab when someone clears their throat.
She looks up—and immediately throws herself into the person. Oliver laughs and spins her around, hands firm on her waist. She sees Tommy grinning at her from over his shoulder, teeth white as ever, and launches into him when Oliver sets her down.
“I missed you guys so much,” Felicity gushes, head pressed into Tommy’s neck. He’s warm, solid, and smells familiar, and she’s tired from the five-hour flight she didn’t get any sleep on.
“Missed you too, Flick,” Tommy says, and places his hands on her shoulder and pushes her back. She might whine just a little, because he was warm and really comfy. His hazel eyes scan her body, and she’s certain Oliver is doing the same.
Sighing, she says, “I’m fine, okay. Just really tired and ready to go home.” Tommy’s face softens, and Oliver’s hand appears on the small of her back.
“Welcome home, Felicity Smoak,” he says, and she smiles lightly, letting him guide her to the waiting car. Tommy opens the door for her, and she thanks him as she slides in. He runs around to the other side of the car, and gets in at the same time as Oliver, causing an Oliver-Felicity-Tommy sandwich.
“Guys,” she says, but with only fondness because she’s missed this. Missed the fact that neither of them knew the definition of personal space. As the driver starts the car, she wiggles in her seats and rests her head on Oliver’s shoulder. Which, sorry Tommy, is much broader. “Glad to be back,” she mutters, and closes her eyes.
She wakes up to Tommy gently shaking her shoulder. She jerks with a start, realizing that she fell asleep and, ew, drooled on Oliver.
“Shh,” he says, and points at Oliver, who is still asleep. Felicity smiles, and nudges Tommy out of the car with her foot. When she gets out, she thanks the fact that none of them wore seat belts and opens the door Oliver was leaning against in his sleep.
He jerks awake as he falls, but still late enough that he jars his wrist when trying to catch himself. “Ow,” he says, glaring at Tommy, who holds his hands up in surrender.
“I didn’t do anything; it was all her,” he snitches, and Felicity turns and smacks his arm.
“Fucking rat,” she says, and Tommy lets out a low whistle.
“Wo-ow, didn’t have much of a potty mouth before college. What’s that nerd school teaching you?” He teases, and she flushes slightly.
“That nerd school taught me that Tommy Merlyn is an idiot—oh, wait, I already knew that,” she says, and Oliver laughs. Tommy looks at him, like et tu, brute? and he only laughs harder.
Oliver pushes himself up, and says, “Welcome home!” Felicity looks at him, and then towards his family home, and back to him, raising her eyebrows (she could never get just one).
“No party, promise,” Tommy steps up to say, “but we do have cookie dough ice cream, your favorite toppings, and two seasons of Supernatural to suffer through with you.” Felicity grins, and throws an arm around both of their waists, pulling them close to her.
“You’re so going to regret this,” she says, but that doesn’t excuse the kiss she presses to the corner of their mouths.
(And if Tommy cries when Sam dies almost forty hours later, no one says anything.)
iii.
Felicity laughs when Oliver says, “I’m gonna go with my dad on the yacht.”
Tommy drawls, “Yachts suck, dude,” from where he’s sprawled with his head in Felicity’s lap, her fingers playing with his hair.
All three of them are drunk, and the bottles that line Felicity’s coffee table are a omen for the horrendous hangovers they’ll be suffering through tomorrow. She originally planned to space out her drinks with water in between, but then Oliver wanted to see who could hold their liquor more between Felicity and Tommy, and she could never pass up a dare. (Reason numero uno her hair was dyed black.)
“I agree with Merlyn,” Felicity announces, who’s never been on a yacht but she gets seasick when on a lake, so. Tommy holds his fist up for her to bump, and she tries, but instead she accidentally slams it into his cheek.
“Jesus, Flick,” he groans, lifitng his head out of her lap. He’s overreacting, honestly, she still tucks her thumb inside of her fist but Drunk Tommy is Melodramatic Tommy.
Oliver whines, because they’re not paying attention to him, and says, “Laurel asked me to move in.” Tommy freezes, and Felicity immediately smacks Oliver on the arm.
“You stupid fuck!” She hisses, and hits him again on the chest. “You and your fear of commitment!”
“Stop that,” he said, and grabbed her wrists in one hand. “What’s the problem?”
Tommy laughs, and says, “You’re going yachting to avoid Laurel, idiot.” Oliver frowns, the crinkle between his eyebrows deepens, and he says, “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Felicity mocks. “I’m not telling you not to go, but she’s still gonna be here when you get back. You can’t avoid her forever,” she says sagely, then takes a swig of the Guinness. It was the only thing left beside Redd’s, and after a memorial experience with Redd’s and a frat party that ended in an attempt to shoot an apple of someone’s head, Felicity vowed to never drink it again.
“I’ll deal with it later,” he says, his mouth set in a straight line.
Felicity pushes her shoulder against his, and Tommy groans as it jostles him, having laid his head back one her shoulder. “You can’t put everything off,” she reminds him, and Oliver smiles.
“I can try.” Like, end of conversation, dead-end, reboot the system.
They don’t talk about Laurel or yachts, and instead they watch reruns of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. Felicity and Tommy compete to see who can guess the culprit (“I’ve never seen this one before, I swear,” Tommy says after his sixth consecutive correct guess.) and Oliver yells insults at the screen because, well, he’s drunk.
Felicity finishes the last of the not-Redd’s, and attempts to get water in all three of them before falling asleep. Before she turns off the TV and the lights, boys on either side of her, heads pressed together on top of hers, she presses a kiss that makes a smack! noise on their necks.
(In the morning, Felicity and Tommy leave note from the two of them in his wallet. See you soon!)
iv.
Tommy shows up at Felicity’s apartment at 7.33 at night with Oliver Queen behind him. Three days after Oliver’s been found alive. She would’ve tried and talk to him sooner, but the QC IT department was swamped as the broadband was not broad enough.
She’s stocked up though, with a gallon of mint choc chip for Oliver, cookies ‘n’ cream for Tommy, and cookie dough plus gummy worms for her, and seasons three through eight of Supernatural.
Except when she’s staring at Oliver—Oliver, Dead-For-Five-Years Oliver, her best friend Oliver—she launches herself into him because she missed him. She cried over him. (Over his grave.) She cries on him this time, face tucked into his neck, tears streaming down her face. Oliver’s arms wrap around her tightly, his nose brushing her ear.
After what felt like a lifetime, she pulls back. There’s a wet spot on the collar of his short, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “I miss you,” she chokes out, throat a little bit scratchy. Oliver smiles, and it’s small, but she sees it.
“I missed you, too,” he says.
Tommy steps in her apartment, closing the door behind him. “As promised,” he announces, “the Winchesters.” He holds up the boxed set of DVDs, and Oliver laughs.
“Finally,” he says, and sits down on Felicity’s couch. She grabs the ice cream and three spoons, and while Tommy is attempting to work her modified DVD player, she sits next to Oliver and rests her head on his shoulder.
She missed him, but she missed the casual touching above all. Missed the way she could fall asleep on him, a human-sized pillow.
Tommy gives a shout of triumph when he wins, and they settle down on her couch. Oliver watches with rapt attention, and by the time Sam pouts as his shoe gets stuck in the gutter, he’s relaxed into the couch, back no longer rigidly straight.
Tommy and Felicity never watched anything past season two, except for some spoilers. They’re just as involved, and Felicity cries at the season three finale, Tommy with his head on her shoulder. Oliver’s slouched down, and she has to extract herself from where she’s wedged between them when the screen goes blue.
She turns off the lights and throws away the ice cream, too melted to be salvaged. She grabs a blanket from the hall closet and spreads it over her boys. Before going to her room, she presses a lingering kiss on both of their foreheads. (And if they aren’t asleep, then. Then that’s just a coincidence.)
v.
Felicity runs to Starling General. She lost her heels at some point, and her bare feet are getting little cuts as she runs through the Glades, determined to get to the hospital. When she does, she’s breathless and panting as she asks the swamped receptionist through gasps, “Tommy… Merlyn,” and is told the room number. She runs up six flights of stairs, adrenaline pumping through her and she skids to a stop in front of the door.
Oliver is the only one in the room, and he’s pulled a chair up to the bed, one hand clenched around Tommy’s, the other supporting his head. She pushes open the door and Oliver jumps, arm automatically reaching behind him for an arrow.
“Is he—is he okay?” Felicity stammers, still out of breath but more worried than anything.
“Yeah, he just got out of surgery. They said it just barely missed his stomach? I don’t—” He cuts himself off, making a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
Felicity wraps her arms around him, face pressed into his neck. “He’ll be okay, Oliver.” She promises. “You found him in time.” His chest rises sharply and she feels more than hears the breath he expels. He sits back down in the chair and she pulls one up beside him, and leans against his side. The wooden arm digs into her side, but she could care less as she holds onto Oliver and Tommy’s hands with both of hers.
Her eyes track the EKG and watches the steady, if weak, heartbeat, looking for abnormalities. Oliver bent over at some point, forehead pressed to where all three of their hands are. She took one of her arms back and slung it around Oliver’s shoulders, cheek resting on his back with her head angled to watch the monitor.
She’s drifting to sleep with the electronic heartbeat as her lullaby, when she hears, “Hey, guys,” in a barely audible voice. She sits upright, and elbows Oliver in the process, both of them staring at Tommy, who’s awake.
Oliver chokes out this half-sob, bringing their hands to his lips and Felicity laughs as she bends down and lightly hugs him, arms braced above his shoulders.
“Glad to see you awake,” she says, smiling brightly.
He grins back and says, “Glad to see your beautiful face,” which only makes her smile wider, and drop her head onto his shoulder to hide it. Oliver’s hand smooths over her back before she pushes herself back up.
“Are you okay?” Oliver asks and Felicity—hell, probably someone screaming bloody murder in the ICU—could hear the guilt dripping off of those three words.
Tommy can too, judging by the way his face softens and he says, “I’m fine, Oliver.”
“No, you got fucking impaled,” Oliver argues back and Tommy is opening his mouth to retort when Felicity steps in.
“Can we please save this argument for later?” She asks, and runs her fingers through her hair. Oliver sags beside her and Tommy sinks back into his pillows, nodding. “Good,” she says.
She bends down and presses a kiss to Tommy’s lips, saying, “Thank you for not dying.” She does the same to Oliver, saying, “Thank you for saving him.” She grabs both of their hands, and manages to squirm her way onto the hospital bed with Oliver’s head pillowed on her hip, one of her hands stroking his shorn hair.
(Her other hand is around Tommy’s wrist, fingers on his pulse point, which comforts her more than the EKG.)
vi.
Felicity is twenty-four and sandwiched between Tommy Merlyn and Oliver Queen on her couch. Tommy is lying heavily against her, not asleep, though he watches Brooklyn Nine-Nine through lidded eyes.
Oliver is holding her hand, his other arm stretched around his shoulders and resting on the back of Tommy’s neck. She’s tired, having been up early because Tommy woke her up his his small noises of pain. Oliver was dead asleep, exhausted days after his last real exertion.
She tried to remember whether she’s changed his bandages or not when Oliver shuffles, and pulls away. “No,” she whines, protesting the loss of heat.
She hears him chuckle, and he says, “I’m gonna carry Tommy then you, okay?” She’s half-asleep, and doesn’t understand what he means until she feels Tommy pulled away from her. She laughs when she hears him say, “Mr. Queen, are you going to ravish me?” but only because it’s punctuated by a yawn.
Tommy says “oof” when he lands on the custom-made Ultra Bed, and then he yawns again. Felicity starts when Oliver picks her up, before relaxing into his hold.
“Goodnight, Felicity,” Oliver says as he presses a kiss to her lips. She smiles into it, and pulls the covers up to her chin.
“‘Night, Flick,” Tommy murmurs as he rolls over and kisses her, despite Felicity worriedly muttering, “No, no, you’re going to strain yourself!” Tommy laughs and she finds herself leaning into the kiss anyways.
(In the morning, Tommy will make omelettes while propped against Oliver and Felicity will laugh, sitting on a stool and swinging her feet.)