Chapter Text
Unlike most you don’t miss a thing,
You see the truth,
I walk the halls invisibly,
I climb the walls, no one sees me,
No one but you.
Felicity hates him at first. Well, she thinks he’s beautiful. So utterly handsome that it almost hurts to look directly at him. But she still hates him. She hates a lot of things these days. Her family name for getting her into this mess, her father for never bothering to so much as look at her, her mother for drowning her sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. Herself for losing who she was meant to be.
Standing in her father’s office staring at the man who’s about to become her shadow, she’s reminded of all the reasons her life has become something she so dislikes. Richard barely looks at her. He was always a cold man, never the sort of father who made her feel safe or loved, but in the past few years he’s gone from distant to barely acknowledging her existence. Except in cases like this. When there’s something he wants from her, or something he wants her to do.
He controls his household with an iron fist, an issue that her mother stopped complaining about long ago. Too tired and sad to continue fighting him at every turn.
No one tells her much about what’s going on in their family, everything she learns comes from overheard conversations or in an ironic twist, the press. But she has heard rumors about the threats that have been made, angry ninety-nine percenters tired of the Smoak family acting like they can get away with anything. Felicity doesn’t blame them. She’s sick of it too. But as a result she’s not altogether surprised when Richard calls her into his study, to inform her that she’ll be accompanied everywhere she goes by an ex special forces bodyguard. She is surprised however, when her eyes drift from the harsh lines of her father’s face, to the man standing beside him.
She’s not sure what she expected, but it definitely wasn’t someone who looks like that. He’s tall and strong and everything she supposes it’s required that a bodyguard be. But he looks at her with blue eyes that dance with clarity and intelligence, a softness in them that throws her off guard.
And then a large hand, calloused and rough, is held out towards her, and she finds her heart picking up speed as she reaches to take it in her own. He holds it gently, like he’s slightly worried he’ll break her if he shakes too hard.
“Oliver Queen. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Smoak.”
He’s even more gorgeous up close. But it’s the sincerity and wisdom on his face that gives her pause. There are plenty of handsome men in her world, but most are callous or cruel, after her for her money or a fun night with Starling City’s princess. Few look like him, serious and strong, trustworthy.
It’s with that thought that she yanks her hand back, because men are never trustworthy. And just because his eyes are a ridiculous shade of blue, doesn’t mean she’s going to forget that anytime soon.
Richard clears his throat, and Felicity’s eyes quickly flick back to her father, her stomach sinking, as it always does, at the irritation clearly painted across his face.
“You can go.” He says brusquely, and she turns to leave without question.
She hates following orders, but she hates being around her father even more.
Oliver’s a pain in the ass. He’s stoic and professional and always right there. But he’s also a breath of fresh air. He doesn’t look at her like he wants something, like he has any ulterior motive. His job is to keep her safe, and if there’s one thing she’s sure of, it’s that he takes that more seriously than anything else.
Everyone wants something from Felicity Smoak. Whether it’s her parent’s money, the connections that come along with her name, or what’s under her clothes. People want something, but they don’t want her. They don’t want the girl she really is. They don’t care what she thinks about when she wakes up in the morning, or what her favorite movie was when she was a kid. No one cares about things like that. As far as she can remember, no one ever has.
She and Oliver don’t talk much in the beginning. He accompanies her everywhere, like a large, tense dog. Always on edge, always just a few paces behind. Sometimes their eyes will meet and her breath will hitch, as it did the first time he looked at her. Mostly however, she tries, and fails, to pretend he isn’t there. But she watches him sometimes, when she’s sure he won’t notice. She watches him and she wonders what he’s doing there. With her, in this big, horrible house. She wonders why anyone who didn’t have to be there would choose to stay.
Her life is the envy of Starling City. But to Felicity, it’s a nightmare.
She’s eighteen years old and she should be on the edge of her seat, bursting with excitement for everything that lies ahead. A whole future spread before her, just waiting to be explored. But she’s never felt more lost. More alone. She’s tired of life already, after living it for such a short time.
She lives in a world of cynics and philanderers, an emotionless wasteland, where people are either too cold or too dumb to notice how far she’s drifting.
But Oliver notices. On the night of one of the many Christmas galas that stretch throughout the holiday season, he gets his first real look at just how lost she really is.
There’s a line of powder on the edge of the sink, and she stares at it for seconds that quickly evolve into minutes. An aching sadness settling into her bones because she never wanted to be this person. She saw it all growing up. Socialites who’d been given everything and still managed to fall through the cracks, waste their years and their opportunities until people stopped giving them. She saw it, and she swore she’d do something better with her life. She’d do something she could be proud of.
But she’s become exactly who she didn’t want to be. A disillusioned girl who’s surrounded by people and has never been more lonely. A girl who could have everything, except the simple things she truly wants.
Her reflection looks back at her from the mirror, perfectly done up in a dress that feels like it belongs to someone else.
There’s a light tap on the bathroom door, and Felicity quickly brushes the powder away, blinking back the tears that are suddenly blurring her contacts, and counting to ten before opening the door.
Oliver’s standing on the other side, and as it always does, her stomach flutters at the sight of him. He gives her a tight smile, his eyes darting behind her, skipping across the bathroom as though searching for evidence of what she was just about to do. She steps out, pushing into his personal space until he’s forced to move back so she can close the door behind her.
“What is it, Oliver?” She asks wearily.
He regards her for a second before speaking, his eyes burning holes into her soul.
They’re not friends. They’re hardly even acquaintances. He’s been her bodyguard for two weeks and four days, and they haven’t even had a full conversation. Not that that’s unusual. No one in this house talks to her. Not really. Other than pleasantries here and there, no one actually talks.
“Your parents are waiting in the car.” He replies.
She nods and reaches for the clutch that’s lying on her bed, grabbing it and leaving the room without a word.
There’s a limo idling in the driveway, and she doesn’t bother to wait for the driver to get the door, climbing in and slamming it with a little more force than necessary. Her parents sit opposite her, as far away from each other as the seats allow.
Her father barely looks her way, but Donna babbles about how pretty she is, reaching across to pat her knee. The gesture hurts more than it comforts, because that’s all she gets from her mom these days. A quick word here, a glancing touch there.
She can hear the passenger door shut, and knows Oliver’s taken his seat in the front. And then the car is pulling down the drive, and Felicity leans her head against the window, blocking out the suffocating silence, imagining she’s somewhere else, somewhere better.
It’s something she does often. Picturing a different life, with her as a different person. Perhaps she’d be at college, live in a dorm like a regular girl and stress about midterms. Perhaps she’d fall in love, with a man who was sincere and kind. A man who loved her in every way possible. Perhaps she’d be happy.
The gala is in full swing by the time they get there, and Felicity pastes her fake smile into place. A necessity she taught herself long ago. Her parents disappear into the crowds, stopping to greet anyone they deem important enough, their arms linked in a show of unity that runs as deep as a puddle.
Felicity’s eyes seek out Oliver of their own accord. She’s found herself doing that more often than she’d care to admit since her father hired him. She’s not sure why, but the sight of him settles her somehow. At the very least, makes her feel safer. Which she supposes is sort of his job, but she didn’t expect his presence to have the effect that it has. He’s leaning against the back wall, away from the crowds, one of their other bodyguards standing beside him. They’re talking, smiling, and even with the glances they’re constantly throwing around the room and the tension in their postures, they look like they’re having a good time.
She wonders what that’s like. To have a purpose, a job you enjoy and a friend to tell about it.
A waiter brushes past and she snags a glass of champagne from his tray, knocking it back so quickly the bubbles sting her tongue. A hand grabs her elbow, and she turns to see Sara and Helena, looking just as bored and antsy as she feels.
Helena is much like her in many ways, but not any that count. She’s Starling royalty, daughter of the third richest man in the city. They’ve known each other their whole lives, always moving in the same circles, but they’ve never truly been friends. Just passing acquaintances, thrust together because they’re roughly the same age and the world considers them of the same social standing. She gets on better with Sara, but it’s hardly anything real. She’s a socialite, always up for a good time, always ready to break the rules. They’re not her friends. But they’re the closest thing she has. And perhaps that’s the saddest part of all.
“Want to make this party interesting?” Sara asks, raising an eyebrow in a coy look that only she can pull off.
Felicity’s heart sinks because this is the way it goes for them these days. When they were children they’d spend the evenings following around the waiters to score extra food, or ranking the guests by prettiest dress. But now they sneak away and get high because they’re all as lost as each other, and it’s become the only way they can get through the nights.
They make their way into one of the lounges off the ballroom, closing the door behind them quickly so they’re not seen.
Helena pulls a small bag of vials out of her clutch and holds them up, waving them around like a carrot on a stick. Sara rolls her eyes and grabs it from her, taking a vial for herself before passing one to Felicity.
“What is it?” She asks as her fingers close around the glass,
“Something new.” Sara says flippantly, tipping her head back and pouring the liquid into her mouth. “It’s meant to be amazing.”
Felicity hates this side of her life. Hates the way she feels the next day, hates the respect she loses for herself every time she does it. But some days she’s sure she’s about to shatter into a million pieces. Like a wine glass smashed on a marble floor. She’s flying apart and it’s terrifying because she's not sure she wants to stop it. The drugs help. They make all her thoughts drift away, force her to just live, to just be.
When she was a little girl, her mom used to say that her brain worked too fast. She’d talk a mile a minute, constantly fascinated by every single thing she saw. But as she got older, she was taught to speak when spoken too, to keep her answers short and simple. To not ask questions about things she shouldn’t, to represent her family in the best possible light at all times.
So she stopped babbling. She stopped waving her hands around when she spoke, she stopped being herself. But her thoughts still run away with her, bottled up inside her mind. Adding to the list of things she keeps hidden away from the rest of the world.
The evening drifts into night, and when the girls finally rejoin the ball, their eyes are dilated and glassy, and their hearts aren’t in quite so much pain.
Felicity dances with a few men around her age, and several much older, pretending not to notice the way their eyes linger on her chest, trying not to care when their hands dip a little too low on her back.
Eventually it becomes too much, and her feet feel like they’re trapped in blocks of cement when she stumbles away from the dance floor. She searches for Oliver, knowing he won’t be too far away.
As much as she’d resented their new arrangement when it had first been sprung on her, he’s become a comfort. She can’t explain it really, because it should feel like yet another noose around her neck, yet another aspect of her life that she has no control over. But it doesn't.
She gave him a hell of a time during his first week. Ducking out and evading him at every opportunity. But he always found her, and it never took him long. And when he did, he didn’t get angry, like she expected him too. He didn’t tell her father either. He simply watched her, those penetrating eyes of his assessing her like he was learning everything he needed to know, from just one look.
She finds him near the door, and the second she sees him, he glances up and meets her gaze.
Her head is starting to spin a little more than she’s comfortable with, so she gestures for him to come to her, the sea of people between them suddenly seeming far too hard to navigate on her own.
It takes him less than thirty seconds to reach her, his face as neutral as ever as he looks her over.
“I want to go now.” She mumbles, aware that her words are slurred and barely audible. But he understands.
His brows twitch into a frown so brief she almost misses it, but then his mask of professionalism is back and he nods, taking her elbow and leading her towards the doors. She’s vaguely aware of him saying something into his sleeve, but doesn’t focus on it, concentrating on getting her feet to move right. One forward, then the other, and repeat.
The fresh air outside clears her head a little and she realizes that at some point she’s leant against the broad expanse of Oliver’s shoulder, letting him take half her weight. She shifts away from him and glances up at his face. But he doesn't seem to mind.
That night is the start of a shift between them, the start of a tentative bond that grows stronger each day.
He takes her home, lets her sit upfront with him so she doesn’t get sick, even though it’s against protocol. He ushers her through the quiet house and sits her down on her bed, kneeling in front of her and forcing her to look at him while he asks what she took. It takes him a few tries before his words sink in and the next thing she knows, he’s making her drink something truly disgusting, and then holding her hair back as she empties her stomach into the toilet.
He earns her trust that night. Not enough to let her walls down, or place blind faith in him, but enough that she no longer feels the need to second-guess everything he says. He doesn’t tell anyone what happened. He doesn’t sell the story to the press, he doesn’t inform her parents, and most importantly, he doesn’t leave.
People always leave when things get too real. Too hard. But he doesn’t. He’s still there the next day, as silent and stoic as ever, but he’s there. And that’s more than she gets from most people.
They have their first real conversation a few days later, in the car on the way to a Smoak Consolidated press conference she’s being forced to attend. She’s watching him from her place on the back seat, the strength in his hands, even as they casually grip the wheel, the stubble across his jaw, the firm set of his mouth. And she finds herself wanting to know more about him. He’s so unlike everyone else she knows, and it fascinates her.
Leaning forward, she rests her arms against the back of the passenger seat so she can see him better.
“What’s your middle name?” She asks, delighting in the brief look of surprise that crosses his features. He glances at her quickly, before turning back to the road.
“Jonas.” He replies, and she hums, committing the name to memory.
“What’s yours?”
She smiles, because he knows her middle name. Everybody knows her middle name. But he’s asking because he wants to even the ground between them. It’s something no one’s ever really bothered to do before, and she likes the idea of being on equal ground with him.
“Megan.” She says softly.
“Felicity suits you better.” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips and her own widens in response.
“Well Oliver suits you better than Jonas.”
“I guess it’s a good thing they’re middle names then.” He smirks, and she almost laughs, already thinking of her next question.
“What’s your favorite food?”
His eyes meet hers in the rear-view mirror and there’s a hint of playfulness in them that makes the blue of his irises seem lighter. Her stomach flips and she finds herself grinning at him, raising her eyebrows in a silent request for him to answer.
“What is this, twenty questions?” He asks instead, and while it hadn’t been her plan before, she instantly jumps on the idea.
“Why not?” She quickly unbuckles her belt, and ignoring his warning growl of her name, climbs over the center console and slips into the front passenger seat. He glares at her and gestures for her to put the belt back on, but doesn’t comment. “Okay. We get ten questions each, and two veto’s.” She states, leaving no room for argument. “You can go first since I already had one.”
There’s a long pause, and for a second, she thinks he isn’t going to ask anything. Her heart starts to sink and a familiar pit of self-doubt forms in her stomach. But then he speaks and she feels almost giddy that he’s playing along.
“What’s your favorite animal?” He asks.
“Pandas. I absolutely love pandas. And sloths! Well really I love most animals… except kangaroos. Anything but kangaroos. They’re just evil. And unnatural. Did you know they travel in mobs and beat their rivals to death with their feet? How horrifying is that? Not to mention they’re huge and have like, human looking muscles on their chests…” She shudders. “Anything but kangaroos.”
It takes her a minute to realize that he’s staring at her, a look of complete surprise on his handsome face. It takes her another minute to realize what she just did.
She babbled. She can’t remember the last time it happened. She’s become so used to holding herself back from everyone, people she knows and people she doesn’t, that she can’t even remember the last time she almost babbled.
But she feels comfortable with Oliver. And it’s not just the safety thing, it’s everything. She feels like maybe she can say something stupid and not have it be a huge deal. Or maybe she can screw up and do something she regrets, and he won’t hold it against her forever.
He’s smiling at her. It’s small, but it’s there. He looks amused and charmed, and… like he’s genuinely interested in what she has to say.
“Kangaroos, huh? It’s clowns for me.” He breaks the silence and she laughs. Genuinely laughs, not because someone expects her to, but because she feels like it.
“Oliver Jonas Queen, do you have coulrophobia?”
“If that means I’m scared shitless of anything with a painted face and colorful wig, then yes.” His eyes are sparkling, even as they remain fixed on the road ahead.
“Well then you probably shouldn’t meet my Uncle Teddy.” She informs him and then he's laughing too. He has a beautiful laugh, and she suddenly has the urge to hear it again and again, as many times as she can.
The questions continue in the same fashion, silly trivial things that shouldn’t matter, but somehow do. There’s a level of ease and familiarity in their interactions that’s foreign to Felicity. She’s not used to conversation flowing easily, to company feeling wanted instead of forced.
He becomes something of a confidante after that. How could he not, when he’s the only person in her life who takes the time to ask about her day? She thinks he probably pities her, and that’s why he humors her babbling and general wreck of a life. But honestly, she doesn’t care. He looks after her, and yes, it’s his job, but it’s more than that for her. It’s more than a precaution in reaction to threats made against her family, it’s more than someone to check that she makes it home at night. It’s someone who’s there when she turns around, someone who’ll catch her when she stumbles, someone who’ll listen when she speaks.
Sometimes she forgets that he gets paid for it. Sometimes she lets herself imagine that he’s there because he wants to be, because he really cares about her.
And sometimes, when he looks at her, she thinks that maybe, he forgets that it’s his job too.
Now I want to fly into your world
I want to be heard
My wounded wings still beating,