Chapter Text
Felicity took a shaky breath and raised her hand to knock on the door. She was acutely aware that her palms were sweaty and that her heartbeat was pounding in her ears as if she’d just run a marathon. At the last minute she faltered, her hand once more dropping to her side as she stared at the door in frustration.
‘This is stupid! She told herself. ‘Just knock and get it over with.’
She’d been telling herself that for the past ten minutes, while she’d been pacing deep furrows in the floorboards outside of Oliver’s apartment, trying to work up the nerve to do this. But so far this was the furthest she’d gotten. She’d been half way down to the lobby again twice, and had been back and forth between the elevator and his front door more times than she could count.
At this point she was half expecting Oliver to come out and offer her coffee while she made up her mind!
‘Oh god no! Please don’t let him be aware that I’m here,’ she prayed as the embarrassment of that scenario washed over her.
This shouldn’t be so difficult. After all, this was Oliver!
She knew him so well. They saw each other all the time, they worked together, they were best friends, partners… She used to live with him for God’s sake!
But that was precisely the problem. She hadn’t seen him privately - at least not outside of the Arrow cave - since the break-up. And she had never been to his new place. She’d known all along where he lived of course. She couldn’t really break the old habit of keeping track of everyone. But she’d never been here.
And the truth was that since Dig left things had been awkward between her and Oliver - to put it mildly! Actually, things had probably been strained even before Dig left, but four months of working together, always just the two of them, alone at night, sharing this enormous responsibility, had really shown her just how weird things had become.
Oh, they worked together just fine – always anticipating each other’s needs and supplementing each other perfectly. In a way that part of their relationship was even smoother than before, because there were no arguments, no confrontations.
It was all just so…polite.
Felicity groaned in frustration as she recalled the stilted conversation that had become the norm for them now. Gone was the open, easy intimacy and the playful banter they used to share. Instead they were super professional, efficient, working together like a machine. And all the while she was hurting, dying a little inside with every excruciatingly polite exchange.
But last night she’d finally had enough!
Oliver had come back after yet another night out, bagging criminals for the police to pick up. He was bleeding from a cut to his arm. Not that bleeding was unusual for him exactly, she acknowledged, but he had gotten increasingly reckless over the past few months. A fact that she had pointed out to him while cleaning the wound for him. But instead of getting defensive or angry with her for trying to meddle as he would have done in the past, he’d simply chosen not to engage at all. He had calmly thanked her for her concern, and told her that he would take it under consideration. And the whole speech was delivered in that infuriatingly distant tone he’d taken to using with her.
‘Take it under consideration’? Seriously?’ Felicity fumed to herself, remembering his carefully controlled expression as he’d delivered that line.
And that’s when she’d come to a decision. She had to end this weirdness between them! she wanted her friend back, she wanted the intimacy that they used to share and the warmth that had somehow gotten lost. They may not be a couple anymore but they were still each other’s best friends and confidantes. And she was going to insist on getting back to that.
All of which had brought her to this hallway, facing this stupid door, clasping a brown paper bag with a bottle of wine as a peace offering and - hopefully - a means to ease the conversation.
Felicity gave the door an evil look, as if the door was at fault here. Then she took a deep breath and quickly knocked before she could change her mind again.
***
It seemed to take forever. Long enough that she considered turning around and forgetting about the whole thing.
But just as she was about to turn on her heel and head for the elevator one last time, the door flew open, and there he was.
He looked tired she noticed with a pang of concern. And a little startled to see her. He was obviously settled in for the evening – barefoot, wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a rumpled white t-shirt.
‘And looking indecently good in it,’ she noticed.
“Felicity!” he exclaimed in surprise. And then a big, happy smile spread on his face.
Her lips automatically curved into an answering smile, and she thought she actually felt a blush creeping into her cheeks. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so hard after all, she thought.
For a moment she just stood there taking him in. Logically she knew he couldn’t have changed in the twelve hours since she’d last seen him. But somehow seeing him here – in the privacy of his home – seemed different. He seemed different. This was her Oliver. Not the Mayor, not the Arrow, not the overly cordial, closed off version of him that she’d worked with these past few moths, but her Oliver.
But of course he wasn’t – and of course it wasn’t going to be that easy.
She watched his ‘I’m-genuinely-happy-to-see-you’-smile turn tight and controlled as he got over the initial surprise of seeing her there. And she was once again reminded of the divide between them. A divide that seemed harder to breach than ever before. It seemed to be made up of more than just the four months of polite interaction and professional friendship. More than just four months of living apart. It felt like there was an actual physical wall between them, she thought with a sinking feeling in her stomach.
“Felicity?” Oliver repeated, breaking her train of thought. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”
“Hmm?” she managed as she focused on his face again.
“Is something wrong?” he asked. His ‘Worried Face’ was now firmly in place she noticed.
“Is something wrong?” she repeated, momentarily confused. “No, no – not at all. I mean, yes! Yes, actually, something is wrong”, she frowned, recalling the reason for her being here.
And that was of course entirely the wrong thing to say, she realized as she took in his changed expression. He might as well have had ‘Vigilante Mode Activated’ flashing in bright neon on his forehead!
“I mean, not anything that requires bow and arrow or any of that crime fighting stuff,” she hurriedly added before he could start target-practicing on unsuspecting neighbors.
“But I really do need to talk to you about…something. Something important.” She blinked up at him a few times waiting for him to react.
“Sooo…can I come in?” she asked softly, when he didn’t immediately respond.
“What? Oh! Sure – of course, come on in,” he mumbled, opening the door wide and stepping aside to let her by.
***
Felicity walked past him, into the loft that had been his home these past four months and looked around curiously.
The apartment should have felt cramped – it was tiny compared to the loft they had shared - but it somehow seemed spacious enough. Possibly because he had gone for a severe, minimalist look, she observed. In fact, minimalistic was an understatement. The place was practically empty.
The kitchen was a built-in industrial unit against the far left wall. A concrete and steel breakfast bar separated it from the rest of the room. A single stool was all the seating provided along the bar.
He obviously didn’t entertain much anymore she thought absentmindedly as she perused the rest of the open space.
The tall factory-style windows were bare and the raw brick walls were devoid of pictures or decorations of any kind. In the middle of the polished concrete floor sat a simple black futon couch – the kind that pulled out into a bed. She saw no signs of bedding, but she assumed he must have some somewhere. A single lamp sat on a stack of books on the floor next to the couch. The big wooden trunk that she long ago dubbed ‘the island trunk’ stood next to the couch, apparently doing duty as a low table and storage space in one. In the far right corner of the room a glass brick wall hid what was presumably a small bathroom. A single towel hung over the half open door that led to the small enclosure behind the glass wall.
And that was it. Unless you counted the floor-to-ceiling pile of cardboard boxes that were stacked against the fourth wall, behind the door. It didn’t look like a home at all. His lair on the island had had a more lived-in feel than this space, she recalled with a shudder.
Felicity slowly turned on her heel to face him. She really hoped her face wouldn’t show how disturbed she felt by the bleakness of this monk’s cell of a home.
Oliver had closed the door and now stood, arms crossed over his chest, silently studying her, as she studied his home.
For a second she felt self-conscious, not really sure how to begin.
“Do…err…do you want to sit?” Oliver finally broke the silence, waving a hand in the general direction of the low couch.
“No! I mean, no thanks,” she shook her head energetically. “Nooo, I’m far too nervous to sit,” she added, gesturing aimlessly with her empty hand. “And I think I need to pace to be able to say what I came to say,” she continued. “Besides, if I sit you’ll be towering over me and that’s just impossible.” She nodded sagely. “And that couch is so small that if you sit too I would practically be in your lap, and enjoyable as that may be, it really wouldn’t be helpful…or appropriate under the circumstances, and…” Felicity abruptly stopped talking.
She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath while counting to ten, willing the sudden warmth in her cheeks to go away.
“Sorry,” she finally said, squinting up at him with a small smile. “I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”
“I know,” he said softly, a hint of a smile playing around his lips.
“Yeah, of course that hasn’t changed,” she mumbled as she studied the floor, trying to regroup.
Oliver didn’t speak. He just stood there, patiently waiting for her to continue.
“Okay,” she finally managed so say. “I came because I need to talk to you about something…something personal.”
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for some time now, but it just didn’t feel right to say this in the Arrow-cave, or at your office…so…here I am.” She peeked up at him again, trying to take courage from the fact that he hadn’t made a move to shut her up or turn her away yet.
He just looked mildly curious, she thought. And maybe a little bit apprehensive.
“I brought wine,” she blurted out, suddenly recalling her strategy to get him talking. She pulled the bottle out of the crumpled paper bag, and held it out to him.
“Oh! Okay,” he said sounding uncertain.
“I’ll find us some glasses then…?” he made it sound like a question but Felicity chose to ignore it. She resolutely walked to the breakfast bar and plonked the bottle down for him to open.
While Oliver rummaged through the cabinets for glasses and a bottle opener she climbed the single stool at the bar, and tried to get her heart rate under control.
‘There’s nothing to be nervous about,’ she reminded herself. ‘Just two friends having drinks and talking...’
Except, that annoying little voice in the back of her mind informed her, there was really everything to be nervous about. If this didn’t go well, how were they supposed to go back to working together? And if they didn’t even have that – what reason did she really have for sticking around?
She pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside, and accepted the glass of wine Oliver handed her. As she took the glass from him, his fingers accidentally touched hers and she almost dropped it.
‘Oh, get a grip Smoak!’ she silently admonished herself. ‘He’s touched way more interesting parts of you in the past – that was hardly grounds for a meltdown.’
But she couldn’t quite ignore the jolt of electricity the brief contact had caused and she wondered fleetingly if coming here might have been a mistake. It seemed she was somehow more susceptible to him here than in the Arrow cave, and she really needed to keep her wits about her now.
But Oliver seemed nervous too she realized.
He was fidgeting with his glass, lifting it to his mouth but not drinking, setting it back down on the counter top only to lift it again. He shifted on his feet and moved his glass from the counter behind him to the breakfast bar where she was sitting. All the while studiously avoiding her gaze.
Felicity sipped her wine and tried to enjoy the rich tannins rolling over her tongue. The wine was dry, yet smooth and full-bodied. Just the way she liked it. But she was too tense to appreciate it tonight.
‘Okay, enough with the stalling,’ she decided. Time to rip off this band-aid.
“Oliver, I can’t do this anymore,” she abruptly blurted out.
His eyes snapped up and met hers, and she was momentarily stunned by the sharp pain and loss she saw there.
“It’s driving me crazy and it…well, it hurts Oliver,” she continued. “And don’t tell me you don’t feel it too. This has to stop – before one of us dies from politeness-overload!” she added sarcastically. “I mean, how are we ever going to explain that to the police…” she mumbled in an aside.
“Oh!” he said, a look of surprise…and of something else… on his face.
“’Oh’? Is that all you have to say? Oliver, come on!” she said in exasperation. “You know what I’m talking about. You and me. The way things have been with us since Dig left. I just can’t take it anymore. I need my friend back.”
There was that look again. Was it disappointment she saw? She wondered briefly.
“I need us to be us again,” she soldiered on. “Not just colleagues or whatever it is we’ve become. I mean, seriously, Oliver, when was the last time you and I talked – and I don’t mean exchanging polite chit-chat about the weather or the best way to take down criminals, or even barking orders at each other during business hours!”
Annoyed to feel angry tears threatening, Felicity took a big gulp of wine before setting the glass firmly back on the concrete table-top.
“You’re right,” he said softly. He sounded tired. Tired and sad, she thought.
“You’re absolutely right. It’s been killing me too,” he continued. “But that’s what you wanted, and after a while I just didn’t know how to stop,” he added with a shrug.
“I know,” she said, glad that he’d finally decided to join the conversation.
“It was like it took on a life of its own, and…wait...what do you mean it was what I wanted?” she glared at him angrily.
And that was all it took to ignite the virtual powder keg of frustrations and pent up emotions they’d both been carrying around.
It exploded in a shouting match that had very little to do with what was actually bothering them, but which did a whole lot to clear the air.
It was loud and fast and oddly satisfying and it left them both panting for air, glaring at each other from across the breakfast bar.
“Wow!” Felicity mumbled, catching her breath. “I did not see that coming. That was not how I intended this to go.”
She blinked at him at couple of times, trying to get back on track.
“But I guess it’s safe to say we’ve effectively left ‘polite’ behind!” She gave him an uncertain smile.
Oliver let out a loud huff of air and ran a hand through his hair.
“Actually I think we buried it,” he chuckled, flashing her the first real smile she’d seen in weeks.
“How about we try this again,” he added. He grabbed the wine bottle and walked around the counter, holding out his hand to help her off the stool.
She let him steer her towards the couch, pleased that his hand on her elbow felt natural once again and not like a forced act of chivalry.
Felicity plopped onto the couch, gratefully nudging off her heels and curling her legs up under her.
Oliver seemed to relax too, she noticed. With that innate grace that always took her by surprise, he folded his big body into a comfortable position beside her, sipping his wine as they both settled in to talk.
***
In the hours that followed Felicity had very little sense of time or place. They were finally connecting again, talking, sharing, un-loading months of repressed hurt, guilt and anger.
Her guilt over the bomb that she couldn’t stop form detonating, his struggles with juggling his new job and singlehandedly saving his city, their friends’ leaving - all the things they hadn’t talked about - with one noticeable exception, of course, she thought with a pang of regret. But she wasn’t ready to bring that up just yet…
It had gotten dark while they talked, and at some point Oliver had turned on the single lamp next to the couch. The warm light from the lamp spilled over the couch, and seemed to envelop them in their own little safe cocoon, casting the loft into dark shadows around them.
Felicity wasn’t entirely sure when or how it happened, but as the wine went down and burdens were lifted, old habits started to re-assert themselves. Like their old habit of casually touching while talking. It had always been their thing – an unconscious way of forging a bond, a deeper intimacy, and now, without noticing, they’d reverted to their old ways.
Oliver played with her fingers. She rubbed his arm. He touched her shoulder. She squeezed his hand. It was all done naturally and without thought. It was comfortable and familiar.
The bottle was almost empty and they’d long since strayed from the serious topics to more light-hearted banter, when Felicity laughed at something he said, and playfully slapped his hand.
And that’s when it happened.
She noticed his eyes lingering on her lips for just a little too long and her breath caught. She involuntarily licked her bottom lip, and felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach as she watched his eyes growing perceptibly darker. Her mouth went dry and she felt a quick rush of heat up her neck. His touch changed subtly. He was not so much playing with her fingers now, as he was sensually stroking, caressing. She felt like she couldn’t pull enough air into her lungs and without thinking she leaned towards him.
But the small movement seemed to snap Oliver out of the moment.
With a flustered apology, he straightened, and dropped her hand. He got up, nervously running his hands down the side of his jeans as if brushing out wrinkles.
“We’re out of wine,” he mumbled without looking at her. “We need more wine. I think I have another bottle here somewhere,” he added and rushed off to the kitchen.
With a pang of disappointment Felicity let out the breath of air she’d been holding, slumping back against the couch.
‘Holy cow! How did that happen? She thought, frantically trying to get back to the calm and friendly zone they’d been in a minute ago.
But it evaded her as thoughts of Oliver filled her head. Memories of how things had been, of his touch, being with him… Clearly the tight control she’s been keeping on her physical attraction to him had slipped now that her emotional barriers were down. But that could be fixed…
‘If that’s what you want,’ the little voice in the back of her mind said suggestively.
“Okay, that’s it Smoak,” she mumbled to herself. “It’s just the wine talking. And maybe hormones…it’s natural, don’t read too much into it.”
‘It’s too bad though…’ she thought dreamily, briefly allowing herself to speculate.
“But judging by his reaction I guess seduction is out of the question,” she mumbled dejectedly, staring blindly towards the dark windows.
“What was that?” Oliver’s warm voice came from directly behind her, making her jump guiltily. She had forgotten how silently he moved.
‘Oh Frack! Did he hear that?’ she wondered frantically.
“What? Nothing…just…you know me…always talking to myself,” she babbled, as he walked around the couch to face her. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden?
Oliver looked at her questioningly as he placed the fresh bottle on the low table.
Oh god, was that laughter she saw in his eyes? She searched his face, but he was busy pouring wine and settling back on the couch, not looking directly at her.
“Now, where were we…” he mumbled, an odd tone to his voice, as he handed her the refilled glass with a warm smile.
This time she was sure she saw a glint of mischief in his eyes.
Was she imagining things or did he suddenly seem oddly pleased about something?
Felicity realized that her grip on the situation was slowly slipping, revealing a major flaw in her carefully planned strategy. All she had set out to do was get him to open up and talk. She hadn’t considered how letting go of her own control would open her up to longings and feelings she’d been keeping a tight lid on for months now.
And now it was all pouring out in a big quivering mess of wanting and needing and…she looked up and met his warm gaze. And just like that millions of butterflies started doing the mambo in her stomach.