Chapter Text
Oliver would always remember how he first died.
He'd been six years old. He and Tommy had been playing on the beach at the Merlyn vacation house on the East Coast, hunting seashells. Moira was sick, so couldn't come outside, and both Robert and Malcolm had been caught up with business. Their hired nanny for the weekend was meant to be watching them. She wasn't. She had been too engrossed in her phone to notice Oliver getting too close to the sea. She hadn't even been looking their way when Oliver was swept up by rough waves and dragged off the beach, drowning.
He'd been six years old, and he’d barely lived his life yet.
Heaven existed, Oliver had discovered. It was more of an astral plane, unreachable to humans except when they died and their consciousness and soul slipped through dimensions. When he arrived there, naked and soaking wet and afraid, he’d been met by an Angel. A tall, kind man with dark hair and green eyes, beautiful shimmering golden wings hanging from his shoulder blades, had greeted him at the gates.
And he was told that it hadn't been his time, and he had great potential.
At that point, Oliver’s Soul and consciousness was sent into Angel training. There was no measurement of time in Heaven, but as his Soul matured and his knowledge expanded, the manifestation of his human form that encased his consciousness grew from a small child into a fit young adult, before he reached that limit of when your manifestation couldn't mature any more, and he became a handsome, strong man in his late twenties.
He passed training with flying colours, top of his class, with the best archery, stealth and strategy scores the heavens had seen since Michael the archangel had taken the tests. With great elation, Oliver stood in front of his trillions of brothers and sisters as the Heavenly Father awarded the young fledgling his wings. It was the bestowal of Divine Grace that resulted in the growth of an Angel’s wings and the gift of his powers. He was named and awarded his position: Oliver, Warrior of God, Guardian Angel of Starling City.
Walking down the Axis Mundi with his new wings on his back, his Angelic siblings lining the sides of Heaven’s Main Street, for the first time, Oliver felt self-conscious. And that was due to his massive, stunning wings being black. Under sharp lights, his feathers shone a very deep, dark emerald green, but in general they appeared the colour of the night sky. Angels with their generic white, cream and light coloured wings muttered and murmured to each other, shooting him strange looks. When he knelt in front of Michael to be presented with his sword, bow and quiver, his wings trembled when he realised that the Archangel was gazing upon them with apprehension and fear.
It was only after the ceremony when Oliver spoke quietly to Gabriel, the Archangel who had taught him archery when he had first arrived in Heaven, that he was told that no Angel had ever had black wings before, in the Universe’s history. The only known Angel to have wings even close to black had been the Morning Star, after he Fell and his silver wings were burnt and gnarled.
For the next few months, after being given his position, Oliver had to file paperwork. Yes, paperwork. It turned out that becoming a Guardian meant a lot of paperwork. He had to examine and memorise every single case file of the human residents of Starling City. Even with his rapid learning ability and memory retention, it still took quite a while. It was on the last day on which he had to file the paperwork that he came across the files of Robert, Thea and Moira Queen, and Malcolm and Thomas Merlyn. They’d all aged considerably. His little sister, who he’d never met, who’d been born four years after his death, was now in her late teens, Tommy in his late twenties. It saddened the Angel to think that if he hadn't drowned, he'd be with them right then, having grown with his family and friends.
The time came for him to descend to Earth’s dimension plane. Michael and Gabriel came to see him off, helping guide his Grace and spirit into a new vessel, a human body created from scratch that was the same image of his manifestation. Anael dressed him in green leather, pushing aside the classic heavenly battle robes for a hooded reinforced jacket, suitable for flying and vigilante activities. Because as a Guardian Angel, he was a fighter, a warrior. He was to defend his city by any means he thought necessary. And the most efficient way of doing that was by wiping out the criminals and the corrupt that were persisting and destroying Starling like a cancerous tumour.
His briefing was short. Oliver was told not to make contact with any of his old family and friends, to avoid the police force and protect as many innocents as possible. He was told to stay in the shadows, not make it obvious to anybody that he was a Heavenly being. That was slightly pointless, however, seeing as his wings were visible in this form. It was something to do with how a human vessel couldn't completely contain something as pure and powerful as Grace, so it spilled out of them and to avoid burning human eyes, it manifested as their wings, which were really just tendrils of extreme light and cosmic energy.
And he was told, above all, that Angels were forbidden to fall in love with humans.
So he was sent to Earth. They had support systems in place and had special Angels to sort out a base of operations, food and water. Since he was in a human vessel, even with his wings, he needed to eat, drink and sleep. Within a week of settling, Oliver was heading out at night and taking down the criminals of Starling City. Within a month, he had a reputation for himself, across the city and known by the local police force. People weren’t just going to ignore the fact that there was a winged crusader saving their city. He was noticed.
The government seemed particularly interested. It didn't escape Oliver’s attention that government sanctioned force tasked with tracking his movements and targets was following him, turning up at crime scenes and questioning the police and civilians about his involvement. Intrigued and worried by this government group, Oliver snuck into their office building one night.
That was where he first saw Felicity. So beautiful. So charming and adorable. Babbling and talking with such incredible passion, her blonde hair hanging in waves and jolting with every exaggerated hand movement she made. Oliver was entranced. He didn't know how long he remained there, staring at her in awe and wonder, but by the time he left, he must have been there at least three hours, watching her.
He had broken the Rule. He’d fallen in love with a human.
Then, barely a week later, he was shot down.
And he met Felicity face to face for the first, and last, time.
As he lay dying, the beautiful blonde kneeling beside him and Diggle watching over him, he committed those two vital things to memory. As he lay bleeding out, his wing broken and every fibre of his being screaming in agony, his Grace writhing inside of his torn-up, half-destroyed human form, Oliver told himself that whatever the circumstances, wherever he ended up, whether that be trapped on some other plane or in Heaven, he had to remember Camellias and strawberry creams: Felicity’s favourite flowers and chocolates.
What he choked out to her, that he would give up his wings and his Grace in order to get a single chance at seeing her again - it was a massive statement to an Angel. His wings and Grace were the very core of his being. He hardly remembered a time he didn’t have his Grace, and his wings had become part of him. And yet, for that awe and wonder he had for Felicity’s light, that shining aura that surrounded her and purged the darkness and sadness from Oliver, he would give that all up - he knew it would be worth it.
He was dying. Oliver could feel himself relaxing into the enveloping darkness, feel the peace oncoming to take him over, the feel of his Father’s arms reaching out to cradle him once again, and the last thing he felt was Felicity’s hand in his left wing’s feathers and her hand in her hair and the whisper of her lips against his forehead.
Blonde hair. Glasses. Beautiful. Breath-taking. Stunning. Remarkable. Camellias and strawberry creams. Gone.
He woke up collapsed at the foot of Heaven’s gates, shaking from head to toe. Gasping for breath, Oliver only realised then that we had returned to his corporeal form, his black wings drooping and worn, his Grace tattered and aching. The Angels that guarded the gates rushed downwards in alarm to aid their injured brother. Trembling and wracked with pain, Oliver was taken to Raphael, the Archangel in charge of healing. He was patched up and given some kind of painkiller that stopped his Grace from hurting, but no anaesthetic could halt the agony inside of his chest, in his heart, remembering Felicity brushing her gentle hand through his wing and murmuring to him that they would see each other again. That she would like him to take her on a date. That he was magnificent, that he would be magnificent. And that thought of them being able to be together… was overwhelming.
“Oh, my dear Son,” was a soft voice that interrupted Oliver from his musings, sounding sad and so warm at the same time that it sent flares of inexplicable emotions through the Angel’s chest. “What has happened to you?”
Curling up even tighter into a ball, his wings shivering, he croaked out, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Oh, Oliver.” God looked sorrowful. It was the first time Oliver had ever truly seen God without trillions of Angels around him, sharing in his glory, and his sheer presence overpowered the angel, making him want to turn away and cringe. Except, he didn’t. Because Oliver was already numb inside - what harm would staring directly into the Heavenly Father’s gaze do? It just so happened that God appeared to you however you viewed him, or chose to see him as. And Oliver wanted a father figure - so he got God coming to him in the form of Robert Queen. “You have not sinned. You did nothing of the sort, my Son.”
“I fell in love with a human,” he said flatly.
“Humanity is meant to be loved and praised by my Angels,” God replied quietly. “You are all my children.”
“No,” Oliver shook his head. “Father, I fell - I fell in love with a human.”
God raised his head. “I did not misunderstand you before, Oliver,” he replied gently. His hand cascaded through the Angel’s mangled black wing and Oliver shuddered in response, stretching. “And whatever Michael or Gabriel told you - it is not a sin for an angel to fall in love. I am proud to hear that one of my Sons has felt such deep emotions towards one of my creations.” His smile was knowing, and he looked amused. “Felicity Meghan Smoak. A remarkable young woman, is she not?”
“I want to go back,” Oliver whispered.
“Yes, I know,” God sighed. “You do realise that in order to place you back on the plane, since you can longer return to Earth with your Grace in such a damaged state, I will have to temporarily give you a human Soul and place you inside a vessel. You will not have your wings.”
“I’ll do it,” he responded immediately, his Grace throbbing erratically, excited at just the thought of seeing Felicity again. “Please, Father.”
“Oliver, this is not as simple a thing as you think. I said temporarily. I cannot turn you into a human. You will always be an Angel. You cannot survive with a human Soul, in a human vessel, for very long. You can only remain in that form until your Grace has completely healed.” He chuckled dryly. “Figures. Angel Grace only ever becomes vulnerable when an angel takes human form to descent to the Earthly plane, and you managed to severely injure yourself in less than a year.”
“It’s not like I asked for it to happen,” Oliver snapped, before he stiffened and bowed his head, rushing out quickly, recognising he had spoken to the Creator rudely, “Forgive me, Father, I speak without thinking.”
“Do not concern yourself, Oliver, I am not offended.” He checked the watch on his wrist. “I will do this for you, my Son. But as soon as your Grace is healed, it will reattach itself to you and you will become an angel again. Your wings will grow. You may feel different, your emotions may change. Tread carefully.”
And so Oliver became a human. Temporarily, he reminded himself. But he was happy. He was going to see Felicity again.
Everything blacked out, and when he awoke, he was in a small bedroom in a sparse apartment, human and wingless, the weight in his chest where his Grace had once again replaced with human Soul. Oliver almost choked at the feeling. He felt so light. So free. There were no responsibilities, no rules, no Angelic pressures on him. He might have felt off balance and naked without his wings, but the last time he had felt so wonderful was before he drowned as a six year old.
There was a young Cupid with small dark red wings waiting for him in the living room. He introduced himself as Roy, and very rapidly began introducing him to human concepts, having been living on Earth for a while now. Oliver was introduced to accommodation and money, and Roy set him up with new personal identification, a backstory, and a very plump bank account. Needless to say, Oliver Bowman, the ex-military man who had recently moved to Starling City to start over, had more than enough money to pay for food and water. Roy told him he could keep the spare bedroom in his apartment until he got himself set up with his own place, which was generous, before the young Cupid pulled a note out of his red hoodie and handed it over gingerly, a small grin on his face.
Felicity’s apartment’s address. He practically sprinted out of there, Roy driving him to the classiest flower shop to purchase a bouquet of dazzling, bright pink Asian flowers and then to the most expensive chocolatier in Starling city to buy a box of artfully made strawberry cream filled truffles. When Roy dropped him off at the address, he stood there for five minutes just trying to process the fact that this is really happening, I’m finally meeting Felicity properly and we’re going on a date and oh god.
The door opened, and he nervously chuckled, asking, “So how about that date?”
The blonde choked out a laugh, her eyes filled with happy, joyful tears as she threw himself at him, and Felicity simply just wrapped herself around him, and Oliver felt secure, and safe, and loved. She hurried him inside and sat him down and Oliver could feel her hand running up and down his back in confusion, as she was obviously searching for his wings.
Felicity’s breath stuttered as she whispered, “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re alive. You died right in front of me, Oliver, in my arms, it should be impossible for you to be here. And your wings -”
“I’m human,” Oliver murmured, burying his nose into her soft hair as they settled on her couch, arms wrapped around each other and sides pressed together. “I died, my Grace was badly damaged, but my Father he - he knew I fell in love with you and he allowed me to come back. As a human. I don’t have my wings or my Grace but… it’s worth it. I’m with you.”
Her smile was beaming, her eyes watery with tears. She kept on moving her hands all over him, touching him, as if she was trying to prove to herself that he was real. “You - you fell in love with me? At first sight?”
“Angels can sense… auras,” he explained quietly, eyes closed as he just breathed easily and freely, enjoying her presence. “And I just - when I first saw you in that office… you’re so bright, Felicity, you’re such a beautiful light in the darkness, such a pure Soul… how could anybody not love you?”
Three dates and a week later, and Felicity was asking Oliver to move in with her. The newly human Angel was absolutely thrilled. The two of them had already started showing affection by kissing and hugging, and since there was only one bed in Felicity’s apartment, this meant they were sleeping next to each other. Since Oliver didn’t have a job, during the daytime he either went for runs, still determined to keep up his fitness training even in human form, or he baked. Oliver discovered he liked cooking. In Heaven, there had been a training course called Synthesis, which was using elements of the universe to create new things and beings, and Oliver had always excelled at it. Cooking kind of reminded him of that. He greeted Felicity every night when she came home from her job on the government task force, with a sophisticated meal and a kiss.
Curled up on the couch together, watching a re-run of Doctor Who, Felicity told him about how the government was still searching for the Starling City Guardian Angel, not believing Felicity and Diggle when they said he’d died when he’d been shot down. It made him uneasy to think that people were still out there searching for him. But instead of fretting, he just pressed kisses on her collarbone and up her neck, tackling her down so he could capture her lips with his once again. As long as he didn’t accidentally run into Diggle in the middle of the street, he would be safe. Felicity was the only person who mattered. She was his light. She was his everything.
“Can we cuddle?”
“Oliver, it’s eight in the morning, I have to get to work. We cuddled all night.”
“I just want to hold you again for a few minutes. Please, Felicity?”
“Is this going to be a cuddle or a ‘cuddle’? Because we really don’t have time for a ‘cuddle’, mister.”
“We always have time for ‘cuddles’.”
He thought that everything was perfect, and that nothing could go wrong. But it did. Three weeks after his arrival on earth, just as he and Felicity were getting very serious in their relationship, Oliver was parkouring around Starling’s Northern Forest Park when the sky suddenly darkened and a bolt of lightning darted downwards from the sky and struck him where he stood.
When the human awoke with a gasp, his clothes burnt and singed and his nerves on fire… he had his Grace again. His human Soul was gone.
He was an Angel again.
Waiting nervously for Felicity to come home that night, he paced the living room anxiously, wringing his hands and his breathing stuttered. He’d been warned by his Father that his emotions might not be the same. The only way to find out how much his feelings towards Felicity had changed was his initial reaction when he saw her.
The door opened, and Felicity beamed back at him. Oliver was filled with the joy and happiness he always felt. He was absolutely relieved. His feelings hadn’t changed, or died - he was still completely in love with Felicity. He still adored the adorable blonde, and that night he still plastered her with kisses and embraced her in bed, having her fall asleep in his arms, the ultimate feeling of peace washing through him. He was fine. His Grace was back, yes, and he was an Angel again, but Felicity didn’t need to know. He didn’t want to worry or concern her, not when him being an Angel wasn’t important in their lives right then.
“Fe-li-ci-ty. I told you to stop trying to sneak cookies and ice cream onto the shopping list!”
“But you only had boring foods on there, Oliver! Like turkey and orange juice and spinach.”
“We have got to get you eating more protein and vegetables. I know when you go into the office all you eat is potato chips.”
“Yeah, because at home you try and force me to drink kale smoothies for breakfast. Kale, Oliver! That’s a type of cabbage! In a smoothie!”
“It doesn’t taste of anything!”
“It makes it all green and icky! And don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been switching our normal fries to sweet potato fries, because I have! Not to mention you’ve stopped buying coffee!”
“Green tea is a better alternative for -”
“Stop. Please.”
Everything changed on what had been a normal Thursday night, at two thirty three am when Oliver awoke from his sleep screaming in agony, body hunched in on itself as he writhed and trembled uncontrollably. Felicity held him, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed at him, asking what she could do, how could she help, what was hurting, but there was nothing she could possibly do to halt the extreme pain.
In the morning, Oliver heaved himself up, groaning as his back muscles spasmed and ached. Every single inch of his form felt burnt, but there was a particular spot, between his shoulder blades, that still felt like it was on fire. Stumbling out of bed, heart panging at Felicity’s heart-broken call for him, Oliver fell on his knees in front of the mirror and stripped off his sleeping t-shirt, turning around so he could look at his back, desperate to know where the pain was coming from.
Wings. Two black feathery stubs protruding from ragged cuts on his back. The muscles were just beginning to form, meaning that Oliver could weakly flutter them, but not without gritting his teeth in agony. His breath hitching as he realised what this meant, the Angel began to cry. His wings were growing back. And as soon as they were fully grown, and his Grace was fully functioning again… there was the possibility that he would be called back to Heaven by God to complete his duties. God might force him to leave Felicity.
He flinched violently when Felicity came up behind him and oh so gently raked her fingers through the newly grown feathers, straightening them and cleaning away the blood coating them with a wet wipe.
“Oh, hun,” she whispered sadly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, freely crying now. He ducked his head and closed his tear-filled eyes; he couldn’t bear looking into Felicity’s eyes, knowing he would see sympathy there, instead of the disappointment and anger he deserved. “I thought I had more time.”
“Oliver.” She looked distraught. “How long has your Grace been back?”
The Angel couldn’t stop the tears. “Four days. I’m so sorry I lied to you. I meant to tell you, I was going to, I promise -”
“It’s alright,” the blonde soothed, taking a hold of his shoulders and turning him around so she could embrace him, wrapping the Angel up in her arms and pull him into a warm, secure hug. The sobs wracking his frame jerked hers as well, but Felicity didn’t seem to care, her grip on him tightening further. “Oliver, it’s alright, I promise. We’ll get through this.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” he sobs, his fists clenching her shirt. “I can’t leave you.”
“Shh.”
Felicity didn’t go to work that day, taking sick leave and instead snuggling up with Oliver on the couch, cleaning the cuts on his back and preening his tiny stubby wings. They watched an entire season of Sherlock together, but the Angel fell asleep halfway through the day, having been kept up all night by the pain of the wing bone growth and bursting through his back. Ordering in, they ate Chinese takeaway in silence, although that was more Oliver’s fault than Felicity’s. He was dreading his wings growing in, and the thought of going through pain like he had last night, and the possibility that he might accidentally lash out and hurt his true love, was one he couldn’t get out of his head. He knew Felicity was concerned for him. Before bed she wiped down his stubby wings and made him take painkillers, dropping a whole box on their bedside table with a glass of water for later on during the night. Then, curling herself around him, for the first time since they had got together being the big spoon, Felicity soothed him to sleep.
At four in the morning, Oliver awoke aflame again, gritting his teeth to stop himself from screeching loud enough to wake up the entire neighbourhood because of the pain.
“Felicity!” he choked out, latching onto her side.
She was awake within seconds. “Calm down, it’s okay, you’re fine,” she tried to comfort him, although he could see the panic in her blue eyes, the horror there that he was suffering so awfully. “I’m right here, Oliver, I’m right here beside you.”
Gritting his teeth so tightly it caused an ache in his jaw, the Angel managed to get out, “It hurts.”
“I know, I’m sorry, honey.”
“Can you - can you please look?”
Felicity slipped away from his back and helped him get his shirt off so she could examine the growth of the wings. Her sharp intake of breath made him shudder, and he physically had to restrain himself from sobbing. Vanishing into the bathroom to grab the wet wipes, she began cleaning the protrusions from his back carefully. The sheer volume of blood she seemed to mop away struck the Angel with anxiety. They had some ibuprofen gel that Oliver used after his workouts for sore muscles, and the blonde gently massaged some into the muscles above and below where the wings were sprouting, humming softly.
The feathery stubs were now starting to appear like actual wings, each one around two feet long, with his dark green flight feathers starting to come in that twitched whenever Felicity brushed her hand over them. Stretching them out cautiously, the Angel also found that they hurt a little less. With painkillers dulling the ache in his limbs, Oliver was somehow able to fall sleep again, sniffling into Felicity’s shoulder.
Waking up that morning, Oliver left his shirt off and continued stretching and airing out the new wings as he prepared Felicity’s packed lunch for work whilst she was in the shower. She couldn’t stay at home with him again. When the blonde came out into the kitchen, raking her hand through her semi-wet hair with a small smile, she gently ran her finger along the edge of his right wing and kissed his cheek, murmuring, “They’re beautiful.”
He pulled away frustratedly. “No, they’re not, they’re ugly.”
“Nothing about you could ever be ugly.”
“These are.” Oliver tried to flare them out to full span, but it caused a stinging sensation, which made him growl. “They’re all small and bony. A hatchling couldn’t fly on these.”
He turned away in disgust, but then Felicity's small hand was on his bare back, soothing, warm on the skin between his wings and rubbing little circles. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she scolded. “They’re still growing. Now, are you going to be okay today?” she questioned tenderly.
Shaking his head, he muttered, “I don’t know. The painkillers aren’t - they’re not really working anymore.”
The blonde made a worried noise. “You’re in pain?” Oliver didn’t reply, just ducked his head and exhaled slowly. Running her fingers through his feathers, she suggested, “Why don’t you go and talk to Roy? There’s probably a way he’ll be able to help bring your wings out quicker so that it’s less painful. I hate seeing you hurt.”
“As soon as they’re fully formed though, they might get me to leave you,” he whispered.
Her gaze turned fierce. “Let them try and take you away from me. They don’t be able to. You’re mine.”
His lips quirked in a smile. “Indeed I am.” Sighing, he gave in, “Alright, I’ll go and speak to Roy.”
She nodded, but still looked worried. “Okay, be careful.” Wrapping her arm around his waist and pressed herself up against him, her gaze filled with affection as she peppered little kisses over his lips, murmuring, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he whispered, tipping his forehead so it rested against hers briefly as he returned her kisses. “Have a nice day at work.”
When Felicity left that morning, Oliver grabbed a belt and strapped his wings into his back so that they weren’t poking out and noticeable, pulling on his favourite pea coat before heading out into the Glades to meet up with Roy. The young Cupid was preening his wings, but upon hearing of the Angel’s dilemma, immediately told him that he’d fly up to Heaven and speak to Raphael on his behalf to find out whether or not there was a way to make the wing growth process less painful.
Oliver expected Roy to return alone with some information, maybe, if luck was on his side, a solution, he didn’t anticipate the Archangel Raphael himself flying down to see him, face solemn and wings hunched.
“Oliver,” he greeted the Angel. “Let me see your wings.”
He stripped off his shirt and turned around, undoing the belt that kept the wings close to his back so that they could unfurl and stretch out. More dark green feathers had come in since he’d checked them last, and each wing had gained a inch or so. They were growing quickly. Like all the Angels had upon first seeing his strange wings, Roy averted his eyes and lowered his own wings submissively, but Raphael strode forwards without any hesitation and wrapped his hands around the emerging wing bones.
A second hadn’t even passed before Oliver was struck with a pain so horrifying and strong that he thought he was dying, his knees buckling beneath him as an agonised cry burst free from his lips. A pale blue glow surrounded the three Angels as Raphael’s Grace surged around Oliver’s surrounding it and prompting accelerated growth and repair, patching up the weathered and torn pieces that had yet to be healed. As the Archangel released him, stepping back, Oliver curled up on the floor, shivering and sweating profusely.
But it was done. His wings were fully formed. They were beautiful, no longer deep black like the night sky, but instead appearing much lighter, so the stunning emerald green was visible to the eye. His twenty two feet wingspan took up most of the room, rivalling Raphael’s own eighteen feet and Roy’s twelve feet. The weight on Oliver’s back felt right again, and he felt balanced as he carefully rose to his feet, his wings arching and fluttering to adjust.
“Thank you,” he croaked.
“Enjoy what happiness you have left with your human, Oliver,” was all Raphael said, before he vanished into the ethereal dimension to travel back to Heaven.
Drawing his wings in, Oliver shot a panicked look at Roy and questioned, “What did he mean by that?”
Roy just shook his head sadly, and walked away.
Getting back to Felicity’s apartment was now a lot more difficult with a pair of massive wings on his back. Even sticking to less busy routes around the Glades, through dark alleyways and across shadowed rooftops, the Angel was still delayed getting back there by around four hours, just to avoid getting spotted. He took the time, however, to get used to having his wings again, swiftly gliding and fluttering from roof to roof. It felt strange flying again when he had become used to using ground transportation for so long.
It was dark when he arrived home. His wings made it hard to move around their apartment, knocking objects over and getting caught on door frames, meaning Oliver had to draw them in uncomfortably tight to his back, and swiftly cooking a meal for Felicity for when she got home from work was difficult work because of that. Eventually, lasagne finished and resting in the oven on a low heat, the Angel settled into the couch to wait.
He waited. And waited.
An hour after Felicity was supposed to arrive home, Oliver called her cell phone. She didn’t pick up. Dread struck him, but he forced himself to rein it in, attempting to regulate and deepen his shallow, stuttered breathing. Maybe her cell phone had run out of charge. Maybe she couldn’t get any signal. Ten minutes later, he tried calling her again. No answer. Oliver began panicking - the excuse that her phone had run out of charge was a null one, Felicity took her charger to work with her everyday to make sure that didn’t happen, and Starling City had great cell service even way out in the Glades. There was absolutely no proper explanation for her not picking up.
The Angel swallowed, but he arched out his wings, flexing them and mentally compelling his tense muscles to relax. His sheer determination and resolve set in, changing his mind set from one of worry to one of tenacity and logic. Slipping in front of Felicity’s home computer, he checked her address books and her schedule for day in an attempt to discover some sort of reason she could possibly be late home. There was none. In fact, going by her work timetable, she should have been home early.
Something was wrong. Felicity was missing. And Oliver was going to find her.
There was no point in going to the Angels for help. Raphael had said himself that his days were Felicity were numbered – what if she’d been taken by them? He couldn’t contact them, not when he knew that there was a possibility it was their fault she was missing in the first place.
He set his sights on John Diggle. He knew from past experience that they worked together for the government task force, and Felicity often spoke of him fondly, suggesting that they were close at work, possibly friends. Snatching a pen and paper and scribbling down the man’s apartment’s address, the Angel strode into the bedroom and knelt, reaching for and pulling out the wooden trunk which Roy had delivered for him on his fifth day as a human.
Opening it, Oliver knelt silently, staring down with a slightly dazed expression at his green battle leathers that had been so carefully designed and crafted specifically for him up in Heaven. His favourite bow lay just on top, shining dully in the faint light creeping in from the hallway. Changing quickly and scooping up his bow, swinging his quiver onto his back, with the familiar feel of his weapon in his hand and the note with Diggle’s address on it clutched within his tightened fist, Oliver jumped off the balcony and snapped his wings out, catching a warm air current and letting it carry him.
The sun was quickly setting on the Starling Coast, staining the clear sky with shades of lilac, tangerine and pink, the dotted clouds glowing crimson and wavering due to the faint cool breeze. Usually, this was the kind of sunset that Oliver would have enjoyed pausing to watch, standing with his side brushing Felicity’s and their hands entwined as they appreciated the evening together.
As the sun dipped lower under the horizon and a dark purple and blue began to creep into the upper edges of the sky, Oliver finally caught sight of the location he was heading too, a high rise apartment block on the fringes of the Glades. Great buffets of dust from the roof flew into the air as the Angel beat his wings rhythmically, his boots clacking against the concrete as he landed. He straightened and folded his wings so they were only poised at half span before spotting the apartment he needed to break into.
Silently hopping down onto the balcony, Oliver twisted nervously and his wings twitched and fluttered. The inside of the apartment was dark, but just because there weren’t any lights on, didn’t mean that people weren’t inside.
But Felicity was worth it. If he had to confront people, and reveal he was still alive, then so be it. She was worth everything.
It took literally no effort whatsoever to pick the lock on the window and before he knew it, Oliver was slipping inside, wings held tightly to his back, but the top of his wing bones still bumped the frame, making him wince. His coverts bristling, Oliver glanced around the apartment warily and then froze when he caught sight of one of the rooms lit up, and a clear shadow moving about in there. Swiftly slinking into the shadows to ensure he couldn’t be seen, he kept silent as he tip toed across the room, taking in his surroundings.
The startling sound of a baby wailing made him leap almost two feet off the ground in shock and alarm, and it was an absolute miracle his wings didn’t knock anything over when they shot out and flapped in surprise, causing a cold air current to drift through the living room.
A woman’s tired groan echoed through the apartment, and the Angel went completely still again. “Please, Sara, give me a moment of peace,” her voice cracked, from what presumably was the main bedroom, where the light was coming from. “Just - please give me a minute. I want to actually be able to go to the bathroom. Daddy will be home soon, but Mommy just needs a minute.”
The baby didn’t stop crying, and for some reason, emotion swelled within Oliver’s chest. Listening to the baby crying was making him feel… sad. And upset. He didn’t like it. He felt distressed. An inexplicable need to comfort the wailing child grew inside of him, like a tugging on his heartstrings and an ache within his wings. Sneaking a glance back towards the woman, the crying child’s mother, who undoubtedly was related to John Diggle in some way, Oliver gave in to the desperation to soothe the baby and padded into the nursery, bracing his hands on the cot after putting down his bow onto one of the chairs. Smiling softly, he gazed down at the tiny human being wiggling inside of it.
It was a beautiful baby, with mesmerising brown eyes and tiny tufts of black hair on her delicate head. Sara’s little arms were flailing about as she cried, legs kicking, but as soon as Oliver came into view, his wings towering over her, she quietened, staring up at him in awe, tiny fingers curling into her pink bodysuit as she fell still, just gurgling quietly. A smile cracked his face. Sara squealed happily and reached her arms out to him.
Swallowing, the Angel gently lifted the baby girl out of the cot and cradled her to his chest, shushing her softly as he bounced up and down to try and get her back to sleep. Instead, Sara just made a long mahhhhhhhh sound into his shoulder, podgy hands coming up to scrape at his stubble underneath his hood, her fingers exploring his face. He couldn’t help but release a chuckle when her hand dropped from his cheek and she squirmed, trying to reach his wing to stroke down the soft feathers there with a drawn-out, admiring ooooohhh.
The click of a handgun loading caused Oliver to turn around.
“Put my baby down,” the woman said shakily, pointing the gun directly at the Angel, her hands still and steady, whilst the rest of her body seemed to shake. There was a firmness, a seriousness in her eyes that told Oliver that she’d shot people before, and she would do it again, especially if that meant protecting her child.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” he reassured her gently.
“I said put her down!” the woman shouted.
“Alright,” Oliver agreed.
He wheeled around, tenderly easing the baby down from his shoulder to place her back into the cot, but as soon as he drew his arm away, Sara’s lip quivered and she reached up for him, beginning to cry again. The woman made a scared, yet angry noise when his hand dipped down to caress the baby’s cheek in a comforting notion.
“Step away from her.”
“Of course.”
Every step Oliver took away from the baby, she began to cry harder.
“Your child is in distress,” Oliver said softly. “You should go to her.”
“How do I know you won’t attack me when I do?” the woman questioned suspiciously.
“You have my Word,” he promised. “I just came here to find John Diggle. That’s all. I don’t mean anybody any harm.”
That seemed to be enough reassurance for her, because the woman exhaled resignedly and stuffed the gun back to where she’d probably been keeping it before, tucked in the back of her jeans, before she swept across the room and hoisted baby Sara onto her hip, making quiet soothing noises to attempt to calm her down. The baby continued whimpering and reaching for Oliver, however, and it made the Angel feel slightly awkward, as the woman seemed to become quite frustrated by the fact that her child calmed more in a stranger’s arms than hers.
“So what does the Starling City Guardian Angel want with my husband?” she questioned him stiffly, rocking side to side as she quickly drew the curtains shut and went to turn the lights on.
As soon as light flooded the room, Oliver straightened, his wings recoiling into his back with a spasm as he stepped back warily, trying to get back into the shadows in order to conceal himself. The lights, however, illuminated the entire nursery; there was nowhere to hide. The woman’s eyes widened in wonder as she ran her gaze over his wings.
“We have a… mutual friend,” Oliver offered, stooping down to pick up his bow again, but letting it hang loosely in his non-dominant hand, to show he wasn’t going to use it. “I don’t know if he ever mentioned me, but we’ve met before. My name’s -”
“Oliver,” the woman cut off. “Yes, I know. Johnny told me that you died in front of him. The government didn’t believe him - none of this really makes sense to me, because I thought he was telling the truth.”
“It’s a long story,” the Angel said. His eyes fell upon the baby squirming unhappily in her arms, and he suggested, “Do you want me to hold her?”
The woman appraised him with cautious eyes. “Alright,” she said warily. “I’ll go and call Johnny, tell him you’re here.”
“No,” he shook his head. “You can’t call him. If he works for the government, they’ll be monitoring your cell phones and landline.”
Nodding in understanding, the woman commented dryly, “I know that, I work for the government as well.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t expected that. “What time are you expecting him back?”
She glanced over at the clock, inching closer to the Angel, becoming a little more used and comfortable in his presence. “In about ten minutes.” Gnawing her lip, the woman introduced, “I’m Lyla. This is… this is Sara.”
“She’s very beautiful,” Oliver told her, a smile on his face as the baby was passed over to him, and Sara instantly went quiet, one of her hands clutching the feathers of his right wing, which made the Angel wince, but he didn’t really mind. “How old is she?”
“Around eight months now,” Lyla informed him, chuckling softly when her daughter squealed, stroking her hands all over the coverts of Oliver’s wing in amazement. Watching curiously as Oliver shifted on his feet to cradle Sara to his leather covered chest and rest his chin on her shoulder, she questioned, “You’re experienced with babies?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I’ve never held a baby before.” Snickering as Sara slapped her hands against his stubble, mahhhhhing loudly, Oliver commented, “She’s quite curious, isn’t she?”
Lyla looked surprised. “She isn’t usually like this with strangers. She likes you.”
“I think it’s my Grace that she likes more than me.” He’d once been told by Gabriel that babies and children could sense Angel Grace, due to their innocence and the light inside of their pure young Souls. It made sense - Sara was more intrigued by his wings, which were simply a manifestation of Grace, rather than his actual body.
“Well, whatever she likes about you, you’re the reason that she’s stopped crying. Her lungs haven’t rested since four o’clock this morning,” Lyla sighed. Oliver had to admit, she did appear exhausted. He would be as well if he’d had to look after a wailing baby all day.
Frowning, Oliver cradled the back of the baby’s head. “Does she cry like that often?” he questioned.
“Every day,” Lyla said tiredly. “We took her to the doctor, she doesn’t have colic or anything. She just… cries. Constantly.” Shaking her head, Lyla picked up the baby’s blanket and gently wrapped it around her whilst Sara rested on Oliver’s chest, murmuring, “Makes me think I’m being a bad mother.”
Humming softly, Oliver decided that checking on the baby’s health wouldn’t do any harm. Very cautiously extending his Grace to allow the very fringes of it to brush against baby Sara’s own Soul, the baby squirmed for a few seconds in his arm, making a small sound as a very faint glow emitted between them. Swiftly finding the problem, Oliver wrapped his Grace around it and immediately began fixing it, and because of that, the glow throbbed and brightened briefly. Lyla made an alarmed noise, reaching out to take her away, but the Angel shot her a reassuring look and pulled his Grace back, so the glow faded. At least now baby Sara wouldn’t cry as much anymore.
He handed Sara back over to Lyla, and the human curled herself around the baby protectively, her anxious eyes flickering over the Angel with distrust and reservation. “What did you do to her?” she hissed.
“I checked her health,” Oliver told her calmly. “Lyla, you’re not a bad mother. Sara had a miniscule lung problem that the doctors wouldn’t be able to detect, that was causing her some discomfort. I healed it for her. She should be much calmer and quieter now.”
Lyla’s jaw dropped a few centimetres in disbelief, and tears sprung to her eyes as she breathed, “Are you serious?”, stroking her fingers over the baby’s tufts of hair. “You can do that? Heal people?”
“Not often.” Even now, Oliver felt drained. Using his Grace to fix things, especially heal humans, was taxing. “Sara will be fine now, I promise.” The tiny human certainly looked more content, sucking her thumb as she dribbled on her mother’s shirt. It made Oliver smile.
“Thank you,” Lyla whispered. “I never thought - thank you.”
They both jerked away from each other when the front door lock made a scraping noise, indicating somebody was putting a key in there and entering. The door swung open, and a deep male voice, which Oliver recognised as Diggle’s, called out, “Lyla, I’m home.”
Lyla shot the Angel a look to follow and carried Sara into the living room, going up to her husband and kissing him on the cheek in greatly. “Hey, baby. Um… you have a visitor.”
“A visitor?”
Oliver stepped into the living room, his wings flaring fearlessly and tucking, his flight feathers bristling and puffing out to make himself seem bigger. As soon as Diggle’s eyes landed on him, the larger man tensed up, his back straightening as he subtly tried to push Lyla and his daughter behind him, looking mistrustful and wary.
“Oliver? I thought you were dead,” he said, sounding confused, doubt crossing his face.
“I was,” he replied. “I’m not anymore. The Father brought me back. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Felicity.”
Diggle’s expression instantly changed into one of determination, and he took a step forwards. “What about Felicity?” His eyes narrowing, he questioned accusingly, “Does she know you’re alive?”
The Angel admitted truthfully, “We’ve been living together for almost a month now. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Oliver. What’s going on?” Diggle asked worriedly.
“Felicity’s missing. And I need your help to find her.”