Title: We Rise Like Smoke
Category: Arrow
Word Count: 2,664 (Chapter 1/4)
Ship: Oliver/Felicity (not established), mentioned Oliver/Laurel friendship
Rating: pg-13/teen
Summary: After Laurel is kidnapped, the people left behind turn Starling City upside down trying to find her. But after 8 months coming up empty, a confrontation forces Oliver to realize that finding her isn't likely and he needs to start letting go. But a note from the Canary changes everything.


I.

Eight months ago Laurel was kidnapped.

Four dark-clad people came and took her from her apartment in the late winter night. They left no traces, notes, or reason—one day she was simply there, the next, gone.

They searched the city's every nook and cranny after her. Felicity went over security cameras, satellite images stored in CIA and NSC's data banks, domestic and international airplane manifestos, every possible way she could have left Starling City. Diggle had Lyla call in a favor through ARGUS; Detective Lance reached out to his contacts in Central City and Gotham. Oliver tried reaching out to Sara, but was met with silence before she told him they were doing what they could. He'd been frustrated at first, then angry, that she wouldn't help him find her sister, but he knew better than most the futility of being angry at a ghost.

Laurel was gone.

That didn't mean Oliver stopped searching. Felicity and Diggle supported him, helped as much as they could, but after months coming up empty even their resolution was wavering. Truth was, they'd been waiting for Oliver to crash for weeks, but he didn't seem to let up.

So he spent months obsessed with finding Laurel, rescuing her—until, six months after she was kidnapped, they received a message.

| She's safe. |

That was all the note said. No sender, no signature. Just a note attached to her living room wall.

Some people still visited Laurel's sealed-off apartment from time to time. Her father walked through the apartment in search for clues he might have missed, unable to get over the impact of how the place looked frozen in time. The added dust was the only sign time still reached in there. Oliver visited infrequently, telling himself that, this once, he might find that one thing he didn't on previous visits, the one thing that eluded everyone and would lead them to finding her.

They scanned the actual note for traces of, well, anything. Felicity clandestinely sent a sample to the no-longer comatose Barry Allen in Central City, but his results returned the same way Starling City's Forensic Science Department did: empty. No traces, no DNA. The ink came from a pen produced in Starling City, the paper too. Another dead end.

It didn't surprise anyone that Oliver didn't accept that.

He spent the following weeks pushing himself harder than before, to the point where Diggle not-so-jokingly threatened putting something in his food that would ease him into a twenty-hour sleep. Oliver went patrolling without telling either Diggle or Felicity, except it wasn't so much patrolling as finding every low life of the city and demanding any piece of information they might have on Laurel's whereabouts. When that didn't work out, Oliver sought out trouble. He scanned the city after it. When he couldn't find big henchmen waiting on their next big break, he tracked down and launched himself at small petty thieves.

No matter how many times Felicity told him he was a hero, he considered himself a failure as long as he couldn't find Laurel. His way of thinking made all his fights a little angrier, his fuse increasingly shorter. It escalated to the point where he nearly beat a low-grade street-rat to death, after which Diggle and Felicity gave him a hard talking to down in the Foundry.

Oliver didn't say much. Mostly he kept his eyes between whoever was talking and the floor, but when he lifted them they were dark and stormy like the evening outside.

Felicity stood in front of the computers. "… we understand that not finding Laurel makes you feel like nothing you ever do is good enough, but damn, Oliver, enough is enough. We've done what we can. You are doing what you can."

"It's not enough!"

He pushed off the table, stalking up to Felicity, two blue storms meeting. They stared each other down.

"Something the two of you need to understand is that, until we find her, nothing I do will ever be enough."

"I've got a news-flash for you, Oliver. We are doing what we can. But you don't get to nearly beat people to death just because you're frustrated. Do you think Dig and I feel any better?" She swept her hand Diggle's way. He was standing in front of the glass case with arrows, arms folded. "We feel bad, too, and we're not the only ones. You need to wake up."

"Felicity, I'm not Barry. This is not something I can just wake up from."

Felicity's eyes glistened dangerously, like the tip of a spear exposed to sunlight. They two of them kept staring at each other unrelentingly, until, finally, Felicity's lips parted.

"I need some air."

Oliver watched her go, standing very still, breathing in, breathing out. Finally he moved, violently sending a handful of arrows off the table and clanging against the floor. Diggle stood still, watching him.

"She's not wrong, you know."

Oliver stormed around facing him.

Diggle sounded calm. "And I'm not talking about the low blow you just pulled on her, either."

The two men locked eyes, but Diggle didn't challenge Oliver's. He only held the gaze steadily, remaining the voice of reason.

"Oliver, it's been eight months. Believe me—if a trip around the world meant we had a chance of finding Laurel, I'd have taken off yesterday. But part of any fight is knowing when to pull back."

Oliver wiped a gloved hand over his mouth. "I can't give up, Diggle. I won't."

"No one's asking you to give up, Oliver. But there comes a point in every man's life where he's faced with the choice to keep moving or burn out on the spot. Better make sure the one you make is the right one."

Diggle grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, leaving the Foundry after a last firm look Oliver's way. Oliver remained standing for a long time, just breathing and waiting for the world to fall back into place around him.


Diggle nearly walked straight into Felicity at the back of Verdant. She was pacing the alley, back and forth, and when Diggle opened the door right in front of her, she jumped.

"Geez," she let out.

"Didn't mean to scare you, Felicity."

"I know you didn't. It's just…" She sighed. That was the comfort of having people in your life you shared secrets with. You didn't have to explain.

Diggle pushed his hands down his pockets. "His head isn't where it should be right now."

Felicity snorted. "Was it ever?

The side of John's mouth turned up, and Felicity wondered, looking at him, how some people managed to keep their feet on steady ground throughout everything that happened to them. No matter what happened, whatever they were exposed to, they kept standing. Kept moving forward. And since when did her own outlook get so sullied?

"I know things have been hard these past couple months…" He began.

Felicity raised her eyebrows. "That's, like, the understatement of the year."

"I'm no poet, Felicity." It reminded him of something. "How is Detective Lance?"

"Alive. Which, considering the circumstances, is a pretty miraculous thing." Felicity breathed in, needing the strength, but the breath came in ragged. In the distance she heard the sound of police cars, but couldn't bring herself to consider it right now. "I brought him some food on Monday. At least his apartment doesn't reek of alcohol any longer." Lines appeared across her nose. "I only saw three bottles inside the apartment. I think. Kind of hard to see that much from the hallway."

"He's trying, Felicity. The man feels like he's lost both his daughters."

"That's pretty much what he said, too."

Felicity looked at Diggle, the image of steadiness. She walked over and grabbed both his hands. He looked down at her and nodded, their silent thank you and welcome going unspoken. Felicity didn't want to think about how she'd handle this without him. She probably wouldn't even be here.

She looked at the jacket in his hands. "You going home?"

"Yeah. Lyla's waiting on me."

"Lucky you. I got a date night with a basket full of overdue washing."

"Can't win 'em all the time," he said, pulling the jacket on. "Never know, an evening home might do you some good, Felicity. I'll see you later."

She gently smiled. "See you later, John."


Felicity Smoak had many roles to fit into, and that night she was playing the role of a homebody.

It was a part she knew well. She'd played it for years, during MIT and the years after, both before and after getting her position at QC's IT department. However, since accepting to help a certain green vigilante's mission to make Starling City a better place, the amount of evenings she spent at home became fewer and fewer.

Not that she minded. She'd made her choice some time after "I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity," but before "Does that mean you're in?" and now lived with the consequence of that choice. An evening at home was actually welcome, along the lines of what John told her before he left the Foundry earlier. He was taking Lyla to Table Salt, an amazing dinner likely followed by slow-dancing to a live piano and an evening spent together in each other's warm company.

And Felicity… she was catching up on her laundry and eating take-out. Glamorous, Smoaky.

She had just put her second batch of clothes in the washing machine when she heard noise in her living room. She froze on the spot, lips parting in an 'o' shape as she stood very still in the bathroom. A window closed out in in the living room, but no sound followed. No footsteps. Her thoughts went to her bag out in the hallway, where she kept a can of mace, one in every bag. She waited, listening after more sounds, but after everything was quiet for several long seconds she tip-toed her way out into the hallway, pulling themace from the leather bag resting on the chair next to her coats. Taking a deep breath, Felicity walked down the hallway to her kitchen.

"Whoever's there, I'd like you to know I've got a can of mace and I'm not afraid to use it."

She quickly spun around her kitchen corner, aiming the mace in front of her. She froze on the spot when she saw the figure standing there.

"Oliver?"

He didn't turn to look at her. He was standing in front of the cupboard, in his Arrow suit, hood pulled back, mask around his neck, holding a bottle of red wine that was more familiar to her than the rest.

"You kept this?" he asked her.

Felicity lowered the mace, putting the can down next to the stove. "Yeah. I thought of drinking the whole thing when you left, but didn't."

He glanced her way, the bottle of 1982 Lafite Rothschild still in hand. "Saving it for a special occasion?"

She folded her arms, taking two steps to him. "Not really. It was more… I told myself if I drank it, it would be the same as accepting you never coming back. And I couldn't do that."

Oliver nodded. "I'm glad you didn't."

He put the bottle back in the wine stand on her cupboard. He turned slowly, looking around the kitchen, noticing the small details he hadn't noticed before: the red lining the white borders of the wall, how the chrome aligning the stove was the exact same color as the fridge. On the cupboard stood a toaster the same shade as the lipstick she often wore to work.

Felicity returned the can of mace to her bag in the hallway. Behind her, she watched Oliver walk out from her kitchen into her living room. He was in his full Arrow suit, and yet, the Arrow standing in her living room didn't look… off. Maybe she was so used to seeing him in the suit that she didn't think twice about it; maybe it was something else.

She slowly made her way over to the space between her kitchen and living room, folding her arms against her chest. She leaned against the wall, standing there in her striped Calvin Klein pajama bottoms and grey MIT sweatshirt, waiting. The air smelled of laundry and china food.

Oliver's hands clasped and unclasped where he stood, in the middle of the room, next to her couch and coffee table.

"You were right," he said, in a low steady voice. "In the Foundry, earlier tonight… I'm sorry."

Felicity remained leaning against the wall. "It took you this long to realize that?"

He looked at her, jawline stern but his eyes softer. "No. Not really. I've just never been good at knowing when to give up."

"Oliver, it's…" Felicity left the wall, walking to him. "It's not about giving up. But sooner or later, if you want to keep moving forward you have to let go."

His eyes at her were wounded. It was rather something, she thought, that the city's hero was standing here, in a former IT-Expert-turned-Executive-Assistant-extraordinaire's living room, looking like he just discovered how the world lost its heart.

She found his gloved hand. "We all know you would have moved heaven and earth to have it be… not this way. But now, it is. And we've all done what we can. Some times we do lose, Oliver. Don't lose yourself in the process, too."

He looked at her like she was a lifeline. She pressed her hand against his gloved one, kept pressing until she felt him press back. Finally, she slowly pulled back, motioning to her coffee table and the food boxes resting atop.

"It's not exactly Table Salt, but if you want to share…"

A corner of Oliver's lips turned up. "Thanks, but I should be getting back out there."

He began moving for the corner window, but paused when he heard her voice.

"Oliver?"

He paused, looking at Felicity's pressed lips. "Yeah?"

"Do you really have to patrol tonight? I know you're a big guy and you can take of yourself pretty well and all…" Pressing a hand to her forehead, Felicity winced. "I so didn't mean it like that."

She'd be damned if she thought Oliver didn't smile, Arrow get-up and everything. Her arms folded against her chest without her volition.

"I just don't like the idea of you patrolling when I'm not with you," she said, feeling the slow burn of admission.

"Afraid I'm going to kill street rats?"

"No." She met his eyes dead on. "Afraid you're going to get yourself killed."

Felicity's chest heaved. She bit her lower lip, remained still, running a hundred curses through her mind. She knew he hated that word, fear, both of them did; they would rather act like it was just another fact of life. But she knew Oliver, knew he was capable of feeling fear whether or not he liked to admit it. His every act the last months came from a place of fear within him.

She felt fear, too. Every night he went out in his Arrow suit, every night Dig joined him. That was her burden, in all of this. She didn't have an island or Afghanistan, but she had all those nights being their virtual guardian angel, knowing she might always be too late, not enough. That was her fear. Not being enough.

Felicity found his unhooded eyes. "Your anger never scares me, Oliver. You not caring about your own life – that scares me."

"Felicity…" He said her word like a secret. "I'll go home."

"Really?" Felicity's eyebrows pushed together. "It's just, you never really agree when Dig and I tell you to be careful. Or take care of yourself. And I'm never sure if it's part of your whole Arrow persona, or this macho thing you got going on—"

"Felicity. I'm going home. I'll be fine."

She nodded. "Okay."

"You'll close up?"

"Usually do."

He put the mask on, but looked at her before pulling the hood up to cover his face. "Good night, Felicity."

"Night, Oliver. Stay safe."

She watched him disappear out her window, before she moved over and closed it after him. She tried seeing him through the city-lit darkness, yellow, red and white lights, but his figure had blended into the deep, dark night. She pulled her curtains before returning to her coffee table with her cold china food and luke-warm beer.

So much for glamorous.


Author's Note: Hey there. So I've barely written fanfiction since 2005, but over the last months I've enjoyed so many talented writers' Arrow fics that it inspired me to write my own. I wrote this story because, I thought, why the hell not? I'm absolutely terrified of posting any writing online, so I'm counting this as some much needed therapy experience when it comes to that.

A special thank you goes out to the Olicity-community on Tumblr. You all know who you are.

The next chapter is going to pick up a few weeks later. Oliver's running low and Felicity intervenes, and the next morning Team Arrow receives a message from the Canary-a message that's going to change everything.

Also, because the story was written before 2x12: Tremors, Roy isn't included in Team Arrow.

Please review, if you'd like. It helps me keep writing.