A/N: I thought about adding this to my current story "What Happened on the Inside..." but I try to write those after each weekly episode and since it's not Wednesday yet and I have no clue how this moment between Oliver and Felicity will actually shake out, I'm going to leave this as a one-shot and write something different to add to "What Happened..." between Wednesday and the next episode, which, as I understand it, could be a few weeks out. Boo.

Thanks for reading. Reviews are always welcome.


Felicity felt like she was losing her mind. She hadn' t realized it was happening until just now, but she had actually been gradually falling back under Oliver's spell. She was like a moth to a flame with that idiot and now she had gotten burned...AGAIN.

This was like his return from the dead all over again, only so much worse. It was a sucker punch to the gut and then a slap across the face, with a dagger in the heart for good measure. Just when she thought things couldn't get worse. Just when she thought she could mend from the pain caused by his choices. Just when she thought she could allow herself to care again and not feel like a fool because of it. Every cliche she had ever heard regarding love and fools and falling were running on a loop in her mind. She needed a drink or a bullet to the brain, but she wasn't the suicidal type, so she'd settle for a mind-numbing beverage.

She practically sprinted up the stairs and out of the lair, into the sweat dampened air of Verdant. The music pounded out an incoherent rhythm, while the lights created disorienting, undulating waves around her. She made her way to the bar and asked for a double rum and coke. "Actually," she spoke loudly to the bartender's back, "make it a triple!" The bartender half turned to cock an eyebrow at her, but nodded in acknoweldgement.

Three triples later, Felicity's head was an inch above the bar and barely bobbing along to the beat. She crooked her finger at the bartender again, but he didn't even give her the courtesy of a cocked eyebrow this time. His look was one of mixed pitty and disdain. Who knew 12 shots would make her this loopy?

"Felicity?"

Her back straightened as best as she could manage under the weight of her rum induced stupor, regretting not choosing a bar where she wasn't going to be recognized. "Thea?" Felicity slurred, turning her head in the direction of Thea's voice. "Zat you?"

Thea easily assumed the stool next to Felicity and leaned down to look into her face. "I think you've had enough tonight, hon," she said kindly.

"There'ssss not een-hiccup!-nough alcohol in the world to cure this ill." Felicity gave up staying upright and resignedly put her head on the cool top of the bar. She squeezed one hand under her cheek, like a pillow, and let the other fall limply into her lap. A single tear pooled at the corner of her eye and rolled down her nose. Thea had the good grace to pretend not to notice.

"I'm pretty confident I know what this is about," Thea began.

Felicity closed her eyes and groaned. She had gotten drunk to forget. If Thea was going to make her think more about Oliver, she was going to need to find another source of booze, and fast. "Please," she whispered back, "Please. Just don't. I can't go there now."

Thea rubbed a soothing circle on her back with the palm of her hand, "Okay. You got it. I'm just gonna call you a cab."

Felicity grumbled a slurred agreement and buried her face in her arm. She wasn't anesthetized nearly enough. Not by a long shot.

When the cab arrived, Thea helped her into it and paid the cabbie. "Try to get some sleep, Felicity. It'll get better. All of it. I promise. I'm living proof of it, sweetie."

Felicity locked eyes with Thea, allowing her to see all the pain and hurt she had been trying to wash away, "Dear God, I hope you're right."

She had held onto her stomach the entire way back to the apartment, desperately trying not to toss her cookies in the cab. It felt like a roller coaster ride, rather than a short drive down a few straight streets.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she staggered from the cab onto the sidewalk, just barely getting her legs underneath her in time. She yelped when a hand reached out to grab her arm and steady her.

She whipped her head around as quickly as her drunkenness would allow and met Oliver's eyes.

"Shit, shit, shit, shitty, SHIT!" She stamped her foot and yanked her arm out of his grasp, nearly losing her balance again, but too furious to care.

"YOU. HAVE. SOME. NERVE!" Felicity screeched at him. She was coming completely unhinged, but she was too far gone to care. "WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" She was roaring now and Oliver, to his credit, looked a bit fearful. He hunched his shoulders as though to fend of her attack.

She advanced on him, eyes blazing, nostrils sucking in vast breaths of cool night air. He backed up a step and put his palms out, a placating gesture if ever there was one.

"Felic-"

"NO!" Felicity cut him off, stabbing an index finger at his chest. "Absolutely not! I'm DONE. DONE! Do you hear me?! I'm not wasting one more minute, one more SECOND, listening to you!" Her voice was reaching octaves previously unknown to her vocal register, but she didn't care.

"I'm done with YOU, actually! Today marks the beginning of Felicity Smoak WITHOUT Oliver Queen! I will help the team. I will sit in that chair and work with THEM. For THEM! But YOU! Ohhhhhhh, I am beyond done with you." As that last statement seethed across her teeth, she realized she was out of air. She sucked in another breath and as she let it out, all her energy went with it. She crumpled slowly to the pavement and put up a halting hand as he took an instinctual step forward to help her.

"No." This time it was said with less force, but the essence was intact and it was a brutally hard one to face. He was unwelcome. Indefinitely.

She picked herself up with the deliberation of a person coming down from a hefty buzz. She brushed her coat off, smoothed her skirt and raised her eyes to his, both wary and exhausted from the turn the night had taken. His face was just like that night in the alley, a pitifull mixture of pain, combed through with love and unfulfilled want. There might have been a smidge of resignation this time, though. Maybe he did know when he was beaten after all.