So, fair warning, this is the product of my frustration with chapter 13th of my story From Russia With Love. If by chance you're reading it, it's coming, don't despair but I've been having trouble with parts of this chapter and its editing. Besides, my RL bullshit didn't help...And I will confess I'm a football/soccer nut, it's the World Cup, my team is winning hence the slacking off on the editing part.
Here, I've said my part, this is me writing something else to work out my frustration with FRWL. Throw me stones if you must, or enjoy this little Olicity drabble. ( Yes, I vote for the latter, in case you were wondering ;D ) Consider me all Mea Culpa'ed ;) But really, don't blame me, blame the game- it's too damn addictive.
That said, you know the drill...I own nothing but my words. Everything else belongs to its rightful owner.
I always appreciate feedback...Good, bad or in between, I want to hear what you have to say. Enjoy & Thanks for reading.
Oh and one last thing, the title of this little drabble comes from a fabulous song I'm in love with, 'Almanac' by The Acorn. Go listen to it...yes, I'm talking to you, reader ;)
- Anchored To The Tide -
Days after the unthinkable happened, Felicity was still thinking about it. He had said the three little words she longed to hear from him, in the Queen manor. At first, she was angry, furious even, that he had deviated from their script to include those words. She spent hours churning them around her head, in the privacy of her own home, unable to sleep in the night. Long past the surprise she had felt when he pronounced those words, the anger lingered.
She tried to move on, telling herself it wasn't going to become a problem between them, putting her best poker face for him as he had told her they sold it together, that they beat him together, bested the evil, doped up megalomaniac that once upon a time was his friend, and she had forced a smile on her mouth. She could not help but ponder his words, trying to discern whether she was imagining an emotion in his voice that was never there, when he confessed for Slade Wilson's prying eyes.
On her pro list, she put the unnecessary move- as they had already agreed she would offer herself up as bait for the mad man, hoping to best him at his own game and sweep the rug under his feet. And they had. He never saw her coming that night, too infused with ghosts of his past and torturing his trapped target, to even consider that the danger would come from a well placed needle jab, right under his nose. Not once had he thought his demise would come from the nerdy blonde he had mistakenly assumed would be the damsel in distress in their story. Ah, as if she would ever fall for that, she could handle herself and she proved it, rewarding Oliver's confidence in his partner's ability to support him- both in an out of the field- by sticking one Aussie villain with a needle full of the Mirakuru cure as soon as Oliver had flicked his eyes to the side, green lighting her move.
Why then was she stuck in limbo, thinking about that night over and over, every single time she had a minute? It was bordering on obsession, but she couldn't help it. It was a curious little music in the background of her life lately, something she tried to store in a box, deep inside the recess of her mind. Only to open it later in the day, often when she was alone in her home, most often than not mere minutes after getting on her bed, tossing and turning, shrugging the covers off, hoping to clear her mind and get some sleep. She was starting to become a pro at sleeping in shifts, one hour here and there, napping in the day when her computers were running searches in their new foundry or discreetly nodding off at work, nestling her neck against her head rest from time to time.
To the untrained eye, there was nothing new in their dynamics, except their circumstances. For starters, Oliver had lost almost everything when he signed his company away to Isabel Rochev, including the perks of a crusade funded by the profits his shares of the company generated. He lost his sister to another mad man, just not the one he was expecting to lose her to, contrary to her mother who had succumbed to Slade's wrath of her own albeit coerced free will, choosing to give her life for her children without hesitating a minute.
Once his adrenaline came crashing down, her favorite vigilante withdrew from their team. The change might have seemed almost intangible, but it was there. Diggle had seen it just as well and they could often be found whispering about their favorite billionaire, trying to provide him with what he needed from them to get through that horrible ordeal. He was cutting himself off from feelings, denying the reality and she was afraid of the darkness that threatened to overtake him. His actions had always weighed on him, even back when the vigilante was killing people, the toll it took on his soul never diminished but it seemed heightened these days, as if he was slowly sinking into a pit of despair.
He had tried to tell Detective Lance that it was a hefty price to pay on that night, but the man was too far gone, too worried for Laurel to understand what Oliver was telling him. Of course, she could understand Lance, it was his daughter's life at stakes and he wanted everything he had hated about the vigilante geared towards saving her. Still, she found it incredibly unfair and unbelievably cruel to expect one man to do the unthinkable. That Detective Lance asked was only the ironic cherry on top of the metaphorical cake. Perhaps was it the Universe's way of telling them that things were out of their control? That no matter what actions they decided upon, they would always fail because the dice had already been rolled? She couldn't accept that, wouldn't allow it.
Felicity was determined to pull them back together, no matter what it took. Even if they had to relieve that moment, no matter how raw their wound still was; Oliver had deviated from their script for a reason, and her crazy heart wanted to believe it was because he meant it. Her head would then fight for a more reasonable explanation, he had done what he needed to do in the spur of the moment to make Slade believe with no room for doubt. Their plan needed to work, it was crucial, not only for them to win over Wilson or to save Laurel, but for thousands of people in the street of Starling City, suffering at the hands of pumped up brutes trained to spread chaos. And if they didn't succeed? Amanda Waller was ready to level down the city with a flick of her thumb, so yes, it was crucial that their plan worked. And herein lied the reason why Oliver had lied to her, something he could never do, for the greater good.
On a bad day she fantasized about having that discussion with him, trying to understand his point of view and pointing his inconsistencies back to him as he tried to deny his feelings and slammed the door on their connection, never mind what he knew. Of course he did, how could he not? He had to have seen the lingering glances, the red tint her cheeks took when she watched him climb up and down on their salmon ladder, her reaction to Isabel. Besides, he knew the signs, he ought to by now, if his womanizing self held any truth to it.
As she got up to get a glass of water, Felicity didn't see the man in question take a peak in her window to follow her movement with his eyes. She could not have, he had timed his move perfectly and was placed ideally on her balcony to avoid any detection of his peeping tom routine by his perceptive partner. She could not know that he came to her every night, she would have too many questions he did not have an answer for. She deserved better, he knew it like he knew his arrows, she was too good for him and he would only taint her if he were to ever act upon his feelings.
So he watched her, he came every night to her balcony to check on her, make sure she wasn't in any danger while he was patrolling the city or pursuing the villain of the week. He had done the unthinkable once, he had put the woman he loved in the clutch of his worst enemy because it was the best fucking strategy. Against his better judgment, but damned if he was going to let her be in that position ever again. Not on his fucking watch, not anymore, just no...not an option, neither for Oliver Queen nor his hooded persona, Felicity Smoak was far too important to his crusade to be lost in battle.
Truth be told, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to cope if she were to become one of the ghosts haunting his days and nights. So he watched over her, hoping to ward off the evil and keep her fears at bay in the darkest of the night. Still, days after he had done the unthinkable, he couldn't delude himself into thinking he was doing it for her own benefit anymore. He knew better, deep down inside of him. He was frightened to lose her, period.