Disclaimer: I own nothing of Arrow.
Future AU, established olicity; for my tumblr ladies: smoakingqueenz, abeautyinyourresistance, and mcgeekle


Oliver Queen is trying and failing to pay attention to the Head of Accounting as she spouts off figures, and words like "strategic infrastructure." He's sitting at the head of an intimidatingly large table inside the main executive conference room of Queen Consolidated, surrounded by women and men who are at the top of their respective corporate games. The seat directly on his right, reserved for the Head of the Applied Sciences Division, is conspicuously empty.

While he is aware of the importance of her recent trip to Central City and Star Labs that has her missing in action for almost a week, he still would have preferred to cancel this meeting than to hold it without her. Not only because he values her input and has for many years, or how ASD was rebuilt from the ground up solely under her direction and bringing QC in to the tech game as a major player. He trusts her implicitly, always has and without her here, doubt ebbs his decision-making. He has seen the looks, those questioning glares tapping small cracks in his confidence. Over the years, he's managed to build a reputation as more than a figurehead, and win the trust of even his most stalwart naysayers. But everything he's accomplished has been as part of a team, especially in the board room where he is the decidedly less competent of their dynamic duo.

Plus, he just really misses his wife.

As if on cue, his phone lights signaling a text message from her. Discreetly, he palms the phone from the table and holds it just out of view. Looking down to his lap, he swipes a finger across the touchscreen.

The picture catches his eye first, and he can't help the slight upturn of his lips.

Even with a month left of her pregnancy, he's still awestruck by her growing bump. Of course, she remains classic Felicity and dressed to quirky perfection from her painted nails to and polka dots to her (albeit more structurally sound) heels. She's been gone for six days, with three remaining and the fingers of his right hand twitch slightly. In this moment, he wants nothing more than to have her beside him; to reach out under the table and caress her stomach, to have her fingers entwine with his and rest over her belly.

When he scrolls down to the accompanying text, he inhales sharply.

Good morning, Daddy. We love you!

Oliver Queen never allowed himself to imagine a future where he could be both a hero and a husband, let alone a father. From the moment this remarkable woman came into his life, he had dared to hope. The years wore on and their relationship grew stronger, even when he faltered. He pushed but she pulled. When his back bowed from the weight of past transgressions, hers straightened able to carry the burden. If nightmares threatened her peaceful sleep, he was there with a gentle hand and strong arms. Somewhere along the way, they had carved out this life together. Partners, in every sense. Family, by choice.

He blinked several times as he typed his reply, tears pricking the backs of his eyelids.

I love you too, my beautiful girls. How are you feeling momma?

Eh. Tired this morning. Can't sleep well without you.

He frowns a little at this, typing a reply but then quickly erasing. She has an uncanny knack for detecting his attempts at deceit even through text.

I know the feeling. I miss you.

He opts for the truth, knowing she will appreciate this more than any attempt at levity.

3 more days and we'll be home!

His smile breaks, the soft grin he's always reserved just for her and now for them.

Can't wait. XOXO

He wants to ask her to leave early. He hates the board room without her analytical squinting over the rim of her glasses, pointed questions puncturing holes in the well-rehearsed speeches of executives vying for departmental funding or increased staffing. He hates the foundry without her consistent babbling. He hates their home without her laughter. He wants to tell her that more than anything, he hates waking up alone. But, he doesn't. Supporting her dreams is just one of his roles in their partnership. After all, there's no bigger fan of Felicity Smoak-Queen than her husband.

ME TOOOOOO XOXOXOXXXXXXXXXXX - all of which I will make good on once home. Now pay attention, Mr. Queen! The company won't run itself!

He looks up then, eyes wandering around the room. A heated debate has broken out over a figures discrepancy in the Administrative Support budget, and he's thankful no one seems to be paying him any attention. If they had, the blush that crept along his collar to the tips of his ears would have given away his increasingly racy thoughts.

I expect full payment on delivery, Mrs. Smoak-Queen.

Her reply is quick, and short.

Seriously, Oliver. PAY ATTENTION.

He can see her annoyed glare clearly in his mind, her tone unmistakable even in print.

I'll call you at lunch.

Placing his phone back on the table, he turns his attention to the meeting.

Another two hours pass, with several presentations and one contentious argument, which needs only a clearing of their CEO's throat with a warning, "gentlemen" to settle. He tries to do as she says and pay attention, to follow each PowerPoint and tactful discourse. At one point, he even attempts to take a few notes.

But he can't seem to focus, instead swiping his finger over his phone every few minutes to glance down at the photo and those six words. Pulling up his email, he quickly types a note to his assistant asking to clear his schedule for the next three days and to book him an afternoon flight to Central City.

He knows she'll be annoyed, might even use her loud voice. However, he's willing to risk her temporary agitation as long as he can kiss them both goodnight.