A/N: This fic is divided into four vignettes - one set during 3x17, one during 1x17 (of The Flash), one during 3x20 and one during their road trip after 3x23.
I should warn you that in the last section of this fic, there is discussion of past self-harm, so if that's something that triggers you, by all means press the back button. I promise I won't be offended. :)
John and Lyla's Wedding, Starling City
"You look really pretty."
Even before she turns around, Felicity can't help but smile in relief at the sound of Laurel's voice.
"Funny, since I'm supposed to be the one to call you pretty-bird," Felicity replies cheerfully, giving her a hug, and Felicity can feel the soft hum of Laurel's laughter in her shoulder. "Thanks. Though I have to say, it's probably just the dress."
"It's totally not. Although," Laurel admits, "that's not to say the dress isn't gorgeous too. Because it is."
"And expensive," Felicity says with a smile. "I'm just renting it for the day, though. I haven't quite gotten to the tax bracket when I can casually buy couture."
"Yet."
Felicity laughs, before looking Laurel up and down. "Wow, check you out," she says. "Must be nice to get dressed up in a way that doesn't involve black leather. Not that you don't look totally hot in black leather, because you do." Laurel just smiles, though, and Felicity hurriedly adds, "I mean, not hot, hot, like in a creepy way – I just meant – how's your hand?" she asks instead.
Still, it looks like Laurel is holding back a laugh as she holds up her hand, managing to wiggle her fingers in her cast. "It's fine. Hurts if I wave, but otherwise… I've had worse."
"One of these days, you vigilantes are going to have to realise that saying that does nothing to make me feel better," Felicity mutters, more to herself than Laurel. Laurel just smiles ruefully, though, in understanding.
"Right. Sorry."
Felicity glances over at Ray, who's talking with John, presumably about wedding formalities. Oliver is standing at John's side, his back perhaps a little too straight and, barely noticeably, he's rubbing his forefinger and thumb together in the way he always does when he was nervous.
"You all right?" Laurel asks. "You look a little worried."
"Yeah," Felicity says. "My boyfriend's just about to officiate my best friend's wedding. No big deal."
Laurel raises her eyebrows. "Ray's a minister?"
"He said it was a long story. But yeah. The officiant was meant to be a friend of Lyla's, but he, er, couldn't make it. So Ray offered to step in."
"So why do you look so anxious?" At first, Felicity doesn't say anything, but it must be obvious from the look on her face because a second later Laurel nods in understanding. "Ah. Oliver."
"I just feel bad for some reason, bringing Ray as my date when Oliver's here. Even though I have no reason to be."
"You definitely don't," Laurel agrees firmly. "But I do get why you would."
"It's just... things are good with Ray. Really good. And honestly, it's the first time in a really long time that I've been with someone so..." Felicity trails off, not quite sure what she wanted to say. Part of her wants to say "normal", but is Ray really a normal person? He has a mission to save the city, after all – same as Oliver.
"...tall?" Laurel suggests instead, and Felicity chuckles.
"I don't know," Felicity says, still with a smile, "Oliver's pretty tall. So is Barry. Although I haven't technically been with either of them properly, so they probably don't count."
"Sounds like you have a type," Laurel says teasingly.
Felicity shakes her head, still amused but also grateful for Laurel lightening her mood.
"Yeah, I guess I have a thing for people who wear masks. Bonus points if they can do the salmon ladder."
At Laurel's raised eyebrows, Felicity wonders if maybe she's said too much, but then their conversation is cut short by the music starting up, signalling for everyone to take their seats. Still, even as the guests jostle towards the seating area and John stands at the front with Oliver at his side, watching his soon-to-be wife raptly as she makes her way towards him, Felicity manages to catch Laurel's eye across from Thea and Roy.
As she did so, Laurel gestures meaningfully in Oliver's direction and then back at Felicity. Felicity looked up, and the reverent expression on Oliver's face as he gazes right at Felicity surprises her so much that she immediately looks away and back to Laurel. Laurel smiles, though, winking at Felicity before her attention is diverted by Lyla walking down the aisle, clad in a beautiful white dress and carrying a bouquet of flowers – the one Felicity finds herself catching, almost by accident.
"Nice bouquet," Laurel says to Felicity later, just as Felicity joins her and Oliver.
"Ah, yes," Felicity says, holding it up. "I kind of... caught it?"
Laurel looks impressed, and when Felicity glances briefly at Oliver, his expression isn't hard to read. "Well done."
"Thank you," Felicity says cheerfully, bestowing one final smile on Laurel before she moves away. As she looks up at Oliver, though, she can't help wondering if she imagined that wistful look on his face as he watched John and Lyla having their first dance as husband and wife before Felicity joined him.
Jitters, Central City
"By the way," Barry says, leaning forward in his seat a little and fixing her with a warm look, "you look really nice."
Felicity smiles back. Jitters is quieter at night; she prefers it that way, because it feels cosier, too. She likes cosy. Especially tonight, when she has decided enough is enough and that she will get through to Barry if it's the last thing she does – because seeing him like this, particularly after that disastrous dinner, is breaking her heart.
"Thanks," she says, still with the smile on her lips, "but don't change the subject."
"Felicity –"
"Barry, I get it," Felicity says, cutting across him. "I know what you're going to say. That you don't know if you can trust them. But I think you know, deep down, that this isn't because you think they're in flagrante with Harrison Wells."
Barry frowns. "What do you mean?"
"You know as well as I do that Cisco and Caitlin are good people. This is about something else." Barry sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. "You think that by keeping them out, by not telling them about Wells, you're keeping them safe."
His mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to find the words, but it's only after a few moments that he finally manages to speak. "How – how did you know?"
"Wow, I really do have a type," Felicity says under a breath. Fleetingly, Barry's lips twitch into something approaching a smile. "It's… kind of an occupational hazard when it comes to people who wear masks. People like you. Heroes. This – need to protect people even when it is so obvious how much it destroys you to keep everyone you love at arm's length."
"You sure we're still talking about me here?" Barry asks. When he meets her eyes, though, his tone is lightly teasing, and she breathes a sigh of relief at the smile that graces his lips this time.
"Well, don't get me wrong, Oliver could do with a kick in the ass too, but he seems convinced he's a lost cause, and I don't know what I can do to make him think otherwise, to be honest." The words kind of tumble out of her mouth before she realises what she's saying, and if it were anyone else, she would have regretted saying anything. But it's not anyone else. It's Barry.
"I'm sorry things didn't work out with you two," he says softly. "Especially when…" He trails off, though, not quite completing his sentence.
"Especially when what?" Felicity asks, regarding him questioningly. He looks away, examining his shoes. "Barry?"
Looking up, Barry shifts nervously as he meets her eyes once more. "I – it's none of my business."
Then it clicks. "You think I still have feelings for him."
"Like I said," Barry says, "none of my business." But Felicity looks at him expectantly, wanting a proper answer. "I just – when you mentioned him, just now, when you talked about what made you trust Oliver, that it was because you knew he was a good person – there was just something about the way you smiled." He smiles too, properly, sincerely, for the first time since she arrived in Central City. "And remember what you said to me once? It's the little things."
And despite herself, Felicity can't help but smile back, not just at his words but at the memory they elicit. She reaches forward, covering Barry's hand where it's resting on the table with her own.
"Yeah, I remember. I also remember," Felicity adds meaningfully, "how much happier you were when I was leaving Central City that time. Because when I came to visit you all those months ago, Barry, you listened to me when I told you to trust your partners and they had your back."
"Now look who's changing the subject," Barry teases. Felicity tries to laugh but doesn't quite manage it – she can't, not while knowing in the back of her mind that maybe Barry has a point. She stands up, then, not meeting his eyes, and thankfully, he doesn't push it, instead saying more seriously as he gets to his feet too, "No, I know what you mean. And you're right."
"Most of the time I am," she says, brightening a little. "Just… be honest with them. You'll be so much better off not having to fight this on your own. Trust me."
"I do," he says softly. "Trust you, that is."
"Good to know," says Felicity, and on an impulse, she tiptoes to kiss his cheek. When she pulls away, Barry raises his eyebrows questioningly. Felicity doesn't know what to do except smile (truth be told, she isn't quite sure why she did it either). "You going back to Star Labs?" she asked instead.
For a second, Barry still seems a bit dazed, but then he seems to return to earth. "Oh. I, er, want to stop by home first. Check on Iris."
He gestures for her to lead the way out. "Right." Picking up her purse, Felicity does just that, making her way towards the door. "I'll be at Star Labs, then. See what Ray's up to."
She feels an inexplicable hollowness in her throat at his murmured assent, though, and she tries to push it aside as she watches him speed off once they're outside Jitters.
The Heir's Quarters, Nanda Parbat
Oliver doesn't have to tell Felicity she's beautiful.
Nothing else matters now Felicity is with him in his room, the one with the large bed and scarlet hangings and several dozen lit candles surrounding them. But she knows he doesn't have to say it. Not with words, anyway.
He says it with his fingers as they tighten around her wrist when she tells him how he's opened up her heart in a way she didn't even know was possible – that, yes, she loves him.
He says it with his eyes as he gazes rapturously up at her, not breaking eye contact for a second, even as he pulls his shirt over his head and gets to his feet in front of her so he can tug off her clothing and kiss her until she's breathless.
He says with his hands, with his lips, with his tongue, as she cries out his name and arches into his mouth.
And even as, afterwards, she stretches her arm around his waist, burying her face into his bare chest, part of her can't believe what's just happened. It's strange – she feels almost ethereal, like she's watching what's happening between them from afar. Even as she confesses to him when she fell in love with him, Felicity feels close to lightheaded, both from the pleasurable sensations that still linger in her groin and the apprehension that is starting to set in.
Closing her eyes, she tries to concentrate on what Oliver is saying.
"The last thing I remember before Ra's kicked me down that mountaintop was… us. It was just after Lyla had Sara, and we had gone to see them in the hospital."
His words soothe her, slow her racing mind, enough for something to click into place in her head. "You mean the first time you kissed me." Oliver nods. "Was that really your last thought before you didn't die?"
Again, Oliver nods. "Mm hmm. When I came to, I was in a cabin wrapped in bandages, but right before that, I can remember dreaming of being in the foundry. You were telling me I had to kill Ra's, and how you were afraid he was going to use your humanity against me."
The very memory he speaks of is sharp, painfully so, in her mind's eye. "I remember that conversation. I was right."
"In the dream, when you said that, I… I said I would stay. That I was sure of one thing – that I loved you, and that nothing else mattered."
Felicity feels the lump form in her throat, and she tries her best to swallow it, but to her frustration, the tears appear in her eyes anyway. "Is that still true?"
He answers her with a kiss. "I love you, and for right now, nothing else matters."
For the life of her, she can't bring herself to say anything in reply. Instead, she lifts a finger to Oliver's chest, tracing each point of the Bratva star on his chest. Then she moves onto his scars, thumb brushing lightly against his nipple, fingertips grazing the harsh criss-crossed angry pink lines that cover his abdomen in an irregular pattern. Some scars are more faded than others, and Felicity tries to caress every single one that is in reach.
It's not that she thinks her touch will heal him. Far from it. But when she presses her fingers against his fractured skin, when she feels his muscles contract as her hands inch up his chest, she's committing his body to memory. The array of scars and tattoos that decorate his skin are – for all her staring – near impossible for her to decipher now, and she wonders if she ever will be able to, if she's supposed to leave him in Nanda Parbat.
It's with those thoughts whirling around in her mind that she rests her head on Oliver's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Her limbs ache, the inside of her thigh still tingling from where his stubble grazed her skin, and her lips feel swollen after their last long, lingering kiss. And yet, in spite of that, when Felicity looks back at that night weeks later in Starling – even as she cries herself to sleep because Oliver (her Oliver) is as good as dead now Ra's has brainwashed him - it's impossible for her to think of those hours with him as anything except the best night of her life.
The Red Inn (Somewhere in California)
"You want to know something weird?" Felicity says as Oliver drops a kiss on her thigh. He looks up, meets her eyes over her stomach. They've spent most of the last week in this hotel, and it's nothing special (the bed's a bit creaky, and the hot water's shorted out on them more than a couple of times – not to mention the maid has almost walked in on them twice already because the "do not disturb" sign keeps falling off the door handle) but neither of them care. Not when they have each other.
"What?" he asks after a moment. Oliver is lying on his front, settled in his favourite position between her thighs, her legs kept apart by his broad shoulders. His hand inches up her stomach, skirting across her ribs until it reaches her breast. With his other hand, he continues what he was doing with his mouth, tracing the scars that cover the skin of her inner thigh.
"I – used to fantasise about this," she admits. He laughs.
"You're not the only one," he says, before sighing contentedly. "I have to say, it's nice that I get to admit that to you without worrying that you'll think any less of me."
Felicity smiles back. "I would never... but that's not what I meant."
At first, Oliver doesn't say anything - he shuffles up a bit so his face is pressed against her abdomen, and when he does speak, his voice is muffled a little. "What did you mean?"
It's easier for Felicity to speak when she doesn't have to see his expression or meet his eyes. "When I – you know... hurt myself, the way I did, it wasn't just so I could feel the pain. I mean – mostly that was why, so I could, I don't know, put my pain in a box, I guess. I could contain it, stem the flow, or I could... cut deeper."
She feels his mouth move gently against her skin when he speaks. "You were in control," Oliver says.
"Yeah," she says faintly. "At least, that was what I thought. But it was also – some small, stupid, naive part of me wanted someone to just... kiss me better. Make me feel less… worthless."
Her words hang in the air for what feels like forever, so much so that Felicity finds herself holding her breath on anticipation of what he's going to say in reply.
He doesn't, though – the only sign that he's even taken in what she's just said is by the way he shifts a little in his position. Felicity feels the stubble on his chin scratch against her skin as he does so.
"Thankfully," she says, when his silence is no longer bearable, "I never really found the right person. To, you know, do the kissing part. I never felt close enough to anyone to work up the guts to tell them. Until you."
"Well," Oliver says finally, "I'm glad you didn't."
She smiles, runs her hand down the edge of his jaw and then over his hair.
"I didn't need it, did I?"
Oliver doesn't have to answer.