A/N: So this came about because I started what-iffing. We know Oliver was, at some point, heavily involved in the Bratva. What if he hadn't left that life behind when he decided to return from Lian Yu? What would his life look like in Starling if he chose a path that led him toward organized crime rather than toward being the man under the hood? Then I got to thinking about the mystery surrounding Felicity's father. What if he died rather than leaving his family? How would that change Felicity's upbringing and inform the person she is today?

Ultimately, this is a romance between Oliver and Felicity, but it won't be all sweetness and light. Periodically, chapters will contain graphic content including unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex, and violence. If that's not your cup of tea, this one may not be for you. However, this story will not be porn-without-plot.

As ever, I don't own Arrow, its characters, etc.

Prologue: "The Sixth Confession"

Four years ago

There's never a best time for a disaster, right? It wasn't as though someone could schedule earthquakes or medical emergencies or losing someone close. But if there were such a thing as the worst time for a disaster, out of all the dates in Felicity Smoak's life, Tuesday at 4:00 p.m. was about the worst time disaster could strike as far as she was concerned.

She was sitting in the waiting area of Queen Consolidated—the one place where she had been dying to get an interview since finishing college.

Apart from her, thirteen other graduates were waiting for their big chance, all dressed in immaculate, tailored business suits—the kind she couldn't afford. She merely wore a crisp, pink button up and a gray pencil skirt. The money she had squirreled away to buy an interviewing suit had gone to pay her mother's overdue mortgage instead. But what she couldn't offer in expensive clothes, she knew she could make up in hard work and dedication. She just needed someone to give her a chance.

"Felicity Smoak?"

The voice sounded disinterested, but Felicity straightened up in her seat and smiled as one of the personal assistants called her name.

"Yes. Here I am." She stood and took a deep breath, waiting for further instructions.

"Please take the elevator up to the thirty-fourth floor. Someone will be expecting you."

The thirty-fourth floor. This was it. Her chance.

Don't blow it.

Don't blow it.

Her interview would be with a panel that consisted of an HR representative, the director of Applied Sciences, and the CFO himself, Walter Steele, all of whom would essentially grade her responses using a matrix.

Nothing like a little pressure. But who was she kidding? She'd been under pressure all her life, but opportunities like this didn't come along every day. According to the research she'd done, Starling City wasn't just home to some of the greatest tech companies in the United States; it was also the best place to get started and to experience an environment of "what if," not just "if only." Unfortunately, that desirability meant that for every open position, hundreds of people applied. Those applications would be whittled down to a select few who would be interviewed.

When Felicity applied for a position in the newly minted Queen Consolidated Applied Sciences division, she had never even considered the possibility that someone might like her (sparse) résumé enough to want to meet her personally, but perhaps graduating at age twenty from MIT with a Master's Degree opened some doors that might otherwise be closed to her.

It was happening.

Her dream was coming true.

She brushed her hands over her gray skirt nervously and with measured steps made her way to the elevator area, ignoring the people ambling up and down the corridor in their immaculate expensive clothes, seemingly oblivious to the outside world. They were probably used to their simple yet sophisticated surroundings, with marble floors and beautiful peonies, and calla lilies arranged in crystal centerpieces. The walls were adorned with polished frames displaying awards and the company's most successful projects showcased like little trophies, alongside a tribute to Robert Queen, the former CEO who had been lost at sea two and a half years prior.

She stopped in front of the elevators and sighed happily. This wasn't just any workplace— it was heaven. And she wanted to be a part of it. Whatever it took. Away from the dust of the desert. Away from the shadows of her past that still haunted her.

A bell chimed, and one of the three elevator doors opened, giving her a view of a small but tastefully decorated space. Soft music was playing in the background at a pleasant volume. As she stepped into the elevator, a man also hurriedly entered the metal box, bumping into her slightly.

It happened so quickly: the folder she carried slipped out of her hands and dropped to the floor, papers scattering.

"Sorry about that," he said kneeling to gather the papers. She squatted alongside him to reach for the folder when their hands brushed.

A bit of static electricity discharge jumped between them, shocking them both. "Oh." A nervous laugh escaped her. "I wasn't expecting that."

The man avoided meeting her eyes and said nothing else as he passed the folder and papers he had gathered to her. Odd. It was almost as though he didn't want her to get a good look at him, in which case he probably should have dressed less conspicuously. In a sea of expensive suits, his (well-fitting) cargo pants, Henley shirt, zip-up hoodie, and the black baseball cap he wore over longish light brown hair stood out.

Oh Google. What was she doing? She wasn't here to check out a scruffy man on the elevator, even if said scruffy man was built and had a perfectly chiseled profile. Seriously. He looked like a statue from one of her art appreciation classes.

The bell chimed again. Felicity rose to her feet quickly and pressed the backlit button embossed with the number thirty-four. Her companion of sorts had already pressed thirty-six.

While the elevator began its ascent, she rearranged the papers in her folder and mentally went through the questions she expected to be asked in the interview and her prepared responses.

The interview.

This was it… her big chance. All her life she had worked hard for this exact day. Just a few more seconds. And then she would give it all her best because she just had to have this job. There was no possibility, no other option, and no what-ifs. It was about more than wanting; it was a matter of necessity. If she wanted to make it in the business world and get out of her outstanding debt, she had to go the extra mile, and she was prepared to wow them.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Her hands turned clammy from her increasing nervousness, and her mouth went a little dry. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that it didn't register that the elevator had stopped moving until a little shake indicated something was up. She looked up at the digital indicator above the door, only to see they had stopped at the thirty-first floor, and the doors had remained closed.

Seriously?

She raised her eyebrows when the guy impatiently began to press the buttons on the control panel. The music faded into a weird distortion, until they were plunged into an eerie silence.

Frowning, Felicity turned to face her companion, wondering what the heck was going on, but all she caught were piercing blue eyes just before the bulbs started to flicker. The lights flashed once more, then switched off, bathing them in complete darkness.

"What the fuck," he cursed, his voice filled with annoyance.

For a moment, Felicity held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the lights to switch on again. A few seconds passed, which turned into minutes. And still there was no light, no movement—nothing to indicate they even were in an elevator. They may as well have been in a void.

She blinked in quick succession, blind in the pitch-black. As her brain tried to make sense of the situation, countless thoughts began to race through her mind. How long would it take until people noticed there was a technical glitch and sent repairmen? How long were the interviews scheduled to take, and if she appeared late, would she get a second chance? And finally, how long would the oxygen last in such a confined space?

Just theoretically asking.

Not that they were going to be stuck for much longer. Or suffocate anytime soon because that would be a worst-case scenario. But it would only be natural to know… just in case.

She wasn't claustrophobic—actually, far from it. But dark, enclosed spaces weren't exactly her favorite places to be.

And particularly not those with no clear exit sign.

Why had she decided to leave her cell phone in the car for the interview?

Time crept by until she was sure they had been in there for at least fifteen minutes. Or maybe it just felt that way. She sighed impatiently.

"There must be an assistance button," she said as she let her fingers brush over the cold steel wall. "Are you sure you pressed that one?" Her hand touched his, accidentally finding him in the dark. She quickly pulled back nervously.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"No problem." In the silence around them, she could hear his finger pressing buttons every other second, as if that would make someone hurry faster.

At last, the stranger let out a frustrated sigh. Something rustled, followed by shuffling. Felicity narrowed her gaze to focus in the pitch darkness, but her vision didn't sharpen to allow her to see contours. Nothing stood out. She groaned and braced herself against the feeling of helplessness growing inside. Not seeing anything while knowing there was no window or door she could open was already scary. Combine that with the fact that she had no idea if help was on its way, and the entire situation was turning into a nightmare scenario.

The guy was probably just as frustrated as she was, because she heard him shifting.

"What are you doing?" Felicity asked as more rustling sounds carried over from the floor.

"Trying to find my cell." His voice came from beneath her, which made her realize at some point he must have knelt down—or assumed a sitting position.

Felicity wet her lips nervously. A stranger was doing God only knew what at her feet. Great. Now that made it hard to ignore him, and then the word "cell" registered in her mind.

He exhaled another frustrated sigh. "Damn it, Maseo," he muttered under his breath. "Do you have yours?"

"Not on me."

"Okay." His tone was surprisingly calm as he drew out the word. "Let's see if the emergency phone's working."

She jumped back as his hand reached over her chest, almost touching the thin fabric of her top.

"Hello?" he asked.

Silence fell.

Holding her breath, she strained to listen. The line remained dead. No voice, no white noise, nothing to indicate anyone had been alerted to their situation. Her heart began to thump hard against her ribcage, and a thin rivulet of sweat rolled down her back as realization kicked in that it might take a while before someone was alerted.

"Can you try again?" Her voice came so thin and raspy, she knew she was close to having a panic attack.

"No point. Phone's not working. Reception's gone. We're stuck," the guy said, almost bored. No panic. No whining. Just cool composure with a hint of an annoyance, as if the entire situation was a mere inconvenience he experienced on a regular basis. "Let's hope they won't close off the elevator area for the rest of the day," he said to himself with… humor?

Felicity swallowed hard. If that was true, and they ended up stuck in there all day, they'd never last. They'd run out of oxygen and—come to think of it, hadn't she read somewhere that people could die within two hours when stuck in a confined space? And hadn't they already been stuck for some time? A sense of foreboding settled in the pit of her stomach.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

She could feel it in the oppressive silence and the fact that the stranger had stopped pressing buttons and rummaging through his pockets. The air was getting increasingly hot, making it hard to breathe. The rivulet turned into a layer of sweat covering her entire
back as she tried to force oxygen into her lungs. In that moment, a loud thud reverberated from the walls, followed by a short, faint shrill.

An alarm? Oh, my god. This wasn't some technical glitch. It was a real-life emergency. Something had happened. Something really bad.

Faintly, she could hear hurried steps, some of them pounding, but none of them seemed to stop near the elevators. Everyone would forget about the two people stuck in the elevator, because they had more pressing issues to attend to—like saving themselves. The alarm continued to blare in the distance.

To her utter shock, a whimper escaped her throat as fear closed in on her, just like the darkness. "Oh, God." Her voice came high-pitched, reflecting the dark thought that kept circling in my mind. I'm going to die. The thought hit her so hard a wave of dizziness rushed over her. But, at twenty, she was too young for her demise, particularly because she hadn't even started to live her life yet.

She had struggled through college while amassing a vast student loan debt that had kept her strapped for cash for years. How ironic would it be if the one job she had thought would be the answer to all her problems might just kill her?

The thought of being stuck in a confined space, missing the most important interview of her life while dying from oxygen depletion, was too much. Suddenly, her breathing quickened, and her pulse began to race hard and fast.

She realized the whizzing sound echoing in her ears wasn't a result of her frayed nerves but a noise coming out of her mouth.

"I think I'm having a panic attack," she whispered.

"We'll be all right," the guy said, and this time Felicity noticed how smooth his voice was. Sexy, with the slightest hint of a rumble to it.

Maybe her other senses were sharpened in the darkness, or they were indeed running out of oxygen and her brain was slowly starting to play tricks on her, but in the confined space she could smell him clearly. Not just the clean scent of his soap, but him—the man who couldn't see her.

"I'm not sure," Felicity choked on her voice. "What if no one comes?"

"What's your name?" Sexy Voice said.

"Felicity," she managed.

Something warm brushed her shoulder, instantly raising goose bumps across her arm, and trailed down her arm until it touched her hand. Strong fingers clasped around her hand and squeezed, not hard enough to hurt, but the motion helped her regain some composure, reminding her that she wasn't alone. "Okay, Felicity. This is likely just a temporary glitch. You need to calm down."

I am calm, aren't I? She'd opened my mouth to tell him that when the air whizzed out of her lungs in a hot swoosh. It sounded like someone was whistling, and not in a cheerful Andy Griffith Show way. She had thought it was the sound of the elevator, when it had been her all along. "I can't," Felicity whispered. "I can't breathe. I feel like I'm choking."

To her dismay, she started shaking and her breathing came faster.

"You're hyperventilating," Sexy Voice said, increasing the pressure of his grip. "I need you to breathe with me. Okay, Felicity?" He inhaled and exhaled deeply, his hot breath caressing her skin, and she realized just how close he was standing. Under normal circumstances, it would have been too close for comfort. Only, these weren't normal circumstances.

Staring blindly ahead, she followed his instructions, inhaling with him, holding her breath, and then exhaling again.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

Felicity shook her head, even though he couldn't see her, as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "We can't even call for help. If we're stuck in here for a whole day, we'll die," she whispered.

"No." His tone was sharp. Defiant. "People know we're in here. Security is calling for help this instant."

"You don't know that," she muttered.

"Trust me. I do."

She wanted to believe him so badly her whole body hurt from the effort. But, for some reason, his words rang empty and senseless.

"People can die in elevators. I read about it last week."

"Not us. Not today." His hands began to rub up and down Felicity's arms, as though to soothe her, but the motion only managed to send a layer of ice down her spine, an odd contrast to the heat she felt in the darkness.

"It's so hot," she whispered. "I really can't breathe."

"You can do it, Felicity. Focus on my voice. Focus on taking slow, deep breaths through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. That's all that matters now. Nothing else."

She forced more air into her lungs, but even though oxygen reached her brain, somehow it didn't have the desired calming effect. "The funny thing is, I'm not ready to die," she said weakly, squeezing his hands for support.

"You won't." His determined tone left no room for discussion. "Tell me something about yourself." He was obviously trying to divert attention from the situation at hand, only it didn't work. "Where do you live? What do you like doing in your free time?"

School. Work. Study. Rinse and repeat. "There's nothing to tell. I'm boring."

A sexy little laugh, then, "I highly doubt that, Felicity. You sound like an interesting person."

In spite of herself, Felicity smiled. He had no idea how wrong he was. "No, really. I'm a bore."

"Well, try me. I'm in no hurry."

Neither was she. They'd probably been stuck for more going on an hour, and she needed a distraction, anything to not feel the cloak of darkness that surrounded her. "Felicity," he prompted, hesitating. Or maybe he was having trouble breathing as well.

And then they noticed it: a slight shaking and vibrating of the walls. It stopped almost as quickly as it had started. His hands let go of her. Clothes rustled, and something dropped to the floor with a muffled thud. Then his hands were back on Felicity, his bare skin brushing hers in the process, his fingers tangling with hers. She realized he must have taken off his hoodie and rolled up his sleeves.

The air was getting hot. It wasn't just a figment of her imagination.

Suddenly, she had a vision of dying without clearing her conscience. If she couldn't do all the things she had envisioned she'd be doing with her life, if she died, then she needed to at least relieve her conscience.

Confess. Acknowledge her mistakes to find absolution.

Catholics were really onto something there.

"You think I'm interesting?" she asked, not waiting for his answer. "Okay, I'll tell you something about me. I have five secrets. Five secrets I don't want to carry with me to the grave. Probably the only five things that don't render me a complete bore."

"You're being melodramatic. It's just a technical glitch. People are—"

"Coming to rescue us. Yeah, got it." She rolled her eyes because she didn't believe a word he said. "Except that it sure felt like an earthquake, and everyone's probably gone."

"Earthquakes happen all the time. And people return for those left behind. So, what are your secrets?"

The air was getting all hot and stuffy because the air conditioning was no longer working. Already her lungs were burning, and her head was dizzy. It was only a matter of time until they ran out of oxygen, and he knew it.

"Confession #1, I'm scared of dark places. Any dark place," she admitted. "Always have been, and this is right up there with my worst nightmare."

"You don't need to be scared. I'm here. Being stuck in an elevator is not a big deal. And a lot of people are scared of the dark, but once you know it's just in your mind, your imagination, your fear talking, you'll get over it."

Felicity smiled bitterly. "You're great at this. Really, you are. And if I had to go through this all over again and I could choose one person to be stuck in an elevator with, it'd probably be you. But that doesn't change anything. I'm still scared out of my mind. It's—"

"Nyctophobia."

"Yeah, that," she replied, impressed he knew the technical term for fear of the dark.

In the darkness, she could feel the smile on his lips, and for a moment she tried to imagine him, but all that came out was a fuzzy picture of blue eyes and a soft, sexy smile. Maybe lopsided. Or dimples, because she was a sucker for those.

"What's number two?" His voice was hoarse now. Definitely trouble breathing.

"I'm buried in student and credit card loans. It's so bad, it's unreal. Last week I said to my best friend Sadie that if I didn't get this interview, I'd fake my résumé just to get a job. Any job. She laughed about it, but I meant it. I'm really that desperate."

"The depravity of it," Sexy Voice said.

Was he mocking her? She had just opened her mouth to retort with a comeback burning on the tip of her tongue when he cut her off. "I think, given the circumstances, it's understandable. Sometimes it's easier to be someone else, someone other than yourself. It doesn't make you a bad person…"

"Unless I was to pretend to be a dentist."

"In which case you'd be evil incarnate," he replied. "My point is there's far worse out there. I've seen it."

She sucked in a deep breath and regretted it instantly. Her head felt so dizzy, she feared she might just pass out. At the rate they were losing air, her confessions would be left untold if she didn't speed things along.

"I guess we all revert to lying and cheating if we want to achieve something, because sometimes there's no other way to get there. What about the next one?" Sexy Voice said, as though reading her mind.

"You're not bored yet?"

"Not yet. It's definitely getting interesting." His fingers brushed her wrist, and in spite of the macabre of the situation, she found herself relishing his touch, maybe enjoying it a bit more than was proper.

The next point on her little list was a little tricky.

"I absolutely suck at relationships."

"All relationships?" he asked.

"Not all. I mean, I've had a very successful relationship with my fern."

"How do you define a successful relationship with a fern?"

"I've kept it alive. With people? That's a different story."

"Your family?" he asked.

"We lost my dad when I was ten. My mom…well, she's my mom." The disdain in her tone left little doubt as to the sourness of that connection. "And with men, I just run scared, I guess. I can't even relax enough to…you know."

"Have sex?"

"No, I've had sex," she corrected him before she could stop herself. "I should just shut up now. I don't know why I'm talking about this." Her face felt so hot, but this time, she was certain it was from embarrassment.

"They say confession is good for the soul."

"But not the ego so much."

"So you can't relax enough to…share a bathroom sink…let him see the inside of your lingerie drawer…"

"Orgasm."

He exhaled. "That was going to be my next guess."

"Right," she half laughed, half huffed, all at once thankful for the darkness so she didn't have to look him in the eye.

"Maybe you never found the right person or the right situation," he whispered after a slight pause, all teasing gone from his tone.

"You have an excuse for everything, don't you?" she marveled.

"I'm just a realist."

"Or an optimist."

"I don't think I've ever been called that," he replied softly, and for a moment, it sounded like it was his own confession.

She smiled despite herself. With his sexy voice, a sexy body, and a face she couldn't conjure in her mind having seen it all too briefly, she couldn't help but be drawn to the stranger. Too bad they were about to suffocate.

"So what's four?" he asked.

"Four is a good one. I'm a bit of a card shark."

"You look so innocent."

"The best ones do. I once won eight thousand in Blackjack at the Sands in Vegas until they figured out I was counting cards. Ratios of high to low, it just seemed natural. And then there's poker. That's a little more challenging because it's not just about ratios but about observing human nature."

The darkness before her eyes began to spin. If it weren't for the man's strong arms around her, Felicity would have dropped to the floor, too weak to sit up straight.

"Hold on to me," he whispered.

She was. More than he'd ever know.

"I might need to cut to my last confession now," she said. "And it's a big one. I have carried it most of my life. Someone died because of me." Her voice came so low and faint, she wasn't sure he could hear her. "I'll never be able to live with myself."

Silence.

For a second, she wondered if he had even heard. "I'm sure it wasn't like that. It was an accident," he said at last. No hesitation. No blame.

No mistrust.

Either he was someone who believed in the goodness of people, or he was trying to keep the conversation light because of their situation, and then sprint for the nearest exit—if they ever made it out alive.

Felicity shook her head. "You don't know me. You know nothing about me."

Another pause. "Nobody really ever knows anyone else."

A few seconds passed, during which she could hear his breathing, slow and steady, but slightly labored.

"Lay down," he whispered. "The air's cooler on the floor."

Didn't he hear what she'd just told him? she wondered incredulously. But when he tugged at her hand, she did as instructed. His arms wrapped around her and he drew her to his chest, nestling her in his arms as they lay on the floor. The minutes passed, and the alarm continued to blare. With every second, breathing became harder.

"No one's coming for us, are they?" she whispered nearly inaudibly, her face buried against his strong chest. He smelled
so good it was impossible to resist his scent.

"We should do something to take our mind off it," he replied. His voice had become quiet, shaky, heavy, and—was that fear?

The man took a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Lightly, his fingertips slid across her neck, his thumb caressing the jugular vein jumping in her neck.

"What do you suggest?"

"I could kiss you," he whispered. In the pitch black, she could feel his hands cup her face.

She looked up, her gaze searching for him in the darkness, when she realized that this might just be their last moment. She might die with a stranger.

"Felicity?" he asked, his voice drawing her back to him.

"I don't even know your name," she managed.

He chuckled. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

No, not really. "I want to kiss you, too."

In a moment of boldness, she raised her mouth to meet his. He ran a thumb across her lips before their mouths connected, warm and tender. For a second, Felicity could sense his hesitation, and then his lips opened to claim her mouth with a hunger that took her breath away.

The sound of an alarm continued to carry over, but she couldn't make herself care anymore. All she wanted were this stranger's lips crushing into hers and the hot waves of want he sent through her, erasing the worry, helping her to forget, keeping her alive— on the brink of sanity—with nothing but a kiss.

She had never felt this way before. She had never been in such a state of fear and gratitude that she wasn't alone. Then again, she had never been so close to dying.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, their mouths meeting once more, when something hard crashed against the walls, resulting in a loud thud.

Felicity turned her head toward the door. A shrill noise, like metal scratching against metal, echoed, followed by the sound of a different alarm, the noise increasing in volume. She pressed her palms against her ears, and saw a sliver of light as something pried the door open.

"They're here for us," she said, relief streaming through her.

He didn't say anything.

"Did you hear what I just said?" she asked again, touching him. "You were right. They came back for us."

Suddenly, a bright light blinded her. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness, marveling at the irony of having become accustomed to the darkness, her old nemesis.

Arms wrapped around her and pulled her to her feet, and something cold was pressed against her face. Felicity inhaled automatically, then with more fervor as she realized someone was holding an oxygen mask against her mouth and nose.

"I've got her," a male voice yelled in her ear, the sound almost as loud as the blaring in the background. "We're coming out now."

Felicity's head snapped back toward the elevator, in the stranger's direction, and she opened her mouth to speak. To her dismay, she realized he wasn't behind her, or maybe she couldn't see him through the thick curtain of charcoal smoke that had filled the hall.

"No. Please help him," she croaked, planting her feet firmly on the ground, but the arms around her were stronger. Her voice could barely reach her own ears, let alone penetrate the shrill sound of the alarm. Struggling against the iron grip, she was carried away before she could turn to get a glimpse of the stranger in the elevator. "No," she pleaded. "Please! You've got to help him. Please."

But her voice was too weak to get anyone's attention. As she was carried down flights and flights of stairs, she glimpsed more people being helped out—their faces reflecting their shock and disbelief. Figuring someone might need it more than she did, she tried to remove the oxygen mask, but her rescuer pressed it against her mouth, his gesture urging her forcefully to keep it on.

Eventually they burst through the reception area and onto the street outside, where hundreds of evacuated office workers and onlookers had gathered, some filming the event on their cell phones, others commenting loudly.

"I'm fine," Felicity said to a concerned woman and scanned the faces around her, even though she knew better than to expect a miracle. Her heart slammed so hard against her chest, she was sure it would break.

There was too much chaos; if the stranger had been rescued, he couldn't possibly find her in the crowd. She didn't even really know what he looked like.

As she was guided to the waiting medical assistance, a crashing sound rang behind her so loud that the rumble rocked her body and the ground beneath her feet vibrated. A cloud of dust billowed into the sky. Her heart stopped.

"People are still trapped inside," a fireman shouted into what looked like a radio, and began to gesticulate. "Send another unit. I repeat, send another unit. We need as many people as possible."

No. No, no, no. She stared at the building, her fingers clasped over her mouth in shock as the disaster unfolded. She didn't know if he had survived, but she hoped he was safe, that he had made it out in time.

Chances were slim.

And all the while came the sinking realization that if he didn't survive, he'd become her sixth confession—the man with the sexy voice whose name she didn't know.