AN: this is an Olicity Fic Big Bang submission. Thank you so, SO MUCH to so-caffeinated who was my cheerleader through this, and whose encouraging comments never failed to remind me why I started writing this, even when i thought i was *so* done and the next word felt like pulling teeth. And Thank you to my beta, Claire - andcreation - who had a lot of work, cause I write without much regard for actual rules of grammar and punctuation.

If you swing around to my AO3 account ( I'm YellowFlicker there too) you can also see the gorgeous banner that fallingmelet made for this story.

Enoy!

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0. Prologue

"reasons to not to kiss him:

1. you weren't raised to love tender.
2. when he's around all you do is tremble. when he's around you want to get on your knees. look how much power he has over you. it's dangerous.
3. he's too good at forgiving and you're too good at violence.
4. you know what they say about monsters. you know what happens to the boys who love them. are you going to do that to him?
5. your hands don't know how to be gentle. think about the last beautiful thing that shattered in your palms. the fresh rosebuds crumbling between your fingers like a bruise. you wolf-boy, you war machine. you wouldn't know how to hold something magic and not destroy it.
6. if you hurt him it might kill you
7. if you hurt him you might kill yourself.
8. you are very bad at rehabilitation. this is one addiction you'd fail to give up. he's going to ruin you for all other kisses and all other boys and you'll spend the rest of your life trying to forget his name.

"reasons to kiss him:

1. because he's beautiful.
2. because he asked.
3. because he preceded please with, I'm not afraid of you."

— yes & no / natalie wee

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She's watching him. He can feel it. The awareness her eyes on him sparks off is almost physical. It feels more like a touch than a look and that… that is making things difficult for him at the moment.

He's up on the salmon ladder, on the highest bar doing chin-ups, concentrating on his breathing, his form, the burn of his muscles. And knowing that she's alternating between staring at his back and his ass makes Oliver's diaphragm feel like jelly, heart bouncing between his throat and his stomach. Which makes chin-ups that much more a challenge, after the first 100.

Felicity has never kept her appreciation for him all hot and sweaty a secret. She's made a hobby of it actually; a kind of recreational distraction. Like watching TV ('-but better'. She'd say something like that, and depending on how intentional the slip was, she'd either give him an unflinching smile, or follow with babble that would probably just make it worse and make him smile). It used to be one of those unspoken, harmless truths between them that were cute (because she was) and never acknowledged out loud.

Another silent truth is that Oliver has never merely 'tolerated' it. 'Toleration' implies passivity. Whatever the nature of their relationship, whatever shift had come with time, the one thing that has always been true is that there has never been anything passive about Oliver's feelings for Felicity.

Even so far as the very beginning, when Felicity was all low, curly ponytails and her compromising little slips were still surprising, Oliver had liked her eyes on him. Liked it because everything she did was so earnest and it tickled at him in a way Oliver had honestly thought he'd lost forever. Because her appreciation of his body had little to do with him anyway: it was about the fact that she knew Oliver was aware how attractive he was, and she was utterly unabashed about staring for that very reason. It used to be like this unacknowledged joke between just the two of them. Something harmless… that was not quite as harmless as Oliver had liked to think it was.

That particular truth had slapped Oliver in the face sometime last year. That a smarmy-asshole part of him (that would never be completely scorched out, apparently) had always liked knowing that Felicity had a crush on him. He'd indulged in it, like picking at a scabbed wound, by giving her something to stare at, enjoying her open appreciation. His harmless little ego boost. And he did it despite the fact that Oliver very deliberately (and resolutely) had planted her in the 'people you will never touch, ever' compartment of his brain. There had been something vaguely reassuring about it; about knowing that she wanted him. A vague sort of warmth that Oliver had refused to examine too closely… and that had made something gross and vicious inside him snarl when her attention threatened to shift to someone else.

He's been afraid of depending on people for the longest time, but all the same, Felicity and Digg have become lifelines. And Oliver doesn't take well to the idea of losing either of them.

He's never liked sharing, has he?

Oliver huffs as he pulls his chin over the metal bar. He is ridiculous, and this time he knows it. Like a kid with a toy, right? Doesn't really want to hold on to it, but doesn't want anyone to have it either.

The surge of resentment tears at the inside of his ribs, trapped and directionless anger that makes him grit his teeth and push himself harder than before with a grunt.

The muscles in his arms are screaming. Oliver likes them that way.

Maybe he'll just slip and fall. (He knows he won't)

Back when he had no fucking clue what was going on, Oliver had done a pretty good impression of a five year old with a tantrum. But it wasn't like that anymore.

Hadn't been for a long time.

He remembers her smile at the shores of Lian Yu, the way she'd so obviously been feeling him out.

That had changed things.

Ok, that's not the whole truth. Things had been changing for a while and Oliver knows that. He'd been painfully aware of those changes and frantically trying to hold them back at the same time. That wasn't really an option after Slade. Surprisingly enough, after so much running from himself (only to come back at the same starting point) Oliver hadn't wanted to. When Felicity had given him the chance, he'd stayed silent; hadn't taken back anything.

Yes, things have changed. But at the same time they really haven't. This thing between them… it hadn't always been this kind of something; but at the same time, there has never been nothing there either. They have always had a connection, something almost tangible, but not quite. An undercurrent that just kept pushing them closer together. Colleagues, friends, partners. Something else. Its gravitational force perceptible now, because it makes the space between them feel hot, turning Oliver into a creature so self-aware around her that even the dust molecules in the air grate against his skin. Giving in to it, even just thinking about it makes Oliver's stomach drop, as if he's standing at the edge of some great height, one foot already out, about to take that leap.

Oliver lets go of the bar and falls on his feet with a dull thump, bending his knees to absorb the impact. He takes deep controlled breaths to normalize his heartbeat. Knows that if he'd turned around at the right time, he would have seen the swish of her long ponytail over her shoulder for how fast she turned her head.

Felicity doesn't get caught staring anymore, for some reason. (he knows the reason. There's nothing harmless about it now. …They're standing too close to each other for anything to be harmless now.)

Oliver walks around to her workstation, plants himself on her side, asks her about the case details. Felicity answers without a pause in her typing. At some point she does look up and when she meets his eyes full on, her speech slows just a little bit. Her eyes smile.

She teases him. He teases back, without looking away. Oliver doesn't think of himself as a particularly funny guy anymore (was he ever?), but he can make Felicity laugh every once in awhile.

She looks at him with bright smiley eyes, even her nose smiles at him, with that adorable little crinkle… And there it is: Vertigo[3].

Heart-swooping dizziness.

He's such a liar, really. There's no teetering at the edge going on here: he's already falling, eyes wide open.

He's been falling with every small touch, fingers brushing when she hands him the coms or a bottle of water. With every look that lingers a little too long to be easily blinked away. Every night that they stay behind in the lair, just being around each other without even talking, Oliver has been getting a little bit closer to the reality of this thing between them that is so huge he can see hardly anything past it. And so frail, it's like holding a tiny newborn bird in his hands and feeling the softness of its fluttering wings against his rough palms.

It's overwhelming.

It's fucking terrifying.

Because he is already in so deep, has been for so long, that feeling like this – allowing himself to - is like waking up. Because there are secrets he hides between his ribs, but they are making space for new ones now. Little truths that don't hurt the way he's used to and that flutter to life every time Felicity is close, every time she speaks to him on the coms when it's quiet, just to say 'Hey' and hear him say it back. Every time she tells him to come home. And how in the privacy of his head it's starting to sound more and more like 'come home to her' than anything else. There was so much there, layers and layers of complexities, of intimacy and closeness of working for so long with someone that he had immediately liked, as a person, ever since the first time they met. It's the genuine affection Oliver had surprised himself into feeling, tender as a bruise, and that had only grown, slipping through the cracks if his defenses silently without him ever even noticing. A feeling so intricate that when the words had escaped his mouth that night at the mansion, for a panicked moment he'd thought 'oh god what have I said' …and then he'd known it was the truth[4].

It had stopped his heart really, knowing that, right then.

It still does every once in awhile, if he thinks about it too long.

And it all makes Oliver wonder what goes on inside Felicity's head too. He looks at her profile when she's busy coding – when he knows she's so into what she's doing that she won't notice him staring. (no such luck with the others though)

He knows that he's not alone in this. That she feels it too, even if a little bit. Felicity probably is not so far gone as he is; that it's not as serious for her as it most definitely feels like for him. He doesn't think that's possible or even realistic and there is a big part of him that hopes she's not. (the other part of him is vicious in hoping she is right there on even ground with him, because no, he's not above being selfish)

He could just let it happen.

He could let himself go and just breathe; be around her and it would happen.

Oliver knows it.

On those moments, when he lets himself think about it, Oliver imagines her hands wrapped around his beating heart and the shiver that crawls up his spine and counts his every vertebrae. He knows himself well enough to face that truth openly. Felicity would never mean to hurt, but he'd still feel her every twitch like an exposed nerve, wouldn't he?

It's a scary thought really, more so than any naked blade he's ever faced.

He already imposes enough on her as it is, anyway. She's been the Hood's IT girl, been accessory to murder and all kinds of violence. Jumped out of a plane for him, practically given up her career for his mission by playing at being Oliver-fucking-Queen's assistant and it's too much. Even Felicity has limits. And she deserves so much better really, than someone who is so in pieces that he doesn't even know if he can be whole enough to love her like she deserves to be loved.

Felicity deserves someone like Barry Allen, Oliver thinks with a wince, as he steps in the shower. He keeps the water scorching hot, just because.

She deserves someone whole and open and uncomplicated. Someone smart the way she is and who doesn't carry around more baggage than an international airport.

Someone who wouldn't put her under the scrutiny of half the world if they were dating, because being Oliver Queen's pretty blonde assistant is one thing, but it's still worlds away from actually dating that man. Awareness of that difference, of the kind of world he grew up in and how merciless it can be, is like a thorn between his shoulder-blades. Especially because he also knows that his existence is built like a house of cards and for all his efforts Oliver has no illusions – it will crash down one day. His multiple hollow lives: Oliver Queen, The Arrow, The Bratva captain, Waller's once leashed-dog that she kept trying to snatch back - they are slowly but surely on the way to collision and he doesn't want Felicity smacked in the middle of that when it happens. How will he ever be able to keep her safe then?

The problem is that most of the time, all Oliver can see, ten miles down the road, is every single negative thing and he can't find even a single reason why it would be worth it for her. It's that if he but lets himself slip down that slope, there will be no coming back from it and Oliver doesn't trust himself enough to remember to let her go, when it gets to be too much.

Would he be able to?

His fingers curl into tight fists against the warming tile of the shower and Oliver hangs his head, the pressure of the hot water slapping the back of his neck, trying to loosen the tension there. He expels a long shaky breath as the water rolls off him in rivulets.

It scares him that he doesn't know.

He doesn't, and it's another problem, because he's earned himself enemies like Slade Wilson and Amanda Waller, and others he would continue to make, who give no quarter and have no limit. It's the fact that he has never once been able to touch someone and not hurt them in some way. Never. Every single person he's ever loved has slipped between his bloody fingers and he still has nightmares that wake him drenched in cold sweat, his heart drumming like it's about to crack his breastbone. About his mother's sightless eyes, Thea's screams and Tommy's listless face. About Shado in the woods, Sara swallowed by the ocean, Felicity unmoving on the concrete floor, her face pale and cold, her blood violent red, wet against his skin.

A shiver rattles his spine and it's only then that Oliver realizes that the water has gone cold. He honestly has no idea how long he stood under the spray and for a moment all the can do is blink against the white tiles of the wall and try to grasp at the straws of his thoughts.

The first thing he hears once he gets into the main area is Felicity's laugh. It's low, she's chuckling, sitting close to Roy on one of the wider chairs, her tablet between them.

"What's going on?" Oliver asks Digg, carefully keeping his voice low. Some survival tactics do lend themselves to the most unexpected scenarios. Digg just shrugs and keeps cleaning the insides of his disassembled gun, the smaller pieces arranged in a precise order around the table. Oliver turns his attention back to the duo as he does the cuffs of his button up.

"No, no the other one! The other one!" Felicity says, almost jumping up and down on her seat. Roy's fingers move even faster on the screen. Felicity squeals a moment later, and offers her hand for a high-five.

It's an easy familiarity that she and Roy have grown into. Easy affection. They have their jokes Oliver doesn't get and sit together sometimes and talk in low voices about things Oliver doesn't know.

But then again everyone seems to slide into place easily around Felicity Smoak. He's never had an easy time like that around her, not really. It's different between them. Not difficult, exactly. Oliver looks at the picture she and Roy make sitting there playing what is probably some game, and tries to find a word for it that will fit.

Felicity looks up in the moment and blinks twice at finding him leaning against the weapon rack and just staring. Neither looks away for long moments and in those moments awareness of anything but her and that contemplative look on her face strips away in layers. Her eyebrows twitch in a small momentary frown. 'Something wrong?' Oliver feels one side of his mouth curve upwards into half a smile as he shrugs and shakes his head minutely. She pleads the case of her curiosity with a small tilt of her head, but smiles back nonetheless. The urge to look down to his feet gets stronger with every lick of heat at the back of his neck.

A sad-trombone ringtone and Roy's groan breaks the moment. Felicity snaps her eyes on the tablet.

"No! Where did your brain go, Scarecrow?" she laments as she smacks Roy's chest.

"Hey! That's offensive, Barbie." Roy protests, stuck between latter and disbelief. Felicity rolls her eyes.

"Don't worry Roy, I think you've probably met your Wizard of Oz by now." She explains as if it's obvious. Roy's answers with thicker confusion. He looks from Felicity to Oliver, whose smile widens. Digg snickers from his seat, without ever looking up.

"Oh come one, from the movie. Wizard of Oz, Roy!" Felicity says then, impatient. It's quickly followed by a huff as she gets up and snatches back her tablet. "Of course you haven't seen it. No appreciation for the classics. Kids these days."

Roy raises one eloquent eyebrow at her.

"And you're what? Three seconds older than I am?"

Felicity turns quickly. "I resent that. And you need some movie education, STAT." her eyes widen and she bites her lip, a look in her eyes that she gets when she has an unexpected idea. It's a look that instinctively makes Oliver tense and Digg look up; a testimony to the lives they lead, since usually - not always, but usually - Felicity's unexpected ideas involve blowing something up.

"We could make a night of it." She adds quickly, looking at them one by one. "My place. Oliver can bring the wine. Digg, you're in charge of the food, cause we all know how that would end if I do it. Tell Lyla too, obviously. Ok? Great!" She turns directly to Oliver then. "We have to go. Walter's waiting for us."

Oliver gives her a nod as he straightens. He could have laughed at how quickly that turned from contemplation to possibility, to an action plan, in the space of a sentence and a half. He could have, if it wasn't how they operated every night out there. Maybe that was why nobody thought of objecting.

She grabs her purse and a couple of files, raising her eyebrows at him. Oliver is right by her side in three strides. From this close he can tell she's wearing the fruity perfume today. Which makes sense - her nails are painted soft pink.

She's already talking a mile a minute as they go up the stairs and Oliver is only half listening. He should pay more attention, he really should. The triangle cutout high on her shoulder blades has never been more distracting though.

…No word to describe this has come to mind yet. Oliver hadn't really thought he'd find one anyway.

Felicity turns to him quite suddenly and he's not even registered her ponytail swishing around her head when he feels her hand on the crook of his elbow, through the layers of his light jacket and shirt.

"You don't mind, do you? I mean, I thought it would be nice. We don't really see each other that much out of the lair and you're starting to spend way too much time in there for it to be healthy."

For a fluttering moment he can't answer because the only 'we' his brain seems to be able to supply is about her and him. It takes Oliver a couple of breaths to catch up with the last few moments

"We're not calling it that." he enunciates slowly. He's just buying time, really. "And no, I don't mind. You're right, it would be nice. And we haven't seen Lyla in a while."

The smile she gives him is radiant.

"Great!"

It makes him want to reach over and touch her face.

Oliver curls his fingers in a fist, nails biting at his palm. Looking away doesn't really make a difference. He knows her face by heart. The little dip at the base of her throat the line that leads up to her chin, the bow of her lips… The company car is bigger than her tiny Mini, but Oliver can still catch a whiff of her perfume even from across the seat.

He takes a breath and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat.

Oliver knows himself enough to be able to face that he isn't the best of men. He is a selfish man, trying to be a good man. And of all the risks dancing around them like shadows, the most dangerous one seems to be his own self. Because he might just want Felicity more than she might need him to. Because he is learning to want… to hope, and it is like coming alive again. Like that gasping deep breath after a too long dive: one long lungful of air that stops the burn in your chest and teaches you that even air has a taste - you just never noticed before. It hurts a little, this feeling. The same way shedding callouses does.

It's because of this feeling that he's been detouring his usual morning jog so that he bypasses that small coffee-shop that Felicity likes so much. She usually reads, either a book or from her tablet, sitting in the corner, back to the wall and the exits and windows within her line of sight, just like he and Digg taught her.

He lingers, every now and then. In moments like that, when all that is standing between possibility and reality is just a threshold, Oliver's world usually narrows down to the fast-beating heart in his chest and anxiety snapping at his heels. He wants to walk in there and join her. Wants to see the surprised smile she'll give him. Wants to ask her what she's reading.

He does.

Two weeks after they have their first movie night and he makes her laugh to breathlessness when he tells her about the first time he tried to zipline through a window and smacked against the glass instead. He sees her in that small coffee shop on a day no different than the ones before, and just walks in. It feels like an impulsive decision. The more honest truth is that it has been coming for almost a year.

He walks to her table and says 'Hey' softly, trying not to startle her. He fails. The smiles that comes after, bright and alive, the surprised (delighted) way she says his name, shocks happiness into him, like a jolt of adrenaline.

It makes his hands shake. He smiles back anyway.