A/N: A brief explanation:

Physics is a collection of one-shots, begun in Season 4 when (much to my frustration) Oliver lied to Felicity about the existence of his son, William. They are single chapter stories focused on Oliver and Felicity's separation as result of that lie, and later, on their relationship in general.

More than any of my other Arrow stories, these were written in real-time as reactions to specific episodes in S4, S5, S6, and now, with Chapter 12, S7. If I didn't think an episode made sense or if I was ticked off with something a character did - it shows up in the story. As time passes and new episodes unfold, some of the chapters may feel dated. I've left them up in spite of that because people still seem to be reading them.

I confess to sometimes getting annoyed with Arrow, probably unfairly. I found S1 and S2 to be brilliant and I compare all other seasons to those first two. I appreciate that the creators want to explore new ground and not just repeat, but I feel their choices have not always made sense. Mostly I get annoyed when Oliver doesn't learn from past mistakes, which happens fairly regularly.

Anyway...some of these are angsty and some are more humorous. Usually when I go back and read my stuff months later I just see the faults. However, if you were to ask me my favorites, they are Chapter 1 (Space), Chapter 4, (Entropy), and Chapter 12 (Dark Matter). I don't think I would change much in those chapters.

Space

(Written in S4 immediately following Oliver's lie)

You'd think that after spending more than half his life in the public eye he wouldn't have butterflies when holding a press conference. Over the years he'd been in the Star City news for his antics (as a juvenile), his courtroom appearances (on behalf of both himself and family members), and as CEO of a Fortune 500 company (now gone). He couldn't even begin to guess the number of times he'd been half-blinded by camera flashes or heard a reporter call out "Mr. Queen" in an effort to get his attention. His finances, social life and academic experience (or lack of it) had all been exposed and analyzed by both tabloids and more serious new sources. Nothing was off limits. He didn't like it, but he should be accustomed to it.

He wasn't. Every time he got in front of the reporters it was the same story; he felt queasy, afraid of mishandling a subject and saying something stupid or just plain wrong. Journalists had a way of firing questions that was not all that different from the way he fired arrows - they came quickly, painfully, and often with deadly accuracy. And running for mayor? Well, that just made the questions harder. They all expected him to have short, simple answers to long, complex problems. He told Alex, his campaign manager, that he doubted there was much value in holding press conferences when he was running unopposed. To Oliver, it felt like creating unnecessary opportunities to screw up. Alex insisted, however, that he show the citizens of Star City who he was and how much he cared. Even if they weren't facing a choice, he said, the voters wanted to believe they had the right person in office. And so Oliver sucked it up at least once a month and met the press.

Felicity and Speedy helped. The night before the conference they would open a bottle of wine in the loft and drill him with questions. Felicity, in particular, could emulate the reporters frighteningly well. She would ask about the economy, the Glades, his fitness to lead and his plan for jobs, all the while throwing facts and figures at him. The questions started out serious, but inevitably the three of them would lapse into silliness. "So, Mr. Queen," Felicity would say, "the most recent polls show that 72 percent of the female voters think that you have a good ass. What is your plan to win over the remaining 28 percent? And as mayor, do you plan to make that ass available to your constituents?" At this point, Thea would usually excuse herself and Felicity would grab his hand and lead him to bed, showing him how much she liked his ass and giving him a much pleasanter way to spend the remainder of the evening. They would wind up breathless and sated, and he fell in love with her a little more each time.

He let himself recall the previous night now as he stood on the podium looking out at the sea of cameras. This conference was almost over - the questions had been the usual and he'd survived them well enough. He was looking forward to getting back to the loft and having a quiet dinner with Felicity, followed by a repeat of the last evening's activities. He could see her standing in the back of the room, looking confident and reassuring. For whatever reason, the reporters had not made her a target for their scrutiny during his campaign – or at least not yet. Thea's theory was that they were intimidated by her reputation for intelligence. Alex thought the press didn't want to look like bullies for ganging up on a young, pretty woman who had so recently recovered from a near-fatal shooting. Oliver wasn't sure that either of them was right, but he was grateful that Felicity had so far escaped that gauntlet.

He returned his attention to the press conference. It was time to wrap the damn thing up.

"Thank you for coming," he said to the reporters, "I'll take one last question…"

A woman reporter he hadn't recalled seeing before stepped closer to the podium and called out, "Mr. Queen – can you tell us who you go to see on your trips to Central City? Who are the woman and the boy?" She held out a notebook-paper-sized photo, clearly showing him with William and Samantha. The three of them were standing by her car, his hand resting lightly on William's shoulder. They were smiling, and they looked very much like a family.

Oliver froze.

His first thought was that he had been so careful. He and William had stayed away from local parks, trips to the movies or any public place where he might be recognized. They had mostly remained in William's room, reading books and talking about school or his son's favorite superheroes. William had seemed fine with that. He was a quiet kid with tremendous ability to focus for his age; Oliver had been the opposite - boisterous, always bouncing from one thing to another.

For the life of him, he couldn't figure out how such a photo could have been taken. He opened his mouth to explain it away, but nothing came to mind.

And then the barrage of questions came.

"What are their names, Mr. Queen?"

"How often do you go to see them in Central city?"

"What is your relationship to them? Are they your family?"

"They boy looks a little like you. Are you related? Is he your son?"

"You and Ms. Smoak became engaged a couple of months ago. What is her relationship to the woman and the boy? Are you two still planning to get married?"

With that question, the reporters immediately turned to look for Felicity in the crowded expanse of the room. Already knowing where she was and with the height advantage of the podium, Oliver quickly located her face. He wasn't sure what to expect – confusion, shock, anger? It was an incredibly unfair situation. Of all the ways to learn about her fiancé's visits to his heretofore unknown son, this had to be the worst. There were at least thirty pairs of eyes on her, none of them friendly, all waiting to capture her reaction.

She didn't give it to them. Oliver was well aware of Felicity's ability to keep secrets, but he didn't realize until this moment that she could also be a very good actress. Whether it was years of covering for Team Arrow or just plain old bloody-mindedness not to give the press a story, her face was thoughtful and calm, if slightly flushed. She stared over the heads of the reporters up at him, and he saw nothing but support in her expression. She appeared so poised and steady that he wondered if she had somehow discovered William on her own and had been waiting for him to tell her. It was certainly not beyond her capabilities. At any rate, he felt incredibly proud of her for not turning an already bad circumstance into a complete debacle. The reporters, on the other hand, looked disappointed. They had been hoping for a show.

Oliver felt the knot in his stomach loosen a little. Felicity appeared to be handling the news more sanguinely than he'd anticipated. If they could just get home and talk, they should be all right - they'd been through much worse. Of course, there was still a good chance she was going to chew him out in her loud voice, but the important thing right now was to get away from this horrible conference and be together.

Alex came to the rescue. While the reporters had been staring at Felicity, he had worked his way to the front of the room and stepped up next to Oliver on the podium. He promptly nudged Oliver away from the microphone, cleared his throat loudly and said, "Excuse me." The journalists' heads snapped away from Felicity, back in Oliver's direction. "Mr. Queen is not prepared to discuss the woman and her child at this time, and asks that you respect their privacy," Alex said with authority. "We'll issue a statement shortly. Thank you very much for coming." And with that, he elbowed Oliver off the podium and muttered under his breath, "You better have a damned good explanation."

Oliver chose to ignore him. Despite Felicity's composed reaction, he couldn't help feeling that time was of the essence – that he had to get to her before her agile imagination turned this into something more than it was, like an affair or a second family. He had hated lying to her – hated it – but as time had passed, the enormity of the lie and the repercussions of owning up to it had grown to a point where it was harder and harder to come up with an acceptable explanation. He'd had plenty of opportunities to tell her, but none of them had felt right. Now his hand had been forced.

He tried to move quickly in her direction, but the reporters were crowding around him, blocking his path and making it difficult to walk. He lost sight of her bright blonde head. Feeling a mild sense of panic, he fought the urge to punch out the two guys in front of him waving pocket-sized recorders. As it was, he let his elbows swing out and he saw one reporter grimace and double over. Suddenly Thea was at his side, holding his arm, forcing him to look at her.

"Ollie?" Her face showed the confusion that he had expected to see on Felicity's.

"Thea…not now. I need to talk to Felicity."

She didn't let go of his arm. With the certainty of one who had spent twenty years growing up with him, she said abruptly, "She didn't know, did she?"

He shook his head minutely, not wanted to have this conversation in front of the reporters. "Thea, I will call you later. It's…complicated. For now, we both should get out of here."

She looked like she had a lot of things she wanted to say, but at the last minute just nodded. After giving him one more puzzled glance she moved off into the crowd, no doubt looking for Alex. Oliver returned to searching for Felicity.

She was gone.

His insides clenched. Maybe she wasn't taking this as calmly as he'd thought - it wasn't like her to leave without him, especially not when she knew Darhk's Ghosts were still out there. Pushing past the reporters, he charged out of the doors and onto the street. Their limo was waiting in its usual spot, the members of the security detail assembled by Digg standing on the sidewalk looking slightly bored. There was no sign of Felicity in the car. Oliver kicked himself for not asking John to cover the conference personally. There was no way John would have let Felicity take off by herself.

"Have you seen Ms. Smoak?" he demanded of one of the bodyguards.

"She said she would take a cab home," the man replied, too casually for Oliver's taste. Seeing Oliver's expression, he hastily added, "Jay went with her, Mr. Queen. She'll be fine."

One guard. She had one fucking bodyguard protecting her. Oliver wanted to scream at the man that there was nothing fine about that, that one guard could do squat against the Ghosts. But screaming wouldn't do any good and at least she was headed back to the loft – that was something. "Okay, let's go there, too," he ordered, climbing into the back of the limo. As they pulled into the street, he grabbed the phone from his pocket and called her. The call flipped immediately to voicemail. He tried again with the same result.

The twenty minute ride home felt both interminable and too short. He wanted to see her, but didn't know what in hell he could say when he did. He knew he could reassure her about Samantha's role in his life – or lack of it; it was his deception that was going to be the problem. As he rode the elevator to their apartment he decided that the best thing would be to let her start – to yell, to cry, to do whatever she had to do. Once she had hit him with everything he deserved, then maybe he could try to explain.

He opened the door to the loft cautiously. The lights were on, but she wasn't in the main room – nor in the kitchen or anywhere on the first floor. There was no sign of the bodyguard. She must have sent him away.

"Felicity?"

No response. His voice echoed loudly in the loft and something felt really wrong. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Like the first floor, the lights were on in their bedroom but she wasn't there. He thought for a second that she might be taking a bath – a hot soak was often her refuge when she had had a particularly tough day - but the door to the master bath was open and it was empty, too.

That's when he noticed that they were gone – the pair of pajamas that she kept bundled up next to her pillow. He stepped into the bathroom and saw that a few of her basic toiletries were also missing; toothbrush, contact lens solution, hairbrush. An icy chill ran up his spine. He returned to the bedroom and flung open the closet door. He breathed a sigh of relief when her clothes were there, but the fear returned when he noted that her small overnight bag wasn't. She had left. He looked anxiously around the room, but there was no note, no hint of where she might be headed.

Oliver felt a small spark of anger. Yes he'd screwed up – royally – but they were in a committed relationship, and in relationships you were supposed to stay and work things out. Running away without talking to him wasn't going to solve anything. And whatever she might think of him at the moment, Felicity should especially know that it was not a good time to disappear and give the team something more to worry about. They had enough on their plates without a member going AWOL and putting herself in danger.

But… in all fairness… he was pretty sure she did know that. And she probably had talked to someone – just someone who wasn't him.

He picked up his phone and called Diggle. Most women would confide in a girlfriend when they were upset with their fiancé, but Felicity didn't have a long list of girlfriends. Oliver couldn't see her talking to Laurel – they worked together well, but they'd never become very close. Thea had still been at the press conference when he'd left. And Caitlin Snow, who was probably the nearest thing to a BFF that Felicity had, lived 600 miles away. No…Oliver figured if she'd called anyone, it would be Digg.

His assumption was confirmed when John immediately answered with, "You fucked up big time, Oliver."

Oliver closed his eyes. "I know that, John. Is she with you?"

"No. She said she needed a little time by herself to think."

"And you let her go? It's not safe."

"She's in a pretty secure area, Oliver, and she's not far. I can be there in ten minutes if she needs me."

Oliver frowned - if she needed Digg? What exactly had she told John, and why had Digg made it sound like she wouldn't need Oliver? He shook his head. "I don't understand, John. I get that she's upset about the press conference, but this is Felicity we're talking about. It's not like her to take off. She should have stayed to talk to me – to tell me to get my head out of my ass, if nothing else. Why is she off on her own?"

Digg snorted loudly, "This from the guy who flew back to Lian Yu after the Undertaking? You of all people, Oliver, should appreciate her needing space when her world has been turned upside down." His voice lowered and he said more gently, "Just…let her have it. I'm sure she'll be ready to talk soon." There was a pause, then Digg added cautiously, "She said it looks like you have some kind of second family in Central City – that the reporters had a picture of you with a woman and a boy. Is that true?" He sounded as if he were trying not to jump to conclusions.

Oliver appreciated the effort. He sighed, "Yes and no, John. The boy is my son. I have no relationship with the woman – we were a one-time hookup ten years ago, well before the island. William is the result. I learned about him when we were in Central City fighting Vandal Savage." God, it felt good to finally tell someone.

Digg was silent for a moment. "Vandal Savage was months ago, Oliver," he said flatly and not too kindly. "It didn't occur to you to tell any of us, not even your fiancée?"

"It's complicated."

"Yeah, everything with you is."

Oliver rubbed his forehead, trying to make the tension go away. He certainly owed John an explanation, but right now Felicity was more important. "John, please," he pleaded, "I know I screwed up, but I need to talk with Felicity as soon as possible. I know her - she's imagining this is more than it is. I don't want her spending an entire night thinking about something that isn't true. Please, just tell me where she is."

Diggle sighed and waited so long that Oliver thought he might actually divulge her location. When he spoke, however, he sounded apologetic but determined. "I'm sorry - I can't do that, Oliver. I gave her my word. I love you – with everything that's going on with Andy you're my brother more than ever, and I want to see you happy." Oliver heard him swallow, then clear his throat. "But I love Felicity, too, every bit as much. It kills me to see you both in this place, especially after all you've been through, but I have to respect her wishes." There was a note of finality in John's voice. Oliver knew he wouldn't change his mind.

"Okay, Digg. Just…please…make sure she's safe."

"I will, Oliver." And Digg hung up.

Oliver sat down on the bed – their bed. What John had said about giving Felicity space sounded fair, but Oliver knew it was a mistake. Felicity wasn't him - her usual approach to problems was to confront them head on, not run away. He didn't think any good was going to come from her spending time on her own.

After debating with himself for several minutes, he picked up his phone and sent her a text.

Spoke with John. This is not what you think and we need to talk. Where are you?

Nothing came back.

Unable to leave it alone, Oliver texted one more time: Please be safe.

That night had to be one of the longest in Oliver's life. He couldn't help but compare it to his first night on Lian Yu, when he believed he was the only one on the island and didn't know if he'd survive the next twelve hours, let alone make it back home. As he'd done back then, he sat in the darkness and tried to will morning to arrive. It was the uncertainty, he realized, that made time stand still and the darkness drag on. On the island it had been the uncertainty of his physical existence. Now it was the uncertainty of his life - a real life that included a connection and commitment to someone who made him feel truly alive.

It hit him around 4:00 am. A secure area, Digg had said, ten minutes from his apartment. There was only one location he could think of that fit the bill. It was an odd place to pick, but at least it was a place they had shared. Maybe…maybe subconsciously, she wanted a connection. He slipped on his shoes, splashed cold water on his face and grabbed his keys.

The combination to the foundry door had not changed. Most of the lights must have been removed, however, because nothing happened when he flicked the switch at the top of the stairs. He peered down into the darkness and thought he could see a faint glow in one corner.

"Felicity?"

His voice echoed softly off the concrete walls. For a second he thought he had imagined seeing the light.

"Oliver." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

He ran down the stairs, half tripping in his haste. She was sitting on one of the old training mats in a corner, a battery-powered lantern cutting weakly into the darkness. She was wearing her pajamas, covered by one of his old hoodies. Her face, what he could see of it, was pale and tired. There were blankets strewn about as if she'd made an attempt at sleeping but then, like him, had given up.

"Felicity." He moved to pull her into a hug and she flinched.

Flinched.

Her response stopped him cold, and he felt a flicker of fear in his gut. He wondered how badly he'd misjudged her reaction. She didn't look ready to chew him out. Hell, she didn't even look angry or upset. She just looked resigned, and maybe a little afraid –and he didn't know what he was supposed to do with that. He remembered his original plan to let her talk first, and lowered himself to the mat, his eyes never leaving her face. He waited.

She wouldn't look at him, and spent a long time studying her hands as they lay in her lap. "Do you love her?" she asked at last. There was no rancor in her voice, no emotion at all really.

He frowned. "What? Love who?"

"That woman in the photo. Do you love her?"

He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. "No, Felicity, of course I don't love her. I love you, you know that." She still wouldn't look at him.

"Then who is she?"

Oliver took a deep breath. "She's someone I met years ago, before the island."

"Why are you going to Central City to see her now?"

He searched carefully for words. "I'm not going to see her. I'm going to see the boy." He took a deep breath, "You know I was different… back when I was younger…especially when it came to women. I didn't do relationships…at least not serious relationships. I just …"

"Slept with a lot of girls."

He grimaced, "Yeah…slept with a lot of girls." He tried to meet her eyes, but she was still staring resolutely at her hands. "Anyway, Samantha was one of those girls. Only, she got pregnant and William…well, William is my son."

She let his words soak in for a minute. "Why didn't you ever tell me about him?"

"I didn't know. Back then, Samantha told me she had lost the baby and I never had a reason to think otherwise. I happened to see them in a coffee house in Central City recently, and I couldn't help but wonder."

Felicity said carefully, "Recently? When did you see them?" He could almost see her running through dates in her head.

"When we were helping out Kendra."

There was silence while she finished the math. When she finally looked at him it was as if he'd confirmed her worst fear. "Oliver, that was months ago," she said, and he at last heard a little emotion in her voice, a little of his Felicity. "That was why you were acting so strangely? I asked you about it…I asked you several times…and you said it was nothing. You said it was nothing." She buried her face in her hands and shook her head, her burst of emotion over. "I don't understand why you didn't tell me," she said wearily. "Have I ever given you a reason to think you can't talk to me? We're engaged to be married - we're not supposed to keep things from each other."

Oliver sighed. "Samantha – she made me promise," he explained. "It was a condition of being able to see William…that I couldn't tell anyone that he is my son. She didn't want him getting caught up in what she considers to be my craziness. And after the Ghosts tried to kill you and me, keeping him secret didn't seem like such a bad idea."

"Samantha made you promise," Felicity repeated slowly.

"Yes."

She gave him an incredulous look. "So why didn't you make the promise and tell me? Oliver, you know I can keep a secret. I could have even helped."

"Felicity, I gave her my word."

As soon as he'd said it, he realized his mistake. The sentence hung there, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. She stared at him a long time and her voice was ineffably sad when she said, "And that's the thing I keep going back to, the thing that I can't ignore. I can deal with you having a son. But I'm not sure I can deal with you keeping a secret with another woman – knowing it was more important to you to keep your word to her, than to me." In the dim light her eyes were luminous. He knew it was tears.

He tried to recover. "Felicity…no…you shouldn't look at it that way. It's not like we were having an affair. This was about seeing my son. I just…" He stopped trying to explain because – really - what could he say? She was right. How did he justify keeping his word to a woman he barely knew and lying to the woman he loved?

Her tears began to fall. "I've loved you a long time, Oliver," she said, her voice cracking. "Even when I wouldn't admit it to John or to myself, I was in love with you." She shook her head, a tired smile on her face. "For most of that time, you weren't interested. You were either involved with someone else or you didn't think you could be in a relationship. At some point I put you into the unattainable dream category in my mind."

"I was an idiot."

Her tears didn't cease. "When you finally did decide that you loved me…well, it was the dream coming true, and I almost couldn't believe it. Every day felt like spring, full of sunshine." She reached out to take his hand, but then stopped herself. "These last few months have been the happiest of my life…even getting shot wasn't too bad because you were there to help me get better. I really believed that we were good together, that we were right together."

"Felicity, we are…"

She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. She looked at him earnestly through wet lashes. "I thought I was going to be the exception, the woman Oliver Queen would love for the rest of his life, be true to for the rest of his life." She shook her head. "But sometimes dreams end. I guess I always figured if anything came between us it would be Arrow-stuff, not another woman."

"Felicity, will you stop? You know everything you said is true. I do love you and I will love you for the rest of our lives. I do not care for Samantha and she's not something that's between us. You have to know that."

"Then why did you lie to me and not her?" She put her face back in her hands and he saw her shoulders shake, although she made no sound. She stayed that way for a good minute, fighting for composure. When she looked back up at him, he was frightened. She looked like she had made some kind of decision. "Oliver, I don't think I can be with you right now. I don't trust you and…clearly…you don't trust me." She took a deep breath. "You should stay in the loft. It's really yours, anyway. I'll figure something out."

No…this could not be happening! He had to stop it. "Felicity! Please ...I told you I don't love her…this is only about my son." Oliver felt the hot sting of tears in his own eyes, "Please don't say you're ending us because of one lie."

She shook her head, "I don't know what I'm doing, Oliver. I just know I can't be with you right now. Maybe we moved too fast with the engagement, maybe we both need to reassess what we want in a relationship. But for the moment, can you please just leave me? It …hurts…to be near you. We can talk more some other time." And she turned away from him, pulling a blanket around herself like a shield.

Feeling helpless, not wanting to leave but not knowing what else he could do, Oliver slowly got to his feet and somehow got himself out of the foundry.

Some other time turned out to be never. For the first couple of weeks Oliver called her daily, but the phone always went to voicemail and she never called him back. Returning one day from Central City, he walked into the loft to find the closets emptied of her clothes and her engagement ring sitting on the bedside table. He wept that day, like he hadn't wept since he was a kid. The immensity of spending the rest of his life without her was overwhelming.

The day Felicity Smoak moved out was the day Oliver Queen learned that lies occupy space. They filled the seat in the lair that used to be Felicity's; they crammed much of the closet that once held her clothes; and, worst of all, they overtook the bed they had shared – leaving him a tiny sliver of mattress, where he never got much sleep anyhow. Lie-space shared the properties of gases that he vaguely remembered hearing about in high school physics – expanding and contracting depending on the conditions.

During the day, it wasn't too bad. His campaign was successful and he was elected mayor. He found that carrying out the duties of his office, meeting with the myriad folks that needed something from him along with continuing his Arrow activities at night, made the space contract. Now that he'd been outed as William's father, Samantha also allowed the boy to come to Star City once or twice a month to spend a weekend with him. Oliver furnished one of the upstairs rooms for William, and the bright presence of his son with his toys and books was particularly effective at reclaiming space taken over by the lie. But on nights when Oliver returned to an empty loft, when he was too tired to keep himself busy any longer, that space would expand until there was no room for anything else.

He wondered whether Felicity had noticed the same phenomenon. If she had, she never showed it. Not that he saw her personally, but she often made the nightly business news. As one of the country's youngest and more successful CEO's, she was Wall Street's darling – he saw her face frequently on the cover of Fortune, Forbes or BusinessWeek, looking bright and confident. She named Curtis her Chief Technology Officer and the two of them were credited with Palmer's double-digit increase in sales and profits. She still lived in Star City, but somehow their paths never crossed. She had a brilliant head of public relations who managed all interactions between Palmer and the mayor's office, and she generally delegated participation in local charity events to one of her C-suite subordinates.

He knew that Digg saw her regularly. Once in a while Oliver would arrive at the lair to find their software had been upgraded or some kind of new weaponry was available for testing. He was sure John had carefully coordinated her visit, timing it for when Oliver was otherwise engaged. One day while Digg was training, Oliver was surprised to glance at his phone and see photos of Felicity as the camera roll automatically scrolled. There were a couple of her and Lyla goofing around in the kitchen, and a lot of her with little Sara. He particularly liked the one of Felicity giving Sara a bath, soap suds dripping from her glasses as the toddler grinned cheekily.

He looked up to find Digg standing over his shoulder. "She looks happy," he said softly, meaning Felicity.

Digg shook his head, "She isn't. She's like you. She works crazy hours, gets too little sleep, then gets up and does it all over again. Not much of a life."

Oliver said tiredly, "I kept trying to call her, John, I really did - but she never called back."

"I know, Oliver. Some hurts are harder to get over than others, and she was really hurt by that lie."

"You think she'll ever get over it?"

Digg said quietly, "I hope so. I may not look it, Oliver, but I'm a romantic. I still think you two belong together, and I pray to God you both figure it out in my lifetime."

That night when Oliver got home, he slept on the couch. The lie had completely taken over the bed.

The call came a few weeks later in the early evening while Oliver was still at work. Most of his staff had left for the day, but he had a few proposals yet to read and it wasn't as if there was anything waiting for him at home. When he answered the phone, one of the security guards on the round-the-clock protection detail he'd hired let him know what had happened. The poor guy was so nervous about delivering bad news to the mayor that it took several tries and a lot of encouragement from Oliver before he could get the words out. Ironically, it wasn't Darhk's Ghosts, the League, or any of the other enemies Oliver constantly worried about that was responsible; instead, it was an accident - a kid in his father's pickup truck, texting while driving much too fast.

Killed instantly, the guard told him – both of them, in a head-on collision. Samantha and his son were gone. Dumbfounded, Oliver stupidly thanked the guard for delivering his terrible news before hanging up the phone and smashing his laptop.

The next couple of days brought periods of intense pain alternating with spells of complete numbness. Oliver hadn't thought about his mother in a while, but he wondered now if this was how she'd felt when she was informed her son was dead. He remembered her saying there was no comparison – nothing that could equal the anguish of losing a child. She was right.

Samantha didn't have much family - her parents were both gone and she had one brother who worked halfway around the world. The funeral arrangements fell to Oliver and he felt simultaneously grateful and paralyzed by having a responsibility at this time. The mechanics of the phone calls and making the decisions (minister, flowers, obituary) gave him something to do, and when he couldn't manage it any longer, Thea took over the details. They held the funeral in Central City, the place where William had spent his entire life.

The day itself was lovely. The mid-morning sun was warm but not hot, and between Samantha's girlfriends and William's teachers, classmates and their parents, there were a respectable number of funeral-goers in the cemetery. Oliver listened to the minister's words and everyone's expressions of condolences and found, oddly, that they did bring some kind of comfort. The 600 mile distance had hampered some of his friends in Star City, but Lyla and John had come, and Barry and the crew from S.T.A.R. Labs were there as well.

He was sure he'd been the last to leave the graveside, making a point of letting everyone get well ahead of him as they headed toward their cars, so he was surprised to turn and see one lone figure still back at the site. It was a woman, but from his considerable distance Oliver didn't recognize her as anyone he knew. She wore a dark coat and her head was covered. He saw her toss something into the grave, then start walking in a direction opposite from the rest of the mourners.

It took a minute for it to click- the Jewish custom of tossing earth into the grave.

She'd come - she'd been there the whole time. John, of course, would have told her what had happened, told her about the arrangements. And she'd come. He wondered briefly why she hadn't offered him condolences like everyone else, but then realized it would have been incredibly awkward on a day that didn't need any more awkwardness. It made sense but – somehow – he felt a little disappointed. He watched her move unevenly toward a car parked a considerable distance away, struggling a bit on the soft grass with those ridiculously high heels that she favored.

Without thinking he started to move in her direction, breaking from a walk into a run when he couldn't close the distance fast enough. She didn't turn, didn't hear him coming.

"Felicity?"

She spun around, startled. He couldn't help but notice that she'd gotten thinner – too thin. For a second she looked embarrassed, but then sorrow took over her face – genuine sorrow, not the rehearsed expression people assumed when they didn't know what to say at funerals.

"Oliver, I'm so sorry. John told me what happened. I…know you must be devastated." The breeze blew the dark silk scarf on her head and a few wisps of blonde hair escaped.

He met her eyes and, to his relief, she didn't look away. "I'm…I'm not sure what I'm feeling, to be honest, Felicity. There are still moments when it doesn't seem real. A week ago he was…we were together in Star City. Now he's…" He stopped suddenly, partly from the pain but mostly from the fear of driving her away with too much candor. It was odd. They hadn't seen each other in months and this moment should have been the epitome of uncomfortable. But, somehow, it felt appropriate and he wanted it to last. He didn't want her to walk away. He kept talking. "I…I wanted to thank you for coming. It was…kind of you to find time. I know you must have a crazy schedule."

"He was your son, Oliver; of course I was going to come."

"Thank you."

They lapsed into silence, and he studied her face while she studied his. Other than being too thin, she looked the same – kind, intelligent and empathetic. As always, he could see that her mind was busy and he found himself desperately wanting to know her thoughts. Was she looking for changes in him the same way he was looking for them in her? Was she formulating her polite excuses to leave? He watched the breeze ruffle the blonde hair that had escaped the scarf. For the life of him, he did not want to see her turn and walk back toward her car.

"There's something you could do to help," he said suddenly - the words coming out of his mouth before he had time to think. He knew this was typically not what you said at funerals – you were supposed to thank people for coming but not actually ask anything of them. It was a good way to frighten them off.

But Felicity didn't run - she merely frowned and waited.

It was enough encouragement to continue. "One of William's teachers suggested that I donate his stuff to a local charity – one for foster kids. They always need clothes and toys and she said it's something William would have done. I think she's right." His eyes grew watery for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. "I still have to clean out his room, pack everything up for the charity. I've been dreading it." He stopped, then took a deep breath. "I'd really like it if you helped…I don't want to go through his stuff alone and I don't want to do it with a stranger."

She could have easily pointed out that he had other options – Thea, John, and Laurel came to mind – but, thankfully, she didn't. She gave him a long, considering look, then quietly said, "Okay, Oliver. I'll help."

He could hardly believe it. It was the first thing he'd heard in the last four days that hadn't hurt. He gave her Samantha's address and prayed the whole ride back to the house that she didn't change her mind.

She didn't. She arrived and mingled with the other mourners over finger sandwiches and coffee, spending most of her time with John and Lyla. And when everyone had offered their final condolences and left, she climbed the stairs with him to William's bedroom.

She took a good look around, then turned to him with one eyebrow raised.

He smiled weakly, "I may have gone a little overboard with the toys."

"You think?"

He shrugged, "I was making up for lost time. You can see why I need help packing." He walked over to the stack of boxes, pulled one off the top and tried to follow the usual, complicated set of unfold and tuck instructions that turned the flat piece of cardboard into a storage container.

She watched him struggle for a minute then said, "Here, give it to me." After a couple of dexterous turns and tucks, the box was assembled. She quickly made a few more. Then she kicked off her shoes and got down on the floor next to the toys and started examining them.

William would have been happy, he thought, with the care Felicity took with his things. He had been a meticulous kid, hating to break anything, and she wrapped his plastic action figures in tissue paper as if they were Waterford crystal. And, mercifully, she started talking. While everyone else had taken refuge in the same platitudes, Felicity asked Oliver direct questions about William; his favorite books ("Oh, I loved Encyclopedia Brown too"), his strongest and weakest subjects at school ("He hated math – I guess he was your son"), and the sports teams he followed. Oliver found it wasn't too hard to answer her questions – in fact, he felt a little of his pain ease as they talked. His only regret about asking her to help this afternoon was realizing that Felicity and William probably would have liked each other a lot – and now they would never get the chance to meet.

They finished packing in a couple of hours, with Felicity neatly labeling each box with a felt marker. As they started stacking them against the wall, she held one aside, writing 'Oliver' on top of it. He stared at the box in confusion.

"This one is yours, Oliver," she explained softly. "It has all his favorites – favorite books and action figures, and his baseball cards." When Oliver frowned, she continued quickly, "I know you may not feel like it now, but someday I think you might want these things."

He wasn't sure she was right but he didn't want to argue. Just being with her, talking to her for the last couple of hours had brought him a little bit of peace on a day when he had no business expecting any. He didn't want her to go and he could see that she was preparing to leave. She had slipped on her shoes and was looking toward her coat. He had to do something, say something to keep her with him a little longer. The only thing that came to mind was incredibly stupid, but what did he have to lose, really?

"Do you want to get dinner?" he asked abruptly.

She looked surprised and then anxious. There was a long list of ways she could have said 'no,' but she settled on, "I don't think I can, Oliver. I told my pilot I'd be back to the plane around 6:00 to return to Star City."

He almost laughed. Her answer was as inane as his question. He decided to call her on it. "The man works for you, Felicity. Call him and tell him you'll be a couple of hours late."

Her eyes narrowed. After a minute she said slowly, "Oliver, I don't think it's such a good idea, us having dinner. You're upset now…you've just lost your son…"

"And what? You think I wouldn't want to have dinner with you if William were still here?" He sounded a little angry and – dammit – he realized that he was angry, with himself more than her. It dawned on him that he hadn't fought hard enough for her when she'd walked away months ago.

She hesitated, "That's not what I meant. It just…"

"Felicity," he interrupted, and all the arguments she'd never been there to listen to started spilling out. "There's not one day since we separated that I haven't thought about you at least twenty times – there's not one day I haven't missed you, even when I was with William. It's been months and it's not getting any easier." He decided to go for broke. "And I'm guessing it's been pretty much the same for you. You're too thin and you look tired."

Her cheeks flushed. "Thank you, Oliver."

"Felicity, I'll own up to it, even if you won't. I'm a mess." He ran his hand impatiently through his hair. "Can you honestly say that it's been better…us being apart? I know I hurt you, but is this long, dull ache really an improvement?" His voice was loud, but he didn't care. She looked flustered and uncertain – which was progress in his book. "I can't say that I won't ever screw up again, but isn't that part of relationships? You sometimes hurt someone without meaning to. You try to make it up to them and then you move forward."

"Oliver, I can't just go back and live with you as if nothing had happened."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm saying…I'm saying…" What the hell did he want to say? "I'm saying I'll take you in my life any way I can get you. And if that's just dinner or coffee or your voice over the comms for now…that's something." He shook his head, "But please, whatever you do, don't pretend that either one of us is better off with things the way they are."

She stared at him a long time, so long he worried that she was preparing to list all the reasons she thought they should stay separated. When she spoke, however, all she said was, "No, I won't pretend that."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "So…dinner then? This is the first time in four days I've felt like eating."

She nodded carefully, "Dinner."

Felicity meant what she said about not moving back in with him right away. They took things so slowly that sometimes he felt they were at a standstill. But over time, little changes started to add up; he'd walk in to find her upgrading the computers in the lair, or Palmer's head of public relations would inform the mayor's office that Ms. Smoak planned to attend the Glades charity event personally. One night he brought takeout to her office and it soon became a weekly thing - they would eat moo shu and talk about their day's events. She stopped looking too thin and he got a chance to see her dimples when she smiled. And, eventually, she began coming by the loft.

The first sign that the lie was truly contracting occurred when her favorite yogurt started occupying space on the refrigerator shelf. It retreated further when a few of her clothes ended up in the closet, followed by even more. When she agreed to spend the night, they both pushed the lie completely out of bed and he found himself sprawled across his side and into hers. And the day she put his ring back on her finger, the lie conceded its territory entirely.