Oliver finds Felicity ten minutes later, scrubbing the design off of a coffee mug in the employee lounge. He clears his throat to let her know he's behind her but she just continues scrubbing at the mug with the sponge they keep by the sink.
"Keep that up and I'm sure it'll spill all it's secrets soon," he teases and she finally sighs and sets the mug down in the empty side of the sink. She takes her time drying her hands and doesn't turn to face him.
"Pretending it was my face?" He asks with a smirk. He expects a begrudging smile or a glare when she turns around. What he doesn't expect is for her to look so tired. It takes him a moment to realize it's not exhaustion or lack of sleep because of their late nights. It's weariness towards him.
He clears his throat again and tugs awkwardly at his tie. She leans back against the sink and crosses her arms.
"Look, I could tell he was lying, okay?" He shrugs before stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. "I don't like being lied to." Felicity chuckles darkly at that and shakes her head. He sighs and takes a few steps towards her.
"I was just trying to protect you," he says quietly, reaching out for her arm. She brushes his hand away.
"I don't need you to protect me." He wishes she would get angry, yell and glare at him. Her anger is so much preferable to the quiet weariness. He doesn't like feeling like he's failed her.
"Sure, when I inevitably insist on doing something stupid that gets me into trouble," she continues, uncrossing her arms and waving them around a bit, "that's when I need you to protect me! When a madman with a gun or a syringe or whatever comes after me, feel free to step in and get me out of trouble." She turns back to the sink and runs a hand over her ponytail, the way she does whenever she's frustrated. Oliver's head drops slightly and he bites the inside of his cheek.
"I don't need you to protect me here, though, in this part of my life. I don't need you in this part of my life." He takes a step back, feeling a bit like he's just been pulled through a windshield all over again – though, he's not sure he understands why. Maybe because he knows Felicity's right. He doesn't have the right to push his way into every part of her life. He's already forced his way into enough of it.
He feels the sudden want to be in every part of it, though.
Shaking the thought away, he nods and takes a few more steps back.
"Can I at least apologize like I came here to do?" He asks quietly. She shakes her head, her ponytail flying around behind her.
"Please, don't," she murmurs. He sighs again and throws his arms up, suddenly very frustrated at his own stupidity and her stubbornness.
"I just don't want you to be mad at me, Felicity!" Her shoulders sag slightly and she finally turns around to face him again, looking both tired and resigned. She gives him a small smile but it doesn't reach her eyes and he doesn't feel it in his stomach the way he usually does when she smiles at him.
"I'm not mad at you, Oliver," she tells him, "I'm just not ready to hear your apology yet. I need some time. I'll let you know when I'm ready, okay?" He nods but doesn't move to leave and she straightens and turns back to the sink.
"Would you like some coffee, Mr. Queen?" She asks and even though it's cordial and he can hear the smile on her face, he knows it's a dismissal.
"No," he says quietly before clearing his throat once again and speaking up, "no, thank you, Ms. Smoak." And, tugging at his suddenly too-tight tie, he turns and leaves her.