A/N: "To Build a Kiss" will be a place for me to put one-shots of scenarios I create for "first kiss" moments between Oliver and Felicity. As time goes, there will be quite a variety of scenarios, and here is the first one.

To Build a Kiss

One-Shot: I Believe

Tears fell in a steady stream down Felicity's cheeks. She wiped them off with the back of her hand, but they just kept coming. And so did the goosebumps.

"Diggle," Oliver breathed into his phone. "Find her."

"On it, Oliver," Diggle said as he jumped down the remaining four stairs of the lair. He flipped on the power switch and sprinted over to the computers. "Let's just hope Felicity left 'The Find' up and running."

"She amazes me at what the programs she can hack. Nothing is beyond her touch on the keyboard."

"I know, right?" Diggle agreed. "When she gained access to the NSA's program to track people via their GPS even when their phones were powered down, I knew she had mad skills."

Diggle sat down at command central, Felicity's name for the tech area of the lair, and stroked a few keys on the keyboard. "Ooookay – Felicity left it up and running. We're in."

"Location?" Oliver asked.

"Patience, my man."

"That's something I'm not known for on the field."

"Hmmmm . . ." Diggle studied the computer screen. Looks like she may be headed home. She's at Broad and 21st."

Oliver let go of a long breath, relaxing his shoulders for the first time that night after Felicity never showed for their training session. "Thank God." He stood up and headed for the fire escape on the side of the building he'd been using as a vantage point. "I'll see that she gets home safely . . . and that she needs to keep us informed when she goes . . . anywhere."

"That goes double for me, man. Thanks."

Oliver had reached his Ducati in the alley and started the engine. "You got it, Digg. Go on home. I'll catch you at the office tomorrow."

A solid ten minutes after the Yom Hashoah service was over Felicity still had goosebumps from the mezzo-soprano's powerful and moving rendition of "I Believe." She had decided to walk to her synagogue for the ceremony since it was nearby and the spring weather was cooperating nicely.

When she rounded the corner of her street and closed the distance on her townhouse, she saw someone lurking on her small but tidy front porch. She reached into her purse for her stun gun but spied the Ducati on the street, a dead giveaway as to the identity of the tall, dark, and handsome figure.

"Hi," Felicity tried wiping her eyes one last time before reaching the top step. She didn't want Oliver to see that she'd been crying and wished she'd thought to blow her nose.

Her strategy failed miserably. "What's wrong? And . . . where have you been?"

She looked up at Oliver and stopped short. Deep concern was etched in every corner of his face from the fine lines around his eyes to the firmness of his jaw.

"I –"

"Digg and I were worried sick about you, Felicity," Oliver walked over to the top step where she stood, shoulders sagging, and took both her hands in his. "Are you okay?"

"Wha –? Why are you guys so – ohhhh . . . we had a training session tonight!" She had completely forgotten.

She took one of her hands from Oliver's warm but firm grip and rummaged around in her bag for her keys. While she was unlocking the door, Oliver noticed the weathered metal artwork hanging up beside it.

"This is really cool," he said pointing up at the piece.

"Thanks," Felicity said.

"Okay – now I know something's wrong. You're not babblin' about it."

Felicity glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled weakly. "I made it from leftover gearshifts from a junkyard I frequent. I like steampunk style and building things with my hands, so it all came together over a pot of coffee and superglue one Saturday morning in my backyard.

She sniffed one more time as they entered her townhouse. She turned the lamp on nearest them and Oliver turned to look at her. "Felicity, where have you been and why are you so upset?"

Looking back in her purse, she handed him the program for the Yom Hashoah service.

"Oh." Realization came to Oliver as he remembered her telling him once that she was Jewish. "I bet that was a moving service. Did you have any family that died in concentration camps during the war?"

"Yeah –" she started but stopped. She didn't know how to explain her feelings very well. "I didn't know them personally, but I've heard so much about them over the years growing up."

Oliver's confident manner faltered, and he wasn't sure what to say. "I'm so sorry, Felicity. That must have been tough for you tonight. I see it in your eyes . . ." he paused, ". . . and in your tears."

He gently let go of her other hand he had held since they were on her front porch and went to the kitchen to dampen a hand cloth. Bringing it back toward the den, he motioned for her to sit down on the couch.

She sat down at the edge of the couch. Sitting down beside her, Oliver reached over gently and tucked her hair behind her shoulders. He took her glasses off for her and laid them on the coffee table.

Their blue eyes locked on each other for an eternal moment, hers moist with tears of sadness leftover from the service and his deep with concern for his partner. He swallowed deeply and reached up to wipe her face with the damp cloth. His free hand found its way behind her neck, and his thumb gently rubbed her jaw line. His movements were hypnotic and she lowered her eyelids slowly, slowly until they were closed.

"Feeling better?" Oliver asked.

Felicity, lulled into a comfortable numbness and unable to speak, nodded. She finally mustered the strength to open her eyes to see Oliver had inched closer to her, his knee touching hers.

"Hey –" Oliver moved his hand forward to hold her chin gently. "If you ever need someone to talk to or to go with you to events where you'll need a friend to lean on, you know you've got me."

"Yes – I believe I do," she found her voice and offered him a smile.

Oliver closed the already short distance between them and brushed his lips to her cheek, respecting the moment she was in right now with the service she'd attended.

A/N: I am sorry this one-shot didn't include a full-on-the-lips kiss, but I felt the atmosphere of the story didn't warrant it at this time. I've had this plot floating in my head for several weeks and finally put my fingertips on the keyboard for it.

A/N: "I Believe" is a song created by using words from anonymous text found on the walls of a ghetto in Germany during the Holocaust. The arrangement by Mark A. Miller is riveting, and the words really give you goosebumps. If you're interested in hearing it, search for "All Saints' Episcopal Church Youth Choir, May 2014" on YouTube.

I believe in the sun, even when it's not shining.

I believe in love, even when I don't feel it.

I believe in God, even when God is silent.

Also, I am not Jewish, so I hope the information I found on the internet is accurate. If not, please feel free to PM me, and I'll edit the story.

Disclaimer: I'm just playing around in CW's and DC's awesome playground.