Hi friends, I really hope you enjoy. This is one of my favorite things I have written, especially because I feel as if a lot of people (including the Arrow writers) brush over the trauma that Oliver has been through. Please please please let me know what you think in the reviews!
~ This love is good, this love is bad. ~
"Most lipsticks have fish scales in them."
"What?"
"It's true, I even checked the ingredients – not the ones that they list on the back of the box. They lie about those," Felicity scrunches up her nose and furrows her eyebrows at the revelation. "No, no. I read it in the deep dark black hole of their manufacturing company transcripts. You know what I found?"
She spins around to face Oliver, her deep red dress almost a flash against the dimmed light of the ball room.
"What did you find?" Oliver asks as he looks down at her wide eyes, his voice soft and amused.
"I'll give you two words," Felicity puts her fist in his face, launching up two fingers as she speaks.
"Fish. Scales. Or is that one word? Hyphenated?"
Oliver shakes his head, the edges of his mouth pulling up just slightly in what Felicity is starting to notice as his very rare, Felicity is talking too much smile. He stares at her for a second before she picks up where she left off, rambling about lip stick ingredients and the twelve different kinds of fish scale residue they have found in local lipsticks so far.
He lets her words fall to a comforting hum as he scans the area around them. As much as he liked spending time with Felicity out of the office (he could never, ever admit that out loud), the fact that this was still a mission made his body tense and kept his senses on high alert.
The whole heightened senses thing didn't help with Oliver's newfound distaste for crowds and small spaces, however, and while he knows that the waiter to his left carrying a tray of wine is no threat to his or Felicity's well-being, the proximity of the man sets him on edge.
It doesn't help that he can see Quentin and Laurel Lance at the other end of the room, making their own way through the charity ball with small smiles and laughs. They still haven't seen him yet, and for that Oliver is grateful. It's only been a few months since he has returned from the island, and while he's tried and failed to make amends with Laurel, Detective Lance is a whole other story.
"What do you think?"
Oliver pulls his eyes away from the Lance's and settles them on Felicity.
"Hmm?"
"About the pigs? It's unfair, right? They literally cannot look up into the sky unless you flip them on their backs, and that just leaves them on a whole new level of vulnerability."
Oliver can't help it, the smile tugging on his lips breaking across his whole face as he stares down at his executive assistance. He doesn't know how on earth they had approached that subject area, but the way Felicity looks at him with pure amazement and distress at the small fact leaves his chest feeling a bit warmer than a minute ago.
"You, Felicity Smoak, are something else."
Felicity opens her mouth to respond, but then Diggle is speaking in their ear, telling them that their man of interest has moved to one of the smaller rooms on the west side of the building, and Oliver is back to his hyperaware state in seconds.
He struggles between asking Felicity to stay in the main room and pulling her along with him, not knowing which one would be safest, and it's a split-second decision that has him entangling his fingers with hers and leading the two of them out the room.
He's glad he goes with his gut, because soon enough Dig's telling them that the heat signature has moved back into the main room and out the door. It doesn't matter though, because Felicity and Oliver both find the small pipe bomb that the man had stashed in the side room, and with Felicity's genius brains it's nothing more than a useless mess of plastic and metal within seconds.
Oliver's relieved because they'd manage to save the building full of politicians and rich floozies with only one weird look from an extremely old man in a purple suit as Felicity tried to discretely disable the bomb. Mostly, though, he's glad to know that they can finally leave.
Whereas the Ollie before the island thrived on adventures and ludicrous amounts of vodka and partying, the Oliver standing next to Felicity is equal parts emotionally and physically trained.
Felicity knows he suffers from anxiety and PTSD, and she knows that Oliver knows that she knows about it, but they both dance around the topic with light steps and delicate touches. Oliver's grateful for that, because while he knows deep in his core that Felicity is the one he can tell everything to, he isn't ready to reveal certain parts of himself just yet.
That's why Felicity tugs insistently on his arm a second later, nodding towards the exit with slightly widened eyes. Oliver can only raise a tired eyebrow in question before he hears the sharp pierce of Quentin Lance's voice, and Felicity's heart shatters a little when she sees Oliver – the strongest man she knows – flinch just the slightest.
"Oliver Queen, back from the dead."
Lance claps him on the back, and Oliver instinctively pushes Felicity behind him even though he knows Lance would never do anything to hurt her.
"It's too bad your partying days seem to be over, huh boy? Have to take on some real responsibility now, getting all dressed up in those monkey suits."
"Hi Detective."
Oliver's voice his low and steady – bored, even – but Felicity can feel the way his grip on her hand tightens slightly.
"Pfft. Hi."
Lance gives a fake laugh as his eyes narrow at the younger man.
"My Laurel told me you paid her a visit. Said you wanted to apologize for cheating on her."
"Detective Lance I - ,"
"You can't apologize, Queen," Lance spits out, the little playfulness in his tone replaced completely with malice and distaste. "You can't say anything that makes you killing my baby okay."
Felicity can see the second Oliver's resolve breaks, and what's scary is that it isn't anger that surfaces, but complete emptiness. She can see the way his breath starts to quicken – can feel the way his whole body starts to go rigid.
"Quentin, I'm sorry, I'm sorry about Sarah -,"
"Don't! Don't you dare say her name!"
"I-," Oliver tries to speak, he tries to form words – anything, but he can't.
He can't move. He can't speak. He can't breathe.
"It should have been you. It should have been you left to rot at the bottom of the ocean!"
"I-I know. Trust me, I know - ,"
Oliver knows he's on the verge of a panic attack – he knows that the reason why it feels as if there's a thousand pounds crushing his chest is because of the PTSD.
But it's when Lance moves forward, shoving a finger into his chest as he continues to growl at him that Oliver falls over the edge.
He lets out a strangled whimper, chest heaving and eyes wide and unseeing. He can't hear Felicity's snarl of don't touch him and he has fucking PTSD as she shoves Lance away from him – can't hear her turn to him and mutter sweet nothings in attempt to bring him back to reality.
Diggle's already brining in the car, having heard everything over the coms, and Oliver can't help but think how glad he is that Felicity is with him because suddenly all he can see are her bright pink lips and piercing blue eyes.
"You're okay Oliver, you're home. You're safe, come on. Come back to me."
Oliver blinks before reaching out to brush his hand against her cheek. He doesn't know when he had slid down the wall and onto the floor, and he sure as hell can still feel the grip of a panic attack as he tries to center himself in his surroundings.
But he can't get up – his hands are shaking and his legs are numb and Oliver finally – after months of being strong for his mother, for his sister, for Tommy and the company – he finally lets himself break down. He's suddenly a little kid and Felicity is his lifeline and all he can do is grab at the fabric of her dress to anchor him to reality. He collapses into the crook of her neck and sobs. It's guttural and gut-wrenching and Lance is staring wide eyed and guiltily down at the younger man.
Oliver can't tell what is real and what are his memories anymore, and he's mumbling nonsense, and begging someone not to electrocute him, not to carve into him with their knives. He's pleading for just one – one – minute without his head being forced into a bucket of water, crying for them to break his hands instead of his ribs and to put the fire out and please please please let me die, please kill me, I can't do this anymore. But then he's back – back in the present – and suddenly all he can see are Laurel's big doe eyes and Lance's confused and almost sympathetic frown and he's sorry – sorry I dragged Sarah, sorry I couldn't save her, I tried, I tried, I tried.
Felicity's crying too – at the revelations of what happened on the island, at the way Oliver is cowering into her and shaking and shaking and shaking as he starts to resurface from his panic attack. He's not crying anymore – he's not really doing anything but staring blankly at Lance.
He offers one last guttural and ragged "I'm so sorry" before slumping completely into Felicity. She helps him up and through the ballroom and to the car, never mind the countless stares they get as Oliver leans almost entirely into her. She helps settle him into the passenger seat, and she stares at him for a long while, searching his blue eyes for something – for anything – before she smooths her thumb across his cheek, and presses a small kiss to his forehead.
Oliver knows he's done that to Felicity a few times before, but that doesn't stop the burst of warmth that floods its way through his body, thawing the parts of him that had fallen into a black hole just moments before. He leans slightly into her palm before she pulls away, gently closing the door behind her.
Lance and Laurel are standing at the building's entrance, and Lance looks so guilty and sorry and Felicity knows that he didn't know – that he was grieving too – but that doesn't keep her from wanting to verbally annihilate the two of them.
The only thing that stops her is the emotionally drained billionaire sitting slumped in the passenger seat that needs her attention more. So, she settles for a long glare and a silent promise of some sort of minimal cyber revenge before she climbs in the back of the car and Diggle speeds off.
That's the first night Felicity falls asleep tangled up with Oliver – the first night that the line between friend and partner – between boss and executive assistant – is blurred. She doesn't care though, because whatever this is – the way Oliver lies with his head on her chest and his arms wrapped securely around her stomach and the way his legs tangle with hers so much so that she doesn't know where she ends and he begins - this is how they know how to mend each other back together.
"L'city?"
"Shhhh Oliver, go to sleep, you're exhausted."
"L'city," his voice is scratchy and rough from crying. "You're my best friend."
"And you're mine, Oliver."
They lay in silence for a few minutes.
"Felicity," his voice is barely a whisper now, but the way he mumbles her name into her chest lets her hear it.
"Mmm?"
"I love you."
Her heart clenches as she runs her fingers through his hair, because she knows it's the sedatives talking and that Oliver won't remember much of any of this tomorrow. So, she says the only thing she knows she can – the only thing she knows is true.
"I love you too."
~ These hands had to let it go free and, this love came back to me. ~
Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think in the reviews! :)