Yes, Gentle readers, I have in fact started yet another story. There is no excuse for it, I know. And yet when the muse calls, you answer. I have four chapters completed already and a general outline for the rest of it. This is an idea that I've wanted to tackle for awhile but I wasn't truly inspired until some of the spoilers for season 3 came out. So caution, *spoilers* for some of season three.
I genuinely hope you enjoy this story, I'm already in love with it. Please let me know what you think (reviews haven't been particularly kind lately and it's quite discouraging).
Enjoy!
Felicity bit down on her bruised lip to keep it from trembling. She had known better, she had watched this scene play out before. She had prepared herself for this eventuality.
But all of her planning had fallen by the wayside when he flashed her a nervous smile and asked her to dinner. Hope had blossomed dangerously in her chest and she had let her guard down. A lifetime of disappointment was forgotten as she allowed herself to hope.
Hope. That was the real killer in this situation. It wasn't the wackjob who had targeted Oliver Queen and his assistant on their first date. It wasn't the bomb that had injured dozens and nearly killed her.
No. Hope had brought this upon them, upon her.
His lips were moving and his eyes expressed a sadness he couldn't hide from her. A tear fell and caught on the cut across her cheekbone. More tears followed as the salt stung in her facial wounds.
"I understand." She interrupted in a hollow tone.
Because she did understand, even if she didn't. She understood that Oliver Queen willingly carried the burdens of the world upon his shoulders. She understood that her injuries would weigh on him and no words spoken from her lips would absolve him of that guilt.
When it came down to it, Oliver treasured guilt, his constant companion, more than he treasured anything and anyone else.
"Felicity-" She shook her head furiously.
"Please don't do that. Don't say my name like that. Like you love me. Please don't." She pleaded, taking a step back. "Please don't stand there and push me away while looking at me like you're in love with me."
Agony flashed through his beautiful grey eyes before he dropped her gaze.
She understood why he was doing this. She knew that he was breaking his own heart along with hers. He had let his guard down with her and his worst fears had almost been realised.
"I need a few days." She whispered, taking another step away from him. "I believe in this, in our team. I just need time."
He nodded. Her eyes moved over him slowly, taking inventory of what she had to leave behind. The next time she entered the lair, the two of them would be over. Blinking back more tears, she turned on her heel and left.
Felicity's fingers trailed over the cashmere sweater on the rack half-heartedly. She had moved onto stage three of the breakup guide. Though if she was being honest, retail therapy wasn't much more effective than marathoning Doctor Who and eating her weight in mint chip had been.
The looks from the weekend shoppers and salespeople did little to improve her mood. She had considered covering up her cuts and bruises with makeup before leaving her apartment; then she decided that showering for the first time in days was enough effort for the day.
The fact that her outside façade was as beat up as her insides had nothing to do with the decision.
She moved over to the summer dresses that were on the sale rack and picked up a colourful dress in her size. Moving towards the change room, she ignored the part of her that revolted against the bright hues and patterns of the garment in her hands. Her heart was broken and part of her really wanted to dress the part.
But Felicity Smoak was no victim. And she had a job and a life to go back to, one that included, if not revolved around, him.
So she would not play the victim. She would not parade her heartbreak for the team to see.
She was Felicity Smoak, damn it.
The dress looked even better on her than it had on the hanger. She admired her reflection, ignoring the cuts and bruises that marred her creamy skin; they would fade and so would the hurt that was choking her.
Oliver Queen would still be her best friend. He would still be the hero she worked alongside. He would continue to be her partner.
That would just have to be enough.
She exited the store with her bag in her hand and strolled down the street. Her eyebrows furrowed and the hair on the back of her neck rose in awareness. She was being watched, she was sure of it. She paused outside a boutique and slowly adjusted her sunglasses in front of the window. Her eyes darted around as she took in the reflection of her surroundings. She saw nothing and no one out of place but it did little to help her concern. Her hand clenched around the handle of her bag and she tried not to run as she headed back for her car.
"Just your imagination, Smoak." She assured herself breathlessly once she was safely inside her locked car.
It was only natural to feel a little paranoid. She had been attacked just a week prior by a bomb-building madman. It was just her imagination.
Felicity juggled the bag of groceries and her latte as she tried to find her keys. She had just been holding them! Her fingers brushed against her jacket and she let out a cry of victory as she pulled her house key from the pocket.
She nearly dropped the paper bag as she fumbled to get the door open but she just managed to make it inside without incident. Dropping the keys and latte on her side table, she turned and locked the door behind her.
She was halfway to the kitchen when she realised she wasn't alone. Goosebumps raised on her arms and her heart began to race as her eyes fell upon the man sitting on her arm chair in darkness. She knew without taking a step forward that it wasn't Oliver or someone welcome.
The man in the chair shifted under her attention and the scent of familiar aftershave reached her. Her fear became outright panic as she realised just who was sitting across the room from her.
Oliver and Diggle had trained her to be hyperaware of her surroundings. They had trained her to know every possible escape route from every possible location. She knew that it was twelve steps from her door to her kitchen. She had taken ten. He was sitting about four paces away from her.
Her eyes remained on him as she inventoried all possible weapons within two feet of her. She had a can of tuna in her bag. Suddenly her beautifully open floor plan haunted her. No clutter meant no weapons which meant no defending herself.
"Felicity." He greeted her coolly and she was hit with how different her name sounded coming from his lips than it did when Oliver said it.
"How did you find me?" She asked in lieu of returning his greeting.
His fingers tapped impatiently against the arm of the chair before he leaned forwards. His handsome face caught the moonlight shining in through her windows. She was repulsed by the sight of him. How such a monster could wear such beauty was beyond her. She wondered if women still tripped over themselves in his presence, unaware of the sociopath behind his perfect appearance.
"You didn't really believe you'd be able to hide from me, did you, Meg?" He whispered lethally.
She had. She absolutely had. She should have been untraceable. The things she did for Oliver on computers barely scratched the surface of her skillset. She had not only hidden but she had unmade her entire past. The physical changes were only the beginning. She had planted documents confirming the death and autopsy of Megan Brightham. She had erased all photo evidence that could ever link her to the girl she had been.
"How?" She repeated angrily.
"Ran into your mom a while ago. She was drunk as per usual, spouting off about how she'd seen a picture in the gossip columns of a blonde who looked just like her little Megan." He replied harshly. "Imagine my surprise when I saw you had started whoring around with the rich and entitled."
She took a surprised step back. She had been so careful. But she'd let her guard down. Being Oliver Queen's personal assistant meant being photographed with him. She had never considered anyone she had previously known would recognize her. But then, no one but the man in front of her would have bothered looking.
"You look like shit, Meg. Although that's what you get for going out with him." He snarled, standing up slowly.
He took a step forward and she realised she was out of time. She lived alone and her neighbours were all out of town, celebrating the end of summer.
"Leave me alone." She snapped.
He chuckled. "We both know I can't do that, Meg baby. I've missed you."
She didn't bother running for it. She knew she wouldn't get away. But she could leave evidence. She could help Lance and Dig and Oliver. Her eyes stung as she thought about Oliver. Oliver who had broken up with her because he was so afraid that she'd get hurt because of him.
But Marcus wasn't here because Oliver was the Arrow, or because Oliver was a target for trouble. Marcus was here because he had been obsessed with Felicity from the moment he'd met her eight years before and he had never planned on letting go of her.
He lunged at her and she clawed at his face with one hand and yanked at his hair with the other.
"Bitch!" He bellowed as he held her away from him by her hair. "You'll regret that!" He promised.
But she wouldn't. Because his blood was dripping steadily onto the carpet next to a clump of his hair.
"You're mine, Meg. And you'd better behave yourself." He snarled in her ear.
A laugh bubbled up through her panic and horror. Because she wasn't his. She wasn't going to behave herself. She was going to fight until Oliver came for her.
His eyes were wild as she laughed. She watched as he lifted his hand in the air and then with a flash of pain, everything went black.
Thoughts? I'm trying something a little different with this. Thanks for reading!