AN: So first attempt at an arrow fanfic. Slight AU (I'll be taking creative liberties with how long he was gone/how he returned because I started writing before the hiatus ended). Reviews are appreciated, be kind and/or constructive :P No beta, so any mistakes are my own.

She woke before the alarm went off. Some days she wondered why she even bothered setting it anymore; a wake up call was only needed when a person actually slept, and Felicity Smoak didn't sleep.

Not well anyway.

She pushed aside the arm that was splayed across her stomach and looked over at the man that it belonged to. Ray Palmer was sleeping, fully clothed (thank God), in her bed. She remembered asking him to stay, not wanting to face another night alone, after he dropped her off. They had had a late night in the office and with all the chaos in the city with Brick's men running loose, he had insisted on seeing her home. She pushed aside the shame in the pit of her stomach, after all nothing had happened. Beside, even if it did, she didn't belong to anybody. Maybe she might have, but she…

Well she had lost everything.

Ray understood her, kept her company. He made the long night more bearable.

She sighed and sat up. She dreamt every night lately, vivid dreams that felt so real it always took her a minute to gather herself in the mornings. She looked sadly at the man next to her and stretched before working her way to her shower.

As the hot water pounded down on her back, she sunk to the bottom of the tub. The nightmare hadn't come that night, but sometimes she thought that was worse. In her nightmares he was dying. But in her dreams…in her dreams he was holding her, and kissing her. And it was never his arms she woke up in, and it was those mornings that were hardest to pull herself together.

She didn't allow herself to break often anymore. But this morning was different. She sobbed silently to herself, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow.

"Felicity?" Ray rapped his knuckles lightly on the door. "Are you okay?"

She choked back her tears and cleared her throat. "Yea," she replied, hating how weak she sounded. "I'll meet you out in the kitchen." The last thing she needed was Ray to see her in a towel, or worse, naked.

Silence.

She gathered herself and took a deep breath before standing and finishing her shower. When she got out she towel dried her hair and combed it, leaving it hang on her shoulder. She wiped the fog off the mirror with her hand and took a long look at herself. She rubbed at the bags under her eyes. Her new sleeping patterns (or lack thereof) were wearing on her face.

She dressed quickly after, and pulled her hair up into its usual ponytail. She made her way into her kitchen, heels in hand.

"I made breakfast," Ray stood, two bowls in his hand.

She smiled. "Instant oatmeal does not constitute making breakfast."

He shrugged and walked over to the table, placing the bowls down as an invitation. "Okay, well I made coffee. Does that count?"

She picked the mug up from her place setting taking a large gulp. "Coffee always counts! Listen, I actually have to run. I have a few errands to run before work…"

"You don't sleep."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to be a…" He motioned his hands between them "thing. Whatever this is, we should probably talk about it. You asked me to stay last night. You know, until you fell asleep, and you don't. You don't sleep."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Just stressed…you know how it is. Work…"

He sighed. "Felicity, I'm your boss. I'm well aware of your stress level at work."

Felicity gathered her things quickly and slid her heels on, refusing to meet his gaze. "We'll talk later, okay?" And just like that she was gone.

A week had passed and they still hadn't talked, at least not about sharing the same bed. She sought him out for comfort, and he never argued it. He knew she was broken, though she never talked about it. He didn't know exactly what happened, but whatever it was had changed her. Ray Palmer had been broken once, so for weeks he had patiently waited for his brilliant business partner, never pushing.

They sat on the couch, Chinese takeout on the coffee table in front of them. It had become a familiar scene on the rare nights she hadn't gone to the Foundry (when Diggle had forced her to go home and rest). They'd watch TV, and order food. They'd talk, but always on the surface. They discussed Palmer Technologies, the latest gadgets, traded hacker stories from high school. They talked about music and movies and shared funny anecdotes. Then she would start dozing off and he'd carry her to her bed. She'd ask him to stay and he'd oblige. He'd watch her in her sleep, listen to her cry out during her nightmares, and comfort her. She'd wake up; sometimes she'd just lie there, staring out her bedroom window as if she were looking for something. Sometimes she'd boot up her computer and be gone for hours at a time. Then there were the nights he would wake and hear her crying softly in the bathroom. In the morning she'd leave quickly, or they'd eat breakfast in silence.

He knew she had lost someone, and from what he gathered it was someone more than a friend. He had asked her before. He wanted to know about her nightmares, and what made her cry. She always denied the nightmares, and on those days, she hadn't called him back to her. So finally he had stopped asking, figuring when she was ready, she'd open up to him.

Tonight he was determined. As she scrolled through her Netflix queue he watched her face, building up his courage. He cleared his throat.

Nothing.

"Felicity."

"Hmm?" She responded, her eyes never leaving the television.

"I was thinking…"

"Uh oh," she teased lightly.

He pulled on her knee so she'd turn and face him. "I like you."

She swallowed. She knew what was coming. "Ray," she started.

He put his hand up. "No, hear me out. I like you. I like you a lot. I want to take you out on a proper date."

She sighed and ran a hand to smooth out her hair. "I don-."

He took both of her hands into his, cutting her off, before replying. "You are letting life pass you by, right here on your couch. And while there's no one else I'd rather marathon 'How I Met Your Mother' with, you have to live. You deserve to live. I don't know what happened to you, if this is still about the friends you lost or something more, and if you're still not ready to talk about it, fine. But you're hurting. I am so incredibly sorry that you're hurting, because I've been there. But you need to let me in if we are going to make this work."

"Ray, I'm tired." She stood and stalked to her bedroom.

He got up, following her and pulled her toward him. "Talk to me," he begged.

Tears stung her eyes and she opened her mouth several times, but nothing came out.

He waited her out, the silence filling the room.

"I can't." She breathed.

Ray wiped a tear from her cheek and leaned in slowly. "Felicity, I'm going to kiss you now." He whispered softly.

She froze, and then, for the second time in their relationship, his lips were on hers.

The kiss was soft and sweet. He pulled away and looked at her. He looked at her and for a split second she saw a future in the reflection of his eyes.

Suddenly she was kissing him back and her hands were in his hair. It was when Ray put his hands on her face and deepened the kiss, turning her towards the wall that she got a flash.

Suddenly it wasn't Ray's hands she felt on her face. She imagined the familiar feel of warm, big hands with calloused fingers that held her face in a hospital hallway.

And then Ray's lips became something else. She had imagined another set of lips that had kissed her long ago, rough stubble around the edges.

Everything was wrong. She broke away, guilt knotting in her stomach.

"Felicity," he whispered.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

She shook her head. She didn't know what she wanted, what she didn't want. It was as if moving forward with Ray wasn't just starting a future, it was closing the door on the past.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow night at seven, if you'll have me. Sleep on it." He kissed her on the cheek, and made his way out of her bedroom. It was just like Ray Palmer to go for what he wanted, even when it seemed out of his reach.

She waited for the apartment door to shut before breaking down.

She dialed Oliver Queen's number, listening to the familiar voicemail. She shut her eyes tight, memorizing his voice. She had spent many nights playing the outgoing message over and over. She had left enough messages over the last few weeks to fill the mailbox, but she simply hacked into it to delete them so she could leave more. She took a deep breath, erasing all the messages she had left before. She dialed again, leaving one final message.

"Hi, it's me. Ray Palmer is taking me on a date…tomorrow night. So I'm calling to say goodbye. Which is stupid, because you'll never hear this. But I need to move on. I can't keep doing this, waiting on a ghost. And that's exactly what you are, a ghost. A ghost that was never mine to begin with, and never will be mine because…" she paused, choking on her words. "You're dead." She sobbed silently for a moment, letting the reality that she had refused to speak out loud until this moment sink in. "There, I said it. You're dead, and I'm…I'm not. I'm still here, and I have to move on from whatever we had…or didn't have I guess. Goodbye, Oliver." She hung up the phone and cried herself to sleep.

The nightmares always started differently, but that was only a means to an end. She always stood paralyzed; as she watched a figure, whose face she never saw, take Oliver's life away right in front of her. She could never move, and though she screamed as loud as she could, nothing ever came out. There was only silence. Tonight was no different.

When his lifeless body hit the ground she could finally move. She ran toward him and dropped to her knees, trying to stop the bleeding, fix the wound, scream for help. It didn't matter. He was always gone before she reached him. She raised her hands up in front of her and saw his blood dripping from her fingertips.

That's when she woke screaming. She clutched her chest, and tried to calm down her breathing. When she calmed down enough to move, she decided to get a shower hoping the hot water would calm her down.

It helped, and when she looked at the clock it was only 2am.

Nothing good happens after 2am, she thought to herself. She lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, afraid to fall back to sleep. By the time 3am rolled around, she couldn't take it anymore and went into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine. She contemplated the wine glasses, but decided against it and pulled the cork out. She took the bottle to the couch, stopping by her bookshelf along the way. She opened her copy of 'Great Expectations' where she had last left off, the pages dog-eared. The book was a favorite of hers, and much like an old friend she could always pick up where they had left off without faltering.

She took a sip of wine, and when she turned the page a photo dropped out. She had forgotten that she put it there to hastily mark her page once, and picked it up carefully, afraid that her touch would somehow make it fade faster. She smiled at the photo; John had taken it a few weeks after they had defeated Slade. Things had been good then. In the photo, a very pregnant Lyla was giving one heck of a glare to Roy, while she was laughing off to the side, watching the interaction.

Oliver was next to her, his arms crossed over his chest and he was grinning ear to ear, looking at her laughing.

She gently touched the image of his face with her thumb, wishing she could see him smile again. She felt the familiar sting in her eyes, and took another gulp of wine before placing the bottle on the coffee table in front of her, along with the photo.

Just then she stopped. Her ears perked up slightly, swearing she heard a soft knock. She glanced at the clock on the wall; it was past 3:30 in the morning.

Great, she thought. Now I'm hearing things.

She turned her attention back to the book, trying to focus.

Knock, knock, knock! The knocks were loud and urgent this time.

"Okay, definitely heard that," she said standing up. She wondered who on earth could possibly be pounding on her door at almost four o'clock in the morning. The lack of a decent night's sleep coupled with the wine had her ignoring the peephole in her door, swinging it open without question.

And just like that her whole world came to a stop.

He stood tall in her doorway, and though he was a little worse for the wear, it was in fact the same man who had left all those months ago. "Hi," his voice was hoarse.

She stood in the doorway, stunned. "I haven't had this dream yet," her voice came out weak, barely above a whisper.

"God, I missed you," his voice faltered. "I missed you so much, Felicity."

She felt a tear roll down her cheek. "Oliver?" She questioned, not believing he was really in front of her.

He put his hands up, as if he was reaching out for her, but stopped, unsure of whether or not he should touch her. "I'm here. It's not a dream." He closed the distance between them then, unable to keep from touching her anymore. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm okay."

When her body finally responded, her hands couldn't stop roaming, needing to feel he was physically there. She wrapped her arms around him, tracing her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, over his chest.

"It's you," she cried, touching his face.

He held the back of her neck, ghosting soft reassurances over her ear. "Shh, I'm here. I came back."

She pulled her face back to look at him, take him in and before she could process what was happening his lips were on hers, his hands cupping her face. She didn't think. She simply surrendered to him.

It had been nine weeks of excruciating pain, nine weeks of heartbreak, nine weeks of drowning and for the first time she could breathe again. Oliver pushed into her, unable to get close enough. She backed up into the wall and grasped at his jacket, trying to pull him closer still.

"I love you," he gasped between kisses. "I love you so much, Felicity."

She answered by deepening the kiss and raking her fingers through the stubble on his face. He groaned, and she pushed her hips forward at the sound. He kissed down her neck, sliding his hands down her sides to her hips.

She moaned softly. "You came back."

He moved his mouth back to hers again. "I'll always come back for you," he whispered on her lips.

She deepened the kiss again, taking in everything she could. The feel of his heartbeat under her hand, the taste of him on her mouth, his fingers gliding up and down her sides.

He slid his hands down under her backside, lifting her up into his arms, never breaking away from her lips. One hand came up to get lost in the waves of her hair, holding her head in place as he continued to work his lips over her mouth. She held on tightly, working her fingers into his short hair and down the back of his neck, fearing that if she let go she'd wake up and this would all be a dream.

He made his way to her bedroom and for a split second it occurred to her to ask how he knew which door it was, but she brushed it aside. She didn't care to find out just then.

When he laid her down on the bed he stopped for just a moment, taking her in and memorizing her face. A tear rolled down her cheek and he kissed it away. The ache in his chest grew, wondering how many tears she had shed these past weeks. His eyes burned at the thought of him causing her pain, and the thought of being away from her.

She leaned up and pressed a soft kiss on the side of his mouth, rubbing her thumb sweetly over the spot afterwards. "I need you," she breathed.

"Felicity…" His mind was combing through all the reasons why he shouldn't be there. All the reasons they should stop, knowing he'd only cause her pain.

She heard it in his voice and before he could continue she cut him off. "Please," she begged. She didn't care that they had so much to work through, and that the idea of them was impossible. All she cared about was the two of them in this moment.

He could never deny her anything, so he kissed her on the forehead before pulling away from her and taking off his jacket. He leaned down and slid his hands slowly under her shirt along her sides, lifting the fabric with him. She leaned up so he could pull it over her head before he guided her back down, his hand behind her head, gently resting it on the pillow.

She tugged on the bottom of his shirt, so he pulled it over his head, throwing it onto the ever-growing pile of clothes on her floor. He kissed his way down her breasts, then her stomach and removed her sleeping pants, caressing her legs on his way. He then slid her lace panties off, never breaking eye contact with her. He mapped her body as he went, filing away the spots that made her breath falter.

He stood, removing the rest of his clothing and staring down at her. "You're beautiful," he said before leaning back down and meeting her mouth once more.

They took their time, feeling and kissing every inch of each other they could. When he finally pushed into her, it was as if nothing else existed but the two of them in that moment. Their gazes never faltered, blue met blue as their bodies blended together.

He pushed into her again and again, intertwining their fingers as he held her hands over her head. His lips ghosted over hers, sharing the same breath. "Come for me," he said, his voice low.

She smiled softly. "Come with me," she replied softly.

"Always," he whispered into her ear.