I Need a Happy Ending
By JA Ingram
For Eilowyn who wanted one, for my Peeps at Still Waters who deserve one, and for the virus that has taken over my brain that demanded one.
"I need a happy ending."
"Excuse me?" Oliver asked looking up at her in surprise.
They were the only two people in the Lair, Roy and Diggle both having gone home and him working on taking apart his bow for cleaning and maintenance. It was a pain in the ass to take apart all the separate moving parts of the recurve bow then clean and repack the bearings which is why most bow hunters and competitive archers had theirs done at pro shops but the Arrow couldn't exactly do that. Even if he could, he wouldn't. His life depended on that bow, as did the lives of his team members, so he needed to do it himself for his own peace of mind.
Besides, it was a meditation, like the Wing Chung dummy. He would carefully dismantle the weapon, putting aside all the small parts in the correct order, cleaning and checking for rust, then using the machine to repack the bearings. He finished putting everything back together, checking to make sure it didn't squeak and that there was no water in the mechanism, and had just finished restringing it when she spoke. He was so lost in the part of the ritual he enjoyed most which was running the beeswax up and down the string, the sweet tang of it hitting his sinuses, when she brought him to attention with a jolt.
"I need…" Felicity stared out into space, not particularly focused on anything. "I need a happy ending. I deserve a happy ending, don't you think?" She asked finally turning to look at him directly.
At first, when she said 'I need a happy ending,' he nearly cracked a smile. It sounded like one of her unintentional Freudian slips, the turn of phrase bringing a different type of bedtime story to mind than the ones that involved glass slippers and good fairies, but then he saw her expression and froze.
There was a profound sadness in the deep sapphire depths of her eyes making them almost appear black. He'd never seen her that upset yet clear-eyed before. She didn't cry, there were no tears, her expression calm and composed; but the absence of those things seemed to make her obvious melancholy all the more profound.
"Are you okay?" He asked with a frown as he moved towards her.
"No. No, I'm not okay," she said simply.
He knelt down by her chair and looked up at her, "Did something happen?"
Her lips curled into a barely there smile, "No."
He looked at her slightly askance, "Really?"
"No," she said in a near whisper.
He looked at her intently, "Talk to me; what's wrong?"
He didn't like this…whatever it was. This wasn't like Felicity. He didn't trust the expression on her face. She looked too much like a statue, too still, too perfect. She was like a porcelain doll sitting there; her fragile and finely boned features looked far too close to shattering for his tastes. He preferred his partner animated and with a quick smile and intelligent wit. His Felicity had an expressive face that gave away her every thought and emotion and he didn't like not knowing exactly what it was that could drain the hope from her eyes.
That hope was all he had; her hope and faith because he'd lost his so very long ago he could no longer remember if he'd ever had any to begin with.
"I just realized that I deserve a happy ending, but I'm never getting one, am I?"
"Of course you are," he said with a frown. It was automatic, his denial. Felicity would have a happy ending; he wouldn't but she would.
Her lips curved upwards once again as she inhaled deeply then looked around the large cavernous space. "My mother…was a dreamer," she said quietly, her smile remaining but her eyes still retained that darkness that made his gut protest because he could feel the waves of pain as they radiated off of her. "She was a hard worker and strong, but vulnerable; simple," she said with a slight shrug. "She'd buy a lottery ticket and spend the entire week talking about all the things we'd buy with the money," she chuckled lightly and he felt himself smile in response. "Sometimes she'd be so convinced that we'd hit it big that she'd bring home magazines and stuff so we could pick out the clothes we'd buy and the furniture we'd use to decorate our new mansion." Her eyes then dropped along with her smile, "Then the lady would read the numbers off on the six o'clock news and she'd be absolutely devastated because she really believed with all her heart that she'd get her happily ever after. It was the same way with men." She spun back and forth slightly in her chair, her voice taking on a more brisk tempo. "Every man she met was a potential Prince Charming until he wasn't." She glanced up at him through a fall of dark lashes, the heavy frames of her glasses giving her words a certain maturity and depth that belied her true age. "She had me when she was nineteen and spent her twenties waiting for my dad to come back, her thirties looking for his replacement, and now her forties looking to recapture her twenties, but through all of that, through all of the heartbreak and constant disappointment, even now, she still believes he's out there, that it's out there; Happily. Ever. After."
He felt the need to say something. "There's nothing wrong with that…" he said feeling a bit at loose ends. "People win the lottery, fall in love…"
She gave a humorless snort, "Yep."
Now he knew he didn't like this mood that had come over her.
"Felicity…" he frowned.
"I'm in love with you."
He froze.
She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows slightly, "I love you."
He took a deep breath and shifted on his feet uncomfortably before opening his mouth to speak but she cut him off.
"Growing up with my mother, I always had to be the adult," she told him matter-of-factly. "I balanced her checkbook, made sure the bills were paid, nursed her through all the times she got her heart broken and I vowed to never be my mother." She shook her head. "I was never going to rely on something as…ephemeral as love or happily ever afters. I went through this whole Goth phase where everything was black and hard, but it wasn't me. I thought I was so smart," there was a note of self-recrimination to her tone at that. "I met Cooper and…fell in love with him," she closed her eyes.
He laid his hand on her shoulder, his eyebrows drawing together in concern, "Felicity…"
"Even when I loved him I never lost myself in him," she continued. "I always left room for transcendence. I knew that he wasn't my one and only and I didn't want him to be, but then I thought he died." She swallowed, "I thought it was my fault so I changed again, let the light in, but I stopped looking for more than that. I loved life again but I still wasn't going to be my mother." She gave another hollow chuckle at that. "No happily ever afters. I met you and I had all these plans to keep my distance," she shook her head and seemed to hold her breath for a moment. "Then you…you told me we couldn't be together so I tried to be happy, fall in love with someone else, but I couldn't," she said with a shrug. "I can't."
He schooled his features and took a centering breath, "Felicity, you know how I feel about you…"
"I know," she said with a nod. "I know all of it; it's burned in my brain, trust me." She looked up at him, "I realize that I'm not getting a happily ever after here, but I still need my happy ending."
"I…can't," he said regretfully.
Her smile widened and she chuckled again which only served to challenge him further, "Oliver, I'm not asking for 'happily ever after'," she said carefully, "I'm asking for a 'happy ending'."
"I'm…confused," he managed.
"In other words, I want a lottery ticket," she told him.
He looked at her askance, "You want me to get you a lottery ticket?"
"I want you to be my lottery ticket."
"I'm still confused," he said then was caught off guard when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
She pulled back, far too quickly for his tastes, and looked him in the eye, "I know you aren't going to pay off, Oliver; I just want to hold you for a little while and pretend."
"Felicity, are you…? Are you asking me to…?" He said softly.
She got up from her chair, her eyes never leaving his even as he rose to his feet as well, and held his gaze for a moment before carefully folding her glasses then laying them on her workstation. She then walked slowly past him toward the bed he had set up at the far corner of the Lair, the one she had purchased for him, and began to remove her clothes.
He watched frozen, not daring to move, as each article of clothing was carefully folded and laid on top of his foot locker. He never took his eyes off her, never even breathed, not even when she took off her bra, her back to him, then slipped the simple and demure cotton panties she wore off and down. The last thing she removed was her hair tie before lifting the covers and getting in the bed.
He didn't move, his feet stuck to the floor, as his mind caught up. She didn't say anything and neither did he, she never looked at him, never exposed herself blatantly. It wasn't a striptease or an act of wantonness. She merely removed her clothes, as if stripping away the things that separated them, then put them aside neatly as if to let him know that when this brief moment she was offering him came to an end, there would be nothing to indicate it had ever happened; not even a wrinkle in the fabric of her skirt.
Slowly, and with much hesitation, he pulled the plain cotton tee he was wearing off then walked over to the bed to drop it on the foot locker as well. As he removed his clothes his eyes met hers. Neither of their gazes wavered or danced around. There was no lasciviousness to it; no undressing of the eyes, or appreciation of the physical. Whatever this was, it wasn't about sex even though sex was what was happening.
Once he'd removed all of his clothes, he stood at the foot of the bed for a moment before walking over to her side. His eyes still never wandered, not even when he pulled down the covers, exposing her form to the slight chill of the foundry. He didn't need to look; it was just a body, a shell. As beautiful as she was, as perfectly formed as he found her to be, that wasn't what he was making love to.
His mouth caught hers before his body touched the soft, well-washed linens of the bed. Those were hers as well. She bought the queen-sized mattress new but brought the linens from her home, claiming that they were from her guest bedroom that she'd never gotten around to actually buying a bed for. Instead she wound up using it as a storage space but bought the linens at a garage sale with the intentions of buying the mattress later.
They were old but of good quality, the thread count high enough to make them soft to the touch but hearty enough to have lasted through many years of repeated washings. They smelled like her, like the dryer sheets she preferred; a light clean floral scent with a touch of warm sunshine.
They smelled like home.
He tasted her, his tongue gently teasing her lips until she opened for him and then he allowed himself to bask in the feeling of happiness for a moment. Kissing Felicity was like tasting pure joy; it was effervescent and sweet, just like her.
She ran her hands first across his shoulders then down his back, her fingers reading the trials and tragedies he'd endured like braille. There was no hesitation to her touches and that both did and didn't surprise him. He thought that Felicity would be demure and lady-like in bed but she wasn't; she was assertive. She touched him where and how she wanted to and, after a moment's consideration, he decided that it fit her after all. She was assertive, strong, stubborn, and brave and the way she made love reflected that.
Shado once shared something with him from Tantric Buddhism. She told him that when two people make love, they exchange a bit of their souls. He joked that if that were true then he hardly had a soul left, but she'd given him a look of stern disapproval and explained that sex and making love were two very different things. Sex was the gross act of two bodies seeking release but making love was one person's soul recognizing another.
He recognized Felicity Smoak's soul and felt humbled by it as he kissed her throat, her ears, her mouth. He ran his fingers, sore and calloused by the labors he inflicted upon them, down her side to rest at her hip. She was warm and alive; he could feel the blood rush under her skin and became lost in the profundity of her gasps and small sounds of pleasure as his mouth finally wandered down to lap at her breast.
His fingers stroked her outer thighs before delving inward, slowly exploring the downy soft hairs and silky skin, then deeper still to velvety heat and moisture. He swallowed her moan with his kiss and tasted her soul as he stroked her skin and nearly moaned as her wetness coated his fingers.
She reached between them and touched him as well, wrapping her elegantly tapered fingers around his sex and stroking him. He pulled away from the kiss and buried his face in her throat, his jaw clenching as pleasure swept through his body to settle in his gut.
They didn't speak. This wasn't about words or promises; it wasn't about titillation.
He was never a reader, he sure as hell wasn't a poet, but he had a few books on the island; The Odyssey, The Iliad, Julius Caesar, and a small book of poetry. Whoever owned the books before they'd made it to the island had dog-eared one particular poem, and for good reason. It was called 'No Platonic Love' by William Cartwright and it was overtly sexual despite the flowery language. He didn't remember much about it, he couldn't quote it or anything, but a few lines had stuck with him. He found the bit about lover's devouring 'grosser meat' funny at the time but had grown bored with it. Now though, he was reminded of one line in particular:
"Headlong I rolled from thought to soul, and then
From soul I lighted at the sex again."
That's what this was supposed to be; what Felicity had intended it to be, he thought even as he drew his hands and lips across her abdomen and then buried his mouth in her lap. This was supposed to be about them, both of them, putting aside their feelings and scratching an itch. This was supposed to be pretend, a small fantasy, a moments respite; just sex disguised as something far more profound, but it wasn't.
This wasn't sex, he thought as his tongue teased her folds and his arms held her still. This wasn't fucking, it wasn't an easy screw. This wasn't a one and done or even a venting of frustration. This wasn't a burning passion either, although it was passionate. This wasn't something that would burn then fade away.
As soon as he realized that he moved up her body to take her mouth in a kiss as he maneuvered between her thighs and pressed inwards. He swallowed her breath as he entered her, her body pulling him in deep. He surged against her, ripples of pleasure flowing through him as he felt her heat, her wetness against his bare skin. He wasn't wearing a condom and she didn't ask. Normally he'd already have it out and waiting but he knew he was clean, as was she. He also knew she was careful so he didn't even question the fact that she was on birth control. Even so, after the one near miss when he was eighteen, he'd never entered another woman bareback with the exception of Shado. There had been no birth control on the island other than the herbs she took, so they'd relied on him pulling out before ejaculating but he knew he wouldn't be doing that with Felicity. He wanted to come inside her, not in a gross way, not in a primitive mating act; he wanted that exchange of life force Shado spoke of despite how utterly asinine his justifications for that type of careless behavior sounded even to him.
It was irresponsible, dangerous, even selfish, but he deliberately chose to ignore all that as he surged within her over and over again, his body straining against hers as she wrapped tightly around him. He moved her thighs higher over his waist as he took her mouth again, his tongue mimicking the motions of his body. Honestly, at that moment, he didn't care about the consequences.
This night wasn't about thinking; it was about doing. This was an act of life and he didn't want anything separating them, not anymore.
Her breath stuttered as he bumped against her cervix over and over again. She made a small hiccupping sound and arched against him, her body taut and trembling. Her eyes closed, his didn't.
He watched her, still moving, still pushing, as she came apart around him. Harder and harder he surged until he could no longer hold back. He grabbed her hips and pulled her against him as deep as he could go, then sucked in a deep breath as he left a piece of his soul inside of her.
There was a moment, a brief shining moment there. His blood rushed in his ears as it exploded out of him and pleasure merged with relief. For that one second, everything felt okay in the world. He was inside of the woman he was in love with; he had made love to the person who held a piece of his soul.
It was the most precious thing he had ever experienced in his entire life and it was here and gone in a matter of seconds.
He pressed his forehead against hers as he struggled for breath then kissed her again, briefly but with all the emotion his oxygen starved lungs would allow. He waited until his heart began to beat in regular rhythm then moved to her side, tugging her with him so he could hold onto her while the endorphins rushed through him and lethargy took hold of his brain. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the fuzziness of this post-coital space but didn't give in to sleep. She began to pull away, sit up, and he tightened his arms around her to hold her in place, not wanting to let this moment go. He was greedy for it now; a few seconds just weren't enough.
"Stay," he whispered.
"I need to go clean up," she protested lightly.
They were the first words she'd spoken since 'pretend'.
"Stay," he repeated more firmly as he slipped out of bed to wander into the small restroom. He cleaned his own genitals at the sink then wet a washcloth and grabbed a towel to take it to her. When he got to the bed he knelt beside her and gently pulled apart her thighs to clean her. She flushed with embarrassment but he didn't pause in his ministrations. He tossed the soiled wash rag into the nearby hamper then lifted her slightly to place the clean towel under her and over the evidence of their lovemaking. As soon as he was done, he kissed her again then crawled into the bed beside her and pulled her against his chest.
"Stay," he said again, closing his eyes.
"Okay," she whispered in return just as he allowed sleep to finally overtake him.
Seconds later, or what felt like seconds, he awoke to the sound of the alarm on her phone going off. He made an aborted yawn, a sharply inhaled breath, as she disentangled herself long enough to slip out of bed and grab his gray hoodie from where it was hanging on a nail then padded over to her workstation to shut it off. He got out of bed and joined her, not bothering to cover himself, and wrapped his arms around her from behind as he buried his nose in her hair sleepily.
"I have to go," she said in that same quiet tone she'd used the night before.
"No," he said simply.
"I have to," she said in a slightly firmer tone. "I have to go home and get dressed for work.
"No," he said again. She started to say something and he cut her off, "Call in sick."
She turned toward him and met his gaze without speaking, merely absorbing what it was he was conveying without words, then looked down at her phone to text someone. When she was done, he nodded before taking it from her and dialing Diggle.
/Felicity,/ the other man greeted in a voice still clouded by sleep. /Is something wrong?/
"It's Oliver, I borrowed Felicity's phone for a second," he told him.
/Is something wrong?/ He repeated, his voice clearing and on high alert.
"No," Oliver said quickly. "Nothing's wrong. I just needed to call you real quick to let you know that Thea is having some workmen coming in later this morning so I think its best we take a night off."
/Seriously?/ Diggle said in surprise.
"Yeah," he said wryly. "Everyone has been stretched pretty thin lately so I think all of us could use a day to regroup."
/Hell, normally I'd argue with you but, I'm not gonna lie, a night off sounds too good to pass up,/ he chuckled.
"You guys earned it," he told him. "Hey, if you wouldn't mind, could you text Roy and let him know, too?"
/Sure,/ he said easily. /Are you and Felicity still at the foundry?/
"Yeah, she got caught up in doing some upgrades to the Lair's security before the workmen came in. Thea has been getting a little curious about what's down here and I wanted to make sure things were secure so I stayed to help."
/Sure you don't need a hand?/
"We've got it," he assured him. "In fact we're about to leave out now."
/Okay then; later, man./
"Later," Oliver said before ending the call and placing her phone face down on the workstation rather than hand it back to her.
He looked at her for a moment before taking her hand, "Let's go back to bed."
"Okay," she nodded then flushed a light pink as she hitched her thumb towards the bathroom, "But first I, um…"
"Go ahead," he told her then pulled her close so he could give her a quick kiss which she accepted without hesitation. They pulled apart slowly and she met his gaze again before heading into the bathroom. He put on a pot of coffee after she left and waited until he heard the shower turn on to enter the bathroom as well.
It was a pretty simple set up, just a stall and curtain, so he drew it back and stepped inside behind her. She looked up at him without speaking as he took the soap and washcloth from her, turned her around, and began to wash her back. He ran his fingers over her spine, down to the small indentions at the top of her buttocks, then enveloped her in his arms to pull her against his chest as he ran the soapy cloth across her abdomen, between then over her breasts, caressing her throat and leaving behind a sudsy trail, then back down again to between her legs.
He washed her carefully, his fingers coasting over her sensitive flesh through the rough cloth. He didn't want to abrade her so he reached up for the handheld shower and rinsed away the soapy residue.
She gasped and pressed against him as moved the shower head between her thighs, the pulsating stream massaging and stimulating her. His mouth found the juncture of her neck and shoulders as he moved the showerhead even closer; allowing the warm spray to target the small bundle of fibers nestled between her folds.
He replaced the shower head on the stand then exchanged the warm spray with his fingers. The blessedly hot water had left her skin pink and supple and he stroked her gently as his own pleasure rose to nudge her from behind.
"Oliver…" she breathed.
He withdrew his fingers from her sex and stroked his hands up her torso to cup and squeeze her breasts before taking her hands in his and pressing them to the shower wall. He leaned her forward, hands on the wall, then entered her from behind, closing his eyes as she gasped and reveling in the heat and tight hold her body had on him.
He held her hips in order to direct her movements as he looked down to where they were joined, enjoying the almost surreal sight of his body moving in and out of hers. He kept up a steady, nearly torturously slow pace, until she cried out his name and began to shudder. As soon as she came, he let loose, his grip tightening around her as he lost himself in the primitive rhythms of their bodies.
When he finally came, once again it was in silence. He waited until his heart and lungs began to work again before picking up with washcloth and bathing her once more before cleaning their combined fluids off himself as well. He watched her, silently, as they emerged from the stall. He watched her just as hard as she watched him as he wrapped a towel around her and led her back to the bed. He knew what she was waiting for but he refused to acknowledge it.
'I need a happy ending,' is what she asked him for but he wouldn't give her that. Happiness, yes; he would at least try for that, but an ending, no,
He had an epiphany then as what she had been trying to say the night before rang through his mind; happy ending.
Because happiness ends.
But he didn't want it to.
He stood behind her, his lips finding her bare shoulder again and told her that in three simple words.
"I love you," he said quietly. She reached behind her to pull his arms around her waist and leaned against him, neither making a move to get back under the covers but simply satisfied to stand together. "Say it back."
"I love you," she returned obediently in an exhale of breath.
"No happy endings," he told her.
"I know," she said sadly.
"No," he said turning her around to face him. He tilted her chin up with his fingertips and looked into her eyes, "No more happing endings; happily ever after."
"Are you sure?" She asked, her brow furrowing. "This wasn't about-."
He kissed her, then pulled back just enough so that their breath mingled as his lips touched hers, "You're my winning lottery ticket and I'm not going backwards anymore, but I'm going to need you to help me. I need you to be patient with me and help get me through this. I'm going to do my best to screw this up so just help me with the ever after part, okay?"
"What about the happy?" She murmured.
"I have my happiness already," he told her before pulling her closer and tasting her lips. "Felicity…" he breathed then leaned his forehead against hers. "I'm done with happy endings; no more happy endings, okay? Just happily ever afters."
She nodded, "No more happy endings."