A/N: Second upload in a bunch tonight. Been slacking on FF publications, so sorry!
She allowed herself one day. One twenty-four hour period to be depressed, to grieve, to exist the way she needed to without putting on some kind of (mask, her mind whispered, which she immediately rejected) charade of strength. A day where she could let herself feel resentment without guilt. She resented Ray's eternal optimism and vivacity, being too wrapped up in his own genius to show any real empathy for her grief. Not that he knew what was going on. But her feelings of resentment didn't change.
She resented Starling City, and a new crop of criminals that felt they could take over the Glades due to the scarcity of the Arrow's appearances. She knew what needed to happen, and she knew she had to pull herself together to be there for what was left of the team, but that day was not today.
She resented Roy, because he was dealing with things his own way, which was to shut down and beat the crap out of bad guys. She knew she had to reach out to him at some point, and she was going to. Lord knows Laurel wouldn't. Diggle could, but wasn't. So it had to be her. But not today.
As much as she didn't want to, she even resented Diggle. He had a fiancé and baby at home, someone with whom he can share his grief, so he didn't have to carry it alone. He had a warm body to cuddle with at night, and a little girl who took him out of his head because she needed him. Felicity didn't even have a cat, and she refused to become a cat lady, not at her age.
The fern, her brain reminded her, but she cut that thought off as quickly as it came. There was too much pain there.
Her phone rang for the fourth time in the last hour, and she buried her head under her pillow. She had no interest in talking to anyone right now. Her only desire was to lie in bed under her three blankets, to sleep and cry and feel resentful. She didn't care if the world was ending. She just wanted to hide, for one damned day.
The phone fell blissfully silent, and she considered reaching over to turn it off for good. She mentally calculated the distance to her nightstand, and decided it was too much effort. She felt comfortable under her pillow and blanket fort, and felt no great desire to move. It was warm and heavy around her body, and she felt cuddled and protected from the outside world. She floated in this vague headspace, slightly disconnected from the ever present pain in her chest.
A weight on her cheek stirred her from her slumber. It was both familiar and strange; familiar because he used to cup her cheek just like this, strange because his hand was larger than she remembered. She heard him whisper her name, and that was also both odd and comforting. Odd, because this whisper was deeper.
Her eyes fluttered open, and her first observation was the darkness of her room. She must have fallen asleep for hours, because it was mid-afternoon the last time she was awake. She shifted her focus to the body sitting on the bed beside her.
"John?"
He stroked her cheek and smiled at her. "Hey girl. I brought you soup."
Reality invaded her consciousness, clearing away the pleasant illusions left over from her dream. She turned her face and groaned into her pillow. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry."
"It's matzah ball," he sing-songed, caressing her head.
"Damn you." She sat up with a heavy sigh. "You found my weakness."
He chuckled. "Come on, go wash your face and meet me in the living room." He got up without giving her a chance to argue.
"Damn it." That man was an evil genius. All she wanted to do was mope and feel sorry for herself, but no…he had to come strolling in like a knight in shining armor, armed with soup and a smile.
She was secretly pleased.
She dragged herself to the bathroom to freshen up. She even brushed her teeth for the first time that day—probably the first time since yesterday morning—and then joined Diggle in the living room. He had already set up bowls on her coffee table and was currently filling them when she lowered herself on the couch beside him. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged her legs as she waited. He passed her a bowl and a spoon, and she started digging in.
She moaned in appreciation. "Did Lyla make this?"
"Yup."
"Tell her I said thanks."
"Will do."
They enjoyed their soup in comfortable silence, neither of them feeling the need to fill it with idle chatter. They had been through a lot with each other. He was her best friend. She liked to think she was his. They had a different bond with each other than either of them had with anyone else. Maybe because their bond had been strengthened by shared pain, when Oliver had left them the first time.
She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore, and she lowered the bowl to the table, half-finished. Her thoughts spiraled quickly as she realized there was no island to go to this time. There was no plane to jump out of to rescue a stubborn ex-vigilante. There were no more landmines to be saved from. No more Tarzan jumps from trees, or clock towers, or skyscraper windows. No more shoulder touches. Or face cradles. Or whispers of her name, the way only he could whisper it, with so much meaning and depth.
She didn't realize she had started sobbing again until Diggle wrapped his arm around her shoulders, shushing and rocking her gently. She didn't pay attention to the words he whispered in her ear, but his tone reached her heart all the same. He was as broken and in pain as she was, and he started crying beside her.
"I loved him," she choked, and her sobbing intensified as the thought she had been running from finally caught up to her. "I loved him and I never told him."
"He was my brother," he whispered brokenly. "I should have gone with him. I should have protected him."
They clung to each other as they grieved, sharing their pain once again.
Time passed. Their grieving eventually tapered to soft sniffles in the dark. Diggle never once let go of her. She felt comforted by that.
"Can I borrow you tonight?" she asked. "Do you think Lyla would be okay with that?"
"Yeah. Anything for you, Felicity."
She threw her arms around him with relief. "Thank you."
They spent the rest of the evening talking quietly, taking turns comforting each other, assuaging each other's guilt. When her eyes started getting heavy, they made their way to her bedroom. She was already in her pj's, and Diggle had come over wearing sweats, so they simply made themselves comfortable under her blankets. Diggle wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her toward his chest, cradling her head against his neck. She threw her arm over his waist, and tucked one of her legs in between his.
"Love you, John," she whispered. "Just wanted to make sure you knew."
He squeezed her affectionately. "Love you too, Felicity."
As she drifted off to sleep for the final time that night, with Diggle's comforting presence swaddled around her, the pain in her chest lifted just a little. She was never going to be the same Felicity Smoak she was before, but for the first time in weeks, she was able to breathe again.