Oliver hated storms.

On the island, there were so many nights when he couldn't sleep because of the thunder, the sudden loud crackle of lightning when he least expected it and the constant thud-thud of fat raindrops hitting the ground whenever he even tried to close his eyes. He remembered how jealous he had been of Slade, who had been taught to catnap as part of his ASIS training and had always been able to sleep straight through them. Meanwhile, Oliver would just twist and turn in his makeshift bed on the floor, staring at the ceiling of the plane and wishing sleep would come.

But he wasn't on the island now. He was in Starling – in Felicity's living room, to be precise, having entered surreptitiously through the back. Oliver sighed. Not for the first time, he wondered if there would ever be a time where something wouldn't remind him of his time on Lian Yu.

Reaching inside his jacket, he withdrew the bottle of Lafite Rothschild he had taken from Queen Mansion, looking around. He'd only been to Felicity's place once before. Even now, he wondered if coming here was a good idea. Sure, he missed her (she had been in Central City for a good few days, now, after hearing about Barry), but for some reason, he couldn't help thinking that perhaps he would be sending her the wrong message. He laughed to himself; that was usually more Felicity's mindset than his, truth be told.

Besides, he was certain he hadn't been nearly as nervous when he had last been in Felicity's apartment, and he had deposited a barrage of flowers on Felicity's living room floor that time.

But things had changed between them lately. Ever since that fateful day when Felicity and Diggle had come to get him from Lian Yu, and especially after their trip to Russia, Oliver could not help but notice more and more how much Felicity occupied his thoughts. She had managed to persuade him, despite all his misgivings and failures and outright fears, to return to his mission of saving their city with a new goal, a new mindset.

And then the Count had kidnapped her, and the only thing he could think about for so long after that was how very close he had come to losing her. That was why, sometimes, when he or she forgot to toe the line – even before he had told her he couldn't be with someone he could let himself truly care about – it was impossible to ignore the tiny sparks that flared between them every time they got under each other's skin.

Especially after Barry. Oliver had never thought of himself as the jealous type. Even when Tommy was with Laurel, Oliver had never tried to get in their way. Any reticence he had had at the time, Oliver realised now, was mostly borne from his history with Laurel – history that Oliver, and Oliver alone, had sullied and made too sordid to bear.

With Felicity, though, it was different. Barry had more in common with her than Oliver could ever hope for, and Oliver knew Barry – even when he was in a coma – was infinitely better suited to Felicity.

Not to mention, of course, Barry didn't have a mask getting in his way of his happiness.

The living room was dark. Oliver switched on the light and made for the set of drawers in the corner, where an unlit candleless menorah was sitting atop it. He rummaged through, soon finding a notepad and pen. After placing the wine bottle on the couch, he scribbled a few words down before reaching into his pocket for an arrow, which he used to affix the note to the wall above it just as he heard another rumble of thunder from outside.

At that moment, though, the front door also opened, and Felicity came in, looking windswept, her phone in one hand and the other wheeling a small suitcase inside.

"Hey," she said, greeting him with a smile, and the fact that she did not yelp or even seem surprised he was there was enough to make him raise his eyebrows in question.

"Did you know I was here?" he asked.

"Yep," said Felicity, and she held out her phone to him. Oliver looked down and shook his head when he saw his own moving image on the screen. "I set up a security system where I could remote-access the cameras I installed a little while ago."

"Smart," said Oliver, watching as she set down her suitcase, shutting the door behind her and entering the code before resetting the alarm.

"So what are you doing here?" Felicity asked, taking off her coat and hanging it up. "I mean, not that it's not nice to see you – it's just, I don't think you've ever been in my apartment before."

"I have been." He tried his best to ignore the next clap of thunder. "Once."

Felicity smiled and nodded. "Oh yeah. I remember." She wordlessly gestured for him to sit down on the couch. "Well, I mean, I don't remember you being there, because by the time I got here, you were gone, but… I remember the flowers. They totally made my day a hundred times less crappy."

"I'm glad," he said sincerely as he took a seat, and it was as she also sat down that she noticed the bottle, after which he could see her eyes dart to the note on the wall.

"'It's not 1982'," she read aloud, "'but I thought it was close enough. Happy Hanukkah'."

"Yeah, I could only find the 1995 one," he explained, gratified at the resultant smile on her lips once she had finished reading, "but I thought it was about time I made good on one of my BS stories from last year."

She shook her head fondly. "You didn't have to."

"I know I didn't. But you've had a lot on lately –"

"You're not wrong there," she agreed, her smile fading a little.

"– and… well, I haven't seen you in a few days so I thought you could do with a drink," he finished. "How's Barry?"

Felicity sighed. "No change," she replied eventually. She gestured to the corner of the room where the menorah was sitting. "I figured I may as well come back and have some alone time. You know, it being the first night of Hanukkah and all that."

"Right," he said. There was silence for a moment as Oliver hesitated, before saying, "Yeah, I was just leaving, actually – I didn't know when you'd be back and I only wanted to –"

"Oliver," Felicity interrupted, and suddenly her hand was on his arm, stopping him from getting to his feet, and she scooted a little closer to him on the couch, "when I say 'alone time', that doesn't mean I only want my menorah for company, you know. Besides, you look like you could use a drink too."

He laughed, automatically relaxing and leaning back on the couch. "What makes you say that?"

Shrugging, she stood up and went over to one of the kitchen cupboards, taking out two wine glasses and a corkscrew. "Some psycho in a skull mask who wants to make a bunch of crazy super soldiers, maybe?"

Oliver sighed. "Sounds about right," he admitted grimly, accepting the glass that Felicity handed to him. He watched as Felicity opened the bottle, and he held out his glass for her to pour the wine. She gave him a generous measure, and he waited until she had poured some for herself and sat back down beside him before their glasses clinked gently together, and at the same time, they drank.

"Mm," she said appreciatively. "It's good."

"Not quite the bottle I promised you last year, though," Oliver replied lightly.

She shook her head. "It's okay. Still the best gift I got for Hanukkah this year." That made Oliver smile. "How's the mask working out for you?"

"It's good."

"He totally had a point about the grease paint. I still don't get how Detective Lance doesn't know it's you."

"Honestly, sometimes, I think he does know," Oliver admitted. "And he did suspect it at one point. But yes. I prefer the mask. It's more practical, for one thing."

For some reason, Barry's determined insistence of his father's innocence swam to the forefront of Oliver's mind. And it must have been obvious on his face, because after a moment, Felicity raised her eyebrows, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Do you believe him?" he asked finally.

"About his mom, you mean?" she said, and Oliver nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"You sound very sure," he observed.

After taking a defiant sip of her drink, Felicity said, "I just don't see why he would have a reason to lie or make it up. And, I mean, you seem to believe more in this kind of hocus pocus than me."

"Trust me," Oliver said, "if I hadn't seen some of the things I've seen with my own eyes, I would be sceptical too. But it became obvious to me on the island that… nothing is impossible. Particularly when the bad guys are involved."

"And when you have a beautiful girl on the island to daydream about…" Felicity teased, and Oliver smiled faintly.

"She was a good person. Shado."

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Oliver sighed. "Me too."

For a moment, Felicity opened her mouth as if to say something, but she must have thought better of it because she shook her head ever so slightly and her gaze dropped to her lap.

"You want to know about her." It wasn't a question.

"Not if you don't want to," Felicity said immediately, and he shook his head and took a deep breath.

"When I first got to the island, I got shot in the shoulder. With an arrow."

"Ah. So that's where that scar came from."

"His name was Yao Fei," Oliver said. "He was a prisoner on the island and the first person I met on the island. He… saved my life more times than I can count."

She took the glass from him, and for a few milliseconds, their fingers brushed. When she met his eyes, he could tell she saw pain there. But for once, Oliver didn't do anything to hide it. Maybe it was the wine. More likely it was the fact that he was too entranced in the way she was looking at him to put up his usual mask.

And then, almost as soon as it started, the moment was over and Oliver looked away, letting her top his glass up. He murmured his thanks to her, and Felicity sat back on the couch, stretching her legs a little and taking a long draught of wine.

"So what did Yao Fei have to do with Shado?" she asked.

"She was his daughter," Oliver said. "She was captured and taken to the island. Some people… bad people… used her as leverage to get Yao Fei to do what they wanted."

"Did you stop them?"

"We did," he said heavily. "Me, Slade and Shado."

"You don't look too proud of yourself," Felicity said dryly.

At this, Oliver laughed bitterly. "I'm not. It doesn't seem like much of a victory when they're dead now. Especially because both times, it was my fault." After a pause, he said, "I killed them."

"Shado too?"

It was strange. Oliver expected her to sound, if not outright judgemental (and, of course, that would be with good reason), then at least apprehensive about what he would say next. But instead, it was impossible to read Felicity's expression. In fact, apart from a slight narrowing of the corners of her eyes, she could have been asking him anything.

Still, for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to answer her question.

"I put an arrow through Slade's eye," Oliver said at last. "He… wasn't well. The Mirakuru made him say and do horrific things, including… he said he would go after everyone I loved. Until I felt the same pain he had felt when Shado died. So I – killed him."

"Okay," she said calmly, as if he had just told her today's weather forecast. "That… is understandable. Kind of. Well, it sounds about right for the Oliver I knew last year, anyway." She tilted her head to one side, looking at him expectantly, and he let out a long breath, aware of the unasked question that hung in the air between them.

"I as good as killed Shado."

"What does that mean?"

"The man on the island who was looking for the Mirakuru… Ivo… he captured us. We thought Slade was dead. And Ivo – he put Sara and Shado in front of me and – and he said I had to choose who lived and who died."

Felicity's eyebrows shifted a little higher, but again, her expression remained the same. "I sense an 'or else' coming."

"Or else," Oliver said grimly, "he would shoot them both."

"Oh my God," Felicity breathed, and before he knew it, his hand was in both of hers. She suddenly was so close to him on her couch that her leg was brushing against his and their knees were touching, but neither of them moved away.

"You can probably guess the rest," he said.

"You chose to save Sara."

"And killed Shado in the process."

"Oliver," she said softly, "you didn't kill her."

"I may as well have. You know, 'Lian Yu' means 'purgatory' in Mandarin. And because of what I did to Shado… to Laurel, to Sara, to Slade, to Tommy, to every person in my life that I cared about, that I felt I belonged there. That's why I went back after the undertaking. To –" He gestured hopelessly, trying and failing to find the words.

"To what? Pay your penance?" she suggested.

"I guess."

"It's funny. I never took you to be the religious type."

And despite his confession, he found himself smiling, and Felicity smiled back.

It helped.

"I wouldn't say that," Oliver said after a moment. "I mean… before the island, I don't think I even cared if there was a God or not. But after everything I've seen – and compared to some of the other things, a serum that creates super strength is nothing – I wonder if there is. And I keep hanging on to that 'if' – and, I don't know, I think it wouldn't exactly hurt to ask for forgiveness anyway."

"I get that," Felicity said, nodding. "Kind of. The believing in God part, that is. The other part… I'm not so sure. I mean, by all means tell me I'm wrong, but… I have a feeling God wouldn't want you to punish yourself in the process. That's not forgiveness. That's putting blame where it shouldn't have been in the first place."

At this, Oliver moved his hand from hers, suddenly aware of their close proximity. He turned away.

"You don't know that. And it was my fault."

"Are you sure you're not Catholic or something? Because that sounds like textbook Catholic guilt to me." Once again, the gentle teasing tone of Felicity's voice took some of the edge off the harsh grit that came with the memories now at the fore of Oliver's mind, in a way that the crimson beverage he was drinking could not.

"I think my mother's side is supposed to be Catholic," he offered, humouring her, and she smiled back warmly. "But we were never raised into it or anything."

"Right."

They sat in silence for a minute, sipping their drinks, and this time, Oliver topped up both their glasses. He realised as he did so that the rain and the thunder had stopped.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"Do you… believe?" He gestured with his free hand.

"As in, in God?" When Oliver nodded, she said, "Well, yeah. I do. Mostly."

Oliver laughed. "Mostly?"

"Well, I believe He exists. Although, for the record, I don't think He is actually a he. I just call Him that because it's better than It, which is kind of disrespectful, or They, which is grammatically just wrong. And… I'm not sure why, but when I think She, I think of a goddess, which, however awesome, is probably not who I pray to. When I pray. Which probably isn't as much as I used to.

"But… honestly? Just because I believe in His existence doesn't mean I don't wonder, sometimes – often, actually – if He's actually listening."

"I wonder that too," Oliver agreed.

"Glad to know it's not just me," Felicity said, and she did actually look relieved when he said that. "But that's not to say I don't get lost in all the… ceremony, and the rituals, with the candles and the Hebrew words and the prayers. Because I do. And I don't ask for forgiveness so much as I ask God to… protect everyone. And it's just, well, later, in hindsight, really, that I kind of doubt He cares, or I wonder if He was listening. Sometimes, I don't even know who I'm doing it for – me, my… family, God."

"But you still do it," he said curiously.

For some reason, this made her smile. "Yeah, I know. I guess that's just me hanging on to my 'what if'."

Then she glanced at the clock on her wall, beside the note that was still pinned on by an arrow, before looking outside.

"Do you need to be somewhere?" he asked automatically, already half on his feet.

"No, you can stay," Felicity said, shaking her head and gesturing for him to sit back down. "I mean, if you want to. If you want to see me light my menorah, that is."

He nodded, but he stayed on his feet, and his eyes followed Felicity – first to a nearby cabinet where she withdrew two candles and a box of matches, and then to the table where the menorah was. There was a small click as she switched off the light, and for a few moments, all that was visible to Oliver was Felicity's dark silhouette. Then, he blinked as the light switched back on, but this time, it was much dimmer, and with a faintly red hue about it that brought her features into a slightly sharper focus.

Oliver watched as she placed the menorah on a windowsill and then put the first candle in its holder on the right side of the menorah, unlit. She struck a match, lighting the second candle, and this she put in the holder in the middle of the menorah, noticeably above the others. Then Felicity began murmuring in Hebrew, her lips – with a faint hint of dark pink gloss – mouthing the foreign words, her voice sounding softer than usual as she recited blessings, and even from where he was sitting, Oliver could see the fire from the candle reflected in her glasses.

He understood, now, as Felicity lifted the candle in the middle out and used it to light the one on the far end, what she meant about being lost in the ceremony of it all. In a way, he was lost too – lost with her, really, in a wonderful way, mesmerised by the candlelight, transfixed at the quiet melody of her singing a Hebrew song. All the while, she never took her eyes off the two lit candles.

And there was just something about her, in that moment, that made Oliver's breath catch in his throat. But this magic was infinitely more powerful and unlike anything he had come across before on the island, or on the freighter, or in Coast City, because it was a hundred times purer.

And he would look at this moment much, much later on, shortly before uttering those three momentous words to her in order to entrap Slade, and realise that this was indeed the moment Oliver Queen had fallen – headfirst – in love with Felicity Smoak.