Author's Note: This takes place during episode 5, Damaged. I'd have preferred it if Laurel didn't run away after she and Oliver kissed, so I re-wrote the scene that way. Strictly TV-verse, don't know nothin bout the comics.
" you don't . . ." Oliver's voice was barely a whisper "Laurel, you don't have to go . . ."
Laurel stopped dead in her tracks at the sound, her hand gripping the frame of the door for support as she tried to find the strength to stand on her own trembling legs. She wanted to run, she wanted to escape as fast as she could, out of this room, out of this house, and far away from Oliver Queen.
She had never meant for this to happen. All Laurel had wanted to do was apologize for her father's behavior, to explain to Oliver why her dad was so hell-bent on casting him as the hooded vigilante. It hadn't been her intention to stand so close, to brush her fingers across his skin, to kiss him. Then suddenly she had been kissing him, and the whole room was spinning out of control around her.
Laurel had pulled back breathless, shocked by her own actions. Without a moment's pause she'd dashed for the exit, grabbing her bag from the bench as she pulled open the door, the light from the hallway streaming in, signaling freedom.
But Laurel never made it that far, Oliver's voice had stayed her. It wasn't what he'd said, it was how he'd said it. For the first time since his return from the dead, Oliver sounded like the boy she'd loved, the boy who'd died and left her behind. In that moment Oliver's voice held a vulnerability that had always cut straight through to her heart, even when they were children together, long before they were lovers. Laurel couldn't leave him like this.
Oliver remained frozen in place, he didn't need to turn around to know that Laurel remained. His time in the jungle had taught him many useful things and honed all of his senses - he could feel the warmth of her body, even from across the room, smell the scent of her perfume wafting near the threshold. Oliver could even hear the thundering of her heartbeat as it raced wildly. Then again, perhaps that was his own?
The feel of her lips still lingered on his, sending aftershocks of electricity coursing through his body. He'd made a mistake and he knew it. Since his return, Oliver had been so careful to cultivate a facade of indifference, to remain detached and unaffected, to remain in control. It was necessary to the plan, necessary to fulfilling his father's wishes, he couldn't be distracted from his goal and he wouldn't allow anyone close enough that they may end up as collateral damage.
All those years on the island, thinking of home, planning his return to Starling City, Oliver had never imagined that it would be this difficult. His family - Thea and his mother, he knew they'd push him to open up, he could deflect their inquiries easily. Tommy - he was a good friend, but he would never ask Oliver about his feelings or even what had happened to him on the island. They would drink, they would party, they would pick up women and Oliver would never need to lie to Tommy about anything.
Laurel however, she was completely unexpected. Oliver had imagined that she would hate his guts, that she would never come within a hundred yards of him ever again. He had envisioned keeping an eye on her from a respectable distance, making sure she was safe but never close enough to touch. Oliver hadn't planned on her forgiveness or her compassion, and he certainly hadn't expected her offer of friendship. This was a significant problem, not only because he didn't deserve her forgiveness, but because Laurel was the one person who'd always had the power to read him like a book, to see straight through any lie that he might tell.
His carefully laid plans were coming unraveled right before his eyes and Oliver needed for Laurel to leave. It had been but momentary weakness when he'd made his accidental confession, allowed himself to be swept away by the moment and pressed his lips to hers. Still high on the taste of her kiss, his deepest desire had asked her to stay, his conscious mind unaware that he'd spoken aloud until Laurel had responded. Now, he was back in control of himself, and he would never allow her to endanger herself by getting involved with him again.
Laurel released her grip on the door frame, turning slowly and shutting the door behind her as she let her briefcase fall to the floor at her feet. She didn't know what to say next, how to break the silence. Oliver was standing with his back to her, she could see the tension in the lines of his shoulder as they flexed beneath his shirt. Laurel stood there quietly, waiting for him to face her - she had stayed, the next move was his.
When Oliver finally turned, Laurel could see instantly that his mask was back in-place, the rare moment of vulnerability had passed.
"I'm afraid I'm neglecting my guests" Oliver said formally, walking toward Laurel and bending to retrieve her briefcase where she'd dropped it "Thank you so much for stopping by" he concluded, placing the strap firmly on her shoulder.
Oliver walked past her then, opening the door with an exaggerated butler's flourish so she could exit. Laurel was livid, her teeth clenching in irritation. He had asked her to stay, he had confessed that his feelings for her remained, and now he was throwing her out. What exactly was he playing at? She couldn't believe that she'd let herself fall for his games yet again. Laurel stalked across the room angrily, brushing past him in a fury as she flew down the hallway toward the stairs.
Oliver watched her descent, certain she was gone before closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. Laurel was well and truly finished with him this time he supposed. He took a deep breath, pushing the pain and other unwanted feelings back down to their hiding place. He started to return to the party when he remembered his shirt. Walking over to the dresser mirror, he buttoned the "inmate's" uniform quickly, straightening his collar as he reached the top.
Glancing briefly at his reflection, he noticed a faint smudge of Laurel's lipstick coloring his mouth. Oliver shook his head bitterly as he wiped it off. It wasn't as if the makeup didn't fit with the billionaire playboy image he was trying to re-birth, he just couldn't bare the reminder of her right now. Not with his skin still burning from her touch.
Oliver started for the door again, remembering the need for a public spectacle with his guests this evening. But one last dangerous impulse entered his mind and before he could quell it, his hand was reaching for his dresser drawer, searching under his clean tee-shirts for the worn photograph he kept hidden beneath. For just a second he allowed himself a moment of self-pity, of grief for what he had lost, his fingertip dancing across the image, tracing the outline of Laurel's smiling face.
It proved to be a second too long. Lost in thought, Oliver's island-honed senses had failed him - - Laurel was standing in the open doorway, her eyes locked upon him and in that moment, as her eyes met his in the mirror, he knew that he was caught.
Oliver's eyes went from wistful nostalgia to cool and calculating in only a flash, but Laurel had seen it, she had seen him and she knew now that she was right - the boy she'd loved wasn't dead. Whatever his reasons for pushing her away, this time she was determined that she wouldn't go. Closing the door behind her, Laurel stalked across the room purposefully. Oliver didn't make any motion to hide the picture's contents at her approach, knowing it was a lost cause. He simply stood there numbly, letting her take it from his hand.
Laurel looked at the picture only a moment before tossing it onto the top of the dresser carelessly, her suspicions confirmed.
"You're an asshole" she accused, turning to face him.
Oliver opened his mouth to say something glib and condescending, but he never got the chance as Laurel slapped him hard across the face.
"That is for Sarah" she explained, fury flashing in her eyes.
Oliver took a step back, surprised that she had managed to catch him off-guard.
WHACK! She hit him again, harder this time.
This time Oliver could see it coming, but he did nothing to stop her. It was the very least he deserved, and he knew it.
"That is for being such an unbearable jackass since you rose from the dead" she continued, her voice getting louder.
WHACK! She hit him a third time, her hand actually stinging from the impact.
"And that is for trying to throw me out of here tonight" she finished, stepping forward to close the distance between them by wrapping her arms around his neck and crashing her lips into his.
Laurel kissed him the same way she'd slapped him - violently, her teeth clashing against his as she launched her body into him. Oliver's hands came up to catch her easily, one steadying her by the waist while the other found it's way to the back of her neck, torn between his rational mind's inclination to push her away and his body's desire to pull her closer. Their tongues danced together deliciously, dueling for dominance. Every nerve ending in Oliver's body felt like it was alive and firing for the first time in years, his body responding to Laurel in a way he'd forgotten until now.
Finally, he pulled back just enough to gasp her name, trying to gather her attention. Laurel pulled his bottom lip between her teeth, biting down gently as a warning.
"No talking" she mumbled quietly, releasing his lip from her teeth and plunging her tongue back into his mouth, effectively silencing him for the next several minutes.
Oliver allowed his hands to wander, up her back, through her hair, across her cheek. The dim recesses of his mind registered that this was quickly getting out of control, but his body was slower to catch on.
"Laurel . . ." he breathed, threading his fingers through her hair and tilting her gaze to meet his.
"No talking" she interrupted again, her fingertips gliding up across his face to rest on his lips, silencing him with her touch. "When you speak, all you do is lie to me" Laurel observed without accusation, her hand leaving his mouth and traveling down across his chest to rest overtop his heart. She could feel his heart thundering beneath her fingertips as she massaged her hand gently across his chest. "This isn't a lie" she explained, her eyes holding his steadily as she tapped her fingers to the rhythm of his heart beating beneath his skin.
Oliver swallowed hard, resisting the urge to crumple under the weight of her gaze. The urge to tell her the truth gnawing at his self control as it always did. The urge to tell her that he loved her then, that he loves her still. That the thought of seeing her again is what pulled him through his darkest days; not his duty to his father, but his desire for her.
"Laurel . . ." He warned, trailing off as he realized how weak his voice sounded outside of his own head.
Laurel didn't answer him, instead taking his hand in hers and placing it gently above her own beating heart, letting him feel how they seemed to beat in time with one another.
"You know what I remember about Tommy's Halloween Party?" Laurel asked, her fingers intertwining with his.
"What's that?" he whispered, his defenses almost completely broken.
"How really, really late we were" Laurel confessed, smiling up at Oliver as she pulled him toward the bed.
The End