Relief and elation swept through Felicity as she watched on her monitor the seemingly miraculous return of Oliver to Starling. Nothing could have prepared her for that moment, but seeing him, alive and well, made her realize how, despite her grief, she had still been clinging to the smallest thread of hope that he wasn't truly dead. "Suck it, Malcom Merlyn," she muttered under her breath. Digg, who had been close enough to hear her, responded, "Took the words right out of my mouth." They shared a smile and turned simultaneously when they heard the door to the lair open and the familiar footfalls of Oliver.

Felicity was on her feet and launching herself at him in seconds. He caught her easily and buried his chin in her neck, breathing in her familiar scent and reveling at the feel of her in his arms. "It's okay. I'm okay," he murmured to her.

When she finally pulled away, he apologized for not coming to the lair right away. "I needed to see Thea," he said by way of explanation. No one faulted him for that. His next revelation Felicity definitely faulted him for and she wasn't shy about sharing why. She had just ardently proclaimed to anybody willing to listen that Oliver would NEVER work with Malcom Merlyn. It stung how wrong she had been.

Digg and Roy busily looked at the floor and ceiling, respectively, as Felicity made a hasty exit from the lair.

She was glad to breathe in the cool, night air. It helped clear her head, even if her heart felt rubbed raw. It was too much to take in, especially in such a short period of time. She'd barely had time to fully soak in the fact that he was alive, back in Starling, and what that might mean for the both of them. The way her heart had soared at having him in her arms again made his shocking admission about needing to train with Merlyn all the more devastating. Her most intense desires, hidden deep in her heart of hearts, were burned to ash as soon as his intentions were clear. Nearly dying hadn't changed him at all. To make matters worse, it made a mockery of her grief and made her feel like a fool. Wounded pride and Felicity Smoak were like gasoline and a ready to strike match; it was best to separate the two as quickly as possible.

That's why hearing him behind her in the alley awakened a fury in her that she hadn't given purchase to in quite some time. Her jaw clenched as she reminded him, "'I said I need some air' means 'I don't want to talk right now.'" She turned to face him, anger mixed with a deep-seated weariness evident in her expression.

"I'm sorry." The admission was soft and deflected off of her hardened heart without leaving the slightest of marks.

"For what?" She nearly laughed. "Maybe you could be more specific. For letting us think you were dead? For weeks?" Her voice rose ever so slightly. "Or for abandoning every principle you claimed to have by getting into bed with Malcom Merlyn?" She had started incredulously, but as she continued to speak, the words became brittle, tiny shards of glass, arrows of bitterness and distrust, breeching the distance between them.

He stepped forward, one, two steps. She stepped back, eyes widening ever so slightly as she shook her head no, "Mm, mm." It was a warning, an admonition to stay away. He was no longer safe and she would guard her body, her heart and her mind from any further interference from Oliver Queen. The line was drawn.

His expression was pained, but she was unmoved. He tried knocking down her walls another way, "That's not why you're upset," he offered.

She looked thoughtful now and he felt a flutter of hope in his chest, that maybe she wasn't as angry as he initially thought. "When you were gone, for almost a month, I allowed myself to fantasize, to dream that maybe, just maybe, Merlyn was wrong. That you were alive. That you'd come back. And when you did, maybe you'd be different. That almost dying would give you a new persespective on life. That you would do things differently."

"Things between us, you mean." His interruption came out almost defensively, but it was tinged with sadness because his hope was now vanishing as quickly as it had come.

She continued as though she hadn't heard him, "Before you left, the last thing you said to me was that you loved me. Now you're back and the first thing you tell me is you're working with a man who turned your sister, a woman you're supposed to love, into a killer, who killed a woman you used to love!" Each word came at him like the biting edge of a blade and Oliver bore it with the resolve of a man used to torture and the pain that inevitably came with it. Her last words delivered the death blow and he listened even as a roar began to fill his ears, "I don't want to be a woman that YOU love."

The roar continued as he watched her turn on her heel and walk away from him. His eyes held tears he refused to let fall. Felicity didn't believe in bluster or drama. She reserved her energy for truth and wielded it as handily as he had ever wielded his bow. He could do nothing but watch her go. There were no words to fix this. Not now. Maybe not ever. He shook his head to clear it of the memory of when he had said those words at the hospital. If ever he felt trapped as the Arrow with no hope of being Oliver Queen again, it was now. The weight of it settled like a stone in his stomach, rooting him to the alley. It wasn't okay, after all. He wasn't okay.