Title: Change of Plans
Word Count: 2668
Notes: I said you weren't getting a Breaking News update, but, lo and behold, you are. I had some trouble with the Fic-A-Thon prompt this week (for the first time ever). It started Monsters, but that didn't go where I needed it to, and I immediately thought of Breaking News.
This is a flashback to when the team was still military and in Iraq.
There are no spoilers for Breaking News. As long as you're familiar with the premise of the fic, you should be fine. :)
If you choose to read, I thank you. If you choose to review, I thank you and look forward to talking to you. :)
Oliver sighs as he stares at the mounds of paperwork on top of his desk. If they told him that a secretive, spec ops position came with this many forms and papers to fill out, he would have never taken the assignment. All of this work, only to end up redacted in a file somewhere. The irony does not escape him: compiling pages that will never be read.
A set of papers slam down on his desk, held by a pale hand with green fingernails. Oliver jumps at the sound, but doesn't look up; only one person on base would break dress code—or paint her fingernails to match her flight suit. "More paperwork from command, Captain?" he asks her.
Felicity doesn't readily answer, and only then does he look up. In a rare sight, she's actually in tan fatigue pants, paired with a tan undershirt. As always, her dog tags hang down to the middle of her chest, and she twists them in one hand.
Having to prompt her is strange, but a mute Felicity Smoak is as rare as him being caught up on paperwork. Her nervous gesture and her silence makes him swallow hard. "Felicity?" he asks gently.
Her eyes go wide for a heartbeat. "Oh, I didn't salute, did I?" she mutters. She does so, albeit awkwardly. "Sorry about that, Major." Knocking her fists against one another, Felicity finally asks, "Um… Permission to speak freely, Major?"
For the first time all day, Oliver chuckles. Not only does this team not run with the traditional rigidity of the military, but Felicity is not the kind of person that asks permission to speak her mind. "I think we both know you always have that," he answers, dropping his pen. He motions to the chair on the other side of the desk. "Have a seat."
"I'd prefer to stand," she blurts.
His eyes widen as she paces across the small space, waving her hands idly. "I… I don't know how to say this, Major," she declares. Oliver immediately tenses in his chair; any time she uses his rank in a private setting, it's never good. "It's… complicated."
Letting her gather his thoughts, Oliver assures her, "Take all the time you need, Felicity." He motions to his desk, and the small library piled on top of it. "I'll just keep working until you're ready. He reaches for the pages she just dropped on top of his desk, but drops them a moment later when he sees what it is: a request for transfer to another unit.
The name at the top reads Capt. Felicity M. Smoak.
Oliver immediately thinks of the time he was thrown out of the cargo hold of a plane when trying to complete his first spec ops mission. He had grabbed a parachute, but it was one hell of a ride from start to finish. The landing hadn't been pretty; he had survived with a concussion, a broken clavicle, and five other fractures.
This feels an awful lot like that landing.
"You want to leave us," he declares. It comes out sharper than he intends, an accusation as he tries to keep the hurt out of his voice. Though it's selfish and unfair, every part of him screams, You want to leave me.
"No!" is Felicity's immediate answer, pulling to a stop as she stares at him with wide eyes. Her hands make gestures in the air as she tries to find words. "I mean, yes," she admits after a moment. "I…" She blows out a noisy breath. "I don't belong here, Oliver."
There would be less of a sting if she slapped him. After six months on this unit, how could she possibly feel that way? Harper isn't always easy to work with, but he was gone the moment Felicity started quoting his favorite comic books. While Diggle is slow to warm up, Oliver often wishes the sergeant had half the respect for him as he does for her.
That is to say nothing of Oliver himself.
Admitting it now wouldn't be fair to her, but now he wishes he'd said it at every opportunity: he needs her. Not because she's a brilliant pilot or unflinchingly loyal or impossibly honest—though those three qualities certainly don't hurt. It isn't even that she's forgotten more about flight repairs than most people ever know.
Felicity holds him to a higher standard than he holds himself. While the rest of the team is content to follow Oliver's orders and call him a dick behind his back, Felicity Smoak is more than pleased to call him an asshole to his face. She doesn't follow traditional rank. If she has opinions, she voices them. If he's wrong, she calls him out. If he pisses her off, she makes sure that the entire base can hear why she's angry with him. She kicks his ass when his ass needs kicking. In six months, she's become his light in the darkness, helping him to remember where the lines are drawn.
Though every instinct within him wants to beg, plead, and bargain to keep her here, he bites down on those urges. Oliver's voice is strained when he answers in a soft tone, "I think I at least deserve to know why you feel that way."
Waving a hand toward the papers, she replies, "It's all outlined—"
"From you," he clarifies, cutting her off.
Her laugh is almost bitter, despite the genuine smile on her lips. "You never do make it easy for me, do you, Major?"
"I could say the same to you, Captain," is his reply, biting back on a laugh of his own.
"I…" She shakes her head, turning away from him and toward the front of the tent. She studies it for a moment while toying with her dog tags, but a moment later, she's in motion again. This time she rounds the desk, grabbing his wrist and tugging.
Allowing her to lead him to the cot at the front of the tent, Oliver threads his fingers through hers, for what might be the last time. She's always taking his hand over something, it seems. At first, he would wrench his hand away at the first opportunity, but now he thinks he's going to miss that.
Felicity sits down on the mat, crossing her legs in front of her. When he doesn't move, she pats the mat beside her. Oliver joins her without a second thought. Her mouth opens several times, and finally she turns to him with those brilliant blue eyes. "You know my psych eval scores are fiction, right?" she asks him in a quiet voice.
Because he'd rather cut off his own arm than lie to her, Oliver nods. "I've failed a couple myself," he admits to her. Her notes section might cite paranoid schizophrenia with intermittent memory loss, but his states post-traumatic stress disorder with severe trust issues. Either way, he was given a second chance along the way, too. "But psych papers aren't what define what kind of pilot you are, Felicity."
"I know that," she assures him. "That isn't why I'm here." She waves a hand. "I figured you knew about the real evals." She snorts. "Even though picking me for this team after that makes you crazier than me."
She traces a shape into his mats. He thinks it might be the outline of an airplane engine, but that's her area of expertise. "I… I forgot my former CO's name last week," Felicity admits to him slowly, with the same weight as one might make a confession to a priest. A moment later, she waves it away. "It's not that he's exactly memorable or anything, but he was my CO for three years, Oliver, and I couldn't remember his name."
Brow furrowing, the major replies, "Felicity, honey…" The word slips out of its own accord, and he stops to gauge her reaction. She flushes and won't look at him, but the smile on her face could outshine the sun. Oliver can work with that. "I'm trying," he finishes after a moment, "but I'm not following you. Why does that make you want to leave us?"
"The week before that," she answers, ignoring his question, "I forgot to do my pre-flight check." She slaps the mat next to her, and he jumps at the sudden movement. "I took you three up in a plane without making sure everything was in working order. And that is simply unacceptable.
"I… I don't want to leave you," she whispers. "This team… is the closest thing I've ever had to a normal family." She swallows hard. "You and Digg and Roy are my boys." She wraps her arms around herself, finally looking at him with haunted eyes. "And I love my boys more than anything else. More than my wings—and I love being able to fly again." Sniffing, she finishes, "But I can't be here because my brain is all busted and explode-y. It's only a matter of time before I do something that gets the three of you hurt." She shakes her head. "I'd give up my wings again before I did that."
She looks away again, and a wet spot appears on her fatigue pants. One little drop nearly destroys him. "I don't belong in a team like this," she repeats, voice watery this time. "You need someone you can count on to do the job. That isn't me." She shakes her head. "I just feel like an out-of-place spark chaser with a busted head."
In some ways, he feels like an idiot after her confession. He always thought Roy would take the most coaxing and reassurance, but he's forgotten that Felicity's brave front is just that—a front. Of course she feels out of place. He made sure of that, didn't he? She's the only woman on the team, the only one from the Air Force. Her hallucinations and memory loss isolate her, and even Roy's fond nickname of Batshit reminds her that she's different. Even her through-the-roof intelligence sets her apart from the rest of them.
He selected her, knowing that she would feel alienated from the rest of the group. Instead of building her up, he let her brilliance slip by without comment. He didn't plan on her having doubts about her self-worth and concerns when her memory fails her. Instead of praising her, he only pushed her harder because he knows Felicity Smoak is capable of handling anything he throws at her. He assumed she understood that, too.
Those mistakes might have just cost him a pilot.
Unable to resist, Oliver wraps an arm around her shoulders. Felicity leans into him, arms winding around his waist. "If this is what you want," he answers slowly, "I won't try to keep you here." He tilts her head up so she'll look at him. "But I wish you'd reconsider. The boys care about you. I care about you." Never have four words been so hard to say, even though they're some of the more honest ones he's said in his life. Maybe that's what makes them so difficult to admit.
Taking a long breath, he braces himself for a few more truths he can't bear to say. "Felicity, I picked you for this team," he declares after a moment. "I had my choice of all the pilots in the active forces, and I picked you." She bites down on her lip, and he thinks she might cry again. If she does, he's done for. "I picked you knowing that your psych evals were adjusted. I knew your vision wasn't perfect and that you sometimes forget things. I… I didn't care because you were the best.
"That was without knowing you," Oliver continues. "We've had six months to work with you every day, Felicity. We've fought together, we've pulled missions together, and we've escaped impossible situations together. You've saved all of us at least once—and risked your life to do it. We trust and respect you, and none of us think any less of you because sometimes you can't remember something." He winks at her. "You always remember the important things."
She mulls on that last statement for a moment. "I do, don't I?" she asks, though the question is rhetorical.
Oliver nods anyway. "This entire unit will fall apart the moment you leave us." He already knows he won't try to replace her because Felicity Smoak cannot be replaced. "If you still want to leave, I'll sign your papers right now." He frowns at that thought. "But if you want to stay…" He chuckles. "You help me keep my head on straight. If you want, I could do the same for you."
After hugging him tighter for a moment, she pulls away with bright eyes. "I can stay?" she asks, her tone longing. "Even when my brain is plotting a rebellion against me?" He laughs at her wording. When he nods, she salutes him. "Permission to rip up my transfer papers, sir?" she asks.
"Don't call me 'sir,'" he replies immediately. He follows it with, "And permission granted, Captain."
Squealing, Felicity rises to her feet, scrambling over to his desk. She gathers the three pages of the form, and Oliver can only watch as she rips them into pieces. When they're finally small enough for her, she throws them into the air above her like confetti.
By the time he rises to his feet, she's already standing in front of him. Felicity pulls him into a tug so tight he can't breathe for a few seconds, but she releases him a moment later. "Thank you, Oliver," she says, with all the weight of the tank parked a few hundred yards away. "For helping me with my brain." She waves a hand. "I know this is bad timing, considering you just did something wonderful for me, but I love you." He freezes at the declaration. "I really do love you, Oliver. You're my best friend."
The last words make him relax again. Usually when he's heard those three words from a woman, it's ended in demands for something more. Though he can't quite repeat them himself, he offers a quiet, "Thank you." He isn't certain if that's the right thing to say, but she smiles, so that's something. "I—" he starts, reaching absently to brush a speck of torn paper from her shoulder.
Placing a hand over his mouth, Felicity shushes him. "You don't have to say it back," she assures him. "I didn't say it because I wanted you to. I said it because I meant it—because I wanted you to hear it. I love my boys, and you shouldn't forget that, okay?" She kisses his cheek before adding in a whisper, "And of all my boys, you're my favorite. But don't tell the others—it might upset them."
Her declaration puts an unfamiliar, warm feeling in his chest. It isn't unpleasant, but Oliver isn't sure he's ready to identify what that is. "Your secret is safe with me," he whispers back. They share a smile. He cups her face out of instinct, and she leans into his touch, holding his hand to her face with her own. "You're my favorite, too." She closes her eyes, still smiling. "I'm sorry I haven't told you more often how important you are to this team, Felicity. Thank you for staying."
Eyes opening wide, Felicity takes a step back, affronted. "You don't have to thank me for staying with my boys," she answers. "And you certainly don't have to apologize for not building me up." She pats his cheek. "You may not build us up when we do right, but we know when you approve of our work. Just…" She sighs, looking away. "Could you remind me sometimes about my head? When I get confused, can you just help me remember I still belong here."
His next words are some of the most honest he's ever spoken: "Always, Captain."