This is based on a prompt from arringtondblake on Tumblr that said: "I would love to see a story where...Diggle and Felicity don't really notice how obvious that it is that they're getting closer" and specifically for this chapter: "Diggle taking care of an injured Felicity." I've always wanted to see someone do a big, romantic multi-chapter story for these characters and I finally just decided to do it myself and asked for prompts.
This chapter picks up with them right after the events of 2x14 "Time of Death."
"Can I have another one of those aspirins?" Felicity says sweetly before adding a "Please?" and giving John that cute smile she knows always works on him.
"I think you've had enough for one night," he says, despite the cuteness.
"Come on," she pleads. "It's the least you can do after ratting me out," she adds and tilts her head in the direction Oliver just went.
"Nice try, but no," he replies. She makes a pouty face and hunches over, looking almost comically miserable and he relents. "But I'll give you some if you promise not to take them until the morning."
"OK, promise," she says excitedly and jumps off the table she's sitting on.
"Hey, take it easy, will you?" he says, rushing to her. "You're going to regret that when you feel how sore your shoulder is in the morning."
"That's what the aspirins are for," she says with her usual brightness. She turns and practically skips toward her desk and John has to fight not to laugh.
Felicity tries to argue that she's OK to drive, but John refuses to let her operate a vehicle and insists on diving her with the promise of picking her up for work the next morning too since she'll have to leave her car at Verdant.
"Are you sure it'll be safe?" she asks, giving the red Mini Cooper a worried stare as he pulls out of the parking lot.
"The lot is filled with cameras, nobody is going to be stupid enough to steal a car from it," John assures. "Not even in the Glades."
"OK," she sighs, sounding unconvinced, and slumps in her seat.
"What you did tonight was really brave," he says to take her mind off it.
"Thanks," she says smugly.
"It was also very stupid."
"Hey!" she yelps and lightly slaps him on the arm. "What are you talking about?"
"You shouldn't have gone after Tockman alone," he chastises. "I know you wanted to prove your worth to the team—don't deny it," he says sharply when she makes a sound of protest. He pauses a second to make sure she won't try to argue again before continuing. "But I told you: you are irreplaceable. We wouldn't be able to do what we do without you. So promise me you'll never unnecessarily put yourself in danger again." He turns his attention from the road ahead a moment to fix her with a stern gaze and Felicity looks repentant, ashamed even.
"I promise," she says softly.
"Good," he replies.
He drops the issue then because she seems sufficiently chastened, but John still doesn't think Felicity grasps his full meaning, brilliant as she is. He can understand how, though. She doesn't know what Oliver was like before she came along.
John had spent months trying to convince him that the Hood had to stand for more than just violence and revenge, but the message hadn't seemed to sink in until it came from her. He was never quite sure why Oliver was more willing to listen to Felicity—though he had ideas. It could have been because the words were harder to ignore when they came from two people. Or maybe he gave her moral judgements more weight because she still had the idealistic innocence they'd both lost long ago. Or maybe it was because she was a pretty girl. A pretty girl who was interested.
John's often wondered how aware Oliver is of Felicity's feelings for him. Given that he had to tell him she was feeling left out and the rather clueless way he asked about her workout clothes earlier, John suspects their partner doesn't know. He's often wondered how their relationship would evolve given enough time. Though he doesn't know what will happen now that Oliver is back with Sara. He has no doubt that Felicity meant what she said about feeling somewhat less vital to the team because of the new addition, but watching how happy they appear to be can't be helping her state of mind either.
"This is me," Felicity says, interrupting his thoughts and pointing to her house.
"Yeah, I know," he replies and pulls to the curb. "I've picked you up before, remember?"
"Right, right, right," she says rapidly and waves her hand dismissively.
She flings the door open before he's even shut off the car's engine and he has to run to catch up to her as she walks to her door.
"Home sweet home," she recites as she steps inside. John follows and he's just closed the door behind them when Felicity unceremoniously flings off the shirt Oliver leant her. He turns away quickly, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Though he isn't sure why. This is not, in fact, the first time he's seen Felicity with her shirt off.
It was after the Undertaking, a few months into Oliver's self-imposed exile on Lian-yu.
It wasn't the first time she'd knocked on his door in the months since Oliver disappeared, nor was it the first time she appeared with that down-trodden, lonely look on her face that meant she needed to talk to someone. It was, however, the first time she appeared already a little drunk and with a fresh six-pack of beer in her hands.
"Why aren't you answering your phone?" she had asked, sounding irritable. She stepped through the door without waiting for him to invite her in. "Oh, you're painting," she had said, answering her own question. "Well, sorry to break in on your relaxation time, but I thought you might have disappeared too when you didn't answer." She plopped down on his couch and John resigned himself then to the fact she would probably end up sleeping in that same spot.
"Well, now that you see I haven't," he had started, shutting the door, "are you going to share those or are you going to drink them while I finish?" he had asked, pointing a thumb at his easel. Felicity's grip tightened defensively around the bottles a moment as she regarded him before she sighed and held one out to him. "Thanks," he had said and taken it.
John went to the kitchen, set the bottle cap on the edge of the counter and then struck it with the heel of his hand, knocking the cap off. He moved to return to his painting when Felicity held out a bottle to him.
"Do mine, do mine," she had said excitedly. He complied, smiling to himself at what a charming drunk she was turning out to be, and then grabbed her a bottle opener before returning to his work. Otherwise he would be forced to do the trick all night.
"Where is that?" she had asked, leaning forward to study the canvas better.
"Just somewhere I used to live," he had replied. Had Felicity been her usual, perceptive self, she might have noticed the regret that always crept Into his voice when it came to his failed marriage to Lyla. As it was, John was thankful for the alcohol she'd already consumed.
"Not that I'm not always glad to see you," he had started, "but what did you need to tell me so bad?"
"Oh crap," she had said and smacked her forehead with her hand. "I found Oliver!" John set his brush down and turned to her, surprised, but before he could ask for details, she set in on a ramble. "That's what these are for," she had said and wiggled the bottle in her hand. "I went upstairs at Verdant to celebrate and I was calling you and calling you to join me, but then you didn't pick up so I took a cab—"
"That's a relief," he had muttered under his breath.
"—And we stopped at a liquor store so I could get this before I came here," she had finished and stared at him expectantly.
"So...where did you find him?" he had prompted.
"Oh, right," she had replied, looking sheepish. "He went back to the island."
"The island?" he had repeated, confused, before it dawned on him. "He went back?" he had said, a little in awe. "Jesus," he had muttered and sat down on the couch next to her.
"Yeah," she had agreed and took a sip of her beer.
They sat in silence a moment before she spoke again.
"Why do you think...," she had paused and John could see tears starting to form in her eyes. "Why would he go back there? I mean, he hasn't told us much about what happened there, but...just from those scars...I can't imagine why he'd ever want to."
"Because he's punishing himself," he had said and took another swig of beer.
"Over Tommy, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"But he killed Malcolm. We saved half the city. That night wasn't a total loss."
"You know how he is, he doesn't see it that way. All he can think about is the fact that he couldn't save his friend." John finished off his beer and set the empty bottle on the coffee table before turning to look at her.
"But what about everyone else?" she had said, pulling her legs under her as she rearranged herself to face him. "Thea and Laurel are grieving Tommy too. QC is in its worst financial state since Robert Queen disappeared the first time. And what about the city? You've seen how bad things are out there. People could use the Hood right now. Is that just it? Is he never gonna put the uniform again? Are you and I just supposed to forget how much good we can do and let our lives go back to the way they were?"
She looked at him then, desperate to hear an answer he couldn't give and he realized her little bender hadn't just been about celebration. He reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, the way he'd seen Oliver do when trying to calm her down.
"I don't think that's even possible," John said softly. "I don't know what Oliver's plans are, but I think you're right. He can't run away from his life here forever, even if he wants to. Maybe we should try to convince him to come back."
"You mean, go to the island?" she had said skeptically.
"Yeah, maybe he just needs to remember he isn't alone," he had said. "And if that doesn't work, we can drag him back anyway," he had added with a playful smile. "The renovations you've done on the lair are bound to convince him."
Felicity sighed happily and let her head fall to rest on his hand where it still sat on her shoulder. She smiled contentedly, drunkenly, a moment before her brow furrowed and her head shot up.
"How are you doing by the way?" she had asked. John frowned, slid his hand off her shoulder and crossed his arms in front of himself. The break up with Carly was still too fresh for him to want to talk about it much. "Come on," she had prodded and scooted closer to him, her legs pressing against his thigh. He sighed and then glanced at her warily before answering.
"I'm OK," he had lied. She tipped her head to the side and pursed her lips, unconvinced. He sighed and dropped his arms—John should have known lying to her wouldn't work. "It's tough," he had said with a shrug. "You want something for so long and then when you finally get it, it turns out not to be what you hoped." He dropped his arms and leaned into the couch, feeling weary. "I wish I could forget that Deadshot's out there and just be with her, but I can't do that to Andy. Someone has to pay for what happened to him."
"You can't think like that," Felicity had said softly and reached out to take his hand. "Don't pull an Oliver," she had joked, "you can't let some vendetta be your whole life. You have to live too."
"I don't see you following that advice," he had muttered under his breath, unthinking. She pulled back, looking stung and he rushed to apologize. "Felicity, I'm sorry," he had said, holding her hand so she couldn't lean away, "I didn't mean—"
"No, you're right," she had said quickly, hunching her shoulders and looking away. "It's just hard, though, you know? Dating. It sucks, putting yourself out there over and over and being rejected every single time. The last guy I went on a date with didn't even call me back. Not that I was surprised. He couldn't wait to leave dinner. What would he want with a socially awkward, workaholic nerd like me anyway? Maybe I'm just not meant to be with someone."
"Felicity, stop that," John had said and leaned toward her. "You'll find someone. Any guy would be lucky to be with you."
"Thanks," she had said breathily, staring up at him.
Something had shifted between them in that moment and whenever John looked back on it later, he knew the alcohol accounted for Felicity's behavior. He had no explanation for his own.
She looked up at him, those pretty blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, mouth slightly open in question, and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first—as if she feared he would reject her. But he kissed her back instead. Later, he would tell himself that it was because they were both lonely, that he was grieving losing Carly and she was working through her feelings for Oliver. Yet all he knew in the moment was that it felt good and he didn't want to stop. Which was why he pulled her into his lap so she was straddling his hips. He groaned when she ran her tongue across his lips, eagerly parting them and returning the favor.
He wrapped an arm around her and tangled his other hand in her hair, his mind swimming from some mix of the alcohol and the pleasure of her nails scraping against the back of his neck. They broke apart when she ground against, him gasping at the sensation. He recovered quickly and pulled her shirt up and off. Her skin was smooth under his hands and he liked how small she felt as he held her, like some rare beautiful bird too curious to fear a predator. She slid her hands under his shirt as their lips crashed together again and it wasn't long before she pulled away again so she could pull it off him and throw it in the same direction as hers.
Felicity had paused then. She ran her hands over his chest and shoulders, staring down at his body and panting for air, and then looked up into his eyes. He had seen the change in her expression then–shock and confusion quickly followed by embarrassment–and knew it was over even before she spoke.
"We shouldn't do this," she had said, dropping her hands to rest on her thighs. "I'm sorry," she had added and then slid off him to stand.
"It's OK," he had replied, not knowing what else to say as he watched her pick up her shirt and quickly pull it back on.
"I'm gonna go," she had said and then collected her things, strenuously avoiding his gaze.
"Let me call you a cab," he had said, hoping to try to make her feel more comfortable, that what had happened was no big deal.
"It's fine, I've got it," she had replied, already moving briskly toward the door.
"Felicity, wait," he had said and grabbed her arm. She stopped and look at him, her eyes seeming to beg him not to say anything, and he hadn't known what to say. He finally decided on, "are you going to be alright?"
"Yeah," she had said softy, though the waver in her voice belied the statement. But John had had no choice but to nod and watch her go.
They had never spoken about what happened that night and they had brought Oliver back from Lian-yu a few days later. But John would think back on it occasionally, whenever he painted or when he would turn to look at Felicity and find her smiling at him a certain way.
He finds she's wearing that smile now when he tentatively turns his head to look at her.
Felicity stares at him for half a second before she quickly turns away and sets her eyes on the stairs to the second floor. She wobbles a bit as she kicks off her shoes and then moves to climb them—which is when she nearly topples over completely. Luckily, John reaches out to catch her before she can fall.
"My knight in shining armor," she says, looking back at him.
"Mm-hmm," he agrees, trying not to laugh. "Come on, let's get you to bed," he says and steps up behind her to make sure she makes it up the rest of the way.
"But I'm not that tired," she says, her drooping eyelids telling a different story.
"I know, but you need to rest anyway. That's the best thing for your shoulder right now."
"OK," she sighs and lets him gently push her up the stairs.
After much whining, a quickly-abandoned struggle to change Felicity into pajamas and standing by patiently after her insistence on brushing her teeth, John finally maneuvers her to bed. He pulls the covers up around her because she can't manage with her arm and then takes the bottle of "aspirins" out of his pocket.
"Not until morning," he says sternly. Her eyes flutter open and she nods before she snuggles into her pillows. John smiles to himself and turns to leave, but she draws his attention again when she speaks.
"Thanks for everything today," she says, smiling dreamily up at him in that same way as before. "You're the best," she adds and then reaches out with her good arm to squeeze his hand.
"I'd say you've got me beat," he replies and squeezes her hand, hoping she understands how much he means it.
"Obviously," she mutters and then rolls onto her side. John smiles and shakes his head and then turns to go.
He spends the rest of his night worrying about Felicity, but right before he finally falls asleep, he thinks of that smile.
Thanks for reading. I have plans to rewrite the end of season 2, but I'd love some feedback just to encourage me to keep going.
