I know I should update all my other stories, but I was dying to write Olicity. I ship them so hard.

It may be tough for me to complete some other stuff soon with school and all, but I promise I'm trying. Really.

Enjoy, fellow Olicity shippers!

"Oliver, hold still!" Felicity complained, waving a thermometer near his face.

"I'm fine, Felicity," her boyfriend argued, "I don't need a nurse."

"You're sick!" she protested, grabbing him by his muscled arm.

Even the mighty Arrow was having a difficult time fighting this battle. After staring his girlfriend down for at least a solid minute, he reluctantly gave in.

She smirked triumphantly. The blonde stuck the device in his ear, and after it beeped, she pulled it back out. The numbers on the tiny screen read 102.

"Oliver," she informed him, "you're burning up! You have a fever of a hundred and two!"

He sniffed. "I feel fine. I still have work to do. I need to-"

Felicity shook her head. "Oh no you don't," she protested. Spreading her arms out wide, she didn't permit Oliver to pass her. "I am not letting you go anywhere. You have the flu, Oliver!"

He scoffed. "I don't need mothering, Felicity. The city needs protecting. I have a lot of work to do."

"Digg can cover for you. You have to stay. I'm not letting you leave."

"Felicity! I'm fine. It's just a fever," Oliver claimed, standing up.

Eyes wide in objection, she shook her head again. "No way. You are going to rest and let me mother you."

"Felicity! I have to find out where-" he stopped short when he glimpsed up from his chair and she was suddenly in the kitchen, putting a pot on the stove, "What are you doing?"

"Making chicken noodle soup," she answered sternly, pouring the contents from the cold can into the pot.

Oliver frowned. "I can't stay. I have to help the city. There's-"

"There's going to be no kisses for a month," Felicity replied, tilting her head, her blonde ponytail dancing across her shoulders.

Oliver growled, then took one step forward, closer towards the door.

"Oliver."
He stepped again.

"Oliver Queen!"

He mumbled something under his breath. "Fine."

"You can make me stay here, Felicity, but you can't make me eat it," Oliver said, defiantly closing his mouth.

Felicity sighed. "If you don't eat the soup, then you won't get better," she told him. Her left hand was holding the liquid in a bowl, and a spoon floated over top of it between two of her right fingers.

"I don't even feel sick," he grumbled off to the side.

"This thermometer says otherwise, Oliver," Felicity commented. She pressed a tender hand to his forehead, and he couldn't help but lean into her touch. She smiled at his surprisingly soft skin underneath his fingertips. "You're still very warm. I'll get you a cold washcloth." She placed the bowl of soup on the coffee table in front of him, hurrying to get the desired item.

As she scurried off into the bathroom, Oliver allowed himself a slight, but extremely gentle smile. Felicity was such a beautiful, selfless person. He was enormously thankful for her, and he was infinitely thankful to be in love with her.

When she came back, her ponytail was swinging back and forth wildly. Her feet shuffled across the floor as she made her way back to her boyfriend. "Here," she said.

Oliver admittedly graciously took the washcloth from her slender hands, water droplets dripping down his wrist.

"Lean back," Felicity commanded softly, pushing his chest into the couch. He gave her a muffled gripe, but listened nonetheless. She then proceeded to place the cool, damp washcloth across his temples.

"Felicity?"

"Yes?" she asked, leaning back to admire the sight of the famous vigilante lying, with the flu, on her couch.

"I'm not helpless."

"No, but I still find satisfaction in nursing the famous Arrow back to health," she said.

He scoffed.

She frowned at his reaction. "Fine. Then eat your soup on your own, Mr. Independence!" She turned around to walk away, but Oliver grabbed her wrist. She gave him a half annoyed look, but he still pulled her down to him, kissed her. They closed their eyes, running their hands in each other's hair, fingers intertwined with the soft strands. Deeply pressing his lips against her, they tried to melt into each other, to dissolve within one another. But Oliver suddenly jerked away, and Felicity's blue eyes went wide. "Oliver…what…"

He lifted his head back. "ACHOO!" His head jerked violently forward.

Felicity put a ginger hand on his shoulder. "This just proves you shouldn't be doing anything other than trying to get better. Now drink some soup." She shoved the bowl at him.

Oliver gave her a look. "It was just a sneeze."

"Drink," Felicity commanded, tilting the bowl toward him.

He lifted his neck up just the slightest bit so he could slurp down the broth into his throat. It wasn't hot, but it wasn't cold either. Perfectly in the middle, and perfect for him to drink. Secretly Oliver was glad Felicity was taking such good care of him, but he wanted to remain impassive and ignorant so she wouldn't start mothering him constantly.

"Better?" Felicity asked.

"I told you," Oliver argued, "I'm fine." But then he let loose another sneeze.

She cocked her eyebrow.

"I feel fine."

"You don't look fine."

"You know what? I think I'm just gonna go help Diggle on some leads-" Oliver informed her, attempting to stand up. But then he sneezed. Again. And coughed again. And sneezed some more. His butt fell back onto the couch cushion he was previously on a moment ago. "Fine. I'll rest."

Oliver blinked, desiring to get the grogginess out of his eyes. He knew he had fallen asleep, but wasn't certain for how long.

As soon as he attempted to move, his stomach rumbled with nausea. For a moment he thought he was going to hurl, but then he inhaled two deep breaths and it passed.

"Hey," Felicity greeted with a smile, "How are you feeling?" She slowly got up from her chair and sat her laptop down, coming over to her boyfriend. She put her soft hand against Oliver's burning forehead. "Oliver…"

His face turned sour as he leaned down to the trashcan beside him. Bile leaked out of his mouth while Felicity somberly rubbed his head. When he leaned back up, he said, "I'm sorry for not listening earlier." His voice was hoarse, and partly scratchy.

"It's okay," she answered in a light tone. "You're just so stubborn sometimes."

Oliver managed a smile before leaning down to the trash can below him once more. He figured Felicity must have put it there when he was asleep, just in case. As her fingers lightly caressed the nape of his neck, it again resonated with him what great hands he had caring for him. Both literally and figuratively.

"I would kiss you right now," he claimed with a hoarse tone, "if I could."

Felicity's face beamed with a bright grin. "I know. But you should just lie down. Do you want another washcloth? More soup? I can get you some-"

"Felicity, just sit here with me," Oliver responded, "Oh, and another washcloth."

She shook her head but her smile never swayed. "Sure thing."

After returning with the small, damp towel, she took a seat on the edge of the couch, holding Oliver's head in her lap. They channel surfed on the TV, but mostly just sat there, in comfortable silence, for hours on end.

By the time the darkness had touched the sky, and the stars were brushing across the black, Oliver and Felicity were both extremely sleepy. Even though they had spent the majority of the day lounging around, the laziness had affected their eyes. Things were starting to get a little foggy for both of them.

But just before they had both given in to the comforting embrace of the couch and each other, Oliver started one more quick conversation. "Thank you, Felicity."

She smiled down at him. "That's what you do when you love someone, isn't it? Take care of them?" She gave a quick, warm press of her lips to his cheek. Before he could make a gesture in return, her breathing was long and soft, and her eyes were closed.

Yay I love this ship so much. I hope you guys enjoyed it!