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Because Hope is a Dangerous Thing (It Will Set You Free)
And the second thing?
"I love you."
His lips remain in a straight line, but she sees the curve of a smile in his eyes – crinkling and bright.
He admits to it with pride – as if it were an unparalleled accomplishment.
He says it with such sincerity – a confession made in earnest – she thinks her oxygen intake may be compromised; has trouble evening out her breaths.
Says it like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like it's a secret to which only she isn't privy.
The spot on her forehead burns; the earlier press of his lips on her skin has set her aflame.
And now he's leaving – won't even be here to watch her burn.
It's something he has to do – this is his burden to bear. She knows this. And somewhere deep down, she understands. Really, she does. But it doesn't make it hurt any less.
He's been dealt a hand.
(A very crappy one at that.)
The deck is stacked – all odds against him.
And now it's Oliver's move.
She watches him go, her eyes on the back of his head, his shoulders, his legs. Watches his retreating form until he blends into the distance, leaving her alone in the deafening silence.
She's sees all this, but she doesn't see any of it.
Their recent conversation is still buzzing about in her head. She can feel his breath ghost over her ear, that deep voice of his repeating those three words – that strategic grouping of eight letters – over and over.
She goes cold from head to toe – every single hair standing on end. And then – just as quickly – she's burning up, on the edge of melting into oblivion.
Chair, she needs to find a chair.
Her legs threaten to give way, her heart convulses in her chest.
She's beginning to feel lightheaded when the nausea hits; when she thinks that her stomach is lodged somewhere in her throat, trying to claw its way out.
Felicity blindly feels her way to the nearest flat surface, sliding her warm hands across the stainless steel and the chrome – the coolness of the metal a balm against her flushed skin. She takes a seat and regulates her breathing.
Deep inhales and even deeper exhales.
(She feels her stomach inch its way back down.)
There's a heaviness behind her eyes and a sudden fatigue that overpowers her completely.
She fights to keep them open.
It's a losing battle.
Her head meets the top of her desk, the chill of the metallic surface doing nothing to quench her flaming forehead.
'I love you'
She hears it here.
'I love you'
It slips through a crack there.
And then the most terrifying of realizations dawns on her.
Something becomes blatantly clear.
She never said it back – never let him in on her most cherished secret, her dearest truth.
That his feelings are reciprocated – exponentially so.
That her thoughts start and end with him – revolve around him.
That from the time he leaves the foundry for patrol every night, until the minute he makes his way back down its steps, she is beside herself with fear and worry – praying that the connection doesn't sever.
That she loves him – is in love with him.
Unconditionally.
Undeniably.
Somewhere amidst these tumultuous thoughts and her emotional turmoil, everything fades to black.
That's how John finds her two hours later.
She's not sure which one of them looks worse.
-/-
It's been three weeks.
And not a single word.
She teeters on the verge of insanity.
Honestly though, she might already be there.
For all the things she's hearing and the things she thinks she sees.
She doesn't tell anyone.
Not John.
Not Roy.
Not even Lyla, when she gently prods.
She needs to be strong for team Arrow.
But her head isn't in the game. And there isn't room for error.
She's afraid that it will end up costing them – John, Roy, Starling.
She doesn't have anything to lose.
Not any more.
-/-
Three weeks turns into eight and the effects are painfully obvious.
Roy is back to his closed-off self, all that progress lost to the wind. He makes minimal small talk and once again reverts to one word responses.
The new DJ at Verdant isn't helping the situation either.
Sometimes Felicity spends the night with him in the foundry.
They sit in silence mostly; rarely is there a verbal exchange.
Once in a while, Roy will put a hand on her shoulder and she will get lost in the depth of his eyes, the hurt and the pain that are present there. Because he's lost a friend too. A mentor. A brother.
She's happy that John has Lyla and baby Sara – loved ones to whom he can go home; a fiancé that loves him and a daughter who is the apple of her daddy's eye.
Where Digg used to be able to smile with just his eyes, he now only seems weary and incomplete.
-/-
At the end of week twelve, Digg and Lyla get married.
It was Felicity who finally let them have it:
"Life's too short to waste time and uselessly delay.
To not be with the one you love; to push them away.
(Case in point, she doesn't say).
It's what he would have wanted for you two."
It all happens quickly.
The ceremony takes place at city hall.
There are five people in attendance, apart from the Justice of the Peace.
The bride and groom – a tasteful pair.
A young man with woeful eyes.
A melancholy blonde in a simple fuchsia-coloured dress.
And in her arms, a gurgling infant in a canary yellow dress.
They are surrounded by an emptiness, which like a dark cloud, looms over them, waiting to pour.
But, they do their best to smile and occasionally laugh because it's supposed to be a happy day.
(And it is)
Albeit bittersweet.
-/-
With much difficulty, Roy and Felicity convince the new couple to get away for the weekend – sans baby and worries of evening patrols.
Digg envelopes Felicity in a tight hug and just holds her. When they part, he watches a tear escape from under her glasses and tries to reign in the one threatening to slip down his cheek.
Lyla brushes a few stray blonde strands from her face before pulling her into a warm embrace. And just as she's about to leave, she secures her bouquet in Felicity's hand, making sure to wrap the younger woman's fingers around it. There is a look in her eyes, one of hope and reassurance.
'Stranger things have happened...'
Lyla's words from an earlier conversation echo around her.
-/-
Barry visits her twice.
She appreciates the gesture (really, she does, and she adores him for it), but his jokes no longer seem too funny and his warm smile less comforting. He stays a day or two each time, bringing case files to keep her occupied.
And each time, he reminds her that he's only a flash away.
Her lips turn up slightly as she nods her head.
She knows.
-/-
It's been four months since she last saw Oliver. Four long months of loss and despair.
And that's when it happens:
A satellite somewhere picks up a signal.
Within seconds it alerts her phone.
And it's all that she needs.
To water that seedling of hope buried deep inside her, giving it occasion to sprout.
For the first time in months, Felicity Smoak actually smiles – the corners of her lips turned up, just about reaching her eyes.
Hope, is a dangerous thing.
Fin.
TBC…umm…possibly?