Author's Note:
Arrow and these characters are the work of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended. The title of the story (The Road Not Taken) is taken from a poem, of the same name, by Robert Frost. It's one of my favourites! Something about this last episode had me writing this and I couldn't really stop. Thanks for reading. Enjoy.
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
He needs her.
He needs her in more ways than one – on so many different levels.
Her technological expertise is unparalleled.
Unmatched.
Unrivaled.
She is the heart and soul of their team. And the light; the light that makes it a little easier to breathe.
Her rambling tendencies – he's come to enjoy them, very much. He even finds them cute.
(Yes, Oliver Queen – Starling's resident vigilante – just used the word cute.)
Her propensity for foot in mouth, as strange as it may sound, makes her all the more attractive. Since the island, Oliver finds, it's the simplicities – like her ability to dig herself into a bottomless pit of words – that make him smile.
(Smiles where he actually shows a little teeth.
Smiles that are few and far between.)
Though really, it's what he sees in her eyes:
Alarm and apprehension – when he leaves the foundry for his nightly patrols.
The flood of relief – when she hears the thud of footfalls on the steps, signal his return; limbs intact, skin unmarred.
Then, there's the pride that she simply emanates, with that smile that could light up – and probably some day will – a small part of the world.
And when he comes back in a questionable state, she immediately sets to work – eyes searching, fingers patting him down – carrying out her own systemic triage. She'll guide him to the metal table and settle him on it, ignoring his half-hearted dissents. And once she's assessed all of the damage – taken stock of each bruise, cut (and broken bone) – she'll get to work, making use of the extensive first aid kit with reluctant familiarity.
She saves the lecturing for later.
Usually.
There's all that, however there's something else.
Something different; something very singular.
He sees it all the time because as much as she may try, Felicity has difficulty hiding her affection – for people in general, but especially for Oliver Queen.
Oliver, on the other hand, he's an expert in masks and concealment; a master of disguise. He finds himself – at times – wanting to convey something to her – to express a feeling, an emotion – with a simple look, yet he seems to always fall short.
There are certain things Oliver knows.
A few truths that he readily acknowledges.
He is damaged and he is scarred – figuratively and very much literally. (Five years in hell will do that to you.)
He is not – nothing like – the man he used to be.
He will protect this city (if it's the last thing he does).
He is in love with Felicity Smoak.
He lives and breathes her. She courses through his veins – his heart pumps her, so that she is circulating through his body, sustaining his muscle and bone.
The truth – this undeniable fact – was supposed to set him free, wasn't that how the verse went?
However, ever since his admission – or more accurately, admissions – to Felicity, he's been wound tight as a drum. More often than not, he's on edge; the smallest of things grating on his nerves.
Oliver wants Felicity. He wants to be with her.
But he can't be the Hood and be involved with Felicity.
Due to the nature of what he does, he is meant to lead a lonely life – needs to exercise care when forming attachments of any kind.
Oliver will put the needs of the city above his – without sparing another thought – the needs of his family and friends are his top priority.
And yet, sometimes Oliver forgets that he is a man.
And it only takes the likes of Ray Palmer – the likes of Palmer with Felicity – to make him remember.
-/-
Diggle tells him Felicity is busy. Shortly after which, he draws Oliver's attention to the computer screen that he's eyeing.
Palmer Technologies doesn't sting as much as he thought it would.
The look Ray and Felicity share – that look incinerates Oliver's insides.
His practiced composure falters; his stoic expression wavers.
Yes, under the leathers and the mask, Oliver Queen – the hood – is a man.
A selfish man.
A downright possessive man.
-/-
'Do what you want'
He struggles not to cringe.
By the looks of it, so does she.
It's not the answer she was expecting, nor is it the one she deserves.
She looks crestfallen – but only for a second, because in the next minute her look is blank. For the first time in a very long time, Oliver can't tell what Felicity is thinking, what she's feeling.
The idea of her with Palmer bothers him immensely, so much so he wants to take his fist and slam it into the glass case behind him.
But it is not his right to begrudge her this – to be angry or upset.
Because he had told her no, told her that it couldn't be – that they couldn't be.
Oliver wants to see Felicity happy – wants her to have everything she could ever want, all that she would ever need.
The thought of her with someone else – the reality of it?
Frankly, it's sobering. A punch right in the gut – painful and debilitating.
Felicity, you could say, wears her heart on her sleeve; for lack of a more original idiom, she's an open book. So, the effect of his words is clear in the hurt of her eyes and the fall of her petite frame – before it isn't. Before she's hid it all.
He thinks he's shocked her into silence, which in Felicity's case is the dictionary definition of oxymoron.
So when he's talking to Carrie – having his moment of cathartic release – he's not actually talking to Carrie.
His attempts at a confession are sincere and his words nothing, if not heartfelt.
Because his intended audience – the woman on the other end of their communication line – is listening.
This is his way of apologizing. It's him telling her again – beyond a shadow of a doubt – where his heart lies.
With whom it lies.
But it isn't enough, like Diggle says.
Deep down, Oliver knows this; he just needs to gather up the courage to act on it.
When he thinks about it, in the end, none of this is worth it without her by his side.
None of this is worth it without her wide spectrum of smiles and her rants about his 'complete disrespect for technology'.
Oliver is a selfish man.
-/-
He heeds Diggle's advice – he's come to a fork in the road and it's time for him to decide.
That's how he finds himself in the elevator, making his way up to her office.
Looking back, he's not sure what he expected to find or whom.
But, not for the first time, Oliver finds himself cursing the office space design – glass walls and all.
-/-
Oliver is sure of two things.
He pushed Felicity away.
And he drove her straight into the arms of Ray Palmer.
-/-
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
…
I took the one less travelled by
And that has made all the difference
-Robert Frost