Title: Reluctant Hero
Prompt: "I don't know what you want from me."
Episode tag: Between "Damsel in Distress" and "Biochemist"
Word Count: 1411
Notes: I've been thinking about those 2000 hits on Titles over on AO3, and I wanted to do something really special in celebration of that. It's nice to see so much love on the series, so it's time to give back. The other night, I gave sarahtwinkie (aka MysteriousTwinkie on or ihatepeas on AO3) a dialogue prompt, and I decided she didn't need to be alone out there, so I wrote my own work with the same prompt. :P This is going to be rare in the fact it's Felicity POV and I probably won't do that in the Titles universe again, but I thought I'd make an exception just this once. :) Reviews are appreciated, but thanks for reading!
The first time they argue, she concedes that he might actually be right.
Felicity sighs before daring to step onto the fire escape. She knocks like a normal human being, despite the fact she's dressed in her Vigilante gear—or Hood gear, she supposes, since that's the ridiculous nickname the cops have for her now. She's been dreading this encounter since the phone call, and she knows nothing good can come from what happens here, especially with the tone Oliver used on the phone.
She sighs again as she thinks the name. Oliver. He called her last night on the phone she gave him, his tone off and distracted. She probably shouldn't even know the difference in his tone, and she's irritated with herself that she ever learned the difference. She shouldn't be so interested in Oliver Queen; he should be an asset to her, nothing more—just like Diggle. Admittedly, though, Diggle is more of a friend than she's ever had—even like a brother—and she realizes she's not doing the emotional separation from the job as well as she wants to believe.
Diggle is a man she can understand, though—precise, military, and loyal. Oliver, however, is different from anyone she's ever known, and that's what intrigues her about him. She's grown up in a world where the truth is a precious commodity that only a select few ever earn, and yet it just pours from his mouth in spades. She finds herself attracted to his charming awkwardness, but she always forces herself to take two steps back from him every time she dares take a step forward. For him to do work with her as the Vigilante is one thing, but to involve him on a personal level is another matter entirely. No, she decides, she will not drag a civilian into this type of life. It's lonely work, but she knew that when her father gave her that mission.
Being at his apartment is horrible for her self-control, too, but it's a Saturday and it would be suspicious for him to be at work. Instead of letting her mind focus on that, though, she thinks of how things are now so overly complicated with Tommy. Sara was right when she said the two should just remain friends; now that the two are exes, and he's dating Laurel (her best friend Laurel, which she's still not sure she approves of). Felicity is effectively the third wheel of the group, but she thinks it might be for the best. She's outgrown Laurel and Tommy since the island, and she's fully prepared to move on with her life. Or would be, rather, if not for the unresolved issues between the two. She knows he still has feelings for her, and she won't deny the feelings she has for him.
She's interrupted from her thoughts as a chain slides open on the door, and Oliver allows her entry. The first thing she notices is that he isn't smiling, which immediately concerns her. The next thing she notices is that he's almost hesitant for a change. He doesn't say hello, but instead just simply lets her into the apartment, and she examines the space as she steps in. It's a pretty nice place, honestly, if a little cramped. Part of that could be due to the boxes of computer parts lying around and the half-built models haphazardly scattered between them. His walls are decorated not with tasteful paintings, but with various comic book covers—some dating back thirty years, judging by the artwork.
"What did you need?" she asks finally, since the silence is doing neither of them any good. She's not afraid of any of the horrible things he might say because, no matter what, she's been called so much worse. But she is afraid of losing his friendship—of failing him—and that scares her. She will not get emotionally invested in Oliver Queen.
He takes a moment before answering, and the look on his face resembles the one he gave his computer screen as he tried to break that Blackhawk Security drive. Finally, he says quietly, in a non-confrontational tone, "I heard about Helena Bertinelli on the news."
Ah, so that's what is bothering him. She doesn't even blame him for jumping to the wrong conclusion; the media and the police department has programmed everyone to see her as the villain of an elaborate fairytale. She thinks sometimes that they might be right, too, but then she convinces herself that it doesn't matter what anyone thinks of her character. But it matters what Oliver thinks, despite the many things she says to the opposite.
Finally, she says what they both know. "And you know I killed her." She's careful to keep her voice flat, offering no inflection.
He flinches at the word, but he nods, still frowning. "Not just that," he admits, finally starting to sound like himself. "It's that the information that I gave you is what led to her death." He actually looks at her, squaring his shoulders as he prepares to lead into something she knows will be heavier. "This is the first time anyone has died because I helped you. It makes me feel like I had a hand in her death, too."
She knows that guilt well, but that's not what she says to him as she shifts slightly, crossing her arms. "Helena was a murderer, Oliver," she says flatly, and, though she once thought Helena was her friend, she's not able to muster up any remorse. If there's anything she learned from the island, it's that remorse and sympathy make you week. "She didn't kill—she slaughtered. And she would keep on doing it, no matter what you or I did. If I didn't kill her, she'd keep murdering other people—innocent people, Oliver."
His eyebrows narrow, and she thinks he almost looks angry at her—but then she realizes that he is. "So what does that make you, then?" he asks, sounding both tired and exasperated. "Some sort of grim reaper for Starling's criminals? How does that make you any different from them?"
She says the words she's never uttered aloud to him, simultaneously giving voice to her own fears. "I never said I was," she says gently, not daring to talk above a whisper. "I can't help the titles everyone has given me—hero, villain, criminal, murderer, vigilante. This isn't about me—and it isn't about them. This is about doing what I must."
He crosses his arms, mirroring her confrontational stance. "So that's it? You know, from the very beginning, I believed in you. You've done amazing things for this city—stopped men and women that the police couldn't. You've saved this city from the criminals threatening to overrun it." His voice rises. "I helped you because I thought you were trying to make a difference!"
She knows what it's like to feel used, too, but she doesn't think of that until later. In the moment, she's just as angry as he is; she never did take yelling well. "I don't know what you want from me!" she snaps suddenly, and he actually flinches at the increase in volume. She motions wildly around the room, responding more softly this time. "I wish I could tell you that I'm like your heroes plastered along these walls, but I'm not, Oliver. This isn't a comic book, and, if it was, I would be misguided villain. I killed Helena Bertinelli, and I won't apologize for that. She killed a lot of people, Oliver. She nearly killed you." Not that she'll ever admit it, but that was the final straw that made her loose that arrow. She nearly killed Oliver. And for what? Because Felicity likes him?
All is silent for a moment before Oliver finally offers the realization that really warps her, "Maybe you could try another way." Her eyes snap to his, and he looks thoughtful. He hasn't given up on her—he still thinks he can save her from herself. She almost laughs at the possibility; she can't be saved because there's simply nothing left to save.
She means to tell him that she is the way she is, but what leaves her mouth is, "Maybe I could." She means to take backwater when she realizes what she said, but his smile is so brilliant that she can't bring herself to disappoint him. And, the more she thinks on the idea, the more she likes it.
Maybe she could be the hero, for a change.