Thank you for reading this story. It is only two chapters. I hope you enjoy it! I wasn't sure I had another Olicity piece in me, but I had a very serendipitous opportunity to breathe the same air as a certain green leather-clad actor and well, I managed to get inspired! Comments are always appreciated and welcome.
xx
Lurking at Felicity's front door wasn't exactly where Oliver wanted to be at 2 am. Right now he wasn't sure what worried him more - that she might be in trouble or that Palmer could be inside, in her bed, doing things he usually only thought about when he was slamming a sledgehammer into the floor of the Arrow Cave.
It was supposed to be an "off" night, but Oliver had become restless and ventured out without backup. Then he was jumped by a couple of henchmen from the League of Assassins on his way home, and while he just managed to fight them off, he was worried that the rest of 'Team Arrow" might have been targeted as well.
Digg and Roy responded to texts promptly, first complaining of the late hour and then assuring him they were fine. Repeated messages and calls to Felicity had gone unanswered, which brought him to this spot. He had tried looking in the windows first, but only saw a hazy light in the living room, which didn't console him. After initially tripping over a small bag of trash next to the door, Oliver lingered a moment, debating whether or not she should disturb the occupants.
The Arrow unscrewed the porch light, not wanting to be seen in his costume. He scanned the neighborhood for signs of movement, then, feeling safe there was no one, tapped gently with the door knocker.
The door opened quickly, signaling Felicity wasn't far when she heard the noise. She was surprised anyone would approach at that hour and seeing him in his suite through the peephole only added to the sudden rush of adrenalin she felt.
Oliver immediately felt relief upon seeing her familiar form on the other side of the door. She was okay.
"Oliver! Come in!" She glanced out the door for witnesses, then grabbed his leather-clad arm and tugged him inside. "What's going on?"
"I was trying to reach you. Did you get my texts? I was worried." As he entered, Felicity noticed right away that something was wrong with Oliver. His usual manly stride was gone and he was favoring one leg. Oliver stifled a grimace, noting to himself that the throbbing in his thigh wasn't going away - a little parting gift from a machete-wielding henchman that he would deal with later.
"Yeah. My phone is...out of commission," she responded, a bit mysteriously, if you asked Oliver. Felicity noticed his inquisitive expression and handily deflected it by focusing on him. "Something's wrong."
Oliver tried to stand still, but hitched a little. "A couple of Ra's guys were out there tonight. I was worried about...the Team."
"Right. Team. What were you doing patrolling without backup?" At this point, all Oliver's attention was directed at her. Felicity looked freshly scrubbed and her hair was down, falling softly around her exquisite face. She was wearing a loose blue bathrobe with a cloud pattern on it, layered over a grey Henley that looked suspiciously like one of his and black lounge pants. Her feet were odd. She was wearing those sponge things women put in between their toes for pedicures. He had obviously interrupted her.
"Yeah, I couldn't sleep. Please don't lecture me. I know I screwed up." Felicity made a face and held her tongue. She was silently relishing the moment - seeing him standing there in her living room, still suited up in sexy green leather. It was kind of surreal, like finding a giraffe in telephone booth.
"Do you want something to drink?" She headed toward the kitchen and flipped on the light, but as she passed him, a scent of soap and wildflowers trailed behind her and he inhaled gratefully.
Oliver hesitated. He wasn't planning on hanging around, but just being around her was changing his mood and rehabilitating his night, so yeah, why not?
"Sure. Whatever you're having. But I have to ride home." Oliver slipped the mask off his face and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Then, he took a few guarded steps toward the breakfast bar that separated the living room and cooking area.
"Okay, but I was planning on getting kind of hammered," she stated nonchalantly. "I don't have to be anywhere." Oliver unzipped his jacket and draped it on a bar stool. That's when he noticed a shopping bag sporting a logo from a local lingerie shop on the counter beside him. Glancing down, the fabrics, satin and lacy were more than intriguing but he guessed it might not be a good idea to ask about them.
"That's not like you," Oliver stated. "Is something wrong?" Oh please, let it be Ray, he shouted in his head.
Felicity had poured a couple of glasses of wine by now and pivoted to place one on the counter in front of him. She did not slow down, moving on to put her drink on the coffee table and flopped down on the sofa.
"I think you can guess, Oliver. It's pretty obvious." He shrugged his shoulders and sipped the red blend she'd generously filled in his glass.
"Ray and I are done. Over. Fineto," Felicity proclaimed with a whoosh of her hands. Then she took a slug from her glass while Oliver willed his face to remain serious and concerned. Arrow-y, as Felicity would say. Of course, his internal monologue was full of celebratory invective (e.g. fuck, yeah).
"Obvious? No." He stepped forward and studied her to try to gauge how upset she was. Felicity wasn't crying. She didn't look crushed. She looked kind of annoyed, actually. "Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" There was sincere concern in his voice now. Damn straight he was happy, but he didn't want her to be miserable. The protective side of him started to simmer. Had Ray finally earned the arrow he'd wanted to put in him since he swooped in and hijacked his company and HIS girl?
"There isn't much to talk about. It just wasn't working. You know, Ray is a great guy. So smart and accomplished and he has a big heart, but in the end the science didn't work." Felicity stretched her feet out on the table and flexed them as Oliver admired how pretty and small they were.
"Yeah, he's a great guy." Oliver piped up. "Science? What do you mean? You are both super geeks. You speak the same language."
"You'd think," she paused. "But in the end, we are probably too much alike. Two sides of the same coin, but unfortunately the same two sides. No chemistry. We took a break last month and decided it stuck." By this point, Felicity was looking deeply into her wine glass, avoiding eye contact with her ridiculously handsome guest.
Now, Oliver's mind was willing him to stride over to envelop Felicity in a reassuring, completely platonic hug. Unfortunately, his leg was really bothering him and he worried that any sudden moves might result in him toppling over. Instead, he just nodded and looked sympathetic.
"So," she continued. "Here I am practicing my five-step relationship dissolution ritual. I do it every time I end a romance. I think it's good to have a ritual, don't you? It gives a nod to the importance of said relationship and also provides closure. When all of the steps are done, I can truly put it in the past and move forward. That's healthy, right?" Oliver nodded in agreement, still actually processing what she was saying.
"Is getting hammered one of the steps?" he chuckled.
"You'd think! But that's just kind of a bonus. When you knocked, I was wrapping up step 4. Spa night. Feeling good and pampering yourself is important. So…pedicure." She grabbed a bottle of purple nail polish and started to shake it.
Oliver had quickly finished his wine and turned to put it back on the bar when Felicity caught sight of the wound on the back of his thigh and shrieked. "Oliver!" Her cry surprised him, causing him to pivot too fast. He crumpled to the floor, his leg now aching and stiff. Felicity dropped the nail polish bottle back on the table and leapt over to him.
"What is that? You're bleeding! Why didn't you say anything?" Her concern bubbled over as she helped him stand up. Oliver pressed his lips together to stifle a groan as he regained his footing and leaned on her until he could reach the counter.
"Not a big deal. A little cut. I'm going to deal with it when I get home."
Felicity grabbed a flashlight from the key bowl next to the door and knelt down behind him. She flipped on the light and studied the wound. The logistics of the situation were suddenly awkward to both of them. Oliver's girl who wasn't his was holding on to his right calf with one hand and breathing close to his injured left thigh. He needed to leave.
"Ugh." How was it that after all of the injuries she had seen over the few years, the sight of ick still bothered Felicity Smoak? "It doesn't look good. I can't believe you weren't going to say anything, Oliver."
"I should be going." On that, Felicity tightened her grip on his right leg. Oliver groaned.
"Oh no you're not. You might need stitches. And if you do, who are going to go to? Roy? Boris Karloff had better sewing." She stood up and looked squarely at him, suddenly sober and ready for action.
"You are not leaving here until I know you are okay. Don't make me use my loud voice. It's late." Oliver sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing with her when she was probably right.
"Okay then. Take off your pants." Felicity's face registered what she had just said and the fluster began. Oliver's eyes darted away and he looked a little embarrassed. "I don't mean, you know, take off your pants like that. But I guess there's only one way to take off your pants, really. And now all I can say is pants. Pants. Frack." Oliver waited for her to get herself together. It took all of her remaining concentration to put together a plan. In the end, she laid it out like a quarterback announcing the next play.
"You, go in the bathroom and take a shower." Oliver nodded slowly, but still unsure of where it was going. "You have to clean the wound, so we can see how bad it is." Oliver processed the logic of this. "While you are in there, I will get my first aid kit and find you something to cover up." Oliver nodded again. Suddenly, Felicity was under his arm and helping him towards the bathroom.
"I always forget how big you are…heavy, I mean." She clenched her eyes shut and helped propel him to the back of her apartment. Oliver disappeared behind the door. "Use the black towels please!" The last thing she needed was blood stains on her white guest towels. Moments later. The door opened, his shoes were tossed out, and the door closed again.
Felicity mindlessly flitted around her place, setting the stage for minor surgery. A first aid kit was produced from under the kitchen counter. Most people kept theirs in the bathroom, but Felicity always thought that was dumb. Living alone, she figured she was more likely to injure herself in the room with the sharp knives and the boiling water. She also divested her toes of the sponges. Her toes would have to wait until another day.
On the other side of the bathroom door, Oliver unbuttoned his leather pants and started to peel them off. "Shit," he whispered. It was going to be very painful. He spotted the black towel set and grabbed a wash cloth. He rolled it up and stuck it in his mouth before shimmying out of right leg, then tentatively removing the left. The straight cut in the leather was about two inches long. He wondered how bad his thigh looked. The mirror in the bathroom was too high and he couldn't see.
Felicity heard her shower come to life and she stopped dead. Oliver Queen was butt naked in her bathroom right now and she was jealous of her loofah. As she assembled her first aid supplies on the coffee table she wondered aloud if he wouldn't actually use her loofah.
Under the spray, Oliver took a deep breath and let the water cleanse his mind and his body. Then he searched for soap and was confronted with a dizzying array of shampoos, hair treatments, body washes and the like. He opened a few bottles and found the one that smelled like wildflowers. He took a deep breath and memorized it. Then he kept searching and was relieved when he found one that smelled like…soap. Scrubbing commenced while he attempted to think about anything else but Felicity Smoak.
Felicity had willed herself forward. She gathered a blanket from her bedroom and spread it on the sofa. Then she snagged a short glass and a bottle of whiskey from her liquor cabinet. She placed them next to the bandages, along with a roll of paper towels. Then she heard the water stop. Awakening from autopilot, she remembered that she needed to get him a change of clothes and rushed into the bedroom.
A few minutes later, Felicity re-entered her living room and stopped cold, dropping the clothes in her hands. Oliver was prone on her couch, facing away from her. He leaned his folded arms against a pillow, with just a black towel covering his formidable derriere. Her breathing became shallower as she approached. Her mouth might have gone dry as well. She wasn't sure. The buzzing in her head was distracting her. Surely she had seen him in less clothing at some point, but this was different. Here he was, served up all fresh and nice, a sheen of wetness across his shoulder blades where he couldn't reach to dry. She congratulated herself for not buying ginormous towels. This one was just perfect to cover him without depriving her of a nice view.
Resting his cheek against his forearm, Oliver cleared his throat to bring Felicity out of her current state of suspended animation. The noise did the trick. She picked up the shirt and sweatpants from the floor and headed towards him with purpose. Of course, he knew exactly what he was doing. And now that Palmer was out of the picture, he wasn't above flashing a little skin to help distract Felicity from that other guy so she could move on. It was for her, he told himself. Oliver Queen was benevolent, after all.
She placed the clothes on the corner of the table. Then, kneeling down next to the sofa, Felicity ordered her inner monologue to pipe down. Yes, he was beautiful. Yes, she was really turned on right now. No, this really was happening. Finally, she pivoted and poured a glass of scotch. "A little anesthesia." She waved it in front of her patient and he gratefully accepted it. At this point, Felicity approached the gash on Oliver's thigh with a steady hand, but realized the sleeve of her robe was going to get in the way. She shucked it off. Oliver watched over his shoulder, noticing with appreciation and a fair amount of lasciviousness that his nurse wasn't wearing a bra under the cotton shirt and it clung to her breasts very nicely. It looked much better on her, he thought. On that note, he gulped down the last of the caramel liquid before placing his glass back on the table.
Everything she needed in front of her, Felicity began the process of fixing her wounded hero. She tried to act like her eyes were laser beams that needed to focus directly on the cut, which she surmised would require seven or eight stitches. This would take a while.
"So, tell me about your five-step ritual," he asked, trying to focus on something other than Felicity's deft and delicate hands inches away from his ass.
"Oh, okay. Right. Well, first, I should tell you that while the steps are numbered, they don't have to be done in order. Step one is technical cleanse. I started that one freshman year when a boy from high school kept calling and calling, even though I had skipped two grades and moved to Boston. Creepy. So, I get a new phone and a new number."
A lightbulb went off in Oliver's mind. "That's why I couldn't reach you tonight."
"Yeah. Sorry. Like everything in the ritual, it's about a fresh start. Also, it's a great excuse to get a new phone and you know how much I love tech." She leaned toward him momentarily, "Of course you'll get the number." Oliver nodded. Every so often he felt a pinching or a burning sensation, but he never registered any discomfort outwardly. He knew Felicity was doing her best to help him. Things went quiet for a while.
As she started on her fourth stitch, Oliver shifted in place and a small green tattoo on crept out from under the towel at his right hip. Felicity couldn't take her eyes off of it until she could make some sense of it. It was a letter. Probably something Chinese. Just thinking about his semi-naked hip was very distracting, so she refocused her attention to the wound until he interrupted.
"Technical cleanse. Okay. What's step two?"
"Dietary detox," she exhaled. Felicity worked carefully, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, occasionally biting her lip. Every so often Oliver would turn his head and see her expression. Usually it was quite pensive and he seriously considered replacing his naughty librarian fantasy with a naughty nurse instead, to be played on a loop whenever he was lonely.
"Now that one is actually the opposite of what it sounds like. That's where I eat sleazy food because I just don't care."
Oliver brightened up. "So, that's why we had pizza in the Arrow Cave last week!"
"Yep. At no time did I say I wanted to go to hell by myself." Felicity studied his muscled legs with desperate interest. They were so close. How easy it would be to run her fingers along the muscles that led up…
"I had two slices," Oliver smiled with pride.
"Roy ate a whole deep dish sausage and pepperoni all by himself," she pulled herself together and grinned. Felicity moved over him to get the last two stitches and as he did her golden hair swept across his legs.
"That's support," Oliver managed to say through gritted teeth. Felicity noticed the change in his voice and became worried. She shifted to his face and looked into his eyes.
"Did I hurt you? I'm really sorry." His hand reached out for her wrist.
"No, Felicity, it's...your hair, it's soft and it tickled. Really."
"Oh." A spark in his blue eyes made her blush. She became self-conscious that her shirt was a little thin and he could see her reactions a little too obviously. Oliver didn't mind this one damn bit.
"Look at me. I've had…many painful..." he said in a quiet voice. "This doesn't even register." Felicity immediately felt relief, but scanning the map of violence on his back once more brought on a sadness. This man who meant so much to her really had been through a lot.