"Laurel Lance," Ollie says softly. "Always trying to save the world."

Laurel laughs quietly, genuinely, and for the first time since Tommy's death she feels like she might just be okay. Her arm is twined with Oliver's, fingers tangling with his, as she says, "It doesn't have to be just me. You can too. We can do it together."

There's a kind of disbelief in Ollie's eyes, which widen for a second before he leans forward and kisses her.

And it's strange. Their lips haven't touched for over a week, not since they slept together just before the Undertaking, and yet it's like they're falling back into their old habits – back into each other's arms, Ollie's hand going up to the back of Laurel's neck and into her hair while cradling her cheek with the other. When he pulls away and their eyes meet, their foreheads still leaning against each other, his smile is one of suppressed hopefulness and melancholy.

"Are you saying you want us to be heroes together?" he asks, and his eyes light up in the candlelight when she smiles back at him.

"Something like that," Laurel replies warmly. She points to the modest stack of files on the floor. "I didn't – we didn't manage to salvage much out of CNRI before the building collapsed. But I did manage to get a handful of cases I was working on before the earthquake. And now with the Glades in the state it's in – they could use all the help they could get."

"I don't know if they would want help from me," Ollie says. "Considering they blame my mother."

Laurel sighs. "That's because they had to blame someone now that Mr Merlyn is dead. But your mom – I don't blame her, Ollie. She tried to stop it."

"Exactly. She tried. She didn't manage to actually stop what happened."

"Like the Hood, you mean?" Laurel says softly. She's watching Ollie for his reaction (she's never really known what he thinks of the vigilante) but he barely seems to even register what she says, let alone reply to her. "He tried to save the city, too."

"He failed," Ollie says grimly.

Laurel shakes her head. "Either way it doesn't matter. He… must have died in the earthquake. No one's seen him. And my father thinks the Hood would have contacted him by now if he were alive. Or…"

"Or you?" he suggests, and she can see this – inexplicable pain in his eyes. She's not sure why, exactly.

"Or me," she admits.

"How's Detective Lance doing?" he asks. Laurel breathes a sigh of relief at the change of subject.

She grimaces. "It'll probably be 'Officer' if his suspension ever ends. But he's – handling. He even said he's started attending AA meetings."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"How's Thea?"

"Still refusing to see Mom," Ollie says heavily.

At this, Laurel covers Oliver's hand with hers. "Give her time. Sooner or later she'll understand – Moira only went along with all of this because she wanted to protect you."

For some reason, Oliver looks away at that. "Most of the time it's the ones who want to protect people that end up hurting them the most," he says bitterly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He doesn't answer, though, and when she lifts his chin and makes him look at her he ends up kissing her again. It's fairly brief, however, and she can see guilt burning in his eyes moments later. Laurel can feel it, too, and in a way it's like she expects Tommy's ghost to appear in front of the fireplace, watching them both accusingly.

Ollie seems to be thinking what she's thinking. "Do you – feel like we're betraying his memory, somehow?"

"I don't know," Laurel says honestly. "I feel like – like there's something missing. Part of me is missing. I felt like that when I thought you died."

"Did you find it in Tommy?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "He helped me find it in myself. And now there's just this – gap, in me, and I don't know what to do with myself. Especially when – right before he saved my life, the last thing he said to me was that he loved me."

"I'm glad he got the chance to tell you that."

Then she can't help but lift her hand to his cheek. "But – Ollie, he loved you too. So much. And I saw what he went through when he lost you. When we lost you. We both felt so… alone. I know the last thing he would want is for you to feel like that, for you to go through this on your own." And Laurel can feel the tears welling up in her eyes now, and the painful ache in her chest as she takes a deep breath and squeezes his arm. "But I want you to know that you're not alone. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you, Ollie. You know that, right?"

He nods, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on her forehead. "I do know that," he murmurs. "Even on Lian Yu, you were there for me."

Laurel's gaze drops down to the collection of photos on the floor – and sure enough, amongst the still glossy pictures from their high school prom is that faded, worn out photograph she gave to Ollie over five years ago. She reaches for it at the same time as Oliver does but he gets there first, picking it up. There's silence, the warm, companionable kind, and Laurel rests her head against Oliver's shoulder more comfortably.

"Do you wonder if we could ever go back?" she asks eventually. "You know… to a time when things were simpler?"

He sighs. "I wish we could. But even back then things weren't that much simpler."

"You mean after our first time when you didn't speak to me for months and Tommy was running marathons between us trying to get us to talk?" Her tone is light and could almost be construed as playful if not for the way her smile is tinged with something just a little bittersweet. Oliver's chuckle is more of a scoff, really, and his grip on her hand tightens a bit.

"I guess even back then I was excellent at pushing people away."

"It's okay," she tells him, and she means it. "We – were just kids. And we probably got into things too fast. I just wish I had actually listened to myself when I said I wanted to take it slower the second time round."

But to her surprise he shakes his head. "That wasn't it. The truth is, Laurel, I took you for granted. And I never thought the day would come when I could lose you. Not really. What went wrong with us – that's on me. Not you."

"You haven't lost me."

Now Oliver shifts, moving until he's lying on the floor with his head in her lap. It's always been their favourite position to be in when it was just the two of them. Laurel can't help but smile automatically – it feels almost like old times.

Almost.

And then she remembers it's not like old times at all, because there were three of them and there always had been.

Ollie reaches for another photo, this one taken at a bar in the Canary Islands.

"My twenty-first," Laurel says fondly. "I remember you and Tommy got into an argument about whose private jet we were going to use to fly there."

"I think we ended up settling it with Rock Paper Scissors," Ollie says. "And I mean – I was glad I won at the time, but I ended up getting in a lot of trouble with my dad later."

"You never said," Laurel says slowly.

Oliver turns on his side and then onto his back and smiles up at her. "I didn't want to worry you."

"It was fun. Meant a lot to me that you guys went to all that trouble for me."

"You were worth all the trouble in the world," he tells her, and Laurel leans down to kiss him again. There's something comforting about the scrape of his stubble against her cheek and she finds solace in the soft hum of his moan against her lips.

When she moves away he sits up again, shuffling a bit until his back is against the couch. Laurel finds herself straddling his lap, and for a moment they just gaze at each other, not saying anything, barely moving, apart from Laurel's arms going up and around Ollie's neck.

"You're thinking about him," he says, and it's not a question. "Tommy."

Laurel bites her lip and hides her face in Ollie's neck, hesitating, wishing she could tell him anything but the truth, but it's pointless when she feels he's already read her mind.

Tommy first kissed her on that couch. Or perhaps she had kissed him. She doesn't remember exactly who made the first move – it was more a mutual thing, really, and uncharacteristically for him, Tommy was the one to suggest they stop, talk about it. And Laurel had shaken her head and muttered something about them both needing someone and that was all it took, really, for them to hurtle, headfirst, together into whatever their messy, unconventional relationship ended up being. "Would you hate me if I said I was?"

But he surprises her with his answer. "There is not a force in the universe that could ever make me hate you, Laurel."

"That doesn't mean you're okay with it," Laurel says, still unable to look him in the eyes. "I just – miss him. So much. And I loved him."

"I know you did," Ollie says softly. "And it's okay."

"Really?" Laurel says disbelievingly, and she doesn't even register the solitary tear that rolls down her cheek until Oliver lifts his hand to her face and brushes it away with his thumb.

"Really," he says. "I know what he meant to you. And I know you deserve better than me and he was so much better than me. But I'm not – I would never hold that against you. Not when he meant just as much to me." He holds her gaze, asking wordlessly for permission, and she answers him with a kiss, her mouth bruising his with more intensity than she intends, shifting so her knees are locking him in place. She can feel him hardening against her just as his fingers slip under her shirt, tentatively exploring her midriff. "Do you want me to… stop? Slow down?"

She shakes her head automatically. "We've never taken things slow, Ollie."

"No, we never did," he murmurs, hand sliding down her hip and into the waistband of her jeans. He's watching her, waiting, and she makes it easier for him, undoing the button of her pants, and when he touches her through her panties she gasps suddenly, surprised at the warm flood of arousal that she can feel dampening her underwear.

She kisses him, then, hard and fast until he's breathless and she can feel his groan in the back of her throat. Her hand wanders down, below his waist, cupping him, but he tugs gently at her wrist and whispers you first and Laurel's eyes flutter shut just as Oliver slides the very tip of his finger inside her.

And it's a relief for her to have something – someone – to focus on, a hardness to rock her hips against, soft lips and rough stubble to graze her cheeks and mouth until she feels sore. He teases her, lightly, slowly, so she's aching for him and he's planting kisses on her neck and whispering her name, fingers artfully inching inside her then settling on her favourite spot but just as abruptly moving away.

Laurel moans needingly and the smile they share is not a happy one, exactly, because even if it's one of shared pleasure, it's also one of shared pain. Still she doesn't expect the tears to spurt from her eyes when they do, just when she's at the cusp of her climax, and she buries her face into Oliver's shirt, trying to stifle the wave of emotion that threatens to overwhelm her. Ollie doesn't stop what he's doing, just brings up his other hand to cradle her head to his chest as she comes with a muffled cry. She gasps for air and it takes a couple minutes to get her breath back but the whole time Ollie's stroking her hair, shushing her, assuring her that it's okay.

I love you, Laurel wants to say.

I need you, Laurel whispers without moving her lips.

"Stay with me, please," she manages to say, and she's not even sure he can hear her but a moment later, with what seems like little effort, he gets up and she winds her legs around his waist automatically.

He hoists her up a little more, carries her to the couch, and just as he settles atop her he murmurs back, "I always will."