A/N: This is much more angsty than I usually do. I'm anxious to hear what you all think of it.
It had been three days since the sleek black car had pulled up beside her while she was on her way to her favorite coffee shop. She didn't really pay it any attention until the passenger door popped open and the voice from her nightmares spoke her name.
"Get in, Miss Smoak. It's time to go for a drive."
Felicity stopped and turned, facing Slade Wilson's charmingly lethal smile. She didn't put up a fight; she knew it would be pointless and could potentially bring harm to the innocent people milling around her. So she slid into the passenger seat and shut the door behind her.
Three days ago, she became a pawn to be used against Oliver. She loathed the man who'd taken her, not because he'd taken her, but because he'd done so in an effort to hurt the best man she'd ever known. She resented being made the instrument of his torture. She knew he could handle any amount of physical pain; it was the emotional pain that would cripple him, and Slade knew it.
He hadn't hurt her. He had no intention of causing her pain or physical distress of any kind. Not until he killed her. He'd promised to make her death quick and painless, because this wasn't about her and he had no desire to make it any worse for her than he had to. Felicity bit back an incredulous laugh when he told her. She'd challenged him and asked if he really thought that would make things any better. She'd expected him to be angry with her for being insolent; maybe part of her, deep down, was trying to antagonize him into killing her now instead of continuing to string this along as a way to bring Oliver to his knees. Instead, he'd laughed his approval at her feistiness.
They were eating dinner on the third night when he spoke to her casually across the table. "You do realize, my dear Miss Smoak, that I will kill him?" he asked, in the same tone he might ask her to pass the salt. "Once I've so thoroughly broken him that he welcomes death, I will plunge my blade into his black heart. Take comfort in that. If there is a heaven, and he isn't sent to hell, you may be with him sooner than you think."
Felicity had not cried a single tear during her captivity, but one trickled down her cheek now. "Please don't do this," she whispered. "I won't beg for my life, because I know you want your revenge on him and nothing will stop you from having it. But spare his, please. Have your revenge in knowing that you've taken from him everything that he holds dear. My death will haunt him to his dying day. Please make that your final form of revenge. Let him live."
He sat back, staring at her appraisingly. "I can see why he loves you."
She shook her head. "He doesn't love me. Not like that. We're friends, partners. He feels responsible for me and he'll blame himself for bringing me into the Arrow's world. That's all."
Slade chuckled. "You underestimate him, as well as yourself." He steepled his hands together, pressing his index fingers into his chin as he considered her. "You remind me so much of Shado," he said, his voice taking on a tinge of sadness. "She had a heart that was even more beautiful than her face, as do you. She would have liked you, I think." Something passed over his good eye and he straightened, the anger returning as he shoved back from the table. "Finish your dinner, my dear. You've given me something to think about."
Felicity lowered her gaze as he left the room, her heart pounding. She prayed that Slade would be merciful and spare Oliver's life, even if he had to suffer her loss for the rest of it.
lllll
It had been three weeks since that conversation, and Felicity hadn't seen Slade more than a half dozen times. She was aware of his presence, of his gaze on her, but he always remained out of her sight. She had no idea what he'd decided to do, what he was waiting for, and she was ready to go out of her mind. Then the day came that he approached her, laying a hand on her shoulder and guiding her gently out of her bedroom.
"Come with me, Miss Smoak. We need to have a chat."
He led her into a large room with high ceilings, probably meant to be a ballroom or something of that nature. There was a desk at one end of the room that seemed out of place, with a high-backed dark leather chair behind it and a low-backed red leather one in front. The only thing on the desk was a single-line phone. Felicity stared at it and then glanced at him, her eyebrow quirking in curiosity.
"I've considered your pleas for young Mr. Queen's life, Miss Smoak. You moved me, but you see, I've come to realize I have a dilemma." She watched him impassively, afraid to say a single word that might sway him from honoring her request. "I do insist on punishing him for his crimes, and there is no better way to do that than through you. However, I'm loathe to end your life. You're much too special to be wasted on Oliver Queen." He sneered the name, his lip curling in rage. "There has already been one very special woman sacrificed in his name, and I do not intend to see that it happens again."
Felicity held her breath, dread ballooning in her heart. Slade was twisted, and she knew his desire not to kill her meant that things were likely about to change in a way she couldn't anticipate, and that would be even worse for Oliver.
Slade chuckled as he saw the expression that crossed her face. "Don't worry, my dear. You will live, and so will Oliver. As long as you agree to my plan."
He laid out the details, and Felicity felt herself dying inside. She had no choice, though. She would rather he killed her, but that wasn't an option. He'd made it clear she would not be dying at his hand, but Oliver still could, unless she was willing to agree to his terms. Her voice shook but her gaze never wavered when she spoke. "I'll do it."
Slade was beaming when he dialed Oliver's number a moment later, putting it on speaker phone so that Felicity could hear and speak to him as well. He settled back in his chair, his voice full of triumphant laughter when Oliver answered. "Hello, Oliver. Are you missing something?"
Oliver's fury burst through the line and Felicity cringed. "Let her go, Slade!" he thundered. "She has nothing to do with this!"
"Ahh, but you see, you're wrong," he said sympathetically. "She has everything to do with this. I want you to suffer, as I have suffered, knowing that the woman you love has been murdered by the man you once trusted, called friend, called brother."
Oliver's voice was measured, but Felicity could still hear the edge of panic to it. "Then why did you take her?" he asked, his tone attempting to convey his lack of regard for the blonde. "You would have done better to take Laurel."
Felicity's heart stilled at the cruel words, while Slade barked out a loud laugh that startled her. "Come now, kid, do you really expect me to believe that?" he mocked. "You know that you could never hide from me, never lie to me. I've been watching you for months, for far longer than you've even known I was in Starling City. I've seen what you've tried to hide from the world, though you must be aware that the only person you managed to hide it from was Miss Smoak herself. You may have carried Miss Lance's picture in your pocket, but you carry Miss Smoak in your heart. And that, brother, will be what breaks you."
"If you hurt her, I will never stop looking for you," Oliver threatened, his voice as deadly calm as an undertow in still waters. "I will spend every dime I have, every day of my life, hunting you down until I find you and make you pay."
Slade laughed mirthlessly. "I look forward to it. Now, then. I have someone here who would like to speak with you." He motioned for Felicity to speak, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out.
"Felicity?"
The panic was clear now, and it broke her. Tears were streaming down her face as she choked out, "You're going to be okay, Oliver. I promise."
"Felicity, no!" His voice was pure anguish and she sobbed.
"I don't regret anything, Oliver. I wouldn't go back and change it if I could. Being with Team Arrow, with you, gave my life more meaning than I could find if I lived another hundred years. Don't give up because of this. Don't let him break you."
"Stop talking like that, Felicity! I'll find you, I'll stop him!"
Felicity's eyes widened when she saw the gun Slade had pulled from the drawer of the desk. "Slade, what are you doing with that gun?" she asked, her voice strained.
Oliver exploded. "Slade, don't!" he yelled; the desperation in his voice was almost too much for Felicity to bear. "I'll do anything, I promise! Whatever you want, however you want to humiliate and break me, I don't care, I'll do it! Just don't hurt her!"
Slade's voice was soft, lethal. "This is exactly what I want, kid. Say goodbye."
"Slade, no- Felicity! Felicity, I love you!" he cried, his voice tortured, and anguished sobs were torn from her throat.
"Oliver, I-." But the rest never came. Slade fired the gun, she screamed, and then it was silent.
After the first moment of shock, Oliver reacted like a madman. His grief, his rage knew no bounds. "SLADE! I will find you, and I will kill you!" he bellowed, choking on the tears that clogged his throat and poured down his face. "I will unleash agony on you until you beg me to kill you!"
"Be seeing you, kid," Slade whispered as he disconnected as the call.
He glanced over at the bullet hole in the wall far to his right. "Very well done, Miss Smoak."
She glared at him, shaking. "I did everything you asked of me. Why couldn't you have let me finish telling him I love him?"
He shrugged. "He's had a long time to tell you he loved you, and he never took the chance. He doesn't deserve your love, and he didn't deserve to have those be your final words to him."
Felicity crumpled onto the floor, the floodgates opening as she cried silent streams of tears, letting them drip off her nose and chin without making an attempt to wipe them away.
Slade pulled her up and slid an arm around her waist, guiding her out of the room. "Now, now, my dear, it's over. It's time to begin thinking of our future. Where would you like to go? The world is yours."
lllll
It had been three years since her 'death', and Felicity still heard Oliver's screams in her head every time she closed her eyes. She hadn't left Slade in all that time, because Oliver's life was never truly safe and she knew it.
She kept tabs on him. It was getting harder and harder as he'd essentially dropped completely out of the public eye, but there were still sightings, occasional news stories. She kept up on QC and John, on Sara and Roy and Thea, and she ached every time she saw one of their familiar faces on her screen.
She'd been surprised that Slade allowed her to continue with her electronics. He'd laughed when she asked why. "You and I have an understanding, dear Felicity." Oh, how she'd hated it when he'd begun using her first name. His voice caressed the syllables and reminded her so much of the special way Oliver had always said her name. "You're a clever girl. I have no doubt you could get a message to Oliver or any of the others, if you so chose. However, I know that Mr. Queen's life is your first priority, and you know that his life would be forfeit if he were to be made aware that you did not, in fact, meet your demise."
They were back in Australia. He took her back every year for a few months when the weather was the nicest. She supposed if she could be happy anywhere, this would be it. Slade had done everything he could to make her happy and comfortable, but her heart had shattered that day and she didn't think it was possible for her to be happy. She appreciated his concern for her well-being, at any rate.
Felicity knew it was a form of Stockholm syndrome, but she didn't hate him anymore. She pitied the wasted life, the wreck the man had become when the Mirakuru poisoned his body and mind and he lost the only woman he'd ever loved. She could sympathize, because she knew she had been destroyed on the inside when she was forced to break Oliver the way she had. She wasn't the bubbly, bright-eyed girl who'd fallen head over heels in love with a dashing vigilante-turned-hero who rescued her every day of her life. Sometimes she looked back on that girl and questioned if she ever really existed. She seemed foreign, from another lifetime.
They rarely fought. In most ways Felicity didn't care enough about anything to bother fighting about it. She acquiesced to his wishes and accepted his plans for her life, never feeling like she was an active participant in it. The only thing they ever fought about was the one thing she would never give up, and the one thing Slade most wanted her to stop; her searches for Oliver. She knew he was still out there, popping up in a random news story out of Tennessee, or a picture from a club in London. The photos were always blurry or grainy, his arm thrown up against the flash of the photographer's camera, and she only ever glimpsed bits of him. His beard here, his ears there.
She had one picture she treasured, the one she'd printed out secretly and kept hidden from Slade. Right after she'd 'died', Oliver had held a press conference to call out Slade, trying to bait him into revealing himself. One intrepid photographer had gotten close enough to capture the detail in his weary face. His jaw was locked so tightly she was surprised it hadn't snapped under the pressure, stubble was overtaking the lower half of his face, and his skin was so pale he looked ill. Most compellingly, his bloodshot eyes were a brilliant blue and held promises of vengeance and murder.
They'd been fighting again because Slade caught her reading a story about how former playboy/CEO Oliver Queen had been arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct in Kyoto. Her heart broke as she read the short blurb, her fingers pressed to the monitor, right over the picture of him glaring at the camera with the beginnings of a black eye evident.
Slade had been furious that she wouldn't stop looking. He wanted her to forget the past and accept that her present and her future would always be with him. Most of the time she catered to him, but in this one respect she stubbornly clung to what little was left of her old life.
They were standing in the living room of their beach house, near the open French doors that led to the deck surrounding the house. The breeze coming in was cool, smelling faintly of the salty air. He'd surprised her by cupping her face gently, much the way Oliver used to do, and focusing his one good eye on hers. "Will you never let yourself be happy with me?" he asked softly.
Felicity's breath caught, both at the familiar and yet unfamiliar feel of a thumb stroking her cheek, and Slade's actual question, which remained unspoken. "I can't be, Slade," she whispered. "If I even have a heart left, it's wherever Oliver is."
Slade had been enraged enough to raise an arm to her. She flinched, but his arm never came down. Instead, all of a sudden she was surrounded by pure chaos.
She opened her eyes to see Slade on his back, one arrow sticking out of his eye, one in his throat, and four in a cluster right over his heart. Men in black gear surrounded her, all talking and cheering. She blinked in shock, feeling like she was watching a movie play out underwater, unable to comprehend what her eyes were telling her. Until she heard his voice, breathing her name out like a prayer.
"Felicity."
She turned and felt her heart still. The man coming in off the deck, walking through the French doors toward her, was so familiar in so many ways, but he didn't look like her Oliver. This man wore the green hood and leather, carried the bow and quiver full of arrows, but he was older, ragged, his eyes haunted and his face hardened in a way that his time on the island never managed to accomplish. His voice was hoarse, rusty, like he hadn't used it since she'd disappeared from his life.
He came to a stop in front of her and she looked up at him, searching his eyes for confirmation that this was her Oliver. He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her stomach. "Felicity. Oh, God. Felicity." His shoulders shook from wracking sobs, and she distantly lifted one hand and placed it on his head, stroking his hair as she murmured words that weren't words. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she glanced down at the body that lay just beyond his feet. She wasn't sure if she was crying because he'd found her, or because she was mourning the loss of the man who'd been dead for years before his body finally fell.
lllll
It had been three days since they returned to Oliver's family home. In that time he hadn't let her out of his sight once. She'd been with him every moment, his hand wrapped tightly around hers, his eyes hardly leaving her face. She'd slept in his bed, she'd eaten every meal with him, they'd spent their evenings curled up in front of a roaring fire or in the company of well-meaning friends who were anxious to see her.
It exhausted her. Her life had become centered around a single person, one who, true to his promise when they'd made their deal, hadn't touched her or made demands of her at all. Her life had become very solitary and she'd eventually been so accustomed to it that now, even having a handful of friends around made her feel overwhelmed and on the edge of panicky.
Oliver sensed her discomfort and sent their guests home, promising that they could return when she'd had a chance to get acclimated to being home. It wasn't her home, of course, it was his, but he'd insisted that it was hers now as well. Just like with Slade, her life had been assumed control of and she went where she was told, did what was expected.
It didn't feel right. This was Oliver, the love of her life, not her captor. She shouldn't just be passively agreeing to whatever he told her to do. Should she? She should care more, should be trying to assert her own thoughts and opinions.
It struck her suddenly that she no longer had any thoughts or opinions. She'd spent the last three years drifting through her life, not caring what happened, and she was still there.
She tried to tell Oliver she wanted to go somewhere, do something. "I don't want to hide away from the world forever," she tried to get him to understand. He'd simply shaken his head and told her he wasn't ready to let the world into their new life yet. He'd been without her for three years and he needed more time to convince himself that she was still alive.
He'd been so angry when she told him about Slade's deal, his plan, so damned angry at her. He'd yelled, shaking the entire time, asking her what she was thinking and how she could do that to him. She hadn't yelled back, which escaped neither of their notice. In the past she would have gotten in his face and told him she did what she felt she had to do, that his survival meant more to her than anything in the world. Instead, she told him that it was done and over and Slade was dead, and they needed to move forward. She wasn't willing to fight with him about it, and that made her sad. She wanted to know when he'd found out she was still alive, how he'd felt when he realized, but she didn't want to ask. That made her sad, too.
lllll
It had been three weeks since Felicity stopped trying to get Oliver to let her out of the house. Every day was the same. She woke up with him, she ate breakfast with him, she wandered around the house, she ate dinner with him, she went to bed with him. She existed with him. She didn't live with him.
Their nights were spent locked in each other's arms, fighting for those emotions that had long ago been lost to them, their desperation haunting her in the aftermath. Most nights she lay on her side, facing away from him, wanting to cry at what her life-their lives-had become. The tears never came.
It crossed her mind one day, as she sat across from him at the breakfast table, watching him hold her hand without actually looking at her, that they hadn't smiled at each other. She searched her memories, trying to remember if they'd ever smiled at each other, even once, since the day he fulfilled his promise to Slade. She couldn't recall it, if they had. Her eyes skimmed his face, battered by age that had occurred far more rapidly than time could account for, and she struggled to breathe when she understood she was sitting next to a stranger. Sharing a stranger's house, a stranger's bed, a stranger's life.
She wasn't sure when she realized that Oliver had no intention of letting her live a real life. She pushed him to let her go somewhere and he relented reluctantly, after insisting that she be accompanied by a bodyguard. It became a daily fight; she wanted to go, he wanted her to stay, and would only let her out if he had someone available who could shadow her. Felicity was never alone and she ached for what had been lost to her the moment she saw Oliver Queen bleeding in her backseat.
She snapped at him eventually. "I'm not a bird you can lock in a cage!" she'd cried, after he once again refused to let her go for a walk by herself. "Slade is dead, Oliver. He can't hurt me again. You have to let me breathe!"
She knew the stubborn set to his chin meant her words had had no effect on him. "Slade's dead, but the Arrow has other enemies," he pointed out pragmatically. "For that matter, so does Oliver Queen. You're still not safe."
The unspoken words hung in the air. You'll never be safe. Followed by, You'll never be free. Felicity felt the impact of the words like a physical assault; she couldn't breathe, she was panicking as her vision dimmed and the blackness encroached.
When she woke up, she was in their bed. He sat in one of the club chairs several feet away, reading a book quietly. He lifted his head when she stirred, his eyes solemn. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "I can't lose you again." As if that was the end of the conversation. The end of any choice she may ever have had about her own life. She stared helplessly at him and he averted his eyes, not willing to see that he had become her captor more than Slade had ever been.
Felicity had had several epiphanies since her return, and most of them were unpleasant. None affected her so deeply as the moment she looked at him, really looked at him, and knew that he was no longer her Oliver, and she was no longer his Felicity. Those three years had broken them, and she was only just now beginning to understand that neither of them could be repaired. Their broken pieces had shifted, been lost, and kept breaking, until there was nothing left to put back together.
It was later that same night that she slipped out of their bed, careful to make sure she didn't disturb him from his sleep. She'd packed earlier that evening during one of the rare moments she wasn't directly in his line of sight. She glanced around at the home that had never truly been hers, and had come to represent a second incarceration. She wasn't sad to be leaving it.
She left the letter on the desk, and walked out of Oliver Queen's life.
When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was her missing warmth. He reassured himself she was only using the bathroom, but he couldn't hear the sound of water running or her cosmetics being shuffled around on the counter. The second thing he noticed was the single sheet of paper in the middle of his mahogany desk. Fear coursed through him as he stumbled out of bed and snatched it up.
Dear Oliver,
You will never know how grateful I am that you came into my life. You saved me in so many ways, day after day. When you saved me from Slade I thought, maybe, maybe now I can be happy. But we're not happy people, not anymore. We're strangers who loved each other once, and that's not enough. I need a life. I would have chosen a life with you, dangers and all, if I thought we could be good for each other again. I don't think that's possible, not right now. We're two broken toys who are missing all the pieces they need to work. I need to go find my missing pieces, Oliver. Maybe after I'm me again, we can be us. Maybe not. But I have to try, because I can't stand watching us be broken and accepting that that's all we can ever be.
Felicity
Oliver wanted to rage, to throw things and break them, to rip her from his heart and crush her memory into dust. He couldn't. He knew that this time it was his fault she was gone. So he hung his head, and broke a little more.
lllll
It had been three years since Felicity started to breathe again. She'd gone back to Australia, to the beach house that Slade had put into her name when he bought it, the only place in the world where she thought she might have a chance of finding her missing pieces and putting her life back together. It was ironic, really, that the place she spent most of her captivity in was the one place she thought she could find her freedom in.
She was out on the beach, walking through the edges of the surf, her skirt flapping in the strong breeze that had picked up, when she sensed something was wrong. She'd been there alone for so long that any change caused her to be on alert.
She headed back to the house, anxious at what she might find. She cautiously stepped in through the French doors and looked around.
He was sitting on the couch, his features calm, at peace. Her breath caught in her throat when he saw her and stood, hesitantly.
"Hello, Oliver," she said, her voice surprising her with its strength.
"Hello, Felicity," he returned, his voice deep. He took a step toward her and then paused, searching her eyes, unsure of his welcome. She crossed the remaining distance and slid her arms around him. She sighed as she laid her cheek on his chest, and his arms wrapped around her and held her impossibly tight. "I'm surprised you came back here."
She pulled away slightly, looking around at her home as if seeing it through his eyes. "It was the only place I could go," she said simply.
Oliver looked down at her, his heart pounding. "You have someplace else to go, Felicity. You always will." He took a deep breath. "Come home with me, Felicity. Please. I need you."
Her eyes were clear as she regarded him carefully. "It didn't work out so well last time."
He shook his head. "It was too much, too soon," he admitted. "I was broken, and so were you. You've had time to heal, and I…" He trailed off. "I haven't been able to heal without you. You're my missing piece, Felicity. I can't be whole without you."
Felicity looked at him as he waited for her answer, hopeful that she wouldn't turn him away. "Last chance, Oliver," she warned him. "If I walk away again, I'll never come back."
"I promise you won't have to," he whispered, lifting her hand and grazing his lips across his fingers. "I love you, Felicity."
Her eyes finally filled with tears. "I love you too, Oliver," she whispered back. "I always have."
He smiled.