Author's Note: If you haven't watched the DC's Legends of Tomorrow episode "Star City 2046" I highly recommend it, but I hope this story is enjoyable as a future fic even if you haven't. In that episode Oliver says that Felicity left after the city was destroyed – but that didn't sit well with me and he seemed to know an awful lot of stuff about her and her company. So that led me to this…it will probably be a few short chapters, and is somehow managing to be both fluffy and angsty. Happy reading
All I Have Left
Chapter One
Deep underneath the chaos and death that was the streets of Star City in the year 2046, Oliver Queen sat in a long forgotten room methodically gluing together the shattered arm of a pair of glasses with one hand. It was a laborious process, and he'd only recently figured out how to do it, employing a vice and several small clamps to replace the function of a human hand. His mechanical arm – one of Cisco Ramon's last miracles – wasn't equipped for such delicate movements. He worked in the light of a single task lamp, and his own aging eyes squinted to make out the edges of the small bits of plastic.
Hearing the painfully slow squeak of wheelchair wheels behind him he turned, pasting a smile on his tired face.
"You should be in bed," he told her, deliberately blocking her view of what he'd been working on. "It's late." It didn't escape him that time and smoke damage now made his voice sound almost like that ridiculous voice modifier he'd worn so many years ago.
"So should you," she said softly. She reached up to tuck short pieces of grey-brown hair behind her ears. He'd had to trim that hair himself, badly, with dull office scissors when it had finally grown out. It was a constant source of relief to him that it now covered one of her worst scars.
"Besides," she said, struggling to move herself closer to him. "I've spent too much time in that bed. I like that I can finally move around a little."
Swallowing back a fresh wave of pain at how difficult it was for her to even move her arms, he forced himself to stay still and let her do the work. Scratching at his long grey beard he managed to force some humor into his voice, "If I'd known you were going to push yourself so much, I wouldn't have bothered to find that damned wheelchair."
She gave him a feisty look, which for just a moment, reminded him of her younger self. "You, mister, are not the boss of me," she declared.
Something approaching an actual smile crossed his face, and he moved toward her. "Come on, let's get some sleep."
Ignoring her protests he put a hand out to help her push her chair. It had taken some practice, but he now knew how to exert the right force on the handle, so that even with his one hand he could keep the wheelchair going fairly straight. They slowly made their way into the room that had become their sad excuse for a home. It was furnished with bits and pieces Oliver had managed to scavenge – their makeshift bed, a propane stove, mismatched chairs.
Pushing the wheelchair as close as possible to the bed, Oliver set the chair's one functioning wheel brake, and then moved around to face her. He saw a look of profound sadness on her face and immediately crouched down, "What is it?"
She shook her head. "Sometimes I just…I can't believe I'm in this chair again."
He swallowed hard and then cleared his throat. One of Deathstroke Junior's goons had hit Felicity in the lower back hard enough to damage the miraculous microchip that had one kept her walking. Oliver fought the red flood of rage that always threatened to overtake him. Keeping her alive was his mission now. Revenge would have to wait until he truly had nothing to lose. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"My choice," she whispered back, forcing a tired smile on her face. It was an exchange they had almost daily – her trying to convince him that none of this was his fault.
Nodding tiredly, he leaned forward and put his one arm around her waist, as she reached out her stronger arm to wrap around his neck. In a motion so practiced it now felt routine he pulled her up against his chest and then turned to set her on the bed.
Then they both froze as their silence was shattered by the sound of the elevator moving on the other side of the building. Oliver swore under his breath. "You know what to do."
"At least take one of the ear piece's so I can know what's going on," Felicity said, and the raw fear in her eyes shook him. They both knew that if Grant Wilson had found them, a quick death was the best case scenario.
Oliver handed Felicity one of the small ear buds that had once been part of their nightly gear and slipped one into his own ear. They were tiny – invisible to the naked eye. He hurried to their small cache of weapons and chose the one most likely to scare off a casual looter, a wicked looking gun.
He moved toward the abandoned room that had once been epicenter of his team. He saw flashlight beams moving and heard voices. Thankfully, it seemed like a small group. Moving out of the shadows and raising the gun, he said it his hardest voice, "Whoever's there get out. I said get out! Whoever you are get out!"
However as Oliver came into their flashlight beams he felt a flood of relief, recognizing the profile of John Diggle Jr., now calling himself Connor Hawke. The kid was dressed in a convincing replica of the costume Oliver himself had once worn. He knew the kid had been playing Green Arrow, had seen him in the streets as he'd scavenged for the things he and Felicity needed. He'd even, quietly helped John Jr. a few times, but only in ways that didn't reveal his identity or risk his ability to return to Felicity's side.
And there was a woman there, dressed in odd, light colored clothes, a face that, even in the dim light, instantly registered in his brain. Still it took her speaking his name before he could figure out what he was seeing.
"Oliver?" she said, her voice filled with disbelief.
In his ear piece Felicity's anxious voice asked. "Who is it?"
"Hello, Sara." Oliver said, answering both the woman in front of him and the one who was listening through his earpiece. "Long time, no see."
A man to Sara's right, a thin man in a long trench coat asked, "Is that?"
"Oliver Queen," Connor responded to the man's question as Oliver walked forward.
Oliver's mind raced even as he calmly walked forward. Sara hadn't aged a day since the last time he'd seen her and he quickly figured out what he was looking at. Sara Lance who'd disappeared in a time machine to save the world with Ray Palmer. He'd thought of them a few times over the years, assumed they were dead – since the world, very definitely, did not appear to be saved.
In his ear Felicity hissed, "Is that really Sara Lance?" He tilted his head to one side, listening to her agitated voice. "Is she alone?"
"Everyone thinks that you're dead," Sara said as he walked toward her.
"They're not wrong." Oliver said. He needed to be dead – a dead man that Grant Wilson would have no interest in. A ghost who could have the time and the space and the safety to care for the woman he still loved.
Searching for a way to answer Felicity's question without revealing her presence, Oliver said. "Put the arrow down John, you're embarrassing yourself."
"John?" the man in the trench coat asked.
"John Diggle Junior." Oliver said, once again able to answer the man in front of him while feeding information to Felicity.
Connor removed his mask, and Oliver felt a new flood of grief. He looked a bit like his father, especially the sincerity of his expression. "My dad is dead because I couldn't save him," Connor said. "I don't deserve his name. I'm Connor Hawke."
The words irritated him. Oliver understood the kid's guilt and grief, better than anyone, but John Diggle would have been the first person to tell his son he was an idiot. Seeing the kid also reminded him that he was being an idiot in another way, risking his life every night to fight an unwinnable war.
"So you won't take his name, but it's alright to parade around in someone else's outfit," Oliver said, letting his anger seep into his voice.
"Oliver Queen, don't talk to John's son like that!" Felicity snapped in his ear.
Oliver flinched at her words but kept his face impassive as Connor started to berate him.
"Well someone has to," the young man said. "Because the last time that I checked you were dead, everyone thought you were dead, and I am trying to hold this city together by myself because I thought you were gone." In obvious frustration, Connor stepped away from him.
Oliver watched as Sara stepped forward, her eyes roaming over his missing arm and his face. "What happened to you?" she asked. "To Laurel, to my Dad, Felicity…"
At Felicity's name Oliver's protective instincts roared to life. No one could know about her, no one could hurt her. "They're gone. All of them," he said quickly.
"What do you mean?" Sara asked.
Felicity's voice filled his ear. "Why are you lying to her about me? It's bad enough that Canary and Captain Lance…"
"Ollie?" Sara's voice brought him back to the conversation in front of him.
"Gone." Her face looked confused, and he felt a surge of anger. He wanted her out of here, with her perfect skin and hopeful eyes. He wanted to go back to Felicity, the only thing that was left of his life. "What do you want me to say Sara? Thirty years ago you and Ray hopped on a spaceship, and you just never came back."
"We will," Sara said emphatically.
Even as he started to talk, Felicity was speaking to him, but he blocked out her voice. She would want to help them, she would want to see Sarah. And he wasn't going to let that happen.
Focusing on Sara he said, "I don't want to say that things would have ended differently if you and Ray had been here, but…"
"But if we were it could have made the difference," Sarah said, finishing his sentence.
Felicity's voice was shrill now – angry. "Don't say that to her Oliver – if they'd been here they would have just been killed like…"
Oliver turned struggling to shut out her voice and speaking to Sara said, "You thought I was dead, what are you doing here?"
"We were looking for a neuromorphic prototype that Felicity Smoak was working on," the man in the trench coat said.
Internally, Oliver sighed. There was no way Felicity was going to keep quiet about this and instantly she said in his ear. "There's one at the warehouse."
"Felicity left after everything that happened." Oliver said, lying again. He couldn't quite bring himself to say she was dead. "Everything her company was working on is being kept in a warehouse at Adams and O'Neil. The entry code is 4587." He knew that because he'd moved the projects himself, protecting the best he could his wife's legacy even as he wondered, at the time, if she'd even survive her injuries.
"Thank you, Mr…." the man in the trench coat started to say.
But Oliver didn't want to hear it – he just wanted them gone. Just wanted any fight – any trouble- as far away from Felicity as possible. "You found your way in, you can find your way out."
He felt their eyes boring into his back as he turned back toward the shadows. It took a great deal of patience to wait, listening to their footsteps as they made their way back to the elevator, holding his breath until the noise of that elevator stopped.
Slowly he made his way back to Felicity. He expected to meet angry eyes and a stern lecture but instead he found her slumped back in the bed a hand over her eyes.
"Was that really Sara?" she asked, her voice sounding as tired as he felt.
"Yes," he said, putting the gun away and moving to turn off the one light in the room. In the dark he sat on the edge of the bed. "Time travel suits her…she looks exactly the same."
He heard Felicity sniffle and he moved to touch her face, which was wet with tears. "I'm glad she didn't see me," Felicity whispered, and Oliver could tell she was using one hand to cover the long thin scar that went from the middle of her left cheek down over jaw line.
The weight of his emotions exhausted him, but he used the little energy he had left to lean on his arm and plant a kiss on her forehead. "Doesn't matter," he said gruffly, burying his face in the pillow beside her head. "She's gone now, and she won't be back."
He felt Felicity nod, and pushed himself back up, kicking off his boots to lie down beside her. The storm of regret and loss calmed as he felt her head come to rest on the stump of his left arm.
After a few minutes of quiet she whispered. "Did John Jr. look okay?"
"Yeah," Oliver said, moving to press a kiss into the top of her hair. "He looks good."
"I'm proud of him," she whispered. "Digg would be proud of him too."
Oliver swallowed hard. "Yeah, he would."
In the dark Oliver Queen did not rest, and his only comfort was when finally, after too long, he heard Felicity's quiet tears change to the long easy breaths of sleep.