Disclaimer: Me no own Arrow.
A/N: Title taken from Hozier's 'Work Song' because it gives me so many Olicity feels. I've rated this T for now but I'm pretty sure that will get bumped to M at some point because I know I won't be able to help myself. I'll give you a warning when that happens. Anyway, I hope you like it and thanks so much for reading. Cheers. :D
It's late.
Or maybe it's early when Felicity stares at her watered reflection in the mirror, the bathroom still filmy with heat and condensation from her earlier shower. She rubs at the puffiness ringing her eyes red, her movements slow and weary as she drops her towel and struggles for a second to thread her feet into a clean pair of pajamas. The fresh laundered scent is a comforting relief now that she feels less dungeon-y and a little more human. More...Felicity.
She's exhausted though, not just from the events of the last twenty four hours but somehow it feels like the weeks and months of mental and emotional stress have been lying in wait like a row of dominoes stacked to fall, and now everything is over – for good this time, hopefully - the stack is falling and spiraling finally and Felicity's not sure when the noise will ever stop.
Because this morning - or maybe sometime yesterday - she was dying in Nanda Parbat. Dying. Or so she thought. They all had. But now she's very much alive and Oliver is too, and the city is safe and her bags are packed and they're leaving together with no destination in mind and she's tired, so incredibly tired.
There are still a million things she needs to do before she leaves – tell her neighbor that she's going away, call her mom and listen to her squeal down the phone for five minutes, talk to Diggle to make sure he's okay, write Laurel and Thea a comprehensive list of computer shortcuts that they might potentially need at some point when the city needs saving again – next week if anything is to go by – the list goes on and her brain is buzzing with it. But right now all Felicity can really think about is soft fluffy pillows and cool white sheets and sleep. So much sleep. Sleep all the time.
The second she flicks off the bathroom light there's a knock at the door because of course there is, and Felicity groans at the ceiling, her heart racing all the while. She knows exactly who it is and even his knock is as decisive as he is about her now – about them. It still catches her off guard sometimes, even now, after everything.
"I want to be with you," he'd said.
Blowing out a steadying breath, Felicity fusses with the still-damp waves of her hair as she pads barefoot to the door. Her fingertips rest barely against the wood for a few seconds – because there's a new beginning on the other side now and she just needs the extra time to ponder the enormity of that knowledge – but she can't stop her face from breaking with a blissful grin, tiredness and chaotic thoughts be damned.
"If you'll come with me," he'd said, too.
Burying her smile into her fist, Felicity counts to three and wills it away.
When she finally opens the door her pulse flutters like her heart has taken flight because Oliver's there, returning the smile just as widely, and dear Google his happiness and the way it colors his face so brightly is her new favorite thing. She wants to bathe in it or rub his face on her face or something slightly less creepy and inappropriate that she'll think about tomorrow.
Until then, she takes a moment to scan him everywhere – not a new habit by any means but there's something unfamiliar in the action now that she's not cataloging injuries or searching for blood – and as she takes in the breadth of his shoulders in his leather jacket and the duffle bag hanging from his fingers and draped at his feet, Felicity bites her lip against the charge of desire that all this handsomeness is hers and wants to be hers alone.
"Hi," she says on a giddy rush of breath.
"Hey," Oliver breathes around a quiet sort of laugh, smiling and seeming unable to stop and maybe he's giddy too, as much as the Brooding King can be. "Can I come in?"
"Oh! Yes. Sorry." Felicity shakes her head at herself, moving back to let him enter and bolting the door behind him. "I wasn't expecting you tonight. I thought you'd want to spend some time with Thea before we left."
"We had dinner and talked for a while," Oliver says, eyes searching her living room like he's seeing it for the first time. "I just didn't want to spend another night without you."
Her heart leaps again because he's looking at her now the way he always does, so quietly intense, like she's the answer to every question he's ever had, and the sincerity on his face warms her chest and everywhere and nope. She's still not used to the knowledge, or the presence of him in her apartment – filling the gaps in her life the way that she's longed for, however much she tried to resist.
"Oh," she says finally, not sure what else to say against the words so weighted with meaning that it almost knocks her off her feet.
It must be the wrong thing though because Oliver freezes, his face closing off slightly, his finger and thumb rolling with uncertainty as he asks, "Do you want me to leave?"
"No! No, I don't -" She stops with a sigh, snatching at his un-bandaged hand before he can move away and thumbing the veins so carefully there. She has a thing for his hands – remembers how they felt skating softly up her naked spine.
"Of course I want you here. I don't want to be without you either."
"That's good," he murmurs, the timbre rich and low in his throat makes her toes curl.
"But I'm just. I don't." She watches herself start to fiddle restlessly with the zipper on his jacket, unsure what else to do with her hands as everything strangled inside comes tumbling out finally. "This is a lot to process, you know? Earlier today I thought you were the Heir to the Demon who left me and all of our friends to die, and I've only just realized how ridiculous that sounds when you say it out loud. But now you're here and you want to be with me and I quit my job and we're leaving the city that you've worked so hard to save and it's a lot. There's not enough mint chip in the world to deal with this."
The happiness that had earlier softened the shadows on his face seems to bleed out of him and he just sort of sinks against the weight of everything that led them here, his shoulders slumping, his duffle bag dropping from his fingers with a dull thud.
"I'm sorry," he chokes out.
"No, listen." Felicity catches his face, guides his eyes away from their feet. "I don't want to add to your guilt because you already have enough of that to eat away at you for a lifetime, probably two lifetimes knowing how much you're like some kind of guilt collector – if that's even a thing - but there are things that need to be said."
"I know."
"And I flew today," she continues, wanting desperately to lighten the moment - even though he deserves to hear everything she's saying right now, she can't bear to see him so sad because then she's sad too. "I flew in Ray's suit which is basically made out of tin, at least I'm guessing from the sound it made when I tried to walk afterwards, and I'm afraid of heights, Oliver. I just can't believe I did that."
She has a flash of the dam and the depth of the water, the wind rushing in her ears as she sped for his body endlessly falling and spinning and -
"You saved my life," Oliver says, seemingly unaware of her thoughts and the rapidness of her breath caught in her throat as he curls his hands against her hips and tugs her closer, the pads of his fingers pressing into the flesh of her ass slightly. "You're amazing."
"I know. No. I mean I know I saved your life. Well. I had a hand in it. But that was pretty amazing though. The flying."
He grins, delighted by her, and ducks to brush her nose against the tip of his own. "It was."
Felicity huffs a laugh because he really means it, too. "The point is," she says, sobering a little in the face of his handsome charm. "We have a lot to talk about."
"We do. And we will. I promise."
There's a bite in her throat and a fire in her chest that wants to call him out on his promises, all the ones he made so earnestly with his words and his eyes, but she nods and slumps forward instead, her forehead resting heavy against his chest as she closes her eyes without any real control of them.
"Okay."
"We've got the time now," he adds, a note of joy and wonder, a hint of a smile shaping the words. "Just you and me and time. We'll figure it out."
"Yeah. That's...good. Together."
Oliver draws both arms around her, gently cupping the back of her head like she's the most precious thing, and Felicity snuggles closer, turning to press her ear to the steady beat of his heart.
Her heart loves the sound.
Felicity's not really sure how long they stand like that, holding onto each other in the dark silence of her living room lulled by the monotonous tick of the clock, but she jolts enough that she thinks she might have actually dozed off against his chest for a moment, her mind cloudy and confused like she's missed something or skipped an hour or a day.
"I'm so tired," she mumbles through a yawn, nudging her chin against his sternum as she peers up at him. "Are you tired?"
"Exhausted," he says, and she loves the vibration of his voice, a delicious buzz hum against her skin that reminds her that he's here and he's alive and he's here.
With her. After all this time.
She can feel another brain spiral building at the thought because if emotional whiplash is an actual thing, it's definitely a thing that she has now, but it's too late to have a ramble-y type meltdown of epic proportions and did she mention that she's tired?
"Let's just go to bed. To sleep," she clarifies quickly. "Is that okay?"
"Felicity," he hums, drawing out every syllable, his tongue savoring the taste of her name like the finest wine, and cradles her face in his hands. He slides his thumbs across her cheeks, just the barest brush, and she grips onto his forearms, not wanting to let him go even for a second. "I'll go wherever you want me to go."
Felicity smiles, all sleepy and bleary-eyed - the exhaustion bone-deep and settled all kinds of achy in her joints - and stretches up on tiptoe to press her mouth to his. There's a hesitance in the way their lips barely move at first – both aware of how tenuous this thing is between them right now – but there's also a strength in the way they cling to each other, a fierceness in the steady grip of their hands.
They share a breath when they eventually part – a sigh of relief or content, Felicity doesn't know. Both are probably warranted. She tugs on his hand and leads them backwards to her bedroom, watching him the whole way, their muted footsteps against the wooden floor the only sound. Oliver looks around the space, absorbing every detail and exit as he toes out of his boots and socks, shucking his jacket and stripping down to his boxers while Felicity turns out the lights and climbs into bed. She smacks and fluffs her pillow just the way she wants it and settles on her side with a weary yet blissful kind of sigh, and Oliver chuckles low at the sound.
It takes a minute or so before the bed eventually dips with his weight and Felicity reaches for his hand and his warmth, a contentedness in the way she sinks back against him as he curls around her from behind.
"I'm glad you're here," she whispers, squeezing his hand for reassurance – for him and for her – and when he squeezes back just as tight, printing a kiss and a whispery "Me too" against the smooth skin at her nape, Felicity grins into the darkness, biting her lower lip as if the action can hold all the babbling rush of happiness bubbling inside because no matter what happens, he's not going anywhere.
She knows that now.
There's a faint strip of moonlight falling so white against their hands linked loose on top of the sheets, and with the silent brush of Oliver's I love you warm against her neck, the last domino finally falls.