AN: So it's been over a year since I've written fic. I fell really hard for these two over the summer, and after reading basically every fic I could get my hands on, I decided to write one myself. I was partly inspired by a scene from The O.C. in which, while looking at an old yearbook, Summer remembers how she had treated Seth before they really knew each other. Special thanks to all of the lovely tumblr users who offered to look it over for me: killer-klass, blueberri304, movingonwithoutrealizingit, not-past-tense, and shanynde!
The title is a lyric in Matt Nathanson's song Kiss Quick.
As always, constructive criticism is appreciated - although keep in mind I am very rusty and this is my first time writing for Arrow.
Enjoy!
Felicity wasn't quite sure how the two of them had ended up here.
The night started off normally enough. Oliver left at eight o'clock dawning his green leather, Dig followed shortly after, and she'd tracked their target from the foundry. By ten, the drug supplier had received his warning (thanks to a few strategically placed arrows) and the guys had returned to her with no more than a few fresh bruises. Without any bullet holes to tend to or sudden follow-up missions, there was no reason to put in any extra hours.
"So, Friday night!" Dig exclaimed, locking his gun back up in the armory. "Any big plans?"
"If by big plans you mean a bowl of Orville Redenbacher and the latest Star Trek film, then yes," Felicity answered. She'd given up trying to pretend her personal life could possibly be as exciting as her work with Team Arrow.
"Sounds fun," Oliver smiled, stripping off his leather jacket and pulling on a fresh black t-shirt. "What time should I join you?"
Felicity, who had been just about to grab the purse on her desk, turned to face him so quickly that it flung to the ground with a thud.
"I hope your cell phone is in your pocket," Oliver raised a brow at the fallen bag.
Felicity didn't even glance its way, her widened eyes focusing on Oliver. "You can't be serious."
"Why can't I?" he quipped with a smirk.
He was being way too smug about this. Felicity turned to Dig for support, only to find that he was heading upstairs with an amused shake of his head. "See you two on Monday," he called over his shoulder with a wave.
Felicity turned back to Oliver with a grimace. "Don't you have, like, anything else to do? You do still own a nightclub, right? I find it hard to believe there's not a load of paperwork piled up on your desk upstairs."
"Oh, there is."
"And?"
"And it's Friday night," he sighed, taking a step toward Felicity and bending down to pick up her bag. "Who does paperwork on a Friday night?"
He extended his hand to her, offering up her purse, and she snatched it from his grip.
"Fair enough," she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder. "You don't have a date, then?"
"Not for the past few months, no," he replied nonchalantly, reaching around her to grab the coat slung over the back of her chair. He held it open, expecting her to slide her arms through the sleeves. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips. He lifted the coat higher, quirking a brow in response, unfaltering. With a defeated sigh, she turned away and allowed him to slip the coat over her shoulders. She gasped when his fingers brushed her neck, pulling her ponytail out from underneath the collar. Ignoring the goosebumps that his fingertips left in their wake, she turned back to him.
"Wipe that smirk off your face."
Oliver obliged, letting the corners of his mouth relax. Felicity watched as the gleam in his eyes was lost, replaced with a darkness she couldn't quite place.
"Why are you insisting on spending time with me tonight?" she asked softly, genuinely puzzled.
"Is it so hard to believe that I would want to?" There was a sharpness in his tone, as it stung him to realize that she thought it odd he would want to be with her.
She shrugged her shoulders. "I think of you as a friend, and a partner – well, uh, not a partner as much as a team member. Because, you know, Dig is a part of this too. And I trust him as much as I trust you, of course... I didn't mean to imply that he's a third wheel or something. Why would he be? I mean – oh, I just keep picking the worst way to say things-"
"You were saying you think of me as a friend," Oliver offered, letting her start over.
"Yes," Felicity nodded, collecting herself. "I consider you a friend, but... it's a different kind of friendship. We don't really hang out, you know. I don't call you up when there's a new exhibit I want to see at the museum, and we don't go to the movies or catch up over coffee on the weekends. We don't grab a bite to eat unless three of us have some time to kill before a mission. I track the bad guys, you and Dig catch them, and then we return to our separate lives. Isn't that how it's supposed to work?"
"Not necessarily," Oliver disagreed. "Maybe watching Star Trek on your couch is just what our relationship has been missing."
Felicity couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"Okay then," she caved. "I guess I'll see you tonight, then. Around eleven?"
"I'll be there."
/
At quarter past eleven, there was a knock on the door. Felicity had been wondering if Oliver found something else to do after all, and she was just about to start the movie without him. Pulling herself off the couch, she shuffled over to the door in her slippers and pajamas.
Oliver's lips twitched upon seeing her ensemble. "Am I overdressed?"
"Hey, you're the one who insisted on joining me. Why should I have to disrupt my Friday night routine for you?" she quipped, stepping aside to let him cross the threshold. After he passed, she stole a glance at her plaid pajama bottoms and simple t-shirt and was relieved she had decided against the flannel set she usually wears – the one printed with little computers and keyboards. She wasn't sure he was quite ready for those.
Looking back to Oliver, she suddenly noticed the bottle in his hand. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Lafite Rothschild," he confirmed. "I owe you, remember?"
"Yeah," she raised a brow. "But I'm surprised that you do. I found that information for you two years ago."
He shrugged nonchalantly, opting not to comment on why he had suddenly remembered his debt to her. Instead, he raised his gaze and studied her apartment. He had been there once before, only briefly, to install a better security system for her. Now he was noticing things he had missed before – the figurines sitting atop her television stand, the Picasso piece hanging by the door.
The sound of Felicity rummaging through a kitchen drawer turned his attention back to her. She pumped a victorious fist in the air and returned to him with a corkscrew and two wine glasses.
"Excited?" Oliver laughed as she quickly set the glasses down on the coffee table in front of the couch and reached for the bottle in his hand.
"Well, I have been waiting two years for this," she justified, breaking the bottle open and sinking into the cushions of her sofa. Following suit, Oliver reached for the glasses and Felicity poured them both a generous amount of wine.
"To repaying debts," he raised his glass to her. With a smile, she tapped her glass against his before promptly downing its contents. Oliver raised a brow in amusement.
"Two years!" she offered in explanation, pouring herself another glass. Before Oliver could remark on it, she nodded toward the television.
"So what do you know about Star Trek?"
"Uh," Oliver exhaled. "They fight with light sabers, and there's a little green man named Yoda."
Felicity looked horrified.
"What?"
For the next half hour, Felicity provided Oliver with a basic understanding of the Star Trek universe. She used the DVD cover as visual aid, naming each crew member of the Enterprise – choosing to ignore Oliver's amused comment about Spock's ears – and even running into her bedroom at one point to retrieve a book about space travel. Oliver, with only a few moments of exception, listened in respectful silence. He tried to absorb as much as he could, but found himself focusing more on the way her hands moved in circles when she was trying to explain something particularly complex, or how she bit her lip while looking for certain diagrams in her book.
"Alright, I think that's all you need to know for now," she finished. She closed her eyes, seemingly repeating everything she had just said in her head, before nodding with finality. "Any questions?"
Oliver couldn't suppress his laugh.
"What?"
"Nothing. You were very thorough."
She reached over to smack his arm.
"In the two years we've known each other," he began, the remnants of a smile ghosting over his lips, "I never would've pegged you to be such a devoted – what was that word again? Trekkie?"
Felicity laughed, placing her visual aids on the coffee table and reaching for her glass of wine. Taking a sip, she shook her head in disbelief, as if reliving an old memory in her head.
"What is it?" Oliver asked, noticing the way her eyes had glazed over.
Her gaze shifted back to him. There was a sadness in her eyes that he hadn't ever seen in them before. She let her head fall into the cushion of the couch as she continued to stare up at him. It seemed like she was searching his eyes, and suddenly they were back in that cafe and she was asking so innocently if she could trust him. He almost dropped a hand to her knee to give a reassuring squeeze, but she didn't need him to.
"Want to know a secret?" she asked in a low voice, an amused twinkle appearing in her eye. "You've known me for longer than two years." She paused, correcting herself: "Well, you haven't exactly known me, but... remember when you brought me that bullet-ridden laptop? That wasn't the first time we met."
Oliver might never have been so confused in his life. The image of her spinning around to face him, pen in her mouth and brows raised in surprise with her bright pink shirt and bright blue eyes and bright blonde hair... that image was burned into his memory. How could he have met her before and not remembered?
"You're sure it's not the wine talking?"
The sadness returned to Felicity's eyes. "You really don't remember, do you?"
His silence answered her question. She knew that his time on the island had changed him, but until then she hadn't quite realized how much it had. It was really as though he were an entirely different person, the memories of his past life lost.
Suddenly, he was hit with an overwhelming sense of guilt – not only for not remembering Felicity, but for subjecting her to the Oliver he had been before the island. "Was I really mean to you?"
"No!" Felicity was quick to respond. She reached out for him and grabbed his wrist, willing him to face her. "You were good to me. Tommy, on the other hand..."
"Oh no," he groaned with a laugh. "Now I really wish I could remember it."
"Well, what if I said to you 'Welcome to Abruzzo's...'"
/
"Abruzzo's? Why would you tell me to put on a suit for some one-star Italian diner? I'd rather press my luck at a fast food joint in the Glades."
Tommy, dressed in jeans and a button down, smirked at his best friend as they approached their destination. "I never told you to put on a suit."
"You told me to clean up."
"And you assumed that meant wear a suit," Tommy laughed, teasingly pulling at Oliver's tie.
"You're not even half as funny as you think you are," Oliver said with annoyance lacing his tone, smacking Tommy's hand away.
"Come on, Oliver, you're not gonna let a minor wardrobe mishap ruin our last night of the summer, are you?"
"No, I think you're doing a pretty good job of ruining it yourself."
Tommy stepped in front of Oliver, stopping him in his tracks. He tried not to look up at the dirty, half-lit sign hanging above the entrance.
"Look man, don't you think we've spent enough time this summer being spoiled little rich kids? I mean, I love the clubs and the girls and the trouble we've been getting ourselves into at all of our parents' high society functions, but ... I don't know, I just wanted to spend some time with my best friend tonight, eating shitty food and drinking shitty beer and just hanging out. Alright?"
With an exasperated sigh, Oliver allowed Tommy to lead him inside. They were greeted by a brunette at the door who offered to lead them to a table, but Tommy brushed past her without a glance. Oliver followed him to a booth by the window (which, of course, didn't have a view) and briefly glanced back to the brunette at the hostess stand, who was now glaring his way and whispering something to a blonde coworker.
With great effort, the blonde made her way over to their table, her lips pulled tight in a straight line. She tossed two menus in front of them and plastered on a smile. "Welcome to Abruzzo's. I'm Felicity and I'll be your waitress this evening. Can I start you two off with-"
"I'll have a Jack Daniels," Tommy interrupted.
"We don't serve alcohol here, sir," Felicity replied, trying her best to use her friendly customer service voice but unable to hide the disdain that laced her tone. "Maybe you should check the menu for our wide selection of carbonated beverages."
Tommy raised a surprised brow at her, having grown accustomed to servers who would apologize profusely for not having exactly what he wanted and be ready to obtain it for him at any cost.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Of course. I read the tabloids," Felicity folded her arms across her chest. "You're Tommy Merlyn."
"That's Mr. Merlyn to you," he spat. "Then, of you course you must know my friend here, Mr. Queen, the richest bachelor in Starling City."
"Well, I'm Felicity Smoak." She was quick to retort, not even glancing at Oliver. "Now that we're all acquainted, how about you order a drink that I could actually get for you, sir?"
Before Tommy could say anything back, Oliver cleared his throat. "I'll have a Pepsi, and make his a diet."
Tommy and Felicity continued to glare at each other, neither wanting to back down, before Felicity plastered the fake smile back on her face and turned to Oliver. His smile was surprisingly genuine, which Felicity could only accredit to his friend's antics, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was on her side too.
The rest of the night didn't get much better for Felicity. She had brought back their drinks (which Tommy proceeded to spike with the whiskey he had stashed in a flask in his back pocket) and taken down their orders – which, of course, were off-menu. She ran around all night for them, responding to every one of Tommy's annoying snap of the fingers and fulfilling their every ridiculous request. Seriously, why did they need ladle for their spaghetti?
Finally, after hours of torture and – kid you not – a seven course meal, Felicity dropped their bill at the table and left without a word. She hid in the kitchen, watching through a window in the door as they spent another hour drinking from Tommy's flask and pushing the bill back and forth between them. Eventually they grew tired and Tommy snatched the bill from Oliver's hand, tossing a wad of cash on the table and staggering out of the booth.
When they were out of sight, Felicity headed back to the table and collected the bill. She could faintly hear them outside screaming for a cab as she was counting the money to put in the register. She must have counted it eight times, even though she had suspected even before counting it the first time that they had not left her a tip. Incredulous, upset, and more pissed off than she had ever been, she stomped outside to confront them. It didn't take long to find them – they had plopped themselves down on the curb, singing some song about a candy shop.
"Excuse me!" she interrupted them before they could reach the chorus, thankfully. They both jumped at the sound of her voice and turned to face her. Tommy instantly burst into laughter, while Oliver looked pleasantly surprised.
"I ran around like a dog for you two all night, and granted I might not have been entirely happy about it, but I did it with a smile on my face and I somehow managed to resist the urge to physically attack you so as far as I'm concerned you're lucky and you owe me!" The anger was practically radiating off of her. She was so worked up that her face was flushed and her hands had begun to shake.
"Pfffffft," Tommy exhaled with a laugh. She was overwhelmed with smell the alcohol on his breath, even though she was feet away. "I don't owe you anything, honey. You're the one who owes me! I taught you a good lesson tonight. Right Oliver? I taught her that life is rough for poor people. Listen, Felicia, the sooner you learn that, the better."
Felicity let out a bitter laugh, sending one last glare Tommy's way before mumbling something about privileged rich kids and turning on her heels. Tommy, always more eager to fight when he was drunk, pushed himself off the ground and walked toward her, snapping his fingers. Before he knew what hit him, Felicity had whipped around a grabbed hold of his wrist, twisting it.
Tommy screamed in pain, and she relinquished him from her grasp with a satisfied smirk before walking back inside.
"Did you see that!?" Tommy, with tears welling in his eyes, turned to Oliver incredulously.
Inside, Felicity was slipping their money into the register and trying to get her breathing under control. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she would've been startled if not for how gentle it seemed. When she turned, the last person she expected to see was Oliver Queen.
She sighed. "I'm sorry I did that to your friend."
"No you're not," Oliver squinted his eyes at her.
"Please don't sue me," she exhaled, feeling defeated, and covered her face with her hands. "I'm just working here to make some extra money to pay for books at school, and I really don't think my parents or I could afford a lawsuit right now–"
"He deserved it."
Felicity's head shot up, shocked. Before she could say anything else, he slipped a $100 bill in her hand and disappeared.
/
As Felicity finished telling the story, Oliver couldn't help but laugh when he remembered how Tommy had woken up the next morning with absolutely no clue as to why his wrist was in so much pain. It was nice to remember Tommy this way; most of Oliver's memories of him had become clouded by images of rubble and fire.
"I can't believe you were the spunky blonde that put Tommy in his place," Oliver chuckled. "I must've given Tommy crap about that for a whole month afterward."
Felicity found herself laughing along with him. "Now you know why I insisted on call you Mr. Queen when we met again. I was afraid Tommy would pop up behind you and scold me if I called you Oliver," she smiled as he fell into another fit of laughter. She loved this carefree side of Oliver. It was nice to see him with dimples instead of worry lines.
But when his eyes caught hers, his smile fell. His features returned to stone, and there was a darkness in his eyes. She could see that he was done remembering Tommy and had begun pitying the boy he was before the island. He couldn't see the generosity or the kindness that Felicity had seen that night, only the recklessness and arrogance.
"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice low and pained.
"Don't be," Felicity shook her head. "Tommy might not have been my favorite person back then, but I didn't think any less of you. Besides, we're friends now."
"Yeah." There was still a lingering sadness in Oliver's eyes, but his smile was real. "I'm glad we're friends now."
Wanting only to ease the guilt he still carried, Felicity leaned forward to kiss his cheek. As she was pulling back, he turned to face her and their lips nearly brushed. Their breath mingled together for the briefest of moments before Felicity leaned back into the cushion of the couch.
"Oliver," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Why did you come here tonight?"
"I don't know," he answered with a genuine shrug of his shoulders. "But I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
Felicity blushed, trying to hide it by reaching for the remote control to start the film. She sunk back into the sofa, her side pressed against Oliver's, and tried to focus on the screen. Oliver followed her lead, dipping a hand into the bowl of popcorn she had placed on the side table, and for once he was content to spend a Friday night in.