This story is my take on what occurs after ferggirl's story "The Days That Never Came"

I strongly suggest that you read that first; considering that I allude to many events and dialogue that occurred between the characters because this story is simply a continuation from that lovely story.

Here's the tail end of the URL to take you there

/s/9375112/1/The-days-that-never-came

It's an angsty AU because Tommy lives and it focuses on the grief and guilt that befell the characters after the Undertaking and how those emotions can drive people to make stupid snap decisions (-cough- s1-2 Oliver -cough-). Nobody is rational all the time, not that it's a bad thing, it's just life.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to CW and the Arrow writers, not me.

WARNING: Strong language and adult themes, but nothing too graphic. For now.

All Roads Since You Are Wrong Directions (I'll Never Get Home)

~An Olicity Story~

Part I

-Retribution-

(n.) the dispensing or receiving of reward or punishment especially in the hereafter

She had failed. There was a second device and she hadn't caught it. She had been the one who was supposed to be poring over the specs, learning everything that she could about the device. She was the one who went through Merlyn Global's files. And yet she didn't see it. How could she not have seen it? She failed and now people were dead. Buried. Never again to see the light of day. She didn't have any clue how many people were affected by her failure and qutie frankly she was too scared to know.

But she needed something to hold on to. Something that she knows knows without a doubt to be factually true because while everything crumbled into ruins her heart fractured as well. Really all it took was one word. One heavily laden word.

Laurel.

She was never really an outcast when she was growing up. She had a healthy amount of friends who genuinely adore her. In fact she still kept in touch with them quite regularly. But she always felt like she was in the shadows behind them. They were gorgeous, the types who were poised and picture perfect, and had that certain magnetism to them that just drew people (more specifically men) to them. And so she sat by beside them as boy after boy passed her by. It wasn't even like her friends rubbed it in her face, or the boys used her to get to them, in fact many of the boys even became her friends. She just never got anywhere past that.

She was just always going to be the girl on the wings. And really it was not like it bothered her or anything. Distressed maybe. Ruined her self-esteem probably. It's not like she thought that she was unattractive, in fact she knew that she was pretty okay looking. Not bad per se, but she can fare well on her own. She was just always going to be the cute/adorable one to the sexy/hot one. And really she liked to believe that she has accepted that. Because that was just life. She was the regular IT girl and not the statuesque Lances of the world.

It was just that maybe she wanted to come first this time. To be chosen over the pretty girl. And that she had actually deluded herself into believing that it had finally happened. Because here she was in the basement. Oliver had chosen her to trust with his secret. To join his crusade.

But all of that came crashing down. And all it took was just one word. And yet that one word had said everything. He was racing through the anguish and the wreckage to get to his world, leaving her behind in the shambles of what she had stupidly believed to be the life that they were building together.

She removed her comms and switched it off, she knows that she shouldn't, that there were still aftershocks going around the city, that they would wonder what happened to her (because they would. Right?), but she had to. Because she couldn't anymore. She can't hear his desperation, his longing, his love, for his past, his girl, his future (someone who wasn't her, someone who she could never measure up to). Not tonight. Because she was barely holding on to herself as it was.

And that pissed her off. Because people died because of her and yet the fact that Oliver was running to lovely Laurel, who had ample time to get out of the Glades from Moira's warning, instead of back to base to her where she has been, always waiting for him ever since she joined his crusade, hurt more than it should.

So she stood there, in the middle of the foundry, in the middle of what was slowly becoming her home, her havana, her safe place, in the middle of an empty room that symbolizes hope, the ability to fight for a new day, in the middle of the room with the walls literally crumbling around her. How could she have let it get this far?

No situation could ever be more poetic.

When Tommy reached Verdant all he wanted to do was destroy everything of his that he would be able to get his hands on. It didn't matter to him that he had absolutely no idea how to get down to the basement to actually get to them but he'll find a way somehow because Oliver had managed to turn his life upside down without much effort, who says he can't repay the favor.

Ever since they were kids Oliver was the one who always came up with the harebrained schemes. It wasn't that he was completely innocent, he had come up with some crazy schemes of his own but it was Ollie's that always fell into the extremes, whether it was to nick the ice cream from the freezer before a big family dinner or to go and break into the police parking lot and piss on the cruisers that were there.

Oliver was the one who had always somehow gotten them into the biggest trouble they've befallen in their childhood. Oliver was the one who had known that Tommy had liked Laurel but he still went after her in the first place before he could get the nerve to do it. Oliver was the one who treated his relationship with Laurel like trash at every turn. Oliver was the one who ripped the rug from beneath him when he disappeared for five years, taking Laurel's sister with him. Oliver was the one who had to go running around in tight ass clothes wreaking havoc in the city. Oliver was the one who told him about the earthquake machine. Oliver was the one who was supposed to stop it. Oliver was the one who just had to come back from the island and upend the world that he had carefully built for himself without him.

A world where he had what he thought was a good life (sure he lost his best friend but he was slowly moving on). A life where his father wasn't a crazed lunatic (just an absent bastard, but he has always been like that). A life that he was starting to build with Laurel (finally).

Laurel. It's come down to her again.

Laurel who Oliver carried out of the remnants of CNRI like the hero straight out of a comic book that he pretended to be. Laurel who Oliver had chosen to sleep with right after making one hell of an argument to Tommy to pursue. Laurel,who will always choose Oliver over him in the end no matter all of the shit that he had put her through.

But then again he always came too late. Had he just recovered from his father's attack quicker he might have made it. Had he gotten to CNRI first maybe it would've been him to save her, him to be her hero. Had he just gotten to his senses regarding his feelings for Laurel first and actually fought for it maybe he would've been the one with her all along. Had he shown her that he would love her better sooner, maybe he would've been her choice. Because he knew, deep in his soul, he would've been better.

He pushed against the heavy doors, feeling the weight of some debris behind it, but he didn't care. He was angry. He was angry at his father for causing this mayhem. He was angry at Oliver for having everything he worked hard for. He was angry at himself. For not being enough. Never enough.

All in all there wasn't much damage to the club. There were some cracks on the walls and some of the smaller pillars have collapsed but none of them seemed to be load bearing. There was a strong smell of alcohol in the air from all of the shattered bottles from the bar and he wondered briefly if the bottles in storage had fared better. Mostly the damage appeared to be cosmetic yet it's impact points seemed to run too deep to be covered by a simple coat of paint.

He stormed through the empty dance floor stumbling a little at the slight aftershocks that were still running across the eastern side of the city, ignoring the fact that dust and some small debris were falling from the ceiling. He needed an outlet for all his anger and he wasn't going to let the possibility of being crushed alive to get it.

All he could hear was the echo of his footsteps keeping beat to his fast breathing and the rhythmic ting of the rubble impacting the metal stairs behind him all encompassed by the deep thudding of his heartbeat in his ears.

Tommy headed straight for where he knew the basement door was and maneuvered himself around the fallen shelves blocking his path. He continued on, happily surprised by the fact that a loose beam had fallen onto the wall maybe this was something that he could do right this time, pushing the door open and crushing any kind of locking mechanism beneath it, but he wasn't ready for the sight that greeted him downstairs.

Because while he was slowly accepting the reality that Oliver seemed to destroy everything he touched, what he saw when he reached the bottom of the stairs drove the fact home to him more than anything else. In the middle of the empty cavern there was a blonde, his blonde, Felicity, standing in the middle of a crumbling room surrounded by a myriad of arrows and weapons, weapons of destruction, weapons that probably have claimed more than one life, covered head to toe in a myriad of dust and cuts, waiting for something (someone) that will probably never come.

When Tommy had found her it was after it had sunk into her that no one was going to be coming to her. It's her own fault really. She had told Diggle that she was fine really and insisted that he should head towards the hospital when he called, because some small part of her. Some small, weak, desperate part of her, had hoped that maybe Oliver would still come. Or call. Or anything. Or maybe she could keep lying to herself and say it's really because he really does need to go to the hospital. Because he does. Truly.

But Oliver didn't. Most likely wouldn't. And really she should stop putting herself in these positions. There's a line, Felicity. And what's the point to lying anyway. She's given into the truth earlier. She's done it already. What's the harm in admitting another defeat?

And god she hates herself. Because she's down here wallowing in self pity for something that she should have been smart enough to avoid in the first place while everywhere around the city at the same moment there are people out there who are experiencing actual unbearable physical and emotional pain in the hands of a crazed and grief driven psychopath.

"Lines huh?" Speak of the devil and ye shall appear. Well close enough.

Tommy didn't know what to think. He didn't really know her. He saw her at the club every once and a while and only really met her earlier that day. But he knew that to some degree Oliver cared about her. He's seen Oliver visibly lighten when she was around and get increasingly defensive whenever he wondered who she was. And in turn today he had a chance to see how deep her devotion to him was. Even until now.

But then again she was waiting in the rubble for someone that will likely never come, which isn't really devotion but simply sheer stupidity. I guess it was a truly fine line.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was empty. Hollow. Defeated.

"Because I'm alone." He paused. "And so are you. You know he's not going to come." He taunted. She refused to turn to face him, and he could tell that she's barely holding on to all of her emotions. "I saw him at CNRI. You know I bet the second it happened he came running for her. Probably didn't even care what happened to you. Didn't care that you were at the Glades too. Hell you're at a basement. His basement." He smirked as he saw her stand straight and taut. Tightly coiled like a spring about to be released.

She kept her back to him but he was getting close enough to her that he could see her hands that were wrapped around her clench tightly against her sides."You're an ass." And her voice was a mixture of agony and defeat that he could nearly feel the empty victory within him. He was lashing out, he knew. But he couldn't stop. He wouldn't. He didn't want to. Because for once he was the one in a conflict that will be the one coming out strong.

He let out a hollow laugh as he stood behind her and kept pushing. "It's always going to be Laurel for him. No matter what you do. It's Laurel. Everything and everyone else can go rot hell." He reached forward and pulled her ponytail off of her shoulders, letting it trail down her back. She cringed at his sudden touch and turned to face him.

Her face was pale and ashen only exhibiting the light red gashes that littered the expanse of skin. There were smudges of dirt across her face, only cut through by trails of loose tears that fell unwittingly. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. Her lips, the very lips that were bright pink that he kissed not that long before, were now devoid of any color and curled into a pained grimace. "Don't you have anything else better to do?" She bit back. He let his guard down at her retort, not expecting her to fight back.

She was tired. She was defeated. She was fractured. She didn't have the time for another billionaire with daddy issues pining after Laurel Lance. But then she saw his face, curled into a grimace and sagging with grief. There was turmoil behind his blue eyes that called to her. Urging her to dive in and weather the storm.

"Didn't you hear? My dad destroyed half the city tonight. My best friend is off fucking the love of my life. So no, Felicity." She took his sarcasm in stride, her gaze never wavering from his. "I have nothing better to do."

He laughed then. It was bitter and hollow and mangled and she while she was only a hair's breadth away she wanted to reach out to him because he was the epitome of casualty. He played no part in this destruction. He simply tried to live, and yet he was caught in the middle of it all and nothing will ever be the same.

"I'm sorry." Because what else could she say? There's probably no polite way to tell someone that their dad was just killed by their best friend and hey there you're left to live another day and clean up his mess.

"I don't want to hear your platitudes." The frost in his voice pierced through her and her sympathy. She was trying to help amidst her own issues and once again it was not being accepted. She scoffed at his attitude.

"Fine then. Your father killed numerous people tonight and there's nothing you could do about it. But I did. I had the chance to do something about it. And I failed. I-" She hadn't meant to go that far. But like usual, her mouth ran away from her. It was one thing to think it. To know it deep in your bones. But it's a whole other thing to voice it out to the world. Because proclaiming it made it real. Now it's out in the world that she had a chance and failed. And under that weight she crumpled.

She barely felt his arms wrap around her, supporting her weight. Her chest started to constrict and every breath felt like a struggle. She lost track of her surroundings and any essense of time. All she knew was that she was crumbling, falling…down… and then she wasn't.

Felicity let it all go. Her fear, her heartbreak, her anger at herself, her grief for all of the people who died that night and those who are injured. And when she was done, she felt lighter.

The two of them stood in silence, not bothering to move out of the human comfort of his arms, letting the moment pass them by. They didn't really know each other so any form of condolence 'it's not your fault' 'you tried your best' 'you'll be okay' they're all just empty words. And she was fine with the quiet that fell between them. Even she knew that sometimes there were some moments that were better of passed without any words or actions.

He stroked her cheek, making her eyes flutter at the feeling, it's been an embarrassingly long time since she has been touched so intimately. She let herself gradually relax in his arms content.

But then he was kissing her and while her thoughts still hasn't caught up with her, her brain managed to engage enough to push Tommy as far away as she could with his arms still banded around her. "Stop. Tommy. Stop . What are you doing?"

She searched his face, trying to understand what was happening, but she couldn't get past his eyes. His eyes that were opened wide, wild, and determined. "I'm tired Felicity. I'm tired of being second fiddle to Ollie. To my dad. To Laurel. I'm tired of taking the backseat in Oliver's life. If they both want him then they can all go their merry way. I'm making a stand."

He loosened his grip but kept his hands on her arms, his gaze never wavering from hers. "I'm done. I'm going to forge my own path. And I'm taking you with me. And honestly right now this could be the worst or the best decision I've made in my life."

"You don't even know me." No. She wasn't comfortable with this. She wasn't the type to run on impulse. She liked facts. Pros and cons. She always thought ahead to see just how much each decision could impact her life. She never just charged forward blindfolded.

But there was this seductive desperation to his voice that was compounded by the steely determination in his eyes that just couldn't be avoided. "That's easily fixed. Run with me Felicity." But then again, that girl, that girl who thought she had covered all the bases didn't. She had made a glaring miscalculation that cost people their lives. She thought she understood when Oliver told her that when they lost, they lost big, as were the stakes to what they did. So what was so good about that path anyway?

"Even if Oliver does end up returning your feelings Laurel will always be there. And he'll just toss you aside the second that she beckons. So screw him, Felicity. Screw him and Laurel. They can go stay in the carousel until they puke. Let's get out of it." His fingers moved to trail along her side from her hip to the shell of her ear seductively at his words, if she didn't know any better she'd say that he was trying to use neuro linguistic programming on her because right now his words feel very good.

If she agreed to this…it would be wrong. So wrong. And for once in her life, Felicity didn't want to be in the right. She may be a genius but that doesn't mean that she wasn't human. She's capable of making stupid decisions as well, her piercing devotion to Oliver as a case in point. Tommy was right. They were both alone. It didn't have to mean anything right now. It was just two people who felt cheated, just throwing caution to the wind and common sense out of the window, comforting each other from a devastating night. And whether or not they could build anything out of their venture was something for the future to decide.

So she pulled him roughly to her, closing the distance.

She didn't care that they were in the Foundry. She didn't care that anyone can walk in at any time. She didn't care that looters can come in and use this opportunity to their advantage. She didn't care that nothing good can come out of this. She didn't care that this was Tommy Merlyn running his hands down her body. She didn't care that this wasn't anything past physical because he was still head over heels in love-in-idleness with Laurel Lance. She didn't care that he was the best friend of the man that she had very deep feelings for. She didn't care that she was doing this in said man's sanctuary, as well as her retreat.

She was well past caring. She was hurting and angry and she just wants a reprieve from it all.

He lifted her in his arms effortlessly and started to walk toward some direction. She couldn't tell where because all she was focusing on was the feel of his fingers digging into her skin. She was going to have bruises tomorrow and she didn't give a fuck. He was venting out his emotions on her and she wasn't trying to contain her own. She was his compensation and he was hers. Tonight. At this moment, they were taking back everything that they felt Oliver and Laurel, and even the world, owed them.

Whether or not anyone else knew it, this was how they were being recompensed.

She wrapped her legs around him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, thoroughly pressing every inch of her around him. She grabbed the ends of his hair, exposing his neck to her. She licked a trail up his neck and nipped at his ear eliciting a sharp hiss from him. She blew on the trail that she crossed, the cool air on his hot skin making him tremble. She used her hands to leverage her and used it to rise in his arms slightly and grind herself against him, revelling in the purely physical relief that it brings her and it stroked her long dormant fire.

She grinned at the falter in his steps which turned to a sharp gasp as he reached one of the industrial columns and slammed her hard against it. She could feel the back of her head begin to throb but she pushed on through. She was gone. Too far gone for the little details. She blocked out her thoughts because she knew that if she really got down to it she'll overthink so she blocked everything else out and concentrated on how he felt.

How hot his skin felt beneath her fingers as she tried to touch every inch of exposed flesh that he had, using her adept fingers to bare more. She ran her fingernails across his chest, trailing down until they reached the firm fabric of his pants.

How soft his hair felt against her skin when he rested his lips on the crook of her neck, licking and biting. She'll probably be covered in little marks by the end of the night.

How roughly his hands held her and ran against every inch of her body, above and below her clothes, leaving a searing feeling in it's path. It was almost too much.

How his tongue soothed the trail that his fingers left behind. And boy did it know what to do.

How every thrust pushed her higher and higher towards the peak. Up and up and up and up.

It was hard.

..rough

...frantic

….depraved

…..desperate

…...savage

….frenzied

…..passionate.

Explosive.

She panted heavily as Tommy fell against her, pinning her more into the pillar. He turned his head and pressed his lips to her pulse point, making her smile at the sudden gentleness. She was spent and satiated and sore in some pretty good places. She felt lighter than she has in months.

She knew that there were still many things to fix, the real world to attend to. There was still the mess outside that needed to be dealt with. But she had this moment.

Maybe it wasn't wrong. Maybe it was just the release that she needed.

They were two broken people. People who were too broken. But maybe their individual broken pieces can fit together well enough to be able to keep them from total destruction.

They were both worn down and damaged. Both toyed with by the same circumstance and tossed aside at the hands the same two people. But they'll push through. They will forge their own path through the mayhem and build whatever they could from what they've shared.

So while Oliver may have Laurel, and the rest of the world be damned, he had Felicity and they will dance on the ashes until they fell.

Upcoming: [Part II - Repercussions]

Sometimes I really feel like, with the compassion that Felicity possesses for other people, even those who were strangers to her, she should have had a bigger reaction to the Undertaking happening. And while it may not seem like it, this really will be an Olicity story, because those two just fit in all the right ways.

There's this one episode in Criminal Minds after the death of a major character and one of the final lines struck a chord.

"We come in here and we talk to you. Where do you go?"

Side note...so how does one get a beta?

Hit the button below and let me know what you think

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