This fic is based on a Buzzfeed video called Exes Ask Questions Forehead To Forehead that I came across on Facebook a good while ago. You can find the vid on Youtube!
Little disclaimer (#1): I never actually watched the video, so I have no idea how accurate my description of the scene is. I just saw the title and my mind screamed Olicity.
Title based on You+Me's Second Guess, which you can find on Youtube.
Disclaimer #2: Okay, look, here's the deal with this story: I need to ask y'all for a favor. Please, please, please read the whole story. There'll come a point (or ten) while reading when you'll think something along the lines of 'fuck this shit, I'm out', but I'm asking you to please reserve all judgment until you've read the whole story. Trust me on this one. Thank you.
Disclaimer #3: Before I finally let you start reading, I kindly remind you that you've clicked on an AU. There's no island and no vigilante-ing. If you're looking for canon compliant characterizations you've come to the wrong place, because these versions of Felicity and Oliver have had very different lives. You've been warned, so don't go and complain about the characters being ooc!
That's all.
Happy reading and a wonderful weekend to y'all!
I wish I could rewrite
The stories of the past
But you can't go back and change what's done
Start over from where you began
I don't know where to go from here now
Something still lingers low it's weighing me down
I know the sun will shine again
Back and forth it seems we'll remain until the end
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
Pro tip: don't be friends with a Buzzfeed video producer.
If there were a scale of one to ten for bad ideas, this would be an even twenty.
She should've never agreed to this.
What the hell was she thinking?
Oh, right, she wasn't! Which is why she's in this mess….
And it's all because she couldn't say no to her best friend. Who, in retrospect, is turning out to be a terrible friend, because a best friend wouldn't put her friend in this position.
'This position' being literally face to face with her cheating ex-boyfriend.
Oliver Queen.
She sighs inwardly. It's been a little over a year and she honestly thought she was doing a great job getting over and past him. (That's a lie. She's totally still pining after the dickwad.)
And now, being here with him, everything just fucking hurts again, and she wants to go home, curl up on her couch with a pint of Ben & Jerry's, a bottle of tequila and just wallow in the misery that is thinking about the man she thought she'd spend the rest of her life with.
Oh, how fucking wrong she'd been about that.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ARROW ⁂ ⁂ ⁂
He'd known the second he'd made the drunken promise to Sara to help her with her new video that it was a god awful, all around terrible idea.
But it's too late to back out now.
He's inches away from the love of his life. In fact, it's the first time he's been anywhere this close to her since that night. Since that epic, fucking disaster of a conclusion to what once was the most amazing relationship he was ever in.
He misses it.
God, he misses her. All day, every day.
It was so easy to be with her, to be loved by her.
Until it wasn't.
There were plenty of reasons why you two broke up, he reminds himself forcefully, trying desperately to not let himself be dragged under by all the happy memories they'd shared.
"We're all set, guys," Sara chimes from her position behind the expensive camera equipment, reminding him that they're not alone, but that there's a film and production crew of about fifteen people buzzing around them. "Alright, we're rolling. Put your foreheads together and I'll start with the questions."
He nods in confirmation and watches as Felicity does the same. He scans her eyes and for just a second he can see doubt and maybe a hint of fear there before her mask of indifference slides back into place. It's cold and calculating and so unlike the warm and open Felicity he fell madly in love with.
And yeah, this version of her is so different and yet so familiar (because let's be honest, this is exactly how she's looked at him the few times they've run into each other since their break-up) that he visibly hesitates before moving closer to connect their foreheads.
She hesitates, too, and from the suddenly very determined look on her face he just knows she just gave herself a mental pep talk.
It makes him feel a little better to know that he's not the only one affected by this situation.
When her soft skin touches his, he has to use every last ounce of control to keep from visibly reacting. It's every bit as amazing as he remembers.
Shit! He's most definitely, without a doubt, so not over her.
Has he mentioned what a horrible idea this is?
⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ARROW ⁂ ⁂ ⁂
Fuuuuck.
Touching him is just as electrifying as she remembers. And she hates that her body still craves his touch so goddamn much. And why is her heart rate picking up?
Being so close to him feels incredibly good… right… familiar. Like everything is finally back to the way it's supposed to be. Like she's where she's supposed to be.
But it's not. That's the brutal reality of the moment: they're not supposed to be together. It's over. Has been for a long time.
After the first wave of familiarity and longing passes, the crushing, familiar feeling of hurt sets in. It's like this man, for some unfathomable and unfair reason, has the ability to make her feel like her heart is being ripped out of her chest again just by looking at her.
"How long has it been since your break-up?" Sara asks into the silence that is surrounding them.
Fifteen months, eight days, and nineteen hours, give or take. But who's keeping count?
"About a year," Oliver answers, his breath ghosting over her lips.
Yeah, let's go with the less pathetic answer.
"How long were you two together?"
She's waiting for him to answer again, but he keeps quiet. Is it because he doesn't know or because he's trying to be considerate and let her answer?
She locks her eyes with his briefly, making sure she doesn't get lost in them. "Five years, give or take," she says, voice surprisingly steady. See, he's not the only one who can give vague answers.
She feels more than sees the way his jaw clenches and unclenches and he sucks in a breath.
Huh, maybe he's not completely unaffected after all.
"And you were engaged for the last year of your relationship?"
Felicity just nods roughly in response, not willing to elaborate on that.
"How did you meet?"
Apparently, they're taking turns answering, because this time he jumps in again, "In college, the summer before our junior years. She worked at a Tech Village and I spilled a latte on my laptop which she proceeded to lecture me about for a solid hour while salvaging what was left of a thesis I was writing at the time. She saved my ass, I asked her out, she said no." He peers at Sara from the corner of his eye. "We met again through mutual friends and, eventually, we started dating."
He leaves out the part where they'd become close friends first. They'd just kept on meeting through their friends and she'd observed him carefully, until she was sure that he was actually a decent guy and not just trying to get into her pants for a quick fuck.
Admittedly, it had taken a while for her to see past her preconceptions about him that were solely based on the stuff she'd read on the internet about him. But once he'd proven himself to be a genuinely good guy, she'd opened up her heart to him. And in the end, she'd been the one to ask him out, almost a year after their first meeting.
"So, it wasn't love at first sight?" Sara presses.
He hesitates. "I wouldn't say love at first sight, but I was definitely attracted to her."
Felicity can't help but scoff in residual bitterness, "You were attracted to every woman you came across back then."
He clenches his jaw again and his nostrils flare a little. Huh, being this close to someone's face really lets you see all their micro expressions.
"You were different," he growls and sounds vaguely angry. Maybe because they've had many arguments about this exact topic, whenever her deep-seated insecurities spiked up.
Sara wisely decides to cut in there and move on. "What was the secret to you staying together for five years?"
She wants to say 'who the fucks knows?' and throw up her arms in defeat, but her mind actually pauses for a second. What was their secret? Before everything went to shit, anyway.
A quick glance at her ex tells her that he also doesn't quite know how to answer, so she decides to try. "We didn't jump in feet first. Despite his initial… interest in me, we became friends first and solidified that foundation before we decided to be more," she struggles to find the right words. "I'd say for a long time we were partners. Equals."
She feels Oliver nod ever so slightly against her. "We were a team, but we weren't completely co-dependent. We still had separate lives and dreams and goals, but we agreed to always fight for each other."
It's definitely the watered-down version, summarized in a few words that'll never be enough to adequately describe the six years of their lives they'd spent together. It was never as simple as that. It wasn't all unicorns and rainbows and kumbaya.
They'd fought. They'd cried. They'd gone to bed angry with each other. They'd yelled. They'd slammed doors. They'd stormed out.
But they'd always, always come back to each other.
Always with an apology and a long, adult talk to figure out where either or both of them went wrong and how to avoid it in the future. (And with a whole lot of make-up sex.)
They were never the perfect couple, but he's right, they always fought for each other, to find a way to make it work, to be together. Because the one thing they always had in abundance was love.
At least, that's what she thought.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ARROW ⁂ ⁂ ⁂
He can see that she's starting to retreat. It's in the way her eyes start to glaze over and in the way her hands grip her knees until her knuckles turn white.
It's not like she'd come here as an open book, with all her walls down. No, sir, all her walls had been up, fortified steel and all. But now, he can basically see her build even more walls and trenches and spike pits and every other defensive measure in the book.
Because of him. Because of what he did to her.
"And what made you break up?" Sara questions softly, obviously aware of his answer. Even if she didn't know the details at the time, she'd been there for the ugly aftermath.
Felicity fidgets against him and he's glad that she's not wearing her glasses or they'd both have permanent marks pressed into their skin from the material. She blows out a little huff of air, clearly searching for the right words.
Go on then, Felicity.
He may have hurt her, but he's definitely not the only guilty party in their clusterfuck of a break-up. She'd done her part, alright.
"We grew apart," she finally says measuredly and he can't help but snort.
"We grew apart?" he questions in disbelief. "That's putting it mildly. I think it was more along the lines of: your job became your life and you forgot about everything and everyone else around you, including your fiancé."
Okay, so, maybe he's still bitter about that part…
"You always knew that my job was important to me," she argues, her eyes taking on a fiery glow. Dear god, fired up Felicity is still one of the hottest things he's ever seen.
"Important, yes, but I didn't realize I'd always come second," he spits back, breaking their physical connection and putting a few inches between them. He can't think clearly when they're touching. "I thought that at some point you'd choose me instead of work."
"I did choose you."
"No, you didn't," he growls. "You were going to leave. Me. Starling City. Your friends. Everything."
She reels back in surprise. "What- what are you talking about?"
"Palmer's offer."
"You knew about his offer?" Her voice has lost all its fight.
"Yes, I knew about the fucking offer, because he wouldn't shut up about it at that stupid benefit I went to when you were working late. He couldn't stop gushing about how amazing you would do in London and how you'd have all the resources in the world and all that shit. Guess how much fun it was to pretend like I had any fucking clue that my fiancée was planning on moving halfway around the globe."
She slumps in her chair, shaking her head in confusion, before anger returns to her features. "So, that's how you justified sleeping with another woman?"
"It's not like you were planning on including me in your life anymore anyway…" he grumbles, trying his hardest not to let the immense hurt in her eyes get to him.
That had been his goal all along, hadn't it? To make her feel like shit. To make her feel as lost and hurt and alone as he felt every time she chose her stupid work over him.
She stares at him with wide, stormy eyes, visibly deflating in her seat, one hand running over her face before she lets out an acerbic chuckle and shakes her head again. "You wanna know what's ironic? I did choose you that night."
His brows hike up. "Oh, yeah? Canceling another date night last minute was a sure-fire way of showing that."
"I told you I'd be running late," she shoots back, nibbling on her bottom lip nervously.
"Yeah, I remember a text telling me that you'd be an hour late," he allows. "Two hours later I was still sitting alone at our dining room table with an ice-cold home-cooked meal in front of me."
"Is that when you called another woman to keep you company?"
It was, actually.
Just as the two hour mark had passed, he'd picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Isabel, asking her if she wanted to come over. He had no intention of ever sleeping with her, but he knew her mere presence in their apartment would drive Felicity up the wall.
Was that one of the lowest points of his life? Definitely. But he didn't care. He was frustrated and alone and he just wanted to feel something. Even if it was just anger.
When he didn't get a reply from Isabel, he tossed his phone on the beautifully set table and stalked off to take a shower to rinse of that horrible shitshow of an evening.
Little did he know that that's when the shitshow really began.
⁂
⁂ ⁂
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
Fifteen-ish months ago
The shower does little to calm him down. He's still livid.
Is it too much to ask for a simple dinner date with your fiancée?
Is it too much to expect at least a phone call to cancel their night together instead of a clipped text?
Is it really too much to ask to be put first for a change?
He wants Felicity to be successful. He's proud of everything she's achieved and knows she'll do even more amazing things in the future.
But he is sick and tired of playing second fiddle to her work every single day.
He can't even count the number of times she left dates early, or took a call in the middle of a conversation with him, or how many times she bailed on him entirely.
Like tonight.
He's no stranger to work. After all, he works far more hours per week than the average American. When you're a VP of a Fortune 500 company, and the heir of said company, that's just part of your life. But Felicity's hours trump his easily. Especially, now that her project is in its finishing stages. Between his work commitments and her crazy hours, they've actually gone several days without really talking with or even seeing each other, despite sleeping in the same bed.
They both thought they knew what they were signing up for when Felicity was offered to head the project, but this is absolute madness.
Obviously, none of that justifies texting another woman to make his fiancée jealous and he's so fucking glad that she didn't react to his idiotic knee-jerk reaction.
He's barely stepped out of the en-suite shower in their work-out room (because apart from a shower he'd also felt the need to beat the crap out of his punching bag) when their landline rings in his office. Tightening the towel around his waist, he quickly strides into the next room and answers.
"Good evening, Mr. Queen, this is Jason from the concierge desk. I'm just calling to let you know that Ms. Smoak is on her way up and she'd like you to open the door for her because she's got her hands full with a box that she refused to let me carry for her," their nightshift concierge lets him know in one breath, before adding, "Have a good night, sir." and hanging up.
Grumbling, he makes his way down the stairs of their loft and towards the door. As mad as he is, he's not really in the mood to fight about this again right now. He's so tired of having the same argument over and over again without ever solving their problem.
What's the definition of insanity again?
He yanks open the door, a tiny part in the back of his mind warning him of the chewing out he'd get from their bodyguard Dig for forgetting to lock it, bracing himself for the unknown.
He doesn't expect to be faced with a genuinely happy Felicity when the elevator doors down the hall open. She's brightly smiling from ear to ear, and only then does he realize how long it's been since he's seen her like this. Her smile does what it always does and he feels his lips tug up at the corners in a reflexive move, before he catches himself and schools his features.
"Hey, honey," she greets him, undeterred by his stoic reaction, and leans up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, accidentally bumping the case in her hands against his bare chest. "Oh, sorry, can you take this, please? I need to take these deathtraps pretending to be shoes off my feet before they do permanent damage."
"Felicity," he growls when she just dumps the case, judging by the weight and slight clanking noises there's wine bottle inside, in his arms and promptly uses his flexed biceps to steady herself while taking off the so-called deathtraps.
"Right, sorry," she says, stepping on her now bare tip toes and framing his face with her delicate hands, leaving a lingering kiss burning on his lips. "Hi," she whispers against his lips. "I'm so sorry for being late, but I have really exciting news about work."
He tries really hard to keep being angry with her for standing him up again, but with her barely contained enthusiasm and giddiness it's really hard.
Exciting news about work. Maybe she's finally done with the stupid project and they can go back to their normal life.
Hope flickers in his chest.
And is instantly squashed by a crushing feeling of despair when he realizes finishing her project probably means that she's talking about her promotion to the London branch. Which she is insanely happy about.
Fuck.
"I think she can keep taking the rest of the night off, don't you?" an unexpected, sultry voice comes from inside their apartment, making them both whip their heads around and take a step backwards.
Isabel Rochev is striding down the stairs like she fucking owns the place. Her hair is mussed and she's just now zipping up a rumpled black dress that is so indecently short that Oliver isn't sure it can be classified as a dress.
She walks up to them calmly, shooting Felicity a disdainful glare before stopping in front of him. In a surprise move she leans up and smacks a hard kiss to his lips that feels so innately wrong that he recoils from her with wide eyes. Undeterred, she lets her fingertips trail over his bare chest, "I'm pretty sure I already gave you everything you need tonight."
What the fuck?
Without another glance back, she strides to the waiting elevator and leaves behind the thoroughly speechless couple.
It's only when the elevator doors close that his body comes out of its stupor and he turns to Felicity.
A part of him wishes that he didn't, because the sight of her breaks his heart.
She looks crushed. Completely and utterly crushed.
"Please tell me that you didn't cheat on me," she whispers brokenly, her eyes swimming with tears, unable to meet his gaze.
He knows that it looks damning. He's standing in front of her freshly showered and another woman just came from their bedroom upstairs and kissed him right in front of his fiancée. Even an idiot would realize how indisputably guilty he looks right now. And still, she's clinging onto a miniscule shred of hope that this somehow wasn't as bad as it looks.
He stays silent, pressing his lips together.
This is his one chance to explain himself to try and save their relationship (or whatever is left of it anyway), and he decides to stay silent.
It's an incredibly petty and immature thing to do, but this look of complete despair and hurt on her face is the most emotion he's seen her show towards him in months and a desperate, cruel part of him is glad that she feels the same things he feels every time she's put him second.
The triumph of the moment evaporates into meaningless nothingness when a sob rips from the trembling lips of the woman he asked to spend the rest of his life with him.
"Felicity," he whispers, belatedly coming to his senses. Tell her the truth. Tell her the fucking truth!
She flinches violently when he takes a step towards her and any more words die in his throat.
"Don't you dare touch me," she spits out between sobs, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face, anger joining her horror.
"Please…" he begs, quickly depositing the stupid wine case on the floor.
"I… I can't…" she sobs, desperately fighting for control. "I need to go."
"Don't leave. Please, Felicity, this is not… Let's just take a breath and talk," he begs her, feeling her slipping right through his fingers. If she walks out that door, she's not coming back. That's the one thing he knows with absolute certainty. There's a great many things she would forgive him. Cheating isn't one of them.
"There are no words in this world that can make me want to stay in the place where you fucked another woman," she hisses, grabbing her discarded shoes and purse, turning to leave.
"Felicity," he tries again, his voice tripping over her name when his brain starts to fully understand that the love of his life is walking away from him because he's a jealous, stupid, lying idiot. "It's not what it looks like," he yells after her just as the elevator dings.
"Fuck you," Felicity yells right back, her voice reaching volumes he's never heard before, while she rips her engagement ring off her left hand and hurls it through the open space with surprising accuracy, hitting him square in the chest before clattering to the floor. "Or call Isabel. I bet she'd be happy to do it again."
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
⁂ ⁂
⁂
He'd failed to go after her, rooted to the spot by guilt and anger and shame.
How could he treat the woman he loved like that? How could he let her think that he did the one thing she would never forgive him. Not with her history of not one but two cheating boyfriends that came before him.
Just thinking back to that one moment of satisfaction her hurt and devastated look had given him, he knows that she deserves better than him.
So, he'd stayed away from her and any attempt to reconnect, to explain, stewing in his guilt and anger.
Over the past year, he's come to terms with the part he played in destroying their relationship, but he also knows that nobody could put all the guilt on him. He may have pulled the proverbial trigger, but she'd handed him the gun.
Combing through his memory of that night once again, he still doesn't understand how she thinks she 'chose him'. She didn't. She walked away.
"Explain to me how you possibly chose me that night?" he fires at her, trying to distract himself from his guilt.
She sighs, pressing her lips together in hesitation. "It doesn't matter now," she finally says with a shake of her head. "It's in the past and it sure as hell won't change anything now. There's no point in talking about it."
"Well, isn't that the whole idea of this stupid video thing that we both agreed to for some idiotic reason?" he chuckles sardonically, waving his hands around to motion at the crew around them that's caught between staring at them intently and looking awkwardly at their shoes. "So, tell me, Felicity, when did you choose me? When you walked away from me without letting me explain? When you threw a forty-thousand-dollar ring at me? When exactly did you choose me?"
He's goading her, and based on one in annoyance lifted eyebrow he knows that she knows what he's doing, but she takes a deep breath and answers him anyway, "You're right. I chose myself then."
Boom. Queen – 1, Smoak – 0.
"I chose you before I came home that night," she adds calmly, ignoring his disbelieving scoff. "I chose you when I accepted the head of IT department position at QC that your mother offered me." She tilts her head to the side pensively. "Which I then quickly had to un-accept because talk about awkward work situation…"
What?
⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ARROW ⁂ ⁂ ⁂
If the situation weren't so serious, she would've laughed at the insanely comical sight of his face when his cocky smirk slowly drops, leaving him slack-jawed.
"But… I… you always said…"
"That I didn't want to be handed a job by my boyfriend's parents? Yup, that's true," she agrees to his sputtering, not entirely sure why she's explaining herself. "But your mother is a very tenacious woman and she sweet-talked me for a couple of years. With my not very satisfying professional situation at Palmer Tech and our deceivingly steady, long-term relationship, she finally got through to me and convinced me that I'd built up enough of a reputation for myself with my achievements and breakthroughs at PT, that nobody would dare to question my qualifications. Plus, I was about to become an official part of the Queen family anyway, so it only made sense to join the family business, too."
She can practically see the wheels turning in his head, trying to process all the information she's flinging at him.
"You accepted a job at QC and didn't tell me?" he asks and has the audacity to make it sound like an accusation.
Asshole.
"Because it was meant to be a surprise," she shoots back without missing a beat, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair. "I knew how much you wanted me to work at QC with you and I didn't want to get your hopes up while we were still negotiating with Ray to get me out of my contract as quickly and swiftly as possible," she explains with a dismissive wave of her hand, keeping to herself how difficult her former boss (who had always rubbed Oliver the wrong way for some reason) had been during the process. Definitely taught her to read her contracts more carefully before signing them in the future.
"That night we finally reached an agreement and I met with your mom and the QC lawyers to pick up the contracts that we've had ready for weeks. Moira and your HR director had already signed and I asked them to let me take the contract home to sign it with you there."
Okay, adding that detail may be a little bit cruel, considering how often Oliver had begged her to come work for QC. Waving this in front of his face now has the distinct feeling of twisting a knife in his back. But damnit, they were this close to having a perfect life and he had to go and sleep with someone else.
No, not just anybody else, though. Isabel Fucking Rochev.
She'd hated her from the moment they'd met and the other woman had given her a condescending look and not so discretely insinuated that Felicity was just a gold-digging whore.
Oliver just stares at her with wide eyes, and then suddenly slams his eyes shut and groans. "That's why my parents were so pissed at me after the break-up. I thought it was because they thought I was falling back into old habits, but it was really because I was the reason you didn't come work for QC."
"Yeah," she confirms with a decent amount of smugness, "your mom may or may not have offered to have you reassigned somewhere far away to get me to accept the job offer anyway. Repeatedly."
Because she's just that good and Moira knows it.
"Huh, that's why she's been bringing up the new Asian branch so much lately," he muses and then stills. "You're still talking to my mom?"
Yeah, because she's not the one that cheated on me.
"Why shouldn't I?" she shrugs. "Moira, Thea and I have a standing monthly brunch date at Table Salt. Robert joins us sometimes. Just because you turned out to be an asshole that cheated on me, doesn't mean I have to stop talking to them."
He looks at her for long seconds, his eyes darkening. "I didn't."
"You didn't what?" Expect her to keep contact with her would-be father, mother and sister in-law? Well, tough luck, buddy.
"I didn't cheat on you."
That's… really not what she expected him to say.
"Wh... What?" she splutters, convinced she didn't hear him correctly.
"I didn't cheat on you," he repeats quietly, keeping soft and, to her complete shock and bewilderment, honest eyes steadily on hers.
"I… that… no!" she stutters. "I saw…"
What did she see? She didn't catch them in flagrante delicto… and he never verbally confirmed it, which means there's a teeny tiny chance that he's actually telling the truth.
But then, why would he go and not deny it?
"Isabel came from upstairs, zipping up her goddamn dress," she argues, willing her brain to go back to that horrific night and see if there's any indication that he's maybe telling the truth now. "She more than insinuated that you slept together and then kissed you," she reminds him with disgust dripping from her words. "And you wanna tell me now that you didn't sleep with her? No, I don't believe you."
None of this makes any sense.
Why would he bring this up now? But what does he have to gain from lying now? But why would he have lied back then? Because, yes, in her book, by not telling her anything and letting her believe the inevitable, that's lying, too.
If he really didn't sleep with Isabel why the hell wouldn't he just deny it when she'd straight up asked him?
What the fuck is going on?
God, she's starting to get a headache.
She looks up, searching his eyes for any indication that he's lying.
She doesn't find any.
Instead, she finds a surprising amount of nervousness and… guilt? He stays silent, lips pressed together in a tight line. Tension is rolling off his body in waves. He's completely on edge, but he's trying to contain it. The only obvious signs are in his eyes and in the subtle rubbing of his fingers, and even those would be missed by other people that don't know him as well as she does.
From years of being with him, years of fighting and making up, she knows that he's waiting for a sign from her to continue. He'd wasted the one and only chance she'd given him to come clean, and he's not sure if she'll give him another one now.
"Explain." Because this whole situation is a mystery to her and she hates mysteries.
It won't change anything. Even if he didn't cheat on her, he still let her believe that he did. He still didn't fight for her afterwards.
His eyebrows twitch in surprise and it looks like he's trying to figure out if he heard her correctly. He clears his throat, shifting in his seat.
Yup, definitely didn't expect her to hear him out.
"I was angry at you that night," he starts slowly, his eyebrows drawn together as he sifts through his own memories. "I was pissed that you put your work first again. Like always. I was waiting for you for hours and only got a stupid text to cancel another date night."
She frowns, thinking back to the time leading up to that fateful night. She'd worked a lot, that much is true. And yeah, she'd canceled a few dates, but he'd never complained, saying he understood.
"I… I wanted to make you feel what I felt. The frustration, the anger, the disappointment… so I texted Isabel to come over to make you jealous. I figured if she were there when you got home, maybe you'd realize how… frustrated I was."
He brings a hand up to run over his face. Only now does she see how tired and weary he looks. "It was a shitty move and when she didn't reply, I figured it was for the best. I took out my frustrations on the punching bag and took a shower," he continues.
So far, it all sounds plausible. Horrible, of course, but for all she knows this actually is what really happened.
"As soon as I stepped out of the shower the concierge desk called to let me know you were coming up and needed me to open the door, so I went straight downstairs." For the first time since he started explaining he looks up from his hands, finding her gaze. "I swear to god, Felicity, I had no idea that Isabel had actually stopped by. The front door was unlocked and she must've let herself in while I was in the shower," he rushes out breathlessly, a distinct hint of desperation in his tone. "I didn't sleep with her."
She regards him for a few long seconds, using all her knowledge of his body language, before coming to one horrible, inescapable conclusion: he's telling the truth.
God damn it all to hell.
What the fuck?
Why would he lie back then?
Why didn't he come after her?
Why didn't he just tell her the truth?
Why, why, why?
And the even more daunting question: what if?
What if he had told her?
What if she'd believed and forgiven him?
God, her life would be completely different now.
She wills her eyes to find Oliver's, making sure that she's not misreading the situation, but there's nothing but honesty and guilt.
She shakes her head. "I don't understand." Now that's a sentence that Felicity Smoak doesn't use very often.
He inhales sharply, his suddenly soft and pained face a complete juxtaposition to the hard and cold expression that had greeted her earlier today.
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
"I... It… I just…" He swallows hard, a war waging behind his azure eyes. "Because I wanted to hurt you."
It's her turn to suck in a sharp breath.
I wanted to make you feel what I felt, his earlier statement echoes in her ears.
She'd hurt him by choosing work over him one too many times and he'd decided to punish her by intentionally hurting her.
That's just messed up.
"And what completely idiotic part of you thought it was a better idea to let me believe that you cheated on me than actually sit me down and talk about how you felt?"
"And when was I gonna do that?" he exclaims defensively. "Do you even realize how little time we spent together leading up to our break-up?" He takes a steadying breath, backtracking, "I'm not saying that that justifies what I did. It doesn't. I should've never even thought about misleading and, consequently, hurting you like I did."
Damn right.
"I was miserable and apparently thought I could fix that by making you miserable, too," he whispers brokenly. "You don't know how much I wish I could go back in time and change everything."
Oh, she has an inkling.
She runs her hands over her face, rubbing her tired eyes, needing a second (or ten) to work through this mess they made.
"I was wrong," he whispers into the deafening silence. "Just completely wrong. I should've used words instead of actions and I'm so sorry, Felicity. For hurting you. For letting you believe that I would use your biggest insecurity against you. And for not fighting for you afterwards."
She nods numbly, because what else is she supposed to do than acknowledge his apology? She sure as hell isn't ready to accept it yet.
She can hear and see and feel that he means it.
But that doesn't change anything, does it?
Trying to distract herself, she tears away from his pleading eyes and looks around for Sara. Who's… nowhere to be found. In fact, there's no one in the room with them. Where did they all go?
Oliver is just as confused by their sudden lack of bystanders if his puzzled look is anything to go by.
Frowning at the empty space and one glance at the camera that is most definitely not recording anymore, a nagging suspicion forms in Felicity's mind.
"Did you ever tell anyone what really happened?" she asks, turning back to her ex.
He fidgets in his chair, eyebrows drawing together in concentration. Damn him for looking so fucking adorable. "Sara, actually. She dragged me out for a night at Verdant and got me drunk." He clears his throat in discomfort. "The night's a bit fuzzy, but I'm pretty sure I told her about it. That's also when she got me to agree to be part of her video. Why?"
She raises an eyebrow at him. Really, Oliver? It hasn't clicked yet?
"You think she set this up to get us to talk?" he questions when she just waits for him to put the pieces together.
"Yup," she agrees. "That meddling little devil."
He huffs out an agreeing breath, but doesn't say anything, quietly observing her.
She sighs loudly. "Well, I guess unless Sara went the extra mile and locked us in here, we might as well call it a day, right?" she suggests into the silence between them, needing some space to process.
"Right," he agrees after a beat, looking crestfallen. "Just… I know I've said it a few times now, but I really am sorry for how I treated you. You deserved better than that."
She tilts her head to the side, taking in his slumped posture and pained eyes, before nodding. "I gotta say, even if this was unconventional as hell and even though I never wanted to think back to that night, I'm kind of glad we talked about it and cleared up what really happened." She huffs out a humorless chuckle. "Knowing that you didn't cheat on me… it helps," she continues, struggling to find the right words. "This doesn't make it okay that you lied to me, but at least I think I can stop hating you now. And I can stop thinking that there's something so wrong with me that every man I care about turns to another woman because I'm not good enough for them."
He slams his eyes shut at that, but not before she can see the insane amount of guilt and shame.
"And I'm sorry, too," she whispers, unable to keep an emotional wobble from her voice.
He shakes his head vehemently, glossy eyes meeting hers, words stuck in his throat.
"I'm sorry that I didn't see your pain and frustration," she says softly, for the first time physically reaching out and letting her fingers run over his. "I'm sorry that I made you feel like you weren't a priority. That was never my intention. I know I invested a lot in my work, but I honestly never realized how much of a toll it took on you and our relationship, too." She sighs tiredly. "Maybe I was just so focused on getting the project done and planning my move to QC that I lost sight of what was happening with us in the present. Either way, I'm sorry."
He's stopped shaking his head in denial, but he still looks at her with doubting eyes. She knows him well enough to know that he thinks he doesn't deserve an apology or a way to, at least remotely, justify his actions. And that isn't really what she's trying to do. But she just can't let him shoulder all the guilt, when it's clear that her behavior contributed to the situation that made him want to lash out and hurt her.
"I wish we could've found a better way," she whispers sadly, mourning the present and future they could've had.
"Me, too," he chokes out, squeezing her fingers lightly for a second before pulling away. "I should go."
Years of loving him tell her that he's about to fall apart, his soul racked by guilt and self-loathing. Her heart breaks at the thought that once upon a time he didn't shy away from showing all his emotions in front of her.
But that's not who they are anymore.
So, she doesn't try to stop him. It's not her place to comfort him.
He gets up from his seat, licking his lips nervously. "I really am sorry, Felicity," he repeats his apology, ducking his head. "I know that I have no right to ask, but…" he hesitates, "maybe eventually you can forgive me for being such a complete idiot." He swallows heavily, before gazing at her softly. "Take care, Felicity."
She nods numbly and watches as he leaves the room with slumped shoulders.
Oh, boy.
What a mess.
She leans back in her chair, releasing a long breath that comes out a little ragged, staring at the closed door.
Where does she even begin?
Pro: He didn't cheat on her with Isabitch. Con: He let her believe that he cheated on her with Isabitch to hurt her.
Pro: He seems genuinely sorry about it. Con: He only started seeming genuinely sorry about it after she'd told him about her almost job/future at QC.
Pro: Despite herself, she still has feelings for him. She's not entirely sure what those feelings are, but there's something stewing in her. Con: The mere thought of trusting him with her heart again fills her with panic.
God, her brain hurts.
She needs ice cream. And wine. Or Tequila. That'd work, too.
But even with a little liquid courage, a pressing question remains: can she ever forgive him?
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
To be continued…