Why?

If there was one thing that bugged Felicity, it was always the why. Why did people think revenge gets them anywhere? Why stay with someone you love when they don't love you back? Why was it so easy for some to trust, and so easy for others to break that trust? Why why why?

Honestly Felicity couldn't actually remember the exact date it started. Not that she would have complained because deep down it made her incredibly happy that Oliver trusted her enough to let her see him like this. She had always thought that maybe Laurel—now that she knew Oliver's secret identity—would be the one he'd flee to. After all he didn't have to hide it from her anymore and those two always found a way back to each other (not that she ever dwelled on it mind you).

There was no telling how long it had been going on, but the first time Felicity found Oliver on her couch in the middle of the night wasn't one she was likely to ever forget. She had woken up from a rather fitful sleep—not a nightmare per say—but it was certainly a dream she hadn't wanted to give the chance to morph into one. There were plenty of Slade filled nightmares, and all she wanted was a bottle of water from her fridge. She hadn't expected the dark shadow occupying her couch, barely lit from the moon outside.

The first night Oliver had appeared she had no idea how to handle the situation. It had been awkward to put it mildly. Words had been stuttered out, not to mention the entire week afterwards. Neither of them could look at each other for longer than a few seconds (it reminded her of the week she couldn't look at him after the "I love you" fiasco actually), but like most things they eventually got over it—though it was never actually discussed. In the back of her mind she knew that they really should talk about it, but really how does one get the brooding Oliver Queen to open up with prodding anyways? It was a constant why in the back of her head.

The second time didn't go smoothly at all either. She had gone to bed, only to lay awake for hours before realizing she had left her tablet on the coffee table—and apparently Oliver had taken up her couch again in her absence. Felicity had no idea if she should be upset at his appearance in her locked apartment, or just accept it. Given the hour she couldn't find the heart to badger him about the why (seriously why didn't he just ask instead of breaking in) and fetched a spare blanket and pillow from her guest bedroom. She dropped the items wordlessly on the edge of the couch, snatched up her tablet and returned to her room in a huff to pointedly ignore the vigilante on her couch.

The third time she found him on her couch he tried to talk to her. Only somehow it seemed to simply aggravate him when she asked why he was showing up in the middle of the night unannounced. Oliver couldn't get his silver tongue to form any sort of cohesive sentence and ended up storming out of her apartment without clues as to why he was there in the first place. The only words he left her with were "I just…" "I can't…" "I needed…" "I don't…". But Felicity prided herself on knowing her own personal superhero (he so wouldn't approve of the nickname, but too bad). Besides Oliver had tried, and she was a genius after all. If he could at least try, then so could she.

Sometimes they lost—probably more than any of them would like to admit. Sometimes the bad guy got away, sometimes someone lost their life. Oliver always carried guilt heavily on his shoulders, and since the whole near destruction of their city ( yes theirs, they fought to keep it safe after all) for a second time—Oliver seemed to feel the need to ensure nothing that bad happened to the city a third time.

Felicity however for all her thinking couldn't actually pinpoint a reason. At first she thought maybe perhaps it was botched missions—especially those that might have ended with the loss of life. But then, she didn't stalk her apartment every night to see if Oliver was there—she'd never get any rest if she knew he was always out there (because knowing the object of her every desire was sleeping on her couch just led to other thoughts).

But coming to the conclusion she now had was much simpler than she would have ever guessed, even if it went against her every why instinct. Sitting on her couch in the middle of the night on one end, legs tucked under her while she dragged her fingers across the scalp of the man who saved the city day in and day out (or was that night in and night out… eh whatever) because his head was currently resting in her lap as he stretched out across the rest of the couch. Her eyes glued to whatever she might have on her DVR as one of his hands trailed up and down her calf—every once and awhile crawling up just above her knee to give her thigh a light squeeze (the first time he pulled that she had barely kept herself grounded to the couch).

Felicity couldn't number the amount of times they had ended up like this. She stopped keeping track the moment she realized—she didn't care why. For whatever reason Oliver chose her. Trusted her enough to see a vulnerable spot—especially after his explosion of reasons without any words. To just show up in her apartment again after that… it couldn't have been easy for him. The moment she let go of the why, they had slowly evolved into—well for lack of better words—cuddling. His touch always seemed to be a reaction to hers, letting her know that she hadn't overstepped any boundaries (cause lord knew that was like walking through land mines in more ways than one) and now they were here—wherever that was.

She supposed for some it would be easy to over think their current positions. Hell, if a stranger (or maybe even certain members of their team come to think of it) spotted them as they were now—well the rumor mill would never die. All Felicity knew was that she was happy, and that he was calm—and dare she think it—maybe a little happy too. Felicity wasn't bound to shatter his bubble… though she couldn't stop wondering if maybe she could talk him into moving this cuddling to the bedroom (because knowing her she'd make it sound all kinds of dirty and lets face it, for once she wouldn't be able to lie about not thinking about that). But really, falling asleep on the couch all the time sitting up was messing with her back.

The man sprawled across her lap when rigid under her fingers and Felicity withdrew her eyes from the TV in confusion to look down at him. He shifted, pushing himself up with one arm to just… stare at her. His eyes looked darker than normal to her, but for the longest moment he was unreadable. She knew that mask—the one he wore when he thinking and she wondered for the millionth time just what he was thinking about. He was looking for something—some kind of sign from her. She just had no idea what it was.

"Okay."

The single word seemed to echo in the room around them despite the sound from the TV and Felicity could feel her heart leap in her chest as Oliver pulled away completely, coming to his feet. He never left—at least not until after morning coffee. It wasn't until he reached down and twisted his fingers with hers to tug her up off the couch as well and began to lead her towards her bedroom that she even realized that her thoughts about cuddling in the bedroom must not have been as silent as she intended for them to be. The mask had left his face already, replaced with the slight twist of his lips in a smirk (infuriatingly handsome man knew she was embarrassed), and Felicity barely spared a moment to hit the off switch on the TV remote before they disappeared into her room.

It was the first time in her life she was glad she didn't want to know the why. The why didn't matter. They mattered. Why could come later.