In Oliver Queen's overly-complicated life, it seemed as if even though he knew what was best for him, he had to try every single option before settling. His sanity, safety, emotions be damned, he couldn't just admit to himself when something good was standing in front of him. Always, even before the island, had he pushed away the better options for the simpler or sometimes more dangerous options.
Now though, what was in front of him was unavoidable. There was no excuse, no way to get sidetracked. What was in front of him could not be ignored because wherever he turned, it was there and this rattled Oliver to his very core.
For five years Oliver was tucked away on the hellish island that separated him from his family and his life. His only physical memory of his home, his life, was the photo of Laurel Lance that was wrinkled, folded, and tucked into his empty and meaningless wallet. That photo was what got him through every botched stitch and dark night. Truly he was more in love with that photo of Laurel than he actually was with her.
The photo also tortured Oliver. Every glance at that image brought his mind to Sarah, who he had originally assumed was dead. He took her away from her family, caused division in her family and the only way Laurel found out that the love of her life was cheating on her with her sister was when she found out that both the love of her life and sister were dead. How horrible of a person was he that he let that kind of damage occur to the Lance family. Division, damage, turmoil, all caused by Oliver and his selfish ways. He hated himself.
And once he realized Sarah was actually alive, she became his new muse. Sarah had to live, she had to make it off of the island even if he didn't. Often times he felt himself falling in love with Sarah, as they fought their way through the obstacles the island brought upon them. But then, they too were separated again and the misery sunk back into his life and he turned back to his photo.
Once he returned home, Oliver subtly attempted to fall in love with Laurel again. It was her photo that got him through many sleepless nights and he had to assure himself that being unfaithful to her was his absolute biggest mistake. He could look back and laugh at that now, how badly he thought he needed to be with Laurel; how hard he tried in his own ways. And even for her, he made excuses. It was too dangerous for them to be together because she would be a target to his enemies. But his excuses weren't to avoid the inevitability of them being together, but to avoid the inevitable fact that they never would be in love again.
MaKenna was a lovely distraction for Oliver. A past fling that could numb the constant loneliness, but it didn't fill the odd void he felt. MaKenna's break up was simple, incredibly easy to get over, actually more of a relief. MaKenna was just another option to try because something inside of him tugged him towards what he actually knew was right, but everything else pulled him away. MaKenna seemed to be the closest as he drifted away from his true contentment.
He ridiculed himself for Helena. He believed they had so much in common and would work so well together. There were no excuses for him to stray from her, she lived a life like him. But Helena was, well insane, and not to mention out for more blood than Oliver could even imagine. She was heartless in every way and Oliver knew he didn't stand a chance against her mind and her emotions because they were one in the same. Once her mind and heart agreed, she was unstoppable and unstable. She was before what was right for him, but lingered too long.
And no one was more upset when Oliver began to drift back to Laurel than Oliver himself. He was torn in so many ways with Laurel, and he could hardly mask the pain he felt actually being around her. And while he tiptoed around with his feelings, her feelings, and his best friend's feelings, what he knew he needed was standing off waiting and watching.
What was his excuse to avoid what was now unavoidable. It was too dangerous to even attempt. It was a fine line they already walked. Their relationship developing so quickly every day, every moment really. He watched her change under him and he could never decide if she was becoming stronger or more dependent. Part of him, an incredibly large part of him actually, wanted her to be growing stronger around him. It gave him a reason to pursue her, it allowed the thoughts to cross his mind without regrets. But when he found her the target of many, he couldn't fathom diving deeper into anything with her.
At first she was nothing more than a friend, someone he trusted blindly but for good reason. Oliver recognized beauty, but he also recognized fragility and since the island he had matured. She became somewhat of a younger sibling figure, like Thea. He would obviously protect her, no questions asked. But she babbled and could be irritating like a little sister. He pushed her buttons as much as she pushed his and their bickering became constant to a point where Diggle refused to be in the same room until they would "kiss and makeup".
And when anything like that was said or implied, both would grow silent. It was obvious she had feelings for him, he had flirted with her to manipulate her and he felt bad for the girl. Her lack of a filter subjected her to many awkward slip ups, many innuendos not meant to ever be heard. It was entertaining for Oliver, which Diggle scolded him for frequently.
It was when he returned to the island that he somewhat realized she was what he needed. Picture of Laurel still tucked into his wallet that he brought with him to relive his time on the island, and thoughts of Sarah along with the photo, Oliver found it way too easy to ignore it all. When he was bored and she shot pointless arrows into the trees, he thought of what snarky comment she would make about accidentally harming innocent animals. As he counted his push ups or pull ups, Oliver thought about how she watched him intently during a workout and how he missed those wide, blue eyes.
Then suddenly there she was, he heard that voice from atop the tree and relief flooded over him. Had he been tense? He hadn't even realized it until the feeling left him all at once. But of course she found trouble in .5 seconds and he didn't hesitate to reveal himself and come to her rescue. He may not believe himself a hero to anyone else, but to her, he was. And there he was, pinning her safely to the ground, the closest he had been to another human and months and of course it was with her.
Smiling, she had him smiling too. Her jab about the coconut, she was probably partially interested in trying coconut, but she was also disguising her worries for his nutrition. Sometimes she was like a glass door, so easy to see through.
Was he really agreeing to come home to save the city, or was it because she wanted him to save the city? He debated that in his head as their plane ride out of China dragged on. He was envious of how close she and Diggle had become, her head rested on his bulky arm and she drifted to sleep. Diggle was her big brother figure now, which made Oliver what to her? He pondered on and on as he watched her sleep.
They bickered even more after her returned. Himself ignoring the obvious and pushing her away without hesitation. He hurt her too many times, chasing endlessly for no reason after Laurel's affection, or even acceptance as both the Hood or as Oliver himself. And with Isobel, Oliver had never felt worse. The look on her face when she saw the woman solely intent on torturing her leave his suite, Oliver won't forget it. He excused his actions, even tried to explain to her that he couldn't get into anything serious with her because it wasn't safe. But who was he fooling because constantly he was trying to create relationships around her, she wasn't stupid.
But the moment she was in danger, every wall he was attempting to build to keep her out crumbled so quickly and he was there for her like he always promised himself that he would be. She would go out on a limb for him, be a the bait for a psycho or travel alone into the Glades only to come face to face with evil and insanity.
The Count had been an eye opening experience for Oliver. Racing to her rescue, unsure really of her safety. And when the man had the needles millimeters from her skin, her veins pulsing beneath, Oliver never wanted her to be in that kind of position ever again. He would have killed that man a million times more for attempting to take her away from him, and yet she was the one to apologize. She felt that to him she wasn't worth killing for, she wasn't worth it to him. But she was, she was and always would be worth it.
Why does he only notice a good thing when it's gone though? Seeing her flirt with the boy/man, Barry Allen, kept Oliver on edge. How could he concentrate when she wasn't keeping her focus on him and their missions but on re-applying blush and lipstick for that child? He couldn't really focus on anything but regaining her attention for a while. And of course it backfired on him and he had to reluctantly let her go at some point.
Of course Sarah returns though, tumbles into his and her life and he is back on the island. Sarah fights away the league of assassins and her family, and he realizes she is as alone as he feels. Sarah brings him back to that pre-island era though as she tries to rebuild her life from scratch. Back into the cycle of dealing with detective Lance and his disapproving looks and comments.
She waited for him still, obviously hurt and feeling like she meant nothing to him. Always she was trying to prove her worth, and always she was throwing herself into danger. For a time Oliver equated her to that little sister again, trying to get attention and acting out. But Diggle made it known to Oliver that she was the one who, at the end of the day, was always there for him.
So after Sarah left again, because she couldn't handle life off of her own personal island, Oliver had no more excuses. There was nothing left for him to distract himself with. And there she sat, alone in the foundry with her bright heels at the base of her chair and her toes peeking out from under her skirt. Her hair was down and occasionally she ran a hand through it. Her glasses were propped up on the keyboard and her fingers dance around them. She was completely in her element.
Oliver found himself enamoured with that view. He could imagine himself slowly walking over and planting a kiss on her head, or her neck. He could whisper in her ear and bring back the giggles that had disappeared so long ago. What was stopping him from doing that now? Diggle was off with Lyla, enjoying his life. Verdant had closed long ago, the sun about to rise. The only two left in the building were him and her. What was stopping him?
He found his hands on her shoulders, massaging them slowly and telling her how important she was to him. Of course she took this as important to the team, but Oliver needed to get her to understand. She stood up against the Count, against the Doll Maker, to Laurel, to his mother, she could face anything and he couldn't face her. He spun her chair to face him and looked into her confused eyes before leaning in quickly and capturing her mouth.
He looked up her name, Diggle saying once that she was the absolute definition of her name. Intense happiness. It was true. She truly did envelope the name Felicity well.
