A/N: The initial response to this story has been so great; you guys are the best! Please remember to review ;)

There are photos of them together hanging on the wall above one of the fireplaces in the loft.

There they are kissing under the Eiffel Tower, standing in awe in front of the Grand Canyon. There's another photo of them on the beach, somewhere tropical. She's wearing a sarong and Oliver's arm is slung around her waist.

They look sun kissed, in love.

Blessed.

"Here," Oliver says softly, pushing a mug into her hands. "I made you coffee."

He made her eggs too, when she wandered out of bed this morning and found him in the kitchen, eggs he served on a plate with cut strawberries and whole wheat toast.

(She'd eaten five bites of the eggs when her stomach curled in on itself and she'd crumpled over the breakfast bar, groaning. Oliver had rubbed her back, whispered something about re-feeding, it was okay, he was sorry, so sorry.)

"Where is this?" She points to the photo of them on the beach.

Oliver smiles faintly. "Thailand."

Thailand.

She reaches out and traces their faces in the photo. She's beaming, her head tilted towards Oliver. He has a lazy smile on his face, his palm spread flat against her stomach.

"We look happy."

Oliver rubs his eyes quickly. "We were."

Felicity frowns, cradling the mug in her hands. "Oliver...are you and me...we're together, right?"

Oliver nods gently. "Yes."

"So...you're my boyfriend."

He chuckles. "Yes, Felicity, I'm your boyfriend."

"Wow," she sighs. "Lucky me."

"No." Oliver's hand is hovering above her shoulder, like he wants to touch her but isn't sure he's allowed to. "I'm the lucky one."

/

Felicity floats around the loft all day, going through the books in the library, examining the photos on the walls.

She spends an hour exploring her closet, pulling dresses out and running the fabric between her fingers. She doesn't say anything, just touches each outfit with a look of reverence on her face.

He has a feeling she's downplaying how little she remembers. She puts on a good act, but she's too quiet, too unsure. She seems disconnected, flat, observing everything in the loft with sharp eyes but no emotional response.

He wants to shake her; he wants to yell at her until she yells back. He wants her to be her.

Oliver wonders if this is how his family felt when he came back from the island. If they looked at him and saw a ghost, an imposter, a pale imitation of the person they really wanted.

He craves her, wants to crush her to his chest, wind his legs around hers, kiss every inch of her skin, but when he reaches for her she slips out of his grasp, floats away from him.

Dig calls and tells him all her tests came back clean, that other than being deprived of food and light for six days, physically she's healthy.

"Oliver, we have to talk about what we're going to do here."

"We're not going to do anything. I'm handling it."

"What, do you suddenly know how to cure magically induced amnesia?"

"What did you find out about the boy?"

Dig sighs into the phone. "He's alright. Back in Central City with his mom."

"Central City? Why would Darhk take a boy from Central City?"

"I don't know man. Look, about Felicity"-

"I'm handling it, Dig," he hisses, and hangs up.

/

The brunette from last night shows up around dinner time with a bag of Thai food tucked under her arm, letting herself in with a key hooked onto a little bag embossed with interlocking C's.

"I know, I know!" she says loudly, waving a hand at Oliver. "Don't freak, I got her soup."

Felicity sits at the table, watching Oliver and the other girl scurry around the kitchen. They move around each other with an easy grace, like two people who've known each other all their lives.

"Here," the girl says, setting a bowl down in front of her. "Tom kah kai, that's your favorite, right?"

"Um...thank you," she deflects, picking up a spoon with numb fingers.

The other girl's expression falls. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"Thea," Oliver says stiffly, setting down plates of pad Thai.

"I'm sorry," Felicity apologizes. "I'm sure this is really weird for you-"

"Oh my god, don't apologize. Shit, I'm such an asshole." The girl plops into the chair next to her and holds out her hand. "Thea Queen."

Felicity holds her hand out. "Felicity..."

She glances sideways at Oliver, who winks. "Smoak," he supplies.

"I'm Ollie's sister," Thea explains, twirling chopsticks around her noodles.

"Oh." Felicity looks back and forth between them, trying to reconcile Oliver's blue eyes and light coloring with Thea's dark hair and fine bone structure.

"Half-siblings," Thea says flatly.

Felicity winces, seeing the way the girl's face goes blank, like she's purposefully shutting down. "I'm sorry-"

"Seriously, stop apologizing," Thea says. "It's not you, I'm being awful. Ollie, am I awful?"

"Why don't you get a bottle of wine from the kitchen?" he suggest lightly.

Thea grins. "Really, I get to pick?"

"Sure, grab a-"

"Red, yeah, I know."

"I'm sorry," he says, when Thea's in the kitchen. "She insisted on coming over. She means well."

She trails her spoon through the soup. "I feel like all we do is apologize to each other."

Oliver sighs. His hand is close enough to brush up against hers if she shifted just a little to the left. "Everything's just a little...raw right now. It'll get easier."

Felicity gives up on the soup and rests her head on the table, folding her arms under her cheek.

"Hey," Oliver says, "talk to me, Felicity."

She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to breathe through the nausea, the sensation that everything's spinning under her.

"Felicity." Oliver slides his hand under her hair and cups her neck. "It's going to be okay."

She can't say anything back, so she reaches up and grabs his hand, and squeezes until the world rights itself again.

/

She comes into the bedroom when he's half dressed that night, sweatpants slung low on his hips, reaching for a shirt.

"Hey, Oliver, can you show me where-" Felicity freezes where she stands, her mouth falling open as she stares.

"Hey, Felicity-"

"What is all that?" she asks tightly, her hand waving over his torso. "Oliver, what happened?"

"It's fine," he says, pulling his shirt over his head. "I'm okay."

Felicity's eyes fill with tears. "But you're hurt."

"Hey, hey." She feels limp when he pulls her to him. "It was a long time ago. I'm okay."

Felicity sniffs and presses her cheek against his chest. "Did the person who did this to me do...that to you?"

"No," he says. "This was...something else."

Her hands creep up to his waist. "I don't like this dream."

"Felicity." He cups her cheek, forces her to look at him. "You're not dreaming."

Felicity blinks rapidly, looking away from him. "I can't tell the difference."

Oliver holds her against him, kisses the crown of her head. "Then you'll just have to trust me, okay?"

Felicity sighs but leans into him, nuzzling her face against his shoulder. "Okay."

/

The things she does remember are varied and without context.

The periodic table. The taste of red wine. Panda bears. How to make coffee. The hot burn of the sun over the desert.

"She...her procedural memory," she overhears Oliver say into his phone, from where he's hiding in their closet. "...she recognized me!"

She presses her ear against the door, strains to make out the rest.

She hears him say, psychogenic amnesia. Dissociated. Time. Needs more time.

Things she doesn't remember: her birthday. Living here with Oliver. Her job. Her friends.

What it would feel like if Oliver pressed his lips against her mouth and kissed her.

/

He finds her in the bathroom, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her body, twisting her torso so that she can examine the scar on her shoulder in the mirror.

"Do you know what this is?" she asks, catching his eyes in the mirror.

Oliver leans against the doorway. "Yeah. You, ah...were shot. A couple of years ago."

Felicity's eyes widen. "Shot?"

"It was kind of a freak thing."

"Huh," she says, tracing the scar. "So I guess I'm kind of a badass."

He comes up behind her, hands hovering above her shoulders. "Yeah, Felicity, you're a badass."

To his surprise she leans back into him, lets him cup her bare shoulders. Her skin is damp from the shower and it'd be so easy, to bend down and kiss her neck, lick the beads of water off her skin.

"Oliver," she sighs, her eyes half-shut in the mirror.

"Yeah?"

"What if I can't remember?"

He allows himself to trace the line of her shoulder blade. "You will."

"How do you know?"

"You remember me, right?"

"Yeah," she sounds unsure.

"The rest will come. Don't worry."

Felicity bites her lip. "How can you say that?"

He smiles at her reflection. "Because I know you. Trust me Felicity. You can do anything. You'll remember."

/

A man comes to see her at the loft, a young man with mocha colored skin and sad eyes. He gives her a bouquet of lilies (roses are cliche, he says with a sniff, like he might cry).

He says his name is Curtis, and you two work together. She instantly feels embarrassed but he says no, no, please Ms. Smoak, so she stops apologizing.

He gives her papers to sign. There's a whole stack of them, with the logo Palmer Tech printed in the upper left corner. Oliver explains that they're arranging for her to take a leave of absence from work, which makes sense, considering she doesn't remember her work. Like, at all.

Oliver had tried to explain it but when it came down to the details he flushed and admitted that he didn't understand half the projects she was working on but they're important, very important.

She's starting to get the impression that she used to be a Very Important Person.

Curtis gives her a tablet when he leaves. It's a prototype, he explains, he thought she might enjoy playing with it.

Within the hour Oliver catches her hacking into the FBI, CTU, and Homeland Security. Simultaneously. She can't even explain why she did it. It just...felt like something she wanted to do.

He looks like he's torn between yelling at her and laughing, and settles for an indignant snort and an eye roll. A minute later he's on the phone with someone named Amanda, apologizing contritely and promising to restrain himself from comprising the entire security of his own country.

"Oliver," she asks, when he's off the phone. "You're not like...a spy, are you?"

This time he does laugh. "No, Felicity. Not a spy."

"Are you sure?"

"Promise. Just an ex-party boy looking for redemption in the political sphere."

He's giving her an innocent smile and his voice is light, but she can't quite bring herself to believe him.

/

He wakes up in the middle of the night to Felicity, sobbing. Oliver, Oliver, no, Oliver!

"Felicity," he murmurs. "Felicity, wake up."

Felicity used to sleep curled into his side, no matter what position they were in-she couldn't let go of him, not even in sleep. He'd wake up to find her clutching his arm like a teddy bear, or her hands woven in his.

Now she's curled up in the fetal position, so far away from him she's practically falling off the bed, crying into her pillow.

"Hey, c'mere." Oliver finds her wrists and turns her so she's facing him. "You're okay, you were just dreaming."

"No," Felicity cries. "Oh god, Oliver, you were dead, you died. You died, Oliver-"

"Felicity." He tugs her close enough to him so he can put his arms around her. She latches onto his waist and cries into his neck.

"It felt real," she gasps, shuddering against him. "It felt so real."

"Feel," he whispers, and pulls one of her hands up to his chest, over his heart. "I'm right here."

Felicity weeps. "There was...a sword. Someone killed you with a sword, Oliver."

Oliver looks down at her hand on his side, pressed against the scar Ra's gave him last year.

"Felicity," he says slowly, "tell me more about your dream."

"That's all it was," Felicity sniffs. "You-you told me you loved me, and then you were gone, and I knew...I knew."

"I told you I loved you?"

"Yeah, and then you left me and you died."

"Felicity!" He can't help it, he laughs, and Felicity lifts her head in shock. "Felicity, I was wrong, it wasn't just a dream."

Felicity's eyes are wide. "Then what was it?"

He smiles down at his girl, because he knew it, he fucking knew she could do it. "It was a memory."