Title: The Next Words
Author: Floss Aus
Rating: K+
Summary: The unexpected sequel to I Don't Want to Die. Oliver and Felicity discuss what salvation could be. Probably best to read I Don't Want to Die first.
Spoilers: Set post Sara
Disclaimer: CW and DC are Arrow peeps and Steven Amell continues to be AMAZING as Oliver Queen and Emily Bett Rickards, is my spirit animal
Feedback: Thanks so much for the amazing feedback, and as requested, I've pushed the story onwards. Can it keep going further, possibly…let me know if you want it.
What comes next, what words, what understanding, what way to make her realise just how much telling her the truth could cost him? He honestly didn't know. And the momentum of his clarity was now rapidly dying as Oliver stood in the corner of Felicity's tiny apartment; he began to wonder if this wasn't all just a giant mistake. That maybe, his penance was being alone, serving his city unselfishly like he'd always planned.
She returned to the room, having changed her shoes and dumped her bag in what he assumed was her bedroom. She was still nervous, he could tell and his fading bravery meant his wasn't able to ease her mind in the way he usually tried. When she first ushered him inside the apartment, she'd moved around the small living room with hesitation, unsure what he'd wanted to do. Sit, stand, lie down in the foetal position – all of it sounded good but he ended with his back against her exposed brick wall, taking steadying breaths, hoping to regain a sense of calm, a sense of clearness that he'd found before he came here.
"Oliver," she tentatively smiled in his direction. "It's been forty seven minutes and you haven't said a word, and not to be uncaring but I start a new job tomorrow and I think maybe you need to think about things more-"
"I feel like I can breathe with you." He broke into her rambling monologue, almost impatiently, the words not smooth liked he'd hoped.
"Okay?" she answered, baffled. "Breathing is good, I guess."
"It makes me dangerous." He replied, anger rising at himself, anger at being unable to explain himself, to find the right words. He clenched his fists at his side, hoping she wouldn't notice the itch in his fingers.
"How so?" She asked, possibly already knowing his answer but wanting him to go there, to say aloud the words, she knew he lived by.
"Because I lose focus, I miss things, I can't shut you off."
"Excuse me?" She squealed, offended at his tone and almost dropping the bottled water she just retrieved from her fridge.
"I don't want to…I mean, you just …damn it." He cursed to himself, pushing his body further into the corner.
"Oliver, listen. What you said downstairs, that you don't want to die down there. Did you mean it?" She stares him down, her resolve hardening. Felicity Smoak knows Oliver Queen, better than she even realised herself and she knows, he is fast talking himself out of his vulnerable declaration. She knows if she doesn't push him now, he'll retreat and find a way to lose himself in his city. To see the darkness as comfort, the physical scars he gains as balms to his emotional wounds. She knows exactly how this can go and more than anything, after losing a friend to a death no one deserved, she wants to pull Oliver out, the man she knows exists under the hood.
"Yes," he firmly responds.
"Then you need to understand that having feelings isn't a bad thing. That caring for people, that mourning people doesn't make you weak."
"Felicity, I…" he paused, unable to say the words that were etched in his soul.
"It's a choice." She spoke firmly, removing her glasses. "You're choosing to live this life, in this way."
"You think I don't want it to be different? You think I want to live the rest of my life like this?" He flashed annoyance, his eyes rising to hers, a fight in them she hadn't seen all night.
"Yes," she replied, staring back at him, not afraid to look into his alarmingly blue eyes. "Yes, I do because frankly Oliver, if you want to change it that badly – you would. You can do anything when you set your mind to it. I've seen it myself. So what are you hiding from?"
"I'm…Felicity…I'm not." He stuttered, retreating back against the wall, not prepared for her confrontation, not prepared for her to dig into him this way. For a split second though, his own thoughts haunted him. Felicity always came at him sideways, unexpectedly. She'd been doing it since the moment he met her.
"I don't believe you. What are you scared of?" She pushed again, her words slower than her usual rapid fire pace. They were precise, finding their marks with each syllable.
"Myself!" He roared at her, finally cracking. The ugly truth that the drugs had shaken free, that his dead ex-girlfriend's body weighed down on him, that his life in general was tearing him down was his greatest fear realised. "I don't ever want to be that person before the Island. I was …"
"A douche?" Felicity suggested, a slight smirk breaking the tension.
He took a steadying breath, her quip easing his thundering heart. "Felicity, anytime I've tried…anytime I wanted to…be Oliver Queen again, bad things happen."
She stepped towards him, as he almost cowered in the corner.
"You are not responsible for Sara's death," She whispered. He sighed heavily at her words. While in theory he knew them to be true, the path that lead Sara towards her mask was entirely lit up by him.
"Oliver, look at me." Her palm lightly touched his cheek, dragging his face to hers. He reached for her hand, meaning to remove it, to break the contact but instead he found himself locking his fingers with hers, pulling her closer, almost like a lifeboat in a deserted ocean. "You are not responsible for the life Sara lead, the choices she made. You are not responsible for Tommy being in the Glades that night to save Laurel. You are not responsible for Slade Wilson murdering your mother."
"But…" He whispered words dying on his lips.
"No, listen to my next words. Oliver Queen, you are a good man. You are brave and strong and you are not the mask you wear."
