Prompt: join me.
Title from the Civil Wars' "C'est la Mort."
heaven or hell (or somewhere in between)
He politely declines Isabel's offer to join her for lunch, making a seemingly unhurried exit and heads to the elevators. In actuality, he can't wait to get back to his room and shed his CEO persona, that real world mask that weighs far heavier than the one he actually dons.
(He is so much more than that mask, though; more than the arrows or the personal crusade that's turned into a team effort.
It used to be about the life he led. Now it's about the one they're building together.)
He sighs quietly as the elevator rises, checking his watch and scrubbing at his face a little bit. Unfortunately, together is not something that's applicable to him right now; he's in Moscow for acquisition meetings and she's back in Starling, manning her old post in the IT department — the balance they keep between their distance during 9-5 and their proximity from 5-9 is at once one of the hardest and easiest things he's had to do — and damn if he doesn't miss her with a ferocity that stings just as much as his bare knuckles on the punching bag in the foundry..
She is where the island ends, and the beginning of a legacy outside his parents' mistakes and his own nightmares. He's freer now that he's fallen — not all the way, but with her wind at his back, the journey isn't as treacherous as he'd once anticipated, and he finds himself reveling in how she keeps turning to him when all common sense tells her she should run the other way.
Then again, she is the most remarkable person he's ever met, not common in the slightest. Were he a philosophical man, he could wax poetic about her being a missing puzzle piece, or the element he'd once lost but found again in her. But he deals in blacks and whites, in truth and all her consequences, and it comes down to the simple fact that they are better together. They want to be better together, and are willing to work for it; take the good with the bad, knowing mercy is found in their proximity to one another, whether they're a fingertip or thousands of miles away.
The elevator finally dings its arrival on his floor, and he makes his way into his suite, He tosses his jacket over the back of an armchair and loosens his tie with his right hand, fishing in his pocket for his cell with the other. He pulls up her information and requests a FaceTime chat, sitting back on the bed as he waits for her to answer.
Though it's still before dawn in Starling, there's a light in her eyes when she appears on his screen. It's a look he's come to recognize, a beacon that guides him home, and if he accomplishes nothing else in this life, making Felicity Smoak look at him like that will be his greatest achievement.
"Hey," she says, voice thick with sleep, a gentle smile on her face.
"Hey," he repeats, smiling as she scrunches her nose up as she yawns. "You sleep okay?"
She nods silently, eyes raking over him as she assesses whether or not he did as well. Truth be told, he'd tossed and turned most of the night, a feeling of something missing ticking loudly within him and keeping him up. Oddly, though, he found some comfort in it; he'd lived his life on someone else's timetable for so long — listened to the minutes counting down to his destruction instead of measuring the good times — that it still sort of amazed him that it could change so drastically. Had you told him last year that in her absence he'd have to sleep with his feet sticking out from under the sheets because he was so used to the coolness of her feet warming on his calf, he probably would've given the same tilted head disbelieving look she'd used on him when they first met. He revels in the normalcy of it all, he supposes; grocery lists with mixed handwriting, toothbrushes sitting side by side, clothing needing to be dry cleaned entwined around one another just as intricately as their owners' heartstrings — things he not only took for granted while he was on the island, but that he'd never known he wanted until they were given to him.
That's the other thing that gets him — there are days he doesn't think he deserves this happiness, that he's made so many mistakes any other wishes should be left unsaid — and yet, she has had faith in him before even he did. She'd asked him once if she could trust him, and his answer of "you can trust me" was the most honest thing he'd said since coming home.
And now they're not only sharing a home, but building one, and perhaps he is a little philosophical (or maybe just slightly sentimental without her heartbeat next to him, beating out a litany of pride and support and love) because there's a part of him that is thankful for his time on the island, because without it, he wouldn't have her — and without her, he wouldn't be himself.
She pulls her knee to her chest and rests her chin against it, asking after a minute, "So how many levels of Candy Crush did you beat during the morning meeting?"
"You wound me, Miss Smoak."
She grins. "Get back here and I'll kiss it better."
He groans a little bit, and infuriatingly (adorably), she smiles even wider.. "Next time just come as my personal IT specialist. Or an assistant to my assistant."
"I can only imagine what…things…you'd need me to handle."
He shakes his head at her, his own smile belying any actual annoyance. "You're enjoying this far too much."
She lifts one shoulder in a playful shrug. "Maybe." Her expression softens a little bit, and he can hear her picking at her duvet cover. "It's weird being apart like this."
He knows (God, does he know); they've only been officially together about five months, and this is the first time they've been separated. For someone who had planned to do the vigilante thing alone, he now finds the loneliness uncomfortable; ill-fitting, unlike the way his hand fits perfectly at the small of her back. But he finds it to be a necessary evil; she'd been miserable as his EA, and it had gnawed at him how the one person he'd never raise his bow against had been injured by him all the same. He'd drawn her into his world and then realized he wanted to give it all to her. He wants her, above all, to be happy, and if that requires a little sacrifice and Googling time differences to schedule morning chats, he'll do it. He gives her a gentle smile and says, "Just a few more days."
She nods and yawns again, hiding it halfway behind her hand, and he tries to ignore the niggle of discomfort at the bareness on her left hand. Instead, he says, "Why don't you fly out and meet me? We'll make a long weekend of it."
She smiles slowly. "I don't know. My boss is a hard-ass. He might not let me come."
He's not sure if that's meant to be an innuendo or not; either way it sets off cascading memories in his senses — so much so that his own hand grips the comforter beneath him, remembering how it feels to draw lazy patterns against her skin, and he swears he can smell the citrus of her shampoo. He tries — failing spectacularly, of course; it'll be those images and not wrapped sweets he'll disappear into during the afternoon session — to blink them away, continuing, "What about London? I'll meet you at Heathrow."
She nods, the light in her eyes somehow impossibly brighter, and he breathes it in just as he sighs promises against the crown of her head as she falls asleep with her head on his chest. "I think I can squeeze you in."
The wink lets him know that was an innuendo, and he just shakes his head again. She's the most extraordinary thing to ever happen to him, this seemingly plain-Jane IT girl, and it's as wonderful as it is maddening. "I'll have Shannon make the arrangements."
"Speaking of, she's going to come looking for you if you don't get back down there."
He glances at his watch and sighs quietly, knowing she's right, and appreciates the gentleness in her tone when she continues, "I'll talk to you during my lunch hour."
"It's a date," he says, standing and reaching for his suit jacket. "Have a good morning."
"Love you," she replies, and he disconnects, walking back toward the elevator with renewed drive to get these talks done so that he can concentrate on the important things, like how his name from her lips is a rebirth and faith — heavenly deliverance for someone who's spent far too much time in purgatory.