A/N: Hi guys, so here is Chapter 3!

This one is still Felicity's POV, but I think we'll get to Oliver in the next one.

Thank you to those who have reviewed, I really appreciate it.

I hope you like it!

"You haven't been by the house in a few days…" Thea said quietly, almost to herself.

Felicity took a fry, evasively stuffing it into her mouth. She knew they'd get to this eventually. It was inevitable. Oliver this, and Oliver that. It's all they'd talked about. But Felicity couldn't be angry or fault the younger Queen. It was her brother and she just wanted to know if he was okay, if he was talking to someone—letting someone in. As far as she could tell, ever since their conversation at his party, he wasn't letting anyone in.

"No—I've been busy."

Thea scoffed. "Busy?"

Felicity could see Thea's frustration. She understood it. Of course she did; the brother comes back shuts everyone out, and now the sister-in-law who is always at the house stops coming by, shutting everyone out. Judging by the conversation she'd had with Oliver days ago, he wasn't going to give Thea any relief anytime soon, so perhaps some honesty on her part would do some of the trick.

"No. No, I haven't been busy—I mean I have. I work. But what I mean is that I've been avoiding the house. I've been avoiding Oliver, actually."

"Why? I thought you guys were getting along."

"We were—are, I hope—but it's also complicated. We were married. We still are. Getting used to each other isn't going to help anyone if we don't know where we stand. Once Oliver gives his proof-of-life statement in court tomorrow we can start working on a divorce and then, eventually, once we've got our individual lives back and we get used to each other again, we can be friends."

Thea gave her an exasperated look. "Sounds like unnecessary complications."

"Maybe…I don't know."

Thea went quiet then, looking down. Felicity watched as she picked up fries just to set them down again. She didn't even attempt to eat them. She felt sorry for Thea. Oliver's silence was nothing new for her and, to be honest, she needed it now, but Thea—Thea needed the opposite.

"We've talked about Oliver and me, but what about you? How are you doing?"

Thea shrugged. "I'm fine. Maybe…I don't know," she smiled, looking up at her.

They'd never been close, not really. But then Robert and Oliver disappeared and suddenly, they needed each other because Moira had gone silent and there was no one else. She'd gotten to really know Thea through tears and nights spent on the couch, watching pictures float by on the muted TV screen.

"He just feels so…distant. I feel like he's not even here sometimes, you know?"

Felicity nodded, "Maybe tell him that. He won't open up right away—something happened to him during those five years—but he'll keep it in mind. Eventually, he'll open up. Tell him, so that he knows."

"Yeah, maybe you're right…"

Felicity saw the door open over Thea's shoulder and John Diggle walked in, jacket slung over his shoulder. He looked very tired as he quickly surveyed the booths. He spotted her and she waved. He smiled and walked over.

"Hello Felicity, Miss Queen."

Thea looked up and smiled, "Just Thea is fine. Hi Diggle."

"Hi John. How are you?"

John shrugged. "Exhausted."

"Oh yeah? My brother's keeping you busy then?" Thea scooted to the edge of the booth, patting the spot next to her.

John hesitated, "I don't want to interrupt. I just came to say hi."

"Sit down. Unless you're waiting for someone," Thea said.

"Carla actually. My sister-in-law." He pointed to the woman taking someone's order at another table. "She's still on her shift."

"Well, while you wait, sit down."

John looked at her for help, but Felicity just shrugged. He sat down.

"So, what's it like being Oliver's security detail," Thea asked.

From the look on John's face, Felicity could tell that he was just about ready to give up.

"It's…" He sighed. "It's exhausting. He's turned it into some disappearing act game. Apparently, jumping out of a moving car was only just the beginning. But I can handle it…"

"That does sound like Ollie…You see? Sometimes he's his same old self and sometimes he just—ughh" Thea threw her hands up in surrender.

"It'll take time," Felicity assured her.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Felicity wiped her sweaty palms on her dress at the stop light. She didn't know why she was nervous. Oliver would be officially declared living today. It just made everything real. They'd been living in a sort of bubble for the past few days. But now that bubble was about to burst and they'd have to acknowledge—well, everyone else.

As if to prove her point, there was a massive crowd in front of the court house. Most of the crowd was composed of the media, but there were quite a few ordinary people present, just waiting to catch a glimpse of the lost prodigal son—and his wife, Felicity realized with some dismay.

She parked in front of the building, right behind the Queen family car, where a space had been cleared for her. The people were keeping a respectable distance from the vehicles and she wiped her sweaty palms on the skirt of her cream-colored body-con dress. Bright colors, she'd decided earlier that morning, were not appropriate for the day's occasion. Besides, she knew that Moira would be wearing muted colors as well. The last thing she wanted was to stand out.

There was no movement in the Queen car, so she assumed that they had already gone in. Taking her mint green jacket from the backseat—there was no harm in some color and it was a muted color—she took a breath. Okay. Okay. You can do this. She took another breath, grabbed her beige purse, switched off her car, and opened the door. The sound of the car door slamming shut behind her was like a gunshot for the group in front of her. They swarmed, descending on her almost furiously.

"Mrs. Queen, why didn't you arrive with the rest of the family?"

"Mrs. Queen is it true that you will be moving back into the mansion when this is all over?"

"Mrs. Queen, can you comment on what happened to your husband over the course of five years?"

"Mrs. Queen, some people are saying that a divorce is on the horizon."

"Mrs. Queen, how do you feel?"

"Mrs. Queen, can you comment on the rumors that your husband wasn't actually on the island for all five years?"

The questions blended together into one solid wall of voices. She'd known what this was like, and yet… Her heart was jumping into her throat, furiously pounding. Hands, mics, faces, and curious eyes were everywhere. She couldn't even see the steps to the courthouse; the wall of bodies blocked her view. Hands were grasping at her arms and she had to swallow the shivers that threatened to run down her spine. She didn't like being touched. But they didn't care.

"Mrs. Queen, can you respond to the allegations that you are actually disappointed by Mr. Queen's return?"

"Mrs. Queen, what is the plan, moving forward?"

Felicity tried to push past them. But the cameras had started their assault. Large lenses were pushed up close to her from all directions and flashes clicked away in the morning light. Who needs a flash in the daylight? She'd maybe moved an inch. Questions were still coming from all directions. She pushed forward again and was met by resistance. They didn't want her to move forward.

"Mrs. Queen, have you spoken to your husband at all since his return?"

"Mrs. Queen, some sources are saying that he doesn't want to speak to you, what is your response?"

Felicity tried to cover her face with her jacket, keeping her head down to push past the pumps, dress shoes, sneakers, ballet-flats, and sandals. In some small miracle, the sea of shoes began to part before her and she raised her head slightly, meaning to thank the crowd for finally letting her through. And that's when she saw why they were parting. Oliver headed towards her like a furious train. He looked—angry wasn't the right word. He descended the steps quickly, rushing past the crowd in the space they'd created to avoid him. Felicity almost shrank back into the car herself.

"I would appreciate it if you let my wife through without further issue," was all Oliver said in a clipped tone.

The questions and the hands and the camera clicks all stopped. And it was deathly quiet as Oliver banded an arm around her waist and guided her inside at a brisk pace. John Diggle stood at the top of the stairs. He mumbled something to Oliver about how he should've let him get her instead of going into the crowd himself, but Oliver ignored the comment.

Once inside, he let her go, turning her to face him. He didn't say anything as he took her jacket from her and helped her put it on. And he was still silent as he smoothed out the jacket, turning the collar right. She watched the anger ebb away slowly once he was satisfied with her jacket.

"Are you all right?"

She'd heard him, but she couldn't answer right then. She was still trying to shake off the feeling of people grabbing at her and the multitude of voices swarming around in her head, asking their speculative questions. They hadn't gotten a quote out of her, but they would no doubt be reporting how she looked like a sacred squirrel or something. And what would they make of Oliver's expression and demeanor as he stormed towards her?

"Felicity, are you all right?"

Felicity shook her head, "Yeah, fine," and she winced at how unsteady her voice came out.

"John please get her some water."

John moved away, leaving them alone in the front all of the court house. Felicity nodded to herself, feeling stupid for not having been able to handle the media on her own. You've done it before.

"You're all right," Oliver said, placing a hand under her chin to make her look up at him. "It's okay." She nodded, not trusting her voice. "I should've picked you up, or waited outside, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she whispered, in case her voice cracked again. She reached out to smooth out his suit jacket, just to have something to do other than stand around awkwardly. He let her, despite the fact that they both knew his suit jacket was fine and didn't need to be smoothed out.

John came back with the water and she gulped it down, thanking him before turning down the hall to meet the rest of the family.

It was all very procedural. Oliver presented himself, made a statement and the judge listened. Felicity had hoped, as she assumed everyone else in the room had hoped, that some details would surface—that he'd let something slip, so that they could get even a glimpse of insight as to what really happened to him. But he'd practiced, Felicity could tell. It was all the information the court needed, without any of the details they wanted; there was a storm, the ship was hit, it went down, Oliver was the only survivor. Just over an hour after entering the court house, Oliver was declared legally alive again. And that was that.

Felicity celebrated along with the rest of the family, hugging everyone before heading out. But when she came to the entrance, she could see that the media was still there in swarms. She could hear Oliver somewhere in the hall behind her, filling Moira in on what had happened when she'd tried to come in earlier that morning.

"She needs a security detail," was Moira's immediate response.

Felicity spun around. "I do not. I'm fine. It's the excitement of the day's events that has the media in a frenzy. It'll die down." She was touched by Moira's and Oliver's concern, but today was not about her. It was about Oliver and she wanted it to stay that way. Oliver needed to see and feel how much his family loved him—maybe it would coax him to open up and let someone in.

"Think about it," Oliver said. "It may be a good idea. At least for a while." He looked over at John.

John smiled, "You're not getting rid of me that easily, but I could get someone to look after her. I'll get in touch with some people," he took out his phone immediately.

"I do not need a security detail." Felicity glanced outside at the awaiting crowd, "But if John would like to escort me to my car so that I can actually get to work, that would be much appreciated."

"I'll take you," Oliver said.

Felicity scoffed. "It worked on the way in, but I don't think you can recreate that terrifying look of rage again."

Oliver tilted his head slightly to the side in amusement, "Terrifying?"

"Oliver, I was ready to jump back in my car and drive off."

He smiled as if at some secret joke. "Just let them try and touch you or harass you with questions. I assure you, the look can be recreated." He winked at her and turned to the rest of the group. "It may be a good idea to just follow us and get in the car."

And before she could protest, he wrapped an arm around her waist and took her down the steps into the crowd. No one touched her this time and they asked questions, but they were all for Mr. Queen, none for her. The family followed, taking advantage of Oliver's handiwork in parting the media crowd. Felicity waved at Moira and Walter as they got into the car.

Oliver guided her to her car, but promptly took her around the front of it and opened the passenger-side door. She turned in his grasp. "What are you—"

"I'm going with you. I haven't been to QC yet. Get in."

"You picked me up from QC the other day," she reminded him, trying not to focus on how they were still in full view of the media, who was no doubt, clicking away with their cameras. She tried not to think about how he was really close and about how he was still holding her to him, or about how hot her cheeks suddenly felt—not because she was attracted to him (although he did look good), but because they'd rarely been like this in public and she wasn't sure how to handle it.

He rolled his eyes, "I haven't been to QC officially yet. Get in."

She left him to tour the company with Moira and Walter, heading to the third floor instead. There was still the matter of the weakened firewall to attend to.

Oliver: On my way to pick you up.

Felicity stared at her phone. Well, excuse you, she thought half-heartedly. She didn't remember asking Oliver to pick her up at any point. She placed the pen she'd been chewing on back in her mouth to free her hand. She needed to stop chewing on pens.

Felicity: You don't need to do that. I'm fine, Oliver.

If staying at work past ten o'clock because she was still slightly shaken by her encounter with the media earlier that morning and Tommy had called a while ago to warn her that they were still in front of her apartment building, qualified as fine, then, yeah, she was fine.

Oliver: You're fine. I know. I'm still coming.

There was no one on the top floor, so she allowed herself a smile. To be honest, she was grateful. She really didn't want to face the media for one, but there was also the matter of this hooded guy…First Adam Hunt and today, she'd heard about Marcus Redman. He'd saved Oliver and Tommy, but he still seemed to be going after the people with multi-million/billion-dollar companies and that wasn't very reassuring…

Felicity: All right, just this once.

Just this once. She had to tell herself too. They'd had their conversation at his party a couple of nights ago. And then they'd stayed away from each other for a few days. No phone calls, no texts. And it was good. It had allowed her to just live life and try to adjust to the fact that he was alive without being around him all of the time. One day wasn't going to ruin their streak, and besides, they'd have to learn to be friends after the divorce anyway.

Oliver: If you need it just once, then yeah, just once. If not, then it'll be more than once.

She stared at her screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard without actually touching anything. What was she supposed to say?

Felicity: Are you texting and driving?!

"No," Oliver said, walking in.

"Jesus, Oliver! How do you keep doing that?"

He shrugged, "You learn to be quiet in the wild. Ready?"

"I don't mean to demean your ordeal, but is there any way you could turn that off—the freaky quiet ninja thing?"

He pressed his lips together, staring at her for a moment, his face blank. She couldn't tell if he was thinking about what she'd just said or if he was thinking about something else entirely. "I'll work on it."

The car ride was mostly quiet. She stared out the window at the city lights in the night. They'd done this all of the time. It had been routine. They worked late and at some point, he always made his way to her office. Un-consciously they had developed a series of codes that let them know how their night would progress. Oliver always initiated them when he walked into her office after a long day.

If he said, "Time to unwind," it meant that they were going to a club, or a bar at some fancy restaurant, or maybe even spend the night in the back porch with a bottle of wine by the pool. They never talked in these situations: club meant drinking and dancing with other people, bar meant drinking and talking to other people, backyard meant drinking and silently looking up at the stars until they fell asleep in the chairs surrounding the pool.

If he came in and said, "It's movie night," it either meant that he was going to take Thea out for a movie, or they were going to take Thea out for a movie. He did this at least twice a month. Thea never cared what was showing, she just liked to watch new stories play out on the screen and she liked to spend time with her older brother.

If he said, "I'm meeting Tommy in a bit," it meant that he would drop her home or at Jane's or Sara's or Laurel's, or wherever she wanted really, while he went out and made a fool of himself with Tommy.

If he said, "I'm tired," then that's what he meant and they were going home to spend the night reading, or doing whatever before going to bed.

There was one more. It was rarer than the others, but it happened all the same. And she could often tell when he was going to say it because—well, she just could. If he was going to say it then he'd look at her more often throughout the day, find excuses to come to her office and ask questions he already knew the answers to, and find excuses to touch her on the shoulder, elbow, arm—things that were normal for normal married couples, but not for them. He'd just say, "It's late." And she would know that they'd ignored each other too long and they just needed a night off from disliking each other—they needed human contact. And they needed to be a normal married couple. Sometimes, it happened a few nights in a row, and sometimes it was just one. Somehow, they always seemed to understand when both their needs were fulfilled and they'd go back to their usual routines.

It occurred to Felicity now, that Oliver had used that phrase a couple of nights ago, when he'd first come to pick her up at QC, "It's late." She glanced at him. Had he forgotten what it meant? Had that phrase just been the first thing that had popped into his mind? But she couldn't read him anymore, so she just turned her attention back to the city, pushing all of the thoughts of her past with Oliver away.

When they got to her apartment building the crowd of photographers and people with mics were still huddled around the entrance. She sighed. Oliver parked his car in a space across the street and got out, coming over to open the door for her. The crowd remained on the other side of the street, but already cameras were clicking away with very bright flashes. Felicity was sure that they'd taken close to thirty pictures in the span of a few seconds.

Just like that morning, Oliver wrapped an arm around her waist, closing the car door and pressing the lock button with his free hand. He moved them swiftly across the street and right towards the entrance. The flood of questions poured out as soon as their feet had touched the sidewalk.

"Mr. Queen, will you be moving in with Mrs. Queen now that you're back?"

"Mrs. Queen, how did you feel after hearing your husband's retelling of the events today in court?"

"Was today the first time that the two of you have spoken since the return?"

"Mr. Queen, will you resume your role in the company?"

"Have you reconciled your differences?"

"What can you say about the rumors that you've begun divorce negotiations?"

With every question, Felicity could feel his hold on her tighten just a fraction. They made it inside relatively quickly and she happily appreciated the silence in the lobby. Oliver released his hold, casting an exasperated look at the glass double doors where the cameras were still clicking.

"Thank you," she said quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence all too much.

His blue eyes scanned her and then he nodded. For the millionth time, she wanted to know what was going on inside his head, but his expression was as unreadable as ever.

"I should—" he began, pulling away.

Felicity took his hand in hers. "You're not going back out there. Come up. Wait them out."

He looked over at the crowd. "I can handle them."

"Okay."

"I'll have John or Tommy pick you up tomorrow morning."

She smiled in a silent form of 'thanks' and let go of his hand. "Good night Oliver."

"Good night Felicity."

She watched as he pushed past the crowd into the street and back to his car. He turned it on, but didn't drive away.

Oliver: Get inside your apartment.

Felicity shook her head. Did he think they were going to ambush her inside the lobby as soon as he left? The building had security. But she did as she was told, making her way to the elevator and up to her apartment.

Felicity: I'm in. Good night.

Oliver: Good night.

The next time she heard from Oliver was a few days later. He'd sent John and Tommy to escort her virtually everywhere, but the crowds were thinning out—the story was still very much alive, but they realized that they weren't going to get any statements out of anyone involved. As a result, the articles, with various ridiculous speculative headlines, were filled with "a source close to the couple." Jane collected them all, occasionally placing the most outrageous ones on her desk, but Felicity ignored them.

"If one absolutely requires a response, then let me know. If not, I don't really care," she'd told her.

So Jane had stopped placing them on her desk, opting to collect them in a large pile in her own desk instead. Jane's desk drawer opened more times than Felicity would have liked as she dropped in another story—and another, and another…

Jane rushed in just before lunchtime, "Your husband is here," she whispered rather loudly.

Oliver appeared in the doorway just as she had finished saying it. He wore a simple grey shirt and jeans, his brown jacket slung over one arm.

Jane whirled around, "Mr. Queen, lovely to see you. You came at the right time, Felicity is unoccupied at the moment."

Felicity glanced at the pile of papers in front of her and the excel sheet open on her computer screen. Oh, yeah, totally unoccupied. She took the red pen she'd been chewing on out of her mouth.

"Thank you, Jane. Hello Oliver."

"Felicity." He waited for Jane to exit the room and then walked over to the desk. "I'm having some trouble with my computer and you're the best so…"

"Sure. Let me see."

Oliver dropped his jacket on one of the chairs in front of her desk, revealing the laptop he'd been holding underneath. There were holes in it and it looked pretty beat up. "I spilled coffee on it," he explained, setting the laptop down.

Looking closer, she could see that the holes were bullet holes. "Oliver, these are bullet holes."

His expression didn't change. "My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and then ran a hand through her ponytail. She didn't even want to think about where the laptop had come from. Finally, she took a breath and looked up at him again. "Oliver, I was—am—married to you. You go to the Starbucks down the street."

He tilted his head, "I tried somewhere new."

She had to press her lips together really hard to keep from yelling at him for being anywhere near this bullet-ridden laptop. After the island, and the scars, and the kidnapping, and the hooded guy, and the jumping out of moving vehicles, you really shouldn't be surprised. "Mmmhmm."

"Anything you could salvage from it would be really helpful."

She didn't trust herself to say much, so she just matched the tilt of his head with her own tilt, hoping that he understood that she was well aware that his story was full of shit. "Mmmhmm."

He shot her a very subtle smile. "Thanks. You're the best."

"Mmmhmm."

"Felicity you, more than anyone, is still living in the past," Henry was telling her over the phone.

Felicity finished her Twizzler, chewing slowly as she changed the channel on her muted TV.

"I am not."

"When was the last time you went out on a date?"

She rolled her eyes. She knew he was going to bring that up. "People think I'm boring. I don't get asked out a lot," she said in her defense. See? It wasn't her fault.

"You know why people don't ask you out? You're still married. That kind of makes people hesitate—especially now that your husband is back."

"Can everyone stop calling him that? Just call him Oliver. That's his name."

Henry sighed on the other end of the line. "Planet of The Apes is playing on channel 341." She switched it to channel 341. "As I was saying, Oliver may be his name, but he is also your husband."

Felicity switched the channel to 342. "Ohh! Night Train to Lisbon, channel 342. It just started."

She heard the click of Henry's remote. "Look, I'm not saying you need to start going out on dates or hanging out in clubs all of a sudden. Just—start living for you. He was gone and you couldn't do that. In five years, you couldn't let go of it and it's really odd because, as far as I know, you weren't in love with him."

"I'm wasn't. I'm not. I just felt guilty…because of how we'd gone about the whole marriage business. I thought I'd taken away the little life he'd had and just made him miserable."

Henry was quiet. She heard him get up and then she heard the sound of the kettle and water pouring into something. Good idea. She got up too, heading for her kitchen to fill the kettle with some hot water before rummaging through her drawer of tea in search of a packet of hot chocolate.

"You guys made a mess of things," Henry said finally, "but you both made a mess of things. I'm sure Oliver wouldn't want you to feel all the guilt. I told you that even when he was gone."

"I don't feel guilty anymore."

"Oh, is that why you still have some of his clothes in your closet? Is that why you still have your wedding ring tucked away?" His tone wasn't one of accusation. It was gentle, but he was making a point.

Felicity poured the hot water over the coco powder in her cup and stirred. She'd taken some of his clothing when she'd left—just to remind herself that she'd been married and that it had been a mess and that the mess had been her fault, in part. It was a reminder to do better. To stay at QC and around Thea and Moira—to do what Oliver could not.

"It doesn't just go away," she said. "Even now that he's back, God knows what he's been through while I was here…"

"Yes, but that is not your fault. The things you guys did, or didn't do, while you were married, that you can take credit or blame for. But the island…that's not your fault."

"I know."

She sat back down, watching as Jeremy Irons' character impulsively got on a train to Lisbon, with no lead except for a book he'd found in a girl's jacket. She'd seen the movie many times and she loved how one impulsive decision completely changed the character's life.

"Do you want a divorce?" Henry asked after a long time.

"Yes. I haven't talked to him yet, but yes…I would like him in my life though. He's different now. I'd like it if we could be friends."

"Well, there you have it," Henry said, sounding proud, "at least you know what you want."

She laughed, "You sound as if I never make decisions."

"You make decisions. It just takes really long because you're indecisive."

"Yeah, well, not about this."

There was a knock on the door and Felicity took a hurried sip of her hot chocolate before rushing to open it. Oliver was standing there in a white polo and dark jeans. He looked like he'd just sprung out of a magazine ad and Felicity suddenly felt really self-conscious about her oversized Assassins Creed shirt and her stripped pajama shorts that were so short they barely showed under the shirt. It wasn't just that he looked put together and, she had to admit, hot, and she did not. It was also that he'd never seen her like this. Yeah, they'd been married, but at the Queen mansion, Felicity always felt that she had to be put together—even in her sleep. So her pajamas had consisted of matching silk sets or short silk dresses. This was a shirt that didn't fit properly and a pajama short that was missing its top. And to top it off, her hair was in a half-bun, falling out around her messily in disheveled curls.

"Hi."

"Hi," he said back.

She stared at him awkwardly for a minute. "Um…come in."

Oliver walked in, stopping to take in the massive windows that made up the opposite wall, looking out over the city.

"Henry," Oliver turned swiftly at that and she thought she saw him glance at his watch. "I have to go."

"Yep. I heard. Have fun with your new…friend." He let out a fake cough to cover up the word. "Husband." Before she could say anything, the line went dead.

"This is nice—your apartment," he said, spinning around to take the whole place in.

"Thanks."

Felicity cursed herself for not really having anything to say. Lately, it was as if she couldn't formulate sentences around Oliver. She was sure that it had to do with the fact that they'd spoken very little during their time together, so this was as new as anything else.

"Sorry to just intrude on you like this."

"No. No, it's fine. Do you want something to drink?"

"Whatever you're having."

"Hot chocolate?" She asked because she knew he wasn't very big on sweets.

"Sounds nice." And she would have gone to the kitchen right away, except that he looked kind of sad. Not the crying kind, but the kind that was perhaps even more heartbreaking, full of nostalgia.

She knew better than to ask what he was thinking, but the rare glimpse into his emotions captivated her, rooting her in place. A nostalgia of her own crept up—a longing for the days where she'd been able to read him like an open book. Sometimes, when he'd said perfectly normal things, she'd resorted to giving him perfectly outrageous answers just to see how his expressions changed.

Felicity stared, well aware that she was doing so, until the emotion ebbed away, replaced by some mix of curiosity and confusion instead. Then she moved to the kitchen as if they hadn't just been staring at one another for almost two minutes. She heated the water and found another packet of coco powder all without looking at him. His eyes bored holes through her. She could feel it.

"Don't—don't get me wrong Oliver. I don't mind that you're here—not at all. It's just that we talked that night at your party and I thought the point was to stay away from each other…" Her back was still to him. She waited for the kettle to boil over: literally and figuratively.

"I actually came by to see if you'd had any luck with the laptop."

"Oh. I have yes," she said turning to face him, "but I left it at work. I thought you'd come by there…" That was only half of the truth. She also hadn't felt comfortable taking a bullet-ridden laptop that was obviously not Oliver's home. Safer to leave it at the office.

"Right. I'll come by tomorrow. Were you able to get anything out of it?"

"Yeah…some blueprints of the Exchange building." Oliver gave her a blank look. "Where the Unidac Industries auction is supposed to take place…"

Oliver still looked blank, clearly not understanding.

"Look…I don't want to get in the middle of some family drama or anything—"

"What?" Oliver shook his head, "First off, you are family, second, what?"

The stupid laptop and stupid blueprints were instantly forgotten. He'd never said that. He'd acknowledged her as part of the family while they were together, but she'd still felt like he didn't want her there. And, well, he didn't. Hearing him say it was so incredibly nice. It made her feel all warm and gooey inside like a kid on Christmas. You're being stupid, some sarcastic part of her mind told her. But she wasn't. He'd said it offhandedly—an afterthought that was meant to remind her. And he meant it.

She turned quickly to hide the smile on her face. "Erm…Walter is trying to buy Unidac industries," she continued.

"Yeah…?"

"And you've got a company laptop belonging to one of his competitors…." She poured the hot water over the coco powder.

"Floyd Lawton."

"No. Warren Patel," she corrected, handing him the mug.

"Whose Floyd Lawton?"

Oliver took a long sip of his hot chocolate. "I like your pajamas," he said suddenly.

As much as she knew that Oliver was trying to change the topic, she couldn't stop her cheeks from growing warm in embarrassment. "Thanks, the original top got misplaced," she mumbled lamely.

"It's a good replacement."

Felicity ducked her head to avoid his eyes. She walked around the kitchen counter to the living room couch. Oliver followed her and sat down, leaving some space between them. For a while, they just watched the screen, but Felicity couldn't relax. She sat rigidly, aware that Oliver looked over at her every few minutes. A hand came to rest on her shoulder a while later and she flinched unintentionally. "Sorry," they both said simultaneously.

"Relax," he said then, his hand still on her shoulder.

She let him push her back into the couch gently and when he removed his hand, she did relax, focusing on the movie. They watched the whole thing in silence and when it was over, Oliver turned to face her.

"I also came to talk to you."

"Oh…"

He was quiet, his blue eyes searching hers for some hint of emotion. She wondered if that's what she looked like when she looked at him. "I just—I'm going to be a little different for a while, but I don't want you to think that it changes anything that we've talked about or gone through. I said I wouldn't lie to you, so I'm telling you now. I'll be different, but you'll have to trust me," he looked away, chuckling to himself. "I know, I'm asking you to trust me when we haven't even built that up, but please do…"

A surge of triumphant joy passed through her, because he'd just cracked the wall a little more. It wasn't nearly enough—there was still so much that she didn't know—but just like that night at his party, it was something. And yet, it didn't make sense…why was he telling her of all people—the wife he hadn't wanted, the girl he never spoke to. She didn't want to spoil it, but the question was already restlessly swimming around in her mind. If she didn't ask, she wouldn't sleep.

She watched her hand as it reached out to him, with a mind of its own. It landed on his bicep and traveled upwards, stopping at his shoulder. "Oliver," her mind was screaming at her: Why do you sound so out of breath? Why are you whispering? What the hell is wrong with you? But she couldn't stop it. Her mouth had a mind of its own too, "why are you telling me? What does it matter what I think?"

Oliver's eyes had gone wide from the moment she'd started the sentence and she wanted to tell him that it wasn't her fault. Whatever was happening now—it wasn't her fault. His lips parted to say something and closed again. He looked away, clearing his throat. The sound broke whatever trance she was under and she snatched her hand away like she'd been burned. What the hell was that? He still hadn't said anything.

"I'm sorry—I don't know what—I appreciate you telling me. It's just that—I'm not sure why you are pushing me away one minute and then telling me to trust you the next when we never—you don't owe me explanations. Not that I don't want your explanations. Please, explain away because I am—I'm just really lost here. Not that you have to. But if you want to I mean...uggh!"

She buried her head in her hands. If the couch had swallowed her up then, she wouldn't have minded at all. But apparently, the couch wasn't hungry and so she stayed where she was. Oliver didn't say anything, and with each passing second, she was becoming more mortified. She didn't dare look up at him. Eventually, too much time had passed and she had to look up. When she did, he was staring at her as if nothing had happened, a small smile on his face.

He shrugged, "I just wanted to tell you. I don't know why."

"Okay…" She didn't dare to say anything else.

"I like it when you do that."

"When I do what?"

"Get lost in your words and go off on a long rant. It's—natural. It's not like when you were at home. Every word was so…rehearsed. Mine were too, I'm not blaming you."

He wasn't wrong. Everything she'd ever said to him throughout their marriage was rehearsed. Her babbling outbursts were rare, because she thought every conversation through, down to the last detail and, if that didn't work, one of them always walked away anyway.

She laughed, feeling relieved that whatever had just happened, he was letting it go. "Trust me, it'll get old soon. Then you won't like it that much anymore."

He chuckled. "I should go."

"Yeah."

She'd asked her question, but she still didn't sleep that night.

A/N: I hope you liked it!

I've been posting about every other week or so, so far and I'm going to try to keep that schedule going.

Let me know what you think about this chapter and/or the direction the story is taking. I love reading your comments.

Until next time!