So, first off, let me just say that I LOVE this chapter! It's my favorite so far, and also my dartie's favorite. I had SO much fun with this chapter! The last chapter I posted as I was leaving my old home in Washington, this chapter I'm posting from my new apartment in Maryland, it's been a whirlwind but I'm getting settled. Thank you for all of the comments, kudos, faves, alerts and bookmarks, all of the support and encouragement, you guys are AWESOME!

The song for this chapter is Flaws by Bastille.

Dartie, as always you're the BEST! Happy birthday, hon! *TACKLE HUGS*

-ARROW-

Mixed Tape: Side A

Chapter 4: Flaws

When all your flaws and all of my flaws are laid out one by one
A wonderful part of the mess that we made
We pick ourselves undone

All of your flaws and all of my flaws, they lie there hand in hand
Ones we've inherited, ones that we learn
They pass from man to man

There's a hold in my soul
I can't fill is, I can't fill it
There's a hole in my soul
Can you fill it? Can you fill it?

You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve
And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground
Dig them up—let's finish what we started
Dig them up—so nothing's left unturned

All of your flaws and all of my flaws, when they have been exhumed
We'll see that we need them to be who we are
Without them we'd be doomed

When all of your flaws and all of my flaws are counted
When all of your flaws and all of my flaws and counted

The entire trek to the safe house Oliver had to physically guide and support Hacker, hands on her shoulders, against her back, around her waist, cupping her elbows, attempting at every turn to make them look like just a normal couple tangled up in each other on their way home. The young woman didn't once make a single sound, didn't once take her eyes off the ground in front of her, skin paler than he'd ever seen and ice cold to the touch. She was in shock. Her knees kept giving out as he hurried them through the streets, and each time he'd grip her waist tightly, keeping her upright so that other pedestrians wouldn't notice, speaking to her softly and gently shaking her until she regained her footing. The slow-growing soft spot he'd been nursing for her desperately wished that he could let her stop and rest, that he could properly treat her, but Oliver was all too aware of how dangerous it was for them out in the open and how he couldn't draw any more attention to them, so he kept pushing her onward. They were miles from their apartment and the primary A.R.G.U.S. facilities, but there was a safe house not far away, if Hacker could just hold on until then.

When they finally reached the building, and Hacker's legs buckled again halfway up the stairs, this time he didn't bother restraining himself and swept her up in his arms bridal-style. Her arm fumbled several times, likely numb from the shock, before managing to wrap weakly around his neck. Oliver kicked the door closed behind them and strode over to the bed in the middle of the dingy, dimly-lit room, setting her down on the mattress gently. She remained in the exact position that he put her in, arm falling limply from his shoulders to the bedspread and her head bowed. He practically tore his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down her arms as he crouched down in front of her. He carefully reached up and lowered her hood, cradling her face in his palms. The blood dried that splattered her face was a testament to how close a call it'd been…and damn it, if he hated that she had to go through that, that he'd put her in that position. That man should've never gotten so close.

"Hey," Oliver called quietly, thumb stroking over her cheek trying to get her to respond. "Hacker, look at me." He gently brushed the lank, black and purple strands that'd fallen into her face back.

Her usually fiery blue eyes just continued to stare dully down at her lap.

"C'mon, Hacker, please, look at me." His voice was actually edging toward begging now.

He counted the heartbeats it took before that kohl-rimmed gaze finally, with agonizing slowness, turned to him. They stared at each other in charged, tense silence for what felt like an eternity. Damn it all to hell, he hated that almost dead look in her eyes! He'd done this to her! He'd broken her like this!

Swallowing hard, Oliver forced back all of the ways he wanted to curse himself and instead stood, letting his hands fall away from her and turning to the bathroom.

Her slim fingers were immediately around his wrist tight as a vise, and he whipped back around to see the beginnings of panic in her eyes.

He covered her white-knuckle grip with his larger palm. "I'm just going to the bathroom to get a washcloth for your face."

For a moment her grip tightened further, before finally relaxing as her hand dropped limply to her side again.

Fuck, Oliver mentally cursed himself, lips a razor-thin white line. Jaw clenched, he forced himself to turn on his heel and go to the bathroom, snagging a bowl from a side table on his way. After banging all of the cabinets open and closed he finally found the one with the linens and pulled out a washcloth, dropping it into the bowl which he then filled with warm water.

Oliver was cautious as he approached her, not wanting to startle his young partner and make things worse than he already had. "Hey," he said softly, just before sitting down beside her on the mattress.

Hacker didn't move an inch, still staring out blankly into the room.

Wringing out the excess water, Oliver, in one of the gentlest gestures he'd made in years, delicately grasped her chin and with equal care wiped at the dried blood on her temple and cheek.

Silence hung heavy in the air, though while Oliver felt the full weight of his self-blame and hatred, Hacker seemingly remained locked in her own head.

"I'm sorry," he eventually rasped, knowing she probably wouldn't even hear him.

Finally she blinked, her hollow gaze shifting to his.

His jaw was clenched so hard he was surprised his teeth didn't crack. "This is my fault."

Something stirred in her eyes, and Hacker's lips moved feebly a couple of times before one word managed to escape, barely a whisper. "What?"

Oliver dunked the washcloth and wrung it again before going to work on the arterial spray across her neck. "It's my job to protect you and I failed."

"No." Her voice came out surprisingly strong considering her state and how thready the last word she said had been.

His blue eyes snapped up to hers, finding life abruptly and vividly returning to them.

"No." She insisted, shaking her head. "This isn't your fault. You saved my life, Archer." The gratitude lacing her words nearly made him sick.

"You never should've been in that position in the first place, I screwed up."

-ARROW-

Piqued, Felicity reached up with her suddenly much more cooperative hands and shoved Archer's away, turning her body towards his. "Stop it! Stop blaming yourself! There are a lot of incredible things you can do, Archer, but being everywhere at once isn't one of them! You can't control everything."

There was a dubious twist to his mouth, and it sent another surge of annoyance through her, and she welcomed it wholeheartedly to chase away the numbness that'd overtaken her. She still felt almost pitifully weak, but at least her head no longer felt like it was full of cotton.

"We both know the risks of this job. I made a choice. Me. My life, my choice." She poked his chest with her index finger, for all the non-effect it'd have against his stupidly musclely torso. "Was I scared? Of course! Do I wish that I could unsee that guy…?" she trailed off, but shook her head before she could be dragged down again by that thought, "Definitely wish I could erase that. But you saved my life, so… Yeah, not going to be sorry for that…'cause I like living…"

The battle raging inside of him shone clearly in his expressive, at least to her, eyes. And almost like he knew she could see, he dropped his gaze, tossing the washcloth into the bowl on the nightstand. Felicity tracked his movements as he stood and moved over to the bathroom. "I'll get a shower running for you…we need to get you warm," he said quietly.

With that statement she finally noticed the violent shivers racking her frame, and pulled his coat tighter around her. "Archer," she managed to force through her still sluggish vocal chords.

He paused at the door, turning back to meet her gaze.

Felicity swallowed thickly, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. "Thank you, Archer…for saving my life."

Though his face remained impassive, a torrent of emotions flickered through his gaze before finally settling into his usual calmness. "Oliver."

Her breath hitched, even her shivering momentarily pausing. "What?"

"My name," he continued quietly. "It's Oliver…Queen."

A lump rose in her throat and her eyes burned. Damn it, why did she want to cry?! Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she replied, "Felicity. Felicity Smoak."

"Felicity." The way he rolled her name around on his tongue, as if tasting it—God, she hated her brain sometimes—sent a shiver down her spine that had absolutely nothing to do with her being in shock.

She gripped his jacket like a lifeline, gaze locked with his as she tried out his name. "Oliver." It fell from her lips with a surprising ease, as if she'd already said it a hundred times before.

The air was thick with a tension that Felicity wasn't ready to examine or name, until she finally had to look away, trying to take controlled breaths around her shivering.

"I'll get that shower going," Ar-Oliver ground out. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn and move fully into the bathroom, then moments later she heard the hissing spray of the shower, soon there was the lightest brush of warm steam against her cheek, making her skin prickle.

The toes of Oliver's boots came to stop a couple of feet from her, but she didn't lift her head to look at him. "Can you stand?" His voice was so soft and gentle…she'd never heard him like that before.

Teeth rattling, Felicity nodded and began pushing herself to her feet…only for her knees to fail her seconds after she'd managed to stand up straight. She braced herself to hit the floor, but never did. Oliver's hands caught her around the waist, keeping her from completely collapsing, and pressing her face into his very firm chest—she'd never truly realized before just how well-muscled he was. She'd known that he was really strong—hello, carrying her as if she weighed no more than a feather—but she hadn't really realized just how much so. Was the man made of nothing but muscle?! She bet you could bounce a quarter off his ass—dammit! Not helpful, brain!

"You ok?" Felicity felt the words rumble from his chest against her cheek more than she actually heard them.

Swallowing thickly she nodded. "Legs apparently decided not to cooperate," she attempted to joke, though it came out far too strained.

A startled squeak escaped her when he abruptly swept her up in his arms—again, for the second time in less than half an hour, though the first time was rather fuzzy. He carried her into the bathroom then sat her down on the closed lid of the toilet and knelt in front of her, hands going to the laces of her black, high-top Converses. It was strange—though in a good way—seeing him like this, all gentle and taking care of her; the closest he'd ever gotten to this before was bringing her coffee when she needed it, but that could easily be chalked up to self-preservation considering what she was like when she was caffeine-deprived.

Once he had her shoes and socks off, Oliver made swift work of his own, tossing them into a corner with hers, before standing and divesting her of both their jackets—an extra violent shiver racking her frame with the removal of the outer layers. By now the entire bathroom was thick with steam from the shower, and she could just feel the heat starting to seep into her pores.

In one swift motion he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside—and did her mother really tell her that it was impolite to stare? Felicity thought staring might be warranted in this situation. Good God...he really was all muscle… Her brain was registering the various scars on his chest before Oliver picked her up again—how the hell did he make it seem like she weighed nothing?!—and walked over to the shower. She expected him to put her inside and leave her to care for herself, thus her yelp of surprise when he just stepped under the hot spray, her in his arms, both still fully clothed—minus shoes and socks...and his shirt.

"You're g-g-going t-to g-get s-soaked!" Felicity protested despite her chattering teeth.

He kept his back to the spray, shielding her so that the water didn't hit her full force, though a fine mist was cast over her exposed skin. "You're still coming out of shock, I can't leave you alone like this."

Crap. Why did he have to be all sweet and caring and gentle and hot, and she was pressed against his bare chest…frack, now she could feel every little ripple of all that muscle against her…wasn't she supposed to be in shock? Why the hell did she have to be noticing all this now?!

"Besides," he added, "there should be spare clothes in the drawers."

Felicity prayed that the thick steam and her hair hid how red her face must be right now, or that he'd chalk it up to the improvised sauna he'd created.

Oliver—it was surprising how easy it was for her to start thinking of him by that name after only just learning it—carefully turned them, slowly introducing her shivering body to the hot stream of water, obviously not wanting to shock her system further by doing so too quickly. Bit by bit, the warmth seeped into her, lessening her shaking to the occasional shudder—some of which the shock wasn't totally to blame for. She snuck a glance up at him, only to find him watching her intently and quickly looked away again—dammit, couldn't he holster the intense gaze until she wasn't pressed against him with them both soaking wet?

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one viewed the situation, her eyes decided to focus on the so very bare and wet chest she was currently pressed against. Her attention immediately caught on a particularly vicious twist of flesh on his right shoulder. It looked like he'd actually been impaled, though what the hell it could have been that it'd left that big of a scar—bullets didn't leave scars that big, did they?—Felicity didn't know. Later she'd decide to blame it on the shock clouding her thinking—nope, it had absolutely nothing to do with being held by a very hot, half-naked man—but she reached out and touched that scar, fingers delicately tracing the shape and curiously absorbing the texture. His muscles jumped under her touch and there was a hitch in his breathing that had her eyes snapping up to his, the normally summer-sky blue irises now darkened to navy, staring at her in a way that made her heart race and stomach clench. Oh, boy.

Felicity swallowed thickly, watching as his eyes flicked to her lips before returning to her own. Was he going to kiss her? Her own gaze was drawn to his mouth, wondering what it would feel like against hers, what his kiss would be like—slow and seductive, hard and passionate, lingering and sweet? She lifted her eyes back to his, hand sliding up the scar to dig her fingers into the muscle of his shoulder. He was watching her so very closely, the muscles of his jaw visibly playing under the skin, and she could read the inner debate warring in his eyes before finally he tore his gaze from hers.

Blue eyes dropping to the floor, she swallowed hard, releasing her grip on his shoulder, and managed to stammer, "I-I think I can stand now…" Shit, was that really her voice?! Crap. Felicity prayed that Oliver chalked its huskiness up to the shock and the steam—shut up, brain! She quickly derailed the likely train of thought that word would take her down.

He hesitated before oh-so-slowly lowering her feet to touch the floor, but kept his arm around her waist—probably a good thing considering the moment he had her standing her knees wobbled.

With trembling hands Felicity reached for the bar of soap resting in a corner nook and rubbed it between her palms—refusing to think about how many other people might have used it, apparently ARGUS wasn't above penny-pinching where they could. She worked up a lather before setting it aside and scrubbed her face, trying to rid herself of the running remnants of her makeup and whatever traces of blood Oliver might've missed.

He took one hand from her waist and out of the corner of her eye she saw him grab the shampoo bottle from a rack hanging from the shower head. Moments later she felt him squirt the gel on top of her head before replacing the bottle. Felicity had to bite back a groan at his hand rubbing the shampoo into her hair, and it took concerted effort on her part to keep washing her face and neck with his fingers sliding over her scalp.

She wouldn't admit—at least not out loud—that she let it carry on for longer than strictly necessary before reluctantly saying, "I think…um…I think I've gotten all of the… I think my face is clean." Felicity blurted the last part came out in a nervous rush.

Disappointment swept through her as his hand left her hair, but it immediately returned to her waist—and no, that absolutely wasn't relief she was feeling at him still touching her…shit. Oliver supported most of her weight as they moved back under the spray; while her fingers wiped away the suds on her face, his worked the shampoo out of her locks. Once she was soap-free they stepped out of the spray, Felicity's eyes scanning the shower for conditioner to no avail—boy, was her hair going to be a bear later…

There was no real reason to delay any further, her shivering had stopped quite a while ago. "I think I'm…warm enough now…" Nope, brain, definitely, not going down that path.

"All right," he reached past her to twist the water off, "let's get you dried off and into some dry clothes."

Legs still shaky, Felicity allowed herself to lean into Oliver as he helped her out of the shower and guided her to sit on the toilet. He grabbed one of the towels he'd set out earlier and wrapped it around her, rubbing his hands up and down her upper arms. "I'm going to grab you some clothing. I'll be right back."

She nodded, watching as he disappeared through the doorway. Her cargo pants and shirt hung heavily on her frame and now that she was out of the shower they were chilling her skin. Letting the towel drop to her waist, Felicity reached down and tugged the sodden material of her shirt up, wriggling and struggling to get it off, but only succeeding in tangling herself up in it and stuck with her arms stretched over her head. She'd just let out a sound of frustration when the fabric was abruptly dragged from her, face. She blinked several times until her vision cleared enough to make out Oliver kneeling in front of her pulling her hands free of the sleeves…a still very shirtless Oliver… One corner of her mind, the part not dying of embarrassment at being left in only her bra, scrutinized the many scars littering his chest, abdomen—the man had a serious six-pack her fingers itched to make sure wasn't a shock-induced hallucination—shoulders and arms, some obviously running beneath his skin and into those built muscles.

His gaze was trained on what he was doing, quite pointedly not looking at her nearly half-naked form. Blushing a bright red, Felicity crossed her now liberated arms over her black bra-clad torso, giving him a whispered, "Thank you."

Still keeping his eyes averted, Oliver held out a very large t-shirt. "They didn't have much in the way of clothing, I don't think the sweatpants will fit you…"

She nodded wordlessly, accepting the item.

Still being a gentleman—his mother taught him some manners, apparently—he stood, turning his back to her. The skin of that surface was equally marked by scarring—yep, something bigger than a bullet had definitely gone through his right shoulder—and his left shoulder-blade bore a stylized dragon tattoo. What the hell had this man been through?!

Felicity shook her head to clear it; he still needed to change out of his own wet clothing—and she just knew he wasn't going to take care of himself until he was satisfied she was completely cared for—she shouldn't keep him standing there just so she could ogle him. She decided not to risk standing herself just yet and instead did her best to wiggle out of her pants—grateful that she hadn't worn jeans considering how much more difficult they'd be to get off—this done she tossed them off to the side and paused. For several moments, Felicity stared down at her underwear considering whether or not to take them off too, she didn't have any others to change into but they were soaked-through. Screw it, she finally decided, shucking both her bra and underwear before rubbing her damp skin and hair with the towel, wanting to get as dry as possible before putting on the shirt. The sleeves hung to her elbows, the neck she had to pull to the side to slip over her shoulder because it dipped too low over her chest, and the hem hit her only a couple of inches above her knees, and Felicity was far too aware that she wore nothing underneath.

Taking a bracing breath, she cleared her throat. "I'm…uh…dressed…" For lack of a better word.

He turned around, eyes flicking from her to the pile of clothing next to her, and she saw his Adam's apple bob before he returned his gaze to her—actually it was more like a little to the left of her ear and just above her shoulder, offering her his hand. "I'll make sure your clothes get hung up to dry."

Felicity's eyes went wide, she knew that her clothing needed to be hung up to dry, including her underwear, but she hadn't thought about the fact that since she was so unsteady Oliver would be the one to hang them…including her underwear. "Thanks," she murmured, grasping his palm and using it to tug herself to her feet.

Oliver kept one hand on her elbow and the other around her waist supporting most of her weight until they reached the bed where the sheet and thin blanket were already pulled back. The lumpy mattress, flat pillow and thread-bare linens felt heavenly to her worn body—who the hell knew nearly being killed, having your would-be killer be killed in front of you, and then going into shock could be so tiring?

Her partner tugged the blankets up over her shoulder, making sure she was well covered—Felicity hazily wondered if she could remember the last time she'd been tucked into bed. "Thank you," she mumbled again, eyelids drooping.

He ran a hand softly over her hair—the thought drifted through her mind how those large, calloused hands which could so easily commit such acts of violence were so very gentle and careful with her. "I'm going to go in the bathroom and get changed real quick." Oliver kept his voice low, but still loud enough for her to hear.

"Okay," Felicity managed around a yawn. "Thank you." She couldn't seem to stop saying it, but she wasn't just thanking him for taking care of her but also for being considerate enough to tell her where he was going like that. Making sure she knew he wasn't leaving her—wasn't abandoning her.

-ARROW-

Oliver watched his partner snuggle into the ratty old bed, her long dark hair fanning out behind her over the pillow, face scrubbed clean of her usual makeup. She looked so young—she was young, very young—but like this she seemed even more so, and so very small curled up on the mattress. His hand twitched at his side with the effort of keeping it there, not reaching out to brush back the lock of hair that had fallen across her face.

With a shake of his head he made himself turn and head to the bathroom, hanging both of their clothes up, drying himself quickly, then changing into the pair of sweatpants before returning to the bedroom. He moved silently to the chair near the bed when Felicity reached out, catching his wrist; Oliver started, he'd thought that she was asleep.

"Ol'ver," she lifted her head sleepily, "sit wi' me for a while?" She tugged on his wrist, urging him to sit instead on the mattress beside her.

After a moment's hesitation, he let himself be drawn down next to her.

A tiny smile lifted her lips as he acquiesced, letting her hand fall to curl by her chin. "Oliver," warmth seemed to suffuse his chest every time she said his name, "how'd you die?"

He stilled beside her.

"I mean," she murmured, "you said that ev'ryone thinks you're dead. I was just wondering how they think you died? You don't have t' tell me, if you don't wan' to."

He watched her for several seconds, the guilelessness in her face disarming him even more than usual. He took a deep breath. "I was on a yacht." She opened her eyes to look at him, giving him all of her attention. "It sank," he whispered tersely, looking down. "I was the only survivor."

"Oliver." Felicity reached across the mattress to cover his hand with hers.

His eyes were drawn to the contrast of her, small, slim, unmarred hand against his larger, tanned and scarred one. "I eventually washed up on an island in the North China Sea, it's called Lian Yu." Oliver lifted his gaze to hers. "That's Mandarin for Purgatory."

Her fingers moved again, running over one of the scars along his side, his breath catching at her touch. Felicity seemed too close to unconsciousness to be fully aware of her actions.

"Is that where you got these?"

Casting his eyes towards the ceiling, working to control his reaction to her, he swallowed and then returned his gaze to the goth beside him. "Yeah. Most of them."

Felicity's face was so solemn beyond the sleepiness, fingers gently stroking the scar. "So much pain," she murmured before finally withdrawing her hand, tucking it under her chin with a shiver. "I don't really have any scars. Not any on my skin anyway. 'Cept maybe from my wisdom teeth." She stared at the bedspread, lids falling lower. "My boyfriend committed suicide and it was my fault."

Oliver's eyebrows shot up.

"He went to prison an' committed suicide 'cause of me," she continued, her eyes barely slits.

He gave in to his earlier urge and brushed the hair back from her face. "I'm sure that's not true."

She lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, making a sleepy, non-committal sound and turning into his touch. "It was my virus. Cooper used it, but the virus was my design, my work…" Felicity reached up, catching his hand and drawing it down to snuggle her cheek into the warmth of his palm, voice slowing, yawns interspersing her words. "He took the blame for it all…and he died," her voice trailed off, body relaxing and fingers still tangled around his as she finally succumbed to sleep.

Oliver sat watching her, feeling her breaths gently puff against his palm, and he let his thumb trace the tips of her fingers. Slowly he eased himself to sit fully on the bed, his back against the headboard and legs stretched out in front of him. He didn't want to disturb her by moving to the chair, telling himself he just wanted to be close in case she needed him. His own eyes grew heavy and he decided he would just sit here beside her for a little while…

-ARROW-

So, you guys were wondering when Oliver and Felicity would tell each other their names…how was that? I have been SO excited for this chapter with everything that happened. I hope that it lived up to expectations! Thank you for reading!