Thank you to 'Sheena Is A Punk Rocker' for all of your reviews. And I have only just realised that 'bloke' was a very English word to use (and I am English) when I'm writing as an American and I feel very stupid about that. And I love you for being straight with me in a nice way, I woke up to all of your many reviews this morning and I can tell you now that they have made my day. I'm a smiley Englishwoman today :D

Onwards and upwards I suppose. Sorry if this sucks, and it'll probably be a bit shorter than you're used to.

The Concrete Box in My Heart.

Felicity's Point of View.

It's dark and dank, I can barely see my own hand as I hold it up before me, smeared with my own blood. It's dripping red, more of the same oozing liquid running from the split in my side. I run the hand through my sweaty hair, a tangled mess at the back of my neck. I try to scream but the words lodge in my throat and all that comes out is a strangled croak.

I try to calm myself down, hot wet tears falling freely down my cheek as I try to take in the space around me. I'm surrounded by concrete, the cold floor, the four walls all in arms reach, the ceiling just above my huddled form, all concrete and all enclosing me in completely.

And no one is going to save me.

And I'm going to die in here.

And I'm scared.

Ray will be worried about me, I'm sure of it. He'd never leave me to rot, he'll be doing everything he can to find me, right? He wouldn't leave me, would he? I don't think so. But didn't I once think my father would never leave? The faceless brunette I see when I close my eyes, my estranged father that was put on this world to protect me, to walk me down the aisle one day, gone like my chances of survival in this box.

Ray will find me.

Ray won't leave me.

But I'm not convinced.

And that's the thought I have as I scream bloody murder. And I find myself tangled in sweaty sheets with sunlight streaming heavily on my tearstained face. It was just a dream I tell myself as I regain my ability to breathe, just breathe and it will all go away.

Before my heart fully settles down from the horrific nightmare, Ray hands appear at my shoulders, rubbing comfortingly in an effort to calm me down. He's here, just like he always is.

"Nightmare?" He asks softly, pulling me into his bare chest as I begin to sob. I bury my hot face in his neck, seeking the comfort his arms wrapped around me brings as I break down in his embrace. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asks, meaning to help, but I shake my head on his shoulder.

I haven't had a nightmare since the night I sent my application off to MIT, where everyone I knew laughed at me when I got the rejection letter that never really came, saying MIT didn't want me, just like my father.

So this one off nightmare on this cold October night, six months since Oliver Queen lay bleeding out on the now discarded of dining table, that has in fact been replaced with an identical one, well the nightmare takes me by surprise to say the least.

Ray holds me as I sob into him, shaking in his embrace and he doesn't speak again for a while, until I've calmed down and pulled away from him, wiping my eyes with the back of my hands, "Sorry."

"Don't be," He tells me, nudging my hands out of the way and using his thumbs to wipe away the remaining tears softer than I had been, "I didn't know that you had nightmares?"

"I don't," I whisper, "this was a one off, it's been years."

He nods his head slightly as I speak, registering my words as he stared intensely into my puffy red eyes, "it helps to talk about it you know."

I think for a moment, weighing up my options. I could tell him everything, how my father leaving me has left a gaping insecurity that I'm not good enough to stick around for, or I could brush it off, tell him I dreamt about a hamster being bullied at little hamster school or something else totally wacky.

Then I look into his eyes, filled with nothing but love and concern for me. And the dream seems insignificant, like a… I don't know what like, because it's that unimportant. And then I don't feel insecure. I don't feel like he'll leave me, because I know he never will.

"I just…" I begin, as tears fall once more, but this time for a different reason, "I just really love you Ray, that's all."

He shushes me and brings me back into his arms, kissing the top of my head in the way he always does when I get upset, and then I hear him whisper to me, "I love you too Felicity, more than you'll ever know."

And we stay like that for a while, until the beaming sun streaming through the curtains begins to burn my back and Ray removes me from his embrace.

"I want to ask you something," he says quietly, unsure, "I was going to wait until tonight but I don't think I can wait any longer than I already have."

I nod and move from his lap so he can jump out of bed, filling me with immediate loss of warmth. He kneels on the floor to the side of the bed, fiddling in the bottom draw of his bedside table as I watch him, a nervous but overjoyed smile distorting his beautiful face.

And then he finds what he's looking for, hiding it behind him so I cannot see and he stays on the floor. I shift myself so I'm kneeling on the side of the bed, stabilising myself with my hands on the edge so I can peer over at him.

And then he's on one knee.

Then he pulls out a tiny blue box from behind him.

Then he opens it up.

Inside is a beautifully simple diamond ring, fairly large in size with a smaller diamonds either side of the showstopper. It's beautiful in a not too flashy way, and I couldn't have chosen it better myself.

"Felicity Megan Smoak," Ray begins slowly, small tears forming in both of our eyes, his falling flat onto his plaid pyjama bottoms and I wipe mine away with the oversized t-shirt that matches his bottoms.

He doesn't continue for a moment, and I can his mind working overtime for the words he wants to say, and I wish he wouldn't say any, I don't need to hear them. All I need is that ring on my finger entwining the two of us together.

And then his tearstained voice begins to choke up words;

"I never really understood why poets have been in business for so long, in fact I always wondered just how many love poems there could actually be, did you know that a new one is written every minute? Well, I always thought it was silly, I never really was much of a poet either, as you know I haven't got a creative writing bone in my body. But every morning when I wake up next to you, and every night when you fall asleep in my arms, I want to write a thousand poorly written poems for you, to let you know exactly how I feel about you, and how I want to fall asleep and wake up next to you for every single day of my life.

"And I did try to write a poem, I got two lines in and realised that there was no way I would find a good rhyme for glasses and gave up. So I brought you this ring instead, because that was much easier and I think it should be a little bit more effective.

"So, Felicity Megan Smoak, I'm going to shut up about poems now and ask will you marry me?"

And my tears are falling freely now, sobbing into my hand as I nod, not trusting any words to form correctly in the back of my throat. The next thing I feel is my hand being pried away from my face, and a beautiful ring being slid onto my finger, I hear Ray laugh through his tears and reply the same way, staring at my hand until it's a sore sight and I turn my attention to Ray.

Then somehow, unexpectedly I find the words I was looking for, and I whisper "Felicity Megan Palmer" into the sunlit room.