A/N: I am so sorry for the delay in updates. I took the bar exam last week, and for the past two months it has been mostly studying with a bit of writing when I could squeeze it in. But, I'm back! Hope you enjoy this!
Chapter Four
It all started out casually enough. The bridal party out for dinner and a few drinks. Felicity expected to be home and snuggled up with her Netflix account by midnight. Things didn't exactly go as planned.
Felicity glanced over to the side, peering through the iron bars at the guard standing by the door. In the cell next to her, a snoring drunk, passed out on a bench, grunted loudly and turned on her side, falling clear off the bench. Felicity walked over and urgently whispered, "Hey, are you okay?"
The woman grunted in response.
Felicity never spent a night in jail before. She didn't remember much of the night, thanks to several glasses of red wine and a foggy memory of an Irish car bomb, but the crick in her neck and throbbing pain in her hip told her it hadn't been a restful night.
Another guard walked in and said something to the one manning the door. He went over to Felicity and told her, "The phone's open if you want to make your phone call."
"My phone call?" she asked in confusion.
"Yeah, you get one. Last night you were too gone to call anyone. You're out of here at noon, so you might want to call someone who can pick you up."
Felicity stared at him, wondering from whom she'd subject herself to endless jokes and snarky comments. She didn't trust any of the friends she'd been with last night to actually be awake. Donna certainly wasn't an option. She sighed.
"I guess I better call my husband."
This was not going to be fun to explain.
FOURTEEN HOURS EARLIER
"I don't get why we all have to go to dinner," Lydia complained, waiting with Felicity on the street corner, trying to flag a taxi down. "Penny sees us enough. And we're going to that shitty Mere place. You spend twenty dollars for a scallop the size of your thumb."
"We're being supportive, remember?" Felicity reminded her. "Wedding planning is stressful."
"How is it stressful? She hired someone to do everything. All she does is judge."
Felicity spotted a cab and leaned forward with her hand out. She wasn't exactly tickled pink to have to go to this dinner, either. She'd been trying to avoid big nights out ever since her and Oliver's sudden marriage. Individual questions were easy enough to field, and she'd gotten her fair share, but she was dreading having the entire group together at once.
The cab pulled to a stop, and Felicity and Lydia climbed in, giving the driver the address for the restaurant. Lydia tugged the bottom of her dress down and then rested her elbow on the bottom lip of the window.
"So, you're sticking with this married bullshit tonight?" Lydia asked pointedly.
"Yes, I am," Felicity held. "And it's not bullshit. It's court ordered."
"Yeah, the whole you pretending to actually be in love with him isn't."
"Details," Felicity said off-handedly.
"How was meeting the parents?" Lydia asked. "I never did get the full story from you on your dinner last week."
"Everyone was nice enough," Felicity said with a shrug. "His mom will take a bit of work, but I think I can do it. I'm good with parents."
"I bet you are. You have a very wholesome appearance." She laughed sardonically. "If only they knew."
"I'm wholesome…ish," Felicity argued.
"You drunkenly got married in Vegas."
"Hence the 'ish'."
Felicity looked out the window, wondering how her life had gotten so needlessly complicated in the past few weeks. Before, her biggest worry was that she'd get drunk at Penny's wedding and say something embarrassing. Now, she had a fake husband – but not actually fake – and a whole convoluted story and married life to keep up.
The traffic was thick around dinnertime, and it took them a pretty good chunk of time to make it to Mere. When they pulled up, Penny was getting out of a cab in front of them. Felicity was just about to pull some cash out of her wallet when she saw Brian climb out of the cab.
Lydia saw, too, and murmured, "Shit, what's he doing here? I thought this was just a bridal party dinner."
"Yeah, me too," Felicity said, her mouth going dry.
She looked down at her wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, handing it over to the cab driver, and telling him to keep the change. When they climbed out Lydia said, "You just gave him an eight dollar tip."
"Good karma," Felicity said over her shoulder. "I could use some right now."
Penny and Brian had seen them getting out of their cab, and waited for them at the front of the restaurant. Penny hugged her first, smelling like Chanel and powdery makeup, and then she moved on to Lydia, who immediately started complaining about the choice of restaurant. Felicity stood in front of Brian, smiling shyly before he stepped forward and gave her a hug. His lips brushed her cheek, and she felt a flush go all the way from her hairline to her toes. He smelled so familiar, a mixture of lemon and pine. She remembered when she could find that scent on her pillow, her sheets, her skin.
"I hear congratulations are in order," he said, voice low and intimate. She hated him for talking like that. It wasn't fair.
"They are, thank you," she said, taking a deliberate step back. Feeling emboldened, she pushed her hair off her shoulder, a simple gesture she knew he liked, and watched his eyes travel up pale column of her neck. His eyes darkened, and she bit the inside of her cheek, keeping the smirk at bay. Two could play this game, buddy.
"I wouldn't have taken you for the married in Vegas type," he continued, tearing his gaze away from her exposed skin, and back up to her face. "It's so impulsive."
"Who says I'm not impulsive?"
He laughed, the sound bruising her like sandpaper. "You couldn't even get dinner when we were together without ten minutes notice. Remember when I tried to surprise you for our anniversary?"
Felicity noticed then that Penny and Lydia had gone inside. It was just the two of them outside, going on about old times. She felt a sudden need to be anywhere but there, so close to him that she could reach forward and feel his skin beneath her fingers. It frightened her how much she still wanted him. Even after all this time. Even with a fiancée inside, and the reality that he didn't choose her – he never would choose her – it didn't matter. It didn't change the fact that she still loved him.
"I guess I've changed," she said forcefully, wanting the words to be true. Wishing they were true.
"I guess you have."
"We should go inside," she said, turning away before she got an answer. The restaurant was busy, throngs of people piled in the foyer, their voices bouncing off the walls and ceiling. She pushed through, craning her neck until she spotted Lydia and the rest over at a corner table. Lydia saved her a seat and she sat down, tossing her purse under the table. Lydia gave her a questioning look, no doubt prompted by her and Brian's extended stay outside, but she shook her head and said, "Not now."
"I ordered you wine," Lydia said, pushing the full glass toward her.
Felicity smiled gratefully, actively ignoring the urge to look toward Brian as he settled down next to Penny. She could feel his gaze.
"You are a very good friend, Lydia."
BBBBB
"So, tell me, what's it like being married to a billionaire?" Felicity's friend, Heather, asked, leaning forward conspiringly with a glass of chardonnay clasped in her hand. "Is it wonderful? I bet it's wonderful."
"It's pretty great," Felicity said. "He's, um, he's wonderful. We have so much fun together."
In reality, they didn't do much of anything together. She hadn't seen him since their dinner with his parents, and save for the odd text here and there, she hadn't heard from him, either.
"I still don't know how you got him at my bachelorette party," Penny said loudly, artfully turning the conversation squarely back onto her. It was a skill she honed well over the years. "Isn't the bride supposed to get all the male attention?"
"I'm sure you got more than enough attention," Brian said, kissing her cheek. "I heard a few stories, babe."
Penny scoffed, playing affronted but clearly enjoying the attention. She turned her gaze to her friends and murmured, "Girls, don't you know that what happens at the bachelorette party stays at the bachelorette party?"
"Unless you get chlamydia or something," Lydia interjected, draining her drink. She was met with questioning gazes, and she returned, "What? I'm just saying…that wouldn't stay at the bachelorette party. Because it's an STD."
"We get it, Lyd," Penny said tartly. "We just don't get why you felt the need to say it."
Lydia shrugged, reaching forward and plucking a roasted potato off of Penny's plate. "Don't really need a reason to say something. You surely never do."
"Okay, how about we get some dessert," Felicity said loudly, sensing a seismic shift in the mood at the table. Penny looked murderous, and she knew once the bride was set off, there'd be little stopping her tirade. She wouldn't put it past her to pull Lydia from the bridal party right there, and Felicity was not chancing going through the hell that would be that wedding without Lydia.
"Screw dessert, let's get more wine," Heather said, reaching forward and picking up the bottle they'd been drinking from. "What do you say, another bottle of this one? I liked it."
"More wine sounds great," Felicity said. She held out a hand and flagged down their waiter.
BBBBB
Two bottles of wine later they ended up at a bar down the street from the restaurant. Felicity was already well past buzzed, which made additional drinks sound like the greatest idea ever. When someone suggested Irish car bombs, she heartily bellowed yes, ignoring the small voice in the back of her head that reminded her mixing liquors was the surest pathway to a bathroom.
"I haven't seen you do one of those since college," Brian said, arm sliding around her waist after they all slammed their empty beer steins on the bar. She laughed, looking up into his face and thinking that it was the most perfect one she'd ever seen.
"Babe, come over here," Penny slurred, tugging Brian's arm and pulling him away from Felicity. She reached up and kissed him messily, fingers threading through his hair. Felicity stood next to them, watching him kiss Penny just like he used to kiss, and suddenly she felt sick. Very sick.
"Fuck them," Lydia said, threading her arm through Felicity's. "Just fuck them."
"I think I need to puke," Felicity mumbled.
"Me too."
They went to the bathroom, puked in their respective stalls, and then washed their mouths out in the sinks. Felicity had a moment of clarity, staring into her bloodshot eyes in the bar bathroom. What was she doing? And then Lydia suggested getting some wine, and the moment ended, unable to compete with the allure of more alcohol.
BBBBB
That last bit of wine was the last thing Felicity remembered before waking up in the jail cell. While she laid on the cot waiting for Oliver to pick her up, blinding headache pulsing behind her eyes, later bits came back to her. Her and Lydia yelling along to I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles). Dancing with some guy with dreadlocks. Peeing behind a building.
Felicity winced. That's how she ended up here. She vaguely remembered a police officer finding her with her underwear around her ankles. And telling him, as he pulled her to his squat car, that it was okay, she didn't have to pee anymore.
She really hoped that no one except for Lydia – who she foggily remembered yelling at the officer – knew she'd ended up in jail for public intoxication. She'd never live this one down.
She heard the door at the front of the unit slide open, and then the guard walked forward, looking up at the camera positioned in the corner of the room before she heard her own door unlock. She stood up unsteadily, holding her hands out in front of her for balance. Her entire body seemed to be throbbing now, and she swore in that moment, staggering forward to follow the officer, that she would never drink again. Especially considering that in her two most recent episodes she'd ended up married and in jail.
"Your husband paid your fine," the guard said. "So, you're free to go."
"My fine?" she asked in confusion. She didn't remember that. "How much was it?"
"Five hundred dollars."
She shook her head and murmured, "You should have sent the bill to Penny Lancaster and Brian Nichols."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, feeling her cheeks prickle with color when they stepped out into the front area of the prison and she saw Oliver. She thought calling Oliver would make all of this a bit less humiliating, but she was wrong. If possible, it felt even more.
"Hi Oliver," she said in a small voice.
"This is certainly not a call I thought I'd get on a Thursday morning," he returned pleasantly.
"I'm really sorry you had to come out here," she said. "And I'll pay you back for the five hundred dollars."
"Don't worry about it," he said dismissively. "It's only right that a husband come and bail his wife out of jail."
She groaned, covering her eyes with her hand. "This is so embarrassing. I swear I'm not usually like this. I don't even like to drink that much. I swear."
"No judgment here. The first time you get bailed out of jail is almost like a right of passage among my friends."
She looked over at him. "I think you need to get different friends."
He chuckled. "So, what happened?"
They got to his car and he opened the passenger door for her. As she sat down she murmured, "I don't want to talk about it."
He went around and sat in the driver's seat. After starting up the car he told her, "That's not how this works. I pick you up, you tell me what landed you in jail. It's a fair trade, don't you think?"
"My head feels like it's going to explode," she murmured, closing her eyes. "Can't we talk about this later."
Oliver looked over at her, taking in the caked eyeliner under her eyes and her mussed hair. She must have had one hell of a night, and if he knew anything about her from their brief time together, whatever put her in this state probably wasn't good.
"Yeah, we can talk about it later," he relented.
They drove in silence for a while. Oliver glancing at her now and then as he drove toward her apartment. When they were near her apartment he asked the question that had been on his mind since he got the call that morning.
"Why did you call me?" he asked.
"Huh?"
"Of all the people in your life, why did you call me?"
She looked over at him, trying to piece together exactly why she made that decision. After a few moments she settled on, "I thought you wouldn't judge me."
"You were right," he said.
She turned her gaze forward again. "And all my close friends were also out with me last night. I didn't think they'd be in a state to drive."
"Ah, so there's the real reason," he said.
They parked in front of the building and he opened her door, helping her out. Her body still thought it was drunk, and she found staying upright exceedingly difficult. Oliver held onto her arm and guided her up the stairs.
"What the hell did you drink last night?" he asked, noting her death grip on his arm.
"Too many things," she said. "Never mix red wine and Irish car bombs."
Oliver winced. "Ouch."
"You can say that again."
They got to her door and she fished the keys out of her purse, opening the front door. She went immediately to the couch, crashing into the soft cushions and burying her face in the decorative pillow. She moved her face just enough to get out, "Thank you for taking me home. You are making a surprisingly good fake husband."
"Well, thank you."
She waited for the door to open and close, but heard nothing. Instead, she heard him walk into her kitchen and start rummaging through her cabinets. Unable to lift her head to see what he was doing, she called out, "Oliver? Why are you in my kitchen?"
"I'm making you breakfast."
Just the thought of food made her stomach turn, and she bit out, "My stomach's not into that."
"Which is exactly why you need someone here to make sure you eat. You'll feel a lot better."
She shook her head, and immediately regretted it. "No. No, I don't think I will."
"Trust me," he said. "I've nursed my fair share of hangovers. You need food. A good dose of protein. Some carbs to soak up whatever alcohol is left in you."
"Ugh. Don't say alcohol."
"You just lay there. I'll make you some breakfast, and you'll feel better. I promise."
If only everything she was feeling could be remedied with breakfast. It was more than a hangover from alcohol. It was a hangover from Brian. Just as acutely as she felt the pain in her head, she felt the places he'd touched her, his mouth on her cheek, his arm around her waist. She hated him for doing it almost as much as she hated herself for letting him. Penny may dangle her relationship with Brain in front of her, but that wasn't an excuse for her behavior. And she knew Penny only did what she did out of a deep-seated insecurity about her and Brian's previous relationship. One night when they'd all been out together, a drunk Penny had confided in her that she was afraid Brian would never love her the same way he'd loved Felicity. She was ashamed to admit that she'd gotten a smug sense of satisfaction from that, which she tried to compensate for by being outwardly supportive, listening to all the stories and taking part in the wedding. All of it shouted – I'm okay with this! It doesn't hurt me!
Except it wasn't. And it did.
She smelled eggs, and her stomach reacted violently.
"Oliver –"
"Ignore your body right now," he said. "It doesn't know what's best for it."
"If I puke on this couch you're cleaning it up," she returned glumly.
"You're not going to puke," he said.
"Yeah, tell my stomach that."
"This may not make a difference right now, but I am lauded as one of the best scrambled egg makers in all of Las Vegas."
She grunted in response.
"The secret is the cheese," he said, his voice suddenly closer. He appeared beside the couch, steaming plate of eggs in his hand. She felt the urge to retch, and covered her mouth. "You can't just sprinkle it on top. That's a rookie move. You need to cook it into the egg."
"Can you please stop talking," she murmured, swallowing hard.
"If you take a bite of this, yes," he said, holding a forkful of egg out toward her mouth. She sighed and then opened her mouth dutifully. The minute the egg touched her tongue her flavor buds lit up like fireworks, and not in a particularly pleasant way. She went to spit it out, but Oliver covered her mouth with his hand and said, "No, swallow. Come on, you can eat one bite of egg."
She swallowed the egg and then murmured, "I hate you."
"That's the spirit. Let's try another forkful."
She grabbed the fork from his hand and said, "I can feed myself."
She heard the toaster click, and he stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. Before he left he told her, "Don't put those eggs in the couch or something."
She glared at him, although admittedly she'd been considering other places to put it that did not involve her mouth. Instead, she scooped up another forkful and put it in her mouth, hating each and every chew. He returned with two pieces of toast.
"They're dry right now," he said. "But I can put some butter on them if you think you can handle it."
Her stomach whined in protest. "I don't think so."
"Alright," he put the toast on her plate. "Try to get these down. You have some tea coming up next. Good source of both water and caffeine."
He disappeared back into the kitchen, and she pushed herself up into more of a sitting position, forcing herself to alternate bites of egg and toast. She hated to admit it, but she could feel herself getting marginally better. Her head felt less foggy, and the coiling of her stomach loosened slightly. He returned with the tea and placed it on the coffee table, sitting cross legged on the floor next to the couch.
She looked down at him and said, "Sorry about being grumpy. I really do appreciate you doing this."
"I wish I had someone to nurse me through some of my worst hangovers," he returned. "More than happy to help." He paused for a moment and then added, "Plus, it's a slow day at work."
She smiled a bit. "Ah, there it is. The truth comes out."
"You don't really have to tell me what happened last night," he said. "But, whatever it was – or whoever – it's not worth it. Trust me."
She looked down at the plate, feeling an uncharacteristic weepiness take over.
"I peed behind a building," she admitted. "I don't even always like to use the bathroom when there are other people in it, and I peed out in the open. Behind a building."
Oliver tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably.
"It's not funny," she said morosely.
"Yeah, it sort of is," he said, wiping at his eyes. "Believe me, you can't see it now, but it's pretty funny."
"This isn't like me," she said. "But, ever since –"
She stopped herself, shaking her head. She covered the silence with a bite of toast, and he asked, "Ever since what?"
"Never mind."
"Ever since your friend got engaged to your ex-boyfriend?" Oliver suggested gently.
"We don't need to talk about this," she said. "I have my friends for this. You've already had to deal with enough of me today."
"I don't mind," he said. "I've listened to a lot of this stuff with Thea over the years. I've actually gotten pretty used to it."
Felicity smirked, imagining Oliver sitting and listening to all of his little sister's misadventures in love.
"I'm fine, really," she said. "But, thank you."
"No problem," he said easily. He took the mug of tea off the coffee table and held it out to her. "Time to get some liquids in your system."
She took the mug from him and took a small sip. The tea felt warm and nourishing, like a hug to her insides, and she took another sip. When she was finished she held the mug in her lap and told him, "You know, you're going make a really good husband one day."
He grinned a bit. "You think?"
She nodded. "Your wife will be a very lucky woman."
His phone went off, and he pulled it out of his pocket, answering with an assertive, "Oliver, here."
She watched him on the call, lazily letting her gaze take in all of him. The sharp angles of his face. The slightly wrinkled grey tshirt. Only a few weeks prior she didn't even know he existed. Now, here was in her apartment, making sure she had her breakfast and tea.
"I need to head over to the club," he said after hanging up. "There's some issue with the wine shipment. Are you feeling at least a little better?"
She nodded. "Yeah. A bit more human-like."
He chuckled. "That's good to hear. Call me if you need anything, okay?"
"Okay."
"And try not to get yourself in jail again tonight," he said, heading toward the door. "I have a very important brunch date with my sister tomorrow."
"Believe me, I will not be straying far from this couch," she told him. "And thank you again."
"You're welcome. Bye Felicity."
She heard the door close and she put the now nearly empty plate on the coffee table. She took another few gulps of tea, and then grabbed the pillow off the end of the couch, holding it against her chest. She burrowed deep into the couch and closed her eyes, The Proclaimer's seminal classic from the night before lazily coming to mind.
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
To be the man who walked 1,000 miles
To fall down at your door
A/N: As always, feedback is appreciated!