A/N: It's back! Sorry for the long wait, but I'm finally ready to start posting again! Rereading this chapter I really started second guessing myself, but oh well! Because here it is. I hope you enjoy it!
This looks like it's going to be about 9 chapters. As of right now, I'm going to commit to posting a new chapter every 2 weeks. If I can keep writing at a decent pace, I might be able to surprise you with another chapter. In the meantime, I hope you like this chapter!
...
Chapter 4
"Welcome home, Ollie," Thea announces brightly, throwing open the double doors of the mansion with a gigantic smile.
He hobbles in on his crutches as his mother watches him warily. She pushes the wheelchair they insisted he have to not put his knee through undue stress. Healing over the past four years had been based purely on survival, on making it to the next fight, the next obstacle, the next challenge. Having the time to heal, to rest, it's unreal and off-putting.
But not nearly as unsettling as the bright streamers, balloons, and welcoming cheer of "Surprise" that accosts him in the entry way, leaving him in shock as he takes in his surroundings. Lyla and Felicity are there, off to the side, like they didn't see the need for the attention as soon as he walked in the door.
Tommy stands in the middle, arms out-stretched in a wide gesture that matches the width of his smile, if that was at all possible. There's a tall, black man standing in the corner, looking terribly uncomfortable while struggling to put on a brave face. The most surprising thing though is Laurel Lance standing between the unknown man and Tommy, arms crossed over her chest and scowling at him.
So in actuality, the only people to yell surprise are Tommy and Thea.
"Hey!" He moves forward into Tommy's embrace with a smile. He drops a crutch to pat his best friend on the back. "I missed you, buddy."
"I missed you too," Tommy whispers into his shoulder. "God, I've never been so happy to see someone in my life."
He closes his eyes to savor his best friend's presence for a moment before he pulls back. "Thank you, for all of this." He glances between Laurel and the man he doesn't recognize. He notices his mother stepped closer to the man but stays strategically just out of reach.
"I'm surprised you're here, Laurel." He thought they would be actively avoiding each other or openly hostile. He didn't expect to see her here with even a slight chance of talking normally.
She purses her lips. "You're not the only one. I'm just here to find out what happened to Sara."
He nods, staring down at the marble floor at the flood of memories. The blonde woman scared out of her mind on an island where nothing was safe, the woman with the Arabic soulmark across her wrist, who struggled to survive. When she disappeared under water the second time, he had hoped she'd make it out alive. The only proof he had to support that belief was a similar tattoo on the wrist of a beautiful assassin he met in Russia.
It had been too quick a glance for him to be sure the tattoo was exactly the same, but it had been close enough that Oliver was sure the inky black mark meant Sara was still alive. He couldn't give up that hope, and despite everything – or perhaps because of it – he couldn't deny Laurel that hope either.
"I know she made it off the boat, but we got separated. I don't know where she is now, if she's alive." He bows his head as she takes a shaky breath, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry I don't know more, sorry I took her with me."
Laurel's eyes harden again at the mention of the boat. "If you didn't just get back from the hospital, I would deck you right now."
He nods respectfully. "Well, I should be back to normal in a couple months, so let's call it a rain check."
Her eyes narrow, but she lets it go as Oliver's eyes latch onto the man he doesn't know, and he moves a small step closer with the crutches. His mom gets the hint, the two of them stepping forward in tandem, more in-sync than his parents – soulmates – had ever been.
"Oliver, this is Walter Steele. He took over as CEO after the Gambit went down."
She leaves it like that and Oliver reaches out, shaking his hand. He's still missing something, some detail that he's bound to find out eventually, that they want to keep from him until the last moment. There's a lot they're going to be throwing at him, a lot they're hiding from him.
"It's nice to meet you, Walter," he says pleasantly before backing up and turning to the last two women in the room. Diggle's joined them in the other corner. The excited anticipation on Tommy's face as he glances back at Felicity, tells him that his friend knows. Laurel's trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
"So, what's the plan? I know I was on an island for four years, but I don't think parties have changed this much in all that time." He looks at the not quite celebratory group. This was definitely not what he called a party, pre-island or otherwise.
"I figured we could use this time to catch you upon what's happened." Thea bounces in front of him. "Including, the story of how I met your soulmate."
Laurel's head jerks up at the words, darting over to Felicity and Lyla as understanding dawns. "What?" Her voice raises dramatically in pitch, deep-seated animosity fueling her ire. "Your soulmate? So that's why the blonde bimbo is here? She's his soulmate."
Oliver's fingers dig into the handles of his crutches as he twists back to face her, ready to tell Laurel off. He doesn't know what he's going to say: he barely knows Felicity outside of their meeting in the hospital. There hasn't been time to talk, not without people watching. But that doesn't matter because he knows he'll defend her, whatever it takes. She's dragged into this mess because of him. It's the least he can do.
"Excuse me?" Felicity asks, suddenly beside him, a hand resting over his on the crutch, a foce of calm that pulls him back. Tension eases out of his body and he leans slightly into her. It comes naturally. He doesn't even think about it.
"How exactly does the possibility that I'm Oliver's soulmate turn me into a bimbo? You don't know me, I don't know you, so I'm going to ask you to withhold your judgment and I'll withhold mine. Thanks!" She smiles politely, but there's a chill in her voice.
Oliver ducks his head to hide a smirk. It's hard not to be proud of his soulmate standing up to his ex-girlfriend. His hand moves to the small of her back, moving across her body to rest over her hip, over exactly where he knows her mark lies.
Part of him wants to slap himself. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be leaning into her, counting on her, investing this much in her when they've known each other for all of two days. So why does he want to lean closer, to press a kiss to her temple, to hold her close and never let go?
Logically, Oliver knows he should pull his hand back, separate himself before he gets too attached, before he can inadvertently break her heart. The whole soulmate concept, the pull people talked about...he always assumed it was like the compulsive need to cheat he always felt, even when he was in that long term relationship with Laurel.
But this...this was different. It wasn't lust he was feeling. It wasn't even a driving need to kiss her, or hold her. He just wanted to be near her, the kind of want that could barely be restrained by willpower. It was strange and new, this longing for contact, for intimate talk, without the single-minded lust coursing through his system.
"Felicity, this is Laurel. Laurel, Felicity, my soulmate." He rubs a thumb over her mark at 'soulmate,' enjoying her shiver at the word.
...
She doesn't know what's shifted since Oliver walked into the house, but it's disconcerting how he can't stop touching her.
It's subtle: a hand on the small of her back, a touch to the back of her hand or her arm, a leg grazing hers, and – the most unsettling – a hand resting over her mark with unerring accuracy. To her consternation, Felicity enjoys the touches, leans into them, and yearns for his touch in its absence.
Not only that, but she returns his touch, rests her hand on his, leans towards him when he's near, watches him when he's not looking.
And on top of all the confusing feelings that leave her floundering, she's surrounded by people who apparently love to smirk whenever they catch her or Oliver around each other. She's practically a ticking time bomb of unintended innuendos and incessant babbles.
The last thing her stressed mental state needs is to be seated beside him at dinner, but of course, she is because everyone else in the room has accepted their impending relationship as fact. Felicity...she's not so sure. There's so much between them, including years when he struggled to survive.
Some soulmates don't make it.
She doesn't want to be one of those sob stories. She wants this to succeed, but neither of them are ready. She knows it. He knows it. And yet they still dance around each other, drawn together by some unknown power...except she knows what it is: the soulmate bond.
"Felicity?"
She jumps in shock, upsetting her wine glass, which would have spilled if a certain muscle-y arm hadn't reached out to right it. Snapped back to the reality of an awkward welcome back dinner, Felicity's eyes dart around until they land on Moira who smirks in amusement at the head of the table.
"Oh. Sorry. What were you saying?" She asks, shaking her head to bring her focus back to the moment.
Thea snorts. She makes a valiant attempt to cover it up as a sneeze but ultimately fails miserably.
Moira smiles politely, even endearingly. "I was just saying that we need to host a press conference now that Oliver has returned."
"Right...a press conference..." She's definitely not ready for that. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not at all prepared for being out in public, not now, probably not ever.
"Yes. And I'd like you there with Oliver."
"Um..."
"I don't think that's such a good idea, Mom," Oliver disagrees, resting a hand on her knee so she doesn't start freaking out.
She doesn't know when he got to know her so well that they didn't need to talk to communicate, but this doesn't feel like guesswork. He's responding to her like she responds to him and right now she wants to slam the brakes as hard as she can and get the hell out of this crazy scenario.
"Oliver-"
"Mom," he sighs. "You've had time to get used to the idea, but Felicity and I need time to get to know each other. And I don't think either of us want all the press attention."
"Well, it can't really be avoided," Moira turns back to her food with an amused smile.
"For me, no, but we don't need to drag Felicity into it."
"She's your soulmate, Oliver. The press is going to find out eventually," She explains calmly with just a hint of exasperation as she cuts into the steak in front of her.
Felicity's eyes dart back and forth, following the volley of words.
"Just like I'll find out about you and Walter sleeping together?"
She could hear the faint sound of Raisa down the hall in the kitchen as silence falls in the dining room and everyone's plates are suddenly irresistibly intriguing. Felicity winces because awkward silences are her pet peeve, which would be fine if her go-to response wasn't to fill it with unnecessary babble.
"Actually," Moira starts at the same time Felicity blurts out: "They're engaged!"
She squeezes her eyes clothes, prays she only imagined the outburst. Cracking an eye open, she knows that's not the case. Oliver is very clearly assessing the situation, taking in his mother and Walter's reaction to the revelation. Moira looks slightly peeved, but she manages a smile. Thea and Tommy avidly watch the interaction like its Prime Time television.
"Engaged?" Oliver repeats, forced levity even as his knuckles turn white with the force with which he holds his knife.
"Yes," Moira answers placidly as she lowers her utensils so she can turn the full force of her attention on Oliver. Her hand reaches out blindly to clasp Walter's. "Walter and I are going to be married."
Felicity wraps her hand around Oliver's arm – or wraps it around as much as she can since his arm is huge – to soothe him. The muscles relax slightly under her touch, but the tension doesn't ease out of his shoulders this time. In mere minutes, he's realized exactly what it took her weeks to figure out:
Walter and Moira are soulmates.
Thea talked about how hard it was to come to terms with the fact that her parents hadn't been soulmates. She doesn't imagine finding out everything you thought you knew about your family was a lie after the four years of hell Oliver's been through could be remotely easy to understand. But the proof is right in front of them: two souls so in-sync they react and respond to each other without conscious thought.
Moira and Walter are the quintessential soulmate pair, the ideal image. It's both undeniably romantic and annoyingly sickening. After months around them, Felicity has decided she most definitely prefers to spend time with Walter. Moira is too imposingly perfect. Walter's just the right amount of imperfection to be far less intimidating. His ability to talk tech doesn't hurt either.
She waits for Oliver to say something; they all wait with baited breath for his damning verdict. The jumping vein in his jaw tells her he wants to deliver it, but he swallows it down for a tight lipped smile, a nod, and a decisive statement:
"I'll do the press conference, but we're leaving Felicity out of it."
...
"Thank you for coming here today," Moira announces to the crowd of reporters and flashing lightbulbs.
Oliver's not happy to be back in the monkey suit, the focus of the pictures with Digg standing sentry at his side instead of staying out of the limelight. Right now, he's hyperaware that Felicity's somewhere in the building behind him. Her presence pulls at him, like a magnet urging him in her direction, almost like there's something more he could be doing to protect her, to keep her close. Sure, Lyla's with Felicity, but he's always trusted Digg more when it came to the protection of those closest to him.
"As you already know, my son, Oliver, has been recently returned to us." She turns back for dramatic measure and Oliver wants to sigh. Now comes the posturing, the elaborate story – mostly invented – that the press will gobble up with a spoon.
This whole thing is a farce, a play put on for the cameras, and he wants no part of it. He forgot about the hoops he would have to jump through in public, the pressure of the cameras following him around constantly, the scrutiny he would undergo here that was never an issue in Russia.
This. This is why he couldn't continue working with the Russians, why he formulated his plan so he wouldn't need those connections to the Bratva, why his plan to save the city had changed. The press had factored into his plan while he was on the Island, but the reality of it is staggering.
He's glad Felicity isn't up here with them. She won't have to face the thousands of questions about his playboy ways, at least, not yet. It astounds him that she looked through his file, saw what he did, and still didn't distance herself from him as far as possible.
"We are happy to have him back," his mother turns back to smile at him, "and we ask for our privacy as we deal with his return."
"Mrs. Queen, care to address the rumors that your son's soulmate is the reason he's been returned to you?" A reporter shouts at his mother and she smiles benevolently down at him.
"Those rumors..."
"Are correct," Oliver finishes. He steps up to the podium as his mother steps back. He lets them see his cane and the noticeable limp, playing up the pain for the steady flash of the cameras. That shot will to be on the cover of more than a few magazines and newspapers tomorrow morning.
"Mr. Queen!"
"Ollie, can you tell us-"
"Who is she?"
He holds up his hands to silence the crowd in front of him. They immediately fall silent, eager for whatever's about to come out of his mouth.
"Until my soulmate and I become better acquainted, we thank you for giving us our privacy." He nods to the crowd and turns to walk back to position. Sure his mother wants him to officially announce her name, but Oliver's not about to give anyone who wants to look her up any more information. They can work for it, and he'll be sure to stop them before they get too far.
"How about a name?"
"What's she like?"
"Is she the blonde you sister was seen exiting the hospital with?"
He freezes at the question, and the other reporters die down at the sudden onset of new information. Oliver grimaces at his mother, who's composure breaks for a millisecond. He turns back to the stage. "If she was, then that picture would be worth a great deal."
They got a picture. He should have made sure they had been more careful. Now he needs to find that picture and get rid of it.
The redheaded woman who asked the question frowns in displeasure. "It would be," she agrees.
Oliver breathes a little easier. If they had the picture, it would already be in the papers. They have nothing.
He plasters a grin on his face. "Well, I think we all know I have a thing for brunettes." He feels dirty making the comment because he knows there's a blonde in the building behind him who is fated to be with him. This is just to distract the press. It's a move in a chess game.
The press chuckles, the red head looks peeved, and Oliver leaves them with a brilliant playboy smile and a wink. The expression slips off his face as soon as he turns around. Digg shoots him a sympathetic glance as his mother slips past him in exasperation to end the circus act.
"Thank you for your time and your continued respect for our privacy as we welcome our son back." She nods to the cameras and leads the way off the stage to the chorus of questions and the flashing of cameras.
Oliver follows her into the building, Walter taking up the end of their line.
They make it all the way to the elevator without comment. It isn't until Moira reaches in front of him and presses the button for the thirteenth floor that Oliver realizes this isn't the end of it. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye.
"I thought we were going to the top floor," he comments, already guessing where her interference is headed.
"Felicity's office is on the thirteenth floor," she comments, eyes straight ahead. "You're going to take your soulmate out for a nice dinner tonight. There's no need for you to go back to your philandering ways now that your soulmate is found." This is the punishment for making a joke out of the press conference: she's pushing the decision on him now instead of giving him a couple days.
He's known she would push it on him since they brought Felicity to the hospital the night he came back. This isn't something they let slip through the cracks. He can't take this at his own pace: they won't let him.
The doors slide open and he walks out without the push he knows she wants to give him. He slips a hand into his pocket as he turns to face his mother before the doors close, the other hand rests on his cane. "I don't need you interfering."
She smiles tightly. "Take her to dinner, Oliver."
He rolls his eyes as the doors slide shut and turns to face the cubicles of the IT department.
"She's right, you know?" Digg offers in a low whisper.
Oliver sighs. "I know." He starts to hobble along. "I just hate dragging her into his mess."
"She can handle it."
He nods as he moves down the main row to the office at the far end. A few steps in, he realizes half the cubicles are empty. He exchanges a glance with Digg and they move a little faster towards the office, only to be distracted by voices in the break room.
They change directions, following the voices only for Oliver to come to a stop as he realizes the voices are talking about him.
...
Felicity's torn between wishing everyone would go back to work and wanting to watch the press conference herself. Almost the whole department is crammed into the break room where the large flat screen TV rests. They're not a huge department so it's not that shocking, but she had thought there would be more restraint, that she would be able to ignore the conference and throw herself into her work.
Her hopes of focusing on other work were shattered when Maureen ran into her office gushing about how "flawless Oliver Queen looked in a suit," and how she "had to see the man himself," and how Maureen wished "he would come visit the IT department so she could feel those muscles in person."
Felicity probably could have let it go if not for the fact that Maureen was talking about her soulmate. She suddenly felt territorial, so she found herself leaning against the doorway of the break room as she watched the press conference with the rest of the department.
Moira spins her tale. Felicity was there for the prep session, so she knows this part already. It gives her time to survey Oliver in his suit. Maureen was right about something: He looked delicious in a suit. She knows from the hospital reports the layers of muscle Oliver's suit hides, knows that they're only seeing the pretty packaging.
She bites her lip, trying to pull her mind back from mentally undressing Oliver without much success. Did that man have to look that good?
"Who cares about this?!" Carrie shouts at the TV. She cuts of Moira's story about Oliver's rescue. "I just want to know what lucky bitch is soulmate."
Felicity shifts, aware that Carrie represents public opinion. All the press wants is a name, a face to pin to the elusive soulmate that facilitated the return the city's favorite son. Her hand drops to her necklace, slides the pendant along the chain.
"Shut it, Carrie. I want to hear this," Jake protests, pointing to the TV. Next to him, Sean snorts and returns to his coffee. Jake scowls in return. "What? You think he survived for four years on an island without some horror stories?"
"I don't think he's going to share them with the press," Sean comments. Felicity's inclined to agree with him on that one. She doubts he's going to share those with anybody. All she got was vague notes from the A.R.G.U.S. files from a man named Edward Fryers.
"I just want to know about the soulmate! You know whoever it is is going to be married into one of the richest families in the US," Carrie declares loudly.
Maureen sighs next to Felicity. "Imagine that! Being soulmates with that hunk. I wonder what his mark looks like."
Felicity almost reaches for her own mark, but pulls her hand back to cross her arms over her chest, as if to defend herself. She doesn't like this talk, especially not when Oliver steps forward to confirm that his soulmate is, in fact, the reason why he's returned right now.
Carrie sighs. "Now I would love to have a roll in the hay with him. Yum."
"Well unless there's something you're not telling us, Carrie, you're not his soulmate, so that's not going to happen," Sean counters.
The redhead turns to glare at him. "You never know. He was a serial cheater, after all. Who says his soulmate can keep up with so much...man." Carrie squeals with glee as she turns back to the screen.
Felicity loses track of the conversation as the reporter asks about a blonde seen with Thea, a blonde that was most definitely her.
"I think we all know I have a thing for brunettes," Oliver leers at the crowd, and it looks so fundamentally wrong, she feels uneasy.
"Looks like you're out of luck, Carrie," Jake jeers.
"Hair color is easy enough to change," she responds dreamily, eyes locked on the TV as the press conference ends.
Felicity glares at the back of Carrie's head, uneasy with the loon of the IT department latching onto her soulmate. God, she's already possessive of the man. That can't be a normal even for a soulmate bond.
"You have a problem," Sean tells her, lip curled in disgust.
"But imagine just one day finding out that Oliver Queen is your soulmate," Maureen muses, "it's a modern day Cinderella story."
Felicity shakes her head. It's her life they're talking about, yet it sounds so outlandish when they talk about it like a fairy tale. She wouldn't call her life a walk in the park. Plus, she doesn't like the comparison to a woman who waits for a prince to save her. She did just fine on her own, She wasn't need anyone to "rescue" her.
She walks to the counter, pours herself a cup of coffee.
"I wouldn't have to work another day in my life." Carrie smiles smugly.
Felicity snorts, rolls her eyes at the idea. Carrie might appreciate it, but there was no way Felicity could be idle all day. She needs to be doing something.
"Oh, so if your soulmate turned out to be rich, you wouldn't dance for joy?" Carrie demands.
She turns to face the other woman, shrugging. "Isn't the person more important than the money?"
"Let's be real here," Carrie turns to face her, "if you had the choice between a hobo and a billionaire, you would choose the billionaire, regardless of love."
Felicity shrugs. "I'd like to think that's not the case."
"Everyone wants money. That's not a crime." Carrie smiles. "Besides, who doesn't want to jump that billionaire's body?"
"How about we all get back to work?" Felicity says with a forced smile. She doesn't like them talking about Oliver so callously.
"What? Did I step on a nerve? Do you want to get in his pants, Smoak?"
"Well, I think we should get to know each other first."
Every eye in the room locks on to Oliver in the doorway. He leans causally on his cane, an amused smile plays at the corners of his lips, and he locks eyes with Felicity.
"You're..." Maureen stares at him wide-eyed in shock.
"Oliver Queen," Carrie fills in with a smile. She steps forward, hand outstretched. "Hi! I'm Carrie Cutter. It's a pleasure to meet you."
When Oliver doesn't shake her hand, she moves to touch his arm. Only Digg stepping forward stops her advance. She pulls her hand back, but the brilliant smile remains.
"So, what can we help you with?" She asks in a voice as sweet as sugar.
"I'm here to see Miss Smoak about a," his eyes lock on to hers and send her heart racing, "computer issue."
It takes a moment for her to nod and gesture back down the hallway. "Sure. We can talk in my office."
She ignores the eyes on her, the lingering gazes of the other occupants in the room. It's funny because now is the first time she ever really wished the walls of her office weren't half glass. They're going to have plenty of eyes on them for this conversation.
...
"So you saw the press conference?" Oliver shifts nervously, unwilling to sit even though standing is bothering his knee.
She nods. "Thank you."
"For what?" He made a comment about preferring brunettes, he essentially wrote off a picture of her, and just ignored her existence completely.
"For not telling them anything about me," she answers. She leans against her desk as she sips from the mug.
"I was an ass who declared he preferred brunettes." He honestly doesn't get it. How can she be so calm about it? In his experience with women, they weren't usually this forgiving. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop. This can't be it. There has to be some king of backhanded compliment or some way he's going to pay for it later. She frowns at him, not understanding. He should probably just accept it and move on, but he can't help but point out the obvious: "You're blonde."
"I dye it," she dismisses, then realizes what she just said. "Which you can not tell anyone."
His lips twitch of their own accord. "So you're not mad?"
"Why would I be mad?"
Her head tilts are going to be his undoing. It shouldn't be possible for her to look so cute in a simple motion.
"Oliver, you didn't give my name to the press, which I am extremely grateful for, by the way. Besides, that person wasn't you." She shrugs, like her words don't shake him to his core.
He's very obviously staring now, yet what else can he do. This woman he just met knows him well enough that she can just dismiss his public persona as just that: a persona. She says it so simply, so matter of fact, almost like it was obvious that he should know the answer.
She's amazing, his soulmate.
She keeps surprising him. And it's not just the smiles she manages to pull out of him when no one else can. Felicity doesn't seem to expect anything from him, even though their marks were the same. She's managed to take everything in stride so far.
"And don't worry. They don't have any photo evidence of Thea and me leaving the hospital." She smiles over the rim of her cup, a sly glint in her eyes that he would love to see there again. "They had a little problem with their servers that spontaneously erased all their archived photos. It's a pity they didn't make any back-ups."
"You..." He trails off at her smirk, unable to find the words to express himself. "Felicity, you are remarkable."
"Thank you for remarking on it."
He's not sure if it's the soulmate bond or just natural chemistry, and it doesn't matter, because all he wants to do is kiss that teasing smile and pull her into his arms, the eyes on them be damned. Of course, he's been attracted to women before, even confident women capable of greatness, but this is different. He doesn't just want to take her to bed – and he definitely does want that too. He wants to get to know her, to talk to her, to spend time with her.
"Felicity, will you..." God, he should have practiced this before he asked. Now that her inquisitive blue eyes are on him, he can't speak in a coherent sentence. "I mean, would you like...uh...what I mean to say is...would you like to go to dinner with me?"
Her eyes widen comically in surprise. "What?"
This is not how he pictured this going. He was going to be suave and she would immediately say yes. The last four years without normal social conventions must have hit him worse than he thought.
"I was wondering if you...wanted to...uh, go to dinner with me." The words are stunted and stiff, like he's asking against his will, which is definitely not the impression he wanted to give.
"Normally, I'm the one speaking in sentence fragments," Felicity mutters, eyes wide in surprise.
Oliver huffs out a laugh, surprised from him in his shock. The tension in his shoulders immediately releases. "Is that a yes?"
She blinks as she finally realizes what he's asking. "Wait! You mean, like a date date? As in just the two of us?" Her eyes narrow. "Did your mother put you up to this?"
He chuckles then, smiling fully. "She pressed the button, but I was already on my way up here. Look, date date or not, it would be good to get to know each other. No expectations, just two people having dinner."
Felicity contemplates him, eyebrows drawn together as she tries to figure him out. "No expectations?"
Oliver shakes his head with a slight smile, ignoring all the comebacks or cheezy one-liners he could deliver right now because he knows they won't help, not with a woman like Felicity. She's not swayed by his response, still looking nervous.
He takes a step forward and takes her hand, runs a finger over her knuckles because it just feels right.
"Forget soulmates, forget my family. It doesn't have to be anything more than dinner. This is just me asking a beautiful woman to get food with me tonight."
Her breath catches in the back of her throat at the contact, and that reaction has his own heartbeat speeding up. It thrills him as much as it terrifies him: that he has such an uncontrolled reaction to the woman in front of him.
"Okay." She nods.
If she didn't nod, he would have missed her answer and ended up staring at her for another minute.
"Okay?" The smile spreads across his face unbidden, her expression shifting to match as she nods. "I'll pick you up at seven."
Felicity nods again, biting her plump bottom lip. Unconsciously, he frees it with a swipe of his thumb. They both freeze as they realize how close they're standing, how intimate their position is. Rationally, he's aware he should move away, give her some space, yet he craves to get even closer, to close distance between them and press his lips to hers.
"Seven," she agrees, voice breathy, barely there.
He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and takes a forced step back. He needs to put distance between them before he does something stupid. Were soulmates supposed to be this close? But he can't bring himself to regret it. He always thought a soulmate would get in the way of his plans. He never anticipated someone like Felicity. And he wouldn't change it for the world.
...
"Nope. This doesn't work either," Felicity declares, another dress tossed to the colorful pile in the center of her bed. "Why don't I have anything appropriate to wear?!"
"Lis, you have more dresses than I do," Lyla mutters, picking at the latest addition to the discard pile. "One of these has to work. You looked great in all of them."
"But none of them are the one." Felicity falls on the bed. "So many pretty things...and none of them work."
Down the hall the door opens with a triumphant shout: "Never fear! Mellie is here!"
Lyla rolls her eyes. Her hand drops from the gun at her waist where it had jumped with the opening of the door.
"And I have the perfect dress!" Mellie sing-songs as she sashays into the room, a garment bag raised over her head.
"And we need to talk about who you give the keys to your apartment to," Lyla mutters. She sits back in chair with a sigh.
Felicity smiles compassionately at the woman, who obviously doesn't completely understand the girly ritual going on before her. She hops to her feet with more energy than she feels given the futile dress-search so far.
"Alright. What have you got for me?" She claps her hands, then opens her arms wide for whatever her best friend has in the bag.
"I figured since it's your first date with your soulmate, you should show off a little bit."
Felicity's not sure she likes the sound of that. Since their sophomore year in MIT, Mellie's been asking her for the chance to give her a makeover. She's kind of scared to see what Mellie managed to come up with after all this time.
Lyla whistles at the sight of the red dress and Felicity's mouth falls open in shock.
"I'm not wearing that," Felicity protests. Even from the hanger, she can see the cutouts crisscrossing the back of the dress, cutouts that wouldn't allow a bra, cut outs that would reveal more skin than she's ever shown in her life.
"Trust me. Just try it on." Mellie shoves the dress at her, pushes her toward the bathroom to change. "That dress will leave him speechless."
She kicks the door shut. Holding the dress in front of her body, Felicity stares at her reflection. She'd be lying if she said the color didn't look good on her. Reluctantly, she peels off her robe and tosses aside her bra. The dress slides on like a second skin. It clings to her curves, curves she didn't even know she had.
Even she has to admit Mellie has good taste. She turns sideways to get a better look at the mostly open back, skims down to look at her side where her mark lies under the dress. The fletching of the arrow peeks out just barely, something you would only notice if you were looking for it. When she moves, the mark peeks in and out.
Felicity smiles at the play of the edge of the dress with her mark. The open back leaves her exposed, but the dress makes her feel powerful. Maybe she should let Mellie give her a makeover.
She steps out of the bathroom and Mellie squeals.
"OH MY GOD! It looks better than I thought it would! Lis, you look AMAZING!" She yanks Felicity forward, dancing around her gleefully. "Oliver is going to LOVE this!"
Felicity blushes and turns to Lyla for a calming influence, instead Lyla stares at her, mouth open in awe.
"You look fantastic," she whispers. "Do me a favor and don't let John see you, okay?"
She rolls her eyes. With a twist, she faces the mirror to get another look at the dress. It really does work way better than she thought it would.
"And you have the PERFECT shoes!" Mellie disappears into her closet excitedly, and Felicity tries not to flinch at the noise of her friend going through her shoes. Oh, she knows her closet is a mess. Her shoes are mostly in a pile in the back of the closet. Honestly it's lucky most of her clothes are on their hangers. Then again, her clothes have to be at least presentable for work.
"I don't understand how you live in this mess. AHA! Got 'em!" Mellie emerges from the closet in one place, holding her prize over her head. "Put them on!" She thrusts the nude heels in Felicity's direction.
The shoes were a gift from her mother, one she's rarely worn for lack of occasion. The mirror in front of her paints a beautiful picture as she looks at the final picture. She pulls the clip from her hair to let the curls cascade down her back.
Mellie lets out a low whistle. "Damn, girl! Maybe you shouldn't go out like this."
Lyla chuckles. "Please let me take a picture of Oliver when he gets here."
Felicity smiles at her reflection, pleased with her appearance. It's like armor. It might be too much for people just getting dinner to meet each other, but she doesn't care. She likes this, likes feeling powerful and in control, like feeling beautiful.
She could get used to this.
...
He's nervous.
It's ridiculous because he's Oliver Queen. He's used to talking to women, used to flirting, used to interacting with people. Instead he's fidgeting, playing with the cuff links. Thea's already chewed him out for not telling Felicity they were going somewhere fancy, but it was too late. His mother had already reserved them a private room at one of the fanciest Italian restaurant in the city.
Now all that's left is to pick her up, and to ignore the amused looks Digg keeps shooting him in the rearview mirror. Honestly, Oliver would rather be driving them himself, but apparently driving with a bum knee is frowned upon, at least by his mother.
He stares up at her building for a couple minutes, nerves rising with every twist of his cuff links.
"Are you going to sit here all night?" Digg finally speaks up, the laughter audible underneath his question.
He shakes his head, a deep breath, and then he opens the car door.
The interval between knocking and waiting for the door to open drags on for what feels like forever, long enough to make him rethink this, rethink giving into his mother's demands. But as soon as the door opens, as soon as he spots Felicity in that red dress, he knows he wouldn't make any other choice.
A camera's flash goes off, but he couldn't care less because Felicity's smiling at him.
"You look...gorgeous." The words come out in whispered awe, not strong and confident like he wanted. Because that dress is doing things to his insides. He can't think straight.
"Thank you." She takes a step into the hallway. She pulls the door shut behind her, the movement cutting Lyla and her camera off. "So...where are we going?"
Oliver grins. "How do you feel about Italian?"
...
Awkward. That's the only way he can think to describe dinner thus far. Neither Oliver nor Felicity are ready for this dinner date. She knows so much about him and he knows nothing about her, which makes for an incredibly awkward start to dinner.
He orders them a bottle of wine. He hasn't had anything to drink in the last four years except vodka when the mob required him to, but tonight, tonight he gets the feeling he's going to need a little liquid courage.
She's not talking, not even a babble. It only makes Oliver more nervous.
"So...," He searches for something to say, anything to dissolve the tension, to stop him from thinking about how the soft skin of her back felt against the callouses of his palm when it came to rest on the small of her back. But Oliver abhors small talk. He can't just talk about nothing.
"Sorry," Felicity interrupts, leaning forward. "I can't just...talk about something inane. I know a bizarre amount about you, but nothing at all. And this just...feels..."
"Awkward," Oliver offers with a smile at the mini-babble. "Nerve-wracking. Terrifying."
She snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure that a date is worse than four years in terrible circumstances."
"What's terrifying is that it feels right," he tells her, reaching out to grasp her hand on top of the table, thumb caressing her knuckles. Oliver realizes what he's doing and pulls back. "But I'm too damaged. You deserve better."
It hurts him to speak like that, but he knows the words are true, that he can't be what she needs him to be, no matter how much he wants to. It's like a knife through his chest or an arrow to the knee, which is something he has experience with. He doesn't want her out of his life after meeting her, but he can't drag her into this. He can't.
"Well, then it's too bad that you're stuck with me," she concludes, taking a sip of her wine. It's amazing how that one confession has her loosening up. Felicity's uncurling, like suddenly she understands one facet of him, one aspect that she can deal with, a piece of the puzzle figured out.
Oliver blinks at her, not understanding.
"Obviously, we have to keep up appearances for your family, but we don't have to be sleeping together. At least, I'm pretty sure your mother or sister won't check on that." She contemplates it for a moment. Oliver's still lost. Where is she going with this?
"But you're not done. You, Digg, Lyla...you guys still have a job to do, to clean up Starling, and I want to help."
He freezes at her declaration. A single glance at the unwavering gaze tells him she's dead serious. Oliver's already shaking his head as he processes the answer. "No. It's too dangerous."
"I already know everything. I can't go anywhere without a bodyguard. I'm pretty sure Lyla and John both know me better than they could ever want to. So, use me...my skill set, I mean. I'm good with computers, spyware, mechanics. Ask Lyla. I can help you."
"No."
"Oliver, come on! You could do so much good for this city! That's not something I can walk away from."
"You're not getting involved in this." That's one thing he will not allow. His girl will not be pulled into any more danger. Or his plan.
She leans forward, glare fixed on him. "My life. My choice."
God, he wants to kiss her right now. It's frustrating as hell, but her standing up to him is turning him on. Especially with that fire in her eyes.
"Your ties with the Bratva are tentative at best, right now. You're too close to the spotlight to be of use to them. If you want to keep helping your city, you have to do something else. And you don't seem like the kind of person to wait. So, you could use as many allies as possible. I'm good at what I do. I can help you, help you find another way." She reaches out, wrapping his hand in hers. "Let me help you, Oliver."
He stares at her hands around his. A slight twist and his hand grasps hers. He wonders if he's losing his mind as he opens his mouth and tells her about a plan, a plan that involves a green hood and a bow.