I've decided to make this the last chapter. My wrist is nearly healed, maybe another week in the cast, but I couldn't keep you waiting. Thanks to hoodsmoaked (for some quote inspiration) and samanthapetrelli on Tumblr for a huge injection on inspiration for the final part of this.
And thank YOU for taking the time to read this. Really.
Felicity was out on her large balcony when Oliver had the realisation.
Half his wardrobe was at Felicity's, all his favourite books, his toiletries, and he no longer slept on the camp bed under the breakfast bar. He only ever went back to the mansion when his mother pressed him to or they were hosting a party of some description.
He and Felicity came and went from Queen Consolidated together every day, and when he came back from checking on things at the club, Felicity would always have dinner going, more and more often with things from her garden. They would sit down, usually with a nice glass of red, and in some sort of unspoken rule, talked about anything but QC and Arrow business.
After dinner, there was always some delicious dessert because Felicity had also taken up baking. The desserts, usually creamy and fruity, were delicious, but were not doing wonders for his waistline.
Sometimes Diggle would join them, and they would laugh and lose count of the servings of dessert they had, marvelling at Felicity's capacity for food, and ability to stay slim.
There had been a few times when Felicity had come in from the deck, sobbing inconsolably, and it had taken Oliver fifteen minutes to calm her down enough to understand that one of her seedlings, which she was growing in test tubes pilfered from Applied Sciences, had died.
He was watching her pick out small weeds, humming tunelessly to herself, when he began to comprehend exactly what was happening.
In a tight black singlet under an opened pale pink linen shirt and a pair of denim shorts, just short enough to make Oliver wonder, the barefoot Felicity, bopping and swaying to her own tunes, was a picture of happiness. His picture of happiness.
"Oliver?" she called out.
"Mmm?" he pretended to glance up from the stack of paperwork he was holding.
"Can you come and help me start watering? The timer for the sprinkler is due to turn on soon, and I don't want to disrupt the settings, but I'm not quite done with the weeding yet," she was leaning back in the door, proffering the hose.
"Sure."
Moving off the lounge, Oliver stepped out into the late afternoon sun. He felt his skin prickle under the heavy warmth, the shorts and t-shirt he was wearing almost felt like too much. He pulled it up over his head and hung it on the door handle. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting out a sigh louder than he thought.
"You alright?" Felicity asked, her back to him, bent over one of four of the vegetable patches her and Oliver put together a little over three months ago.
"Yeah, just relaxing," he said softly, meaning it.
"Good," she replied, still not looking up from what Oliver thought were her radishes, "You deserve it, Oliver."
He did, didn't he? Oliver cocked his head to one side, rubbing his lips together thoughtfully. Felicity's lithe legs were still bopping to whatever she was humming, her toe's curling to keep her balance. There was a few little bum wiggles thrown in for good measure and Oliver wondered if she was even aware. It was in that moment that the sprinkler timer ticked over and a fine mist shot out of the end of the hose.
Felicity shot upright with a shriek, spinning around with an indignant look on her face.
"Sorry," Oliver was genuine but his smirk did not help his cause as he aimed the wayward spray of water at one of the garden beds.
She squinted at him, like she so often used to when questioning another one of his terrible lies, or when she was trying to hide her wayward stares.
Deciding that he could be forgiven this time, she turned back to the vibrantly green leaves.
"Oh look!" she exclaimed after a few minutes, skipping excitedly towards Oliver brandishing two bitesize radishes. "These ones will be so delicious!"
She held them under the hose, washing them slightly, before offering one to Oliver.
Felicity bit hers in half, a massive smile on her face, dimples as deep as ever. Oliver followed suit, savouring the sweet peppery bulb.
"Yum, right?" Felicity was still grinning.
Oliver didn't answer, instead he leant forward to plant a light kiss on her lips.
Felicity recoiled and gasped, then promptly started choking on the little bit of radish she hadn't finished yet.
Her face went red and her eyes watered as she coughed.
"I'll get you some water," Oliver was already half inside, rushing to the kitchen to get a glass.
He returned to Felicity who seemed to have everything under control but still gratefully accepted the tall glass.
"Thanks," she smiled, her face still red with exertion.
"Not a problem, Felicity,-"
"I know, I know, I'm your friend and you-"
"I do, I do love you, Felicity."
Her eyebrows hiked up her forehead and then turned into a frown as one hand reached to touch her lips.
"I'm sorry, you nearly choking to death is not how I envisioned that ending," he shrugged.
Felicity shook her head in a gesture of 'don't worry about it'.
She held up the leaves of her radish, gesturing at Oliver's.
"You don't want it?" she asked, hopping almost imperceptibly from one foot to the other.
Oliver's hand on her shoulder stilled her, and he closed the gap, his lips brushing her ear. He felt Felicity tense up. There were a few faltering breaths from both of them before he spoke.
"It's you I want."
The ray of sunshine from the two of them had always been Felicity. That had changed in the months following Felicity's accident. Oliver had needed to pull himself out of his own pit of despair to get Felicity out of hers. He had to get her out of there. And he did. He realised that as she started to get better, so did he.
Originally, he was pretending to be cheery and positive for her sake, keeping face for times when Felicity launched hurtful objects and hurtful words at him. He had lost count of the number of times she had apologised for losing her temper. Just as he had lost count of how many times he had apologised for losing his.
The need for apologies had lessened in the past two months, Oliver's need to pretend to be happy had lessened as well.
In the end, it had been real.
