(A/N: OMG. This think took over my life for days. It was supposed to be a thank-you fic for skcolicity, but it turned into this giant ball of feelings, and now it's going to be a multi-chapter fic at some point, because I have so many questions I want answers to.)
The Family Jewels
Felicity waited in the hall outside Connor's classroom and allowed herself to think, just for a minute, about how totally unfair this was.
She thought if she was ever going to parent Oliver's child that they'd at least be in a committed relationship, if not married. But no. They weren't in a relationship, and she was parenting because Oliver wouldn't.
She got where he was coming from. She did. It was a huge shock for everyone, and a double blow for Oliver to find that the last big secret he'd shared with his mother still wasn't the whole truth.
And Oliver was now, as she imagined he was back then, terrified of screwing up.
Felicity had left it alone for two months. Long enough for Oliver to get used to sharing the loft with a first grader, to keeping a fully stocked fridge, to tripping over small sneakers and an Iron Man backpack. Long enough for Connor to fit in at his hew school. And long enough for Felicity to fall in love with the soft-spoken little boy with light brown hair, a missing front tooth, and Oliver's eyes.
Connor was quiet and serious and tried to keep her at arm's length, as if he was afraid to get too attached, but Felicity wouldn't let him. She held his hand wherever they were except in the car and at school. She hugged him hello and goodbye, and kissed him goodnight. She looked him in the eye when she talked to him, and she talked to him a lot.
He tolerated the affection but never reciprocated, so today she was shocked beyond words when Connor came out of his classroom with a huge grin on his face and barreled into her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"I won!" he said, his face pressed into her stomach.
Felicity finally unfroze and put her arms around him. "Cool! What did you win?"
"The math contest! Look!" Connor held out a paper. She took it.
Felicity recognized the worksheet he'd labored over the night before. He had been struggling a little with carrying and borrowing, but that math was so elementary and so long ago for her that she had no idea how to help him. She'd spent her lunch break today Googling tutoring techniques.
But Connor seemed to have figured it out on his own. His teacher had inked a red 100 on the top, and added a smiley face and a bright "Way to Go!" sticker.
"Wow, that's great!" She took his hand and they started down the hallway. "I didn't know there was a contest."
"Because I didn't tell you," Connor said. "I really wanted to do it by myself, without any help."
"I can understand that."
"But look, Felicity! Look what I won!" He shoved another piece of paper at her. It was a coupon for a free ice cream sundae at Starling Scoops. "Can we go? Can we go today?" Then he added, "Please."
"I don't see why not," Felicity replied. "Today's a good day for ice cream."
In the car, while Connor stowed his backpack and then turned on her satellite radio, Felicity sent a quick text to Oliver to meet them at Starling Scoops for a math celebration. Then she waited. Any time she texted or called about Connor, Oliver would take a long time to answer. When he didn't know what to do, he would just not do anything rather than risk doing the wrong thing.
They were halfway to the ice cream shop when Oliver finally replied that he couldn't break away from his meeting right then.
It was the usual excuse. Sure, he'd just gotten the company back and there were a lot of details to work out in the transition, but there'd been two months of excuses. If she could manage to wrap things up by 3:00 every day to pick up Connor from school, Oliver should be able to get away every once in a while. But he never did.
"This ends today," she muttered as she squeezed her Mini between two SUVs in front of Starling Scoops.
Felicity paid for her scoop of mint chocolate chip and then chose a table while Connor directed the girl behind the counter in the making of his sundae. He was soft-spoken, yes, but he was also, she'd discovered, opinionated and a little picky. He knew what he liked, and he wasn't afraid to say so once he was asked.
"This ends today," she said again, pulling out her phone. She'd installed an app of her own design on Oliver's phone ages ago, something that would allow her to open the line whether or not he accepted her call. This was the first time she'd ever had to use it. She set her phone off to one side, hoping Connor wouldn't notice anything different.
He sat down across from her with a sundae that was twice as tall as its cup, drizzled with hot fudge and butterscotch. Amid the tower of whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, and nuts were two maraschino cherries.
"How'd you get the extra cherry?" she asked. "Did you turn on the Queen charm?"
Connor frowned, and she had to swallow down a laugh. His confused face was the exact twin of Oliver's confused face.
"No, I just asked," he said. "I asked if I could have one for you." He picked up a cherry by the stem and held it out to her.
Felicity just about melted into a puddle of feelings right there. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, so she bit her lip to keep them from falling.
"Connor—"
He sighed dramatically. "I know, I know, you love me. You don't have to get all sloppy about it every time."
That made her laugh. "True," she said, taking the cherry from him and popping it in her mouth.
"I don't think my dad loves me."
Felicity almost choked on the cherry. She had to cough a few times, which gave her a moment to consider her answer. Then she propped her chin on her hand and made sure he was looking into her eyes.
"Connor, do you trust me?"
"Sure," he said without hesitation, then slurped a bite of whipped cream off his spoon.
"Then you should believe me when I say your dad loves you more than anything. There aren't enough words in the world to describe how much he loves you."
"But it doesn't feel like it," Connor mumbled.
"I know." Felicity reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "But you know what else I know?"
He shrugged.
"I know your dad better than anyone else does."
It wasn't like when she'd said it to Ray. She was confident in her statement. No qualifiers, no room for debate. And the tiniest intake of breath over her phone's speaker made her stomach flutter.
"I know how he thinks," Felicity continued. "So I'm pretty sure that when it feels like he doesn't want to spend time with you or get to know you, what's really going on is that he's scared."
"Oliver?" Connor said, sounding skeptical. "But he's so tough. And big. How could he be scared of anything?"
"Pretty easily," said Felicity. "Becoming a parent is really scary, and he's only had two months to get used to the idea, not seven years." Her ice cream was starting to melt—she licked a big drip from the side of the cone. "Oliver's afraid of messing it up, and he's afraid you won't like him, but more than anything else, he's afraid that the people he loves will be taken from him."
Another sharp inhale from the other end of the line.
"So it's easier for your dad to work late and skip parent-teacher meetings and miss out on ice cream, because he thinks that if he doesn't get attached to you, he won't lose you."
There was the confused face again. "That doesn't make sense," said Connor.
"You're right. And it's too late anyway, because Oliver's loved you since before you were born."
"But he thought I died before I was born."
"That's true," she agreed, "but he loved you when he thought you were alive, and he loved you when he thought you were dead, and he loves you so much now that I can't even describe it."
"But how do you know?" Connor asked.
She took a deep breath. It felt like the conversation was happening on two different levels, like everything she said to Connor was for Oliver too. And for herself.
"If you say you trust me, then trust me," she replied. "I know Oliver, and I know what his love looks like, even when I—when you can't feel it."
Immediately her phone vibrated with an incoming text.
I do love him. So much. How can he doubt that?
He's not me. He doesn't understand, she typed back. So show him. Choose him.
She closed the app and dropped her phone back into her purse, turning her full attention back to Connor.
Not until they were headed to the loft with full bellies did Felicity begin to feel nervous. Had she said too much? Or not enough? As they reached the door, she'd even started questioning if she ought to have inserted herself into Connor's life at all. Maybe she should have stayed out of it and let Oliver figure things out on his own.
Then the door opened as she was putting her key into the lock (not the circumstances she would have wished for to get a key to Oliver's place), and Oliver was standing there, framed in the doorway.
"Sorry I missed ice cream," he said to Connor. "But I'm making us dinner."
Connor froze for a moment, staring at him. Then he was toeing out of his shoes and shrugging off his backpack as usual. "Great!" he said. "I'm starving." He followed Oliver inside.
Felicity came in behind them, kicking Connor's shoes out of the way and snagging his backpack by one strap. "I don't know how you can still be hungry," she called after the boy. "Your ice cream sundae was the size of Mount Everest."
"But I didn't eat the whole thing," Connor protested, following Oliver into the kitchen. "It started melting while we were talking, and then it got all soupy. So did your mint chocolate chip."
"I know. We'll have to do it again sometime, with lighter conversation and more ice cream-eating."
Felicity walked into the kitchen. The Iron Man backpack slid to the floor. So, she was pretty sure, did her jaw.
Oliver stood at the stove, with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up just past his elbows, and of course he picked today to wear that dark blue three-piece suit. The jacket hung off the back of one of the barstools, but he was still wearing the vest, damn him. He was super hot, and he was cooking, and yeah, it kind of smelled like the grilled cheese was a little too well done, but she wasn't going to say anything that would cause him to go change, or move, or do anything other than just stand at the stove, looking delicious.
She shook her head. This wasn't about her. It was about Connor. The idea of Oliver as a father was kind of her Kryptonite, and she knew that the minute he stepped up to be a dad to Connor, she'd be in trouble. But Connor needed her right now. Obviously, because he was looking at her with the confused face again.
Actually, Oliver was making the same face, staring at the pan on the stove as curls of smoke drifted upward.
That broke the spell. She laughed, pushing him back from the stove with a hip-check. She snatched up the pan, squeaked when she saw a tiny orange flame, and plunged the whole thing under the faucet, turning the water on full.
He stared at her. "You ruined our dinner."
She poked at the soggy mess with a fork. "No, I think you beat me to it." She looked over at Connor. "Pizza?"
He nodded. "Pizza."
"Oliver, could you get my purse? I left it by the door. I have that app on my phone with Connor's favorites saved in it."
Oliver dipped his head—it might have been a nod—and left the kitchen. Felicity turned to Connor.
"Okay, talk," she said. "Fast."
"What's going on?" asked Connor. "He's being so weird."
"I'm sure it feels like that, because you're used to him avoiding you. But if you get all weird about it, he'll feel bad, and he feels bad, he might—"
"He might change his mind," Connor said darkly.
"I don't think he will," she replied, "but he's skittish. Kind of like a wild squirrel. So just go with it and try not to spook him."
Oliver came back in soon enough to catch the end of Connor's smile. It made him smile, and oh dear Lord, she was in so much trouble.
When he'd been avoiding Connor, he'd been avoiding her too, and two months was long enough to almost start forgetting how Oliver made her feel just by being in the room.
"Get a hold of yourself, Smoak," she muttered. She took her purse from Oliver. "So I'll order you guys some pizza, and then I'm just . . . going to head home."
"You can't leave," Connor protested. "It's sleepover night."
"Oh, right. Well, we can reschedule it. Father-son time trumps sleepover night."
Connor's face fell. He leaned into Felicity and pulled her down so he could whisper in her ear. "But you promised. And he's being weird."
"Haven't you been planning sleepover night for two weeks?" asked Oliver.
"Yes." Connor pulled on her again. "Please."
His fingers were digging into her arm. How could she say no?
"Okay."
Connor slumped against her in relief.
"As long as it's okay with Oliver," she added. "I don't want to intrude on your time together."
"It's not, it's not," Connor said, pulling her toward the living room.
As he pulled her past Oliver, Oliver leaned forward just far enough that his lips brushed against her ear. "You are never an intrusion, Felicity."
She barely repressed a shiver, letting Connor tug her over to one of the couches.
"Wait," she told him. "My bag is still in the car, and I'm not having sleepover night in my work clothes."
"I'll get it," Oliver offered. "Stay here, order pizza."
Felicity handed him her keys, and he left the apartment. Connor climbed onto her lap and helped her order pizza with the app on her phone. When they were finished, she gave him a little squeeze and kissed the top of his head.
"How come you're so cuddly all of a sudden?" she asked him.
"I got tired of trying not to be."
Oh, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, she unbuckled the straps of her heels, slid them off, and stretched out her legs, propping her feet on the coffee table. Connor snuggled closer and pulled up Candy Crush on her phone.
"Are you going to play games on my phone, or are we going to watch a movie?"
"I'm going to get you past level 347, and then you're going to find us something to watch that isn't Disney," Connor said. "Something PG."
"PG? I don't know. You're seven."
Oliver came in, setting down her bag and her keys soundlessly, allowing the conversation to continue without interruption.
"Felicity, I read all the Harry Potter books already. I watched all the movies. Twice."
"But—"
"All the Spider-Man movies, everything with Iron Man in it," Connor continued. "I've even seen all the Lord of the Rings movies."
Felicity sighed. They'd been having this debate ever since the idea of a sleepover night first came up.
"Connor, they're just—they're so dark, parts of them. Especially the second one. I'm just not sure—"
"Pleeeeeeease." Connor wrapped his arms around her middle and batted his eyelashes at her. Oliver snorted.
"All right. I guess if you've seen the Lord of the Rings movies, it won't be—"
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"Should I be concerned?" Oliver asked.
"The Christian Bale Batman movies," Felicity said, tilting her head back to look at him. "We've been going back and forth on it for a while."
"I need my pillow." Connor jumped up and left the room.
"And I need my yoga pants," Felicity said. She dropped her legs from the coffee table and got up. "I have to ask, though. What brought this on?" She waved her hand around. "Being here when he got home, trying to cook dinner . . . actually being parental. Is it like temporary insanity, or is it going to last?"
He took a deep breath and let it out in a loud huff. "It's like—like waking up, I hope," he said. "Because you were right."
Felicity beamed. "That is my favorite thing to hear you say, besides my name."
"Oh, really. That's good to know." He was smirking.
"Anyway, what was I right about? I'm right about so many things. You'll have to be more specific."
He put his hand on her forearm. "You were right about Connor. I am afraid. I'm terrified, and I let it completely take hold. I let it get in the way of having a real relationship with my son."
His voice shook a little on the last word, so she put her hand over his and gave it a squeeze.
"My son. Is that ever going to sound normal?" he asked. "You know, like it's routine and not . . . not everything."
Felicity smiled. "I'm going to remind you of this moment the first time he gets grounded." She let go of him and reached for her bag, but Oliver stopped her, his hand still on her arm.
"Felicity."
Yup. Still her favorite.
"Thank you," he said.
She nodded. "Still want me to stay? You could have him all to yourself."
"Nah. I heard him say I'm being weird. It'll help him relax to have you here." He brought up his other hand to give her shoulder a little squeeze. "And I've missed you."
Ugh, he was so hard to resist when his eyes went all soft and hopeful. And she'd missed him too. So freaking much. Avoiding Connor had meant avoiding her. She was lonely without her best friend, her partner, her . . . .
That line of thinking was dangerous. She stepped around him, his hands dropping from her shoulders, and picked up her overnight bag. Then she turned around.
"Oh. Um. The times I've been here overnight, I usually change in your room. Because Connor has his room, and sometimes Thea's here, but you never are—I don't mean to pass judgment on you." She waved her free hand around. "Except I kind of do. I feel very judgey about the way you've been acting, but you're clearly turning a corner, so—"
Oliver did that head-tilt, half-chuckle thing he used to do when they first met and she'd go off on some tangent. "Feel free to change in my room," he said. "And if there's anyone who has any right to judge me for what I've done—or what I haven't done—it's you."
"But I don't like judging you. It makes me feel bad," she said. "I hate being angry with you."
"I know. Me too."
"I'm ready!" Connor said, running into the living room. He'd changed into his new favorite pajamas, the Doctor Who ones Felicity had gotten for him that looked the Tenth Doctor's brown pinstriped suit, and he was holding his pillow. "Why aren't you changed yet?" he asked Felicity.
"It's my fault," said Oliver. "I waylaid her."
Felicity held up her bag. "I'm on my way. Oliver, you should change too."
"Into pajamas? It's five o'clock. Barely."
"It's Friday," she replied. "And it's sleepover night. Sleepover night started as soon as we walked in."
She changed quickly in Oliver's room. She'd never liked it in there. He hardly spent any time in his bedroom, so it had zero personality. It felt—and kind of looked—like a hotel room, and it made her sad. Her bedroom was her sanctuary. Where was Oliver's?
They passed each other in the hallway outside his room. He took in the sight of her sleepover night ensemble, a pair of super-soft gray yoga pants and a pink shirt that said, My relationship status is Netflix, pajamas, and wine. Her socks were bright orange and fuzzy.
"Nice jammies," he said.
"You should see my Superman ones," she retorted, walking away with a smirk on her face and a little sway, too. Because the hem of her shirt only reached down to her hips, and these yoga pants made her butt look awesome.
Felicity paid for the pizza when it arrived, while Connor pulled the movie from Oliver and Thea's embarrassingly scant DVD collection. Oliver soon joined them, wearing a gray t-shirt and blue striped pajama pants. And his feet were bare, which was apparently a thing for her, because her stomach did another funny little flip. She looked away. Thank God there would soon be something on the TV for her to stare at.
"Remember that time I wore my Batman pajamas, Connor?"
"Yeah," said the boy. "It was last Thursday. And I'm still a little mad at you."
"Really? I thought all was forgiven," she said.
"What's this about?" Oliver asked.
Connor shrugged. "Felicity gets really bossy when she wears her Batman pajamas."
"It's true," she agreed. "They make me feel sassy." She leaned into Connor, and he tried to squirm away from her. "It was our first fight," she said with a fond sigh.
When the movie started, they were all a foot apart on the enormous couch in front of the equally enormous TV. After Connor had eaten three slices of pizza and guzzled down enough soda to cause Felicity to strategically plan bathroom breaks for good stopping places during the movie, he tucked his pillow under his head and curled into her side.
"You'll warn me about the scary parts, right?" he whispered.
"Absolutely," she said, unable to resist kissing the top of his head.
Two hours later, as the credits rolled on the screen, Connor was silent, not begging for the sequel as she'd expected. Felicity glanced at Oliver, who was giving her a thoughtful look she'd never seen before and couldn't decipher.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing." He shook his head. Was he blushing?
"It's not nothing. Tell me."
"It just looks right, that's all. You, holding him."
Oh, no, they were not going down that road tonight. That was a conversation they should have in regular clothes, at least three feet apart from each other, and preferably in public, which would keep her from using her Loud Voice and making a scene.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—Connor interrupted before Oliver could take that line of thought any further.
"I don't feel too good." He said it about two seconds before he sat up and vomited. Not enough warning.
Felicity scooped him up and carried him to the bathroom, leaving Oliver to deal with the mess and not feeling too bad about it. That would kill his confessional mood for sure.
After a while, Oliver joined them in the bathroom. Connor was leaning against the toilet with his arms propped up on the lid, and Felicity was rubbing his back. Oliver ran a washcloth under the faucet and handed it to Felicity. She laid it on the back of Connor's neck.
"What's going on, do you think?" Oliver asked her, his voice low. "A virus, maybe? Or just too much pizza?"
"No," Connor said. "I've been keeping a secret."
"Runs in the family," Felicity muttered. Oliver gave her a look, which she pointedly ignored.
"I'm lactose intolerant."
"What?" she and Oliver said in unison.
"Dairy makes me sick." Connor looked up. Felicity recognized that sad-puppy face. She'd seen it on Oliver more than once.
"So those stomachaches you've had—I thought that was just nerves! That you were worried about school!" Felicity exclaimed. "Are you telling me I've been slowly killing you with dairy for two months?" She clapped her hand to forehead. "And today! With the pizza and the ice cream. Oh, I'm the worst parent ever."
Her mouth dropped open, and she was trying to figure out how on earth she could fix that verbal faux-pas, when Oliver leaned past her to place his hand on Connor's back.
"You ready to move somewhere more comfortable, or do you think you need to stay close to the toilet for a while?" he asked the boy.
"I want to go to bed," Connor mumbled.
Oliver picked him up, one arm under Connor's butt like a seat while his legs dangled. Then he extended a hand to Felicity, which she took, and pulled her to her feet in one easy move.
While he put Connor to bed, Felicity used her phone to Google lactose intolerance. A shopping trip was in order, to replace the dairy items in the fridge with lactose-free versions.
Oliver had done a good job cleaning up while she'd been in the bathroom with Connor. The damp spot on the rug in front of the couch was the only sign anything out of the ordinary had taken place.
It was still too early for bed, and there was the problem of sleeping arrangements. Felicity had thought she'd just go home, since Oliver was there, but Connor had asked her to stay. So they sat on the couch, three feet apart, taking turns to check on Connor. Oliver channel-surfed, and Felicity sifted through work e-mails on her tablet.
It felt weird to be spending time with Oliver when Arrow business wasn't involved. It felt weird to be spending time with him, period. And the weight of everything they'd said and hadn't said was stifling. She needed wine.
Felicity had been the one to childproof the loft, so she knew where the booze was. She'd been the one to hide the practice bow, and the sketches for trick arrows, and the swords. Swords. Who leaves a sword lying around their apartment? She shook her head as she walked into the kitchen and opened the designated liquor cabinet.
She didn't realize Oliver had followed her until she was stretching on her tiptoes to reach for a wineglass. He came up next to her and grabbed two glasses easily. He didn't even have to extend his arm all the way.
"You seem very at home here," he said, setting the glasses on the counter.
She spoke as she poured. "It's Connor's home. So I'm here a lot."
"How many times have you stayed over?"
"A few," she said.
Four.
She handed him a glass. He tilted it toward and said something in Russian before taking a sip.
"Why are you asking?" she said, suddenly paranoid. "Do you want me to go? Because I said before, I can just go. You should be with your son."
"Felicity." He set down his glass and put his hand on her shoulder. "Stop over-thinking. Connor wants you here. I want you here."
They split the rest of the bottle of wine, saying little. Felicity tried to look busy on her tablet while Oliver browsed Netflix, ultimately choosing nothing, going back to a Mythbusters marathon. The wine made Felicity drowsy, which cut down greatly on the awkwardness of sleeping arrangements. She simply let Oliver point her in the direction of his bedroom.
She'd only slept in there once before, and she hadn't been able to bring herself to climb under the covers, choosing instead to curl up on top of the comforter with an afghan draped over her shoulders. It had just seemed too intimate to sleep where he slept when they were . . . whatever they were. In this maddening holding pattern where neither of them said anything but were both thinking very loudly.
This time, she was too groggy to care. Felicity turned back the covers and climbed in, breathing in deeply. That unique Oliver smell—leather, spicy aftershave, sweat, and something else that was just him—lulled her to sleep.
"Felicity? Can I lay down with you?"
She rolled onto her side and squinted at the clock. Middle of the night. She pushed back the covers and patted the mattress in front of her.
"Come here, nugget," she said.
He climbed onto the bed and mashed up against her. "This doesn't count as sleepover night, right?"
Felicity smiled against his neck. "Right. We'll do it again sometime when you're feeling better. Without the dairy."
He sighed happily and soon fell asleep. Felicity, now wide awake, laid there enjoying the moment, trying not to think about how things would change now that Oliver was getting involved in parenting.
Just as her thoughts began to spiral downward, remembering her remark in the bathroom about being Connor's parent, Oliver stepped into the room.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Hi."
Even in the dark, she could sense the smile on his face. When Oliver smiled, the air in a room changed.
"I went to check on him, and he wasn't in his room," he continued. "Figured this is where he'd end up."
A thought flew into her head, and just as quickly she pushed it back out again. Nope. No way, absolutely not . . . highly inappropriate under the circumstances . . . mixed messages all around . . . Oh, damn it all to hell. I'm doing it.
"Come here, Oliver."
She didn't have to say it twice. He crossed the room in two strides, pulled back the covers, and climbed in next to her. He bent his knees behind hers, pressed his chest to her back, draped his arm over the arm she had around Connor.
Part of her was screaming that she was spooning with Oliver, but the rest of her was wrapped in warmth and peace and those magnificent arms. The rest of her was really, really sleepy.
"Mmmm."
Felicity woke up slowly, coming into awareness bit by bit. She was still lying on her side. The weight of Connor's sleeping form against her was gone, and something else was different. She looked down.
Ah. That's a new development.
Both of Oliver's arms were around her, on top of her own, his fingers interlaced with hers. She could feel his breath lifting the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck. This was pretty much her new favorite thing. But she couldn't stay like this.
"Oliver."She squeezed his hands. "Oliver, it's morning."
He hummed into her shoulder, holding her tighter.
"Oliver." Felicity let go of his hands and squirmed out of his arms. The abrupt lack of his body heat sent a river of goose bumps rippling across her skin.
"It's Saturday," he mumbled, his eyes fluttering open. "No work. Nowhere to be."
Oh, now she was warm. His raspy morning voice set her face aflame.
She threw a pillow at him. "We are having a serious conversation today. Oliver."
"Mmmno, no being serious today."
"Yes, we are," she said, hands on her hips. "Because I want today to have been the first morning I've ever woken up in your arms, not the last one."
