Chapter 9: Off Balance
Felicity curled her feet under her and looked at the small Christmas tree in the corner of the room. She toyed with the phone in her hands. She put it down and picked up her coffee, taking a sip. She wished it wasn't Christmas morning, so she could go to the office instead of having an entire day on her hands with nothing to do. Her life had been reduced to fourteen hour work days, a single hour long self defense lesson every night, and countless hours staring at her walls. She missed the sense of purpose she had felt while working with Oliver and Digg. Even the "emergencies" at her new job were far from the life and death situations she had become accustomed too. Dear God, who would have thought. Felicty Smoak, adrenaline junkie.
She put the coffee down and picked the phone back up. She dialed Diggle.
"Merry Christmas, John," she said when he picked up.
"Hey you. Merry Christmas back."
She had been calling Diggle at least once a week, since Oliver had sent her away. She got tired of trying to gleen information from the news, and decided it was less exhausting to go to the source. She didn't have any intention of trying to talk to Oliver. She imagined that would not go over well.
They made small talk about the weather and their plans for the day.
"So . . . " she said lamely.
"He's the same, Felicity." Diggle said.
That wasn't good. Diggle had told her, shortly after Oliver had sent her away, that Oliver was acting more like he had in the beginning, when he had first come home from the island. He didn't confide in Diggle, and he did very little outside of his work as CEO and the Arrow. Diggle had also kept her up to date on the strange state of affairs with Moira Queen. They had quietly discussed Oliver's theory that the verdict seemed like too good of news, and Felicity had poked around in the financials for the jurors, but had found nothing of note.
"He's wearing your gift, though," Digg added.
That, at least, was a good sign. The worst part of all of this was that she knew Oliver had to be hurting, and there was nothing that she could do about it. She could try and force her way back in to his life, but until he decided he would allow it, it would do no good.
"I'm so tired Digg," she said. "I just want to come home."
"I don't think he's ready yet."
"I know. I wish he'd hurry up. Stubborn idiot."
Digg chuckled. "Take care, Felicity."
"You too. I'll call on Sunday, like always."
"I would expect nothing less."
She hung up and clasped the cell phone between both her hands, looking at it. Before she lost her nerve, she dialed Oliver's number.
She was absolutely shocked when he actually picked up. She assumed he would send her straight to voicemail.
"Felicity," he said, just like he had in the past, when she had called to pass along a new piece of information. There was an edge to his voice that she couldn't decipher.
"Um, wow, you picked up," she fumbled. "Why did you pick up? I wasn't expecting you to pick up."
"Then why did you call?"
"Because it's Christmas, Oliver. I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas."
"Thank you," he said. "And for the gift too. And for reminding me how woefully inept my security system is."
She laughed. She couldn't help herself. God, but it was good to hear his voice. This was more than she had hoped for. Maybe her gift had done more good than she had thought. "It's only useless against me," she joked.
The moment passed, and he was silent.
"Oliver . . . " she began.
"Please don't, Felicity," he whispered. She could hear his heart is his voice then—the pain and the regret. "I don't think I could bear it."
Her heart stopped. Never in a million years did she think he would speak about this out loud. "Then why are we doing this Oliver? " She closed her eyes, and said the words she was afraid would make him hang up. She said it as fast as she could, so that she could get it all out before he hung up on her. "I want to come home. I miss having purpose in my life. I miss Digg and I miss you."
She waited for the click, and it didn't come. She heard his ragged breathing on the other end of the line. "It has to be this way," he said finally. "You know why."
"NOT REALLY!" She yelled, surprising herself. "I really don't know why you are being so stupid! And this is stupid Oliver. You packed up my stuff and sent me away without even asking me what I thought. It was high handed and pretentious and I deserve more than that! I should have a say in what I do with my life!"
Silence. No click. No comment. Just silence.
"Are you still there?" She asked.
"Yes," he growled. " Are you done yet?"
"Um, if I say no, are you going to hang up on me?"
He snorted in to the phone. "Does it matter?"
The callous response made her close her eyes. "Of course it matters. If I had thought you would have listened to me, I would have called a long time ago. Maybe I wouldn't have even walked away when you told me to."
"You almost died, Felicity." When he said it, it was quiet.
"Yes," she agreed. "And you almost die pretty regularly. So what?"
"That's different . . . " he started.
"Not to me, Oliver." She closed her eyes again. If she was going for it, she may as well go all in. All of the cards on the table. "It matters. You matter. You sending me away, it doesn't change that."
More silence. She waited him out. "Maybe not," he finally answered. "But it keeps you safe. That's all that matters."
"Safe sucks," she said succinctly.
Amazingly, he chuckled. "Yes, it does, it would seem."
"Let me come home," she said. "Please, Oliver."
"No, Felicity."
"Please . . . " God, was she begging? She should have felt ashamed, but she didn't know how else to get through to him.
"I have to go."
"No!" She felt like a child, grasping for one last chance to see a cherished object.
"Merry Christmas, Felicity."
And then he was gone.
She threw the phone across the room. Stupid, noble, damaged, misguided, heroic, idiotic, incredible man. She let the tears come.
