The fogginess that usually comes with waking up clouds Felicity's mind as she blinks towards alertness. But it doesn't dissipate. Nothing clears.

Confusion settles over her like a blanket. What happened? Where is she? She has no idea. She tries to search her memory and finds… nothing. Absolutely nothing. A mild sense of panic sinks in at that. Who is she? What happened to her?

She scrambles to her feet as fast as she can, moving to the center of the room and wrapping her arms around herself as she scans her surroundings. She's dressed, she notes immediately, which is definitely a plus considering she has absolutely no idea what's going on and she's not alone in the room. Belatedly, she realizes she'd been asleep half on the bed and holding hands with someone else. He's more sluggish than her in waking up and she can't see him well, but her hand is still warm from where his fingers had been tangled with hers. She doesn't know what that means, though. She doesn't remember anything.

"Who are you?" she asks as the man rubs his eyes and sits up, giving her her first good look at him. "Holy shit you're good looking."

He pauses and looks at her with some mixture of surprise and amusement. This only serves to make him more attractive, which is beyond ridiculous.

"I mean… I didn't mean to say that," she backtracks, flustered with reddening cheeks. "That doesn't matter. I mean, probably it does to you. And maybe me. I don't know. That's not the point."

"There's a point?" he asks, voice rumbly and sleep-laden and unfairly giving her chills she definitely doesn't need.

"Who are you? That's the point," she clarifies.

"Who are you?" he counters.

"I… I asked you first," she says uneasily, because admitting she has no idea who she is at the moment seems unwise.

"I'm…" he starts before his face draws into a frown.

"You don't know, do you?" she realizes aloud, oddly feeling more at ease with him knowing that. "Oh thank God."

His brow knits in response, but he doesn't say anything, instead watching her warily.

"I mean, not 'Thank God' like thank God you don't know who you are. I mean 'Thank God' like thank God I'm not the only one. I don't know who I am either," she tells him after a beat, taking a step toward him before stopping herself abruptly. "I just woke up a moment before you did and… I don't remember anything."

"Me either," he admits cautiously after a moment. "What happened to us?"

"I don't know, but we'll figure it out," she tells him with certainty. "I think we're on a ship."

There are no windows in the room and the ceiling is curved like it's reflecting the shape of a ship. And the walls… they're more like bulkheads than your typical wall. She's fairly confident they're on a ship, anyhow.

"Whose room is this?" he asks, standing and skimming it.

"I think it's ours," she says with a little surprise, looking through the open closet door to see both men and women's clothes hanging in it.

"I think you're right," he replies, but his voice is a little distant, like he's turned away from her.

She turns to look at him and follows his gaze to the top of a dresser where he's flipped open two small jewelry boxes. There are wedding bands staring back at her. Metaphorically staring, of course. Not with actual eyes, though the rock on the engagement band is possibly as large as her eye. And… wow.

"Oh wow," she manages, as that's apparently the only thing in her brain at the moment.

"Yeah…" he echoes, eyes fixed on her instead of the rings.

"We're married?" she asks him, as though he actually has the answer.

"Looks like," he agrees, openly appraising her as he speaks.

"Good job, self!" she cheers under her breath, but loudly enough that he clearly hears it if the amusement on his stupidly handsome face is anything to go by.

"You're… you haven't seen yourself yet," she offers up. "Trust me, you won the genetic lotto."

"You haven't seen yourself yet, either," he reminds her, his voice weighty and his gaze intense.

"Oh…" she echoes, because she honestly hadn't even thought of that and the implication that a man who looks like he does finds her attractive sort of short-circuits her brain. "Why don't we have a mirror?"

"How would I know?" he asks her with a short laugh. "I don't remember anything."

"Well, we're buying ourselves a mirror," she announces firmly.

"Okay," he agrees easily.

"Okay?" she asks.

"Honey, I'm pretty sure I'd be happy to get you anything you want," he says with a small laugh.

She blinks in response because… wow that just… that doesn't quite compute. Server down. Operating system failure. Irrecoverable hard drive crash.

"Honey?" she asks, because while that's far from the only thing in what he's just said that spawns questions in her mind, but it's the first thing and she's got to start somewhere.

He shrugs almost sheepishly and it's so endearing that that honestly can't quite stand it.

"I don't know your name," he reminds her.

"But you'd get me anything I want?" she asks blankly.

"There's… something about you," he starts, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip before he continues. "I've known you for all of five minutes at most and already I know there's no one I'd rather lose my memory with. You're effortlessly charming. And funny. And beautiful. And I just… I want to keep that smile on your face."

"Oh…" she breathes, wide-eyed and more than a little thrown. "Oh that's… wow."

"Yeah," he agrees.

They sort of just stare at each other for a moment. Her skin tingles and the air crackles and they don't even know each other but the atmosphere is absolutely electric with attraction and she frankly can't believe her luck. She has to have the best case of amnesia ever.

"I, um, I don't think we've been married long," she says after a moment, breaking the silence but not the tension.

"Why's that?" he asks, his voice softer than before.

"No groove on my ring finger," she says, holding up her left hand.

He looks to his own hand and finds it similarly unmarked.

"We should get to work on changing that," he tells her a little roughly.

"You want me to wear the ring?" she asks.

"Yes," he says, more firmly than she'd expected. "I want you to wear the ring… if you're willing."

"Yes," she agrees, heart pounding furiously in her chest as she wishes she could recall what it was like the last time he asked her to wear an engagement ring.

He doesn't look to the ring box as he grabs it, nor does he look at her hand as he takes it. His eyes are fixed on hers. She can scarcely breathe for the intensity in his gaze. And, God, how can they be this intense? She doesn't even know him. He doesn't know her. But there's something innate in them that draws them together, the pull is magnetic and she's not sure she could back away if she wanted to. And she doesn't want to.

The ring slides easily onto her slender finger, an easy fit that feels strange for the weight of it. He keeps his eyes on her, unwavering and burning as he pulls her hand up and kisses the inside of her wrist in a way that could be totally chaste but really, really isn't.

"Oh," she breathes out in surprise.

"I would very much like to know what it's like to kiss my wife, if that's okay with you," he says with so much focused intensity that she shivers at his words.

She responds - she definitely responds - but she doesn't do it with words.

She rises up on her toes and brackets his face with her hands, her eyes searching his. It's slow. There's some hesitation on both of their parts, a sense that everything is going to change, the delicious air of anticipation saturating the room.

It starts softly, barely a whisper of his lips against hers as they both close the gap between them, but it's still enough to jolt her to her core. Even at the most innocent touch of his lips to hers, she feels it everywhere. It resonates through her body in a way she wouldn't have thought was possible if she weren't currently experiencing it.

"Oh," she breathes against his lips.

He groans in response and some measure of control slips as he takes the parting of her lips as an invitation to turn things a little less chaste.

She's not exactly complaining.

It's overwhelming in the best way possible. Suddenly he has a hand buried in her hair and the other hand pressed against her lower back, drawing her body tightly against his. There's an urgency that takes over, a sense of want and need that holds sway over them both. It thunders in her blood and surges in her veins and she thinks she could do this forever. She wants to do this forever. Because everything in her screams that this is right, this is right, and even if she doesn't remember the hows or the whys of it all, he is hers and she is his and that is absolute with or without their memories.

They should be figuring out who they are, what happened to them, how to get their memories back. Somewhere in her mind, she knows this. But, for the life of her she can't care about those things right now. Not when her husband is kissing her like he's breathing life into her body and his hand has drifted down a bit lower to her ass. He's very, very obviously as taken with this moment as she is, if the press of his erection to her belly is any indication - and, let's be fair here, it totally is.

His fingers flex against her ass as he pulls her even more firmly against him and she flat out whimpers against his lips because it's perfect. He's perfect. She doesn't remember anything, but she's fully committed to the idea that this is one of the best days of her whole goddamned life.

He's breathing heavily and his pupils are blown wide when he pulls back abruptly, but doesn't put any distance at all between them. She's damned near panting, which would be sort of embarrassing if she weren't a mile past caring. Besides… it's not like he's in better shape than her.

"I didn't mean to get so… I'm sorry," he offers, watching her lips hungrily as he speaks.

"I'm not," she says immediately. "Sorry, that is. At all. That was…"

"Yeah," he agrees, his hand travelling back up to rest against the curve of her back.

"We're really good at that," she says unnecessarily. "I mean, like really good at it."

"I'd bet we're good at a lot more than just kissing," he tells her, his fingers twitching against her back like he's actively fighting moving them somewhere less wholesome.

He's right. She's sure he's right. And even just the suggestion of doing more than kissing him is enough to make her whole body vibrate with want. But she cannot sleep with someone when neither one of them have any memories. She can't. Even if she really, really wants to.

She rises up on her toes and kisses him again, soft and long and a little teasing. His hands go to her face this time and she feels him relax a little against her, his body slouching into hers like it wants to curl around her, hold her as close as possible. She can't say she really minds that idea.

This goes on for a while. They lose themselves in it, in each other. And she utterly revels in her quality life choices, even if she doesn't remember making them.

"Mmm, I don't know-" she starts pulling back slightly.

Her words, however, are abruptly cut off by their door opening.

It is instinctive, though she doesn't know why, for her husband to pull her protectively behind him as he faces the door, looking alert and on edge.

"Who are you?" he asks sharply, eyeing the three people in the doorway.

"That's a damned good question," the large, dark-skinned man at the head of the group replies. "We have no idea."