"Felicity, could we not argue about this anymore tonight?" Oliver hadn't expected to hear her voice come over the comms tonight.

"Sure. We can not argue about it as soon as you stop being so pig-headed and accept Walter's offer." Felicity had been working nights at City Hall with Digg. Refortifying the computer systems required rebooting them several times and it was easier with no one around. Digg was going over building plans and security protocols before putting them into practical use during the day. Neither of them had been to the Cave in almost a week. He hadn't seen her face to face since he told her about his new business plan.

"Well my pig-head is still recovering from the nun chucks," Oliver had just apprehended a suspect that had escaped police custody.

"Good. Maybe that deranged ninja turtle knocked some sense into you." She said she just popped by for her spare tablet. That was almost two hours ago.

"Felicity. Please?" Oliver would let her talk another two hours too, so long as it wasn't about this.

She rolled through his pleas. "What are you thinking? What happened to rehabbing the Queen image? Bolstering public opinion and hedging resistance for when you take control of QC again?"

It was true he said he wanted to look respectable and responsible the next time he sat behind that desk but the respectable jobs didn't keep arrows in the quiver let alone buy the family company back. And he meant what he said to Walter. "I was thinking that image shouldn't be made up of handouts from my step-father."

"So you're not okay with implied nepotism but you are okay with implied racketeering?"

He sighed loudly, exasperatedly, in her ear. "My past is checkered enough. I don't think anyone will be surprised." Mob money would be par for the course as far as the public was concerned. What he didn't like was how disappointed she sounded.

"Oliver-" she'd used almost all her logic by now.

"I know Bratva Front Man isn't what you want for me. But it's a lot more legal than this." His voice came from the bottom of the stairs and not her earpiece now. He set his bow and quiver down, pulled off his mask and gloves, and came up beside her where she sat at her desk. "Anatoli is my friend. He has connections we might need. I owe him my life. And John's."

There it was something with which she couldn't possibly argue. And once she turned to look at him her carefully chosen rhetoric would likely be lost. She pulled the comm from her ear and set it down trying to prolong the moment before she had to concede. She slowly swiveled to face him.

Something flashed behind his eyes when he took in her appearance. She couldn't be aware something akin to fire rolled in his stomach as well. "What the hell are you wearing? Take that thing off!"

"What?" It came out of her mouth after a long, disbelieving blink along with a gust of laughter. Felicity pushed back her chair wheeling away from him but making up the distance again when she stood. She quickly glanced down but she knew it wasn't her sheer, pin tuck pleat blouse or her lace trimmed skater skirt he was talking about. It was the red hoodie zipped over the top, grabbed out of necessity when she came down the stairs. "It's fine. Roy doesn't need this one anymore."

"Take it off," Oliver glared at her only mildly aware of what had set him off but seething none the less.

"No." She folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes got impossibly bluer when she was mad at him. Maybe it was his own eyes reflecting off hers.

His stance mimicked hers. "Felicity!" It wasn't logical. It was very much emotional Oliver realized. And there wasn't any way to say without sounding utterly crazy that he didn't want her wearing some other guy's hoodie. More than that it was what Roy wore, until recently, to battle in the streets and it was symbolic of something that he didn't want touching her, not any more than it already had. That was reason enough for him to want it off her, but her passionate resistance sent a wave of heat through him and brought another reason to mind.

"Maybe that nun chuck did knock something loose," her tone lightened and her right hand was rising to test the mark on his temple when something else caught Oliver's attention.

The cuff of the sweatshirt was loose on her wrist, gravity did the work. As her arm rose it slid enough down her forearm to reveal the white medical gauze wrapped around her arm. No one could have seen the tide change in Oliver, still too tense, still gritting his teeth to fight something back, brow crease casting shadows over his eyes and a form of anger hid a feeling that had shifted from his chest to his gut. But it was gentle when he took her hand and turned it palm up trying to see just how much she was hiding. "What's this?"

Felicity was still but her pulse jumped under Oliver's thumb. They both knew she wouldn't lie so her eyes were left momentarily tracing a crack in the floor, buying time. When she looked up at last she pulled her arm away to hide it behind her back, his grasp too light to keep it. And the only response he got was a shrug of apologetic avoidance. Then she took a couple steps back and a slow dance began. He advanced. Another two steps back for her, one stride for him. He locked his eyes on hers, now she couldn't look away. It wasn't anger or fear that she saw but need, the need for her to be real and whole. His arms hung heavy at his sides, always carrying too much weight on his shoulders, but his eyes reached for her with every step. She thought how easy it be to just step forward instead.

The spell was broken as she backed into the cold hard metal of a table in the med bay with a little gasp.

Oliver stopped in front of her, waiting for something, his face still resembling stone. His voice wasn't much better. "Take it off or I will."

"Oliver Queen wants to tear my clothes off." It wasn't what she would have chosen to say but once it was out she didn't get a chance to be embarrassed. It broke the tension. She saw a familiar blank look of shock on Oliver's face as he turned away.

"You have no idea."

Felicity shook her head trying to believe it. It was so much less than a whisper said in the direction of a wall. But he definitely said it causing what she could only describe as a hot flash to flame suddenly through her entire body.

She finally did as he asked, unzipping the sweatshirt, discarding it on the table behind her. Oliver wheeled the supply cart beside her. His eyes took their time scanning each extremity, finally coming back the only damage he could find. Five or six inches of her forearm were wrapped and his stomach lurched when he saw the bright red of oxygenated blood coming through the layers of white.

"Sit down," he half barked but hadn't meant to. "Please," he added much more softly. Felicity braced her hands behind her on the table and no sooner did she push up but her injured arm buckled. Oliver's hands were at her waist before her balance had a chance to suffer. He lifted her swiftly, effortlessly, like a danseur noble lifts a ballerina, and set her delicately on the table barely giving her enough time to register the effect, knowing only that she wanted more.

More. She'd already gotten more. More than she'd thought to expect. More than she'd thought he would ever give. Oliver had been pretty clear last year about his intentions, until he wasn't and absolutely nothing was clear. Every day now he blurred another boundary line. At times it felt like a dare. If that was the case, she didn't trust herself to know when the game was over. And if it wasn't a game?

When her mind cleared and she looked ahead at last, Oliver was all she could see. He completely filled her vision, well mostly his still dark green chest. She hadn't noticed when he stepped in front of her or when her knees parted so he could stand between them, the generous bell of her skirt keeping things decent. She had looked up because she felt his fingers wrapping around her arm, one hand at her wrist the other at her elbow. He was literally holding her at arm's length. It was closer than she thought.

Without a word he started to unravel the gauze, simply concentrating on the task. Each inch brought Felicity closer to another confrontation so she fixed her eyes randomly on the zipper of his jacket. She felt the pressure from the bandage lessening and cool air on her previously mummified skin. Then Oliver's hand tightened around her wrist. A stream of white floated like ribbon to the floor on her periphery.

"Felicity!" He said it under his breath with the inflection of a curse.

She finally looked at her arm. Something like a stab wound started about two inches below her elbow, but it was rounder, jagged. Then it trailed down her arm at less depth about four inches, tapering off. It was bleeding again. And all the way around it was inflamed, puffy and bright pink. Heat pulsated from it. Felicity closed her eyes to get away from the sight and felt a tear slid down her cheek.

"It hurts?" He sounded like himself at last, the edge in his voice dulled with something sweet just under the surface. He knew the answer.

"Yes." It was a thick whimper and a relief to admit what she'd ignored and hidden all day. Her eyes were still closed when Oliver's free hand brushed her cheek, light and quick, gone in a second.

Now she watched as he pulled the supply cart closer with his foot setting her arm on its level top. "You need stitches. And antibiotics." He could give her both. He started opening drawers and taking out the items he would need including two syringes which her eyes fixed on immediately. She needed a distraction. Oliver could give her that too.

He knew he shouldn't.

But it would effectively erase even the idea of needles from her wondrous brain. Knowing her, it would make any coherent thought a thing of myth.

And he still had two emotions threatening to tear his chest open at present. Better to give into this one.

So Oliver put his hand on her knee. His thumb swirled incongruous circles around her knee cap until her eyes met his and he stilled trying to read the widening of her eyes. Like his own just then, they gave nothing away. He let his hand continue slowly up the outside of her thigh, lightly increasing the pressure of his fingertips on her smooth skin. She didn't flinch when he passed easily under the hem of her skirt. He could be to her hip in a second. All he had to do was pull her toward him. His eyes flicked to her parted lips and he saw rather than heard his name on her tongue.

"Ow!"

He was right. She had no idea what his other hand was up to. She hadn't seen the needle full of antibiotics and it found a home in her other thigh before she could protest. The hand up her skirt dragged reluctantly back to view but he made sure his fingers ran the length of her skin again, tortuously light.

"That's not fair," she argued as her face grew pink.

Oliver extracted the needle. "I don't have to play fair. Not when you're sitting in front of me bleeding. And lying." He knew that was a bit unfair. His omissions were never lies to her. But she was deliberately hiding it from him. There was a reason. He wasn't sure how much longer he could wait for her to explain on her own. He already had a hefty catalog of ways she could get hurt stored in his brain and he didn't like any of them. They were both contemplating their options, staring at her open arm.

Taking her wrist again, Oliver picked up the second syringe, Felicity immediately tugging against his hold, biting down on her lower lip, and shaking her head. "Trust me. You want it numb." Her head turned away and he took it for consent. He was done in seconds, the only needle left the one he would use to stitch her arm and she wouldn't feel that. But he took more time with it than he would have on himself, fairly certain his well acquired skill could rival any surgeon. It wasn't a clean cut though, the edges were rough and jagged.

"This didn't happen with Digg and Walter," he appraised. They would have taken her to a doctor. "And you would have told me, if it was just an accident." He hoped she would at least.

She finally spoke. "It was just an accident."

"When?" The wound was healing albeit badly.

"Two days ago."

Oliver tied off the last stitch. "What?"

"Broken rebar," she replied. She was carefully watching his profile now catching the tightening signs of recognition and displeasure. She was also thinking about irony and one of the first conversations she'd ever had with Digg.

He could feel Felicity's eyes on him. "Where?" He knew what she was going to say but he held his breath trying to keep his anger in with it. He'd asked her not to go back there, clearly with good reason.

"The Foundry," Felicity said it anyway. It had to be the whole truth with Oliver.

"You're . . . it's not safe down there." His teeth ground together against his words.

She was genuinely surprised nothing flew across the room. Not because his temper was so legendary but because he had been so restrained thus far and lacked better channels for his emotions. They still came out in uncoordinated lumps at inopportune moments. If he was mad at her, he was hiding it better than ever as he carefully redressed her arm.

"I took Roy with me," she offered.

"Felicity. That doesn't exactly make me feel better at this point." Oliver finished the dressing. One look into Felicity's eyes was all he could take. She was relieved, remorseful, but hadn't told him the whole story yet. He took a couple steps back, his hooded jacket feeling suddenly constrictive. He finally peeled it off and tossed it aside. He caught her running her tongue over her bottom lip before she shyly ducked her head. He'd seen her embarrassed, flustered, mortified even but until a few weeks ago he didn't know she could be shy. It highlighted her youth, her innocence, her vulnerability. It made Oliver more desperate to protect her.

"I didn't want to tell you unless it panned out." She had the same instinct toward him.

Oliver knew exactly how far he was willing to go for that instinct. If she had even a fraction of that – well it wasn't a comforting thought. He could feel the tingle rise under his skin. The need to move, to run, to shoot arrows into anything colliding with the need to pull her into his arms, burrow into the crook of her neck, to feel, see, smell nothing but her until he couldn't remember what lay beyond her. And it all felt like electricity. He took another step back.

"There isn't anything down there worth the risk," Oliver could think of few ways to say it plainer.

"There could have been," her answer was firm. She had gone back to the Foundry because she made a promise to Oliver, one she'd never said aloud but which she meant to keep.

"Explain that," he verged on demanding again.

Her face contorted slightly at the prospect words coming to her lips with force but then stopping before they could be hurled his way. Felicity didn't want to fight. Her eyes welled and she swallowed back the bulk of her emotion, Oliver realizing in an instant her reluctance was because she didn't want to hurt him. It was the same look she wore when she told him Malcolm Merlyn was Thea's father. He didn't know what to expect now.

Felicity took a deep breath. "When your mother – died," she put it as kindly as she could. "You were just gone. For days. We didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do."

She had no idea how sorry he was for that, cowering away from her and Thea when he should have been stronger.

"I did know that I wasn't about to lose another Queen." The sadness had vanished, replaced by resolution the kind she never seemed to be short of and he always marveled at. He couldn't imagine where it came from.

"So after the funeral, at the mansion, I snuck upstairs and hid about a dozen trackers in Thea's stuff, shoes, jewelry, cell phone. I've been searching for weeks, trying to get a signal on even one of them but they've all been dead or dead ends. There was one left. It was a long shot. I needed something from the Foundry to track it. It didn't work. There was nothing to tell. Which is why I didn't." She had learned to compartmentalize a lot the past couple years but usually they were Oliver's secrets. She didn't like having her own. Felicity instantly felt better.

Oliver did not. "You did this for me." She'd gotten hurt. It didn't matter how minor the injury.

"No." She wouldn't play into his guilt. It was hardly ever founded in reality. "I did this," she raised her arm at him, "because I am a silly clumsy woman who should not wear four inch heels in condemned steel factories." That earned a shake of his head but not quite a laugh. She had lightened the mood.

The look she gave him now was steady but soft. "For you, Oliver," she started and something in her voice when she said his name made his heart falter. "I will find Thea."

She hadn't diffused anything though.

His throat was burning. His chest was pounding. And his feet were moving something more powerful than anger or fear taking over. Cutting the distance in less than a second, bringing her face up to his with both hands, Felicity only seeing he wanted something from her he'd never asked for before. Her fingers were tentative, fluttering to his chest. Her stomach growing cold and empty as her blood rushed south. She could feel the heat of Oliver's mouth almost against hers.

Then one hand trailed down her neck, pushing her away she realized. Both Oliver's hands came to rest just above her knees. His forehead pressed against hers and he exhaled, breathless before it even began.

He couldn't keep leading. He felt sick pulling away from her. He'd closed his eyes. If he looked at her she'd be confused or worse, understanding. There was only one thing he needed her to understand.

"Felicity," she had exasperated him from day one. "I got a lot more than I bargained for. Walking into your office that day. You saw right through me. You see everything. Do you really not see this? It's right in front of you." She'd given him an out that day on the beach that he still didn't understand, unless he'd been wrong. Or she was too scared. "I am right in front of you."

He offered himself up again, hopefully vanquishing any lingering doubts.

Felicity knew. It was a dare. But it wasn't a game.

Her hands clenched his t-shirt. She tilted her chin up until her lips could just brush his, soft and slow. He didn't make a move to respond or even keep her close as she inched away. Dammit, Oliver!

She tugged with her good arm, kissing him hard, pulling back so she had just enough space to tease his lips with a flick of her tongue. When she crashed back into him, his hands slid up and his fingers dug into her hips bringing her to the edge of the table. Finding that she needed more leverage, she snaked her arm around his neck and was rewarded by his tongue running over the roof of her mouth. Oliver let one hand travel up her rib cage and around to her back, bringing her even closer so there wasn't even space for air between them. She kissed him until her lungs burned and only then broke away. But his lips quickly found a home on her neck, his stubble leaving a visible trail almost to her clavicle making her skin tingle even more. She tasted like sunshine too.

Felicity finally grabbed him behind both ears and brought his lips back to hers so she could kiss him deeply, sweetly and they sighed into each other before trying to release each other. But Oliver found both his arms wound tightly around her waist and Felicity's knees vise gripped his hips. They were both surprised to find she was about six inches off the table.

"Oh," she smiled against his chest before loosening her grip just enough that he could ease her down.

His hands planted on either side of her, letting the metal cool his palms. His eyes clear blue, he looked at her like he never dared to before. "No more getting hurt. Do you understand?"

Felicity's fingers came up to brush the growing lump at his temple and she tilted her head in response. He cocked his head and stared back trying to hold his ground but quickly breaking into a grin.

"So," he bent closer bringing his lips to her jaw, then high on her cheek bone. "Round one is a draw, I guess." Oliver's breath tickled her ear and sent a shiver down her arms. His arms circled low around her waist and brought her to her feet, his shoulders slouching to keep his arms where they were, knees bending a little. "You know you remind me of an assistant I used to have, but I think she was taller." He glanced down at her flat clad feet.

"You wouldn't think it was so funny if your roommate hid half your shoes mister. All I got is ballet flats and flip flops." She was sincerely agitated.

At least Roy did something right. Oliver couldn't help laughing, letting it fade naturally. "Maybe we could-" But his affection for his protégé was quickly drowned out by said protégé's voice booming through the stairwell.

"Fe-lic-i-ty!"

Oliver didn't stop her as she slipped from his arms. He even increased the distance between them. Her hands started to fiddle nervously in front of her.

"Late night, all you can eat waffles and noodles!" Roy was gleeful and half undressed by the time he hit the bottom of the stairs. "Come on. Sin's holding our spot in line, but if she draws blood again, she's banned." He ducked behind a pillar, shedding his leather, leaving Oliver and Felicity to stare at one another each searching for words.

She shrugged at him.

Roy reappeared in street clothes, whipping a set of nun chucks around in his hand. "I'm keeping these." He smiled and was on his way back to the stairs.

Felicity took a step toward Oliver.

"Smoak! Let's go!"

"Go. I'll see you tomorrow," Oliver said as a hint of a mask started to take over his face, his smile not lighting his eyes.

"I have a couple more days' worth of work for Walter," she felt a hollow start in her stomach that stretched to her heart. And apparently her face.

Oliver was in front of her, taking her hand. "We'll figure it out."

Roy was still calling for her on the stairs.

"This is real right? Because this is definitely something my mind could have worked up. It's pretty vivid but-"

Oliver answered by pulling her to his chest. His hand was rough on the back of her neck and then his lips were hard on hers, intentionally unsweet. Definitely not the kind of kiss her mind could make up without a reference. No, it was the kind of kiss that made her want his hands all over her and she could barely make her own respond.

He let her breath. "This is real," he promised.