AN I want to thank each and every one of you that commented on this last chapter. I enjoyed reading your thoughts as always, but I felt especially touched at hearing how deeply Felicity's struggles impacted you all. It's not only encouraging to see that you're confident enough to do this, but also delightful because you found my story to not only be honest but also helpful :)

ALSO WE ARE HALF WAY THROUGH.

Oliver leaned back in his chair, smiling as Lyla expounded on one of her misadventures in private security.

"Frat boy's trying to schmooze his way out of the problem, trying to threaten me, saying crap like 'Do you know who my father? Do you know? He knows the governor!' Like…guy, you signed the contract. It said if you try to commit any felonies while in the presence of one of my people, they will stop you. He's shot up with something, is trying to steal the armored car to go buy Big Belly Burger. Obviously there will be problems."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Who else did he name drop?"

"Well, there was the governor, 'a guy who knows a senator'—cool, he knows a guy who knows a guy. I was in the army, I can say that about the president, and it doesn't mean much—but he just kept going back to 'Do you know who my father is?!' He probably would have cited Elvis Presley if he thought it would stop me from information his parents."

"Tell me he tried to bribe you," Diggle said with a snort.

"He tried to bribe me!" Lyla said, throwing her hands up. Oliver scoffed, anticipating the unpleasant surprise this nameless rich kid had in store. "He didn't seem to understand the concept that more zeroes on his check wouldn't make this go away. I mean, I just want the kid to stop, and him buying me off isn't going to fix anything. If suing his ass is the way to do it, then fine."

Lyla, wise woman that she was, had invested in very good lawyers. She had the fire power to go up to bat against her wealthy clients in a court room.

"He literally deflated when I mentioned going to his father. One word of that and he got angry, then he got scared. Geez, I thought he was going to burst into tears. What made him think he could do all of that, then swagger into my office with a wad of cash to make it all go away? He nearly put one of my men in the hospital." Lyla shook her head, and ate an exasperated bite of salad.

"Habit," Oliver said with a wry smile. "He's probably too desperate to not get in trouble with his parents to think straight."

"What does he have to fear, though?" Lyla asked, looking curiously at Oliver. "I mean, I get that a lot of rich kids are afraid of what their parents will do, but I don't get why. What's got rich kids running scared?"

"Depends," he sighed, settling back into his seat. "Usually worried about getting cut of, or being shipped off to the boonies to work on a farm, or something."

"You worked on a farm, didn't you?" she asked, tilting her head. "That bad?"

"No," he laughed, more a huff of air than anything. It had been difficult, thankless work, never ceasing, never resolving. But the pride of eating produce he had helped raise, or the tender moments found in holding a chick or hand feeding a calf had balanced it all out. It was his time out on that farm that had made something soft in Oliver, perhaps for the first time. "But I wanted to go, and had been working for a while before that. If he's been lounging by a pool and partying every night, it'll be a special brand of hell."

Lyla scoffed, shaking her head.

"I almost wish I could see Papa Warbucks rip Junior a new one. Hopefully, it'll be enough to make his stop."

Oliver toyed with his glass as the conversation hummed on. A gentle contentment settled over his as he listened to Diggle and Lyla. This was what he really liked about his life, the easy understanding between everyone. These people and these walls had seen Oliver at his best and worst and welcomed him back all the same.

"Hey, Oliver, help me clear the table?" Lyla asked, easing her way out of her chair.

"No, you made the food, sit down."

"Actually, it was John," she said. He should have guessed. They had eaten ribs, corn, and salad, comforting and low key as an August barbecue, even though it was the chilly beginnings of December. Oliver raised an eyebrow at Diggle, who looked smug as he leaned back into his chair.

"I do more than run after rich brats," Diggle informed him. Oliver rolled his eyes and took Diggle's plate.

"How've things been in your world?" Lyla asked as he entered the kitchen. She was clearing the remnants of food from her plate.

"They're good," he said, setting the plates down next to the sink. He noted the neat line of Diggle's succulent garden. They were cute, short things in small terra cotta pots, ranging from soft green to tinged slightly purple. He wondered which ones were hens and chicks, Lyla's alleged favorite.

"How's the double backflip coming?"

"Alright. I've actually been working on trying to climb a rope with just my arms."
"I'm sensing a dare," she said, casting him a knowing look. He shrugged, handing her dishes to put in the dishwasher.

"Totally was. Guy from Brooklyn bet he couldn't do it in a week and a half," Diggle said, swinging through the kitchen, loaded down with food and clearly ignoring the edicts about cooks and cleaning up. Lyla laughed and nodded.

"And how's the archery coming?"

"Good. My trainer's having me shoot tennis balls from the air.

"And you can get all of them?"

"We're up to five at a time," he said offhandedly, not sure what to do with the pride in her eyes. But then she saved him, turning her voice teasing.

"Someday you're going to enter a competition and let me see you actually shoot. Until then, I'm gently disbelieving some of your claims."

Oliver let out a laugh as he cleared another plate. He liked speaking with Lyla. She was one of the blessedly few people who knew him, knew who he was, where he had come from, what he was doing. She saw all of it without being tainted by the mistakes of Oliver Queen. She hadn't met him when he was spoiled and lazy and shockingly adrift in his selfishness, nor had she seen the shambled wreck directly after the Gambit had gone down and he struggled with the sensation of drowning, days and days after that bleary night. She had met Oliver, humbled and weary, using his own damaged hands to make something precious of his life. Lyla had never looked back to what he had been, just urged him forward.

Diggle came back into the kitchen and place the drink containers in the fridge.

"Oliver, what weekend is your next job?" he asked, glancing at Oliver over his shoulder. "I don't know if we can come over before Christmas."

"The twelfth."

"Okay," Diggle said, bobbing his head. Lyla turned around at the mention of Oliver's work, eyes curious.

"Is this the Hanukkah thing?"

"Yes," he said, keeping his tone easy and refusing to glance at Diggle. They hadn't mentioned it since their disagreement at the gym, but it had stayed a quiet, bitter snag at the back of Oliver's mind. The idea that Oliver was desperate was unwelcome, because he was a little more in charge of himself than that. And, of course, there was the grating insinuation that Oliver was losing himself in the haze of money and perfume and martinis, when really…that was the last thing happening. Oliver hadn't mentioned this discomforting twist of self-doubt to Diggle, unsure how to anticipate the helpless disquiet in his stomach and unwilling to have Diggle pick it apart and put names to all of the things Oliver was so carefully stuffing away.

"So, explain this thing to me," Lyla said, leaning against the counter. "She hired you to be her boyfriend?"

"Yes," he laughed. "Her family...drove her to an extreme."

"But…how does that even work? How much of a boyfriend are you pretending to be?"

"It's pretty simple," Oliver said with a shrug. "We meet, go to her aunt's house where the rest of her family is, and I just…act like we've been seeing each other for months."

It honestly wasn't hard. Part of the reason why Oliver had been so drawn to the job had been because it was easy, forgiving work. He sat, talked with her family and only had to behave like a decent human being. There was no customizing, no needy requirements to make his clients look better, no treating him like a tool that could be ordered and used at will. Felicity just asked him to help her, allowing Oliver the chance to see the better part of himself he had been searching for.

"So how's that different from your other jobs?" Lyla asked. Diggle had finished in the kitchen and was now standing by her, watching Oliver with steady eyes.

"She's not…looking for anything special. It's just a job, but she's kind about it."

Oliver shrugged, unsure how to express the nuances. Felicity paid him, he made small talk, made her look good, ate, and was over all pleasant. Other women paid him, he made small talk, made them look good, ate, and was over all pleasant. But there was something different, a candor that didn't exist when a woman normally asked for his services. It was in the way Felicity asked about his day or seemed worried that she was inconveniencing him with her job offers or how the last thing she expected or needed was for him to sleep with her.

But he had slept with her. The memory of her bloomed in his chest, pressed so sweetly against his back, legs practically tangled in his, arm thrown over his ribs, tucking him even close to her. It was lovely in its lack of expectations.

The wash of warmth going through his stomach made Oliver want to smile, but then he felt panic and backed away into the safety of a new conversation topic.

"I'm telling you, Queen, this place is going to be amazing," Tommy said, enthusiasm barely diminished over the phone. Oliver smiled at the thought of his friend's face, glad to hear that all of his hard work was coming to fruition.

"How long until the club opens?"

"A month. I'm hoping to offer a pick me up from the January blues."

"It sounds great. I'm sure it'll be awesome, you've put a lot of effort into this."

"Oliver," Tommy sighed, like he just didn't know how many more times he could say this, "you are kinda one of the big influence in this. Take credit for your half child."

Oliver snorted as he placed his white clothes in the washer. They had first discussed the club idea over three years ago. Tommy had idly brought up the potential of a club in the grittier parts of town that didn't make a person risk getting herpes by walking through the front door. Oliver had spent a lot of time in the Glades before he left Starling, and his observations over the lack of entertainment in those neighborhoods had planted an unexpected seed in his friend. Oliver had honestly forgotten about the conversation until Tommy brought it up again. After that, Tommy had become more and more excited, discussing locations, staff, suppliers, colors schemes. Oliver had entertained the idea, liking how he could talk to Tommy without that awful layer of tension that came from questions beating at his best friend's lips that he would not allow himself to ask.

Once Oliver realized that this wasn't simply an indulgent daydream he had backed it whole heartedly. He couldn't pay for anything, or sway anyone important, or even advise on the music, but he offered advice on what brands people liked, what made a good employee, where in the Glades a club run by a rich kid could be seen as fun and not an easy mark. They were negligible facts, but he cherished the way Tommy sighed out a thank you each time, like Oliver had been some unwarranted saving grace.

"Will you be in town then?" Tommy asked casually, like Oliver might have been planning a vacation and not running to another state entirely. Oliver leaned against the front of the washer, holding back his sigh.

"I think so…" he said, making his voice vague enough to offer some wiggle room later.

"Then I formally invite you to the grand opening," Tommy chirped. He could cut through no man's land like no one else could. "I'm telling you, amazing. You've gotta see it, Oliver, come on."

"I'm sure it'll be great," he said, straightening and fishing quarters out for the washer.

"Thea'll be there."

"What?" Oliver froze, wondering first why Tommy was allowing this, then why he thought it a good idea to tell him.

"Don't worry, she wants to see what I've been doing. Gonna make a date of it with her boyfriend or something. They'll card her at the bar, relax."

"The bar isn't the only thing I'm worried about," Oliver grumbled, stabbing quarters into the machine. He knew the club circuits only too well. Anything could happen on a dancefloor.

"You know she's straight edge," Tommy said, almost flippantly. "She's a lot smarter than we were."

Oliver pursed his lips. Tommy had a point, but that was in no way the happy accident he made it out to be. Thea had seen the wreckage Oliver had made before and after the accident. First it had been the embarrassing mess he had of his frivolous entertainment, but then it was his attempts to wash all of his pain away with agonizing failure. And she had read his blunt accounts of how partying wasn't really colored lights and a good time, but waking up naked, not remembering the night before, having to get rid of the illegal drugs and call home while a little stoned and hung over. Oliver felt certain his guidance had helped, but still. Thea was barely eighteen, and that was around the time Oliver had started making really stupid decisions. He didn't care how good she had been, or how closely Tommy watched her, or even how hard core Thea's Glades boyfriend was, they couldn't guard themselves against all the dangers of a club.

Oliver turned on the washing machine, checking back into what Tommy was saying.

"…it'll be fine. Hey, look at it as added incentive to come, watch out for baby sister."

"That's low, Tommy. And…I don't know," he said with a grimace. The moment there was the genuine Oliver Queen sighting was the moment the media and his life would explode. He had gotten away with being in Starling this long was because he looked completely unlike the Oliver Queen of five years ago, not to mention having his mother's lie that he was running around Europe making bad choices and pursuing supermodels. Once a current picture got out, though, he would have to quit his job and go to ground once more. Not to mention deal with how Moira would react at him appearing at Tommy's club before her front step. Oliver wanted to change things, not be pushed back into more of the same.

"Come on, Oliver, this is ours," Tommy said, wheedling and hopeful and without any guile. "You've gotta come, you helped me pick out the name."

Oliver broke into a reluctant smile. He had been living in Tucson at the time, miserable in the swathe of heat, beige, and dust. Suggesting the name 'Verdant' had been a self-indulgent wish for a change of scenery. He hadn't actually expected Tommy to go with it.

"I don't know," he insisted, but in a lighter tone than before. "I'll think about it. Laurel's coming, right?"

"Yeah, managed to carve out a free night. Probably because I had to make a reservation months in advance," he joked, but Oliver heard the honest pride in his voice. Tommy had started dating Laurel about a year before, after repeatedly having sought and received Oliver's blessing. If he had to say, though, Oliver thought the quadruple checking was more a sign of nerves than worry Oliver was possessive of his ex-girlfriend.

"And your dad?" Oliver asked carefully. Tommy's sigh from the other end of the phone said more than enough.

"I don't know. I told him about it, told his assistant, too, but…"

"He's not exactly been supportive," Oliver finished. The only time he had heard Tommy truly doubt the plan was after talking to his father. He had called Oliver, anxious and downtrodden, flooding him with panicked lines about reputation, and responsibility and a ridiculous idea tempting an addict. There was nothing so heartbreaking as hearing Malcolm Merlyn through the intimidated filter of his son.

"Laurel thinks I can do it," Tommy had finally whispered, as though afraid to let Oliver see how much he wanted this, not to mention how much he valued Laurel's opinion.

"She's always been the smarter of the three of us," Oliver had told him, and he could almost see Tommy relaxing on the other end of the phone.

Tommy had whispered, "What do you think?", nervous and hopeful and scared. Oliver knew that it would only take one sentence from him to turned his friend either way.

"I think you'll make it great."

Tommy cleared his throat, as if chasing the memories of his father's disapproval from his head.

"Yeah, well, I'm not doing it for him. But just…try to come. Please."

"I'll see," Oliver said, and this time, he really meant it.

Oliver left his laundry basket on the washer, climbing the stairs to his apartment as he hung up with Tommy. He shouldered open the door, then kicked it closed behind him. He laid down on the futon and stared up at the ceiling.

He missed Tommy. The way he could make anything seem manageable with a joke and a slap on the back was something Oliver had craved in the last five years. But Tommy had respected Oliver's request for solitude and hadn't broached the topic since. Except for today. Tommy's invitation to the club opening had been yet another quiet plea to come home.

Felicity's words from the week before were bouncing around his head, snuggling up to Tommy's offer.

I think you should try to patch things up with them, if that's what you want.

He did want to. He wanted to go to Verdant and congratulate Tommy on his success, wanted to see Thea and finally meet this Roy Harper she was dating. He wanted to go home and hug his mother and tell her he had forgiven her long ago. But there was enough reluctance twisting his stomach to make him hesitate, always, always, always.

He sat up with a sigh. Oliver walked to his kitchen, hand dragging along the mortar between the bricks. He pulled a cup from the shelf and poured himself a glass of milk.

He had been thinking about this for a long time, the possibilities chasing themselves around and around in his head. All he could see was what he had done in the past, the stacks of mistakes that had constituted the two sides of his life. How was he supposed to find a different, third option?

Oliver carried his cup back to the futon. It had been a long day. It had had started early with his neighbor down the hall hammering on his door, babbling about dysfunctional piping and you worked as a plumber before right please help. Oliver had groaned and gone to see what the problem was, and had emerged over an hour later, wet and a little grumpy, but paid off with the promise of homemade dinner and his choice of dessert. After that, he'd gone to the gym, had lunch, run some errands, then rounded the day off with laundry. And he still had to review some of the business offers that had come in, which he had shockingly little desire to do.

Oliver closed his eyes. He had forty minutes until his load was finished. He could take a nap.

His phone buzzed, earning a heavy sigh. It was just one of those days. He propped himself onto his elbow as he checked the ID, surprised to find it was Felicity.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Oliver, it's Felicity."

"Hey," he said, laying back down.

"Hey. I'm calling to hammer out the details of Hanukkah. I just realized that we never did it last week, and my friend was in town yesterday so I totally forgot. So, yeah, here I am."

"Alright. What were you thinking?"

"Well, I wanted to get on the road as soon as possible, so I was wondering if you would meet me at my apartment? Things are going to be hectic at work, so I might be staying late, and then with rush hour and everything…"

"That's fine," he said. He wondered what kind of apartment Felicity Smoak had made her home. He guessed it had a lot of plants and natural light.

"Really? Oh, thank goodness. I was kind of worried that I'd be driving out on the icy roads late at night."

Oliver switched to speaker as she spoke, and opened up his calendar to put the information in.

"No, it's...that's okay. Where do you live?" he asked. He had changed what he was going to say. The words 'it's fine' had been primed on his tongue, but Felicity's observation by the swing had made him change at the last second. He pushed the thought away as Felicity's listed off her address.

"What time should I be over?"

"Uhm…how about five fifteen, just to be safe?"

"I can do that."

"Okay. I might still be getting ready then, but we should be able to skedaddle pretty soon after you're there."

Oliver nodded to himself, then hesitated. "For Hanukkah...will there be any traditions I need to observe?"

"Hm? Oh, no. It's the Friday of Hanukkah we won't be there for them to light the menorah, since it needs to be done before dark. But really other than that, listen to some songs, play dreidel with the kids, and eat latkes. All of the religious traditions and ceremonies and things will probably be over by the time we get there. But don't forget that we're sleeping over! We'll leave around Saturday afternoon."

"Alright. Then…I will see you on Friday."

"Okay. See you then," she said. Oliver titled his head, noticing the way her voice had turned very soft.

"Goodbye," he told her.

"Goodbye, Oliver," she almost whispered, then hung up.

Oliver climbed the steps to Felicity's apartment at five twelve on Friday. Her neighborhood was cute, with lots of trees and a warm, fresh feeling to the place. Very different from the cool efficiency of his own neighborhood, full of renovated industrial buildings and hard brickwork.

He knocked on her door, the cold impact making his knuckles sting.

"Coming!" Felicity called, and a moment later the door was pulled open. "Oliver, hi! Come in." She moved back for him enter, and Oliver stepped inside.

Like he had guessed, Felicity's apartment was welcoming and bright. The walls were a pale green, but a few were painted dark blue for accents. Her decorations were simple and charming, clean with bright colors. A string of purple and white Christmas lights wrapped around the tops of the wall. On the window sill was an unlit menorah, waiting patiently to let out its welcoming light.

"Hold on, I'm almost ready," she said, retreating to the hall. "I just need to grab some stuff and then we can go."

Oliver waited in her living room, eyes sliding over the decorations. The desk tucked into the alcove next to the door was covered in stacks of papers, paper weights, and a couple of pictures. He moved over the photograph of her and her mother and settled on a picture of just Felicity. She looked to be a teenager, with a light smattering of freckles and brown hair tugged back into a messy ponytail. She was beaming at the camera, proffering a tiny potted cactus. He smiled and set the photograph back down.

Felicity reappeared a few moments later, hopping slightly as she tugged on a pair of flats. She was dressed differently than normal. For one thing, she was wearing a pair of bright red pants and a pair of flats, rather than her typical dress and heels. Her hair was down and she was wearing a trendy grey sweatshirt with an old fashioned Mickey Mouse on the front. Topping it all off were a black beanie, a backpack, and a bright yellow clutch. She still looked as put together as usual, but…less tightly bound. Felicity didn't look like she was ready to stalk the streets of downtown on her way to work, she looked like she was actually going to see family.

"Ready?" he asked, and she nodded, scanning the room for anything she might have forgotten.

"…Yep," she said, nodding to herself. "Let's go!"

They walked down to her car, the fresh dusting of snow crunching slightly under their shoes. Felicity walked fast, her pullover not quite cutting it in the chill. Oliver settled into his navy pea coat, feeling a little self-conscious.

"You can toss your bag in the back," she said, nodding at the messenger bag he had slung over his shoulder. He put his bag into the back seat next to her backpack, and then climbed in. Felicity let the engine warm up a moment, then turned the heater on full blast. She adjusted the radio and pulled into the road.

The street lights felt cheery as they went through the heart of the city, the giant silhouettes of bells and snowflakes mounted onto the light poles. Everything looked perfect with the freshly fallen snow, carolers on street corners, and Christmas displays in store windows.

And yet he was going off to celebrate Hanukkah with someone he was beginning to realize he really wanted to know. Oliver glanced at Felicity as her eyes focused on the road. He was strangely thankful that he was allowed to experience this with Felicity and her family.

AN oliver queen you emotionally ignorant ray of sunshine