"Oh my god," Felicity says, her hand covering her mouth as she stares at the computer screen. "No. No. No. No. NO."
Her breathing goes too rapid very quickly, like she can't get enough oxygen, and Oliver's seen that terrified, too-focused look in her eyes before. He knows the signs of a panic attack when he sees them.
"Hey, you're fine," he says, turning her chair to face him, breaking her view of the computer screen.
He crouches to her level and takes her hands in his, letting his thumbs trace rhythmic, soothing circles against the delicate skin of her inner wrists.
"I've got you," he tells her solemnly, eyes searching hers. "You're okay. Focus on your breathing. You're here and you're with me. You're safe."
She nods and takes unsteady, carefully measured breaths, her watery blue eyes fixed on his. The connection brings her back. Slowly. Breathing comes easier. She's more present. But the sense of terror dulls only slightly.
A panic attack had not been an entirely unwarranted response to the situation.
"What are we going to do?" She asks after a moment, voice sounding small and ill-fitting. "He's ruined me. What the hell do we do?"
Oliver swallows tightly.
"Maybe he shouldn't be the only one who comes forward as the Arrow," he suggests.
"No," Felicity says, shaking her head.
"I have the gear. We have the lair. There's plenty of proof that I'm the Arrow, Felicity. It's an option," Oliver tells her.
"No, it's not," she counters firmly. "We can't solve one problem by creating a dozen more. You don't get to give yourself up for me. This city needs you. What we do is more important than any one of us."
It should be. He knows that. And in some ways it is. But, in his heart, in those parts of himself he tries to deny, they're dangerously even - his city and his partner. It's happened in spite of him. In spite of everything. This city needs to be his top priority. He can't let himself value her in equal measure, can't let himself value her more, and yet… and yet it's happening anyhow. Or maybe it already happened. Maybe it's already too late.
"The city needs you, too," he replies, his voice thick. "And so do I. I need you."
She sucks in a little breath at that, her eyes darting to his mouth before zeroing in on his eyes again, waiting for him to elaborate.
"I'm not me without you," he confides, dropping his gaze to look at his hands still curled around the delicate bones of her wrists. "I thought I could do this alone once. I can't. I know that now. You make me better. You make all of us better."
"Oliver," she murmurs, her voice breathless.
He can feel her pulse racing in her wrists. And he wants this. He wants her. Every bit of him does. The Arrow. Oliver Queen. Every single part of him knows he needs her in his life, that his life and his mission are less without her in them.
He just hasn't quite figured out how to balance it all.
But he wants to.
She lifts her small hand to touch the side of his face, but he doesn't let go of her wrist. He holds onto her as she reaches for him and there's something deeply symbolic about that that he doesn't have the presence of mind to think about at the moment. Because her fingers cradle against his cheek with gentleness and affection and it sucks the breath right out of him.
His eyes drift shut as he savors the feel of her touch and he turns his head slightly to press his lips against her palm. A shudder races through her and when he opens his eyes again he finds her staring at him with some mixture of hope and apprehension.
"Ol- Oliver?" She asks, her voice hoarse and quiet.
The moment feels huge, like a turning point, even if he isn't quite sure what direction they're heading yet. He still can't make sense of how to be what he needs to be and what he wants to be at the same time. Honestly, he's not sure he can.
His phone rings, shrill and loud in the quiet of the lair, and Felicity physically jumps at the noise. Her hand pulls back out of reflex and Oliver silently curses whoever felt the need to call him at this moment.
"What?" He asks abruptly as he answers the phone.
"Is she with you?" Is Sara's greeting.
It's not playful. At all. And considering it's Sara calling, that says a lot.
"Yes," Oliver says, standing from his crouch, his eyes fixed on Felicity.
"Good. You need to get back here. Now. Right now," Sara tells him.
"Why, Sara?" Oliver asks. "What happened? Is this about Merlyn?"
"Yes, it's about Merlyn," Sara responds immediately. "The whole damn city has gone insane. The media has gone nuts and QC has gotten two death threats against Felicity in the last twenty minutes. You need to get her here. Safe. Immediately."
"I'm going to kill Malcolm Merlyn," Oliver growls lowly.
"Great. I like that plan. I'll help. Nyssa will, too. But first, you need to get your girl here where we can protect her best," Sara says. "Where are you now?"
"The lair," Oliver answers.
"Good. I'm almost tempted to tell you guys to just stay there," Sara tells him.
"She'll never agree to stay locked away down here indefinitely," Oliver says knowingly.
"Yeah, not happening," Felicity pipes up.
"Call Roy," Oliver tells Sara. "We need him running interference. I want him geared up and visible somewhere nowhere near QC. Maybe he can distract some of the media attention."
"It's worth a shot, I guess. But, Ollie… This is bad," Sara tells him with gravity.
"Yeah. I got that," Oliver replies. "We'll be there in ten minutes."
He hangs up the phone and looks at Felicity, dreading having to relay the conversation and wondering how so much emotional upheaval had happened in the last hour or so.
"How bad is it?" She asks, standing slowly and leaning one hand against her desk.
"Bad," Oliver replies. "It's not just the media. There've been death threats."
"Against me," she says.
It's not a question.
A sharp burst of nervous laughter escapes her lips and he grabs her hand in support. She's his partner. And she needs him. This, at least, he can give her.
"We will fix this, Felicity," he tells her, meaning every word of it.
"How?" She asks. "Oliver, I can't see a fix here. This isn't something we can hack or put an arrow in or defuse."
"There's a way back from this. We just haven't seen it yet. We're too close to it," Oliver tells her. "For now, we need to get you safely back to QC. Make sure your family is safe. Then we can sit down and work through this. Together. Okay?"
"My family's fine," Felicity says absently. "I… possibly sent my mom and grandmother to some exclusive spa outside of town for a few days. Under assumed names that I may have hacked the system to give them reservations under. Gram thinks they're celebrities or something. They were both very excited about it."
"And it keeps them away from the media," Oliver says knowingly.
"Neither one of them is really good at keeping their mouths shut. Guess that's an inherited trait," she says with a dry laugh.
"I like that you talk so much," Oliver reminds her, leaning down and kissing her temple affectionately. "We should go."
"Oliver," she says hesitantly as he grabs her coat for her. "Are we going to talk about earlier? Before Sara called? Or are we just going to stuff that into the box of things we pretend didn't happen?"
He watches her for a beat as she stands less than two feet away from him, looking nervous and slightly fidgety. It strikes him then how ill-fitting that look is on her. How she's usually so confident, all brightness and joy. Not right now, though. And he did that to her. He keeps doing that to her.
"That's up to you," he says finally.
"Is it?" She asks cautiously.
"Yeah," he tells her.
"That's new," she replies.
"Yeah," he repeats.
"Is this because of Malcolm Merlyn? Because of the threats?" Felicity asks warily.
"No," he tells her. "It's because of me."
"I like that better," she says.
"Yeah. Me too," he responds.
"We'll talk back at the QC apartments then. Okay?" She asks, sounding like she's testing him.
Maybe she is.
"Okay," he agrees easily, holding her coat out for her.
She slips it on without a word and he frees her hair from underneath the collar of the jacket, letting his fingers skim against the back of her neck and smiling a little at the barely audible sigh that slips through her lips. It's impossible to ignore the feeling of rightness in the moment. And he can see it - he can see it - fitting so naturally into their lives every day. The thought is simultaneously terrifying, exhilarating and infinitely sad.
Just because it feels right, just because he wants it badly enough that it hurts, doesn't mean it's something he can have. Not really.
Felicity may find that the conversation she wants to have with him back at the apartments doesn't go the way she wants.
"Let's go," he says, surprising her by reaching out for her hand.
She takes it, even though she looks like she's expecting him to change his mind at any moment.
The only thing that surprises Felicity when Oliver eventually lets go of her hand is how long it takes for that to happen. When he does, his hand settles against the small of her back, finding the small strip of skin between her barely cropped shirt and her skirt. It's like he wants to keep touching her in some way, in any way. And, while she's wary of reading into all of this too much, it still makes her feel a little giddy in spite of herself.
Sara greets them in the hall as they get off the elevator, looking as on-edge as Felicity has ever seen. And that's saying something.
"How bad?" Oliver asks immediately.
"Getting worse by the moment," Sara tells him. "I'm going out to give Roy some backup now that you're here. I didn't realize there were that many reporters in the world, honestly. Bryce is all over the news gloating about his victory. He hasn't come by yet looking for her, but I'd bet that's on the agenda."
"Undoubtedly," Oliver growls.
"Nyssa will be in town sometime tomorrow," Sara tells them. "But until then…"
"We'll need to call Waller," Oliver admits. "Lyla's in labor."
"Already done," Sara tells him. "She was shockingly helpful. It was actually fairly unsettling. She's got four men she's sending over for protection."
"Please tell me it's not the Suicide Squad," Felicity begs.
"It's not," Sara says, smiling in spite of the situation. "Apparently our situation doesn't quite meet that level of crazy."
"Well that's something anyhow," Felicity mutters. "On a scale of one to Suicide Squad, my crisis lands somewhere between the levels of international assassin ninjas and ARGUS soldiers without bombs in their spines."
"Did anyone call Digg?" Oliver asks.
"No way," Felicity vetoes. "We aren't bothering him right now."
"It's you, Felicity," Oliver tells her. "He'd want to know."
"John called me," Sara announces. "Apparently they overheard some nurses talking and Lyla gave him hell between contractions for being with her instead of protecting his team. But I told him we had it covered. There's not much he could do at the moment anyhow."
"Where's Laurel?" Oliver asks.
"Putting out fires with the SCPD and trying to see if she can get any clue as to what Merlyn's agenda here is," Sara says. "Neither of which she's having much success with at the moment. Sin checked in, too. She says a lot of people in the Glades don't believe Merlyn. But those that do are looking for blood."
"They can have Merlyn's," Oliver announces. "But they aren't getting at Felicity."
"I've gotta go," says Sara, glancing at her phone. "Black Canary needs to put down a protest that's turned violent outside of Merlyn Global."
"These aren't drug dealers or weapons traffickers, Sara," Felicity reminds her. "These are confused, angry people who think they just found out that their hero is really a villain. I'm all for getting the violence under control, but try to remember that these probably mostly aren't hardened criminals."
"God, you're nice. How are you so nice?" Sara asks bewildered. "I'm not going to kill any of them. Even if they do want your pretty little head on a platter right now. You two stay here. Waller's men should be here within an hour."
"That should probably be more comforting than it is," Felicity observes.
"Nothing about Waller is comforting," Oliver responds darkly.
There's a lot more to Oliver's history with ARGUS than Felicity knows. She's sure of it. But that's okay. He doesn't need to tell her. She's always respected his need to keep parts of his history hidden. There's parts of herself she hasn't shared with him either.
"You'll be fine in QC," Sara tells her. "But I wouldn't leave unless you absolutely have to."
"Why would I have to?" Felicity ask, failing to think of a single reason she would choose to leave the safety of the building for at least the next day.
"Bomb threat?" Sara shrugs. "Triad attack? Anything else that might happen to us on a random weeknight?"
"Oh… right. Of course," Felicity nods, because she'd sort of forgotten momentarily that those sorts of things might be probable these days.
"I really have to go," Sara says, glancing at her phone again.
"Go," Oliver instructs Sara. "I've got her."
Sara might be in a rush, but she still takes the time to stare pointedly at the miniscule distance between them and smirk.
"I can see that," Sara says sweetly.
Oliver doesn't growl back at her in response. Or glare. Or force distance between them. Or anything else Felicity might have expected. Instead he just looks at her. Briefly. But it's with a soft smile that barely quirks his lips and crinkles near his eyes. It's so subtle, so innocent and genuine that she can't stop staring back at him and she can't stop her heart from thudding wildly in her chest. She wants this to mean something more than she ever has before.
Sara laughs sharply and shakes her head, which grabs Felicity's attention, but the assassin doesn't say a word as she steps into the elevator and leaves Oliver and Felicity alone in the hall.
"So..." Felicity says after a quiet moment. "My place or yours?"
"Wha… What?" Oliver asks blinking at her.
The suggestive nature of her comment hits her a second later and Felicity pinches her eyes shut as she tries to fight down a rather fierce blush. She's fairly unsuccessful.
"If you're being my bodyguard for the moment, I'm thinking we probably don't want to be hanging out in the hallway all afternoon," she explains. "My mouth just decided to say that in… the worst way possible, apparently."
"Your place is fine," Oliver tells her with mild amusement. "It's nicer than mine."
"Oliver, they're identical," she points out to him.
"The layouts might be the same, but yours feels like home," he tells her as she unlocks her door.
She freezes with her hand on the knob at his words and she tries not to read too much into it. But he's not making that easy. Not today.
"You can't just say things like that, Oliver," she tells him softly. "You can't. Not if you don't… Not if you can't be in this with me. Because you say things like that and it hurts because it's everything I want to hear from you but you say them and then nothing changes."
She can't turn and look at him, but she doesn't have to see him to know he hasn't moved. She has always been hyper-aware of his presence. Still, she's a little startled at his closeness when he rests one large hand on her shoulder. He's near enough that she imagines she can feel the heat of his body against her back. Maybe she can.
Her eyes slam shut and she bites her lower lip as her hand grips the doorknob tighter. This is too much. He's too much. She doesn't know how to handle this right now.
"Can we talk about this inside?" He asks her gently.
Her head jerks to the side a little and she looks at him. Of everything she might have expected him to say, that would not have been on the list.
"Really?" She asks cautiously. "You want to talk about this? About us?"
"I said we could, didn't I?" He asks her with great seriousness.
She opens the door without breaking eye contact with him.
Tension fills the room as they walk in. Felicity feels it keenly. It crawls along her skin and makes the air heavy. She's sure the pounding of her heartbeat has got to be loud enough for him to hear, even though she crosses the room to stand near the windows and he only walks halfway to her, standing a good five feet away and looking at her with so much longing that it chokes her.
"Is this the part where you tell me you can't be the Arrow and be with me? Or am I jumping ahead?" She asks.
It's defensive, but she can't help it. They've had this conversation before and she's not sure she can stand to have it in its entirety again.
"It's the part where I tell you that you're the single best thing in my life," he tells her. "And I don't deserve you. If I were just Oliver Queen… No, not even that. If I were just Oliver… if we could strip all the rest of it away, I would hold onto you and I don't think I could ever let go. But, I'm not just Oliver, Felicity. I live my life in shadows and hiding behind a mask and the Arrow doesn't get to live the life he wants just because he wants it."
"No!" She protests, shaking her head fiercely. "No. That's not fair because you aren't the Arrow, Oliver. We are. All of us. You and me and Digg and Roy and Sara. This isn't just you and it hasn't been in a really long time. So you don't get to do that, split yourself and hide behind your mask, because you aren't the only one wearing it."
"God, you are so beautiful when you're passionate about something," he breathes in astonishment, staring at her like she's everything.
"You can't keep doing that!" She cries. "You can't say things like that in one breath and that you can't be with me in the next!"
"I'm not trying to. But, I can't choose between you and the city, Felicity," he says, begging with his eyes for her to understand.
"Who's asking you to? Not me, that's for sure," she points out. "Forget about me for a minute. This isn't even about me. Not really. I'm not asking you to choose me. I'm asking you to choose you. I'm asking you to let yourself be happy, no matter what that means. Full disclosure, I do hope that also involves choosing me, but even if it doesn't… I want more for you than this. And you should, too."
"I think me choosing my own happiness would always mean me choosing you," he tells her. "And I want that. I do. I just don't know how that works. Not when we live the lives we do. Not when you make me just want to be Oliver. I don't have that luxury."
"Here's the thing that you don't seem to get," she tells him, taking two steps forward until she's solidly in his personal space. "I don't want you to just be Oliver. I love our mission. I love the meaning you've helped bring to my life. And there's nothing about you that doesn't draw me in. Every bit of you makes me babble and blush and want more for us whether you're jumping off of rooftops or trying to pretend you're paying attention in the boardroom or completely failing to get pop culture references that definitely predate the island. It doesn't matter. Because it's all you.
"Do you know what I think?" She challenges further. "I think you're terrified. I know I am. The lives we lead, the things we do, they're dangerous. They're worth it, but they're dangerous. Every single mission something could go wrong and you might not come home. It's scary to have feelings for someone who faces life-and-death situations on a regular basis. But do you know what scares me more than the idea of losing you, Oliver? The idea of us just going on like we are, never being more than a couple of kisses we pretend never happened and longing looks we try to deny and looking back one day and wondering 'what if.' That scares the hell out of me. Life is short no matter how you live it. I don't want mine filled with regrets."
He moves so quickly that it doesn't even register with her until his lips crash into hers and they both stumble a few steps until her back is pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, the cityscape spread out behind her.
They have never lacked for intensity, but there's an edge of abandon to this moment that sends something spiraling in her gut. He is usually so controlled, so precise, but this isn't that at all. This is him feeling and reacting and scarcely able to reign himself in and it's easily the most thrilling kiss of her life thus far.
Because it's him. And it's real.
There's a second before her brain really processes what's going on. That's fair, really. The transition from arguing about why they don't have a relationship to him kissing her like his life depends on it was really very sudden. But when it does fully register, she tilts her head slightly and slides her tongue between her lips to run across the seam of his mouth. The groan he answers with borders on obscene and a shudder runs through her as it reverberates across her lips.
His mouth opens to hers and the press of his tongue against hers is maybe the best thing she's ever felt right up until the moment he presses her more firmly against the window with his thigh between her legs. And oh god that's a whole different level entirely.
She gasps a couple of times in quick succession, her lips still pressed against his, and wraps both of her arms around his neck. It's possible she's trying to keep him exactly where he is. But that's not really something she needs to worry about at the moment because he's as lost in this as she is.
She whimpers as he draws her lower lip between his teeth, which meets with a low moan of approval from him. The light scrape of her nails against the nape of his neck brings another moan, more desperate this time, and she's struck by the fact that this is really happening. She's really learning all these little things that make Oliver's control slip and his masks fall away, if only for a moment, and as amazing as making out with him like a damned teenager is, that's absolutely the best thing about it.
He's pressed his fingertips against the glass on either side of her head, like he's trying to keep himself from touching her, in spite of the way his mouth is sliding against hers and his thigh is pressing between her legs. It's like one last part of him is holding back from this, from them. Like if he doesn't let himself touch her, maybe it's not all real.
She's not about to let that stand.
Her hands drops from his neck, but she keeps nipping at his lips, a clear sign to him that she's not ending this. And then, she brings one hand up, slides it between his and the cool glass of the window and twines their fingers together.
The choked noise he makes as he pulls his head back slightly is overwhelmed, disbelieving. He stares at their fingers for a second, his lips no longer on hers but his body still fully pressed against her. Her bright pink nails curl through the gaps in his fingers and grip at his hand. He's looking at them like he can't quite understand how they got there, what he did to deserve this.
"I want this every bit as much as you do," she tells him, her voice breathless and used. "And I want you to know, I'm going to hold on to this, to us. Because we're worth fighting for."
His free hand stops pressing against the window at that, slides through her hair instead, and she can feel a slight tremor in his fingers as his thumb skirts across the back edge of her jaw. There is need and want and desire all wrapped up in this moment and it's thrumming through both of them in a heady way that makes her feel dizzy and drunk on him.
She savors the feel of it, her eyes fluttering shut and her head leaning into his touch. Her skin buzzes with it and her head swims with it and it's right. Finally.
"We are," he says, surprise shading his voice like maybe he's just made this realization.
Her eyes fly open at that and catch his gaze, clear-eyed and full of something close to wonder.
"Yeah?" She asks hesitantly, nervously, like she's scared to believe him.
"Yeah," he confirms and leans down to kiss her again.
It's slow and soft this time, the frenzy of before having given way to something gentler, more stable but every bit as vibrant. He lets go of her hand to frame her face with his hands instead and she rests her hands so that her fingertips skirt along the ridge of his collarbones and she sighs against the soft, firm pressure of his lips against hers.
It's perfect.
"Oh my God, I need to go bleach my eyes!"
It's sort of a small miracle that Felicity doesn't accidentally slam her face against Oliver's as she jumps at the voice. Thank goodness. That would have been miserable to explain to everyone.
"Don't you knock, Roy?" Oliver growls in the direction of the door, his body still mostly blocking Felicity's from view.
"I did!" Roy protests. "Like… a lot! You clearly didn't hear me. Do we need to talk about what bodyguarding is? Because I am starting to wonder if maybe it's been misunderstood."
This is far from the smartest thing Roy has ever said.
"Roy!" Oliver snaps, his voice incredibly threatening.
"Roy can you give us like… five minutes?" Felicity asks, peeking her head out from around the wall of Oliver's chest as she grips him by one very tense bicep to urge him to stay in place.
She knows what Roy's thinking. She can practically hear it, some horrible quip about only needing five more minutes not being something to admit to. He actually opens his mouth like he's going to say it, but her incredulous look and widened eyes still his tongue. He smirks instead and shakes his head.
"Sure, blondie. Anything for you," he says in place of purposefully antagonizing Oliver and Felicity breathes a sigh of relief as he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
"I'm sorry," Felicity says immediately with a little sigh.
"I didn't hear the knock either," Oliver points out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "That's my fault. Crass as he might have been, Roy wasn't wrong about that."
"Not that," she replies, biting her lip a little. "Or, well… okay sort of that. I just… I'm sorry Roy saw all that because maybe you... wouldn't have wanted him to."
He's quiet for a minute and she feels unsettled under the weight of his gaze, but she doesn't look him in the eye until his fingers lift her chin to look straight at him. His eyes burn with intensity, blue like the hottest part of a flame, and the air sizzles and embers smolder inside her and she just might melt under the heat of it all but she's surely not complaining.
"I'm not running from this and I'm not hiding this, Felicity," he tells her seriously. "From the media, sure. Because we have to. For now. But I won't hide us from the people that matter. You mean too much for that."
She bites her lower lip as a smile threatens to overtake her face. Maybe it's contagious because it spreads to him quickly enough. A little bubble of laughter wells up inside her and she can't help but let it out, a little vocal burst of joy.
"Okay," she agrees, smiling as broadly as she ever has in her life.
"Okay," Oliver agrees, dipping his head down to kiss the skin of her shoulder. "We should probably let Roy back in."
"Probably," she allows, drawing the word out like she's musing over it.
"Come on," he laughs, taking her hand gently in his. "It might actually be important."
And it really might be. There's a lot going on right now that demands their attention. Big, life-altering things. Still, looking back at Oliver's untethered smile and feeling his thumb stroke the backs of her knuckles, the bar is set pretty high if Roy's reason for barging in is intending to be more important than this.