Written for the Olicity Hiatus Project on tumblr, this chapter is a ficlet about the love trope 'After action patch-up'
Hope you enjoy it!

GET HOME

It wasn't unusual for Oliver to get hurt.

Felicity knew that and, much to her dislike, she had to get used to it over time. Before he had walked into her life the limit of gore she bore consisted on watching it on TV, like in Criminal Minds or medical shows. Suddenly with him it became all too real and much stronger since she actually knew him, more than flesh and bone, knew him to the core. Ok, he still remained quite of a riddle especially about what went down in those two years of the "island" he had yet to clue them in; still she could honestly say she knew most of him.

She knew he tried to hide his pain, only allowing a yelp to be voiced whenever his anger equalled the ache he was feeling down to his bones. She knew how his teeth usually were gritted together whenever a needle threaded into his skin, to the point she was sure his jaw would kill him later that night. She knew by the way a little grimace barely tugged at the corner or his lips when he walked into the room exactly how much discomfort he was actually feeling, from a limping leg or a yet sensitive blow to the stomach.

There were no words needed, because she always knew.

Diggle stopped trying to question it or figure how it worked a few months after she joined the team; simply resolving to shaking his head and thanking whoever drove Oliver knocking onto this girl's door.

It's like they were in sync, her anticipating what the troubled young wan was feeling even before he made it noticeable, at least for Dig. And she was right every time, pushing when it was needing for Oliver to get more rest, to hold back so he wouldn't pull his stitches, making up excuses for him to take a much needed break on his wounded leg whenever they had one of those fancy and totally draining social meetings for the sake of the company.

Whatever medical knowledge Felicity lacked at the beginning was rapidly compensated by her hard work and curiosity, picking up Diggle's directions with great ease. Within the first year she had become pretty good at it, delicate and gentle hands working over Oliver's marred skin, making him feel safe instead of flinching away; something Dig knew he was definitely not used to and deeply thankful for.

Felicity's hands never wavered. Whether it was a simple cut or an unconscious Oliver holding onto life by a thread, she always did the work, even though on the inside she was clearly freaking out; that was read in the way light shone wildly in her light blue eyes, tears always threatening to escape yet being suppressed with utmost effort as was clear in the way she tightly bit onto her lower lip in concentration.

Keep it together, she would chant to herself internally, focusing on Oliver's heartbeat under her palm. Sometimes it was faint, barely there; others it boomed against her fingers as she took his pulse or held him steady whenever he was stubborn enough to refuse the offered pain killers.

That night fell into the latter category.

It had been a case like many others, new drug lord poking around town for new territory. Their usual MO was scared the guys off before they set up shop. Yet they had never done it quite like this, just the two of them.

A few times they had worked alone, with Dig having to step back sometimes to be with the family and Roy off to chase after Thea to whatever country she was looking for herself in. But, more often than not, those were just recon work or simple enough jobs in which she could work back-up right from the lair.

This one appeared to be the case, yet proved them very wrong as all hell broke loose with a hell of an ambush neither was ready for.

As Oliver parked into the back of the foundry Felicity rushed out of her chair and towards the door where he met her entering the lair with a grant.

"How bad is it?", her rushed question was as blue eyes went over his body in search of blood. Considering the amount of curse words he had let out on the drive over she was expecting it to be pretty bad.

"Just a graze of a bullet." He growled as her hands deftly unzipped and discarded his jacket, pulling up the shirt he wore underneath to study the burn mark he sported on the side.

A sigh of relief left her lips next, the weight she constantly felt on her chest whenever he was on the field lightening at the sight, realizing all the grunting he'd done was out of anger and frustration, the ever present guilt and pressure he felt, and not out of fear for his life.

She went through the motions first, taking another look over him to make sure there weren't other injuries he was keeping to himself or haven't even felt yet. Thankfully the abdomen one seemed to be the only physical trace that night's fight had left behind; well, and his dislocated jaw could come next if he kept setting it like that.

"Hey", she brought his attention back to her, a hand coming up to cup said jaw and make him meet her eyes. A familiar darkness danced in his deep blues, the mask surrounding them only hardening his deadly stare. It took a minute as she gazes into his soul, like bringing forth all the good he had inside, every single part of his humanity that refrained him from taking the easy killed shot; that part that sometimes seemed buried so deep yet came bubbling up with just one look from her, one caress of soft skin over his stubbled cheek.

Come back to me, they called, you're better than them, than that.

And damn if he, right then and there, didn't believe her. How could he not if someone like her believed in it so ardently, someone so pure and honest.

His eyes snapped shut as her other hand came up to his chest, carefully padding over marred skin until it lied over his heart. Her left one left his jaw to begin tracing the planes of his face, gentle and steady as only she could be. Oliver took a deep breath, then two, schooling his features into something better, for her, for him, for them. Under her palm his beating heart slowed until it wasn't booming loud in her ears, only a steady lull as his eyes met hers again. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips then, one he could never help but mirror.

"Good. Let's get you patched up then."

Her hand begun sliding from his face, the other lowering to take his hand in hers. Still, before she could tug him towards the familiar coldness of the med table, he cupped her cheek lightly and leaned down to claim those cherished lips in his, a gentle peck much alike the way her fingers had ghosted over his skin before. Pulling back with another soft grin she intertwined their fingers and led them towards the light in the middle, him going calmly along, knowing he would follow her everywhere.

Thank you for reading! As always, encouragement or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated :)