It takes them a good portion of the afternoon to sift through the first line of the boxes which only uncoveres a second line behind them, and that is by far not the last one.

"Wow, just how much stuff is here?" asks Oliver in bewilderment, his eyebrows rising half with dread, half with awe. Felicity rewards his astonishment with a huff of air and a low chuckle.

"You thought I was exaggerating, didn't you?"

"Just a little bit…" he says with a wince, throwing her a somewhat sheepish look she responds to with a bark of laughter.

She's got him there; he really had no clue as to how much stuff could be accumulated throughout a several-years long childhood-star career. No wonder Felicity and her mom never felt like going through the boxes, there are dozens upon dozens of them.

Thank God he's an FBI Agent, Oliver thinks, cracking the stiff muscles in his neck in preparation for the task at hand. Sifting through boxes of evidence is kind of his thing. Oliver rises to his feet and pops his knuckles while staring at the pile of boxes from his spot in the center of the garage, pondering the best way on how to tackle the huge amount of information.

Going through the individual boxes has indeed proven absolutely ineffective, albeit super interesting – he still can't get over some of the most adorable childhood pictures and photos of Felicity he's seen – but they are proceeding far slower than would have hoped.

So he needs to try a new approach.

He starts at the upper left corner, taking down the boxes and sorting them by their black-sharpie inscriptions into several piles mostly due to different ages Felicity was at the woman in question steps back into the house for a while to get them both a chilled glass of iced tea.

The afternoon is rather warm, despite the late November, and the metal doors of the garage have been working like a furnace, taking in the rays of sun and heating up the space of the garage from the inside, air going stale, so they've opened garage door wide open a while ago to let some fresh air inside.

The afternoon's sun is bright and warm, its rays slowly elongating and growing richer in color with the progressing time and Oliver looks back at the task at hand that looks almost daunting.

Not one to quit easily though, he only takes a moment before he quickly returns to sorting out the boxes, uncovering just another line behind them. The sorting goes quite easily though and Oliver is quite impressed by the rather well-organized inscriptions, having had expected a less sorted out materials. But even Felicity admitted to him earlier that she suspects her mom must have gone through them at some point on her own to put the inscriptions on, describing what's approximately inside on them. He only hopes Donna's inscriptions are on point, because it could certainly help them find what they are looking for sooner, but also push what they need to the side, deeming it not relevant.

It's only when Oliver gets to the last line of boxes when his eyes suddenly catch the black sharpie words on a couple of boxes at the very far corner pushed to the back of the garage where numerous boxes simply hold one word: Noah.

Inexplicable excitement shooting through him at the sight, Oliver flexes his muscles to wrestle the boxes from the heap, putting them aside in a separate pile.

Felicity only gives him a raised eye-brow when she returns, silently offering him a chilled glass which he takes as her approval to his new approach.

He takes a few hasty gulps of the iced tea, suddenly parched. A slight sheen of sweat covers his face, throat and arms from moving the boxes back and forth for the better part of the afternoon and he feels a droplet glide down the side of his face to his throat and further down until it disappears, soaked up by the barrier of his Henley.

Before he knows it, the glass is empty and he can't help but let out a satisfied gasp, licking his lips to chase the last remnants of the surprising delicacy that's Donna Smoak's homemade iced tea.

He looks up and catches Felicity staring at him with a flush spreading through her cheeks, her eyes not quick enough to look away and the sheer arousal and want he sees flashing in them for the tiniest of moments takes his breath away. She quickly steps away, laying her own still half-full glass on a nearby working bench, her attention pointedly not on him anymore but the boxes he previously sorted out holding nothing but her father's name.

"Uhm, I think it's a good idea to start with these."

He doesn't comment on the fact that he clearly caught her ogling him, but a part of him that he knows is linked to his male pride soars with delight.

Felicity starts opening the boxes while he carries all of the 'Noah' boxes into the center of the garage to create enough space for them while piling the rest back against the wall, and a companionable silence falls over them as they work, each lost in concentration on the contents of the box they are currently holding when he later joins her in the middle of the garage.

There is a little over a dozen of the 'Noah' boxes and they make their way through the first five rather quickly. They mostly hold old contracts, leases, utility bills, invoices and other usual documentation one simply accumulates through life. But just when Oliver closes a box and pulls another towards himself, he hears Felicity let out a little cry of surprise.

"Oliver," she croaks in a tight voice. "I think I found them."

He is up in a flash, scooting close to her to see what she means. She is holding several sheets of papers stapled together that hold a list of names and addresses written down in a neat handwriting.

"I found these at the top," Felicity utters, showing him the lists and peeking inside the box at what lies underneath. There are letters, tightly compressed piles of letters bound together by a rubber band, each marked with a number and stamped together with a copy of what Oliver now knows from the childish paper and girlish handwriting are copies of Felicity's answers. His heart skips a beat, because this is it; they are so close he can nearly feel it at the tip of his tongue.

He has to agree with her previous words about her dad being a neat freak, which absolutely works in their favor now. The lists along with the letters are comprehensive, very detailed and extremely well organized.

The chronological order they are sorted helps them to realize that what they are looking at is the result of less than a year of Felicity's received and answered letters and it's only then when the magnitude of what she was forced to do by her own father each Sunday afternoon as a child really hits him. She was only a little girl; she should have rode her bike around the neighborhood or play with her peers, not answering letters to strangers obsessed with her public persona. Even her free time was spend working, building an image so her father could capitalize on her sweet nature even more, and it pulls at something inside Oliver, knowing she was forced to go through that as a child.

He pushes the uncomfortable thoughts to the back of his mind however, his full focus now on Felicity, who is hastily taking off the lids of the remaining boxes looking through them in an attempt to find something specific until she finally stops, a sound of victory leaving her throat when she finds what she was looking for. She extracts another thick pile of tightly bound letters, holding it in one hand while her other takes out another pile of what must be the copies of her answers, and upon seeing the design of little stars and rainbows on the photocopied paper, Oliver's breath stops in his lungs.

It takes less than five minutes to find what they are looking for and Oliver can't believe it, can't believe they're holding the origins of where this whole nightmare has started in their hands.

Felicity finds her answering letter first, quickly able to match the pieces found in Shelby's hand to her own whole copy, while Oliver consults the lists, matching the number on Felicity's answer to the original fan letter.

Stanley Dover

The name and address stare at him, looking so innocent, so unassuming, and Oliver's gut churns.

That's his name. The Star City Slasher's name is one Stanley Dover.

Felicity is already engrossed in reading the original letter and her soft "Oh my god" instantly draws Oliver's attention. He immediately scoots closer to Felicity joining her in reading the letter over her shoulder.

Dear Lissy,

I don't know where to start. But I know that I need to write to you to let you know that youve been the only thing keeping me going for the past year, and I wanted to thank you for it.

My name is Stan and Im 17yo. Im from Tulsa, Oklahoma. You may wonder why a 17yo boy is writin to you. Its not like that, I swear. Its because of my sister, Chrissy. She loved your show since forever and made me watch every one episode together with her. Chrissy would have her 12. b-day tomorrow. But last year, our dad – a drunk – crashed the car while completelly vasted. Chrissy was in the back of the car. She didnt have her seatbelt on and she didnt make it. Our mom doesnt live with us. She left when Chrissy was just a baby and I cared of her cause dad did not. She was my baby sister and my best friend. When she died and dad got arested, I had no place to go. Im in foster care now, but its tough. They dont get me. They dont understand. Nobody does. I am so sad and angry all the time. I miss my sister. I often wish it was me sitting in the back of the car and not Chrissy. The only thing I now have is your show which reminds me of her. Without it I dont know what I would do. Thank you, Lissy, for always being their for me. And thank you for always making my sister smile. She dreamed to meet you one day. I try to cary on for her. You are great. Stay great.

Stan

Felicity is still reeling from the letter itself, her body slightly shaking, so Oliver gently takes her photocopied answer from her, his heart churning at the now familiar childish handwriting and the very kind words of a sweet, compassionate thirteen-year-old girl.

Dear Stan,

I honestly don't know what to say, what to write back to you. I am so, so sorry for what happened to Chrissy. It's a tragedy, and it's even worse that it was caused by your own father. She seemed like a lovely girl. I know it might look impossible now, an insurmountable task, but I hope that you can recover from her loss one day.

From what you wrote, you were a great brother. I can tell that you cared for her very much. It's wonderful that she had a brother such as you, who was always there for her. I don't have any siblings, but I know that if I had, I would want to have a brother like you do.

I am so happy and grateful to hear that my show could bring your sister so much joy and that you two could bond over it. I know life looks sad and cruel right now, because you lost your sister who you loved very much. But am sure it will get better with time as I am sure your sister would want you to be happy. My mom says that time heals all wounds. So hang in there, Stan. I am sure light will shine bright for you one day too, like the stars and rainbows on this letter.

Yours Lissy

"I remember him…" Felicity murmurs, her voice shaking with suppressed emotion. "I remember writing this letter, because I was struggling with the answer so damn much. I didn't know what to write…how to comfort him. What do you write to something like that?" she cries, looking at Oliver in distress and completely loss.

What do you write to a person whose father just killed their baby sister?

Oliver doesn't know. What he knows is there would be no words of consolation for him if his own baby sister was killed, in such a horrible way on top of that and by the actions of their own father.

Slowly, the picture of a seventeen-year-old named Stanley Dover, an abandoned, neglected and probably even abused boy starts to emerge. A boy who had only one person in his life he ever loved and cared for fiercely and unconditionally, whose fate he carried on his shoulders because he felt the sole person responsible for her wellbeing. A person who was taken from him suddenly and violently. And he snapped. He latched onto the one connection he had with his sister, transferring all of his unprocessed feelings towards this one connection he's got left, and he send out a signal, a cry for help. And it was answered.

And so the connection – the obsession that only grew with time – was created.

xxx

Oliver is on the phone, walking the short way between the garage's pulled up gate and Donna's private driveway in circles and pacing back and forth as he relies all what they've found to Digg, already in full working mode while debriefing his partner on their findings, Stanley Dover's identity, assigning and delegating tasks for his team to complete until he and Felicity are back in town.

More often than not, his eyes stray to Felicity's silent form still hunched on the ground in the middle of the garage, her back facing him as she still reels from finding the letters, one hand tightly gripping the short note that started it all while the other hold onto one of the boxes for support.

Oliver has stepped out, not only to make the call, but also to give her some space, offer her a tiny bit of privacy to collect her thoughts. Yet the sight of her there hunched on the cement floor, alone and a little broken, pulls at his heartstrings and he has a hard time ignoring the inner voice calling out to him to step back and offer her any measure of comfort she'll take.

That's why he's the first to notice Donna step inside the garage, entering through the door connecting to the house, her eyes instantly seeking out her daughter hunched on the ground over the boxes.

"Felicity, honey, do you want me to order you a-" Donna starts saying but stops mid-sentence once walking further inside the space, her eyes gliding over the chaos of the garage, her sharp eyes instantly zeroing in on the boxes Oliver and Felicity have selected and pulled to the center of the garage, singling them out against the dozens of other Lissy boxes once again neatly pushed against the wall.

"What are you doing?" Donna asks sharply. "Those are your father's private boxes," she exclaims, walking further inside and Oliver – still on the phone to Digg – instinctively take a step back inside, instantly alarmed by the sharp tone of indignation in Donna's voice.

"Mom-" Felicity starts to say in alarm, a deer-in-the-headlights expression settling over her features, but her mother's face merely hardens.

"Are you kidding me, Felicity?! I just knew this wasn't about Lissy. You are trying to find him, aren't you? I can't believe this!" Donna cries angrily, clearly upset, her hands falling against her hips in a confrontational posture.

"Digg, I am gonna have to call you back," Oliver instantly says, abruptly ending the call and stepping more fully into the garage just as Felicity rising to her feet while speaking in a placating tone. "Mom, you don't understand–"

Her mom, however, won't have any of it, her hands slide around herself, a gesture as much self-protective as well as defiant in a stands-off with her daughter, holding herself tightly and almost shaking with the effort to suppress a sudden rush of anger, her eyes narrowing as she almost hisses her next words; "You are right, Felicity, I don't get it! That man was nothing but a greedy bastard ready to ruin his daughter's life over money–"

"Mom, please– " Felicity cries, her voice shaking, taking a quick step closer to her mother and holding her hands up in a placating, beseeching gesture just as Oliver steps fully inside the garage stopping just a couple of feet behind Felicity, not willing to barge into the middle of the mother-daughter argument but also not wanting Felicity to feel alone in this.

"No, sweetheart! There is not but in this! I won't let you make that mistake. Not after I have fought him tooth and nail not to ruin your life any further than he already has."

"Mom," Felicity tries again, but her watery voice lacks strength, shaking with tears Oliver can't see but can clearly hear.

"No, you need to hear this, Felicity. I understand you have questions, that you believe there are some answers you might not know yet, that there is more to the story, now that you are a grown woman. I would lie if I said I wasn't dreading the day this would come up again, I knew this day was coming, but you need to hear this, because I didn't pay for three years of therapy so my daughter wouldn't be scared of her own shadow only to let her be sucked into the web of lies and abuse of that man again!"

"Mom, please, just stop. It's not–" Felicity is openly crying now, her body shaking with sobs and Oliver's feet instantly take him closer to stand directly behind her, his hand silently rising to come rest against the small of her back, fingers curling into the soft fabric of her dress.

Donna is not faring better than her daughter, just on the brink of her own emotional breakdown, and Oliver is left standing there, wondering in bewilderment how the situation has spun out of control so quickly.

Neither woman says anything, but both women are shaking, one with sobs and one with anger, frustration and a hint of fear in her eyes before Donna's anger finally melts away and turns into desolation as she regards her daughter with tears glistening in her eyes. "Do you know how it broke me, sweetheart? Do you know how it feels to get called to the hospital in the middle of the night, in a strange city, to see your child there like that, hurt and scared… Do you know what it felt like to hold your tiny, shaking frame, to hold your small hand through all of that, through all of those invasive exams–"

"I know, mom, I was there!" Felicity cuts her off sharply.

"Then how can you?" Donna questions, incomprehension, hurt and a hint of betrayal visible on her face. "How can you find it in you to show even an ounce of interest for the man had put you through all of that, a man who wanted to continue putting you through that? His own daughter!"

But Felicity is not listening anymore. She bolts from the garage, dashing around her mother and almost running through the door her mother's come in, escaping both, the situation as well as her mother's words, leaving Oliver utterly bewildered and shell-shocked, reeling at what has just transpired.

A sick feeling drops into the pit of his stomach at the words that were exchanged, but even more so at the words that weren't, because what was implied has his mind instantly jumping to conclusions and possible missing pieces of Donna's story. But he's missing just too much to get any real idea, what was said offering just too little and too much information at once to make a clear picture of what it all means.

Her daughter leaving, Donna now turns her attention to the only remaining person in the garage. The fight has gone out from her, her own tears finally slipping down and silently gliding down her face as she gives him a helpless, heartbroken look, clearly not aware or at the moment realizing that Oliver is not privy to what appears to be an incredibly private and sensitive family secret that was just spilled in front of a complete stranger.

"I can't let her do such a mistake, Oliver. I can't let my baby girl fall under her father's spell again, because believe me, if Felicity's father was good at anything in his life, it was manipulation. He could charm his way into your life, a master of persuasion, until I didn't know right from wrong anymore. He was gaslighting me for years and guilt-tripping our child to feed his own agenda. And after all his greedy plans and schemes blew into our faces, he failed his daughter, his baby girl, even further. He has utterly failed her, in every possible way a father can fail a child. And then he left. He left her, when she needed him the most, breaking my baby in a way I was never able to repair. I don't deny, I have my fair share of blame too. I should have stopped him, a long time ago, but I didn't, and for that, I will forever feel guilty. But at least I knew when to stop and step away while he didn't, wouldn't. While he would readily continue capitalizing on his own flesh and blood as if nothing happened. And he would do it again, in a blink of an eye. I just know it, he would try to do it today the same way he did back then. It took me an embarrassingly long time to finally recognize him for who he really was, how far he was willing to go and what he was willing to sacrifice to feed his own ambition, but I did. And I can't let him do that again, I can't let him poison my daughter again. So I beg you Oliver. Please! You care, I can see it clearly in your eyes, you care for my daughter. So don't let my baby make the mistake of believing her father could have changed, or she will just get hurt again."

xxx

He finds her sitting hunched on the side of her twin bed in her childhood bedroom.

It's an attic space, solid wood ceiling sharply beveled, which gives the room a nice and cozy atmosphere. There is a wide window with street view with a table and a chair underneath it. One wall is covered with shelves filled with books and trinkets, some academic trophies. The other is littered with posters of decade old movies and boy bands.

It's such an ordinary, regular teenage girl's bedroom. Nobody would ever suspect what kind of extraordinary girl lived her.

Felicity doesn't acknowledge his presence, but Oliver knows she is aware of him being there. He stands in the partly opened door to her room awkwardly for a couple of moments, hands pushed deep into his pockets. He's unsure what to do, where to fit in this sacred space of hers. He only knows he wants to be here, wants to offer her any kind of comfort and help he can.

He wants to repay her kindness, the way she so effortlessly, so naturally soothed his pain upon his admission of his own crappy adolescent years. But above that, he just wants be here for her.

He just stays like that for a while, neither stepping full into the room nor leaving. Felicity must recognize his indecision after a while, because she pats the space next to her on the flowery bedspread, wordlessly inviting him to sit down.

He leaves a couple of inches between them, not wanting to crowd her space but unable to help himself from trailing his fingers over hers, grasping her tiny cool fingers in his big warm hand.

He waits, offering her time and space to do whatever she feels most comfortable with. If she decides to ignore what just transpired down between her mother and her, he will respect that. If she chooses to share the obviously painful memories with him, he will listen.

Whatever she decides.

They stay like that for a long while, silence dominating the room, their breathing the only sounds in the room. Then, in a voice so quiet he has to strain his ears, Felicity finally speaks.

"I was thirteen. Lissy's popularity was at its peak, the format starting to attract bigger crowds and ultimately bigger Hollywood producers. I was invited to LA to meet with a big studio representative interested in making a Lissy movie. My dad said it was the opportunity of a lifetime." She doesn't turn her head towards him, but even from his angle, Oliver can see a sad smile tug at her lips. He gives her hand a squeeze.

"We flew to LA and spent a week there. I don't remember much about the business talks and negotiations. My dad wouldn't usually take me to meetings unless my presence was directly requested. I didn't mind, they were usually super boring anyway. What I do remember is me and my mom walking along the beach collecting shells and shrieking in delight when the foamy waves hit our feet or visiting the amusement parks, going shopping… the usual stuff a thirteen-year-old would enjoy doing with her mom." Her sad smile turns into a soft, wistful thing and the emotions swirling through Oliver's chest at the sight are nearly too much to bear. "On the last evening, there was a big party at one of the investor's house. I was invited, was told it would make good publicity if I was seen among the young and wealthy and popular of LA, mingling. My mom didn't want me to go. She said I was too young, didn't want me to be exposed to possible bad influence. It was one thing to have my own show on the east coast, where I was relative secluded from the craze of Hollywood, doing my own thing on my own terms, but being directly in the middle of who-is-who in Hollywood was a tad too much in her eyes. But my dad insisted, reasoned it was important for my career. It was just one evening. To be honest, I was quite excited to go. It's not every day you get invited to meet the popular kids of Hollywood, and I was young and excited, and I begged my mom to let me go. Finally, she agreed under the condition her and my dad would spend the evening alongside me, chaperoning me and keeping an eye on me at all times. To be honest, I didn't really care. All I wanted was to finally see a little of that famous Hollywood glammer." She makes a short pause, her cool fingers twitching inside of Oliver's hand, still not looking at him, his words directed an no one in particular as she gazes unseeingly in front of her.

"As it was, my mom got a bad case of migraine the day of the party. She's been battling them for years, those crippling kinds where she would spend the day in bed in enormous pain, feeling sick and often vomiting. She was managing them, so they weren't that frequent, but probably the stress of the whole week, the change of scenery, something triggered it. She couldn't go. But I was already so excited, she didn't have the heart to tell me no. And my dad would still be there, keeping an eye on me. So we made it to the party and it was... well, nothing like I'd imagined. It felt like I stepped into a zoo with all cages wide open. There were young people, actors big and small mingling with local rich kids whose parents meant something, drinking booze, dancing and jumping into the huge pool in the backyard. Music was blasting, but there were still people the age of my father in business casual, nursing a whiskey while casually talking over possible deals like this was any normal setting. I was… taken-aback. I was introduced to a couple of the younger attendees and even today, I remember clearly how out of place I felt. Some of the girls were allegedly my age or just a tad older, but they wore heavy makeup and skimpy dresses, walking on high heels and reminding me more of my mom than any girl my age I've ever met, their eyes already glassed over by alcohol or drugs. It was a pandemonium and quite sobering, and I didn't like it very much. Before long, my dad got sucked into a circle of those business men talking deals over their whiskey."

Felicity's eyes are glassed over as she remembers, sucked into her own memories, voice filled with detachment and melancholy. He doesn't like it, not one bit.

"It was getting late and the music was really blasting, making my head pulsate unpleasantly. I remember wandering off, trying to explore the house a little and find a quiet nook I could catch a breath. The place was huge, a mansion really, with several floors filled with game rooms and saloons, and there seemed to be people everywhere. I remember there was a huge, ancient-looking ornate fireplace, a pool table and a disco ball in the same room. I remember feeling hot and crowded, somebody offering me a glass of what appeared to be champagne. I knew I wasn't allowed to drink, but I was so thirsty, I downed the glass. That's the last thing I remember coherently."

A fat tear slips down her cheek, her head falling down and hair falling around her face in a curtain, hiding her face from Oliver's view, and he squeezes her fingers as dread fills his stomach at what she's going to say next. But Felicity has stopped, isn't talking anymore, and Oliver realizes, whatever she was about to say, she is struggling with the words.

"You don't have to tell me," he utters quietly, turning towards her while one of his hands automatically rises to cup her cheeks and gently glide over the side of her face, his fingers combing back the gold of her hair that has fallen forward back behind her ear.

Felicity shakes her head at him, even as another tear slips down, nuzzling her face into his hand. "I want to tell you," she chokes out on a whisper. "I just… I've never told anybody in my life."

The revelation guts him.

"My parents know, of course. My therapist knows. But I never told anybody else, ever." Not even Cooper is implied, and Oliver doesn't know whether to feel sad or grateful for that.

He allows her time to get her composure back, using it to slowly stroke his fingers through her hair, gliding the pads of his fingers over the soft, heated skin on her cheeks in what he hopes is a soothing gesture, and he wait her out.

After the longest of pauses, she finds her courage at last, continuing her tale. "I was drugged and found some time later by my father in one of the rooms upstairs. I have no recollection of how I got there. My–" her voice trembles, "My skirt was pulled up over my hips, exposing me, my blouse opened."

Dread like he never felt before fills Oliver's stomach.

"I was rushed to the hospital, given drug tests and IVs to flush whatever I was dosed with out of my system. Physically, I seemed unharmed. I still remember the fear on my mom's face as she rushed into the room, the utter terror at seeing me on the hospital bed. I remember the guilt on my father's face, the devastation of not knowing what had happened to me in that half an hour I was unaccounted for," she says, her words finishing on a sob. "They– uhm…" she stops, her mouth pulling into a self-deprecating smile, a tiny mirthless laugh that chills him to his bones leaving her lips.

"They had to do a rape kit. To be sure what happened. I remember squeezing my mom's hand and wrist so hard through it she was left with bruises for days after. The nurses and doctors were very kind, but it was still invasive and utterly humiliating, and I was thirteen and I was terrified.

"The exam didn't find anything," she says at last after a while, her beautiful, devastated eyes finally meeting his. "Either he got spooked or changed his mind or didn't want to go all the way, whatever the reason, I wasn't touched beyond having my clothes removed. But I still felt dirty. Violated. Devastated and broken and tainted."

More tears are slipping from her eyes, but Felicity seems resigned to them at this point, her voice gaining a monotone, completely detached tone.

"We flew home the first chance we got. I remember being tucked close against my mom's side during the flight, pressed against her like a small child seeking comfort. My dad was there too. He was feeling guilty, that one was clear. He tried to offer comfort and strength, but I was scared and I just wanted my mom. I remember her not talking to him at that point. Hasn't been ever since I was released from the hospital. She was livid with him, I could tell, angry and disappointed. I remember feeling bad for him. She was angry at him because he didn't do as promised to not let me out of his sight, but all I could think about was that it was me who's wandered away from him. Back then, I didn't see it from an adult's standpoint. That he was my father, my parent and guardian. That he should never let me wander off in the first place and should have gripped my arm at all times instead of socializing with the other guests and leaving me to my own devices at a party like that. But back then, I felt like I've failed them both."

She takes a shuddering breath, but continues, determination setting in her shoulders.

"We came home, and I took a couple of weeks off from Lissy, claiming illness. I spent the time mostly in my bed, watching tv shows with my mom and pretending the outside world didn't exist. I remember how quiet it was in the house outside of the TV. My parents still weren't talking. I know my dad tried to apologize a couple of times, but my mom wouldn't hear it.

"The two of them were the only people I saw for a couple of weeks. And they didn't talk to each other. It was… bad. I wasn't sleeping well at night, I was having nightmares, some weird flashbacks I couldn't figure out to this day. I started getting panic attacks whenever I was supposed to step outside the house. When the day came to return on set of Lissy, the panic attack I got upon the mere thought of going out there again was so crippling my mom had to call a good friend of hers, a psychiatrist, to subscribe some Zoloft to me. I was in therapy for the following three years."

"What happened with Lissy?" Oliver asks carefully. Felicity sighs, looking tired.

"Naturally, my mom wanted me out. She was livid at my dad for what he allowed to happen, but she also saw I was in no state to continue the show until I got on my feet again. He disagreed. He said I would stay in therapy, medicated if needed for the time being, but I could push through, I was strong enough, and it would get easier with time. He believed the show was something I loved doing, so it would help me get back to normal instead of being cooped up at home and shunning the outside like my mom wanted."

"What did you want?" Oliver murmured, and Felicity gave him a sad smile.

"See, that's what nobody asked me. But I know I wasn't ready to return to Lissy, not like before. There was no way I could put on the what would now be a fake cheery persona. I felt like a fraud. I felt weak and tired. And dirty still. Damaged goods," she whispers and Oliver's heart breaks.

"You are not-" he starts to say but she cuts him off quickly.

"I know."

Her tone is sure, no trace of any lingering doubt, and for that, he is grateful. "It took me a couple of years, but I got to a point where I realized that whatever happened that night wasn't my fault. That it didn't make me any less of a human being worth of love and affection."

Oliver nods, something inside him easing at the knowledge. Because she is. She is worth everything. And he can't even start to imagine how that must have felt like for her, to have been violated in such a brutal way at such a tender age. So much pressure being put on a thirteen-year-old, he knows only very few wouldn't crack. He always admired her, for her wit, her strength, her generous kindness. But at this moment, he's nearly overwhelmed with his affection for her.

"You are remarkable," he murmurs, the words slipping out on his own volition in a quiet, reverent sigh. For a moment, he berates himself for voicing his thought aloud – maybe it's not the time or the place to make such heavy proclamations – but then the corner of her mouth twitches and slowly pulls up at his words and he's glad he's voiced his thoughts.

"Thank you for remarking on it."

He hates how the easy smile falls away upon his next question, but he cannot ask. "Is that the reason behind your parents divorce?"

Her eyes fall down and she pulls a little away from him. "Yes and no. What happened in LA was a catalyst, but the cracks were already there before. At least that's what my mom later told me. She suspected my father was using me for years, living off of me instead of finding a job of his own, choosing the easier road to use my talents than to accomplish something for himself. He argued he sacrificed everything for my success and now my mom was throwing it back into his face despite being fully on board at the beginning. Him being adamant I continue with Lissy was what ultimate broke the camel's back. My mom wouldn't have it, she wanted out. She was disgusted and stressed over my safety and wellbeing, angry by the studio's ever-growing demands on my time. She was having her marriage falling apart and during all of that, she was constantly dealing with me and my severe panic attacks and mental problems. There was no out and she's had enough. She asked for a divorce and full custody. My father fought her, wanted full custody too, but he had no chance, not in light of my psychiatrist's testimony who said I absolutely needed a quiet, normal environment to make a full recovery. He was not ready to make that sacrifice while my mother was." Felicity says, shrugging non-comitally. Like it was no big deal her father would rather have her perform, her personal wellbeing be damned, than offer her the quiet protection of anonymity to grow into a balanced, healthy individual.

"He was angry. I honestly don't know what he expected. He was angry he didn't get custody, he was angry at my mom for pulling me away from a stellar career at the worst possible moment. And I think, deep down, he was angry with me for not being able to get a grip and pulling myself together quicker, disappointed in me for being a coward by not making enough effort to push through my issues."

"Excuse me?" Oliver asks, his voice coming out in an angry hiss, fury settling inside his chest at her words. Felicity just shrugs, apparently long resigned to the situation, but in Oliver's eyes, there is no excuse. Donna's angry words come sharply back to him and he understands now, understands why she would absolutely loath the idea of her daughter to possibly want to reconnect with her ex-husband.

"I felt like I failed him for a long time. I know my mom did what was best for me back then. But he left and I thought… maybe if I didn't wander off that day, maybe if I didn't react so strongly to what happened… I mean, it's not like anything really happened–" Even as her words are leaving her mouth, Oliver is shaking his head.

"No! Let me stop you right there, Felicity. Your mom did what was best for you at that time, and I am so glad you had at least one parent who saw that. Who saw you, and put your needs above everything else." He found a new level of respect for Donna Smoak, who found the courage to let her family break apart to protect her daughter. At the same time, he was so angry with one Noah Kuttler, a man he's never even met but felt like punching if he ever did. "I am sorry, but you father was selfish and greedy." Donna's previous words ring in his ears, making that much more sense. "He utterly failed you, as a parent, as a father as well as a guardian. And then he expected you to move on. No parent should ever want to sacrifice their child for money or fame. You deserved so much better from him, Felicity. You deserved to be loved and cherished and supported unconditionally. You still do, and any person who is allowed to be a part of your life should put you as their absolute priority."

Fresh tears enter her eyes as she gazes at him, her pupils dilated, making her irises impossibly blue. She looks young and vulnerable, weighted down by years of self-doubt and regret.

His hands are framing her face now, thumbs caressing flushed wet cheeks. She looks breathtaking and so lovely and yes, he realizes with absolutely clarity, he is completely and hopelessly in love with her. He wants to kiss her, wants to erase that sad frown from her brow, so desperately. But he doesn't want to presume.

She is so unique, singular. And yet, every man she's ever had a relationship with has only taken advantage of her.

He refuses to be one of those men. So he waits her out, holds her face close, his intent clear, but doesn't take the last step himself. He puts all that he's feeling for her in that one single look, letting his eyes tell her everything he won't allow himself to tell her with words.

And she does, she hears him. He can see her face transform from a pained expression to a slightly confused frown until finally something akin to awe blossoms across her face, and he offers her a smile, because despite all, he feels like smiling. Where this woman is concerned, he wants nothing else but smile, because she makes him happy.

"Oliver?" she murmurs and it's a tiny, awed sound, their hot breaths mingling. Her eyes dip to his mouth for a fraction of a second, and it's possibly the hottest thing he's ever witnessed in his entire life.

"Oliver," she whispers again, and this time, his name is not a question, it's the answer.

She tips her head, closing the remaining gap between them, touching her mouth against his. It's an innocent kiss, lips pressing against lips, but it electrocutes everything in Oliver. He is hot and cold at the same time, a shiver running down his spine from the simple touch.

But before he can recover from the thought that Felicity Smoak has kissed him, she is already pressing her lips against him again, more firmly, demanding more, and when she opens her mouth, her tongue slipping out to gently lick the seam of his mouth, everything else around Oliver ceases to exists but that one incredible sensation.

There is nothing else but Felicity and him, and the kiss they share to end all kisses. To devastate him, ruin him for any other woman ever again. It's slow and unhurried and deep, her lips plump and soft and warm, exactly like he's always dreamed they would be.

But no, no, it's better. This is a thousand times better than what he could possibly have dreamed about.

He shifts on the bed, pulling her closer, fingers of one hand curling around the nape of her neck to pull her even deeper into the kiss while his other hand sneaks around her slim waits, bringing her upper body flush with his. A low moan escapes her, and the sound shoots straight to his groin, making it tighten. And then she kisses him even more.

She is playful. It shouldn't surprise him, but it does. Her tongue slips in and out of his mouth, delving into his mouth one moment and caressing his lips the other. Her teeth pull at his lower lip before she licks a hot path to the side of his mouth, kissing his mole sloppily before she returns back to his lips and wow… she is… she is a really good kisser.

Okay, scratch that. She is the best kisser. He doesn't want to ever be kissed by anybody else ever again.

It takes an eternity, or it's just a moment, Oliver doesn't know and doesn't particularly care either.

It's a moment of sheer perfection.

When they finally pull apart, Oliver feels dazed. Ravished. Turned on and smitten and hopelessly in love with the amazing woman he's holding in his arms. Sometime, somehow, she's crawled over, one of her bend knees thrown over him and nearly straddling him sideways.

Her body is warm and soft, her cheeks flushed, lips rosy and swollen, an expression of innocent amazement playing across her lovely face, and he's never seen anything so endearing and erotic in his life.

"Wow," she whispers, closing her eyes, her tongue darting out to licks her lips, the remnants of his taste, and Oliver is a goner. A deep groan leaves his mouth, his pants pulling unbearably tight as he watches her.

"Wow, indeed," he says in a tight, dazed voice he doesn't recognize.

A beautiful smile blossoms across her face, a vibrant living thing. Her eyes sparkle with mirth and mischief and simple joy, and it steals Oliver's breath away.

He caresses her face, trailing the pads of his fingers over her cheeks in awe, feeling her soft skin stretched taunt by her smile, and he can't help but offer her one of his in return.

His pocket vibrates. And vibrates again with an incoming message, and Oliver's eyes fall shut in frustration, the reality crashing down around them and bursting the quiet joyful bubble they've just created around themselves.

Reluctantly, he extracts the offending phone from his pocket, looking at the screen.

Lyla wants to know when you two will be back. Working leads on Dover in the meantime, nothing specific yet, no last know address. He's been moving around a lot, has been living off the grid the past year. Diggle

With a sigh, Oliver types a quick reply, pushing the phone inside his pocket once again, but the moment is already gone, their reality already settling in.

"Work?"

He nods and Felicity's face falls for the shortest of moments before she schools her features once again. Regret fills him instantly, because it shouldn't be like this.

He brings his hands to her face once again, pulling her close to steal one more reassuring kiss from her.

"Felicity," he murmurs, eyes roaming her face, the words he knows he has to say only reluctantly pushing past his lips. "I know this comes at the least convenient time, if there ever is such a thing." His voice is low and gentle, a breeze against her lips while his eyes determinedly hold hers. "Right now, there is a million things on both of our minds as well as our plates. And as much as I would like to just stay within this bubble with you, we can't."

The light in her eyes dims somewhat, her gaze shuttering all of a sudden, all of her previous easy joy and openness gone in a flash, wariness settling inside those beautiful, bottomless blues of hers, and her sudden emotional withdrawal feels like a punch to the gut.

"Hey, no," he says, shaking his head rather forcibly while urging with his hands to look back at him.

"Look at me, Felicity. Please."

She does, and the vulnerability and insecurity in her eyes steals his breath away. So he takes a deep breath and just takes the step, no matter how terrifying it feels, and lays his card open.

"I care about you, Felicity. I care about you a lot. Definitely far more than I am supposed to. But at the same time, it puts me in a tricky situation. Because I shouldn't have developed feelings for you, even though they are too strong now not to acknowledge them or openly try to deny them any longer. I can't act on these feelings, however, no matter how much I want to; not until this situation we're finding ourselves in is off the table. If my colleagues or superiors found out, I would be pulled from the case for conflict of interest and I can't have that. I can't let anybody else handle this case, I absolutely need to be in control and lead the search for the Slasher while making absolutely sure that you are kept safe at all times. But above that, I also believe I am currently the most invested Agent out there ready to give the case all the attention it deserves to finally see this thing through."

There is a pause where Oliver thinks about what he is about to tell her next, choosing his words carefully because there absolutely can't be no doubts about what he means with his following words.

"And you Felicity… you need to have this situation resolved before making any important life decisions. You need to physically be well and feel safe in order to regain any semblance of your own self. Only then can you be sure that you are making decisions based on your own free will and not under duress because your life is in upheaval and you are searching for a safe ground. It would be not fair to you." He sees she's about to protest, but he doesn't let her. "I know that you feel that's not the case, but I, for my own clear conscience, need to know that. I need to make absolutely sure that if you make any important choices regarding your life and my place in it, it will be without the disadvantage of your life currently being destabilized and uncertain. Do you understand?"

She takes a long pause just gazing at him, searching his eyes as if looking for a catch, but Oliver knows she won't find any. There is no catch. He loves her. He just can't be with her right now.

It takes the longest, most agonizing moments, but at least, Felicity's eyes sparkle with understanding and she gives Oliver a tiny nod.

"Good," he says elated, a heavy whoosh of air leaving his lungs. "Because I do care about you, Felicity. And I do want to explore where this thing between us could lead. I think- I have a feeling it might turn out to be one of the most important and greatest things I've ever done in my life. And I don't want to rush it or screw it up. I want to take my time with you. I want to take you to a proper date, possibly a nice quiet restaurant, classy but nothing too elaborate, where we can talk over dinner, maybe share a dessert. I want to offer to walk you home afterwards, hoping that you, maybe slightly tipsy from the red wine, say yes. I want to try to kiss you in front of your door and await eagerly whether you'll ask me inside for coffee. I want the whole package."

A breathless gasp leaves her lips at his words. "Seems like you've put quite a lot of thought into this," she whispers in a breathy voice.

"I have," he confirms, looking her in the eye, willing her to see how very serious he is about this. "I want to do this right. Because you deserve it."

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and the motion looks painful, so he strokes his thumb above it, using it to free the abused flesh.

"Will you wait for me?" he asks, seeing how his question catches her off-guard. "Are you willing to wait until we see this thing through, together, before we give us a try?"

She gazes at him for a long time, taking in his words, analyzing them, and he is glad, because it means she is seriously pondering the whole picture and not rush into things only because she is scared their tomorrows are not guaranteed.

"Of course," she whispers at last, a small smile pulling at her mouth, and Oliver lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I'll always wait for you."

That hits him straight in the heart and he pulls her close, hugging her tight, committing the last intimate moment they'll share for the nearest future to memory, because he knows, outside of this room, outside this house, the real and very dangerous world awaits.

xxx

It's late when they descend the stairs, the smell of pizza welcoming them. There's a tentative smile stretching over Donna's face, a piece offering of sorts as she directs them to sit at the table, pouring them water and chattering away about her new plans for her garden.

Nobody mentions Felicity's father anymore and slowly Oliver feels Felicity relax next to him, her hand silently seeking out his underneath the table.

They share what is overall a very nice meal, Donna questioning Oliver a little about his background and apart from revealing his true occupation to her, Oliver stays truthful, offering a little about his military history and his family as well, glossing over the facts regarding the enormous Queen wealth or the estranged relationship with his parents. Felicity is rather quiet and subdued through dinner, but she does listen to him and Donna quietly talking, seemingly enjoying herself now that the topic of her father is once again put to rest, for which Oliver is grateful. She deserves to spend at least one evening in piece. One evening when not everything discussed is an emotional minefield or a battleground. They will be back in the middle of things soon enough, and Oliver's stomach is already churning at the thought of having to return back to Star City and back to the dangers and uncertainty lying there.

He must zone out for a while there, because when he tunes into the conversation after a while, he is surprised to hear Felicity and Donna laughing together over a story Felicity's is telling. He can hear his and Thea's names mentioned somewhere in there and he pulls himself back into the moment, enjoying the feeling on Felicity's small warm hand still grasping his under the table, squeezing as she catches his gaze during a tiny pause, the joyful spark in her eyes and easy brilliant smile she offers him hitting him straight in the chest.

He holds her gaze a tad too long until a throat clears and when he turns his head, he nearly blushes at the knowing, almost sly grin stretching across Donna Smoak's face.

To the woman's credit, she never comments on it any further. Only once the time comes to part ways does she pull Oliver into a surprisingly heartwarming hug, kissing his cheek and whispering against his ear with an easy smile to take good care of her daughter and keep her safe.

His stomach plummets at her words and it crashes over him then, the fact that Donna isn't aware what she is asking, how close her simple words are actually hitting close to home and despite his best efforts, his answering smile turns somewhat sour, his gut churning with guilt when all he can offer her is a tight curt nod.

He can't let her down. He absolutely can't.

Because if he does, it means everything is going straight to hell.