A/N: Brief Felicity POV following the events of "Time of Death" (2.14) and "The Promise" (2.15).

Got Guilt?

Oliver's going to be the death of me, but not the way he thinks. It won't be one of his enemies striking his tender underbelly of vulnerability when they attack me. It won't be Slade lashing out and forcing Oliver into his own version of existential despair. It won't even be an accident, like with Mr. Tockman, who was trying to shoot Sarah even though he's my nemesis. Nope. Oliver will kill me the old fashioned way, with tender-hearted kindness and best intentions and very slow suffocation.

I grab the kettle as soon as I hear the water jumping inside but before it can whistle, which would most likely wake him up. Considering the last twenty-four hours, let alone this night from hell that just wouldn't end, it's a not-so-minor miracle he's actually asleep and I was able to get out of bed.

Sleeping with Oliver is definitely one of my favorite parts about being with Oliver, and even though he's far from perfect, Oliver is a really long list of awesome, so that's quite a distinction. But he's so big and so hot (not just sexy hot, which is a no-brainer, but temperature-wise) and when he's worried, and let's face it, when isn't Oliver worried, when he sleeps he holds onto me like he's afraid to let me go. I'm his childhood teddy bear. Or maybe a life preserver.

My shoulder hurts when I reach for a mug, and I wince before grabbing with the other hand. It took about a minute for me to realize I don't ever want to get shot, not ever ever again. None of us should. I've never liked guns, but since I was more formally introduced to one, I've decided we need more stringent gun laws. Actually, we should just melt them all, every last one, and be done with them for good and for always. People should have to dedicate themselves to the self-discipline required to shoot an arrow or be brave enough to go after someone with a knife. But they can get rid of all the guns after Digg uses his sniper-scope to kill Slade because yes, actually, I'm a hypocrite and at least for right now, I can live with that.

I settle into the couch, still wearing only Oliver's shirt with the too-long sleeves rolled up, and pull the afghan over my bare legs. It's not really cold, but already I've gotten used to having a furnace chuffing away next to me. He always feels just a little bit too warm, like he's running a low-grade fever. I suspect it's all those calories working like mad to transform into perfect muscles. Either that or it's the guilt that motivates him quietly making him just a little bit sick. Regardless of the reason, when he's not close enough to lend his excess body heat, I always feel just a little bit cold now. And isn't that just perfect symbolism: I never feel warm enough unless Oliver's touching me.

The tea isn't steeping like it should because the water wasn't boiling. What I really want is coffee, but that will have to wait. I rub my eyes and shake my head, mentally cursing Digg and his stupid aspirins. Yes, it was nice for a little while. But I need a clear head if we're going to figure out this Slade thing. We all need clear heads.

Everyone was still fussing over me when my phone rang. Sarah even teased that Oliver was just pissed that Thea so obviously played him. But it was Oliver. There was no way I wasn't taking his call. I'd have to be either unconscious or dead to let him speak to my voicemail, and I wasn't either.

When I realized he hadn't dialed accidentally, that he wouldn't have to scroll past Digg's contact to reach mine, my heart pounded so hard I was afraid my stitches wouldn't hold. I saw Sarah's face when she heard Slade's voice over the speaker phone. How she suddenly looked not at all like a deadly assassin. When she heard Slade's voice, she was younger and smaller and scared. I think I maybe got a glimpse of the girl who snuck on board the Gambit to be with Oliver, far away from her sister, for three romantic weeks that turned into hellish years.

But she shook it off like a dog getting out of a bath, and then she was all business again. Maybe she never was small and scared. Maybe that was the aspirins that saw that glimpse into someone else. She rallied the troops and called the orders and had a plan in motion within moments, Digg and Roy flanking her like faithful lieutenants. Now that Sarah's joined Team Arrow, there's no doubt who's in charge when Oliver isn't there.

Sarah is damned impressive. They all are. Digg, with his huge arms and steady hands and even more steady sniper-eye. Even Roy is impressive in his own way. He's strong enough to run around carrying semi-trucks, but he looks so young I just want to make him cookies or pat his head and I have to keep biting my tongue so I don't call him Little Red Riding Hoodie. Oliver is quite certain that would not go over well. He's probably right.

"Sit back down," Digg scolded even as he gently pushed me back into my chair. "You've done enough for one day."

"We need you to coordinate coms," Sarah said.

"What the hell are you going to do?" Roy scoffed. "Kill him with your tablet?"

Only no one needed saving tonight. All that planning and terror, and all that happened was Digg was knocked unconscious and Oliver's mom kicked him out of the mansion.

It's a technicality because he mostly lives here anyway, but still. That's just mean. I really don't like that woman, and I am definitely not voting for her. Oliver's risking his life to keep her safe even when he's so hurt he can't barely stand it. And she's going to act all hurt and angry because Oliver knows she lied? That's rich. And not rich like money because she's definitely that too. Moira Queen is rich in every sense of the word. She ripples with airs and entitlement. If only that translated to usable muscles, she'd put Oliver and Sarah to shame on the salmon ladder. Only it doesn't, so she just looks well groomed and vicious, like one of those little dogs people carry around in purses.

Slade didn't anything except flirt and growl. If he wanted to hurt people, he had plenty of opportunity. Oliver's convinced he's playing with him first, before he goes in for the death kill. Oliver thinks he's going to pick us off, one by one, forcing Oliver to fail to save each of us in turn. Oliver's convinced he's going to take everything first and wring every last drop of exquisite pain and torture before he puts Oliver out of his misery.

There's something really twisted about someone who enjoys playing with his food like that. All for a girl who was in love with Oliver. At least Oliver seems to think that's why. There's more to that story Oliver's not telling us, but it doesn't make a lot of sense to me. Even taking into account the power of unrequited love. I asked Oliver if Slade was unstable before the Mirakuru, but he didn't answer. Maybe he doesn't know.

Maybe Oliver's still hoping his old friend is going to show up.

Maybe Slade is looking for a reason to put down his hatred.

Even though they both eat big bowls of guilt for breakfast, maybe they'll remember what they once were to each other and just stop before anyone else gets hurt.

Hey, a girl can dream.

I pull up the trackers and make sure everyone is where they're supposed to be. I count heads as compulsively as a mama duck. Digg. Sarah. Roy. Thea's phone is with Roy too. That's sweet. I hope the Mirakuru doesn't make Roy crazy. I didn't like that when Sarah asked him if she could trust him, Roy said, "I'm fine." That was not an acceptable answer.

Also, I like the idea of Moira all alone in her mansion. Serves her right.

I sip my weak tea and roll my eyes but remind myself that she's Oliver's mother. That matters to him, so I'll make sure she's okay too. When I pull up the mansion on my tablet, I notice all the extra wireless signals.

What the hell?

I put the tea back down and squint at my screen. That's not right.

"Felicity?" Oliver calls. "Come back to bed."

I swipe the tablet off. It's probably nothing. We'll deal with it later.

"Coming, Oliver."