Chapter Thirteen

"What is it with you and this weird Asian food fetish?"

"Oliver, if you think this is a fetish, I'm afraid you won't live up to your reputation. I mean, don't. I totally meant don't. Ack!" And then Felicity studiously turned away from him, pretending to look at anything and everything hanging on the walls as they waited for their Vietnamese takeout order to be finished.

"No, really." He was enjoying her embarrassment, he always liked when they could share a light-hearted conversation... especially now, and he was bored. Even as a child, Oliver was never the most patient of children. Now, though? He downright hated waiting. So, he refused to let the topic drop. "You've insisted upon one kind of Asian food or another this entire week so far."

"That's because it's delicious," she answered, though she spoke without looking at him. "You can never have too much Asian food."

Oliver scoffed. "Felicity, I spent five years on an island in the North China Sea. I think..."

"I think," she cut him off, whipping her head around, a single brow raised in challenge. "That you have absolutely no room to grouse about three days – three days, Oliver – of Asian food. After all, I highly doubt there was a PF Chang's that delivered to this island of yours. Unless there's something that you're not telling me... say, oh, everything."

Transferring the bag of wine he was carrying to the crook of his elbow, Oliver shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. Although they were again using the Queen family's fleet of vehicles, Felicity's old apartment was in a residential neighborhood not often frequented by the one percent, meaning they were pretty much guaranteed an evening without the paparazzi. With the taste of freedom in the warm, summer air, they had elected to walk that night. Offering Felicity one of his trademark grins, Oliver suggested, "sushi sounds great for tomorrow night."

Felicity just moaned low in her throat. "We're going to need more wine."

"What?" He genuinely chuckled, amused by her antics. "Why?"

"Oliver, I have a lot of books."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he remarked dryly.

Amused, Oliver watched her stomp her foot. "That's not what I meant."

"But now you're going to tell me exactly what you meant, right?"

"Well, how else would you ever understand anything," Felicity volleyed back.

She was distracted, and would have been off to the races on yet another tangent – this time, his lack of comprehension skills – if Oliver wouldn't have steered her back to the topic. "The wine?"

"Yes," Felicity shook her head, blinked. "The wine. The more wine that we're buying. We need to go back to the wine store."

Teasing her, he asked, "are you sure you just don't want to be carded again, while I'm not asked for identification?"

She giggled. "That was fun. But no. Like I said, I have a lot of books."

"Speaking of which, that actually surprises me." Now, it was his turn to carry them away from their original discussion, but it was for a good cause. He had been wondering about Felicity's book collection for weeks.

"Seriously, Oliver? You've met me, right? You can't be surprised that I like to read."

"Not that you like to read," he defended his astonishment. "Just that you like to read print books." At the sight of her scrunched up face, he explained, "I just would have predicted you to be an eBook reader. After all, I know how much you love your tablets. I've bought you enough of them."

"A girl never has too many tablets, Oliver."

"I thought that was shoes."

"Or shoes," she agreed. "But no. No eBooks for me. I like the genuine article. The real McCoy. It's like the one and only instance in my life where I don't prefer a machine."

His mind immediately went elsewhere, nearly causing him to choke on his own tongue. "The only?"

But Felicity's didn't follow him there. "It's the smell. Nothing smells better than a brand new book. In fact, it should be bottled. You should bottle it." Her eyes grew wide with excitement. "Oh! It can be your first new project as CEO of Queen Consolidated."

"You want me to go into the cosmetics business?"

"Well, if the face makeup fits," she remarked sarcastically. Playfully. "And... I can't believe I didn't think of this before, but I could design fingernail polish colors, though Thea will have to name them. She's cheekier than I am. Or maybe even Diggle. He's like... sly cheeky. And that smug grin of his, too? Ugh! We really need to talk about putting him in his place. I'm thinking... mortifying pictures of him to all the other security guys. But, then again, that might not be devious enough. Because he's bad enough on his own, but now that he and Thea are a team and ganging up on me about us moving in together..."

She finally paused to take a breath, so Oliver took the opportunity to ask, "what do you mean...," only to be cut off by another voice, a third voice, a very unwelcome, female voice.

"You're moving in together?" And then the irritated, devastated, incredulous voice bit out acerbically, "of course you are. I should have known."

He turned around slowly, a horrible sense of deja vu settling into his bones. Suddenly, Oliver was just... so weary, and the last thing he wanted was another ugly confrontation with Laurel. Not only were they in public, but he and Felicity were having a good night. A free night. A carefree night. "Laurel, this isn't the time or the place to..."

"To do what," she interrupted him, going from pissed off to near tears in a matter of seconds. "For you to hurt me? Again?"

"Look, Laurel, this has nothing to do with you."

She scoffed, sniffled. "It never does!"

Oliver spread his hands out in front of him in defeat. "I have no idea what you want me to say, what you want from..."

"I want you to, just once in your life, think about someone else," she yelled. And they were starting to draw a crowd. A scene always captured onlookers' attention, but, when one of those people causing the scene was Oliver Queen... and the woman whose name had been smeared in the media for nearly two months was standing beside him, things could get out of hand quickly. "I want you to just... stop this. Stop disrespecting Tommy's memory, stop..."

From beside him, Felicity's rational voice quietly spoke. "Laurel, you need to calm..."

"No," Laurel snapped, glaring at Felicity. "You just... don't even speak to me." Directing her teary gaze at Oliver once more, she said, "does nobody care about Tommy anymore? Do you? Because I do, but it feels like everybody else has forgotten him. You're walking around – laughing, joking, moving in with the woman who falsely accused him of raping her."

"I'm not lying, Laurel. I wouldn't lie about something like that. But you don't know me. And you have no reason to believe me. But you know your father. You love your father. And he does... believe in me, that is. Because evidence doesn't lie. Just ask him. Not all of the results are in yet, but..."

Laurel laughed dubiously. "Don't even get me started on the police." Sneering, she went on, "they're more worried about pinning lies on a good man than getting out there and catching the one responsible for his death."

Oliver stepped forward, holding a reassuring hand out towards his ex-girlfriend. He was starting to get worried – not only about the scene, and Laurel's drinking, but, now, also about her state of mind. "Malcolm's dead. He died the same night that Tommy did. You know this."

"I'm not talking about Malcolm," she snapped, voice rising even higher. "I'm talking about The Hood. The Vigilante. Tommy's dead because of both archers – not just one, yet he's still out – a free man, walking around, breathing, living, while Tommy's not. It's not fair."

Without blinking, without looking away in guilt, or shame, or even anger that Tommy's death was so easy, without flinching, Oliver simply agreed with her. "No, it's not." Because it wasn't. Tommy shouldn't have died, because he should have had to face what he did; Felicity should have had the chance to see him punished for his actions; Laurel should have been forced to see and accept Tommy for who he really was; he, and Diggle, and everybody else who cared about Felicity should have had the chance to defend her. Oliver driving the rebar through his chest was little more than a mercy killing. There was no satisfaction in that. No justice.

"So, then, why are you doing this? Why are you helping her? How can you... be with her?" Laurel's eyes darted down towards their hands. Though they weren't touching, they might as well have been, because it was obvious Laurel was seeing another image, another moment forever captured by film as she stared at them. "I saw the pictures. At first, I though maybe you were just doing this because of Queen Consolidated, because of Thea, and your mom, and for your dad. To save the company." She paused, laughed humorlessly. "But, congratulations, you're really convincing. We dated for years, and I don't think the press ever got a picture of his holding hands."

"How is that... you make absolutely no sense whatsoever," Felicity whispered in exasperated awe. "You'd rather Oliver pretend to the world that his best friend was a rapist to secure a business deal instead of, heaven forbid, simply being a good friend to a rape victim? Of all things, that has the power to turn you into Terry Ann Wolfmeyer?"

Laurel rolled her eyes. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Excuse me?"

"What, you think Oliver's your friend? You think that somehow you're different, that you're special?" With every word she said, Laurel advanced in Felicity's direction. While Oliver tried to stand between them, Felicity rounded him, the two women eventually coming to stand toe-to-toe. "That he won't hurt you? That this time he won't run? Well, I have news for you, sweetheart. The very idea of moving in with me made Oliver sail halfway around the world... with my sister. He killed my sister, because he was too much of a coward to tell me that he didn't want to live together. And he'll do the same to you. Oh, he might say all the right things now, but, in a week from now, a month, the day you're supposed to sign those final papers, he'll lie to your face, break your heart, and screw someone else because, that way, you'll break up with him, and he'll get the easy out. Like always."

"You hate me; you anonymously feed the press bogus, conspiracy theories about me and leak the news about my rape. Yet... you warn me to stay away from Oliver? For my own good. You rail at Oliver for cheating on you; you slept with him hours after the man whose name you have turned into your battle cry broke up with you, hours before he died." Felicity shrugged. "I get it, you know. You're hurt, and you're sad, and you feel guilty, and you're mourning, but pull your head out of the spiked punch bowl, Laurel. Stop sipping the hypocritical juice already. You can't have it both ways, and you can't keep throwing Oliver's past mistakes in his face."

"You know nothing about Oliver's past – our past, because you weren't around back then."

"And thank goodness for small favors, because I wouldn't have had the patience for that." When Laurel went to protest, Felicity rushed to say, "look, I know. Six years ago? Oliver was a horrible boyfriend to you. He lied, and he cheated, and he ran. But he's made up for those mistakes. Tenfold. Yet, you still want to brand him for his crimes against you. Only... someone's already beaten you to the punch, Laurel. Oliver's been shot. He's been stabbed. He's been burned. He's been tortured. And you know all of this, because you've seen him naked. He wears the scars of his sins day in and day out. They cover his body. So, where does that leave you? What, do you want to sear an A into one side of his face and an M into the other? When will he have suffered enough for you to leave him alone? I'm not telling you to forgive him; I'm just..."

"Good," Laurel seethed, breathing heavily. "Because I'll never forgive him. He doesn't deserve a day of peace, because at least he lived. I can't say the same for my sister."

"I really think," Oliver tried to intervene. But he didn't get very far.

"Oh, that's it," Felicity exploded, and Oliver watched as she seemingly transformed before him. Gone was the placating woman who was simply trying to escape the situation with her dignity intact, and, in her place, was the hellion who had challenged him, stood up to him, changed him. "You want to talk about Sara, Laurel? Yeah. Let's talk about your sister? Was Oliver a tool for cheating on you with your own sister? Absolutely. But he was just your boyfriend. There's no real commitment there... other than by choice, no real bond. At least, nothing like the bond that's supposed to exist between siblings. Yet, for some reason, at the first sign of any interest from Oliver, Sara threw you – her own sister – overboard, no pun intended, for some cheap sex. I didn't know your sister, and I'm not trying to speak ill of the dead, but, obviously, there was something else broken there besides Oliver's monogamy gene. And don't even try to tell me that Oliver was that irresistible, because I've seen the photos; I've seen the hair, and I certainly could have said no.

"So, yeah. Blame him all you want for being a crap boyfriend. He deserves it... although I must say that it takes two to make a relationship suck, and Oliver's not subtle... or very good at lying. If he was that uncomfortable with the idea of moving in with you, I'm pretty sure he let you know. Maybe not with words. The words aren't his forte; they're mine. But he has tells. That poker face? So not Vegas-worthy." She finally paused to take a breath, but then her face brightened with another idea, and her finger shot up to emphasize her point. "Oh. Oh! And, while we're on the subject, you were the dumbass who kept taking his cheating behind back over, and over, and over again. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me forty-seven times? Yeah... you don't get to talk again. Anymore. Ever."

He watched in complete dumbfounded awe as Felicity seemed to ponder her words, going back over them in her mind. Behind her new glasses – they were green, and they were also the secret errand she had run after her lunch with Lance, he saw her eyes flickering hectically until they stilled. And she smiled, nodding decisively once. Then, spinning on the heels of her flip-flops, Felicity walked away, heading towards the register to pick up their food.

Suddenly, in a room full of curious people, he was alone with Laurel. Before Tommy raped Felicity and all the subsequent events that followed, Oliver never would have, could have, believed that his relationship with Laurel could deteriorate so much; could become so ugly, and twisted, and unfixable; that he'd ever feel this uncomfortable around the woman whose face had helped him survive five years of purgatory. As she continued to stand there – finally silenced once and for all by Felicity's justified diatribe and staring into space, Oliver found himself saying, "you know, I never wanted... any of this to happen. And I am sorry. But I think it's best if we no longer are a part of each others' lives. If I see you, I won't approach. I won't say hello. I'll walk away. And you need to do the same, Laurel, because Felicity's right. You need to let go of the past. I can't change it, and it's drowning you."

That – regret and guilt – were two things that Oliver could identify with. Hell, for nearly a year they had been the driving force behind his every action, his every decision. But the more he watched Felicity heal from her rape, and every time he saw her defend him, he realized, piece by piece, that, while he wasn't the hero she saw him as, he wasn't a monster either. He was just... human. "I've... forgiven myself," he confessed, the words and the sentiment behind them surprising no one more than Oliver himself. Because they weren't just lip service for Laurel; they were the truth. "And I hope someday you'll be able to forgive yourself, too. Maybe you should... maybe you should start with a meeting – an AA meeting."

In parting, he offered her a sad smile before turning away and striding towards a paying Felicity. From behind him, he heard Laurel shout, "I'm not a drunk, Ollie."

Spinning to face her, he observed her for several tense moments. She was florid from drink, her hands were shaking, and she was thin. Too thin. Sickly thin. Like she wasn't eating and was drinking her stomach full every night. "I guess you're not ready yet." From beside him, Oliver felt Felicity silently, supportively approach. She didn't touch him, but he felt her strength wrapping around him anyway – a shield against Laurel's hate, and accusations, and the pain they caused him. "Goodbye, Laurel."

As it often seemed to be now, it was Olive who initiated contact with Felicity, taking her head as they quietly walked out of the restaurant together.

…

Their dinner was gone, the first bottle of wine sat discarded on top of what would soon be Felicity's former kitchen peninsula and bar, and he was already half way through packing up her many, many books, but, yet, Oliver was pretty sure that his friend – his loquacious, bubbly, and warm friend – had muttered less than ten words since they had left the Vietnamese restaurant. While he had gotten used to Felicity needing quiet moments, over the past several weeks, he had caught so many glances of her smile, of color saturating her world, their world, again, that it had been easy to think that maybe they had made some progress, that a corner had been turned. And Oliver wouldn't go so far as to say that one confrontation with Laurel was enough to erase all their healing, but, in that living room – surrounded by stacks of books, empty boxes, packed boxes, and memories only Felicity could recall but that he had trouble not imagining, it certainly felt like Laurel had been a setback.

It was one more reason why Oliver felt resentment towards the lawyer.

But at least he had his answer about why Felicity needed more wine. He had been watching her all evening – ever since they left the restaurant, and he had quickly noticed once they set to work on packing that her eyes tracked his every movement, especially when he lifted or carried anything heavy... only her gaze most definitely wasn't watching his face, looking for strain or discomfort. No, Felicity stared at his arms. And then she usually gulped a hearty portion of her wine as a chaser. It was like the salmon ladder but better, and it was gratifying and endearing, but it still didn't make up for Laurel's actions.

"I'm sorry about Laurel... about what she said, how she once again denied the truth about your rape, your feelings."

"Don't apologize for her," Felicity surprised him by saying. It wasn't so much that she refused to accept his regrets on Laurel's behalf; it was the tone of her voice. It was the lack of bitterness and pain lacing her words. "You know, I think she actually does believe me – that she knows that Tommy raped me, but she's holding onto her denial as tightly as she can, because, once she admits the truth to herself, everything else either becomes meaningless – what she thought they shared together – or becomes that much more unbearable – her guilt, her regret, the choices she's made."

"You're a very forgiving person, Felicity Smoak."

She was sitting across from him, carefully labeling the box of books he had just packed. Legs crossed in front of her, her feet bare, her face fresh and free of any makeup, Felicity looked both younger and even more innocent than he knew her to be and wise beyond her years. He also noticed that, while her nails weren't bright and cheerful – yet, they weren't as dark either. She had on a simple pair of old, worn jeans and a plain, white t-shirt, and she was beautiful. When she finished writing the title of the book she was currently labeling – someone needed to know where every single book was at all times... just in case she needed one before they were all unpacked, she looked up at him and smiled. "And you actually managed to say that without making it sound like a bad thing, so kudos to both of us."

He grinned, appreciating the return of the lightness between them and trying to stretch it out for as long as possible. "Apparently, you're rubbing off on me."

"Yeah... not going there," she remarked primly, making his grin turn into a chuckle. "But, in all seriousness... and this doesn't mean that you can take back the compliment, but it has nothing to do with forgiveness. I've just found that, in trying to come to terms with my own feelings, I've become more aware of others'." She shrugged then, lifting her brows and rolling her eyes, too. "Plus, in a way, what she said tonight was a good thing."

"Okay, I think you've had too much of this," Oliver teased, reaching across the space between them and purloining her glass of wine. This time, it was Felicity's turn to laugh, and he relished in knowing he had the power to give her that – to make her smile even in the midst of such a heavy conversation.

"Don't get me wrong, Laurel's a mean drunk." He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head in amusement. Felicity was certainly one of a kind. "And it really just... burns my biscuits that she thinks it's alright to blame you for all of her problems."

"Well, me and The Vigilante. Don't forget that she hates him, too."

Oliver received a pert, droll scowl for his efforts. "Yes, because that makes it better. Did the Queen of talking about himself in the third person finally confuse all his different hats... or should I say hoods?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," he tried to reassure her.

"Oliver, are you forgetting that this is the same woman who has made my life a living hell for the past two months? Maybe the media has backed off some in regards to the rape because they finally did their research and realized that, despite the police investigation, charges cannot be filed against a dead guy, but ever since those pictures of the two of us... holding hands... were published, the reporters and photographers have become practically rabid. The Damaged Dork and the Charming CEO pairing up as corporate raiders... and perhaps even more? Not that I think that of course," she rushed on to say, blushing. "I mean, the idea of you and me," Felicity motioned back and forth between them with her hand that wasn't holding the Sharpie. "It's preposterous." He didn't respond... which meant that, although he didn't disagree with her, he didn't agree either. "But the press doesn't know that, and, if Laurel would ever find out that you're... you, we'd be doomed. As it stands now, it's bad enough that she and her vendetta work in the DA's office. Now that you've agreed to pick up your bow once again..."

And he had. After their late night talk a couple of weeks before – after Felicity's impassioned speech, he realized that, like almost always, she knew what he needed... even before he did. While he had no interest in his former mission, he also couldn't turn a blind eye to all the ugliness around them. It had nothing to do with righting wrongs and everything to do with just doing the right thing. The city needed help, and he had the means to offer Starling just that. And, through his actions, he also had the ability to give others the chance to do some good as well. Maybe he wasn't ready to bring Thea and Roy in on his secret, but he was ready to patrol the street, hoping that his presence and his training could make them just that much safer. Every life saved, every spark of innocence protected, every woman not raped would make the sacrifice worth it.

Blinking out of his silent ruminations, Oliver refocused on the woman across from him, noticing that she had been studying him the entire time. It was a strange thing to notice, because it felt so familiar. Quietly watching from afar was his MO, not Felicity's. She just barreled into a situation and demanded knowledge. She had it, and she expected everyone else to have it, too. But this... more patient, more subtle side of her personality was just one of the new – not better, not worse; just new – things about her since the rape, one of the changes, and he was still getting used to them. "I guess we'll have to... keep an eye on the District Attorney's office, not just the SCPD – make sure the situation doesn't get out of hand."

She nodded once in agreement, in concession. "I can do that." He had no doubt. "But this is what I meant when I said having the wrath of Laurel rain down upon us was actually a good thing. It made us aware of a new threat, and I don't know about you, but I'd take one petty, repetitive woman's rant over getting caught with our pants down – literally speaking, of course; you always keep your pants on, and I typically wear skirts. Or dresses. Except lately... with everything that's happened, I've been more of a pants kind of girl myself, but they definitely stay on my body as well, and..." Felicity blinked rapidly several times, opening her jaw wide as though to crack it into submission. "Just where exactly was I going with...?"

Oliver took pity on her. "You'd rather take Laurel's anger than be caught unaware when she came after us."

"Yes," Felicity said emphatically, rocking forward and jabbing her marker at him in emphasis. "Exactly! Because one awkward scene at a Vietnamese restaurant is so much better than repetitive strip searches."

He nearly choked on her words. "Strip searches?"

"In prison," she explicated further, eyes wide with seriousness and fear. "I know Orange is the New Black. I've read the book; I've seen the show."

"When," he asked, genuinely curious. "Felicity, you just told me a couple of weeks ago about this show – how you couldn't wait for it premiere. Now, you tell me that you've already seen it?" Deciding to tease her, he further question, "is this what you do all day; is this what I pay you to do – watch television with Digg and my sister, a bowl of popcorn in your lap and a box of Milk Duds off to the side?"

"It's Sweet Tarts, actually," she corrected him smugly. Of course it'd be Sweet Tarts. "Milk Duds get stuck in your teeth." She shuddered playfully and then threw a great, big smirk in his direction. "And, for your information, no. You actually pay me to spend your money. I spend my day searching for and purchasing the things that Thea wants for the club, restocking the basement to Digg's specifications, and trying to find a quiet space to work where I won't have to hear your sister screeching at the construction workers because, if they don't meet her deadline, there's going to be a line of dead bodies. You know, come to think of it, I'm pretty sure the wrong Queen went into the scaring people straight business, because Thea is much more intimidating than you are."

"Gee, thanks." Felicity flashed him a beatific smile. "But whatever happened to you making me watch it with you, because – and I quote you here – somebody needs to show you what real torture – living with a hundred women – is actually like?"

She shrugged unapologetically. "Oliver, this is what happens when you don't keep me busy and entertained at night." As the words replayed themselves in her mind, Felicity groaned – shoulders slumping so that her hands fell to loudly smack against the floor, her chin crashing downwards to land against her chest. Still not looking at him, she asked, "can I have my wine back, please? Maybe if I drink enough, I'll forget what I just said, and you'll take pity on me and my wicked hangover tomorrow and not remind me about this latest outbreak of foot-in-mouth disease."

Although he slid the glass towards her, Oliver taunted, "I can't make any promises."

Grumbling around the goblet as she drank greedily, Felicity muttered, "mean," into her wine. She finished the glass – there had only been a swallow left – before replenishing it and topping off his own. They were well on their way to polishing off their second bottle, but they still had plenty of packing to do, so there was time to burn off the buzz.

As he watched her actions out of the corner of his eye, Oliver returned to her alphabetical by author, then alphabetical by title (unless the novels were a part of a series and then they were shelved chronologically) bookshelves. Apparently, Felicity was just as particular about her books as she was her computers, and he couldn't wait to get his hands on them once they were unpacked. Oh, he wouldn't be overt about it. He planned to just switch a few titles around at a time, making it less than obvious and waiting to see how long it would take for Felicity to notice... and then how long it would take her to realize that the mistakes weren't just that but were actually purposefully arranged to annoy her. It'd be like messing with Thea's closet... only better, because Felicity in a temper was entertaining, whereas his sister pissed off was just downright scary.

Maybe Felicity had a point about Thea's ability to intimidate?

"There's actually something else that Laurel made me realize tonight."

By the earnest and solemn note to Felicity's voice, he knew that their moment of levity had passed again. Setting the box aside that he had just been filling, Oliver turned around to face her once more, mimicking her stance by folding his legs beneath him. "Okay?"

Felicity exhaled harshly, as if bracing herself. "As you know, the media has begun to look into me. To look into my past."

"And I'm sorry about that. It's not fair. You didn't do anything to deserve this invasion of your privacy."

"Oliver, it's not your fault." When he went to protest, she held up a preventive, pleading hand. He relented. "It's not my fault either. At this point, it just... is. I hate it, but I've also accepted that there's nothing I can do to stop it... except maybe ignore them, and, eventually, they'll get bored and go away. Plus," she added, glancing around as she started to fidget – first by picking at that not so dark, not so depressed nail polish and then by aggravating the distressed knees of her jeans. "I've done a pretty good job over the years of burying my past... figuratively and literally. I've wiped just about everything there was about me off the internet other than those things – my driving record, my grades, my Pinterest board – that I either don't mind if people see or that would be too suspicious to erase, and I don't really think about my past that much. My childhood. And I certainly don't talk about it."

When she paused to take a breath, he murmured, "I've noticed." His softly spoken words seemed to remind Felicity that he was even there in the room with her, and she looked up sharply, meeting his gaze. Oliver offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's okay. If anyone can understand your need for privacy, it's me. But I also meant what I said all those months ago, too. You can talk to me – about anything."

"I know that," she reassured him. And, just like that, the fidgeting stopped, and she returned his smile with a small grin of her own. "Maybe I didn't then, but I do now, and that's part of the reason why I'm bringing this up."

"And the other part?"

She bit her bottom lip, nibbling at the right corner momentarily before answering, "if you're going to find out, I'd rather it be from me and not the press."

"I... thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You don't know what it is I'm about to tell you."

He laughed humorlessly. "Okay, now you're starting to scare me."

"It's nothing that bad," Felicity tried to put his mind as ease. It didn't work, and, apparently, she could tell, because she chuckled and pressed, "no, seriously, it's not. I promise. I wasn't beaten, or raised by wolves, or experimented on or anything. I just... didn't have a very happy childhood. And it was lonely."

"That's hard for me to imagine," he confessed, tilting his head to the side in observation of her. "With the way you are now... You just... you make people want to be around you, Felicity."

"Well, evidently, that wasn't always the case, because my dad left my mom and I when I was young. I don't really remember much about him, and my mom never talked about him after he left us."

"And your mom," he prompted her.

"My relationship with my mother is... complicated." Oliver had to restrain himself from snorting in agreement. He could certainly commiserate with that sentiment. "As you've probably picked up on, I'm an only child, and I'm pretty sure that I wasn't planned. Or even wanted. While my mom has never come right out and said as much, let's just say that she's less than subtle, and it only got worse after my dad left."

Taking a bracing drink of her wine, Felicity composed herself for a moment before setting her glass back down and refocusing upon him. "Through observation and experiencing the opposite, I've learned that a good parent needs to be selfless. They need to have the ability to put their children's needs ahead of their own, and my mother struggled with that. In her own way, I do think that she loves me, but it's hard for her – taking care of someone else when she can barely take care of herself. It didn't help that money was always tight. Vegas is an expensive city to live in."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "The card counting makes sense now."

"So, too, I'm guessing do the flamboyant colors."

"No," Oliver offered, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards in recollection, in fondness. "Those have always made sense."

Felicity's gaze narrowed as she tried to sort through his comment, but, after several seconds, she just shook off her contemplation, returning to the conversation at hand. "Things between my mom and I got better once I left for college. The distance helped. Plus, she regained her independence. We'll never be close, but I've gotten to the point where I'm alright with that fact. It still hurts, and there are scars there – deep scars – that will probably never go away. I have these abandonment issues... Even the thought of losing someone important to me again...? Well, let's just say I can have the tendency to get clingy, so if I ever start to get too needy, or dependent, or..."

"Felicity," he interjected gently. Once she swallowed her next words and was listening to him, Oliver continued, "I'm not going anywhere, so you can hold onto me as tightly as you want to. As you need to."

"Are you sure," she asked him. Before he could answer, she rushed to add, "because I know that you're all big, and buff, and strong, and you have more than enough muscles to supply an entire runway full of emaciated male models with a little tone to go on top of their bones, but these arms?" And she flexed – adorably so – and made what Oliver guessed was supposed to be a scary, menacing face. "They're stronger than they look. 'I work out. Boy, look at this body. Boy, look at this body. Boy, look at this body.' I train with a ninja."

Laconically, Oliver responded, "I think I can handle it." Then, to make her laugh, he picked up a light weight, paperback book and tossed it in her direction, making sure that his aim was purposefully off. "Now, get back to work. Slacker."

"I can't believe you just did that!" He tossed her a smug grin. "You could have spilled the wine!" After a beat, Felicity added, "and, if you ever toss any of my books ever again, I'll... I'll... I'll dye your hood pink!"

And he wouldn't put it past her either. "Don't touch the gear, Smoak."

"Well, then, don't toss my books around like a queen again, Queen."

He shook his head in feigned impatience. But it was really amusement. And then, without another word, he returned to his packing, Felicity falling back as seamlessly into her task as well. As he worked, Oliver quietly contemplated everything he had learned about his friend that evening. While Tommy's actions had proven to him that there were worse threats in the world to Felicity's safety than Oliver's presence in her life, he was starting to realize that there were bigger threatss to her heart as well. Maybe she'd be hurt with him, but nothing would be able to hurt her more than her father leaving. In fact, the worst things that had ever happened to Felicity Smoak had happened to her when he wasn't around.

Was it possible that he actually made her life a little better, that, by caring for her – by allowing himself to care for her... perhaps even as more than just a friend – he wouldn't ruin her?

It was certainly something Oliver was going to have to think about more; it was the only thing he was going to be able to think about.