A/N: For FF #27 "Is that blood?

Another take on the "back together scene" and because I actually followed the rules this time, it kind of has an abrupt end. Plus, it's far too quiet to every actually happen on the show…as much as I might wish.

Tell Me What I Do Now

Felicity walked down the stairs into the Foundry and stopped. These days the place was like Grand Central Station for superheroes, but tonight it was quiet and the sight that greeted her affected her farm more than it should have.

Oliver was alone, leaning against one of the tables. He was in a dress shirt and slacks, his left hand clamped over a spot on his side. For a moment she thought he was just angsting silently in the dark, and then she realized there was a stain spreading from underneath his hand.

"Is that blood?" she exclaimed walking toward him.

His head snapped up. It was obvious he hadn't heard her come in. "It's nothing, just one of my scars acting up."

"Let me see," she said walking toward him and reaching for his shirt.

His hands blocked her movements and he pulled to the side, shrugging out of the shirt on his own as she watched. It was an odd looking injury – an oozing from the deep scar across his chest. The scar Ra's a Ghul had given him.

"Oliver!" she exclaimed.

"I'm fine," he said. "I need to get changed and get back out there. John's been watching Merlyn for the last ten hours."

She ignored him, walking to the cabinet to pull a bandage from the medical supplies. This time he didn't protest as she closed in, prodding gently at the wound as he hissed in pain.

She'd never seen anything like it, the blood, which didn't entirely seem like blood, was thick and dark, but she couldn't seem to find the exact tear in his skin. "Oliver, what…"

"I don't know," he said, his voice full of despair. "I don't understand it either, it just does this sometimes."

With a long sigh, swallowing her own grief at what he'd been through, she carefully taped a thick bandage over the spot. Unable to stop herself she let her fingers linger at the edge of the bandages. Even if he was breaking her heart, it was still good to feel the warmth of his skin under her hands.

"Don't," Oliver said.

She looked up to find him watching her intently; his face only inches from hers. The urge to kiss him was almost overwhelming and it stung. She pulled back hurriedly. "I'm sorry…I'll just go."

She was four steps away before he called her name. "Felicity."

Turning back, she let out a noise of despair. "You can't ask me not to touch you and then say my name like that. It isn't fair."

"You want to talk about fair?" he said. His tone of voice was something she didn't recognize, it was angry, and desperate, and vulnerable in a way she'd never heard from him. "You can't be with Palmer and just keep touching me like that."

She clenched her teeth. "You're hurt, I was just trying to help."

He straightened up with a wince, and his eyes drilled into hers. "It's more than that, it's always been more than that and we both know it."

This was ridiculous. She couldn't believe they were doing this again. "It was your choices that got us here, Oliver. Not mine."

His head dropped. "I know."

For a moment deep silence settled around them, and she found that she was holding her breath. It made her angry with herself, angry that she was still waiting, hoping for the right words from Oliver Queen. Finally he continued. "I know it's my fault…and I wish I could go back, but I can't."

"Let me guess," she said, flinging down the first aid tape she still held in her hand. "You wish you'd never kissed me or told me how you felt. You wish you could keep being the brooding hero with yet another woman on a pedestal."

"No," he said, and the look of hurt on his face surprised her. "That's not it."

She went very still then. "Fine. What would you change?"

There was a broken shred of a smile on his face. "Everything…anything…" he took a deep ragged breath. "Any thing," he emphasized, "that I've done to push us apart."

She was so full of warring emotions; anger, hope, love, irritation that her default setting of flippant comment came forward. "That would be a lot of things."

He shook his head slightly, and brought one hand to his eyes. "Yeah."

"So, I'd suggest you don't do anymore," she said. It came out before she'd even thought about it, and she felt herself stumbling over her words. "You know, of those stupid, broody-guy things."

This time it was him that froze, then slowly his eyes raised to hers, and she had to admit the flicker of hope in them was like a drug. There was no doubt, when push came to shove, it was Oliver who still drew her in every time.

"I might need some help with that," he said, his voice sounding heartbreakingly uncertain.

She smiled a little then. "I am good at helping you," she said. "In fact, it's kind of my thing."

He took a step toward her, and damn it if she wasn't far too aware of the fact he hadn't put his shirt back on. Stopping just an arm's length from her he said. "So tell me what I do now."

She let her hand trail out, putting just the tip of her fingers on his forearm, where it was still folded across against his chest. "You're going to let me go talk to Ray, and you're going to go relieve John from bad-guy babysitting duty, and the next minute we have free you're going to take me to finish that dinner we started."

There was almost the hint of a sob in the ragged breath he let out and she curled her fingers around his arm. "I can do that," he said.