You wonderful, wonderful people, I am so thankful that you're sticking with this story. I was so worried I'd lose some of you once the whole will-they-won't-they-phase was done with and the whole figuring-out-how-to-make-this-work-phase took over (yes, we're still in phase two…). It's amazing that you're still with me and I'm more delighted that I can properly express that you enjoy this story. Thank you all so, so much for your unwavering support. You're amazing!

And not to pick favorite, but I think my awesome reviewers are especially amazing. Yes, I mean you: lateVMlover, onetreefan, livingthefictionallife, belairdesi, RandomFandoming, scorpio38457, misspsycho24, FaberryBRA, foxxandbeanz, BlueJean452, supercode, MadonnaIce, K-Marie-M, Tamerlorde85, farahsbc, Gaialy, ceceba, valery88, thekiller00, ahliiis, SharkGurl, babyshan211, CealSR, Jen, Emilyhotchner-olicity-bethyl, ItsLiz, MellieTheAmazing, Luv2Live, CaRiNeSs, and our guests. So many of you are there form the beginning and I am grateful!

Oh, some of you wished that Thea would do her community service at Felicity's company. Sorry, I feel like interning at a software company might look good of your resume, but it doesn't seem like social work to me. Plus, I need Thea in the Glades for obvious reasons.

Albiona, the inventor of the Trans-Atlantic hug: you made me better. Always. Thank you!

Once again, I have said too much. I'll shut up and hope you: enjoy! All my love.

February 1st, 2013

Light hit his pupils and it hurt. The sudden brightness made him wince and shut his eyes again tightly. But the lucid flash had been enough to trigger awareness. A hammering filled his head. With its increasing strengthening it felt like a drummed countdown to explosion.

Maybe it was best if his head simply exploded and he was done with it.

His skin felt like it was on fire, prickling and itchy, as if insects were crawling over him. Once, on the island, he had been stupid enough to crouch down in an anthill—that experience hadn't been as unpleasant as the current sensation, making goose bumps rise from disgust.

A gentle hand cut through the sick feeling, soft fingers resting flat against his skin. "Oliver." The touch and the voice were soothing. He concentrated on the calming fingertips moving to his neck. His first coherent thought told him that she was checking his pulse. His eyelids were heavy, his eyes felt dry and his lashes were clotted, but he managed the barest slits.

Brightness welcomed him again, forced him to blink quickly, repeatedly, until he didn't feel blinded anymore and he could make out details: the dark shape above him turned into Felicity's beautiful face. He saw the soft expression in her eyes, the small smile curving her gorgeous lips upward slightly, and a ponytail that was unusually messy for her. "Hey," she whispered tenderly. "Good morning."

He blinked again and tried to answer, but his lips stuck together, painful. His mouth completely dry, he swallowed uncomfortably and forced his aching body into a sitting position. His movement was restricted, he realized, by his hand cuffed to the table. That explained the especially strong pins and needles in his left arm. He tried to remember what had happened, but couldn't.

Felicity's hand fell from his neck. She stood next to the hard table he had been laying on, looking at him carefully. "How are you feeling?"

His voice was hoarse. "Like I have the worst hangover of my life." Talking hurt his throat.

"That coming from a guy who spent most of his twenties in a hangover is really saying something," Diggle commented dryly from where he sat on Felicity's desk.

Actually, Oliver had spent most of his twenties in very sober situations, fighting to survive. It had been the years from sixteen to twenty-two that had been an intoxicating blur of alcohol, sex, and carelessness. But he didn't feel like telling Diggle that—not in general and especially not when his tongue was so heavy. Forming words was too much effort to waste it. The metal of the handcuffs clanged against the table as he moved his arm. "You think you can uncuff me?" He addressed the soldier, knowing that this was his doing, not Felicity's. "Not gonna kill you," he added in an effort to seem unfazed. He wasn't, of course. He couldn't look at Felicity, couldn't meet her eyes that were fixed on him. "Promise."

Sighing, Diggle pushed off the desk, the key to the handcuffs in hand.

The metal ring that had enclosed his wrist opened. It was a relief to straighten up, roll his shoulder, rub his wrist. With an involuntary hiss, Oliver got to his feet, holding on to the table for support.

"You're standing," Diggle observed and complimented. "That's pretty impressive. The Count only hit you with half a dose and you still sweated out a small swimming pool coming down." He tossed a zip-up sweater to Oliver.

Oliver felt Felicity's stare still on him as he put it on. He was very aware that she hadn't participated in the conversation yet. "The Count," Oliver huffed. "Any chance our friends at SCPD arrested him?"

"None at all," Diggle answered.

Oliver's face twisted in unhappiness. Great. First the morons had to bust into his meeting and mess everything up, and then they didn't even get the work done. He stepped away from the table.

"Listen, Oliver," Diggle said, stopping him. "I think you should give yourself a few hours of rest. A near drug overdose is nothing you walk away from."

That was probably true, but Oliver didn't exactly care. "I promised Thea that I'd take her to school. And I'm hellbent on keeping that promise."

He took two more steps before – "STOP!" – Felicity's voice rooted him to the spot. "You'll sit down right this instant." She pointed at her chair standing next to the med table. It was Felicity's seat, not his. He never sat there when she was around—or even when she wasn't. He had only used it once, when he had traced her ring.

"Fel—"

"Sit down."

Sucking his lower lip in, he stared at her for a moment before he exhaled audibly.

"You should do as your wife says."

Oliver hated the amused smirk on Diggle's face and couldn't help but question what the soldier thought he'd know about listening to your wife. Still, he sank down on the seat—but not without sending Felicity a pointed glare.

It bounced off her. She held a bottle of water out to him. "Drink it. You're dehydrated."

Knowing she had a point, he kept from saying anything and simply unscrewed the lid to empty the whole bottle. Miraculously, Felicity produced a second one. "Take your time with that one. School started two hours ago. I called Thea and told her you're sick and sorry, and that you'd try to pick her up at three—if I decide that it's safe to let you behind a steering wheel. She sounded like she understood."

The little strength Oliver had gathered to come to his feet left him. His shoulders sagged, his back bent, his eyes closed for a second before settling them on Felicity. She wordlessly dared him to object, telling him with her eyes that she was only looking out for him—and he silently thanked her for caring before he brought his hand up, asking her to come to him.

Not daring to kiss her with a mouth that tasted like dead cat, he pulled her into a hug. Since he was sitting, she was for once taller than him as she closed her arms around him, his head settling against her chest. She kissed the top of his head. He got to enjoy that for a second: being surrounded by her warmth and her scent, her softness in the middle of everything that was hard and cold and ugly. The way he held her was an unspoken apology for making her worry, an assurance that he was fine or would be fine. It was a thank you for loving him despite everything.

They parted faster than he would have liked when her cellphone rang from her purse. "Jerry," she answered after racing to it, "I'm sorry, I slept in." She listened to whatever her EA told her. When her gaze dropped to the cement floor of the Foundry Oliver knew that it couldn't be good news. "Okay, I'll be there shortly. Please, tell Damian I'm on it. Thank you, bye."

After ending the call she kept her glance on the floor a little longer, collecting herself.

"Bad news?" Oliver asked, knowing the answer already.

"We lost another customer." She cleared her throat.

Oliver pressed his lips together shortly, but didn't dare to get up from his seat. "You should go to Firestorm," he said, softly. "Digg, could you drive her? I'll tell Pyotr to meet you there and take over."

"But—"

She started objecting, but this time he wouldn't have it. "No, you're needed there. I'm fine. I promise to stay in this seat for at least fifteen more minutes and drink my water, okay?"

She looked at him, thinking for a few seconds, then she stated, "Thirty minutes."

"Twenty."

"Thirty."

He stared at her. She met his gaze challengingly—and he knew if he gave her another counteroffer she'd probably up the time to at least forty-five minutes. "Fine," he finally huffed. Ignoring Diggle's smirk, he confirmed. "I'll stay in this seat for thirty more minutes. And now let Digg take you to Firestorm. Don't worry about me, okay?

Slowly, Felicity nodded. "Okay." The facts that Felicity didn't even suggest she drive alone or complain about the constant supervision gave him a clear idea of how serious things must be at work. She gathered her coat (which she had draped over the salmon ladder, of all things), her purse, and moved to him. Their eyes met and she pointed a threatening index-finger at him. "Don't ever do that again!"

He nodded and reached for her lifted hand, cradling it in his. "Consider it added to the list of things I'll keep from doing in the future—directly under getting hit by grenades and letting people beat me up." He tightened his grip on her hand, squeezing for support. "Go, be awesome at work."

Thea had taken one look at him and had believed the 'Oliver's not feeling well'-cover story Felicity had told her.

And it wasn't even a lie. He wasn't feeling well and he looked like it: pale, worn, with tired eyes. He hadn't even dared to get behind the wheel himself, but had asked Diggle to drive him to pick up his sister.

Thea sent him a knowing glance before saying that she'd been there and he hadn't needed to come. The first part of the sentence sounded really wrong in Oliver's ears—which was why he chose to ignore it. Instead, he told her that he knew that he didn't have to come, but that he'd wanted to.

An honest smile had been her only answer. It was rare that his sister directed such warmth at him and it was a wonderful sight.

His good mood vanished when his cell phone rang and Quentin Lance's number blinked in the display. The detective wanted to know where he could meet Oliver—that couldn't be a good thing.

A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, turning even sourer when he saw that not one, but two police cars parked in front of Queen Mansion. Oliver's eyes met Diggle's in the rearview mirror as the Bentley rolled over the huge driveway, the gravel cracking under the tires. Worried eyes met worried eyes.

"Oh my God, do you think he wants to take it back?"

Surprised, Oliver's eyes snapped to his little sister. "What?"

"Lance talked to the judge. Maybe, he changed his mind."

"Don't worry, Thea," Oliver said in an effort to calm her. "Lance said he wanted to talk to me, not you. Nobody will take anything back."

Thea wasn't completely convinced, Oliver could see it on her face, but neither sibling said anything else as they got out of the car. Diggle followed the two Queens into the huge house. Slowing down more and more, Thea finally stopped in the hall and Oliver knew that she was nervous. With a quick gesture he told her to just wait in the foyer and entered the sitting room where not only his mother but also Detective Lance and his partner sat. Keeping an uncaring mask in place, Oliver straightened his back and decided to go the unsuspecting route. "What's going on, Detective? Is everything okay with Thea?"

Lance got up from the couch. "This isn't about your sister, it's about you."

"Me?" A hefty dose of surprise was audible in Oliver's voice, it was also visible in his face. He made a point to meet the detective's eyes, showing that he had nothing to hide, nothing to worry about.

"Yes, you." A challenge shone in Lance's eyes. "Last night SCPD busted up a drug deal between a big time drug dealer and the Russian mob."

Great. The exact topic Oliver had feared. His heart started to beat a little quicker, but he wouldn't let it show. Instead, he went for dim annoyance. "Okay," he said while his tone infused the unasked question what that had to do with him, "so?"

"So, imagine my surprise at seeing you on the scene."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." Lance took a step toward Oliver. "I saw you, Queen, running through the parking garage."

Moira sounded forcedly calm. "Is that true?" In her mind she was probably already contemplating which lawyer was the best choice for keeping this situation contained.

Oliver forced himself not to hesitate, not to miss a beat, to make his next words sound like the complete truth—even if they were carefully collected parts of the truth combined with complete lies. "I was looking into The Count. He was the one who sold drugs to Thea. I figured if I got eyes on him and see what he looked like I could give your sketch-artists something to go on. So I paid a low-life with a Russian accent an obscene amount of money to arrange a meeting."

"And?" Lance asked in a way that made it impossible to miss how big of an idiot he believed the rich boy opposite him to be. "Did you get eyes on him?"

"No."

Before the detective could inquire any further Moira got up from her seat. "Are you pressing charges against my son?"

The expression crossing Quentin Lance's face showed that he wanted to but couldn't. His unhappiness with this fact was stressed when he answered Moira's question indirectly. "If you get involved in this again you'll see the inside of a jail cell."

Acting humbled, Oliver nodded, before another thought entered his mind. "Detective," he said before he could talk himself out of it, "thank you for what you did for Thea."

Lance stiffened. "My daughter asked me for a favor. I did it for her, not for your sister—and especially not for you."

That was okay with Oliver, who felt like he had done more than enough now that he had expressed his gratitude. Oliver watched the two detectives leave before turning to his mother. Her eyes were shooting angry draggers at him. "What on earth were you thinking?"

"I was trying to help."

"By running with the Russian mob and meeting an underground dealer? Are you out of your mind?"

Oliver never got to answer, because in his moment Thea spoke up from behind him. "You really did that for me?"

Facing his sister in her blue school-uniform, he answered, "Yes." He sent his mother a quick glance. "I know it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but I felt like I needed to do something."

"That's a pretty big gesture," Thea said.

Oliver frowned because, seriously, what was that supposed to mean? But the thought of asking her fled from his mind as he saw a brilliant smile spread over his sister's face. It was her honest, happy smile; the one that made her eyes sparkle and light up her face. The one that turned her into the twelve year old kid he remembered in all her exuberance and innocence. Her smile chased the frown from his features. And then Thea was with him, throwing her arms around him as she pulled him into a tight hug. All he could do was hug her back and smile against her neck as he heard her whisper, "Thank you. And I love you, too."

Good news was too rare to wait to share.

The last two hours he had spent with his mother and his sister, talking about normal stuff, was good news, the best news. Whatever had happened with Thea, for whatever reason she had stopped looking at him as if nothing he did lived up to her expectations, it was awesome—and a tiny voice inside Oliver whispered to him that Felicity might have had a hand in it.

The plan was to thank her for... whatever, to make up for the crappy night she had spent watching him come down from the worst high of his life. The plan was to pick her up from work early and take her to dinner, to spend some quality time together.

That plan flew right out of the window when he climbed the last steps leading to the third floor of the Firestorm-building. The tension in the air could not be missed, the unease spreading between the people who all sat at their desks without working. Some were openly looking toward the closed door of Felicity's office, others were pointedly staring at their monitors, but they all were listening closely, trying to make out the words that were slipping through the door.

The further Oliver walked through the room, the closer he got to the closed door Pyotr sat in front of with a portable video game thing in hand, the better he could hear what was said—and it didn't sound good. Feeling like he wasn't entitled to burst into the office (no matter how much he wished to do just that), Oliver stopped next to Jerry's desk. "What's happening?"

"It's like Godzilla and Mothra are battling it out in there," Jerry whispered in awe.

"Felicity's Godzilla?" Oliver couldn't believe that he had actually asked that question.

"Of course," Jerry stressed. "I could never turn her into a giant insect—not with her fear of spiders."

So, Tak was the giant insect. That didn't change the very worrying fact that Firestorm's CEO and her Vice President / head coder / friend were arguing. Loudly.

"You're making a mistake!" Yongtak Chan yelled, aggravated in a way Oliver had never believed possible.

"You don't know that," Felicity countered.

"No, Fe, I know! And I know that you're doing something just to do something. Acting for the sake of acting is never smart."

"Yeah. Right! Because waiting and seeing has worked out perfectly so far!"

"I'm not waiting and seeing, Fe. I'm working on a new software."

"It's taking too long. Ask Damian! He used the word 'down-sizing' this morning. That's the efficiently economic expression for firing people. And that cannot be happening! We can't wait until we get rid of all the bugs, we need to do something now. Actually, we needed to something last week, but since I don't have a time machine, there's no time like the present."

"Well," Tak said, hard and loud, "there would be fewer bugs if you could be bothered to show at least some interest in what we're programming."

"WHAT?!" Felicity's shout caused even Oliver to flinch.

"YOU HEARD ME!" A second of silence followed and then Tak continued—a little bit quieter, but still perfectly understandable. "I know you're married to a hunk, Fe. Trust me, I get it, but this is getting ridiculous. Did you even sleep last night? Because I know that you're wearing yesterday's clothes."

"Seriously?" Felicity shot back. "You're dating somebody for a month and suddenly you think you're a marriage counsellor? Which we don't need. There's no need for counseling—neither on my marriage nor on the way I dress!"

"Oh, you need help, serious help. You need somebody to shake some sense into you until you see that you're not defined by your husband! He's not treating you right, Fe."

Oliver's blood froze as he heard that. Cold shock crashed through his veins like ice water and paralyzed him.

"He's controlling your every move," Tak reasoned. "He's taking you everywhere. And if it's not him by your side it's one of the men he hires."

Felicity said something, but it was quieter, not really audible through the door.

But Yongtak's voice was loud. "IT IS! It's abusive!"

The last word caused Oliver to regain his ability to move while Tak continued. "It's no wonder that you seem distracted constantly, like your thoughts are never here, with us, with work!"

With forceful steps Oliver walked past Pyotr and opened the door—just as Jerry breathed, "Baragon's entering the scene."

Oliver ignored all of that as he focused on Felicity and Yongtak who stood opposite each other. Felicity's arms were crossed in front of her chest as she glared at Yongtak, pompadour severely ruffled. Both greeted Oliver with surprised expressions, but he didn't react to that, either. Instead, he said, "I just thought you should know that every word you're saying is perfectly audible out here."

Felicity's eyes moved past Oliver to travel through the room spreading out behind him. Seeing the caught expression on her face and a matching look on Tak's, Oliver entered the office and carefully closed the door. "You should keep it down. The kids always worry when mom and dad fight."

"They heard about—" Felicity whispered, unhappily.

"Possibly having to lay people off?" Oliver nodded. "Yeah. And Tak's accusation that I'm abusing you." His eyes settled on Yongtak whose expression oscillated between challenging defiance and caught unease. "And even though I'd never get involved in your business decisions, the fact that Yongtak thinks I'm not treating you right is very much my business."

Though the urge to smack the other man was nearly overwhelming, Oliver fought it down with everything he had. His eyes were glued to the skinny guy with the black, round glasses who actually shrunk a little under Oliver's glare. If Yongtak – who knew Oliver, who knew Felicity – thought that Oliver's actions were abusive, he didn't even want to start thinking about what it must seem like to other people, to strangers. Oliver had never even considered that people might think of his actions as anything other than protective, in a positive way. The implication that the word 'abuse' brought, combined with the memory of their first shared night, left Oliver not only angry but most uncomfortable. Subconsciously, his thumb found his index-finger.

"Okay," Yongtak stated, visibly gathering his bravado. "Let's do this. Oliver, you're suffocating Fe and—"

"NO," Felicity cut in and flinched at the volume of her own voice. Sending a quick glance to the door, she continued speaking much more quietly, "Tak, you don't have any right to get involved in this. You don't know what you're talking about."

"No," Oliver said calmly, "let him talk. I want to hear what he has to say."

Felicity shook her head and muttered, "This is a bad idea."

Both men chose to ignore her. Yongtak looked at Oliver and said, "You're too controlling. I tried to introduce her to Chris twice—and Felicity cancelled with lame excuses both times. I don't get why you don't want her to spend time with us. She's jumpy and always tired. And I don't know where her thoughts are, but they're not on work. You never let her go anywhere alone. If it's not you, it's a bodyguard limiting her freedom—and all of that is not the girl I love since she told Cooper Seldon that he seriously overestimated his own abilities." He sent Felicity a short wink. "That's still the perfect truth-bomb, by the way."

Oliver swallowed. His index and middle finger tapping against his thumb, he slowly nodded. "I see." He gathered his thoughts. "You're right," he admitted finally. "I never let her go anywhere alone anymore. But it's not because I don't want her to go places or because I don't want her to spend time with you or meet your boyfriend. That's not true. Please know that. It's just... I'm trying to keep her safe, and this is the only way I know how."

"Oliver," Felicity tried to get his attention, but he ignored her.

His eyes stayed on Yongtak, who met his gaze unwaveringly, arms crossed over his chest, obviously entirely unimpressed with Oliver's words. "Have you met Felicity?" Yongtak asked. "Because the girl I know doesn't need safe-keeping. She isn't some petite birdy you have to keep locked up in a cage."

"I'm not locking her up." Oliver fought against the rising anger, knowing this was a situation he, for once, had to solve with words. "And I perfectly know how strong and capable she is."

"Do you?" The smaller man challenged, speaking calmly. "Really? Because I was there during her last year at MIT that was all hate and gossip and stares directed at her. I was there when she graduated summa cum laude despite all that and despite the nights she spent crying for her baby."

"Tak," Felicity cut in, her tone a clear warning.

Again she was ignored. "She doesn't need your supervision," Tak stressed. "She doesn't need you trying to control her, she has everything perfectly under control herself. Felicity knows what she's doing; she's always known—even before you came back from your island."

Oliver swallowed, heavily. He hated that Yongtak had a point. But he did, and there wasn't any use denying it. "You're right," Oliver admitted.

This complete agreement surprised Yongtak. It was obvious Firestorm's Vice President hadn't expected such swift surrender. He frowned up at the taller man, slightly suspicious.

And, really, as much as Oliver was waving a white flag, he wasn't surrendering. "I know how amazing Felicity is. I know… times… were rough. I know she's strong-willed. Emotionally, she can handle everything that's thrown at her. But that's not what this is about." He stared down at the shorter man and said, his voice harsh, "She's been kidnapped. She's been shot at. This company was attacked. I can't do anything about the latter, but I'll do everything to make sure she's protected. Physically."

Yongtak gave up his defensive stance, letting his previously crossed arms fall to his sides. He shifted his weight uneasily, listening to Oliver.

"I know Felicity's not happy with this, because the woman you and I care about doesn't just accept things like this without a fight, but she deals with it for now—for me, because I need this. And all of that's taking its toll. And there are some issues with our family, like Thea's trial, that aren't making things easier, but I agree with you that Firestorm should be Felicity's main focus right now."

"Okay," Felicity cut in, "I'm standing right here. You don't get to talk about me like I'm not even there when I'm right here and perfectly capable of talking."

"As evidenced by this long rant when the words 'shut up' would have been sufficient," Yongtak smirked.

Felicity wasn't amused. "Okay, then: shut up! I don't need either of you to save me! Or defend my honor or whatever misguided manly thing you've got going on here." She looked at Yongtak. "Not to mention that we were talking about Firestorm strategies—and for that it's completely irrelevant if I wear yesterday's clothes!"

"Felicity," Oliver said, "he's your friend and he's worried about you."

"Seriously?!" Felicity looked as if she wanted to slap him. "Now you're defending him?"

"He's looking out for you. I can't find anything wrong with that. But," he turned to Yongtak, needing the man to understand that he wasn't joking but deadly serious about his next words, "don't you dare even hint that I'm abusing Felicity again. Are we clear?"

Yongtak's eyes jumped between Oliver and Felicity. "I don't get it," he said, carefully, not reacting to Oliver's last statement. "Were there any specific threats? Why do you think Felicity's in danger?"

Oliver exhaled soundly, digging his brain for an answer that didn't involve all the unspecific things that summed up to specific danger looming over them: Oliver's night job, Felicity finding a (now missing) boat with a hole created by a bomb, another archer—to only name the things that came to him of the top of his head. Anger was still rising inside Oliver and he couldn't help but take a step toward Tak to tower over the smaller man even more, looking down at him. "Oh," he mocked, "Felicity getting shot at twice and getting kidnapped isn't specific enough for you?"

"Tak," Felicity stepped toward them and directed her friend's attention to her. "I know you mean well." She smiled warmly. "I appreciate your concern, but it's not necessary. Ever since the kidnapping… I've had a hard time dealing." Felicity's voice was small, quiet, and sadly, Oliver knew too well that she was speaking the truth. She was getting better, a week had passed since her last nightmare, but she hadn't put one foot into their main bathroom since the kidnapping. She was presenting her friend parts of the truth and it made Oliver feel horrible. It caused him to step away from Yongtak, whose face visibly softened, too.

"And the shooting proved that Firestorm's not exactly safe either," she continued. "The bodyguards might have been Oliver's idea, but I'm okay with it. I don't like to admit it, but I'm not as in control as I want people to believe me to be."

That was at least partly a lie, Oliver knew.

But Yongtak didn't. He turned to his friend, reaching for her hand, making her meet his eyes. "Fe, I'm so sorry. I never even thought about that, how all of that must have affected you. And it's only natural that it did. The kidnapping must've been horrible. It would have shaken anybody." He glanced at Oliver. "Guess that makes me a bad friend and you a good husband."

"No," Felicity objected. "You're a great friend. I kept all of that from you. With everything that's going on here I didn't want to add any more… suck. Because honestly, there's more than enough of that already."

"That's typical you." Tak shook his head. "Sometimes you're pretty stupid for a genius."

"Why, thank you," Felicity teased before turning serious again, "And just so you know, I'm wearing yesterday's clothes because I didn't sleep last night. Oliver was sick. And I stayed up with him."

That was another statement that wasn't a lie while not telling the whole story. Oliver kept his face even as the searching eyes of Firestorm's head coder studied him. "Yeah," Yongtak finally said. "You look pretty shitty—while still being unfairly handsome."

A moment of silence followed. It ended with a heavy sigh. "I apologize," Tak said, daring to meet Oliver's eyes. "I didn't know. But now I get the whole bodyguard-thing."

His face and posture hard, Oliver glared at the other man, stressing each word of his next sentence in an effort to drill it home. "I am not abusing Felicity."

"You're not," Tak confirmed. "I know. I'm sorry."

Finding nothing but honesty on the smaller man's face, Oliver gave a jerk of his head that was meant to be an accepting nod.

Yongtak's eyes snapped to the closed door quickly before settling on Felicity. "Before I go out there, yelling at people for listening to us yelling..." He sighed once more. "Please, one last time, I'm begging you: don't get this company involved with Wells."

Oliver looked at Felicity. He had no idea what Yongtak was taking about, but suddenly Felicity looked even more exhausted. The strength that had been visible while reasoning with her friend left her. Seeing that was like a slap to Oliver, a truly worrying sight.

"Tak," Felicity said the name as if it were a sigh, "we lost another client. Damian says we need some positive press, some good news to spread. Wells' project in Central City is highly acclaimed. Firestorm's name would be connected to a groundbreaking development. Wells is still willing to associate his particle accelerator with Firestorm. And those are good reasons to take up his offer. You haven't given me one good reason against doing so."

"You know about my internship at Star Labs during senior year. I met Wells back then, and I'm telling you: that man's ruthless—he'll do anything to get the results he wants. He talks about the 'greater good' too much, justifying means that I can't agree with."

"Wait," Felicity frowned, "was that the internship you quit?"

"That's the one." Yongtak's expression turned haunting. "Please, steer clear of Wells. We don't need him. We can get the software to work, Fe. You and I, if we get our acts together. I'm sorry, I was miffed because you cancelled on Chris and me. I didn't think about what you went through, the pressure you felt. But my diva-mode is off now, I promise."

Felicity looked at her friend, a small smile playing around her lips. "And I'm sorry for being MIA lately. Like Oliver said, things are hectic, but that's no excuse for not meeting your boyfriend. How about Sunday?"

Tak smiled weakly. "Third time's a charm, right?" He turned to Oliver. "Why don't you come, too?"

"After you accuse me of never letting Felicity go anywhere alone?" Oliver was only half-teasing and the tone in his voice showed it.

Squashing any negativity before it could start building, Felicity spoke up, "Tak, I hear what you're saying about Wells, please, believe me. But I cannot fire people. I have to do what feels best for this company."

"I know. But I also know that we can get the Firestorm-Firewall to work, we'll make our own good press. Please, think it over."

"I will," Felicity promised.

Yongtak sent Oliver one last long look before he moved and opened the door. Standing in the door frame, he informed the people outside, "Okay, good news, kids. Mommy and daddy made up. And I officially apologized to mommy's husband for jumping to the wrong conclusions. So, breathe easy and get back to work!" He closed the door.

In a gesture of utter defeat, Felicity brought her hand to her forehead. Oliver felt like a complete ass, because he hadn't seen it before: her struggle to keep all the different balls she was juggling from falling to the ground. He hadn't noticed that he was only tossing her more things to keep track of. He hadn't even thought about the fact that she probably hadn't slept much or at all last night. He stepped toward her to hug her and start taking some weight off her, but she stepped back.

She shook her head and brought her hands up in a defensive gesture. "Please, don't," she said quietly. "If you touch me now I'll fall apart and I can't. I just can't. I can't leave this office with red and puffy eyes, because I need people to believe that I'm not worried, that I'm handling things, that nobody's getting fired." Deliberately, she blew air out between her lips. "I need a moment, please."

Oliver nodded. "I understand."

How could he not? He knew what it felt like when complete control was out of reach, when you had to strain to keep it together, when you had to rein in all your emotions to keep yourself from breaking. For Oliver it was every form of anger and frustration that could crack the calm surface; for Felicity it was everything that could be construed as weakness: her compassion, her loyalty, her sensitivity. He loved her for all of that, but he knew telling her wasn't exactly helpful in the current situation.

He loved her and so he stepped away from her, turned his back to her, and placed his eyes on anything but her.

The pictures on the shelf caught his interest. Moving closer, he studied them: the picture of Kristina licking Felicity's cheek while Felicity made a face; the picture of Felicity and Yongtak at their MIT-graduation, smiling happily; the picture of Felicity and a blonde woman in bright, tight clothes who he knew was her mother, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower—the Vegas-version. And then he saw the picture of Felicity, Kristina, Tak, and him. It had been taken at the Halloween party. Tina and Tak sported happy drunken smiles while Oliver's lips didn't curve upward even the tiniest bit. But he loved the picture. It wasn't the photo itself he liked but the fact it was there, that it looked so casual, that he was part of it. It was unexpected, but a wonderful surprise.

A cleared throat indicated that Felicity felt like she had collected herself enough. His eyes lingered on the picture for another second before turning around.

"Thank you," she said evenly.

He nodded. "My original plan was to treat you to an early dinner, but that doesn't seem likely."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I need a couple more hours for damage control."

His eyes rested on her, somehow she looked more fragile than usual to him. The remnants of the bruises on her left jaw shining in green and yellow only increased that impression. "Felicity," he said softly. "I think you shouldn't come to the Foundry for a while." He sensed the upcoming objection and hurried to add, "And not because I don't want you there. I just think that Firestorm should be your priority for now. It's your company; it's years of hard work. There are twenty people out there that depend on you and that you feel responsible for." He longed to touch her, but he knew to keep his distance. "I'm sorry for not seeing it sooner: you can't go on like this. You're exhausted, you need sleep and a clear head, and you need to focus on that new software."

"Last night, when I watched you sweat, I decided that I needed to calibrate the com-systems so that I could monitor you when you were out. I decided to get more involved, not less."

"Felicity, you look like you're about to collapse. You're too smart not to know that you can't keep this up." Her face showed him that she did know, but didn't like it.

"Do you remember what happened last time you asked me to take a Saturday off?"

Never would he forget it. "I increased security since then." He couldn't keep from adding, "Just ask Tak."

Felicity ignored his last statement. "It feels like I'm letting you down," she admitted instead. "Like I'm abandoning you."

"Maybe it's part of coming to terms with..." He didn't want to reference 'The Hood' in her office, not even when they were talking quietly, so he went for, "...all sides of me—for you and me. We both need to find a way to balance this." He dared to step closer to her. "Diggle's involved now. I promise to rely on him more, keep him informed. I promise I won't take unnecessary risks. I promise to talk to you about what's going on. But for now, please, just be the CEO of your company."

A softness and certain thankfulness lit her eyes. "Damn it, you're right."

"It's rare, but it happens," he teased.

She chuckled softly. The lightness left her nearly instantaneously and Oliver was faced with a threatening index-finger. "I need you to put a tracer on when you go out, somewhere hidden and secure. John always needs to be able to find you."

"Okay," he agreed. How could he object when he had asked her to do the same thing? Sensing that she wanted to say more he sent her a questioning glance.

She sounded hesitant when she said, "There's something else that worries me, but I'd rather not talk about it here."

That was another thing he could easily accept. "Then we'll talk about it later tonight when I come home. Or tomorrow, if you're already asleep." He dared to bring his hand to her cheek. "Don't wait up for me, okay?"

"What's your plan for tonight?"

"Turns out, no matter what Diggle thinks, I am able to subtly place a tracer on somebody. I plan to finish the things I started last night, suited up this time."

"Oh," Felicity sighed, flatly. "Great."

"Don't worry about it."

"How can I not? Even when I'm a CEO I don't stop being your wife."

Subconsciously, his fingers closed around her cheek. A happy tinge rushed down his spine. An unasked question shone in her eyes and he explained, "That's the first time you said it. That you called yourself my wife." He smiled. "I like it."

The smile appearing on her face increased the uplifting joy inside him. "Good, 'cause I like that, too. I decided that I'm okay with us rushing things."

"You think we're rushing things?"

"Oliver, we married after four hours and three Tequila."

"Technically, that was five years ago."

A chuckle was her reaction and he loved it, loved that he was able to make somebody laugh and smile again. She looked happy and beautiful and she was his. He bent down to kiss her, chastely at first but, needing a stronger connection, he deepened the kiss, daring to get lost in it, in her. When he finally let go of her, he looked into her shining eyes. He answered with a smile of his own.

Together they stepped to the office door. "Be careful," she requested.

"Always," he promised. They shared one long glance before Oliver opened the door, nodded at Jerry, and walked through the room. He felt many eyes on him, but ignored them.

"Okay, people." Felicity's voice came from behind him, strong and clear. "Company meeting. I want everybody crammed into the conference room in ten minutes."

Her announcement was met by silence as Oliver reached to stairs. He stopped and turned to see only Jerry reacting to Felicity's words. "On it!" The EA got up from his seat. "You heard it, people." He said, snapping the others out of their trance. "Cram into the conference room. I'll inform the second floor."

Oliver looked at Felicity. She still stood just outside her office, looking confident and in charge. Their eyes met through the room and she sent him a nod. There was nothing else to say.

The Count had gotten a dose of his own poison. Vertigo reduced the man to a shell, meaning the formula for it was lost forever.

Oliver decided to mark that in the win column.

Diggle agreed. Oliver's new partner was of the opinion that The Hood needed to look beyond the list. "You can do some actual good in this city," he claimed and Oliver could see his point. Ridding the streets of The Count, who had gotten his name by the body count generated during the experiments creating Vertigo, and taking the drug off the market was a good thing for Starling City and the people who lived here.

Those thoughts flew from Oliver's mind as the elevator stopped, the 'pling' announcing its arrival at the fourteenth floor. Stepping onto the new, plush carpet, Oliver was faced with Jacob Weyman (ex-addict, stopped heroin and started kick-boxing, three times West Coast USA Super Heavyweight Champion, mean right hook, divorced with three kids, closeted Taylor Swift fan) who was guarding this floor tonight. The butch man had gotten up from his seat and walked toward the elevator, but stopped as he recognized his employer. "Mr. Queen," he greeted.

"Mr. Weyman," Oliver answered and saw the surprise on the other man's face about being addressed by name. For a second Oliver contemplated giving the security guard a short lie to explain why he came home at two a.m., but decided against it. He didn't have to justify his whereabouts to him.

Jacob moved back to his seat to pick up a plate resting next to it. "Ms. Miles visited shortly tonight and brought cake. Your wife was nice enough to offer me a slice." He handed the plate with a fork on top to Oliver. "Please, thank her again. Ms. Miles is a very good baker."

"Will do," Oliver promised. "Good night."

"Good night, Mr. Queen."

The apartment lay in darkness and silence as he entered it. Oliver didn't mind. This was his home and he knew his way around perfectly—especially since the floor-length windows in the main room let in the city's glow. In the kitchen, he found the dishwasher full and clean. Two in the morning was not the time to unload the dishwasher, he decided, so he put the plate on the counter. Quietly, he walked to their bedroom.

The covers tightly wrapped around her, Felicity slept peacefully. He undressed quickly, went to his side of the bed, and got in. As always, Felicity lay on her side, one hand under the pillow, her face relaxed, her breathing even. Careful not to wake her, he brushed his lips against her temple. She sighed in her sleep and Oliver smiled. She was the best thing to come home to.