November 2021

After six months of weighing the pros and cons, Oliver and Felicity had settled on public school for their girls, but that hadn't happened without a whole lot of debate.

Oliver's experiences at Starling City Prep alone had been enough to make him wary. The sheer number of classmates whose parents had wound up on his list was a definite indicator that something was wrong there that standardized tests could never measure. They'd toured a few private schools anyhow, all of them more than happy to welcome the Queen family and the Queen money. But, looking around, the demographic had been so incredibly narrow. Felicity hadn't seen the awards on the walls or the state of the art equipment. All she'd seen were the kids. She felt like she was watching children of Stepford wives and she couldn't, for all their money, imagine Jules fitting in here.

Security had been the biggest factor in seriously considering private school, something she's taken even more seriously since local party leadership had approached Oliver about running for the soon-to-be vacated state representative seat. He still says he's not sure if he'll do it, but she is. She knows her husband. He'll run. She's kind of surprised he hasn't reached that conclusion himself yet, but he'll get there.

They're very high profile, will be even more so when he runs for office, and they both worry about the media hounding their kids. They're a curiosity to the public and they know it. And, the press has proven time and again that they don't care about boundaries.

So, they'd gone back and forth as he trained in the lair or when she managed to get away from the office to meet him for lunch. Neither one of them had been certain on what to do until one day Felicity had sighed and said "Oliver, if public schools aren't safe enough for our girls, what are we even doing in this lair? You don't save a city by removing yourself from it."

And that had done it.

They'd registered Jules at Three Oaks Elementary the next day and - in the first year and a half Jules has gone there - Felicity's only complaint has been the lack of any oaks whatsoever on the premises.

Honestly, it's a highly misleading name.

There have been a few incidents she and Oliver have been called in for, but it's mostly been due to Jules, not the school. Their little girl has something of a temper and there's been the occasional playground tussle that's left one kid or another in tears - usually not her. When she gets angry, she lashes out and when she gets hurt, she shuts down. The older Jules gets, the more of herself Felicity sees in the little girl. Or, the way she used to be, anyhow, before she'd learned the hard way that she wasn't doing herself any favors. Some nights she lies awake, trying to figure out a way to help Jules grow up without making the same mistakes she did. All she gets for her effort is frustration, though.

"She'll find her own way, honey. Get some sleep," Oliver tells her on a regular basis, his voice only half awake as he curls his arm around her and pulls her closer, pressing his lips to her hair.

It soothes her, but she can't help worrying, wanting better for her daughter. Maybe that's just what being a mother is. Maybe she'll always want more for her children, want things to be easier, happier for them.

There haven't been any midday calls about behavior so far this year, though, so maybe things are improving. She's anxious to see what Jules' teachers have to say at the parent-teacher conference today.

"Where's Ellie?" Jules asks, exiting the front doors of the school and looking around like maybe the three-year-old is about to pop out of the bushes or something. It's not an unfair thought, really. Ellie is absurdly active, hiding and climbing and running absolutely everywhere. What they'd been thinking when they'd bought a four-story brownstone to raise their children in, Felicity can't remember at this point, but those stairs have surely given her calves she's insanely proud of after running up and down them to the girls' rooms umpteen times a day.

It's gonna be a whole lot harder in the next few months.

Her stomach rolls as if on cue and she pushes back a wave of nausea. She's only two months along with her newest pregnancy and they've told no one yet, but that's getting harder and harder with a morning sickness that's really an all-day sickness.

"She's with Grandma Donna," Felicity tells the little girl, trying to force herself to feel centered. It sort of works. Jules doesn't notice. The six-year-old just shifts slightly, adjusting the frayed strap of her backpack. She'd refused to get a new one this year and had kept her battered Priscilla the Pirate Princess bag from kindergarten. "I have a meeting with your teachers today, remember?"

"Oh yeah…" Jules says, her brow furrowing a little. Some days Felicity would give anything to read her little girl's thoughts, but even as a first-grader Jules keeps things to herself. It's not that she's quiet, exactly, but she's something of a closed book at times and getting her to share what she's feeling is like pulling teeth. "Am I going too?"

"No," Felicity tells her, taking the little girl's hand as they walk back into the school against the crush of kids pouring out. It's like fighting to go upstream against a huge school - Ha! School… that's appropriate - of minnows. "We're meeting Digg and Sara on the playground. He and I are taking turns with our conferences and watching you two."

"Okay," Jules agrees. She leaves it at that. She and Sara get along just fine, but they aren't especially close in spite of how much time they spend with each other. It had surprised Felicity, really, and disappointed her a bit, not that she'd ever tell Jules that. But Sara is an interactive and imaginative extrovert while Jules is happier playing hopscotch by herself or drawing with chalk than playing make-believe with Sara.

"How was school?" Felicity asks as the throng of children gives way to an empty hallway.

"Fine," Jules tells her. It's a standard reply and Felicity bites back a sigh because would a little detail kill her?

"What did you do today?" she prods, giving the girl a nudge.

"Played on the playground," the little girl supplies.

Long conversations with Lyla and her own mother have assured her that this is every child ever's response to what they did in school and it's not just Jules being tight-lipped.

"And I had art lit," Jules adds, surprising her and pulling her attention. "I liked that," she follows up in a near whisper.

It's a huge admission from Jules. For as loud as she can be sometimes, for how brash she comes off, it's the quiet things she says that are the most meaningful.

"Art lit?" Felicity asks.

"Yeah," Jules agrees. She bites her lip and looks up with a little half shrug. "Art literacy. We learn about lots of artists and paint and stuff. I like it. It's fun."

Two 'I like it' declarations from Jules in as many minutes is fairly unprecedented and Felicity can sense how important that is, but she's so thrown by it that she doesn't immediately know how to respond beyond a, "Good… that's great."

There's an uneasiness about Jules, and Felicity lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her, tugging her closer instead of answering in words. Jules never looks up when she does this, but she does lean in closer, like she wants the affection but doesn't want to admit to wanting it. That only makes Felicity want to hold onto her more, but she knows this little girl so very well and she's well aware that holding on too tight will only mean Jules pulls away harder.

"Christmas and Hanukkah are right around the corner," she points out after a minute. "Art supplies might make a nice gift to ask for."

"That'd be nice," Jules agrees, looking up almost shyly. "Maybe Santa could bring me an easel?"

Yes… yes, he absolutely will. Felicity's decided this before the words are even finished passing through Jules' lips. Her daughter doesn't ask for much, never begs for candy or toys. When she does express wanting something, it's exactly like this - an almost embarrassed request, like she doesn't like admitting to wanting anything.

"I bet the elves could manage that," Felicity reassures her.

Jules' cheeks turn a pleased, ruddy hue as she bites back a smile. Her skin is so fair and her hair so dark that it stands out brightly in contrast. She's so very beautiful when she's happy and Felicity finds herself taking a mental snapshot of the way she smiles at her toes. It's such a rare moment to see that kind of unabashed joy on her little girl's face and she's going to savor it for all it's worth.

A lot. It's worth a lot.

Despite slowing her gait to lengthen the moment, they reach the doors to the playground soon enough and she can already see Digg playing with Sara, both of them making their way across the monkey bars. It's ridiculous. Even with his legs bent, Digg's knees nearly brush the ground.

"You're gonna break that thing," she shouts over to him. He lets go with one hand to wave at her.

"It's okay," he counters. "You'll just buy the school a new one."

She would, but she'd really rather not highlight exactly how much money she and Oliver have donated to inner city schools this past year. A lot. It's a lot, even to them. She doesn't regret it in the least, but it's incredibly hard to stay anonymous.

"How's it going, Jules?" Digg calls over.

"Fine," Jules responds - back to her customary answer - as she starts towards the swings.

"Hold up, little miss," Felicity announces, hands on her hips as Jules stops and looks at her expectantly. "Don't I get a hug or anything?"

Jules smiles, shakes her head like she's humoring her mother and runs back for a quick hug. Or, at least she means for it to be quick. But Felicity holds on tightly and kisses the top of the little girl's head.

"Mom," Jules laughs with a long-suffering sigh. Felicity lets her go and she scurries off toward the playground, calling out hello to Sara and tossing her bookbag onto the mulch-covered ground before climbing up onto a swing and pumping her legs.

"Have fun, Julie-bug," Felicity calls out before checking her watch and looking to Digg. "Fifteen minutes?"

"Take your time," Digg tells her, which is code for 'we both know sometimes meetings about Jules run long.' "We've got half an hour before my meeting."

Felicity breathes a sigh of relief at that and blows Jules a kiss before turning and walking into the building. If someone had told her eight years ago how thoroughly intertwined her life would get with the handsome man who lied so terribly as he asked for her help and his quiet, hulking bodyguard, she's pretty sure she'd have laughed in their face. But from parent-teacher conferences to infiltrating organized crime conferences, she, Digg and Oliver have each other's backs in every possible way. Others have been added to the mix of Team Arrow since then, of course, chiefly Lyla and Roy, but the core of the team remains as solid and unchanged as ever. She's so intensely grateful for that some days that it astounds her.

Making her way into Mr. Clarke's classroom, she's practically assaulted by a blinding splash of primary colors. It makes her eyes hurt and her head spin a bit, but she knows enough to brace for it by now. Kindergarten had been much the same. She'd expected that. What she hadn't expected, however, is more than one teacher greeting her.

"Hi…" she says in a long, drawn out word as the two teachers stand and smile, gesturing for her to come in.

"Mrs. Queen, come in," Mr. Clarke says.

"Felicity, please," she corrects, as she does every single time. She will always be proud to be a Queen, to be Oliver's wife, but if there's one place she doesn't want all the weight that comes with her last name, it's here. In this space, she's not a CEO, not the mayor's daughter-in-law, she's just Jules' mother.

"Felicity," he amends, but he still looks at her like he knows she's the reason the computer labs have all new machines. "This is Mrs. Perrins. She's our art teacher here. You may not have met her before."

"No," Felicity agrees, putting down her purse and shaking the woman's hand. "It's good to meet you. Jules was just telling me how much she enjoys art class."

"Oh, no, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Queen," the art teacher says. Felicity bites back a sigh at the losing battle for the use of her first name. "Your daughter is an absolute delight."

That has Felicity pausing mid-handshake. Jules is a whole lot of things and Felicity loves her little girl with her whole heart, but she's not certain she's ever had anyone refer to her as a 'delight' before.

"Thank you," she manages, through her surprise.

"I wanted to be here at this meeting because I just had to ask you where you had her studying art," Mrs. Perrins says.

Felicity's thrown off kilter by this because... what? Her eyes shift from Mrs. Perrins to Mr. Clarke and back again. Both of them look at her expectantly and she fumbles as she responds with a fantastically ineloquent "What?" Her brain really hasn't gotten beyond that word, yet.

"Her grasp is so far beyond the fundamentals," Mrs. Perrins expands, flooring Felicity a bit more. "Obviously she's in a position to be exposed to some tremendous art" - Felicity can practically feel her smile tighten in place because this woman is saying 'you have money and I know it' even if that's not what she's saying - "but her instruction has obviously been so very effective and I have one or two other students who might benefit from some extra art instruction outside of school. I'd like to recommend whomever her other teacher is."

"That's not…" Felicity starts, flustered and starting to feel a babble coming on. "There isn't one. She takes dance and she went to daycare at my office, but she's not… we've never had her in an art class. I haven't even taken her to an art museum. Should I take her to an art museum? Is that a thing you do with six-year-olds?"

With the way Mrs. Perrins' eyes bug out, you'd have thought Felicity had told her they were funding an effort to rebuild the school out of cheese or something.

"I beg your pardon?" the art teacher asks.

"She's never been in an art class," Felicity says again, looking between the two instructors. "She's good?"

"Mrs. Queen…" Mrs. Perrins says, shaking her head a bit. "She's a great deal more than 'good.'"

"...Really?" Felicity asks, because this isn't sinking in. Jules isn't much for coloring. It's usually been Ellie who's presented them with scribbles for the fridge. If her daughter is some kind of art prodigy, isn't that something she should have known?

"We've been studying a different artist every week," Mrs Perrins tells her. "Discussing their styles and what makes them noteworthy. Then I have the children try to emulate their approach to art. Most of them can grasp use of shapes or color, to some extent. Jules is lightyears beyond them. She hones in on brush strokes and patterns and shading. And she can explain why she's doing it! She is, by far, the most gifted art student I have ever taught."

Felicity is pretty sure she looks a bit like a fish, standing there slack jawed and blinking at the teachers. What a wonderful impression she's making.

"She's six." It's the only thought that's clear in her head.

"Imagine, with the right instruction and practice, what she'll be like by sixteen," Mrs. Perrins adds in astonishment. "I brought some examples of her best work, if you'd care to see?"

"God, yes, of course," Felicity replies, flustered and suddenly desperate for this extra glimpse into her little girl's life.

Admittedly, Felicity knows very little about art. It's never been her interest, but her life these days means she's attended enough charity events to be able to identify a few of the more well known artist's works on sight. Mrs. Perrins narrates for her why each painting is exceptional, but Felicity tunes her out almost entirely.

She doesn't need to hear that. She sees it.

Jules isn't just good. She's incredible.

She's still young, of course, and that shows, too. But Felicity can look at these paintings and she can see which ones are modeled after Picasso, Degas, Monet, van Gogh, Klimt… When the teacher's words register dimly, moments after they were spoken, she can see more details, too. The way Jules used shading here or blended her own colors there, the use of perspective and focal points, the technique. She seems to have grabbed the basics of so effortlessly.

"Jules did these?"

She probably interrupted the teacher, but she can't even hear the words coming out of the other woman's mouth. She's just so astonished, so impressed.

"She did," Mrs. Perrins nods, looking incredibly pleased. A surge of tremendous pride washes over Felicity as she looks back down at the piece in her hand, a self-portrait in the style of Frida Kahlo. "Mrs. Queen… I can't overemphasize how incredible her work is for someone of her age. Her grasp of the basics is so very impressive. If she has the time, I'd like to work with her some after school a few days a week."

Felicity's nodding before she even realizes she's doing it. "She has dance twice a week but if she wants to, I think that's a great idea. She's obviously doing well under your instruction and she likes working with you… I'll e-mail you and we'll work out the details."

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. They talk about other things, socialization being the biggest problem, which comes as no surprise at all. She's doing well at math, but lags in reading. She doesn't always follow the rules and often doesn't finish her class assignments on time. But, Felicity knew all that and she finds herself staring at the pile of paintings in her hands more than listening to Mr. Clarke.

It takes a moment for her to realize he's stopped talking and she looks up somewhat bashfully to find him smiling at her.

"I'm so sorry," she scrambles, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. "I swear I care very, very much about all of Jules' schooling, I just… I didn't expect…"

"To be told your daughter is an exceptionally gifted art prodigy," he finishes for her. "Yes, I imagine that would be something of a shock."

"It's just… she barely even colors at home," Felicity says.

Mr. Clarke opens his mouth to say something but shuts it just as quickly with a soft sigh and a quiet smile. Felicity has the distinct feeling that he's holding something back and she's not about to let that stand.

"If you're not saying something because I'm big bad Mrs. Queen, please, please don't," she near begs. "I swear I'm only scary in the boardroom… or occasionally with my mother-in-law. I'm just Jules' mom and I promise that whatever you want to say, I want to hear it."

He recalculates right in front of her eyes and for the first time since she stepped into his class, she finds she feels like she's just another parent to him. Thank god.

"Jules is more reserved than most kids," he tells her. "There's nothing wrong with that, but she's obviously not comfortable expressing herself. She's a private person, even with you. She is in class, too. I'm not surprised to hear she loves art and dance, but I'm also not surprised that she doesn't often share it. She's the kind of person who craves approval, but hates to admit she wants it."

Yes… that sounds very much like her little girl.

"I think she'd benefit a lot from hearing how impressed you are with her art. I think she needs to hear that a lot about any way she chooses to express herself," he elaborates. "It doesn't come easily to her."

"Of course," Felicity says, nodding hard in agreement as his words soak in. "Thank you. Sometimes it's hard… she acts like she doesn't care…"

"She does," Mr. Clarke assures her. "I think your approval means more to her than anything else in the whole world. That's why she's so scared to ask for it."

"But I've never…" Worry floods through her again for the millionth time. She knows, logically, that Jules can't remember how bad her mother's postpartum depression was after she'd been born. She can't possibly recall how gutted Felicity had been to realize she'd been secretly hoping her daughter would be Ellie, just born earlier, and how very inadequate she felt in the face of motherhood, how much she'd believed Jules deserved someone better than her as a mom. Those first few months were so very hard, but that's all it had been - a few months. Well before Jules had even been crawling, things improved dramatically.

Still… she can't help but fear that her own initial distance from her daughter had created the foundation for her little girl's often closed-off nature. "Has she said anything? Does she think I'm not proud of her? That she doesn't have my approval?"

"No," Mr. Clarke counters. "No, this isn't you. It's just part of who Jules is. She's a wonderful little girl. Really, she is. And while she's a bit behind in some areas of class, I have no doubt she'll catch up. But she's not someone who shows vulnerability easily. It scares her. And she needs your support and encouragement even when she acts like it doesn't matter."

A sense of resolve works its way through Felicity's body and she finds herself standing, extending her free hand to the teacher and shaking firmly.

"Mr. Clarke… thank you." She hopes there's enough emphasis in her voice to convince him she means it. "I appreciate your candor very much. Now, I think we've gone over time and I'm sure you have another parent waiting outside… and I need to go remind my daughter how very proud of her I am."

He nods approvingly. "I think that's an excellent idea, Mrs. Queen."

"Please, call me Felicity," she asks again.

"Not likely to happen, Mrs. Queen," he smiles.

She huffs and shakes her head as she walks out of the room. A mom she doesn't recognize hovers outside the door - she was right, she'd been holding Mr. Clarke up from his next meeting - but she barely offers an apologetic glance. She's too entranced by her little girl's art for much more than that.

It's beyond her. That's the crazy thing. She looks at it and it's pretty… she can see the effort, the emotion put into it, the dedication. But this is something she could never do, can scarcely even understand. Her idea of art is a string of beautifully written code.

Luckily, her feet know the way to the playground by heart and she winds up there without thinking about it. Pushing through the doors, she finally looks up from the art in her hand to glance around. It's a gorgeous day, cold but clear. Sara's found a pair of twin brothers to play with, the three of them kicking a ball around the field. Jules is playing hopscotch off to the side. Digg leans up against the wall next to the door, watching them both.

"Sorry, that got kind of long," Felicity apologizes, wincing as he gives her an amused smile.

"Can't say I'm surprised," he replies dryly. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah…" Felicity responds, looking over at Jules, then down to the papers in her hand before meeting Digg's eyes again. "Turns out my daughter's a genius."

"Well of course she is," Digg grins broadly. "She's your kid, Felicity."

She bumps his shoulder good-naturedly with hers. He's like a brick wall, though, and she sort of rebounds off of him and has to catch herself. He doesn't even bother to try to hide his laugh at that.

Rude.

"I've got the girls," she tells him. "Your meeting is in like thirty seconds or something, isn't it?"

"More like five minutes, but you're right. I should get going," Digg agrees. "I'll just go say goodbye to Sara. Be back in a bit."

Felicity hums in agreement and gives a little wave as he walks off toward the field where his daughter's playing. For her part, she's drawn to Jules. The six year old bends down, scoops up the rock she's been using for her game and stands back up, ready to toss it again when she spots her mother.

"Hi, Momma," she says. "Are you all done with your meeting?"

She looks nervous, like she's expecting to be told something's wrong or she's not good enough, and for the life of her Felicity can't understand where this comes from with her little girl, but she wishes more than anything else in the world that she could make her more secure.

"All done," Felicity replies, smiling back at the girl. "And do you know what I found out?"

"What?" Jules asks, wariness and tension taking over her tiny frame. God, she looks so much like Oliver sometimes. More like she remembers him back when they first met than he is now, but the likeness is uncanny, in spite of the fact that she physically looks a great deal more like her mother.

"That you… are a pretty awesome kid," Felicity tells her glibly. "But, I told Mr. Clarke I already knew that."

Jules raises both eyebrows and cocks her head to the side in a disbelieving look that's pure Thea Queen shining through, but like when her Aunt Thea does it, Felicity can see the happiness beneath it.

"C'mere a second. Sit with me?" Felicity requests as she tilts her head toward a nearby park bench. Jules drops the rock and follows. She sits immediately by her mother's side, but Felicity hauls the little girl up onto her lap instead. That'll be a whole lot harder to do in the near future, but her pregnancy is nowhere near showing and Felicity is going to relish the presence of an actual lap while she still has one.

"I'm not a baby," Jules protests, even as she leans into her mother more.

"Nonsense," Felicity replies, wrapping an arm around Jules' tiny body and kissing her soundly on the cheek with a loud pop. "You're my baby."

"Mom," Jules half-groans, half-laughs, wiping at her cheek.

"It's true," Felicity tells her, glancing briefly toward Sara to make sure she's still happily occupied. "And you know what else I found out about my baby today?"

"That she's almost seven and too big for sitting on your lap at school?" Jules challenges.

So much sass with this girl, good lord. She can practically hear Oliver making his opinion known about which side of the family tree that came from. Frankly, he doesn't give Thea enough credit in Felicity's opinion. The Dearden genes are strong with both of their girls.

"No," Felicity replies primly. "I definitely did not learn that yet."

"Don't you think you should?" Jules deadpans.

"Hush, you," Felicity chastises lightly. "We're having a moment here."

"Fine, sorry," Jules replies. It doesn't escape Felicity in the least that her daughter is all talk. If anything, the little girl's leaning more heavily against her and there's absolutely no mistaking the happy pink glow to her cheeks. "Go on."

"Thank you," Felicity tells her. "So today, I learned that you are even more amazing than I thought you were."

Jules snorts in disbelief.

"It's true," Felicity tells her.

"Okay, Momma," Jules rolls her eyes.

"No, really," Felicity insists. "So, check this out." She holds up the art in her free hand and Jules' whole demeanor changes. The good-natured, easy-going thing they'd had quickly shifts and her little girl is a bundle of anxiety and nerves. "You - my friend - are a really, really incredible budding artist."

Jules gulps, bites her lip and scarcely glances up at her mother before her eyes drop back down to the paintings.

"It's… it's just painting," she says after a moment.

And, oh, it's painful how much this means to her. Felicity can see it all over her daughter's face, but for whatever reason, the girl has such a hard time believing it when others see the best in her.

"Honey… this isn't just art," Felicity tells her. "At least, not to me."

That catches Jules' attention, probably because it shifts the focus off of her and she's only ever comfortable being in the spotlight when it's about something she doesn't take seriously.

"What is it to you?" she ventures. Those big, ice-blue eyes of hers project every last thing she's feeling and there's no guessing how big this split second in time is for the two of them. Felicity knows to the depth of her soul that she needs to make this moment count, for both of them.

"It's you," she tells Jules. "That's why it's amazing, because you are. And that's why I love it, because I love you."

She pauses as she sees the cracks in Jules' facade. There's a tiny triumph that wells up inside her at the idea that this is actually getting through to her little girl, but she's not done yet.

"I can see how hard you worked on these, how much focus and dedication you put into them," Felicity tells her. "And it's amazing. It's better than I could do."

"Momma…" Jules says in disbelief.

"It's true," Felicity tells her firmly. And she means it. Jules must recognize that because her face turns thoughtful again and those cracks in her demeanor start to widen into chasms. "Jules, you put so much of yourself in these paintings, into your dancing... It's beautiful to see. I really love it. I think it's brave."

That perks Jules' interest further. She looks like she's weighing the truth of her mother's words. Felicity can't remember the last time Jules took anything at face value and it doesn't surprise her that this is no different.

"Daddy's brave," she declares. "And Uncle Digg. This is just some paint."

"There's all kinds of bravery," Felicity tells her, glancing around quickly to make sure no one else is nearby. "It isn't always jumping off of rooftops. Sometimes bravery is just letting people see who you are on the inside. That's what you did here. That's what you do when you dance. And I love that about you, Jules. I love how much of yourself you give to your work, even when it's hard, even when it's scary. I think that's something very special about you."

Jules flushes at that and presses her cheek against her mother's shoulder. It's a cuddle. It's an actual cuddle from her older daughter. Felicity sets the art down next to her on the bench and wraps both arms around her little girl, letting her eyes slip shut as she rests her cheek atop Jules' head. She has never been a cuddler, never been much for open affection at all. Felicity can still remember the sinking feeling of disappointment when Jules had been three and advised her she really didn't like doing the cocoon, that she'd rather fall asleep in her own bed 'like a big girl.'

"She's not Ellie, honey," Oliver had told her softly after they'd bid Jules goodnight and headed back to their own bedroom.

And she'd known that. She had, but she'd also never been prepared for how different her daughters would be - she hadn't understood - and her expectations had fallen flat more than once.

Ellie has always been so openly affectionate, so very loving. The difference in their demeanors has left Felicity wondering, in her darkest moments, if her older daughter even likes her at all.

But this… oh, this is different. This steals her breath and makes her want to hold on with everything she has.

"Thanks, Momma," Jules mutters against her collarbone in an almost unheard voice that's muffled by her coat. "Love you, too."

Felicity's throat clogs and tears well up in her eyes as her fingers sift through the girl's silky straight dark hair. Without even thinking about it, she finds she's rocking them slightly, the way Ellie had liked when she was just a baby, but had so rarely soothed Jules. The little girl - and she is still a little girl, though she tries to act so big and so strong - tucks her legs up, her whole body finding the security and warmth of her mother's lap, and her fingers curl into the edge of Felicity's coat, like she's holding on because she wants to.

It would be impossible for Felicity to be more grateful that she'd taken the afternoon off of work for a parent-teacher conference.

But the moment ends - as moments do - when Jules pulls back and offers up the softest smile imaginable. It feels like the most fragile and tentative of bonds forms right there and Felicity wants to grab onto it with both hands and handle it as gently as possible for fear of destroying it.

"I'm glad you like it," Jules tells her. "If I draw some with the chalk… would you maybe want to see it?"

"Absolutely," Felicity tells her emphatically without even thinking about it. Something lights up in Jules' eyes at both the speed and decisiveness of her answer. "I'd love to."

"Okay," Jules says, sliding off of her mother's lap and smiling before running over to grab some chalk and sitting cross-legged with an intense look of concentration on her beautiful little face.

She could watch this forever, Felicity realizes. She could soak in this brilliant, quietly happy look lighting up her little girl's eyes for the rest of her life and be so very happy about it.

It's so entrancing, so absolutely captivating that she doesn't even register Digg's back until his hand sets down on her shoulder. She jolts, looks up at him in surprise and wipes just beneath her eye with the back of her hand. It comes back dry, but she knows that's just timing. A few moments ago, it wouldn't have.

"Everything good?" Digg asks, concern plays out across his face as he takes in the sight of no doubt red-rimmed eyes.

Her eyes dart back to her daughter and Jules shoots her an honest to god smile. Felicity finds herself grinning back in return.

"No, actually," she replies, looking up to Digg. "Everything's absolutely perfect."