"Felicity," a voice hissed in the darkness, a voice as familiar to her as her own. A hand shook her shoulder, gentle but insistent. "Felicity, wake up." She blinked her eyes open and saw the familiar broad-shouldered shape of her husband looming over her, silhouetted by the moonlight coming in through the window behind him. Her husband- the thought still sent a thrill through her.
"Oliver?" she asked, though she knew it was him. She sat up in bed, the bedclothes slipping down to pool around her waist. She shivered in the darkness, the chill night air raising gooseflesh on her exposed skin. "What's going on?"
"We need to go," Oliver replied. "It's time we returned home." He moved away from the window and in the semi darkness Felicity saw that he was already fully dressed, his cloak fastened around his shoulders, his bow and quiver slung across his back.
"Home?" she asked. "As in the Foundry?" Oliver nodded.
"It was Thea's suggestion that we leave at night," he said. "She thought my mother might try to stop us if we were to leave in daylight. This way, we at least have a head start before she knows that we're gone." Felicity nodded to herself. Trying to stop them from leaving did seem like something Moira would do, especially if she had learned of her son's marriage by now. She slid out of bed and dressed herself quickly, Oliver's urgency and impatience rubbing off on her. She belted her dagger around her waist and realized only then how much she'd missed the weight of it at her side, the comfort it brought, knowing that she would not be defenseless should her magic fail her.
"Are you ready?" Oliver asked. She nodded. He went to the corner by the window and retrieved a coil of rope. He tied one end of it around one of the bedposts, taking a minute to test the strength of the knot, then tossed the other end out the window and used the rope to rappel down the wall and to the ground. Felicity went to the window to watch his descent, leaning out into the cold night air, her fingers curled around the edge of the sill. In the half light, Oliver's clothes were black, his sandy brown hair silver-white. He dropped the last few inches to the ground, landing with a crunch of dead leaves in the courtyard, and beckoned to Felicity. She untied the rope from the bedpost and tossed it down to him, the climbed up onto the window sill, perching there for a few moments with her legs dangling over the edge before flinging herself out into space. Her cloak billowed up around her as she fell, fluttering like wings. A moment later she landed, Oliver's arms there to catch her just as she'd trusted them to be. Together they scaled the courtyard wall, pausing briefly to share a kiss at the top, and then they were free.
The journey back to the Foundry was undertaken in terse silence. Oliver carried his bow, strung, in his hand the whole way, and Felicity never let her own hand stray more than a few inches from the hilt of her dagger. They expected an attack- they didn't trust Moira not to send men after them once she realized that they were gone.
When the Foundry came into sight at last, two days later, they'd both breathed a sigh of relief. They'd made it. They were home. They were safe. They entered and were met by enthusiastic greetings from the friends they had dearly missed over the last week. They told them all of what had transpired during their time in Starling, including their marriage, this last being received with great joy and much congratulations.
From that day forward, they threw themselves even more fully into the crusade that Felicity had entered almost entirely by accident but had since come to think of as her own just as much as it was Oliver's, side by side with their friends and united by their love for each other, two halves of the same whole, working toward a common goal.