It was all Sara Diggle's fault.
Ok, so obviously the toddler didn't give Felicity the chicken pox on purpose. It was just bad luck that the blonde didn't know that this particular disease was not on the list of those she had as a baby, and spent an entire afternoon playing with Sara, who was afflicted by it.
And now Felicity was itching like crazy. But the doctor had forbidden her to scratch herself, for fear of leaving permanent scars. Not to mention that she was covered from head to toe in disgusting tiny pustules. Her face, her chest, her stomach and legs and other very embarrassing places she didn't even want to think about.
A few days ago she had started to feel feverish one evening and had decided to go to bed early. When she had woken up the next morning, she felt much better. She walked joyfully in her bathroom, ready to prepare for work.
The yelp she let out had Oliver out of bed and by her side in two seconds.
"What? What's going on?"
"Oliver, my face! And my arms!"
He took a good look and noticed the multitude of spots, giving her a commiserated smile in the mirror.
"Chicken pox. I'll call the doctor," he told her and pressed a kiss to her temple.
"Urgh, don't kiss me. I'm repulsive."
He rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad."
"Not that bad? I'm covered in pustules!"
Oliver tried very hard not to smile and failed miserably. "I wouldn't call them pustules. They are more like spots."
"Whatever. I feel like I'm 13 again with a bad case of acne."
He raised an eyebrow. "You had acne?"
"Yes, and braces. The whole cliché. Let me tell you, it wasn't a fun period," she grumbled.
His strong arms wrapped around her and he smiled tenderly. "Come on, let's get you to the doctor, then I'll take care of you, ok?"
She nuzzled her cheek against his arm. "But you have to go to your office."
"The city will survive without me for a day or two. You're always my priority, you know that."
"You're such a great fiance."
"You're a horrible fiance!"
Oliver didn't seem impressed by her outburst and crossed his arms on his chest. "Because I won't let you scratch your spots so you won't end up covered with scars ? That's why I'm horrible?"
He was right and she knew she overreacted so she chose the mature way to answer.
"Shut up."
It had been three days and she was slowly becoming crazy. Not only was she confined at home - there's no way she was going out in her state, and there's also a risk that she could contaminate other people - but the itching was really bad and there was nothing she could do about it. The doctor gave her an ointment to put twice a day, but the relief only lasted a couple of hours before the need to furiously scratch herself came back.
Oliver had been really helpful, and adorable and patient, and now she felt really bad for yelling at him.
"Sorry," she muttered and slid between his arms that he closed tightly around her. She felt him press a kiss to the crown of her head but didn't say anything because that was probably the only place on her body without spots. She felt so uncomfortable in her own skin that she had barely allowed him to touch her over the last few days.
That's when she realized that the material of his sweatshirt felt really good under her bare arms. Especially if she started rubbing them up and down.
"Felicity?"
"Mmmmh?"
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
Her blatant lie brought a smile to his face as he put his hand on her shoulders, pulling her away from him.
"I'm not your personal scratching pole."
She gives him a sweet smile. "And yet you're really good at it?"
Amusement and exasperation fought on his face. "Listen, I know it's hard. And I'll help you any way I can. But you have to at least try a little bit."
She sighed, absently scratching her forehead. Oliver gently grabbed her hand.
"And if helping you means tying you to a chair, I will do it," he warned her softly.
She grinned. "Really? Tell me more about that. Sounds interesting."
He frowned. "Not that kind of fun, Felicity."
She pouted. "Chicken pox sucks."
Another two days passed, and she decided that she was at least feeling well enough to go back to the Arrow cave and help the team. Oliver was a bit reluctant at first, but faced with the Pout and Puppy Eyes he was pretty much defenseless. So after checking out that all the others were immune, she took back her rightful place behind her beloved computers.
"Ok John, it's the next turn left and the second door to the right. The code is 7321."
"Copy that, Chicken Pox."
There was a silence, then a quiet giggle (probably Thea) and then Oliver's voice.
"Wait, what?"
"Remember when I told you multiple times that I needed a code name? Well, I figured that this would be as good as any."
He huffed a laugh. "Okay. Are you sure you want to be stuck with that one, though?"
She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. It's temporary. Until we find a really good one."
"I like it," Thea chimed in.
"As you wish, Chicken Pox."
"That's Miss Chicken Pox to you, Arrow."
"Green Arrow."
"Whatever."
As Oliver climbed the stairs to the upper floor, a bit surprised by how silent the house was, he quickly understood why.
Felicity immediately got a deer-in-headlights look as he caught her rubbing her butt against the doorframe.
He walked towards her and raised a finger, giving her a stern look. "No."
In any other occasion she would have found that hot, but she had other things on her mind.
"It's not what it looks like," she tried pitifully and Oliver sighed.
"You were doing so well, Felicity."
"I know! But my butt has been itching like crazy, Oliver."
Just as the words left her mouth she realized how unsexy they sounded and bit her lips. But Oliver just laughed softly and gathered her in his arms.
"I can try to help with that," he murmured against her ear and she forgot about the itching for at least five seconds. He put his hands on each of her butt cheeks, gently rubbing them through the material of her yoga pants. She let out a little squeal before relaxing against his broad chest.
"Oh God. You're the most wonderful man in the world. Will you marry me?"
He chuckled, letting go of one of her cheeks to grab her left hand and pressing a kiss on the finger adorned with a beautiful diamond ring.
"I asked you first."
"Yes, you did, and I said yes, but you didn't say it back."
"Well, the fact that I proposed was kind of a giveaway on that."
"Come on,Oliver, humor me. I'm the one plagued with a terrible disease, here."
Of course he was going to humor her. But arguing with her over nonsensical stuff was much more fun.
"You have the chicken pox, Felicity, not the Ebola virus."
She gave him a pensive look. "Would you still touch my butt if I had the Ebola virus?"
"I will always want to touch your butt, no matter what horrible and putrefying disease with which you are afflicted"
"You're such a romantic."
"I know, right?"
"But you haven't answered my question."
This time he caved in. "Yes, Felicity Smoak, I will marry you."
"Good. I love you."
"I love you too."
"Even with the pustules?"
"Especially with the pustules."
It started innocently at first. They were watching TV, and Oliver had his feet propped up on the coffee table, like always, and her own feet were propped up on his and she was resting comfortably against his side. When her bare feet started to move up and down on his legs, but especially against his socks, he gave her a knowing glance.
"What are you doing?"
She bit her lip. She had kind of ran out of excuses a while ago. Not that she was good with them to start with anyway.
She narrowed her eyes to what she hoped was a sultry look. "Seducing you?" she tried nonetheless, although without much hope.
She was right.
"No you don't. You said no sex until, and I quote, the last of you pustules disappeared."
"I never used that word."
He laughed at that. "Oh, you so did. Multiple times, actually."
"So?"
"So stop rubbing your pustules against my socks."
"You stop using that word."
He raised his hands. "Hey, you started it."
She let out a pitiful sigh, scratching her thigh and Oliver caught her hand.
"Felicity, I have oven mitts and I'm not afraid to use them."
That made her smile. "Easy there with the threats, big guy. Besides, if you put the oven mitts on my hands, what will you use when you cook?"
He shrugged. "I'll have to find another way. You actually taught me that."
"Yeah, I wasn't exactly talking about oven mitts back then."
A pause, then a fake shocked look. "What? What were you talking about, then?"
She kissed his cheek and snuggled against him. "You're weird."
It had been almost three weeks and most of her spots were gone, but she had to keep putting the ointment until there was none left. That evening, after she took her shower, Oliver helped her with it, but instead of standing in the bathroom, they sat on the bed with her between his legs. He started with her back before continuing with her front as she nestled against him. The light of the bed lamp cast a golden glow on her skin and he softly kissed her neck.
"I missed you," he whispered, letting his mouth trail from her neck to her shoulder. "Not just the sex, although I missed that too, a lot. I missed holding you like this."
She turned around in his arms, wrapping hers around his neck. "I missed you too. I know I was the one to put the brakes on any...intimacy, and I probably overreacted a bit with the barely no hugging and kissing thing, and I love you so much for respecting it. What we have is really special and I deprived both of us and in retrospect it feels a bit silly now, so I'm sorry."
He gave her an adoring look. "Hey, don't. Don't apologise, and don't thank me for doing what any decent human being would have done. Especially one who's lucky enough to be engaged to a wonderful woman."
An impish grin. "That's right. You said yes."
"I did. One of my smartest moves."
Their lips joined, and she wasted no time in deepening the kiss, making up for weeks of frustrating distance. He let out a groan of pleasure as he held her tightly against him, one of his hands on her neck and the other one sliding down to her bottom.
"Oliver?"
"Yes, honey?"
"I can't help but notice that I'm almost naked and you are still wearing your sweatpants. Are you planning on rectifying this situation?"
"Absolutely. Want to know what my plans are?"
"I certainly do."
"Then let me show you."
A few days later, they finally agreed on a nice code name for Felicity, and the team quickly got used to it.
Except for Diggle.
Years down the road, even when they were not in the field anymore, he still called her Chicken Pox.
