As promised: Day 3 means chapter 3. I know this is kind of a slow build and a very different universe, so I appreciate those taking the time to read. Hope you enjoy!

Once Oliver and I were moving, it didn't take long for me to get lost in the world around us again. The snow was deep out here, close to a foot and completely untouched by man or beast – well, untouched until Oliver, who did a good job blazing the trail for me. Resident birds tracked our progress from nearby branches, while I kept a running tally of the cardinals, blue jays, and titmice I spotted; I lost count of the chickadees early on. The lonely cry of seagulls sounded overhead, and I thought I could smell imminent snow in the air. I let all of it consume me, until the pain and fear I'd been feeling at the house were almost forgotten.

We'd been walking nearly half an hour before it dawned on me that I didn't really know Oliver enough to wander deep into the woods alone with him. I stopped on the trail and called after him.

No response.

I tried again.

When he just kept going, I used the voice I try not to carry into the woods with me, so I don't spook unsuspecting wildlife.

"Hey!" I bellowed.

Finally, he turned. "It's not much farther," he said. His cheeks were flushed with the cold, but if that cold penetrated the sweater he wore sans jacket, he gave no sign. The look on his face told me he'd heard me call after him the first two times, and had been ignoring me. Totally not cool.

"Where are we going? Are we even on Merlyn property anymore?"

"We are," he confirmed. "Now, come on. Quentin will expect us back there eventually."

"Wait," I insisted.

"If you're tired—"

"I'm not tired," I said immediately, because it was true. It was a vigorous walk, sure, but not more than my typical stroll during lunch hours back home. "I have questions."

"Why does that not surprise me?" he said dryly.

"How many acres did my parents own out here?" I persisted.

"Three hundred."

My mouth fell open until I realized I'd gone slack-jawed and closed it again. "What? The island is only two miles."

"There are three hundred and fifty acres in a mile—"

"I know how many acres are in a mile," I snapped. "Three hundred acres is almost half this island."

"It is. Can we go?"

"No. So… The parents I never met just died, and left me with an ancient estate and half an island in Maine," I said. I was aware that I sounded a little bit slow at this point, but I didn't care. Twenty-four hours ago, I was living in a rented studio apartment in Portland with enough student loan debt to keep me in that apartment for another decade. And now…

"There are some stipulations," Oliver said. "But I believe that's the plan."

"It must be worth a fortune."

"The Merlyns have never wanted for much."

And I was a Merlyn.

"Come on," he said, and turned before I could ask anything else. "It's just up ahead."

"But what is up ahead?" I called after him.

Predictably, he just kept moving. I followed.

It was almost five o'clock by now, the sun beginning its descent. I heard wild turkeys in the distance, though I saw no sign of them. I was seconds from calling after Oliver again when the path suddenly opened onto an expansive meadow – or what I assumed would be a meadow, once all the snow was melted. A large building stood at the far end, all stone and steel, glass panes reflecting the sunset back at me.

"What is this?" I asked.

He thought about the question for a second. "Heaven, if you like plants – or at least it was at one time. It's a little rundown now. Quentin thought you might still be interested, though."

Quentin was right.

Without warning, Oliver closed the distance between us with a single stride. I took a step back, startled – even more so when he plunged his hand into my coat pocket.

"What-?" I almost squeaked, trying to get away. He held me fast, eyes on mine, a near-smirk on his lips now.

"I need the keys," he said. "You're wearing my coat."

"Oh." I pulled away from him, felt around in his enormous pockets until I found the keys myself, and handed them to him. "You could have asked."

He shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?"

He turned while I was still trying to get my head around that, stymied that much more by the fact that Oliver had touched me twice now without triggering a single episode. Oblivious to my inner turmoil, he fitted the key to the lock in a massive oak door.

"Ready?" he asked, glancing back at me.

"I doubt it," I said honestly. "But go ahead."

He pushed the door open, walked in, and stepped aside. I followed him…and gasped out loud.

The space was incredible. Overgrown and gone completely off the rails, true, but that just made it that much more appealing. There were climbing vines and half-grown trees, everything covered with moss and lichen and the shadows of age. I walked along a crumbling stone path that led deeper into the building, but stopped when I found myself at a pond that seemed to sit at the center of everything. The water was scummy and dark, but I caught a flash of color somewhere deep.

"There are still fish?" I asked. The fish talk to me, Mommy, Winnie said in my head. Fourth of the six. Four years old; she and her mother were inseparable, with mom Rachel featuring as much in my visions as Winnie did.

"Quentin and Willa take turns looking after them," Oliver said, grounding me in the present once more. "They don't spend a lot of time in here, but they do what they can. Now that you're here, though, maybe you could breathe some new life into this place."

I stared at him. This couldn't possibly be real – and even if it were real, it absolutely, positively couldn't be mine. "You're telling me this… This belongs to the Merlyns?"

"There wouldn't be much point in bringing you here if it didn't, would there? Yes. The greenhouse would be part of your inheritance, along with Merlyn Manor and all three hundred acres of Crab's Neck." He looked around, eyeing the dirty glass panes and the toppled plant pots, the ivy that seemed to have grown into every nook and cranny. "But of course, you've already made it clear that you're not interested."

"I never said I wasn't interested," I protested. "I just said it was a lot. Which it is."

"It is," he agreed, compassion in blue eyes that suddenly held mine.

I looked away first, then left him behind to walk along half-destroyed paths, avoiding glass from a few shattered panes I hadn't noticed at first glance. They sparkled like diamonds in the dim light, and I breathed in deep the scent of soil and growing things. The place was huge – easily five thousand square feet and twenty feet high, more private botanical garden than personal greenhouse.

Oliver caught up and walked alongside me, but paused when his cell phone rang from the jacket pocket I was still wearing. I pulled the phone out, stepping aside when Oliver tried to grab it from me.

"Who's Damian Dahrk?" I asked, glancing at the display.

"No one," he said, and did a graceful kind of twist-and-dive thing that had the phone back in his hand and me stymied seconds later. "I need to take this."

I almost asked why, if Mr. Dahrk truly was no one. I didn't, though, instead waving him away with a mumbled, "Of course."

I heard him leave the building, shutting the door behind him as he answered with a terse "What is it?" Jeez. Remind me to never call the guy.

Alone in the greenhouse for the first time, I refocused on my surroundings. There were echoes of my visions wherever I looked, and a feeling sunk deep that this was mine, somehow… That I belonged here. I remembered sun-soaked spring afternoons here, seated by the pond watching for hours while the koi flashed iridescent bodies just beneath the surface of the water. I remembered running along the paved paths while my mother chased me. I remembered laughter, and comfort.

All of which would have been great, if not for the fact that I – Felicity Smoak – had never actually been here before.

I continued walking, shifting focus to the actual, existing contents of the greenhouse as it stood now. It looked like the place had been designed to celebrate the fauna of the region, rather than bringing in nonnative cultivars that would never thrive outside these walls. In other words, the Merlyns had created a microcosm of Crab's Neck Island, rather than planting some weird homage to Jamaica or something here. I was grateful, and it was surprisingly easy to imagine myself restoring this place – making it mine, in the present.

I found myself back at the koi pond, and crouched low to watch the fish. In the distance, I heard the door open again, though Oliver didn't say anything. I should have called to him, let him know where I was, but I didn't want to interrupt if he was still on his call. The place was big, but not so much so that he wouldn't be able to find me if he needed to.

I stayed where I was, watching the fish move lazy in the murky depths, until I heard footsteps behind me.

My friends call me Rosie, Rose said in a voice that echoed in my head.

Come find me, Uncle Reggie. I looked up to see Lucy, the little blond girl I'd spotted on the porch when Reggie and I first arrived here. Suddenly, I saw the greenhouse as it had been in its glory days: everything in its place, with blooms in all directions. Lucy flashed a grin at me, and darted back into the greenery.

What do your friends call you? Rosie said. In my mind's eye, I saw the man from all my visions – the one I'd been seeing for most of my life. Dark hair. Strong features. He smiled at Rose. At me.

I pulled myself out of the visions, aware distantly that the footsteps had come closer. A hand brushed my shoulder.

Electricity rushed through me, and with it a thousand memories. Visions, I corrected myself, remembering the words of a dozen psychiatrists over the years. Visions, not memories. Rosie, dressed all in black, her eyes sparking with life. Lucy, racing toward something – or away, maybe. It was hard to tell which, until suddenly I felt her fear so palpably that I was afraid my own heart would stop with it.

I whirled, desperate to escape the barrage of images.

"I'm sorry," I said, expecting to find Oliver there.

It wasn't Oliver, though.

Instead, a tall, dark-haired man stood there. His eyes were deep brown, dark enough to get lost in. I should know.

I'd been getting lost in them for most of my life.

I took a step back, my heart hammering. "Ray?"

If it felt like I was seeing a ghost come to life, the dark-haired man looked just as unnerved. He stared at me with those depthless eyes, frozen for what felt like ages.

"I was looking for Oliver," he said. He sounded no less shocked than he looked. "I saw tracks in the snow, and thought he might have come."

"He did – he's just on a phone call. He's the one who brought me here."

"Ah," he said. This time, he managed a smile. "I'm sorry, you took me by surprise. Are you a friend of Oliver's?"

"No," I said, then realized that sounded more abrupt than I'd meant it to. "I mean – I'm not not a friend of Oliver's. I'm just not here because I'm a friend of Oliver's. Or, he's not here because he's a friend of mine. We're not – we just met."

He laughed a little, relaxing visibly. "Okay. Well, that clears that up. You said my name when you first saw me, which puts me at a disadvantage since you seem to know who I am but I…"

"Felicity," I said. "I'm Felicity Smoak. And you… So, your name is Ray?" Like in all the visions. I told you, Ray, Rose said, in her singsong voice.

"Ray Palmer." He extended his hand, which I didn't take. I was already turned inside out; the last thing I needed were more visions added to that.

"Nice to meet you," I said. I couldn't stop staring into his eyes. He dropped his hand, looking nonplussed.

"Smoak," he said, echoing the name I'd given. "Are you living on the island? I don't think I know any Smoaks out here."

"I'm not from around here," I said. "Or – I mean, I guess I was originally from around here. But I'm not now. And haven't been, for most of my life."

I was definitely staring at him, but it didn't seem awkward since he openly returned my stare. He seemed to be trying to find a way to ask me something, but before he could get the words out Oliver appeared behind him on the path.

"I thought I heard you," Oliver said. They might be friends, but he still didn't sound over the moon at finding Ray here with me. "I see you two met."

"Yes," Ray said. He spoke to Oliver, but didn't take his eyes from me. "Felicity was just telling me that she's not from around here."

"No," Oliver agreed. "She's new to the island, here for the reading of the will." He paused. "She was Moira and Robert's daughter."

A storm passed in Ray's eyes, a mix of darkness and light that was hard to read or even fathom, before it vanished. He stayed focused on me, his familiar lips easing into a regretful frown.

"I'm sorry for your loss. They were good people."

"Thank you, but it's not really my loss," I said. "I didn't know them."

"No?"

"They put Felicity up for adoption when she was a baby," Oliver said. Which was more information than I'd been prepared to share with a stranger, even one I'd been making time with inside my head for years now. "The family just found out about her."

"That must have been quite a shock." A genuine smile touched Ray's lips, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "I'm sure they're all thrilled about that."

Oliver shocked me by actually laughing – or chuckling, at least. "You could say that. We have it under control, though."

"You sure?" Ray asked. "If you need a hand with anything…"

"With the family?" Oliver said doubtfully. "I'm pretty sure your presence wouldn't help."

Through the whole conversation, Ray barely took his eyes off me. I did him one better by openly gaping at him, until finally Oliver cleared his throat.

"We should get back to the house. I'm sure Quentin is wondering where we are by now."

"Right," I agreed.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Ray asked Oliver, breaking eye contact with me with what seemed like real effort.

Oliver frowned, but he nodded regardless. "Felicity, would you meet me at the entrance? I'll just be a couple of minutes."

I wanted to argue, assure them both that whatever they had to say, they were safe saying it in front of me; I had a feeling Ray might even go along with that. Oliver didn't come across as the most agreeable man in the world, though. Reluctantly, I nodded.

"It's that way?" I asked, pointing to a path at my right.

"That's right. Just keep following that path, it will take you straight to the door."

"Okay," I agreed, then hesitated again. "So…now?"

Oliver's lip twitched, fighting another smile that definitely seemed to be at my expense. "Please."

"Fine," I grumbled. "But don't take too long."

"Thank you."

With no other option that I could see, all too aware of both men watching my retreat, I started down the path. When I was just a few yards away, barely out of sight, Ray spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me she was coming?" he demanded. I stopped walking, straining to hear them.

"Ssh," Oliver hushed him. "Wait."

"She's already gone," Ray assured him. "How old is she? Does she have—"

"Wait," Oliver repeated, growling the word this time. Both men fell silent. Several seconds passed, then a minute. Ray started to speak again, but Oliver hushed him immediately.

"Did you get lost?" Oliver asked seconds later, coming up behind me on the path so unexpectedly that I jumped. I may or may not have screamed, but it was a small scream – and it was totally his fault.

"God, give me a heart attack, why don't you? What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same question," Oliver said. He was alone, Ray nowhere in sight.

"I was waiting for you. I wasn't sure I could find my way back—"

"Spare me," Oliver said dryly. "You don't strike me as the damsel-in-distress type – if you wanted to find your way out, you're perfectly capable."

I frowned rather than being placated, which I was sure was what he'd intended. "Well, yes – you're right about that. I can definitely take care of myself, and I don't appreciate being shuttled off like some inconvenience while the menfolk want to talk amongst themselves – especially if what they're talking about is me."

He arched an eyebrow. "Someone has a high opinion of themselves."

"Spare me – I heard you."

He shrugged. "I don't know what you heard, but it's nothing for you to worry about. You're a pretty girl who's new to the island; that tends to get Ray's attention. I don't think there's anything suspicious in that." He took my elbow, nodding back to the path.

I refused to dwell on the whole 'pretty girl' comment and followed him in silence, focused instead on my breathing and the clear, clean air around me. Within two minutes, we were back at the entrance. I took one last deep breath at the door, and held it in as though preparing for a deep dive.

Catch me, Uncle Reggie, Lucy called. I looked toward the sound – toward the little girl with the sparkling green eyes. A much younger Reggie appeared, stalking out from behind the plants, barely more than a boy himself. He caught Lucy from behind and she shrieked with laughter. I looked more closely as he tickled the girl, both laughing now.

I stopped.

She wore a red T-shirt a size too big for her small frame. My gaze shifted to her throat.

There was a strawberry-colored birthmark in the shape of a butterfly, identical to my own. The same mark I'd seen on the painting of Rose. How had I never made this connection before?

"Felicity," Oliver called to me. I shook my head, clearing it of the visions. The younger, gentler Reggie vanished with the little girl.

"Sorry – right," I said resolutely. "I'm here."

I followed him out into the cold, watching regretfully as he shut and locked the greenhouse door once more.

"So, who was that back there, anyway? He's a friend of yours?" I asked.

It seemed for an instant that he might not answer me. He weighed the decision for a few seconds longer than it should have taken for what I'd thought of as a pretty simple question, then answered on a small sigh. "Ray Palmer."

"And he lives on the island?"

"He does."

"The Merlyns don't like him, though." It was a statement, not a question. If Oliver was surprised by it, he didn't show it.

"Not much, no."

"But you like him."

He grimaced. "You ask a lot of questions."

"An inquisitive mind is a good thing, Oliver," I told him. "Where did you and Ray meet?"

He closed his eyes, like I was causing him physical pain. Frankly, it seemed a little melodramatic. "We met here. There's a grand total of eighty people who live here year-round – we were bound to meet eventually."

"But Moira and Robert didn't like him?"

"It's a long story," he said, after another second or two of pained silence. "One I don't really feel like taking the time for right now. Now, let's go. Quentin will be waiting for us, and I don't want Reggie getting the wrong idea and sending the cavalry after you."

"The wrong idea how?" I asked. He just looked at me. "You mean, because everyone seems to think you and my mother were knockin' boots?"

That earned a smile – I felt a strange flush of pride, since it seemed Oliver smiled so rarely for anyone. "Excuse me?"

"Were you?" I asked, rather than answering him.

"Was I what?" he asked with another long-suffering sigh.

"Were you and my mother sleeping together? It's fine if you were," I added hurriedly. "I didn't know her or my father – I'm not invested in whether or not their marriage was a happy one, and you're kind of…well, whatever. I could understand, if she did…um…"

"Knock boots with me?" he asked, the smile replaced with a smirk. That vanished an instant later, so fast I was left a bit dizzy, darkness in its place. "Your mother was my friend, as was your father. I wouldn't have betrayed that friendship for anything, even if sex was a possibility. Which it wasn't," he added. "Your parents were devoted to each other – there was no other man for Moira."

My tears caught me off guard, flooding my eyes before I could rein them back. Oliver frowned. "I'm sorry," I said quickly, rubbing at my eyes with the back of my sleeve. Which was, of course, Oliver's sleeve. "I'm fine. This is all a little… Everything is a little more than I planned on." I cleared my throat. "I'm fine."

"I know," Oliver said. His eyes held mine for a second, a connection there that I hadn't planned for before he looked away. There was a distance between us when our eyes met again, as though he'd put up a wall in the space of a split second. "We're late," he said, his tone cooler than it had been. "No more questions. Let's go."

He went ahead without me this time, and I hurried to catch up. My thoughts remained on everything swirling around me before they focused on a single figure: Ray Palmer. The man who had been living inside my head for years.

How could anyone honestly expect me not to question any of this?

So... We have Oliver, Felicity, and Ray. The island is based on Monhegan Island, Maine, where I'm from, and where I spent a couple of summers when I was younger. I know there are lots of questions at this point, but I would love to hear whether or not you're enjoying the story so far. Is the build between Oliver and Felicity too slow? Comments may even inspire me to do a double-chapter day coming up! Either way, as always, thanks for reading!