A/N: I am so, so sorry for the delay. Work has been crazy but, unfortunately, pays the bills... You know how that goes.

Oliver felt the first flicker of consciousness return and immediately opened his eyes. He was surprised to see daylight. Years of anticipating danger had trained him to wake while he still had darkness as his cover. The opportunity to move unseen, to get the jump on his enemy, had saved his life more than once on the island. To awaken after sunrise was a talent – or maybe a weakness - he thought he had lost forever. He instantly felt vulnerable and his body tensed, but when no threat appeared he allowed himself the luxury of relaxing. It seemed no one was after him today.

It took him a few seconds to orient himself. He was still in his clothes atop a bed in an unfamiliar room, the muffled sounds of city traffic somewhere outside the walls. Closing his eyes, he recollected the events of the night before; William Martin's hospital benefit, the growls of the creature over the comms, rushing with Digg into Martin's house, going to see Vincent and Catherine. All of which brought him to…

Felicity.

His eyes flew open again and he quickly turned his head. He was afraid he might find her watching him but – no – she was still asleep, curled on her side with her hair spread out in a tangled mass over her pillow. Like an unruly child, she had kicked off most of the covers, exposing a pair of well-toned thighs and a bit of black, lacy underwear that peeped out from under her tee shirt. She seemed to be in a very deep sleep; her breathing was slow and even, her lips parted slightly. One hand rested trustingly on his bicep.

Well, this was…unexpected. Looking at her semi-dressed state, he also thought it had the potential to be awkward when Felicity awoke. He recalled that she had had no objections when he'd asked if he could rest on her bed, but things whispered at 3:00 in the morning often didn't age well when exposed to the glaring light of day. A new sunrise had the habit of returning people to rationality in a manner that could be as chilling as any cold shower. He wondered whether she'd be flustered and blurt out a few of her clumsy but endearing innuendos. Hell, maybe she would even expect him to have left.

And maybe, like him, she wouldn't want to dig too deeply into the reasons they'd both slept easily and naturally beside each other, as if it was an old habit. He stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

The good news was that he was fairly certain he could slip off the bed and out of the room without waking her. The early morning, post-coital escape was something he had mastered even before the island. It was a handy skill to have; when he was younger it had helped him avoid all kinds of embarrassing conversations like I'm sorry I forgot your name and I would never have guessed you're not a natural redhead. In this case, of course, there had been no coitus to make it post. Disturbingly, however, it seemed that gazing at Felicity's legs was starting to make him feel a little…pre. He flexed experimentally on the bed. Yup - the jeans were definitely growing a little snug down there.

He did his best to dismiss it. He was a guy, after all, and he had just woken up. Automatic arousal at this time was a well-established phenomenon, as normal as bed-head and stale breath. The fact that those amazing legs were attached to Felicity had absolutely nothing to do with imagining what it would be like to run his hands along their silky smoothness. Nor did those soft, full lips belonging to her have any bearing on his urge to kiss them. This was just your average, garden-variety, first-thing-in-the-morning male lust. Any man finding an attractive blonde in his bed would feel it. And it was another reason to make his escape - now.

But, oddly, he couldn't seem to bring himself to leave. Instead, he just lay there as the minutes ticked by, watching her sleep, knowing that every breath brought her closer to waking. He even allowed himself to fantasize a little and found his fantasies a bit frightening. Sure, they included the normal guy stuff – like sliding those black panties off of Felicity and burying himself inside her - but there were other aspects that were atypical, at least for him. For example, instead of simply giving herself over to the mechanics of passion, the Felicity in his fantasy kept gazing at him lovingly and whispering endearments in his ear. And that look of trust and confidence she'd shown him so many times during their missions? It was on her face as he moved over her, telling him that there was so much more to his imaginary coupling than physical desire.

None of which was helping the state of his jeans. He really needed to leave before she woke up.

He began inching his way to the edge of the bed, but stopped abruptly when he heard a light tap on the door. Immediately following it, the door inched opened and J.T.'s head appeared as he leaned into the room.

"Felicity? We were wondering if…" J.T. stopped abruptly when he saw Oliver. His face hardened. "How did you get in here?"

Oliver put his finger to his lips in a shushing motion and pointed to Felicity, still sleeping. J.T.'s expression softened a little. After a minute, the New Yorker added more quietly, "Vincent, Cat and Digg are all here. We've got coffee and breakfast in the main room. When she wakes up, the two of you can join us." He paused, then said, "And you can explain how you got in. I didn't hear you last night, and I'm a pretty light sleeper." He withdrew his head from the room and closed the door gently.

Oliver sighed and lay back down on the bed. He'd missed his opportunity; there was no point in trying to slip out now. He wondered if Diggle had already discovered that he was AWOL from the hotel. He suspected there would be another lecture in his future once Digg learned where he'd spent the night. Indeed, between Digg and Vincent, he'd lost count of the pearls of well-meaning Felicity-guidance he'd received over the last four days.

"Oliver?"

He glanced down to see the subject of so much advice gazing up at him sleepily. She looked surprised and more than a little confused.

"Good morning, Felicity."

She ran her fingers through her hair and squinted at the clock across the room. "You're still here. What time is it?"

"Close to 9:30."

She frowned groggily. "Oh, wow, it's late."

"Yeah, I know. We both must have been really tired."

She rolled onto her back and stared up at him. "And you were asleep most of that time? I always figured you'd be one of those people who wake up at the crack of dawn."

"Normally I am. I haven't slept this well in a while." He hesitated for a moment, not sure he should say it. Finally, he added cautiously, "Maybe it was the company."

As soon as he'd uttered the words, he knew they had come out wrong. He'd meant it as a compliment, a way of telling her that she'd given him a gift. To sleep soundly next to someone trusted, to not feel alone in the dark, silent hours, was special. Even with Sara, he'd never really managed more than fitful dozing. But Felicity failed to pick up the meaning behind his words – or else she refused to acknowledge the compliment.

"Yeah, that's me," she grinned ruefully. "I have a talent for putting men to sleep. Next time you have a bout of insomnia, feel free to give me a call."

He was about to explain but then stopped. Maybe she had the right idea - maybe they should keep it light. He responded in kind. "Well, apparently I have the same talent with women, because you dropped off last night in 30 seconds and slept right up until now. I can't swear to it, but I might have even heard a snore or two."

"I don't snore."

"That's what everyone says."

She grinned again, but didn't reply and they lay there for a few minutes in silence. Gazing about the room, Felicity at last seemed to notice that her tee shirt had inched up and her black and (to Oliver's mind) surprisingly sexy underwear was showing. Oliver expected her to be flustered and grab for the blankets, but instead she just subtly tugged the shirt down to cover her panties, leaving her remarkable legs on display. All in all, she was reacting to the waking-up-together situation much more calmly than he'd expected. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Did it mean she had come to think of him as a platonic buddy, almost a brother? Or had they just spent so much time together that sharing a bed seemed a logical extension of their working arrangement? And, most of all, why did it bother him that his nearness wasn't discomposing her more?

"So you really told Vincent and Catherine that you're The Arrow?" She rolled onto her side facing him, propping her head on her elbow to gaze at him expectantly.

He nodded. "I did."

"Why?"

"I told you last night. Vincent told me his secret. It only seemed fair for me to tell him mine."

She shook her head, unconvinced. "I find that kind of hard to accept. Up until this point, I would have sworn that you didn't respect or even like Vincent, despite the good things Digg has said about him. You certainly glare at him all the time. Why on earth would you tell him about The Arrow?"

"I don't glare at him." At least I don't when he's not touching you…

"Oliver…"

"I don't glare at him."

She pursed her lips and gave him the same disbelieving look she'd given him a couple of years ago, when he'd first approached her with the laptop and claimed he'd spilled a latte on it. "Oliver, you're not exactly subtle, you know…"

"Okay, fine. I admit I haven't been too crazy about him. I felt like he was hiding something and – you know what? – I was right."

"So why did you tell him about The Arrow?"

He frowned, uncertain of how to answer. She may have missed the sleeping-well-next-to-you compliment, but it was going to be hard for her to miss his next truth – if he had the stones to say it. Because he hadn't lied last night when he'd told Vincent he was revealing his identity as The Arrow for the sake of his relationship with Felicity. He'd needed to learn what had happened in the Martin basement; he was sure that her keeping it a secret would eventually drive a wedge between them. He would remain suspicious and a little disappointed, and his trust would erode, just as it had eroded with his mother. And she meant too much to him for that to happen.

The truth was that he'd given up his identity for her.

It felt like a morning for truths. He'd gotten six hours of the best sleep he'd had in months, and the woman lying next to him was the reason. She'd fought beside him, metaphorically, for two years now, always giving her best. She deserved honesty.

He rolled onto his side to face her, and looking into her eyes said softly, "Felicity, the truth is I told Vincent about being The Arrow before he told me he was a Beast. I needed him to trust me, to talk to me, and it was the only thing I could think of."

It wasn't enough of an explanation. She frowned and said, "Oliver, I still don't understand."

Impulsively, he took her hand in his. A light pink flush appeared on her cheeks. He said carefully, "Felicity, something big happened to you last night and I needed to know what it was. You clearly believed you couldn't tell me, and I felt the secret was going to get in the way of our rela—our friendship." He paused, then took a deep breath. "You're too important to me to lose over something like this. So…I told him about The Arrow in order to get him to tell me what really went on." And with his big reveal, he glanced anxiously at her face, hoping she wasn't going to be too embarrassed or uncomfortable.

And to his surprise, she did not look at all embarrassed - or even terribly impressed. Instead, she stared back at him, her brow puckering slightly. He could have sworn the expression was awfully similar to her annoyed face.

After a lengthy pause, she said, "Oliver, you do appreciate how inconsistent you're being, right?"

It was his turn to pucker his brow. "Excuse me?"

"This whole notion of worrying that my secret might destroy our friendship? I assume you get that it's kind of ironic, not to mention hypocritical."

Well, so much for a tender moment. He let go of her hand and exhaled heavily. "No, Felicity," he said slowly, "I'm not sure I do understand."

She rolled her eyes. "Oliver, you have more secrets than the CIA. Every time I think Digg and I are finally up to speed, another one pops out like a…a Pop-Tart in the toaster." She thumped the hand he had just been holding on the mattress. "You never seem to worry about those secrets coming between us. Digg and I are supposed to trust you and follow you, regardless. So, really, I don't understand why you'd be so worried that a measly one of mine could destroy our whole relationship."

He stared at her flushed face. Apparently she was comparing this situation to his reluctance to tell her everything about the Gambit and his five years missing; and there was no comparison – none at all. He shook his head. "Felicity, you can't equate this to what I went through. Most of what I survived sounds so fantastical that no one would believe it, and I think I can be forgiven for not wanting to revisit it. My life became surreal when the Gambit when down while yours has been…"

"Has been what, Oliver?" She cut him off sharply. "Has been what? Boring? Routine? Dull?" She flopped onto her back, breaking eye contact. "The truth is," she said crisply to the ceiling, "you know very little about my life before I met you – and, btw, you really haven't asked much about it. You only learned about my father this year because I volunteered the information. I could have done prison time, climbed Mount Everest, or been married and have a kid for all you know."

He frowned, a little worried. "Have you done any of those things?"

She shook her head. "No, but that's beside the point. The point is, you never asked. You act as if last night is the only possible secret I could have – and, according to you, I'm not allowed to have it for the sake of our friendship."

Oliver opened his mouth and then shut it again, unsure of what to say. So now Felicity wanted to keep secrets? This conversation was going sidewise on him. It had started with wanting to show her how important she was and had somehow twisted around to his having no interest in her life, while at the same time not allowing her any privacy. It made no sense and – still - he was pretty sure that if Digg had just heard them he would support Felicity's position one hundred percent. If he were honest with himself (and this was a morning for honesty), Oliver had to admit that he had been very focused on his mission to save Starling and maybe hadn't learned as much about Felicity as he could. He knew she was smart; she was amazing with computers; and she packed a hell of a lot of courage into a relatively small package. Up until now, it had been all he'd needed to know.

Lying on his side, he studied her as she continued to gaze stubbornly at the ceiling. Somehow he had to get them back on track. He wanted to return to that feeling of accord they'd had when she first woke up. And he wanted her to know that he cared about her for more than just her hacking skills.

He took a deep breath. "Felicity," he said at last. "I'm sorry. I know you had a life before me – and given the incredible person that you are, I know you must have done some fantastic things." He paused before adding, "I admit I've been so caught up in my own issues that I haven't shown the interest in you that I should. But please don't take that to mean that I don't care, because I do and always will."

It was the first apology he'd given her since the Barry Allen/get your head in the game argument months ago. He hoped she could tell he was every bit as sincere now as he had been then.

But unfortunately, she just kept staring at the ceiling and saying nothing. He even thought he might have seen a small grimace cross her face. He felt a spark of worry.

"Felicity?"

She sighed. "I hear you, Oliver, and I appreciate the apology – I really do. If I don't look more grateful, it's because I think I might have popped a stitched when I flipped over onto my back. I felt a ping."

Oh crap. He had forgotten about her stitched-up back. So much had happened, it seemed like a lot more than three days since he'd sat in this room with Vincent to help suture her wounds. The fact that she never mentioned her injury made it easy to ignore. She really was tougher than he gave her credit for.

"Felicity, turn over and let me take a look."

She flushed. "It's okay, Oliver. I'm sure Vincent can check it when he gets here."

Vincent again. Given Felicity's comments earlier, he made an effort not to glare. He supposed it made sense for the man to examine her; he was a doctor, after all. Still…

Oliver tried once more. "Felicity, I helped Vincent stitch you up the last time, remember? There's nothing I haven't already seen. I promise, if it's bad we'll wait until Vincent gets here to repair the sutures, but at least let me see."

She shrugged - a little nervously, he thought - and still wouldn't meet his eyes. After a minute she said, "Okay, Oliver."

"Thanks."

She rolled gingerly from her back onto her stomach. Oliver rose to kneeling beside her on the bed and gently raised the tee shirt.

The first thing that struck him was that this really wasn't at all like when he had assisted Vincent with the sutures a few days ago, although he would never say that to Felicity. At that time, Felicity's lower half had been modestly clad in jeans and Vincent's medical kit had added a clinical air to the whole experience. This time, he was confronted with her pert bottom clad in nothing but a pair of black bikini underpants, and they were entirely alone on a bed.

He forced himself to concentrate on the sutures.

The second thing he noticed was that Vincent had done a really good job, much better than he or Sara ever could have done. The redness of the wounds was already fading to pink, and the lines where the skin had been joined were incredibly fine, in some cases disappearing. He searched for broken stitches and eventually found one, but it was in an area where the skin had already begun to close.

"Your back looks really good, Felicity," he said encouragingly. "You did break one stitch, but it's in a spot that's healing well." He reluctantly added, "Vincent did a very good job. I think you're going to have very little scarring."

She finally smiled. "Is that a good thing? You and Sara always seem so proud of your scars."

He chuckled, relieved to feel their accord returning. "For you, it's definitely a good thing. You look great in a backless dress – I'd hate to see you unable to wear one."

The room was quiet while she absorbed his latest compliment. He almost laughed - it wasn't often that he could bring her to silence. At last she said, "I'm kind of hungry. Do you want to get breakfast?"

"Actually, J.T. stopped by while you were still asleep. He said there's coffee and breakfast in the main room."

"Great, let's go."

Oliver paused. "Before we go in there, we'd better think about who knows what."

Felicity frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well…I told Cat and Vincent last night that I'm The Arrow. J.T. and Tess don't know that, and Digg doesn't know I told Vincent." He pursed his lips. "And Digg doesn't know that Vincent's a Beast – and J.T. doesn't know that Vincent told me he's a Beast."

"Oh crap. I see what you're getting at." She ran her fingers through her hair. "You don't think Vincent told J.T.?"

"No, I think he'd ask me first, just as I'd ask him before I said anything to Digg."

She sighed. "I'm going to need a cheat sheet."

Oliver laughed. He couldn't help it.

Felicity slipped on a pair of yoga pants and they walked into the main room to find their friends sipping coffee and chatting comfortably. Cat and Tess had split off to huddle in front of the computer while the male portion of the group appeared to be talking football. Some things were universal, Oliver thought. Digg gave him a hard stare but didn't say anything. The You Spent the Night with Felicity interrogation would no doubt come later.

"Felicity," Tess said cheerfully, "you made the Manhattan-About website."

Felicity stared at her, puzzled. "What?"

"It's a New York City website with intel about our rich and famous," Tess explained. "There's pictures from the Martin benefit. Wow - you photograph really well!"

Oliver walked over to the computer. Yep - sure enough – there were over a dozen photos from Martin's gala and Felicity figured prominently in a couple of them. The first was a picture of Felicity and Vincent dancing, with the caption: Who says only blue-haired, little old ladies attend hospital benefits? NYC's own war hero, Vincent Keller, found a blonde and very attractive young lady to spend time with. The second photo was of Oliver carrying Felicity. She was looking up at him with wide eyes, clutching his shirt with one hand, the other around his neck. The caption for this photo was less complimentary – at least toward him: Starling City's playboy, Oliver Queen, found time to visit from the west coast and apparently took a shine to Keller's companion. Find your own girl, Oliver!

Felicity joined him at his side. "Ugh. I can hack the website and get those off of there in a couple of minutes."

Tess shrugged. "Why? You look great!"

Well that much was true, Oliver thought. Felicity was stunning in both pictures.

Felicity shook her head. "After everything that's happened this week, it just doesn't feel smart to have pictures of me on a NYC website."

Catherine turned from the computer to look at her. "I can understand you wanting privacy," she said gently, "but I don't think there's any risk. We know now who was after you and we know why. The Martin brothers aren't going to learn anything more from these." She gestured toward the photos.

"Which brings us to the question, though," Digg spoke up for the first time, "of what we actually want to do about the Martin brothers. They're still out there."

Oliver frowned. "Why do we need to do anything at all? Felicity's safe – we can head back home to Starling."

Digg nodded. "That's certainly an option."

But Felicity shook her head. "I'd feel bad if we just left. All Billy Martin wants is to stop being a Beast. He needs help."

Digg turned to her with the reasonable expression he used so often in the foundry. "That's generous of you, Felicity," he said slowly, "but what can you really do? As smart as you are, you're not a biologist and I doubt you'll find a cure on the internet. We have no idea who did that to Billy Martin, so you wouldn't even know who to hack." Oliver glanced gratefully at Diggle, glad to have him arguing for the trip home.

Felicity pursed her lips. "No, I'm not a biologist," she agreed. "But he's a biochemist," she nodded toward J.T., "and I could always call Caitlin at STAR Labs. She came up with the Mirakuru antidote."

An almost sad look passed over J.T.'s face. "Felicity," he said gently, "I'd love to help Billy Martin – to help any Beast – but his DNA has been modified. It's a lot more complicated than finding an antidote to a drug. It would take years of genetic research and testing and even then..." His voice trailed off, and he glanced briefly at Vincent.

Oliver stared at J.T. Of course, he realized. J.T.'s been trying to cure Vincent ever since he returned to New York. How frustrating for him not to be able to help his friend.

Felicity must have realized the same thing, because she stopped pressing. Instead, she said, "Well, when I made my reservations for New York, I had planned to do some sight-seeing after the convention. It's Saturday, and my flight home isn't until Tuesday. I could still see the sights and do a little hacking in the evenings, just to see if there's any information out there."

Oliver shook his head. "Even though the Martin brothers know we're onto them, I'm still not sure it's a great idea for you to be wandering around the city on your own. They could try to execute their plan, anyway."

She looked at him and smiled. "Who says I need to be on my own? You and Digg can wander with me. How long has it been since you've taken a vacation – since any of us have taken a vacation?"

It was a gentle reminder that they'd been through an almost steady hell for two years without a break. Oliver looked at her hopeful face and felt the urge to say yes, despite the problems that needed solving in Starling. Reconnecting with his sister, regaining control of Queen Consolidated - all of that could keep for a few more days. This was his chance to be with Felicity when it wasn't a world-in-peril crisis.

"Okay," he agreed with a grin. "If Digg doesn't mind, he and I can play tourist with you and wander New York City."

"Actually," Digg broke in, "if it's all the same, I'd like to try to call Lyla today. And if Vincent's not busy, maybe he and I can take some time to catch up. We haven't had much chance to talk."

Diggle's face was carefully neutral, but Oliver could have sworn he saw a twinkle in the man's eye. Was Digg pushing him to spend time with Felicity alone? If so…

"Okay, Felicity," Oliver said brightly. "It looks like it's you and me on the town."

She smiled again.