A/N: This is what happens when things like 'what happened to Oliver's old jacket?' pop into my head. Have some feels!
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Three weeks after Oliver had left was how long she waited before she pulled it out.
She'd tucked it away in a box, unmarked and plain in the top of her closet, hidden under a mountain of shoe boxes, not only to keep it safe, but to lessen the temptation.
But they'd had a bad night. They hadn't gotten the guy, there'd been a major blow up in the lair between Laurel and Roy, and instead of staying and diffusing the situation by playing counselor like she had been day in and day out she grabbed her things and bolted.
The ache behind her ribs grew, twisting her heart until she couldn't take more than shallow breaths as she rushed through her door and locked it behind her as fast as she could.
Tripping over her feet she raced for her bedroom, not even noticing as slingbacks and peeptoes rained down around her in her haste to pull out the only box she needed.
With shaking hands she moved back towards the bed to sink onto it before her numb legs gave out. Felicity tucked her feet underneath her and slowly raised the lid.
As soon as she saw the familiar green her eyes blurred with tears. The new suit Cisco had made still hung in the foundry, either awaiting it's owner's return or as a shrine to his memory, no one quite knew just then. She'd avoided looking at it, but every now and then her eyes would wander and she'd catch herself staring.
She'd fully supported the idea of upgrading the suit, especially the addition of the kevlar. Anything that would keep him safer was more than fine, but when Cisco had suggested a new hood she'd put her foot down. There was no possible way he could ever wear any hood than the one he'd returned with from the island.
While Barry and Oliver had been delivering Harkness to Lian Yu, Cisco had shown her the final design and then handed her the box that was currently in her lap. He hadn't known what to do with the old jacket and she'd told him she'd take care of it.
Without knowing why she'd taken it immediately and put it in her car, not considering what she'd do or say if Oliver ever asked about it. But he never had. He'd never really even had a chance.
The next thing she'd known her world had been turned upside down again and she was alone.
It was a splash of wetness on her arm that jolted her out of her memories. Carefully she pulled the material from the box, having forgotten how heavy it had been. Her fingers traced over the green leather, noting the spots where it had been worn by the quiver strap or the furrows where the flechettes sat, parts lighter and more worn than others.
She found the places that had been patched after bullets had torn through or blades had sliced, shudders going through her with each one at the images that flashed through her mind.
Before she could stop herself she raised the jacket to her face and pressed her nose into the collar, sobs wracking her frame as she smelled him for the first time in so long.
It was the scent of leather, and sweat, and the soap she kept stocked in the bathroom that mixed and mingled to create something that was only Oliver.
She cried until she was light headed and sick, her face hot and sticky with tears that she didn't bother to wipe away.
She missed him. It was that simple. She just missed him.
The not knowing if he was alive or dead was destroying her.
She wanted to believe. She had to believe. But on days like the one she'd just had it made it too difficult. More than anything she wanted to hear his footfalls on the steps and turn in her chair to see him there, where he belonged.
But he hadn't come.
Moving quickly so she couldn't talk herself out of it she slipped her arms into the sleeves and drew the two sides close around her, letting out a shuddering breath when for a second all she could smell, and feel was Oliver surrounding her once again.
She laid back, curling on her side to where she could stare out the window, the curtains drawn just so where she could see most of the night sky.
And like she'd done every night since he'd left she stared out into the black and hoped that somehow, someway, he was staring at it too.