Seeing Oliver for the first time was a painful surprise. In the moments of recognition and realization, a sharp tingle ran through her chest and down her arms. She placed her hand on her desk and felt discomfort on the very tips of her fingers as her nervous system stopped firing frantically. She embraced him; hearing the news that he was alive was different than touching him, smelling him, hearing his voice in her ear. She thought nothing could upset her that evening; the glades had been taken back, Brickwell was in jail, and Oliver was alive and well.

As Felicity turned her car onto the main road, she cried silently, letting the tears fall freely. She didn't want to hear Oliver's explanation and she didn't want to see his face. She drove directly to her apartment and sat in her driveway for several minutes, hunched over the steering wheel and crying. She couldn't seem to stop so she stumbled, half-blinded, to her door. Once inside, she shed her jacket, shoes and purse. She plugged in her phone and went to the bathroom, turning on her shower. She grabbed a tissue from the box beside the sink and blew her nose, loudly. She undressed and stepped into the shower without looking in the mirror. She guessed she looked ghastly with a red, blotchy face and runny eye makeup.

Felicity sat on the floor of the bathtub and rested her forehead on her knees. She cried loudly, for several minutes before she was able to stop the flow of tears. Catching her breath she let the water run down her face, taking most of her makeup and the mess from her eyes and nose with it. She washed quickly and wrapped herself in her fluffiest towel, rubbing her wet hair with a smaller one before combing it out. She tucked in the edges of the towel to secure it and padded, barefoot to her bedroom. She pulled on her pajama pants, t-shirt, and socks before crawling under her covers. She curled up and focused on her breathing before, eventually, falling asleep.

Adjusting to life back in Starling was harder than Oliver expected. Not having Felicity's affection and support pained him, physically. He ached for her when she wasn't around and when she was close to him it was worse. He couldn't reach out to her, couldn't touch her, hold her, talk to her. She didn't ignore him, but the easy smiles she had for Diggle and Roy left her face when their eyes met. She seemed tired of smiling when she looked at him. Too tired to make the corners of her mouth go up.

To make matters worse, Oliver, after recovering his strength, still felt like something wasn't right. The training with Merlyn took a lot out of him; working with the man who'd murdered so many and endangered his sister chipped away at his soul and sanity. He was getting angry and short-tempered, around Felicity it was even worse. She disregarded his orders and occasionally her own safety. He thought she was lashing out at him the only way she could.

Felicity was squatting behind a stack of wooden pallets when her phone rang and the quartet of men in front of her turned around. Felicity bolted from her hiding spot and sprinted for the side door. She heard shouts and footsteps behind her but didn't stop. As her hand closed over the knob, a heavy weight crashed into her and she was seized by her shoulders and thrown to the floor. She was dragged to her feet and flung against the wall, which made her ears ring when her head bounced off the thin metal.

"Who do you work for?" snarled the heavy, bald man who'd had the loudest voice.

"I didn't think you'd be the first one to the door," she babbled. "Really, you're much faster than you look." The back of a leather-gloved hand connected with a smart slap against the side of her face. It stung a little, and tears sprung to her eyes, not from pain but from the upset feelings it brought up. There was something so mean about slapping a person's face but she still hated herself for tearing up.

She really didn't think she should be blamed since she hadn't had a lot of practice keeping tears at bay while being slapped. "That wasn't as bad as I thought," she said, blowing out a deep breath. Her tears dried up with barely a sniffle as she realized what she'd just said; it had worked however, to keep from dissolving into a blubbering mess. The thought of her nose reddening while her lips got blotchy and trembled in front of this thug made her bold. "You were kinda phoning that one in, weren't you?"

"Bitch," said 'Chub Thug' the nickname she'd given him. He drew back his fist and paused, smiling at her before his hand jerked suddenly and sprouted the shaft and fletching of a green arrow. It appeared between the knuckles of his third and fourth fingers.

"Oh, Shi-" her curse was drowned out by the scream of agony that came from Felicity's assailant followed by shouts from the other three who'd stood back while she'd undergone the slapping. Above her, the metal staircase that led to offices vibrated and The Arrow dropped into sight. "I am so screwed," she whispered to herself. Two more arrows came from another dark corner of the warehouse where she guessed Roy was concealed.

'Chub' grabbed her with his good hand while the one man who hadn't been hit by arrow or arrow-borne restraint drew his gun. Oliver seized Felicity's attacker by his collar, turning his back to the gun-wielding man who aimed at his red-suited companion. The bald man's head was starkly white until it penetrated the window beside the door where Felicity stood. Initially there was a pattern of cuts that looked like eggshell cracks from a spoon until they bloomed and widened into a bloody mess at her feet.

Oliver trembled with rage; he seized Felicity's jacket lapels and jerked her forward. She put her hands up against his chest to stop her forward momentum but they folded, thankfully at the elbows.

"Behind you," shouted Arsenal. He had engaged with the gunman who showed surprising resilience for a man with two arrows in his shoulder. A fifth man had come into view and trained his pistol on Oliver who turned and sent an arrow into his wrist, elbow and shoulder. All five were on the floor and bleeding or unconscious when he turned his attention back to Felicity. She couldn't see his eyes but still averted her gaze. He seized her chin and forced her to look at him.

"Do you have any idea-" he began, only to be cut off by the sound of a truck's engine outside the warehouse. Headlights illuminated his face through the window for a second and Felicity was frightened by his expression. Roy joined them, doubt stalling his steps towards an obviously pissed archer, until they heard multiple voices outside.

"Felicity get out of here," he said, breaking Oliver's grip unexpectedly. He took her by the arm, aiming and shoving her in the direction of the door across the warehouse, where she'd first entered.

"Pray I don't find you tonight." The words were spat by Oliver. He spun his bow and fitted an explosive arrow to the string.

Felicity didn't wait any longer and hit the door running. She went to her car which was parked behind a large van, and jumped into the driver's seat. When she turned the key, the sky lit up with an explosion and she froze for a second, wondering if Oliver had shot the gas tank since the fireball seemed bigger than usual. She slammed the car into gear and high-tailed it out of the area. Once her heart slowed down Felicity debated going back to the foundry but decided she didn't want Roy to witness a shouting match between herself and Oliver and turned around, retracing her route.

Roy would probably try to calm things down; he'd obviously noticed the change in his bow-toting partner since his return from the dead over a month ago. Oliver had seemed to be pretty normal except for his emotions. He hadn't been the most outwardly emotive guy since she'd known him, but he was even less so now, as if the volume had been turned down. When it came to Felicity, however, things seemed to dial up to eleven. He couldn't keep his head around her, either moody and depressed or raging when they had disagreements.

Felicity went home and crawled into bed. She'd been too busy with her job, vigilante activities and Ray Palmer's plans to examine her own emotions. She got up and poured herself a large glass of red wine, drinking it quickly enough to shudder at the acidic taste. She was usually a sipper. In the quiet hours when she chased sleep, she couldn't hide from the pain and loneliness that plagued her. She loved him and he loved her; they were with each other regularly but couldn't seem to find a common ground. She felt herself beginning to drift and hoped she could avoid dreaming.

Felicity lay in bed, eyes open, heart hammering. She'd been asleep but something woke her and now her senses were alert. She reached for her glasses and put them on glancing around her bedroom. With her eyes adjusted to the dark and moonlight, diffused with fog, lighting up the room she could see fairly well. No color, just shades of gray and black. She stared at the shadow behind her door until it moved.

"Do you know what could've happened tonight?" Oliver's voice was rough and tired but angry. He stepped into the limited light in her bedroom. He had taken off his green leathers and wore just a t-shirt and jeans. Although she didn't want to fight with him, she was secretly glad that she could still upset him. She wasn't proud of wanting him to feel the same pain she did.

"Yes, I could've been killed and I'm grateful that you came to save me." Her tone was cool and formal. Oliver tilted his head, it wasn't the reply he'd expected. "I don't make a habit of doing things like that but the warehouse was closed for the night and I just needed to get to the main computer to plant a bug. I was going to run in and come back out."

"You shouldn't have been there at all," he approached the bed and stood over her. She felt vulnerable and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"I've done it before," she said, defensively.

"You've what?" He stood very still and she was glad his eyes were in shadow.

"Since you left we've been getting by with everyone taking on a little more work to cover the missing warm body."

"I'm back now."

"Great. I'm thrilled, especially about your timing tonight."

"Don't lie to me, Felicity." She straightened up, defensively. "You're not thrilled I'm back, you hate me now and it's causing problems when we work together."

"That's not true," she said. "I'm not having a problem working with you." The hurt expression on his face was too much; it just wasn't in her nature to take cheap shots at anyone. "And I don't hate you," she said with a sigh. He was so close she could smell him. Traces of sweat and leather mixed with other, manly scents she couldn't identify. Her heart jumped and she wished she hadn't had the wine. It made her vulnerable to her feelings.

"I'm having a problem working together."

"Sounds like it's your problem, then." Her voice was deadpan. She knew how bothered he was by her insensitivity but it was the only thing that protected her.

"When we're together," he said, "Half the time I want to turn you over my knee for taking chances."

"Never going to happen," she said, tartly. "And the other half?" Oliver leaned over her, looking her in the eye.

"I want to bend you over the nearest piece of furniture and try to get you out of my system." He was close to her now and her blanket-covered knees were the only thing protecting her. "You act like you don't feel anything for me anymore."

"I made my peace with your decision to avoid getting involved with me, regardless of our feelings. Then I grieved for you for weeks, trying to come to terms with the things we never did and when you finally walked back into the foundry, I was so happy. I'd bargained with myself not to let you push me away ever again if you just came back." She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to hide her tears in the dark. "Then you told us your plans and I realized my Oliver hadn't come back. Maybe I was wrong and my Oliver never existed." He reached for her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "You compromised yourself in a way I can't accept; regardless of empathizing with your reasons."

"I wish I didn't hurt you…so often." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I'm still trying to save my city, and my sister, and you on occasion. I'm not perfect."

"You have crazy decisions to make, every single day." She placed her hand against his chest. "I know you're going through a lot and that you shoulder this impossible burden. I wanted to help you so that someday, in the future, you can lie down to sleep without the burden."

"I can't sleep at night because when I close my eyes, I see you. And I can't have you."

Felicity looked down and took her hand back. Oliver stood up quickly from the bed and brought his hands up, running them over his short hair. He turned away from her and stood near the window. The ache Felicity felt in her chest compelled her to push back her blankets and swing her legs off the bed. She stood quickly and removed her glasses, setting them on the bedside table. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the few feet that separated them. She didn't look up; she just put her arms around him. He enveloped her in his embrace, squeezing her tightly and resting his chin on top of her head.

"Things can't go on like this," Felicity said. "One of us is going to end up in real trouble."

"Or the loony bin," Oliver said, pressing his lips to her fragrant hair. He felt himself relaxing just by being close to her.

"Do you want to sleep here tonight?" she asked, slightly muffled by his chest.

"Thanks, but I'm not sure your couch is big enough."

"Not the couch." Felicity looked up at him. "I meant, do you want to sleep here…with me." She glanced behind her at the bed. Oliver looked at the bed with its rumpled covers and back at her.

"It would be difficult to remain a gentleman if I were lying that close to you," he said, giving her a small smile. "And I'm not sure the problems that might arise are conducive to a good night's sleep."

"What if I don't want you to be a gentleman?" Felicity asked, staring at the hollow of his throat. Oliver stopped smiling.

"I don't want to misunderstand you."

"I think you got the gist of my…offer." She placed her hands on his hips and hesitantly moved them under his t-shirt, feeling his warm, smooth skin. She encountered scars and kept her touch light. She caught her breath when her hands moved up his muscular back. "I've been so afraid to touch you," she whispered. He'd gone very still, hands still on her waist. "I see you too," she said, looking up at him. "When I close my eyes, you're always there."

"Felicity," he looked uncertain. She placed her fingers on his lips, stopping his words.

"Don't say anything," she said, stretching up onto her toes and placing her lips gently on his. "Maybe we can both get some sleep…afterwards."