Growing up, Oliver's Christmases were always big and festive, parties and presents and endless amounts of food.
These days, December 25th is a little different.
It's been three years, since this time of year was anything but a lonely reminder of all that he'd lost. All that had been taken, all that had been squandered. Living a lonely life is fine, until those days come around when you're expected to have someone. When it gets thrown in your face that everyone else seems to have somewhere to go, people to go to.
Except him.
He's spent the day differently for the last three years. The first year was a drunken haze of bourbon and bad made for TV movies. The second was a day of reflecting on a cold beach, watching the waves come and go, disappearing into the sea only to return every time, unlike the things that mattered.
This year he's going for something a little more constructive. He saw the ad pinned up on a door a couple of weeks ago, and instantly knew he wanted to do it. The idea of spending Christmas with people even worse off than him, more attractive than it probably should be.
And that's how Oliver Queen finds himself handing out plates of cheap fried turkey and lumpy gravy at a soup kitchen on Christmas day.
It's a lot more jolly than he expected it to be. Which is both a blessing and a curse. The volunteers are a happy bunch, wearing cheesy Santa hats and chatting with the guests. But no one's looking at him, no one's wondering why he's there alone, where his family is. No one's asking who's waiting at home with a present and a festive meal. And he's glad for that at least.
The tables are filled with a variety of different people, some warming up to the holiday spirit despite their unfortunate circumstances, good-naturedly donning colorful paper crowns and digging into the somewhat sub-par meal as though it tasted of more than day old microwaved meat. Others a little more subdued, keeping to themselves, clearly just there for the warm food and shelter, ignoring the chatter and resemblance of celebration around them.
Oliver finds himself enjoying the work. The grateful smile he receives when he places a serving of turkey in front of a guest doing more to lift his spirits than he thought possible.
It's nearly six when she stumbles in. They haven't had a new arrival in a while, and he notices her instantly. She's one of the youngest there, bar the table of street kids who have spent the afternoon turning crackers into paper airplanes. Blonde hair curls around her shoulders and her arms are crossed across her middle, keeping her wool coat wrapped so tightly around her she looks like she's swaddled in the thing.
She finds a place at a table near the back and sits down without a word, propping her feet on the edge of the chair and resting her head on her bent knees. He quickly piles up a plate of food, choosing the nicest pieces of turkey he can find, and makes his way over to her, stopping to refill someone's hot chocolate as he goes.
Even looking lost in a way he relates to more than he'd like, he can't help but notice how beautiful she is.
Clear blue eyes stare sadly at the table and delightfully full lips are turned down at the corners. Her fingers are picking at the cuffs of her coat, chipped pink nail polish catching the light. She doesn't look like she fits in there, despite her sad countenance, she's fairly well dressed; her coat is clearly good quality and her shoes look warm and dry, her hair clean.
But he's not there to judge, so he places the food in front of her with a smile.
She jumps slightly and looks up at him, her lovely eyes meeting his, and he's embarrassed to admit that his heart stutters in his chest. She really is incredibly beautiful.
"Oh no, I don't need that." She says quickly, handing the plate back to him. "Thank you though."
He sinks into the chair opposite her with a frown. Her table is mostly empty, aside from an old woman who's still digging into her meal like she hasn't eaten in days.
"You should eat." He encourages, pushing the food back towards her. "It's better than it looks." It's a lie, and from the way her lips twitch up, she knows it too.
"No, I couldn't. I don't…" She looks around, looking slightly ashamed. "I don't need it." Putting emphasis on the word, he understands what she's saying.
He didn't think she looked homeless, perhaps just a bit lost. Like him.
Smiling gently, he pushes the plate towards the old woman at the other end of the table. She's almost finished her own and is still eating ravenously. She mumbles something that sounds a lot like "Oh bless you" before tucking in.
The girl tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and glances at him nervously. "I don't come here to steal food from the less fortunate, I swear. I just… I come here sometimes to get away from life, you know? No one judges you here, or even really notices you. It's nice." She sighs and a pretty pink flush creeps across her cheeks.
"I get that. It's kind of why I'm here too." He murmurs, his breath catching his throat when her eyes meet his once more.
She smiles and there's a moment of understanding of the unspoken shared experiences that have led two people to be here alone on Christmas day.
"I'm Oliver." He holds out a hand towards her, and she slips her smaller one into it, squeezing gently with warm fingers.
"Felicity."
It's a beautiful name, and despite the sorrow clinging to her, he still thinks it fits.
He doesn't push her for reasons about why she's there, and she doesn't offer them. Both knowing that they wouldn't be there if they had anywhere else to go, and neither wanting to talk about why they don't.
Not really knowing what possesses him to ask, he shrugs off his sudden influx of nerves and clears his throat slightly.
"My shift ends in about twenty minutes… How would you feel about getting a Christmas drink somewhere?"
She watches him for a second before responding, and he gets the feeling that she can see right through him, right into his soul. He wonders if that would have been the case a few years ago, back when everything he said was carefully calculated and rarely what he actually thought. He's not like that anymore, he doesn't bother putting on a front for the world, no longer sees the point. And for some reason, this lonely, beautiful girl in front of him, seems to come to the same conclusion.
"I'm Jewish." She says after a moment, and he huffs out a short laugh, surprising himself. He can't remember the last time he did that.
"Well that's perfect. I hate Christmas." He states and the smile that creeps unbidden across her face makes his stomach swoop like he's a fourteen year old with a crush.
"Okay then."
"Okay?" He's entirely too eager, but really, what does he have to lose?
"Yeah, a drink would be nice." Her voice is soft and sweet and with her simple words this becomes the best day he's had in months. Perhaps years.
"Let me just help clear up, and we can go. Why don't you have some hot chocolate while you wait? I promise there's more than enough to go around."
They're winding down for the night, people slowly drifting back onto the streets, or off to find shelter somewhere else. It's a whole part of the world he was so unaware of growing up. Lavished with gifts and company, he never spared a thought for those who had none of it. For the people who's Christmas consisted of a free meal and a night spent in the cold. It's humbling, taking his mind off his own losses, his own sadness.
He leaves Felicity with a warm cup of cocoa and a smile that's unashamedly genuine. There's a spring in his step that wasn't there before as he helps clear up the plates, thanking people for coming and wishing them Happy Holidays.
And when he's finally ready to go, his hand falls to the small of Felicity's back, the lead in his chest slightly lighter than it was at the start of the day.
It's a dry evening, but the wind has a bite to it, and Felicity huddles into her coat as they step outside. She looks incredibly cute, with half her face tucked into her scarf, her hands buried deep into her pockets, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. He wonders how someone so utterly charming could find themselves alone on Christmas day. But knows that people probably think the same about him, and doesn't voice his curiosity.
She's a babbler. Words fall from her lips freely, accompanied by a blush that warms him to his toes. And by the end of the night, the sadness is gone from both their eyes, a kiss shared on her doorstep at midnight making it the best Christmas either of them have had in years.
It becomes their tradition. The next year, even when they have each other to spend the Holidays with, they go back to the place they met, and help serve food to the homeless. And they do the same every year after that for many to come, because Christmas is about giving and once they found each other, they had nothing more to ask for.
