As they near the convention center, they part ways. Felicity smiles as Oliver leans in to plant a gentle kiss onto her cheek and then watches him leave, his posture and stride exuding confidence and something else she can't quite put her finger on. She waits for a few minutes and then makes her way inside and toward the room designated for press interviews. I just wanna go to the exhibit hall… she complains inwardly as a reporter begins the usual round of questioning.
"What can we look forward to for season three?"
Felicity grins, attempting to showcase enthusiasm she isn't completely feeling. "Well, I can promise some more sinister villains and some major character development for my character. It isn't easy fighting crime, and she is definitely going to feel the stress of it all."
The reporter nods and then glances at her notes. She looks up with a bright glint in her eye. "So, Oliver Queen seems to be very interested in making an appearance on your show. Do you think it'll actually happen?"
Felicity sighs. How many times must I answer this question…? "Oliver Queen is very interested in making a cameo, but the producers haven't set anything in stone or figured out the logistics of it. If it is possible, it will definitely happen. That's all I can say."
The reporter frowns but moves on, tackling more specific questions about the show and its success. Eventually Roy appears, taking on some of the question load.
"Do you think your character will ever make it out of the friendzone?" the reporter teases Roy. He responds with a chuckle and a mischievous wink to Felicity. She giggles.
"Well, if Oliver Queen makes an appearance on the show in any capacity, I think my character's chances are slim to none."
"Oh please," Felicity says, slapping Roy playfully on the arm. "Our characters are meant to be."
The reporter pounces. "Speaking of meant to be, can you comment on the photos that surfaced of you and Oliver Queen in the lobby of your hotel?"
Felicity's smile fades and she stares at the reporter, finding her grin completely fake, plastered on to appear friendly and inviting in order to garner the best responses. Felicity wants to punch the expression right off her face, knowing the caked on make-up would smudge and she might see the real woman beneath. She clenches her fists behind her back and retrieves the lost smile, plastering it on in the same fashion as the reporter, and hating every second.
"He was walking me to my door after dinner," she responds as pleasantly as possible.
Her answer isn't enough for the reporter. "You were holding hands."
Felicity's balled fists tighten, her nails sinking into her palms. She loosens them slightly at Roy's cautionary clearing of the throat. Don't act like a bitch. Be honest, but say as little as possible. No word vomit! "Yes, we were," she answers. "It was a date. A wonderful date discussing possible collaborations and getting to know one another."
"Would you care to elaborate?"
Felicity shakes her head, finally drawing a line in the stardom sand. "No, I'd much prefer to discuss the show. That's why I'm here, after all. All I'll say is that Oliver Queen is a wonderful man and very talented, and I hope to work with him in the future."
After an hour and a half, Felicity leaves the press room feeling bogged down. So many questions and so many accusations, all of them surrounding her relationship to Oliver Queen. It all feels overwhelming, but somehow, she feels protective. She knows they will always be in the spotlight, even when they aren't looking to be, and she understands it… accepts it. But she's protective of their time together, the moments they've shared. Only reveal as much as you're willing to. She never thought she would have to evade questions or skirt around issues. But the reporter today reminded her of the frustrating truth: life in the spotlight isn't easy, and no matter how hard you try, you'll always have your privacy invaded.
Interacting with Oliver Queen has taken her out of the lowly television bubble she has resided in and thrust her into the high profile world he lives in. And while it is scary and unfamiliar and a total burden, she's not afraid to move forward. She wants to enjoy her time with Oliver, regardless of the potential paparazzos lurking in the shadows to snap photos. She wants to get to know him better. And, most of all, she wants to work on that film. With him.
She never put much stock in moving forward in her career. She loves her show and loves her fellow cast members. But the script is still speaking to her, running through her mind at every free interval and sinking into her bones. She wants the role. She wants that challenge. She wants that chance.
She fights her way through the crowds in the exhibit hall, stopping every so often to sign autographs and take photos. She passes fully costumed patrons and smiles.I wonder if any of them are celebrities trying to hide in plain sight.
She finds a booth that looks promising. A gaming booth with multiple games to try out. She finds one. A dungeon crawler on steroids. One of the hardest games on the market today. She's wanted to try it for months but hasn't had the time. She picks up one of the controllers and begins building a character, picking weapons and hair color and body type, ignoring the people gathering around to watch her play.
The game begins and she's instantly fighting demons and monsters, unsure of the controls or purpose of randomly discovered items. But she doesn't care. She is enthralled, the outside world gone as she makes her way through the decrepit landscapes, hacking away at enemies as they jump out from the shadows. Kind of like the paparazzi… she thinks sarcastically.
She batters the enemies, driving them away and slaying each one with relative ease. She wonders why so many people complain about the difficulty of the game. It seems rather simple to her. Until she reaches the first boss. The people watching her begin to fidget and she feels her palms beginning to sweat as she dodges the gigantic monster, trying her best to remain at full health. She attacks, her level one abilities so far below the abilities of her opponent.
Her eyes are glued to the screen, but she can see the nervous people watching in her periphery. She almost loses all of her health with one swipe of the monster's talons and she quickly ignores those around her, narrowing her gaze -her world- to herself and the screen. She uses a health potion and restores the bar to full, dodging as it fills. Her fingers dance over the controller, reminding her of the years she spent in college learning coding and software security. She had been praised for her fast keyboard skills; all of her professors marveled at her speed, all proclaiming her the most advanced of all their students. In gaming, speed and precision was key. Perhaps I should have become a professional gamer…
The boss still has half its health when a pair of hands tickle her sides, causing her to shriek and drop the controller. She glances to the side to see Oliver's face close to hers, grinning like a child, his sneak attack successful. Felicity looks back at the screen to find her character collapsing onto the ground as the health bar depletes. The scene fades to black and red words replace it: You Died. She frowns, then slaps Oliver on the arm. "Damn it, Oliver!"
Around them people are laughing and taking photos of them. She ignores them and focuses her attention on the man before her. The man she never imagined meeting. The man she certainly never imagined kissing. For a moment, her eyes drift down to his smiling mouth, so kissable. This is not the time, Smoak! He made you die!
"You made me die, Oliver."
He chuckles. "You look pretty alive to me." The crowd around them laughs, the photos and videos still capturing their interaction.
"You made me die in-game," she clarifies, pointing to the proclamation on the screen. Oliver follows her gesture and chuckles some more. "This is not funny. I was doing so well. I hadn't died once!"
His eyes are full of amusement and something else Felicity can't quite put into words. It is as if he feels slightly guilty for ruining her run. He allows his lips to slump into a frown, almost a pout, and then reaches out for her hand. For a moment she denies him, but the desire to feel his warmth overwhelms her and she gives in. As soon as her hand is engulfed in his, her annoyance is gone. Yep… he is most definitely, one hundred percent, a warlock! Too much charm to be just your average human.
They leave the booth and the crowd, cutting out of the exhibit hall and into a closed hallway. It is designated for event staff and, apparently, A-List celebrities. They walk a few paces and then he stops, tugging her back as she tries to continue on. The force of his pull slams her into his chest and she is immediately aware of the electricity sparking between them. She looks up to see his lips parted and she doesn't hesitate.
Within moments they are kissing and Oliver is pushing her up against the wall. The hallway is abandoned, and Felicity wonders if he paid the staff off, allowing for a secluded spot to sneak to. Another rendezvous… she thinks with a jolt of excitement.
Like in the elevator, Oliver plays with the hem of her shirt, every so often tracing a pattern on her skin. The slight contact sends shivers up and down her spine and drives her crazy. She can't keep her hands away. She lifts the bottom of his shirt and feels the tight muscles of his abs, following each line and ridge, sending goosebumps across his skin with her touch. All the while their lips are locked, moving in perfect synchrony and their tongues dance together, testing and dueling to map the path of the other.
His hand slides up, higher into the depths of her shirt, charting the skin stretched across her ribs and stomach. The contact sends her mind reeling and a quiet moan to escape her mouth, muted by his lips. She can feel him smiling. He breaks away for a moment and she opens her eyes to see his bright in the moment. "I'm sorry I made you die," he teases, his voice low and husky. So sexy.
Felicity shakes her head. "I don't really care anymore," she admits, scraping her nails against the skin of his abs. He closes his eyes and growls.How can growling be so sexy!?
He grasps her wrist, stopping her from repeating the action. She looks him in the eye, challenging, but he shakes his head. "As much as I enjoy that," he begins. "I'd rather not take this any further. At least, not when we're in a hallway at a convention center full of greedy, unethical paparazzos."
After a moment of consideration, Felicity nods with a frown. "I suppose you're right." But before she takes a step away from the wall, she trails her fingers up his abs to his chest, feeling his heart pounding and the warmth of his skin is intoxicating. She extricates her hand from the confines of his shirt and then steps aside, still leaning against the wall. He looms over her, his arm braced against the wall. So suave and arrogant and infuriating.
"Would you want to attend the farewell party with me?"
She raises an eyebrow, re-positioning her glasses before looking him in the eye. "Farewell party?"
"There's a huge party happening tonight. Loads of celebrities and media gurus and all the convention higher-ups. Basically the finale of the convention."
She watches as his face goes from confident to unsure in a matter of moments in response to her silence. She leaves him to stew in that uncertainty for a little bit, savoring her influence over him. Finally, when she can see he's losing patience, she moves forward and plants a kiss just below his lips, right on a mole that has begged so desperately to be kissed. As she pulls away, she nods. "Sure," she says.
He grins like a fool, all nervousness dissipating with her answer. "Fantastic," he murmurs, pulling her in for a hug. "I'll pick you up at eight."
For once she is grateful for her mother's insistence in not packing light. The habit had latched onto Felicity early on, back in her college years. She learned that there was always a chance that you might need something, and she was careful to be prepared for every possible scenario. Thanks, mom, she thinks as she pulls out a dress she had packed on a whim. A black and gold fit-and-flare. As she holds it up against her in front of the mirror, she knows the perfect shoes to pair it with: the Valentino studded stilettos she had sported at her show's panel. She scoffs at the celebrities who never wear the same pieces twice, finding that sort of obsession extremely materialistic. Those heels are one of her favorites, and she'll wear them as often as possible. Fashion laws be damned…
As she's curling her hair, her phone buzzes on the counter. She looks down to see the caller I.D. showcasing her mother's smiling face. She sets the curling iron aside and answers it.
"Hey, Mom!"
Without a greeting or any other form of preamble, her mother blurts out: "Why didn't you tell me you are dating Oliver Queen?"
Felicity's mouth falls open. "Uh… what?"
"Don't act like you're not, Felicity Megan Smoak," her mother scolds. "It is all over entertainment news right now!"
She rushes out into the room and turns the television on, surfing through the channels until she finds one of the nighttime entertainment news shows. They are discussing Oliver Queen's sudden interest in Felicity Smoak, complete with photos of their final minutes in her hotel lobby and even their kiss in the cafe earlier today. She closes her eyes and counts to three, trying to keep calm.
"Felicity, when were you going to tell me?"
"Well," Felicity begins, letting her words carefully build up before she lets them out. "I hadn't really considered us dating, per se."
"You're kissing Oliver Queen on a regular basis and you don't consider it dating?" When she doesn't answer, her mother continues. "They are showing an interview with you where you said you went on a date with him. Felicity, honey… have you two had sex?"
"Oh my god."
"Honey, if you have, well… I want details." Before Felicity can protest, her mother begins an embarrassing tirade. "He seems so gorgeous and strong. Is he… uh… well… well-endowed? He seems like he would be."
She's pacing the room, keeping her eyes away from the television and the nightmare publicity her new relationship is garnering. "Mom, we haven't had sex. We've kissed… a lot. But that's it."
"Are you sure?"
Felicity lets out a laugh. "Yes, Mom. I'm sure I haven't had sex with Oliver Queen." She glances at the screen, finding it filled with the photo of them at the cafe. Oliver is leaning over the table to kiss her. The scene is so perfectly lit, as if from a movie. A romantic comedy.Yes, she decides.If that were from a movie, it would be a romantic comedy. Too perfect to be real. But it is real. She has to remind herself of that.
"Felicity, you have to tell me if things get that serious."
Felicity nods. "Well, I think it might be. He gave me a script for a film he wants me to co-star in with him."
"How romantic!" her mother exclaims, her voice high and sing-song. "Are you gonna do it?"
"Yes," she says, then looks at the time. 7:35pm. She rushes back into the bathroom and looks into the mirror. Only one side of her hair is curled. "Mom, I have to go. I'm running really late for a party! I'll be home for a few days starting tomorrow afternoon!"
They hang up and Felicity lets out a long breath. Her mother is a handful, but she adores her. She can't wait to get back to her childhood home to spend some time there before filming. It will give her time to assess the new developments in her life. She places the phone of the counter and gets back to work on her hair, turning it into a collection of golden spirals. Once she's done, she puts in her contacts and begins lining her eyelids with liquid liner, forming a perfect and simple cat-eye. Once that is done, she digs through her make-up bag and finds her favorite red lipstick and applies it.
She looks in the mirror at herself. She hasn't slipped into her dress yet; she's standing in her underwear, her hair and make-up perfect and her ears adorned with plain black and gold studs to match her shoes. She looks down at her hands and decides she needs a ring. She goes out and begins to dig through her collection of jewelry. Finally, she finds the gold arrow ring and slides it onto her finger. With that done, she steps into her dress and then buckles her heels. She glances at her reflection in the mirror once more to find herself way more put-together than she imagined she would be.
Satisfied with the outcome, she goes to the door and opens it to find Oliver standing there, hand raised in preparation to knock. His eyes are wide with surprise as he lowers his hand and looks her over. She does the same, admiring his gorgeous suit. Beneath the black jacket she can see a pair of suspenders and her mouth grows dry, unable to keep naughty thoughts from overtaking her. She closes her eyes and counts to three in an attempt to keep herself from throwing her body against his.
"Hi," he murmurs. She opens her eyes to see him smiling.
His smile is contagious, causing her to return it without hesitation. He leans in and gives her a small peck on the lips, but he lingers there as if deciding whether to take it further.
It would be easy to do so. To take it further. To take the small step through her door and into her bedroom. There are no prying eyes here, no greedy paparazzos or insidious reporters. There are no fans to gawk at them or fellow celebrities to mingle with. Just the two of them and a room. And a bed.
She watches as Oliver looks behind her at the room, indecision obvious in the blue endlessness of his eyes. Suddenly he sighs and leans back slightly. "What?" she asks.
He chuckles. "This is so tempting."
"What is?" she asks, coyly.
"You and me, that room… that bed."
She looks away, feigning shyness. "I don't know what you mean." No word vomit or unintentional thought expulsion! Be sexy and playful!
Oliver leans forward once more, letting his lips graze the line of her jaw for a moment before reaching her ear. "It would be so easy to go in there and forget about the party."
She lets her hands sink inside his jacket and she finds the suspenders and tugs, bringing him closer to her, letting their bodies rub together for a moment. He lets out a growl and she smiles. "I'm sure someone would miss us," she says, pushing him away and closing her door. He closes his eyes for a moment, clearly experiencing some mixture of disappointment and relief.
She begins walking, allowing him the opportunity to watch her walk away, confident and in control, him clearly wrapped around her finger like the arrow ring she's wearing.
They arrive to a loud and glamorous ballroom in one of the fanciest hotels in the city, Oliver's fingers intertwined with hers. The room is scattered with fairy lights and candles and crystals galore. Felicity marvels at the splendor, taking it all in and enjoying the fact that her life involves attending such parties. The music is thunderous in the room, mixing with the conversation and general excitement of the event. A dance floor is framed with lights hanging down from the ceiling like the drooping leaves of a willow, but no one has filled it. The overall lighting is dim, relying on the flickering flames and tiny beams to fill the space.
Oliver leads them to a small table in a darkened corner. He pulls out a chair for her and she sits, crossing her legs and looking around, finding familiar faces everywhere; people she's met and people she's admired from afar mingling in the same room. Within moments, they are joined by John Diggle and his wife Lyla. They are experts at remaining out of the tabloids, never gracing covers or even being included in gossip. Perhaps I should ask them for advice, Felicity thinks, smiling to herself as she watches how gentle and attentive Diggle is with Lyla, the epitome of dream husband. No wonder so many people use them as the example of their personal relationship goals. Felicity has seen the multitude of memes online proclaiming them the ultimate couple.
"So this weekend has been a whirlwind for you, huh?" Diggle asks her, jolting her out of her mind-babbles.
She nods. "Definitely. That might actually be an understatement."
Oliver smirks at her words. "It hasn't been that bad, has it?"
"I didn't say it was a bad thing…"
Oliver looks over at her, the blue in his eyes dancing with the scattered candles. The thoughts and emotions within those depths tell her so many things. The implications in her words are clear to him. The weekend might have been full of craziness and stress, but it was well worth it. Meeting him was well worth it. She can sense relief in his posture and the wider smile that spreads across his lips.
"Well," Lyla interrupts with a polite clearing of the throat as she signals for drinks. "What's next for you?"
Felicity turns to see Lyla looking directly at her, the question hers to answer. She fumbles with words, unsure what to say. Like, career-wise or summer-wise? What does she mean? She decides to go with the easiest answer, a combination of the two. "I'm going to spend time with my mom for a few days before heading back to Vancouver to start filming on the show."
"Vegas, right?"
Felicity nods. "Yeah. Born and raised in Vegas. I don't think my mom could ever leave there, so I try to visit as much as possible."
Diggle and Lyla smile, then he joins in the conversation. "No luck bettering your mom's life yet, right?"
"You have the same problem?" she asks, surprised. I thought my mom was the only weird one.
Diggle laughs. "Trust me, I've tried on more than one occasion to better my parents' lives, but they won't have it. They want to stay in their rundown old house in the same ancient neighborhood where they've been since I was a toddler. My dad still does all the repairs on the house. He doesn't trust anyone else to take care of it." Diggle's eyes go distant, as if recalling countless interactions with his father. Finally he glances sideways at Lyla, squeezing her hand. "I know the struggle."
"Great. The only thing my mom has allowed me to do is buy her new furniture and help her plant her garden, which is probably a jungle of weeds by now. Oh, and she had me come in and paint the entirety of the house."
Oliver laughs as a server brings them all glasses of champagne. He sips some, the amusement and humor still warming his features. Felicity frowns playfully. "Excuse me, what's so funny?"
He ceases his laughter with a gulp that finishes the entire glass. "I'm imagining you being ordered around. You seem too opinionated and firey for that."
"When your mom tells you to do something, you do it," Felicity explains, completely serious. "She fought for countless hours to push me out of her vagina, the least I can do is paint her house." Silence fills the table and Felicity closes her eyes, her cheeks quickly heating up. "This isn't the type of scenario where the word vagina is okay, is it?" When no one answers, she facepalms. "Oh my god."
Oliver's laughter returns, followed by both Diggle and Lyla's. Felicity opens her eyes and sighs as Lyla tries to speak. "I think...we're...gonna...be great…friends," she says between bursts of hilarity.
Felicity watches as Oliver and Diggle exchange a look which says: "This is not good."
They drink their champagne in silence, occasionally chatting about nothing in particular. The music continues, but still no one is dancing. Felicity eyes the dance floor with longing, wondering why no one is out there.
"Hello, party people!" a voice exclaims from behind her. She swivels in her chair to find Roy carrying a tray of shots. "Anyone up for some real refreshments?"
Without hesitation, Lyla grabs two glasses and hands one to her husband. He eyes it warily and this causes Lyla to pout. "How often do we let loose?" she asks. When he doesn't answer right away, she lets out a puff of annoyance. "Exactly. Drink!"
Everyone takes one, quickly clinking glasses before downing the liquid fire, officially starting the party.
It doesn't take long for the entire room to become a drunken cluster of bumbling fame. Felicity evenly pairs the liquor with glasses of water, keeping herself alert and hydrated. She notices Oliver does the same. There's no press in the party, giving everyone in the room so much more freedom. She watches as Lyla and Diggle go from perfectly put-together to perfectly smashed, chatting loudly and in clipped, broken sentences. But they are adorable, truly enjoying themselves.
Finally the dance floor begins to fill with celebrities, all of them drunk or high. After a while, she feels Oliver lean in, his lips lingering at her ear to send shivers up and down her spine and goosebumps to rise on her flesh. "Wanna dance?"
Without a second thought, she nods and he's grasping her hand and leading her out onto the floor. Her only thought is how she wants to grasp his suspenders but, much like her earlier vagina comment, it seems inappropriate.
The crowd, once sophisticated and the epitome of Comic-Con royalty, is now rowdy, downing every glass of champagne and liquor they can find. Felicity watches as the cast of Hannibal dance in a circle, sans the famous Tumblr flower crowns. The two lead stars are smiling and bobbing their heads to the beat of the song, so unlike their characters. In another group, Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins are awkwardly shaking their asses, Misha completely straight-faced as always. Felicity has interacted with them on more than one occasion while filming alongside Supernatural in Vancouver. They are her buddies, her guides in the world of CW television. Misha sees her and waves enthusiastically, and she returns the gesture before finally coming to the center of the dance floor.
She looks up at Oliver to find him looking very uneasy. "Are you okay?" she asks, leaning in to whisper the words up into his ear.
He nods, but she can see in his eyes that he would prefer to be back at the table. But Roy and Lyla and Diggle have already ventured out onto the floor. Roy is flailing about with one of their co-stars, Lily, while her boyfriend watches from the sidelines looking annoyed but clearly not threatened despite rumors that had spread about his girlfriend and Roy.
"You don't like to dance, do you?"
He shakes his head with a grin, caught in his lie. "I hate it."
"Then why ask me to dance?"
He pulls her closer and begins to move them to the fast-paced beat of the music. "Because I could tell you wanted to."
She drops the subject, just happy to have an excuse for him to touch her. They get lost in the song, moving well together no matter how awkward they feel. The music is fun and carefree and so perfect for the party's attendees. Without the threat of paparazzi and reporters, the entire room has been given a gift. They can be themselves if they don't normally allow themselves to be. Felicity smiles at this. She wishes celebrities were given that opportunity more often.
Suddenly the music slows down. The bodies on the dance floor slowly disperse, leaving only couples. Oliver brings her as close as he can, causing her tummy to flutter. Will I ever get used to this?
She looks up at him, finding him gazing down at her with those gorgeous blue eyes, so full of everything he keeps locked away with brooding quiet. She can see the nervousness there, but also complete interest in her and her desires. She looks away quickly, afraid of what she might say or do if she continues to keep eye contact. And she keeps her eyes away from the hidden suspenders, knowing all too well what those will do to her weakening control. He's so attentive, she thinks as she feels his thumb rubbing circles into the small of her back. I can only imagine how sex… she keeps herself from finishing the thought, knowing it would break her down and leave her wanting everything all at once.
The song fades into another, just as slow and just as romantic. Oliver lifts her chin, turning her to look at him once more. She gulps down her own nerves and makes unwanted but totally wanted eye contact. And suddenly his lips are on hers. At first she doesn't respond, shocked that he would be so willing to be public with his affection. But then her emotions collapse and she's kissing him back, their bodies still swaying to the music. And time feels stopped in that moment.
All too soon, the moment is over when someone taps Felicity on the shoulder. She breaks the kiss, looking up at Oliver and rolling her eyes. Then she glances over to see Aisha Tyler looking very annoyed and very impatient.
"Felicity, you need to rein in your buddy over there." Felicity follows Aisha's pointing finger to find Roy making a fool of himself by the dessert bar. He's jabbing a finger into the chest of a guy she doesn't recognize. Covered by the loud music, she can only guess what he's saying. "He's confronting your co-star's boyfriend… and it doesn't look pretty."
"You mean Lily's boyfriend?" she asks, panic rising. Oliver's arm tightens comfortingly around her, and she's grateful for the support it gives her.
Aisha nods. "Felicity, you need to get Roy out of here. He's fucked up. And I'd rather not see a fight break out."
Felicity walks away without another word, toward the confrontation, her blood boiling. Why did this have to happen? And when I'm with Oliver. Ugh.
She ignores the yelling and the carelessly tossed insults, grabbing Roy by the jacket with a curt: "We're out of here." She can sense Oliver at her heels, worried and warm and, as always, caring. Roy fights to break away from her grasp, but clumsily fails, cursing repeatedly under his breath. "Shut up! You've ruined the night."
Once they are outside of the ballroom, she lets go. Roy straightens his jacket, his face tight and tense and red.
"What did you think you were doing?" Felicity asks, her heart pounding. Oliver is standing to the side, between the two of them, his face a mask of protective stoicism.
"Letting that asswipe know how much of an asswipe he is."
Felicity closes her eyes at the words, calming herself before she speaks. "Roy," she says, ignoring the desire to reach out a comforting hand. "I understand you're pissed, but if she wants to be with him, there's nothing you can do."
Roy's hands are clenched into fists and his eyes are fogging over with angry, drunken tears. "He's hurt her so many times."
She nods. "I know. Really, I know." And she does. She's had conversation upon conversation with Lily regarding her boyfriend and the constant on-and-off, uncaring relationship she's had with him. "Even if you two had something, you can't control every outcome. If she wants to be with him, you have to let her make that mistake."
He looks up, squinting against the tears. "Do you think she's making a mistake?"
Felicity shrugs. "That's not for me to decide."
They all stand together, silently. She glances at Oliver, begging him for help without saying anything and he nods. "Let's get you back to your room, bud," he says, patting Roy on the shoulder. The contact sends Roy forward and Oliver catches him, keeping him upright.
They help him out of the building and walk through downtown San Diego, the fresh coastal air clearing Roy's mind. He realizes his mistake and quickly begins pleading for forgiveness. They hush him, telling him he'll have to wait until tomorrow for that. They enter the hotel he and Felicity have been staying in and get in the elevator. He's a floor below Felicity.
They get him to his room and he goes to the bed without hesitation and collapses. They watch him for a few moments, waiting for him to move. Then they hear his soft snores.
Felicity chuckles. "I guess humiliation and regret are awfully tiring, especially when drunk."
Oliver nods and leads her out of the room, closing the door slowly behind them. "Do you want to go back to the party?" he asks as they stand outside Roy's room.
She thinks for a moment. The idea sounds wonderful. Some more dancing and flirting and drinking. But she knows she has a long drive ahead of her the next morning, and she knows her mother will have projects for her to tackle as soon as she walks into her childhood home. She shakes her head, sadly. "I think it would be best to call it a night."
They go to the elevator, holding hands. She can feel the lines on his palm, etched deep and winding. The sensation is wonderful, having his skin touching hers and she can't help it… she wonders how other bits of their skin would feel against one another. She sighs lightly, too low for him to notice as he presses the button.I need to stop this…
They board the elevator and go up one floor, the ride too short for any frisky business. And within moments they are at her door, awkwardly facing one another and the inevitable goodbye. His hand his still holding hers and he squeezes it, drawing her eyes up to his. She can tell he's dreading this; he's dreading the farewell and the long-distance and the wait for production on the film to begin. She's dreading it too.
She crosses the distance between them and plants a kiss at the corner of his mouth, then whispers against his skin: "See you on set."
She unlocks her door and enters the room, not looking back, knowing looking back will lead to rustled sheets and sweating bodies. And she's not ready for that. She doesn't want that, with him, under farewell circumstances. She closes the door and leans against it, steadying herself as an onrush of fear and loneliness cross over her. She already misses him.
After a while, she slips out of her dress and into a baggy t-shirt. She turns the bed down and crawls in. Before she shuts off the lights she glances at her phone, which she left in her room for the night. She picks it up and finds a new message that sends her heart racing and tummy fluttering in all the best ways that only Oliver Queen can cause.
Oliver Queen: I hope to see you sooner than that.
-12:57am