Author's Note: You guys ... I have no idea what to say, except thank you. I did not expect such a great response to this story, and it means a lot to me that you are enjoying it. Thank you for your reviews/alerts/favorites - they keep me going! So here's the next chapter; I really struggled with the second part of it, because I'm trying to keep everyone in character while satisfying my shipper heart. :-) I think I've corrected any mistakes, but I apologize if I've missed one. Enjoy!

Oliver can hear her moving around behind him as she takes stock of what has been damaged, compiling a list of anything missing so that she can hand it over to the police. She has been quiet for the last few minutes, and he and Digg have come to a silent agreement not to bother her for a bit. They keep their seats on the couch, an almost empty pizza box on the coffee table in front of them, and the television turned on.

Felicity's door is fixed and they have made sure to install not one, but two additional locks. He plans to ask her about installing an alarm, but not right now; right now she's still trying to process everything, so he'll bring it up a little later – or just take the liberty of installing one whether she wants it or not.

"I think it's safe to assume that the guy wasn't big on books."

Felicity's voice is even, controlled, possibly the calmest it's been since he's arrived, and it pulls his attention to her. She's standing in front of her bookcase, her copy of Great Expectations clasped gently in her hands. Oliver hadn't known what to do with the pages that'd been ripped out, so he'd just tucked them inside the front cover so that she could decide what to do with them later; he watches as she opens said cover and stares at the leafs of paper.

"What's that?" Digg prompts, rising to cross the room and stand next to her.

"It's a first edition Dickens, and worth more than anything else in this apartment. Which, I'm guessing, he didn't know, or he wouldn't have destroyed it and stolen it instead."

Oliver waits for her to mention the part about it being a birthday present, but she doesn't; it's entirely possible that she doesn't even remember telling him that part, because she was nearly hysterical when she did. It's also entirely possible that that might not be something she wants them to know, because Felicity is a private person, and he saw the way the memory affected her.

"Strange, isn't it?" she asks, but he's not sure if she's asking them or the air.

"What?" Digg replies.

"The things we assign meaning to. Makes it hard, sometimes, to know if we truly love the thing for what it is, or for what we've made it out to be. This book is valuable on its own, but my memories are what make it priceless."

Digg skips a beat before speaking again. "What are you gonna do with it?"

"Keep it; it doesn't mean any less to me just because it's damaged."

Oliver has kept his silence throughout their exchange, at first because he wasn't sure what to say, and now because Felicity has left him speechless. Her words have struck a chord with him in ways that she couldn't possibly imagine, which makes them all the more remarkable; she is his opposite in countless ways, and yet he is starting to see that she may be the person who has the capacity to understand him the best – if given the opportunity.

Digg's phone rings then and Oliver hears him excuse himself, and he disappears out the door and into the hallway. He can't hear what Digg is saying, but he knows from the tone and quiet way he's speaking that it's Carly on the other end.

"Oliver?"

Felicity circles around the couch and sits down on the end opposite of him; he doesn't say anything, waiting for her to say whatever it is that's weighing on her and trying not to focus on the bruises.

"I didn't mean to imply, earlier, that I don't have any friends."

"What?" he says in surprise.

"Earlier, when I said there was no one to call … I didn't mean that I don't have any friends, because I do, obviously … I just, I more meant that I don't have anyone like you."

Felicity sighs in irritation, and he's been around her long enough to know that she's just realized that her words haven't come out the way she meant them to.

"Not like that," she corrects herself. "I seriously think this could be considered a speech impediment, and I'm just gonna stop talking now because you're sort of giving me the pity look and that is the last thing I need right now, Oliver."

"I don't pity you, Felicity," he answers carefully. "I'm just trying to understand you."

"What's there to understand?"

"Why didn't you call me? Or Digg?"

"And what if I had, Oliver? What if I had called and you'd been with your family, or Laurel? What would you have done? Excused yourself, told them it was work?"

"Yes."

"That's just it, Oliver; we're not friends, at least not publicly. And how can we be? How would you even begin to explain such a friendship? I'm the IT girl, Oliver, nobody – there's no way that we can be friends without raising questions. The sort of questions that none of us wants asked."

He can see by the expression on her face that she isn't being altruistic, that her words are not coming from a sense of martyrdom; she is being rational, and her words make sense, but they leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Digg is only slightly less complicated, Oliver – for all intents and purposes, he's your bodyguard, and while a friendship between us would be a little easier to explain, it's still rife with difficulties."

"So you're saying we can't be friends because it's too difficult?"

"I'm saying that the last thing you need in your life is another lie. Or, at best, a half truth."

How interesting – and positively infuriating, actually – to find that she has not only given their friendship (or lack thereof) this much thought, but that she is worried enough about adding another lie to his stack that she wasn't even willing to reach out to him when she'd been attacked.

His mind casts back to last night, when she'd admitted that she was going to ask Digg for help with the locks, and do it herself if he was busy. He has noticed, in the time that they've been working together, that friendship seems to come easier to Digg and Felicity than it does to the two of them, but he honestly hadn't thought about it much past that. He's been busy trying to juggle the two sides of his life, of himself, and anything outside of that has just sort of been pushed aside; which, he's now starting to see, includes a friendship with Felicity.

He also hadn't realized until last night that he actually wanted to be her friend, outside of their work.

"I know you think you can do it all, Oliver," Felicity says softly, gently. "But everyone has a limit, and I think you've just about found yours."

He wants to argue with her, but he's not sure he can. Brilliant, observant Felicity; she's on the edges of his life – both lives – looking in, and now here she is, telling him what he already knows: that he can't have it all, and that the lines are coming dangerously close to colliding.

Digg steps back into the apartment, an apologetic look on his face.

"That was Carly, we're supposed to be at a party in an hour."

"That's great," Felicity says brightly, smiling for the first time in hours. "Have a fantastic time."

"You're welcome to come stay with me, Felicity, until this guy is caught," Digg offers.

"I'll be fine, Digg, really. Thank you, though, for all your help."

"Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

Oliver knows that she won't.

Digg nods in response to his thanks and then disappears; he isn't gone more than a few seconds when Felicity turns to him, the very picture of calm.

"I think I'd like to be alone now, Oliver."

He doubts very much that she wants to be alone, not truly, but he can't – or won't – call her on it. He knows that she is following through on what she said earlier, that they can't be friends, and that this is her way of drawing a line between them.

Oliver stands and reaches for his jacket, heads for the door before stopping to face Felicity again; "I had Digg bring over a taser, just in case. It's in the kitchen."

"Thanks. I'll see you on Monday."

His thoughts are a jumbled mess as he makes his way out of her apartment building and to his bike. Leaving her alone grates on him, because she's been through a lot today and he knows the terror of believing that you're life is about to come to an end.

Oliver knows exactly what it feels like to be battered, bruised, and alone.

Evening has fallen across the city; he's picking Laurel up for dinner at eight, which means that he's dangerously close to being late, but he doesn't speed up. There is a tight knot of unease in his chest, and he needs the time the drive allows him to gather his thoughts – and to stop replaying Felicity's words.

The thing is, that despite what she said or how much her words make sense, Oliver knows that Felicity is his friend. He knows it instinctively, just like he knew that she wouldn't reveal his secret when she found him bleeding in her car; he can see it every time he comes back to the Foundry and she gives him that concerned look.

He felt it last night, when he'd professed needing a break, and she'd offered him one, no questions asked.

Last night. Their conversation about Shakespeare, her colorful socks, it all seems like it happened weeks ago, instead of only hours. He can hear her voice clearly in his head, threatening to stab him if he likes Romeo and Juliet; he can see the look on her face when she'd admitted to being afraid.

Oliver directs his bike down the driveway and into the garage on autopilot. He dismounts, props his helmet on the leather seat and then strides toward the mansion, unzipping his jacket as he goes. He needs to change quickly; he's had these dinner reservations for a week, and can't afford to make them late.

He also needs to stop thinking about Felicity. She asked to be alone, and he has always respected her wishes, and that's the end of it.

Oliver sweeps in through the front door, intending to take the stairs two at a time, when a voice stops him.

"Ollie!"

He turns to find Thea making her way toward him.

"Hey, I was just watching the news and … is that blood?"

"What?"

"Is that blood, on your shirt?"

Oliver glances down at himself and finds the smear of blood on his chest, now a dark maroon against the flat gray of his shirt; he thinks he can feel, if only for a moment, the warmth of Felicity's hand resting against his chest.

"I cut my finger earlier, it's nothing," he says automatically.

"You cut your finger?" Thea repeats, and he can hear the disbelief in her voice.

I'm the IT girl, Oliver, nobody, a voice whispers in the back of his mind.

"Okay, that's not true. A friend of mine got hurt earlier – the blood's not mine."

"Hurt how?"

"Why does it matter, Thea?"

"Well I was just watching the news, and some girl got attacked earlier – the police say she got beat up pretty badly. They also mentioned that she worked for you. Now here you are, blood on your shirt – quite a coincidence."

Oliver sighs. "Her name is Felicity."

"Is she okay?"

"She's … safe. I'm supposed to meet Laurel for dinner, Thea, I gotta go."

He turns and bounds up the stairs, cursing when he glances at his watch long enough to see that he is definitely going to be late.

"How do you know?" Thea yells at his retreating form. "How do you know she's safe?"

He pretends not to hear her.

Oliver raps gently on the gray door in front of him.

He can hear soft footfalls moving toward him; there's a pause, and then the door is swinging away from him.

"Oliver?"

"I didn't wake you." It's a statement, not a question, because he can see that despite the exhaustion that is written into every line of her body, Felicity hasn't slept.

"It's almost one in the morning, Oliver; what are you doing here?" she demands, her expression dubious.

"Can I come in?"

"No. I told you, I'm fine."

"Good, then it won't matter if I come in."

Oliver is fully prepared to wait out the staring contest that he knows is coming; when Felicity just breathes a quiet sigh and steps aside to let him in, he knows that he's made the right choice in coming back, because she is not fine.

"Why aren't you asleep, Felicity?"

"Is that why you've shown up at my door at one a.m., Oliver – to interrogate me?"

Her words are sharp, the anxiety and sleep deprivation setting her on edge.

"No."

"Then quit it. I'm not in the mood for twenty questions."

"I know; I'm sorry."

She doesn't reply, just moves to the spot on the couch that he's guessing she hasn't left in the hours that she's been alone; he slips out of his jacket without being asked to and then seats himself beside her. Her apartment is dark, the only light coming from the television, where a movie has been paused. When she presses the play button, he is greeted once again with Shakespeare.

"Much Ado About Nothing?" he queries, recognizing the redheaded woman on the screen.

"It makes me feel better," she answers softly.

Oliver takes her in: her hair is down, wavy and unkempt, her eyes red and tired behind her glasses; she's still in the tank top from earlier, her bruises like gruesome shadows against her skin.

Her feet, which she's tucked up to one side, are hidden in a pair of pink and white-checkered socks.

He hasn't been here five minutes and already the unease in his breast has lessened. The anger is still there, exacerbated by every glance at his tiny bruised friend, but he can deal with that later; right now, it's important that he is here with her, even though she would have him believe that it isn't. Whether she admits it or not, Oliver knows that Felicity is afraid, and that she doesn't feel safe enough to sleep – no matter how tired she may be.

I don't have anyone like you.

"Why are you here, Oliver?"

A plethora of responses come to mind: because he had no other way of making sure she was safe; because leaving her alone was wrong, no matter how he tried to spin it; because he'd spent the majority of his date with Laurel trying to forget the feeling of her trembling in his arms, or the way she'd screamed and thrown herself off her couch when he'd frightened her awake.

None of those are acceptable answers, though, for more reasons than he's ready to admit.

"Because you need me," he says instead.

She turns her head away from the television and their eyes meet; her expression is tense for only a second before the mask falls away, and he can plainly see how grateful she is to have him here. He'd stood outside Laurel's door and turned down her offer to spend the night, fought with whether or not he should just go to bed, and finally ended up outside her door; the way she is looking at him now reassures him that he made the right choice.

"So," he starts, trying to put her at ease, "Are you going to tell me what's wrong with Romeo and Juliet?"

"Eventually," she retorts, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Baby steps. Tonight, I'm gonna show you what's right with Much Ado."

Felicity navigates back to the movie menu and starts it over, settling deeper into the cushions as the image on the screen blinks out and reappears at the opening credits. Oliver kicks off his shoes – again without being invited to do so – and then props both feet up on her coffee table, crossing them at the ankles. Felicity glances sidelong at him, one eyebrow arched at his presumption, and he rewards her with a smile. She doesn't hold out long before returning the smile and turning her attention back to the television screen. He follows her example.

Oliver is surprised to find that he's actually interested in the movie, and he's so focused on trying to follow the premise that he can't help but be drawn in by it.

He's so focused on what he's watching that it takes him a minute to realize what's happened; it's the warmth against his side that finally catches his attention.

Not even fifteen minutes into the movie and Felicity is sound asleep; she's slowly slid her way down the couch, until coming to rest gently against him. She is at an awkward angle, one that looks horribly uncomfortable, and he tells himself that is why he's doing what he's about to.

Oliver scoots down into the couch until he's comfortable and then carefully lifts his arm, draping it gently across Felicity's waist and pulling her slowly to him until her head is pillowed against his chest. She doesn't so much as stir.

The rise and fall of Felicity's side a gentle rhythm beneath his arm, Oliver settles in to finish her beloved movie.