Author's Note: can I just say that Kylie is a blast to write? And that I love you guys, because you are ridiculously fantastic. This next chapter might not be my best, because it's now one-thirty in the morning and I've just finished it, but I really wanted to post it because everyone has been so great at reviewing and I don't wanna leave you hanging. So forgive me if it's not up to par, okay? And if there are any mistakes, although I've tried to catch them all. Enjoy!
Oliver's thoughts are everywhere at once: on the man at the bar; the delicate cheekbones under his hand; but mostly, they are on Felicity's lips, painted red and temptingly – dangerously – within reach. He wants to draw her against his chest and kiss her breathless … and that is a problem, because he doesn't need one of her nonsensical ramblings to tell him that she is entertaining the same idea.
He wonders if one of them has moved, because he can almost feel the brush of her chest against his when he breathes and it is taking a monumental amount of will power to keep him from leaning down and smearing that lipstick all over them both.
When did this happen? When had this attraction they shared morph into wanton desire?
Why does he feel like it has the potential to be so much more?
Laurel.
The name seems to coalesce in the air between them, because they move away at nearly the same instant. Felicity's hand falls away from his wrist, his away from her face, and she takes a step back; he focuses on trying to read her expression to distract himself from the tightness in his chest.
"Thank you," she murmurs, eyes flicking down momentarily. "For stopping that guy."
"No thanks necessary."
Why does his voice sound so gravelly?
"We should get back inside, before Kylie rips your club apart trying to find me. Not that she actually would, ya know, tear it apart, although not for trying … she's sort of like a rabid pixie – or fairy, maybe – but she's … not important, because I'm rambling again, so I'm gonna stop. Well, I mean, she's important, but …"
"Felicity."
Oliver isn't sure which he likes better, hearing her name or saying it.
The blonde bombshell across from him – because she really, really is – presses her lips together to keep quiet.
"Should I call you a cab?" he offers.
"Why?"
He can feel one eyebrow arching in surprise that she's even asking.
"I assumed you'd want to go home, after what happened at the bar."
She takes a deep breath and squares her small shoulders. "I'm gonna stay; I have to stay. Kylie isn't here much longer, and I'm not gonna let that sleaze ruin the night. Besides, I can't leave now."
"Why not?"
"Same reason I couldn't leave my apartment: because if I start running, I'll never stop. I can't spend the rest of my life afraid, Oliver – I won't.
Rule Number One when dealing with Felicity Smoak: never make assumptions, because she will defy them all.
"You are wonderful, Felicity Smoak."
His voice is quiet, but powerful, and he watches the way his words take hold of her: she flushes, the color rising to her cheeks and then spreading down her neck in an almost perfect mirror of the rouge on her lips.
Her eyes escape downward long enough for her to take a breath, and then they dart back up to lock on his.
"You, uh, gonna hang out?"
He thinks about the look on her face when that man had grabbed her, the desperate fear that had frozen her expression in place. Perhaps no one else would have noticed, but Oliver is old friends with terror and knows exactly what it looks like.
"Yeah; if that's okay with you?"
"Kylie would kill me if I denied her an evening with Mr. Man Cake."
Felicity is blushing again (and he is definitely not thinking about how alluring the deep red is against her flaxen curls) and then, laughing, shakes her head.
"I am never saying that again."
"Thank you."
She turns and makes her way to the door, and he is behind her in the blink of an eye. He has to clip his strides a little to make up for her shorter ones, but he stays close as they wind their way back into the crowd. Felicity navigates back to the bar, and Oliver is pleased to see that bartender either doesn't recognize her from a few moments ago, or has the foresight not to react negatively. When he comes to take their order, Felicity glances over her shoulder at him and asks what he would like to drink; he has the passing thought to decline, but pushes it away and asks for a rum and coke.
The bartender – Oliver thinks his name is Steven – is quick with their drinks, and he discovers two surprises: one is that Felicity has ordered four drinks; the other is that she can down a shot of whiskey with admirable ease.
She sets the shot glass back on the bar and hands him his glass, then takes the two that remain. She's already started for the table, back to him, when he extends his arm over her shoulder and warps a hand around one of the glasses. Felicity stops mid-step and turns her head just as he leans down to speak; his lips brush the skin in front of her ear like a whisper, and she freezes.
She smells like sunlight; her skin is satin against his lips.
Their fingers, overlapping, are warm against the cool sting of the glass.
"I'm taller," he states simply, and even in the near darkness of the club he can see her shiver.
She retracts her hand, entrusting him with the glass, and Oliver has no idea what's come over him but he can't resist bumping his chest into her back to urge her forward.
He is going to need another drink – several more, actually – if he expects to get through this night with his sanity intact.
Kylie practically leaps from her chair when they approach. She gives Felicity a look that is half glare, half smile, and then starts in.
"Where have you been? Is everything all right?"
"Minor problem with the bartender," Oliver answers quickly.
Kylie's eyes shift to him, and when she smiles he can't resist smiling in return. She is a terribly beautiful woman, and her smile is vibrant: she is over the top, yes, but it's difficult not to like her.
"I was wondering if you were gonna show up," she teases. "Knew you couldn't resist the company of two brilliant, beautiful women. Now, what happened with the bartender?"
"Nothing serious," Felicity replies. "But he did give me his number."
Kylie squeals excitedly, the sound so piercing that it carries over the music; Oliver's fingers tighten imperceptibly on his glass as he takes the seat next to Kylie and tries not to appear overly interested.
"Of course he did!" Kylie exclaims, leaning over to look at the napkin that Felicity is showing her. "Who can resist you? No one, obviously, and who can blame them? If I ever decide to experiment, Lis, you're first on my list."
Oliver thinks that he's covered the sound of his sudden choking, but Kylie isn't fooled and shoots him a look that borders on combative.
"You're not homophobic are you, Ollie? Can I call you Ollie?"
"Not at all," he answers smoothly, studiously avoiding Felicity's gaze. "And it's better than Man Cake."
"Good. It would have been irritating to have to dislike you."
Oliver can't suppress the laugh that bubbles out of him then. Kylie is outrageous, but he enjoys her honesty and zealous approach to … well, everything, apparently. He'd thought, upon their first meeting, that she seemed an unlikely friend for Felicity; their banter at the diner had been the first indication that he had thought wrong.
Now, he would have been surprised if they weren't friends.
"Now," she continues, pausing to take a drink. "What are you going to do about this phone number?"
"I have a feeling you're about to tell me," Felicity deadpans.
"Whatever you want, love! But I'm all for calling him. What've you got to lose? He's obviously interested, and he gets serious points for decisiveness."
"Decisiveness?" Oliver inquires.
"Absolutely. You know what's wrong with the world today, Ollie? No one's got any balls. My motto is that life is short and shit happens, so do what makes you happy. Decide what you want, what you're passionate about, and go get it for fuck's sake!"
"You're like a modern day Audrey Hepburn, with tattoos and swearing," Felicity chimes in.
"Thank you. I like tattoos, I like swearing, and I don't give a damn if that bothers someone. And that's the point, isn't it, my sexy friends? To figure out what you want and go after it, everything else be damned."
When Kylie has ceased speaking, there are two names vying for the spotlight in Oliver's thoughts: Laurel, and Felicity.
Laurel is what got him through those five years on that island; she is the one thing that has remained constant in his life, despite his regrettable dalliance with her sister and his multitude of other mistakes. She is the goal that he has been working toward for so long that he's not sure he can remember a time before her.
… 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.
He loves Laurel – he always will – and he doesn't doubt that he could spend the rest of his life with her.
Felicity is the wild card; she is the anomaly. Unexpected, untainted by his past, she is the variable that seems to belong everywhere, but that he can't place. He is exceedingly attracted to her, as has been made obvious (recently and repeatedly), and she is one of the few people in his life that sees him for exactly who and what he is and accepts him anyway.
"You could be phenomenal together."
One panicky moment passes in which Oliver entertains the thought that Kylie is a mind reader, but when he glances at her she is looking at Felicity. The conversation has continued without him, apparently, and he is thankful for that.
"Just call him, Lis. Wait a few days, but do it; at least one date, yeah?"
"Fine," Felicity acquiesces, sighing. "Slave driver."
"Oh, you poor thing," Kylie simpers. "You're so put upon – however will you manage?"
Kylie's impersonation of a southern accent makes him smile.
"Now, call me crazy," the woman next to him continues. "But I personally like to date people I work with. Or that do the same work."
Oliver's risks a glance across the table to Felicity, only mildly surprised to find that she has done the same; their eyes lock and a long, intense moment passes before Felicity speaks.
"Why?"
Oliver waits for her eyes to move back to Kylie before tossing back the contents of his glass.
"Think about it," Kylie is explaining. "All the conversations you can have, the ways you can help each other! Theorizing about new chemical compounds over a bottle of wine; trying to recreate a double helix, naked …"
"Okay, point taken." Felicity interrupts.
"And who better to comfort you when you have a bad day? 'Honey, I blew up the lab, come share this gallon of ice cream with me and then let's have sex on the counter'."
"Does that happen often?" Oliver asks.
"Oh yes – sex on the counter fixes everything."
He's not sure if he's made a face or if it's just the hilarity of the situation, but Felicity purses her lips in a valiant attempt to keep quiet that only lasts a split second; the next, her laughter is like a veil that settles over his heart. This is the first show of joy that she's shown since the encounter at the bar, and it transforms her: one hand splays against her chest, over her heart, blue eyes bright and dancing in mirth. Kylie's answer would have made him chuckle, but it is Felicity's laughter that brings his out to answer.
"I meant blowing up the lab," he says finally.
"Oh, once or twice," Kylie answers with a dismissive wave of her hand. "A week."
"You are a walking insurance claim," Felicity teases, her smile dazzling.
"Explosions are the sign of a good chemist, thank you very much."
Kylie takes a drink and then places her glass on the table; Oliver's eyes follow its travel and he discovers that they are all in need of a new beverage.
"Anyone else want a drink?" he offers.
"Sure," Felicity answers after a moment. "Ky?"
"I never turn down booze, but how are you going to carry three glasses?"
Feeling playful, Oliver winks and then turns to wave at a man standing a few feet away from them; when he comes in range, Oliver orders another round.
"Where the hell has he been all night?" Kylie demands indignantly.
"Between tables," Oliver answers. "We only have a few waiters, so they stay pretty busy."
"Guess it's a good thing we're friends with the owner then, huh?"
Oliver smiles in reply.
His mind is still racing. He can't help replaying Kylie's words about being happy, and even about dating coworkers; he's wondering what it would be like to date someone who knew his secret, who truly understood what it is he does – and the toll it can take.
He's wondering what it would be like to date Felicity.
He should not be wondering any such thing.
The waiter reappears and sets three glasses and three shots on the table in front of them. Kylie, who is obviously pleased, grins and claps her hands.
"I like the way you think, Ollie!"
She snatches up one of the shot glasses, but waits until Oliver and Felicity has done the same so that she can hold it aloft above the table in an invitation to toast.
"To decisiveness!" she cries when their glasses are together.
Three shot glasses clink in toast and then retract to be tossed down respective throats. Kylie, who is apparently made of surprise and outrage, leans over to kiss him soundly on the cheek.
"You might wanna wipe the lipstick off before you go home," she says cheekily. "It's a good color though."
Oliver knows enough about Kylie by now to know that she meant nothing by the kiss, so there is no reason to be offended. He thinks it's kind of nice, actually, the sort of kiss that he could expect from Thea when he's done something she's feeling particularly grateful for.
"C'mon, Lis, back to the dance floor. Ollie?"
"Not a chance," he says evenly.
"Suit yourself."
Oliver tells himself that the only reason he's tracking their movements through the crowd is so that he can make sure they're safe.
He almost believes it.
Felicity's head is propped up on his shoulder, swaying gently with the motion of the cab; the flush is nearly gone from her cheeks. He'd given her his suit jacket when they'd stepped out of the club and into the brisk night air; Kylie had claimed to find it invigorating, and declined his offer to get another one from his office. Looking at her now, draped against his side and in his coat, Felicity looks tiny. He can just barely see the bruise around her eye, now mostly faded; the marks on her neck are only a little darker, although hidden by expertly applied make-up, and it makes him angry all over again. The only reason he hasn't already found her attacker and dealt with him is because he doesn't want to ask for help in finding him – but Oliver always gets his mark.
"Ollie?"
Kylie's voice is quiet, either because she doesn't want to be overheard, or in deference for her sleeping friend. He turns his head to look at her, only then realizing that he's been staring at Felicity.
"Is she okay?"
He knows that her question is not a general one.
"She's … dealing." It's the best answer he can give, and the truest.
"Those bruises … the newscaster said 'brutally attacked', but it was more than that, wasn't it?"
Oliver doesn't answer this time. He doesn't know what to say, because she is right and because he refuses to make light of what happened. He can't tell Felicity not to brush it off – he has no right to – but he doesn't have to do the same.
"Felicity is the light of my life, Oliver, and she'll be yours too, if you hang around long enough, and if I ever find the person who tried to take her from me, I will kill them."
Kylie's face is set, her expression unwavering, and Oliver does not doubt her conviction.
"He'll get what's coming to him," he assures her quietly. "One way or another."
"He better."
Kylie turns her head to gaze out the window again, and Oliver's eyes fall to Felicity again. He can easily understand how this wonderful woman could be the light of her friend's life – of anyone's life, actually – and how the idea of losing her could drive her naturally impetuous friend to murder, even hypothetically.
Felicity is between them, her legs angled toward Kylie and torso wedged up against him, so when Kylie turns to address him again their eyes meet over the top of a curly blonde head.
"I know, better than you might think, that people hurt each other, but … just try to take care of her, okay?"
"I'll do my best."
"Good."
The cab has pulled up in front of Felicity's apartment building. Oliver angles his head down slightly to wake her.
"Felicity."
Her eyes open slowly, reluctantly, and then she realizes where she is and raises her head off his shoulder to glance at Kylie and then out the window.
"Sorry," she mumbles. "Didn't mean to use you as a pillow."
"I'll walk you to your door," he tells her, ignoring the apology.
Oliver tells the cabbie to wait and then slides out the door, holding his hand out to help Felicity from the cab; she takes it and unfolds herself from the car carefully, and then glances over the roof to make sure that Kylie is coming.
He keeps her hand wrapped in his longer than is strictly necessary, only releasing it when Kylie reaches her friend's side – and he nearly doesn't even let go then.
He shoves both hands in his pockets to keep from taking her hand again.
They are not drunk, but Felicity is probably the closest to being so; Oliver distinctly remembers Kylie telling him that she was a lightweight. He hasn't noticed a big change, although her smiles do seem wider and freer, and her laughter quicker to show itself. He likes it.
They've just started down her hallway when Felicity stops. Kylie has the apartment key so Felicity tells her to unlock the door and waves her on.
"Do you mind?" she asks, motioning to Oliver's arm.
He holds the desired arm away from his side and she latches a hand around his bicep before leaning toward him and kicking her leg up to slide off her shoe. She repeats the motion on the other side, suddenly four inches shorter, and sighs when her feet hit the carpet.
Unable to resist, he leans in to tease her. "I think Kylie's taller than you now."
"Shut up," she retorts, her tone gentle and a little tired.
They start toward her door again, and Oliver doesn't say anything about the hand that is still around his bicep.
When they arrive, Kylie has left the door open and Oliver's eyes automatically do a sweep, focusing on the windows that are visible and looking for any other points of ingress.
Felicity must have known what he was doing, because she waits until he's done to step into the doorway, facing him. She smiles, that familiar quirk of her mouth, and he admits that he likes it when she does that. Lately he's taken to thinking that maybe the frequency of her smiles can even out the absence of his.
"Thank you, Oliver, for everything."
Her voice is thick from sleep and just a little lower than usual, and his mind is running away with thoughts of waking up to that sound.
"You're welcome. You two gonna be okay?"
She shucks her head toward the kitchen. "I've got the taser."
"Call if you need anything, okay? I mean it."
"Okay. Night."
A split second decision has him leaning down to press a light kiss against her cheek.
"Goodnight. Oh, and Felicity?"
"Hmm?"
"You look beautiful."
He doesn't wait for a response, just gives her a last smile and then turns to make his way back to the cab.
He's replaying the events of the evening when his thoughts get stuck on the almost kiss outside the club. As much as he wanted it, he was right not to kiss her for several reasons. The first, of course, is that while they're relationship isn't exactly defined, he is in a relationship with Laurel, and he's not the playboy anymore; the second is that he couldn't do that, to either of them. He has hurt Laurel enough for a lifetime, and he would truly rather die than cause her that kind of pain again.
The other reason is more problematic. The thought of Laurel is what stopped him, ultimately, but if he's being honest then he has to admit that it wasn't just that he didn't want to hurt Laurel: it was also because he didn't want to ruin his chances with Felicity. Kissing her in that moment would have been wrong because she had been scared, and probably not thinking the clearest; if he was – is – was going to kiss her, he would never want it to be in a moment or in a way that might make her feel taken advantage of. She might have kissed him back in the moment, but she would have been angry at him afterward, because he knows that Felicity would never disrespect anyone the way a kiss would have disrespected Laurel; or herself, for that matter.
Oliver climbs back into the taxi and gives the driver his address, then lets his head fall back against the headrest. He has a headache from the chaos of thoughts he's trying to juggle, and he silently curses himself for allowing his life to become so complicated.
Being attracted to Felicity is a terrible idea that creates numerous problems and has the potential to hurt several people, but he doesn't seem to have a choice in the matter.
It's already happened