A/N: Last real chapter! Thank you to everybody who took the time to leave a comment, even if I haven't replied to you, it means the world to me!

Happy reading and a wonderful weekend to y'all!

Definition: A touchdown is a play worth six points, accomplished by gaining legal possession of the ball in the opponent's end zone or by the ball crossing the plane of the opponent's goal line with legal possession by a player. It also allows the team a chance for one extra point by kicking the ball or a two-point conversion. (Source: Wikipedia)

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Oliver nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other in front of her red front door, his fingers tightening around the bouquet of flowers. He's not nervous because he doesn't know what he wants, he's nervous because he doesn't know what Felicity wants. Which is technically not true because she'd sent him a text earlier telling him that she didn't fell like talking tonight and that they would talk on Sunday once he got back from his game.

So yeah, here he is, grossly ignoring her wishes because he's a selfish bastard and he just couldn't keep sitting at home doing nothing. He knows he screwed up big time and the mere thought of leaving things in this shitty mess he made for three days without talking to her, is possibly the worst idea ever.

If he's honest with himself he has to admit that he's scared that if he gives her more time to think about what he said she'll dump his ass without so much as a look back. That right there is the worst case scenario and he'll be damned if he doesn't at least try and fight for a chance to get her forgiveness.

He takes a deep breath and raps his knuckles against the door, the air getting trapped in his lungs as he waits for her to open it.

When the door does finally swing open after fifteen excruciatingly long seconds, he opens his mouth, apology right at the tip of his tongue when he realizes that he's come face-to-face with someone who's definitely not Felicity. And someone who's definitely a man, even though he looks more like teenager.

A man who's curious eyes grow as big as saucers. "Oh my God, you're Oliver Queen," he exclaims excitedly, looking like he uses every ounce of control not to jump up and down giddily.

Oliver narrows his eyes and ignores the man-boy's realization. "Is Felicity home?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, she's in the shower," he replies and waves his hand vaguely towards the inside of Felicity's house. "Man, I'm a huge fan. And the way you've been playing this season? Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I go to every one of your home games."

"Yeah, that's great," Oliver replies impatiently. "Uh, I'd like to speak to Felicity, so if you could just let me in that would be great."

The man-boy stills in his excitement and his expression sobers. "Oh, right," hes says with a frown. "I don't think today is such a great time for that. You see, this guy she was seeing, who's now been permanently renamed to ass hat -her words, not mine- that treated her like a complete jerk today and so she just needs some time to..."

His voice gets drowned out by the sudden rush in Oliver's ears as he tries to process what he just said.

Was seeing.

Was seeing. As in, past tense.

Holy shit.

Is she already considering their relationship to be over? Has she already decided that she will not give him another chance. Is this man-boy in front of him the guy she's moving on with?

"So how do you know Felicity?"

He shakes his head slightly, getting the world back into focus. "I just do," he growls and fixes his opponent with a glare.

The man-boy frowns in curiosity and then his face goes slack. "You're the ass hat," he breathes out with wide eyes as realization hits him. "You're her Oliver. Holy shit! You're the guy she's been dating?"

"Yes," Oliver presses out between clenched teeth. "Will you let me in now?"

Man-boy regards him for a few long seconds before his face transforms from wondrous surprise to stoic determination, while he plants himself firmly between the door and its frame. "She doesn't want to talk to you."

Oliver narrows his eyes dangerously and takes a half step forward. "Do you honestly believe you can stop me?"

Man-boy swallows, but stands his ground vigilantly.

Oliver is about to issue a more obvious threat when Felicity's voice sounds from inside the house, quickly approaching. "Is that the pizza guy?"

He can't see her because man-boy is still obstructing his view, until a slender hand with brightly colored finger nails circles around man-boy's waist and her head peeks out from behind his scrawny frame.

Her smile instantly drops when she sees Oliver and he can't help but feel his heart stutter at the way her eyes narrow as she steps around man-boy. "What are you doing here?" She sounds exasperated and tired.

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. Now or never. "I came to talk."

She shakes her head slightly. "I told you I don't want to talk to you tonight."

"I know. I just thought maybe..." he trails off, searching for the right words.

"Barry, can you give us a minute?" She asks man-boy, and when he doesn't move she lays a hand over his chest that Oliver finds himself glaring at with a tightly set jaw. "This won't take long," she assures Barry and he finally gives in and turns around.

Oliver watches her for a moment, really taking her in. She's in yoga pants and a hoodie that's too big on her and almost reaches her mid thigh. He's trying really hard not to think about who's hoodie that is. Really hard. The flare of jealousy and possessiveness in his chest is unmistakable. The only man's clothes he wants to see her in are his.

His eyes drift up to her face. Her face is clean of any make up, her skin just a little paler than usual, except for her eyes. They are red-rimmed and puffy - a dead giveaway that she's been crying.

Because of him, he realizes with a sinking heart.

Fuck.

"Felicity," he starts, unsure of how he can ever tell her how sorry he is for what happened earlier. Wave of guilt and uncertainty washes over him. "Can we please go inside and talk?"

She stares up at him and shakes her head sadly. "No, we can't, Oliver. I asked you to wait until Sunday."

"I know," he interjects quickly. "But I can't wait that long with this between us. I need you to know that I'm so incredibly sor-"

"Save it, Oliver," she cuts him off. "I can't do this right now."

"Please, Felicity."

"Not tonight." There's a finality to her voice, but he still can't let it go.

"Why not?" He knows his voice is getting more agitated, but damn it, he came here to fight for a chance and he'll be damned if he gives up now.

"Because it won't end well for us," she exclaims loudly, slamming her lips together.

He stills, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean?" he asks and a part of him knows that this is bordering on self-induced torture, but he just has to know.

She looks up at him with an almost desperate look, tears pooling in her eyes. "Right now, every logical cell in my body tells me to dump you before you can hurt me again," she all but whispers.

His body goes completely still, his breath hitching in his throat.

There it is. His worst fear.

"Don't give up on me," he breathes out hoarsely. "Don't give up on us. Please."

She huffs out a humorless laugh. "It's not that simple. Do you even know what-" she presses her lips together to keep herself from saying more. "We're not talking about this tonight," she finally says after a few steadying breaths. "You need to leave."

His mouth falls open to protest as his hearts urges him to fight. But at the same time his brain takes in her tired eyes and the way her shoulders are slightly slumped forward and he just... can't.

His head drops in defeat. "Okay," he whispers and turns away from her. He's about to take a step away from her when he remembers the flowers in his right hand, the stems probably crooked or broken from gripping them too tightly. He holds them out to her, not daring to look up. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry," he mumbles. "Just... call me when you're ready."

He nods once, not sure who he's trying to reassure that he's doing the right thing. His feet are finally moving him towards his car before he does something that will screw up the last chance he has with her. When he's halfway down the stairs, he hears her front door fall shut, and then nothing but silence. It damn near breaks his heart.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ARROW ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

"Oliver, apart from a few hick ups, so far you've played an incredible season, and then this bad streak. What happened out there tonight?"

"What happened is that we won," Oliver bites out.

"By one point, that will hardly satisfy you," the reporter points out.

"A win is a win."

"While that may be true, your performance in particular, for the second time in a row I might add, was nothing compared to what we've seen over the course of this season. How do you explain that?"

Oliver clenches his jaw visibly and glares at the reporter. "Just wasn't my day. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch." Without so much as a glance back he turns away from the camera and stalks off.

The TV screen suddenly turns black and Felicity whirls around on her couch to glare at her best friend who still has the remote raised towards the TV. "I was watching that."

Caitlin sighs and rounds the couch. "I know. I've been watching the NFL Network with you for the past four hours. Something I never thought I'd do in my life," she sighs and plops down on the couch beside her friend. "It's really not healthy to keep watching your ex on TV."

"He's technically not my ex," Felicity mumbles.

"Oh please, you haven't talked to him in almost two weeks. That kinda makes it seem like you broke up with him."

"Ten days. And we haven't broken up."

"Yet," Caitlin says with raised eyebrows. "He was a complete jerk. Maybe that could have been forgivable if that was the first thing he screwed up, but after the whole not telling you who he really was thing, I'm surprised you didn't dump his ass when he came over that night."

"I've told you before, it's not that simple."

"But it should be. If a guy treats you badly, you should dump him and move on. His loss."

Felicity bites her bottom lip. "I know that what he said was a shitty thing to do, but now that I've had some time to process everything, I kinda understand."

"Nuh-uh. Nope, Lis, do not defend him. There are no circumstances under which it's even remotely okay for your boyfriend to talk to you like that," her best friend insists.

"Even if he just went through complete hell worrying about his son being missing? The way his voice sounded that morning when he called me... he was heartbroken and just... desperate," Felicity argues quickly. "I can't even begin to imagine what he must've felt in those hours."

"Fine, but that doesn't give him the right to say the things that he said."

"No, it doesn't," she sighs. "But I think he didn't know how to react to me taking the control that he had just regained by going against his wishes. So he reacted with anger and frustration."

Her friend remains quiet for a long time before she shakes her head. "You've already forgiven him, haven't you?"

Felicity shrugs helplessly. "I just... I hate that I can't stay mad at him, but at the same time I hate it even more to be mad at him. And I know that it doesn't make any sense," she says quickly when she sees Caitlin open her mouth. "But this whole thing with him doesn't make any sense. How could I have fallen so hard and so quickly for a guy that I didn't even really know? How is it possible that after only a few weeks the mere thought of not being with him, despite everything that has happened between us, makes my whole body feel like it's twisted up in knots?"

She rakes a hand through her loose curls. "These feelings I have for him don't make sense. But they're there and apparently they're not going to go away. So what the hell am I supposed to do? Sit here and do nothing?"

"You could let him suffer a little longer," Caitlin suggest off-handedly.

Felicity narrows her eyes at her. "Well, the thing is, he's not the only one suffering. I mean, yeah, he played like shit today and last week, and he looks like he hasn't slept in forever, but I'm not exactly doing any better," she points out, letting her eyes drift over her coffee table that's littered with half a dozen different kinds of chocolates, empty bottle of wine, and a half-empty pint of mint chip ice cream.

Her best friend shoots her a sympathetic smile. "Does he know that you're back?"

After his sudden appearance on her door step that night she'd decided to start her Christmas vacation early that year. On Friday, she'd finished up all her reports at work and had successfully ignored the giant bouquet of wild flowers that had arrived at her office via courier around noon that day.

She'd fired off a quick text to Oliver, telling him that she'd be leaving town for the holidays and that she'd contact him when she was back and ready to talk. His reply had been instantaneous: Okay, take all the time you need. Happy Hanukah. Love, O.

Damn him for being so freaking thoughtful and even remembering that she's Jewish.

She'd flown out to the West Coast to visit a few friends and then spend the last few days of Hanukah with her mom. As always, she'd slept in her childhood room in her mom's small apartment in Las Vegas, so maybe she shouldn't have been surprised when the packages started to arrive shortly after she'd unpacked her suitcase. She'd probably mentioned that particular tradition to him about going home in one of their conversations, right? So it wasn't completely freaky and stalker-y of him to send her Hanukah presents to her mom's place... right?

Just a little freaky and stalker-y.

She hadn't actually opened any of the eight packages that had come in different shapes and sizes; she'd just shoved them into her suitcase under her bed after she'd recognized the return address to be his, far away from her mom's prying eyes who'd quickly caught onto the fact that someone was going through a whole lot of trouble to send Felicity these presents. It didn't take her daughter's genius IQ to figure out just what those packages were. Eight days of Hanukah, eight packages delivered on the respective days, even on Sunday even though there was usually no mail service.

Maybe a lot freaky and stalker-y.

"No, he doesn't," Felicity says, picking up up her wine glass. "I mean, I didn't even know that I'd be back, but mom got asked to cover the New Year's shift and you know how much I like those parties in the casino."

Caitlin snorts. "I might recall one particular story you told me about a 60-year-old guy hitting on you when you were seventeen."

"Viva Las Vegas," Felicity shrugs. "Not an experience I wanted to relive."

Her best friend just gives her a smug smile. "Well, I'd be happy to be the stand-in for your mom on New Year's to do the whole wine and good conversation at home thing."

"I thought you had plans with Barry? By the way when were you going to tell me you guys were hooking up?"

There's a faint blush creeping up Caitlin's cheek. "How do you even know about that?"

Now it's Felicity turn to grin smugly. "I have my ways." At Caitlin's narrowed eyes she continues, "Barry kinda blurted it out last week. I think seeing Oliver in my doorway rattled him pretty good."

"I'll have words with him," Caitlin grumbles. "We were going to tell you together. We just wanted to wait for the right moment and with everything that happened with Oliver..." she trails off.

"I get it, Kate." She lays a hand on Caitlin's. "And I'm really happy for you guys! You both deserve to be happy."

"So do you, Lis."

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ARROW⁂ ⁂ ⁂

To say that he's had a shitty two weeks would be a complete understatement. The last two weeks have been a special kind of hell that he just wants to get out of.

First, Felicity had found out who he really is – to make matters even worse it had been his arch rival Ray Palmer who'd revealed that particular secret who, fun fact, is also Felicity's college boyfriend. By some kind of miracle she'd forgiven him for not telling her in a matter of days.

Then Connor had gone missing because he wanted to talk to Felicity to patch things up without knowing that they'd already made up the previous night. He'd been overwhelmed with relief when she'd told him that Connor was standing in her office. That relief had quickly been replaced by anger when Oliver had rushed over to Merlyn Global, only to get a text from her saying that they'd gone over to the diner across the street.

Her move had irritated him to no end. He'd specifically asked her to stay put in her office until he arrived to get his son. How dare she ignore his request and just do as she pleases? He'd been completely worked up when he'd entered the diner and gone off on her like that.

He'd regretted his words the second they left his mouth, but by then the damage was already done. Seeing her walk away with tears in her eyes had shattered his heart. Especially, knowing that there was no one to blame but him.

After his unsuccessful attempt of talking to her that same night and her subsequent escape to Vegas, he'd been worried more than ever that there was no hope left for their relationship. She hadn't reacted to the Hanukah presents and the accompanying notes he'd sent to her mom's place, or to his Happy Hanukah text on the last day of the Jewish holiday.

He only knows that she's back because he'd driven by her place the other night and had seen that the lights in her house were on. But if she's back why hasn't she called or texted him? Has she made her decision yet? Is her not contacting him his first clue that she's going to break up with him?

All these questions and uncertainties surrounding their relationship have been weighing on him for the past two weeks and for the first time in his professional career he's done the one thing that he promised himself he'd never do: he'd let his personal life affect his game.

He'd played like shit in the last two games, throwing more interceptions than in the rest of the season combined, and making rookie mistakes. Had it not been for the great performances of his team mates, they would've probably lost both games. Not that it really mattered. They'd already qualified for the play-offs thanks to the really good first half of the season. But still, his shitty performances annoyed him, not to mention the rest of his team mates and his coaches. But nothing seemed to help. Not his own berating, Digg's warning words, or his coaches' complaints. Whenever he tried to concentrate on his game, his mind would drift to Felicity and her heartbroken expression right before she'd walked away.

And now, here he is, sitting alone in his living room on New Year's Eve, a bottle of beer in his hand, waiting as the clock ticks closer to twelve. He'd carried Connor up to his bed, after he'd fallen asleep an hour ago, but he'll have to wake him soon in time for the fireworks.

The telltale ding of the elevator that rings through his apartment pulls him out of his thoughts. His eyes flicker over to the phone on the coffee table. Why hadn't the concierge called to inform him that someone was coming up? Despite knowing them for years, he still called Oliver when it was just Thea or his mother coming by.

He gets up from the couch and crosses over to the foyer, forehead scrunched up in confusion. He'd definitely have to have a talk with the building manager about the concierge just letting someone come up here without calling ahead.

He rounds the corner and almost drops his beer when he sees Felicity stepping out of the elevator. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun, and her dark jeans do everything to showcase her amazing legs. But it's the oversized dark green hoodie on her small frame that throws his mind into a tailspin. It's a Starling City Archers hoodie with his number on the front and his name on the back.

They stare at each other for a solid ten seconds from across the room and he doesn't dare to move a muscle in fear that the slightest movement would let him wake up from what surely had to be a dream and she'd be gone. He's not sure if he could handle that disappointment.

In the end it's Felicity who moves, dropping her purse to the floor carelessly, before basically running towards him. Her hands are framing his face, her body pressing into his, before his jumbled brain can even begin to process what's happening.

He finally breaks out of his stupor when he feels her lips crash against his in a messy kiss that's full of need and passion. All at once, his worries and fears fall off of him, quickly replaced by certainty. This isn't a kiss to say goodbye, this kiss holds a promise of hope and love and a future.

His hands find their way to her back, tracing the letters of his own name, lying right there between her shoulder blades. Over and over again, while his lips move relentlessly against hers. His tongue sweeps over her bottom lip, begging for entrance that she grants him swiftly, as her fingers trip over the fabric of his shirt as they make their way from his face over his shoulders and chest down to his abs and then around to his back, pulling him even closer into her body.

When his brain finally catches up with what's happening, he's already backed her into the closest wall, his hands dropped down to her ass, ready to lift her up. With a sudden surge of will power that he hadn't known he had in him, he pushes away from her. The disapproving moan of protest that drops from her lips is almost enough to break his resolve, but instead of giving in he takes another half step back.

"Felicity," he whispers hoarsely.

Another groan rips from her throat and she lets her head slump back against the wall behind her, her chest heaving in an effort to supply her body with the oxygen that he deprived her of for the past seconds. Minutes?

He takes a steadying breath before stepping towards her again, catching her hands, twining their fingers together until he's not sure where he ends and she begins. "I'm so sorry."

Her eyes fall shut for a second. When her lids flutter open again, there's something in her eyes he's never seen before. "I know," she says and holds his gaze. "I'm sorry for running... again."

"No, no," he quickly interjects. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I didn't make things better by running off and not talking to you," she gently points out, pressing his fingers. "We're not going to make this work if we don't talk to each other."

"Felicity, you had every right to need time and space. I screwed up big time, and so soon after we just patched things up from my last screw up," he shakes his head, dismayed with his own behavior. "I don't deserve you being here."

She wriggles one hand from his and cups his face, letting her finger tips scratch lightly through his stubble. "You know what I realized in the past few weeks?" He shakes his head mutely, holding his breath while he waits for her answer. "I talked to a few close friends about what happened and every last one of them told me to dump you and not look back."

She huffs out a breath. "I defended you and what you said. The more insistent they became that there's no excuse in this world that would justify your words, the more insistent I became in your defense. It made me consider your side of things and what you must've felt like that morning."

He stares at her with wide eyes. "I am not and never will be okay with the tone you used on me that day or with they way you twisted things around to fit right in with your anger. You really hurt me with your words. And I don't know what I'll do if anything like that ever happens again. But to some degree even if I'm not okay with it I understand why you acted that way."

His eyes fall shut and he sucks in a shuddering breath.

"Look at me, Oliver," she urges him, tugging on his fingers with one hand while the fingertips of the other run softly over his temple until he opens his eyes and finds her gaze. "I forgive you," she says softly, leaning up to press a peck against his lips to emphasize her point. "You know why?"

"Because you're the most incredible human being that has ever walked the face of this earth?"

She breathes out a laugh. "Because I love you."

She says it like it's the simplest thing in the world. Like it doesn't make his heart thunder uncontrollably in his chest and let a million butterflies flutter in his stomach.

"And I want this, us, to work. And I know this will not be the last time that we fight. We're both too stubborn for that. But, Oliver, I want us to fight for each other and to fight to always make it work. Or at least try to."

He stares down at her, swallowing thickly against all of the emotions bubbling up in his chest, promises and reassurances on the tip of his tongue. But all that he can say when he finally finds his voice is "I love you, Felicity."

She steps on her tip toes to meet hm for another languid kiss. He can feel the vibrations of her lips against his when she hums in contentment. "Mhh, just so you know, just because I'm forgiving you doesn't mean that you're done groveling. I expect lots of awesome date nights, and amazing wines, and flowers." She takes his bottom lip carefully between her teeth, pulling gently. "And lots and lots of make up sex. Can't forget about the make up sex," she whispers, a devilish smile gracing her lips.

Before he can think of a retort (read: get enough blood from his groin to his brain to think straight) a sleep-ridden voice echoes from the living room. "Dad? Where are you?"

Oliver groans in frustration and lets his forehead drop to Felicity's shoulder, ignoring how her body shakes in silent laughter as she pats his chest lightly.

"Felicity!" Connor exclaims excitedly as he rounds the corner. In a matter of seconds he manages to wedge himself between the two adults and slings his arms around Felicity's waist, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. "Are we gonna watch the firework together?"

"Yes, we will," she says and beams down at him, making Oliver's heart stutter in his chest.

"I'm gonna make some popcorn and then I'll show you the best place to watch the firework," Connor grins up at her and scurries off towards the kitchen.

Felicity's gaze follows him, a fond smile on her lips. Oliver frames her face with his hands, effectively making her look up at him. "I love you," he breathes out and presses a long kiss to her lips. "And we're gonna get started on the make up sex once we get Connor to bed."

She hums in agreement. "Is it twelve o'clock yet?"

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A/N: Next up: epilogue!

Let me know what you think of this chapter! Every comment is greatly appreciated :)