Title: We Rise Like Smoke
Category: Arrow
Word Count: 2,300 (Chapter 2/4)
Ship: Oliver/Felicity
Rating: pg-13/teen
Summary: After Laurel is kidnapped, the people left behind turn Starling City upside down trying to find her. But after 8 months coming up empty, a confrontation forces Oliver to realize that finding her isn't likely and he needs to start letting go. But a note from the Canary changes everything.
II.
The weeks continued in the same pattern.
They fought the bad guys, while continuing what came to increasingly feel like a hopeless search for Laurel. But Oliver kept pushing, mostly himself, to lengths of sleepless nights scouring the city, and Felicity and Diggle tried to be there for him, but it was hard for them to witness the physical transformation of the realization in Oliver that he might never find Laurel.
He stopped being so angry, which was almost worse. He got increasingly more tired until his own exertion finally seemed to catch up with him.
One late evening Oliver returned to the Foundry, stumbling as he put his Arrow gear back in the glass case. Felicity couldn't take it anymore.
"That's it," she said decisively. "I'm taking you home."
Oliver looked around the Foundry, only just occurring to him he couldn't see Diggle anywhere.
"Where's Dig?" he asked.
"I sent him home when you told me you were coming back. Dig needed the rest—much like you do now, mister."
"I'm okay," Oliver said, sitting down on the steel table. He had to hold on to keep from swaying. "I'm always okay."
"Yeah, except some times you're not. You are not okay, Oliver. But, good news is, some of that can be fixed by sleep. That's why I'll be your personal driver tonight."
Too tired to protest, he changed into his normal clothes, jeans and a thick grey sweater. He followed Felicity after she shut down the monitors, leaving the ones that should be kept on going. They headed up the stairs, and outside Felicity amusedly watched Oliver fitting himself into her compact car.
"Still can't believe you got a Mini again," he said, looking out the front window.
"Well, it's not the size, it's how you drive it. " She frowned. "This isn't helping at all."
Oliver watched her start the car and pull them out the back alley with an amused expression. Outside, darkness had enveloped the city like a black aerial blanket, and some of the electrical lights hurt Oliver's eyes. He closed them instead.
It wasn't until he heard Felicity curse he opened them again. They were standing still by a red traffic light, a tumult of traffic ahead of them. Oliver heard voices outside the cars, angry voices, but it all sounded very far away.
"There's road work on the highway," Felicity said, pushing the pedal down and moving the car forward through the intersection after the lights changed. "That shouldn't be a big deal. I know another route to your mansion, it should only take, like, twenty minutes more, which isn't that much when you think about how long we could be stuck up there for, and—"
"Can I go home with you?"
Felicity's hands gripped the steering wheel so tight she almost swerved the car.
He turned his neck against the back of the seat and she saw the fatigue in his eyes, how the reason he asked wasn't like that.
"Mhmm. Sure." She nodded, keeping her eyes on the road. "But you're sleeping on the couch."
Oliver said nothing, just leaned back and closed his eyes. His thoughts were mud, and his mind felt like fog. It wasn't pain so much as indifference. Maybe getting some rest wouldn't be so bad after all.
When they arrived outside Felicity's apartment Oliver remained in the car until she parked it. He followed after she opened the door for him, felt her elbow link with his into the building, staying that way in the elevator. All the while Oliver felt like he was moving in a haze.
After she opened the apartment door and her couch came up in sight, he headed straight over. Without removing his shoes he sat down, got comfortable in a heartbeat, leaning his neck back against the rest.
He didn't know how much time had passed when Felicity returned out into the living room, glass of water in hand. She put it down on the table in front of him. The air smelled like food.
"I figured you hadn't eaten so I'm heating some left-overs," she said. "Nothing fancy. Left over chinese, actually, the kind that makes you fart up a storm…" Felicity winced, closing the hallway closet. "Sorry."
She nearly shoved the blanket and pillow into his hands. He thanked her, leaning down and kicking his shoes off. He realized he was probably tired than he thought, because he didn't notice Felicity go into her kitchen and get food, only saw her coming back out holding a large white box with chop-sticks sticking out. She set it down on the table in front of him.
He reached out and pulled the chop-sticks out of the box, placing them neatly on the napkin on the side.
"I have a fork, if you'd rather," she said, gesturing to the kitchen. She thought it odd; she'd seen him using chop-sticks at the office.
"S'not that. When they're like that, pointing straight up? Means bad luck. It's a bad omen."
"Oh. Huh. The more you know."
Oliver adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. "You're not going to eat?"
"I grabbed a bite in the kitchen earlier. Thought I'd shower while you ate. Haven't had time to do that with, you know, everything that's been going on. Not to say I don't shower - I do. But it's, uh, been like two days. Which I'm sure you want to hear all about. Not. Shutting up commenced in 3… 2… 1..."
Oliver watched her pull the elastic from her ponytail, and, tired as he was, he found himself wondering how soft that hair would feel against his hands, running his fingers through it.
She must have noticed him watching her, because he saw the slight flush on her cheeks before she headed into the bathroom.
Felicity's shower was quick, efficient. She was too tired for anything else right now. It had been a long day, following a long week, long months. She brushed her teeth and did a quick sleeping braid before heading out of bathroom in her pajama bottoms and a light tank top.
Oliver was fast asleep on the couch. The white box of food stood messily discarded with the chop-sticks lying next to it on the table, the glass of water, almost fully drunk. She considered replacing it, but figured if he was well-oriented enough to navigate his way in a jungle, then finding the kitchen in her small apartment shouldn't be that hard.
Still, Felicity couldn't resist pausing before she went into her bedroom. She leaned a hand on her bedroom doorway and looked at Oliver lying in her couch. He looked so peaceful, disarmed, not disturbed by all the things that haunted him during the day. She wondered if she'd ever see him look that unguarded when awake. If he'd ever find that peace.
At least this way he'd get some rest. And that was the purpose of this, she reminded herself. Having Oliver Queen in her apartment, drooling on her blanket, wasn't. That was just a bonus.
Felicity was quietly trying to make breakfast the following morning when there was a knock on the door.
Not many people visited her, and the ones that did didn't knock. She checked her phone on the cupboard, but no messages or missed calls. She walked on quiet feet out into the hallway, over to the door's peephole. When she saw who it was on the other side something in her relaxed. She pulled the door open.
"Morning, Felicity."
She was unsure if Diggle had ever seen her in pajama bottoms and a tank top before, but hey, you know, first time for everything and all that.
"Morning, John." She smiled.
"Is he here?" He looked past Felicity's shoulder, into the hallway behind her.
"On the couch."
Felicity stepped out of the way, letting him in. Diggle seemed to understand that if Oliver was still on the couch, he was probably still sleeping, and lo and behold, Oliver Queen sleeping in jeans and a sweater underneath a blanket. It looked surprisingly comfortable in spite of everything.
"That smells good," Diggle commented, looking into the kitchen. "What are you making?"
"Just something easy. French toast and smoothies. Well, technically I haven't done the smoothies yet because the blender sounds like something dying on Star Trek, so." Felicity glanced into the kitchen. "How would you like some French toast, John?"
He accepted. The two of them sat down on the tall kitchen chairs next to the long cupboard. They ate quickly and in silence, and when they were done John wiped his mouth on a supplied napkin.
"Thanks for the toast, Felicity. But that's actually not why I came here for."
"Aaw. I'm hurt you didn't think my French toasts were good enough to warrant me a visit."
He smiled, but it faded too fast for Felicity to make an effort to crack another joke. Whatever he'd come for obviously couldn't wait longer.
"This came for Oliver this morning, to the mansion." He handed a brown parcel over to her, thin like a letter, A4 size. She reached inside and pulled out a white, glossy paper with a black bird in the middle. Beneath the bird were a set of digits.
"Those look like coordinates," Felicity said.
"They are. Coordinates to a building whose rooftop Oliver frequently visits as the Arrow."
Felicity looked at John. Turning the sheet of paper in the kitchen light, she noticed a different shimmer on the top, above the bird.
"There's a message here," she said. "It's numbers… looks like binary code."
"Maybe if we took it to the Foundry, you could use one of your machines to decode it…"
"Decode what?"
Both Felicity and John turned to see Oliver standing in the kitchen doorway. His hair was bedshaped, all of him ruffled, softer, somehow, and he still had Felicity's blanket wrapped around his broad shoulders.
"This came for you at the house this morning," Diggle said, showing Oliver the message. "The coordinates are to the rooftop you frequent near the Arrow Line."
Oliver looked at the glossy image. "You think it's Sara?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out. There's binary code written with white ink on the paper. One of Felicity's computers could probably decode it, which is why—"
Felicity snatched the paper from Oliver's hand.
"I don't need a machine to decode binary. Just, hand me a pen and paper and give me a couple of minutes."
Oliver looked at Diggle, who remained still where he sat as Felicity went off to hunt down some pen and paper. He looked over where John sat.
"Is that… French toast?"
Diggle smiled. "All gone, too. I bet you could ask her to make you some after she's done decoding."
Felicity reappeared in the kitchen, scribbling as she walked. The two of them watched as she swiped a black marker over the white text, transmuting its color into long black rows of ones and zeros. She put the pen and paper next to it and quickly began writing a message in letters.
| Tonight. 9PM. Come alone. Come as Oliver. |
Felicity stopped writing. "It ends there. That's all it says."
"No signature? No S, or a C, not anything Sara might have added?"
Felicity shook her head. "We could take it with us and scan and analyze it, but something tells me it will turn up clean."
"Scan it anyway." Oliver nodded. "This evening it is."
The serious mood was broken by the sound of Oliver's stomach rumbling. John looked at Felicity, shaking his head and smiling. Felicity moved into action.
"We have plenty of time to prepare. Oliver, before you get out of here, sit down and shut up." Felicity pulled out John's vacant chair. "You're not leaving my apartment before you've had something to eat." She sniffed. "Maybe a tooth brush, too."
John smirked. "Better obey."
Most other occasions, Oliver would have fought it. Or, he would have left the apartment saying he'd pick something up along the way, but, as it was, even in the light of the Canary message he was still tired and French Toast did sound good. The company wasn't half bad either.
So, he sat down in Diggle's empty chair, who told them he'd meet them at the Foundry in two hours. Felicity swept together French Toast and made Oliver a violently pink smoothie from her screaming machine. He ate gratefully; it tasted like bread and cinnamon and berries, but most of all like hope.
When Felicity started clearing off and reached for his plate, he grabbed her wrist. She paused, looking at him where he sat, his eyes for once lower than hers.
"Thank you," he said. "For all this."
"Not a problem. I was going to eat too, so…"
He watched her, as she headed over with the plates, watched her loose uncombed hair that fell in soft curls across her back, against the tanktop he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra under. And those sweatpants made him able to outline her underwear, lace, from the looks of it…
He dragged a hand down his face. He was too tired for that, too. He looked over at the glossy note still lying on the cupboard, reaching for it.
"This is good," Felicity said, nodding to the note. "Now we finally have a trace."
Oliver knew she was right. After months of endless searching, they finally had something to go on. He would meet with Sara that night and find out what really happened to Laurel eight months ago. It was all that mattered. It was the best thing he'd known in eight months.
Except when he looked over to where Felicity loaded dishes into the washing machine, so free, out of her make-up, looking comfortable and possibly softer than he'd ever seen her… Oliver was no longer so sure the best thing happening to him in eight months was Sara's note.
Maybe it had been happening all along.
The next chapter is about meetings and revelations. I might stick the last two chapters together into a longer one, even though there's a slight time difference between the two.
Please review, if you'd like. It helps me keep writing.