Title: We Rise Like Smoke
Category: Arrow
Word Count: 3,500 (Chapter 3/3)
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.

III.

The Starling City night lit up around him like sea of electric lights. Standing on the ground beneath the building he'd been asked to come to, Oliver saw past the blinking dots of red, blue and yellow as he reconnoitered the surroundings.

Felicity's voice came through on comms. "See anything?"

"Lots of buildings."

"Funny."

"I thought so." Oliver's lips curled up for a brief moment before flattening out again. "I'll know more once I'm on the rooftop."

"For the record, I still think it's a bad idea going, you know, without your bow. Not having Dig around is part your bad idea collection, too."

"I'm not completely helpless without the bow."

In the Foundry, Felicity glanced back up over her shoulder at Diggle.

"I still like you."

He adjusted his arms across his chest. "Glad somebody does."

The first thing Oliver did when he reached the rooftop was scan the area. He found nothing out of the ordinary below, but this was anything but an ordinary situation. Anything might lurk in the shadows without his knowledge. Hidden contraptions, machines, booby traps… since the note from the Canary turned up clean, they still couldn't be a hundred percent sure Sara had really sent it. And if someone else knew enough to know he knew about the Canary, well, arriving prepared was the least Oliver could do.

He noticed the small changes immediately. The way everything solid was as it was, before, but something was different, like an added scent to the wind.

"Someone's been here," he said.

"I'll try scanning surveillance cameras in the area for recent activity."

He looked across the rooftop. He saw something gleam on the ground. Was that… oil? Bending his knees, Oliver touched the glistening trail with his hands, lifting his fingers to his nose. Definitely oil.

Just as he rose, the oily trail on the ground began lighting up. Fire ran along it, from the other end of the rooftop, past and around him, not a circle but in some kind of pattern he stood too close to see.

"It's not coming at me, it's…" He looked around, trying to piece the shape of the fire together. "It's forming some kind of pattern."

"Getting a satellite image, hold on." Felicity typed away on the computer, bringing up a satellite image of the rooftop, zooming in so its edges filled her monitor. "It looks like - it's some kind of bird."

They both thought it, but Oliver was the one who said it.

"It's a canary."

A voice from behind cut through time like a memory.

"Hello, Ollie."

Oliver stood completely still. The wind cut across the rooftop, biting at his cheeks, but he couldn't really feel it, couldn't really be touched by anything other than what was in front of him.

He had been expecting Sara. Not her.

"Laurel…?" He slowly turned, needing the visual affirmation.

And it was her. Laurel. The one he had been looking to find all this time. She approached him, her steps steady as they used to be, before, but now stronger somehow. Her arms folded against her chest as she looked at the fire canary burning around them.

"Sara taught me how to do that," she said.

"Sara?"

Laurel nodded. "I know about her, Ollie. Not everything, but her time with the League, how she was trained… "

Oliver looked at Laurel, getting a better impression now that the first shock was over. She wore a black leather jacket, dark pants, something he wasn't used to seeing her in. She'd always gone for long elegant coats, high heels, something polished and sophisticated… this new look made her look like someone he didn't know. Her face was different. The body underneath that black clothing, too. She was still all slender long limbs, but they were rounded out by muscle. Considering how thin she'd been when he saw her last, that made him glad to see.

And it dawned on him.

"That's where you've been the last eight months."

Laurel's arms unfolded. "I came here to tell you to stop looking for me. I'm not dead, Ollie. Far from it."

He had so many questions. A torrent, a whole rushing flood of them. Beginning was always the hardest.

"How did you…"

"I persuaded them to let me come here so you'd stop looking for me." She paused, before indicating to a rooftop across the other building. "As you might already have guessed, I'm under supervision."

Oliver looked over at the building, seeing the black-clad person standing there, a shadow among darkness. He couldn't see a weapon but that did not mean Laurel's supervisor wasn't armed and had back-up waiting to tear the building down if necessary.

"Tell your partners to not track them down," Laurel warned. "I'm here by choice. And that's really what this is all about."

Laurel walked within the canary of fire, a slow but confident walk he remembered from her youth. But her every step was weighed evenly, in control. She stopped and turned to him by the canary's burning wing.

"I'm only in the beginning of my training. Part of that training is saying goodbye to my old life. And I couldn't do that when people kept it alive."

Oliver read her resolute face. Her expression wasn't cold and frantic, like he remembered her after her drug abuse was exposed to everyone, when she was fired and disbarred. This was a calm, confident look with the same imploring eyes. Whatever she was becoming was something he wasn't part of.

He also understood something else.

"A month ago my partners were targeted," he said. "One of their car's blew up and another's elevator broke down with him in it. That was the League, wasn't it."

"I didn't find out until after. I swear, Ollie." Laurel took a step to him, but calmed herself before she reached him. He witnessed a control in her that hadn't been there eight months ago. "That's why I'm here now. To tell you to stop searching. Stop looking for me. You're not going to like what you find."

Oliver nodded, but his neck felt stiff. It was a lot to process, but he thought he understood. He finally had his answer to where Laurel had been, who had taken her, or, thought he did, though the why was still missing. He wasn't sure he would ever find that out. He wasn't sure he deserved to know.

Part of him wanted to fight this. This was Laurel. He wanted to ask her, not as the persons they were to each other now, with the distance between them, but with the weight and meaning of their past experiences supporting him, Oliver wanted to ask Laurel to explain everything that went between the lines, everything that went unsaid.

But she was asking him to let her go.

"I get what you're asking of me," he said. "But I spent months looking for you, Laurel. I never gave up."

"I know you didn't, Ollie." Her voice was softer for a moment. "That's another reason I had to come here – you or your group, you got too close. A search almost had me located. When we saw the signal in our grid, that's how I managed to persuade them how important it was for me to come here and tell you to stop looking."

Oliver looked away briefly. He thought Felicity and Diggle had given up. He thought he'd searched alone, these last months…

Looking down at the rooftop, at the still burning fire surrounding them, Oliver swallowed before refocusing on Laurel. She saw the emotion in his eyes. He may have gotten over his blind spot for her, but part of him would always love Laurel. What to do with that love was now a choice he had to make.

"We all have to make choices," she said. "Some times… you have to change or die. I made my choice, just like you made yours."

He looked to the ground before he slowly nodded. "Your dad will want to know you're alive, Laurel."

"I know. My next stop, actually."

She faintly smiled and a glimmer of the Laurel he knew appeared. The Laurel he knew before the island, before he returned, before the drugs, depression and all the hopelessness. This was that girl, and the other. They were versions of the same. And right now, she was becoming another.

Laurel walked up closer to him, a soft expression. "You can't save me, Ollie. You're right. I was taken—but I chose to stay. They trained me. Showed me I'm capable of things I didn't know I could do. This is my life now. This is the life I chose."

Oliver tried breathing even breaths, but found it difficult. He wished he could find it hard to believe her, but he didn't. He did believe her. He knew she was telling the truth—not because his blind spot kicked in, but because this was a Laurel he hadn't known before, a Laurel that was intrinsically as strong as he was. She had let herself forget that, for years. But now it seemed she had found her way back.

"We'll always be part of each other's lives, Ollie. But you have your life and I have mine."

Laurel reached up and kissed his cheek. When she leaned back she was smiling.

"Now. Go live it."

She left him there, walking over to the rooftop's edge. There she picked up a black line, thick as a cable, before she gave him one last smile and mouthed him a word, before saliently springing over the edge, holding onto the black line. He watched her disappear into the night, one moment there…

… the next, gone.

A week later, Oliver walked through the back entrance of Verdant leading down to the Foundry.

He traded air between his steps down the stairs, seeing Diggle seated in front of the computer monitors. Diggle looked back over his shoulder when he saw Oliver coming down.

"Look who finally decided to join us again."

Oliver looked around the Foundry. There wasn't much that had changed during the week he was gone, if anything at all. His suit hung in the glass case, the green hood folded over. The green-feathered arrows were evenly distributed in his quiver, ready even in his absence. A sense of calm and order reached into him here; the only place he could let his guard down completely and be who he had become.

"This time I gave you notice," he said, his voice light. "Told you I'd be gone a week."

"So you did."

Oliver looked around the Foundry more completely. He'd noticed it instantly, but one of the most crucial parts was missing.

"Where's Felicity?" he asked.

"I sent her home two hours ago. Thought she could use an evening off. Only reason I'm still here is because I'm waiting on Lyla to wrap up a meeting."

Oliver nodded. Without being asked, Diggle filled him in on how things had been during his week away from Starling City. Oliver already knew nothing too alarming had happened; if something requiring the Arrow had occurred, he'd asked them to contact him on a cell phone few people had the number to. He thought of it as going selectively AWOL.

When Diggle wrapped up telling him about a drug-dealer Felicity managed to set up a false meeting with, sending Detective Lance and his team in place of the potential buyer, Oliver jumped off the table he'd been sitting on.

Diggle looked after him. "Where are you going?"

Oliver stopped between the glass cases and table. He kept reversing as he answered, hands together in front of his chest.

"There's someone I need to see."

Diggle smirked. "Someone else has dibs on kicking your ass, you mean."

Oliver waved his hand above his head as he turned, jogging up the stairs.

When he arrived outside her building, her window was already half open.

Oliver stood down on the evening-lit street, looking up at the third floor and the corner window he'd swept his presence through times before. Difference was, all those times he had been in his Arrow suit. Now he was standing on the sidewalk as Oliver Queen. He was here as the man Felicity knew: the one who was both the Arrow and Oliver Queen, at the same time.

The real him. The one with pieces undefined. And he couldn't wait to figure out the rest.

Without his bow and arrows to help him reach her window, Oliver knocked on Felicity's apartment door, three times. It took a moment before he heard footsteps on the other side, the pause within the door letting him know she looked through the peephole. The pause that followed dragged on for so long he thought she might not let him in. But in a great pull, the door swung open.

On the other side was Felicity, in the same striped sweatpants he'd seen her in previously, but this time with a fuchsia top that would have matched the shade of lipstick she wasn't currently wearing. Her hair was loose in half curls, but her expression was anything but soft.

"If you're looking for a welcome-back committee, I think you're knocking on the wrong door."

"Hey." He tried smiling. "May I come in?"

He noticed her holding a wooden spatula. She looked at him a moment, eyebrows pulled together, before finally turning and walking back into her apartment. She left the door open, so he took that as his answer.

He entered the hallway, closing the door after him. The scent of food wafted to him, spicy, warm. Something with meat. Oliver walked down the hallway to her kitchen, nearly slamming into Felicity who briskly came out. She strode into her living room, swirled, arms folded against her chest.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice adamant but still so… Felicity.

"I came here because…" Oliver walked into the living room, wiping a hand down his mouth. "Because these last months have totally sucked." He watched her eyebrows rise. "Because I'm tired. And I needed to…"

Felicity stopped him. "No. You don't get to come here just because you've had a crappy week. Or lousy months. I'm not some comfort blanket who happens to come in the form of a human, who, by the way, was cooking dinner."

She strode past him, spatula in hand.

"You know where the window is," she said. "Don't let the latch hit you on the way out."

He looked at the window, noticing the light cold breeze that came in through it. He sighed, looking at the floor, before opening his mouth to speak.

"Felicity, wait."

It wasn't a command, or he never would have reached through to her. Felicity paused, turning slowly, her face set with determination, but it was a different kind of determination, one that's still open and willing to listen.

"I didn't come here for me," he said earnestly. "I came here to thank you. I suppose there are many, many things I should be thanking you for, but…" He took two steps to her, hands in pockets. "A week ago Laurel told me how close you were to tracking her down. You continued the search even when I thought you'd given up."

Felicity's expression softened, bringing out the light in her blue eyes. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, his right reaching out and finding hers. He pressed, warm skin against warming hearts.

"I know this life isn't easy, but you still chose it. To stick with me and Dig, help us make Starling City a better place."

"You already thanked me for that." She tried keeping her lips from softening to a smile, but failed. "The flowers, remember? My whole living room was full of them."

"I know. But this is me, thanking you here and now. I still need you, Felicity. Maybe now more than ever."

Felicity pressed her hand against his. She held on to his eyes gazing deeply into hers, then she nodded, slowly.

"Oliver, how much training did Laurel have?"

He didn't see that coming. "A couple of months, nothing that..."

"Cause it sounds to me like somebody hit your head and I was wondering if it might've been her."

Oliver smiled, one of those rare smiles he let himself feel because no one was around to pretend for. He enjoyed how the smile turned into a chuckle, as he watched Felicity run out into the kitchen as a timer went off. He didn't consider, but followed her.

"What are you cooking?" he asked, leaning in the door frame.

He had seen Felicity in many situations, including whipping up cinnamon-sprinkled toast and a smoothie, but Oliver didn't think he'd ever seen her actually cooking before.

"I'm making dinner. When I have the time, which isn't often, by the way, I make big casseroles that last me a week in the fridge. Cooking food's not usually the first thing that comes to mind when you develop a habit of coming home really late at night." Lines appeared across her noce. "Or, early mornings, I suppose."

Part of Oliver felt guilty, knowing he was primarily the reason she pulled all those long nights, bleeding days into early mornings. But he also knew Felicity was the kind of girl who'd rather damn the world than have anyone feel sorry for her, so he said nothing.

Finally the inertia got to him. "Is there anything I can do?"

Felicity looked over at him a moment, considering.

"You can roll your sleeves up." She noticed the look he gave her, so she added, "What I mean is, you could help me finish." Felicity pressed her eyes shut. "Finish cooking the food."

"I don't..."

"Know how to cook? Big surprise. That's why your friendly Executive Assistant Felicity Smoak can help you."

He raised an eyebrow. "I might've learnt a thing or two on the island..."

"Sure, but there will be no snake-crust-roasting-on-the-fire here."

Oliver watched light dance in her eyes, the open invitation hanging in the air. Unable to stop the smile from reaching his eyes, warming his chest, he walked over, rolling his sleeves up. He stood next to her front of the stove.

"Think you can stir that casserole, Mr. Queen?" She pointed at him with the spatula.

"I might, Ms. Smoak."

"Good. I usually make dishes that last several days, since being with you every night kind of makes it impossible to come out with anything worth swallowing." A pause. "Oh God."

Oliver amusedly watched as Felicity hastily headed over to the cupboard and pulled two candles from the drawer.

"I'm just going to go and…"

He nodded. "I'll be stirring."

He shook his head, smiling the way she so often made him smile, eyes first. He stood there in the kitchen, stirring the casserole Felicity was making for herself, tonight, for the two of them. He reveled in the normalcy of it all.

He wasn't okay, wouldn't be okay for some time. The world was still out there. But as he stood there, as Felicity came over and told him she'd put out plates and he could lay the table as she finished the casserole, as he did all this Oliver felt the warm undercurrent of old wounds torn at slowly beginning to heal.

He looked at the wine bottles she'd placed on the table in the living room, allowing him to choose. But he knew exactly the one he wanted.

As Felicity walked out into the living room, carrying the big casserole and setting it down on the table, Oliver uncorked the wine bottle.

"Hope this one's alright," he said.

She knew which one he'd chosen without looking. "Perfect."

Felicity looked around to see what was missing. Oliver presented two wine glasses, filled to half with red wine each. She smiled sincerely, taking the glass and holding it in front of her.

"What should we toast to?" she asked, smiling like a small star. "Friends and partners?"

"I can drink to that," Oliver agreed, looking into her eyes over the glass rim. "But how about… to old ends and new beginnings."

"Sold."

They dipped their glasses and drank. The wine tasted sweet and long, like a good dream.

"Good wine," she said, pulling back.

"Yeah. Good… wine."

Oliver's eyes hadn't left hers. He looked at Felicity, his eyes full of hope and hers shone back with the promise of the world.

The evening was far from over. There was food left to eat, wine to be drunk. Hearts left saving.

Oliver went over and closed the window latch. This time he stayed.

FIN.

Notes: Thanks to everyone who read this story.

I wrote it because I wanted to explore an option of letting Laurel become Black Canary. I should say that I wrote the story before 2x12: Tremors, which is why Roy isn't part of Team Arrow and probably the explanation for other continuity errors you might find that no longer make sense in the light of the last episode aired when this is posted, i.e. 2x14: Heir to the Demon.

I also hope people enjoyed the shameless nod to Stephen's PCA interview.

Thank you so much for commenting!